[this plain-text file, containing only the captions to richard doyle's drawings, is included for completeness. the html version includes all drawings and decorative text. except for "the review" and some decorative headers, the entire book was printed in capital letters. it has been reformatted for readability; capitalization decisions are the transcriber's. text shown in +marks+ was printed in decorative blackletter type.] the foreign tour of messrs brown, jones, and robinson. being the history of what they saw, and did in belgium, germany, switzerland & italy. by richard doyle. london. bradbury & evans. whitefriars. * * * * * * * * * [london.] the mail train to dover. brown, jones, and robinson starting on their travels. [ostend.] after a rough passage, brown, jones, and robinson are here seen landed at ostend, surrounded, and a little bewildered, by the natives, who overwhelm them with attentions--seize the luggage, thrust cards into their hands, drag them in several directions at once, all talking together (which prevented their directions being so clear as they otherwise would have been)--and, finally, all expecting money! they are at the douane, waiting for the officials to search the luggage. robinson and jones (alarmed by expression of brown's countenance). --"what's the matter now?" brown (in a voice of agony). --"i've left the key of my bag at home!" [ostend to cologne.] a sketch made at malines. how they saw belgium. [cologne.] the arrival at cologne. travellers passing their examination. in the foreground is jones's portmanteau undergoing the "ordeal by touch." manner and custom of the people, as seen from the railway by brown, and made a note of. b. j. and r., who took their places on the roof the better to command the view, are seen at the moment when the idea occurred to the two former that they might possibly not "fit" under the archway. robinson is so wrapped up in thought, and a cigar, that he is unconscious of all else. this represents the cologne omnibus on its journey from the station into the city, when stopped by the military, and made to "stand and deliver" the passports. arrival at the hotel, and first coming in sight of that amiable and obliging race, the german waiter. he is small in stature (scarcely the size of life, as jones remarked), and remains always a boy. "speise-saal" hotel, cologne-- enter brown, jones, and robinson, fatigued, and somewhat disordered by travel, and "so hungry." how an agent of jean maria farina addressed them, who was kind enough to put some of the celebrated "eau" upon their handkerchiefs, and to receive orders for the same. the real eau de cologne, and its effect upon the noses of three illustrious individuals. "kellner" presents the bill. they "do" cologne cathedral. [cologne to bonn.] the railway from cologne to bonn. --b. j. and r. "just in time." first glimpse of rhine scenery. [bonn.] jones's little all is contained in this small portmanteau. robinson, on the contrary, finds it quite impossible to move with less than this. this scene represents the rhine boat about to start from bonn, and passengers from the railway embarking. in the foreground an accident has occurred, a porter having upset the luggage of an english family, the head of which is saluting him with the national "damn," while the courier of the party expresses the same idea in german. [the rhine.] brown's first impression of the rhine. _from an original sketch in the possession of his family._ heads of the natives. _a leaf from brown's sketch book._ company on board the rhine boat. amongst them was a travelling tutor, and three young gentlemen, his pupils. he stood in the midst of them smiling blandly, an open volume in his hand, (probably a classic author,) between which, and his pupils, and the scenery, he divided his attention in about equal parts. there was a specimen of the english grumbler, big, burly, and as if in danger of choking from the tightness of his cravat. every one knows him, his pleasant ways, and his constant flow of good humour and cheerfulness; that is he, sitting to the right. there were besides, numerous young gentlemen from the universities, from the army, from the bar, all with more or less hair on their upper lips; and there was a cavalry officer of the russian guard, and a professor, on his way to heidelberg, and loose, dishevelled, hairy, smoky young germans, with long beards, and longer pipes. and there was a british nobleman, and a british alderman, and a british alderwoman; and there were british ladies whom i can't describe, because they wore those "ugly" things which prevent them being seen; intelligent young americans on their way all over the world; nuns, with their quiet, happy faces; red republicans from frankfort, and snobs from london. the great briton. as he stood contemplating the rhine-land, wondering if it would be possible to live in that country; and considering (supposing he had one of those castles, now) how many thousands a-year one could do it with. the scenery would do; and with english institutions it might be made a good thing of. n.b. --he little thinks what brown is doing. even the nun was not safe from brown. he is here seen taking her off, in a rapid act of sketching. b. j. and r. had just begun to enjoy the scenery, when, to their consternation, who should appear on board but the "bore," who instantly was down upon them. for three mortal hours he entertained them with fashionable intelligence, anecdotes of the aristocracy, the court circular, births, deaths, marriages, &c. this was supposed to be an m.p. travelling in search of "facts." he is giving brown his views; and also the statistics of everything. a view on the rhine. the london gent up the rhine. he is taken at the moment when expressing his opinion that the whole concern is a "do" and a "sell." british farmer and son in foreign parts. they both wore a perpetual grin and stare of surprise, jones thought that they had taken leave of england and their senses at once, owing to the withdrawal of protection. the rhine boat. brown may be seen seated there upon the paddle-box, rapidly sketching every church, ruined castle, town, or other object of interest on either bank of the river. those are jones and robinson, leaning over the side of the boat below him. observe, also, the stout party who has called for brandy-and-water, and whose countenance almost lapses into a smile as "kellner" approaches with the beverage. the tutor, it is pleasant to see, has at last put his "classic" in his pocket, and gives himself up to the undivided enjoyment of the scene, while his "young charge" is wrapped in contemplation of mechanical science as exemplified in the structure of the wheel. and that must surely be the gent who has such a low opinion of the beauty of the rhine-land, seated at the stern of the boat with his legs dangling over the river. let us hope that he is happy now! the english "milord" upon the rhine. how happy he looks! he dislikes the hum of men, and sits all day shut up in his carriage reading the literature of his country. how rude of those germans to be laughing and joking so near his lordship! perfect enjoyment. [coblentz.] indignation of robinson, at sight of inadequate washing apparatus. he rang the bell with such violence, that all the waiters rushed in, thinking that the hotel was on fire, or that a revolution had broken out. there he stood, pointing to the water, about half a pint in a basin the size of a breakfast cup; and in a voice of suppressed emotion, demanding to know if "das ist, etc." jones's night thoughts. "man wants but little here below," _but_ "wants that little long." if you should forget the number of your key and room (_as brown did on returning late from the theatre_), what are you to do? +an incident in the life of jones's dog.+ how this animal seemed to have imbibed communistic principles, and how he stole a sausage, and how the population rose like one man, and hunted him through the town. the dog having outstripped the populace, proceeds to eat the sausage. having done so, he looks stouter than he did, and is inclined to rest. the inhabitants, eager for vengeance, surround him, but are kept at bay by the expression of his countenance. one burly peasant having the hardihood to approach too near, he is made as example of. _exeunt omnes._ [the rhine.] brown, with noble perseverance, sits upon the paddle-box, regardless of the storm, and sketches the castles and towns, as the steam-boat passes them. --till in a moment of grief his hat and several sketches were carried off for ever: and then he thought it time to go below. how a citizen of the united states addressed brown; and how he put the following questions during the first five minutes of their acquaintance. . "where are you going?" . "what place do you hail from?" . "conclude you go toe frankfort?" . "you're mr. brown, i reckon?" . "what names do your friends go by?" statements made during the same period. . "this here rhine ain't much by the side of our mississippi." . "old europe is 'tarnally chawed up." brown's hat. robinson was very merry about this incident, and both he and jones kept poking fun at brown during the rest of the day. they parodied the well known song of "my heart's on the rhine," substituting "my hat's in the rhine;"--(it was very poor stuff, we have been assured by brown)--and they made pointed allusions to the name of "wide-awake." the above drawing is from a rude sketch by jones. the scenery becomes mysterious. they now became enveloped in what seemed a combination of fog (london november) and mist (scotch). only think of those two national institutions going up the rhine with the rest of the fashionable world. at first it obscured the hill tops, with the ruins thereon; then the villages and vineyards below; and finally both banks of the river entirely disappeared. the company on board the steamboat did not, at this period, present the most cheerful aspect. [mayence to frankfort.] how robinson's favourite portmanteau, which he had forgotten to lock, was dropped accidentally by a porter while conveying it to the omnibus. jones hints to robinson that it is time to get up. [frankfort.] how they visited a "quarter" of the city of frankfort, and what they saw there! robinson here wrote his celebrated letter to the "times," on the subject of the deficiency of soap and water, from which, as we have seen in a former page, he suffered so grievously. it was conceived in terms of indignant eloquence; and drew a terrible picture of the state of social, political, and religious degradation into which a country must have sunk, where such things could be tolerated. as they walked through the town, bent upon seeing the ariadne, and unconscious of danger, suddenly an object appeared in sight that filled them with terror. it was the "bore!" stepping jauntily along on the other side of the street. to hesitate was to be lost! so they plunged into the nearest shop for protection, and stood there breathless with expectation and fear. presently jones--putting his head very gradually out--reconnoitred, and finding all safe they resumed their way. robinson thinks it "the thing" to encourage native industry wherever he goes, and so buys a german pipe. [heidelberg.] "kellner!" while brown, jones, and robinson supped, a party of philosophers carry on an æsthetical discussion, with an accompaniment of pipes and beer. "* * * the night was beautiful, so we determined after supper to have a look at the celebrated castle--jones and i did, that is to say, for robinson was so fatigued with travel that he declined moving, muttering something about 'castle can wait.' we ascended; the moon shone brightly through the ruins, and bathed the landscape in its silvery light, the beautiful neckar flowing at our feet. under us lay the town, a thousand lights twinkling in the stillness." *  * "suddenly, to our horror, there appeared upon the terrace 'the bore!'" --_extract from brown's journal._ "at last he left us. but not before he had taken from his pocket a letter received that morning from green ('you know green, of course,' he said, 'everybody does'), and read it aloud from beginning to end. it told of a 'good thing' said at the club by smith; and of two marriages, and a duel likely to come off, besides several interesting particulars regarding the winner of the st. leger." --_ibid._ when jones and brown were left once more alone, they wandered and pondered amongst the ruins, and moralised over the instability of things--they were even becoming sentimental--when, suddenly, a terrific sound was heard--like the barking of a dog--and the next moment the animal himself was seen emerging from the darkness, and making towards them at the top of his speed. they turned and fled! meeting by moonlight. robinson, after the departure of jones and brown, seated himself before the fire and fell fast asleep. he continued in that state, notwithstanding that the philosophers became very noisy, and even warlike. --and although--after the latter had retired (fortunately without coming to blows)--his chair toppled over, he quietly assumed a horizontal position. fancy the feelings of jones and brown on returning, and finding their friend lying on his back upon the floor, snoring! they lifted him up, and carried him off to bed. next morning they entertained robinson with a thrilling account of the dangers of their expedition, in which that dreadful dog filled a very large space. the above will give some faint idea of what they pictured to themselves (and to robinson). [the review.] brown, jones, and robinson have arrived at ----, the capital of ----, a small german state (we won't say which, as it would be giving it an undue distinction, and might offend the others). they have been received with distinguished consideration, the "local" paper having announced their arrival as count robinson, sir brown, and the rev. jones. they have been invited to be present at a grand review, and robinson--who amongst other necessaries in those portmanteaus of his, carried a uniform as captain of yeomanry--thought that this was just the proper occasion to appear in it. accordingly, he rode on to the ground upon a charger (hired), in the character of a warrior, with a solemnity of countenance befitting the scene and his country, and accompanied by jones (also mounted), but in the costume of an ordinary individual of the period. brown preferred going on foot. that is robinson in the centre. just at the time when he ought to be riding up the line, inspecting the troops with the grand duke and his staff--his horse (a "disgusting brute," as robinson afterwards described him, "who could not have been in the habit of carrying gentlemen") suddenly stood on his hind legs, in the very middle of the field, so that his rider was forced to cling on to him in an absurd manner, in full view of the army, the people, and the court. r. at that moment earnestly desired that the earth might open and swallow him. key to the cartoon. . robinson. . the grand duke. . the crown prince. . the rest of the serene family. . mr. jones. . the population. . mr. jones's dog. . mr. brown. . the army. . distant view of the capital. . foreign visitors. . monument to late duke. [baden.] a scene at baden. the right of search. +of the adventure that befel jones.+ i. jones's dog having come upon a sentinel, and struck, perhaps, by his small size compared with the sentinels he is used to, commences to say, "bow!--wow!--wow!--wew--u--u!" the soldier, offended by these remarks, presents for the animal's consideration, the point of his bayonet. ii. jones expostulates, with that freedom of speech which is the birthright of every englishman. iii. but obtaining no satisfaction, calls on the miserable foreigner to "come on." iv. first (and last) round. --the soldier did "come on," frowning. jones received him, smiling. --the soldier made play with his musket: jones put in his left. they closed, and a terrific struggle ensued, in the course of which jones got his adversary's "nob" into "chancery." v. the soldier, at this point, unable to use his arms, took to his legs, and administered a series of kicks upon the shins of jones, who in return seized him, lifted him in the air, and threw him. vi. then, considering that justice and the honour of his country were alike satisfied, he retired, leaving the body of his antagonist on the field. vii. shows the "body," on discovering that life was not extinct, attempting to rise. p.s. --he was last seen making frantic efforts to regain his feet, and seemingly prevented from doing so by the weight of his knapsack, and other accoutrements. viii. jones was late at breakfast; he found robinson reading "galignani," and brown looking out of window, and after giving them an amusing account of the fun he had had, was just sitting down to the table, when brown shouted out, "by jove, there is a regiment of soldiers coming down the street!" ix. at first jones was incredulous; but presently brown, his hair standing on end, rushed towards him, and in a voice of agony, cried, "as sure as we are alive they have stopped in front of the house, and the _officer is coming in!_" x. it was too true. the soldiers had come to look after the englishman who had attacked and beaten their comrade. xi. after a few moments of breathless suspense, the officer enters--jones stands like a man about to struggle with adversity. xii. nevertheless he is arrested and marched off. xiii. robinson, in agony, calls for his coat and hat, "for," as he cried out to brown, "not a moment is to be lost in endeavouring to see the british minister." xiv. they gain an audience of his excellency the british minister, and ask his interference in behalf of a persecuted countryman. we are happy to add that the interference was quite successful. jones was liberated immediately, and shortly afterwards the british minister for foreign affairs, in a despatch to the german minister for the same, expressed his conviction that "the whole civilised world reprobated, with one voice, a system at once tyrannical and cruel, a remnant of the darkest ages of man's history, and utterly unworthy of the present era of progress and enlightenment." our friends were advised, however, to leave the country as soon and as quietly as possible. they departed accordingly. [baden to basle.] head-dresses of peasantry. a sketch on the road to basle. how brown and jones went in a third class carriage (robinson would not; it did not seem "respectable"), that they might see the natives, and how b. drew the portrait of one, to her evident dissatisfaction. the omnibus besieged and taken by storm. [basle.] "the height of the omnibusses is quite disgusting." --_extract from unpublished documents in possession of robinson, who himself fell in the mud, while climbing from the roof of one of those vehicles._ scene from the road, near basle. storks' nest, basle. [switzerland.] boat station on the lake of lucerne; as sketched by brown from the steamer. according to the guide-book, the paintings on the wall represent furst, stauffach, and melchthal, swearing to liberate their country; but jones said he believed them to be portraits of a medieval swiss brown, jones, and robinson, in the act of vowing eternal friendship. the safest way of coming down a mountain. "we got out of the diligence (at a time when it was obliged to go very slowly), in order to make an excursion on foot in search of the picturesque, being told that we might meet the carriage at a certain point, about a mile further on. we saw many magnificent views, and did a great deal of what might be called rough walking; but perhaps the thing that struck us most was, that on emerging at the appointed spot for rejoining the diligence, we beheld it a speck in the distance, just departing out of sight." --_extract from jones's journal._ the seven ages of robinson's beard. what are they to do now? descent of the st. gothard. having taken their places on the outside of the diligence, brown, jones, and robinson can the better enjoy the grandeur of the scenery. they see italy in the distance. a meeting on the mountain. pilgrims coming _down_ the "hill of difficulty." [italy.] breakfast at bellinzona. it was their first day in italy, and how they did enjoy it! the repast was served in a stone summer-house attached to the hotel. the sun was so bright, and so hot; the sky was so blue, the vegetation so green, the mountains so purple, the grapes so large, and everything so beautiful, that brown and jones both decided that the scene fully realised all their imaginings of italy. robinson was enthusiastic, too, at first, and was beginning to say something about "italia, o italia," when his eye lit upon a green lizard running up the wall. from that moment he was more subdued. how they got robinson up the hills. [italian lakes.] they land upon austrian territory en route for milan. while the "proper officer" takes possession of their passports, the whole available population pounces upon the luggage, and, after apportioning it into "small allotments," carries it off to the custom house. the official here is seen "pointing" on the scent (as he thinks) of contraband goods in one of robinson's portmanteaus. he did not "find," but in the hunt, tossed r.'s "things" dreadfully. brown revenged the wrongs of self and friends, by taking a full length, on the spot, of that imposing administrator, who stands over there, with the passports in his hand. "excelsior!" an italian view. "buon giorno." evening on the lago maggiore. "'knowest thou the land' where the grapes are as plentiful as blackberries in england; and where one has only to stop a minute at the roadside, and pull no end of 'em. o 'tis there! 'tis there! etc." --_robinson's letters to his kinsfolk._ marie. oh! marie of the lago d'orta, maid of the inn, and most beautiful of waitresses, how well do i remember thee! how graceful were all thy movements; what natural ease, together with what a dignified reserve; --how truly a lady wert thou! you did not know it, but when you waited upon us, i always felt inclined to jump up from my chair, and open the door for you-- to take the dishes from your hands, to ask you respectfully to be seated, to wait upon you in fact. and o! how i did detest that wicked old landlady, your mistress, who used to bully and scold you. and i wonder whether you remember me. --_from a ms., very rare, in possession of brown._ this picture represents brown as he appeared, his feelings being "too many for him," on hearing that elderly she-dragon, the landlady, venting her ill-humour upon the gentle marie. he stole out of the dining-room, looked over into the yard, and there beheld the furious old female shaking her fist, and pouring forth a torrent of abuse. brown was not naturally of a savage temperament, but at that moment he felt that he could have--but it is best not to say what he could have done--it was too terrible for publication in these pages. a boat at orta. a mountain walk. robinson, with warmth, and some distance behind,-- "what is the use of going on at that rate?" poor jones! who would have thought he could ever be tired! pleasant. the accident that befell robinson. --no. . the accident that befell robinson. --no. . [orta.] robinson retires for the night. to prevent anxiety, we had better state that he is tired--nothing else. "now do, robinson, jump up like a good fellow; we ought to be starting now--and think how pleasant it will be, once you are up!" [varallo.] the inn. how brown, returning from sketching, was beset by beggars in a lonely place. [milan.] they pay a visit to the marionette theatre. a snob they saw writing his name upon roof of milan cathedral. enlightened behaviour in a foreign church. we are happy to say, that b. j. and r. had no connection with the above party. robinson's determination to let his beard grow "naturally," had an absurd result, the hair growing in violent and abrupt crops in some places, and not at all in others; so that jones, who was sensitive about appearances, (and whose own moustache was doing beautifully,) insisted at last upon r.'s being shaved, which event accordingly took place in the city of milan. it was well that robinson consented, for the barber eyed him eagerly, and as if he would spring upon him and shave him by force. cafÉ milan.--sudden and unexpected arrival of distinguished foreigners. the moment we seated ourselves in a café, an awful group of beggars stood before us--so suddenly that they appeared to have come up through a trap-door--and demanded alms. they would not go without money, and when they got it they took it as a right. it would not do for one of us to "settle" with them for the whole party, for no sooner had i given them a coin than they turned to jones, and when done with him, coolly set upon robinson. the instant one tribe departed, a fresh relais arrived, so that there was a constant supply (of beggars) and demand (on our purses). no place seemed safe: in the most magnificent and luxuriously-decorated cafés they had perfect right of way, the contrast between the rich gilding, glass, fountains, etc., of the one, and the rags, dirt, and dramatically got-up horrors of the other being picturesque, but certainly not pleasant; and yet, as jones remarked, they say this country has not free institutions. [verona.] the amphitheatre, verona. jones asks robinson, whether he "sees before him the gladiator die?" but robinson maintains a dignified silence. austrian detective stops brown to examine his sketching stool. it puzzles him. there is an air of mystery about it. it might possibly be a weapon to be used for political purposes, or an infernal machine! who knows? on the whole, he thinks he had better detain it. scene--discovers brown sketching. enter the austrian army. they advance upon him, they think he is taking the fortifications. robinson, who is much given to quotation, is, at the very moment, languidly reciting the lines:-- "am i in italy? is this the mincius? and those the distant turrets of verona? and shall i sup where juliet at the masque saw her loved montague?" --etc., etc. not being familiar with the german, or the croatian language, brown is helpless. he protests his innocence, but the military don't understand him. they see treason in his hat, which is of an illegal shape, and they arrest him. jones and robinson appear, to the surprise of the military, and relief of brown. brown, quite resigned, walks quietly to meet his fate. jones plunges violently, but is finally overcome. robinson resists passively, and is accordingly dragged along. sketches found upon brown. they are brought before the governor. that is he seated at the table, the soldiers showing him the libellous representations of the croats found in brown's portfolio. the latter expects to be ordered for instant execution; but jones assumes an air of great dignity, and says, "_civis romanus sum_." the governor, field-marshal lieutenant count brown, of the imperial service, discovers in his prisoner a near relation of his own; and our friend is instantly locked in the embrace of that distinguished warrior. jones remarked "all's well that ends well;" and robinson, greatly relieved, broke out with:-- "thus may each" nephew "whom chance directs, find an" uncle "when he least expects." [venice.] examination of passports. hotel. modern venetian troubadours. an evening scene before the café florian, piazza san marco. brown at this period undertook, at the urgent request of jones and robinson, to settle the accounts of the party, which had become complicated owing to that perplexing "medium," to those unused to it, the austrian paper money. this is a faithful picture of the unfortunate man as he sat, in the solitude of his chamber, until a late hour of the night, drawing up the "financial" statement. robinson (_solo_). --"i stood in venice," etc.; jones and brown, having heard something like it before, have walked on a little way. _reflection made by brown._ --why do people when repeating poetry always look unhappy? enjoyment! a scene upon the grand canal. the theatre malibran. the entertainment commenced at p.m., and lasted till . it consisted of a melodrama, full of awful crimes, and the most pathetic sentiment. the audience, chiefly composed of "the people," was, from beginning to end, in an extraordinary state of excitement, fizzing, like the perpetual going off of soda-water. the theatre was lighted (?) by about four oil lamps; and such was the darkness, that our travellers--who may be seen, perhaps, through the "dim obscure," up in a private box--could scarcely discern anything but the white uniform and glittering bayonet of an austrian sentinel in the pit. [a night in venice.] brown retired to rest. misery. note.-- if the musquitos appear rather large in this and the following scenes, let it be remembered that in the "heroic" it was a principle of many of the great painters to exaggerate the "parts." desperation. momentary relief. madness! bell!! boots!! despair!!!! [venice.] the accademia. gondola on the lagoon. sentiment spoken by robinson, with marks of adhesion from brown and jones. "oh, if there be an elysium on earth, it is this, it is this!!" +the accademia.+ scene i. brown (soliloquy). --"this is pleasant! to be quite alone here (dab), surrounded by these magnificent works (dab, dab, dab), and everything so quiet too--nothing to disturb one." (dab) after a pause. "i wonder what jones and robinson are doing (dab, splash)--lying at full length in a gondola, i dare say--smoking (dab), i think i could spend my life in this place" (dab, dab). "it is difficult to say which is the greatest pleasure, (another dab,) copying these splendid pictures, or painting from nature, those beautiful blue skies and crumbling old picturesque palaces, outside." (sings) --"'how happy could i be with either.'" (prolonged pause, and great play with brush) --"oh! that sunset last evening! as we lay out in our gondola upon the perfectly calm waters, by the armenian convent, and watched the sun slowly going down behind the distant towers and spires of the 'city of the sea'--one mass of gold spreading all over the west!" *  * "oh! those clouds! (another pause) ah! that was happiness. one such hour is worth--let me see--how many years of one's life? *  * and yet this is--" scene ii. he is set upon and surrounded by an english family, and the following dialogue ensues:-- the mamma. --"what a delightful occupation, to be sure." young lady (in a whisper). --"he is copying the tintoret." youthful son and heir (with confidence). --"no, he ain't; he's doing that stunning big one with the rainbow, and three river gods." second young lady. --"it's sweetly pretty, isn't it!" papa (a british merchant, and of a practical turn). --"very good--v-e-r-y good. ahem! now i wonder what one could make a year by that kind of thing." young man (with glass in his eye). --"slow, i should think." at this point brown's attention was attracted to a scuffle going on behind him amongst the junior members of the party. two of the little innocents had taken a fancy to the same drawing (a copy of his favourite john bellino), and after a brief, but fierce struggle for possession, had settled the difficulty by tearing it in two. (party retires rather precipitately.) [trieste to vienna.] sketch made by brown at trieste. note.--if any one doubts the fact, jones and robinson are ready to make affidavit of it. robinson searched and indignant. such things never happen anywhere else. [vienna.] arrived at vienna, they visit the theatre. a gentleman there, unobtrusively pays them great attention. scene--shop, vienna. jones to brown-- "what do you say?" brown (who sees that robinson is bent upon making a "magnificent addition" to himself, and that it is useless to expostulate). --"oh, i think it is splendid; and if you will only appear in it in pall mall, when we get home again, you will make a sensation." they visit the picture galleries. that man in the doorway seems to take a great interest in their movements. the promenade. brown thinks it is the same man! what can he want? the public garden. there he was again! jones suggested that perhaps it was a government official, who took them for liberty, equality, and fraternity. no sooner did they take their places at the table d'hote to dine, than brown fell back in his chair. there could be no doubt about it--he was better dressed than before--but it was the same man! he must be a spy! jones at the opera abroad. how unlike jones at the opera at home. [vienna to prague.] "just ten minutes to dress, breakfast, and get to the train." [prague.] wallenstein's horse. "the head, neck, legs, and part of the body have been repaired--all the rest is the real horse." --_from speech of the young woman who showed the animal._ a "kneipe" at prague. robinson is so confused with rapid travelling, that he addresses a waiter in three languages at once. "kellner!-- mittags-essen pour trois-- presto presto-- and-- waiter!-- soda water-- col cognac-- geschwind!" table d'hote, prague. [prague to cologne.] "passports!" --"that's the sixth time we have been woke up," groaned robinson. [rhineland again.] dusseldorf. brown _loq._ --i have left my bag behind! minden. here is the bag. how brown was seated between two soldiers, and how they would examine each other's swords, and how those fearful weapons were flashing about, often within an inch of b.'s nose: and how (being of a mild and peaceful disposition), b. was kept thereby in a constant state of uneasiness. [belgium.] eye of the government; as kept upon the travellers, during their stay in the austrian dominions. --_drawn from the haunted imagination of brown._ their last repast in foreign parts. time and train wait for no man. articles purchased by robinson. . eau de cologne. . pipe; (never smoked.) . hat; (never worn, and found decidedly in the way.) . cigars; (stopped at custom house.) . tauchnitz editions; (also seized.) . cornet à pistons; (bought in germany with the intention of learning to play upon it some day.) . gloves; (purchased at venice, a great bargain, and found utterly worthless.) [old england.] +sic(k) transit+ +gloria mundi!+ * * * * * * * * * bradbury and evans, printers extraordinary to the queen, whitefriars. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * errors and iconsistencies (noted by transcriber): they both wore a perpetual grin and stare of surprise, [comma in original: error for period (full stop)?] . "conclude you go toe frankfort?" [text unchanged] an evening scene before the café florain [error for florian] if the musquitos appear rather large [variant spelling unchanged] +of the adventure that befel jones.+ the accident that befell robinson. [inconsistent spelling unchanged] images generously made available by internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/mrpunchawheelhum londuoft mr. punch awheel. the humours of motoring and cycling. illustration: mr punch awheel * * * * * punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. mr. punch awheel * * * * * illustration: _owner of violently palpitating motor car._ "there's no need to be alarmed. it will be all right as soon as i've discovered the what-d'ye-call-it!" * * * * * mr. punch awheel. the humours of motoring and cycling. as pictured by phil may, l. raven hill, bernard partridge, tom browne, a. s. boyd, h. m. brock, c. e. brock, gunning king, charles pears, g. d. armour, g. h. jalland, fred pegram, f. h. townsend, g. l. stampa, lance thackeray, and others. with illustrations published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated._ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children * * * * * editor's note. among the characteristics which are essentially british, is the tendency to receive almost any innovation, be it a new style of dress or a new method of locomotion, with some degree of distrust which shows itself in satirical criticism; to be followed soon after by the acceptance of the accomplished fact and complete approval. in this trait of our national character, as in all others, mr. punch proves himself a true born britisher. when the bicycle was first coming into popularity, he seemed rather to resent the innovation, and was more ready to see the less attractive side of cycling than its pleasures and its practical advantages. so, too, with the automobile. only recently has mr. punch shown some tendency to become himself an enthusiast of the whirling wheel. this diffidence in joining the ranks of the cyclists or the motorists is due entirely to mr. punch's goodness of heart and his genuine british love of liberty. the cycling scorcher and the motoring road-hog are two abominations which he most naturally holds in the greatest contempt. against them he is never tired of directing his most scathing satire; but while this is entirely praiseworthy it tends a little to give a false impression of his attitude towards two of the most delightful sports which modern ingenuity has invented. after all, the scorcher and the road-hog are the least representative followers of the sports which their conduct brings into question, and it is very easy to over-estimate their importance. for that reason, in the compiling of the present volume the editor has endeavoured to make a selection which will show mr. punch in his real attitude towards motoring and cycling, in which, of course, it is but natural and all to our delight that he should see chiefly their humours, so largely the result of misadventure. but as he has long since ceased to jibe at the lady who cycles or to regard male cyclists as "cads on castors,"--in the phrase of edmund yates,--and ceased also to view the motor car as an ingenious device for public slaughter, his adverse views have not in the present volume been unduly emphasised. * * * * * mr. punch awheel enterprising pro-motor. one of our special correspondents started out to try the effect of taking notes from his motor-car whilst proceeding at top-speed. the experiment took place in june; but we have only just received the following account of the result. "started away and turned on full head of smell--steam, i mean. over southwark bridge, fizz, kick, bang, rattle! flew along old kent road; knocked down two policemen on patrol duty ('knocked 'em in the old kent road'); fizzed on through new cross and lewisham at awful nerve-destroying, sobbing pace, 'toot toot-ing' horn all the way. no good, apparently, to some people, who would not, or possibly _could_ not, get out of the way. cannoned milk-cart entering eltham village, ran into 'bus, but shot off it again, at a tangent, up on to the footpath, frightening old lady into hysterics. onwards we went, leaping and flying past everything on the road, into open country. ran over dog and three chickens, and saw tandem horses take fright and bolt; dust flew, people yelled at us and we yelled at people. came round sharp corner on to donkey standing in road. 'boosted' him up into the air and saw him fall through roof of outhouse! whirr-r-up! bang! rattle! fizz-izz--bust!" "where am i?--oh, in hospital--oh, really?--seems nice clean sort of place.--how long----? oh, been here about six weeks--have i, really? and what----? oh, _both_ arms, you say?--and left leg? ah--by the way, do you know anyone who wants to buy a motor----? what, no motor left?--by jove! that's funny, isn't it?--well, i think i'll go to sleep again now." * * * * * _ethel_ (_with book_). "what's an autocrat, mabel?" _mabel._ "person who drives an auto-car, of course, silly." * * * * * the best lubricant for cycles.--castor oil. * * * * * illustration: "wouldn't yer like ter 'ave one o' them things, liza ann?" "no. i wouldn't be seen on one. i don't think they're nice for lidies!" * * * * * motor questions what rushes through the crowded street with whirring noise and throbbing beat, exhaling odours far from sweet? the motor-car. whose wheels o'er greasy asphalte skim, exacting toll of life and limb, (what is a corpse or so to _him_)? the motorist's. who flies before the oily gust wafted his way through whirling dust, and hopes the beastly thing will bust? the pedestrian. who thinks that it is scarcely fair to have to pay for road repair while sudden death lies lurking there? the ratepayer. who as the car goes whizzing past at such law-breaking stands aghast, (for forty miles an hour _is_ fast)? the policeman. who hears the case with bland surprise, and over human frailty sighs, the while he reads between the lies? the magistrate. * * * * * illustration: fickle fortune "and only yesterday i was fined five pounds for driving at excessive speed!" * * * * * illustration: in dorsetshire _fair cyclist._ "is this the way to wareham, please?" _native._ "yes, miss, yew seem to me to ha' got 'em on all right!" * * * * * so unselfish!--"oh yes, i gave my husband a motor-car on his birthday." "but i thought he didn't like motor-cars!" "he doesn't. but i _do_!" * * * * * _q._ why is the lady bikist of an amorous disposition? _a._ because she is a sigh-cling creature. * * * * * illustration: crowded out.--_stage-struck coster_ (_to his dark-coloured donkey_). "othello, othello, _your_ occupation 'll soon be gone!" * * * * * hints for biking beginners . insure your life and limbs. the former will benefit your relations, the latter yourself. . learn on a hired machine. the best plan is to borrow a machine from a friend. it saves hiring. should the tyre become punctured, the brake be broken, the bell cracked, the lamp missing, and the gear out of gear, you will return it as soon as possible, advising your friend to provide himself with a stronger one next time. . practise on some soft and smooth ground. for example, on a lawn; the one next door for choice. a muddy road, although sufficiently soft, is not recommended--the drawbacks are obvious. . choose a secluded place for practising. it may at first sight appear somewhat selfish to deprive your neighbours of a gratuitous performance which would be certain to amuse them. nevertheless, be firm. . get someone to hold you on. engage a friend in an interesting conversation while you mount your bicycle. do you remember _mr. winkle's_ dialogue with _sam weller_ when he attempted skating? you can model your conversation on this idea. friend will support you while you ride and talk. keep him at it. it will be excellent exercise for _him_, physically and morally. also economical for _you_; as, otherwise, you would have to pay a runner. . don't bike; trike. * * * * * a new terror.--_johnson._ hullo, thompson, you look peekish. what's wrong? _thompson._ the vibration of motor-carring has got on my liver. _johnson._ i see, automobilious! * * * * * on the brighton road.--_cyclist_ (_to owner of dog over which he has nearly ridden_). take your beast out of my way! what right has he here? _owner._ well, he pays seven and sixpence a year for the privilege of perambulation, and _you_ pay nothing! * * * * * the very oldest motor-car.--the whirligig of time. * * * * * illustration: "hi! whip behind!" "yah! 'e ain't got none!" * * * * * illustration: adding insult to injury.--_tramp photographer._ "now, sir, just as you are for a shillin'!" [_and little binks, who prides himself upon his motor driving, is trying his best to get his wife to promise not to tell anyone about the smash._] * * * * * a question of etiquette dear mr. punch,--knowing you to be a past master in the art of courtesy, i venture to submit the following hard case to your judgment. the other morning, being a none too experienced cyclist, i ventured into the park on my "wheel" at an early hour, thinking to have a little practice unobserved. judge of my horror when, as i was wobbling along, i was suddenly confronted by the duchess of xminster and her daughters, all expert riders! her grace and the ladies wiseacre bowed to me in the most affable way, but, afraid to leave go of the handles of my machine, i could only nod in return. and i have always been renowned for the elegance with which i remove my _chapeau_! these noble ladies have since cut me dead. i cannot blame them, but i venture to suggest, for your approval, that the raising of the right elbow, such as is practised by coachmen, gentle and simple, should be adopted by all cyclists. i think that i could manage the movement. yours in social despair, amelius ambergris _bayswater._ * * * * * illustration: _cow-boy_ (_to young lady who has taken refuge_). "would you mind openin' the gate, miss? they're a-comin' in there." * * * * * an admirable improvement in motor-cars is about to be introduced by one of our leading firms. cars are frequently overturned, and the occupants buried underneath. in future, on the bottom of every car made by the firm in question there will be engraved the words, "here lies----," followed by a blank space, which can be filled up by the purchaser. * * * * * _he._ "do you belong to the psychical society?" _she._ "no; but i sometimes go out on my brother's machine!" * * * * * illustration: wheel and woe.--a brooklyn inventor has patented a cycle-hearse. * * * * * illustration: unlicensed pedallers.--cyclists. * * * * * to marie, riding my bicycle brake, brake, brake on my brand-new tyre, marie! and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me. o well for the fishmonger's boy that his tricycle's mean and squalid; o well for the butcher lad that the tyres of his wheel are solid! and the reckless scorchers scorch with hanging purple heads, but o for the tube that is busted up and the tyre that is cut to shreds. brake, brake, brake-- thou hast broken indeed, marie, and the rounded form of my new dunlop will never come back to me. * * * * * a suggestion in nomenclature.--the old name of "turnpike roads" has, long ago, with the almost universal disappearance of the ancient turnpikes, become obsolete. nowadays, bicycles being "always with us," why not for "turnpike roads" substitute "turn-bike roads"? this ought to suit the "b. b. p.," or "bicycling british public." * * * * * illustration: "oh, did you see a gentleman on a bicycle as you came up?" "no; but i saw a man sitting at the bottom of the hill mending an old umbrella!" * * * * * that bicycle lamp the other sunday afternoon i rode over on my bicycle to see the robinsons. they live seven miles away. tomkins and others were there. people who live in remote country places always seem pleased to see a fellow creature, but robinson and his wife are unusually hospitable and good-natured. after i had had some tea, and thought of leaving, a hobnail was discovered in the tyre of tomkin's bicycle. he, being very athletic, was playing croquet, a game which requires vast muscular strength. however, he said that his tyres were something quite new, and that in one minute one man, or even one child, could stick one postage-stamp, or anything of the sort, over that puncture and mend it. so all the rest of us and the butler, principally the butler, who is an expert in bicycles, went at it vigorously, and after we had all worked for nearly an hour the tyre was patched up, and tomkins, having finished his game, rode coolly away. i was going to do the same, but robinson wouldn't hear of it--i must stay to dinner. i said i had no lamp for riding home in the dark. he would lend me his. i said i should have to dine in knickerbockers. that didn't matter in the country. so i stayed till . . the next sunday i rode over again. i started directly after lunch, lest i should seem to have come to dinner, and i gave the butler that lamp directly i arrived. but it was all no good, for i stayed till , and had to borrow it again. "bring it back to-morrow morning," said robinson, "and help us with our hay-making." again dined in knickerbockers. on monday i resolved to be firm. i would leave by daylight. rode over early. after some indifferent hay-making and some excellent lunch, i tried to start. no good. robinson carried me off to a neighbour's tennis-party. after we returned from that, he said i must have some dinner. couldn't ride home all those seven miles starving. knickerbockers didn't matter. again dined there and rode home at . . so i still have robinson's lamp. now i want to know how i am going to get it back to his house. if i have it taken by anybody else he will think i don't care to come, which would be quite a mistake. have vowed that i will not dine there again except in proper clothes. if i cross his hospitable threshold, even before breakfast, i shall never get away before bedtime. can't ride seven miles in evening dress before breakfast even in the country. besides, whatever clothes i wore, i should never be able to leave by daylight. i should still have his lamp. can't take a second lamp. would look like inviting myself to dinner. so would the evening clothes at breakfast. what is to be done? * * * * * illustration: the retort curteous.--_motorist_ (_cheerfully--to fellow-guest in house party_). "what luck? killed anything?" _angler_ (_bitterly_). "no. have you?" * * * * * illustration: _vicar's daughter._ "oh, withers, your mistress tells me you are saving up to take a little shop and look after your mother. i think it is such a sweet idea!" _withers._ "well, yes, miss, i did think of it; but now i've got the money i've changed my mind, and i'm going to buy myself one of these 'ere bicycles instead!" * * * * * illustration: a story without words * * * * * illustration: the inference.--_giles_ (_who has been rendering "first aid" to wrecked motor-cyclist_). "naw, marm, i doan't think as 'e be a married man, 'cos 'e says _this_ be the worst thing wot 'as ever 'appened to un!" * * * * * illustration: saving the situation _effie_ (_to whom a motor-brougham is quite a novelty_). "oh, mummy dear, look! there's a footman and a big coachman on the box, and there isn't a horse or even a pony! what _are_ they there for?" _mummy dear_ (_not well versed in electricity and motor-mechanism_). "well, you see, effie dear--the--(_by a happy inspiration_) but, dear, you're not old enough to understand." * * * * * the _daily mail_ has discovered that the "motor-cough" is "caused by the minute particles of dust raised by motor-cars which lodge themselves in the laryngeal passage." if people _will_ use their gullets as garages, what can they expect? * * * * * illustration: _horsey wag_ (_to mr. and mrs. tourey, who are walking up a hill_). "and do you always take your cycles with you when you go for a walk?" * * * * * in east dorsetshire.--_cyclist (to native)._ how many miles am i from wimborne? _native._ i dunno. _cyclist._ am i near blandford? _native._ i dunno. _cyclist (angrily)._ then what do you know? _native._ i dunno. [_cyclist speeds to no man's land in the new forest._ * * * * * our barterers bicycle.--thoroughly heavy, lumbering, out-of-date machine, recently doctored up to look like new, for sale. cost, second-hand, six years ago, £ . will take £ for it. bargain. would suit a dyspeptic giant, or a professional strong man in want of violent exercise. safety cycle.--pneumatic tyres. a real beauty. makers well known in bankruptcy court. owner giving up riding in consequence of the frame being thoroughly unsafe, and the tyres constantly bursting. would exchange for one of broadwood's grand pianos or a freehold house in the country. * * * * * illustration: the ? of the day.--should there be a speed (and dust) limit? * * * * * the queen's highway.--_infuriated cyclist_ (_after a collision with a fast-trotting dog-cart_). i shall summon you to-morrow! i've as much right on the road as you, jehu! _irate driver._ and i shall summon _you_! this thoroughfare's mine as well as yours, let me tell you, scorcher! _pedestrian_ (_who has been nearly killed by the collision, and is lying prostrate after being cannoned on to the path, very feebly_). and what about me, gentlemen? have i any right of way? * * * * * the constant strain of driving motor-cars is said to be responsible for a form of nervous break-down which shows a decided tendency to increase. one certainly comes across a number of cars afflicted in this way. * * * * * "pikes and bikes" (_by a "riding poet"_) in years gone by our sires would try to abrogate the highway "pikes." no tolls to-day, can bar the way, but freeing of the road brought "bikes"; and there are many northern tykes, who would prefer the "pikes" to "bikes." * * * * * illustration: _old lady_ (_describing a cycling accident_). "'e 'elped me hup, an' brushed the dust orf on me, an' put five shillin' in my 'and, an' so i says, 'well, sir, i'm sure you're _hactin'_ like a gentleman,' i says, 'though i don't suppose you are one,' i says." * * * * * a motor-car, proceeding along the high street the other evening, took fright, it is supposed, at a constable on point-to-point duty, and exploded, blowing the occupants in various directions over the adjoining buildings. the policeman is to be congratulated upon averting what might have been a serious accident. * * * * * a well-known motorist has been complaining of the campaign waged against motor-cars by humorous artists, who never seem to tire of depicting accidents. "one common and ludicrous error in many drawings," he said, "is the placing of the driver on the wrong side of the car." but surely, in an accident, that is just where he would find himself. * * * * * _sympathetic lady._ "i hope you had a good holiday, miss smith." _overworked dressmaker._ "oh yes, my lady. i took my machine with me, you know!" _s. l._ "what a pity; you should give up needle and thread when you're out for a----" _o. d._ "oh, i don't mean my sewing machine! i refer to my bicycle!" * * * * * illustration: scene--_a remote district in the wolds._ _driver of motor-car_ (_who has just pulled up in response to urgent summons from countrywoman_). "well, what's the matter? what is it?" _countrywoman._ "hi, man, look! you've been an' left yer 'oss on the 'ill!" * * * * * the cycling governess i no longer teach my classes their shakespeare and the glasses, and the uses of the globes, as was my custom; but all they'll learn from me is to ride the iron gee-- all other lessons utterly disgust 'em! the girls no more will meddle with the painful piano-pedal, they'll only touch the pedal of their "humber"; like their grannies, they begin at an early age to "spin," but the road it is their spinning-wheels encumber. so wheeling now my trade is, and finishing young ladies in the proper kind of bicycling deportment; _i_'m nearly finished, too, and battered black and blue, for of falls i've had a pretty large assortment! * * * * * woe on the wheel. there was a "scorching" girl, who came down an awful purl, and scarified her nose, and scarred her forehead. she thought, when first she rode, biking very, _very_ good, but now she considers it horrid! * * * * * illustration: _winny_ (_one mile an hour_) _to annie_ (_two miles an hour_). "scorcher!" * * * * * the favourite of the motor-cars.--_pet_roleum. * * * * * in england, says a french writer, motoring is not considered a sport because it does not involve killing anything. this is but one more example of continental aspersion. * * * * * as a result of his trip over the gordon-bennett course, the roman catholic archbishop of dublin now recommends the motor-car for pastoral visits. this will be no new thing. for years past some people have looked on the motor-car in the light of a visitation. * * * * * cycling conundrum.--_q._ what article of the cyclist girl's attire do a couple of careless barbers recall to mind? _a._ a pair of nickers. * * * * * motorists are still expressing their indignation at a recent disgraceful incident when one of their number, because he could not pay a fine at once, was taken to prison, and forced to don ugly convict garb in the place of his becoming goggles and motor coat. * * * * * illustration: _engineer._ "there's certainly a screw loose somewhere." _simple simon_ (_with gleeful satisfaction_). "he-he! i knaws where 't be too!" _car owner_ (_intensely interested_). "what do you mean, boy?" _simple simon._ "he-he! why i've got 'un! all the folks say as 'ow i've got a screw loose somewheres!" * * * * * wheels within wheels _dialogue between two young gentlemen, dressed in knickerbocker suits, gaiters, and golf caps. they have the indescribable air which proclaims the votary of the "bike"._ _first young gentleman._ yes; i certainly agree with the french view of it. cycling shouldn't be indulged in without care. _second y. g._ they say in paris that no one should become an habitual cyclist without "medical authorisation." _first y. g._ yes. quite right. then, when you are permitted, you ought to travel at a moderate pace. about five miles an hour is quite enough for a beginner. _second y. g._ enough! why, too much! you can't be too careful! then, if you break off for a time, you ought to begin all over again. you should "gradually acquire speed"; not rush at it! _first y. g._ certainly. i read in the _lancet_ only the other day that merely increasing the pace of a bike a couple of miles an hour was sufficient to send up the normal pulse to ! _second y. g._ most alarming! and yet i can see from your costume you are a cyclist. _first y. g._ not at all. i am pleased with the costume, and, like yourself, have adopted it. now do not laugh at me. but, between ourselves, i have never been on a bicycle in my life! _second y. g._ no more have i! [_curtain._ * * * * * illustration: "enough is as good as a feast."--_nervous lady cyclist._ "i hope it isn't very deep here." _ferryman._ "sax hunderd an' fefty-nine feet, miss." * * * * * the provincial journal which, the other day, published the following paragraph:--"private letters from madagascar state that two cyclists have visited the island, causing the loss of lives and immense damage to property," and followed it up with a leader virulently attacking motor-cyclists, now informs us that the word should have been "cyclones." the printer has been warned. * * * * * "anti-motor" writes to point out that one advantage of holding motor races like those that have just taken place in ireland is that after each race there are fewer motors. * * * * * the trail of the motor.--"collector. young man wants collecting."--_advt. in provincial paper._ * * * * * illustration: _old farmer jones_ (_who has been to a local cattle-show, and seen a horseless carriage for the first time_). "mosher carsh may be all very well--(_hic!_)--but they can't find 'er way home by 'emshelves!" * * * * * should motorists wear masks? ["plus de lunettes spéciales pour mm. les chauffeurs. ils devront conduire comme les cochers ordinaires à yeux nus ou avec les lunettes ordinaires de myopes ou de presbytes. nos sportsmen déclarent que ces lunettes de motoristes favorisent l'anonymat. ces lunettes sont de véritables masques. on fait sous ce masque ce qu'on n'oserait pas faire à visage découvert. en france il est défendu de se masquer en dehors du temps de carnaval ... si le masque tombe, la vitesse des motors deviendra fatalement normale."--_m. n. de noduwez in the "times."_] mr. punch has collected a few brief opinions upon the subject of the above-quoted letter. mr. kipling writes: "through dirt, sweat, burns, bursts, smells, bumps, breakdowns, and explosions i have attained to the perfect joy of the scorcher. i have suffered much on the southern british highways. my tibetan devil-mask shall therefore add to their terrors. besides, i wore gig-lamps at school. what do they know of sussex who only burwash know?" mr. beerbohm tree telephones: "the most beautiful of all arts is that of make-up. we cannot all resemble _caliban_, but why should not the motorist aspire in that direction? life is but a masque, and all roads lead to 'his majesty's.'" miss marie corelli telegraphs: "i am all for anonymity and everything that tends to the avoidance of advertisement. if people must ride in motors, let them have the decency to disguise themselves as effectually as possible, and shun all contact with their kind." mr. jem smith, cabdriver, in the course of an interview, said: "masks? not 'arf! let 'em out on the fifth of november, and throw a match in their oil-tanks--that's what _i_'d do! _i_'d anonymous the lot of 'em!" policeman xx. (in the _rôle_ of a labourer behind a hedge on the brighton road): "'oo are you a-gettin' at? do you see any mote in my eye? if you want to know the time, i've a stop-watch!" * * * * * illustration: division of labour.--it is not the business of ducal footmen to clean the family bicycles. the ladies ermyntrude and adelgitha have to do it themselves. * * * * * _enthusiastic motorist_ (_to perfect stranger_). _i_ swear by petrol, sir; always use it myself. now what, may i ask, do _you_ use? _perfect stranger._ oats! * * * * * illustration: juggernautical.--_unfortunate cyclist_ (_who has been bowled over by motor-car_). "did you see the number?" _jarge._ "yes, there was three on 'em. two men and a woman." * * * * * illustration: expectation.--the browns welcoming the robinsons (awfully jolly people, don't you know,) from whom they have had a letter saying that they will arrive early in the day by motor. * * * illustration: realisation.--the browns, when the arrivals have removed their motor glasses, etc., disclosing not the robinsons, but those awful bores, the smiths. * * * * * there was a new woman (_neo-nursery rhyme_) there was a new woman, as i've heard tell, and she rode a bike with a horrible bell, she rode a bike in a masculine way, and she had a spill on the queen's highway. while she lay stunned, up came doctor stout, and he cast a petticoat her "knickers" about, to hide the striped horrors which bagged at the knees. when the new woman woke, she felt strange and ill at ease; she began to wonder those skirts for to spy, and cried, "oh, goodness gracious! i'm sure this isn't i! but if it is i, as i hope it be, i know a little vulgar boy, and he knows me; and if it is i, he will jeer and rail, but if it isn't i, why, to notice me he'll fail." so off scorched the new woman, all in the dark, but as the little vulgar boy her knickers failed to mark, he was quite polite, and she began to cry, "oh! jimmy doesn't cheek me, so i'm sure this _isn't_ i!" * * * * * the pace that kills have a care how you speed! take the motorist's case:-- on his tomb you can read, "requiescat in pace." * * * * * illustration: life's little ironies.-- _motorist._ "conductor! how can i strike the harrow road?" _conductor._ "'arrer road? let's see. second to right, third to--it's a good way, sir. i tell 'ee, sir. just follow that green bus over there; that'll take you right to it!" * * * * * wonders on wheels (_by an old beginner_) wonder if my doctor was right in ordering me to take this sort of exercise. wonder whether i look very absurd while accepting the assistance of an attendant who walks by my side and keeps me from falling by clutches at my waistbelt. wonder whether it would have been better to go to hyde park instead of battersea. wonder whether the policeman, the postman, the nurse with the perambulator, the young lady reading the novel, and the deck passengers on the passing steamboat are laughing at me. wonder whether i shall keep on now that my attendant has let go. wonder whether the leading wheel will keep straight on until we have passed that lamp-post. wonder whether the next spill i have will be less painful than the last. wonder why mats are not laid down by the county council in the roads for the comfort of falling cyclists. wonder why the cycle suddenly doubled up and landed me in the gutter. wonder whether the pretty girl in the hat, whose face is hidden by a novel, smiled at my misadventure. wonder whether the person who has just come to grief over yonder is using good language or words of an inferior quality. wonder whether my attendant is right in urging me to remount and have another try. wonder whether i look well wobbling. wonder whether the elderly spinster with the anxious manner and air of determination is really enjoying herself. wonder whether, when i have completed my first hour, i shall want another. wonder whether the imp of a boy will run with me. wonder whether my second fall in five minutes beats the record. wonder, considering the difficulty of progressing half a dozen paces in as many minutes, how those marvellous feats are performed at olympia. wonder if i shall ever advance upon my present rate of speed, _i.e._, three-quarters of a mile an hour. wonder, finally, if the placards warning cyclists in battersea park against the dangers of "furious riding" can possibly be posted for my edification. * * * * * the scorcher he travels along at the top of his speed, you might think that his life was at stake; to beauties of nature he never pays heed, for the record he's trying to break. he stiffens his muscles and arches his back as if he were still on the cinder-path track. he races regardless of life and of limb, caring naught for the folk in his way; for chickens and children are nothing to him, and his mad career nothing can stay; so wildly he wheels as if urged by a goad; by coachmen he's christened "the curse of the road." he'll pass on the left and he'll ride on the right, for the rules of the road caring naught; his lamp he will not take the trouble to light till a pretty smart lesson he's taught. but lecture and fine him as much as you will, the trail of the scorcher is over him still. * * * * * rhyme for record-makers rattle-it, rattle-it, "biking" man; make us a "record" as fast as you can; score it, and print it as large as life, and someone will "cut" it ere you can say knife! * * * * * illustration: unwilling to give up horses altogether, captain pelham effected a compromise. his first appearance in the park created quite a sensation. * * * * * illustration: flattery--with an object _jocasta_ (_with an axe of her own to grind, ingratiatingly_). "oh yes, papa, it does suit you. i never saw you look so nice in anything before!" * * * * * illustration: mems for motorists.--if your car suddenly appears to drag heavily, you may be sure there is something to account for it. * * * * * illustration: "have you ever tried riding without the handles? it's delightfully easy, all but the corners." * * * illustration: !!! so it seems! * * * * * broken on the wheel _first lesson._--held on by instructor, a tall, muscular young man. thought it was so easy. cling for dear life to handle, as beginners in horsemanship cling to the reins. instructor says i must not. evidently cannot hold on by my knees. ask him what i am to hold on by. "nothing," he says. how awful! feel suspended in the air. that is what i ought to be. at present am more on ground; anyway one foot down. even when in movement position of feet uncertain. go a few yards, supported. muscular instructor rather hot and tired, but says civilly, "you're getting on nicely, sir." at this get off unexpectedly, and, when i am picked up, reply, "very likely," only my feet were off the pedals all the time. then rest, and watch little children riding easily. one pretty girl. wonder whether she laughed at me. probably. shall have another try. _second lesson._--held on by another instructor, who urges me "to put more life into it." hope it won't be the death of me. work in a manner which even the treadmill, i imagine, could not necessitate, and get the wheel round a few times. painful wobbling. instructor says i must pedal more quickly. can't. rest a minute. panting. awfully hot. observe little children going round comfortably. pretty girl here again, looking as fresh and cool as possible. suddenly manage to ride three yards unsupported. then collapse. but am progressing. shall come again soon. _third lesson._--endeavour to get on alone. immediately get off on other side. nearly upset the pretty girl. polite self-effacement impossible when one is at the mercy of a mere machine. after a time manage better. and at last get started and ride alone for short distances. always tumble off ignominiously just as i meet the pretty girl. instructor urges me to break the record. hope i shan't break my neck. finally go all round the ground. triumph! pretty girl seems less inclined to laugh. delightful exercise, bicycle riding! shall come again to-morrow. _fourth lesson._--high north-east wind. hot sun. regular may weather. clouds of coal-dust from track. pretty girl not there at all. start confidently. endeavour to knock down a wall. wall does not suffer much. start again. faster this time. the pretty girl has just come. will show what i can do now. career over large hole. bicycle sinks, and then takes a mighty leap. unprepared for this. am cast into the air. picked up. can't stand. something broken. doctor will say what. anyhow, clothes torn, bruised, disheartened. dare not catch the eye of pretty girl. carried home. shall give up bicycle riding. awful fag, and no fun. * * * * * in its "hints for bicyclists," _home chat_ says: "a little fuller's earth dusted inside the stockings, socks and gloves, keeps the feet cool." nothing, however, is said of the use of rubber soles as a protection against sunstroke. * * * * * overheard at a motor meeting.-- _inquirer._ "i wonder what they call those large, long cars?" _well-informed friend._ "those? oh, i believe those are the flying kilometres, a french make." * * * * * people who are in favour of increasing the rates--motorists. * * * * * illustration: the perils of cycling.--(_a sketch in battersea park._) _angelina._ "come along, dear!" * * * * * illustration: motoring phenomena--and how to read the signs * * * * * illustration: _the squire._ "but i tell you, sir, this road is private, and you shall not pass except over my prostrate body!" _cyclist._ "all right, guv'nor, i'll go back. i've done enough hill climbing already!" * * * * * the moral bike _truth_ has discovered that temperance is promoted, and character generally reformed, by the agency of the bicycle--in fact, the guilty class has taken to cycling. that is so. go into any police-court, and you will find culprits in the dock who have not only taken to cycling but have also taken other people's cycles. ask any burglar among your acquaintance, and he will tell you that the term safety bicycle has a deeper and truer meaning for him, when, in pursuit of his vocation, he is anxious not to come in collision with the police. look, too, at the scorcher on his saturday afternoon exodus. where could you have a more salient and striking example of pushfulness and determination to "get there" over all obstacles? he is, in fact, an example of nietzsche's "ueber-mensch," the over-man who rides over any elderly pedestrian or negligible infant that may cross his path. then the lady in bloomers. she is a great reforming agent. she looks so unsightly, that if all her sisters were dressed like her flirtation would die out of the land and there would be no more cakes and ale. think also of all the virtues called into active exercise by one simple puncture: patience, while you spend an hour by the wayside five miles from anywhere; self-control, when "swears, idle swears, you know not what they mean, swears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the lips," as tennyson has so sympathetically put it; fortitude, when you have to shoulder or push the moral agent home; and a lot of other copy-book qualities. lastly, the adventurer who proceeds without a light within curfew hours, the sportsman who steals a march on the side-walk, and the novice who tries a fall with the first omnibus encountered--are all bright instances of british independence, and witnesses to _truth_. truly, the bike is an excellent substitute for the treadmill and the reformatory! * * * * * illustration: "as others see us."-- _obliging motorist._ "shall i stop the engine?" _groom._ "never mind that, sir. but if you gents wouldn't mind just gettin' out and 'idin' behind the car for a minute,--the 'orses think it's a menagery comin'." * * * * * illustration: the miltonic cyclist * * * * * wake up, england! ["british lady motor-drivers," says _motoring illustrated_, "must look to their laurels. miss rosamund dixey, of boston, u.s.a., invariably has her sweet, pet, fat, white pig sitting up beside her in the front of her motor car."] we are losing our great reputation our women are not up-to-date; for a younger, more go-a-head nation has beaten us badly of late; is there nowhere some fair englishwoman who'd think it not too _infra dig._ to be seen with (and treat it as human) a sweet--pet--fat--white--pig? there is no need to copy our cousins, a visit or two to the zoo will convince you there must be some dozens of animal pets that would do, with a "grizzly" perched up in your motor, just think how the people would stare, saying, "is that a man in a coat or a big--grey--tame--he--bear?" think how _chic_ it would look in the paper (_society's doings_, we'll say), "mrs. so-and-so drove with her tapir, and daughter (the tapir's) to-day. mrs. thingummy too and her sister drove out for an hour and a half, and beside them (the image of mr.) a dear--wee--pink--pet--calf!" * * * * * illustration: "did you get his number?" "no; but i saw exactly what she was wearing and how much she paid for the things!" * * * * * the motors' defence union a pedestrians' protection league is being formed to uphold the rights of foot-passengers on the highways. as no bane is without its antidote, an opposition union is to be organised, having in view the adoption of the following regulations:-- . every pedestrian must carry on his front and back a large and conspicuous number as a means of easy and rapid identification. . no foot passenger shall quit the side-walk, except at certain authorised crossings. in country lanes and places where there is no side-walk the ditch shall be considered equivalent to the same. . each foot-passenger about to make use of such authorised crossings shall thrice sound a danger-signal on a hooter, fog-horn or megaphone; and, after due warning has thus been given, shall traverse the road at a speed of not less than twelve miles an hour. the penalty for infringement to be forty shillings or one month. . any pedestrian obstructing a motor by being run over, causing a motor to slow down or stop, or otherwise deranging the traffic, shall be summarily dealt with: the punishment for this offence to be five years' penal servitude, dating from arrest or release from hospital, as the case may be. . should the pedestrian thus trespassing on the highway lose his life in an encounter with a motor-car, he shall not be liable to penal servitude; compensation for shock and loss of time, however, shall be paid from his estate to the driver of the car, such amount being taxed by the coroner. . all cattle, sheep, pigs, swine, hares, rabbits, conies, and other ground game, and every goose, duck, fowl, or any animal whatsoever with which the motor shall collide shall, _ipso facto_, be confiscated to the owner of the motor. . any comment, remark, reflection, sneer or innuendo concerning the shape, speed, appearance, noise, smell, or other attribute of a motor-car, or of its occupants, shall be actionable; and every foot-passenger thus offending shall be bound over in the sum of £ to keep the peace. * * * * * the scotchman who tumbled off a bicycle says that in future he intends to "let wheel alone." * * * * * illustration: _mabel's three bosom friends_ (_all experts--who have run round to see the christmas gift_). "hullo, mab!. why, what on earth are you doing?" _mab_ (_in gasps_). "oh--you see--it was awfully kind of the pater to give it to me--but i have to look after it myself--and i knew i should _never have breath enough to blow the tyres out_!" * * * * * illustration: an accommodating party.--_lady driver._ "can you show us the way to great missenden, please?" _weary willie._ "cert'nly, miss, cert'nly. we're agoin' that way. 'op up, joe. anythink to oblige a lady!" * * * * * among the correspondence in the _daily mail_ on the subject of "the motor problem," there is a letter from a physician, who exposes very cynically a scheme for improving his practice. "i am," he says, "a country doctor, and during the last five years have had not a single case of accident to pedestrians caused by motor car.... as soon as i can afford it i intend to buy a motor." * * * * * illustration: how not _bikist._ "now then, ethel, see me make a spurt round this corner." * * * illustration: to do it _first villager._ "what's up, bill?" _second villager._ "oh, only a gent awashin' the dust off his bike." * * * * * it is a bad workman who complains of his tools, yet even the best of them may be justly annoyed when his spanner goes completely off its nut. * * * * * "motor cycle for sale, - / h.-p., equal to - / h.-p." _--provincial paper._ discount of / h.-p. for cash? * * * * * song of the scorcher. (_after reading the protests and plans of the cyclophobists_) i know i'm a "scorcher," i know i am torcher to buffers and mivvies who're not up to date; but grumpy old geesers, and wobbly old wheezers, ain't goin' to wipe me and my wheel orf the slate. i mean to go spinning and 'owling and grinning at twelve mile an hour through the thick of the throng. and shout, without stopping, whilst, frightened and flopping, my elderly victims like ninepins are dropping,-- "so long!" the elderly bobby, who's stuffy and cobby, ain't got arf a chance with a scorcher on wheels; old buffers may bellow, and young gals turn yellow, but what do i care for their grunts or their squeals? no, when they go squiffy i'm off in a jiffy, the much-abused "scorcher" is still going strong. and when mugs would meddle, i shout as i pedal-- "so long!" wot are these fine capers perposed by the papers? these 'ints about lassos and butterfly nets? to turn scorcher-catchers the old pewter-snatchers in 'elmets must take fewer stodges and wets! wot, treat _hus_ like bufflers or beetles! the scufflers in soft, silent shoes, turn red injins? you're wrong! it's all bosh and bubble! i'm orf--at the double!-- "so long!" * * * * * illustration: _owner_ (_as the car insists upon backing into a dike_). "don't be alarmed! keep cool! try and keep cool!" [_friend thinks there is every probability of their keeping very cool, whether they try to or not!_ * * * * * illustration: _village constable_ (_to villager who has been knocked down by passing motor cyclist_). "you didn't see the number, but could you swear to the man?" _villager._ "i did; but i don't think 'e 'eard me." * * * * * illustration: the joys of motoring.--no, this is not a dreadful accident. he is simply tightening a nut or something, and she is hoping he won't be much longer. * * * * * suggested additional taxation _£_ _s._ _d._ for every motor car if with smell extra offensive ditto motor car proceeding at over ten miles an hour, for each additional mile for every bicycle used for "scorching" * * * * * the original classical bicyclist.--"ixion; or, the man on the wheel." * * * * * my steam motor-car ( ) monday.--i buy a beautiful steam motor-car. am photographed. ( ) tuesday.--i take it out. pull the wrong lever, and back into a shop window. a bad start. ( ) wednesday morning.--a few things i ran over. ( ) wednesday afternoon.--took too sharp a turn. narrowly escaped knocking down policeman at the corner. ran over both his feet. ( ) thursday morning.--got stuck in a ditch four miles from home. ( ) thursday evening.--arrive home. back the car into the shed. miss the door and knock the shed down. ( ) friday.--ran over my neighbour's dog. ( ) saturday.--silly car breaks down three miles from home. hire a horse to tow it back. ( ) sunday.--filling up. petrol tank caught fire. wretched thing burnt. thank goodness! * * * illustration: my steam motor-car * * * * * modern romance of the road ["it is said that the perpetrators of a recent burglary got clear away with their booty by the help of an automobile. at this rate we may expect to be attacked, ere long, by automobilist highwaymen."--_paris correspondent of daily paper._] it was midnight. the wind howled drearily over the lonely heath; the moon shone fitfully through the driving clouds. by its gleam an observer might have noted a solitary automobile painfully jolting along the rough road that lay across the common. its speed, as carefully noted by an intelligent constable half-an-hour earlier, was . miles an hour. to the ordinary observer it would appear somewhat less. two figures might have been descried on the machine; the one the gallant hubert de fitztompkyns, the other lady clarabella, his young and lovely bride. clarabella shivered, and drew her sables more closely around her. "i am frightened," she murmured. "it is so dark and cold, hubert, and this is a well-known place for highwaymen! suppose we should be attacked?" "pooh!" replied her husband, deftly manipulating the oil-can. "who should attack us when 'tis common talk that you pawned your diamonds a month ago? besides, we have a swivel-mounted maxim on our machine. ill would it fare with the rogue who--heavens! what was that?" from the far distance sounded a weird, unearthly noise, growing clearer and louder even as hubert and his wife listened. it was the whistle of another automobile! in a moment hubert had turned on the acetylene search-light, and gazed with straining eyes down the road behind him. then he turned to his wife. "'tis cutthroat giving us chase," he said simply. "pass the cordite cartridges, please." lady clarabella grew deathly pale. "i don't know where they are!" she gasped. "i think--i think i must have left them on my dressing-table." "then we are lost. cutthroat is mounted on his bony black jet, which covers a mile a minute--and he is the most blood-thirsty ruffian on the road. shut off steam, clarabella! we can but yield." "never!" cried his wife. "here, give me the lever; we are nearly at the top of this tremendously steep hill--we will foil him yet!" hubert was too much astonished to speak. by terrific efforts the gallant automobile arrived at the summit, when clarabella applied the brake. then she gazed down the narrow road behind her. "take the starting-lever, hubert," she said, "and do as i tell you." ever louder sounded the clatter of their pursuer's machine; at last its head-light showed in the distance, as with greatly diminished speed it began to climb the hill. "now!" shrieked clarabella. "full speed astern, hubert! let her go!" the automobile went backwards down the hill like a flash of lightning. cutthroat had barely time to realise what was happening before it was upon him. too late he tried to steer black jet out of the way. there was a yell, a sound of crashing steel, a cloud of steam. when it cleared away, it revealed hubert and clarabella still seated on their machine, which was only slightly damaged, while cutthroat and black jet were knocked into countless atoms! * * * * * illustration: great self-restraint.--_lady in pony-cart_ (_who has made several unsuccessful attempts to pass persevering beginner occupying the whole road_). "unless you soon fall off, i'm afraid i shall miss my train!" * * * * * illustration: "these trailers are splendid things! you must really get one and take me out, percy!" * * * * * illustration: the rival forces. (scene--_lonely yorkshire moor. miles from anywhere._) _passing horse-dealer_ (_who has been asked for a tow by owners of broken-down motor-car_). "is it easy to pull?" _motorist._ "oh yes. very light indeed!" _horse-dealer._ "then supposin' you pull it yourselves!" [_drives off._ * * * * * illustration: _the owner_ (_after five breakdowns and a spill_). "are y-you k-keen on r-riding home?" _his friend._ "n-not very." _the owner._ "l-let's l-leave it a-and _walk_, s-shall we?" * * * * * illustration: sunday morning.-- _cyclist_ (_to rural policeman_). "nice crowd out this morning!" _rural policeman_ (_who has received a tip_). "yes, an' yer can't do with 'em! if yer 'ollers at 'em, they honly turns round and says, 'pip, pip'!" * * * * * illustration: _rustic_ (_to beginner, who has charged the hedge_). "it's no good, sir. they things won't jump!" * * * * * the universal juggernaut.--"anyone," says the _daily telegraph_, "who has driven an automobile will know that it is quite impossible to run over a child and remain unconscious of the fact." _any one who has driven an automobile!_ heavens! what a sweeping charge! is there none innocent? * * * * * illustration: "'tain't no use tellin' me you've broke down! stands to reason a motor-caw goin' down 'ill's _bound_ to be goin' too fast. so we'll put it down at about thirty mile an hour! your name and address, sir, _hif_ you please." * * * * * urbs in rure ["when every one has a bicycle and flies to the suburban roads, the suburban dwellers will desert their houses and come back to crowded london to find quiet and freedom from dust."--_daily paper._] time was desire for peace would still my footsteps lure to richmond hill, or to the groves of burnham i, much craving solitude, would fly; thence, through the summer afternoon, 'mid fragrant meads, knee-deep in june, lulled by the song of birds and bees, i'd saunter idly at mine ease to that still churchyard where, with gray, i'd dream a golden hour away, forgetful all of aught but this-- that peace was mine, and mine was bliss. but now should my all-eager feet seek out some whilom calm retreat, "pip, pip!" resounds in every lane, "pip, pip!" the hedges ring again, "pip, pip!" the corn, "pip, pip!" the rye, "pip, pip!" the woods and meadows cry, as through the thirsty, fever'd day, the red-hot scorchers scorch their way. peace is no longer, rest is dead, and sweetest solitude hath fled; and over all, the cycling lust hath spread its trail of noise and dust. so, would i woo the joys of quiet, i see no more the country's riot, but the comparatively still environment of ludgate hill. there, 'mongst the pigeons of st. paul's, i muse melodious madrigals, or loiter where the waters sport 'mid the cool joys of fountain court, where, undisturbed by sharp "pip, pip!" my nimble numbers lightly trip, and country peace i find again in chancery and fetter lane. * * * * * vehicular progression.--_mr. ikey motor_ (_to customer_). want a machine, sir? certainly, we've all sorts to suit your build. _customer._ it isn't for me, but for my mother-in-law. _mr. ikey motor._ for your mother-in-law! how would a steam roller suit her? [mr. i. m. _is immediately made aware that the lady in question has overheard his ill-timed jest, while the customer vanishes in blue fire._ * * * * * experto crede.--what is worse than raining cats and dogs?--hailing motor omnibuses. * * * * * illustration: comprehensive.--_owner_ (_as the car starts backing down the hill_). "pull everything you can see, and put your foot on everything else!" * * * * * illustration: _farmer_ (_in cart_). "hi, stop! stop, you fool! don't you see my horse is running away?" _driver of motor-car_ (_hired by the hour_). "yes, it's all very well for you to say 'stop,' but i've forgotten how the blooming thing works!" * * * * * illustration: simple enough _yokel_ (_in pursuit of escaped bull, to timmins, who is "teaching himself"_). "hi, mister! if yer catch hold of his leading-stick, he can't hurt yer!" * * * * * anti-bicyclist motto.--rather a year of europe than a cycle of to-day. * * * * * motto for those who "bike."--"and wheels rush in where horses fear to tread." * * * * * illustration: a case of mistaken identity.-- _major mustard_ (_who has been changing several of his servants_). "how dare you call yourself a chauffeur?" _alfonsoe._ "mais non! non, monsieur! je ne suis pas 'chauffeur.' j'ai dit que je suis le chef. mais monsieur comprehend not!" * * * * * cycles! cycles!! cycles!!! something absolutely new the little handle-bar spring no more accidents! no more stolen cycles! all our bicycles are fitted with the little handle-bar spring, which, when pressed, causes the machine to fall into pieces. anyone can press the spring, but it takes an expert three months to rebuild it, thus trebling the life of a bicycle. we are offering this marvellous invention at the absurd price of guineas cash down, or weekly instalments of guinea. [special reductions to company promoters and men with large families.] we can't afford to do it for less, because when once you have bought one you will never want another. advice to purchasers don't lose your head when the machine runs away with you down the hill; simply press the spring. don't wait for your rich uncle to die; just send him one of our cycles. don't lock your cycle up at night; merely press the spring. don't be misled by other firms who say that their machines will also fall to pieces; they are only trying to sell their cycles; we want to sell you. note.--we can also fit this marvellous little spring to perambulators, bath-chairs, and bathing machines. we append below some two out of our million testimonials. the other , are expected every post. _july, ._ dear sirs,--i bought one of your cycles in may, , and it is still as good as when i received it. i attribute this solely to the little handle-bar spring, which i pressed as soon as i received the machine. p.s.--what do you charge for rebuilding a cycle? _august, ._ gentlemen,--last month i started to ride to barnet on one of your cycles. when ascending muswell hill, i lost control of the machine, but i simply pressed the spring, and now i feel that i cannot say enough about your bike. i shall never ride any other again. p.s.--i should very much like to meet the inventor of the "little handle-bar spring." * * * * * illustration: _friend._ "going about thirty, are we? but don't you run some risk of being pulled up for exceeding the legal pace?" _owner._ "not in a sober, respectable-looking car like this. of course, if you go about in a blatant, brass-bound, scarlet-padded, snorting foreign affair, like _that_, you are bound to be dropped on, no matter how slow you go!" * * * * * illustration: an ambuscade.--captain de smythe insidiously beguiles the fair laura and her sister to a certain secluded spot where, as he happens to know, his hated rival, mr. tomkyns, is in the habit of secretly practising on the bicycle. he (captain de s.) calculates that a mere glimpse of mr. t., as he wobbles wildly by on that instrument, will be sufficient to dispel any illusions that the fair laura may cherish in her bosom respecting that worthy man. * * * * * illustration: _our own undergraduate_ (_fresh from his euclid_). "ha! two riders to one prop." * * * * * illustration: insult added to injury.--_wretched boy._ "hi, guv'nor! d'yer want any help?" * * * * * the perfect automobilist [_with acknowledgments to the editor of "the car"_] who is the happy road-deer? who is he that every motorist should want to be? the perfect automobilist thinks only of others. he is an auto-altruist. he never wantonly kills anybody. if he injures a fellow-creature (and this will always be the fellow-creature's fault) he voluntarily buys him a princely annuity. in the case of a woman, if she is irreparably disfigured by the accident, he will, supposing he has no other wife at the time, offer her the consolation of marriage with himself. he regards the life of bird and beast as no less sacred than that of human beings. should he inadvertently break a fowl or pig he will convey it to the nearest veterinary surgeon and have the broken limb set or amputated as the injury may require. in the event of death or permanent damage, he will seek out the owner of the dumb animal, and refund him fourfold. to be on the safe side with respect to the legal limit, the perfect automobilist confines himself to a speed of ten miles per hour. he will even dismount at the top of a steep descent, so as to lessen the impetus due to the force of gravity. if he is compelled by the nature of his mission to exceed the legal limit (as when hurrying, for instance, to fetch a doctor in a matter of life or death, or to inform the government of the landing of a hostile force) he is anxious not to shirk the penalty. he will, therefore, send on a swift messenger to warn the police to be on the lookout for him; and if he fails to run into any trap he will, on returning, report himself at all the police-stations on his route, or communicate by post with the constabularies of the various counties through which he may have passed. at the back of his motor he carries a watering-cart attachment for the laying of dust before it has time to be raised. lest the noise of his motor should be a cause of distraction he slows down when passing military bands, barrel organs, churches (during the hours of worship), the houses of parliament (while sitting), motor-buses, the stock exchange, and open-air meetings of the unemployed. if he meets a restive horse he will turn back and go down a side road and wait till it has passed. if all the side roads are occupied by restive horses he will go back home; and if the way home is similarly barred he will turn into a field. he encourages his motor to break down frequently; because this spectacle affords an innocent diversion to many whose existence would otherwise be colourless. it is his greatest joy to give a timely lift to weary pedestrians, such as tramps, postmen, sweeps, and police-trap detectives; even though, the car being already full, he is himself compelled to get out and do the last fifty or sixty miles on foot. he declines to wear goggles because they conceal the natural benevolence of the human eye divine, which he regards as the window of the soul; also (and for the same reason he never wears a fur overcoat) because they accentuate class distinctions. finally--on this very ground--the perfect automobilist will sell all his motor-stud and give the proceeds to found an almshouse for retired socialists. * * * * * illustration: _obliging horseman_ (_of riverside breeding_). "ave a tow up, miss?" * * * * * illustration: _cyclist._ "why can't you look where you're going?" _motorist._ "how the dickens could i when i didn't know!" * * * * * illustration: _middle-aged novice._ "i'm just off for a tour in the country--'biking' all the way. it'll be four weeks before i'm back in my flat again." _candid friend._ "ah! bet it won't be four hours before you're flat on your back again!" * * * * * the last record (_the wail of a wiped-out wheelman_) air--"_the lost chord_" reading one day in our "organ," i was happy and quite at ease. a band was playing the "_lost chord_," outside--in three several keys. but _i_ cared not how they were playing, those puffing teutonic men; for i'd "cut the record" at cycling, and was ten-mile champion then! it flooded my cheeks with crimson, the praise of my pluck and calm; though that band seemed blending "kafoozleum" with a touch of the hundredth psalm. but my joy soon turned into sorrow, my calm into mental strife; for my record was "cut" on the morrow, and it cut _me_, like a knife. a fellow had done the distance in the tenth of a second less! and henceforth my name in silence was dropt by the cycling press. i have sought--but i seek it vainly-- with that record again to shine, midst crack names in our cycling organ, but they never mention mine. it may be some day at the oval i may cut that record again, but at present the cups are given to better--_or_ luckier--men! * * * * * illustration: the motor-bath _nurse._ "oh, baby, look at the diver!" * * * * * a song of the road tinkle, twinkle, motor-car, just to tell us where you are, while about the streets you fly like a comet in the sky. when the blazing sun is "off," when the fog breeds wheeze and cough, round the corners as you scour with your dozen miles an hour-- then the traveller in the dark, growling some profane remark, would not know which way to go while you're rushing to and fro. on our fears, then, as you gloat (ours who neither "bike" nor "mote"), just to tell us where you are-- tinkle, twinkle, motor-car. * * * * * "motor body."--"one man can change from a tonneau to a landaulette, shooting brake, or racing car in two minutes, and, when fixed, cannot be told from any fixed body."--_advt. in the_ "_autocar._" the disguise would certainly deceive one's nearest relations, but as likely as not one's dog would come up and give the whole show away by licking the sparking plug. * * * * * illustration: _chauffeur._ "pardon, monsieur. this way, conducts she straight to hele?" _major chili pepper_ (_a rabid anti-motorist and slightly deaf_). "certainly it will, sir if you continue to drive on the wrong side of the road!" * * * * * illustration: "facilis _bikist_ (_gaily_). "here we go down! down! down! down!" * * * illustration: descensus!" _the same_ (_very much down_). "never again with _you_, my bikey!" * * * * * should motors carry maxims?--under the title "murderous magistrate," the _daily mail_ printed some observations made by a barrister who reproves canon greenwell for remarking from the durham county bench that if a few motorists were shot no great harm would be done. the same paper subsequently published an article headed, "maxims for motorists." retaliation in kind is natural, and a maxim is an excellent retort to a canon. but why abuse the canon first? * * * * * so many accidents have occurred lately through the ignition of petrol that a wealthy motorist, we hear, is making arrangements for his car to be followed, wherever it may go, by a fully-equipped fire-engine, and, if this example be followed widely, our roads will become more interesting than ever. * * * * * are there motor-cars in the celestial regions? professor schaer, of geneva, has discovered what _he_ describes as a new comet plunging due south at a rate of almost degrees a day, and careering across the milky way regardless of all other traffic. * * * * * illustration: our election--polling day _energetic committeeman._ "it's all right. drive on! he's voted!" * * * * * the motocrat i am he: goggled and unashamed. furred also am i, stop-watched and horse-powerful. millions admit my sway--on both sides of the road. the plutocrat has money: i have motors. the democrat has the rates; so have i--two--one for use and one for county courts. the autocrat is dead, but i--i increase and multiply. i have taken his place. i blow my horn and the people scatter. i stand still and everything trembles. i move and kill dogs. i skid and chickens die. i pass swiftly from place to place, and horses bolt in dust storms which cover the land. i make the dust storms. for i am omnipotent; i make everything. i make dust, i make smell, i make noise. and i go forward, ever forward, and pass through or over almost everything. "over or through" is my motto. the roads were made for me; years ago they were made. wise rulers saw me coming and made roads. now that i am come, they go on making roads--making them up. for i break things. roads i break and rules of the road. statutory limits were made for me. i break them. i break the dull silence of the country. sometimes i break down, and thousands flock round me, so that i dislocate the traffic. but i _am_ the traffic. i am i and she is she--the rest get out of the way. truly, the hand which rules the motor rocks the world. * * * * * motor car-acteristics (_by an old whip_) jerking and jolting, bursting and bolting, smelling and steaming, shrieking and screaming, snorting and shaking, quivering, quaking, skidding and slipping, twisting and tripping, bumping and bounding, puffing and pounding, rolling and rumbling, thumping and tumbling. such i've a notion, motor-car motion. * * * * * illustration: adding insult to injury _cyclist_ (_to foxhunter, thrown out_), "oi say, squoire, 'ave you seen the 'ounds?" * * * * * illustration: true philosophy.--_ploughman._ "ah, things be different like wi' them an' us. they've got a trap wi' no 'osses, an' we 'm got 'osses wi' no trap." * * * * * illustration: the reckless one _wife of injured cyclist_ (_who, having found considerable difficulty in getting on his bicycle, and none whatever in coming off, has never ventured to attempt more than three miles in the hour_). "well, i do believe he's had a lesson at last! i warned him about 'scorching.' i said to him, what have _you_ got to do with the 'record'?" * * * * * illustration: an inopportune time jones, while motoring to town to fulfil an important engagement, has the misfortune to get stuck up on the road, and has sent his chauffeur to the village for assistance. in the meantime several village children gather around and sing, "god rest you, merry gentleman, let nothing you dismay," etc. * * * * * the great motor mystery.--at lancaster two motorists were fined, according to the _manchester evening news_, "for driving a motor-car over a trap near carnforth, at twenty-nine and thirty-four miles per hour respectively." we are of the opinion that the action of the second gentleman in driving at so high a speed over the poor trap when it was already down was not quite in accordance with the best traditions of english sport. * * * * * illustration: breaking it gently.-- _passer-by._ "is that your pork down there on the road, guv'nor?" _farmer._ "pork! what d'ye mean? there's a pig o' mine out there." _passer-by._ "ah, but there's a motor-car just been by." * * * * * illustration: exclusive.-- _fair driver._ "will you stand by the pony for a few minutes, my good man?" _the good man._ "pony, mum? no, i'm a motor-minder, i am. 'ere, bill! 'orse." * * * * * crazy tales the duchess of pomposet was writhing, poor thing, on the horns of a dilemma. painful position, very. she was the greatest of great ladies, full of fire and fashion, and with a purple blush (she was born that colour) flung bangly arms round the neck of her lord and master. the unfortunate man was a shocking sufferer, having a bad unearned increment, and enduring constant pain on account of his back being broader than his views. "pomposet," she cried, resolutely. "duky darling!" (when first married she had ventured to apostrophise him as "ducky," but his grace thought it _infra dig._, and they compromised by omitting the vulgar "c.") "duky," she said, raising pale distinguished eyes to a chippendale mirror, "i have made up my mind." "don't," expostulated the trembling peer. "you are so rash!" "what is more, i have made up yours." "to make up the mind of an english duke," he remarked, with dignity, "requires no ordinary intellect; yet i believe with your feminine hydraulics you are capable of anything, jane." (that this aristocratic rib of his rib should have been named plain jane was a chronic sorrow.) "don't keep me in suspense," he continued; "in fact, to descend to a colloquialism, i insist on your grace letting the cat out of the bag with the least possible delay." "as you will," she replied. "your blood be on your own coronet. prepare for a shock--a revelation. i have fallen! not once--but many times." "wretched woman!--i beg pardon!--wretched grande dame! call upon debrett to cover you!" "i am madly in love with----" "by my taffeta and ermine, i swear----" "peace, peace!" said jane. "compose yourself, ducky--that is plantagenet. forgive the slip. i am agitated. my mind runs on slips." the duke groaned. "horrid, awful slips!" with a countenance of alabaster he tore at his sandy top-knot. "i have deceived you. i admit it. stooped to folly." a supercilious cry rent the air as the duke staggered on his patrician limbs. with womanly impulse--flinging caste to the winds--jane caught the majestic form to her palpitating alpaca, and, watering his beloved features with duchessy drops, cried in passionate accents, "my king! my sensitive plant! heavens! it's his unlucky back! be calm, plantagenet. i have--been--learning--to--_bike_! there! on the sly!" the duke flapped a reviving toe, and squeezed the august fingers. "i am madly enamoured of--my machine." the peer smoothed a ruffled top-knot with ineffable grace. "likewise am determined _you_ shall take lessons. now it is no use, duky. i mean to be tender but firm with you." the potentate gave a stertorous chortle, and, stretching out his arms, fell in a strawberry-leaf swoon on the parquet floor, his ducal head on the lap of his adored jane. * * * * * illustration: the freemasonry of the wheel.--"rippin' wevver fer hus ciciklin' chaps, ain't it?" * * * * * illustration: brothers in adversity _farmer._ "pull up, you fool! the mare's bolting!" _motorist._ "so's the car!" * * * * * illustration: quite respectful _fair cyclist._ "is that the incumbent of this parish?" _parishioner._ "well, 'e's the _vicar_. but, wotever some of us thinks, we never calls 'im a _hencumbrance_!" * * * * * illustration: _gipsy fortune-teller_ (_seriously_). "let me warn you. somebody's going to cross your path." _motorist._ "don't you think you'd better warn the other chap?" * * * * * the scorcher (_after william watson_) i do not, in the crowded street of cab and "'bus" and mire, nor in the country lane so sweet, hope to escape thy tyre. one boon, oh, scorcher, i implore, with one petition kneel, at least abuse me not before thou break me on thy wheel. * * * * * illustration: a motorist wishes to point out the very grave danger this balloon-scorching may become, and suggests a speed limit be made before things go too far. * * * * * the muggleton motor-car; or, the wellers on wheels _a pickwickian fragment up-to-date_ as light as fairies, if not altogether as brisk as bees, did the four pickwickian shades assemble on a winter morning in the year of grace, . christmas was nigh at hand, in all its _fin-de-siècle_ inwardness; it was the season of pictorial too-previousness and artistic anticipation, of plethoric periodicals, all shocker-sensationalism sandwiched with startling advertisements; of cynical new-humour and flamboyantly sentimental chromo-lithography. but we are so taken up by the genial delights of the new christmas that we are keeping mr. pickwick and his phantom friends waiting in the cold on the chilly outside of the muggleton motor-car, which they had just mounted, well wrapped up in antiquated great coats, shawls, and comforters. mr. weller, senior, had, all unconsciously, brought his well-loved whip with him, and was greatly embarrassed thereby. "votever shall i do vith it, sammy?" he whispered, hoarsely. "purtend it's a new, patent, jointless fishing-rod, guv'nor," rejoined sam, in a stygian aside. "nobody 'ere'll 'ave the slightest notion vot it really is." "when are they--eh--going to--ahem--put the horses to?" murmured mr. pickwick, emerging from his coat collar, and looking about him with great perplexity. "'_osses?_" cried the coachman, turning round upon mr. pickwick, with sharp suspicion in his eye. "'_osses?_ d'ye say. oh, who are you a-gettin' at?" mr. pickwick withdrew promptly into his coat-collar. the irrepressible sam came immediately to the aid of his beloved master, whom he would never see snubbed if _he_ knew it. "there's vheels vithin vheels, as the bicyclist said vhen he vos pitched head foremost into the vatchmaker's vinder," remarked mr. weller, junior, with the air of a solomon in smalls. "but vot sort of a vheel do you call that thing in front of you, and vot's its pertikler objeck? a top of a coach instead o' under it?" "this yer wheel means revolution," said the driver. "it do, samivel, it do," interjected his father dolorously. "and in my opinion it's a worse revolution than that there french one itself. a coach vithout 'osses, vheels instead of vheelers, and a driver vithout a vhip! oh sammy, sammy, to think it should come to _this_!!!" the driver--if it be not desecration to a noble old name so to designate him--gave a turn to his wheel and the autocar started. mr. winkle, who sat at the extreme edge, waggled his shadowy legs forlornly in the air; mr. snodgrass, who sat next to him, snorted lugubriously; mr. tupman turned paler than even a stygian shade has a right to do. mr. pickwick took off his glasses and wiped them furtively. "sam," he whispered hysterically in the ear of his faithful servitor, "sam, this is dreadful! a--ahem!--vehicle with no visible means of propulsion pounding along like--eh--saint denis without his head, is more uncanny than charon's boat." "let's get down, sammy, let's get down at once," groaned mr. weller the elder. "i can't stand it, samivel, i really can't. think o' the poor 'osses, sammy, think o' the poor 'osses as ain't there, and vot they must feel to find theirselves sooperseeded by a hugly vheel and a pennorth o' peteroleum, &c.!" "hold on, old nobs!" cried the son, with frank filial sympathy. "think of the guv'nor, father, and vait for the first stoppage. never again vith the muggleton motor! vhy, it vorse than a hortomatic vheelbarrow, ain't it, mr. pickwick?" "ah, sammy," assented mr. weller, senior, hugging his whip, affectionately. "vorse even than vidders, sammy, the red-nosed shepherd, or the mulberry one hisself!" * * * * * a bear in a motor-car attracted much attention in the city last week. it had four legs this time. * * * * * the _motor car_ declares, on high medical authority, that motoring is a cure for insanity. we would therefore recommend several motorists we know to persevere. * * * * * illustration: gentle satire--"i say, bill, look 'ere! 'ere's a old cove out record-breaking!" * * * * * illustration: motor mania.-- _the poet_ (_deprecatingly_). "they say she gives more attention to her motor-cars than to her children." _the butterfly._ "of course. how absurd you are! motor-cars require more attention than children." * * * * * illustration: sour grapes _first scorcher._ "call _that_ exercise?" _second scorcher._ "no. _i_ call it sitting in a draught!" * * * * * illustration: not to be caught.-- _motorist_ (_whose motor has thrown elderly villager into horse-pond_). "come along, my man, i'll take you home to get dry." _elderly villager._ "no, yer don't. i've got yer number, and 'ere i stays till a hindependent witness comes along!" * * * * * illustration: _pedestrian._ "i hear brown has taken to cycling, and is very enthusiastic about it!" _cyclist._ "enthusiastic! not a bit of it. why, he never rides before breakfast!" * * * * * illustration: grotesqueries _words wanted to express feelings_ when your motor refuses to move, twenty miles from the nearest town. * * * * * illustration: so inconsiderate "jove! might have killed us! i must have a wire screen fixed up." * * * * * browning on the road. round the bend of a sudden came z , and i shot into his front wheel's rim; and straight was a fine of gold for him, and the need of a brand-new bike for me. * * * * * illustration: "if doughty deeds my lady please" "mamma! mr. white says he is longing to give you your first bicycle lesson!" * * * * * a wish (_by a wild wheelman. a long way after rogers_) mine be a "scorch" without a spill, a loud "bike" bell to please mine ear; a chance to maim, if not to kill, pedestrian parties pottering near. my holloa, e'er my prey i catch, shall raise wild terror in each breast; if luck or skill that prey shall snatch from my wild wheel, the shock will test. on to the bike beside my porch i'll spring, like falcon on its prey, and lucy, on _her_ wheel shall "scorch," and "coast" with me the livelong day. to make old women's marrow freeze is the best sport the bike has given. to chase them as they puff and wheeze, on rubber tyre--by jove, 'tis heaven! * * * * * the biker biked henpeck'd he was. he learnt to bike. "now i can go just where i like," he chuckled to himself. but she had learnt to bike as well as he, and, what was more, had bought a new machine to sweetly carry two. ever together now they go, he sighing, "this is wheel _and_ woe." * * * * * illustration: "where ignorance is bliss," &c. _he_ (_alarmed by the erratic steering_). "er--and have you driven much?" _she_ (_quite pleased with herself_). "oh, no--this is only my second attempt. but then, you see, i have been used to a _bicycle_ for years!" * * * * * illustration: misunderstood _donald_ (_who has picked up fair cyclist's handkerchief_). "hi! woman! woman!" _fair cyclist_ (_indignantly_). "'woman'! how _dare_ you----" _donald_ (_out of breath_). "i beg your pardon, sir! i thought you was a woman. i didna see your _trews_." * * * * * automobile dust-carts, says the _matin_, are to be used in paris henceforth. we had thought every motor-car was this. * * * * * illustration: english dictionary illustrated.--"coincidence." the falling or meeting of two or more lines or bodies at the same point. * * * * * reflections of a motor-racer two a.m.! time to get up, if i'm to be ready for the great paris-berlin race at . . feel very cold and sleepy. pitch dark morning, of course. moon been down hours. must get into clothes, i suppose. oilskins feel very clammy and heavy at this hour in the morning. button up tunic and tuck trousers into top boots. put on peaked cap and fasten veil tightly over face, after covering eyes with iron goggles and protecting mouth with respirator. wind woollen muffler round neck and case hands in thick dogskin gloves with gauntlets. look like nansen going to discover north pole. or tweedledum about to join battle with tweedledee. effect on the whole unpleasing. great crowds to see us off. nearly ran over several in effort to reach starting post. very careless. people ought not to get in the way on these occasions. noise appalling. cheers, snatches of _marseillaise_, snorts of motors, curses of competitors, cries of bystanders knocked down by enthusiastic _chauffeurs_, shouts of _gendarmes_ clearing the course. spectators seem to find glare of acetylene lamps very confusing. several more or less injured through not getting out of the way sufficiently quickly. at last the flag drops. we are off. pull lever, and car leaps forward. wonder if wiser to start full speed or begin gently? decide on latter. result, nearly blinded by dust of competitors in front, and suffocated by stench of petroleum. fellow just ahead particularly objectionable in both respects. decide to quicken up and pass him. can't see a foot before me on account of his dust. suddenly run into the stern of his car. apologise. can't i look where i'm going? of course i can. not my fault at all. surly fellow! proceed to go slower. fellow behind runs into _me_. confound him, can't he be more careful? says he couldn't see me. idiot! put on speed again. car in front just visible through haze of dust. hear distant crash. confound the man, he's run into a dray! just time to swerve to the right, and miss wreck of his car by an inch. clumsy fellow, blocking my road in that way. at last clear space before me. go up with a rush. wind whistles past my ears. glorious! what's that? run over an old woman? very annoying. almost upset my car. awkward for next chap. body right across the road. spill him to a certainty. morning growing light, but dust thicker than ever. scarcely see a yard in front of me. must trust to luck. fortunately road pretty straight here. just missed big tree. collided with small one. knocked it over like a ninepin. lucky i was going so fast. car uninjured, but tree done for. man in car just ahead very much in my way. shout to him to get out of the light. turns round and grins malevolently. movement fatal. he forgets to steer and goes crash into ditch. what's that he says? help? silly fellow, does he think i can stop at this pace? curious how ignorant people seem to be of simplest mechanical laws. magnificent piece of road here. nothing in sight but a dog. run over it. put on full speed. seventy miles an hour at least. can no longer see or hear anything. trees, villages, fields rush by in lightning succession. fancy a child is knocked down. am vaguely conscious of upsetting old gentleman in gig. seem to notice a bump on part of car, indicating that it has passed over prostrate fellow citizen, but not sure. sensation most exhilarating. immolate another child. really most careless of parents leaving children loose like this in the country. some day there will be an accident. might have punctured my tyre. chap in front of me comes in sight. catching him up fast. he puts on full speed. still gaining on him. pace terrific. sudden flash just ahead, followed by loud explosion. fellow's benzine reservoir blown up apparently. pass over smoking ruins of car. driver nowhere to be seen. probably lying in neighbouring field. that puts _him_ out of the race. eh? what's that? aix in sight? gallop, says browning. better not, perhaps. road ahead crowded with spectators. great temptation to charge through them in style. mightn't be popular, though. slow down to fifteen miles an hour, and enter town amid frantic cheering. most interesting. wonderfully few casualties. dismount at door of hotel dusty but triumphant. * * * * * illustration: _first cyclist_ (_cross-eyed_). "why the dickens don't you look where you're going?" _second cyclist_ (_cross-eyed_). "why don't you go where you're looking?" * * * * * illustration: quite impossible.--_motorist._ "what! exceeding the legal limit? _do_ we look as if we would do such a thing?" * * * * * illustration: the interpretation of signs _custodian._ "this 'ere's a private road, miss! didn't yer see the notice-board at the gate, sayin' 'no thoroughfare'?" _placida._ "oh yes, of course. why, that's how i knew there was a way through!" * * * * * illustration: after the accident "toujours la politesse." * * * * * illustration: quite a little holiday _cottager._ "what's wrong, biker? have you had a spill?" _biker._ "oh, no. i'm having a rest!" * * * * * illustration: whats in a name? _old gent_ (_lately bitten with the craze_). "and that confounded man sold me the thing for a safety!" * * * * * _motoring illustrated_ suggests the institution of a motor museum. if we were sure that most of the motor omnibuses at present in our streets would find their way there, we would gladly subscribe. * * * * * protection against motor-cars sir,--i recently read with interest a letter in the _times_ from "a cyclist since ." in it he announced his intention of carrying a tail-light in order to avoid being run into from behind. the idea is admirable, and my wife and i, as pedestrians since and respectively, propose to wear two lamps each in future, a white and a red. we are, however, a little exercised to know whether we should carry the white in front and the red behind, or _vice versâ_. for in walking along the right side of a road we shall appear on the wrong side to an approaching motor-car. would it not therefore be better for us to have the tail-light in front. your most humble and obedient servant, lux prÃ�postera. p.s.--would such an arrangement make us "carriages" in the eye of the law? at present we appear to be merely a sub-division of the class "unlighted objects." * * * * * cure for motor-scorchers (_suggested as being even more humane than the proposal of_ sir r. payne-gallwey).--give them automobile beans! * * * * * illustration: slow and sure _john._ "i've noticed, miss, as when you 'as a motor, you catches a train, not _the_ train!" * * * * * how the match came off a harmony on wheels (_miss angelica has challenged mr. wotherspoon to a race on the queen's highway._) _fytte ._ _mr. w._ fine start! (faint heart!) _miss a._ horrid hill! (feeling ill!) _fytte ._ _mr. w._ going strong! come along! _fytte ._ _miss a._ road quite even! perfect heaven! _fytte ._ _mr. w._ goal in view! running true! _miss a._ make it faster! spur your caster! _fytte ._ _mr. w._ fairly done! _miss a._ match is won! [_they dismount. pause._ _mr. w._ what! confess! _miss a._ well then--yes! * * * * * illustration: _motor fiend._ "why don't you get out of the way?" _victim._ "_what!_ are you coming back?" * * * * * motorobesity (_a forecast_) in the spring of st. john skinner came back from africa, after spending nine or ten years somewhere near the zambesi. he travelled up to waterloo by the electric train, and the three very stout men who were in the same first-class compartment seemed to look at him with surprise. on arriving at his hotel he pushed his way through a crowd of fat persons in the hall. then he changed his clothes, and went round to his club to dine. the dining-room was filled with members of extraordinary obesity, all eating heartily. in the fat features of one of them he thought he recognised a once familiar face. "round," said he, "how are you?" the stout man stopped eating, and gazed at him anxiously. "why," he murmured, after a while, in the soft voice that comes from folds of fat, "it must be skinner. my dear fellow, what is the matter with you? have you had a fever?" "i'm all right," answered the other; "what makes you think i've been ill?" "ill, man!" said round, "why you've wasted away to nothing. you're a perfect skeleton." "if it's a question of bulk," remarked skinner, "i'm much more surprised. you've grown so stout, every fellow in the club seems so stout, everyone i've seen is as fat as--as--as you are." "heavens!" exclaimed round, "you don't mean to say i've been putting on more flesh? i'm the light weight of the club. i only weigh sixteen stone. no, no, you're chaffing, or you judge by your own figure." "not a bit," said the other; "you and i used to weigh about the same. what on earth has happened to you all?" "well," said round, "perhaps you're right. it's very much what the doctors say. it's the fashionable complaint, motorobesity. sit down, and dine with me, and i'll tell you what the idea is. you see, it's like this. for ten years or so everybody who could afford a motor of some sort has had one. we've all had one. not to have a motor has been simply ridiculous, if not disreputable. so everybody has ridden about all day in the fresh air, never had any exercise, and got an enormous appetite. besides, in the summer we've always been drinking beer to wash down the dust, and in the winter soup, or spirits, or something to warm us. my dear fellow, you can't think what an appetite motoring gives you. i had an enormous steak for my lunch at winchester to-day, and a great lump of plum cake with my tea at aldershot, and my aunt, the general's wife, made me bring a bag of biscuits to eat on the way up, and yet i'm so hungry now that i should feel quite uncomfortable if the thirst those biscuits, and the dust, gave me didn't make me almost forget it. i suppose everyone is really getting fat. one notices it when one does happen to see a thin fellow like you. why, in all the clubs they've had to have new arm-chairs, because the old ones were too narrow. however, i've talked enough about motoring. so glad to see you again, old chap. of course you'll get a motor as soon as possible." "well," said skinner, "i rather think i shall buy a horse." "my dear fellow," cried round, "what an idea! horse-riding is such awfully bad form. besides, you can't go any pace. look at me. i wouldn't get on a horse, and be shaken to pieces." "i should think not," said skinner, "but i think i should prefer that to motorobesity." * * * * * an advertisement in _the motor_ quotes the testimony of a gentleman from moreton-in-the-marsh, who states that he has run a certain car "nearly , miles in four months, and is more than pleased with it." as this works out (on a basis of twenty-four hours' running _per diem_) at about miles per hour, we have pleasure in asking what the police are doing in moreton-in-the-marsh and its vicinity. * * * * * noticing an advertisement of a book entitled "the complete motorist," an angry opponent of the new method of locomotion writes to suggest that the companion volume, "the complete pedestrian," had better be written at once before it becomes impossible to find an entire specimen. * * * * * maxim for cyclists.--"_try_-cycle before you _buy_-cycle." * * * * * illustration: motorist (a novice) has been giving chairman of local urban council a practical demonstration of the ease with which a motor-car can be controlled when travelling at a high speed. * * * * * illustration: love's endurance _miss dolly_ (_to her fiancé_). "oh, jack, this _is_ delightful! if you'll only keep up the pace, i'm sure i shall soon gain confidence!" [_poor jack has already run a mile or more, and is very short of condition._ * * * * * illustration: tu quoque.--_cyclist_ (_a beginner who has just collided with freshly-painted fence_). "confound your filthy paint! now, just look at my coat!" _painter._ "'ang yer bloomin' coat! _'ow about my paint?_" * * * * * illustration: note to the superstitious it is considered lucky for a black cat to cross your path. * * * * * illustration: waiting for _a study of rural_ "w'y, i remembers the time w'en i'd 'ave stopped _that_ for furious drivin', an' i reckon it's only goin' about a paltry fifteen mile an hour!" * * * illustration: bigger game _police methods_ "_ar!_ now them cyclists is puttin' on a fairish pace! summat about twenty mile an hour, i s'pose. but 'tain't no business o' mine. _i'm_ 'ere to stop _motor-caws_. wot ho!" * * * * * love in a car ["i have personal knowledge of marriages resulting from motor-car courtships."--the hon. c. s. rolls.--_daily express._] when reginald asked me to drive in his car i knew what it meant for us both, for peril to love-making offers no bar, but fosters the plighting of troth. to the tender occasion i hastened to rise, so bought a new frock on the strength of it, some china-blue chiffon--to go with my eyes-- and wrapped up my head with a length of it. "get in," said my lover, "as quick as you can!" he wore a black smear on his face, and held out the hand of a rough artisan to pilot me into my place. like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire, for reginald's manner was querulous, but after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyre we were off at a pace that was perilous. "there's brown just behind, on his second-hand brute, he thinks it can move, silly ass!" said reggie with venom, "ha! ha! let him hoot, i'll give him some trouble to pass." my service thenceforth was by reggie confined (he showed small compunction in suing it) to turning to see how far brown was behind, but not to let brown see me doing it. brown passed us. we dined off his dust for a league-- it really was very poor fun-- till, our car showed symptoms of heat and fatigue, reggie had to admit he was done. to my soft consolation scant heed did he pay, but with taps was continually juggling, and his words, "will you keep your dress further away?" put a stop to this incipient smuggling. "he'd never have passed me alone," reggie sighed, "the car's extra heavy with you." "why ask me to come?" i remarked. he replied, "i thought she'd go better with two." when i touched other topics, forbearingly meek, from his goggles the lightnings came scattering, "what chance do you give me of placing this squeak," he hissed, "when you keep up that chattering?" at that, i insisted on being set down and returning to london by train, and i vowed fifty times on my way back to town that i never would see him again. next week he appeared and implored me to wed, with a fondly adoring humility. "the car stands between us," i rigidly said. "i've sold it!" he cried with agility. his temples were sunken, enfeebled his frame, there was white in the curls on his crest; when he spoke of our ride in a whisper of shame i flew to my home on his breast. by running sedately i'm certain that love to such passion would never have carried us, which settles the truth of the legend above-- it was really the motor-car married us. * * * * * illustration: _miller_ (_looking after cyclist, who has a slight touch of motor mania_). "well, to be sure! there do be some main ignorant chaps out o' london. 'e comes 'ere askin' me 'ow many 'orse power the old mill ad got." * * * * * illustration: _cyclist_ (_whose tyre has become deflated_). "have you such a thing as a pump?" _yokel._ "'ees, miss, there's one i' the yard." _cyclist._ "i should be much obliged if you would let me use it." _yokel._ "that depends 'ow much you want. watter be main scarce wi' us this year! oi'll ask feyther." * * * * * illustration: _smart girl_ (_to keen motorist_). "my sister has bought a beautiful motor-car." _keen motorist._ "really! what kind?" _smart girl._ "oh, a lovely sage green, to go with her frocks." * * * * * illustration: _mrs. binks_ (_who has lost control of her machine_). "oh, oh, harry! please get into a bank soon. i must have something soft to fall on!" * * * * * illustration: _miss heavytopp._ "i'm afraid i'm giving you a lot of bother, but then, it's only my _first_ lesson!" _exhausted instructor_ (_sotto voce_). "i only hope it won't be my _last_!" * * * * * illustration: sorrows of a "chauffeur" _ancient dame._ "what d'ye say? they call he a 'shuvver,' do they? i see. they put he to walk behind and shove 'em up the hills, i reckon." * * * * * a cycle of cathay.--_the yorkshire evening post_, in reporting the case of a motor-cyclist charged with travelling at excessive speed on the highway at selby, represents a police-sergeant as stating that "he timed defendant over a distance of years, which was covered in secs." the contention of the defendant that he had been "very imperfectly timed" has an air of captiousness. * * * * * "many roads in the district are unfit for motorists," is the report of the tadcaster surveyor to his council. we understand the inhabitants have resolved to leave well alone. * * * * * at a meeting of the four wheeler's association, a speaker boasted, with some justification, that a charge which is brought every day against drivers of motor-cars has never been brought against members of their association, namely, that of driving at an excessive speed. * * * * * rumour is again busy with the promised appearance of a motor-bus which is to be so quiet that you will not know that there is one on the road until you have been run over. * * * * * illustration: an unpardonable mistake.--_short-sighted old lady._ "porter!" * * * * * illustration: nosce teipsum.--_lady cyclist_ (_touring in north holland_). "what a ridiculous costume!" * * * * * illustration: _sporting constable_ (_with stop-watch--on "police trap" duty, running excitedly out from his ambush, to motorist just nearing the finish of the measured furlong_). "for 'evin's sake, guv'nor, let 'er rip, and ye'll do the in seven and a 'arf!" * * * * * my motor cap [motor-caps, we are informed, have created such a vogue in the provinces, that ladies, women and factory girls may be seen wearing them on every occasion, though unconnected, in other respects, with modern methods of locomotion.] a motor car i shall never afford with a gay vermilion bonnet, of course i _might_ happen to marry a lord, but it's no good counting on it. i have never reclined on the seat behind, and hurtled across the map, but my days are blest with a mind at rest, for i wear a motor cap. i am done with gainsborough, straw and toque, my dresses are bound with leather, i turn up my collar like auto-folk, and stride through the pitiless weather; with a pound of scrag in an old string bag, in a tram with a child on my lap, wherever i go, to shop or a show, i wear a motor cap. i don't know a silencer from a clutch, a sparking-plug from a bearing, but no one, i think, is in closer touch with the caps the women are wearing; i'm _au fait_ with the trim of the tailor-made brim, the crown and machine-stitched strap; though i've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, nor the goggles--i wear the cap. * * * * * illustration: no, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbes escaping from the congress; but merely the montgomery-smiths in their motor-car, enjoying the beauties of the country. * * * * * lines by a rejected and dejected cyclist you do not at this juncture feel, as i, the dreadful smart, and you scorn the cruel puncture of the tyre of my heart! but mayhap, at some life-turning, when the wheel has run untrue, you will know why i was burning, and was scorched alone, by you! * * * * * illustration: finis bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge george cruikshank by william makepeace thackeray * reprinted from the westminster review for june, . (no .) accusations of ingratitude, and just accusations no doubt, are made against every inhabitant of this wicked world, and the fact is, that a man who is ceaselessly engaged in its trouble and turmoil, borne hither and thither upon the fierce waves of the crowd, bustling, shifting, struggling to keep himself somewhat above water--fighting for reputation, or more likely for bread, and ceaselessly occupied to-day with plans for appeasing the eternal appetite of inevitable hunger to-morrow--a man in such straits has hardly time to think of anything but himself, and, as in a sinking ship, must make his own rush for the boats, and fight, struggle, and trample for safety. in the midst of such a combat as this, the "ingenious arts, which prevent the ferocity of the manners, and act upon them as an emollient" (as the philosophic bard remarks in the latin grammar) are likely to be jostled to death, and then forgotten. the world will allow no such compromises between it and that which does not belong to it--no two gods must we serve; but (as one has seen in some old portraits) the horrible glazed eyes of necessity are always fixed upon you; fly away as you will, black care sits behind you, and with his ceaseless gloomy croaking drowns the voice of all more cheerful companions. happy he whose fortune has placed him where there is calm and plenty, and who has the wisdom not to give up his quiet in quest of visionary gain. here is, no doubt, the reason why a man, after the period of his boyhood, or first youth, makes so few friends. want and ambition (new acquaintances which are introduced to him along with his beard) thrust away all other society from him. some old friends remain, it is true, but these are become as a habit--a part of your selfishness; and, for new ones, they are selfish as you are. neither member of the new partnership has the capital of affection and kindly feeling, or can even afford the time that is requisite for the establishment of the new firm. damp and chill the shades of the prison-house begin to close round us, and that "vision splendid" which has accompanied our steps in our journey daily farther from the east, fades away and dies into the light of common day. and what a common day! what a foggy, dull, shivering apology for light is this kind of muddy twilight through which we are about to tramp and flounder for the rest of our existence, wandering farther and farther from the beauty and freshness and from the kindly gushing springs of clear gladness that made all around us green in our youth! one wanders and gropes in a slough of stock-jobbing, one sinks or rises in a storm of politics, and in either case it is as good to fall as to rise--to mount a bubble on the crest of the wave, as to sink a stone to the bottom. the reader who has seen the name affixed to the head of this article scarcely expected to be entertained with a declamation upon ingratitude, youth, and the vanity of human pursuits, which may seem at first sight to have little to do with the subject in hand. but (although we reserve the privilege of discoursing upon whatever subject shall suit us, and by no means admit the public has any right to ask in our sentences for any meaning, or any connection whatever) it happens that, in this particular instance, there is an undoubted connection. in susan's case, as recorded by wordsworth, what connection had the corner of wood street with a mountain ascending, a vision of trees, and a nest by the dove? why should the song of a thrush cause bright volumes of vapor to glide through lothbury, and a river to flow on through the vale of cheapside? as she stood at that corner of wood street, a mop and a pail in her hand most likely, she heard the bird singing, and straight-way began pining and yearning for the days of her youth, forgetting the proper business of the pail and mop. even so we are moved by the sight of some of mr. cruikshank's works--the "busen fuhlt sich jugendlich erschuttert," the "schwankende gestalten" of youth flit before one again,--cruikshank's thrush begins to pipe and carol, as in the days of boyhood; hence misty moralities, reflections, and sad and pleasant remembrances arise. he is the friend of the young especially. have we not read, all the story-books that his wonderful pencil has illustrated? did we not forego tarts, in order to buy his "breaking-up," or his "fashionable monstrosities" of the year eighteen hundred and something? have we not before us, at this very moment, a print,--one of the admirable "illustrations of phrenology"--which entire work was purchased by a joint-stock company of boys, each drawing lots afterwards for the separate prints, and taking his choice in rotation? the writer of this, too, had the honor of drawing the first lot, and seized immediately upon "philoprogenitiveness"--a marvellous print (our copy is not at all improved by being colored, which operation we performed on it ourselves)--a marvellous print, indeed,--full of ingenuity and fine jovial humor. a father, possessor of an enormous nose and family, is surrounded by the latter, who are, some of them, embracing the former. the composition writhes and twists about like the kermes of rubens. no less than seven little men and women in nightcaps, in frocks, in bibs, in breeches, are clambering about the head, knees, and arms of the man with the nose; their noses, too, are preternaturally developed--the twins in the cradle have noses of the most considerable kind. the second daughter, who is watching them; the youngest but two, who sits squalling in a certain wicker chair; the eldest son, who is yawning; the eldest daughter, who is preparing with the gravy of two mutton-chops a savory dish of yorkshire pudding for eighteen persons; the youths who are examining her operations (one a literary gentleman, in a remarkably neat nightcap and pinafore, who has just had his finger in the pudding); the genius who is at work on the slate, and the two honest lads who are hugging the good-humored washerwoman, their mother,--all, all, save, this worthy woman, have noses of the largest size. not handsome certainly are they, and yet everybody must be charmed with the picture. it is full of grotesque beauty. the artist has at the back of his own skull, we are certain, a huge bump of philoprogenitiveness. he loves children in his heart; every one of those he has drawn is perfectly happy, and jovial, and affectionate, and innocent as possible. he makes them with large noses, but he loves them, and you always find something kind in the midst of his humor, and the ugliness redeemed by a sly touch of beauty. the smiling mother reconciles one with all the hideous family: they have all something of the mother in them--something kind, and generous, and tender. knight's, in sweeting's alley; fairburn's, in a court off ludgate hill; hone's, in fleet street--bright, enchanted palaces, which george cruikshank used to people with grinning, fantastical imps, and merry, harmless sprites,--where are they? fairburn's shop knows him no more; not only has knight disappeared from sweeting's alley, but, as we are given to understand, sweetings alley has disappeared from the face of the globe. slop, the atrocious castlereagh, the sainted caroline (in a tight pelisse, with feathers in her head), the "dandy of sixty," who used to glance at us from hone's friendly windows--where are they? mr. cruikshank may have drawn a thousand better things since the days when these were; but they are to us a thousand times more pleasing than anything else he has done. how we used to believe in them! to stray miles out of the way on holidays, in order to ponder for an hour before that delightful window in sweeting's alley! in walks through fleet street, to vanish abruptly down fairburn's passage, and there make one at his "charming gratis" exhibition. there used to be a crowd round the window in those days, of grinning, good-natured mechanics, who spelt the songs, and spoke them out for the benefit of the company, and who received the points of humor with a general sympathizing roar. where are these people now? you never hear any laughing at hb.; his pictures are a great deal too genteel for that--polite points of wit, which strike one as exceedingly clever and pretty, and cause one to smile in a quiet, gentleman-like kind of way. there must be no smiling with cruikshank. a man who does not laugh outright is a dullard, and has no heart; even the old dandy of sixty must have laughed at his own wondrous grotesque image, as they say louis philippe did, who saw all the caricatures that were made of himself. and there are some of cruikshank's designs which have the blessed faculty of creating laughter as often as you see them. as diggory says in the play, who is bidden by his master not to laugh while waiting at table--"don't tell the story of grouse in the gun-room, master, or i can't help laughing." repeat that history ever so often, and at the proper moment, honest diggory is sure to explode. every man, no doubt, who loves cruikshank has his "grouse in the gun-room." there is a fellow in the "points of humor" who is offering to eat up a certain little general, that has made us happy any time these sixteen years: his huge mouth is a perpetual well of laughter--buckets full of fun can be drawn from it. we have formed no such friendships as that boyish one of the man with the mouth. but though, in our eyes, mr. cruikshank reached his apogee some eighteen years since, it must not be imagined that such is really the case. eighteen sets of children have since then learned to love and admire him, and may many more of their successors be brought up in the same delightful faith. it is not the artist who fails, but the men who grow cold--the men, from whom the illusions (why illusions? realities) of youth disappear one by one; who have no leisure to be happy, no blessed holidays, but only fresh cares at midsummer and christmas, being the inevitable seasons which bring us bills instead of pleasures. tom, who comes bounding home from school, has the doctor's account in his trunk, and his father goes to sleep at the pantomime to which he takes him. pater infelix, you too have laughed at clown, and the magic wand of spangled harlequin; what delightful enchantment did it wave around you, in the golden days "when george the third was king!" but our clown lies in his grave; and our harlequin, ellar, prince of how many enchanted islands, was he not at bow street the other day,* in his dirty, tattered, faded motley--seized as a law-breaker, for acting at a penny theatre, after having wellnigh starved in the streets, where nobody would listen to his old guitar? no one gave a shilling to bless him: not one of us who owe him so much. * this was written in . we know not if mr. cruikshank will be very well pleased at finding his name in such company as that of clown and harlequin; but he, like them, is certainly the children's friend. his drawings abound in feeling for these little ones, and hideous as in the course of his duty he is from time to time compelled to design them, he never sketches one without a certain pity for it, and imparting to the figure a certain grotesque grace. in happy schoolboys he revels; plum-pudding and holidays his needle has engraved over and over again; there is a design in one of the comic almanacs of some young gentlemen who are employed in administering to a schoolfellow the correction of the pump, which is as graceful and elegant as a drawing of stothard. dull books about children george cruikshank makes bright with illustrations--there is one published by the ingenious and opulent mr. tegg. it is entitled "mirth and morality," the mirth being, for the most part, on the side of the designer--the morality, unexceptionable certainly, the author's capital. here are then, to these moralities, a smiling train of mirths supplied by george cruikshank. see yonder little fellows butterfly-hunting across a common! such a light, brisk, airy, gentleman-like drawing was never made upon such a theme. who, cries the author-- "who has not chased the butterfly, and crushed its slender legs and wings, and heaved a moralizing sigh: alas! how frail are human things!" a very unexceptionable morality truly; but it would have puzzled another than george cruikshank to make mirth out of it as he has done. away, surely not on the wings of these verses, cruikshank's imagination begins to soar; and he makes us three darling little men on a green common, backed by old farmhouses, somewhere about may. a great mixture of blue and clouds in the air, a strong fresh breeze stirring, tom's jacket flapping in the same, in order to bring down the insect queen or king of spring that is fluttering above him,--he renders all this with a few strokes on a little block of wood not two inches square, upon which one may gaze for hours, so merry and lifelike a scene does it present. what a charming creative power is this, what a privilege--to be a god, and create little worlds upon paper, and whole generations of smiling, jovial men, women, and children half inch high, whose portraits are carried abroad, and have the faculty of making us monsters of six feet curious and happy in our turn. now, who would imagine that an artist could make anything of such a subject as this? the writer begins by stating,-- "i love to go back to the days of my youth, and to reckon my joys to the letter, and to count o'er the friends that i have in the world, ay, and those who are gone to a better." this brings him to the consideration of his uncle. "of all the men i have ever known," says he, "my uncle united the greatest degree of cheerfulness with the sobriety of manhood. though a man when i was a boy, he was yet one of the most agreeable companions i ever possessed. . . . he embarked for america, and nearly twenty years passed by before he came back again; . . . but oh, how altered!--he was in every sense of the word an old man, his body and mind were enfeebled, and second childishness had come upon him. how often have i bent over him, vainly endeavoring to recall to his memory the scenes we had shared together: and how frequently, with an aching heart, have i gazed on his vacant and lustreless eye, while he has amused himself in clapping his hands and singing with a quavering voice a verse of a psalm." alas! such are the consequences of long residences in america, and of old age even in uncles! well, the point of this morality is, that the uncle one day in the morning of life vowed that he would catch his two nephews and tie them together, ay, and actually did so, for all the efforts the rogues made to run away from him; but he was so fatigued that he declared he never would make the attempt again, whereupon the nephew remarks,--"often since then, when engaged in enterprises beyond my strength, have i called to mind the determination of my uncle." does it not seem impossible to make a picture out of this? and yet george cruikshank has produced a charming design, in which the uncles and nephews are so prettily portrayed that one is reconciled to their existence, with all their moralities. many more of the mirths in this little book are excellent, especially a great figure of a parson entering church on horseback,--an enormous parson truly, calm, unconscious, unwieldy. as zeuxis had a bevy of virgins in order to make his famous picture--his express virgin--a clerical host must have passed under cruikshank's eyes before he sketched this little, enormous parson of parsons. being on the subject of children's books, how shall we enough praise the delightful german nursery-tales, and cruikshank's illustrations of them? we coupled his name with pantomime awhile since, and sure never pantomimes were more charming than these. of all the artists that ever drew, from michael angelo upwards and downwards, cruikshank was the man to illustrate these tales, and give them just the proper admixture of the grotesque, the wonderful, and the graceful. may all mother bunch's collection be similarly indebted to him; may "jack the giant killer," may "tom thumb," may "puss in boots," be one day revivified by his pencil. is not whittington sitting yet on highgate hill, and poor cinderella (in that sweetest of all fairy stories) still pining in her lonely chimney-nook? a man who has a true affection for these delightful companions of his youth is bound to be grateful to them if he can, and we pray mr. cruikshank to remember them. it is folly to say that this or that kind of humor is too good for the public, that only a chosen few can relish it. the best humor that we know of has been as eagerly received by the public as by the most delicate connoisseur. there is hardly a man in england who can read but will laugh at falstaff and the humor of joseph andrews; and honest mr. pickwick's story can be felt and loved by any person above the age of six. some may have a keener enjoyment of it than others, but all the world can be merry over it, and is always ready to welcome it. the best criterion of good humor is success, and what a share of this has mr. cruikshank had! how many millions of mortals has he made happy! we have heard very profound persons talk philosophically of the marvellous and mysterious manner in which he has suited himself to the time--fait vibrer la fibre populaire (as napoleon boasted of himself), supplied a peculiar want felt at a peculiar period, the simple secret of which is, as we take it, that he, living amongst the public, has with them a general wide-hearted sympathy, that he laughs at what they laugh at, that he has a kindly spirit of enjoyment, with not a morsel of mysticism in his composition; that he pities and loves the poor, and jokes at the follies of the great, and that he addresses all in a perfectly sincere and manly way. to be greatly successful as a professional humorist, as in any other calling, a man must be quite honest, and show that his heart is in his work. a bad preacher will get admiration and a hearing with this point in his favor, where a man of three times his acquirements will only find indifference and coldness. is any man more remarkable than our artist for telling the truth after his own manner? hogarth's honesty of purpose was as conspicuous in an earlier time, and we fancy that gilray would have been far more successful and more powerful but for that unhappy bribe, which turned the whole course of his humor into an unnatural channel. cruikshank would not for any bribe say what he did not think, or lend his aid to sneer down anything meritorious, or to praise any thing or person that deserved censure. when he levelled his wit against the regent, and did his very prettiest for the princess, he most certainly believed, along with the great body of the people whom he represents, that the princess was the most spotless, pure-mannered darling of a princess that ever married a heartless debauchee of a prince royal. did not millions believe with him, and noble and learned lords take their oaths to her royal highness's innocence? cruikshank would not stand by and see a woman ill-used, and so struck in for her rescue, he and the people belaboring with all their might the party who were making the attack, and determining, from pure sympathy and indignation, that the woman must be innocent because her husband treated her so foully. to be sure we have never heard so much from mr. cruikshank's own lips, but any man who will examine these odd drawings, which first made him famous, will see what an honest hearty hatred the champion of woman has for all who abuse her, and will admire the energy with which he flings his wood-blocks at all who side against her. canning, castlereagh, bexley, sidmouth, he is at them, one and all; and as for the prince, up to what a whipping-post of ridicule did he tie that unfortunate old man! and do not let squeamish tories cry out about disloyalty; if the crown does wrong, the crown must be corrected by the nation, out of respect, of course, for the crown. in those days, and by those people who so bitterly attacked the son, no word was ever breathed against the father, simply because he was a good husband, and a sober, thrifty, pious, orderly man. this attack upon the prince regent we believe to have been mr. cruikshank's only effort as a party politician. some early manifestoes against napoleon we find, it is true, done in the regular john bull style, with the gilray model for the little upstart corsican: but as soon as the emperor had yielded to stern fortune our artist's heart relented (as beranger's did on the other side of the water), and many of our readers will doubtless recollect a fine drawing of "louis xviii. trying on napoleon's boots," which did not certainly fit the gouty son of saint louis. such satirical hits as these, however, must not be considered as political, or as anything more than the expression of the artist's national british idea of frenchmen. it must be confessed that for that great nation mr. cruikshank entertains a considerable contempt. let the reader examine the "life in paris," or the five hundred designs in which frenchmen are introduced, and he will find them almost invariably thin, with ludicrous spindle-shanks, pigtails, outstretched hands, shrugging shoulders, and queer hair and mustachios. he has the british idea of a frenchman; and if he does not believe that the inhabitants of france are for the most part dancing-masters and barbers, yet takes care to depict such in preference, and would not speak too well of them. it is curious how these traditions endure. in france, at the present moment, the englishman on the stage is the caricatured englishman at the time of the war, with a shock red head, a long white coat, and invariable gaiters. those who wish to study this subject should peruse monsieur paul de kock's histories of "lord boulingrog" and "lady crockmilove." on the other hand, the old emigre has taken his station amongst us, and we doubt if a good british gallery would understand that such and such a character was a frenchman unless he appeared in the ancient traditional costume. a curious book, called "life in paris," published in , contains a number of the artist's plates in the aquatint style; and though we believe he had never been in that capital, the designs have a great deal of life in them, and pass muster very well. a villanous race of shoulder-shrugging mortals are his frenchmen indeed. and the heroes of the tale, a certain mr. dick wildfire, squire jenkins, and captain o'shuffleton, are made to show the true british superiority on every occasion when britons and french are brought together. this book was one among the many that the designer's genius has caused to be popular; the plates are not carefully executed, but, being colored, have a pleasant, lively look. the same style was adopted in the once famous book called "tom and jerry, or life in london," which must have a word of notice here, for, although by no means mr. cruikshank's best work, his reputation was extraordinarily raised by it. tom and jerry were as popular twenty years since as mr. pickwick and sam weller now are; and often have we wished, while reading the biographies of the latter celebrated personages, that they had been described as well by mr. cruikshank's pencil as by mr. dickens's pen. as for tom and jerry, to show the mutability of human affairs and the evanescent nature of reputation, we have been to the british museum and no less than five circulating libraries in quest of the book, and "life in london," alas, is not to be found at any one of them. we can only, therefore, speak of the work from recollection, but have still a very clear remembrance of the leather gaiters of jerry hawthorn, the green spectacles of logic, and the hooked nose of corinthian tom. they were the schoolboy's delight; and in the days when the work appeared we firmly believed the three heroes above named to be types of the most elegant, fashionable young fellows the town afforded, and thought their occupations and amusements were those of all high-bred english gentlemen. tom knocking down the watchman at temple bar; tom and jerry dancing at almack's; or flirting in the saloon at the theatre; at the night-houses, after the play; at tom cribb's, examining the silver cup then in the possession of that champion; at the chambers of bob logic, who, seated at a cabinet piano, plays a waltz to which corinthian tom and kate are dancing; ambling gallantly in rotten row; or examining the poor fellow at newgate who was having his chains knocked off before hanging: all these scenes remain indelibly engraved upon the mind, and so far we are independent of all the circulating libraries in london. as to the literary contents of the book, they have passed sheer away. it was, most likely, not particularly refined; nay, the chances are that it was absolutely vulgar. but it must have had some merit of its own, that is clear; it must have given striking descriptions of life in some part or other of london, for all london read it, and went to see it in its dramatic shape. the artist, it is said, wished to close the career of the three heroes by bringing them all to ruin, but the writer, or publishers, would not allow any such melancholy subjects to dash the merriment of the public, and we believe tom, jerry, and logic, were married off at the end of the tale, as if they had been the most moral personages in the world. there is some goodness in this pity, which authors and the public are disposed to show towards certain agreeable, disreputable characters of romance. who would mar the prospects of honest roderick random, or charles surface, or tom jones? only a very stern moralist indeed. and in regard of jerry hawthorn and that hero without a surname, corinthian tom, mr. cruikshank, we make little doubt, was glad in his heart that he was not allowed to have his own way. soon after the "tom and jerry" and the "life in paris," mr. cruikshank produced a much more elaborate set of prints, in a work which was called "points of humor." these "points" were selected from various comic works, and did not, we believe, extend beyond a couple of numbers, containing about a score of copper-plates. the collector of humorous designs cannot fail to have them in his portfolio, for they contain some of the very best efforts of mr. cruikshank's genius, and though not quite so highly labored as some of his later productions, are none the worse, in our opinion, for their comparative want of finish. all the effects are perfectly given, and the expression is as good as it could be in the most delicate engraving upon steel. the artist's style, too, was then completely formed; and, for our parts, we should say that we preferred his manner of to any other which he has adopted since. the first picture, which is called "the point of honor," illustrates the old story of the officer who, on being accused of cowardice for refusing to fight a duel, came among his brother officers and flung a lighted grenade down upon the floor, before which his comrades fled ignominiously. this design is capital, and the outward rush of heroes, walking, trampling, twisting, scuffling at the door, is in the best style of the grotesque. you see but the back of most of these gentlemen; into which, nevertheless, the artist has managed to throw an expression of ludicrous agony that one could scarcely have expected to find in such a part of the human figure. the next plate is not less good. it represents a couple who, having been found one night tipsy, and lying in the same gutter, were, by a charitable though misguided gentleman, supposed to be man and wife, and put comfortably to bed together. the morning came; fancy the surprise of this interesting pair when they awoke and discovered their situation. fancy the manner, too, in which cruikshank has depicted them, to which words cannot do justice. it is needless to state that this fortuitous and temporary union was followed by one more lasting and sentimental, and that these two worthy persons were married, and lived happily ever after. we should like to go through every one of these prints. there is the jolly miller, who, returning home at night, calls upon his wife to get him a supper, and falls to upon rashers of bacon and ale. how he gormandizes, that jolly miller! rasher after rasher, how they pass away frizzling and, smoking from the gridiron down that immense grinning gulf of a mouth. poor wife! how she pines and frets, at that untimely hour of midnight to be obliged to fry, fry, fry perpetually, and minister to the monster's appetite. and yonder in the clock: what agonized face is that we see? by heavens, it is the squire of the parish. what business has he there? let us not ask. suffice it to say, that he has, in the hurry of the moment, left up stairs his br----; his--psha! a part of his dress, in short, with a number of bank-notes in the pockets. look in the next page, and you will see the ferocious, bacon-devouring ruffian of a miller is actually causing this garment to be carried through the village and cried by the town-crier. and we blush to be obliged to say that the demoralized miller never offered to return the banknotes, although he was so mighty scrupulous in endeavoring to find an owner for the corduroy portfolio in which he had found them. passing from this painful subject, we come, we regret to state, to a series of prints representing personages not a whit more moral. burns's famous "jolly beggars" have all had their portraits drawn by cruikshank. there is the lovely "hempen widow," quite as interesting and romantic as the famous mrs. sheppard, who has at the lamented demise of her husband adopted the very same consolation. "my curse upon them every one, they've hanged my braw john highlandman; . . . . and now a widow i must mourn departed joys that ne'er return; no comfort but a hearty can when i think on john highlandman." sweet "raucle carlin," she has none of the sentimentality of the english highwayman's lady; but being wooed by a tinker and "a pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle," prefers the practical to the merely musical man. the tinker sings with a noble candor, worthy of a fellow of his strength of body and station in life-- "my bonnie lass, i work in brass, a tinker is my station; i've travell'd round all christian ground in this my occupation. i've ta'en the gold, i've been enroll'd in many a noble squadron; but vain they search'd when off i march'd to go an' clout the caudron." it was his ruling passion. what was military glory to him, forsooth? he had the greatest contempt for it, and loved freedom and his copper kettle a thousand times better--a kind of hardware diogenes. of fiddling he has no better opinion. the picture represents the "sturdy caird" taking "poor gut-scraper" by the beard,--drawing his "roosty rapier," and swearing to "speet him like a pliver" unless he would relinquish the bonnie lassie for ever-- "wi' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee upon his hunkers bended, an' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, an' so the quarrel ended." hark how the tinker apostrophizes the violinist, stating to the widow at the same time the advantages which she might expect from an alliance with himself:-- "despise that shrimp, that withered imp, wi' a' his noise and caperin'; and take a share with those that bear the budget and the apron! "and by that stowp, my faith an' houpe, an' by that dear kilbaigie! if e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, may i ne'er weet my craigie." cruikshank's caird is a noble creature; his face and figure show him to be fully capable of doing and saying all that is above written of him. in the second part, the old tale of "the three hunchbacked fiddlers" is illustrated with equal felicity. the famous classical dinners and duel in "peregrine pickle" are also excellent in their way; and the connoisseur of prints and etchings may see in the latter plate, and in another in this volume, how great the artist's mechanical skill is as an etcher. the distant view of the city in the duel, and of a market-place in "the quack doctor," are delightful specimens of the artist's skill in depicting buildings and backgrounds. they are touched with a grace, truth, and dexterity of workmanship that leave nothing to desire. we have before mentioned the man with the mouth, which appears in this number emblematical of gout and indigestion, in which the artist has shown all the fancy of callot. little demons, with long saws for noses, are making dreadful incisions into the toes of the unhappy sufferer; some are bringing pans of hot coals to keep the wounded member warm; a huge, solemn nightmare sits on the invalid's chest, staring solemnly into his eyes; a monster, with a pair of drumsticks, is banging a devil's tattoo on his forehead; and a pair of imps are nailing great tenpenny nails into his hands to make his happiness complete. the late mr. clark's excellent work, "three courses and a dessert," was published at a time when the rage for comic stories was not so great as it since has been, and messrs. clark and cruikshank only sold their hundreds where messrs. dickens and phiz dispose of their thousands. but if our recommendation can in any way influence the reader, we would enjoin him to have a copy of the "three courses," that contains some of the best designs of our artist, and some of the most amusing tales in our language. the invention of the pictures, for which mr. clark takes credit to himself, says a great deal for his wit and fancy. can we, for instance, praise too highly the man who invented that wonderful oyster? examine him well; his beard, his pearl, his little round stomach, and his sweet smile. only oysters know how to smile in this way; cool, gentle, waggish, and yet inexpressibly innocent and winning. dando himself must have allowed such an artless native to go free, and consigned him to the glassy, cool, translucent wave again. in writing upon such subjects as these with which we have been furnished, it can hardly be expected that we should follow any fixed plan and order--we must therefore take such advantage as we may, and seize upon our subject when and wherever we can lay hold of him. for jews, sailors, irishmen, hessian boots, little boys, beadles, policemen, tall life-guardsmen, charity children, pumps, dustmen, very short pantaloons, dandies in spectacles, and ladies with aquiline noses, remarkably taper waists, and wonderfully long ringlets, mr. cruikshank has a special predilection. the tribe of israelites he has studied with amazing gusto; witness the jew in mr. ainsworth's "jack sheppard," and the immortal fagin of "oliver twist." whereabouts lies the comic vis in these persons and things? why should a beadle be comic, and his opposite a charity boy? why should a tall life-guardsman have something in him essentially absurd? why are short breeches more ridiculous than long? what is there particularly jocose about a pump, and wherefore does a long nose always provoke the beholder to laughter? these points may be metaphysically elucidated by those who list. it is probable that mr. cruikshank could not give an accurate definition of that which is ridiculous in these objects, but his instinct has told him that fun lurks in them, and cold must be the heart that can pass by the pantaloons of his charity boys, the hessian boots of his dandies, and the fan-tail hats of his dustmen, without respectful wonder. he has made a complete little gallery of dustmen. there is, in the first place, the professional dustman, who, having in the enthusiastic exercise of his delightful trade, laid hands upon property not strictly his own, is pursued, we presume, by the right owner, from whom he flies as fast as his crooked shanks will carry him. what a curious picture it is--the horrid rickety houses in some dingy suburb of london, the grinning cobbler, the smothered butcher, the very trees which are covered with dust--it is fine to look at the different expressions of the two interesting fugitives. the fiery charioteer who belabors the poor donkey has still a glance for his brother on foot, on whom punishment is about to descend. and not a little curious is it to think of the creative power of the man who has arranged this little tale of low life. how logically it is conducted, how cleverly each one of the accessories is made to contribute to the effect of the whole. what a deal of thought and humor has the artist expended on this little block of wood; a large picture might have been painted out of the very same materials, which mr. cruikshank, out of his wondrous fund of merriment and observation, can afford to throw away upon a drawing not two inches long. from the practical dustmen we pass to those purely poetical. there are three of them who rise on clouds of their own raising, the very genii of the sack and shovel. is there no one to write a sonnet to these?--and yet a whole poem was written about peter bell the wagoner, a character by no means so poetic. and lastly, we have the dustman in love: the honest fellow having seen a young beauty stepping out of a gin-shop on a sunday morning, is pressing eagerly his suit. gin has furnished many subjects to mr. cruikshank, who labors in his own sound and hearty way to teach his countrymen the dangers of that drink. in the "sketch-book" is a plate upon the subject, remarkable for fancy and beauty of design; it is called the "gin juggernaut," and represents a hideous moving palace, with a reeking still at the roof and vast gin-barrels for wheels, under which unhappy millions are crushed to death. an immense black cloud of desolation covers over the country through which the gin monster has passed, dimly looming through the darkness whereof you see an agreeable prospect of gibbets with men dangling, burnt houses, &c. the vast cloud comes sweeping on in the wake of this horrible body-crusher; and you see, by way of contrast, a distant, smiling, sunshiny tract of old english country, where gin as yet is not known. the allegory is as good, as earnest, and as fanciful as one of john bunyan's, and we have often fancied there was a similarity between the men. the render will examine the work called "my sketch-book" with not a little amusement, and may gather from it, as we fancy, a good deal of information regarding the character of the individual man, george cruikshank: what points strike his eye as a painter; what move his anger or admiration as a moralist; what classes he seems most especially disposed to observe, and what to ridicule. there are quacks of all kinds, to whom he has a mortal hatred; quack dandies, who assume under his pencil, perhaps in his eye, the most grotesque appearance possible--their hats grow larger, their legs infinitely more crooked and lean; the tassels of their canes swell out to a most preposterous size; the tails of their coats dwindle away, and finish where coat-tails generally begin. let us lay a wager that cruikshank, a man of the people if ever there was one, heartily hates and despises these supercilious, swaggering young gentlemen; and his contempt is not a whit the less laudable because there may be tant soit peu of prejudice in it. it is right and wholesome to scorn dandies, as nelson said it was to hate frenchmen; in which sentiment (as we have before said) george cruikshank undoubtedly shares. in the "sunday in london,"* monsieur the chef is instructing a kitchen-maid how to compound some rascally french kickshaw or the other--a pretty scoundrel truly! with what an air he wears that nightcap of his, and shrugs his lank shoulders, and chatters, and ogles, and grins: they are all the same, these mounseers; there are other two fellows--morbleu! one is putting his dirty fingers into the saucepan; there are frogs cooking in it, no doubt; and just over some other dish of abomination, another dirty rascal is taking snuff! never mind, the sauce won't be hurt by a few ingredients more or less. three such fellows as these are not worth one englishman, that's clear. there is one in the very midst of them, the great burly fellow with the beef: he could beat all three in five minutes. we cannot be certain that such was the process going on in mr. cruikshank's mind when he made the design; but some feelings of the sort were no doubt entertained by him. * the following lines--ever fresh--by the author of "headlong hall," published years ago in the globe and traveller, are an excellent comment on several of the cuts from the "sunday in london:"-- i. "the poor man's sins are glaring; in the face of ghostly warning he is caught in the fact of an overt act, buying greens on sunday morning. ii. "the rich man's sins are hidden in the pomp of wealth and station, and escape the sight of the children of light, who are wise in their generation. iii. "the rich man has a kitchen, and cooks to dress his dinner; the poor who would roast, to the baker's must post, and thus becomes a sinner. iv. "the rich man's painted windows hide the concerts of the quality; the poor can but share a crack'd fiddle in the air, which offends all sound morality. v. "the rich man has a cellar, and a ready butler by him; the poor must steer for his pint of beer where the saint can't choose but spy him. vi. "this rich man is invisible in the crowd of his gay society; but the poor man's delight is a sore in the sight and a stench in the nose of piety." against dandy footmen he is particularly severe. he hates idlers, pretenders, boasters, and punishes these fellows as best he may. who does not recollect the famous picture, "what is taxes, thomas?" what is taxes indeed; well may that vast, over-fed, lounging flunky ask the question of his associate thomas: and yet not well, for all that thomas says in reply is, "i don't know." "o beati plushicolae," what a charming state of ignorance is yours! in the "sketch-book" many footmen make their appearance: one is a huge fat hercules of a portman square porter, who calmly surveys another poor fellow, a porter likewise, but out of livery, who comes staggering forward with a box that hercules might lift with his little finger. will hercules do so? not he. the giant can carry nothing heavier than a cocked-hat note on a silver tray, and his labors are to walk from his sentry-box to the door, and from the door back to his sentry-box, and to read the sunday paper, and to poke the hall fire twice or thrice, and to make five meals a day. such a fellow does cruikshank hate and scorn worse even than a frenchman. the man's master, too, comes in for no small share of our artist's wrath. there is a company of them at church, who humbly designate themselves "miserable sinners!" miserable sinners indeed! oh, what floods of turtle-soup, what tons of turbot and lobster-sauce must have been sacrificed to make those sinners properly miserable. my lady with the ermine tippet and draggling feather, can we not see that she lives in portland place, and is the wife of an east india director? she has been to the opera over-night (indeed her husband, on her right, with his fat hand dangling over the pew-door, is at this minute thinking of mademoiselle leocadie, whom he saw behind the scenes)--she has been at the opera over-night, which with a trifle of supper afterwards--a white-and-brown soup, a lobster-salad, some woodcocks, and a little champagne--sent her to bed quite comfortable. at half-past eight her maid brings her chocolate in bed, at ten she has fresh eggs and muffins, with, perhaps, a half-hundred of prawns for breakfast, and so can get over the day and the sermon till lunch-time pretty well. what an odor of musk and bergamot exhales from the pew!--how it is wadded, and stuffed, and spangled over with brass nails! what hassocks are there for those who are not too fat to kneel! what a flustering and flapping of gilt prayer-books; and what a pious whirring of bible leaves one hears all over the church, as the doctor blandly gives out the text! to be miserable at this rate you must, at the very least, have four thousand a year: and many persons are there so enamored of grief and sin, that they would willingly take the risk of the misery to have a life-interest in the consols that accompany it, quite careless about consequences, and sceptical as to the notion that a day is at hand when you must fulfil your share of the bargain. our artist loves to joke at a soldier; in whose livery there appears to him to be something almost as ridiculous as in the uniform of the gentleman of the shoulder-knot. tall life-guardsmen and fierce grenadiers figure in many of his designs, and almost always in a ridiculous way. here again we have the honest popular english feeling which jeers at pomp or pretension of all kinds, and is especially jealous of all display of military authority. "raw recruit," "ditto dressed," ditto "served up," as we see them in the "sketch-book," are so many satires upon the army: hodge with his ribbons flaunting in his hat, or with red coat and musket, drilled stiff and pompous, or at last, minus leg and arm, tottering about on crutches, does not fill our english artist with the enthusiasm that follows the soldier in every other part of europe. jeanjean, the conscript in france, is laughed at to be sure, but then it is because he is a bad soldier: when he comes to have a huge pair of mustachios and the croix-d'honneur to briller on his poitrine cicatrisee, jeanjean becomes a member of a class that is more respected than any other in the french nation. the veteran soldier inspires our people with no such awe--we hold that democratic weapon the fist in much more honor than the sabre and bayonet, and laugh at a man tricked out in scarlet and pipe-clay. that regiment of heroes is "marching to divine service," to the tune of the "british grenadiers." there they march in state, and a pretty contempt our artist shows for all their gimcracks and trumpery. he has drawn a perfectly english scene--the little blackguard boys are playing pranks round about the men, and shouting, "heads up, soldier," "eyes right, lobster," as little british urchins will do. did one ever hear the like sentiments expressed in france? shade of napoleon, we insult you by asking the question. in england, however, see how different the case is: and designedly or undesignedly, the artist has opened to us a piece of his mind. in the crowd the only person who admires the soldiers is the poor idiot, whose pocket a rogue is picking. there is another picture, in which the sentiment is much the same, only, as in the former drawing we see englishmen laughing at the troops of the line, here are irishmen giggling at the militia. we have said that our artist has a great love for the drolleries of the green island. would any one doubt what was the country of the merry fellows depicted in his group of paddies? "place me amid o'rourkes, o'tooles, the ragged royal race of tara; or place me where dick martin rules the pathless wilds of connemara." we know not if mr. cruikshank has ever had any such good luck as to see the irish in ireland itself, but he certainly has obtained a knowledge of their looks, as if the country had been all his life familiar to him. could mr. o'connell himself desire anything more national than the scene of a drunken row, or could father mathew have a better text to preach upon? there is not a broken nose in the room that is not thoroughly irish. we have then a couple of compositions treated in a graver manner, as characteristic too as the other. we call attention to the comical look of poor teague, who has been pursued and beaten by the witch's stick, in order to point out also the singular neatness of the workmanship, and the pretty, fanciful little glimpse of landscape that the artist has introduced in the background. mr. cruikshank has a fine eye for such homely landscapes, and renders them with great delicacy and taste. old villages, farm-yards, groups of stacks, queer chimneys, churches, gable-ended cottages, elizabethan mansion-houses, and other old english scenes, he depicts with evident enthusiasm. famous books in their day were cruikshank's "john gilpin" and "epping hunt;" for though our artist does not draw horses very scientifically,--to use a phrase of the atelier,--he feels them very keenly; and his queer animals, after one is used to them, answer quite as well as better. neither is he very happy in trees, and such rustical produce; or, rather, we should say, he is very original, his trees being decidedly of his own make and composition, not imitated from any master. but what then? can a man be supposed to imitate everything? we know what the noblest study of mankind is, and to this mr. cruikshank has confined himself. that postilion with the people in the broken-down chaise roaring after him is as deaf as the post by which he passes. suppose all the accessories were away, could not one swear that the man was stone-deaf, beyond the reach of trumpet? what is the peculiar character in a deaf man's physiognomy?--can any person define it satisfactorily in words?--not in pages; and mr. cruikshank has expressed it on a piece of paper not so big as the tenth part of your thumb-nail. the horses of john gilpin are much more of the equestrian order; and as here the artist has only his favorite suburban buildings to draw, not a word is to be said against his design. the inn and old buildings are charmingly designed, and nothing can be more prettily or playfully touched. "at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wond'ring much to see how he did ride. "'stop, stop, john gilpin! here's the house!' they all at once did cry; 'the dinner waits, and we are tired--' said gilpin--'so am i!' "six gentlemen upon the road thus seeing gilpin fly, with post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, they raised the hue and cry:-- "'stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!' not one of them was mute; and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit. "and now the turnpike gates again flew open in short space; the toll-men thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race." the rush, and shouting, and clatter are excellently depicted by the artist; and we, who have been scoffing at his manner of designing animals, must here make a special exception in favor of the hens and chickens; each has a different action, and is curiously natural. happy are children of all ages who have such a ballad and such pictures as this in store for them! it is a comfort to think that woodcuts never wear out, and that the book still may be had for a shilling, for those who can command that sum of money. in the "epping hunt," which we owe to the facetious pen of mr. hood, our artist has not been so successful. there is here too much horsemanship and not enough incident for him; but the portrait of roundings the huntsman is an excellent sketch, and a couple of the designs contain great humor. the first represents the cockney hero, who, "like a bird, was singing out while sitting on a tree." and in the second the natural order is reversed. the stag having taken heart, is hunting the huntsman, and the cheapside nimrod is most ignominiously running away. the easter hunt, we are told, is no more; and as the quarterly review recommends the british public to purchase mr. catlin's pictures, as they form the only record of an interesting race now rapidly passing away, in like manner we should exhort all our friends to purchase mr. cruikshank's designs of another interesting race, that is run already and for the last time. besides these, we must mention, in the line of our duty, the notable tragedies of "tom thumb" and "bombastes furioso," both of which have appeared with many illustrations by mr. cruikshank. the "brave army" of bombastes exhibits a terrific display of brutal force, which must shock the sensibilities of an english radical. and we can well understand the caution of the general, who bids this soldatesque effrenee to begone, and not to kick up a row. such a troop of lawless ruffians let loose upon a populous city would play sad havoc in it; and we fancy the massacres of birmingham renewed, or at least of badajoz, which, though not quite so dreadful, if we may believe his grace the duke of wellington, as the former scenes of slaughter, were nevertheless severe enough: but we must not venture upon any ill-timed pleasantries in presence of the disturbed king arthur and the awful ghost of gaffer thumb. we are thus carried at once into the supernatural, and here we find cruikshank reigning supreme. he has invented in his time a little comic pandemonium, peopled with the most droll, good-natured fiends possible. we have before us chamisso's "peter schlemihl," with cruikshank's designs translated into german, and gaining nothing by the change. the "kinder und hans-maerchen" of grimm are likewise ornamented with a frontispiece copied from that one which appeared to the amusing version of the english work. the books on phrenology and time have been imitated by the same nation; and even in france, whither reputation travels slower than to any country except china, we have seen copies of the works of george cruikshank. he in return has complimented the french by illustrating a couple of lives of napoleon, and the "life in paris" before mentioned. he has also made designs for victor hugo's "hans of iceland." strange, wild etchings were those, on a strange, mad subject; not so good in our notion as the designs for the german books, the peculiar humor of which latter seemed to suit the artist exactly. there is a mixture of the awful and the ridiculous in these, which perpetually excites and keeps awake the reader's attention; the german writer and the english artist seem to have an entire faith in their subject. the reader, no doubt, remembers the awful passage in "peter schlemihl," where the little gentleman purchases the shadow of that hero--"have the kindness, noble sir, to examine and try this bag." "he put his hand into his pocket, and drew thence a tolerably large bag of cordovan leather, to which a couple of thongs were fixed. i took it from him, and immediately counted out ten gold pieces, and ten more, and ten more, and still other ten, whereupon i held out my hand to him. done, said i, it is a bargain; you shall have my shadow for your bag. the bargain was concluded; he knelt down before me, and i saw him with a wonderful neatness take my shadow from head to foot, lightly lift it up from the grass, roll and fold it up neatly, and at last pocket it. he then rose up, bowed to me once more, and walked away again, disappearing behind the rose bushes. i don't know, but i thought i heard him laughing a little. i, however, kept fast hold of the bag. everything around me was bright in the sun, and as yet i gave no thought to what i had done." this marvellous event, narrated by peter with such a faithful, circumstantial detail, is painted by cruikshank in the most wonderful poetic way, with that happy mixture of the real and supernatural that makes the narrative so curious, and like truth. the sun is shining with the utmost brilliancy in a great quiet park or garden; there is a palace in the background, and a statue basking in the sun quite lonely and melancholy; there is a sun-dial, on which is a deep shadow, and in the front stands peter schlemihl, bag in hand: the old gentleman is down on his knees to him, and has just lifted off the ground the shadow of one leg; he is going to fold it back neatly, as one does the tails of a coat, and will stow it, without any creases or crumples, along with the other black garments that lie in that immense pocket of his. cruikshank has designed all this as if he had a very serious belief in the story; he laughs, to be sure, but one fancies that he is a little frightened in his heart, in spite of all his fun and joking. the german tales we have mentioned before. "the prince riding on the fox," "hans in luck," "the fiddler and his goose," "heads off," are all drawings which, albeit not before us now, nor seen for ten years, remain indelibly fixed on the memory. "heisst du etwa rumpelstilzchen?" there sits the queen on her throne, surrounded by grinning beef-eaters, and little rumpelstiltskin stamps his foot through the floor in the excess of his tremendous despair. in one of these german tales, if we remember rightly, there is an account of a little orphan who is carried away by a pitying fairy for a term of seven years, and passing that period of sweet apprenticeship among the imps and sprites of fairy-land. has our artist been among the same company, and brought back their portraits in his sketch-book? he is the only designer fairy-land has had. callot's imps, for all their strangeness, are only of the earth earthy. fuseli's fairies belong to the infernal regions; they are monstrous, lurid, and hideously melancholy. mr. cruikshank alone has had a true insight into the character of the "little people." they are something like men and women, and yet not flesh and blood; they are laughing and mischievous, but why we know not. mr. cruikshank, however, has had some dream or the other, or else a natural mysterious instinct (as the seherinn of prevorst had for beholding ghosts), or else some preternatural fairy revelation, which has made him acquainted with the looks and ways of the fantastical subjects of oberon and titania. we have, unfortunately, no fairy portraits; but, on the other hand, can descend lower than fairy-land, and have seen some fine specimens of devils. one has already been raised, and the reader has seen him tempting a fat dutch burgomaster, in an ancient gloomy market-place, such as george cruikshank can draw as well as mr. prout, mr. nash, or any man living. there is our friend once more; our friend the burgomaster, in a highly excited state, and running as hard as his great legs will carry him, with our mutual enemy at his tail. what are the bets; will that long-legged bondholder of a devil come up with the honest dutchman? it serves him right: why did he put his name to stamped paper? and yet we should not wonder if some lucky chance should turn up in the burgomaster's favor, and his infernal creditor lose his labor; for one so proverbially cunning as yonder tall individual with the saucer eyes, it must be confessed that he has been very often outwitted. there is, for instance, the case of "the gentleman in black," which has been illustrated by our artist. a young french gentleman, by name m. desonge, who, having expended his patrimony in a variety of taverns and gaming-houses, was one day pondering upon the exhausted state of his finances, and utterly at a loss to think how he should provide means for future support, exclaimed, very naturally, "what the devil shall i do?" he had no sooner spoken than a gentleman in black made his appearance, whose authentic portrait mr. cruikshank has had the honor to paint. this gentleman produced a black-edged book out of a black bag, some black-edged papers tied up with black crape, and sitting down familiarly opposite m. desonge, began conversing with him on the state of his affairs. it is needless to state what was the result of the interview. m. desonge was induced by the gentleman to sign his name to one of the black-edged papers, and found himself at the close of the conversation to be possessed of an unlimited command of capital. this arrangement completed, the gentleman in black posted (in an extraordinarily rapid manner) from paris to london, there found a young english merchant in exactly the same situation in which m. desonge had been, and concluded a bargain with the briton of exactly the same nature. the book goes on to relate how these young men spent the money so miraculously handed over to them, and how both, when the period drew near that was to witness the performance of their part of the bargain, grew melancholy, wretched, nay, so absolutely dishonorable as to seek for every means of breaking through their agreement. the englishman living in a country where the lawyers are more astute than any other lawyers in the world, took the advice of a mr. bagsby, of lyon's inn; whose name, as we cannot find it in the "law list," we presume to be fictitious. who could it be that was a match for the devil? lord ---- very likely; we shall not give his name, but let every reader of this review fill up the blank according to his own fancy, and on comparing it with the copy purchased by his neighbors, he will find that fifteen out of twenty have written down the same honored name. well, the gentleman in black was anxious for the fulfilment of his bond. the parties met at mr. bagsby's chambers to consult, the black gentleman foolishly thinking that he could act as his own counsel, and fearing no attorney alive. but mark the superiority of british law, and see how the black pettifogger was defeated. mr. bagsby simply stated that he would take the case into chancery, and his antagonist, utterly humiliated and defeated, refused to move a step farther in the matter. and now the french gentleman, m. desonge, hearing of his friend's escape, became anxious to be free from his own rash engagements. he employed the same counsel who had been successful in the former instance, but the gentleman in black was a great deal wiser by this time, and whether m. desonge escaped, or whether he is now in that extensive place which is paved with good intentions, we shall not say. those who are anxious to know had better purchase the book wherein all these interesting matters are duly set down. there is one more diabolical picture in our budget, engraved by mr. thompson, the same dexterous artist who has rendered the former diableries so well. we may mention mr. thompson's name as among the first of the engravers to whom cruikshank's designs have been entrusted; and next to him (if we may be allowed to make such arbitrary distinctions) we may place mr. williams; and the reader is not possibly aware of the immense difficulties to be overcome in the rendering of these little sketches, which, traced by the designer in a few hours, require weeks' labor from the engraver. mr. cruikshank has not been educated in the regular schools of drawing (very luckily for him, as we think), and consequently has had to make a manner for himself, which is quite unlike that of any other draftsman. there is nothing in the least mechanical about it; to produce his particular effects he uses his own particular lines, which are queer, free, fantastical, and must be followed in all their infinite twists and vagaries by the careful tool of the engraver. those three lovely heads, for instance, imagined out of the rinds of lemons, are worth examining, not so much for the jovial humor and wonderful variety of feature exhibited in these darling countenances as for the engraver's part of the work. see the infinite delicate cross-lines and hatchings which he is obliged to render; let him go, not a hair's breadth, but the hundredth part of a hair's breadth, beyond the given line, and the feeling of it is ruined. he receives these little dots and specks, and fantastical quirks of the pencil, and cuts away with a little knife round each, not too much nor too little. antonio's pound of flesh did not puzzle the jew so much; and so well does the engraver succeed at last, that we never remember to have met with a single artist who did not vow that the wood-cutter had utterly ruined his design. of messrs. thompson and williams we have spoken as the first engravers in point of rank; however, the regulations of professional precedence are certainly very difficult, and the rest of their brethren we shall not endeavor to class. why should the artists who executed the cuts of the admirable "three courses" yield the pas to any one? there, for instance, is an engraving by mr. landells, nearly as good in our opinion as the very best woodcut that ever was made after cruikshank, and curiously happy in rendering the artist's peculiar manner: this cut does not come from the facetious publications which we have consulted; but is a contribution by mr. cruikshank to an elaborate and splendid botanical work upon the orchidaceae of mexico, by mr. bateman. mr. bateman despatched some extremely choice roots of this valuable plant to a friend in england, who, on the arrival of the case, consigned it to his gardener to unpack. a great deal of anxiety with regard to the contents was manifested by all concerned, but on the lid of the box being removed, there issued from it three or four fine specimens of the enormous blatta beetle that had been preying upon the plants during the voyage; against these the gardeners, the grooms, the porters, and the porters' children, issued forth in arms, and this scene the artist has immortalized. we have spoken of the admirable way in which mr. cruikshank has depicted irish character and cockney character; english country character is quite as faithfully delineated in the person of the stout porteress and her children, and of the "chawbacon" with the shovel, on whose face is written "zummerzetsheer." chawbacon appears in another plate, or else chawbacon's brother. he has come up to lunnan, and is looking about him at raaces. how distinct are these rustics from those whom we have just been examining! they hang about the purlieus of the metropolis: brook green, epsom, greenwich, ascot, goodwood, are their haunts. they visit london professionally once a year, and that is at the time of bartholomew fair. how one may speculate upon the different degrees of rascality, as exhibited in each face of the thimblerigging trio, and form little histories for these worthies, charming newgate romances, such as have been of late the fashion! is any man so blind that he cannot see the exact face that is writhing under the thhnblerigged hero's hat? like timanthes of old, our artist expresses great passions without the aid of the human countenance. there is another specimen--a street row of inebriated bottles. is there any need of having a face after this? "come on!" says claret-bottle, a dashing, genteel fellow, with his hat on one ear--"come on! has any man a mind to tap me?" claret-bottle is a little screwed (as one may see by his legs), but full of gayety and courage; not so that stout, apoplectic bottle-of-rum, who has staggered against the wall, and has his hand upon his liver: the fellow hurts himself with smoking, that is clear, and is as sick as sick can be. see, port is making away from the storm, and double x is as flat as ditch-water. against these, awful in their white robes, the sober watchmen come. our artist then can cover up faces, and yet show them quite clearly, as in the thimblerig group; or he can do without faces altogether; or he can, at a pinch, provide a countenance for a gentleman out of any given object--a beautiful irish physiognomy being moulded upon a keg of whiskey; and a jolly english countenance frothing out of a pot of ale (the spirit of brave toby philpot come back to reanimate his clay); while in a fungus may be recognized the physiognomy of a mushroom peer. finally, if he is at a loss, he can make a living head, body, and legs out of steel or tortoise-shell, as in the case of the vivacious pair of spectacles that are jockeying the nose of caddy cuddle. of late years mr. cruikshank has busied himself very much with steel engraving, and the consequences of that lucky invention have been, that his plates are now sold by thousands, where they could only be produced by hundreds before. he has made many a bookseller's and author's fortune (we trust that in so doing he may not have neglected his own). twelve admirable plates, furnished yearly to that facetious little publication, the comic almanac, have gained for it a sale, as we hear, of nearly twenty thousand copies. the idea of the work was novel; there was, in the first number especially, a great deal of comic power, and cruikshank's designs were so admirable that the almanac at once became a vast favorite with the public, and has so remained ever since. besides the twelve plates, this almanac contains a prophetic woodcut, accompanying an awful blarneyhum astrologicum that appears in this and other almanacs. there is one that hints in pretty clear terms that with the reform of municipal corporations the ruin of the great lord mayor of london is at hand. his lordship is meekly going to dine at an eightpenny ordinary, his giants in pawn, his men in armor dwindled to "one poor knight," his carriage to be sold, his stalwart aldermen vanished, his sheriffs, alas! and alas! in gaol! another design shows that rigdum, if a true, is also a moral and instructive prophet. john bull is asleep, or rather in a vision; the cunning demon, speculation, blowing a thousand bright bubbles about him. meanwhile the rooks are busy at his fob, a knave has cut a cruel hole in his pocket, a rattlesnake has coiled safe round his feet, and will in a trice swallow bull, chair, money and all; the rats are at his corn-bags (as if, poor devil, he had corn to spare); his faithful dog is bolting his leg-of-mutton--nay, a thief has gotten hold of his very candle, and there, by way of moral, is his ale-pot, which looks and winks in his face, and seems to say, o bull, all this is froth, and a cruel satirical picture of a certain rustic who had a goose that laid certain golden eggs, which goose the rustic slew in expectation of finding all the eggs at once. this is goose and sage too, to borrow the pun of "learned doctor gill;" but we shrewdly suspect that mr. cruikshank is becoming a little conservative in his notions. we love these pictures so that it is hard to part us, and we still fondly endeavor to hold on, but this wild word, farewell, must be spoken by the best friends at last, and so good-by, brave woodcuts: we feel quite a sadness in coming to the last of our collection. in the earlier numbers of the comic almanac all the manners and customs of londoners that would afford food for fun were noted down; and if during the last two years the mysterious personage who, under the title of "rigdum funnidos," compiles this ephemeris, has been compelled to resort to romantic tales, we must suppose that he did so because the great metropolis was exhausted, and it was necessary to discover new worlds in the cloud-land of fancy. the character of mr. stubbs, who made his appearance in the almanac for , had, we think, great merit, although his adventures were somewhat of too tragical a description to provoke pure laughter. we should be glad to devote a few pages to the "illustrations of time," the "scraps and sketches," and the "illustrations of phrenology," which are among the most famous of our artist's publications; but it is very difficult to find new terms of praise, as find them one must, when reviewing mr. cruikshank's publications, and more difficult still (as the reader of this notice will no doubt have perceived for himself long since) to translate his design into words, and go to the printer's box for a description of all that fun and humor which the artist can produce by a few skilful turns of his needle. a famous article upon the "illustrations of time" appeared some dozen years since in blackwood's magazine, of which the conductors have always been great admirers of our artist, as became men of honor and genius. to these grand qualities do not let it be supposed that we are laying claim, but, thank heaven, cruikshank's humor is so good and benevolent that any man must love it, and on this score we may speak as well as another. then there are the "greenwich hospital" designs, which must not be passed over. "greenwich hospital" is a hearty, good-natured book, in the tom dibdin school, treating of the virtues of british tars, in approved nautical language. they maul frenchmen and spaniards, they go out in brigs and take frigates, they relieve women in distress, and are yard-arm and yard-arming, athwart-hawsing, marlinspiking, binnacling, and helm's-a-leeing, as honest seamen invariably do, in novels, on the stage, and doubtless on board ship. this we cannot take upon us to say, but the artist, like a true englishman, as he is, loves dearly these brave guardians of old england, and chronicles their rare or fanciful exploits with the greatest good-will. let any one look at the noble head of nelson in the "family library," and they will, we are sure, think with us that the designer must have felt and loved what he drew. there are to this abridgment of southey's admirable book many more cuts after cruikshank; and about a dozen pieces by the same hand will be found in a work equally popular, lockhart's excellent "life of napoleon." among these the retreat from moscow is very fine; the mamlouks most vigorous, furious, and barbarous, as they should be. at the end of these three volumes mr. cruikshank's contributions to the "family library" seem suddenly to have ceased. we are not at all disposed to undervalue the works and genius of mr. dickens, and we are sure that he would admit as readily as any man the wonderful assistance that he has derived from the artist who has given us the portraits of his ideal personages, and made them familiar to all the world. once seen, these figures remain impressed on the memory, which otherwise would have had no hold upon them, and the heroes and heroines of boz become personal acquaintances with each of us. oh, that hogarth could have illustrated fielding in the same way! and fixed down on paper those grand figures of parson adams, and squire allworthy, and the great jonathan wild. with regard to the modern romance of "jack sheppard," in which the latter personage makes a second appearance, it seems to us that mr. cruikshank really created the tale, and that mr. ainsworth, as it were, only put words to it. let any reader of the novel think over it for a while, now that it is some months since he has perused and laid it down--let him think, and tell us what he remembers of the tale? george cruikshank's pictures--always george cruikshank's pictures. the storm in the thames, for instance: all the author's labored description of that event has passed clean away--we have only before the mind's eye the fine plates of cruikshank: the poor wretch cowering under the bridge arch, as the waves come rushing in, and the boats are whirling away in the drift of the great swollen black waters. and let any man look at that second plate of the murder on the thames, and he must acknowledge how much more brilliant the artist's description is than the writer's, and what a real genius for the terrible as well as for the ridiculous the former has; how awful is the gloom of the old bridge, a few lights glimmering from the houses here and there, but not so as to be reflected on the water at all, which is too turbid and raging: a great heavy rack of clouds goes sweeping over the bridge, and men with flaring torches, the murderers, are borne away with the stream. the author requires many pages to describe the fury of the storm, which mr. cruikshank has represented in one. first, he has to prepare you with the something inexpressibly melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the thames: "the ripple of the water," "the darkling current," "the indistinctively seen craft," "the solemn shadows" and other phenomena visible on rivers at night are detailed (with not unskilful rhetoric) in order to bring the reader into a proper frame of mind for the deeper gloom and horror which is to ensue. then follow pages of description. "as rowland sprang to the helm, and gave the signal for pursuit, a war like a volley of ordnance was heard aloft, and the wind again burst its bondage. a moment before the surface of the stream was as black as ink. it was now whitening, hissing, and seething, like an enormous caldron. the blast once more swept over the agitated river, whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. destruction everywhere marked the course of the gale. steeples toppled and towers reeled beneath its fury. all was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. men fled from their tottering habitations and returned to them, scared by greater danger. the end of the world seemed at hand. . . . the hurricane had now reached its climax. the blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. he who had faced the gale would have been instantly stifled," &c. &c. see with what a tremendous war of words (and good loud words too; mr. ainsworth's description is a good and spirited one) the author is obliged to pour in upon the reader before he can effect his purpose upon the latter, and inspire him with a proper terror. the painter does it at a glance, and old wood's dilemma in the midst of that tremendous storm, with the little infant at his bosom, is remembered afterwards, not from the words, but from the visible image of them that the artist has left us. it would not, perhaps, be out of place to glance through the whole of the "jack sheppard" plates, which are among the most finished and the most successful of mr. cruikshank's performances, and say a word or two concerning them. let us begin with finding fault with no. , "mr. wood offers to adopt little jack sheppard." a poor print, on a poor subject; the figure of the woman not as carefully designed as it might be, and the expression of the eyes (not an uncommon fault with our artist) much caricatured. the print is cut up, to use the artist's phrase, by the number of accessories which the engraver has thought proper, after the author's elaborate description, elaborately to reproduce. the plate of "wild discovering darrell in the loft" is admirable--ghastly, terrible, and the treatment of it extraordinarily skilful, minute, and bold. the intricacies of the tile-work, and the mysterious twinkling of light among the beams, are excellently felt and rendered; and one sees here, as in the two next plates of the storm and murder, what a fine eye the artist has, what a skilful hand, and what a sympathy for the wild and dreadful. as a mere imitation of nature, the clouds and the bridge in the murder picture may be examined by painters who make far higher pretensions than mr. cruikshank. in point of workmanship they are equally good, the manner quite unaffected, the effect produced without any violent contrast, the whole scene evidently well and philosophically arranged in the artist's brain, before he began to put it upon copper. the famous drawing of "jack carving the name on the beam," which has been transferred to half the play-bills in town, is overloaded with accessories, as the first plate; but they are much better arranged than in the last-named engraving, and do not injure the effect of the principal figure. remark, too, the conscientiousness of the artist, and that shrewd pervading idea of form which is one of his principal characteristics. jack is surrounded by all sorts of implements of his profession; he stands on a regular carpenter's table: away in the shadow under it lie shavings and a couple of carpenter's hampers. the glue-pot, the mallet, the chisel-handle, the planes, the saws, the hone with its cover, and the other paraphernalia are all represented with extraordinary accuracy and forethought. the man's mind has retained the exact drawing of all these minute objects (unconsciously perhaps to himself), but we can see with what keen eyes he must go through the world, and what a fund of facts (as such a knowledge of the shape of objects is in his profession) this keen student of nature has stored away in his brain. in the next plate, where jack is escaping from his mistress, the figure of that lady, one of the deepest of the [greek text omitted], strikes us as disagreeable and unrefined; that of winifred is, on the contrary, very pretty and graceful; and jack's puzzled, slinking look must not be forgotten. all the accessories are good, and the apartment has a snug, cosy air; which is not remarkable, except that it shows how faithfully the designer has performed his work, and how curiously he has entered into all the particulars of the subject. master thames darrell, the handsome young man of the book, is, in mr. cruikshank's portraits of him, no favorite of ours. the lad seems to wish to make up for the natural insignificance of his face by frowning on all occasions most portentously. this figure, borrowed from the compositor's desk, will give a notion of what we mean. wild's face is too violent for the great man of history (if we may call fielding history), but this is in consonance with the ranting, frowning, braggadocio character that mr. ainsworth has given him. the "interior of willesden church" is excellent as a composition, and a piece of artistical workmanship; the groups are well arranged; and the figure of mrs. sheppard looking round alarmed, as her son is robbing the dandy kneebone, is charming, simple, and unaffected. not so "mrs. sheppard ill in bed," whose face is screwed up to an expression vastly too tragic. the little glimpse of the church seen through the open door of the room is very beautiful and poetical: it is in such small hints that an artist especially excels; they are the morals which he loves to append to his stories, and are always appropriate and welcome. the boozing ken is not to our liking; mrs. sheppard is there with her horrified eyebrows again. why this exaggeration--is it necessary for the public? we think not, or if they require such excitement, let our artist, like a true painter as he is, teach them better things.* * a gentleman (whose wit is so celebrated that one should be very cautious in repeating his stories) gave the writer a good illustration of the philosophy of exaggeration. mr. -- -- was once behind the scenes at the opera when the scene- shifters were preparing for the ballet. flora was to sleep under a bush, whereon were growing a number of roses, and amidst which was fluttering a gay covey of butterflies. in size the roses exceeded the most expansive sunflowers, and the butterflies were as large as cocked hats;--the scene -shifter explained to mr. ----, who asked the reason why everything was so magnified, that the galleries could never see the objects unless they were enormously exaggerated. how many of our writers and designers work for the galleries? the "escape from willesden cage" is excellent; the "burglary in wood's house" has not less merit; "mrs. sheppard in bedlam," a ghastly picture indeed, is finely conceived, but not, as we fancy, so carefully executed; it would be better for a little more careful drawing in the female figure. "jack sitting for his picture" is a very pleasing group, and savors of the manner of hogarth, who is introduced in the company. the "murder of trenchard" must be noticed too as remarkable for the effect and terrible vigor which the artist has given to the scene. the "willesden churchyard" has great merit too, but the gems of the book are the little vignettes illustrating the escape from newgate. here, too, much anatomical care of drawing is not required; the figures are so small that the outline and attitude need only to be indicated, and the designer has produced a series of figures quite remarkable for reality and poetry too. there are no less than ten of jack's feats so described by mr. cruikshank. (let us say a word here in praise of the excellent manner in which the author has carried us through the adventure.) here is jack clattering up the chimney, now peering into the lonely red room, now opening "the door between the red room and the chapel." what a wild, fierce, scared look he has, the young ruffian, as cautiously he steps in, holding light his bar of iron. you can see by his face how his heart is beating! if any one were there! but no! and this is a very fine characteristic of the prints, the extreme loneliness of them all. not a soul is there to disturb him--woe to him who should--and jack drives in the chapel gate, and shatters down the passage door, and there you have him on the leads. up he goes! it is but a spring of a few feet from the blanket, and he is gone--abiit, evasit, erupit! mr. wild must catch him again if he can. we must not forget to mention "oliver twist," and mr. cruikshank's famous designs to that work.* the sausage scene at fagin's, nancy seizing the boy; that capital piece of humor, mr. bumble's courtship, which is even better in cruikshank's version than in boz's exquisite account of the interview; sykes's farewell to the dog; and the jew,--the dreadful jew--that cruikshank drew! what a fine touching picture of melancholy desolation is that of sykes and the dog! the poor cur is not too well drawn, the landscape is stiff and formal; but in this case the faults, if faults they be, of execution rather add to than diminish the effect of the picture: it has a strange, wild, dreary, broken -hearted look; we fancy we see the landscape as it must have appeared to sykes, when ghastly and with bloodshot eyes he looked at it. as for the jew in the dungeon, let us say nothing of it--what can we say to describe it? what a fine homely poet is the man who can produce this little world of mirth or woe for us! does he elaborate his effects by slow process of thought, or do they come to him by instinct? does the painter ever arrange in his brain an image so complete, that he afterwards can copy it exactly on the canvas, or does the hand work in spite of him? * or his new work, "the tower of london," which promises even to surpass mr. cruikshank's former productions. a great deal of this random work of course every artist has done in his time; many men produce effects of which they never dreamed, and strike off excellences, haphazard, which gain for them reputation; but a fine quality in mr. cruikshank, the quality of his success, as we have said before, is the extraordinary earnestness and good faith with which he executes all he attempts--the ludicrous, the polite, the low, the terrible. in the second of these he often, in our fancy, fails, his figures lacking elegance and descending to caricature; but there is something fine in this too: it is good that he should fail, that he should have these honest naive notions regarding the beau monde, the characteristics of which a namby-pamby tea-party painter could hit off far better than he. he is a great deal too downright and manly to appreciate the flimsy delicacies of small society--you cannot expect a lion to roar you like any sucking dove, or frisk about a drawing-room like a lady's little spaniel. if then, in the course of his life and business, he has been occasionally obliged to imitate the ways of such small animals, he has done so, let us say it at once, clumsily, and like as a lion should. many artists, we hear, hold his works rather cheap; they prate about bad drawing, want of scientific knowledge:--they would have something vastly more neat, regular, anatomical. not one of the whole band most likely but can paint an academy figure better than himself; nay, or a portrait of an alderman's lady and family of children. but look down the list of the painters and tell us who are they? how many among these men are poets (makers), possessing the faculty to create, the greatest among the gifts with which providence has endowed the mind of man? say how many there are, count up what they have done, and see what in the course of some nine-and-twenty years has been done by this indefatigable man. what amazing energetic fecundity do we find in him! as a boy he began to fight for bread, has been hungry (twice a day we trust) ever since, and has been obliged to sell his wit for his bread week by week. and his wit, sterling gold as it is, will find no such purchasers as the fashionable painter's thin pinchbeck, who can live comfortably for six weeks, when paid for and painting a portrait, and fancies his mind prodigiously occupied all the while. there was an artist in paris, an artist hairdresser, who used to be fatigued and take restoratives after inventing a new coiffure. by no such gentle operation of head-dressing has cruikshank lived: time was (we are told so in print) when for a picture with thirty heads in it he was paid three guineas--a poor week's pittance truly, and a dire week's labor. we make no doubt that the same labor would at present bring him twenty times the sum; but whether it be ill paid or well, what labor has mr. cruikshank's been! week by week, for thirty years, to produce something new; some smiling offspring of painful labor, quite independent and distinct from its ten thousand jovial brethren; in what hours of sorrow and ill-health to be told by the world, "make us laugh or you starve--give us fresh fun; we have eaten up the old and are hungry." and all this has he been obliged to do--to wring laughter day by day, sometimes, perhaps, out of want, often certainly from ill-health or depression--to keep the fire of his brain perpetually alight: for the greedy public will give it no leisure to cool. this he has done and done well. he has told a thousand truths in as many strange and fascinating ways; he has given a thousand new and pleasant thoughts to millions of people; he has never used his wit dishonestly; he has never, in all the exuberance of his frolicsome humor, caused a single painful or guilty blush: how little do we think of the extraordinary power of this man, and how ungrateful we are to him! here, as we are come round to the charge of ingratitude, the starting-post from which we set out, perhaps we had better conclude. the reader will perhaps wonder at the high-flown tone in which we speak of the services and merits of an individual, whom he considers a humble scraper on steel, that is wonderfully popular already. but none of us remember all the benefits we owe him; they have come one by one, one driving out the memory of the other: it is only when we come to examine them all together, as the writer has done, who has a pile of books on the table before him--a heap of personal kindnesses from george cruikshank (not presents, if you please, for we bought, borrowed, or stole every one of them)--that we feel what we owe him. look at one of mr. cruikshank's works, and we pronounce him an excellent humorist. look at all: his reputation is increased by a kind of geometrical progression; as a whole diamond is a hundred times more valuable than the hundred splinters into which it might be broken would be. a fine rough english diamond is this about which we have been writing. mr. punch's railway book [illustration] punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * [illustration: "reading between the lines"] * * * * * mr. punch's railway book _with illustrations_ by phil may, george du maurier, charles keene, john leech, sir john tenniel, e. t. reed, l. ravenhill, j. bernard partridge, reginald cleaver, and many other humorous artists [illustration] published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children * * * * * a word at starting [illustration] only a few years before mr. punch began his long and brilliant career had passenger trains and a regular system of railway travelling come into existence. in his early days it was still very much of a novelty to undertake a journey of any length by train; a delightful uncertainty prevailed not only as to the arrival at a given destination, but equally as to getting away from a starting-place. naturally, the pens and pencils of his clever contributors were then frequently in use to illustrate the humours of railway travel, and even down to the present time mr. punch has not failed to find in the railway and its associations "a source of innocent merriment." it must be admitted that some thirty years ago the pages of punch literally teemed with biting satires on the management of our railways, and the fact that his whole-hearted denunciations of the inefficient service, the carelessness which resulted in frequent accidents, the excessive charges, the inadequate accommodation, could have been allowed to pass without numerous actions for libel, is proof of the enormous advantages which the present generation enjoys in this great matter of comfortable, rapid and inexpensive transit. where mr. punch in his wrath, as voicing the opinion of the public, was wont to ridicule and condemn the railways and all associated therewith, we to-day are as ready, and with equal reason, to raise our voice in praise. but ridicule is ever a stronger impulse to wit than is appreciation, and in these later days when we are all alive to the abounding merits of our railway system mr. punch has had less to say about it. if we were to cull from his pages written in the days of his wrath we might be held guilty of presenting a gross travesty of the conditions now obtaining. thus it is that in one or two cases only have we retained passages from his earlier chronicles, such as "rules for the rail" and "the third-class traveller's petition," which have some historical value as reminders that the railway comfort of the present day presents a remarkable contrast to the not very distant past. to-day every member of the community may be regarded as a railway traveller, so large a part does the railway play in modern life; and it will be admitted that, with all our improvements, the element of humour has not been eliminated from our comings and goings by train. we trust it never may. here, then, is a compilation of the "best things," literary and pictorial, that have appeared in mr. punch's pages on the subject, and with his cheery presence as our guard, let us set forth upon our excursion into the realm of fun! * * * * * mr. punch's railway book railway jokes _as played daily on the principal lines_ _turning business into pleasure._--take a traveller pressed for time, and induce him to enter a train supposed to be in correspondence with another train belonging to another line, and by which other train the traveller proposes to proceed to his destination. as the first train arrives at the junction, start off the second train _en route_ for town. the dismay of the traveller when he finds his journey interrupted will be, to say the least, most mirth-moving. _the panic-stricken passengers._--allow an express train to arrive at the station of a rival company two hours behind its time. the travellers will, of course, be anxious to learn the cause of the delay, and will (again of course) receive no sort of information on the subject from the servants of the rival company. should there be any nervous ladies in the train, the fun will become fast and furious. _a lark in the dark._--start a train ten minutes late, and gradually lose time until it arrives in the middle of a long tunnel, and then stop the engine. stay where you are for half an hour, whistling and letting off steam every now and then, to increase the excitement. should it be known in the train that an express is due on the line of rails already occupied by the carriages, the humour of the situation will be greatly improved. before playing this joke, it will be as well to lock the carriage-doors, and to carefully sever the cord of communication existing (on some lines) between the passengers and the guard. _a comical meal._--on a long journey promise that the train shall stop at a stated station ten minutes for refreshments. lose time in the customary manner, and allow the train to arrive at the stated station half an hour late. permit the passengers to descend and to enter the refreshment-rooms. the moment they are served, drive them back hurriedly into the carriages with the threat that if they are not immediately seated in their places they will be left behind. when the passengers are once more in their compartments, the carriage-doors should be securely locked, and the train can then remain waiting beside the platform for three-quarters of an hour. _the strange companions._--invite ladies and gentlemen to travel in a first-class carriage. when the compartment is a third full, over-fill it with "merry" excursionists holding third-class tickets. the contrast between the "merriment" of the excursionists and the disgust of the ladies and gentlemen will be found a source of never-ending amusement. _a wholesome joke (added by mr. punch and suggested to the passengers)._--whenever you find yourselves subjected to the "fun" of the railway officials, write to the newspapers and obtain a summons against the directors of the company which you believe to be in fault. _verb. sap._ * * * * * [illustration: "half third return to brixton, please." "half! what's your age?" "i'm thirteen at home; but i'm only nine and a half on railways."] * * * * * [illustration: _friend (to minor rail official at provincial station)_ "'ullo cocky, where 'ave you been all this time?" _minor r.o. (with dignity)._ "oh i had to go up on duty for the naval review at spit'ead, i 'ad." _friend (impressed)._ "ah! fine sight i expect it wur?" _minor r.o._ "well, i can't say as i _saw much of it. i war taking the tickets at vaux'all!"_] * * * * * [illustration: an exciting time poor jones is convinced that his worst fears are at last realised, and he is left alone with a _dangerous lunatic!!_ (it was only little wobbles running anxiously over the points of his coming speech to the electors of plumpwell-on-tyme!!)] * * * * * [illustration: a tragedy on the great northern scene--_a third-class carriage._ time--_three hours before the next station._ dramatis personÆ--_jones and robinson._ "it's the _last!_--and it's a tändstickor. it'll only strike on the box!" "strike it on the box, then;--but for heaven's sake, be careful!" "yes; but, like a fool, i've just pitched the box out of window!"] * * * * * [illustration: "what's sauce for the goose," &c. _passenger (in second class)._ "i think i've got into the wrong carriage." _ticket inspector (sternly)._ "the difference must be paid!" _passenger (triumphantly)._ "oh, just so! then i'll trouble you for three shillings--i've a first-class ticket!"] * * * * * [illustration: a reminder _old lady._ "now, porter, you're quite sure you've put all my luggage in?--the big portmantle and----" _porter._ "all right, mum." _old lady._ "and you're certain i've not left anything behind----" _porter._ "no, mum, not even a copper!"] * * * * * [illustration: notes of travel _the cunard "special" full speed for london_ _john bull (of the world in general)._ "there is nothing to be alarmed at. surely your american trains go much faster than this?" _jonathan (from the west in particular)._ "why, yaas. but 'tain't that. i'm afeard it'll run off your darned little island!"] * * * * * [illustration: _impatient traveller._ "er--how long will the next train be, portah?" _porter._ "heaw long? weel, sir ah dunno heaw ah con saay to hauf an inch. happen there'll be fower or five co-aches an' a engine or soa."] * * * * * [illustration: the level crossing "are there no more trains this evening on the up line, porter?" "no, mum." "and no more trains on the down line?" "no, mum." "is there no _special_ train?" "no, mum." "nor an _excursion_ train?" "no, mum. the gates are to for the rest of the evening." "you're quite sure?" "yes, mum." "then come, amelia. we can cross the line!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old maid._ "is this a smoking compartment, young man?" _obliging passenger._ "no, mum. 'igher up!"] * * * * * the missing spinster you may boast your great improvements, your inventions and your "movements," for those who stay at home, and those who travel; but arrangements for the latter are so complex, that the matter makes them dotty as a hatter to unravel. there was once an ancient lady whom we knew as miss o'grady, who was asked to spend the autumn down at trew. so in fear and trepidation she sought out her destination, and betook her to the station-- waterloo. she took her little ticket and she did not fail to stick it with half-a-dozen coppers in her glove. another moment found her with a plenty to astound her-- for she'd notice-boards all round her, and above! so she studied every number on those sign-posts that encumber all the station; and she learned them one by one; but she found the indication of the platforms of the station not much use as information when she'd done. in her shocking state of fluster little courage could she muster, yet of porters she accosted one or two; but, too shy to claim attention, and too full of apprehension, she could get no one to mention "which for trew." so she trudged through every station-- "north," "south," "main,"--in quick rotation, and then she gave a trial to the "loop"; like some hapless new pandora she sat down a-gasping for a little hope to live on--or a plate o' soup. * * * * * 'mid the bustle and the hissing an old maiden lady's "missing"-- in some corner of the complicated maze; and round about she's gliding in unwilling, hideous hiding, on the platform, loop, or siding, in a craze. and still they cannot find her, for she leaves no trace behind her at vauxhall, clapham junction, waterloo; but she passes like a comet with the myst'ry of mahomet-- her course unknown--and from it not a clue! * * * * * [illustration: most offensive _railway porter._ "if you please, sir, was this your'n?"] * * * * * [illustration: a railway collusion--a hint to station-masters _porter._ "now, then, bill! are you off?" _cab ruffian._ "no; what sort of fare is it?" _porter._ "single gent, with small bag." _ruffian._ "oh, _he_ won't do! can't yer find us a old lady and two little gals with lots o' boxes? i'm good for a pint!"] * * * * * [illustration: changelings; or, a story without (polite) words. "them's the only dogs as come by this train, sir. the guard says as 'ow there was three sportin' dogs, as 'ad ate their label off, wot's gone on by the scotch express."] * * * * * rather 'cute.--_small but sharp passenger._ "look here! you didn't give me the right change just now!" _clerk._ "too late, sir! you should have spoken when you took your ticket!" _passenger._ "_should_ i? well, it's of no consequence to me; but you gave me half-a-sovereign too much! ta-ta!" _[exit._ * * * * * [illustration: smoking compartment wait till the train stops third class. to seat six underground studies] * * * * * [illustration: the underground railways] _stoker._ "wery sorry to disturb yer at supper, ladies, but could yer oblige me with a scuttle o' coals for our engine, as we've run short of 'em this journey?" * * * * * repartees for the railway "no smoking allowed." of course, but i am going to enjoy my cigar in silence. "want the window closed." very sorry, but i can't find a cathedral. "find my journal a nuisance." dear me! was under the impression it was a newspaper. "allow you to pass." afraid only the secretary can manage that for you; he alone has power to issue free tickets. "do i mind the draught?" not when i am attending to the chessman. "do i know the station?" of the people on the platform? probably lower middle class. "is this right for windsor?" yes, if it's not left for somewhere else. "are we allowed five minutes for lunch?" think not; but you can have sandwiches at the counter. "isn't this first-class?" quite excellent--first-rate--couldn't be better! "i want to go second." then you had better follow me. "i am third." indeed! and who were first and second. "i think this must be london." very likely, if it is, it mustn't be anywhere else. * * * * * the way of the whirled.--the rail-way. * * * * * "very hard lines."--the railways. * * * * * [illustration: railway amalgamation--a pleasant state of things] _passenger._ "what's the matter, guard?" _guard (with presence of mind)._ "oh, nothing particular, sir. we've only run into an excursion train!" _passenger._ "but, good gracious! there's a train just behind us, isn't there?" _guard._ "yes, sir! but a boy has gone down the line with a signal; and it's very likely they'll see it!" * * * * * [illustration: metropolitan railway types. the party that _never_ says, "thank | the party that _always_ says, you!" | "thank you!" when you open the door, shut the window, or give up your seat for her.] * * * * * the third-class traveller's petition ( ) pity the sorrows of a third-class man, whose trembling limbs with snow are whitened o'er, who for his fare has paid you all he can: cover him in, and let him freeze no more! this dripping hat my roofless pen bespeaks, so does the puddle reaching to my knees; behold my pinch'd red nose--my shrivell'd cheeks: you should not have such carriages as these. in vain i stamp to warm my aching feet, i only paddle in a pool of slush; my stiffen'd hands in vain i blow and beat; tears from my eyes congealing as they gush. keen blows the wind; the sleet comes pelting down, and here i'm standing in the open air! long is my dreary journey up to town, that is, alive, if ever i get there. oh! from the weather, when it snows and rains, you might as well, at least, defend the poor; it would not cost you much, with all your gains: cover us in, and luck attend your store. * * * * * [illustration: a caution no wonder miss lavinia stitchwort thought the people very rude at the station when she went for her "water-proof" (which she had lost on the railway some time before). she found out when she got home she had not removed the "unclaimed property" label!] * * * * * [illustration: _nervous party._ "the train seems to be travelling at a fearful pace, ma'am." _elderly female._ "yus, ain't it? my bill's a-drivin' of the ingin, an' 'e _can_ make 'er go when 'e's got a drop o' drink in 'im!"] * * * * * the origin of railways.--the first idea of railways is of very ancient date, for we hear of the great norman line immediately after the conquest. * * * * * railway news.--there is an old lady who says, that she always likes to travel by a trunk line, because then she feels confidence about the safety of her luggage. * * * * * "railway coupling."--when the porter marries the young lady in the refreshment department. * * * * * [illustration: the first "bradshaw" a reminiscence of whitsun holidays in ancient egypt. from an old-time tabl(e)ature] * * * * * railway reform.--compartments to be reserved for ladies over and under a certain age. as there will invariably be compartments for those who smoke, so also for those who snuff. the former will be labelled as usual "for smokers," the latter "for snuffers." the last-mentioned will be tried as far as hampton wick. the "sleeping cars" will be divided into "snorers" and "non-snorers." tickets will be issued subject to these regulations. it is important to the shareholders to know that on and after the abolition of the second class, the motto of the company will be "no returns." * * * * * a plutocrat.--_swell._ "'dyou oblige me--ah--by shutting your window?--ah----" _second passenger (politely)._ "really, sir, if you will not press it, as yours is shut, the air is so warm i would rather keep this open. you seem to take great care of yourself, sir----" _swell._ "care of myself! should wather think so. so would you, my dear fel-lah, if you'd six thousand a ye-ar!!" * * * * * the slow train on southern lines the trains which crawl deliberately to and fro make life a burden; of them all this is the slowest of the slow. impatiently condemned to bear what is indeed an awful bore, i've seemed to be imprisoned there three days, or more. the angry passengers complain; of new electric cabs they talk. they sit and swear at such a train, and ask, "shall we get out and walk?" it's true the time seems extra long when spent in such a wretched way, my calculation may be wrong-- three hours, say. the other day i had to come by this slow train, but facing me was no old buffer, dull and dumb; i chatted with my vis-à-vis. a pretty smile, a pretty dress, gay spirits no fatigue could crush; with her it was a quick express, three minutes' rush. for once i sadly left the train, for once the time too quickly passed. i still could angrily complain, why travel so absurdly fast? at lightning speed that special went (i'd paid the ordinary fare), now looking back it seems we spent three seconds there. * * * * * [illustration: a bank holiday sketch _facetious individual (from carriage window)._ "change 'ere, 'ave we? then kindly oblige me with a sardine-opener!"] * * * * * wednesbury station.--_first collier._ "trains leave for birmingham, . a.m., . p.m." _second collier._ "what's p.m.?" _first do._ "a penny a mile, to be sure." _second do._ "then, what's a.m.?" _first do._ "why, that must be a a'penny a mile." * * * * * [illustration: railway luxuries _excursionist._ "i say--'ere! this water's full o'crumbs!" _aquarius._ "that ain't crumbs! that's only the sawdust off the hice!"] * * * * * railway and social synonyms _'traction engines._--too many girls of the period. _truck-trains._--most marriage processions at st. george's, hanover square. _continuous brakes._--the results of lodging house attendance. _changing lines._--what we often see after the honeymoon. _shunted on to a siding._--paterfamilias when baby appears. * * * * * [illustration: a party who is quite in favour of light railways for town and country.] * * * * * [illustration: our country cousins _the gushington girls have just arrived by rail, and are inhaling the odours of an average london terminus._ _miss milly gushington._ "wait a bit, uncle." (_sniff._) "oh, isn't it lovely, hilly? doesn't it just _smell_ of the season?" _miss hilly gushington._ "don't speak about it--only sniff!"] * * * * * the tourist's alphabet (_railway edition_) a is the affable guard whom you square: b is the _bradshaw_ which leads you to swear: c is the corner you fight to obtain: d is the draught of which others complain: e are the enemies made for the day: f is the frown that you wear all the way: g is the guilt that you feel going third: h is the humbug by which you're deterred: i is the insult you'll get down the line: j is the junction where you'll try to dine: k is the kettle of tea three weeks old: l are the lemon drops better unsold: m is the maiden who says there's no meat: n is the nothing you thus get to eat: o is the oath that you use--and do right: p is the paper to which you _don't_ write: q are the qualms to directors unknown: r is the row which you'll find all your own: s is the smash that is "nobody's fault:" t is the truth, that will come to a halt: u is the pointsman--who's up the whole night: v is the verdict that says it's "all right." w stands for wheels flying off curves: x for express that half shatters your nerves: y for the yoke from your neck that you fling, and z for your zest as you cut the whole thing! * * * * * [illustration: startling! _constable (to nervous passenger, arrived by the ramsgate train)._ "i've got yer"--(_"ger-acious heavens!" thinks little skeery with a thrill of horror. "takes me for somebody that's 'wanted'!"_)--"a cab, sir."] * * * * * "the more haste the worse speed" scene--_the charing cross station of the district railway._ _country cousin, bound for bayswater, to ticket clerk, with scrupulous politeness._ if you please, i want a first-class ticket to bayswater. _ticket clerk (abruptly)._ no first-class here. go to the next booking-place. [_country cousin retires rebuffed, and finds his way to next booking-place._ _country cousin._ if you please, i want a first-class ticket to bayswater. _ticket clerk (explosively)._ single or return? look sharp! you're not the only person in london! _country cousin (humbly)._ single, please. [_the ticket and change are slapped down unceremoniously, and country cousin is shoved on from behind by an impatient city man. rushes precipitately down brass-bound steps, and presents his ticket to be snipped._ _snipper (inspecting ticket)._ queen's road, bayswater? wrong side! go up the stairs, and turn to the right. look sharp! there's a train just coming in! [_country cousin, with a deepened sense of humiliation and bewilderment, hurries upstairs, turns to the right, and reaches entrance to platform just in time to have gate slammed in his face. the train being gone, gate is re-opened, and the necessary snipping performed on his ticket._ _country cousin (to snipper, politely)._ if you please--will the next train take me to queen's road, bayswater? _saturnine official._ can't tell you till the train comes. [_country cousin paces the platform in moody silence, and wishes he had taken a cab. enter train, rushing madly along._ _stentorian voice (without stops)._ earl's court north end and hammersmith train first and second-class forward third behind! [_country cousin makes his way towards a carriage, but finds it full. tries another with the same result, and is frantically endeavouring to open the door of a third-class compartment in which there is one vacant seat next a fat woman with a baby, when train moves on._ _indignant official._ stand away there! stand away, will you! (_drags back country cousin._) that ain't your train! what do you want a-tryin to get in there for? [_country cousin, in deeper humiliation, re-arranges dress, disturbed by recent struggle and resumes his agitated march._ _enter another train more madly than the first._ _stentorian voice._ high street kensington notting hill gate and bayswater train main line train! _country cousin (to haughty official, in an agony of entreaty)._ is this train for queen's road, bayswater? _haughty official._ yes, queen's road. look sharp! she'll be off in a minute. [_country cousin scrambles through the crowd to a carriage; drops his umbrella; stoops to pick it up and on rising finds train three parts through the tunnel. exit country cousin in a rage, to get a cab, having lost twenty minutes, the price of his unused ticket, his self-respect, and that of everybody he has come in contact with in the metropolitan district railway station._ * * * * * [illustration: when in doubt--don't! scene--_country station_ _gent._ "are the sandwiches fresh, my boy?" _country youth._ "don't know, i'm sure, sir. i've only been here a fortnight!"] * * * * * [illustration: a dilemma _station-master._ "now then! look alive with they dougs! where are you----" _overdriven porter._ "hoots! they've a' eaten their tuck'ts, an' dinna ken fa the're gaen tae!"] * * * * * [illustration: risks _shrewd clerk (with an eye to his percentage)._ "take an accident insurance ticket, sir?" _passenger (nervously)._ "wha' for?!" _clerk._ "well, sir, nothing has gone wrong 'twixt this and london for the last fourteen months; and, by the haverages, the next smash on the hup line is hoverdue exactly six weeks and three days!!" [_old gent forks out with alacrity._] * * * * * to my "puff puff" puff me away from the noise and the worry; puff me away from the desolate town; puff me--but don't be in too great a hurry; puff me, but don't in a tunnel break down. puff me away to my loved isle of thanet swiftly--or e'en at the pace called the snail's, puff me the sea-breeze, and pleasantly fan it into my nostrils--but don't leave the rails. puff me away, far from parliament's houses; for brown moors of scotland my soul is athirst-- for a smell of the heather, a pop at the grouses; puff me, but mind that your boiler don't burst. puff me _en route_ for care-killing killarney, tenderly take me, as bridegroom his bride; bear me towards erin, blest birthplace of blarney, puff, puff, like blazes--but, _please_, don't "collide!" * * * * * [illustration: dignity and impudence _customer_ (time--_saturday afternoon_). "i don't want all coppers in change for that shilling. haven't you got any silver?" _newsboy._ "all right, sir. want a little sunday money, i s'pose, sir?"] * * * * * to a railway foot-warmer at first i loved thee--thou wast warm,-- the porter called thee "'ot," nay, "bilin'." i tipped him as thy welcome form he carried, with a grateful smile, in. alas! thou art a faithless friend, thy warmth was but dissimulation; thy tepid glow is at an end, and i am nowhere near my station! i shiver, cold in feet and hands, it is a legal form of slaughter, they don't warm (!) trains in other lands with half a pint of tepid water. i spurn thy coldness with a kick, and pile on rugs as my protectors, i'd send--to warm them--to old nick, thy parsimonious directors! * * * * * different ways of travelling.--man travels to expand his ideas; but woman--judging from the number of boxes she invariably takes with her--travels only with the object of expanding her dresses. * * * * * "the best of motives."--locomotives. * * * * * [illustration: "a liberal measure" _rude boy (to stout party on weighing-machine, which is out of order, and won't work)._ "shove in another penny, guv'nor. it's double fare to chaps o' your size!"] * * * * * foxhunter's definition of a mail-train.--a post and rails. * * * * * as a rule.--"signal failures"--railway accidents. * * * * * three railway gauges.--trains are made for the broad gauge, the narrow gauge, and the lug-gage. * * * * * [illustration: zoology _railway porter (to old lady travelling with a menagerie of pets)._ "'station-master say, mum, as cats is 'dogs,' and rabbits is 'dogs,' and so's parrots; but this ere 'tortis' is a insect, so there ain't no charge for it!"] * * * * * [illustration: logic _stout party._ "what! no room! ain't that man just got out? if people can get out, people can get in!"] * * * * * the quickest of all express trains.--the train of thought. * * * * * startling railway accident.--a punctual train. * * * * * keep your temper.--avoid entering into an argument with a deaf man in a railway carriage, as it is sure to lead to high words. * * * * * "don't touch me, or i'll scream!" as the engine whistle said to the stoker. * * * * * [illustration: "a man and a passenger!" _sweep._ "'elp us up with my luggage, mate!"] * * * * * voces populi i scene--_interior of third-class smoking compartment. first passenger, apparently a small suburban tradesman, of a full and comfortable habit, seated by window. to him enters a seedy but burly stranger, in a state of muzzy affability, with an under-suggestion of quarrelsomeness._ _the stranger (leaning forward mysteriously)._ yer saw that gentleman i was a torkin' to as i got in? did yer know 'oo he _was_? _first passenger (without hauteur, but with the air of a person who sets a certain value on his conversation)._ well, he didn't look much like the archbishop of canterbury. _the s._ he's a better man than _'im_! that was brasher, the middling weight! he giv' me the orfice straight about killivan and smifton, _he_ did! _first p. (interested, as a lover of the noble art of self defence)._ ah! did he, though? _the s._ he _did_; i went up to him, and i sez, "excuse me," i sez, like that, i sez, "but are you an american, or a german?" _first p. (with superiority)._ he wouldn't like that--being taken for a german. _the s. (solemnly)._ those were my very words! and he sez, "no, i'm a yank," and then i knoo 'oo 'e was, d'ye see? and so (_hazily_) one word brought up another, and we got a torkin'. if i was to tell you i'd _seen_ killivan, i should be tellin' yer a lie! _first p._ well, i won't ask you to do that. _the s. (firmly)._ nor i wouldn't. but you've on'y to look at smifton to see 'e's never 'ad a smack on the 'ed. now, there's sulton--'e's a _good_ man, _'e_ is--'e _is_ a good man! look 'ow that feller knocks 'isself about! but if i was to pass _my_ opinion, it 'ud be this--killivan's _in_ it for science, he ain't in it to _take_ anything; you may take that from me! _first p._ (_objecting to be treated as an_ ingénu). it's not the first time i've heard of it, by a long way. _the s._ ah! and it's the truth, the bible truth (_putting his hand on first p.'s knee_). now, you b'leeve what i'm a'goin' to tell yer? _first p. (his dignity a little ruffled)._ i will--if it's anything in reason. _the s._ it's this: my opinion of killivan and sulton's this--sulton _brought_ killivan _out_. i'm on'y tellin' yer from 'earsay, like; but i _know_ this myself--one lived in 'oxton, and the other down bermondsey way. 'e's got a nice little butcher's business there at this present moment; and 'e's a mug if 'e turns it up! _first p. (axiomatically)._ every man's a mug who turns a good business up. _the s._ yer right! and (_moralising_) it ain't _all_ 'oney with that sort o' people, neither, i can tell yer! i dessay, now, when all's put to the test, you're not a moneyed man--no more than i am myself? _first p. (not altogether flattered)._ well--that's as _may_ be. _the s._ but i b'leeve yer to be a man o' the world, although i don't _know_ yer. _first p. (modestly)._ i used to be in it at one time. _the s. (confidentially)._ i'm in it _now_. i don't get my livin' by it, though, mind yer. i'm a mechanic, i am--to a certain extent. i've been in america. _there's_ a country now--they don't over-tax like they do 'ere! _first p. (sympathetically)._ there you _'ave_ touched a point--we're taxed past all common sense. why, this very tobacco i'm smoking now is charged---- _the s._ talkin' of terbaccer, i don't mind 'aving a pipe along with yer myself. _first p. (handing his pouch with a happy mixture of cordiality and condescension)._ there you are, then. _the s. (afflicted by sudden compunction as he fills his pipe)._ i 'ope i'm not takin' a libbaty in askin yer? _first p._ liberty? rubbish! i'm not one to make distinctions where _i_ go. i'd as soon talk to one man as i would another--you're setting your coat alight. _the s._ i set fire to myself once, and i never live in 'opes of doing so agen! it's a funny thing with me, i can smoke a cigar just as well as i could a short pipe. i'm no lover of a cigar, if you understand me; but i can go into company where they _are_, d'ye _see_? _first p. (shortly)._ _i_ see. _the s. (with fresh misgivings)._ you'll excuse me if i've taken a libbaty with yer! _first p. (with a stately air)._ we settled all that just now. _the s. (after a scrutiny)._ i tell yer what my idear of _you_ is--that you're a _toff!_ _first p. (disclaiming this distinction a little uneasily)._ no, no--there's nothing of the toff about _me!_ _the s. (defiantly)._ well, you're a _gentleman_, anyway? _first p. (aphoristic, but uncomfortable)._ we can all of us be that, so long as we behave ourselves. _the s. (much pleased by this sentiment)._ right agen! give us yer 'and--if it's not takin a libbaty. i'm one of them as can't bear to take a libbaty with no matter 'oo. yer know it's a real pleasure to me to be settin' 'ere torkin' comfortably to you, without no thought of either of us fallin' out. there's some people as wouldn't feel 'appy, not without they was 'aving a row. now you and me ain't _like_ that! _first p. (shifting about)._ quite so--quite so, of course! _the s._ not but what if it was to come to a row between us, i could take _my_ part! _first p. (wishing there was somebody else in the compartment)._ i--i hope we'll keep off that. _the s. (devoutly)._ so do i! _i_ 'ope we'll keep off o' that. but yer never know what may bring it on--and there it is, d'ye see! you and me might fall out without intending it. i've bin a bit of a boxer in my day. do you doubt my word?--if so, say it to my face! _first p._ i've no wish to offend you, i'm sure. _the s._ i never take a lie straight from any man, and there you 'ave me in a word! if you're _bent_ on a row, you'll find me a glutton, that's all i can tell you! _first p. (giving himself up for lost)._ but i'm _not_ bent on a row--qu--quite otherwise! _the s._ you should ha' said so afore, because, when my back's once put _up_, i'm--'ello! we're stopping, i get out 'ere, don't i? _first p. (eagerly)._ yes--make haste, they don't stay long anywhere on this line! _the s. (completely mollified)._ then i'll say good-bye to yer. (_tenderly._) p'raps we may meet agen, some day. _first p._ we--we'll hope so--good day to you, wish you luck! _the s. (solemnly)._ lord _love_ yer! (_pausing at door._) i 'ope you don't think me the man to fall out with nobody. i _never_ fall out---- [_falls out into the arms of a porter, whom he pummels as the train moves on, and first passenger settles into a corner with a sigh of relief._ * * * * * [illustration: not quite up to date _somerset rustic (on seeing the signal drop)._ "ar don't know if it'd make any difference, maister, but thic ther' bit o' board of yourn 'ave a fallen down!"] * * * * * [illustration: notes of travel _foreign husband (whose wife is going to remain longer)._ "gif me two dickets. von for me to come back, and von for my vife not to come back!"] * * * * * [illustration: in the underground _lady (who has just entered carriage, to friend)._ "fancy finding you in the train! why couldn't i have met you yesterday, now? i had such a wretched journey! but one never _does_ meet people when one wants to!"] * * * * * [illustration: la belle dame sans "merci"] * * * * * [illustration: "tout vient À qui sait attendre" shouting heard--engine whistles frantically--brakes applied violently--train stops--accident, no doubt--alarm of first-class passengers--stout gent flies at communicator--child shrieks--terrified lady calls out, "help! guard! what is it? let us out!" _guard._ "oh, no fear, miss. on'y driver he just see a lot o' fine mushyroons, miss, and we----he like 'em for breakfast. all right! away y' go!!"] * * * * * [illustration: a station on the north staffordshire line _traveller._ "now then, boy, where's the clerk who gives the ticket?" _boy (after finishing an air he was whistling)._ "i'm the clerk." _traveller._ "well, sir! and what time does the train leave for london?" _boy._ "oh, i don't know. no time in pertickler. sometimes one time--and sometimes another."] * * * * * [illustration: trying position of an elderly gentleman he determines to try the automatic photographing machine, the station being empty. to his dismay a crowd has gathered, and watches the operation.] * * * * * [illustration: _workman (politely, to old lady, who has accidentally got into a smoking compartment)._ "you don't object to my pipe, i 'ope, mum?" _old lady._ "yes, i _do_ object, very strongly!" _workman._ "oh! then out you get!!"] * * * * * a sentimental journey long after sterne's _(a romance for a "ladies only" compartment)_ scene--_reserved carriage on the london and utopian railway. female traveller in possession. enter, suddenly, a male traveller._ _male traveller._ a thousand apologies! i really nearly missed my train, so was obliged to take refuge in this carriage. trust i don't intrude. _fem. t. (after a pause)._ as you have no one to present you, i must ask "if you are any lady's husband?" _male t. (with a sigh)._ alas, no! i am a wretched bachelor! _fem. t. (drily)._ that is nothing out of the common. i have been given to understand that all bachelors are miserable. _male t._ no doubt your husband agrees with the opinion? _fem. t. (calmly)._ i have no experience. i am a spinster. _male t. (smiling)._ indeed! and you selected a ladies' carriage? _fem. t. (quickly)._ because there was no room anywhere else. _male t._ well, well! at the next station i can get into a smoking compartment. _fem. t._ surely there is no need to take so much trouble. _male t._ why! don't _you_ object to a cigar? _fem. t._ not in the least. the fact is, i smoke myself! [_red fire and tobacco._ _male t. (after a pause)._ i have it on my conscience to make a correction. i said just now that i was not somebody's husband. _fem. t. (annoyed)._ then you are married! _male t. (with intention)._ well, not yet. but if you like you can receive me as somebody's betrothed. _fem. t. (regardless of grammar)._ who's somebody? _male t. (smiling)._ think of your own name. _fem. t._ what next? _male t._ why, give it to me; and if you like you shall have mine in exchange. (_train arrives at a station._) _guard (without)._ all change! [_and later on they do._ * * * * * the patron saint of railways.-st. pan-crash. * * * * * [illustration: a non-sequitur _affable old gentleman (who has half a minute to spare)._ "i suppose now, my boy, you take a good sum of money during the day?" _shoeblack._ "yessur, 'cause lots o' gintleman, when they wants to ketch a train, gives me sixpence!" [_old gent finds the sixpence, but in thinking over it afterwards, couldn't see the connection._] * * * * * [illustration: the twopenny tube "hi, guv'nor, there ain't no station named on this ticket!" "no; all our tickets are alike." "then, 'ow do i know where i'm going?"] * * * * * [illustration: highly accommodating _stout party (rather hot)._ "hope you don't find the breeze too much, sir?" _fellow passenger._ "oh! not at all, sir! i rather like it!"] * * * * * [illustration: skylight view--a railway station] * * * * * [illustration: _traveller (to irish porter labelling luggage)._ "don't you keep a brush for that work, porter?" _porter._ "no, yer honour. our tongues is the only insthrumints we're allowed. but--they're aisy kep' wet, yer honour!" [_hint taken._] * * * * * in a slow train "look out for squalls"--on land or sea-- where duty or where pleasure calls, a golden rule it seems to be, look out for squalls. yet in a train that slowly crawls somehow it most appeals to me. for then sometimes, it so befalls, an infant on its mother's knee in my compartment fate installs-- which makes a nervous man, you see, look out for squalls! * * * * * railway maxims (_perfectly at the service of any railway company_) delays are dangerous. a train in time saves nine. live and let live. after a railway excursion, the doctor. do not halloo till you are out of the train. between two trains we fall to the ground. fire and water make good servants but bad masters. a director is known by the company he keeps. a railway train is the thief of time. there is no place like home--but the difficulty is to get there. the farther you go, the worse is your fare. it's the railway pace that kills. the great charm about a railway accident is that, no matter how many lives are lost, "no blame is ever attached to any one." a railway is long, but life is short--and generally the longer a railway, the shorter your life. * * * * * a distinction with a difference.--_disappointed porter (to mate)._ i thought you said he was a gentleman. _mate._ no, that's where you mistook me. _i_ said he was a gent. * * * * * [illustration: _sylvanus._ "foxes are scarce in my country; but we manage it with a drag now and then!" _urbanus._ "oh--er--yes. but how do you get it over the fences?"] * * * * * [illustration: _porter._ "now, marm, will you please to move, or was you corded to your box?"] * * * * * [illustration: "there be land rats" _jack ashore._ "bill, just keep a heye on my jewel-case 'ere while i go and get the tickets. there's a lot o' sharks always cruisin' about these railway stations, i've heard!"] * * * * * [illustration: after an eastertide festivity--on the inner circle _guard._ "where are you for?" _old gent._ "i'm oright--edgware road." _guard._ "well, mind you get out this time. you've been round three times!"] * * * * * railway scale of manners we have often been struck with the difference of manner assumed by railway officials towards different people. shut your eyes, and you can tell from the tone of their voices whom they are addressing. the following examples will best illustrate our meaning. the railway potentate is calling upon the passengers to get their tickets ready. he calls: to the third class.--_fortissimè._--"tickets, tickets; come get your tickets ready." to the second class.--_fortè._--"tickets, gents; get your tickets ready, gents." to the first class.--_piano._--"get your tickets ready, gentlemen, if you please; tickets ready, if you please, gentlemen." * * * * * [illustration: the h gratuitous _lady._ "can i book through from here to oban?" _well-educated clerk (correcting her)._ "holborn, you mean. no; but you can book to broad street, and then take a 'bus!"] * * * * * epitaph on a locomotive. _by the sole survivor of a deplorable accident (no blame to be attached to any servants of the company)_ collisions four or five she bore, the signals wor in vain; grown old and rusted, her biler busted, and smash'd the excursion train. "her end was pieces." * * * * * epitaph for a railway director.--"his life was spent on pleasant lines." * * * * * [illustration: muddleby junction _overworked pointsman (puzzled)._ "let's see!--there's the 'scursion' were due at . , and it ain't in; then, afore that, were the 'mineral,'--no! that must ha' been the 'goods,'--or the 'cattle.' no! that were after,--cattle's shunting now. let's see!--fast train came through at----con-found!--and here comes 'the express' afore its time, and blest if i know which line she's on!!"] * * * * * tea in ten minutes (a song at a railway station) air--"_thee, thee, only thee_" ten minutes here! the sun is sinking, and longingly we've long been thinking of tea, tea, fragrant tea! the marble slabs we gather round. they're long in bringing what is wanted, the china cup with draught em-brown'd, our thirsty souls are wholly haunted by tea, tea, fragrant tea! now then, you waiter, stir, awaken! time's up. i'll hardly save my bacon. tea, tea, bring that tea! at last! the infusion's rayther dark. but hurry up! can't stay for ever! one swig! br-r-r-r! hang the cunning shark! will't never cool? nay, never, never! tea, tea, scalding tea! more milk; don't be an hour in bringing! heavens! that horrid bell is ringing! "take your seats, please!" can't _touch_ the tea! cup to the carriage must not take; crockery may be lost, or broken; refreshment sharks are wide awake. but--many a naughty word is spoken o'er tea, tea, scalding tea! [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: behind the scenes _head barmaid._ "these tarts are quite stale, miss hunt--been on the counter for a fortnight! _would_ you mind taking them into the _second-class_ refreshment-room?"] * * * * * [illustration: a lusus machiner--Æ _chatty passenger._ "porter! that's one of those curious tailless manx cats, is it not?" _crusty porter (shortly)._ "no, 'taint. morn'g 'xpress!" _passenger (puzzled)._ "e--h--i don't understand----" _porter._ "don't yer? well, you come and put your toe on these 'ere down metals about . a.m. to-morrow, and----" _passenger (enlightened)._ "ah!--i see--jus' so----" [_retires under cover of newspaper._ * * * * * railway companions (_by a disagreeable traveller_) i. i have come to the conclusion that the railway train exercises a sinister influence upon the human race. persons who are tolerable--or even welcome--in ordinary daily life, become peculiarly obnoxious so soon as they enter the compartment of a train. no fairy prince ever stepped into a railway train--assuming he favoured that means of locomotion--without being transformed straightway into a beast, and even beauty herself could not be distinguished from her disagreeable sisters--in a train. speaking for myself, railway travelling invariably brings to the surface all my worst qualities. my neighbour opposite hazards some remark. i feel immediately a fit of taciturnity coming over me, and an overpowering inclination to retreat behind a fortification of journals and magazines. on the other hand, say that i have exhausted my stock of railway literature--or, no remote possibility, that the literature has exhausted me--then i make a casual remark about the weather. the weather is not usually considered a controversial topic: in railway trains, however, it becomes so. "rain! not a bit," says a passenger in the far corner, evidently meditating a walking tour, and he views me suspiciously as if i were a rain-producer. "and a good thing too," remarks the man opposite. "it's wanted badly, i tell you, sir--very badly. it's all very well for you holiday folk," &c., &c. and all this bad feeling because of my harmless well-intentioned remark. the window is up. "phew!... stuffy," says the man opposite. "you don't mind, i hope, the window--eh?" "not in the least," i say, and conceive a deadly hatred for him. i know from experience that directly that window is down all the winds of heaven will conspire to rush through, bearing upon them a smoky pall. i resign myself, therefore, to possible bronchitis and inflammation of the eye. schoolboys, i may remark by the way, are the worst window offenders, owing to their diabolical practice of looking out of window in a tunnel--and, of course, _nothing_ ever happens to them. what's the use of expostulating after the compartment is full of yellow, choking vapour. these boys should be leashed together like dogs and conveyed in the luggage-van. the window is down. "w-h-oop," coughs an elderly man. "do you mind, sir, that window being closed?" polite mendacity and inward bitterness on my part towards the individual who has converted the compartment into an oven. but there are worse companions even than these, of whom i must speak another time. ii. i have known people thoughtlessly speak well of the luncheon-basket. in my opinion, the luncheon-basket arouses the worst passions of human nature, and is a direct incentive to deeds of violence. to say this is to cast an aspersion upon the refreshment contractor, who is evidently a man of touchingly simple faith and high imagination. simple faith assuredly, for does he not provide on the principle that our insides are hardy and vigorous and unspoilt by the art of cooking? high imagination most certainly, otherwise he would never call that red fluid by the name of claret. no, it is to the social rather than to the gastronomic influence of the luncheon-basket that i wish to advert. once i procured a luncheon-basket and with it came the demon of discontent and suspicion, converting three neutral people into deadly enemies. one was a pale young man who had been scowling over browning and making frantic notes on the margin of the book. personally, i don't think it quite decent for pale young men to improve their minds in a public conveyance--but at any rate he had seemed harmless. now he raised his eyes and viewed me with undisguised contempt. "wretched glutton," he said in effect, and when accidentally i burned my mouth with mustard (which a sudden swerve had sent meandering in a yellow stream across the chicken and ham), he gave a sneering, callous smile, which reminded me that a man may smile and smile and be a--railway companion. i verily believe that youth to be capable of any crime, even extension lecturing. then there was a young lady reading a sixpenny braddon, who viewed me as if i were some monster; when i shut my eyes and gulped off some--er--claret, she brought biscuits and lemonade from a small bag and refreshed herself with ostentatious simplicity, as if to say, "look upon _this_ picture and on the wine-bibbing epicurean in the corner." an old lady with her was more amply provided for (old ladies usually take more care of their insides than anyone else in creation), but although she munched sandwiches and washed them down with sherry (probably sweet, ugh!) luxuriously, she looked with pious horror at my plates and dishes spread out. i _might_ have said, "madam, i eat frankly and openly; my resources may be viewed by all. your secret and delusive bags have limitless resources that you are ashamed to show." i didn't say so; but the restraint placed on myself quite spoilt the lunch. no more baskets. * * * * * [illustration: À fortiori _ticket collector._ "now, then, make haste! where's your ticket?" _bandsman (refreshed)._ "au've lost it!" _ticket collector._ "nonsense! feel in your pockets. ye cannot hev lost it!" _bandsman._ "aw cannot? why, man, au've lost the _big drum!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "just out!"--(at all the libraries) _first young lady._ "how did you like _convict life_, dear?" _second young lady._ "pretty well. we've just begun _ten years' penal servitude_. some of us like it, but----" _old lady (mentally)._ "good gracious! what dreadful creatures! so young, too!" [_looks for the communicating cord!_] * * * * * [illustration: rather suspicious _first passenger._ "had pretty good sport?" _second passenger._ "no--very poor. birds wild--rain in torrents--dogs no use. 'only got fifty brace!" _first passenger._ "'make birds dear, won't it?" _second passenger ("off his guard")._ "you're right. i assure you i paid three-and-sixpence a brace all round at norwich this morning!"] * * * * * [illustration: from the general to the particular _young lady (who has never travelled by this line before)._ "do you go to kew gardens?" _booking-clerk._ "sometimes on a sunday, miss, on a summer's afternoon!"] * * * * * [illustration: a new race in africa. arrival of the uganda express. (twenty minutes ahead of time.)] * * * * * [illustration: a little farce at a railway station _lady._ "i want one ticket--first!" _clerk._ "single?" _lady._ "single! what does it matter to you, sir, whether i'm single or not? impertinence!" [_clerk explains that he meant single or return, not t'other thing._] * * * * * [illustration: two views of it _brown._ "shockin' thing! you heard of poor mullins getting his neck broken in that collision!" _jones._ "ah!--it's as-tonishing how lucky some fellows are! he told me 'last time i saw him he'd just insured his life for three thous'd poun's!!"] * * * * * [illustration: injured innocence "hulloa! _you've_ no call to be in here! _you_ haven't got a fust-class ticket, _i_ know." "no! i hain't!" "well, come out! this ain't a third-class carriage!" "_hain't_ it? lor! well i thought it _wos, by the look of the passingers!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _guard._ "some one been smoking, i think?" _passenger._ "what! smoking! that's very reprehensible. perhaps it was the clerical gentleman who has just got out of the next compartment."] * * * * * [illustration: "nem. con.!" _chatty passenger (on g. w. railway)._ "how plainly you can see the lights of hanwell from the railway!" _silent man (in the corner)._ "not half so plain as the lights of the train look from hanwell!" [_all change at the next station._] * * * * * [illustration: reciprocal _sporting gentleman._ "well, sir, i'm very pleased to have made your acquaintance, and had the opportunity of hearing a churchman's views on the question of tithes. of course, as a country landowner, i'm interested in church matters, and----" _the parson._ "quite so--delighted, i'm sure. er--by the bye, could you tell me _what's won to-day_?"] * * * * * [illustration: railway literature _bookstall keeper._ "book, ma'am? yes, ma'am. here's a popular work by an eminent surgeon, just published, 'broken legs: and how to mend them': or, would you like the last number of _the railway operator_?"] * * * * * [illustration: satisfactory _bumptious old gent (in a directorial tone)._ "ah, guard--what are we--ah--waiting for?" _guard (with unconcern)._ "waiting for the train to go on, sir!" [_old gent retires._] * * * * * [illustration: an underground sell _first passenger._ "they say they've put on detectives 'ere, to catch coves as travels without tickets." _second passenger._ "'ave they? well, all i can say is, _i_ can travel as often as i like from cannon street to victoria, and not pay a 'apenny!" _detective._ "see here, mate; i'll give you half-a-crown if you tell me how you do it." _second passenger (after pocketing the half-crown)._ "well,--when i wants to git from cannon street to victoria without payin'--_i walks!_"] * * * * * [illustration: quite up to date _cousin madge._ "well, good-bye, charlie. so many thanks for taking care of us!" _charlie._ "_not at all!_"] * * * * * voces populi ii. on the platform _a lady of family._ oh, yes, i do travel third-class sometimes, my dear. i consider it a duty to try to know something of the lower orders. [_looks out for an empty third-class compartment._ en route _the seats are now all occupied: the lady of family is in one corner, next to a chatty woman with a basket, and opposite to an eccentric-looking man with a flighty manner._ _the eccentric man (to the lady of family)._ sorry to disturb you, mum, but you're a-setting on one o' my 'am sandwiches. _the l. of f._???!!! _the e. m. (considerately)._ don't trouble yourself, mum, it's of no intrinsic value. i on'y put it there to keep my seat. _the chatty w. (to the l. of f.)._ i think i've seen you about shinglebeach, 'ave i not? _the l. of f._ it is very possible. i have been staying with some friends in the neighbourhood. _the c. w._ it's a nice cheerful place is shinglebeach; but (_confidentially_) don't you think it's a very sing'ler thing that in a place like that--a fash'nable place, too--there shouldn't be a single 'am an' beef shop? _the l. of f. (making a desperate effort to throw herself into the question)._ what a very extraordinary thing, to be sure! dear, _dear_ me! no ham and beef shop! _the c. w._ it's so indeed, mum; and what's more, as i dare say you've noticed for yourself, if you 'appen to want a snack o' fried fish ever so, there isn't a place you could go to--leastways, at a moment's notice. now, 'ow do you explain such a thing as that? _the l. of f. (faintly)._ i'm afraid i can't suggest any explanation. _a sententious man._ fried fish is very sustaining. [_relapses into silence for the remainder of journey._ _the eccentric man._ talking of sustaining, i remember, when we was kids, my father ud bring us home two pennorth o' ches'nuts, and we 'ad 'em boiled, and they'd last us days. (_sentimentally._) he was a kind man, my father (_to the l. of f., who bows constrainedly_), though you wouldn't ha' thought it, to look at him. i don't say, mind yer, that he wasn't fond of his bit o' booze--(_the l. of f. looks out of window_)--like the best of us. i'm goin' up to prove his will now, i am--if you don't believe me, 'ere's the probate. (_hands that document round for inspection._) that's all reg'lar enough, i 'ope. (_to the l. of f._) don't give it back before you've done with it--i'm in no 'urry, and there's good reading in it. (_points out certain favourite passages with a very dirty forefinger._) begin there--_that's_ my name. [_the l. of f. peruses the will with as great a show of interest as she can bring herself to assume._ _the eccentric man._ d'ye see that big 'andsome building over there? that's the county lunatic asylum--where my poor wife is shut up. i went to see her last week, i did. (_relates his visit in detail to the l. of f., who listens unwillingly._) it's wonderful how many of our family have been in that asylum from first to last. i 'ad a aunt who died cracky; and my old mother, she's very peculiar at times. there's days when i feel as if i was a little orf my own 'ed, so if i say anything at all out of the way, you'll know what it is. [_l. of f. changes carriages at the next station. in the second carriage are two men of seafaring appearance, and a young man who is parting from his fiancée as the l. of f. takes her seat._ _the fiancé._ excuse me one moment, ma'am. (_leans across the l. of f. and out of the window._) well, goodbye, my girl; take care of yourself. _the fiancée (with a hysterical giggle)._ oh, i'll take care o' _my_ self. [_looks at the roof of the carriage._ _he (with meaning)._ no more pickled onions, eh? _she._ what a one you are to remember things! (_after a pause._) give my love to joe. _he._ all right. well, jenny, just one, for the last (_they embrace loudly, after which the f. resumes his seat with an expression of mingled sentiment and complacency_). oh, (_to l. of f._) if you don't mind my stepping across you again, mum. jenny, if you see dick between this and friday, just tell him as---- [_prolonged whispers; sounds of renewed kisses;_ _final parting as train starts with a jerk which throws the fiancé upon the l. of f.'s lap. after the train is started a gleam of peculiar significance is observable in the eyes of one of the seafaring men, who is reclining in an easy attitude on the seat. his companion responds with a grin of intelligence, and produces a large black bottle from the rack. they drink, and hand the bottle to the fiancé._ _the f._ thankee i don't mind if i do. here's wishing you---- [_remainder of sentiment drowned in sound of glug-glug-glug; is about to hand back bottle when the first seafarer intimates that he is to pass it on. the l. of f. recoils in horror._ _both seafarers (reassuringly)._ it's _wine_, mum! [_tableau. the lady of family realises that the study of third-class humanity has its drawbacks._ * * * * * [illustration: _our artist (who has strolled into a london terminus)._ "what's the matter with all these people? is there a panic?" _porter._ "panic! no, this ain't no panic. these is excursionists. their train leaves in two hours, so they want to get a seat!"] * * * * * [illustration: the branch station _miss tremmles (who is nervous about railways generally, and especially since the late outrages)._ "oh, porter, put me into a carriage where there are ladies, or respectable people, or----" _porter._ "oh, you're all safe this mornin', miss; you're th' only passenger in the whol' tr'ine, except another old woman."] * * * * * [illustration: a cool card _swell (handing "sporting life" to clerical party)._ "aw--would you--aw--do me the favour to wead the list of the waces to me while we're wunning down?--i've--aw--forgotten my eyeglass. don't mind waising your voice--i'm pwecious deaf!"] * * * * * [illustration: that it should come to this! _boy._ "second-class, sir?" _captain._ "i nevah travel second-class!" _boy._ "this way third, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: art! _chatty passenger._ "to show yer what cheats they are, sir, friend o' mine,--lots o' money, and fust-rate taste,--give the horder to one of 'em to decorate his new 'ouse in reg'lar slap-up style!--'spare no expense!--with all the finest 'chromios' that could be 'ad! you know what lovely things they are, sir! well, sir, would you believe it!--after they was sent, they turned out not to be 'chromios' at all!--but done by 'and!"--(_with withering contempt_)--"done by 'and, sir!!"] * * * * * [illustration: permissive slaughter (_five thousand shunting accidents in five years!_) _first shunter (with coupling-link, awaiting engine backing)._ "i saw poor jack's wife and kids last night, after the funeral. poor things, what will be done for 'em?" _second shunter (at points)._ "oh, the usual thing, i s'ppose--company's blessin', and a charity mangle!----look out, mate! she's backin'!"] * * * * * [illustration: behind time _ticket collector._ "this your boy, mum? he's too big for a 'alf ticket!" _mother (down upon him)._ "oh, is he? well, p'rhaps he is now, mister; but he wasn't when we started. this 'xcursion's ever so many hours be'ind time, an' he's a growin' lad! so now!" [_exit in triumph._] * * * * * [illustration: "force of habit" _our railway porter (the first time he acted as deputy in the absence of the beadle)._ "t'kets r'dy! all tick-ets ready!"] * * * * * [illustration: why take a chill? if your train is not heated by pipes, get plenty of foot-warmers, as algy and betty did. sit on one, put your feet on another, a couple at your back, and one on your lap, and you'll get to your destination as they did--warm as muffins!] * * * * * [illustration: _railway porter._ "now then, sir! by your leave!"] * * * * * in the hot weather too! dramatis personÆ a choleric old gentleman. a cool young party. scene.--a richmond railway carriage. time.--about noon. _choleric old gentleman (panting, puffing, perspiring)._ hot, sir, tremendously hot. _cool young party._ it is warm. _c. o. g._ warm, sir! i call it blazing hot. why the glass is ° in the shade! _c. y. p._ really! is that much? _c. o. g._ much, sir! immense! _c. y. p._ well, then, the glass is perfectly right. _c. o. g._ right, sir! i don't understand you, sir. what do you mean by saying it is right, sir? _c. y. p._ i mean that the glass is quite right to be as much in the shade as it can in this warm weather. [_choleric old gentleman collapses._ * * * * * [illustration: quite unimportant. _thompson (interrogatively, to beauteous but haughty damsel, whom he has just helped to alight)._ "i beg your pardon?" _haughty damsel._ "i did not speak!" _thompson._ "oh--i thought you said 'thanks'!"] * * * * * [illustration: things one would rather have left unsaid "i'm afraid we shan't have this compartment to ourselves any longer, janet." "oh, it's all right, aunty darling. if you put your head out of window, i dare say nobody will come in!"] * * * * * [illustration: a scene at a railway station _groom._ "beg pardon, sir,--but wos your name tomkins?" _tomkins._ "yes!" _groom._ "if you please, sir, master says he wos werry sorry as he couldn't send the feeaton--but, as his young 'oss wanted exercise, he thought you wouldn't mind ridin' of 'im!" [_tomkins bursts into a cold perspiration._] * * * * * suburban hospitality. scene--_a mile and a half to the railway station, on a bitter winter's night._ _genial host (putting his head out of doors)._ heavens! what a night! not fit to turn a dog out! (_to the parting guest._) well, good-night, old chap. i hope you find your way to the station. * * * * * [illustration: a luxurious habit _philanthropist (to railway porter)._ "then what time do you get to bed?" _porter._ "well, i seldom what yer may call gets to bed myself, 'cause o' the night trains. but my brother, as used to work the p'ints further down the line, went to bed last christmas after the accident, and never----" [_train rushes in, and the parties rush off._] * * * * * hard lines on individuals.--the compulsory purchase of land by a railway company is insult added to injury. the buyers take a site in the seller's face. * * * * * "the roll of the ages."--the penny roll at railway refreshment-rooms. * * * * * [illustration: "the other way about" _irate passenger (as train is moving off)._ "why the ---- didn't you put my luggage in as i told you--you old ----" _porter._ "e--h, man! yer baggage es na sic a fule as yersel. ye're i' the wrang train!"] * * * * * [illustration: _railway porter._ "dogs not allowed inside the carriages, sir!" _countryman._ "what not a little tooy tarrier? wall, thee'd better tak' un oot then, young man!"] * * * * * the porter's slam [a meeting at manchester raised a protest against the nuisance caused by the needlessly loud "slamming" of railway carriage doors.] the porter has a patent "slam," which smites one like a blow, and everywhere that porter comes that "slam" is sure to go. it strikes upon the tym-pa-num like shock of dynamite; by day it nearly makes you dumb-- it deafens you at night. when startled by the patent "slam" the pious "pas-sen-jare," says something else that ends in "am" (or he has patience rare). not only does it cause a shock, but--manchester remarks-- "depreciates the rolling stock," well, that is rather larks! _that's_ not the point. the porter's slam conduces to insanity, and, though as mild as mary's lamb, drives men to loud profanity. if manchester the "slam" can stay by raising of a stir, all railway-travellers will say, "bully for man-ches-ter!" * * * * * [illustration: manners and cvstoms of ye englyshe in a raylway statyon. showynge ye travellers refreshynge themselves.] mr. pips his diary _tuesday, july , ._--prevailed upon by my wife to carry her to bath, as she said, to go see her aunt dorothy, but i know she looked more to the pleasure of her trip than any thing else; nevertheless i do think it necessary policy to keep in with her aunt, who is an old maid and hath a pretty fortune; and to see what court and attention i pay her though i do not care _d._ about her! but am mightily troubled to know whether she hath sunk her money in an annuity, which makes me somewhat uneasy at the charge of our journey, for what with fare, cab-hire, and vails to dorothy's servants for their good word, it did cost me altogether _£_ _s._ _d._ to the great western station in a cab, by reason of our luggage; for my wife must needs take so many trunks and bandboxes, as is always the way with women: or else we might have gone there for _s._ _d._ less in an omnibus. did take our places in the first class notwithstanding the expense, preferring both the seats and the company; and also because if any necks or limbs are broken i note it is generally in the second and third classes. so we settled, and the carriage-doors slammed to, and the bell rung, the train with a whistle off like a shot, and in the carriage with me and my wife a mighty pretty lady, a frenchwoman, and i did begin to talk french with her, which my wife do not well understand, and by and by did find the air too much for her where she was sitting, and would come and take her seat between us, i know, on purpose. so fell a reading the _times_, till one got in at hanwell, who seemed to be a physician, and mighty pretty discourse with him touching the manner of treating madmen and lunatics, which is now by gentle management, and is a great improvement on the old plan of chains and the whip. also of the foulness of london for want of fit drainage, and how it do breed cholera and typhus, as sure as rotten cheese do mites, and of the horrid folly of making a great gutter of the river. so to swindon station, where the train do stop ten minutes for refreshment, and there my wife hungry, and i too with a good appetite, notwithstanding the discourse about london filth. so we out, and to the refreshment-room with a crowd of passengers, all pushing, and jostling, and trampling on each others' toes, striving which should get served first. with much ado got a basin of soup for my wife, and for myself a veal and ham pie, and to see me looking at my watch and taking a mouthful by turns; and how i did gulp a glass of guinness his stout! before we had half finished, the guard rang the bell, and my wife with a start, did spill her soup over her dress, and was obliged to leave half of it; and to think how ridiculous i looked, scampering back to the train with my meat-pie in my mouth! to run hurry-skurry at the sound of a bell, do seem only fit for a gang of workmen; and the bustle of railways do destroy all the dignity of travelling; but the world altogether is less grand, and do go faster than formerly. off again, and to the end of our journey, troubled at the soup on my wife's dress, but thankful i had got my change, and not left it behind me at the swindon station. * * * * * [illustration: narcissus _little podgers (who considers himself rather a lady-killer)._ "oh, i'm not going into that empty carriage; put me into one with some pretty gals." porter. "you jump in, sir, and put yer 'ead out of the winder, you'll soon have a carriage-full." [podgers sees it immediately, and enters.] * * * * * [illustration: _lionel (to his rich uncle's coachman, who has driven him over to the station)._ "and look here, sawyer, give the governor this accidental insurance ticket with my love. i haven't forgotten him, and if anything happens to me, there's a thousand pounds for him!"] * * * * * [illustration: "compliments of the season" _guest._ "it's very kind of you to----" _hosts._ "oh, we should not have felt comfortable unless we'd come with you, and--seen the last of you----!!"] * * * * * small potatoes.--_q._ why are regular travellers by the shepherd's bush and city railway like certain vegetables? _a._ because they're "tubers." * * * * * [illustration: inopportune _newsboy (to irritable old gent who has just lost his train)._ "buy a comic paper, sir?" [_luckily, the old gentleman was out of breath from his hurry._] * * * * * the tympanum (_a remonstrance at a railway station_) the tympanum! the tympanum! oh! who will save the aural drum by softening to some gentler squeak the whistle's shrill _staccato_ shriek? oh! engine-driver, did you know how your blast smites one like a blow, an inward shock, a racking strain, a knife-like thrust of poignant pain, whilst groping through the tunnel murk you would not with that fiendish jerk let out that _sudden_ blast of steam whose screaming almost makes _us_ scream thy whistle weird perchance may be a sad and sore necessity, but cannot law and sense combine to--well, in short to draw the line?-- across the open let it shrill from moor to moor, from hill to hill, but in the tunnel's crypt-like gloom, the station's cramped reverberant room, a gentler, _graduated_ blast! _do_ let it loose, whilst dashing past, so shall it spare us many a pang; that dread explosive bursting "bang" which nearly splits the aural drum, the poor long-suffering tympanum! * * * * * [illustration: "the block system" _affable old lady (to ticket clerk--morning express just due)._ "no, i'm not going up this morning, but one of your penny time-tables, if you please; and can you tell me"--(_shouts from the crowd_, "now then, mum!")--"if the . stops at dribblethorp junction, and if shandry's 'bus meets the trains, which it always does on market days, i know, 'cause my married sister's cousin, as is a farmer, generally goes by it. but if it don't come o' toosday as well as wednesday, i shall have to get out at shuntbury and take a fly, which runs into money, you know, when you're by yourself like. if you'll be good enough to look out the trains--and change for half a sovereign, if you please. oh no, i'm in no hurry, as i ain't a goin' till next week. fine morn----" [_bell rings. position stormed._] * * * * * wonders of modern travel wonder whether accidents will be as numerous as usual during this excursion season. wonder if a train, conveying third-class passengers, was ever known to start without somebody or other exclaiming, "_now_ we're off!" wonder why it is that foreigners in general, and fat germans in particular, always will persist in smoking with the windows shut. wonder whether anybody was ever known to bellow out the name of any station in such a manner that a stranger could succeed in understanding him. wonder whether it is cheaper to pay for broken bones, or for such increase of service as, in very many cases, might prevent their being broken. wonder how a signalman can by any means contrive to keep a cool head on his shoulders, while working as one sees him in a signal-box of glass, and the temperature of the tropics. wonder if upon an average there are three men in a thousand who have never been puzzled by the hieroglyphics in _bradshaw_. wonder whether any railway guard or porter has ever been detected in the very act of virtuously declining to accept a proffered tip, on the ground that money, by the bye-laws, is forbidden to be taken by servants of the company. wonder how many odd coppers the boys who sell the newspapers pocket in a week by the benevolence of passengers. wonder what diminution there would be in the frequency of accidents, supposing directors were made purse-onally liable. wonder whether people take to living at redhill because it is so redhilly accessible by railway. to the station. wonder if my watch is right, or slow, or fast. wonder if that church clock is right. wonder if the cabman will take eighteenpence from my house to the station. the station. wonder if the porter understood what i said to him about the luggage. wonder if i shall see him again. wonder if i shall know him when i _do_ see him again. wonder if i gave my writing-case to the porter or left it in the cab. wonder where i take my ticket. wonder in which pocket i put my gold. wonder where i got that bad half-crown which the clerk won't take. wonder if that's another that i've just put down. wonder where the porter is who took my luggage. wonder where my luggage is. wonder again whether i gave my writing-case to the porter, or left it in the cab. wonder which is my train. wonder if the guard knows anything about that porter with the writing-case. wonder if it _will_ be "all right" as the guard says it will be. wonder if my luggage, being now labelled, will be put into the proper van. wonder if i've got time to get a sandwich and a glass of sherry. wonder if they've got the _times_ of the day before yesterday, which i haven't seen. wonder if _punch_ of this week is out yet. wonder why they don't keep nice sandwiches and sherry. wonder if there's time for a cup of coffee instead. wonder if that's our bell for starting. wonder which is the carriage where i left my rug and umbrella, so as to know it again. wonder where the guard is to whom i gave a shilling to keep a carriage for me. wonder why he didn't keep it; by "it," i mean the carriage. wonder where they've put my luggage. the journey. wonder if my change is all right. wonder for the second time in which pocket i put my gold. wonder if i gave the cabman a sovereign for a shilling. wonder if that was the reason why he grumbled less than usual and drove off rapidly. wonder if any one objects to smoking. wonder that nobody does. wonder where i put my lights. wonder whether i put them in my writing-case. wonder for the third time whether i gave my writing-case to the porter or left it in the cab. wonder if anybody in the carriage has got any lights. wonder that nobody has. wonder when we can get some. wonder if there's anything in the paper. wonder why they don't cut it. wonder if i put my knife in my writing-case. wonder for the fourth time whether i gave, &c. wonder if i can cut the paper with my ticket. wonder where i put my ticket. wonder where i _could_ have put my ticket. wonder where the deuce i put my ticket. wonder how i came to put my ticket in my right-hand waistcoat pocket. wonder if i can read by this lamp-light in the tunnel. wonder (to myself) why they don't light the carriages in a better way. wonder (to my fellow-passengers) that the company don't provide better lights for their carriages. fellow-passengers say they wonder at that, too. we all wonder. wonder what makes the carriages wiggle-waggle about so. wonder if we're going off the line. wonder what station we stop at first. wonder if there will be a refreshment-room there. wonder (for the fifth time) whether i gave my writing-case to the porter, or left it in the cab. wonder if i left the key of my writing-case in the lock. wonder what the deuce i shall do if i've lost it. first station. wonder if this is tringham or upper tringham. wonder if it's tringham junction. wonder if we change here for stonnhurst. wonder if any one understands what the guard says. wonder if any one understands what the porter says. wonder where the refreshment-room is. wonder if i run across eight lines of rail, and over two platforms, to where i see the refreshment-room is, whether i shall ever be able to get back to my own carriage. wonder (while i am crossing) whether any of the eight trains, on any of the eight lines, will come in suddenly. refreshment-room. wonder what's the best thing to take. wonder whether soup's a good thing. wonder whether the waiter heard me ask for soup, because i've changed my mind, and will have some tea. wonder if the young lady at the counter knows that i've asked for tea, twice. wonder if those buns are stale. wonder if tea goes well with buns. wonder what _does_ go with buns. wonder, having begun on buns, whether it wouldn't have been better to ask for sherry. wonder if this tea will ever be cool. wonder if that's our bell for starting. wonder if the young lady at the counter is deceiving me when she says i've got exactly a minute and a half. wonder if anybody's looking at me while i put my tea in the saucer. wonder if that _is_ our bell. wonder if i shall have time to get back to my carriage. wonder how much tea and buns come to. wonder where i put my small change. wonder, having nothing under half-a-crown, if i could get off without paying. wonder they don't keep change ready. wonder as i'm recrossing the lines whether any train will come in suddenly. the platform. wonder which is my carriage. wonder (to guard familiarly) why they don't provide better lights for the carriages. guard says, he wonders at that, too. every one seems to wonder at that. wonder (to guard again) if i can get a hot-water bottle for my feet anywhere. guard wonders they don't keep 'em. wonder (to guard once more) if i've time to go across the line, get my change out of the half-crown for buns and tea, and return to my carriage. wonder if the guard is right in saying that we shall start directly. wonder i forgot to ask the guard all about my luggage. the carriage. wonder, being safely in my seat, that there are not more accidents from people crossing the rails in a large station. wonder why there's not a refreshment-room on either side. wonder why they always come for your tickets after you've made yourself comfortable. wonder where the dickens i put my ticket. wonder, supposing i can't find it, whether the man will believe i ever had one. wonder, on this matter being settled satisfactorily, which is the best pocket for keeping tickets in. wonder why they can't shut the carriage-doors without banging them. the journey (continued). wonder if anybody thought of getting any lights. wonder if i should have had time to cross over to the refreshment-room and get the change out of my half-crown. wonder (to my opposite neighbour) what county we're passing through. he wonders, too. we both look out of our own side windows, and go on wondering. wonder if that protracted shrill steam-whistle means danger. opposite neighbour wonders if it does. wonder why we're stopping; 'tisn't a station. wonder what's the matter. wonder what it is. wonder what it _can_ be. wonder if it's dangerous to put one's head out of window. wonder if the engine has broken down. wonder if there's anything on the line. wonder if the express is behind us. wonder if that man on the line is making a danger signal. wonder (as we are moving again) what it was. wonder passengers can't have some direct means of communicating with a guard. wonder how long we shall be before we get to stonnhurst. the journey (concluded). wonder if that's my portmanteau that that elderly gentleman is taking away with him. wonder if they'll send to meet me at the station. wonder (if they don't send) whether there's a fly or an omnibus. wonder where their house is. wonder if the station-master knows where their house is. wonder what a fly will charge. wonder what i shall do if they don't send, and there isn't a fly or an omnibus. wonder what time they dine. wonder if i shall have time to write a letter before dinner. wonder, for the sixth time, whether i gave my writing-case to the guard, or left it in the cab. wonder if i _did_ leave it in the cab. wonder if this is where i get out. small station. wonder if the guard is right in saying that, as i'm going to redditon, it doesn't matter whether i get out at the next station, stonnhurst, or morley vale, the next but one. wonder for which place my luggage was labelled. wonder whether after getting out at stonnhurst i shall have to go back for my luggage to morley vale. wonder if i do right in deciding upon getting out at stonnhurst. stonnhurst. wonder if my luggage has gone on to morley vale. wonder if i left my umbrella in the carriage, or forgot to bring it. wonder how far it is from stonnhurst to morley vale. wonder if they've sent a trap to meet me at morley vale. wonder why, when people invite one to come down to some out-of-the-way place, they don't tell one all these difficulties in their letter. wonder if they'll have sense enough to drive to stonnhurst from morley vale. wonder if i shall meet them on the road if i walk there. wonder which _is_ the road. wonder, in answer to demand at the station-door, where i put my ticket. wonder if i dropped it in the carriage. wonder what i can have done with it. wonder if i put it into the side pocket of my overcoat when i took out my lights. wonder where the deuce my overcoat is. * * * * * [illustration: scene--_chancery lane "tube" station._ _first lift man._ "a good time comin' for me, mate. what o, for a bit of a chinge!" _second lift man._ "what's up, then?" _first lift man (in impressive tones)._ "got shifted to the _bank_--beginnin' monday!"] * * * * * [illustration: fond delusion _first tourist (going north)._ "hullo, tompk----" _second ditto (ditto, ditto)._ "hsh----sh! confound it, you'll spoil all. they think in the train i'm a highland chief!!"] * * * * * [illustration: for ladies only "reserved carriages." (_see "day by day" in "daily news"_) "if you travel in one, you run greater risks than in travelling in the ordinary carriages. i have known railway officials allow men to jump into them at the last moment before the train starts, with a mutual wink at each other and a very objectionable grin."] * * * * * [illustration: a disenchantment _northern croesus._ "oh! i'm so glad to meet you here, mr. vandyke brown. the fact is, i've a _commission_ for you!" _our youthful landscape painter (dissembling his rapture)._ "all right--most happy--what is it to be?" _northern croesus._ "well--my aged grandmother is going to london by this train--and i want to put her under your protection." [_our youthful landscape painter dissembles again._] * * * * * [illustration: patent first-class costume for the collision season _traveller._ "yes, it's decidedly warm, but there's a feeling of security about it i rather like." (_yawns._) "any chance of a smash to-day!?" [_drops off to sleep!_] * * * * * [illustration: judging by appearances _undersized youth._ "now then, first return, surbiton, and look sharp! how much?" _clerk._ "three shillings. half-price under twelve!"] * * * * * [illustration: cold comfort _traveller (waiting for train already twenty minutes late)._ "porter, when do you expect that train to come in?" _porter._ "can't say, sir. but the longer you waits for it, the more sure 'tis to come in the next minute."] * * * * * [illustration: "the nursery saloon on the railway" our artist's notion of what we may expect if the suggestion were adopted the saloon is patent swing rattles can efficient nurse the saloon fitted with sleeping cradles be obtained guards, to look is fitted refreshment can be secured at most of after the with amusing bar, replete by wire or the large babies, travel toys, to with all baby letter. stations. by all trains. beguile delicacies. the tedium of long journeys.] * * * * * [illustration: railway puzzle to find the name of the station.] * * * * * [illustration: vicarious! (_on the underground railway_) _irascible old gentleman (who is just a second too late)._ "confound and d----!" _fair stranger (who feels the same, but dare not express it)._ "oh, thank you, _so_ much!"] * * * * * [illustration: underground railway _old lady._ "well, i'm sure no woman with the least sense of decency would think of going down _that_ way to it."] * * * * * [illustration: regular irregularity _passenger (in a hurry)._ "is this train punctual?" _porter._ "yessir, generally a quarter of an hour late to a minute!"] * * * * * [illustration: _perspiring countryman (who has just, with the utmost difficulty, succeeded in catching train)._ "phew! just saved it by t'skin o' my _teeth_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "'tis better not to know" _impudent boy (generally)._ "try yer weight--only a penny!" (_to lady of commanding proportions in particular._) "'tell yer 'xact weight to a hounce, mum!"] * * * * * [illustration: appalling disclosures overheard by an old lady in the conversation between two ruffians in a railway carriage. _first artist._ "children don't seem to me to sell now as they used." _second artist (in a hoarse whisper)._ "well, i was at stodge's yesterday. he'd just knocked off three little girls' heads--horrid raw things--a dealer came in, sir--bought 'em directly--took 'em away, wet as they were, on the stretchers, and wanted stodge to let him have some more next week."] * * * * * [illustration: necessities of life "yes, my lady. james went this morning with the hunters, and i've sent on the heavy luggage with charles. but i've got your pencil-case, the bicycle, your ladyship's golf clubs and hunting crop and billiard cue, the lawn tennis racket, the bezique cards and markers, your ladyship's betting book and racing glasses and skates and walking-stick--and if i've forgotten anything i can easily wire back for it from the first station we stop at."] * * * * * [illustration: a striking attitude patience on a trunk waiting for a cab] * * * * * [illustration: the railway juggernaut of ] * * * * * [illustration: after a derby-winner-dinner _diner._ "ticket." _clerk._ "what station?" _diner._ "wha-stashun ve-you-got?"] * * * * * [illustration: "things are not what they seem" _mr. foozler (who, while waiting for the last train, has wandered to the end of the platform, opened the door of the signal-box, and watched the signalman's manipulations of the levers for some moments with hazy perplexity, suddenly)._ "arf o' burt'n 'n birrer f' me, guv'nor!"] * * * * * [illustration: "third-class single to ruswarp, please, and a dog ticket. how much?" "fourpence-halfpenny--threepence for the dog, and three-halfpence for yourself." "ah! you reckon by _legs_ on this line."] * * * * * [illustration: the question settled _mrs. m-l-pr-p._ "the fact is, my love, that these terrible collusions would never occur if the trains was only more punctilious!"] * * * * * a needless panic.--mrs. malaprop is puzzled to know what people mean when they talk of the present alarming junction of affairs. she hopes it has nothing to do with the railways, in which she has some deference shares. * * * * * thought by a railway director.--britannia used to rule the waves. she now rules the land--with lines. * * * * * [illustration: the old hall] (_a story of delusive aspirations_) . jones was a tuft-hunter. one day, in a train, he encountered an elderly gentleman who aroused great interest in his bosom. "porter," said that elderly gentleman, "'ave you seen my old hall?" "got an old hall!" murmured jones to himself. "rich man--probably duke! should like to cultivate him!" . the stranger was affable. "did you ever 'ave an old hall?" he said. "why--er--n-no," said jones. "very convenient thing to 'ave," said the stranger. "i've got all manner o' things in my old hall." "ah--armour, and ancestors, and tapestry, and secret doors, no doubt," thought jones to himself. . "you must see my old hall," said the stranger. "i'll show you all the ins and outs of it. i can put you up----" "really very good of you!" exclaimed jones. "shall be delighted to accept----" "put you up to no hend of wrinkles about old halls," continued the stranger. . they alighted at the terminus. "there--there's my old hall! hain't it a beauty?" said the stranger. jones sank slowly to the earth, without a groan. that ungrammatical stranger's vaunted possession was a hold-all. * * * * * rules for the rail a reminiscence of the bad old days the president of the board of trade having sent a circular to the railway companies with reference to making provisions for the prevention of accidents and the enforcement of punctuality, especially in connection with the running of excursion trains at this period of the year, the following regulations will probably come under consideration. . in future one line will be kept (when feasible) for up trains, whilst the other is reserved for the use of down-trains. this rule will not apply to luggage and mineral trains, and trains inaccurately shunted on to lines on which they (the trains) have no right to travel. . station-masters should never permit a train to start more than forty minutes late, except when very busy with the company's accounts. . as complaints have been made that signalmen are overworked, these officers in future will occupy their boxes during the morning only. during the rest of the day the boxes will be closed. that the public may suffer no inconvenience by this arrangement, the trains will continue running by day and by night as heretofore. . a pointsman will be expected to notice all signals and to obey them. he will be required, before leaving his post (when on duty), to order one of his children to look after the points during his absence. the child he selects for this office should be at least three years old. . the driver and stoker in charge of an engine should never sleep at the same time unless they have taken proper precautions beforehand to prevent an excessive consumption of the company's fuel. . when a luggage train is loading or unloading beside the platform of a station, it will be desirable to recollect the time at which an express is due, as unnecessary collisions cause much damage to the rolling stock, and not unfrequently grave inconvenience to first-class passengers. . the _débris_ of a train should be removed from the rails before an express is permitted to enter the tunnel in which an accident has taken place. as non-compliance with this rule is likely to cause much delay to the traffic, it should be obeyed when feasible. . as guards of excursion trains have been proved to be useless, their places will in future be filled by surgeons. passengers are particularly requested to give no fees to the surgeons accompanying these trains, as the salaries of these officials will be provided for in the prices charged to the public for excursion tickets. . in future, contracts from surgeons and chemists will be accepted on the same terms as those already received from refreshment caterers. . the public having frequently experienced inconvenience in having to leave the station when requiring medical attention, in future the waiting-rooms of the third-class passengers will be converted into surgeries for first-class passengers. as these saloons will be fitted with all the latest inventions in surgical instruments, a small extra charge will be made to passengers using them. . the directors (in conclusion) fully recognising the responsibility conferred upon them by the shareholders, if not by the public, will expel from their body in future (as a person evidently of unsound mind) any director convicted of travelling by any railway. * * * * * [illustration: abolition of second-class carriages "are there any second-class carriages on this line, rogers?" "no, my lord." "ah! then take two first-class tickets, and two third." "beg pardon, my lord! but is me and mrs. parker expected to go third class?" "gracious heavens! no, rogers! not for the world! the third-class tickets are for my lady and me!"] * * * * * [illustration: the old lady is supposed (after a great effort) to have made up her mind to travel, just for once, by one "of those new fangled railways," and the first thing she beholds on arriving at the station, is the above most alarming placard.] * * * * * [illustration: "time by the forelock"! _dodger._ "hullo, how are you! can't stop, though, or i shan't miss my train!" _codger._ "catch it, you mean." _dodger._ "no, i don't. i always used to miss my right train, so now i always miss the one before it, and get home in time for dinner! ta, ta!"] * * * * * [illustration: april _mamma._ "oh, i am so glad to meet you, professor. you _know everything_. do tell me what time the train that stops nowhere starts." [_for once the professor is not ready._] * * * * * [illustration: unnecessary remarks "what! have you missed it?"] * * * * * [illustration: "overcast" they were out for a day in the country--were late at the station--he left it to her to take the tickets--a horrid crowd--frightfully hot--and she was hustled and flustered considerably when she reached the carriage. _he (cool and comfortable)._ "how charming the yellow gorse----" _she (in a withering tone)._ "you didn't 'xpect to see it blue, i s'ppose!" [_tacet!_] * * * * * [illustration: a delightful reminiscence of the boat-race _sweep (to a carriage full of light blue ribbons)._ "won't yer make room for a little 'un, ladies and gents? i'm for the cambridge lot!"] * * * * * [illustration: privileges of high rank _railway gatesman._ "it's agin the rules, my lady, openin' o' the gate like this; but it ain't for the likes o' me to keep yer _ladyship_ a waitin'." _noble countess._ "why is it against the rules, my good man?" _railway gatesman._ "well, my lady, the . down express has been doo these ten minutes!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the news" _season-ticket holder (airily)._ "'morning, station-master. anything fresh?" _station-master ("bit of a wag")._ "n-no, sir, not that i've---- ah!--yes--now i think of it, sir--that's fresh paint you're leaning agai----!" [_violent pas seul, with language to match._] * * * * * blackfriars to sloane square the man who got in at blackfriars was smoking the foulest of briars, but it went out all right-- could i give him a light?-- hadn't got one--well, all men are liars. i've frequently noticed the temple is a place there are not enough rhymes to; and that's why i've made this verse somewhat blank, and rather disregarded the metre. how _do_ you pronounce charing cross? it's a point where i'm quite at a loss. some people, of course, would rhyme it with "horse," but i always rhyme it with "hoss." a woman at westminster bridge had got just a speck on the ridge of her romanesque nose. "it's a black, i suppose," she observed. then it flew--'twas a midge. one man from the park of st. james, had really the loftiest aims; in the hat-rack he sat, used my hair as a mat, and when i demurred called me names. i bought from the stall at victoria a horrible sixpenny story, a book of a kind it pained me to find for sale at our english emporia. i found when i got to sloane square that my ticket was gone; my despair was awful to see, till at last to my glee i looked in my hat--it was there! * * * * * [illustration: a real grievance _porter at junction._ "phew! all this luggage registered in advance and not a bloomin' tip do i get for handling it."] * * * * * [illustration: so likely! scene--_bar of a railway refreshment-room._ _barmaid._ "tea, sir?" _mr. boozy._ "tea!!! me!!!!"] * * * * * as shylock said.--_railway shareholder, with shares at a discount._ "give me my principal, and let me go." * * * * * [illustration: a speedy retribution _small boy._ "'arf ticket ter baker street." [_pays, and awaits delivery of ticket_ _clerk._ "it's a shameful thing, a kid like you smoking!" _small boy (indignantly)._ "who are yer callin' a kid? i'm fourteen!" _clerk._ "oh, are you? then you pay full fare to baker street!"] * * * * * [illustration: a hint to railway travellers by breathing on the glass--and holding a speaking doll by way of baby to the window--you may generally keep your compartment select.] * * * * * somebody's luggage if you see half-a-dozen new patent leather covered basket-trunks with a name written upon all of them, in staring white characters, accompanied by a gigantic portmanteau and three hat-boxes, you may know that the honourable lionel and rowena silverspoon have started on their wedding-tour. if you see a weather-beaten portmanteau, accompanied by a neat little trunk and a pretty little birdcage, you may know that edwin and angelina dovecot are going to ventnor for the honeymoon. if you see a big carpet-bag, accompanied by a large white umbrella and a tin colour-box, you may know that daub, a. r. a., is going to brittany in search of subjects. if you see an overcrowded portmanteau, accompanied by a double-locked despatch-box, you may know that urgent private affairs have induced captain bubble (promoter of public companies) to leave the city hurriedly for spain. if you see a small bundle, accompanied by a pair of handcuffs, you may know that urgent public affairs have induced sergeant smart (of the detective police) to follow the same _route_ taken by captain bubble _en voyage_ for spain. if you see twenty-four patent reversible extra waterproof holdalls, with all the latest improvements, painted blue, green, yellow, and red, and covered with hotel labels, accompanied by thirty-seven deal packing cases, you may know that colonel jerusalem r. x. e. squash, u.s.a., and family are engaged in "doing" europe. if you see fifteen trunks, all more or less damaged, accompanied by an old portmanteau and a double perambulator, you may know that mr. and mrs. paterfamilias and children are going to herne bay for a month. if you see, in conclusion, a neat knapsack and a spiked walking-stick, you may know that _mr. punch_ is off to switzerland to enjoy himself. * * * * * [illustration: adjustment _our station-master (to old jinks, whom he had kindly provided with a foot-warmer on a journey down the line to see his sick daughter)._ "well, did you find the benefit of it, master jinks?" _old jinks._ "oh, aye, thankee, mr. green! tha' there box o' hot water tha' wor uncommon' comfor'able, sure-ly! i sat on 'm the whol' o' the way, an' tha' did warm me up to-rights, i can tell 'ee!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _passenger._ "well, you say you've put all my luggage safe, what are you waiting for?--i thought you were forbidden to take money!" _porter._ "so we is, sir. we never 'takes' it--it's 'given to us!'"] * * * * * [illustration: the limited male.] * * * * * song for engine-drivers before a collision.--"whistle--and i'll come to you, my lad." * * * * * "reading between the lines" is a dangerous occupation--when there's a train coming. * * * * * the high-metalled racer.--a locomotive engine. * * * * * [illustration: a definition wanted "beg pardon, sir, but don't you see the notice?" "yes, my good fellow, but i never said i was a gentleman!"] * * * * * my season ticket ever against my breast, safe in my pocket pressed, ready at my behest, daintily pretty gilt-printed piece of leather, though fair or foul the weather, daily we go together up to the city. yet, as i ride at ease, papers strewn on my knees, and i hear "seasons, please!" shouted in warning: pockets i search in vain all through and through again; "pray do not stop the train-- lost it this morning. no, i have not a card, nor can i pay you, guard-- truly my lot is hard, this is the reason, now i recall to mind changing my clothes, i find i left them all behind,-- money, cards, 'season.'" * * * * * motto for the south-eastern company's refreshment rooms.--"o swallow, swallow, flying, flying south!" * * * * * [illustration: an inquiring mind "is this _our_ train, aunty?" "no, dear." "whose train is it?"] * * * * * [illustration: ["an 'imperial railway administration' is now a part of chinese bureaucracy."--_daily paper._] if china is to have railways, of course the dragon must enter into the design of the locomotives, &c., as above.] * * * * * [illustration: mashonaland railway ["sir charles metcalfe, the engineer, is now busy at umtali arranging for the station at that place."--_daily telegraph._] umtali station in the near future. the boo-boola express just due.] * * * * * [illustration: the flying scotchman] * * * * * at a railway station never the time and the train and the station all together! my watch--set "fast" in vain! slow cab--and foggy weather! i have missed the express again. it was all the porter's fault, not mine, but his mind is narrow, his brain is bleak, his slowness and red tape combine to make him take about a week to label my bag--and he dared to speak, when i bade him hurry, bad words, in fine! o epithet all incarnadine, leave, leave the lips of the working-man! it is simply past all bounds--aghast my indignation scarce hold i can. my watch may have helped to thus mislead, my cab by the fog have been stayed indeed; but still, however these things may be, out there on the platform wrangle we-- oh, hot and strong slang i and he, --i and he! * * * * * [illustration: sympathy _passenger (in a whisper, behind his paper, to wilkins, who had been "catching it" from the elder lady)._ "mother-'n-law?" _wilkins (in still fainter whisper)._ "ye'" _passenger._ "'got just such 'nother!" [_they console together at the next buffet._] * * * * * the rough's railway guide [illustration] the ready rough may always regard a third-class carriage, or indeed, any carriage he can make his way into with or without a ticket, on the underground railway as a sort of travelling alsatia, where brutal blackguardism finds "sanctuary." the one duty of a guard--as of a watch--is to "keep time." he is not expected to keep anything else, except tips. for instance he is not bound to keep his temper, or to keep on the look out for roughs. no one has a legal right to get into a carriage which is full, but then a third-class carriage never is full so long as one more brawny brute can violently force his way into it. when bent upon enjoying the exceptional privileges and immunities reserved for blackguardism by the underground gallios, it is only necessary for a few hulking ruffians, big of course, and half drunk by preference, to thrust themselves violently in some compartment containing no less than twice its legal complement. in doing this they will, of course, rudely trample the toes of weak women, and insolently dislodge the hats of inoffensive men; thus paving the way pleasantly for future operations. having squeezed themselves in somehow, they can then further indulge in the lesser amenities of travel by puffing rank tobacco smoke in the faces of their fellow-passengers, expectorating at large with not too nice a reference to direction, and indulging in howling, chaff, and horse-play of the most offensive character. the addition of blasphemy, especially if there should be women and children present, may probably provoke a mild remonstrance from some one, and then the rough's opportunity has arrived at last. to particularise the rough's rules for dealing with such an objector and his sympathisers--if any--would be as tedious as superfluous; but the combined arts of the low pugilist, the intoxicated wife-beater, and the lancashire "purler," may be called into play, with much enjoyment and perfect safety, until the object of his wrath is beaten into unconsciousness or kicked into convulsions. on reaching a station, the frightened passengers may perhaps dare to appeal to the guard! that autocratic official will of course, with much angry hustling and holloaing, declare that _he_ can't stop to interfere, _his_ business being, not to stay actual violence or prevent possible homicide, but to "keep time," and the ruffianly scoundrels go off shouting and singing "_rule britannia_" and telling their pals "what a bloomin' lark they've had in the hunderground." * * * * * [illustration: _ticket clerk._ "where for, ma'am?" _old lady._ "there! lawk a mercy if i haven't forgot. oh! mister, please run over a few of the willages on this railway, will yer?" [_bell rings--old lady is swept away._] * * * * * [illustration: ye railway station during ye holiday time in ye roman period (from a rare old frieze (not) in ye british museum)] * * * * * [illustration: "war's alarms" _timorous old lady (in a twitter)._ "are those cannon balls, station-master?" _station-master (compassionately)._ "oh no, mu'm, they're only dutch cheeses, 'm', come by the rotterdam boat last night--that's all, mu'm!"] * * * * * [illustration: the maiden's prayer a sketch at aldersgate street station] * * * * * [illustration: obstructionists in a smoking carriage] * * * * * [illustration] terminus triolets _at charing cross._ to paris by the tidal train. here, register this luggage, quick! why, all the world seems going, jane, to paris by the tidal train. it's blowing quite a hurricane; i hope, my love, you won't be sick. to paris by the tidal train. here, register this luggage, quick! _at euston._ by jove, i've run it precious near, was ever "hansom"-horse so slow! look sharp, now, porter, for it's clear, by jove, i've run it precious near. holloa!--that gun-case--hand it here, the hat-box in the van can go. by jove, i've run it precious near! was ever "hansom"-horse so slow! _at liverpool street._ six wholes, three halves, all second class. the baby, mind, you might have killed her. oh, policeman, please to let us pass! six wholes, three halves, all second class, to yarmouth. what a madd'ning mass of people. do come on, matilda. six wholes, three halves, all second class. the baby, mind, you might have killed her. _at victoria._ two first, return, to brighton, please. oh, yes--we'll go in pullman's car. i like to travel at my ease; two first, return, to brighton, please. we're running down to breathe the breeze, i can't from business go too far. two first, return, to brighton, please. oh, yes--we'll go in pullman's car. _at paddington._ guard, mark "engaged" this carriage, pray; now, why on earth's the fellow grinning? how could he know we're wed to-day? guard, mark "engaged" this carriage, pray. my darling, hide that white bouquet; my head with champagne fumes is spinning. guard, mark "engaged" this carriage, pray. now, why on earth's the fellow grinning? _at waterloo._ good-bye my boy; just one kiss more; you'll write to mother now and then? a sign from sea is sweet on shore, good-bye, my boy; just one kiss more. nay, don't you cry, dear, i implore, red eyes are never meant for men. good-bye, my boy; just one kiss more; you'll write to mother now and then? [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: "the last link is broken that bound me to thee"] * * * * * bradbury, agnew & co. ld., printers london and tonbridge. john leech's pictures of life and character by william makepeace thackeray * reprinted from the quarterly review, no. , dec. , by permission of mr. john murray. we, who can recall the consulship of plancus, and quite respectable, old-fogyfied times, remember amongst other amusements which we had as children the pictures at which we were permitted to look. there was boydell's shakspeare, black and ghastly gallery of murky opies, glum northcotes, straddling fuselis! there were lear, oberon, hamlet, with starting muscles, rolling eyeballs, and long pointing quivering fingers; there was little prince arthur (northcote) crying, in white satin, and bidding good hubert not put out his eyes; there was hubert crying; there was little rutland being run through the poor little body by bloody clifford; there was cardinal beaufort (reynolds) gnashing his teeth, and grinning and howling demoniacally on his death-bed (a picture frightful to the present day); there was lady hamilton (romney) waving a torch, and dancing before a black background,--a melancholy museum indeed. smirke's delightful "seven ages" only fitfully relieved its general gloom. we did not like to inspect it unless the elders were present, and plenty of lights and company were in the room. cheerful relatives used to treat us to miss linwood's. let the children of the present generation thank their stars that tragedy is put out of their way. miss linwood's was worsted-work. your grandmother or grandaunts took you there and said the pictures were admirable. you saw "the woodman" in worsted, with his axe and dog, trampling through the snow; the snow bitter cold to look at, the woodman's pipe wonderful: a gloomy piece, that made you shudder. there were large dingy pictures of woollen martyrs, and scowling warriors with limbs strongly knitted; there was especially, at the end of a black passage, a den of lions, that would frighten any boy not born in africa, or exeter 'change, and accustomed to them. another exhibition used to be west's gallery, where the pleasing figures of lazarus in his grave-clothes, and death on the pale horse, used to impress us children. the tombs of westminster abbey, the vaults at st. paul's, the men in armor at the tower, frowning ferociously out of their helmets, and wielding their dreadful swords; that superhuman queen elizabeth at the end of the room, a livid sovereign with glass eyes, a ruff, and a dirty satin petticoat, riding a horse covered with steel: who does not remember these sights in london in the consulship of plancus? and the wax-work in fleet street, not like that of madame tussaud's, whose chamber of death is gay and brilliant; but a nice old gloomy wax-work, full of murderers; and as a chief attraction, the dead baby and the princess charlotte lying in state? our story-books had no pictures in them for the most part. frank (dear old frank!) had none; nor the "parent's assistant;" nor the "evenings at home;" nor our copy of the "ami des enfans:" there were a few just at the end of the spelling-book; besides the allegory at the beginning, of education leading up youth to the temple of industry, where dr. dilworth and professor walkinghame stood with crowns of laurel. there were, we say, just a few pictures at the end of the spelling-book, little oval gray woodcuts of bewick's, mostly of the wolf and the lamb, the dog and the shadow, and brown, jones, and robinson with long ringlets and little tights; but for pictures, so to speak, what had we? the rough old wood-blocks in the old harlequin-backed fairy-books had served hundreds of years; before our plancus, in the time of priscus plancus--in queen anne's time, who knows? we were flogged at school; we were fifty boys in our boarding-house, and had to wash in a leaden trough, under a cistern, with lumps of fat yellow soap floating about in the ice and water. are our sons ever flogged? have they not dressing-rooms, hair-oil, hip-baths, and baden towels? and what picture-books the young villains have! what have these children done that they should be so much happier than we were? we had the "arabian nights" and walter scott, to be sure. smirke's illustrations to the former are very fine. we did not know how good they were then; but we doubt whether we did not prefer the little old "miniature library nights" with frontispieces by uwins; for these books the pictures don't count. every boy of imagination does his own pictures to scott and the "arabian nights" best. of funny pictures there were none especially intended for us children. there was rowlandson's "doctor syntax": doctor syntax in a fuzz-wig, on a horse with legs like sausages, riding races, making love, frolicking with rosy exuberant damsels. those pictures were very funny, and that aquatinting and the gay-colored plates very pleasant to witness; but if we could not read the poem in those days, could we digest it in this? nevertheless, apart from the text which we could not master, we remember doctor syntax pleasantly, like those cheerful painted hieroglyphics in the nineveh court at sydenham. what matter for the arrow-head, illegible stuff? give us the placid grinning kings, twanging their jolly bows over their rident horses, wounding those good-humored enemies, who tumble gayly off the towers, or drown, smiling, in the dimpling waters, amidst the anerithmon gelasma of the fish. after doctor syntax, the apparition of corinthian tom, jerry hawthorn, and the facetious bob logic must be recorded--a wondrous history indeed theirs was! when the future student of our manners comes to look over the pictures and the writing of these queer volumes, what will he think of our society, customs, and language in the consulship of plancus? "corinthian," it appears, was the phrase applied to men of fashion and ton in plancus's time: they were the brilliant predecessors of the "swell" of the present period--brilliant, but somewhat barbarous, it must be confessed. the corinthians were in the habit of drinking a great deal too much in tom cribb's parlor: they used to go and see "life" in the gin-shops; of nights, walking home (as well as they could), they used to knock down "charleys," poor harmless old watchmen with lanterns, guardians of the streets of rome, planco consule. they perpetrated a vast deal of boxing; they put on the "mufflers" in jackson's rooms; they "sported their prads" in the ring in the park; they attended cock-fights, and were enlightened patrons of dogs and destroyers of rats. besides these sports, the delassemens of gentlemen mixing with the people, our patricians, of course, occasionally enjoyed the society of their own class. what a wonderful picture that used to be of corinthian tom dancing with corinthian kate at almack's! what a prodigious dress kate wore! with what graceful abandon the pair flung their arms about as they swept through the mazy quadrille, with all the noblemen standing round in their stars and uniforms! you may still, doubtless, see the pictures at the british museum, or find the volumes in the corner of some old country-house library. you are led to suppose that the english aristocracy of did dance and caper in that way, and box and drink at tom cribb's, and knock down watchmen; and the children of to-day, turning to their elders, may say "grandmamma, did you wear such a dress as that, when you danced at almack's? there was very little of it, grandmamma. did grandpapa kill many watchmen when he was a young man, and frequent thieves' gin-shops, cock-fights, and the ring, before you married him? did he use to talk the extraordinary slang and jargon which is printed in this book? he is very much changed. he seems a gentlemanly old boy enough now." in the above-named consulate, when we had grandfathers alive, there would be in the old gentleman's library in the country two or three old mottled portfolios, or great swollen scrap-books of blue paper, full of the comic prints of grandpapa's time, ere plancus ever had the fasces borne before him. these prints were signed gilray, bunbury, rowlandson, woodward, and some actually george cruikshank--for george is a veteran now, and he took the etching needle in hand as a child. he caricatured "boney," borrowing not a little from gilray in his first puerile efforts. he drew louis xviii. trying on boney's boots. before the century was actually in its teens we believe that george cruikshank was amusing the public. in those great colored prints in our grandfathers' portfolios in the library, and in some other apartments of the house, where the caricatures used to be pasted in those days, we found things quite beyond our comprehension. boney was represented as a fierce dwarf, with goggle eyes, a huge laced hat and tricolored plume, a crooked sabre, reeking with blood: a little demon revelling in lust, murder, massacre. john bull was shown kicking him a good deal: indeed he was prodigiously kicked all through that series of pictures; by sidney smith and our brave allies the gallant turks; by the excellent and patriotic spaniards; by the amiable and indignant russians,--all nations had boots at the service of poor master boney. how pitt used to defy him! how good old george, king of brobdingnag, laughed at gulliver-boney, sailing about in his tank to make sport for their majesties! this little fiend, this beggar's brat, cowardly, murderous, and atheistic as he was (we remember, in those old portfolios, pictures representing boney and his family in rags, gnawing raw bones in a corsican hut; boney murdering the sick at jaffa; boney with a hookah and a large turban, having adopted the turkish religion, &c.)--this corsican monster, nevertheless, had some devoted friends in england, according to the gilray chronicle,--a set of villains who loved atheism, tyranny, plunder, and wickedness in general, like their french friend. in the pictures these men were all represented as dwarfs, like their ally. the miscreants got into power at one time, and, if we remember right, were called the broad-backed administration. one with shaggy eyebrows and a bristly beard, the hirsute ringleader of the rascals, was, it appears, called charles james fox; another miscreant, with a blotched countenance, was a certain sheridan; other imps were hight erskine, norfolk (jockey of), moira, henry petty. as in our childish, innocence we used to look at these demons, now sprawling and tipsy in their cups; now scaling heaven, from which the angelic pitt hurled them down; now cursing the light (their atrocious ringleader fox was represented with hairy cloven feet, and a tail and horns); now kissing boney's boot, but inevitably discomfited by pitt and the other good angels: we hated these vicious wretches, as good children should; we were on the side of virtue and pitt and grandpapa. but if our sisters wanted to look at the portfolios, the good old grandfather used to hesitate. there were some prints among them very odd indeed; some that girls could not understand; some that boys, indeed, had best not see. we swiftly turn over those prohibited pages. how many of them there were in the wild, coarse, reckless, ribald, generous book of old english humor! how savage the satire was--how fierce the assault--what garbage hurled at opponents--what foul blows were hit--what language of billingsgate flung! fancy a party in a country-house now looking over woodward's facetiae or some of the gilray comicalities, or the slatternly saturnalia of rowlandson! whilst we live we must laugh, and have folks to make us laugh. we cannot afford to lose satyr with his pipe and dances and gambols. but we have washed, combed, clothed, and taught the rogue good manners: or rather, let us say, he has learned them himself; for he is of nature soft and kindly, and he has put aside his mad pranks and tipsy habits; and, frolicsome always, has become gentle and harmless, smitten into shame by he pure presence of our women and the sweet confiding smiles of our children. among the veterans, the old pictorial satirists, we have mentioned the famous name of one humorous designer who is still alive and at work. did we not see, by his own hand, his own portrait of his own famous face, and whiskers, in the illustrated london news the other day? there was a print in that paper of an assemblage of teetotalers in "sadler's wells theatre," and we straightway recognized the old roman hand--the old roman's of the time of plancus--george cruikshank's. there were the old bonnets and droll faces and shoes, and short trousers, and figures of sure enough. and there was george (who has taken to the water-doctrine, as all the world knows) handing some teetotal cresses over a plank to the table where the pledge was being administered. how often has george drawn that picture of cruikshank! where haven't we seen it? how fine it was, facing the effigy of mr. ainsworth in ainsworth's magazine when george illustrated that periodical! how grand and severe he stands in that design in g. c.'s "omnibus," where he represents himself tonged like st. dunstan, and tweaking a wretch of a publisher by the nose! the collectors of george's etchings--oh the charming etchings!--oh the dear old "german popular tales!"--the capital "points of humor"--the delightful "phrenology" and "scrap-books," of the good time, our time--plancus's in fact!--the collectors of the georgian etchings, we say, have at least a hundred pictures of the artist. why, we remember him in his favorite hessian boots in "tom and jerry" itself; and in woodcuts as far back as the queen's trial. he has rather deserted satire and comedy of late years, having turned his attention to the serious, and warlike, and sublime. having confessed our age and prejudices, we prefer the comic and fanciful to the historic, romantic, and at present didactic george. may respect, and length of days, and comfortable repose attend the brave, honest, kindly, pure-minded artist, humorist, moralist! it was he first who brought english pictorial humor and children acquainted. our young people and their fathers and mothers owe him many a pleasant hour and harmless laugh. is there no way in which the country could acknowledge the long services and brave career of such a friend and benefactor? since george's time humor has been converted. comus and his wicked satyrs and leering fauns have disappeared, and fled into the lowest haunts; and comus's lady (if she had a taste for humor, which may be doubted) might take up our funny picture-books without the slightest precautionary squeamishness. what can be purer than the charming fancies of richard doyle? in all mr. punch's huge galleries can't we walk as safely as through miss pinkerton's schoolrooms? and as we look at mr. punch's pictures, at the illustrated news pictures, at all the pictures in the book-shop windows at this christmas season, as oldsters, we feel a certain pang of envy against the youngsters--they are too well off. why hadn't we picture-books? why were we flogged so? a plague on the lictors and their rods in the time of plancus! and now, after this rambling preface, we are arrived at the subject in hand--mr. john leech and his "pictures of life and character," in the collection of mr. punch. this book is better than plum-cake at christmas. it is an enduring plum-cake, which you may eat and which you may slice and deliver to your friends; and to which, having cut it, you may come again and welcome, from year's end to year's end. in the frontispiece you see mr. punch examining the pictures in his gallery--a portly, well-dressed, middle-aged, respectable gentleman, in a white neck-cloth, and a polite evening costume--smiling in a very bland and agreeable manner upon one of his pleasant drawings, taken out of one of his handsome portfolios. mr. punch has very good reason to smile at the work and be satisfied with the artist. mr. leech, his chief contributor, and some kindred humorists, with pencil and pen have served mr. punch admirably. time was, if we remember mr. p.'s history rightly, that he did not wear silk stockings nor well-made clothes (the little dorsal irregularity in his figure is almost an ornament now, so excellent a tailor has he). he was of humble beginnings. it is said he kept a ragged little booth, which he put up at corners of streets; associated with beadles, policemen, his own ugly wife (whom he treated most scandalously), and persons in a low station of life; earning a precarious livelihood by the cracking of wild jokes, the singing of ribald songs, and halfpence extorted from passers-by. he is the satyric genius we spoke of anon: he cracks his jokes still, for satire must live; but he is combed, washed, neatly clothed, and perfectly presentable. he goes into the very best company; he keeps a stud at melton; he has a moor in scotland; he rides in the park; has his stall at the opera; is constantly dining out at clubs and in private society; and goes every night in the season to balls and parties, where you see the most beautiful women possible. he is welcomed amongst his new friends the great; though, like the good old english gentleman of the song, he does not forget the small. he pats the heads of street boys and girls; relishes the jokes of jack the costermonger and bob the dustman; good-naturedly spies out molly the cook flirting with policeman x, or mary the nursemaid as she listens to the fascinating guardsman. he used rather to laugh at guardsmen, "plungers," and other military men; and was until latter days very contemptuous in his behavior towards frenchmen. he has a natural antipathy to pomp, and swagger, and fierce demeanor. but now that the guardsmen are gone to war, and the dandies of "the rag"--dandies no more--are battling like heroes at balaklava and inkermann* by the side of their heroic allies, mr. punch's laughter is changed to hearty respect and enthusiasm. it is not against courage and honor he wars: but this great moralist--must it be owned?--has some popular british prejudices, and these led him in peace time to laugh at soldiers and frenchmen. if those hulking footmen who accompanied the carriages to the opening of parliament the other day, would form a plush brigade, wear only gunpowder in their hair, and strike with their great canes on the enemy, mr. punch would leave off laughing at jeames, who meanwhile remains among us, to all outward appearance regardless of satire, and calmly consuming his five meals per diem. against lawyers, beadles, bishops and clergy, and authorities, mr. punch is still rather bitter. at the time of the papal aggression he was prodigiously angry; and one of the chief misfortunes which happened to him at that period was that, through the violent opinions which he expressed regarding the roman catholic hierarchy, he lost the invaluable services, the graceful pencil, the harmless wit, the charming fancy of mr. doyle. another member of mr. punch's cabinet, the biographer of jeames, the author of the "snob papers," resigned his functions on account of mr. punch's assaults upon the present emperor of the french nation, whose anger jeames thought it was unpatriotic to arouse. mr. punch parted with these contributors: he filled their places with others as good. the boys at the railroad stations cried punch just as cheerily, and sold just as many numbers, after these events as before. * this was written in . there is no blinking the fact that in mr. punch's cabinet john leech is the right-hand man. fancy a number of punch without leech's pictures! what would you give for it? the learned gentlemen who write the work must feel that, without him, it were as well left alone. look at the rivals whom the popularity of punch has brought into the field; the direct imitators of mr. leech's manner--the artists with a manner of their own--how inferior their pencils are to his in humor, in depicting the public manners, in arresting, amusing the nation. the truth, the strength, the free vigor, the kind humor, the john bull pluck and spirit of that hand are approached by no competitor. with what dexterity he draws a horse, a woman, a child! he feels them all, so to speak, like a man. what plump young beauties those are with which mr. punch's chief contributor supplies the old gentleman's pictorial harem! what famous thews and sinews mr. punch's horses have, and how briggs, on the back of them, scampers across country! you see youth, strength, enjoyment, manliness in those drawings, and in none more so, to our thinking, than in the hundred pictures of children which this artist loves to design. like a brave, hearty, good-natured briton, he becomes quite soft and tender with the little creatures, pats gently their little golden heads, and watches with unfailing pleasure their ways, their sports, their jokes, laughter, caresses. enfans terribles come home from eton; young miss practising her first flirtation; poor little ragged polly making dirt-pies in the gutter, or staggering under the weight of jacky, her nursechild, who is as big as herself--all these little ones, patrician and plebeian, meet with kindness from this kind heart, and are watched with curious nicety by this amiable observer. we remember, in one of those ancient gilray portfolios, a print which used to cause a sort of terror in us youthful spectators, and in which the prince of wales (his royal highness was a foxite then) was represented as sitting alone in a magnificent hall after a voluptuous meal, and using a great steel fork in the guise of a toothpick. fancy the first young gentleman living employing such a weapon in such a way! the most elegant prince of europe engaged with a two-pronged iron fork--the heir of britannia with a bident! the man of genius who drew that picture saw little of the society which he satirized and amused. gilray watched public characters as they walked by the shop in st. james's street, or passed through the lobby of the house of commons. his studio was a garret, or little better; his place of amusement a tavern-parlor, where his club held its nightly sittings over their pipes and sanded floor. you could not have society represented by men to whom it was not familiar. when gavarni came to england a few years since--one of the wittiest of men, one of the most brilliant and dexterous of draughtsmen--he published a book of "les anglais," and his anglais were all frenchmen. the eye, so keen and so long practised to observe parisian life, could not perceive english character. a social painter must be of the world which he depicts, and native to the manners which he portrays. now, any one who looks over mr. leech's portfolio must see that the social pictures which he gives us are authentic. what comfortable little drawing-rooms and dining-rooms, what snug libraries we enter; what fine young-gentlemanly wags they are, those beautiful little dandies who wake up gouty old grandpapa to ring the bell; who decline aunt's pudding and custards, saying that they will reserve themselves for an anchovy toast with the claret; who talk together in ball-room doors, where fred whispers charley--pointing to a dear little partner seven years old--"my dear charley, she has very much gone off; you should have seen that girl last season!" look well at everything appertaining to the economy of the famous mr. briggs: how snug, quiet, appropriate all the appointments are! what a comfortable, neat, clean, middle-class house briggs's is (in the bayswater suburb of london, we should guess from the sketches of the surrounding scenery)! what a good stable he has, with a loose box for those celebrated hunters which he rides! how pleasant, clean, and warm his breakfast-table looks! what a trim little maid brings in the top-boots which horrify mrs. b! what a snug dressing-room he has, complete in all its appointments, and in which he appears trying on the delightful hunting-cap which mrs. briggs flings into the fire! how cosy all the briggs party seem in their dining-room: briggs reading a treatise on dog-breaking by a lamp; mamma and grannie with their respective needleworks; the children clustering round a great book of prints--a great book of prints such as this before us, which, at this season, must make thousands of children happy by as many firesides! the inner life of all these people is represented: leech draws them as naturally as teniers depicts dutch boors, or morland pigs and stables. it is your house and mine: we are looking at everybody's family circle. our boys coming from school give themselves such airs, the young scapegraces! our girls, going to parties, are so tricked out by fond mammas--a social history of london in the middle of the nineteenth century. as such, future students--lucky they to have a book so pleasant--will regard these pages: even the mutations of fashion they may follow here if they be so inclined. mr. leech has as fine an eye for tailory and millinery as for horse-flesh. how they change those cloaks and bonnets. how we have to pay milliners' bills from year to year! where are those prodigious chatelaines of which no lady could be without? where those charming waistcoats, those "stunning" waistcoats, which our young girls used to wear a few brief seasons back, and which cause 'gus, in the sweet little sketch of "la mode," to ask ellen for her tailor's address. 'gus is a young warrior by this time, very likely facing the enemy at inkerman; and pretty ellen, and that love of a sister of hers, are married and happy, let us hope, superintending one of those delightful nursery scenes which our artist depicts with such tender humor. fortunate artist, indeed! you see he must have been bred at a good public school; that he has ridden many a good horse in his day; paid, no doubt, out of his own purse for the originals of some of those lovely caps and bonnets; and watched paternally the ways, smiles, frolics, and slumbers of his favorite little people. as you look at the drawings, secrets come out of them,--private jokes, as it were, imparted to you by the author for your special delectation. how remarkably, for instance, has mr. leech observed the hair-dressers of the present age! look at "mr. tongs," whom that hideous old bald woman, who ties on her bonnet at the glass, informs that "she has used the whole bottle of balm of california, but her hair comes off yet." you can see the bear's-grease not only on tongs's head but on his hands, which he is clapping clammily together. remark him who is telling his client "there is cholera in the hair;" and that lucky rogue whom the young lady bids to cut off "a long thick piece"--for somebody, doubtless. all these men are different, and delightfully natural and absurd. why should hair-dressing be an absurd profession? the amateur will remark what an excellent part hands play in mr. leech's pieces: his admirable actors use them with perfect naturalness. look at betty, putting the urn down; at cook, laying her hands on the kitchen table, whilst her policeman grumbles at the cold meat. they are cook's and housemaid's hands without mistake, and not without a certain beauty too. the bald old lady, who is tying her bonnet at tongs's, has hands which you see are trembling. watch the fingers of the two old harridans who are talking scandal: for what long years past they have pointed out holes in their neighbors' dresses and mud on their flounces. "here's a go! i've lost my diamond ring." as the dustman utters this pathetic cry, and looks at his hand, you burst out laughing. these are among the little points of humor. one could indicate hundreds of such as one turns over the pleasant pages. there is a little snob or gent, whom we all of us know, who wears little tufts on his little chin, outrageous pins and pantaloons, smokes cigars on tobacconists' counters, sucks his cane in the streets, struts about with mrs. snob and the baby (mrs. s. an immense woman, whom snob nevertheless bullies), who is a favorite abomination of leech, and pursued by that savage humorist into a thousand of his haunts. there he is, choosing waistcoats at the tailor's--such waistcoats! yonder he is giving a shilling to the sweeper who calls him "capting;" now he is offering a paletot to a huge giant who is going out in the rain. they don't know their own pictures, very likely; if they did, they would have a meeting, and thirty or forty of them would be deputed to thrash mr. leech. one feels a pity for the poor little bucks. in a minute or two, when we close this discourse and walk the streets, we shall see a dozen such. ere we shut the desk up, just one word to point out to the unwary specially to note the backgrounds of landscapes in leech's drawings--homely drawings of moor and wood, and seashore and london street--the scenes of his little dramas. they are as excellently true to nature as the actors themselves; our respect for the genius and humor which invented both increases as we look and look again at the designs. may we have more of them; more pleasant christmas volumes, over which we and our children can laugh together. can we have too much of truth, and fun, and beauty, and kindness? the royal picture alphabet of humour and droll moral tales or words & their meanings illustrated [illustration] london: ward and lock, , fleet street. [illustration: laugh and learn] [illustration: the royal picture alphabet.] poetical preface to the royal picture alphabet. to preceptors. with learning may laughter be found, "'tis good to be merry and wise;" to gaily get over the ground, as higher and higher we rise. some children their letters may learn, while others will surely do more, as the subjects suggestively turn to matters not thought of before. descriptions and pictures combined are here made attractive and clear; so suited that children may find from error the truth to appear. [illustration] a a. +-----------------------+ | ablution, | |_the act of cleansing_.| +-----------------------+ the little sweep has washed his face, but not as we advise: for black as soot he's made the soap, and rubbed it in his eyes. [illustration] b b. +-------------------+ |barter, _exchange_.| +-------------------+ here's master mack presenting fruit, of which he makes display; he knows he'll soon have lucy's rope, and with it skip away. [illustration] c c. +----------------------------+ |catastrophe, _a final event_| | (_generally unhappy_). | +----------------------------+ "oh here's a sad catastrophe!" was mrs. blossom's cry-- then--"water! water! bring to me-- or all my fish will die." [illustration] d d. +-------------------+ | delightful, | |_easant, charming_.| +-------------------+ these boys are bathing in the stream when they should be at school: the master's coming round to see who disregards his rule. [illustration] e e. +----------------------------+ | eccentricity, | |_irregularity, strangeness_.| +----------------------------+ we often see things seeming strange; but scarce so strange as this:-- here everything is mis-applied, here every change amiss. [illustration] f f. +---------------------------------+ | fraud, | |_deceit, trick, artifice, cheat_.| +---------------------------------+ here is pat murphy, fast asleep. and there is neddy bray: the thief a watchful eye doth keep until he gets away. [illustration] g g. +------------------------+ | genius, | |_mental power, faculty_.| +------------------------+ a little boy with little slate may sometimes make more clear the little thoughts that he would state than can by words appear. [illustration] h h. +----------------+ | horror, | |_terror, dread_.| +----------------+ this little harmless speckled frog seems lady townsend's dread: i fear she'll run away and cry, and hide her silly head. [illustration] i i. j j. +----------------------------+ | ichabod at the jam. | | | |ichabod, _a christian name_.| |jam, _a conserve of fruits_.| +----------------------------+ enough is good, excess is bad: yet ichabod you see, will with the jam his stomach cram, until they disagree. [illustration] k k. +-------------------------+ | knowing, | |_conscious, intelligent_.| +-------------------------+ tho' horses know both beans and corn, and snuff them in the wind; they also all know jemmy small, and what he holds behind. [illustration] l l. +-----------------------------+ | lucky, | |_fortunate, happy by chance_.| +-----------------------------+ we must admire, in lovebook's case. the prompt decision made: as he could not have gained the wood if time had been delayed. [illustration] m m. +-----------------------+ | mimic, | |_imitative, burlesque_.| +-----------------------+ the gentleman, who struts so fine, unconscious seems to be of imitation by the boy who has the street-door key. [illustration] n n. +-----------------------------+ | negligence, | |_heedlessness, carelessness_.| +-----------------------------+ the character tom slowboy bears would much against him tell-- for any work that's wanted done, or even play done well. [illustration] o o. +----------------------------+ | obstinacy, | |_stubbornness, waywardness_.| +----------------------------+ the obstinacy of the pig is nature--as you see: but boys and girls who have a mind should never stubborn be. [illustration] p p. +-------------------------------+ | pets, | |_favourites, spoilt fondlings_.| +-------------------------------+ some people say that aunty gray to animals is kind; we think, instead, they are over fed, and kept too much confined. [illustration] q q. +------------------------+ | quandary, | |_a doubt, a difficulty_.| +------------------------+ dame partlet's in difficulty and looks around with doubt: let's hope, as she some way got in, she may some way get out. [illustration] r r. +-------------------------+ | rivalry, | |_competition, emulation_.| +-------------------------+ in every competition prize this should be kept in view-- whoever wins should be the one who does deserve it, too. [illustration] s s. +---------------------------+ | sluggard, | |_an inactive, lazy fellow_.| +---------------------------+ to lie so many hours in bed you surely must be ill-- and need some physic, master ned, as birch, or draught, or pill! [illustration] t t. +--------------------------+ | topsy-turvy, | |_upside down, bottom top_.| +--------------------------+ here's topsy-turvy, upside down, the ceiling seems the base: reverse the ground and 'twill be found the things are out of place. [illustration] u u. v v. +----------------------------------+ | uncommon vegetation. | | | |uncommon, _rare, not frequent_. | |vegetation, _the power of growth_.| +----------------------------------+ th' uncommon vegetation, here, with art has much to do: the trees are nature, but the fruit uncommon and untrue. [illustration] w w. +---------------------------+ | wonder, | |_admiration, astonishment_.| +---------------------------+ the wise may live and wonder still, however much they know, but simple giles has wonder found within the penny show. [illustration] x x. +----------------------------------------+ |no english word begins with this letter.| | xantippe, | | _a greek matron, wife of socrates_. | +----------------------------------------+ here's socrates and xantippe-- philosopher and wife-- for gentleness renowned was he; she, better known for strife. [illustration] y y. +--------------------+ | yearn, | |_to grieve, to vex_.| +--------------------+ miss cross has tried to reach the grapes, she's tried and tried again-- and now she's vexed to think that all her efforts are in vain. [illustration] z z. +----------------------------+ | zany, | |_a buffoon, a merry andrew_.| +----------------------------+ here's zany reading in a book-- with heels above his head-- and, judging by his laughing look, finds fun in what he's read. moral tales. ablution.--poor little fellow, you are certainly making comical faces: i fear the soap has got into your eyes, and that you will make that towel very black indeed. all boys, when they wash themselves, should take care to rinse off the soap and dirt before using the towel. to make the poor little sweep quite clean would take much washing. i should like to see the soap and water a little cleaner. many of us have nice wash-stands and baths of marble, but this poor little fellow must make the best of what he can get. see how cleverly he has put a brick under the broken leg of the stool to prop it. i like to see boys clever and ingenious. barter.--miss lucy hart was a nice girl, but rather thoughtless, little regarding any time but the present--new things in her eyes being the prettiest and the best;--thus, she would cast away old toys for new ones, as if she were not likely to want them again. see, master george mc gregor is bartering for her skipping-rope; offering some fruit in exchange for it. the fruit he has picked off the tree without permission. i know lucy's mamma will be vexed; for not only will the fruit soon be gone, and the skip-rope wanted again, but it was a present from papa. the plaything cost far more than a little fruit, which will be quickly eaten, and possibly make lucy unwell after so much as she has had to-day. catastrophe.--poor dear lady! has the cat tried to help himself to a gold fish, and overturned the handsome glass vase? naughty tom! greedy puss! i am sure kind mrs. blossom always feeds you well; and i think you know that you have done wrong, or you would not run so fast over the rails into admiral seaworth's garden, where he keeps his large dog neptune, who may bark and send you back in a fright. poor fish, see how they gasp!--run and fetch some water, or they will die. men drown in water, but fish cannot live out of it. it is the nature of cats to catch mice and birds--so that we should keep our little favourites out of their reach. delightful.--these boys, i fear, are bathing without their parents' consent, which is very wrong, indeed. it is very pleasant in the water on a fine day; but little boys should not go there, as it might be deep, and they might become cramped in their limbs, and be drowned when no one was near, as many naughty boys have been before now. it is proper that boys should learn to swim, when with papa or some kind friend, but not as these boys have. i feel just sure they have played the truant--as i see the village school-master, with his little dog, coming over the rustic bridge to catch them. i think that the letter d might, in this case, stand for disobedient as well as delightful. eccentricity.--what have we here?--a very odd, comical picture, indeed! what a strange fellow, to put his hat upon the fire, and a saucepan on his head. i do declare he has his trowsers and waistcoat on wrong side before. see, he has taken the poker for a walking-stick, put a greasy candle in the book, and the eggs upon the floor. why a small baby-boy would not do this: the poor fellow must be out of his right mind. you may laugh at this odd picture for it is very ridiculous, and will hurt no one; but good children should never make sport of those who are deformed in mind or body, for it is not a fault but a misfortune to be so. fraud.--patrick murphy--commonly called, for shortness, pat--was a very stupid little man; he reared pigs, and had he been sober, would have by this time saved a little property; but, no, pat liked beer and strong drink: so that upon market-days he was far less sensible than his own jackass--which did know its way home--and for a long time took back foolish tipsy pat safely; until one day, the roads being very bad, the cart came to a stop, and neddy could pull no further. a rogue passing, seeing pat asleep, unloosed the donkey from the cart, leaving pat to awake, and much wonder what could have become of neddy bray, the donkey. it was very wrong of the man to take pat's donkey, although pat was a drunken fellow. genius.--bravo! my little artist. i dare say if you try again you will improve upon your first attempt. all people should learn to draw, that they may be able to describe a form in a very few lines, making things intelligible at sight which could not be described in any other way. a little knowledge of drawing will lead to a love of pictures and delight in the beautiful works of nature. giotto, a great painter, who lived many hundred years ago, was but a poor shepherd-boy, who amused himself by drawing portraits of his sheep as he tended them on the hills; from rude attempts he rose to be a great artist, whose works are treasured by kings and princes. i dare say you may some day see some of the works of giotto, the great italian painter. horror.--this drawing represents little lady selina jemima townsend as she appeared when afraid. afraid--of what? why, a poor tiny reptile, a harmless frog, that had jumped into her hat full of daisies, with a croak, as much as to say--"how do you do? good morning, lady townsend; i am glad to see you down in the country." but what do you think she did? why, the little lady scampered away as fast as she could to her governess, in whose dress she hid her face, crying,--saying she had seen "a nasty horrid thing." for this her governess reproved her, saying, "god created nothing in vain." frogs are harmless and beautiful when in the water, through which they can swim and dive with wonderful ease. ichabod at the jam.--ichabod is an odd name, but such is the name of the little boy in the picture. he was much pampered by his parents, and never knew when he had had enough. ichabod would cry for things to eat, then cry again because he could eat no more, and after all cry, because eating made him feel sick and ill: but that was not all; ichabod was, i am ashamed to say, a thief. he stole the jam when his mother thought he was asleep in bed. see, betty the maid has heard a noise, and caught the rogue in the act. to-morrow and for many days ichabod will be ill in bed, and have to take much nasty physic. i wish he had _mis_-taken the mustard for honey, and burnt his naughty, fibbing tongue. knowing.--ah! ah! jemmy small. i fear the steeds are too knowing for you to-day. they appear conscious: they would like the beans and corn you have in the sieve, but do not like the halter you are hiding behind your back. more than one has kicked up his heels, as much as to say--"catch me if you can!" you seem to think, as you bite the straw in your mouth, that they may give you a pretty run. i know bob, the pony, will not be soon caught. horses and other animals like play much better than work, but good boys and girls ought to love both, and not require sweetmeats to induce them to do their duty--for they have intellects of a high order, and may become clever men and women. lucky.--master lovebook was indeed lucky in his escape from the bull--and i will tell you how it happened: in going to school, this young gentleman had to go round by the wood and across the meadows, when one day he observed a savage bull making towards him; alarmed, he did not run crying anywhere, but considered one moment, and made back the shortest way to the wood, with all speed for the posts, just as the savage animal was going to toss him high in the air. master lovebook was unfortunate in meeting the bull, but fortunate in having the posts between him and the infuriated animal. in danger, brave little boys never cry, but think what is the best to be done. mimic.--to be vain of anything is not right, and to be proud of fine clothes very silly indeed. the young gentleman in the picture, i think, is vain. see, he is smoking a cigar, and if we may judge by the expression of his face, we may presume that he does not fully enjoy it. as he struts along the rude boys ridicule him. see the boy behind mimicking his airs and graces--using the handle of the door-key for an eye-glass. i fear that lad's mirth will soon be changed into sorrow--for the jug must be broken against the post, and the beer spilled--so that in turn he will be laughed at. we cannot help smiling at the little coxcomb, although at the same time we pity him. negligence.--here is tommy slowboy, the lowest boy in the day-school, too idle to learn or even play. see how vacantly he stands gaping at the men clearing the snow from the house-tops, with his hand in his pocket because he has lost his glove, having placed the hot shoulder of mutton down in the cold snow. no wonder the first dog passing helps itself to the joint. tom will not only be chid, but have to go without his dinner. yet, what cares tom for scolding or anything else, he who is so neglectful of duty? mind that you strive to learn early, that you may become wise and happy hereafter. look at the picture of tommy slowboy, and avoid apathy and indolence. obstinacy.--obstinacy is a sad thing. see the naughty pig in the picture, how he pulls in the opposite direction. master pig will be obliged to go into the sty, and very likely get the whip for his pains; like a wayward child that gets chid for disobedience. i hope there are very few disobedient young ladies and gentlemen, like the perverse pig. the pig is a stupid animal: but i have heard of a learned pig that could tell his letters, pointing to them with his snout; but most swine are dirty in their ways, and not at all particular--little caring so long as they can eat, grunt, and sleep. the pig will often lie in the dirtiest corner of his house, and stand in its trough of food. pets.--here is a portrait of aunt gray feeding her pets, or rather stuffing the poor monkey. some people say miss gray is kind to animals, but i do not think so, for she keeps her pets prisoners--feeding them too much, and all for her own pleasure, until they become like spoilt children, peevish, and always wanting sweet things. kind children love animals, and delight to see them free. in the zoological gardens animals are not pets; they have there plenty of room, and are nicely kept for our instruction. see, poor jacko, the monkey, has grown too fat to leap, as in his native woods he used, from bough to bough. the poor gold fish have hardly room to turn in their glass prison: how they would enjoy a swim in the garden pond! quandary.--poor dame partlet having got into the back yard cannot get out again. she is in a quandary, for she fears the dogs will bite her--though their chains are not long enough. keeper, the mastiff, is a noble fellow, and would not hurt women or children; neither would nero, the bull-dog; he would rather face a lion or a wild ox: whilst snap, the terrier, barks and snarls in the company of his brave companions. little boys and girls should not touch strange dogs, for they sometimes snap at those who are not familiar to them. to take food from dogs is not prudent, for they growl, bite, and are ill-tempered, like a little fellow would be if deprived of his dinner, after he had tasted the first morsel. rivalry.--to compete for good is famous--such as little boys rivalling one another in a race up the ladder of learning--that is exercise of the mind. here we have a picture of country boys exercising their strength--climbing up a pole covered with grease, for a prize of food for the body. the boy that wins the leg of mutton will be the hero of the fair, and be carried round the place on the shoulders of the men. see how they strive and tear to win the prize. i should not wonder if they all slipped down together, notwithstanding the encouraging cheers of the crowd. see how the man on the housetop swings his hat in the air, and the people applaud. a few inches higher, and the prize is won. sluggard.--heavy-headed, sleepy ned, awake, arise! you lazy fellow! look at the clock! eight hours' rest is enough for any little boy--and here you have taken nearly fourteen. all sluggards should get their slates, and calculate how much time they waste every year--weeks that can never be regained. if you only lie in bed two hours later than you should every day, you lose more than one day in a week, or sixty-four days in the course of the year: which, at the end of seventy years, would be awful indeed! twelve whole years lost! lazy, idle people, never seem to have time for anything: industrious ones, time for anything and everything. i hope when little ned sees his portrait he will be shocked with his appearance, and reform his ways. topsy-turvy.--well, of all the funny pictures in this droll book i think this the drollest--a big letter t resting on its top on the ceiling, like in an overturned doll's house, or a view taken by an artist standing upon his head. turn it over, and see how comical it looks--everything appears to have lost its gravity. _gravity_ means the power that holds us to the earth (as papa's loadstone attracts the needle): if it were not for gravity, we could not move about. some day you shall read in that nice book called the "evenings at home," about gravity, and why an apple falls to the ground. a great philosopher, sir isaac newton, discovered why, as he lay under a tree. at a future time you will learn about gravity and many other things. uncommon vegetation.--uncle periwinkle was very kind; he loved nature and his nephews dearly. he wore green spectacles, a dressing-gown all covered with leaves, and a large straw hat; in fact he was very fond of gardening, and reared all kinds of odd plants--this his nephews knew, and determined to play a joke upon him--not a cruel, heartless joke, that would hurt or destroy anything: no! they were too kind for that. they only carefully tied the carpenter's planes upon the plane-tree, as if it were fruit--and some little boxes of all colours upon the box-tree, like blossom; so that when the old gentleman beheld it, he exclaimed--"uncommon vegetation!" upon which john and walter came laughing out of the greenhouse to receive a bunch of fine grapes for their pleasant joke. wonder.--so, master ploughboy giles, you are spending your penny and your holiday at the fair. you seem not a little astonished at what you have seen in that peep-show. surely you cannot imagine that they are real; it is the magnifying power of the glasses that makes the pictures appear so large. the pyramids of egypt are the largest stone buildings in the world, and the oldest; the behemoth, a huge animal that existed thousands of years ago (but i do not think it had wings like a butterfly, as in the showman's picture); daniel lambert was an enormously fat man, who died a long time back. all these things must be in miniature if they are to be seen in that small box, very little larger than a dog's house. xantippe.--the comical event pictured here occurred more than two thousand years ago: xantippe, the wife of the great and good philosopher socrates, continually tormented him with her ill-humour--using him very cruelly--one day emptying a vessel of dirty water over her celebrated husband, whom she ought to have loved: he only remarked, that "after thunder there generally falls rain." socrates lived in the refined city of athens; he was one of the most eminent philosophers of greece; he was very plain in person, as you perceive by the picture: but a man may be great and good, yet ugly, as socrates was. the philosopher had enemies who sought his destruction; he was killed with poison. after his death his accusers were despised, as you will read in ancient history some day. yearn.--what have we here? little miss cross vexed, just because she cannot get at the grapes. i am sure i should not like to have my portrait drawn with such a sullen face. she has been trying to take fruit without her aunt's permission, that very likely is unripe and improper for her. the walk in a delightful garden ought not to make her long to eat all the fruit she sets eyes upon, or wish to pick the sweet flowers, that last much longer upon the plants than when plucked. i perceive that the peevish young lady in the picture has been picking the flowers. see, they are strewn upon the seat beside her, under those dirty feet that have trodden down the beds of mould. i am afraid miss cross cannot be a joyous, happy child, because disobedient. zany.--finis is the latin word for finish, and here it is the last droll picture--a zany laughing at his portrait in this comical book, which he seems vastly to enjoy. what a droll fellow, to read with his head where his heels should be, like the clown in the pantomime. look at his staff, the cock and bells, with which he dances, making a jingling noise. a zany is not an idiot, but often a funny clever fellow, paid to make people laugh. we all like a good laugh sometimes. many years ago kings used to keep jesters to amuse the company; king henry the eighth had a clever jester, called will somers, whose portrait was painted by a great artist named holbein, which is now in the palace at hampton court, and may be seen by those who love pictures. illustrated popular educational works, published by ward and lock, , fleet street, london. messrs. ward and lock have much pleasure in announcing that they have just purchased the copyrights of many of the valuable illustrated educational works lately published from the office of the _illustrated london news_. the new editions of these popular books have been most carefully revised, and in their present state arrive as near perfection as possible. it is the intention of the present proprietors of these educational books to continue the series, and they have already made arrangements to this effect. the object of the publishers is to supply a series of illustrated volumes, adapted both for schools and private study, which shall be accurate and complete text-books, _and at a price within the reach of every one_. the old system of instruction, by which the names of things only were presented to the mind of the pupil, has been long admitted to have been imperfect and unsuccessful. with the young it is necessary to speak to the eye, as well as to the mind--to give a picture of an object as well as a description; and the adoption of such a plan of tuition is not only far more effective than that which is confined to words, but is at the same time much less irksome to the teacher, and more pleasant to the pupil. a greater interest is excited, and the representation of the object remains clear and distinct in the mind of the child long after the verbal description has passed away. --> for particulars of the "illustrated popular educational works," see catalogue. * * * * * just ready, the illustrated webster spelling book. demy vo, embellished with upwards of splendid engravings by gilbert, harvey, dalziel, and other eminent artists.  pp., new and accented type, upon the principle of "webster's dictionary of the english language." cloth, gilt lettered, price s.; coloured, s. *.* the "illustrated webster spelling book" has been most carefully compiled by an eminent english scholar, who is daily engaged in the tuition of youth, and, therefore, knows exactly what is really useful in a spelling book. the reading lessons are arranged upon a new progressive principle, exceedingly simple, and well adapted for the purpose. the accented type has been adopted, so as to ensure correct pronunciation. the old system of mis-spelling words is dangerous in the extreme, and, therefore, very justly, has now fallen into disuse. in a word, the "illustrated webster spelling book," whether considered in respect to its typography, binding, or beauty of its illustrations, must take the highest position as a school-book, entirely setting aside the old-fashioned, and, in most instances, unintelligible--so called--helps to learning. n.b.--be careful to order "the illustrated webster spelling book." * * * * * in preparation, the illustrated webster reader, series i., the illustrated webster reader, series ii., and other educational works. * * * * * johnson and walker superseded. containing , more words than walker's dictionary. webster's pocket pronouncing dictionary of the english language; condensed from the original dictionary by noah webster, ll.d. with accented vocabularies of classical, scriptural, and modern geographical names. revised edition, by william g. webster (son of noah webster). royal mo, cloth gilt, s.  d.; or strongly bound in roan, gilt, s. *.* the public will do well to be on their guard against unfair statements in reference to "dr. webster's" principle of pronunciation by accents. the old system of pronunciation by mis-spelling words has become obsolete, and dr. webster's method is universally acknowledged and adopted. * * * * * webster's dictionary of the english language for the million! now ready, royal mo, bound in cloth, price eighteenpence, webster's dictionary of the english language. the extraordinary success attendant upon the publication of the half-crown edition of webster's pocket pronouncing dictionary of the english language,--in the face of a most obstinate and inveterate opposition on the part of the proprietors of the out-of-date and worthless compilations, so called dictionaries, printed from old stereotype plates, which have remained unaltered for years,--has induced messrs. ward and lock to issue a cheaper edition for the million, price only =one shilling and sixpence!!!= *.* the new edition at = s. d.= will, of course, be printed on thinner paper, but still the type will appear perfectly distinct. it is almost unnecessary to state, that only an enormous sale can reimburse the publishers in issuing an edition at so low a price as = s.  d.=; still, messrs. ward and lock feel assured that their good intentions will be appreciated by an extensive and continually increasing sale. "webster" is now the only reliable authority on the english language, and it is only right that every englishman, however humble his sphere, should be able to purchase the best english dictionary. whilst the cheaper edition, at = s.  d.=, is well adapted for national and british schools, the half-crown edition, on superior paper, and bound in cloth, gilt lettered, will be always in demand for schools of a higher grade. * * * * * third edition, revised. the illustrated drawing book. comprising a complete introduction to drawing and perspective; with instructions for etching on copper or steel, &c. &c. by robert scott burn. illustrated with above subjects for study in every branch of art. demy vo, cloth, s. *.* this extremely popular and useful "drawing book" has been thoroughly revised by the author, and many new illustrations are added, thus rendering the =third edition= the most perfect handbook of drawing for schools and students. "this is one of those cheap and useful publications lately issued by ward and lock. it is what it professes to be--an elementary book, in which the rules laid down are simple and few, and the drawings to be copied and studied are easily delineated and illustrative or first principles."--_globe._ "we could point to a work selling for twelve shillings not half so complete, nor containing half the number of illustrations. perhaps of all the books for which the public are indebted to messrs. ward and lock this one will be found most extensively and practically useful. it is the completest thing of the kind which has ever appeared."--_tait's magazine._ "this is a very capital instruction book, embodying a complete course of lessons in drawing, from the first elements of outline sketching up to the most elaborate rules of the art."--_bristol mercury._ * * * * * just ready, second edition, revised by the author. the illustrated architectural, engineering, and mechanical drawing book. by robert scott burn. with engravings. demy vo, cloth, s. "this _book_ should be given to every youth, for amusement as well as for instruction."--_taunton journal._ * * * * * third and revised edition. mechanics and mechanism. by robert scott burn. with about illustrations. demy vo, cloth, s. "one of the best-considered and most judiciously-illustrated elementary treatises on mechanics and mechanism which we have met with. the illustrations, diagrams, and explanations are skilfully introduced, and happily apposite--numerous and beautifully executed. as a handbook for the instruction of youth, it would be difficult to surpass it."--_derby mercury._ * * * * * second edition, revised by the author. the steam engine: its history and mechanism. being descriptions and illustrations of the stationary, locomotive, and marine engine. by robert scott burn. demy vo,  pp., cloth, s. *.* a most perfect compendium of everything appertaining to the steam engine. mr. burn treats his subjects in a thoroughly practical and popular manner, so that he who runs may read, and also understand. "mr. burn's history of the steam engine treats an interesting subject in an admirably intelligible manner, and is illustrated by some excellent diagrams. this is a book for the general reader, and deserves a wide circulation."--_leader._ * * * * * third edition, revised. the illustrated practical geometry. edited by robert scott burn, editor of the "illustrated drawing book." demy vo, cloth, s. "suited to the youthful mind, and calculated to assist instructors, filled as it is with really good diagrams and drawings elucidatory of the text."--_globe._ * * * * * london: ward and lock, , fleet street and all booksellers. country life punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton * * * * * [illustration] designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day [illustration] * * * * * mr. punch's country life [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: brown's country house.--_brown (who takes a friend home to see his new purchase, and strikes a light to show it)._ "confound it, the beastly thing's stopped!"] * * * * * mr. punch's country life humours of our rustics as pictured by phil may, l. raven-hill, charles keene, george du maurier, bernard partridge, gunning king, linley sambourne, g. d. armour, c. e. brock, tom browne, lewis baumer, will owen, f. h. townsend, g. h. jalland, g. e. stampa, and others _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" * * * * * the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * [illustration] on rustic humour than the compilation of such a series of books as that which includes the present volume there could surely be no more engaging occupation for one who delights to look on the humorous side of life. the editor feels that if his readers derive as much enjoyment from the result of his labours as these labours have afforded him he may reasonably congratulate them! he has found himself many times over, as a book has taken shape from his gatherings in the treasure house of mr. punch, saying "this is the best of the lot"--and usually he has been right. there is none but is "the best!" there _may_ be one that is not quite so good as the other twenty-four; but wild horses would not drag the name of that one from the editor. he feels, however, that in illustrating the humours of country life mr. punch has risen to the very summit of his genius. there is, of course, good reason for this, as it is notorious that the richest humour is to be found in the lowly walks of life, and flourishes chiefly in rustic places where folks are simple and character has been allowed to grow with something of that individuality we find in the untouched products of nature. your true humorist has always been in quick sympathy with the humblest of his fellow men. in the village worthy, in poor blundering hodge, in the rough but kindly country doctor, the picturesque tramp, the droning country parson, the inept curate, the village glee singers, and such like familiar figures of rural england, the humorist has never failed to find that "source of innocent merriment" he might seek for vainly in more exalted ranks of our complex society. but he seeks among the country folk because his heart is there. the very best of mr. punch's humorists of the pencil, charles keene and phil may in the past, and mr. raven-hill and mr. c. e. brock to-day, have given more consideration to the country ways of life than to any other, and hence the exceeding richness of the present volume. it is thus in no sense a comic picture of mr. punch's notions of how the so-called country life is attempted by the townsman--one of the most notable features of our present social conditions--but is, in effect, a refreshing breath of genuine rustic humour, kindly, whole-hearted, and "racy of the soil." [illustration] * * * * * mr. punch's country life * * * * * the best share in a farm.--the plough-share. * * * * * a proverb fresh from the country.--no gooseberry without a thorn. * * * * * the connoisseurs.--_groom._ "whew's beer do you like best--this 'ere hom'brewed o' fisk's, or that there ale they gives yer at the white ho's'?" _keeper_ (_critically_). "well, o' the tew i prefers this 'ere. that there o' wum'oods's don't fare to me to taste o' nawthun at all. now this 'ere dew taste o' the cask!!" * * * * * [illustration: the agricultural outlook (_from dumb-crambo junior's point of view._)] * * * * * the language of fruits apple discord. pear marriage. plum wealth. pine languishment. gooseberry simplicity. medlar interference. service assistance. elder-berry seniority. fig defiance. sloe tardiness. crab sour temper. date chronology. hip applause. haw swells. plaintain growth. pomegranate seediness. prune retrenchment. * * * * * the real land question.--how to make land _answer_. * * * * * perfect quiet.--the still room. * * * * * [illustration: land and water.--_prospective purchaser_ (_arrived from town to see the locality as advertised some three weeks ago. he has not heard of the recent floods in this part of the country_). "look here. are you selling this property by the yard or by the pint?"] * * * * * a country sell.--_native joker_ (_dissembling_). it's been very fine here for the last week. _tourist_ (_who has been kept in by the showers, indignantly_). _what's_ been very fine here? _native._ the rain. very fine rain. [_exit native joker, hurriedly._ * * * * * "the best of it."--_first gentleman farmer._ "why, there goes that artful rogue, billy giles! is he at his old tricks still?" _second ditto._ "he has cheated everybody down about here, sir, except me! he tried it on this winter, but i was too clever for him! sold me a cow, and--(_triumphantly_)--i made him take it back at _half-price!!_" * * * * * the real "land agitation."--an earthquake. * * * * * a cry from kent. prosperity's fled from our gardens and grounds; how spindly our bines and how scanty our crops! wealth _may_ be "advancing by leaps and by bounds," it certainly isn't by _hops_! * * * * * advice to farmers.--feed your poultry well, and you will insure full crops. * * * * * [illustration: _first tramp_ (_to second ditto_). "that's a stylish sort of dawg you're a-wearin'!"] * * * * * [illustration: encouraging _curate_ (_who wishes to encourage local industry_). "well, adams, how are you getting on with my watch?" _adams._ "why, it be nigh finished now, zur, an' 'e do zeem to go mortal well, but dang me, if there bain't a wheel as i can't find a place vor summow!"] * * * * * "i'm sorry to hear you've been ailing again, john. i must send you down something from the rectory. how would you like some soup?" "thanky kindly, mum--but i bain't so terr'ble wrapped up in soup!" * * * * * what rural deans smoke.--"church-wardens." * * * * * [illustration: _convivial party._ "i shay, ole f'ller, how long doesh it take to gerout of thish wood?"] * * * * * [illustration: _doctor._ "well, you got those leeches i sent for your husband, mrs. giles?" _mrs. giles._ "yes, zur; but what on earth be the good o' sending they little things vor a girt big chap like he? i jes' took an' clapped a ferret on 'un!"] * * * * * note by a chiropodist (_in the country for the first time_).--"must be very painful--corn in the ear." * * * * * a pastoral.--how should a shepherd arrange his dress? in folds. * * * * * the dunmow flitch.--all gammon. * * * * * [illustration: _hotel-keeper_ (_who has let his "assembly room" for a concert_). "well, sir, i 'ope you found the arrangements in the 'all satisfactory last night?" _mr. bawlington._ "oh, yes; everything was all right. there was only one thing to object to. i found the acoustics of the building not quite----" _hotel-keeper._ "no, sir; excuse me. _what you smelt was the stables next door!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _giles._ "i be got up here, mister, but i don't zee 'ow ever i be goin' to get down." _farmer._ "thee zhut thee eyes an' walk about a bit, an' thee'll zoon get down!"] * * * * * an old offender.--_country gentleman_ (_eyeing his gardener suspiciously_). "dear, dear me, jeffries, this is too bad! after what i said to you yesterday, i didn't think to find you----" _gardener._ "you can't shay--(_hic_)--i wash drunk yesht'day, sh----!" _country gentleman_ (_sternly_). "are you sober this morning, sir?" _gardener._ "i'm--shlightly shober, shir!!" * * * * * [illustration: qualified admiration.--_country vicar._ "well, john, what do you think of london?" _yokel._ "lor' bless yer, sir, it'll be a fine place _when it's finished!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _squire's daughter._ "do you think it is quite healthy to keep your pigs so close to the cottage?" _hodge._ "i dunno, miss. noan of they pigs ain't ever been ill!"] * * * * * [illustration: verjuice! _farmer's wife_ (_whose beer is of the smallest_). "why, you hevn't drunk half of it, mas'r gearge!" _peasant_ (_politely_). "thanky', mu'm--all the same, mu'm. but i bean't so thusty as i thought i wor, mu'm!!"] * * * * * [illustration: our village. _nephew_ (_on a visit to the "old country"_). "ah, uncle, in canada we don't do our hay-makin' in this 'ere old-fashioned way." _uncle._ "why, you bean't never goin' to tell i as you've bin an' turned teetotal?"] * * * * * reciprocity.--_parson._ "i have missed you from your pew of late, mr. stubbings----" _farmer_ (_apologetically_). "well, sir, i hev' been to meet'n' lately, but--y' see, sir, the reverend mr. scowles o' the chapel, he bought some pigs o' me, and i thought i ought to gi' 'm a tarn!" * * * * * the farmer for the fair.--a husbandman. * * * * * [illustration: _doctor._ "well, mrs. muggeridge, how are you getting on? taken the medicine, eh?" _mrs. m._ "yes, doctor. i've taken all the tabloids you sent, and now i want a new persecution."] * * * * * on a footing.--almost every considerable town has a market for corn; therefore, it is but fit that bedford market-place should have its bunyan. * * * * * place of residence for lodgers.--border-land. * * * * * soundings!--(_the living down at our village falling vacant,_ lord pavondale _left it to the parish to choose the new rector._) _influential parishioner._ "then am i to understand, mr. maniple, that you object to bury a dissenter?" _the rev. mr. maniple_ (_one of the competitors_). "oh, dear me, no, mr. jinks; quite the contrary!" * * * * * a high church party.--a steeple-jack. * * * * * a clerical error.--a long sermon. * * * * * _visitor._ "my good man, you keep your pigs much too near the house." _cottager._ "that's just what the doctor said, mum. but i don't see how it's agoin' to hurt 'em!" * * * * * [illustration: a quiet village] * * * * * a wet diary _january._--buy a house in the midland counties. put a housekeeper in it to look after it. _february._--housekeeper writes to say that, owing to the floods, the neighbourhood is very damp and unhealthy. _march._--housekeeper writes to say that the garden is under water. _april._--housekeeper writes to say that there is two foot of water in the drawing-room, and that the furniture is floating about. _may._--housekeeper writes to say that eighty feet of the garden wall has been washed away. _june._--housekeeper writes to say that the two horses, one cow, and four pigs are drowned. _july._--go and stop in the house myself. _august._--escape from the bedroom windows in a boat. _september._--in bed with rheumatic fever. _october._--housekeeper writes to say that the floods are out worse than ever. _november._--somebody writes to say that the housekeeper has been drowned. _december._--will try and sell house in the midland counties. * * * * * [illustration: _our curate (who is going to describe to us his little holiday in lovely lucerne)._ "my dear friends--i will not call you 'ladies and gentlemen,' since i know you too well----"] * * * * * [illustration: _first tramp._ "says in this 'ere paper as 'ow some of them millionaires works eight and ten hours a day, bill." _the philosopher._ "ah, it's a 'ard world for some poor blokes!"] * * * * * a real convert.--_local preacher (giving an account to the vicar of the parish of a dispute he has had with the leading lights of his sect)._ "yes, sir, after treatment the likes o' that, i says to 'em, 'for the future,' says i, 'i chucks up all religion, and i goes to church!'" * * * * * habits of healthy exercise.--if a young lady is unable to sport a riding habit, she should adopt a walking habit. * * * * * [illustration: the humours of house hunting.--_lady._ "very healthy place, is it? have you any idea what the death-rate is here?" _caretaker._ "well, mum, i can't 'xactly zay; but it's about one apiece all round."] * * * * * [illustration: overheard at a country fair "'ere y' are! all the jolly fun! lidies' tormentors two a penny!"] * * * * * [illustration: not quite her meaning _the vicar's daughter._ "i'm glad to find you've turned over a new leaf, muggles, and don't waste your money at the public-house." _muggles._ "yes, miss, i have it in by the barrel now, and that _do_ come cheaper!"] * * * * * town thoughts from the country _(with the usual apologies.)_ oh, to be in london now that april's there, and whoever walks in london sees, some morning in the square, that the upper thousands have come to town, to the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown, while the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow in london--now! and after april, when may follows and the black-coats come and go like swallows! mark, where yon fairy blossom in the row leans to the rails, and canters on in clover, blushing and drooping, with her head bent low! that's the wise child: she makes him ask twice over, lest he should think she views with too much rapture her first fine wealthy capture! but,--though her path looks smooth, and though, alack! all will be gay, till time has painted black the _marigold_, her mother's chosen flower,-- far brighter is my _heartsease_, love's own dower. * * * * * mrs. ramsbotham is staying with her niece in the country. she is much delighted with the rich colour of the spring bulbs, and says she at last understands the meaning of "as rich as crocus." * * * * * [illustration: his bitter half.--_john._ "drink 'earty, maria. drink werry nigh 'arf."] * * * * * [illustration: horticultural cuttings _(culled by dumb-crambo junior)_ marshal niel--rose. row-doe-den'd-run. minion-ate. pick-o'-tea. car-nation. dahli-a. any-money. double pink. few-shiers. glad i-o-la!] * * * * * a conundrum to fill up a gap in the conversation.--why is a person older than yourself like food for cattle? because he's past your age (_pasturage_). * * * * * everything comes to the man who waits.--_country rector's wife (engaging man-servant)._ and can you wait at dinner? _man._ aw, yes, mum; i'm never that hoongry but i can wait till you've done. * * * * * [illustration: a question of vested interest _vicar._ "well, gentlemen, what can i do for you?" _spokesman._ "please, sir, we be a deputation from farmers down froglands parish, to ask you to pray for fine weather for t'arvest." _vicar._ "why don't you ask your own vicar?" _spokesman._ "well, sir, we reckon 'e be'unt much good for this 'ere. 'e do be that fond of fishin'."] * * * * * a rustic moralist.--_rector_ (_going his rounds_). "an uncommonly fine pig, mr. dibbles, i declare!" _contemplative villager._ "ah, yes, sir: if we was only, all of us, as fit to die as him, sir!!" * * * * * query.--has the want of rain this summer, and consequent failure of the hay crops, affected the market for grass widows? * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice _the boy (to brown, who has just taken a "little place" in the country)._ "plaze, zur, wot be i to start on?" _brown._ "oh--er--er--let's see----oh, confound it!--er--er--_make a bonfire!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a village fiasco.--_gifted amateur (concluding pet card trick)._ "now, ladies and gentlemen, you have seen the pack of cards burnt before your eyes, and the ashes placed inside the box, which mysteriously transformed itself into a rabbit, which, in turn, disappeared into space. i will now ask this gentleman to name the card he selected, when it will at once appear in my hand. now, sir, what card did you select from the pack?" _giles (who has been following the trick most intently)._ "blessed if i recollect!"] * * * * * [illustration: after the fire _rustic_ (_to burnt-out farmer_). "we r--r--rescued the b--b--beer zur!"] * * * * * local peculiarities at bilston they always hit the right nail on the head. at bolton it is impossible for those who run up ticks to bolt off. at broadstairs the accommodation for stout visitors is unrivalled. at colchester they are all "natives." at coventry, strange to say, they can furnish no statistics of the number of persons who have been sent there. at kidderminster there is certain to be something fresh on the _tapis_. at liverpool they are extremely orthodocks. if you write to newcastle (staffordshire) take care to under-lyne the address. at newmarket they take particular interest in the question of races. at portsmouth everything is ship-shape. at rye you will meet none but rye faces. at sheffield you will always find a knife and fork laid for you. * * * * * [illustration: "a good wit will make use of anything" _shakespeare, henry the fourth._ scene--_a pit village._ time--_saturday night._ _barber_ (_to bibulous customer_). "now, sir, if you don't hold your head back, i can't shave you!" _pitman._ "a'well, hinney, just cut me hair!"] * * * * * what our architect has to put up with.--_our architect_ (_spotting sixteenth century gables_). "that's an old bit of work, my friend!" "oi, sir, yeu be roight, theer, that you be!" _o. a._ (_keen for local tradition_). "you don't know exactly _how_ old, i suppose?" "well, noa, sir; but old it be! whoi, i's knowed it myself these _noine_ years!" * * * * * our village industrial competition.--_husband_ (_just home from the city_). "my angel!--crying!--whatever's the matter?" _wife._ "they've--awarded me--prize medal"--(_sobbing_)--"f' my sponge cake!" _husband_ (_soothingly_). "and i'm quite sure it deserv----" _wife_ (_hysterically_). "oh--but--'t said--'twas--for the best specimen--o' concrete!" * * * * * _our choir-master_ (_after lamentable failure on part of pupil_). "confound it! i thought you said you could 'read at sight'?" _pupil._ "so i can. but not _first_ sight." * * * * * a truly rural dean.--the dean of ferns. * * * * * [illustration: our fÃ�te _village worthy._ "it ain't so bad for slowcombe, mum; but, lor' bless 'ee! 'tain't nothing to what they 'ud do in london!"] * * * * * [illustration: _village doctor._ "and what do you intend to make of this little man, mrs. brisket?" _proud mother._ "butcher, sir. 'e's bound to be a butcher. why, 'e 's that fond o' animals, we can 'ardly keep 'im out o' the slaughter-'ouse!"] * * * * * [illustration: heaven helps those who help themselves.-- _doctor._ "well, john, how are you to-day?" _john._ "verra bad, verra bad. i wish providence 'ud 'ave mussy on me an' take me!" _wife._ "'ow can you expect it to if you won't take the doctor's physic?"] * * * * * [illustration: conclusive _lodger._ "i detect rather a disagreeable smell in the house, mrs. jones. are you sure the drains----" _welsh landlady._ "oh, it can't be the drains, sir, whatever. there are none, sir!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _yorkshire farmer_ (_who has laid a wager--to gentleman on weighing machine_). "will ye tell us how mooch ye weigh, mister?" _gentleman._ "well, i'm seventeen stone seven." _farmer._ "what did a' tell ye, lads? a' couldn't be wrang, for a's t' best joodge o' swine in t' coontry!"] * * * * * the sweets of country life (_depicted by a man of feeling_) 'tis sweet at summer eve to rove, when brightly shines each twinkling star, and, strolling through the silent grove, calmly to smoke a good cigar. 'tis sweet upon the flowery mead to see the tender lambkins play, with pensive eye to watch them feed, and note how plump to roast are they. 'tis sweet the fallow deer to view, couched 'mid the fern in tranquil group; 'tis sweet to hear the turtle's coo, and meditate on turtle soup. 'tis sweet, from cares domestic free, while wandering by the streamlet's side, the speckled trout or perch to see, and think how nice they would be, fried. 'tis sweet to mark the plover's flight, lone on the moor, its nest despoiled; and with prospective mental sight to contemplate its eggs, hard boiled. 'tis sweet, beside the murmuring rill, the scented violet to smell; yet may a perfume sweeter still attend the welcome dinner-bell! * * * * * [illustration: the country in the future.--_retired citizen_ (_to metropolitan friend_). "what i enjoy so much in the country is the quiet! now here, in my garden, my boy, you don't hear a sound, 'cepting the trains!!"] * * * * * friends in council.--_tom lothbury_ (_to jack billiter, who has "come in" to a nice little estate in surrey, whereunto he intends retiring and rusticating_). "you'll keep cows, i s'pose, and all that sort of thing?" _jack._ "oh, no, can't bear milk." _tom_ (_who has a taste for the rural_). "cocks and hens, then?" _jack._ "no, hate eggs and puddings and all that!" _tom._ "nor yet sheep?" _jack._ "eh, ah! oh, yes; i'll have a sheep, i'm vewy fond of kidneys for bweakfast!" * * * * * query.--if you give two persons a seat in a cornfield, can this proceeding be called "setting them by the ears"? * * * * * simple, but agricultural.--_q._ what is the best time for sowing tares? _a._ when the landlord goes round and collects his _rents_. * * * * * fox's martyrs.--ducks, fowls, turkeys, and geese. * * * * * [illustration: _doctor._ "well, matthew, did you take those pills i sent you yesterday?" _patient._ "yes, doctor; but couldn't 'e do 'em up in something different? they little boxes be terrible hard to swallow!"] * * * * * on the way to the manse.--_deacon mactavish_ (_to_ deacon macbrose, _after visiting several hospitable houses on their way_). hoot, mon donald, yonder's the meenister! noo, i'll joost tek a few paces afore ye, in that ye may say gin my puir tired legs don't tremble. _deacon macbrose._ gae forrard, sandy, gae forrard! _deacon mactavish_ (_after stumbling ahead for several yards_). weel, donald, hoo gae they? _deacon macbrose._ richt bonnily, sandy, richt bonnily. but wha's the mon that's walking beside ye? * * * * * from the mining districts.--(_young curate finds a miner sitting on a gate smoking._)--_curate_ (_desirous to ingratiate himself with one of his flock_). a fine morning, my friend. _one of his flock gives the slightest nod, and a grunt, and spits._ _curate_ (_supposing that he had not been heard_). a fine morning, my good friend. _one of his flock._ did i say it warn't. do you want to hargue, you beggar? * * * * * [illustration: _lady._ "and you say you have been brought to this by your wife?" _tramp._ "yuss, lidy. i got 'er three good jobs, and 'er bloomin' independence lorst 'er the lot of 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_the hall of a country house. guests arriving for dinner._ _perkins_ (_the extra man who is had in to help at most dinners given in the neighbourhood--confidentially but audibly_). "good evening, miss waters. there's some of that nice pudding here to-night, what last time you took twice of!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the bishop of lichbury._ "really, it's very shocking to read in the papers so many painful cases of wife-beating and assault among the labouring classes!" _the rev. mr. simmiel._ "it is indeed, my lord. indeed--ahem--with your lordship's permission, one might almost call them _be_labouring classes."] * * * * * [illustration: _parson._ "good morning, mrs. stubbins. is your husband at home?" _mrs. stubbins._ "'e's 'ome, sir; but 'e 's a-bed." _parson._ "how is it he didn't come to church on sunday? you know we must have our hearts in the right place." _mrs. stubbins._ "lor, sir, 'is 'eart's all right. it's 'is trowziz!"] * * * * * a poacher's paradise.--_about an hour from town._--charming bijou residence ... _grounds adjoin a large pheasant preserve; owner going abroad._--_advt. in "standard."_ * * * * * "a crop expert."--a professional hair-dresser. * * * * * [illustration: impartial _new curate_ (_who wishes to know all about his parishioners_). "then do i understand you that your aunt is on your father's side, or your mother's?" _country lad._ "zometimes one an' zometimes the other, 'ceptin' when feyther whacks 'em both, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: true modesty _mr. spinks._ "i had such a beautiful dream last night, miss briggs! i thought i was in the garden of eden----" _miss briggs_ (_with simplicity_). "and did eve appear as she is generally represented, mr. spinks?" _mr. spinks._ "i--i--i--i--didn't look!"] * * * * * [illustration: professional partnership.--_village organ-blower_ (_to lady organist, who has been trying a new voluntary_). "how did it go, marm?" "oh, all right. why do you ask?" "well, marm, to tell you the truth, i was a bit nervous about it. you see, marm, i've never blowed for that piece afore!"] * * * * * farm notes _how to winnow corn._ _ st method._--get some corn. get somebody who knows how to winnow it. let him do it. _ nd method._--if _you_ know all about it, do it yourself. _ rd method, for beginners, given in agricultural terms._ place a steward near the blower, and let him drive the blower while the hopper is filled with a large wecht. (this is called the system of _hopper_-ation.) then let a woman with a small wecht slide down on a wheel crushing the blower with her shoes. this should be done in a neat, cleanly way until the scum has been swept with a besom through a wire screen, while another lot go on riddling, when it is the duty of the fanner to answer each riddle as it comes out. the fanner's chief work is, however, to prevent any labourer becoming too hot. when a labourer is very warm, he sits down before the fanner, who soon restores him to coolness. _treatment of fowls in winter._--roast them. _for the volunteer-farmer in winter._--attend turnip drills. _how to pickle pork._--get the hog into a proper temperature. to bring this about make him swallow a small thermometer. this'll warm him. rub him with paper dipped in oil, give him a uniform coating of barley, tar, syrup of squills, pitch, and gold tin-foil. paint his head green with orange stripes, and by that time he'll be in a pretty pickle. _breakfast._--always visit your poultry yard before breakfast. if unable to find a fresh egg, go to the cattle sheds. remember that, where eggs cannot be obtained, a _yoke_ of fine oxen beaten up with a cup of tea is most invigorating. * * * * * [illustration: political garden party in the provinces.-- _great lady_ (_speeding the parting guest_). "so glad you were able to come!" _mayoress._ "oh, we always try to oblige!"] * * * * * agricultural.--a south of england farmer writes to us to say, that he has an early harvest in view, as he has already got three ricks in his neck, and is doing very well. * * * * * further illustration of the mining districts.--_first polite native._ "who's 'im, bill?" _second ditto._ "a stranger!" _first ditto._ "'eave 'arf a brick at 'im." * * * * * how to treat rough diamonds.--cut them! * * * * * [illustration: _district visitor._ "well, mrs. hodges, going to have a cup of tea?" _mrs. hodges._ "oh no, miss; we're just goin' to 'ave a wash!"] * * * * * [illustration: who'd have thought it! "well, johnson, been to the doctor, as i told you?" "yes, m'lord." "and what did he say was the matter with you?" "'e says it's just _general ability_, m'lord, that's all!"] * * * * * [illustration: sagacity.--_countryman._ "fi' pounds too much for him? he's a won'erful good sportin' daug, sir! why, he come to a dead pint in the street, sir, close ag'in a ol' gen'leman, the other day--'fust o' september it was, sir!--an' the gen'leman told me arterwards as his name were 'partridge'!" _customer._ "you don't say so!" [_bargain struck._] * * * * * horticulture up to date stimulated by the recent achievements of a horticulturist, who is about to place on the market the "pomato," a blend of the apple and tomato, and the "plumcot," a mixture of plum and apricot, _mr. punch_ hopes soon to be able to announce the successful rearing of the following novelties:-- _the cumberry._--this may be regarded either as a very long gooseberry or a very short cucumber, according to fancy. when fully ripe the skin is thin and the contents pulpy. unripe it is like a cobble, and may be used as such. _mr. punch_ is disposed to think that the over-ripe cumberry will be very popular at elections, especially when eggs are scarce. the hairy variety looks like a fat caterpillar, and makes very good grub. _the mistletato_, a happy combination of the romantic and the domestic. this fruit, which has a very piquant flavour, has been grown in a small patch of soil, concealed, like king charles, among the branches of an oak. hence it is not surprising that the mistletato should combine the nourishing qualities of the homely tuber with the sentimental associations of that plant which was revered by our druid ancestors and is beloved by modern maidens. it should be a popular dish at wedding breakfasts. _the pumpkonion_ promises well and seems likely to combine the amplitude of the pumpkin with the pungency of the onion. _mr. punch_ is of opinion that a machine will have to be invented for dealing with this vegetable, as to handle it would be too severe a tax upon the cook's lachrymal glands. _the turniparrot_ and the _parsniparagus_ are not yet sufficiently developed to be described with any confidence. many others are only in an incipient state at present, but _mr. punch_ hopes to be able before long to announce that he has brought several to maturity, including the collage and the cabbyflower. * * * * * [illustration: all's well that ends well.-- _stepmother_ (_entering village school with whip_). "my boy tells me you broke your cane across his back yesterday?" _schoolmaster_ (_turning pale_). "well, i--i may have struck harder than i intended, but----." _stepmother._ "i thought i'd make you a present of this whip. you'll find it'll last longer and do him more good!"] * * * * * a riddle from colney hatch.--_q._ why have we reason to suppose that a bee is a rook? _a._ because. * * * * * the origin of rural decadence.--through communications corrupt good manners. * * * * * [illustration: "second thoughts" _priest._ "wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?" _bridegroom elect._ "well, aw's warned aw'll hev to hev her. but aw wad rayther hev her sister!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the vicar's daughter._ "awfully cold, isn't it, mrs. muggles?" _mrs. muggles._ "yes, my dear. but, bless ye, i'm _lovely_ and warm!"] * * * * * [illustration: _miss townley._ "i think the country is just sweet. i love to see the peasant returning to his humble cot, his sturdy figure outlined against the setting sun, his faithful collie by his side, and his plough upon his shoulder!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the bishop of lichborough_ (_who has been on a visit to a sporting squire_). "now, i wonder if your man has remembered to put in my pastoral staff?" _william_ (_overhearing_). "yes, my lord. i've put your lordship's gun-case into the carriage!"] * * * * * [illustration: _curate, after weeks of serious reading and conversation with gaffer stokes without much apparent result, is at last rewarded by a look of rapt exaltation on the gaffer's face._ _gaffer stokes._ "a-men! that's the first wopps i see this year!"] * * * * * [illustration: a good reason. _sympathetic cousin._ "poor boy! i'm so sorry you didn't pass your exam. what was the reason, i wonder?" _poor boy_ (_also wondering_). "i can't think."] * * * * * [illustration: happy thought _obliging country butcher._ "let me cut it into cutlets for you, ma'am,--leaving just enough bone for you to hold 'em by, while you're eating 'em!"] * * * * * wages and wives.--_philanthropic farmer._ "well, tompkins, after this week, instead of paying you partly in cider, i shall give you two shillings extra wages." _tompkins._ "no, thanky', master; that won't do for me!" _farmer._ "why, man, you'll be the gainer; for the cider you had wasn't worth two shillings!" _tompkins._ "ah, but you see i drinks the cider myself; but the ow'd 'ooman 'll 'ev the two shillun'!!" * * * * * a puzzle in horticulture.--_little chris._ daddy, what makes onions? _daddy._ seeds, of course. _little chris._ then what makes seeds? _daddy._ onions. _little chris_ (_triumphantly_). then why don't us feed the canary on onions? [_discomfiture and retreat of daddy._ * * * * * agricultural question.--is a landlord who allows his farms to be over-stocked with rabbits entitled to be called a great bunnyfactor? * * * * * [illustration: "at one fell swoop" _wife._ "well, did ye find th' puddin' i left for you in the saucepan?" _collier_ (_whose favourite dish is boiled puddings_). "oh, ay; i found it right enough. it were a stunner!" _wife._ "did you take the cloth off?" _collier_ (_after a pause_). "were there a cloth _on_?"] * * * * * [illustration: _rector_ (_short-sighted_). "well, richard, hard at work, eh? let me see, you _are_ richard, aren't you?" _labourer._ "no, sir, oi be john, sir. you _'ad the pleasure o' buryin'_ richard last week, you remember, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: _first tramp._ "why don't you go in? 'e's all right. don't you see 'im a-waggin' his tail?" _second tramp._ "yus; an' don't you see 'im a-growlin'? i dunno which end to believe!"] * * * * * [illustration: probably _he._ "i hope there are no bulls in here. i can't run as fast as i used to." _she._ "i'm told that's the worst thing to do. i think if you stand and look at them, it's enough to send them away!"] * * * * * [illustration: "something like a medicine" _doctor._ "now remember, my man, three or four drops of this mixture three times a day--and _inhale_." _patient._ "be i to take it in four or six hale, guv'nor?"] * * * * * [illustration: agricultooral-loorals (_by dumb-crambo junior_) silo (sigh low). judging stock. best turn out of horse and cart. hurry for'ds (herefords). threshing machine. the cat 'll show. live stock. jerseys. a tuber. pa's-nips. cab-age.] * * * * * in a somersetshire inn.--_mr. fitz-archibald smith_ (_of london, to the landlord_).--is there a hair-dresser in the village? i want to be shampooed and shaved. _landlord._ well, zur, i doant know much about the shampoodling, but our ostler's used to clipping horses. would 'e like to try him? * * * * * from the poultry.--when does a hen like beer? when she has a little _brood_. * * * * * shocking bad husbandry.--baby-farming. * * * * * latest from our farmyard.--_in the fowl house._--"left sitting." * * * * * "a little learning."--_lady tactful_ (_visiting small farmer_). i hope, john, the rain has not damaged the wheat. _john._ ah, my lady, some of it will never grow; the wet has _busted_ it. _mrs. john_ (_who is "educated"_). he should have said "_bursted_" my lady. that's what he means. _lady tactful._ never mind. i think i prefer the old-fashioned pronunciation. * * * * * [illustration: _amateur gardener_ (_to goat-fancying neighbour_). "hi, madam. one of your confounded pets has got into my garden, and is eating my bedding-plants!" _neighbour._ "good gracious! _i trust they are not poisonous!_"] * * * * * [illustration: more amalgamation.--_parish councillor._ "wull, i do voate that the two par'shes be marmaladed." _chairman._ "our worthy brother councillor means, i understand, that the two parishes should be _jammed together_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _village gossip._ "did ye 'ere as owd sally sergeant's dead? 'er what's bin pew-opener up to wickleham church nigh on fifty year." _the village atheist_ (_solemnly_). "ah! see what comes o' pew-openin'!"] * * * * * the highest possible record of character.--_new rector of swaddlington_ (_to sexton_). i see that the forge is close by the church, grassmore. i hope that the smith is one of our friends? _sexton._ why, bless 'ee, yes, sir, 'e 's the only man in all the parish as settled over the cesarewitch. * * * * * hint to the managers of poultry shows.--exhibit some henpecked husbands. * * * * * a black country synonym.--ruling with a rod of iron.--beating your wife with a poker. * * * * * a perfect cure.--_town man._ "how jolly it must be, living down here in the country!" _country gentleman._ "oh, i don't know. it's rather a torpid sort of life; time passes very slowly." _town man._ "time passes slowly? you should get somebody to draw on you at three months!!" * * * * * the language of flowers.--when the roses sweetly breathe a dew. * * * * * [illustration: forbearance.--_young lady._ "john, how long shall you be, as i want to practise?" _gallant young gardener._ "oh, goo yeouw on, miss amy--goo yeouw on! i sha'n't mind yar noise!"] * * * * * the farming of the future; _or, what british agriculture is coming to._ scene.--_a car on an electric light-railway._ time--_the twentieth century._ _first farmer_ (_recognising second farmer_). why, 'tis muster fretwail, surelie! didn't see it was you afore. and how be things gettin' along with _you_, sir, eh? _farmer fretwail_ (_lugubriously_). 'mong the middlin's, muster lackaday; 'mong the middlin's! nothen doin' just now--nothen 't all! _third farmer_ (_enviously_). well, _you_ hevn't no call fur to cry out, neighbour! i see you've got a likely lot o' noo 'oardins comin' up all along your part o' the line. i wish mine wur arf as furrard, i know thet! _f. fretwail._ ah, them "keep yer 'air on" 's, _you_ mean, ryemouth. i don't deny as they was lookin' tidy enough a week back. but just as i was makin' ready fur to paint up "try it on a billiard ball," blamed if this yere frost didn't set in, and now theer's everything at a standstill wi' the brushes froze 'ard in the pots! _f. ryemouth._ 'tis the same down with me. theer 's a acre o' "bunyan's easy boots" as must hev a noo coat, and i cann't get nothen done to 'en till th' weather's a bit more hopen like. don' keer _'ow_ soon we hev a change, myself, i don't! _f. lackaday._ nor yet me, so long as we don't 'ave no gales with it. theer was my height-acre pasture as i planted only las' candlemas wi' "roopy's lung tonics"--wunnerful fine and tall they was too--and ivery one on 'en blowed down the next week! _f. fretwail._ well, i 'ope theer wun't be no rain, neither, come to that. i know i 'ad all the p's of my "piffler's persuasive pillules" fresh gold-leaved at michaelmas, and it come on wet directly arter i done it, and reg'lar washed the gilt out o' sight an' knowledge, it did. theer ain't no standin' up agen rain! _f. ryemouth._ i dunno as i wouldn't as lief hev rain as sun. my "hanti-freckle salves" all blistered up and peeled afoor the summer was 'ardly begun a'most. _f. lackaday._ 'tis a turr'ble 'ard climate to make 'ead against, is ourn. i've 'eard tell as some farmers are takin' to they enamelled hiron affairs, same as they used to hev when i wur a lad. i mind theer wur a crop o' "read comic cagmag" as lingered on years arter the paper itself. not as i hold with enamelling, myself--'tain't what i call 'igh farmin'--takes too much outer the land in _my_ 'pinion. _f. fretwail._ aye, aye. "rotation o' boards." say, "spooner's sulphur syrup" fur a spring crop, follered with some kind o' soap or candles, and p'raps cough lozengers, or hembrocation, or bakin' powder, if the soil will bear it, arterwards--that's the system _i_ wur reared on, and theer ain't no better, 'pend upon it! _f. ryemouth._ i tell 'ee what 'tis; it's time we 'ad some protection agen these yere furrin advertisements. i was travellin' along the great northern tother day, and i see theer was two or three o' them french boards nigh in ivery field, a downright shame an' disgrace i call it, disfigurin' the look o' the country and makin' it that ontidy--let alone drivin' honest british boards off the land. government ought to put a stop to it; that's what _i_ say! _f. lackaday._ they parliment chaps don't keer _what_ becomes of us poor farmers, they don't. look at last general election time. they might ha' given our boards a turn; but not they. most o' they candidates did all their 'tisin' with rubbishy flags and balloons--made in japan, sir, every blamed one o' them! and they wonder british agriculture don't prosper more! _f. ryemouth._ speakin' o' queer ways o' hadvertisin', hev any on ye set eyes on that farm o' young fullacrank's? danged if iver _i_ see sech tom-fool notions as he's took up with in all _my_ born days! _f. fretwail._ why, what hev he bin up to _now_, eh? _f. ryemouth._ well, i thought i shud ha' bust myself larfin' when i see it fust. theer ain't not a board nor a sky sign; no, nor yet a 'oarding, on the 'ole of his land! _f. lackaday._ then how do he expect to get a profit out of it?--that's what _i_ want to year. _f. ryemouth._ you' ll 'ardly credit it, neighbours but he's been buryin' some o' they furrin grains, hoats and barley, an' i dunno what not, in little 'oles about his fields, so as to make the words, "use faddler's non-farinaceous food"--and the best on it is the darned young fool expecks as 'ow it'll all sprout come next aperl--he do indeed, friends! _f. fretwail._ flyin' in the face of providence, i calls it. he must ha' gone clean out of his senses! _f. lackaday._ stark starin' mad. i never heerd tell o' such extravagance. why, as likely as not, 'twill all die off o' the land afore the year's out--and wheer wull he be _then_? _f. ryemouth._ azackly what i said to 'en myself. "you tek my word for it," i sez, "'twun't niver come to no good. the nateral crop for these yere british hisles," i told 'en, "is good honest henglish hoak an' canvas," i sez, "and 'tain't the action of no sensible man, nor yet no christian," sez i, "to go a drillin' 'oles and a-droppin' in houtlandish seeds from canada an' roosha, which the sile wasn't never intended to bear!" _farmers fretwail and lackaday._ rightly spoke, neighbour ryemouth, 'twas a true word! but theer'll be a jegement on sech new-fangled doin's, and, what's moor, you and i will live fur to see it afore we're very much older! [_they all shake their heads solemnly as scene closes in._ * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: _the new curate._ "superb day, isn't it?" _giles._ "ay?" _curate._ "superb day." _giles._ "ay?" _curate._ "er--a--_superb--day!_" _giles._ "whoa, dobbin!" (_pulls up_). "ay?" _curate._ "i only remarked--er--it was a _superb day_." _giles._ "d----! gw'on, dobbin!"] * * * * * [illustration: _serious old party._ "eh, but this is a wicked world!" _flippant individual._ "you are right, mrs. mumble. for my part, i shall be quite satisfied if i get out of it alive!"] * * * * * [illustration: obliging.--_lady_ (_to village jobber, who for days has been "working" in the house_). "can you tell me when you are likely to have _finished_ this job?" _village jobber._ "if _you_ can tell me, mum, wheer i'm likely to get another."] * * * * * [illustration: useful information.--_jones_ (_who has forsworn town life for a more healthful existence, to hired compendium of agricultural knowledge at s. d. a week, with cottage and 'tater patch_). "do you know anything about bees, isaac?" _isaac._ "yes, they stings!"] * * * * * rural felicity [this is the second nature article that has recently arrived at _mr. punch's_ offices through inadvertence. it was obviously intended for _the country-side_, the new harmsworth-robinson organ, which is designed to bring home to townsmen the wonders of country life.] evening in the country! a spring evening! ah, you dweller in the close perfervid city, how i wish i could have transported you to my side yesterday, while i stood and watched the sinking fire of day (a bright impulsive fellow this sun) waving me from his orient window. a glad good-night! how i wish you could have lain near me on that pile of fresh-cut hay, redolent of clover and the scarlet vetch, lulled to sleep, it may be, by the low moaning of rats in the stack, or the melancholy hoot of the night-jar! sleep follows swiftly, sleep such as you denizens of the crowded street can never know--sleep beneath the stars. * * * * * up with the lark! shelley's skylark! there he is, the blithe unconscious creature, hovering above the plough-share, ready to pounce upon the first unwary field-vole upturned from his nest in the luxuriant loam. my heart is full to bursting as i pass onward into the harvest-field and watch the gleaners at their busy toil. for one thing i have my "topical quotations" to prepare, and am "dividing my swift mind" between the _georgics_ of virgil and wordsworth's "intimations of immortality" for a suitable selection. then there are the straw bonnets and rough smocks of the rustics to be sketched for the fashion-plate, and my column upon the insanitary condition of birds' nests to be compiled. yet how difficult to fix one's mind upon mere journalism, when on this side and on that the lithe rabbit is popping up from his "forme," and beneath their white blossoms the red strawberries lurk under every springing hedge-tuft. a glass of creamy butter-milk supplied by the smiling lass at the cottage wicket, together with a light and delicious scone eaten in the stubble under the sighing alders, has served me for my simple yet hygienic meal. and now as i watch the shepherd lead his flock of lowing kine into the pastures, the stately old bell-wether bringing up the rear, i feel that here is life indeed, and here (had the exigencies of a week-end return permitted) i could willingly have spent the remainder of my days, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," but inexorable fate with her iron shears forbids. i must back to the smoky streets once more and my half-finished essay on "cotton-spinning in our great public schools." brief dream, farewell! * * * * * [illustration: horticultural _vicar's daughter._ "well, john, i see you are looking as young as ever." _john._ "yes, miss, thankyee. an' they tell me i'll soon be an octogeranium."] * * * * * [illustration: "oi be eighty-foive, zur." "dear me! you don't look it. and how old is your wife?" "oh, she be eighty-foive too. but she've looked it fer the last fowrty year!"] * * * * * [illustration: "benefits forgot!"--_old gentleman_ (_he had been chased across the field by the infuriated animal, and only just scrambled over the gate in time--gasping for breath_). "you in--fernal un--gra'ful beast!--an' me--been veg'tarian allm'life!!"] * * * * * [illustration: tempora mu-tatur!! _first farmer._ "aye, 'taters gets complaints now they never got in my young days."] * * * * * [illustration: "be it true as your nevvy b'ain 't?] a-goin' to marry that miss giles arter all?" "well, you see i 'vised 'un to gie up matrimony, an' take to a trade."] * * * * * [illustration: pleasuring!--_vicar_ (_to old lady, who is returning from a funeral_). "well, martha, i'm afraid you've had a sad afternoon. it has been a long walk, too, for you----" _martha._ "sure-ly, 'tis sir; ah, sir, 'tain't much pleasure now for me to go to funerals; i be too old and full o' rheumatiz. it was very different when we was young--that 'twer!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _sexton_ (_to a divine, who was spending his holidays in the country and who, on the sudden illness of the village parson, volunteered to take the duties_). "a worse preacher would have done for us, sir, _but we couldn't get one_!"] * * * * * [illustration: predestined!--_northern matron_ (_before the school board_). "i'm not against eddication, ladies and gen'l'men. i al'ays make him take his book o' nights. but reelly i calls it a flyin' in the face o' providence to be keepin' a boy out o' the stables with such a pair o' legs as his'n!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _carrier._ "try zideways, mrs. jones, try zideways!" _mrs. jones._ "lar' bless 'ee, john, i ain't got no zideways."] * * * * * mr. punch's agricultural novel bo and the blacksheep. _a story of the sex._ (_by_ thomas of wessex, _author of "guess how a murder feels," "the cornet minor," "the horse that cast a shoe," "one in a turret," "the foot of ethel hurt her," "the flight of the bivalve," "hard on the gadding crowd," "a lay o' deceivers," &c._) ["i am going to give you", writes the author of this book, "one of my powerful and fascinating stories of life in modern wessex. it is well known, of course, that although i often write agricultural novels, i invariably call a spade a spade, and not an agricultural implement. thus i am led to speak in plain language of women, their misdoings, and their undoings. unstrained dialect is a speciality. if you want to know the extent of wessex, consult histories of the heptarchy with maps."] chapter i. in our beautiful blackmoor or blakemore vale not far from the point where the melchester road turns sharply towards icenhurst on its way to wintoncester, having on one side the hamlet of batton, on the other the larger town of casterbridge, stands the farmhouse wherewith in this narrative we have to deal. there for generations have dwelt the rustic family of the peeps, handing down from father to son a well-stocked cow-shed and a tradition of rural virtues which yet excluded not an overgreat affection on the male side for the home-brewed ale and the home-made language in which, as is known, the wessex peasantry delights. on this winter morning the smoke rose thinly into the still atmosphere, and faded there as though ashamed of bringing a touch of thermidorean warmth into a degree of temperature not far removed from the zero-mark of the local fahrenheit. within, a fire of good wessex logs crackled cheerily upon the hearth. old abraham peep sat on one side of the fireplace, his figure yet telling a tale of former vigour. on the other sat polly, his wife, an aimless, neutral, slatternly peasant woman, such as in these parts a man may find with the profusion of wessex blackberries. an empty chair between them spoke with all an empty chair's eloquence of an absent inmate. a butter-churn stood in a corner next to an ancient clock that had ticked away the mortality of many a past and gone peep. chapter ii. "where be bonduca?" said abraham, shifting his body upon his chair so as to bring his wife's faded tints better into view. "like enough she's met in with that slack-twisted 'hor's bird of a feller, tom tatters. and she'll let the sheep draggle round the hills. my soul, but i'd like to baste 'en for a poor slammick of a chap." mrs. peep smiled feebly. she had had her troubles. like other realities, they took on themselves a metaphysical mantle of infallibility, sinking to minor cerebral phenomena for quiet contemplation. she had no notion how they did this. and, it must be added, that they might, had they felt so disposed, have stood as pressing concretions which chafe body and soul--a most disagreeable state of things, peculiar to the miserably passive existence of a wessex peasant woman. "bonduca went early," she said, adding, with a weak irrelevance, "she mid 'a' had her pick to-day. a mampus o' men have bin after her--fourteen o' 'em, all the best lads round about, some of 'em wi' bags and bags of gold to their names, and all wanting bonduca to be their lawful wedded wife." abraham shifted again. a cunning smile played about the hard lines of his face. "polly," he said, bringing his closed fist down upon his knee with a sudden violence, "you pick the richest, and let him carry bonduca to the pa'son. good looks wear badly, and good characters be of no account; but the gold's the thing for us. why," he continued, meditatively, "the old house could be new thatched, and you and me live like lords and ladies, away from the mulch o' the barton, all in silks and satins, wi' golden crowns to our heads, and silver buckles to our feet." polly nodded eagerly. she was a wessex woman born, and thoroughly understood the pure and unsophisticated nature of the wessex peasant. chapter iii. meanwhile bonduca peep--little bo peep was the name by which the country-folk all knew her--sat dreaming upon the hill-side, looking out with a premature woman's eyes upon the rich valley that stretched away to the horizon. the rest of the landscape was made up of agricultural scenes and incidents which the slightest knowledge of wessex novels can fill in amply. there were rows of swedes, legions of dairymen, maidens to milk the lowing cows that grazed soberly upon the rich pasture, farmers speaking rough words of an uncouth dialect, and gentlefolk careless of a milkmaid's honour. but nowhere, as far as the eye could reach, was there a sign of the sheep that bo had that morning set forth to tend for her parents. bo had a flexuous and finely-drawn figure not unreminiscent of many a vanished knight and dame, her remote progenitors, whose dust now mouldered in many churchyards. there was about her an amplitude of curve which, joined to a certain luxuriance of moulding, betrayed her sex even to a careless observer. and when she spoke, it was often with a fetishistic utterance in a monotheistic falsetto which almost had the effect of startling her relations into temporary propriety. chapter iv. thus she sat for some time in the suspended attitude of an amiable tiger-cat at pause on the edge of a spring. a rustle behind her caused her to turn her head, and she saw a strange procession advancing over the parched fields where--[two pages of field-scenery omitted.--ed.] one by one they toiled along, a far-stretching line of women sharply defined against the sky. all were young, and most of them haughty and full of feminine waywardness. here and there a coronet sparkled on some noble brow where predestined suffering had set its stamp. but what most distinguished these remarkable processionists in the clear noon of this winter day was that each one carried in her arms an infant. and each one, as she reached the place where the enthralled bonduca sat obliviscent of her sheep, stopped for a moment and laid the baby down. first came the duchess of hamptonshire followed at an interval by lady mottisfont and the marchioness of stonehenge. to them succeeded barbara of the house of grebe, lady icenway and squire petrick's lady. next followed the countess of wessex, the honourable laura and the lady penelope. anna, lady baxby, brought up the rear. bonduca shuddered at the terrible re-encounter. was her young life to be surrounded with infants? she was not a baby-farm after all, and the audition of these squalling nurslings vexed her. what could the matter mean? no answer was given to these questionings. a man's figure, vast and terrible, appeared on the hill's brow, with a cruel look of triumph on his wicked face. it was thomas tatters. bonduca cowered; the noble dames fled shrieking down the valley. "bo," said he, "my own sweet bo, behold the blood-red ray in the spectrum of your young life." "say those words quickly," she retorted. "certainly," said tatters. "blood-red ray, broo-red ray, broo-re-ray, brooray! tush!" he broke off, vexed with bonduca and his own imperfect tongue-power, "you are fooling me. beware!" "i know you, i know you!" was all she could gasp, as she bowed herself submissive before him. "i detest you, and shall therefore marry you. trample upon me!" and he trampled upon her. chapter v. thus bo peep lost her sheep, leaving these fleecy tail-bearers to come home solitary to the accustomed fold. she did but humble herself before the manifestation of a wessex necessity. and fate, sitting aloft in the careless expanse of ether, rolled her destined chariots thundering along the pre-ordained highways of heaven, crushing a soul here and a life there with the tragic completeness of a steam-roller, granite-smashing, steam-fed, irresistible. and butter was churned with a twang in it, and rustics danced, and sheep that had fed in clover were "blasted," like poor bonduca's budding prospects. and, from the calm nonchalance of a wessex hamlet, another novel was launched into a world of reviews, where the multitude of readers is not as to their external displacements, but as to their subjective experiences. [the end. * * * * * [illustration: "hinc illÃ� lacryimÃ�" _master tommy_ (_returning from the funeral_). "why did uncle jonas cry so for, aunt? he cried more than anybody!" _aunt_ (_grimly_). "of course! most of the property is left to him, my dear!"] * * * * * [illustration: "what's that there blank space left for, jim?" "why, that's for the folks as can't read!"] * * * * * [illustration: a yorkshire gossip _first gossip._ "so you was nivver axed tu t'funeral?" _second gossip._ "nivver as much as inside t'house. but nobbut; wait till _we_ hev' a funeral of us own, an' _we_'ll show 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: _parson._ "why, john, what are you doing there?" _john._ "i be too wet to work, zur." _parson._. "well, if it's too wet to work, why don't you go home?" _john._ "wull, my old 'ooman, she do jaw so!"] * * * * * [illustration: _young lady._ "can you tell me the nearest way to get to pulham from here?" _sweep._ "well, miss, i'm going there meself. so, if yer jump in, i'll drive yer!"] * * * * * [illustration: _first village dame._ "did i bring you back that basket you lent me last week?" _second dame_ (_emphatically_). "no, indeed, you did not." _first dame._ "that's a pity, for i just came round to borrow it again!"] * * * * * [illustration: "here in cool grot and mossy cell we rural fays and fairies dwell!"] * * * * * [illustration: hard on the doctor--_old lady._ "my 'usband 'e never did 'old with doctors, and 'e wouldn't let me send for yer till 'e was real bad. what's wrong with him, doctor?" _doctor._ "mainly senility, mrs. wilkins." _old lady._ "lor' now! an' i dessay 'e wouldn't 'ave 'ad it if 'e'd 'ad yer soon enough!"] * * * * * [illustration: "there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."--_hamlet._ (_heard outside a country circus._) _old jarge._ "wen ye sees wot comes from furrin parts, bless yer 'eart, ye just feels like a bit o' dirt!"] * * * * * "the last straw."--for further particulars apply to the gleaners. * * * * * the weather and the crops.--_note._ always have your hair cut very short in the hottest weather. * * * * * gardening amusement for colwell-hatchney.--spinning turnip tops. * * * * * advice to the farmer.--keep your weather eye open. * * * * * [illustration: "did ye see the lord mayor when you was up to lunnon?" "aye, lad, i did." "de' 'e gang aboot wi' a chain?" "no; 'e gangs loose!"] * * * * * [illustration: _miss hobbs_ (_who dislikes tobacco_). "i see you are at your idol again!" _smoker._ "yes; i'm burning it!"] * * * * * [illustration: a dry calling "th' ole squire stop an' spoke to me this marnin'; an' oi ast 'im 'ow master philip was gettin' on in lunnon. 'oh,' says 'e, ''e 's bin called to the bar.' oi dunno wot 'e meant, so oi didn' say nothin'; but oi says to meself, 'ah,' oi says, 'from what _oi_ remember of 'im, 'e didn' want no _callin'_!'"] * * * * * [illustration: accommodating.--_old lady._ "now then, what do you want?" _the tramp._ "i ain't pertickler, lady. what 'av' yer got?"] * * * * * [illustration: _the vicar's daughter._ "papa was very shocked, giles, to see you standing outside the 'green man' this morning, after church." _the village reprobate._ "oi can 'sure ye, miss, it wus na fault o' moine that i wus standin' ootside!"] * * * * * [illustration: "i'm surprised to find that you keep a dog, tomkins! why, you can barely keep your wife! what on earth do you feed him on?" "well, i gives 'im cat's-meat. and when i can't afford that, why, 'e 'as to 'ave wot _we_ 'ave."] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. a._ "i've just been to see a poor soul who was almost dying of destitution." _miss b._ "did you take her anything?" _mrs. a._ "yes--a pound of mutton." _miss b._ "that wasn't much, was it?" _mrs. a._ (_indignantly_). "quite enough to make her some _beef tea_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "tell your fortune, pretty gentleman?"] * * * * * [illustration: "fond of music! why, when i'm in town, i go to a music-hall every night!"] * * * * * [illustration: a sure sign of improvement.--_village doctor._ "well scroggins, i hope your wife is much better to-day, eh? how is her pulse, eh? and how's her temperature?" _scroggins_ (_considering_). "well, doctor, i don't know much about her pulses, but as for her temper"--(_feelingly_)--"she's got a plenty of _that_ to-day!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the pity o' it!" "well, simpson, how do you like the hot weather?" "can't stand it, sir! it's hawful! ain't got no stomach for my victuals, sir!"] * * * * * at a cattle market an autumn reminiscence scene--_a large open space near a cathedral town. fat old farmers in white hats, and smart young farmers in newmarket coats and neat riding boots; elderly shepherds in blue, grey, and white smocks. from time to time there is a stampede of bewildered bullocks, whose hind legs are continually getting hitched over each other's horns. connoisseurs lean over pen-rails and examine pigs reverently, as if they were old masters. others prod them perfunctorily. the pigs bear these inconveniences meekly, as part of the penalty of greatness. sheep look over one another's shoulders and chew nervously on one side of their mouths._ by the pig-pens _first enthusiast._ did y' iver see sech a sow as that theer? _i_ niver did, and (_aggressively_) naw moor _yo'_ didn't neither, 'enery, _did_ ye now? _'enery_ (_unimpressed_). i doan't see naw 'dvantage in heving pigs so big as that theer. _first enth._ big! she's like a elephant. _theer's_ a lop ear now--weighs thutty-four stoan if she weighs a hounce, she do! [_the sow grunts complacently._ _'enery._ ah. i 'ad one loike 'er, i 'ad. eat three bucketsful a day, she did, and (_with a sense of unforgettable injury_) mis'able little pegs she 'ad with it all! _second enth._ i go in fur berkshire myself, but sussex are very good; they scale so much better 'n they look; _full_ o' flesh they are--weigh a good stun moor nor ye'd take 'em fur, and then they cut _up_ so well! (_with a dreamy tenderness._) yes, i'm fond o' they sussexes, i am--_very_ fond of 'em! * * * * * _a dealer_ (_trying to dispose of a litter of small black pigs_). seven good ole stiddy little pigs! i don't care '_oo_ buys 'em (_as if he usually required the strictest testimonials to character_). i _must_ sell 'em. pig-buyin' to-day, sir? you'd _better_ 'ave that little lot, sir. [_persuasively, to a passer-by, who however appears to think he had much better not._ by the sheep-pens _intending purchaser_ (_to seller_). what d'ye carl them yoes now? southdowns? [_he fixes his eyes on the cathedral spire, and awaits the next move._ _seller_ (_after watching a rook out of sight, stirs up the sheep meditatively, and decides on candour_). well--bout aaff an' aaff. _int. purch._ old yoes--well, ye know, 'taint like _young_ yoes, _be_ it now? _seller_ (_when he has finished shredding tobacco in the palm of his hand_). that's true enough. _int. purch._ i dunno as i can do wi' any moor shep just now, if 'twas iver so. _seller_ (_listlessly_). cann't ye, now? theer's bin a genl'man from leicestershire 'ere, wawntin' me to run 'im off a dozen or so--fur his perrk, d'ye see? _int. purch._ (_with unaffected incredulity_). ah. [_a protracted silence, employed by each in careful inspection of his boots._ _seller_ (_addressing space_). they're a tidy lot o' yoes. _int. purch._ (_as if this was a new view of them, which would require consideration_). come off o' your own farm? _seller._ druv 'em in myself this very marnin'. _int. purch._ ah. (_a pause apparently spent in mental calculation._) what might ye be askin' for 'un now? _seller._ for them yoes? _int. purch._ ah. _seller_ (_falls into a brown study, from which he at length emerges to tap the nearest ewe on the forehead and expectorate_). i wawnt five-an'-twenty shellin' a yead for them yoes. _int. purch._ five-an'-twenty? _seller._ ah, that's what _i_ wawnt. [_a longer silence than ever._ _int. purch._ i s'pose ye aint seen ole jim 'arrows 'bout 'ere this marnin', hev ye? [_after some further preliminaries of this kind the moment at length arrives at which a bargain can be struck without any suggestion of unbecoming haste on either side._ * * * * * [illustration: anything to oblige.--_old lady._ "i wish you would make him go faster. i shall be late for the market." _carrier._ "well, you see, mum, he always falls on his head if he trots down-hill. he _can't_ trot up-hill, for he's broken-winded, and if you hurry him on the level he mostly has a fit of blind staggers. but we'll try if you like, mum. come up, hoss!"] * * * * * [illustration: bye-election humours _free and independent voter._ "wull, if they can't zend zummat better than thic ther cart to fetch i to the poll, i ain't a-goin' to vote. zo there's an end of it; and you can go back an' tell 'um zo!"] * * * * * [illustration: the new squire _farmer._ "well, giles, what do you think of him?" _giles._ "i reckon he's allers in at meal-times, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: _curate._ "oh--er--by the way, mr. bloggs, i was wondering whether you would give me a small subscription for a most excellent object: i mean the repairing of the cemetery wall." _wealthy parvenu._ "not me, sir. the cemetery wall don't _need_ any repairing. them as is inside can't get out, an' them as is outside don't want to get in. good mornin'!"] * * * * * _first rustic_ (_just out of the county hospital_). an' they putt me under that theer chlorryfum--an' i simmed to go right oop into 'evin--yes, i wur oop in 'evin fur a toime, sure 'nough. _second rustic_ (_with interest_). an' did ye 'ear a pianner? * * * * * _elderly farmer_ (_who is being applied to for the character of his late shepherd_). no, i never 'ad no fault to find wi' the fellow--(_conscientiously_) not as i knows on. he unnerstan's shep--i will say _that_ fur 'en--he's a rare 'un at doctorin' of 'em, too. an' a stiddy chap an' that, keps a civil tongue in 'is yead, and don't go away on the booze. no, _i_ aint got nawthen' to say 'gainst th' man. _the inquirer._ would ye hev any objection to sayin' why ye're partin' wi' en? _eld. f._ well, i dunno as theer was any partickler _reason_ for 't. (_he endeavours to think of one in a puzzle-headed way._) i s'pose i must ha' thowt i'd make a bit of a shift like--and theer ye hev it. * * * * * _first stock-breeder_ (_to second_). well, an' how's muster spuddock to-day? _muster spuddock._ oh, 'mong th' middlins--'mong th' middlins. pretty well fur an old 'un. _first stockbr._ an' how's trade with _you_, eh? _muster sp._ (_beaming_). oh, nawthen' doin'--nawthen' doin' 't all! _first stockbr._ (_with equal cheerfulness_). same _'ere_, sir--same 'ere. on'y thing that's got money has been th' dead meat. _muster sp._ (_without appearing to envy the dead meat on this account_). ah, that's it. ye cann't reckon on moor nor thrippence,--an' your own expenses, i' coorse. _first stockbr._ an' _thet_'s borderin' nigh on fowerpence; an' when it comes to two pound a bullock----! [_they shake their heads with an unsuccessful attempt to look lugubrious at these cryptic considerations._ _muster sp._ well, well; sheep food's goin' to be plentiful, too, right up to christmas. _first stockbr._ that's the way to look on it. [_they go off to dine at the ordinary, with a sense that matters might be worse._ * * * * * [illustration: jones, who can't sleep well in london during the hot weather, goes to have a quiet night in a village! [_portrait of_ one _of the village cochins, &c._] * * * * * [illustration: education.--_squire._ "hobson, they tell me you've taken your boy away from the national school. what's that for?" _villager._ "'cause the master ain't fit to teach un!" _squire._ "o, i've heard he's a very good master." _villager._ "well, all i knows is, he wanted to teach my boy to spell 'taters' with a 'p'!!!]" * * * * * [illustration: compliments of the season.--_farmer's wife_ (_to little rustic, her protégè_). "well, sam, your master and i are going up to london for the cattle show." _cow boy._ "oh, i'm sure i hope yeou'll take the fust prize, 'm--that i dew!"] * * * * * [illustration: "in the long run."--_town gent._ "now do you find keeping poultry answers?" _country gent_ (_lately retired_). "o, 'es, s'posed to answer. y' see there's the original cost of the fowls--'f course the food goes down to me, y' know. well, then, i purchase the eggs from the children, and they eat them!!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "only two feet at the window" (_old song adapted_) _milkman_ (_aghast, anxiously_). "hullo! wot's that?" _old woman._ "hish! our lodger, just come. open-air cure!"] * * * * * agricultural.--the poorest farmer in the land, if unable to feed his calves, can always graze his shins. * * * * * at the cattle show.--_young farmer._ "are you fond of beasts, miss gusherton?" _miss gusherton._ "oh, really, mr. pawker, if you mean that as a declaration, you must speak to mamma!" * * * * * [illustration: _rector._ "why, doctor, where are you off to? i thought the meet was down at the cross roads." _doctor._ "well, the fact is, i've got a patient up here that i must see, and the hounds are certain to come this way." _rector._ "i see. killing two birds with one stone, eh?"] * * * * * [illustration: _short-sighted old gentleman._ "excuse me, but i think you've dropped one of your parcels!"] * * * * * [illustration: "opposition."--_first town councillor (who had recently been to venice)._ "now that we've a people's park, and a lake in it, i should suggest that half a dozen gondolas might be purchased, as they'd give quite a----" _second ditto (untravelled)._ "oh, i don't see the good of havin' any more o' them foreign birds! we've plenty of ducks an' geese already! 't any rate a pair would be enough to breed from. as to 'alf a dozen, i consider it'd be a waste o' public money, an' i'll oppose it tooth and----" [_they don't part friends._] * * * * * [illustration: _the squire._ "i don't seem to know your face, my man. do you live about here?" _old rustic._ "yes, sir. but, yer see, i ain't often at the public-'ouse!"] * * * * * [illustration: _first doubtful character._ "this yer's all 'umbug about a thief not bein' able to look a honest man in the heye." _second doubtful character._ "well, if 'e can't, 'e can _punch_ 'im in the heye!"] * * * * * [illustration: little and good _gentleman._ "who do these pigs belong to, boy?" _'chaw.'_ "why, this 'ere owd zow." _gentleman._ "yes, yes; but i mean who's their master?" _'chaw.'_ "why, that there little 'un; he's a varmun to foight!"] * * * * * [illustration: true politeness (_another incident at a tenants' ball_) _daughter of the house (dishevelled and torn after one turn round the room with clumsy partner)._ "do you mind very much, mr. quickstep, if we sit out the rest of it?" _mr. quickstep._ "jest as you like, miss. i'm only a-dancin' for your pleasure!"] * * * * * [illustration: _miss marjorie._ "and how is your son james getting on, mr. giles?" _giles_ (_whose son has gone to london "in service"_). "well, to tell ye the truth, miss marji, oi'm very troubled about 'im. oi 'ad a letter last week, an' 'e says that 'e's livin' in a buildin' with 'undreds of people in it, an' it's three or fowr 'ouses one on top o' t'other. 'e says there's a railway carriage without an ingin' that goes up the middle o' th' buildin', an' the lights is all in bottles, an' you turns 'em on with a tap without usin' a loocifer, an'----" _miss marjorie._ "but why are you troubled about james?" _giles._ "aye, oi fear 'e must 'a took to drink, miss!"] * * * * * sympathy.--_giles_ (_ruefully_). "villiam, i've been an' gone an' 'listed!" _william._ "lor'! 'ave yer, though? got the shillin'?" _giles._ "yes." _william._ "well, then, let's go an' 'ave a glass at the 'barley-mow.' don't let's be down'earted!" * * * * * [illustration: quite a different thing.--_vicar's wife._ "well, mrs. bloggs, i'm glad to hear your husband has given up drinking. i hope he's all the better for it?" _mrs. bloggs._ "oh, yes, 'm, that he be. why, ever since 'e took the pledge, he's been more like a friend than a husband!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene.--_a country drawing-room._ _visitor_ (_to old lady and daughters, one of whose hobbies is the keeping of a small herd of jerseys_). "by the way, i didn't see you at our local agricultural show." _daughter._ "oh, no! we never go unless we exhibit ourselves."] * * * * * [illustration: a slight mistake.--_farmer._ "where 'ave ye been all this time? and where's the old mare--didn't ye have her shod as i told ye?" _jarge._ "shod! law, no, marster. i bin a buryin' she! didn't i think thee said '_shot_'!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the simple life" _mr. and mrs. fitzpudgit's experiences of a week-end country cottage._ _mr. fitzpudgit._ "what's the matter with the eggs, matilda? i've tried them with a fork two or three times, and they're not soft yet!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the simple life." _mr. fitzpudgit._ "now don't faint again, my dear. i'll soon have this old rabbit in bits, now!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the simple life" _charwoman._ "if yer please, sir, th' landlord says as 'ow 'e can't do nothin', 'cos the thatcher's busy with the ricks."] * * * * * [illustration: "the simple life" _mrs. fitzpudgit._ "what is it, dear?" _mr. f._ "nothing, my love. only another puncture."] * * * * * [illustration: "appreciations," local _vicar's wife._ "i see, mrs. fieldsend, that mary is home again." _mrs. fieldsend._ "yes, m'm. you see, she has been a year at crowe rectory, and eighteen months at exholme vicarage, and now we want her to go into a gentleman's family!"] * * * * * family jars.--_joan._ "the _idear_ of susan's askin' john to william's funeral, after the way 'e'd beyaved! i shouldn't certainly ever _dream_ of askin' 'im to _yours_!" _darby._ "_what!_ then all _i_ can say is, i should be very much offended if you _didn't_!" * * * * * [illustration: exchange no robbery] * * * * * live stock.--_little miss townley._ "was that honey we had at breakfast 'home-made,' mr. stubbs?" _farmer stubbs._ "why, surely, missy." _little miss t._ "oh! then i suppose you _keep a bee_?" * * * * * [illustration: _country barber_ (_affably, to total stranger_). "very tryin' weather this, sir. makes you feel as if you'd like your body in a pond, an' your 'ead in a public-'ouse!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the rector's daughter._ "my father feels it very much, mrs. barker, that you should leave the church every sunday just before the sermon. don't you think you might try and stay, in future?" _mrs. barker._ "i dursn't do it, miss. _i do snore that dreadful when i'm asleep!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _lady_ (_calling on new vicar's young wife_). "have you seen the library at the hall? sir george is quite a bibliophile, you know." _vicar's wife_ (_warmly_). "oh, i'm _so_ glad to hear that! so many of these wealthy men have _no_ religion!"] * * * * * [illustration: _lady visitor_ (_to old parishioner_). "well, mr. huggins, and has the nurse been to see you yet?" _old parishioner._ "yes, mum, thank 'ee. she's called once, an done my foot more good than all the imprecations i've ever used!"] * * * * * [illustration: the slocum pogis toilet-club "these 'ere barbers makes a rare lot o' fuss about it, but 'tain't nowt to sheep shearin'."] * * * * * [illustration: diet.--_village doctor._ "well, are you better? have you taken your medicine regularly, and eaten plenty of animal food?" _patient._ "yes, sir, i tried it, and so long as it were be-ans and o-ats, i could manage pooty well, sir; but when you come to that there chopped hay, that right-down choked me, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: needless alarm _he._ "the fellah actually thweatened to blow my bwains out!" _she._ "oh, how _could_ he? of _course_ he wasn't serious."] * * * * * [illustration: the force of habit.--_our county member_ (_attending church during the recess_). "i beg to move, sir, that the question be now put!"] * * * * * [illustration: our christmas concert.--_the rector_ (_who conducts the rehearsal_). "suppose we try that movement again? i think, mr. footles, you were half a bar behind in taking up your point. oh dear!--you're not going, mr. foo----" _mr. footles_ (_our flauto secondo, huffed_). "yessir. 'f you're so pertic'lar's 'alf a bar, i sha'n't jine the s'ciety!!"] * * * * * [illustration: artful--very.--_mary._ "don't keep a screougin' o' me, john!" _john._ "wh'oi bean't a screougin' on yer!" _mary_ (_ingenuously_). "well, y' can i' y' like, john!"] * * * * * [illustration: _stranger._ "i suppose there's not much society about here?" _barber._ "society! why there ain't two soup an' fish families within a radius o' fifteen mile!"] * * * * * how miners ought to swear.--"i'll take my davy." * * * * * the harvest of crime.--the convict reaps the reward of his iniquity in the county crop. * * * * * [illustration: _stranger._ "you must find it very lonely on these hills." _shepherd._ "lonely? no, i don't. why, there was a man an a 'oss passed yesterday, an' there's you to-day."] * * * * * [illustration: _agricultural parishioner_ (_wishing to ingratiate himself with the new curate, who had given a lecture on the previous evening_). "thank ye, sir, for your reading to us last night." _new curate._ "glad you liked it, john. i was a little afraid lest the lecture might have been just a _little_ too scientific." _agricultural parishioner._ "no, bless you, sir, not a bit of it. why, we in these parts be just like young ducks. _we do gobble up anything!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "none but the brave deserve the _fare_."--_the rector's wife_ (_at school feast, to one of the boys, who had been doing very "good business"_). "what's the matter, noggins? don't you feel well?" _noggins._ "no, m'm,--but--i'll hev--to be wuss, m'm--afore i give in!"] * * * * * [illustration: the substitute.--_the rector's wife._ "oh, mrs. noggins, i should really try to break your parrot of his habit of swearing in that awful way!" _the widow noggins._ "well 'm, i finds it such a comfort to 'ear 'im. makes it seem more like as if there was a man about the 'ouse again."] * * * * * [illustration: _village dame_ (_to eminent landscape-painter_). "law, sir, i do often wonder how you can 'ave the patience to bide here day arter day, drarin' an' drarin'! but, there, one thing, you 'aves plenty o' company!"] * * * * * [illustration: horticultural cuttings (_culled and fetched from a considerable distance by dumb crambo junior_) coaly-us. sinner-area. pet-you-near. ah,-but-ill-us! peeler-go!-nyum! haughty culture. gee-rainy-(um!). ran-uncle-us. prim-you-la! a-rum lily.] * * * * * boon companions!--_bargee_ (_to rustic_). "what! ge-arge!" (_rustic grins in response._) _bargee._ "i'm allus main glad to see thee, ge-arge." _rustic._ "whoy?" _bargee._ "'cause i know there must be a public-'ouse close by!" * * * * * [illustration: "laudator temporis act i" _mrs. ghoul._ "ah, funerals isn't what they used to be in my time! i recollect when we 'ad 'am sangwishes and sherry wine; but now it's as much as you can git a bit o' cake and a cup o' tea. ah!"] * * * * * contentment.--_giles._ "a happy new year to you, marm, and i hope you'll be as lucky this year as i was last." _lady._ "oh, thank you very much, giles; but you surely forget that you lost your wife in the spring and broke your leg in the summer." _giles._ "yes, but t'other leg's all right, and as for paw soosan, it might have been i to be took instead." * * * * * [illustration: _vicar_ (_who has introduced "gregorian" tones into his service_). "well, mr. rogers, how did you like our music? tradition says, you know, that those psalm tunes are the original ones composed by king david." _flippant parishioner._ "really? then i no longer wonder why saul threw his javelin at him!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the vicar._ "i'm surprised at _you_, miggs. why, look at _me_. i can go into the town without coming back intoxicated." _miggs._ "yesh, zur, but _oi_ be so popular!" (_hic._)] * * * * * [illustration: _vicar's daughter._ "oh, mr. gufling, i've called this morning to tell you that for the parish charities we open our most interesting show of local antiquities and curiosities, and may i hope that _you_ will kindly give it your countenance?"] * * * * * poetry of nature.--when mist falls upon the earth, and freezes, it forms rime. * * * * * _customer._ "you told me that 'oss 'ad won a dozen matches agin some o' th' best 'osses in the county. why 'e can't trot a mile in ten minutes to save 'is life." _dealer._ "i didn't say 'e could. you never asked me what sort o' matches. it was in ploughin' matches 'e took the prizes!" * * * * * [illustration] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers london and tonbridge. mr. punch at the seaside [illustration] punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch", from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * [illustration: "by the silver sea" this is _not_ jones's dog.] * * * * * mr. punch at the seaside as pictured by charles keene, john leech, george du maurier, phil may, l. raven-hill, j. bernard partridge, gordon browne, e. t. reed, and others.... _with illustrations_ [illustration] published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo. pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * editor's note [illustration] one of the leading characteristics of the nineteenth century was the tremendous change effected in the social life of great britain by the development of cheap railway travel. the annual holiday at the seaside speedily became as inevitable a part of the year's progress as the milkman's morning call is of the day's routine. what at first had been a rare and memorable event in a life-time developed into a habit, to which, with our british love for conventions, all of us conform. whether or not our french critics are justified in saying that we britishers take our pleasures sadly, these pages from the seaside chronicles of mr. punch will bear witness, and while at times they may seem to support the case of our critics, at others the evidence is eloquent against them. this at least is certain, that whatever the temperament of the british as displayed during the holiday season at our popular resorts, the point of view of our national jester, mr. punch, is unfailingly humorous, and such sadness as some of our countrymen may bring to their pleasures is but food for the mirth of merry mr. punch, who, we are persuaded, stands for the sum total of john bull's good humour in his outlook on the life of his countrymen. as the real abstract and brief chronicler of our time, mr. punch has mirrored in little the social history of the last sixty-five years, and apart from the genuine entertainment which this book presents, it is scarcely less instructive as a pictorial history of british manners during this period. one may here follow in the vivid sketches of the master-draughtsmen of the age the ceaseless and bewildering changes of fashion--the passing of the crinoline, the coming and going of the bustle, the chignon, and similar vanities, and the evolution of the present-day styles of dress both of men and women. it is also curious to notice how little seaside customs, amusements, troubles and delights, have varied in the last half-century. landladies are at the end what they were at the beginning; the same old type of bathing-machine is still in use; our forefathers and their womenfolk in the days when mr. punch was young behaved themselves by "the silver sea" just as their children's children do to-day. nothing has changed, except that the most select of seaside places is no longer so select as it was in the pre-railway days, and that the wealthier classes, preferring the attractions of continental resorts, are less in evidence at our own watering-places. the motto of this little work, as of all those in the series to which it belongs, is "our true intent is all for your delight", but if the book carry with it some measure of instruction, we trust that may not be the less to its credit. mr. punch at the seaside _mrs. dorset_ (_of "dorset's sugar and butter stores", mile end road_). "why on earth can't we go to a more _dressy_ place than this, 'enery? i'm sick of this dreary 'ole, year after year. it's nothing but sand and water, sand and water!" _mr. dorset._ "if it wasn't for sand and water, you wouldn't get no 'olerday." * * * * * [illustration: a fashionable watering place] * * * * * seaside mem.--the society recently started to abolish tied-houses will not include bathing machines within the scope of its operations. * * * * * "where's ramsgate?" [illustration: biddy-ford] [_mr. justice hawkins._ where is ramsgate? _mr. dickens._ it is in thanet, your lordship. _report of twyman v. bligh._] "where's ramsgate?" justice hawkins cried. "where on our earthly planet?" the learned dickens straight replied, "'tis in the isle of thanet. "ramsgate is where the purest air will make your head or leg well, will jaded appetite repair, with the shrimp cure of pegwell. "where's ramsgate? it is near the place where julius cæsar waded, and nearer still to where his grace augustine come one day did. "all barristers should ramsgate know: i speak of it with pleasure", quoth dickens. "there i often go when wanting a refresher. "where's ramsgate? where i've often seen. both s-mb-rne and du m-r-_er_, when i have gone by . granville express, victori_er_. "with thanet harriers, when you are well mounted on a pony, you'll say, for health who'd go so far as cannes, nice, or mentone? "with poland, of the treasury, recorder eke of dover, i oft go down for pleasurey. alack! 'tis too soon over! "o'er thanet's isle where'er you trudge, my lud, you'll find no land which----" "dickens take ramsgate!" quote the judge. "luncheon! i'm off to sandwich!" * * * * * [illustration: a judge by appearance _bathing guide._ "bless 'is 'art! i know'd he'd take to it kindly--by the werry looks on 'im!"] * * * * * the wonders of the sea-shore _contributed by_ "glaucus", _who is staying at a quiet watering-place, five miles from anywhere, and three miles from a railway station_. [illustration] _monday_(?) _after breakfast, lying on the beach._ wonder if it is monday, or tuesday? wonder what time it is? wonder if it will be a fine day? wonder what i shall do if it is? on second thoughts, wonder what i shall do if it isn't? wonder if there are any letters? wonder who that is in a white petticoat with her hair down? wonder if she came yesterday or the day before? wonder if she's pretty? wonder what i've been thinking about the last ten minutes? wonder how the boatmen here make a livelihood by lying all day at full length on the beach? wonder why every one who sits on the shore throws pebbles into the sea? wonder what there is for dinner? wonder what i shall do all the afternoon? * * * * * _same day, after lunch, lying on the beach._ wonder who in the house beside myself is partial to my dry sherry? wonder what there is for dinner? wonder what's in the paper to-day? wonder if it's hot in london? should say it was. wonder how i ever could live in london? wonder if there's any news from america? wonder what tooral looral means in a chorus? children playing near me, pretty, very? wonder if that little boy intended to hit me on the nose with a stone? wonder if he's going to do it again? hope not. wonder if i should like to be a shrimp? * * * * * _same day, after an early dinner, lying on the beach._ wonder why i can never get any fish? wonder why my landlady introduces cinders into the gravy? wonder more than ever who there is at my lodgings so partial to my dry sherry? wonder if that's the coast of france in the distance? feel inclined for a quiet conversation with my fellow-man. [illustration: exmouth] a boatman approaches. i wonder (to the boatman) if it will be a fine day tomorrow? he wonders too? we both wonder together? wonder (again to the boatman) if the rail will make much difference to the place? he shakes his head and says "ah! he wonders!" and leaves me. wonder what age i was last birthday? wonder if police inspectors are as a rule fond of bathing? wonder what gave me that idea? wonder what i shall do all this evening? [illustration: a high sea over the bar] _same day, after supper, moonlight, lying on the beach._ wonder if there ever was such a creature as a mermaid? wonder several times more than ever who it is that's so fond of my dry sherry? wonder if the pope can swim? wonder what made me think of that? wonder if i should like to go up in a balloon? wonder what speke and grant had for dinner to-day? wonder if the zoological gardens are open at sunrise? wonder what i shall do to-morrow? * * * * * fruit to be avoided by bathers.--currants. * * * * * [illustration: shopping _lady_ (_at seaside "emporium"_). "how much are those--ah--improvers?" _shopman._ "improv--hem!--they're not, ma'am"--(_confused_)--"not--not the article you require, ma'am. they're fencing-masks, ma'am!" [_tableau!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: dea ex machinÂ! (_a reminiscence_)] * * * * * [illustration: a large bump of caution _flora._ "oh, let us sit here, aunt, the breeze is so delightful." _aunt._ "yes--it's very nice, i dare say; but i won't come any nearer to the cliff, for i am always afraid of _slipping through those railings_!"] * * * * * [illustration: a boat for an hour _stout gentleman._ "what! is that the only boat you have in?"] * * * * * a seaside reverie [illustration] i think, as i sit at my ease on the shingle, and list to the musical voice of the sea, how gaily my landlady always will mingle from my little caddy her matutine tea. and vainly the bitter remembrance i banish of mutton just eaten, my heart is full sore, to think after one cut it's certain to vanish, and never be seen on my board any more. some small store of spirit to moisten my throttle i keep, and indulge in it once in a way; but, bless you, it seems to fly out of the bottle and swiftly decrease, though untouched all the day. my sugar and sardines, my bread and my butter, are eaten, and vainly i fret and i frown; my landlady, just like an Æsthete's too utter a fraud, and i vow that i'll go back to town. * * * * * [illustration: the morning papers sketch from our window, a.m., at sludgeborough ness.] * * * * * [illustration] the nursemaid's friend science has given us the baby-jumper, by which we are enabled to carry out the common exclamation of "hang those noisy children" without an act of infanticide, by suspending our youngsters in the air; and perhaps allowing them to have their full swing, without getting into mischief; but the apparatus for the nursery will not be complete until we have something in the shape of coops for our pretty little chickens, when they are "out with nurse", and she happens to have something better--or worse--to do than to look after them. how often, in a most interesting part of a novel, or in the midst of a love passage of real life, in which the nurse is herself the heroine, how often, alas! is she not liable to be disturbed by the howl of a brat, with a cow's horn in his eye, a dog's teeth in his heels, or in some other awkward dilemma, which could not have arisen had the domestic child-coop been an article of common use in the metropolitan parks, or on the sands at the seaside? [illustration: yarmouth] there is something very beautiful in the comparison of helpless infancy to a brood of young chickens, with its attendant imagery of "mother's wing", and all that sort of thing, but the allegory would be rendered much more complete by the application of the hencoop to domestic purposes. we intend buying one for our own stud of _piccoli_--which means little pickles--and we hope to see all heads of families taking it into their heads to follow our example. * * * * * midsummer madness.--going to the seaside in search of quiet. * * * * * [illustration: local intelligence "d'year as 'ow old bob osborne 'ave give up shrimpin' an took ter winklin'?" "well, i'm blest!"] * * * * * [illustration: the ingratitude of some servants you give them a change by taking them to the seaside--all they have to do is to look after the children--and yet they don't seem to appreciate it.] * * * * * [illustration: a native hoister] * * * * * [illustration: going down to a watering place] * * * * * on the spot shall we like pierpoint, to which favourite and healthy seaside resort we finally resolved to come, after a period of much indecision and uncertainty, and where we arrived, in heavy rain, in two cabs, with thirteen packages, on saturday? shall we be comfortable at , convolution street, dining-room floor, two guineas and a half a week, and all and perhaps rather more than the usual extras? shall we like mrs. kittlespark? shall we find kate all that a kate ought to be? shall we lock everything up, or repose a noble confidence in mrs. kittlespark and kate? shall we get to know the people in the drawing-room? shall we subscribe to the pier, or pay each time we go on it? shall we subscribe to that most accommodating circulating library, pigram's, where we can exchange our books at pleasure, _but not oftener than once a day_? shall we relax our minds with the newest novels, or give our intellects a bracing course of the best standard works? shall we dine late or early? shall we call on the denbigh flints, who, according to the _pierpoint pioneer_, are staying at , ocean crescent? shall we carefully avoid the wilkiesons, whom the same unerring guide reports at , blue lion street? shall we be satisfied with our first weekly bill? shall we find in it any unexpected and novel extras, such as knife-cleaning, proportion of the water-rate, loan of latch-key, &c.? shall we get our meat at round's, who displays the prince of wales's feathers over his shop door, and plumes himself on being "purveyor" to his royal highness; or at cleaver's, who boasts of the patronage of the hereditary grand duke of seltersland? shall we find everything dearer here than it is at home? shall we be happy in our laundress? shall we be photographed? shall we, as mrs. kittlespark has a spare bed-room, invite our cousin amelia staythorp, from whom we have expectations, and who is constance edith amelia's godmother, to come down and stay a week with us? shall we be praiseworthily economical, and determine not to spend a single unnecessary sixpence; or shall we, as we _have_ come to pierpoint, enjoy ourselves to the utmost, go in for all the amusements of the place--pier, public gardens, theatre, concerts, oceanarium, bathing, boating, fishing, driving, riding, and rinking--make excursions, be ostentatiously liberal to the town band, and buy everything that is offered to us on the beach? a month hence, shall we be glad or sorry to leave pierpoint, and go back to paddington? * * * * * [illustration: going to brighton] * * * * * [illustration: what we could bear a good deal of] * * * * * [illustration: a view of cowes] * * * * * [illustration: scene at sandbath the female blondin outdone! grand morning performance on the narrow plank by the darling ----] * * * * * [illustration: a little family breeze _mrs. t._ "what a wretch you must be, t.; why don't you take me off? don't you see i'm overtook with the tide, and i shall be drownded!" _t._ "well, then--will you promise not to kick up such a row when i stop out late of a saturday?"] * * * * * postscript to a seaside letter.--"the sea is as smooth, and clear, as a looking-glass. the oysters might see to shave in it." * * * * * [illustration: all in the day's work "and look here! i want you to take my friend here and myself just far enough to be up to our chins, you know, and no further!"] * * * * * [illustration: bangor] * * * * * what the wild waves are saying that the lodging-house keepers are on the look out for the weary londoners and their boxes. that the sea breezes will attract all the world from the metropolis to the coast. that britons should prefer ramsgate, eastbourne, scarborough, and the like, to dieppe, dinard, and boulogne. that paterfamilias should remember, when paying the bill, that a two months' letting barely compensates for an empty house during the remainder of the year. that the shore is a place of recreation for all but the bathing-machine horse. that the circulating libraries are stocked with superfluous copies of unknown novels waiting to be read. that, finally, during the excursion season, 'arry will have to be tolerated, if not exactly loved. * * * * * [illustration: [_the "lancet" advocates taking holidays in midwinter instead of midsummer._] view of the sands of anywhere-on-sea if the suggestion is adopted. time--december or january.] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. fydgetts_ (_screaming_). "my child! my child!" _mr. fydgetts._ "what's the use of making that noise? can't you be quiet?" _mrs. f._ "you're a brute, sir." _mr. f._ "i wish i were; for then i should be able to swim." _mrs. f._ "mr. fydgetts! ain't you a-coming to help me?" _mr. f._ "no! it serves you right for bringing me down to this stupid place." _mrs. f._ "_i_, indeed. why, i wanted to go to brighton and you would come to margate--you said it was cheaper." _mr. f._ "it's false; i said no such thing." _mrs. f._ "you did, you did!" _mr. f._ "o, woman! woman! where do you expect to go to?" _mrs. f._ "to the bottom; unless you come and help me!" _mr. f._ "help yourself. i'm s-i-n-k-i-n-g"-- _mrs. f._ "my child! my child!" _mr. f._ (_rising from the water_). "be quiet, can't you! woo-o-m--" (_the rest is inaudible, but the watery pair are saved just in time, and renew their dispute in the boat as soon as they are rescued from their perilous position_).] * * * * * [illustration: _mabel_ (_soliloquising_). "dear me, this relaxing climate makes even one's parasol seem too heavy to hold!"] * * * * * holiday haunts _by jingle junior on the jaunt_ i.--great yarmouth [illustration: puffins] why great?--where's little yarmouth?--or mid-sized yarmouth?--give it up--don't know--hate people who ask conundrums--feel well cured directly you get here--good trademark for dried-fish sellers, "the perfect cure"--if you stay a fortnight, get quite kipperish--stay a month, talk kipperish! principal attractions--bloaters and rows--first eat--second see--song, "_speak gently of the herring_"--"long shore" ones splendid--kippers delicious--song, "_what's a' the steer, kipper?_"--song, "_nobody's rows like our rows_"--more they are--varied--picturesque--tumbledown--paradise for painters--very narrow--capital support for native bloater going home after dinner--odd names--ramp, kitty witches--gallon can, conge! fancy oneself quite the honest toiler of the sea--ought to go about in dried haddock suit--feel inclined to emulate _mr. peggotty_--run into quiet taverns--thump tables violently--say "gormed!" whole neighbourhood recalls _ham_ and _little em'ly_--_david, steerforth, mrs. gummidge_--recall ham myself--if well broiled--lunch--pleasant promenades on piers--plenty of amusement in watching the bloateric commerce--fresh water fishing in adjacent broads, if you like--if not, let it alone--broad as it's long! the denes--not sardines--nor rural deans--good places for exercise--plenty of antiquities--old customs--quaint traditions! picturesque ancient taverns--capital modern hotels--stopping in one of the latter--polite waiter just appeared--dinner served--soup'll get cold--mustn't wait--never insult good cook by being unpunctual--rather let editor go short than hurt cook's feelings[ ]--so no more at present--from yours truly. [illustration] [footnote :] don't like this sentiment. is j. j. a cook's tourist?--ed. ii.--littlehampton. [illustration] emphatically the sea on the strict q t--no bustle at railway-station--train glides in noiselessly--passengers ooze away--porters good-tempered and easy-going--like suffragan bishops in corduroys--bless boxes--read pastorals on portmanteaux--no one in a hurry--locomotive coos softly in an undertone--fly-drivers suggest possibility of your requiring their services in a whisper! place full--no lodgings to be had--visitors manage to efface themselves--no one about--all having early dinners--or gone to bed--or pretending to be somewhere else--a one-sided game of hide and seek--everybody hiding, nobody seeking! seems always afternoon--dreamy gleamy sunshine--a dense quietude that you might cut in slices--no braying brass-bands--no raucous niggers--no seaside harpies--honfleur packet only excitement--no one goes to see it start--visitors don't like to be excited! chief amusements, common, sands, and pony-chaises--first, good to roll on--second, good to stroll on--first two, gratuitous and breezy--third, inexpensive and easy--might be driven out of your mind for three-and-six--notwithstanding this, everybody presumably sane. capital place for children--cricket for boys--shrimping for girls--bare legs--picturesque dress--not much caught--salt water good for ankles--excellent bathing--rows of bathing-tents--admirable notion! interesting excursions--arundel castle--bramber--bognor--chichester --petworth house! good things to eat--arundel mullet--amberley trout --tarring figs! delightful air--omnipotent ozone--uninterrupted quiet--just the place to recover your balance, either mental or monetary--i wish to recover both--that's the reason i'm here--send cheque at once to complete cure.[ ] [footnote :] we have sent him the price of a third-class fare to town, with orders to return instantly: possibly this is hardly the sort of check that our friend "j. j." expected.--ed. [illustration: ramsgate] iii.--scarborough. long way from london--no matter--fast train--soon here--once here don't wish to leave--palatial hotels--every luxury--good _tables d'hôte_--pleasant balls--lively society! exhilarating air--good as champagne without "morning after"--up early--go to bed late--authorities provide something better than a broken-down pier, a circulating library, and a rickety bathing-machine--authorities disburse large sums for benefit of visitors--visitors spend lots of money in town--mutual satisfaction--place crowded--capital bands--excellent theatricals --varied entertainments--right way to do it! the spa--first discovered --people been discovering it ever since--some drink it--more walk on it--lounge on it--smoke on it--flirt on it--wonderful costumes in the morning--more wonderful in the afternoon--most wonderful in the evening! north sands--south sands--fine old castle well placed--picturesque old town--well-built modern terraces, squares and streets--pony-chaises--riding-horses--lift for lazy ones! capital excursions--oliver's mount--carnelian bay--scalby mill--hackness--wykeham--filey! delightful gardens--secluded seats --hidden nooks--shady bowers--well-screened corners--northern belles--bright eyes--soft nothings--eloquent sighs--squozen hands--before you know where you are--ask papa--all up--dangerous very! overcome by feelings--can't write any more--friend asks me to drink waters--query north chalybeate or south salt well--wonder which--if in doubt try soda qualified with brandy--good people scarce--better run no risk! [illustration: a cutter making for the peer head] * * * * * costume in keeping.--"of all sweet things", said bertha, "for the seaside, give me a serge." the ancient mariner shook his head. he didn't see the joke. * * * * * board and lodging!--_landlady._ "yes, sir, the board were certingly to be a guinea a week, but i didn't know as you was a-going to bathe in the sea before breakfast and take bottles of tonic during the day!" * * * * * [illustration: the donkeys' holiday with compliments to the s.p.c.a.] * * * * * [illustration: labelled!] * * * * * [illustration: naughtical? _yachting friend_ (_playfully_). "have you any experience of squalls, brown?" _brown._ "squalls!" (_seriously._) "my dear sir, i've brought up ten in family!"] * * * * * [illustration: social beings wearied by london dissipation, the marjoribanks browns go, for the sake of perfect quiet, to that picturesque little watering-place, shrimpington-super-mare, where they trust that they will not meet a single soul they know. oddly enough, the cholmondeley joneses go to the same spot with the same purpose. now, these joneses and browns cordially detest each other in london, and are not even on speaking terms; yet such is the depressing effect of "perfect quiet" that, as soon as they meet at shrimpington-super-mare, they rush into each other's arms with a wild sense of relief!] * * * * * [illustration: hearts of oak _angelina_ (_who has never seen a revolving light before_). "how patient and persevering those sailors must be, edwin! the wind has blown that light out six times since they first lit it, and they've lighted it again each time!"] * * * * * [illustration: shanklin] * * * * * [illustration: scilly] * * * * * [illustration: hayling island] * * * * * [illustration: mumbles] * * * * * [illustration: "now, mind, if any of those nasty people with cameras come near, you're to send them away!"] * * * * * seaside solitude highburybarn-on-sea (_from our special commissioner_) [illustration: a cutter rounding the buoy] dear mr. punch,--this is a spot, which, according to your instructions, i reached last evening. in these same instructions you described it as "a growing place." i fancy it must be of the asparagus order, that vegetable, as you are well aware, taking three years in which to develop itself to perfection. highburybarn-on-sea is, i regret to say, in the first stage--judged from an asparagus point of view. i cannot entertain the enthusiastic description of the candid correspondent (i refer to the cutting forwarded by you from an eminent daily paper under the heading, "by the golden ocean.") he describes it as "an oasis on the desert coast of great britain." far be it from me to deny the desert--all i object to is the oasis. [illustration: limpets] i ask you, sir, if you ever, in the course of the travels in which you have out-rivalled stanley, cameron, livingstone, harry de windt, and, may i add, de rougemont, ever came across an oasis, consisting of two score villas, built with scarcely baked bricks, reposing on an arid waste amid a number of tumbled-down cottages, and surmounted by a mighty workhouse-like hotel looking down on a pre-adamite beershop? the sky was blue, the air was fresh, the waves had retreated to sea when i arrived in a jolting omnibus at highburybarn-on-sea, and deposited myself and luggage at the metropolitan hotel. a page-boy was playing airs on a jew's-harp when i alighted on the sand-driven steps of the hostelry. he seemed surprised at my arrival, but in most respectful fashion placed his organ of minstrelsy in his jacket pocket, the while he conveyed my gladstone bag to my apartment, secured by an interview with an elderly dame, who gave an intelligent but very wan smile when i suggested dinner. she referred me to the head waiter. this functionary pointed in grandiose fashion to the coffee-room, wherein some artistic wall-papering wag had committed atrocities on which it would be libel to comment. [illustration: taking a dip and getting a blow] there was only one occupant, a short clean-shaven gentleman with white hair and a red nose, who was apparently chasing space. this turned out to be a militant blue-bottle. meantime, the head-waiter produced his bill of fare, or rather the remains of it. nearly every dish had apparently been consumed, for the most tempting _plats_ were removed from the _menu_ by a liberal application of red pencil. finally, i decided on a fried sole and a steak. the white-haired man still pursued the blue-bottle. i went up to my room, and after washing with no soap i returned to the coffee-room. the blue-bottle still had the best of it. the head-waiter, after the lapse of an hour, informed me that the sole would not be long. when it arrived, i found that he spoke the truth. if you have any recollection of the repast which _porthos_ endured when entertained by _madame coquenard_, you will have some notion of my feast. the head-waiter told me that some bare-legged persons who had waded into the water were shrimp-catchers. i only wished that i were one of them, for at least they found food. [illustration: birchington] later on i retired to rest. i was visited in the hours of darkness, to which i had consigned myself, by a horde of mosquitoes, imported, so i was informed in the morning, by american travellers, who never tipped the waiters. i fulfilled their obligations, still gazing on the auburn sand-drift, still looking on the sea, still feeling hungry and murmuring to myself, "highburybarn-on-sea would be a capital place for children, if i could only see any cows." a melancholy cocoa-nut shy by the station appeared to afford all the milk in the place. yours despondently, nibblethorpe nobbs. * * * * * embarrassment of riches: margate.--_mother._ "now, tommy, which would you rather do--have a donkey ride or watch father bathe?" * * * * * [illustration: _bathing woman._ "master franky wouldn't cry! no! not he!--he'll come to his martha, and bathe like a man!"] * * * * * [illustration: the bathing question master tommy is emphatically of the opinion that the sexes ought not to bathe together.] * * * * * [illustration: whitborough. low tide. arrival of the scarby steamer] * * * * * [illustration: "denudation" _niece_ (_after a header_). "oh, aunt, you're not coming in with your spectacles on?" _aunt clarissa_ (_who is not used to bathe in the "open"_). "my dear, i positively won't take off anything more, i'm determined!!"] * * * * * to the first bathing-machine (_after wordsworth_) [illustration: moorings] o blank new-comer! i have seen, i see thee with a start: so gentle looking a machine, infernal one thou art! when first the sun feels rather hot, or even rather warm, from some dim, hibernating spot rolls forth thy clumsy form. perhaps thou babblest to the sea of sunshine and of flowers; thou bringest but a thought to me of such bad quarter hours. i, grasping tightly, pale with fear, thy very narrow bench, thou, bounding on in wild career, all shake, and jolt, and wrench. till comes an unexpected stop; my forehead hits the door, and i, with cataclysmic flop, lie on thy sandy floor. then, dressed in nature's simplest style, i, blushing, venture out; and find the sea is still a mile away, or thereabout. blithe little children on the sand laugh out with childish glee; their nurses, sitting near at hand, all giggling, stare at me. unnerved, unwashed, i rush again within thy tranquil shade, and wait until the rising main shall banish child and maid. thy doors i dare not open now, thy windows give no view; 'tis late; i will not bathe, i vow; i dress myself anew. * * * * * [illustration: "thalatta! thalatta!" _general chorus_ (_as the children's excursion nears its destination_). "oh, i say! there's the sea! 'ooray!!" _small boy._ "i'll be in fust!"] * * * * * how to enjoy a holiday _a social contrast_ [illustration: ile of man] i.--the wrong way _pater._ here at last! a nice reward for a long and tedious journey! _mater._ well, you were always complaining in town. _pater._ broken chairs, rickety table, and a hideous wall-paper! _mater._ well, i didn't buy the chairs, make the table, or choose the wall-paper. discontent is your strong point. _pater._ and is likely to remain so. really, that german band is unbearable! _mater._ my dear, you have no ear for music. why, you don't even care for my songs! you used to say you liked them once. _pater._ so i did--thirty years ago! _mater._ before our marriage! and i have survived thirty years! _pater._ eh? what do you mean by that, madam? _mater._ anything you please. but come--dinner's ready. _pater._ dinner! the usual thing, i suppose--underdone fish and overdone meat! _mater._ well, i see that you are determined to make the best of everything, my dear! _pater._ i am glad you think so, my darling! [_and so they sit down to dinner._ ii.--the right way. _pater._ here at last! what a charming spot! a fitting sequel to a very pleasant journey! _mater._ and yet you are very fond of town! _pater._ this room reminds me of my own cozy study. venerable chairs, a strange old table, and a quaintly-designed wall-paper. _mater._ well, i think if i had had to furnish the house, i should have chosen the same things myself. but had they been ever so ugly, i feel sure that you would have liked them. you know, sir, that content is your strong point. _pater._ i am sure that i shall find no opportunity of getting any merit (after the fashion of _mark tapley_) for being contented in this pleasant spot. what a capital german band! _mater._ i don't believe that you understand anything about music, sir. why, you even pretend that you like my old songs! _pater._ and so i do. every day i live i like them better and better. and yet i heard them for the first time thirty years ago! _mater._ when we were married! and so i have survived thirty years! _pater._ eh? what do you mean by that, madam? _mater._ that i am a living proof that kindness never kills. how happy we have been! but come--dinner's ready. _pater._ dinner! the usual thing, i suppose--a nice piece of fish and a juicy joint. now, that's just what i like. so much better than our pretentious london dinners! not that a london dinner is not very good in its proper place. _mater._ well, i see that you are determined to make the best of everything, my dear. _pater._ i am glad you think so, my darling! [_and so they sit down to dinner._ * * * * * [illustration: a goat and two kids] * * * * * [illustration: awful scene on the chain pier, brighton _nursemaid._ "lawk! there goes charley, and he's took his mar's parasol. what _will_ missus say?"] * * * * * [illustration: _temperance enthusiast._ "look at the beautiful lives our first parents led. do you suppose _they_ ever gave way to strong drink?" _the reprobate._ "i 'xpect eve must 'a' done. she saw snakes!"] * * * * * [illustration: a powerful quartet (at all events it looks and sounds like one)] * * * * * [illustration] sweets of the seaside. _shingleton, near dulborough._ sympathising mr. punch, with the desire of enjoying a few days of tranquillity and a few dips in the sea, i have arrived and taken lodgings at this "salubrious watering-place" (as the guide-books choose to call it), having heard that it was quiet, and possessed of a steep, cleanly, and bathe-inviting beach. as to the latter point, i find that fame has not belied it; but surely with a view to tempt me into suicide, some demon must have coupled the term "quiet" with this place. quiet! gracious powers of darkness! if this be your idea of a quiet spot to live in, i wonder what, according to your notion, need be added to its tumult to make a noisy town. here is a list of aural tortures wherewith we are tormented, which may serve by way of time-table to advertise the musical attractions of the place:-- a.m.--voices of the night. revellers returning home. . a.m.--duet, "_io t'amo_", squealed upon the tiles, by the famous feline vocalists mademoiselle minette and signor catterwaulini. a.m.--barc-arole and chorus, "_bow wow wow_" (bach), by the bayers of the moon. a.m.--song without words, by the early village cock. . a.m.--chorus by his neighbours, high and low, mingling the treble of the bantam with the brahma's thorough bass. [illustration: enjoying the height of the seas-on] a.m.--twittering of swallows, and chirping of early birds, before they go to catch their worms. . a.m.--meeting of two natives, of course _just_ under your window, who converse in a stage-whisper at the tip-top of their voices. a.m.--stampede of fishermen, returning from their night's work in their heavy boots. a.m.--start of shrimpers, barefooted, but occasionally bawling. a.m.--shutters taken down, and small boys sally forth and shout to one another from the two ends of the street. . a.m.--"so-holes! fine fresh so-holes!" . a.m.--"mack'reel! fower a shillun! ma-a-ack'reel!" a.m.--piano play begins, and goes on until midnight. . a.m.--barrel-organ at the corner. banjo in the distance. a.m.--german band to right of you. ophicleide out of time, clarionette out of tune. . a.m.--"pa-aper, mornin' pa-aper! _daily telegraft!_" . a.m.--german band to left of you. clarionette and cornet both out of time and tune. . a.m.--a key-bugler and a bag-piper a dozen yards apart. a.m.--performance of punch and toby, who barks more than is good for him. . a.m.--bellowing black-faced ballad-bawlers, with their banjoes and their bones. such is our daily programme of music until noon, and such, with sundry variations, it continues until midnight. small wonder that i have so little relish for my meals, and that, in spite of the sea air, i can hardly sleep a wink. i shall return to town to-morrow, for surely all the street tormentors must be out of it, judging by the numbers that now plague the sad seaside. miserrimus. * * * * * [illustration: redcar] * * * * * [illustration: meeting of the old and new peers at brighton] * * * * * [illustration: walton on the naze] * * * * * [illustration: "the meat supply" _bathing-man._ "yes, mum, he's a good old 'orse yet. and he's been in the salt water so long, he'll make capital biled beef when we're done with him!!!"] * * * * * _our poetess._ "do not talk to me of dinner, edwin. i must stay by this beautiful sea, and _drink it all in_!" _bill the boatman._ "lor! she's a thirsty one too!" * * * * * [illustration: how to kill time at the seaside hire bath-chairs, put the bath-chairmen inside, and drag them as fast as you can up and down the parade.] * * * * * [illustration: inopportune _enthusiast of the "no hat brigade"_ (_to elderly gentleman, who has just lost his hat_). "fine idea this, sir, for the hair, eh?"] * * * * * [illustration: _jones._ "hullo, brown, what's the matter with you and mrs. brown?" _brown._ "matter? why, do you know what they call us down here? they call us beauty and the beast! now i should like to know what my poor wife has done to get such a name as that!"] * * * * * the treacherous tide [illustration] i sat on a slippery rock, in the grey cliff's opal shade, and the wanton waves went curvetting by like a roystering cavalcade. and they doffed their crested plumes, as they kissed the blushing sand, till her rosy face dimpled over with smiles at the tricks of the frolicsome band. then the kittywake laughed, "ha! ha!" and the sea-mew wailed with pain, as she sailed away on the shivering wind to her home o'er the surging main. and the jelly-fish quivered with rage, while the dog-crabs stood by to gaze, and the star-fish spread all her fingers abroad, and sighed for her grandmothers' days. and the curlew screamed, "fie! fie!" and the great gull groaned at the sight, and the albatross rose and fled with a shriek to her nest on the perilous height. * * * * * good gracious! the place where i sat with sea-water was rapidly filling, and a hoarse voice cried, "sir, you're caught by the tide! and i'll carry ye off for a shilling!" * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: a sail over the bay] * * * * * "local colour."--place: south parade, cheapenham-on-sea.--_edith._ "mabel dear, would you get me _baedeker's switzerland_ and the last number of the _world_." _mabel._ "what do you want _them_ for?" _edith._ "oh, i'm writing letters, and we're in the engadine, you know, and i just want to describe some of our favourite haunts, and mention a few of the people who are staying there--here, i mean." * * * * * [illustration: scent bees] * * * * * the lay of the last lodger [illustration] i. oh dreary, dreary, dreary me! my jaw is sore with yawning-- i'm weary of the dreary sea, with its roaring beach where sea-gulls screech, and shrimpers shrimp, and limpets limp, and winkles wink, and trousers shrink; and the groaning, moaning, droning tide goes splashing and dashing from side to side, with all its might, from morn to night, and from night to morning's dawning. ii. the shore's a flood of puddly mud, and the rocks are limy and slimy-- and i've tumbled down with a thud--good lud!-- and i fear i swore, for something tore; and my shoes are full of the stagnant pool; and hauling, sprawling, crawling crabs have got in my socks with star-fish and dabs; and my pockets are swarming with polypes and prawns, and noisome beasts with shells and horns, that scrunch and scrape, and goggle and gape, are up my sleeve, i firmly believe-- and i'm horribly rimy and grimy. iii. i'm sick of the strand, and the sand, and the band, and the niggers and jiggers and dodgers; and the cigars of rather doubtful brand; and my landlady's "rights", and the frequent fights on wretched points of ends of joints, which disappear, with my brandy and beer, in a way that, to say the least, is queer. and to mingle among the throng i long, and to poke my joke and warble my song-- but there's no one near on sands or pier, for everyone's gone and i'm left alone, the last of the seaside lodgers! * * * * * [illustration: filey] * * * * * note by our man out of town--watering places--resorts where the visitor is pumped dry. * * * * * [illustration: a startling proposition _seedy individual_ (_suddenly and with startling vigour_)-- "aoh! floy with me ercross ther sea, ercross ther dork lergoon!!" ] * * * * * [illustration: crowded state of lodging houses _lodging-house keeper._ "on'y this room to let, mem. a four-post--a tent--and a very comfortable double-bedded chest of drawers for the young gentlemen."] * * * * * a wet day at the seaside why does not some benefactor to his species discover and publish to a grateful world some rational way of spending a wet day at the seaside? why should it be something so unutterably miserable and depressing that its mere recollection afterwards makes one shudder? this is the first really wet day that we have had for a fortnight, but what a day! from morn to dewy eve, a summer's day, and far into the black night, the pitiless rain has poured and poured and poured. i broke the unendurable monotony of gazing from the weeping windows of my seaside lodging, by rushing out wildly and plunging madly into the rainy sea, and got drenched to the skin both going and returning. after changing everything, as people say but don't mean, and thinking i saw something like a break in the dull leaden clouds, i again rushed out, and called on jones, who has rooms in an adjacent terrace, and, with some difficulty, persuaded him to accompany me to the only billiard table in the miserable place. we both got gloriously wet on our way to this haven of amusement, and were received with the pleasing intelligence that it was engaged by a private party of two, who had taken it until the rain ceased, and, when that most improbable event happened, two other despairing lodgers had secured the reversion. another rush home, another drenching, another change of everything, except the weather, brought the welcome sight of dinner, over which we fondly lingered for nearly two mortal hours. but one cannot eat all day long, even at the seaside on a wet day, and accordingly at four o'clock i was again cast upon my own resources. i received, i confess, a certain amount of grim satisfaction at seeing brown--bumptious brown, as we call him in the city, he being a common councilman, or a liveryman, or something of that kind--pass by in a fly, with heaps of luggage and children, all looking so depressingly wet,--and if he had not the meanness to bring with him, in a half-dozen hamper, six bottles of his abominable gladstone claret! he grinned at me as he passed, like a chester cat, i think they call that remarkable animal, and i afterwards learnt the reason. he had been speculating for a rise in wheat, and, as he vulgarly said, the rain suited his book, and he only hoped it would last for a week or two! ah! the selfishness of some men! what cared he about my getting wet through twice in one day, so long as it raised the price of his wretched wheat? my wife coolly recommended me to read the second volume of a new novel she had got from the library, called, i think, _east glynne_, or some such name, but how can a man read in a room with four stout healthy boys and a baby, especially when the said baby is evidently very uncomfortable, and the four boys are playing at leap-frog? women have this wonderful faculty, my wife to a remarkable extent. i have often, with unfeigned astonishment, seen her apparently lost in the sentimental troubles of some imaginary heroine, while the noisy domestic realities around her have gone on unheeded. i again took my place at the window, and gazed upon the melancholy sea, and remembered, with a smile of bitter irony, how i had agreed to pay an extra guinea a week for the privilege of facing the sea!--and such a sea! it was, of course, very low water--it generally is at this charming place; and the sea had retired to its extremest distance, as if utterly ashamed of its dull, damp, melancholy appearance. and there stood that ridiculous apology for a pier, with its long, lanky, bandy legs, on which i have been dragged every evening to hear the band play. such a band! the poor wheezy cornet was bad enough, but the trombone, with its two notes that it jerked out like the snorts of a starting train, was a caution. oh! that poor "_sweetheart_", with which we were favoured every evening! i always pictured her to myself sitting at a window listening, enraptured, to a serenade from that trombone! but there's no band to-night, not a solitary promenader on the bandy-legged pier, i even doubt if the pier master is sitting as usual at the receipt of custom, and i pull down the blind, to shut out the miserable prospect, with such an energetic jerk that i bring down the whole complicated machinery, and nearly frighten baby into a fit, while the four irreverent boys indulge in a loud guffaw. thank goodness, on saturday i exchange our miserable, wheezy, asthmatic band for the grand orchestra of the covent garden promenade concerts, and the awful perfume of rotten seaweed for the bracing atmosphere of glorious london. an outsider. * * * * * [illustration: boatman securing a lively-hood] * * * * * [illustration: on his honeymoon too! _man with sand ponies._ "now then, mister, you an' the young lady, a pony apiece? 'ere y'are!" _snobley_ (_loftily_). "aw--i'm not accustomed to that class of animal." _man_ (_readily_). "ain't yer, sir? ne' mind." (_to boy._) "'ere, bill, look sharp! gent'll have a donkey!"] * * * * * seaside splitters [illustration: low-tied rocks see-weed muscle gatherers a knaw wester high tied] * * * * * [illustration: life would be pleasant, but for its "pleasures."--_sir cornewall lewis_ in consequence of the english watering-places being crowded, people are glad to find sleeping accommodation in the bathing-machines. _boots_ (_from jones's hotel_). "i've brought your shaving water, sir; and you'll please to take care of your boots on the steps, gents: the tide's just a comin' in!"] * * * * * [illustration: returning home from the seaside all the family have colds, except the under-nurse, who has a face-ache. poor materfamilias, who originated the trip, is in despair at all the money spent for nothing, and gives way to tears. paterfamilias endeavours to console her with the reflection that "_he_ knew how it would be, but that, after all, st. john's wood, where they live, is such a healthy place that, with care and doctoring, they _will soon be nearly as well as if they had never left it_!" [_two gay bachelors may be seen contemplating paterfamilias and his little group. their interest is totally untinged with envy._ ] * * * * * [illustration: overheard at scarborough "do you know anything good for a cold?" "yes." "what is it?" "have you got the price of two scotch whiskies on you?" "no." "then it's no use my telling you."] * * * * * [illustration: _snobson_ (_to inhabitant of out-of-way seaside resort_). "what sort of people do you get down here in the summer?" _inhabitant._ "oh, all sorts, zur. there be fine people an' common people, an' some just half-an'-half, like yourself, zur."] * * * * * [illustration: the oysters at whitstable frozen in their beds! (_see daily papers_)] * * * * * [illustration: a delicious dip. _bathing attendant._ "here, bill! the gent wants to be took out deep--take 'im _into the drain_!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _she._ "how much was old mr. baskerville's estate sworn at by his next-of-kin?" _he._ "oh--a pretty good lot." _she._ "really? why, i heard he died worth hardly anything!" _he._ "yes, so he did--that's just it."] * * * * * [illustration: evidence olfactory _angelina_ (_scientific_). "do you smell the iodine from the sea, edwin? isn't it refreshing?" _old salt_ (_overhearing_). "what you smell ain't the sea, miss. it's the town drains as flows out just 'ere!"] * * * * * [illustration: obliging. _excursionist_ (_to himself_). "ullo! 'ere's one o' them artists. 'dessay 'e'll want a genteel figger for 'is foreground. i'll _stand for 'im_!!!"] * * * * * true dipsomania.--overbathing at the seaside. * * * * * an idle holiday. when the days are bright and hot, in the month of august, when the sunny hours are not marred by any raw gust, then i turn from toil with glee, sing a careless canto, and to somewhere by the sea carry my portmanteau. shall i, dreaming on the sand, pleased with all things finite, envy jones who travels and climbs an apennine height-- climbs a rugged peak with pain, literally speaking, only to descend again fagged with pleasure-seeking? smith, who, worn with labour, went off for rest and leisure, races round the continent in pursuit of pleasure: having lunched at bâle, he will at lucerne his tea take, riding till he's faint and ill, tramping till his feet ache. shall i, dreaming thus at home, left ashore behind here, envy restless men who roam seeking what i find here? since beside my native sea, where i sit to woo it, pleasure always comes to me, why should i pursue it? * * * * * [illustration: the murmur of the tied] * * * * * extra special.--_paterfamilias_ (_inspecting bill, to landlady_). i thought you said, mrs. buggins, when i took these apartments, that there were no extras, but here i find boots, lights, cruets, fire, table-linen, sheets, blankets and kitchen fire charged. _mrs. buggins._ lor' bless you, sir, they're not extras, but necessaries. _paterfamilias._ what, then, do you consider extras? _mrs. buggins._ well, sir, that's a difficult question to answer, but i should suggest salad oil, fly-papers, and turtle soup. [_paterfamilias drops the subject and pays his account._ * * * * * [illustration: suspicion _stout visitor_ (_on discovering that, during his usual nap after luncheon, he has been subjected to a grossly personal practical joke_). "it's one o' those dashed artists that are staying at the 'lord nelson' 'a' done this, i know!"] * * * * * [illustration: _aunt jane._ "it's wonderful how this wireless telegraphy is coming into use!"] * * * * * [illustration: a dream of the sea ethel, who is not to have a seaside trip this year, dreams every night that she and her mamma and aunt and sisters spread their sash-bows and panniers and fly away to the yellow sands.] * * * * * the margate bathing-woman's lament it nearly broke my widowed art, when first i tuk the notion, that parties didn't as they used, take reglar to the ocean. the hinfants, darling little soles, still cum quite frequent, bless 'em! but they is only sixpence each, which hardly pays to dress 'em. the reason struck me all at once, says i, "it's my opinion, the grown-up folks no longer bathes because of them vile sheenions." the last as cum drest in that style, says, as she tuk it horf her, "i'm sure i shall not know the way to re-arrange my quoffur!" by which she ment the ed of air, which call it wot they will, sir; cum doubtless off a convict at millbank or pentonville, sir. the parliament should pass a law, which there's sufficient reason; that folks as wear the sheenions should bathe reg'lar in the season. * * * * * [illustration: a lancashire watering-place] * * * * * "merry margit" (_another communication from the side of the dear sea waves_) i was told it was greatly improved--that there were alterations in the sea-front suggestive of the best moments of the thames embankment--that quite "smart" people daily paraded the pier. so having had enough of "urn-bye", i moved on. the improvements scarcely made themselves felt at the railway station. seemingly they had not attracted what mr. jeames would call "the upper suckles." there were the customary british middle-class matron from peckham, looking her sixty summers to the full in a sailor hat; the seaside warrior first cousin to the billiard-marker captain with flashy rings, beefy hands, and a stick of pantomime proportions, and the theatrical lady whose connection with the stage i imagine was confined to capering before the footlights. however, they all were there, as i had seen them any summer these twenty years. but i had been told to go to the pier, and so to the pier i went, glancing on my way at the entertainers on the sands, many of whom i found to be old friends. amongst them was the "h"-less phrenologist, whose insight into character apparently satisfied the parents of any child whose head he selected to examine. thus, if he said that a particularly stupid-looking little boy would make a good architect, schoolmaster, or traveller for fancy goods, a gentleman in an alpaca-coat and a wide-awake hat would bow gratified acquiescence, a demonstration that would also be evoked from a lady in a dust cloak, when the lecturer insisted that a giggling little girl would make a "first-rate dressmaker and cutter-out." arrived at the pier, i found there was twopence to pay for the privilege of using the extension, which included a restaurant, a band, some talented fleas, and a shop with a window partly devoted to the display of glass tumblers, engraved with legends of an amusing character, such as "good old mother-in-law", "jack's night cap", "aunt julia's half pint", and so on. there were a number of seats and shelters, and below the level of the shops was a landing-stage, at which twice a day two steamers from or to london removed or landed passengers. during the rest of the four-and-twenty hours it seemed to be occupied by a solitary angler, catching chiefly seaweed. the band, in spite of its uniform, was not nearly so military as that at "urn bye." it contained a pianoforte--an instrument upon which i found the young gentleman who sold the programmes practising during a pause between the morning's selection and the afternoon's performances. but still the band was a very tuneful one, and increased the pleasure that the presence of so many delightful promenaders was bound to produce. many of the ladies who walked round and round, talking courteously to 'arry in all his varieties, wore men's _habits_, _pur et simple_ (giving them the semblance of appearing in their shirt-sleeves), while their heads were adorned with fair wigs and sailor hats, apparently fixed on together. these free-and-easy-looking damsels did not seem to find favour in the eyes of certain other ladies of a sedater type, who regarded them (over their novels) with undisguised contempt. these other ladies, i should think, from their conversation and appearance, must have been the very flowers of the flock of brixton rise, and the _crème de la crême_ of peckham rye society. of course there were a number of more or less known actors and actresses from london, some of them enjoying a brief holiday, and others engaged in the less lucrative occupation of "resting." however, the dropping of "h's", even to the accompaniment of sweet music, sooner or later becomes monotonous, and so, after awhile, i was glad to leave the pier for the attractions of the upper cliff. on my way i passed a palace of pleasure or varieties, or something wherein a twopenny wax-work show seemed at the moment to be one of its greatest attractions. this show contained a chamber of horrors, a scene full of quiet humour of napoleon the third lying in state, and an old effigy of george the third. the collection included the waxen head of a nonconformist minister, who, according to the lecturer, had been "wery good to the poor", preserved in a small deal-box. there was also the "key-dyevie" of egypt, general gordon, and mrs. maybrick. tearing myself away from these miscellaneous memories of the past, i ascended to the east cliff, which had still the "apartments-furnished" look that was wont to distinguish it of yore. there was no change there; and as i walked through the town, which once, as a watering-place, was second only in importance to bath,--which a century ago had for its m.c. a rival of beau nash,--i could not help thinking how astonished the ghosts of the fine ladies and gentlemen who visited "meregate" in must be, if they are able to see their successors of to-day--"good old chawlie cadd", and miss topsie stuart plantagenet, _née_ tompkins. * * * * * [illustration: deal] * * * * * [illustration: "nice for the visitors" (sketch outside a fashionable hotel)] * * * * * [illustration: _boy_ (_to brown, who is exceedingly proud of his sporting appearance_). "want a donkey, mister?"] * * * * * [illustration: incorrigible _visitor._ "well, my man, i expect it must have cost you a lot of money to paint your nose that colour!" _reprobate._ "ah, an' if oi cud affoord it, oi'd have it _varnished_ now!"] * * * * * [illustration: "no accounting for taste" _materfamilias_ (_just arrived at shrimpville--the children had been down a month before_). "well, jane, have you found it dull?" _nurse._ "it was at fust, m'm. there was nothink to improve the mind, m'm, till the niggers come down!!"] * * * * * [illustration: by the sad sea waves "but, are you sure?" "yus, lady. 'e's strong as an 'orse!" "but how am i to get on?" "oh, _i'll lift yer_!"] * * * * * [illustration: delicate attention _confiding spinster._ "i'm afraid the sea is too cold for me this morning, mr. swabber." _bathing man._ "cold, miss! lor' bless yer, i just took and powered a kittle o' bilin' water in to take the chill off when i see you a comin'!"] * * * * * [illustration: holiday pleasures _injured individual._ "heigho! i _did_ think i should find some refuge from the miseries of the seaside in the comforts of a bed! just look where my feet are, maria!" _his wife._ "_well_, john! it's _only_ for a _month_, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: blighted hopes _extract of letter from laura to lillie_:--"i declare, dear, i never gave the absurd creature the slightest encouragement. i did say, one evening, i thought the little sandy coves about wobbleswick were charming, especially one. _the idea!_--of his thinking i was alluding to him!"----&c., &c.] * * * * * [illustration: sensitive "i think i told you, in my letter of the first of october, of his absurd interpretation of an innocent remark of mine about the sandy shores of wobbleswick. well, would you believe it, dear! we were strolling on the esplanade, the other day, when he suddenly left kate and me, and took himself off in a tremendous huff because we said we liked walking _with an object_!!" [_extract from a later letter of laura's to lillie._ ] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps "no bathing to-day!"] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps a nocturne which would seem to show that "residential flats" were not wholly unknown even in primeval times!] * * * * * [illustration: _blinks._ "the sun 'll be over the yard-arm in ten minutes. _then_ we'll have a drink!" _jinks._ "i think i'll have one while i'm waiting!"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a convalescent _tompkins_ (_in a feeble voice, for the fourth or fifth time, with no result_). "chairman!!! chairman!!!" _that awful boy._ "lydies and gentlemen----!!"] * * * * * seaside asides (_paterfamilias in north cornwall_) [illustration] oh! how delightful now at last to come away from town--its dirt, its degradation, its never-ending whirl, its ceaseless hum. (a long chalks better, though, than sheer stagnation.) for what could mortal man or maid want more than breezy downs to stroll on, rocks to climb up, weird labyrinthine caverns to explore? (there's nothing else to do to fill the time up.) your honest face here earns an honest brown, you ramble on for miles 'mid gorse and heather, sheep hold athletic sports upon the down (which makes the mutton taste as tough as leather). the place is guiltless, too, of horrid piers. and likewise is not christy-minstrel tooney; no soul-distressing strains disturb your ears. (a german band has just played "_annie rooney_".) the eggs as fresh as paint, the cornish cream the boys from school all say is "simply ripping." the butter, so the girls declare, "a dream." (the only baccy you can buy quite dripping.) a happiness of resting after strife, where one forgets all worldly pain and sorrow, and one contentedly could pass one's life. (a telegram will take _me_ home to-morrow.) * * * * * scene: margate beach on easter monday.--_first lady._ "oh, here comes a steamer. how high she is out of the water." _second lady._ "yes, dear, but don't you see? it's because the tide's so low." * * * * * [illustration: awkward _the aristocratic jones_ (_rather ashamed of his loud acquaintance, brown_). "you must excuse me, but if there's one thing in the world i particularly object to, it's to having anybody take my arm!" _brown._ "all right, old fellow!--_you_ take _mine_!"] * * * * * the seaside visitor's vade mecum. _question._ is it your intention to leave london at once to benefit by the ocean breezes on the english coast? _answer._ certainly, with the bulk of my neighbours. _q._ then the metropolis will become empty? _a._ practically, for only about three and a half millions out of the four millions will be left behind. _q._ what do you consider the remaining residuum? _a._ from a west end point of view a negligible quantity. _q._ do not some of the eastenders visit the seaside? _a._ yes, at an earlier period in the year, when they pay rather more for their accommodation than their neighbours of the west. _q._ how can this be, if it be assumed that the east is poorer than the west? _a._ the length of the visit is governed by the weight of the purse. belgravia stays a couple of months at eastbourne, while three days at margate is enough for shoreditch. _q._ has a sojourn by the sea waves any disadvantages? _a._ several. in the first instance, lodgings are frequently expensive and uncomfortable. then there is always a chance that the last lodgers may have occupied their rooms as convalescents. lastly, it is not invariably the case that the climate agrees with himself and his family. _q._ and what becomes of the house in town? _a._ if abandoned to a caretaker, the reception rooms may be used by her own family as best chambers, and if let to strangers, the furniture may be injured irretrievably. _q._ but surely in the last case there would be the certainty of pecuniary indemnity? _a._ cherished relics cannot be restored by their commonplace value in money. _q._ then, taking one thing with another, the benefit of a visit to the seaside is questionable? _a._ assuredly; and an expression of heartfelt delight at the termination of the outing and the consequent return home is the customary finish to the, styled by courtesy, holiday. _q._ but has not the seaside visit a compensating advantage? _a._ the seaside visit has a compensating advantage of overwhelming proportions, which completely swallows up and effaces all suggestions of discomfort--it is the fashion. * * * * * [illustration: paris? "not if i know it! give me a quiet month at the seaside, and leave me alone, please!"] * * * * * [illustration: conversational pitfalls _irene._ "do you remember kitty fowler?" _her friend._ "no, i don't." _irene._ "oh, you _must_ remember kitty. she was the plainest girl in torquay. but i forgot--that was after you left!"] * * * * * [illustration: _visitor._ "have you ever seen the sea-serpent?" _boatman._ "no, sir. i'm a temperance man."] * * * * * [illustration: separate interests _husband._ "hi! maria! take care of the paint!" _painter._ "it don't matter, ma'am. it'll all 'ave to be painted again!"] * * * * * [illustration: caution to young ladies who ride in crinoline on donkeys] * * * * * [illustration: margate _chatty visitor._ "i like the place. i always come here. 'worst of it is, it's a little too dressy!"] * * * * * [illustration: unlucky compliments _shy but susceptible youth._ "er--_could_ you tell me who that young lady is--sketching?" _affable stranger._ "she has the misfortune to be my wife!" _shy but susceptible one_ (_desperately anxious to please, and losing all presence of mind_). "oh--the misfortune's entirely _yours_, i'm _sure_!"] * * * * * brilliant suggestion (_overheard at the seaside_).--_she._ "so much nicer now that all the visitors have gone. don't you think so?" _he._ "yes, by jove! so jolly nice and quiet! often wonder that _everybody_ doesn't come now when there's nobody here, don't you know!" * * * * * [illustration: a nuisance. _miss priscilla._ "yes; it's a beautiful view. but tourists are in the habit of bathing on the opposite shore, and that's rather a drawback." _fair visitor._ "dear me! but at such a distance as that--surely----" _miss priscilla._ "ah, but with a _telescope_, you know!"] * * * * * the seaside photographer [illustration] i do not mean the kodak fiend, who takes snap-shots of ladies dipping, and gloats o'er sundry views he's gleaned of amatory couples "tripping." no, not these playful amateurs i sing of, but the serious artist, who spreads upon the beach his lures, what time the season's at its smartest. his tongue is glib, his terms are cheap, for ninepence while you wait he'll take you; posterity shall, marv'lling, keep the "tin-type" masterpiece he'll make you. what though his camera be antique, his dark-room just a nose-bag humble, what if his tripod legs are weak, and threaten constantly to tumble. no swain nor maiden can withstand his invitation arch, insidious, to pose _al fresco_ on the strand-- his _clientèle_ are not fastidious. "you are so lovely", says the wretch, "your picture will be quite entrancing!" and to the lady in the sketch i overheard him thus romancing. * * * * * [illustration: the ruling passion _sir talbot howard vere de vere._ "ah! good morning, mrs. jones! dreadful accident just occurred. poor young lady riding along the king's road--horse took fright--reared, and fell back upon her--dreadfully injured, i'm sorry to say!" _mrs. woodbee swellington jones._ "_quite_ too shocking, dear sir talbot! was she--er--a person of position?" _sir talbot howard vere de vere._ "position, by george!! dooced uncomfortable position, too, i should say!"] * * * * * [illustration: for the public good _bertie._ "gertie, do just go back to the beach and fetch me a baby (you'll find a lot about), and i'll show you all the different ways of saving it from drowning!"] * * * * * annals of a watering-place that has "seen its day" [illustration: tynemouth] the weather which, in mr. dunstable's varied experience of five-and-twenty years, he assures me, has never been so bad, having at length afforded some indications of "breaking", i make the acquaintance, through mrs. cobbler, of mr. wisterwhistle, proprietor of the one bath-chair available for the invalid of torsington-on-sea, who, like myself, stands in need of the salubrious air of that health-giving resort, but who is ordered by his medical adviser to secure it with the least possible expenditure of physical strength. both mr. wisterwhistle and his chair are peculiar in their respective ways, and each has a decided history. mr. wisterwhistle, growing confidential over his antecedents, says, "you see, sir, i wasn't brought up to the bath-chair business, so to speak, for i began in the royal navy, under his majesty king william the fourth. then i took to the coastguard business, and having put by a matter of thirty pound odd, and hearing 'she' was in the market,"--mr. wisterwhistle always referred to his bath-chair as 'she,' evidently regarding it from the nautical stand-point as of the feminine gender,--"and knowing, saving your presence, sir, that old bloxer, of whom i bought her, had such a good crop of cripples the last season or two, that he often touched two-and-forty shillings a week with 'em, i dropped her majesty's service, and took to this 'ere. but, lor, sir, the business ain't wot it wos. things is changed woeful at torsington since i took her up. then from o'clock, as you might say, to p.m., every hour was took up; and, mind you, by real downright 'aristocracy,'--real live noblemen, with gout on 'em, as thought nothink of a two hours' stretch, and didn't 'aggle, savin' your presence, over a extra sixpence for the job either way. but, bless you, wot's it come to now? why, she might as well lay up in a dry dock arf the week, for wot's come of the downright genuine invalid, savin' your presence, blow'd if i knows. one can see, of course, sir, in arf a jiffy, as you is touched in the legs with the rheumatics, or summat like it; but besides you and a old gent on crutches from portland buildings, there ain't no real invalid public 'ere at all, and one can't expect to make a livin' out of you two; for if you mean to do the thing ever so 'ansome, it ain't reasonable to expect you and the old gent i was a referring to, to stand seven hours a day goin' up and down the esplanade between you, and you see even that at a bob an hour ain't no great shakes when you come to pay for 'ousing her and keepin' her lookin' spic and span, with all her brass knobs a shining and her leather apron fresh polished with patent carriage blackin': and lor, sir, you'd not b'lieve me if i was to tell you what a deal of show some parties expects for their one bob an hour. why, it was only the other day that lady glumpley (a old party with a front of black curls and yaller bows in her bonnet, as i dare say you've noticed me a haulin' up and down the parade when the band's a playin'), says to me, says she, 'it ain't so much the easygoin' of your chair, mr. wisterwhistle, as makes me patronise it, as its general genteel appearance. for there's many a chair at brighton that can't hold a candle to it!'" but at this point he was interrupted by the appearance of a dense crowd that half filled the street, and drew up in silent expectation opposite my front door. dear me, i had quite forgotten i had sent for him. but the boy who cleans the boots and knives has returned, and brought with him _the one policeman_! [illustration: indiaman going into port] * * * * * query at some fashionable seaside resort.--do the unpleasant odours noticeable at certain times arise from the fact of the tide being high? if so, is the tide sometimes higher than usual, as the--ahem!--odours certainly are? * * * * * [illustration: peril! _gruff voice_ (_behind her--she thought she heard her own name_). "she's a gettin' old, bill, and she sartain'y ain't no beauty! but you and i'll smarten her up! give her a good tarrin' up to the waist, and a streak o' paint, and they 'ont know her again when the folks come down a' whitsun'. come along, and let's ketch 'old of her, and shove her into the water fust of all!!" _miss isabella._ "oh! the horrid wretches! no policeman in sight! nothing for it but flight!" [is off like a bird! ] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps there were even then quiet spots by the sea where one could be alone with nature undisturbed] * * * * * [illustration: a sense of property _botanical old gent_ (_in the brighton gardens_). "can you tell me, my good man, if this plant belongs to the 'arbutus' family?" _gardener_ (_curtly_). "no, sir, it doan't. it b'longs to the corporation!"] * * * * * [illustration: the minor ills of life portrait of a gentleman attempting to regain his tent after the morning bath] * * * * * [illustration: mermaids' toilets in ' _blanche._ "i say, some of you, call after aunty! she has taken my _chignon_, and left me her horrid black one!"] * * * * * [illustration: low tide on scarborough sands--bathing under difficulties the captain, who is well up in his classics, translates, for his fanny's benefit, a celebrated latin poem (by one lucretius) to the effect that it is sweet to gaze from the cliff at the bathing machines vainly struggling to take the unfortunate bathers into deep water.] * * * * * [illustration: seaside puzzle to find your bathing-machine if you've forgotten the number] * * * * * [illustration: venus (anno domini ) rises from the sea!!] * * * * * seaside drama.--_mrs. de tomkyns_ (_sotto voce, to mr. de t._). "ludovic, dear, there's algernon playing with a strange child! _do_ prevent it!" _mr. de t._ (_ditto, to mrs. de t._). "how on earth am i to prevent it, my love?" _mrs. de t._ "tell its parents algernon is just recovering from scarlet fever, or something!" _mr. de t._ "but it isn't true!" _mrs. de t._ "oh, never mind! tell them, all the same!" _mr. de t._ (_aloud_). "ahem! sir, you'd better not let your little girl play with my little boy. he's only just recovering from--er--_scarlet fever_!" _mr. and mrs. jenkins_ (_together_). "it's all right, sir!--_so's our little gal!_" * * * * * [illustration: mixed bathing _fussy landlady_ (_to new lodger_). "well, sir, if you'll only tell me when you want a bath, _i'll see you have it_."] * * * * * by the seaside (_a gasp and a growl from paterfamilias fogey_) [illustration] in for it here, six weeks or more, once every year (yah, what a bore!) daughters and wife force me to bide mad to "see life" by the seaside! go out of town what if we do? hither comes down all the world too; vanity fair, fashion and pride, seeking fresh air by the seaside. drest up all hands-- raiment how dear!-- down on the sands, out on the pier, pace to and fro, see, as at ryde, off how they show by the seaside! fops and fine girls, swarm, brisk as bees; ribbons and curls float on the breeze; females and males eye and are eyed; ogling prevails by the seaside! daughters may see some fun in that. wife, how can she, grown old and fat? scene i survey but to deride, idle display by the seaside. views within reach, picturesque scenes, rocks on the beach, bathing machines, shingle and pools, left by the tide, youth, far from schools, by the seaside. artists may sketch, draw and design, pencil, or etch; not in my line. money, no end, whilst i am tied here, i must spend, by the seaside! * * * * * [illustration: _snooks_ (_to new acquaintance_). "tell yer what, look in one evenin' and 'ave a bit of supper, if you don't mind 'avin it in the kitchen. yer see, we're plain people, and don't put on no side. of course, i know as a toff like you 'ud 'ave it in the _drawing-room_!"] * * * * * [illustration: torquay (talkey)] * * * * * [illustration: hastings] * * * * * [illustration: gentility in greens _mrs. brown finds sandymouth a very different place from what she remembers it years ago._ _greengrocer._ "cabbage, mum!? we don't keep no second-class vegetables, mum. you'll get it at the lower end o' the town!"] * * * * * seaside views [illustration: kingswear] _tom jones_ (_in love_). the most heavenly place i ever was in. the sun is warmer, the sky bluer, the sea the calmest i ever knew. joy sparkles on every pebble; art spreads its welcome arms through every spray of seaweed. true happiness encircles me on every breeze, and beauty is by my side. _old jones._ beastly slow. all sea and sky, and ugly round stones. you can't bask in the sun because there is none--it's always raining--and because the flints worry your back. confound the children, scraping up the wet sand and smelling seaweeds! it must be time for them to go to bed or to lessons or something. wherever you sit there is sure to be a draught, and such heaps of old women you can't put your legs up on the seat. hang it all, there isn't a young girl in the place, let alone pretty ones. [illustration: o-shun shells!] _young brown_ (_waiting for a commission_). awfully dull. quite too excessively detestable. not a fellow to talk to, you know, who knows anything about the leger, or draw-poker, or modern education, you know. can't get introduced to lady tom peeper. nobody to do it. wish my moustache would curl. pull it all day, you know, but it won't come. lady tom smiled, on the parade to-day. got very red, but i shall smile too to-morrow. a man must do something in this dreadful place. _major brown_ (_heavies_). not half bad kind of diggings. quite in clover. found lydia here--i mean lady tom peeper. horribly satirical woman, though. keeps one up to the mark. i shall have to read up to keep pace with her. i shouldn't like to be chaffed by her. better friend than enemy. poor tom peeper! he must have a bad time of it! can't say "bo" to a gosling. and she knows it. that's why he never comes down here. coast clear. fancy she's rather sweet on me. by jove! we had a forty-mile-an-hour-express flirtation before her marriage! must take care what i'm about now. mustn't have a collision with tom--good old man, after all, if he is a fool. take this note round, charles, to the same place. [illustration: a cutter on the beech] _mrs. robinson_ (_materfamilias_). scarcely room to swing a cot, for baby. thank goodness, all the children are on the beach. i hope mary ann won't let out to the other nurses that totty had the scarlet fever. he's quite well now, poor little man, and no one will be any the worse for it. horrid! of course. no, it is not a colorado beetle, robinson. they infest the curtains; we did not bring them with us in our trunks. do go out and buy some insect-powder, instead of looking stupid behind that nasty cigar. oh, and get some soap and some tooth-powder, and order baby's tonic, and jane's iron--mind, sesqui-sulphate of iron (i suppose i must find the prescription), and a box of--what's that stuff for sore throats? and do hire a perambulator with a hood. and we have no dessert for to-morrow--you know, or you ought to know, it's sunday. some fruit, and what you like. oh! and don't forget some biscuits for the dog. what has become of tiny? tiny! tiny! i know he did not go with the children. i dare say he has eaten something horrid, and is dying under a chair. dear! dear! who would be mother of a family with such a careless, thoughtless, quite too utterly selfish husband as you are. of course you never remembered to-day was my birthday. i ought never to have been born. a bracelet or a pair of ear-rings--or, by the way, i saw a lovely châtelaine on the parade. you might find enough to give me one pleasure since our wedding. _robinson_ (_paterfamilias_). i like the seaside, i do. when will it be over? * * * * * [illustration: a sandy cove] * * * * * [illustration: a fragment augustus knows a certain snug retreat-- a little rocky cavern by the sea-- where, sheltered from the rain (and every eye), he fondly hopes to breathe his tale of love into his artless arabella's ear!...] * * * * * [illustration: longing for a new sensation _jack_ (_a naughty boy, who is always in disgrace, and most deservedly_). "i say, effie, do you know what i should like? i should like to be accused of something i'd never done!"] * * * * * [illustration: a lament _dowager._ "it's been the worst season i can remember, sir james! all the men seem to have got married, and none of the girls!"] * * * * * [illustration: joys of the seaside _brown._ "what beastly weather! and the glass is going steadily down!" _local tradesman._ "oh, that's nothing, sir. the glass has no effect whatever on _our_ part of the coast!"] * * * * * the better the day, the better the talk! [illustration: broad-stares] scene--_any fashionable watering-place where "church parade" is a recognised institution._ time--_sunday_, p.m. _enter_ brown _and_ mrs. brown, _who take chairs_. _mrs. brown._ good gracious! look another way! those odious people, the stiggingses, are coming towards us! _brown._ why odious? i think the girls rather nice. _mrs. b._ (_contemptuously_). oh, _you_ would, because men are so easily taken in! nice, indeed! why, here's major buttons. _b._ (_moving his head sharply to the right_). don't see him! can't stand the fellow! i always avoid him at the club! _mrs. b._ why? soldiers are always such pleasant men. _b._ (_contemptuously_). buttons a soldier! years ago he was a lieutenant in a marching regiment, and now holds honorary rank in the volunteers! soldier, indeed! bless me! here's mrs. fitz-flummery--mind you don't cut her. _mrs. b._ yes, i shall; the woman is unsupportable. did you ever see _such_ a dress. and she has changed the colour of her hair--again! _b._ whether she has or hasn't, she looks particularly pleasing. _mrs. b._ (_drily_). you were always a little eccentric in your taste! why, surely there must be mr. pennyfather robson. how smart he looks! where _can_ he have come from? _b._ the bankruptcy court! (_drily._) you were never particularly famous for discrimination. as i live, the plantagenet smiths! [_he bows with effusion._ _mrs. b._ and the stuart joneses. (_she kisses her hand gushingly_). by the way, dear, didn't you say that the plantagenet smiths were suspected of murdering their uncle before they inherited his property? _b._ so it is reported, darling. and didn't you tell me, my own, that the parents of mr. stuart jones were convicts before they became millionaires? _mrs. b._ so i have heard, loved one. (_starting up._) come, charley, we must be off at once! the goldharts! if they catch us, _she_ is sure to ask me to visit some of her sick poor! _b._ and _he_ to beg me to subscribe to an orphanage or a hospital! here, take your prayer-book, or people won't know that we have come from church! [_exeunt hurriedly._ * * * * * [illustration: row me o!] * * * * * [illustration: curlew] * * * * * at scarborough.--_miss araminta dove._ why do they call this the spa? _mr. rhino-ceros._ oh! i believe the place was once devoted to boxing exhibitions. [_miss a.d. as wise as ever._ * * * * * [illustration: "by the sad sea waves" _landlady_ (_who has just presented her weekly bill_). "i 'ope, ma'am, as you find the bracing hair agree with you, ma'am, and your good gentleman, ma'am!" _lady._ "oh, yes, our appetites are wonderfully improved! for instance, at home we only eat two loaves a day, and i find, from your account, that we can manage eight!" [_landlady feels uncomfortable._ ] * * * * * [illustration: rather difficult "oh, i say, here comes that dismal bore, bulkley! let's pretend _we don't see him_!"] * * * * * [illustration: pessimism _artist_ (_irritated by the preliminaries of composition and the too close proximity of an uninteresting native_). "i think you needn't wait any longer. there's really nothing to look at just now." _native._ "ay, an' i doot there'll _never_ be muckle to look at there!"] * * * * * the donkey-boys of england (_a song for the seaside_) [illustration] the donkey-boys of england, how merrily they fly, with pleasant chaff upon the tongue and cunning in the eye. and oh! the donkeys in a mass how patiently they stand, high on the heath of hampstead, or down on ramsgate's sand. the donkey-boys of england, how sternly they reprove the brute that won't "come over", with an impressive shove; and oh! the eel-like animals, how gracefully they swerve from side to side, but won't advance to spoil true beauty's curve. the donkey-boys of england, how manfully they fight, when a probable donkestrian comes suddenly in sight; from nurse's arms the babies are clutch'd with fury wild, and on a donkey carried off the mother sees her child. the donkey-boys of england, how sternly they defy the pleadings of a parent's shriek, the infant's piercing cry; as a four-year-old mazeppa is hurried from the spot, exposed to all the tortures of a donkey's fitful trot. the donkey-boys of england, how lustily they scream, when they strive to keep together their donkeys in a team; and the riders who are anxious to be class'd among genteels, have a crowd of ragged donkey-boys "hallooing" at their heels. the donkey-boys of england, how well they comprehend the animal to whom they act as master, guide, and friend; the understanding that exists between them who'll dispute-- or that the larger share of it falls sometimes to the brute? * * * * * [illustration: the jetty] * * * * * seaside acquaintances (scene--the shady side of pall mall).--_snob._ my lord, you seem to forget me. don't you recollect our meeting this summer at harrogate? _swell._ my dear fellow, i do not forget it in the least. i recollect vividly we swore eternal friendship at harrogate, and should it be my fate to meet you at harrogate next year, i shall only be too happy to swear it again. [_lifts his chapeau, and leaves snob in a state of the most speechless amazement._ * * * * * [illustration: portrait of a gentleman who sent his wife and family to the seaside, followed by a later train, and left their address behind. [_sketched after five hours' futile search for them._ ] * * * * * [illustration: a voice from the sea "o let me kiss him for his mother!"] * * * * * reasons for going to brighton (_by the cynic who stays in london_) [illustration: "ha! rich!"] because "everybody" is there, and it is consequently so pleasant to see st. john's wood, bayswater, and even belgravia, so well represented on the esplanade. because the shops in the king's road are _nearly_ as good as those to be found in regent street. because the sea does not _always_ look like the thames at greenwich in a fog. because some of the perambulating bands play very nearly in tune. because the drive from the aquarium to the new pier is quite a mile in length, and only grows monotonous after the tenth turn. because watching fish confined in tanks is such rollicking fun. because the hebrews are so numerously represented on the green. because the clubs are so inexpensive and select. because the management of the grand is so very admirable. because it is so pleasant to follow the harriers on a hired hack in company with other hired hacks. because the half-deserted skating rinks are so very amusing. because it is so nice to hear second-rate scandal about third-rate people. because the place is not always being visited by the scarlet fever. because it is so cheerful to see the poor invalids taking their morning airing in their bath-chairs. because the streets are paraded by so many young gentlemen from the city. because the brighton belles look so ladylike in their quiet ulsters and unpretending hats. because the suburbs are so very cheerful in the winter, particularly when it snows or rains. because on every holiday the railway company brings down such a very nice assortment of excursionists to fill the streets. because brighton in november is so very like margate in july. because, if you did not visit brighton, you might so very easily go farther and fare worse. * * * * * [illustration: weston-super-mare] * * * * * [illustration: scene--by the sad sea waves _tomkins, disconsolate on a rock, traces some characters upon the sand._ _to him, mrs. tomkins_ (_whose name is martha_). _mrs. t._ "well, mr. tomkins, and pray who may henrietta be?" [_tomkins utters a yell of despair, and falls prostrate._ ] * * * * * [illustration: a viking on modern fashion "what does t'lass want wi' yon _boostle_ for? it aren't big enough to _smoggle_ things, and she can't _steer_ herself wi' it!"] * * * * * the tripper (_by a resident_) what does he come for? what does he want? why does he wander thus careworn and gaunt? up street and down street with dull vacant stare, hither and thither, it don't matter where? what does he mean by it? why does he come hundreds of miles to prowl, weary and glum, blinking at kosmos with lack-lustre eye? he doesn't enjoy it, he don't even try! sunny or soaking, it's all one to him, wandering painfully-- curious whim! gazing at china-shops. gaping at sea, guzzling at beer-shops, or gorging at tea. why don't he stay at home, save his train fare, soak at his native beer, sunday clothes wear? no one would grudge it him, no one would jeer. why does he come away? why is he here? * * * * * [illustration: blackpool] * * * * * [illustration: brighton] * * * * * [illustration: margate] * * * * * [illustration: a slight misunderstanding _landlady._ "i hope you slept well, sir?" _new boarder._ "no, i didn't. i've been troubled with insomnia." _landlady._ "look here, young man. i'll give you a sovereign for every one you find in that bed!"] * * * * * [illustration: touching appeal _testy old gent._ (_wearied by the importunities of the brighton boatmen_). "confound it, man! do i _look_ as if i wanted a boat?"] * * * * * robert at the seaside i've bin spending my long wacation of a fortnite at northgate. northgate's a nice quiet place, northgate is, tho' it quite fails in most things that constitoots reel injoyment at the seaside, such as bands and niggers and minstrels and all that. it's a grand place for weather, for it generally blows hard at northgate, and wen it doesn't blow hard it rains hard, which makes a nice change, and a change is wot we all goes to the seaside for. it seems a werry favrite place for inwaleeds, for the place is full on 'em, bath cheers is in great demand and all the seats on the prade is allus occypied by 'em. dr. scratchem too sends most of his favrite cases there, and you can't walk on the peer without facing lots on 'em. brown says the place makes him as sollem as a common cryer, and he hasn't had a good hearty larf since he came here, but then brown isn't quite sattisfied with his lodgings, and has acshally recommended his land lady to turn her house into the norfolk howard hotel, _unlimited_, so perhaps she may account for his want of spirits. northgate's rather a rum place as regards the tide. wen it's eye it comes all over the place and makes such a jolly mess, and wen it's low it runs right out to sea and you can't see it. brown tried to persuade me as how as one werry eye tide was a spring tide, but as it was in september i wasn't so green as to beleeve that rubbish. it seems quite a pet place for artists, i mean sculpchers, at least i s'pose they must be sculpchers, and that they brings their moddels with 'em, for the bathing machines is stuck close to the peer, so dreckly after breakfast the moddels goes and bathes in the sea, and the sculpchers goes on the peer, and there's nothink to divert their attention from their interesting studdys, and many on 'em passes ours there quietly meditating among the bathing machines. brown says, in his sarcastic way, it's the poor sculpchers as comes here, who can't afford to pay for their moddels, so they comes here and gets 'em free gratis for nothink. there's sum werry nice walks in the nayberhood but i never walks 'em, for it seems to me that the grate joke of every buysicler and trysicler, and the place swarms with 'em, is to cum quietly behind you and see how close he can go by you without nocking you down. i'm sure the jumps and the starts and the frites as i had the fust day or too kep my art in my mouth till i thort it would have choked me. how ladys, reel ladys too, can expose theirselves on such things i can't make out. i herd a young swell say that wot with them and what with the bathing moddels it was as good as a burlesk! we've got werry cumferrabel lodgings, we have, just opposite the gas works and near a brick field. when the wind is south or west we smells the bricks and when its east we smells the gas, but when its doo north we don't smell nuffen excep just a trifle from the dranes, and so long as we keeps quite at the end of the werry long peer we don't smell nuffen at all excep the sea weed. our landlord's a werry respeckabel man and the stoker on our little railway, and so werry fond of nussing our little children that they are allus as black as young sweeps. their gratest treat is to go with him to the stashun and stand on the ingin when they are shuntin, so preshus little they gits of the sea breezes. we've had a fust rate company staying here. i've seen no less than aldermen, and warden of a city compny, but they didn't stay long. i don't think the living was good enuff for 'em. it must be a werry trying change, from every luxery that isn't in season, to meer beef and mutton and shrimps! and those rayther course. i think our boatmen is about the lazyest set of fellows as ever i seed. so far from begging on you to have a soft roe with the tide, or a hard roe against it, they makes all sorts of egscewses for not taking you, says they're just a going to dinner, or they thinks the wind's a gitting up, or there ain't enough water! not enuff water in the sea to flote a bote! wen any one could see as there was thousands of galluns there. i saw some on 'em this mornin bringin in sum fish, and asked the price of a pair of souls, but they axshally said they didn't dare sell one, for every man jack of 'em must be sent to billingsgate! but werry likely sum on 'em might be sent back again in the arternoon, and then i could get some at the fishmonger's! what a nice derangemunt! there was the butiful fresh fish reddy for eating, there was me and my family reddy to eat 'em, but no, they must be packed in boxes and carried to the station and then sent by rale to london, and then sent by wan to billingsgate, and that takes i'm told ever so many hours, and then carried back to the london stashun, and then sent by rale to northgate, and then carried from the stashun to the fishmonger's, and then i'm allowed to buy 'em! well if that isn't a butiful business like arrangement, my lord mare, i should like to know what is. however, as i wunce herd a deputy say, when things cums to their wust, things is sure to mend, and i don't think that things can be much wusser than that. (_signed_) robert. * * * * * [illustration: light puffs raised a little swell] * * * * * [illustration: heavy swell on the bar] * * * * * [illustration: the bell buoy] * * * * * the spirit of the thing.--_landlady_ (_to shivering lodger_). no, sir, i don't object to your dining at a restorong, nor to your taking an 'apenny paper, but i must resent your constant 'abit of locking up your whiskey, thereby himplying that me, a clergyman's daughter, is prone to larceny. [_lodger immediately hands her the key as a guarantee of good faith._ * * * * * [illustration: the bores of the beach so! as it's a fine day, you'll sit on the beach and read the paper comfortably, will you? very good! then we recommend you to get what guinea-pigs, brandy-balls, boats, and children's socks, to say nothing of shell-workboxes, lace collars, and the like you may want, before you settle down.] * * * * * [illustration: "excuse me, sir. i seem to have met you before. are you not a relative of mr. dan briggs?" "no, madam. i _am_ mr. dan briggs himself." "ah, then that explains the remarkable resemblance!"] * * * * * [illustration: accommodating _lodger._ "and then, there's that cold pheasant, mrs. bilkes"---- _landlady._ "yes'm, and if you should have enough without it, lor', mr. bilkes wouldn't mind a eatin' of it for his supper, if that's all."] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. brown._ "might i ask how much you gave that nigger?" _mr. brown_ (_first day down_). "sixpence." _mrs. b._ "oh, indeed! perhaps, sir, you are not aware that your wife and family have listened to those same niggers for the last ten days for a _penny_!"] * * * * * [illustration: pleasures of the seaside _mermaiden._ "i am told you keep a circulating library?" _librarian._ "yes, miss. _there_ it is! subscription, two shillings a-week; one volume at a time; change as often as you please! would you like to see a catalogue?"] * * * * * [illustration: an informal introduction _polite little girl_ (_suddenly_). "this is my mamma, sir. will you please sing her, 'it's the seasoning wot does it!'"] * * * * * [illustration: out of town (unfashionable intelligence) _visitor._ "what a roaring trade the hotels will be doing, with all these holiday folk!" _head waiter at the george._ "lor bless yer, sir, no! they all bring their nosebags with 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: seaside studies _wandering minstrel._ "gurls! i'm a doocid fine cha-appie!" &c., &c.] * * * * * [illustration: wiggles and sprott prefer bathing from the beach to having a stuffy machine. they are much pleased with the delicate little attention indicated above!] * * * * * [illustration: a quiet drive by the sea a brighton bath-chairman's idea of a suitable route for an invalid lady] * * * * * a seaside roundel on the sands as loitering i stand where my point of view the scene commands, i survey the prospect fair and grand on the sands. niggers, half a dozen german bands, photographic touts, persistent, bland, chiromancers reading dirty hands, nursemaids, children, preachers, skiffs that land trippers with cigars of fearful brands, donkeys--everything, in short, but sand-- on the sands. * * * * * [illustration: the letter but not the spirit old mr. de cramwell, being bilious and out of sorts, is ordered to go to the sea, and take plenty of exercise in the open air. (he begins at once.)] * * * * * common objects of the seashore. [illustration: taking a row] the "disguised minstrel", believed by the public to be a peer of the realm collecting coin for a charity, but who is in reality the sentimental singer from a perambulating troop of nigger banjoists, "working on his own." the preacher whose appreciation of the value of logic and the aspirate is on a par. the intensely military young man whose occupation during eleven months in the year is the keeping of ledgers in a small city office. the artist who guarantees a pleasing group of lovers for sixpence, frame included. the band that consists of a cornet, a trombone, a clarionet, some bass, and a big drum, which is quite as effective (thanks to the trombone) when all the principals have deserted in search of coppers. and last (and commonest of all) the cockney who, after a week's experience of the discomforts of the seaside, is weary of them, and wants to go home. * * * * * a windy corner at brighton (_by an impressionist_) old lady first, with hair like winter snows, makes moan. and struggles. then, with cheeks too richly rose, a crone, gold hair, new teeth, white powder on her nose; all bone and skin; an "ancient mystery", like those of hone. then comes a girl; sweet face that freshly glows! well grown. the neat cloth gown her supple figure shows now thrown in lines of beauty. last, in graceless pose, half prone, a luckless lout, caught by the blast, one knows his tone means oaths; his hat, straight as fly crows, has flown. i laugh at him, and----hi! by jove, there goes my own! * * * * * on the sands (_a sketch at margate_) _close under the parade wall a large circle has been formed, consisting chiefly of women on chairs and camp-stools, with an inner ring of small children, who are all patiently awaiting the arrival of a troupe of niggers. at the head of one of the flights of steps leading up to the parade, a small and shrewish child-nurse is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger brothers, who have given her the slip._ _sarah_ (_to herself_). wherever can them two plegs have got to? (_aloud; drawing a bow at a venture._) albert! 'enery! come up 'ere this minnit. _i_ see yer! _'enery_ (_under the steps--to albert_). i say--d'ye think she _do_?--'cos if---- _albert._ not she! set tight. [_they sit tight._ _sarah_ (_as before_). 'enery! albert! you've bin and 'alf killed little georgie between yer! _'enery_ (_moved, to albert_). did you 'ear that, bert? it wasn't _me_ upset him--was it now? _albert_ (_impenitent_). 'oo cares? the niggers'll be back direckly. _sarah._ al-bert! 'enery! your father's bin down 'ere once after you. you'll _ketch_ it! _albert_ (_sotto voce_). not till father ketches _us_, we shan't. keep still, 'enery--we're all right under 'ere! _sarah_ (_more diplomatically_). 'enery! albert! father's bin and left a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. ain't yer comin' up for it? if yer don't want it, why, stay where you are, that's all! _albert_ (_to 'enery_). i _knoo_ we 'adn't done nothin'. an' i'm goin' up to git that 'ap'ny, i am. _'enery._ so 'm i. [_they emerge, and ascend the steps--to be pounced upon immediately by the ingenious sarah._ _sarah._ 'ap'ny, indeed! you won't git no 'apence _'ere_, i can tell yer--so jest you come along 'ome with me! [_exeunt albert and 'enery, in captivity, as the niggers enter the circle._ _bones._ we shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our grand annual weekly singing competition, for the discouragement of youthful talent. now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal? (_the children giggle, but remain seated._) not one? now i arsk _you_--what _is_ the use o' me comin' 'ere throwin' away thousands and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the trouble to stand up and sing for them? oh, you'll make me so wild, i shall begin spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly--i _know_ i shall! (_a little girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward._) ah, 'ere's a young lady who's bustin' with melody, _i_ can see. your name, my dear? ladies and gentlemen, i have the pleasure to announce that miss connie cockle will now appear. don't curtsey till the orchestra gives the chord. (_chord from the harmonium--the child advances, and curtsies with much aplomb._) oh, lor! call _that_ a curtsey--that's a _cramp_, that is! do it all over again! (_the child obeys, disconcerted._) that's _worse_! i can see the s'rimps blushin' for yer inside their paper bags! now see me do it. (_bones executes a caricature of a curtsey, which the little girl copies with terrible fidelity._) that's _ladylike_--that's genteel. now sing _out_! (_the child sings the first verse of a popular music-hall song, in a squeaky little voice._) talk about nightingales! come 'ere, and receive the reward for extinguished incapacity. on your knees! (_the little girl kneels before him while a tin medal is fastened upon her frock._) rise, sir connie cockle! oh, you _lucky_ girl! [_the child returns, swelling with triumph, to her companions, several of whom come out, and go through the same performance, with more or less squeakiness and self-possession._ _first admiring matron_ (_in audience_). i do like to see the children kep' out o' mischief like this, instead o' goin' paddling and messing about the sands! _second ad. mat._ just what _i_ say, my dear--they're amused and edjucated 'ow to beyave at the same time! _first politician_ (_with the "standard"_). no, but look here--when gladstone was asked in the house whether he proposed to give the dublin parliament the control of the police, what was his answer. why.... _the niggers_ (_striking up chorus_). "'rum-tumty diddly-umty doodah-dey! rum-tumty-diddly-um was all that he could say. and the members and the speaker joined together in the lay. of 'rum-tumty-diddly-umty doodah-dey!'" _second pol._ (_with the "star"_). well, and what more would you have _'ad_ him say? come, now! _alf_ (_who has had quite enough ale at dinner--to his fiancée_). these niggers ain't up to much loo. can't sing for _nuts_! _chorley_ (_his friend, perfidiously_). you'd better go in and show 'em how, old man. me and miss serge'll stay and see you take the shine out of 'em! _alf._ p'raps you think i can't. but, if i was to go upon the 'alls now, i should make my fortune in no time! loo's 'eard me when i've been in form, and she'll tell you---- _miss serge._ well, i will say there's many a professional might learn a lesson from alf--whether mr. perkins believes it or not. [_cuttingly, to "chorley"._ _chorley._ now reelly, miss loo, don't come down on a feller like that. i want to see him do you credit, that's all, and he couldn't 'ave a better opportunity to distinguish himself--now _could_ he? _miss serge._ _i'm_ not preventing him. but i don't know--these niggers keep themselves very select, and they might object to it. _alf._ i'll soon square _them_. you keep your eye on me, and i'll make things a bit livelier! [_he enters the circle._ _miss serge_ (_admiringly_). he has got a cheek, i must say! look at him, dancing there along with those two niggers--they don't hardly know what to make of him yet! _chorley._ do you notice how they keep kicking him beyind on the sly like? i wonder he puts up with it! _miss s._ he'll be even with them presently--you see if he isn't. [_alf attempts to twirl a tambourine on his finger, and lets it fall; derision from audience; bones pats him on the head and takes the tambourine away--at which alf only smiles feebly._ _chorley._ it's a pity he gets so 'ot dancing, and he don't seem to keep in step with the others. _miss s._ (_secretly disappointed_). he isn't used to doing the double-shuffle on sand, that's all. _the conductor._ bones, i observe we have a recent addition to our company. perhaps he'll favour us with a solo. (_aside to bones._) 'oo _is_ he? 'oo let him in 'ere--_you_? _bones._ _i_ dunno. i thought _you_ did. ain't he stood nothing? _conductor._ not a brass farden! _bones_ (_outraged_). all right, you leave him to me. (_to alf._) kin it be? that necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! you are--you _are_ my long-lost convick son, 'ome from portland! come to these legs! (_he embraces alf, and smothers him with kisses._) oh, you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion--you _dirty_ boy! (_he playfully "bashes" alf's hat in._) now show the comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (_alf attempts a music-hall ditty, in which he, not unnaturally, breaks down._) it ain't my son's fault, ladies and gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at him and makin' him shy! (_to a small child, severely._) you oughter know _worse_, you ought! (_clumps of seaweed and paper-balls are thrown at alf who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish._) oh, what a popilar fav'rite he is, to be sure! _chorley_ (_to miss s._). poor fellow, he ain't no match for those niggers--not like he is now! hadn't i better go to the rescue, miss loo? _miss s._ (_pettishly_). i'm sure i don't care _what_ you do. [_"chorley" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the unfortunate alf._ _alf_ (_rejoining his fiancée with a grimy face, a smashed hat, and a pathetic attempt at a grin_). well? i _done_ it, you see! _miss s._ (_crushingly_). yes, you _have_ done it! and the best thing you can do now, is to go home and wash your face. _i_ don't care to be seen about with a _laughing-stock_, i can assure you! i've had my dignity lowered quite enough as it is! _alf._ but look 'ere, my dear girl, i can't leave you here all by yourself you know! _miss s._ i dare say mr. perkins will take care of me. [_mr. p. assents, with effusion._ _alf_ (_watching them move away--with bitterness_). i wish all niggers were put down by act of parliament, i do! downright noosances--that's what _they_ are! * * * * * [illustration: stopping at a watering place] * * * * * [illustration: east-born] * * * * * [illustration: west-born] * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: taking in sail] * * * * * delays are dangerous.--_young housekeeper._ "i'm afraid those soles i bought of you yesterday were not fresh. my husband said they were not nice at all!" _brighton fisherman._ "well, marm, that be your fault--it bean't mine. i've offered 'em yer every day this week, and you might a' 'ad 'em o' monday if you'd a loiked!" * * * * * at margate.--_angelina_ (_very poetical, surveying the rolling ocean_). "water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink." _edwin_ (_very practical_). no drink! now, hang it all, angy, if i've asked you once i've asked you three times within the last five minutes to come and do a split soda and whiskey! and _i_ can do with it! * * * * * [illustration: the last day at the seaside--packing up _maid_ (_to paterfamilias_). "please, sir, missus say you're to come in, and sit on the boxes; because we can't get 'em to, and they wants to be corded."] * * * * * [illustration: _the general._ "and what are you going to be when you grow up, young man?" _bobbie._ "well, i can't quite make up my mind. i don't know which would be nicest--a soldier, like you, or a sailor, like mr. smithers."] * * * * * [illustration: "them artises!" _lady artist._ "do you belong to that ship over there?" _sailor._ "yes, miss." _lady artist._ "then would you mind loosening all those ropes? they are much too tight, and, besides, i can't draw straight lines!"] * * * * * [illustration: the disorder of the bath] how belinda brown appeared with "waves all over her hair" before taking a bath in the sea--and how she looked after having some more "waves all over it."] * * * * * [illustration: caution to bathers don't let them jolt you up the beach till you are dressed. _jones_ (_obliged to hold fast_). "hullo! hi! somebody stop my boots!"] * * * * * [illustration: a fix _separated husband._ "fetch him out, sir!" _proprietor of moke._ "why, if i went near her, she'd lie down; she always goes in just before high water; nothing'll fetch her out till the tide turns!"] * * * * * the husbands' boat, a margate melody see! what craft margate harbour displays, there are luggers and cutters and yawls, they sail upon sunshiny days, for land-sailors arn't partial to squalls. there's paterfamilias takes out the lot of the progeny he may own, but the saturday evening boat has got a freight that is hers alone. by far the most precious of craft afloat, is the saturday evening "husbands' boat". there are husbands with luggage, and husbands with none, there are husbands with parcels in hand, they bring down to wives whom they lately have won, who pretty attentions command. there are husbands who know whate'er time it may be their wives on the jetty will wait for that hymeneal argosy, with its matrimonial freight. oh! the most precious of craft afloat is the saturday evening "husbands' boat". but the monday morning is "monday black", that when at school we knew, for the husbands to business must all go back, and the wives look monstrous blue; so loud the bell rings, and the steamer starts on her way to thames haven again, and amid those who leave are as many sad hearts, as there are amid those who remain. coming or going of craft afloat, the most prized one is the "husbands' boat". * * * * * [illustration: finis! (the end of the season.)] * * * * * [illustration: finis] * * * * * bradbury, agnew & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * mr. punch at the play [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: _actor (on the stage)._ "me mind is made up!" _voice from the gallery._ "what abeaout yer fice?"] * * * * * mr. punch at the play humours of music and the drama _with illustrations_ [illustration] by charles keene, phil may, george du maurier, bernard partridge, l. raven-hill, e. t. reed, f. h. townsend, c. e. brock, a. s. boyd, tom browne, everard hopkins and others published by special arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" * * * * * the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * [illustration] before the curtain most of the punch artists of note have used their pencils on the theatre; with theatricals public and private none has done more than du maurier. all have made merry over the extravagances of melodrama and "problem" plays; the vanity and the mistakes of actors, actresses and dramatists; and the blunderings of the average playgoer. mr. punch genially satirises the aristocratic amateurs who, some few years ago, made frantic rushes into the profession, and for a while enjoyed more kudos as actors than they had obtained as titled members of the upper circle, and the exaggerated social status that for the time accrued to the professional actor as a consequence of this invasion. the things he has written about the stage, quite apart from all reviewing of plays, would more than fill a book of itself; and he has slyly and laughingly satirised players, playwrights and public with an equal impartiality. he has got a deal of fun out of the french dramas and the affected pleasure taken in them by audiences that did not understand the language. he has got even more fun out of the dramatists whose "original plays" were largely translated from the french, and to whom paris was, and to some extent is still, literally and figuratively "a playground." [illustration] * * * * * mr. punch at the play something for the money (_from the playgoers' conversation book. coming edition._) [illustration] i have only paid three guineas and a half for this stall, but it is certainly stuffed with the very best hair. the people in the ten-and-sixpenny gallery seem fairly pleased with their dado. i did not know the call-boy was at eton. the expenses of this house must be enormous, if they always play _box and cox_ with a rasher of real canadian bacon. how nice to know that the musicians, though out of sight under the stage, are in evening dress on velvet cushions! whoever is the author of this comedy, he has not written up with spirit to that delightful louis the fifteenth linen cupboard. i cannot catch a word "macbeth" is saying, but i can see at a glance that his kilt would be extremely cheap at seventy pounds. i am not surprised to hear that the "tartar's lips" for the cauldron alone add nightly something like fifty-five-and-sixpence to the expenses. do not bother me about the situation when i am looking at the quality of the velvet pile. since the introduction of the _live_ hedgehog into domestic drama obliged the management to raise the second-tier private boxes to forty guineas, the duchess has gone into the slips with an order. they had, perhaps, better take away the champagne-bottle and the diamond-studded whistle from the prompter. ha! here comes the chorus of villagers, provided with real silk pocket-handkerchiefs. it is all this sort of thing that elevates the drama, and makes me so contented to part with a ten-pound note for an evening's amusement. * * * * * [illustration: _pantomime child (to admiring friend)._ "yus, and there's another hadvantage in bein' a hactress. you get yer fortygraphs took for noffink!"] * * * * * the height of literary necessity.--"spouting" shakspeare. * * * * * when are parsons bound in honour not to abuse theatres? when they take orders. * * * * * what vote the manager of a theatre always has.--the "casting" vote. * * * * * "stand not on the order of your going."--an amiable manager says the orders which he issues for the pit and gallery are what in his opinion constitute "the lower orders." * * * * * great theatrical effect.--during a performance of _macbeth_ at the haymarket, the thunder was so natural that it turned sour a pint of beer in the prompter's-box. * * * * * [illustration: the drama.--"'ere, i say, 'liza, we've seen this 'ere play before!" "no, we ain't." [_wordy argument follows._] "why, don't you remember, same time as bill took us to the 'pig an' whistle,' an' we 'ad stewed eels for supper?" "oh lor! yes, that takes me back to it!"] * * * * * [illustration: true appreciation (_overheard at the theatre_) _mrs. parvenu._ "i don't know that i'm exackly _gone_ on shakspeare plays." [_mr. p. agrees._ ] * * * * * [illustration: _conversationalist._ "do you play ping-pong?" _actor._ "no. i play _hamlet_!"] * * * * * to actors who are not worth a thought.--we notice that there is a book called "acting and thinking." this is to distinguish it, we imagine, from the generality of acting, in which there is mostly no thinking? * * * * * a crusher.--_country manager (to mr. agrippa snap, the great london critic, who has come down to see the production of a piece on trial)._ and what do you think, sir, of our theatre and our players? _agrippa snap (loftily)._ well, frankly, mr. flatson, your green-room's better than your company. * * * * * [illustration: the higher walk of the drama] * * * * * [illustration: "auntie, can _you_ do that?"] * * * * * theatrical managers are so often accused of being unable to break with tradition, that it seems only fair to point out that several of them have recently produced plays, in which the character of "hamlet" does not appear at all. * * * * * on a dramatic author "yes, he's a plagiarist," from tom this fell, "as to his social faults, sir, one excuses 'em; 'cos he's good natured, takes a joke so well." "true," cries an author, "he takes mine and uses 'em." * * * * * the manager's complaint she danced among the unfinished ways that merge into the strand, a maid whom none could fail to praise, and very few withstand. a sylph, accepted for the run, not at a weekly wage; fair as a star when only one is shining on the stage. she met a lord, and all men know how soon she'd done with me; now she is in _debrett_, oh, and, that's where they all would be! * * * * * [illustration: a first night.--_indignant playwright (to leading actor, behind the scenes)._ "confound it, man, you've absolutely murdered the piece!" _leading actor._ "pardon me, but i think the foul play is yours!"] * * * * * _smart._ how do, smooth? (_to theatrical manager, who frowns upon him_). what's the matter, eh? _smooth._ matter? hang it, smart, you wrote me down in "the stinger." _smart (repressing something shakspearian about "writing down" which occurs to him, continues pleasantly)._ wrote you down? no, i said the piece was a bad one, because i thought it was; a very bad one. _smooth._ bad! (_sarcastically._) you were the only man who said so. _smart (very pleasantly)._ my dear fellow, _i was the only man who saw it._ good-bye. [_exeunt severally._ * * * * * motto for a box-office keeper.--"so much for booking 'em." * * * * * "a considerable demonstration of approval greeted the fall of the curtain." how are we to take this? * * * * * [illustration: "the desire of the moth for the star."--_mistress._ "and you dare to tell me, belinda, that you have actually answered a _theatrical advertisement_? how _could_ you be such a _wicked_ girl?" _belinda (whimpering)._ "well, mum,--_other_ young lidies--gow on the--stige--why shouldn't _i_ gow?"] * * * * * [illustration: the counter-check quarrelsome.--_mr. Æsopus delasparre._ "i will ask you to favour me, madam, by refraining from laughing at me on the stage during my third act." _miss jones (sweetly)._ "oh, but i assure you you're mistaken, mr. delasparre; i never laugh at you on the stage--i wait till i get home!"] * * * * * [illustration: sweeping assertion.--"the other night, at the novelty theatre, mrs. vere-jones was gowned simply in a _clinging_ black velvet, with a cloak of same handsomely trimmed with ermine."--_extract from society journal._] * * * * * dramatic notes of the future [a little cheild is the hero of _everybody's secret_; the curtain rises upon four little cheildren in _her own way_; there are cheildren of various ages in _alice-sit-by-the-fire_.] mr. barrie's new play, _the admirable crèche_, will be presented to-morrow. we understand that there is a pretty scene in the third act in which several grown-ups are discovered smoking cigars. it may confidently be predicted that all the world will rush to the "duke of york's" to see this novelty. _the admirable crèche_ will be preceded at . by _bassinette--a plea for a numerous family_, a one-act play by theodore roosevelt and louis n. parker. little baby wilkins is making quite a name with her wonderful rendering of "perdita" in the haymarket version of _a winter's tale_. as soon as actor-manager wilkins realised the necessity of cutting the last two acts (in which "perdita" is grown up) the play was bound to succeed. by the way, mr. e. h. cooper's new book, "perditas i have known," is announced. frankly, we are disappointed in mr. pinero's new play, _little arthur_, produced at wyndham's last week. it treated of the old old theme--the love of the hero for his nurse. to be quite plain, this stale triangle, mother--son--nurse, is beginning to bore us. are there no other themes in every-day life which mr. pinero might take? could he not, for instance, give us an analysis of the mind of a young genius torn between the necessity for teething and the desire to edit a great daily? duty calls him both ways: his duty to himself and his duty to the public. imagine a wilkins in such a scene! the popular editor of the "nursery," whose unrivalled knowledge of children causes him to be referred to everywhere as our greatest playwright, is a little at sea in his latest play, _rattles_. in the first act he rashly introduces (though by this time he should know his own limitations) two grown-ups at lunch--mr. jones the father, and dr. brown, who discuss johnny's cough. now we would point out to mr. crouper that men of their age would be unlikely to have milk for lunch; and that they would not say "yeth, pleath"--unless of hebraic origin, and mr. crouper does not say so anywhere. mr. crouper must try and see something of grown-ups before he writes a play of this kind again. we regret to announce that cecil tomkins, _doyen_ of actor-managers, is down again with mumps. * * * * * [illustration: modern impressionist art. a musical comedy] * * * * * [illustration: at the premiÈre _lady in front row (to her neighbour, towards the end of the second act)._ "who is this man next me, who's just come in,--do you know? he doesn't seem to be paying the smallest attention to the play!" _her neighbour._ "oh, i expect he's a critic. he's probably made up his mind long ago what he's going to say of the piece; but he's just dropped in to _confirm his suspicions_."] * * * * * no first-nighter.--_first man in the street._ see the eclipse last night? _second man in the street._ no. thought it might be crowded. put off going till next week. * * * * * [illustration: the bill of the play] * * * * * [illustration: amenities of the profession.--_rising young dramatist._ "saw your wife in front last night. what did she think of my new comedy?" _brother playwright_. "oh, i think she liked it. she told me she had a good laugh." _r. y. d._ "ah--er--when was that?" _b. p._ "during the _entr'acte_. one of the attendants dropped an ice down her neighbour's neck."] * * * * * [illustration: the higher education of women _dora_ (_consulting a playbill_). "only fancy! '_as you like it_' is by shakspeare!"] * * * * * [illustration: private theatricals. a rehearsal.--_the captain._ "at this stage of the proceedings i've got to kiss you, lady grace. will your husband mind, do you think?" _lady grace._ "oh no! it's for a _charity_, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: an infant roscius.--_stage manager_ (_interviewing children with the idea of engaging them for a new play_). "has this child been on the stage?" _proud mother._ "no; but he's been on an inquest, and he speaks up fine!"] * * * * * [illustration: a soliloquy.--_tragedian._ "cheap. ha, ha! why in my time they _threw_ them at us!"] * * * * * [illustration: "well, papa, how did you enjoy the play to-night?" "oh, i think i enjoyed it fairly well, my dear. i've got a general sort of idea that i didn't go to sleep over it!"] * * * * * [illustration: _enthusiastic lady amateur._ "oh, what a pity! we've just missed the first act!" _languid friend._ "have we? ah--rather glad. i always think the chief pleasure of going to a theatre is trying to make out what the first act was about!"] * * * * * theatrical.--when it is announced that an actor will be supported by the _entire_ company, it is not thereby meant that the said professional is sustained in his arduous part solely by draughts of barclay, perkins and co. * * * * * the wretch who refuses to take his wife to the theatre deserves to be made to sit out a play. * * * * * good "piece" of furniture for theatrical managers.--a chest of "drawers." * * * * * regeneration of the british drama.--there are at this moment three english managers in paris "in search of novelty!" more: three distinguished members of the dramatic authors' society started for france last night. * * * * * "as good as a play."--performing a funeral. * * * * * a plant in season.--now is the time of year when managers of theatres show a botanical taste, for there is not one of them who does not do his best to have a great rush at his doors. * * * * * the dramatic author's playground.--paris. * * * * * theatrical note.--_net_ profits are generally the result of a good "_cast_." * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: "shakspeare and the first quart o"] * * * * * [illustration: "shakspeare and the last quart o"] * * * * * a dubious compliment.--_rector's wife_ (_after harvest festival_). well, mrs. piggleswade, how did you like the bishop's sermon? _mrs. piggleswade._ oh! ma'am, i ain't been so much upset since my old man took me to the wariety theayter in london last august twelve-month, and 'eard a gen'leman sing about his grandmother's cat. * * * * * there was a poor actor on the norwich circuit who squinted most dreadfully: he was put up on one occasion for "lear." "we must succeed," said the manager, "for there never was a _lear_ with so strong a _cast_." * * * * * a richmond dinner.--a shouting actor who performs the part. * * * * * by deputy as shakspeare could not write his plays (if mrs. gallup's not mistaken), i think how wise in many ways he was to have them done by bacon; they might have mouldered on the shelf, mere minor dramas (and he knew it!) if he had written them himself instead of letting bacon do it. and if it's true, as brown and smith in many learned tomes have stated, that homer was an idle myth, he ought to be congratulated; since, thus evading birth, he rose for men to worship from a distance: he might have penned inferior prose had he achieved a real existence. to him and shakspeare some agree in making very nice allusions, but no one thinks of praising me, for i composed my own effusions: as others wrote their works divine, and they immortal thus to day are, if someone else had written mine i might have been as great as they are! * * * * * [illustration: _famous lion comique_ (_to his agent, who is not much of a cigar smoker_). "what did you think of that cigar as i give you the other day?" _agent._ "well, the first night i liked it well enough. but the second night i didn't like it so well. and the third i didn't like it at all!"] * * * * * numerous applications were received by the manager of covent garden from "professionals" wishing to take part in _the forty thieves_. it was not found possible to offer engagements to the following (amongst others):-- _the thief_--who stole a march. _the thief_--in the candle. _the thief_--who was set to catch a thief. _the thief_--who stole the "purse" and found it "trash." _the thief_--who stole up-stairs. _the thief_--of time, _alias_ procrastination, and-- _the thief_--who stole a kiss (overwhelming number of applicants). * * * * * the real and the ideal; or, the catastrophe of a victoria melo-drama _berthelda._--sanguino, you have killed your _mother_!!! _fruitwoman._--any apples, oranges, biscuits, ginger-beer! (_curtain falls._) * * * * * [illustration: the music-hall.] [illustration: a melodrama at the "surrey".] [illustration: screaming farcical comedy.] [illustration: a pathetic "comedy-drama."] [illustration: another.] [illustration: a patriotic drama at the "national theatre".] [illustration: the opera.] [illustration: and.] [illustration: three acts.] [illustration: of henrik ibsen.] [illustration: the deplorable issue.] * * * * * "bishops," said the rev. mr. phillips to the playgoers' club, "are not really so stiff and starchy as they are made out to be. there is a good heart beneath the gaiters." calf-love, we presume. * * * * * different views.--bishops complain of a dearth of candidates for orders. managers of theatres think differently. * * * * * leg-itimate successes.--modern extravaganzas. * * * * * theatrical.--the only people who never suffer in the long run--managers of theatres. * * * * * "standing orders."--free admissions who can't get seats. * * * * * [illustration: "most musical, most melancholy" _husband_ (_after the adagio, to musical wife_). "my dear, are we going to stay to the 'bitter end'?"] * * * * * [illustration: music of the future. sensation opera. _manager_ (_to his primo tenore, triumphantly_). "my dear fellow, i've brought you the score of the new opera. we've arranged _such_ a scena for you in the third act! o' board of the pirate screw, after the keelhauling scene, you know! heavy rolling sea, eh?--yes, and we can have some real spray pumped on to you from the fire-engine! volumes of smoke from the funnel, close behind your head--in fact, you'll be enveloped as you rush on to the bridge! and then you'll sing that lovely barcarolle through the speaking-trumpet! and mind you hold tight, as the ship blows up just as you come upon your high d in the last bar!!!"] * * * * * at a problem play.--_mr. dinkershein_ (_eminent critic_). how did you enjoy the piece, miss macguider? _miss macguider._ well, to tell the truth, i didn't know what it was all about. _mr. dinkershein._ excellent. the author gives us so much to think of. * * * * * question and answer.--"why don't i write plays?" why should i? * * * * * not exactly a theatrical manager's guiding motto.--"piece at any price." * * * * * our shakspearian society.--in the course of a discussion, mrs. ---- observed, that she was positive that shakspeare was a butcher by trade, because an old uncle of hers had bought _lambs' tails from shakspeare_. * * * * * "sound dues."--fees to opera box-keepers. * * * * * copyright and copywrong.--the dramatist who dramatises his neighbour's novel against his will, is less a playwright than a plagiary. * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: "cross old thing!"--_wife._ "i'm going into town now, dear. shall i book places for _caste_ or _much ado about nothing_?" _husband._ "oh, please yourself, my dear; but i should say we've enough 'ado about nothing' at home!"] * * * * * [illustration: our theatricals.--_brown (rehearsing his part as the "vicomte de cherisac")._ "yas, marie! i've fondly loved ye. (_sobs dramatically._) 'tis well--but no mat-tar-r!" _housemaid (to cook, outside the door)._ "lauks, 'liz'beth, ain't master a givin' it to missis!"] * * * * * [illustration: technical.--_first player_ ("_juvenile lead_"). play scene--hamlet. (_deferentially_). "what do you think of it?" _second player_ ("_first heavy_"). "how precious well them 'supers' are painted, ain't they?"] * * * * * [illustration: a double disappointment.--_stern hostess (who is giving private theatricals)._ "you are very late, mr. fitz smythe. they've begun long ago!" _languid person of importance (who abominates that particular form of entertainment)._ "what! you don't mean to say they're at it still!"] * * * * * [illustration: modest appeal.--_lady (to big drum)._ "pray, my good man, don't make that horrid noise! i can't hear myself speak!"] * * * * * a modern rehearsal _leading lady (to stage manager)._ who's that man in the ulster coat talking to the call-boy? _stage manager._ don't know, i'm sure. perhaps a gas-fitter. now, as i was saying, miss frisette, i think that all your alterations in the dialogue are quite up to date, but we must give splitter a chance for his cackle. ah! here he is. _splitter._ well, old boy, i've worked in that scene to rights, but the boss thinks that some allusions to turkey served up with german sausage would fetch 'em. so you might chuck it in for me. _stage man._ of course i will. capital idea. (_marks prompt-book._) i wonder who that chap is in the wing? _splitter._ haven't the faintest idea. looks like an undertaker. hallo, wobbler, brought your new song? _wobbler._ yes, it ought to go. and i've a gross or so of capital wheezes. _splitter._ no poaching, old chap. _wobbler._ of course not. i'll not let them off when you're on. morning, miss skid. perfect, i suppose? _miss skid (brightly)._ i'm always "perfect." but--(_seriously_)--i had to cut all the idiotic stuff in my part, and get peter quip of "the kangaroo" to put in something up to date. here's the boss! [_enter mr. footlyte, the manager, amid a chorus of salutations._ _stage man._ places, ladies and gentlemen. _mr. footlyte._ before we begin the rehearsal, i would point out that i have completely rewritten the second act, and---- _the stranger in the ulster._ but, sir, i beg of you to remember---- _mr. f._ who is that man? _everybody._ we don't know! _mr. f. (advancing)._ who are you, sir, who dare to trespass on my premises? _the s. in the u._ don't you remember me, mr. footlyte? _mr. f._ no, sir, i do not. what's your business? _the s. in the u. (nervously)._ i am the author of the piece. _everybody._ ha! ha! ha! _mr. f._ then you're not wanted here. (_to stage manager._) jenkins, clear the stage. [_the author is shown out. rehearsal proceeds. curtain._ * * * * * meant as a compliment.--_shakspeare smith (to miss lagushe, after production of his new comedy)._ and what did you think of my little piece the other night? _miss lagushe._ i didn't pay the least attention to the play. all i thought was, what a cruel ordeal the performance must be for _you_! * * * * * neo-dramatic nursery rhyme mrs. grundy, good woman, scarce knew what to think about the relation 'twixt drama and drink. well, give hall--and theatre--good wholesome diet, and all who attend will be sober and quiet! * * * * * [illustration: _younger son of ducal house._ "mother, allow me to introduce to you--my wife." _his wife (late of the frivolity theatre)._ "how do, duchess? i'm the latest thing in mésalliances!"] * * * * * hints to amateur playwrights. _of the essence of drama._--it is not strictly necessary that you should know much about this, but as a rough indication it may be stated that whenever two or more persons stand (or sit) upon a platform and talk, and other persons, whether from motives of ennui, or charity, or malice, or for copyright purposes only, go and listen to them, the law says it is a stage-play. it does not follow that anybody else will. _of the divers sorts of dramatic writing._--owing to the competition nowadays of the variety entertainment you will do well to treat these as practically amalgamated. for example, start act i. with an entirely farcical and impossible marriage, consequent upon a mistake similar to that of "mr. pickwick" about the exact locality of his room; drop into poetry and pathos in act ii. (waltz-music "off" throughout will show that it _is_ poetry and pathos); introduce for the first time in act iii. a melodramatic villain, who endeavours to elope with the heroine (already married, as above, and preternaturally conscious of it), and wind-up act iv. with a skirt dance and a general display of high spirits, with which the audience, seeing that the conclusion is at hand, will probably sympathise. another mixture, very popular with serious people, may be manufactured by raising the curtain to a hymn tune upon a number of obviously early christians, and, after thus edifying your audience, cheering them up again with glimpses of attractive young ladies dressed (to a moderate extent) as pagans, and continually in fits of laughter. the performance of this kind of composition is usually accompanied by earthquakes, thunder and lightning; but the stage carpenter will attend to these. _of humour._--much may be accomplished in this line by giving your characters names that are easily punned upon. do not forget, however, that even higher flights of wit than you can attain by this means will be surpassed by the simple expedient of withdrawing a chair from behind a gentleman about to sit down upon it. and this only requires a stage-direction. _of dialogue._--speeches of more than half a page, though useful for clearing up obscurities, are generally deficient in the qualities of repartee. after exclaiming, "oh, i am slain!" or words to that effect, no character should be given a soliloquy taking more than five minutes in recitation. _of the censorship._--this need not be feared unless you are unduly serious. lady godiva, for instance, will be all right for a ball where the dress is left to the fancy, but you must not envelop her in problems. * * * * * motto for the stage-worshippers.--"mummer's the word!" [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: quite of her opinion _gushing young woman (to famous actor)._ "oh, do you know, mr. starleigh, i'm simply _mad_ to go on the stage!" _famous actor._ "yes, i should think you _would_ be, my dear young lady!"] * * * * * the decline of the drama mundungus deems the drama is declining, yet fain would swell the crowded playwright ranks. the secret of his pessimist opining, is--all _his_ dramas _are_ declined--with thanks! * * * * * contribution towards nursery rhymes (_for use of infant students in new school of dramatic art_) 'tis the voice of the prompter, i hear him quite plain; he has prompted me twice, let him prompt me again. * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: a suggestion to the refreshment departments of our theatres, much simpler than the old method of struggling by, and would prevent the men going out between the acts.] [illustration: first night of musical comedy. the authors called before the curtain.] [illustration: _jones (arriving in the middle of the overture to "tristan und isolde"--quite audibly)._ "well, thank goodness we're in _plenty of time!_"] * * * * * [illustration: in the stalls time past--crinoline era] * * * * * appropriate shakespearian motto for a firm of advertising agents.--"posters of the sea and land." * * * * * quid pro quo.--_actor-manager (to dramatic author)._ what i want is a one-part piece. _dramatic author._ that's very easily arranged. you be number one, and "part" to me. * * * * * [illustration: in the stalls time present--fan development] * * * * * _araminta._ why, dearest, do you call those witticisms, which the comedians deliver with such ready humour, "gags"? _corydon (the playwright)._ because they always stifle the author. [_smiles no more during the evening._ * * * * * the mummer's bÊte-noire.--"_benefits_ forgot." * * * * * [illustration: mitigating circumstances _sangazur, senior._ "look here, what's all this nonsense i hear about your wanting to marry an actress?" _sangazur, junior._ "it's quite true, sir. but--er--you can have no conception how _very poorly_ she acts!"] * * * * * [illustration: a studied insult.--_box-office keeper at the imperial music-hall (to farmer murphy, who is in town for the islington horse show)._ "box or two stalls, sir?" _murphy._ "what the dev'l d'ye mane? d'ye take me an' the missus for a pair o' proize 'osses? oi'll have two sates in the dhress circle, and let 'em be as dhressy as possible, moind!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the sleeping beauty."--"nervous? oh dear no! i only acted _once_ in private theatricals, mr. jones, and, although it was an important part, i had nothing to say!" "really? what _was_ the part?" "_can't you guess?_"] * * * * * [illustration: collaborateurs.--jennings and bellamy, the famous dramatists, planning one of those thrilling plays of plot and passion, in which (as everybody knows) jennings provides the inimitable broad humour, and bellamy the love-scenes and the tragic deaths. (bellamy is the shorter of the two.)] * * * * * why i don't write plays (_from the common-place book of a novelist_) because it is so much pleasanter to read one's work than to hear it on the stage. because publishers are far more amiable to deal with than actor-managers. because "behind the scenes" is such a disappointing place--except in novels. because why waste three weeks on writing a play, when it takes only three years to compose a novel? because critics who send articles to magazines inviting one to contribute to the stage, have no right to dictate to us. because a fairly successful novel means five hundred pounds, and a fairly successful play yields as many thousands--why be influenced by mercenary motives? because all novelists hire their pens in advance for years, and have no time left for outside labour. and last, and (perhaps) not least, why don't i send in a play? because i _have_ tried to write _one_, and find i can't quite manage it! * * * * * [illustration: her first play.--_mamma (who has taken miss effie, as a great treat, to a morning performance)._ "hush, dear! you mustn't talk!" _miss effie (with clear sense of injustice, and pointing to the stage)._ "but, mummy,--_they're_ talking!"] * * * * * _q._ when are the affairs of a theatre likely to assume a somewhat fishy aspect? _a._ when there's a sole lessee. * * * * * _evangeline._ why is this called the dress circle mamma? _mamma._ because the stalls are the undressed circle, dear. * * * * * a form of equestrian drama.--horseplay. * * * * * [illustration: mellow drammer] * * * * * [illustration: first night of an unappreciated melodrama.--_he._ "are we alone?" _voice from the gallery._ "no, guv'nor; but you will be to-morrow night."] * * * * * [illustration: the commissariat _our bandmaster (to purveyor of refreshments)._ "we must hev beef sangwitches, marm! them ham ones make the men's lips that greasy, they can't blow!"] * * * * * [illustration: a note and query _wife (given to literature and the drama)._ "george, what is the meaning of the expression, 'go to!' you meet with so often in shakspeare and the old dramatists?" _husband (not a reading man)._ "'don't know, i'm sure, dear, unless---- well,--p'raps he was going to say----but thought it wouldn't sound proper!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch's opera box] * * * * * [illustration: sic vos non vobis dramatisatis, writers! _wife of his bosom (just home from the play)._ "and then that _darling_ walter lisson, looking like a greek god, drew his stiletto, and delivered, oh! _such_ an exquisite soliloquy over her tomb--all in blank verse--like heavenly music on the organ!" _he._ "why, he's got a voice like a raven, and can no more deliver blank verse than he can fly." _she._ "ah, well--it was very beautiful, all the same--all about love and death, you know!" _he._ "who wrote the piece, then?" _she._ "who wrote the piece? oh--er--well--his name's sure to be on the bill somewhere--at least i _suppose_ it is!"] * * * * * from our general theatrical fund.--why would a good-natured dramatic critic be a valuable specimen in an anatomical museum? because he takes to pieces easily. * * * * * mem. by a manager to say "boo" to a goose requires some doing. in theatres 'tis the goose who does the "booing," and though a man may do the best he can, sir, _anser_ will hiss, though hissing may not answer! * * * * * revised version of shakspeare "a poor player, who struts and frets his hour on the stage, and then--goes in society." * * * * * [illustration: a solo on the horn] * * * * * [illustration: after the performance.--_rupert the reckless (tompkins, a distinguished amateur from town)._ "now, i call it a beastly shame, jenkins; you haven't ordered that brute of yours off my togs, and you know i can't go back to the inn like _this_."] * * * * * [illustration: scenes from mr. punch's pantomime. scene i.--the tragic mews] * * * * * [illustration: scenes from mr. punch's pantomime. scene ii.--the comic mews] * * * * * [illustration: ambiguous.--_first actress._ "oh, my dear, i'm feeling so chippy! i think i shall send down a doctor's certificate to-night, to say i can't act." _second ditto._ "surely a certificate isn't necessary, dear?"] * * * * * [illustration: _tenor (at amateur concert)._ "it's my turn next, and i'm so nervous i should like to run away. would you mind accompanying me, miss brown?"] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. smith._ "this is a very unpleasant piece, don't you think? there's certainly a great deal to be done yet in the way of elevating the stage." _mr. jones (who hasn't been able to get a glimpse of the stage all the afternoon)._ "well--er--it would come to much the same thing if you ladies were to lower your hats!"] * * * * * [illustration: our theatricals.--_the countess._ "will this cruel war _never_ end? day after day i watch and wait, straining every nerve to catch the sound of the trumpet that will tell me of my warrior's return. but, hark! what is that i hear?" [_stage direction.--"trumpet faintly heard in distance." but we hadn't rehearsed that, and didn't explain the situation quite clearly to the local cornet-player who helped us on the night._ ] * * * * * [illustration: master jackey having seen a "professor" of posturing, has a private performance of his own in the nursery.] * * * * * [illustration: _mazeppa._ "again he urges on his wild career!!!"] * * * * * [illustration: distinguished amateurs. the actor.--_billy wapshot._ "i say, look here, you know! they've cast me for the part of _sir guy earliswoodde_, an awful ass that everyone keeps laughing at! how the dickens am i to act such a beastly part as that?--and how am i to dress for it, i should like to know?" _brown (stage manager)._ "my dear fellow, dress _just as you are!_--and as for acting, _be as natural as you possibly can!_ it will be an immense success!"] * * * * * [illustration: distinguished amateurs. the jeune premier.--"_what_, eleanor? you know _sir lionel wildrake_, the handsomest, wittiest, most dangerous man in town! he of whom it is said that no woman has ever been known to resist him yet!" "the same, lilian! but hush! he comes----" [_enter colonel sir lionel wildrake_. ] * * * * * there is a blessing on peacemakers--is there one on playwrights? * * * * * the home of the british drama.--a french crib. * * * * * a court theatre ticket.--the order of the garter available only at windsor as an order for the stalls. * * * * * new name for a theatre where the actors are more or less unintelligible.--"the mumbles." * * * * * [illustration: music by handle.] * * * * * [illustration: the swing of the pendulum "and pray, duke, what possible objection can you have to my being a suitor for the hand of your daughter gwendolen? i--a--_think_ i may flatter myself that, as a leading gentleman at the parthenon theatre, my social position is at least on a par with your grace's!" "i admit that to be the case just _at present_--but the social position of an actor may suffer a reaction, and a day _may_ come when even the leading gentleman at the parthenon may sink to the level of a _bishop_, let us say, and be no longer quite a suitable match for a daughter of the--a--house of beaumanoir!"] * * * * * [illustration: turning a phrase.--_dramatic author._ "what the deuce do you mean by pitching into my piece in this brutal manner? it's shameful!" _dramatic critic._ "pitching into it? no, no, no, dear old man--you'll see how pleased i was, _if you'll only read between the lines!_"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_a booth in the wild west_ _the curtain has just fallen on the first act of the "pirates of the pacific."_ _author._ "what is the audience shouting for?" _manager._ "they're calling for the author." _author._ "then hadn't i better appear?" _manager._ "i guess not. they've got their revolvers in their hands!"] * * * * * [illustration: "men were deceivers ever" _first counter tenor._ "scritchy, i think your wife's waiting for you at our entrance." _second counter tenor._ "oh, then, let's go out at the _bass_ door!"] * * * * * [illustration: the commentators.--_first quidnunc (in an ecstasy)._ "i've just been writing to the 'new shakspeare society.' 'believe i've made a discovery--that _horatio_ was _hamlet's_ father!" _second quidnunc (enchanted)._ "you don't say so!" _first quidnunc._ "my dear sir, doesn't _hamlet_, when he handles _yorick's_ skull, address _horatio_, 'and smelt so, pa'? i think that's conclusive!!"] * * * * * [illustration: a disenchantment _very unsophisticated old lady (from the extremely remote country)._ "_dear_ me! he's a _very_ different-looking person from what i had always imagined!"] * * * * * [illustration: "just hint a fault" _little tommy bodkin takes his cousins to the gallery of the opera_ _pretty jemima (who is always so considerate)._ "tom, dear, don't you think you had better take off your hat, on account of the poor people behind, you know?"] * * * * * the moan of a theatre-manager who gets, by hook or crook, from me admittance free, though well knows he that myriads turned away will be? the deadhead. who, while he for his programme pays the smallest silver coin, inveighs against such fraud with eyes ablaze? the deadhead. who to his neighbour spins harangues, on how he views with grievous pangs the dust that on our hangings hangs? the deadhead. who, in a voice which rings afar, declares, while standing at the bar, our drinks most deleterious are? the deadhead. who, aye withholds the claps and cheers that others give? who jeers and sneers at all he sees and all he hears? the deadhead. who loudly, as the drama's plot unfolds, declares the tale a lot of balderdash and tommy-rot? the deadhead. who dubs the actors boorish hinds? who fault with all the scenery finds? who with disgust his molars grinds? the deadhead. who spreads dissatisfaction wide 'mongst those who else with all they spied had been extremely satisfied? the deadhead. who runs us down for many a day, and keeps no end of folks away that else would for admittance pay? the deadhead. who keeps his reputation still, for recompensing good with ill with more than pandemonium's skill? the deadhead. who makes the bankrupt's doleful doom in all its blackness o'er me loom? who'll bring my grey head to the tomb? the deadhead. * * * * * [illustration: ibsen in brixton.--_mrs. harris._ "yes, william, i've thought a deal about it, and i find i'm nothing but your doll and dickey-bird, and so i'm going!"] * * * * * [illustration: a five bar rest] * * * * * [illustration: _seedy provincial actor._ "young man, i hear that you propose to essay the _rôle_ of the melancholy dane. what induced you to do it?" _prosperous london ditto._ "oh, i don't know. they egged me on to it." _seedy provincial actor._ "h'm. they egged _me off_!"] * * * * * lessons learned at a pantomime (_by an intelligent schoolboy_) that demons are much given to making bad puns, and have on their visiting lists the most beautiful of the fairies. that the attendants upon the demons (presumably their victims) spend much of their time in break-downs. that the chief amusement in fairyland is to stand upon one toe for a distressingly long time. that the fairies, when they speak, don't seem to have more h.'s to their tongues, than clothes to their backs. that the fairies have particularly fair complexions, considering they dance so much in the sunlight. that the tight and scanty costume of the fairies is most insufficient protection from the showers that must be required to produce the gigantic and highly-coloured fairy _flora_. that the chief fairy (to judge from her allusions to current events) must take in the daily papers. that harlequin is always shaking his bat, but nothing seems to come of it, and that it is hard to say why he comes on or goes off, or, in short, what he's at altogether. that if clown and pantaloon want to catch columbine, it is hard to see why they don't catch her. that pantaloon must have been greatly neglected by his children to be exposed without some filial protection to such ill-usage from clown. that clown leads a reckless and abandoned life, between thefts, butter-slides, hot pokers, nurse-maids, and murdered babies, and on the whole is lucky to escape hanging. that policemen are made to be chaffed, cuffed, chased, and knocked head-over-heels. * * * * * [illustration: the new play _low comedian._ "have you seen the notice?" _tragedian._ "no; is it a good one?" _low comedian._ "it's a fortnight's."] * * * * * [illustration: a quick movement with an obligato accompaniment.] * * * * * [illustration: terrific situation! heroine of domestic drama pursued by the unprincipled villain is about to cast herself headlong from a tremendous precipice!] * * * * * appreciative! _the eldest miss bluestocken (to mrs. mugby, of the village laundry)._ i'm delighted that you were able to come to our schoolroom performance of _scenes from shakspeare_. _mrs. mugby._ oh, so was i, mum. that there "'amblet"--and the grand lady, mum---- _eldest miss b. (condescendingly)._ you mean "hamlet" and his mother--the vicar and myself. you enjoyed it? _mrs. mugby._ oh, we did, mum! we ain't 'ad such a rale good laugh for many a long day. [_exit_ miss b., _thinking that shakspeare is perhaps somewhat thrown away on this yokality_.] * * * * * the book of the play (_as managers like it_).--"all places taken for the next fortnight." * * * * * when actors complain that all they require is "parts," they generally tell the exact truth. * * * * * [illustration: scene from shakspearian pantomime "where got'st thou that goose?--look!" (_macbeth_, act v., sc. .)] * * * * * [illustration: a disenchantment.--_grandpapa._ "_what_? bob in love with miss fontalba, the comic actress at the parthenon?" _bob (firing up)._ "yes, grandpa! and if you've got a word to say against that lady, it had better not be said in my presence, that's all!" _grandpapa._ "_i_ say a word _against_ her! why, bless your heart, my dear boy! i was head over ears in love with her _myself_--_when i was your age!_"] * * * * * [illustration: the problem play.--_new woman (with the hat)._ "no! _my_ principle is simply _this_--if there's a _demand_ for these plays, it must be _supplied_!" _woman not new (with the bonnet)._ "precisely! just as with the bull-fights in spain!" [_scores_ ] * * * * * [illustration: church theatres for country villages--the blameless ballet ["_mr. chamberlain has expressed himself in sympathy with the scheme of the rev. forbes phillips for running theatres in connection with the churches in country villages._"] there would, our artist imagines, be no difficulty in obtaining willing coryphées among the pew-openers and philanthropic spinsters of the various parishes.] * * * * * [illustration: _mr. m'chrustie (in the washing-room of the minerva club)._ "look here, waiter, what's the meaning of this? these brushes are as beastly grimy as if they'd been blacking boots----!" _waiter._ "yes, sir: it's them members from the 'junior theshpian,' sir--as are 'ere now, sir. they do dye theirselves to that degree----!" [_mr. m'c. rushes off and writes furiously to the committee!_ ] * * * * * _q._ what were the "palmy" days of the drama? _a._ when they were first-rate hands at acting. * * * * * motto for all dramatic performers.--"act well your part." * * * * * a band-box.--an orchestra. * * * * * "what an awful voice that man's got!" said the manager, who was listening to the throaty tenor. "call that a voice," said his friend; "it's a disease!" * * * * * a private box.--a sentry box. * * * * * [illustration: "you can't sit there, mum. these here seats are reserved." "you don't seem to be aware that i'm one of the directors' wives!" "and if you was his _only_ wife, mum, i couldn't let you sit here."] * * * * * during the dull season a certain manager has issued such a number of his autographs in order to ensure the proper filling of his house that he has in playfulness conferred on it the nickname of the ordertorium. * * * * * what managers, actresses, and spectators all want.--a good dressing. * * * * * christmas music for theatres.--the "waits" between the acts. * * * * * what we want for the british drama generally is not so much native talent as imagi-native talent. * * * * * at the music halls.--the birds that fly by night--the acro-bats. * * * * * [illustration: confrÈres.--_master jacky (who took part in some school theatricals last term,--suddenly, to eminent tragedian who has come to call)._ "i say, you know--i act!"] * * * * * [illustration: a prop of the drama "what, back already, archie! was it a dull piece, then?" "don't know. didn't stop to see. just looked round stalls and boxes, and didn't see a soul i knew!--so i came away."] * * * * * [illustration: showing that sometimes it is good for a cobbler _not_ to stick to his last. _fair matron._ "i remember your acting '_sir anthony_,' _years_ ago, when i was a girl, sir charles! you did it splendidly!" _the great mathematician._ "ah, would you believe it, that bit of acting brought me more compliments than anything i ever did?" _fair matron._ "i should _think_ so, indeed!"] * * * * * the company that frequently fills a theatre better than a dramatic one.--the stationers' company. * * * * * the managers of drury lane, gaiety, alhambra and empire theatres ought _ex-officio_ to be members of the worshipful guild of spectacle-makers. * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: "_walking lady_" (_late for rehearsal_). "oh, i'm so sorry to be late! i _do_ hope you haven't all been waiting for me?" _stage manager_ (_icily_). "my dear miss chalmers, incompetence is the gift of heaven; but attention to business may be cultivated!"] * * * * * [illustration: an unkind cut.--_amateur._ "it was very kind of you to come to our performance the other night; but what did you think of my _hamlet_? pretty good?" _professional_ (_feigning ecstasy_). "oh, my dear fellow, 'pon my word you know,--really i assure you, good's not the word!"] * * * * * [illustration: _first critic._ "well, have you seen the great tragedian in _romeo and juliet_?" _second ditto._ "i have; and i confess he didn't come up to my ixpictations. to tell ye the truth, i niver thought he would!"] * * * * * [illustration: a crowded house _angry voice_ (_from a back seat_). "ears off in front there, please!"] * * * * * [illustration: the provincial drama _the marquis_ (_in the play_). "aven't i give' yer the edgication of a gen'leman?" _lord adolphus_ (_spendthrift heir_). "you 'ave!!"] * * * * * [illustration: a conductor of heat] * * * * * [illustration: "startling effects!" _peep-showman._ "on the right you observe the 'xpress train a-comin' along, an' the signal lights, the green and the red. the green lights means 'caution,' and the red lights si'nifies 'danger'"---- _small boy_ (_with his eye to the aperture_). "but what's the yaller light, sir?" _peep-showman_ (_slow and impressive_). "there ain't no yaller light--but the green and the red. the green lights means 'caution,' and the red lights si'nif----" _small boy_ (_persistently_). "but wha's the other light, sir?" _peep-showman_ (_losing patience_). "tell yer there ain't no"----(_takes a look--in consternation_)--"blowed if the darned old show ain't a-fire!!"] * * * * * ex nihilo nihil fit ["fashions in drama change as frequently as fashions in hats. it has been reserved for our own day to evolve the comedy of nothing-in-particular. nowadays nothing happens in a play."--_the outlook._] scene--_nowhere in particular._ characters. he, _a nonentity_. she, _another_. _he._ dear----! _she_ (_wearily_). oh please don't. [_does nothing._ _he._ why, what's the matter? _she._ nothing. [_he does nothing._ _she._ well, you may as well go on. it will be something, anyhow. (_yawns._) nothing ever seems to happen in this play. i don't know why. it isn't my fault. oh, go on. _he._ all right. don't suppose it amuses me, though. darling, i love you--will you marry me? _she_ (_very wearily_). oh, i suppose so. _he._ thanks very much. (_kisses her._) there! [_returns proudly to his seat, and does nothing._ _she_ (_with sudden excitement_). supposing i had said "no," would you have shot yourself?--would you have gone to the front?--would your life have been a blank hereafter? would anything interesting have happened? _he_ (_with a great determination in his eyes_). had you spurned my love---- _she_ (_excitedly_). yes, yes? _he_ (_with emotion_).--i should have--i should have--done nothing. [_does it._ _she._ oh! _he._ yes. as for shooting or drowning myself if any little thing of that sort had happened it would have been _off_ the stage. i hope i know my place. [_she does nothing._ _he_ (_politely_). i don't know if you're keen about stopping here? if not, we might---- _she._ we must wait till somebody else comes on. _he._ true. (_reflects deeply._) er--do you mote much? [_she sleeps. the audience follows suit. curtain eventually._ * * * * * [illustration: how he ought _not_ to look _excited prompter_ (_to the ghost of hamlet's father, who is working himself up to the most funereal aspect he can assume_). "now then, walker, _look alive_!"] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric shakspeare.--"macbeth" "infirm of purpose! give me the daggers."--_act ii. sc. ._] * * * * * [illustration: music-hall inanities.--i. _miss birdie vandeleur ("society's pet"--vide her advertisements passim) bawls the refrain of her latest song_:-- "ow, i am sow orferly _shy_, boys! i am, and i kennot tell wy, boys! some dy, wen i'm owlder, per'aps i'll git bowlder, but naow i am orfer-ly shy!"] * * * * * [illustration: music-hall inanities.--ii. the illustrative method. 'e's not a _tall_ man--nor a _short_ man--but he's just the man for me.' "not in the army--nor the nivy--but the royal artill-er-ee!"] * * * * * attention at the play. (_as performed at many london theatres_) scene--_interior of a private box._ time--_towards the end of the first act of an established success._ present--_a party of four._ _no. _ (_gazing through opera glasses_). a good house. do you know anyone? _no. ._ not a soul. stay--aren't those the fitzsnooks? _no. _ (_also using a magnifier_). you mean the woman in the red feather at the end of the third row of the stalls? _no. ._ you have spotted them. they have got bobby tenterfore with them. you know, the johnnie in the f. o. _no. ._ i thought mr. tenterfore was at vienna. _no. ._ no; he _was_ going, but they sent another chap. brought him back from somewhere in the tropics. _no. ._ then what is mr. tenterfore doing in town? _no. ._ oh! come home on leave. lots of that sort of thing at the f. o. _no. _ (_having grown weary of looking at the audience_). by the way, _à propos de bottes_, i have some money to invest. can you suggest anything? _no. ._ they say that diddlers deferred will turn up trumps. _no. ._ what do you mean by that? i only want to pop in and out between the accounts. _no. ._ then the diddlers ought to suit you. they rose six last week, and ought to touch ten before settling day. _no. ._ then i am on. thanks very much for the information. ah! the curtain has fallen. so much for the first act! (_enter visitor._) ah! how are you? where are you? _visitor._ well, i have got a stall, but i have only just come into the house. what are they playing? _no. ._ i am sure i don't know; but if you are curious about it, here's the programme. _visitor._ and what's it all about? _no. _ (_on behalf of self and companions_). we haven't the faintest notion. [_conversation becomes general, and remains so until the end of the evening, regardless of the dialogue on the stage side of the curtain._ * * * * * [illustration: melodrama in the suburbs.--_elder sister._ "do give up, nellie! they're only acting." _nellie_ (_tearfully_). "you leave me alone. i'm enjoying it!"] * * * * * [illustration: the ruling passion.--_doctor._ "no, my dear sir, we must keep ourselves quiet for the present. no stimulants--nothing more exciting than gruel. gruel for breakfast, gruel for luncheon, gruel for dinner, gruel for----" _peter pundoleful_ (_a noted burlesque writer--though you wouldn't have thought it to look at him--rousing himself suddenly_). "ah! my dear doctor, why is there not a society for the prevention of gruelty to animals?"] * * * * * his first and last play ralph essendean, _aged about fifty, is discovered at a writing-desk. he studies a newspaper, from which he reads aloud, thoughtfully:--"so that a successful play may bring its author anything from five to twenty thousand pounds." he lays down the paper, mutters, "h'm!" and taking up a pencil bites it meditatively. enter mrs. essendean._ _mrs. essendean_ (_crossing to ralph, and placing her hand on his shoulder, asks affectionately_). well, dear, and how is the play getting on? _ralph_ (_irritably_). you talk of the play, matilda, as though it were possible to write a four-act drama in ten minutes. the play is not getting on at all well, for the simple reason that i am only just thinking out the idea. _mrs. essendean_ (_seating herself by the table_). how nice, dear! and what _is_ the idea? _ralph_ (_grimly_). that is just what i am wondering about. now if you will kindly retire to the kitchen and make an omelette, or discharge the cook, i shall be obliged. [_leans over his desk._ _mrs. e._ but, dear, i am sure the cook is a most excellent servant, and---- _ralph_ (_turning round and speaking with repressed exasperation_). that was simply my attempt at a humorous explanation of my wish to be alone, matilda. _mrs. e._ (_smiling indulgently and rising_). well, dear, of course if it's going to be a _funny_ play, i know you would like to be alone. (_pausing at the open door._) and will you read it to us after dinner? you know the willoughby-smythes will be here, and mr. and mrs. vallance from the bank are coming in afterwards. i am sure they would like to hear it. _ralph_ (_irritably_). the play isn't written yet. (_plaintively._) _do_ go! _mrs. e._ (_sweetly_). i'm sure you'd like to be alone. don't keep dinner waiting. [_beams on him affectionately and exits. ralph gives a sigh of relief, rumples his hair, and then writes for a few minutes. then pauses, leans back, biting his pencil, when the door is flung open, and a very good imitation of a whirlwind bursts into the room. the whirlwind is a robust person of forty, he has a large round red face fringed with sandy whiskers, and is one mass of health and happiness. he wears norfolk jacket, knickerbockers, gaiters and thick boots, and carries a golfing bag. he slaps ralph heartily on the back, and laughs boisterously. ralph collapses._ _tom_ (_heartily_). how are you? going strong--what? asked the wife for you, and she told me you were in here writing a play. rippin' idea--what? _ralph_ (_worried, but striving to be pleasant and polite_). what do you want, old chap? _tom_ (_cheerfully_). nothin' particular, only just to see how you were gettin' on--what? do you good to have half an hour out, just a few holes--golf--what? _ralph_ (_with great self-restraint_). thanks, old man. not now. you don't mind my asking you to leave me to myself a bit? _tom_ (_amiably rising and picking up his bag_). all right, old chap, you know best--what? thought i'd just look in--hey?--what? well, i'm off. (_goes to door, thinks for a moment, and then turns round._) i say, i know thingummy's acting manager. if i can put in a word about your play--hey?--what? _ralph_ (_rises hurriedly. shakes hands with tom, and skilfully manoeuvres him into the passage, then calls after him_). good-bye, old man, and many thanks. (_closes the door and returns to his desk, grinding his teeth._) confound him! (_takes up paper and writes a few lines, then reads aloud._) "puffington puts the letter in his pocket and passes his hand through his hair. he groans 'o, why did i ever write those letters? i know flossie, and this means fifty pounds at least, and if ever my mother-in-law gets to hear of it! o lor, here she is'" (_puts down the paper and looks up at the ceiling._) now, speaking to myself as one man to another, i can't help thinking that this sort of thing has been done before. i seem to have heard it somewhere. i'll--i'll--try a fresh start. (_writes hurriedly for a few minutes and then reads._) "scene.--fashionable watering place, the beach is crowded; on the pier the band is playing a dreamy waltz. edwin and maud are discovered in an open boat. _edwin._ you must be tired of rowing, sweetest; come and steer. _maud._ just as you like, darling. (_as they change seats the boat capsizes. after clinging for twenty minutes to the upturned keel, they are rescued by a passing steamer._)" that's all right for a "situation," but there seems a lack of dialogue. they can't very well talk while they are clinging to the boat; and what the deuce could they be talking about before? if i let them drown i shall have to introduce fresh characters. bother! (_meditates with frowning brow._) playwriting appears to present more difficulties than i thought. (_takes up a newspaper._) "may bring in anything from five to twenty thousand pounds!" sounds tempting, but i wonder how it's done? [_takes a cigar from the mantelpiece, lights it, and, seating himself near the fire, smokes thoughtfully. gradually his head sinks back on to the top of the chair, the cigar drops from his relaxed fingers, and as he sleeps, the shadow of a smile breaks across his face. an hour elapses; he is still sleeping. enter mrs. essendean, who brushes against the writing-table and sweeps the sheets of manuscript to the ground._ _mrs. essendean_ (_crossing to ralph and lightly shaking him_). my dear, my dear, not dressed yet! do you know the time--just the half-hour. (_ralph starts up._) eh? (_looks at the clock._) nearly half past, by jove! i shan't be two seconds. [_rushes hastily from the room._ _mrs. essendean (picks up the extinguished cigar, and drops it daintily into the fire. looks round the room and sees the littering manuscript._) what an untidy old thing it is! (_picks up the sheets, crumples them into a ball and throws them into the waste-paper basket._) there, that looks better. [_gazes into the mirror, pats her hair, and exit._ (_end of the play._) * * * * * [illustration: paradoxical.--_ethel._ "it was a most wonderful performance, aunt tabitha! first, she was shot out of a cannon's mouth on to a trapeze fifteen yards above the orchestra, and then she swung herself up till she stood on a rope on one leg at least a hundred and twenty feet above our heads!" _aunt tabitha._ "ah! i always think a woman _lowers_ herself when she does that!"] * * * * * [illustration: form _first masher._ "let's stop and look at punch and judy, old chappie! i've heard it's as good as a play." _second masher._ "i dessay it is, my brave boy. but we ain't dressed, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: property has its rights scene: _mr. foote lyter's back drawing-room. private theatricals. dress rehearsal._ _mr. foote lyter._ "i say, drawle, while the duke is having his scene with dora, where am _i_ to stand!" _captain drawle_ (_amateur stage manager_). "well--er--my dear fellow--er--er--it's your own house, you know--_you can stand where you like_!"] * * * * * [illustration: the point of view.--_exasperated old gentleman_ (_to lady in front of him_). "excuse me, madam, but my seat has cost me ten shillings, and i want to see. your hat----" _the lady._ "my hat has cost me ten _guineas_, sir, and i want it to _be seen_!"] * * * * * [illustration: tomkins, who has recently made his appearance _en amateur_ as the melancholy dane, goes to have his photograph taken "in character." unfortunately, on reaching the corner of the street, he finds _the road is up_, and he has to walk to the door! tableau!!] * * * * * [illustration: _clever juvenile_ (_loq._). "shakspeare? pooh! for my part i consider shakspeare a very much over-rated man."] * * * * * [illustration: the forthcoming pantomime _astonished friend._ "why!--why! what on earth are these?" _manager._ "these? oh! these are _fairies_!!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch's patent matinee hat. fitted with binocular glasses for the benefit of those sitting behind its wearer.] * * * * * [illustration: heard at a provincial circus.--_wag_ (_to unfortunate small gent, who has vainly endeavoured to persuade lady to remove her hat_). "don't you see she's got a bird in her hat, sitting? you wouldn't have the lady addle-headed, would you?"] * * * * * [illustration: the amateurs.--_suburban roscius._ "ah, i saw you were at our 'theatricals' the other night. how did you like my assumption of _hamlet_?" _candid friend._ "my dear f'llar--great'st piece of assumption i ever saw i' m' life!"] * * * * * [illustration: cause and effect _eminent provincial tragedian._ "come hithorr, sweet one! your mothorr tells me that you shed teorrs during my soliloquy in exile, last night!" _sweet one._ "yes, sir. mother kept on pinching me, 'cause i was so sleepy!"] * * * * * [illustration: "exclusive" _our philanthropist_ (_who often takes the shilling gallery_--_to his neighbour_). "only a middling house." _unwashed artisan._ "ay--that sixpence extry, 'rather heavy for the likes o' huz, y'know. but there's one thing--it keeps out the riff-raff!!"] * * * * * [illustration: the drama.--_Æsthetic critic_ (_at the club, after the theatre_). "can you imagine anything more utterly solemn than the _dénoûment_ in _romeo and juliet_? two lovers, both dying in the same vault! what fate more weirdly tragic could----" _cynical old bachelor_ (_who has evidently never read the play_). "um--'s no knowing. the author might 'a' married 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: _distinguished amateur_ (_about to make his first appearance in public at a concert for the people_). "oh, i _do_ feel so nervous!" _sympathetic friend._ "oh, there's no occasion to be nervous, my dear fellow. they applaud _anything_!"] * * * * * [illustration: the maiden's point of view.--_mamma_ (_to maud, who has been with her brother to the play, and is full of it_). "but was there no _love_ in the piece, then?" _maud._ "_love?_ oh dear no, mamma. the principal characters were _husband and wife_, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: la comedie franÇaise _jones_ (_who understands french so well, although he does not speak it_), _reading over list of pieces to be played at the gaiety_:--"'le gendre de m. poirier.' why, what gender _should_ the man be, i should like to know!"] * * * * * [illustration: "those who live in glass houses," etc.--_the bishop._ "i hope your grandchildren liked the circus, lady godiva. that was a wonderful performance of mlle. petitpas on the bare-backed steed, wasn't it?" _lady godiva._ "yes--a--but i dislike those bare-backed performances. they're so risky, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: a very cold audience. (suggestion for the stalls in mid-winter)] * * * * * [illustration: a case of "no comprenny" "ha! mistare robinson! 'ow do you do? 'av you seen ze last new piece at ze 'olleborne? supairrb! splendeed!! good!!!" "a--no--i don't patronise the english drama. i like finish, delicacy, refinement; and i'm happy to say i've secured tickets for all the french plays!" "tiens! mais vous savez le français, alors?" "a--i beg your pardon?" "je vous demande si vous savez le français, parbleu! cruche, melon, baudet, dinde, jobard, crétin, momie, colin-maillard que vous êtes?" "a--quite so! no doubt! a--by the bye, have you seen jones lately?"] * * * * * between the acts; or, the drama in liquor scene--_refreshment saloon at a london theatre. a three-play bill forms the evening's entertainment. first act over. enter brown, jones, and robinson._ _brown._ well, really a very pleasant little piece. quite amusing. yes; i think i will have a cup of coffee or a glass of lemonade. too soon after dinner for anything stronger. _jones._ yes, and really, after laughing so much, one gets a thirst for what they call light refreshments. i will have some ginger-beer. _robinson._ well, i think i will stick to iced-water. you know the americans are very fond of that. they always take it at meal-times, and really after that capital _équivoque_ one feels quite satisfied. (_they are served by the bar attendant._) that was really very funny, where he hides behind the door when she is not looking. [_laughs at the recollection._ _brown._ and when the uncle sits down upon the band-box and crushes the canary-cage! [_chuckles._ _jones._ most clever. but there goes the bell, and the curtain will be up directly. rather clever, i am told. the _rose of rouen_--it is founded on the life of _joan of arc_. i am rather fond of these historical studies. _brown._ so am i. they are very interesting. _robinson._ do you think so? well, so far as i am concerned, i prefer melodrama. judging from the title, _the gory hand_ should be uncommonly good. [_exeunt into theatre. after a pause they return to the refreshment room._ _brown._ well, it is very clever; but i confess it beats me. (_to bar attendant._) we will all take soda-water. no, thanks, quite neat, and for these gentlemen too. _jones._ well, i call it a most excellent psychological study. however, wants a clear head to understand it. (_sips his soda-water._) i don't see how she can take the flag from the bishop, and yet want to marry the englishman. _robinson._ ah, but that was before the vision. if you think it over carefully, you will see it was natural enough. of course, you must allow for the spirit of the period, and other surrounding circumstances. _brown._ are you going to stay for _the gory hand_? _jones._ not i. i am tired of play-acting, and think we have had enough of it. _robinson._ well, i think i shall look in. i am rather fond of strong scenes, and it should be good, to judge from the programme. _jones._ well, we will "sit out." it's rather gruesome. quite different from the other plays. _robinson._ well, i don't mind horrors--in fact, like them. there goes the bell. so i am off. wait until i come back. _brown._ that depends how long you are away. ta, ta! [_exit robinson._ _jones._ now, how a fellow can enjoy a piece like that, i cannot understand. it is full of murders, from the rise to the fall of the curtain. _brown._ yes--but robinson likes that sort of thing. you will see by-and-by how the plot will affect him. it is rather jumpy, especially at the end, when the severed head tells the story of the murder to the assistant executioner. i would not see it again on any account. _jones._ no--it sent my maiden aunt in hysterics. however, it has the merit of being short. (_applause._) ah, there it's over! let's see how robinson likes it. that _tableau_ at the end, of the starving-coastguardsman expiring under the rack, is perfectly awful! (_enter robinson, staggering in._) why, my boy, what's the matter? _brown._ you do look scared! have something to drink? that will set it all to-rights! _robinson_ (_with his eyes protruding from his head, from horror_). help, help! help! (_after a long shudder._) brandy! brandy!! brandy!!! [_at all the places at the bar there is a general demand for alcohol._ _brown._ yes. irving was right; soda-water does very well for shakspeare's histories, but when you come to a piece like _the bells_, you require supporting. [_curtain and moral._ * * * * * [illustration: _manager of "freak" show._ "have i got a vacancy for a giant? why, you don't look five feet!" _candidate._ "yes, that's just it. i'm the smallest giant on record!"] * * * * * [illustration: an irresistible appeal.--_mrs. blokey_ (_who has called with a letter of introduction on mr. roscius lamborn, the famous actor and manager_). "and i've brought you my son, who's breakin' his mother's 'art, mr. lamborn! he insists on givin' up the city and goin' on the stage--and his father an alderman and 'im in his father's business, and all the family thought of so 'ighly in clapham! it's a _great grief_ to us, _i assure_ you, mr. lamborn! oh! if you could only dissuade 'im! but it's too late for that, i'm afraid, so p'raps you wouldn't mind givin' him a leadin' part in your next piece!"] * * * * * [illustration: what our dramatist has to put up with.--_his wife_ (_reading a sunday paper_). "_a propos of hamlet_, they say here that you and shakspeare represent the very opposite poles of the dramatic art!" _he._ "ah! that's a nasty one for shakspeare!"] * * * * * [illustration: overheard outside a theatre "yah! waitin' ter see der _kids_ play!"] * * * * * [illustration: _actor_ (_excitedly_). "for _two_ long _years_ have i----" _a voice from above._ "so you 'ave, guv'nor!"] * * * * * [illustration: study of an ancient buck at a modern burlesque] * * * * * [illustration: coloured clergy (_a memory of st. james's hall_) _uncle_ (_can't see so well as he did, and a little hard of hearing_). "who do you say they are, my dear!--christian ministers? 'ncom'ly kind of 'em to give a concert, to be sure! for a charitable purpose, i've no doubt, my dear!!"] * * * * * [illustration: supererogation _country maid_ (_having first seen "missus" and the children into a cab_). "o, coachman, do you know the principal entrance to drury lane theat----?" _crabbed old cabby_ (_with expression of ineffable contempt_). "do i know! kim aup----!"] * * * * * [illustration: _jones_ (_alluding to the song_). "not bad; but i think the girl might have put a little more _spirit_ into it with advantage." _lushington._ "jush 't i was thinkin'. lesh avanother!"] * * * * * [illustration: after the theatricals.--"what on earth made you tell that appalling little cad that he ought to have trod the boards of ancient greece! you surely didn't really admire his acting?" "oh no! but, you know, the greek actors used to wear masks!"] * * * * * [illustration: "jemmy! what's a stall at the hopera?" "well, i can't say, not for certain; but i suppose it's where they sells the happles, horanges, ginger-beer, and biskits."] * * * * * [illustration: "please, sir! give us your ticket if you aint agoin' in again."] * * * * * [illustration: a domestic drama "admit two to the boxes."] * * * * * [illustration: progress _young rustic._ "gran'fa'r, who was shylock?" _senior_ (_after a pause_). "lauk a' mussy, bo', yeou goo to sunday skewl, and don't know that!"] * * * * * "hamlet" a la sauce dumb-crambo [illustration: "oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt!"--act i., sc. .] [illustration: "i could a tail unfold!"--_ibid._] [illustration: "what a falling off was there!"--_ibid._] [illustration: "methinks i scent the morning hair!"--_ibid._] [illustration: "brief let me be!"--_ibid._] [illustration: "lend thy serious ear-ring to what i shall unfold!"--act i., sc. .] [illustration: "toby, or not toby? that is the question."--act ii., sc. .] [illustration: "the king, sir."--"ay, sir, what of him?"--"is in his retirement marvellous distempered."--"with drink, sir!"--"no, my lord, rather with collar!"--act iii., sc. .] [illustration: "oh, my offence is rank!"--act iii., sc. .] [illustration: "put your bonnet to his right use--'tis for the head."--act v., sc. .] * * * * * [illustration: "coming events cast their shadows before them." _domesticated wife._ "oh, george, i wish you'd just----" _talented husband_ (_author of various successful comic songs for music halls, writer of pantomimes and variety-show libretti_). "oh, for goodness sake, lucy, don't bother me _now_! you might _see_ i'm trying to work out some _quite_ new lines for the fairy in the transformation scene of the pantomime!"] * * * * * [illustration: a sensitive ear. _intelligent briton._ "but we have no theatre, no actors worthy of the name, mademoiselle! why, the english delivery of blank verse is simply torture to an ear accustomed to hear it given its full beauty and significance by a bernhardt or a coquelin!" _mademoiselle._ "indeed? i have never heard bernhardt or coquelin recite english blank verse!" _intelligent briton._ "of course not. i mean _french_ blank verse--the blank verse of corneille, racine, molière!" _mademoiselle._ "oh, monsieur, there is no such thing!" [_briton still tries to look intelligent._ ] * * * * * dumb-crambo's guide to the london theatres [illustration: drew wry lane] [illustration: cove in garden] [illustration: cry-teary 'un] [illustration: prints of whales] [illustration: "a--mark it!"] [illustration: gay at tea] [illustration: princesses and royal tea] [illustration: globe] [illustration: "scent, james?"] [illustration: strand and "save, hoi!"] [illustration: only in play!] [illustration: the actor who has his head turned with applause] * * * * * [illustration: curtain-raisers _ extract from ethel's correspondence_:--"at the last moment something went wrong with the curtain, and we had to do without one! it was awful! but the rector explained matters to the front row, and they came to the rescue _nobly_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "well, how did the new play go off last night?" "oh, there was a sleep-walking scene in the third act that was rather effective." "_À la lady macbeth_, eh?" "well--not exactly. it was the audience that got up in its sleep and walked out!"] * * * * * [illustration: music hall types i.--the "lion comique"] * * * * * [illustration: music hall types ii.--the "serio"] * * * * * [illustration: music hall types iii.--the "refined comedian"] * * * * * [illustration: on tour.--_heavy tragedian._ "do you let apartments to--ah--the profession?" _unsophisticated landlady._ "oh, yes, sir. why, last week we had the performing dogs here!"] * * * * * [illustration: art and nature. (_overheard during the private theatricals._)-- _she._ "how well your wife plays _lady geraldine_, mr. jones. i think the way she puts on that awful affected tone is just splendid. how _does_ she manage it?" _mr. jones_ (_with embarrassment_). "er--she doesn't. that's her natural voice."] * * * * * [illustration: convincing] * * * * * [illustration: finis] * * * * * bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. mr. punch in the hunting field punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: disillusioned awful predicament of young fitz-brown, who, having undertaken to see a young lady safely home after a day with the seaborough harriers, has lost his way, and has climbed up what he takes to be a sign-post.] * * * * * mr. punch in the hunting field as pictured by john leech, charles keene, phil may, randolph caldecott, l. raven-hill, g. d. armour, g. h. jalland, arthur hopkins, reginald cleaver, cecil aldin, tom browne, w. l. hodgson and others. [illustration] _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children * * * * * editor's note [illustration] from his earliest days mr. punch has been an enthusiast for the hunting field. but in this he has only been the faithful recorder of the manners of his countrymen, as there is no sport more redolent of "merrie england" than that of the horse and hound. at no time in mr. punch's history has he been without an artist who has specialised in the humours of the hunt. first it was the inimitable leech, some of whose drawings find a place in the present collection, and then the mantle of the sporting artist would seem to have descended to feminine shoulders, as miss bowers (mrs. bowers-edwards) wore it for some ten years after . that lady is also represented in the present work, at pages and . later came mr. g. h. jalland, many of whose drawings we have chosen for inclusion here. perhaps the most popular of his hunting jokes was that of the frenchman exclaiming, "stop ze chasse! i tomble, i faloff! _stop ze fox!!!_" (see page ). to-day, of course, it is mr. g. d. armour whose pencil is devoted chiefly to illustrating the humorous side of hunting; but now, as formerly, most of the eminent artists whose work lies usually in other fields, delight at times to find a subject associated with the hunt. thus we are able to present examples of mr. cecil aldin and mr. raven-hill in sportive mood, while such celebrities of the past as randolph caldecott and phil may are here drawn upon for the enriching of this, the first book of hunting humour compiled from the abundant chronicles of mr. punch. * * * * * [illustration: 'arry out with the 'ounds] * * * * * mr. punch in the hunting field the hunting season (_by jorrocks junior_) the season for hunting i see has begun, so adieu for a time to my rod and my gun; and ho! for the fox, be he wild or in bag, as i follow the chase on my high-mettled nag. * * * * * [illustration: "weather permitting,"--mr. punch drives to the first meet.] * * * * * i call him high-mettled, but still i must state, he hasn't a habit i always did hate, he doesn't walk sideways, like some "gees" you meet, who go slantindicularly down the street. he's steady and well broken in, for, of course, i can't risk my life on an unbroken horse; you might tie a torpedo or two on behind, and though they exploded that horse wouldn't mind. my strong point is costume, and oft i confess i've admired my get-up in a sportsmanlike dress; though, but for the finish their lustre confers, i would much rather be, i declare, without spurs. they look very well as to cover you ride, but i can't keep the things from the animal's side; and the mildest of "gees," i am telling no fibs, will resent having liberties ta'en with his ribs. then hie to the cover, the dogs are all there, and the horn of the hunter is heard on the air; i've a horn of my own, which in secret i stow, for, oddly enough, they don't like me to blow. we'll go round by that gate, my good sir, if you please, i'm one of your sportsmen who rides at his ease; and i don't care to trouble my courser to jump, for whenever he does i fall off in a lump. then haste to the meet! the old berkeley shall find, if i don't go precisely as fast as the wind, if they'll give my bucephalus time to take breath, we shall both of us, sometimes, be in at the death! * * * * * [illustration: a lion in the path? oh dear no! merely the "_first open day_" after a long frost, and a tom-tit has been inconsiderate enough to fly suddenly out of the fence on the way to covert!] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice _unsympathetic bystander._ "taking 'im back to 'is cab, guv'nor?"] * * * * * [illustration: how the last run of the wopshire hounds was spoilt.] * * * * * proverbs for the timid huntsman _dressing_ there's no toe without a corn. if the boot pinches--bear it. _breakfast_ a snack in time, saves nine. faint hunger never conquered tough beef-steak. _mounting_ you can't make a hunter out of a hired hack. the nearer the ground the safer the seat. _in the field_ take care of the hounds, but the fence may take care of itself. too many brooks spoil the sport. one pair of spurs may bring a horse to the water, but twenty will not make him jump. it is the howl that shows the funk. fools break rails for wise men to go over. snobs and their saddles are soon parted. _at luncheon_ a flask in the hand is worth a cask in the vault. cut your sandwiches according to your stomach. _coming home_ the nearer the home, the harder the seat. _bed-time_ it's a heavy sleep that has no turning. * * * * * [illustration: really pleasant! six miles from home, horse dead lame, awfully tender feet, and horribly tight boots.] * * * * * [illustration: "now, if i jump it, i shall certainly fall off; and if i dismount to open it, i shall never get on again."] * * * * * [illustration: this is jones, who thought to slip down by the rail early in the morning, and have a gallop with the fox hounds. on looking out of the window, he finds it is a clear frosty morning. he sees a small boy sliding--actually sliding on the pavement opposite!! and--doesn't he hate that boy--and doesn't he say it is a beastly climate!!] * * * * * [illustration: new sporting dictionary of familiar latin phrases. ( ) labour omnia vincit. (labor overcomes everything.)] [illustration: ( ) ars est celare artem. "après vous, mademoiselle!"] [illustration: ( ) exeunt omnes. (they all go off.)] * * * * * a genuine sportswoman _mrs. shodditon_ (_to captain forrard, on a cub-hunting morning_). "i do hope you'll have good sport, and find plenty of foxes." _captain forrard._ "hope so. by the way, how is that beautiful collie of yours that i admired so much?" _mrs. shodditon._ "oh! fanny! poor dear! our keeper shot it by mistake for a fox!" * * * * * [illustration: _short-sighted party_ (_thrown earlier, after weary tramp, thinks he sees mount on ploughed upland, and approaches bush coaxingly_). "whoa, my beauty! steady, my gal, steady then," &c.] [illustration: _same short-sighted party arrived at thornbush, discovers error, and reflects_--"five miles from station, perhaps ten--fifty miles from town, missed express, missed dinner, lost mount, wet through, getting dusk, and, by the way, where am i?" [_left reflecting_. ] * * * * * [illustration: _gorgeous stranger._ "i say, huntsman, would you mind blowing your horn two or three times? i want my fellow, who has my flask, to know where we are, don't you know!"] * * * * * diary of the modern hunt secretary "capping all non-subscribers is pretty generally resorted to, this season, not only in the shires, but also with provincial packs."--_daily press._] _monday._--splendid gallop after non-subscriber. spotted the quarry on good-looking chestnut, whilst we were drawing big covert. edged my horse over in his direction, but non-subscriber very wary--think he must have known my face as "collector of tolls." retired again to far side of spinney and disguised myself in pair of false whiskers, which i always keep for these occasions. craftily sidled up, and finally got within speaking distance, under cover of the whiskers, which effectually masked my battery. "beg pardon, sir," i began, lifting my hat, "but i don't think i have the pleasure of knowing your name as a subscri----" but he was off like a shot. went away over a nice line of country, all grass, and a good sound take-off to most of the fences. non-subscriber had got away with about a three lengths lead of me, and that interval was fairly maintained for the first mile and a half of the race. then, felt most annoyed to see that my quarry somewhat gained on me as we left the pasture land and went across a holding piece of plough. over a stiff post and rails, and on again, across some light fallow, towards a big dry ditch. the hunted one put his horse resolutely at it--must say he rode very straight, but what _won't_ men do to avoid "parting?"--horse jumped short and disappeared from view together with his rider. next moment i had also come a cropper at ditch, and rolled down on top of my prey. "excuse me," i said, taking out my pocket-book and struggling to my knees in six inches of mud, "but when you rather abruptly started away from covertside, i was just about to remark that i did not think you were a subscriber, and that i should have much pleasure in taking the customary 'cap'--thank you." and he paid up quite meekly. we agreed, as we rode back together, in the direction in which we imagined hounds to be, that even if they had got away with a good fox, the field would not be likely to have had so smart a gallop as he and i had already enjoyed. lost my day's hunting, of course. _thursday._--got away after another non-subscriber, led him over four fields, after which he ran me out of sight. lost my day's hunting again, but was highly commended by m.f.h. for my zeal. _saturday._--m.f.h. pointed out five non-subscribers, and i at once started off to "cap" them. lost another day with hounds--shall send in my resignation. * * * * * [illustration: _gent_ (_who has just executed a double somersault and is somewhat dazed_). "now where the dickens has that horse gone to?"] * * * * * [illustration: on exmoor _gent_ (_very excited after his first gallop with staghounds_). "hi, mister, don't let the dogs maul 'im, and i'll take the 'aunch at a bob a pound!"] * * * * * [illustration: cooked accounts _extract from old fitzbadly's letter to a friend, describing a run in the midlands:_--"i was well forward at the brook, but lost my hat, and had to dismount."] * * * * * [illustration: "hup--yer beast!"] [illustration: "hup!!--yer brute!"] [illustration: "hup!!!--yer infernal, confounded ---- hover!!!"] [illustration: and "hover" it was!] * * * * * [illustration: something like a nose. _whip_ (_after galloping half a mile to a holloa_). "where did you see him?" _yokel._ "can't zay as 'ow i 'zactly _zeed_ 'un, but i think i _smelled_ 'un!"] * * * * * [illustration: _second horseman no. ._ "ulloah, danny, what are you lookin' for?" _second horseman no. ._ "perkisites. guv'nor's just been over 'ere. 'e jumps so much 'igher than 'is 'orse, there's always some small change or summat to be picked up!"] * * * * * the new nimrod [mr. pat o'brien, m.p., was first in at the death on one occasion with the meath hounds on his bicycle, and was presented with the brush.] air--"_the hunting day_" "what a fine hunting day"-- 'tis an old-fashioned lay that i'll change to an up-to-date pome; old stagers may swear that the pace isn't fair, but they're left far behind us at home! see cyclists and bikes on their way, and scorchers their prowess display; let us join the glad throng that goes wheeling along, and we'll all go a-hunting to-day! new nimrods exclaim, "timber-topping" is tame, and "bull-finches" simply child's play; and they don't care a jot for a gallop or trot, though they _will_ go a-hunting to-day. there's a fox made of clockwork, they say they'll wind him and get him away; he runs with a rush on rails with his brush, so we must go and chase him to-day. we've abolished the sounds of the horn and the hounds-- 'tis the bicycle squeaker that squeals and the pack has been stuffed, or sent to old cruft, now the huntsmen have taken to wheels! hairy country no more we essay, five bars, too, no longer dismay, for we stick to the roads in the latest of modes, so we'll bike after reynard to-day! * * * * * [illustration: the language of sport. "where the----! what the----!! who the----!!! why the----!!!!"] * * * * * [illustration: comforting, very! _sportsman (who has mounted friend on bolting mare) shouts._ "you're all right, old chap! she's never been known to refuse water, and swims like a fish!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old stubbles_ (_having pounded the swells_). "aw--haw----! laugh away, but who be the roight side o' the fence, masters?"] * * * * * [illustration: cub hunting . "ah, my boys," said percy johnson, "give me a good old hurry and scurry--heigh o! gee whoa!--over the downs and through the brushwood after the cubs. so, early in the morning as you like. what can be more exhilarating?" . so, in happy anticipation of the morrow's meet, he retired.] [illustration: . later, at a.m., the butler came to rouse him. "sir!" a pause. "sir, th' 'osses be very nigh ready!" uncertain voice from within--"eh? good-night! remember to call me early in the morning!" . snoring resumed _in infinitum_. still, percy looked rather sheepish later on, when the others pretended they had missed him on the road, and inquired whether he had found the morning as exhilarating as he had expected.] * * * * * my little brown mare (_a song for the commencement of the hunting season_) she's rather too lean but her head's a large size, and she hasn't the average number of eyes; her hind legs are not what you'd call a good pair, and she's broken both knees, has my little brown mare. you can find some amusement in counting each rib, and she bites when she's hungry like mad at her crib; when viewed from behind she seems all on the square, she's quite a freemason--my little brown mare. her paces are rather too fast, i suppose, for she often comes down on her fine roman nose, and the way she takes fences makes hunting men stare, for she backs through the gaps does my little brown mare. she has curbs on her hocks and no hair on her knees; she has splints and has spavins wherever you please? her neck, like a vulture's, is horribly bare, but still she's a beauty, my little brown mare. she owns an aversion to windmills and ricks, when passing a waggon she lies down and kicks; and the clothes of her groom she'll persistently tear-- but still she's no vice has my little brown mare. when turned down to grass she oft strays out of bounds; she always was famous for snapping at hounds; and even the baby has learnt to beware the too playful bite of my little brown mare. she prances like mad and she jumps like a flea, and her waltz to a brass band is something to see: no circus had ever a horse, i declare, that could go through the hoops like my little brown mare. i mount her but seldom--in fact, to be plain, like the frenchman, when hunting i "do not remain:" since i've only one neck it would hardly be fair to risk it in riding my little brown mare! * * * * * [illustration: troubles of a would-be sportsman _huntsman_ (_to w.b.s._). "just 'op across, would ye, sir, and turn those 'ounds to me, please."] * * * * * [illustration: respice finem _excited shepherd_ (_to careful sportsman, inspecting fence with slight drop_). "come on, sir! all right! anywhere 'ere!" _careful sportsman._ "all very fine! you want to give me a fall, and get half-a-crown for catching my horse!"] * * * * * [illustration: "weeds"] * * * * * [illustration: "'ware wire!" "hallo, jack! what's up?" "don' know! i'm not!"] * * * * * misplaced energy _huntsman_ (_seeking a beaten fox_). "now then, have you seen anything of him?" _cockney sportsman_ (_immensely pleased with himself_). "well, rather! why, i've just driven him into this drain for you!" * * * * * [illustration: "while you wait" "here, my good man, just pull those rails down. be as quick as you can!" "take 'em down, miss! it'll be a good four hours' job, for i've been all the mornin' a-puttin' of 'em up!"] * * * * * [illustration: echoes of the chase. boxing day _holiday sportsman_ (_to whip, who has been hollering_). "where's the fox?" _whip._ "gone away, of course." _h. s._ "gone away! wotcher makin' all that noise for, then? i thought you'd caught 'im!"] * * * * * [illustration: easily satisfied _gent_ (_who all but dissolved partnership at the last fence_). "thank goodness i've got hold of the reins again! if i could but get my foot into that confounded stirrup, i should be all right!"] * * * * * a nice prospect _host_ (_to perks, an indifferent horseman, who has come down for the hunting_). "now, look here, perks, old chap, as you're a light weight, i'll get you to ride this young mare of mine. you see, i want to get her qualified for our hunt cup, and she's not up to my weight, or i'd ride her myself. perhaps i'd better tell you she hasn't been ridden to hounds before, so she's sure to be a bit nervous at first; and mind you steady her at the jumps, as she's apt to rush them; and i wouldn't take her too near other people, as she has a nasty temper, and knows how to use her heels; and, whatever you do, don't let her get you down, or she'll tear you to pieces. the last man that rode her is in hospital now. but keep your eye on her, and remember what i've said, and you'll be all right!" [_consternation of perks_ * * * * * 'arry on 'orseback our 'arry goes 'unting and sings with a will, "the 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill:" and oft, when a saddle looks terribly bare, the 'eels of our 'arry are seen in the air! * * * * * [illustration: 'w. stands for wire' "hulloah, jarge! been puttin' up some wire to keep the fox-hunter away?" "noa, i b'ain't put up no wire; but the 'unt they sends me a lot o' them boards with 'w' on um, so i just stuck 'em up all round the land, and they never comes nigh o' me now!"] * * * * * [illustration: the hunting season _rector._ "is that the parcels post, james? he's early this morning, isn't he?" (_noise without, baying of dogs, &c._) "what's all this----" _james_ (_excited_). "yes, sir. postman says as how the young 'ounds, a comin' back from cubbin', found 'im near the kennels, and runned 'im all the way 'ere. they was close on 'im when he got in! thinks it was a packet o' red 'errins in the bag, sir! i see the run from the pantry window"--(_with enthusiasm_)--"a beautiful ten minutes' bu'st, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: "duck, you fool! duck!"] * * * * * hunting "day by day" "the mudsquashington foxhounds had a good day's sport from wotsisname coverts (which were laid for a large number). they found in thingamy woods, rattled him round the osier beds, and then through the gorse, just above sumware. leaving this and turning left-handed, he ran on as far as sumotherplace, where he finally got to ground. amongst the numerous field were lord foozle and lady frump, messrs. borkins, poshbury, and tomkyn-smith."[a] [footnote a: half a dozen similar paragraphs cut out as being too exciting for the average reader's brain to bear.--ed.] * * * * * at melton _first sportsman._ "that crock of yours seems to be a bit of a songster." _second sportsman._ "yes, he has always been like that since i lent him to a well-known english tenor." _first sportsman_ (_drily_). "you should have taken him in exchange." * * * * * [illustration: a nice beginning. the above is not a french bull-fight, but merely the unpleasant adventure mr. jopling experienced on our opening day, when a skittish alderney crossed him at the first fence.] * * * * * [illustration: 'arry on 'orseback _'arry_ (_in extremities_). "well, gi' _me_ a _bike_!"] * * * * * [illustration: convenience of a light-weight groom _miss ethel._ "now, sit tight this time, charles. how could you be so stupid as to let him go?"] * * * * * [illustration: _voice from the ditch._ "don't jump here!" _irish huntsman._ "and what would ye be after down there? wather-cresses?"] * * * * * rather "is fox-hunting dangerous?" asks one of our daily papers. a fox informs us that it has its risks. * * * * * [illustration: _rough rider_ (_to old creeper, who will not let his horse jump_). "now then, gov'nor, if you are quite sure you can't get under it, perhaps you'll let me 'ave a turn!"] * * * * * proof positive _podson_ (_lately returned from abroad_). "well, i hear you've been having a capital season, thruster." _thruster._ "oh, rippin'! why, i've had both collar-bones broken, left wrist sprained, and haven't got a sound horse left in my string!" * * * * * [illustration: inexpressible _master jack_ (_son of m.f.h., much upset by hard weather_). "go skating with you! not if i know it. may be all very well for you women and those curate chaps--but we hunting men, by george!!!"] * * * * * by the covert side _fred_ (_a notorious funk_). "bai jove! jack, i'm afraid i've lost my nerve this season!" _jack._ "have you? doosid sorry for the poor beggar who finds it!" * * * * * [illustration: _elderly sportsman._ "i wonder they don't have that place stopped. why, i remember running a fox to ground there twenty years ago! don't you?"] * * * * * [illustration: theory and practice; or, why the engagement was broken off _lady di_ (_to jack, whose vows of devotion have been interrupted by a fox being hollered away_). "oh, jack, my hair's coming down! do stop and hold my horse. i won't be five minutes."] * * * * * [illustration: awful result of the war! _a dream of mr. punch's sporting correspondent_ ["mr. arthur wilson, master of the holderness hunt, has received an intimation from the war office that, in consequence of the war with the transvaal, ten of his horses will be required."--_daily paper._] ] * * * * * [illustration: "no followers allowed"] * * * * * [illustration: robbery with violence _lady_ (_who has just jumped on fallen sportsman_). "i'm awfully sorry! i hope we didn't hurt you?" _fallen sportsman._ "oh, i'm all right, thanks. but--er--do you mind leaving me my hat?"] * * * * * in the midlands _belated hunting man_ (_to native_). "can you kindly point out the way to the fox and cock inn?" _native._ "d'ye mean the barber's arms?" _b. h. m._ "no, the fox and cock!" _native._ "well, that's what we call the barber's arms." _b. h. m._ "why so?" _native_ (_with a hoarse laugh_). "well, ain't the fox and cock the same as the brush and comb?" [_vanishes into the gloaming, leaving the b. h. m. muttering those words which are not associated with benediction, while he wearily passes on his way._ * * * * * appropriate to the winter season for sportsmen, the old song long ago popular, entitled "_there's a good time coming, boys_," if sung by a m.f.h. with a bad cold, as thus: "_there's a good tibe cubbing, boys!_" * * * * * [illustration: mr. briggs's hunting cap comes home, but that is really a thing mrs. briggs _can_ not, and _will_ not put up with!] * * * * * [illustration: mr. briggs goes out with the brighton harriers. he has a capital day. the only drawback is, that he is obliged to lead his horse _up_ hill to ease him--] * * * [illustration: and _down_ hill because he is afraid of going over his head--so that he doesn't get quite so much horse exercise as he could wish!] * * * * * at the hunt ball (_the sad complaint of a man in black_) o molly, dear, my head, i fear, is going round and round, your cousin isn't in the hunt, when hunting men abound; a waltz for me no more you'll keep, the girls appear to think there's a law been made in favour of the wearing of the pink. sure i met you in the passage, and i took you by the hand, and says i, "how many dances, molly, darlint, will ye stand?" but your card was full, you said it with a most owdacious wink, and i'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink! you'd a waltz for charlie thruster, but you'd divil a one for me, though he dances like a steam-engine, as all the world may see; 'tis an illigant divarsion to observe the crowd divide, as he plunges down the ball-room, taking couples in his stride. 'tis a cropper you'll be coming, but you know your business best, still, it's bad to see you romping round with charlie and the rest; now you're dancing with lord arthur--sure, he's had enough to dhrink-- and i'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink! your cruelty ashamed you'll be someday to call to mind, you'll be glad to ask my pardon, then, for being so unkind, the hunting men are first, to-night--well, let them have their whack-- you'll be glad to dance with me, someday--when all the coats are black! but, since pink's the only colour now that fills your pretty head, bedad, i'll have some supper, and then vanish home to bed. 'tis the most distressful ball-room i was ever in, i think, and i'm "hanging" all your partners for the wearing of the pink! * * * * * [illustration: mr. briggs has another day with the hounds mr. briggs can't bear flying leaps, so he makes for a gap--which is immediately filled by a frantic protectionist, who is vowing that he will pitchfork mr. b. if he comes "galloperravering" over his fences--danged if he doant!] * * * * * [illustration: a doubtful informant _miss connie_ (_to gent in brook_). "could you tell me if there is a bridge anywhere handy?"] * * * * * [illustration: not to be beaten _cissy._ "why should they call the hare's tail the scut?" _bobby_ (_with a reputation as an authority to keep up_). "oh--er--why you see--oh, of course, because the hare scuttles, you know, when she is hunted."] * * * * * why he waited "what's the matter with jack's new horse? he won't start." "don't know; but they say he's been in an omnibus. perhaps he's waiting for the bell!" * * * * * [illustration: the pleasures of hunting to get a toss in a snowdrift, and, while lying half-smothered, to be sworn at for not shouting to warn the man following you.] * * * * * so consoling _lady_ (_whose mare has just kicked a member of the hunt, who was following too closely_). "oh, i'm so sorry! i do hope it didn't hurt you! she's such a gentle thing, and could only have done it in the merest play, you know." * * * * * [illustration: positively ostentatious _mr. phunkstick_ (_quite put out_). "talk about agricultural depression, indeed! don't believe in it! never saw fences kept in such disgustingly good order in my life!"] * * * * * irish hunting tipple _englishman_ (_having partaken of his friend's flask, feels as if he had swallowed melted lead_). "terribly strong! pure whiskey, is it not?" _irishman._ "faith! not at all! it's greatly diluted with gin!" * * * * * [illustration: in a shooting country _railway porter_ (_who has been helping lady to mount_). "i hope you'll 'ave a good day, ma'am." _lady diana._ "i just hope we'll find a fox." _porter_ (_innocently_). "oh, that's all right, ma'am. the fox came down by the last train!"] * * * * * [illustration: insult to injury _fitz-noodle's harriers, after a capital run, have killed--a fox!_ _incensed local m.f.h._ "confound it, sir, you have killed one of my foxes!" _f. n._ "it's all right, old chap! you may kill one of my hares!"] * * * * * hunting song (_to be sung when the hounds meet at colney hatch or hanwell_) tantivy! anchovy! tantara! the moon is up, the moon is up, the larks begin to fly, and like a scarlet buttercup aurora gilds the sky. then let us all a-hunting go, come, sound the gay french horn, and chase the spiders to and fro, amid the standing corn. tantivy! anchovy! tantara! * * * * * uncommonly keen "why, where's the horse, miss kitty? by jove, you're wet through! what has happened?" "oh, the stupid utterly refused to take that brook, so i left him and swam it. i couldn't miss the end of this beautiful thing!" * * * * * [illustration: in a blind ditch _sportsman_ (_to friend, whom he has mounted on a raw four-year-old for "a quiet morning's outing"_). "bravo, jack! well done! that's just what the clumsy beggar wanted. teach him to look where he's going!"] * * * * * [illustration: dry humour "be'n't ye comin' over for 'im, mister?"] * * * * * [illustration: wireproof sir harry hardman, mounted on "behemoth," created rather a stir at the meet. he said he didn't care a hang for the barbed or any other kind of wire.] * * * * * [illustration: a sketch from the midlands "hulloa, old chap! not hurt, i hope?" "oh, no, no! just got off to have a look at the view."] * * * * * [illustration: _whip._ "here, here! hold hard! come back!" _tommy_ (_home for the holidays_). "no jolly fear! you want to get first start!"] * * * * * "business first" _favourite son of m.f.h._ (_to old huntsman_). "no, smith, you won't see much more of me for the rest of the season; if at all." _smith_ (_with some concern_). "indeed, sir! 'ow's that?" _son of m.f.h._ "well, you see, i'm reading hard." _smith_ (_interrogatively_). "readin' 'ard, sir?" _son of m.f.h._ "yes, i'm reading law." _smith._ "well, i likes to read a bit o' them perlice reports myself, sir, now an' then; but i don't allow 'em to hinterfere with a honest day's 'untin'." * * * * * an omission best omitted _brown_ (_on foot_). "do you know what the total is for the season?" _simkins_ (_somewhat new to country life_). "fifteen pairs of foxes, the huntsman says. but he seems to have kept no count of rabbits or 'ares, and i know they've killed and eaten a lot of those!" * * * * * [illustration: putting it nicely _young lady_ (_politely, to old gentleman who is fiddling with gap_). "i don't wish to hurry you, sir, but when you have quite finished your game of spilikins i should like to come!"] * * * * * [illustration: terpsichorean _sportsman_ (_to dancing man, who has accepted a mount_). "hold on tight, sir, and she'll _waltz_ over with you."] * * * * * [illustration: _benevolent stranger._ "allow me, sir, to offer you a drink!" _unfortunate sportsman_ (_just out of brook_). "thanks; but i've had a drop too much already!"] * * * * * [illustration: the magic word _huntsman_ (_having run a fox to ground, to yokel_). "run away down and get some o' your fellows to come up with spades, will ye? tell 'em we're after hidden treasure!"] * * * * * [illustration: a capital dodge among his native banks old poddles takes a lot of beating. he says there's nothing easier when you know how to negotiate 'em.] * * * * * hunting extraordinary jobson, who edits a cheerful little weekly, said to me the other day: "you hunt, don't you?" i looked at him knowingly. jobson interpreted my smile according to his preconceived idea. "i thought so," he continued. "well, you might do me a bright little article--about half a column, you know--on hunting, will you?" why should i hesitate? jobson is safe for cash; and he had not asked me to give my own experiences of the hunting field. i replied warily, "i fancy i know the sort of thing you want." "good," he said, and before we could arrive at any detailed explanation he had banged the door and dashed downstairs, jumped into his hansom and was off. this was the article:- thoughts on hunting. it is hardly possible to overrate the value of hunting as a national sport. steeplechasing is a grand-national sport, but it is the sport of the rich, whereas hunting is not. by judiciously dodging the hunt secretary, you can, in fact, hunt for nothing. of course, people will come at me open-mouthed for this assertion, and say, "how about the keep of your horses?" to which i reply, "if you keep a carriage, hunt the carriage horse; if you don't, borrow a friend's horse for a long ride in the country, and accidentally meet the hounds." to proceed. this has been a season of poor scent. of course, the horses of the present day have deteriorated as line hunters: they possess not the keen sense of smell which their grandsires had. but despite this the sport goes gaily on. there are plenty of foxes--but we cannot agree with the popular idea of feeding them on poultry. and yet, in every hunt, we see hunters subscribing to poultry funds. this is not as it should be: spott's meat biscuit would be much better for foxes' food. but these be details: let us hie forrard and listen to the cheery voice of sly reynard as he is winded from his earth. the huntsman blows his horn, and soon the welkin rings with a chorus of brass instruments; the tufters dash into covert, and anon the cheerful note of _ponto_ or _gripper_ gives warning that a warrantable fox is on foot--well, of course, he couldn't be on horseback, but this is merely a venatorial _façon de parler_. away go the huntsmen, showing marvellous dexterity in cracking their whips and blowing their horns at the same moment. last of all come the hounds, trailing after their masters--ah, good dogs, you cannot hope to keep up very far with the swifter-footed horses! nevertheless, they strain at their leashes and struggle for a better place at the horses' heels. "hike forrard! tally ho! whoo-hoop!" they swoop over the fields like a charge of cavalry. but after several hours' hard running a check is at hand: the fox falters, then struggles on again, its tail waving over its head. as its pursuers approach, it rushes up a tree to sit on the topmost branch and crack nuts. the panting horses arrive--some with their riders still in the saddle, though many, alas! have fallen by the wayside. next come the hounds, at a long interval--poor _fido_, poor _vic_, poor _snap_! you have done your best to keep up, but the horses have out-distanced you! the whipper-in immediately climbs the tree in which the little red-brown animal still peacefully cracks its nuts, its pretty tail curled well over its head. its would-be captor carries a revolving wire cage, and, by sleight-of-hand movement, manages to get the quarry securely into it. then he descends, places the cage in a cart and it is driven home. the "mort" is sounded by four green velvet-coated huntsmen, with horns wound round their bodies; a beautiful brush presented to the lady who was first up at the "take"; and then the field slowly disperse. tally ho-yoicks! all is over for the day. * * * * * [illustration: manners in the field always be prepared to give the lead to a lady, even at some little personal inconvenience.] * * * * * [illustration: the pleasures of hunting having been cannoned and nearly brought down, to be asked if you are trying the american seat.] * * * * * [illustration: hunting sketch the cast shoe, or late for the meat.] * * * * * [illustration: a kindly view of it _first rustic_ (_to second ditto_). "oh, i say! ain't he fond of his horse!"] * * * * * [illustration: _m.f.h._ "hold hard! hold hard, please!! where _are_ you going with that brute?" _diana_ (_plaintively_). "i wish i knew!"] * * * * * the last day of hunting (_stanzas for the first of april_) right day to bid a long farewell to the field's gladsome glee; to hang the crop upon its peg, the saddle on its tree. all fools' the day, all fools' the deed, that hunting's end doth bring-- with all those stinking violets, and humbug of the spring! good-bye to pig-skin and to pink, good-bye to hound and horse! the whimpering music sudden heard from cover-copse and gorse; the feathering stems, the sweeping ears, the heads to scent laid low, the find, the burst, the "gone-away!" the rattling "tally-ho!" my horses may eat off their heads, my huntsman eat his heart; my hounds may dream of kills and runs in which they've borne their part, until the season's bore is done, and parliament set free, and cub-hunting comes back again to make a man of me! * * * * * [illustration: "a-hunting we will go!" _lady._ "you're dropping your fish!" _irish fish hawker_ (_riding hard_). "och, bad luck to thim! niver moind. sure we're kapin' up wid the gentry!"] * * * * * [illustration: jumping powder (_mr. twentystun having a nip on his way to covert_) _small boy._ "oh my, billy, 'ere's a heighty-ton gun a chargin' of 'isself afore goin' into haction!"] * * * * * [illustration: drawn blank _huntsman._ "how is it you never have any foxes here now?" _keeper_ (_who has orders to shoot them_). "pheasants have eat 'em all!"] * * * * * the advantage of education _m.f.h._ (_who has had occasion to reprimand hard-riding stranger_). "i'm afraid i used rather strong language to you just now." _stranger._ "strong language? a mere _twitter_, sir. you should hear _our_ master!" * * * * * [illustration: _irate non-sporting farmer._ "hi! you there! what the duce do you mean by riding over my wheat!" _'arry._ "'ere, i say! what are yer givin' us? _wheat!_ why, it's only bloomin' _mud!_"] * * * * * "foot and mouth" trouble a valuable hunter, belonging to mr. durlacher, got its hind foot securely fixed in its mouth one day last week, and a veterinary surgeon had to be summoned to its assistance. this recalls the ancient irish legend of the man who never opened his mouth without putting his foot into it. but that, of course, was a bull. * * * * * decidedly not _nervous visitor_ (_pulling up at stiff-looking fence_). "are you going to take this hedge, sir?" _sportsman._ "no. it can stop where it is, as far as i'm concerned." * * * * * ungrateful _the pride of the hunt_ (_to smith, who, for the last ten minutes, has been gallantly struggling with obstinate gate_). "mr. smith, if you really _can't_ open that gate, perhaps you will kindly move out of the way, and allow me to _jump_ it!" * * * * * [illustration: apt _brown_ (_helping lady out of water_). "'pon my word, miss smith, you remind me exactly of what's-her-name rising from the what-you-call!"] * * * * * [illustration: a check _m.f.h._ (_riding up to old rustic, with the intention of asking him if he has seen the lost fox_). "how long have you been working here, master?" _old rustic_ (_not seeing the point_). "nigh upon sixty year, mister!"] * * * * * [illustration: "what's in a name?" _whip._ "_wisdom!_ get away there!! _wisdom!! wisdom!!!_ ugh!--you always were the biggest fool in the pack!"] * * * * * [illustration: something that might have been expressed differently _mrs. brown_ (_being helped out of a brook by the gallant captain, who has also succeeded in catching her horse_). "oh, captain robinson! thank you _so_ much!" _gallant, but somewhat flurried, captain._ "not at all--don't mention it." (_wishing to add something excessively polite and appropriate._) "only hope i may soon have another opportunity of doing the same again for you."] * * * * * reassuring _criticising friend_ (_to nervous man on new horse_). "oh! now i recollect that mare. smashem bought her of crashem last season, and she broke a collar-bone for each of them." * * * * * [illustration: "the tip of the morning to you!" _first whip thanks him, and hums to himself,_ "when other tips, and t'other parts, then he remembers _me!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _giles_ (_indicating sportsman on excitable horse, waiting his turn_). "bless us all, tumas, if that un beant a goin' to try it back'ards!"] * * * * * [illustration: with the hardup harriers _dismounted huntsman_ (_to his mount_). "whoa, you old brute! to think i went and spared yer from the biler only last week! you hungrateful old 'idebound 'umbug!"] * * * * * 'ints on 'unting, by 'arry [illustration: ( ) on clothes.--"why not employ local talent? saves half the money, and no one can tell the difference."] [illustration: ( ) if the thong of your whip gets under your horse's tail, just try to pull it out!] [illustration: ( ) don't buy a horse because he is described as being "well known with the ---- hounds." it might be true.] [illustration: ( ) if at a meet your horse should get a bit out of hand, just run him up against some one.] [illustration: ( ) if opening a gate for the huntsman, don't fall into the middle of the pack!] [illustration: ( ) sit well back at your fences!] [illustration: ( ) look before you leap.] [illustration: ( ) if you lose your horse, just tell the huntsman to catch it for you.] * * * * * excusable _m.f.h._ (_justly irate, having himself come carefully round edge of seed-field_). "blank it all, rogerson, what's the good o' me trying to keep the field off seeds, and a fellow like you coming slap across 'em?" _hard-riding farmer._ "it's all right. they're my own! ar've just come ower my neighbour's wheat, and ar couldn't for vary sham(e) miss my own seeads!" * * * * * anxious to sell _dealer_ (_to hunting man, whose mount has not answered expectations_). "how much do you want for that nag o' yours, sir?" _hunting man._ "well, i'll take a hundred guineas." _dealer._ "make it _shillings_." _h. m._ (_delighted_). "he's yours!" * * * * * [illustration: not a ladies' day _miss scramble._ "now, charles, give me one more long hair-pin, and i shall do."] * * * * * casual _owner of let-out hunters_ (_to customer just returned from day's sport_). "are you aware, sir, that ain't my 'orse?" _sportsman._ "not yours! then, by jove, i _did_ collar the wrong gee during that scrimmage at the brook!" * * * * * at our opening meet _stranger from over the water._ "i guess you've a mighty smart bunch of dogs there, m'lord!" _noble but crusty m.f.h._ "then you guess wrong, sir. _this is a pack of hounds!_" * * * * * must be hungry "wish you'd feed your horse before he comes out." "eh--why--hang it!--what do you mean?" "he's always trying to eat my boots. he evidently thinks there's some chance of getting at a little corn!" * * * * * [illustration: the retort courteous (_a reminiscence of the past harrier season_) _major topknot, m.h._ (_to butcher's boy_). "hi! hulloah! have you seen my hare?" _butcher's boy._ "ga-a-rn! 'ave you seen my whiskers?"] * * * * * disinterested kindness _sportsman_ (_just come to grief, to kindhearted stranger who has captured horse_). "i say, i'm awfully obliged to you! i can get on all right, so please don't wait!" _kindhearted stranger._ "oh, i'd rather, thanks! i want you to flatten the next fence for me!" * * * * * encouraging _nervous man_ (_who hires his hunters_). "know anything about this mare? ringbone tells me she's as clever as a man!" _friend._ "clever as a man? clever as a woman more like it! seen her play some fine old games with two or three fellows, i can tell you!" * * * * * [illustration: nunc aut nunquam _voice from bottom of ditch._ "hold hard a minute! my money has slipped out of my pockets, and it's all down here somewhere!"] * * * * * [illustration: a reformed character _john._ "goin' to give up 'untin'! deary! deary! an' 'ow's that, missie?" _little miss di._ "well, you see, john, i find my cousin charlie, who is going to be a curate, does not approve of hunting women, so i intend to be a district visitor instead!"] * * * * * [illustration: mottoes; or, "who's who?" mrs. prettyphat. family motto--"_medici jussu_."] * * * * * something like a character _huntsman_ (_on being introduced to future wife of m.f.h._). "proud to make your acquaintance, miss! known the capting, miss, for nigh on ten seasons, and never saw 'im turn 'is 'ead from hanything as was jumpable! knows a 'oss and knows a 'ound! can ride one and 'unt t'other; and if that ain't as much as can be looked for in a 'usband, miss, why, i'll be jiggered!" * * * * * a liberal allowance _huntsman_ (_who has just drawn mr. van wyck's coverts blank_). "rather short of cubs, i'm afraid, sir!" _mr. van wyck_ (_who has very recently acquired his country seat_). "most extraordinary! can't understand it at all! why, i told my keeper to order a dozen only last week!" * * * * * [illustration: stories without words how "the second horseman" went home.] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_as above._ time--_mid-day._ sport--_none up to now._ _stout party_ (_about to leave_). "most extr'ordinary thing. whenever i go home, they always have a rattling good run." _candid friend._ "then, for goodness' sake, _go home at once!_"] * * * * * [illustration: most extraordinary _dismounted sportsman._ "now, how the deuce did my hat manage to get up there?"] * * * * * straight _huntsman_ (_to boy, who is riding his second horse_). "hi, there! what the doose are yer doin' of with that second 'oss?" _boy_ (_irish, and only just come to the hunt stables from a racing establishment_). "arrah thin, if oi roides oi roides to win! and divil a second is he goin' to be at all, at all!!" * * * * * forbearance _member of hunt_ (_to farmer_). "i wouldn't ride over those seeds if i were you. they belong to a disagreeable sort of fellow, who might make a fuss about it." _farmer._ "well, sir, as him's me, he won't say nothing about it to-day." * * * * * [illustration: (_extract from a letter received by mr. shootall on the morning when hounds were expected to draw his covers_) _leadenhall market, thursday._ sir,--your esteemed order to hand. we regret that we are quite out of foxes at present; but, as you mentioned they were for children's pets, we thought guinea pigs might do instead, so are sending half a dozen to-day. hoping, &c., &c.] * * * * * too much (_pity the sorrows of a poor hunting man!_) _sportsman_ (_suffering from intense aberration of mind in consequence of the weather, in reply to wife of his bosom_). "put out? why, o' course i'm put out. been just through the village, and hang me if at least half a dozen fools haven't told me that it's nice seasonable weather!" * * * * * at the hunt ball _mr. hardhit._ "don't you think, miss highflier, that men look much better in pink--less like waiters?" _miss highflier._ "yes, but more like ringmasters--eh?" [_hardhit isn't a bit offended, but seizes the opportunity._ * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners in mounting your horse, always stand facing his tail.] * * * * * [illustration: the patent pneumatic tennis-ball hunting costume. falling a pleasure.] * * * * * [illustration: _second whip._ "g-aw-ne away!" _middle-aged diana._ "go on away, indeed! impertinence! i'll go just when i'm ready!"] * * * * * [illustration: a case of real distress _fox-hunter._ "here's a bore, jack! the ground is half a foot thick with snow, and it's freezing like mad!"] * * * * * the huntsman's point of view. one of the best runs of the season. good scent all the way. sir heavistone stogdon unfortunately fell at a stiff bank and broke his collar-bone. at the last moment, i regret to say, the fox got away. * * * * * [illustration: a fox hunt (_after a tapestry_) * * * * * [illustration: buggles with the devon and somerset he encounters a "coomb," and wonders if it is soft at the bottom.] * * * * * [illustration: with the devon and somerset _sportsman_ (_from the bog_). "confound you, didn't you say there was a sound bottom here?" _shepherd._ "zo there be, maister; but thou 'aven't got down to un yet!"] * * * * * [illustration: buggles with the devon and somerset how he found a "warrantable deer."] * * * * * [illustration: buggles with the devon and somerset _in_ devonshire.] * * * * * fools and their money-- _jones_ (_who has been having a fair bucketing for the last half-hour, as he passes friend, in his mad career_). "i'd give a fiver to get off this brute!" _friend_ (_brutal_). "don't chuck your money away, old chap! you'll be off for less than that!" * * * * * with the queen's _leading sportsman._ "hold ha--rd! here's some more of that confounded barbed wire! dashed if i don't think this country is mainly inhabited by retired fishing-tackle makers!" [_makes for nearest gate, followed by sympathetic field._ * * * * * his opinion _jenkinson_ (_to m.f.h., who dislikes being bothered_). "what do you think of this horse?" (_no answer._) "bred him myself, you know!" _m.f.h._ (_looking at horse out of corner of his eye_). "umph! i thought you couldn't have been such a silly idiot as to have _bought_ him!" * * * * * [illustration: the voice of spring _bibulous binks._ "gad, it's freezing again!"] * * * * * [illustration: a blank--blank--day] * * * * * [illustration: whose fault? "he _can_ jump, but he _won't!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a view halloo (_hounds at fault_) _whip_ (_bustling up to young hodge, who has just begun to wave his cap and sing out lustily_). "now then, where is he?" _young h._ "yonder, sir! acomin' across yonder!" _whip._ "get out, why there ain't no fox there stoopid!" _young h._ "no, sir; but there be our billy on his jackass!"] * * * * * [illustration: _miss nelly_ (_to her slave, in the middle of the best thing of the season_). "oh, mr. rowel, do you mind going back? i dropped my whip at the last fence!"] * * * * * severe _m.f.h._ (_to youth from neighbouring hunt, who has been making himself very objectionable_). "now, look here, young man. i go cub-hunting for the purpose of educating _my own_ puppies. as you belong to another pack, i'll thank you to take yourself home!" * * * * * [illustration: hunting memorandum appearance of things in general to a gentleman who has just turned a complete somersault! _* &c., &c., represent sparks of divers beautiful colours._] * * * * * [illustration: "le sportman" "hi!! hi!! stop ze chasse! i tomble--i faloff! _stop ze fox!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "cubbing events cast their shadows" _half-awakened un-enthusiastic sportsman_ (_who wished to go out cub-hunting, but has entirely changed his mind, drowsily addressing rather astonished burglar_). "awright, old boy. can't come with you this morning. too sleepy." [_turns round and resumes deep sleep where he left off._ ] * * * * * [illustration: a broken pledge _sportsman on bank_ (_to friend in brook_). "hallo, thompson, is that you? why, i thought you had joined the 'no drinks in between meals' party!"] * * * * * "in the dim and distant future" _first sportsman_ (_cantering along easily_). "i say, we shall see you at dinner on the nineteenth, shan't we?" _second ditto_ (_whose horse is very fresh, and bolting with him_). "if the beast goes on like this--hanged if you'll ever see me again." * * * * * [illustration: there's life in the old dog yet _ex-m.f.h._ (_eighty-nine and paralytic_). "fora-a-d! fora-a-d! fora-a-a-d!"] * * * * * [illustration: _huntsman_ (_making a cast for the line of the fox, near a railway_). "hold hard, please! don't ride over the line!" _would-be thrusters._ "oh, no, we won't. there's a bridge farther on!"] * * * * * [illustration: "rank blasphemy" _squire oldboy, m.h._ (_enjoying a long and very slow hunt_). "there she goes! afraid it's a new hare though." _bored sportsman._ "how lucky! the other must be getting doosid old."] * * * * * [illustration: a check _huntsman._ "seen the fox, my boy?" _boy._ "no, i ain't!" _huntsman._ "then, what are you hollarin' for?" _boy_ (_who has been scaring rooks_). "'cos i'm paid for it!"] * * * * * [illustration: easier said than done _sixteen-stone sportsman (who has been nearly put down from a "rotten" landing, to little bricks, st. lb.)_: "do you mind putting me back in the saddle, sir?"] * * * * * [illustration: the troubles of an m.f.h. _m.f.h._ (_to stranger, who is violently gesticulating to hounds_). "when you have done _feeding your chickens_, sir, perhaps you will allow me to hunt my hounds!"] * * * * * [illustration: nobody was near hounds in the big wood when they pulled down the cub except mr. tinkler and his inamorata. he rashly volunteers to secure the brush for her!] * * * * * [illustration: "morning, tom. what a beastly day!" "it ain't a day, sir. i call it an interval between two bloomin' nights!"] * * * * * [illustration: a bad look-out _sportsman_ (_to friend whom he has mounted_). "for goodness' sake, old chap, don't let her put you down! she's certain to savage you!"] * * * * * [illustration: echoes of the chase _huntsman_ (_who has been having a very bad ride_). "either master wants some new 'orses or a new 'untsman!"] * * * * * [illustration: hints on hunting always see that your bridle reins are sound. there are times when they have a considerable strain on 'em!] * * * * * [illustration: so far, no farther extraordinary position assumed by mr. snoodle on the sudden and unexpected refusal of his horse.] * * * * * [illustration: hard luck _small child_ (_to mr. sparkin, who had come out at an unusually early hour in order to meet his inamorata at the guide-post, and pilot her out cub-hunting_). "i was to tell you she has such a bad cold she couldn't come. but i'm going with you instead, if you promise to take care of me. i'm her cousin, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: a pseudo-thruster _farmer_ (_to sportsman, returning from the chase_). "beg pardon, sir, but ain't you the gent that broke down that there gate of mine this morning?" _mr. noodel_ (_who never by any chance jumps anything--frightfully pleased_). "er--did i? well, how much is the damage?"] * * * * * [illustration: the water test _whip_ (_bringing on tail hounds, in the rear of the field_). "hulloah! who've you got there?" _runner_ (_who has just assisted sportsman out of a muddy ditch_). "dunno. can't tell till we've washed 'im down a bit!"] * * * * * [illustration: most unfortunate horrible catastrophe which happened to captain fussey (our ladies' man) on his arrival at the opening meet. new coat, new boots, new horse, new everything! hard luck!] * * * * * [illustration: a severe test _miss sally_ (_who has just taken off her mackintosh--to ardent admirer_). "look! they're away! do just stuff this thing into your pocket. i'm sure i shan't want it again!"] * * * * * [illustration: a study in expression _irate m.f.h._ (_who has had half an hour in the big gorse trying to get a faint-hearted fox away, galloping to "holloa" on the far side of covert_). _"confound you and your pony, sir! get out of my way!"_ [_binks, who has been trying to keep out of people's way all day, thinks he can quite understand the feelings of the hunted fox._ ] * * * * * our hunt "point to point" last week our point to point steeplechase came off. so did several of the riders: this merely _par parenthèse_. i offered to mark out the course, and, as i intended to escape the dread ordeal of riding by scratching my horse at the last moment, i thought it would be great fun to choose a very stiff, not to say bloodthirsty, line. awful grumbling on the part of those unhappy ones who were to ride. just as the bell rang for saddling, captain sproozer, ready dressed for the fray, came up to me with very long face, and said, "beastly line this, you know, phunker. i call it much too stiff." i smiled in pitying and superior manner. "think so, my dear sproozer? my horse can't run, worse luck, but i only wish _i_ were going to have the gallop over it." "so you shall, then!" cried a rasping voice, suddenly, from behind me. sir hercules blizzard was the speaker, an awful man with an awful temper. "so you shall. my idiot of a jockey broke his collar-bone trying to jump one of the fences on this confounded course of yours to-day, so, as i am without a rider, you shall ride my mare dinah." swallowed lump in my throat as i thanked him for his offer, but thought i had better decline, as i didn't know the mare, and besides that, i---- "oh! all right, i know what you are going to say: that you're not much good on a horse"--(nothing of the sort! i was not going to say any such thing, confound the man!) "of course, i know all that, and that you're not much of a rider; but i can't help myself now. it's too late to get a decent horseman, so i shall have to make shift with you." deuced condescending of him. i made a feeble effort to escape, and would cheerfully have paid a hundred pounds for the chance of doing so. phil poundaway, great friend of mine, came up and said (sympathetically, as i thought at first), "i should think you'd prefer to get off it, wouldn't you, phunker?" thought he would volunteer in my place, so was perfectly frank with him. "my dear phil, i'd give a hundred to get off----" "ah! you will, i expect, at the first fence, without paying the money!" he grinned, as he turned away. murder was in my heart at that moment. i got on dinah, and, feeling like death, rode down to the starting-post. thoughts of a misspent youth, of home and friends and things, came o'er me. i seemed once more to see the little rose-covered porch, the---- "what on earth are you mooning about?" thundered the blizzardian voice in my ear. "take hold of her head tighter than that, or you'll be off!" the next moment the starter yelled "go!" and away, like a whirlwind, we sped across the first field, towards a huge, thick blackthorn fence, the one i had thought to see such fun with. fun! i never felt less funny in my life, as we approached it at the rate of two thousand miles an hour! the mare jumped high, but i jumped much higher, and seemed for a brief moment to be soaring through the blue empyrean. somehow, the mare managed to evade me on the return journey earthwards, and, instead of alighting on the saddle, i found myself "sitting on the floor." a howl--it might have been of sympathy, but it didn't sound quite like that--arose from the crowd, and then i thought that i would go home on foot, instead of returning to explain matters to sir hercules. as a matter of fact, i don't much care for associating with old blizzard, at all events, not just now. * * * * * [illustration: amenities of sport _huntsman_ (_to whip, sent forward for a view_). "haven't ye seen him, tom?" _whip._ "no, sir." _huntsman._ "if he'd been in a pint pot, ye jolly soon would!"] * * * * * [illustration: his little dodge _first hunting man_ (_having observed the ticket with "k" on it in his friend's hat_). "i didn't know that old gee of yours was a kicker. he looks quiet enough." _second hunting man._ "well, he isn't really. i only wear the "k" to make people give me more room!"] * * * * * [illustration: true courage _whip._ "hi, sir! keep back! the fox may break covert there!" _foreigner._ "bah! i fear him not--your fox."] * * * * * [illustration: the force of habit _spanner_ (_a great cyclist, whose horse has been startled by man on covert hack_). "hi! confound you! why the deuce don't you sound your bell!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the cart without the horse" scene--_cub-hunting._ time--_about one o'clock._ _lady._ "well, count, what have you lost? your lunch?" _the count_ (_who breakfasted some time before six o'clock, a.m._). "no, no! donner und wetter! i have him, but i have lost my teeth!"] * * * * * [illustration: horrible predicament _gent_ (_on mettlesome hireling_). "'elp! 'elp! somebody stop 'im! 'e's going to jump, and i can't!"] * * * * * [illustration: most embarrassing _lady (hiding behind bush, to mr. spoodle, who has captured her horse)_. "oh, thank you so much! but i hope to goodness you have found my skirt as well!" [_nice position for mr. spoodle, who is very bashful, and has seen nothing of the garment_. ] * * * * * [illustration: "do not speak to the man at the wheel" _'arry_ (_puffing a "twopenny smoke," to huntsman, making unsuccessful cast_). "very bad scent." _huntsman._ "shockin'! smells like burnin' seaweed!"] * * * * * [illustration: obeying orders "it's all very well for master to say 'keep close to miss vera, miles'--but i want to know 'oo's going to take miles to the 'orsepital?"] * * * * * [illustration: gallantry rewarded _lady_ (_having had a fall at a brook, and come out the wrong side,--to stranger who has caught her horse_). "oh, i'm _so_ much obliged to you! now, do you mind just bringing him over?"] * * * * * [illustration: just off "ride her on the snaffle, tom! don't ride her on the curb!" "hang your curb and snaffle! i've enough to do to _ride her on the saddle!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a suggestion: no more trouble from wire, damage to fences, etc.] * * * * * [illustration: the trials of an m.f.h. _m.f.h._ (_to misguided enthusiast who has been cheering hounds on a bad scent_). "now then! am i going to hunt the hounds or are you?" _enthusiast_ (_sweetly_). "just as you please, m'lord, just as you please."] * * * * * [illustration: off his guard _farmer_ (_just coming up_). "young gentleman riding your brown horse, my lord, had nasty accident a field or two back. barbed wire--very ugly cuts!" _my lord._ "tut--tut--tut! dear--dear--dear! not the horse, i hope?"] * * * * * [illustration: "bon voyage!" _mossu (shot into a nice soft loam), exultingly._ "a--ha--a! i am safe o-vère! now it is your turn, meester timbre jompre! come on, sare!"] * * * * * [illustration: on the way home from the exmoor hunt--no kill the other side of the bridge _fair huntress._ "what a pity the hounds let that splendid stag get away, colonel, wasn't it?" _colonel._ "pity! ha, if they'd only taken my advice we should have been up with him now, instead of being miles away on the wrong track!"] * * * * * [illustration: _distinguished foreigner_ (_to good samaritan who has caught his horse_). "merci bien, monsieur! you save me much trouble. before, i lose my horse--i lose him altogether, and i must put him in the newspaper!"] * * * * * [illustration: vive la chasse! _foreign visitor_ (_an enthusiastic "sportsman," viewing fox attempting to break_). "a-h-h-h! halte-la! halte! _you shall not escape!_"] * * * * * [illustration: rather too much _lady_ (_having just cannoned stranger into brook_). "oh, i'm _so_ sorry i bumped you! would you mind going in again for my hat?"] * * * * * the end of the hunting season (_by our own novice_) good-bye to the season! e'en gluttons have had quite enough of the game, and if we returned to our muttons, our horses are laid up and lame. we hunted straight on through the winter, and never were stopped by the frost, as i know right well from each splinter of bone that my poor limbs have lost. good-bye to the season! the "croppers" i got where the fences were tall, and oh the immaculate "toppers" that always were crushed by my fall. don't think though that i'm so stout-hearted as e'er to jump hedges or dikes, it's simply that after we've started, my "gee" gallivants as it likes. in vain i put on natty breeches, and tops like meltonian swell, it ends in the blessed old ditches, i know like the clubs in pall mall. and when from a "gee" that's unruly i fall with a terrible jar, i know that old _jorrocks_ spoke truly, and hunting's "the image of war." and never for me "_fair diana_" shall smile as we know that she can, with looks that are sweeter than manna, on many a fortunate man. it adds to the pangs that i suffer, when thrown at a fence in her track, to hear her "ridiculous duffer!" when jumping slap over my back. i've fractured my ulnar, i'm aching where over my ribs my horse rolled; egad! the "old berkeley" is making one man feel uncommonly old. good-bye to the season! i'm shattered and damaged in figure and face; but thankful to find i'm not scattered in pieces all over the place! * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners good hands will often make the most confirmed refuser jump.] * * * * * [illustration: truly delightful! galloping down the side of a field covered with mole-hills, on a weak-necked horse, with a snaffle bridle, one foot out of your stirrup, and a bit of mud in your eye!] * * * * * [illustration: self-preservation _tomlin_ (_who has been mounted by friend_). "it's all very well to shout 'loose your reins,' but what the deuce _am_ i to hang on to?"] * * * * * seasonable dish for a sportsman.--a plate o' _f_ox-tail soup. * * * * * the rule of the hunting-field.--lex tally-ho-nis. * * * * * fashionable food for horses.--hay _à la_ mowed. * * * * * [illustration: quotations gone wrong "life has passed with me but roughly since i heard thee last." _cowper._ ] * * * * * [illustration: all her play _country gentleman_ (_to nervous man, whom he has mounted_). "by jove, old chap, never saw the mare so fresh! take care you ain't off!" _nervous man_ (_heartily_). "w--w--wish to goodness i were!"] * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners always let your horse see that you are his master.] * * * * * [illustration] the end bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day mr. punch at home [illustration: a note at the foot of a page] [illustration: a first essay in housekeeping.--_mr. jones._ "what is it, my pet?" _mrs. j._ "this rabbit (_sob_)--i've been plucking it--(_sob_)--all the afternoon, and it isn't half done yet!"] mr. punch at home the comic side of domestic life [illustration: maid with broom] as pictured by f. h. townsend, lewis baumer, c. shepperson, david wilson, fred pegram, gunning king, l. ravenhill, bernard partridge, a. w. mills, g. l. stampa, c. e. brock, a. s. boyd, phil may, charles keene, george du maurier, and others _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" [illustration: decorative leaves] the educational book co. ltd. the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration: mr. punch at desk] [illustration: man in dressing gown reading punch] in slippered ease just because mr. punch is eminently representative of all our national characteristics is he something of a good old-fashioned philistine in his domestic circle. we find him, in his notions of home life, distinctly partial to the cosy comfort that is associated the world over with "the englishman's castle." he enjoys the delights of his own fireside, the pleasures of his table, the society of his womenkind, the casual visits of his friends, no less, and perhaps much more, than the formal functions to which the phrase "at home" is also applied. "mr. punch at home" is in a sense the complement of "mr. punch in society." it touches on musical evenings, dances, the social life generally, but more particularly the domestic side of it--the servant difficulty, the humours of the kitchen and the butler's pantry. it gives glimpses of home life in the country as well as in town; among the poor as well as among the rich; in flats and lodgings as well as in suburban villas and the mansions of the west end. john leech dealt largely with the servant girl trouble, but as many of his jokes were topical and have lost most of their point with the passing of the topic, and as others have an old-fashioned air with them and are not so smart or so pointed as those by later artists, preference has been given to the moderns. [illustration: mr. punch] mr. punch at home [illustration: mr. punch sitting in library] things one would rather have left unsaid.--"you remember that party at madam gelasma's, to hear joachim, rubinstein, and the henschels, and de soria--quite a _small_ party?" "no; i wasn't there!" "no? ah--well--it _was_ very select!" * * * * * the greatest question of the day.--"my dear, what will you have for dinner?" * * * * * our whist party.--_major macflush_ (_at close of rubber, to partner_). didn't ye see me call for trumps? _partner_ (_a new hand_). you may have called, major, but i never heard you! * * * * * undesirable bric-a-brac.--family jars. * * * * * mem. for young housewives.--to make both ends meet--burn the candle at 'em. * * * * * "pleasant it is when the woods are green," as paterfamilias observed when all the doors in his new villa took to warping. * * * * * the dear things.--_he._ you know jones's wife, an old schoolfellow of yours; tell me, is she musical? _she (her dearest friend)._ i should say decidedly not, or she wouldn't be so fond of hearing the sound of her own voice. * * * * * the kitchen-range-finder.--the policeman! * * * * * motto for the lady of the house.--don't worry about trifles; make a blanc-mange. * * * * * _visitor._ "do you have any difficulty in getting servants?" _hostess._ "none whatever. we've had ten different ones in the last month!" * * * * * [illustration: domestic economy.--_cook._ "wasteful, mum? well, mum, that's one thing i'm _not_! why, everythink in the eatin' an' drinkin' way that comes down from hupstairs, i make a point of finishin' up myself, mum!"] wanted! the lady and gentleman help association can find excellent positions for-- a lady help with twenty thousand a year, who can help her husband to enjoy existence. a lady help with deft fingers, who can open oysters, peel walnuts and prawns, and make toast. a lady help who can draft a speech that will suit an ex-secretary of state at a social science congress. a lady help who can do the same for a mild and moderate bishop at a church congress--extra wages will be given for assistance in the composition of charges. a lady help who can drive four-in-hand, for a coach to be started from hatchett's hotel to coventry. a lady help who is absolutely helpless--none need apply unless they can show that they are good for nothing. also-- a gentleman help who can nurse babies, and comb their hair carefully. [illustration: the compensating circumstance.--_sympathetic visitor._ "poor _dear_ mr. smith, how he must suffer with all that sneezing and coughing." _mrs. smith._ "he does, indeed; but you can't think how it amuses the baby!"] a gentleman help who can choose good cigars, and assist in smoking them. a gentleman help who can work a sewing machine and a private apparatus for the distillation of whiskey. a gentleman help who can assist the sultan of turkey to pay the interest on his debts. a gentleman help who can help the clerk of the weather to turn on a little more sunshine. * * * * * at the smithson's dance.--_young innocent._ "i beg your pardon, did i tread on your foot that time?" _sweet girl (very sweetly)._ "oh, no, not _that_ time!" * * * * * "mary, there's three months' dust in the drawing-room!" "that isn't my fault, mum. you know i've only bin here a fortnight!" * * * * * [illustration: "you're dreadfully untidy again, mary! i don't know what the baker will think of you when he comes." "the _baker_ don't matter, 'm. the _milkman's_ bin!"] * * * * * _doctor (to mrs. perkins, whose husband is ill)._ "has he had any lucid intervals?" _mrs. perkins (with dignity)._ "'e's 'ad nothink except what you ordered, doctor!" [illustration: t'other way round.--_he._ "that's lady passeh. she's got an action on at the courts, asking for £ , damages." _she._ "damages! i should have thought she'd have asked for _repairs_."] [illustration: the eye as an aid to the ear.--_young lady (repeating conversation to deaf old gentleman)._ "miss frills says it gave her such a fright." _deaf old gent._ "eh? i didn't quite--" _young lady._ "_such--a--fright!_" _deaf old gent._ "ah, yes--i agree with you--so she is!"] * * * * * why, naturally.--"cook, ought i to write salvation army in _converted commas_?" * * * * * orthodox.--_the rev. alexis tonsher (going round his new parish)._ "of course, you observe lent, mrs. rickyard?" _mrs. rickyard._ "oh, yes, sir, we allus hev pancakes o' shrove tuesday!" * * * * * an excuse.--_mistress._ "another breakage, jane? and a wedding present, too! how ever did you do it?" _jane (sobbing)._ "they al--ways break--when i--drop 'em!" * * * * * appreciative.--_amateur tenor._ "i shall just sing one more song, and then i shall go." _sarcastic friend._ "couldn't you go first!" * * * * * "entering the social circle."--making the first cut into a round of beef. * * * * * _he._ "what pretty hair that miss dashwood has--like spun gold!" _she (her rival)._ "yes--fourteen carrot." * * * * * [illustration: _mabel._ "we always do this when mater's out, uncle. saves all the bother of talking. ripping idea, isn't it?"] [illustration: a cheerful prospect _general blaxer._ "ah, partner, do you--er--discard from--er--strength or weakness?" _mr. mildman._ "er--er--generally from _fright_!"] [illustration: _the mere man._ "i--er--leave it to you." _his partner._ "coward!"] * * * * * things one would rather have left unsaid.--_tomlinson._ "good-bye, miss eleanora----" _miss eleanora._ "but you've _already_ said good-bye to me, mr. tomlinson?" _tomlinson (who is always ready with some pretty speech)._ "have i, really? well, one can't do a pleasant thing too often, you know!" * * * * * feline amenities.--_fair hostess (who is proud of her popularity)._ "yes; i flatter myself there's not a door-bell in the whole street that's so often rung as mine!" _fair visitor._ "well, dear, _i_ had to ring it _five times_!" * * * * * bachelor housekeeping.--_mr. brown._ "pray, jane, what on earth is the reason i am kept waiting for my breakfast in this way?" _jane._ "please, sir, the rolls isn't come, and there's no bread in the house!" _mr. brown._ "now, upon my word! how can you annoy me with such trifles? no _bread?_ then bring me some _toast_." [_exit jane in dismay._ [illustration: social insincerities.--_his lordship (vociferously, with the rest)._ "_brava! encore!_ go on! i could listen all night!" (_aside, to footman_). "just see if my carriage is come. look sharp!"] household recipes. _to destroy black-beetles._--turn a pack of fox-hounds into the kitchen. _to cure smoky chimneys._--discontinue fires. _to get rid of ghosts._--use disinfecting fluid copiously. _to expel dry-rot._--soak the places affected with the finest dry sherry. _to get the servants up early in the morning._--send them to bed early at night. _to revive the fire._--tie up the front-door knocker in a white kid glove. _to prevent the beer going too fast._--possess the key to the mystery. _to avoid draughts._--don't take any. _to destroy moths._--collect butterflies. _how to keep plate clean._-wrap it up in silver paper. _how to dispose of old newspapers._--put them into the brown study. * * * * * the most continuous break we know. our housemaid's. [illustration: _the duchess (who takes a great interest in all her servants, and has a large house-party)._ "oh, so you're the new scullery maid. i hope you like your place?" _new scullery maid._ "no, my lady. i want to leave next week. i can't stand these late dinners. all the ladies as i've ever been connected with have just took a bit of something in their 'ands, and there wasn't all this washing up!"] * * * * * latin at the bridge table.--_sursum-corda_--"i double hearts." * * * * * stirring event.--mixing a plum-pudding. * * * * * sentiment for the servants' hall.--may we never smell any powder but what is white! * * * * * good knife for fruit.--"_le sabre de mon pear._" * * * * * kitchen dressers.--fine cooks. * * * * * self-respect.--_cook (to fellow-servant who has been after a new place)._ "well, 'liza, will it suit?" _eliza._ "not if i knows it! why, when i got there, blest if there wasn't the two young ladies of the 'ouse both a-usin' of one piano at the same time! 'well,' thinks i, 'this _his_ a comin' down in the world!' so i thought i was best say good mornin'!" * * * * * the back-door bell.--a pretty kitchen maid. [illustration:_prize idiot (who doesn't know all the family)._ "beastly slow here. i'm off. which way do _you_ go home?" _son of the house._ "i'm there now."] * * * * * not so bad as they seem.--mistresses show more consideration for their servants than is generally supposed. not long ago mrs. fidgitt was heard telling mary ann that she had been scouring the whole house for her. * * * * * how we arrange our little dinners.-- _mistress._ "oh, cook, we shall want dinner for four this evening. what do you think, besides the joint, of ox-tail-soup, lobster patés, and an entrée--say, beef?" _cook._ "yes,'m--fresh, or austr----?" _mistress._ "let's see? it's only the browns--tinned will do!" * * * * * motto for a servants' hall.--"they also serve who only stand and wait."--_milton._ * * * * * "cook's" excursionist.--her policeman on a trip. * * * * * sweet simplicity.--_visitor._ "jane, has your mistress got a boot-jack?" _maid-of-all-work._ "no, sir; please, sir, i clean all the boots, sir!" [illustration: before the reception.--_lady of the house (instructing new page)._ "have you ever been at a party before, riggles?" _riggles._ "honly as a _guest_, mum."] [illustration: sympathetic.--_young wife (rather nervously)._ "oh, cook, i must really speak to you. your master is always complaining. one day it is the soup, the second day it is the fish, the third day it is the joint--in fact, it is always something or other." _cook (with feeling)._ "well, mum, i'm truly sorry for you. it must be quite _hawful_ to live with a gentleman of that sort."] [illustration: _mary (the new housemaid who visits the study for the first time, and is unaware that poor snooks is suffering from a violent headache and has been ordered to keep a damp cloth round his head and wear goggles)._ "lawk-a-mussy!" _mrs. snooks (appearing at door)._ "what's the matter, mary? _it's only master!_"] * * * * * everything comes to the man who waits.--_country rector's wife (engaging manservant)._ and can you wait at dinner? _man._ aw, yes, mum; i'm never that hoongry but i can wait till you've done. * * * * * unconsciously appropriate.--_jane._ 'allo, hemma, what are yer a-crying about? _hemma._ missus 'as given me the sack because i knocked over some of them hornaments she calls "break-a-break." * * * * * _gentleman (to thomas, who has given notice)._ "oh, certainly! you can go, of course; but, as you have been with me for nine years, i should like to know the reason?" _thomas._ "why, sir, it's my _feelins_. you used always to read prayers, sir, yourself--and since miss wilkins has bin here, she bin a-reading of 'em. now i can't _bemean_ myself by sayin 'amen' to a guv'ness." * * * * * the force of habit.--our coachman, when he waits at table, always commits the same fault: he whips away the plates too soon. [illustration: a good start.--_new maid servant (just arrived)._ "may i harsk if my young man 'as called yet?"] [illustration: feminine amenities _mabel (not in her first youth)._ "first of all he held my hand and told my fortune; and then, evie, he gazed into my face ever so long, and said he could read my thoughts! wasn't that _clever_ of him, dear?" _evie._ "oh, i suppose he read between the lines, darling."] * * * * * new version.--it was the reflection of a thoughtful hall-porter that the self-denying man must be the man who says he is not at home when he is. * * * * * a discharge without a report.--a servant dismissed without a character. * * * * * diagnosis.--"is the rector better to-day, jarvis?"--"no, sir; not any better, sir!" "has he got a _locum tenens_?"--"no, sir. same old pain in the back!" [illustration: _hostess._ "and do you really believe in christian science?" _visitor._ "well, you see, i've been getting rather stouter lately, and it's such a comfort to know that i _really_ have _no body_!"] belgravian maxims by a fashionable valet. the real essence of a gentleman is perfume. you know the snob by his hands--the gentleman by his boots. it is easier to pardon a hole in a person's manners than one in his coat. in the noblest park there are mushrooms. one grows rich, but one is born elegant. with men, as with monuments, position is everything. we make our money in london, but we spend it in paris. society has but little faith, except in scandal. joke with an inferior, and you tumble to the level of that inferior. there are many stylish men, but very few men of style. shopkeepers are the counters in the game of life. when we have no ready money, we are only too glad to use them. a lady is an angel that ought never to touch the earth, excepting when she is stepping from the door to her carriage. [illustration: a ju-jitsuous hint--_fair victim._ "pardon, mr. snobbarts, this is a waltz, i believe, not a bout of ju-jitsu!"] anything that reveals a compromise with one's pocket is inelegant, as for instance, berlin gloves. in my opinion, naked-handed poverty is a thousand times preferable. you can generally tell "a son of the soil" by the amount he carries in his nails. england gives us meat, and france sends us cooks. the gentleman is known at once by his walk, the lady by her carriage. credit is the homage that trade pays (and sometimes pays very dearly) to rank. * * * * * _not so bad as volodyovski._--_lady (to applicant for nursemaid's place)._ what is your name? _applicant._ hermyntrude, mum. _lady._ good heavens! that would never do. can't you think of something shorter? _applicant (after a pause)._ well, mum, my young man allus calls me carrots. * * * * * _simple fractures._--servants' breakages. [illustration: "ah, mum; i'm a 'eap better in my 'eart since last time you come 'ere a-districk visitin'. it's all along o' thisher little book '_hernest words to the young_' as i pinched outside a bookshop wen the propperrieter was a-lookin' the other way. a power o' good it 'ave done me!"] * * * * * _the beau ideal of a cook._--one who cooks a rabbit _to a hare_! * * * * * _a servant on spiritualism._--it is fortunate that rapping spirits, which seem very tricksy beings, do not seem to be able to move street-knockers. otherwise we should continually be going to answer a rap at the door, and coming back, saying, "please'm only a ghost." * * * * * the force of habit.--_missus (who is acting as amanuensis to mary)._ "is there anything more you wish me to say, mary?" _mary._ "no, marm, except just to say, please excuse bad writin' and spellin'." * * * * * a triumph in cookery.--when the cook makes a hash of the marrow-bones. * * * * * _mistress (to new maid)._ "well, mary, i've tried to apportion you different duties for each day in the week, so that you may have variety in your work. you've been here a month now. just tell me which day you like best?" _maid._ "please, mum, _my day out"!_ [illustration: the test of courage.--_she._ "you men are such cowards." _he._ "anyhow, one of us married you!"] [illustration: "not negotiable!"--_impecunious lodger._ "jemima, did you ask mrs. maggles whether she would take my i. o. u. for this quarter's rent as i'm rather----" _maid of all work._ "yes, sir, and she say she won't, sir, not if you was to hoffer 'er the 'ole halphabet!"] [illustration: a blank page.--_sir patrick._ "then, i presume you know a little about cleaning silver, waiting at table, and so on?" _jenkins._ "nothing whatever, sir. but i do not suppose there is anything which intellect may not overcome!!"] * * * * * seasonable.--a servant, to whom money is an object, during the present winter offers (unbeknown) to let out his master's study fire by the hour. for terms apply to the pantry, belgravia. * * * * * "slightly mixed."--_mistress (to maid, who has just received a month's notice)._ "i would rather not give you a character at all. but if you insist upon it, of course i shall tell the truth about you." _maid._ "and if you do, ma'am, i shall suttingly bring an action for defimation o' character!" * * * * * the flunkey millennium..--when every _valet_ shall be exalted * * * * * inhabited house duty.--the servants'. and i wish they'd do it.--yours, paterfamilias. * * * * * sancta simplicitas.--_housemaid._ "we're getting up a sweepstakes, mrs. thrupp. won't you join?" _housekeeper._ "gracious me, child; not i! why if i _won_ a horse i shouldn't know what to _do_ with him!" [illustration: early domestic trials.--_young wife (in great trepidation--to her brother)._ "tommy, i'm going to give the cook warning. just listen at this corner, and as soon as you hear me say, 'cook, i give you a month's warning from to-day,' mind you call me, and say i'm wanted immediately!"] metropolitan householders' club we understand it is in contemplation to get up a club for the purpose of endeavouring to improve the quality of servants. the indifference of the material is very much against the project, but the effort is worth making. a few old housekeepers have determined to set the scheme on foot by offering a few prizes, of which the following is a catalogue:-- for the cook who has lived longest in one place without including whole candles under the general head of kitchen-stuff _one pound_ for the nurse who has walked oftenest in the park without speaking to a horse-guard _ten shillings_ for the housemaid who has remained longest in a situation in which the cat has not been in the habit of doing wilful damage to the crockery _five shillings_ [illustration: _lady (engaging a maid)._ "was your last mistress satisfied with you?" _maid._ "well, mum, she said she was very pleased _when i left_!"] for the cook who has been the greatest number of years in service without resigning her own heart and her mistress's cold meat to the devouring passion of a policeman _fifteen shillings_ for the nurse who has remained the longest time in a place without mistaking the children's linen for her own, and given the baby the fewest private punches and pinches _seven shillings_ for the female servant who has set off on sunday evenings to go to church, and found her way there oftenest _five shillings_ for the page who has opened the smallest number of notes in the longest period of service _half-a-crown_ for the groom who has best carried out the principles of protection with regard to his master's corn _ten shillings_ for the footman who has worn the fewest of his master's shirts _one shilling_ the above are only a few preliminary prizes, but if the scheme can be effectually carried out, there is every intention to offer rewards for a variety of other qualities. in the present day, when servants are always "bettering" themselves, which means growing worse and worse, the project of a prize club for this troublesome class seems fraught with the most promising prospects. * * * * * [illustration: speeding the staying guest.--_hostess._ "won't _you_ sing something, mr. borely?" _mr. b._ "yes, if you like. i'll sing one just before i go." _hostess_. "well, _do_ sing _now_, and perhaps miss slowboy will accompany you."] * * * * * _mistress._ "did mrs. brown say anything when you told her i was out?" _maid._ "yes, 'm. mrs. brown, mum, said, 'thank heaven!' mum." * * * * * out of her element.--the last place which you would expect a woman to like is--a stillroom. * * * * * "cuisine."--_mistress._ "susan, we're thinking of having a pig's head boiled for dinner. you understand it, i suppose?" _cook._ "oh no, m'um. i told you before i came i didn't understand game!" * * * * * "in the queen's name."--_martha the cook (to lizzy the housemaid)._ "'ere's an 'orrible mistake. in 'is subscripshion list the heditor 'as spelt your name with a "hi" and a "he" instead of a "y."" [illustration: "a ghostly visitant" _mistress (returning)._ "any one to see me, mary?" _mary._ "yes, mem. an insanitary spectre." [_but it was only the sanitary inspector who had called regarding some alterations that were going on._ ] "the frogs" at oxford. scene--_parlour of private house, oxford._ time-_quite recently. cook wishes to speak to her mistress._ _cook._ please, 'm, i should like to go out this evening, 'm, which it's to see them frogs at the new theayter. _mistress._ but it's all greek, and you won't understand it. _cook._ o yes, 'm. i once saw the performin' fleas, and they was french, i believe, leastways a frenchman were showin' of 'em, and i understood all as was necessary. [_after this, of course she obtains permission._ * * * * * domestic economy.--_cook (to vicar's wife)._ "and what's to be done with the sole that was saved yesterday, ma'am?" * * * * * _bucolic boot-boy._ "i say, sarah, wotever be a creematorium?" _metropolitan maid._ "oh, you _are_ an ignorant boy! why, it's french for a milkshop, of course!" [illustration: _mistress (soliloquizing)._ "i'm afraid this hat's rather out of date." _maid._ "oh, no, mum. it's quite fashionable. cook has just bought one exactly like it!"] [illustration: _domestic._ "there's a gentleman wants to see yer on business." _master._ "well, ask him to take a chair." _domestic._ "he's taking 'em all, and the table too. he comes from the furniture shop!"] [illustration: foreigners are always so very polite.--_charming hostess._ "_do_ have some of my cake. i don't believe you've ever tasted my own make?" _delightful foreigner (wishing to be polite)._ "indeed--indeed i have, and i assure you i did not wish to eat anything else for days after!"] lady helps on this subject much nonsense has been written. they are quite as suitable (perhaps more so than otherwise) to the cottage as to the castle. the cottage need not have a name spelt with a celtic series of dissonant consonants. a few hints may be advisable to the numerous "lady helps" at present in the market. a lady may efficiently help the mistress of the household to snub her husband, by adroitly echoing (and improving) the said mistress's remarks of a personal character. a lady may help the cook to produce an original dinner, by suggesting fresh combinations, which will make the said cook indignant, and even furious. a lady may help the butler effectually, by decanting the ' port, and shaking it a little first as you would daffy's elixir. a lady may help the visitors to the house by reading all the letters that may chance to be thrown aside, and taking advantage of any private intelligence they contain. [illustration: _mistress._ "oh, gwendolen, whatever _have_ you done!" _gwendolen._ "it's all right, m'm. i 'aven't 'urt myself!"] a lady may help the master of the house by a flirtation in the library, while the mistress is away on a round of visits. a lady may help the daughters to quiet talks in the park with ambitious curates. a lady may possibly help the son and heir to--herself. you see, there are ladies and ladies, as there are _fagots et fagots_, and _mr. punch_ has his suspicions of the lady helps of the future. * * * * * advice to servants of all work.--"learn to labour and to wait." * * * * * happy thought.--_husband (devoted to spouse and bridge)._ what shall we christen the little dear? _wife (still more devoted)._ i've been thinking--why not--_bridget?_ _husband (delighted)._ by all means. for luck. * * * * * "hard lines."--_mistress (to former cook)._ "well, eliza, what are you doing now?" _ex-cook._ "well, mum, as you wouldn't give me no character, i've been obliged to marry a soldier!" [illustration: things one would rather have left unsaid.--_hostess (who has just sung)._ "are you _quite_ sure you don't sing, captain lovell?" _captain lovell._ "i assure you--a--i've no voice whatever. a--unfortunately, i--i'm a _listener_!"] [illustration: intuition.--_ethel (to mary, her bosom friend, who has been admiring the diamonds, and now hears for the hundredth time how it all came about)_. "i don't know exactly what it was; but somehow i felt, from the moment we met last night, that he meant to propose. _something_ about him--something in his voice----" _mary._ "ah, i see, there was the true _ring_ in it!"] [illustration: "oh, please, 'm, th' noo paarson's called to see you." "very well, mary. i hope you've shown him in, and asked him to sit down?" "oh, yes, 'm, ah've _loosed 'im into the drawing-room_!"] how to grow a pink of fashion this pink must be planted in the most aristocratic soil. the mould should be the very mould of form. it grows mostly in the open air, and belgravia may be looked upon as the great nursery for these pinks. several favourable specimens, also, have been reared at the theatres, the italian and french operas, and similar fashionable forcing houses. it is met with in great profusion at the balls of the nobility. the latter specimen, however, cannot bear the daylight. it is put into a hot bed the first thing when carried home in the morning, and there it remains closed up and almost dead until the evening, when it just begins to lift its drooping head. it is about twelve o'clock at night that it is seen to the most blooming advantage. your pink of fashion is watered with a liquid called champagne, and, if it is at all faint, a little piece of chicken and ham, and a few crumbs of bread, applied to the mouth of the delicate flower, will revive it wonderfully. it is a very tender plant, though it has been known to bloom for two or three seasons. the greatest care, however, is requisite to keep it from the cold, for its beauty is so sensitive, that the slightest neglect will nip it in the bud. the pink is of several colours, but the white with a beautiful maiden blush is the specimen the most preferred. this pink usually carries its head very high, and, though not distinguished for any particular amount of scents, still it is eagerly taken in hand in society for its (s)talk. the pink of fashion is mostly single, but cases of double pinks have been recorded. the double (or married) pink, however, does not excite one half the interest of the one that is single. [illustration: music at home.--_mrs. smith_ (fortissimo, _to mrs. brown, in one of those sudden and unexpected pauses with which herr signor hammerantonga is fond of surprising his audience_). "and so i gave her a month's warning on the spot!"] [illustration: _farmer twentystone, from mudshire, visits his recently married niece at lavender villas, brixton._ _housemaid._ "will you sit down, if you please, sir?"] [illustration: february _mistress._ "so you want me to read this love-letter to you?" _maid_. "if ye plaze, mam. and i've brought ye some cotton-wool ye can stuff in yer ears while ye rade it!"] [illustration: _her ladyship (who has been away from home for christmas)._ "well, blundell, i hope you all had an enjoyable christmas dinner?" _blundell._ "yes, thank you, my lady. ahem! i--er--took the liberty of obtaining--_in the absence of your ladyship_--the biggest goose procurable!"] [illustration: brass.--_sympathetic old lady._ "oh dear, dear! i do so feel, mabel, for that poor man with the long trumpet."--(_she must mean the trombone in this street band._)--"all through the piece, dear, he's been trying to fix it right, and he can't do it, poor fellow!!"] [illustration: sisters! (_before the ball._)--_pierrette (changing the subject after a recent tiff in which she has come off victorious)._ "this glass is better, rose. i can see myself here beautifully!" _pompadour (seeing her opportunity)._ "plainly, i suppose you mean."] [illustration: _sentimental youth (to partner shaken by a passing tremor)._ "oh, i hope you don't feel cold?" _she._ "not at all, thanks. only 'the grey goose walking over my grave.'" _sentimental youth (with effusion)._ "happy goose!"] the servants' college mr. punch rejoices to hear that "the greatest plague of life" has a slight chance of being abated by the establishment of a college for servants, who will be educated in the most careful way to do justice to their employers--the main idea being that most lucidly stated by the dean of saint patrick's, that it is the chief duty of every servant to ascertain the full amount of his master's income, and to spend the whole of it on his own department. having been favoured with an early copy of the subjects with which the courses will commence, _mr. punch_ is glad to give to this useful undertaking the advantage of his worldwide publicity. class . _lady housekeepers._--"how to manage a widower with young children. in three heads: , domestication; , flirtation; , temptation." class . _cooks._--"how to make the kitchen-fire too hot for the missus, and too cool for the sirloin." [illustration: _son of the house._ "aren't you dancing this? may i have the pleasure? i'm trying to do my duty all round to-night!"] class . _butlers._--"how to substitute marsala for madeira, and _vin ordinaire_ for château-lafitte." class . _lady's-maids._--"how to look much prettier than the young ladies when there are visitors in the house." class . _footmen._--"how to make a fortune out of six feet two in height, and calves nineteen inches round." class . _men and wives._--"how to keep their quarrels to themselves, and feed their 'incumbrances' in the neighbourhood." class . _coachmen and grooms._--"how to make the corn supplied to the stables more useful than if wasted on dumb animals." class . _housemaids._--"how to train that noble animal, the harmless necessary cat, to break glass and snap up unconsidered trifles." it can scarcely be doubted, from this preliminary syllabus of lectures, that the new institution will do much for the comfort, economy, and refinement of our households. * * * * * "chamber music."--baby! [illustration: _lady sneerwell._ "have your daughters accomplished much in music?" _unfortunate father._ "yes--the tenants below have moved."] the modern woman's vade mecum _question._ do you agree with a certain female lecturer, that it is the duty of the fair sex to captivate the other? _answer._ certainly, as cleverness need not be divorced from fascination. _q._ you do not object, then, to brains in the abstract? _a._ no; but as some men have a horror of the blue-stocking, i would cover fine heads with pretty toques. _q._ and if a woman has literary tastes, what would you advise? _a._ that part of her reading should be devoted to the fashion journals, and she should not sacrifice her toilette to her intellect. _q._ what is your opinion about latchkeys, visits to the music-halls, and cigarettes? _a._ that, from a man's point of view, they are played out, and consequently should be abandoned by man's would-be help-mate. _q._ what do you think of glasses? _a._ that, when necessary, they should take the shape of a pince-nez, as it is more becoming than spectacles. [illustration: "inflammable buttons." un page d'amour] _q._ then, before marriage, what should be your treatment of man? _a._ i should do all i can in my power to please him. _q._ and after the nuptial knot had been tied, what then? _a._ that, as mr. rudyard kipling would observe, is quite another story. * * * * * new rules for "pit" [_on the authority of the athenæum club_] ( ) the table shall be firmly clamped to the ground, and the cards shall be of metal not less than ¼ inch thick, with rounded corners. ( ) any player who speaks in such an audible voice that the position of the roof is altered shall be forced to make the damage good. ( ) no player shall use a megaphone or speaking-trumpet of any kind. ( ) muffin-bells may only be employed by players who have formed a "corner," and desire to communicate this fact to other players. [illustration: "the earthly paradise."--"what reason did he give for wishing to break off the engagement so soon?" "he said the report that he was engaged to me had not extended his credit nearly as much as he had hoped for."] ( ) if a player has called "corner," and is found to have only eight similar cards in his hand, the game shall be continued without him. his remains may be removed at leisure. ( ) "progressive pit" with more than four tables shall only be played in a house which is at least five miles in any direction from other inhabited buildings. ( ) no person who is not a player shall approach while a game is in progress, except in the case when a player faints across the table and so obstructs the play. * * * * * spring cleaning [scene--_spring gardens._ _enter algy_, l.h., _meeting frankie as he strolls in_, r.h.] _algy._ hallo, old boy! (_greeting_) i've just had my house papered and painted inside and out. _frankie._ indeed! and--er--(_struck by the novelty_) what sort of paper did you have put _outside_? [_exit algy_, r.h., _and frankie_, l.h. _scene closes._ * * * * * answer to mary anne.--the needle-gun is not threaded with gun-cotton. [illustration: _she (to clumsy steerer)._ "rather like progressive bridge, isn't it?" _he._ "why?" _she._ "well, you see, you run up against everyone in the room before you've done." [illustration: romance of the kitchen _cook (from the area)._ "o, 'liza, gi' me my winigrette--i've 'ad a--offer--from the _dustman_!!"] [illustration: the convalescent _new curate (tenderly)._ "my good man, what induced you to send for me?" _oldest inhabitant._ "what does he say, betty?" _betty._ "says what the deuce did you send for him, for!!"] [illustration: the merest accident.--_she._ "so you failed in your _vivâ voce_ exam.?" _he._ "yes; but it was purely from absence of mind."] [illustration: "o noble fool! o worthy fool!" _uncle (to nephew, who has just come into a fortune)._ "you must remember, my boy, that 'a fool and his money are soon parted'!" _fair cousin._ "oh, but i'm sure sammy will be the _exception that proves the rule_!" [_sammy is delighted._] [illustration: pernicious praise.--_mr. ranty snobbarts (holding forth)._ "by jove, i'm awfully keen on huntin'. ain't you, what?" _horrid boy._ "yes, by jove, he _is_ keen. why, when he wasn't huntin' the fox, he was huntin' his horse!"] [illustration: duty first.--_her ladyship (who is giving a servants' ball--to butler)._ "we shall begin with a square dance, and i shall want you, wilkins, to be my partner." _wilkins._ "certainly my lady; and afterwards i presoom we may dance with 'oom we like?"] [illustration: _maid._ "there's a much better tone in this house now, m'm, than there used to be." _lady (indignantly)._ "indeed! i don't understand you chalmers." _maid._ "oh, m'm, i mean downstairs, of course. not upstairs." [illustration: things that might have been expressed differently.--_uncle george._ "so glad you are so much better, amy, my dear." _amy._ "yes, thank you, uncle george. since dr. pillum took me in hand my recovery has been _simply miraculous_!"] [illustration: _applicant (for situation as parlour-maid)._ "should i be expected to hand things at lunch, madam, _or do you stretch_?"] [illustration: _lady caller (to old family servant)._ "well, bridget, did master arthur shoot any tigers in india?" _bridget._ "of coorse he did. shure we have the horns of the craythurs hung in the hall!"] punch's guide to servants preliminary chapter betty, "first catch your fish," is a golden rule for a cook, and first catch your situation is a very necessary piece of advice to be given to servants in general. the choice of a mistress requires as much judgment as the choice of poultry; and you should be careful not to pick out a very old bird in either case. the best market to go to in order to suit yourself is a servants' bazaar--as it is called--where mistresses are always on view for servants to select from. on being shown up to a lady, you should always act and talk as if you were hiring her, instead of wanting to be hired. you should examine her closely as to the company she keeps, and the number of her family; when, if there is any insuperable objection--such as the absence of a footman, a stipulation against perquisites, a total prohibition of a grease-pot, or a denial of the right of visit, by a refusal to allow followers--in either or all of these cases, it will be as well to tell "the lady" plainly that you must decline her situation. it is a good general rule to be the first to give a refusal, and, when you find you are not likely to suit the place, a bold assertion that the place will not suit you, prevents any compromise of your dignity. if you like the appearance and manner of the party requiring your assistance, but with some few concessions to be made, the best way to obtain them will be by declaring that you never heard of any "lady" requiring--whatever it may be that you have set your face against. by laying a stress on the word "lady," you show your knowledge of the habits of the superior classes; and as the person hiring you will probably wish to imitate their ways, she will perhaps take your hint as to what a "lady" ought to do, and dispense with conditions, which, on your authority, are pronounced unlady-like. if a situation seems really desirable, you should evince a willingness, and profess an ability, to do anything, and everything. if you get the place, and are ever called upon to fulfil your promises, it is easy to say you did not exactly understand you would be expected to do this, or that; and as people generally dislike changing, you will, most probably, be able to retain your place. [illustration: _smithson (the celebrated poet, novelist, playwright, &c.)._ "but, my dear young lady, i really don't understand you. i haven't been winning any ping-pong tournament. i don't play." _miss brown._ "oh, but _surely_ i heard our hostess say you were '_the_ mr. smithson!'"] [illustration: a hint.--_young housewife (as the front door bell rings)._ "now, is that the butcher's boy--or a visitor?" _new "general" (after a pause)._ "if you don't think you're tidy enough, mum--_i_'ll go!"] when asked if you are fond of children, you should not be content with saying simply "yes," but you should indulge in a sort of involuntary, "bless their little hearts!" which has the double advantage of appearing to mean everything, while it really pledges you to nothing. never stick out for followers, if they are objected to; though you may ask permission for a cousin to come and see you; and as you do not say which cousin, provided only one comes at a time, you may have half-a-dozen to visit you. besides, if the worst comes to the worst, and you cannot do any better, there is always the police to fall back upon. by-the-way, as the police cannot be in every kitchen at once, it might answer the purpose of the female servants throughout london, to establish police sweeps, on the principle of the derby lotteries, or the art-union. each subscriber might draw a number, and if the number happened to be that of the policeman on duty, she would be entitled to him as a _beau_, during a specified period. [illustration: _visitor._ "i'm so glad to find you going on so nicely, mrs. jenkins! and is this the dear little soul? i would so _love_ to see him!" _mrs. jenkins._ "lor, no, mum! that's my 'usband taking his bit o' rest. he's a policeman on night duty." [_quick exit, with promise to look in again._] always stipulate for beer-money, and propose it less for your own advantage than as a measure of economy to your mistress, urging that when there is beer in the house it is very likely to get wasted. you will, of course, have the milk in your eye, when proposing this arrangement. tea and sugar must not be much insisted on, for they are now seldom given, but this does not prevent them from being very frequently taken. having said thus much by way of preliminary advice, we commence our guides to service with the maid-of-all-work on arriving in your new place you get from the servant who is going away the character of your new mistress. she has already had yours, and you have a right to know hers, which, as it is given by a domestic who is most probably discharged, will, of course, be a very bad one. [illustration: _mistress._ "you wish me to take your notice, jane. this is very sudden, isn't it?" _jane (blushing)._ "oh no, mum, i've known 'im three days!"] when your predecessor has taken her departure, your mistress may, perhaps, come into the kitchen and tell you what you will have to do, or, at least, a part of it. she will show you the bells, and tell you which is the house bell, which the parlour bell, which the drawing-room bell, and which are the bells of the different bed-rooms; but she will not tell you how you are to answer them when they are all ringing at once, which may occasionally happen. as it will probably be late when you arrive, you will have to carry up the tray for supper, when you will be stared at, and scrutinised as the new servant, by the whole of the family. let us now look at your wardrobe. two of each article will be enough, for if the washing is done once a week you have a change; but if only once in three weeks, you must contrive to supply yourself with the smaller articles, such as stockings and pocket handkerchiefs, from the family stock of linen. as a maid-of-all-work, you have the great advantage of being a good deal alone, and can therefore indulge in the pleasures of philosophy. you can light the fires, and think of hobbes. fasten the hall-door, and recollect some passage in locke. or broil the ham for breakfast while wrapped up in bacon. [illustration: "merely mary ann" again.--"please, 'm, the fishmonger says will you have it filtered?"] you should rise early if you can, but if you cannot you must make up for it by hurrying over your work as quickly as possible. as warm water will be wanted upstairs, don't stop to light the kitchen fire, but throw on two or three bundles of wood, and set them all burning at once, when you will have some hot water immediately. run into the parlour and open the shutters, light the fire, cut the bread and butter, clean the shoes, make the toast; and when this is on the table, devote any time you may have to spare to sweeping the carpet. now, the family having gone down to breakfast, you may light the kitchen fire, and then run up and make the beds. after which you may sit down to your own breakfast, having previously, of course, taken the opportunity of helping yourself to tea and sugar from the tea-caddy. you may now go upstairs, professedly to sweep the bedrooms, but really to look out of window, and if the street is a narrow one, talk to the servant opposite. besides, looking out of window saves time, for you are able to answer the fifty people who come to the door in the course of the morning with hair-brooms, apples, carpets and rugs, tapes and stay-laces. being in a new place, you will be naturally curious to examine all the cupboards and drawers up-stairs, but do not be too inquisitive at first, for you will have other opportunities for a good rummage. [illustration: _lady (engaging servant)._ "i ought to tell you that we are all strict teetotalers here. i suppose you won't mind that?" _mary jane._ "oh, no, mum. i've been in a reformed drunkard's family before!"] [illustration: simple sayings for the silly bad as it is to be fawned upon, it is better than to be bitten.] [illustration: sancta simplicitas _orthodox old maid._ "but, rebecca, is your place of worship consecrated?" _domestic (lately received into the plymouth brotherhood)._ "oh no, miss--it's galvanised iron!"] you will now come down to cook the dinner; but, as this is another branch of service, we proceed to tell you how to lay the table. lay the knives and forks, taking the latter from the plate-basket, where they will be kept, though they are probably only britannia metal or german silver; nevertheless, call it "the plate," as it will gratify your mistress. if the family should be addicted to display, without means, you will have to set round doyleys and wine-glasses, with a decanter containing a remnant of british wine, which will not be touched, but will be brought on "for the look of the thing" every day after dinner. the time has now arrived for your own meal, and make the most of it. secure all the tit-bits, and if you cannot manage to get through the whole of them at dinner, put away part of them for supper. [illustration: disadvantages of performing at a country house in the wasp season. (_just in the most important passage too._)] about this time the afternoon's milk will arrive, and if you have beer-money you will take some of the milk out for your own use, taking care to fill up with warm water, so that you do not cheat your mistress of her quantity. you will be in the middle of washing up your dishes, when the family will want tea, and you will have just sat down to your own tea, when you will probably be asked to do some mending. the best way to put a stop to this is to turn sulky, do the work badly, or express the greatest surprise, declaring that all the time you have been out to service you never, &c., and would be glad to know who on earth, &c., &c., &c. [illustration: "i wish, madam, you would not interrupt me every time i try to say something. do i ever break in when you're talking?" "no, you brute, you go to sleep!"] [illustration: to keep his memory green _he._ "i was an intimate friend of your late husband. can't you give me something to remember him by?" _she (shyly)._ "how would _i_ do?"] [illustration: the servant question "oh, i say, 'ave you seen the papers about 'shall we do without servants?' i should like to see 'em try, that's all!" "yus, and me too!"] you must not forget to cultivate your mind, and for this purpose you had better take in "brainy bits," and if you read it through every week, your head at the end of the year will be full of volcanic rocks, the solar system, primary strata, electric eels, organic remains, and hints for preserving gooseberries. [illustration: a cut beneath her _lady of the house._ "oh, yes, jane, i asked mrs. johnston to let her little boy and his nurse call to go walking with you and the children." _nurse._ "well, ma'am, i hope as you don't expect me to go walking with _that_ young person? i don't think you can be aware as she is only a _nurse-'ousemaid_!"] on washing days there will probably be a woman come to wash; and in the mutual confidence of the tub, you will probably become very friendly. you may, no doubt, be of great service to each other, you in giving her bits of this and that, while she may serve you by becoming the agent for the disposal of your kitchen-stuff. do not fall a victim to low spirits, and above all, avoid sentiment. a morbid-minded maid-of-all-work, whose heart has been carried off in the butcher's tray, the milkman's can, or the baker's basket, is for ever lost. never hang your affections on a policeman's staff. the force is proverbially fickle, and many a servant girl has pined with a hopeless passion for one who has moved in a superior station. [illustration: bridge problems.--no. .--what has the dealer declared?] [illustration: bridge problems.--no. .--will dummy go spades?] [illustration: bridge problems.--no. .--why did she declare hearts?] [illustration: bridge problems.--no. .--what has dummy declared?] [illustration: bridge problems.--no. .--who doubled no trumps?] one of the most trying situations for a maid-of-all-work, is in a house where there are lodgers. she will, very likely, have to take everything at once to everybody at once. she will be having the first floor and the two-pair back clamouring at the same time for the only tea-pot in the house, while the parlour will be calling angrily for his boots, which have been taken by mistake, to the garret, who is writhing in intense agony for his highlows. the cook for ages it has been believed that a certain wicked person sends cooks; but johnson has well observed, and so by the by have smith and brown, that "if we had no cooks, we should be as bad as cannibals." [illustration: _butler._--"master says you're to have a glass o' this before you go, mrs. giles. now, that's some rare good stuff, that is, an' will do 'ee a world o' good!" _mrs. giles._--"well, it certainly _do_ taste better than the physic i be in the 'abit o' takin'!"] cooks have always been the subject of sarcasm, and jones tells us that even in his day the wits loved to give the cooks a good roasting. it is said, moreover, that "too many cooks will spoil the broth," from which we may presume that, as the workhouse broth is the very worst in the world, a great many cooks must have a hand in it. apicius was the first man who made cookery a science, and he poisoned himself: no doubt with his own cookery. he invented several sauces, and was, in fact, the roman harvey. he is believed to have been the first who added the trimmings to legs of mutton, and he took for his motto the line in virgil:-- "_at regina gravi jamdudum saucia curâ._" because the luxury of _gravy_, _jam_, _sauce_ and _curry_ are all shadowed forth in the quotation alluded to. dr. johnson was, according to boswell, "a man of very nice discrimination in the science of cookery," and he was proverbial for his sauce, which he dealt out to every one with the greatest freedom. boswell once asked him if he liked pickles, when he said, "no, sir; the man who would eat a pickle would pick a pocket." boswell adds, "i ventured to say he would"; and they wound up the evening with grog, which boswell, as usual, had to pay for; and it is thought that the expression of "standing _sam_" originated with boswell having to stand whatever sam (johnson) chose to call for. the celebrated dr. parr was also a great epicure, and liked his victuals underdone, from which we have the expression parr-boiling. milton loved his meat well dressed, and died with a good thing in his mouth; but whether it was a morsel of philosophy, or something nice, has never transpired. [illustration: a dead cert.--_expert from the estate (just arrived--the gardener being a distinct failure)._ "why, would you i believe it, sir, i thoroughly cleaned your stove yesterday just before you came--took it all to pieces--and" (_most cheerfully_) "i'll lay a sovereign i put some of it back wrong!"] having said thus much of the ancient and classical who took an interest in cookery, we plunge down stairs into the modern kitchen, and embrace the cook of the present period. on going to be hired, you will, perhaps, be told there are no perquisites allowed. don't stick out about that, for if perquisites are not allowed you must take them. it is easy to say the meat makes no dripping, and, of course, you can't account for it. it is a rule in cookery to make the best and the most of everything, and you will therefore sell your kitchen-stuff at the marine-store shop that will give the best price for it. in some families the mistress of the house will assist the cook; but she should have a sickener of that as soon as possible. if she makes a pie, spoil it in the baking; for if there is any truth in the adage about "too many cooks," the lady of the house should not be encouraged in making one of the number. [illustration: one thing at a time _genial master (under the painful necessity of discharging his coachman)._ "i'm afraid, simmons, we must part. the fact is, i couldn't help noticing that several times during the last month you have been--sober; and i don't believe a man can attend properly to the drink if he has driving to do!"] order is a great essential to a cook, who should keep everything in its place, taking care to keep herself as snugly in her place as possible. never connive at dishonesty in others, but keep yourself to yourself; for, if you rob your mistress, the least return you can make is not to sanction others in doing so. never go into any place where a cat is not kept. this useful domestic animal is the true servants' friend, accounting for the disappearance of tit-bits, lumps of butter, and other odd matters, as well as being the author of all mysterious breakages. what the safety-valve is to the steam-engine, the cat is to the kitchen, preventing all explosions or blowings up that might otherwise occur in the best regulated families. having laid down some general principles for the guidance of cooks, we give a few maxims that cannot be too strictly attended to. . keep yourself clean and tidy if you can. if your fingers are greasy wipe them on your hair, which thus acquires a polish. . when a joint comes down from dinner, cut off what you intend for your supper. if cut while the joint is warm, it does not show that it has been cut. relieve it also from all superfluous fat, which will of course go into your grease-pot. [illustration: a warm welcome.--_distracted hostess (to uncle george, who has arrived unexpectedly)._ "oh, i'm _so_ glad you have come! the conjuror i had engaged hasn't turned up. so _you_'ll do some tricks to amuse the children, won't you?"] . if you want a jelly-bag, cut up an ironing blanket for the purpose. the former is of course wanted in a hurry, but the latter may be procured at leisure. . when your dishes come down stairs, throw them all into scalding water at once. those that are not broken by the operation may afterwards be taken out, and put in their proper places. . scour your pickle-jars, but empty them first, if you are fond of pickle. . if you have been peeling onions, cut bread-and-butter with the same knife; it will show the multifariousness of your occupations, and perhaps give a hint for raising your wages. . let your spit and your skewers be always rusty; or, at least, do not take the trouble to polish them; for by leaving great black holes in the meat, they show it has been roasted, which is always better than being baked, and it will be the more relished in consequence. . never do anything by halves, except lamb, which you must sometimes do by quarters. [illustration: indirect oration.--"oh, if you please, mum, there's no meat for dinner. the butcher 'as been and gone and never come this morning!"] . if you are cooking even a sheep's head or a bullock's heart, take pains with them, so that what you do may be equally creditable to your head and heart. . if you have a follower, or a policeman, who likes a snack, cut it off each joint before you cook it--for everything loses in the cooking--and the disappearance of one pound, at least, in eight or nine, may thus be easily accounted for. the above maxims will be sufficient to guide the cook in her course of service, and we do not add any receipts, for it has been well said by dr. kitchener, or might have been said by him as well as by anyone else--that he who gives a receipt for making a stew, may himself make a sad hash of it. in bidding farewell to the cook, we would have her remember that her control over the safe will give her a peculiar influence over the hearts of the police, and she must be careful not to enervate a whole division, and leave a district defenceless, by being too lavish with the blandishments of love and the larder. [illustration: scene--_country vicarage._ _burglar (who has been secured by athletic vicar after long and severe struggle)._ "i think you're treatin' me very crool--and a clergyman too!"] the lady's-maid ladies'-maids are the rarest articles of female domestic service, and being in the nature of luxuries, are the best paid. they are to cooks and housemaids what the pine-apple is to the _pomme de terre_, and for this pine-like superiority of station many are doomed to pine in vain. the statistics of female service give us a million maids as the grand total, and deducting three-eighths for servants-of-all-work, two-eighths for cooks, three-sixteenths for housemaids, and one-eighth for nurses, we have a surplus of one-sixteenth for ladies'-maids, which will be about a fair average. servants belonging to this superior class should be able to read and write. it is a good practice in the former accomplishment to read all the notes sent to your mistress, and the little motto wafers, now in use, seem invented to facilitate this arrangement, for they never adhere to the envelope. [illustration: bridge below stairs.--"good gracious, james, whatever is the meaning of this extraordinary hilarity in the kitchen?" "cook's just revoked for the third time, marm!"] you will probably have the charge of your mistress's apartments. never suffer anything to lie about, and, therefore, you should pocket any trifle that is left carelessly out of its place. i do not mean to say you should become a thief, for, if found out, you would lose your place, and your character, but you must take care of a thing till it is missed, and when it is wanted, it will, of course be asked for. it is then time enough for you to find it in some hole or corner, into which it has of course got by accident. your lady's dressing-box will be under your care. see that the scent-bottles are always well supplied, which you can only ascertain by taking a little out of them for your own use very frequently. you should endeavour at all times to save your mistress trouble by acting for her as much as you can; and in order to do this effectually, you should dress as much like her as possible. order about other servants just as she would herself, and talk to tradespeople exactly as if they were being spoken to by your mistress, of whom you are the representative. of course the closer the representation you give of her, the more exact are you in the performance of your duty. [illustration: "grand slam" in the stone age.--it is, for obvious reasons, undeniable that a great wave of "progressive bridge" passed over the entire human race at a remote period. it is no use blinking the fact that while it lasted it was responsible for a marked "set-back" in the census returns.] some ladies'-maids are expected to mend their ladies' clothes; but no lady, that is a lady, ought to wear any clothes that have been mended. you should try and persuade her to be of the same opinion, by which you will not only save yourself the trouble of mending, but you will come in for many things much sooner than you could otherwise hope to do. the author of the proverb, that "a stitch in time saves nine," no doubt thought himself very clever; but if avoiding trouble is the object, it stands to reason that though "a stitch in time saves nine," it must be a greater saving still never to put a stitch in anything. if your mistress will make you work at your needle, put a novel on your lap, so that you may read and work at the same time. if you are asked to cut out a body, make a bungling job of it, that you may not be asked to do the same thing again. if you cut out anybody it should be the lady's-maid next door, with which your ambition ought to be satisfied. taking out marks from linen is an essential part of the duties of a lady's-maid. some practise themselves in this art by taking out the initials of their mistress and substituting their own; but this is a dangerous experiment. [illustration: _prof. gimlet._ "who is that pretty girl those men are talking to?" _miss bradawl._ "oh, she's nobody; it's strange how some women attract the men; now there's miss blinkins over there, such a nice clever girl, and i haven't seen a man speak to her the whole evening."] it is said in "knight's guide to service" that "when for the first time you stand behind your mistress's chair to brush her hair, you may feel that you are placed in a situation of high trust." this, however, depends upon circumstances; for if your mistress dyes her hair, it is a great mark of her confidence to ask you to brush it. if she wears false braids, she is, to a certain extent, in your power; for, as the poet says-- "should she upbraid," you might betray her; but if she is almost bald, and wears a wig, from the moment of your being entrusted to stand behind her chair and brush her hair, you may do what you please with her. if, in the story of _faustus_, _margaret_ had worn a wig, and _mephistophiles_ had seen her but once without it, the power of the fiend over her would have been irresistible. [illustration: a difficult task.--"jack, dear, i do wish you would get another photo taken." "how often have i told you i will not?" "but why not?" (_then, thoughtfully, after a pause._) "are you afraid of being asked to look pleasant?"] in your position of lady's-maid, many family secrets will perhaps come to your knowledge. do not talk of them to your fellow-servants, which would, in fact, be destroying your own valuable monopoly. a servant who knows a great deal of the family affairs cannot be cheaply parted with. you will be secure in your place, and will therefore be in a position to make the most of all its advantages. the little work we have already alluded to says, that if the lady's-maid is depressed in spirits, "she should open her mind to the friend, whoever it may be, that got her the place." this friend is usually the keeper of a servants' office, who would have enough to do if she were made to bear the infliction of all the unbosomings of all the discontented servants she may have found situations for. this mode of easing your heart would involve the necessity of constantly running out, besides the expense of an occasional omnibus. [illustration: unhappily expressed.--_she (who did not know they were to meet)._ "why, mr. brown, this is a pleasant surprise!" _he (who did)._ "i can't altogether say that it is so to me, miss jones!"] manners form an essential part of the qualities of a lady's-maid, and making one's self agreeable is the best mannered thing one can possibly accomplish. this is to be done by praise, for nothing is more agreeable to a lady than flattery. however sensible your mistress may be, she is sure to have a share of female vanity; and even if she knows herself to be ugly altogether, she will fancy she has some redeeming feature. if she squints, praise her complexion; if that is bad, tell her she has beautiful eyes: if she has a dumpty figure, praise her face; and if her countenance is as ugly as sin, tell her that her shape is exquisite. some people will tell you that sensible women don't like flattery; but this you must not believe; for, however sensible they are, they are pleased by it, particularly when it is administered with so much art as to seem not intended for mere compliment. very palpable praise is insulting to the generality of ladies; but flattery can scarcely be too gross for some few of them. you should study the character of your mistress, that you may not run the risk of offending her by too much praise, or hurting her by giving too little. your mistress will sometimes take a journey, and you will then have to pack her things for her. the following directions for packing a lady's portmanteau may, therefore, be of use to you:--put the lighter dresses at the bottom, for these will not be wanted while travelling; and artificial flowers, wreaths, &c., may go along with them. insert next a layer of dress caps, and ram well down with heavy dresses, to keep the others in their places. throw in a sprinkling of shoes, and then add the rest of the wardrobe; cramming-in the marking-ink and the desk at the top, where they are easily got at if they are wanted. thrust in scissors and hairbrushes anywhere that you can find room for them. get the footman to cord the box, for it will be a good romp for you, as well as great assistance. by following these instructions, you will find that you have a tolerably snug place of it. [illustration: _belle of balham (to professor, who has just played chopin's funeral march)._ "that's awfully jolly! now play one of lohengrin's things!"] the nursery-maid any one may undertake the place of a nursery-maid. as every female has, when a girl, been in the habit of carrying, letting fall, snubbing and slapping, either her own or some one else's little brothers and sisters, it is easy to say you have been accustomed to children. supposing that you enter service as a nursery-maid, there will, perhaps, be an upper nurse, who will be, in fact, your mistress. your care at home will be to wait on her; and when walking out, you will have to keep the children at a convenient distance while she flirts with her _beau_, who will probably be one of the british soldiery. this will be very tantalising to you at first; but you must recollect that your own time will come, if you wait patiently. [illustration: primum vivere, deinde philosophari.--"is florrie's engagement really off, then?" "oh, yes. jack wanted her to give up gambling and smoking, and goodness knows what else." (_chorus._) "how absurd!!"] some places are very different from others. you may go into a wealthy family where the children are kept upstairs, like live lumber, in the nursery, and are only brought out now and then for show, like the horses of the state carriage, or the best tea-set. if you curb their spirits that they may be docile on those occasions, and turn them out to the best advantage as far as appearance is concerned, you will be a favourite with your mistress. in some places you will be what is called "assisted" by the mother; or, in other words, interfered with, just enough to destroy all your attempts at discipline. in this case, your mistress will doubtless tell you, that if you cannot manage the children, she must find someone who can, and will give you warning accordingly. [illustration: _she._ "what an enormous expanse of shirt-front major armstrong has!" _he._ "h'm--it isn't his _front_ i object to. it's his _side_!"] it is not necessary to give you any particular directions about your dress, for the penny _belle assemblée_ will furnish you with all the latest fashions; and you have only to do in cottons and stuffs, what your mistress is doing in silks and satins. you should bear in mind, that you are not obliged to make yourself a dowdy to please any one; for nature has doubtless given you a pretty face, and the gifts of nature ought to be made the most of. besides, if you are a servant at home, you are a lady out of doors; and you may even keep a parasol at the greengrocer's, to be ready for you when you take a holiday. when you go to a new place, your mistress will, perhaps, tell you the character of each child, that you may know how to manage their different tempers; but you will, of course, use your own discretion. if one is pointed out as a high-spirited little fellow, you may be sure that he is fond of killing flies, tying toys to the dog's tail, striking you, and crying, as if you had struck him, when he hears his mamma coming. if you are told that one of the dear boys has a turn for finding out how everything is made, and he must not be checked, as his papa intends him for a civil-engineer, you may be sure that the juvenile spirit of inquiry will be shown in pulling your work-box to pieces, unless you turn his attention to the furniture, which he should be encouraged to dissect in preference to any of your property. [illustration: the latest little game.--"the duchess is looking awfully pleased with herself this evenin'. what's the matter?" "what! haven't you heard? why, she's just been made editor of the pet poodle page in the _upper crust magazine_!"] when you have a baby to take care of, some say you should be particular in its food; but if the child cries you have no time for this, and you must stop its mouth with anything that comes handiest. indiscriminate feeding is said to lay the foundation of diseases which remain with the child through life; but as you do not remain with the child so long, this is not your business. a nurse who knows thoroughly what she is about, will keep a little godfrey's cordial, or some other opiate, always at hand--but quite out of sight--to soothe the infant; for nothing is so distressing to the mother, or such a nuisance to yourself, as to hear a child continually crying. when there is only one infant these soothing syrups must be cautiously applied, lest the necessity for a nurse should terminate altogether, and you are thrown out of your situation. [illustration: _nervous player (deprecatingly playing card)._--"i really don't know what to play. i'm afraid i've made a fool of myself." _partner (re-assuringly)._ "that's all right. i don't see what else you could have done!"] an infant sometimes requires example before it will take to its food, and, as it is very nice, you may as well eat one half of it first, to encourage the infant to eat the other. use sugar in children's food very sparingly, and, lest the infant be tempted to want some of the sugar that is saved out of the quantity allowed, lose no time in locking it up out of sight in your own tea-caddy. if you wish to save your beer-money, recollect that milk is heavy for children, unless mixed copiously with water. as nothing ought to be wasted, you can drink what remains, instead of beer, at your dinner. there are many very troublesome duties that some nurses undertake in order to amuse the child; but as nature is acknowledged to be the best nurse, you had better let nature try her hand at all the hard work, while you confine yourself to that which is easy. when a child reaches a certain age it will begin to want amusement, when, if there are no toys, you may give it the poker and tongs, or set it down on the floor before the coal-scuttle. opening and shutting a box is also an amusement; as it involves occasionally the shutting in of the child's own fingers, the operation combines instruction also. as a child may be troublesome while being washed, give it the powder-puff; and as every thing goes to the mouth, the dear little thing will commence sucking the powder-puff, which will keep it quiet. [illustration: working out their own salivation this is not a feast of "funeral baked meats." it is a party of hygienic enthusiasts, following the system by which all food is masticated eighty-five times and then allowed to remain in the mouth till it disappears by involuntary absorption.] a very interesting age in children is when they begin "to take notice." when taking a walk with the children it cannot be expected that you can always have your eyes on _them_, and you must therefore accustom them to take care of themselves as much as possible. besides, self-preservation is the first law of nature, and a child cannot too soon be taught to follow it. thus, if you are looking about you and the children get into the road, while a carriage is passing, you will probably not be aware of their danger, till it is past, when you will begin slapping and scolding your little charges that they may know better for the future. it is a very fine thing to encourage generosity in children, and you should therefore talk a great deal about the presents you have received on birth-days and on other occasions from the little dears in the place where you last lived. this will of course give your mistress a hint as to what she ought to do. for the children will naturally ask to be allowed to make you presents, and the parents not liking to check the amiable feeling, and desirous of not being thought shabby in comparison with your former employers, will no doubt give--through the hands of the children--what you may have occasion for. [illustration: _hostess (introducing first violin to sporting and non-musical guest)._ "this is professor jingelheim, who leads the quartet, you know." _sporting guest (thinking to be highly complimentary)._ "leads--eh--ah--by several lengths, eh--and the rest nowhere! what?"] if you have nephews and nieces you may supply them with many little articles of dress that are pronounced to be "past mending." if your mistress notices that the stock of children's things diminish, you can suggest that "things won't wear for ever," which often passes as an apology for a sensible diminution in the number of socks and pinafores. you may observe that master so-and-so is such "a spirited little fellow, that he does wear his things out very fast," and your mistress will be satisfied if she thinks her child's spirit has caused half his wardrobe to evaporate. if you follow all these instructions to the letter, you will make as good a nursery-maid as the best of them. * * * * * hint to housemaids.--how to destroy flies--encourage spiders. [illustration: a matter of habit.--_lady (engaging new cook)._ "one thing more. i always like my servants to dress quietly." _applicant._ "oh, there won't be any trouble about that, ma'am. i've got a quiet taste myself."] [illustration: natural religion _bishop (reproving delinquent page)._ "wretched boy! _who_ is it that sees and hears all we do, and before whom _even i_ am but as a crushed worm?" _page._ "the missus, my lord!"] [illustration: "a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind."--"what! going to leave us, james?" "yes, sir, i'm very sorry, sir, but i really can't put up with missus any longer!" "ah, james! think how long _i_'ve put up with her!"] [illustration: "yes, she's a nice girl; but i can't get on with her. she has so little to say for herself." "oh, but _i_'ve been talking to her for the last hour, and she doesn't interrupt. now, that's what i think so charming!"] [illustration: impossible!--_he (relating a thrilling experience),_ "if i hadn't skipped to one side, i should have been run over! i assure you i had a _very narrow_ escape!" [illustration: _she (having played a little thing for bertram)._ "i hope you didn't hear the wrong note!" _bertram (thinking to be complimentary)._ "which one?"] [illustration: things one would wish to have expressed differently.--(_our semi-detached neighbours._) _grace._ "and yet, dear, how little we have seen of each other lately--considering there is only a partition-wall between us!" _emily._ "but then, dear, it is such a comfort to feel that you are on the other side!"] [illustration: _mistress (about to engage a new housemaid)._ "have you had any experience?" _applicant._ "oh yes, mum. i've been in _'undreds_ of sitiwations!"] [illustration: something new.--_young ass._ "aw--i'm bored to death with life!" _she._ "why don't you do something?" _young ass._ "aw--there's nothing worth doing that i haven't tried." _she._ "isn't there? there _must_ be. _try and think._" [illustration: bric À brac.--_lady croesus._ "oh, what a sweet table! where did you get it, my dear? oh, i see here's the man's card." (_spelling the label._) "'table--louis quinze.' louis quinzey! what a horrid name! and why hasn't he put his address?"] [illustration: _mr. boreham (who has already stayed over an hour and talked about himself the whole time)._ "yes, i'm sorry to say i'm a martyr to insomnia. i've tried everything, but i cannot get sleep at night!" _his hostess (sweetly)._ "oh, but i can tell you a very simple remedy. you should talk to yourself--after going to bed!"] [illustration: _miss withers (showing photograph of herself)._ "i'm afraid it's rather faded." _binks (inexperienced, aged nineteen)._ "yes, but it's just like you."] [illustration: in the picture gallery of the earls of longline.--_sir peter stodgely._--"curious thing your family should all be took in fancy dress! i s'pose they're all by the same man, eh?"] [illustration: our domestics.--"listen jack. i've put down 'kitchen and scullery maids kept; only two in family; beer allowed; no dairy; extra help when required.' now, can you suggest any other inducement i can offer?" "_well_--you might add 'charming scenery!'"] [illustration: "----but those unheard are sweeter" scene--_a boarding-house._ _wife._ "why do you always sit at the piano, david? you know you can't play a note!" _david._ "neither can anyone else, while i am here!"] [illustration: _hostess._ "please don't leave off, miss jessop." _miss j._ "but shan't i bore you? it is possible to have too much of a good thing, you know." _hostess._ "yes; but that doesn't apply to _your_ playing!"] [illustration: what shall we do with our boys?--_father._ "now, sir william, i want jack to go into business--his mother wants him to read for the bar. jack's undecided. what do you advise?" _sir william grubbe._ "you go into business, my boy. see what it's made me!" _jack (emphatically)._ "oh, sir william, i've quite decided to take the mater's advice."] the lost chance [illustration: "a page drawing"] _new maidservant (much pleased with herself)._ a gentleman called to see you, sir, and said as he were just leavin' town for some time. knowin' as you didn't want to be disturbed this morning, i told him as you was _h_out-- _master._ quite right. (_to himself_) sharp girl this! _new maid (cheerfully)_--and told him as i didn't know when you'd be back again. 'is card's in the 'all, sir. he 'ave wrote somethin' on it. [_she fetches it, returns, and presents it._ [illustration: snubbing _he._ "sorry i forgot your party the other evening!" _she._ "oh, weren't you there?"] _master (reads writing on card, then suddenly springing up, exclaims)_ oh--(_stops the escape of a very strong expletive_)--how long ago? _new maid (cheerfully)._ oh, quite a _h_our. there was luggidge on the cab. _master (subsiding hopelessly in chair, to maid)._ you can go. (_alone, grinding his teeth._) confound the idiot! (_reads card muttering to himself._) _snooker poole, chork cottage, kew. "called to repay coin personally. sorry to miss you. so long!_" i shall never see my hundred and fifty again!... that's the worst of new servants! [_he is left considering whether it would not be as well to alter the form of his instructions to the hand-maiden. scene closes._ * * * * * the boastfulness of belinda.--_arabella (concluding the description of the magnificence of her employer's home)._ and in the servants' 'all we 'as 'ot plovers' heggs ev'ry mornin' for brekfist. _belinda._ that's nothin'. at hour 'ouse hall the fires is laid with reel sparrow-grass sticks instead of wood! [_arabella dries up._ [illustration: _inexperienced and anxious young mistress._ "the new housemaid, maria, is a roman catholic but i hope you will not allow any religious controversy in the servants' hall." _cook (with much dignity)._ "you needn't have any fear, my lady. in really 'igh class families religion is _never_ mentioned!"] spring-cleaning hints (_with acknowledgments to the "world and his wife"_) how to make old pictures look new. many houses have pictures darkened with age which only need a little drastic treatment to make them as fresh and bright as new oleographs. the surface should first be soaked in a strong solution of hydrochloric acid and then rubbed with an old nail-brush. any paint that should chance to be removed can easily be supplied by a local artist for a few pence. we heard of a sir joshua reynolds which was treated like this the other day in its owner's absence, and on his return was mistaken by him for a christmas supplement. to revive kid. give the kid a stiff brandy-and-soda. a pretty use for old boots. it is a mistake to throw away old boots as useless, or to waste them on newly-married couples. a most charming effect can be obtained by planting a fern in the heel and hanging the boot from the ceiling in the window. any kind of fern will do. [illustration: no doubt of it.--_daughter of the house._ "here come mrs. massington and her husband." _lady smart._ "ah, she's strong-minded, of course!" _daughter of the house._ "can you tell that by just looking at her?" _lady smart._ "no--by looking at him!"] to remove stains on the ceiling. the best thing to do is to re-whitewash the whole surface, which is done by lying on one's back on the top of the bookshelves and dabbing away steadily. but if the stain still shows through it is best to spill water systematically on the floor of the room above until you have stained the ceiling uniformly, leaving it a russet brown. after all, why should ceilings be white? to redden lobster. take a saucepan of boiling water and plunge the lobster in. it will emerge quite red and lovable. to renovate black lace. wash in beer, beat between the folds of a linen cloth, and, when nearly dry, iron with a cool (not cold) iron. it is not advisable to drink the beer unless you are very thirsty. good housewives find a way of getting it back into the kitchen cask. [illustration: resource!--_young mr. softly._ "er--miss ethel, there is something i--er--particularly want to say to you. er--when could i have a minute with you alone?" _miss ethel._ "oh, that's all right! something from wagner, please, lucy! now, mr. softly!"] to remove ink stains from the fingers. fill your mouth with spirits of salt and then suck the fingers thoroughly. to remove stained patches from the wall paper. this cannot be done. the only things to do are (_a_) re-paper entirely, or (_b_) re-arrange the furniture to hide the places. to revive ostrich feathers. soak the feathers in the best australian wine (emu brand), and then bury them up to the hilt in the sand. if the feathers still remain unconscious apply a hot-water bottle. to extricate moth from fur. stimulate the moths by smelling-salts, and when they begin to show signs of activity remove the furs into a dark room lit by several strong wax candles. the moths will immediately quit the furs and rush into the flames of the candles. [illustration: _son of the house._ "won't you sing something, miss muriel?" _miss m._ "oh, i daren't after such good music as we have been listening to." _son of the house._ "but i'd rather listen to _your_ singing than to any amount of good music!"] to remove marmalade from velvet. immerse in a lather of white soap in hot water, and, after rinsing and dabbing firmly for five minutes, apply benzoline with a nutmeg-grater. if the marmalade then refuses to go, send for the police. how to light a fire with celluloid collars. heat the collar over a gas jet until it begins to crack, then apply a fusee and thrust the collar between the bars of the grate. the amende honourable quoth will, "on that young servant-maid my heart its life-string stakes." "quite safe!" cries dick, "don't be afraid-- she pays for all she breaks." a "times" query answered say, "_who controls policeman x?_" why, look'ee, he--so devoted to the sex, and ever wary near an "airy"-- is oft controlled by "cooky." [illustration: true humility _right reverend host._ "i'm afraid you've got a bad egg, mr. jones!" _the curate._ "on no, my lord, i assure you! parts of it are excellent!"] crucial questions _for both sexes at various ages_ at five. _she._ will my new doll open and shut her eyes? _he._ off to a party! will they have mince-pies? at ten. _she._ will pretty master smith be there this time? _he._ will uncle take me to the pantomime? _she._ will mamma let me wear my hair in curl? _he._ i say, how many l's are there in "girl"? at fifteen. _she._ will he give me or fan the first round dance? _he._ will our chaps at the wickets have a chance? _she._ will my next dress be made with longer skirts. _he._ hoisted? o crikey! wonder if it hurts? _she._ did that sly fanny hear him call me "dear"? _he._ i wonder if this "weed" will turn me queer? [illustration: _employer (to applicant for situation)._ "and then i am very particular about my cellars; you understand wine, i presume?" _butler._ "hin my last sitiwation, sir, i was considered a very tolerable judge o' wine, sir."] at twenty. _she._ will papa think dear percy's "screw" too small? _he._ does this moustache mean to come on at all? _she._ was it my eyes with which he seemed so struck? _he._ is it a "pass," i wonder, or a "pluck"? _she._ i wonder whether _he_ will "pop" tonight? _he._ i wonder whether _she_ will answer right? at twenty-five. _she._ shall i, oh shall i, have a chance this season? _he._ a stiffish total! will there be a breeze on? _she._ quite pale! shall i put on the _tiniest_ touch? _he._ most brilliant! wonder if she rouges much? _she._ not a bad figure! has he any tin? _he._ backed "slowboy" for a pot! d'ye think he'll win? _she._ long dress bill! shall i get into hot water? _he._ can i stave off old snip another quarter? [illustration: _hostess._ "don't you sing, mr. binks?" _binks._ "no--er--i--hum--er----" _hostess._ "oh, i'm afraid you wouldn't be heard in this large room. thanks, so much!" [_terrible disappointment of binks, who was simply dying to recite "tam o' shanter."_ ] at thirty. _she._ will the new curate be engaged or not? _he._ close thing! shall i have nerve to make the shot? _she._ is flirting _really_ now a sort of sinning? _he._ is my neat middle parting _really_ thinning? _she._ now shall i get a partner for this dance? _he._ old boodles leaving! shall _i_ have a chance? _she._ engaged at last! now _will_ he keep a carriage? _he._ that's done! how shall i like the yoke of marriage? [illustration: a serious case.--_cook (reading from daily paper)._ "last night's official statement shows that there are fifty thousand cases of influenza in the metropolis." _nervous parlourmaid._ "oh, mary! and how many are there in a case?"] at forty. _she._ when _will_ the major come up to the scratch? _he._ fat, _plain_ and forty! shall i risk the match? _she._ is that a tinge of red about my nose? _he._ does the grey show--unless one looks too close? _she._ could i get on those "sixes" at a pinch? _he._ must i allow the vest another inch? _she._ did lady linda mean that as a snub? _he._ will they blackball me at the buffers' club? _she._ is the dear fellow right about confession? _he._ how stands my chance if they dissolve this session. at fifty. _she._ will flora hook the wealthy cotton-spinner? _he._ must i drop drinking port wine after dinner? _she._ not meet! great heavens! am i getting _stout_? _he._ by jingo, was that twinge a touch of gout? _she._ _did_ he mean anything by that warm glance? _he._ shall i have "go" to get through this round dance? _she._ will it be brighton or the continent? _he._ my dear, _can_ that last cheque be wholly spent? [illustration: _violinist (one of trio of amateurs who have just obliged with rather lengthy performance)._ "well, we've left off at last!" _hostess._ "thank you so much!"] at sixty. _she._ will lady jane before those jones's bow? _he._ shall i, i wonder, get my knighthood now? _she._ doctor, dear doctor, what _does_ ail my back? _he._ will lord fitz-faddle give that berth to jack? _she._ is nelly really sweet on _that_ young brown? _he._ are costa ricas going up or down? _she._ he seemed so sparkish! is it _quite_ too late? _he._ dull, this! _am_ i too old a bird to mate? [illustration: _smithson (the celebrated poet, novelist, playwright, &c.)._ "but, my dear young lady, i really don't understand you. i haven't been winning any ping-pong tournament. i don't play." _miss brown._ "oh, but _surely_ i heard our hostess say you were '_the_ mr. smithson!'"] * * * * * outrage on goldsmith (_by a sleepy housemaid, concerning missus_) she rings us up at , till she lies-- "more bent to raise the wretched, than to rise." [illustration: new year's fete and gala.--"well, jane, did you have a good time at home? was the village very gay?" "yes, thank you, mum. but we was rather disappointed, as the policemen's feet didn't come off!"] * * * * * cutting!--_host._ "what bin did you put that marsala in, muggles?" _new butler._ "in the--ah--dust-bin, sir!!" * * * * * social gardening.--cultivating an acquaintance. * * * * * _q._ what's the difference between a fraudulent bank director and a servants' registry office? _a._ the former cooks books, the latter books cooks. * * * * * the sublime.--the fashions of this season. the ridiculous.--the fashions of last season. * * * * * muffs and marquisates lord m's a muff; but shrewd mammas determine muffs _have_ a value when they're trimmed with ermine! * * * * * the best french exercises for girls.--a series of practical studies in cookery _à la française_. [illustration: _mistress._ "well now, what can you cook?" _applicant._ "oh, i can cook any-think, mum." _mistress._ "what about _entrées_?" _applicant._ "yes, i can do _ontrays_, mum." _mistress._ "can you do a _vol-au-vent_?" _applicant (doubtfully)._ "well, mum, in my last place there _was_ once some _talk_ about a _vollervong_, but it fell through."] * * * * * clerical Æsthetics.--_fair parishioner._ "and do you like the pulpit, mr. auriol?" _the new curate._ "i do not. er--it hides too much of the figure, and i like every shake of the surplice to tell!" [illustration: finis] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers london and tonbridge. * * * * * transcriber's notes typographical errors have been silently corrected. variations in spelling, hyphenation and accents are as in the original. italics are shown thus _italic_. [illustration] with the children punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. mr. punch with the children [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: much ado.--"mamma-a-a! boo-hoo! we's crying! tum up 'tairs an' see what's de matter wiv us!"] mr. punch with the children [illustration] as pictured by phil may, george du maurier, charles keene, john leech, gordon browne, l. raven-hill, charles pears, lewis baumer, david wilson, tom browne, j. bernard partridge, c. e. brock, tom wilkinson, hilda cowham, and other humorists _in illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * editor's note [illustration] in the order of our library "mr. punch with the children" comes last, yet, so continual and sincere has been the interest of the breezy little man in the children, we might well have placed this volume first. the _punch_ pictures, stories and jests that are concerned with the young folk are almost inexhaustible. the present collection, though containing the cream of them, comes very far indeed from reproducing them all, or even fifty per cent. for every notable artist and writer who has been much associated with _punch_ since has had something to say or to illustrate of the humours of child life. if genius be the power to be a child again at will, we can understand this abiding interest in the doings of the children. mr. punch himself resembles peter pan, for he has never grown up. the years roll by, but the jolly little hunchback remains as young as ever. the variety of individuality in the children, to whom we are here introduced, is noteworthy. in the days of leech, downright impudence seems to have been a characteristic of the young; to-day it would seem children are better mannered, even if the _enfant terrible_ is still thriving and likely to do so. there are nice children here, and naughty ones; clever and dull children; pretty and ugly children--the mischievous are chiefly memories of last generation! phil may's children are all clearly of the "gutter snipe" order, in which he delighted, full of character and a somewhat pathetic humour; but how clean and sweet and lovable are du maurier's or mr. lewis baumer's! mr. raven-hill seems to be attracted somewhat in the same direction as phil may; but all are interesting, and their sayings and doings are eminently worthy to be thus permanently gathered into one volume. * * * * * [illustration: boy (_looking forward to a party in the evening_). "oh, mummy, baby _is_ naughty! he has taken two things off the calendar, and made it to-morrow!"] * * * * * mr. punch with the children [illustration: a study in expression] a serious matter.--_grandfather_ (_to miss pansy, who is somewhat flushed and excited_). what's the matter, my pet? _miss pansy_ (_aged eight_). oh, grandpa, me and my kitten have been having the most awful row. we've often quarrelled before and made it up again, but this time we're not on speaking terms. * * * * * [illustration: _bobbie_ (_dictating letter to his sister, whom he has "squared" into writing for him_). "dear miss brown, please xcuse bobbie for not bean at school sinse tewsday has he as add twothake on tewsday and on wednesday he broke is harm and he ad to go to a party yesterday afternoon. if he does not come to-morrow it will be because a boy thrue a stoan at is i.--yours trooly, bobbie's mother."] * * * * * [illustration: presence of mind.--_little girl_ (_who has been disturbed by a mouse, in a stage-whisper to her sleeping sister_). "wake up! oh, wake up and mew, amy; mew for your life!!"] * * * * * [illustration: unimaginative _auntie._ "do you see the hair in this old brooch, cyril? it was your great-grandfather's." _cyril._ "i say, auntie, he didn't have much!"] * * * * * _auntie._ well, effie, did you enjoy your party last night? _effie._ very much, thank you, auntie. _auntie._ and i suppose mamma was there to look after you? _effie._ oh no! mamma and i _don't belong_ to the same set! * * * * * [illustration: nice nephew! _tommy._ "talking of riddles, uncle, do you know the difference between an apple and a elephant?" _uncle_ (_benignly_). "no, my lad, i don't." _tommy._ "you'd be a smart chap to send out to buy apples, wouldn't you?"] * * * * * a precautionary measure.--"now go to school, and be a good boy. and mind you don't use any rude words!" "rude words! _tell_ me a few, mummy, and then i shall _know_, you know!" * * * * * [illustration: a "conscientious objector" _governess._ "now, just one more subtraction sum----" _dolly._ "oh, miss crawford, i don't fink mummie would let me do any more of _those_ sums, 'cause in them you borrow _ten_ and pay back only _one_, and that's cheating!"] * * * * * [illustration: a great ambition _little girl_ (_watching her mother fixing hatpins through her hat_). "when will _i_ be old enough, mummy, to have holes made in _my_ head to keep my hat on?"] * * * * * [illustration: rehearsal for private theatricals on boxing-day.--_master brown_ (_leading tragedian, who has been studying a fearful blood-curdling old melodrama, entering suddenly)_. "here are the letters. two million pounds is the price of my silence!"] * * * * * walking home from the pantomime.--_little chris_ (_who usually goes to bed very early_). mamma, have all the angels been to drury lane to-night? _mamma._ no, darling? why? _little chris_ (_pointing to the stars_). 'cause they've kept the lamps up there lighted so late. * * * * * [illustration: our christmas tea.--_unregenerate youth._ "pass the seedy caike!" _vicar's daughter._ "if----? if----?" _unregenerate youth._ "if 'e don't i'll shove 'im in the faice!"] * * * * * [illustration: the problem. _samuel._ "muvver, does a hen lay an egg when it _likes_ or _must_ it?"] * * * * * [illustration: a grand-daughter of eve.--_mamma_ (_to molly, who has scratched and bitten her french nurse, and who won't be sorry for her behaviour_). "oh, molly, don't you know who it is puts such wicked thoughts into your head?" _molly._ "ah, yes, the _scratching_! but to _bite_ félicie was quite my own idea!"] * * * * * rogues falling out.--_mamma._ what is baby crying for, maggie? _maggie._ i don't know. _mamma._ and what are _you_ looking so 'ndignant about? _maggie._ that nasty, greedy dog's been and took and eaten my 'punge-take! _mamma._ why, i saw you eating a sponge-cake a minute ago! _maggie._ o--that was baby's! * * * * * a scientific nursery definition.--_little algy muffin._ what's the meaning of bric-à-brac, that mamma was talking about to colonel crumpet? _little chris crumpet._ those things we mustn't play bricks with, a-fear we'll break them. * * * * * poetry for schoolboys.--little tommy tender, who received a flogging the week before his holidays, says his feelings were the contrary of those felt by the poet, when he penned the touching line-- "my grief lies onward, and my joy behind." * * * * * [illustration: logical.--_little bobby_ (_whose mamma is very particular, and is always telling him to wash his face and hands_). "mummy dear! i do wish i was a little black boy." _mamma._ "my dear bobby, you generally are." _little bobby._ "oh, i mean _really_ black. _then_ you wouldn't see when i was dirty."] * * * * * [illustration: everything can be explained _cissie_ (_who has never seen an archdeacon before_). "dick, that old clergyman has got gaiters on. what does it mean when a clergyman wears gaiters?" _dick_ (_who knows everything_). "oh, it means that he belongs to the cyclist corps!"] * * * * * [illustration: "what maisie knew" _kind aunt._ "you needn't be afraid of my little pug, maisie. he won't bite you." _maisie._ "no, auntie. but he might kick!"] * * * * * [illustration: _bobby._ "do you know what daddy calls you, mr. tovey?" _mr. tovey._ "no bobby. what is it?" _bobby._ "he calls you port arthur, 'cause you take so long to surrender!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little girl_ (_to mother, who has just read notice_). "i suppose, mother, it doesn't mention _which_ half of the poor thing we are to look for?"] * * * * * juvenile geography.--_governess._ the earth moves round the sun ... it takes a whole year to complete the round ... and this accounts for the four seasons. what are the four seasons of the year, phyllis? _phyllis_ (_aged_ five). this year, next year, sometime, never. * * * * * "it's a wise child that knows its own father."--_grace._ harold, why did pa call that mr. blowhard a liar? _harold._ 'cos he's smaller than pa! * * * * * a little learning.--_teacher._ and who was joan of arc? _scholar._ please, sir, noah's wife. * * * * * a little stepmother.--_uncle._ hullo! dot, got a new doll? _little miss dot._ hush, uncle, don't speak too loud. she is not one of my own, but belonged to millie simpson, who was cruel to her and 'bandoned her, so i have 'dopted her; but i don't want her to know, because i mean to make no difference between her and my own dollies. * * * * * [illustration: a poser _katie_ (_in consternation_). "oh, mother, how _will_ santa claus do about that poor man's stockings?"] * * * * * [illustration: the return invitation.--"please, mrs. subbubs, mamma says she'll be glad if you'll come to tea on monday." "with pleasure, bessie. tell your mother it's really too kind----" "oh, no! mamma says she'll be glad when it's over."] * * * * * [illustration: "did our hat-rack walk about and have only two pegs, once, auntie?"] * * * * * [illustration: stable talk.--_the general._ "that's a funny sort of horse you've got there, cuthbert." _cuthbert._ "yes, gran'pa. you see he's been 'eating his head off' all the winter!"] * * * * * [illustration: _severe mother._ "you naughty boy! how dare you tell such stories? aren't you ashamed of yourself for being a little liar?" _injured son._ "well, mother, 't ain't my fault. father gave me a awful thrashing the other day for having spoken the truth." _mother._ "what _do_ you mean?" _son._ "why, when i told you that father had come home quite drunk the night before!"] * * * * * [illustration: "in strange attire" "nurse! nurse! bobby's out of bed, and running about in his _bananas_!"] * * * * * [illustration: proof "you won't go in that dark room alone by yourself, tommy." "oh! won't i? you just _come with me_, and see me do it!"] * * * * * [illustration: incontrovertible "and how _old_ are you, my little man?" "i'm not old at all. i'm nearly _new_!"] * * * * * the force of classic teaching.--_master._ now, boys, what is hexham famous for? _binks minor._ making the hexameter, sir. [_waits afterwards._ * * * * * proverbs revised.--"_one is better than two._" _mother._ you are a very naughty little girl! _little girl_ (_after some thought_). aren't you glad i wasn't twins, mummy? * * * * * [illustration: misunderstood _mild old gentleman rescues a bun which child has dropped in the mud._ _child_ (_all aglow with righteous indignation_). "that's _my_ bun!"] * * * * * true sentiment.--"i'm writing to mrs. montague, georgie--that pretty lady you used to take to see your pigs. haven't you some nice message to send her?" "yes, mummie; give her my love, and say i never look at a little black pig now without thinking of _her_!" * * * * * [illustration: _chemist._ "pills, eh?" (_emphasising question_) "anti-bilious?" _child_ (_readily_). "no, sir; uncle is!"] * * * * * [illustration: _mother._ "now, dear, why don't you run away and give grandpa a kiss?" _child_ (_somewhat nonplussed by grandpapa's moustache and beard_). "i don't see any place for it, mamma!"] * * * * * [illustration: "sauce for the goose," &c.--_ethel._ "mummy dear, why did you tell richard you 'weren't at home' just now?" (_pause._) "mummy, i mean----" _mamma._ "when sir fusby dodderidge called? why, ethel dear, because he bores me." _ethel._ "oh!" (_after thoughtfully considering the matter with regard to her governess_). "then may i say i'm not at home when miss krux calls to-morrow? for _she_ bores _me_ awfully?"] * * * * * [illustration: at the rink.--_little girl._ "oh, captain sprawler, _do_ put on your skates, and show me the funny figures you can make." _captain s._ "my dear child, i'm only a beginner. i can't make any figures." _little girl._ "but mabel said you were skating yesterday, and cut a _ridiculous_ figure!"] * * * * * a little knowledge.--_daisy_ (_who has been studying chrysanthemums_).--maisy, do you know what's a _double begonia_? _maisy_ (_who has been studying the classics_).--"double big-onia"? yes! of course, it's the plural of one big onion. * * * * * maidenly etiquette.--_little chris_ (_ætat eight_). i've a birthday party on thursday, evie. i should like you to come. _little evie_ (_ætat nine_). i should love to, dear. _little chris._ but i couldn't, you know, unless you asked me to tea first. * * * * * in the library.--_tommy._ how beautifully those books is binded! _little dot._ no, tommy, that's wrong. you mustn't say "binded"; you should say, "are bounded." * * * * * superlative assurance.--_papa_ (to little chris). i can't quite understand you. was it mr. jones, or mr. david jones, or mr. griffith jones, whom you met? _little chris_ (_stoutly_). all i know is, it was the _third eldest_ mr. jones. * * * * * [illustration: _mabel_ (_stroking kitten, a new present_). "mother, kitty's so hot! ought she to sit so near the fire?" (_kitten purrs._) "oh, mother, listen! she's beginning to boil!"] * * * * * a virtue of necessity.--_aunt maria._ what a good little boy to leave your little friends to come with a poor old auntie like me. _master douglas._ oh, mother always _makes_ us do nasty things and things we don't like. * * * * * master tommy's receipts.--(_the fair weather barometer._) this is a pleasing and simple experiment. the mercury is removed, and divided in equal portions between the cat, the parrot next door, and the interior of grandpapa's forty-guinea repeater. this may cause some local disturbance, but the barometer, relieved of undue pressure, and set at "very dry," may be relied on to indicate, without further attention, permanent fair weather. * * * * * at the board school.--_inspector._ now, can any of you children state what is likely to be the future of china? _one maiden_ (_after a pause_). please sir, father says that china's like him. _inspector._ like him! what do you mean? _the maiden._ sure to be broken by the force of circumstances. [_class dismissed immediately._ * * * * * [illustration: an innocent hint _auntie._ "what is nellie's nose for?" _nellie_ (_doubtfully_). "to smell with." _auntie._ "and what is nellie's mouth for?" _nellie_ (_cautiously_). "to eat with." _auntie._ "and what are nellie's ears for?" _nellie_ (_confidently_). "ear-rings."] * * * * * a little knowledge!--_miss tomboy._ mamma, i think those french women were beastly rude. _mother._ you mustn't speak like that of those ladies, it's very wrong. and how often have i told you not to say "beastly"? _miss tomboy._ well, they _were_ rude. they called me a little cabbage (_mon petit chou_). the next time they do that i shall call them old french beans. * * * * * soliloquy.--"i should like that engine. can't afford it myself. they won't buy it for me at home--too soon after christmas. must go in and ask the girl to put it aside for me till next time i have the croup or something; then mother'll buy it me!" * * * * * "too clever by half" tommy and johnnie were boys at school, tommy was clever, but johnnie a fool; tommy at lessons was sharp and bright, johnnie could never do anything right. genius often is known to fail; tommy turned forger, and went to jail. johnnie, though slow as he well could be, plodded away and became m.p. * * * * * [illustration: "conservation of tissue."--_uncle._ "well, tommy, you see i'm back; are you ready? what have i to pay for, miss?" _miss._ "three buns, four sponge cakes, two sandwiches, one jelly, five tarts, and----" _uncle._ "good gracious, boy! are you not ill?" _tommy._ "no, uncle; but i'm thirsty."] * * * * * [illustration: _benevolent old gentleman._ "now then, little boy. what do you mean by bullying that little girl? don't you know it's very cruel?" _rude little boy._ "garn! wot's the trouble? _she's my sweetheart!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _grandpapa._ "well little lady, will you give me a lock of that pretty hair of yours?" _marjory._ "yes, granpa'; but"--(_hesitating_)--"i don't fink _one_ lock would be enough, would it?"] * * * * * [illustration: "daddy's waistcoat" (_sketched from life in drury lane._)] * * * * * [illustration: a story without words] * * * * * the case for the defence.--_mother._ oh, dicky, what terrible things you do keep in your pockets! fancy, a dead crab! _dicky._ well, mother, it wasn't dead when i put it there! * * * * * happy thought.--"why, my boy, you've spelt window without an _n_! don't you know the difference between a _window_ and a _widow_?" "yes, sir. you can see through _one_--and--and--you can't see through the _other_, sir!" * * * * * the young idea again.--(scene--_fourth-standard room of an elementary school. children reading._) _inspector_ (_to the teacher_). what are they reading about? _teacher._ american indians. _inspector._ i will ask them a few questions. (_to children._) what is a red indian's wife called? (_many hands up_). tell me. _scholar._ a squaw, sir. _inspector._ what is a red indian's baby called? (_silence. at last a boy volunteers._) well, my boy? _boy._ please, sir, a squaker! * * * * * [illustration: a caution to little boys at this festive season _mamma._ "why, my dearest albert, what are you crying for?--so good, too, as you have been all day!" _spoiled little boy._ "boo-hoo! i've eaten so--m-much be-eef and t-turkey, that i can't eat any p-p-plum p-p-pudding!" [_oh, what a very greedy little fellow._] * * * * * a modern paris.--_schoolmaster._ now, boys, supposing that the goddesses diana, venus, and juno were to appear before you, what would you do with this apple? _brown minimus._ please sir, i'd eat it before they asked for it? * * * * * a point unsettled in history.--_lucy_ (_to her elder sister who has just been relating a thrilling episode in the life of william tell_). and was the little boy allowed to _eat_ the apple afterwards? * * * * * master tommy's receipts.--(_household ginger beer._)--empty the kitchen spice-box, two pounds of washing soda, a pint of petroleum, and all the wine left in the dining-room decanters over night, into the cistern, and stir freely in the dark with a mop from the staircase window. when the water comes in in the morning, the whole household will be supplied from every tap for four-and-twenty hours with capital ginger beer. * * * * * in distress.--mummy! mummy! come back! i'm frightened. here's a horrid dog _staring at me with his teeth_. * * * * * [illustration: _child_ (_in berth of night steamer_). "mummy, i'm so sleepy. i want to go to bed." _mother._ "but you _are_ in bed dear." _child._ "no, i'm not. i'm in a chest of drawers!"] * * * * * [illustration: the force of example.--(_this is the second time that madge has pricked her finger--the first time it bled so much that mamma felt quite faint, and had to drink a glass of sherry; now it's jack's turn_). _mamma._ "well, what's the matter with _you_, jack?" _jack._ "oh! i feel rather _faint_, that's all. _is there such a thing as a bun in the house?_"] * * * * * [illustration: the festive season.--_tommy_ (_criticising the menu of the coming feast_). "very good! tray bong! and look here, old man! mind you put plenty of rum into the _baba_--dolly and molly like it, you know--and so do i!" _monsieur cordonbleu_ (_retained for the occasion_). "certainement, mon p'tit ami! but are you and ces demoiselles going to dine viz de compagnie?" _tommy._ "oh nong! but just ain't we going to sit on the stairs outside, that's all!"] * * * * * [illustration: at the zoo.--_little girl_ (_after seeing many queer beasts_). "but there aren't _really_ such animals, nurse, are there?"] * * * * * [illustration: at the christmas party.--_uncle george._ "don't over-eat yourself, jimmy, my boy. i never did when i was your age." _jimmy_ (_sotto voce_). "when did you begin, then?"] * * * * * [illustration: an early puritan _bobby_ (_who sees his mamma in evening dress for the first time, and doesn't like it_). "i'll write and tell papa!"] * * * * * [illustration: _gertie._ "oh, mr. brown, papa says that mrs. brown leads you by the nose. is that why it's so long?"] * * * * * [illustration: at a christmas juvenile party.--_aunt florence._ "i will find you a partner, ethel, dear. between ourselves, now, have you any choice?" _miss ethel._ "well, auntie, i should prefer one with a _moustache_!"] * * * * * [illustration: a cry from the heart.--_little dunce_ (_looking up suddenly from her history book_). "oh, mummy, darling, i _do_ so wish i'd lived under james the second!" _mamma._ "why?" _little dunce._ "because i see here that education was very much neglected in his reign!"] * * * * * [illustration: a big pill.--"what is it, my pet?" "oh, mum--mummy--i dreamt i'd sw-swallowed myself. have i?"] * * * * * [illustration: _hostess._ "what would you like to eat, effie?" _effie._ "cake." _mother_ (_reprovingly_). "effie! effie! what is the word you've forgotten? pl----" _effie._ "pl--um!"] * * * * * overheard at the zoo.--(_a fact._)--_small child_ (_pointing to the hippopotamus_). oh, mother, look at that big frog going to have a bath! _better-informed parent._ that isn't a frog, yer silly. it's a crocydile! * * * * * infant agonies.--_small boy._ auntie! auntie! has goosegogs got legs? _auntie._ no! _small boy._ boo-hoo-hoo! then i've been and swollered--a beastie! * * * * * inadequate hospitality.--"well, guy, did you enjoy the party?" "yes, mummy; but i'm _so_ hungry. there was only a _now and then_ tea, you know; with no chairs, and no grace!" * * * * * nature's logic.--_papa._ how is it, alice, that _you_ never get a prize at school? _mamma._ and that your friend, louisa sharp, gets so many? _alice_ (_innocently_). ah! louisa sharp has got such clever parents! * * * * * [illustration: "fiat experimentum," &c.--scene--_a christmas family gathering at a country house. old bachelor guest_ (_violently awakened out of his morning snooze._) "who'sh there?" _the grandchildren_ (_shouting in chorus, and banging at his door_). "oh, mr. bulkley--please--mr. bulkley--do get up--and go on the pond--'pa says--'cause--gran'ma says--we may--if it'll bear you--it'll bear us!"] * * * * * [illustration: scientific accuracy _ada._ "what horrid things _black-beetles_ are, miss grimm! the kitchen is full of them!" _the governess._ "i agree with you, ada! but as they are not _beetles_, and not _black_, perhaps you will call them _cock-roaches_ for the future!" _ada._ "certainly, miss grimm; although they are not _roaches_, and not _cocks_!"] * * * * * a conscientious child.--"is your cold better this morning, darling?" "i don't know. i forgot to ask nursey!" * * * * * _tommy._ i can strike a match on _my_ trousers, like uncle bob. can _you_, auntie? * * * * * [illustration: _mother._ "you must put your dolls away to-day. it's sunday." _little girl._ "oh, but, mother, that's all right. we're playing at sunday school!"] * * * * * confused associations.--"and where did these druids live, tommy?" "they lived in groves of oak." "and in what particular ceremony were they engaged once a year?" "er--let me see--oh! in kissing under the mistletoe!" * * * * * [illustration: _grandmamma._ "and how did it happen, dear?" _master tom._ "it didn't happen. ma did it on purpose!"] * * * * * master tommy's receipts.--(_to cure a smoky chimney._) get out on to the roof of the house with a good-sized feather bolster and eighteen-pennyworth of putty. insert the bolster longways into the chimney, taking care to plaster it all round tightly with the putty. now sit on it. the chimney will no longer smoke. * * * * * [illustration: and it was only yesterday that grandpapa was complaining to his little grandsons that he never got real winters like he used to have, with plenty of skating and sliding. (n.b.--butter-slides are very effective.)] * * * * * the evidence of the senses.--_mamma._ how _dare_ you slap your sister, george? _george._ she kicked me when my back was turned, and hurted me very much, i can tell you! _mamma._ where did she hurt you? _george._ well, i can't azactly say _where_, because--because my back was turned, and i was looking another way! * * * * * pursuit of knowledge.--_son and heir_ (_whose inquiring turn of mind is occasionally a nuisance_). say, 'pa, what's a v'cab'lary? _father._ a vocabulary, my boy--what d'you want to know that for? _son._ 'cause i heard 'ma say she'd no idea what a tremenjous v'cab'lary you'd got, till you missed the train on saturday! * * * * * at the sunday school--_teacher._ now, mary brown, you understand what is meant by baptism? _mary brown._ oh, _i_ know, teacher! it's what dr. franklin did on baby's arm last toosday! * * * * * [illustration: a little christmas dream.--mr. l. figuier, in the thesis which precedes his interesting work on the world before the flood, condemns the practice of awakening the youthful mind to admiration by means of fables and fairy tales, and recommends, in lieu thereof, the study of the natural history of the world in which we live. fired by this advice, we have tried the experiment on our eldest, an imaginative boy of six. we have cut off his "cinderella" and his "puss in boots," and introduced him to some of the more peaceful fauna of the preadamite world, as they appear restored in mr. figuier's book. the poor boy has not had a decent night's rest ever since!] * * * * * young, but practical.--"what! harry! not in bed yet, and it's nine o'clock! what will _papa_ say when he comes home?" "oh, papa! _he'll_ say, 'supper! supper! what's for supper?'" * * * * * a realist in fiction.--"i saw a rabbit run through that hedge!" "no, dear. it was imagination!" "are 'maginations white behind?" * * * * * improving the shining hour.--_the new governess._ what are the comparative and superlative of _bad_, berty? _berty_ (_the doctor's son_). bad--worse--dead. * * * * * a capital choice.--_cousin amy._ so you haven't made up your mind yet what _profession_ you're going to be when you grow up, bobby. _bobby._ well, yes! i don't exactly know what it's called, you know, but it's living in the country, and keeping lots of horses and dogs, and all that! [_bobby's papa is a curate, with £ a year._ * * * * * [illustration: early ingenuity. "whatever _are_ you children doing?" "oh, we've found pa's false teeth, and we're trying to fit them on to the baby, 'cos he hasn't got any!"] * * * * * the sick child by the honourable wilhelmina skeggs a weakness seizes on my mind--i would more pudding take; but all in vain--i feel--i feel--my little head will ache. oh! that i might alone be left, to rest where now i am, and finish with a piece of bread that pot of currant-jam. i gaze upon the cake with tears, and wildly i deplore that i must take a powder if i touch a morsel more, or oil of castor, smoothly bland, will offer'd be to me, in wave pellucid, floating on a cup of milkless tea. it may be so--i cannot tell--i yet may do without; they need not know, when left alone, what i have been about. i long to cut that potted beef--to taste that apple-pie; i long--i long to eat some more, but have not strength to try. i gasp for breath, and now i know i've eaten far too much; not one more crumb of all the feast before me can i touch! susan, oh! susan ring the bell, and call for mother, dear. my brain swims round--i feel it all--mother, your child is queer! * * * * * _alix_ (_aged five, to parent who has been trying to inspire her with loyal sentiments_). and was the queen weally named after me? * * * * * [illustration: a toothsome morsel.-- _distracted nurse._ "gracious, children, what _are_ you doing?" _children._ "oh, we've put the meat cover on grandpa's head to keep the flies off him!"] * * * * * [illustration: "drat the boy! what have you got that string tied on that fowl's leg for?" "'tain't our fowl, muvver!"] * * * * * [illustration: _snooks_ (_who fancies himself very much_). "what's she crying for?" _arabella._ "it's all right, sir. she was frightened. when she saw _you_ she thought it was a _man_!"] * * * * * [illustration: blasÉ _kitty_ (_reading a fairy tale_). "'once upon a time there was a frog----'" _mabel_ (_interrupting_). "i bet it's a princess! go on!"] * * * * * physics.--"now, george, before you go and play, are you quite sure you know the lesson professor borax gave you to learn?" "o, yes, mamma!" "well, now, what causes heat without light?" "pickles!" * * * * * _mother._ well, dorothy, would you like your egg poached or boiled? _dorothy_ (_after weighing the question_). which is the most, mother? * * * * * [illustration: the advantages of education _small boy._ "look 'ere, mawrd! i reckon the chap as keeps this shop ain't bin to school lately; 'e spells '_'all_' with a _haitch_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "getting on." "well, tommy, how are you getting on at school?" "first-rate. i ain't doing so well as some of the other boys, though i can stand on my head; but i have to put my feet against the wall. i want to do it without the wall at all!"] * * * * * [illustration: laying down the law.-- _lady_ (_entertaining friend's little girl_). "do you take sugar, darling?" _the darling._ "yes, please." _lady._ "how many lumps?" _the darling._ "oh, about seven; and when i'm out to tea i start with cake."] * * * * * [illustration: _tommy._ "i say, elsie, if you like, i'll come and see you every day while you are ill."] * * * * * "a soft answer," &c.--_mamma_. you are very naughty children, and i am extremely dis-satisfied with you all! _tommy._ that _is_ a pity, mamma! we're all so thoroughly satisfied with _you_, you know! * * * * * comprehensive.--_preceptor._ now, can any of you tell me anything remarkable in the life of moses? _boy._ yes, sir. he was the only man who broke all the commandments at once! * * * * * [illustration: a bargain. "i say, bobby, just give us a shove with this 'ere parcel on to this 'ere truck, and next time yer runs me in, _i'll go quiet_!"] * * * * * little miss logic.--_little dot_ (_to eminent professor of chemistry_). are you a chemist? _eminent professor._ yes, my dear. _l. d._ have you got a shop with lovely large, coloured bottles in the window? _e. p._ no, my dear; i don't keep a shop. _l. d._ don't you? then i suppose you don't sell jones's jubilee cough jujubes? _e. p._ no, my dear, i certainly do not. _l. d._ (_decidedly_). i don't think i ought to talk to you any more. you can't be a respectable chemist. _e. p._ why not, my dear? _l. d._ 'cos it says on the box, "sold by all _respectable_ chemists." * * * * * at the school treat.--_lady helper_ (_to small boy_). will you have some more bread-and-butter? _small boy._ no fear, when there's kike about. _lady helper_ (_trying to be kind_). cake, certainly! will you have plum or seed? _small boy._ plum, in course. d'ye tike me for a canary? * * * * * [illustration: a question of heredity _hal._ "is there anything the matter with this egg, martha?" _martha._ "oh no, it's only a little cracked." _hal._ "oh! then would the chicken that came out of it be a little mad?"] * * * * * [illustration: natural history.--"oh, _look_, mummie! now it's left off raining, he's come out of his kennel!"] * * * * * [illustration: sensible child.--"well, jacky, and did you hang up your stocking for santa claus to fill?" "no. i hanged up muvver's!"] * * * * * [illustration: "look what i've bought you for a christmas box!"] * * * * * had him there.--_uncle jim._ here's half a mince pie for you, tommy. i need hardly remind a person of your classical culture that "_the half is greater than the whole_!" _tommy._ quite so, uncle. but, as i'm not very hungry, i'll only take a whole one. * * * * * an eye to the main chance.--_the major._ you're a very nice fellow, tommy! don't most people tell you so? _tommy._ yes, they does. and they often gives me something! * * * * * [illustration: lost, or, lucid information _kind-hearted old gent._ "there, there, don't cry! what's your name and where do you live!" _chorus._ "boohoo! we'se doolie's twins."] * * * * * "sancta simplicitas."--"auntie, ought bertie wilson to have _smiled_ so often at me in church?" "no, dear. where was he sitting?" "behind me." * * * * * [illustration: _philanthropic old lady_ (_to little boy caressing dog_). "that is right, little boy, always be kind to animals." _little boy._ "yes, 'm. i'll have this tin can tied to his tail soon's i've got him quiet."] * * * * * [illustration: "poor likkle doggie--hasn't got any fevvers on!"] * * * * * [illustration: _master tom._ "wish i could catch a cold just before christmas." _effie._ "why?" _master tom._ "well, ma's always sayin', 'feed a cold.' wouldn't i? _just!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "_please_, auntie, _may_ i have the fairy off the christmas tree--_if i don't ask you for it_?"] * * * * * [illustration: _shocked mother._ "oh, tommy! what have you been doing?" _tommy_ (_who has just returned from the first day of a preliminary course at the village school_). "fighting with billy brown." _mother._ "that horrid boy at the farm? don't you _ever_ quarrel with him again!" _tommy._ "i ain't likely to. he can _lick_ me!"] * * * * * [illustration: rudiments of economy "may i _leave_ this piece of bread, nurse?" "certainly not, miss may. it's dreadful wasteful! and the day may come when you'll _want_ a piece of bread!" "then i'd better _keep_ this piece of bread till i _do_ want it, nurse. hadn't i?"] * * * * * [illustration: blue fever.--_visitor_ (_after a long discourse on the virtues of temperance_). "i'm glad to see a little boy here wearing the blue ribbon. that's a good little fellow. persevere in your good----" _billie groggins._ "please, sir, i'm _hoxford_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "oh! just ain't people proud what have got pairasoles."] * * * * * a discussion on diet.--_little chris_ (_to little kate_.) does your governess get ill on mince pies? _little kate._ i don't know! why? _little chris._ 'cause mine does. at dinner to-day she said, "if you eat any more of that pastry, i know you'll be ill." so she _must_ have been so herself. [_conference broken up by arrival of the lady in question._ * * * * * [illustration: what is it? _first boy_ (_loq._). "i tell yer its 'ed's here!--i seen it move!" _second do._ "i say it's at this end, yer stoopid!--i can see 'is ears!"] * * * * * [illustration: _dolly._ "auntie, that's what i've done for the cow-drawing competition at school." _auntie._ "but it is more like a horse than a cow." _dolly._ "it _is_ a horse. but, please, don't tell teacher!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the gentle craft" _preceptor_ (_after a lecture_). "now, what are the principal things that are obtained from the earth?" _pupil_ (_and "disciple of izaak walton"_). "worms, sir!" [_loses fifty marks!_] * * * * * [illustration: a confession.--_day governess._ "how is it your french exercises are always done so much better than your latin ones?" _tommy_ (_after considering awhile_). "i don't think auntie knows latin." [_auntie, who was about to enter, quickly and quietly retires._] * * * * * [illustration: "what are you doing in that cupboard, cyril?" "hush, auntie! i'm pretending to be a thief!"] * * * * * [illustration: retaliation "tut, tut, my boy! you must not beat that little dog so. has he bitten you?" "no, 'e ain't. but 'e's bin an' swallered my fardin!"] * * * * * [illustration: a reminiscence of lent "and did you both practise a little self-denial, and agree to give up something you were fond of?--_sugar_, for instance,--as i suggested?" "well, yes, auntie! only it wasn't exactly _sugar_, you know! it was _soap_ we agreed to give up!"] * * * * * [illustration: subtle discrimination _ethel_ (_to jack, who has been put into the corner by the new governess_). "i'm so sorry for you, jack!" _jack._ "bosh! who cares! this ain't a _real_ corner, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: a candid inquirer "i say, john, is there anything i haven't tasted?" "no, sir, i think not--except water!" * * * * * [illustration: _eva._ "mother says i am descended from mary queen o' scots." _tom._ "so am i then, eva." _eva._ "don't be so silly, tom! you can't be. you're a boy!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old gent._ "is it a _board school_ you go to, my dear?" _child._ "no, sir. i believe it be a _brick_ one!"] * * * * * [illustration: _kitty._ "is your wound sore, mr. pup?" _mr. pup._ "wound! what wound?" _kitty._ "why, sister said she cut you at the dinner last night!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little boy._ "how many steps can you jump, grandma? i can jump _four_!"] * * * * * [illustration: induction "is this the _new_ baby, daddy?"--"yes, dear." "why, he's got no teeth!"--"no, dear." "and he's got no hair!"--"no, dear." "oh, daddy, it _must_ be an _old_ baby!"] * * * * * [illustration: "it's an ill wind blows nobody good."] * * * * * _horrified little girl_ (_seeing her mamma in evening dress for the first time_). oh, mummy, you're _never_ going down like that! you've forgotten to put on your top part! * * * * * [illustration: "hi, silly! come 'ere out of the rine!"] * * * * * english history.--"and who was the king who had so many wives?" "bluebeard!" * * * * * [illustration: her first wasp _poor effie (who has been stung)._ "first it walked about all over my hand, and it _was_ so nice! but oh!--_when it sat down_!"] * * * * * [illustration: very natural.--"vell, and vat to you sink tit happen to me at matame tussaud's de oder tay? a laty dook me for vun of de vax vickers, and agdually abbollochised vor her misdake!" "o what fun, mr. schmitz! and was it in the chamber of horrors?"] * * * * * [illustration: true distinction.-- _mamma (improving the occasion)._ "i like your new suit immensely, gerald! but you must recollect that it's not the coat that makes the gentleman!" _gerald._ "no, mamma! i know it's the _hat_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little montague._ "i was awake when santa claus came, dad!" _father._ "were you? and what was he like, eh?" _little montague._ "oh, i couldn't see him--it was dark, you know. but when he bumped himself on the washstand he said----" _father (hastily)._ "there, that'll do, monty. run away and play!"] * * * * * [illustration: a rara avis.--_little girl (finishing her description of the battle of cressy)._ "and ever since then the prince of wales has been born with feathers!"] * * * * * [illustration: a head for business.-- _mamma._ "i meant to give you a threepenny bit this morning, bobby, but in my hurry i think i gave you sixpence, so----" _bobby._ "yes, mummy, but i haven't spent it all yet. so will you give it me to-morrow?" _mamma._ "give you what, dear?" _bobby._ "the threepenny bit you _meant_ to give me to-day!"] * * * * * [illustration: the child of the period "why did that policeman touch his hat to you, aunty? have you got one as well as nurse?"] * * * * * [illustration: before the head _fourth form boy (with recollections of a recent visit to the dentist)._ "please, sir, may i--may i--have gas?"] * * * * * adding insult to injury.--"mamma, _isn't_ it very wicked to do behind one's back what one wouldn't do before one's face?" "certainly, effie!" "well, baby bit my finger when i was looking another way!" * * * * * [illustration: "by authority."--_street boy (sternly)._ "p'lice-serge'nt says as you're t' have your door-way swep' immediat'; an' (_more meekly_) me an' my mate's willin' to do it, s'!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old gentleman (who has received a present of butter from one of his tenants)._ "and how does your mother make all these beautiful patterns on the pats, my dear?" _messenger._ "_wiv our comb, sir!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a fatal objection "mother, are the wondergilts very rich?" "yes, silvia, very." "mother, i hope we shall never be rich?" "why, darling?" "it must be so very expensive!"] * * * * * [illustration: _lady._ "have you lost yourself, little boy?" _little boy._ "no--boo-hoo--i've found a street i don't know!"] * * * * * [illustration: "enfant terrible" "i've brought you a glass of wine, mr. professor. _please_ drink it!" "vat! pefore tinner? ach, vy?" "because mummy says you drink like a fish, and i want to see you----!"] * * * * * [illustration: the spread of education "come and 'ave a look, marier. they've been and put a chick on a lidy's 'at, and they don't know 'ow to spell it!"] * * * * * [illustration: "well out of it" _uncle._ "and you love your enemies, ethel?" _ethel (promptly)._ "yeth, uncle." _uncle._ "and who are your enemies, dear?" _ethel (in an awful whisper)._ "the dev----" [_the old gentleman doesn't see his way further, and drops the subject._] * * * * * [illustration: our children _nurse._ "you dreadful children! where _have_ you been?" _young hopeful._ "oh, nursie, we've been trying to drown those dear little ducks, but they _will_ come to the top!"] * * * * * [illustration: _auntie._ "do you know you are playing with two very naughty little boys, johnny?" _johnny._ "yes." _auntie._ "you do! i'm surprised. why don't you play with good little boys?" _johnny._ "because their mothers won't let them!"] * * * * * [illustration: taking time by the forelock _gwendoline._ "uncle george says every woman ought to have a profession, and i think he's quite right!" _mamma._ "indeed! and what profession do you mean to choose?" _gwendoline._ "i mean to be a professional beauty!"] * * * * * [illustration: experientia docet.--_master george (whispers)._ "i say! kitty! has mamma been telling you she'd give you '_a lovely spoonful of delicious currant jelly, o so nice, so very nice_'?" _miss kitty._ "ess cullen' jelly! o so ni', so welly ni'!" _master george._ "then don't take it!!"] * * * * * [illustration: evil communications &c.--_elder of twins._ "it's _very_ vulgar to say 'you be _blowed_' to each other, like those men do. isn't it, uncle fred?" _uncle fred._ "i believe it _is_ generally considered so, my dear!" _elder of twins._ "yes, indeed! ethel and i, you know, _we_ always say, 'you be _blown_!'"] * * * * * [illustration: mens conscia.--_inspector_ (_who notices a backwardness in history_). "who signed magna charta?" (_no answer._) _inspector_ (_more urgently_). "who signed magna charta?" (_no answer_.) _inspector_ (_angrily_). "who signed magna charta?" _scapegrace_ (_thinking matters are beginning to look serious_). "please, sir, 'twasn't me, sir!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "trop de zele!"--(_tommy, a conscientious boy, has been told that he must remain perfectly still, as his mamma wants to take a nap._) (_tommy in the middle of the nap_). "mamma! mamma! what shall i do? _i want to cough!_"] * * * * * [illustration: tender consideration "oh, _don't_ make faces at him, effie! it might _frighten_ him, you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: "by proxy". _humorous little boy._ "plea' sir, will you ring the bottom bell but one, four times, sir?" _old gent_ (_gouty, and a little deaf, but so fond o' children_). "bottom bell but one, four times, my boy?" (_effusively._) "certainly, that i will!" [_in the meantime off go the boys, and, at the third peal, the irritable old lady on the ground floor----tableau!_] * * * * * [illustration: news from home.--_aunt mary._ "i've just had a letter from your papa, geoffrey. he says you've got a little brother, who'll be a nice companion for you some day!" _geoffrey._ "oh!----does mummy know?"] * * * * * [illustration: utile cum dulci _arry._ "ain't yer comin' along with me, bill?" _piscator_ (_the doctor's boy_). "no, i _ain't_ a comin' along with you, i tell yer! i'm a runnin' on a errand."] * * * * * [illustration: zoology. (_it appears to be coming to that at the board schools._)--_examiner_ (_to small aspirant to the twenty-fourth standard_). "can you tell me anything peculiar about the cuckoo, in regard to nesting?" _student._ "yes, sir. please, sir, he don't lay his own eggs hisself, sir!!"] * * * * * [illustration: their first visit to the zoo _tommy._ "them ain't donkeys, billy?" _billy._ "yus, they is! they're donkeys with their football jerseys on!"] * * * * * [illustration: a spoilt story.--_brown_ (_in the middle of tall shooting story_). "hardly had i taken aim at the lion on my right, when i heard a rustle in the jungle grass, and perceived an enormous tiger approaching on my left. i now found myself on the horns of a dilemma!" _interested little boy._ "oh, and which did you shoot first--the lion, or the tiger, or the d'lemma?"] * * * * * [illustration: _uncle_ (_about to start for a concert at marine pavilion_). "but, my dear nora, you don't surely propose to go without your shoes and stockings?" _nora._ "i'm in evening dress, uncle--only it's the other end."] * * * * * [illustration: the tertium quid.--"do you know, mabel, i believe if i weren't here, captain spooner would kiss you." "leave the room this instant, you impertinent little boy!"] * * * * * [illustration: a clincher.--"get up, and see the time, eva. i don't know how to tell it." "no more do i." "o, you horrid story-teller, i taught you myself!"] * * * * * [illustration: circumstances alter cases "what! _all_ that for grandpa." "no, darling. it's for you." "oh! what a little bit!"] * * * * * [illustration: brushing pa's new hat _edith._ "now, tommy, you keep turning slowly, till we've done it all round."] * * * * * [illustration: _mother._ "but, jacky, i don't think a clock-work engine would be a good toy for you to give baby. he's such a little thing, he'd only break it." _jacky._ "oh, but, mother, i'd _promise_ you i'd never let him even _touch_ it!"] * * * * * [illustration: the festive season _precocious infant._ "help yourself, and pass the bottle!"] * * * * * [illustration: different points of view.--_maud_ (_with much sympathy in her voice_). "only fancy, mamma, uncle jack took us to a picture gallery in bond street, and there we saw a picture of a lot of early christians, poor dears, who'd been thrown to a lot of lions and tigers, who were devouring them!" _ethel_ (_with still more sympathy_). "yes, and mamma dear, there was _one_ poor tiger that _hadn't got_ a christian!"] * * * * * [illustration: _mother_ (_to son, who has been growing rather free of speech_). "tommy, if you promise not to say 'hang it!' again, i'll give you sixpence." _tommy._ "all right, ma. but i know another word that's worth half-a-crown!"] * * * * * [illustration: between the acts _governess._ "well, marjorie, have you done crying?" _marjorie._ "no--i haven't. i'm only _resting_!"] * * * * * [illustration: a wise child.--_inspector._ "suppose i lent your father £ in june, and he promised to pay me back £ on the first of every month, how much would he owe me at the end of the year? now think well before you answer." _pupil._ "£ , sir." _inspector._ "you're a very ignorant little girl. you don't know the most elementary rules of arithmetic!" _pupil._ "ah, sir, but you don't know father!"] * * * * * [illustration: conscientiousness.--_miss fitzogre._ "well, good-bye, percival, and be a good boy!" _percival_ (_a very good boy, who has just been specially warned not to make personal remarks about people in their presence_). "good-bye, i'll not tell nurse what i think of your nose till you're gone!"] * * * * * [illustration: _porter._ "why is the little girl crying, missie?" _little girl._ "'cos' she has put her penny in there, and no choc'late nor nuffing's come'd out!"] * * * * * [illustration: not unlikely "well, well! and was baby frightened of his daddy den!"] * * * * * [illustration: _dorothy_ (_who has found a broken nest-egg_). "oh, mummy, what a pity! my black hen will never be able to lay any more eggs. she's broken the pattern!"] * * * * * [illustration: wasted sympathy _kind-hearted lady._ "poor child! what a dreadfully swollen cheek you have! is it a tooth?" _poor child_ (_with difficulty_). "no 'm--it's a sweet!"] * * * * * [illustration: private and confidential "i'll tell you something, miss bullion. my sister maud's going to marry your brother dick. but don't say anything about it, 'cos he doesn't know it himself yet!"] * * * * * [illustration: _softly._ "yes, i was b-b-orn with a s-s-s-ilver s-s-poon in my m-m-m-outh." _kitty._ "oh, mr. softly, is that why you stutter?"] * * * * * [illustration: well up in her mythology.--_tommy._ "madge, what's '_necessitas_,' masculine or feminine?" _madge._ "why, feminine, of course." _tommy._ "why?" _madge._ "why, she was the mother of invention."] * * * * * [illustration: what tommy overheard _mrs. jinks._ "that's signor scrapeski just passed. he plays the violin like an angel." _tommy._ "mummy, dear, do the angels say 'dam' when a string breaks?"] * * * * * [illustration: question and answer _mamma._ "who was the first man, 'lina?" _'lina._ "i forget." _mamma._ "already? why, adam, to be sure! and who was the first woman?" _'lina_ (_after a thoughtful pause_). "madam!"] * * * * * [illustration: sheer ignorance _benevolent person._ "come, my little man, you musn't cry like that!" _boy._ "garn! 'ow am i to cry then?"] * * * * * [illustration: "i say, billie, teacher says as if we 'angs our stockings up on c'ris'mas eve, santa claus'll fill 'em with presents!" "it'll take 'im all 'is time to fill _mine_. i 'aven't got no foots in 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: on his dignity.--_sam._ "mamma bought me a pair of gloves yesterday." _auntie._ "really! what are they? kids?" _sam._ "no, they're men's."] * * * * * [illustration: _sharp_ (_but vulgar_) _little boy_. "hallo, missus, wot are those?" _old woman._ "twopence." _boy._ "what a lie! they're apples." [_exit, whistling popular air_.] * * * * * a difficult case.--_mamma._ you're a very naughty boy, tommy, and i shall have to buy a whip, and give you a good whipping. _now_ will you be good? _tommy_ (_with hesitation_). shall i be allowed to keep the whip after, mammy? * * * * * [illustration: _old gent._ "do you know what a lie is, sir?" _little boy._ "oh, don't i, jest; i tells lots of 'em."] * * * * * [illustration: _old lady._ "no, thanks. i don't want any for the garden today." _boy._ "well, then, can we sing yer some christmas carols instead?"] * * * * * [illustration: overheard in bond street "which of 'em would yer 'ave for a muvver, billy?"] * * * * * [illustration: experientia docet "and are _you_ going to give me something for my birthday, aunty maud?" "of course, darling." "then _don't_ let it be _something useful_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _mamma._ "you mustn't bowl your hoop in the front on sunday. you must go into the back garden." _tommy._ "isn't it sunday in the back garden, mamma?"] * * * * * [illustration: a protest "and pray, am i _never_ to be naughty, miss grimm?"] * * * * * [illustration: a new test _aunt_ (_in alarm_). "_surely_ you've eaten enough, haven't you, tommy?" _tommy_ (_in doubt_). "f-f-f-feel me!"] * * * * * [illustration: _bilious old uncle._ "i'm delighted to see this fall; it will give that dreadful boy chilblains, and he'll be laid up out of mischief."] * * * * * sunday schooling.--_teacher._ what does one mean by "heaping coals of fire on someone's head" now, harry hawkins? _harry hawkins._ givin' it 'im 'ot, teacher! * * * * * _auntie._ do you love the chickens, dear? _dolly._ yes, auntie. but i do wish this big one hadn't such a funny laugh! * * * * * [illustration: occupation of "that dreadful boy" at the same period.] * * * * * chronology.--_old gentleman_ ("_putting a few questions_"). now, boys--ah--can any of you tell me what commandment adam broke when he took the forbidden fruit? _small scholar_ ("_like a shot_"). please, sir, th'worn't no commandments then, sir! [_questioner sits corrected._] * * * * * at a children's party during tea yes, _isn't_ it a pretty sight.... oh, they're _much_ too busy to talk at present.... well, if you _would_ take this cup of tea to my little girl, dear mr. muffett, it would be so----yes, in the white frock.... _pray_ don't apologise--some tea upsets _so_ easily, doesn't it?... oh! i don't suppose it will show, really, and if it _does_.... please, will everybody keep quite quiet for a minute or two; i haven't said my grace.... don't you think it's unfair of nurse? she's handed me bread-and-butter twice running!... i mustn't eat sponge-cake, thank you. bath buns are better for me than anything.... i was _so_ ill after christmas. they took my temperament with the barometer, and it was two hundred and six!... oh! that's nothing. when _i_ was ill, the doctor said mine was perfectly norman!... well, you _might_ lower that candleshade a _very_ little, perhaps, mr. muffett.... ah! don't blow it out.... throw it into the fire, quick!... it doesn't matter in the _least_. no; i wouldn't trouble about the _other_ shades, thanks.... mother, will you read me the text out of my cracker?... but if you're going to be a soldier, you oughtn't to shut your eyes when you pull a cracker.... oh! when i'm a soldier, i needn't _go_ to parties. * * * * * [illustration: well brought up.--"now then, my little men, didn't you see that board on that tree?" "yes." "well, then, can't you read?" "yes, but we never look at anything marked 'private.'"] * * * * * during a performance of punch and judy _a thoughtful child._ what a dreadful thing it would be to have a papa like punch! _a puzzled child._ mother, why is the man at the side so _polite_ to punch? he calls him "sir"--is punch _really_ a gentleman? _a good little girl._ i do wish they would leave all the fighting out; it must set such a bad example to children. _an appreciative boy._ oh! i say, _did_ you hear what the clown said then? he said something had frightened all the hair off his head except that little tuft at the top, and it turned _that_ sky-blue! [_he goes into fits of laughter._ _a matter-of-fact boy._ yes, i heard--but i don't believe it _could_. _the child of the house._ i _am_ so glad tip is shut up downstairs, because i'm afraid, if he'd been up here and seen toby act, he'd have wanted to run away and go on the stage himself, and i don't think he's the sort of dog who would ever be a _success_, you know! * * * * * [illustration: the joys of anticipation.--"when are you coming out with me, mummy?" "not this morning, darling. i've too much to do!" "oh, but you _must_, mummy. i've already put it in my new diary that you _did_!"] * * * * * during the dancing _jack._ i say, mabel, you've got to dance the "washington post" with _me_. _mabel._ i can't. i've promised teddy thistledown. _jack._ oh! _that's_ all right. i swapped with him for a nicaragua stamp. _mabel_ (_touched_). but aren't they rare? didn't you want it yourself? _jack._ oh! i don't collect, you know. _george_ (_to ethel_). they've given us the whole of "ivanhoe" to mug up for a holiday task. isn't it a beastly shame? _ethel._ but don't you like scott? _george._ oh! i don't mind _scott_ so much. it's having to grind in the holidays that _i_ bar. _hester_ (_to roland_). shall you go to the pantomime this year? _roland._ i don't think so. i'm going to lectures at the royal institution instead. _hester._ that isn't as jolly as the pantomime, is it? _roland_ (_impartially_). not while it's going on, but a lot jollier after it's over. _mr. poffley_ (_a middle-aged bachelor, who "likes to make himself useful at parties," and is good-naturedly waltzing with little miss chillington_). have you--er--been to many parties? _miss chillington_ (_a child of the world_). about the usual amount. there's generally a good deal going on just now, isn't there? _mr. poffley._ a--i suppose so. i go out so little now that i've almost forgotten _how_ to dance. _miss chillington._ then you _did_ know once! _mr. poffley_ (_completely demoralised_). i--er--you would rather stop? _miss chillington._ oh! i don't mind going on, if it amuses you. [_mr. poffley feels that "children are not so grateful as they used to be for being noticed," and that it is almost time he gave up going to juvenile parties._ * * * * * [illustration: res ant-iquÆ.--"auntie dear, where do these fossil shells come from?" "oh, my dear child, a great many years ago they were washed up here by the sea." "how long ago, auntie dear?" "ever so long ago, dear child." "what! even before _you_ were born, auntie?"] * * * * * [illustration: extreme measures _mother._ "if i catch you chasing those hens again, i'll wash your face _every day next week_!"] * * * * * after supper _the hostess_ (_returning to the drawing-room to find the centre of the floor occupied by a struggling heap of small boys, surrounded by admiring but mystified sisters_). oh! dear me, what _are_ they doing? i'm so afraid my two boys are being too rough, mrs. hornblower. _mrs. hornblower_ (_one of a row of complacent matrons_). oh! not at all, dear mrs. honeybun, they're having _such_ fun. your edwin and arthur are only trying how many boys they can pile on the top of my tommy. _mrs. honeybun._ is that tommy underneath? are you sure he's not getting hurt? _mrs. horn._ oh! he thoroughly enjoys a romp. he's made himself perfectly hoarse with laughing. just listen to him! _mrs. honey._ what a sturdy little fellow he is! and always in such high spirits! _mrs. horn_ (_confidentially_). he hasn't seemed quite the thing for the last day or two, and i was doubting whether it wouldn't be better to keep him at home to-night, but he begged so hard that i really had to give way. _mrs. honey._ so glad you did! it doesn't seem to have done him any harm. _mrs. horn._ quite the contrary. and indeed, he couldn't help being the better for it; you understand so thoroughly how to make children happy, dear mrs. honeybun. _mrs. honey._ it's delightful of you to say so; i try my best, but one can't always----last year we had a conjurer, and it was only when he'd begun that we found out he was helplessly intoxicated. _mrs. horn._ how disagreeable for you! but this time everything has been quite perfect! _mrs. honey._ well, i really think there has been no----good gracious! i'm _sure_ somebody is being suffocated! _did_ you hear that? [_from the core of the heap proceeds a sound at which every mother's heart quakes--a smothered cough ending in a long-drawn and ominous "oo-ook."_ _mrs. horn._ depend upon it, that's whooping-cough! tommy, come here this minute. (_tommy emerges, crimson and crowing lustily; the mothers collect their offspring in dismay_). oh! tommy, tommy, don't tell me it's _you_! it--it can't be _that_, dear mrs. honeybun; he's been nowhere where he could possibly----you naughty boy, you _know_ you are only pretending. don't let me hear that horrid noise again. _tommy_ (_injured_). but, mummy, _really_ i wasn't---- [_he justifies himself by producing a series of whoops with an unmistakably genuine ring_. _mrs. horn._ i think it's only a rather severe attack of hiccoughs, dear mrs. honeybun; but still, perhaps--just to be on the safe side--i'd better---- [_she departs in confusion, the crowd on the stairs dividing like red sea waves as tommy proclaims his approach._ _mrs. honey_ (_after the last guest has gone_). i knew _something_ would happen! i must say it was _most_ inconsiderate of mrs. hornblower to bring that wretched little tommy out and break up the party like this--it's not as if we were really _intimate_! still, it was ridiculous of everybody else to hurry off too, as if whooping-cough was anything to be so mortally afraid of! i wasn't in the _least_ myself, as they might have seen. but perhaps it _is_ just as well that edwin and arthur had it last winter. * * * * * ready answer.--_uncle._ now, how did the mother of moses hide him? _niece._ with a stick, uncle. * * * * * [illustration: on the face of it _pretty teacher._ "now, johnny wells, can you tell me what is meant by a miracle?" _johnny._ "yes, teacher. mother says if you dun't marry new parson, 'twull be a murracle!"] * * * * * [illustration: the duet _fond mother_ (_to young hopeful, who has been sent upstairs to a room by himself as a punishment_). "you can come down now, jacky." _young hopeful._ "can't. i'se singing a duet!"] * * * * * [illustration: uncle's bank holiday "oh, uncle, we're so glad we've met you. we want you to take us on the roundabout, and stay on it till tea-time!"] * * * * * [illustration: _young masher_ (_to rival_). "i say, old, chap, i hear you're an excellent runner. is that true?" _rival_ (_eagerly_). "rather!" _young masher._ "well, then, run home!"] * * * * * _aunt._ why, tommy, i've only just taken a splinter out of your hand, and now you've let pussy scratch you. how did that happen? _tommy_ (_who has been tampering with the cat's whiskers_). well, i was only trying to get some of the splinters out of her face! * * * * * [illustration: finis] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge [illustration] [illustration] burlesques [illustration mr. george graves in "princess caprice"] burlesques by h. m. bateman with an introductory note by a. e. johnson [illustration] london duckworth & co. henrietta street, covent garden [illustration _first published _] printed in great britain by wm. brendon and son, ltd. plymouth, england [illustration] introductory note mr. h. m. bateman possesses in remarkable degree that rare gift, a real power of comic draughtsmanship. he is capable not only of comic vision, but of comic expression. his "line" is an instinctive expression of the comic: it reveals an innate feeling for the essentially humorous. to put it briefly, if somewhat vaguely, he "draws funnily." he is the terse and witty pictorial _raconteur_--a shrewd observer who can sum up a character, or conjure up a scene, with a few strokes of such penetrating insight that they carry instant conviction. humour of the kind which the drawings in this volume embody is so spontaneous, and the expression of it so direct and incisive, that there is perhaps a tendency to overlook the intensity of the effort which produces the seemingly effortless result. mr. bateman's method is sometimes described as caricature, but that is to miss its true significance, though the term may seem, upon the surface, appropriate enough. caricature is the art of inducing humour, by dint of satirical exaggeration, in a subject not necessarily humorous of itself. mr. bateman's more difficult function is to reveal humour, not to impose it. there is no trace of the self-conscious humorist in these drawings. facetiousness is a quality conspicuously and gratefully absent. the artist's only concern is to pluck the very heart out of his subject, and that his mind has a trend towards the humorous aspect of life is merely accidental. for it is the humour of life, not merely of men, that attracts him, and even when he deals with seemingly quite trivial subjects, there is nothing petty or trite about his comic treatment of them. he generalises. his observations are of types, not of individuals, of situations rather than of scenes. he draws for us people whom we all know but none of us have actually seen, for when he portrays a type his sketch embodies all the salient characteristics that go to make that type. if he draws a plumber, for example, he shows us the compleat plumber--more like a plumber than any plumber ever was. and as with character, so with action--whatever mr. bateman elects to make his puppets do, they do it with an intensity and vigour beyond all practical possibility, but not (and this is the artist's secret) beyond the bounds of imagination and belief. when a man is seen running in a bateman drawing he does not merely run--he _runs_; if he slumbers, one can veritably hear him snore! the intensity of the artist's imaginative effort visualises for us that which cannot humanly be, but would be if it could. pictorial exponents of the comic art are few, for of so-called "humorous drawings" not many are inspired by the true comic spirit. it is a fortunate opportunity, therefore, which the present volume provides of preserving in collected form so much that bears the evident stamp of the real thing. a. e. j. [illustration] [illustration] list of drawings page they call it "fame" maestros: the impressive maestros: the unemotional maestros: the sentimental the winter vest the man who won a motor-car the accompanist who did her best the potter-about-the-hall-all-day person the grumble-at-the-food-and-everything-else person "i remember in ----" the temper genuine antiques sights up in town sights down in the country little tich the blue preparations for a great offensive , garÇon! man and wife speechmakers: the faithful old dog speechmakers: the worm twins platonic all this for d., d., and /- the missed putt the man who only wanted two halfpennies for a penny psychic: gloom lost--a pekinese dog dancers and dances: spanish dancers and dances: american dancers and dances: oriental the public library merely a matter of seconds a heart to heart talk how i won the marathon ° in the shade [illustration] _the drawings contained in this book originally appeared, with some exceptions, in "the sketch," "london opinion," "the graphic," "the bystander," "printer's pie" and "illustrated sporting and dramatic news." the author is indebted to the proprietors of these journals for permission to issue them in this volume._ [illustration they call it "fame"] [illustration] [illustration maestros i. the impressive: rachmaninoff's "prelude"] [illustration] [illustration maestros ii. the unemotional: bach's "italian fugue"] [illustration] [illustration maestros iii. the sentimental: a chopin nocturne] [illustration] [illustration studies of a respectable middle-aged gentleman wearing a new winter vest for the first time] [illustration] [illustration the man who won a motor-car] [illustration] [illustration the accompanist who did her best] [illustration] [illustration hotel hogs the potter-about-the-hall-all-day-and-watch-the-new-arrivals person] [illustration] [illustration hotel hogs the grumble-at-the-food-and-everything-else person] [illustration] [illustration "i remember in ----" london clubmen in war-time parading for practice in writing to the papers] [illustration] [illustration the temper] [illustration the goblets\] [illustration genuine antiques] [illustration] [illustration sights up in town] [illustration] [illustration sights down in the country] [illustration] [illustration little tich] [illustration] [illustration the blue] [illustration preparations for--] [illustration --a great offensive] [illustration] [illustration "garÇon!"] [illustration] [illustration man and wife] [illustration] [illustration speeches and their makers the faithful old dog] [illustration] [illustration speeches and their makers the worm] [illustration] [illustration twins] [illustration] [illustration platonic] [illustration] [illustration all this for d.\, d.\, and /-] [illustration] [illustration the missed putt] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration the man who only wanted two halfpennies for a penny] [illustration] [illustration psychic] [illustration] [illustration lost--a pekinese dog] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration dancers and dances spanish] [illustration] [illustration dancers and dances american] [illustration] [illustration dancers and dances oriental] [illustration] [illustration the public library] [illustration] [illustration merely a matter of seconds] [illustration] [illustration a heart-to-heart talk] [illustration] [illustration how i won the marathon] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration ° in the shade] [illustration] * * * * * transcriber's notes obvious punctuation and spelling errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscore_ and bold text by =equal signs=. the following numerous errors were left as is: endquote missing punctuation no punctuation at para end drawn at a venture drawn at a venture a collection of drawings by fougasse with an introduction by a. a. milne methuen & co. ltd. essex street w.c. london _first published in _ introduction there are various methods of introducing an artist to his public. one of the best is to describe how you saved his life in the bush in ' ; or he saved yours; and then you go on: "little did either of us anticipate in those far-off days that fougasse was destined to become...." another way is to leave fougasse out altogether, and concentrate, how happily, on your own theories of black-and-white drawing, or politics, or the decline of the churches; after all, an introduction doesn't last long, and he has the rest of the book to himself. perhaps, however, it is kinder to keep the last paragraph for him: "take these little sketches by fougasse, for instance...." and the reader, if he cares to any longer, can then turn over and take them. left to ourselves, that is the method we should adopt. but the publisher is at our elbow. "this is an introduction," he says. "for heaven's sake introduce the fellow." let us begin, then, by explaining fougasse's nationality. i never discuss his drawings with another, but we tell each other how remarkable it is that a frenchman should have such an understanding of english sport. "of course," we say, "in the actual drawing the nationality reveals itself; the gallic style stands forth unmistakeably; only a frenchman has just that line. but how amazingly british is the outlook! was there ever a frenchman before who understood and loved cricket as this one?" we ask ourselves how the phenomenon is to be explained. the explanation is simple. a fougasse--i quote the dictionary--is a small mine from six to twelve feet underground charged either with powder or loaded shells; and if a british sapper subaltern, severely wounded at gallipoli, beguiles the weary years of hospital by drawing little pictures and sending them up to _punch_, he may as well call himself fougasse as anything else. particularly if his real name is bird, and if a bird, whose real name is yeats, is already drawing for _punch_. of course it would have been simpler if they had all stuck to their own names like gentlemen, but it is too late now to do anything about it, and when a genuine m. fougasse of paris comes along, he will have to call himself tomkins. once the downward path of deceit is trodden, there is seemingly no end to it. we have our artist, then, kenneth bird of morar, inverness. when i first met him at the beginning of , he was just out of hospital, swinging slowly along with the aid of a pair of rocking-horse crutches. this was on his annual journey south, for they have the trains in morar now. once a year fougasse makes the great expedition to london, to see what the latest fashions may be, and is often back in morar again before they have changed to something later. i have seen him each year; in with two ordinary crutches; in with two sticks; in with one stick; perhaps by he will be playing again the games of which he makes such excellent fun. but, selfishly, we cannot regret the turkish bullet, which turned what i suspect of being quite an ordinary engineer into such an individual black-and-white draughtsman. i am really the last person who should be writing this introduction, for all drawing is to me a mystery. when i put two dots, a horizontal line and a vertical line into a circle, the result is undoubtedly a face, but whose, or what expressing, i cannot tell you until afterwards, nor always then. but these mystery men can definitely promise you beforehand that their dot-and-line juggling will represent contempt or surprise or mr. asquith, just as you want it. it is very strange; and, sometimes i think, not quite fair. however, this is not the place wherein to dwell upon the injustice of it. what i wanted to say was that with fougasse i feel a little more at ease than usual; we have something in common. accepting the convention that writers write exclusively with the pen, and that black-and-white artists draw exclusively with the pencil, i should describe fougasse as more nearly a brother of the pen than any of the others. were i in the _punch_ office now, i should never begin my weekly contribution until his drawing had turned up, lest it should prove that he had already written it for me; and he, i like to tell myself, would be equally fearful lest that very week i might have got his drawing into type. "the tragedy of a trouser," for instance--it is a whole article. any wide-awake trade union would forbid it. but it is fougasse's golf and cricket articles of which, as a rival practitioner, i should have complained most; in which, plancus no longer consul, i delight most. turn to page and you will see all that is to be said on the subject of village cricket. how lucky these draughtsmen are! what a laborious business we others should have made of it! would any of you have laughed at our wordy description of the fielder in a cloth cap to whom one can run a single? "but one gets in two for trousers tucked into socks"--"stretching it to three for a straw hat"--"and four for a black waistcoat." each fielder as drawn here is a joy. yet there is something more than that; we are not just laughing at them, for they are our friends. we look from one to the other of them, and gradually the smile becomes a little wistful. it was how many years ago? now the printed page has vanished, and we see again the village green. straw hat was the postman. not quite like that, however, for he wore the official trousers with it, but he moved slowly, being the postman and tired of it, and one ran three to him. black waistcoat was the dairy farmer; his the cows which had to be driven off the pitch on a saturday morning; a mighty underhand bowler, bouncing terribly. fougasse is wrong here, for his hands could stop anything, and one would never run four to him. i doubt if you would ever run four to a black waistcoat, their hands are so big. slow in the return of course, but safe, safe. you may think that you have had enough of war sketches, but you will be glad to see the historic "gadgets" again, and perhaps even now " - " will give you a lump in the throat with your smile, and make you somehow a little more proud. it is so very much england. but, taking the drawings as a whole, i should say that the charm of their humour lies in the fact that they make the very jokes which we should have made for ourselves, if only we had realized that they were jokes. when mr. bateman gives us his brilliant life-study of the man who breathed on the glass in the british museum, we realize that this is an inspiration far outside our range. "however did he think of it?" we say to ourselves in awe. when mr. morrow draws us "a little supper-party at the borgias," we have to admit sadly that the comedy of a supper-party at the borgias would never have occurred to _us_. but when fougasse describes to us his feelings in the presence of the wedding detective, or the conversation of the club bore in the library, then we beam upon him delightedly. why, it's absolutely true! we've noticed it ourselves a hundred times! as we were saying to jones only yesterday----alas we flatter ourselves. we saw the pebbles lying there, day after day, and there, for us, they would still be lying. but a humorist picks them up and holds them this way and that. the light shines upon them. see! they are precious stones. a. a. milne contents page "crashed in a shell-hole" the song of the shirt "so beastly infectious" the fumbler "don't trouble" after dinner jokes the car for the owner-driver tact "or to take arms against a sea of troubles" the hearty fellow danse des vents the first joke golfing note "how's that?" the fancy dress the advent of the champion only in the comic papers the professional humorist pays a visit "only doing it for the pictures" the tragedy of a trouser golfing note the telegram at rugger the lost ticket the charm of village cricket unrest through the ages - the right road for london the enthusiast "have you any hats?" system the practical application the man who sneezed scotland for ever "gadgets" nature's tactless mimicry "is there an order come round?" the visit to the front unpleasant nightmare of hans a german-like name the bashful v.c.'s welcome home "wot flies?" "why don't you salute an officer?" ceremonial the bribe the latest rumour from the back the making of history - - "i thought you was an enemy" the hero "keep your hands up" camouflage strawberries for jam "come out and fraternise" the war masterpiece "no trouble at home, i hope?" "on parade without your spurs" his native soil "d'you remember halting here?" jock the sheep-dog the right spirit the house that jack wants built golfing note our treacherous climate a british warm safari-smith's trophies golfing note the golfer and the naturalist the young firebrands' art club a biography pathos the wedding detective "what time will it be?" to promote a graceful figure duration of the peace the lure of the land "someone's forgotten to pack" tall hats on the cricket-field "bed, sir?" "i've read it" "how small the world is!" the dog fight "two teas, please" some new revue features "'e called me a 'un" the journey the right entrance the brotherhood of music "_not_ the thaw" the price of efficiency "will i take my hat off?" the spread of education midges saltsea golfing note quite cricket brown's story consolation "which mr. jones are you?" a use for modern art golfing note the man who could do it himself "would you not prefer to have them sent?" the bargain the practitioner's oversight check for permission to reproduce the great majority of the drawings included in this volume, the artist is indebted to the courtesy of the proprietors of _punch_. he has also to acknowledge similar kindnesses from the editors of _london opinion_, _the sketch_, _the tatler_, _the bystander_, and _the evening news_. [illustration: "mamma!" "yes, my child." "wilfred has crashed in a shell-hole."] [illustration: the song of the shirt] [illustration: _host (a mighty hunter, breaking off in the middle of his longest story):_ "but i seem to be boring you?" _guest:_ "oh, no. fact is--all these animals yawning--so beastly infectious."] [illustration: "my dear fellow-- you must let me-- pay for this taxi-- i really must insist-- you've paid for-- everything, so far-- and i engaged-- the fellow-- why, you've paid him already!-- well, look here, you'll really have to-- tell me some time-- what i owe you." the fumbler] [illustration: "waiter, bring me a whisky-and-soda, please." "i'm not a waiter, confound you!" "oh, right-o--then don't trouble."] [illustration: how curious it is that jokes which-- irritate us in a book-- aggravate us in a magazine-- exasperate us in a newspaper-- & goad us to fury in a revue--_ should go down so well in an after-dinner speech!] [illustration: _prospective purchaser:_ "and why do your advertisements say that yours is essentially the car for the owner-driver?" _salesman (under notice to leave):_ "because no self-respecting chauffeur will condescend to be seen in one."] [illustration: tact "excuse me, driver, but could you tell me where i'd be most likely to find a taxi?"] [illustration: "... or to take arms against a sea of troubles ..." _hamlet_, act iii, sc. .] [illustration: "hullo!---- my dear---- old boy---- how are you? by jove, that's a funny thing---- could have sworn you were---- someone i knew---- but now i come to look at you---- you're no more---- like---- him---- than i am." the hearty fellow] [illustration: danse des vents] [illustration: the first joke] [illustration] [illustration: what individual effort will not bring about---- "how's that?" combined action will sometimes effect. "how's that?"] [illustration: portrait of a gentleman in process of deciding that the hire of a car to take him to his fancy-dress revel would have been well worth the expense.] [illustration: the advent of the champion [it is extraordinary how apathetic and undemonstrative we are as a nation. take, for instance, the case of wally tuff (champion of the world at his own weight, mark you), who came over here the other day for a quiet holiday.] although-- no one-- had any excuse-- for not knowing knowing-- that he was coming-- would you believe it that out of a population of forty-two millions-- not more than two per cent. turned out to see him arrive?] [illustration: "dear, dear, dear! what a curious accident! i thought that only happened in the comic papers."] [illustration: "oh, mr. jones, _would_ you write some funny little thing in my album?-- --and in mine?-- --and in mine?-- --and in mine?-- --and in mine?-- --and in mine?-- --and in ours?-- --here's some ink--and a pen-- --and a chair-- --and a table-- --and now we'll all gather round, chicks and be ready for a real good laugh!" the professional humourist pays a visit] [illustration: _voice from the gods:_ "it's all right, miss. don't you take on so. they're only doing it for the pictures."] [illustration: the tragedy of a trouser] [illustration] [illustration: i always think the telegram custom-- adds such a tone-- to cricket. i wish-- it could-- be-- introduced-- into-- rugger.] [illustration: _the lost ticket_--] [illustration: the charm of village cricket the charm of village cricket lies to a great extent in the stress it places on the individual factor. for instance, one knows that, other things being equal, if one hits the ball directly towards a-- fielder in a cloth cap one can run a single-- and if he's wearing braces one can run two-- but if he's got on one of those fancy sweaters one stays where one is. similarly, a belt with a snake in it means a single-- so does a club tie-- whereas a gent's fancy bow means two. one takes no risks, of course, with a handkerchief round the neck-- but one gets in two for trousers tucked into socks-- stretching it to three for a straw hat-- and four for a black waistcoat-- while for cuffs buttoned at the wrist-- or a dickey one just buns it out. with small boys in shorts one naturally takes no chances whatever-- as everyone knows they are apt to become so confoundedly enthusiastic.] [illustration: unrest through the ages. the amalgamated society of bakers in good king alfred's reign protests against the employment of a non-union man. the mariner's union threatens direct action if king canute tampers with the tides.] [illustration: unrest through the ages the household staff of the borgias demands to be put upon board wages. james watt is unable to carry out his experiments through a strike of the employees of the local water company.] [illustration: "can you tell me if this is the right road for london, please?" "why, bless my soul, ain't none of you ever been there before?"] [illustration: the enthusiast. "going for a walk over the hills? i'll come with you to cheer you up. tell me if i go too fast for you. i can keep this pace up all day. i don't mind how far it is--i never get tired walking. nice warm weather, isn't it? i say, it is hot! oh, no, thanks. _i'm_ all right--only just feeling my groggy leg rather-- and my stiff back. never been quite right since i had influenza so badly three years ago-- that's why the doctor said i must never walk much. it's really my own fault-- i shouldn't have let you-- persuade me."] [illustration: "have you any--er--hats?"] [illustration: "what counts nowadays, my boy, is system-- when i want a certain piece of information, for instance-- i just look up my index, reach down-- a file-- or two-- and-- before you can-- say-- knife-- it's-- in front of you!" system!] [illustration: "please, mr. grafto, the gentleman on the next floor presents his compliments and says, seeing as how you can foretell the future, would you be so good as to let him know how long it will be before your bath stops overflowing through his ceiling?"] [illustration: the man who sneezed] [illustration: scotland for ever.] [illustration: "gadgets"] [illustration: nature's tactless mimicry. curious attitude assumed by trees in a district occupied by the germans.] [illustration: "here, stick your head down, charlie." "what--is there an order come round about it?"] [illustration: "you can clear away those notice-boards now, sergeant. the visitors have gone." the visit to the front.] [illustration: unpleasant nightmare of hans, the ex-cinema attendant, after learning of the american declaration of war.] [illustration: "we'll no gang in there, jock." "for why, donal'?" "man, it's got an awfu' gerrman-like name, yon."] [illustration: the bashful v.c.'s welcome home] [illustration: _new hand:_ "flies seem pretty awful out here, corporal." _hardened campaigner:_ "wot flies?"] [illustration: _both together:_ "now, my man, why don't you salute when you pass an officer?"] [illustration: "a soldier when riding a bicycle will turn his head smartly towards an officer in passing him and will not move his hands from the handle-bar." ceremonial reference--infantry training, , sect. , § viii.] [illustration: the bribe. "who goes there?" "k-kamerad--mit souvenirs."] [illustration: "hear the latest rumour up from the back, george? war's going to be over next week." "ho. well, i hope it don't upset my going on leave next tuesday."] [illustration: . the purchase of the souvenir. . "that's a souvenir of my job at havre-- . --of my service in france-- . --of my active service-- . --of my fighting days . got that in the big push-- . --fierce fighting it was-- . --_desperate_ fighting, . --_hacked_ my way through-- . --right up to their general-- . --cut his head off-- . --_that_ was on it!" the making of history] [illustration: "well, i'm blowed if i see-- --what good-- --i can be-- --turning out-- --to fight-- --them-- --blooming-- --germans-- --with all their-- --guns-- --and their millions o' men-- --and so forth-- --and so on. been preparing for this, they have,-- - --i.] [illustration: --for the last forty years-- --and not so particular, either, mind you,-- --a dirty lot,-- --with their zepps-- --and submarines. it's not as if-- --we were a military nation-- --or took kindly to it at all. in fact-- --i don't wonder-- --it's taken us-- --over-- --four years-- --to finish the job." - --ii.] [illustration: _boche (suddenly appearing over the top):_ "kamerad! kamerad!" _briton:_ "lor', my son, you _did_ give me a turn. i thought you was an enemy."] [illustration: "i want you to make me a tunic-- rank? brigadier-- yes, one or two ribbons to go on it-- military cross-- d.s.o.-- and a v.c. of course-- legion of honour, c.m.g. and so forth-- ten wound stripes-- and make as smart a job of it as you can, won't you? because-- i want it for private theatricals." the hero] [illustration: "and look here, fritz-- --whatever happens-- --see you keep-- them hands of yours-- --well above-- your blinkin' head."] [illustration: before. after. camouflage] [illustration: "here, listen to this. it says the gov'ment have bought up all the strawberries to make jam for the troops." "go on, george! how can they make plum-and-apple out o' strawberries?"] [illustration: _tommy ("mopping-up" captured trench):_ "is there anyone down there?" _voice from dug-out:_ "ja! ja! kamerad!" _tommy:_ "then come out here and fraternise." ] [illustration: it was unfortunate that brown had not finished his masterpiece, "the surrender of the garrison," by the time the war came to an end. however, it needed very little alteration to make it saleable.] [illustration: _sociable escort (to boche prisoner, after several ineffectual attempts to start a conversation):_ "ahem!--er--no trouble at home, i hope?"] [illustration: _the wit:_ "ah, now you're for it, albert." _tractor-driver:_ "wot's the matter?" _the wit:_ "why, you've been and gone and come on parade without your spurs."] [illustration: .--mr. william smith answers the call to preserve his native soil inviolate. .--mr. william smith comes back again, to see how well he has done it.] [illustration: _first contemptible:_ "d'you remember halting here on the retreat, george?" _second ditto:_ "can't call it to mind, somehow. was it that little village in the wood down by the river, or was it that place with the cathedral and all them factories?"] [illustration: jock the sheep-dog jock the sheep-dog-- was a battalion mascot during the war. now he-- is back-- with the sheep again.] [illustration: the right spirit. _corporal in charge (on arrival at bridge):_ "de--tachment, break--step!" ["when crossing a military bridge infantry will break step."--_extract from "regulations."_]] [illustration: the house that jack wants built. this is the house that jack wants built. this is the landowner who (if the talk of a railway being made over this bit of land doesn't come to anything, and the corporation cannot, after all, be induced to buy it as a recreation-ground, and no one makes a better offer) is willing to sell the ground to carry the house that jack wants built. this is the architect and surveyor who (as soon as he has finished his designs for the new town hall, the proposed county hospital, the cathedral extension, the borough power station and the drinking-fountain, and provided that no more important commission turns up) is going to design the house to go on the ground of the landowner who.... this is the local authority who (if he can obtain details of the several requirements of the county council, parish council, central housing authority, ministry of health, board of agriculture, ministry of transport, congested districts board, and any other departments interested, either now in existence or contemplated for the future) is going to inspect, revise, amend, and positively finally approve the designs of the architect and surveyor who.... this is the building contractor who (provided that pressure of work allows him, and that he can get the materials, which is doubtful, and the men, which is hardly probable, and the price, which is practically out of the question) is going to carry out the designs, as finally approved by the local authority who.... this is the railway official who (on the supposition that the congestion on the line will possibly be easier later, and that the supply of goods wagons is very considerably augmented, and that new loops and sidings not yet suggested will be constructed to relieve the pressure, and that a reorganisation of the railway staff does not move him elsewhere, as will almost certainly happen) has promised to do his best to expedite the transport of the necessary materials to the building contractor who.... this is the merchant who (if prices are left entirely to his discretion and time is of no importance, and if he finds that, after all, it is to his advantage to sell in this country rather than to export, and if he doesn't retire in the meantime, as he is thinking of doing) has consented to try to send materials through the medium of the railway official who.... these are the representatives of the building trades who (if all matters in dispute are satisfactorily settled by that time, and provided that they can all get their own houses sited, designed, passed, contracted for, supplied and built first) are going to erect the materials provided by the merchant who.... and this? this, incidentally, is jack.] [illustration] [illustration: our treacherous climate] [illustration: "well, anyhow, no one could tell that this was once a british warm."] [illustration: i used to think that old safari-smith's trophies made an awfully jolly decoration to his dining-room-- but now that he's moved to a flat in london i'm really not quite so sure of it.] [illustration] [illustration: robinson used to find that the audience at big matches-- put him right off his game. but after greenchat, the naturalist,-- had-- played-- a few-- rounds-- with him-- nothing could-- ruffle him.] [illustration: the young firebrands' art club holds its fiftieth annual dinner.] [illustration: _a house party in the midlands._ (from left to right): mr. john smith, mr. t. jones, miss peggy smith, ----, capt. robinson. seated col. tompkin, v.d., mrs. smith. _snapped in the park._ lady lily lavender walking with a friend. _an echo of the twelfth._ members of lord tweedledum's party at luncheon. from left to right: capt. cork, r.n., the horrible, rose tweedle, mr. j. penn, lord tweedledum & major mitten. _authors at play._ sir ernest wrightwell & mr. jay penn at north hoywick. _a rising writer._ mr. jay penn, whose latest novel, "tripe," is attracting so much attention. _a distinguished author._ mr. jay penn at work. mr. jay penn. a recent portrait. mr. jay penn, the brilliant novelist, whose stirring serial of love and hate, entitled "apes of lebanon" commences in these columns on monday. _snapped in the park._ mr. jay penn walking with a friend. _enjoying the sunshine on the riviera:_ mr. jay penn & lord zero. _at the eton & harrow match._ sir salmo ferox & mr. jay penn. mr. jay penn, whose novel "tripe" created such a sensation a few seasons ago. general omnibus chatting with mr. penn, the author. a group at the mudshire hunt ball: capt. roarer, miss bullfinch, miss thurston & mr. james penn. the hopkins-jopson wedding: one of the guests arriving. a biography] [illustration: pathos "i want to choose a christmas present--one suitable for a short, dark, middle-aged bachelor with retiring disposition and no near relatives--to give to himself."] [illustration: the presence of a detective among the wedding presents-- always unsettles me. i feel sure that-- sooner or later-- i shall be hypnotised-- into doing-- something-- which will get me-- into trouble. the wedding detective: a study in suggestion] [illustration: _wee donald angus:_ "please, sirr, what time will it be?" _literal gentleman:_ "when?"] [illustration: the pupil should now seat himself upon the floor-- with the feet under some heavy piece of furniture-- with body erect-- and arms extended above the head-- he allows himself-- to-- bend-- slowly-- backwards-- until-- a recumbent position-- is reached. exercise .--to promote a graceful figure.] [illustration: "hullo, george--not demobbed yet?" "no--signed on again." "how long for?" "just for duration of the peace."] [illustration: once upon a time there was a man who bought a farm-- --because an open-air life appealed to him-- --and because it made one one's own master-- --because, moreover, he was fond of animals-- --and also because any amount of expert opinion was always available in cases of doubt-- --because, again, the element of uncertainty gave such a charm to it-- --and, further, because certain sections were bound to be profitable-- --in addition because up-to-date appliances made everything so easy-- --because, in particular, it took one back to nature, and helped one to an understanding of natural laws-- --and, lastly, because, after all, one could always get rid of the beastly thing. the lure of the land] [illustration: _husband (on visit to country house):_ "i say, someone's forgotten to pack my evening clothes." _wife:_ "well, it wasn't me, dear. if anyone didn't, you must have yourself."] [illustration: of course we know all about-- the tall hats-- that our forefathers-- used to wear-- on the cricket-field-- but what no one-- seems to have recorded-- is what-- the umpire-- thought about it all. tall hats on the cricket-field.] [illustration: "bed, sir? here is a genuine jacobean, for which we are asking only two hundred and fifty guineas." "well, to tell you the truth i wasn't wanting to _buy_ one. but i can't get a bed anywhere in london, and i was just wondering if you could let me sleep in it to-night."] [illustration: "rattling good book this, courtship and crime." "yes, i've read it." "splendidly written." "yes, i've read it." "by jove, it's exciting!" "i've read it." "there's one thrilling bit where--" "yes, i've--" "--the hero--" "--read it." "--but i must read it to you." "i've read it." "i know you'll--" "i've read it." "--enjoy it." "i've read it."] [illustration: "hullo, brown! fancy running up against you. how small the world is, to be sure!" "y-yes. terribly small, isn't it?"] [illustration: the dog fight] [illustration: "could we have two teas, please?" "why, didn't i bring you two just now?" "oh, yes. but we've let a gentleman in the stalls have those."] [illustration: we are credibly informed that several entirely new and original features will appear in revues produced this season. there will be, for instance:-- a scene in paris; a scene in honolulu; a scene in the old village; a scene in the states (_humorous_); a novel thirty-minute sketch; a £ , spectacle; a rather daring scene in an artist's studio, complete with model, and a scene at a fancy-dress ball, complete with "speciality dance"; not to mention some extremely original cross-talk; a delightfully dainty old-world interlude; a few subtle political allusions, _and_ a grand pageant of british sports.] [illustration: _the pugnacious gentleman:_ "but 'e bin an' called me a 'un.'" _the peacemaker:_ "well, he may have meant it quite kindly-like, bill. it ain't as if we was still at war with the dirty 'ounds."] [illustration: the journey: a dialogue in english. the start. hour. hours. hours. hours. hours. hours. hours. hours. hours minutes. "excuse me but isn't your name smith? surely we met at the robinsons' yesterday?" hours ½ minutes. "of course--you're jones aren't you? i was sure i recognised you when i got in." hours. arrival at destination.] [illustration: "i trust you'll excuse me mentioning it, my good fellow, but that is the right entrance--on the opposite side of the road."] [illustration: the brotherhood of music] [illustration: _professor's wife:_ "septimus, the thaw has burst the pipes." _professor:_ "no, no, marie. as i've had occasion to explain to you every year since i can remember, it's the frost that bursts the pipes--_not_ the thaw."] [illustration: the price of efficiency. in the days when lawn tennis-- was only a game-- serving used to be really-- quite-- good-- fun. but now-- that-- it's-- become-- a serious business-- of course-- things-- are-- different.] [illustration: "will i take my hat off?-- certainly-- i'm sure-- i don't want-- to be a nuisance-- to anybody."] [illustration: . . the spread of education] [illustration: "my dear fellow, you'll never catch anything like that." "no--dare say not--get away from most of the midges, though."] [illustration: _if you're thinking of painting the picturesque little village of saltsea-- make sure-- before you start-- that you don't choose-- the day of the annual regatta._] [illustration] [illustration: when the best you can hope for is a draw-- --it is, of course-- --rotten bad form-- --to-- --waste time-- --deliberately-- but can there be any harm-- --in-- --putting-- --on-- --a bowler-- --who-- --takes-- --a-- --somewhat-- --longer-- --run than usual? quite cricket] [illustration: "have you heard brown's story of how he scored off a taxi-driver this morning?" "yes. i told him it last night."] [illustration: at all events-- i'd rather-- lose my side the match-- by committing the blunder-- of missing a catch-- while fielding for them-- than that-- i should-- win it-- for them-- by committing-- the unspeakable crime-- of-- missing one-- while fielding substitute for our opponents. consolation] [illustration: _fair partner:_ "one always meets so many interesting people here that i get quite confused. now tell me, which mr. jones are you?" _jones:_ "me? oh, i'm only the jones who's invited to brighten up a dull party."] [illustration: a use for modern art] [illustration] [illustration: "horace, there's something wrong with the boiler. shall i get the plumber?" "plumber? of course not-- i'll put it right. just get me a spanner-- and a hammer-- and a ladder-- and some string-- and a wooden plug or two-- and as many towels as you can find-- and all the blankets in the house-- and-- the doctor." the man who could do it himself] [illustration: _tactful shopwalker (to lady who seems to have got into the rough with her umbrella):_ "excuse me, madam, but would you not prefer to have them sent for you?"] [illustration: smith, with surprising good fortune, picked up an almost indubitably genuine old satsuma bowl for _s._ _d._ _pipkin on pottery_ ( _s._ net) confirmed his belief. which was further strengthened by grubmann's _oriental porcelains_ (£ _s._ _d._ with postage); while mutt's _ceramics_ ( vols. £ carriage paid) put the matter practically beyond doubt. a visit to the victoria and albert museum (taxis _s._), and another to the british museum (more taxis _s._ _d._; lunch _s._ _d._) increased his conviction; and finally his friend hardpaste, the expert, whom he asked to dinner (including wines and cigars £ _s._ _d._) to view the piece, set the seal on his triumph by declaring it unquestionably authentic and worth (in the proper quarter, of course) quite double what he gave for it. the bargain] [illustration: unfortunate oversight on the part of a practitioner called away from his children's party to attend a patient in his consulting-room.] [illustration: "h'm, yes--i fear we must knock off tobacco." "certainly. i never smoke." "and alcohol also, i'm afraid." "by all means. i'm a teetotaler." "strong tea and coffee are equally poisonous, bear in mind." "rather. i never touch them." "no sugar or sweet things, remember!" "excellent! i detest 'em." "a meat diet strictly forbidden!!" "splendid. i'm a vegetarian." "a cold bath every morning!!!" "glorious. i always have one." "and g-go away for a long bracing change to the b-bleakest part of the east coast...." "priceless. why, my dear old fellow-- "i live there." check!] _printed in great britain by jarrold & sons, ltd., norwich, england._ mr. punch's life in london punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch", from its beginning in to the present day. mr. punch's life in london [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: _fussy old lady._ "now, _don't_ forget, conductor, i _want the bank of england_." _conductor._ "_all_ right, mum." (_aside._) "she _don't_ want _much_, do she, mate?"] * * * * * mr. punch's life in london. [illustration] as pictured by phil may, charles keene, george du maurier, l. raven-hill, j. bernard partridge, e. t. reed, g. d. armour, f. h. townsend, fred pegram, c. e. brock, tom browne, a. s. boyd, a. wallis mills, starr wood, dudley hardy, and many other humorists. _in illustrations_ [illustration] published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages, fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children * * * * * [illustration: shakespeare on the streets (_see "king henry the fourth," act iii., sc. ._) _glendower_ (_to hotspur_). cousin of many men, i do not bear these crossings.] * * * * * [illustration: a sketch in regent street.--puzzle--on which side are the shop windows?] * * * * * round the town in the sixty-six years of his existence mr. punch has at one time or another touched upon every phase of life in london. he has moved in high society; he has visited the slums; he has been to the churches, the theatres, the concert rooms; he has travelled on the railways, in the 'buses and the cabs; he has amused himself on 'change; he has gone shopping; he has lounged in the clubs, been a shrewd watcher and listener at the law courts, dined in the hotels and restaurants, sat in parliament, made merry in the servants' hall, loitered along the pavements with a quick eye and ear for the wit and humour of the streets, and dropped in casually, a genial and observant visitor, at the homes and haunts of all sorts and conditions of men and women. obviously it is impossible that the fruits of all this adventuring could be gathered into a single volume; some of them are garnered already in other volumes of this series, in books that deal particularly with mr. punch's representations of what he has seen and heard of society, of the cockney, of the lawyers, of our domestics, of clubmen and diners-out, of the theatres; therefore, in the present volume, we have limited him in the main to his recollections of the actual civic life in london, to his diversions on the stock exchange and in the money market generally, his pictured and written quips and jests about london's businesses and business men, with glimpses of what he knows of the variously dazzling and more or less strenuous life that everywhere environs these. * * * * * [illustration: subject for a decorative panel.--road "up." time--in the height of the season. place--everywhere.] * * * * * [illustration] mr. punch's life in london the city "article."--money. * * * * * from the streets.--a street conjuror complained the other day that he couldn't throw the knives and balls about, because he did not feel in the vein. "in what vein?" asked a bystander, weakly. "the juggler vein, of course, stupid!" was the answer. [_the bystander retired._ * * * * * a light employment.--cleaning windows. * * * * * "_the model ready reckoner._"--the man with his last shilling. * * * * * money-market and city intelligence.--operators for the rise--aeronauts; likewise anglers. * * * * * just off--the bourse.--_stockbroker_ (_to client who has been pretty well loaded with certain scrip_). well, it just comes to this. are you prepared to go the whole hog or none? _client_ (_timidly_). i think i'd rather go the none. * * * * * what colour should parasites dress in?--fawn. * * * * * household hints for economical managers _how to obtain a good serviceable light porter._--take a pint of stout, and add a quart of spring water. there you have him. _how to make hats last._--make everything else first. _how to prevent ale from spoiling._--drink it. _how to avoid being considered above your business._--never live over your shop. _how to make your servants rise._--send them up to sleep in the attics. * * * * * [illustration: _bus driver_ (_to charioteer of broken-down motor-car_). "i've been tellin' yer all the week to taike it 'ome, an' now yer wants to, yer cawn't!"] * * * * * the streets of london the stately streets of london are always "up" in spring, to ordinary minds an ex- traordinary thing. then cabs across strange ridges bound, or sink in holes, abused with words resembling not, in sound, those mrs. hemans used. the miry streets of london, dotted with lamps by night; what pitfalls where the dazzled eye sees doubly ruddy light! for in the season, just in may, when many meetings meet, the jocund vestry starts away, and closes all the street. the shut-up streets of london! how willingly one jumps from where one's cab must stop through pools of mud, in dancing pumps! when thus one skips on miry ways one's pride is much decreased, like mrs. gilpin's, for one's "chaise" is "three doors off" at least. the free, fair streets of london long, long, in vestry hall, may heads of native thickness rise, when april showers fall; and green for ever be the men who spend the rates in may, by stopping all the traffic then in such a jocose way! * * * * * [illustration: _straphanger_ (_in first-class compartment, to first-class passenger_). "i say, guv'nor, 'ang on to this 'ere strap a minute, will yer, while i get a light?"] * * * * * the gas-fitter's paradise.--berners street. * * * * * civic wit.--a city friend of ours, who takes considerable interest in the fattening of his fowls, alleges, as a reason, that he is an advocate for widening the poultry. * * * * * to auctioneers.--the regulations regarding sales are not to be found in any _bye_ laws. * * * * * poetry and finance.--among all the quotations in all the money market and city articles who ever met with a line of verse? * * * * * anything but an alderman's motto.--"dinner forget." * * * * * a gentleman who lives by his wits.--_mr. punch._ * * * * * definition.--the mansion house--a mayor's nest. * * * * * [illustration: in a tram-car _lady_ (_with smelly basket of fish_). "dessay you'd rather 'ave a gentleman settin' a-side of you?" _gilded youth_ (_who has been edging away_). "yes, i would." _lady._ "same'ere!"] * * * * * [illustration: _inquisitive guardian._ "by the way, have you any children?" _applicant for relief._ "no." _guardian._ "but--er--surely i know a son of yours?" _applicant._ "well, i don't suppose you'd call a _child_ children!"] * * * * * [illustration: "please, sir, tuppence worth of butter scrapin's, an' mother says be sure they're all _clean_, 'cause she's expectin' company."] * * * * * [illustration: unconscionable _head of the firm._ "want a holiday!? why, you've just been at home ill for a month!"] * * * * * [illustration: the force of habit _traveller_ (_suffering from the heat of weather, &c._). "wesh bromp'n--shingl'--cold 'th bit o' lemon--loo' sharp--'r else shan't kesh my train!"] * * * * * the exiled londoner i roam beneath a foreign sky, that sky is cloudless, warm and clear; and everything is glad but i;-- but ah! my heart is far from here. they bid me look on forests green, and boundless prairies stretching far; but i rejoice not in their sheen, and longing turn to temple bar. they bid me list the torrent's roar, in all its foaming, bounding pride; but i, i only think the more on living torrents in cheapside! they bid me mark the mighty stream, which mississippi rolls to sea; but then i sink in pensive dream, and turn my thoughts, dear thames, to thee! they bid me note the mountains high, whose snow-capp'd peaks my prospect end; i only heave a secret sigh-- to ludgate hill my wishes tend. they taunt me with our denser air, and fogs so thick you scarce can see; then, yellow fog, i will declare, though strange to say, i long for thee. and everything in this bright clime but serves to turn my thoughts to thee! thou, london, of an earlier time, oh! when shall i return to thee? * * * * * [illustration: _customer._ "that dog i bought last week has turned out very savage. he's already bitten a little girl and a policeman, and----" _dealer._ "lor'! how 'e's changed, mum! he wasn't at all particular what he ate 'ere!"] * * * * * panic in the city time-- . p.m. _excited stockbroker._--by jove! it's serious now. _other dittos._ hey? what? _excited stockbroker._ rothschild's "gone"-- _clients_ (_new to city, thunderstruck_). _gone!_ rothschild!!--but-- _excited stockbroker._ yes. _gone to paris._ _exit._ * * * * * what to expect at an hotel.--inn-attention. * * * * * a question for lloyd's.--are sub-editors underwriters? * * * * * incidents of taxation.--collectors and summonses. * * * * * what a city company does.--it may not be generally known that the duty of the spectacle-makers is to get up the lord mayor's show. glasses round, and then they proceed to business. * * * * * impossible phrase.--the happy rich, the happy poor, both quite possible. but, "the happy mean"--oh no--impossible. * * * * * song for the town-tied sportsman.--"how happy could i be with _heather_!" * * * * * [illustration: progress.--(_overheard in kensington._ time, a.m.).--_fair club member_ (_lately married, to friend_). "bye, bye! can't stop! must rush off, or i shall be _scratched for the billiard handicap_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _policeman_ (_to slightly sober individual, who is wobbling about in the road amongst the traffic_). "come, old man, walk on the pavement." _slightly sober individual._ "_pavement!_ who do you take me for? _blondin?_"] * * * * * [illustration: sketched in oxford street] * * * * * inscription to be placed over the stock exchange.--"_bear_ and for-_bear_." * * * * * the price of bread.--twists have taken a turn; and cottages have come down in some places, owing to the falls of bricks, which continue to give way rapidly. a baker near one of the bridges has not had a roll over, which is to be accounted for by his having come down in regular steps to a level with the lower class of consumers. plaster of paris is in some demand, and there have been some mysterious transactions in sawdust by the baker who liberally deals with the workhouse. * * * * * [illustration: symphony in black. the vassal who does soot and service.] * * * * * official order.--all cabmen plying within hail are to be supplied with umbrellas by government. * * * * * [illustration: he didn't mean to lose that "miffins, the book-keeper, tells me that you have lost the key of the safe, and he cannot get at the books." "yes, sir, one of them. you gave me two, you remember." "yes; i had duplicates made in case of accident. and the other?" "oh, sir, i took care of that. i was afraid i might lose one of them, you know." "and is the other all right?" "yes, sir. i put it where there was no danger of it being lost. it is in the safe, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: in a november fog _frenchman_ (_just arrived on his first visit to london_). "ha, ha! my frien', now i understan' vot you mean ven you say ze sun nevaire set in your dominion, ma foi! _it does not rise!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "never too late to mend" _thirsty soul_ (_after several gyrations round the letter-box_). "i sh'like t'know wha'-sh-'e good 'f gen'lem'n-sh turn'n tea-tot'ller 'f gov'm'nt (_hic_) goes-h an' cut-sh th' shpouts-h o' th' _bumpsh_ off!"] * * * * * the londoner's diary (_for august_) _monday._--got up at nine o'clock. lounged to the park. no one there. went to bed at twelve. _tuesday._--got up at ten o'clock. walked to the house of commons. closed. went to bed at eleven. _wednesday._--got up at eleven o'clock. looked in at prince's. deserted. went to bed at ten. _thursday._--got up at twelve o'clock. strolled to the club. shut up for repairs. went to bed at nine. _friday._--got up at one o'clock. stayed at home. dull. went to bed at eight. _saturday._--got up at five a.m. went out of town at six. * * * * * the reverse of the school for scandal.--a school in which very few members of society are brought up--a charity school. * * * * * [illustration: past reclaiming _brixton barber._ "revival seems to be in the hair, sir." _customer._ "not in _mine_!"] * * * * * fog thou comest in familiar guise, when in the morning i awake, you irritate my throat and eyes, i vow that life's a sad mistake. you come to hang about my hair, my much-enduring lungs to clog, i feel you with me everywhere, our own peculiar london fog. you clothe the city in such gloom, we scarce can see across the street, you seem to penetrate each room, and mix with everything i eat. i hardly dare to stir about, but sit supine as any log; you make it torture to go out, our own peculiar london fog. * * * * * the end of table-turning.--an inmate of a lunatic asylum, driven mad by spiritualism, wishes to try to turn the multiplication table. * * * * * "the question of the hour."--what o'clock is it? * * * * * perpetual motion discovered.--the _winding_ up of public companies. * * * * * flies in amber.--yellow cabs. * * * * * [illustration: _'bus driver_ (_to cabby, who is trying to lash his horse into something like a trot_). "wot's the matter with 'im, willum? 'e don't seem 'isself this mornin'. i believe you've bin an' changed 'is milk!"] * * * * * [illustration: a sketch from life _chorus_ (_slow music_). "we're a rare old--fair old--rickety, rackety crew!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_in a 'bus._ time--_during the hot spell._ _first city man._ "d----d hot, isn't---- i--i beg your pardon, madam, i--i quite forgot there was a lady pres----" _stout party._ "don't apologise. it's much worse than that!"] * * * * * the capitalists (_a story of yesterday for to-morrow and to-day_) "what, brown, my boy, is that you?" said smith, heartily. "the same, and delighted to see you," was the reply. "have you heard the news, my dear fellow?" asked smith. "you mean about the position of the bank of england? why, certainly; all the city is talking about it." "ah, it is absolutely grand! never was the old lady of threadneedle street in such a strong position. marvellous! my dear friend; absolutely marvellous!" "quite so. never were we--as a people--so rich!" "yes, prosperity seems to be coming back by leaps and bounds." "you never said anything so true," observed smith. "right you are," cried brown. and then the two friends shook hands once more with increased cordiality, and passed on. they walked in different directions a few steps, and both stopped. they turned round. "smith," said brown, "i have to ask you a trifling favour." "brown, it is granted before i know its purport." "well, the truth is, i am penniless--lend me half-a-crown." smith paused for a moment. "you surely do not wish to refuse me?" asked brown in a tone of pained surprise. "i do not, smith," replied his friend, with fervour. "indeed, i do not!" "then produce the two-and-sixpence." "i would, my dear fellow, if in the wide world i could raise it!" and then the ancient comrades shook hands once again, and parted in sorrow, but not in anger. they felt that after all they were only in the fashion. * * * * * [illustration: a neglected industry "'ow are yer gettin' on, bill?" "ain't gettin' on at all. i'm beginnin' to think as the publick doesn't know what they wants!"] * * * * * too common a thing.--a member of a limited liability company in a bad way, said he should turn itinerant preacher. he was asked why? he said he had had a call. * * * * * [illustration: _country cousin._ "do you stop at the cecil?" _'bus driver._ "_do_ i stop at the cecil!--_on twenty-eight bob a week_!"] * * * * * [illustration: frightful levity.--_bus-driver._ "hullo, gov'nour; got any room?" _policeman, driving van_ (_with great want of self-respect_). "just room for one; saved a place a purpose for you, sir." _bus-driver._ "what's yer fare?" _policeman._ "bread and water; same as you had afore!"] * * * * * [illustration: a misunderstanding.--_old gent._ (_evidently from the shires_). "hi! hoy! stop!" _conductor._ "'old 'ard bill!" (_to old gent._) "where are yer for, sir?" _old gent._ (_panting in pursuit_). "here!--let's have a--box o' them--_safety matches_!" [_objurgations!_ ] * * * * * on the speculative builder he's the readiest customer living, while you're lending, or spending or giving; but when you'd make profit, or get back your own, he's the awkwardest customer ever you've known. * * * * * favourite song on the stock exchange.--"_oh! what a difference in the morning!_" * * * * * the real "bitter" cry of london.--the demand for bass and allsopp. * * * * * cabby calls the new auto-cars his motormentors. * * * * * [illustration: thorough!--_hairdresser_ (_to perspiring customer during the late hot weather_). "'hair cut, sir?" _stout party_ (_falling into the chair, exhausted_). "ye----" _hairdresser._ "much off, sir?" _stout party._ "(_phew!_) cut it to the bone!"] * * * * * [illustration: diverting the traffic!] the thing to throw light on spiritualistic sÃ�ances.--a spirit-lamp. * * * * * the ruling passion.--a great financial reformer is so devoted to figures that when he has nothing else to do he casts up his eyes. * * * * * bubble concerns.--aërated water companies. * * * * * new london street directory _adam street._--antediluvian anecdotes and traditions still linger here. _air street._--doctors send their patients to this locality for change. _aldermanbury._--visited by numbers of bereaved relatives. _amwell street._--always healthy. _barking alley._--to be avoided in the dog days. _boy court._--not far from child's place. _camomile street._--see wormwood street. _coldbath square._--very bracing. _distaff lane._--full of spinsters. _farm street._--highly sensitive to the fluctuations of the corn market. _fashion street._--magnificent sight in the height of the season. _first street._--of immense antiquity. _friday street._--great jealousy felt by all the other days of the week. _garlick hill._--make a little _détour_. _glasshouse street._--heavily insured against hailstorms. _godliman street._--irreproachable. _great smith street._--which of the smiths is this? _grundy street._--named after that famous historic character--mrs. grundy. _hercules buildings._--rich in traditions and stories of the "labours" of the founder. _homer street._--literally classic ground. the house pointed out in connection with "the blind old bard" has long since disappeared. _idol lane._--where are the missionaries? _ivy lane._--this, and lillypot lane, and woodpecker lane, and wheatsheaf yard, and white thorn street, all sweetly rural. it is difficult to make a selection. _lamb's conduit street._--touching description (by the oldest inhabitant) of the young lambs coming to drink at the conduit. _liquorpond street._--see philpot lane. _love lane._--what sort of love? the "love of the turtle?" _lupus street._ } } both dangerous. _maddox street._} _milk street._--notice the number of pumps. _mincing lane._--mincing is now mostly done elsewhere, by machinery. _orchard street._--the last apple was gathered here about the time that the last coursing match took place in hare court. _paper buildings._--wonderfully substantial! brief paper extensively used in these buildings. _paradise street._ } } difficult to choose between the two. _peerless street._ } _poultry._ } } crowded at christmas. _pudding lane._ } _quality court._--most aristocratic. _riches court._--not a house to be had for love or money. _shepherdess walk._--ought to be near shepherds' bush. _trump street._--noted for whist. _type street._--leaves a most favourable impression. _world's end passage._--finis. * * * * * [illustration: a qualified guide.--_befogged pedestrian._ "could you direct me to the river, please?" _hatless and dripping stranger._ "straight ahead. i've just come from it!"] * * * * * [illustration: fashionable and seasonable. where to sup _al fresco_ in the hottest weather. the "_whelkome_ club"] * * * * * "the round of the restaurants."--beef. * * * * * [illustration: sacrifice.--_good templar._ "tut--t--t--really, swizzle, it's disgraceful to see a man in your position in this state, after the expense we've incurred and the exertions we've used to put down the liquor traffic!" _swizzle._ "y' may preash as mush as y' like, gen'l'm'n, bur i can tell y' i've made more persh'nal efforsh to (_hic_) purrown liquor than any of ye!"] * * * * * a london fog a fog in london daytime like the night is, our fellow-creatures seem like wandering ghosts, the dull mephitic cloud will bring bronchitis; you cannon into cabs or fall o'er posts. the air is full of pestilential vapours, innumerable "blacks" come with the smoke; the thief and rough cut unmolested capers, in truth a london fog's no sort of joke. you rise by candle-light or gaslight, swearing there never was a climate made like ours; if rashly you go out to take an airing, the soot-flakes come in black plutonian show'rs. your carriage wildly runs into another, no matter though you go at walking pace; you meet your dearest friend, or else your brother and never know him, although face to face. the hours run on, and night and day commingle, unutterable filth is in the air; you're much depressed, e'en in the fire-side ingle, the hag dyspepsia seems everywhere. your wild disgust in vain you try to bridle, mad as march hare or hydrophobic dog, you feel, in fact, intensely suicidal: such things befall us in a london fog! * * * * * the most loyal of cup-bearers.--a blind man's dog. * * * * * [illustration: not quite what he meant. _joan_ (_on her annual spring visit to london_). "there, john, i think that would suit me." _darby_ (_grumblingly_). "_that_, maria? why, a pretty figure it would come to!" _joan._ "ah, john dear, you're always so complimentary! i'll go and ask the price."] * * * * * starting a syndicate a serio-comic interlude scene--_an office in the city._ time--_after lunch._ present--_members of a proposed syndicate._ _first member._ and now, gentlemen, to business. i suppose we may put down the capital at fifty thousand? _second mem._ better make it five hundred thousand. half a million is so much easier to get. _third mem._ of course. who would look at a paltry fifty? _first mem._ perhaps you are right. five pound shares, eh? _fourth mem._ better make them sovereigns. simpler to manipulate. _first mem._ i daresay. then the same solicitors as our last? _fifth mem._ yes, on the condition that they get a firm to undertake the underwriting. _first mem._ necessarily. the firm i propose, gentlemen, are men of business, and quite recognise that nothing purchases nothing. _second mem._ and they could get the secretary with a thousand to invest. _first mem._ certainly. our brokers, bankers, and auditors as before. eh, gentlemen? _fifth mem._ on the same conditions. _first mem._ that is understood. and now the prospectus is getting into shape. is there anything else anyone can suggest? _fourth mem._ oughtn't we to have some object in view? _first mem._ assuredly. making money. _fourth mem._ don't be frivolous. but what i mean is, should we not know for what purpose we are going to expend the half million? _first mem._ oh, you mean the name. well, that comparatively unimportant detail we might safely leave until our next pleasant gathering. [_meeting adjourned._ _curtain._ * * * * * in extremis.--that man is indeed hard up who cannot get credit even for good intentions. * * * * * "walker!"--how unfair to sneer at the city tradesmen for being above their business, when so few of them live over their shops! * * * * * [illustration: an early morning snapshot in the suburbs. mr. bumpus dresses his window.] * * * * * [illustration: metropolitan improvements proposed elevated roadway for perambulators] * * * * * examination for a directorship (_from "the city man's vade mecum"_) _promoter._ are you a gentleman of blameless reputation? _candidate._ certainly, and i share that reputation with a dozen generations of ancestors. _promoter._ and no doubt you are the soul of honour? _candidate._ that is my belief--a belief shared by all my friends and acquaintances. _promoter._ and i think, before taking up finance, you have devoted a long life to the service of your country? _candidate._ that is so. my career has been rewarded by all kinds of honours. _promoter._ and there is no particular reason why you should dabble in stock exchange matters? _candidate._ none that i know of--save, perhaps, to serve a friend. _promoter._ now, be very careful. do you know anything whatever about the business it is proposed you should superintend? _candidate._ nothing whatever. i know nothing absolutely about business. _promoter._ then i have much pleasure in informing you that you have been unanimously elected a member of the board of management! [_scene closes in until the public demands further information._ * * * * * [illustration: "_perfeck lidy_" (_who has just been ejected_). "well, _next_ time i goes into a publickouse, i'll go somewhere where i'll be _respected_!"] * * * * * riddle for the city oh! why, my friend, is a joint stock concern like, yet unlike, a clock? because it may be wound up; when, alas! it doesn't go again. * * * * * the seat of impudence.--a cabman's box. * * * * * song of suburban householders awaiting the advent of the dustman.--"we _always_ use a big, big d!" * * * * * a floating capital joke.--when may a man be said to be literally immersed in business?--when he's giving a swimming lesson. * * * * * a cheerful investment.--a laughing-stock. * * * * * [illustration: _baker._ "i shall want another ha'penny. bread's gone up to-day." _boy._ "then give us one of yesterday's."] * * * * * why i am in town because i have long felt a strong desire to know by personal experiment what london is like at this season of the year. because the house requires some repairs, and i am anxious to be on the spot to look after the workpeople. because the progress of my book on universal eccentricity renders it necessary that i should pay frequent visits to the library of the british museum. because i have been everywhere, and know every place. because the sanitary condition of the only place i at all care to go to is not altogether satisfactory. because my uncle anthony is expected home every day from australia, and i am unwilling to be absent from town when he arrives. because my cousin selina is going to be married from her stepfather's at upper clapton, and insists on my giving her away to the gentleman with whom she is about to penetrate into the interior of africa. because i am desirous to avail myself of this opportunity of completing some statistical tables i am compiling, showing the comparative numbers of horses, carriages, and pedestrians passing my dining-room windows on the last saturday in may and the last saturday in august respectively. because my eldest son is reading with a private tutor for his army examination, and i feel i am of some use to him in his studies. because my aunt philippa is detained in town by an attack of gout, and expects me to call and sit with her three times a day. because i am determined to put into execution my long-cherished design of thoroughly exploring the british museum, the national gallery, the south kensington museum, st. paul's, westminster abbey, the public monuments, and the city churches. because it is pecuniarily inconvenient to me to be anywhere else. * * * * * notice.--the gentleman who, the other day, ran away from home, without stopping to take his breath, is requested to fetch it as quickly as possible. * * * * * [illustration: fogged.--_cabman_ (_who thinks he has been passing a line of linkmen_). "is this right for paddington?" _linkman._ "'course it is! first to the right and straight on. 'aven't i told ye that three times already? why, you've been drivin' round this square for the last 'arf hour!"] * * * * * [illustration: virtuous indignation.--_betting man_ (_to his partner_). "look 'ere, joe! i 'ear you've been gamblin' on the stock exchange! now, a man _must_ draw the line _somewhere_; and if that kind of thing goes on, you and me will 'ave to part company!"] * * * * * misnomers you start a company to make it go, it fails, and so you drop it; it didn't go but yet has gone, and so you wind it up to stop it. stocks in your garden you will surely find by want of rain are slaughtered; yet many stocks have languished and declined because they have been watered. suppose a company for brewing beer should come to a cessation-- that is--"dry up" 'tis curious to hear it's called "in liquidation." * * * * * prehistoric london.--some archæologists have discovered an analogy between the druidical worship and a form of semitic idolatry. it has been surmised that the old bailey derives its name from having been the site of a temple of baal. * * * * * the rule of rome.--an "inquiring city clerk," fresh from his roman history, writes to ask if "s.p.q.r." stands for "small profits, quick returns." * * * * * a temperance public-house.--a slop-shop. * * * * * [illustration: melting moments (_temperature ° in the shade._) _friend._ "how does this weather suit you, old chap?" _bankrupt proprietor._ "oh, down to the ground! you see, i'm in liquidation!"] * * * * * the original cook's tourist.--policeman x on his beat. * * * * * "the great plague of london."--a barrel-organ. * * * * * the latest thing out.--the night-light. * * * * * [illustration: _johnny_ (_who has to face a bad monday, to manager at messrs. r-thsch-ld's_). "ah! i--want to--ah!--see you about an overdraft." _manager._ "how much do you require?" _johnny._ "ah!--how much have you got?"] * * * * * [illustration: _french lady._ "picca-di-lee circus." _obliging conductor._ "all right. one pence." _french lady_ (_who rather prides herself on her english pronunciation_). "i anterstond ze engleeshe langue." _obliging conductor._ "oh, all right. keep yer 'air on!"] * * * * * the most unpleasant meeting.--having to meet a bill. * * * * * what intimate connection is there between the lungs of london and the lights of the metropolis? * * * * * saw for slop tailors.--ill tweeds shrink apace. * * * * * a tissue of lies.--a forged bank-note. * * * * * a nice investment.--amongst the advertisements of new undertakings we notice one of "the universal disinfector company." our broker has instructions to procure us some shares, if they are in good odour. * * * * * a tight fit.--intoxication. * * * * * how to supply st. paul's with bells and chimes _cheap_.--melt down the canons. * * * * * a thought from our tub.--respect everybody's feelings. if you wish to have your laundress's address, avoid asking her where she "hangs out." * * * * * hard lines.--overhead wires. * * * * * hotel for bee-fanciers.--the hum-mums. * * * * * unprecedented trade announcement.--the pig-market was quiet. * * * * * money market and sanitary intelligence.--the unsafest of all deposits is the deposit of the banks of the thames. * * * * * the place to spend all fools' day.--_madame tous-sots'._ * * * * * [illustration: _bus-driver._ "all right, ladies! you're quite safe. they're werry partikler wot they eats!"] * * * * * [illustration: metropolitan improvements the next sensational literary advertisement; or, things of beauty in our streets.] * * * * * solemn jest.--where should postmen be buried? in a post-crypt. * * * * * a blunder-bus.--one that takes you to holborn when you want to go to the bank. * * * * * epitaph for a stockbroker.--"waiting for a rise." * * * * * board wages.--directors' fees. * * * * * [illustration: stock exchange _illustrated by dumb-crambo, junior_] [illustration: carrying over] [illustration: market firm] [illustration: arranging for a fall] [illustration: market falling] [illustration: preparing for a rise] [illustration: home securities flat] * * * * * a new way to get a fresh appetite (_a real bit from life at a city company's dinner_) _young visitor._ really, sir, you must excuse me. i am compelled to refuse. _old alderman_ (_with profound astonishment_). what, refuse these beautiful grouse? it's impossible! _young visitor._ it _is_ impossible, i can assure you, sir. i cannot eat any more. _old alderman_ (_tenderly_). come, come. i tell you what now. just take my advice, and _try a cold chair_. * * * * * design for a paper-weight.--the portrait of a gentleman waiting for the _times_. * * * * * the best "financial relations."--our "uncles." * * * * * at the angel court kitchen.--_stranger_ (_to eminent financier_). why did you call that man at the bar "the microbe"? _eminent financier._ because he's "in everything." * * * * * ground rents.--the effects of an earthquake. * * * * * [illustration: following the fashion.--_baked-tater merchant._ "'ow's trade! why fust-rate!! i'm a-goin' to conwert the bis'ness into a limited liability comp'ny--and retire into private life!!!"] * * * * * songs of the streets upon the kerb upon the kerb a maiden neat-- her watchet eyes are passing sweet-- there stands and waits in dire distress: the muddy road is pitiless, and 'buses thunder down the street! a snowy skirt, all frill and pleat; two tiny, well-shod, dainty feet peep out, beneath her kilted dress, upon the kerb! she'll first advance and then retreat, half frightened by a hansom fleet. she looks around, i must confess, with marvellous coquettishness!-- then droops her eyes and looks discreet, upon the kerb! * * * * * definition of "the happy mean."--a joyful miser. * * * * * to people down in the world.--try the new hotels: they will give you a lift. * * * * * what is the best thing to do in a hurry? nothing. * * * * * [illustration: _sarah_ (_to sal_). "lor! ain't 'e 'andy with 'is feet!"] * * * * * punch's country cousin's guide the metropolis in the _morte saison_ a.m.--rise, as in the country, and stroll round the squares before breakfast, to see the turn out of cooks and charwomen. ask your way back of the first policeman you meet. a.m.--breakfast. first taste of london milk and butter. analyse, if not in a hurry. any policeman will show you the nearest chemist. a.m.--to battersea park to see carpets beaten. curious atmospheric effects observable in the clouds of dust and the language of the beaters. inquire your road of any policeman. a.m.--take penny steamer up to westminster bridge, in time to arrive at scotland yard, and inspect the police as they start on their various beats. for any information, inquire of the inspector. p.m.--hansom cab races. these can be viewed at any hour by standing still at a hundred yards from any cabstand and holding up a shilling. an amusing sequel may be enjoyed by referring all the drivers to the nearest policeman. p.m.--observe the beauties of solitude among the flowers in hyde park. lunch at the lodge on curds and whey. ask the whey of the park keeper. p.m.--visit the exhibitions of painting on the various scaffoldings in belgravia. ask the next policeman if the house painters are royal academicians. note what he says. p.m.--look at the shops in bond street and regent street, and purchase the dummy goods disposed of at an awful sacrifice. p.m.--see the stickleback fed at the westminster aquarium. if nervous at being alone, ask the policeman in waiting to accompany you over the building. p.m.--find a friend still in town to give you five o'clock tea in her back drawing-room--the front of the house being shut up. p.m.--back to the park. imagine the imposing cavalcades in rotten row (now invisible), with the aid of one exercising groom and the two daughters of a riding-master in full procession. p.m.--wake up the waiters at the triclinium restaurant, and persuade them to warm up dinner for your benefit. p.m.--perambulate the strand, and visit the closed doors of the various theatres. ask the nearest policeman for his opinion on london actors. you will find it as good as a play. p.m.--a turkish bath may be had in covent garden theatre. towels or programmes are supplied by the policemen at the doors. p.m.--converse, before turning in, with the policeman on duty or the fireman in charge of the fire-escape. much interesting information may be obtained in this way. p.m.--supper at the cabmen's shelter, or the coffee stall corner of hyde park. get a policeman to take you home to bed. * * * * * [illustration: _benevolent old gentleman._ "_poor_ little thing! is it hurt?" [_but it was only the week's washing._ ] * * * * * [illustration: amenities of the road.--_robert._ "now then, four-wheeler, why couldn't you pull up sooner? didn't you see me 'old up my 'and?" _cabby_ (_suavely_). "well, constable, i _did_ see a kind of shadder pass acrorst the sky; but my 'orse 'e shied at your feet!"] * * * * * _q._ what is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a hansom? _a._ a cab-ana. * * * * * the wheel of fortune.--it must have belonged originally to an omnibus, for it is continually "taking up" and "putting down" people. * * * * * [illustration: _groom_ (_whose master is fully occupied with unmanageable pair which has just run into rear of omnibus_). "well, anyway, it wasn't the guv'nor's fault." '_bus conductor._ "no--it was _your_ fault, for letting 'im drive!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the way we build now."--_indignant houseowner_ (_he had heard it was so much cheaper, in the end, to buy your house_). "wh' what's the--what am i!--wha' what do you suppose is the meaning of this, mr. scampling!" _local builder._ "'t' tut, tut! well, sir, i 'spects some one's been a-leanin' agin it!!"] * * * * * [illustration: getting his answer _important old gent_ (_from the country, who thinks the lofty bearing of these london barmaids ought to be "taken down a bit"_). "glass of ale, young woman; and look sharp, please!" _haughty blonde_ (_blandly_). "second-class refreshments lower down, sir!!"] * * * * * the meat market legs were freely walked off, and there was a pressure on ribs owing to the rush of beggars; but knuckles came down, while calves'-heads were looking-up steadily. at smithfield, there was a rush of bulls, but the transactions were of such a hazardous nature as to appear more like a toss-up than firm business. any kind of security was resorted to, and the bulls having driven a well-known speculator into a corner, he was glad to get out as he could, though an attempt was made to pin him to his position. pigs went on much at the old rates; and briskness could not be obtained, though the _coupons_ were freely offered. the weather having been favourable to slaughtering, calves have not been brought to the pen--but there is something doing in beef, for the "_last of the barons_" is advertised. * * * * * the original cab radius.--a spoke of phoebus's chariot-wheel. * * * * * motto for the l.g.o.c.--_bus_ in urbe. * * * * * [illustration: a case of mistaken identity _old gentleman (returning from city festivity)._ "pleashm'n, where'sh m'sht'r brown live?" _constable (recognising him)._ "why, dear me, sir, you are mr. brown!" _mr. b._ "aw right! bu'--where do i live?"!] * * * * * [illustration: _cheap jack._ "i will make a present of this genooine gold watch--none of your carrots--to henny lady or gentleman for fifteen shillings an' sixpence. why am i doin' this? to hencourage trade, that is why i am givin' it away for fourteen shillings an' sixpence. look at it for yourselves, for fourteen shillings! if yer don't believe it's gold, _jump on it_?"] * * * * * [illustration: at the diamond jubilee.--_first doubtful character._ "my eye, mate, this is a squash!" _second d. c._ "squash! why, s'elp me, if i ain't 'ad my 'and in this cove's pocket for the larst twenty minits, an' can't get it out!"] * * * * * back to town back to town, and it certes is rapture to stand, and to hear once again all the roar of the strand; i agree with the bard who said, noisy or stilly, by gaslight or daylight, he loved piccadilly; the wanderer's heart with emotion doth swell, when he sees the broad pavement of pleasant pall mall. some folks like the city; wherever they range, their hearts are still true to the royal exchange; they've beheld alpine summits rise rank upon rank, but the matterhorn's nothing compared with the bank; and they feel quite rejoiced in the omnibus ride, as that hearse for the living rolls up through cheapside. the mind of a man is expanded by travel, but give me my house on the kensington gravel: the wine of the frenchman is good, and his grub, but he isn't devoted to soap and the tub; though it may be my prejudice, yet i'll be shot, if i don't think one englishman's worth all the lot! with germans i've no disposition to quarrel, though most of their women resemble a barrel; and, as for myself, i could never make out the charms of their _schnitzel_ and raw _sauer-kraut_; while everyone owns, since the last mighty war, your average teuton's too bumptious by far. i think it's been stated before, that you roam to prove to yourself that there's no place like home, though lands that are lovely lie eastward and west, our "tight little island," believe me, 's the best; through paris, berlin, and vienna you've passed, to find that there's nothing like london at last! * * * * * [illustration: _new assistant (after hair-cutting, to jones, who has been away for a couple of weeks)._ "your 'air is very thin be'ind, sir. try singeing!" _jones (after a pause)._ "yes, i think i will." _n. a. (after singeing)._ "shampoo, sir? good for the 'air, sir." _jones._ "thank you. yes." _n. a._ "your moustaches curled?" _jones._ "please." _n. a._ "may i give you a friction?" _jones._ "thank you." _n. a._ "will you try some of our----" _manager (who has just sighted his man, in stage whisper)._ "you idiot! _he's_ a subscriber!!"] * * * * * mrs. r. was in an omnibus lately. the streets were so badly paved, she says, that the osculations were most trying to elderly people, though the younger ladies did not seem to object to them. * * * * * more commercial candour.--"suits from s. to order. beware of firms that copy us." * * * * * signs of a severe winter in london.--early departure of swallows from swallow street. poet's corner covered with rime. wild ducks on the stock exchange. coals raised. * * * * * cynic's motto for kelly's directory (_by the kind permission of the author of "dead men whom i have known."_)--living men whom i don't want to know. * * * * * money market--shares, in ascension island company, going up. * * * * * city intelligence.--should the proposed asylum for decayed bill brokers, jobbers, and others on 'change be ultimately built, it will probably be at stock-holm. * * * * * [illustration: convenient.--_lodger (who has been dining)._ "d' you have any 'bjecks'n t' my 'shcaping up into my rooms shec'nd floor? f'got my la'ch-key!!"] * * * * * advice to smokers.--cut cavendish. * * * * * fashionable intelligence.--a new club, composed entirely of aristocratic literary ladies, is in course of formation; it is to be called "the blue lights." * * * * * nursery rhyme for the time bye baby bunting, daddy's gone a hunting on the stock exchange, to catch some one who is not his match; if he has luck, as well as pluck, a coach he'll very likely win to ride his baby bunting in. * * * * * the deaf man's paradise.--the audit office. * * * * * [illustration: "casting accounts"] * * * * * [illustration: our french visitors.--(scene--_royal exchange_). _first frenchman (his first time in london)._ "tiens, alphonse! qui est cet homme-là?" _second frenchman (who, having been here once before is supposed to know all about it)._ "chut! plus bas, mon ami." (_whispers in reverential tone._) "ce monsieur-là--c'est le lor' maire!"] * * * * * a very much over-rated place.--london, under the county council. * * * * * a bill acceptor.--a dead wall. * * * * * site for a ragged school.--tattersall's. * * * * * links that are no sort of use in any fog.--shirt-links. * * * * * the most beautiful and beautifying tree in london.--the plane. * * * * * "coigns of 'vantage."--_£_ _s_. _d_. * * * * * [illustration: bull and bear] * * * * * the "bread of idleness."--loafing. * * * * * poem on a public-house of this establishment how can we speak? its cheese is mitey and its ale is weak. * * * * * the aristocrat's paradise.--quality court. * * * * * "the controller of the _mint_."--the greengrocer. * * * * * seasonable.--what sort of a bath would a resident of cornhill probably prefer? a _cit's_ bath. * * * * * the tippler's paradise.--portsoken ward. * * * * * money market [illustration: tightness observable at the opening] [illustration: a decline at the close] [illustration: railways were dull] [illustration: bullyin' movements] * * * * * the stockbroker's vade mecum.--a book of good quotations. * * * * * epitaph on a letter carrier.--_post obit._ * * * * * a man in advance of his time.--one who has been knocked into the middle of next week. * * * * * the lord mayor's residence.--the munching house. * * * * * [illustration: a new terror for the unpunctual clerk [according to the _scientific american_ they have commenced making in switzerland phonographic clocks and watches, which pronounce the hour most distinctly.] ] * * * * * the best school of cookery.--the office of a city accountant. * * * * * [illustration: the obstinacy of the parent _emily jane._ "yes, i'm always a-sayin' to father as 'e oughter retire from the crossin', but keep at it 'e will, though it ain't just no more 'n the broom as 'olds 'im up!"] * * * * * the money market the scarcity of money is frightful. as much as a hundred per cent., to be paid in advance, has been asked upon bills; but we have not yet heard of any one having given it. there was an immense run for gold, but no one got any, and the whole of the transactions of the day were done in copper. an influential party created some sensation by coming into the market late in the afternoon, just before the close of business, with half-a-crown; but it was found, on inquiry, to be a bad one. it is expected that if the dearth of money continues another week, buttons must be resorted to. a party, whose transactions are known to be large, succeeded in settling his account with the bulls, by means of postage-stamps; an arrangement of which the bears will probably take advantage. a large capitalist in the course of the day attempted to change the direction things had taken, by throwing an immense quantity of paper into the market; but as no one seemed disposed to have anything to do with it, it blew over. the parties to the dutch loan are much irritated at being asked to take their dividends in butter; but, after the insane attempt to get rid of the spanish arrears by cigars, which, it is well known, ended in smoke, we do not think the dutch project will be proceeded with. * * * * * "letters of credit."--i.o.u. * * * * * capital punishment.--stopping in london in august. * * * * * residence for the clerk of the weather.--"the clearing-house." * * * * * [illustration: a man of letters] [illustration: most assuring.--_brown (who is nervous about sanitary matters, and detects something)._ "hum"--(_sniffs_)--"surely--this system of yours--these pipes now--do they communicate with your main drain?" _hairdresser (with cheery gusto)._ "direct, sir!" [_tableau._ ] * * * * * [illustration: _gilded johnny._ "how long will it take your bally cab to get to victoria?" _cabby._ "oh, just about the same time as an ordinary keb, sir."] * * * * * [illustration: "never too late to mend" _respectable man._ "dear me! i'm sorry to see this, muggles! i heard you'd left off drinking!" _disreputable party._ "sho i 'ave, shir--(_hic_)--jesh 'ish very minute!"] * * * * * [illustration: obvious.--_stingy uncle (to impecunious nephew)._ "pay as you go, my boy!--pay as you go!" _nephew (suggestively)._ "but suppose i haven't any money to pay with, uncle----" _uncle._ "eh?--well, then, don't go, you know--don't go!" [_exit hastily_. ] * * * * * [illustration: _street serio (singing)._ "er--yew will think hov me and love me has in dies hov long ago-o-o!"] * * * * * [illustration: shewerfit & c^o. artists in hair face massage manicure chiropody bloom of cupid for the complexion ] * * * * * [illustration: real gratitude _tramp (to chappie, who has just given him a shilling)._ "i 'ope as 'ow some day, sir, _you_ may want a shillin', an' that i'll be able to give it to yer!"] * * * * * [illustration: _vendor of cheap music._ "'ere y' are, lidy! _'i'll be yer sweet'art.'_ one penny!"] * * * * * correspondence if you please, sir, as a young visitor to the metropolis, and well acquainted with history, i want to ask you-- who is the constable of the tower? what is his number? is he dressed like other constables? can he run anyone in, and make them move on if found loitering on his beat? is his beat all round the tower? is he a special? one of the _force de tour_, empowered to use a _tour de force_? (you see i am well up in french.) i saw a very amiable-looking policeman cracking nuts in the vicinity of the tower. do you think this was the constable in question? yours, rusty cuss in urbe. p.s.--pantheon means a place where all the gods are. i know greek. the pantheon in regent street i find is now a wine merchant's. is england exclusively devoted to bacchus, and is temperance a heresy? * * * * * [illustration: on the ninth. _freddy._ "and do they have a new lord mayor every year, mummie?" _mother._ "yes, dear." _freddy._ "then what do they do with the old lord mayors when they've done with 'em?"] * * * * * [illustration: _clerk._ "lady been here this morning, sir, complaining about some goods we sent her." _employer._ "who was she?" _clerk._ "i quite forgot to ask her name, sir, but she's a little woman--_with a full-sized tongue_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little boldwig_ (_he had been dining with his company, and had let himself in with his latchkey--to gigantic stranger he finds in his hall_). "come on. i'll fight you!" (_furiously._) "put your shtick down!!" [_but his imaginary foe was only the new umbrella-stand_--_a present from mrs. b.!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: making the most of it] a shocking thing to think of!--a galvanic battery. * * * * * "cash advances."--courting a rich widow. * * * * * motto for hairdressers.--"cut and comb again." * * * * * correct motto for the easy shaver.--nothing like lather. * * * * * [illustration: advertisement inadvertencies _perpetrated by dumb-crambo, junior_] [illustration: "suitable opening for a pupil"] [illustration: "pushing man to take orders"] [illustration: "no reasonable offer refused"] [illustration: "mother's help wanted"] [illustration: "a good plate cleaner"] [illustration: "goods carefully removed (in town or country)"] * * * * * the best possession.--self-possession. * * * * * two synonymous trades.--a hairdresser; a locksmith. * * * * * the best substitute for coal.--warm weather. * * * * * [illustration: passing amenities.--_growler._ "hi! hi! carn't yer look out wher' yer a-comin'?" _omnibus._ "garn! shut up, jack-in-the-box!"] * * * * * [illustration: "i wonder when that a. b. c. girl is going to serve us? i've called her half-a-dozen times." "perhaps she's d. e. f."] * * * * * town improvement.--there is, we hear, a winter garden to be opened at somer's town. * * * * * the dummy-monde.--madame tussaud's wax-work. * * * * * [illustration: so inviting!] * * * * * [illustration: _passenger_ (_rising politely_). "excuse me, mum, but do you believe in woman's rights?" _new woman._ "most certainly i do." _passenger_ (_resuming seat_). "oh well, then stand up for 'em!"] * * * * * desperate resolves of the last man left in town to visit the national gallery (for the first time), as an englishman should really know something about the art treasures of his native country. to spend an hour at the tower (also for the first time), because there you will be able to brighten up your historical recollections which have become rather rusty since you took your b.a. degree just fifteen years ago. to enter st. paul's cathedral with a view to thinking out a really good plan of decoration for the benefit of those who read letters addressed to the editor of the _times_. to take a ride in an omnibus from piccadilly to brompton to see what the interior of the vehicle in question is like, and therein to study the manners and customs of the english middle classes. to walk in rotten row between the hours of twelve (noon) and two (p.m.) to see how the place looks without any people in it. to have your photograph taken in your militia uniform, as now there is no one in town to watch you getting out of a cab in full war paint. to stroll into mudie's library to get all the new novels, because after reading them you may suddenly find yourself inspired to write a critique that will make your name (when the article has been accepted and published) as a most accomplished reviewer. to read all the newspapers and magazines at the hairdresser's while your head is being shampooed (for the fourth time), as now is the time for improving your mind (occupied with so many other things during the season) with popular current literature. to walk to your club (closed for repairs, &c.) to see how the workmen are progressing with the stone scraping of the exterior, as you feel yourself responsible to hundreds of your fellow-creatures as a member of the house committee. to write a long letter to your friend brown, of the st foot, now in india with his regiment, to tell him how nothing is going on anywhere, because you have not written to him since he said "good-bye" to you at southampton. to go home to bed at nine o'clock, as early hours are good for the health, and because there is really nothing else to do. and last, but not least, to leave london for the country by the very first train to-morrow morning! * * * * * much ado about nothing in the city sigh no more dealers, sigh no more, shares were unstable ever, they often have been down before, at high rates constant never. then sigh not so, soon up they'll go, and you'll be blithe and funny, converting all your notes of woe into hey, money, money. write no more letters, write no mo on stocks so dull and heavy. at times on 'change 'tis always so, when bears a tribute levy. then sigh not so, and don't be low, in sunshine you'll make honey, converting all your notes of woe, into hey, money, money. * * * * * "the deserted village."--london in september. * * * * * the clockmaker's paradise.--seven dials. * * * * * [illustration: studies in evolution.--alderman brownjones senior explains to his son, alderman brownjones junior, that there is a lamentable falling-off since _his_ day, in the breed of aldermen-sheriffs--not only in style and bearing, but even in "happetite"!] * * * * * [illustration: _gent_ (_rushing out of club in a terrific hurry_). "i say, cabby, drive as fast as you can to waterloo--leatherhead!" _cabby._ "'ere, i say, not so much of your _leather'ed_, if you please!" [_goes off grumbling._ ] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. snobson_ (_who is doing a little slumming for the first time and wishes to appear affable, but is at a loss to know how to commence conversation_). "town very empty!"] * * * * * new edition of walker the baker rolls. the butcher shambles. the banker balances himself well. the cook has a mincing gait. the livery-stable keeper has a "_musing_ gait." the excursionist trips along. the fishmonger flounders on. the poulterer waddles like a duck. the gardener does not allow the grass to grow under his feet. the grocer treads gingerly. the indiarubber manufacturer has an elastic step. the rogue shuffles, and the doctor's pace is killing. * * * * * shopkeeper's science.--buyology. * * * * * people talk about making a clean sweep. can they make a sweep clean? * * * * * beneath one's notice.--advertisements on the pavement. * * * * * [illustration: "the absent-minded beggar" (_with apologies to mr. kipling_)] * * * * * [illustration: _talkative old lady_ (_drinking a glass of milk, to enthusiastic teetotaler, who is doing ditto_). "yes, sir, since they're begun poisoning the beer, we _must_ drink _something_, mustn't we?"] * * * * * [illustration: _small boy_ (_who is somewhat cramped for room_). "are you still there, billy? i thought you wos lost."] * * * * * [illustration: _irate old gentleman._ "here, i say, your beast of a dog has bitten a piece out of my leg!" _dog's owner._ "oh, bother! and i wanted to bring him up a vegetarian!"] * * * * * [illustration: "'ad any breakfus' 's mornin'?" "not a drop!"] * * * * * the infant's guide to knowledge concerning cash _question._ what is cash? _answer._ cash may be described as comfort in the concrete. _q._ is it not sometimes called "the root of all evil"? _a._ yes, by those who do not possess it. _q._ is it possible to live without cash? _a._ certainly--upon credit. _q._ can you tell me what is credit? _a._ credit is the motive power which induces persons who have cash, to part with some of it to those who have it not. _q._ can you give me an instance of credit? _a._ certainly. a young man who is able to live at the rate of a thousand a-year, with an income not exceeding nothing a month, is a case of credit. _q._ would it be right to describe such a transaction as "much to his credit"? _a._ it would be more precise to say, "much by his credit"; although the former phrase would be accepted by a large class of the community as absolutely accurate. _q._ what is bimetallism? _a._ bimetallism is a subject that is frequently discussed by amateur financiers, after a good dinner, on the near approach of the coffee. _q._ can you give me your impression of the theory of bimetallism? _a._ my impression of bimetallism is the advisability of obtaining silver, if you cannot get gold. _q._ what is the best way of securing gold? _a._ the safest way is to borrow it. _q._ can money be obtained in any other way? _a._ in the olden time it was gathered on hounslow heath and other deserted spots, by mounted horsemen wearing masks and carrying pistols. _q._ what is the modern way of securing funds, on the same principles, but with smaller risk? _a._ by promoting companies and other expedients known to the members of the stock exchange. * * * * * a good figure-head.--an arithmetician's. * * * * * [illustration: an empty embrace.--"'ere y'are! humberella rings, two a penny!"] * * * * * [illustration: _conductor_ (_on "elephant and castle" route_). "fares, please!" _fare._ "two elephants!"] * * * * * [illustration: one of "life's little ironies"] * * * * * [illustration: overheard outside a famous restaurant "hullo, gus! what are you waiting about here for?" "i'm waiting till the banks close. i want to cash a cheque!"] * * * * * "unsatisfactory commercial relations."--our "uncles." * * * * * country shareholders.--ploughmen. * * * * * [illustration: _working man, sitting on the steps of a big house in, say, russell square, smoking pipe. a mate passes by with plumbing tools, &c._ _man with tools._ "hullo, jim! wot are yer doin' 'ere? caretakin'?" _man on steps._ "no. i'm the howner, 'ere." _man with tools._ "'ow's that?" _man on steps._ "why, i did a bit o' plumbing in the 'ouse, an' i took the place in part payment for the job."] * * * * * [illustration: the glorious fifth _benevolent lady_ (_fond of the good old customs_). "here, my boy, is something for your guy." _conscientious youth._ "we ain't got no guy, mum; this 'ere's grandfather!"] * * * * * a "young shaver."--a barber's baby. * * * * * joint account.--a butcher's bill. * * * * * [illustration: after "the slump" in the city.--_weak speculator in south african market_ (_about to pay the barber who has been shaving him_). "a shilling! eh? why, your charge used to be only sixpence." _city barber._ "yes, sir; _but you've got such a long face_, we're obliged to increase the price!"] * * * * * [illustration: "i don't arst yer fer money. i don't _want_ money. wot i wants is bread. _'ave_ yer got such a thing as a bit o' bread about yer, me lord?"] * * * * * the promoter's vade mecum (_subject to revision after the vacation_) _question._ what is meant by the promotion of a company? _answer._ the process of separating capital from its possessor. _q._ how is this end accomplished? _a._ by the preparation and publication of a prospectus. _q._ of what does a prospectus consist? _a._ a front page and a statement of facts. _q._ define a front page. _a._ the bait covering the hook, the lane leading to the pitfall, the lath concealing the quagmire--occasionally. _q._ of what is a front page composed? _a._ titles, and other suggestions of respectability. _q._ how are these suggestions obtained? _a._ in the customary fashion. _q._ can a banking account be put to any particular service in the promotion of a company? _a._ certainly; it eases the wheels in all directions. _q._ can it obtain the good-will of the press? _a._ only of questionable and usually short-lived periodicals. _q._ but the destination of the cash scarcely affects the promoter? _a._ no; for he loses in any case. _q._ how much of his profits does he sometimes have to disgorge? _a._ according to circumstances, from three-fifths to nineteen-twentieths of his easily-secured takings. _q._ and what does promotion do for the promoter? _a._ it usually bestows upon him temporary prosperity. _q._ why do you say "temporary"? _a._ because a pleasant present is frequently followed by a disastrous future. _q._ you mean, then, that this prosperity is like the companies promoted, "limited"? _a._ yes, by the court of bankruptcy. * * * * * [illustration: "on 'change" _brown._ "mornin'. fresh mornin', ain't it?" _smith._ "'course it is. every morning's a fresh morning! by-bye!" [_brown's temper all day is quite unbearable._ ] * * * * * [illustration: _sympathetic passer-by._ "but if he's badly hurt, why doesn't he go to the hospital?" _british workman._ "wot! in 'is dinner-time!!"] * * * * * advertisement perversions (_by dumb-crambo, junior_) [illustration: washing wanted] [illustration: vacancy for one pupil] [illustration: improver wanted in the dressmaking] [illustration: left-off clothing] [illustration: branch establishment] [illustration: engagement wanted, as housekeeper. highly recommended] [illustration: board and residence] [illustration: unfurnished flat] [illustration: smart youth wanted] [illustration: mangling done on the shortest notice] * * * * * river styx.--"the thousand masts of thames." * * * * * the man we should like to send to a sÃ�ance.--the man who knows how to hit the happy medium. * * * * * appropriate _locale_ for the dairy show.--chalk farm. * * * * * a tidy drop.--a glass of spirits, _neat_. * * * * * [illustration: lord mayor's show as it ought to be _designed by mr. punch's special processionist_] * * * * * [illustration: another suggestion for the lord mayor's show as it ought to be] * * * * * [illustration: "'nuts for the monkeys, sir? buy a bag o' nuts for the monkeys!" "i'm not going to the zoo." "ah, well, sir, have some to take home to the children!"] * * * * * [illustration: hyde park, may _country cousin._ "what is the meaning of this, policeman?" _constable._ "labour day, miss."] * * * * * [illustration: _boy_ (_to cabby with somewhat shadowy horse_). "look 'ere, guv'nor, you'd better tie a knot in 'is tail afore 'e gets wet, or 'e might slip through 'is collar!"] * * * * * [illustration: _indignant cabby._ "shockin' bad 'orse, 'ave i? and wot's this hextra tuppence for?--to buy a new 'un with, eh?"] * * * * * quiddities.--_for the old ladies._ a tea-party without scandal is like a knife without a handle. words without deeds are like the husks without the seeds. features without grace are like a clock without a face. a land without the laws is like a cat without her claws. life without cheer is like a cellar without beer. a master without a cane is like a rider without the rein. marriage without means is like a horse without his beans. a man without a wife is like a fork without a knife. a quarrel without fighting is like thunder without lightning. * * * * * motto for a self-made and successful money-lender.--"a loan i did it!" * * * * * improper expression.--let it never be said, that when a man jumps for joy, "his delight knows no _bounds_." * * * * * the opposite to a tea-fight--a coffee-mill. * * * * * [illustration: the tip-cat season has now commenced _street urchin._ "now then, old 'un----fore!"] * * * * * [illustration: _crossing-sweeper_ (_to brown, whose greatest pride is his new brougham, diminutive driver, &c._). "'igh! stop! you've lost somethin'--the coachman!"] * * * * * [illustration: _irate bus driver._ "you wouldn't do that for me, would yer?"] * * * * * [illustration: at the stores. buy--our tapestry artist] * * * * * cattle-show week (_by dumb-crambo, junior_) [illustration: scotch polled] [illustration: best wether] [illustration: class for roots] [illustration: steers] [illustration: best butter] [illustration: cross bred] * * * * * the linen trade.--there have been a few transactions in rags at threepence a pound, and an extensive bone-grubber caused considerable excitement by bringing a quantity of waste-paper into the market which turned the scale in his own favour. * * * * * motto for a mourning warehouse.--die and let live. * * * * * out of place.--a vegetarian at the cattle show. * * * * * a financial authority badly wanted.--the man who can say "bogus" to the investing goose. * * * * * the vegetable market.--asparagus is looking up, and radishes are taking a downward direction. peas were almost nothing at the opening; and new potatoes were buoyant in the basket, but turned out rather heavy at the settling. a rush of bulls through the market had a dreadful effect upon apple-stalls and other minor securities; but all the established houses stood their ground, though the run occasioned a panic among some of the proprietors. * * * * * [illustration: the quarterly accounts.--_clerk._ "sorry to say, sir, there's a saddle we can't account for. can't find out who it was sent to." _employer._ "charge it on all the bills."] * * * * * a love song of the money-market i will not ask thee to be mine, because i love thee far too well; ah! what i feel, who thus resign all hope in life, no words can tell. only the dictate i obey of deep affection's strong excess, when, dearest, in despair, i say farewell to thee and happiness. thy face, so tranquil and serene, to see bedimmed i could not bear, pinched with hard thrift's expression mean, disfigured with the lines of care, i could not brook the day to see when thou would'st not, as thou hast now, have all those things surrounding thee that light the eye and smooth the brow. thou wilt smile calmly at my fear that want would e'er approach our door; i know it must to thee appear a melancholy dream: no more. wilt thou not be with riches blest? is not my fortune ample too? must i not, therefore, be possessed, to feel that dread, of devils blue? alas! my wealth, that should maintain, my bride in glory and in joy, is built on a foundation vain, which soon a tempest will destroy. yes, yes, an interest high, i know my capital at present bears; but in a moment it may go: it is invested all in shares. the company is doomed to fall, spreading around disaster dire, i hear that the directors all are rogues--the greatest rogue thy sire! go--seek a happier, wiser mate, who had the wit to be content with the returns of his estate, and with consols at three per cent! * * * * * the feast of all fools.--more than is good for them. * * * * * the "lap" of luxury.--genuine milk in london. * * * * * dish for diddled shareholders.--bubble and squeak. * * * * * science gossip.--"a city clerk and a naturalist" asks whether there is not a bird called the _ditto ditto_. is he not thinking of our old acquaintance, the do-do? * * * * * how to make money.--get a situation in the mint.--_economist._ * * * * * strange coin.--forty _odd_ pounds! * * * * * [illustration: the momentous question.--_paterfamilias (who is just beginning to feel himself at home in his delightfully new suburban residence) interrupts the wife of his bosom._ "'seaside!' 'change of air!!' 'out of town!!!' what nonsense, anna maria! why, good gracious me! what on earth can you want to be going '_out of town_' for, when you've got such a garden as _this_!"] * * * * * [illustration: suggestive _dissipated ballad howler._ "sweet spirit, 'ear my prayer!"] * * * * * a corrector of the press.--a policeman at a crowded crossing. * * * * * never on its legs.--the most constant faller in the metropolis: the strand, because it is always being picked up. * * * * * the markets.--there was a good deal of liveliness in hops, and a party of strangers, who seemed to act together, took off the contents of all the _pockets_ they could lay hold of. there was little doing in corn, and what barley came in was converted into barley-water for a large consumer. peas were distributed freely in small samples through the market, by means of tin tubes; and as usual there was a good deal of roguery in grain, which it was found necessary to guard against. * * * * * the fortnightly review.--the account day on the stock exchange. * * * * * a regular make-shift.--the sewing machine. * * * * * city intelligence.--we read, in a great aldermanic authority, that "a dinner is on the _tapis_." the _tapis_ alluded to is, of course, gob'lin? * * * * * [illustration: the result of careless bill-posting] * * * * * [illustration: a sketch near piccadilly] * * * * * [illustration: madame chrysanthÃ�me (_with apologies to "pierre loti."_)] * * * * * a satisfactory explanation.--_mrs. griddleton._ what are those square things, coachman, you put over the poor horse's eyes? _driver._ blinkers, ma'am. _mrs. g._ why do you put them on, coachman? _driver._ to prevent the 'orse from blinking, ma'am. [_inquiry closed._ * * * * * inscription for street letter-boxes.--"from pillar to post." * * * * * how the truth leaks out! scene--_hyde park. time: five o'clock._ _friend._ any news? anything in the papers? _government clerk._ can't say. haven't been to the office to-day, my boy. * * * * * why should a chimney-sweeper be a good whist player? because he's always following soot. * * * * * business.--_inquirer_ (_drawing up prospectus_). shall i write "company" with a big c? _honest broker._ certainly, if it's a sound one, as it represents "company" with a capital. * * * * * [illustration: "shave, or hair cut, sir?" "_corns_, you fool!"] * * * * * [illustration: not for joseph!] * * * * * [illustration: proof positive _old lady._ "do they sell good 'sperrits' at this 'ouse, mister?" '_spectable-looking man_ (_but_--). "mos' d'schid'ly, look't (hic) me, mad'm--for shev'n p'nsh a'penny!!"] * * * * * the sinking fund.--the royal humane society's income. * * * * * shrewd suggestion.--it often happens, when the husband fails to be home to dinner, that it is one of his _fast_ days. * * * * * the school of adversity.--a ragged school. * * * * * never waste your time.--waste somebody else's. * * * * * men of _the_ time.--chronometer makers. * * * * * a man in advance of his time.--one who has been knocked into the middle of next week. * * * * * the deaf man's paradise.--the audit office. * * * * * site for a ragged school.--tattersall's. * * * * * stuff and nonsense.--a city banquet, and the speeches after it. * * * * * [illustration: zoology "that's a porkypine, sarah." "no, it ain't, bill. it's a orstridge!"] * * * * * the fish market.--flounders were of course flat, but to the surprise of everyone they showed an inclination to come round towards the afternoon, and there were one or two transactions in whelks, but they were all of a comparatively insignificant character. lobsters' claws were lazy at the opening, but closed heavily; and those who had a hand in them would gladly have been released if such a course had been possible. * * * * * "the best policy."--that with the largest bonus. * * * * * false quantity.--short measure. * * * * * [illustration: an unusual flow of spirits] * * * * * consolation stakes.--those you get at a city tavern the day after you have tried to eat the article at home. * * * * * [illustration: a horrible business.--_master butcher._ "did you take old major dumbledore's ribs to no. ?" _boy._ "yes, sir." _master butcher._ "then, cut miss wiggles's shoulder and neck, and hang mr. foodle's legs until they're quite tender!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little girl_ (_to newsvendor, from whom she has just purchased the latest war special_). "'ere's your _paper_! father says, if you don't mind 'e 'd rather 'ave the bill, 'cos there's more news in it."] * * * * * [illustration: _old lady_ (_from the country_). "well, i never! and to think burglary should have become a regular respectable trade!"] * * * * * a speculator's apology.--you can't make the pot boil without bubbles. * * * * * table-turning.--looking for a train in _bradshaw_. * * * * * [illustration: arms for the proposed new west-end stock exchange (_to be placed over the principal entrance._) on a chevron _vert_, a pigeon plucked _proper_, between three rooks peckant, clawed and beaked _gules_. crest: a head semitic grimnant, winkant, above two pipes laid saltier-wise, _argent_, environed with a halo of bubbles _or_. supporters: a bull and bear rampant _sable_, dented, hoofed and clawed _gules_. motto: "let us prey."] * * * * * [illustration: a sensitive plant.--"what, back in town already, old chappie?" "yes, old chappie. couldn't stand the country any longer. cuckoo gave me the headache!"] * * * * * commercial news policeman o, no. i, has got such an accumulation of corn in bond, under a tight boot, that it is expected he will be allowed the benefit of nominal or fixed duty. he is one of the most extensive growers of corn in the kingdom, and always has on foot a prodigious quantity, which, when he is in competition with those who try to take advantage of his position, must naturally prevent him from striking the average. onions were dull at fourpence a rope, and wild ducks were heavy, with sand inside, at three and sixpence a couple. a considerable deal of business was done in flat-irons on new year's day, and there was a trifling advance upon them everywhere. the dividends on pawnbrokers' stock were payable last week, but the defaulters were very numerous. a highly respectable party in the city, in order to provide for interest coming due, is understood to have funded the greater part of his summer wardrobe. long fours, in the candle-market, were dull, but the ten and a half reduced rushlights brightened up towards the close of the day surprisingly. * * * * * persons who would benefit by cremation.--charwomen. * * * * * forced politeness.--bowing to circumstances. * * * * * a name of ill omen.--persons who are subject to fits of toothache, and do not wish to be reminded of their distressing malady, should avoid going down long acre. * * * * * pawnbrokers' "duplicates."--their twins. * * * * * hagiology on 'change.--_the brokers' patron_--st. simon stock. * * * * * motto for a tailor who makes coats of the best enduring cloth.--_fuimus, i.e., we wear._ * * * * * the licensing system.--the big brewer is a vulture, and the unpaid magistrate instrumental to his rapacity is that vulture's beak. * * * * * the best note paper.--bank of england. * * * * * [illustration: christmas comes but once a year _cabby_ (_to gent who has been dining out_). "'ere y'are, sir. this is your 'ouse--get out--be careful, sir--'ere's the step?" _gent._ "yesh. thash allri, but wersh my _feet?_"] * * * * * [illustration: _employer_ (_who simply_ won't _take any excuse for unpunctuality_). "you are very late, mr. jones. go back at once, and come at the proper time!"] * * * * * [illustration: _hairdresser._ "hair begins to get very thin, sir." _customer._ "yes." _hairdresser._ "have you tried our tonic lotion?" _customer._ "yes. that didn't do it though."] * * * * * [illustration: "i 'ear that tholomon arons 'as 'ad 'is shop burnt out!" "well, 'e 'th a very good feller, aronth ith. 'e detherves it!"] * * * * * [illustration: how the poor live the rev. mr. smirk has brought an american millionaire friend to see for himself the distressed state of the poor of his parish. [_he'll give them a little notice next time._ ] * * * * * [illustration: _first workman._ "wot's it say, bill, on that old sun-dial?" _second workman_ (_reading deliberately_). "it says, 'do--to--day's-work--to--day.'" _first w._ "'_do two days' work to-day!_' wot o! not me!"] * * * * * [illustration: social evolution.--_tramp_ (_to benevolent but inquisitive lady_).--"well, you see, mum, it were like this. i were a 'addick smoker by profession; then i got ill, and 'ad to go to the 'orspital; then i sold cats meat; but some'ow or other i got into _low water_!"] * * * * * [illustration: _miss smith._ "we've just come from tannhauser, doctor." _the doctor_ (_very deaf_). "indeed! i hope you had better weather than we've been having!"] * * * * * [illustration: familiar phrase explained. _robinson._ "well, old chap, how did you sleep last night?" _smith_ (_who had dined out_). "'like a top.' as soon as my head touched the pillow, it went round and round!"] * * * * * [illustration: _cab tout._ "i say, bill, lend me sixpence." _cabby._ "i can't; but i can lend you fourpence." _cab tout._ "all right. then you'l owe me twopence."] * * * * * [illustration: _barber._ "your 'air's getting very thin on the top, sir. i should recommend our wash." _customer._ "may i ask if that invigorating liquid is what _you_ have been in the habit of using?" [_dead silence._ ] * * * * * [illustration: foggy weather.--"has mr. smith been here?" "yes; he was here about an hour ago." "was i with him?"] * * * * * highly probable.--we understand that in consequence of the high price of meat, the beef-eaters at the tower have all turned vegetarians. * * * * * what millionaires smoke.--golden returns. * * * * * the universal watchword.--tick! * * * * * [illustration] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers london and tonbridge. george cruikshank's omnibus. [illustration: preface. "de omnibus rebus et quirusdan aliis."] published by tilt & bogue, , fleet street george cruikshank's omnibus. illustrated with one hundred engravings on steel and wood. "de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis." edited by laman blanchard, esq. london: tilt and bogue, fleet street. mdcccxlii. london: bradbury and evans, printers, whitefriars. contents. page "our preface" described. my portrait my last pair of hessian boots epigram love seeking a lodging frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago, , , , , , , , , . monument to napoleon photographic phenomena; or, the new school of portrait painting commentary on the new police act--punch _v._ law original poetry, by the late sir fretful plagiary, knt. "ode to the human heart," "on life et cetera," &c. love has legs bernard cavanagh, the irish cameleon the ass on the ladder omnibus chat scene near hogsnorton chancery lane enigma ib. sonnets to macready large order to a hom[oe]opathic apothecary, &c. "my vote and interest." a communication from mr. simpleton schemer, of doltford lodge, crooksley the census love's masquerading the livery--out of london omnibus chat legend of van diemen's land the girl and the philosopher the grave of the suicide (who thought better of it). ib. a rigid sense of duty frights a peep into a leg-of-beef shop a few notes on unpaid letters first discovery of van demon's land the muffin man a tiger hunt in england omnibus chat ingenious rogueries the sister sciences of botany and horticulture photogenic pictures, no. ii. a negro boy in the west indies ib. legend of the kilkenny cats mademoiselle rachel frights!--no. ii. a short cruise at margate epigrams passionate people our new cooks a song of contradictions a warm reception tea-table tattle omnibus chat the fashions ib. playbills and playgoing ib. a romance of the orchestra one of the curiosities of literature an incident of travel here's a bit of fat for you heiress presumptive ib. letter from mrs. toddles frights!--no. iii. haunted houses, &c. little spitz; by michael angelo titmarsh last night of vauxhall; by laman blanchard a tale of the times of old an anacreontic fable ib. how to raise the wind; by captain marryatt, r.n. peep at bartholomew fair; by alpha omnibus chat association of ideas ib. boys at school the laceman's lament ib. the height of impudence mrs. t. again the artificial floor for skating duns demonstrated; by edward howard, author of "rattlin the reefer" the second sleeper awakened. translated by ali just going out; by laman blanchard a theatrical curiosity sliding scales sketches here, there, and everywhere; by a. bird. a stage-coach race another curiosity of literature a horrible passage in my early life two of a trade omnibus chat the two naval heroes ib. tar and feathers an acatalectic monody third meeting of the bright-ish association for the advancement of everything ib. rum corks in stout bottles a highway adventure bearded like the pard ib. some account of the life and times of mrs. sarah toddles; by sam sly the fire at the tower of london miss adelaide kemble jack gay, abroad and at home; by laman blanchard the king of brentford's testament; by michael angelo titmarsh the fire king flue a passage in the life of mr. john leakey omnibus chat the clerk, a parody ib. the british association playing on the piano november weather mrs. toddles ib. jack-o'lantern christmas. by sam sly a snap-dragon. by charles hookey walker, esq. sonnet to "some one" ib. the hom[oe]opathist's serenade. by dr. bulgardo ib. what do you do that for? lines by a y--g l--y of f--sh--on the frolics of time. a striking adventure. by laman blanchard, esq. a peep (poetic) at the age. by a. bird a still-life sketch a tale of an inn "such a duck!" the postilion "the horse by the head" a floating recollection the pauper's chaunt sketches here, there, and everywhere mrs. toddles sonnet to mrs. toddles postscript list of etchings on steel. "de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis." page preface _to face title_ portrait of george cruikshank frank heartwell, or fifty years ago. commentary upon the new police act, no. i. commentary upon the new police act, no ii. frank heartwell's first interview with brady "rush to poll"--an election squib frank heartwell and sambo, in the hold of the tender frights, no. i.--"flying beadles" frank heartwell, ben, and sambo, amusing the natives portrait of rachel in the character of marie stuart frights, no. ii.--"thieves."--"the strange cat" richard brothers, the prophet, at mrs. heartwell's frights, no. iii.--"ghosts" frank heartwell discovering treasure a skating party frank heartwell preparing to swim to the wreck breaking into "the jewel room" at the tower portrait of miss adelaide kemble frank heartwell seizing brady jack o'lantern frank heartwell list of wood-cuts. page . the peep-show _preface_ . bust of shakspeare with pipe . g. c. in a drawing-room . g. c. and a cabman . a pair of bellows . my last pair of hessians . a pair of shoes . love seeking a lodging . monument to napoleon . photographic painting . the sun painting all the world and his wife . love has legs . the ass climbing the ladder . the ass on the ladder . the boy on the ladder . ditto . a large order . love masquerading . foot-boy and bread . footman and pups . coachman and dumplings . a rigid sense of duty . mrs. toddles . leg-of-beef shop . the flying dutchman . kangaroo dance . kangaroo and fiddler . the muffin-man . the strange cat . the round hat and the cocked hat . sailor chasing napoleon . a passionate man . t tree . emperor of china cutting off his own nose . chinese cavalry . tea-pot . the fashions . the boy's revenge . the living pincushion . mrs. toddles . materials for making a ghost . the ghost . the bell-pull and the pigtail . little spitz . last night of vauxhall--the balloon . simpson à la shakspeare . cupid with an umbrella . love breaking hearts . height of impudence . mrs. toddles at margate . ditto . the dun . the second sleeper . sliding scale . mile-stones--on the rail-road . butcher's boy . tar and feathers . corks . turnpikeman and the elephant . three figures of fashion . plan of the tower of london . bowyer tower . camperdown anchor . lady jane's room . the fire-king flue . grenadiers playing on the piano . fireman playing on a piano . colonel walker (or talker) . mrs. toddles in a fit . such a duck . the horse by the head . sheer tyranny . sheer kindness . pope's guard . building an angel . mrs. toddles in the dickey . mrs. t. and the colonel dancing . as broad as it's long [illustration] our preface. we have been entreated by a great many juvenile friends to "tell 'em all about our engraved preface in no. i.;" and entreaties from tender juveniles we never could resist. so, for their sakes, we enter into a little explanation concerning the great matters crowded into "our preface." all children of a larger growth are, therefore, warned to skip this page if they please--it is not for them, who are, of course, familiar with the ways of the world--but only for the little dears who require a guide to the great globe they are just beginning to inhabit. showman.--"now then, my little masters and missis, run home to your mammas, and cry till they give you all a shilling apiece, and then bring it to me, and i'll show you all the pretty pictures." so now, my little masters and misses, have you each got your no. ready? always take care of that. now then, please to look at the top of the circular picture which represents the world, and there you behold her majesty queen victoria on her throne, holding a court, with prince albert, in his field-marshal's uniform, by her side, and surrounded by ladies, nobles, and officers of state. a little to the right are the heads of the universities, about to present an address. above the throne you behold the noble dome of st. paul's, on each side of which may be seen the tall masts of the british navy. cast your eyes, my pretty dears, below the throne, and there you behold mr. and mrs. john bull, and three little bulls, with their little bull-dog; one little master is riding his papa's walking-stick, while his elder brother is flying his kite--a pastime to which a great many bulls are much attached. miss bull is content to be a little lady with a leetle parasol, like her mamma. to the right of the kite you behold an armed man on horseback, one of those curious figures which, composed of goldbeater's skin, used to be sent up some years ago to astonish the natives; only they frightened 'em into fits, and are not now sent up, in consequence of being put down. and now you see "the world goes round." turn your eyes a little to the right to the baloon and parachute, and then look down under the smoke of a steamer, and you behold a little sweep flourishing his brush on the chimney-top, and wishing perhaps that he was down below there with jack-in-the-green. now then, a little more to the right--where you see a merry dancing-group of our light-heeled and light-hearted neighbours, the leader of the party playing the fiddle and dancing on stilts, while one of his countrymen is flying his favourite national kite--viz., the soldier. in the same vicinity, are groups of german gentlemen, some waltzing, and some smoking meerschaums; near these are foot-soldiers and lancers supporting the kite-flyer. now, near the horse, my little dears, you will see the mule, together with the spanish muleteers, who, if not too tired, would like to take part in that fandango performed to the music of the light guitar. look a little to the left, and you behold a quadrille-party, where a gentleman in black is pastorale-ing all the chalk off the floor; and now turn your eyes just above these, and you behold a joyful party of convivialists, with bottles in the ice-pail and bumpers raised, most likely to the health of our gracious queen, or in honour of the great captain of the age. and now, my little dears, turn your eyes in a straight line to the right, and you will perceive st. peter's at rome, beneath which are two young cardinals playing at leap-frog, not at all frightened at the grand eruption of mount vesuvius which is going on in the distance. from this you must take a leap on to the camel's back, from which you will obtain a view of the party sitting just below, which consists of the grand sultan smoking desperately against ali pacha. now, look a little lower down, and you will see a famous crocodile-catcher of the nile, said to bear a striking resemblance to commodore napier; and now, look upwards again to the farthest verge, and you behold the great pyramid, and a wild horseman chasing an ostrich not so wild as himself. now, the world goes round a little more, and you see some vast mountains, together with the temples of hindostan; and upon the palm-tree you will find the monkeys pulling one another's tails, being very uneducated and having nothing else to do: here, also, you will discern the indian jugglers, one throwing the balls, and another swallowing the sword, a very common thing in these parts. and now, my little dears, you can plainly see several very independent gentlemen and loyal subjects standing on their heads in presence of the emperor of ever so many worlds, and the brother of the sun and moon; and behind these, hiding the wall of china, you will see a quantity of steam, (for they are in hot water there,) that issues from the tea-kettles. leaving his celestial majesty smoking his opium, and passing the junks, temples, and pagodas, you see a chinese joss upon his pedestal; and now you can descend and join that pretty little tea-party, where you will recognise some of your old acquaintances on tea-cups; only, if you are afraid of the lion which you see a long way off, you can turn to the left, and follow the tiger that is following the elephant like mad: and now, my little dears, you can jump for safety into that palanquin carried by the sable gentry, or perhaps you would join the party of persians seated a little lower, only they have but one dish and no plates to eat out of. just above this dinner-party you behold some live venison, or a little antelope eating his grass for dinner while a boa-constrictor is creeping up with the intention of dining upon him; so you had better make your way to that giraffe, who is feeding upon the tops of trees, which habit is supposed to have occasioned the peculiar shape of that remarkable quadruped; and now you fall again in the way of that ramping lion, from whose jaws a black is retreating only to encounter a black brother more savage than the wild beast. and now, if your eye follows that gang of slaves, chained neck to neck, who are being driven off to another part of the world, you will see what treatment they are doomed to experience there, in the flogging which is being administered to one of their colour--that is to say, black as the vapour issuing from that mountain in the distance; it is chimborao, or cotapaxi, i can't say exactly which, but it shall be whichever you please, my pretty little dears. in the smoke of it an eagle is carrying off a lamb--do you see?--stop, let me wipe the glasses!--ah, yes, and now you can clearly behold a gentleman of the united states smoking his cigar in his rocking-chair. a little behind is another gentleman driving his sleigh, and in front you won't fail to see an astonishing personage, who has just caught a cayman, or american crocodile, which he is balancing on his walking-stick, on purpose to amuse little boys and girls like you. at his side is the celebrated runaway nigger represented by mr. mathews, who says, "me no likee confounded workee; me likee to sit in a sun, and play fiddle all day." over his head is a steam-vessel, and at his feet an indian canoe; towards it a volume of smoke is ascending from a fire, round which some savages are dancing with feeling too horrible to think of. so instead of stopping to dinner here, my little masters and misses, you would much rather, i dare say, take pot-luck with that group of gipsies above, who are going to regale upon a pair of boiled fowls, which i hope they came honestly by. talking of honesty, we start upwards to the race-course; and now goes the world round again, until you get sight of a gentleman with a stick in his hand, who has evidently a great stake in the race, and who is so rejoiced at having won, that he is unconscious of what he is all the while losing in the abstraction of his pocket-book. and now we are in the midst of the fair, where we see the best booth, and merry doings in the shape of a boxing-match; but as "music has charms," turn your eyes and your ears too some little distance downwards in the direction of the organ player and the tambourine, where you will find some jovial drinkers, not far from the harp and violin of the quadrille-party. i hope their music won't be drowned by the noise of that indian, to the left, beating the tom-tom, while the nautch-girls are dancing as if they couldn't help it, all to amuse the mighty emperor of all the smokers and prince of tobacco, who is seated, hookah in hand, in the centre of the globe--where we must leave him to his enjoyment, tracing our way back to the jovial drinking-party, where you will see jack capering ashore, and getting on perhaps a little too fast, while the donkey-boy above him can't get on at all, and the fox-hunter, still higher up, seems to be in danger of getting off--especially if his horse should happen to be startled by his brother-sportsman's gun behind him. and now, my little dears, the gun has brought us round again to the royal guards, where the band is playing, in glorious style, god save the queen! and thus ends, where it began, my history of the world! [illustration: george cruikshank] george cruikshank's omnibus. "my portrait." i respectfully beg leave to assure all to whom "my portrait" shall come, that i am not now moved to its publication, for the first time, by any one of the ten thousand considerations that ordinarily influence modest men in presenting their "counterfeit presentments" to the public gaze. mine would possibly never have appeared at all, but for the opportunity thus afforded me of clearing up any mistakes that may have been originated by a pen-and-ink sketch which recently appeared in a publication entitled "portraits of public characters." the writer of that sketch was evidently animated by a spirit of kindness, and to kindness i am always sensitively alive; but he has been misinformed--he has represented me "as i am not," instead of "as i am;" and although it is by no means necessary that i should offer "some account of myself" in print, it is desirable that i should, without fatiguing anybody, correct some half-dozen of the errors into which my biographer has fallen. a few words of extract, and a few more of comment, and my object, as the moralist declares when he seeks to lure back _one_ sinner to the paths of virtue, will be fully attained. the sketch, which professes to be "my portrait," opens thus:-- ( .) "i believe geo. cruikshank dislikes the name of _artist_, as being too common-place." i have my dislikes; but it happens that they always extend to things, and never settle upon mere names. he must be a simpleton indeed who dislikes the name of artist when he is not ashamed of his art. it is possible that i may once in my life, when "very young," have said that i would rather carry a portmanteau than a portfolio through the streets; and this, perhaps from a recollection of once bearing a copper-plate, not sufficiently concealed from the eyes of an observant public, under my arm, and provoking a salutation from a little ragged urchin, shouting at the top of his voice, hand to mouth--"_there goes a copper plate en-gra-_ver!" it is true, that as i walked on i experienced a sense of the uncomfortableness of that species of publicity, and felt that the eyes of europe were very inconveniently directed to me; but i did not, even in that moment of mortification, feel ashamed of my calling: i did not "dislike the name of artist." ( .) "when a very young man, it was doubtful whether the weakness of his eyes would not prove a barrier to his success as an artist." when a very young man, i was rather _short-sighted_, in more senses than one; but weak eyes i never had. the blessing of a strong and healthy vision has been mine from birth; and at any period of time since that event took place, i have been able, even with one eye, to see very clearly through a millstone, upon merely applying the single optic, right or left, to the centrical orifice perforated therein. but for the imputation of weakness in that particular, i never should have boasted of my capital eye; especially (as an aged punster suggests) when i am compelled to use the capital i so often in this article. ( .) "the gallery in which george first studied his art, was, if the statement of the author of 'three courses and a dessert' may be depended on, the tap-room of a low public-house, in the dark, dirty, narrow lanes which branch off from one of the great thoroughfares towards the thames. and where could he have found a more fitting place? where could he have met with more appropriate characters?--for the house was frequented, to the exclusion of everybody else, by irish coal-heavers, hodmen, dustmen, scavengers, and so forth!" [illustration] i shall mention, _en passant_, that there are _no_ irish coal-heavers: i may mention, too, that the statement of the author adverted to is not to be depended on; were he living, i should show why. and now to the scene of my so-called "first studies." there was, in the neighbourhood in which i resided, a low public-house; it has since degenerated into a gin-palace. it was frequented by coal-heavers only, and it stood in wilderness-lane, (i like to be particular,) between primrose-hill and dorset-street, salisbury-square, fleet-street. to this house of inelegant resort, (the sign was startling, the "lion in the wood,") which i regularly passed in my way to and from the temple, my attention was one night especially attracted, by the sounds of a fiddle, together with other indications of festivity; when, glancing towards the tap-room window, i could plainly discern a small bust of shakspeare placed over the chimney-piece, with a short pipe stuck in its mouth, thus-- this was not clothing the palpable and the familiar with golden exhalations from the dawn, but it was reducing the glorious and immortal beauty of apollo himself to a level with the common-place and the vulgar. yet there was something not to be quarrelled with in the association of ideas to which that object led. it struck me to be the perfection of the human picturesque. it was a palpable meeting of the sublime and the ridiculous; the world of intellect and poetry seemed thrown open to the meanest capacity; extremes had met; the highest and the lowest had united in harmonious fellowship. i thought of what the great poet had himself been, of the parts that he had played, and the wonders he had wrought, within a stone's-throw of that very spot; and feeling that even he might have well wished to be there, the pleased spectator of that lower world, it was impossible not to recognise the fitness of the pipe. it was the only pipe that would have become the mouth of a poet in that extraordinary scene; and without it, he himself would have wanted majesty and the right to be present. i fancied that sir walter raleigh might have filled it for him. and _what_ a scene was that to preside over and to contemplate[ ]! what a picture of life was there! it was as though death were dead! it was _all_ life. in simpler words, i saw, on approaching the window and peeping between the short red curtains, a swarm of jolly coal-heavers! coal-heavers all--save a few of the fairer and softer sex--the wives of some of them--all enjoying the hour with an intensity not to be disputed, and in a manner singularly characteristic of the tastes and propensities of aristocratic and fashionable society;--that is to say, they were "dancing and taking refreshments." they only did what "their betters" were doing elsewhere. the living shakspeare, had he been, indeed, in the presence, would but have seen a common humanity working out its objects, and have felt that the _omega_, though the last in the alphabet, has an astonishing sympathy with the _alpha_ that stands first. this incident, may i be permitted to say, led me to study the characters of that particular class of society, and laid the foundation of scenes afterwards published. the locality and the characters were different, the spirit was the same. was i, therefore, what the statement i have quoted would lead anybody to infer i was, the companion of dustmen, hodmen, coal-heavers, and scavengers? i leave out the "and so forth" as superfluous. it would be just as fair to assume that morland was the companion of pigs, that liston was the associate of louts and footmen, or that fielding lived in fraternal intimacy with jonathan wild. ( .) "with mr. hone" (afterwards designated "the most noted infidel of his day") "he had long been on terms not only of intimacy, but of warm friendship." a very select class of associates to be assigned to an inoffensive artist by a friendly biographer; coal-heavers, hodmen, dustmen, and scavengers for my companions, and the most noted infidel of his day for my intimate friend! what mr. hone's religious creed may have been at that time, i am far from being able to decide; i was too young to know more than that he seemed deeply read in theological questions, and, although unsettled in his opinions, always professed to be a christian. i knew also that his conduct was regulated by the strictest morality. he had been brought up to detest the church of rome, and to look upon the "church of england" service as little better than popish ceremonies; and with this feeling, he parodied some portions of the church service for purposes of political satire. but with these publications _i had nothing whatever to do_; and the instant i heard of their appearance, i entreated him to withdraw them. that i was his friend, is true; and it is true, also, that among his friends were many persons, not more admired for their literary genius, than esteemed for their zeal in behalf of religion and morals. ( .) "not only is george a decided liberal, but his liberalism has with him all the authority of a moral law." i have already said, that i never quarrel with names, but with things; yet as so many and such opposite interpretations of the terms quoted are afloat, and as some of them are not very intelligible, i wish explicitly to enter my protest against every reading of the word "liberal," as applicable to me, save that which i find attributed to it in an old and seemingly forgotten dictionary--"becoming a gentleman, generous, not mean." ( .) "even on any terms his genius could not, for some time past, be said to have been marketable, mr. bentley the bookseller having contrived to monopolise his professional labours for publications with which he is connected." this assertion was to a certain extent true, while i was illustrating oliver twist and jack sheppard, works to which i devoted my best exertions; but so far from effecting a monopoly of my labours, the publisher in question has not for a twelvemonth past had from me more than a single plate for his monthly miscellany; nor will he ever have more than that single plate per month; nor shall i ever illustrate any other work that he may publish. ( .) "he sometimes sits at his window to see the patrons of 'vite condick ouse' on their way to that well-known locality on sundays," &c. as my "extraordinary memory" is afterwards defined to be "something resembling a supernatural gift," it ought to enable me to recollect this habit of mine; yet i should have deemed myself as innocent of such a mode of spending the sabbath as sir andrew agnew himself, but for this extraordinary discovery. i am said to have "the most vivid remembrance of anything droll or ludicrous;" and yet i cannot remember sitting at the window "on a sunday" to survey the motley multitude strolling towards "vite condick ouse." i wish the invisible girl would sell me her secret. ( .) "he is a very singular, and, in some respects, eccentric man, considered, as what he himself would call, a 'social being.' the ludicrous and extraordinary fancies with which his mind is constantly teeming often impart a sort of wildness to his look, and peculiarity to his manner, which would suffice to _frighten from his presence_ those unacquainted with him. he is often so uncourteous and abrupt in his manner as to incur the charge of seeming rudeness." [illustration] though unaccustomed to spend the sabbath day in the manner here indicated, i have never yet been regarded as _saint_ george; neither, on the other hand, have i ever before been represented as the dragon! time was, when the dove was not more gentle; but now i "frighten people from my presence," and the isle from its propriety. the "saracen's head" is all suavity and seductiveness compared to mine. forty thousand knockers, with all their quantity of fright, would not make up my sum. i enter a drawing-room, it may be supposed, like one prepared to go the whole griffin. gorgons, and monsters, and chimeras dire, are concentrated by multitudes in my person. the aspect of miss jemima jones, who is enchanting the assembled party with "see the conquering hero comes," instantaneously assumes the expression of a person singing "monster, away." all london is wantley, and all wantley is terror-stricken wherever i go. i am as uncourteous as a gust of wind, as abrupt as a flash of lightning, and as rude as the billows of the sea. but of all this, be it known that i am "unconscious." this is acknowledged; "he is himself unconscious of this," which is true to the very letter, and very sweet it is to light at last upon an entire and perfect fact. but enjoying this happy unconsciousness--sharing it moreover with my friends, why wake me from the delusion! why excite my imagination, and unstring my nerves, with visions of nursery-maids flying before me in my suburban walks--of tender innocents in arms frightened into fits at my approach, of five-bottle men turning pale in my presence, of banquet-halls deserted on my entrance! [illustration] ( .) "g. c. is the only man i know moving in a respectable sphere of life who is a match for the under class of cabmen. he meets them on their own ground, and fights them with their own weapons. the moment they begin to swagger, to bluster, and abuse, he darts a _look_ at them, which, in two cases out of three, has the effect of reducing them to a tolerable state of civility; but if looks do not produce the desired results--if the eyes do not operate like oil thrown on the troubled waters, he talks to them in tones which, aided as his words and lungs are by the fire and fury darting from his eye, and the vehemence of his gesticulation, silence poor jehu effectually," &c. fact is told in fewer words than fiction. it so happens that i never had a dispute with a cabman in my life, possibly because i never provoked one. from me they are sure of a civil word; i generally open the door to let myself in, and always to let myself out; nay, unless they are very active indeed, i hand the money to them on the box, and shut the door to save them the trouble of descending. "the greatest is behind"--_i invariably pay them more than their fare_; and frequently, by the exercise of a generous forgetfulness, make them a present of an umbrella, pair of gloves, or a handkerchief. at times, i have gone so far as to leave them a few sketches, as an inspection of the albums of their wives and daughters (they _have_ their albums doubtless) would abundantly testify. ( .) "and yet he _can_ make himself exceedingly agreeable both in conversation and manners when he is in the humour so to do. i have met with persons who have been loaded with his civilities and attention. i _know_ instances in which he has spent considerable time in showing strangers everything curious in the house; he is a collector of curiosities." * * * * * [illustration] no single symp---- i was about to say that no single symptom of a curiosity, however insignificant, is visible in my dwelling, when by audible tokens i was (or rather am) rendered sensible of the existence of a _pair of bellows_. well, in these it must be admitted that we _do_ possess a curiosity. we call them "bellows," because, on a close inspection, they appear to bear a much stronger resemblance to "bellows" than to any other species of domestic implement; but what in reality they are, the next annual meeting of the great scientific association must determine; or the public may decide for themselves when admitted hereafter to view the precious deposit in the british museum. in the mean time, i vainly essay to picture the unpicturable. eccentric, noseless, broken-winded, dilapidated, but immortal, these bellows have been condemned to be burnt a thousand times at least; but they are bellows of such an obstinate turn of mind that to destroy them is impossible. no matter how imperative the order--how immediate the hour of sacrifice, they are sure to escape. so much for old maxims; we may "sing old rose," but we cannot "burn the bellows." as often as a family accident happens--such as the arrival of a new servant, or the sudden necessity for rekindling an expiring fire, out come _the_ bellows, and forth go into the most secret and silent corners of the house such sounds of wheezing, squeaking, groaning, screaming, and sighing, as might be heard in a louder, but not more intolerable key, beneath the roaring fires of etna. then, rising above these mingled notes, issues the rapid ringing of two bells at once, succeeded by a stern injunction to the startled domestic "never on any account to use those bellows again," but, on the contrary, to burn, eject, and destroy them without reservation or remorse. one might as well issue orders to burn the east wind. a magic more powerful even than womanly tenderness preserves them; and six weeks afterwards forth rolls once more that world of wondrous noises. let no one imagine that i have really sketched the bellows, unless i had sketched their multitudinous _voice_. what i have felt when drawing punch is, that it was easy to represent his eyes, his nose, his mouth; but that the one essential was after all wanting--the _squeak_. the musician who undertook to convey by a single sound a sense of the peculiar smell of the shape of a drum, could alone picture to the _eye_ the howlings and whisperings of the preternatural bellows. now you hear a moaning as of one put to the torture, and may detect both the motion of the engine and the cracking of the joints; anon cometh a sound as of an old beldame half inebriated, coughing and chuckling. a sigh as from the depths of a woman's heart torn with love, or the "lover sighing like furnace," succeeds to this; and presently break out altogether--each separate note of the straining pack struggling to be foremost--the yelping of a cur, the bellowing of a schoolboy, the tones of a cracked flute played by a learner, the grinding of notched knives, the slow ringing of a muffled muffin-bell, the interrupted rush of water down a leaky pipe, the motion of a pendulum that does not know its own mind, the creaking of a prison-door, and the voice of one who crieth the last dying speech and confession; together with fifty thousand similar sounds, each as pleasant to the ear as "when am i to have the eighteen-pence" would be, to a man who never had a shilling since the day he was breeched. the origin of the bellows, i know not; but a suspicion has seized me that they might have been employed in the ark had there been a kitchen-fire there; and they may have assisted in raising a flame under the first tea-kettle put on to celebrate the laying of the first stone of the great wall of china. they are ages upon ages older than the bellows of simple simon's mother; and were they by him to be ripped open, they could not possibly be deteriorated in quality. the bellows which yet bear the inscription, "who rides on these bellows? the prince of good fellows, willy shakspeare," are a thing of yesterday beside these, which look as if they had been industriously exercised by some energetic greek in fanning the earliest flame of troy. to descend to later days, they must have invigorated the blaze at which tobias shandy lighted his undying pipe, and kindled a generous blaze under that hashed mutton which has rendered amelia immortal. but "the days are gone when beauty bright" followed quick upon the breath of the bellows: their effect at present is, to give the fire a bad cold; they blow an influenza into the grate. empires rise and fall, and a century hence the bellows may be as good as new. like puffing, they will know no end. ( .) and lastly--for the personality of this paragraph warns me to conclude--"in person g. c. is about the middle height and proportionably made. his complexion is something between _pale_ and _clear_; and his hair, which is tolerably ample, _partakes_ of a _lightish hue_. his face is of the angular form, and his forehead has a _prominently receding_ shape." as hamlet said to the ghost, i'll go no further! the indefinite complexion, and the hair "partaking" of an opposite hue to the real one, may be borne; but i stand, not upon my head, but on my forehead! to a man who has once passed the rubicon in having dared to publish his portrait, the exhibition of his mere profile can do no more injury than a petty larceny would after the perpetration of a highway robbery. but why be tempted to show, by an outline, that my forehead is innocent of a shape (the "prominently receding" one) that never yet was visible in nature or in art? let it pass, till it can be explained. "he delights in a handsome pair of whiskers." nero had one flower flung upon his tomb. "he has somewhat of a dandified appearance." flowers soon fade, and are cut down; and this is the "unkindest cut of all." i who, humbly co-operating with the press, have helped to give permanence to the name of dandy--i who have all my life been breaking butterflies upon wheels in warring against dandyism and dandies--am at last discovered to be "somewhat" of a dandy myself. "come antony, and young octavius, come! revenge yourselves--" as you may;--but, dandies all, i have not done with you yet. to resume. "he used to be exceedingly partial to hessian boots." i confess to the boots; but it was when they were worn even by men who walked on loggats. i had legs. besides, i was very young, and merely put on my boots to _follow_ the fashion. "his age, if his looks be not deceptive, is _somewhere between_ forty-three and forty-five." a very obscure and elaborated mode of insinuating that i am forty-_four_. "somewhere between!" the truth is--though nothing but extreme provocation should induce me to proclaim even truth when age is concerned,--that i am "somewhere between" twenty-seven and sixty-three, or i may say sixty-four;--but i hate exaggeration. _exit_, g. ck. footnote: [footnote : an exact representation of it will embellish a future "omnibus."] my last pair of hessian boots. "ah! sure a pair was never seen so justly formed--" [illustration] hoby would say, that as "all are not men who bear the human form," so all are not boots that bear the pedal shape. all boots, for example, are not hessians; nor are all hessians like my last pair. mathews used to tell a story of some french hoby, who, having with incredible genius constructed a pair of boots, which tom thumb when a little boy could no more have got on than cinderella's sister could the magic slipper, refused to part with them for any sum of money--he had "made them in a moment of enthusiasm." myriads of such moments were consumed in the construction of my last pair. the boots published by mr. warren in magazines and country newspapers, exhibiting the grinning portrait of a gentleman in the interesting act of shaving, or a cat bristling up and outwondering katerfelto, were vulgar in form, and dull of polish, beside mine hessians. pleasant it was, just as i was budding into life, to draw them on, and sit with one knee crossing the other, to contemplate my favourite leg. i used to wish myself a centipede, to wear fifty pairs of hessians at a time. to say that the boots "fitted like gloves" would be to pay the most felicitous pair of white kids a compliment. they had just as many natural wrinkles as they ought to have; and for the tassels--we have all seen the dandies of that day take out a comb, and comb the tassels of their fire-bucket-looking boots as often as they got into disorder; but mine needed no aid from such trickery and finessing. i had strolled forth at the decline of a day in spring, and had afterwards dined at long's--my boots and i. they had evidently been the admiration of every observer. i was entirely satisfied with _them_, and consequently with myself. returned home, a pair of slippers was substituted for them, and with my feet on the fender and the vapour of a cigar enwrapping me like a dressing-gown, i sat contemplating "my boots." thought reverted to the fortunes of my lord marquis of carabas, and i saw in my hessians a brighter destiny than puss in hers won for him. i thought too of the seven-leagued boots of my ancient friends the ogres, and felt that i could take old and new bond streets at a step. that night those boots melted into thin air. there was "nothing like leather" visible there in the morning. my golden vision had vanished as suddenly as alnaschar's--only his perished amidst the crash and clatter of a basket of crockery kicked into the clouds; mine had stolen away in solemn silence. not a creak was heard, yet the hessians were gone. it was the remark of my housekeeper that boots could not go without hands. such boots i thought might possibly have walked off by themselves. but when it was discovered that a window-shutter had been forced open, and sundry valuables carried away, it was plain that some conceited and ambitious burglar had eloped with my boots. the suspicion was confirmed by the detection of a pair of shoes conscientiously left behind, on the principle that exchange is no robbery. ugh!--such shoes. well might i declare that nothing like leather was visible. what odious feet had been thrust into my desecrated hessians! i put my legs into mourning for their loss; and, convinced that i should never procure such another pair, sank from that moment into mere wellingtons. it was not long after this, that, seated in a coffee-room in piccadilly, my attention was drawn to the indolent and comfortable attitude of a person, who, with his legs stretched conspicuously along the cushioned bench, was reading a newspaper. how it was i can hardly tell; but my eye was irresistibly attracted to his boots, just as othello's was to the handkerchief bound round the wounded limb of cassio. he seemed to be proud of them; they were ostentatiously elevated into view. the boots were hessians. though not now worn in their very "newest gloss," they were yet in excellent, i may say in enviable condition. my anxious glance not only wandered over their polished surface, but seemed to penetrate to their rich bright linings, the colour whereof was now no more a secret to me than were those silken tassels that dangled to delight the beholder. i knew _my_ boots again. the wearer, having the newspaper spread before his face, could not notice any observation directed to his lower extremities; my opportunity of inspection therefore was complete. they _were_ my hessians. my first impulse was to ring the bell for a boot-jack, and claim them upon the spot; but before i could do so the stranger suddenly sprang upon his feet, seized his hat, and with one complacent glance at those tasselled habiliments, which were far from having lost all their "original brightness," swaggered out of the coffee-room. curiosity prompted me to follow--i caught a glimpse of the bright backs of my boots as they flashed round the corner of a neighbouring street. pursuing them, i surveyed the wearer; and now perceived that not even those incomparable hessians could transform a satyr into hyperion, or convert a vulgar strut into the walk of a gentleman. those boots were never made for such limbs--never meant to be "sported" after so villanous a fashion. you could see that his calves were indifferently padded, and might have sworn the swaggerer was a swell blackleg--one of the shabby-genteel, and visibly-broken-down class. accordingly, after a turn or two, it was anything but surprising to see him squeeze himself into a narrow passage over the door of which was written the word "billiards." i heard my boots tramping up the dingy staircase to which the passage led--and my feet, as though from sympathy, and what the philosopher calls the "eternal fitness of things," were moving after them--when the "_cui bono?_" forcibly occurred to my mind! if i should demand my hessians, was there a probability of obtaining them? and if i should obtain them, was there a possibility of my ever wearing them again? could i think of treading in the boots of a blackleg, albeit they never were his own? no, i gave them up to the profanation which was their destiny. i called up hamlet's reflection on the vile uses to which we may return; and as for the gambler, who in once virtuous boots threaded the paths of vice and depravity, i kicked him--"with my mind's toe, horatio"--and passed on. shakspeare, in one of the most touching and beautiful of his sonnets, tells us how he bemoaned his outcast state, "and troubled deaf heaven with his bootless cries;" but with no such cries of mine is the reader doomed to be troubled. indeed, when i parted from my hessians on the occasion referred to, i never dreamed of mentioning them more. i had heard, as it seemed, their last creak. not only were they out of sight, but out of mind. it appeared just as likely that i should ever again be excited on their account, as that i should hang them up à-la-general-bombastes, and make war upon their adventurous displacer. yet it was not three months after the event recorded, that in the city, in broad-daylight, my hat was all but lifted off by the sudden insurrection of my hair, on recognising my boots again. yes, the very boots that once were mine, "_et nullus error!_" or, as we say in english, "and no mistake!" as easily to be identified were they as the freckled, wrinkled, shrunken features of a beloved friend, parted from in plump youth. i knew my boots, if i may so say, by their _expression_. altered as they were, to me were they the same:--"alike, but oh! how different." "the light of other days had faded." it could not be said of either hessian, that it figured on a "leg" this time. the wearer was evidently a collector in the "cast-off" line--had been respectable, and was still bent on keeping up appearances. this was plainly indicated by the _one_ tassel which the pair of boots yet boasted between them--a brown-looking remnant of grandeur, and yet a lively compromise with decay. the poor things were sadly distorted; the heels were hanging over, illustrating the downward tendency of the possessor; and there was a _leetle_ crack visible at the side. they were dayless and martinless--dull as a juryman--worn out like a cross-examined witness. they would take water like a teetotaller. there was scarcely a kick left in them. they were in a decline of the galloping sort; and appeared just capable of lasting out until an omnibus came by. a walk of a mile would have ensured emancipation to more than one of the toes that inhabited them. my once "lovely companions" were faded, but not gone. it was my fortune to meet them again soon afterwards, still further eastward. the recognition, as before, was unavoidable. they were _the_ boots, but "translated" out of themselves; another pair, yet the same. the heels were handsomely cobbled up with clinking iron tips, and a worsted tassel of larger dimensions had been supplied to match the remaining silk one. the boots thus regenerated rendered a rather equivocal symmetry to the legs of an attorney's clerk, whose life was spent in endless errands with copies of writs to serve, and in figuring at "free-and-easys" and spouting-clubs. they were well able to bear him on his daily and nightly rounds, for the new soles were thicker than any client's head in christendom. this change led me naturally enough into some profound speculations upon "wear and tear," and much philosophical musing on the absorption and disappearance of soles and heels after a given quantity of perambulation. but while i was wondering into what substances and what shapes the old leather might be passing, and also how much of my own original self (for we all become other people in time) might yet be remaining unto me, i lost sight for ever of the lawyer's clerk, but not of my boots--for i suspect he effected some legal transfer of them to a client who was soon as legally transferred to the prison in whitecross-street; since, passing that debtors' paradise soon after, i saw the identical boots (the once pale blue lining was now of _no_ colour) carried out by an aged dame, who immediately bent her steps, like one well acquainted with the way, towards "mine uncle's" in the neighbourhood. hessians that can escape from a prison may work their way out of a pawnbroker's custody; and my hessians had something of the quality of the renowned slippers of bagdad,--go where they might, they were sure to meet the eye of their original owner. the next time i saw the boots, they were on the foot-board of a hackney-coach; yea, on the very feet of the jarvey. but what a falling-off! translation was no longer the word. they had suffered what the poet calls a sea-change. the tops were cut round; the beautiful curve, the tassels, all had vanished. one boot had a patch on one side only; the other, on both. i thought of the exclamation of edmund burke,--"the glory of europe is extinguished for ever!" instinct told me they were _the_ boots; but-- "the very hoby who them made, beholding them so sore decay'd, he had not known his work." i hired the coach, and rode behind my own boots: the speculative fit again seized me. i recollected how "all that's bright must fade," and "moralized the spectacle" before me. how many had i read of--nay seen and known--who had started in life like my boots,--bright, unwrinkled, symmetrical,--and who had sunk by sure degrees, by wanderings farther and farther among the puddles and kennels of society, even into the same extremity of unsightly and incurable distortion. ----"not warren, nor day and martin, nor all the patent liquids o' the earth, shall ever brighten them with that jet black they owed in former days." my very right to my own property had vanished. they had ceased to be _my_ boots; they were ceasing to be _boots_. they cost me something nevertheless; for having in my perturbation merely told the driver to "drive on," he took me to bayswater instead of covent-garden; and, as the price of my abstraction, abstracted seven-and-six-pence as his fare. from a hackney-coachman they seem to have descended to the driver of what had once been a donkey; to one who cried "fine mellow pears," "green ripe gooseberries," and other hard and sour assistants in the destruction of the human race. this i discovered one day by seeing "my boots" dragged to a police-office (their owner in them), where indeed one of the pair--if pair they might still be called--figured as a credible witness; it having been employed as a weapon, held by the solitary strap that yet adhered to it, for inflicting due punishment on the head of its master's landlord, a ruffian who had had the brutal inhumanity to tap at the door of an innocent tenant, and ask for his rent. it is probable that in this skirmish they sustained some damage, and required "renovation" once more; for i subsequently saw them at one of those "cobbler's-stalls" which are fast disappearing (the stall becoming a shop, and the shop an emporium), with an intimation in chalk upon the soles--"to be sold." of the original hessians nothing remained but a portion of the leggings. they had been soled and re-soled; the old patches had disappeared; and there was now a patch upon the new fronts which they had acquired. having had them _from_ the last, _to_ the last i resolved to track them; and now found them in the possession of a good ancient watchman of the good ancient time in fleet-street, from whose feet, however, they were one night treacherously stolen as he sat quietly slumbering in his box. the boots wandered once more into vicious paths, having become the property of a begging-letter impostor of that day, in whose company they were seen to stagger out of a gin-shop--then to run away with their tenant--to bear him, all unconscious of kennels, on both sides of the road, faster than lamplighter or postman can travel--and finally to trip him up against the machine of a "needy knifegrinder" (his nose coming into collision with the revolving stone), who, compassionating the naked feet of his seemingly penniless and sober fellow-lodger, had that very morning presented him with part of a pair of boots, as being better than no shoe-leather. this fragmentary donation was the sad remnant of my hessians--the "last remains of princely york." when we give a pair of old boots to the poor, how little do we consider into what disgusting nooks and hideous recesses they may carry their new owner! let no one shut up the coffers of his heart, or check even momentarily the noble impulse of charity; but it is curious to note what purposes a bashful maiden's left-off finery may be made to serve on the stage of a show at greenwich fair; how an honest matron's muff, passed into other hands, may be implicated in a case of shop-lifting; how the hat of a great statesman may come to be handed round to ragamuffins for a collection of half-pence for the itinerant conjuror; or how the satin slippers of a countess may be sandalled on the aching feet of a girl whose youth is one weary and wretched caper upon stilts! "my hessians"--neither mine, nor hessians, now--were on their last legs. theirs had not been "a beauty for ever unchangingly bright." they had experienced their decline; their fall was nigh. their earliest patchings suggested, as a similitude, the idea of a grecian temple, whose broken columns are repaired with brick; the brick preponderates as ruin prevails, until at length the original structure is no more. the boots became one patch! such were they on that winter-morn, when a ruddy-faced "translator" sat at his low door, on a low stool, the boots on his lap undergoing examination. after due inspection, his estimate of their value was expressed by his adopting the expedient of orator henley; that is to say, by cutting the legs off, and reducing what remained of their pride to the insignificance of a pair of shoes; which, sold in that character to a match-vender, degenerated after a few weeks into slippers. _sic transit_, &c. of the appropriation of the amputated portion no very accurate account can be rendered. fragments of the once soft and glossy leather furnished patches for dilapidated goloshes; a pair or two of gaiter-straps were extricated from the ruins; and the "translator's" little boy manufactured from the remains a "sucker," of such marvellous efficacy that his father could never afterwards keep a lapstone in the stall. as for the slippers, improperly so called, they pinched divers corns, and pressed various bunions in their day, as the boots, their great progenitors, had done before them, sliding, shuffling, shambling, and dragging their slow length along; until in the ripeness of time, they, with other antiquities, were carried to cutler-street, and sold to a venerable jewess. she, with knife keen as shylock's, ripped off the soles--all besides was valueless even to her--and, not without some pomp and ceremony, laid them out for sale on a board placed upon a crippled chair. yes, for sale; and to that market for soles there soon chanced to repair an elderly son of poverty; who, having many little feet running about at home made shoes for them himself. the soles became his; and thus of the apocryphal remains of my veritable hessians, was there just sufficient leather left to interpose between the tender feet of a child, and the hard earth, his mother! [illustration] on a wicked shoemaker. you say he has sprung from cain;--rather confess there's a difference vast: for cain was a son of the _first_ father while he is "a son of the last." [illustration] love seeking a lodging. at leila's heart, from day to day, love, boy-like, knock'd, and ran away; but love grown older, seeking then "lodgings for single gentlemen," return'd unto his former ground, and knock'd, but no admittance found-- with his rat, tat, tat. his false alarms remember'd still. love, now in earnest, fared but ill; for leila in her heart could swear, as still he knock'd, "there's no one there." a single god, he then essay'd with single knocks to lure the maid-- with his single knock. each passer-by, who watch'd the wight, cried "love, you won't lodge there to-night!" and love, while listening, half confess'd that all was dead in leila's breast. yet, lest that light heart only slept, bold love up to the casement crept-- with his tip, tap, tap. no answer;--"well," cried love, "i'll wait, and keep off envy, fear, and hate; no other passion there shall dwell, if i'm shut out--why, here's a bell!" he rang; the ring made leila start, and love found lodgings in her heart-- with his magic ring. l. b. [illustration: designed etched & published by george cruikshank may st .] frank heartwell; or fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter i. it was about half a century ago in the closing twilight of an autumnal evening at that period of the season when the falling of the sear and yellow leaves indicated the near approach of winter, that a lady was seated at work in one of those comfortable parlours which, as far as the memory of living man can go back, were at all times considered essential to an englishman's ideas of enjoyment, and which certainly were not and are not to be found, approaching to the same degree of commodious perfection, in any other part of the world. by her side sat a beautiful boy some seven or eight years of age, whose dark glossy ringlets hung clustering down his shoulders over the broad and open white cambric collar of his shirt. his full and fair face bore the ripened bloom of ruddy health, and his large blue eyes, even though a child, were strongly expressive of tenderness and love. the lady herself was fair to look upon, possessing a placid cast of countenance which, whilst it invited esteem and confidence, calmly repelled impertinence or disrespect; her eyes, like those of her son, were mild and full, and meltingly blue, and through the shades of long dark lashes discoursed most eloquently the language of affectionate solicitude and fond regard; and it was impossible to look upon them, or be looked upon by them, without experiencing a glow of pleasure, warming and nourishing all the better feelings and purposes of the heart. in age she was twenty-six, but matronly anxiety gave her the appearance of being some two or three years older; her figure was faultless, and the tight sleeve of her gown fitting closely to her arm, and confined with a bracelet of black velvet at the wrist, displayed the form of a finely moulded limb; and the painter or the sculptor would have been proud to copy from so admirable a model. the floor of the room was covered with a soft turkey carpet, which, though somewhat faded, still retained in many parts its richness of colours. the panelled walls were of oak that had endured for more than one generation; and though time had thrown his darkened shadows over them, as if to claim them for his own, art had been called in aid, if not to defeat his claims, yet to turn them to advantage; for the blackened wood was polished to a mirror-like brightness, and instead of dispensing gloom, its reflections were light and cheerful. suspended in the upper compartments and surrounded with oval frames, tastefully carved and gilt, were well executed portraits by the celebrated masters of those and earlier days. between the two windows, where the whole of the light was thrown upon the person, hung suspended a pier looking-glass in a well-carved mahogany frame surrounded by the plume of the prince of wales, bearing the appropriate motto for the reflecting tablet itself, "ich dien;" and at the corners, in open work, were cut full-ripe ears of corn in their golden glory, sheaved together with true-love knots. in one angle of the room stood a lofty circular dumb-waiter, its planes decreasing as they rose in altitude and bearing a display of wine-glasses with those long white tortuous spiral columns, which, like the screw of archimedes, has puzzled older heads than those of childhood to account for the everlasting turns. there were, also, massive articles of plate of various periods, from the heavy spoons with the sainted apostles effigied at the extremity of the handles, to the silver filigree wrought sugar-stand, with its basin of blue enamelled glass. there were also numerous figures of ancient china, more remarkable for their fantastic shapes than either for ornament or for use. the tables were of dark mahogany, the side slabs curiously deviced, and the legs assuming something of an animal form with the spreading paw of the lion or the tiger on each foot. one table, however, that was carefully placed so as to be remote from danger, had a raised open-work, about two inches in height, round the edges of its surface, to protect and preserve the handsome and much-prized tea-service, which had been brought by a seafaring ancestor as a present from the "celestial empire." a commodious, soft-cushioned, chintz-covered sofa occupied one side of the parlour, and the various spaces were filled with broad and high-backed mahogany chairs, whose capacious seats were admirable representatives of composure and ease. but there was one with wide-spreading arms, that seemed to invite the weary to its embrace; it was stuffed with soft material, and covered entirely with thick yellow taffeta, on which many an hour of laborious toil had been expended to produce in needle-work imitations of rich fruit and gorgeous flowers; it was a relic of antiquity, and the busy fingers that had so skilfully plied the task had long since yielded to mouldering decay. the fire-place was capacious, and its inner sides were faced with earthenware tiles, on which were represented scenes and sketches taken from scripture history. it is true that some of the delineations bore a rather incongruous character: the serpent erecting itself on the tip of its tail to beguile eve; the apple, whose comparative dimensions was calculated to set the mouth of many a schoolboy watering; and not unfrequently a mingling of the selectæ e profanis amongst the groups caused curious speculations in the youthful mind. but who can call to recollection the many evening lectures which this constant fund of instruction and amusement afforded, without associating them with pleasing remembrances of innocence and peace? the fire-grate was large, and of the old-fashioned kind, somewhat of a basket-like form, small at the bottom, but spreading out into wider range as its side boundaries ascended. lighted tapers were on the table, together with a lady's work-box, and the small, half-rigged model of a vessel, which the boy had laid down that he might peruse the history and voyages of philip quarll, and now, sitting by his mother's knee, he was putting questions to her relative to the sagacious monkeys who were stated to have been poor philip's personal attendants and only friends. emily heartwell was, in every sense of the term, the "beloved" wife of a lieutenant in the british royal navy, who had bravely served with great credit to himself and advantage to the honour of his country's flag; but unfortunately becoming mixed up with the angry dissensions that had arisen amongst political partisans through the trial of admiral keppel by court-martial, he remained for some length of time unemployed, but recently, through the influence and intervention of his former commander and patron, sir george (afterwards lord) rodney, he had received an appointment to a ship-of-the-line that was then fitting out to join that gallant admiral in the west indies. the father of lieutenant heartwell had risen from humble obscurity to the command of a west indiaman; and his son having almost from his childhood accompanied him in his voyages, the lad had become early initiated in the perils and mysteries of a seaman's life, so that on parting with his parent he was perfectly proficient in all the important duties that enable the mariner to counteract the raging of the elements, and to navigate his ship in safety from port to port. what became of the father was never accurately known. he was bound to jamaica with a valuable cargo of home manufactures; he was spoken off the canaries, and reported all well; but from that day no tidings of him had been heard, and it was supposed that the ship had foundered at sea, and all hands perished. by some fortuitous circumstance, young heartwell had been brought under the especial notice of the intrepid rodney, who not only placed him on the quarter-deck of his own ship, but also generously patronised and maintained him through his probationary term, and at its close, though involved in difficulties himself, first procured him a lieutenant's commission, and then presented him with a handsome outfit, cautioning him most seriously, as he was a good-looking fellow, not to get entangled by marriage, at least, till he had attained post-rank, or was regularly laid up with the gout, when he was perfectly at liberty to take unto himself a wife. but the lieutenant had a pure, unsophisticated mind, sensibly alive to all the blandishments of female beauty, but with discretion to avoid that which he considered meretricious, and to prize loveliness of feature only when combined with principles of virtue rooted in the heart. ardently attached to social life, it can excite but little wonder that on mature acquaintance with the lady who now bore his name, he had forgotten the injunction of his commander; and, being possessed of a little property, the produce of well-earned prize-money, he offered himself to the acceptance of one who appeared to realise his most fervent expectations; and, when it is considered that to a remarkably handsome person the young lieutenant united some of the best qualities of human nature, my fair readers will at once find a ready reason for his suit not being rejected. in short, they were married. the father of mrs. heartwell, a pious clergyman, performed the ceremony, and certainly in no instance could there have been found two persons possessing a stronger attachment, based on mutual respect and esteem. an uncle, the brother of the lieutenant's father had, when a boy, gone out to the east indies, but he kept up very little communication with his family, and they had for some time lost sight of him altogether, when news arrived of his having prospered greatly, and the supposition was that he had amassed a considerable fortune. as this intelligence, however, was indirect, but little credit was given to it, and it probably would have passed away from remembrance, or at least been but little thought of, had not letters arrived announcing the uncle's death, and that no will could be discovered. the lieutenant, as the only surviving heir, was urged to put in his claim; and, though he himself was not very sanguine in his expectations that his uncle had realised a large fortune, yet it gratified him to think that there might be sufficient to assist in securing a respectable and comfortable maintenance for his wife and child during his absence. from an earnest desire to surprise mrs. heartwell with the pleasing intelligence, he had for the first time since their union refrained from informing her of his proceedings; and on the afternoon of the day on which our narrative opens, he had appointed to meet certain parties connected with the affair at the office of mr. jocelyn brady, a reputed clever solicitor in lincoln's inn, when the whole was to be finally arranged, and the deeds and papers placed in his possession in the presence of witnesses. cherishing not only the hope, but also enjoying the conviction, that in a short time he should be able to gladden her heart, the lieutenant imprinted a warm and affectionate kiss on the lips of his wife, and pressing his boy in his arms with more than his usual gaiety, he bade them farewell for a few hours, promising at his return to communicate something that would delight and astonish them. but, notwithstanding the hilarity of her husband, an unaccountable depression weighed heavily on the usually cheerful spirits of mrs. heartwell; and, whilst returning the embrace of her husband, a presentiment of distress, though she knew not of what nature or kind, filled her bosom with alarm; and a heavy sigh--almost a groan--burst forth before she had time to exercise consciousness, or to muster sufficient energy to restrain it. the prospect of, and the near approach to, the hour of their separation, had certainly oppressed her mind, but she would not distress her husband by openly yielding to the manifestation of grief that might render their parting more keenly painful. she had vigorously exerted all her fortitude to bear up against the anticipated trial which awaited her, of bidding a long adieu to the husband of her affections and the father of her child; but the pressure which now inflicted agony was of a different character to what she had hitherto experienced. it was a foreboding of calamity as near at hand, an undefined and undefinable sensation, producing faintness of spirit and sickness of heart; her limbs trembled, her breath faltered, and she laid her head upon his shoulder and burst into convulsive sobbings, that shook her frame with violent agitation. i am no casuist to resolve doubtful cases, but i would ask many thousands who have to struggle with the anxious cares, the numerous disappointments, and all the various difficulties that beset existence, whether they have not had similar distressing visitations, previous to the arrival of some unforeseen calamity. what is it, then, that thus operates on the faculties to produce these symptoms? it cannot be a mere affection of the nervous system, caused by alarming apprehensions of the future, for, in most instances, nothing specific has been known or decided. may it not, therefore, be looked upon as a wise and kind ordination of providence, to prepare the mind for disastrous events that are to follow? the lieutenant raised the drooping head of his wife, earnestly gazed on her expressive countenance, kissed away her tears, and then exclaimed, "how is this, emily? what! giving way to the indulgence of sorrow at a moment when prosperity is again extending the right hand of good-fellowship? we have experienced adverse gales, my love, but we have safely weathered them; and now that we have the promise of favourable breezes and smooth sailing, the prospect of renewed joy should gladden your heart." "but are you not soon to leave me, frank?" returned mrs. heartwell, as she strove to subdue the feelings which agitated her, "and who have i now in the wide world but you?" the lieutenant fervently and fondly pressed her to his heart, whilst with a mingled look of gentle reproach and ardent affection he laid his disengaged hand on the head of his boy, who raising his tear-suffused eyes to the countenance of his mother, as he endeavoured to smile, uttered, "do not be afraid mama, i will protect you till papa comes back!" the silent appeal of her husband and the language of her child promptly recalled the wife and the parent to a sense of her marital and maternal duties--she instantly assumed a degree of cheerfulness; and the lieutenant engaging to be home as early as practicable, took his departure to visit his professional adviser. the only male attendant (and he was looked upon more in the character of a humble friend than as a servant) on the lieutenant's establishment was an attached and faithful seaman, of some five-and-thirty years of age, who had undeviatingly adhered to the fortunes of his officer from the first moment of his entering into the naval service. he had served under rodney from boyhood, first in the prince george ninety-eight--then in the dublin seventy-four; and, subsequently, when the admiral hoisted his flag, he accompanied him in his career of glory, and was present in those memorable engagements which ultimately raised the british ensign to its proud supremacy on the ocean. possessed of a lively and contented turn of mind, ben brailsford was always cheerful and gay--his temper and his disposition coincided--there was, at all times, a pleasant smile upon his cheek and a kind word upon his tongue, and, in point of fact, his only faults were an occasional indulgence to excess in his favourite beverage--grog, and his still more excessive loquacity when spinning a tough yarn about his favourite commander, rodney, though it not unfrequently happened that one helped on the other. i have already remarked that young frank--for he was named after his father--was by his mother's side, and questioning her upon the subject of philip quarll's monkeys--but though desirous of imparting instruction to her son, yet her spirit was too much bowed down even to attend to him; besides, this was a matter of natural history with which she was but little acquainted, and, therefore, he was referred to honest ben, as the best authority to answer his inquiries. ben was accordingly summoned, and smoothing down his hair over his forehead with his hard horny hand as he entered the room, he "hoped as madam was well and master frank all ship-shape." "i am thinking of your master's departure, ben," returned the lady, "and therefore cannot be very easy in my mind, when i consider the risks to which he will be exposed on the turbulent ocean, both in the storm and in the battle." "bless you, my lady," returned the seaman, "what's the vally of a bit of a breeze, where there's skill and judgment to read the face of the heavens, and good practical seamanship to ease her with the helm, when the wild seas break over us--and as for a fight, why its pretty sharp work whilst it lasts, but when it's over and the grog abroach--not, my lady, as i ever gives way to more than does me good--but as i was a saying, when the action's ended and the grog sarved out"--and here he cast his eyes towards a well-replenished liquor-case that stood in the corner, and from which he had often been supplied--"why we shares it along with our prisoners, and drinks to the mortal memory of them as is gone." "but it must be a dreadful spectacle, ben, to witness the dead and the dying mingled together," said the lady, with a shudder, "the slain and the wounded in one promiscuous heap." "bless you, my lady, that comes o' not knowing the jometry of the thing," returned brailsford, in a tone and expression that evidenced experience; "they aren't by no manner o' means in one permiskus heap, for as soon as we find an onfortinate shipmate has let go the life-lines--and its easy diskivered by pressing the hand over the heart and feeling for the pallypitation--just for all the world master frank, as you'd listen for the ticking of a watch in a noisy place--and if so be as you don't find that there's not never no wibration, but all is motionless, from the main-spring having been carried away, so that the wheels have run down, why we knows well enough that the doctor's knife and all his medicine chest wouldn't get him to lend a hand to run out another gun, or rouse aboard the main-tack--so we launches him out at the port as expended stores, and we turns-to with a hearty good will to avenge his death." "but do they serve the officers so?" inquired mrs. heartwell, whose cheeks had become blanched during the plain recital of the seaman; "surely there is some funeral ceremony, some--" and she paused. "bless you, my lady, what's the odds so as you're happy," responded ben, scratching his head, whilst a good-humoured smile mantled over his face; "but the real truth of the thing is, that the officers being a sort of privileged class, expect a cast of the chaplin's _wadee mecum_--that's the parson's latin for prayer-book, master frank; but to my thinking a poor dev--that is, i means an onfortinate as sticks his spoon in the beckets for a full-due and loses the number of his mess, whilst sarving his country heart and soul--has rubbed out a multitude of sins whilst sponging his gun in the regard of dooty." "i dearly love my country, ben; i should be unworthy the name of englishwoman if i did not," returned the lady with fervour, as in the course of conversation she endeavoured to overcome her depression; "but why fight at all?" this query to one of rodney's tars would have been quite sufficient, had the law been administered then as it is in the present day, to have subjected the questioner to a commission of lunacy; and ben gave his mistress an earnest look, shading his eyes with his hand that he might not be deceived by the glare of the lights. at first he thought she was in joke, but finding from the unchangeableness of her countenance that she was serious, he replied-- "well, my lady, in regard o' the upshot of fighting, it isn't for an onedecated tar like myself to dilute upon the religion of the thing; but, bless you, my lady, suppose as you had the english ensign hoisted on the staff, or, for the matter o' that, at the gaff-end, and an enemy was to dare to presume to be so onveterate bould as to fire a shot at it;" he warmed as he proceeded, "why wouldn't you, my lady, open your ports and run out your guns for the honour of ould england's glory? and when your guns are run out, why what's the use on 'em if you don't clap a match to the touch-holes and pour in a reg'lar broadside?" "oh, it must be horrible work, ben," said mrs. heartwell, as the picture of her husband, mangled and dying, was visibly presented to her view; "you throw the supposed dead overboard without being certain that life is extinct--" "avast, my lady, avast; we never does that--no, no; a shipmate or a messmate aren't so easily expended," returned ben, with a solemn shake of the head. "but there's a sort of nat'ral inkstink amongst us tars--a kind of cable-splice with each other, so that we knows at once as well as any doctor as ever sarved his time at pill-building when the strands are drawn, and the craft has slipped from its moorings; that is, my lady, jist as this here, we can tell in a moment when a shipmate or messmate has broke adrift and got beyond hail; bless you, they're all _distinct_ afore we gives 'em a launch, and as for the wounded, why they're carried below to the cockpit to get dressed, or to have their precious limbs lopped off like old junk, condemned as onsarviceable. but what's the odds, my lady, so as you're happy?" one of ben's peculiarities, and which long habit had rendered perfectly familiar to him, was the general use of the expression "what's the odds so as you're happy?" and as he mostly contrived to lug it in whatever the course of conversation might be, it often happened that it found utterance on very inappropriate occasions. the idea of happiness connected with the amputating of a limb would never have entered the mind of any other person than ben; but his mistress was too much accustomed to the humane and generous disposition of the worthy seaman to suppose that he was indulging in levity, or ridiculing distress; she was perfectly aware that all ben intended to convey was, that "a contented mind might be supported under every trial and misfortune." young frank had listened, as he always did, very attentively to ben's explanations and descriptions, and though the delicate sensibilities of the lad were very naturally wounded by the recital of narratives of deeds of blood and violence, yet when the seaman entered upon details of chivalrous enterprise connected with the necessity of asserting his country's honour, his youthful heart would glow with earnest desire to be enrolled amongst the brave of his native land. his mother had discouraged his unmatured but ambitious aspirings; her maternal solicitude had looked forward with sickening dread at the thoughts of her only child being exposed to the perils of the ocean. she had endured the long-suffering of anxious care and hope deferred during the absence of her husband, and her very soul dwelt with increased alarm and apprehension on the probability that not only would an additional weight of anxiety and distress encumber the every-day circumstances of life should her boy become a mariner, but there was also the certainty that in his departure she would lose one of the principal props to animated existence; the dear little companion of her leisure hours, with whom she could unreservedly converse upon a subject that was ever uppermost in her thoughts,--his father. then the idea of loneliness preyed upon her mind; and, there is something so cold and chilling in the thoughts of being left alone in the world, cut off from connexions that were once eminently endearing to the affections, to sit hour after hour, and day after day, communing with one's own sad heart, to pass the nights in sleepless retrospection, as visions of past enjoyment flit in pleasing array before the imagination, and then to turn the mind's eye to the obscure but dreaded events of the coming future, where all is darkened by gloomy forebodings; there is a keen and horrible distress in such meditative contemplations, that is calculated to waste the stoutest frame, and to unsettle the soundest reason; and happy indeed are they who seek for consolation from whence it alone can be obtained. although mrs. heartwell experienced more pain than pleasure at ben's recitals of storms and battles, yet she not unfrequently provoked him into narratives of danger and of death, for the purpose--as she hoped--of deterring her son from entering upon so hazardous an occupation as that of a seaman. but whilst she partially succeeded in awakening the acute sensibilities of the lad as to the difficulties to be encountered, so also was the pride and curiosity of an adventurous spirit aroused, and young frank grew more attached to the interesting accounts of foreign lands, and delineations of distant countries, than frightened at the tales of the battle and the breeze. philip quarll had been laid aside whilst ben stood conversing with his mistress--whom he at all times honoured with the appellation of "my lady,"--but now the seaman was requested to sit down and explain the nature of the monkeys, the book was resumed, and frank inquired "whether ben had ever seen an ape wild in the woods." "why, yes, master frank," responded the seaman, as he seated himself near the table, but at a respectful distance from his mistress. "i have seen 'em hanging on by the eye-lids amongst the trees." "hanging on by the eye-lids, ben!" repeated frank, in surprise; "why how could they do that?" "why to be sure, master frank, they warn't exactly holding fast by the eye-lids," returned the seaman, smiling; "but we uses the term as a figure o' speech, meaning as it's next to dancing upon nothing." this did not much mend the lad's knowledge of the matter, but as he was eager to hear something of the monkey tribe, he inquired "and how much bigger, ben, is a chimpanzee than an ape?" "a what, master frank--a jem pansy?" demanded the seaman, looking at the picture of quarll with his attendants. "do they call them jem pansies? well, to my thinking, it arn't natral to give a christen-like name to such oncivilized brutes as haven't got no rational faculties." frank explained, and the two were soon in deep and earnest conversation upon the relative qualities and characteristics of monkeys, whilst mrs. heartwell continued her work, occasionally listening to their discourse, but her thoughts principally engrossed by contemplating the coming separation from her husband. the ancient clock, which stood on a bracket at the first landing of the stairs, struck nine, and the lady, who had for some time been growing more and more uneasy at the lieutenant's stay, directed ben to have the supper things in readiness, and when he had left the room, frank was desired to prepare himself for bed. kneeling at his mother's feet, with hands closed together, he repeated his evening prayer, imploring the divine being to bless his parents--the servant lighted him to his room--and weary nature soon found refreshment in the sweet repose of undisturbed slumber. another hour passed away, and the anxious wife grew more restless and uneasy; she laid her watch upon the table, and though the hour was late, yet she felt impatient at the tardy movement of the hands, hoping that each succeeding minute would bring her husband home. but still he came not, and time continued to progress, unheeding both the joy and the sorrow that accompanied his eventful career. in vain did she strive to subdue the fluctuating emotions that, like the undulating swell of the ocean giving warning of an approaching tempest, seemed to indicate that a severe trial was at hand. every foot-fall in the street had excited hope, which died away with the receding sound; and the almost hysterical and sudden gush of delight was succeeded by a revulsion of sickening uncertainty and fearful surmisings. why or wherefore, she could not tell. but midnight was drawing near, the weather which had been fine became tempestuous, the winds howled and the rain beat against the windows, and the streets were deserted, except by the ancient watchman, whose slow and heavy tread could not be mistaken for the eager springiness of vigorous strength prompted by ardent affection hurrying to the home of the heart. mrs. heartwell tried to compose her mind by reading, but the effort was futile; the constant changes in the course of her thoughts disconnected the sentences, and the visions which torturing apprehensions conjured up were infinitely more vivid than the incidents recorded on the printed page. at length, weary nature claimed her due, and she fell into uneasy slumber; but though the mortal frame had yielded to fatigue, and strove to gain refreshing energy by repose, the intellect was still awake and powerful to witness the conflicting occurrences that filled up the scenic representations in the dramatic shiftings of her dream. and oh, how fearfully confused were the visions of mrs. heartwell's restless sleep! she saw her husband struggling with the waves as the lightning flashed and the wild tempest howled above his head, and she rushed into the vortex of the dark and bubbling waters to try and snatch him from destruction. but vain were her endeavours to approach him--they were hurled hither and thither upon the crests of the foaming billows, but could not grasp each other's hands; and then the scene suddenly changed, and she beheld the lieutenant wounded and bleeding on the deck as the stream of life was ebbing fast away. they were surrounded by the thunder and the smoke of battle; dark and vindictive, and gore-stained countenances were peering upon her through the curling vapours, and there was one amongst them more dark, more vindictive, more sanguinary than the rest, but the thickened and dense atmosphere was constantly throwing it into obscurity, so as to leave no especial tracings on the memory. she tried to get to her husband, but still that mysterious being constantly debarred her progress; her limbs became paralysed; she could see the lieutenant most distinctly, though the rest were enveloped in gloom; and as he looked at her with his sight fast fading away, the dim eyes were still expressive of the inseparable mingling of anxious solicitude and fervent tenderness. once more the picture changed; she was in her own dwelling, in that very parlour, clasped in his embrace as the fervid kiss of affection was impressed upon her lips. she would have chided his delay, but the delight that glowed within her bosom and the sound of his voice in cheerful greeting dispelled the anguish she had endured, and stifled the language of reproach before it could find utterance--she was again happy in his society. the lieutenant took his usual seat by the fireside opposite to his wife, and she was gazing upon him with feelings of gratification rendered more rich and delightful from the previous suffering she had experienced, when suddenly his features assumed a rigid and swollen aspect, a livid hue was on his cheeks, his limbs were stark and motionless, as he sat stiffly erect, whilst his eyes almost starting from his head were fixed intently upon her. "you are ill, frank," was her imagined exclamation, as she essayed to rise from her chair but could not. "oh do not look upon me thus--speak, speak to me," but the figure remained immovable--not a muscle of the face was stirred, and again that dark mysterious countenance, with its undefined outlines and misty filling up, appeared between them. "oh, what is this, frank?" uttered she, in a voice shrill and piercing through the extremity of agony; and bursting the bonds of sleep, she sprang from her chair at the very instant that ben opened the door of the room, and looked round it in surprise. "where is he, ben, where is he?" demanded the agitated woman, as she stared wildly on the vacant seat. "bless you, my lady," responded the seaman as he stood within the half-opened door, "i thought as muster heartwell were here, seeing as he hailed me jist now in the kitchen, and i've come to see what his pleasure is?" a thrill of horror instantaneously seized upon every portion of mrs. heartwell's frame--a sensation that for the moment struck at the very seat of vitality, and was carried through the entire system. "it cannot be," at length she uttered; "no one has opened the doors--the servants are all in bed:" she gasped for breath as she falteringly continued, "father of heaven, in mercy relieve me from this dreadful state. yes, yes, it must have been--it is nothing more than a dream," and seating herself upon the sofa, she buried her face upon the pillow, and burst into unrestrained and irrepressible tears. ben had implicitly obeyed the instructions of his mistress in seeing the supper materials prepared, and at the accustomed hour the maid-servants went to bed, leaving the gallant seaman alone in the kitchen to the enjoyment of his pipe and a well-filled stiff glass of cold grog. unaccustomed to scrutinise the conduct of his superiors, ben gave himself but little trouble or consideration for the unusually long-continued absence of his master; and if a thought did obtrude it was merely to conjecture that the lieutenant might have fallen in with some old messmates or friends, who, in the height of enjoyment over their social or festive intercourse, had induced him to stay out beyond his ordinary time for returning. it is true ben reasoned upon deductions based upon what he himself would have done under similar circumstances; for though the worthy tar had practised a little of the amiable towards sally the housemaid, yet he was unacquainted with, and consequently could not well account for, the secret and hidden springs that prompted the undeviating attention of mr. heartwell in studying the comfort and happiness of his wife as intimately connected with his own. ben sat smoking and cogitating upon the station he should probably occupy when again upon the element he loved to control, and his spirit rose as he contrasted the busy routine of duty on board a smart ship at sea, with the idle and quiet of a calm life on shore even with sally to sweeten it. he fancied himself once more at the weather wheel, as with a predominant feeling of pride he kept the given point of the compass without vibrating from the direct course he was ordered to steer; and then in his watch below with his brother tars keeping up saturday night with grog, and jest, and jocund song; and as he made repeated applications to the jorum of strong beverage by his side, his fancy peopled the vacant space around him with messmates and shipmates till both pipe and glass were emptied, and he unconsciously resigned himself to the close embraces of a sailor's morpheus. he, too, had been dreaming, but it was of the mere ordinary concerns of the forecastle or main-top, without experiencing a single terrific sensation except when the supposed sonorous hail of the first lieutenant through his speaking-trumpet afforded a convincing testimonial that something more was expected in the exercise of their duties than the playfulness of childhood. but ben heard it fearlessly, for he not only knew what he had to do, but he was also well versed in the most approved method of doing it, and ever active and obedient, he performed his task with alacrity and skill. whilst thus involved in all the intricate mazes of visionary speculation, he thought he heard the well remembered sound of his master's voice calling upon him; and springing to his feet, he rubbed his eyes as he gave the usual responsive "ay, ay, sir," and found the lieutenant standing before him. but the delusion almost instantly ceased--the figure receded and disappeared, and as the door of the kitchen was shut, ben concluded in his mind that it was all moonshine as to the appearance, that he really had heard his master's call, and hurrying up stairs he entered the parlour at the moment when his mistress awoke in such thrilling agony. the flow of tears relieved her overcharged heart, and without questioning the seaman she sent him below again, and prostrating herself before her maker, she offered up an earnest prayer for fortitude to undergo affliction, and tranquillity of mind to meet every dispensation that might occur--it was the poor dependant created, supplicating the high and almighty creator; it was the weak and the defenceless imploring the aid of the omnipotent. the appeal was heard and answered--the broken and the contrite spirit was not despised; and mrs. heartwell arose from her knees strengthened in the confidence that he who spread abroad immeasurable space and displayed the firmament as his handy work--who fed the young ravens when they cried, and clothed the lilies of the field in all their beauty, would not desert her in the hour of tribulation. [illustration] monument to napoleon! on the removal of napoleon's remains, i prepared the above design for a monument; but it was not sent, because it was not wanted. there is this disadvantage about a design for _his_ monument;--it will suit nobody else. this could not, therefore, be converted into a tribute to the memory of the late distinguished philosopher, muggeridge, head master of the grammar-school at birchley; nor into an embellishment for the mausoleum of the departed hero fitz-hogg, of the pipeclays. it very often happens, however, that when a monument to a great man turns out to be a misfit, it will, after a while, be found to suit some other great man as well as if his measure had been taken for it. just add a few grains to the intellectual qualities, subtract a scruple or so from the moral attributes--let out the philanthropy a little and take in the learning a bit--clip the public devotion, and throw an additional handful of virtues into the domestic scale--qualify the squint, in short, or turn the aquiline into a snub--these slight modifications observed, and any hero or philosopher may be fitted to a hair with a second-hand monumental design. the standing tribute "we _ne'er_ shall look upon his like again," is of course applicable in _every_ case of greatness. * * * * * "is this the man of thousand thrones, who strew'd our earth with hostile bones! and can he _thus_ survive!" * * * * * so byron sang, in accents of astonishment, long before the object of it was even once buried. is the note of wonder less called for, and less natural now--now that the world has lived to witness, not only the first, but the second funeral of its imperial agitator? is _this_ napoleon le grand! and looked alexander after _this_ fashion--barring the decorations of his bony extremities! agitator still! aye, agitator even in thine ashes thou must be called--whatsoever name else thou mayst be destined to survive! whether boney, bonyparty, buonaparte, napoleon, emperor! whether in the future, as in the past, thou shalt be addressed by any one of that astounding collection of titles which the most metaphysical and admiring of thy biographers once gathered from the public journals and set forth in startling array--as monster, tyrant, fiend, upstart, usurper, rebel, regicide, traitor, wretch, villain, knave, fool, madman, coward, impostor--or these again with suitable adjectives to reinforce them, as unnatural monster, sanguinary tyrant, diabolical fiend, corsican upstart, military usurper, wicked rebel, impious regicide, perfidious traitor, vile wretch, base villain, low-born knave, rank fool, egregious madman, notorious coward, detestable impostor;--or this other set of epithets, which, in more countries than france, and not unsparingly in our own, have since been associated with thy name--as conqueror, potentate, preserver, genius, liberator, law-giver, statesman, ruler, regenerator, enthusiast, martyr, hero, benefactor--these again being reinforced as before, thus--invincible conqueror, mighty potentate, glorious preserver, guardian genius, generous liberator, enlightened law-giver, magnificent statesman, wise ruler, national regenerator, sincere enthusiast, devoted martyr, triumphant hero, beneficent benefactor:--by these names, by any one of them possibly, thou mayst not be especially distinguished in after times; but as agitator at least thou must be hailed while language lasts! --it may justly be doubted whether the figure thus looking down upon a pyramid of skulls, is indeed "the man of thousand thrones"--whether he _does_ "thus survive." the design is one of those that "show men as they ought to be, not as they are." that opening of the coffin at st. helena opens up a world of curiosity, of wonder, and alarm. all the spectators were awed and astounded at the absence of the great dictator of the grave--change! all the beholders were stricken to marble, or melted into water-drops, to see death looking like life; to survey the pale and placid features of the emperor, expressing the serenity of repose, not the workings of decay--to witness a sign of power beyond that which ordinary clay may boast, and to feel that a "divinity did hedge" indeed the hero-king, in preserving all that was mortal of the exiled chief from the ravages of the worm. there lay the emperor napoleon--(he was recognised then by the authorities, and should the parties meet in the shades, even george the fourth can no longer style him general buonaparte)--there lay the emperor--not simply in his habit as he lived, but in the very flesh which he took with him out of longwood. there was the positive and unwasted substance--and there too was the seeming spirit. the eyes only were wanting to give it reality and consciousness. the mighty watcher had fallen asleep, but who could say that he never again was to wake up? the restless visionary had sunk, torpid, into a dream of years. the monarch had abdicated the throne of life without finally crossing its confines. at best, the spectacle presented an extraordinary compromise with the insatiate destroyer. the archer had for once half-missed his aim. now, it will be remembered that fauntleroy was considered to bear a decided resemblance to napoleon--a very respectable "likeness-done-in-this-style" sort of portrait--and fauntleroy, as we all hear, is said to be alive still! somebody has remarked--in fact we remarked it ourselves--that _on dit_ is french for "a lie;" and so it may be in this particular: still the coincidence is curious. even the likeness of napoleon is associated with things living; but napoleon himself has been seen, recognised, identified--looking like life itself--sleeping, sightless, but not dead. we have all been reminded lately of the manner in which his return from elba was announced in the _moniteur_. it will bear repetition here:--" st announcement--the demon has escaped from banishment: he has run away from elba. d--the corsican dragon has landed at cape juan. d.--the tiger has shown himself at gap--the troops are advancing from all sides, in order to arrest his progress--he cannot possibly escape. th--the monster has really advanced as far as grenoble--we know not to what treachery to ascribe it. th--the tyrant is actually at lyons. fear and terror seized all at his appearance. th--the usurper has ventured to approach the capital to within sixty hours' march. th--buonaparte is advancing by forced marches--but it is impossible he should reach paris. th--napoleon will reach under the walls of paris to-morrow. th--the emperor is at fontainbleau. th--yesterday evening his majesty the emperor made his public entry, and arrived at the palace of the tuileries--nothing can exceed the universal joy!" what would be his reception now, were he--as he escaped so strangely from elba, and worked his way still more strangely from under the willow of st. helena--were he to _wake_ where he is! the people cried vive _l'empereur_ as the coffin that held him was borne by. and truly the emperor yet _lives_ in france! [as for me, who have skeletonised him prematurely, paring down the prodigy even to his hat and boots, i have but "carried out" a principle adopted almost in my boyhood, for i can scarcely remember the time when i did not take some patriotic pleasure in persecuting the great enemy of england. had he been less than that, i should have felt compunction for my cruelties; having tracked him through snow and through fire, by flood and by field, insulting, degrading, and deriding him everywhere, and putting him to several humiliating deaths. all that time, however, he went on "overing" the pyramids and the alps, as boys "over" posts, and playing at leap-frog with the sovereigns of europe, so as to kick a crown off at every spring he made--together with many crowns and sovereigns into my coffers. deep, most deep, in a personal view of matters, are my obligations to the agitator--but what a debt the country _owes to him!_] [illustration] photographic phenomena, or the new school of portrait-painting. "sit, cousin percy; sit, good cousin hotspur!"--henry iv. "my lords, be seated."--_speech from the throne._ i.--invitation to sit. now sit, if ye have courage, cousins all! sit, all ye grandmamas, wives, aunts, and mothers; daughters and sisters, widows, brides, and nieces; in bonnets, braids, caps, tippets, or pelisses, the muff, mantilla, boa, scarf, or shawl! sit all ye uncles, godpapas, and brothers, fathers and nephews, sons, and next of kin, husbands, half-brother's cousin's sires, and others; be you as science young, or old as sin: turn, persian-like, your faces to the sun! and have each one his portrait done, finish'd, one may say, before it's begun. nor you alone, oh! slight acquaintances! or blood relations! but sit, oh! public benefactors, whose portraits are hung up by corporations. ye rulers of the likeness-loving nations, ascend you now the photographic throne, and snatch from time the precious mornings claim'd by artists famed (in the court circular you'll find them named). sit too, ye laurell'd heroes, whom detractors would rank below the statesman and the bard! sit also, all ye actors, whose fame would else die with you, which is hard: whose _falstaffs_ here will never _slenders_ prove. so true the art is! m.p.'s, for one brief moment cease to move; and you who stand as leaders of great parties, be sitting members! ye intellectual marchers, sit resign'd! and oh! ye authors, men of dazzling mind, perchance with faces foggy as november's, pray sit! apollo turned r.a. the other day, making a most decided hit. they say. ph[oe]bus himself--he has become a shee! (morning will rank among the knights full soon) and while the moon, who only draws the tides, is clean outdone, the stars are all astonishment to see earth--sitting for her portrait--to the sun! ii.--the process of the portraiture. it's all very fine, is it not, oh! ye nine? to tell us this planet is going too fast, on a comet-like track through the wilderness vast: instead of collision, and chances of splitting in contact with stars rushing down the wrong line, the world at this moment can't get on--for sitting: and earth, like the lady enchanted in _comus_, fix'd fast to her chair with a dignified air, is expecting to sit for a century there; much wondering, possibly, half in despair, how the deuce she's to find her way back to her domus. "keep moving," we know, was the cry long ago; but now, never hare was "found sitting," i swear, like the crowds who repair to old cavendish square, and mount up a mile and a quarter of stair. in procession that beggars the lord mayor's show! and all are on tiptoe, the high and the low, to sit in that glass-cover'd blue studio; in front of those boxes, wherein when you look your image reversed will minutely appear, so delicate, forcible, brilliant, and clear, so small, full, and round, with a life so profound, as none ever wore in a mirror before; or the depths of a glassy and branch-shelter'd brook, that glides amidst moss o'er a smooth-pebbled ground. apollo, whom drummond of hawthornden styled "apelles of flowers," now mixes his showers of sunshine, with colours by clouds undefiled; apelles indeed to man, woman, and child. his agent on earth, when your attitude's right, your collar adjusted, your locks in their place, just seizes one moment of favouring light, and utters three sentences--"now it's begun,"-- "it's going on now, sir,"--and "now it is done;" and lo! as i live, there's the cut of your face on a silvery plate, unerring as fate, worked off in celestial and strange mezzotint, a little resembling an elderly print. "well, i _never_!" all cry; "it is cruelly like you!" but truth is unpleasant to prince and to peasant. you recollect lawrence, and think of the graces that chalon and company give to their faces; the face you have worn fifty years doesn't strike you! iii.--the criticisms of the sitters--the moral. "can this be _me_! do look, mama!" poor jane begins to whimper; "i _have_ a smile, 'tis true;--but, pa! this gives me quite a simper." says tibb, whose plays are worse than bad, "it makes my forehead flat;" and being classical, he'll add, "i'm blow'd if i'm like _that_." courtly, all candour, owns his portrait true; "oh, yes, it's like; yes, very; it will do. extremely like me--every feature--_but_ that plain pug-nose; now mine's the grecian cut!" her grace surveys her face with drooping lid; prefers the portrait which sir thomas did; owns that o'er this _some_ traits of truth are sprinkled; but views the brow with anger--"why, it's wrinkled!" "like _me_!" cries sir turtle; "i'll lay two to one it would only be guess'd by my foes; no, no, it is plain there are spots in the sun, which accounts for these spots on my nose." "a likeness!" cries crosslook, the lawyer, and sneers; "yes, the wig, throat and forehead i spy, and the mouth, chin, and cheeks, and the nose and the ears, but it gives me a cast in the eye!" * * * * * thus needs it the courage of old cousin hotspur, to sit to an artist who flatters no sitter; yet self-love will urge us to seek him, for what spur so potent as that, though it make the truth bitter! and thus are all flocking, to see ph[oe]bus mocking, or making queer faces, a visage per minute; and truly 'tis shocking, if winds should be rocking the building, or clouds darken all that's within it, to witness the frights which shadows and lights manufacture, as like as an owl to a linnet. for there, while you sit up, your countenance lit up, the mists fly across, a magnificent rack; and your portrait's a patch, with its bright and its black, out-rembrandting rembrandt, in ludicrous woe, like a chimney-sweep caught in a shower of snow. yet nothing can keep the crowd below, and still they mount up, stair by stair; and every morn, by the hurry and hum, each seeking a prize in the lottery there, you fancy the "last day of drawing" has come. l. b. [illustration: [all the world and his wife must recollect that they are not figuring before a mere mortal artist with whom they may all the while laugh and chat. here you must sit mute and motionless. you _may_ wink; you may perhaps just put on a smile; but you _must not_ laugh; for if you do, one half of your head will go off!]] [illustration: commentary upon the late--"new police act" by which it appears that ... ... designed etched & published by george cruikshank-- june st ] punch _v._ law. i was dozing over the last half-dozen glasses of a bowl of punch (the rest of the club having departed) when the waiter at the british came into the coffee-room to remind me that it was saturday night, and that in obedience to the new police act it was absolutely necessary that i should take my departure before sunday morning--the door must be finally closed at twelve o'clock, and it then wanted but five minutes. this appeal, and a "now, sir, if you please," a few times repeated, were not more than half heard; sleep seized me irresistibly, and in twenty seconds more i was dreaming that i had fallen fast asleep, with the punch-bowl for a nightcap. "come, move on--make way here, will you though?--move on, you sir! no punch and judy now; it's unlegal by the law; ain't you awor o' the new police act what's put it down?" such was the arbitrary order which in my dream serjeant higginbotham of the x division issued, as he pushed his way into the centre of a crowd of urchins assembled round that little stage on which punch was playing off his antics in unapproachable style. as the words fell from his lips, they smote my heart with the fear that a revolution in the country must inevitably follow. punch to be put down by act of parliament! judy to be snatched away for ever by a vote of both houses! mirth, fun, jollity, to be legislated into nothing--in the passing of a clause, or the twinkling of the speaker's eye! impossible; put punch down in one place, lo! he is up again in another; stifle his voice in the east, and hark! you hear him the next minute squeaking in the west, like the piping shepherd-boy, "as though he should never grow old." this was consolatory to my feelings; but yet methought, the mere intent, the bare threat of the legislature to banish the people's own punch, their time-honoured favourite, would paralyse all london at first, and then all london would be seen on its legs rushing to the queen's palace to petition! to my astonishment, not a soul in that crowd took the smallest notice of serjeant higginbotham's imperative command to be off. punch went on squeaking and rapping away; the troop of boys, girls, and miscellanies around, continued to grin, laugh, scream, and stretch their necks to stare over one another's heads as though they never could look enough; and what was more, the policeman, who had penetrated into the midst of them, and of whose presence they appeared so singularly heedless, stood there, grinning, laughing, screaming, and stretching his neck to stare too. there indeed stood serjeant h., his truncheon dropping from one hand, while the other was tightly pressed against his side, where he seemed to be in imminent peril of a split. that truncheon he had scarce uplifted, when the laugh seized him, and his arm fell powerless. serjeant higginbotham, six feet high, was a little boy again. how he laughed and roared. i heard his "ho! ho!" for days afterwards, and can even now see the tears run down his cheeks, fringing his whiskers like dewdrops on a bush. close by was a youngster flying his kite contrary to law; on the approach of a policeman, he let go, turned to run, caught a glimpse of punch--and there he stood fascinated by the fun. his pursuer, who was close behind him, was just about to catch him by the collar, when he too stopped short, and with distended jaws almost doubled the horse-laugh of the side-aching serjeant. up came a sweep with the illegal cry of 'we-weep' on his lips, but he could not break the law by giving utterance to the cry--for laughter. presently came by a genius playing an organ, and another blowing a trumpet--the policemen heard not the unlawful music, and it suddenly ceased, stopped by the irresistible and all-absorbing punch. a boy came next trundling his hoop, with d trundling after him; in two minutes they were standing side by side, laughing from ear to ear. a dustman had just raised his voice and got out, "du--" when his bell seemed to stop of itself, and "my eye!" was all he could articulate. a lad behind a hackney-coach jumped down, scorning a three-miles ride, under the influence of the prevailing risibility. all were drawn insensibly into the vortex of laughter. every violator of the new law, albeit aware of having fallen under the vigilant observation of the police, lost on the instant all sense of responsibility, all inclination to shun the danger of apprehension, and joining the crowd, became utterly unconscious of any law but the law of nature, and supremely blessed in ignorance of the very existence of a constable. more astounding still was the suddenness with which the rush of policemen from all quarters, pursuing the offenders, came to a stand-still. each in turn followed his intended victim into the charmed circle, gave up the chase in the moment of success, and surrendered himself captive to punch instead of taking a prisoner. "and those who came to seize, remain'd to laugh." at length, half the trades, half the schools, all the idlers, and all the policemen of the metropolis, seemed gathered there together. and there they all stood spell-bound, wrought upon by one common emotion; shaking their sides against one another, and sending up a roar, compared with which the thunder of the danish kettle-drums and cannon of old was a dead silence. here, methought, is a lesson for legislators! they would put down that which puts down nuisances, and turns public disturbers into the happiest and most harmless of mortals! and they would suppress it by agents who came in contact with the enemy only to join his ranks, "for we have all of us one human heart." put down punch! fifty parliaments could never do it! there's a divinity doth hedge him. punch for a time can suppress kite-flying, hoop-trundling, bell-ringing, and trumpet-blowing--which the law cannot; how then should punch himself be put down? immortal puppet! the true friend of the people, and the promoter of good-humour among all her majesty's loving subjects! such _would_ have been my reflections; but the accumulated roar of the laughing throng awoke me--when i found that the waiter was snoring very loud in the lobby of the coffee-room. the house had long been shut for the night; and having violated the law, i was obliged to content myself with a broiled bone and a bed at the british--with an extra tumbler of _punch_! [illustration: commentary upon the "new police act" (n^o. .) designed etched & published by george cruikshank june st ] "original poetry:" by the late sir fretful plagiary, knight, member of the dramatic authors' association, fellow of the parnassian society, &c. * * * * * _now first printed from the original copies in the handwriting of that popular author._ edited by laman blanchard. we have considerable pleasure in discharging the duty imposed upon us, of transcribing the mss. which one of sir fretful plagiary's numerous living descendants has placed in our hands, and of submitting to the public the following specimens of "something new." whatever may be thought in other respects of these, the latest emanations--or, as some with equal correctness perhaps would say, effusions--of an immortal genius, we unhesitatingly pronounce them to be original. _these poems bear no resemblance to anything ever before offered to the public._ now this is a declaration which cannot fail to awaken in the reader's mind a strong suspicion that the ideas are mere imitations, and the language a mere echo, of the thoughts and expressions of other poets. in this solitary instance the acute reader will be mistaken in his supposition. there is no one line that can be called an _imitation_--no phrase that can be pronounced an _echo_. line after line is equally emphatic, interesting, melodious, and--original. this fact we might establish by citing at full length a remarkably novel and curious production of sir fretful's, which, with the fineness of shakspeare and dryden united, opens thus:-- "farewell! thou canst not teach me to forget; the power of beauty i remember yet." but we prefer proceeding at once to a strikingly harmonious, and singularly analytical composition, bearing the designation of an ode to the human heart. blind thamyris, and blind mæonides, pursue the triumph and partake the gale! drop tears as fast as the arabian trees, to point a moral or adorn a tale[ ]. full many a gem of purest ray serene, thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, like angels' visits, few and far between, deck the long vista of departed years. man never is, but always to be bless'd; the tenth transmitter of a foolish face, like aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest, and makes a sunshine in the shady place. for man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled, to waft a feather or to drown a fly, (in wit a man, simplicity a child,) with silent finger pointing to the sky. but fools rush in where angels fear to tread, far out amid the melancholy main; as when a vulture on imaus bred, dies of a rose in aromatic pain. music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, look on her face, and you'll forget them all; some mute inglorious milton here may rest, a hero perish, or a sparrow fall. my way of life is fall'n into the sere; i stood in venice on the bridge of sighs, like a rich jewel in an ethiop's ear, who sees through all things with his half-shut eyes. oh! for a lodge in some vast wilderness! full many a flower is born to blush unseen, fine by degrees and beautifully less, and die ere man can say 'long live the queen.' if in the above any reader should be reminded of the "long resounding march and energy divine" of poets past or present, it can only be because our illustrious and profusely-gifted bard has clustered together more remarkable, and we trust they will long prove memorable, lines, than any one of his predecessors has in the same space given an example of. that poem can be of no inferior order of merit, in which milton would have been proud to have written one line, pope would have been equally vain of the authorship of a second, byron have rejoiced in a third, campbell gloried in a fourth, gray in a fifth, cowper in a sixth, and so on to the end of the ode; which thus realises the poetical wealth of that well-known line of sir fretful's, "infinite riches in a little room." but we must not, by prosaic comment, detain the impatient reader from other specimens of the striking originality of this writer's powers. among some fragments thrown loose in his desk, we find the following:-- when lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, there's such a charm in melancholy, i would not if i could be gay. again: there's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright, for coming events cast their shadows before; oh! think not my spirits are always as light, like ocean-weeds cast on the surf-beaten shore. we have pronounced these two stanzas to be original; and they are: but with reference to the first of them we admit that a distinguished living critic, to whom it was shown, remarked that it did remind him a little of something in some other author--and he rather thought it was goldsmith; a second critic, equally eminent, was forcibly reminded by it of something which he was convinced had been written by rogers. _so much for criticism!_ to such treatment is original genius ever subjected. its traducers cannot even agree as to the derivation of the stolen property; they cannot name the author robbed. one cries, spenser; another, butler; a third, collins. we repeat, it is the fate of originality. "garth did not write his own dispensary," says pope jeeringly; campbell has had his exile of erin vehemently claimed by a desperate wrestler for renown; and at this very time a schoolmaster in scotland is ready to swear that the author of the "burial of sir john moore" never wrote a line of it. but we now pass to another piece by sir fretful; and this, whether its sentiments be of a high or a low order, its imagery appropriate or incongruous, is entirely his own:-- lives there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself has said, "shoot folly as it flies?" oh! more than tears of blood can tell, are in that word farewell, farewell! 'tis folly to be wise. and what is friendship but a name, that boils on etna's breast of flame? thus runs the world away: sweet is the ship that's under sail to where yon taper cheers the vale, with hospitable ray! drink to me only with thine eyes through cloudless climes and starry skies! my native land, good night! adieu, adieu, my native shore; 'tis greece, but living greece no more-- whatever is is right! we have thought it expedient to point out briefly the peculiar beauty of some of our author's lines; but it cannot be necessary to point out the one peculiar and exclusive quality of his writings--his perspicacity--his connectedness. his verse "flows due on to the propontic, nor knows retiring ebb." you are never at a loss to know what he means. in his sublimest passages he is intelligible. this is his great beauty. no poet perhaps is so essentially _logical_. we close our specimens with another short poem; it is entitled, "on life, et cetera." know then this truth, enough for man to know: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, who would be free themselves must strike the blow. retreating lightly with a lovely fear from grave to gay, from lively to severe, to err is human, to forgive divine, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine like quills upon the fretful porcupine. all are but parts of one stupendous whole, the feast of reason and the flow of soul. * * * * * we ne'er shall look upon his like again, for panting time toils after him in vain, and drags at each remove a lengthening chain; allures to brighter worlds, and leads the way with sweet, reluctant, amorous delay! leaving this great poet's samples of the mighty line, or, as it is sometimes called, the lofty rhyme, to "speak for themselves," we conclude with a word or two on a subject to which _one_ of his effusions here printed has (thanks to what are called the critics) unexpectedly led--we mean the subject of literary loans, or, as they are more familiarly and perhaps felicitously designated, literary thefts. a critic of high repute has said, "a man had better steal anything on earth, than the thoughts of another;" agreed, unless when he steals the thought, he steal the words with it. the economising trader in joe miller who stole his brooms ready made, carried on a prosperous business. some authors steal only the raw material; or rather, they run away with another man's muse, but for fear of detection, and to avoid the charge of felony, leave the drapery behind--a practice which cannot be too severely reprehended. it is the same principle on which, according to sheridan (sir fretful's _friend!_) gipsies disguise stolen children to make them pass for their own. now sir fretful, alluding to shakspeare in a poem which has never yet been published, says very nobly-- "hereditary bondsmen, know ye not he wants that greatest art, the art to blot!" if we might dare to parody (scott said it was a sin to parody--"we are seven") any one line sanctified by the genius of a plagiary, we should say that too many of his descendants want that greatest art, the art to steal. they steal--but not with integrity. there may be, nay there is, such a thing as honest theft--equitable robbery--prigging with justice and honour. we hold that in all cases of literary borrowing, or robbery (for it comes to the same thing), it is ten million times better to rob or borrow without the least disguise, equivocation, or mutilation whatsoever. take the line as you find it. don't crack it as you would a nut, picking out the idea, appropriating it to your own purpose, and leaving only the husk behind. you will never get an artificial shell to grow round it; it will never be the nut it was before. take it whole. prudery in these cases is often worse than folly--it is shabbiness. it is folly, when, after stealing a fine symmetrical thought, a whole morning is spent in disguising, distorting, and deforming it, until at last all that remains of it merge into the unprofitable moral--"of no use to anybody but the owner." it is shabbiness, when, as is the practice of prose-writers, a splendid passage is purloined, and a bargain is struck with conscience; when, just for decency's sake, six words of the sentence are publicly attributed by inverted commas to the right owner, while all the rest assumes the character of originality. we may give an example in the following passage from burke's reflections on the revolution in france, which we will suppose to be thus printed:-- but the "age of chivalry" is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded; and the "glory of europe" is extinguished for ever. the unbought grace of life, the "cheap defence of nations[ ]," the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, "is gone!" * * * * * this cunning practice of acknowledging a few words borrowed, with a view to divert suspicion from the many you have stolen, is like confessing a lawful debt of sixpence, due to the man which you have just plundered of fifty pounds; and this practice, sir fretful plagiary, to his immortal honour, scorned to adopt. could his original and abundant genius have stooped to steal, he would have stolen conscientiously; he would have taken the whole passage outright; instead of spoiling everything he laid his hands upon, and making (as dryden says) "the fine woman end in a fish's tail." war is honourable, manslaying is not; pillage is legalised by custom, which cannot be said of picking pockets. thus, as it is more honourable to pillage than to pilfer, so is it to seize upon a whole line, or even a couplet, than to extract the essence of it surreptitiously, or sneak off with a valuable epithet; and it is the more honest, because every author has a better chance, after the robbery has served its purpose, of getting back his own. had this principle been in operation from the beginning, what confusion it would have prevented! what discords between authors! what perplexities in settling their claims to disputed metaphors, and their rights in contested ideas! from the mere want of this common honesty in purloining, it is impossible, in many instances, to come to an equitable adjustment. it is a wise poet that knows his own conceit--or to prevent mistakes, let us say, his own idea. he sees his private property transferred to the pages of another, and cannot swear to it. there is no saying which is yours and which is his. _tuum_ rhymes to _suum_, and always will. footnotes: [footnote : the printer's devil had taken upon himself to make the following addition to these lines:-- blind thamyris, and blind mæonides, (_something like milton_). pursue the triumph and partake the gale! (_rather like pope_). drop tears as fast as the arabian trees, (_why, this_ is _shakspeare_). to point a moral, or adorn a tale. (_oh! it's dr. johnson_). to the succeeding lines the same authority had added in succession the names of gray wordsworth, campbell, and so on throughout the poem. what does he mean? does he mean to say he has ever met with any one of these lines _before?_] [footnote : burke.] frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter ii. time progressed, and though mrs. heartwell still laboured under unaccountable agitation and alarm, yet there was a counteracting influence that diffused itself through her frame and buoyed her up with hope. honest ben more than once or twice entered the room, and with diffidence inquired whether his mistress had any commands; he asked no intrusive questions--he made no observations--the matter was something beyond his comprehension, and it never for one moment entered into his thoughts to speculate upon causes and effects; yet desirous of affording all the comfort and consolation which suggested itself to his mind, he took especial pains in making some excellent coffee, which he carried up to the distressed lady. "you are kind and considerate, my good friend," said she whilst accepting the proffered refreshment. "i wish mr. heartwell was here to partake of it with me. surely something unusual must have happened to detain him." "no doubt on it, my lady," returned the seaman; "an ould messmate or shipmate mayhap, or an extra glass of grog or two." the lady shook her head as she mournfully replied, "no, no, those would not be inducements strong enough to keep your master away from his home." "bless you, my lady," responded the seaman earnestly, as he busied himself about the parlour; "as to the strength of the deucements, all i can say is, that they mixes 'em strong enough when they pleases--though half-and-half ought to satisfy any reasonable man. but there, what's the odds so as you're happy?" "you must prepare yourself, ben, to go to lincoln's inn, and see if your master has been detained by business," said the lady, disregarding, or perhaps not observing the poor fellow's mistake. "you know the office of mr. brady." "yes, my lady," returned the seaman; "and i'll make sail as soon as ever you pleases to give orders." "wait then a little longer," added mrs. heartwell, as she looked at the watch: "go down now, and i will ring for you presently." accustomed to implicit obedience when afloat, the seaman still adhered to it now that he was ashore; and therefore again descending to the kitchen, he awaited the expected summons. drearily and heavily the minutes passed away, and yet as the fingers of the dial moved progressively over the divisions of the hour into quarters--marking the march of time--they seemed to have flown too quickly, for they afforded additional evidence that some calamity must have befallen the individual whose continued absence had caused increasing pain. yet there the mourning watcher sat, suffering the extreme trial of human patience--waiting for those who came not. several times had the silent contemplations of mrs. heartwell been disturbed by the loud ticking and sudden stopping of a clock or watch. at first she scarcely heeded the noise, but the frequent repetition drew her attention more strongly to it, and she sought for the cause: it could not be the dial, for the vibrations of that were clear and continuous--it could not be her own watch, the sound was so different; but to satisfy herself, she wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in the table-drawer. again the ticking came; it seemed to fill every corner of the apartment, sometimes heard in one place and sometimes in another; and when mrs. heartwell fancied she had found the spot from which it emanated, it suddenly ceased, and then commenced elsewhere. she rang the bell for ben, who promptly answered, and stood within the open door. "did mr. heartwell take his timepiece with him?" inquired she. "yes, my lady," responded ben; "i saw the chain and seals hanging down as he went out at the door." "is there any strange watch or clock in the house that you know of?" demanded she again. "no, my lady, not as i knows of," replied ben, much surprised at the question, and somewhat fearful that grief had unsettled the reason of his mistress. "hark then, ben,--listen, and tell me what is that," exclaimed she energetically, as the ticking was loudly renewed. "there must be a clock somewhere to produce such sounds." ben did listen as the eyes of his mistress were intently fixed upon him, but the tar shook his head and was silent. "it must be some trick," said mrs. heartwell; "can you hear it distinctly?" "it's easy enough to hear," responded the seaman with another slow shake of his head; "and though it's some years since i heard it afore, yet there's no mistaking _that_, my lady." "what is it then?" demanded the excited woman in a tone assuming peremptory command; "what is it that produces so loud and peculiar a noise?" "bless you, my lady," returned the seaman solemnly, as he folded his arms across his breast. "them sounds are out of all natur, for the works were never made by mortal fingers--there's no living hand as winds 'em up--no human spring as sets 'em a-going--that my lady is the death-watch:" and then ben added his usual expletive, though his countenance was ruefully sad, "but what's the odds so as you're happy?" mrs. heartwell was perfectly aware that what had generally been called "the death-watch," was nothing more than a small insect, and the noise it produced was caused by striking its proboscis against hollow wood to release itself from confinement; but her nervous system was greatly relaxed and her mental energies impaired through the violent agitation she had undergone during the night. for several minutes, therefore, a superstitious dread came over her mind--it was the first time she had ever heard the supposed monitor of the shroud and coffin, and ben's impressive manner as he announced its alleged character threw an additional weight of gloom over her already oppressed spirits. but reason was not long in resuming its sway, though it could not utterly banish feelings which had been excited by such a visitation, especially acted upon as she was by previous apprehensions of some direful but unknown calamity. the tapers on the table were nearly consumed, and the re-assured lady directed ben to supply others in their places: she then walked towards the window, and unclosing one of the shutters, the bright gleams from a beautiful daylight mingling with the fading light of the newly-risen moon streamed full upon her. hallowed and tranquillising are the effects of a lovely dawn; darkness has fled before a mighty conqueror--the face of nature is again unveiled, and smiling beauty colours every feature with its rosy tints; the sorrows of the heart are for a time absorbed in the universal peace which prevails, and even the dying who cannot expect to see its close, rejoice in the opening glory of another day. the weary watcher as she looked up to the heavens felt relieved and comforted; a prayer rose spontaneously from her heart to that being who had sent light from above to cheer her in the dreariness of night; and now with humble adoration she poured forth her gratitude at being spared to witness the early beams that illumed the east, and called man forth to his daily labour. ben was again summoned--the servants were called up from their beds--mrs heartwell went to the pillow of her sleeping boy, but his repose was so calm, his rest so undisturbed, that she would not awake him; but imprinting one gentle kiss on his fair forehead, she descended to the parlour to commence active operations in search of her husband. the seaman was despatched to lincoln's inn, as the first essay, and after an absence of about an hour, he returned to report that he had waited some time at the door of mr. brady's office, till the porter had told him the office would not be open till nine o'clock, and he thought it best to come and let his mistress know. "it is fast approaching that hour," said the lady. "be quick and get your breakfast; i will go myself, and you and frank shall accompany me." "i wants no breakfast, my lady," returned the seaman. "i'm rigged and ready at once, if so be as you wishes to get under weigh"-- "no,--do as i direct you "--responded the lady, firmly. "frank is not yet ready--we have had our meal whilst you were away, and you must not be deprived of yours." the tar made his bow and descended to the kitchen, where the servants were assembled, and each endeavoured to catechise ben on the events of the night; but he could tell them nothing, for he had nothing to tell, and even sally failed in drawing forth any communication from the seaman. when frank entered the parlour, he ran and kissed his mother, but looked astonished at beholding his father's vacant chair--he gazed earnestly in his mother's face, and though she strove to smile upon her boy, yet fatigue and anxiety had left too visible an impression on her countenance--with the intuitive quickness of childhood frank became instantly aware that something was wrong, and throwing his arms round his parent's neck, he burst into an agony of grief, whilst she strained him to her heart, and the tears of the mother and the child ran mingling down together. as soon as emotion had subsided, mrs. heartwell briefly informed the lad that she feared something had happened to his father, and that she was about to make inquiries after him. the returning confidence and self-command of the mother produced not only a soothing influence, but also an animated spirit of investigation in the son; the mind of the child was fresh and vigorous from a night's repose--he had cherished no harassing fears, had endured no torturing suspense, and therefore, young as he was, his courage was aroused, and he longed to set out on the search which his mother had proposed. his desire was soon gratified, and a very short time beheld mrs. heartwell and frank, followed by ben, proceeding from their residence in ormond street towards lincoln's inn. the streets were not much crowded, for the worthy citizens were at that time accustomed to reside under the same roofs with their shops and warehouses, and consequently were always on the spot ready for business. not that they are negligent in the present day, for no class of men are more punctual than our merchants and tradesmen; but the extension of commerce has compelled vast numbers to convert their dwellings into storehouses; and the city is, to a certain degree, deserted in the evening for the rural suburbs with their handsome mansions--delightful villas and cottage retreats. man has a natural love for the country--the green fields--the pure air--and the fragrance of flowers--these are the works of the creator, and our grateful admiration should be mingled with the worship which is his due. the clock had not struck nine when they passed through the spacious area of lincoln's inn fields, the trees in which had already become leafless, and gave an air of desolation to the dingy scenery. what a crowd of reflections do our inns of court give rise to--and yet how few who pass through them ever bestow one thought on the thousands who are toiling daily, and many nightly, within those walls to render perfect and secure for others the property which without the aid of the law would be unsafe! a writer in an american work has remarked, "what a happy country that would be where there were no lawyers;" but he must first people it with immaculate beings, to whom the ten commandments would become as a dead letter, and every one of the inhabitants must enjoy equality. to suppose such a thing is an absurdity--human passions and human prejudices will prevail, and it is to govern the one and guide the other--to protect the right--avenge the injured, and to punish crime--that laws were framed; and men indefatigably devoted themselves to study all their bearings that they might be carried into full effect. an honourable, useful, and manly profession is that of the lawyer; and though there are some unworthy members amongst the fraternity--(and what community is without them?)--yet, taken as a body, they bear a character of which england is justly proud. exactly at nine they reached the chambers of mr. brady, and at the same moment a tall, stout, boney man took a key from his pocket and opened the door. "mr. brady is not yet come, madam," said he, observing that mrs. heartwell was about to address him. "his business-time is half-past nine, and you will find him punctual to the moment. would you like to wait, or will you call again?" "you are, i presume, in mr. brady's service?" said the lady, as she passed within the door. "his assistant, madam--his clerk--his confidential clerk," responded the man, stiffly bowing and assuming a pompous manner. but mrs. heartwell heeded not his conduct, her mind was too much engrossed by other matters, and she earnestly remarked, "you are then acquainted with all mr. brady's employers--" "his clients, madam, i suppose you mean," interrupted the person addressed, as he bent a keen look on the interesting countenance of the lady. "oh yes--i necessarily know his clients well--" "then," returned she, "you perhaps can inform me whether mr. heartwell"--her voice became tremulous with emotion, but by a sharp struggle she mastered her feelings and repeated "whether mr. heartwell was here yesterday?" "lieutenant heartwell of the royal navy, madam, i presume," said the clerk, obsequiously bowing. "have i the honour to address his worthy lady?" "he is my husband, sir," answered the lady, proudly, for there was something in the manners of the man that excited unpleasant sensations--a smirking attempt to please that but ill accorded with his look and appearance. "was mr. heartwell here yesterday?" "most assuredly he was, madam," responded the clerk. "i hope nothing unpleasant has occurred." "confound the lubber, he seems to know it," mumbled ben, whose keen gaze had been fixed upon the man. "i wish my lady ud let me ax him a bit of his catechiz." "at what hour did mr. heartwell quit this office?" inquired the agitated woman. "at what hour, madam?" repeated the clerk, casting his eyes up to a clock that hung, or rather stood, in the corner; "why really i cannot call to recollection the precise hour--i was so busily engaged upon the will of mr. checkwell, the rich banker, who was not expected to live many hours--indeed he died this morning, and if that last testament had not been made out as quick as it was, so as to enable him to sign it, all his property would have gone amongst his poor relations--but now he has bequeathed it to a favorite niece"--and the man smiled--"he will be a fortunate fellow who wins her favour--two hundred thousand pounds and--" "oh, what's the odds so as you're happy?" exclaimed ben, peevishly interrupting him. "jist tell my lady when the leftenant hauled his wind out of this." "hauled his wind out of this?" reiterated the clerk, giving the worthy tar a sidelong glance of contempt. "speak english, my friend." ben was about to reply in no very gentle terms, but his mistress raised her hand, and the tar was silent. she then turned to the clerk. "i have put a plain and simple question to you, sir; will you oblige me with an answer?" "why really, madam, i beg pardon--but the question has escaped my memory," responded the man, as if desirous of gaining time. "i asked you at what hour mr. heartwell quitted this place," repeated the lady, her heart swelling almost to bursting. "oh--ay--i trust you will excuse me. i remember now," answered the clerk, as he retired to his desk; "but the will, madam, the will of mr. checkwell occupied my whole attention. yet let me see: it must have been eight o'clock. no, it was later than that; but mr. brady can inform you most correctly, i have no doubt: he will be here in a few minutes. will you walk in, and the young gentleman with you?" and, rising, he opened the door to an inner room. "there are chairs: as for my friend here, he will perhaps remain in the outer office." mrs. heartwell entered a spacious apartment, the windows admitting an unobstructed light, which was thrown upon a large oblong table, bearing innumerable packages of letters and documents tied up with red tape or green ribbon, according to the rank of the client. the walls of the room were nearly concealed behind law-books and japanned boxes with painted initials on their fronts--though some bore in full the names of highly respectable firms and companies, and one or two displayed the titles of noblemen. on the floor were pieces of carpet resembling ancient tapestry, and there were three chairs of dark oak, the seats cased with leather, the original colour of which it was impossible to detect. the lady, with her son by her side, retired into a part of the apartment that was somewhat obscured by shade; and here, as she sate awaiting the coming of the individual on whose knowledge seemed to rest her future happiness or misery, her thoughts reverted to the previous evening when her husband was in that very same apartment; and as there were two chairs placed at a part of the table that was cleared from papers, she conjectured that one had been occupied by the lieutenant; and small as the matter might seem in the estimation of others, she would have given much to have known which of the two it was. then arose other contemplations: one of the chairs was doubtless for the clients--the other, at a more respectful distance, for the suppliants who came to entreat for delay against the execution of the law, or to appeal for the extension of mercy from his creditor. oh! how many sorrowing spirits grieving over blighted hopes and desolated prospects--how many breaking hearts, crushed beneath the torturing pressure of affliction that verged upon despair--how many upbraiding consciences, filled with remorse at past deeds of shame or extravagance--had been there! parents, who had reduced their offspring from affluence to poverty, through crime or indiscretion--husbands that had wasted their substance, and brought their wives to want--ruined merchants and tradesmen who had borne a good name in the world, but, surrounded by difficulties which they could not master, were compelled to have their names announced in the gazette. what a wide field for reflection was there! at length mr. brady arrived; and, after a short consultation with his clerk, the door of his room opened, and mrs. heartwell beheld a gentlemanly-looking man of about thirty years of age, whose firm-set frame gave evidence of strong muscular powers. his limbs were large, but yet in just proportion to the rest of his body; and a handsomely formed pair of legs were well displayed in tight black silk stockings. his features were of a repulsive cast: a round, bullet-head, with high cheek-bones and protruding bushy eyebrows that frowned above a pair of large but piercing black eyes, which, like the rattlesnake's, had something of fascination in them. there is a world of language in the human eye that carries with it its own translation; and when mrs. heartwell saw the bright orbs of the lawyer as he looked round the room, a strange thrill came over her bosom--an indefinable sensation that sickened her very heart: she had never, to her recollection, seen mr. brady before that moment; yet the piercing keenness of his eyes was vividly pictured on her memory--they were familiar to the mind as having at some former period occasioned much distress, but where or when, or with what connexion, baffled remembrance was utterly at fault. the lady tremblingly arose as the lawyer approached; but her agitation was considerably diminished when a voice, soft and gentle, and sweetly harmonious, requested her "to be seated," and she again resumed the chair; whilst frank, overawed by the presence of mr. brady, took up a position nearly behind his mother so as scarcely to be seen, though he commanded a perfect view of all that was going on. the lawyer retired to the corner of the table, against which he reclined with his left hand resting on the corner; he raised his right to his chin, and fixing his eyes on the distressed lady, seemed to devote himself to mute attention. mrs. heartwell told her name and related the cause of her visit, which drew forth no remark nor a single token that she was heard, till the narrative was ended, and even then he continued for a minute or two in deep and unmoved silence. at length he uttered in accents of soothing kindness-- "i trust, my dear lady, that you will not distress yourself unnecessarily. affairs may not be so bad as you anticipate; and yet--" he paused for a moment, and then inquired, "had mr. heartwell no friends in your neighbourhood on whom he could call in his way home?" "we have but few acquaintances, sir, and but fewer friends," returned the lady mournfully; "besides, i am certain that my husband would not have willingly remained away from home all night." "was mr. heartwell at all addicted--you will excuse my putting so plain a question, nothing but the urgency of the occasion would compel me--but was mr. heartwell at all addicted to drinking,--i mean so as to become inebriated?" inquired the lawyer. "no, sir, never--never," said the lady firmly; "a better husband, a kinder father, a more sober man never existed--and these very qualities do but increase my fears for his safety." "i am gratified to hear it," responded the lawyer. "mr. heartwell transacted business with me yesterday to a very large extent; we had some wine together, and what with his good fortune and the generous liquor, i must own he was somewhat elevated when we parted." mrs. heartwell paused for a moment or two before she responded. the affection she had always cherished for her husband had produced unbounded confidence in all his actions: she knew that sailors were fond of the social glass, but she had never seen him indulge to excess, nor witnessed anything that could induce her to suppose that he had done so; and the thought that mr. brady implied, that he was drunk, went with thrilling anguish to her very soul, for it wounded her pride whilst it increased her fears. "oh, do not say so, sir," said she; "do not say he was intoxicated; indeed he was ever too guarded to yield to intemperance." [illustration: _mrs. heartwell and frank's first interview with mr. brady._ london, tilt & bogue, fleet street] "you are labouring under error, my dear lady," said the lawyer mildly; "i did not say that he was intoxicated, but merely elevated--a single glass of wine when joy is overpowering the heart will oftentimes produce the semblance of inebriety. i know you are not aware of the whole fact, for he mentioned his intention to surprise you, and great was his gratification at the thoughts of it--the property of his uncle exceeded his expectations--the whole was converted into gold, and notes, and securities, to the amount of many thousand pounds; he received it in this office from an agent of the bank, and at nine o'clock last night, both himself and the bags were deposited in a hackney-coach--the number of which, i dare say, can be ascertained--though, probably, my clerk, who is very particular in all matters of business, may recollect it--and the coachman was ordered to drive to ormond street." the lawyer touched a bell, and the clerk entered. "pray, mr. shipkins, do you remember the number of the coach in which mr. heartwell left here last night?" "four hundred and seventy-five," replied the clerk; "coachman, red face, carbuncle nose--small eyes--drab box-coat, with seven capes; each cape bound with scarlet,--he held the light whilst we put in the bags." the superior nodded, and the clerk withdrew. "thus far then, my dear lady, it will not be difficult to trace your husband's progress; but it is necessary that we should claim the assistance of a magistrate." whilst these explanations were going on, mrs. heartwell felt almost crushed beneath the weight of perplexity that appeared to accumulate at every step. the mention of many thousand pounds as being in the possession of her husband had conjured up fearful visions; but when, in addition to this, she found that he was sent away in a coach alone, and that too in at least a state of elevation, her mind was wrought up to a pitch of indescribable anguish; she sprang from her chair, and wildly exclaimed, "it is but too plain, sir--it is but too plain! you send him in a coach with large sums of money. when he left me he mentioned his intention to surprise me--he would have returned--delightedly returned; but he has never been home--oh my god, sustain me--he is dead--he is murdered!" and sinking back into her chair, she buried her face in her handkerchief, and sobbed hysterically, whilst little frank clung to his mother, and fixing his tearful eyes upon mr. brady, who he supposed had caused her distress, he observed a twitching spasm convulse the lawyer's face, and a peculiar cast in one of his eyes, which had so fierce an expression as to terrify the lad, and which from that moment was never forgotten. the whole did but occupy a passing instant--the lawyer's face resumed its usual expression as he uttered, "no, no, no; do not think that, my dear lady--do not give way to so horrid a thought. but come, no time should be lost." he started from the table and put on his hat. "we will walk to the nearest coach-stand, and proceed to bow street." in accordance with this proposition they left the office; and ben was despatched back to ormond street for the purpose of ascertaining whether anything had transpired during their absence, and with instructions to join his mistress with all expedition at bow street. the mother and son, with mr. brady, hastened to lincoln's inn fields, where they found the very coach , in which the clerk had stated that the lieutenant had quitted the office the night before. the quick eye of frank was the first to detect this; and he directly pointed it out to his mother, who at the first glance saw that the coachman perfectly answered the description given by shipkins; and she would have instantly questioned him but for the request of mr. brady, who cautioned her to take no notice lest it might excite his suspicion. he called him off the stand to receive a fare. "to bow street police office," said the lawyer, as the coachman stood waiting for orders; and the door was closed, the box mounted, and off he drove. but who can describe the sensations of the agitated wife as she entered and took her seat in the very vehicle in which it was alleged that her husband had been conveyed from the office of the lawyer! her whole frame trembled and her heart grew sick. mr. brady was not idle--he examined every nook and corner of the interior of the carriage in which the lady assisted him, and every spot on the padded cushions raised a horrible terror in her breast as she fancied that it might be blood; but they discovered nothing that could in the slightest degree elucidate the matter. on reaching their destination, the coachman was directed to wait for the purpose of conveying them back again. the doors of the office were thronged with a miscellaneous assemblage of characters, principally of the lower classes; but there were also many well-dressed persons in the crowd, for the notorious pickpocket george waldron, or, as he named himself, george barrington, had that morning been brought up for examination, charged with stealing a purse of money and a gold watch from the person of a gentleman in drury lane theatre, and numbers of curious individuals of all ranks were desirous of beholding a man who by education and manners was the finished gentleman, but in habit a confirmed thief. through this crowd the lawyer and his party pushed their way into the outer office; and what a scene was presented there!--squalid poverty in rags--maudlin sensibility awaking from intoxication, and feverish from the night's debauch--the bucks of fashion, as the dandies of that day were called, still labouring under the influence of liquor, and detained to answer for a midnight spree--the detected pickpocket glorying in the mechanism of his profession, and only ashamed that he should have practised the art so clumsily as to be caught: these and numerous others occupied distinct portions to themselves--attended by the various peace-officers and watchmen, who hoped to profit, and largely too, by their earnest zeal in protecting his majesty's liege subjects from let, hindrance, and molestation. the first object of mr. brady was to detain the coachman; and on applying to one of the superiors, an officer was promptly set to watch his movements, with orders to take him into custody should he attempt to drive away. but the jarvey did not manifest the slightest intention to depart, for he sat apparently contented on his seat eyeing the different groups, and perhaps moralising on the instability of human affairs--for men of sedentary habits are generally found to be moralists, however humble their pretensions. the urgency of mrs. heartwell's case procured an immediate admission to the office where the magistrates were sitting; but as they were at that moment busily engaged, the party was requested to stand aside till the hearing was disposed of. at the bar was a tall man of very genteel appearance, whose habit and demeanour might readily have introduced him to society as a highly respectable clergyman. he appeared to be about thirty years of age; his countenance was sedate and indicative of benevolence; but there was at the same time an arch look in his small sharp eyes that evidenced pleasantry and wit. his hair was frizzed out and powdered according to the fashion of the times, and a queue with a plentiful expenditure of black silk hung down behind. his left hand was raised to his face, and displayed amazingly long fingers ornamented with rings, and he bowed occasionally in the most graceful manner to mr. bond, the sitting magistrate, when he had to reply to questions that were put to him. at the entrance of mrs. heartwell, he had turned and cast a rapid but sharp glance at the lady; and for the moment his dark sallow complexion assumed a more sickly hue; but finding that she was a stranger, he politely inclined his head, and resumed his position. this was barrington, the notorious pickpocket; and near him stood, in remarkable contrast, a smart well-made dapper little man, sprucely dressed, with silver buckles in his shoes, both of which were brightly polished; his head combed smooth and straight, so that not a hair was misplaced or out of order, but with a "natty curl" on each side--much in the same way as in after years the friseur was accustomed to ornament his brown wig;--his eyes were keen and hawk-like; and diminutive as he was, there was a something in his manner which strongly marked him as a man not to be trifled with. this was the afterwards celebrated townsend. on the bench with the magistrates, were two or three noblemen and gentlemen in high life, who had been summoned to give evidence; and amongst them was the well-known major hanger and general st. john, who deposed to "the previous capture of the pickpocket at the theatre, his being taken to the lobby and searched, and the purse and watch found upon him." "pardon me, general," said the prisoner, respectfully bowing; "your memory has not served you correctly--neither purse nor watch was found upon my person, for this very simple but convincing reason--they had never been there." "i remember now," resumed the general; "they were not found upon your person, but upon the floor close to where you were taken into custody." "and i saw you drop them," exclaimed major hanger, hastily interrupting the witness. barrington bowed his head in the most bland manner, and gracefully waving his hand, uttered with much seeming good-humour, "one at a time, gentlemen, if you please--it is neither fair nor honourable to try and crush a man whom misfortune loves to sport with." it is not necessary to go through the whole of the examination, which proved that from the theatre, barrington had been conveyed to the brown bear in bow street, where he contrived to escape from the charge of the constable, and since then had been levying contributions in different parts of the country, assuming a variety of characters as best suited his purpose. he was subsequently detected in a northern town, mingling in the first circles, and dexterously carrying on his depredations; from thence he was conveyed to the metropolis. the charge was considered sufficiently proven to commit; and this "king of thieves" was removed from the bar without evincing outwardly the slightest want of self-command. as soon as he was gone, and the buzz arising from the conversation of the noblemen and gentlemen had subsided by their taking their departure, the next case was about to be called, when mr. brady earnestly solicited the private hearing of the magistrates for a few minutes, on a charge of some magnitude, involving, as it was supposed, the life and property of an officer in his majesty's navy. this was not spoken aloud, but only within the hearing of a few of the officers, and the request was promptly granted; mr. bond passed into a private room, where mr. brady having stated the case, mrs. heartwell was called in to give her deposition, which narrated every circumstance relative to the lieutenant's quitting his home the afternoon before, and promising "to be back early, and that he would then communicate something that would delight and astonish them." the lawyer and the magistrate looked earnestly at each other, for the former had mentioned that the circumstance of the officer having to receive considerable property had been concealed from the wife. "were you not at all acquainted with the object to which your husband alluded?" inquired mr. bond. "not to its full extent, sir," replied the lady; "i knew that he had business to transact with mr. brady, but was not informed of its purport, though i supposed it was in some measure connected with the decease of an uncle in the east indies." "my client," remarked the lawyer, "mentioned that his wife was not cognisant of the transactions between us; and he expressed great delight at the idea of communicating to her the intelligence that he was now able to raise his family to affluence." "i must beg of you to compose yourself as much as possible, madam," said mr. bond with kindness; "the affair is certainly mysterious, but my best assistance shall be given." the magistrate then went on with the examination, and ben having in the mean time arrived, made his statement, corroborating that of his mistress--the lawyer also gave his testimony, and ultimately, the coachman was brought forward. his deposition went in substance to state, that "his name was gervase simpson, and on the night before, he had been hired off the stand in the 'fields' shortly before nine o'clock, to take up a fare in lincoln's inn--that he went, and a middle-aged man brought out a light, which he held, whilst four or five small, but apparently heavy bags were put into the vehicle; the light was then taken away, and a navy officer came out with another gentleman; the former getting into the coach, and the latter bidding the navy officer 'good night,' told the deponent to drive to ormond street, and then he believed went in again. that he accordingly drove to ormond street, and felt the check-string pulled; he drew up, dismounted, and opened the door--the navy officer alighted, and having removed the bags, paid him his fare, and went down the street; but deponent took no further notice of his proceedings, remounted his box, and drove to the stand in charles street, covent garden. he then got another fare to the borough, and afterwards went home to the stables at newington." "all this, if true, can easily be traced," said the magistrate; "it certainly is extremely mysterious--and the lieutenant did not go to his residence, nor has he been seen since? was he a man of sober habits and reputable character?" "most unexceptionable in both," replied the lawyer; "it is true that he had taken a glass or two of wine, but he was perfectly master of his actions--though i cannot altogether account for his leaving the coach where he did." "pray," said the magistrate, addressing the coachman, "had you sufficient light or opportunity to observe the person of the officer?" "vy not exactly, your vurship," answered jehu; "it vas wery dark in linkun's inn, and them lamps arn't much good, only to blind people; but i saw the glittering of his buttons and his hanger, and could jist make out he vas a tall man; but he vhipped in in sich a hurry, that i hadn't much time to notice; nor did i think of anything of this here kind happening, for as long as i'm civil and gets my full fare, your vurship, i seldom troubles myself about other consarns." "but in ormond street," urged the magistrate, "there you possibly had better light and more time--what took place there?" "vell, your vurship, i've tould you all as i knows," responded the witness. "the lamps in ormond street arn't never no better nor the rest in regard of lighting--they're pretty much like an ould watchman's eye. i seed as he was an officer of the navy, but arter he tipped the fare, and there was somut handsome over and above the reglar, i was too busy reckoning my money to take much notice--he went off with the bags, some on 'em he had got tied up in a handkercher; but what he had in em' i never guv a moment's thought to." "was the officer sober?" inquired the magistrate. "vell, your vurship, it arn't ezactly clear vot sobriety is," answered the coachman; "he might or he might not, for i took no perticklar notice, only he seemed to valk avay steady enough. he guv me five shillings; i said 'thanky, yer honor,' and he says 'good night,' and that vos all." "should you know the gentleman again?" asked the lawyer, bending his keen gaze upon the man. "vy, yes, i think i should, if i vos to see him as i did last night," responded the coachman; "but daylight alters people's looks, and i shouldn't like to svear." after other questions of no very material consequence, the magistrate decided that "the affair should be put into the hands of an experienced officer, who should thoroughly investigate the whole, and he would be ready to attend to any information as soon as it was obtained; but if no further light was thrown upon the transaction, and the lieutenant still remained absent, then he must request mr. brady to be in attendance at eleven o'clock the following morning, accompanied by his clerk, the bank agent, and all the evidence he could procure." in the mean time he recommended that intelligence should be given at the other offices, and diligent inquiry made at the hospitals; though in the first instance it would be best to commence the investigation in the neighbourhood of ormond street. mr. brady promised strict attention, and the parties withdrew. [illustration] love has legs. strolling about from bower to hall, love paid lavinia a morning call. an hour soon went--she chatted and sang-- he staid--till at last the dinner-bell rang. he staid, still charm'd; and rather alarm'd, lavinia felt she must ask him to stay. "to tell you the truth," cried the radiant youth, "i'm here for life, i shall ne'er go away." love's fire shot through her in one wild flush, till her heart itself might be seen to blush; love saw, and finding it faithful and kind, exclaim'd, "o beauty, how long i've been blind!" more grateful grew he, more fervent she, more watchful, sensitive, warm, and fond; so much like light was he to her sight, she could not trust him a step beyond. still more she cherish'd him year by year, till at last each joy came tinged with fear; she fear'd, if he stroll'd where wild flowers meet, lest thorns might pierce his delicate feet; or a reptile's sting beneath his wing she fear'd, if he lay in the greenwood asleep; or walk'd he awake by the moonlit lake-- in dread of an ague, how would she weep! she chatted and sang to love no more, lest music and chat should prove "a bore;" but she hung on his steps wherever he went, and shut from the chamber the rose's scent. she slept not a wink, for fear he should think she dream'd not of love--so her eyes grew dim; she took no care of her beautiful hair, for she could not spare one moment from him. love's bright fireside grew dark with doubt, yet home was a desert if love went out; in vain were his vows, caresses, and sighs; "o love," cried the lady, "i've given you eyes! and ah! should some face of a livelier grace than mine ever meet them! ah! _should_ you stray!" love, wearied at last, was in slumber lock'd fast;-- "those wings!" said the watcher, "he _might_ fly away." one awful moment! oh! could she sever those wings from love, he is hers for ever! with trembling hand she gathers the wings-- she clips--they are off! and up love springs. "adieu!" he cried, as he leapt from her side, "of folly's cup you have drunk the dregs; my home was here; it is now with the deer; thank venus, though wingless, _love has legs!_" l. b. bernard cavanagh, the irish cameleon. bernard cavanagh is the name of a person who is now raising considerable sums of money in dublin by professing to work miracles--the greatest of them all consisting in his ability to live without any food whatever--which he is now said to have done for several months. crowds flock to him to be cured of their lameness, deafness, &c.--_irish papers._ marvellous erin! when st. patrick's feat thy hills, vales, plains, and bogs from reptiles freed, he little dream'd what monsters would succeed; sinners who drink not, saints who never eat! and is there one, in whom the piece of meat which paris raves about, no care can breed! one who can never know a time of need, though corn be trampled by the tempest's feet! poor fellow! what enjoyment he foregoes! nothing but air, a scrap of summer cloud, fog with the chill off, is to him allow'd; a fine thick mist, or rainbow when it shows; but ah! for him no kitchen's steam up-flows; no knives, forks, spoons, or plates, a pilèd crowd, no dishes, glasses, salts, make music loud! sad sinecurists all--mouth, ears, and nose! the ass on the ladder. "for lowliness is young ambition's ladder."--_julius cæsar._ at the end of the second volume of a hebrew ms of the bible, written on beautiful vellum, is the following passage, in fine large hebrew characters:--"i, meyer, the son of rabbi jacob, the scribe, have finished this book for rabbi abraham, the son of rabbi nathan, the nd year (a.d. ); and he has bequeathed it to his children and his children's children for ever. amen. amen. amen. selah. be strong and strengthened. may this book not be damaged, neither this day nor for ever, until the ass ascends the ladder." after which the accompanying rude figure is drawn.--_pettigrew's bibliotheca sussexiana_, part i. vol. i. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] it would appear from the curious sentence copied above, that no longer ago than five centuries and a half, the feat which is pictured to the spectator in a fac-simile of the original drawing was regarded as an event of extremely improbable occurrence. the inference indeed may be, that it was deemed an impossibility. the prayer of the inscription is, "may this book be undamaged for ever."--may it be preserved "until the ass ascends the ladder!" "till birnam wood shall come to dunsinane," is the unlikely occurrence which the weird sisters specify as the omen of macbeth's fall; and "that will never be!" is the cry of the confident thane. in modern days we wish a man "good luck till he's tired of it;" or "prosperity till the sky falls." the despairing and lovelorn damsel in the ditty sings-- "when fishes fly, and swallows dive, young men they will prove true." and one of the same ballad-family sets out with the affecting declaration, that-- "when gooseberries grow on the stem of a daisy," the singer's passion will be no more. these, and a thousand examples of the "not till then," are but versions of the hebrew assumption of impossibility, expressed in the grotesque fancy of "the ass on the ladder." but it is clear that meyer the son of rabbi jacob was not in moorfields last year; it is certain that abraham, the son of rabbi nathan, little dreamed of what would be doing at pimlico in the nineteenth century; for whether at mayfair or at bethnal green, at wapping or at islington, one or both must have seen the impossibility realised, in the elevation of the donkey, before the upturned wondering eyes of a crowd of lingering mortals in the public thoroughfares. lest there should be some who never saw the modern street-mountebank, going forth like leporello with his ladder, and like sancho with his donkey, we must describe his performance. his greatest feat consisted in balancing upon his chin a ladder with an ass on it. all other tricks performed, and all eyes and mouths opened, curiosity on tiptoe and incredulity on the stretch, forth came the wooden machine, and with legs twisted through the staves, up went the animal. "who," exclaims the minstrel, "ah who can tell how hard it is to climb!" but what poet ever found a steep so difficult as that _gradus ad parnassum_ to the seemingly dislocated donkey? to the topmast round, you would see him clinging like shakspeare's giddy sea-boy on the mast; and surveying the mountebank who had taught him to be such an astonishing ass, with a look that seemed to say, "you're another!" then would his master send round the hat upon its last and greatest voyage of discovery; then would the halfpence therein be rattled harmlessly in the vacant faces of boys with vacant pockets, and then would the irresistible appeal be heard, "come, good gen'lemen, be liberal, be liberal--tuppence more, and up goes the donkey." then bending up each corporal agent for the terrible feat, up indeed would go the ladder, donkey and all; high up in air, until its lowest stave rested fairly and firmly on the protruded chin of the mountebank, where it stood poised, fixed, moveless--the astonishing type, or rather the exact model, of the balance of power in europe. the amazement now should be transferred from the balanced to the balancer; for what is the difficulty of such a _gradus ad parnassum_ to the ass, compared with the sore trial of the man below, who has made the bridge of his nose a _pons asinorum_! but in rivalship with the donkey, the human being shrinks into insignificance; the grotesque patience of the brute beats the strength and dexterity of the man hollow; the gazers are all wrapped in ecstasy to see how the ass hangs on, not how the cunning mountebank balances him. the sympathies of the crowd, men and boys, are triumphantly borne off by the four-legged performer, and every one of them goes away more convinced of the uncommon cleverness of the ass, and consequently on better terms with himself. but the obstinacy of the long-eared animal is proverbial; and in nothing is it more strikingly exhibited than in the fact that he _will_ eat if he can. so was it before the days of Æsop's ass, that cropped a thistle and was torn in pieces for confessing it; and so has it been before and since the hour when sterne's ass consumed the macaroon which curiosity and not charity presented to him. it is possibly this expensive habit that has led the mountebank, of late, to cast off the donkey, and to substitute a boy for him, in the feat of the ladder. the performance to this hour is the same, with that exception--a two-legged juvenile for a four. perhaps the mountebank was jealous of the ass! can we assume that, in the nature of a mountebank balancing on his chin a ladder surmounted by a long-eared brute, there is no room for vanity? can we imagine a donkey-balancer incapable of feeling annoyed, when he sees his subordinate--the agent through whom his own abilities are to be demonstrated--creating peals of laughter by doing nothing, trotting off with the spoils he did not win, and cropping every thistle of fame that belongs to another? there is no mind too shallow for vanity to take root in, no talent too small for it to twine itself round, no competitor too contemptible to pique and wound it. "why, edmund kean couldn't get a hand of applause, with such a noisy brute as that in the piece!" said an actor in the drama of the _dog of montargis_, when the quadruped was howling over the murdered body of his master, and breaking the hearts of the audience. [illustration] at all events the boy _has_ taken the ass's place on the ladder. the change may have arisen out of that tenderness for the brute creation which is too amiable a feeling--when in excess--to pass unadmired. there is a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals; and to risk a donkey's life on a ladder, for the sport of a heedless crowd, might be dangerous to the mountebank. in _this_ age, society at large knows what is due to donkeys; we can all enter into their feelings. but as there is no law, and no moral principle, against the elevation of a human urchin, even to the top stave of the ladder, there is no reason why the sport should not continue. philosophers will explain to you, that a boy is a free agent, and has a right to be balanced on a human chin, if he likes; but a donkey has no will of his own at all--_except_--except when you've hired him for an hour, at ramsgate, and are endeavouring to persuade yourself that you're trotting him out of the town. the last boy we saw balanced was worthy of the chin that sustained him. the mountebank to be sure was a miracle, and could have balanced anything. if the books of the bank of england were to get into disorder, every sum confused, and every figure out of its place--he could balance them. but the boy was at least two miracles rolled into one--a more than siamese prodigy--a boy, and yet an ass too. he looked more like one than the reality, his predecessor. he evidently felt the past importance of his elevation, high above his compeers. he seemed quite conscious that every inhabitant, not of _that_ simply, but of the _next_ parish, was gazing at him in profound amazement. he turned no glance, whether of contempt or benignant pity, on the open eyes and mouths around, but looked unutterable things at the knocker of a door opposite. "so stands the statue that enchants the world!" this, however, was only at the commencement of the performance, while the spectators were being coaxed to contribute, and while several among them, not knowing exactly what they were doing, were giving a half-penny. but when the ladder was deliberately hoisted up, and fixed on the chin, then came the utter hopelessness of presenting a true resemblance of the ass's face--the boy's we mean;--of the conscious pride in its own blankness, of its self-complacency, tinged with a slight touch of fear, amounting only to a pleasurable excitement! he was a boy picked out of the crowd around,--yet he was matchless. you saw at once that he was not _employed_ by the mountebank--that he was not _paid_ for being balanced. there was something in his look that distinguished him at a glance from the hired professor. it might be supposed that, the boy not being hired, there would be a little difficulty in procuring a substitute for the ass: not so; only blow a trumpet or beat a drum in the street, and you are surrounded in less than no time with able and willing volunteers. this boy entered into the soul of the ass's part; he did not hug, and hang on the ladder mechanically, or like one who had done the same thing a dozen times before, that very day. there was the freshness of the young aspiration, the delicious novelty of the first grand step in life--in the attempt. it was young ambition (as brutus says) just mounting his ladder. he was animated by the glorious intoxication of getting up in the world. he looked direct forward; not at, but through, the brick wall opposite, into futurity. if one of his schoolfellows had called out, "master's a coming;" or, "here's your father with the cartwhip;" or, "bill, i'm blessed if here arn't the woman what we stole the apples on;"--no, even these notes of alarm would have failed to disturb his equanimity--or his equilibrium. "have a slice o' cold pudden, bill?" might have communicated perhaps to some part of his frame a momentary touch of human weakness--we can't say positively--boys are but men;--but nothing short of such an appeal to the weak side of his nature could have disturbed his rapt and lofty musings. since the days of the hebrew with which we set out, when the ass on the ladder was but a fiction, history has recorded the doings--we had almost said the sayings--of scores of wonderful quadrupeds. we have had gifted horses, who should have been elected f.r.s.'s; learned pigs, who should have been chosen ll.d.'s; humane dogs, who merit statues like howard's; and industrious fleas, who do the work of hot water in putting lobsters to the blush. but such an ass as the lad on the ladder eye never beheld but that once. his face spread before our curious and inquiring gaze, like a map of the world, and we traced in recollection an infinite variety of character. what it more immediately suggested was the expression in the face of a successful candidate at the moment of "chairing," elevated in some fantastic car, surrounded with banners bearing patriotic mottoes and devices, and accompanied by roaring raggamuffins. it also conjured up a vision of a youthful aspirant, fresh from the office or the shop, strutting in richard, or fretting in hamlet, before eight long sixes, and a full bench of aunts, in a private theatre. the ass on the ladder brings to memory a thousand other spectacles. when we behold an orator (to listen is impossible) flourishing his arms on the hustings, and ever and anon placing his hand upon his crimson waistcoat, or declaiming for an hour together before a private company to the exclusion of conversation, in full force of lungs, but in virtue of no mental superiority, we are forcibly reminded of the ass on the ladder. when we see a sprig of fashion, who only obtained his nobility yesterday, and whose worth, if put up to auction, would be dear at the price of a mushroom, insolently claiming precedence of the untitled bearer of an ancient and honourable name; or when we observe the high-born, starched up to the eyes, sneering at humble birth, however associated with merit, and cutting modest respectability for a parvenu; in these cases we cannot help thinking of the ass on the ladder. when we see a vulgar jack, in virtue of his office raised to the rank of gentleman, treating a poor suitor, who asks for his own, as if he were a beggar asking alms; or a sleek-headed, rosy-gilled idiot, who lives only in his own breeches-pocket, pretending to patronise talent because he doles out, for its exercise, what scarcely keeps its possessor from starving, we are very apt to call to recollection the ass on the ladder. when a connoisseur, influential by position, sits down to decide, in just ten minutes, upon the merits of a work of art or science, which has cost the producer years of anxious study and ceaseless labour; or when a military despot lives but to harass, irritate, and torture the sensitive and honourable minds of those ill-fated officers, who, superior perhaps in everything else, happen to be below him in rank and fortune,--we immediately recur for a parallel to the ass on the ladder. when we see a millionnaire, who has crawled along the road to riches until he can't stand upright, grasping with usurious hands at the little still retained by those who helped him to rise; or when a sudden puff of fortune has blown an adventurer into power and affluence, and we see him so giddy that he doesn't know his own poor relations, and actually can't recognise in broad daylight the struggling friend who lent him five pounds three months before,--then, and under all similar circumstances, we are sure to think of the ass on the ladder. when we behold a gentleman turning jockey or stage-coachman, quitting the legislature for the stable or the cockpit, winking at the worst vices until he becomes himself tainted, and devoting his time and money to the destruction of his own health and the demoralisation of his hangers-on; or when we see a barrister, bullying with conscious impunity a trembling, blushing, inexperienced witness (perhaps a woman) until common sense becomes confused, truth begins to contradict herself, and honesty steps out of the witness-box, looking very much like a rogue,--why, who can fail to associate with spectacles like these, the ass on the ladder? but it is not merely in the army and on the stage, at the bar and in literature, in the walks of commerce and in the world of fashion, that we daily detect some living prototype of the long-eared animal in the ascendant. if public meetings exhibit them, public schools do so no less abundantly. there is a great deal of ladder-climbing going on at the universities; and not a proctor in the precincts of learning but could tell many tales of asinine ambition. who more irresistibly calls to mind the ass on the ladder than the noble knocker-wrencher, or the gentlemanly bell-destroyer, when brought up--many staves up the ladder now--before a magistrate, and indulgently allowed to take his choice--a fine of forty shillings, _or_ a month at the treadwheel? when the noble and gentlemanly sport extends to the pummelling of police-officers, only stopping within an ace of manslaughter, then the animal may be said to have reached the topmost stave--an elevation where every kick with which he indulges himself in his playful humour adds incalculably to his own imminent danger. the higher the ascent, the greater the ass. we have seen many instances, more melancholy than ludicrous, of asses falling from the very top. for ourselves, we must candidly confess to a painful consciousness of having been--occasionally, and for not many days together--yet of having been, ere now, beyond all mistake, upon the ladder adverted to. nay, emboldened by the virtuous frankness of this self-criminating admission, we even venture to put it to our (male) readers, whether they cannot recollect having had their own feet, at some time of their lives, on the first round of the ladder; whether they do not feel sensible of having placed just one foot on that lowest step of the ascent--one only--for we would not dare to insinuate that they ever got farther, lest they should turn upon us with the mortifying, and perhaps not altogether mistaken discovery, that we ourselves, even in this moment of moralising, have reached the top of it! omnibus chat. the "omnibus" had hardly started off, on the first of the month, from the door of messrs. tilt and bogue, and taken a westerly direction up fleet street, commencing without the loss of an hour its monthly tour in search of the picturesque, when it was stopped for the purpose of taking in a passenger. this was at the corner of bolt court, out of which classical and celebrated avenue tumbled rather than walked a gentleman stout and elderly, with a bluff good-humoured countenance, all the pleasanter for an air of sternness which was evidently affectation. having got in, he seated himself immediately opposite to us, that is to say, at the left-hand corner of the vehicle next the door, and at once began, as though he had been the ghost of dr. johnson, and possessed the unquestionable right in that neighbourhood to take the lead in conversation. "sir," he said, "you have made a fair start, but a start is not a journey. now there's a fact for you--and it's a fact which the producers of number-ones are deplorably prone to forget. with me, sir, first numbers go for nothing. some people will tell you that your no. . is _a proof as far as it goes_ of what you mean to do in this new vehicle of yours. sir, some people are very fond of a 'proof as far as it goes.' but how far does it go? if you see a man in a black coat to-day, and you meet the same man in a blue coat to-morrow, it's 'a proof as far as it goes,' that he is the possessor of three hundred and sixty-five coats, or one for every day in the year. but still, sir, you have made a fair start. let me warn you against stoppages; never stop but when you have to take up or set down. don't overload your vehicle. no racing, but go quietly. all of which means, don't cut knotted oaks with razors, and when you have a 'wee crimson-tipped flower' to paint, don't make a great red flare of it. above all, sir, never follow advice, however excellent, when it is offered to you in a long speech; for the man who would presume to take up two minutes and a half of your valuable time at one sitting, deserves to be put into a mile-end omnibus by mistake, when he's bound for turnham green direct." we had scarcely time to thank our gruff but good-humoured adviser--whom we at once set down for a chip of that respectable old block, the public in general, and identified as a specimen of middle-aged people in town and country--we had barely time to assure him that his last important suggestion at all events should be especially remembered, when a voice burst forth from the further end of the vehicle, where in the dim light the speaker was only just visible. he was a very young man, evidently of the last new school, and in a tone of jocular familiarity he called out, "i wish that gentleman from bolt court would explain the phenomenon of a new work being started with a preface so totally unlike the prefaces of all new works published during the last half-century, which invariably begin with 'dr. johnson has observed.'" the elderly passenger appealed to, frowned; but in less than a minute the frown gave way to a smile, and without further noticing the challenge, he said, "dr. johnson is not responsible for a ten-thousandth part of what during the last half-century has been observed in his name. his mimics are calumniators, and they have distorted his sentiments as remorselessly as they have disfigured his style. since subjects of caricature are not prescribed in the present company, i may safely put it to the vote whether any exaggeration is more gross than that which commonly passes in the world for exact imitation. there are people who can trace resemblances in the most opposite and unlikely forms. old ladies, stirring the fire, and tumbling the bright cinders into new combinations, will often hit upon a favourite coal and cry, 'well, i declare if that isn't like mrs. jenkinson.' and no doubt the resemblance is quite as perfect as that between the ridiculed manner of johnson, and the rumblings of his sneering mimics. he, with a full measure of language but not an overflow, with nice inflexions, a studied balance, yet with a simple elegance not destroyed by his formality, opens a story--stay, i can give you a graceful passage of the doctor's, and in the same breath you shall hear how it would come spluttering forth from the clumsy pen of his imitators. "'dr. johnson himself. "'ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promise of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of rasselas, prince of abyssinia.' "'dr. johnson imitated. "'ye who listen with ignorant credulity to the whispering blandishments of fancy, and pursue with inconsiderate eagerness the enchanting and seductive phantoms of hope; who idly expect that grudging age will perform the rash but generous promise of thoughtless youth, and that the glaring deficiencies of the present day will be providentially supplied by the inexhaustible profusion of the morrow; attend to the moral history of rasselas, crown prince of abyssinia.'" "there is much truth in what you observe," said a quiet modest-looking passenger on our left to the talkative johnsonite, who deprecated long speeches; "much truth; and perhaps as you dislike exaggeration in whatever professes to imitate, you might be entertained with one of my 'photographic pictures,' warranted accurate. i am, sir, yours respectfully, h. g. a. now as there happens to be one of these pictures distinctly present to my eye at this moment, though the scene is far from fleet street, i think i can copy it to the life, and if you please we'll call it-- "a scene near hogsnorton. "a ditch frequented much by water-rats, with velvet-headed rushes borderèd; two little boys who fish for tittlebats with sticks, and crooked pins, and bits of thread; three willow trees that stand with drooping boughs upon the banks, and look disconsolate; a bull that flings his tail up as he lows-- he's coming at those boys, as sure as fate! a church spire peeping from amid the trees, with vane in semblance of a fiery cock; and farmer stubbles lolling at his ease, across a gate to view his fleecy flock; a barn that seems just ready to fall down, and _would_, but for the shores that stay its falling; and, where yon row of elms the green slopes crown, is thomas noakes, with hand to mouth, outcalling to simon simpson in the fields below, and telling him to mind that precious bull-- he's fresh from town, poor lad, and does not know what danger lurks amid the beautiful; here a tall oak its branches flingeth out, as if it said--"i am of trees the king!" and there an aged hawthorn spreads about its crooked arms--a queer misshapen thing; far off you see a mill--more trees--some houses-- look at this frisking colt, why what a kicker!-- _feathers and parasols!_ here come the spouses of dr. dobbs, and mr. trench, the vicar, the smiths, the joneses, and jemimah prescot-- i'm off, before they nail me for their escort!" the reciter, who wore an air that bespoke him of the country, was here addressed by a metropolitan gentleman seated in his vicinity, who announced himself as a brother initialist, a. g. k. "well, sir, simon simpson, 'fresh from town,' was not more awkwardly situated than i once was, in this very lane here, when fresh from the country. you see the vehicle has just turned out of fleet street, and is making for holborn; so if you like to listen, i'll give you my impressions on first finding myself in "chancery lane. "i meditated the desperate design of hastening to holborn by the first street which led thither; a desperate design, indeed, as i knew not the street through which i should have to pass. as ill-luck would have it, "chancery lane" was the first that offered, and well does it deserve the name; dark, narrow, crooked, long, and tedious is this elysium of the law! on every side i beheld long and careworn faces, and, as is generally the case with legal suits, i might easily have got through it alone, had i not been prevented by the many passengers, like the numerous little cases put into causes to protract and swell the client's difficulties. perhaps it may be thought that i could have stepped into the middle of the street, and so have managed to walk on; not so--the vehicles were as numerous nearly as the passengers, and there was no resource but to wait. on this, i began to look around me, to see if i could discover anything that could take away the tedium of stoppage. i gazed on the persons nearest to me; from the youngest to the oldest--from the poorest to the richest, there was the same invariable careworn look. "first there came the young office-boy, groaning under a large bag of parchment and what not; then the unfortunate articled clerk, desponding at the idea of five years in so gloomy a place, wherein his youth's best years were to be spent. the needy clerks, who received a stipend, came next; their little all had, with the characteristic theatrical mania of lawyers' clerks, vanished the night previous at the adelphi, or adjacent tavern. but not alone did these wear a look of gloom: the fishermen, the snarers, even the attorneys themselves, looked vexed; the stoppage of the way teased them sadly. it was five minutes past the time when that little bony wretch, the office boy, should have been screwed down to his comfortless stool, far from the apparition of a fire, from the phantom of heat! last of all came the client: it will easily be surmised why he looked gloomy. "the sun never shines there--the houses take care of that; in fact, the very 'fretwork' of the heavens seemed of a parchment yellow; the air breathed of briefs! no merry laugh is heard in chancery lane; no girl trips gaily along! no! the moaning of the dupe is heard there; the decrepit, grief-worn widow totters there, to find that her hope of subsistence is faded in useless expense. i have spoken of the numerous conveyances in the street. the horses were half-starved, the people within seemed bailiffs; and the omnibus proprietors (unlike our '_omnibus_') looked anxiously for in-comers. "chancery lane is, indeed, a fit place for the law: the houses overhang the street--the smoky windows, ay even the few shops seem impregnated with it. i turned to a book-stall to relieve my aching gaze, when a massive row of calf-bound volumes frowned upon me; i looked in a fruiterer's stall,--dry musty raisins, bitter almonds, olives and sour apples met my view. i then cast my eyes at a perfumery-shop; the wax dummies were arrayed in judge's wigs and black legal drapery. in despair i turned to a tailor's: a figure arrayed in black, on a wooden mould, appeared; but it was swathed in a barrister's gown. there was another figure with finely-cut clothes certainly; but allegorically, i suppose, it had no head. such is chancery lane. my associations with it are none of the pleasantest. what are yours?" this question, addressed to everybody, was answered by nobody. we had now advanced to the upper end of chancery lane; and, passing those buildings on the left, in which equity presides over the affairs of suitors, a passenger, who introduced himself under the designation of sam sly, and in whose eye there was a pleasant twinkle not ill associated with the appellation, observed in an inward tone, as if he were speaking to himself, "a poor devil who has once got into that court, must soon feel himself in the position of the letter _r_." as mr. sly's remark was not intended to be heard at all--so at least it seemed--it of course attracted general notice; and as there was a disposition manifested to know "why," mr. sly politely explained, "because, though far advanced in chancery, he can never get quite to the end of it. by the way," he proceeded, "all law is but an enigma; and talking of enigmas, i happen to have one--yes, here it is. rather an old-fashioned sort of thing, an enigma, eh? true, but so are epics, you know. am i to read? oh! very well, since you're all so pressing;"--and then to the following tune mr. sly trolled out his enigma. "a delinquent there is, and we ever shall scout him, for roguery never would flourish without him. we're lovers of peace; but regardless of quiet, this knave is the first in a row or a riot; a strange, paradoxical elf, we declare, that shies at a couple but clings to a pair. though at first in the right, still he's found in the wrong; and though harmony wakes him, yet dies in the song. three fifths of the error that poisons our youth, yet boasts of a formal acquaintance with truth. though not fond of boasting, yet given to brag; and though proud of a dress, still content with a rag. he sticks to our ribs, and he hangs by our hair, and brings with him trouble, and torment and care; stands thick in our sorrows and floats in our tears, never leads us to hope, but returns with our fears; to the worst of our passions is ever allied, grief, anger, and hatred, rage, terror, and pride. yet still, notwithstanding, the rogue we might spare if he kept back his old ugly phiz from the fair." we had by this time stopped at the end of drury lane to take up a passenger, who now appeared, emerging from that very dirty avenue, with an exceedingly small roll of ms. under his arm. the new-comer's eye was evidently in a fine frenzy rolling, and it was at once suspected from one end of the vehicle to the other, that he had just been writing a german opera for drury-lane theatre. "gentlemen," said he, the instant he had taken his seat, "you're all mistaken. through that miserable cranny i have been picking a path to the theatre for the sole purpose of taking off my hat to the statue of shakspeare, over the portico, in celebration of the event which renders its presence there no longer a libel and a mockery. you guess what i allude to. mr. macready has become the lessee of drury; and the noble task which he assigned to himself in the management of covent garden, he purposes here to complete. the whole public will rejoice in the renewal of his experiment, which should be hailed in golden verse. i wish i could write sonnets like milton or wordsworth. here are two, such as they are, addressed to the regenerator of the stage." to william charles macready, on his becoming the lessee of old drury. i. macready, master of the art supreme. that shows to dazzled and else guideless eyes (as doth astronomy the starry skies) the airy wonders of our shakspeare's dream; com'st thou again to shed a wakening gleam of morals, taste, and learning, where the gloom most darkens, as around the drama's tomb! oh, come, and show us yet the true extreme; transcendent art, for coarse and low desire; the generous purpose, for the sordid aim; for noise and smoke, the music and the fire of time-crown'd poets; for librettos tame, the emulous flashings of the modern lyre-- come, and put scowling calumny to shame! ii. what though with thee come lear, himself a storm of wilder'd passion, and the musing dane, the gallant harry and his warrior-train, brutus, macbeth, and truth in many a form towering! not therefore only that we warm with hope and praise; but that thy glorious part is now to raise the actor's trampled art, and drive from out its temple a loose swarm of things vice-nurtured--from the porch and shrine! and know, macready, midst the desert there, that soon shall bloom a garden, swells a mine of wealth no less than honour--both most bare to meaner enterprise. let that be thine-- who knowest how to risk, and how to share! l. b. hereupon, a bard started up in the very remotest corner, and interposed in favour of the epigram, seeing that such oddities as sonnets and enigmas were allowed to pass current. immediately, and by unanimous invitation, he produced some lines written in the album of a fair damsel, whose sire has but one leg, and complains of torture in the toes that he has not. "the heart that has been spurn'd by you can never dream of love again, save as old soldiers do of pain in limbs they left at waterloo." we expressed our acknowledgments, and then heaved a sigh to the memory of an old friend, who, having suffered from the gout before his limb was amputated, felt all the pain, just as usual, at the extremity of his wooden leg, which was regularly flannelled up and rubbed as its living predecessor used to be. but here our reflections were broken off by a stoppage, as if instinctively, at a chemist's shop, the door of which, standing open, afforded a fair view of the scene which follows. on the subject of hom[oe]opathy we profess to hold no opinion; but, considering that it prescribes next to nothing to its patients, it must be an excellent system for a man who has next to nothing the matter with him. it is comical, at all events, to think of a doctor of that school literally carrying his "shop" in his pocket, and compressing the whole science of medicine into the smallest lilliputian nut-shell. imagine a little customer going with a large order to a homoeopathic apothecary. [illustration] _little girl._ "please, sir, i want the hundred-thousandth part of a grain of magnesia." _young chemist_ (whose hair would certainly stand on end, were it not so tightly pommaded down, at the simplicity of the little innocent in asking for as much medicine as would kill or cure a whole regiment of soldiers). "very sorry, miss, but we don't sell anything in such large quantities; you had better apply at apothecaries' hall." and he follows her to the shop-door to see whether she had brought with her a hackney-coach or a van to carry away the commodity she had inquired for! * * * * * _driver._ i say, tom, here's that there elderly lady a coming, as wanted to go with us at our first start. _cad._ ay, well, it's no use, bill--she's too late _agen_--ve're full--all right--go on! [illustration: _an election squib._] "my vote and interest." a communication from mr. simpleton schemer, of doltford-lodge, crooksley. crooksley doesn't return members to parliament--i wish it did. i'm sure i took pains enough ten years ago to procure for it--all my property being situate there--the privilege which was at that time accorded to other towns of consideration and respectability; for although the population doesn't much exceed three hundred and sixty, i took upon myself to make a return of our numbers to the then secretary of state, which _ought_ to have prevailed in our favour; for i proved that the population amounted to within a dozen of seven thousand, merely by including the churchyard, which i well might do, as part and parcel of crooksley itself, and adding the affectionate wives, virtuous husbands, and filial prodigies, now no more, to the estimate of the living inhabitants; also, by anticipating the returns of christenings for a few succeeding years; which was easily done by guessing, on the authority of blandish (our medical man, with whom i was at that time friendly), what number of children extra the various increasing families within the boundaries of crooksley were likely to be blessed with. not the smallest notice, however, was taken of my memorial; and crooksley to this hour does not return a single representative. i read an advertisement the other day in our county paper, of some new patent strait-waistcoats; which advertisement was headed thus:--"worthy the attention of the insane!" now, if crooksley had been enfranchised, that is the very heading which might have been affixed to an advertisement for an independent candidate to represent it at the present crisis--"_candidate wanted--worthy the attention of the insane!_" for a place more unlucky in its elections, more ill-omened and perverse in all its contests, more predestined to choose the wrong candidate, or more wilfully bent on self-destruction by scorning the advice of its best friends and patrons, i never lived in, since the day i sold my stock and good-will, and retired from the old jewry for ever. to every other place with which i am acquainted entrance is obtained by regular roads; to crooksley, i verily believe, there is no egress whatever but by _cross_-roads. i'm thinking of selling doltford-lodge--cheap. the first contest that ever took place in crooksley--for it is odd enough, but they never could get up a contested election until i, having retired from business, went to settle there in the enjoyment of concord, harmony, and peace,--the first contest occurred several years ago. it was a struggle--and well do i remember it--for the office of organist. no sooner was the place vacant--almost, i might say, before the bellows of the departed holder had lost their last breath of wind--than up started half-a-dozen of the nobs of crooksley, with dr. blandish at their head, and down they came to me at the lodge with a flourishing testimonial to sign--a testimonial in favour of miss cramper, as a fit and proper person to fill the post of organist. miss cramper! and who was miss cramper, i internally asked myself. but i couldn't answer the question. i knew, in fact, little about her, except that she had lived long in the place, had decent connexions, not over rich, and happened to be a capital musician; the best organ-player, i must admit, that anybody ever heard in or out of our village. but with this exception she hadn't a single claim, not a pretension that i know of, to the post of organist. she was not asthmatic--she had not nine children, seven of them solely depending upon her for support--nor did she even pretend to have lost her eyesight, "or any part thereof," as knix the lawyer says; for she was ogling blandish all throughout the interview, as if she looked upon _him_ to be the first-fiddle in crooksley--humph! well! i confess i didn't like the proceeding; and so, after assuring the requisitionists, in the friendliest manner, that miss cramper should certainly have my vote and interest--in the event, i added, more to myself, perhaps, than to them--in the event of no candidate coming forward to oppose her,--what did i do but i brought forward a candidate of my own! it so happened that i had taken down there with me from the old jewry an elderly warehouseman, whom i couldn't well send adrift, and who was of no earthly use to me, either in the house or in the grounds. now, poor joggins, besides being bent double, chanced, very luckily, to have eyes like an owl, and there were the strongest hopes of their becoming speedily weaker; so that here at once was a qualification. in addition to that, he had had two sons: one, a waterman, drowned by the usual means, collision with a steamer, was easily elevated into a british seaman dying in defence of his country; and the other, for whom i had obtained a situation in the new police, was, of course, one of the brave devoted guardians of his native land. to crown our good-luck, joggins had been very fond of playing the flute before wind got so very valuable to him, and really did know something practically of that enchanting instrument, so that his qualifications as an organist were more than indisputable. yet, strange to say, his nomination was the signal for violent opposition; and a tremendous conflict ensued. i was determined that blandish, though backed by the vicar, should not carry everything before him with a high hand, nor become, what, ever since the part i had taken relative to the enfranchisement question, he was striving to be, the dictator of crooksley. my own influence was not slight, and a powerful party rose up, notwithstanding our adversaries were earliest in the field. the walls were everywhere placarded, families were everywhere divided by circulars. "vote for joggins," "vote for cramper;" "joggins and grey hairs," "cramper and musical accomplishments;" "joggins the veteran parent of our brave defenders," "cramper and female virtue;" "joggins and the failure of eyesight." "cramper and organic changes:" these were among the changes rung throughout the village, and a mile or two round it, for upwards of three weeks. i called public meetings, at which i took the chair, and personally carried the resolutions; and i started a crooksley chronicle, of which i was at once the editor and all the correspondents. in both capacities i defied our antagonists to prove that their candidate had any one of the qualifications by which ours was so abundantly distinguished. i dared them to prove that there were any brave defenders on the other side; that there existed any ocular weakness; that there was a single grey hair or any symptom of decrepitude: while, on the other hand, i showed triumphantly that the legitimate candidate for the office of organist was a veteran flute-player, utterly and hopelessly incapable of any exertion whatever, and unobjectionable by the excess of his infirmity. blandish was so alarmed at the progress we made, that he began to give out in reply that miss cramper was considerably more advanced in years than had been insidiously suggested; that her eyesight was anything but vivid; that what seemed to be her own hair might not bear examination; and possibly he would have proceeded to other intimations tending to balance her claims with those of joggins, had she not stopped him with the declaration that she would rather lose her election, rather retire from the contest, than sanction such gross misrepresentations of fact. truth, she said, was everything, and it must prevail; her hair was her own, and her eyes piercers, she thanked heaven. but notwithstanding this electioneering attack upon his own nominee, i saw that blandish was on the very best terms with miss c.; and as the interest he took in her success could not solely be attributed to gratitude for her attendance at all his evening parties, to play his guests into patients, by provoking headaches that demanded draughts and powders in the morning, i issued, the day previously to the poll, a placard containing surely a very inoffensive query, thus--"why is blandish the patron of miss cramper?" the "why" was in very large capitals. now will it be believed that this, though it asserted nothing disrespectful, and merely put an innocent question, immediately created a very strong sympathy throughout crooksley in favour of our adversaries, and that the popular feeling was instantly shown in tumultuous cries of "cramper for ever!" so it happened, however. the result was, that the venerable joggins had virtually lost his election before the expiration of the first hour of polling. i then, feeling that every vote was wanted, went forward to record my own; when perceiving blandish (he had a horsewhip in his hand), i turned back with the view of bringing up a batch of electors from a distant part of the village; and on my return all was at an end, and so my vote wasn't wanted; for joggins, the old idiot, had resigned. i had a disagreeable encounter afterwards with that blandish, who is, i really think, fonder of carrying a horsewhip than any man i know; but gloriously was i at a subsequent period revenged; for i shammed a long illness, sent off to a neighbouring town for an apothecary, and paid him thirty-seven pounds odd for attendance which i never required, and medicine which i never tasted! poor blandish was so irritated, that he fell really ill himself, and took his own mixtures for three weeks. about a year after this we had another election in crooksley. the gravediggership became vacant. the blandish party, who had the churchwardens with them, wanted to get in young digdum, the son of the late official; and he would have walked the course sure enough, if i hadn't brought forward little spick the cross-sweeper to oppose him. party feeling never ran so high, i think, as on this memorable occasion. everybody felt the cause to be his own, and put forth his energies as though the issue of the struggle depended upon his exertions. it was like a life-and-death contest; and you would have thought that the consequence of being beaten was the being buried alive by the victorious candidate. i'm sure that if it had been to keep ourselves out of "apartments furnished" in the churchyard, we spickites could not have toiled harder. nor were the digdumites idle. on our side we had ranged, besides myself, who acted as chairman of the committee, lawyer knix (who handsomely volunteered his gratuitous services at two guineas a day); fobbs, the landlord of the crumpet and spade; tipson, of the vicar's head; (both of them very fond of an opposition, and always ready to further my views in bringing forward a candidate, and in keeping the poll open to the latest moment allowed by law;) then we had the crack printer of our town, whose charges were very moderate; several of the neighbouring gentry, friends of my own; and one swarthy sam, a character who had no fixed abode in crooksley, nor indeed anywhere else, and had not, therefore, a vote to give--but who kindly took an interest in the contest, and who proved a most valuable agent, for he particularly knew what he was about in a row, could drown by his own unaided lungs the voice of the most stentorian speaker on the other side, and would tear down, i do think, more of the enemy's placards in an hour than they could stick up in a day. on their side, they had the fat churchwarden, and the stately master of the workhouse; the skeleton of a schoolmaster, the parish-lawyer (knix was independent), and various other paid functionaries or hirelings. well, there wasn't one of them that didn't wish himself well out of crooksley before the contest was over; for we left nothing of their private history unraked, i can tell you. the "crooksley chronicle" came again into play, and i wrote letters--in junius's style--only under the various signatures of vindex, justitia, a spickite, philo-spickite, veritas, an admirer of crooksley, anti-digdum, &c. &c. we also raised with remarkable success, a cry of "no brickdust, no pigs' bristles!" in conjunction with the cry of "no digdum." it did not in point of fact mean anything in particular, as far as we were aware, but it vexed the digdum party amazingly, and made spick surprisingly popular[ ]. the best of the fun was that we had forestalled them in taking possession of _both_ public-houses--the crumpet and spade, and the vicar's head--for our committee-rooms; so that they had only a little bit of a beer-shop to assemble in. this drove the digdum party to distraction. they made incredible exertions to get us out of the vicar's head; and a deputation came privately to our worthy host's good dame, and offered, if digdum were returned, to bury her husband for nothing--for poor tipson was sadly apoplectic! such were the too-powerful temptations (for so in some instances they proved), such the demoralising practices, to which our depraved and desperate opponents had resort. they went to clank the blacksmith, and promised, if he would but vote for digdum, they would see him and all his family buried with pleasure free of charge; but clank was not to be seduced, for having once had a turn-up with swarthy sam in the skittle-ground, he preferred being on the same side _with_ sam, you see--not caring to fall out--and to say the truth, they were not a few that had similar feelings. sam was a capital canvasser, and it wasn't everybody that would like to say "no" to him. at last dawn'd the day, the important day, "big with the fate of digdum or of spick." every soul in crooksley was out of doors; the excitement was intense; seventeen pots of beer and best part of a round of beef were consumed at the crumpet and spade alone before ten in the morning. every chaise, fly, and hack in old wheeler's yard was in requisition. both parties were particularly well satisfied with the result of the canvass, and assembled at the place of nomination with equal confidence. our flags bore the several inscriptions of "spick the opponent of corruption," "spick and span," "spades are trumps," &c.; theirs had, "no cross-sweeper," "no sweeping changes," "digdum and the rites of the departed," &c. &c. blandish nominated digdum, and then i proposed spick in a neat and appropriate speech. well we gained our election--that is, we gained it by a show of hands; but the other party took the mean advantage of demanding a poll. there was instantly a rush of upwards of a dozen on their side, and very near a score on ours. to keep up the advantage we had gained was the thing. unfortunately some of our safest voters were now drunk, having received eighteen-pence a piece to attend the nomination of candidates; and instead of flocking to the poll, off they went to the vicar's head, or the crumpet and spade, swearing they wouldn't vote at all unless supplied with pots round; which fobbs and tipson very readily drew for them: i having desired those disinterested persons in the morning not to stand very nice about a measure or two of ale, and they promised me they would not, as i was to pay. and this, in fact, i shouldn't have minded; but, unluckily, the worthy electors got so drunk that they absolutely forgot what colours they fought under, and went and voted for the wrong candidate. this turned the scale against us. what was to be done? i had already got some of the digdumites away; a tenant of mine, seven miles off, having engaged to "coop" them, that is, to make them "fuddled," and to prevent their return in time. a few more must be pounced upon. swarthy sam (that invaluable election-agent) undertook to inveigle them and manage the business. we got a vehicle or two; and partly by cajolery, partly by intimidation, and a display of the enemy's colours, off we carried in an opposite direction to the poll a batch of digdum's supporters. away we drove, sam conducting us, through by-lanes and across ploughed-fields, i may say, so that i hardly knew where i was. deaf to all remonstrances, on we went, till, feeling pretty secure, i pretended it was time to turn back or we should all be too late for the poll, and jumped down to consult privately with sam as to the expediency of further stratagems; when--to my inexpressible astonishment and confusion, as you may well imagine--my swarthy vagabond of an agent, whom i trusted on account of his bad character, and because nobody else would, indulged his lungs with the most vociferous roar of laughter i ever heard, to which the entire party added a chorus. in one instant the whole line of vehicles wheeled round and galloped off towards crooksley, leaving me staggering helplessly into a deep ditch on my left, overcome with rage, mortification, and dismay. they all arrived in time to vote for digdum, sam and all, who went up arm in arm with clank, the blacksmith. as for me, i never found my way back until hours after the poll had closed; and as i approached the scene with a foreboding heart, the first person i encountered was the defeated spick--spick the rejected of crooksley--who bitterly assailed me as the sole cause of his total "ruination," having spoiled his trade of cross-sweeping by exciting everybody against him, and reduced him to a condition that promised his successful rival immediate employment in his new profession. "i shouldn't ha' minded," he said, with a sneer, "your not guving on me your wote, but what i complains on is, you would guv me your hintrest!" after this, as you may well suppose, i grew rather disgusted, and a little sick of exercising one's public spirit and disinterested philanthropy to no purpose; so i permitted dr. blandish to triumph on one or two occasions, rather than subject the town to the inconvenience of a contested election. i allowed the boy bratts, whom he patronised, to get elected into our juvenile asylum without opposition; and when soppy put up for the situation of turncock, full in the teeth of blandish's pet candidate, though he came to me and implored the favour of my vote and interest, i gave him neither. i did not poll for him, nor did i solicit a soul in his behalf; yet soppy won the election by a considerable majority. indeed blandish has been disgracefully beaten on more than one occasion when i had disdained to interfere at all; though whenever i _have_ interfered--when i have canvassed my very heart out, and talked the teeth out of my head--bribing here, treating there--threatening this man with the loss of my custom, and tempting the other with all sorts of seductive promises--hang me (for it puts me in a passion!) if he hasn't been triumphantly successful. there was the election of a contractor to supply leather-shorts to the charity school. i decided to take no part in it; but when i perceived which way the election was sure to go, when i saw which man would beat to a dead certainty, i changed my mind, threw all my influence into the scale of the popular candidate, gave him my entire support, and would have given him my vote--only he resigned on the morning of the election not having a chance of winning; for directly i took up his cause, he began to lose ground:--odd enough, you will say, but it so happened; although i set a barrel flowing at tipson's, promised old coats at christmas to two dozen ragged but independent electors, and gave at least half that number of the better class permission to shoot on my property. the last great battle that i fought was on behalf of widow bricks, candidate for the office of housekeeper to our infirmary. here dr. b. was "top-sawyer," as they say; this was carrying the war into the enemy's country. all crooksley was astonished, petrified almost, at my boldness; but i was lucky in my choice of a candidate, the bricks having been resident in the place as long as crooksley itself had been in existence, and the widow being left with eleven small children; while the doctor's candidate hadn't the smallest scrap of offspring to go to the poll with. so to the work of philanthropy i went; and notwithstanding a hint from the blandish faction, that if beaten the doctor would certainly resign his office in the institution, i was successful beyond my hopes. we elected the eleven little bricks upon our committee, and took them about with us upon our canvas--a procession singularly imposing and irresistible. nothing could equal the popular enthusiasm; and the greatest possible effect was created wherever they appeared, for we kept them all without their dinners up till bed-time, to make them cry; which is the only method of melting the public heart, since a constant drop, we are told, will wear away a stone. the eldest of the bricks, a boy, had a turn for spouting; and we made him address the people from the window of the vicar's head, by reciting "my name is norval," which he had heard done by some strolling-players. this was amazingly successful; but unfortunately the mob consisted chiefly of non-electors, for it was only the subscribers to the institution who had the privilege of voting. voters, therefore, i made in scores, simply by paying their subscriptions for them. as fast as blandish could extract promises from the old subscribers, i produced new ones; the list of qualified electors exceeded anything ever heard of in the annals of benevolence. i spare you the speech i made at the nomination of candidates; merely remarking, that i wasn't aware there was so much virtue in woman as i discovered in the widow, and that i never knew there were half so many charms and graces in infancy, as i detected in her eleven little angels--who all stood in a heartrending row upon the hustings, crying lustily, for they had not been allowed a bit of breakfast on that important occasion. the effect was seen as the voting proceeded; the compassionate rushed to the poll and voted for bricks, i may say, _like_ bricks. still our opponents mustered strongly, and i was compelled to make a good many people benevolent that morning who had never spent a shilling in charity in their lives. the numbers for a considerable time were pretty nearly balanced; the excitement grew more intense, the shouts of "vote for bricks and babbies," grew more vehement as the day advanced; till towards the close of the poll, the blandish faction appeared a little a-head of us, but at last they were exhausted; they had polled their last samaritan--the doctor himself had given his vote--while i had purposely reserved mine. now, mine alone was sufficient to win; mine alone would decide the contest in the widow's favour; for, having trebled my usual subscription, i had a right to six votes, and six would give us just a majority of one. with a heart swelling with conscious triumph, exulting in the cause of charity and the defeat of our factious adversaries, i walked up to the ballot-box (we voted by ballot), and there what do you think occurred? directing a haughty look to the doctor's generally red face, now pale with rage, i was not sufficiently cautious in distinguishing between the y for "yes," and the n for "no," painted on the front of the balloting-machine; and inconsiderately turning my hand to the left instead of the right, i dropped the six cork marbles into the enemy's box--hang me, if i didn't vote against widow bricks. dr. blandish danced for joy, and i really thought he never would stand still again. not another shilling will his infirmary get from me. if crooksley were to return four members to parliament, _i_ wouldn't be one of them. footnote: [footnote : our respectable correspondent must have visited the english opera in his younger days, or else charles mathews must have paid a visit to crooksley. he must also have seen the printed addresses circulated lately in deptford during a contest for the office of gravedigger, where the proceedings were as outrageous as these that he describes.] the census. important days to all householders in the united kingdom, were sunday and monday, the th and th ult., and especially perplexing to those whose ideas of reading and writing were at all circumscribed. nor was the discomfort confined to the said illuminated members of society. ladies of a very certain age bridled up at being obliged to tell the number of summers that had passed over their heads: notwithstanding the loop-hole of the "five years" which the gallantry of the commissioners allowed them. elderly gentlemen also, who wore dark wigs that hid those auricular tell-tales of the _ci-devant jeune homme_, the ears, inwardly execrated the system of exposure to which the census paper gave rise, and willingly ran the risk of a fine "not more than five pounds, nor less than forty shillings," rather than be classed as old bachelors. from returns into which the commissioners have allowed us to peep, it appears that of the middle-aged population of these kingdoms, one in three has grown five years younger since the date of the last census; one in seven two years younger; one in twelve remains of the same age; one in thirty-eight, is five years older than at the period referred to; and one in five hundred and sixty has attained the full age that might have been anticipated from the lapse of years. we believe it has been distinctly ascertained by these returns that the highest age among the unmarried ladies in this country is twenty-nine--the average age is twenty-one and seven-eighths. the widows willing to marry again, are mostly quite juvenile; and it is a remarkable fact that many are younger now, as widows, than they appear to be in the previous return as wives. indeed the effect of the whole calculation is to show, perhaps in compliment to our young queen, that her subjects are the most decidedly juvenile people in christendom. nor was the designation of the respective professions and callings of our fellow-countrymen a task of less difficulty. commonplace and even plebeian, as is the simple question "who are you?" widely as the interrogation was diffused a short time back by the _gamins_ of london, it is a query we opine, in common with the cool audacious mr. dazzle, that would puzzle half the world to answer properly. some are all profession--others are not any. thousands live by their wits--thousands more by the total absence of them; many whom the world gives credit to for working hard in an industrious _état_ for their income, privately lead the lives of gentlemen; and many gentlemen whom we envy on account of their ostensible otiose existence, labour perchance in secret much harder than ourselves. numbers would shrink if their employment was known, and numbers more would be extremely indignant if any other than their own was assigned to them. the schedule stated that the professions of wives, or sons and daughters, living with and assisting their parents, needed not to be inserted. there was no mention at all made of the professions of faithless lovers, election candidates, and false friends; probably these were imagined to be of so little value as to be utterly beneath notice. but although the commissioners were pleasantly minute and clear in their instructions for filling up their circulars, they will still be wide away from the real statistics of the population, when all the bills are returned and the totals properly added. what industrious enumerator, we would ask, did, with praiseworthy indefatigability, leave a schedule at the temporary habitations of the thousand individuals who on the monday in question were located upon ascot heath, in anticipation of the approaching races? who dared to penetrate into the mysteries of the yellow caravans there collected, or invade the bohemian seclusion of the tilted hovels? what account was taken of the roadside tent-holders, and the number of the families of these real "potwallopers?" is the following paper relating to these people, which has fallen into our hands, the mislaid document of a careless enumerator of the sunning-hill district, or is it an attempt to play upon our credulity: (copy.) name, (if any) of the house, or of the village or } caravan, no. , . hamlet in which it stands. } name of the street or other part of the town, (if in } winkfield lane. a town), and no. of the house. } ----------------+-------+---------+--------------+---------+--------- name and | | |of what |if born |if born surname of each| age | | profession, | in the | in person who | of | age | trade, or | county. |ireland, abode or slept | males.| of | employment, | | in this house | | females.| or if of | |&c. on the night | | | independent | | of june . | | | means. | | ----------------+-------+---------+--------------+---------+--------- bill soames | | |shoman. | no |don't kno | | | | | mary soames | | |wife--vurks | no | no | | | the barrul | | | | | horgan outside| | gipsy mike |not | |none. | no |no veres | nown | | | | pertickler phelim conolly | | |black vild |not | never knowd | | | ingian. | sartin | sarah cooper | | |tellin off | no | | | | fortuns. | | young chubby a | | |ired fur the |st. giles's| babby | | | races. | | brummagim harry | | |keeps a | yes | | | | thimble-rig. | | ----------------+-------+---------+--------------+---------+--------- but there were many, many others, who were excluded from the privilege of registering their names amongst the population of their country. the unfortunate individuals who slept throughout the night in the stony precincts of the police-office lock-up cells, were deprived of this honour. even admitting that the police had received instructions to take down the names of the stray-flocks under their charge, the ends of the commissioners were still defeated, for it was not probable that the hon. clarence piercefield, who had kicked the head waiter at the cider-cellars, for telling him not to join in the glees so loudly--who had thrashed the cabman in holborn--who had climbed up behind king charles at charing-cross, and who, finally, upon being pulled down again by the police and taken into custody, had given his name as thomas brown,--it was not probable, we repeat, that this honourable gentleman would see any occasion to alter the name in the schedule, or recant his alleged profession of "medical student." his rightful appellation found no place in the paper, no more than the hundreds who slept out altogether that night, from the wretched, shivering, poverty-stricken occupiers of the embryo coal-cellars of future houses in the neighbourhood of railway _termini_, to the tipsy gentleman who tumbled by mistake into a large basket of turnip-tops and onions in covent garden-market, and slept there until morning, dreaming that he was the inhabitant of an eastern paradise, with _houris_ pelting roses at him. even the ill-used mr. ferguson, whom everybody has heard of, but nobody knows, failing in all his attempts to procure a lodging for the night, found no place in the strictly-worded schedule. the real name of mr. ferguson is legion, yet he found a lodging nowhere. and many returns of the erratic youth of respectable families must prove, that their very fathers did not know they were out, to say nothing of their mothers: on the other hand, probably many more would be found wanting in the real numbers, were circumstances narrowly inquired into. it is fortunate for the correctness of the statistics that sunday was the day fixed upon for enumerating the population. had it been any other, the numbers who _slept in the house_ would have materially swelled the lists. the house of commons might have furnished an imposing array of names every night in the week to begin with. the various literary institutions and scientific meetings of the metropolis, on their respective nights, would not have been behind hand; and even the theatres, might have sent in a tolerably fair muster-roll of slumberers, according to the nature of their performances. we presume that the guards of mail-coaches, drovers who were going to the monday's markets, watchmen of houses, newly-buried relations, and medical men attending poor law unions, will be allowed a future opportunity of registering their names; for none of these individuals were ever known--at least we believe not--to sleep or abide one night in their houses. are these hardworking and useful classes of society to be accounted as nothing--to be placed in a scale even beneath "persons sleeping over a stable or outhouse," who, although not worthy to be inserted along with their betters in the schedule, are, at all events allowed a paper to themselves? the care that arranged the manner of enumerating the population ought to have put forward plans for taking the census of the always-out-of-doors portion of the english on the night in question, hackney-coachmen included; and a space might, at the same time, have been appropriated in the schedule for "those who were not at home, but ought to have been." we will not dwell upon the material difference this important feature would have made to the calculations in many points. we give the commissioners a peep at the fallacy of their plans, and we leave it to them to remedy it. all we have to add, in conclusion is, that we sent in our own name according to the prescribed ordinance, but it was not rocket. [illustration] love's masquerading. by laman blanchard. i. love never less surprises than when his tricks are tried; in vain are all disguises, himself he cannot hide. he came, the masquerader, to conscious kate, one day, attempting to persuade her; he then was--far away! "ah love!" she cried, unfearing, "take any shape you will, strange, distant, or endearing, this heart would know you still." ii. then love came clad like sorrow; his robe was dark as night; but like a golden morrow, flash'd forth his forehead's light; she knew him, as with languor he play'd the wounded dove: then fierce he frown'd--'twas anger! but still she knew 'twas love! iii. then came he wreathed like pleasure; in vain he cried, "rejoice!" and sang a laughing measure-- she knew him, by his voice. he tuned his tongue to railing, performing envy's task; his scowl was unavailing, she saw him--through his mask. iv. like cloak'd revenge then stealing, with poniard bare he came, his limbs, his looks, concealing-- yet still he seem'd the same. then he, his thoughts dissembling, with jealousy's wild air, stood raging, watching, trembling,-- yet love alone stood there. v. next came he garb'd like malice; yet wore his cheek the rose, no poison crowns his chalice, with wine it overflows. and then as joy, arrayed in rare colours from above; he failed again--the maiden in joy saw only love! vi. then casting off his splendour, he took black hatred's guise; but all his tones were tender, she knew him--by his eyes. in all he fail'd; when glancing like fear, afraid to stir; and when like hope, half-dancing-- for hope was love to her. "in vain," she cried, "your powers, take any shape you may; are hearts less wise than flowers, that know the night from day?" frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter iii. a rigid search after mr. heartwell was instituted under the superintendence of two of the most efficient officers of the bow street establishment. the evidence given by the coachman was proved to be strictly correct, except that a small portion of time was unaccounted for between the period of his having--as he stated--set the lieutenant down in ormond street, and his arrival at the coach-stand in covent garden, which according to the deposition of the waterman was much later than would have been required to traverse the distance between the two places. but simpson's explanation was that, having by request driven his fare very quick to ormond street, he merely walked his horses to charles street in order to cool them. nothing whatever having been elicited that day which was calculated to throw any light on the mysterious affair, mr. brady with his witnesses appeared before mr. bond on the following morning at the time appointed, when the officers made their reports, and were instructed to persevere. the bank agent deposed that he had paid over to the lieutenant at the office of mr. brady, and in the presence of the lawyer and his clerk, a thousand guineas in gold, and bank-notes to the amount of fourteen thousand pounds, besides securities and deeds, relating to property supposed to be of considerable value in the east indies, all which had belonged to the lieutenant's uncle, who had died without issue and intestate: he produced the receipt for the charge he had delivered, and stated that he had earnestly advised the lieutenant to deposit the whole in the hands of his professional man to invest for him to the best advantage; but though mr. heartwell perfectly assented to the propriety of such a step, yet he expressed himself so desirous of displaying his newly acquired fortune to his wife, that as a matter of course he (the agent) offered no further argument against it. shipkins, the clerk, corroborated the statement of mr. brady; but in addition, mentioned that the lieutenant had declared that it was his intention to resign his appointment to the seventy-four for the purpose of remaining at home with his family, but that it would be necessary for him in the first instance to visit portsmouth. the officers used their utmost vigilance, and the secretary of state offered a large reward to any one who could render information of the fate of the missing officer. ben was despatched to portsmouth to make inquiry whether his master had been seen in that neighbourhood, or on board the ship; but no clue was obtained. days--weeks--months passed away, and mrs. heartwell experienced an unmitigated state of anxiety and suspense. yet though doubts prevailed that she should never behold him again, she determined never to clothe herself in the semblance of mourning till she had proof that he was dead. young frank partook of the feelings of his mother; but the elasticity of boyhood does not long retain the acuteness of sorrow; the delightful changes which nature is constantly presenting to the ardency of youth and "all is beautiful, for all is new," superseded the grief which preys upon more advanced age, when the heart knoweth its own bitterness; and whilst the mother was pining and weeping over her heavy affliction, frank forgot in the joys of amusement that there was anything like unhappiness in the world. he was a bold, free-hearted, jovial lad, who loved to frolic over the gardens and grounds round the british museum. nor was ben inactive in either promoting the mirthful indulgences of the lad, although there might be a little mischief in progress, or seeing that fair-play was exercised when pugnacity or wrong led to pugilistic encounters. it is true that the fond parent in her solicitude would expostulate, and on some occasions reprove; but the ready acknowledgment of error which frank always made when in the wrong, and the argument of ben, "bless you, my lady, you can't never go for to rig out an ould figure-head upon young shoulders--besides, what's the odds, so as you're happy?" soon produced reconciliation and pardon. it has been said "sweet are the uses of adversity;" but it is hard to contemplate the approach of poverty with its train of evils that no mortal influence can subdue; and such was the case with mrs. heartwell. daily she saw her resources decreasing--the pay of the lieutenant was stopped; she could not claim her widow's pension, for she had no proof of her husband's death; there were no relations to whom she could apply in her distress for assistance or counsel. mr. brady had sent in a heavy bill for law business, and pressed for payment; difficulties in short accumulated on all sides. one, and only one, of her former associates continued to visit her; and this was an elderly man of unattractive manners, who claimed a distant relationship. he seldom spoke but when addressed; and his remarks were generally of a caustic and misanthropic cast, rendering him an object not only of dislike to many, but of fear to some. he was poor, but how he lived no one knew; and yet on more than one occasion he had spoken of important affairs even in the state, that displayed a tolerably accurate knowledge of persons and things far above his station in society: in short, he was a mystery that set conjecture at defiance. such was mr. unity peach; in age between fifty and sixty; a large round face, with a great bushy wig upon his head, and one eye covered over with a black patch, the other grey and cold without expression; he was stout made, short, and with limbs like a giant, though he complained of feebleness and debility. he seldom uttered one word of cheering kindness, yet when asked for his advice he would give it; and it was seldom known to fail in its beneficial results. to frank and the seaman he was an object of aversion that they did not care at all times to conceal; yet, with a perverseness that seemed congenial to his character, if there was any individual to whom the old man could be attached, it was ben brailsford. "you are hurrying on to ruin," said mr. unity peach one day, in reply to a question from mrs. heartwell; "large house--lazy sailor--mischievous boy." "but i would willingly quit the house, sir," returned the lady, "and strive by some means or other to provide for myself and child." "let lodgings--keep a school--make the boy a shoemaker--send that jack tar to sea," was the response. "i have hitherto been guided in my conduct, mr. peach, by what i have supposed would be satisfactory to my husband could he witness my actions," replied the lady; "and yet--oh yes, i see there is no other resource, though i should prefer removing from this neighbourhood." "pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall," quoted the old man; "go on and starve--no help for it." "i wish i had some friend to counsel me," exclaimed the afflicted woman, as the tears gushed from her eyes. "bah!--nonsense!--friends, indeed! won't take counsel--good morning;" and mr. unity arose to depart. "i meant no reflections upon you, mr. peach," returned the lady. "you have at times advised me, and well too--but indeed, sir, your harshness----" "i know it,--i know it," bitterly replied the old man, interrupting her, whilst a malicious grin played upon his swarthy countenance; "you hate me--you all hate me." "you do me great injustice to suppose such a thing," responded mrs. heartwell, mildly; "i would wish to entertain respect and esteem----" "bah! folly!" uttered mr. unity, preventing the concluding remarks of the lady. "no such things in the world as respect, esteem--all deceit." "i have a better opinion of my fellow-creatures----" "better opinion!" interrupted the old man, with a taunting sneer. "yes--right--husband murdered--lawyer threatening--abandoned in trouble--sinking in poverty--eat up with pride--idle boy--saucy sailor--fellow-creatures indeed!" at this moment ben entered, and though deference and respect for his mistress kept him silent, yet the clenching of his fist and the indignation of his look plainly evidenced that he would, if he durst, have given mr. unity peach a thrashing. nor did the old man seem insensible to what was passing in the worthy seaman's mind, for he turned upon him a glance of contempt and defiance that but ill accorded with the angular inclination of his body, which betokened weakness and decrepitude. mrs. heartwell, endeavouring to suppress her agitation, turned with a look of inquiry to ben. "why, my lady, i don't perticklarly want anything," replied the seaman somewhat confusedly, as he fidgetted about the room in his accustomed way when he had any communication of importance to make. "has anything occurred?" asked the lady with impatience. "bless you, my lady," ejaculated ben, whilst a flush spread over his cheeks, and a tear stood trembling in his eye; "i ounly wish i was rouling in gould and i'd soon capsize the lubbers; but ounly speak the word and i'll do it now, though the unconscionable scamps have boarded us in the smoke." "of whom are you speaking?" demanded mrs. heartwell, as a thrill of sickly apprehension passed through her heart. but the seaman had not time to answer before the door of the room was opened, and in walked a corpulent but athletic man, whose very appearance announced his calling to be that of a sheriff's officer; whilst close behind him came his assistant, though he did not venture beyond the door-way. "werry sorry, ma'am--werry sorry," said the officer, producing a writ of execution, "i al'ays likes to be civil to ladies, but must do my dooty you know--mustn't i, sir?" and he turned to mr. unity peach, who, bent down and leaning heavily on his stick, which he seemed to grasp convulsively, nodded assent. "what is all this?" demanded mrs. heartwell, looking first at the officer and then at mr. peach, and then at ben, who, though it was the height of summer, had got hold of the poker, and was busily stirring the white paper shavings that ornamented the grate. "oh, it's not werry much, ma'am," replied the officer, displaying the official document; "it's only a writ as i've got to sarve, and in course must trespass upon your family for board and lodging till the matter's settled--that's all." "i do not understand it, mr. peach," said the distressed lady; "pray explain it to me." "bailiff!" replied the old man, pointing to the officer in an introductory manner; "come to seize furniture--some of your fellow creatures:" and then, mimicking the manners of the official, he wound up with the same exclamation--"that's all." "that's all, ay, and enough too!" mumbled ben as he made the room echo with rattling the poker in the grate; "i ounly wish my lady 'ud give the word, i'm blessed if it should be all; i'd larn 'em to seize furniture; and it arn't best for their health that they clap a flipper upon it whilst i'm here." "go to sea," muttered mr. unity peach. "work for your living--don't lazy away your time here!" "i tell you what it is, ould genelman," exclaimed ben, all the feelings of the tar aroused within his breast. "you're an oncantankerous scamp with your spiteful tongue. but bless you, my lady, ounly say the word and i'll clear the decks of the whole boiling of 'em afore you can look round you;" and the seaman flourished the poker in a menacing attitude at the officer and his follower, but the next instant he felt his arm restrained as if it had been fixed in the gripe of a blacksmith's vice, and by his side stood mr. unity peach. "put that poker down," said the old man in a tone of command as he grasped the seaman's wrist; "obey the laws." "all werry right, sir," uttered the sheriff's officer; "not as i'm afear'd of being attackted, but arter all there's nothing like obeying the law, and it shows as you're a man of sense. i must do my dooty, howsomever unpleasant. there's the writ, ma'am." "at whose suit?" demanded mr. peach, who quietly took the weapon from ben's hand, and replaced it within the fender. "at the suit of muster jocelyn brady," replied the officer, "attorney-at-law, lincoln's inn. debt and costs one hundred and seventeen pounds, six shillings, and eightpence." "the villain!" uttered a voice, half suppressed, from some part of the room, but from whom it proceeded it would have been difficult to say. poor mrs. heartwell was almost overwhelmed, and frank coming in from school and staring wildly at the spectacle, added to her distress. on seeing his mother's tears, he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her; and then, turning round with flushed cheeks and a fierceness that he seldom manifested, demanded of the officer "what business he had there?" this mr. peach explained in as few words as possible, but not without instilling venom into what he did say, to the great anger of ben, and the increased dislike of the boy. but there was no avoiding the instrument of the law, nor any means to get rid of its agent. the execution was served, and the bailiff remained in charge. the almost heart-broken mrs. heartwell waited upon the lawyer, but he refused to see her; the furniture was sold; and it racked her heart to part with things which time and circumstances had endeared to her; and now she, who had been within a few minutes of attaining affluence, was reduced to the verge of destitution. a small, ready-furnished apartment received the mourner and her son; but her money was gone, she knew no one to whom she could apply. ben had expended every shilling that he possessed; but the worthy fellow would not desert his mistress; he got employment in a rigging gang to fit out east indiamen, and, reserving a bare subsistence for himself, he devoted all that he could spare to the use of frank and his mother. nor was this all; for after his hours of labour were over in the week days, and each sunday, he was constant in his attendance, to perform every kind office that he could without failing in the respect he had ever manifested towards his mistress. nor did mr. peach forsake the afflicted lady, though his visits were not so frequent as before; and he was incessant in his complaints of bad health, decaying strength, and growing poverty. "mrs. heartwell procured needlework, and toiled day and night to keep frank at school, and to obtain him food and clothes." nor could she even have done this but through the generosity of some unknown friend, who regularly transmitted her thirty shillings a month without note or comment. she believed her benefactor to be a kind and wealthy lady who had formerly taken an interest in her welfare; but it was evident the donor did not wish to be openly known. thus progressed another twelve months. ben and frank were inseparable companions as often as they could be together; and though mr. peach was constantly persuading his mother to bind the lad apprentice to a shoemaker, he still continued improving in his education, and the hard-toiling seaman often went without indulgences himself that he might secretly supply his young friend with pocket-money. at length to her great astonishment, mrs. heartwell received by post under a blank cover a note of the bank of england for £ . tears of joyous gratitude filled her eyes. the following day was devoted to recreation--the first she had known since the loss of her husband. and now came the consideration as to the best mode of employing the gift to the most advantageous use. at first the feelings of the mother directed her sole attention to young frank, and she thought of appropriating a large portion to putting him out in the world; but mr. peach, who was consulted on all important occasions, advised her to take a respectable house, furnish apartments, and let them to a respectable tenant: nor did he forget to insist upon his usual proposition of making frank a cordwainer. in every particular, save the last, the advice was followed. chapter iv. never was there a more instructive lesson issued to the nations of the earth than that which marked the origin, progress, and termination of the french revolution, with all its concomitant circumstances and final results. england with free institutions, and increasing in population, industry, and commerce, had set a bright example of what may be achieved under constitutional means; and as the english were ardent lovers of liberty, it cannot be supposed that they were indifferent to its extension on the continent. nor were they inactive at home; the changes in france had caused a feverish excitement amongst the working classes here, which interested traders in politics were not slow in turning to their own advantage. in order to counteract and defeat the evil machinations of such men, the government took into pay a number of individuals to act as spies in the camp of the disaffected; and as their wages depended upon the continuance of commotion, it very naturally followed that in numerous cases they were the secret promoters of agitation. but the political movement was not confined exclusively to the lower ranks in life; many of the middle grade had joined in it, and amongst the active disseminators of revolutionary principles was mr. jocelyn brady. but he moved in an elevated sphere, and was looked upon and treated with confidence by his party, both high and low. his legal practice was reported to be extensive, and he was said to be possessed of considerable property. he had both a town and a country residence, and he gave excellent dinners. but he was unrelenting in his avarice, vindictive when offended. the principal associate of mr. brady in most of his political transactions was a mr. acteon shaft, an acute intelligent man, whose grey hairs proclaimed him to be of an advanced age; and to him the lawyer was greatly indebted for much of the information and knowledge he obtained. mr. shaft had travelled far, and had visited foreign courts, and though his manners were rather uncouth, yet there was a charm in his conversation that rendered his society courted by men of talent. he was an ardent lover of rational liberty, and his generosity was the theme of universal praise. why two men so opposite in temper and disposition should form companionship must remain amongst those anomalies which every day's experience displays; even the pure metal requires a base alloy before it can be converted into sterling coin. but to return to mrs. heartwell, who had once more a comfortable residence, and devoted herself in every way to the improvement of her son. frank, on his part, was most affectionately attached to his mother, whom he revered with an intensity of feeling that was truly gratifying to her heart, and she was pleased to see that he evinced a kindly and generous feeling towards his fellow-creatures. he was mirthful, but inoffensive, mild and forbearing, except when aroused by severe injury to himself or others, and then his rage was uncontrollable. the first lodger that occupied mrs. heartwell's apartments was a monsieur polverel, a french deputy, who under the specious pretext of visiting and studying the institutions of england, availed himself of the opportunity to disseminate the doctrines of "liberty and equality;" nor was he long in finding an enlarged circle of congenial spirits--members of revolutionary clubs and corresponding societies, who, though advocating "equality," took especial care that no one below a certain rank should be admitted to their meetings; and the minister of liberty from france, monsieur polverel, finding that his black servant was accustomed to go out during his absence, actually locked him up in his room whenever he himself went in an evening to enjoy festivity amongst his friends, and to preach up the blessings of freedom. ben and frank, however, could not reconcile such tyranny to their minds, and a duplicate key being procured, the door was speedily thrown open, and forth issued sambo to join in their amusements, and many hours did the youth listen to the negro's narratives of his native place--port au prince, in san domingo--but care was always taken that he was again placed in confinement before the time of his master's return. monsieur polverel was one of those finicking, all legs-and-wings sort of frenchmen who when in conversation throw themselves into attitudes not inaptly resembling the wooden harlequins of children whose members are put into motion by pulling a string, only that his body was more elongated and had something of the greyhound build; his head was very large, and when he stood erect he looked like a beadle's staff with a globe on the top; in fact, it would have been no difficult task to have doubled him up like a two-foot rule, or to have put his body between his legs like a clasp knife. although a leveller, and affecting to despise distinctions, his clothes were richly ornamented and his fingers were brilliant with costly rings. when he passed an evening at home without company, he generally contrived to get frank and ben, and the negro into his room, where, in broken english, he propounded to them the doctrines of republicanism. sometimes mr. peach was admitted, and the discussions, whilst they afforded mirth to frank, and offence to the seaman, tended to open the understanding of the youth to subjects to which he had hitherto been a stranger. frank had now passed his thirteenth year. his predilection was for the sea; but his mother, who still had numerous difficulties to contend against, and looked upon her child as her best hope and encouragement, endeavoured by earnest persuasion to prevail upon him to settle on shore. in this she was supported by mr. peach; but the lad's longings could not be overcome, though he was deterred from proclaiming them, and thus balancing between affection for his parent and the desire to become a sailor, he remained undetermined and inactive. it was about this time that, to the great regret of mrs. heartwell, and the almost inconsolable grief of her son, ben brailsford was pressed; and disdaining to be anything but a volunteer in the service of his king and country, he entered for a ship-of-the line, then commanded by the honourable keith elphinstone (afterwards, lord keith). he wrote to inform them of this event, hoped that he should make prize-money--wished frank was with him on the quarter-deck as an officer--expressed sorrow at parting with them, but wound up all with his old expletive--"but what's the odds, so as you're happy?" the youth fretted, and almost sickened at the loss of his old and faithful associate; he neglected his studies, became melancholy and restless, and adhered closer to monsieur polverel, so as to be noticed by a distinguished visitor to the deputy, no other than the duke of orleans, who had been prevailed upon to visit london, by lafayette, in order to get him out of the way of doing mischief. frank became a great favourite with the duke, who treated him with much kindness, and made mrs. heartwell a very handsome present to assist in promoting the lad's welfare; and ultimately offered to take him to paris and provide for him; but this was declined--the mother could not part with her child. the beheading of the king of france excited a general feeling of horror and indignation throughout england. war was declared. the utmost activity prevailed in the dockyards; and a naval armament was put in motion. the aristocracy, the clergy, the corporate bodies, the landed proprietors, the merchants, the bankers, became alarmed, and took the lead in the re-action that ensued. the sectarians looked upon the french as infidels, and hailed the approach of war as the mighty engine which was to restore religion and morality. in this state of things the situation of monsieur polverel was not of the most pleasant description. he was well known to the french emigrants who crowded the metropolis; and on his returning one afternoon from a republican party, he was pointed out as a disseminator of those principles which had compelled them to abandon their country. a crowd collected, who vented their abhorrence in groans and hisses. he quickened his pace, but his pursuers increased as they progressed, till the deputy was urgently persuaded to run, by hearing the clattering of stones along the pavement, and feeling more than one or two hard blows on his back. now it was that the length of his legs rendered him good service, and a chase commenced that caused roars of laughter to the spectators, who clapped their hands and shouted with delight. on reaching mrs. heartwell's he knocked and rung violently, but sambo was locked up, and the maid-servant being busy, was in no great hurry to let him in. frank, however, had been looking out at the window, and instantly suspecting the cause of the uproar, he ran and opened the door, and the frenchman had just time to enter as his assailants were ascending the steps. it was at first feared that they would attack the house, but on being assured that monsieur polverel had taken his departure by the back way, the mob again set out in pursuit, but the deputy distanced them; for without waiting for bag or baggage, he hurried to dover as fast as a chaise-and-four could convey him, and at this latter place he received a no very gentle intimation that his presence on british ground could be entirely dispensed with; and elated was monsieur polverel when he once more found himself within the gates of calais. nothing could exceed the joy of sambo at his master's departure--the door was no longer locked upon him--he was free. since ben's departure frank had greatly attached himself to the negro, whose good humour and constant willingness to oblige rendered him a favourite in the house. other lodgers came to mrs. heartwell's; and as sambo had become useful, his services were retained. frank continued at school for a few months longer, when a new scene opened before him. he had heard of a seventy-four to be launched at deptford, and never having witnessed a ship-launch, he went, accompanied by sambo, to see it. but the press-gangs were abroad, and they both fell into their hands; for such was, at that time, the demand for men and lads to complete the complements of the ships of war, that respectable shopkeepers, who had formerly been to sea, were impressed at their own doors, and youths of "gentle blood" forced away by the gangs if found near the water-side. sambo would have resisted when he saw that frank was seized, but the youth saw how unavailing it would be, and desired him to desist. he told the officer that he was the son of a lieutenant in the navy, and requested to be allowed to return to his home; but this was positively refused. he then entreated that some one might be sent to apprise his mother of his detention, and the officer promised that it should be done, and the lad, who suffered most on his parent's account, became more appeased, till on being put on board the tender, off the tower, a spectacle presented itself that filled his very soul with disgust. the receiving-ship was an old sloop of war, and in her hold were not less than three hundred human beings crowded together on the shingle ballast, without a single seat except the bundles which some few possessed, and sat upon for safe protection. here were crowded together seamen and landsmen, pickpockets, the refuse of the streets, and shabby-genteel gentlemen. many a countenance was marked by sorrow, but the principal portion was composed of wild, reckless, and even lawless, men. the gratings were over the hatchways, above which sentinels were placed, and the atmosphere in the hold was hot and fetid. several of the impressed men were in a state of intoxication, which produced repeated quarrels; and though there was scarcely room to move, blows were exchanged, and heavy falls upon the shingle or against the timbers in the side caused swollen and blackened eyes, and severe contusions. some had received cuts and injuries in their contest with the gangs, and lacerated faces presented a hideous and sickening spectacle. there was but little light during the day; but when night arrived, only a solitary lantern shed its feeble rays, and the prowling thieves commenced their work of plunder upon their unfortunate fellow-captives. resistance was vain; cries of distress arose, but they were quickly subdued; two or three held down the victim whilst his pockets were rifled: the means of obtaining liquor were thus in the power of the abandoned; nor was it scantily, though stealthily supplied; and drunkenness increased the disorder that prevailed till a general fight took place, which was only quelled by an armed party of seamen being sent down to preserve order. [illustration: frank and sambo, attacked by ruffians, in the hold of the tender.] horrible, indeed, was that night to poor frank. to sleep was impossible. the noise was almost deafening; and his heart sickened at the oaths and imprecations he was compelled to hear. a miscreant had forcibly grappled with him and demanded his money; but sambo, who had patiently borne with the jokes and the taunts, and even the mischievous pranks of his fellow-captives, would not endure this; he manfully resisted, exclaiming, "me young massa good massa for me! ye nebber for do him harm while sambo here!" nor did the youth tamely yield to the plunderers: his spirit was aroused, and placing himself in attitude, he not only repelled the attack, but with determined resolution he stood up to his assailants, whilst the negro dealt out sturdy blows and kept them in check. one fellow was struck down, but another immediately came on, whom frank met with vigorous boldness; and thanks to the instructions of ben, his opponent found that he had both courage and science to contend against; and having no love for fighting, and seeing sambo come to the assistance of his young master, he drew back. but the thieves commenced another desperate attack. one of them rushed in and seized frank by the throat; another gathered up a handful of shingle to throw in his face; whilst a third drew a large knife, and laying hold of the youth's long hair, was about to inflict a deadly wound, when a stout old man-of-war's man, who had been leaning against the mast, suddenly seized the cowardly rascal by the wrist, and twisting his arm round so as nearly to throw him on his back, exclaimed, "avast there, you lubber! do you call that english fashion? bright blades again a countryman's fist? drop the knife, and let the lad alone--drop it, i say!" and another twist compelled the fellow to obey. the seaman gave him a kick in the stern that sent him flying away amongst the crowd, and then springing to frank's rescue, the robbers were driven off. "what cheer, what cheer, my lad, eh?" said the tar, taking the youth's hand; "you tackled to 'em bravely, the picarooning vagabones. but here, keep under my lee, and no soul fore and aft shall mislest you. have you ever been to sea?" "no," returned frank, placing himself by the side of the seaman, "i have never been to sea, but i am the son of a sailor; my father was a lieutenant in the navy." "indeed!" said the tar, "and pray what name did he hail by?--the son of a british officer ought to have better usage." frank felt the justice of the latter remark, but he did not allude to it, and merely replied, "his name was heartwell." "what?" exclaimed the seaman, looking earnestly in the youth's face, "heartwell,--muster frank heartwell as was in the ould robust?" "yes, he was the senior lieutenant of the robust," responded the youth, who had through ben's means made himself acquainted with his father's history. "then i sailed with him," rejoined the tar, "and a better officer never had charge of a quarter-deck. and what's become of him, my boy?" the youth briefly related the circumstances of his father's disappearance, and a conversation ensued, the seaman fully performing his promise to preserve frank from further molestation; he also praised the negro for standing up for his young master, and sambo remarked, "ah massa frank, dis no laand o' liberty board a ship." still frank's wretchedness was great; he reflected on the delightful dictures of enjoyment from universal freedom and equality which monsieur polverel had powerfully delineated, and he contrasted them with the scene before him, where the defenders of their country were treated worse than brutes by the hand of power. it is probable that he would have sunk under the infliction, but the hope that he cherished of seeing his mother come to his rescue. yet even that hope was mingled with many misgivings, lest the officer should not have communicated with her, and he might be sent away without being able to acquaint her where he was. the morning came, a cutter was hauled alongside the tender, and frank and sambo, with about one hundred and fifty others, were put on board; her sails were set, and with a fair breeze she was soon gliding down the river. but frank, though aware that they were on the move, could see nothing of the proceedings; the impressed men were all confined in the hold, and so crowded together that to sit down was impossible. at length they reached the nore, and the impressed hands were transferred to a gun-brig that immediately got under-weigh for the downs. confinement was now at an end, the men were permitted to be on deck, and the refreshing breeze came delightful to the wearied frame of the youth. provisions were also served out, and by the time they had reached their first destination he had in a great measure recovered his proper tone. but the brig did not anchor here; a signal was made for her to proceed to plymouth, and without delay she made sail through the straits of dover. the noble white cliffs and the beautiful scenery of the coast delighted frank. the sun sparkled upon the waves of the blue ocean, and threw its golden gleams upon the fertile land of his nativity, whose lofty barriers rose in grandeur to defend its shores, and whose "wooden walls" floated in pride to protect its commerce. the horizon was studded with the white sails of distant vessels, and the ships as they approached or passed, hoisting their ensigns, gave a bright break in the picture. still the thoughts of his mother's uneasiness operated on frank's heart, and he determined to write to her as soon as they got to plymouth; but even this satisfaction was denied to him, for when abreast of torbay a seventy-four came out and received a draft of hands from the brig, amongst whom was the disappointed lad and the negro, and without communicating with the shore she spread her canvas for the mediterranean. this preyed upon the lad's mind, but no time was allowed him to indulge in dejection; he was ordered to go to the purser's steward and get supplied with sailor's apparel, which having dressed himself in, he was mustered before the first lieutenant, who questioned him as to his abilities in order to give him a station. frank at once told him he was the son of an officer, and had never been to sea before; he named his father, and as the circumstances of his disappearance were pretty well known, mr. evans not only took the lad by the hand, but declared himself an old friend and messmate of mr. heartwell's, and the emotion he evinced plainly indicated what his feelings towards him were. he was requested to stand on one side till the muster was over, when the lieutenant introduced him to the captain, a noble and generous-minded seaman, who listened with attention and commiseration to frank's narrative, inquired whether he wished to continue in the service, and finding the lad was desirous to do so he sent for the clerk, and the rating of midshipman was entered against the name of frank in the muster-book. it would be impossible to describe the varied feelings of frank at this favourable change in his fortune, which he regretted he could not at once communicate to his mother. on the passage out, however, they fell in with a corvette homeward bound, and the newly-made midshipman having a letter ready written describing the events that had occurred, he was enabled to send it by this conveyance, and his mind became more tranquil, and his heart more buoyant. as for sambo, he was very soon reconciled to his lot, especially when he saw that his young friend and master was made an officer, and treated with kindness and respect. the negro was stationed in the main-top, and showed himself desirous to learn his duty. history has recorded the events connected with the occupation of toulon by the allied forces; and here it was that frank first beheld a scene of warfare. splendid was the spectacle to his young and ardent mind. there lay the combined fleets of england and spain, their bright colours and floating pennants flashing in the sun; whilst in the background rose the almost perpendicular mountains of granite, relieved at the base by the white batteries and buildings of the town. as they approached the noble harbour, the smoke from the cannon and musketry proclaimed that active hostility was going on; and frank felt his heart swell at the thoughts of being engaged with the enemies of his country. they had scarcely moored the ship, when reinforcements were demanded for the shore; and a party of seamen and marines was landed under the command of lieutenant evans, and frank was permitted to accompany him on duty in the town. here he had indeed opportunity of beholding all the pomp, the circumstances, and the cruelties of war; for scarcely a day passed that did not bring with it a skirmish with the enemy. it was not, however, till several weeks had elapsed that frank was engaged in hostility. it was on the night of the sortie made by general o'hara against the masked battery that had been constructed by buonaparte to play upon fort malbosquet. armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols, and a pike, the young midshipman accompanied his party to the attack. he felt that he was now an officer in the service of his country; and though his heart palpitated at the thoughts of going into battle, he determined not to flinch. the night was dark; and silently and stealthily they proceeded up the mountain. this enemy had suspected the design, and were in readiness to receive them; and then began the terrible affray. frank kept as close to mr. evans as he could; he had in some measure become used to the peals of musketry, but not to the consequences of the murderous discharge; and his heart quailed when he beheld body after body rolling down the declivity, and heard the shrieks of the wounded as they lay bleeding on the ground, or fell from crag to crag mangled and dying. this dread did not last long, for he was hurled into the very thick of the mêlée, and desperation lent strength to his arm. encouraged by mr. evans, who cheered on his men, he rushed forward with the advance, his spirit rising as the strife increased. for a short time he was separated from the lieutenant, but the tide of contest ranging back, he once more joined him at the moment that he had been brought to the earth by a blow from the butt of a french musket; and the soldier was about to repeat the stroke, when frank with his pike charged with the utmost violence he could muster against the man; the sharpened iron entered his breast so as to throw the soldier off his balance, the blow descended short of the intended victim, and the weapon was shattered to pieces. but the french soldier was not defeated; and snatching at the prostrate officer's sword he possessed himself of it, and prepared to take ample revenge on the stripling who had no other weapon to oppose to his gigantic strength than his cutlass. frank gazed at his powerful adversary and believed his last hour was come; but he determined not to abandon the lieutenant. one thought--one moment's thought of his mother intruded--a pang of bitterness and anguish passed through his heart; and then placing himself on the defensive, and purposing if possible to elude his enemy by activity, he saw him advance. at this instant, however, a british corporal interposed, and lunged at the frenchman with his bayonet; but the brave fellow had been previously wounded and his strength was failing him; still his spirit was indomitable, and a sharp conflict ensued, frank occasionally getting a cut at the frenchman, whose superior fencing gave him an admirable command of his weapon; and the youth with horror saw the sword of mr. evans passed through and through the body of the corporal: it was done with the rapidity of lightning, and the gallant man fell to the ground with one deep and parting groan. a laugh--a horrible laugh of triumph issued from the enemy as he now considered his young victim safe to satiate his revenge. the body of the lieutenant lay between them; and as he began to give tokens of returning animation, the soldier seemed undecided whether he should attack the youth or give the officer the _coup-de-grace_. frank beheld him advance--he would not retreat, but with cool determination parried the thrust; but the superior strength of his opponent prevailed; his guard was beat down, and the sword that had so recently taken life was again wet with blood; the youth was borne backward on its point, and in all probability another second would have stretched him lifeless by the side of mr. evans, had not a bold athletic seaman flung himself against the soldier, who promptly recovered his blade, but not till he was staggered by a blow from the tar, who shouted in a voice that frank instantly recognised, "ware hawse, you lubber--puckalow that--what's the odds, so as you're happy?"--it was ben brailsford. a cry of delight burst from the youth as he incautiously hailed his old companion; for ben was not aware who it was that he had preserved; but on hearing the well-remembered tongue of his young friend, he turned suddenly round. the frenchman instantly perceived his advantage, and made a pass that must have dangerously wounded if not killed the worthy seaman, but that the tar, intuitively sensible of his error, sprang on one side, and the sword of his antagonist did but graze his arm. for several minutes the conflict was desperate; ben was unskilled in the practices of scientific fencing, but he was perfect master of the guards and cuts; and the frenchman's vigour began to relax through the wounds he had received, and the excessive exertions he had undergone. at last finding resistance futile, the soldier dropped the point of his sword in token of surrender, and the seaman, after disarming him, hastened to the side of the youth, who had fallen to the ground inanimate. the livery--out of london. at my friend the squire's, when he lived down at grassby farm in cheshire, i was a constant visitor; and for nothing was that pleasant hospitable house more remarkable than for the eccentric animals that found their way into it, whether as guests or as servants. of both classes, in the course of a very few years, there were several queer specimens. i laugh as i recal them to mind. delightful grassby, what joyous hours have rolled away there! well content should i have been to have remained a welcome guest there for ever, if i could but have secured the privilege of dining as sparingly as i liked, and of taking just as few glasses of the old ale or the old port as suited _me_, rather than my friend. but with the old-fashioned notions of hospitality prevalent there, the comfort of "enough" was out of the question. it was a word never used at the squire's table. if you desired to taste a second or a third dish, good bountiful mrs. n. sent you a second or third _dinner_; and not to eat _all_ that was placed before you, though already long past the point where appetite and desire cease, was to break through every principle of their establishment, and violate all their simple ideas of etiquette and good breeding. if you left the remaining wing of the turkey, they would be wretched for the rest of the day--"you didn't like it," "you were not comfortable." after a year or two, mrs. n. did so far relax, and mingle mercy with her hospitality, as to say when placing two ribs of roast beef upon one's plate, "i hope if there's more than you wish for, that you won't scruple to leave it." the reader will be lucky if he can secure as much indulgence as this, at many country-houses where old fashions and principles yet prevail, and my lady bountiful reigns supreme. consequences the most alarming sometimes ensued from this sense of the necessity of consuming whatsoever was placed before you by your host. a travelling acquaintance of the squire's (one mr. joseph miller) paid him a flying visit one morning; and as he could not possibly stay one moment, and insisted upon not taking any refreshment at all, he was let off with a tankard of ale, and some of the finest cheese in the county. the traveller threw upward a look of despair as he saw about half a magnificent "cheshire" introduced to his notice; but as time was precious, he went to work, and ate with vigour for half-an-hour, when the postboy knocked to remind him of the necessity of completing that stage in a given time, or the journey would be fruitless. the answer returned was, that the traveller "would come as soon as he could;" and upon the cheese he fell again with increased energy. another thirty minutes elapsed, when he paused to gaze, with evident symptoms of exhaustion, on the semicircle of cheshire, not yet visibly diminished; a second rap now summoned him, but his reply was an anxious, hopeless look, and the faint ejaculation "wait!" the attack on the cheese was once more renewed, but by no means fiercely. "gad," cried the squire, at last, "had i guessed you could ha' staid so long, we'd a hastened dinner a bit." "so long!" exclaimed the traveller in a tone of despair; "let me tell you such a piece of cheese as that isn't to be got through so soon as you think for!" another case, and a still more piteous one, was that of a young and simple damsel from a neighbouring county, who brought with her to grassby farm the established consciousness (prevailing still over a large portion of the country) of the unpardonable rudeness of sending away anything presented by the host. accordingly, one day at dinner, when cheese was sent round, and a plate containing several pieces was handed to the young lady, she presumed it to be meant for her, and as in duty bound devoured the whole supply. it so happened that she did not visit at the squire's again for some considerable time; and then, when remonstrated with for not calling upon her friends at the farm, she said, "well, i will call, i shall be delighted to dine with you again; but--pray don't give me so much cheese!" all who entered the farm seemed alike under the influence of one dreary and imperative necessity; that they must take whatever was offered them--which never failed to be too much. a french gentleman one evening underwent with exemplary politeness the martyrdom of drinking sixteen cups of tea, simply from not knowing that he was expected, when tired, to put the spoon in the cup. this at last he did, by mere accident, or good mrs. n. would have gone on pouring out for him all night, to her great felicity. [illustration] never but once--only once--was that excellent lady convicted of a fit of moderation in the arrangements of her table, and that was when some fine london acquaintances had been persuading her to transform a rustic lout of a stripling into a page, and assuring her that thick pieces of bread at dinner were quite barbarous and vulgar. she did so far forget her original nature, as to decorate the boy with roley-poley buttons, to turn his christian name of colin into the surname of collins, and to admonish him on the subject of bread thus--"collins, don't cut up so many loaves when we have company at dinner; i don't like very small pieces, but then there shouldn't be too many; you should _count heads_; you must know how much bread will be wanted, and cut accordingly. now mind!" kind, hospitable dame, how was she punished for her precaution! when the next dinner-party assembled, and a dozen persons had taken their seats at the table, collins proceeded to hand the bread round after the provincial fashion of twenty years ago; but by the time he reached his mistress, the last person of the dozen, the bread was gone. "collins," said she, in a low discreet whisper, "some bread, some more bread." collins's whisper in reply was meant to be equally discreet, but it was more audible. "please, ma'am, i did count heads, and cut twelve bits, but that 'ere gentleman _has took two pieces_!" collins, the page, was but the folly of a day; he speedily disappeared; yet there remained for some time in the heart of his mistress a lurking desire to engraft a few of the best london usages upon the more substantial country customs, and if not to keep pace with the spirit of the present age, at least to emerge out of the deep recesses of the past. robin, the successor of collins, was a victim to this spirit of innovation. he was a rustic of one idea; which was, to do whatever he was ordered as well as he could. if told to make haste, he would simply start off at the top of his speed; if told to fly, he would assuredly attempt with his arms and coatflaps an imitation of the action of a bird, and fly as well as he was able. he understood all instructions literally; robin had no imagination. to bring in everything upon a waiter, was an order he could easily comprehend; mistake was impossible. "well, i declare!" cried mrs. n. to some visitors one morning, "you haven't yet seen my pets;" (some pups of an illustrious breed, that had just seen the light;) "robin, bring in the pets--they are miracles." there was considerable delay, however, in the execution of this order; and more than one inquiry went forth, why robin did not bring in the pups. at last, when curiosity was at its height, and expectation on tiptoe, robin did contrive, after a "to do" outside the door, to make a formal appearance with the pups, and to explain the delay:--"here be pups, ma'am, only dang it they won't keep on waiter." [illustration] where the squire picked up the imperturbable who came next, i never understood. at this distance of time it is not unreasonable to doubt whether he was in reality a human being; he might have been a talking automaton. he never appeared to have "organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions;" he seemed to be simply a thing of clock-work. "master wants a bit more muffin," or "the ice has broke and master's drownded in the pond," would be uttered by him in exactly the same formal tone of voice, with exactly the same stiff and deliberate air. it was all one to him whether he had to announce--"there's a cricket-match on the common," or "the french have landed." never shall i forget his walking into the room one day, an hour after dinner, and fixing himself beside his master's chair while the squire was telling us one of his sporting stories which were sometimes rather long; waiting patiently until the close for the signal to proceed, and then when the squire had turned round leisurely to know what he wanted, saying in his slow tone, "when i went up stairs, sir, a little while ago, the house was a-fire! it's burning now." [illustration] but i ought to relate one more example of the manner in which the patience of the squire's lady was tried, by the rusticity of her attendants, during the short season of her attempt to elevate her household arrangements into something like fashionable dignity. one day, when the squire had sent off, upon some frivolous errand, every servant in the house except cook and coachman, in dropped a very important visitor who proffered his company at dinner, to the consternation of the lady: hospitable as she was, she was in a dilemma; but it could not be helped. the services of the coachman were duly called into requisition to wait at table, greatly to his chagrin, for he detested the duty, and whenever he chanced to be called upon to perform it, was sure to find some means of letting all the room know that he did. he abhorred indoor work, and took a pride in proclaiming himself to be coachee. on this occasion, having some apple-dumplings to bring in (vulgarities to which the squire was considerably attached), the coachman, not qualified by daily practice for the duty, let some of them slip off the dish; but recovering himself, he contrived to balance the dish as he held it out, and to steady the rolling dumplings therein, with a "who-o, whoo-oo, _whut!_" neither the squire nor his lady ever affected the "gentilities" after this, or allowed their honest hearts to be disconcerted about trifles; and with this last "tray" of domestic awkwardness, i for the present take my leave of the livery. rus in urbe. omnibus chat. "easy travelling this, sir; smooth roads, no turnpikes; no dirt thrown about, no splashing. pleasant for me, who have just arrived from van diemen's land," (we all looked up at our new visitor v. d. l.)--"yes, sir, where they are 'mending their ways,' as you are here, only not quite so fast; haven't got to indian-rubber roads yet, though advanced beyond the point at which the traveller in my legend was obliged to stop." this allusion being evidently preparatory to the production of a story, v. d. l. was invited to explain, which he instantly did by chanting the following legend of van diemen's land. long time ago, when public roads in far van diemen's land, were only fit for frogs and toads, composed of pools and sand; (for folks had not tried newest modes of making wood-ways grand); and narrow wheels, and heavy loads, made ups and downs on every hand: long time ago, when things were so, by some arch wag it was averr'd the following incident occurr'd.-- it chanced, on one of old october's days, a traveller was travelling along, and, as he jolted in his strong-spring'd chaise, "beguiled the tedious minutes" with a song: when, lo! a hat upon a pool he sees, that did not seem to feel the "balmy breeze," but in the middle kept its place! as if it had resolved, with honest pride, not to be driven down upon the side, when it might hold the central space. the traveller got out, and took it up,-- most strange!--a head beneath the hat appears, whose hair had of the puddle ta'en a sup, and now was weeping dirty-looking tears:-- "how?" said the traveller, "why! how is this? you've sunk a precious depth, my friend, in mud; how did you 'come to go' so much amiss, as walk in muddy water--in cold blood?-- ye gods! why, sir, you must have been like lead, so deep into this puddle to have gone." "if _i'm so deep_," the other gruffly said, "_where, where, must be the horse that i am on?_" "accidents of that sort will happen in the best regulated countries," remarked a modern traveller, who had now, with an air of subdued jollity, taken his place amongst us, and who was distinguished among his familiars as illustrious tom, "though i can't say i ever witnessed such an adventure in cheapside. but you call to mind a home-adventure, a scene at bolton. most towns, you must know, in almost every county, can boast of their little evening coterie, in which the affairs of the nation are more or less learnedly discussed, and where the wags of the place play off their jokes, practical, comical, or serious. it generally happens, too, that these congregated sons of smoke (for smokers they all are) take up some district name; as the 'bolton trotters,' the 'wigan badgers,' the 'item dolls,' the 'corporation of the king's arms kitchen,' the 'quarter of hundred bricks,' or a hundred other names that might be mentioned; and all these coteries are composed of about the same materials, the doctors, lawyers, retired tradesmen, country squires, and budding wags. it may be my province by and by to detail a few of the farcicalities which i have either taken part in, or heard related by some old brick-badger, trotter, or doll. for the present, here is a tale, related to me with many a deep sigh by an old one, whose trot is now reduced to a most miserable shamble. "it had been a stormy november day, when a commercial traveller alighted at the door of the swan inn. it was almost dark. he was a gentleman from leeds, in the cloth trade, and had ridden over the moors--not as the young ones do now who drive--but on a strong cleveland bay cob, wrapped in a good devon kersey coat, that would defy all weathers, much better than your nasty mackintoshes. well, sir, there was a good deal o' guessing, among us who were having a bit o' trot, at who he was. the waiter was called in, and 'thowt he was a new chap,'--he didn't know him. in about an hour he made his appearance, and begged to be allowed to join us. he was a strapping leeds win'er, and no toy to play with, i assure you. the trotting was very slow for a time, when the bold wag, jem brown, went in to win, and filled his pipe. mr. a., the lawyer, sat on one side the fire; the traveller, in what was called travellers' chair, on the other. up got jem to ring the bell, and then, as he passed by him--'you must have had a rough day,' says jem; 'didn't i see you ride in about an hour ago?' 'mebby ye did, i come in about that toime,' was the answer. 'on a bay cob?' says jem. 'eigh, a did.' 'a clever little hack, i be bound,' says jem again. 'eigh,' rejoins the traveller, 'the fastest in any town he goes inta.' 'wew!' says jem, 'i'll upo'd him a good 'un, but that's going ow'er far.' 'i'll bet a pound on't,' says the traveller. 'nay, i never bet money--but i'll bet brandies round, i've a faster.' 'dun,' says the traveller. 'order in the brandy, and book it,' says mr. a. down went the bet, and down went the brandy, and the horses were ordered out. the traveller was soon mounted, and sure enough it was as nice a tit as onny man need wish throw a leg over. the traveller began to be impatient, when jem at last made his appearance at the door, pipe in hand. what's that your fast hoss? let's see him walk.' on he went. 'here, come back, and come in, for ye've lost.' 'lost, how?' 'why,' says jem, 'mine's been stuck fast at bolton-moor clay-pit this three days, and gone dead this afternoon.' 'a fair trot,' cried the whole party, amidst a roar o' laughter, as jem retreated out o' the way of the strapping and irritated loser. (now it was on the same evening, and at the expense of this same sturdy yorkshireman, to provoke whom was no joke, that a joke was played off, which is commemorated in an oil painting that now hangs up in the commercial room of the swan. mr. a.'s leg was covered with a black silk stocking; the traveller's was cased in stout leather; when a bet was laid that the wearer of the silks would hold his leg longer in hot water than the wearer of the leathers. the experiment was tried in boiling water. in two minutes the yorkshireman was in agony, while the lawyer looked on with astonishing composure-for his was a _cork leg_.") "but a yorkshireman may be a philosopher," observed c.e.w., who now interposed a remark, "and philosophy can stand every description of hot water, save that which love brings us into. practical jokes are of many kinds; a kiss is very often but a practical joke; and as an appropriate successor to your tale of the silk stocking and the boot, let me give you the story of the girl and the philosopher. as kate went tripping up the town (no lassie e'er looked prettier), an "unco chiel" in cap and gown (no mortal e'er looked grittier) accosted kitty in the street, as she was going to cross over, and robb'd her of a kiss--the cheat, saying, "i'm a _philosopher_!" "a what?" said kitty, blushing red, and gave his cap a toss over; "are you? oh, _phi_!" and off she sped, whilst he bewail'd the "_los-oph-er!_" "the learned lover, sir, who bewailed the '_los-oph-er_'(said a visitor, who now favoured us with his company) was the last man in the world to die of love. no man ever died of love, who did not kill himself; and no man ever killed himself, who knew what philosophy was. true philosophy may buy prussic-acid, but, like tantalus, taste not a drop; true philosophy saunters to the serpentine, and then saunters back to supper and a cigar. this," said dr. bulgardo, l.s.d., "i shall endeavour to illustrate in a poetical tribute to the grave of the suicide (who thought better of it). my eye grew as dull as a half-scallop'd oyster, and soon would my death in the _times_ have rejoiced her; so to battersea-fields, for no meadows are moister, i hurried to drown both myself and my woes. down life's sunny stream many seasons i'd floated till pleasures now bored me, on which i had doted; so i vowed that my death should by lovers be quoted where the pale, sentimental asparagus grows. alas! i exclaim'd, with a half-broken hiccup, the soft crumbs of comfort no more can i pick up; my sorrows are mix'd as it were in a tea-cup, without any sugar to take off the taste. but sorrows are often inflicted to try us; kind fortune, invisibly, often stands by us; and now on the roof of the famous eel-pie house the blinker-eyed goddess was luckily placed. she kindly assured me my views were mistaken, that really by betty i wasn't forsaken; so i walk'd back to town and got into the fakenham coach, to return to my betty again. four lovers already had tried to divert her attentions from me, but their eagerness hurt her; she said that she knew that i wouldn't desert her, and now is the suicide gayest of men!" [illustration] a rigid sense of duty. at one of our sea-port towns there stood (and, we believe, doth stand there still) a fort, on the outside of which is a spacious field, overlooking a delightful prospect of land and water. at the time we are speaking of, a major brown was the commandant; and his family being fond of a milk diet, the veteran had several cows that pastured in the land aforesaid; a sentry was placed near the entrance, part of whose duty it was to prevent strangers and stray cattle from trespassing therein. upon one occasion, an irish marine, a stranger to the place, was on guard at this post, and having received the regular orders not to allow any one to go upon the grass but the major's cows, determined to adhere to them strictly. he had not been long at his post, when three elegant young ladies presented themselves at the entrance for the purpose of taking their usual evening walk, and were quickly accosted by the marine with "you can't go there!" "oh! but we may," uttered the ladies with one voice, "we have the privilege to do so." "privilege," repeated the sentry; "fait an' i don't care what ye have, but you mustn't go there, i tell ye; it's major brown's positive orders to the conthrary." "oh--ay--yes--we know that," said the eldest of the ladies with dignity, "but we are major brown's daughters." "ah, well, you don't go in there then anyhow," exclaimed pat, bringing his firelock to the post, "you may be major brown's daughters, but you're not major brown's cows." * * * * * the answer to mr. sly's enigma (in last no.) is a _liquid_[ ], which forms the _third_ part of _rum_, the _fourth_ of port, the _fifth_ of _shrub_, the _sixth_ of _brandy_, the _seventh_ of _madeira_, the _eighth_ of _burgundy_, the _ninth_ of _bordeaux_, the _tenth_ of _maraschino_. it is a letter which is not seen in _the alphabet_, forms no part of a _syllable_, and yet is found in _every_ word.--v. d. l. * * * * * "are there two 's's' in st. asaph?" asked lord dunce of a popular humourist, as he was directing a letter to a learned bishop who bore that title. "unless _you_ wish to make an 'ass' of his lordship, decidedly not," was the answer; and lord dunce finished the address without further inquiry. * * * * * [illustration] _driver_ (calling out). tom, is that 'ere elderly lady come, as ve vaited for last trip? _cad_. vel, i _do_ think i sees her a coming. _driver_. but are you sure it's the same? _cad_. oh yes--vy i was in the office ven the governor booked her, by the name o' mrs. toddles, and eh?--hang me if she arn't a toddling off the wrong vay arter all. vel, drive on, ve can't wait for nobody. some people alvers _aire_ too late, and alvers vill be. _driver_. vy, yes, tom; but i reckon it must take _her_ a couple o' hours to put on that bonnet afore she comes out. she must git up a little earlier, or else i should reckimend her to put it on the night afore. [illustration: oh my goodness there is a mouse!!!] [illustration: oh! my good gracious! here is a great "black beadle" !!! !!!!] footnote: [footnote : the liquids are "l, m, n, r."--_lindley murray._] [illustration: flying beadles] frights! there is no fever so contagious as fright. it runs, like a bell-wire, through the house, communicating from one line of agitation to another. frights, in a national point of view, are called "clouds on the political horizon." these clouds are very catching; if one nation in europe has the vapours, all have--as we have lately had an opportunity of witnessing. in a civic, or we should say rather in a commercial, sense, frights are called "panics;" they are wonderfully contagious. no sooner is one house in danger, than another feels itself in peril. you walk at such a season through some vast capital, amidst lines of lofty and durable-looking mansions, and every one that begins to totter puts at least a couple in mind of tottering also. as this nods to its fall, that returns the nod instinctively. once set the panic afoot, and each seems inclined to be foremost, rather than hindmost, in the road to ruin; let but a single firm topple down unexpectedly, and its neighbours break too, from nothing but sheer apprehension of breaking. amidst large assemblages of people--in ball-rooms, theatres, often in churches--fright is irresistible in its progress, if once kindled. the cry of "fire," or a sound construed into the cracking of the wainscot, is enough. the strong, the weak, the bold, the nervous, the old stager and the young novice--are all reduced simultaneously to a common level: they become one mass of flying, fluttering, struggling, shrieking, _selfish_ mortality--rushing to the door, and there effectually blocking up the way; each bent on escape, and each helping to render escape impossible; trampling, stifling, crushing one another, in hideous rout and disorder, without one rational idea amongst the bewildered multitude of the reality of the danger, or one courageous impulse to face it. this wild alarm, like jealousy, makes the meat it feeds on. there is something so contradictory in it, that the presence of numbers, which should be its protection, increases its confusion. it sees its own pale, glaring, terror-stricken image in each man's face, and its diseased imagination multiplies the causes of fear, because its effects are manifold. while such panics prevail, as all veracious chronicles show they do, amongst mankind, who shall presume ungallantly to laugh at thy innocent objects of terror, oh, womankind! or, childhood, even at thine! all have their favourite antipathies. gentlemen ere now have been appalled at the sight of a black-bottle; many a lady yet looks aghast at the intrusion of a black-beetle; while the child still screams, affrighted at the idea of black-bogy. leaving the first to the satirist, and the last to the schoolmaster, let us picture to the eyes of ladies a scene, in which every fair reader almost must have been, at least _once_ in her life, an actress. we will suppose that scene to be a lady's "finishing establishment"--for there are no schools now--the school went out of fashion with the shop, and the "establishment" came in with the "depôt" and the "emporium." the group is the prettiest possible, as a specimen of still-life; there is not a whisper, scarcely a motion; the superior is silently calculating the amount of her michaelmas accounts; the assistant is mutely wondering whether young ariosto jackson, whom she met at northampton last holidays, will again be there at the next breaking up; and several young ladies, in process of tuition, are learning irregular verbs by heart, reading treatises abstrusely scientific, and thinking all the time of nothing; when--all of a sudden--but no, that is not the word--quicker than lightning, transformed as by magic, the scene presents to the eye but one image of consternation--to the ear but one note of terror and dismay. in the centre of the sacred apartment has been detected a small sable intruder. a cry of horror from one young lady--"oh! my good gracious, there's a great black _beadle_!" brings every other young lady's heart into her mouth. in an instant the room resounds with wild piercing screams. every chair has its pedestalled votary of fear, its statue of alarm exquisitely embodied; the sofa boasts a rare cluster of affrighted nymphs--more agonised by far than if they had been, by some wicked bachelor of a magician, locked for life into a nunnery. the lady-president, to exhibit an example of presence of mind, has leaped upon a chair for the purpose of pulling the bell; she at the same time conveys a lesson of industry, for she agitates it like a "ringer" pulling for a leg of mutton and trimmings. the bell-rope breaks, and the other is out of reach. the screams increase; the servants are summoned by more names than they were ever christened by. "cook, sarah, betsy, betsy, jane, cook, sarah," are called, together with several domestics who have long since gone away. in the mean time let us snatch a glance at the little dingy contemptible insect, the sable agitator, the christophe of entomology, who has innocently created all this palpitation in tender bosoms, this distortion of beautiful features, this trembling of limbs, and this discord in voices the most musical. he stands a moment stupified, petrified with astonishment at the rush and the roar around him; recovering from his first surprise, he creeps a pace or two in blank perplexity; he wrestles with his fears--for frightened he is out of his little black wits, you may depend upon it--runs here and there, a few inches to the east, and then a few inches westward, to and fro like a bewildered thing; and then making up his mind, "away he cuts" as hard as he can pelt into the obscurest corner. the enemy out of sight, the boldest of the party, after a minute or two, ventures down and makes a desperate rush to the door; others soon follow this heroine's example; and when they reach the landing--there pale, though recent from the roasting jack, and peeping up from one of the lower stairs of the kitchen flight, they perceive the face of the cook--a face whose expression is half curiosity, half fear. aspects of wonder and wo-begone alarm are discernible beyond, and fill up the picture of agitation. "oh, cook! where have you been?" cry the pretty tremblers. "oh, miss! what _is_ the matter?" sighs the cook sentimentally, observing at the same time that "her heart beats that quick as she ain't sure she knows her own name when she hears it." "oh, cook!" cries the least exhausted of the party, "here's a great--here's a great black beadle in the parlour!" on which a very small scream, and a pretty shudder at the recollection, pervade the assembly. "a black-beadle, miss higgins! _is that all_! lauk, well that is disappineting; we thought as you was all a being murdered, and so we couldn't move, we was so frightened. why, i minds a black-beadle no more nor--no more nor--no, that i don't! but if it had bin a hearwig, miss higgins!--ur-r-r-rh! now that's a ruptile as i never could abide!" had we rushed down stairs sooner, just before the first ring of the bell, a kitchen-group might have presented itself, not unworthy of being sketched. there should we have seen a feminine party of four seated round a table spread with solid viands; the actresses have played their parts to perfection; not like unfortunate players on the mimic stage, who raise to their parched lips empty japan cups, and affect to eat large slices of pasteboard turkeys. no; they have, in the fullest sense of the word, _dined_; and are in that delicious state of dreamy repose, induced by a hearty meal, about mid-day in summer, after having risen early and "washed" till twelve! it is at this juncture they hear the loud quick ring of the parlour-bell. at such a moment, when missus know'd they was at dinner! again, again, again; nay, the peal is continuous, and mingled with confused screams. terror and the cold beef combined, strong ale and intense alarm, prevent them from stirring. still the bell rings, the screams continue, and grow more distinct! sarah faints, betsy manages about half a fit, and jane staggers a few paces and falls into the arms of robert the gardener. a jug of ale, which the cook mistakes for water, flung into the face of the fair insensible, causes a sensation that arouses the whole party; and curiosity overcoming fear, leads them towards the stairs, where, hushed and horror-stricken, they await the dread intelligence that "a great black beadle has got into the parlour," his first appearance this season! "had it been a mad dog, indeed!" they all cry. yes, and if it had been merely a tiny puppy with the smallest tin kettle tied to his tail, retreating affrightedly from roguish boys, they themselves would have been thrown into a fright indeed. their instinct would have led them to cry, "oh here's a mad dog," and to run right in his way. every man has his "fright." toads are exceedingly unpopular. the deathwatch, like conscience, doth make cowards of us all. spiders are unwelcome visitors. rats (politics apart) are eminently disagreeable. one of a party who went out to kill buffaloes, happening to run away just as all his courage was required, explained the circumstance to his friends thus: "one man dislikes this, and another man that animal; gentlemen, my antipathy is the buffalo." but in certain climates, people are accustomed to horrors; they sup full of them. nobody there screams out, "oh here's a scorpion!" or "good gracious, here's an alligator!" the visits of such common-places are not angelic, being neither few nor far between. it is only some rarer monster that can hope to make a sensation. now, a hippopotamus, once a season, would come with a forty black-beetle power to an evening party; and a group of timid ladies, kicking the mere crocodiles and rattle-snakes away, may well be imagined rushing into a corner, startled by an unlooked-for intruder, and crying out "oh my! if here isn't a mammoth! mamma! here's a great large leviathan!" [illustration] a peep at a "leg-of-beef shop." it is a melancholy sight to witness the half-starved, anatomical-looking small youths, dressed in every variety of poverty's wardrobe, that linger for hours near a certain little bow-window in st. giles's; where the nobility, gentry, and public are informed that by paying down the sum of threepence they will be allowed peaceably to depart with an imperial pint of leg-of-beef soup in their own jug. it is a moving sight. to see the hungry looks--the earnest gazes, that are darted through that little bow-window--to see with what intense relish they snuff up the odoriferous vapours which occasionally ascend through the gratings beneath that little bow-window, or roll out in their full fragrance through the doorway adjacent to that little bow-window, ensnaring at every other burst some new, hungry, unsuspecting wayfarer--to see this is indeed a moving sight. seldom, very seldom is it the good fortune of these watchful youths to revel in such luxuries as leg-of-beef soup, or its rival, alamode; they are beings destined only to view such things afar off, and make vain speculations upon their ravishing flavour; to contemplate them as amalgams expressly prepared for the affluent--those happy ones who can spend threepence and not feel it. oh! what felicity to be the master of such a shop!--to eat as much as he likes and nothing to pay--to be able to feast his eyesight with the savoury contents of those bright tin kettles when _not_ hungry--to dress in a white apron and striped jacket, and to have supreme command of that ladle--to be able to look sternly upon those perturbed spirits without, and disregard their earnest whisperings of "oh, don't it smell jolly; and warn't that piece prime, though!"--to be able to go on fishing up the delicious morsels with the same provoking coolness. oh! to what joys are some men born! but see. here come two that have had their enjoyment; maybe each has eaten a whole three-penn'orth. no longer do the fumes possess any charm for them; they can now walk composedly past those magic kettles. now, two happy beings are entering the elysium--two whose delights are yet to come. one of them is a dustman in a spotted neckerchief, red wrist-cuffs, and a cap peculiar to gentlemen in that line of business; the other is his lady, glorying in the euphonic name of "doll." see with what a majestic air he strides in and takes his seat, as if he could buy up the whole establishment twice over if he chose. hark with what a lordly voice he calls the waiting-boy, whose benevolent master, for services rendered, rewards him with ninepence per week, and the gratuitous licking of all the crockery soiled on the premises. "vater!" again vociferates he of the neckerchief. "yes, sir," is the reply. "didn't you heear me call vater afore?" "sorry, sir, but the gen'l'm'n as is just gone was agoin' to forget to pay, sir--that's all, sir." "that's nuffin to do vith me. ven i calls 'vater,' i vants yer. i can't afford to vaste my precious breath to no purpose as the members o' parliament do, so just prick up them long ears of your'n, and then i think you'll grow the viser." "yes, sir." "vell, then, bring this here leddy and me a freeha'penny plate each, and two penny crusties, and ven a gen'l'm'n calls agin, listen to his woice, or maybe it's not unpossible he may get his bit o' wittles at some other ho-tel." with another professional "yes, sir," the urchin vanishes from the presence. once more the purveyor's ladle dives into the bright tin kettle. again he tortures the hungry beholders outside the window--as they look on with outstretched necks and spasmodic mouths--with glimpses of its treasures. they see the choice bits of gristle but for an instant, and no more; for whilst gazing at the sight, in a paroxysm of longing and fever of desire, the plates are borne off to that vile dustman. "now, mr. imperence," says the lady, addressing the purveyor's protégé, at the same time, with much dexterity and elegance, converting a fork she has discovered upon the seat into a toothpick. "now, mr. imperence, i hope you've brought a little less paddywack in it than there was yesterday. as will says," she continues, stirring and scrutinising the contents of the plate, "bless'd if this house ain't quite losing its caroter." "brayvo! doll!" ejaculates her lord approvingly, as leaning backwards with extended leg he draws from his pocket a coin of the realm. "here, jist valk yer laziness across the vay, and travel back agin vith a pint of half-and-half. now, vot do you stand ringing o' the money for? do you think other people is as vicked as yerself?"--"th' s'picious little warmint!" rejoins the lady, swallowing a spoonful of the soup with alarming expedition, and fulfilling the purposes of a napkin with the back of her hand. "did you see wot a imperent grin the little beast give?" "never mind, old gal, you get on," responds the dustman, lounging with both elbows upon the table, and regarding with an air of much complacency the thin-visaged youths outside. "you get on, for i must soon be astirring." in due time the boy and the solution of malt and hops present themselves, and after a hearty draught of the grateful beverage, the dustman evinces a disposition to become musical, and whistles an air or two with perhaps rather more of good will than of good taste. he suddenly looks round, and discovering his lady has finished the plate of soup and the last drain of beer also, summons forth the juvenile waiter from behind a little partition, just at the mortifying moment when his tongue is making clean the interiors and exteriors of two recently-used plates. "now, then, young imp, wot's the damage?"--"sixpence, please sir," said the waiter, vainly endeavouring to quiet his tongue, which keeps playing round the sides of his mouth; "two plates and three loaves, please, sir." "we aint had free, you cheating little wagabond!" screams the lady; "we've only had two--you know that!" "oh! beg pardon, ma'am," replies the boy, after a sly lick; "it was t'other box where the gen'lm'n was as had three. fippence, then, please sir--two plates and two new'uns--fippence." "you're a nice sample o' thievery for your age," says the dustman, contemplating the boy with one eye, and then counting out four penny pieces and four farthings with curious deliberation. "you're a nice article to cast a gen'l'm'n's bill. do you happ'n to know a cove in london by the name o' ketch--jack ketch?" "yes, sir." "vell then, the next time as you go his vay, have the goodness to leave your card, and say you was strongly recommended to him by me. now, doll." having delivered himself to this effect, greatly to the moral benefit of the boy, who mechanically replies at the conclusion of it, "yes, sir," with a dignified step he leads the way to the door, merely condescending, as he places his foot upon the sill, to inform the proprietor, that "he's blow'd if there's a worser prog-shop in the whole blessed vurld!" alpha. a few notes on unpaid letters. the penny-postage has already wrought an extraordinary change in the public ideas of the value of money. formerly, according to the old maxim, ninepence was but ninepence; but even twopence has now become a sum sterling, to demand which is to stir men's blood as violently as if the said coins were flung in their faces. to put a letter into the post, and an intimate friend to the expense of twopence, was, only the other day, perfectly natural; under the present system, it is fiendish. a letter sent free costs the sender a penny; to receive a letter not pre-paid, is to expend double the amount. in the degree of attention shown to this little fact, it is not impossible to find a test of the principles of mankind--of the whole corresponding portion of creation at least. the last post-office returns show, that there are upon an average persons--monsters in the human form, we should rather say--in this metropolis alone, who walk about day by day dropping stampless epistles into ravenous letter-boxes, from sheer misanthropy--hatred of their fellow-creatures; which feeling they are pleased to call forgetfulness, stamplessness, or copperlessness, as convenience may dictate. never become enraged when you receive a missive from one of them--never storm when you pay double--lest you should chance to justify where you mean to condemn. at unpaid letters look not blue, nor call your correspondent scamp; for if you storm, he proves that you received his letter--_with_ "a stamp!" reflect seriously upon the character of such a correspondent. the man whose letters are not pre-paid may be thus denounced:-- he is selfish, because he would rather you should pay twice, than that he should pay once. he would rather inflict an injury on his friend, than act fairly himself. he is disloyal, because he ought to grace his letter with the head of his queen, and he declines doing so. he prefers seeing his brother's _two_ pockets picked, to having a hand thrust into one of his own. he is an old fool, who wants to be thought young, and affects carelessness, because it is a youthful fault. rather than take a bottle of wine out of his own cellar, he would drink a couple at his neighbour's expense. sooner than experience a stamp on his toe, he would see his old father's gouty feet trampled on. he is ready to discharge a double-barrelled gun at anybody, to escape a single shot at himself. he would ride his friend's horse fifty miles, to save his own from a journey of five-and-twenty. to avoid an easy leap from the first-floor window, he would doom his nearest connexion to jump from the roof. rather than submit to the privation of half a meal, he would subject any human being to the misery of being dinnerless. he is penny wise and twopence foolish. his penny saved is not a penny got, since the damage he occasions will recoil upon himself. he is more mindful of the flourishing finances of the postmaster-general, than of the scanty funds of individuals who are dear to him. he has no care for the revenue, for he shrinks from prompt payment. he is dishonest, for rather than pay in advance he won't pay at all. * * * * * above all, never listen to anything that may be urged in his defence. never attach the slightest importance to such arguments as these:-- he is the best of patriots, because he raises a sinking revenue. he is the best of friends, for he impels all whom he addresses to do good to the state at a slight cost to themselves. he is the most loyal of men, for he cannot bear to part with his queen's likeness, even upon a penny-piece. he is a gentleman, and never has vulgar halfpence within reach. he is kind to street-beggars, and gives away the penny in charity before he can get to the post-office. he is well read in ancient literature, and knows that those who pay beforehand are the worst of paymasters. he is delicate-minded, and feels that a pre-paid letter implies a supposition that the receiver would care about the postage. his house is open to his acquaintances, who write so many notes there that he never has a stamp to use. he scorns to subject the portrait of his lady-sovereign to the indignity of being tattooed like a new-zealander. he is a logician, and maintains that if a penny-postage be a good thing, a twopenny-postage must be exactly twice as good. he enables others to do a double service to their country, rather than by doing half that service himself, prevent them from doing any. he denies himself one pleasure that his fellow-creatures may have two. he sympathises in the postman's joy at the receipt of twopence, as it brings back old times, and restores to him his youth. he is so anxious to write to those he loves, that the stamp, hastily affixed, comes off in the letter-box. signing himself "your most obedient humble servant," of course he dares not take the liberty of paying for what _you_ receive. he is married, and leaves it to bachelors to pay _single_ postage. mark his hand-writing, nevertheless; and when his unpaid epistle arrives, let your answer be, a copy of the "times," supplement and all, sealed up in an unstamped envelope. first discovery of van _demons_' land. by captain marryat, c. b. the vessel rose upon the mountain waves, with her bowsprit pointing up to the northern star, and then plunged down into the trough of the sea, as if she were diving like the porpoises which played across her bows,--shaking and trembling fore and aft as she chopped through the masses of water which impeded her wild course. sea after sea struck her on the chesstree or the beam, pouring over her decks and adding to the accumulation of water in her hold. her sides were without a vestige of paint--her shrouds and standing rigging worn to less than inch-rope; her running rigging as mere threads; the foresail, the only sail set, as thin as gauze. decay was visible in every part of her; her timbers were like touchwood; even her capstan had half rotted away; and her masts might have proved, if once ashore, a safe asylum to colonies of ants and woodpeckers. how then could a vessel in this forlorn condition continue afloat or contend with so fierce a gale? because it was the spectre-ship with her spectre-crew; vanderdecken, in the flying dutchman, still contending against the divine fiat, still persevering in his fatal oath--that he would double the cape. vanderdecken stood at the break of the weather-gangway with his chief officer, jansen, by his side. the crew were most of them sheltering themselves under the weather-side of the deck; their large, flat, pale muffin faces sunk down deep in their chests; shoulders, high and bony; their nether garments like bladders half shrunken, as if there was nothing in them. when they shifted from one part of the deck to the other, their broad, flat feet made no sound as they passed along the planks, which were soft as pith. their dresses were now of the colour of mahogany or chocolate; seaweed was growing here and there on their jackets; and to the seats of their small-clothes, a crop of barnacles had become firmly attached. they all looked melancholy and disheartened; and as they shivered, the rattle of their bones was distinctly to be heard. vanderdecken put his speaking-trumpet to his lips-- "another pull of the weather fore-brace," cried he. "yaw, yaw," replied the spectre-crew, put into motion by the order. the boatswain piped belay--the sound could hardly be distinguished, as from long use he had blown away much of the metal of which his pipe was composed. jansen, the mate, looked up at the fore-yard, and then at vanderdecken. he appeared at first irresolute when he looked into the dogged countenance of vanderdecken;--at last, he hitched up his nether garments with both hands, and spoke--"it won't do, captain vanderdecken,--and the men say it won't do--do you not, my lads, all of you?" "yaw," was the hollow, melancholy response of the seamen. "donder und blitzen--what won't do?" replied the captain. "we must bear up, captain vanderdecken," replied jansen; "the ship leaks like an old sieve; our hold is full of water; the men are worn out; every sail we have has been bent and split; nothing but the foresail left. it's no use, captain vanderdecken, we must bear up and refit." "you forget mine oath," replied vanderdecken, surlily. "hold on, jansen, that sea is aboard of us." jansen shook his three jackets and ten pair of small-clothes, as soon as the drenching had passed over. "i tell you, mynheer vanderdecken, it won't do--we must bear up." "yaw, yaw," responded the crew. "mine oath!" cried the captain again, as he held on by one of the belaying pins. "without sails, without provisions, and without fresh water on board, you cannot keep your oath--which was to double the cape. we must bear up, refit, and then try it again." "mine oath--i have sworn--i cannot--i will not bear up; jansen, hold your tongue." "well, you may keep your oath--for we will bear up for you against your will." "we will! who will? do you mutiny?" "yaw, yaw; we all mutiny," cried the sailors; "we have been now two years trying to double this stormy cape, and never had a dry jacket the whole time; we must mend our small-clothes, and darn our stockings. for two years and more we have had no fresh meat, and that is contrary to the articles. captain vanderdecken we do not mutiny; but we will bear up; with your will, if you please; if not, against your will." "so you mutiny, you ungrateful rascals! well, stop a moment, till i go into my cabin; when i come out again, i will hear what you have to say, and see if any man dares speak;" and captain vanderdecken in a great fury rushed aft and went into his cabin. "i know what he will do, my men," said jansen; "he has gone for his double-barrelled pistols, and will shoot us through the head;--we must not let him come out again." "nein, nein," replied the seamen; and they ran to the cabin-doors, and made them fast, so that vanderdecken could not get out, and could shoot nobody but himself. "now my lads," said jansen, "put the helm up, and square the yards." "what's the course to be, mynheer jansen," asked the man at the helm. "keep her right before it, my man; how's her head now?" "about south-west." "that will do--it will fetch somewhere--she walks fast through it. spielman, heave the log." "what does she go?" "eighty-five miles an hour; but we must allow something for the heave of the sea," replied the second mate. "she don't sail as well as she did; but we are half full of water," replied jansen. [illustration] when a ship runs down more than two degrees of longitude in an hour, it does not take her long to go half round the world. the flying dutchman, as she flew along, was pursued by the demons of the storm visible to the crew on board, although not to mortal eyes: some, with puffed-out cheeks, were urging her through the water; others mouthed and yelled; some kicked her stern in derision; others tumbled and curveted in the air above her--ever keeping pace with the vessel, jibing and jeering at their victory; for the flying dutchman no longer battled against the adverse elements, but at last had yielded to them. the dutchmen cared little for the imps, they were used to them, and they smoked their pipes in silence, all but vanderdecken; the mutiny of the men had put his pipe out. on the second day they had passed cape horn without perceiving it; the wind veered more to the east, and they steered more to the northward. on the fourth evening, the sailor on the look-out at the bow called out "land, hoh!" they steered right for it and entered a large bay; the anchor, in many parts not thicker than a pipe-stem, was dropped, the foresail clued up, and having first armed themselves, the seamen let the captain loose. vanderdecken was as savage as a bear. he ran out with a pistol in each hand, but a pea-jacket was thrown over his head, and he was disarmed. "cowardly villains!" exclaimed the captain, as soon as the jacket was removed; "mutinous scoundrels--" "we return to our duty, captain vanderdecken," replied the crew, "we will obey your orders. what shall we do first? shall we mend the sails, or mend our clothes? shall we darn our stockings, or go on shore for fresh water? shall we caulk the ship, or set up the rigging? speak, captain vanderdecken, you shall order us as you please." "tousend tyfels!" replied vanderdecken, "go to----, all of you." "show us the way, captain, and we will follow you," replied the crew. gradually the captain's wrath was appeased; the ship required refitting and watering; he never could have doubled the cape in the state she was in; the mutiny had prevented his breaking his oath--and now the seamen were obedient. "shall we take possession of the land, in the name of his most christian majesty?" said jansen. "take possession in the name of his satanic majesty," replied vanderdecken, turning sulkily away. the captain had not quite recovered his good-humour--he returned to his cabin, mixed a tumbler of brandy and gunpowder, set fire to it, and drank it off--this tisane cooled him down, and when he came out, the crew perceived that all was right, so they went aft and touched their hats. "liberty on shore for an hour or two if you please," said they; "it's a long while that we've been treading the planks." "yes, you may go; but i'll keelhaul every man who's not off to his work by daylight--recollect that," replied vanderdecken. donder und blitzen--we will all be on board, captain. "they be queer sort of people in this country," observed jansen, who had been surveying the shore of the bay with his telescope. "i can't make them out at all. i see them put their heads down close to the ground, and then they stand up again; they wear their breeches very low, and yet they jump remarkably well--hundred tousend tyfels!" continued he, as he looked through the telescope again; "there's one of them six feet high at least, and he has jumped twenty yards. it can't be a woman--if she is, what a springy partner she would make in a dance!" "we'll take the fiddle and schnapps on shore, and have a dance with the natives," cried the boatswain. "mind you behave civilly and make friends with them," said vanderdecken; "don't be rude to the women." "nein, mynheer," replied the crew, who now lowered the boats and were very soon pulling for the shore--every man with his pipe in his mouth. the spectre-crew gained the beach--quitted the boat, and took up a position under a high rock. the pipes were refilled--the schnapps handed round, and very soon they were as jolly as ghosts could be. "come, jansen, give us a song," cried spielman; "and you, dirk spattrel, keep company with your fiddle." "my windpipe is not quite so fresh as it was once," said jansen, putting his bony fingers up to his neck, "but here goes:-- "in spite of wind and weather, in spite of mountain waves, if our timbers hold together and we sink not to our graves; the cape we still will double, boys, the stormy cape we'll clear,-- who cares for toil or trouble, boys, who thinks of watery bier? "we left our wives behind us, bright india's realms to gain, let nothing then remind us of them and home again; close luff'd with well-set sails, lads, we still our course will steer, and beaten back by adverse gales, lads, cry 'thus, boys, and so near.' "who cares for mocking billows, or demons of the deep? one half sleep on our pillows, while t'others deck-watch keep; who cares for lightning's flashing, boys, or noisy thunder's roar? we laugh at wild spray dashing, boys, and clouds that torrents pour. "the ocean is the seaman's slave, though mutiny it may; our beast of burden is the wave as well by night as day; to round the cape we'll reckon, lads, for so our captain will'd; three cheers for vanderdecken, lads, his vow shall be fulfill'd." "yaw--yaw," cried the crew, "we'll round the cape yet. drink, boys, drink--three cheers for vanderdecken! we'll caulk the old ship; we'll repair our old sail; we'll mend our old clothes; we'll darn our old stockings, and then to sea again. hurrah!--hurrah!" thus did they continue to drink and carouse until, if they had had any eyes left in their head, they never could have seen visually; but ghosts see mentally, and in the midst of their mirth and jollity, they saw some tall objects coming down gradually and peeping over the rocks, probably attracted by the fiddle of dirk spattrel. "the natives!"--cried jansen, "the natives!--now, my men, recollect the captain's orders--don't be rude to the women." "yaw--nein--yaw!" replied the reeling spectres; "oh, nein, but we'll get them down here and have a dance; that's civility all over the world." "but i say," hiccupped spielman, "what rum beggars these islanders be! only look, they are coming down to us, all of their own accord!" this was true enough; a herd of kangaroos, attracted by the sound of the music, but of course not able to distinguish the spectre seamen, who, like all others of a similar nature, were invisible to mortal and to kangaroo eyes, had come down fearlessly to the foot of the rock where the crew were carousing. the dutchmen had never seen an animal so tall which stood erect like a man, and they were all very drunk; it is not therefore surprising that they mistook the kangaroos for natives clothed in skins, and as the broadest part of their dress was down on the ground, of course they fancied they were the women belonging to the island. "strike up, dirk spattrel," cried jansen, taking hold of the paws of one of the kangaroos. "wel sie valtz, fraulein?" the kangaroo started back, although it saw nothing, and of course said nothing. [illustration] "don't be shamming modest, fraulein. now then, strike up, dirk;" and jansen passed his arm round the kangaroo, which appeared very much alarmed, but, seeing nothing, did not hop away. the rest of the seamen seized the other kangaroos by the paws or round the body, and in a short time such a dance was seen as never took place before. some of the kangaroos stood upon their thick tails and kicked at their invisible partners with their hind feet, so as to send their ghostships many yards distant; others hopped and jumped in their fright many feet from the ground, taking their partners with them; others struggled violently to disengage themselves from their unseen assailants. shouts, laughter, and shrieks resounded from the drunken crew at this strange junketting; at last, in their struggling to detain the animals, and the attempts of the frightened kangaroos to escape, the dutchmen found themselves all mounted on the backs of the kangaroos, who, frightened out of their senses, bounded away in every direction. thus did the ball break up, every kangaroo carrying off its partner in a different direction. dirk spattrel was the only one left, but there was a kangaroo also unemployed; determined not to be left behind, the fiddler jumped on its back, and clinging fast by his legs, commenced such a furious screeching upon his instrument that the animal made a bound of nearly forty yards every time, dirk spattrel playing on like one possessed, until he had not only gained, but was far in advance of his brother riders. away they all went over hill and dale, the fiddle still shrieking in advance, until the exhausted animals fell down panting, and the dutchmen, tired with their own exertions, and overcome with liquor, dropped asleep where they fell,--for ghosts do sleep as well as mortal men. the next morning there was no one on board at eight o'clock, and vanderdecken was full of wrath. at last dirk spattrel, the fiddler, made his appearance with the remains of his instrument in his hand. "donder und vind--where are the crew?" cried vanderdecken. "all gone off with the natives," replied the fiddler. "i thought as much," roared vanderdecken, "and now i'll give you something for your good news." vanderdecken seized the end of the fore-brace and commenced a most furious attack upon the shoulders of dirk spattrel. the blows were given with great apparent force, but there was no sound, it was like buffeting a bag of wind; notwithstanding dirk worked round and round, twisting and wincing, and crying, "ah, yaw, ah!" "take that, scoundrel!" cried vanderdecken, as much out of breath as a ghost could be. "they're coming off now, captain," said dirk spattrel, rubbing his shoulders. jansen and the rest of the crew now made their appearance, looking very sheepish. "where have you been, scoundrels?" "mynheer vanderdecken," replied jansen, "the island is peopled with ghosts and goblins, and demons and devils; one of them seized upon each of us and carried us off the lord knows where." "fools!--do you believe in such nonsense as ghosts and spectres?" replied vanderdecken, "or do you think me such an ass as to credit you? who ever saw a ghost or spectre! stuff, jansen, stuff--you ought to be ashamed of yourself." "it's all true, captain; they came down and ran away with us. is it not so, men?" "yaw, yaw," said the crew, "it's all true, captain vanderdecken; they leaped with us as high as the moon." "much higher," cried dirk spattrel. "you're a parcel of lying drunken dogs," roared vanderdecken; "i stop all your leaves--you sha'nt go on shore again." "we don't want," replied jansen, "we will never go on shore at such a place--full of devils--it is really van demon's land;--we will have the fiddle on the forecastle." "nein," replied dirk spattrel, mournfully showing the fragments. "de tyfel," exclaimed jansen, "dat is the worst of all;--now, men, we will work hard and get away from this horrid place." "yaw, yaw," exclaimed the crew. they did work hard; the sails were repaired, the ship was caulked, their clothes were mended, their stockings were darned, and all was ready. the wind blew fiercely from off shore, roaring through the woods, and breaking down heavy branches. vanderdecken held his hand up--"i think there is a light air coming off the land, jansen--man the capstan." "only a cat's paw; it will not fill our sails, captain vanderdecken," replied the mate. the gale increased until it was at the height of its fury. the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain came down in torrents. the wind howled in its rage. "i think we shall have a light pleasant breeze soon," said vanderdecken. "heave round, my lads, a little more of it and we shall do. hoist blue peter and fire a gun." a colourless flag, thin as a cobweb, went to the mast-head; the match was applied to the gun, which was so honeycombed and worn out, that the smoke came out of it in every direction as if it had been a sieve. the anchor was hove up by the spectre crew; the sails were set, and once more the phantom-ship was under weigh, once more bounding through the waves to regain her position, and fulfil her everlasting doom. and as she flew before the hurricane, the crew, gathered together on the forecastle, broke out in the following chorus:-- away, away! once more away, to beat about by night and day; with joy, the demons' land we leave, again the mountain waves to cleave. with a ha--ha--ha! once more the stormy cape we'll view, again our fearless toil pursue; defy the spirits of the air, who scoffing bid us to despair. with their yaw--yaw--yaw! ha--ha--ha! [illustration] frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter v. ben brailsford lost not a moment in raising the insensible frank in his arms, and was about to quit the ground, when he caught sight of the prostrate lieutenant, who now began to recover something like consciousness. he hesitated to depart, and that hesitation was fatal to their freedom, for the enemy had rallied, and receiving a strong reinforcement, became in turn the assailants. the allies were beaten back, and in a few minutes ben and his young charge were prisoners of war under the guard of the very soldier who had so shortly before been defeated by the seaman. in their progress to the rear they stopped at a dilapidated house near alcoule, which was occupied as an hospital, and frank's wound, which was not very serious, was dressed by a surgeon, and the youth recovered. in the same apartment were several wounded officers, amongst whom were general o'hara and the man who subsequently ruled the destinies of france--napoleon buonaparte. but the young midshipman and his gallant protector were not suffered to remain; they were placed with a number of other prisoners under an escort, and proceeded on towards paris. at louviers they were joined by another detachment from toulon, and amongst them was their old acquaintance sambo. but the negro was not a prisoner: with the cunning of his race, he had no sooner been captured than he declared himself the servant of monsieur polverel, and that being forced into the english service, he was endeavouring to escape. his story was not at first credited; but being recognised by the younger robespierre (then acting as the chief of the commissariat before toulon), who had seen him in paris, he was released. a plausible tale deceived the frenchman, and sambo was sent round to join his master. ben hailed the black with great glee, and frank addressed him, expressing regret at his capture; but the wary negro pretended not to know them, though when they halted for the night, he found means to supply them with provisions, and clean straw to sleep upon. at length they entered paris, and were met by a revolutionary mob which had just been witnessing the feeding of the guillotine with victims from their own body. the appearance of the prisoners was hailed with loud shouts, and numbers of both sexes rushed forward to wreak their still unsatiated vengeance. sambo had stood aloof; but when he saw the extreme danger which his old friends were in, he joined them, fully determined to afford all the protection in his power. the sight of a black seemed to awaken a still greater degree of excitement amongst the rabble, especially as the negro by his position manifested opposition to their designs. yells and shouts arose. "a bas les noirs!" "à la lanterne!" "à la place de grève!" "let us see what colour his blood is!" "an experiment! an experiment!" "away with him to the guillotine!" "we have had no negro yet! an experiment! an experiment!" a desperate rush was made upon them, and both sambo and the young midshipman were separated from the rest and borne away by the mob. it was perhaps well for frank that he had been plundered of his uniform soon after his capture; for such was the demoniac hatred of the english, that, as an officer, he probably might have been torn to pieces. the negro addressed them in their own language, announcing himself a native of san domingo, employed by monsieur polverel, but his voice was drowned in the universal outcry, and then he joined in their shouts of "vive la nation!" sung snatches of revolutionary songs, danced as they danced, and tried by every means to appease their fury. but the wretches wanted to see a black man die; it promised a new sensation. the mob approached the hôtel de ville, when their progress was arrested by a tall man who was supported on a post that elevated him so as to be distinctly conspicuous to all. his dress was shabby in the extreme, and on his head he wore the revolutionary cap, but both frank and the negro instantly recognised monsieur polverel. he spoke to the rabble, and in a vehement address that drew down loud applause he approved of their excesses, whilst the mob, to show that they had fresh victims to immolate, thrust forward the negro and the youth, so that he might see them. polverel instantly descended, and, rushing amongst the throng, clasped the negro in his arms. "what do you?" exclaimed he; "in your just fury the eye of reason is dimmed--is he not a man and a brother?" and again he embraced him, to the great surprise of the black. "cease, my friends," continued polverel; "know ye not that deputies have arrived from san domingo to sit in the great council of the nation? this is one of them; i am a member of the society of 'les amis des noirs,' and know him well." he turned to sambo, "pardon, citizen deputy, the zeal of the people." he took the arm of the astonished negro, and pinching it most unmercifully, shouted "vive le peuple, vive la nation;" the _impressive_ hint was not lost, for sambo's voice rose high in chorus. in an instant the scene was changed, the merciless wretches were diverted from their purpose, and the negro whom they would have murdered in pastime but for this fortunate intervention was raised upon the shoulders of two stout men and greeted with cheers of welcome; they bore him along to the hôtel de ville. in his joy for deliverance sambo forgot his young master, but it was only for the moment; and in turning to look for him, he saw that monsieur polverel had taken him under his protection, and was leading him away from the throng; for the frenchman had not forgotten the obligation he was under to frank for saving him from the fury of an english mob; he withdrew him cautiously from the dangerous company he was in, and placing the youth under the charge of a friend, followed the rabble in order to perfect the rescue of his servant. the person to whose care frank was entrusted was an elderly man apparently verging upon sixty years of age, but there was a keenness in his eye and a vivacity in his manner that manifested an active and intelligent mind; his dress was slovenly, but he wore a handsome tri-color sash round his loins, and carried a red cap in his hand. at first he spoke to frank in french, but something occurring to displease him, he broke out into broad english, and muttered his anathemas against the cause. "you are an englishman, then," said frank, with symptoms of disgust which did not escape the other's notice. "thou art right," returned the man; "i am an englishman by birth, but a citizen of the world--a friend to the whole human race on the principles of universal liberty. expatriated and driven from my country, this noble and enlightened nation has adopted me; and here in brotherly affection i can carry out into practice my theory of the rights of man. what is life, my young friend, without the blessings of freedom!" at this moment a municipal officer, attended by three or four subordinates, stepped up to frank's companion, and, grasping him by the arm, uttered "citizen paine, you are our prisoner." "by whose authority?" demanded the englishman, his face assuming a deadly paleness. "the authority is here," returned the officer, showing a paper with the signature of robespierre attached to it, and, a fiacre immediately stopping by their side, citizen paine was hurried into it and driven off to the luxembourg, where, in the chamber which had been occupied by many a victim to the revolutionary mania, he contemplated the paternal regard of the nation that had adopted him, and sighed for the blessing of that freedom of which he had so vainly boasted. he had sat in judgment on the mock trial of the unfortunate louis, but had given his vote against the monarch's death. this had rendered the ambitious dictator his enemy, and an opportunity was soon sought to take his life. the egotistical boasting of thomas paine afforded a pretext for arresting him; he was sent to prison, and would have been sacrificed by "his friends" but for an accident which saved him. frank, hungry and thirsty, destitute of money, and but with few rags to cover him, now stood alone in one of the by-streets of paris. as evening came on, he crept into the cellar-way of an uninhabited house. at daylight he emerged from his concealment, and proceeded in the same direction in which he had been going when parted from his guide. it was yet early when, on turning a corner, he beheld a well-looking young man, accompanied by a stout amazonian female, who were hurrying forward, but, on seeing the youth, suddenly stopped, and frank felt his arm grasped by the woman, whilst a chuckle of delight escaped from the young man, who uttered in a whisper-- "yah no for peak-a me, massa frank, hearee? dere him, massa, for me behind--tan lilly bit become for you." frank stared with astonishment--the voice was that of sambo, but the skin was fair. "how--what is this?" demanded he. "oh, it's all ship-shape enough, master frank," said the woman in a masculine tone, and hitching up her petticoats in true nautical style. "i'm bless'd, young gentleman, but you do shake a cloth or two in the wind--but there, what's the odds so as you're happy? mountseer pulthebell is coming up astarn, and a precious cruise they've had arter you." "yah no for tand palaver here, missy ben," muttered sambo, with a grin of mirth. "golly me black deputy now, and dem debbil take off white head at 'em gullemtine, no sabby de citizen nigger," and he pushed forward with his companion. in spite of all his mishaps frank could not refrain from laughing at the awkwardness of the pretended female, who straddled along with swinging arms, the petticoats evidently embarrassing the wearer. in a few minutes the youth was joined by monsieur polverel, who cautioned him to preserve silence and follow his movements. shortly afterwards he stopped before the entrance of a mean-looking building, and knocking at the door, was immediately admitted. frank followed, and was ushered into an apartment poorly furnished, where he found sambo and the seaman, and learned that polverel, by means of his influence and some little intrigue, had procured ben's release, and disguised in woman's clothes, under the guidance of sambo, whose face was concealed beneath a mask, had got him clear away from present danger. refreshment was ordered, and polverel led frank through the house to some back premises, where the apartments were fitted up in the most elegant style, everything displaying an air of luxury which strongly contrasted with the appearance of the front building, which served as a blind to the populace, who had declared a lasting enmity to all things beyond their own sphere of enjoyment, though themselves were the principal sufferers through the want of demand for their manufactures and the consequent stoppage of industrious labour. here frank and ben remained, and polverel renewed his attempts to undermine the youth's loyalty; he took him with him to the clubs; offers of lucrative appointments were made, powerful inducements were held out, but all were firmly rejected. he loved his country too well to swerve from his allegiance; his heart yearned to see his mother once again; but had there not been these incentives, the horrible atrocities he had witnessed were too deeply impressed upon his mind to permit a willing companionship with the wretches who perpetrated and sanctioned them. in his evening excursions frank had frequently encountered a tall man whose features were familiar to him, and more than once or twice he had observed him enter the house of monsieur polverel. an indefinable curiosity induced him to watch this man, and being on one occasion in a remote part of the room, when he and the deputy came in, he remained perfectly still and undiscovered, and was not long in ascertaining by their conversation that the stranger was an englishman in the pay of the jacobins, and had brought over some important intelligence relative to the designs of the english government, which he was now in a traitorous manner betraying to the enemy. frank scarcely suppressed an indignant exclamation, but fortunately he did suppress it, and rose to quit the room. this was the first intimation they had of his presence, and as he passed the spy the youth looked boldly in his face. in an instant the man's countenance underwent a change; there was the peculiar rolling of the eye which frank had never forgotten, and lawyer brady was revealed before him. the young midshipman now resolved to attempt an escape, and polverel finding that all his endeavours to detain him were useless, at last furnished him with the means. stores were about to be forwarded to the army of the north, and it was proposed that the seaman and his young officer should accompany them; the former habited as a dutchwoman, the latter as a volunteer, taking their chance to slip away wherever and whenever they could; but the very night these arrangements were completed, polverel was seized by order of his _friend_, robespierre, a sham trial was hurried over, and the next day he was consigned to the guillotine. frank did not delay another instant (for he was aware that the property of the deputy would be plundered by the populace), and being provided with the papers furnished by polverel, set out on his journey, accompanied by ben in short petticoats, wooden shoes, and a large hat; his whiskers were shaved off, but he would not part with his tail, and it was therefore braided up round his head, and a fine buxom vrow he made. sambo had no inducement to remain behind; so securing what money he could find, and taking his fiddle, he joined his young master, and all three proceeded on their way. the stores for the army were not ready, and they, therefore, resolved to travel as "independent" characters. in the evening they stopped at a small village, about thirty miles from paris, and entering the kitchen of a cabaret, they ordered supper; but finding they were objects of notice, frank directed sambo to tune his violin, and he chanted forth a chansonette with much taste and feeling, to the great gratification of several young demoiselles, who honoured the performance with applause, and pronounced it "bien bon!" sambo next struck up a lively tune, and footing it first to one and then to another, the company caught up the humour, and to dancing they went with great glee. frank, selecting a pretty little girl for a partner, joined in the sport; and ben, in short, quilted, red petticoats, nearly up to his knees--his stout sustainers covered with blue worsted stockings and heavy sabots--with a tight-fitting woman's jacket and red neckerchief as a body-dress, and his pipe raised in the air, footed it merrily enough to sambo and his violin. frank, in a jacket with silver lace on the collar and cuffs, and diminutive worsted epaulettes on the shoulders--striped gingham trousers, and a tri-color sash round his loins, wheeled with grace and agility through the mazy figures with his beautiful little partner. she was tastefully arrayed in a white frock, embroidered with flowers, (for it was the festival of her tutelar saint,) and her hair was wreathed with vine-leaves, jasmine, and roses. several young females, who had come to visit her on the occasion, were clad in their best attire, and, as a matter of course, the youths of the neighbourhood had joined them after their day's labour; and now they were all in motion, till dark night put an end to the revelry; and the trio, accommodated in a barn, soon forgot their cares and their pleasures in sweet, refreshing sleep. the next morning the three quitted the cabaret--at the door they were accosted by a gendarme; but the youth told his ready tale, showed his papers, and they received no further molestation. numerous were their adventures as they progressed--sometimes in extreme danger of detection--at others, enjoying themselves in perfect confidence. two days they passed in the woods without food, journeying only by night. [illustration: frank, ben, and sambo, amusing the natives. london, tilt & bogue, fleet street.] at length they abandoned the direct road, and kept away to the left for the coast; hoping to reach some place in the neighbourhood of blankenberg, a fishing village on the sea-shore. this they accomplished, and arrived about midnight on the beach, which they crept along, at some distance from the vessels, lest they should be detected. not a boat to suit their purpose could they find at liberty--all were fast secured by chains, and their oars removed, as if some such visitation as the present had been feared. in this dilemma they cautiously returned to the village, and searched amongst the cottages; but here they were again doomed to disappointment, and were about to retreat to some place of concealment till the following night, when the sound of voices was heard in a small cabin, and frank, stealthily approaching to listen, at length got near enough to a chink in the window to see the interior, and ascertained that an englishman, with two females, was endeavouring, by the offer of a considerable sum, to bribe three or four fishermen to convey them either to holland or to england. the men at first seemed disinclined to listen to any proposals that might bring upon them the vengeance of the police, and they talked of surrendering them to the authorities. "that will at once seal my doom!" exclaimed the englishman, in agony. "have not the wretches denounced me, because of the money they owed me, and their base designs upon my child? oh, god! do thou appear for me in this trying moment!" the fishermen consulted together in whispers, whilst the females clung to the englishman; and frank ascertained by their discourse that the elder lady was the wife, and the younger the daughter, of the man. again the latter earnestly urged his appeal to their generosity, their humanity, and every better principle of human nature--the ladies, too, joined their entreaties. frank was half-tempted to the hazardous experiment of bringing up his companions and forcing them into compliance. at length the fishermen consented to embark them for holland, or any place occupied by the allies, on condition that they gave up all the money and every valuable in their possession previously to their departure, and insured a still further sum on reaching a place of safety. elated at the prospect of escape, the terms were immediately complied with; and now frank became aware of the extreme danger he should have incurred had he attempted to attack them, for whilst the englishman and the females were divesting themselves of their cash and every valuable they had, three other athletic men came from an inner apartment--making seven in all--to claim their share of the spoil. as soon as the division had taken place, they departed to launch their boat, commanding the englishman and the ladies to remain quietly in the cottage till they were sent for. frank concealed himself in an adjacent shed, occupied by his companions, till they were gone. "it's all plain enough, young gen'l'man," whispered ben; "they will get the great vessel afloat--come ashore in the punt for the passengers--we must seize on her, shove off, and capture the big craft--then take the ladies on board, and make sail for the north foreland--though the wind is dead again us; but what's the odds--" "that," interrupted frank, "could only be effected by leaving our countryman and the ladies behind; an idea i will not for one moment entertain. remain here--if i want you, i will whistle--then come without delay." the youth returned to the cottage, and addressing the gentleman in french, he acknowledged that he had overheard their scheme, and earnestly implored him to permit himself, a female servant, and a negro, to embark in the same vessel, provided they could gain the consent of the crew. the gentleman steadfastly refused--"he would not endanger his own safety by acceding to it." rather mortified at being thus harshly treated--especially as he knew that he might ensure his own safety by leaving them behind--frank would have answered indignantly, but he preferred remonstrance, avowed himself a royalist desirous of joining the allies, and assured him that no danger could occur by giving his consent. the man continued inflexible, till the ladies, won by the youth's earnestness, interceded, and an unwilling assent was obtained. the light of coming day had become visible when one of the fishermen returned, and great was his apparent vexation to find other suppliants for a passage in the vessel. however, he offered but slight objection, and in a few minutes they were all down on the beach. here a difficulty arose as to their embarkation. the punt would carry no more than two passengers beside the men that pulled, and the gentleman was unwilling to leave either his wife or his daughter behind, nor would the females consent to go without him. "do not fear," said one of the fishermen. "time is precious with us--we ought to be all on board now; and rely upon it we are not such fools as to leave any one behind to betray our movements." the latter argument was the most conclusive, and the gentleman embarked with his wife, leaving his daughter to the care of frank, who spoke soothingly to her, and tried to allay her alarm; he took off his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders, as a protection from the cold air, and in her fear she clung to his arm whilst he supported her. the punt was not long away--all were soon aboard--the anchor was weighed, and they hauled off from the shore. the father with the females took up his station abaft, whilst frank and his party occupied the midships, and the seaman and the negro were soon fast asleep; but the young midshipman's thoughts were too pleasantly occupied by his escape, and the prospects of an interview with his mother, to compose himself to slumber. another object too now presented itself; it was the fair young creature who had so confidingly clung to him on the beach. however, to prevent observation, and the better to indulge in meditation, he closed his eyes, and pretended to be oblivious to all that passed. whilst thus reclining, he overheard a sort of muttered conversation between two of the fishermen which, though he could only catch disjointed sentences, apprised him that treachery was at work; and he now readily understood the reason that greater obstruction had not been offered to the embarkation. the crew doubted the promise to receive further recompense, and expecting to be rewarded for delivering them up as prisoners, had come to the determination of making for a french port. frank's ears tingled whilst listening to this avowal of abominable treachery, but he cautiously abstained from exciting any suspicion that he was aware of their designs. he determined to watch them narrowly, and when opportunity offered, he got close to ben, who, on making a tack to windward, had roused up, and without mentioning particulars, told him "they were betrayed unless they could master the crew, and directed him to be ready for an attack at a moment's warning." he then briefly conveyed a similar communication to sambo, and vainly tried to catch the eye of the gentleman abaft for the purpose of inciting him to wariness. the breeze was to the northward, with a lee tide running, so that, though apparently working to windward between the sands and the shore, they were rapidly drifting down towards ostend, which was then in the hands of the french. ben comprehended the whole of this in an instant, and saw, what the others, from their want of nautical knowledge, did not observe, that the helmsman frequently edged off from the wind, so as to facilitate their approach to ostend, which was soon upon their lee-bow, and the boat standing for the harbour. the gentleman, wholly insensible to the danger which threatened them, sat between his wife and daughter, and was speaking words of cheering import, relative to their being rescued from the enemy, and the prospect of soon enjoying the comforts of their native land. everything was perfectly tranquil in the vessel, which was lightly dancing over the smooth waters and breaking the sun-light upon its surface. he also remarked upon the quietude of their fellow-passengers, and even ventured a joke upon the apparently solid countenance of the dutchwoman, when suddenly--in an instant, as if madness ruled the moment, they saw her spring to her feet, and, grasping the pump-brake in her hand, she flourished it right and left, laying a fisherman prostrate at every blow. sambo also grappled an opponent, whom he lifted over the gunwale, hurled into the sea and then attacked another, whilst frank rushed aft to the steersman, shouting to the gentleman, "we are englishmen, it is a french port under our lee, and we are betrayed; for the sake of those you love--hurrah!--do not remain inactive." nothing could exceed the amazement of the gentleman at this wholly unexpected occurrence, and his astonishment was still more increased when the supposed dutchwoman, came bounding aft, flourishing her weapon, and shouting in the nautical language of his native land, as he hurled the steersman from his place,--"ware hause, you lubber--what's the odds, so as you're happy?" and taking the tiller, he put the vessel right before the wind. "bear a hand, master frank," continued ben, "and keep her as she goes: and i'm saying, ould gentleman, jist you show yourself smart, and let 'em know as you've a little english blood in your veins. hurrah!--what's the odds?"--and again he rushed forward to assist sambo, who was stoutly contesting it with his foes. british prowess triumphed--the struggle, though severe, did not last long--the blankenbergers were conquered; the punt was cast adrift for those who were swimming--the remainder were bound hand and foot; the sails were trimmed to stand off from the land; and great indeed was the gratitude of the husband and the father, and still more delightful were the acknowledgments of the ladies, when they ascertained the great service that had been rendered to them. mutual explanations ensued--hearty congratulations were given; and in the afternoon they fell in with an english brig which received them all on board. the fishermen, after a sound rope's-ending for their treachery, had their vessel restored; and the rescued party were the next morning gratified by entering the river thames. [illustration] the muffin-man a little man who muffins sold, when i was little too, carried a face of giant mould, but tall he never grew. his arms were legs for strength and size, his coat-tail touch'd his heels; his brows were forests o'er his eyes, his voice like waggon-wheels. when fallen leaves together flock, and gusts begin to squall, and suns go down at six o'clock, you heard his muffin call. born in the equinoctial blast, he came and shook his bell; and with the equinox he pass'd, but whither none could tell. some thought the monster turn'd to dew, when muffins ceased to reign, and lay in buds the summer through till muffin-time again. or satyr, used the woods to rove, or ev'n old caliban; drawn by the lure of oven-stove to be a muffin-man. the dwarf was not a churlish elf, who thought folks stared to scoff; but used deformity itself to set his muffins off. he stood at doors, and talk'd with cooks, while strangers took his span, and grimly smiled with childhood's looks at him, the muffin-man. when others fled from nipping frost, and fled from drenching skies, and when in fogs the street was lost, you saw his figure rise. one night his tinkle did not sound, he fail'd each 'custom'd door; 'twas first of an eternal round of nights he walk'd no more. when, borne in arms, my infant eye the restless search began, the nursery-maid was wont to cry, "see john, the muffin-man!" my path, with things familiar spread, death's foot had seldom cross'd; and when they said that john was dead, i stood in wonder lost. new muffin-men from lamp to lamp, with careless glance i scan; for none can ever raze thy stamp, oh john, thou muffin-man! thou standest snatch'd from time and storm, a statue of the soul; and round thy carved and goblin form, past days--past days unroll. we will not part--affection dim this song shall help to fan; and memory, firmer bound to him, shall keep her muffin-man. a tiger-hunt in england. "who has let loose my tiger?" demanded sir pimpleton pettibones of his butler, whom he had summoned to the breakfast parlour by the sound of the bell in a manner that indicated great impatience. "who has dared to let him loose? i locked him up last night for robbing the larder, and this morning he is missing; where is he?" the butler obsequiously bowed. "extremely sorry, sir pimpleton; but really, sir pimpleton, i am ignorant and innocent of the whole affair." "somebody must have let him out," responded the irascible baronet, "and i shall be too late for the meet. let search be instantly made--such a tiger as that is not to be caught every day." the butler bowed and withdrew; whilst his master, arrayed in a scarlet hunting-coat, sat down to his repast, venting imprecations upon the tiger, whom he declared it was his determination to catch before he should accomplish further mischief. this happened at a beautiful mansion in kent, whither sir pimpleton had gone down for the hunting season, taking his tiger (who was a great favourite) with him. whilst the search was still in progress, word was brought to the baronet that the "creature" had been seen early that morning in the stable-yard, and a beautiful swift-footed pony was missing, which--as the tiger had shown great partiality to horse-flesh--it was supposed he had made away with. "hillio--hillio!--quick--saddle every horse in the stables," shouted the baronet, "we'll scour the country--the game is up--hark forward--hark forward!--yoicks, tally ho!" and away he went with grooms and keepers down to the stalls, where he himself saddled his best hunter, and in a few minutes he was flying away across the park, with a long straggling tail like a comet after him, towards the village. "have you seen my tiger?" demanded the baronet, reining up his gallant steed in front of the pettibones arms, and addressing the landlord--a red, platter-faced man of some seventeen stone; "have you seen him? he broke cover and stole away this morning--he must be prowling somewhere about--have you seen him?" "lor love yer honour, no," responded mine host, with a grin of astonishment and stupidity. "them tigers are thirsty sowls; but he's never been here to drink." "hillio, hillio!" shouted sir pimpleton, as his attendants came riding up, "handle your whips and follow me;" and dismounting, he entered the hostelry, where the good dame was busy in culinary operations. "where's my tiger?" was again the cry. "he's crouching somewhere here." "now laws ha' mercy upon us, i hope not, yer honour!" exclaimed the old dame in dreadful alarm. "what, a real tiger, yer honour? be em a live un or a stuffed un?" "fool!" vociferated the baronet, "a live one to be sure, with large goggle eyes and a fang tooth. i must find his lair." the entire premises were examined, but the tiger was not there. "to horse, to horse," commanded the baronet, to the great relief of the old lady; "and hark ye, dame, if he should come here, shut him up directly, and let me know. away, my men, away." sir pimpleton rushed forth, mounted his horse, and away he scoured like a madman, or what is next of kin to a madman, a break-neck squire. "jeames, jeames," called the hostess as soon as the cavalcade had departed, "come in, jeames, fasten the door, and get thees blunderbusk, and load un wi' bullocks" (bullets probably), "and if so be the crittur comes this way, shoot un, jeames--shoot un without benefit of clargy." on rode the baronet full pelt, and tailing after him followed half-a-dozen attendants in scarlet coats and black velvet caps. the coverts were tried, every nook was searched, but without effect, and they soon afterwards entered another village. "my tiger! my tiger!" exclaimed the baronet as he burst into the first cottage, which contained a female with five or six children playing and sprawling about the floor. "have you seen the tiger? he has broke loose, and cannot be far off." "the tiger!" repeated the woman, terribly alarmed for the safety of her infants, which she speedily gathered up and thrust into a capacious closet. "oh dear, what shall we do!" the cottage was searched, as were also several others, to the great consternation of the villagers. then arose the cries of mothers for "johnnies" and "billies" and "kitties" and "sukies" and "tommies," to collect the stray lambs of the fold, or, in other words, the toddling children that were playing on the green; and in a few minutes not a soul of that population was to be seen. a turnpike was close at hand, and thither sir pimpleton galloped; and after a few words with the 'pikeman, his sonorous voice was heard. "hillio--hillio!--stole away--hark forward--hark forward!" and clapping spurs to his steed, onwards they pressed, flying over hedges and ditches to make a short cut. now it so happened that the hounds of a neighbouring squire were out, and as the muster at the meet was pretty strong, and sir pimpleton was well known for an eccentric, several members of the hunt rode up and inquired "what game they had started?" "a tiger! a tiger!" shouted the baronet; "we're hard upon him--hark forward--yoicks--tally ho!" a tiger-hunt in england was something new in the annals of sporting; and though they thought it strange to chase the animal without dogs, yet they were aware that sir pimpleton had passed many years in the east indies, and probably accustomed to the sport, they concluded it was "all right;" and desirous of witnessing the novelty, many joined in the pursuit, amongst whom was the master of the hounds and his pack. the cavalcade drew near a large town, and in they dashed, the baronet still shouting, out of breath, "the tiger!--the tiger! have you seen my ben--g-g-gal?" the words were quickly caught up; and the announcement that a fierce bengal tiger was adrift in the town spread like wildfire. the tradesmen shut up their shops; the inhabitants fastened their doors; there was a brief running to and fro in terror, but the streets were speedily cleared; and from many an up-stairs window was protruded a blunderbuss, a fowling-piece, or a pistol, the proprietors of which were eagerly intent upon destroying the furious animal, though some few even thus elevated scarcely considered themselves safe from his bound. the cry of the hounds, the shouting of the hunters, the rattling of horses' hoofs upon the stones, and the wailings of women, with the cheers of the men, produced a clamour such as had never before been heard in that place. mothers clasped their children and concealed them in beaufets, or turned them up in press-bedsteads--fathers armed themselves with defensive weapons, and a body of volunteers mustered in the inn yard with loaded muskets, taking good care however to keep the gates shut. "have you seen the tiger?" was still the cry; and sir pimpleton having obtained some information, "stole away--hark forward," was again the word. they shot up shooter's-hill without stopping to breathe, and when on the brow, an animal, with apparently a blood-red back, was seen scouring towards blackheath. the baronet, with the lungs of a northerly gale, uttered the "view halloo," which was caught up and repeated by the rest. the hounds gave tongue and made play. it was a beautiful burst. the whip and spur were plied. the steeds, though jaded, knew well by instinct that the "warmint" was in sight, and kept up their speed, and down the hill they swept like a mountain torrent. but the tiger was not to be easily caught. there was no jungle or hollow to hide in, and away he scudded over the heath with great velocity, as if sensible that the enemy was behind him. once he was missed, and it was supposed had run to earth in a sand-pit; but the next moment he was seen on the other side climbing the bank to shorten his distance, and in a few minutes he was over the brow of the hill past the green man, and descending at a tremendous rate. the hunters followed hard upon him, the hounds in full cry, and again rose the shout from a dozen voices--"the tiger! the tiger!" but the tiger had disappeared amongst the horses, and they had now no clue to his advance, except from the amazed spectators, who hastily cleared the road at the novel and somewhat alarming spectacle. "the tiger! the chase!" exclaimed sir pimpleton. three or four hands were extended to point out the direction he had taken; and those who had not "dropped off" still followed the hounds. away they rattled through the broadway, deptford, amidst cries and cheers of "go it, you'll catch him directly. hurrah!" and they once more caught sight of the tiger on the line of road towards new cross. cheerily again sounded the "view halloo,"--the animal seemed to be sensible that his pursuers were spurring in hot haste after him--the turnpike-men enjoyed the sport and threw open their gates--hounds and horses, and men rattled through--the bricklayers' arms, the elephant and castle, westminster-bridge, saw them rush past like a whirlwind, the tiger still in advance; nor did the chase cease till the baronet's town mansion, close to st. james's park, was reached. a reeking pony stood at the door, which was open. sir pimpleton dismounted, cheering the hunters on--the game was all alive; the whole threw themselves from their horses, and hounds and men following, the baronet bounced into the drawing-room, where lady pettibones was receiving morning visits from dashing young spinsters and elderly dowagers. "the tiger--my tiger," exclaimed sir pimpleton, in a wild and loud voice, "he has broke loose, and is now in the house." dreadful was the consternation at this announcement--a mouse crossing the floor would have been terrific, but to have a savage and sanguinary tiger ranging about, the thought was horrible. shrieks and screams abounded--some ladies threw themselves into the arms of the gentlemen, others ran hurriedly about, and many, in their terror, could not distinguish between the ferocious animal and a hound, so as to tell "vich vos the tiger and vich vos the dog." at length, one of the whippers-in rushed through the door-way, exclaiming "we've got him, your honour, they're bringing him along." the confusion grew tenfold. screams and shrieks mingled with the loud cheers of the hunters, and the mouthing of the hounds, when a couple of grooms appeared, dragging in a diminutive being in a scarlet jacket, buckskin tights, and white top-boots, with several dirty and ragged fish hanging by a long string in his hand; they placed him in the middle of the floor right before the baronet, and it was with difficulty that the hounds could be kept off. "you rascal," vociferated sir pimpleton, raising his whip, "what do you mean by leading me such a dance! didn't i lock you up for thieving--didn't i?" "vy yes, your honour," responded this perfect miniature of man; "but afore that, you ordered me to carry a bundle o' red-herrings to town, and give this here letter to deliver to her ladyship, and, when i came back, to bring down the cab; so i only obeyed orders." he held up the letter, and whilst trying to conceal the tattered fish, he looked smirkingly in the baronet's face, and added, "i say, your honour, that 'ere pony's worth his weight in gowld." "be off then, and take every care of him," said the more appeased baronet, looking at the fish and laughing. the lad, winking at the grooms, waited for no further orders. "and now, ladies and gentlemen," continued sir pimpleton, "that is ben gall, my tiger. men, take off the hounds; we have had a capital run, gentlemen, which, no doubt, must have given you good appetites. your horses shall have every attention--refreshment shall be immediately brought up for yourselves--a bumper of brandy round shall open the entertainment, and since we are all here together, why we'll wind up the day like true sons of nimrod after an english tiger hunt." omnibus chat. our monthly chat commences with a short dissertation on a very ample topic-- ingenious rogueries. it may be remarked by any one who chooses to note the fact, that the most ingenious rogueries are seldom those which succeed best. the deep-laid scheme will often explode of itself; the right hand that never lost its cunning will sometimes miss its reward; the genius of knavery will walk barefoot, with an appetite as keen as itself; while the common bungler, the blundering rascal, the scoundrel who is idiot also, shall succeed in all his stupid, shallow, contemptible designs, and ride home to dinner quite convinced that, though not strictly honest, he is astonishingly clever, or _talented_--for that is, in these cases, the more orthodox word. it is not the most skilful burglar that safely worms his way to the butler's pantry, or insinuates with most success his hand into the plate-chest; nor is it the most dexterous picker of pockets who is permitted longest to ply his art, or earliest retires upon a pelion of purses piled upon an ossa of bandannas. the blockheads in this, as in some other professions, often carry off the palm. "whom the gods love die young." the thief of high and cultivated talent, the swindler of fine taste and exquisite discernment, is frequently destined to suffer early the fate which considerably later overtakes the fool. somehow the world does not do justice even to its rogues. it refuses to be taken in by the profound rascal, while it readily falls a victim to the veriest dunce in the great school for scoundrels. while we see so many expert horsemen breaking the necks of their nags, or throwing involuntary summersets;--while we observe how extremely careful, and how eminently well skilled, is every captain of every steamer that happens to figure in a horrible collision in broad daylight;--while we are called upon to bear witness to the excessive caution and singular scientific proficiency of every soul associated with a railway; and have to notice besides that all their care, and all their science, has invariably been exercised whenever a frightful accident may have happened upon their beat;--these failures of roguish talent, and misfortunes of accomplished knavery, cease to be peculiarly wonderful. this remark has been suggested by observing the signal failure of a rather ingenious device, put forth in the form of an advertisement in some of the daily papers. it is an invitation to everybody who may chance to possess "unstamped receipts" for sums above £ , to communicate with the advertiser, who is, of course, to reward the production of such documents! any simple person would suppose--as there are very droll specimens of collectors yet alive--more curious by far than any of the curiosities they collect--collectors of turnpike tickets, and of complete sets of checks for readmission to the opera for eleven successive seasons!--that here was a gentleman who had taken a fancy for collecting a perfect set of unstamped receipts from the year to the present time. a little reflection, however, would show that his object _might_ be to lay informations against the parties who had signed them. the design has been penetrated into still further; for it appears that all parties showing such receipts put themselves in the power of the advertiser, as being equally liable with the signers for accepting them unstamped! yes, we are bound to say that here was considerable ingenuity exercised. here was a stone flung that seemed sure to kill two birds. the possessor of such a document was more than likely to be tempted to show it, by the reward of one sovereign; which the other party could well afford to pay out of the many sovereigns extracted in the shape of penalty from the said producer's pocket--to say nothing of the same amount drawn from the signer of the receipt. since the coaxing cry of "biddy, come and be killed" was first raised, no more seductive snare has been conceived. "i have assembled you," said the considerate proprietor of live stock in the story, "i have assembled you, my pretty birds, to learn from you what sauce you would like to be eaten with." "but we don't want to be eaten," said the birds with one voice. "you wander from the point," was the answer. so, perhaps, would the collector of unstamped receipts have said to the producers. "i have assembled you here to know what you would like to pay me in lieu of the penalty you have incurred." "but we don't want to pay any penalty." "you wander from the point." we have all heard the most scandalous and groundless stories about lawyers;--of opinions delivered concerning the genuineness of a half sovereign, followed by the deduction of six-and-eightpence for the advice;--of thirteen-and-fourpence charged for "attending, consulting, and advising," when the occasion was a splendid dinner given by the client--followed by a demand on the angry client's part for wine had and consumed--and this succeeded in turn by an information against the said client for selling wine without a licence. these, and a thousand such libels, we can all remember; but the reality above recorded is at least as striking as the most ingenious of such fictions. to contrast with the non-success of this wily experiment upon a grand scale, we may cite an instance of equal ingenuity, exercised in a much humbler walk, and taking the form of knavery in its mixed character. we distinctly remember it to have happened. the scene may be a seaport, or the banks of the thames below bridge. a seaman, bearing a huge stone bottle, applies at the nelson's head for a gallon of whisky for captain rope of the matilda, lying off shore--to fill up the bottle already half full. the spirit is duly poured in, and the cash demanded. "oh! the capp'n said nothen about that"--the whisky was to be added to his account, and that was all he knew. but "mine host" did not know the captain well enough, and couldn't let the whisky go. the gallon was therefore poured back again into the landlord's measure, and set aside to be called for. so far there appeared to be no knavery at all; but the spirit so poured back, presently turned out to be, not whisky, but excellent _one-water grog_; for the two-gallon bottle of the sailor contained exactly one gallon of pure water when it was brought in, and one gallon of pure whisky and water when it was taken out. the means in this, as in myriads of cases, are curiously disproportioned to the end. how miserably poor is the prize, considered in reference to the risk; to the cleverness in the invention of the stratagem; to the address demanded for the due execution of it, to the time consumed, the trouble taken, the agencies employed! but the truth is, that the very cleverest rascals are rarely more than half-cunning. the ablest of knaves must be at best half a blockhead. when we remember how the great bardolph, having stolen a lute-case, "carried it twelve miles and sold it for three half-pence," the perilous, profitless, toilsome, half-witted nature of roguery needs no illustration. one would like to have seen him walking back, thirsty and way-wearied, under a broiling sun, and never sure but that the lady who once owned the lute-case might be walking that way too! that famous exploit of master bardolph's ought to be registered in large letters over every judgment-seat, and on the door of every police-office. the record would save much judicial breath, and supersede volumes of admonition. * * * * * shakspeare's illustrations of vice might possibly have led us into a dissertation at least as long upon shakspeare's illustrations of virtue, but that the learned dr. bulgardo here honoured our humble vehicle with his presence, and called general attention to a contrast equally striking, under the following title:-- the sister sciences; or, botany and horticulture. by dr. bulgardo, l. s. d., treasurer of several learned societies, and professor of asparagus at the university of battersea. botany. to mary, with a bunch of flowers. nay! say not faded--'tis despair has thus subdued them, for they see that in themselves however fair, they ne'er can hope to equal thee! the rose's joyous blush has fled, with which no other lip could vie; the heartsease turns aside its head, fearing to meet thy deep-blue eye. more sad the myrtle's hue appears, the jasmine's silver star is dim; surpass'd by thee, thou seest the tears that tremble on the harebell's brim. the woodland lily's silver cup was never seen to droop as now, it dares not lift its flowerets up to gaze upon thy gentle brow. how canst thou look thus calmly on, and watch them slowly die the while? recal them yet, ere life be gone, enchantress, with thy sunny smile! horticulture. to molly, with a basket of fruit and vegetables. nay! say not shrivell'd--'tis despair has thus subdued them, for they see that in themselves however fair, they'll ne'er be relish'd, love, like thee! a deeper blush the raspberry paints, pale is the ruddy beetroot's lip; and e'en the red-cheek'd apple faints, as though it suffer'd from the pip. severely frown the baking pears; the artichoke's bold crest is down; the awe-struck medlar wildly stares to see thy cheek a swarthier brown. the icy cucumber is hot, the freckled cauliflower wan; the mushroom has no longer got a single leg to stand upon! see how the rich, round-shoulder'd figs bow to thy figure's graceful swell; the sobbing orange bursts its pigs to find thee such a nonpareil! the sister sciences, female siamese twins, having vanished from the scene, our correspondent, mr. h. g. adams, presented a second specimen of his curious photogenic pictures: a scene near folkstone. [folkstone was made, says tradition, of the "odds and ends" left after the rest of the world was finished; and any one who has visited that jumble of heights and hollows, becomes impressed with the conviction that tradition sometimes speaks the truth.] some weather-beaten men with clothes all tar-ry, keeping a sharp look-out upon the ocean, and little tom, and jack, and bill, and harry, making upon the beach a dire commotion,-- dabbling, like dab-chicks, in the billows briny, hunting for crabs, and other things crustaceous, while a newfoundland dog, in sport called "tiny," wags his huge bushy tail, and looks sagacious: here wades a shrimper to his waist in water, there swims a bather, snorting like a grampus; and lo! james muddle, with his wife and daughter, all in a boat, and crying out, "don't swamp us!" far in the offing you may see a cutter, her white sails gleaming like the sea-gull's pinions,-- she means to overhaul that craft, with butter laden, and cheese, from swampy scheldt's dominions; i shouldn't wonder if _schiedam_--however, that's not my business;--turn our glances landward, there's farley in his garden--well, i never!-- a-talking down the chimney, to my landlord; he says, "i see you've got some greens for dinner, "and pickled pork," but can't say more for coughing; that smoke just serves him right--the prying sinner! he's always jeering folks, and at them scoffing: white cliffs, and houses, underneath and over, and roads that seem to lead to regions airy-- old boats converted into roofs, that cover buildings, in shape and size that greatly vary, denote the place, which popular believings point out as being made of ends and leavings. here we were reminded by a particularly ample, and unprecedentedly flaring wood-cut, borne on an appropriate pole past the vehicle, and intended to describe the indescribable effects of the fireworks in the surrey zoological gardens, of a pleasant discourse which we overheard in that suburban retreat. "quite a gem," cried a lady from portland place, contemplating the splendid pictorial model of rome; "really quite a monument of the artist's abilities." "i see _st. paul's_," said a lady from shadwell, who was standing by, looking at the same time at the crowning feature of the picture, "i see st. paul's quite plain, but _where's the monument?_" "how those butcher-boys do ride!" exclaimed an elderly gentleman in the further corner, as one of the blue-frocked fraternity, with basket on arm, and "spur on heel," dashed past at headlong speed. "ay, sir, they ride sharp enough," replied his next neighbour, whose bronzed features and brawny shoulders bespoke him a son of old ocean; "but of all the rough-riding i have ever seen, nothing comes up to a negro boy in the west indies. the negro boys there are the most cunning imps i have ever had to do with. i recollect on my last voyage to jamaica, while my vessel was lying in st. anne's bay, i had to go to port maria to look for some cargo; and on my way thither, near ora cabeça, i came to one of the numerous small rivers that empty themselves into the little bays along the coast--i think it was the salt gut. when at some distance, i had observed a negro boy belabouring a mule most heartily; but before i got up he had left off his thumping and dismounted, and now appeared in earnest talk with his beast, which, with fore-legs stretched out firm, and ears laid down, seemed proof against all arguments to induce him to enter the water. quashie was all animation, and his eyes flashed like fire-flies. "who--o! you no go ober? berry well--me bet you fippenny me make you go--no? why for you no bet?--why for you no go ober?" here the mule shook his ears to drive off the flies, which almost devour the poor animals in that climate. "oh! you do bet--berry well--den me try." the young rascal (he was not more than ten years old) disappeared in the bush, and returned in a few seconds with some strips of fan-weed, a few small pebbles, and a branch of the cactus plant. to put three or four pebbles in each of the mule's ears, and tie them up with the fan-weed, was but the work of a minute. he then jumped on the animal's back, turned round, put the plant to his tail, and off they went, as a negro himself would say, "like mad, massa." into the water they plunged--the little fellow grinning and showing his teeth in perfect ecstasy. out they got on the other side--head and ears down--tail and heels up--and the boy's arms flying about as if they did not belong to him; and i lost sight of him as he went over the rocky steep at full gallop, where one false step would have precipitated them into the sea beneath, from whence there would have been but small chance of escape. no, no, a butcher's boy is nothing to a negro boy--the one may ride like the deuce, but the other is the very deuce himself riding. "did you see any more of him, sir?" inquired a young lady opposite. "yes, madam, about two hours afterwards i reached port maria, and in an open space near the stores, there sat, or rather lay, young quashie eating cakes; and there also stood the mule, eating guinea grass, and looking much more cheerful than when i first saw him at the salt gut. 'well, quashie,' i said, 'you have got here i see, but which of you won?'--'quashie win, massa--quashie never lose.'--'but will he pay?' i inquired.--'quashie pay himself, massa. you see, massa buccra, massa gib quashie tenpenny-bit for grass for mule. quashie bet fippenny him make him go ober de gut--quashie win--quashie hab fippenny for cake, mule hab fippenny for grass.'" "had that defrauded mule, sir," here interposed a stranger, "been born in ireland a brief while ago, he would have fallen to and devoured the young nigger out of hand, for cheating him of half his grass; that is, he would, if he had ever read the ancient records of that country, and become acquainted with the fact i am about to relate--but stay, perhaps you may relish it better in slip-shod verse." the terrific legend of the kilkenny cats. o'flyn she was an irishman, as very well was known, and she lived down by kilkenny, and she lived there all alone, with only six great large tom-cats as knew their ways about, and ev'ry body else besides she scrup'lously shut out. oh, very fond o' cats was she--(and whisky too, 'tis said,) she didn't feed 'em very much, but she comb'd 'em well instead; as may be guess'd, these large tom-cats, they didn't get very sleek upon a combing once a-day, and a "ha'porth" once a-week. now on one dreary winter's night, o'flyn she went to bed, the whisky-bottle under her arm, (the whisky in her head,) the six great large tom-cats they sat all in a dismal row, and horridly glared their hungry eyes--their tails wagg'd to and fro at last one grim greymalkin spoke in accents dire to tell, and dreadful were the words which in his awful whisper fell-- when all the other five tom-cats in answer loud did squall, "let's kill her--and let's eat her--body and bones and all!" oh horrible! oh terrible! oh deadly tale to tell! when the sun shone in the window-hole all there seem'd still and well; the cats they sat and lick'd their paws, all in a merry ring, _but nothing else within the place looked like a living thing_; anon they quarrell'd savagely, and spit, and swore, and hollo'd, till at last these six great large tom-cats they one another swallow'd; and nought but one long tail was left in that once peaceful dwelling, and a very tough one too it was--it's the same as i've been telling. [c. b.] [illustration: in the character of marie stuart.] mademoiselle rachel. colley cibber is the best theatrical critic we know, but if he had been asked to describe rachel, we should fancy him falling into one of his old regrets. 'could _how_ rachel spoke be as easily known as _what_ she spoke, then might you see the muse of racine in her triumph, with all her beauties in their best array, rising into real life and charming her beholders. but, alas! since all this is so far out of the reach of description, how shall i show you rachel?' the best attempt _we_ have been able to make, is printed on the opposite page. truth to say, a good portrait, such as one may bind up with one's copy of racine, is the only tolerable criticism after all. so, gentle reader, there is rachel for you: and to flatter your national likings, if you have any, she is in the dress of mary stuart, though the woes of mary stuart are not in racine. quiet, earnest, intense, with a look of passion that has its spring in tenderness, that is just the expression she should wear. it pervaded all her performances, because in all of them she was the woman. there it was, as you see it, when she said for this unhappy _mary_ that she was ready to go to death, for that all which could bind her to the earth had passed away; and as she said it, there came with its choking denial to her heart a sense of the still living capacity for joy or grief about to be quenched for ever. she wore that look, when, in _camille_, she recalled the transient and deceitful dream wherein everything had spoken of her lover, and whispered happy issue to her love. it spread its mournful radiance over her face, when, for the wronged and deserted _hermione_, she told the betrayer that she had loved him in his inconstancy, and with what something surpassing love would she have rewarded his fidelity. je t'aimais inconstant; qu'aurais-je fait fidèle! exquisitely perfect, let us say, was that performance of hermione. sometimes, it will not be heretical to whisper, her genius nodded or even slept: never here. the _roxane_ would not suffer her to do justice to her finest qualities: in the _emilie_ (for she was wilful) she refused herself that justice: in the _marie stuart_ she was unequal: in _camille_, always great undoubtedly, she had yet a very limited range: but in _hermione_, she achieved a triumph of high and finished art, which will never fade from the recollections of those who witnessed it. it occurs to us, as we write, that it was in this very _hermione_ the famous mademoiselle de champmelé won the heart of racine himself, who, after the performance, flung himself at her feet in a transport of gratitude, which soon merged into love. luckless rachel, that champmelé should have been beforehand with her. how the poet would have shaken out love and gratitude upon _her_, from every curl of his full-bottomed peruke! you have heard, no doubt, good reader--if you have not seen this accomplished frenchwoman--that she is a scold, a fury, a womanly kean, in a constant fret of passion. do not believe it. her forte is tenderness: she is much greater in the gentle grasp with which she embraces the whole intention of a part, than in the force with which she gives distinct hits: she is more at home in those emotions we call domestic, than in those which walk away from home on very lofty stilts. how the false notion obtained currency, we do not know. the french critics are men of lively imaginations, and it was perhaps natural that the feeling of that start of surprise with which rachel broke upon them, should seek to ally itself to the occasionally sudden and terrible, the flighty and impetuous, rather than to the various tenderness and quiet truth which gave the actress her lasting victory. what rachel was before she was the first actress of france, probably the reader knows. she sold oranges on the boulevards. her name was rachel felix--an augury of fortune. an early hankering for the stage took her to the gymnase in , where she played bad parts badly enough. not without a gleam of something beyond, however: for sanson the actor happened to see her there, and thought it worth while to take her into teaching. he cured her of a false accent (she was a swiss jewess), and brought her out at the francais in , upon a salary of four thousand francs. she took the audience by storm, and her four thousand went up to a hundred and fifty thousand. long may she flourish, to deserve and to enjoy them. frights!--no. ii. we now propose to turn to other illustrations of fright familiar to every family, and susceptible of description. let us take a night-scene, conjured up by a sudden alarm of thieves! 'tis midnight, and "the very houses seem asleep," out-houses and all. the "quiet family" has attained its utmost pitch of quietness. all sleep soundly, where no sound is heard. a breathless hush pervades the domicile. on a sudden, there is a smart crash, a rattling sound, below. this sleeper starts up in bed; that, darts farther under the clothes. "what's that?" is the inward question of everybody. the thought of thieves occurs to each in turn; one is certain that the area-door has been forced open; another is sure that the back-parlour sash has been raised. they lie still, with panting hearts, and listen. again there is a noise; it is like creaking footsteps on the stairs, or the opening of drawers; then all is silent again, and then the noise is renewed. at last one little quaking miss ventures half-stifled to whisper, "sarah, are you awake?" and sarah faintly answers, "yes, did you hear that?" and both bury themselves in the bed, and dare not breathe. and then they hear a door open softly, and they utter a low cry of terror; and then in another minute the door of their own room opens, and with a loud scream they start up--only to see their dear good mama with a candle in her hand; but she is pale and frightened, and desires to know if _they_ had made the noise--but they had not; only they distinctly heard somebody getting in at the back-door, or the parlour-window. then papa commands the whole assembled family "not to be frightened," and shakes dreadfully--with cold--as he looks at his blunderbuss, and avows his determination to proceed down-stairs. and then there is a "hush!" and a general listening. yes, there _is_ a noise still, and to the stairs he advances; while his better-half lights his way and holds his garments tight to check his desperate enthusiasm; and the eldest daughter hardly ventures beyond the chamber-door, but with astonishing boldness and exemplary daring springs a rattle; and the others hold on each by each, taking fresh fright from one another's fears. what an amount of suffering, dread, terror--is in the bosom of the little quiet family, as down to the scene of danger they creep with tortoise-pace! and what is all this anxiety, this trepidation, this sickness of the heart, for! what has occasioned so terrific a commotion! perhaps the tongs have fallen down, and the clatter has filled their ears with all sorts of imaginary noises! perhaps the cat is clawing at a string tied to the latch of the pantry-door; or perhaps the stupid little kitten, having got her tail into the catch of the last new patent mouse-trap, has dragged that excellent invention off the dresser, and is whisking round at intervals in a wearying and vain endeavour to extricate her unprehensile appendage! "dear me! well i declare how i have been frightening myself!" cries every member of the shivering family; and the very next night, should the very same noises again be heard, the whole frightened family would start, turn pale, quake, wonder, pant, scream, and spring rattles, exactly as before. where fear has once taken possession, experience does not always make folks wise. [illustration: "thieves"!!!] [illustration: the "strange cat".] let us take for another example of the daily domestic romance-- the strange cat. how vividly, among the events of our boyish days, do we remember the "strange cat" that got into the lumber-room at the top of the house! our elder brother and "the boy" had endeavoured to dislodge the animal, which figured in their description as a thing of intense blackness and monstrous dimensions, with great frightful staring green eyes, horrid long claws, and such a tail! not "frightened of cats" were we, for we had a favourite one of our own; but _this_--it trebled in magnitude and horror the wildest and most savage inhabitants of the then exeter change. their own fears had magnified the "strange cat" into a monster; and then they wilfully enlarged the picture to terrify _us_--a feat, in which they succeeded, as we dared not go to the upper rooms alone. for two or three days this "reign of terror" lasted; when, a favourable opportunity being watched for, the "young master" and the "young man" marched up, broom and brush in hand, to hunt out this strange secreted intruder--the black tiger of the upper wilderness. as for our tiny self, we had ventured a part of the way up-stairs to witness the result, imagining that the enemy would make its exit by an attic window. oh horror! a loud knocking was heard above; a tremendous shouting next arose, succeeded instantly by an appalling cry of "here it comes!" this was, shall we say _enough_?--it was too much; we turned and _flew_ down-stairs--the last "flight" of stairs being, with the aid of the handrail, but one leap. the street door! no, we could not open it. against it then we set our back in an agony of fear, and uttered a cry that would have terrified a whole legion of cats. the hunters were in full cry. down came the wild animal, followed by brooms and brushes, bounding and rattling over the stairs--a clatter that rent the roof. what saw we then? not a poor half-starved _frightened_ animal leaping over the banisters to get out of _our_ way, and to escape through the garden-door; no, of this piteous, this actual spectacle we saw nothing,--but in its place--_this_! [illustration] this little "tail-piece" expanded to the dimensions of a full-sized newfoundland dog, surrounded by a blaze of fire, will convey some idea of what, in the extremity of our apprehensions, we actually did see. [illustration] a short cruise at margate. being at margate the other day, we strolled, in company with "the old sailor," down to the "jetty," where we were accosted by the veteran hemptage, a boatman of the old school, who, with a salute, inquired "will you take a trip this morning, sir?" "not if it blows," answered the old sailor, assuming as much as possible the look and manners of a landsman, "i have made up my mind never to go sailing if there's a breath of wind." the old man gave him a look, which spoke as plainly as look could--"here's a precious lubber, to talk of sailing without wind." "it would be on possible to move a-head and no breeze, sir." "i don't care for that," rejoined the old sailor, "i am very timid on the water; but if you're sure there's no danger, and it will be quite calm (it was nearly so), i will venture to take a sail." "danger!" repeated the veteran somewhat contemptuously, though there was an expression of doubt and suspicion on his countenance that seemed to say "i think you're a gammoning me."--"what danger can there be when there's hardly wind enough to fill the canvas?" after some further conversation relative to the perils of the ocean, which drew forth some scornful glances from the veteran, we embarked in a pretty green boat, with two masts or poles, one sticking up behind and the other near the middle, to which sails were fastened. whilst hemptage was loosing what we believe is named the main-sail, the old sailor jumped aft to set what he called the "lug mizen," and he was shoving out a pole from the stern, right over the water. we immediately informed the boatman that our companion was "meddling with the things at the other end," and the veteran promptly turned round and exclaimed, "you'd better let that ere alone, sir. you'll find somut as 'ull puzzle you there." "avast, old boy!" returned the old sailor, laughing; "i've rigged out as many bumkins[ ] as you have in my time." "ay, ay," drawled out the veteran--"hang me if i didn't think so by the cut of your jib--i thought it was all gammon, and you knowed better than to go sailing without wind." "you have belonged to a man-of-war," said the old sailor, as we were standing off from the shore. "why, yes, i've had a spell at it," returned hemptage somewhat knowingly, "i was in the owld hyacinth with tommy ussher, and a better captain never walked a ship's quarter-deck. i was with him too in the ondaunted frigate up the mediterranean----" "what! were you in her, in frejus bay, when buonaparte embarked for elba?" inquired the old sailor. "why to be sure i was, and remembers it well enough," returned he with animation. "and the first thing boney did when he got aboard was to come forud on to the foksle and have a yarn with the foksle men[ ]." "what sort of a man was he?" we asked with quickness. "what sort of a man," reiterated the veteran, "why a stout good-looking chap enough, only very swarthy. them images as the italian boys brings about is very like, only i never seed him in that little cocked hat." "why what did he wear then?" inquired we with some eagerness. "oh he wore a round hat[ ]," replied hemptage, "and he used to lean against the breech of the foksle gun and spin yarns with us for the hour together." "well!" we thought, "we never shall have done with boney." we had never drawn him in a round hat, and the temptation was too strong to be resisted--so we have accordingly placed him at the head of this article--and as of course he would have a fashionable beaver, we have given him one of the shape of that period, and placed him in contrast with himself.--boney _versus_ boney--cock'd hat against round. it may be said "what's in a hat?" and when upon the head it becomes a rather important question. in many cases the answer would be "not much," but with respect to napoleon it certainly must be admitted that there was _something_ in it. "but (we asked in continuation of our conversation) how could you talk with buonaparte--did he speak english?" "o yes, pretty well, considering--very well for him," replied hemptage, "he mixed a little of his own lingo up with it--but we made it out. during the passage he used very often to come forud, and he told us he liked english sailors, and one had wounded him once at toulon." fully aware that the fact of napoleon's being wounded at toulon had long been a disputed point, we questioned the man, and received the following statement:-- "why," said the veteran, "he told us the english made a _sortie_, as they call it, and drove the french before them. boney run as well as the rest, and an english seaman chaced after him; but whether the man was tired, or thought he'd gone far enough, he didn't know, but he gave him a shove in the starn with his bagonet, and said, 'take that, you french lubber.' the sailor might have killed him if he had been so disposed, but he acted generously and spared his life. 'and,' says boney, 'if ever i could have discovered the man who acted so nobly, i would have made him comfortable for life.' the wound was in his thigh." [illustration] now had that jack tar taken one step further, or have made a deadly thrust, the fate of _major_ buonaparte would have been sealed at toulon, and the world would never have heard of the emperor napoleon. we fancy we hear some of our hibernian friends exclaiming, "faith, then, and it's a pity the sailor didn't know that boney would be after doing so much mischief." thus conversing and moralising, we finished our "short cruise at margate." hemptage is approaching his seventieth year, and his countenance displays the colours of a thorough seaman. he has been several times wounded, but looking hale and hearty. when paid off he was refused a pension--visitors will find him a pleasant shipmate in a trip--and the lovers of the marvellous may enjoy the satisfaction of conversing with a man who has seen and talked with "a live bonyparty." footnotes: [footnote : the bumkin is the spar that projects out from the stern to haul the mizen-sheet home.--_naval dictionary._ here, however, it is probable that a _double entendre_ was meant.] [footnote : in no. cxliii. of the _united service journal_, sir thomas ussher has given an interesting account of the embarkation and conveyance of napoleon from frejus to elba, in which we find the following passage:--"on arriving alongside, i immediately went up the side to receive the emperor on the quarter-deck. he took his hat off, and bowed to the officers who were assembled on the deck. he then immediately went forward to the forecastle amongst the people, and i found him there talking to some of the men, conversing with those among them who understood a little french."] [footnote : in another part of the same article, in the _united service journal_, sir thomas ussher says--"this evening a small trading vessel passed near us, i ordered her to be examined; and as napoleon was anxious to know the news, i desired the captain to be sent on board. napoleon was on the quarter-deck--he had a great coat and round hat on." at another place, after their arrival at elba--"at eight, the emperor asked me for a boat, as he intended taking a walk on the opposite side of the bay. he wore a great coat and a round hat."] epigrams. "buonaparte was certainly, as sir john carr called him, a 'splendid scoundrel,' but he was a scoundrel still."--_daily paper._ not so, for if a scoundrel--doubt who will-- napoleon was a scoundrel, _never_ still! _scene_--outside of the greyhound inn. "you'll take a glass of ale or so? here's _double x_ upon the door;" "is there," says john, "then i don't go-- it so reminds me of _a score_!" the malady of debt. some people often have, they say, what's call'd the "maladie de pays"-- but schneider of his customers was saying, _they_ had the malady _of never paying_. c. h. w. passionate people. "so you will fly out! why can't you be cool like me? what good can passion do? passion's of no use, you impudent, obstinate, overbearing reprobate."--_sir anthony absolute._ of all the evils, all the injuries, all the calamities, by which passionate people are liable to be visited, none are so perilous, so overwhelming, as the encounter with a meek, cool, patient, unanswering adversary--if adversary such a wretch can be called. there is no trial in life like this. the bare idea of it puts one out of temper. to be placed, when in the full swing of a violent fit of rage, when indulging to an excess in the wildest transports of the soul, when giving loose to the most riotous emotions of our nature; to be placed at such a juncture right opposite some cold calm personification of indifference, some compound of sadness and tranquillity, with an air of entire submission, with drooping lids, and perhaps a smile not entirely free from _pity_; to see some such person sitting there imperturbably philosophical, putting the best construction possible upon one's violence, and evidently making silent excuses for one's ungovernable fury! i put it to any rational madman--that is to say to any man i know--whether this be not a species of exasperation too great to be borne, and quite enough to make one start off for niagara, to enjoy the intense satisfaction, the indispensable relief, of jumping down. i wouldn't give one drop of ink for a man who never goes into terrific passions, who never lets his blood boil over, at least now and then; but i should feel peculiar pleasure in hurling any inkstand--the writing-desk would be better--at the head of him whose fury did not instantly become ten thousand times more inflamed by the mere presence of that smooth oily virtue, that "ostentatious meekness," which at once sighs in submissiveness and smiles in superiority. all the mischiefs that arise from the excesses of anger and rage must be conscientiously set down to the account of that provoking passiveness, that calmness which irritates the fiery beholder past endurance. let the physician, who would minister to the mind diseased, take any shape but that. who is there that cannot bear testimony to its galling effects from his own observation or experience! only say to a man in a pet, "now don't lose your temper," and he falls naturally into a rage; say to one already exasperated, and on the verge of a fit of fury, "pray don't put yourself into a passion, it's all a mistake, there's nothing to be angry about;" and what so sure to set him off at a pace past stopping! the image of "patience on a monument smiling at grief" has been greatly admired, but as a design it would hardly hold together for five minutes. shakspeare was a little out for once. patience _smiling_ at grief! how could grief stand it! she would be transformed into rage in no time. if at all in earnest, she must necessarily be provoked to jump down in a paroxysm, or to pitch patience off the monument. to the truly irritable, and i confess that i am one of them, all such irritation, to say the least of it, is superfluous. to us who have "free souls" no such provocation is wanting at any time. we are always ready to go ahead without this high pressure; our quick blood renders the spur unnecessary. we never wait for "the motive and the cue for passion" that hamlet speaks of. the real relish and enjoyment of it consists in going into a rage about nothing. the next pleasure to that consists in being roused to fury about other people's affairs; in lashing oneself into madness about some grievance borne by a person who seems perfectly indifferent to it. there are numbers of people who may be thus said to go into passions by proxy. they have experienced a slight, of which they give a cool account to some susceptible friend, who stamps and raves at every word of the narrative. they calmly inform you that they have been shamefully ill-used; upon which they stroke their chins complacently, and leave you to tear your hair. the man who has been cruelly wronged describes with a glib tongue, while the uninjured auditor disinterestedly gnashes his teeth. i have always admired that passage in one of george colman's plays, where a warm-hearted fellow, giving an account of some flagrant act of oppression to which he had been a witness, observes,--"well, you know, that wasn't _no affair of mine_; no--and _so i felt all my blood creeping into my knuckles_"--and the result shows that he fell, with exemplary promptitude, into a glorious passion in behalf of the oppressed but uncomplaining stranger. this bit of fiction calls to mind a fact which may with no impropriety be here related. it is an anecdote of a distinguished writer now no more, w. g. he had complained to me of some ungracious conduct, by which he felt hurt and insulted; he was helpless, and this made the sense of injury more acute. he spoke with bitterness, though in gentle tones. i did not echo those tones; for he was illustrious by his intellect, and venerable by his years; and, as the phrase is, i at once "rapped out"--pouring a torrent of reproach, and heaping a mountain of invectives, on the heads of those, who, to use his own words, "had dared to put an indignity upon him." he heard me, very quietly, until the full burst of indignation with which his more moderate complaint had inspired me was exhausted, and then said with an ejaculation short, sharp, and peculiar to him,--"i'm afraid you've been picking up some queer doctrines of late; the principle of them is, as far as i can understand, to be discontented with everything!" now as _he_ had taught me just then to be discontented, and as i was moreover only discontented on his account, i did _not_ immediately leap out of my fit of passion into one of philosophy; and i believe he was upon that occasion much struck with certain metaphysical phenomena, on which i left him to brood; with the curious distinction, that is to say, between one fellow-creature undergoing the punishment of the knout without exhibiting a symptom of distress, and another fellow-creature looking on, all grief and anguish, shuddering at the spectacle, and feeling every lash on his own heart. these are the most generous bursts of rage that can be indulged in; and, next to those that are altogether destitute even of the shadow of a cause, are the most delicious to the irritable. the wrongs, troubles, and perversities of individuals, from near relatives to total strangers, generally form a plentiful supply; in fact, the smallest offence will be thankfully received, as the history of irascible people amply shows. very good grounds for anger occur, as we can all remember, when a fellow-traveller at an inn refuses to take mustard with his pork-chop; or when another, in spite of every hint, persists in breaking his eggs at the small end, or lighting his cheroot at the large end; or when a sturdy fellow walks just before you through a smart shower of rain, and won't put his umbrella up, though you obligingly tap him on the shoulder, and remind him that it's pouring; or when an obstinate one declines the adoption of somebody else's opinion, merely because he has not been convinced of its reasonableness; or when an affected one pronounces the word london "lunnun," and birmingham "brummagem," and, while he asserts in his justification that lord brougham calls the places by those names, refuses to distinguish his lordship as lord bruffham. if individual grievances or peculiarities should fail, which is scarcely possible, national ones will do as well. nay, i know a philanthropist whose heart was broken fifty times a year, whose blood boiled hourly, at the recollection of some great outrage that had happened in the dark ages. passion, moreover, has this convenience, that it is an essential privilege of it to reason from the individual to the national; thus, if a russian government, or a russian faction, inflict wrongs on poland, all russia may be indiscriminately condemned; and thus too, if an american visiting this country should be wanting in good manners, or give you any cause of offence, you can with strict propriety launch out into a tirade against the american people, their customs and institutions, laws and dispositions--wrath will there find "elbow room." you may wind up with the observation that, bad as is the brute whom you have just encountered, you believe him to be quite as good as the very best of his countrymen. this, indeed, may be laid down as a rule; when a scotchman offends you, abuse all scotland, and offer to prove that burns was no poet;--when an irishman puts you in a heat, be sure to denounce ireland, and hint that st. patrick was no gentleman, nor were his ancestors decent people. with an englishman the case is rather different, because anything you may say against john bull is pretty sure to please, instead of annoying a member of his family; who won't much mind a back-handed hit at himself, if you direct the principal force of your attack against the national character. it is expedient, therefore, to be less sweeping in your charge, to concentrate your forces, and to content yourself with a small explosion, fatal only to his immediate friends and relations. point out how remarkable it is that so many persons of the same name should have been hanged for sheep-stealing; question the depth of his breeches-pocket, where he rattles a bunch of keys, as though he had anything to lock up; and pick out some cousin of his who is very badly off, and spitefully ask him to dinner. but you will never vent your rage satisfactorily, by merely abusing old england in an englishman's presence. to get into a passion in the street is sometimes peculiarly awkward. it makes you feel like a bottle of soda-water that wants to go off and can't. some people ought to have their hats wired down, cork-fashion. walking with an irascible friend the other day--i am fond of such companions, and can boast a great variety of them--he worked himself into as pretty a specimen of fury as i have lately seen; but what was to be done? there was nothing to cause it, and there was no relief to be had. apple-stalls upset are but vulgar exploits; me, he could not strangle in the open street; there was no temptation to smash a lamp in the broad daylight, however agreeable and comforting at night; there was no loitering schoolboy in the way, to be kicked "for _always_ tieing that shoe;" yet, "as fires imprisoned fiercest burn," out the blaze must burst, the volcano was not to be smothered up. accordingly, just as we reached the open window of a butcher's shop, on the board of which a lad in blue sleeves, and black, glossy, curling hair, sat intently reading the "sorrows of werter," my passionate friend stopped. whether he meant to snatch, a weapon, à la virginius, was doubtful. i thought at least he would have snatched the grease-marked volume out of the hands of the sentimental butcher-boy, and trampled it under-foot; when instead, off he darted across the wide street, i following--rushed up to a house opposite, seized the large knocker, and plied it with the combined force of forty footmen, or a legion of penny-postmen rolled into one! i stood, looking on, amazed, while he knocked and knocked, without one moment's cessation, until the door was torn open, and the knocker dropped from his fingers. the servant-maid looked aghast, yet the accustomed spirit of inquiry, who was he? what _did_ he want? was uppermost in her face. "oh!" said my now subdued companion, "oh! ah!-a-i'm sorry to have troubled you! i-a-i don't want anybody--it's all right--thank you--i'm better now!" thus saying he quietly took my arm, and we sauntered off. i never saw a fellow in a more charming flow of spirits than his were throughout the rest of that day. [illustration] but it is more judicious to choose a spot where you can fall into a rage comfortably. it is a pity for example to get excited at charing-cross, merely by the sight of a dover coach, with the name of the town upon it spelt with two o's, "dovor." "there goes one of those confounded coaches again," said a companion the other day; "how savage they make me! do_vor_! why can't they spell the name properly?" "oh, what does it signify?"--"signify! why it's my native town! it puts me in such a passion that i can't walk;" and by the pace at which he went there appeared a probability of his overtaking the coach. as a man intoxicated can run easily, when walking is difficult, so a man in a passion finds similar relief. i have heard of a nervously-excited individual who was so annoyed by the cry of "bank, bank" all down the strand, that he jumped into one of the vehicles, resolved to go to the bank and draw out his balance; nor did he remember, until he got there, that he had performed that ceremony the day before. what i should respectfully recommend to any one on whom the fit comes suddenly out-of-doors, whether occasioned by some irritating train of thought, or a casual encounter equally provocative, is to go directly home, and give his family the benefit of it. surely the best compliment he can pay his wife is to presume that her attachment to him is so great that she will endure any ill-usage--that she would rather see him return home in a tremendous passion than have him stay longer away from her. a man who truly relishes his fit of rage will find a sweet relief in making his family uncomfortable. the children he can immediately order up to bed in the dark; and if anything in the shape of protest falls from the doting mother, he can take an opportunity, slyly, of upsetting a vase of flowers, water and all, into her work-box, or of tilting the inkstand upon the favourite autograph in her album. in the case of a single man, who has neither fond parent nor devoted partner to vent his fury on, a theatre is no bad resource; he can take his seat in some quiet corner and hiss the performance,--he will find it very soothing to his feelings; but he should choose, if possible, the first night of a new drama, and be constantly on his guard, or he will be tricked out of all his pleasure by the actors. i know a man who went in a great passion on purpose to hiss a new comedy, but being off his guard, he sat and laughed all the evening. brutus desires cassius to "go show his slaves how choleric he is, and make his bondmen tremble;" implying that it was still more vulgar and degrading to go into a passion before servants. this notion prevails amongst a certain class of the choleric to this day. it is not at all uncommon in genteel families, where appearances must at all sacrifices be kept up, for john to be desired to shut the door, and perhaps to be despatched to the remotest part of the house, while his master and mistress sit down to fight out a pitched battle with bated breath; whispering their fierce retorts, and dealing out their virulence _sotto voce_, that it may not reach the kitchen; recrimination, with savage aspect, speaking in the blandest key, and threats of separate maintenance breathing in tones that would have added a delicious tenderness to the fondest sentiment. all of a sudden, perhaps, a violent crash is heard; the lady, who "could bear it no longer," has commenced some sportive sallies with the tea-cups, and the gentleman has promptly followed in some equally lively experiments with the saucers; and john, when in wild alarm he re-enters the apartment, perceives in an instant, as clear as crockery itself, that naughty dash has _not_ been jumping upon the tea-table, and that it is _not_ that calumniated quadruped by whom the best blue-and-gold service has been devoted to destruction. all these tamperings with passion are great mistakes; there can be no enjoyment but in speaking out, and letting all the world hear if they like. i always admired the unhesitating frankness of that respectable tradesman (i forget his name, purposely) who about nine one summer morning, after "some words" with his lady respecting the comparative merits of souchong and mocha, deliberately opened the first floor window, and dashed out the whole breakfast set, tray and all, into one of the leading streets of the metropolis. people, it is said, put up their umbrellas as they pass, to this day, in constant expectation of a milky shower, with small squares of sugar for hailstones. but all such experiments with cups and saucers, glasses, vases, mirrors, &c., are much better performed, for obvious reasons, at other people's houses than at your own. it is very pleasant, and quite pardonable, to sweep a few glasses off the table in a fit of enthusiasm, now and then--when you are dining out; but it is perfectly ridiculous to proceed to such extremities at home, where the modes of venting rage are infinite. for a somewhat similar reason, i differ from those who systematically tear their own hair when they fall into a paroxysm; there is no occasion for it, because you might happen to be wearing a wig, and the effect would be ludicrous. it is far better to thrust your hand desperately into the loose locks of somebody sitting next to you, tearing them violently for the space of an instant, and then apologizing for the wildness of your excitement, and the extreme susceptibility of your feelings. your sensibility and the frankness of your disposition will find many admirers; but to pull your own hair has at best but an affected and theatrical look. the practice common to many of the choleric--that of taking off their hats, flinging them at the first object they see, and then kicking them, regardless of expense--is one that seems to have arisen out of an instinctive feeling, but until lately it was to be condemned as ruinous to those who fall very frequently into a passion; it is less exceptionable now; the cheap hats are immense conveniences to the choleric. it is better however to snatch a friend's off his head, and set your foot upon it, taking care to pick it up immediately, tenderly putting it into shape a little, brushing its injured nap, and returning it with your unfeigned regrets. i should not omit to mention one ingenious expedient, which is sure to produce a speedy relief to over-excited feelings. it is recommended on authority, as infallible. you should first lock the door of your sitting-room, and then lie down on your back upon the rug before the fire--taking at the same time one of the long bell-ropes in either hand. in this position you will find a little violent pulling very pleasant. but don't leave off, merely because everybody in the house comes rattling at the door, desiring to know, not for their own, but for heaven's sake, what's the matter. keep on tugging at both bells, until the door is broken open--you will then come-to quite comfortably. the great have some advantages over the humble, but they lack the luxury of giving a loose to rage at all seasons; they cannot storm and rave at their own sweet will; while the lowest creature committed to prison by the magistrate can always spring from the grasp of the constable and break a window or two. this may seem a poor relief; not so; there is, doubtless, an exquisite satisfaction in knowing that nothing less than a large county must pay the damage. suppose you only shatter a dozen panes, or effect other wilful injury, is there not something grand in being revenged upon middlesex, or venting your fury on all yorkshire? great or humble, rage is sweet to all. anger, not love, is the universal emotion. the mildest and most even-tempered man i ever met, let out the secret of his fiery disposition the other day, and betrayed the violent passions that sometimes seize him. complaining of the extreme smallness of his new library, in a figurative style, at once emphatic and elegant, he said, "it isn't large enough to swing a cat in," adding, (evidently with a reference to his habits when under the influence of passion) "_which is very inconvenient_!" cats are useful animals in a house. is it doubtful, when sir anthony absolute had stormed at the captain, and the captain in consequence had raved at fag, and fag in due succession had pummelled the footboy, that the footboy went forthwith and kicked the cat? l. b. our new cooks! "too many cooks"--"the proverb's something musty." we have just had another new cook; but too sure i am that, like the whole tribe of cooks that enter our family, she will never pass the boundaries of the cognomen "new cook." all our cooks have been _new_. the oldest one we have ever had, in my remembrance, was a prodigy of a month's service in our kitchen; and although it must be confessed that, even during that period, she was twice threatened or _warned_ by my mother, her long stay was astonishing to us all. compared with her predecessors she was quite a fixture in the house. it would take up "too much room in the omnibus," to detail one half of the discrepancies of our cooks. the great cook who circumnavigated the globe--who traversed seas remote, and explored lands unknown, found no such curiosities among the monsters of the great deep, or the uncivilized eccentrics on shore. one, as my maiden aunt delicately observes, becomes quite "inebriated"--off she goes; another has "followers"--off she goes; another increases her "kitchen stuff" at the expense of the fat of the meat, which she cuts off to a nicety (and my father is particularly fond of fat)--off she goes--another cannot cook a potato--off she goes; another forms a clandestine match with the butler after a week's intimacy--off she goes--he too falling a victim and losing his place. when i say that my mother seldom looks over the first offence, i explain pretty clearly how it is that every week finds us with a new cook. on the day of their engagement my sanguine parent invariably tells us "she has found a treasure;" a cook with such a character--never drinks--no followers--so honest--can cook anything;--such a woman for making "made up" (sometimes called french) dishes, &c. in a few days this treasure of a cook turns out to be, without a single exception, the very worst we ever had to endure (for it rather singularly happens that each in succession is "the very worst").--"oh, that dreadful woman!" is the cry. she boils what she should roast, and roasts what she should boil; she is a snuff-taker, and almost everything she cooks is supposed to savour of lundyfoot or prince's mixture. off _she_ goes before we find out a fair half of her intolerable propensities. if it be but a chop to serve up, i like it served up in a style that i can depend upon. underdone or overdone is of less consequence, so that i know beforehand, by experience of the cook's performances, _how_ it will be done. but this continual succession of "treasures" subjects us to a continual series of experiments. if we don't settle soon, the office, so far as our family is concerned, will be in danger of abolition. already has my distracted mother observed, on five different occasions, each time with deeper emphasis, "i _wish_ it were possible to do _without_ a cook." yesterday, when this exclamation escaped her, my father, who, excepting in a taste for fat, is a man of very philosophical notions, caught up the note, and said, doubtingly, "my dear, do you consider it to be _quite_ necessary to have a _dinner_ every day!" the last treasure we had only cooked our dinner on one day! she must have been a practitioner in some wholesale cooking establishment; cook to an ordinary on a grand scale, where dinners for a hundred and forty were daily prepared. we had to dine on cold meat for a week after she left us. you must know, that on the first day of her instalment in office, the butcher had been directed (we lived a few miles from town, and at a distance from any market-place) to send us a supply of animal food sufficient to last for about eight days. there were a leg of mutton--a saddle of mutton--a sirloin of beef--a round of beef, and various small nick-nacks for side dishes. well, my dear credulous mother received the new cook as usual. she found her to be a most enormous treasure; and she can at this day make affidavit, if necessary, that she gave her the proper directions about the dinner. on the day the circumstance i am about to relate took place, we had merely the family at dinner. on entering the dining-room, i observed my mother gently start, as her eye encountered a great number of large dishes round the table. she, however, suppressed her astonishment, took her place at the head of the table (my father never carved), said grace, and was sinking slowly into her chair as the servant raised the first cover. my mother instantly started up, exclaiming, in a tone of alarm, and with turned-up eyes, "mercy on us! the leg of mutton!" all eyes turned in a moment upon the uncovered mutton, and then on my agitated mother. the servant, after a pause, laid his hand on the second cover, upon which my mother had bent her looks. up went the cover amidst curling wreaths of steam. "good gracious! look at the sirloin!" cried my mother. we all looked accordingly at the sirloin, but without discovering in it anything peculiarly different from other sirloins. the removal of the next cover exhibited the round of beef--another exclamation from my mother. we now all commenced staring, first, at the joints, then at my mother, and then at each other. we certainly began to think, when a fourth joint had appeared in view, that there _was_ "something wrong." a pause ensued--my father broke it. "in the name of wonder," said he, "what's the matter?" "o that new cook," answered my mother, with a groan. "what has she _done_?" inquired my father. "_the whole weeks marketing!_" said my mother, sinking into her chair, for she had been standing all this time. "stupid woman," continued my father, "send her off immediately." "did you ever hear of such a _dreadful_ creature?" said my mother. "off she goes the first thing in the morning;" and sure enough our new cook gave place to another new one the very next day. my chief object in taking a trip in the "omnibus" is the hope of meeting somebody, in the course of its rounds, who may recommend to us some treasure of a cook, likely to suit my mother, and remain with her, say, for a month or two; for this changing once a week worries the life out of me. you all know the proverb that speaks of too many cooks. how true it is in our case! we want _one_, instead of a multitude. i shall not mention the name of the personage who is proverbially said to "send cooks." perhaps we have already had a protegée or two of his among our professors; but a cook of anybody's sending would be eagerly welcomed by me--so that she would but be a little steady, _and stop_! w. s. a song of contradictions. by laman blanchard. "i am not what i am."--_iago._ i. the passions, in festival meeting, i saw seated round, in a dream; and vow, by my hatred of cheating, the passions are not what they seem. there's mirth under faces the gravest, there's woe under visages droll; there's fear in the breast of the bravest, and light in the desolate soul. ii. thus joy, in my singular vision, sat sobbing and gnashing his teeth; while gentleness scoff'd in derision, and hope pick'd the buds from his wreath. despair, her tight bodice unlacing, with laughter seem'd ready to die; and hate, her companions embracing, won each with a smile or a sigh. iii. there peace bellow'd louder and louder, for freedom, sent off to the hulks; fear sat on a barrel of powder, and pleasure stood by in the sulks. here dignity shoots like a rocket past grace, who is rolling in fat; there probity's picking a pocket, here pity sits skinning a cat. iv. then temperance reeling off, quite full, charged friendship with drugging her draught; _she_ vowed it was love that was spiteful, while charity, blaming _all_, laugh'd; when rage, with the blandest expression, and vengeance, low-voiced like a child, cried, "mercy, forgive the transgression!" but mercy look'd horribly wild. v. old wisdom was worshipping fashion, and jollity dozing in gloom; while meekness was foaming with passion, and misery danced round the room. sweet envy tripp'd off to her garret, bright malice smiled worthy of trust, gay want was enjoying his claret, and luxury gnaw'd a dry crust. vi. at pride, as she served up the dinner, humility turn'd up her nose; suspicion shook hands with each sinner, while candour shunn'd all, as her foes. there's mirth under faces the gravest, there's woe under visages droll, there's fear in the breast of the bravest, and light in the desolate soul! frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter vi. the agitation and distress of mrs. heartwell at finding that frank did not return on the day of the ship-launch may readily be conceived--he was the only stay and hope of her heart. suspecting the cause of his absence, she set out for the tender at the tower; but as it was dark night, the sentries would neither allow her to come on board nor render any information, so that she was forced to return unsatisfied. but on the following morning she was again alongside, and learned the fate of her son and the negro, who were then at some distance down the river. this, though it removed her fears for his safety, did not diminish her anxiety for his welfare, nor was it till she received the letter announcing his being placed on the quarter-deck of the thunderbolt, seventy-four, that she felt relieved from the sickening apprehensions that had almost overwhelmed her. it was about this time that richard brothers, the supposed prophet, became extremely popular; and as he had declared that he was commanded by divine authority to proclaim the destruction of the city of london by earthquake and fire, many of his believers who resided within the doomed precincts quitted their habitations, and found temporary abodes outside the proscribed districts: amongst these was a mr. baurie, a tradesman of the strand, who, terrified at the denunciation, at a very considerable sacrifice of business and property, left his house and occupied mrs. heartwell's apartments. brothers resided in paddington-street, where he was almost worshipped as the prince of the hebrews, and the deliverer and king of the jews, who was to restore them to new jerusalem, and become their ruler; and as there had been some remarkable coincidences connected with his prophecies, thousands of all ranks--even bishops and clergy--visited him, and not a few gave full credence to his absurdities. he frequently called upon baurie, and, being a lieutenant in the navy, mrs. heartwell had more than once or twice conversed with him about her husband. his answers were invariably the same--"though he be dead, yet shall he live again--though he is lost, yet shall he be found." ambiguous as this reply may be considered, it encouraged the cherished hope that her husband would be restored to her. strong as her mind usually was, the mild and gentlemanly manners of the prophet, combined with his upright conduct and undeviating integrity, won upon her feelings; and though she pitied the weakness of his believers, there were times when his observations made a deeper impression upon herself than she liked to acknowledge. meetings were held in baurie's apartment, which were attended by numbers of the select--the principal of whom were brassey allhead, an intelligent oriental scholar, who had resided many years in india, and now sat as member of parliament for ----, william bryan, george turner, and others, who pretended to see visions, claimed the gift of prophecy, and bore testimony to the authenticity of brothers's mission--that he was the descendant of king david--the rod that was to come out of the stem of jesse, &c., &c.: in fact, there only wanted the "unknown tongues," which has since been discovered by the disciples of fanaticism, to render the whole farce perfect in all its parts. the twilight of a summer evening was gradually deepening its shade, when a hackney-coach stopped at mrs. heartwell's door, and the servant announced that a strange-looking woman who came in it had endeavoured to force her way into the house, and still remained clamorous to be admitted. without a moment's hesitation, mrs. heartwell went to the hall--the door was re-opened, but the lady could not help retiring back with amazement, when she beheld a stout female, in short dutch petticoats, wooden shoes, and a peaked-crown hat, who, in spite of the resistance of the servant, immediately and hurriedly advanced towards her. "who, and what are you?" demanded mrs. heartwell. "keep the woman back, mary!" the girl caught hold of the intruder's petticoats, but, observing a thick club queue hanging down the female's back, she shouted, "oh, my! ma'am, she's got a pig-tail!" and let them go again. "what is all this?--who do you want?" demanded the lady, retreating. "why don't you stop her, mary?" "lor', ma'am, i carnt," replied the girl, again catching hold of the petticoats, whilst a well-remembered voice laughingly exclaimed,-- "bless you, my lady--why, dont you know me? howsomever i hope i arnt frightened you; but what's the odds so as you're happy?" "can it indeed be ben!" said mrs. heartwell, in surprise. "but why are you dressed thus?" "oh, it's a long story, my lady!" replied the seaman; "and i've kept the duds on to circumwent the pressgangs. but i am so happy to see you again." mrs. heartwell extended her hand to the worthy tar, and as her child was the first object of her thoughts, she eagerly inquired whether he "had seen or heard anything of frank." from the answers she elicited, she very soon came to the conclusion that frank was not far off. "he is here, ben--i am sure of it. open the door, mary--the coach is still waiting--my son!--my son! merciful father, i thank thee!" the next minute the youth was in her arms; and sambo, full of joy at his return, sprang in and caught the servant-girl round the neck, so as to excite something like jealousy in the mind of ben, who however, in the fulness of delight, cut a few capers of the college hornpipe, exclaiming, "what's the odds, so as you're happy!" and making the hall echo again to the sounds of his wooden shoes. there was pleasure that night at mrs. heartwell's, both in the parlour and in the kitchen. in the former mr. baurie and family and mr. unity peach, who had called in, witnessed the gratification and anxiety of the mother as frank recounted his adventures from first to last, not omitting his interview with brady in the character of a traitorous spy, and stating that the merchant, with his wife and daughter, who had escaped in their company, had gone to an hotel in the neighbourhood. sambo and ben in the kitchen enjoyed themselves to their heart's content--the grog was abroach--the pipes sent forth their wreaths of curling smoke--the servants were delighted, and the hour was late before they all departed to their rest. the next morning frank and his two humble companions were supplied with suitable apparel, and mrs. heartwell looked with pride upon the handsome appearance of her son in his uniform, though a sigh would now and then escape as she contemplated the strong resemblance which he bore to his father, and when she thought how soon they must part again. the young midshipman, accompanied by the seaman and the negro, went to the admiralty and reported their escape to the secretary, who questioned frank pretty closely relative to what he had witnessed in paris. during the inquiry a tall, upright, stately gentleman entered the room, and not only remained to listen to the conversation, but put several questions to the youth, and seemed satisfied with the ready and pleasing manner in which they were answered. he was then directed to call the next day, and instructions would be given to him for their future proceedings. frank was quitting the admiralty gates, when a government messenger tapped him on the shoulder and an officer took him into custody. ben and the black would have resisted; but the youth desired them to desist, and, conscious of innocence of any crime, cheerfully accompanied the messenger, followed at a little distance by sambo and the seaman. the whole had been done so quietly that no bustle was excited, and they were soon in the home-office at downing street, and frank was summoned into the presence of mr. dundas, the secretary of state, and questioned relative to his having seen lawyer brady at the house of polverel, and what transpired there. the youth explicitly answered every interrogatory, and was requested to accompany mr. dundas to the privy council, which was then about to sit. the carriage was waiting; and when ben saw the smiling face of his young master as he nodded at him on ascending the steps of the vehicle, he became assured that nothing was wrong, though he determined to watch where he went to; and both the seaman and the black had a smart run for it till they saw the equipage enter the archway of a prison-like building, and ben became fearful that the young officer was "going to be clapped in limbo." he went up to the sentry and, offering him a bite of pigtail, inquired "what place that was," his mind became more appeased, though his wonder was not lessened, on being told that it was "the king's palace." the privy council had met, and lawyer brady was a prisoner before them on a charge of treasonable practices. several witnesses were examined, who gave evidence against him; but as nothing very conclusive could be drawn from it, he remained cool and firm till frank was introduced, when that peculiar rolling of the eye for which he was remarkable under sudden excitement plainly indicated strong internal emotion. [illustration: _richard brothers the prophet at mrs. heartwells._ london: tilt & bogue. . fleet street.] frank was at first somewhat confused, but he was encouraged by the tall gentleman he had seen at the admiralty, and who was, in fact, the earl of chatham, at that time the head of the navy. the youth narrated every particular that had transpired in connexion with brady at paris, and at the close of his examination he was requested to withdraw. he was shown into a room where the other witnesses were assembled, and here frank learned that brady had been engaged by the government as a spy amongst certain of the higher classes of society, whom he first betrayed, and then, having obtained all the intelligence he could of national affairs, it was supposed had secretly gone over to communicate his information to the enemy. this last supposition frank had confirmed; and the lawyer was committed to prison on a charge of high treason. on the following day frank had another interview with the secretary of the admiralty, and was desired to leave his address and remain at home till further orders, and the seaman and the negro had leave of absence extended to them. mrs. heartwell was much pleased at retaining her son with her for some time, especially as she received another handsome donation from her unknown friend, which enabled her to procure him a complete outfit. mr. wendover, the merchant, had called, and behaved with great kindness and attention to both the mother and son, and the latter was invited to pass a few days at a handsome mansion which had just been purchased near finchley common, and which gave a right to the owner as lord of the manor. frank was delighted--he had never ceased to treasure the most pleasing remembrances of the interesting girl who had clung to him for protection on the beach at blankenburg, and she, with all the tenderness and devotion of youthful affection, secretly cherished a warm regard for the young midshipman, and she most earnestly longed to see him again. on the evening previous to the intended visit, brothers, the prophet, held a "meeting" in the drawing-room of mr. baurie's lodgings, and as on these occasions--which were looked upon in the light of devotional exercises--none were excluded, mrs. heartwell, frank, mr. unity peach, ben and sambo, and two or three of his leading disciples, as well as the servants, were present. there was nothing in the illusionist's general manner that could be construed into aberration of intellect. he was perfectly intelligible and sane when his monomania was not called into operation. he was a strong-limbed man; his hair was cropped close--his full eyes bent upon a book that he held in his right hand, and from which he commenced his address by reading passages from the prophecies of daniel. his dress was remarkably plain, approaching to that usually worn by the society of friends, and his cravat was tied in the most exact manner, so that the bow in front resembled the cross of st. john of jerusalem. at first, his voice was mild and gentle; but as he proceeded and became warmed with his subject, his countenance assumed an expression of wild energy, his utterance became deep and sepulchral, till at length, throwing down the book, he stood erect, with his arms crossed upon his breast, as the spirit of prophecy seemed to come upon him. "woe unto ye of the earth who seeing will not believe; who hear and yet despise. i am he of whom it is said, that a man will be revealed to the hebrews as their prince, and to all nations as their governor, according to the covenant entered into with king david. haste then and flee from the wrath to come, for have i not prophesied, and it hath come to pass?--have i not foretold, and the fulfilment is at hand? did i not predict the downfal of monarchy in france? and lo! it hath fallen. did i not foretel the death of louis? and he is no more. did i not say the king of sweden was given over to destruction? the great gustavus is laid in the tomb by the hand of an assassin. have i not declared that england would be deserted by her allies? many of them are already gone, and the others will quickly follow.--the king of prussia will acknowledge the republic of france;--the government of poland will be changed, and the monarch driven from his throne;--the stadtholdership of holland shall be cut off close to the ground! hear and understand, ye men who are in authority! the prisons are crowded with captives charged with high treason, but the powers shall not prevail against them;--yet a little while and the prison doors shall be opened and the whole shall walk forth free. hearken, oh! ye hebrews, and listen, oh! ye people--london, with its armageddon[ ], shall be utterly destroyed.--lo! i saw in a vision, and satan clothed in white and scarlet, and breathing desecration and fire, was entering the condemned city, and suddenly there was strife and confusion among the citizens, and every man's hand was armed against his brother, till a river ran through london of the colour of blood, and there was a voice of fury and the noise of an earthquake, and there were groans of woe--woe--woe! and i prayed and wrestled with the spirit that the city might be spared, and he, the mighty one, was angered, and his wrath frightened away the angel from my side, and all became dark and oblivious; yet i saw in my vision that london had sunk into the bowels of the ground, and between the downs and windsor there was but one vast sheet of water, so that no trace of the city could be found. why will ye die, oh! house of israel?--hear and believe! and a storm shall arise--there will be consternation amongst our rulers--the english admiralty shall be shaken as a man would shake bread in a basket." (frank looked at ben, and his countenance evinced displeasure.) "the prop and stay of the nation shall be knocked away--her armies will be destroyed, and her navy will be annihilated--the carcases of her soldiers shall strew the earth--the bodies of her seamen in an ocean-grave lie buried--for the enemy shall prevail, and the proud ships shall be sunk or grace the triumph of the foe." here the prophet was interrupted by ben, who, rising up and biting through his quid, as he hitched up his trowsers, ejaculated with vehemence the word "gammon," seemingly to the great delight of mr. unity peach, who screwed his face into all manner of shapes to conceal his mirth, and uttered, "sit down, man--saucy sailor--go to sea." the prophet prepared to renew his subject; but frank, seconding ben's motion by rising also, boldly said, that "being a british naval officer he could not sit to hear the service he loved denounced--it would be treason to his country. the english ensign had been victorious on the seas, and its gallant defenders would never allow it to be dishonoured." "hurrah, master frank," shouted ben, "who cares for a bit of a breeze! nillyhate our navy indeed!--bury all hands in the ocean!--strike to the enemy too!--gammon, all gammon; but there, what's the odds so as you're happy." "neber see de day, boy," chimed in sambo, as he imitated the example of his master, "golly-make me tink ob em gullemtine." the three withdrew, and mr. unity peach soon afterwards left the party, "in order," as he said, "to scold the unmanly interruption given to mr. brothers," but in reality to vent his spleen against everybody; and the prophet very speedily took his departure. the stately and elegant mansion purchased by mr. wendover was indeed delightfully situated, and the grounds had been laid out with considerable taste and skill. joyous were the hours that frank passed there in the society of friends, who esteemed him as their deliverer from death, and particularly with helen, who not only admired the handsome young officer's improved appearance, but also very naturally evinced gratitude towards him for saving the life of her father. never were pair more truly happy; the present was to them all bright, and clear, and shining; they had no thought of the coming future; not a cloud intervened to cast a gloom upon their innocent enjoyments; and no pain was experienced till the time of separation approached, and then they felt how truly estimable and dear they were to each other. frank was on the verge of his seventeenth birth-day; helen had just passed her fifteenth; and both were experiencing those delightful sensations of affection, which in early life are so exquisitely delicious, because they are untainted by unhallowed thoughts or worldly desires. on the estate was a beautiful little rural cottage, over which the vine grew in rich luxuriance, and its garden shone bright with the varied hues of many flowers. often when passing it frank had wished it was the home of his mother, whose health had become impaired by lodging-house keeping, and she earnestly desired to retire from it. the place had been unoccupied for several years, and helen, without saying anything to frank, had urged the suit with her parents to offer it to mrs. heartwell as a residence. mrs. wendover and helen called upon that lady; and the former was so much gratified with the deportment and conversation of mrs. heartwell, that she at once made the proposition and invited her down to visit the place. the invitation was accepted, but before the day arrived frank was accosted in the street by shipkins, who had acted as brady's assistant, and he delivered a message from his employer, earnestly entreating that the youth would come to him, as he had affairs of importance to communicate. shipkins also added his own persuasions to go immediately; but frank peremptorily declined, until he had consulted with his mother, who, on his return home, not only advised the interview, but also resolved to accompany him as vague thoughts rose in her mind that possibly she might learn something respecting her husband. on the succeeding forenoon they went to the prison, and were informed that brady had contrived to make his escape during the night, and the officers were then out in search of him. protected from impressment by leave from the admiralty, both ben and the negro could go where they pleased; and as the merchant had presented them with a liberal sum, they did not fail to avail themselves of the enjoyment of freedom. the royal circus (as the surrey theatre was then called) was a place of great celebrity for its melo-dramatic performances, and the "unrivalled" feats of horsemanship, enlivened as they always were by the quaint humour of a clever clown. ben and sambo had gone to visit a relation of the former somewhere in the neighbourhood of walworth, and frank had engaged to meet them at the notorious tea-gardens known by the sign of the dog and duck, in st. george's fields, to accompany them to the circus. the morning and evening promenades at the dog and duck were frequented by all the dashing bucks of the time, with their ladies; and amongst the company might often be seen _gentlemen_ riders, whose _modesty_ on the highway induced them to put crape over their faces as they uttered "stand, and deliver"--in short, the place became the assemblage of the worst characters of society. frank, habited in plain clothes (as his uniform would not have corresponded with the dress of his companions), was crossing the open fields to the place of appointment, when shipkins again addressed him, and by assurances that he could inform him of the fate of his father, induced the young man to enter a respectable-looking house in the neighbourhood; but no sooner had they advanced into a room at the back of the premises, than frank was seized by two stout men, a wet cloth bound over his mouth, and he was conveyed to a sort of dungeon in the rear of the building, where his clothes were stripped off, and a canvas shirt and trousers substituted in their stead; an iron band was then clasped round his body, and he found himself chained to the floor. the intentions of shipkins were now evident; and frank conjectured that his death was determined upon. thinking more of his mother than himself, the young man suffered great distress, which was not relieved by a confused noise that suddenly commenced; and by placing his ear against the ground, he thought he could distinguish the strife of many human voices. what it meant he could not tell, but he was not long kept in ignorance, for in another half hour the door of his dungeon was thrown open, and ben and sambo, with a crowd of people, entered to his rescue. "he is not here," said the seaman mournfully, and not knowing the youth in his change of attire; "but this is another victim, anyhow--the man-trapping vagabones!" the black, however, with keener eye, had recognised his master, and he exclaimed, "golly, you blind, misser ben, for no see me young massa," and he bounded forward to release him; but the chain and band defied his strength--the key was not to be found; but the enraged populace applied crow-bars to the stone in which the staple was fixed, and, after much exertion, it was forced away, and frank was carried to the open air, where other unfortunate captives had been previously conveyed. it appeared that ben and the black were passing the house, which was notoriously known as one of the numerous crimping establishments of the neighbourhood, when their progress was arrested by a crowd that had gathered in front of it, and two or three declared that they had seen a young gentleman decoyed into it, and so many crimes had been perpetrated there, that they were determined to put a stop to them. ben required a description of the young gentleman, which was given, and suspicion crossed his mind that induced him to join the assailants; in fact, he became their leader--the doors were beat in--the windows smashed, and a forcible entrance made by the mob, whose numbers increased every minute. several poor creatures were discovered almost in a state of exhaustion, but the principals of the establishment had escaped. in one room ben found a part of frank's dress, and the sight almost maddened him. the search was continued, and resulted as has already been told; and now a wild but characteristic scene of lawless justice ensued. the mob dragged the furniture out into the fields, and piling it up fire was applied, and the whole was soon in a blaze. they next proceeded to demolish the building itself, nor did they cease till the whole was razed to the ground. but frank did not wait to witness the termination--a locksmith had succeeded in forcing the clasp of the band, and releasing him from the encumbrance, which sambo carried home with him as a trophy. mrs. heartwell was informed of what had taken place, and a probability was suggested that her husband might have been carried off in a similar way. the visit to finchley was made, and mrs. heartwell was persuaded by frank to accept the tenancy of the cottage, hoping that fortune would favour him with prize-money to render her life independent and comfortable. he had now twelve months' pay due, which, with what she would receive by disposing of part of her furniture, would serve for present exigencies; and a distant relation had bequeathed her an annuity of thirty pounds a year--so that prospects brightened before her. brady could not be found, and frank was ordered down to join his ship, that was then refitting at portsmouth, and to take sambo with him, whilst ben was directed to accompany them and procure a passage round to plymouth to the windsor castle. frank received a letter to his captain from the secretary, and set out for portsmouth, where he delivered his letter, and ascertained that it contained a strong recommendation of himself to the captain. being somewhat of a favourite with the first lieutenant, the young midshipman earnestly solicited him to use his influence in getting ben transferred to the same ship with him. the request prevailed; and ben, by the admiral's directions, was entered on the books of the "thunderbolt" seventy-four. nor was he disappointed in his expectations of prize-money, for in the course of a few months several valuable captures were made, and the young midshipman enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that his mother was comfortably settled at the cottage with a competence, and that helen when at finchley visited her daily. footnote: [footnote : by this name he called the houses of parliament.] a warm reception. harry paid twenty pounds of sterling metal, to risk his life in a balloon, which burst; tom and his friends, pic-nicking, boil'd a kettle, which harry (tumbling) fell into head first; but long ere what it was they well could settle, arose unhurt from where he'd been immersed-- and, "ah! why, tom," said he, "how do, my buck?-- "you see i've just _dropp'd in_ to take--_pot-luck_!" [illustration] tea-table tattle. "is your tea agreeable, my dear miss dibsley?" "thank you, dear mrs. hipson; quite pleasant; very much as i like it; all green with some black in it; a bit more sugar if you please." "glad you like the flavour; i've just changed my tea-dealer, and--" "and new _brooms_ sweep clean, as the saying is," tittered miss dibsley; "a trifle more cream,--thank you." "brooms!" ejaculated mrs. hipson gravely; "um! i hope you don't mean--by your mention of brooms--i assure you i ordered the very best seven shilling--" "oh dear, quite the reverse," returned miss dibsley, helping herself to another tea-cake. "with some very superior green," proceeded mrs. hipson, "at eight-and-six, which i do think quite a catch; but really it's extremely difficult to find good teas now-a-days, for since this curious business with china--" "oh! pray do tell me something about that," said miss dibsley; "for i never yet found anybody who knew, and never had patience to listen if they did. what has this emperor of delf been doing? the cream--thank you." "why, my dear, i've luckily had it all explained to me by a gentleman deeply concerned in the potteries, who consequently understands everything connected with china--it's his business--and he informs me on the best authority that the disturbance originally broke out thus:--you see there happens to be a place in america called the boundary-line, the natives of which employed a gentleman named mcleod to seize upon one of our east india ships and destroy its cargo of tea--these boundary-line people being jealous, as i'm told, of the spread of temperance in this country. whereupon our merchants in india naturally became incensed; and they applied, it seems, to the emperor of china for a considerable quantity of opium--of opium, don't you see?--with the view of selling it to america at a very reduced price, so that the boundary-line people might be tempted to buy the injurious drug, and thus become the instruments of their own punishment." "now i begin to understand," said miss dibsley. "euphemius hipson, my dear, you can assist me to another lump of sugar?" "oh! yes miss dibsley," said the young gentleman, jumping up nervously and spilling his tea over his new pepper-and-salt habiliments; "and if you'd like a bit more of this cake, here's such a nice--" "euphemius, my darling," cried mrs. hipson, "silence! would you like to take some more cake, miss dibsley? euphemius, go and sit down. well, my dear, as i was saying, the emperor of china, secretly instigated by his political crony, old mehemet ali--a very clever man, i need not tell you--positively refused to supply any opium to our merchants; and he seems to have acted with great obstinacy, for the french king and the sultan together vainly endeavoured to counteract the policy of the pacha, who had succeeded in persuading the emperor that we wanted all this opium for _home-consumption_--in fact (only think!) that the british were going to destroy themselves with _opium_, and that thus he should lose his best customers for _tea_." "i see it all," remarked miss dibsley; "euphemius, take my cup; and i think i'll try the bread and butter." "well, the opium _we could not get_, though the applications that lord palmerston made were unknown; however we could punish mehemet ali for his part in the transaction, and _you_ know as well as _i_ how matters ended in syria. i must tell you that his celestial majesty never once interposed to protect the pacha, but left him to his fate--this i know to be the case. well, our quarrel with china still remained open--" "cream, euphemius," said miss dibsley. "we refused to take tea----" "there's a good lad: a little bit more sugar." "we refused to take their tea without the supply of opium;--the emperor grew more and more incensed--told all manner of falsehoods, and asserted that our merchants had been administering opium to the chinese, (where should they get it, i should like to know!) with the view of producing sleep and plundering the tea-factories. he then, it is said--though i don't understand this part of the story--flung his chops in the faces of the british, and at length provoked our sailors to make an attack on everything in the shape of junk that they could find. and so to war we went--all, as you perceive, through the people of the boundary-line, and the meddling of mehemet ali." [illustration] "i never clearly understood the matter before," observed miss dibsley, stirring her fourth cup: "but what has the emperor been doing lately?" "lately, why haven't you heard? my dear, to prevent the british from being supplied, he has been ordering all his people to destroy their stocks of teas--hyson, souchong, bohea, congou--all they have, and promising to indemnify them every sixpence." "well to be sure!" exclaimed miss dibsley; (a little more _gunpowder_ in the pot would improve the next cup, my dear madam;) "only think! but isn't this a good deal like cutting his own nose off?" "of course it is, and what his celestial majesty will be doing next, i can't guess--i must ask my friend in the potteries _his_ opinion." "i shouldn't at all wonder," returned miss dibsley, "if he were to hang himself up on one of his own tea-trees by his own pigtail, as a scarecrow to frighten away the barbarians." "but if this destruction of tea is to go on, what are _we_ to do? what is to become of the tee-totallers, miss dibsley?' "can't say, my dear mrs. hipson, unless they turn coffee-totallers." "it's a melancholy affair, love." "it is indeed, dear. that last crisp little biscuit there is positively tempting,--and now i think of it, i'll just venture on _half_ a cup more tea; that sprinkling of gunpowder holds out deliciously. that'll do--thank you--charming!--these chinese, i believe, have nothing of a navy?" "i'm credibly informed," responded mrs. hipson, "that their ships are all made of earthenware--in the shape of milk-pots." [illustration] "yes, and their cavalry are all mounted on tea-kettles, and go by steam." "by the way--oh! miss dibsley, i had almost forgot--you have never seen the sweet copy of verses that our dear euphemius has been inditing on this curious chinese business. euphemius, my darling, show them to miss dibsley. he actually pictures the celestial emperor sitting on a teapot!--a teapot for a throne; how imaginative! i assure _you_--but i shouldn't like it to go farther--that our friend in the potteries thinks them quite remarkable, and says that the youth's knowledge of _facts_ is surprising: euphemius is hardly seventeen yet--quite a child! what an age of genius this is! euphemius, my dear, will you read?--martha, you can take away.--beg pardon, any more tea, miss dibsley? no!--not half a cup?--take away, martha. euphemius, dear, proceed with your poetry."--"hadn't i better read it for myself?" said miss dibsley. "no, i thank you," returned euphemius; "you won't find out the jokes so well as i shall, 'cause i haven't put 'em all in italics." (_euphemius reads._) the world rests on a tortoise, and a teapot rests on that, and on the teapot sitteth earth's emperor fierce and fat. he's brother to ten comets, and a dozen suns and moons; the ocean is his slop-basin, and his subjects are all spoons. forty cups of tea he taketh every minute of the day, and he's owner of a milk-walk, called by men the milky way. but for all his mighty emperorship, i wouldn't be in _his_ shoes, for there's steam enough about him to stew the chops he issues. if stronger he his tea makes, 'twill blow out half his teeth; for hot's the water under him, and there's gunpowder beneath. yet danger can't convince him, though it grow more strong and hot; of "green" he's proved a sample; he's "a spoonful for the pot." "_tu doces_" means "thou tea-chest," but to teach old china's tribe, we must read it thus, "two doses," such as nelson would prescribe. as sure as that's a teapot, he'll go upward with a whiz, and be, though more celestial, less majestic than he is. as sure as that same crockery community are crackt, their spouts, and lids, and handles, will go smash, and that's a fact. though _t_ be first and last of it, in them there'll be no _trust_, till "with your leaf, or by your leaf," death turns them to "fine dust." how puzzled be their crania beneath our cannon's roar! they never tasted anything but "cannister" before. they'll wonder what it's all about, when shot yet more abounds; they look into their teacups, and can't understand the grounds. while they fancy that there's nothing with their own tea on a par, i wonder what they think of the british t-a-r. this fact, celestial emperor, from experience we may know, if amongst the _quick_ we leave you, you will leave us--to the _sloe_. "very good indeed, euphemius;" cried miss dibsley, with a slight yawn; "capital; if you live long enough i haven't a doubt that you'll cut a very pretty figure as a poet in the pages of the _stoke poges gazette_, _or wormwood scrubbs and bullock-smithey register_." [illustration] omnibus chat. meditating luxuriantly in our omnibus the other day upon the elegant forms of the fair as they flitted in the sunshine through the streets of the west end, it occurred to us that we had neglected the fashions of late, and that the public might be expecting from us some report on the costumes of . in a vehicle like the "omnibus" it would be unpardonable not to _notice_ the fashions. it is a subject to which we intend to pay especial attention. while thus resolving, a lady _swept_ across the road, and blackie, the crossing-sweeper, attracted our attention by these observations upon the fair pedestrian:-- "wot berry obliging an kin' hearted tings dem white lady is!--dey not ony gib poor nigger de coppers, but dey so kin' as help him sweepa de crossing.--me suppose 'em not berry strong, poor tings, cos dey ony carry dem little doll umbrella, and dem little picanini bonnet; but dem berry nice lady, and look berry pretty for all dat. bless 'em little heart, me neber wear out-a my broom, if dey go on a-wear dem nice long train." [illustration] "blackie's right," cried our old acquaintance, mr. cavil, who now jumped in. not quite (thought we); for we could not find it in our hearts to complain _very_ seriously of the pretty dresses of the present day. perhaps the train _may_ be just a thought too long. but we left mr. cavil full room to denounce the pinafores turned hind part before, in which young gentlemen between sixteen and thirty-five perambulate on sundays; the best pinafore is but a poor apology for the "sunday coat," though they do try to carry it off with a grand air, and a cigar. the subject of playbills and playgoing now took the lead; for at this moment stepped into the vehicle, for the first time, a passenger, whose name it will be unnecessary to mention, if we introduce him under the designation of the playgoer. not old in years, he is not young in memory, and still less so in observation. by hearsay, or by optical note, he will tell you the colour of the small-clothes in which munden took his farewell of the stage, and describe the exact pattern of woodward's shoe-buckles. he hits off keeley to the life, and gives you a very lively imitation of stephens's pathetic execution of "auld robin gray." garrick he seems to have known from a boy, and he enlarges upon the grateful duty of subscribing to the fund now being raised for erecting a monument to siddons, as though he had seen that incomparable actress (so every great authority proclaims her) make her first and last appearance. we ought to have been born earlier; we ought to have seen mrs. siddons. "you go to the theatre, i suppose, mr. cavil?" inquired the playgoer of our old acquaintance beside him. "no i don't," was the response of mr. cavil, "but i read the playbills. the playbill is the _veluti in speculum_ for me. there i see human nature as in a mirror. there i read of envy, jealousy, and hatred--personal pique, private friendship--self-interest, sycophancy, adulation--in the varying forms of announcement, in the varying periods of omission--in the different sizes of type, in the significant conjunction of names--that may happen to compose the playbill. i see why this actor is to be run down now, and why the other is to be cried up then. i detect a reason for the implied insult, a motive for the palpable puff. your playbill is a wonderfully accurate expositor of the mysteries of your human being. i don't want to go _into_ the theatre, while i can read what i find at the doors. the bill's better than the play. if you want an example, look at that placard there (pointing as we passed to one that bore her majesty's name at the head of it), i should like to see a comedy coming up to that! there you read of a piece-- "'which, from its strongly affecting scenes, and powerfully harrowing situations, has nightly drawn tears of pity and commiseration from the sterner heart of man, from all who have one _spark_ of the _milk of human kindness_, whilst woman's softer nature has swollen with bitterest indignation at the unmerited suffering and patient endurance of the hapless foundling.' "such a bill as that is payable at sight. i can't read it without tears. its bold metaphorical originality is unequalled in our literature. we have heard of the 'fountain of our daily bread,' and of the 'fire of patriotism flowing into other channels;' but who ever before heard of a 'spark of the milk of human kindness!' shakspeare never ventured to make the daring combination." "mr. cavil," said the playgoer, "i admire your literary acumen. as you have shown how the theatre furnishes amusement to those who never go into it, let me show in turn that, within, the field of amusement is not exclusively the stage. we need not travel just now 'behind the scenes;' there we may find ourselves another time; for the present we are satisfied with "a romance of the orchestra." i once witnessed a scene (say six or seven years ago) in the orchestra of covent garden, which for ludicrousness of effect, and the mysterious manner in which it arose, surpassed anything that ever came under my notice. a friend, considerably my senior, and a playgoer of the time of the kembles, was one of my companions; the other was his wife, to accommodate whom, being shortsighted, we had established ourselves in the front row of the pit, on the prompter's side. at the commencement of the overture, we found that the scroll-end of one of the large double basses intercepted the lady's view of the stage, and a request was preferred by my friend to the performer (a most eccentric-looking genius, with only one eye, and that apparently turning on what mechanics call 'an universal centre'), to alter his position, but he very uncourteously refused to move; and still worse, on the rising of the curtain, he left the instrument secured in a perpendicular position, so as to completely obstruct our lady's view. thus he left it, in spite of all our remonstrances. i, with the desperate indignation of youth, was for cutting the string and letting it fall down, but was restrained by my elder and more wily friend, who whispered me 'never mind, i'll serve him out.' he then changed places with his lady, and all went on quietly till the fall of the curtain, when i suddenly missed him. he returned, however, in a few minutes, with a large piece of--yes, of _candle_; and he gave me a look which indicated that i was not to see anything. yet i _did_ see, that while the rest of the audience were looking round the house, he leant over, and, unobserved by any one else, applied the grease with dexterity and effect to the strings of the offending instrument. he then took his seat, apparently as unconcerned as any spectator in the pit. in due time the bell rang for the music to the afterpiece, and we saw our musical adversary enter, release his instrument, and seat himself. he then tried the strings at his ear, and finding all right indulged himself with a pinch of snuff, and quietly awaited his time. the second bell rang-the leader gave the preliminary tap-tap, and off they went in the overture to tancredi. after a few bars, it was our enemy's turn to chime in: he sawed away with right good will, but, to his utter amazement, without producing the desired effect. he looked down inquisitively with his single optic, but without comprehending the mystery. again he tried, and of course with the same result; another downward look, and the truth seemed to flash across him. his one eye glared most horribly; but not on us did his anger fall. in front of him, perched on a high stool, with a step half way up for his feet, sat a little wee _homo_, working most industriously at a violoncello, as big as himself, and in a sweet unconsciousness of the storm gathering in his rear. on this unoffending victim did he of the double bass vent his rage--for after the second brief look at his useless instrument he darted one piercing glance at the violoncello player, deliberately deposited his bow on the desk before him, and dealt the little man so sound a cuff on the head, that musician, stool, violoncello, and desk, went down 'in one astounding ruin,' damaging the shins and toes of immediate neighbours, literally putting their pipes out, and producing discord dire throughout the realm of harmony. in vain did the leader rap his desk and try to keep his flock together. on looking round he found his first flute and fourth violin busily rubbing their legs; the second trombone gentleman dreadfully irate at having a favourite corn hurt by the stool falling on it; the small violoncello player awfully pugnacious; while the grand cause of all was looking on, with a diabolical smile on what passed for his face, and muttering _sotto voce_, 'i'll teach you to play me tricks again.' we looked quietly on, and my friend gave it as his opinion, that it was a great pity that the gentlemen could not settle their quarrels in private, instead of bringing them before the public in such a disgraceful way. how it ended i know not, for the curtain rose before it could be adjusted, and the 'harmonists' retired; but we subsequently learnt, that our hero of the double bass was, from a boorish temper, much disliked in the orchestra, and that to his great annoyance tricks had been frequently played off upon him; hence his sudden and violent retaliation on his supposed tormentor. * * * * * our friend the playgoer having thus introduced us to one of the curiosities of music--a practiser of sweet sounds, who was anything but the harmonist he seemed--his story suggested the image of an equally contradictory humorist, whom we had recently encountered; and we therefore without ceremony presented one of the curiosities of literature. 'twas evening, and loud raged the autumn blast, as in an author's darken'd room i stood. it was a sight to stir the pitying blood; his soul seemed struggling with some trouble vast; his thin hand held a pen--his eye, downcast, traced its slow movement o'er the blotted sheet; his air was wild--his heart, i heard it beat! lone, pale, he sat, a spectre of the past, like werner when the waters round him throng, or like the banish'd lord. his heavy task weighs on his brain--ah! when may it be done! "what write you, troubled spirit?" then i ask; in thrilling tones he said--"a comic song, 'tis for the _jolly sandboy_, no. ." here we stopped to take up another passenger, "his first appearance in our stage," though evidently an experienced literary traveller. we all welcomed the new arrival; and mr. quickly (for this was his name) pretty soon began to convince us of his qualifications for a pleasant companionship along the road of life. we pass by what he said of ourselves, with the bare remark, that like falstaff's story, "it was worth the listening;" but still worthier of it was this, which he recounted to us under the title of an incident of travel. "will you put that window down, sir?" "certainly not, sir, i have a bad cold!" such was the request addressed to his vis-à-vis in the royal mail by a small gentleman in a suit of black and a profuse perspiration; and such was the answer returned thereto by the person addressed, a highly nervous individual rejoicing apparently in about fifteen stone, certainly in a blue coat with gilt buttons, a sealskin cap, a red face, and nose to correspond.-- "will you put down the window, sir?" again demanded, after a few minutes, our friend of the sable garments, in a tone half angry, half speculative.-- "really, sir," was the answer, "i am sorry, sir--but must decline to do so." "do you intend to open the window?" a third time exclaimed the pertinacious votary of freedom--in accents wherein scorn and wrath were blended, with a quivering lip and pallid cheek. the lusty man shrunk back in his place--an assault with violence seemed impending. but though a large--he was a brave man, and he said "no!" * * * again there was a pause--a decidedly unpleasant and embarrassing silence. the little querist turned pale, and gave a deep sigh--at last, in a voice of thunder, he roared out. "will you, sir, or will you not put down that window?" and at the same moment his hand with nervous rapidity sought his coat pocket. the red faced man trembled--he turned pale, and cast a supplicating glance at the other two inmates of the carriage, as who should say--"pray help me--i may be murdered--i really think the wretched imp must have a stiletto or loaded pistol in his pocket." the glance seemed satisfactory--for the great gentleman after a short pause mildly said--"i will not, sir!" in a second--a large silk pocket handkerchief was suddenly jerked from its place of repose by the diminutive tormentor of his gigantic victim. with a face of ashy hue he held out the indian kerchief with one hand--the other reclined gracefully on the region of his heart. anger had passed away from his brow--slowly and deliberately he cast an unearthly look on his trembling victim, and said-- "then--sir--you--must--take the consequences, (here he gave symptoms of spasmodic affection,) for--i am--going to be--sick!" * * * when the royal mail entered the town of s----, it was observed by the loiterers round the king's head yard, where it changed horses, that, though a chilly day--_both_ windows _were down_. a tall fat man too was observed reclining in the extreme corner of the vehicle, with a handkerchief tied round his face--evidently suffering from cold. his opposite neighbour--a little man in black--had his head out of the window--and there was a smile on his countenance. * * * * * sympathy for our fat friend, writhing and shivering in the corner of the mail, at the mercy of that little black imp with a smiling countenance, naturally enough suggested "fatness" as a topic of conversation; everybody, as everybody does in these cases, giving his opinion upon the moral and physical tendencies of obesity; some regarding that condition as rather civic than courtly, and others speculating as to its effects upon the temper and disposition; this person holding a proper degree of it to be indispensable to a fine woman; and that asserting a plentiful supply to be essential to the weight of every person in authority. one contended that nobody could have good humour or generous wit without fat, and another, that genius and fat have from the very beginning of the world been divided. it was easy to gather, however, that fat, in the social code, was associated with a certain amount of respectability, and had always the invaluable property of redeeming its possessor from insignificance. we could observe too that those who had it were neither proud of it nor pleased with it, while those who had it not would give the world for a good slice of the blessing. we also noticed that every speaker in turn, apparently unconscious that his neighbour had just done the same thing, quoted the line--"who drives fat oxen must himself be fat." at this instant all heads were attracted to the windows by a spectacle presented at the back of a carriage just then passing; behind it, in all the pride and pomp of white silk hose, appeared a splendid pair of calves, accompanied by a livery-coat, cocked hat, and cane. a little boy had presumptuously mounted the "step behind," and the proprietor of the calves, instead of ordering him off, thrust him brutally down by an application of his foot to the face of the unfortunate urchin. boys are little men, especially in their passions; and resentment of injury is a sharp and subtle suggester. the youthful proselyte of vengeance, after an instant's consideration, darted forwards, caught hold of the rail of the carriage, ran behind it a few feet, and then thrust a pin into one of the broad, round, _shaking_ calves of the footman. with uplifted leg he stood, while the carriage rapidly bore him away from his retreating tormentor. he had a stick, but he could not use it; he was in a free country, yet he dared not stop the carriage. he was hopelessly, ridiculously helpless. how he envied all those of his fraternity who wore padded calves. a cork leg would have been a real blessing! [illustration] "here's a bit of fat for you!" cried a learned professor of obesity, at the same time tossing over to us an accurate account of the dimensions of one thomas hardy kirman, whose case mr. pettigrew submitted to the royal society in . this boy, before he was quite twelve years of age, measured five feet one, and weighed lbs. he was / inches round the waist, / round the calf, and across the shoulders. his obesity commenced at six years of age, at which time he fractured his thigh and was confined six weeks. [illustration] "why didn't they _let_ him out to hire," said mr. cavil, "to the expositors of mesmerism; he must have been made to stick pins into. think of a human creature being turned into a pincushion! it fills all my flesh with a sense of glass splinters and whitechapel blunts." here our young acquaintance, charles hookeywalker, with delicate tenderness, proposed a relief to the feelings of the speaker by volunteering a sonnet. "another sonnet!" cried mr. cavil, "worse and worse, i hate sonnets." but the subject in this especial instance was voted to contain a saving grace, for it was addressed to the princess royal, while yet she is heiress presumptive. o royal cherub! first-born of the queen! sweet babe! bright creature! light of all our eyes! young heavenly visitant! from the blue skies, and from the guelphs, descended! thou hast been as a new moon to britain--not a _son_; but half a loaf is better far than none-- and so we welcomed thee; but oh! i ween, (not thee--i leave thy nurses to wean thee,) towards the next our expectations lean upon hope's anchor, wishing for a "he;" who shall sometime rule britons and the sea; and till he rules our land and ocean green, the princedom of its _wales_ his own will be, that he may learn the trick of sovranty! mrs. toddles. to the proprietor of george cruikshank's omnibus. sir.--i write to complain of the conduct of some of your people, more specially of that impertinent fellow who is always holding his finger up at me (i suppose in derision); i wish i only knew his number. how dare he, sir, make his impudent remarks about me or my bonnet! if i chuse to wear a large bonnet, i suppose it's no business of his, or anybody else's; the fact is, that that bonnet is quite a new one, i bought it just before this ridiculous fashion set in of wearing no bonnet at all--a fashion, let me tell you, that i am determined never to follow; besides, i found that altering would only spoil it, and i was not a going to do that to please no one. besides, you will allow that it was very hard after paying for a large full-sized bonnet, to throw, as it were, so much of it away to waste, and to make a small one of it; and then i beg to tell the "govener," as those fellows call him, whoever he may be, that it is a very rude thing to stick one's picture up in the shop windows for every body to stare at, and make their rude remarks upon. i suppose i am not obliged to spoil all my dresses in order to follow this _draggletail_ fashion; and as to my being too late "agen," as that vulgar creature says, why, i am quite sure that i have never been behind time more than ten minutes or a quarter of an hour at the outside. besides, do not you invite ladies in particular to patronise your omnibus, and promise to accommodate them? let me tell you, sir, it's no accommodation to ladies, unless you can wait a few minutes for them. now, when a gentleman is going out, he has nothing to do but to put his hat on; but consider, sir, the number of things we have to look for when we are going out--bracelets, gloves, handkerchiefs, reticules, smelling-bottles, watch and chains, lockets, rings, parasols, and perhaps clogs--not to mention the difficulty of tying on one's bonnet sometimes to please one; and then again, there is the pinning of one's shawl or scarf, particularly if you've got a stupid bit of a girl to worry your life out, all of which you gentlemen know nothing about, and can't understand. and there are other reasons if i chose to mention them. i can tell you that my hairdresser was very near losing my custom for ever; and i dare say my milliner will learn the necessity of sending a dress cap home in time to try it on before one goes out another time. in conclusion, sir, i have only just to say, that all this hurry-skurry, and flying about after your omnibus, and being stuck up in the shop windows, has made me extremely ill; and i have only to add, that i have written to my friend, colonel walker, to acquaint him with the whole business, and if he advises me to enter an action for damage and libellous treatment, i shall certainly do so.--i am, sir, your humble servant, (although insulted,) sarah toddles. _neat cottage, smallwood's rents, little chelsea, july th, ._ p. s. i am quite sure that this _punctuality_, as gentlemen are so particular about, will lead to serious mischief to the public; see what it has done in my case, in consequence of your omnibus not waiting for me. my dress cap (which my _fool_ of a girl had done up in _coloured_ paper that _run_) was entirely spoiled by the rain, so that i shall never be able to wear it; and two respectable tradespeople, you see, were nearly losing a good customer. p. p. s. i open this letter to say i have just discovered that i have lost a very nice cambric pocket-handkerchief, and a bracelet is gone that i would not have lost for _any money_; besides which i got my feet wet, through going without my clogs. * * * * * [illustration] *** we readily give insertion to the above letter, and while we regret the lady's disappointments, beg to assure her that no impertinence was intended by anybody connected with the omnibus. we shall be proud to number her among our passengers if she can contrive, at some future period, _to be in time_. we lament her indisposition; but of course a lady of her good sense will not fail immediately to consult dr. buchan, or the erudite culpepper; if we _might_ suggest, we should respectfully advise the lady to put her feet in hot water, and to take a glass of nice warm rum and water, with a bit of butter in it. [illustration] [illustration: ghosts. _designed etched & published by george cruikshank--oct^r. ^st _] frights!--no. iii. it may be doubted whether malignity itself occasions greater mischief in the world than _fun_. if society may count up its thousands of victims to the venomous propensities of the envious and the revengeful, so may it also reckon its thousands of martyrs to propensities the very opposite to theirs--victims to passions the most joyous and guileless--to feelings the most sportive and child-like; in short, to a taste for frolic--to a love of _fun_. the malice of an enemy is sometimes not more dangerous than the gamesomeness of a friend; the slanderous tongues of the envious and the vile often prove far less sharp and fatal, far less productive of permanent misery to the innocent, than the jocularity of a prankish old fool of a nurse, or the light-hearted sally of an affectionate but deplorably stupid parent. there is plenty of tragedy in this life, acted in earnest; but there is a good deal of real poisoning done "in jest." people _will_ sport jokes that are no jokes. to every domestic circle into which this page may penetrate, the subject will perhaps suggest some recollection of disasters more or less serious that have arisen from silly and unthinking frolics, prompted more especially by that for which human nature has so intense, so enlightened, and so philanthropic a relish--the fun of frightening people. we hope it may be from no bitter or melancholy experience that the reader concurs with us in seeing "no fun in it." the merry laughing face of this species of "fun," has proved a death's-head ere now; the figure of "fun" has turned out to be a hideous hobgoblin with outstretched arms--a finger-post pointing to the next lunatic asylum. if the fatal consequences that frequently ensue from these practical jests admitted of any feeling in the mind, associated however remotely with ridicule, how exquisitely ludicrous would the position of that man appear, who having enjoyed his funny trick, and played out successfully his game of fright, beholds his triumph in the pallid visage, the wild glance, the trembling limbs, the hurried pulse, the panting heart of the object of his cruel sport; and becoming alarmed in turn at the effect which he had taken such pains to produce, is obliged to make some attempt to palliate his error and to chase away the spectres he has conjured up, by exclaiming in the most deprecating and apologetic tone--"i never thought it would have frightened you so, it was only my fun!" we almost wish that the legislature would--just for the "fun" of the thing--pass some law that might reach these reckless and desperate experimentalists, and punish the humorous players upon people's nerves, with a severity proportioned to the whimsicality of the hoax. the law recognises the criminality of those who carelessly or wilfully sport with the safety of people's legs, arms, or necks; and it is peculiarly severe upon all who heedlessly venture to trifle with the sacredness of our goods and chattels; but it has no eye to the playful freaks of practical jokers, to whose insatiable thirst for fun the credulous child, the timid girl, the weak-nerved woman, fall victims; it has no ear for the short sudden shriek that bursts involuntarily from white and quivering lips, sounding not unfrequently the knell of sanity in those who utter it, or proclaiming the approach of vacant, hopeless, miserable idiocy. the disciples of this school of fun are sure to find plenty of nerves admirably suited for them to work upon. children are prepared for the sport almost in their cradles. nine out of ten are trained up in terror. they are taught the destructive lesson of fear, before they can even spell the word. before they can speak plainly, they become practised in the instinctive expression of their feelings, by shuddering, screaming, and crying their little hearts out, at the idea of "bogie," and the horror of being left alone in the dark. the very moment this idea is engrafted upon the sensitive mind, the instant this horror takes possession of the child's imagination, it loses something of the health and happiness to which it was born. the dread of being in the dark--of being alone, and in the dark--clouds perhaps all its after life. it sees nothing that really is, in its true light, from the fear of seeing something which is not. the influence of the first horror of "bogie," remains for years and years after the particular species of "bogie" that had excited the agony of alarm has become an absurdity too childish to be even laughed at. unconsciously, the mind is sensibly affected, in ten thousand different forms, by the very image which it despises and ridicules. the silly bugbear of the nursery has an abundant and most appalling progeny. in this, more perhaps than in any other respect, may it be said that "the child is father of the man." the idea of darkness as something terrible would in few instances be fixed in the mind, were it not for the cruel and senseless practices, by which servants of all grades--we may add, teachers of some--work upon the imagination of children. they are taught to see in darkness a natural enemy, as they are sometimes taught to regard school as a punishment. "if you are not good, you shall be shut in the dark closet,"--or "if you don't behave better, you shall be sent to school immediately." these are family phrases not yet quite out of fashion. the consequences now and then take an unexpected turn. a little damsel of our acquaintance was shut up in a dark room; she cried bitterly, violently, for the first five minutes; then all was suddenly still--quite still; ten minutes went on, and yet there was a dead silence within. the family at length began to be uneasy--then frightened--too frightened to go and ascertain the cause of the phenomenon. at length they rush forth and burst open the door, when they discover that the little victim had--alone and in the dark--found her way to a plate of cheesecakes left accidentally in the apartment, and was making herself extremely ill for want of other amusement. * * * * * how many wits have been set wandering by roadside horrors, raised up from the elements of the ridiculous! the simplest objects become the means of deadly mischief. a donkey in the deep shadow, a cow in the dim moonlight, a stump of an old tree, a white finger-post at the corner of a by-path, have produced in myriads an agony of agitation; but what are these to the good old english country ghost, the elements that compose which we here set in their uncombined, and therefore unterrifying forms, before the spectator. why, here are agents by which even the most unskilful may succeed in frightening a whole parish--nay, a county. look upon these the simple means, and then behold the easily manufactured ghost! [illustration] but of all fields for frights the church-yard is the most productive of terrors! yet why? whosoever wanders over one in the daytime will find, be he in town or country, that he is surrounded by none but the most amiable and affectionate people in the world--by the kindest of relations--the faithfullest of friends. such people are little likely to start from behind their tombstones, in the dark, for the mere pleasure of frightening benighted wanderers. in a churchyard, if the inhabitants be rightly described, there should be no terror! but what shall we say for a church, the sanctuary of the disturbed passions, a temple dedicated to sacredness and love. yet where is the pious individual who would feel no tremor, if left to pass the night within the gothic aisles of such an edifice? in the vulgar superstition all churches are haunted, so also is every house that happens to be "in chancery." there are two classes of haunted tenements--one celebrated for mysterious sights, and the other for mysterious sounds. the old cock-lane ghost, and the various modern editions of that personage at cambridge and elsewhere, are specimens of the visible; the recent mysteries at windsor and dublin are examples of the audible. opinions differ as to which is the truly terrible. for ourselves, though shadows without substances are eminently agitating--noises without the slightest possible cause--noises, sudden, strange, and above all self-existent--noises of this kind at midnight--in the wainscot, in the next apartment which is empty, in the room below where the gentleman took the dose of poison by mistake--are not, we make bold to confess, a sort of sound that we should like to go out of our way to listen to. [illustration] of the audible ghost, addison's comedy of the "haunted house" contains the noisiest representative on record; and perhaps defoe's account of the apparition of mrs. veal appearing to her friend, presents the visible ghost in most extraordinary reality to our all but believing eyes. but talk of believing--we shall put the reader's faith to the test, by inviting him to take a peep into a "haunted house" which we have fitted up for his reception. hark! * * * * * we remember two of papa's friends who were "regular story tellers." mr. o'brien had a store of irish legends (of these hereafter); mr. t. smith had a variety of ghost stories. of one of these a haunted house was the scene--a whole family of ghosts the dramatis personæ. we must premise, that at the time referred to, it was the fashion to wear "pigtails," and mr. smith, who had eschewed "pig-tail" and patronised "short cut," or crop, used to say when asked what he had done with his pig-tail, that "thereby hangs a tale," which joke he retailed at every opportunity. we may also intimate that a good "ghost story" was in those days a valuable little property. mr. smith seldom dined at home, and always passed his evenings at other people's firesides. in truth, for more than three parts of the year, his "ghost story" procured him "bed, board, and lodging," gratis, including "coals and candles." now then, let the reader imagine a small family party seated round the fire, on a winter's evening, and let mr. smith tell his own story in his own way.---- i was staying (he began) some years back at squire calf's, at danglewitch-hall, near nantwich, in cheshire: my friend, o'brien here, was also a visitor. ("sure i was," says mr. o'b. with a grin--he was a merry fellow that o'b.) one evening the conversation turned upon clay-hall, an old deserted mansion, that was reported to be haunted. strange sights, strange sounds, and strange stories, filled the neighbourhood with alarm; and what surprised me at that time was, that all the danglewitch people seemed firmly to believe in them. being a little elevated, i bantered the family upon their ridiculous fears--i have since learned to pay more attention to other people's opinions--and so enraged the squire, that he offered to bet fifty guineas to one, that i would not dare to sleep in that house for one night. no sooner said than "done," cried i, and proposed to go immediately. the squire instantly ordered the servant to get the key from the old women at clay-park lodge, to light a fire in the blue-room, and to provide, besides a pipe and tobacco, a good bottle of brandy. the whole party, in a merry mood, sallied forth to conduct me to my quarters. soon after i wished them all good night, and fastened the door. i had a brace of pistols and a good sword-stick. i drew my sword and went over the house at once, to see that the fastenings were secure--for though not afraid of ghosts, i objected to being surprised by robbers. everything was in a dilapidated state, but i ascertained that the locks and bolts, although rusty, were sufficiently strong to resist an intruder. i was also certain, that no one was concealed. i then proceeded to my apartment, which was on the first floor at the back of the house. i slowly ascended the large staircase. the sound of my footsteps echoed through the empty mansion. as i approached the landing i was startled by a sudden noise, like the slamming of a door, and recollected that one of the upper rooms was without a fastening. all was silent again. i could hear myself breathe. i then held up the light, and looked first up, and then down, the well staircase, and began to feel that i had done a rather foolish thing--there might be after all a secret inlet--i might be robbed, murdered. but it was too late to recede; and the fear of being laughed at overcame every other fear. i now entered my chamber and secured the door. the bright fire and the candles gave a cheering look to a room otherwise dreary enough; for it was of large dimensions, and its colour was a deep dingy blue. at one end stood a huge four-post bedstead, hung with dark blue tattered damask curtains, edged with black; the head of each post was ornamented with a ragged plume of dark-blue feathers, which gave to it rather a funereal appearance. i examined every part, and beneath the bed perceived a large chest, which i found to be firmly locked. pushing it aside, i proceeded to explore the two closets that flanked the fire-place. amongst a quantity of loose lumber, wig boxes, hat boxes, and odd slippers, i discovered an old black letter volume (a good deal nibbled), but, as sir walter scott says, "worth its weight in gold for all that;" it was "god's revenge against murther." i just gave it a bang upon the table to knock out the dust. the blow produced a most tremendous noise that nearly stunned me, and was echoed apparently from every corner of the building, followed by the rattling of falling mortar behind the wainscot, and a scampering as if ten thousand rats were flying in all directions. the cloud of dust almost stifled me; but not quite overcome, i applied myself to my brandy, and filled my pipe, stirred the fire, snuffed the candles, opened my book, and began to read. i read on in silence, broken only by the regular puffing of smoke, the ticking of my watch, and the singing, or rather sighing, of the kettle. the book absorbed my whole attention. i was insensibly moved by its revelations. i was so worked upon by it that i felt a kind of lifting of the chair beneath me, and a peeping shadow appeared evermore between the candle and the page. suddenly, at a most exciting point, i heard a gentle rustling of the bed-curtains. on looking round--horror! never to be forgotten!---- i distinctly saw a tall figure enveloped in a long night-dress, which touched the ground. it was standing sideways towards me, so that the face was hidden by a large feminine cap, which, however, it removed and threw upon the bed, discovering a most fearful and ghastly profile. it went through the operation of making its toilet before a small glass, then looked towards the trunk, and then to the bed. after a moment's hesitation, the trunk was opened, and it proceeded to put on an old-fashioned brocade dress. the figure then, after surveying itself in the mirror, slowly turned round, and moved towards me. i felt my blood curdle, my flesh crawl. it passed the foot of the bed, and advanced towards the door. the eyes were cast down; the hand was upon the fastenings. at this instant the village clock struck, or rather tolled out twelve--and as the last stroke of the bell floated on the breeze, the figure gradually raised its head, and fixed upon me a pair of horrible glaring eyes that turned my heart to ice. a sharp sliding noise on the wall opposite made me turn to look, and the two portraits, a lady, and an officer in a blue uniform, appeared to be leaning out of their frames, and watching me intently. the figure then hastily passed out of the room, uttering a screaming note, wilder than the moaning wind. this was answered seemingly from the cellars by a most hideous long-drawn howl, followed by the rattling of locks, bolts, and chains, and a confusion of strange unearthly sounds. i sprang up and seized my pistols. there was a dead silence. i could distinctly hear a whispering, not only on the stairs, but in the closets, the doors of which were slowly pushed open, and more than one pair of eyes flashed upon me from the dark; in an instant the door of the room creaked slowly, and i beheld two or three parchment faces, with fiery eyes, gazing at me. i made now a desperate effort, and levelling a pistol either way, uttered a fierce menace, threatening to fire, if they advanced. this threat was answered by a queer sort of tittering and snuffling; in desperation i pulled the triggers; the result was a double flash in the pan, which overspread the room like a sheet of blue lightning. then broke forth--a laugh--ten times more horrible than the laughter of a herd of hyenas--i could endure no longer, and sank into the chair, the pistols dropping from my hands. there was a dead pause, and i heard something like the mewing of a cat, yet seemed it like the voice of a child in distress; and my attention was attracted by the appearance of a black skeleton of a cat, who was setting up its back, growling and spitting. it then slowly advanced and prowled round the fire-place, and sitting down opposite to the fire with its back towards me, turned its head, and its fearful green eyes met mine. i next heard the whelping of a cur, and the distant, hollow, wolf-like baying of a watch-dog. the sounds approached; the dog-chain rattled up the stairs. i tried to seize my sword, but was paralysed. i could just glance towards the door, whence came a strange, shuffling sound, and the next moment i saw an extraordinary figure enter, with a large carving-knife in his hand. he was dressed in blue livery, with tags--a round paunch--high bony shoulders, and spindle-shanks--he wore a blue welsh wig--and his nose, which was of enormous size and hooked, was of a deep blue also: it was like burning brimstone. he was followed by a skeleton-like figure; also in livery, and armed like his fellow. these stood and stared at me. they were followed by a figure, marching into the room with an air of consequence. he was not prepossessing: dimly-glaring saucer-eyes, with a decided cast in them; a small, pinched bit of blue nose; a spacious mouth, with a tooth or two exposed; the look of age diffused over all. he was wrapped in a blue dressing-gown, and wore a large curled blue wig. as _he_ entered, all appeared blue--the candles, and the fire, whose flames curled themselves into the likeness of some ghastly thing. the whole company, for there were now many intruders, seemed covered with blue mould; they were the children of mildew and decay; they looked damp and slippery. the veteran in the dressing-gown advanced to the fireside with dignity, and looked at me with a withering scowl. i guessed at once that he was, or _had been_, the master of the mansion, and politeness prompted me to rise. he motioned me to be seated, and then took a chair. a little boy was at his side, and the stately figure of a lady also stood near him--other faces peered over his chair. my venerable host then bent forwards, and placing his hands upon his knees, looked sternly in my face and said, in sepulchral tones,--"_pray, sir, did you ever hear that this house is haunted?_" * * * * i was thunderstruck! what answer could i make? not a moment was allowed me for reflection, for i instantly felt a violent tug at my pigtail behind, and the brimstoned-nose butler, leering in my upturned face, exclaimed, "and you don't believe in ghosts!" my terror was at its height. i heard no more; but i _saw_--i saw the knife flashing, and felt that, though my head was not off, my pigtail was gone! shouts of exulting malice rent the air---- but here mr. smith was interrupted by a shout of exulting laughter from one of his listeners. it was mr. o'brien. "o, ho!" screamed that gentleman; "i'll be kilt intirely. a mighty ingenious tale you've made of it, mr. smith. and sure i must tell the thruth, if you bate me for it. sure and wasn't it the day after we had the stag-hunt, and didn't you get so over head and ears in liquor that you went sleep-walking about the house all night, disturbing the people that were fast asleep: and the night after, sure didn't we tie your pigtail to the bell-rope at the head of the bed, to keep you still, or give us notice of your rambles--and a pretty good notice we got, by the powers! for what wid the bell ringing and your bawling, we thought the house was on fire. i'll never forget seeing you pulling one way and the bell pull pulling the other--and all we could do, we could not keep you aisy, till we undid your tail; so faith it was betty, the cook, i remember, who whipt out her scissors, and cut the knot. oh! oh! och!--and that's the _thrue_ way you lost your pigtail, mr. smith." [illustration] irish simplicity. a military officer, living in barracks, ordered his irish servant to boil him an egg for breakfast, adding an injunction to "boil it soft." the officer took up the newspaper and read for ten minutes, then wondered why his egg did not arrive, and rang the bell.--"my egg?"--"i'm seeing about it, sir." another five minutes elapsed. "where's this egg?" "not done, sir." "not done! do you mean to keep me waiting all day?" "bring it directly, sir." still no egg came; the bell rang once more: "where _is_ the egg?" thundered the officer. "yer honor," cried thomas, in alarm, "didn't you tell me to bile it soft, sir! and haven't i biled it this quarter of an hour, and it isn't soft yet." [illustration] little spitz. a lenten anecdote, from the german of professor spass. by michael angelo titmarsh. "i think," said rebecca, flinging down her beautiful eyes to the ground, and heaving a great sigh--"i think, signor lorenzo, i could eat a bit of--sausage." "of _what_?" said lorenzo, bouncing up and forgetting all sense of politeness in the strange demand. "my dearest madam, _you_ eat a sausage?" "ha, ha, i'm blesht," shouted abednego, the banker, rebecca's papa, "i'm blesht, if signor lorenz does not think you want to eat the unclean animal, rebecca, my soul's darling. these shtudents are dull fellows, look you, and only know what's in their books. why, there are in dis vicked vorld no less than four hundred kindsh of shausages, signor lorenz, of which herr bürcke, the court-butcher, will show you the resheipts.--confess now, you thought my darling wanted to eat pig--faugh!" rebecca's countenance, at the very idea, assumed an expression of the most intolerable disgust, and she gazed reproachfully at lorenzo. that young man blushed, and looked particularly foolish, as he said: "pardon me, dearest madam, for entertaining a thought so unworthy. _i did_, i confess, think of pork-sausages, when you spoke, and although pretty learned on most subjects, am indeed quite ignorant upon the matter of which herr abednego has just been speaking." "i told you so," says abednego. "why, my goot sir, dere is mutton-sausages, and veal-sausages, and beef-sausages, and--" "silence, papa," said rebecca, sharply: "for what has signor lorenz to do with such things? i'm very sorry that i--that i offended him by asking for any dish of the kind, and pray let him serve us with what he has." rebecca sunk down in a chair looking very faint; but lorenzo started up, and swore that he would have himself cut up into little pieces, stuffed into a bladder, and made sausage-meat of, rather than that the lovely israelite should go without the meat that she loved. and, indeed, such was the infatuated passion which this young man entertained for the jewess, that i have not the least doubt but that he would have been ready to do as he said. "i will send down immediately into the town," continued he, "and in ten minutes, my messenger will be back again." "he must run very fast," said the lady, appeased, "but i thought you said, signor lorenz, that you kept but one servant, and that your old housekeeper was too ill to move?" "madam, make your mind quite easy.--i have the best little messenger in the world." "is it a fairy," said the jewess, "or a household demon? they say that you great students have many such at your orders, and i should like to see one of all things." "you shall see him, dearest lady," replied the student, who took from a shelf a basket and a napkin, put a piece of money into the basket (i believe the poor devil had not many of them), and wrote a few words on a paper which he set by the side of the coin. "mr. bürcke," wrote he, "herr hofmetzler, (that is, mr. court-butcher,) have the goodness to send, per bearer, a rixdollar's worth of the best sausages--_not_ pork." and then lorenz opened his window, looked into his little garden, whistled, and shouted out, "hallo! _spitz!_" "now," said he, "you shall see my familiar;" and a great scratching and whining was presently heard at the door, which made rebecca wonder, and poor old fat abednego turn as yellow as a parsnip. i warrant the old wretch thought that a demon with horns and a tail was coming into the room. the familiar spirit which now made its appearance _had_ a tail certainly, and a very long one for such a little animal; but there was nothing terrible about him. the fact is, it was lorenz's little turnspit-dog, that used to do many such commissions for the student, who lived half a mile out of the city of krähwinkel, where the little dog was perfectly well known. he was a very sagacious, faithful, ugly little dog, as ever was seen. he had a long black back and tail, and very little yellow legs; but he ran excessively fast on those little legs, and regularly fetched his master's meat and rolls from the city, and brought them to that lovely cottage which the student, for quiet's sake, occupied at a short distance from town. "when i give him white money," said lorenz, caressing the little faithful beast, that wagged his tail between the calves of his master's legs, and looked up fondly in his face, "when i give him white money, he goes to the butcher's; when i give him copper, he runs to the baker's,--and was never yet known to fail. go, my little spitz, as fast as legs will carry thee. go, my dog, and bring with thee the best of sausages for the breakfast of the peerless rebecca abednego." with this gallant speech, which pleased the lady greatly, and caused her to try to blush as much as possible, the little dog took the basket in his mouth, and trotted down stairs, and went off on his errand. while he is on the way to krähwinkel and back, i may as well mention briefly who his master was, how he came to be possessed of this little animal, and how the fair jewess had found her way to a christian student's house. lorenz's parents lived at polkwitz, which everybody knows is a hundred leagues from krähwinkel. they were the most pious, orderly, excellent people ever known, and their son bade fair to equal them in all respects. he had come to krähwinkel to study at the famous university there; but he never frequented the place except for the lectures; never made one at the noisy students' drinking bouts; and was called, for his piety and solitary life, the hermit. the first year of his residence, he was to be seen not only at lectures, but at church regularly. he never ate meat on a friday; he fasted all through lent; he confessed twice in a month; and was a model for all young students, not merely at krähwinkel, bonn, jena, halle, and other german universities; but those of salamanca and the rest in spain, of bologna and other places of learning in italy, nay, of oxford and cambridge in the island of england, would do well to take example by him, and lead the godly life which he led. but i am sorry to say that learning oftentimes begets pride, and lorenzo tisch, seeing how superior he was to all his companions, ay, and to most of the professors of the university, and plunging deeper and deeper daily into books, began to neglect his religious duties at first a little, then a great deal, then to take no note of them at all; for though, when the circumstances of this true history occurred, it was the season of lent, lorenzo tisch had not the slightest recollection of the fact, not having been at church, or looked into an almanack or a prayer-book, for many months before. lorenzo was allowed a handsome income of a hundred rixdollars per year by his parents, and used to draw this at the house of mr. abednego, the banker. one day, when he went to cash a draft for five dollars, the lovely miss rebecca abednego chanced to be in the room. ah, lorenzo, lorenzo! better for you to have remained at home studying the pons asinorum; better still for you to have been at church, listening to the soul-stirring discourses of father windbeutel; better for you to have been less learned and more pious: then you would not have been so likely to go astray, or allow your fancy to be inflamed by the charms of wicked jewesses, that all christian men should shun like poison. here it was lent season--a holiday in lent, and lorenzo von tisch knew nothing about the matter, and rebecca abednego, and her father, were absolutely come to breakfast with him! but though lorenzo had forgotten lent, the citizens of krähwinkel had not, and especially one herr bürcke, the court butcher, to whom tisch had just despatched spitz for a dollar's worth of sausage-meat. the visits of tisch to the jew's house had indeed caused not a little scandal. the student's odd, lonely ways, his neglect of church, his queer little dog that ran of errands for him, had all been talked of by the town's-people, who had come at last to believe that lorenzo was no less than a magician, and his dog, as he himself said in joke, his familiar spirit. poor spitz!--no familiar spirit wert thou; only a little, faithful, ugly dog--a little dog that tisch's aunt konisgunda gave to him, who was equally fond of it and him. those who know krähwinkel (and who, i should like to know, is not acquainted with that famous city?) are aware that mr. bürcke, the court butcher, has his handsome shop in the schnapps-gasse, only a very few doors from abednego's banking-house. mrs. bürcke is, or used to be, a lady that was very fond of knowing the doings of her neighbours, and passed many hours staring out of her windows, of which the front row gave her a command of the whole of that beautiful street, the schnapps-gasse, while from the back the eye ranged over the gardens and summer-houses without the gates of the town, and the great road that goes to bolkum. herr lorenzo's cottage was on this road; and it was by the bolkum-gate that little spitz the dog entered with his basket, when he went on his master's errands. now, on this day in lent, it happened that frau bürcke was looking out of her windows instead of listening at church to father windbeutel, and she saw at eleven o'clock mr. israel löwe, herr abednego's valet, porter, coachman, gardener, and cashier, bring round a certain chaise that the banker had taken for a bad debt, into which he stepped in his best snuff-coloured coat, and silk stockings, handing in miss rachael in a neat dress of yellow silk, a blue hat and pink feathers, and a pair of red morocco slippers that set off her beautiful ankle to advantage. "odious people!" said mrs. bürcke, looking at the pair whom mr. löwe was driving, "odious, vulgar horse!" (herr bürcke kept only that one on which his lad rode;) "roman-nosed beast! i shouldn't wonder but that the horse is a jew too!"--and she saw the party turn down to the left into bolkum-strasse, towards the gate which i have spoken of before. when madame bürcke saw this, she instantly flew from her front window to her back window, and there had a full view of the bolkum road, and the abednego chaise jingling up the same. mr. löwe, when they came to the hill, got off the box and walked, mr. abednego sat inside and smoked his pipe. "_ey du lieber himmel!_" screamed out mrs. bürcke, "they have stopped at the necromancer's door!" it was so that she called the worthy tisch: and she was perfectly right in saying that the israelitish cavalcade had stopped at the gate of his cottage; where also appeared lorenzo, bowing, in his best coat, and offering his arm to lead miss rebecca in. mrs. bürcke could not see how he trembled as he performed this work of politeness, or what glances miss rebecca shot forth from her great wicked black eyes. having set down his load, mr. israel again mounted his box, and incontinently drove away. "here comes that horrid little dog with the basket," continued mrs. bürcke, after a few minutes' more looking out of the window:--and now is not everything explained relative to herr lorenzo tisch, miss rebecca abednego, and the little dog? mrs. bürcke hated spitz: the fact is, he once bit a hole in one of her great, round, mottled arms, which had thrust itself into the basket that spitz carried for his masters provisions; for mrs. b. was very anxious to know what there was under the napkin. in consequence, therefore, of this misunderstanding between her and the dog, whenever she saw the animal, it was mrs. b.'s wicked custom to salute him with many foul words and curses, and to compass how to do him harm; for the frau hofmetzlerinn, as she was called in krähwinkel, was a lady of great energy and perseverance, and nobody could ever accuse her of forgetting an injury. the little dog, as she sat meditating evil against him, came trotting down the road, entered as usual by the bolkum-gate, turned to the right, and by the time madame bürcke had descended to the shop, there he was at the door, sure enough, and entered it wagging his tail. it was holiday lent, and the butcher-boys were absent; mr. bürcke himself was abroad; there was not a single joint of meat in the shop, nor ought there to be at such a season, when all good men eat fish. but how was poor spitz to know what the season was, or tell what his master himself had forgotten? he looked a little shy when he saw only madame bürcke in the shop, doubtless remembering his former disagreement with her; but a sense of duty at last prevailed with him, and he jumped up on his usual place on the counter, laid his basket down, whined, and began flapping the place on which he sat with his tail. mrs. bürcke advanced, and held out her great mottled arm rather fearfully; he growled, and made her start a little, but did her no harm. she took the paper out of the basket, and read what we have before imparted to the public, viz.:--"_mr. court butcher, have the goodness to send per bearer a rixdollar's worth of best sausage meat_, not _pork.--lorenz tisch._" as she read, the dog wagged his tail more violently than ever. a horrible thought entered the bosom of mrs. bürcke, as she looked at the dog, and from the dog glanced at her husband's _cleaver_, that hung idling on the wall. "sausages in lent!" said mrs. bürcke: "sausages to be fetched by a dog for that heathen necromancer and that accursed jew! he _shall_ have sausages with a vengeance." mrs. bürcke took down the cleaver, and * * * * * about twenty minutes afterwards herr lorenzo tisch opened his garden gate, whither he had been summoned by the whining and scratching of his little faithful messenger. spitz staggered in, laid the basket at his master's feet, licked his hand, and fell down. "blesh us, dere'sh something red all along the road!" cried mr. abednego. "pshaw! papa, never mind that, let's look at the sausages," said his daughter rebecca--a sad gormandizer for so young a woman. tisch opened the basket, staggered back, and turned quite sick.--in the basket which spitz had carried so faithfully lay the poor little dog's own tail! * * * * * what took place during the rest of the entertainment, i have never been able or anxious to learn; but this i know, that there is a single gentleman now living with madame konisgunda von speck, in the beautiful town of polkwitz, a gentleman, who, if he has one prejudice in the world, has that of hating the jewish nation--a gentleman who goes to church regularly, and, above all, never eats meat in lent. he is followed about by a little dog--a little ugly dog--of which he and madame von speck are outrageously fond; although, between ourselves, the animal's back is provided with no more tail than a cannon-ball. "this night vauxhall will close for ever!" (by laman blanchard.) [illustration] these were the words--or rather, this was the line of heartbreaking octosyllabic verse--that met the gaze of the living on every dead wall of the metropolis. they stared at me from the newspapers, they glared on me from the shoulders of perambulating board-men, they rang in my ears everywhere--vauxhall will close _for ever_! had it been the "pyramids to be sold by auction, by george robins," or "the positively last fall of the falls of niagara;"--had it been the "final extinction of mount etna," or "the moon shining for this night only, after which it will be disposed of to cheesemongers, by sale of candle, or private contract," my spirit had been comparatively untroubled;--but vauxhall! truly does our great wordsworth tell us that there are thoughts which lie too deep for tears. i cannot cry, though this be a crying evil; my pen must weep its ink-drops over the event. had a dozen union-workhouses been erected on epsom downs, or a national school supplanted the grand stand at doncaster. had the bank of england itself been turned into alms-houses, or the royal academy announced the last day of drawing--these, and millions of such minor evils, i could well have borne. some substitute for the departed might yet have been discovered. were there no bread, cheap or dear, at home or abroad, and all the bakers above-ground had burnt themselves to cinders in their own ovens, still could we have gone to the pastry-cook's for comfort, and have eaten buns. but the royal gardens shut!--closed for ever!--hammered down!--the light put out, which no promethean lampman can relume! where should othello go? "the days of my youth," i exclaimed aloud, as i wandered sorrowfully through the brilliant avenues of the doomed garden on the last night--"the days of my youth, where are they?" and an echo answered, "here we are!" and there they are indeed, buried for ever in dark vauxhall, knocked down as part of the fixtures, swept away with broken lamps and glasses, with the picked bones of vanished chickens, and the crumbs of french rolls that are past. to have visited vauxhall, like bricks, for so many years, only to find bricks and vauxhall becoming one! but what a last night was that! there were many visions in one. from the vauxhall of victoria, fancy reverted to the vauxhall of the first george, and the walks became immediately peopled with periwigged beaux, and courtly dames fresh from the frames of kneller. never did living eye behold such a congregation of grotesque beauties, out of a picture-gallery. the paint was brilliant as the great master's canvas, the arrangement of the patches was a triumph of art, the flash of the diamonds made the lamps look dim, the flutter of fans filled the air with a delicious freshness. all the wits of the last century were there, from steele and addison to fielding and goldsmith, and from these to sheridan, and the gallant roysterers of a later era. there was beau brummell;--it was the first night the world ever saw the astonishing spectacle of a starched cravat--the first night the great discoverer of starch ever exhibited to the vulgar gaze his sublime invention. that morning, a friend who called upon him encountered his servant on the stairs, descending from the beau's dressing-room, with a whole armful of stiffened but rumpled cravats--there were at least seventy of the curiosities.--"what, in the name of mystery, have you got there?" inquired the friend,--"what _are_ those _things_?" "these, sir?" responded the valet,--"o, _these are our failures_!" the beau's cravat justified that night, by the perfection of its folds, the multiplicity of experiments. that seventy-first trial was indeed a triumph. * * * * * in the twinkle of an eye, what a change!--beau brummell had disappeared for ever! renown and grace were dead. the stately dames had gone: fans, feathers, diamonds--all; and in their place appeared a very queer collection of feminine miscellanies, young and old, some from the country, some from the outskirts of the metropolis, dodging here and there, rushing from sight to sight, too eager and excited to see anything clearly; expressing their wonder in mingled peals of "my eye!" "well, raally now!" and "lauk-a-mercy!"--exclamations which were interrupted by frequent appeals to a bag of thick, home-manufactured sandwiches, borne on the arm--or critical observations on the ginger beer. the beaux, too, had vanished; and instead of the sir plumes, revelling in the "nice conduct of their clouded canes," came a crowd of london lads, with boots innocent of warren and hands guiltless of gloves--creatures, at the bare sight of whom through a telescope, sir plume himself would have fainted. and as for the wits--behold, where they of late perambulated, a troop of practical jokers, staggering forwards through the walks, or gathered in twos and threes and half-dozens in the supper-boxes, extinguishing lamps, smashing crockery, beating in the crowns of hats, and it may be smoking cigars in a kind of open secrecy. * * * * * short, however, is the duration of this scene. retreating into another walk, out of the way of the reeling revellers, i obtained a new view of the yet famed and once fashionable gardens; and now, methought, their glory was indeed departed. the place, which before was brighter than the day, seemed the temple of twilight. the most brilliant lamp it boasted shed but a miserable dimness round. the genius of vauxhall was in the position of damocles--only, instead of the sword it was a hammer that was suspended over her. nothing flourished there but the universal enemy--decay. the gardens seemed to hold a place between earth and the eternal shades. the words "darkness visible," formed the most conspicuous object,--the letters, of an enormous size, were composed of grey and black lamps, which the rain, descending in torrents, was fast putting out. a transparency, representing melancholy playing the bagpipes, had a very striking and sombre effect; and another exhibition of a fountain that had ceased playing, with a pair of black swans floating in the puddle beneath, proved truly attractive to the few low-spirited stragglers that remained. a beautiful dioramic view of the elysian fields, brilliantly illuminated, drew my attention; but on going to look, i saw nothing but a few acres of gloomy waste land, with a board, displaying the notice, "this ground to let on building leases." the farce performed in the rotunda was "blue devils," at some of the scenes in which the audience were quite broken-hearted, and the actors were called for amidst general sobs. in the orchestra, the muffled drum was extremely admired; the violins, reduced to one string, crumbled under the hands of the players like touchwood, otherwise their notes would have been highly dispiriting; the larger instruments spoke in hollow murmurs; the flutes gave forth the parting sighs breathed into them by the asthmatic and fading musicians. ramo samee, reduced to a nonentity, flung the balls up without even an effort to catch them, and the sword, like macbeth's amen, "stuck in his throat." one "swallow" would have been a summer to him. the waiters went about with umbrellas and lanterns to collect orders. through their threadbare, meagre, fleecy habiliments--coats of scotch mist, and continuations of london fog--might be traced their thin and fleshless forms. something sharper than penury had worn them to the bones--the sense that their occupation was gone. they shuffled from walk to walk, from box to box, carrying broken plates with faint impressions of various delicacies; semi-sandwiches were on some, and on others were exhibited narrow slices of transparent and shadowy ham. the soda-water they brought had caught the hue of the bottles, and it trickled forth in showers of tears. the sparkling champagne was perfectly still; the very punch was "drowned" in the bowl, spiritless and stagnant. the chicken looked as if it had been deposited for the last few years in the mummy-room of the british museum. the tongue might have belonged to the first fat buck shot by robin hood. those weak, wan, dilapidated waiters! those fossil remains of a forlorn hope! as the night advanced they grew more attenuated. the "any orders?" dwindled to a whisper, and the "coming, sir!" lapsed into a scarcely audible sigh. they had hardly strength enough left to carry away the fragments of a tart. they glided about like ghosts amidst the expiring lamps. another hour elapsed, and everything denoted the end of the change. ruin had seized on all. the arrack dried up in the bowl, ere it could be carried to the appointed box. every glass was cracked, every fork had forfeited a prong; and in the darkness and confusion men carved with the handles of their knives, macadamising their suppers! the trees and shrubs lost their natural character, and became yews and cypresses; and extending from branch to branch were to be seen large cobwebs, having the hue and substance of slices of boiled beef. then there was a general rush through the rain to see the invisible fireworks. what a sight was that! the catherine wheels were stationary; the rockets changed their minds as they were going up, and the whiz was but a consumptive cough; the roman candles had all been accommodated with extinguishers; and the shells broke their inflammatory hearts in smoke and silence. three reluctant and doubtful bangs from a solitary cracker sounded the requiem of the pyrotechnic art! then methought the company began to "disperse" indeed. arms put themselves within other arms, and moved on, while the legs that had once belonged to them sought the promenade in another direction, and dragged themselves across it as over a ploughed field. the persevering and inexhaustible spirit of vauxhall, however, was yet animate in some; and my eye caught glimpses of strange groups--parts of people--sometimes the lower extremities--sometimes the upper--disjointed dancers, all performing quadrilles in spasmodic movements, under umbrellas, to inaudible music, supplied by the apparitions of fiddlers. * * * * * now came, on a sudden, another change. a light appeared in what had always been the dark walks of the garden, and as it advanced exhibited the figure of the celebrated old hermit. his head hung on his breast, as with a consciousness that his hour of oblivion was nigh, and he carried his closed volume under his arm. another figure, scarcely less shadowy, joined him; it was simpson,--yea, simpson's self! the unforgotten master of the ceremonies. they advanced, arm in arm; and as they approached the spot on which i stood, riveted with awe, who should make his appearance, as though he descended from the air, but a third great adventurer--one equally immortal, but happily far more mortal than either--the undaunted and untiring aeronaut, mr. green! on the instant, the ground beneath opened, and the great nassau balloon sprung upward, already filled with gas. i saw that the _finale_ had arrived. green embraced the ghost of the departed master, and, surrendering his own place, handed him into the car, into which he was followed by many of the unfading luminaries of the "property" in past and present times. in the moment of ascent, simpson, my venerable preceptor in the arts of politeness, the acquaintance of my youth, perceived me in the crowd; he stretched forth a hand, which felt as cold, damp, and impalpable as fog, and, shaking mine, exclaimed with his usual urbanity, "one pinch at--parting?" i felt in my pocket for my snuff-box, eager for a friendly participation, when suddenly--quick as lightning, in fact--i felt a sharp tap on my shoulder; and on looking round-- i found myself amidst the old well known blaze of lights, surrounded by myriads of smart and merry loungers, with police constable x arousing me as people are aroused from dreams, and saying, for my comfort, "come sir, come! why, you're asleep as you walk. you've been robbed, i tell you; for your pocket's turned inside out." * * * * * i got home about three, and at last fell asleep in reality. i dreamed that vauxhall gardens were entirely built over, covered with finished and half-finished houses, in streets and terraces; and that i was actually reposing at that moment in no. , arrack-place, looking upon sky-rocket-crescent. methought there was a universal complaint among the inhabitants, of supernatural noises in the night. not a wink was to be had for the tunings of musical instruments, the calling for waiters, the shouting of "encore," the mingling of thousands of voices; all crowned with peals of laughter, and whispers of "how tired i am, sure-ly!" each night at twelve, every occupier of a tenement on that famous site was awakened from his first sleep by a multitudinous exclamation of, "o! oh! oh-h-h!" accompanied by a light, blue, red, green, yellow, et cetera, and a shower of falling sparks. [illustration "the cloud-capp'd trees, the gorgeous avenues, the brilliant lamps, the blazing fireworks, the gilded saloons, the slender sandwiches, yea, the great rotunda itself, shall dissolve-- and leave not _arrack_ behind!" _simpson and shakspeare._ ] [illustration] a tale of the times of old. it was a maiden young and fair, she sat and watch'd within her bower, in days of yore when warriors were, and belted knight, and moated tower; long, long ago! she sat and watch'd one summer's eve-- why doth she so? why will not she her lattice leave? ah, those were days when maids were true! the hour was come,--and well she knew. it was a squire, a gentle squire, came spurring darkly down below; his steed was splashed with foam and mire, oh, what but love could urge him so? 'twas even so, he crept beneath the castle-wall, long, long ago, and on his love began to call; the damsel o'er her lattice hung, he touch'd his lute, and thus he sung: "they told me, love, that thou wert fair, and very fair thou art, 'tis true; they said thy cheeks like roses were, thy lips, 'two rosebuds wet with dew;' but is it so? could ever flower with thee compare? ah no! ah no! oh never yet was rose so fair! could flowers like thee in gardens grow, the gardeners all were blithe, i trow. "they said thine eye was like the star, the brightest star that beams above, which men may gaze on from afar, admire and watch, in fear and love; but is it so? was ever star so soft and fair? ah no! ah no! oh, would such stars in heaven there were how glad i'd watch till morning's light, to peep and worship all the night." it was her sire, a surly knight, he slept, and slept, with many a snore; he heard the song, and woke in spite, and left his couch, y-grumbling sore. he look'd below, then seized a huge cold-water bath-- long, long ago-- and flung it o'er, in rage and wrath!-- the squire flew off, the damsel fled, and then the knight went back to bed. b. hall. an anacreontic fable. [illustration] cupid, a spoiled and peevish boy, is always wanting some new toy; and what is more, his mother venus never denies--_quodcunque genus_-- any odd thing the urchin fancies, from kings and queens to scullery nancies. his fondling mother, t' other day, gave him some hearts wherewith to play; no sooner did the rascal take them, than he began to bruise and break them! h. r. frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter vii. from the moment that war was declared against the french republic, the navy of england reigned supreme upon the ocean; and such was the vigilance and gallantry of our tars, that scarcely a cruiser showed her nose out of an enemy's harbour, but she was quickly led by it into a british port. the captain of the thunderbolt was a thorough seaman of the hard-fighting school, and with such an example in his commander, and with a private tutor like honest ben, to teach him the practical details, young heartwell could not fail to become well versed in his several duties. in lord bridport's action, off l'orient, his ship was one of those most actively engaged, and gained great credit; but on her return into port, she was paid off, and the whole of her company transferred to a noble three-decker, which subsequently took the lead in the mutiny at spithead. it is unnecessary to enter into details of this event--in which the enemies of england sought to injure and humble the flag of britannia, through the disaffection of her hardy seamen. emissaries were constantly at work, endeavouring to inflame their passions, and poison the source of honour; but though the gallant tars were true to themselves, and to each other, they were also faithful to their country. ben, as a matter of course, had joined his brother sailors in their equitable demands, and sambo had very naturally followed the example. frank's conduct, during this eventful period, was governed by the strictest sense of integrity. he was well aware that the claims of the seamen had been utterly disregarded by the government; and though averse to insubordination, yet he felt that they had been driven to extremities through the neglect of their remonstrances. but on all occasions in which the most violent counselled outrage, he boldly stood forward to counteract and oppose their schemes, and by appeals to those who only sought to obtain redress of grievances he was generally successful; especially in one instance, when sir alan gardner, sir john colpoys, and sir maurice pole, came on board the queen charlotte, to hold a conference with the delegates. sir alan, a rigid disciplinarian, who had been extremely irritable throughout the proceedings, was so exasperated by a fresh demand, that he swore at the delegates as "a set of mutinous dogs," and declared he would "have every one of them hanged--together with every fifth man in the fleet." the circumstance spreading through the ship like wildfire, the after-part of the main-deck was crowded by hundreds, ready to support their leaders. the sturdy admiral gave them a look of defiance, and shouting "make a lane there!" spread his hands out on each side to force his way to the entrance-port--nor was he sparing of blows. frank had witnessed the whole of the proceedings, and now saw with apprehension, that a number of the most violent characters were closing in upon sir alan. in all commotions, ben and the black made it a point to keep near their young officer, and at this moment they were close to him. frank spoke to the seaman, who passed the word to sambo, and then all three rushed forward; ben exclaiming, "avast there--don't go for to touch the admiral!" numbers of the better-minded caught up the impulse, and followed the three, who cleared a road for sir alan to retreat; ben and the black levelling the opposition. the admiral got down the side into his boat, and immediately shoved off for the shore. sir alan gardner did not forget this timely aid of the young midshipman, for on earl howe coming down to settle the disputes, frank was appointed to steer sir alan's barge; when the noble earl and his countess, accompanied by several persons of distinction, embarked to pay an amicable visit to the ships at st. helen's and spithead. it was a most interesting spectacle; the barges of the men-of-war each carrying its delegates assembled, on a may morning, and pulled in for the sally-port. the men were dressed in their best clothes, and the most perfect order and regularity was preserved, whilst the seamen on board the ships were anxiously watching them, for rumours were current that the earl had brought down the required proclamation, ensuring a general pardon. on landing, the delegates proceeded to the governor's house, where they had an audience of the earl, and an affecting scene it was. the venerable nobleman in his seventy-second year--his head silvered over with age and arduous service, and arrayed in the uniform in which he had so nobly maintained british supremacy on the ocean, received the rebellious seamen graciously; and it was curious to observe the downcast and schoolboy looks of many of the hardy tars, who, but a few hours before, were in open and daring mutiny. but when the noble admiral, in the affectionate language of a father to his children, exhorted them to obedience and subordination, and even shed tears, as he declared that a continuance of the mutinous proceedings would break his heart, the rough dispositions of the seamen gave way, not in childish weakness--no! they evinced their stern emotion in habits peculiar to themselves, though it was evident every soul was moved. there stood their chief who had led them on to victory, subdued by the weight of calamity which had threatened his country. after partaking of refreshment, in which the bold tars were waited upon by female youth and beauty, a procession was formed, and earl howe and his lady, with the admirals and captains, several accompanied by their families, walked to the sally-port. during the interval frank had proceeded to the royal sovereign's barge; and when first recognised, he was pointed out as the midshipman who had been instrumental in resisting the indignation of the queen charlotte's men, and rescuing sir alan gardner, and numbers of the disaffected loudly expressed their disapprobation. ben held the distinguished post of coxswain to lord bridport; but as a lieutenant was expected to steer earl howe out to the fleet, he had resigned the rudder in the queen charlotte's barge, and stationed himself at the stroke oar. the moment the honest fellow saw the feeling that prevailed against his officer, he addressed the boat's crew in a few energetic words, appealing to them who knew the merits of the midshipman, as a smart officer, but a seaman's firm friend. it was a day of joy and reconciliation; and they felt it; for whilst the tumult against frank was increasing, the bargemen of the queen charlotte simultaneously approached him, and having given a hearty cheer, he was hoisted on the shoulders of two of the stoutest amongst them, and in procession with the union jack in front, they carried him to and fro the beach, amidst the reiterated plaudits of thousands who had collected to witness the embarkation. this demonstration from his shipmates was enough; the bargemen of the other men-of-war were satisfied; and those who but a few minutes before had been loud in their anger, were now equally vociferous in their praise. in the midst of their joyousness, earl howe and the delegates reached the sally-port, and instantly the boats were manned; and as they shoved off, and formed in order, the roars of the saluting cannon and the shouts of the populace mingled together in one vast burst of enthusiasm; and as the boats neared the ships, their armed sides poured forth responsive peals--the yards were manned--and joy sparkled in every eye. frank acquitted himself with great dexterity throughout the day, and all differences being adjusted with the seamen, they returned to the shore, where earl howe landed, about seven o'clock in the evening, and was carried on the shoulders of the delegates to the governor's house. thus peace and harmony were restored to the channel fleet, which put to sea on the following day, to meet the enemy. frank had now been three years away from his mother, without seeing her; and though they frequently corresponded, he earnestly longed to visit her again. the capture of an extremely valuable ship from senegal, in which frank was placed as second prize-master, afforded him an opportunity of returning to england, and as on her arrival at portsmouth she was ordered to proceed up the thames to deptford, he now was enabled to repair to finchley. it would be impossible to describe the young midshipman's feelings as he approached the cottage. helen was for the moment forgotten: he opened the door, and in a few moments was in the embrace of his parent. the interesting scene was not unobserved, for in a remote part of the room sat a young lady, a gratified but agitated spectator of all that passed. as soon as the ebullition of joy had subsided, mrs. heartwell called her visitor to remembrance, and frank and helen met--at first with a degree of embarrassment, for they had in their memory pictured each other as they had last parted, nearly four years before, when both were in the gradual advance from childhood to maturity. frank was then but a youth, but now he appeared the full-grown man, and seldom could there be seen a handsomer, or more candid countenance. now he saw helen before him in the perfection of female beauty, just entered upon womanhood; and yet both heart and features were the same, for as soon as the first few minutes had flown, reserve was banished and they conversed with ease as old acquaintances. in private retirement the young officer learned from his mother and mr. unity peach, (who came purposely to see him, and to grumble at all that he had done) that brothers, the supposed prophet, had been apprehended under a warrant from the privy council; and after careful examination by two able physicians, had been declared insane, and placed in fisher's lunatic asylum, at islington--that nothing had been heard respecting brady, who it was supposed, had quitted the kingdom for ever. the young people had now frequent opportunities of seeing each other, and every interview served to strengthen the ardent attachment which both cherished, but neither of them confessed. a little incident, in which frank had relieved helen from an importunate and insulting mendicant, who had intruded upon the grounds, first opened the eyes of mr. wendover. the merchant loved money, and he had, in a great measure, set his heart upon aggrandising his name and family, through helen's union with a man of rank and opulence. without leading her to think that he was aware of her regard, he spoke to her on the subject of frank's attentions, gained a full and perfect knowledge of her secret, and ascertained that in no instance had frank addressed her in what is termed the language of love, nor had at any time openly avowed his affection. mr. wendover at once acquitted both mrs. heartwell and her son of sinister and dishonourable conduct; but his own line of procedure was determined upon, and he resolved to remove his daughter without delay to an estate he had recently purchased on the coast of cornwall, where he trusted that absence would effect a change in the bosom of his child. great was the consternation of the young officer, when on his next visit he heard of their sudden and unexpected departure; and his impassioned and incoherent expressions when it was announced to him, betrayed the state of his heart to his mother. it was the first disappointment of the kind he had ever experienced, and its suddenness had overpowered him; but the reasoning and remonstrances of his parent restored him to more tranquil feelings. she encouraged him "to persevere in his profession, and by gaining an honoured and distinguished name, he perhaps might remove the bar which parental authority had seen fit to interpose between them." "you are right, mother," said he with firmness. "i will yet prove to mr. wendover that i am not unworthy of his daughter's regard." the prize he had come home in was condemned, and the prize-crew were removed to the guard-ship at the nore; but frank obtained leave to pass a few days at finchley previous to his joining them, and the indulgence thus extended was a source of great relief to his irritated feelings. [illustration: _frank heartwell discovering the treasure._ london, tilt & bogue, fleet street.] a night or two before his departure, he was awoke by a strange noise. at first he conjectured it might be caused by rats, and he endeavoured to compose himself to sleep again; but the sounds were so continuous and harsh, that after some time he rose and looked out at the window, when it instantly ceased. he stood for several minutes, earnestly gazing towards the splendid mansion of mr. wendover, his thoughts wholly absorbed by remembrances of helen; and when he again laid himself down, sleep had utterly departed. in a few minutes the strange noise was renewed. frank listened, and the hollow grating sounds seemed to be caused by some one scraping the outer wall of the building. he arose, and wrapping his cloak round him, crept noiselessly down to the door--the knocking on the building still continued, but ceased as he undid the fastenings, so that when he stood in the open air everything was again still. he had descended without his shoes, which he returned to put on, and then walked round the cottage and through the garden, but nothing whatever appeared to elucidate the mystery. the next night he was aroused again by a noise rather more dull and heavy; as the rear of the building seemed to be the place of operation, he crept down to the back-door, and rushed out just in time to see a man jump down from a ladder reared against the gable-end. the intruder sprang over the wall and escaped. without removing the ladder, frank determined to watch; and though once or twice he fancied he could perceive a commotion amongst the foliage of the adjoining plantation, yet he remained unmolested till broad daylight, when he ascertained that the intruder had been working with a pick, to loosen several bricks in a part of the wall that was covered with ivy, and at a few feet below the eavings. a little reflection prompted frank to further search; and by removing the thick mantling ivy he discovered that, at some period or other, an addition had been made to the side of the building, and that there was a considerable space between the outside and the in. his curiosity was strongly excited--the apartment he had slept in appeared to be everywhere the same; but on sounding round it, he ascertained that the part next to that where an attempt had been made to open an aperture, was of stout wood-work, carefully covered with the same papering as that which was on the other walls of the room. he was not long in deciding what to do. seizing a tomahawk, which had formerly belonged to ben, he cut down the partition, and taking a light, passed through the opening he had made into a long narrow room that ran the whole depth of the house. surprised as he was at this discovery, his wonder was still more increased, when ranged in various parts he observed several strong cases and boxes. on his right appeared an iron-bound oaken chest, on the top of which lay a cushion now damp and mouldy, but it was evident that it had formerly been used as a sort of seat or couch, as a table was close to it, bearing a lantern, a wine-glass, an inkstand with a pen in it, and remnants of writing-paper much torn by vermin. suspended against the wall above the table were a brace of handsomely-mounted horseman's pistols, a dragoon's sword, a blunderbuss, and a bunch of rusty keys, whilst beneath was a stone bottle containing a small quantity of ardent spirits, and an empty wine-bottle. in other parts were books and papers much defaced, and the writing scarcely legible, whilst in one spot upon the floor were four or five canvas bags, part of the contents of which (guineas) had escaped through holes gnawed at the bottom, and now lay glittering before the eyes of the young officer. in the floor of this room was a trap-door, which frank raised up, and perceived there was a ladder beneath, down which he descended, and found himself in an apartment of the same dimensions as the one above, but more lofty, and a strange sensation crept over him, as he beheld what looked like coffins piled one upon the other, but on examination proved to be arm-chests, painted black, and containing muskets and bayonets. there were also several barrels (which frank, from experience, knew at once to be powder-barrels), placed apart by themselves; and the head of one of them having been beaten-in, a quantity of ball-cartridge became exposed;--in short, with pistols and sabres, and the necessary accoutrements, there was good equipment in arms and ammunition for several hundred men. from this room a flight of stone steps, slimy with reptiles and the damp, led into a kind of cellar, having in one corner a very large copper, and at a short distance from it a deep well; whilst broken worms and shattered liquor-casks, with the remains of various implements, offered proofs that an illicit distillery had formerly been carried on here. on one side was a vaulted underground passage, arched over, that was nearly filled with rubbish; but frank, following its apparent direction in the garden, ascertained that it led to a stable (which was seldom used) at some distance in the rear of the cottage; and here he found that attempts had been made to break through a doorway that had been bricked-up, and an opening formed, large enough for a man to get through, but the archway having fallen in, and the passage completely stopped, further progress had been prevented that way. frank and his mother consulted together as to the best course to be pursued; and mrs. heartwell recommended her son to go and apprise mr. wendover's steward of the discovery. that individual promptly attended, accompanied by a legal agent, who informed the young midshipman that he had no claim whatever to the property, which belonged as a matter of right to the lord of the manor, and he accordingly took possession for mr. wendover; and before his departure, frank saw the whole deposited in security at the hall. how to raise the wind. by captain marryat, r.n. the votaries of fashion are considered heartless. can they well be otherwise, when they worship a deity so remorseless and so unfeeling? fashion not only ruins her own followers, but she is continually plunging into poverty and distress those who know nothing of her until they find that through her means they have become outcasts, deprived of their means of subsistence, and that their children are crying for bread. it is no matter how trifling may be the alteration which has been enforced by this despotic goddess, this is certain, that that alteration has been the cause of misery to hundreds; and if the step taken by her is one of magnitude, not only thousands, but whole towns, nay provinces, on the continent are thrown from want of employment into misery. the town of woodstock is one proof, out of many, how severely a community may suffer from change in fashion. the gloves formerly made there, and the manufacture of which had become a trade and means of livelihood to so many large families, are now no longer worn. the people had been brought up to this trade, and were not competent to any other, until they had begun anew and learnt one in their advanced life. woodstock was once a flourishing town; now it has dwindled into comparative obscurity. thus it has been, thus it is, and thus it will be with many more; for fashion ever changes, and every change is accompanied with a petty revolution, attended with distress, which her votaries, glorying in their close attendance upon her ear, either never hear of, or which, if heard by them, is received with nonchalance and indifference. i have been drawn into the above remarks in consequence of my whole story depending upon an article which is now no longer to be seen--indeed, i may add, is no longer to be mentioned but in a circuitous manner. why this extreme squeamishness has latterly taken place i really cannot imagine. a garment is but a garment; and as we may talk of all other garments used by either sex without fear of offence, why should this one have latterly fallen into disgrace? at all events, i must either mention this unmentionable article, or not tell my story. i have, therefore, only now to give due notice to all ladies who may already surmise what the article in question may be, that now is the proper time for them to close the book, or to skip over to the next contribution, for my narrative is wholly dependent upon a pair of them. i remember when i was a boy, i should say about forty years ago, when this article of dress was considered not only to be indispensable, but also indispensable that it was made of buckskin. it was worn high up, reaching to the chest, met with a very short waistcoat; add to these a blue coat and metal buttons, and the hair well powdered, and a fashionable man of stood before you. there were inconveniences attending buckskin; but when fashion dictates, her votaries overcome all obstacles; _pride knows no pain_, is an english proverb, met by one from the opposite side of the channel, _il faut souffrir pour être belle_. the difficulty of getting into a pair of these articles, after they had been cleaned, was considerable; and when they became wet, they were anything but comfortable to the wearer. however, they have passed away, and this country has gained by their disappearance; for the leather out of which they were made came from the continent, and the wool of this country has now occupied its place, in the cloth trousers which have succeeded them. and now to my story. before railroads were dreamt of, and people were satisfied with eight miles an hour, there was a certain person at liverpool, who had gone down there on some sort of speculation or another; but whether it was to purchase cotton, or to attend the races, or to do a little business in any other way, does not exactly appear. this, however, is certain, that his speculations, whatever they might have been, failed, and that he found himself in the widest street in the town with exactly one guinea left in his pocket. one guinea would not pay his fare to london, whither he had decided upon going. he was, therefore, left to his own resources; that is, the resources of an ingenious mind, to help the one-pound-one, which was in his waistcoat-pocket. it was not until he had walked up and down the long street for at least the tenth time that he came to any resolution: at last he slapped his buckskins, as much as to say _i have it_, and walking on a little farther, he looked at the clock which was in the coach-office, crossed the street, and went over to the hotel, which was directly opposite. but i must now describe the appearance and dress of the person in question. he was a man of about thirty-five years of age, of handsome exterior, tall, and well made; he wore powder, a white cravat, a blue coat, very short figured waistcoat, and the articles in question, to wit, a pair of buckskin inexpressibles, to which must be added a pair of white top-boots. he had also a surtout-coat, of fine cloth, over all, but which was unbuttoned when he entered the hotel. in short, he appeared to be a dandied, rakish sort of gentleman of the time, with a look and manner implying that he had plenty of money to spend, and did not care a fig for anybody. no one could have ever imagined, with such an external appearance, that he had no more than one guinea in his pocket. our gentleman walked into the coffee-room of the hotel, and took his seat in one of the boxes, with an air of pretension. in an authoritative tone he called the waiter, and when the waiter came, he called for the bill of fare, which was humbly presented. our gentleman ran down its contents. "i'll have a bit of fish, waiter,--which do you recommend to day?" "all good, sir; but cod and oyster-sauce just in season." "well, then, let it be so, with a broiled chicken and mushrooms. if i recollect right, you had some good wine here once?" "yes, sir--we have the same bin now--the port you mean, sir?" "yes, the port; tell mr.---- i forget the landlord's name." "mr. bansom." "very true;--tell bansom to let me have a bottle of his best, and a pint of good madeira for dinner." "yes, sir. when will you have your dinner?" "as soon as it can be got ready. in the mean time get me a newspaper." in due time the dinner made its appearance, and ample justice was done to it by our gentleman. after the cloth was removed, the port wine was produced, and this he appeared determined to enjoy, as he remained at table sipping it until every other person who had been in the coffee-room had quitted it, and he was left alone. he then poured out the last glass, rang the bell, and demanded his bill. it was all ready:-- £ _s._ _d._ fish fowl and mushrooms madeira port ------------- total, including extras "not dear, i must say," observed the gentleman, after he had read the bill; "i must patronise this house again. the port is really good wine; i knew it again directly,--£ . _s._ _d._--half-a-crown for the waiter, £ . _s._" then the gentleman put his hand into his right waistcoat pocket, and felt for his purse, found it not there, so he inserted his other hand into his left waistcoat pocket, no purse there.--"hum," says he, with surprise; down went his right hand into the pocket of his buckskins on the right side, no purse there; down into the left, even to the bottom, no purse there.--"the devil!" exclaimed he, feeling his coat pockets, as a last hope--both empty. "why, waiter, i've left my purse!" exclaimed he, rising up from his seat; "and now, i perceive, i've not my watch and seals. i must have left them both on the table. you don't recollect me--what must i do?" "if you please," replied the waiter, respectfully, coming to the point, "you must pay your bill." "of course i must," replied the gentleman; "i cannot expect you to trust me; what can i do? i must leave you something in pledge." "if you please, sir," replied the waiter. "what shall it be--my surtout coat? i can spare that." "yes, sir," replied the waiter, who surveyed his coat, and was satisfied; "that will do." "well, then, help me with it off. on second thoughts, i do not think i can let you have my coat, i have suffered so dreadfully with the rheumatism in my shoulders. i dare not, upon my soul, i daren't; you must have something else. what shall it be--my boots, my new white top-boots?" "i think, sir, you couldn't well walk away in stockings without getting cold and rheumatism," replied the waiter. "very true, what a fool i am! but so unaccustomed to be placed in so awkward a position, i do believe i've lost my senses--to give my boots were madness. i'll tell you how it shall be, waiter, i'll give you my buckskins--bran new--worth two pair of boots; i shan't miss them if i walk fast and button up." "as you please, sir," replied the waiter. after a deal of trouble, the buckskins were in the hands of the waiter; our gentleman pulled on his boots again, buttoned his surtout close in front, and promising to redeem them faithfully by his servant the next morning, quitted the hotel, holding himself very erect, that no opening in the front of his surtout should discover that he was minus so very important and indispensable an article of habiliment. our gentleman did not walk very far; he crossed the street and entered the hotel which was opposite to the one which he had just quitted, and from which he knew that the coaches went to london. again he walked into the coffee-room, took his seat without his deficiencies being perceived, and calling the waiter, said to him--"the coach starts from this hotel to london, i believe?" "yes, sir." "at what hour?" "at half-past five exactly, sir." "well, then, i shall take a supper and a bed; and here," continued he, throwing his guinea down on the table, "book me an inside place by the name of mr. william baring." the waiter had heard of the name before, and bowed respectfully. "any luggage, sir?" "no, i took my place this night by the mail, and was compelled to stay on important business just as i was getting into the coach. my luggage went on, i shall find it when i arrive." our gentleman ordered a good supper, and at half-past ten requested to be shown to his bed-room. "boots," said he, "recollect you call me at half-past four exactly, as i am hard of waking. don't forget; and if you don't see me getting up in five minutes, rouse me again." "yes, sir," replied the boots. at half-past four the boots made his appearance with a lanthorn, and after some considerable shaking, our gentleman roused up and sat by the side of the bed. the boots had lighted the candle, and stood by. "yaw--aw!" said our gentleman, shaking himself and yawning. "how horrid it is to be up before daylight. ah, well! boots, give me my stockings." "yes, sir." the stockings were slowly dragged on. "now then boots, my buckskins." the boots turned over the other garments, looked here and there, and upon every chair; at the foot of the bed, and in the bed, under the pillow, under the bolster. "i can't see no buckskins, sir." "pooh, nonsense! man." another useless turn round the room. "well, i'm sure, sir, i can't see them." "how very odd!" exclaimed our gentleman; "perhaps i'm sitting on them." he rose, but there were no buckskins under him. "how excessively strange! you didn't take them away with you when you took the boots, did you?" "no, sir; i never comed into the room. you put your boots outside." "so i did, now i recollect; but still the buckskins must be found." another ineffectual search of five minutes, during which our gentleman gradually showed that the serenity of his temper was ruffling, till at last he became in a furious passion. "by heavens! this is too bad: in a respectable house, too. boots, go up to your master, and tell him i must see him immediately--say immediately, and without delay--mr. william baring--recollect, instantly!" in a few minutes the landlord of the hotel made his appearance, half dressed, and not very well pleased at being compelled to turn out at such an unseasonable hour; but the name of baring had been mentioned, and was not to be trifled with. "you wish to speak to me, sir?" "yes, sir, i do wish to speak to you. i came here last night, having been obliged to give up my place in the seven o'clock mail, in consequence of pressing and important business which detained me. i booked myself by the fast coach, supped and slept here, desiring that i might be called in good time, as my immediate return to london is important. on my being called and getting up, i found that somebody had stole my buck-skins--that's all--nothing more. my buckskins--buckskins, sir, have disappeared!" "i'm very sorry, sir--very sorry; can't imagine how. some mistake, i presume," stammered the landlord. "my buckskins are gone, sir, and no mistake," replied our gentleman. "i considered this a respectable honest house, sir, but it appears----" this attack upon the respectability of the house made the landlord angry--it was a sore point. "my house is respectable, sir--always has been respectable, sir--always will be, i trust. no gentleman ever lost his buckskins here before, sir. what they brought they have always taken away!" "why, sir!" exclaimed our gentleman, in a towering passion, "what do you mean to imply, sir? do you suppose that a gentleman would come here _without_ such an _indispensable_ article of dress?" "no, sir, no," replied the landlord, who cooled down as his adversary became excited; "i didn't mean to say that, sir." "then you'll just hear what i have to say, sir," replied our gentleman: "i'm not to be robbed in this barefaced way;--and the credit of your house, sir, is gone; for as soon as i arrive in town, i will write a letter to the times, chronicle, herald, post, and morning advertiser, stating the whole of the infamous transaction, and sign it with _my own name_, sir--with my own name; and then we shall see how long you are in a position to rob the public in this way. yes, sir, and my lawyer shall send you a letter, as soon as i arrive in town, for an action of damages and recovery, sir." then our gentleman walked rapidly up and down the room, his shirt waving to and fro as if it was as much excited as himself. "i'm very sorry, sir--very sorry," said the landlord; "but, sir, i have a pair of double-milled trousers which i think would fit you, so as to enable you to go to town, until the buckskins can be replaced." "double-milled! thank you, sir. you appear to consider my loss as only amounting to a pair of buckskins, mr. landlord; but who, sir, is to repay me the forty pounds and upwards, in bank-notes, which were in the pockets of my buckskins--heh! sir?" this was, indeed, a new feature in the case, which the landlord did not expect. "forty pounds odd, sir!" exclaimed the landlord. "yes, sir, forty pounds. let me see, forty-four pounds exactly. now, sir, is that money to be forthcoming?--in one word, sir--there is no time to lose. if i miss the coach, i post all the way to town at your expense, as soon as i have procured something to put on. the house of baring can't go to town in its shirt--the house of baring will be revenged, sir--your treatment is past bearing, and--i give you five minutes to decide." the landlord did decide. the buckskins had disappeared--the credit of his house was at stake--the house of baring was his enemy--there was no help for it. the double-milled and £ were handed over--the wrath of our gentleman was appeased--he even, before he slipped into the coach, promised to patronise the hotel. the coach had been on the road about six hours, when the waiter stepped over to his chum, the waiter of the hotel opposite, to tell him what a shindy there had been about a pair of buckskins; the other waiter produced the buckskins left in pledge; and on their description of our gentleman, no doubt was left but that, although not probable, it was very possible that a gentleman could come into an hotel _without his inexpressibles_. the landlord was almost frantic at having been so imposed upon; but, as usual in all such cases, he soon made up the loss incurred by our gentleman's visit to the hotel, by charging it upon those who came there, not only with buckskins, but with money in their buckskins-pockets; and thus ends my story of "how to raise the wind; or, the buckskins." a peep at bartholomew fair. "out, out, brief candle!"--macbeth. something whispers us that we should here commence moralising, that we should first expatiate on the nothingness of worldly gaud and greatness--enlarge on the changefulness of human prospects, and discover to our readers' view the myriads of blanks with which that fraudulent jade fortune dilutes the few prizes she dispenses from her wheel. but then again, another something whispers us, we had far better get on with our subject, and we think we had. be it known then, that ever since a certain morning, (anno domini something,) when our nursery-maid walked us through bartholomew fair, and showed us _all_ the pretty things, and treated our little palate to one or two of the nice ones, we have felt a remarkable passion for fairs--bartholomew fair in particular. we will adventure to measure our love for it against that of its tutelar saint--but alas! we forget--it has no tutelar saint now; he has long since turned his back upon it. yes, when prosperity went hand in hand with it, when joy, mirth, and splendour, were its friends, _then_ could that faithless guardian--but, we must commence again, this is too moral--too moral by half. once more then. it was the last day of bartholomew fair, and from some unaccountable cause, we had not been near the spot. but it was not yet too late. we bustled up at the thought, hastily pinned our handkerchief inside our hat, emptied all our pockets--save one, divested our person of watch and jewelry, (for we hold it heinous to encourage picking and stealing,) and then hurried out in the direction of smithfield, resolving in the plenitude of our joy to visit every show, have a ride in every swing, take a chance at every penny turn, roll the marble down every tower of babel, and pink with every winning needle, for the sake of lang syne. five years had we been away from england--five years had we been absent from our own dear fair; and yet, how well we remembered our last walk over the same ground, about the same hour, and on the same errand. what pleasure it was now to see that so little change had taken place in the streets! there, stood the old oyster-rooms exactly the same as ever; yonder, was the public-house beside the gateway, just as dirty, just the same people at the doors, just the same noise within as when we last passed by. there was even the same crooked old post at the corner. recollection seemed as it were to shake hands with these objects as old familiar friends, and we pushed on with even yet more joy in our bosom, and ardent expectation in our heart, to the great--the prince of fairs. our heart leaped for joy as we shot past a little shop, displaying drums, dolls, kettles, portable tea-services, singing cuckoos, bow-wow poodles, and armies of soldiers barracked in flat deal boxes, with a background of whips, scratchers, trumpets, squeakers, diminutive culinary apparatus, and waterloo-crackers: we say, our heart leaped for very joy at the sight; but it leaped no more that night, for, from that moment disappointment marked us for her own. there now insensibly crept upon us strange forebodings and presentiments that all was not right, for although close upon the fair, we felt no wonted squeeze, heard no confusion of tongues, saw no confluence of people all driving and pouring up the road to one point. no announcements of hot green peas, fried sausages, cooked eels, or other bartholomew delicacies, came wafted on the breeze;--no ginger-beer stands, corn-plaster venders, brass-sovereign sellers, or spiced-elder-wine compounders, lined the street: the throng was even less than we had seen upon an ordinary cattle-day. we grew frightened; and rushing forward, peeped into the fair itself. in that peep, the thermometer of our joy fell full five hundred degrees below zero. why, where are the shows? where are the swings? where are the turn-abouts--the round-abouts? where are the people? where, _where_ is the fair? but down, struggling feelings, down, and let me write calmly. in there were but two shows in the great bartholomew fair! we now walked up the gingerbread walk--the _only_ gingerbread walk. time had been, when our first act was to store a pocket with the best spiced nuts, for until we had eaten a few of those little cakes, we never felt ourself in the fair; but now, we hadn't the heart to taste one. nor nuts nor any gauds had charms for us. we gazed with a pitying eye on all. we saw black ruin hovering over and already darkening smithfield's grandeur--we beheld destruction suspended only by the last weak thread of custom, which time with his scythe, or pocket-scissors, was about to sever, to the extinction, the total annihilation, of our own--our beloved fair. in consequence of the prohibitory price asked for the lawful groundage, _two_ shows had been forced to take unfurnished lodgings in hosier-lane. this, was indeed a blow! to see two, old, aboriginal exhibitions--one miscellaneous, the other mechanical, with waxen kings, clock-work queens, and spring-wire princes, barbarously driven from their native fair--unhappy refugees, and sojourners in narrow-streets and hosier-lanes! rumours there were too, that one other miserable exile had sought an asylum in a neighbouring farrier's shop; that there, in the front of certain festoons of dirty red cloth which veiled an ugly forge, the pincers, hammers, anvils, and other appurtenances of farriery, wizards were manufacturing puddings in the company's hats, causing real beer to stream from any given part of any little boy, and pulverising watches in mortars, as choice ingredients for soup; but we lacked curiosity to go and test the truth of such reports--these shows were not _in_ the fair, therefore over us possessed no magic influence. with a heavy heart we next sauntered by the groups of stalls, whereon were spread various fruits and seductive viands--articles of savour for such as were edaciously disposed; but nobody seemed hungry; people passed and repassed, and scarcely glanced at the temptations. true, oysters appeared somewhat in demand, as did certain vinegary relishes in tiny white saucers, but as to the more substantial boiled tripe, fried fish, pigs' feet, pickled salmon, &c., none but the smallest boys approached the stalls, and they, not to buy--only to enjoy a look. the very cries of the doll and toy women, as they recommended this article or that to the dreamy by-standers, seemed muffled with sadness; and the gipsy gambler who was casting dice upon an old tea-tray, and relieving one or two dirty-faced urchins of their farthings, seemed to be realising scarcely sufficient to pay for the flaring candle which lighted his dishonesty. we now stood opposite wombwell's menagerie. this was the star, the hyperion of the fair--it stood out bright and undaunted as in happier times--it was the last gallant upholder of poor smithfield's dying splendour. we admit that there was a crowd before this show, but it was not a bartholomew-fair crowd. there was wanting--that pulling, that pushing, that hallooing, that hooting, that screaming of women, that shrieking of children, that treading on toes, that losing of shoes, that knocking in of hats, that demolishing of bonnets, that crying for help, that squeezing of ribs, that contest between "stream up" and "stream down," which there always was in days of yore. such, do we remember as the features of a legitimate bartholomew crowd; whilst from the surrounding shows, there thundered the clanging of gongs, the firing of pistols, the springing of rattles, the bellowing of speaking trumpets, the ringing of bells, the crashing of horns, with fiddles, bag pipes, cymbals, organs, drums, and the hoarse voices of the showmen, all uniting and confusing into one loud, discordant, ceaseless roar--oh! happy, thrice happy days! to the left of the mighty wombwell, like some tributary satellite, was a smaller--very much smaller show--a sort of domestic _multum in parvo_--a wee locomotive ark, as it were--into which, on some curious principle of condensation, the ingenious proprietor had compressed a dwarf, an abyssinian princess with vermilion eyes and snow-white hair, a living skeleton, a remarkably accomplished pig, and several other monstrosities--exclusive of drum, barrel organ, household furniture, and his family. over the doorway of this accommodative cabin swung an iron dish, in which flared some grease and oakum, that threw a dull flickering light upon the portraiture above the van, which represented, among other things, the ruby-eyed princess combing her silver locks in the presence of company, the dwarf poised in a giant's hand, and the crichton of pigs engaged in a game of cards. on the steps of this exhibition, dressed in a green velveteen shooting-coat with large moon buttons, and a red shawl wound about his neck, stood the proprietor himself. from top to toe he looked the showman; but the care upon his brow--the spiritless voice in which he reminded the scant mob about him of its being the last night of the fair, and exhorted them not to neglect the golden opportunity of witnessing his pig, dwarf, &c., told us that he, like ourself, was the victim of chagrin and disappointment. there had been a time when his hoarse voice rehearsing his catalogue of prodigies would have been drowned in the clamouring din around him, but now every word, every sentence he uttered, was pitiably distinct. "now, walk for'ard, walk for'ard!" he exclaimed, his wife accompanying his voice on the watchman's rattle _ad libitum_. "only a penny remember! one penny there! the last night--one penny!" but nobody moved, nobody walked forward--the whole crowd seemed penniless. "don't stand fingrin' the suv'rins in yer pocket, young men, till yer vares 'em as thin as vafers and nobody vont take 'em," he continued. "don't stand a-thinkin' yerselves inter consumptions, but treat yer sveethearts to the vunder o' the fair--come and vitness the most larn'd and eloquentest pig as wos iver born or created--a pig wot's a human bein' in everything but his tail and wices!" he paused, looked wistfully round, whilst his spouse performed a furious interlude upon the watchman's rattle: he then resumed. "here, here, here, ladies, is the pritty cretur wot'll tell you the 'zact name o' the young man as is dyin' for yer--vether he's dark or light--fat or thin, and vare his country-'ouse is. the livin' skel'ton too, wot eats no other wittles but light and vind! vun penny; no more, remember! jist agoin' to begin--vun penny!" he paused again, but his oratory induced only two persons to ascend the steps. "the african princess too," he continued, tapping the illustrious portrait with a cane, "vith silver hair eight foot long, every hair on her head vorth a goulden guinea! yoye--yoye--yoye, there, walk for'ard and don't be afear'd--little children is as velcome as big men--nobody's shut out but dogs and blind people. yoye--yoye, the dwarf--the dwarf--the dwarf, here--so short, he can't vash his own face vithout he stands on a high stool. now my little boys, put yer four fard'ns together and see vot you'll niver see agin if yer lives as long as the most oldest donkey--come and see the vunderful pig toby as'll tell yer how old yer are--vare the key of yer master's till's kept, and vether you're to pick up the five-pun-note a valking home to-night, or next veek!" but to little end is this budget of professional eloquence and strained humour reiterated in the ears of his gaping listeners; very few are so overcome by it as to "walk forward;" such as are, being kept in bondage till their open mutiny and rebellious language compel the proprietor to close the door; the exhibition then commences, and then concludes; and then again comes the sisyphian labour of refilling the van. apprehensive lest our distress of feeling should be observed in our countenance, we turned our back upon the wretched spectacle, and gazed into the gloomy field before us, till our heart verily ached again. we had known a time when "richardson's" in giant letters met our view--when wreaths and stars of variegated lamps, brilliant as the rainbow, depended and glittered from red festoons--when, side by side, the insidious conspirator, the valiant disinherited, and beauteous betrothed, paced the platform in mysterious communion--when funny clowns sang funny songs to a sea of delighted faces--when ladies in scotch costume danced highland flings--when countless people who had paid, stood conjecturing and anxiously waiting outside for the conclusion of the tragedy and pantomime then being executed inside, and feeling sensations of awe creep over them as the spangled knights, the frowning desperadoes, and indian chiefs with bracelets on their arms and rings through their ears and noses, stalked past them in their dignified parade. oh! torturing memory! once more in thy dimless mirror do we behold "pavilion theatre"--see the equestrian "clarke's"--hear too their cry of "the riders, the riders"--see again the savage combat between the two fierce bandits, who perform north-east south-west, robbers' cut, and guard, with frantic bravery--again we see master clarke and miss clarke waltzing round and round in the innocence of childhood--again the din of bartholomew rings in our ears--again is smithfield thronged with its roystering thousands--again are we surrounded by booths, shows, dwarfs, giants, pigs link-eaters, fat boys, swings, round-abouts, conjurers, and steam glass-works. we should, past doubt, have swooned away at the vision we had raised, had we not turned opportunely to the little show behind us, which made us conscious of the chilling truth of the reality. despairing and broken-spirited, the proprietor had forsaken his post, and whilst his consort screamed forth invitations to the inanimate crowd to walk forward, he leaned his back dejectedly against the wheel of his yellow habitation. as he stood, he was accosted by a man in knee corduroys, half-boots, and white stockings, who, removing the short pipe from his mouth and looking hard in the showman's face, exclaimed-- "vot bill!--vy i ardly know'd yer! vot a precious long phiz you have got! vot has give you the blues?" "blues!" echoed the showman, for an instant raising his eyes; "ain't it enough to make a heart of stone bleed to see this here fair? ain't it enough to--" but here his eyes again fell upon the ground, and superintended a little hole which he was digging with his iron heel. "vell, but man," rejoined the corduroys, encouragingly, as he glanced about him, "there arn't a wery great squeege to-night, to be sure, but yer vosn't so thin yisterday, and the day afore, vos yer?" "wasn't we though," sighed the proprietor, with a significant nod, "in that ere precious pourer yisterday--we wasn't thin, eh?--oh, not at all!"-- "vell, don't founder, old boy. come, go up, go up, and then the people'll follow you!" "not they," returned the dejected man; "they hasn't the sperit, jim. they sneeks avay to the gin-shops and destroys their morals--gets drunk, and goes home and whacks their innercent wives--here's a precious state o' things for a civilised country!" "vell, niver mind. see, your good woman's a-calling of yer; go up to her, for down here yer looks as miserable as a fish out o' water. ve all regrets it, but if yer perfession is ruined, vy, try your hand in some other line, that's all." "niver! niver, jim!" cried the indomitable showman; "i wos _born_ in a wan--i wos _edicated_ in a wan--i've _lived_ in a wan, and--i'll _die_ in a wan!" saying which, he rushed frantically up the steps, vented the first burst of his feelings in a terrific flourish upon the trumpet, and ultimately calmed down at the barrel organ. very soon after, st paul's sonorous voice spoke his dismal fiat, and as he tolled out the eleventh hour, seemed to ring the knell of our dear departed bartholomew fair. alpha. omnibus chat. we were led by accident, the other day, into certain odd speculations upon the association of ideas. who was it that astonished his hearers by declaring that beefsteak-pudding always put him in mind of westminster abbey? it was the same man who responded to the "why?" by saying, "o! i don't know why, but it _does_!" "association of ideas" is arrangeable under two heads: the discoverable, and the undiscoverable. of the last, first. how often do we every day jump from one point to another, as distinct in themselves as the sublime and the ridiculous, and far more widely asunder? we are talking of a, and z starts up in the mind. white is the subject of the speculation, and in walks black. it may be said, that as likes beget likes, so opposites beget opposites; and it may be very true that if you cannot directly call z to mind when you want him, it is advisable to recollect a, as likelier to remind you of him than y, or any other alphabetician. granted; but, on the same principle, when you want to think of water, you should order in some brandy. the connexion may be close, although the elements are opposite. in like manner, we are told, when trying to recal some reprobate's _alias_, to think of a church of the same name; as we might think of a duellist, to suggest the image of a practical christian. so, if we would be reminded of the truth and simplicity of shakspeare, we ought to remember how his plays are sometimes acted; we shall see the high point from the low. again, the image of a poor-box might be useful to help us to the idea of fulness; as that of a medicine-chest might be, to suggest the sense of turtle and venison. but we need not multiply opposites; grant that suggestions arise thus, when ideas stand opposed in straight lines--when the electric wire runs direct between them, wonderfully connecting the remote--yet how are we to account for the association of ideas in cross-roads, where there cannot possibly be the slightest connexion--where the fancy starts off at all sorts of angles, or wriggles through all kinds of crooked lines, without an apparent chance of stumbling upon the image that nevertheless comes uppermost? cases constantly occur where there is not a particle of affinity. the child-idea is born without a parent-idea; there is not the shadow of a traceable relationship. we are discussing the merits of cerito, and one of euclid's problems bursts upon us; we are quietly repeating to ourselves some verses of the odyssey, and suddenly the mind wanders to the subject of muffins. what connexion is there between shirt-frills and glass bottles? yet how rapidly may one follow the other, like debtor and creditor, and become as intimately related as needle and thread! on the other hand the discoverable links of association are often as clear and connected as pearls strung on silver; and sometimes, it must be owned, they are altogether as tangled and confused, though still traceable by a nice curiosity. it needs no ghost to tell us why twenty-one shillings suggest the idea of a guinea--though the one coin be of the more precious metal; nor is it necessary to show why a manton at this season awakens associations of pheasants and partridges--the consanguinity is obvious. but how comes it that my simple little cat (dummy by name) called up, the other evening, by a very ordinary movement, the image of cleopatra? how? why, the mere sweep of her sable tail reminded me of the black leopard in the surrey zoological gardens: where the gigantic model of rome suggested a thought of the cæsars; antony, of course, started up, and in the "hundred-thousandth part of the _millionth_ division of a second," i was in egypt old, gazing upon the undying glory of cleopatra! what so simple! such chains lengthen themselves incessantly in the mind--the links are drawn each to each, of their "own sweet will," and bind us unawares. lightning is slow compared with the flight of thought. how quickly does an oyster beget the idea of our first parents! thus: an oyster--milton oysters--milton--adam and eve! let any reader who may happen to be thinking of wrought-iron, trace back his speculation, and laugh to find that it had its origin perhaps in camomiles; as camomiles had in turn been suggested by the "pilgrim's progress!" * * * * * ---- but all this is less an address to the patient reader than an apology to an injured correspondent. we wish to show, beyond mistake, how we misnamed a valued illuminator of our vehicle, who last month related an incident of travel. his name is _copus_; we could not call it to mind, and so we styled him _quickly_. observe. quickly in this case was the son of mrs. quickly; mrs. quickly was, in our imagination, the mother of sack; sack is, to our knowledge, the brother of copus. the connexion is mysterious--yet mysteriously simple. copus! how could we forget thee?--thou wert companion of our youth. we knew thee well--thou art a spicy fellow, and a cheerful! what youthful reveller in academic relaxations recollects thee not, with thy wine and toast, thy lemon, cloves, and seductive et ceteras! here's a chant that particularises thy pleasantries:-- "bring ale, bring wine, bring lemon too, with the nutmeg fine-- we'll brew, we'll brew! the toast throw in, and the clove divine, 'twill do, 'twill do, 'twill do! here's a draught to the queen, and the days we have seen, and a health to you, sir, you!" and now shall copus, john copus, (late quickly) speak for himself, on a subject which, by a natural sequence, treads on the heels of the foregoing. i sometimes speculate as to what little boys at school now-a-days talk about, as to what form the chief subjects of their amusement. it is sadly to be feared, that the innocent and ingenuous ignorance of my school-days has been exchanged for a culpable smattering of sophisticated knowledge, foolishly so called. oh! who could wish when he calls to mind the days of his boyhood--at least, who that has a particle of romance, the smallest dash of sentiment, in his heart, could wish, that the boys of the present day should be sceptical as to the soothing belief then so prevalent, that the luscious preparation of sugar and peppermint which they eat, is really and truly a portion of "gibraltar rock;" or that the "brandy balls," with which they beguile their happy hours, and _clart_ their fingers' ends, are indeed remnants of the lot of those very "nelson's bullets" which spread destruction on "egypt, hafnia, trafalgar." some of my readers may perhaps know--i confess my ignorance on this point--what boys now are. whether a doudnean tunic and variegated cap of divers kinds of cloth warm the possessor of as much solid understanding, as the honest pepper-and-salt clothes and undoubted beaver hat did in times gone by. i will, however, endeavour to illustrate what boys were in the last generation. and first, you shall agree that they excelled as a body in the inventive faculty. i scarcely need instance walter scott--the following story will establish my point without further aid. let us suppose the scene--a moderate-sized room--with eighteen beds or so in it, and the same number of boys in them, varying in age from eight to twelve, with every variety of nightcap, from the cosey linen one fitting "snod" to the head, and tied well under the chin, to the dignified and manly double cotton with long tuft; these enclosing all the varieties of hair, known as turnips, carrots, candles, &c. "now grant," shouts the biggest of the lot, "it's your turn to tell a story to-night--don't be afraid, (he was a new lad,) any thing will do, so fire away, and i'll thrash the first that interrupts him." the youth thus addressed, having evidently prepared his story, begins slowly and argumentatively thus:--"well, once upon a time there was a mill" (it was considered a solecism to omit a mill or a castle,) "in a great plain--and a family lived there--well--and so there were three men, and they went out one night and walked across the plain--and it grew quite dark;" (here, one of the youngest lads, frightened at the fearful ideas conjured up by the last words, gives a faint sigh;) "and so after a bit they began to feel hungry--and one said look! there's a light! and they all swore a solemn oath that they would go to where it was, and get something to eat, or else kill one another." (here evident proofs are given that the greater portion of the audience are deeply interested in the progress of the tale, for various small sighs are heard, indicative either of sympathy with sufferers under the pangs of hunger, or of apprehension lest the three "jurors," taking the kilkenny cats as precedents, should eventually become all of them homicides.) "well--and so they went to the mill--and one of them knocked--and then the miller got up, and sharpening a large knife went to the door and asked who was there?--and the boldest of the three told him, that they were three travellers, and wanted food and a lodging. so the miller let them in, and they had a jolly good tuck-out of tea and buttered toast, and then went to bed.----and so my story's ended." "grant--come here!" mildly observes the biggest of the crew. the youth thus addressed rises cheerfully--advances boldly--and falls precipitately--levelled by a well-aimed bolster. "now grant!" continues the non-appreciator of a tale worthy for its simplicity of conception of a wordsworth--for its pensive dénouement of a dickens;--"now grant, just pick that up--and won't i lick you to-morrow morning, you precious fool--that's all." i cannot lay the flattering unction to my soul, of believing that the modern dormitory could produce so striking a proof of talent. no sir; from fountains such as these have risen the immortal strains of a ---- and a ---- (you can fill in the names). in vain will the survivors of the next generation look for any similar display of talent. but if this fail to convince you of the decided superiority of the boys of auld lang syne in one branch of knowledge, give me your attention whilst i recount an overpowering proof, that in appreciation of real wit and talent for the ludicrous, they were indeed unrivalled. a new lad had come, who from having liberally bestowed various "tucks" on almost every one of his friends in the bed-room was popular on the whole, and received very cordially by us all. at all our stories connected with the various "masters," "monitors," "servants," boys that had left, and boys that remained, (and some of them were by no means amiss,) he seemed rather to sneer, so that he was voted a dull fellow--a spoon--a sap. when, however, emboldened by acquaintance with us, he began to talk of the school he had left, his delight, and even laughter, knew no bounds. "oh! master was such a jolly fellow"--he said one day to a select circle of friends--"and such a funny fellow too he was you don't know--he! he! he! he used to make us laugh so--he! he! i'll tell you such a funny story of him. there was a lad called brown, and master called him jacky, because his name was john--he! he! he! well, one day at dinner, jacky had only had once of meat, but he'd two helps of pood;" "of what?" we all exclaimed. "oh! we called _rolly_, _pood_, to distinguish it from _stick-jaw_," was the explanation given. "so when master said, 'well, jacky, will you have any more pudding?' he! he! he! jacky said, he! he! 'please sir,' he! he! ha! and master said--he! he! '_jacky's fond of pudding!_' he! he! he! wasn't that funny?" * * * * * having laughed immoderately at the profound and irresistible drollery of jack brown's dominie, protesting, that two such schoolmasters would be the death of us, we were all--that is, the whole omnibus-fraternity in vehicle assembled,--suddenly checked in our hilarity, and sat with solemn visages to listen to the laceman's lament. "one struggle more and i am free from pangs that _rend_ my heart in twain."--byron. oh! thou, who wert my all of hope-- of love--of joy, in early years; ere aught i knew about the shop, or view'd life through a _veil_ of tears. some poet sings, that, "never yet, the course of true love smooth did run;" so mine, i'll take an even bet, must be the truest 'neath the sun! 'tis long, long since i ceased to weep o'er all thy broken vows of yore; but, if you want some ribbon cheap, i hope you'll not go past my door! 'twas thee my youthful fancy drew the fairest pattern of your kind;-- lace patterns, now, alone i view, and _fancy_ muslins rule my mind. dearest and fairest! oh, forgive the thought that prompts this simple lay; 'tis just to tell you where i live-- i see you passing, every day. i may, perchance, have measured short the lines that are not in my line; for yards, not feet, are now my _forte_, and rhymes are ill to match and join. in visions of a future day, i see thy long-lost form appear; and, o'er the counter, whispering, say-- "pray can you make it cheaper, _dear_?" then i'll not call thee all unkind, nor every hope untimely drop; unless, in after days, i find you take your custom past my shop. j. p. * * * * * this pleasantry not unnaturally called to mind the departed author of a thousand similar essays; of a thousand songs, epigrams, odes, farces, and operas; of a thousand proofs of natural talent and untiring activity of mind. the allusion here made is to thomas dibdin, the son of the great sea-songster, the brother of the already by-gone charles, and consequently, the last of the three! the remains of "poor tom" were interred on the st of september, in the burial-ground of st. james's chapel, pentonville, close by the grave of his old friend, _grimaldi_. may he sleep in peace nevertheless! the feeling of a friend seems to be expressed in the subjoined tribute:-- to the memory of the late thomas dibdin. alas! poor tom! thy days are past, yet shall thy wit and humour last; for few, of all the bay-crown'd train, could boast a more productive brain. but what avails, if fleeting praise alone the poet's labour pays? if, when the mind is worn away, pale misery waits on dim decay? if talents rare no more can claim than idle transitory fame? 'twas thine, poor tom! in life's decline, in sad reverse and want to pine; till pity came, with angel-pow'r, to soothe thee at thy latest hour.[ ] (pity! on earth a heavenly guest, and sweetest in a queenly breast.) but rest thee well! nor let us grieve thou hadst no hoarded bags to leave; one legacy of thine shall yet be valued more--thy cabinet. j. a. williams. it is the fate of one author to be overlooked by the great, and of another to be overlooked by the little. but we very much question, whether any author, be he poet or pamphleteer, occupying what is technically called a two-pair front, was ever subjected, whether sitting down to dinner or getting into bed, to the inconvenience of being overlooked by the great, after the fashion portrayed in the margin hereof. now this we really take to be the height of impudence! impudence has many degrees. when a stranger in a coffee-room politely requests to be allowed just to glance for one instant only at the newspaper you are reading, merely to look at an advertisement, and then, ordering candles into the next box, coolly sits down to read through the parliamentary debate--when a friend borrows your horse, to lend to a friend of his whom he would not trust with his own--a certain degree of impudence has unquestionably been attained. there is impudence in looking through a keyhole, in peeping over the parlour-blinds, in spying into the first-floor from the window "over the way;" but surely the highest stage of impudence is reserved for the man who stops as he strolls along at night, to look into your bed-room window, on the second floor--tapping at it probably with a request to be permitted to light his cigar at your candle, as the gas-light has gone out. [illustration] footnote: [footnote : a few months before mr. dibdin's decease, and at the intercession of some friends, he received _l._ out of the queen's bounty fund. but he has left a widow and young family, for whom no provision whatever has been made.] an apparent case of determined suicide. [illustration] as we sauntered along the sea-beach the other day, in the neighbourhood of margate, we observed a female standing out at a considerable distance from the cliffs, and at a point where she was likely to be cut off from the shore. as the tide at the time was "making in fast," prompted by a humane feeling (and not by an impertinent curiosity, in the hopes of seeing a pretty face), we immediately hastened towards her; upon a nearer approach the form was familiar to us--surely we had seen that figure before--it must be--it is--mrs. toddles! what can she be about? she stands motionless upon an elevated patch of sand--the white foam comes boiling and gurgling and hissing around her. she heeds it not--she stirs not; it begins to rain a little--she deliberately puts up her umbrella! what can she mean? horrible thought! does she meditate self-destruction? has she resolved to stand there until the mighty waters encompass her about--engulfing herself--her little black stockings--her bonnet--her shawl and all! in the deep, vast, salt, briny, hungry ocean. but what are we about? let us hasten to prevent such an awful catastrophe! springing forward therefore quickly, we exclaimed, "for heaven's sake, madam, what are you about? are you determined to destroy yourself, or are you aware of your danger?" "danger, sir?" cried mrs. t. with a scream, "what danger, sir? i am only watching the waves." "danger, madam! why in five minutes the waves will cut you off from all chance of escape," we exclaimed, and expressed a hope that she could swim. "swim!" screamed mrs. t.--"swim! oh dear, oh dear!"--and away skuttled mrs. t. along the sands, her little bit black legs going at a most surprising rate. however, leaving mrs. t.'s legs to themselves, we took to our heels, and encouraged her to increased exertion, when suddenly we heard the little lady exclaim, "oh, my basket,"--and upon looking round, we saw those little bit black legs hurrying back to the place from whence she started. we hallooed, we bawled--time and space were both narrowing with fearful rapidity--"now! madam--haste, haste!--quick--your hand!--there, now!--ah!"--ahah! too late! too late!--bang comes the wave--such a squash--poor mrs. t. went off dripping wet; but we dare say she would find a little drop of comfort, in the shape of _smuggled_ hollands at her lodgings. [illustration] [illustration] we wonder _how_ mrs. t. got to margate, and suppose it was in search of her friend, colonel walker--who, we presume, _must_ be out of town--or we should have heard from him. the biter bit. "stop! stop!" cried a gentleman to an omnibus cad[ ], but the cad would neither hear nor stop. "stupid fellow!" said the gentleman,--"he'll find it out, to his cost, bye-and-bye; for i have given him a counterfeit five-shilling piece!" but, on looking at the change, he exclaimed--"well, i _never_! hang me if the rascal hasn't given me four shillings and sixpence bad money! but, never mind; i've had my ride for nothing!" footnote: [footnote : not attached to our establishment.] [illustration: a skaiting party a sliding siute a skaiting academy designed, etched & published by george cruikshank no.^r ] the artificial floor for skating. if our grandfathers, and great-grandfathers, and great-grandmothers, and great-great-grandmothers, (who, depend upon it, were all very little people,) could only look down and see what is going on among us here below, how they would, as an irish friend remarks, turn up their eyes! those who were wont, while vegetaters in this world, to creep to bed with the lamb, for want of a light to sit up by, (before man "found out long-sixes,") must, upon peeping down now, be dazzled by the blaze of gas; yet what is gas compared to the bude-light, already superseding it? those who made their wills when they undertook a three-weeks journey from york to london, must be abundantly startled by our railroads; yet what is railway-travelling now to the velocity with which we are hereafter to move--when, seated on a cannon-ball, we shall be shot into a distant city in less time than it would take us to stop at home. but of all the wonders that must make them open their unsubstantial eyes, and rub their aerial spectacles, a skating assembly in a london drawing-room must assuredly take the lead. balloons pilotable and walks under the thames, iron ships and canals over carriage-ways,--these are mere common-places. earth, air, fire, and water, are old-fashioned things. _artificial ice_ is the new element that shall astonish the other four. in america they are boasting the construction of a railroad to convey ice to charlestown, for the supply of the west indies! very well; but that is _real_ ice. england has done something more; she has established her independence of winter. she can do without frost altogether, and yet go on skating all the year round. she has discovered more than parry did at the pole; she has found out--artificial ice! to mr. bradwell, whose ingenuity as a machinist has so long been signalized in covent garden theatre, the public will be indebted for the realization of this wonder. it is proposed that in what were once the nursery-grounds in the new road the infant art shall be nursed and reared, and the new road to enjoyment be thrown open. magnificent rooms, on a scale of extraordinary magnitude, will be laid with sheets of patent ice, upon which the common skate can be used with the same facility as upon the frozen serpentine. there will be rooms for learners and private parties. the artificial ice has been put to the test of extreme heat, and is unaffected by it. it may be used in private houses, and be carpeted when skating is over. such is the accredited statement; and our inference naturally is, that skating will soon become popular all over the world. the speculators who long ago sent out skates to india will now make their fortunes. with ourselves it will soon be _the_ national pastime. people will get up in the dog-days, early, and go out for a morning's skating. they will enjoy the sport with advantages hitherto undreamed of; there will be no keen winter-wind to cut them in two--no "mobocracy" to mix with--no rheumatisms to catch--no duckings to dread. the word "dangerous" will be as a term in the unknown tongue. they will not anticipate a drawback in the use of the drags, and though they mix in every society, the "humane" will be untroubled; there will be neither falling in nor falling out. mr. and mrs. slippers request the honour of mr., mrs., and miss slider's company to an evening party, on the st of july, --. _skates at ._ skating-floors will, of course, be laid down in the houses of all the affluent, and invites will be issued from portland-place and park-lane, after the fashion of the accompanying card. it will be the privilege of a gentleman to solicit the hand of a lady for the next figure-of-eight, to beseech her to take part with him in the date of the year, or to join him in a true-lover's knot. servants will skate in and out with real ice. the text of milton will be altered in the next edition, and his couplet will be read-- "come and trip it, long and late, on the light fantastic skate." but the skating-floor will be in equal request for family use as for company. on a wet morning, when it is impossible to go out, the gentleman will say--"here's a soaker! no ride, no walk; james, bring me my skates." or perhaps the lady will cry--"what a horrid dry day! nothing but dust! why don't they put an awning all over hyde park! eustace, my skates!" what an immense saving will there be in families in the article of firing, when people are thus irresistibly moved to "stir their stumps," instead of the fire. but will the advantages end here? certainly not. there can be no question but that the experiment will be tried in the new houses of parliament, where, should a skating-floor be laid down, notices of motion will be far less abundant than motions without notice. changing sides will be a matter of constant practice; to cut figures, not to cultivate them, will be the order of the day; the noble lord will "feel great reluctance in reducing himself to the level of the honourable gentleman," and the honourable gentleman "will very unwillingly adopt the position of the noble lord." supporting _pe_titions will be of less consequence than supporting _par_titions; and the strong party measure that will be necessary, will be a strong party wall. westminster-hall will of course be furnished with a floor for the use of the lawyers, and the juries in waiting; the counsel will show where an action may lie, the plaintiff will naturally go against the defendant, and the defendant will as naturally move for a new trial. the town-halls throughout the kingdom will be similarly supplied. but may not patent-ice pavements be laid down in our popular thoroughfares? we have asphalte promenades and wooden highways; but what are such inventions as these to the convenience of ice-pavements, and the luxury of skating down cheapside to be early on 'change! what a ninth of november will that be which shows us the two sheriffs skating away to guildhall after the new lord mayor, followed by the court of aldermen and the companies. a procession on skates! the cabinet ministers, the judges,--the sword-bearer, and the men in armour--all skating like dutchmen! [if herein we exaggerate, we have not exaggerated the ingenuity of mr. bradwell, to whom we wish a signal success.] duns demonstrated. by edward howard, author of "rattlin the reefer." the dark ages of barbarism are generally supposed to have been more prolific of monsters; but modern times,--the times of civilization and refinement--have far excelled them in this respect. what are your giants, your anthropophagi, and "men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," as monsters, compared with that maximum of monstrosity, _a dun_? he is an iniquity, who may claim impudence and usury for his father and mother. he is a devouring sin, a rampant atrocity, a thing unendurable. and then the double duplicity of the monster! he makes his first approaches towards his victim smiling--he actually smiles!--he offers to lend you money, the angel! or bestow upon you his goods; and then he is nothing but the beneficent assister of the poor: for every man who condescends to be in debt must be poor--if in want, pitiably poor in fact; if not in want, poor in spirit beyond the approach of contempt. but when his meshes have once entangled his prey, this seraph stands forth in the sublimity of the horrible--the dun! come, as we are in a free nation, let us talk about the chains of slavery, tyranny's oppression, the _morgue_ of aristocracy, and the _fierté_ of those in authority; shall we not rise in arms against them "'sblood! shall we not be rebels?" stop. let us first conquer a tyrant far stronger than any of these--a despot more despotic than any autocrat who ever existed. this persecutor violates all the sanctities of private life; he is with us at our meals, he penetrates the closet, even the bedchamber affords us no asylum. there is no sanctuary from the dun. death? that may be, yet we know not. we should hesitate the accepting a grave _gratis_, even were it a mausoleum, near the "remains" of a dun. nobody can answer for the force of habit. the ancients had very correct notions on this subject. there was a dun at the very entrance to their "shades below;" how could any place of torment be complete without one? there was charon, with his skinny hand outstretched for a penny. it was not much, certainly; but it is a great deal more than dutiful sons, affectionate nephews, and disconsolate heirs, can now afford to bestow upon the illustrious departed. it is a good thing for the modern dead that all this about styx and the ferry-boat is held to be fiction. detestable as is the dun, there is something heroic about him. it has been matter of dispute among learned commentators whether the assertion respecting this right valourous thomas thumb should be construed literally or paraphrastically, "he made the giants first, and then he killed them." there can be no doubt about the deeds of the dun. he actually does "make his giants first, and then he kills them." without him there would be no debtors to destroy. if debt be a crime, the creditor is more than _particeps criminis_. he is the originator of, and tempter to, the deed. justice should really punish the dun for drawing his victim into debt. we deny not that lending money is glorious among the virtues: nobody can appreciate that more than ourselves. but to punish a poor devil for affording a fellow-creature an opportunity for exercising the most exalted virtue, ranks next in heinousness to the crime of that man who may degrade himself into a _dun_. but what is a dun? the ignorant affluent may exclaim. it is this that the abomination is: the quintessence of vexation; a single plague, a plaguey deal worse than the whole ten that plagued egypt. he is a substantial ghost, perpetually haunting a man, and sucking away his substance more eagerly than ever james the first imagined that a hobgoblin sucked a witch. he is far more ravenous than "the horseleech, who always cries 'give, give!'" in his voice he imitates the cuckoo, having but one note, provided that he gets hold of yours--"pay, pay! money, money!" he is a troublesome fiend, not to be laid with protestant prayers, or papistical holy water, and yet can be exorcised merely by a check. the dun hath an extraordinary sympathy with a knocker. for him, a knocker cannot be placed too high or too low, nor will his ready hand find it too heavy or too light. it is the instrument on which he most loveth to play. he can therewith simulate every man's tune; at the unobtrusive "one modest tap" of the poor cousin, the quaker-like simplicity of the postman's _appel_, the hearty rally of the intimate friend, and the prolonged thunder of the crimson-thighed lacquey, he is equally expert. the hypocrite can achieve every knock that has been or can be knocked in this knocking world. and yet, he can hardly deceive the poor tremulous debtor. hence, since the times have become bad, and john doe and richard roe have stalked through our streets triumphant, gentlemen have left off wearing certain appendages to the backs of their heads, as being too typical and too much reminiscent of "iteration" of the pertinacious foe. [illustration] what gentleman would like to have bobbing at his back an excrescence, which, if he walked slowly, would remind him of his tailor's--if fast, of his bootmaker's summons? it would be planting an imp of importunity on his shoulders, which, like sinbad's old man, he might shake, but could not shake off. many are the doubts of the dun's pedigree. some hold that he descends from one of nimrod's illegitimates, for he is a mighty hunter by profession, as well as a tyrant by nature. a blood-hound he is, of a notable quick scent to discover his game, with a deep mouth to pursue it. his presumption is boundless; for he pretends to ape creation by attempting to squeeze something out of nothing, and raise cash from a vacuum. etymologists have laid it down that he is called a dun, by antiphrasis, because he never will have done until he has undone you; and yet nothing is more natural and pleasant than the doing of a dun, nothing worse than his doings. whether he repair to church or the meeting-house, he cannot be accounted a true christian, as he never either gives or forgives, but merely lends in order to show that he has no forgiveness. he is the most persevering of all bores and the most penetrable; nothing can divert him from his persecutions; and 'tis very lucky for him that doors cannot maintain actions of assault and battery. the new penny postage is a fortunate measure for the afflicted victim of the dun. if he live so far off that he cannot be dunned three times a day, he will be punished to the amount only of what the good samaritan gave to the wounded wayfarer; but this punishment will be daily, punctual as the day itself. he is, this dun, the acutest mental torturer that exists, and the greatest tempter to all manner of wickedness. near, he almost annihilates you; remote, he torments you, racking your very soul. he is to the poor creditor what the guilty conscience is to the murderer; he can neither eat, drink, sleep, or walk in quiet for him. indeed, the tenter-hooks upon which he puts a man, are enough to warp the best nature in the world. with truth he will not be satisfied, and you are forced to rid yourself of him by a lie. at length his importunity provokes you to swear at him, and then he hardens you into a determination never to pay him at all. he thus enacts the gentleman-usher to the black gentleman, leading you on from lying to swearing, from swearing to dishonesty, till at last you pave your way to a "certain place,"--more certainly than ever you will pave it with your good intentions. it would not be difficult to prove that your thorough-paced dun was the father of the seven deadly sins. let us single out a specimen from a flock of dun-coloured duns: for the true dun affecteth not brilliancy of colours. he has marked his quarry. he pursues it cautiously, stealthily. he must be upon it, before he takes the alarm. whilst he approaches, he puckers up his face into all the foldings of hypocrisy. he has gilded his countenance with a villanous smile. he is on tiptoe. he touches his unsuspecting victim on the shoulder--that victim was in the act of a triumphant pass with an admiring companion. he turns round!--where is the smile of exultation? he looks more affrighted than the flying hare, more ghastly than a tombstone by moonlight. and yet he suffers his clammy hand to be grasped in the horny palm of the dun--to be shaken: the contact is loathsome--he must bear it, for he owes the man money. "my little account----" then comes the shuffling, the lying, the fawning--if the wretch be, as is generally the case, mean-spirited. one dun would go far to tame even hercules--but two, with the assistance of a rascally sheriff's-officer, would subdue a whole army of heroes and demi-gods. it is a good thing for the wild beasts that they know not the use of money. how easy would have been van amburgh's task, could he but have lent his most violent lions some loose cash, and have discounted the note of paw of his most intractable tigers, they being amenable to mesne process! but that happy consummation for the duns is still far distant. it will be long before they induce carrion-crows to give an i o u, instead of a c a w; or that they will persuade eagles to indorse bills, excepting in the backs of their prey; so the dunning fraternity must be content with torturing their fellow-sharers in humanity, until men grow so wise as to discover that debt is nothing more than a moral obligation, and that it is both wickedness and folly to punish it as a crime. the second sleeper awakened[ ]. translated by ali. "'tis a long 'lane' that has no _turning_." old prov. [illustration] know, o prince of the faithful! that my name is jöhn thómkeens, and my father was sháh bandar of the merchants of löhndöhn, and be resided in the street which is called oksphut; and he had great riches, and possessed many stuffs, and jewels, and minerals, and female slaves, and black male slaves, and memlooks; and a great desire came upon me to travel, and divert myself with viewing the cities of the world; then said i to my father, "by allah! o my father, i conjure thee that thou permittest me to travel from thee awhile, that i may divert myself with viewing the cities of the world!" but my father was not willing to hinder me from doing this, although it grieved him to part with me, so when i conjured him to let me go, he hung his head awhile towards the earth, for his bosom was contracted, and after a little space he raised his head, and said to me, "o, my son! great grief has afflicted me, by reason of this thy request; but as thou art eager to travel, may no harm befall thee; be careful of thy substance, and associate not with those with whom there is no avail to associate;" and he ceased not to advise me of that which it was right for me to do, until the hour of prayer; and after that he ordered his memlooks, and they prepared for me a mule, and put on its saddle and equipments. so my father advanced to embrace me, for the purpose of bidding me farewell, and he embraced me and wept until he fainted, and when he recovered he recited these verses:-- "the man from the bad coin parteth without sorrow[ ]; but the bosom of the father is contracted with the loss of his child. the lamb was eager to leave the fold, despising the words of his mother; but when the wolf appeared, he longed for the safety of the fold." then i bade him farewell, and recited these verses:-- "youthful strength despises not labour; and strange things meet the eye of him that travels[ ]." i then pursued my journey, not knowing whither i was going, and i proceeded until i arrived upon the banks of a great river; and as i looked, lo! a vast bridge was before me, and i considered my case, and ascended upon the bridge, and a man met me, and said unto me, "by allah! o, my son, thou canst not pass here, until thou hast paid unto me a penny!" so i gave him a penny, and proceeded; and the name of that river was thámez, and the name of that bridge vockshál. and i proceeded a little space, and i looked, and lo! a great palace appeared before me, the doors of which were of the iron of china, and the door-posts of brass, and the walls thereof were inlaid with jewels and all kinds of precious stones, such as i had never before beheld. the gates of the palace were open, so i descended from my mule and entered, and lo! i found therein a spacious hall the like of which my eyes had never before beheld; and within this great hall were many ghools, and lo! they were busied about some great work; and i approached and beheld, and lo! they were stamping with the signet of sulezmán, the son of dáood (on both of whom be peace); and they were stamping the signets with astounding quickness; and when i beheld them, i said within myself, "god is great! what he willeth, that cometh to pass; and what he willeth not, doth not happen." after that i proceeded; and as i was walking from the palace, my foot struck upon some hard substance, and i looked down, and lo! it was a bottle of brass, filled with something, and having its mouth closed with a stopper of lead, bearing the impression of the seal of sulezmán, the son of dáood (on both of whom be peace); then said i to myself, "by allah, the great, the wonderful! i must open this and see what is in it." so i took out a knife, and picked at the lead until i had extracted it from the bottle of brass; and when i had so done, lo! a great quantity of smoke came forth, and i heard a sound as if of a strong rushing wind; and while i was looking, behold the smoke collected together, and shook, and it became an efreet, horrible in form. his head was like a dome, and from it there rose a huge horn, like a great column; his hair was as kohl; his eyes flashed forth fire, and from his mouth issued flames; and when i beheld him the muscles of my sides quivered, my teeth were locked together, my spittle dried up, and i saw not my way. then the efreet, when he saw me, cried out and said to me, "fear not, o thou of the sons of adam! for as thou hast released me from confinement, there shall no harm befall thee; and lo! i will now convey thee where thou mayest have all thy wants, and fulfil all thy desires; but keep thou in thine hand the impression of the signet of sulezmán, the son of dáood (on both of whom be peace), for thou wilt have need of it in thy way." then said i unto him, "whither is it that thou wilt lead me, o! márid?" and he said, "i will lead thee to a place such as thou hast never before beheld, and show unto thee sights such as thou hast never before looked on. but fear not; for i swear to thee, by allah, the good, the powerful! that no harm shall befall thee." then the efreet took me up in his arms--i suffering him all this time, by reason of the extremity of my fear, which deprived me of all power over my limbs--and seated me on his shoulders, and flew away with me through the air. and he ceased not to fly until we came to a huge mountain, whose top reached unto the seventh heaven; and in the side of this mountain there was a great cavern, and i said unto the efreet, "o, efreet! enter not with me into this cavern; for verily i am in great fear, and my heart is contracted within my bosom." but the márid answered, "sit thou firm, o, man! and keep thou the impression of the signet in thine hand; and fear not." so i held firm the impression of the signet that was in my hand, and clung to the efreet, and we entered together into the cavern. and i heard from within the cavern a great noise as if of the panting of many horses, and of ten thousand chariot-wheels, and a smell such as i had never before smelt the like of; my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and the muscles of my sides quivered, by reason of my fear, and i could not move by reason of my dread; and presently a great scream arose, shrill and dreadful, and lo! many ghools and márids surrounded us, making hideous faces, and grinning horribly. and i clung to the efreet who was carrying me, and he said to me, "fear not; for we shall soon have passed through this cavern, and the ghools and the márids cannot approach thee; but thou must first behold and be presented to the chief of the ján, who will inform you of all you have to do for the attainment of your wishes." then said i, "i hear and obey;" and after that we proceeded. and again i heard that great scream, and the ghools, and the márids, and the jënnezeh, came around us; and the noise of the panting and the snorting of horses increased, and the sounds of the chariots became louder, and the whole air was filled with them; and i quaked with fear, and put my fingers into my ears, for i could not bear this great noise. and i looked, and lo! a great ján stood before us, whose head reached the utmost roof of the cavern, and whose arms were like winnowing forks, and his legs like masts; and when we stopped before him, the efreet said to me, "do obeisance, o thou of the sons of adam!" and i kissed the ground before him, and humbled myself, and kissed his feet; after which i waited, and presently he opened his mouth, and cried unto me, saying,----"station!" and i found that, whilst sitting in the railway carriage, reading lane's "arabian nights," i had converted myself into-- one of the "_sleepers_" on the railway. footnotes: [footnote : for the first, vide lane's _arabian nights_,--"abul hassan, or the sleeper awakened."] [footnote : little sorrow at parting, as the man said to the bad shilling.] [footnote : travellers see strange things.] just going out. by laman blanchard. "going out" is sometimes a matter of exceeding difficulty; the phrase should rather be "getting out." morning is the time for the trial to which we allude. you have an appointment of very considerable importance, and it _must_ be kept; or you have made up your mind, moved by the seductive serenity of the day, to take an easy stroll, and clear off an arrear of pleasant calls--you _must_ go. the sunny look-out is exhilarating after a week's wind and rain, which has held you prisoner in your chambers, without so much as wafting or washing a single visitor to your door. you are tired of the house, and long for the fresh calm air, like a schoolboy for a whole holiday, or a usurer for cent, per cent. every thing is looking quite gay, like a christmas fire to one who has just come out of a christmas fog. the people go by with smiling faces, and in smart attire; you consequently take a little more pains than usual with your dress,--rejecting this waistcoat as too quakerish, and selecting your liveliest pair of gloves to match--when, just as your personal equipments are all but complete, not quite,--"rat-tat-tat--tat-tat--tat!" there is a knock at the door. well, a knock at the door is no very astounding occurrence; but in this knock there is something startling, something ominous, something unwelcome. nobody has knocked (nobody in the shape of a visitor) for some days, and it has an unusual sound. had it suddenly broke in upon you while you were shaving, its effect might have been felt acutely; but you were just fixing the last shirt-stud, and a slight crumple is the sole consequence. you ring the bell hastily, rather anxious. "tim," you cry softly, admonishing the sleepy little sinecurist that attends to the door; "tim, there's a knock. now, pray be cautious; i'm going out immediately; and can't see any stranger; you know whom i'm always at home to--don't let anybody in that you don't know well--mind!" you listen, with your hands uncomfortably stretched towards the back of your neck, in the suspended action of fastening your stock; and distinctly catch tim's responsive "_yes_, sir!" so, then, you _are_ at home to somebody; and tim immediately announces mr. bluff, your oldest and best friend, who is ever welcome, and to whom you are at home at all hours;--yes,--only--only you are just now going out! but, never mind. will he wait five minutes? you won't be longer; and tim hurries off to him with the _times_. two minutes more bring you almost to the completion of your toilet, and one arm has already half insinuated itself into the--ay, in the hurry it happens, of course, to be the wrong sleeve of the waistcoat, when alarm the second sounds; there's another knock. "tim, mind! pray mind! i'm going out. i can't see a soul--unless it's somebody that i _must_ be at home to. you'll see who it is." tim returns with a card,--"mr. joseph primly." "primly, primly! oh!--a--yes--that man, yes,--you didn't say i was at home?" tim had _not_ said you were at home, he had said that he didn't know whether you would be at home to him or not, and that he would go and see! "stupid boy! well, but this primly--what can _he_ want? i never spoke to him but once, i think--must see him, i suppose, as he's a stranger. give him the _chronicle_, and say, i'm coming down in one minute--just going out." but before you _can_ "come down," before you can quite coax on the last article of attire, the knocker is again raised, and rap the third resounds. confusion thrice confounded! "now, tim, who _is_ that? i can't be at home to anybody--you'll know whether i _can_ be denied--i'm going out, tim. where are my gloves?--pray mind!" and, with an anxious face you await the third announcement. "mr. puggins cribb." this _is_ provoking. you can't be out to _him_. he is your quarrelsome friend, to whom you have just been reconciled; the irascible brother of your soul, who suspects all your motives, makes no allowances for you, and charges you with the perpetual ill-usage which he himself inflicts. should you be denied to _him_, he will be sure to suspect you are at home; and should he find you really are, he will make the grand tour of the metropolis in three days, visiting everybody who knows you, and abusing you everywhere. "yes, tim, very right--i must be at home to him. but gracious goodness, what's the time? i'm just going out!" misfortunes never come single, and visitors seldom come in twos and threes. before you are fairly at the bottom of the stairs, a fourth arrival is in all probability announced. what can you do? there was an excellent plan, first adopted by sheridan, of getting rid of untimely visitors; but then his visitors were creditors. they came early, at seven in the morning, to prevent the possibility of being tricked with the usual answer, "not at home," and of course they would not go away. one was shut up in one room, and another in another. by twelve o'clock in the day there was a vast accumulation; and at that hour, the master of the house would say, "james, are all the doors shut?" "all shut, sir." "very well, then open the _street_-door softly;" and sheridan walked quietly out between the double line of closed doors. but this plan, though a thought of it darts across your mind, you cannot put in operation against friends. you therefore face them, grasping this one vigorously by the hand; then begging to be excused for a single moment, while, with a ceremonious bow, you just touch the fingertips of another to whom you have scarcely the honour to be known,--or nod familiarly to a third in the farther corner, who, by the way, is testifying to the intimacy of his friendship, by turning over your favourite set of prints with the brisk manner of an accountant tumbling over a heap of receipts and bills of parcels. for each you have the same welcome, modified only by the tone and action that accompany it! "you are so happy that they arrived in time, for you were _just going out_, having a very important engagement;" and, curious to remark, each has the same reply to your hospitable intimation; but it is delightfully varied in voice and manner,--"_i_ shall not detain you--don't let _me_ keep you a moment." but each does;--one because he's an acquaintance only, and exacts formality; and another because he's a devoted friend, and thinks it necessary to deprecate formality fifty times over, with--"nonsense, never mind _me_--come, no ceremony--i'm going." in fact, those detain you longest with whom you can use most freedom; and though you may bow out a formal visitor in twenty minutes, it takes you half an hour to push out a friendly one. there are so many reasons why you must be at home to people; to a first, because he's a stranger, to a second because he's a relation; to one, because he was married the other day, and you must wish him joy; to another, because his play failed last night, and you must condole with him; to this, because he doesn't come for money; to that, because he does--which is the oddest of all. after a succession of pauses, hints and gentle embarrassments, three out of the four yield one by one to the pressure of appearances, and as you are evidently "going out," allow you to get out by taking their departure. only one _will_ linger to say a few words that amount to nonsense, on business that amounts to nothing, occupying professedly a minute, but in fact fifteen; when, just as he is taking his fifth start, and going in reality, crash comes the knocker once more; and that man of all your acquaintances, who never stops to ask whether you are at home or not, but stalks forward, in "at the portal," as the ghost of hamlet senior stalks out of it, now dashes rather than drops in, delighted to catch you before you make your exit, and modestly claiming just half an hour of your idle morning--not an instant more. "my dear fellow, i'm going out--a particular engagement--been kept in all the morning;--will friday do? or shall i see you at the club?" no--nothing will do but listening; and your pertinacious and not-to-be-denied detainer has just settled himself in the easiest chair, and commenced his story with, "now, come sit down, and i'll tell you all about it."--when the knocker once more summons the half-tired tim, who forthwith enters with a proclamation in an under-tone, "mr. drone, sir, comes by appointment." luckily this occasions no difficulty. mr. drone was appointed to come at eleven, and it is now half-past two; he is therefore easily dismissed; besides, appointments, in these cases, are never troublesome; you can always be very sorry at a minute's notice, be particularly engaged very unexpectedly, and appoint another hour and another day with perfect convenience.--no, it is the dropper-in who blocks up your way--it is the idler who interrupts you in your expedition;--the man of business who comes by appointment may generally be despatched without ceremony or delay! you return again to your guest with a disconsolate air, though with a desperate determination to look attentive; but _sit_ you will not; for while you keep poking the fire almost out, you seem to be preparing for your exit; and while you saunter listlessly about the room, you seem to be going; till at last you are brought to a stand-still, and compelled to submit to another bit of delay, by your visitor (who dined out, and staid late somewhere the night before) asking for a glass of sherry, and some soda-water! you hurry to the bell with the happiest grace in the world; you are ashamed of not offering something of the sort before; you beg pardon--really; and taking a seat with a smiling countenance and a heavy heart, bid a mournful adieu to every thought about your hat for the next quarter of an hour at least. at last he does go, and you feel that although the cream of the morning is skimmed off, it may still be worth while to take quietly what remains; you may visit the scene of your broken engagement, though too late; you may enjoy a diminished stroll, although the flower of the day is cropped; and in this spirit, cane in hand, and hat actually on head, you advance to the street-door delivered from every visitor. it is opened--you stand in the very door-way;--and then--then, in that moment of liberty, when you seemed free as air--you behold close to the step, and right in your path, another unconscionable acquaintance who never takes a denial, but always seizes a button instead! to retreat is impossible, to pass him unseen is equally so. your hope of going out dies of old age and ill-usage within you--you can't _get_ out. your start of vexation and dismay is involuntary, and not to be concealed; but what cares he for your disappointment, so that he catches you! "well, now i _am_ lucky," he exclaims, "one moment more, and, presto! i had missed you for the morning! come, 'going out,' is not 'gone,' anyhow--so i must just trouble you to turn back--i shan't keep you long!" of course, you explain, and protest, and are very civil and very sorry; but all this is idle. a visitor of the class to which the new-comer belongs knows very well the advantage he has over you. he smiles triumphantly, in a superb consciousness of your helpless and destitute condition. he is aware that you _can't_ shut the door in his face; that if he persists in going in, under the pretence of a moment's interview, you _must_ go in with him; that you are bound to be glad to see him, or stand exposed to the imputation of rudeness and inhospitality; that he may let you off if he likes, but that you cannot decently bolt without his consent; in short, that you are at his mercy--and this conviction teaches him to have no mercy upon you. the result! who can ask it? you turn back, take off your hat, enter the nearest room, and without the slightest movement of hospitality beyond that--without the slightest hint to the remorseless being who has followed you in that there is such a thing as a chair in the room, you rest the fingers of one hand on the table, and with your hat held resolutely in the other, await your tyrant's pleasure. _he!_--powers of impudence in the garb of intimacy, where will ye find a limit? he, the most domesticated of animals, at once finds himself in his own house. he, when his foremost foot has once gained admittance into your sanctum, feels perfectly and entirely at home. he flings himself into a chair, and after a little parley about the weather (he acknowledges that it has been the loveliest morning of the season), and the glorious effects of exercise (he confesses that nothing on earth prevents him from taking his diurnal round in the bracing period of the day), launches boldly into a dissertation on some subject of immediate interest to himself--connected perhaps with municipal institutions, and the risk he incurs if he should decline to serve the office of sheriff; this suggests to him a recollection of the sheriff, his grandfather, whose history he relates at some length, followed by a narrative of his father's remarkable exploits in the whale-trade, and of his own life down to the period of his second marriage. during all this time you have stood, too tired to interrupt--too polite at least to interrupt to any purpose--until at last, reminded by the shade creeping over the apartment that the beauty of the day is vanishing, that your meditated excursion is all but hopeless, and that you have been for the space of a brilliant summer's morning a prisoner in your own house, you savagely endeavour to bring him to the point. what _does_ he want with you? nothing; nothing of course, except a little rest after the pleasant saunter he has had--and a little refreshment also;--for when he looks at his watch (as you fondly suppose with the intention of going) he discovers that it happens to be his hour for "a snack." in short, this inveterate and uncompromising customer forcibly _has the tray up_; you haven't strength or courage to misunderstand his wishes, feeling rather faint yourself, sick of hope deferred, and inclining to potted beef. you place your hat and stick, both of which you have all this time held, upon the table; you draw off one glove; you fall-to with a famished fiend who has walked twice round the park in the bracing air; and another hour is gone. so at length is he! and now, even now the promised stroll may be seized--the coast is clear--you feel "like a giant refreshed," and after all, you cannot help owning, that it's a horribly vulgar thing to be seen strolling about before four o'clock in the day. you remember what the delicate philosopher said about the world not being properly aired before three; and bless your stars that what you have lost in health you have gained in reputation. on go your gloves once more, and--rap goes the knocker! it seems miraculous. all society is but one spiteful conspiracy against you. you forget that the same fine morning which quickened life in you kindled the fire of motion in others. no matter; the hour has at length arrived for "not at home to any human being. no, tim, not to a living soul!" unluckily, it is the fate of this most inflexible decree to be countermanded; there is one exception to the rule of not at home to anybody. "if the surveyor calls about the repairs"--ay, and it _is_ the surveyor. well, the roof, and the cracked wall, must at once be looked to; however, that will not occupy ten minutes, and to the needful business you heroically devote yourself. half-an-hour flies, and then you are finally released; but, unhappily, just at that moment the man brings home your two new coats; you must glance at one, for you may wear it at dinner. and then crawls up to the door that dilatory fellow whose tidings about the books you have been waiting for--yes, at least for a fortnight; and while discussing with him a particular achievement in binding on which you have set your heart, a letter arrives--a letter marked "important and immediate," though of no earthly consequence, and anything but pressing; still it must be answered, and accordingly the hat is once more taken off, the gloves are petulantly flung down, the cane is tossed anywhere, and-- rat-tat-tat, &c. resound once more through the rooms; and following quick as though he were the visible echo of a single rap, cool sam comes in. he had found tim at the open door chatting with the messenger in waiting. cool sam! now own frankly that there is small chance of your escape on this side the dinner-hour--nay, there is none at all. an engagement you may have, a determination you may have formed; but do you for a single instant seriously expect to fulfil the one, or hold to the other? then you are a fool. we prophesy at once, that _you won't get out to-day_. a man may be always going and going, and yet never be gone. you are sam's till dinner-time, you are sam's then, and you are sam's afterwards. till bed-time (and he himself fixes that hour) you are his. mark our words if you are not. true, you tell him you have to write a letter. "write away, boy," he responds, "i can wait." you warn him that the moment this feat is accomplished, you must sally forth on urgent and especial business. "all right," he rejoins, "i'll jump into a cab with you, and we'll come back and dine. i came on purpose." a glance tells you, if your ears did not, that your guest has settled the thing. his looks, his tone, his bearing, are in exquisite agreement; for a quiet conviction, that what _he_ has made up his mind to _must_ take place, there never was anything like it. you write a word or two, and in agitation blot; another line, and then an erasure again. _does_ he mean to _stop_! your perplexity increases. no, this smudge of a note will never do; you take another sheet and recommence your epistle. "take your time, boy, take your time; we shan't dine till seven i suppose." your eye wanders for an instant, and you discover that there is but _one_ hat in the room, and that the one is your own. his is hanging up with his umbrella; he had disposed of both, like a man who means to stay, before he entered the apartment. to struggle with cool sam is in vain, to attempt it absurd. to cry like the starling, "i can't get out," doesn't open the door of your cage. instead of complaining, you soon feel grateful to him for his great consideration in allowing you to finish that letter. instead of biting your lips through and through, you laugh over your good luck in being permitted to complete the work he had interrupted. but beyond that you have no will of your own. _out!_ you might as well attempt to go out without your shadow. you may take a few turns at sunset, attended by your mephistophiles; but before you go you must issue orders for what he calls "a light dinner with a few extras" at seven. you may mourn your day lost, if you will, but you must lose your evening nevertheless; and when once more alone at past midnight, you drop off to sleep, making to yourself many delicious vows of reform; the foremost of which is, that you will be up in good time in the morning, and get out. frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter viii. the attempt to break into mrs. heartwell's cottage, and the important discovery that succeeded, were, as far as possible, kept secret; and mr. wendover's steward, in expectation of another visit from the nocturnal intruder, set a watch upon the premises. no one, however, appeared to disturb the tranquillity of the place; but still the lady could not suppress her fears, and a constant dread weighed heavily upon her spirits. frank had gone down to the nore to join the prize-crew on board the sandwich, but during his absence they had been sent round by sea to plymouth, and as no other vessel was expected to go down the channel for some time, he obtained permission to travel thither by land, hoping, as there had been a long run of strong westerly winds, to reach that port as soon as his men did. accordingly he started for london to visit his mother, and finding her much alarmed, and averse to remaining at the cottage, he removed her to ready-furnished lodgings at marylebone; when, after an interview with mr. unity peach (who promised to use his best endeavours to promote the comfort of mrs. heartwell), the young officer set out in the mail for plymouth, where, on his arrival, he at once reported himself on board the admiral, and ascertained that the vessel with the seamen had not yet got round. as his own hammock and chest were in her, permission was granted for his remaining on shore till she came into the sound. of his ship nothing accurate was known, but it was believed she had gone up the mediterranean, to join the fleet under earl st. vincent. frank's ardent attachment to helen had always exercised a powerful control over his actions. before her departure from finchley he had cherished the most sanguine hopes that his affection was returned; nothing, in fact, had ever occurred to raise the slightest doubt in his mind upon the subject; for the course of his love, though unavowed, had experienced no obstruction, nor was it till their separation that he awakened to a painful conviction of the vast difference which existed in their pecuniary circumstances. this raised apprehensions that he might have been deceiving himself, by mistaking the operations of a grateful spirit for feelings of personal regard towards himself. the mansion of mr. wendover was situated on the right bank of the river fowey, close to the pretty and romantic harbour of the same name. the distance from plymouth could not exceed twenty miles--the falmouth coach passed within a short walk of the neighbourhood--a strong westerly breeze was blowing--what, then, prevented him from trying to obtain an interview with the fair girl, and to learn from her own lips the real sentiments which she entertained for him? thus argued frank. the temptation was too powerful to be subdued--his mind was tortured by suspense, and yielding to the quick impulse of his nature, in little more than three hours he was on the borders of the domain of the wealthy merchant--and a lovely place it was. the gradual development of spring was evidenced in the bright tints of the spreading foliage; the young grass was springing in rich luxuriance; art and nature were combined to heighten the beauty of the scenery; and slumbering on the surface of the stream that ran in front of the building, laid a superb little cutter-yacht, rigged with peculiar neatness, and her ensign blowing out freely in the wind. frank's eyes glistened with the peculiar pleasure that a seaman always experiences when beholding a well-finished piece of work connected with his profession; but that was not all--the young midshipman rightly conjectured that the yacht belonged to mr. wendover; helen had most likely sailed in it; and what would he not have given to have been with her, to display his knowledge of seamanship in managing the vessel. the little punt, with two men in it, put off from the cutter to the shore; frank hurried to meet them when they landed; it was a precious opportunity by which he might gain information relative to the family. flatter a sailor's vanity in reference to his craft, and you at once possess a key to his heart. the young officer praised the beautiful vessel, and having expressed a wish to inspect her closely, he was invited to go on board. this was precisely what he wanted; the men were communicative, and he was not long in ascertaining that mr. wendover had been summoned to london on urgent business--that mrs. wendover was confined to the house by indisposition--and that miss helen was often to be seen taking her lonely walks about the grounds. the deck of the yacht commanded a full view of the house and lawn, and frank, whilst learning these particulars, watched eagerly, in hope that helen would make her appearance; nor was he disappointed, for, after a short interval, a female was observed descending the steps of the mansion, and the spy-glass at once announced to him who it was. he had already taken a hasty survey of the vessel, and having presented a donation to the crew, he requested to be put on shore. helen had never ceased to cherish a strong feeling of real affection for frank heartwell, but she had never adequately known its power and extent, till the period of their separation; and though her father had not openly declared the occasion of her removal from finchley, yet love is quick-witted in discovering causes; and knowing his determined character, she saw at once that he had opposed a barrier to her heart's dearest wishes. his conversations relative to her future prospects of aggrandisement opened to her conviction that he expected rigid obedience to his commands. but helen could not--in fact, she did not try, to conquer the esteem for the young sailor, which had strengthened with her years--he had been the means of rescuing herself and her parents from threatened destruction--gratitude had ripened into love, and had become the sweetest contemplation of her life. yet frank had never made any avowal, and doubts similar to his own would at times cross her mind. mr. wendover could not but be sensible, by the change in his daughter's health and gaiety, that the disappointment had caused the most acute distress; still, however, he hoped that time would deaden the affliction, and she would forget the young officer. it was in vain, however, that he strove to raise her sunken spirits by excursions of pleasure abroad, and amusing pastimes at home. the bloom was leaving her cheeks, and her beautiful form began to waste away, for there was a sickness at her heart. when helen left the house that morning, her thoughts were dwelling upon frank with all the tenderness of woman's gentle nature; she loved to stroll through the avenues alone, for no one there could disturb her meditations. she was turning the angle of one of the alleys, when frank stood before her, and, the ardour of her feelings overcoming the coldness of formality, the next instant she was encircled in his arms, whilst unrepressed tears of surprise and delight came gushing from her eyes. when the first burst of joy at meeting had subsided, they conversed more calmly, and frank, whose doubts had been at once dispersed through the undisguised manifestations of attachment which his reception had evinced, now unequivocally declared, that "the happiness of his future existence depended upon helen. he was not insensible to the hostility he must expect to meet with from her father; but he hoped by strenuous exertions in his profession to overcome even that, provided he might rely with confidence on her undeviating regard." their interview was not of long duration, but it was decisive to the peace of both. helen candidly admitted her love for frank, and though with the acknowledgment came apprehensions of her father's displeasure, yet he tried to soothe her alarm, by assurances that his prospects would brighten--prosperity had already smiled upon him--and could he once attain the rank of captain, he should consider himself eligible to propose to mr. wendover for his daughter's hand. at all events, he determined to persevere with unremitting ardour and hope, and enterprise gave promise of success. harmonious to the ear and grateful to the heart is the persuasive voice of one beloved. helen placed perfect reliance on all frank said, and there, in the sight of heaven, they mutually pledged their vows of faith and constancy. the young officer returned to plymouth more assured, nay, comparatively happy, and, the vessel arriving with his people, he solicited to be put in active service. a number of ships were fitting out to join earl st. vincent, and strengthen the force in the mediterranean. frank and his men were sent on board a frigate, which soon afterwards went out from hamoaze into cawsand bay, but, as a matter of course, the boats were still employed in bringing off stores. it was about three weeks after his interview with helen, that frank had charge of a pinnace to convey a rather heavy freight from the dockyard, and though blowing hard from the north-west, he had strict orders to use his best endeavours to get out to the ship. the gale, however, increased, and the broken sea came tumbling in against a strong tide, so that he was driven to leeward. a dark night closed in upon them--the boat was half full of water--and, to add to their calamities, they struck upon the shagstone rocks, and narrowly escaped with their lives. the pinnace was in a sinking state, when frank deemed it advisable to lighten the boat, and to bear up for yealur river; but the atmosphere was too dense to allow of their distinguishing objects on the land, and the sea was breaking fearfully high wherever they approached the shore, so that it threatened certain death should an attempt be made to run the boat in. all night they toiled, but towards daylight they were so close to the rocks, and drifted in so fast, that their fate seemed inevitable. the pinnace struck and was dashed to pieces; but frank, being an excellent swimmer, after some buffeting amongst the breakers, succeeded in getting sure footing; and now that he was himself in safety, his anxious care was turned to his boat's crew. this is a trying moment to an officer, whose first thoughts are generally devoted to the brave fellows who have shared his perils, and frank felt it. two or three he knew were saved, for they were with him, but the fate of the rest could be but conjecture. happily, however, though separated when wrecked, daylight brought them again round their officer, and the reckless humour of the tar soon prevailed over all sense of the dangers they had escaped. a few fishermen's huts afforded them shelter, and as these men occasionally ran across to guernsey and jersey, there was no lack of brandy, though at first it was produced with great caution. the pinnace was irrecoverably gone--not a single trace of her was to be seen, and, consequently, after a plentiful repast, and a short rest, frank prepared to set out with his men on foot for mount batten, where he expected to obtain boats to carry them over to plymouth. the gallant fellows had mustered in what they called "good sailing trim," and were just on the point of departure when a cutter was seen urging her wild and headlong course towards the rocks, and from the manner of her approach, a nautical eye could easily detect that either her rudder was gone, or had sustained so much injury as to defy all control from the helm--her sails were blown to ribands--her topmast and bowsprit were carried away--and it was evident to all that she was hurrying to destruction. sometimes taking the seas clean over her broadside; at others almost buried beneath the waves that broke over as she rushed stem on, the deck of the cutter was now distinctly visible, as the crew, in wild despair, were clinging to the rigging; but what was frank's agony when, by the aid of a glass he recognized the vessel to be the pretty little yacht that he had inspected, as she laid at anchor before mr. wendover's house, at fowey; and as he could distinguish the white dresses of females, he made no doubt that helen and her mother were on board. the young officer immediately assumed a command--his own men were prompt in obedience, and the fishermen were not less so through humanity. they tried to launch a boat, but the thing was impracticable; the sea drove her instantly back again, a perfect wreck. onwards came the cutter, till she struck on the rocks, at no great distance from the shore; the boat was launched from her deck, and a temporary lull enabled most of those on board to jump into her; but another sea came rolling in, and the boat was separated from the vessel. what anxious agonizing moments were those to frank! he could not see who had left the cutter; but amidst the foaming of the breakers, it was evident that more than one swimmer in his strong agony was struggling with death. the small boat rose buoyant on the summits of the waves; the men pulled steadily; the people on shore waved them to the safest place for landing, and thither they sped; but before they could reach the shore they were caught by the recoil of the sea, as a raging breaker came curling its monstrous head astern, the boat was overset by its violence, and then dashed up upon the strand. in a moment frank threw off his coat and waistcoat, and with his hardy band, rushed forward and grasped at all within their reach; the young midshipman was guided to a female, by her clothes appearing for an instant floating on the surface of the troubled waters. she was sinking, but he dived and brought her up again, just as the swell washed them within the range of further help from the shore, and the female was carried forward to a place of safety; it was helen's mother. but where was the daughter? frank would have again plunged into the waves; but on passing through a group, near where the boat had been thrown up, he heard the voice of mr. wendover, in earnest entreaty for them "to save his child." he seemed to be almost bereft of reason, as he wildly clutched his hair in agony, and pointed to the cutter, where a female was discerned clinging to the taffrail. "launch the boat again!" he loudly shouted, "i will go myself if no one will accompany me;" and then with imploring cries he offered the most lavish rewards to any one who should save his child from such imminent danger. to satisfy him, the men endeavoured to launch the boat--but frank saw the impossibility of accomplishing it, and instantly nerved himself for the occasion, with coolness and intrepidity. he watched for a moment the set of the tide and the drift of the sea; then hurrying to a projecting rock to take advantage of both, he bound a handkerchief tight round his loins, as he looked undauntedly upon his task, breathed a short prayer to heaven for its aid, and then exclaiming "helen, helen, i will save you or we will die together!" he plunged into the foaming billows just as the boat washed back again upon the beach showed the utter impracticability of affording help from that quarter. all eyes were now directed towards the swimmer, who boldly breasted the surge, dashing aside the white spray, as the raging element yielded to the energy of his sinewy arms: sometimes lost to sight in the hollow between the waves, then rising on the coom of the sea, he became a conspicuous object as he fearlessly cleaved his way, and bursts of admiration, as well as fervent petitions for his success, arose from the throng assembled on the shore. [illustration: the wreck. london: tilt & bogue, fleet street.] the fainting helen beheld his approach, but she knew not who it was that was thus risking his existence to try and preserve hers--the never-dying principles of hope revived her faculties; though at times when the head of the swimmer was obscured by intervening billows, her heart sickened with alarm as she feared he had sunk to rise no more. then again when surmounting the crest of the wave, she saw him fearlessly lessening the distance between them, a re-action took place in her bosom, and fervently she prayed to the omnipotent to stretch forth his hand and save. the pleasures of past enjoyments never seem so precious and valuable as when the extreme of peril threatens dissolution. home, friends, and those beloved cling round the very soul as if to bind it more firmly to existence, and to render more arduous the struggle of separation from the body. helen experienced this as the seas came breaking over the cutter, and she beheld her relatives upon the shore. but her principal remembrances were devoted to frank; and as the swimmer approached, and his features became more distinct, she fancied she could trace a resemblance to him of whom she was thinking; the bare conjecture caused a sudden thrill through every vein; but when she heard the voice of her lover as he ascended to the deck and gained the taffrail, even the appalling danger was almost forgotten in the sudden delight of her heart at his noble and generous conduct. his presence re-assured her; his soothing language allayed her fears; and though the sea at intervals broke over them, yet there was now a confidence in her bosom, for frank was with her. but no time was to be lost; the young midshipman feared that his own strength would not bear him out to carry her to the shore; the wreck of the main-boom was floating alongside, and he resolved to lash helen to the spar. at first she shrunk from the hazard, but frank clasped her in his arms, pressed her to his heart, and fervently imploring the blessing of omnipotence upon his efforts, at once proceeded to his perilous undertaking; he succeeded in lashing helen to the boom, impressed upon her mind the absolute necessity of clinging fast to her support, and then with his knife was cutting away the jaw-rope, as the body of a female floated up the space that had been covered by the skylight--she was dead. helen did not see her, and frank, without delay, separated the boom from the wreck. then springing into the sea, he directed the course of its drift for the shore, where the agonized father and the anxious seamen beheld what was passing, and waited in excited expectation for the result. the raft bore up its burthen well, and frank swimming close to her cheered the terrified girl as they neared the land, and the waves dashed over them with resistless fury. the spectators calculating the precise spot where they would take the ground, hastened thither, and more than one brave fellow rushed through the surf to lend his officer a hand. they were in the breakers; the boiling and bubbling foam was raging around them--the noise of the waters was hissing and howling in their ears, when frank cut away the lashing that sustained helen, and disengaged her from the spar, lest she should be injured by the concussion as it struck the rocks: supporting her by one arm, he manfully plied the other; two of the seamen kept near him; a heavy sea rolled them over, but frank, though almost exhausted, still maintained his hold; the next minute they were washed up upon the shore, and, raised on the shoulders of the people, were carried to dry land. extreme, indeed, was the joy of mr. wendover as he clasped his child, and implored blessings on her deliverer, whom in his wet condition, with his hair hanging about his face, the merchant did not recognize, but to whom he promised payment of the large reward which he had offered, supposing that alone to have been the motive for going to the rescue of helen. frank made no reply, for ignorant of mr. wendover's forgetfulness, he imagined that he must be known, and he felt indignant at money being offered for saving one who was far more precious to him than his own life. helen was carried to the hut where her mother had already been kindly cared for, and the merchant never left his child, who, at first, sank into insensibility through terror and fatigue, and on her recovery gazed wildly round, and called upon frank as her rescuer from death. mr. wendover at first considered it the ravings of a disordered imagination; but when grown more calm his daughter assured him of the fact, the merchant exclaimed, "the hand of providence is in this; he above all others is the man i wish to see, nor will i any longer oppose your affection; he has a second time saved my child, and he is worthy of her." wishing to atone for his neglect, he went himself in search of frank, but young heartwell, after seeing helen in security, had quitted the place with his people, and was some distance on his way to plymouth. one of the seamen of the cutter accompanied them, and from him the young officer learned that they were on their way round to the thames when the gale caught them. at the time the yacht struck the rocks and the boat was launched, a favourite servant of miss wendover's was in the cabin; helen had generously hastened down with the captain to fetch her up. whilst thus engaged, the rope that held the boat parted--the cabin was nearly filled--helen was forced by the captain to the deck and lashed to the taffrail--he himself was washed overboard; and frank rightly conjectured that the body he had seen floating was that of the drowned servant. mr. wendover would have sent messengers after young heartwell, but, as he purposed removing his family as soon as conveyances could be procured, he thought the delay of a day or two could not be of much consequence; but when the time arrived, and helen was all delight at the prospect which was opening before her, they ascertained that the frigate had sailed only a few hours before for the mediterranean. a theatrical curiosity. once in a barn theatric, deep in kent, a famed tragedian--one of tuneful tongue-- appeared for that night only--'twas charles young. as rolla he. and as that innocent, the child of hapless cora, on there went a smiling, fair-hair'd girl. she scarcely flung a shadow, as she walked the lamps among-- so light she seem'd, and so intelligent! that child would rolla bear to cora's lap: snatching the creature by her tiny gown, he plants her on his shoulder,--all, all clap! while all with praise the infant wonder crown, _she_ lisps in rolla's ear,--"_look out, old chap, or else i'm blow'd if you don't have me down!_" sliding-scales. the most remarkable sliding-scale of which fiction has any record is the rainbow on which munchausen, with such inimitable ease, effected his railroad descent from mid-air; but fact has her extraordinary sliding-scales too. take a modern example in the one which carried napoleon from moscow to elba, equalled only by that which bore him afterwards from waterloo to st. helena. life in its several stages is but a succession of sliding-scales. take a bird's-eye view of society, and what do you see but two classes; one endeavouring to slide up an ascent, and another endeavouring not to slide down. the world, instead of being represented as round as an o, might more aptly be figured by the letter a, which is composed of two inclined planes; the way up being narrow and hard to climb, but the way down being broad and open enough. there is the moral sliding-scale and the intellectual sliding-scale. on the one, we see a man passing, by regular degrees, from a meanness to a degradation; from a little shabbiness to a great crime; from a lie thought to a lie acted; from an evasion to a shuffle; from a shuffle to a swindle; from swindling to consummate depravity; from the first sixpence penuriously saved to the heaped hoards of avarice. on the other, we see the mind gradually drawn out from weakness to power; from dulness to brilliancy; from the frivolous dreams of childhood to the conceptions of a gigantic imagination; the heavy schoolboy ripening into the lively poet; the reckless truant settling into the wise and thoughtful student. there is the sliding-scale of fortune, the sliding-scale of manners, the sliding-scale of appetite; penury slides into affluence, rustic modesty becomes town-bred impudence, the _gourmand_ eats himself down to a dry crust. it is sad enough to see a gentlemen slide off his saddle-horse, and take to drawing a truck; but these declensions will happen, and they are not so distressing as it is to see a philosopher turning footman, an orator turning twaddler, or a patriot turning toady. then there is the sliding-scale theatrical. by what a natural and unerring sliding-scale does some popular tragedian come down at last from richard the third to the lord mayor! "i wore that very dress as romeo," said a london player, of small parts, "when i starred it in the provinces." the romantic beauty of juliet declines into the grotesque rheumatism of the nurse. we say nothing of the tradesman's scale, which is an affair of weights; nor of the scale-musical, which is one of measures. but of the sliding-scale which is best understood, and perhaps most freely acted upon in every great city and small town, our marginal series of "scenes from real life" will afford the best exemplification; and so we direct the reader to them. [illustration] [illustration] sketches here, there, and everywhere. by a. bird. a stage-coach race. poor macadam! his honoured dust will soon be forgotten! in cities it is buried, or soon will be, in wood; and few of the millions who glide and slide over the wooden pavement, will think of the "colossus of roads," whose dust it covers like a coffin. our course is no longer "o'er hills and dales, through woods and vales," which the many-handed macadam made smooth and easy. our carriage, placed like the toy of a child, goes without horses. the beautiful country--the cheerful "public," with its porch, its honeysuckle and roses--the sign which bade the "weary traveller rest" on the seat beneath the spreading elm;--these are no more!--this is the iron age--fire and steam are as the breath of our nostrils--we speak by the flash of lightning--we have given life to emptiness, and fly upon the wings of a vacuum--our path is through the blasted rock, the cold dark dreary tunnel--through cheerless banks, which shut us from the world like a living grave--on--on--on--we speed! the dying must die! the burning must burn! there is no appeal--no tarrying by the way. like the whirlwind we are hurried to our end. the screech of women in despair is drowned by the clash, the din, the screech of the "blatant beast," the mad monster which man has laid his finger on, and tamed to his uses. this is all very fine, and, doubtless, _il faut marcher avec son siècle_, if we do not wish to be left behind in the race that is before us. doubtless, too, our children, like calves born by the side of a railroad, will look on these things as a matter of course, and let them pass with high-bred indifference. and if, as most assuredly will be the case, some of these children should become mothers in due course of time, we can fancy them so philosophized by force of habit, so inured to the wholesale smashing and crashing of the human form divine, that, should a door fly open and let an infant drop, the mama will sit quiet till the next station cries halt! and then merely request that a man and basket be despatched to pick up the pieces left some seven miles off![ ] "_chi lo sa!_" as the neapolitans say in cases of extreme doubt and difficulty; "_chi lo sa_," say i; and having been born before the earth was swaddled up in iron, or the sea danced over by iron ships, i confess a sneaking fondness for the highways, and byways, and old ways of old england; and, when not pressed for time, i delight in honouring the remains of poor old macadam. a fortnight ago, having occasion to visit somerset, i found myself _en route_, at cheltenham--a place, by the way, which always reminds me of miscellaneous articles stored in a second-hand shop; it is sure to come into use once in seven years. there i was for the night, luxuriously lodged in this anglo-foreign town, this self-styled "queen of watering-places," this city of salt--or salts, as some malicious pluralists will have it--there i was, and long ere morning broke, i had decided upon cutting the rail and coaching it to bristol; in other words, as time was not an object, i would not go some fifty miles round to save it. i was soon seated by my old friend, "coachee." coachee was a character _sui generis_, of a race which will soon be extinct; i had known him in the "palmy days" of the road, and remembered the time when he, with his pair, was selected to tease and oppose the prettiest four-in-hand that ever trotted fourteen miles an hour. it was, if i'm not mistaken, in , that "the exquisite" first started from exeter to cheltenham, and weighing the coach, the cattle and coachman together, never was a turn-out more worthy of the title. to oppose this with a pair was a bold conception, but "coachee" was an old stager; "what man dared do" he dared, and did it well. "strange changes, mr. coachee, since you and i first knew each other," said i to my right hand friend, as soon as we had cleared the rattle of the stones. coachee turned his head slowly round, and looked me full in the face; he _drew in_ such a sigh, and put on such a look of miserable scorn, that i felt for the silent sufferer. yet was i dumbfounded by his silence; i had looked for the jibes and jests which were wont to put us outsides in a roar,--but to see "coachee" turned into a man of mute sorrow, was a character so new and unnatural, that--extremes will meet--i burst into a hearty fit of laughter. coachee attempted to preserve the penseroso, and with ill-feigned gravity tried to reprove me, by saying,--"_you_ may laugh, sir, but it's no joke for _us_ as loses." with what tact i could bring to bear, i revived the memory of former days, the coachman's golden age! i spoke of "the exquisite," and asked if he did not once beat it with his pair. "so you've heard tell of that, have you?" and alexander never chuckled half so much to hear his praises sung, as coachee did at the thoughts of his victory. i told him i had heard of it from others, but never from his own mouth, which was half the battle. there needed but little persuasion to make him tell his own story. "it's all as true as i am sitting on this here box, and this is how it came to pass. it was one sunday evening that some of us whips had met to crack a few bottles. 'the exquisite' had just been put upon the road, and who should be there but mr. banks as drove it, and who should be there too but i as was started to oppose it. well, it so happened i hadn't a single passenger booked inside nor out, for monday! well, thinks i, mr. banks, if i and my coach can't give you the go-by to-morrow, i don't know inside from out, and so i told him. 'that's _your_ opinion is it, mr. bond?' said mr. banks, with a smile, and a sniff at a pink in his button-hole. 'yes, mr. banks,' says i; 'and what's more, i'll stick to it, and here's a sovereign to back it.' will. meadows, him as used to drive the 'hi-run-dell,' he thought he'd do me; so he claps down his bit of gold, and the bet was made. there's an end of that, said i, and now, mr. banks, let's have a bumper. 'here's to you, my exquisite,' says i, as we bobbed and nobbed. 'here's to you, mr. h-opposition,' says he, and i hopes you'll tell me the time o' day to-morrow morning.' but he didn't think i should for all that. well, now, sir, what do you think i should find when i goes the first thing on monday morning to our office?" "your h-opposition coach and a pair of horses?" said i, inquiringly. "right enough, so far,--but what think you of finding four ins and eight outs, all booked for bristol! well, thinks i, mr. banks, this alters the case, and my sovereign felt uncommon light all of a sudden. howsomever, up i gets, and, says i to my box-companion, you won't mind if i goes a little fast, will you? 'mind!' said he, 'why, you can't go too fast for me.' he was one of the right sort, d'ye see, and enjoyed the fun as much as me. 'all right?' says i; 'all right,' says bill, and away we goes. i got the start, for in those days 'the exquisite' was sure to load like a waggon. away i went, with such a pair! they stepped as if they hadn't got but four legs between 'em; and, up to gloucester, mr. exquisite's four tits couldn't touch 'em. now, as ill-luck would have it, it wasn't my day for 'the bell,' so while i turns out of the line to change at the booth hall, up comes 'the exquisite' and gives us the go-by: there warn't no help for it, but what aggravated me the most was, to see mr. banks tip me a nod with his elbow, as much as to say, 'good bye till to-morrow!' what was worse, two of my ins was booked for gloucester; and what was worse again, they was both ladies. now, ladies--bless 'em all for all that!--but ladies and luggage are one, says i, they never goes apart; and such a load of traps i never see'd, with a poll parrot, and a dozen dicky-birds for a clincher! well, there warn't no help for it.--come, jacky, my boy, says i, give a hand with them straps--there--now t'other--all snug?--off with you!--and jack soon found the wheel warn't meant for a footstool--off he leapt--the ladder fell into the gutter, and away we went at last. we couldn't touch 'em that stage--no wonder neither, for there never was a prettier team before me, and that 'ere exquisite chap--though i used to call him 'mr. h-opposition'--handled his ribbons like a man. the dust was light, and i tracked him like a hare in the snow. he never lost an inch that day--there were his two wheel-marks right ahead--straight as an arrow, and looked for all the world as if ruled with a--what do ye call them 'ere rulers that walk after one another?" i hesitated for a moment, and then hit upon--a parallel ruler-- "aye, to be sure. well, his two tracks looked for all the world as if they'd been ruled with a parable ruler; but for all that, we got a sight of him before he changed again. 'now or never!' thought i, for i could do as i liked in those days, as one man horsed the whole line. 'so,' says i to our ostler, 'you go and clap the harness on the bay-mare, while i tackle these two; i've a heavy load, and wants a little help.' no sooner said, than done. 'now, my pretty one,' says i to the little mare, 'you must step out for me to-day, and it's in you i know.' so i just let my lash fall like a feather on her haunch, and, for the life and soul of me, i thought she'd have leapt out of the harness. all right, thinks i, i have it now; and bating twelvepence, my sovereign's worth a guinea. "we wasn't long a coming up, and when 'mr. h-opposition' saw my pair with the bay mare a-head, he didn't like it, you may be sure of that. well, i let's him take the lead that stage. we wasn't long a changing--a wisp o' wet hay to the little mare's nose, and away she went again as fresh as a four-year-old, and 'the exquisite' couldn't get away from us no more than a dog from his tail. "'ah!' says mr. banks, as i puts my leader alongside of him, 'is that you, mr. bond! have you been coming across the fields? i didn't think to hear the time o' day from you, mr. bond.' 'didn't you?' says i. 'no,' says, he; 'shall i say you're a coming into bristol?' "before i could say yes or no, he gave the prettiest double cut to his leaders with one turn of his hand, that ever i see'd--they sprang like light--whish! whish! went the double thong across the wheelers.--he warn't a second about it all, and while i looked, he was gone like a shot. though i didn't like it much then, i must say it was the cleanest start i ever clapped eyes upon, and ne'er a whip in england couldn't say it warn't. 'no chance that stage,' said i, growing rather impatient; we warn't far behind for all that--and now, thought i, comes my turn--play or pay's the word--for i knowed my country; leaders down hill ben't no manner of use, quite contrawise; a coachman has enough to do to keep the pole from tickling their tails, and hasn't much time for nothing else. the little mare had done her work, and away we went with such a pair! they'd ha' pulled the wheels off if i'd 'a told them; they know'd i'd got a bet as well as if i'd said so, and away they went the railroad pace." "what!" asked i, "before railroads were thought of?" coachee always had his answer--"what if they war'n't?--no odds for that--we got the start of _them_ that day, and, maybe, they took the hint--worse luck too, say i--but away we went--it was all neck-and-neck--first and second--second and first. if banks beat, up--bond beat, down--till at last 'mr. h-opposition' see'd how the game was going, and that he hadn't a chance; but he wouldn't allow it, not he. so he pulls up and calls to his guard, and tells him to put the tackle to rights, though there war'n't nothing the matter--and lets me go by as if he wasn't beaten. so, as we passes, i pulls out my watch and _tells him the time o' day_! 'and, mr. banks,' says i, 'what shall i order for your supper?'" as coachee wound up the tale of his by-gone victory, it brought on a fit of laughter, which i began to think would never end; when, on a sudden it ceased, and with horror and consternation painted in his face, he exclaimed, "well, bless my heart alive, that ever i should live to see such a thing!" "where! what!" said i looking right and left, and almost expecting to see some wonderful beast pop over the hedge. "well, now, it hasn't got no outside, and"--after a pause--"no, nor i'm blest if it has any inside!" i guessed his meaning by this time; but affecting ignorance, i asked, "what is that wonderful animal without any inside?" "animal!" he exclaimed, "why, don't you see the poor old exquisite a coming by itself?" "there is a coachman," said i, as gravely as i could. "poor banks!" said coachee, quite touched with compassion, and heedless of my remark. he pulled up, so did the exquisite. "well, now, i'm blest, if this isn't worse than solitary confinement, it makes my stomach ache, mr. banks!" (a poet would have said, "_my heart_," but depend upon it, coachee meant the same thing.) "a bad day's work, mr. bond, but we can't expect no otherwise now," said he of the once "palmy" exquisite, yet looking more cheerful than might have been expected. "a sad change, mr. banks. why, that 'ere near leader looks as if it hadn't strength to draw your hat off." "you're about right there, mr. bond, but,"--and here the flash of humour of brighter days lit up the features of mr. banks,--"but do you know what the tories are going to do with us old coachmen?" mr. bond shook his head, and murmured--"not i!" "well, then, i'll tell you, mr. bond: they're agoing to plant us for milestones along the railroad." another fit of laughter came on, and it was with difficulty that mr. bond could articulate, "good bye! good bye!" as we drove on our course to bristol. [illustration] footnote: [footnote : not long since a man, heedless or drunk, fell asleep upon a railroad; the train arrived, and literally cut him to pieces. "i suppose, sir, we had better _get the man together_?" said a labourer, soon after the accident had occurred. "by all means," answered he in authority. death is but death, we allow; but death by the railroad is not only wholesale but frightfully terrific. to avoid the chance of such accidents, when possible, is an imperative duty, and every road which crosses a _railroad_ should be _over or under it_. we need only refer to two recent accidents caused by the want of such prevention.] another curiosity of literature. the knocker aches with motion; day by day the door groans on with hard and desperate knocks; duns--gentle, fervent, furious--come in flocks; and still they press, and still they go away, and call again, and saunter off, or stay; duns of all shapes--the goose, the wolf, the fox-- all punctual by their several parish-clocks: and still the answer is the same--no pay! alas! that house one penny doth not hold,-- one farthing were not found, on hands and knees, no, not a doit, in all its crevices; yet sits the inmate, cramp'd, and lean, and cold, writing a pamphlet;--and its title? "_gold!_ or, england's debt paid off with perfect ease." a horrible passage in my early life. "make the most of your school-days, my lad; they'll be the happiest of your life!" so said a kind friend, who called on me once when i was in that state called _pupillaris_. he gave me the advice, and i grinned approval; he did _not_ give me a "tip," and i considered him a mean and despicable wretch, and his advice not worth listening to. still did the words oft recur to me; and with especial force did they recur on the subsequent saturday, when i was preparing to "avail myself of a kind invitation" to dine and sleep out, and was packing carefully up, in a crumpled piece of _bell's life_, (which, in the capacity of fag, i had appropriated as a perquisite from my master's store,) such necessaries as such a sojourn demanded. and the result was, that as my nose inhaled the undeniable evidence of the approach of dinner below, and i felt the pleasing conviction to an empty stomach, that, until seven, at least, _i_ should not hear the apoplectic butler assert, in voice abdominal, that dinner was on the table, i gave a long sniff, and sighed, "well! perhaps they are!" i had got at last clear of the city. my pocket was devoid of coin--of the lowest even, else should i have called a cab, (for in those days neither shillibeer nor g. c^k. had started a "bus.") as it was, i walked, and was just entering piccadilly from the circus, when a laugh in my rear made me turn rapidly, and my eyes encountered--a tall butcher's boy! he was habited in a grey frieze coat, corduroy smalls, and blue apron. his hair was well plastered down. he had no cap; but he had a pair of "aggravators" trained on either temple. his eyes were large; his cheeks beefy; and withal, he carried on his shoulder a tray, and _it_ carried--ugh!----a large piece of _liver_! _that_ i saw _then_. an indescribable awe spread through my frame--my feelings were what the wretch behind me would have called "offal." i knew, as though by instinct, that i had in piccadilly seen, what napoleon saw at acre--the man who should mar my destiny! abstractedly, there is nothing absolutely and inherently vicious in a butcher's boy; on the contrary, he may be decidedly virtuous--nay, we have in our mind's eye cases which would go far to prove that high moral integrity and humanity of sentiment are quite compatible with his most necessary trade. is it then asked, why this individual should excite at once in my boyish bosom such lively feelings of horror--such forebodings of evil? i can give no more reason for it than did my friend grant, (who tells such jolly stories,) for declining to show his box of silk-worms to an inquiring friend. "grant! just let's have a look at your silk-worms--there's a good fellow!"--"no!"--"why not, man?"--"_because not!_" my answer must be similar in spirit, if not in letter. i _knew_ that the odious individual was destined to be my evil genius for the day. but to my tale. the owner of the large optics--the bearer of "the tray," returned my gaze. its result as to any favourable impression of my personal appearance on his mind seemed doubtful. he merely remarked, however, "vell, you _are_ a nice swell for a small party, you are!" i walked on. the observation set me contemplating my admirable blue jacket, with its neat row of buttons; my exceedingly pleasing waistcoat, and pantaloons of black; my large white collar, and unexceptionable shirt-front; not to mention the oxford shoes, and the beaver hat, which, on a pretence of excessive heat, and after the manner of elderly gentlemen in kensington gardens, i took off, that my eyes might be satisfied that _it_ was all right. the result of the scrutiny was a feeling that the remark of the wretch (who might or might not be following--look round again i dared not) was not only quite natural, but, taking the word "swell" in its better acceptation, quite consistent with the truth. on, therefore, i walked, and by the time i reached sackville street, became tranquil again. now, to all london peripatetics the print-shop at the corner of that street must be well known. it was at this identical place that i made a halt, and a determination at the same time to have a regular jolly good look at all the pictures (for by st. james's it was now only two o'clock); beginning, in the orthodox way, with the last bar of the "airy" up sackville street, and "the norwich mail in a thunderstorm;" and gradually proceeding to the last bar up piccadilly, and an earnest scrutiny of some stout gentleman in spectacles, who always _will_ stand at the end of a print-shop window, to prevent one's satisfactorily finishing everything. "how uncertain are all sublunary things!"--"all that's bright must fade," &c., are remarks which one occasionally meets with in the works of english authors, and is very apt to treat with contempt. yet who can predicate at two o'clock that he shall be happy at a quarter past? i had, in the prosecution of my plan, got half-way down the railings in sackville street, and had arrived opposite a peculiar pane of glass, wherein, as in a mirror, my own happy face, and the especial whiteness of my shirt-collar, were revealed to my gratified vision. i had just given the last-named a gentle pull up, and was smiling in the consciousness of "youth and grace, and"--in short, i was _satisfied_ with myself--when-- "vell, i'm blowed if you an't precious sveet on that 'ere phiz o' your'n, young un!" i turned in horror. close behind me there stood a butcher's boy--_the_ butcher's boy! (there was but one in london that day)--those eyes--those corduroys--_that tray_! i shrunk within myself--i almost wished that the bar i stood on might give way and admit me into the "airy." i mechanically uttered some deprecatory expression, scarce conscious of anything but the existence of a butcher's boy, with large eyes, and a tray! "vell, turnips!" (i had light--very light hair) "vot are yer a looking at now?--a com-paring that ugly phiz o' yourn with a gen'leman's?" i felt that the last word conveyed a reproach, and my spirits rose so high as to explode in the assertion, "i didn't speak to you!" "o, didn't yer, turnips?-vell, just take _that_, then; and never mind the change!" his hand was raised rapidly to his tray--a dark substance rose high in the air. blash! it came--all over my face--my collar: _the_ cherished collar! my eyes sought the pane wherein so lately i had gazed with pride. "one dark red stain" was too visible. i _felt_ then, and _knew_, that i had had my face slapped--literally slapped--with a piece of _liver_! the criminal on the gallows, exposed to the groans of the brutal mob, may feel as degraded (no one else can) as i did, whilst weeping i pursued my way. the very red plush smalls of him who admitted me at last into the privacy of a house, from the gaze of grinning thousands, seemed to mock my misery. i dared not go up-stairs. i remained below weeping; till a kind old lady--whence should relief to the wretched come?--came to comfort me. my face was cleansed from the stain, but remembrance could not be washed away; i was supplied with a pretty suit from her son's wardrobe--it could not cover my sense of degradation. even the desired dinner failed to bring the desired oblivion; and when two elderly ladies who _would_ sing duets began to practise their favourite one, the words that struck my ears were, "flow on, thou shining _liver_!" * * * john copus. the miscreant author of my woe has not escaped. for in one of _his_ limnings in whose vehicle i ride, there may be seen, with a malicious grin on his face, such as he wore after the consummation of my woe, contemplating the capture of poor oliver twist by the interesting nancy, and her ruffian bill sikes--a _butcher's boy_. note him well--_the_ butcher's boy. hair--corduroys--and _tray_!--j. c. *** our sensitive and acutely-suffering correspondent who so keenly remembers the woes of his boyhood, has, by the force of his memory, recalled to our own recollection another specimen of the tray-carrying fraternity. we subjoin his portrait, for the benefit of every juvenile diner-out who entertains a horror of liver! the artist insists that it _is_ a portrait, and no invention. [illustration] two of a trade. "with such a dear companion at my side."---wordsworth. oh! marvellous boy, what marvel when i met thy dog and thee, i marvell'd if to dogs or men you traced your ancestry! if changed from what you once were known, as sorrow turns to joy, the boy more like the dog had grown, the dog more like the boy. it would a prophet's eyesight baulk, to see through time's dark fog, if on four legs the boy will walk, or if on two the dog. oh pair! what were ye both _at first_? the one a feeble pup; a babe the other, fondly nursed-- how _have_ ye been brought up? oh, boy! and wert thou once a child, a cherub small and soft, on whom two human beings smiled, and pray'd for, oft and oft? a creature, rosy, plump and fair, half meekness and half joy; a wingless angel with light hair!-- oh! wert thou, butcher-boy? a thing more gentle, laughing, light, more blythe, more full of play, than e'er _he_ was--that luckless wight!-- the lamb you stuck to-day? and thou, o dog, with deep-set eyes, wert thou, like love, once blind; with helpless limbs, of pigmy size, and voice that scarcely whined? how grew your legs so like to _his_, your growl so like his tone? and when did he first see your phiz reflected in his own? bravely have both your likeness worn; alike, without, within; brethren ye are, and each was born, like happiness, "a twin!" yet can it be, oh! butcher-boy, thou com'st of adam's race? then adam's gold has much alloy!-- was this _his_ form and face? art thou descended from the pair from whom the cæsars came? wore alexander such an air? look'd cheops much the same? and thou, oh! butcher's cur, is't true that _thy_ first parents e'er from eden's garden lapp'd the dew, and breathed in rapture there? yes! those from whom you spring, no doubt, who lived like dogs, and died, must once have follow'd eve about, and walk'd by adam's side. l. b. omnibus chat. the noble art of boxing made a hit in its day; but it is now numbered amongst the dead or dying, and the art of striking reigns in its stead. little has been heard of throughout the month but the "strikes" that have taken place at the various public works, among the masons. "masonic brethren" they have proved themselves, by the secrecy of their communications, and the sympathetic character of their movements. they struck first at the houses of parliament, then at nelson's monument, then at woolwich. not being in want of bread, they refused us a stone. punctual to a moment, as the horse guards' clock struck, they did. our omnibus stopped, like the workmen, at charing-cross. "so the masons at nelson's monument are going to strike," said we. "glad to hear it," rejoined a punning acquaintance, "there ought to be something striking about a monument to _him_!" the name of nelson set all our companions talking; but an "old sailor" (not _the_) was the first to give his discourse a reportable shape, by relating a little historical fact that has escaped history--unimportant, perhaps, but not uninteresting. the two naval heroes. everybody knows tower hill, but it is not every one we meet with in an omnibus, who can recollect it as it was fifty years ago, when steel kept his shop there, and first published the navy list. however, we cannot stop to speak of him, or his book, nor of the itinerants who were wont to vend their various wares under the trees which shaded the houses in postern-row; nor of the pump, which then, as now, was declared to be a very good pump; nor of the ditch, into which, in that day, many a passenger was tumbled after being robbed and beaten by the thieves and disorderlies--land privateers as they were called, who cruised in the neighbourhood after dark. we do not intend to relate any thing of these, nor of the sundry stout, ill-favoured, savage-looking vagabonds in fearnought coats, who were ever to be found lolling over the row of posts which fenced the eastern side of the hill--the commissioned press-gang, who used to amuse themselves by scrutinizing the passers-by, and now and then by breaking the head of some unfortunate blue-jacket who had incautiously strolled too near their precincts to avoid capture or a fight. we have taken you out of the city, reader, into a district not inhabited by the most honest or well conducted; but we must still bring you through east smithfield into wapping, to a spot a little west of the entrance of the london docks; and hereabouts one richardson kept a slop-shop. early one morning a cheerful-looking hale old man came out of steel's navigation warehouse, leading by the hand a slender stripling of a lad who carried a chart under his arm, and seemed to regard his companion with the respect due to a patron. they took their way along the same track precisely by which we have conducted you, and parted opposite richardson's slop-shop. as the man (_it was porteous, the king's pilot_) shook the lad by the hand, he ejaculated loud enough to be heard half down the street--"mind, high water at a quarter past twelve; i won't wait a minute; be there by twelve!" old richardson was at this moment busied about his accounts, and too intent on his occupation to perceive that anybody had approached his counter, until the lad who had entered the shop drew his attention. he wanted some sea-clothing, and tendered a list of check shirts, duck trousers, &c. the articles were exhibited, examined, and approved; they were to be packed up and sent to the dundee arms by noon. the honest chapman recognized the signature at the foot of the order, and the youth took his departure. there was something in the lad's manners and appearance that would have induced an observation upon the choice he had made of a profession so full of danger and difficulty; and the slopseller was once or twice about to address his young customer on the subject, who however gave him no opportunity of entering upon it. the lad gone, the shopkeeper resumed his employment at his books, and, as he turned over leaf after leaf, accompanied the process with certain verbal remarks which a pen he held between his lips rendered somewhat indistinct; at length, laying down the implement and adjusting his spectacles, he pondered over the contents of the page, and after a pause exclaimed--"ah! i do remember, about the same time in the morning too. let me see--watch-coat--fearnought trousers--pair of boots--sword-belt--he was rather a different looking chap to the lad that came just now; a hard-faced, smart-built, bold dog he was--fine eye; snapped at me as i showed him the things--sent 'em to water-lane, but never got the money! early customers differ otherwise than in looks; this pays, that don't--but it can't be helped; if they are not all--let's see, what's the lads name," (and here he re-examined the order that had just been left with him) "ay--_horatio nelsons_, they are not all _paul joneses_"--and these two widely distinguished heroes, reader, were the customers between whom old richardson drew a comparison[ ]. nelson, and the modern navy, and napier, and ship-building, and discipline, and improvement, were the changes rung for some time, until at last somebody adverted to a peculiarity of the jack tar which may be discussed under the title of tar and feathers. [illustration] the sailor must have his joke in defiance of danger and death. when commodore anson took panama in , his men clothed themselves over their jackets and trousers in all the gay apparel they could collect. they did the same at capua under nelson; and the hero, elevated on a cask in the grand square, and surrounded by motley groups of masquerading tars, drank rich wine out of a golden goblet to the toast of "better times to us." in , the brave yeo, then a lieutenant of the loire frigate, with a mere handful of men, stormed the heavy fort of el muros, near finisterre, and carried it at noon-day. having destroyed the fortification and sent off the stores, the seamen arrayed themselves in the immense spanish grenadiers' bear skin caps and accoutrements, and all black and dirty with their labour, rowed off in this state to the ship, to the great amusement of captain maitland and the hearty approval of their shipmates. many other anecdotes of a similar kind might be related; and now it appears, by recent accounts from china, that jack is still pursuing his old game; for it is related that at the destruction of several war-junks in the neighbourhood of canton, the english seamen arrayed themselves in the spoils of the enemy, and figured away in mandarin caps and tunics, and the curly-toed shoes of the chinamen; nor was the essential tail wanted; for many of the bodies were divested of this ornament, which jack being in a "cue" for humour, suspended at his own back, occasionally raising it in a coil, and offering to take a messmate in tow by it. we did not break up our little naval board without mentioning impressment, and a thing called the cat; the word was no sooner out, than it operated like the morning-gun in "the critic," and off went the following:-- an a_cat_alectic monody! a _cat_ i sing, of famous memory, though _cat_achrestical my song may be; in a small garden _cat_acomb she lies, and _cat_aclysms fill her comrades' eyes; borne on the air, the _cat_acoustic song swells with her virtues' _cat_alogue along; no _cat_aplasm could lengthen out her years, though mourning friends shed _cat_aracts of tears once loud and strong her _cat_echist-like voice it dwindled to a _cat_call's squeaking noise; most _cat_egorical her virtues shone, by _cat_enation join'd each one to one;-- but a vile _cat_chpoll dog, with cruel bite, like _cat_ling's cut, her strength disabled quite; her _cat_erwauling pierced the heavy air, as _cat_aphracts their arms through legions bear; 'tis vain! as _cat_erpillars drag away their lengths, like _cat_tle after busy day, she ling'ring died, nor left in kit _kat_ the embodyment of this _cat_astrophe.--v. d. l. "a play on words," said mr. cavil, (who happened to be our guest on this occasion), "a play on words, sir, is a pretty thing in its way; and i'm perfectly well aware that the public expect you to be jocular (as if there were nothing cheerful in seriousness). i know, too, that it's quite impossible to please everybody. but still, sir--still i think a little gravity now and then, eh?--a little gravity. i don't conceive that you give your attention sufficiently to science. something scientific now--" mr. cavil was not allowed to conclude; we had anticipated his want; we had already turned our thoughts that way, and could fortunately plume ourselves upon the presence of one of the _illustrissimi_ of science, who forthwith illumined our humble vehicle by a transcendent and exclusive report of the third meeting of the bright-ish association for the advancement of everything. _section a.--mathematical and physical science._ _president_--prof. cycloyd. _vice-presidents_--dr. spectrum & major fork. "on an experiment of interference." by inspector jones. the author stated, that one night he had observed a gentleman employed in experimenting upon the tintinnabular powers of bells, as produced by voltaic action communicated through copper wires; the end of the wire being conducted into the open air, and the point defended by a brass knob. feeling interested in the prosecution of this experiment, the author immediately proceeded to the spot to make inquiries into its success; but when within two paces of the experimentalist, he had suddenly received so severe a shock that he was stunned for the moment. when he recovered from its effects, the gentleman was gone. this he particularly regretted, as he much wished to have discovered the power which had produced the shock that prostrated him; but as he had observed another gentleman a short distance behind him, he supposes that he, being an assistant of the experimentalist, was engaged in generating the galvanic fluid, which, passing from him to the one in connexion with the brass knob, (from thence to be communicated to the bell through the wire,) had produced the shock described--the author's body intercepting its flow, and thus being in a state of interference. "a comparison between the results given by rain-gauges and known facts with regard to lachrymatose precipitations." by dr. daw. the object of this paper was, to point out the connexion which exists between the quantities of rain received on horizontal surfaces, at _different heights_ above the ground, and the quantity of lachrymal vapour condensed into tears, also at different heights; and showing that, in both cases, the less the elevation the greater were the quantities. thus, a rain-gauge, four feet from the ground, will intercept less than one on the ground; and a child of _four_ feet high will produce less than one _two_ feet high. "on the expression of unknown quantities." by prof. muddelwitz. a method of expressing unknown quantities by known formulæ has long been a desideratum in mathematical science. this process the author stated he had discovered; for that the fractions of coefficient indices, when used to express the powers of differential equations, are always capable of being solved into pure algebraic roots. thus, if in an infinitesimal series, in which p, o, o --t--t are unknown given quantities, a, a , and e, known, and the value to be limited, the equation stands as follows:-- . a x - a x p o t = t, o, e. . a x = t o e + a - p o t . x = [sqrt](a - p o t + a - t o e) thus the generalization of the equation of x, to the nth degree, gives its fraction in the form of an algebraic root. [to some readers the above demonstrations may seem rather obscure; but as the late dr. dundertop, in his treatise on the _perspicuous_, clearly explains--"ephpnxmqzomubh grudcnkrl, hqmpt on kronswt."] * * * * * we were all thrown into a state of such intense dumbness, such complete torpor, by the profundity of these scientific researches, that everybody tacitly admitted the appropriateness of the next subject; it was a case of still-life which met our startled eye the other evening, in the form of a pair of rum corks in stout bottles. [illustration] on our table stood, not one, but two "black bottles," two bottles that had held "cork stout"--two we saw without seeing double. the corks had already been drawn, but upon them were two faces distinctly visible, which we resolved to draw likewise; and as the pencil wound itself about, we seemed to hear the following dialogue, in a sort of screw-like tone:-- "arrah, paddy now, and where are you from?" "sure i'm from cork." "cork is it? fait den it's from cork i am meself." [illustration] * * * * * "not such terrifying images, sir," said a nervous visitor, who trembled like keeley in the old drama of the _bottle imp_, "not such terrifying images as that family of phantoms, that assemblage of the blues, which you conjured up in your last number. you might well call them "frights." i'm sure i've felt all over like the derbyshire turnpike-man ever since; but i'm not at all afraid of those two bottle conjurors there." the allusion to this mysterious derbyshire pike-man produced inquiry, and we were all forthwith reminded by our agitated companion, of a midnight scene-- a highway adventure which was lately recorded in the public papers. it appears that when van amburgh travels, the large elephant goes on foot in the night, attended by four east indians, men of negro complexions, in white dresses,--three of them riding on the elephant's back, and one on his tusks. one night as they were passing over worksop forest, the party arrived at a toll-bar that was closed. the call "gate" was raised, and out came the toll-keeper in his nightcap. now it is suspected that this unfortunate individual had been long anticipating the coming of a gentleman in black, whose name is never mentioned to ears polite; for observing the monstrous and unlooked-for spectacle that then presented itself to his drowsy eyes, he, instead of opening the gate, was so terrified, that he ran back into the house, exclaiming in frantic tones, "_he's come at last!_" [illustration] "frightened at an elephant," cried mr. cavil, with a profusion of pishes! "at an elephant merely! i wonder if he ever saw a young lady--young ladies such as i have seen! i was never afraid of a woman while she wore her hair turned up, powdered, pomatumed, and frizzed like my mother's and grandmother's; but only imagine the terror of a sensitive mortal on encountering a specimen of the fashions of the present day; on meeting a sample of the feminine gender, who, not satisfied with milliner's 'whiskers,' must exhibit to the affrighted gazer a face 'bearded like the pard.' frightened at an elephant! bless his five wits!--if he were only to come to london!" [illustration] footnote: [footnote : the reader may use his own judgment as to the chronological accuracy of the foregoing tale. it is a fact that jones and nelson were both equipped by the same person, richardson, and that the king's pilot took horatio down to wapping for that purpose.] some account of the life and times of mrs. sarah toddles! by sam sly. it is customary with the romancists and novelists of the day to track their heroes and heroines to some mysterious origin, for which purpose they either draw them from the foot of the gallows, or the precincts of the palace, and the jail returns are ransacked, and the old court guides dissected, for suitable titles and localities. thus, whilst one will unkennel his favourites from workhouses, and obscure holes and corners, another finds his pet in the queen's best bed-room, or sleeping in state in a golden cradle. it is lucky for us we are not obliged to run to either extreme. sarah toddles' life lies in a nutshell. and here again we cannot help expressing our satisfaction, that we should be more fortunate than those who have to beat about the hedge, and make long speeches, and fill volumes in hazarding and conjecturing respecting nurses and birth-places. there is nothing at all remarkable about the dawning of sarah; it was the most simple, natural, straight-forward, and legitimate birth imaginable: there was neither ringing of bells, nor flourishing of trumpets. mrs. james was the nurse, mrs. sarah gunn the mother, and mr. timothy gunn the father. he was a gingerbread-baker, and lived at bow--mile-end bow--and kept a shop not far from the bridge, and baked "banburys" as well as "parliament" for the fair. over the bow-window of this shop, and a little to the left, sarah first saw daylight, and heard bow bells--not at that interesting moment, because we have already said the elements were quiet. sarah was an only child, the gun never went off but once--at least sarah was the only "living shot." sarah--our sally--was born on the same day as the duke of wellington, but she could not help that. it seemed a little curious, and somewhat presumptuous; and her mother, had she anticipated such a result, would no doubt have avoided giving any offence, by forwarding or retarding the business, but she had no friend at court. and, after all, it is doubtful which is most honoured by the fact, his grace or sarah toddles. but such is the course of things. mrs. gunn was soon off the stocks; she was up and stirring; and sarah, with unheard of rapidity, got out of the nurse's arms, and from pap to pudding, and pudding to pork; and soon found out the use of her eyes and feet, and "toddled" into the shop, and tip-toed to the top of the counter, and fingered the "banburys," and licked the "parliament," and dabbled in the treacle, and painted her face with it, and was shaken and smacked, and all that sort of thing. she became at last "quite a girl," and would run over the bridge, and round the church-yard, and up "mile-end," and down old ford, and through bow fields, and stepney church-yard, and all about, till mrs. gunn was "frightened out of her wits," and determined to send her to school. now bow church was not then as it is at present. in the olden times, or when sarah was young, there was a market held close in front of it, and over this market was a school, and a mr. brown was the master; and here sarah was first led into the mystery of letters, and got through "vyse's new london spelling book," and that's all (for her progress, like her genius and her stature, was small); so after spoiling many copy-books and green bags, and wearing out many pattens in trotting from the shop to the school, she was ultimately relieved from her studies and her troubles by being taken away. this was good news for sarah, "for now she should do as she liked, and have such bits of fun at bow fair, without being bothered to get her lessons in the morning before she went, when half the day was gone; and wouldn't she though have some rare games in stepney church-yard, and look at the tombstones and the fish in the ring! and wouldn't she often go to the world's-end tea-gardens, and to fairlop fair, and epping forest to get blackberries! she just would then." and she just did then; and this was the sunny spot of her life. _now_ her sun may be said to have gradually declined; she was no longer a free agent. she was told to "_think_ and mind what she was about," and was kept at home, and enlisted in domestic services (for her parents had no other housemaid), and also assisted in baking and minding the shop. thus days rolled on; and sarah at last became a woman--not a very tall one it is true, but still a woman--little and good, "short and sweet." sarah was thrice married. her first husband was a mr. lightfoot, her second a mr. heavisides, and her third, and last, mr. toddles--thomas toddles. with the first two we have nothing to do, they were dead and buried before we were thought of, and we never make a point of enlarging about parties where we are not asked to the funeral, but we may merely remark for the benefit of the curious, that sarah toddles chose _them_ for no particular virtue or accomplishment, but merely for their size; they all stood _four feet three_ in their shoes, all were timid men, and all died childless. there was nothing at all wonderful about either of these courtships or weddings, all was "fair and above-board;" no rope ladders, no moonlight madness, no gretna green trips, no bribings, no hole-and-corner works, no skulking behind kitchen doors or tombstones, or winkings or blinkings in church, no lies, no sighs, no dyings for love and that trumpery, nothing of the sort. mr. gunn consented, mrs. gunn consented, sarah consented, and they all consented; could anything be fairer? and what's the use of writing a volume upon it, as many of our contemporaries might? but, perhaps, we may be allowed to say a word or two on mrs. toddles' last engagement, since at his death we were asked to the funeral. as a baker, and doing a great deal of business for the fairs, mr. gunn required assistance, and he found a faithful and honest servant in thomas toddles. mrs. heavisides--our sally--would often be found in the bakehouse helping her father and thomas in "setting sponge," as it is termed, and in moulding and shaping buns and banburys. could anything be more natural than that words and looks should be exchanged on these occasions between her and thomas, bordering upon the weather and the heat of the oven, and that this warmth should produce congenial thoughts and sentiments? it did so; for thomas, though naturally timid, had all the arts or nature of an experienced lover. he would run from buns to banburys, and from banburys to bachelors, and from bachelors to bow bells, and from bow bells to bow church, and from the church to the altar; he would then not forget to talk about rings, "and thought he knew of one just about her size"--here the oven would burn--"and would she allow him to try one." he would then steal a little nearer, and adopt a few innocent liberties, such as flirting a little flour in her face with his thumb and finger, then wipe it off afterwards with the corner of his apron, and, as a climax, "kiss the place to make it well," my toddles! it is not to be wondered at, that these things were a "decided hit," as the managers have it, and that they should have their full effect, by causing bow bells very soon to ring to the honour and happiness of mr. and mrs. toddles. but all that lives must fade, and mrs. toddles' troubles now came thick upon her. first, her mother died, soon after, her father, who bequeathed all his "banburys," goods, and chattels to her and her husband; and within a very few months thomas died also. he was unusually busy one night in preparing for bow fair, where he kept a stall, and over-exerting himself, caught a cold, was taken to bed, slept sweetly, but over-slept himself, and saw sarah toddles no more. soon after, mrs. t. wound up the business, sold off her stock and interest, and purchased a small annuity. in order to fill up her time, and in some measure to obliterate the past, she volunteered her services in one or two tract and dorcas societies, where she assists in the making up of those very small articles which she was once in her longings led to suppose might fill her own baskets. a great deal of absurdity has gone forth at her expense amongst cads and omnibus drivers, who would not wait even five or ten minutes for her, when at the furthest she was never more than a quarter of an hour behind time, and how few know the cause of all this! some have attributed it to an over-solicitude in her toilet, some to this thing and some to that, some to the putting on of those little black stockings, and some to the tying of the velvet shoes; when, if the truth must be known, it is--_mrs. sarah toddles has corns_. some little reminiscence of mr. toddles may be required. in height he was about four feet three. his clothes were much too large for him, coming over his knuckles, and over his shoes, with a skirt nearly touching the ground. moreover he had a monstrous hat, swelling at the crown, very much boated before and behind, a large mouth, and large eyes. it was curious to see this little couple trotting up mile-end road towards whitechapel on a saturday night, he first, and she after, for a cheap market--he carrying a basket and she a bag, which they would fill either from the shops or from the stalls by the roadside; but before returning, take care to call in at the blind beggar for a drop of "summat short," "but strictly medicinally." that very shawl at the back of mrs. toddles, and the large parasol, or small umbrella, were presents from mr. t. one bow-fair day; she keeps them and wears them in respect to his memory, and will continue to do so through all the changes of fashion. those stockings were knitted by miss toddles, and those velvet shoes made by timothy toddles, her dear husband's brother and sister; in short, she is enveloped and surrounded with gifts from top to toe. the arm-chair was a relic of her mother's, the footstool was her father's, the bottle lightfoot's, and the glass heavisides', and the table toddles', her last dear toddles; the carpet was her cousin's, and the urn her uncle's. but time, like sarah, is toddling on; let us hope that she may meet with more civility, and that her end may be peaceful. if we are invited to the funeral, we shall look after her epitaph. *** _we beg to state, that though assured of the great respectability of our correspondent, we do not personalty vouch for the authenticity of this memoir_.-ed. [illustration: george cruikshank. breaking into the strong room in the "jewel tower" and removal of the regalia, on the night of the fire, oct'r. . london tilt & bogue fleet street.] the fire at the tower of london. the scene in the jewel tower--the armoury--the bowyer tower--lady jane grey's apartment--the trophies. [illustration: _the black portion of the plan shows the part which is burnt._ a bowyer tower. b brick tower. c small armoury. d map office. e white tower. f horse armoury. g powder magazine. h ordnance office. i bloody tower. k governor's lodgings. l st. peter's church. m jewel tower. ] the queen's loving subjects are divided into two parties--those who have, and those who have not, visited the tower. the former have their recollections of the visit--the latter have their regrets for its postponement. and let this be a lesson to all procrastinative sight-seers, to see things while they are to be seen; for the great--or, as it was somewhat oddly designated--the small armoury, is no longer among the visibles or the visitables. association first conducts us to the _jewel house_, the scene of col. blood's and of mr. swifte's doings. it is curious, that after years the burglary (we were near saying the treason) should be repeated; and that blood, the crown-stealer, should have been succeeded by swifte, the crown-keeper. the soldier was favoured by king charles, the civilian by queen victoria--the merry master pardoned, the august mistress approved. the stealer was rewarded with a pension, the keeper's recompense is--to come. having the benefit of mr. swifte's acquaintance, we were indulged with a view of the jewel-room. it is really a curious contrast! light, security, and splendour, changed into darkness, desolation, and vacancy--the regal treasury become an empty sepulchre! the tokens and the instruments of the violence used--broken railings, hatchets, and crow-bars--scattered about, as if "the gallant colonel" had but just absconded! it was a comfort to think that the imperial crown, instead of being battered to bits in his bag, was safe and whole in the governor's cellar. we have endeavoured, in our plate, to give light and life to the jewel-room, now so desolate. not the light of six argands, flashing down on diadem and sceptre, and--brightest of all--on the crown of our liege lady's yet brighter brow, irradiating the matchless sapphire, blue as an italian sky--the mound of diamonds, numerous as its stars--and the priceless ruby of edward and of henry, multiplying their thousand prisms:--but, alas! the blink of one or two ten-to-the-pound tallows--sheepish-looking members of the "kitchiner" tribe--glimmering on them, ghastly as dead men's eyes out of a plundered coffin. and for the _life_ of the scene? there stood the keeper himself, his wife at his side, partaking the peril; and the warders, whom he had summoned to the rescue. we cannot, however, portray the stifling heat and smoke; the clamour of the soldiers outside the closed portal, which the fires of the armoury were striving to reach; nor the roar of the still-excluded flames, the clang of the pumps, the hissing of the water-pipes, the gathering feet and voices of the multitude. these are beyond the pencil. "the pressure from without" increased. again the clamour rose high, and the furnace heat rose higher. but the keeper abided his time--the crow-bars were raised in a dozen hands awaiting his word. it was given! the first blow since the days of king charles descended on the iron fence; and queen victoria's crown, safely deposited in its case, and sheltered therein from smoke and flame and the common gaze, was removed to the governor's house. orbs, diadems, and sceptres--dishes, flagons, and chalices--the services of court and of church, of altar and of banquet, were sent forth in the care of many a sturdy warder, gallant john lund being their leader. the huge baptismal font, soon to be called into use for the prince of wales, was last removed. the jewel-room was as bare as if blood the first had left nought behind him for blood the second. how must the spectators have gazed on the bright procession, as from window, and roof, and turret, the armoury blazed out upon it! and how must the colonel's ghost have wondered to behold his own meditated prey borne through that fiery midnight! the jewel-room was now emptied. the agents of its _emptification_ quitted the peril--glad enough were they, we'll be sworn--and all was again solitude and silence. the armoury, with its three burning floors, each feet in length--their trophies of past, and provisions of future victory, wrapped in one flame, and flanked at either end by the chapel and the crown jewel house--(church and state in equal danger!)--deserve our description. that memorable night--so memorable, that, as the keeper's ancestor, dean swift, says of o'rourke's feast, it will be remembered "by those who were there, and those who were not," is described in two words, fusion and confusion. they tell their story. * * * * * next in sublimity to the spectacle of the blazing pile, was the scene afterwards presented, when, as the fire lessened, and the smoke cleared off, the whole space within the walls of the enormous armoury was opened to the straining eye--a sight of awe and wonder. above was the "sky" of a november morn; and below, covering the immense sweep of the floor, heaps of fused metal, of dimensions scarcely to be credited, with bayonet-points bristling up everywhere, close-set and countless, like long blades of grass. innumerable as the stand of small-arms had appeared, they now seemed, starting from the crushed mass, still more multitudinous; the space appeared larger; the scene of destruction more gigantic; and we thought of the moralizing fox walking beside the tree which had been thrown down by a tempest:--"this is truly a noble tree; i never thought it so great while standing." after a day or two there was something ridiculous blended with the terror of the spectacle. the waterloo guns uninjured--(those guns which had played upon the guards at waterloo with shot, and which the guards in return had played upon with water in _loo_ of shot)--the enormous pieces of artillery; the mighty anchor; the myriad bayonet-points; the masses of metal, dull or shining; the broken columns; the smouldering rubbish; were strangely contrasted with the forms of gaily-attired ladies, courageously clambering over hot heaps, creeping through apparently unapproachable avenues, and raking among the ashes for relics--gun-flints, green, blue, or white, and picturesque bits of metal. outside this building, in various directions, the most terrific visible symptom of the intense burning that had made night hideous, were the streams of molten lead from surrounding roofs; the liquid metal, as it fell upon the flagstones, having splashed up and sprinkled the walls to the height of two or three feet. [illustration: bowyer or clarence tower.] * * * * * _order_ has at length succeeded to the confusion, and _orders_ on a large scale have followed the fusion. the armoury will be rebuilt and refurnished. the edifice, it is to be hoped, will be more in harmony with the antique character of the surrounding scene, and the new arms not less susceptible of beautiful arrangement for being better adapted to practical uses than the old. thus far the nation will gain by its misfortune; nor will the loss, even in a pecuniary sense, be equal to a fourth of the first estimate. every evil has been exaggerated--except the danger. that scarcely admitted of exaggeration. [illustration: entrance to the small armoury--camperdown anchor, waterloo guns, &c.] our fellow antiquaries, and not less (though for other reasons) our country-cousins everywhere, will join with us, not in lamenting the loss, but in rejoicing at the escape. the plan which heads this article, will enable them to understand it. of the antiquities of the tower, little or nothing has suffered. all that has stood for centuries, in fact, still stands there. that of which the memory is imperishable has not perished. the buildings which are destroyed, are--the armoury, which was modern; the upper part of the bowyer or clarence tower, which was also modern. the antique remains are figured on the preceding page. this tower was three stories high. the large square window below, next the ladder, is that of the chamber in which clarence is supposed to have been murdered. in the apartment immediately over this the fire commenced. above the belt, in the centre, all was modern. it will be seen by the plan that this tower is exactly in the centre of the small armoury, at the back. the brick tower is of considerable antiquity, and the interior of this has been wofully damaged, so that the apartment in which the gentle lady jane grey was confined, wears now a more forlorn and ruinous aspect than the slow hand of time would have invested it with in additional centuries. still, even here, what is gone is but the wood-work, the outward coating, the modern accessories or accumulations of the scene; the destroyer has neither eaten through the old walls, nor undermined the deep and enduring foundations of any portion of the old fortress. as for the trophies that are gone, they are things which this nation, more perhaps than any other, can afford to surrender without a sigh. if "britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers along her steep," neither does she need tokens of her triumphant march over the mountain-wave in days gone by. besides, as schoolboys say of birds'-eggs taken prisoners, or apples captured in orchards, "there's plenty more where these came from." it would have been something, to be sure, to have saved from the consumer a thing so simple as the old wheel of the "victory;" because it was no part of the vulgar spoil of war, no commonplace implement of devastation wrested from an enemy, but a precious relic associated with the dying-hour of england's favourite hero, and a symbol, in its very form, of the eternity of his fame. it is gone; but the list of losses is not half so long as fear made it; and among the trophies yet remaining, are numbers as indestructible as the great anchor taken at camperdown, which, the day after the fire, was seen rearing its giant bulk amidst the multitude of bristling points, and masses of fused metal. [illustration: lady jane grey's room in the brick tower.] the blazing armoury--the ramparts--a contrast. the lamps of the city burn dull and dead, the wintry raindrops fall, and thick mists, borne from the river's bed, round london's hoary tower are spread, o'erhanging, like a pall. when, suddenly--look! a red light creeps up from the tower on high! one shriek of "fire!"--and lo! it sweeps through yon vast armoury. up, up it springs, on giant wings, that still expand and soar; can you not hear, through outcries loud, the beaten drum, and the tramp of the crowd, the mighty furnace roar! then trophy, and relic, and ancient spoil, one molten mass went down, and ruin had stretch'd his red hand out to seize the sacred crown. and faces, that else were white with fear, gleam'd in the woful light; while perils that distant seem'd, drew near, and ghastlier grew the night. dread rumour, outstripping the winged flame, still spoke of powder stored, ere deep in the moat 'twas safely roll'd, sparing the walls of that white tower old, rich memory's darkest hoard. and all the while the threaten'd pile rang with a mingled roar, and hurried feet in danger meet, and dread struck more and more. yet all night there, within the bound of that fortress black and stern, the appointed guard went stilly round, and on the customary ground the soldier took his turn. high overhead the lurid blaze afar in fright was seen, yet there, unmoved, the sentry paced each time-worn tower between. just o'er him broke the flash and smoke, around was wild uproar; but there he trod, as there had trod his fellow the night before. amidst the deep terrific swell by myriad noises made, an echo from the ramparts fell-- the measured tread of the sentinel in solitude and shade. and to and fro, from hour to hour, his deep slow step was heard, nor could the firemen there have pass'd without the secret word. thus, silent 'midst a tumult wild; thus, lonely 'midst a throng; thus, bent his usual watch to keep, as though the fortress were asleep, shadow'd in drear and dead midnight, yet neighbour'd by that living light, the sentry paced along! l. b. miss adelaide kemble. the month "in which englishmen hang and drown themselves," has this year been signalised by first appearances;--the heir-apparent, heaven bless him! having chosen to arrive in the midst of the bell-ringing and jollity of lord mayor's day. though a less glorious, scarcely a less welcome one--to all play-goers, artists, honest subjects "moved by concord of sweet sounds," and poets clinging to recollections of departed genius--has been the entrance of "norma" at covent garden. the artist has well caught her attitude on that evening as she advanced to take her place before her altar: as yet silent. we cannot keep pace with him, or write down a twentieth of the cheers of welcome that burst from heart and hand. rarely have plaudits been so well merited! what the druidess may or may not do for the musical drama in england, let her own oracles expound. we are not prophets, but recorders; and while she is taking care for the future, we have but to say a word or two touching the past career of miss adelaide kemble. as to the date of her birth-day, that concerns not us. we are reserved when ladies are in the case; and are contented to remind the public that she is the younger daughter of mr. charles kemble--that, to the dramatic heritage derived from him, she adds a right to the musician's gift, being child of one who, some years since, made the name of de camp famous, as belonging to one of the most fascinating stage-singers of the time. every circumstance, therefore, of position and education combined to develop the talents which nature had given her. the air she breathed was a stimulus to perpetuate the most classical traditions of music and the drama. to this was added consciousness of the honourable position always maintained by her family, and their liberal general cultivation--exciting her to do her part also, and to become, not merely a voice--not merely a _gesture_ personified, but an artist: that is, a gifted intelligence, to whom voice and gesture serve but as means of expressing its "fancies chaste and noble," and its elevated conceptions. miss kemble has trained herself for her profession, with that thorough-going industry and ardour, without which there are no siddonses, no pastas, no malibrans. like the second distinguished woman named, her voice, though amply sufficient for every theatrical purpose, may not originally have been a _willing_ one. nothing, strange to say, has been so fatal to the attainment of the highest musical excellence, as too great a facility and richness of organ. by it catalani was led astray--by it sundry contemporary warblers----but "comparisons are odious." we are discreet as well as reserved. enough, that, under signor bordogni of paris, miss kemble went through all that severe course of study, to which too few of her countrywomen will subject themselves. she was first heard in london in , where she sang at a few concerts. though then weighed down by a consciousness of power, with means as yet inadequate for its utterance, though restrained by an excess of timidity, it was even then to be seen that a great dramatic artist was there. we remember two words from the great duet in "semiramide," which we heard her sing with tamburini--merely an exulting "_o gioja_!"--but they said enough to make us sure of what would come. at the end of that season, after appearing at the york festival, miss kemble was heard of no more in england. but ere long, rumours came from germany of an english lady turning wise heads by her dramatic truth and energy of feeling; and late in the autumn of the year , we were told that another of the kembles had entered her proper arena, the stage--at no less distinguished a place than the teatro della scala, milan. [illustration: adelaide kemble _in the character of_ norma. london. tilt & bogue, , fleet street.] from that time, in spite of lets and hindrances innumerable, which too generally beset the english gentlewoman undertaking a foreign artistic career, miss kemble has slowly and steadily advanced towards her present high position. at venice she was applauded to the echo for her execution of pasta's grand _cavatina_ in "_niobe_,"--at mantua made a _furore_, as an actress who was "_simpatica_" (there is a good deal in the word, as all italians know); later still at the teatro san carlo, naples, rising to such a height of popularity, that upon her contracting an engagement for palermo, barbaja, "_le bourru bienfaisant_" broke the contract, and paid the forfeit to retain her. her chief parts have been in the operas of "_lucia di lammermoor_," "_norma_," "_elena da feltre_," "_gemma di vergy_," "_la sonnambula_," and "_beatrice di tenda_." but lest the english fancy that their favourite is but a _signora_ in disguise, be it known to them that the subject of our notice is as fine a linguist in music as the most universal of her contemporaries. we have heard her applauded to the echo by the rhinelanders for her singing of schubert and beethoven:--we believe that she possesses a _cahier_ of french romances, which she can _say_ as well as sing, with _finesse_ enough to charm the fastidious ears of the panserons and adams who compose such dainty ware; and we know that she can do worthy homage--to handel. the oratorio-goers may look for _the_ miriam in her, and will not be disappointed. what more remains?--save to record, that after having made her mature talent heard at the never-to-be-forgotten polish _matinée_ at stafford house, and at a private concert, miss kemble made a second german journey this autumn, as we said, to the infinite delight of the rhinelanders, who are not easy to please;--and lastly, to give the second of this month as the date of her commencing a career among her own countrymen, which, for art's sake, as well as her own, we fervently hope will be as long as it _must_ be brilliant. r. o. d. what more remains? by way of postscript to our dull prose, the world will, we think, be glad of half-a-dozen verses from a most accomplished pen (we would not for the world reveal its owner!) dropped by mistake in an _omnibus_, on the morning after miss kemble's first appearance. 'twas not pasta--'twas not e'en thy greater name, that in charms of voice and mien to fancy came-- as thy wild impassioned lays enthralled our ears, and the eyes that fain would gaze were blind with tears! whence the ray, that could impart each subtle trace that defines the mother's heart, the matron's grace? whence the throes of jealousy that struggling rise, big with mimic agony to those young eyes? love and joy, thy gentle brow in turn caressing; hate, with scorn or vengeance, now its lines possessing: on the classic pedestal achieved by thee, firm, and never failing, shall thy footing be! and the brightness that will still thy name enshrine, take thou as the boon of god to thee and thine! jack gay, abroad and at home. by laman blanchard. who that had once met jack gay at dinner, where'er the feast of venison and the flow of port prevailed, ever forgot him! what lady, the luckiest of her sex, ever experienced his "delicate attentions" at a quiet evening party, a quiet concert, or a quiet dance, without speaking of him from that moment, not as the most charming of acquaintances, but as a very old friend--without feeling quite sure that she had known him all her life, though she had never seen him but that once? what spirits he had! other men had their jovial moods, but jack was always jovial. to be lively by fits and starts, to be delightful when the humour sets in, to emulate the fair exquisite of pope, "and make a lover happy--_for a whim_--" is within anybody's reach. but jack had no fits and starts; the humour flowed in one unebbing course, and his whim consisted in making everybody as happy as he was at all seasons. his joviality never depended upon the excellence of a dinner, the choice of wines, or any accident of the hour. his high spirits and invariable urbanity were wholly independent of the arrangements of the table, the selection of the guests, and the topics of conversation. he discovered pleasant things to hearken to, and found delightful themes to chat upon, even during the dreary twenty minutes before dinner. yes, even _that_ was a lively time to jack. whenever he went out it was to enjoy a pleasant evening, and he enjoyed it. the fish was spoil'd, the soup was cold, the meat was broil'd, the jokes were old, the tarts were dumps, the wine not cool, the guests were pumps, the host a fool-- but for all this jack cared about as much as a flying-fish cares for a shower of rain. no combination of ill omens and perverse accidents ever proved a damper to him. he is invited to meet (say) johnson and burke, and is greeted, on his entrance, with the well-known tidings that johnson and burke "couldn't come." does jack heave one sigh in compliment to the illustrious absentees, and in depreciation of the company who _have_ assembled? not he. no momentary shade of disappointment dims his smiling face. he seems as delighted to meet the little parlour-full of dull people, as though the room were crammed with crichtons. he has the honour of being presented to little miss somebody, from the country, who seems shy; and he takes the same pains to show his pleasure in the introduction, and to tempt the timid stranger to talk, that he would have exerted in an effort to interest mrs. siddons. he sits next to a solemn ignoramus, who is facetious in expounding the humours of squire bog, his neighbour, or didactic in developing the character of dogsby the great patriot in his parish; and jack listens as complacently as though his ear were being regaled with new-born bonmots of sheridan's, or anecdotes of the earl of chatham. jack, like some statesmen, was born to be out; and to him, as to some other statesmen, all parties were the same. the only preference he ever seemed to entertain was for the particular party that chanced at the particular moment to rejoice in his presence. he enjoyed everything that happened. leigh hunt, describing a servant-maid "at the play," observes, that every occurrence of the evening adds to her felicity--for she likes even the waiting between the acts, which is tiresome to others. so with jack at a party. he enjoyed some dislocated experiments on the harp, by an astonishing child, aged only fifteen; and was the sole person in the room who encored with _sincerity_ that little prodigy's convulsive edition of "bid me discourse." he listened with laudable gravity to master henry's recitation of "rolla's address," and suggested the passages in which john kemble was rather too closely followed. he enjoyed the glasses of warm wine handed round between the songs; he liked the long flat pauses, "when nobody said nothing to his neighbour;" and he liked the sudden burst of gabble in which, at the termination of the pause, as if by preconcerted agreement, every creature eagerly joined. he liked the persons he had never met before, and those whom he was in the habit of meeting just seven times a week. he admired the piano that was always out of tune, and the lady who, kindly consenting to play, was always out of temper. he thought the persons to whom he had not been introduced very agreeable, and all the rest extremely entertaining. he was delighted with his evening, whether it exploded in a grand supper, or went-off, flash-in-the-pan fashion, with a sandwich. he never bottled up his best things, to uncork them in a more brilliant company the next night; he was never dull because he was expected to shine, and never, by laborious efforts to shine, succeeded in showing that dulness was his forte. he pleased everybody because he was pleased himself; and he was himself pleased, because he could not help it. many queer-looking young men sang better, but nobody sang with such promptness and good taste; many awkward gawkies danced with more exactness and care, but nobody danced so easily to himself or so acceptably to his partner; many handsome dashing fellows were more showy and imposing in their manners, but none produced the agreeable effect that followed a few words of his, or one of his joyous laughs--nay even a kind and sprightly glance. the elaborate, and long meditated impromptu of the reputed wit fell still-born, while one of jack's unstudied gay-hearted sallies burst like a rocket, and showered sparkles over the room. everybody went away convinced that there was one human being in the world whose oasis of life had no surrounding desert. jack lived but for enjoyment. the links of the chain that bound him to existence, were of pure gold--there was no rough iron clanking between. he seemed sent into the world to show how many may be amused, cheered, comforted, by one light heart. that heart appeared to tell him, that where his fellow-creatures were, it was impossible to be dull; and the spirit of this assurance prevailed in all he said and did; for if he staid till the last half dozen dropped off, he was just as fresh and jocund as when the evening began. he never knew what it was to be tired, and as the hospitable door was at last closed upon him, you heard him go laughing away down the steps. upon his tomb indeed might be written a paraphrase of the epitaph so gloriously earned by his illustrious namesake:-- so that the merry and the wise might say, pressing their jolly bosoms, "here _laughs_ gay!" but did anybody, who may happen to see this page, ever see the aforesaid jack at home?--at high-noon, or in the evening when _preparing to go out_! behold him on the eve of departure--just going--about to plunge, at the appointed moment, into the revelries of a brilliant circle, where, if he were not, a score of sweet voices would fall to murmuring "i wish he were here!" for the admiration, the envy, the cordial liking which surely await him there, you would now be apt to substitute commiseration, regret--a bit of friendly advice to him to stop at home, and a pull at the bell for pen-and-ink that he might write an excuse. the truth is, that jack was a morbid, irresolute, wayward, cross-grained chap. he was kind-hearted in the main, and even generous; but his temper was often sullen, and his spirit often cynical. catch him on a winter's afternoon, half an hour before he dressed for dinner! you would think him twenty years older, and five bottle-noses uglier. you would conclude that he was going to dine with diogenes in his tub, or to become a partaker of a skeleton-feast in surgeons'-hall. the last time we ever saw jack out of company, he was in such a mood as we have hinted at. it was a november afternoon between five and six--there was no light in the room--but by the melancholy gleam of a low fire, he was to be seen seated on a music-stool with his feet on the fender, his elbows on his knees, his head resting upon his hands, and his eyes listlessly wandering over the dull coals in search of the picturesque. "come in!" growled the voice of the charmer. "can you grope your way? dreary rooms these--and lights make 'em worse." then without moving his seat to give us a share of the fire, he applied the poker to the cinders, not to kindle a blaze and throw a light upon the gloom, but evidently to put out any little stray flame that might happen to be lingering there. there was just light enough to show that his face wore an air of profound sadness and despondency. to a serious inquiry as to the cause--if any thing had happened. "yes," murmured the fascinator, with an amiable scowl, "the weather has happened, november has happened, and dinner will happen in another hour. here's a night to go three miles for a slice of saddle o' mutton! my luck! cold and wet, isn't it?" continued the irresistible, knocking cinder after cinder into the ashes; "i'm miserable enough at home, and so forsooth, i must dress and go out. ugh! this is what they call having a pleasant life of it. i don't know what you may think, but i look upon an invitation to dinner as nothing less than an insult. why should i be dragged out of my wretched nook here, without an appetite, and against my will? we call this a free country, where nobody's allowed to be miserable in his own way--where every man's a slave to ceremony--a victim to his own politeness, a martyr to civil notes. here's my saddle o' mutton acquaintance, for example; i never hurt or offended the man in all my days, and yet i must go and dine with him. i'd rather go to a funeral.--well if you've anything to say, out with it--for my hour's come. now mind, before i ring this bell, i predict that there's no hot water, and that my boots are damp." the difference between jack at six, and jack at seven, was the difference between a clock down and a clock wound up--between a bird in the shell, and a bird on the wing--between a bowl of punch before, and after, the spirit is poured in,--it was the difference between philip drunk and philip sober (or the reverse if you will)--between a lord mayor in his plain blue-coat and kerseys, and a lord mayor in his state robes;--between grimaldi at the side-scene waiting to go on, with that most melancholy shadow on his face which tradition has so touchingly painted, and grimaldi on the stage, in view of the convulsed spectators, the illuminator of congregated dulness, the instantaneous disperser of the blues, the explorer of every crevice of the heart wherein care can lurk--an embodied grin. it was the difference, to speak more exactly still, between sappho at her toilet, and sappho at an evening mask. to see jack when just beginning to prepare for a drop-in somewhere, late at night--between ten and twelve--was almost as good as seeing him when arrived there. the rash promise made, he always contrived to fulfil it--though it was often ten chances to one that he did not, and he appeared to keep his engagements by miracle. as the hour drew nigh, you would imagine that he had just received tidings of the dreadful loss of several relatives per railroad, or that half his income had been swallowed up in a mine, or forged exchequer-bills. it would be impossible to conjecture that his shrugs and sighs, peevish gestures and muttered execrations, were but the dark shadows of a brilliant "coming event"--that discontent and mortification were the forerunners of the gay hours, and that bitter moroseness, limping and growling, announced the approach of the dancing pleasures! so it was; for jack at that moment, instead of hailing these dancing pleasures by anticipation, and meeting them at least half-way, would gladly have ridden ten miles in any other direction. he could make himself tolerably comfortable anywhere, save at the place to which he was ruthlessly, imperiously bound--with anybody, save with the people who were anxiously waiting for a glimpse of his good-humoured visage. he was fully bent on going, in fact he felt that he must; yet he raised every obstacle that ill-temper could invent, knowing all the while that he should be obliged to surmount them. he would even allow his reluctance to stir, to prevail so far over the gentlemanly principle of his nature, as to question secretly within himself whether he _ought_ to go, while he entertained a suspicion that the people who had again invited him were not _quite_ prudent in giving so many expensive parties! he would catch hold of any rag of an acquaintance just then, to cover his loneliness, and to save him from utter solitude; to give him an excuse for procrastinating, and an opportunity of grumbling out his regrets at stripping from head to foot, not to go to bed, but to go _out_; at being doomed to shake off his quiet moping mood, and plunge head-foremost into festivity. and then, when the effort had been made, when the last obstacle had been overcome, when he was arrayed from top to toe, and could no longer complain of this thing not in readiness, and that thing mislaid, or the glove that split in drawing it on, or the cab that was not (_and never was_) on the stand when he wanted one, he would ask himself with a deep-drawn sigh the melancholy question: "isn't it hard that a man _must_ go out, with a broken heart, to take an hour or two's jollification at this time of night!" off went jack gay; and until four in the morning the merry hours lagged far behind his joyous spirits. hospitality put on his magic boots to run a race with him, and the bewitching eyes of pleasure herself looked grave and sleepy compared with the glistening orbs of her votary! the king of brentford's testament. by michael angelo titmarsh. the noble king of brentford was old and very sick; he summoned his physicians to wait upon him quick; they stepped into their coaches, and brought their best physick. they crammed their gracious master with potion and with pill; they drenched him and they bled him: they could not cure his ill. "go fetch," says he, "my lawyer, i'd better make my will." the monarch's royal mandate the lawyer did obey; the thought of six-and-eightpence did make his heart full gay. "what is't," says he, "your majesty would wish of me to-day?" "the doctors have belaboured me with potion and with pill; my hours of life are counted, o man of tape and quill! sit down and mend a pen or two, i want to make my will. "o'er all the land of brentford i'm lord, and eke of kew; i've three per cents., and five per cents.; my debts are but a few; and to inherit after me i have but children two. "prince thomas is my eldest son, a sober prince is he, and from the day we breeched him till now he's twenty-three, he never caused disquiet to his poor mama or me. "at school they never flogged him, at college, though not fast, yet his little go and great go he creditably passed, and made his year's allowance for eighteen months to last. "he never owed a shilling, went never drunk to bed; he has not two ideas within his honest head;-- in all respects he differs from my second son, prince ned. "when tom has half his income laid by at the year's end, poor ned has ne'er a stiver that rightly he may spend; but spunges on a tradesman, or borrows from a friend. "while tom his legal studies most soberly pursues, poor ned must pass his mornings a-dawdling with the muse; while tom frequents his banker, young ned frequents the jews. "ned drives about in buggies, tom sometimes takes a 'bus; ah! cruel fate, why made you my children differ thus? why make of tom a _dullard_, and ned a _genius_?" "you'll cut him with a shilling," exclaimed the man of writs;-- "i'll leave my wealth," said brentford, "sir lawyer, as befits; and portion both their fortunes unto their several wits." "your grace knows best," the lawyer said, "on your commands i wait." "be silent, sir," says brentford, "a plague upon your prate! come, take your pens and paper, and write as i dictate." the will as brentford spoke it was writ, and signed, and closed; he bade the lawyer leave him, and turned him round and dozed; and next week in the churchyard the good old king reposed. tom, dressed in crape and hat-band, of mourners was the chief; in bitter self-upbraidings poor edward showed his grief; tom hid his fat white countenance in his pocket-handkerchief. ned's eyes were full of weeping, he faltered in his walk; tom never shed a tear, but onwards he did stalk, as pompous, black, and solemn, as any catafalque. and when the bones of brentford, that gentle king and just, with bell, and book, and candle, were duly laid in dust, "now, gentlemen," says thomas, "let business be discussed. "when late our sire beloved was taken deadly ill, sir lawyer, you attended him (i mean to tax your bill); and as you signed and wrote it, i pr'ythee read the will." the lawyer wiped his spectacles, and drew the parchment out; and all the brentford family sate eager round about. poor ned was somewhat anxious, but tom had ne'er a doubt. "my son, as i make ready to seek my last long home, some cares i feel for neddy, but none for thee, my tom; sobriety and order you ne'er departed from. "ned hath a brilliant genius, and thou a plodding brain; on thee i think with pleasure, on him with doubt and pain." "you see, good ned," says thomas, "what he thought about us twain." "tho' small was your allowance, you saved a little store, and those who save a little shall get a plenty more;" as the lawyer read this compliment, tom's eyes were running o'er. "the tortoise and the hare, tom, set out at each his pace; the hare it was the fleeter, the tortoise won the race; and since the world's beginning this ever was the case. "ned's genius, blithe and singing, steps gaily o'er the ground; as steadily you trudge it, he clears it with a bound; but dulness has stout legs, tom, and wind that's wondrous sound. "o'er fruits and flowers alike, tom, you pass with plodding feet; you heed not one nor t'other, but onwards go your beat: while genius stops to loiter with all that he may meet; "and ever as he wanders will have a pretext fine for sleeping in the morning, or loitering to dine, or dozing in the shade, or basking in the shine. "your little steady eyes, tom, though not so bright as those that restless round about him your flashing genius throws, are excellently suited to look before your nose. "thank heaven then for the blinkers it placed before your eyes; the stupidest are steadiest, the witty are not wise; o bless your good stupidity, it is your dearest prize! "and though my lands are wide, and plenty is my gold, still better gifts from nature, my thomas, do you hold-- a brain that's thick and heavy, a heart that's dull and cold-- "too dull to feel depression, too hard to heed distress, too cold to yield to passion, or silly tenderness. march on; your road is open to wealth, tom, and success. "ned sinneth in extravagance, and you in greedy lust." ("i'faith," says ned, "our father is less polite than just.") "in you, son tom, i've confidence, but ned i cannot trust. "wherefore my lease and copyholds, my lands and tenements, my parks, my farms, and orchards, my houses and my rents; my dutch stock and my spanish stock, my five and three per cents.; "i leave to you, my thomas." ("what, all?" poor edward said; "well, well, i should have spent them, and tom's a prudent head.") "i leave to you, my thomas-- to you, in trust for ned." the wrath and consternation what poet e'er could trace, that at this fatal passage came o'er prince tom his face; the wonder of the company, and honest ned's amaze! "'tis surely some mistake," good-naturedly cries ned; the lawyer answered gravely, "'tis even as i said; 'twas thus his gracious majesty ordained on his death-bed. "see here, the will is witnessed, here's his autograph." "in truth our father's writing," says edward with a laugh; "but thou shalt not be a loser, tom, we'll share it half-and-half." "alas! my kind young gentleman, this sharing may not be; 'tis written in the testament that brentford spoke to me: 'i do forbid prince ned to give prince tom a halfpenny. "'he hath a store of money, but ne'er was known to lend it; he never helped his brother, the poor he ne'er befriended; he hath no need of property who knows not how to spend it. "'poor edward knows but how to spend, and thrifty tom to hoard; let thomas be the steward then, and edward be the lord; and as the honest labourer is worthy his reward, "'i pray prince ned, my second son, and my successor dear, to pay to his intendant five hundred pounds a-year; and to think of his old father, and live and make good cheer." such was old brentford's honest testament. he did devise his moneys for the best, and lies in brentford church in peaceful rest. prince edward lived, and money made and spent; but his good sire was wrong, it is confessed, to say his son, young thomas, never lent. he did; young thomas lent at interest, and nobly took his twenty-five per cent. long time the famous reign of ned endured o'er chiswick, fulham, brentford, putney, kew; but of extravagance he ne'er was cured. and when both died, as mortal men will do, 'twas commonly reported that the steward was a deuced deal the richer of the two. frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter ix. when lawyer brady was first taken into custody he seemed to treat the matter very lightly, for he relied greatly on his own sagacity in keeping his schemes from the knowledge of all except immediate confidants, who would, he trusted, render him every assistance for the purpose of dragging him through the difficulties in which he found himself involved. amongst the most prominent of these was mr. acteon shaft, to whom he promptly communicated his situation; but as no one was allowed to have a private interview with the prisoner, previously to his examination, mr. shaft forbore visiting him till after his committal for trial to cold bath fields prison--at that time called the bastille by the disaffected. he found brady utterly subdued by the weight of evidence which had been brought against him, and wholly at a loss to account for the accuracy by which it had been got up. the cunning of the lawyer had been completely foiled, and frank's inauspicious appearance and testimony had almost overwhelmed him, whilst the dependence he had placed on old associates met with the disappointment which generally follows the unseemly combinations of disreputable characters,--he found himself abandoned by nearly all his former parasites and admirers, with the additional mortification of suspecting that some amongst them had been the medium through which his proceedings had been betrayed. in this frame of mind it cannot be expected that he was very communicative--in fact, he knew not on whom to fix; shaft himself might be the individual who had given the information, and therefore he felt that it behoved him to exercise caution: their interview, consequently, was of short duration, and terminated abruptly, both apparently weary of the other. to the clear view of the lawyer there seemed to be but one chance for his life, and that was escape from prison. shipkins still adhered to his master, and was the supposed channel of correspondence between the latter and an eminent barrister, who, it was alleged, had undertaken brady's cause, but for the present remained in the background. it is true that the clerk was suspected, and a watch was set upon them when together; but their conversation was generally carried on in too low a tone to be distinctly overheard or understood, though not unfrequently their gestures manifested warm disputes, if not downright quarrels, and muttered threats and menaces were exchanged, which usually terminated in earnest appeals from the master, and the seeming acquiescence of the clerk. the apartment[ ] occupied by brady was one of those appropriated to state prisoners--and the lawyer was well acquainted with its locality, having frequently visited this particular part, to hold consultations with his clients, who were confined for political offences. its dimensions were about twelve feet by eight; but one corner was occupied by the fire-place so as to face the opposite angle of the room, and as many indulgences were allowed by the authorities, and others were procured by the aid and connivance of turnkeys, there was an air of comfort about it which was rendered more striking by comparison with other parts of the building. there were two strongly-grated windows facing the north, and as the room was thirty feet from the ground it commanded a distant view of highgate and the neighbouring upland, whilst the adjacent grounds--now nearly covered with houses--were at that time open fields. in his visits shipkins had contrived to furnish brady with extremely sharp files, and the latter occupied himself, during several nights, in cutting through the bars of one of the windows, which after nearly a fortnight's labour he successfully effected, and from his general demeanour during the day no suspicion was excited. on the night which he had fixed for his escape, he was locked up at the usual hour, and anxiously did he await the time he had appointed with shipkins to make the trial. brady was not deficient in courage; but when he heard the deep sonorous and lengthened tones of st. paul's clock, as they came swelling on the breeze, a sickening sensation crept over him. watt had recently been executed at edinburgh for treason, under somewhat similar charges as those brought against brady, but not of so aggravated a nature. the lawyer was aware of this, and being a clever man in his profession, he knew his case to be so glaring, that he could expect nothing but conviction, without a shadow of mercy. his present attempt, therefore, was for the preservation of his existence, and every stroke of the cathedral clock was to him as a death-knell, to warn him of his future fate, should his endeavours fail. the sounds proclaiming the midnight hour had ceased--the wind from the south came in fitful gusts through the long passages and up the winding staircase, and its moaning noise resembled the wail of lamentation from those who were suffering the punishment for crime. brady listened for a moment, and then his energies reviving, he wrenched away the bars from their slight hold, and cautiously placed them in the room. a coil of sash-line doubled and knotted was drawn forth from beneath his bed--one end was thrown over the projecting frieze of the side wall, which flanked his window, the other he held in his hand; but hardened as the man was, and thus peculiarly situated, he breathed forth a prayer to heaven for deliverance. his descent was easy, but just as he had gained the ground, a lurid light was suddenly spread around him--and in the impulse of the moment, the villain, who but a minute or two before had been petitioning the omnipotent to save him, now drew forth a sharp-pointed stiletto, determined to perpetrate murder should there be only one to oppose him. the light, however, disappeared, and he felt disposed to ridicule his own alarm, as he called to recollection that it emanated from a rocket which had been sent up from that noted and much-frequented place of amusement, bagnigge wells. without further delay, he proceeded to the outer wall, about fifty yards distant, and here, at a particular spot, he found that a rope-ladder, with a stone attached to the end, had been thrown over, which satisfied him that his confederate shipkins had not deserted him. in a few minutes he was on the summit of the wall, and could perceive a dark moving mass below; he looked over the dim expanse, and gloomy as it was in the dreariness of night, it reminded him of freedom. in a short time the rope was secured, by working it in between the coping stones, so that a knot could not be drawn through, and after trying his weight he descended totally unobserved, and found his ally awaiting him. the fleet river, which flowed by the western wall, was passed, a hackney-coach was at hand in the road, and they drove off in the direction of islington. a few days subsequently brady got down upon the coast, and obtained a passage across to france, where he remained a spectator of, and often an actor in, the revolutionary atrocities that marked this eventful era. reports, however, were prevalent that he had returned to england--the police were directed to be on the alert; but though it was repeatedly averred that he had been seen in london and its precincts, he contrived to escape the vigilance of all. chapter x. when frank heartwell visited the estate of mr. wendover, near fowey, and had an interview with helen, the merchant had journeyed to the metropolis to examine the property that had been so strangely discovered in the cottage at finchley, and which had been deposited for security in his mansion; for his steward had discovered amongst the papers, deeds involving a vast amount, together with several thousand pounds in bank-notes, the whole belonging, he had every reason to believe, to a person then in existence. mr. wendover went down to finchley, and ascertained by a registry of names and documentary evidence, that an extensive conspiracy, connected with the revolutionary societies of the day, had been in fearful progress, and that one of the principal leaders and agents had formerly been in possession of the cottage, where arms and ammunition had been collected to carry out their traitorous designs; but the promptitude of the government had arrested some of the chiefs in the intended insurrection, and the voice of the nation had so unequivocally declared against revolution, that the plan had been abandoned, and the arms remained in concealment. on examining the deeds, he was much struck by reading in numerous places the name of heartwell; and even the parcels of bank-notes which were found in a tin-box had similar superscriptions on the envelopes which inclosed them; with only this difference, that the christened name in the former was thomas, and on the latter frank. mr. wendover was well acquainted with mrs. heartwell's affecting history, and he could not help connecting the discovery of the wealth with the great loss she had sustained, especially as frequent mention was made of calcutta, where a valuable property was situated; still there was nothing of a definite nature to prove the fact. the merchant, though fond of money, was also an honourable man: he might have appropriated the treasure to his own use, but he determined to institute a rigid investigation, and then act with integrity. he accordingly waited on mrs. heartwell, and minutely inquired into every circumstance of her melancholy story; from thence he repaired to the agent and banker, through whose hands the documents had passed; and here at once his doubts were set at rest, for most of the papers were identified by the clerk (now a partner in the firm), who had delivered them up in brady's office, and produced the acknowledgment of their being received, in which the whole were distinctly noted and set forth, so as accurately to correspond with those which were found; and on referring to the books, the very numbers of the bank-notes were ascertained. all was thus far perfectly satisfactory, and mr. wendover lost no time in communicating the intelligence to mrs. heartwell, to whom the acquisition of riches was only acceptable, as tending to promote the welfare of her son. everything was put in proper train to secure her right, and she now experienced a melancholy satisfaction in returning to the cottage, as she cherished a fervent hope that there the mystery which hung over the fate of her husband would be solved. at no time had she yielded to utter despondency; but the merchant strongly suspected that the lieutenant had been decoyed or forced to the cottage, murdered, and his remains deposited in some of the vaults underground, which (under pretence of requiring repairs, so as not to wound mrs. heartwell's feelings) were immediately ordered to be cleared, and every part strictly examined. this was faithfully executed, but nothing whatever was discovered to elucidate the affair, beyond the fact, that the former occupants were men of daring and desperate character, whose names were unknown in the neighbourhood. mr. wendover returned to cornwall for the purpose of removing his family to the metropolis; he promised mrs. heartwell to inform her son of the events which had transpired, and if possible to put into plymouth and perform it personally. after some delay the anxious mother wrote all the particulars to the young officer, and the letter reached plymouth on the very day that frank sailed for the mediterranean, so that he departed wholly ignorant of his good fortune. young heartwell's breast glowed with warm and joyous feelings, when the thoughts of his having rescued helen from death dwelt upon his mind:--and when did he forget it? he had shown her proud father that he was not undeserving of friendship and patronage, and he had again proved to helen the devotedness of his regard. the mediterranean offered a fair field for promotion to those who were determined to merit it; for nelson was there, and his name carried with it a conviction that daring achievements and good conduct would not be suffered to sink into oblivion. the frigate made a quick passage to gibraltar, where she was suffered to remain only a few hours, and was then directed to pursue her way with despatches for sir horatio nelson. it was known that the french fleet was out from toulon, and the gallant admiral in pursuit, but his exact situation rested on conjecture. with a fine breeze the captain steered for sicily, and found the fleet at syracuse, preparing to get under weigh; the despatches were delivered, the supernumeraries of the frigate were transferred to the flag-ship--the vanguard; and thus frank and his two humble friends, ben and sambo, had the honour of being within the same heart-of-oak with the gallant hero whose fame has been immortalised throughout the world, and whose name is sanctified by a nation's gratitude. nelson was ever kind and considerate to young officers,--he looked upon them as under his immediate protection and care, and frank's appearance and manners very soon attracted his notice; he inquired relative to his future prospects--learned the story of his life--had been acquainted with his father, and he now promised to befriend the son, should the young man prove deserving of his patronage. as a pledge of his future intentions, he promoted a meritorious midshipman to the rank of lieutenant, and gave frank the vacant rating, "in order," as the admiral said, "to give him a stronger claim upon the admiralty when they had captured or destroyed the fleet of the enemy," for he entertained no doubt of the result could he but fall in with them. the battle of the nile is a matter recorded in the pages of history, and no englishman can be ignorant of its details--therefore description will be unnecessary here. ben was in his glory, and though his gun was twice nearly cleared of men, and himself severely wounded, he continued nobly performing his duty, taking a steady aim in the darkness by the fire of their opponents, the spartiate and aquilon--exclaiming as he applied the match to the priming, "hurrah! there it goes, my boys! what's the odds so as you're happy?" frank was on the quarter-deck near the undaunted chief when he fell wounded into the arms of captain berry, and nelson's face was instantly covered with blood that deprived his remaining eye of sight--a piece of langridge having struck him across the forehead and cut away a portion of skin, that hung down like a flap. frank assisted in carrying the brave admiral to the cockpit, and was witness to his magnanimity, when he refused to have his own wounds dressed until those who had precedence of him were attended to. he recognised the midshipman by his voice--pressed his hand--requested captain berry not to forget his interests, and bade the young man "farewell," for nelson believed that he was dying. happily for his country, the hero lived--the enemy was beaten, and frank, with strong certificates and recommendation, was sent home in one of the captured ships that he might be enabled to pass his examination at somerset house, and avail himself of nelson's kind intentions. it would be impossible to describe the emotions that agitated the young officer when apprised on his arrival of the events that had occurred to advance his good fortune, and the prospect of a favourable consideration in the esteem of mr. wendover, which promised him future happiness with the dear girl he so ardently loved. as soon as possible he obtained leave of absence, and ben, whose wounds required attention, accompanied him to london. the meeting with his mother and helen was joyous and delightful; but still there came painful thoughts of his father blending with those of a happier mood, and, like mr. wendover, he connected circumstances together till something like conviction had established itself that the cottage was the spot in which his parent had been plundered and destroyed. helen was no longer forbidden to hold intercourse with frank--the merchant himself now sanctioned the intimacy, and never ceased expressing his admiration at the young man's conduct when his yacht was wrecked. ben found an asylum at the cottage; but when commiserated on account of the injuries he had sustained, he declared that he was proud of his "honourable scars."--"they were gained," he would say, "under nelson, fighting for my king and country--and what's the odds so as you're happy?" frank passed his examination very creditably--he was not forgotten by earl chatham--his testimonials were excellent, and three days afterwards he was presented with a lieutenant's commission, appointing him to a seventy-four, recently launched at woolwich; he joined without delay, as the duties would not prevent his frequent visits to finchley. it was at the close of a dull november afternoon that he sat in the parlour of the cottage alone; for on his arrival about an hour previous, he ascertained that his mother and ben had suddenly been summoned to the city on business of importance, and the servant-man had driven them to town in her own little carriage--the gardener had been sent for to the manor-house, and no one remained but the maid-servant and a young girl. more than once the lieutenant rose from his seat, and taking his hat, prepared to set out, and pass an hour or two with helen, but, anxious to learn the purport of his mother's embassy, and conjecturing that she would not be long before she made her appearance, he again seated himself in restless anxiety. the early shades of evening began to fall heavily, and there was a sickly yellow mistiness in the atmosphere that gave a jaundiced complexion to the visions of the mind. frank felt its influences, and was growing somewhat melancholy, when a stranger alighted from his horse at the gate, rung the bell, and having inquired for mrs. heartwell, rather intrusively walked into the house, and entered the parlour; but observing the lieutenant, he became evidently embarrassed, though, instantly recovering himself, he made a suitable apology in homely language. his dress and manners were those of a plain elderly country farmer--a drab great-coat with its cape encompassed his person, a capacious silk handkerchief was round his neck, his hair was cropped and grizzly, surmounted by a broad-brimmed hat, and he carried a hunting whip in his hand. frank stirred the fire so as to throw a stronger light into the room, and having requested the stranger to take a chair, politely required his business. "you are, i understand, young gentleman, about to quit this cottage," replied he, "and as i am retiring from farming, and like the situation, i should be happy to take it off your hands--either as tenant, or by purchase." "i am utterly unable, sir, to afford you any satisfactory answer on the subject," said frank; "the cottage belongs to mr. wendover, the lord of the manor, and i am not yet certain that our quitting it has been decided upon, though i admit it may take place." "in the event of your leaving, would the gentleman you have named feel disposed to part with it, think you?" inquired the stranger. "i would give him a handsome price--for in fact there are early associations connected with the place that attach me to it. you, perhaps, would exercise your influence in my favour?" the mention of early associations aroused frank's curiosity, he rang the bell, and ordered candles to be brought, and as soon as they were placed upon the table, he once more adverted to the pleasantness of the cottage, and then enquired, "pray, sir, is it long ago since you resided here?" "yes--yes--i may say it is seventeen or eighteen years," responded the stranger. "i lived with a relation then, and admire the situation so much that i should like to pass the rest of my days upon the spot." the lieutenant felt his blood tingle down to his fingers' ends at the mention of the period--it was one full of deep interest to him, and casting a searching look at the man, he demanded, "you must know brady, then?" [illustration: frank heartwell seizing brady as the murderer of his father.] the question was like an electric shock to the stranger--he started, his countenance became contorted, and in the wild rolling of his eye, frank was instantly reminded of the period at which he had first seen it when a child in the lawyer's room at lincoln's inn. he sprang from his chair, and grasping the man by the collar, exclaimed, "you--you are my father's murderer!" brady drew a pistol, and presented it at frank's head--the lieutenant knocked up the muzzle, and the ball flew harmlessly to the ceiling. at this moment two men rushed in to the lawyer's rescue, but not till frank had wrenched the pistol from his hand, and struck him a severe blow with the butt--the next instant the candles were extinguished, and heartwell lost consciousness through the stunning effects of a hit on the back of his head, and resigned his grasp; he quickly, however, regained it, and a desperate struggle ensued. at this moment the gardener returned from the manor-house--he had seen a light waggon standing on the common under the care of a boy, and on entering the gate, had been nearly knocked down by a tall stout man, who mounted a horse that was in waiting, and galloped off. hurrying into the cottage, his timely succour turned the fate of the encounter--the two scoundrels were overmatched; one contrived to steal away, frank still grasped the other, and having managed to get hold of his dirk that lay upon a sofa, the fellow was wounded past resistance and sank upon the floor. lights were brought; the lieutenant gazed earnestly on the face of his prisoner--it was not brady, but shipkins; for the lawyer, though desperately hurt, had taken advantage of frank's momentary weakness to throw down the candles and effect his escape, and the lieutenant had unknowingly seized the clerk in his stead. great were the consternation and alarm of mrs. heartwell on her return from the metropolis, to which she had been deluded by a pretended message got up by the vile confederates. the gardener too was similarly deceived; for the scoundrels, unaware that the treasure had been removed, had hoped to find the cottage destitute of protection, so that they might easily carry off the booty they expected to find. frank's presence had disconcerted brady, who invented a plausible excuse, but villany met with detection and punishment, as already described. when calmness was somewhat restored, it was proposed to send shipkins to prison in the waggon which had brought him out on his nefarious excursion; but the man was evidently dying, and mrs. heartwell conjectured that by detaining him at the cottage, and treating him with kindness, he might be induced to make admissions and confessions which would tend to elucidate the past. at first, however, he was stubborn and morose, and refused the assistance that was proffered him--he was not aware that his last hour was so near at hand, but when assured by a surgeon that he had not long to live, and he was earnestly exhorted to unburthen his mind of guilty concealment before entering the presence of his maker, the hitherto hardened sinner was subdued--the near approach of death, and the terrors of a future state, wrought powerfully on his conscience, and these increased as his physical energies decayed. none can tell the agonised suspense of mrs. heartwell and the agitation of her son as that period seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer which, they expected, would disclose the fate of a husband and a father. frank, though much hurt, would not quit his mother, and both occasionally visited the room of the dying man. remorse at length prevailed, and willing to atone as far as practicable for his misdeeds, he requested that a magistrate might be sent for to take his deposition. mr. wendover, acting in that capacity, promptly attended, and to him he revealed acts of enormity and crime in which he and brady had for years been engaged, particularly the circumstances connected with the victim of their diabolical practices--lieutenant heartwell. [illustration] footnote: [footnote : i believe it was the same room in which fauntleroy was confined, previously to trial.] the fire-king flue. i. _who_ burnt the _house of lords_? who, sir, who? an answer broke through fire and smoke, "_i_ burnt it down, and it wasn't in joke! with a horrible flare-up i caused it to glare up, i _done_ it 'quite brown' to astonish the town! yes, _i_ burnt it down!" you, you! who are you? "why, i am the fire-king flue!" ii. _who_ burnt _st. stephen's chapel_? ay, who, sir, who? in thunder the same, through fume and flame, the answer came, "_i_ burnt the chapel, and panted to grapple with abbey and _hall_; 'twere easy to do as roasting an apple, or smashing a stall-- for i am the fire-king flue!" iii. _who_ fired the _royal exchange_? yes, who, sir, who? the reply as before came in ravage and roar-- "_i_ fired the 'change with a bad kitchen range! should i do it once more when 'tis rear'd up anew, you must not think it strange, since i'm fire-proof too; yes, i am the fire-king flue!" iv. _who_ tried to fire the _bank_? ah! who, sir, who? "why, _i_ tried the bank, though it wouldn't quite do; and the city may thank the fire-brigade with their hose and tank; or the blaze _i_ made would have fired that too-- yes, i, the great fire-king flue!" v. oho! is it so? then we pretty well know, who set fire to the _tower_. we do, we do! in evil hour, king flue, 'twas _you_! with your red-hot pipe for mischief ripe-- with your fiery breath bringing ruin and death-- with your cast-iron face, you set fire to the place-- oh! pest of our race, grim, ghastly, fire-king flue! vi. _who_ burnt _woolwich dockyard_, eh? who, who, who? "_i_--king flue! a bit of a flare, you'll say; yes, thanks to the drum and gong, and the engines thundering along, and sappers and miners, all regular shiners, marines and artillery, and convicts that flock'd as if freed from the pillory; or between me and you the dockyard had been dock'd, as sure as my name's king flue!" vii. _who'll_ set the thames on fire? "_i_ will," says flue; "'tis the thing i should like to do! only give me the tunnel to use for a funnel of thrice-heated air, and you'll see such a flare! or the monument--that would do; in fact i should much prefer it; 'twould make such a capital _flue_; or when the tide turning found out it was burning, 'twould do for a poker to stir it." viii. to save our notes and gold, and our trophies now too few; to save our buildings old and to save our buildings new; tell us, braidwood, what shall we do? spirits aquatic, help us through, for we're in the clutch of fierce king flue! this prayer at least put up, good people, before you sup: "god bless the queen, and her loving prince, and the royal infants _two_; and castle and palace preserve from the malice of this terrible fire-king flue!" * * * * * p.s.--may we ask who threw that shell in the _horse guards_, with one in the barrack-yards to blow up the _gallery_ too? "ha ha! ho ho!" roars flue, "with that i had nothing to do; so mind number one, for foul deeds may be done, without coming through a foul flue!" [formerly, when a public building was scorched or burnt, the accident was accounted for by saying, "oh! the _plumbers_ have been at work"--or "it was the carpenter's glue-pot." "the flue" in these days supersedes every explanation; it is the great mystery that solves all other mysteries.] a passage in the life of mr. john leakey. by john copus. mr. john leakey inherited an income of five hundred a-year, and a very neat cottage, situated on the high road about three miles from c----, in one of the finest parts of the county of essex. of his parentage little need be said. his father was a clergyman, his maternal parent a cook in his grandfather's establishment whom his progenitor rashly married. this fact was a constant source of misery to the sensitive john, and will fully account for the decided antipathy, manifested by him on all occasions, to that useful class of domestics in general, and especially to that particular individual who happened for the time to superintend the culinary department of hill cottage. indeed his language regarding cooks was occasionally quite shocking. his maiden sister jemima, a highly nervous female of spare and meagre proportions, frequently went into small fits caused by john's outrageous and unbecoming language or conduct, when the subject of cooks was by any chance introduced. "if i had my way," worthy john would say with stern voice and solemn countenance, "i'd let no woman be a cook who was not fifty at least; had it not been for jane grubbings i might hold up my head as a gentleman. they are all of them a set of vicious, impudent, and designing hussies. i attribute half the miseries of human life to cooks." "no doubt, john--like enough!" replies the ever calm and peaceful jemima, anxious to agree with her brother in all things; "i've always said that nothing causes greater misery than indigestion, and badly-cooked things, you know, cause _it_; don't they, john?" "jemima, you're a jackass, so hold your tongue!" was the tender answer given to poor jemima's remarks, on this and on every occasion. it may be necessary to give the reader some idea of mr. leakey. he was a large tall man, of an unwieldy form and ogre-like gait. his countenance was broad and singularly flat; his eyes large and heavy; and as to his nose, i am quite at a loss in what category to class that nasal organ of his. at the top it was all very well, but in its descent it was like the stone gathering moss--_a vires acquirit eundo_ kind of affair; for by the time it reached its termination it was fearfully broad. it was a family nose not maternally but paternally obtained, and that was one comfort. he had it in full vigour at school, and jemima told a story about it. "poor john," she would say to a gossip, "certainly has a funny nose. when he was at school, a procacious boy (jemima occasionally miscalled words) took it into his head, d'ye know, that john had pushed it on purpose into his face, and every morning regularly when he got up, he used to pull it as hard as he could to ascertain, as he said, whether that sneaking nose of leakey's _would_ come out." a poor irishman too who had applied for relief at hill cottage, and been repulsed, spoke of leakey as a "quare gentleman anyhow! wid a face for all the world as if a crowner's quest had been on it, and the crowner being a great man, had sat on his face entirely, and the rist of them on his body, and brought in a vardict of '_found soft_.'" enough, however, has been said of john's personal appearance; i only add that he wore bluchers, with trousers tightly strapped over them, cherished flannel waistcoats and comforters, was an intolerable politician because he never read anything but the ----, which was his oracle; and on the whole was a little close-fisted. years had flown quietly over hill cottage, from which, farther than occasionally to c----, neither john nor his sister jemima had ever gone; nor indeed did they wish to go. great, consequently, was the amazement and consternation which prevailed in their quiet little breakfast parlour, when there came from mr. jiggins, john's agent in town, a letter announcing said john's accession to some property, and the necessity of his appearance in the great metropolis for a few hours at the least. "three hundred a-year, john!" exclaimed his sister; "indeed you are a very fortunate man." "ay, ay! no doubt, jemima; but what in the name of goodness gracious am i to do in london? i've not been there for thirty-five years." "well, love!" soothingly answered jemima; "you can go up at seven by the star, you know, and return again the same night. so you'd better write and tell mr. jiggins when you mean to go, and he can arrange matters accordingly." and john did write forthwith, appointing the hour of twelve on the following tuesday, to meet the necessary parties at jiggins' offices, in tokenhouse yard. on tuesday morning the whole household was in motion as early as four, the coach leaving at seven. there was such a wrapping of shawls, airing of musty camlet cloaks, and putting up of sandwiches and ginger lozenges, as never was seen before. nay, jemima insisted on his carrying a basket with him in which she told him had been placed the _rousseaux_ left at yesterday's dinner. the arrival of the star at hill cottage put an end to all these preparations, and with fear and trembling mr. leakey was consigned to the inside of the coach. jemima, elevated on her pattens, and bearing a lantern, came down to the end of the little garden for the purpose of recommending her brother to the especial care of the coachman burrell, adding by way of further inducement on his part to attend to her request, a small fib, to the effect that "indeed he had not been at all well lately." nimrod has so eloquently described the utter amazement of a gentleman of the old school when travelling by a modern ten-mile-an-hour coach, as to render it quite unnecessary for me to attempt any description of worthy john's surprise at the rapid progress made by the star towards the metropolis; how he gazed in silent wonder at the splendid teams of cattle which at every stage stood ready in their glittering harness to carry him on to town; and finally, how he marvelled when in the space of four hours he was safely landed in aldgate, having travelled thirty-eight miles in that short time: on all this it is unnecessary for me to dilate. his troubles now seemed to crowd upon him. "vant a cab, sir?" eagerly demands an impudent-looking fellow, rushing up, whip in hand, to where the unhappy leakey stood utterly confounded by the bustle which surrounded him. "gen'lm'n called me, bill," exclaims a second in a chiding voice; "i see him a noddin' his head as he come along!" "don't you go vith them, sir!" angrily breaks in a third; "i've got a reg'lar comfortable old jarvey, sir, cut down o' purpose for you, 'cos i know'd you vos a coming up to-day--and sich a hoss--only cab fares, sir--this vay!" and he was beginning to drag off the unresisting leakey, when, "come, just move orf!" exclaims the burley voice of burrell; "i'll put you into a coach, sir, and remember i leaves this here place at hafe past three, punctooal!" so john was placed in a coach. "vhere's shall i drive, sir?" demands the coachman. "oh! ah!" exclaims our hero, drawing forth a card from which he reads--"a basket,--an umbrella,--a camlet cloak,--two shawls,--a great-coat,--a comforter,--a pair of galoshes,--all right--and self?--yes, then drive to mr. jiggins' offices in tokenhouse yard, lothbury." "wery good, sir." and off they went. arrived at mr. jiggins's office, he found that worthy engaged, and the other parties not arrived. "give mr. leakey a chair, jemes," said mr. jiggins, "and here's this morning's paper, sir; splendid leader, mr. leakey; powerful writing. stir the fire, jemes, and put some more coals on--that'll do." so leakey was placed on a chair before the fire to amuse himself with a perusal of a paper of whose existence he was only conscious by the fearful denunciations contained occasionally in the ---- against it. there sat leakey, still enveloped in his panoply of cloth and camlet, shawl and galoshes, eyeing "the leader" which had been the subject of jiggins's eulogium. he read on. could his eyes have ceased to possess discriminating power? or was there living the caitiff wretch so utterly reprobate as to call his loved ---- by such names? it was too true. the more he read, the more convinced was he of the utter depravity of the human heart, and especially of the horrible wickedness of the man who could coolly declare that long article in the ----, over which he, john leakey, had only yesterday gloated, to be "_twaddle_." his anger was excessive; another moment and he would have cast "that pestilential rag," as he ever afterwards denominated the vituperating journal, into the fire, had not jiggins at that moment entered, and with him the men whose presence was required for the settlement of john leakey's affairs. scarcely checking his excited feelings, john suffered himself to be led to business. this being, after a time, satisfactorily finished, an adjournment took place to a neighbouring hostel; john, for once in his life, on the strength of three hundred a-year added to his former property, being generous enough to volunteer tiffin. the beefsteaks were done to a turn, the stout magnificent, the sherry first-rate. jiggins had no particular business to call him home, so, with the two gentlemen beforenamed, thoroughly enjoyed himself at leakey's expense, making fun occasionally of poor john, who, luckily, at all times rather obtuse, was becoming more and more muddled and confused every moment, so as not to dream, when his friends burst out into a loud laugh, that he was the subject of it. at half-past three, jiggins accompanied our friend to aldgate, saw him safely deposited once more in the star, and as it was now raining heavily, and he had no further inducement to remain, wished him good-bye, and returned to tokenhouse yard. the coach was full inside, and john had just satisfactorily arranged his camlet, &c., when burrell came to the door, put his head gently in at the window, as he stood on the steps, and said, "have you any objection, gen'lm'n, to let a young ooman ride inside? it's raining fearful, and she'll get her death, i know she will, outside." "no, no!" gruffly responded the other three. it would have been well had john been equally opposed to five inside. as it was, however, "tiffin" had enlarged his heart, and he said, "oh, yes, burrell, i'll make room for her; you know, gentlemen, it would be a sad thing if she got her death through our unkindness." the persons addressed made no reply, nor had leakey much time to consider the prudence of his act, before the door was opened, and burrell handed a good-looking young woman into the coach, who seeing no disposition on the part of the other three to make room for her, very quietly sat down on mr. j. leakey's knees, being no mean weight. this was, however, scarcely a voluntary act, for the coach moved on at the moment and forced her to assume that position. thus for twelve miles did he sit, at times wincing rather under his somewhat uncomfortable position, and not particularly pleased with the undisguised amusement of the others. eventually he was liberated, for the three hard-hearted individuals left the coach at the end of twelve miles, and leakey and the interesting female were left together. john felt that some little stimulus to his exhausted spirits might be desirable, so called for a glass of brandy-and-water; of which he drank as much as he wished for, and offered the rest to his fair _vis-à-vis_, who really seemed a very pleasing kind of person. she thanked him, and saying, "here's to your very good health, sir," smirked, and drank it off. when the coach went on again, leakey felt wonderfully invigorated, and entered into conversation with the lady, who proved highly communicative as to the respectability of her mother, and the moral excellence of all her relations. it was a very critical moment for an old bachelor, muddled as poor john most undoubtedly was. he called to mind jemima's spare figure and not very beautiful face, and more than once thought how much pleasanter it would be to have at the head of his table so comely and intelligent a person as seemed the interesting individual now before him. "infatuated a second time" (as julia mannering says to bertram on his arrival from portanferry at woodburne, but _why_ i never could discover)--"infatuated a second time" was our hero, for a second glass of brandy-and-water was had at the next stage, and duly consumed between the lady and himself. leakey was now thoroughly fuddled, and the lady more agreeable than ever. in short--for the afflicting, the humiliating truth will force its way--before the coach stopped to change for the last time, the frantic john leakey had actually proposed to his unknown enslaver--nay, worse--he was her accepted! it was not until this climax of his folly had put a temporary stop to conversation that he had time to think at all. muddled as he was, he began to fear he had been too hasty. the fair lady was silent, as labouring under powerful emotions; and the coach having changed at c----, was not more than a mile from hill cottage, when she said, mildly-- "it's a very fortnit circumstance, sir, as i met with you; becos, i'm a going to a old genlm'n as lives near here--as----" "eh?" groaned john, "as--what, eh?" "oh, i was a going as _cook_; on'y, in course, i shan't stay with him long." "as cook! my gracious me!" exclaimed, or rather screeched, the miserable man; "what's the gentleman's name?--tell me quick!" "mr. leakey, sir!" when burrell opened the coach-door as soon as hill cottage was gained, he found the unhappy john leakey perfectly frantic. "coachman, burrell, take her away! she's a cook! she's a vicious, designing, impudent thing! she's made me propose to her--me--me--the son of a cook--oh! o-oh! o-o-oh!" draw we a veil over the proceedings which followed. mr. leakey, what with brandy and agony of mind, was put to bed perfectly raving. the cook was taken in for the night, and on being attacked by jemima was scarcely restrained from flying at that exemplary spinster, who called her all the names she had ever heard her brother apply to women of her class. next morning cook was dismissed, and shortly threatened an action, which leakey was glad to compromise by the payment of one hundred pounds; making at the same time a solemn vow that he never would travel inside a coach again, or if he did, that he never would take compassion on a woman so far as to let her ride inside, though it should rain cats, dogs, and hedgehogs! omnibus chat. it is essential to the full effect of a parody, whatever that may be, that the original--or, in other words, the thing parodied--should be familiar to the reader. now, several parodies which we have this month received, undoubtedly possess that advantage. we have had three or four versions of "the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft," dictated by the happy event that has given a young prince to wales, and a glad promise to all england; we have received half-a-dozen parodies on "gray's elegy," suggested by the conflagration at the tower; and we have also been favoured with a like number of variations of the "beggar's petition," commemorative of the detection of the fasting philosopher, bernard cavanagh, in the act of purchasing a "saveloy." but although the originals are all well known, we are tempted to pass these parodies by, in favour of one upon a poem which should be well known too. we allude to alfred tennyson's "mariana at the moated grange." whoso knoweth it not, will wisely let what follows attract his notice to a singularly touching production; and whoso remembereth it, will read with better relish, and no irreverence to the beautiful thus companioned by the burlesque, our accomplished correspondent's ingenious story of the clerk. a parody. with black coal-dust the walls and floor were thickly coated one and all; on rusty hinges swung the door that open'd to the gloomy wall; the broken chairs looked dull and dark, undusted was the mantel-piece, and deeply speck'd with spots of grease within, the chamber of the clerk. he only said, "i'm very weary with living in this ditch;" he said, "i am confounded dreary, i would that i were rich." his bills came with the bells at even; his bills came ere their sound had died; he could not think why bills were given, except to torture clerks--and sigh'd. and when the flickering rushlight's flame in darkness deep could scarce be seen, he mutter'd forth his bottled spleen, unheard by aught of mortal frame. he said, "my life is very dreary with living in this ditch;" he said, "i am tarnation weary, i would that i were rich." upon the middle of the bed, sleeping, he dream'd of hoarded gold; sovereigns were jingling in his head, and in his ken was wealth untold. but when he woke, no hope of change, in silver or in circumstance, before his sorrowing eyes did dance; he thought that it was very strange-- but only said, "my life is dreary, i'll go to sleep," he said; he said "i am infernal weary, i would that bill were paid." about six fathoms from the wall, a blackened chimney (much askew) smoked in his face--and round and small the chimney-pots destroy his view, hard by--a popular highway, with coal-dust turned to pitchy dark, where many a little dog doth bark, some black, some mottled, many grey. he only said, "my life is dreary with living in this ditch;" he said, "i am fatigued and weary, i would that i were rich." e. p. w. the intense melancholy of the solitary clerk, sighing in his ditch, brought up our scientific reporter, charles hookey walker, with some lucid and valuable notes of an appropriate discourse lately delivered; we append them here, for the benefit of all the doleful clerks throughout her majesty's dominions. the brightish association.--_section b.--chemistry and mineralogy._ _president_--the rev. hugh wells. _vice-presidents_--dr. durham & prof. hammer. "on the formation and analysis of a direct sigh." by mr. f. silly. the author stated that the _sigh-direct_ was that to which he had paid the greatest attention. the "_sigh-direct_," he explained, was entirely different from the "_sigh-inverse_," the one being the production of the heart, and the other of the brain; the first being the thing itself, the second merely the symbol of the thing. he found the sigh-direct to consist generally of floating ideas, in the forms of "o dear!" "ah me!" and "alas!" held in solution by about their own bulk of a vague composition, formed of wishes and a cloud-vapour (of that class which is used as a site for erecting castles in the air upon), but which were so mixed and intercorporated, as to be inseparable to the nicest analysation. from the analysis, he had determined that the prime motive of a sigh is a longing for more; and that the functions thus acted upon expand the animal economy to its greatest extent, for the purpose of gratifying the longing for getting as much as it can of something, which, in this case, is only air. and this led him to a concluding remark on the extreme uselessness and futility of sighing, perceiving, as he did, that it only gave extra work to the muscles, for no tangible consideration. mr. w. r. fixe read a memoir on the probability of there being a constant chemical action, producing results yet unknown, in the interior of the earth, and that a current of electric fluid was constantly circulating through mineral veins; and that this circulation through the veins of living rocks was of as much importance in the formation of new productions, as the circulation of the blood in the veins of living men. * * * * * our esteemed reporter proceeded to describe the proceedings of another section. _section d.--zoology and botany._ _president_--sir ely phante. _vice-presidents_--proffs. munky and nape. "a new method of supplying agricultural surfaces." by s. sappy. the author had often remarked the tendency of thatched roofs to grow corn; and it struck him that these, at present unemployed surfaces, should be made use of to conduce to the support of the inmates of houses. by growing corn in this manner a family might render itself partially independent of the farmer, grow its own wheat, and thus, at once, be elevated in the scale of existence! he would call this practice stegoculture. he had introduced it in some of his tenants' cottages, and could assure the association that nothing could have answered better than that experiment. mr. soft observed it was one of those beautifully simple discoveries of application, as he would phrase it, which, like columbus's egg, only required to be set up in the right manner, to stand a monument of ingenuity and genius to all future ages! mr. plunkey (from the statistical section) said, that this discovery had relieved his mind of a heavy weight; he had long hoped for some light to dissipate the gloom with which he viewed the increase of population, while the land did not increase, but, on the contrary, diminished; for, as generations sprung up, houses rose also; thus, as more crop-ground was needed, more ground was needed for buildings. but with the aid of stegoculture, he had now no reason to apprehend a scarcity of growing-room, but, on the contrary, it was evident to any geometrist, that the two sides of a roof were of greater area than the ground they cover, thus giving an increase instead of a diminution of surface. with the impressions he had of the usefulness of this mode of culture, he looked forward to the time when agriculture would vanish before the spread of human habitations, and the science of stegoculture become of universal application. the president read a letter from professor de lenz, and the schah pyez, (professor of twigology in the university of cairo), giving an animated description of their discovery of the skeleton of a male flea in the folds of a mummy cloth. the secretary then read the report of the committee which was appointed last year to inquire into the reason, "why crocodiles laid eggs." the report stated, that, the association having furnished them with means (£ ) to prosecute this inquiry, so important to science; they found it absolutely necessary to take a long and arduous journey into egypt, to investigate the facts upon the spot. they had run great risks in pursuing their researches: having killed a crocodile for the purpose of dissection (which act had filled the arabs with horror, as they consider the crocodile holy), they had narrowly escaped becoming martyrs in the cause of science. they had examined many hieroglyphics, and had discovered upon some of the most ancient, figures of a crocodile with wings,--this proved them to have been at one and the same time inhabitants of the water, the earth, and the air, and therefore, from their assimilation to the functions of birds, they laid eggs. this the committee had concluded was the reason of the phenomenon. they also stated, that, from the various facts which had come under their notice during this inquiry, they had no doubt that dragons at one time existed,--and proposed that a grant should be made for the purpose of searching for the skeleton of the famous dragon of wantley. mr. smith (of london) read a paper showing that the popular story of "jack and the bean-stalk" was founded upon the old tradition of the lotus-eaters, and that the idea of the tale had been taken from the alleged power the lotus-fruit had in producing an elevation-above-the-clouds sort of feeling in the eater,--which was only transferred into reality in the case of jack: the injunction of pythagoras to his disciples to abstain from _beans_, being supposed to refer to the lotus, may have given the idea of a bean-stalk to the novelist. dr. daub stated, that by watering the ground round the roots of flowers with different chemical solutions, suited to the changes in colour wished for, he had been able to alter the tints of the petals to various colours, thus producing an agreeable and novel effect. playing on the piano. [illustration] the above communication having been read, a speculative listener suggested as a subject for one of the learned professors, the sympathetic connection which evidently exists between music and fire. he cited, as an old example of this, the fiddling of nero during the burning of rome; and related, as a recent proof of the secret affinity, the following story: "it is known," he said, "that during the fire at the tower the soldiers in the fortress, as well as others, were occupied in removing the furniture of many of the inhabitants;" and free access was of course afforded them for that purpose. in one instance, a lady who had rushed up to the top of the house to secure some valuables, was, on descending after a short absence to the drawing-room, astonished to see two enormous 'british grenadiers' _attempting_ to play the _piano_; upon being discovered, they struck up the 'grenadiers' march' to 'double-quick time,' carrying off the 'upright grand' in a very orderly and soldier-like manner. by the way, as we have here recurred to the subject with which we opened this number, the fire at the tower, we may mention that a relic of the wheel of the victory is yet in existence; for a friend of ours assures us that while the fire was raging in the upper floors of the armoury he saw a person _saw_ off one of the handles of the said wheel; and if he have not yet given it into the hands of the proper parties, we would recommend him to do so at once, or it may be made a _handle_ against him. it was upon another occasion that a lady and gentleman, who had just seen their opposite neighbour's house burnt down, were discussing the spectacle with great seriousness. "how i grieved," said the lady, "to see poor mrs. tims's beautiful damask curtains on fire." "ah," returned her husband, who had a musical taste, "i didn't so much mind the curtains; but what grieved me most was to see the fireman _playing_ upon that capital grand piano of theirs." [illustration] the subject next started was equally seasonable--though not seductive. the poet is evidently in the situation of one of her majesty's subjects that we know of--who is the parent of more of her majesty's subjects than we do know of--who, in fact, declares that his house is so "full of children" he cannot _shut the street-door for them_. november weather. autumn leaves are falling round us now, in all the late green gardens! summer flowers would quite astound us-- --rare are they as "queen ann's fardens!" once green lanes are now mere sloshes; garden walks are quite unpleasant; cloaks, umbrellas, and goloshes, now are aught but evanescent! all the shrubberies are dripping-- plots of grass are soft and spungy-- roads seem only made for slipping-- and we fall like--missolunghi! now the streets are clear of rabble-- shopkeepers find no employment-- ducks and geese keep gabble, gabble-- mocking us with their enjoyment! now we cry, "when _will_ it leave off?"-- "what a very nasty day 'tis!"-- "there!--'tis clearing, i believe, off!"-- "no--how tiresome!--that's the way 'tis!" "sarah," says mama, "my dear love, don't waste time in looking out there, come, and learn your lesson here, love-- --jacky, mind what you're about there!" "john dear, mind! you'll break that window, come away, john, there's a darling!-- jane, love, put away that pin, do!-- tom, _do_ keep that dog from snarling!"-- "there! you've broke it, john!" "o please, ma, --couldn't help it!"--(here a blubber) (enter pa.) "why how you tease ma!-- peace, you little squalling lubber!" "pray, my dear, don't let the children break the panes and roar like this now-- lauk, the noise is quite bewild'ring!" "pa, give little jane a kiss now." sweet to be "shut in" and quiet, pleasant souls all snug together! but when "brats" are there to riot, heaven defend us from wet weather!-- c. h. w. mrs. toddles. even the most agreeable offices and employments of life are sometimes accompanied by melancholy misadventures; and the pleasure which we enjoy from month to month in the good-humoured reader's company, is now subject to a very serious drawback; for a painful duty is imperatively imposed upon us. we have to express our deep and poignant regret at being the medium, innocently and unconsciously, of wounding the susceptible feelings of a lady. we have hurt the feelings of mrs. toddles, by publishing some particulars of her life. it is true, we did not consider them to be in the slightest degree calculated to produce such an effect, nor did we vouch for their accuracy: no matter; her feelings are hurt, her sensibilities are shocked; and that deeply-injured lady is entitled to, and is hereby offered, the expression of our most sincere and heartfelt regret. thus far in deference and delicacy to mrs. toddles. we must now proceed to state that we have received a letter from col. walker, or talker, as he appears to sign himself, in which he remonstrates with us for publishing some professed particulars of the life of mrs. toddles, demands satisfaction and atonement on her part, and declares that even while his letter was being written, that injured lady was in violent hysterics. we conclude from the tone of the gallant colonel's complaints, that the public mention of mrs. t.'s "age" has given offence; and our correspondent is pronounced to be totally misinformed on that as on other points. we grant this to be possible; we did not vouch for the accuracy of mr. sly's statement, and are of opinion that no gentleman can know a lady's age so well as she knows it herself. our maxim is, that every lady has a right to be, at all periods of her life, exactly what age she pleases--thirty odd at sixty-two if she likes. we also admit that every lady has a right to go into hysterics as often as she sees occasion; but because mrs. t. chooses to exercise these sacred privileges of her sex, we do not recognise col. talker's right to threaten us with "law," or to attempt to frighten us with notices of "action." we are not to be intimidated there; we have too many lawyers among our acquaintances, and very pleasant fellows they are too. [illustration: col. walker, as he was seen when going to fetch the peppermint.] but, after all, we cannot conceive that there is any very great harm done; for we are perfectly well aware, whatever col. talker may say, that mrs. t.'s "fit" was not of a nature to show that her sensibilities had been _very_ seriously shocked, and we shall at once let the colonel into our secret. we beg to tell him candidly that _we know all about it_. the fact is, that a correspondent of ours happens to reside exactly opposite mrs. t.'s first floor, and without wishing to spy into other people's apartments, or affairs, could not help being a spectator of the scene he thus describes. [illustration] he says that col. t., entering mrs. t.'s apartment on the first floor aforesaid, found that lady in a state of great excitement, the "omnibus," no. , in her hand. after pointing in a very agitated manner to the last page, she drew forth her pocket handkerchief. the gallant colonel paced the room evidently moved; he then appeared to be attempting to soothe her, but in vain--she shook her bonnet violently, and went off in a fit. the colonel hereupon, instead of rushing to the chimney-piece for the smelling-bottle, seized a pint decanter, and hastily quitted the house. immediately after, the bit of a girl was seen attempting to force a glass of cold water upon her mistress, which only seemed to make her worse; for she kicked the girl's shins with those dear little bits of black legs of hers most violently, something in the manner of mr. punch after he has been thrown from his horse. the gallant colonel, after a short absence, knocked at the street door, and the moment the girl left the room to admit him, up jumped mrs. toddles--fact!--ran to the looking-glass over the fire-place, put her bonnet to rights, completing the adjustment with the usual side glances right and left, and then, to the utter astonishment of our informant, she resumed her seat--_and her fit_!--oh, mrs. t.! we suppress the remainder of our informant's description, merely remarking, that the pint decanter, when colonel t. drew it from his pocket, contained, to all appearance, some strong restorative, the virtue and quality whereof the colonel at once tested, by tossing off a bumper in the most gallant manner. we have since ascertained that it was _peppermint_. whether our statement will be satisfactory to colonel walker we neither know nor care; but with respect to mrs. toddles we have expressed our contrition, and promise never to mention her age again. any kindness we can render her will be at all times hers, and as a slight token of our sincerity, we respectfully beg that lady's acceptance of a pound of mixed tea, (eight-shilling green, and six-shilling black, very good,) which is left at our publisher's, if she will send her girl for it. [illustration: designed. etched & published by george cruikshank. january st . jack o'lantern.] jack-o'lantern. every man has his jack-o'lantern;--in dark night, in broad noon day--in the lonely wild, or in the populous city--each has his jack-o'lantern. to this man jack comes in the likeness of a bottle of old port, seducing him from sobriety, and leaving him in a quagmire; to that man, he appears in the form of a splendid phaeton and a pair of greys, driving him into bankruptcy, and dropping him into the open jaws of ruin. to one he presents himself in the guise of a cigar, keeping him in a constant cloud; to another he appears in no shape but that of an old black-letter volume, over which he continues to pore long after his wits are gone. here you see jack blazing in scarlet, and luring his dazzled follower on by military trappings alone to the pursuit of glory; and there jack jumps about in the brilliant motley of harlequin, tempting a grave and leaden-heeled victim to dance away his nights and days. jack-o'lantern is to some people, a mouldy hoarded guinea--and these he leads into the miser's slough of despond; with others, when he pays them a visit, he rolls himself up into the form of a dice-box--and then he makes beggars of them. poetry is one man's jack-o'lantern, and a spinning-jenny is another's. fossil bones, buried fathoms deep in the earth, act jack's part, and lure away one class to explore and expound; cuyps and claudes, in the same way, play the same part with a second class, and tempt them to collect, at the sacrifice of every other interest, or pursuit in life. jack will now take the likeness of a french cook, and draw a patriot from his beloved country to enjoy a foreign life, cheap; and now he will assume the appearance of a glass of water, persuading the teetotaller, who "drank like a fish" in his young days, to go further astray, and drink a great deal more like a fish in his old days. jack-o'lantern has some attractive shape for every age and condition. in childhood, he lures us, by overhanging clusters of cherries and currants, into regions consecrated to steel-traps and spring-guns; in after-age, he takes us irresistibly into the still more dangerous region of love and romance, winning us by his best lights--the bright eyes of woman; and to the very end of our days he finds some passion or prejudice wherewith to woo us successfully--some straw wherewith to tickle us, how wise-soever, and unwilling we may be. the very seasons of the year--each has its jack-o'lantern. the bright glancing sunshine of a spring morning, when it tempts us into a sharp east-wind under promise of sultriness;--the rich luxuriousness of summer, when it fills us with aches and cramps, after revelling in romps among the grass. christmas--yes, christmas itself has its jack-o'lantern. we do not mean the great blazing fire, which has been properly called the heart and soul of it; no, jack plays his part amidst the roysters in the jovial time, by urging extra plum-pudding, which involves extra brandy with it; by suggesting mince-pies, and other irresistibles, that involve a fit of indigestion; by conjuring up blind-man's-buff, to lead one into the peril of rent skirts, and bruised heads; or by appearing in the form of a pack of cards, to the loss perhaps of one's money or one's temper * * * moralize we no longer upon jack-o'lantern; he has led us to christmas, and let him leave us there in pleasant company. christmas. by sam. sly. now is the time for all things prime! cramm'd turkeys, dropsied lambs, and oily geese, forced chickens, bloated pigs, and tons of grease; sir-loins of suet--legs, and wings, of fat, and boys from school, to say they "can't touch that;" mountains of mutton, tubs of tails and blubber, larks by the yard, like onions on a string, and giblets by the pailful is a thing enough to turn the stomach of a grubber, unless he tweak his nose and shut his eyes. and then again there's piles of lemon-peel, hillocks of nutmegs, currants, plums, and figs; and children gazing "merry as the grigs," longing (for that which joy cannot conceal) that some of these may sweeten their "minced pies." now, men get civil--lads more mild appear, than they were wont to do throughout the year; the hat is doff'd--civilities come fast that after christmas who shall say will last? now, pens are busy writing out "old scores," and birds get pert and hop about our doors, fighting their comrades for the largest crumbs. see that old lady shivering as she goes, furr'd to the eyes, and muffled to the nose, and he who thumps his sides to warm his thumbs. mark the lone berry on the mountain ash like a child's coral on a leafless twig-- watch the tom-tit that's shaking it: he's getting desperate--bolting it slap dash-- a decent mouthful for a throat not big. now here's a pretty lesson for all sinners, hunger's the sauce to sweeten christmas dinners. the fire burns blue--the nearest part gets roasted-- the "off-side" suffers in the frigid zone; just like a slice of bread that's been half toasted-- one spot is brown'd--the other cold as stone. the winds are hoarse, the sun gets shy and cool, that is, he's not so warm with his embraces-- and old jack frost instead begins to rule, so with his brush puts rouge on ladies' faces; a tint more lovely than the finest powder, and speaking to the eye and heart much louder. now friends get close--and cousins meet their cousins, babbies their daddies--aunts their pretty nieces; the jokes go round, and lies perhaps by dozens, and jacky pulls his master all to pieces. now prayers and cards are all the go-- how's that you ask? well, i don't know; i only know--the fact is so! a snap-dragon: consisting of a song, a sonnet, and a serenade. a "jolly" song--by charles hookey walker, esq. leave, o! leave, that set of fellows, who are always sensible; they give one the blues and yellows-- 'tis most reprehensible! stretch your mouths from ear to ear, never mind your beauty: wisdom never holds it dear-- laugh, and do your duty! laughing does a person good, muscles exercising; helping to digest the food-- so 'tis not surprising that by laughing all grow fat, chasing off the yellows, the blue devils, and all that; laugh, then, jolly fellows! push the bottle round the board, tell the tale so merry, sing the songs that are _encored_. let's be happy--very! push the bottle round about, let us hear your singing, give it voice, and troll it out. set the glasses ringing! "here's a health to her i love! hip! hip! hip! hurra, sirs!" "d'ye think, sir, that the gods above shave themselves with razors?" "no, sir, to be sure they don't, but with shells of oysters!" "wine with me, sir?" "no, i won't!" thus go on the roysters. laughing, quaffing, glee and fun! that's the time of day, sir; laugh that life was e'er begun, laugh your life away, sir! never wish you ne'er were born, don't sit sadly sighing; morn and eve, from eve to morn, laugh, for time is flying! sonnet to "some one." and thou wert there! and i was not with thee! thy bright eyes shone on many, but their ray was just as if you had been alice gray, and hadn't braided up your hair for me. this method of expressing it, you see, implies the same as if i were to say (as _vide_ song) your eyes were turned away, and my heart's breaking!--as it ought to be-- (and so it is of course). this world is drear! most drear--without thee, some one! at my side! death! peace! i'll go and drown myself, that's clear! in the affairs of men i'll find _my_ tide. yes! life has now no music for my ear, except that tune of which the old cow died!--c. h. w. the homoeopathist's serenade. by dr. bulgardo. the toiling sun has sped to his ever-distant goal; and the moon hangs overhead like a silver parasol. long has she not unfurled her banner thus on high, but looked, for all the world, like a muffin in the sky. the tears saline, i weep, have no effect i see; the screech-owl talks in her sleep, but thou say'st nought to me. thy eyelashes, love, are soft, and long as a skein of silk; thou'rt harmless, it strikes me oft, as a grain of sugar of milk. what do you do that for? by john copus. in this age of "why and because," wherein even master thomas is considered to be devoid of his proper share of intellects unless he demand a full and clear statement of the grounds on which papa considers it expedient that he should learn his letters--in this age of essays, treatises, and commissions, wherein a plethoric pig cannot quietly stuff itself to death without some diabolus gander investigating the probable causes which eventually led to that result--it has come into the head of one deeply and many times pondering, to call the attention of a discerning and inquiring public to various little customs and practices prevalent in the world; and this with a view of eliciting at some future time satisfactory explanations of their probable origin and rationale from abler pens and keener intellects than my own, rather than with the intention of supplying them myself. * * * * * mr. brown has seated himself in his cosey arm-chair by the fire, in his little parlour at camberwell, having just bid adieu to the "bus" which daily conveys him to and from the city, and, with handkerchief spread over his broad countenance, is settling himself to sleep, surrounded by a wife and various olive branches; when--"oh, my gracious evins!" exclaims his amiable spouse, a comely dame, of warm feelings, and peculiarity in expressing them, "here's johnny been and cut hisself in such a manner you never see! lawky-daisey me! mr. brown! mr. brown!! johnny's a'most cut his finger orf!" "tsut, tsut, tsut, tsut!--deary me!--poor fellow!--tsut, tsut, tsut!" responds that individual, starting up. now, what on earth _do you do that for_, brown? come, roundly, your reason, sir? do pray tell me _why_ you produced the series of peculiar sounds represented by "tsut, tsut," &c. you are a stout man, and a sober man,--why, in the name of all that's unaccountable, _did_ you utter them? but the fact is, you are not alone, brown, in your inability to solve this difficult question. for i never yet encountered the man who _could_ satisfactorily explain to me how or why those sounds have come to be admitted into general society, as heralds or harbingers of a condoling and sympathising speech, or indicative, without further remark, of inward and heartfelt commiseration for suffering humanity in the breast of him who utters them. philosophers, just explain this! * * * * * "let us go and hear miffler preach this morning," said a friend to me the other morning, in the country: "his congregation is composed entirely of the poorest, and, i should think, the most ignorant portion of our agricultural population. but they say that he manages to preach so plainly, that every one can understand and follow him." so off we set, and a pleasant walk across the fields brought us to elmsleigh church--one of those exceedingly picturesque old places, with a funny wooden steeple, or spire, if it can be called so, rising from the still more ancient square tower. we found mr. miffler in the reading-desk already, and, by his scarlet hood, knew him an oxonian (we subsequently found he had been a first-class man). after reading the prayers exceedingly well, he ascended to the pulpit, and commenced his sermon. now, supposing his congregation to have consisted of men of my friend's mental calibre, it was an exceedingly good and intelligible sermon; but to the majority of those present it was about as intelligible as high dutch would have been, or hebrew without the points. i could not help glancing at a countryman in his smockfrock and leggins, whose countenance forcibly recalled to my mind one of those grotesque satyrs occasionally seen carved on old chimney-pieces; and wondering as i gazed at him what train of thought the words which miffler had just uttered--"_the noxious dogmas exhibited in certain patiestic commentators, subsequent to the nicene council_"--had conjured up in his mind! then again miffler gravely informed his hearers that _ambition_ was a deadly sin, warning them against it. ambition!--to a clodhopper whose only aspiration after greatness is to get farmer jeffreys to keep him on at work through the winter! miffler, _what do you do that for_? but you, again, do not stand alone. are there not many, many mifflers guilty of the same absurdity, and equally unable with your reverend self to give any satisfactory reason for so doing, except that their predecessors have done it before them? oh, ye hebdomadal boards, caputs, and convocations, explain all this! * * * * * "yes, i assure you, johnson, you never saw or heard of such a perfect fool in all your life. he literally thinks i am going to support him in idleness, and he doing nothing." "no!" "yes! and, would you believe it, he called on poor thompson, and tried to persuade him that i had behaved so shabbily to him that he really shall be obliged to cut me!" "no!" "yes! and he told brown, i owed him ever so much money." "no!" johnson! _what do you do that for?_ why in the name of common sense do you say no! no! no! when you thoroughly believe all that poor dickson has been telling you? this is a peculiar custom. philosophers, all of you, attend to it. it needs explanation. * * * * * "here's an invitation again from that odious mrs. peewitt!" says the fair but excitable mrs. framp, as she opens a scented envelope, and extracts therefrom an elegant note. "yes! here it is:-- "'mrs. john george peewitt requests the pleasure of mr. and mrs. framp's company to an evening party on wednesday the --, at half-past eight.--plover lodge, tuesday morning. an early answer will oblige.'" "now, my dear framp," continues his lady wife, "i literally hate and detest that abominable mrs. peewitt!" "well, laura, she is no favourite of mine, i promise you," retorts the male framp: "and as to that peewitt, he's a vulgar little brute. so you'd better answer it at once, laura, declining it, you know--eh?" in the course of the same afternoon mrs. j. g. peewitt is gratified by the reception of this-- "mrs. framp _feels exceedingly grieved_ that she and mr. framp are unable to accept mrs. j. g. peewitt's kind invitation for wednesday,----inst.--grumpion parade, tuesday afternoon." now mrs. framp, _what did you do that for_? between you and me, and to speak in plain english--you are a story-teller, mrs. framp. a story-teller! and you, old gentleman--the man framp i address--are equally guilty of the fib, as an accessory before the fact. again, this is a prevalent custom. philosophers, summon moralists to your aid, and descant on this subject. * * * * * "i am sure you sing, mr. frederick," says a pasty-faced individual of the 'female sect,' to a young gentleman in white satin waistcoat and red whiskers, who has been pottering about the piano for some time. "no, indeed, miss gromm!" he replies. "i assure you that i scarcely sing at all." "oh! i am quite sure, now, you do sing. pray do sing. will you look over this music-book? there are a great many songs in it. i am sure you will find something that will suit you." "oh! upon my word, miss gromm, i scarcely ever sing." fred! you know you've brought all your music with you to-night, and have practised it carefully over with your pretty sister bessy, purposely to sing at the gromms'. thus adjured, mr. frederick begins to turn over the leaves of the music-book, his eyes resting occasionally on such songs as 'the rover's bride,' 'the british oak,' 'wanted a governess,' and other songs which fred abominates. at last he turns to a very pretty girl sitting near him, and says faintly, "bessy! did you bring any of _your_ music?" his sister, who has been watching his proceedings, in mute surprise answers innocently enough, "oh! yes, fred, i brought _all your songs_, you know!" fred looks blue; but by the time the neat case containing them has been presented to him by a servant, he has recovered himself. now, reader, what song do you suppose this young gentleman, who scarce sings at all, will select? you are a judge of music, and you pronounce his selection admirable--for it falls on 'adelaide,' a song of which _i_ (but this quite _entre nous_) would sooner be the composer than of any song that ever was sung: but you fear lest fred would not do justice to it, as he sings so seldom. you are wrong. a finer tenor, better taste, and more correct ear, one rarely meets with in private than are possessed by fred. every one exclaims that it is a treat to hear him sing. and so it is. now, my excellent good fred, _what the deuce did you do that for_? i mean, why did you lessen the pleasure which otherwise we should have all experienced, by giving us so unfavourable a view of your character at the outset--by fibbing, my friend--downright fibbing?--there are not a few freddys, though of various degrees of excellence. this therefore is a practice which, as in the last case, calls for the investigation of moralists--aided by the royal academy of music, perhaps. this is an endless subject. i have, as it were, but just touched upon it. let others, their bosoms expanding at the thought of conferring endless benefits on the human race by so doing, rush eagerly and at once on the grand task of following it up. let them explore all societies. let an emissary be despatched into the crowded saloons of my lady hippington. let an accredited and competent reporter be sent to the dinner-table of mr. titmouse, as well as into the doubtful regions of lower life. and let their desire be, to afford as strong, as cogent, and as rational explanations of the varied customs and practices with which they may become acquainted, as my friend tam ridley gave when asked for his reasons for using a peculiar form of speech. "hoy, jem!" said that individual, a jolly yorkshire lad, as he pulled up his waggon opposite to a hostelrie in the north riding,--"hoy, jem! what has't getten to sup te' 'morn?" "what has i getten to sup t' 'morn, tam?" responded mine host, making his appearance in the doorway. "ay, lad! what hast getten to sup, i say?" "why a, i'se getten yal--dos't like yal, tam?" "ay! i does." "why a then, wil't have a sup?" "ay! i will." "wil't have it _otted_, tam?" "ay! i will." "why a, now, what maks thee say _ay_ sae aften?" "why a, then, _i'll mebbe say_ yes, _when t' days is langer and t' weather's warmer_!" lines by a y--g l--y of f--sh--n, who "never told her love, but let concealment," etc. "she speaks, yet she says _n--th--g_!"--r--o and j--t. go, bid the st--rs forget to shine, the o--n-tides to ebb and flow, bid fl--rs forget to blush and pine, but bid not me to b--n--sh w--e! thou canst not guess my s--rr--w's source, my pass--n's spring thou canst not see; thou knowest not its depth and force,-- thou dreamest not 'tis l--ve for th--! fiercer than fires in Æ--a's breast my s--cr--t burns in this lone h--t; d--y brings no light, sl--p yields no rest, and h--vn no air, but where th-- art. i listen to the w--nds at night, they speak of th-- in whispers fine; in d--n's or au--ra's light, i see no beauty, none but th--! all l--ve save mine's an idle tale of hy--n's torch and c--d's bow; i envy cl--p--ra's wail, or s--pho leaping, wild, below. for v--ry's _pâté_ holds for me-- or g--nt--r's soup--no poison rare; and leaping from a b--lc--y, were quite absurd--in belg--ve square. my s--st--r raves of h--w--ll, ja--s, and thinks with dr--ss to ease my thrall; she deems not of d--vour--g flames beneath one's f--fty-g--nea sh--wl! m--ma to m--rt--r and st--rr drags me with sweet maternal haste; my p--rls of s--l they can't restore, nor l--fe's bright d--m--ds, turn'd to paste! p--pa and br--th--r n--d would win my spirit forth to ball and rout; they think of course to t--ke me in-- alas! they only t--ke me out! in vain r--b--ni's sweetness now, in vain lab--che's boldest air; in vain m--cr--dy plays,--if th--, th--, the ad--r'd one, art not there! whilst thou, unbless'd with st-ck or l-nd, hast not one cr--wn per annum clear, thou knowest not that--"here's my h-nd, with f-ft--n th--s--d p---ds a year." and _were_ it known, this pass--n wild, then d--th would at my h--rt-st--gs tug! no, none shall know that th-- art styled, the h-n-r-ble fr-nk f-tz m--gg! l. b. the frolics of time. a striking adventure. by laman blanchard. how i came to find myself, at midnight and in the dark, stretched on a sofa in a strange house, is of no consequence to my story; yet for the prevention of all uncharitable surmises it may be as well to mention, that the young friend whom i had deemed it prudent to see safe home from greenwich to lewisham, had participated more freely than i had in the revelries that sometimes succeed to whitebait; and that, tired and sleepy, i had not irrationally preferred the scanty accommodation of a sofa, proffered by the old servant, the family being in bed, to a return to town on a wet and dreary night. "this will do very well," i said, drowsily glancing at the length of a sofa in a large room on the ground-floor; and released from my boots only, i declined the offer of bed-clothes, and declared that i should sleep without rocking. "no, no, pray don't leave the light," cried i, as the venerable domestic set down in the fire-place a huge old-fashioned candle-shade, through the numerous round holes of which a rushlight gloomily flickered.--"i hate that abominable invention; it's the only thing that _could_ keep me awake for two minutes. that'll do--shut the door--good night." "got away sober after all!" i whispered approvingly to myself when thus left alone. "and what's better, i've got this wild, racketty young scapegrace safe home too;--early moreover, though he thinks it's so late;--i should never have dragged him away if i hadn't vowed by the beard of old time that the church-clock had struck twelve three hours ago--but it's hardly twelve yet, i think--pledged my honour it was past two! ah, well! yaw-au!--ah!" and here my thoughts were silently settling upon another subject, previously to the last seal of sleep being fixed upon my lids, when my drowsy senses were disturbed by a dull, dead sound in the air--at no great distance from the house--it was the church-clock striking twelve. i counted the strokes. midnight sure enough! and somehow at that moment it occurred to my mind that i had taken time's name in vain rather too roundly, and had vowed by his sacred beard rather irreverently to say the least, when i protested three times over, that no soul living would hear the clock strike twelve again _that_ night! no matter--it was a fib told to serve a good purpose--a little bit of evil done quite innocently--the end sanctifies the means! and in the space of three seconds i was again more than half asleep, when another clock struck--another, nearer and clearer than the last. it was a large full-toned house-clock, fixed probably on the staircase or the hall, though i had not observed it on entering. its sounds were prolonged and solemn. again i counted the strokes--twelve; which i had no sooner done, than a third clock struck--nearer to me still, for it was evidently in the room, at the further end; and so sharp and quick in succession were the strokes, that to count them would have been difficult, even had i been less startled by them than i was. what a very curious clock! thought i; and during the second that was occupied by its striking, i raised my head and looked in the direction of the sound; the apartment might be miles or feet long, for aught that i could _see_. the curtains and shutters were closed--no scrap of the window was to be seen--no glimpse even of the dull damp night without was to be had. all was darkness---- but not silence; for before i could again shut my eyes, a clock began to strike, slowly, softly, in tones "most musical, most melancholy," right over my head, as though it were fixed to the wall only a few feet above me. every sound was like the moan of a dying bird. i counted them--twelve as before. yes, it was a clock that struck; it _must_ be a clock; and it was right almost to a minute, by the church. what was there wonderful in that? nothing--only-- hark! the chimes too at midnight! on a table almost within my reach, some merry sprite seemed, to the ear of my imagination, performing a serenade to the lingering hour of twelve. he struck up the chimes with such a lively grace, and echoed them with such a ringing laugh, that the twelve sounds which announced the hour when he ceased, lost all the usual monotony of tone, and said, not merely in melody, but almost as distinctly as words could have said it, "twelve o'clock"--four times over. i jumped up--and sat for an instant, my drowsiness all gone and my eyes unusually wide open, looking into the darkness around me. i knew that there was a table close by, but neither table nor clock was visible in that utter gloom; not a trace of any form or figure could my straining sight discover. to grope my way six feet forward, and feel upon the surface of the table whether, among the ornaments which there, as in other parts of the room, i had carelessly noted when first shown in, a _clock_ was to be numbered, seemed easy enough; but scarcely had i stretched out, in fear and gentleness, one trembling hand upon that venturous errand, when i dropped back again upon the sofa, startled half out of my wits by the sudden striking of two more clocks, two at once--one loud, one low--apparently at opposite sides of the room; and before they had finished twelve strokes each, another, as though from a station in the centre of the chimney-piece, struck up "meet me by moonlight," in notes the sweetest and silveriest imaginable, and the dozen strokes that followed were like the long plaintive tones of an eolian harp. before they were quite over, a peal of tiny bells began tinkling. fairies tripping with bells at their feet could hardly have made lighter or quicker music. i began to think that a troop of that fabulous fraternity were actually in the apartment--that a host of little elves were capering about, not only with bells to their feet, but clocks to their stockings! "can these be clocks?" i asked myself! "whatever the others may be, this surely is no clock!"--but the unpleasant suspicion had no sooner crossed my brain, than the bell-ringing ceased, and one, two, three--yes, twelve fine-toned strokes of a clock were distinctly audible. "it _is_ a clock," i whispered--but this conviction scarcely lessened the mystery, which, though amusing, was ill-timed. i would have preferred any glimmer of a rushlight to darkness, and sleep to any musical entertainment. the wish had hardly time to form itself before another clock struck close by me, and between every stroke of the twelve came a sort of chirrup, which at a more suitable hour i should have thought the prettiest note in the world, but which was now considerably more provoking than agreeable. i looked, but still saw nothing. i put my hand out and felt about--it touched something smooth--glass, evidently glass--and the fear of doing damage would have been sufficient to deter me from prosecuting my researches in that direction, even if my attention had not been at that instant summoned away, by a sudden volley of sounds that made my very heart leap, and transfixed me to the couch breathless with wonder and alarm. this was the simultaneous striking of at least half-a-dozen more clocks in various parts of the room. some might be large, and some tiny enough, some open and some inclosed in cases; for the tones were manifold, and of different degrees of strength; but no two clocks--if clocks they were, which i doubted, were constructed on the same principle, for each seemed to strike upon a plan of its own--and yet all went on striking together as though doomsday had arrived, and each was afraid of being behind time, and too late to proclaim the fact! one of these, a very slow coach, kept striking long after the others had ceased; and before this had finished, off went a clock in the corner that was furthest from me, sending such a short sharp, rapid sound into the apartment, that i strained my eyes yet a little wider than ever, half in expectation of being able to see it. on it went striking--"six"--"nine, ten"--"twelve, thirteen!" what! "nineteen, twenty!" there was no mistake in the reckoning--"twenty-four!" what, twice twelve! yes, three times and four times twelve! still it went on striking;--strike, strike, strike! how i wished, in that darkness, that it would strike a light! still the same sound; one monotonous metallic twang reverberating through the room, and repeating itself as though it were impossible to have too much of a good thing. that clock seemed to be set going for ever--to be wound up for eternity instead of time. it appeared to be labouring under the idea that doomsday had indeed arrived--that it was no longer necessary to note and number the hours accurately--that the family of the clocks were free--that the old laws which governed them were abolished--and that every member of the body was at liberty to strike as long as it liked, and have a jolly lark in its own way! strike, strike--still it persevered in its monotony, till, just as i had made up my mind that it would never stop, it stopped at about a hundred and forty-four, having struck the hour twelve times over. but two or three more competitors, whether from the walls of the room, from the chimney-piece, or the tables, had set out practising with wonderful versatility before the lengthened performance just alluded to had quite concluded; nor was it until nearly half-an-hour had elapsed since the church clock, the leader of the strike, had struck twelve--the hour which i had declared by the beard of old father time to be passed and gone--that an interval of silence occurred, and peace again prevailed through the intense darkness of the apartment. yet, can i call it peace? it was only peace comparatively; for my ear now sensitively awake to catch even the faintest whisper of a sound, and all my senses nervously alive in expectation of another convulsion amongst the clock-work, i became conscious of noises going on around me, to which, on first lying down, free from suspicion of the near neighbourhood of mystery, my ear was utterly insensible. i detected the presence of a vast multitude of small sounds distributed through the room, and repeating themselves regularly with singular distinctness as i listened. my pulse beat quicker, my eyes rolled anxiously and then closed; but those minute noises, clear and regular, went on in endless repetition, neither faster nor slower. were they indeed the tickings of a hundred clocks--the fine low inward breathings of time's children! the speculation, little favourable to sleep, was suddenly cut short by another crash of sound, breaking in upon the repose; it was half-past twelve, and of the scores of clocks that had announced the midnight hour, one half now announced the march of thirty minutes more--some by a simple ding-dong, some by a single loud tick, others by chimes, and one or two by a popular air, or a sort of jug-jug like a nightingale. again i started up and listened--again i essayed to grope my way about the room, to find out by the test of touch, whether the place was indeed filled with time-pieces and chronometers, dutch repeaters and eight-day clocks. but so completely had the noises bewildered me, that i knew not which way to turn, and had i dared to wander, at the hazard of overturning some fancy table or curious cabinet, i should never have found my way back to my couch again. down upon it, therefore, i once more threw myself, and conscious still of the multitudinous tickings that seemed to people the apartment with sprites, not a span long, dancing in fetters, invoked kind nature's restorer, balmy sleep, and at length, nearly exhausted, dropped into a doze. this was but short-lived; for my ears remained apprehensively opened, although my eyes were sealed, and the pealing sound of the church-clock striking one awoke me again to a disagreeable anticipation of another general strike. once more i sought to penetrate with anxious gaze the profound darkness before me. "was it all a delusion?" i exclaimed. "have i been dreaming? is the room actually filled with clocks, or am i the victim of enchantment?" the answer came from the outside of the room--from the huge family dispenser of useful knowledge--the clock on the staircase, whose lengthened uhr-r-r-r-rh, preparatory to the stroke of one, was a warning worthy of the sonorous announcement. i felt it strike upon my heart--it convinced me that i had not dreamt--it foretold all--and i knew that the spirits of the clock would immediately be at work again. and to work they went fast enough--chimes and chirrups, merry-bells and moanings of birds--sometimes the cuckoo's note, sometimes the owl's hoot--the trickling of water-drops imitated now, and now the rattling of silver fetters--here a scrap of a melody, and there a shrill whistling cry;--all followed, in a tone thin or full, loud or weak, according to the construction of the unseen instrument--by the single stroke, proclaiming the hour of one! i sank back, with my eyes close shut, and my hands covering up my ears. what a long night had i passed in a single hour!--how many hours were yet to be counted before light, piercing the gloom, would reveal the mystery of the clocks, and point the way to deliverance--that is, to the door. at last there was quiet again, the tickings only excepted, which continued low and regular as before. sleep crept over me, interrupted only by the chimes, and other musical intimations at the quarters and the half-hour. and then came two o'clock, awaking me once more to a conviction that the hundred clocks--_if_ clocks--were wound up for the night; or that the spirits who were playing off their pranks--possibly in revenge for my "innocent imposition" touching the flight of time, and my irreverence towards the beard of that antiquarian--were resolved to show me no mercy. off they went, clock after clock--silver, copper, and brass all spoke out, separately and in concert--wheels within wheels went round, chain after chain performed its appointed functions--hammers smote, and bells rang--and then, at last, fidgetted out of my senses, and "fooled to the top of my bent," sleep as before came to my aid; broken at intervals; and at intervals bringing visions of time chained to the wall, and unable to stir a foot--of time flying along upon a railroad fifty miles an hour, leaving happiness behind mounted on a tortoise--of time's forelock, by which i would have fondly taken him, coming off in my hand because he wore a wig--of time shaving off his reverend beard, and starting away at the beginning of a new year, a gay, smart, glowing juvenile! * * * i found out in the morning that my young friend's father was that oddest of oddities, a collector of clocks--that he had a passion for them, seeking out a choice clock as a connoisseur seeks out a choice picture--that he was continually multiplying his superfluities--that he boasted clocks of every form and principle, down to the latest inventions--clocks that played the genteelest of tunes, and clocks that struck the hour a dozen times over as many different ways--and that there were eighty-five, more or less calculated to strike, in the apartment wherein i had--_slept_; in the clockery! a peep poetic at the age. by a. bird. oh when i was a little boy, how well i can remember, the jolly day we had upon the fifth of each november! but now the march of intellect has changed the matter quite, and boyhood's day of merriment is turned to sober night: his hoops are made of iron, like our ships upon the seas; from infancy to manhood now--from elephants to fleas[ ], all life is hurry-scurry--toil--trouble, and contentions: oh, what an age we live in! with its wonderful inventions! but yesterday--and granite paved our good old london town, now patent wood is all the go--and nothing else goes down, excepting horses by the score, yet that's a trifle too-- we only wait perfection in a "horse's patent shoe." we talk by electricity--we've got an infant "steam" who smokes, and with an iron rod he drives a pretty team, and a pretty pace he goes! the boy! and a pretty power is his! beware, my gentle reader, or he'll flatten out your phiz. oh, what an age is this! how very wonderful and new! our bridges once were always square, now half are built askew. our horses once were taught to draw a something at their tails, a coach, or cart, or gig--but now, another mode prevails; the horse is _trained_ to stand within a carriage of his own, and while he eats a bit of hay some forty miles are done. there are wonders upon wonders whichever way one peeps; they say _our_ poor are starving, yet, _lascars_ are turned to sweeps. our cattle-shows are wonders too--the fat out-weighs the meat, which is, no doubt, for tallow good--detestable to eat!-- oh, what an age is this--for beasts!--how wonderful and new with wire just fit for binding corks, we've built a bridge at kew[ ]! [ ]breakwaters now are taught to float, and (per comparison, id est) they'll cost the nation but a song, yet be much better than the best, (to say thus much--this wonder tell--i know those lines exceed, but when the _piper's_ paid by _bull_, for extra feet i plead;) to[ ]_maccheroni_ 'taties change! your niger men declare (for want of something better, _q_?) "they are the best of fare." young _steam_ has swamped the wherries, which is "wery" sad for those who tell unto "the funny club" their miserable woes "how steamers run the river down--and boats by hundreds too"-- "in this inwentive, vicked hage"--so wonderful and new! exchequer bills were sometime held much safer than the bank, now holders find they've only held a monstrous ugly blank. the very piles[ ] which once were driven one inch within the hour, now go the pace, the railroad pace! by some mechanic power. within a little--ay--alas! and ere its pipes are old, bright bude will come and gas will pass, "e'en as a tale that's told." then we shall see!--i wonder what! 'tis dazzling quite to think, "i'm downright dizzy with the thought"--i'm standing on a brink, it turns my brain! this age so economical and new, when tories, like our steamers, try--to go the pace, and--_screw_! "and said i that my eyes were dim" with glories dazzling bright! when i confess my rising thoughts, you'll say that well they might. this age, methought, this wondrous age must understand the thing, since england's queen--our blessed queen--outshines each former king! may heaven unite this wondrous age in one harmonic whole! i pray and hope--and think it will--i do upon my soul. e'en hand-bills match the mighty _times_; tho' strip them from the walls, miss kemble and her norma would soon paper up st. paul's. god bless, say i, the queen i love--her loving subjects too-- and with this universal prayer i bid the age--adieu! footnotes: [footnote : vide "the industrious fleas"--play-acting elephants, &c., &c., &c.] [footnote : this, i fear, is a poetic fiction, but nearer the truth than usual--the wire suspension bridge is at hammersmith.] [footnote : vide capt. tayler's prospectus for floating breakwaters--an invention which really promises to save our ships and purses too.] [footnote : taste and try the "granulated potato," which in its way, promises much! i have seen a letter from the niger expedition wherein it is praised up to the african skies.] [footnote : this may be seen in action on the surry side of the river opposite hungerford market--that is, when you can get there without being drowned in the floods.] a still-life sketch. "still, still i love thee,--love thee, love thee, still."--_la sonnambula_ he stood among the mossy rocks beside a highland waterfall, and wrung his hands and tore his locks, and cursed the gaugers one and all. behind him was a ruined hut, its walls were levell'd with the ground, and broken rafters black with soot, and staves of tubs, were scatter'd round. with streaming eyes adown the glen he fix'd his gaze--i look'd, and lo! along the road a band of men, with horse and cart, were moving slow. upon my life, it made me shiver to hear him shriek with frantic yell, "fare-thee-well,--and if for ever. _still_, for ever fare-thee-well!" sholto. a tale of an inn. "uncommon high the wind be tonight, sure-ly," remarked the occupier of the seat of honour on the left side of the fire-place in the jolly drummer, on the night of a boisterous st of march--"uncommon;" and as he spoke he uncrossed his legs, and resting his left hand which held his long pipe upon his knee, stretched out his right to a little triangular table that stood before the fire, stirred a more than half-finished tumbler of warm rum-and-water which was standing on one of the corners, shook the drops off the spoon, and having placed it on the table, raised the tumbler to his mouth, and in another minute set it down again empty, save the thin slice of lemon which had been floating about in the liquor. having done this, he threw himself back in his seat, tucked his feet under it, and there crossed them, wriggled his right hand into his breeches' pocket, and resting his left elbow on the arm of the high-backed form or "settle" on which he was seated, puffed away in quiet enjoyment of his pipe. per--per--per. "it do blow above a bit, and that's all about it," returned a little man who was seated in an old windsor chair opposite, as, having filled his pipe, he commenced lighting it with a piece of half-burnt paper that he had taken from the hob, and spoke between the strong puffs of smoke which curled upwards from his mouth during the operation. "i never--per--per--remember--per--sich a night--per--per--as this here--per--leastways for the time o'year--per--per--per--but once, per--and that was," said he, having now got his pipe well lighted, and letting himself gradually sink back in his chair, "and that was in the year--' , when, as you remember, master tyler," looking at his friend opposite, "the mails was all snow'd up; but that was a trifle earlier in the year too, that was--let me see--oh ay, werry little tho'; why it was on the--yes, it was, on the th of this very month, and so it was." "ay, ay," replied tyler, "i remember it, be sure i do; and, bless you, i thought ve vas all a-going to be fruz up in our beds, as sure as i'm a-sitting here. but now, vhat i vas a-thinking of, vas, that this here night never comes round but what i thinks of what happened to me vun blowing st o' march. it makes me shake a'most, too, a-thinking on it," continued he, looking up at a large tadpole-looking clock, which, with its octangular face, assured all the company that it wanted but a quarter of an hour of midnight. "what was that?" exclaimed all the circle; "give us that tale, master tyler, a-fore we parts." "vell, then," said tyler, touching his empty glass, "let's prepare for it." upon this hint, one of the party, the host of the jolly drummer himself, rapped the table with his broad fist and shouted "hollo there," which process brought upon the scene "mary, the maid of the inn," whom master tyler requested to fill his glass, and "do the same for that gem'man opposite." she accordingly retired with the empty glasses, and as she is now out of the room, which we know to be the case from the whir-r-r-r bang! of the weighted door, we will take the opportunity before she comes back of describing the house and company. the jolly drummer was a small public-house at the extreme end of a little scattered village; its situation on the verge of an extensive heath, and detached from the other cottages, would have given it a lonely appearance but for its background of a few trees, and two or three old stunted oaks before the door, between two of which was the horse-trough, and from the branches of the third swang the old and weather-beaten sign, creaking to and fro in the wind; the hay scattered about the trough, or whirled in air by the wind, and the wicker crate which stood at the door by the side of the mounting steps, together with a pail and mop, gave indications of a pretty-well frequented house. if anything more was wanting to establish the fact, on this night, besides two or three light carts, a heavy stage-waggon might be seen rearing its giant bulk against the dark sky with its shafts erect, and the unlit stable-lantern still skewered in the front. the interior presented a more lively and comfortable appearance, at least in the room with which we are principally concerned. here a fire of a few coals, overlaid with large logs, crackled and spluttered in the grate round which the party was assembled, two of whom we have already introduced. upon the same high-backed form or settle, on which master tyler sat, were seated three other men, two of whom belonged to the waggon without, and the third was a small short man, who said little, but seemed to imbibe all master tyler uttered with great reverence. on the opposite side of the fire, besides the little man in the windsor chair, were two others, the one the blacksmith, and the other the cobbler of the village. sitting opposite to the fire, and so as to complete the circle round it, sat the stout landlord himself, looking round at his guests and attending to their wants (as we have seen) with the consciousness of being "well-to-do" in the world. on the little triangular table stood a quart mug "imperial measure;" a brass candlestick, bent through age, holding a thin tallow candle: a large pair of snuffers, lying by their side bottom upwards, was scored with the marks of a bit of chalk, half-crushed among the tobacco ashes, and a dirty pack of cards, gave the observer every proof that the two waggoners had but lately been engaged in the favourite game of "all-fours." the room in which this company had met was low and square, boasting as furniture a few windsor chairs, a square deal table edged with iron, and supported by trussel-like legs, in addition to the before-mentioned little triangular one, another of which latter description was seen in a distant corner, a dresser standing against the wall opposite the fire, and a tall cupboard by its side; the window on the left side of the room was shaded by a checked curtain, which waved mournfully under the influence of the gusts of wind that managed to find their way through the closed lattice. a few such pictures as "the lovely florist," and the "happy fruiterer," with rounded limbs and flowing drapery, painted with bright colours on glass, decorated the walls, and the mantel-shelf was decked with the usual ornaments of peacocks' feathers, brass candlesticks, tin stands for pipe-lighters, flour and pepper-boxes, a coffee-pot, and two lines painted on the wall recording, with the day and date, how "thomas swipes, jacob swillby, and james piper, drank at one sitting in this room twelve quarts of ale." such was the room and its contents on the st march, --, and a blowing night it was. the whir-r-r-bang again of the door announces mary to have returned with the replenished glasses, and as she is retiring she is arrested by the voice of master tyler, who calls out to her--"vait a bit, mary, i knows you're fond of a tale; you may as vell sit down and listen, for i dare say you never heerd a better, tho' i says it, and that's a fact--that's to say, if the company has no objections," added tyler. they all seemed to agree with master tyler in admitting mary into the circle, and accordingly made room for her next to her master, the host. all these preliminaries being arranged, master tyler having just tasted his new glass of grog, thus began:-- "let me see, it vas about the year ven i fust vent to be ostler at the vite swan, stevenage, for i _vas_ a ostler vonce, gem'men, that i vas; you remember the time, juggles?" continued he, addressing the little man opposite (who answered with an "ay," and a nod of the head). "old dick styles used to vork the old highflier thro' stevenage at that time, and _he_ vos as good a coachman as here and there vun; but howsumever, that ain't got nothink to do vith my story. i vas a-saying it was my fust night in the yard, and in course i had to pay my footin'. vell, old tom martin was the boots; he as come arterwards to our place, you know, juggles?" ("ay," answered the little man again, as he looked meditatingly at the fire;) "and me and him," continued tyler, "sat up in the tap a-drinking and smoking and that, and a precious jolly night of it ve had, i can tell you! there vas peter scraggs, and as good a chap he vos as ever stepped, and vun or two more good jolly coves as you'd vish to see; vell, ve got a chaffin, and that like, ven tom says to me, says he, 'tyler,' ses he, 'you arn't been here long,' ses he, 'but maybe you've a heerd o' that old chap up yonder.' 'vot old chap?' ses i. 'vhy him on his beam-ends,' ses he a-laughing, and all the t'others laughed too, for i heerd arterwards that that vas his joke. 'veil,' ses i, 'as i vas never here afore, t'aint _werry_ likely as i have heerd of 'un; but who is he?' 'vhy,' ses he, 'he vas an old grocer as lived in this here town o' stevenage,' ses he, 'years and years ago,' ses he; 'and left in his vill[ ] vhen he died,' ses he, 'that he vouldn't be buried, not he, but be box'd up in his coffin and highsted up a-top o' the beams of his "hovel," as _he_ called it; but a barn it is, that's sartain,' ses he. 'nonsense,' ses i; 'you ain't a-going to come over me in that there style vith your gammon,' ses i. 'gammon or no,' ses tom, 'if you've a mind you may see him yourself,' ses he; leastvays you may see his oak coffin,' ses he. 'seein's believin',' ses i, 'all over the world,' ses i, 'so here goes;' and up i gets, and tom, he gets up too, and vun or two others, and ve goes out; and tom, he catches holdt of a stable lantern, and picks up vun o' them poles with a fork at the end--them things vot the vashervomen hangs their lines upon ven they dries the clothes--and ve valks into a stable-like place as had been a barn, and tom he hooks the lantern on to the pole, and holds it up, and there sure enough _vos_ the coffin, a stuck up in the roof a top o' two beams. "it's as true as i'm a-sitting here," continued tyler, as he observed symptoms of incredulity in some of his auditors; "it's as true as i'm a-sitting here; and vot's more, you may see it there yourselves in that werry place to this werry day if you like to go as far. vel, as i vos a saying, i looks up, and ses i, 'i'm blessed if it ain't a coffin,' ses i. 'ay,' says tom and the others, 'now you'll believe it, von't you?' 'sartainly i vill,' ses i, 'now i sees it; but i'm blow'd if i didn't think you had been a-going on with some game or another,' ses i. "vell, ve come back agen to the tap, and ve sat there a-talking over that there old man and his rum fancy of being cocked up there, and vot not, till ve'd had enough, and thought it time to be off; it was then about half-past eleven. so tom says, ses he, 'i'll show you vhere you are to hang out, tyler,' ses he; so he takes me out in the yard and shows me my nest over the stable, and i'm blessed if it warn't the wery next to the vun with the old man. 'pretty close company,' ses i to myself, 'anyhow;' but howsumdever i never _said_ nothink, not i, in case he should think that i was afeerd arter vot he'd a' been saying and that; so up i goes vith the lantern, up the ladder, but i couldn't for the life of me help a-thinking of old harry trigg, (that vos the old feller's name, him in the coffin.) vel, however, i turns in at last, and i hadn't been in bed more nor ten minutes at most, ven i heerd a kind of a----" "mercy! what's that!" exclaimed mary, as the sign-board outside seemed to take part in the tale, and groan uneasily in the wind. "don't be foolish, mary," said my host, scarcely less frightened; "what should it be but the old sign? don't interrupt master tyler again, there's a good lass." "vell, i heerd a kind of a creak," resumed the speaker, with a scarcely perceptible smile, "and i listened, and presently i thought i heerd a groan. vell, i didn't much like it, i can tell you; however, i thought as it vos all imaginairy like, and vos jist a turning round in my bed to get a more comfortabler position--" "snuff the candle," suggested juggles to the blacksmith in a low tone, who did it mechanically, scarcely taking his eyes off the speaker the while. "vhen i heerd a woice," (here there was a breathless silence among the auditors,) "i heerd a woice, a low woice it vere, say, wery slowly, 'i don't like it.' vell, ven i heerd the woice, i gets a bit more plucky like; 'for,' thinks i, 'arter all it may be some vun in difficulties.' so i ses, ses i, 'vot's the row, sir?' 'tyler,' ses the woice, a'-calling me by name, 'tyler,' ses he, 'i vish i hadn't done it.' 'done vot?' ses i; for since he culled me by my name i vos a little quieter. 'vy,' ses the woice, 'a' got myself cocked up here,' ses he. ses i, 'vhy don't you get down then?' ses i. ''cause i can't,' ses he. 'vhy not?' ses i. ''cause i'm screwed down in my coffin,' ses he." here a scream, half-suppressed, broke from mary. "'my eye!' ses i to myself, and i shook all over--'it's the old man hisself,' and i pops my head under the bed-clothes precious quick, i can tell you; for i vos in a bit of a stew, as you may guess. vell, presently i heerd the old man a calling out again; but i never answered a vord, not i. vell, arter that i hears a kind of a rustling and scratching on the t'other side o' the planks close to vhere i vos a-laying. 'that's him,' thinks i; 'but he can't come here, that's clear.' 'can't i tho'!' says the werry same woice close to my feet, this time. oh crickey, how i did shake sure-ly at that there. 'tyler!' ses he, calling out loud. 'tyler,' ses he, 'look up;' but bless you, i never spoke nor moved. 'tyler,' ses he agen, a-hollering for all the vorld as loud as thunder, 'john tyler look up! or it'll be the vurse for you.' so at that i puts the werry top o' my eyes over the bed-clothes, and there i saw----" "what?" exclaimed the blacksmith and cobbler, under their breath at the same instant. the narrator looked around; juggles was leaning forward in his chair, his open hand scarce holding his pipe, which, in the eagerness of his curiosity he had let out; the blacksmith and cobbler were, with eyes and mouth wide open, intently watching the speaker's face; mine host, with both fists on the table, was not a whit less anxious; mary was leaning on the shoulder of one of the waggoners, with outstretched neck towards tyler, drinking in every word he uttered; and the two waggoners, perfectly wrapped up in the tale, stared vacantly at the opposite wall. "what?" repeated the anxious hearers. master tyler took his pipe from his mouth, and puffing out a long wreath of smoke, at the same time pointing with his pipe to the clock, which was just on the quarter past twelve, said--"nothink! and you're all april fools!" ali. [illustration] footnote: [footnote : this will was proved in the archdeaconry of huntingdon, sept. , .] "such a duck!" once venus, deeming love too fat, stopp'd all his rich ambrosial dishes, dooming the boy to live on chat, to sup on songs, and dine on wishes. love, lean and lank, flew off to prowl-- the starveling now no beauty boasted-- he could have munch'd minerva's owl, or juno's peacock, boil'd or roasted. at last, half famish'd, almost dead, he shot his mother's doves for dinner; young lillie, passing, shook her head-- cried love, "a shot at you, young sinner!" "oh not at me!"--she urged her flight-- "i'm neither dove, nor lark, nor starling!" "no"--fainting cupid cried--"not quite; but then--you're such a--duck--my darling!" l. b. frank heartwell; or, fifty years ago. by bowman tiller. chapter xi. an awful but instructive scene is the death-bed of the guilty. shipkins experienced, by anticipation, the agonizing terrors of a future state. despair took possession of his mind; but it was the despair of the coward who trembles to meet his judge, and not that of the penitent, who, prompted by hope, implores for mercy. he had lived a desperate life of crime, and his hearers shuddered as vivid recollection of the past seemed to flash upon him like sudden visions forcing him to reveal the enormities he had perpetrated. his account, as far as it went, of lieutenant heartwell, was briefly this,--that brady coveted his wealth for the double purpose of enriching himself, and carrying on those treasonable practices in which he was deeply involved--on the day of the lieutenant's disappearance, he had, after the departure of the bank agent, been encouraged to drink--the wine was drugged, and took its full effect. shipkins had himself personated heartwell in the hackney-coach affair, having previously stripped the lieutenant, and substituted the naval uniform for his own apparel,--and the evidence given by the coachman was perfectly correct. after alighting in ormond street, shipkins crossed over into great ormond yard, where he concealed himself in one of the stables which had been taken for the occasion, having a light cart and horse in readiness to further their schemes. here he was shortly afterwards joined by brady with his clothes, for which the lieutenant's were immediately exchanged, the horse was put into the cart, they drove to lincoln's inn, and having deposited mr. heartwell in it, they conveyed him--still in an insensible state--as well as the notes, gold, and documents, to the very cottage they were then in. here a sudden spasm seized the dying man--he gasped convulsively--an internal hemorrhage was going on, that threatened suffocation,--and it may readily be supposed, that intense anxiety pervaded every one present. mrs. heartwell had listened almost breathlessly,--every word that was uttered made its due and deep impression on her heart--she sat like a statue--no relieving tear started to her eye, for the fever of agonised expectation had dried the source of tears--no sigh, no groan escaped her, till the expiring shipkins stopped, and then extending her hands, as she looked at the contorted and ghastly features of the clerk, her voice found utterance, and clasping her hands in earnest entreaty, she exclaimed,-- "oh, let him not die--hold--hold--yet, a little longer life that he may tell us all. heavenly father, in pity spare him, till his conscience is unburthened, and then in mercy pardon his offences." frank supported his mother, and tried to calm her perturbation, though his own spirit was on the rack, as he now concluded that his conjectures were correct, and beneath the same roof which they were then under, his gallant father had been murdered. it was a moment of trying suspense to all, and eagerly they watched the surgeon exercise his skill, as, raised up by ben, the close of shipkins' career seemed fast approaching--they had as yet heard nothing of the lieutenant's fate, nor had any information been rendered relative to brady's place of concealment, and what had been communicated served rather to excite greater agitation than to allay that which had already been caused. the surgeon had requested every one to remain silent, and the stillness was only broken by himself as he gave directions to ben, (but even these were given in whispers,) and the struggles of the dying man, who, grasping at the air, as if he would clutch another victim, muttered unconnected sentences. it was an appalling spectacle--loud and piercing was his shriek as he caught ben's arm, and grasped it with a desperate grasp, as the only stay in life,--wild and imploring was his look as he tried to speak, but the words could not find utterance. it was only for a moment--a yell of agony succeeded, and in a few minutes his limbs were stiffening in the rigidity of death. but what language can picture the distress of mrs. heartwell and her son, at the disclosure's being so prematurely cut off, and that too in so fearful a manner! frank tried to lessen the disappointment and grief of his parent; but she who had all along cherished hope, now enfeebled by circumstances that had preyed upon her mind, and weighed down by the pressure of the evidence which shipkins had given, seemed sinking into despair. it was past midnight when the wretched man ceased to exist. no one thought of repose, except the surgeon, who accustomed to witness the flight of the departed spirit, retired to his home; but mr. wendover remained at the cottage, endeavouring to tranquillise the lady's mind. morning had not yet broke, when the sound of horses' hoofs were heard upon the common; but they suddenly ceased at the garden-gate, and the bell was violently rung. frank and ben grasped their pistols, and immediately went out to answer the summons. the horseman had dismounted, and being questioned, said "he was the bearer of a letter to lieutenant heartwell that required instant attention." the letter was handed through the bars--frank saw that the superscription was addressed to himself, and breaking the seal, he ascertained that the signature was that of mr. unity peach. the letter was characteristic of the writer, and ran thus:-- "sir,--strange doings--caught sight of brady last night--pursued (chased, you would call it)--followed him to a house in hoxton--madhouse--sent for the constables, and put them on watch--cannot enter without a warrant--they will not open the doors.--hasten hither (bear a hand, you would say)--let us have no delays--the badger is trapped at last, and it will require a good dog to draw him.--the bearer of this will tell you whereabouts to find me. yours, unity peach." there was nothing in this curious epistle that might not be communicated to mrs. heartwell, and frank at once related the occurrence, and urged the necessity of his immediate compliance. his mother not only acquiesced, but wished to accompany him, and probably would have done so, had not mr. wendover dissuaded her from it. the pony-chaise was put in requisition, but the merchant sent to the hall for his own post-chariot, in which himself and frank departed, the messenger riding on before as conductor. a gloomy daylight had opened on them when they reached their destination--a small public-house--where they found mr. peach, who was impatiently awaiting their arrival. from him they learned that he had on the previous afternoon been to a lunatic asylum in the neighbourhood of hoxton, for the purpose of visiting "brothers the prophet" (who had been removed thither during some temporary repairs at fisher's), and did not leave that place till late in the evening, when on passing out at the gates, a man alighted from horseback, his face ashy pale, with a small stream of blood running down it; he was much bespattered with mud, as if he had fallen, and was evidently in a state of great excitement; the horse, too, appeared to have been ridden hard. mr. peach had to draw himself up on one side to allow of his passing, and the porter holding up his lantern in order to ascertain who the visitor was, revealed to mr. peach the features of brady--especially as on observing him there was the strange and peculiar expression of the eye. the first impulse of the detector was to seize the lawyer, but his usual caution arrested his hand, and he suffered him to pass onward, which as soon as he had done, the porter led in the horse, and mr. peach having walked out, the gates were closed behind him. certain of the personal identity, and pondering the circumstance in his mind, the old gentleman determined to watch till some one should pass whom he might employ in sending for a constable, but it was long before any one approached that lonely and dreary abode. at length the horn of the night-patrol (who volunteered for recompense to conduct passengers across the fields) was heard, and mr. peach ran towards him and communicated his earnest request that an efficient force might be immediately sent to apprehend a felon who had taken shelter at a residence in the neighbourhood. this was accompanied by a present of money, with the promise of still greater reward, both public and private, if the villain was apprehended. the patrol performed his duty, and in a short time several peace-officers were in attendance, and an attempt was made to gain admission into the house, but without avail; its iron-barred windows and strong doors set attack at defiance. the constables had consequently been placed upon the watch round the building all night, to prevent escape. such was the position of affairs when frank and mr. wendover arrived. the merchant resolved to act in his official capacity, and demand an entrance. they were soon at the doors, and a summons being given, mr. wendover explained the object of their visit. the porter, in reply, declared that no person of the name of brady was there, nor was he at all acquainted with the individual alluded to. "false!" exclaimed mr. unity peach, "saw him myself--went in as i came out last night--muddy, dirty--cut face--know him well." "that gentleman, sir," replied the porter, "that was mr. bartlett, the principal proprietor of this establishment." looks of doubt and perplexity passed between frank and mr. wendover; and the latter, after a short hesitation, remarked, "if that is the case he can have no objection to grant us an interview." "i fear," returned the man, "that you cannot see him; he had a severe fall last night from his horse, and is much injured in the head--indeed is now almost insensible." mr. wendover once more questioned peach, and the latter persisted in the most positive manner that it was brady whom he had seen go in. "well, then, it is utterly useless delaying," said the merchant; "and i now as a magistrate demand an entrance: if it is not complied with, i will upon my own responsibility force the doors." "i will consult my superior," said the porter, returning from the gate. in a few minutes he returned, and stated that he was directed to give free admission to the magistrate, and a few whom he might select to accompany him. a strange feeling came over frank as he entered this abode of tortured spirits; for the mad-houses of those days were seldom inspected, and many a victim to avarice and villany had been confined within their walls[ ]. the secrets of the "prison-house" were never disclosed, for the unhappy creatures were incarcerated for life; sometimes they would indeed be driven mad, but death alone gave them release from torment. a respectable-looking elderly man met the party, and after apologies and explanations, announced that "mr. bartlett's injuries from his fall were very serious, and throughout the night he had been labouring under an attack of brain-fever, which he hoped was subsiding, though he was still subject to restraint." "i have only the furtherance of justice in view," said mr. wendover; "he has been sworn to in the most positive manner, and i must see him." "the appearance of so many persons may be hazardous to his existence," replied the other submissively; "if it is a mere matter of identity, more than two or three will not be required." the arrangement was made, and mr. wendover, mr. peach, and frank, were conducted through several passages, till they arrived in a part of the building where the most violent maniacs were confined; here in an apartment, whose entrance might have almost defied detection, they beheld a man in a strait-waistcoat, stretched upon a mattress upon the ground with two keepers in attendance to awe him into subjection. his countenance was haggard and flushed, and there was a tiger-like ferocity in his look, that claimed but little semblance to humanity; he was still raving, and his wild unnatural laugh thrilled with horror through the frames of the visitors. mr. wendover and unity peach were the first to enter, but he took no notice of them. frank followed; and the moment he was visible, the individual whom they had come to see drew himself up as if his whole frame were withering with sudden blight, and he convulsively and hissingly drew his breath, like one who has suddenly been plunged into cold water. "what! there again?" muttered he, as he fixed his gaze on frank, whose strong likeness to his father, and in the naval uniform too, had induced a belief that the spirit of his victim stood in his presence; whilst the peculiar rolling of the man's eyes instantly betrayed that brady was before them; "but," and he laughed wildly, "i defy you--the judge cannot take the evidence of the dead." he raised his voice--"hence--depart, i say--no earthly tribunal can take cognizance of your oath, and so far i am safe." he turned to peach and demanded--"who and what are you?--how came you here?--who has dared to let you in?--speak--who are you?" slowly mr. peach removed his hat and wig, and the patch from his eye. "i knew i was right," said he: "brady, do you know me now?" "well, well," returned the lawyer quietly, "this is kind of you, too--more than i expected--but how did you find me out--come, come, friend shaft, sit down; we will not heed yon spectre," his aberration took another turn. "ha," he shouted, "it is you who have betrayed me, old man; traitor! monster! it is you who have denounced your friend. acteon shaft, i defy you to the very teeth." "it is enough that you now recognise me," responded the other; and turning to mr. wendover, added, "you may perceive, sir, that my information was correct." brady's ravings and struggles became dreadful; the attendants could with difficulty hold him down till overwrought nature brought a crisis, and he sank in strong convulsions. the young lieutenant's feelings it would be impossible to describe, as he looked upon the supposed murderer of his father, and fears began to arise that he should again be deprived of the information he so earnestly desired. an hour elapsed before brady was recovered from his fit, which left him weak and exhausted, but restored to consciousness and to a sense of his perilous situation: still the inveterate and hardened criminal was unsubdued, and retained all the craftiness of his character. mr. wendover addressed him in energetic language. frank earnestly implored him to reveal all he knew of the fate of his parent, but the wily man "denied all knowledge of the lieutenant beyond placing him in the hackney-coach." "shipkins has been taken," said mr. wendover, "and he has confessed--?" "what, what has he confessed?" eagerly demanded the lawyer; and then slowly added, "his confessions are worth nothing; i do not fear them; leave me to myself, and let the law take its course." "brady! brady!" exclaimed unity peach, now revealed as the celebrated acteon shaft, through whose means government had been enabled to defeat the treasonable designs of the disaffected, "do not, do not go into the presence of your maker with a lie upon your tongue. tell us what became of lieutenant heartwell. you have not long to live, why should you refuse this act of justice to those whom you have so deeply injured--they have discovered the concealed property?" "ha," uttered brady, like one struck with mortal agony, "question me no further; i will not answer you." he looked towards one of the attendants inquiringly, and the man made some sign in return, but both were scarcely perceptible. "is there nothing will prevail with you," said the young officer in deep distress; "will not a mother's tears--the supplications of a son--" [illustration: _the death of brady and discovery of frank's father._ london. tilt & bogue. . fleet street.] "nothing, nothing," doggedly returned brady, "you have the property; your father you will see no more. hah!" he shrieked and started, fixing his blood-shot but rolling eyes at an aged-looking man, who was standing in the door-way. "hah! what! again betrayed?--'tis he--'tis he himself, and no delusion." the look of every one present was turned upon the object of the lawyer's terror. "it is, it is indeed he," uttered acteon shaft with deep emotion. "frank, it is your father." there cannot be any necessity for relating what ensued as frank fell himself in the embrace of his long-lost and affectionately-mourned parent! nor can it be required of me to tell the delight of mr. heartwell's spirit as, restored to freedom, he gazed with pride upon the handsome features and manly appearance of his son. those who have hearts alive to nature, have already pictured the whole, and my task is spared. mutual recognitions and hearty greetings for several minutes drew away attention from the wretch who had caused such long-protracted misery. on again turning towards him, he was in the same position, but his glassy eyes were fixed as if bursting from their sockets--he was dead. chapter xii. from the moment of her son's departure, mrs. heartwell suffered intensely from anxiety and suspense, which helen, who had come to stay with her, endeavoured to relieve. it was about noon when the party returned, and there was upon the countenances of all a glow of satisfaction and pleasure that could not be concealed from the keen penetration of her who sought to gather facts from looks. "what--what is it?" uttered she, as she strove to nerve herself to bear whatever intelligence they might bring; "tell me--tell me all." "my dear mother," said frank embracing her, "keep your mind calm--strange things have been revealed--my father's fate has been ascertained,--come, come, sit down and compose yourself. you shall know all." "a hidden mystery has been brought to light, my dear madam," said mr. wendover, quietly. "mr. heartwell has been heard of; but are you really able to endure whatever of joy or sorrow may betide--" "joy?--joy?" repeated she with eagerness, "is there then hope, that you use that term? do not keep me longer in suspense--it is becoming terrible, your countenances show no grief. tell me, ben, if i can learn it from no one else." the seaman looked at his mistress--his smile of exultation could not be mistaken; but dashing the rising spray from his eyes, he uttered, "lord love you, my lady, my heart's too full to overhaul it now; but what's the odds so as you're happy?" "can you bear an introduction to one who is able to explain every particular?" inquired mr. wendover; "exert yourself, you will stand in need of energy and strength." "it is--it must be," said the gasping lady, "there is something whispering it to my heart--a thought i have clung to through all my trials--a presage of his existence--he lives--say that he lives--i know it, and am firm!" she arose from her seat, and the next instant was pressed to the throbbing heart of her restored and tenderly loved husband. years of past pain enhanced the felicitous enjoyment of that moment, and it was long before composure was regained. the absent lieutenant's history may be briefly told. his first remembrance on recovering from stupor, was of a dark and dreary room,--in fact, the very one in which brady had expired,--here shut in from the world, and concealed from every eye but that of his keeper, he had dragged on his days a lengthened chain of galling misery, till days dwindled into nothing, and the links were extended to years. but happily for him much of it had been passed in delusion--his intellect had become impaired--and when he recovered consciousness, it was like the sudden awakening from a long and fearful dream. he remonstrated--insisted upon being set at liberty, but expressions of remonstrance, and attempts at resistance, were alike punished with severity. books he was allowed; but he had no one to converse with, except his keeper. when brothers was removed from fisher's, "the prophet" was considered so harmless, that very little restraint was laid upon him, and one of the keepers telling him, that a brother seaman was confined within the walls, he earnestly requested to be allowed an interview. after repeated solicitations, the keeper secretly complied, and it may be well supposed that the meeting was anything but sorrowful, for it afforded heartwell a hope that through the medium of his old acquaintance, he might yet escape. as the keeper was present during this, and several subsequent interviews, they could only converse on general topics, and when the fit was on him, brothers would prophesy. it was on one of these occasions that he gave heartwell an intimation of his designs, by saying, "what is man that he should be cared for--here to-day, and gone to-morrow--like the light that shineth out of darkness that quickly passeth away!" this was accompanied by significations that were readily understood, and hope revived the lieutenant's energies; but although unity peach, or more properly speaking, acteon shaft, had visited brothers more than once, yet the latter with cunning peculiar to himself had said nothing about heartwell, preferring to keep his intentions secret, so that they might not be frustrated, and fearing that if the slightest suspicion was excited, he should be subjected to greater restrictions. on the evening of brady's return with a fractured skull from the blow given him by frank (for such was the fact, and it is worthy of remark that both villains met their doom from the much-injured young man) brothers, who was roaming about, overheard directions and commands given by the lawyer to one of the keepers, to administer poison to heartwell, so that he might be entirely removed, and as he hoped the secret would perish with him. brothers, who had free access to all parts of the house, occasionally officiating as an assistant--now determined to put his scheme in practice, nor was a moment to be lost. amidst the confusion which prevailed through brady's mishap, brothers contrived to get the keys, and having by an artful message removed the porter, heartwell's cell was opened, and he passed through the passages unobserved to the outer gate. this was locked, and they had no key; there were however some planks on the ground, and by inclining one against the wall to a certain height, and then placing another on it, he contrived to get into the open fields, and in the darkness eluded the vigilance of the constables who had been set to watch. the glare of the atmosphere pointed out to him the direction of the metropolis, and thither he hastened, taking a straight direction for ormond-street, where he inquired for his family, but no one could give him intelligence respecting them. dispirited and disheartened, he went to the nearest watch-house, and informed the chief constable of the night who he was. this functionary happened to be a clever intelligent man, related to townsend the bow-street officer, and to his residence he was advised to go; heartwell went, engaged townsend's assistance, a warrant was promptly obtained, and they hurried back to hoxton. in the mean time, brady became more and more outrageous, and insisted on going to heartwell's cell to ascertain whether his orders had been executed: he found it empty; and judging from this that the lieutenant was no more, his reason became overpowered, delirium and violence ensued, and they were compelled to secure him where he then was. townsend and heartwell found no difficulty in gaining admission, and brothers conducted them to the cell, which was entered as already described. mr. wendover's full consent being obtained, frank's nuptials followed soon after this joyous re-union. youth, beauty, rank, and fashion graced the festival in the parlours and drawing-room of the hall, whilst ben and sambo, who had come up on purpose to the wedding, kept the kitchen guests in one continued round of merriment, till overpowered by respect for his master, veneration for his mistress, and attachment to frank, ben's brains began to whirl, his steps became exceedingly erratic as if his feet were mocking each other, and he was carried off to bed by sambo, where he was snugly deposited under the lee of his nightcap. "you for drinkee too much, massa ben," said sambo. "nem mind dis time, boy, young masser young missy, all golious and sing god shabe de king." "hur-rah, hurrah," hiccuped ben, as he strove to raise his head from the pillow. "hurrah, you beautiful--beauti--piece of ebony--hurrah i say--" down dropped his head. "wha-wats the odds so as you're happy!" footnote: [footnote : it is a strange anomaly in the present law, that, where two or more insane persons are confined, a license is required for the asylum; but if only one person is so confined, the keeper does not need a license. this might be remedied without touching private houses.] the postilion. "wo-ho-ho-ho-up--wo-ho!"--sweet public, you are now in the yard of the crown and cauliflower hotel, famous for posting, roasting, and accommodating the lieges with very lean bills of fare, and very fat bills of figures;--and you have listened to the lover-like tones, half-soliciting, half-imperative, with which our postboy brought his horses at once to a halt, at the hall-door of the crown and cauliflower. there he stands at your chaise-door, hand to hat, and whip couchant, soliciting your favourable notice. there stands the postboy, an important individual of the great family of the riders. he is much given to a white silk hat, with the silk worn off the rim in front, a white neckerchief, a white vest, a canary jacket, a small plaited shirt, and white corded unfit-for-finical-ladies-to-conceive-the-proper-ogatives of. the postboy is a jumble of contradictions; he is always rising in the world, yet he is as constantly finding his level; he has had more ups and downs than any other being; he is, at least, fifty-seven, but he has not yet arrived at manhood; should he complete the century, he will be as far off from it then as he is now; he is always a post_boy_; a boy post dated; he never reaches man's estate; he never knows its declension; he never sinks into second childishness; he lives and dies a postboy. we have heard of one, two, or three instances "down the road," where he saved one or two thousand pounds, and became a landlord. we think they are apocryphal. perhaps they occurred in the days of the highwaymen, by whom postboys have been known to profit. but whenever they occurred, or however, they are exceptions in the great chapter of postboys, proving that the will of fate has given to the postboy "a local habitation and a name"-- if, indeed, there can be said to be anything local about his changing and yet monotonous existence--else he had walked about the world an embodied nonentity. he is a totally different being to the cantering gemini, the letter postboy and his horse; nor does he ever become "a postman." like tom moody, he radiates "through a country well known to him fifty miles round," yet little knoweth he besides the change-houses, and they, in his imagination, stand out in glorious array:--the pig and lapstone, the three leathern corkscrews, the manuscript and hatchet, the stork and ruffles, the waggon and shirtpin, the syllabub and pump, all of which, in motley succession, dance before his dozing eyes as so many havens from his peril;--the sole green spots that ornament the desert of his life. the postilion is a veritable centaur--a human quadruped partaking of the two natures, the stable and the bed and bolster, "three-pennorth o' brandy," and the nose-bag. he is a poet, superior to that genuine pastoral, the haymaker, if familiarity with apollo (and _if_ apollo be the sun) constitutes a poet. the sickle-wielder of autumn burns not with such fervid inspiration. look on his countenance--"that index to the soul"--and imagine how full of fire that soul must be, when the proverbial brevity of an index contains so much--"to overflowing full." his _genus_ stands out like a finger-post before him, introducing him to every circle. his soul is concentrated in the mews. talk of shakspere and owen glendower, they never carried such lights before them; even bardolph himself possessed not such a nasal flambeau. no! his is an inspired nose, and his nose knows it! and it loveth not, neither doth it abide, the familiarities of the aqueous element, but hisses in its ablutions, as a stable-boy hisses when he is cleaning a horse, thereby publishing its heat and its nosology. again, mark you his freckles--whoever saw such in the face of beauty? he is a character "alone in his glory," so far as his outward indications go. let us gauge the calibre of his understanding. we were in the tap of the sun and cabbage-stump when he called to "wet his whistle." a "boy" was there before him from the hand and placquet, drinking with "a return," said return being a runaway apprentice, and our postboy stopped with _his_ in the shape of a clandestine marriage. upon meeting, the following colloquy took place:-- "well, tom, how goes it at the placquet, eh? i see ye up the road pretty often lately. i 'spose the old man an' her don't agree no better? ah! he shouldn't a married her." "that's nither here nor there with us, you know, bob, as long as there's plenty o' gemmen as wants our assistance; and, somehow, there's all'ays plenty on em' at the placquet--good payers too. th' old feller's terrible crabby, but she cocks her cap 'nation high, to be sure, an' she don't care--it suits _her_ better to look arter _her_ customers, eh?" "mum about them things, tom. i got a han'some young couple here going to be made one, an' we shouldn't put canker'd snaffles into young colts' chaps. there's nothin' very pleasant in rising blisters in the mouth--is there, sir?" (to our worthy self.) "you're the rummiest feller i ever come near, bob, to talk to the gemman a that way--you'd make a gallows good parson. but i s'pose you're comin' it feelin' like, an' mary scrabbles 'll soon be mrs. trotter?" at this repartee there was a general "he! he! he!" the runaway apprentice taking the alto part. "that young gemman's in a very good humour, ain't he, tom? i s'pose his mother know _he's_ out? a regular young lord in disguise, come out to 'stonish us gulpins; but if we had him on a flinty road, o' th' off side, at one or two o'clock of a winter's mornin', we could mek him drop his cock-tail, eh, tom? an' laugh o' th' other side o' his mouth." "order, order," as them parliament chaps say--"'tacking my constitent ain't nothin' about mary, you know, bob." "o, stow your chaff, an' i must be off. here's to your health, miss, wishin' ye much happiness; and your'n, sir, all the same; an' to the young gentleman there with the mint o' goold in his pocket, an' the kiddy side locks, an' th' pertikler purty count'nance when he laughs"--(he had a mouth like a park, and teeth like its palings)--"'oping he may never have the prison crop, nor th' lock jaw, nor the vituses dance to spile him, tom!" and a concurrent nod and wink at tom scarcely preceded the emptying of the glass of "brandy with," ere he departed. "mind ye don't break down at the horns, there," shouted the remaining "boy," having a sly fling at both parties as they rattled away, and dexterously conciliating his own. such is a specimen of his snap-dragon conversation, which partakes strongly of christmas nonsense--short and caustic, touch and go--the blazing gin and raisins of confabulation. the postilion seldom marries, but, in general, he does the insinuating to the cook at the inn where he tarries. the postboy has a tooth and a taste for a gastronomical relish; and though his strong stomach and long rides furnish his appetite with the best of all condiments, he can pout out his lips, and depress his eyebrows, at the plain and substantial fare which is allowed and provided for him, while his mouth waters for a portion of the luxuries preparing about him; therefore, whatever molly can pare and make, as convenience and opportunity offer, never comes either too late or too early for him. he imagines himself to be one of those who are reputed to be "awake to the world," and sooth to say, he distinguishes at a glance the character of his fare of either gender, and deports himself accordingly. he never takes more than his legitimate fare--if he cannot get it: nor will he ever annoy you with impertinence at his departure--if you have purchased his civility. he may, and frequently does, practise a little collusion with toll-gate keepers: thus, just as you are leaving the town where you hire your post-chaise, there is invariably a toll-bar; you pay there, and the postboy receives "a ticket," which frees you from payment at other bars on your line of route, set up to intercept the cross-roads, and so on, till you must pay again, on entering another "line of trust." a lucky dog are you, if you escape so; ten to one your postboy has "an understanding" with the keeper of one of the bars, whereat arriving, he bawls out, "_pay here!_"; or, if you have been very liberal "at mine inn," or to the last "boy," it varies to "pay here, your _honour_!" in notes as dulcet as his glottis will permit him, and draws up. "free to flatbit!" cries the tollman, as you comply with his demand, dash goes the rowel into the left flank of the near horse, and you are pursuing your course in blissful ignorance. as the postboy returns, he receives from his "friend," his share of your mulet, and enjoys his laugh literally at your expense. the postboy has been a person of importance--we say, has been; for, firstly, the flying stages, with their excellent accommodation, civil functionaries, and eleven miles an hour, more than decimated his "order;" then that northern leveller, macadam, exacted a triple tithe; and lastly, the iron-ribbed troughs and viaducts, everywhere throwing out arteries from the main trunks, and every individual inch growing, like a chopped centipede, into a perfect monster,--have almost annihilated him, so much so, that the next generation will set him down as an extinct animal, and, like the present with the dodo, will be able to find only his bill and his boots! still doth he retain some dignity, for, at a late general election, he headed the poll gallantly for the independent and patriotic borough of bullybribe; where the right honourable florian augustus finglefangle offered golden reasons for the suffrages of his father's tenantry, and those real bulwarks of the british empire--the potwallopers. notwithstanding, his glory has departed; those incorrigible dogs who rule the roast in the courts of law--cold, unyielding, unromantic civilians--have long decided not to recognise the mysteries of the gretna smithy; they have openly denounced the votaries of venus and vulcan; and one great part of the postboy's occupation is no more. _our_ postboy is not about to lead you, gentle reader, the tour of the continent; he is not about to familiarise you with banditti; he has no forests nor horrible gorges to lead you through; you must expect little from him beside what we have prepared you for; and, as we have exposed his trifling peccadilloes, we entreat you not to let your virtuous indignation overcome your liberality nor your gentlemanly bearing. probably, sir, you are fresh from the perpetration of rascalities which he would shrink from as being heinous crimes, but which you very complacently assure yourself were cleverly done to take in messrs. adderfeed and co. you are a shrewd fellow, doubtless, and "are not to be done," as you believe in your self-sufficiency;--let him try to impose payment of a toll on you, which you have no business to pay, and you wish they may get it, that's all! now, put it to your conscience--you have a conscience?--and compare your rascalities with his venialities: your "means and appliances" with his; and if conscience give the balance in your favour, why you are a worthy fellow, and ought not to be imposed on; but be careful; do not insist upon your bond; your memory may play truant, and, if it does not, you are certainly benevolent, nay, munificent, and will not stoop to such a paltry cavil. remember he is ever at your beck and command, hail, rain, or shine; high-road or bye-road; at hazy morn, or fervid noon, or dreary night; you have but to intimate your pleasure, and he is your humble servitor. in the stifling heat and dust of midsummer, and in the dreary sleet and howling winds of christmas, he is glad to administer to your business or pleasure. he never tires nor complains of his vocation. thrice has he been out in this day's heavy rain--the whole of his wardrobe is soaked--a month ago he rose from a bed of fever, induced by the same cause--yet are you waiting, the moment you hear his wheels, to order him off for another sixteen miles, and not a murmur will escape him, although it is now six at eve, the sun setting, and the wind "turning very cold." still will he lift his hat to you as deferentially as he did to his first fare, and comply with the same alacrity. the thousands who pass him in his progress think not of his cares nor his sorrows, his abundance or his want. he toils and moils like the rest, unconscious that the eyes and the mind of the philosopher--bright scintillations of heaven and eternity--may rest upon him at the same moment with those of the humble individual who hath here noted his characteristics and sketched his profile. jao. "the horse by the head." mr. and mrs. q. were discussing their financial resources--"i cannot make out," said the lady, "how it is that mr. x. contrives to keep such a large house and so many servants, and to live in such style. you are quite as clever, my dear, in your profession--ay, that you are--cleverer too, for that matter; and yet, with all your skill and perseverance, we are living, as it were, from hand to mouth. how is it?" "why, my love," said mr. q., "you see that x. has got the start: in fact, you see, my dear, he has got 'the horse by the head,' and i have only got him by the _tail_." [illustration] a floating recollection. in the year , when the asia east indiaman was conveying a detachment of dragoons to madras, the ship encountered very severe weather. amongst the troops was a blithe "boy" named pat murphy, and he had also a pretty wife on board, who, instead of taking the roughs with the smooths, was continually upbraiding her husband. "arrah, pat, why did yez bring me here into this dark hole now? oh! whirrasthrue and it's smashed and kilt entirely i'll be in regard o' the say-sickness and the kicking of the ship." "och, cooshla-machree," returned pat, trying to soften her, "rest aisy, darling. shure an it was yerself as wanted to come and wouldn't stay behind. small blame to you for that anyhow, seeing that pat murphy's the man as owns you. but rest aisy awhile, an it's the bright sun and the smooth wather we'll get, and go sailing away like a duck over a pond." "oh, thin, pat, but it's little feeling you've got for my misfortunate state," uttered judy, as she burst into tears. "never again shall i see the green-hill tops tinged with the goulden glory of the sun--never again shall i thravail free-footed through the bogs and over the moors. oh! it's a dessolute woman i am this very day--och hone--och hone." this sort of complaining was continually repeated, till the temper of the warm-hearted irishman began to give way; but he struggled hard to bear up against her petulance and peevishness. one day, however, the gale increased to a downright hurricane--the ship had sprung a leak, the water was gaining on the pumps, the sea ran fearfully high, and it was evident, unless the storm abated, that the "asia must yield to the war of elements and go down." pat, who had been relieved from the pumps, contrived to get below to see judy, and was greeted with the usual reception. "haven't i been a faithful and thrue wife to yez? and here i am smothered with the say-sickness, an' the noise and the bother!" "an' how can i help it, judy?" remonstrated pat. "shure an i've done my best, and been a dootiful husband. i carn't conthrol the say or the ship as i would a horse upon the turf--long life to it--what would you have?" judy, however, still continued her clamour, till pat's patience was at length worn completely out, and he voiciferated in no very gentle voice, "och, thin, howld your peace, woman; is it meself as you'd be breaking the heart of afore i'm dead? arrah, rest aisy with yer tongue!" at this moment, a heavy sea struck the ship on the bows, ranged fore and aft, and rushed down every cavity, causing considerable confusion. judy shrieked and cried out, "oh! pat, an why did yez bring me here?" pat, who really thought the ship was sinking, turned round, and exclaimed with vehemence, "arrah, howld yer bodther, woman--you'll be a widdaw to-night." this terrible announcement of her becoming a widow silenced poor judy; and before pat was summoned to renew his labour at the pumps, she had thrown her arms about his neck, and in loving accents implored him to avert so dreadful a calamity. the storm abated--fine weather returned--judy grew more accustomed to the ship, but ever afterwards went by the name of "pat murphy's widow;" and it was nothing uncommon to hear both soldiers and sailors calling out, "pat, pat murphy, your widow wants you." the old sailor. [illustration: sheer tyranny. cropping a poor wanderer, who has slept one night in the croydon workhouse, before he is liberated in the morning.] [illustration: sheer tenderness. cropping a long-haired bacchanal, convicted at the mansion-house of drunkenness, instead of fining him.] the paupers' chaunt[ ]. air:--"_oh the roast-beef of old england!_" o we're very well fed, so we must not repine, though turkey we've _cut_, and likewise the chine; but, oh! once a-year we should just like to dine on the roast-beef of old england, oh the old english roast-beef! o, the gruel's delicious, the taters divine-- and our very small beer is uncommonly _fine_; but with us we think you would not like to dine, without the roast-beef of old england, oh the old english roast-beef! our soup's very good, we really must own, but of what it is made arn't very well known; so, without any soup we would much rather dine on the roast-beef of old england, oh the old english roast-beef! mince-pies they are nice, and plum-pudding is fine. but we'd give up them both for "ribs" or "sir line," if for once in the year we could but just dine on the roast-beef of old england, oh the old english roast-beef! "roast beef and plum-pudding" is true christmas fare, but they think that our _morals_ such dainties won't bear. oh! oh! it is plain ne'er more shall we share in the roast-beef of old england, oh the old english roast-beef. still long life to the queen is the toast we'd be at; with a health to the prince, may he live and grow fat! and may all under him have abundance of _that_-- what?--why the roast-beef of england, oh the old english roast-beef! footnote: [footnote : suggested by the refusal of the poor-law commissioners to allow any charitable person to send in supplies of roast-beef and plum-pudding upon christmas day to the inmates of the union workhouses.] sketches here, there, and everywhere. by a. bird. a contested election at rome. there are, i doubt not, thousands and thousands subject to our most gracious and protesting queen--"gentlemen of england"--ay, and ladies too--"who live at home at ease," and fancy, poor simpletons! that the age of miracles is past. no such thing. once in every hundred years there is in the everlasting city a regular contested election in honour of the dead, each member being returned, as it were, to earth, in the character of saint, not as with the elect of this world, for words and promises of things to be, but for miracles done and recorded. the number of seats devoted to the saints is generally supposed to be three hundred and sixty-five, that is to say, one for every day in the year. and if we refer to the earliest period when first "the romans had a happy knack, of cooking up an almanack," we shall find that every seat was occupied. where then, it may be asked, are the addenda to be placed at the end of each century? the question is by no means easy of solution. there is, to be sure, leap-year, with its odd day in february; yet this would only do for a bit of a saint, and coming like a comet at stated intervals, i incline to think that when "the devil a saint would be," he takes that odd day to himself, and walks the earth with all the glories of his tail, an appendage which no true saint would acknowledge. but, as the french found room for "st. napoleon," even while alive, i can only suppose that the longest day will hold more than the shortest, and any day hold more than one saint. when st. nap was elected, it is clear some smaller saint must have been put in the background, and thus he remained--as we should say of an ex-minister--"out of place and out of favour," until the bourbons returned, and included the ex-saint in their own restoration. leaving, however, this knotty point to the pope and his cardinals, i come at once to st. peter's and the fact. it was in the merry month of may that i last entered that temple, alike unrivalled for its majesty and beauty--would that i had never seen it as i saw it then! the election was over, the chosen of one hundred years were decided upon, four new saints had been returned to earth; a fifth had been nominated, but after his claims had been duly canvassed, the votes were against him. an overwhelming majority declared that he had not performed sufficient miracles to be canonised, and his bones were doomed to rest in peace. not so the successful candidates; their names were entered in the day-book of the pope's elect, each saint and his miracle were put upon canvass, the likenesses were warranted, and the limner's art had done its best to show how saints in heaven were made by man on earth. there they were, only awaiting the ceremonies which were to confirm the intended honours, the chairing of themselves and deeds in effigy--(if thus we may speak of hanging those huge pictures on high)--the celebration of mass, the roaring of cannon from the castle of st. angelo--psalmody, such as rome alone can boast--processions wherein grandeur, littleness, gorgeous wealth, torches, and tinsel, struggle for mastery, yet form in the whole a most striking and impressive inconsistency. be our creed what it may, whether we approve or whether we condemn, our feelings are carried away by the feelings of the many, the thousands upon thousands who, with one accord, bare the head and bend the knee, when their prince of the whole christian world, their pope, "_nostra papa_," appears! jews, turks, and infidels must "off with their hat"--if they have one--but with the most rigid there is also an involuntary inclination to bend the knee. who, unmoved, can watch a roman procession wending its way towards the high altar, till it pauses beneath their holy of holies, the wondrous dome of st. peter's! a strange anomaly, i grant--venerable priests of christ, tottering beneath the weight of gold embroidered on their backs; cardinals, proud and stately, wearing their scarlet hats as knights who bore the helmet of the church; beautiful boys, with angel wings upon their shoulders; censers, waving clouds of incense, lending its perfume to the air, and, like a spirit loath to quit this lower world, wheeling, hovering, slowly rising in graceful circles of fantastic flight till it mingles with the sky, and is seen no more. "'tis gone!" and as it passed i caught the costume of the warlike swiss; the guards of him, the pope who preaches peace on earth. i saw their nodding plumes of raven black, with scarlet tuft--their glittering halberts of an age gone by--their ruffs, rosettes, their belts of buff (the perfection of a painter's picturesque), armed and covered in the house of god!--yes, this, and much untold, of that which forms a romish procession at rome, strange and anomalous though it be, is most striking and impressive as a whole. [illustration] the mere recollection has carried me with it, and turned aside for the moment the malediction i contemplated on the dressing up of st. peter's. would, i repeat, that i had never seen it! to gild the virgin gold were a venial blunder in comparison--it would still be gold, and look like gold; but to veil the majesty, the stern uncompromising beauty of st. peter's columns with flaunting silk, to ornament perfection with tinsel hangings and festoons, this was indeed a profanation in honour of the saints elect. st. peter's, with me, had been a passion from the moment i first looked upon its wondrous beauty: it was love, love at first sight, but growing with my growth--a passion, holy and enduring, such as can be only felt when we stand in the presence of fancied perfection. judge, then, of my horror when i saw this desecration!--but there is no blank so dark that we may not find a ray of light. i bless the saints for one thing-- they taught me how to build a brace of angels, and in so doing they taught me the stupendous proportions of that temple, which, though built by human hands, has in it a sublimity which awes and humbles the proud heart of little man. nay, the very portraits of their very saints diverted my angry thoughts by teaching the self-same lesson. there was one--a monstrous ugly fellow--who, preparatory to his chairing, was left to lean against a column. the proportions of this miracle-worker were so gigantic, that i deemed it some mighty caricature, painted on the main-sail of a man-of-war, till, looking at his fellows raised to their proper elevation, they seemed in their oval frames but medallions stuck upon the walls! [illustration] the angel manufactory, however, was still more striking. to give effect to the intended ceremonies, the head decorator suggested a brace of angels, to be placed on each side of the nave of st. peter's, behind the altar. the lazy cardinals nodded assent, and the question was carried _nem. con._ they do all things well at rome in honour of the church, even their greatest follies are on a scale of grandeur--their fireworks, fountains, illuminations, are all unrivalled--so are their angels, when they make them. first, an able artist is employed to sketch a design, then able workmen to build, painters to paint, and lastly, robe-makers to clothe the naked. the construction is curious: a skeleton figure, after the late fashion of single-line figures, is prepared with a strong rod of iron, which is fixed into a large block of wood, and this may be termed the building foundation. the next step--oh! most anti-angelic notion! is to collect hay-bands (enough for a hay-market), and therewith to mould the limbs and body. it were vain to attempt, by words, to describe the ludicrous effect produced; but, by the aid of the foregoing cut, it may be conceived. good-bye to sublimity for that day! _omne ignotum pro magnifico_--it never answers to go behind the scenes; and if it be true that in some cases "ignorance is bliss," how much more truly do the latin words tell us that "ignorance is ever the key-stone to sublimity." it is true, that as i looked upon the gigantic saint, as yet unhung, and compared him with his fellows, the elect on high; as i watched this monster of miracles, raised by pulleys till he dwindled into a pretty miniature; as i saw the pigmy workmen wheeling the huge angels to their places,--it must be confessed that i had found "a sliding scale," which, in this case, answered admirably. it enabled me to measure the proportions of the stupendous pile which towered above me to judge of its most beautiful symmetry, with greater force and stronger conviction than i had ever felt whilst gazing on the children which support the holy water, the sweet babes with arms as thick as the thigh of man! that knowledge was interesting--the angel-making was amusing, but the solemn tone of mind suited to st. peter's was destroyed. in vain i stood before the lions of canova; the one which slept could not inspire the repose which breathed through the sleeping marble; the one which watched, the sleepless sentinel, guarding the ashes of the dead, even this could not scare the demon of ridicule that played on hallowed ground. i turned to the mosaics, those fadeless pictures which seem as painted for eternity; no, not these--not guido's archangel, that wondrous type of heavenly beauty in the form of man--of power to conquer with the will to do--not even this could tame the merry sin within me. i stood before that statue which frenzied with undying passion the priest who gazed upon its beauties--the emblem of "justice," but so lovely in its nakedness, that man, impure and imperfect, became a worshipper, and obliged the pope to hide justice from his children. the ridiculous prevailed; i smiled to think that the form as well as eyes of "_justice at rome_" must be hid from sight. and i laughed outright at woman's curiosity, when i thought how lady see ---- prevailed upon the pope to lift the veil and show her the form which made a pygmalion of a priest! the demon was in me for the day; it had been raised by--to use a fashionable word--the desecration of the temple, and nothing could lay the evil spirit. i turned to my hotel, ordered horses for the morrow, and fled. my course was set for naples. as i traversed the pontine marshes, cheek by jowl with the sluggish stream which the pride of popes has wedded to the road and given to the traveller's eye, what a contrast did these waters, this cold, dark, silent chain of "_mal-aria_," present to the stream of life, the roar of cannon, the music, festival, and holiday, which fancy pictured in the eternal city! but the comparison was in favour of the waters; there is, thought i, at least some use in these, for, as they drag their weary length along, death, the tyrant, fettered and subdued, is borne on their course from plains where once his rule was absolute. filled with these reflections, and sometimes dreaming that i saw the captive monarch in a phantom ship, with skeleton crew--sometimes that i heard the sullen splash of muffled oars; thus dreaming and reflecting, the journey seemed short to naples; and there it was i chanced upon "a miracle of modern days," which, however, must be reserved until the omnibus shall start again. mrs. toddles. it is the cherished wish of our heart, more especially at the moment when we are entering upon a new-year, and opening a fresh account with time, to be at peace with all men; but col. talker--(_is_ his name talker or walker?)--has certainly done his utmost to uproot and scatter to the winds this pacific feeling. his conduct at the office, the day after our last publication, was extremely violent; and his threats intermingled with terrible oaths, such as "dash my buttons," "burn my wig," &c., were quite discreditable to him. and all on account of the dozen words we have said of _him_--for he is now cool enough on the score of mrs. t.'s supposed grievance. this is the way with all your gallant champions! we hope col. w. has not torn his shirt frill, nor injured his umbrella past repair. we hope too that he is not a confirmed duellist. [illustration] [illustration] trusting that we shall yet live to be on amicable terms with col. w., we shall now describe his gallant conduct in escorting mrs. toddles to bow, to spend their christmas eve in that favoured vicinity, her dear native place, which, it appears, she has been vainly endeavouring to reach; these last nine months. resolved however to have nothing to do with an "omnibus," they found out one of the old-fashioned stages, but, being too late (as usual!) to secure inside places, were compelled to go outside. mrs. t. and the colonel seated themselves very comfortably in the basket or dickey. scarcely however had they advanced on their journey beyond aldgate pump, when, lamentable to relate, the dickey, affected by old age or by a violent jolt, suddenly separated itself from the coach, and down it came crash with mrs. t. into the road; the gallant colonel springing to the roof as nimbly as a lamplighter. the feelings of both, as hamlet remarks, may be more easily conceived than described. happily however no serious injury was sustained by mrs. t. beyond a slight fracture of the bonnet, not likely to prove fatal to its shape; her dress cap too which she was carrying in paper was also a little crumpled, and there was a crash of something in her pocket which, she most positively alleged, was _not_ a bottle. colonel w., as soon as the coach could be stopped, descended and returned to the scene of the accident in time to snatch that lady from the risks to which her delicacy was exposed, which was shocked only to the extent of proclaiming a fact previously known perhaps to many, that she wore black stockings. we are truly happy to state that after a little delay they reached their place of destination together in perfect safety; and the very best security which we can offer to the friends of mrs. toddles that she suffered nothing from the untoward occurrence, is, that she was enabled in the course of the delightful evening which she spent, to take part in a cotillon with her friend the gallant colonel; and when they were last seen, they were dancing away gloriously together. sonnet to mrs. sarah toddles. though short thou art in stature, sarah dear, thou shalt not be looked over by the world;-- nor though an antique bonnet thou dost wear over, perchance, a wig, where hair once curled! thy lightfoot is beneath the grassy mound, and thou wilt see thy heavisides no more,-- loaded with lead, thy feet, by age, are found, and thy sides lean to what they were before:-- child of a gunn! (that went off long ago)-- lightfoot's and heaviside's surviving half!! relief of toddles!!! all thy friends well know thy worth, and say, without intent to chaff, "sarah will be, and is (though suitors crave) "a widow still,--and toddles to the grave!" v.d.l. postscript. mr. george cruikshank here concludes the first volume of his "omnibus," by wishing all his friends and readers a "happy new year." an arrangement entered into, a twelvemonth ago, with mr. harrison ainsworth, and now resumed, with a view to its being carried into effect on the st of february, prevents the re-appearance of the "omnibus" upon the plan of monthly numbers; but the estimation and success it has obtained, encourage him to pursue the object with which he started, by presenting his second volume in the form of an annual. that object was, to produce a fireside miscellany--here it is; and if he and his literary associates herein should meet the reader as agreeably in an annual, as in a monthly form, he trusts it will be [illustration: as broad as it's long.] * * * * * +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber notes: | | | | p.vi. ' ' changed to ' ' which is the correct page number. | | p.v. ' ' changed to ' ' which is the correct page number. | | p. . 'filagree' changed to 'filigree'. | | p. . 'naratives' changed to 'narratives'. | | p. . 'though' changed to 'thought'. | | p. . 'suffiicently' changed to 'sufficiently' | | p. . 'defeaning' changed to 'deafening'. | | p. . 'waiscoat' changed to 'waistcoat'. | | p. . 'pourtrayed' changed to 'portrayed'. | | p. . 'duetts' changed to 'duets'. | | p. . 'neighbourhoood' changed to 'neighbourhood'. | | p. . 'propects' changed to 'prospects'. | | p. . 'jemina' changed to 'jemima'. | | p. . 'riggled' changed to 'wriggled'. | | p. . 'your are' changed to 'you are'. | | fixed various punctuation. | | superscripts are shown as: c^k. | | uderscores surround _italic text_ in this file. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). the oe ligature is shown as [oe]. our people sketched by charles keene. from the collection of "mr. punch." boston, james r. osgood & co. . "our people." sketches from 'punch' by 'c. k.' illustration our people. at home. our people. street-life. our people. in the country. our people. travelling. our people. professional. our people. official. our people. in the army. our people. art and artists. our people. volunteers. our people. at business. our people. domestics. our people. working folk. our people. in ireland. our people. in scotland. &c., &c. illustration: toots! theres no a jok' i' th' 'hale beuk! companion to "our people," english society at home, society pictures by george du maurier. james r. osgood & co., publishers. illustration: mens conscia. =inspector= (_who notices a backwardness in history_). "who signed magna charta?" (_no answer._) =inspector= (_more urgently_). "who signed magna charta?" (_no answer._) =inspector= (_angrily_). "who signed magna charta!!?" =scapegrace= (_thinking matters are beginning to look serious_). "please, sir, 'twasn't me, sir!!" illustration: _dignity._ =club "buttons."= "i'm at the 'junior peninsular' now." =friend.= "what! did you 'get the sack' from 'the reynolds'?" =buttons= (_indignant_). "go along with yer! 'get the sack!' i sent in my resi'nation to the c'mmittee!" illustration: _family pride._ =first boy.= "my father's a orficer." =second boy.= "what orficer?" =first boy.= "why, a corporal!" =third boy= (_evidently "comic"_). "so's my father--he's a orficer, too--a general, he is!" =fourth boy.= "go along with yer!" =third boy.= "so he is--he's a _general dealer_!!" illustration: _bad customer._ =landlady.= "what gentleman's luggage is this, sam?" =ancient waiter.= "ge'tleman's luggage, 'm! 'or' bleshyer, no, mum! that's _artis's traps_, that is. they'll 'ave tea here to-night, take a little lodgin' to-morrow, and there they'll be a loafin about the place for months, doin' no good to nobody!" illustration: "_march of refinement._" =brown= (_behind the age, but hungry_). "give me the bill of fare, waiter." =head waiter.= "beg pardon, sir?" =brown.= "the bill of fare." =head waiter.= "the what, sir? o!--ah!--yes!"--(_to subordinate_)--"chawles, bring this--this--a--gen'leman--the _menoo_!!" illustration: _refrigerated tourists._ =provincial waiter.= "ice! gentlemen! there ain't no ice in autumn time. but it's easy to see you are gents from london, as don't know much about nature, and i don't blame you for it, in course. but, ice in august!" _exit, sniggering._ illustration: intelligent pet. "ma, dear, what do they play the organ so loud for, when 'church' is over? is it to wake us up?" illustration: "durance." =little daughter.= "won't they let us out without paying, ma'?" illustration: _the mystery solved._ =effie= (_our parson's little daughter: her first experience of "church." aloud--with intense surprise_). "pa and all the dear little boys, in their nightgowns, going to bye-bye!!" illustration: _a pledged m. p._ =m. p.'s bride= "oh! william, dear--if you are--a liberal--do bring in a bill--next session--for that underground tunnel!!" illustration: "_perils of the deep._" =unprotected female= (_awaking old gent., who is not very well_). "o, mister, would you find the captain? i'm sure we're in danger! i've been watching the man at the wheel; he keeps turning it round first one way and then the other, and evidently doesn't know his own mind!!" illustration: "_the pink of fashion._" "our flower show was a decided success this year, and little fidkins in an embroidered floral waistcoat was killing!" illustration: _the bird show._ =that charming gal= _with the blue feather_ (_to prize canary_). "sweety, dear!" =comic man= (_"dolcissimo con brio," from the other side of the pedestal_). "yes, ducky!" _utterly ruining the hopes, and taking the wind out o' the sails of his tall friend (serious man), who had been spoonying about her all the afternoon, and thought he had made an impression!_ illustration: "_trying._" =happy swain= (_she has "named the day"_). "and now, dearest edith, that is all settled. with regard to jewellery, my love; would you like a set in plain gold, or----" =edith= (_economical and courageous, and who suffers a good deal from toothache_). "oh, augustus, now you ask me--do you know--i--really--but--mr. clinch told me yesterday that he could extract all i have, and put in a beautiful new set for only fifteen guineas!!" illustration: common prudence. =snob.= "oh, let's get out o' this mob, 'arry! they'll think we're a goin' to _church_!" illustration: the triumphs of temper. =fare= (_out of patience at the fourth "jib" in a mile_). "hi, this won't do! i shall get out!" =cabby= (_through the trap, in a whisper_). "ah thin, sor, niver mind her! sit still! don't give her the satisfaction av knowin' she's got rid av ye!!" illustration: "for better for worse." _our friend bagnidge (hasn't a rap) has just married the widow (rich) of old harlesden the stockbroker._ =mrs. b.= (_retiring_). "shall i send my poppet his slippers?" =mr. b.= "n-n-n-n-o--not at present, thanks!" (_sotto voce to his guest when the door was closed._) "not so fond of having the muzzles on my feet at eight o'clock in the evening, you know, barney!!" illustration: a half truth. =guard= (_of the fatuous railway company, that still forbids tobacco_). "strong smell of smoke, sir!" =passenger= (_his cigar covered by his newspaper_). "ya-as; the party who has just got out has been smoking furiously!!" illustration: poor humanity! =bride.= "i think--george, dear--i should--be better--if we walked about----" =husband= (_one wouldn't have believed it of him_). "you can do as you like, love. i'm very well(!) as i am!!" illustration: _family ties._ (_respec'fully dedicated to mr. punch's excellent friends at the egyptian hall--m. and c._) =aunt.= "gracious goodness! what are you doing in my cupboard, you naughty boys?" =jacky.= "oh, aunt, we're playing 'masculine and cook'! i tie him to the chair, and when the door's opened his hands are free. then he does me!!" illustration: "_prevention better than cure._" =jeames= (_excitedly_). "here--here--here's the shillin'! quick--quick--off with you!" =german impostor= (_affecting concern_). "dere is some vun ill?" =jeames.= "well, not just yet! but there precious soon will be, if you don't knock off!" illustration: the roll-call. =sergeant.= "alister mcalister!" =answer.= "hamisho!" =sergeant.= "donal' mcbean!" =answer.= "hamisho!" =sergeant.= "peter mckay!" answer. "hamisho!" =sergeant.= "john smith!" =answer.= "here, sir!" =sergeant= (_with a sniff_). "ugh! 'english pock-pudding'"!! illustration: _gentility in greens._ (_mrs. brown finds sandymouth a very different place from what she remembers it years ago!_) =greengrocer.= "cabbage, mum!? we don't keep no second-class vegetables, mum. you'll get it at the lower end o' the town!" illustration: _plain to demonstration._ =customer= (_nervously_). "ah! they must be very irksome at first." =dentist= (_exultantly_). "not a bit of it, sir! look here, sir!" (_dexterously catching his entire set._) "here's my uppers, and here's my unders!" illustration: unprejudiced! =swell= (_at the r. a. exhibition_). "haw! 've you any idea--w what fellaw's pictu-ars we're to admi-are this ye-ar!!!?" illustration: a kind son. =paterfamilias= (_to his eldest son, who is at bartholomew's_). "george, these are uncommonly good cigars! i can't afford to smoke such expensive cigars as these." =george= (_grandly_). "fill your case--fill your case, gov'ner!!" illustration: crass ignorance. =first swell.= "let's see--to-morrow's----what's t'day, byth'by?" =second swell.= "tuesday, isn't it?--or monday?--was yest'day sunday? ne' mind--(_yawns_)--my man'll be here pwesently--pwecious shwewd fellow--'tell us like a shot!!" illustration: a change in the weather. =paterfamilias= (_with a sigh: his family have been to boulogne for the holidays_). "it's all up!" =bachelor friend= (_who has enjoyed these little dinners_). "what's the matter?" =paterfamilias.= "telegram! she says they've arrived safe at folkestone, and will be home about · !" illustration: "res angustæ domi." =family man.= "where do you go this year, jinnings?" =bachelor= (_in a sketchy manner_). "oh--baden for a few weeks, and the whine, belgium--p'waps get as far's viennah! where 'you off to?" =family man.= "oh, i suppose i shall take the old woman down to worthing--as usual!" _and he says this in anything but a sprightly manner--which was weak and injudicious._ illustration: _irish ingenuity._ =saxon tourist.= "what on earth are you lowering the shafts for?" (_he has just found out that this manoeuvre is gone through at every ascent._) =car-driver.= "shure, yer 'onner, we'll make 'm b'lave he's goin' down hill!" illustration: _scrupulous._ =shepherd.= "o, jims, mun! can ye no gie a whustle on tha ram'lin' brute o' mine? i daurna mysel'; it's just fast-day in oor parish!!" illustration: a game two can play at. =guard= (_to excited passenger at the edinburgh station, just as the train is starting_). "ye're too late, sir. ye canna enter." =stalwart aberdonian.= "a' maun!" =guard= (_holding him back_). "ye canna!" =aberdonian.= "tell ye a' maun--a' weel!" (_gripping guard._) "if a' maunna, ye sanna!!!" illustration: decimals on deck. =irish mate.= "how manny iv ye down ther-re?!" =voice from the hold.= "three, sor!" =mate.= "thin half iv ye come up here immadiately!!" illustration: more "revenge for the union." =saxon tourist= (_at irish railway station_). "what time does the half-past eleven train start, paddy?" =porter.= "at thrutty minutes to twilve--sharrup, sor!" _tourist retires up, discomfited._ illustration: _the ulster._ =schoolboy= (_to brown, in his new great-coat_). "yah! come out of it! d'you think i don't see yer!!" illustration: "_silence is golden._" =chatty old gent.= "have you long hours, he-ar, portar?" =railway porter= (_whose temper has been spoilt_). "same as anywheres else, i s'pose--sixty minutes!"----(_bell rings, railway porter touches up old gent's favourite corn, and rushes off!_) =old gent.= "ph--o--o--o--o--!" illustration: _barometrical._ =draper.= "light summer dress? yes, m'm. sold a great many the last few days, m'm, the weather havin' risen from a french merino to a grenadine!" illustration: _a family man._ =cabby.= "vy, i'm a father of a fam'ly myself, mum,--not so 'andsome as your little dears, mum, i don't say,--an' d'you think i'd go for to overcharge for 'em? not i, mum! not a sixpence, bless their little 'earts!" &c., &c. _claim allowed._ illustration: _unconscionable._ =head of the firm.= "want a holiday!? why, you've just been at home ill for a month!" illustration: _a narcotic._ =doctor.= "look here, mrs. mccawdle. don't give him any more physic. a sound sleep will do him more good than anything." =gudewife.= "e-h, docthor, if we could only get him tae the kirk!!" illustration: the connoisseur. =host= (_smacking his lips_). "there, my boy, what do you think of that? i thought i'd give you a treat. that's ' port, sir!" =guest.= "ah! and a very nice, sound wine, i should say! i believe it's quite as good as some i gave s. for the other day." illustration: awful warning! =guest= (_at city company dinner._) "i'm uncommonly hungry!" =ancient liveryman= (_with feeling_). "take care, my dear sir, for goodness' sake, take care! d'you know it happened to me at the last lord mayor's dinner to burn my tongue with my first spoonful of clear turtle; 'consequence was--(_sighs_)--'couldn't taste at all--anything--for the rest of the evening!!" illustration: _the sausage machine._ =cook= (_in a fluster_). "o 'f y' please, 'm, no wonder the flaviour o' them sassengers wasn't to-rights, 'm, which i've jest now ketched master alfred a cuttin' his 'cavendish' in the machine!" illustration: just in time. =veteran piscator.= "hech! but yon's a muckle fesh loupin' ahint me!"----(_it was lucky he looked round!--his friend from london had preferred sketching on the banks, had stumbled over a boulder, and "gone a header" into a deep hole. he was gaffed at his last kick!_) illustration: _words and weights._ =angler.= "deuced odd, donald, i can't get a fish over seven pounds, when they say major grant above us killed half a dozen last week that turned twenty pounds apiece!" =donald.= "aweel, sir, it's no that muckle odds i'th' sawmon,--but thae fowk up the watter is bigger leears than we are doon here!" illustration: "_mal apropos._" =rector's wife.= "well, venables, how do you think we sold the jersey cow?" =venables.= (_factotum and gardener_) "well, m'm, master byles has got the better o' we a many times, but--(_proudly_)--i think as we a' done he to-rights this turn!!" "_so awkward! and before the archdeacon, too!_" illustration: "_a slip o' the tongue._" =yachting biped.= "then you'll look us up at primrose 'ill?" =new acquaintance= (_gentlemanly man_). "oh, yes--near the 'zoo,' isn't it? we often drop in and have a look at the monkeys!" illustration: _confession in confusion._ =priest.= "now, tell me, doolan, truthfully, how often do you go to chapel?" =pat.= "will, now, shure oi'll till yer riv'rence the trut'. faix, i go as often i can avoid!" illustration: _the new running drill._ (_a respectful appeal to his royal highness the commander-in-chief._) captain bluard, as he appeared in command of his company. illustration: _our military manoeuvres._ =irish drill-sergeant= (_to squad of militiamen_). "pr's'nt 'rrms!"--(_astonishing result._)--"hiv'ns! what a 'prisint'! jist stip out here now, an' look at yersilves!!" illustration: the race not yet extinct. =country excursionist= (_just landed at g. w. terminus_). "could you inform me what these 'ere busses charge from paddington to the bank?" =dundreary= (_with an effort_). "au-h, po' m'soul, haven't an idea-h! never wode 'n one in m'life! should say a mere twifle! p'waps a shilling, or two shillings. 'don't think the wascals could have the conscience to charge you more than thwee shillings! 'wouldn't pay more than four! i'd see 'em at the d-d-doo-ooce!" illustration: _a dilemma._ =party= (_overcome by the heat of the weather_). "hoy! cab!" =driver.= "all right, sir, if you'll just walk to the gate." =party.= "o, bother! walking to 'gate!" =driver.= "well, sir, if you can't get through, i don't see how i can get over!" illustration: adjustment. =bootmaker= (_who has a deal of trouble with this customer_). "i think, sir, if you were to cut your corns, i could more easily find you a pair----" =choleric old gentleman=. "cut my corns, sir!--i ask you to fit me a pair o' boots to my feet, sir!--i'm not going to plane my feet down to fit your boots!!!" illustration: a mine of speculation. =dealer= (_to wavering customer_). "well, of course we all know that--he's got 'is bad points an' 'is good points; but what i say is, there's no deception about 'is bad points--we can see 'em. but we can't none of us tell 'ow many good points he may 'ave till we comes to know 'im!!" _the "party" took time to consider._ illustration: "argumentum ad hominem!" =dealer.= "i know you don't like his 'ead, and i allow he ain't got a purty 'ead; but lor'--now look at gladstone, the cleverest man in all england!--and look at 'is 'ead"!!! illustration: veneration. =lodger.= "i shall not dine at home to-day, ma'am, but i've a friend coming this evening. if you could give us something nice for supper----" =landlady= (_low church_). "would you like the remainder of the cold turkey--ah ('_feels a delicacy_')--hem! _beelze-bubbed_, sir?" illustration: a soft answer. =irascible old gent.= "waiter! this plate is quite cold!" =waiter.= "yessir, but the chop is 'ot, sir, which i think you'll find it'll warm up the plate nicely, sir!" illustration: seasonable luxury. =old gent= (_disgusted_). "heck, waiter! here's a--here's a--a--caterpillar in this chop!" =waiter= (_flippantly_). "yessir. about the time o' year for 'em just now, sir!" illustration: education! =papa= (_improving the occasion at luncheon_). "now, look, harry, the circumference of this cake is equal to about three times the diameter, and----" =harry.= "oh, then, pa', let me have the c'cumf'rence for my share!!" illustration: cricket! =uncle.= "well, tom, and what have you done in cricket this half?" =tom.= "oh, bless you, uncle, we've been 'nowhere,' this season; all our best 'men,' you know, were down with the _measles_!" illustration: treacherous confederate. =uncle george= (_who has been amusing the young people with some clever conjuring_). "now, ladies and gentlemen, you saw me burn the handkerchief.--would you be surprised to find--(_roars of laughter_)--i shall produce the orange our young friend here was so obliging as to offer to take care of, and inside which, i've no doubt, we shall find the shilling?!" illustration: breaking the ice. =sprightly lady.= "mr. dormers, would you oblige me with----" =bashful curate= (_who had scarcely spoken to his fair neighbour_). "o, certainly. what shall i have the pleasure to offer?----" =lady.= "----a remark!!" illustration: the first sermon. =aunt.= "well, daisy, how did you like 'church' yesterday?" =daisy.= "o, aunty, they were all so quiet and looked so cross, i thought i must 'a' screamed!!" illustration: "sweet is revenge, especially to women!" captain ogleby, who annoys the miss lankysters so much on the promenade by his obtrusive admiration, is discovered early one morning, by his exultant victims, in the act of having an "easy shave" in the somewhat limited premises of the village figaro. illustration: desperate case! =m. a.= (_endeavouring to instil euclid into the mind of private pupil going into the army_). "now, if the three sides of this triangle are all equal, what will happen?" =pupil= (_confidently_). "well, sir, i should say the fourth would be equal, too!!" illustration: exchange! =togswell= (_in the washing room at the office, proceeding to dress for the de browney's dinner-party_). "hullo! what the dooce"--(_pulling out, in dismay, from black bag, a pair of blue flannel tights, a pink striped jersey, and a spiked canvas shoe._)--"confound it! yes!--i must have taken that fellow's bag who said he was going to the athletic sports this afternoon, and he's got mine with my dress clothes!!" illustration: _a degenerate son._ =the governor= (_indignantly_). "george, i'm surprised at you! i should have thought you knew better! it's disgraceful! is it for this i've paid hundreds of pounds to give you an university education, that you should----" =son and heir= (_with cigar_). "why--what have i done, governor?" =the governor.= "done? dared to smoke, sir, while you are _drinking my ' port_!!" illustration: _lucid!_ =irish sergeant= (_to squad at judging-distance drill_). "now, ye'll pay the greatest of attintion to the man at eight hundred yar-rds: becase, if ye can't see 'm, ye'll be deceived in his 'apparance!!" illustration: _the riding lesson._ =riding master= (_to sub, who is qualifying himself for the punjaub cavalry_). "if yer 'ead was only turned the other way, what a splendid chest you'd 'ave, mr. bowdrib!" illustration: _look before you leap._ =middle-aged uncle.= "not proposed to her yet! why, what a shilly-shallying fellow you are, george! you'll have that little widow snapped up from under your nose, as sure as you're born! pretty gal like that--nice little property--evidently likes you--with an estate in the highlands, too, and you a sporting man----" =nephew.= "ah! that's where it is, uncle! her fishing's good, i know; but i'm not so sure about her _grouse_!" illustration: _no mistake, this time._ =lodger.= "dear me, mrs. cribbles, your cat's been at this mutton again!" =landlady.= "oh no, mum, it can't be the cat. my 'usband says he b'lieves it's the collerlarda beetle!" illustration: _state o' trade._ =small girl.= "please, mrs. greenstough, mother says will you give her a lettuce?" =mrs. g.= "give?! tell thee mother giv'um's dead, and lendum's very bad. nothink for nothink 'ere, and precious little for six-pence!!" illustration: "let well alone!" =swell.= "ah--what's your fare to hampstead by the--ah--new law?!" =cabby.= "oh, i don't know nothin' 'bout no new laws, sir!--same old fare, sir--'leave it to you,' sir!" illustration: "_le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle._" =old gent= (_having had to pay twice_). "but i'm positive i handed you the money! it may probably have dropped down the slit in the door!" =conductor.= "slit in the door!--well, 'tain't likely i'm goin' to turn the bus upside-down for sixpence!" illustration: "tho' lost to sight----" =aunt jemima= (_from the country--her first experience of a "hansom"_). "hoy! hoy! stop the horse! where's the coachman!" illustration: precise. =driver= (_impatient_). "now, bill, what's it all about?" =conductor.= "ge'tleman wants to be put down at no. a in claringdon square, fust portico on the right after you pass the 'red lion,' private entrance round the corner!" =driver.= "o, certainly! ask the ge'tleman if we shall drive up-stairs, an' set 'im down at 'is bed-room door in the three-pair back?" illustration: _an extensive order._ "o, please, miss, will you give us two 'a'pennies for a penny, and gi' me a drink o' water, an' tell us the right time? an' father wants a pipe; and lend mother yesterday's _'tizer_."!!! illustration: "_no such luck._" =young lady.= "is it hungry, then? come along, little darling, it shall have its dinner." =street-sweeper= (_overhearing, and misapplying_). "here y'are, miss! right you are! i jest am!" _ah! but it was fido she was speaking to!_ illustration: "_'tis better not to know._" =impudent boy= (_generally_). "try yer weight--only a penny!" (_to lady of commanding proportions in particular._) "tell yer 'xact weight to a hounce, mum!" illustration: _vested interests._ =sweeper.= "if you don't get off my crossin', i'll 'ev your number!" illustration: "_chaff._" =apple-stall keeper= (_to the boys_). "now, then, what are you gaping at? what do you want?" =street boy.= "nothin'." =apple-stall keeper.= "then take it, and be off!" =street boy.= "very well: wrap it up for us in a piece o' paper!" _bolts._ illustration: "_is it possible?!_" =swell= (_lecturing juvenile member of manufacturing centre_). "you should always--ah--touch your hat to a gentleman----" =factory lad.= "please, sir, i didn't know as yer was one!!" illustration: a panic in the kitchen. =facetious page.= "now, then, here's the census, and master's ordered me to fill it up. i've put down your ages within a year or so, and you're to 'return' your follerers, if any, how many, and state 'p'lice or military,' fees and tips from tradesmen and wisitors 'per ann.,' price o' kitchen-stuff, average o' breakages, &c., &c." illustration: _proof positive._ =mistress.= "your character is satisfactory, but i'm very particular about one thing: i wish my servants to have plenty, but i don't allow any waste." =page.= "oh, no, 'm, which i'd eat and drink till i busted, 'm, rather than waste anythink, 'm!!" illustration: "_qualifications._" =painter= (_who has always been ambitious of "writing himself down an r. a._"). "think they might have elected me, having exhibited and had my name down all these years! i might have----" =friend= (_man o' the world_). "my dear fellow, i've always told you, you don't go the right way to work. you see they could only elect you for your painting, for----why do you wear such thick boots?!!" illustration: _temptation._ =painter.= "you don't mean to say you want me to sign it, when i tell you i did not paint it? and a beastly copy it is, too!" =picture-dealer.= "vy not, goot sir? vy not? tut! tut! tut! i only vish you artis's vos men of bis'ness!" illustration: "_spoiling it._" =lord dabbley.= "wa-al, streaky, why i've heard--ah--you're not going to--(_yawns_)--have a pict-yar at the exhibition!" =streaky, r. a.= "haw, very probably not, m'lord. well, i think it only--ah--graceful, m'lord, we should occasionally forego our privileged space for the sake of our younger painters--ah! besides--i question if i shall be able to finish my public portraits in time this ye-ar!" illustration: "_particular!_" =young mumford= (_airily, having learnt that the lady comes from his part of the country_). "dessay you know the cadgebys of bilchester?--awfully jolly people! i----" =haughty beauty.= "oh no, we only visit the county families and we _weed_ them!!" _her partner wishes this "first set" was "the lancers."_ illustration: _vivifying treatment of a partner._ (_a tragedy of the last harrogate season._) =young lady= (_to partner, instantly on their taking their places_). "now----i've been to fountains abbey, and to bolton, and i've seen the brimham rocks, and the dropping well, and the view from the observatory, and we had a morning in york minster, and we have been here a fortnight, and we are going to stay another, and papa takes the chalybeate waters, and i am very glad the cavalry are coming. now you may begin conversation." _utter collapse of partner._ illustration: _arbiter elegantiarum._ =housemaid.= "oh, please, 'm, could i go out this evening? 'cause cook nex' door's got a 'lang'age o' flowers bee,' and she_'s_ requested me to be one o' the judges!" illustration: "_the servants._" =cook.= "then, shall you go as 'ousemaid?" =young person.= "no, indeed! if i go at all, i go as lady 'elp!" illustration: "_hard lines._" =mistress= (_to former cook_). "well, eliza, what are you doing now?" =ex-cook.= "well, mum, as you wouldn't give me no character, i've been obliged to marry a soldier!" illustration: "_not to put too fine a point on it._" _transatlantic party._ "look 'ere, waiter! change this knife for a pea-eater. stranger and me air on different platforms, and i might hurt him." illustration: "_never say 'die'_" =nephew.= "sure it isn't gout, uncle?" =uncle.= "gout! shtuff an' nonshensh! not a bit of it! no, fact is--phew--(_winces_) these con-founded bootmakers--they make your boots so _tight_!!" illustration: _"ingenuas didicisse" &c._ =urbane foreigner.= "the--ah--contemplation of these--ah--relics of ancient art in the galleries of europe, must be most int'r'sting to the--ah--educated american!" =american tourist.= "wa'al, don't seem to care much for these _stone gals_ somehow, stranger!" illustration: a plutocrat. =swell.= "'d you oblige me--ah--by shutting your window?--ah----" =second passenger= (_politely_). "really, sir, if you will not press it, as yours is shut, the air is so warm i would rather keep this open. you seem to take great care of yourself, sir----" =swell.= "care of myself! should wather think so. so would you, my dear fel-lah, if you'd six thousand a ye-ar!!" illustration: "matter!" =portly old swell= (_on reading professor tyndall's speech_). "dear me! is it poss'ble! most 'xtr'ord'nary!--(_throws down the review_)--that i should have been originally a 'primordial atomic globule'!!" illustration: a final appeal. "now, gentlemen of the jury, i throw myself upon your impartial judgement as husbands and fathers, and i confidently ask, does the prisoner look like a man who would knock down and trample upon the wife of his bosom? gentlemen, i have done!" illustration: _division of labor._ =facetious volunteer sub.= "look here, captain; i'm tired of this fun. do you mind looking after the men while i go and get taken prisoner?" illustration: "_off._" =sergeant o'leary.= "double! left! right! what the blazes, pat rooney, d'ye mane by not doublin' wid the squad!?" =pat.= "shure, sergeant, 'twasn't a fair start!" illustration: _"where ignorance is bliss" &c._ =frugal housewife= (_has a large family_). "oh, mr. stickings, i see by the daily papers that the price of meat has fallen twopence a pound. i think you ought to make some reduction in your charges!" =country butcher.= "werry sorry, mum, but we don't take in no daily papers, mum!!" illustration: _complimentary._ =collier= (_about the dog_). "yes, sir, aw got him in manchester, yonder, an' doctor aw's going t' ax ye, hey y' ony objection tin us namin' him efther ye?!" =young medical man= (_rather pleased_). "oh, dear no, by all means--'don't know about the compliment, though, he's not a beauty to look at!" =collier.= "mebbees not, doctor; but--smash!--mun, he's a beggar to kill!!" illustration: "(_not_) _thankful for small mercies_" =cat's-meat man.= "what 'a yer got for dinner to-day, joe?" =crossing-sweeper.= "oh, a bit o' roast weal, sent me up from no. in the crescent 'ere--an' yer wouldn't b'lleve it!--not a mossel o' stuffin--ah, an' not so much as a slice o' lemon!--and (_with a sneer_) calls theirselves respect'ble people, i've no doubt!!" illustration: _delicacy._ =edwin= (_as the servant is present_). "ah--j'ettay see--ah--disappointay de ne pas voo vwore a la rink ce mattang--poorqwaw esker----?" =angelina.= "ah wee, mais mommong----" =parlour-maid.= "hem! beg your pardon, miss; but i understand the langvidge!!" illustration: "the servants." =mistress.= "jane, tell cook i'll come down and see what she wants done to that stove, as the builder's coming to-morrow." =jane.= "o, please, 'um, i don't think we can ast you into the kitching to day, mum, as cook and me's got a small and early 'at ome' this afternoon, mum!" illustration: retributive justice. =farmer= (_giving the culprit a box o' the ear_). "how dare you beat those goslins, you young rascal? i saw you!" =boy.= "boo, oo, oo, what furr'd they gors-chicks feyther boite oi then furr?!" illustration: "by the card." =pedestrian.= "how far is it to sludgecombe, boy?" =boy.= "why 'bout twenty 'underd theausan' mild 'f y' goo 's y'are agooin' now, an' 'bout half a mild 'f you turn right reaound an' goo t' other way!!" illustration: _in jeopardy._ the new boy was enjoined to be very careful how he carried the fiddle-case--"by the handle, and to mind not to knock it against anything!" imagine the horror of mr. pitsey carter, his master, who was following, to come upon the rascal, with the invaluable "joseph" on his head, executing a pas-seul over a skipping-rope!! illustration: heresy. =mamma.= "you know who built the ark, george?" =george= (_promptly_). "noah, 'ma." =mamma.= "and what did he build it for?" =george= (_dubiously_). "for little boys to play with, 'ma?!" illustration: "oh, the mistletoe bough!" =greengrocer, jun.= (_to whom our little friend in velvet had applied for a piece of mistletoe for his own private diversion_). "i've got yer a bit, master george. it ain't a very big piece, but there's lots o' berries on it; _an' it's the berries as does it_"!!! illustration: culture for the working classes. =philanthropic employer= (_who has paid his workpeople's expenses to a neighbouring fine-art exhibition_). "well, johnson, what did you think of it? 'pick up an idea or two?" =foreman.= "well, yer see, sir, it were a this way. when us got there, we was a considerin' what was best to be done, so we app'inted a deppertation o' three on us to see what it were like; an' when they come out an' said it were only picturs an' such, we thought it a pity to spend our shillins on 'em. so we went to the tea-gardens, and wery pleasant it were, too. thank yer kindly, sir!" illustration: a casual acquaintance. =west-end man= (_addressing, as he supposes, intelligent mechanic_). "can you direct me to the moorgate street station?" =seedy party.= "mo'rgate street station, sir? straight on, sir, fust turnin' t' the right, and it's just opposyte. and now, you've interdooced the subject, sir, if you could assist me with a trifle, sir, which i've 'ad nothin' to eat since last friday----" _west-end man not having an answer ready, forks out, and exit._ illustration: "circumlocutory!" =polite coster= (_seeing smoke issuing from brown's coat-pocket_). "you'll excuse me addressin' o' you, sir,--common man in a manner o' speakin'--gen'leman like you, sir--beggin' pardon for takin' the liberty, which i should never a' thought o' doin' under ordinary succumstances, sir, on'y you didn't seem to be aware on it, but it struck me as i see you a goin' along, as you were a-fire, sir!" _by this time brown's right coat-tail was entirely consumed. his fuzees had ignited by private arrangement among themselves._ illustration: _alarming._ =buttons= (_as he burst into his master's room on the night of wednesday, the th: he had just seen that wonderful shooting star_). "oh, please, sir, them meteors is a goin' off ag'in!!" =scientific old gent= (_startled out of his first sleep, and misunderstanding the intelligence_). "oh!--eh!--what!--turn it off at the _main_!!" illustration: _weights and measures._ =valetudinarian= (_in the course of conversation with intelligent passenger, whom he takes to be a dignitary of the church_). "now, what should you think was my weight?" =gentleman in black.= "well, sir--let me see--you stand about five feet eleven, thirty inches across chest, and we'll say eleven inches deep--well, i should say, speaking at random, you would 'lift' at about eleven stun' and three quarters!" _horror of invalid--his fellow-passenger was an undertaker!_ illustration: "_small mercies._" =first jolly angler= (_with empty creel_). "well, we've had a very pleasant day! what a delightful pursuit it is!" =second ditto= (_with ditto_). "glorious! i shan't forget that nibble we had just after lunch, as long as i live!" =both.= "ah!!" illustration: tyranny. =first rough.= "we're a goin' to be edgicated now, c'mpulsory, or else go to the treadmill!" =second rough.= "ah! no vunder so many poor people's a emigratin'!" illustration: a perfect cure. =town man.= "how jolly it must be, living down here in the country!" =country gentleman.= "oh, i don't know. it's rather torpid sort of life; time passes very slowly." =town man.= "time passes slowly? you should get somebody to draw on you at three months!!" illustration: in consequence of the tailors' strike. george and the governor have their clothes made at home. =george.= "are you sure you took my right measure, charlotte?" =charlotte.= "oh, george, i'm sure it fits beautifully!!" illustration: "as well as can be expected." =horsey parish doctor= (_late for the meet_). "well, mother, and how's your daughter, and the babby--poorly, eh? ah, well, give him a pinch o' brimstone in his pap, and i'll look in to-morrow." illustration: penny wise. =national schoolmaster= (_going round with government inspector_). "wilkins, how do you bring shillings into pence?" =pupil.= "please, sir, 'takes it round to the public-'ouse, sir!!" illustration: reminiscences. =governess.= "show mr. smithers your new doll, ada." =old rustic.= "ah--lor'--deary me, mum, if it ain't the very modal of my old woman when she was in her prime!!" illustration: "hoist with his own 'pomade'!" =customer= (_worried into it_). "well, i don't mind taking a small bottle----" =barber.= "better 'ave a two shillin' one, sir; it 'olds four times as much as the other----" =customer= (_turning upon him_). "o, then if i take this shilling bottle, i shall be done out of half my money's worth! then i won't have any!" _escapes in triumph!_ illustration: distracting. =customer.= "what did you think of the bishop's sermon on sunday, mr. wigsby?" =hairdresser.= "well, really, sir, there was a gent a-settin' in front o' me as 'ad his 'air parted that crooked i couldn't 'ear a word!" illustration: a compliment. =hairdresser.= "any off the beard, sir?" =customer.= "no, thank you. i've lately trimmed it myself." =hairdresser.= "indeed, sir! i should not have thought any gentleman out of the profession could have done it so well!!" illustration: xxx cellent reasons. =free and independent= (_to wavering_) =elector=. "you don't admire his politics? politics be blowed! look at his principles! that man allus brews five-and-twenty bushels to the hogshead!" illustration: sympathy. =giles= (_ruefully_). "villiam, i've been an' gone an' 'listed!" =william.= "lor'! 'ave yer, though? got the shillin'?" =giles.= "yes." =william.= "well, then, let's go an' 'ave a glass at the 'barley-mow.' don't let's be down'earted!" illustration: liberal to a fault. =the missus= (_affably_). "my 'usban's out just now, sir. can i give him any message?" =liberal candidate.= "ah--i have called with the hope that--ah--he'd promise me his vote at the approach----" =the missus.= "oh, yes, sir. you're cap'm bilke, the 'yallow,' i s'pose, sir! yes, i'm sure he'll be most 'appy, sir!" =the captain= (_delighted_). "ya-as--i shall be much obliged to him--and--ah--he may depend upon my----" =the missus.= "yes, i'm sure he'd promise you if he was at home, sir; 'cause when the two 'blue' gents called and as'ed him the other day, sir, he promised 'em d'rec'ly, sir!!" illustration: civil service miseries. =mamma= (_who has been shopping at the co-operative_). "good gracious, dears, what shall we do with these parcels?" =youngest daughter.= "oh, pa' can take the large one, ma', and he might carry some of the small ones in his pockets!!" _pa', who has been waiting outside, feels he's in for it._ illustration: "men were deceivers ever." =swell= (_at the civil service co-operative store_). "haw! i want two or thwee pounds--bacon--and--aw--'blige me by doing it up like box--gloves or flowers, or something o' that sort!!" illustration: a sinister slip. =smith.= "hullo, brown! 'been for your annual collis----i mean your annual excursion, yet?" _brown was highly nervous, and this malign suggestion quite upset him. he spent his holiday at home!_ illustration: force of habit. =city merchant= (_blissfully dozing in his country church_). "season ticket!!" illustration: "_alma mater._" _young puncheonby "cuts" the army, and goes to oxford to read for "the church."_ =tutor.= "you are prepared in subscribe to the thirty-nine articles----" =puncheonby= (_with alacrity_). "ah 'th pleash 'ah,--ah--how mu-ch--." illustration: _embarrassing._ =nervous spinster= (_to wary old bachelor_). "oh, mr. marigold, i'm so frightened! may i take hold of your hand while we're going through this tunnel?" illustration: a straightforward view. =high church curate.= "and what do you think, mr. simpson, about a clergyman's turning to the east?" =literal churchwarden.= "well, sir, my opinion is, that if the clergy man is goodlookin', he don't want to turn his back to the congregation!" illustration: "the better the day." &c. =rustic= (_to curate who dabbles in photography_). "i'd be turr'ble much obliged, zur, if you'd map off my pictur', zur!" =curate.= "well, my man, i'll take your likeness for you. when will you come?" =rustic.= "well, zur, if you've no 'bjections, i be moastly cleaned up and has moast time o' zunday marnins, zur!!" illustration: a distinction. =the "good parson"= (_to applicant for instruction in the night school_). "have you been confirmed, my boy?" =boy= (_hesitating_). "please, sir--i--don't know----" =parson.= "you understand me; has the bishop laid his hands on you?" =boy.= "oh, no, sir; but his keeper have, sir--very often, sir!!" illustration: considerate. =churchwarden.= "tell ye what 'tis, sir. the congregation do wish you wouldn't put that 'ere curate up in pulpit--nobody can't hear un." =old sporting rector.= "well, blunt, the fact is, tweedler's such a good fellow for parish work, i'm obliged to give him _a mount_ sometimes." illustration: rustic recollections. =boy.= "please, pa-arson, mother wants some soup." =the rector.= "but i told your mother she must send something to put it in." =boy.= "oh, please, she've sent this year pa-ail vor 'un, pa-arson!!" illustration: _not a "silver lining" to a cloud._ =adolphus= (_grandly; he is giving his future brother-in-law a little dinner down the river_). "waitar, you can--ah--leave us!" =old waiter.= "hem!--yessir--but--you'll pard'n me, sir--we've so many gents--'don't wish to impute nothink, sir--but master--'fact is, sir--(_evidently feels a delicacy about mentioning it_)--we're--you see, sir--_'sponsible for the plate, sir!!!_" illustration: "_what's in a name?_" =waiter= (_to nervous invalid_). "there's the old church, sir, close by, but some visitors goes to st. wobbleoe's, sir. there the clergyman preaches _distempery_!!" _clearly not the place for him, the old gentleman thinks, with a shudder._ illustration: _a new dish._ =sympathising swell= (_waiting for some chicken_). "you've got no sinecure there, thomas!" =perspiring footman.= "very sorry, sir--just 'elped the last of it away, sir!" illustration: our artist is not in the best of tempers. he has been disturbed often by barges, and bothered by the bluebottles, and then he's accosted by what appears to him in this irritable mood to be an =art-critic= (_loq._) "the picture looks better a goodish bit off, gov'nour!" =artist= (_maddened_). "con--found----so do you, sir!" _party makes off hastily, "not liking the looks of him."_ illustration: hunting idiot, returning from the chase, proposes to "chaff that artist feller." =huntsman.= "what'll yer take me for, gov'nour?" =painter= (_without the slightest hesitation_). a _snob_! illustration: boxing-day. (_mrs. bustleton's favourite cabman has called for his usual christmas-box in a state of----never mind._) =mrs. b.= "oh, sawyer, i'm surprised--i thought you such a steady man! i'm sorry to see you given to drink!" =sawyer.= "beg y' par'n mum, no s'h 'hing mum (_hic_). drink 'ash gi'n t' me, mum, 'sh morn'n, mum!!" illustration: an old offender. =country gentleman= (_eyeing his gardener suspiciously_). "dear, dear mr. jeffries, this is too bad! after what i said to you yesterday, i didn't think to find you----" =gardener.= "you can't shay--(_hic_)--i wash drunk yesht'day, sh----!" =country gentleman= (_sternly_). "are you sober this morning, sir?" =gardener.= "i'm--shlightly shober, shir!!" illustration: irrevocable. =customer= (_for the royal wedding photograph_). "can't i have the lady only? i don't so much want the gentleman!!" =young person= (_with decision_). "no, sir; we can't part them, sir, _now_!" illustration: mrs. jingleton. learning that young m skirlygy (from whose family she received such politeness when she was in the highlands) was in town, and having heard so much of his playing, asks him to one of her little parties for classical music, and hopes he will 'oblige' during the evening.--ha! ha! she didn't know what his instrument was! illustration: arcadian amenities. =little rustic= (_after a "game" struggle, evidently overweighted_). "oh, please, help us along 'ith this linen up to mother's----" =amiable swell= (_aghast_). "eh! oh, ridiculous--how can i?--look here, i've got a bag--heavy bag--to carry myself----" =little rustic.= "i'll carry your bag, sir." =swell.= "eh--but (_to gain time_) wh--what's your mother's absurd name?" _this did not help him much. there was no escape; and ultimately----but we draw a veil over the humiliating sequel._ illustration: a big fish. =artful damsel= (_who has made a successful throw_). "o, lord feubiggin, however shall i manage----." =lord feubiggin= (_caught, two_). "pray let me show you! all depends on how you play your fish!" _we betray confidence for once. this picture comes from a letter sent by a newly-married lady (now of title), to a particular friend of hers, and is called a "reminiscence of scotland." perhaps our readers can guess at the story--we cannot._ illustration: the pic-nic. =playful widow.= "jump me down, mr. figgins!!" _the gallant little man did his best, but fell--in her estimation for ever!_ illustration: artful--very! =mary.= "don't keep a screougin' o' me, john!" =john.= "wh'oi bean't a screougin' on yer!" =mary= (_ingenuously_). "well, y' can i' y' like, john!" illustration: "_the grey mare!_" =mrs. b.= (_taking the reins_). "no, brown, i will not have the pony backed! no! that person must have seen us come into the lane first; and if the man's got common politeness----" =mr. b.= "but, my dear, we've only just turned the----" =mrs. b.= "i don't care, brown! no! i won't go back, if i stay here till----" =farmer.= "all right, sir!--i'll back, sir. i've got just such another _vixen_ at home, sir!" illustration: _how we arrange our little dinners._ =mistress.= "oh, cook, we shall want dinner for four this evening. what do you think, besides the joint, of ox-tail soup, lobster patÉs, and an entrÉe--say, beef?" =cook.= "yes, 'm--fresh, or austr----?" =mistress.= "let's see! it's only the browns--tinned will do!" illustration: _conclusive._ =lodger.= "i detect rather a disagreeable smell in the house, mrs. jones. are you sure the drains----" =welsh landlady.= "oh, it can't be the drains, sir, whatever. there are none, sir!!" illustration: _our manoeuvres._ =captain of skirmishers= (_rushing in to seize picket sentries of the enemy_). "hullo! he-ar! you surrender to this company!" =opposition lance-corporal.= "beg pardon, sir! it's the other way, sir. we're a brigade, sir!!!" illustration: "our reserves,"--the battle of amesbury. =aide-de-camp.= "good gracious, sir! why don't you order your men to lie down under this hill? can't you see that battery playing right on them?" =colonel of volunteers.= "so i did, sir. but they won't lie down. they say they want to see the review!!" illustration: a little failing. =nervous old lady.= "now, cabman, you're sure your horse is quiet? what's he laying back his ears like that for? look!" =cabby.= "o that's only her femi-nine cur'osity, mum. she likes to hear where she's a goin' to!" illustration: the connoisseurs. =groom.= "whew's beer do you like best--this 'ere hom'brewed o' fisk's, or that there ale they gives yer at the white ho's?" =keeper= (_critically_). "well, o' the tew i prefers this 'ere. that there o' wum'ood's don't fare to me to taste o' nawthun at all. now this 'ere dew taste o' the cask!!" illustration: "io bacche!" =jeames.= "mornin', mr. jarvice. what's the news?" =mr. j.= (_the old coachman_). "well, i've 'eard the best bit o' news this morning as i've 'eard for many a day, from our butler. he tell me the win'yards is 'a comin' round,' and there's every prospec' of our gettin' some more good madeiry!!" illustration: a veteran. =civil service captain.= "will--he--ah--stand pow-dar?" =dealer.= "'powder?' why he was all through the battle o' waterloo that charger was!!" illustration: "what's the odds?" =purchaser.= "he's rather heavy about the head, isn't he?" =dealer= (_can't deny it_). "well, sir! (_happy thought._) but y'see, sir, he'll hev to carry it hisself!" illustration: _"there's many a slip" &c._ waggles saw a splendid three-pound trout feeding in a quiet place on the thames one evening last week. down he comes the next night, making sure of him! but some other people had seen him too!!! illustration: _lingua "east anglia."_ =first angler= (_to country boy_). "i say, my lad, just go to my friend on the bridge there, and say i should be much obliged to him if he'd send me some bait." =country boy= (_to second angler, in the eastern counties language_). "tha' there bo' sahy he want a wurrum!!" illustration: _a luxurious habit._ =philanthropist= (_to railway porter_). "then what time do you get to bed?" =porter.= "well, i seldom what yer may call gets to bed myself, 'cause o' the night trains. but my brother, as used to work the p'ints further down the line, went to bed last christmas after the accident, and never----" _train rushes in, and the parties rush off._ illustration: _the golden age restored._ =young lady= (_through passenger, at west riding station_). "what's going on here to-day, porter? has there been a fÊte?" =porter= (_astonished_). "bless thee, lass! there's nea feightin' noo-a-days; 't's agin t' la-aw!--nobbut a flooer-show!" illustration: "no accounting for taste." =materfamilias= (_just arrived at shrimpville--the children had been down a month before_). "well, jane, have you found it dull?" =nurse.= "it was at fust, m'm. there was nothink to improve the mind, m'm, till the niggers come down!!" illustration: sold cheap. =little brown= (_to "nigger minstrel," who always addresses his listeners as "my lord"_). "ah, how did you know my----ah--how did you know i was a lord?" _sensation among the bystanders!_ =minstrel.= "bless yer, my lord, i never lose sight o' my schoolfellers!" _roars of laughter. little b. caves in, and bolts!_ illustration: selling him a pennyworth. =philanthropist.= "there's a penny for you, my lad. what will you do with it?" =sweeper.= "what all this at once! i'll toss yer for it, double or quits!" illustration: a change for the better. =greengrocer.= "want a penn'orth o' coals, do yer? you won't be able to 'ave a penn'orth much longer. they're a going up. coals is coals now, i can tell yer!" =boy.= "ah, well, mother'll be glad o' that, 'cause she says the last coals she had o' you was all slates!!" illustration: _colloquial equivalents._ =papa.= "now, my dear girls, your brother is receiving a most expensive education, and i think that while he is at home for the holidays you should try to learn something from him." =emily.= "so we do, 'pa. we've learnt that a boy who cries is a 'blub,' that a boy who works hard is a 'swot'"---- =flora.= "yes, and that anybody you don't like is a 'cad;' and we know the meaning of 'grub,' 'prog,' and a 'wax'" illustration: "the meat supply." =bathing-man.= "yes, mum, he's a good old 'orse yet. and he's been in the salt water so long, he'll make capital biled beef when we're done with him!!!" illustration: "_tracts._" =first navvy.= "t' new mission-ary gave me this 'ere track just now, bill." =second navvy.= "ain't seen him. what loike is he?" =first navvy.= "little chap--preaches about eight stun ten, i should guess!" illustration: "_a ticket of leave_." =swell= (_who won't be done_). "h'yars my kyard if you'd--ah--like to summon me." =cabby= (_who has pulled up and heard the dispute_). "don't you take it, bill. it's his ticket o' leave!" illustration: a pleasant prospect. =traveller= (_in ireland_). "hi,--pull her up, man! don't you see the mare is running away?" =paddy.= "hould tight, yer 'onor! for yer life don't touch the reins!--sure they're as rotten as pears! i'll turn her into the river at the bridge below here. sure that'll stop her, the blagyard!" illustration: reassuring. =traveller in ireland= (_rheumatic, and very particular_). "now, i hope the sheets are clean!" =kathleen= (_the chambermaid_). "clane, sor? shure they're just _damp_ from the mangle, sor!!" illustration: _woman's rights._ =scotch lady= (_who has taken a house in the highlands, her servants suddenly giving "warning"_). "what's the reason of this? have you not all you want?--good rooms, and good fresh air and food, and easy work?" =spokeswoman.= "yes, mem--but--but there's no a decent laad within cry o' us!" illustration: "_canny._" =sportsman.= "that's a tough old fellow, jemmy?" =keeper.= "ay, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!" illustration: _stern pulpit critics._ =first scot.= "fat sort o' minister hae ye gotten, geordie?" =second ditto.= "oh, weel, he's no muckle worth. we seldom get a glint o' him. sax days o' th' week he's envees'ble, and on the seventh he's encomprehens'ble!!" illustration: the commissariat. =squire= (_to new butler_). "i have three or four clergymen coming to dine with me to-morrow, prodgers, and----" =mr. prodgers.= "'igh or low, sir?" =squire.= "well--i hardly----but why do you ask, prodgers?" =mr. prodgers.= "well, you see, sir, the 'igh' drinks most wine, and the 'low' eats most vittles, and i must perwide accordin!!" illustration: duty and pleasure. =rural butler= (_deferentially_). "and what do you think of our country quality down here, sir?" =town gentleman= (_"in waiting" to lord marybone, who was visiting the squire_). "well, 'f course, you see, smithars, i don't mind waitin' on 'em,--but--'can't say i should care to sit down with 'em"!!! illustration: "business!" =bath-chairman.= "i s'pose the duke of edinboro' and his missis will be by directly?" =policeman.= "no, they won't. they ain't in town." =bath-chairman.= "ain't they?--i say, if that old lady in my chair asts you, say 'you don't know,' 'cause she's a waitin' to see 'em, and i'm engaged by the hour!" illustration: _sacrifice._ =good templar.= "tut--t--t--really, swizzle, it's disgraceful to see a man in your position in this state, after the expense we've incurred and the exertions we've used to put down the liquor traffic!" =swizzle.= "y' may preash as mush as y' like, gen'l'm'n, bur i can tell y' i've made more persh'nal efforsh to (_hic_) purrown liquor than any of ye!" illustration: _extenuating circumstances._ =employer= (_on his way to business on monday morning_). "ah, saunders! i'm sorry to see you in this way. i thought you'd turned over a new leaf!" =saunders= (_repentant_). "sho i'ad, shir, but (_hic_) 'tsh all along o' thesh 'ere wa'er co'panies--i 'sshure you, shir, 'ere washn't 'drop o' wa'er in our shisht'rn all yesht'rday!!!" illustration: _a definition._ =shoeblack= (_pointing to unsteady party by the lamp-post_). "tea-totaller on 'the strike,' sir!" illustration: _mystification._ _our young landscape painter's preparations are regarded with intense interest by the village juveniles, yet evidently expect a gymnastic entertainment_--(_he frames an imaginary picture with his hands_). =omnes.= "he's a goin' to say his prayers fust!!" illustration: _obliging._ =excursionist= (_to himself_). "ullo! 'ere's one o' them artists. 'dessay 'e'll want a genteel figger for 'is foreground. i'll _stand for 'im_!!!" illustration: our theatricals. =brown= (_rehearsing his part as the "vicomte de cherisac"_). "yas, marie! i've fondly loved ye. (_sobs dramatically._) 'tis well--but no mat-tar-r!" =housemaid= (_to cook, outside the door_). "lauks, 'liz'beth, ain't master a givin' it to missis!" illustration: flattering. =housemaid= (_to cook, behind the laurels_). "he's a haffable young man, that cap'ain limber, missus's brother. how becomin' he'd look in our livery, wouldn't he?!!" illustration: _comparisons._ =barber.= "'air's extr'ordinary dry, sir. (_customer explains he has been in the country, and out o' doors a good deal._) ah! jus' so, sir. ruination to the 'air, sir! if i was to be knockin' about 'unting and fishin', lor', sir, my 'air wouldn't be in no better state than yours, sir!!" illustration: _delicately put._ =customer.= "i'm afraid i'm getting a little bald!" =operator.= "well, sir, i think, sir, when you attend public wuship, if i was you, i'd sit in the gallery." illustration: _a rash refusal._ =customer= (_flying from importunate tradesman_). "no, thank you, nothing more, really! not another article, thank you! good morning!" _escapes--ha! ha! refusing his own umbrella!!_ illustration: _a guilty conscience._ =country parson= (_to hard-drinking old pauper_). "why, surely, muggridge, you were relieved last week from the communion alms!" =muggridge.= "communion arms, sir! 's true's i stand here, never vas inside the 'ouse in all my life, sir; never heerd of it, sir!" illustration: _equal to the situation._ =the parson.= "well, lizzie, your mother's come out of prison, i hear. how is she now?" =lizzie.= "o, thanky', sir, she's ev' so much better. she've had capital times in there. father's out o' work, and rather poorly, so he got took up last night!!" illustration: _the convalescent._ =new curate= (_tenderly_). "my good man, what induced you to send for me?" =oldest inhabitant.= "what does he say, betty?" =betty.= "'says what the deuce did you send for him, for!!" illustration: awkward! =literal servant girl= (_to brown, who was calling for the first time on the dibsworths_). "please sir, your cabman say he don't half like the look of this here half-crown you've give him!!" illustration: "suit your talk to your company." =mrs. clovermead.= "and, dan, you'll bring the trap--(_recollecting herself--her fashionable cousin, from london, is on a visit at the farm_)--we shall want the carriage to drive into the town after luncheon, daniel." =daniel.= "yes, mum--(_hesitating--he had noticed the correction_)--be i--(_in a loud whisper_)--be i to change my trowse's, mum?"!! illustration: _silly suffolk (?) pastorals. reciprocity._ =parson.= "i have missed you from your pew of late, mr. stubbings----" =farmer= (_apologetically_). "well, sir, i hev' been to meet'n' lately. but--y' see, sir, the reverend mr. scowles o' the chapel, he bought some pigs o' me, and i thought i ought to gi' 'm a tarn!!" illustration: lapsus linguæ. =our athletic curate= (_who, with the young men of his parish, had been victorious in a great match the day before; please forgive him this once, only_). "he-ar endeth the first innings!!" illustration: the archery meeting. =curate= (_to fair stranger_). "i perceive you are not a toxophilite!" =fair stranger= (_promptly_). "oh dear no! 'church of england,' i assure you!" illustration: _grandiloquence_ =captain of schooner.= "what 'a' you got there, pat?" =pat.= (_who has been laying in some firewood and potatoes_). "timber and fruit, yer honour!!" illustration: _levelling up._ =sub.= (_just arrived by rail_). "how much to the barracks?" =car-driver.= "ah, shure thin, captin, the manest ov 'em gives me t'ree and sixpence!" illustration: rural simplicity. "been to school, little lassie?" "ay, sir." "good girl--there's a penny for you." "thank you, sir. i'll hae to be steppin'--but awm gaun to skeull i' the mornin'--wull ye be this way i' the efterneun?!" illustration: _catechism under difficulties._ =free kirk elder= (_preparatory to presenting a tract_). "my friend, do you know the chief end of man?" =piper= (_innocently_). "na, i dinna mind the chune! can ye no whustle it?"!! illustration: _in vino memoria._ =major portsoken= (_a pretty constant guest_). "i say, buchanan, this isn't--(_another sip_)--the same champagne----!" =scotch butler.= "na, that's a' dune! there was thrutty dizzen; and ye've had yere share o't, major!!" illustration: mind and matter. =augustus= (_poetical_). "look, edith! how lovely are those fleecy cloudlets dappled over the----" =edith= (_prosaic_). "yes. 'xactly like gravy when it's getting cold. isn't it?"!! illustration: perspective! in criticising and correcting his pretty cousin's perspective, of course frederick's face must be as nearly as possible in the same place as hers!--tableau!--pa (in the background) is evidently making up his mind to see about this! _note._ fred _hasn't a rap!_ illustration: those dreadful boys! =algernon.= "and, dearest, if the devotion of a life----" (_at this moment his hat is knocked over his eyes by a common starfish, or five-fingers (asterias rubens), thrown, with considerable force and precision, by one of those_ infern----_high-spirited little fellows her younger brothers_, tommy _and_ bertie!!!) illustration: profanation. =gent.= "i left a lock of hair here a few days ago to be fitted in a locket, is it--ah--ready?" =artiste.= "very sorry, sir, it has been mislaid. but it's of no consequence, sir--we can easily get it matched, sir."!! illustration: "turn about." =george.= "i say, tom, do take care! you nearly shot my father then!" =tom.= "'sh! don't say anything, there's a good fellow! take a shot at mine!!" illustration: making things pleasant. =irishman= (_to english sportsman_). "is it throuts? be jabers, the watther's stiff wid 'em!!!" "_regardless of strict truth, in his love of hyperbole and generous desire to please," as our friend recorded in his diary after a blank day._ illustration: angling extraordinary. =customer= (_in a great hurry_). "a small box of gentles, please. and look sharp! i want to catch a 'bus'!!" illustration: "happy thought." =mistress= (_who had come down to see about the bass voice she had heard in the kitchen--guardsman discovered!_). "o, you deceitful girl, to say there was nobody here! and after i'd given you distinctly to understand i didn't allow 'followers'; and here, you haven't been here a week----" =cook.= "lauks, m'm, it must be one o' the follerers as the last cook left be'ind 'er!!" illustration: _romance of the kitchen._ =cook= (_from the area_). "o, 'liza, gi' me my winigrette--i've 'ad a--offer--from the dustman!!" illustration: "_compliments of the season._" =comely housemaid.= "o, mr. james, i'm so frightened in the railway! suppose the biler was to bust!" =mr. james.= "then, my dear, you'd be a singin' among the angels in about ten minutes!!" illustration: "ready!" =emily.= "what's capital punishment, mamma?" =master harry.= "why, being locked up in the pantry! _i_ should consider it so!" illustration: dear, dear boy! =george.= "oh! shouldn't i just like to see somebody in that den, aunt!" =serious aunt.= "ye-es. daniel, i suppose, dear?" =george.= "oh no, aunt; i mean 'old twigsby,' our head-master!!" illustration: "brother brush." =ship-painter.= "nice dryin' weather for our business, ain't it, sir?" =amateur= (_disconcerted_). "ya-a-s!"---- _takes a dislike to the place._ illustration: "the compliments of the (sketching) season." =papa.= "there, henry! if you could do like that, i'd have you _taught drawing_, my boy!" illustration: a pleasant prospect. =english tourist.= "i say, look here. how far is it to this glenstarvit? they told us it was only----" =native.= "aboot four miles." =tourist= (_aghast_). "all bog like this?" =native.= "eh--h--this is just naethin' till't!!" illustration: compliments of the season. =squire= (_who interests himself with the moral and material condition of his peasantry_). "hullo, woodruff! what an eye you've got! how did you get that?!" =labourer.= "o, it's nawthin' partic'lar, sir. last night--at the white 'art, sir. but--(_in extenuation_)--chrishmash time, sir--on'y once a year!" illustration: two sides to a question. =squire.= "your name smith?" =smith.= "yessir." =squire.= "ah, i understand you're the man who gives so much trouble to my keepers!" =smith.= "ax yer pardon, squire, your keepers is much more trouble to me!" illustration: suspicion! =stout visitor= (_on discovering that, during his usual nap after luncheon, he has been subjected to a grossly personal practical joke_). "it's one o' those dashed artists that are staying at the 'lord nelson' 'a' done this, i know!" illustration: depression. scene--_the exchange. industrial centre._ =first commercial man= (_dryly_). "mornin'!" =second ditto= (_coldly_). "mornin'!" =first c. m.= (_hopelessly_). "owt?" =second ditto= (_mournfully_). "nowt!" =first c. m.= (_gloomily_). "mornin'!" =second ditto= (_despairingly_). "mornin'!" _they part._ illustration: reductio ad absurdum. =stout party= (_the first time he went for his dividends since his aunt left him that legacy_). "where do you go for these dividend warrants?" =bank beadle.= "what stock, sir?" =stout party.= "well, three per cent. something "----(_the word stuck in his throat_). =bank beadle.= "ah!--(_giving him the information, and saying the word for him_)--_redooced,_ sir!!" _stout party sighs, and exit._ illustration: "the more haste the less speed." =intelligent peasant= (_who has been overlooking our artists with much interest_). "yar mate's a stainin' o' his'n a'ready, sir!" illustration: the point of view. =tomkins= (_he has heard his friend stodge talk so much about that lovely spot wobbleswick, whither he was going sketching, that he was induced to accompany him. a day has elapsed, and he is awaking to the horror of his situation!_) "seems to me an infern----i call it rather a dull place!" =stodge.= "dull, my dear fellow! how can you say so? look at this beautiful, breezy common! and the lines of those old houses on the beach, breaking the horizon, and the colour! and the jolly quiet of the place! none o' your beastly barrel-organs or gaping tourists swarming about! i thought you'd like it!!" illustration: "lucus a non" &c. =visitor.= "how long has your master been away?" =irish footman.= "well, sorr, if he'd come home yistherday, he'd a' been gone a wake to-morrow; but ev he doesn't return the day afther, shure he'll a' been away a fortnight next thorsday!!" illustration: hyperbole. =saxon sportsman.= "any snipe about here, my man?" =pat.= "snipes, is it?! faix, they're ginerally jostlin' 'ach other hereabouts!" illustration: real irish grievance. =irish model= (_requested to put on rather a dilapidated costume_). "the blissed saints dirict me into this coat, sor!" illustration: our inspection. =lieutenant-colonel.= "hullo! confound it! there's a man blowing his nose--and with a pocket-handkerchief, too! tut-t-t-t-t!" illustration: hunting appointments. =scientific colonel.= "are you going to the 'kriegspiel' to-morrow?" =cavalry sub.= (_hunting man_). "augh! 'think not, sir. augh! 'meet the-are, do they? nevar heard of the place! wherwe on earth is i--t?"!! illustration: encouraging! =riding-master= (_to sub. belonging to one of the new mounted batteries_). "well, sir! you're all 'of a heap' on the horse's neck--you've lost your sword and your forage-cap, and you've lost your stirrups--and----you'll lose yourself next!!" illustration: "it's an ill wind" &c. =sporting sub.= "i should like to have my leave as soon as possible, colonel, for i've just heard my father's had a bad fall out hunting." =colonel.= "dear me! i'm sorry to hear that! i hope he's not hurt!" =sporting sub.= "oh, it isn't that!--only i want to have his horse!!" illustration: particular! =adjutant of volunteers= (_to recruit_). "well, sir, and what company do you wish to be in?" =recruit.= "augh! i've been--ah--used to the co'pany of--ah--ge'tlemen, sir!!!!" illustration: the last word. =cabby= (_to stately party, who has given him his legal fare_). "makin' yer fortune, sir, no doubt!" =swell= (_not exactly catching the remark_). "eh?" =cabby.= "you're a layin' by a good bit o' money, sir, i'll be bound!" =swell= (_indignantly_). "what d'you mean, sir?" cabby. "why you don't spend much, seemin'ly!" _drives off in triumph._ illustration: a dilemma. =cabby.= "ere's a go, p'liceman! what am i to do?--i vos ordered to take these 'ere gents as 'a been a dinin' you see, to their 'spectable 'omes, vun vos for 'anover square, another for the halbany, and the tothers elseveres----vell, they vos all carefully sorted ven i started, an' now they've been an' gone an' mixed the'rselves up, an' i don't know vich is vich!!" illustration: too true! =mamma.= "my dear child, where did you get that dreadful scratch on your arm?" =little ada.= "oh, 'ma, it was 'lisbeth's big brass brooch with the green glass in it, that the tall soldier gave her!" illustration: "once for all." =mistress.= "by the way--anna--hannah--i'm not sure. is your name anna, or hannah?" =new cook= (_tartly_). "which my name is anna, mum--haich, ha, hen, hen, ha, haich,--'anna'"---- =mistress= (_giving it up in despair_). "ah! thank you." illustration: up and down stairs. =young mistress= (_at the parlour door_). "eliza, what is that bell ringing for so violently?" =cook= (_below_). "it's on'y me, m'um. i want you down in the kitching a minute!!" illustration: terms--cash. =lady bountiful.= "here, my good man, here's a ticket for the organising charitable relief and repressing mendi----" =professional beggar= (_with a sneer_). "o, thanky for nothink, mum, _hours is a ready money business_!" illustration: gratitude. =fastidious vagrant.= "and they ain't 'alf buttered! i could 'a done as well if i'd gone up the lane to the 'union!'" illustration: music of the future. sensation opera. =manager= (_to his primo tenore, triumphantly_). "my dear fellow, i've brought you the score of the new opera. we've arranged such a scene for you in the third act! o' board of the pirate screw, after the keelhauling scene, you know! heavy rolling sea, eh?--yes, and we can have some real spray pumped on to you from the fire-engine! volumes of smoke from the funnel, close behind your head--in fact, you'll be enveloped as you rush on to the bridge! and then you'll sing that lovely barcarolle through the speaking-trumpet! and mind you hold tight, as the ship blows up just as you come upon your high d in the last bar!!!" illustration: club law. =waiter.= "did you ring, sir?" =member= (_trying to be calm_). "yes. will you wake this gentleman, and say i should be obliged if he'd let me have the _spectator_, if he's not reading it." _old wacklethorpe has been asleep, with the paper firmly clutched, for the last two hours._ illustration: "'high' life below stairs!" =master= (_sniffing_). "there's a most extraordinary smell, james. i've noticed it several----" =hall porter.= "i don't wonder at it, sir. i've spoke about it down-stairs. the butler, sir, you see is ''igh church,' which he 'as fit up a horatory in the pantry, and burns hincense. we could stand that; but the cook is the 'low church' persuasion, and she burns brown paper to hobviate the hincense. it's perfectly hawful on saints' days, sir!!!" illustration: wages and wives. =philanthropic farmer.= "well, tomkins, after this week, instead of paying you partly in cider, i shall give you two shillings extra wages." =tomkins.= "no, thanky', master; that won't do for me!" =farmer.= "why, man, you'll be the gainer; for the cider you had wasn't worth two shillings!" =tomkins. ="ah, but you see i drinks the cider myself; but the ow'd ooman 'll 'ev the two shillun'!!" illustration: pursuit o' knowledge! =first agricultural= (_quite a year after our branch had been opened_). "what be they post-es vur, mas'r sam'l?" =second ditto= (_wag of the village_). "why, to carry the telegraft woires, gearge!" =first ditto.= "what be the woires vur, then?" =second ditto.= "what be the woires fur? why, to hoold up the post-es, sart'n'y, gearge."!!! illustration: a nice prospect! =traveller= (_benighted in the black country_). "not a bedroom disengaged! tut-t-t-t!" =landlady= (_who is evidently in the coal business as well_). "oh, we'll accommodate you somehow, sir, if me and my 'usband gives you up our own bed, sir!" illustration: boon companions! =bargee.= "what! ge-arge!" _rustic grins in response._ =bargee.= "i'm allus main glad to see thee, ge-arge!" =rustic.= "whoy?" =bargee.= "'cause i know there must be a public-'ouse close by!" illustration: bereaved. =first pitman.= "thou hessent been at the toun lately, geordie. hoo's that, man?" =second pitman.= "thou knaws the dog's deed, and aw kennet getten another; an' a chap lecks sa fond witout a dog!" illustration: geology. =scientific pedestrian.= "do you find any fossils here?" =excavator.= "dunno what yuh calls 'vossuls.' we finds nowt here but muck and 'ard work!" illustration: the morning concert. =swell= (_doesn't care for music himself_). "my dear, is this--ah--(_yawns_)--te-dium ovar?"!! illustration: a cool card. =swell= (_handing "sporting life" to clerical party_). "aw--would you--aw--do me the favour to wead the list of the waces to me while we're wunning down?--i've--aw--forgotten my eyeglass. don't mind waising your voice--i'm pwecious deaf!" illustration: "relapse." =squire.= "why, pat, what are you doing, standing by the wall of the public-house? i thought you were a teetotaller!" =pat.= "yes, yer honnor. i'm just listenin' to them impenitent boys drinking inside!" illustration: "_in confidence._" =hungry customer.= "'taint bad." =chef.= "glad you like it; for, to tell yer the truth, a'though i've been a makin' o' this soup for fifteen year, i ain't never tasted it myself!!" illustration: "_the struggle for existence._" =darwinian coster= (_to thrifty housewife_). "well, fish is dear, mum; you see it's a-gettin' wery sca'ce in consekence o' these 'ere aqueriuns!" illustration: _a satisfactory character._ mrs. brisket (_about the squire's new bride_). "oh, yes, mum, she come in 'ere yesterday, mum. bless yer! a puffect lady. mum! don't know one j'int o' meat from another, mum!!" illustration: _hard up on a wet day._ =richard.= "what are you ringing for, bob?" =robert.= "the beef!" =richard.= "you're never going to eat beef again, bob, are you? why it isn't half-an-hour since breakfast!" =robert.= "well, i'm not exactly hungry, but one must do something!" illustration: _incombinable elements._ =first medical student.= "what are you sighing for, jack?" second ditto. "ugh! i was thinking of that infernal chemistry cram to-morrow, and what a deuced pretty girl i saw in gower street just now!!" illustration: a desperate case! =first driver.= "how's poor bob?" =second driver.= "oh, he's a good deal better--takes his _lotions_ more reg'lar----" =first driver= (_reassured_). "ah!" illustration: "bon voyage!" =bus-conductor= (_to portly female, who was indignant at having been carried a little beyond her destination_). "well, there y'are, mum, fust to yer left. y'aint got so very far to go, and the _wind's at yer back_!!" illustration: _personal!_ =driver= (_impatient_). "now then, bill!" =conductor.= "o, look alive, please, m'm! (_to the driver._) can't help it! all in the 'antique' line this mornin'! 'ere's three more on 'em!" _"'antique,' indeed! odious wretch!" thought one of the parties alluded to._ illustration: "_the conscience clause_" =rector's wife.= "and what's your father, my boy?" =boy.= "my father's a 'hagitator,' an' he says he won't have me learnt no catechism, 'r else you'll all of yer ear ov it!" illustration: _education._ =squire.= "hobson, they tell me you've taken your boy away from the national school. what's that for?" =villager.= "'cause the master ain't fit to teach un!" =squire.= "o, i've heard he's a very good master." =villager.= "well, all i knows is, he wanted to teach my boy to spell 'taters' with a 'p'!!!" illustration: "exempli gratia." =ancient mariner= (_to credulous yachtsman_). "a'miral lord nelson! bless yer, i knowed him; served under him. many's the time i've as'ed him for a bit o' 'bacco, as i might be a astin' o' you; and says he, 'well, i 'ain't got no 'bacco,' jest as you might say to me; 'but here's a shillin' for yer,' says he"!! illustration: dignity. =shipping clerk.= "are you the mate o' the '_maggie lauder_,' of stonehaven?" =mate= (_sternly_). "ask if i'm the fir-r-r-st officer, young man, an' maybe i'll gie ye an answer!" illustration: _a woman-hater._ =spiteful old party= (_who is tarring the stays of the flagstaff_). "striped gownds seem all the 'go' with 'em, eh? (_chuckles._) i'll stripe 'em! put a extra streak o' ile in, o' purpose--won't dry for a month! come lollopin' about here with their crin'lynes an' tr'ines, they must take the consekenses!!" illustration: _when you are about it._ =magister familias= (_parting with his butler_). "here is the letter, flanagan. i can conscientiously say you are honest and attentive, but i should have to stretch a point if i were to say you are sober." =mr. flanagan.= "thank you, sor. but when you _are_ afther sthritchin' a point, sor, wouldn't you, plase, sthritch it a little further, and say i'm _aften_ sober!!" illustration: _sympathy._ =epicurus.= "pah! o, good gracious, mivins, that last oyster was--ugh!" =butler= (_with feeling_). "t-t-t-t--dear me! corked, sir?!!" illustration: _the run of the house._ =first flunkey.= "won't you come in, john, and take something?" =second ditto.= "thanks, no; i'll look you up next week. 'be on board-wages then, you know!" illustration: "_what next?_" =mistress= (_to new housemaid_). "jane, i'm quite surprised to hear you can't read or write! i'm sure one of my daughters would gladly undertake to teach you----" =maid.= "o, lor', mum, if the young ladies would be so kind as to learn me anything, i should so like to play the pianner."!! illustration: "_the servants._" =cook.= "yes, susan, i'm a writin' to mary hann miggs. she've applied to me for the charicter of my last missus, which she's thinkin' of takin' the sitiwation----" =susan.= "will you give her one?" =cook.= "well, i've said this. (_reads._) 'mrs. perksits presents her compliminks to miss miggs, and begs to inform her that i consider mrs. brown a respek'able young person, and one as knows her dooties; but she can't conshesaly recommend her temper, which i had to part with her on that account.' it's allus best to be candied, you know, susan!" illustration: _quite superfluous._ =stout passenger= (_obstreperously_). "hoy! hoy! hoy!!" =bus-driver.= "all right, sir, we can see yer, sir; we can see yer vith the naked eye, sir!" illustration: "_noblesse oblige._" =stodge= (_in answer to the reproachful look of his cabman_). "well, it's your right fare; you know that as well as i do!" =cabby.= "oh! which i'm well aware o' that, sir! but----("_more in sorrow than in anger_")--an' you a artis', sir!!" _gets another shilling!_ illustration: _the beard movement._ =policeman= (_invidiously_). "it's puffectly hoptional vith us, you know!" (_"the hairs them p'licemen give theirselves," john remarked afterwards, in the servants' hall._) illustration: _too late._ =departing guest.= "but my hat was a bran-new one!" =greengrocer= (_footman for the nonce_). "oh, sir! the second-best 'ats a' been gone 'alf-an-hour ago, sir!" illustration: _music in the midlands._ =intelligent youth of country town.= "ah say, bill, ull that be t' elijah goin' oop i' that big box?!" illustration: _a perfect excuse._ =rector= (_to his keeper_). "'morning, woodgate. didn't i see you at church yesterday?" =keeper= (_apologetically_). "yes, sir. but--i felt i was a doin' wrong all the time, sir!" illustration: "_fahrenheit._" =rector.= "ah, we shall be comfortable this morning, gruffles, i see you've got the temperature up nicely. sixty, i declare!" =clerk.= "yes, sir, i allus hev a trouble to get that thing up. i took and warmed it jest this minute!" illustration: _pleasuring!_ =vicar= (_to old lady, who is returning from a funeral_). "well, martha, i'm afraid you've had a sad afternoon. it has been a long walk, too, for you----" =martha.= "sure-ly, 'tis, sir! ah, sir, 'tain't much pleasure now for me to go to funerals; i be too old and full o' rheumatiz. it was very different when we was young--that 'twer!!" illustration: _awkward!_ flithers spends his christmas at a country house, and the first day, on the ladies leaving the table after dinner, he jumps up, and opens the _wrong door_!! illustration: _he thought he was safe_ =irascible old gentleman.= "buy a comb! what the devil should i buy a comb for! you don't see any hair on my head, do you?" =unlicensed hawker.= "lor' bless yer, sir!--yer don't want no 'air on yer 'ead for a tooth-comb!!" illustration: _hygiene._ =hearty old gentleman= (_to dyspeptic friend_). "doesn't agree with you?! oh, i never let anything of that sort bother me! i always eat what i like, and drink what i like, and finish off with a good stiff glass o' grog at bed-time, and go fast asleep, _an' let 'm fight 't out 'mong 'mselves_!!!" illustration: _considerate criticism._ =rustic= (_to his friend_). "wa--at, tha's better than doin' o' nawth'n'. i s'poos', gearge!!" illustration: "_the finishing touch!_" =farmer= (_who has been most obliging, and taken great interest in the picture_). "good morn'n', sir! but--(_aghast_)--i say, what are you a doin' of, mister?! a p'intin' all them beastly poppies in my corn!--'a bit o' colour?'--what 'ould my landlord say, d' you think?--and after i'd put off cuttin' cause you hadn't finished, to oblige yer, i didn't think you'd a done it! you don't come a p'intin' on my land any more!" _exit, in great dudgeon._ illustration: _À fortiori._ =ticket collector.= "now, then, make haste! where's your ticket?" =bandsman= (_refreshed_). "au've lost it!" =ticket collector.= "nonsense! feel in your pockets. ye cannot hev lost it!" =bandsman.= "aw cannot?! why, man, au've lost the _big drum_!" illustration: "_nae that fou!_" =country gentlemen= (_who thought he'd got such a treasure of a new gardener_). "tut, tut, tut! bless my soul, saunders! how--what's all this? disgracefully intoxicated at this hour of the morning! ain't you ashamed of yourself?!" =saunders.= "'sh-hamed? (_hic._) na, na, 'm nae sae drunk as that comes t'! ah ken varra weel what a'm aboot!!" illustration: hibernian veracity. =paterfamilias= (_with his family in ireland_). "have you any west india pickles, waiter?" =paddy.= "we've not, sor." =paterfamilias.= "no hot pickles of any description?" =paddy.= "no; shure they're all could, sor." illustration: quite another thing. =paddy= (_the loser_). "abram, g'along! i said i'd lay you foive to wan, but i wasn't goin' to bet my ha'f-crown agin your tath'rin little sixpence!" _exeunt fighting._ illustration: a fair offer. =athletic barman.= "now, if you don't take yourself off, i'll precious soon turn you out!" =pat= (_with a yell_). "tur-r-rn me out? is it tur-r-rn me out? thin, bedad! come outside, an' tur-r-rn me out!!" illustration: "the way we live now." =swell coachman= (_with his eye on the brougham's cockade_). "your guv'ner in the army?" =brougham= (_artlessly_). "not 'zactly in the harmy. but missis say as they sold milingtary cur'osities when they kep' a shop in 'olborn!!" illustration: re-assuring. =nervous old lady= (_band in the distance_). "oh, there are those dreadful volunteers, joseph! i know the horse will take fright! hadn't you better turn him round?!" =coachman= (_who will have his own way_). "oh, let 'im alone, 'm; he'll turn 'isself round, and pretty quick, too, if he's frightened!!" illustration: well meant. =shoeblack= (_to daily customer_). "such a treat we've got to-night, sir! tea an' buns, an' speeches at exeter 'all! wouldn't you like to go, sir?" =city magnate.= "oh, they wouldn't let me in, my boy." =shoeblack.= "um!" (_ponders._) "well--look 'ere. i think i could smug yer in as my _father_!!" illustration: nature and art. =pedestrian.= "that's an extraordinary looking dog, my boy. what do you call him?" =boy.= "fust of all he wer' a grey'ound, sir, an' 'is name was 'fly,' as' then they cut 'is ears an' tail off, an' made a masti' dog on 'im, an' now 'is name's 'lion'!" illustration: natural advantages. =teacher.= "what bird did noah send out of the ark?" =smallest boy in the class= (_after a pause_). "a dove, sir." =teacher.= "very well. but i should have thought some of you big boys would have known that!" =tall pupil.= "please, sir, that boy ought to know, sir, 'cause his father's a bird-ketcher, sir!!!" illustration: the restraints of society. =juvenile bohemian.= "hate goin' out to tea! 'have to be good such a precious long time!!" illustration: simple addition. =new governess.= "why are you staring so intently, blanche, dear?" =blanche.= "i was trying to count the freckles on your face, miss sandypole, but i can't!" illustration: secrets. =intelligent housemaid.= "oh, please, miss, there was a young gentleman called when you was out. he didn't leave no card, miss; but i can show you who he is, 'cause there's three of his photygraphs in your album." illustration: "a parthian shaft." =cook.= "now, i'm a leavin' of yer, m'um, i may as well tell yer as the key o' the kitching-door fits your store-room!" illustration: sweet simplicity. =visitor.= "jane, has your mistress got a boot-jack?" =maid-of-all-work.= "no, sir; please, sir, i clean all the boots, sir!" illustration: master of the situation?! scene--_mr. tethershort's sanctum._ enter _mrs. t. and her cook._ =cook= (_with her usual promptitude--she never kept anybody waiting_). "oh, if you please, sir, i wish to complain of missis! which she come a dictaterin' and a hinterferin' in your kitching in a way as i'm sure you wouldn't approve on," &c., &c., &c.!! _t. confesses he felt (for the first and last time) a delicious sensation of being apparently master in his own house. she was an admirable cook, and altogether a most excell---- but however she had to go_! illustration: manners! =young mistress.= "jane, i'm surprised that none of you stood up when i went into the kitchen just now!" =jane.= "indeed, mum! which we was su'prised ourselves at your a comin' into the kitching while we was a 'avin' our _luncheons_!!" illustration: a regular turk! =adjutant.= "well, sergeant, how's your prisoner getting on?" =sergeant of the guard.= "bedad, sor, he's the vi'lentest blaggyard i iver had to do wid! we're all in tirror iv our loives! shure we're obliged to feed him wid fixed bay'nits!" illustration: "incidit in scyllam," &c. =ensign muffles= (_alluding to his moustache_). "you see, some say, 'wear it,' you know; and some say, 'cut it off,' you know; but if i took everybody's advice i should be like the old man and his donkey." =sergeant o'rourke.= "your'r hon'rr would--(but not wishing to be personal about his officer's age) that is--laste-ways,--barrin the ould man, your hon-r-r-r!!!" illustration: what h. m. civil servants have to endure. (besides the ridiculously low salaries.) =mr. registrar.= "what's the number of your deed, sir?" =attorney's clerk.= "h-eight, h-ought h-eight, h-ought, sevin, sir!" =mr. registrar= (_faintly_). "oh dear! oh dear!--(notes down the number)--that will do." _and is so upset that he takes a month's holiday on the spot._ illustration: curious. =english tourist= (_in ireland_). "tell me, waiter, at what hour does the first train leave for clonmel?" =waiter.= "is it the furrst thrain, sor? i'm not rightly shure. the noine thrain up used to lave at ha'f-past noine--but faix it goes at tin now, and there's no furrst thrain now at all at all. but i'll ax at the bar, sorr!!" illustration: anything for a change. =artist= (_to old fellow-student_). "and what have you been doing all these years,--what are you painting?" =swell.= "oh, i gave up painting, my dear fellow--then i took to teaching! but you can't find pupils in genius, you know, so now i go in for art criticism! i know i'm strong in that! did you see my article in this week's 'now a days?'" illustration: appearances. =plushington.= "i say, stodge, singular thing--your landlady addressed me 'my lord' when i asked if you were within!" =artist.= "not at all, my dear fellow. it's your hat and personal appearance! if you don't mind, we'll encourage the idea. it will give her confidence in me, and----eh?" _plushington will be delighted._ illustration: from one point of view. scene--_british jury room. all agreed on their verdict except_---- =irish juryman= (_who holds out_). "ah, thin, iliv'n more obstinit' men i nivir met in all me loife!!" illustration: our art-school conversazione at which (in consequence of the increased space anticipated at the r. a. exhibition) there is a greater crowd than usual. =model= (_who has charge of the hats and coats_). "no. ? yessir. there now! if i didn't see that 'at--ah--not a quarter of an hour ago!!" _not a very satisfactory look-out for bouncefield, who has barely time to catch his last train!_ illustration: between two shoeblacks we fall to, &c. =first shoeblack.= "i cotched 'old on 'im fust!" =second ditto.= "you're a ----!" _old gentleman is flung heavily._ illustration: im-pertinent. =stout gent.= (_naturally suspicious of the street boy_). "ge' out o' my way, you young rascal!" =street boy.= "vich vay round, gov'nour?" illustration: register! register!! =aunt sophy.= "now suppose, george, as a single woman i should have my name put on the register, what should i get by it?" =pet nephew.= "oh, a good deal. you'd be allowed to serve on coroner juries, common juries, annoyance juries, pay powder tax and armorial bearings, act as parish beadle and night constable of the casual ward, and inspector of nuisances, report on fever districts, and all jolly things of that sort." illustration: "not proven." =presbyterian minister.= "don't you know it's wicked to catch fish on the sawbath!?" =small boy= (_not having had a rise all the morning_). "wha's catchin' fesh?!" illustration: an evening's fishing (behind the distillery at sligo). =first factory lad.= "dom'nick, did you get e'er a bite at all?" =second ditto.= "sorra wan, pat. only wan small wan!" =first ditto.= "yerrad! lave it there, an' come home. shure you'll get more than that in bed!" illustration: "the harp in the air." =irish gentleman= (_who has vainly endeavoured to execute a jig to the fitful music of the telegraph wires_). "shure! whoiver y'are ye can't play a bit! how can a jintleman dance--(_hic!_)--iv ye don't kape thime?"!! illustration: irish ideal of themis. =biddy= (_to pat in charge about a difficulty_). "never fear, pat! shure y'ave got an upright jidge to thry ye!" =pat.= "ah, biddy darlin', the divel an upright jidge i want! 'tis wone that'll _lane_ a little!!" illustration: "canny." =first north briton.= "'t's a fine day, this?" =second ditto.= "no ill, ava." =first north briton.= "ye'll be travellin'?" =second ditto.= "weel, maybe i'm no." =first north briton.= "gaun t'aberdeen, maybe?" =second ditto.= "ye're no faur aff't!!" _mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way._ illustration: _irish architecture._ =angler= (_in ireland_). "hullo, pat, what are you about now?" =pat.= "shure, i'm raisin' me roof a bit, yer honour-r!!" illustration: _thrift_. =peebles body= (_to townsman who was supposed to be in london on a visit_). "e--eh, mac! ye're sune hame again!" =mac.= "e--eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! mun, a had na' been the-erre abune twa hoours when--_bang_--went _saxpence_!!!" illustration: _scruples._ =english tourist= (_having arrived at greenock on sunday morning_). "my man, what's your charge for rowing me across the frith?" =boatman.= "weel, sir, i was jist thinkin' i canna break the sawbath-day for no less than f'fteen shull'n's!!" illustration: a bad season. =sportsman.= "i can assure you, what with the rent of the moor, and my expenses, and 'what not,' the birds have cost me--ah--a sovereign apiece!!" =keeper.= "a' weel, sir! 'deed it's a maircy ye didna kill na mair o' 'em!!" illustration: "familiarity breeds contempt." =keeper= (_who wants to drive the pheasants to the squire's corner_). "hooo-o-o-sh! here, bill, come here! they 'on't get up for me! they know me too well!" illustration: intelligent! =artist= (_who thinks he has found a good model for his touchstone_.) "have you any sense of humour, mr. bingles?" =model.= "thank y' sir, no, sir, thank y'. i enj'ys pretty good 'ealth, sir, thank y' sir!" illustration: the "nimble ninepence." =city gent= (_after a critical inspection_). "what do you want for that moonlight?" =picture-dealer.= "i'll shell yer the two a bargain, shir! cheap ash dirt, shir! sheventy-five guineash apeicshe, shir! i'll warrant 'em undoubted smethers's. sheventy-five----" =city gent.= "o, come, i don't mind giving you--thirty shillings for the pair." =picture-dealer= (_closing with alacrity_). "done! with you, shir!!" _city gent is in for 'em!_ illustration: menace. =little angler= (_to her refractory bait_). "keep still, you tiresome little thing! if you don't leave off skriggling, i'll throw you away, and take another!" illustration: "a thing of beauty." =visitor.= "well, george, and what do you mean to be, when you have grown up?" =george= (_promptly_). "an artist!" =visitor.= "well, then, you shall paint my portrait." =george.= "ah! but i mean to paint pretty things!!" illustration: mixed pickles. =domestic= (_in terrified accents_). "o, mum, here's master plantag'n't, 'm, has been and broke his gran'pa's ink-bottle in the lib'ary, and cut his finger dreadful, 'm!!" =grandmamma's darling= (_gleefully alluding to his nasal organ_). "and got a marble up by doze, gra'dba'!!" illustration: the trials of a district visitor. =the honourable miss fuzbuz= (_loq._). "is mrs. higgins within?" =mrs. tomkins.= "i'll call 'er, m'um." (_at the top of her voice._) "mrs. 'ig----gins! ere's the person with the trac's!" (_to the honourable miss._) "the lady will be down presently, m'um!!" illustration: legitimate criticism. =aged village matron= (_to sympathising visitor_). "it's a 'cookery book,' as mrs. penewise, our 'district lady,' give me this christmas, miss. i'd a deal sooner a' had the ingriddiments, miss!!" illustration: "the servants." =old lady.= "they're all alike, my dear. there's our susan (it's true she's a dissenter), but i've allowed her to go to chapel three times every sunday since she has lived with me, and i assure you she doesn't cook a bit better than she did the first day!!" illustration: pleasant for simpkins! =photographer= (_to mr. simpkins_). "keep your head steady, please, sir, and look in the direction of those young ladies. steady now, sir! don't wink, sir!" =mrs. s.= (_by a look that mr. s. quite understood_). "just let me see him wink!!" illustration: a misnomer. =country valetudinarian.= "ah yes, mu'm, i've had the 'lumbager turr'ble bad, mu'm! 'ketches me in the _small_ o' the back 'ere, mu'm!!" illustration: "winkles!" =philanthropic coster'= (_who has been crying "perry-wink--wink--wink!" till he's hoarse--and no buyers_). "i wonder what the p'or unfort'nate creeters in these 'ere low neighb'r'oods do live on!!" illustration: "the last (co-operative) feather." '=my lady.=' "just take and tie up a couple of those sacks behind the carriage, james. there'll be room, if one of you rides on the box!!" illustration: disaffection! =adjutant.= "what's the matter, drum-major?" =drum-major.= "please, sir, the drums is in a state of mutiny, and these are the ringleaders!!" illustration: zoology. =railway porter= (_to old lady travelling with a menagerie of pets_). "'station master say, mum, as cats is 'dogs,' and rabbits is 'dogs,' and so's parrots; but this ere 'tortis' is a insect, so there ain't no charge for it!" illustration: extortion. =porter, s. e. r.= "ticket for musical instrument, please, sir." =amateur violoncellist= (_who never travels without his bass, indignantly_). "what! pay for this? i've never had to pay on any other line. this is my 'cello!" =porter= (_calmly_). "not personal luggage, sir. all the same if you'd a hurdy-gurdy, sir!!" _our amateur's feelings are too much for him._ illustration: "any ornaments for your fire-stoves?" =little flora= (_in great distress_). "oh, mamma, look here! jack says it's aunt fanny! she's got on her beautiful ball-dress with the roses on it, and she's _stuck in the chimney_!" illustration: compliments of the season. =fond parent.= "i hope you will be very careful, mr. stimpson. i have always been accustomed to cut their hair myself." =mr. stimpson.= "so i should have thought, madam!" illustration: on the face of it. =pretty teacher.= "now, johnny wells, can you tell me what is meant by a miracle?" =johnny.= "yes, teacher. mother says if you dun't marry new parson, 'twull be a murracle!" illustration: obvious initiative. (_a lively native of the deep sea seizes hold of a shepherd's dog by the tail, who makes off as fast as he can._) =fishmonger= (_in a rage_). "whustle on yer dog, mun!" =highlander= (_coolly_). "whustle on m' dog? na, na, friend! whustle you on your _partan_!!" illustration: driving a bargain. =economical drover.= "a teeck't tae faa'kirk." =polite clerk.= "five-and-ninepence, please." =drover.= "ah'll gie ye five shillings!" =clerk= (_astonished_). "eh!" =drover=. "weel, ah'll gie ye five-an'-thrippence, an' deil a bawbee mair! is't a bargain?!" illustration: candid. =tam= (_very dry, at door of country inn, sunday morning_). "aye, man, ye micht gie me a bit gill oot in a bottle!" =landlord= (_from within_). "weel, ye ken, tammas, i daurna sell onything the day. and forbye ye got a half-mutchkin awa' wi' ye last nicht (after hoors tae); it canna be a' dune yet!" =tam.= "dune! losh, man, d'ye think a' could sleep an' whuskey i' the hoose?!" illustration: an irish model. =mrs. magillicuddy= (_to her daughter_). "why, why, roseen! what's been delayin' ye? why! and me waitin' this hour past to come in wid the milk!" =rose.= "o, sure, thin, mother dear, on me way back from the meada' i met such a darlin' english jintleman--a rale artist. why, and he axed me to allow him to take me landskip; and o, mother mavrone, it's a wonder how like me he's med it, glory be to the saints!" illustration: a benediction! =irish beggarwoman= (_to our friend, dr. o'gorman, whose nose is of the shortest_). "won't ye give me a copper, docther dear? they, now, if ye haven't wan penny convanient!--and may the blissed saints incrase ye!" =dr. o'gorman.= "stand aside, my good woman. i've nothing for you." =beggarwoman.= "o, thin, the lard presarve yer eyesight, for the divil a nose ye have to mount the 'specs' upon!!" illustration: mrs. frummage's birthday dinner-party. =mrs. f.= ("_coming from behind the screen, sneakin' just like her_"). "there! oh you goodfornothing boy, now i've found you out. how dare you touch the wine, sir?" =robert.= "please 'm, i was--i was only just a goin' to wish yours an' master's wery good 'ealth 'm!" illustration: confession. =old lady= (_who can't stand her page's destructive carelessness any longer_). "now, robert, i want you clearly to understand the reason i part with you. can you tell me?" =robert= (_affected to tears_). "yes, 'm." =old lady.= "what, robert?" =robert.= "'cause i'm--(_sniff_)--'cause i'm--'cause i'm _so ugly_!!" illustration: a stroke of business. =village hampden= (_"who with dauntless breast" has undertaken, for sixpence, to keep off the other boys_). "if any of yer wants to see what we're a paintin' of, it's a 'alfpenny a 'ead, but you marn't make no remarks." illustration: proper reproof. =fussy party.= "why don't you touch your hat to me, boy?" =country boy.= "so i wul i' yeaou'll howd the ca-alf!" illustration: little and good. =gentleman.= "who do these pigs belong to, boy?" '=chaw.=' "why, this 'ere owd zow." =gentleman.= "yes, yes; but i mean who's their master?" '=chaw.=' "why, that there little 'un; he's a varmun to foight!" illustration: "mistakes will happen." =mamma= (_alarmed_). "what is it, my darling?" =pet.= "ya--ah, boo--ooh--ah!" =mamma.= "what's the matter, then? come and tell its own----" =pet.= "ba--h-oo-h--she--she did--wash me once--an'--says--she didn't--an'--she's been--an' gone an' washed me over again!!" illustration: brushing pa's new hat. =edith.= "now, tommy, you keep turning slowly, till we've done it all round." illustration: more than one for his nob. =irritable old gentleman= (_who is rather particular about his appearance_). "i wish you'd be careful. that's the third or fourth time you've pricked me with your scissors!" =young man= (_from "round the corner"_). "beg yer pardon, sir, but the fact is, sir, i 'aven't been in the 'abit o' cuttin' 'air, sir. we're rather short of 'ands, so----" _old gent explodes._ illustration: a passage of arms. =hairdresser.= "'air's very dry, sir!" =customer= (_who knows what's coming_). "i like it dry!" =hairdresser= (_after awhile, again advancing to the attack_). "'ead's very scurfy, sir!" =customer= (_still cautiously retiring_). "ya-as, i prefer it scurfy!" _assailant gives in defeated_ illustration: flunkeianum. =master.= "thompson, i believe that i have repeatedly expressed an objection to being served with stale bread at dinner. how is it my wishes have not been attended to?" =thompson.= "well, sir, i reely don't know what is to be done! it won't do to waste it, and we _can't_ eat it down-stairs!!" illustration: _a dilemma._ =auxiliary recruit= (_to himself_). "murder! murder! what'll i do now? 'drill-sarjint tould me always to salute me officer wid the far-off hand, and here's two iv em! faix, i'll make it straight for meself anyhow!" _throws up both hands._ illustration: _lessons in the vacation._ =public school-man.= "he-ar, cabby, we'll give you eighteen-pence to take us to brixton." =cabby.= "well, i generally do carry children 'alf price, but i'm engaged this morning, gents!" illustration: wimbledon. =the irrepressible 'arry= (_to swell--small-bore man--who has just fired_). "ya--ah! never 'it it!!" illustration: wimbledon. =volunteer mounted officer= (_midnight_). "hullo here! why don't you turn out the guard? i'm the field-officer of the day!" =volunteer sentry.= "then what the deuce are you doin' out this time o' night?" illustration: a hardship. =mistress.= "i think, elizabeth, i must ask you to go to church this afternoon instead of this morning, because----" =elizabeth= (_indignantly_). "well, mum, which in my last place i was never as'ed to go an' 'ear a curate preach!" illustration: "like her impudence." =missis and the young ladies= (_together_). "goodness gracious, j'mima! what have you----_where's_ your cr'n'lin?" (_this word snappishly._) =jemima.= "oh 'm, please 'm, which i understood as they was a goin' out, 'm----" _receives warning on the spot._ illustration: "too bad!" =comic man= (_in an audible whisper, while his friend is "obliging" with "adelaide"_). "look out! he's coming to the passionate part now. you'll see him wag his shoulders!" illustration: "it's the pace that kills." =miss rattleton= (_who means waltzing_). "oh, i did not say 'stop,' mr. plumpley." =mr. plumpley= (_utterly blown, in gasps_). "'msure you--mustbetired----" _and joins the card-players._ illustration: the gamut. =jack bowbell= (_beginning his song_). "'appy land, 'appy land----" =tom belgrave.= "one moment--excuse me, my dear fellow--but don't you think the song would go better if you were to sound your _h_'s just a little?" =jack bowbell.= "eh? sound my _h_'s?" (_chuckles._) "shows how much you know about music!--no such note--only goes up to _g_!" (_continues._) "'appy land, 'appy land----" illustration: _garrison instruction._ =instructor= (_lecturing_). "gentlemen, a three-legged trestle is a trestle with three legs. you had better make a note of that, gentlemen." (_intense scribbling._) =general in embryo= (_but not at present noted for smartness_), _after a pause of some minutes_. "i beg your pardon, major, but how many legs did you say the trestle had?" (_left sitting._) illustration: cavalry criticism. =adjutant= (_to riding-master_). "ah, there's mr. quickstep!" (_who had just exchanged into the regiment from the infantry_.) "how does he get on?" =riding-master=. "well, sir, i think he's the hossiest gen'leman afut--and the futtiest gen'leman on a hos that ever i've met with since i've been in the reg'ment!" illustration: "_the way we had in the army._" =colonel= (_of the pre-examination period--to studious sub_). "i say, youngster, you'll never make a soldier if you don't mind what you're about!" =sub= (_mildly_). "i should be sorry to think that, sir!" =colonel.= "i saw you sneaking up the high street yesterday, looking like a methodist parson in reduced circumstances!--hold up your head, sir! buy a stick, sir! slap your leg, sir! and stare at the girls at the windows!" illustration: "an officer and a gentleman!" =volunteer captain= (_bumptiously_). "officer's ticket!" =considerate clerk=. "gover'ment tariff's high on this line, sir. you'd better go as a gentleman! cheaper!" _the captain is shocked, loses his presence of mind, and takes advantage of the suggestion_. illustration: "the service going to, &c.!" ensign brown shares a tent at wimbledon with his friend jones, private in the same company. =ensign brown=. "oh, i say, jo--mr. jones, there's one of those pegs loose. hem--will you--i wish--just jump out, and make it fast!" =private jones=. "oh, hang it, br--mr. brown! come, i don't mind tossing you!!" illustration: presence of mind. =constables= (_in chorus_). "hoy! hullo! stop! turn back there! can't come through the park!" =elderly female= (_in a hurry to catch a train_). "p'liceman, i'm the _'ome secretary_!!!" =sergeant of police= (_taken aback_). "oh, i beg your pardon, i'm sure, mum! all right--drive on, cabby!" _old lady saves the train._ illustration: "bric à brac." =mamma= } { {sam!" }_together_ {"goodness, gracious, { =daughters=} { {pa'!" =papa= (_who has a passion for antiques_). "my dears, i thought it would do so nicely for the landing at the top of the stairs, eh." illustration: encouraging. =first bystander= (_evidently village schoolmaster--ignorant set of people generally!_). "don't seem to be making much of it, do 'e?" =second bystander= (_you'd have thought him an intelligent farmer, by the look of him_). "ammy-toor, seemin'ly!!" illustration: "fine art." =rural connoisseur.= "he's a p'intin' two pictur's at once, d' yer see? 'blest if i don't like that there little 'un as he's got his thumb through, the best!" illustration: _our reserves._ (auxiliary forces, north of ireland.) =last joined supernumerary.= "now, then, sentry, why don't you salute your officer?" =militia sentry= (_old yankee irish veteran, who has been through the "secesh" war_). "salute, is it? divel a salute you'll get ontill ye pay yer futtin'!!" illustration: _badinage._ =facetious 'bus-driver= (_offering to pull up_). "'ere y'are, sir. look sharp, bill and 'elp the gen'leman in with his luggage!" =chimney-sweep= (_whose self-respect is hurt_) _uses strong language!_ ='bus-driver.= "beg pard'n, sir. gen'leman ain't for us, bill. he's a lookin' out for a 'hatlas. goin' to madam toosawd's, to 'ave his statty done in wax-work!!" illustration: _particular to a hair._ =irate major= (_to hairy sub._). "when next you come on parade, sir, have the goodness to leave those confounded weathercocks behind you!" illustration: _chronology._ ='bus-driver.= "they tell me there've been some coins found in these 'ere 'exkyvations that 'a been buried there a matter o' four or five 'undred year!!" =passenger friend.= "oh, that's nothin'! why, there's some in the bri'sh museum--ah--more than two thousand year old!!" ='bus-driver= (_after a pause_). "come, george, that won't do, yer know! 'cause we're only in eight'n 'undred an' sixty-nine now!!!" illustration: "_bus-measure._" ='bus-driver.= "never see the comet?! why, wherever could you 'a'----" (_notices shortness of "ge'tleman's" hair, &c., and hesitates_). "howsomever----" =passenger= (_relieving his embarrassment_). "whereabouts was it?" =driver.= "well, i'll tell yer. it was about the length o' this yere bus from the forrardest leader in the great bear!" illustration: tricks upon travellers. =bonsor= (_down upon little stannery, who's a great boaster about his "swell" acquaintance, and his extensive "travel," and this year especially, down palestine way_). "did you see the dardanelles?" =stannery.= "eh! the--eh? oh, ye'--yes! jolly fellars as ever i met! dined with 'em at viennah!" _little s. has left the club._ illustration: quantity not quality. =brown, senior.= "well, fred, what did you see during your trip abroad?" =brown, junior.= "aw--'pon m'word, 'don't know what i saw 'xactly, 'only know i did more by three countries, eight towns, and four mountains, than smith did in the same time!" illustration: "a woman of business." =husband= (_who has been on the continent, and left his wife some blank cheques_). "my dear louisa, i find you have considerably overdrawn at the bank!" =wife.= "o, nonsense, willy, how can that be? why, i've two of those blank cheques left yet!!" illustration: "reason in woman." =young wife.= "george, dear, i've had a talk with the servants this morning, and i've agreed to raise their wages. they said everything was so dear now--meat was so high, and coals had risen to such a price, and everything----i thought this was reasonable, because i've so often heard you complain of the same thing." illustration: "our failures." =husband.= "i say, lizzie, what on earth did you make this mint-sauce of?" =young wife= (_who has been "helping" cook_). "parsley, to be sure!" illustration: "_where there's a will there's a way!_" =cook.= "please, 'm, i wishes to give warning----" =mistress= (_surprised_). "why, what's the matter?" =cook.= "the fact is, mum, i'm going to get married!" =mistress.= "why, cook, i did not know you were engaged!" =cook.= "which i ham not azactly engaged as yet, mum; but i feels myself to be of that 'appy disposition as i could love hany man, mum!" illustration: "_satisfactory!_" =mistress.= "well, jessie, i'm going into nairne, and will see your mother. can i give her any message from you?" =jessie= (_her first "place"_). "ou, mem, ye can just say i'm unco' weel pleased wi' ye!!" illustration: "_ha! ha! the wooin' o't!_" =young mistress= (_gravely; she had seen an affectionate parting at the garden-gate_). "i see you've got a young man, jane!" =jane= (_apologetically_). "only walked out with him once, m'um!" =mistress.= "o, but i thought i saw--didn't you--didn't he--take a kiss, jane?" =jane.= "o, m'm, only as a friend, m'm!!" illustration: "_the way we build now._" =indignant houseowner= (_he had heard it was so much cheaper, in the end, to buy your house_). "wh' what's the--what am i!--wha'--what do you suppose is the meaning of this, mr. scampling!?" =local builder.= "t' tut, tut! well, sir, i 'spects some one's been a-leanin' agin it!!" illustration: "in the long run." =town gent.= "now do you find keeping poultry answers?" =country gent= (_lately retired_). "o, 'es, s'posed to answer. y' see there's the original cost of the fowls--'f course the food goes down to me, y' know. well, then, i purchase the eggs from the children, and they eat them!!!" illustration: rather too literal. =country gentleman= (_in a rage_). "why, what have you been up to, you idiot! you've let him down, and----" =new groom.= "yes, yer honner, ye tould me to break him; an' bruk he is, knees an' all, worse luck!" illustration: "bon voyage!" =mossu= (_shot into a nice soft loam_) _exultingly_. "a--ha--a! i am safe o-vÈre! now it is your turn, meester timbre jompre! come on, sabe!" illustration: "fiat experimentum," &c. =the rector.= "good morning, mrs. smithers. how's the baby? isn't it rather early to bring him to church? don't you think he'll be restless?" =mrs. smithers.= "o, no, sir, he'll be quiet, sir, which we took him to the methodis' chapel last sunday o' purpose to try him, sir!" illustration: irreverent. =policeman= (_on the occasion of our "confirmation"_). "stop! stop! go back! you mustn't come in here! we're expectin' o' the bishop every minute!" =cabby= (_fortissimo_). "all right! why've got the old buffer inside!" illustration: wet and dry. =careful wife.= "are you very wet, dear?" =ardent angler= (_turning up his flask_). "no; dry as a lime-kiln--haven't had a drop these two hours!" illustration: "_not so fast!_" =old gent.= (_soliloquising, in the wilds of glenmuchie_). "ah, well, this is very jolly! wealth's a great blessing--not that i'm a rich man--but after the turmoil and worry of business, to be able to retire to these charming solitudes, the silence only broken by the grateful sounds of the rippling stream ('burn,' i mean. ah! i nearly had him then!), and the hum of the bee! to be able to leave london and its tiresome millions, and forget all the low----" =voice from the bridge= (_the ubiquitous "'arry"_). "could yer 'blige us with a worm, gov'nour?"!! illustration: banting in the yeomanry. =troop-sergeant major.= "it comes to this, captain, 'a mun e'ther hev' a new jacket or knock off one o' my meals!" illustration: something from the provinces. =excursionist= (_politely_). "can you kindly direct me the nearest way to slagley?" =powerful navvy.= "ah can poonch th' head o' thee!" _excursionist retires hastily._ illustration: "ways and means." =first country gentleman.= "'mean hunting this winter, charlie?" =second country gentleman= (_doubtfully_). "'shall try and 'work' it." =first country gentleman.= "how?" =second country gentleman.= "give up the under-nurse, i think." illustration: blank firing. =ancient sportsman= (_whose sight is not what it used to be_). "pick 'em up, james, pick 'em up! why don't you pick 'em up?" =veteran keeper.= "'cause there bean't any down, my lord!" contents. page adjustment a fortiori alarming alma mater angling extraordinary answer, a soft anything for a change appeal, a final appearances arbiter elegantiarum arcadian amenities archery meeting, the architecture (irish) argumentum ad hominem artful--very! artist, our art-school conversazione, our as well as can be expected awkward! , badinage bagpipes and classical music banting in the yeomanry bargain, driving a barometrical beard movement, the beauty, a thing of benediction! a bereaved between two shoeblacks we fall, &c. bird show, the birthday dinner-party, mrs. frummage's blank firing bon voyage! , boon companions boxing-day boys, those dreadful breaking the ice , bric à brac brother brush brushing pa's new hat business! " a stroke of bus-measure by the card candid canny , casual acquaintance, a catechism under difficulties cavalry criticism chaff change for the better, a , character, a satisfactory chronology circumlocutory! civil servants, h. m., what they have to endure civil service miseries club law colloquial equivalents commissariat, the comparisons compliment, a complimentary compliments of the season , , compliments of the (sketching) season concert, the morning conclusive confederate, a treacherous confession " in confusion confidence, in connoisseur, the connoisseurs, the conscience, a guilty conscience clause, the considerate convalescent, the cool card, a cricket criticism, considerate " legitimate culture for the working classes cure, a perfect curious customer, bad dear, dear boy! decimals on deck definition, a degenerate son, a delicacy delicately put depression desperate case! , dignity , dilemma, a , , dinners, little, how we arrange our disaffection! dish, a new distinction, a distracting district visitor, trials of a durance duty and pleasure education! , embarrassing encouraging! , equal to the situation exchange! excuse, a perfect exempli gratia extenuating circumstances extortion fahrenheit failing, a little failures, our familiarity breeds contempt family man, a family pride family ties feather, the last (co-operative) fiat experimentum fine art finishing touch, the fish, a big fishing, an evening's (behind the distillery at sligo) flattering flunkeianum for better for worse game (a) two can play at gamut, the garrison instruction grandiloquence gratitude grey mare, the gentility in greens geology golden age restored, the habit, force of " a luxurious ha! ha! the wooin' o' it happy thought hard lines hardship, a hard-up on a wet day harp in the air, the heresy he thought he was safe hibernian veracity high life below stairs! hoist with his own pomade hunting appointments hunting idiot hygiene hyperbole ignorance, crass im-pertinent incidit in scyllam, &c. incombinable elements ingenuas didicisse, &c. ingenuity, irish in the long run initiative, obvious inspection, our intelligent! in vino memoria io bacche! irish grievances, real irreverent irrevocable is it pos-sible?! it's an ill wind, &c. it's the pace that kills jeopardy, in just in time knowledge, pursuit of labour, division of lapsus linguæ last word, the le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle lessons in the vacation let well alone! levelling up liberal to a fault like her impudence lingua east anglia little and good look before you leap lucid! lucus a non, &c. luxury, seasonable making things pleasant mal apropos manners! manoeuvres, our , march of refinement master of the situation?! matter! meat supply, the menace men were deceivers ever mens conscia mercies, small, (not) thankful for military manoeuvres mind and matter mine of speculation, a misnomer, a mistakes will happen mistletoe bough, oh the model, an irish more than one for his nob m. p., a pledged music in the midlands music of the future--sensation opera mystery solved, the mystification nae that fou! narcotic, a natural advantages nature and art never say 'die' nimble ninepence, the no accounting for taste noblesse oblige! no mistake, this time no such luck not proven not so fast! not to put too fine a point on it obliging off! offender, an old offer, a fair officer (an) and a gentleman! once for all on the face of it order, an extensive ornaments for your fire-stoves panic in the kitchen, a parthian shaft, a particular! , " to a hair partner, vivifying treatment of a passage of arms, a penny wise perils of the deep personal! perspective! pet, intelligent pickles, mixed pic-nic, the pink of fashion, the plain to demonstration pleasant for simpkins! pleasuring! plutocrat, a point of view, a point of view, from one poor humanity! precise presence of mind prevention's better than cure profanation proof positive prospect, a pleasant , prospect, a nice provinces, something from the prudence, common pulpit-critics, stern qualifications quantity, not quality quite another thing quite superfluous races not yet extinct rather too literal ready! reason in woman reassuring , reductio ad absurdum refrigerated tourists refusal, a rash register! register! relapse reminiscences reproof, proper res angustæ domi reserves, our--the battle of amesbury " auxiliary forces, north of ireland restraints of society retributive justice revenge for the union, more riding lesson, the roll-call, the romance of the kitchen run of the house, the running drill, the new rural simplicity rustic recollections sacrifice satisfactory! sausage machine, the scruples scrupulous season, a bad secrets selling him a pennyworth sermon, the first servants, the , , , service (the) going to, &c. shocking! silence is golden silly suffolk (?) pastorals--reciprocity silver lining to a cloud, not a simple addition simplicity, sweet sinister slip, a slip o' the tongue, a small mercies sold--cheap son, a kind " a degenerate spoiling it straightforward view, a struggle for existence, the suit your talk to your company suspicion! sweet is revenge--especially to women! sympathy , tailors' strike, in consequence of the temper, the triumphs of temptation terms, cash theatricals, our the better the day, &c. the way we build now the way we had in the army the way we live now the more haste, the less speed themis, irish ideal of there's many a slip tho' lost to sight-- thrift ticket of leave, a 'tis better not to know too bad! too late too true! tourists, refrigerated tracts! trade, state of travellers, tricks upon truth, a half trying turk, a regular turn about two sides to a question tyranny ulster, the unconscionable unprejudiced! up and down stairs veneration vested interests veteran, a wages and wives warning, awful ways and means weather, a change in the weights and measures well meant wet and dry what next? what's in a name? what's the odds? when you are about it where ignorance is bliss &c. where there's a will there's a way! wimbledon winkles! woman-hater, a woman of business, a woman's rights words and weights xxx cellent reasons zoology * * * * * * transcriber's note: the index has been moved from the beginning of the book to the end for the reader's convenience. the punctuation and spelling are as printed in the original publication. punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day [illustration: mr punch as irishman] mr. punch's irish humour [illustration: "sure, pat, and why are ye wearin' ye'r coat buttoned up loike that on a warm day loike this?" "faith, ye'r riverence, to hoide the shirt oi haven't got on!"] mr. punch's irish humour in picture and story _with illustrations_ by charles keene, phil may, george du maurier, l. raven-hill, bernard partridge, g. d. armour, e. t. reed, h. m. brock, tom browne, gunning king, and others [illustration: irishman with shamrock] published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration: donkey cart carrying family and dog] mr. punch and pat (_by way of introduction_) [illustration: ragged irishman standing] no punch artist has done more with irish humour than charles keene. well over a third of the punch drawings on this subject are from his pencil. most of the punch artists have made good use of it, phil may and mr. raven-hill in particular. some of mr. punch's jokes against the fenians, home rule, and irish disloyalty have a bitterness that is quite unusual with him, but none of these are included in our pages, and he has at other times handled the same topics with his customary geniality and good-humoured satire. he makes the most of the irishman's traditional weakness for "##bulls" whisky, fighting, and living with his pigs, but he gets an immense amount of variety out of these themes, and does not neglect to touch upon other typically irish characteristics. if you have examples of the irishman's blunderings, you have examples also of his ready wit and his amazing talent for blarney. we have thus in the present volume a delightful collection of irish wit and high spirits. the happy-go-lucky characteristic of pat is especially prominent in many of the jokes, and interpreting mr. punch's attitude towards the irishman as one of admiration for his many excellent qualities, instead of regarding him as the "but" for english jokes, too often the notion of comic writers, the editor has sought to represent mr. punch as the friend of pat, sometimes his critic, but always his good humoured well-wisher, who laughs at him now and then, but as often with him. [illustration: mr punch striding purposefully] mr. punch's irish humour [illustration: mr punch, with quill pen, bowing to reader] the irish yolk.--in the name of the profit--eggs! irish co-operators have already made giant strides in the production of milk and butter, and now the irish co-operative agency has decided, so says the _cork daily herald_, to "take up the egg trade." we hope the egg-traders won't be "taken up," too; if so, the trade would be arrested just when it was starting, and where would the profit be then? "it is stated that many irish eggs now reach the english market dirty, stale, and unsorted," so that wholesale english egg-merchants have preferred to buy austrian and french ones. ireland not able to compete with the foreigner! perish the thought! a little technical education judiciously applied will soon teach the irish fowl not to lay "shop 'uns." * * * * * tantalus.--_irish waiter (to commercial gent, who had done a good stroke of business already)._ "brikfast! yessir. what'll ye have, yer honour--tay or coffee?" _commercial gent (hungry and jubilant)._ "coffee and fried sole and mutton cutlet to follow!" _waiter (satirically)._ "annything ilse, surr?" _commercial gent._ "yes, stewed kidneys. ah and a savoury omelette!" _waiter._ "yessir. annything----" _commercial gent._ "no, that will do----" _waiter (with calm contempt)._ "and do ye expict to foind the loikes o' them things here? sure, ye'll get what yez always got--bacon an' iggs!" * * * * * from an irish reporter in a troubled district.--"the police patrolled the street all night, but for all that there was no disturbance." * * * * * [illustration: _mr. macsimius._ "well, oi don't profess to be a particularly cultivated man meself; but at laste me progenitors were all educated in the hoigher branches!"] erin go bragh dear mr. punch,--i perceive that there is a movement on foot, initiated by the patriot doogan, m.p., for teaching the irish language to the youthful redmonds and healeys of the emerald isle. i am sorry that the government has not acquiesced in the motion. i, myself, would bring in a measure compelling all hibernian members of parliament to denounce (they never speak) in their native tongue. just fancy the rapture with which they would inveigh in a language incapable of comprehension by a single sassenach! and what a mighty relief to the other legislators! if necessary, the speaker might be provided with an anglo-irish dictionary, or possibly a new post (open to nationalists only) might be created, viz., interpreter for ireland. trusting that my suggestion may be supported by you, i am, yours obediently, lindley murray walker _the college, torkington-on-the-marsh_. * * * * * [illustration: _usher (the court having been much annoyed by the shuffling of feet)._ "will ye hould yer tongues up there with yer feet in the gallery!"] [illustration: _irish landlord (to his agent, who has been to london as a witness)._ "and did ye mix much in society, murphy?" _mr. pat murphy._ "mix is it? faix i did that, every night of the whole time, and they said they'd niver tasted anything like it!"] [illustration: "whatever have you been doing with yourself, murphy? you look all broken up!" "well, yer 'anner, i wint to wan iv thim 'shtop-the-war' meetings lasht noight!"] irish proverbs every goose thinks his wife a duck. no news in a newspaper isn't good news. manners make the gentleman, and the want of them drives him elsewhere for his shooting. a miss is as good as a mile of old women. too many cooks spoil the broth of a boy. it's foolish to spoil one's dinner for a ha'porth of tarts. there are as fine bulls in ireland as ever came out of it. necessity has no law, but an uncommon number of lawyers. better to look like a great fool, than to be the great fool you look. a soft answer may turn away wrath, but in a chancery suit, a soft answer is only likely to turn the scales against you. one fortune is remarkably good until you have had another one told you. don't halloa until you have got your head safe out of the wood, particularly at donnybrook fair. * * * * * [illustration: _lady (looking at new cob)._ "how does he go, patrick?" _irish groom._ "the very best, m'lady! sure it's only now and then he touches the ground in odd spots."] * * * * * men of straw don't make the best bricks. it's a narrow bed that has no turning. when money is sent flying out of the window it's poverty that comes in at the door. the pig that pleases to live must live to please. one man may steal a hedge, whereas another daren't even as much as look at a horse. short rents make long friends--and it holds good equally with your landlord and your clothes. the mug of a fool is known by there being nothing in it. you may put the carte before the horse, but you can't make him eat. money makes the gentleman, the want of it the blackguard. when wise men fall out, then rogues come by what is not their own. * * * * * a bitter bad fruit.--a patriotic irishman, expatiating eloquently upon the lodge disturbances that were so repeatedly taking place in his country, exclaimed wildly: "by jove, sir, you may call the orange the apple of discord of ireland." * * * * * [illustration: _irate station-master._ "what the divil are ye waitin' for?" _engine-driver._ "can't ye see the signals is against me?" _station-master._ "is it the signals? sure now, ye're gettin' mighty particular!"] [illustration: _paddy._ "where will i catch the express for dublin?" _station-master._ "ye'll catch it all over ye if ye don't get off the line mighty quick!"] [illustration: a regular turk.--_adjutant._ "well, sergeant, how's your prisoner getting on?" _sergeant of the guard._ "bedad, sor, he's the vi'lentest blaggyard i iver had to do wid! we're all in tirror iv our loives! shure we're obliged to feed him wid fixed bay'nits!"] the tale of a vote bedad, 'twas meself was as plaised as could be when they tould me the vote had bin given to me. "st. pathrick," ses oi, "oi'm a gintleman too, an' oi'll dine ivry day off a grand oirish stew." the words was scarce seen slippin' off of me tongue when who but the colonel comes walkin' along! "begorrah, 'tis callin' he's afther, the bhoy, oi'm a gintleman now wid a vingeance," ses oi. the colonel come in wid an affable air, an' he sat down quite natteral-loike in a chair. "so, rory," ses he, "'tis a vote ye've got now?" "that's thrue though ye ses it," ses oi, wid a bow. "deloighted!" ses he, "'tis meself that is glad, for shure ye're desarvin' it, rory, me lad. an' how are ye goin' to use it?" ses he, "ye could scarcely do betther than give it to me." oi stared at the colonel, amazed wid surprise. "what! give it away, sorr?--me vote, sorr?" oi cries "d'ye think that oi've waited ontil oi am gray, an' now oi'm jist goin' to give it away?" the colonel he chuckled, an' "rory," ses he. but "no, sorr," oi answers, "ye don't diddle me." thin he hum'd an' he haw'd, an' he started agin, but he'd met wid his equal in rory o'flynn. thin the smoile died away, an' a frown come instead, but for all that he tould me, oi jist shook me head, [illustration: not quite the same thing.--_merciful traveller._ "your little horse has been going well. when do you bait him?" _pat._ "ah, shure, it's been a purty livel road, sor: but oi'l have to bate him goin' up sloggin derry hill, sor!"] an' he gnawed his moustache, an' he cursed an' he swore, but the more that he argued, oi shook it the more. thin he called me a dolt an' an ignorant fool, an' he said that oi ought to go back to the school, an' he flew in a rage an' wint black in the face, an' he flung in a hullaballoo from the place. bedad, oi was startled. him beggin' me vote, an' he'd three of his own too!--the gradiness o't! ye could scarcely belave it onless it was thrue, an' him sittin' oop for a gintleman too! was it betther he thought he could use it than oi? begorrah, oi'll show he's mistaken, me bhoy. oi'll hang it oop over me mantelpace shelf, for now that oi've got it, oi'll kape it meself. * * * * * irish meteorology.--there surely must be some constant cause existing whose agency maintains the chronic disaffection of ireland. perhaps it is some disturbing element ever present in the atmosphere. that may possibly be a predominance of o'zone. * * * * * _old gentleman (who has not hurried over his dinner, and has just got his bill.)_ "waiter, what's this? i'm charged here twopence for stationery. you know i've had none----" _irish waiter._ "faix! yer honour, i don't know. y'ave been sittin' here a long t-h-ime, anyhow!!" * * * * * [illustration: the consequence of the chair.--_chairman of the home-rule meeting._ "'the chair' will not dispute the point with misther o'pummel----" _the o'pummel._ "'the chair' had betther not, onless he loikes to stip out, and take his coat off!!" [_confusion--exeunt fighting._ * * * * * the headless man again.--_stock-jobber (to new irish clerk, who is working out the bull and bear list)._ "hullo, why do you write "b" against your results?" _clerk._ "shure, sir, that's for "bull," to distinguish them from "bear."" * * * * * very irish rendering of an old song.--"'tis my _day_light on a shiny night!" * * * * * a taste of the times.--_mr. molony, irish farmer (to mr. flynn, the agent)._ "sure, i've come to ask yer honner to say a word to the masther for me, for the black boreen haulding." _agent._ "no, molony, the masther won't take a tenant without capital." _mr. molony._ "and is it capital? sure, i've three hundred pounds in the bank this minit!" _agent._ "oh, i thought i saw your name to that petition for a reduction of rents, as you were all starving!" _mr. molony._ "tare an' agers! mr. flynn, darlin'! is the petition gone to the masther yet? if your honner could just give me a hoult av it, that i may sthrike my name out!" * * * * * [illustration: _tourist._ "have you not got scotch whiskey?" _waiter (in an irish hotel)._ "no, sorr, we don't kape it. and them as does only uses it to water down our own!"] [illustration: "as clear as mud."--_irish waiter._ "an' will yer 'anner have an inside kyar or an outside kyar?" _inexperienced saxon._ "oh, an outside car, of course; i don't want a covered conveyance; i want to see the country." _irish waiter._ "oh, shure, nayther of 'em's covered." (_closing door and preparing for a luminous explanation._) "it's this way, it is, sir. they call 'em inside kyars bekase the wheels is outside, an' they call 'em outside kyars by rason the wheels is inside!!"] [illustration: a good listener.--_reverend gentleman._ "well, tim, did you leave the letter at the squire's?" _tim._ "i did, your riv'rence. i b'lieve they're having dinner company to-day----" _reverend gentleman_ (_angrily_). "what business had you to be listening about? how often have i told you----" _tim._ "plaze your riv'rence, i only listened with my nose!!"] [illustration: _o'brien._ "oh, murther aloive! barney, come and help me! pat has fallen into the mortar, and he's up to the ankles!" _mcgeorge._ "och, if he's only up to the ankles, he can walk out." _o'brien._ "oh, bedad, but he's in head first!"] [illustration: _irish pat (to bashful bridget)._ "look up, bridget me darlin'. shure an' i'd cut me head off ony day in the week for a sight of yer beautiful eyes!"] [illustration: trustworthy authority _host._ "michael, didn't i tell you to decant the best claret?" _michael._ "you did, sorr." _host._ "but this isn't the best." _michael._ "no, sorr; but it's the best you've got!"] [illustration: "the harp in the air" _irish gentleman (who has vainly endeavoured to execute a jig to the fitful music of the telegraph wires)._ "shure! whoiver y'are ye can't play a bit! how can a jintleman dance--(_hic!_)--iv ye don't kape thime?"!! * * * * * the cockney who said he valued switzerland for its mountain hair has a supporter in a writer in the _irish independent_, who remarks: "there are many mountains in the country now bare and desolate, whose brows, if whiskered with forests, would present a striking appearance." * * * * * geographical catechism.--_q._ what do we now call the isle of patmos? _a._ ireland. * * * * * refreshment for man and beast.--_traveller in ireland (who has been into a shebeen)._ "but are you not going to bait the horse?" _pat._ "is it bate him? sure, and didn't i bate him enough coming along?" * * * * * _irish gent (paying debt of honour.)_ "there's the sovereign ye kindly lint me, brown. i'm sorry i haven't been able----" saxon (_pocketing the coin_). "never thought of it from that day to---- by jove! 'forgot all about it----" _irish gent._ "bedad! i wish ye'd tould me that before!" * * * * * [illustration: _surgeon (examining in the practical methods of reviving the apparently drowned)._ "now, how long would you persevere in those motions of the arms?" _bluejacket (from the emerald isle)._ "until he was dead, sir!"] [illustration: _squire (rather perplexed)._ "hullo, pat! where did you get the hare?" _pat._ "shure, surr, the cr'atur' was wand'rin' about, an' i thought i'd take't to the 'wanes'!" _squire._ "but did the keeper see you?" _pat._ "bliss yer honour, i've been lookin' for him iver since i caught it!!"] [illustration: waiting for the landlord.--_ribbonman (getting impatient)._ "bedad, they ought to be here by this toime! sure, tirince, i hope the ould gintleman hasn't mit wid an accidint!!!"] an irish "bradshaw" (scene--_westland row station, dublin_) _british swell to native inhabitant_ (_loq._). "haw, haw, pray will you direct me the shortest way to baggot street, haw?" _native inhabitant._ "baggit street, yer honor, yis, yer honor, d' see that sthreet just forninst ye? well, goo oop that, toorn nayther to yer right nor to yer lift, till ye khoom to the foorst toorn, and when ye khoom to the foorst toorn, don't toorn down that ayther, but walk sthrait on and that'll lade ye to the place _igs-actly_." _supercilious saxon._ "haw, thank yaw, haw!" (_and walks off more mystified than ever._) * * * * * irish vaccination.--professor gamgee says that, owing to the vagrant cur nuisance, "hydrophobia in man is increasing in ireland." this fact is one which hom[oe]opathy may suggest some reason for not altogether deploring. the canine _virus_ and the vaccine may be somewhat analogous; and, if like cures like, many a happy cure may be effected by a mad dog biting a rabid irishman. * * * * * [illustration: _irishman (whose mate has just fallen overboard with the bucket while swabbing decks)._ "plaze, captin, do ye rimimber that scotchie ye tuk aboard the same toime as ye did me? i mane him wot had the lot o' good character papers, an' me that niver had a blissid wan?" _captain._ "well?" _irishman._ "well--_he's off wid yer pail!_"] [illustration: "just make it a couple of shillings, captain dear!"--"no!" "eighteenpence then, major!"--"no!" "och thin, colonel darling, just threppence for a glass o' whiskey!"--"_no_, i tell you!" "git out wid ye thin, ye boa conshthructor, sure an' i know'd ye all the toime!" [_n.b._--_the fare is the head of an eminent firm of furriers in kilconan street, and cultivates a martial appearance_ ] [illustration: circumlocutory.--_the parson (who likes to question the boys, now and then, in a little elementary science)._ "now, can any of you tell me--come, i'll ask you, donovan,--what is salt?" _irish boy._ "iv y' plaze, sir,--it's--it's"--(_after a desperate mental effort_)--"it's the stuff that--makes a p'taytor very nasty 'v ye don't ate 't with 't!"] paddy to his pig och! piggy dear, an' did ye hear the thraitors what they say? the rint is due, an' oh! 'tis you, me darlin', that's to pay. so you, whose squale is music rale to me--the rascals hint that you must doi, an' plaise, for whoy?-- the landlord wants his rint! but no, me jew'l! oi'm not so cru'l, to kill an' murther dead the chum that's ate out ov me plate, an' shared the fam'ly bed. oi would be loike a fool to stroike a frind to plaise a foe-- if one must doi, why then, says oi, the landlord, he must go. * * * * * an irish national school-lesson.-- _master._ spell "patriotism." _scholar._ p-a-t, "pat;" r-i-o-t, "riot;" i-s-m "ism." _master._ now spake it together. _scholar._ pat-riot-ism. _master._ ah, then, it's the good boy you are entirely. * * * * * [illustration: _irishman (who has run up a score at the inn, to firemen)._ "play on the slate, bhoys!"] [illustration: an irish difficulty.--_pat ("the morning after," reading prescription)._ "'dissolve wan of the powdhers in half a tumbler of wather, an' th' other powdher in another half tumbler of wather. mix, an' dhrink whoile efferveshin'.' what'll oi do? whoy the div'l didn't he say which oi was to mix furrst?"] [illustration: _the colonel._ "mr. moriarty, i received this morning a most offensive anonymous letter, and, from certain indications, i am compelled reluctantly to ask you if you know anything about it." _moriarty._ "an anonymous letter? whoy, _oi'd scorn to put my name to such a thing_."] [illustration: quite another thing _paddy_ (_the loser_). "arrah g'long! i said i'd lay you foive to wan, but i wasn't goin' to bet my ha'f-crown agin your tath'rin little sixpence!" [_exeunt fighting._ ] [illustration: making things pleasant.--_irishman_ (_to english sportsman_). "is it throuts? be jabers, the watther's stiff wid 'em!!!" [_"regardless of strict truth, in his love of hyperbole and generous desire to please," as our friend recorded in his diary after a blank day._ ] [illustration: a breath from the far west "can i go a yard nearer on my side, as i've lost the sight of me one eye intirely?" [illustration: _"pat" junior (in answer to question by saxon tourist)._ "there's foive of us, yer honour, an' the baby." _saxon._ "and are you the eldest?" _"pat" junior._ "i am, yer honour--at prisent!!"] [illustration: _irish groom._ "will ye send up two sacks of oats an' a bundle av hay." _voice from telephone._ "who for?" _irish groom._ "the harse, av coorse, ye fool!"] [illustration: ins and outs _irish innkeeper (to "boots," &c.)._"h'where's biddee? out, is she? bad luck to the hussy! she'll go out twinty toimes for wonce she'll come in!"] [illustration: "irish" _polite young man._ "perhaps you feel a draught, madam?" _old lady._ "no, sir, not this side. i'm always careful to sit with my back facing the engine!"] [illustration: woke up "'tis the voice of the sluggard, i heard him complain."--_watts._ _boots._ "eight o'clock, surr!" _voice (from the deeps)._ "why didn't ye tell me that before, confound you!"] rules for home-rulers the following regulations, to be observed in the irish parliament when it meets on college green, are under consideration:-- . the speaker shall not speak except when he is talking. . such terms as "thief of the wurruld," "spalpeen," "nager," "villian," "polthroon," "thraytor," "omadhawn," &c., and such epithets as "base," "brutal," "bloody-minded," and others named in the schedule to these regulations, shall be considered unparliamentary, except when used in the heat of debate. . an annual budget shall be presented to the house once a quarter. . shilelaghs, revolvers, and pikes, shall not be introduced into the house, except when accompanied by a member. . a member shall be bound to attend every debate. a member, however, shall be excused if he gets up in his place in the house and announces that he would be present were he not ill at home in bed. * * * * * [illustration: scene--_an irish station. fair day_ _porter._ "an what the divil are ye doin', tying that donkey up there?" _pat (slightly under the influence, taking his new purchase home)._ "shure an' i've a perfect right to! haven't i taken a ticket for the baste!"] * * * * * . a quorum shall consist of forty members. should a count-out be demanded, members who have been engaged in personal altercation, shall be included unless they are sufficiently conscious to utter "erin go bragh!" thrice distinctly. . duels will be strictly forbidden. should any member, however, think proper to break this rule, it will be considered a breach of privilege if he does not invite the speaker and the whole house to see the fun. . there will be only one speaker; but two or more members may be elected to the post. . only one member shall address the house at a time, except when two or more wish to speak at once, in which case they shall not interrupt each other. . a member when addressing the house shall not wear his hat unless he has got it on his head before rising, when he shall remove it on any member directing the speaker's attention to the fact. . under no consideration whatever will the consumption of any spirits be permitted in the house. this rule does not apply to whiskey, gin, brandy, and the french liqueurs. . as only the most elegant dublin english will be spoken in the house, no provincial brogue can be tolerated. to this rule there will be no exception. * * * * * [illustration: _irish nurse._ "now thin, mum, wake up an' take yer sleepin' dhraught!"] * * * * * pat's true breakfast chronometer.--"sure, me stomach in the early morning is as good as a watch to me. i always know when _it wants 'something to ate.'_" * * * * * a broad hint.--_english traveller (to irish railway porter labelling luggage)._ "don't you keep a brush for that work, porter?" _porter._ "shure, your honour, our tongues is the only insthruments we're allowed. but they're asy kep' wet, your honour?" [_hint taken!_ * * * * * irish housekeeping.--_bachelor._ "mary, i should like that piece of bacon i left at dinner yesterday." _irish servant._ "is it the bit o' bhacon thin? shure i took it to loight the fhoires!" * * * * * [illustration: an evening's fishing (behind the distillery at sligo).--_first factory lad._ "dom'nick, did ya get e'er a bite at all?" _second ditto._ "sorra wan, pat. only wan small wan!" _first ditto._ "yerrah! lave it there, an' come home. shure you'll get more than that in bed!"] [illustration: expended.--_guest._ "will you give me a little champagne?" _hibernian waiter._ "shumpane, sor? bedad, i've had none meself this two hours!"] [illustration: "opprission."--_landlord._ "tut-t-t! 'o'bless my soul! this must be seen to, flannigan! the cabin positively isn't fit to live in! why, you're ankle-deep in----" _pat._ "och sure, sor, it's a mighty convanient house, an' that's an iligant spring in the flure, sor. no throuble to go outside for watter whatever!!"] [illustration: rather too literal.--_country gentleman (in a rage)._ "why, what have you been up to, you idiot? you've let him down, and----" _new groom._ "yes, yer honner, ye tould me to break him; an' bruk he is, knees an' all, worse luck!"] [illustration: "ready, aye ready!" _officer "royal irish."_ "why were you late in barracks last night, private atkins?" _private atkins._ "train from london was very late, sir." _officer._ "very good. next thime the thrain's late, take care y' come by an earlier one!"] [illustration: _irish dealer._ "ach, begorra, would ye run over the cushtomers? sure, it's scarce enough they are!"] [illustration: supererogation.--_humanitarian._ "couldn't you manage to put a little more flesh on your poor horses' bones? he's frightfully thin!" _car-driver._ "bedad, surr, what's the use o' that? the poor baste can hardly carry what he's got a'ready!"] [illustration: _mrs. o'brady._ "shure oi want to bank twinty pounds. can i draw it out quick if i want it?" _postmaster._ "indade, mrs. o'brady, you can draw it out to morrow if you give me a wake's notice!"] [illustration: _it is necessary in some parts of ireland for carmen to have their names legibly written on the tailboard of the car. inspector._ "what's the meanin' of this, pat? your name's o-bliterated." _pat._ "ye lie--it's o'brien!"] president pat (_from the forthcoming history of parliament_) one blow and ireland sprang from the head of her saxon enslaver a new minerva! proudly and solemnly she then sat down to frame a republic worthy of plato and pat. her first president had been a workhouse porter and a night watchman. he was, therefore, eminently fitted both for civil and military administration. the speech of president pat on opening congress develops his policy and his well-digested plans of legislative reform. here are a few choice quotations:-- the key-stone of government is the blarney stone. political progress may always be accelerated by a bludgeon. our institutions must be consolidated by soft soap and whacks. the people's will is made known by manifesto, and by many fists too. [illustration: _clerk._ "return?" _pat._ "phwat for ud oi be wantin' a returrn ticket when oi'm here already?"] every man shall be qualified to sit in congress that is a lb. pig-holder, provided that the pig and the member sleep under the same roof. members of congress will be remunerated for their public services. gentlemen wearing gloves only to have the privilege of shaking the president's hand. the unwashed to be paid at the door. pipes will not be allowed on the opposition benches, nor may any member take whiskey until challenged by the president. under no circumstances will a member be suffered to sit with his blunderbuss at full-cock, nor pointed at the president's ear. our ambassadors will be chosen from our most meritorious postmen, so that they may have no difficulty in reading their letters. the foreign office will be presided over by a patriotic editor who has travelled in new south wales and is thoroughly conversant with its language. instead of bulwarks, the island will be fortified by irish bulls; our military engineers being of opinion that no other horn-works are so efficient or necessary. to prevent heart-burnings between landlord and tenant, a government collector of rents will be appointed, and tenant-right shall include a power to shoot over the land, and at any one on it.--_punch_, . * * * * * [illustration: the triumphs of temper.--_fare (out of patience at the fourth "jib" in a mile)._ "hi, this won't do! i shall get out!" _cabby (through the trap, in a whisper)._ "ah thin, sor, niver mind her! sit still! don't give her the satisfaction av knowin' she's got rid av ye!!"] * * * * * "master's away from home, sir. would you please to leave your name?" "faix, an' what should i be lavin' me name forr, bedad! when he knows me quite well?" * * * * * rather mixed.--the following is from _the irish times_ on "landslips":--"to feel the solid earth rock beneath his feet, to have his natural foothold on the globe's surface swept, so to speak, out of his grasp, is to the stoutest heart of man terrifying in the extreme." * * * * * from ireland.--good name for an auctioneer's wife--biddy. * * * * * hibernian arithmetic shure multiplication--of chiefs--_is_ vexation, but faix, there is fun in substhraction. addition will you knit with me as one unit, and unity flabberghasts faction. as for rule o' three!--betther one, and that me! the wise, and the sthrong, and the clever! but till _oi_'m up top, and all over the shop, i'll cry, "long division for iver!" * * * * * [illustration: economy.--_pat._ "and ye say, if i take this one, i'll save ha'f the fuul? bedad!"--(_struck with a bright idea_)--"i'll take a pair of 'em--and save it all--!!"] [illustration: _fisherman (beginner)._ "don't you think, peter, i've improved a good deal since i began?" _peter (anxious to pay a compliment)._ "you have, sorr. but sure it was aisy for _you_ to improve, sorr!"] [illustration: _irish bag carrier (commenting on the crack shot of the party)._ "sure, thin, and i do not think much av him! ivery lot o' birds he'll be afther firin' both barrels of his gun, and divil a one he kills but two!"] [illustration: groves of blarney.--"and it's a perfect miracle the sounds ye manage to extract from that old tin kettle, miss cecilia; sure we don't hear the dumb notes at all!"] [illustration: a misunderstanding.--_his master._ "did you take those boots of mine to be soled, larry?" _irish valet._ "i did, sor, and see the thrifle the blag'yard gave me for'm!--'said they were purty nigh wore through!!"] [illustration: irish ingenuity.--_saxon tourist._ "what on earth are you lowering the shafts for?" (_he has just found out that this man[oe]uvre is gone through at every ascent._) _car-driver._ "shure, yer 'onner, we'll make 'm b'lave he's goin' down hill!"] [illustration: transposition.--_irish sergeant._ "mark time! change your stip, that man!" _recruit._ "if ye plaze surr----" _sergeant._ "silence--an' fall out at oncet an' change your feet!"] [illustration: reminiscences of hedge-firing _itinerant photographer (from under the cloth)._ "will you keep quiet? how do you suppose----" _subject (who is evading the focus)._ "be jabers, man! will i sit still to be shot at?!!"] [illustration: "in extremis."--pat. "do ye buy rags and bones here?" _merchant._ "we do, surr." _pat._ "thin, be jabers! put me on the schkales!!"] [illustration: the verdict.--_first irishman (waiting in the corridor--to his friend, rushing in from the court)._ "what's tim got?" _second irishman (in a breathless whisper)._ "for loife!" _first irishman._ "for loife!" (_with emotion._) "och shure, he won't live half the thoime!!"] [illustration: _one of the finest pisantry (in custody, having had a shillelagh difference with a fellow-countryman)._ "shure! mayn't oi see me frind aff b' the thrain, sorr?"] [illustration: _lady_. "i was awfully sorry, professor, i was unable to come to your lecture last night. were there many there?" _the professor_ (_irish_). "um--well--not so many as i expected. but i never thought there would be!"] how to make an irish story lay your scene principally in galway, and let your chief characters be the officers of a regiment of dragoons. represent them as habitual drunkards, as duellists, and as practical jokers; but take care to exclude from their tricks everything like wit. introduce as frequently as possible, with the necessary variation only of time, place, and circumstance, a tipsy brawl, with a table oversetting in the midst of it, and a ragamuffin with a great stick in his hand, capering thereon. do not omit to mention the bottles and glasses that whistle, during this performance, about his ears, nor the chairs and fire-irons which are used by the surrounding combatants; and under the table fail not to place your comic character; for instance, your priest. upset mail coaches, and make horses run away with their riders continually: and be careful, having bribed some clever artist to prostitute his talents, to have all these intellectually humorous scenes illustrated, in that your readers may fully appreciate the only jokes they are likely to understand. put "an affair of honour" into about every other chapter; and for the credit and renown of your country, you being an irishman, exhibit it as conducted with the most insensate levity. indeed, in furtherance of this object, depict your countrymen in general as a set of irrational, unfeeling, crazy blockheads; only, not having sense enough to be selfish, as lavish and prodigal in the extreme. never mind your plot, but string adventure upon adventure, without sequence or connexion; just remembering to wind up with a marriage. for example, your hero may shoot some old gentleman through the head--or hat--and run away with his niece, an heiress. whenever you are at a loss for fun--that is, when you find it impracticable to tumble or knock one another down--throw yourself on your brogue, and introduce--"arrah! now, honey, be aisy." "long life to yer honour, sure, and didn't i?" "is it praties, ye mane?" "sorrow a bit." "_musha!_" "_mavourneen!_" and the like phrases (having the interjectional ones printed in italics, that their point may be the more obvious), which you will find excellent substitutes for wit. your tale, thus prepared, take it to some publisher, and let him serve it up monthly to the unintelligent portion of the public with puff sauce. * * * * * [illustration: _irish manservant (who has been requested by a guest to procure him a bluebottle for fishing purposes--returning from his quest)._ "if ye plaze, sorr, would a green soda-water bottle be what ye're wantin'?"] new air for orange bands.--"down, down, derry, down!" * * * * * who were the original bogtrotters? the _fen_ians. * * * * * hibernian order.--an irish correspondent informs us that in tipperary tumult is the order of the day. * * * * * advice to irish tenants.--instead of taking "just a drain"--"just take to draining." * * * * * an irish reason for fixity of tenure. mr. punch, sirr,--why wouldn't you "fix" irish _tinants_? sure irish _landlords_ is in a divil of a fix already. your constant reader, rory o'more. * * * * * a disclosure which can only be made in words certainly "tending to a breach of the peace":--one irishman disclosing his religion to another. * * * * * [illustration: _tourist (who has just given pat a drink from his flask)._ "that's a drop of good whiskey--eh, pat?" _pat._ "faith, ye may well say that, sorr. shure, it wint down my t'roat loike a torchlight procession!"] [illustration: misplaced merriment _irish doctor (who was a great believer in a little "playful badinage")._ "oh dear! oh dear! an' what a tarrible depressin' soight ye've gone an' made ov yersilf! what is ut now, is ut a '_tableau v[e]evant_' ye're playin' at, or what?" [_further attendance dispensed with._ ] [illustration: a failure! _irish contributor (at a "check")._ "by the powers--'wish i hadn't bought this thype-writer-r--'t cann't spell a bit!"] [illustration: _editor of libellous rag (who has just received a terrific but well-deserved kick)._ "dud you mane thot?" _colonel mcmurder._ "yis, oi _dud_, you thunderin' villain!" _editor._ "oh, very well, thot's all _roight_. oi t'ought it moight av been wan o' thim prac-ta-cle jokes!"] [illustration: _irish emigrant (emerging from the steerage, feebly)._ "where's the sails? what is it makes the ship go along?" _fellow passenger._ "this ain't no sailing ship. this is a steam ship, this is. fifteen thousand horse-power." _irish emigrant._ "fifteen thousand horses! think of that, now! and where's the _shtablin'_?"] * * * * * a new form of d.t.--_the irish curate_ (_to the new vicar_). "that poor man, sir, has always got a skeleton just in front of him that follows him about wherever he goes!" * * * * * from the _cork constitution_:--"the friends of a respectable young widow want to get her housekeeping in a respectable widower's family; understands her business." there seems a certain want of _finesse_ in this latter statement. * * * * * the irish bull in india.--for sale.--eleven elephants, male and female, priced low to effect speedy sale. full particulars from pat doyle, no. , brooking street, rangoon. _note._--four of the above have been sold.--(from the _rangoon gazette_.) * * * * * confusion of ideas.--the man who said that he was so particular about his bacon that he never ventured on a rasher without first seeing the pig which had supplied it, must have been an irishman. * * * * * the wax-chandlers' paradise.--wicklow county. * * * * * [illustration: _mr. o'rorke (who has been quarrelling with a visitor)._ "now, remember, jane, the next time you let that man in you're to shut the door in his face!"] [illustration: _policeman (examining broken window)._ "begorra, but it's more sarious thin oi thought it was. it's broke on _both sides_!"] [illustration: "prima facie."--_magistrate._ "the evidence shows that you threw a stone at this man." _mrs. o'hooligan._ "faith, then, the looks o' the baste shows better 'n that, yer honour. they shows i 'it 'im!"] [illustration: _during hot weather. sudden shower of rain.--irish visitor._ "ah, now this _is_ welcome! an hour's rain like this will do more good in five minutes than a week of it!"] [illustration: scene--_cottage in west of ireland during a rainstorm._ _tourist._ "why don't you mend those big holes in the roof?" _pat._ "wud your honour have me go out an' mend it in all this rain?" _tourist._ "no. but you could do it when it is fine." _pat._ "shure, your honour, there's no need to do it thin!"] * * * * * "not kilt, but spacheless"--at clonakilty sessions the other day, the following evidence was given:-- "patrick feen was examined, and stated he resided at dunnycove, parish of ardfield.... gave defendant's brother a blow of his open hand and knocked him down for fun, and out of friendship. (_laughter._)" what a good-natured, open-handed friend mr. patrick feen must be! john hegarty, the person assaulted, corroborated the account, and added-- "when he was knocked down, he stopped there. (_laughter._)" in fact, he "held the field," and "remained in possession of the ground." who will now say that the old humour is dying out in erin? * * * * * a constant dropping.--_father sullivan (watching murphy of the blazers, who has again come to grief at a wall)._ bedad, he'll soon have quarried a gap in ivery wall in galway. he goes no faster than donovan's hearse, and he falls over ivery obsthacle he encounthers. _father o'grady._ faith, ye're right there. murphy cavat lapidem non vi sed saypy cadendo! * * * * * [illustration: "de profundis."--_pat (after a sip)._ "an' which did ye put in first--the whisky or the wather?" _domestic._ "the whisky, av coorse." _pat._ "ah thin maybe i'll be coming to 't bye-'n-bye!"] [illustration: lucid!--_irish sergeant (to squad at judging-distance drill)._ "now, ye'll pay the greates of attintion to the man at eight hundred yr-rds: becase, if ye can't see 'm, ye'll be deceived in his 'apparance!!"] [illustration: hibernian veracity.--_paterfamilias (with his family in ireland)._ "have you any west india pickles waiter?" _paddy._ "we've not, sor." _paterfamilias._ "no hot pickles of any description?" _paddy._ "no; shure they're all cowld, sor."] [illustration: "it is sometimes dangerous to inquire" _old poet_ _inquisitive tourist._ "and how do you find the crops this year, murphy?" _murphy._ "how do i find the crops is it? sure, your honour, 'tis by digging for 'em, any way!"] * * * * * mineralogical discovery by an irishman.--how to turn brass into gold:--"marry an heiress." * * * * * [illustration: the wrongs of ireland _bloated saxon._ "but surely, is it not the fact that of late years the number of absentees among the irish landholders is not so large as----" _irish guest._ "oi big y'r par-r-d'n, sor! 'give ye me wor-rd 'f honour-r me unhappee countree _swa-ar-rms_ with 'm 't th' pris'nt t-hime!!"] * * * * * all blacks all forlorn.--_irishman (on hearing of the high prices offered for tickets for a big football match)._ sure, thin, everybody 'll be after sellin' their tickets and it's nobody there at all there 'll be! * * * * * [illustration: _nurse._ "bridget, come here and see a french baby born in dublin." _bridget._ "poor little darlint! it's a great perplexity you'll be to yourself, i'm thinkin', when you begin shpeakin'!"] [illustration: "relapse."--_squire._ "why, pat, what are you doing, standing by the wall of the public-house? i thought you were a teetotaller!" _pat._ "yes, yer honnor. i'm just listenin' to them impenitent boys drinking inside!"] extracts from the irish hue and cry tony gowan is advertised of having lost "a pig with a very long tail, and a black spot on the tip of its snout that curls up behind." a cow is described as "very difficult to milk, and of no use to anyone but the owner, with one horn much longer than the other." john hawkins is alluded to as having "a pair of quick grey eyes, with little or no whiskers, and a roman nose, that has a great difficulty in looking any one in the face." betsy waterton is accused of having "absconded with a chest of drawers and a cock and hen, and has red hair and a broken tooth, none of which are her own." the manager of the savings' bank at dunferry, near goofowran, is spoken of in these terms: "he had on, when last seen, a pair of corduroy trousers with a tremendous squint rather the worse for wear, besides an affected lisp, which he endeavours to conceal with a pair of gold spectacles." * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. o'flannigan (to husband, who has had india-rubber heels to his boots)._ "now you sound just like a policeman walking; for, bedad, i can't hear you at all, at all!"] * * * * * a burglar has his portrait taken in the following manner:--"he has little or no hair, but black eyes on a turned-up nose, which is dyed black to conceal its greyness." * * * * * "this boldness brings relief."--_massinger. irish "boy" (to benevolent old gentleman)._ "maybe yer honour'll give a poor boy something. sure, it's a dissolute orphin, and deaf and dumb, i am!" _absent-minded old gentleman (putting his hand in his pocket)._ "poor fellow!" * * * * * a dublin grocer advertises his butter thus: best danish _s._ _d._ best creamery _s._ _d._ no better _s._ _d._ * * * * * more "revenge for the union."--_saxon tourist (at irish railway station)._ "what time does the half-past eleven train start, paddy?" _porter._ "at thrutty minutes to twilve--sharrup, sor!" [_tourist retires up, discomfited._ * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. malone._ "why, pat, what's that ye've got? is it moriarty that's insulted ye?" _pat._ "he has, begorrah! but he'll have to wait a week!"] [illustration: the unemployed question again _the rector._ "now, my good man, if you go up to the harvest field, i am sure you will get work." _tramping tim._ "bedad, sor, it's not work i'm wantin', it's nourishment."] * * * * * "lucus a non," &c.--_visitor._ "how long has your master been away?" _irish footman._ "well, sorr, if he'd come home yistherday, he'd a' been gone a wake to-morrow but ev he doesn't return the day afther, shure he'll a' been away a fortnight next thorsday"!! * * * * * [illustration: economy of labour _young softroe (who is trying to pick up bargains in polo ponies)._ "nice pony, but seems inclined to rest that foreleg, don't you know." _irish coper._ "and wasn't that phwat i was tellin' ye now! that's a little horse that's always got a leg to spare. sure, isn't that the very wan he's restin' now against the time he'll be wantin' ut?"] * * * * * _zoological specialist (gazing at solitary sea-lion in the dublin zoo)._ where's his mate? _irish keeper._ he has no mate, sorr. we just fade him on fish. * * * * * a point to the good.--scene--_immediately after a point-to-point race_--_friend (to rider of winner)._ "by jove, old chap, that was a close race! thought you were beaten just on the post." _rider_ (_irish_). "faith, me boy, that dimonstrates the advantage of a big horse; for, if ye saw the tail of him a thrifle behind, shure the other end of him was a wee bit in front?" * * * * * confession in confusion.--_priest._ "now, tell me, doolan, truthfully, how often _do_ you go to chapel?" _pat._ "will, now, shure, oi'll till yer riv'rince the trut'. faix, i go as often as i can avoid!" * * * * * _school inspector (anxious to explain the nature of a falsehood)._ now, supposing i brought you a canary, and told you it was blue, what would that be? _student (with taste for natural history)._ please, sir, a tomtit. * * * * * irish item.--there have been floods in cork. cork, as usual, kept afloat notwithstanding. * * * * * [illustration: allopathy.--_paddy (he has brought a prescription to the chemist, who is carefully weighing a very minute portion of calomel)._ "oi beg yer pardon, sor, but y'are mighty nare wid that mid'cine! and--(_coaxingly_)--i may tell ye--'tis for a poor motherliss child!!"] [illustration: "the postmaster abroad again" _pat (to clerk)._ "surr! i sint tin shillings to me brother through the post, an' he tills me"--(_fuming_)--"he niver got 't!!" _clerk (calmly)._ "at what office did you get the order?" _pat._ "shure, thin, it was to yoursilf i gave the money, an' be jabers i've got yer receipt for 't!" (_produces money order in a fury._) "look at that, now!!"] [illustration: incorrigible! _irish attorney (to his clerk, who has taken the blue ribbon, and has been "celebrating the event")._ "i'll not stand it, surr! wid yer plidges! instid o' takin' plidges ye're always breakin', ye'd better make no promises at-all-at-all--and kape 'em!!"] [illustration: the wonders of science.--_the principal (from the city, through the telephone, to the foreman at the "works")._ "how do you get on, pat?" _irish foreman (in great awe of the instrument)._ "very well, sir. the goods is sent off." _the principal (knowing pat's failing)._ "what have you got to drink there?" _pat (startled)._ "och! look at that now! it's me breath that done it!"] [illustration: "age cannot wither--nor custom stale his infinite variety"! _paddy (to fellow-passenger)._ "oi'm siventy years of age, and ivery wan o' my teeth as perfect as the day i was born, sor!"] [illustration: _mr. moriarty._ "look here, ada, how much longer, for goodness sake, are ye goin' to be dressin' yourself?" _voice from the heights._ "only ten minutes, dear!" _mr. moriarty._ "well, all i can say is, if i've got to wait here ten minutes, i'll--i'll be off this blessed moment!"] [illustration: _mick ("boots" at the ballyragg hotel, knocking at visitor's door at four a.m.)._ "fwhat toime wud ye wish to be called this morrnun', sorr?"] punch's folk-lore st. patrick's day the season of spring gives us lamb and violets, salmon and patron saints. st. david and st. patrick are commemorated in march, st. george only waits until april. (of this last-named saint a very careful notice has for some time been in preparation, to include six autobiographical anecdotes of his boyish days, a selection from his unpublished correspondence with his laundress, and an authentic portrait of his chief antagonist--the dragon.) [illustration: sunday at the zoo.--"excuse me, sorr; but can ye direct me to the goin' out intrance?"] st. patrick's day! the heart leaps up with uncontrolled delight, and a flood of popular airs comes rushing o'er the brain. what reminiscences of by-gone days invade the territory of the mind! all the population of dublin, headed by the lord-lieutenant and ulster king-at-arms, abroad at daybreak, looking for four-leaved shamrocks in the ph[oe]nix park, and singing moore's _melodies_ in unison; an agreeable mixture of whiskey and water provided in unlimited quantities in every market town in ireland, the expense of the water being defrayed out of the consolidated fund; the lord mayor of dublin presented with a new shillelagh of polished oak, bound with brass, purchased by the united contributions of every grown-up citizen bearing the name of patrick; the constabulary in new boots; a public dinner on the blarney stone, and a fancy-dress ball on the wicklow mountains! these are but a few of the marks of distinction showered on this memorable day by erin's grateful sons and daughters, who owe to st. patrick two of the greatest distinctions that ever befell them--freedom from serpents, snakes, scorpions, efts, newts, tadpoles, chameleons, salamanders, daddy-long-legs, and all other venomous reptiles, and instruction in six lessons, in "the true art of mixing their liquor, an art," it has been well observed, "which has never since been lost." this leaning of the saint to potheen is viewed, however, by one section of the community with manifest displeasure--the temperance and teetotal societies--who remain indoors the whole of the day with the blinds closely drawn down and straw in front of their houses, and employ paid emissaries to distribute tracts amongst their excitable countrymen. [illustration: _irish porter (thrusting his head into a compartment as the train stops at small, dingy, ill-lit country station)._ "is thur annybody there for here?"] the notorious fact that st. patrick lived to be considerably more than a hundred, cut a wisdom tooth at ninety-eight, never had a day's illness in his life, was possessed of funded property, and could see to read without spectacles until within six weeks of his untimely end (caused by a fall from a cherry tree), speaks libraries for the tonic and salubrious qualities of that stimulating spirit, which has ever since his day been known and highly appreciated under the name of "l.l.," or long livers' whiskey. a curious custom is kept up by the knights of the order of st. patrick (founded by king brian boroo the fourteenth) on the morning of this day, the origin of which is lost among the wilds of connemara. before it is light the knights all go up in their robes and shamrocks, one by one, into the belfry of the cathedral, and toll the great bell one hundred and twenty-three times, the exact number of years to which the saint, in forgetfulness of sir george cornwall lewis and the editor of _notes and queries_, is said to have attained. they then parade the principal streets of dublin on piebald horses, preceded by a band of music and the law officers of the crown, and disperse at a moment's notice, no one knows where. [illustration: grandiloquence.--_captain of schooner._ "what 'a' you got there, pat?" _pat (who has been laying in some firewood and potatoes)._ "timber and fruit, yer honour!!"] st. patrick's tastes were athletic. he had a wart on his forehead, and a cousin in the militia; and displayed a profound acquaintance with the laws of short whist, then in its infancy. he was an early riser, a deep thinker, and a careless dresser, and foresaw, with an eagle glance, the gradual development of the railway system, while his declining years were soothed by the devoted attentions of some of the oldest families in ireland. * * * * * new bulls _v._ old cows.--at the thames police court mr. benson condemned the owner and vendor of a quantity of old irish cow beef to penalties for selling meat unfit for human consumption. this should be a warning to all whom it may concern, that though new irish bulls may be introduced freely, and even be relished in this country, there is no toleration for old irish cows on this side st. george's channel. * * * * * [illustration: _irish driver._ "yes, yer 'onner, it's a nasty bit o'road, it is, an' it's likely ye are to 'ave a fall out, if ye aren't drivin' careful!"] [illustration: "circumstantial."--_counsel for the prisoner._ "and you tell me, sir, you saw that blind, helpless fiddler kick the prosecutor on the head along with his other assailants?" _witness._ "i did, surr! in the thick o' the shindy, i seen the ould vagabone a-feelin' round an' round that honest poor man down on the flewer till he'd found a vacancy, whin he ups wid his fut an' lits fly, the divil's own shoe-full clane into the centre ov't!!!"] [illustration: "hope springs eternal----."--_irish landlord (in distressed district, who had paid compensation for not receiving his rents, and was sinking his capital in draining-works, and otherwise "disturbing" his tenants)._ "well, pat, i hope, with a good harvest, we shall get on without all this 'relief' next season----" _pat (an optimist)._ "och, plaze heaven, yer honour, we'll have another bad year yet!!"] [illustration: when you _are_ about it.--_magister familias (parting with his butler)._ "here is the letter, flanagan. i can conscientiously say you are honest and attentive, but i should have to stretch a point if i were to say you are sober." _mr. flanagan._ "thank you, sor. but when you _are_ afther strritchin' a point, sor, wouldn't you, plase, sthritch it a little further, and say i'm _aften_ sober!!"] [illustration: levelling up.--_subaltern (just arrived by rail)._ "how much to the barracks?" _car-driver_. "ah, shure, thin, captin, the manest ov 'em gives me t'ree and sixpence!"] [illustration: "so this is your native place, pat?" "yes, your riverence--that is, _par-r-t of the toime_!"] [illustration: "a private view."--_pat._ "what d'ye think of the home rule bill, murphy?" _murphy (puzzled)._ "begorra, if it means staying at home with the ould woman every blessed day, home rule won't do for me at all, at all!"] p.i.p. (_perfectly impossible pulp_) the royal visit to ireland no doubt some of our readers have been, at one time or another, in ireland, especially those who were born there. it is hoped, however, that the following notes may be of some value to those whose attention has now for the first time been attracted to this country by the king's visit. many, however, will remember that not very long ago ireland was the scene of perhaps the most bloodless and humane motor-car encounters of modern times. the inhabitants of the island (who consist of men, women, and children of both sexes) are full of native character. they are generally fond of animals, especially pigs and "bulls." these latter wear what is known as a celtic fringe on the forehead. the principal exports are emigrants, m.p.s, shamrocks, dublin fusiliers, field marshals, real lace, and cigars. a full list of "previous royal visits to ireland and other countries" will be found in another column of some other paper. [illustration: _irish chambermaid (indignantly, to gay lothario who has tried to snatch a kiss and been foiled)._ "ye dare! if it wasn't for soilin' me hands wid ye i'd kick ye downstairs!"] dublin is the capital of the country, and is pronounced very much like the english word "doubling," with the final "g" omitted. the tourist will find the language difficulty comparatively easy, as english is now spoken in most of the large shops. a few phrases, such as "erin go bragh," "begorra ye spalpeen," "acushla mavourneen," &c., are easily learnt, and the trouble involved is amply repaid in the simple joy of the natives on hearing a foreigner speak their own language. [illustration: proof _master._ "pat, i must say you're very contradictory." _pat (emphatically)._ "i am not, sorr!"] english gold is accepted in ireland, and the rate of exchange works out at twenty shillings to the sovereign. two sixpences will always be accepted in lieu of a shilling. n.b.--to avoid disappointment to naturalists and others we think it right to mention that since the late raid of st. patrick there are no snakes of first-rate quality in ireland. [illustration: after a shoot in county clare _master._ "well, paddy, what sort of a bag?" _paddy._ "well, yer honour, countin' the rabbits, there is nine distinct spaycies o' birds!"] "the finest pleasantry in the world" [" ... the court was in an uproar from the moment the magistrates took their seats.... counsel for the crown was rudely interrupted by the defendants ... much to the delight of the crowd.... after some particularly riotous scenes the police were called on to clear the court.... one of the defendants was supplied with meat and bread in court."--_globe._] _counsel for the crown._ the prisoners are charged---- _a defendant._ charged a dale too much for their accommodation. oi'd loike a bit o' lunch to go on wid. oi havn't aten a morsel since last time. [_loud cries of "shame on the polis for shtarvin' of um!" "shtick up for yer roights, avick!" "to h----wid the magisthrates!"_ _chairman of the bench._ if these observations are repeated, i shall clear the court. _second defendant._ arrah thin, clear yer own muddy brain first! _chairman (indignantly)._ are these indecent interruptions to continue? _third defendant._ 'coorse they are. [illustration: this is mr. denis o'brien, who claims descent from the ancient kings of ireland. but his pretensions just now do not soar above _half_ a crown.] _first defendant._ oi tell ye o'im shtarvin for me lunch. oi'll take a sandwich and a shmall bottle o' porther. [_refreshments brought in by order of the magistrates. defendants indulge in a sort of "free-and-easy" picnic in the solicitors' well, after which they light dirty clay pipes. crowd bursts into loud cheers._ _counsel for the crown (resuming)._ as i was saying, the defendants are charged with intimidation in this neighbourhood, and so complete has been their system that up to the present moment none of our witnesses have dared to venture near the precincts of the court. we have, however, now endeavoured to get them here by the aid of the police and a small covered van. if we succeed in this---- _first defendant._ ye will not. whativer decision these fat-headed magistrates give, we shan't obey ut. even if they acquitted us, _we wouldn't walk out o' the coort_! ould oireland for iver! [_vociferous cheering, in the midst of which the court was cleared, and the magistrates, under police protection, left for home._ * * * * * [illustration: "sure, terence, if yez go to the front, kape at the back, or ye'll be kilt, o' know ut!" "faith, an' isn't that the way oi get my livin'?"] [illustration: _father o'flynn._ "and now, pat murphy, in this season of lent, what is it ye'll do by way of penance?" _pat murphy._ "sure, then, i'll--i'll come an' hear your riverance prayche!"] [illustration: _the vicar._ "i have not seen your husband at church lately, mrs. murphy." _mrs. murphy._ "well, sir, i'm sorry to say as my old man is _enjoying_ very bad 'ealth at present!"] [illustration: the wonders of the deep _paddy._ "be jabers! the forrst thoime i iver saw rid hirrins swimmin' about aloive before!"] [illustration: decimals on deck _irish mate._ "how manny iv ye down ther-re?!" _voice from the hold._ "three, sor!" _mate._ "thin half iv ye come up here immadiately!"] [illustration: _irish maid._ "do you want a good beating, master jimmy, or do you not? because, if you don't behave yourself this minute--_you'll get both_!"] [illustration: _mistress._ "poor darling little topsy! i'm afraid she will never recover. do you know, bridget, i think the kindest thing would be to have her shot, and put her out of her misery!" _bridget._ "'deed, mam, i wouldn't do that. sure she _might_ get better after all, an' then ye'd be sorry ye'd had her kill'd!"] * * * * * the saxon oppressor.--_saxon tourist._ "i suppose the english buy all the pigs that you wish to sell?" _irish peasant._ "they do. bad luck to 'em, the toirants!" * * * * * from shannon shore.--we extract the following momentous announcement from the _western daily press_:-- "an irish member tells me that the motor craze is causing a revival of the limerick lace trade. this particular kind of lace is, it is said, the best protection that a lady can have for her complexion when she is engaged in breaking the speech limit." the information must be authentic, for there is no authority like an irish member where the "speech limit" is concerned. * * * * * an irish bull on the line.--"the directors of the dublin, wicklow and wexford railway company are prepared to receive tenders for the purchase of about tons of old steel rails and permanent way scrap. the directors do not bind themselves to accept the _lowest_ or any tender."--[italics by _mr. punch_.] * * * * * [illustration: from erin _restaurant waiter._ "bill, sorr? yes, sorr. it's foive-and-sixpence including the cigyar, and that makes six shillings, sorr!"] [illustration: "a word and a blow!"--_first gent (celt)._ "ye met'm at me brother's, the mimber, i think?" _second gent (saxon)._ "yes, but i haven't any favourable impression of him--'n fact--um--he struck me as a liar." _first gent._ "did he, thin?! i hope ye hit'm back, surr!"] [illustration: boys at play (after an execution).--_first kilkenny "boy."_ "did ye see the cock-fightin' at pat daly's lasst night?" _second kilkenny "boy."_ "i did not." _first kilkenny "boy."_ "did ye see the 'boys' 'suffer-r,' this mornin'?" _second kilkenny "boy" (listlessly)._ "i did not." _first kilkenny "boy."_ "ah, thin, ye take no delight out o' yerself, at all, at all!"] [illustration: _dooley._ "what's the matter wid ye anyhow, mick--all tattered an' torrun an' bitten an' scratched all over?" _mick._ "ay, an' me own dog done it! i want home sober last noight, an' the baste _didn't know me_!"] [illustration: _pat (who has been acting as guide, and has been pointing out the devil's this and the devil's that for the last two hours)._ "an' _that's_ the devil's puch-bowl, yer anner." _tourist._ "the devil seems to own a good deal of property about here, pat!" _pat._ "ye're roight, yer anner. but, loike most av the other landlords, he spinds most av his toime in london!"] [illustration: _traveller._ "get on, man; get on! wake up your nag." _driver._ "shure, sorr, i haven't the heart to bate him." _traveller._ "what's the matter with him? is he sick?" _driver._ "no, sor, he's not _sick_, but it's unlucky 'e is, sor, unlucky! you see, sor, every morning, afore i put 'im in the car, i tosses 'im whether '_e_ll have a feed of oats, or _i_'ll have a dhrink of whisky, _an' the poor baste has lost five mornings running_!"] [illustration: a safe win (?) _pat (in corner, to chaffing friend, who knows him to have backed beaten horse)_. "goin' to lose, am oi! faith, an' oi'm not! shure, oi've got a troifle on every blissed horse in the race!"] [illustration: a pleasant prospect.--_traveller (in ireland)._ "hi,--pull her up, man! don't you see the mare is running away?" _paddy._ "hould tight, yer 'onor! for yer life don't touch the reins!--sure they're as rotten as pears! i'll turn her into the river at the bridge below here! sure that'll stop her, the blagyard!"] [illustration: _irish waiter (to bow-legged traveller in the coffee-room)._ "big pardon, sor. hadn't your honour better move a little further from the foire?" _traveller (fiercely)._ "eh? wha' for? wha'd ye mean!?" _irish waiter._ "och shure, sor, yer legs is warpin'!--och! phew! most turrible!"] [illustration: domestic training.--_district visitor_. "well, mrs. murphy, i'm glad to hear your daughter has got a place as parlour-maid. do you think she'll be up to the work?" _mrs. murphy._ "ah, thin, why wouldn't she? sure, isn't she used to the ways at home?"] [illustration: a literal fact.--_the young master (to new valet from the emerald isle)._ "i say, confound you, what have you been doing with my boots here?" (_the night had been rainy._) _pat._ "shure, sorr, you tould me lasst evening to putt 'm on the thrays!"] [illustration: irish architecture.--_angler (in ireland)._ "hullo, pat, what are you about now?" _pat._ "shure, i'm raisin' me roof a bit, yer honour-r!!"] [illustration: blarney.--_tall yankee (just arrived)._ "guess your legal fare is just sixpence----" _dublin carman._ "sure, me lord, we take some chape jacks at that--but i wouldn't disgrace a gintleman av your lordship's quality be drivin' him at a mane pace t'rough the public sthreets--so i tuk upon myself to give your lordship a shillin'sworth both av stoyle an' whipcard!!"] [illustration: word-painting.--_sportsman (who has just lost a good fish)._ "that was a good one, tim." _tim._ "'doed then it was! he was as long as an umbrella, and had a side on him like a shop shutter!"] [illustration: "general utility."--(scene--_hotel stables, north of ireland_.) captain. "hullo, pat! what the deuce are you doing to the old mare?" _pat_. "well, you see, capt'in, our old black hearse horse went lame yesterday that was wanted for squire doherty's funeral, so i'm paintin' up the ould grey for the service. you see her body won't show, by rason o' the housin's, and i'll have to wash her clane ag'in for miss mcginnety's weddin' on the morrow!!"] [illustration: "exclusive dealing."--_irish landlord (boycotted)._ "pat, my man, i'm in no end of a hurry. put the pony to, and drive me to the station, and i'll give ye half a sovereign!" _pat (nationalist, but needy)._ "och shure, it's more than me loife is worth to be seen droiving _you_, yer honour. but"--_slily_--"if yer honour would jist droive _me_, maybe it's meself that moight venture it!"] [illustration: generally applicable.--(scene--_irish land court_). _sub-commissioner._ "now, murphy, have you effected any improvement in this farm?" _tenant._ "i have, yer honour! iver since i got it i've been improvin' it. but, by jabers, it's that sort o' land, the more ye 'mprove 'it the worrse it gets!!" [_court reduces the rent per cent.!_ ] ] [illustration: "a pleasant prospect."--_car-driver (to new agent)._ "begorra, the wondher is he wasn't shot long before--but, shure, they say, what's iverybody's business is nobody's business!"] [illustration: life in leitrim.--_saxon angler._ "oh, but i can't try for a salmon. i haven't got a licence----" _native._ "is it a licence ye want to kill a fish? shure ye might kill a man or two about here an' nobody'd say a word t' ye!"] [illustration: _gentleman (to irish ostler, who has brought out their horses)._ "that's my horse." _ostler._ "yes, sorr, oi know that; but oi didn't know which of the two was the other gintleman's, sorr!"] [illustration: "bedad! i don't like him at all. he walks lame in his trot."] [illustration: _irish jarvey._ "let me dhrive yer honour to duneen head." _english tourist._ "i have seen that, pat. i went there two years ago." _irish jarvey._ "ah, yer honour, shure they 've added to the scenery since that toime!"] [illustration: another irish obstruction _colonel o'funk._ "i say, my man, what's on the other side of that rail?" _pat._ "nothing." _colonel o'funk._ "then, will you take it down, and i'll clear it?"] [illustration: odd!--_the colonel (stopping at irish inn)._ "look here. what's the meaning of this?" _boots._ "bedad! an' i've got just such another quare pair down below!"] [illustration: _the rector (to irish plasterer)._ "that mortar must have been very bad." _pat (with a grin)._ "faix, ye cann't expict the likes o' good roman cimint to stick to a protestant church, sorr!!"] [illustration: the sights of dublin _irish car-driver._ "shure that's the custom-house, sor; but it's only the rare av it you'll be seeing this side, sor--the front's behind!"] [illustration: a fair offer _athletic barman._ "now, if you don't take yourself off, i'll precious soon turn you out!" _pat (with a yell)._ "tur-r-rn me out! is it tur-r-rn me out! thin, bedad! ccome outside, an' tur-r-rn me out!!"] [illustration: _tourist._ "when does the next train start for cork, porter?" _irish porter._ "she's just gone, sorr!"] [illustration: the new chimney _mike._ "faith, tim, ye haven't got ut sthraight at all. it lanes over to the roight!" _tim._ "oh, ye're wrong. it's plumb ex-hact! it's myself that plumbed ut mosht careful. indade, if ut has a fault, it lanes over an inch or tew to the left, when ye look at ut from behoind!!"] [illustration: irish "as she is spoke." (shows notice saying "persons trespassing here without permission will be prosecuted")] [illustration: degeneracy.--"shure an your honour, it's things was mighty diffrunt in the ould days when the ginthry be's a cummin' to the parties! 'tis as much as three pound i'd be takin' of a night! but _now_--why, divil a bit beyant a few coppers ever i sees at all! mind you, this evenin' i puts a decoy half-crown on the plate myself, and bedad if they didn't take it ov me! but wait--i'll do them the next time--for begorra i'll have it glued to the plate!"] [illustration: seasoned.--_lady tourist._ "are the sheets well aired?" _irish chambermaid._ "troth, and they are, ma'am; for the sayson is three months begun, and they've been well used since!"] how father o'shee laid in his christmas coals young patsy molloy was as purty a boy as was ever of widdy the pride and the joy; and as for his ass, sorra crather could pass that beautiful baste, but for one fault, alas! when she felt she'd a load, you might kick and might goad, but divil a fut would she move on the road, till you'd tickle her bones wid a handful of stones-- and _that_ hint she'd take, the desateful ould toad! * * * * * the widdy, half dead with could, looked in the shed, but sorra the peat could she find; so she said, "sure i'm clane out of few'l, and the could is that crew'l; take the baste for a load of wallsends, pat, my jew'l!" [illustration: pat with donkey cart talking to the widdy] * * * * * pat went, filled his cart, and for home made a start, but the baste wid her tantrums well-nigh bruk his heart for never a stip would she move, the ould rip! but she stood like a pig wid her legs wide apart. "ochone! wirra-'sthrue! arrah, what will i do?" cried pat, as he sat in a terrible stew. [illustration: pat with loaded donkey cart, donkey being stubborn] then he called on the saints, and he called on the d---- (i won't say the word--sure it wouldn't be civil!) when, as good luck would be, by strowls father shee, and he says, "my son patsy! my son pat!" says he, '"sich language is really shocking to me. sure, what is the matther?" "the matther!" says pat "now, saving your prisence, by this and by that! the murthering brute will not budge--not a fut." says the priest, "why not bate her?" oh wasn't he cute! "is it batin'?" says pat. "by the saint in my hat! 'tisn't batin' she cares for--bad luck to the slut! ochone and ochone! if i'd only a stone----!" "a stone!" says the priest--ah thin, wasn't he artful?-- "a stone! why, ye omadhaun, look at yer cartfull!" [illustration: pat with loaded donkey cart talking to priest] "thrue for you!" pat sings out; "them's the jockeys'll do," and clutching two handsful with joyous "hurroo," he let fly in haste at the back of his baste, that not likin' the taste, started off as if chased by the ould one himself, for a good rood or two. but pat knew the thrick, and whenever she'd kick, or stop in her canther, the coals would fall thick on her ribs and her back, till the road was asthrew wid best wallsends, and patsy's poor baste black and blue! * * * * * [illustration: donkey galloping, cart now empty] ten minutes, and cute father shee you'd have seen, wid his shovel and crate, and his purty colleen. and he says, "colleen dhas, sure 'tis wicked to pass the good things that's sent, though they're brought by an ass. [illustration: colleen with shovel and priest] d'ye see them black diamonds? it's elegant coal-- shovel up every lump, if you vally your soul!" * * * * * as for pat and the widdy--i will not be guessing what _he_ got--but i'll go bail 't wasn't a blessing! [illustration: pat with donkey cart talking to the widdy] * * * * * [illustration: inductive.--_officer._ "how's this, murphy? the sergeant complains that you called him names!" _private murphy._ "plaze, surr, i niver called him anny names at all. all i said was, 'sergeant,' says i, 'some of us ought to be in a menagerie!!'"] [illustration: from one point of view.--scene--_british jury room. all agreed on their verdict except irish juryman (who holds out)._ "ah, thin, iliv'n more obstinit' men i nivir met in all me loife!!"] [illustration: an irish intro-duc-tion.--_village dame (addressing a brood of young ducks which she has just thrown into the pond for a first swim)._ "ther' now, you be landed!"] [illustration: our military man[oe]uvres.--_irish drill-sergeant (to squad of militiamen)._ "pr's'nt 'rrms!"--(_astonishing result._)--"hiv'ns! what a 'prisint'! jist stip out here now, an' look at yersilves!!"] [illustration: irish assurance.--_the o'mullygan (who has been assuring his life)._ "hah! another word, gintlemen! oi hear a good deal about mercantile frauds and financial irrigularities, an' i've only this to say: if moy ixicutors have any bother in getting this paid, 'faith oi'll ixterpate int-hirely the thin sitting board!--actuiry, sicretary, and ivery man jack iv ye! make your mimorandum o' that, an' good day t'ye!!"] [illustration: an irish "sequitur."--_traveller (they had already walked a mile from the station)._ "hi, i say, porter, do you call this 'no way at all?' i thought donnybrook lodge was near the terminus." _pat_. "faix, i cannt say, sor, i was a follerin' o' you gintlemen!!"] * * * * * the wind to please the pigs.--sow-sow west. * * * * * the root of irish evil.--it used to be said that the irish people were unwise on relying on the potato. their reliance on 'taturs was foolish enough, but still more foolish is their faith in agitators. [illustration: end of the volume, blown from saxophone by mr punch, observed by toby] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. * * * * * transciber's notes obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. punctuation, particularly the use of " has been rationalised, other variations in punctuation and spelling are as in the original. page "##bulls" whisky, the beginning of the name is missing. page "tableau v[e]evant". the letter between v and e is illegible. italics are shown thus _italic_. mr punch on tour. punch library of humour. edited by j. a. hammerton. designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: mr. and mrs. jones's walking tour.--(_at the shakspeare hotel_). _voice from the office_: "porter, take this lady and gentleman to the romeo and juliet room."] * * * * * mr. punch on tour the humour of travel at home and abroad [illustration] depicted by phil may, charles keene, george du maurier, l. raven-hill, bernard partridge, f. h. townsend, dudley hardy, reginald cleaver, gordon browne, lewis baumer, g. d. armour, a. wallis mills, lance thackeray, and others _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" [illustration] the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo. pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * the humour of travel [illustration] there is nothing insular about mr. punch. judging by his features, familiar though these be and long as they have been typical of english humour, he is not without some trace of foreign origin. indeed, we fancy that were a very searching enquiry to be made into his ancestry we might find he had a far-off forebear who was, let us say, italian! perhaps we have here the explanation of his breadth of mind and wide sympathy which, however deeply rooted in the good soil of old england, are by no means absolutely delimited by our coast line. it is thus that we find him consistently the best of travelling companions, for there is none he is more ready to castigate with the whip of his satire than the insular englishman abroad. this is as it should be, and in these days of the _entente cordiale_ especially, when the inducements to continental travel are steadily increasing, all patriotic englishmen are anxious that their fellow-countrymen should give as good an account of themselves as possible when visiting the fair lands of our friends across the silver streak. [illustration] mr. punch, while always ready to stand for english ideals of right and fair-dealing, has equally endeavoured throughout his long career to show that all the good manners of europe are not to be found on the continent. but above all, wherever he goes, let his travels be within those green isles where he reigns as king of fun or as far afield as the land of the sphinx, he diffuses that good humour which is the essential characteristic of the englishman and adds so much to the joy of life. the present collection, illustrative of the humours of travel at home and abroad, certainly does not bear out the ancient criticism as to the english taking their pleasures sadly. like many another book in this same library it proves rather that they take their misadventures joyously. [illustration] * * * * * mr. punch on tour [illustration] mrs. ramsbotham in rome.--when mrs. r. was in rome she insisted on the guide taking her and her party to see the papal bulls of which she had always heard so much. "i suppose," she said, "they're kept on some farm, and are exhibited for prizes just like the king's or the prince of wales'." the worthy lady added that she couldn't help laughing to think what a mistake she made in holland when she was taken to see "paul potter's bull," which turned out to be only a picture. * * * * * a curious landscape feature observable at monte carlo in the early spring.--blue rocks. * * * * * hints to tourists if you are put with a friend in a double-bedded room, bear in mind that inside walls are only lath and plaster, and that every word you say will be heard in the next room. therefore carry on your conversation at the tip-top of your voice, and make as much noise as you can in packing, and in splashing, and in stumping round your room. always give to beggars who waylay you on the road, and if you know their language, accompany your gift with a little stagey speech to the effect that all we english have more money than we know how to spend, and it is our duty when we travel to succour the distressed. this will mightily encourage the impostors in their trade, and engender a great nuisance for tourists who are poorer or less foolish than yourself. * * * * * she meant nothing wrong.--_curate to american visitor._ how do you like our church, mrs. golightly? it is very generally admired. _mrs. golightly._ yes, it's very pretty, but if it only had a clock fitted on the tower, it would be _useful_ as well as ornamental. * * * * * [illustration: tactful sympathy _genial friend._ "hullo, old man, getting on all right?"] * * * * * [illustration: our artist, while staying in the country, thinks it would be a good opportunity for studying _calves_.] * * * * * [illustration: _yachting man._ "well, i always said you were a plucky fellow, splinter; but really, now, i did not give you credit----" _splinter_ (_not displeased_). "how do you mean?" _yachting man._ "why, with your spars, to put out in such a gale o' wind as this."] * * * * * travellers' tales _first traveller_ (_in the smoking-room_). i think the most marvellous sight i ever saw was when i was crossing the bight of benin. you know the bight? _second traveller._ perfectly. shot two sea-serpents there last year. _third traveller._ i landed hard by when i cycled across africa. _first traveller._ well, it was there we sighted a man who had crossed from buenos ayres on a hen-coop, with a cotton umbrella for a sail, and---- _other travellers_ (_jealously in chorus_). oh! come, i say! _quiet man_ (_in corner_). oh, i'll vouch for the truth of the assertion. _first traveller_ (_nettled_). how's that? _quiet man._ why, _i_ was the man. [_company disperses._ * * * * * next best thing to the persian locomotive carpet of eastern fable.--the "travelling rug" of western fact. * * * * * [illustration: brown, who has had a hard day sight-seeing, in tunis, goes to a café for a quiet drink and rest. result!] * * * * * a happy holiday now i really do not care a hang about the riviera, in the daytime you've a gay time, but the nights are very cold. and for any kind of touring, which i used to find alluring, i for biking had a liking, but i now have grown too old. then the constant change of weather to my thinking, altogether knocked the notion of an ocean trip completely on the head; i've a horror, too, of "trippers," 'arrys, 'arriets, and "nippers," so a jolly quiet holi- day i spent at home in bed. * * * * * no difference.--_english customer_ (_to manager of restaurant_). i see, signor maraschino, that the american gentleman and his wife who have just left drank nothing but water with their dinner. does that make much difference in their bill? _signor maraschino._ noting, sir. they pay same as yourself and lady, who 'ave champagne. oderwise 'ow should we live? * * * * * "the great loan land."--russia. * * * * * [illustration: what did mr. punch do in the easter recess?--volunteer review! not a bit of it! he just popped over, and had a few days of delightful _dolce far niente_ at venice.] * * * * * [illustration: papa, maman, et bébé s'en vont à la pêche aux crevettes.] * * * * * [illustration: fin de la saison.--(_at a cercle anglais. "le fiv' o'clock," i.e., afternoon tea._) _britisher._ "_coming to the ball to-night, count?_" _monsieur le comte._ "moi, mon cher? ah, non. i am tired. i have the ache everywhere. i have play the football!" _britisher._ "good! what?--forward, half-back?" _monsieur le comte._ "forward! half-back! par exemple, i am 'arbitre'--how you say it?--referee!"] * * * * * impressions from abroad (_by our susceptible subscriber_) impressions on my hat after going down the salt mine at berchtesgaden. impressions on my alpenstock after looking at the alpine peaks from below with an opera-glass. impressions on my nose and forehead by the mosquitoes, when i would be poetical and stay all the evening on the rialto at venice. impressions on my ears by the bad language of my guide, when i refused to pay for the echoes awakened on the rhine by an ancient howitzer. impressions on my heart by memories of that pretty little frenchwoman i travelled with from turin. impressions on my feet by her sweet little _bottines_. impression on my mind, after mrs. p. detected those _bottines_ too near my boots, that it would be better not to be so susceptible another time. * * * * * thought by a tourist.--too many cook's excursionists spoil the _table d'hôte_. * * * * * [illustration: the ruling passion _customs official._ "have you anything to declare?" _absent-minded traveller_ (_bridge-player, just catching last word_). "oh, leave it to you!"] * * * * * [illustration:: international comparisons _henri dubois_ (_who can speak english_) _to his friend 'arry smith_ (_who can't_). "pardon me, mon ami! you are very pretty boy, you dress in ze most perfect 'chic'; but vy do you speak your own language so ungrammaticallé?" '_arry._ "why do i speak my hown langwidge so hungrammatical? 'ang it, yer down't suppowse as i were hedgerkited at heton or 'arrow like a bloomin' swell, do yer?" _henri._ "voyez donc ça! now in france zere is no eton, no harrow: all ze public schools are ze same, and ze butcher and baker's little boys go zere, and ze little candlestick-makers, and ze little boys of ze merchants of cheese like you and me!" '_arry._ "come, i s'y, walker, yer know! and where do their customers' little boys go?" _henri._ "parbleu! zey go zere too!!" ['_arry, suddenly conscious of his deficiencies, feels bitterly towards his country._ ] * * * * * [illustration: "dead men tell no tales" _old gentleman._ "are you certain that these life-belts are cork, and not half sawdust?" _storeman._ "they are the best quality. we have sold hundreds, and never had a complaint!"] * * * * * happy geographical thought (_when crossing the channel in exceptionally rough weather_).--"oh dear! what a pity that the sea everywhere can't be the pacific ocean!" * * * * * "the travellers' club."--an alpenstock. * * * * * [illustration: foreign hotels.--"what!--no soap!"--"oh--er--juste regardez ici, mademoiselle! vous nous avez chargé pour le _savon_--et nous ne l'avons pas _usé_, vous savez, car----" "oh, mamma! how _can_ you!" [_poor things! they had brought their own._ ] * * * * * [illustration: the last thing out.--sensation created every morning at crevetteville-sur-mer by colonel f---- (of the guards) and the lovely lady magnolia d----.] * * * * * [illustration: the personal equation.--_ducal butler_ (_showing art treasures of stilton castle_). "the three graces--after canova!" _mrs ramsbotham._ "how interesting! and pray, which is the _present_ duchess?"] * * * * * [illustration: _her husband_ (_going on the continent_). "look here, arabella, from now you and i will speak nothing but french." _arabella._ "_oui._" _her husband._ "what did you say?"] * * * * * [illustration: "easier said than done" _stout traveller_ (_in the eastern counties_). "my lad--which is the--quickest way--for me to get to the station?" _street arab._ "wh' run bo'! 'th' else yeow'll sartain'y lewse th' tr'ine! there goo th' bell!!"] * * * * * [illustration: despair! brown has locked his portmanteau with one of those letter padlocks and forgotten the word that opens it. [_only ten minutes to dinner!_ ] * * * * * viator's vade mecum (_or compendious weather-guide for the british tourist_) when the wind is in the north, gingham take if you go forth. if to eastward veer the wind, gingham do not leave behind. if to west the wind should tend, gingham is your surest friend. if it seek the south, of course, gingham is your sole resource. intermediate points demand gingham constantly in hand. if there be no wind at all, gingham take, for rain will fall. at all other times, no doubt, gingham you may do without, yet e'en then an hour may bring 'em,-- showers i mean,--so take your gingham! * * * * * _english tourist_ (_in the far north, miles from anywhere_). "do you mean to say that you and your family live here all the winter? why, what do you do when any of you are ill? you can never get a doctor!" _scotch shepherd._ "nae, sir. we've just to dee a natural death!" * * * * * _the_ place in hot weather.--lazistan. * * * * * [illustration: the water cure _young lady._ "so you've been on the continent, professor?" _the professor._ "yes, i've been to marienbad, taking the baths, you know." _young lady._ "really? that _was_ a change for you, wasn't it?"] * * * * * [illustration: "oh! con-found these country looking-glasses, though!"] * * * * * [illustration: the hot weather _traveller_ (_bedtime, thermometer °!_). "waiter, go' sh'ch a thing as a warmin'-pan?" _waiter_ (_astounded_). "a warming-pan, sir!" _traveller._ "and got any ice?" _waiter._ "ice, sir? yessir!" _traveller._ "then tell 'chamb'maid to run a pan of ice through my bed, and let me have my candle. i'll turn in!!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_an indian station, on the eve of a fancy ball._--_globe-trotting "bounder"_ (_newly arrived_). "you're running this ball, ain't you? is fancy dress _de rigueur_?" _choleric colonel_ (_who is ball secretary_). "fancy dress, sir, is not _de rigueur_, but an invitation _is_!"] * * * * * [illustration: up country joys in india.--_the mem sahib_ (_with a view to seasonable festivities_). "i wonder if you have got such a thing as lemon peel or candied peel in your shop?" _"europe shop" keeper._ "ah, no, mem sahib. onlee got it 'cockle' peel and 'beesham' peel!"] * * * * * the travellers' protection league the t. p. l. commenced operations last week with regard to the unpunctuality of certain railway companies, and should be encouraged to go a little farther. we want protection against:-- . passengers who try to keep us out of carriages by fictitiously placing hats and wraps on more seats or corners than they will themselves occupy. . passengers who endeavour to enter carriages when we have fictitiously placed hats and wraps on more seats or corners than we shall ourselves occupy. . people who smoke bad tobacco in compartments where there are ladies. . ladies who ride in compartments where we smoke bad tobacco. . parties who insist upon having the window open when we wish it shut. . parties who insist upon having the window shut when we wish it open. . persons who try to squeeze in when our carriage is full. . persons who try to keep us out when their carriage is full. . objectionable babies. . objectors to babies. and a job lot of grievances, viz.:-- . the british landscape, now consisting of pill advertisements. . clapham junction. . bank holiday traffic and excursionists, racing and football crowds. . the weather. . nasty smelling smoke. . irritatingly uncertain lamps. . the increase in the income-tax. . the cussedness of things in general. . and, lastly, the billion dollar trust. if the t. p. l. will abate or abolish any or all of these nuisances we shall be very greatly obliged. * * * * * [illustration: a tight fit _chorus of girls_ (_to popular party on bank_). "oh, do come with us, there's _plenty_ of room!"] * * * * * mrs. ramsbotham was asked if she liked yachting, and she replied that she preferred _terra-cotta_. she probably meant _terra-firma_. * * * * * [illustration: "when a man does not look his best" when, after lunching sumptuously at a strange hotel in a strange part of the country, it suddenly occurs to him that he has left his purse, with all his money in it, in the mail train going north.] * * * * * at munich.--_mr. joddletop_ (_to travelling companion at bierhalle_). what they call this larger beer for i'm blessed if i know! why, it's thinner than what i drink at home. * * * * * mr. punch's country rambles (_with acknowledgments to the "daily chronicle"_) a memorable afternoon may be spent by taking the train to muggleton, and walking from there by way of mudford, sloppington, stickborough-in-the-marsh, drencham, st. swithuns, and swillingspout to poddleton-on-the-slosh. the whole district is full of memories of the great hodge family (before it migrated into the towns). quite a number of mute, inglorious miltons are buried in poddleton churchyard, but a few people may still be seen in the market-place on saturdays. _route of ramble._--alighting at muggleton station (too much reliance should not be placed upon the elocution of the local railway porter) leave the refreshment room resolutely on the left (as you will need to keep your intelligence clear), and proceed in a north-north-east-half-northerly direction along a winding lane, until mudford beacon appears in the rear. then turn back across six meadows and a ploughed field, following alternately the bed of a stream and the right bank of the canal until sloppington is reached. from there follow the boundary line between the counties of mudshire and slopshire as far as stickborough: from two to seven miles further on (according to the best local computation) lies drencham, where is a remarkable pump. leaving this landmark south-west-by-west, veer sharply to the left twice, and pursue a zig-zag course. if, at the twenty-second field, you are not within easy reach of swillingspout it will be because you are incapable of following this brief chronicle. from the last-named place the nearest way to poddleton is through the railway tunnel. it is not public, but persons have sometimes succeeded in getting through. poddleton is nine miles from a station, but an omnibus walks the distance occasionally, when the horse is not required for funerals or other purposes. _length of ramble._--doubtful. has only been done in sections. * * * * * miss-guided folks in paris.--evidently those who are personally conducted by "lady guides." * * * * * [illustration: "by the card" _pedestrian._ "how far is it to sludgecombe, boy?" _boy._ "why, 'bout twenty 'underd theausan' mild 'f y' goo 's y'are agooin' now, an' 'bout half a mild 'f you turn right reaound an' goo t'other way!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _traveller._ "can you direct me to hollow meadows?" _hodge_ (_who stutters frightfully_). "ye-ye-ye-yes. you t-t-t-t-take the f-f-f-first t-t-t-t-turning on th-the right, and ku-ku-ku-keep straight on ower th' b-b-b-brig. bu-bub-bub-but you'd bub-bub-bub-better be gu-gu-gu-gangin' on. you'll gu-gu-get there quicker th-th-th-than i can t-t-t-tell you!"] * * * * * [illustration: much pleasanter for alfred _constance_ (_adding the last straw_). "there, darling! i hope i've forgotten nothing. and oh, alfred! how much, _much_ pleasanter to carry our things ourselves, and be alone together, than to have a horrid servant trotting behind us, and listening to every word we say!"] * * * * * [illustration: something from the provinces _excursionist_ (_politely_). "can you kindly direct me the nearest way to slagley?" _powerful navvy._ "ah can poonch th' head o' thee!" _[excursionist retires hastily._ ] * * * * * [illustration: on the colonial tour _famous pianist._ "himmel! how hot it is! i really think i might just have half an inch cut off--just round the nape of my neck you know. just _thinned_ a little----" _his agent._ "out of the question, my boy. remember clause seven in the agreement--'your hair not to be cut till the last concert in australia is over'!"] * * * * * [illustration: evolution extraordinary _british tourist_ (_who has been served with a pig's foot_). "what's this? i ordered quail!" _negro waiter._ "wall--y'ev got quail!" _british tourist._ "quail! why a quail's a bird!" _negro waiter._ "_not here!_"] * * * * * the ideal holiday come, phyllis, for the season is already on the wane, and the question of our holiday perplexes once again; now every jaded londoner fresh stores of vigour seeks, our problem is how best to pass these few and fleeting weeks. as one by one each watering-place we call to mind in turn as promptly some objection to each one we discern; thus scarborough's too chilly, and ilfracombe too hot, and this too near, and that too dear, that sandy and this not. the alps are always overrun and crowded as cheapside, and the garlic-reeking south i own i never could abide; the _bads_--aix, vichy, taunus, homburg, carlsbad, neuenahr, are either vulgar, crowded, dull, expensive, or too far. oh, for some new and lone retreat, nor far away nor near, with lovely sights to charm the eye, soft sounds to soothe the ear; where vexed and wearied spirits, such as yours and mine, might rest, and find in life new purpose, in its joys unwonted zest; some aidenn, some elysium of rapturous delight, where peace should reign unbroken from the dawn to fall of night! yet since for the impossible in vain we yearn, 'tis clear, it will end no doubt as usual, in "good old margate," dear. * * * * * [illustration: "the _valet_ of the nile" much talked about, but very seldom seen!] * * * * * "a railway from joppa to jerusalem" sounds like a scriptural line. in future, "going to jericho" will not imply social banishment, as the party sent thither will be able to take a return-ticket. * * * * * so nice and sympathetic.--a gentleman, whose one glass eye had served him for years, had the misfortune to drop it. it smashed to atoms. this happened when he was far away in the country. he inquired of a friend where was the nearest place for him to go and get refitted. "why don't you call upon the girl you were flirting with all last night?" his friend inquired. "she has a first-class reputation for making eyes." * * * * * balloonery.--"we went spinning through the air!" said an enthusiastic aeronaut, describing his recent trial trip. "indeed!" observed his companion, meditatively. "judging by your description it sounds as if you had been in an 'heir-loom' instead of an 'air-ship.'" * * * * * at brussels.--_mrs. trickleby_ (_pointing to an announcement in grocer's window, and spelling it out_). _jambon d'yorck._ what's that mean, mr. t.? _mr. t_. (_who is by way of being a linguist_). why, good yorkshire preserves, of course. what did you suppose it was--dundee marmalade? * * * * * [illustration: "caution! this hill is dangerous!"] * * * * * to absent friends. (_by a fox without a tail._) dear brown and jones and robinson and many thousands more, now spending dismal holidays on some dank sea-girt shore, you, who affect to pity those compelled in town to stay, should rather envy us, because we cannot get away. while you are hiring tiny rooms at many pounds a week, and huddle there and watch parades that run with rain, and reek, contrast my cheerful aspect with your discontented looks, as here i stay at ease among my pictures and my books. here in the trains the traveller can now find ample space, enjoying elbow-room without a struggle for a place: the choicest dishes are not "off" at half-past one to lunch, and no one spoils our appetite with--"after you with _punch_!" the dainty shops of regent street teem with their treasures still, the park with all its beauties we can now enjoy at will; no longer do the jostling crowds provoke an angry frown, but leisurely we relish the amenities of town. thus basking in the keen delights that empty london owns (though from my heart i pity you--brown, robinson and jones), so long as you may care to stay, and business is slack, i cannot honestly declare i long to see you back. * * * * * [illustration: trippers _tommy_ (_his first visit_). "will it be like this all d-d-d-day daddy?"] * * * * * [illustration: _billiard enthusiast_ (_having mistaken his room at the hotel, holding on to knobs of bed_). "which do you prefer, sir? spot or plain?"] * * * * * when the chairman of a railway company speaks of "the diversion of traffic," may it be understood that "pleasure trips and excursions" are covered by this expression? * * * * * [illustration: england and germany _british nimrod_ (_who has shot tigers in india, and lions in south africa_). "the fact is, herr muller, that i don't care much for sport unless it contains the element of danger." _german nimrod._ "ach zo? you are vont of _taincher_? den you should gom ant shood mit _me_! vy, only de oder tay i shoodet my broder-in-law in de shdômag!"] * * * * * cutting a new acquaintance.--_major longi'th'bow._ i met a brahmin once with "john smith, london," carved on his back. you see he was standing motionless in one of those pious trances which nothing is allowed to interrupt. in this state he was found by a cheap-tripper, who took him for a statue and cut his name as usual. * * * * * at florence.--_first tourist._ hullo! barkins, what brought you here? _second tourist_ (_facetiously_). the railway, of course. and you? _first tourist_ (_getting mixed, but thinking he has his friend_). my wife's wish to see the leaning tower of pisa! * * * * * suitable spots.--_gainsborough_--for greedy tradesmen; _gnosall_--for wiseacres; _gravesend_--for sextons; _great barr_--for constant topers; _grind-on_--for crammers; _halt-whistle_--for football umpires; _hastings_--for wasps; _hawkshead_--for falconers; _honi-ton_--for busy bees; _hoot-on_--for owls. * * * * * cry of the travelling smoker.--_en_ briar root! * * * * * [illustration: snub for a snob _english tourist._ "aw--that buttermilk was very nice, my dear. what payment do you expect for it?" _cottage girl._ "we wouldn't be after asking any payment. sure we _give_ it to the pigs!"] * * * * * [illustration: misplaced sympathy (_the "boots" at the shadow of death hotel, in the back block of australia, on seeing a pair of boot-trees for the first time._) "i say, billy, that poor bloke in the bed-room must 'ave ad a terrible accident. he's got two wooden feet!"] * * * * * _mrs. tripper_ (_examining official notice on the walls of boulogne_). what's that mean, tripper, "pas de calais"? _tripper_ (_who is proud of his superior acquaintance with a foreign language_). it means--"nothing to do with calais," my dear. these rival ports are dreadfully jealous of one another. * * * * * [illustration: where ignorance is bliss, &c. _jones._ "i say, what's the exact meaning of 'voilà'?" _brown._ "well, i should translate it as 'behold,' or 'there you are,' or something like that." _jones._ "confound it! i've been using it for the last month and thinking i've been swearing in french!"] * * * * * [illustration: bashan, near barmouth the worst of wales is, the wild beasts are so numerous and inquisitive.] * * * * * [illustration: geology.--_scientific pedestrian._ "do you find any fossils here?" _excavator._ "dunno what you calls 'vossuls.' we finds nowt here but muck and 'ard work!"] * * * * * [illustration: music on the waters.--_parker._ "beg pardon, my lady, but the band can't play the selection your ladyship asked for." _her ladyship_ (_astonished_). "but it's in their programme!" _parker._ "yes, my lady, but they can't play it till we get into still water, and _then they'll try_!"] * * * * * [illustration: the comforter.--"i say, old man, i've just been down in the saloon, and they give you the finest half-crown lunch i've ever struck!"] * * * * * [illustration: a moot point.--_mrs. brown_ (_on her honeymoon_). "oh, aren't you glad, darling, we have come this delightful tour, instead of going to one of those stupid foreign places?" [_darling is not quite sure about it, as the hills are of terrible frequency, and, naturally, he tows his bride up every one._ ] * * * * * [illustration: bad habits grow apace.--_traveller_ (_whose train is due_). "look here, i'm going to get out and walk. that brute will make me miss my train!" _jarvey._ "kape still, surr. for the love av' moses, kape still. sure an' if the ould blayguard bates us, i'll niver get him up to the station no more!"] * * * * * the travellers tricked (_an à propos duologue_) _she_ (_with resolution_). charlie, i want to ask your pardon. i have made a mistake. _he._ yes, dear; which of them? _she._ you shall not put me out by sneering. yes, i have made a mistake; and when i make a mistake, i do not fail to acknowledge it. _he._ quite right, dear. nothing like having a congenial occupation. _she._ charlie, we came back to town prematurely. _he._ yes, dear; we certainly curtailed our stay in paris a little to allow of your purchasing that pretty bonnet. _she._ it cost a lot of money, charlie. _he._ it did, dear; but i did not grudge it, as you and the shop girl said it was of the first mode and the greatest novelty in paris. _she._ yes, charlie; and i believed her. _he._ well, i am sure that the three or four days we cut off were well worth it, to buy the bonnet. _she._ how good, how noble of you to say so! _he._ not at all; i was really glad to get back to the club. and you have your bonnet--a real genuine french bonnet! and the most parisian shape imaginable. _she_ (_with an effort_). the shape is not parisian. _he._ not parisian! where does it come from? _she._ i see from a ticket in the lining it was made in the edgware road. [_tears and curtain._ * * * * * at windsor.--_american traveller_ (_to waiter at the "blue stag"_). say, is it true that you've got a real live ghost here? _waiter._ yessir. believed to be either cardinal garnet wolseley, 'erne the 'untsman, queen elizabeth, or the late king of the belgiums. _american traveller._ thanks. send for the local reporter, if off duty in any one capacity. * * * * * suitable spots.--_ware-ham_--for abstainers from pork; _whits-table_--for facetious gourmets; _wig-more_--for bald men; _wig-ton_--for perruquiers; _winfarthing_--for small gamblers; _wo-burn_--for firemen. * * * * * [illustration: nosÉ in egitto; or, automobility in the land of the sphinx. "one touch of _punch_ makes the whole world kin."] * * * * * [illustration: a question of proportion.--_colonel peppercorn_ (_who is touring in france with a hired chauffeur and car, which has broken down_). "confound it all, you say it's nothing? then why don't you repair it?" _alphonse legros._ "mais, monsieur, pas possible, he break below! i cannot arrive there! he is only quinze centimètres from ze ground; but me--voilà--i have one mètre round ze chest!"] * * * * * the skeleton tourist's vade mecum _question._ what is your object this year? _answer._ to follow the precedent of former summers, and get over as much ground as possible. _q._ how do you manage this? _a._ with the assistance of a ticket guaranteed to make distance a greater consideration than scenery. _q._ is it necessary to examine the places _en route_ with much careful consideration? _a._ certainly not, as the guide-book of the place visited will supply the compulsory omissions. _q._ what are compulsory omissions? _a._ objects of interest left out for want of time to give them an inspection. _q._ how long would you give st. peter's at rome? _a._ a quarter of an hour, and the colosseum at the same place ten minutes. _q._ could you not spare more time than this from your holiday? _a._ no; for luncheon and dinner have to be taken into consideration in the touring table. _q._ what object of interest would you examine in the land of the midnight sun? _a._ the sun at midnight, if it happened to be shining. _q._ and if you visited the rhine by the railway, what object of interest would chiefly attract your attention? _a._ the interior of the compartment in which you happened to be travelling. _q._ what advantage would you derive from your tour? _a._ the satisfaction of explaining to non-tourists where you had been rather than what you had seen. _q._ do you consider that your mind would derive much benefit from your rapid locomotion? _a._ not much, nor my body either. _q._ but i presume your outing would justify the title of this vade mecum? _a._ most certainly; because, by the end of your journey, you might accurately describe your condition as one who had been reduced to a skeleton. * * * * * [illustration: _nervous tourist._ "stop, driver, stop! there's something wrong! i am sure a wheel's coming off!" _driver._ "arrah, be aisy then, yer honour. sure, it's the same one's been comin' off thin these three days back!"] * * * * * [illustration: (_sketched on the pier just after the arrival of the boat._) _'arry_ (_viewing stormy sea in a mutoscope_). "my eye, maria, come an' 'ave a look 'ere. the motion of the waives is simply grand!"] * * * * * [illustration: a continental trip.--_first man_ (_tasting beer_). "hullo! i ordered lager. this isn't lager!" _second man_ (_tasting_). "no; but it's jolly good, all the same!" _third man_ (_tasting_). "c'est magnifique! mais ce n'est pas lager-r-r!"] * * * * * [illustration: on the grand tour.--scene--_staircase of the palazzo bianco._--(_enter the joneses of london._) _chorus of maidens._ "o, ma, dear! o, papa! do look! _isn't_ this charming? _isn't_ it delightful? only fancy--the _bragginton smiths_ were here last month!"] * * * * * [illustration: the fault of the fowl scene--_coffee-room, hotel, guernsey._ _visitor_ (_gazing at a guinea-fowl's egg_). "waiter! can you tell me what egg this is?" _waiter._ "oh, sir, it's a guernsey egg. they sometimes lays them like that. it's not done in the boiling!"] * * * * * [illustration: corrected.--_lady tourist_ (_doing the cathedrals of scotland_). "this is _gothic_, isn't it, john?" _juvenile vendor of "guides"_ (_severely_). "no, mem, _this is presbyterian_."] * * * * * at homburg-v.-d.-h.--_colonel twister_ (_in the hotel smoking-room_). yes! i once played a game of pool at senecarabad, holding the cue in my teeth, and captured all the loot! _captain longbow._ pooh! that's nothing! about a month ago i matched myself at shell-out against fred fandango, and clutching the cue between my toes, walked in lying on my back! _colonel twister_ (_taken unawares_). but how the deuce did you manage to see the table? _captain longbow._ see the table? why, had the cloth lighted with röntgen rays, of course! saw through the slate! [_the colonel abruptly says "good night" to the company, and leaves for schlangenbad next morning._ * * * * * force of habit.--recently two bankers met abroad. they at once began to compare notes. * * * * * new name for sea-sickness.--_mal de little mary._ * * * * * mrs. ramsbotham wants to know whether the inhabitants of the fiji islands are called the fijits. * * * * * [illustration: young australia scene--_highland gathering in the antipodes._ "well, my little man, so you're scotch, eh?" "nae, nae, a'am nae scotch, but ma pairents is."] * * * * * [illustration: a sensational drama in three acts and five tableaux. (_showing how he got in for it and how he came out of it rather the worse for "wear"._) mr. joggles having carefully selected a retired spot deposited his clothes in a cave sees a little way below him a sparkling pool fed by a torrent from above--a natural shower bath, into which he will joyfully descend. this is what he expected before taking a dip. but a picnic party having terminated their luncheon, unwittingly rearrange matters. mr. joggles is compelled to remain over his usual time in his bath. in the meantime the goats have been busy with his clothes.] * * * * * for a change fagged and jaded, daphne mine, for our annual change i pine. once again the problem's here, whither we shall go this year. let who will seek lake or moor, "_bad_" or hydro, spa or "_kur_," switzerland and germany have no charms for you and me. there while restless tourists haste, "good old margate" suits our taste. on its old familiar ground we will make the usual round. meet smith, robinson and brown, whom we daily see in town; hear the niggers or the bands on the pier, the fort, the sands; revel in each well-known joy, then, when these enchantments cloy, and for change again we yearn, why, then, daphne, we'll return. * * * * * the number of stowaways who secrete themselves in big vessels is becoming a growing evil. a norwegian barquantine reached plymouth on friday with an entire cargo of hides. * * * * * a very revolting place.--brazil. * * * * * [illustration: french tourist, on a visit to london for the first time, makes a note in his pocket-book of the name of the street in which his hotel is situated.] * * * * * À berlin.--although berlin is "on the spree," its cheerfulness is considerably discounted by "the oder" in its vicinity. * * * * * [illustration: "joint occupation" (_suggested by cook's tourist in egypt._)] * * * * * overheard at chamonix.--_stout british matron_ (_in a broad british accent, to a slim diligence driver_). Êtes-vous la diligence? _driver._ non, madame, mais j'en suis le cocher. _matron_ (_with conviction_). c'est la même chose; gardez pour moi trois places dans votre intérieur demain. * * * * * [illustration: phillipopolis _toper major_ (_over their third bottle of a grand vin_). "i shay, ol' f'ler, neksh year thinksh'll go see ex'bishun at ph-phipp at philup-popple----" _toper minor._ "i know, ol' f'ler. you mean philipoppoppo--poppo----" _toper major._ "thatsh it--shame place. have 'nother bo'l!" [_they drink._ ] * * * * * not so pretty in english (_three friends meet at monte carlo._) _first friend._ no, i'm not staying here. just run over from canes. _second f._ and i from fat. _third f._ and i'm with my people at chin. [we presume the travellers referred to cannes, grasse, and menton.--ed.] * * * * * a whitsun holiday. (_a page from a modern diary._) _monday._--up with the lark. breakfast not ready. spent my spare time in closing the boxes. got the family into the train with difficulty. devoted the day to travelling. reached our destination tired out. glad to get to bed. _tuesday._--up with the lark. did the sights. had no time to look at anything, as i had to attend to the tickets. saw all the museums. my party coming out when i had got the catalogues. so managed our visits that there was no opportunity of discussing meals. got back in time for _table d'hôte_, but preferred sleep to food. went to bed. _wednesday._--up with the lark. off again travelling. on the road all day. having to fit in the corresponding trains, had no leisure for meals. arrived at our new resting-place late at night. so off as quickly as possible to bed. _thursday._--up with the lark. spent the morning in sight-seeing under the customary conditions. waited upon the family. looked after the catalogues and umbrellas. food again at a discount. dispensed with dinner. glad to get to bed. _friday._--up with the lark. time to return. back again by a train. no food. no rest. halfway home. arrived in time to see the lights being put out. off to bed. _saturday._--up with the lark. continued my journey post-haste. wrote up my diary. find that i have got over several hundreds of miles; but for the life of me cannot remember anything that i have seen. don't recollect any square meal. back again, tired, and only pleased to be in bed. _sunday._--sleeping. _monday._--up with the lark. recovered from my week's "rest," and glad to get back again to work. * * * * * by a sea-sick passenger _mare! mare_! most contrary, why do you tumble so? while you heave and swell one can't feel well, and--i think i'll go below! * * * * * motto for american millionairesses.-- "marry, come up!" * * * * * [illustration: _scientific and nervous visitor at country hotel._ "i suppose there's no 'ptomaine' in this pie?" _waiter_ (_equal to the occasion_). "no, sir. we never puts that in unless specially ordered!"] * * * * * [illustration: dartmoor way.--_tourist_ (_in background_). "i say! percy! we'd better be going now--unless you can see anything striking from where you are!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_railway refreshment room. thermometer ° in the shade._ _waiter_ (_to traveller taking tea_). "beg pardon, sir, i shouldn't recommend that milk, sir; leastways not for _drinking_ purposes."] * * * * * [illustration: halcyon prospects.--_romantic bride_ (_ecstatically_). "such a waste of waters almost appals me!" _prudent husband_ (_fondly_). "what a dear little economist it is!"] * * * * * [illustration: _tourist._ "wasn't there a great battle fought about here?" _village dame._ "ah, i do mind it when i were a gell, i do. they was----" _tourist._ "but, my good woman, that was nearly six hundred years ago!" _village dame_ (_unabashed_). "dear, dear! how time do fly!"] * * * * * [illustration: "and she only charged eight-and-a-half guineas, and"--(_interruption from husbands._ "isn't the view marvellous!" _general chorus in reply._ "oh--er--_yes!_")--"and now i simply go there for everything!"] * * * * * [illustration: french and english (_as zey are spoke at ze country 'ouse_).--_hostess._ "oh--er--j'espair ker voos avvy troovy votre--votre--er--er--votre _collar stud_, barrong?" _m. le baron._ "oh, i zank you, yes! i find 'eem on my _chest of trowsers_!"] * * * * * [illustration: perambulators not admitted a disappointment. [to _perambulate_; v.n., in german, _spazieren_; in french, _se promener_; in italian, _passeggiare_.]--_johann schmidt._ "ach! vat a bitty, mister chones! zen ve must not go therein to berampulate?"] * * * * * [illustration: _chatty tourist._ "beautiful specimen of a roman camp, this, isn't it?" _grim stranger._ "_no_, sir, _no_! i decline to admit that there can be _any_ true beauty about anything _roman_!"] * * * * * two last words to switzerland (_by a british tourist and family man_) on uri's lake, in küsnacht's dell, what is the thought can almost quell thy patriot memory, oh tell? _hotel!_ whether by blue crevasse we reel, or list the avalanche's peal, what question blends with all we feel?-- _wie viel?_ * * * * * [illustration: lusus naturÆ _excursion tourist._ "most extr'or'nary cre'char!" _facetious rustic._ "ah! that a be, measter, bred on this 'ere wery fa-arm he wor, tew!"] * * * * * more english as she is wrote.--at an hotel at socrabaja in java is this notice:-- "from the hours fixed for meals on no account will be deviated. for damage to furniture the proprietor will avenge himself on the person committing the same." * * * * * "tired nature."--a yawning gulf. * * * * * [illustration: our bores, native and foreign "ach! i schbeague enklish not vell, not vell at all! pot, py a leadle bractice, i imbrove ver kvick! vait till i haf talk to you for a gopple of hours, and you shall see!"] * * * * * [illustration: a scene at the "lucullus" _mrs. blunderby._ "now, my dear monty, let me order the luncheon ar-la-fraingsy. gassong! i wish to begin--as we always do in paris, my dears--with some _chef-d'oeuvres_--you understand--some _chef-d'oeuvres_." [_emile, the waiter, is in despair. it occurs to him, however, presently that the lady probably meant "hors d'oeuvres," and acts accordingly._ ] * * * * * to a welsh lady (_written at clovelly_) the reason why i leave unsung your praises in the cymric tongue you know, sweet nelly; you recollect your poet's crime-- how, when he tried to sing "the time," he made "the place" and "loved one" rhyme, you and dolgelly! but now, although a shocking dunce, i've learnt, in part, the welsh pronunc- iation deathly. i dream of you in this sweet spot, and for your sake i call it what its own inhabitants do not-- that is "clovethly"! * * * * * at whitby.--_visitor_ (_to ancient mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers_). then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the north pole? _ancient mariner._ no, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. but i seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which i plants in the sand. it makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold. [_a. m.'s distress promptly relieved by audience._ * * * * * the walking englishwoman on the alps [illustration] you who look at home so charming-- angel, goddess, nothing less-- do you know you're quite alarming in that dress? such a garb should be forbidden; where's the grace an artist loves? think of dainty fingers hidden in those gloves! gloves! a housemaid would not wear them, shapeless, brown and rough as sacks, thick! and yet you often tear them with that axe! worst of all, unblacked, unshiny-- greet them with derisive hoots-- clumsy, huge! for feet so tiny! oh, those boots! * * * * * [illustration: scene--_verandah of swiss hotel_ _brown_ (_finishing very lengthy account of alpine adventure_). "and then, miss jones, then, just as dawn was breaking, i heard the voices of the guides above me, and i knew that i was saved--actually saved! my feelings, as i realised this, may be more easily imagined than described!" _miss jones_ (_fervently_). "thank heaven!" [_and brown fondly imagined she was alluding to his escape_. ] * * * * * [illustration: cautious _visitor_ (_at out-of-the-way inn in the north_). "do you know anything about salmon-poaching in the neighbourhood?" _landlady_ (_whose son is not above suspicion_). "eh--no, sir. maybe it's a new style of cooking as we haven't heard of in these parts, as you see, sir, we only do our eggs that way; and"--(_brightening up_)--"if you like 'em, i can get you a dish at once!"] * * * * * the seven ages of luggage _baby._ perambulator, bottle, robe, fingerless gloves and woollen shoes. _schoolboy._ bat, ball, and aids to education. _lover._ guitar, music-book, writing materials, and fur-lined overcoat. _justice._ capon in basket, robes, and treatise upon ancient saws and modern instances. _soldier._ sword, uniform case, standard work upon reputation. _pantaloon._ sausages, property red-hot poker, costume of motley, slippers and spectacle case. _veteran._ travels without luggage. * * * * * a great traveller.--dr. watts was evidently in the habit of making pedestrian excursions on the continent, for in one of his noblest lines, he expressly says-- "whene'er i take my walks abroad." * * * * * innocent abroad.--you are misled in your view that the _cours de cuisine_, mentioned in the prospectus of a french school, means the run of the kitchen. * * * * * [illustration: in the swiss highlands.--_brown._ "this is rather a pretty figure. you start on the left foot, cut a drop three--then----" (_bump_) _little girl_ (_unmoved_). "oh, _that's_ why it's called a drop three, mr. brown!"] * * * * * [illustration: _photographer_ (_on tour, absent-mindedly_). "now smile, please!"] * * * * * at the celestial restaurant.--_customer_ (_indignantly_). hi! waiter, what do you call this soup? _waiter_ (_meekly_). i not know, sir, but ze padrone tell me to describe 'im cockstail! * * * * * [illustration: _traveller_ (_snap-shotting tropical river, suddenly confronted by hippopotamus_). "just keep like that one moment, please!" (_rapturously_) "such a delightful expression!"] * * * * * note by our traveller--at a station on the elham valley line, "kentish pianos" are advertised. are these adapted for playing only dance tunes, and therefore specially serviceable in a "hop" county? * * * * * easter holidays (_by one who has tried them_) must really decide where to go for five or six days at easter. weather always awful. usual springtime. north-east wind, frost, snow and dust. something like last week. can't stop in london. one sunday or bank holiday in london mournful enough. but four of them consecutively! impossible! innocent persons go to the south coast of england, thinking that fifty miles nearer the equator one is in quite a different climate. bournemouth? bosh! all sandy dust and depressing invalids. torquay? twaddle! probably rain all the time, if not snow. england no good. scotland or ireland? worse! must go, as people say vaguely, "abroad." how about paris? north-east wind, frost, snow and dust, worse than here. streets windy, theatres draughty, cafés and restaurants suffocating. brussels? nothing but rain. aix-les-bains? probably snow. nice? that might do. no frost or snow, but very likely a north-east wind and certainly lots of dust. besides, thirty hours' journey out and thirty hours' journey back, would only leave about sixty hours there. no good. rome, seville, constantinople, cairo? still farther. should have to leave on the return journey before i arrived. where can i go to at easter to be warm and comfortable, without so much trouble? i know. to bed! * * * * * regardless of the temperature.--_facetious australian_ (_off calshot castle, to indisposed friend_). what arm of the sea reminds one of a borrowed boot? _the "i. f."_ (_feebly_). give it--anything--up. _f. a._ why, the _sole-lent_, to be sure. [_the "i. f." is promptly carried below._ * * * * * at bath.--_wiffling_ (_sympathetically_). here on account of the waters? _piffling._ no, unhappily. here on account of the whiskies. * * * * * "a question of the hour."--asking a railway porter the time of the next train's departure for your holiday resort. * * * * * [illustration: scene--_the summit of vesuvius_ _american tourist_ (_to the world at large_). "great snakes, it reminds me of hell!" _english tourist._ "my dear, how these americans _do_ travel!"] * * * * * [illustration: _friend_ (_below_). "all you've got to do when i throw you the rope is to make it fast to that projection over your head, and lower yourself down!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the church-going bell" sunday morning, coast of norway. (_by our yachting artist._)] * * * * * [illustration: _parson._ "yes, on one occasion i married four couples in a quarter of an hour. quick work, wasn't it?" _nautical young lady._ "yes, rather! sixteen knots an hour!"] * * * * * to my airship [_the poet is being piloted on his aerial flight by a prosaic mechanician. it is to the latter that the interpolations are due._] thou elfin puck, thou child of master mind! (look out! the ballast's slipping off behind.) thou swanlike siren of the blue sublime! (screw up that nut, and never mind the rhyme.) thine 'tis to fathom Æther's highest pole! (this wind will fairly get us in a hole.) thine to explore the azure-vaulted dome! (i wonder how the deuce we're going home.) up, up, thou speedest, flaunting, flaunting high, thy glist'ring frame emblazon'd 'gainst the sky; and myriad-minded fancies still pursue thy gliding--(blow! the anchor's fouled the screw!) thou stormy petrel, kissing heaven's height, (petrol! the rotten stuff declines to light) onward thou soarest o'er the city's dust shimmering, triumphant. (gad! the motor's bust!) * * * * * _q._ give the french for "a policeman's beat." _a._ _un tour de force._ * * * * * _q._ what is the difference between a traveller and a popular vegetable? _a._ one has been abroad and the other's a broad bean. [_exit querier rapidly._ * * * * * [illustration: the american rush.--_american tourist._ "say, how long will it take to see over the ruins?" _caretaker._ "about an hour, sir." _american tourist._ "and how long will it take you to tell us about it?"] * * * * * [illustration: "is this your favourite view, poppa darling?" "why, certainly. but--ahem!--i prefer it _unframed_!"] * * * * * [illustration: cold comfort.--_visitor to the west indies_ (_who has been warned against bathing in the river because of alligators, but has been told by the boatman that there are none at the river's mouth_). "by jove, this is ripping! but, i say, how do you know there are no alligators here?" _boatman._ "well, you see, sah, de alligator am so turr'ble feared ob de shark!"] * * * * * over the sea. dear mr. punch,--i read that two new cures for sea sickness have just been discovered: the one the eating of bananas; the other, found out by professor heinz, of erlangen, who declares that the malady proceeds from the lobe of the brain, and that to avert it one has only to breathe freely. as to the professor's theory about breathing freely, i can safely assert that i never open my mouth so wide as when crossing the channel, but the experiment is an unpleasant failure. your obedient servant, dionysius dabelrisk. _peckham rye._ * * * * * at the grand hotel, paris.--_blithers_ (_of romantic turn of mind, to smithers, after observing a young couple in close conversation in the court yard_). i'm sure they're engaged. i heard her call him harry! _smithers_ (_a matter-of-fact man_). what of that? i call my housemaid emily! he's most probably her footman. [_smithers calls for absinthe._ * * * * * [illustration: well meant, but----. _motorist_ (_with heated cylinders_). "where can i get some water?" _rustic._ "there beant noo watter hereaboots--but ye can have a sup at my tea!"] * * * * * [illustration: a difficult pass] [illustration: a kneesy climb] [illustration: a smiling valley] [illustration: a magnificent gorge] * * * * * by the silver sea.--_seaside. tripper--none too clean in appearance--charters bathing machine. smart-looking schoolboy_ (_about to enter next machine_), _loq._ i say, ma, i wish that dirty fellow wouldn't bathe here. _mamma._ why, tommy? if people of that sort were to bathe, they'd be as clean as you, you know. _tommy_ (_eyeing tripper closely_). not in once, mamma! * * * * * [illustration: an appreciation (_train entering venice_) _fair american._ "waal, i guess this is where the adriatic slops over!"] * * * * * summer resorts dreardon-cum-slooze. spring weather, in pleasing variety of sun and snow-shower, now prevails in this highly fla--favoured locality. mr. josiah jorker, chairman of the rural district council here, has bought four black berkshire pigs, and to lean over the yard gate and inspect them is now a regular afternoon occupation. discussion as to their merits runs high amongst our local magnates. situate as this health-giving village is, it offers to the tired brain-worker complete rest, as there is no railway station within six miles, and only the day-before-yesterday's newspaper is obtainable. chawboodlecum. a fine bracing n.e. wind has dried the roads, and, amongst the aged and sick, made a clearance, thoroughly in accord with the "survival of the fittest" doctrine. trade has never been more brisk with the local undertaker and the much-respected sexton. the cricket club opens its season to-day with a match against the neighbouring village of sludgely. a "sing-song," or "free and easy," is held every saturday night at the "pig and puppy-dog," at which well-known hostelry visitors can find every accommodation. slackington. in this genial and mild air, where a steady, gentle rain falls on very nearly every day in the year, the londoner, fleeing from the trying east winds of spring, may find a welcome refuge. it is quite a pretty sight on sundays to watch the people with their different coloured waterproofs stream out of church. there is a rumour that the present supply of cabs will shortly be augmented by one, if not two, fresh vehicles. on monday last a german band played a charming selection of music in the market place, and there was a dog-fight in the high street. porkbury. this charming spot only requires to be known, to insure plenty of patronage from visitors. the new pump is being pushed forward rapidly, and the vicar intends to hold jumble sales once a week throughout the summer. this, in itself, will, it is expected, prove a great attraction. police-constable slummers, whose urbanity and great consideration for the inhabitants (especially on saturday nights) have always been so conspicuous, is about to leave, and some of the more prominent townsmen have taken the opportunity of marking their sense of his valuable services by presenting him with a handsome pewter pot, engraved with his name and the date. a piano-organist now regularly attends the weekly market, and his music is greatly appreciated by those engaged in buying and selling. at the farmer's eighteenpenny ordinary, last week, mr. chumpjaw stated that his mangolds were "the whackin'est big 'uns" grown in the county. * * * * * at boulogne.--_mrs. sweetly_ (_on her honeymoon_). isn't it funny, archibald, to see so many foreigners about? and all talking french! * * * * * patron saint of messrs. cook.--st. martin of "tours." * * * * * [illustration: _englishman_ (_to friend_). "there goes that awful liar, who says he has climbed everything under the sun." _friend._ "don't call him a liar. rather say he has a great talent for exaggerating things that never happened."] * * * * * [illustration: a pleasant uncertainty.--_gigantic guide._ "ze last party zat was 'ere--no one knew whezzer zey _shumped_ over or was _thrown_ over!"] * * * * * [illustration: a slight "malongtongdew" _angelina._ "there are to be illuminations and fireworks, and they're to finish up with an 'ombrasmong général.' what can that be?" _edwin._ "well, 'ombasser' means to 'kiss'; so i suppose it means a kind of a sort of a general kissing all round." _angelina._ "horrid idea! i won't go near the place, and i'm sure you shan't, edwin!" [our readers, who know french better than e. and a., are aware that embrasement, with only one "s," has a totally different meaning. ] * * * * * [illustration: honeymooning in paris.--_mrs. jones._ "am i not an expensive little wifie?" _jones_ (_who has spent the morning and a small fortune at the magasin du louvre_). "well, you _are_ a little dear!"] * * * * * [illustration: quid pro quo.--_madame gaminot._ "oh yes, monsieur jones, j'_adore_ les anglais! zey understand bisnesse! for example, zey pay me sixty pound--fifteen 'undred franc--to sing 'la blanchisseuse du tambour-major' at a evening party! it seem a great deal! but zey laugh, and zey say, 'oh, sharmong! oh, ravissong!' and it mek everybody sink zat everybody else know french--it almost mek zem sink zat zey know it zemselfs!!! Ça vaut bien quinze cents francs, j'espère!"] * * * * * [illustration: _tourist_ (_at small irish inn, miles from anywhere_). "look here, what does this mean? i left my boots out last night, and they haven't been touched." _landlord_ (_with honest pride_). "thrue for ye, sorr! an' begorr', if ye'd left your _gowld watch an' chain_ out, div'l a sowl wud 'a touched them nayther!"] * * * * * [illustration: 'arry abroad.--_guide._ "monsieur finds eet a vairy eenteresting old place, ees eet not?" _'arry_ (_who will speak french_). "pas demi!"] * * * * * by the silver sea drainsmouth. this popular health resort is now filled to over-flowing. the entertainments on the pier include animated photographs of a procession to the woking crematorium, and other cheerful and interesting subjects. the smells of the harbour may still be enjoyed to perfection at low water. shrimpley. the question of mixed bathing here has at length been set at rest by the town council issuing an order that nobody is to bathe at all. a decision so impartial as between the rival factions cannot fail to give satisfaction to all except the captious. professor de bach, with his performing dogs, gives an exhibition twice each day at the pier pavilion. lodgington-on-sea. warm and sunny weather still continues in this favoured spot. people wait half the morning for a bathing-machine and then look rather disappointed when they get it. the simperton-swaggeringtons arrived yesterday, travelling first-class from the junction, two miles off (up to which point they had come third). this has excited some unfavourable comment in the town. smellington-super-mare. large numbers of tripp--visitors, i mean, continue to pour into the town from saturdays to mondays, benefiting greatly by their small change. the lodging-house keepers also derive considerable benefit from their (the visitors') small change, especially when left lying about on the mantelpiece. no one could complain of dulness here now, for as i write, twenty-three barrel-organs, eleven troupes of nigger minstrels and four blind beggars with fiddles are amusing and delighting their listeners on the sands. the place is thoroughly lively, hardly an hour of the day passing without at least two street rows between inebriated excursionists taking place. the police force has been doubled, and the magistrates have given notice that, for the future, they will give no "option," and that all sentences for assaults in the streets will be with hard labour. * * * * * [illustration: philological.--_first english groom_ (_new to paris_). "and the french gent as he drives round the corner, he pulls up quick, and calls out 'woa!'" _second ditto_ (_who has been in paris some time_). "he couldn't have said _'woa!'_ as there ain't no 'w' in french." _first ditto._ "no 'w' in french? then 'ow d'yer spell 'wee'?"] * * * * * [illustration: alarming appearance of a harmless guana just as he has found a nice corner of sydney harbour for a sketch.] * * * * * [illustration: mr. townmouse takes lodgings for his family at a farmhouse in a remote district. delightful spot; but they weren't so well off for butcher's meat as they could wish. _farmer._ "now, if your lady 'ud like some nice pork--oh! she does like pork?--well, then, we shall kill a pig the week arter next."] * * * * * [illustration: a nice prospect.--_traveller_ (_benighted in the black country_). "not a bed-room disengaged! tut-t-t-t!" _landlady_ (_who is evidently in the coal business as well_). "oh, we'll accommodate you somehow, sir, if me and my 'usband gives you up our own bed, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: things one would rather have left unsaid.--_professor chatterleigh._ "by george! i'm so hungry i can't _talk!_" _fair hostess_ (_on hospitable thoughts intent_). "oh, i'm _so_ glad!"] * * * * * [illustration: Æsthetics _indiscreet sister._ "why, harry, your legs are getting more _chippendale_ than ever!"] * * * * * [illustration: the joys of touring _traveller._ "i say, your razor's pulling most confoundedly!" _local torturer._ "be it, zur? wull, 'old on tight to the chair, an' we'll get it off zummow!"] * * * * * [illustration: cheering.--_first artist_ (_on a pedestrian tour_). "can you tell which is the best inn in baconhurst?" _rustic_ (_bewildered_). "dunno." _second artist_ (_tired_). "but we can get beds there, i suppose? where do travellers generally go?" _rustic._ "go to the union moostly!"] * * * * * [illustration: mind and matter-of-fact _cotton-man_ (_fro' shoddydale_). "what dun yo' co' that wayter?" _coachman._ "ah, ain't it beautiful? that's grassmere lake, that is----" _cotton-man._ "yo' co'n 'um all la-akes an' meres i' these pa-arts. we co'n 'um rezzer-voyers where ah com' fro'!!"] * * * * * would the epigrammatic translation of "_sede vacanti_" as "not well and gone away for a holiday" be accepted by an examiner? * * * * * winter resort for bronchially-affected persons.--corfe castle. * * * * * [illustration: _visitor._ "and so you've never been to london! oh, but you must go. it's quite an easy journey, you know." _gaffer stokes._ "ah, oi'd main loike to see lunnon, oi wud. reckon oi must go afore oi'm done for. _now which moight be their busy day there,_ mister?"] * * * * * to intending tourists--"where shall we go?" all depends on the "coin of 'vantage." switzerland? question of money. motto.--_"point d'argent point de suisse."_ * * * * * scene--_on the quay. ocean liner's syren fog-horn emitting short, sharp grunts._ _little girl._ oh, mamma, that _poor_ ship must have a drefful pain in its cabin! * * * * * wasted sympathy.--scene--_interior of railway carriage. lady_ (_to gentleman who has just entered and is placing one of his fellow passenger's bags on the floor where there is a hot-water bottle_). oh! excuse me, sir, but, _please_ don't put _that_ near the hot-water bottle. i've got a little bird in the bag. _elderly gentleman_ (_who is an enthusiastic anti-vivisectionist and prominent member of the society for prevention of cruelty to animals_). good heavens, madam! a bird in there! please consider! how cruel! how inhuman! how----(_gasps for words_). _lady._ not at all, my dear sir. _it's a roast partridge, cold, for lunch._ [_collapse of enthusiast._ * * * * * unpleasantly suggestive names of "cure" places abroad.--_bad gastein._ which must be worse than the first day's sniff at bad-eggs-la-chapelle. * * * * * rotatory knife (and fork) machines.--pullman dining cars. * * * * * the line which is often drawn.--the equator. * * * * * [illustration: thorough but not pedantic. (_overheard at the louvre._)--_american tourist_ (_suspiciously_). "say, guide, haven't we seen this room before?" _guide._ "oh no, monsieur." _tourist._ "well, see here. we want to see everything, but we don't want to see anything twice!"] * * * * * [illustration: modern accomplishments.--_captain brown_ (_narrating his trip to the continent_). "then, of course, we ran down to granada, and saw the alhambra----" _captain jinks_ (_untravelled athlete_). "no!! what, have they got one there too!!"] * * * * * [illustration: filial anxiety. "going to paris to-morrow, tom!" "how's that?" "my poor old governor's taken ill there!" "going by dieppe or boulogne?" "rather think i shall go _via monaco_!"] * * * * * [illustration: overdoing it _sympathiser._ "sorry you look so seedy after your holiday, old chap!" _too energetic sight-seer._ "well, i am a bit done up, but the doctor says that with rest and great care i may be well enough to have a run-round as usual next year."] * * * * * [illustration: _gushing young lady_ (_to mr. dunk, who has just returned from rome_). "they say, mr. dunk, that when one sets foot in rome for the first time, one experiences a profound feeling of awe. the chaos of ruined grandeur, the magnificent associations, seem too much for one to grasp. tell me, oh tell me, mr. dunk, what did _you_ think of it all?" _mr. dunk_ (_deliberately, after considering awhile_). "_very_ nice!"] * * * * * [illustration: "carry your trunk, sir?"] * * * * * a little knowledge.--_miss tomboy._ mamma, i think those french women were beastly rude. _mother._ you mustn't speak like that of those ladies, it's very wrong. and how often have i told you not to say "beastly"? _miss tomboy._ well, they _were_ rude. they called me a little cabbage (_mon petit chou_). the next time they do that i shall call them old french beans. * * * * * [illustration: the tourist season. hotel brigandage] * * * * * de gustibus---- i am an unadventurous man, and always go upon the plan of shunning danger where i can. and so i fail to understand why every year a stalwart band of tourists go to switzerland, and spend their time for several weeks, with quaking hearts and pallid cheeks, scaling abrupt and windy peaks. in fact, i'm old enough to find climbing of almost any kind is very little to my mind. a mountain summit white with snow is an attractive sight, i know, but why not see it _from below_? why leave the hospitable plain and scale mont blanc with toil and pain merely to scramble down again? some men pretend they think it bliss to clamber up a precipice or dangle over an abyss, to crawl along a mountain side, supported by a rope that's tied, --not too securely--to a guide; but such pretences, it is clear, in the aspiring mountaineer are usually insincere. and many a climber, i'll be bound, whom scarped and icy crags surround, wishes himself on level ground. so i, for one, do not propose, to cool my comfortable toes in regions of perpetual snows, as long as i can take my ease, fanned by a soothing southern breeze, under the shade of english trees. and anyone who leaves my share of english fields and english air may take the alps for aught i care! * * * * * sport most appropriate to the locality.--shooting pigeons at monte carlo. * * * * * pleasure À la russe.--_q._ when does a russian give a polish peasant a holiday? _a._ when he gives him _a kn_outing. * * * * * the cry of the holiday-loving clerk.--"easterward ho!" * * * * * a dish that disagrees with most persons when travelling.--the chops of the channel. * * * * * the greatest bore in creation.--the simplon tunnel. * * * * * [illustration: the brown family resolve to spend their vacation each after his own fashion, instead of _en famille_. jack took his motor car of course. maud and ethel started on a biking tour. pater preferred "cooks". "my dear sir, i tell you there is not a city in the whole of europe that is a patch upon florence. why i found the finest english chemists there that i have come across in all my travels." mater had "quiet time" in devonshire. bob went canoeing. while mary ann says 'give me good ole margit'.] * * * * * [illustration: the antiquary.--_tourist_ (_in cornwall_). "may i be permitted to examine that interesting stone in your field? these ancient druidical remains are most interesting!" _farmer._ "sart'nly, sir. 'may be very int'restin' an' arnshunt, but we do stick 'em oup for the cattle, an' call 'em roubbin' pusts!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _smithson, having read and heard much of the pleasures of a driving tour, determines to indulge in that luxury during his whitsuntide holidays. he therefore engages a trap, with a horse that can "get over the ground," and securing the services of an experienced driver, he sets forth._ _smithson._ "a--a--isn't he--a--a--hadn't i better help you to pull at him?" _driver._ "pull at 'im? why yer'd set 'im crazed! jist you let me keep is 'ead straight. lor' bless yer, there ain't no cause to be affeared, as long as we don't meet nothing, and the gates ain't shut at splinterbone crossing, jist round the bend."] * * * * * [illustration: _stout party._ "is this path safe?" _flippant youth._ "yes, the path is--but i can't answer for _you_!"] * * * * * [illustration: "will you 'urry up paintin' that tree, sir? cause i'm goin' to cut it down in a quarter of an hour."] * * * * * [illustration: _tourist_ (_in search of "the unique," after admiring old cottage_). "is there anything else to look at in the village?" _village dame._ "lor' bless 'ee, why there's the beautiful new recr'ation ground as we've just 'ad made!"] * * * * * [illustration: a pastoral rebuke.--_first pedestrian_ (_they've lost their way_), "look here. this must be the east, mustn't it? there's the chancel window--that's always east; then the south must be----" _high-church priest_ (_"turning up" suddenly out of the vestry_), "i beg your pardon, gentlemen, but i can't allow my church to be used for a secular purpose. you'll find an unconsecrated weathercock on the barn yonder!"] * * * * * [illustration: _visitor._ "will you tell me where i shall find a seat?" _verger._ "weel, sir, there's a guid wheen veesitors in inverness the noo: so sit whaur ye can see yer umbrella!"] * * * * * tips for travellers toddlekins is anxious to take his family to mars this summer, and inquires where he can hire a speedy balloon for the purpose. he is anxious to know whether he can obtain golf there, and also whether the roads are good for bicycling. he is recommended to apply for information to the astronomer-royal. but why should toddlekins trouble to go so far afield? he would be sure to find congenial society in the neighbourhood of hanwell, and by selecting this spot as his destination, the expense of a return ticket would be saved. anxious mother.--so glad that you intend taking your dear ten children to poppleton-on-sea for three weeks' change of air. and all that you tell me about timothy's pet rabbit and selina's last attack of measles is so deeply interesting. unfortunately i cannot answer all your questions myself, but i will print them here, so that some of my kind readers may be able to assist you. you want to know, in regard to poppleton-- ( ) whether the pavements (if any) are stone or asphalte. ( ) what is the mean temperature, the annual rain-fall, and the death-rate. ( ) what are the rector's "views," and if there is a comfortable pew in the church, out of draughts, calculated to hold eleven. ( ) what time the shops at poppleton close on saturdays. dubious.--as you say, it _is_ difficult to make up one's mind where to spend the holidays, because there are so many places from which to choose. and you were so wise to write and ask me to give you the name of one single place which i could thoroughly recommend, and so save you all further worry. how about brighton, hastings, eastbourne, bexhill, seaford, cowes, weymouth, exmouth, penzance, lynton, or tenby? i am delighted to give you this real and valuable help! picnic-party.--you have my full sympathy. it is most churlish of riparian owners to refuse to allow strangers to land on their property. fancy any one objecting to having his lawn covered with broken bottles and paper bags! owner.--i feel deeply for you. the way in which trippers on the river invade riverside gardens is outrageous. the bags and pieces of glass they leave about must be a gross disfigurement to your lawn. * * * * * [illustration: introduction made easy.--_invalid-chair attendant._ "if you should have a fancy for any partickler party, i can easily bump 'em."] * * * * * [illustration: _miss binns_ (_breathless, hurrying to catch london train after week-end trip_). "can you please tell me the _exact_ time?" _old salt._ "'alf ebb."] * * * * * a mountain rambler (_by a returned traveller_) i've scanned and penned an ode on thy snowy glories, snowdon my honeymoon with helen, was spent near "dark" helvellyn, afar from all the _beau monde_ i've rambled round ben lomond, at noontide on ben nevis, i've roved and read _sir bevis_, i've stretched each tired thin limb on thy summit, o plinlimmon, and once i tore my breeks on macgillycuddy's reeks. those glorious mountain scalps, the tiptops of the alps, i've seen--their pines and passes, their glaciers and crevasses-- with fools, philosophers and wits, i've scrambled up the ortler spitz, made sketches on st. gothard, like turner and like stothard, and with my _cara sposa_ ascended monte rosa: but not content with europe, i've roamed with staff and new rope as far away as ararat, where _savants_ say there's ne'er a rat; the kuen lun and thian shan i know as well as any man; i've boiled my evening kettle on popocatapetl, and on the highest andes i've sodas mixed and brandies; i've slumbered snug and cosey on silvery potosi; i've stood on peter botto, a rather lonely spot; and--crowning feat of all my mountaineerings on this ball-- i've smoked--o weed for ever blest! my pipe upon mount everest. and now my ramble's over, here's shakspeare's cliff and dover! all alpine risks and chances, all ultramontane fancies, i've put away and done with; i'll stay my wife and son with, and never more will roam from primrose hill and home. * * * * * [illustration: the festive season.--_visitor to the district_ (_who has missed his way_). "can you tell me, my good man, if i shall pass the 'red lion' inn along this road?" _the village toper._ "oi wouldn't like to be saying wut a gen'leman loike ye wud be doin'; but oi'm parfect sartin oi shouldn't!"] * * * * * [illustration: queen's hotel, ambleside, o'clock, a.m.--"tom!" (_no response._) "i say, tom!" (_no answer._) "tom!" (_a muffled grunt._) "tom--fire!" "eh? what? what do you say?" "i say tom, do you think your key will fit my bag?" "_no_--'t won't--chubb!" [_objurgations, and midnight disturber retires._ ] * * * * * [illustration: our compatriots abroad.--"and how did you like switzerland?" "oh, immensely! it was our first visit, you know!" "and did you go on into italy?" "well, no. we found a hotel at lausanne where there was a first-rate tennis-lawn, you know--quite as good as ours at home. so we spent the whole of our holiday there, and played lawn-tennis all day long."] * * * * * [illustration: aggravating flippancy _the professor_ (_who has just come back from the north pole)._ "---- and the fauna of these inhospitable regions is as poor as the flora! you couldn't name a dozen animals who manage to live there." _mrs. malapert._ "oh--i dare say i could!" _the professor._ "really--what _are_ they?" _mrs. malapert._ "well, now--five polar bears, let us say, and--and seven seals!"] * * * * * [illustration: _first traveller._ "can we have beds here to-night?" _obliging hostess._ "oh, yes, sir." _first traveller._ "have you--er--any--er--_insects_ in this house?" _obliging hostess._ "no, sir. _but we can get you some!"_] * * * * * [illustration: _lady_ (_to her travelling companion, who has just had his finger-nail pinched badly_). "how horrid! i always think anything wrong with one's nails sets one's teeth on edge all down one's back!"] * * * * * [illustration: nearing the english coast _jones._ (_returning to england_). "we are quite fifty miles from the scilly isles, miss brown. they say the odour of the flowers they cultivate there travels that distance over the sea. i can detect it distinctly now--can't you?" _miss brown_ (_from america_). "i guess it hasn't _quite_ reached me yet, mr. jones!"] * * * * * [illustration: on a certain condescension in foreigners.--_he._ "oh, you're from america, are you? people often say to me, 'don't you dislike americans?' but i always say 'i believe there are some very nice ones among them.'" _she._ "ah, i dare say there _may_ be two or three nice people amongst millions!"] * * * * * [illustration: our countrymen abroad.--_mr. shoddy._ "_i_ always say, mrs. sharp, that i never feel really safe from the ubiquitous british snob till i am south of the danube!" _mrs. sharp_ (_innocently_). "and what do the--a--_south danubians_ say, mr. shoddy?"] * * * * * [illustration: _waiter._ "did you ring, sir?" _traveller_ (_as a gentle hint to previous arrival_). "_another fire_, waiter!"] * * * * * [illustration: _mr. smith._ "oh, i was wondering whether you and your husband would care to accompany our party to hadrian's villa to-morrow?" _young american bride._ "why, yes; we'd just love to go. george and i will be furnishing as soon as we get back to noo york, and maybe we'd be able to pick up a few notions over at this villa."] * * * * * [illustration: unanswerable _pompous magnate_ (_making speech at public luncheon in provincial town_). "speaking of travel reminds me how greatly i have admired the scenery round lake geneva, and also what pleasant times i have spent in the neighbourhood of lake leman." _cultured neighbour_ (_in audible whisper_). "pardon me, but the two places are synonymous." _p. m._ (_patronisingly_). "ah! so _you_ may think, sir--so _you_ may think! but, from my point of view, i consider lake geneva to be far the most synonymous of the two."] * * * * * [illustration: "it's an ill wind," &c.--"oh, papa! what _do_ you think? four out of our twelve boxes are missing." "hurrah! by george! that's the best piece of news i've had for a long time."] * * * * * [illustration: an epicure.--"oh, george, i'm ashamed of you--rubbing your lips like that, after that dear little french girl has given you a kiss!" "i'm not rubbing it _out_, mammy--i'm rubbing it _in_!"] * * * * * a cowes week experience _monday._--dear old bluewater--what a good fellow he is!--asks me to join his yacht, the _sudden jerk_, for cowes week. never been yachting before. _tuesday._--arrive ryde pier, correctly (i hope) "got up"; blue serge, large brass anchor buttons, and peaked cap. fancy bluewater rather surprised to see how _au fait_ i am at nautical dress. "ah! my dear fellow, delighted to see you. come along; the gig is lying alongside the steps. one of the hands" (why "hands"?) "shall look to your traps." we scramble into gig and are rowed out to -ton yawl. climb up side. bluewater says, "come below. take care--two steps down, then turn round and---- oh! by jove! what a crack you've caught your head. never mind, old boy, you'll soon get accustomed to it." devoutly hope i shall _not_ get accustomed to knocking my head. arrive at foot of "companion" (why "companion"?) stairs. bluewater pulls aside curtains and says, "_there_ you are!" reply, "oh! yes, there i am. er--is--do you lie on the shelf--oh! berth, is it!--beg pardon--or underneath it?" he explains. "you'll find it very jolly, you know; you can lie in your bunk, and look right up the companion to the sky above." "oh! awfully jolly," i say. we repair on deck. get under weigh to run down to cowes. dear old bluewater very active. pulls at ropes and things, shouting "leggo-your-spinach-and-broom,"[a] and other unintelligible war-cries. stagger across deck. breeze very fresh. "lee oh!" shouts bluewater; "mind the broom!"--or it might have been boom--and next moment am knocked flat on my back by enormous pole. arrive cowes. crowd of yachts. drop anchor for night. go below, damp face in tiny iron basin; yacht lurches and rolls all the water out over new white shoes. enter saloon, tripping over some one's kit-bag at the door. try to save myself by clutching at swing-table, which upsets and empties soup tureen all over my trousers. retire, change, return. host and i sit down and proceed to chase fried soles backwards and forwards across treacherous swing-table. "_now_, my dear fellow isn't this jolly? isn't this worth all your club dinners?" reply "oh, yes," enthusiastically. privately, should prefer club in london. weather gets worse. try to smoke. don't seem to care for smoking, somehow. feel depressed, and ask dear old bluewater to describe a sailor's grave. tries to cheer me up by saying, "don't waste the precious moments, my friend, on such sad subjects. you are not born to fill a seaman's grave. there's a class of man not born to be drowned, you know." then he laughs heartily. try to smile; fail. pitching and rocking motion increases. retire early and lie down on shelf. fall off twice. manage to reach perch again. weather gets worse. shall never sleep with noise of trampling on deck and waves washing yacht's sides. shall never---- sudden misgiving. _am_ i going to be----? oh! no, must be passing dizziness. it cannot possibly be.... it is!!! am rowed ashore, bag and baggage, next morning. dear old bluewater tries to keep me from going, and says, "what, after all, _is_ sea-sickness?" dear old bluewater must be an ass. confound old bluewater! [footnote a: qy. spinnaker boom.--ed.] * * * * * [illustration: the excursion. _head of family._ "i reckon some of us'll have to stand, or we shan't all get seats!"] * * * * * [illustration: cause and effect _mrs. brown._ "i had such a lovely bathe last thursday, dear." _niece._ "that was the day of the tidal wave, wasn't it, auntie?"] * * * * * [illustration: how stonehenge might be popularised if the government bought it. suggestion gratis.] * * * * * [illustration: _full-sized tripper._ "how does one get into the churchyard, please?" _simple little native._ "through this 'ere 'ole!"] * * * * * [illustration: _walking tourist._ "what's the name of this village, my man?" _yokel._ "oi dunno, zur. oi only bin 'ere a month!"] * * * * * [illustration: the old world and the new _fair yankee_ (_in egypt_). "i say, uncle, can yew tell me, air there ever any new camels? i guess all i've seen must be second-hand!"] * * * * * an uncongenial spot for teetotalers.--barmouth. * * * * * a man who beats about the bush.--an australian. * * * * * [illustration: "in peril of precipitation"--_coriolanus_, iii. . _stout party._ "hi! boy, stop! i'm going to get off." _donkey boy._ "yer carn't, marm. there ain't room!"] * * * * * [illustration: detected.--_clerical tourist_ (_visiting cathedral_). "always open, eh? and do you find that people come here on week-days for rest and meditation?" _verger._ "ay, that they do, odd times. why, i catched some of 'em at it only last toosday!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old lady._ "well, if that's david, what a size goliath must a' been."] * * * * * holiday fare in cornwall a roll on the billow, a loaf by the shore, a fig for fashion, and cream galore! * * * * * the road to the niagara falls.--_via dollarosa._ * * * * * where the fellah's shoe pinches.--where the corn used to be--in egypt. * * * * * [illustration: finis] * * * * * bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. * * * * * mr. punch in bohemia punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * mr. punch in bohemia [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: shakspeare illustrated "tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man." _king john._ act iii., sc. .] * * * * * mr. punch in bohemia or the lighter side of literary, artistic and professional life [illustration] as pictured by phil may, charles keene, george du maurier, dudley hardy, fred pegram, f. h. townsend, lewis baumer, l. raven-hill, j. bernard partridge, e. t. reed, h. m. brock, c. e. brock, tom browne, gunning king, harry furniss, a. wallis mills, g. l. stampa, and others _ illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * the way to bohemia [illustration] time was when bohemianism was synonymous with soiled linen and unkempt locks. but those days of the ragged bohemia have happily passed away, and that land of unconventional life--which had finally grown conventional in its characteristics--has now become "a sphere of influence" of modern society! in a word, it is now respectable. there are those who firmly believe it has been wiped off the social map. the dress suit and the proprieties are thought by some to be incompatible with its existence. but it is not so; the new bohemia is surely no less delightful than the old. the way to it is through the doors of almost any of the well-known literary and art clubs of london. its inhabitants are our artists, our men of letters, our musicians, and, above all, our actors. in the present volume we are under the guidance of mr. punch, himself the very flower of london's bohemia, into this land of light-hearted laughter and the free-and-easy manner of living. we shall follow him chiefly through the haunts of the knights of the pen and pencil, as we have another engagement to spend some agreeable hours with him in the theatrical and musical world. it should be noted, however, that we shall not be limited to what has been called "upper bohemia", but that we shall, thanks to his vast experience, be able to peep both at the old and new. easily first amongst the artists who have depicted the humours of bohemia is phil may. keene and du maurier run him close, but their bohemia is on the whole more artistic, less breezily, raggedly, hungrily unconventional than his. it is a subject that has inspired him with some of his best jokes, and some of his finest drawings. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration] mr. punch in bohemia the invalid author.--_wife._ "why, nurse is reading a book, darling! who gave it her?" _husband._ "_i_ did, my dear." _wife._ "what book is it?" _husband._ "it's my last." _wife._ "darling! when you _knew_ how important it is that _she shouldn't go to sleep_!" * * * * * a bookworm's observation.--when a man has got turned of , he is in the appendix of life. * * * * * table of contents.--the dinner table. * * * * * [illustration: the grub and the butterfly i. "all right, sir. i'll just wash 'er face, sir, and then she shall come round to your stoodio, sir." ii. "here's a little girl come for you, sir!"] * * * * * punch's proverbs most sticks have two ends, and a muff gets hold of the wrong one. the good boy studies his lesson; the bad boy gets it. if sixpence were sunshine, it would never be lost in the giving. the man that is happy in all things will rejoice in potatoes. three removes are better than a dessert. dinner deferred maketh the hungry man mad. bacon without liver is food for the mind. forty winks or five million is one sleep. you don't go to the mansion house for skilligolee. three may keep counsel if they retain a barrister. what is done cannot be underdone. you can't make a pair of shoes out of a pig's tail. dinner hour is worth every other, except bedtime. no hairdresser puts grease into a wise man's head. an upright judge for a downright rogue. happiness is the hindmost horse in the derby. look before you sit. bear and forebear is bruin and tripe. believe twice as much as you hear of a lady's age. content is the conjuror that turns mock-turtle into real. there is no one who perseveres in well-doing like a thorough humbug. the loosest fish that drinks is tight. education won't polish boots. experience is the mother of gumption. half-a-crown is better than no bribe. utopia hath no law. there is no cruelty in whipping cream. care will kill a cat; carelessness a christian. he who lights his candle at both ends, spills grease. keep your jokes to yourself, and repeat other people's. * * * * * the best text-book for pugilists.--knox on anatomy. * * * * * acrobats' tipple.--champagne in tumblers. * * * * * [illustration: what our artist has to put up with.--_fond mother._ "i _do_ wish you would look over some of my little boy's sketches, and give me your candid opinion on them. they strike me as perfectly marvellous for one so young. the other day he drew a horse and cart, and, i can assure you, you could scarcely tell the difference."] * * * * * [illustration: our smoking concert _irate member._ "well, i'll take my oath i came in a hat!"] * * * * * editors ["editors, behind their officialism, are human just like other folks, for they think and they work, they laugh and they play, they marry--just as others do. the best of them are brimful of human nature, sympathetic and kindly, and full of the zest of life and its merry ways."--_round about_.] to look at, the ordinary editor is so like a human being that it takes an expert to tell the difference. when quite young they make excellent pets, but for some strange reason people never confess that they have editors in the house. marriage is not uncommon among editors, and monogamy is the rule rather than the exception. the chief hobby of an editor is the collection of stamped addressed envelopes, which are sent to him in large numbers. no one knows why he should want so many of these, but we believe he is under the impression that by collecting a million of them he will be able to get a child into some hospital. of course in these enlightened days it is illegal to shoot editors, while to destroy their young is tantamount to murder. * * * * * [illustration: _country cousin_ (_looking at index of r. a. catalogue_). "uncle, what does , , , , after a man's name, mean?" _uncle_ (_who has been dragged there much against his will_). "eh! what? , ---- oh, _telephone number_!"] * * * * * [illustration: in the artist's room.--_potztausend._ "my friend, it is kolossal! most remark-worthy! you remind me on rubinstein; but you are better as he." _pianist (pleased)._ "indeed! how?" _potztausend._ "in de bersbiration. my friend rubinstein could never bersbire so moch!"] * * * * * [illustration: brothers in art.--_new arrival._ "what should i charge for teaching ze pianoforte?" _old stager._ "oh, i don't know." _n. a._ "vell, tell me vot _you_ charge." _o. s._ "_i_ charge five guineas a lesson." _n. a._ "himmel! how many pupils have you got?" _o. s._ "oh, i have no pupils!"] * * * * * a division of labour ["_journalism._--gentleman (barrister) offers furnished bedroom in comfortable, cheerful chambers in temple in return for equivalent journalistic assistance, &c."--_times._] the "equivalent" is rather a nice point. _mr. punch_ suggests for other gentlemen barristers the following table of equivalence:-- furnished bedroom. = { introduction (by letter) to {sub-editor of daily paper. furnished bedroom} = { introduction (personal) to with use of bath. } {sub-editor. { introduction and interview bed-sitting-room. = { (five minutes guaranteed) {with editor. furnished rooms.} = { lunch (cold) with dr. {robertson nicoll. furnished rooms, with} = { lunch (hot) with dr. nicoll use of bath. } {and claudius clear. furnished flat, with } { bridge night with lord all modern conveniences,} = {northcliffe, sir george electric light, } {newnes, and mr. c. a. trams to the corner, &c.} {pearson. * * * * * when is an author most likely to be sick of his own writing? when he's regularly _in the swing_. * * * * * [illustration: drink to me only with thine eyes songs and their singers] * * * * * [illustration: _little griggs_ (_to caricaturist_). "by jove, old feller, i wish you'd been with me this morning; you'd have seen such a funny looking chap!"] * * * * * [illustration: (_model wishing to say something pleasant._) "you must have painted uncommonly well when you were young!"] * * * * * dinner and dress.--full dress is not incompatible with low dress. at dinner it is not generally the roast or the boiled that are not dressed enough. if young men are raw, that does not much signify but it is not nice to see girls underdone. * * * * * a cheap bath.--a farthing dip. * * * * * "light dues."--photographers' charges. * * * * * "lettered ease."--the catalogue of the british museum. * * * * * a professional view of things.--trecalfe, our bookseller, who has recently got married, says of his wife, that he feels that her life is bound up in his. * * * * * tavern wine measure sips make glass. glasses make pint. pints makes quart bottle. bottle makes one ill. * * * * * the boarding-out system.--dining at the club. * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. mashem._ "_bull-bull_ and i have been sitting for our photographs as 'beauty and the beast'!" _lord loreus_ (_a bit of a fancier_). "yes; he certainly _is_ a beauty, isn't he?"] * * * * * short rules for calculation.--_to find the value of a dozen articles._--send them to a magazine, and double the sum offered by the proprietor. _another way._--send them to the butterman, who will not only fix their value, but their weight, at per pound. _to find the value of a pound at any price._--try to borrow one, when you are desperately hard up. * * * * * _member of the lyceum club._ have you read tolstoi's "resurrection"? _member of the cavalry club._ no. is that the name of marie corelli's new book? * * * * * convivial toast (_for a temperance fête_) fill high: drink _l'eau_. * * * * * _first reveller_ (_on the following morning_). "i say, is it true you were the only sober man last night?" _second reveller._ "of course not!" _first reveller._ "who was, then?" * * * * * an ugly bargain.--a cheap bull-dog. * * * * * [illustration: the dumas craze _brown_ (_who, with his friends jones and robinson, is in town for a week and is "going it"_). "now, mr. costumier, we are going to this 'ere ball, and we want you to make us hup as the three musketeers!"] * * * * * [illustration: a cheerful prospect.--_jones._ "i say, miss golightly, it's awfully good of you to accompany me, you know. if i've tried this song once, i've tried it a dozen times--_and i've always broken down in the third verse!_"] * * * * * [illustration: beyond praise.--_roscius._ "but you haven't got a word of praise for anyone. i should like to know who you would consider a finished artist?" _criticus._ "a dead one, my boy--a dead one!"] * * * * * stale news freshly told.--a physician cannot obtain recovery of his fees, although he may cause the recovery of his patient. dress may be seized for rent, and a coat without cuffs may be collared by the broker. a married woman can acquire nothing, the proper tie of marriage making all she has the proper-ty of her husband. you may purchase any stamp at the stamp-office, except the stamp of a gentleman. pawnbrokers take such enormous interest in their little pledges, that if they were really pledges of affection, the interest taken could hardly be exceeded. * * * * * the authors of our own pleasures.--next to the pleasure of having done a good action, there is nothing so sweet as the pleasure of having written a good article! * * * * * change for the better.--when the organ nuisance shall have been swept away from our streets, that fearful instrument of ear-piercing torture called the hurdy-gurdy will then (thank parliament!) be known as the _un-heardy_-gurdy. * * * * * [illustration: my mother bids me bind my hair songs and their singers] * * * * * a few golden rules transmuted into brass the golden rule. . never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day. . never trouble another for a trifle which you can do yourself. . never spend your money before you have it, if you would make the most of your means. . nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. the brazen rule. . put off till to-morrow the dun who won't be done to-day. . when another would trouble you for a trifle, never trouble yourself. . spend your money before you have it; and when you have it, spend it again, for by so doing you enjoy your means twice, instead of only once. . you have only to do a creditor willingly, and he will never be troublesome. * * * * * a literary pursuit.--chasing a newspaper in a high wind. * * * * * [illustration: the true test.-- _first screever_ (_stopping before a pastel in a picture dealer's window_). "ullo 'erbert, look 'ere! chalks!" _second screever._ "ah, very tricky, i dessay. but you set that chap on the pivement alongside o' you an' me, to dror 'arf a salmon an' a nempty 'at, an' where 'ud 'e be?" _first screever._ "ah!"] [_exeunt ambo._ * * * * * musical news (noose).--we perceive from a foreign paper that a criminal who has been imprisoned for a considerable period at presburg has acquired a complete mastery over the violin. it has been announced that he will shortly make an appearance in public. doubtless, his performance will be _a solo on one string_. * * * * * _sporting prophet_ (_playing billiards_). marker, here's the tip off this cue as usual. _marker._ yes, sir. better give us one of your "tips," sir, as _they never come off_. * * * * * art dogma.--an artist's wife never admires her husband's work so much as when he is drawing her a cheque. * * * * * the united effort of six royal academicians.--what colour is it that contains several? an umber (_a number_). * * * * * mem. at burlington house.--a picture may be "capitally executed" without of necessity being "well hung." and _vice versâ_. * * * * * a schism to be approved of.--a witticism. * * * * * [illustration: excelsior!-- _she._ "i didn't know you were a _musician_, herr müller." _he._ "a musician? ach, no--gott vorpit! i am a _wagnerian_!"] * * * * * an author's cry of agony (_wrung from him by the repeated calls of the printer's boy_) "oh! that devils' visits were, like angels', 'few and far between!'" * * * * * riddles by a wretch.--_q._ what is the difference between a surgeon and a wizard? _a._ the one is a cupper and the other is a sorcerer. _q._ why is america like the act of reflection? _a._ because it is a roomy-nation. _q._ why is your pretty cousin like an alabaster vase? _a._ because she is an _objet de looks_. _q._ how is it that a man born in truro can never be an irishman? _a._ because he always is a true-roman. _q._ why is my game cock like a bishop? _a._ because he has his crows here (_crozier_). * * * * * couplet by a cynic (_after reading certain press comments on the picture show_) philistine art may stand all critic shocks whilst it gives private views--of pretty frocks! * * * * * [illustration: retaliation.-- _comic man_ (_to unappreciated tenor, whose song has just been received in stony silence_). "i say, you're not going to sing an encore, are you?" _unappreciated tenor_ (_firmly_). "yes, i am. _serve them right!_"] * * * * * [illustration: an inducement.-- _swedish exercise instructress._ "now, ladies, if you will only follow my directions carefully, it is quite possible that you may become even as i am!"] * * * * * [illustration: more swedish instruction.-- _instructress_ (_to exhausted class, who have been hopping round room for some time_). "come! come! that won't do at all. you _must_ look cheerful. keep smiling--smiling all the time!"] * * * * * a batch of proofs the proof of a pudding is in the eating: the proof of a woman is in making a pudding; and the proof of a man is in being able to dine without one. * * * * * a reflection on literature.--it is a well-authenticated fact, that the name of a book has a great deal to do with its sale and its success. how strange that titles should go for so much in the republic of letters. * * * * * motto for the rejected at the royal academy (_suggested by one of the forty_).--"hanging's too good for them!" * * * * * suggestion for a music-hall song (_to suit any lionne comique_).--"wink at _me only_ with one eye," &c., &c. * * * * * ample grounds for complaint.--finding the grounds of your coffee to consist of nothing but chicory. * * * * * a smiling countenance is "the happy mien." * * * * * [illustration: _publisher_ (_impatiently_). "well, sir, what is it?" _poet_ (_timidly_). "o--er--are you mr. jobson?" _publisher_ (_irritably_). "yes." _poet_ (_more timidly_). "mr. _george_ jobson?" _publisher_ (_excitably_). "yes, sir, that's my name." _poet_ (_more timidly still_). "of the firm of messrs. jobson and doodle?" _publisher_ (_angrily_). "yes. what do you want?" _poet_ "oh--i want to see mr. doodle!"] * * * * * [illustration: our orchestral society.--_the rector._ "oh, _piano_, mr. brown! _pi-an-o!_" _mr. brown._ "_piano_ be blowed! i've come here to enjoy myself!"] * * * * * [illustration: _customer._--"have you 'how to be happy though married'?" _bookseller._ "no, sir. we have run out at present of the work you mention; but we are selling this little book by the hundred."] * * * * * a letter to a young publisher since, my dear jones, you are good enough to ask for my advice, need i say that your success in business will depend chiefly upon judicious advertisement? you are bringing out, i understand, a thrilling story of domestic life, entitled "maria's marriage." already, i am glad to learn, you have caused a paragraph to appear in the literary journals contradicting "the widespread report that mr. kipling and the german emperor have collaborated in the production of this novel, the appearance of which is awaited with such extraordinary interest." and you have induced a number of papers to give prominence to the fact that mr. penwiper dines daily off curry and clotted cream. so far, so good. your next step will be to send out review-copies, together with ready-made laudatory criticisms; in order, as you will explain, to save the hard worked reviewers trouble. but, you will say, supposing this ingenious device to fail? supposing "maria's marriage" to be universally "slated"? well, even then you need not despair. with a little practice, you will learn the art of manufacturing an attractive advertisement column from the most unpromising material. let me give you a brief example of the method:-- i.--the raw material. "mr. penwiper's latest production, 'maria's marriage,' scarcely calls for serious notice. it seems hard to believe that even the most tolerant reader will contrive to study with attention a work of which every page contains glaring errors of taste. humour, smartness, and interest are all conspicuously wanting."--_the thunderer._ "this book is undeniably third-rate--dull, badly-written, incoherent; in fine, a dismal failure."--_the wigwam._ "if 'maria's marriage' has any real merit, it is as an object-lesson to aspiring authors. here, we would say to them, is a striking example of the way in which romance should not be written. set yourself to produce a work exactly its opposite in every particular, and the chances are that you will produce, if not a masterpiece, at least, a tale free from the most glaring faults. for the terrible warning thus afforded by his volume to budding writers, mr. penwiper deserves to be heartily thanked."--_daily telephone._ "'maria's marriage' is another book that we have received in the course of the month."--_the parachute._ ii.--the result. "maria's marriage!" "maria's marriage!" gigantic success--the talk of london. the th edition will be issued this week if the sale of twenty-eight previous ones makes this necessary. each edition is strictly limited! "maria's marriage!" the voice of the press is simply _unanimous_. read the following extracts--taken almost at random from the reviews of leading papers. "mr. penwiper's latest production ... calls for serious notice ... the reader will ... study with attention a work of which every page contains taste, humour, smartness and interest!"--_the thunderer._ "undeniably ... fine!"--_the wigwam._ "has ... real merit ... an object lesson ... a striking example of the way in which romance ... should be written. a masterpiece ... free from faults. mr. penwiper deserves to be heartily thanked."--_daily telephone._ "the book ... of the month!"--_the parachute_, &c., &c. "maria's marriage!" a veritable triumph! order it from your bookseller to-day! that, my dear jones, is how the trick is done. i hope to give you some further hints on a future occasion. * * * * * "pray, after you," as the glass of water said to the pill. * * * * * truism for teetotalers.--when a man is _out_ of spirits--he should take wine. * * * * * a needless question.--"do you want a loan?" * * * * * the british "public."--the beer-shop. * * * * * morning envelopes.--dressing gowns. * * * * * [illustration: "_operator_" (_desperately, after half an hour's fruitless endeavour to make a successful "picture" from unpromising sitter_). "suppose, madam, we try a pose with just the _least_ suggestion of--er--_sauciness_?"] * * * * * [illustration: gushing hospitality. (time p.m.).--_hospitable host._ "have c'gar, old f'lla?" _languid visitor._ "no--thanks." _h. h._ "cigarette then?" _his visitor._ "no--thanks. nevar smoke 'mejately after breakfast." _h. h._ "can't refuse a toothpick, then, old f'lla?"] * * * * * [illustration: proportions.--_buyer._ "in future, as my collection increases, and my wall-space is limited, and price no object, perhaps you would let me have a little more 'picture,' and a little less 'mount'!"] * * * * * [illustration: ingenuous!--_jones_ (_to his fair partner, after their opponents have declared "clubs"_). "shall i play to 'clubs', partner?" _fair partner_ (_who has never played bridge before_). "oh, no, please don't, mr. jones. i've only got two little ones."] * * * * * [illustration: _she._ "and are all these lovely things about which you write imaginary?" _the poet._ "oh, no, miss ethel. i have only to open my eyes and i see something beautiful before me." _she._ "oh, how i wish i could say the same!"] * * * * * [illustration: at the r.a.--_first painter._ "i've just been showing my aunt round. most amusing. invariably picks out the wrong pictures to admire and denounces the good ones!" _second painter._ "did she say anything about mine?" _first painter._ "oh, she liked yours!"] * * * * * [illustration: "i say, old man, i've invented a new drink. big success! come and try it." "what's it made of?" "well, it's something like the ordinary whisky and soda, but you put more whisky in it!"] * * * * * [illustration: a prophet in his own country _sylvia._ "i wonder whether he'll be a soldier or a sailor?" _mamma._ "wouldn't you like him to be an artist, like papa?" _sylvia._ "oh, one in the family's quite enough!"] * * * * * "the bitter end."--the last half inch of a halfpenny cigar. * * * * * the worst possible name for an author.--dr. dozy. * * * * * why oughtn't a boot and shoemaker to be trusted? because he's a slippery customer. * * * * * the race for wealth.--jews. * * * * * basso profondo.--a deep draught of bitter beer. * * * * * exercise for city clerks.--a run on a bank. * * * * * passing the time.--going by a clock. * * * * * [illustration: coming off with flying colours] * * * * * [illustration: thy face songs and their singers] * * * * * literary notes a well-known diner-out has, we learn, collected his reminiscences, and would be glad to hear from some obliging gentleman or gentlemen who would "earnestly request" him to publish them. we should add that no names would be mentioned, the preface merely opening as follows:-- "although these stray gleanings of past years are of but ephemeral value, and though they were collected with no thought of publication, the writer at the earnest request of a friend" (or "many friends," if more than one) "has reluctantly consented to give his scattered reminiscences to the world." * * * * * the following volumes in "the biter bit" series are announced as shortly to appear:-- "the fighter fit; or practical hints on pugilistic training." "the lighter lit: a treatise on the illumination of thames barges." "the slighter slit: or a new and economical method of cutting out." "the tighter tit: studies in the comparative inebriation of birds." [illustration: some fine form was exhibited] [illustration: a two-figure break] [illustration: a heat of up] [illustration: finishing the game with a cannon] [illustration: opening with the customary miss] [illustration: spot barred] billiard notes by dumb-crambo * * * * * [illustration: sending-in-day at the r. a. "but it is impossible for you to see the president. what do you want to see him for?" "i want to show him exactly where i want my picture hung."] * * * * * [illustration: _millionaire._ "yes; i'm awful partial to picters. why, bless yer, i've got _cellars_ full of 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the exhibition"] _infuriated outsider._ "r-r-r-rejected, sir!----fwanospace, sir!" (_with withering emphasis._) "'want--of--space--sir!!" * * * * * [illustration: "look here, schlumpenhagen, you must help us at our smoking concert. you play the flute, don't you?" "not ven dere ish anypotty apout." "how's that?" "dey _von't let me_!"] * * * * * rochefoucauldiana there is no sympathy in england so universally felt, so largely expressed, as for a person who is likely to catch cold. * * * * * when a person loses his reputation, the very last place where he goes to look for it is the place where he has lost it. * * * * * no gift so fatal as that of singing. the principal question asked, upon insuring a man's life, should be, "do you sing a good song?" * * * * * many of us are led by our vices, but a great many more of us follow them without any leading at all. * * * * * to show how deceptive are appearances, more gentlemen are mistaken for waiters, than waiters for gentlemen. * * * * * to a retired tradesman there can be no greater convenience than that of having a "short sight." in truth, wealth rarely improves the vision. poverty, on the contrary, strengthens it. a man, when he is poor, is able to discover objects at the greatest distance with the naked eye, which he could not see, though standing close to his elbow, when he was rich. * * * * * if you wish to set a room full of silent people off talking, get some one to sing a song. * * * * * the bore is happy enough in boring others, but is never so miserable as when left alone, when there is no one but himself to bore. * * * * * the contradictions of this life are wonderful. many a man, who hasn't the courage to say "no," never misses taking a shower-bath every morning of his life. * * * * * if you wish to borrow £ ask for £ . * * * * * what brown said scene--_hall of the elysium club_ _enter_ smith, f.r.s., _meeting_ brown, q.c. _smith._ raw day, eh? _brown._ very _raw_. glad when it's _done_. [_exit_ brown, q.c. _exit_ smith, f.r.s., _into smoking-room, where he tells a good thing that_ brown _said_. * * * * * [illustration: at the academy _miss jones._ "how came you to think of the subject, mr. de brush?" _eccentric artist._ "oh, i have had it in my head for years!" _miss jones._ "how wonderful! what did the papers say?" _eccentric artist._ "said it was full of 'atmosphere,' and suggested 'space.'"] * * * * * [illustration: intelligent!--_artist_ (_who thinks he has found a good model for his touchstone_). "have you any sense of humour, mr. bingles?" _model._ "thank y' sir, no, sir, thank y'. i enj'ys pretty good 'ealth, sir, thank y' sir!"] * * * * * the perils of a conversazione _miss fillip_ (_to gentleman whose name she did not catch when introduced_). have you read _a modern heliogabolus_? _he._ yes, i have. _miss f._ all through? _he._ yes, from beginning to end. _miss f._ dear me! i wonder you're alive! how did you manage to get through it? _he_ (_diffidently_). unfortunately, i wrote it. [_miss f. catches a distant friend's eye._ * * * * * the sound sleeper's paradise.--snoring. * * * * * _patent_ night-lights.--stars. * * * * * epitaph on a champion billiard player.--"taking his long rest." * * * * * toned paper.--sheets of music. * * * * * item on a menu of literary pabulum.--"shakspeare and bacon." * * * * * race glasses.--champagne. * * * * * the maid of the mill.--a lady boxer. * * * * * [illustration: sentiment.--(_artistic-minded youth in midst of a fierce harangue from his father, who is growing hotter and redder_). "by jove, that's a fine bit of colour, if you like!"] * * * * * [illustration: "what an ass old brown is!" "oh, i don't know. he's got far more brains than appear on the surface."] * * * * * [illustration: _art-master_ (_who has sent for a cab, pointing to horse_). "what do you call that?" _cabby._ "an 'orse, sir." _art-master._ "a horse! rub it out, and do it again!"] * * * * * a parcel of proverbs, &c. completed take time by the forelock--to have his hair cut. follow your leader--in your daily paper. the proof of the pudding is in the eating--a great deal of it. never look a gift-horse in the mouth--lest you should find false teeth. the hare with many friends--was eaten at last. a stitch in time saves nine--or more naughty words, when a button comes off while you are dressing in a great hurry for dinner. one man's meat is another man's poison--when badly cooked. don't count your chickens before they are hatched--by the patent incubator. love is blind--and unwilling to submit to an operation. first catch your hare--then cook it with rich gravy. nil desperandum--percy vere. * * * * * [illustration: non-committal.-- scene: _fashionable auction rooms. a picture sale._-- _amateur collector_ (_after taking advice of expert no. , addresses expert no. _). "what do you think of the picture? i am advised to buy it. is it not a fine titian?" _expert no. _ (_wishing to please both parties_). "i don't think you can go far wrong, for anyhow, if it isn't a titian it's a repe-tition."] * * * * * another parcel of proverbs if the cap fits, wear it--out. six of one, and half-a-dozen of the other--make exactly twelve. none so deaf as those who won't hear--hear! hear! faint heart never won fair lady--nor dark one either. civility costs nothing--nay, is something to your credit. the best of friends must part--their hair. any port in a storm--but old port preferred. one good turn deserves another--in waltzing. youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm--very sea-sick. * * * * * "leading strings."--those of a first violin in an orchestra. * * * * * tobacco stoppers.--men who stay to smoke. * * * * * smoker's proverb.--it's an ill weed that blows nobody any good. a _tidy_ drink.--_neat_ brandy. * * * * * [illustration: _amateur_ "_minimus poet_" (_who has called at the office twice a week for three months_). "could you use a little poem of mine?" _editor_ (_ruthlessly determined that this shall be his final visit_). "oh, i think so. there are two or three broken panes of glass, and a hole in the skylight. how large is it?"] * * * * * motto for a sub-editor.--"aut _scissors_, aut nullus." * * * * * _to find the value of a cook._--divide the services rendered by the wages paid; deduct the kitchen stuff, subtract the cold meat by finding how often three policemen will go into one area, and the quotient will help you to the result. _to find the value of a friend._--ask him to put his name to a bill. _to find the value of time._--travel by a bayswater omnibus. _to find the value of eau de cologne._--walk into smithfield market. _to find the value of patience._--consult bradshaw's _guide_ to ascertain the time of starting of a railway train. * * * * * note by a social cynic.--they may abolish the "push" stroke at billiards, but they'll never do so in society. * * * * * from our own irrepressible one (_still dodging custody_).--_q._ why is a daily paper like a lamb? _a._ because it is always folded. * * * * * [illustration: duty before pleasure.--_hostess_ (_to new curate_). "we seem to be talking of nothing but horses, mr. soothern. are you much of a sportsman?" _curate._ "really, lady betty, i don't think i ought to say that i am. i used to collect butterflies; but i have to give up even _that_ now!"] * * * * * [illustration: shakspeare illustrated "the gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still?" _antony and cleopatra_, act ii., sc. .] * * * * * "still waters."--whiskies. * * * * * art criticism.--in too many pictures the colour is medi-ocre. * * * * * the advertiser's paradise.--puffin island. * * * * * a musical burglar.--one who breaks into a tune. * * * * * [illustration: he knew his work _proprietor of travelling menagerie._ "are you used to looking after horses and other animals?" _applicant for job._ "yessir. been used to 'orses all my life." _p. o. t. m._ "what steps would you take if a lion got loose?" _a. f. j._ "good long 'uns, mister!"] * * * * * may be heard everywhere.--"songs without words"--a remarkable performance; but perhaps a still more wonderful feat is playing upon words. * * * * * substitutes for profane swearing (_adapted to various sorts and conditions of men_) _lawyer._ tax my bill. _doctor._ dash my draughts. _soldier_. snap my stock. _parson._ starch my surplice. _bricklayer._ i'll be plastered. _bricklayer's labourer._ chop my hod. _carpenter._ saw me. _plumber and glazier._ solder my pipes. smash my panes. _painter._ i'm daubed. _brewer._ i'm mashed. _engineer._ burst my boiler. _stoker._ souse my coke. _costermonger._ rot my taturs. _dramatic author._ steal my french dictionary. _actor._ i'll be hissed. _tailor._ cut me out. cook my goose. _linendraper._ soil my silks. sell me off. _grocer._ squash my figs. sand my sugar. seize my scales. _baker._ knead my dough. scorch my muffins. _auctioneer._ knock me down. * * * * * "the players are come!"--_first player_ (_who has had a run of ill-luck_). i'm regularly haunted by the recollection of my losses at baccarat. _second player._ quite shakespearian! "banco's ghost." * * * * * something to live for.--(_from the literary club smoking-room._) _cynicus._ i'm waiting till my friends are dead, in order to write my reminiscences? _amicus._ ah, but remember. "_de mortuis nil nisi bonum._" _cynicus._ quite so. i shall tell nothing but exceedingly good stories about them. * * * * * a contradiction.--in picture exhibitions, the observant spectator is struck by the fact that works hung on the line are too often below the mark. * * * * * a "light" repast.--a feast of lanterns. * * * * * [illustration: r. a. gems.--_fair amateur_ (_to carpenter_). "my picture is quite hidden with that horrid ticket on it. can't you fix it on the frame?" _carpenter._ "why, you'll spoil the frame, mum!"] * * * * * [illustration: _jones._ "do you drink between meals?" _smith._ "no. i eat between drinks." _jones._ "which did you do last?" _smith._ "drink." _jones._ "then we'd better go and have a sandwich at once!"] * * * * * [illustration: nocturne in the old kent road] * * * * * "largest circulation in the world."--the elephant's. * * * * * the worst place in thirsty weather.--taplow. * * * * * inscription for an old clothes shop.--"nothing new." * * * * * [illustration: "just a song at twilight"] (_as sung sweetly by a public-house-baritone_) * * * * * literary announcement.--in the press--yesterday's tablecloth. * * * * * the height of economy.--a "screw" of tobacco. * * * * * [illustration: a broken melody scene i.--_street singer._ "i fear no foe in shining ar----."] [illustration: a broken melody scene ii.--enter policeman.] * * * * * the quick grub street co. the quick grub street co. beg to announce that they have opened an establishment for the supply of literature in all its branches. _every editor should send for our prices and compare them with those of other houses._ poetry department. we employ experienced poets for the supply of garden verses, war songs, &c., and undertake to fill any order within twenty-four hours of its reaching us. our mr. rhymeesi will be glad to wait upon parties requiring verse of any description, and, if the matter is at all urgent, to execute the order on the spot. drama department. actor-managers before going elsewhere should give us a call. our plays draw wherever they are presented, even if it is only bricks. _testimonial._--a manager writes: "the play you kindly supplied, _the blue bloodhound of bletchley_, is universally admitted to be _unlike anything ever before produced on the stage_." musical comedies (guaranteed absolutely free from plot) supplied on shortest notice. fiction department. for society dialogues we use the very best duchesses; while a first-class earl's daughter is retained for court and gala opera. for our new line of _vie intime_ we employ none but valets and confidential maids, who have to serve an apprenticeship with p.a.p. the kailyard department is always up-to-date, and our mr. stickit will be pleased to call on any editor on receipt of post-card. n.b.--we guarantee our scotch idyll to be absolutely unintelligible to any english reader, and undertake to refund money if it can be proved that such is not the case. our speciality, however, is our _six-shilling shocker_, as sold for serial purposes. editors with papers that won't "go" should ask for one of these. when ordering please state general idea required under one of our recognised sections, as foreign office, police, mounted infantry, cowardice, rome, &c., &c. biography. any gentleman wishing to have a biography of himself produced in anticipation of his decease should communicate with us. the work would, of course, be published with a note to the effect that the writing had been a labour of love; that moreover the subject with his usual modesty had been averse from the idea of a biography. _testimonial._--sir sunny jameson writes: "the life gives great satisfaction. no reference made, however, to my munificent gift of £ to the referees' hospital. this should be remedied in the next edition. the work, however, has been excellently done. you have made me out to be better than even i ever thought myself." for love letters, for the elizabethan vogue, for every description of garden meditations, give the quick grub street company a trial. * * * * * [illustration: a soft answer.--_papa_ (_literary, who has given orders he is not to be disturbed_). "who is it?" _little daughter._ "scarcely anybody, dear papa!"] * * * * * [illustration: the secrets of literary composition _the fair authoress of "passionate pauline," gazing fondly at her own reflection, writes as follows_:-- "i look into the glass, reader. what do i see? i see a pair of laughing, _espiègle_, forget-me-not blue eyes, saucy and defiant; a _mutine_ little rose-bud of a mouth, with its ever-mocking _moue_; a tiny shell-like ear, trying to play hide-and-seek in a tangled maze of rebellious russet gold; while, from underneath the satin folds of a _rose-thé_ dressing-gown, a dainty foot peeps coyly forth in its exquisitely-pointed gold morocco slipper", &c., &c. (_vide "passionate pauline", by parbleu._)] * * * * * [illustration: a distinction _first gourmet._ "that was mr. dobbs i just nodded to." _second gourmet._ "i know." _first g._ "he asked me to dine at his house next thursday--but i can't. ever dined at dobbs's?" _second g._ "no. never _dined_. but i've been there to dinner!"] * * * * * [illustration: _auctioneer._ "lot . a genuine turner. painted during the artist's lifetime. what offers, gentlemen?"] * * * * * [illustration: _millionaire_ (_who has been shown into fashionable artist's studio, and has been kept waiting a few minutes_). "shop!"] * * * * * nonsense proverbs what's in the pot mustn't be told to the pan. there's a mouth for every muffin. a clear soup and no flavour. as drunk as a daisy. all rind and no cheese. set a beggar on horseback, and he will cheat the livery-stable keeper. there's a b in every bonnet. two-and-six of one and half-a-crown of the other. the insurance officer dreads a fire. first catch your heir, then hook him. every plum has its pudding. short pipes make long smokes. it's a long lane that has no blackberries. wind and weather come together. a flower in the button-hole is worth two on the bush. round robin is a shy bird. there's a shiny lining to every hat. the longest dinner will come to an end. you must take the pips with the orange. it's a wise dentist that knows his own teeth. no rose without a gardener. better to marry in may than not to marry at all. save sovereigns, spend guineas. too many followers spoil the cook. (n.b. this is _not_ nonsense.) * * * * * [illustration: profusely decorated with cuts] * * * * * said at the academy.--_punch_ doesn't care _who_ said it. it was extremely rude to call the commission on capital punishments the hanging committee. * * * * * the grammar of art.--"art," spell it with a big or little "a," can never come first in any well-educated person's ideas. "i am" must have the place of honour; then "thou art!" so apostrophised, comes next. * * * * * [illustration: _scrumble._ "been to see the old masters?" _stippleton_ (_who has married money_). "no. fact is"--(_sotto voce_)--"i've got quite enough on my hands with the old missus!"] * * * * * [illustration: two old masters of arts] * * * * * artist's vade mecum _question._ has the anxious parent been to see his child's portrait? _answer._ he has seen it. _q._ did he approve of it? _a._ he will like it better when i have made some slight alterations. _q._ what are they? _a._ he would like the attitude of the figure altered, the position of the arms changed, the face turned the other way, the hair and eyes made a different colour, and the expression of the mouth improved. _q._ did he make any other suggestions? _a._ yes; he wishes to have the child's favourite pony and newfoundland dog put in, with an indication of the ancestral home in the back-ground. _q._ is he willing to pay anything extra for these additions? _a._ he does not consider it necessary. _q._ are you well on with your academy picture? _a._ no; but i began the charcoal sketch yesterday. _q._ have you secured the handsome model? _a._ no; the handsome model has been permanently engaged by the eminent r.a. _q._ under these circumstances, do you still expect to get finished in time? _a._ yes; i have been at this stage in february for as many years as i can remember, and have generally managed to worry through somehow. * * * * * whenever the "reduced prizefighters" take a benefit at a theatre, the play should be _the miller and his men_. * * * * * a nice man.--mr. swiggins was a sot. he was also a sloven. he never had anything neat about him but gin. * * * * * [illustration: under a great master] * * * * * [illustration: the warrior bold songs and their singers] * * * * * [illustration: the gay tom tit songs and their singers] * * * * * "hung, drawn, and quartered."--(_mr. punch's sentence on three-fourths of the academicians' work "on the line."_)--very well "hung"; very ill "drawn"; a great deal better "quartered" than it deserves. * * * * * the spirit of the age.--gin. * * * * * [illustration: "when a man does not look his best" when he magnanimously consents to go on the platform at a conjuring performance, and unwonted objects are produced from his inside pockets.] * * * * * [illustration: _celebrated minor poet._ "ah, hostess, how 'do? did you get my book i sent you yesterday?" _hostess._ "delightful! _i couldn't sleep till i'd read it!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _the infant prodigy has reached the middle of an exceedingly difficult pianoforte solo, and one of those dramatic pauses of which the celebrated composer is so fond has occurred. kindly but undiscerning old lady._ "play something you know, dearie."] * * * * * [illustration: at a fencing "at home."--_distinguished foreigner_ (_hero of a hundred duels_). "it is delightful, mademoiselle. you english are a sporting nation." _fair member._ "so glad you are enjoying it. by the way, monsieur le marquis, have they introduced fencing into france yet?"] * * * * * [illustration: in the cause of art.--_patron._ "when are yer goin' to start my wife's picture and mine? 'cause, when the 'ouse is up we're a goin'----" _artist._ "oh, i'll get the canvases at once, and----" _patron_ (_millionaire_). "canvas! 'ang it!--none o' yer canvas for me! price is no objec'! i can afford to pay for something better than canvas!!" [_tableau!_] * * * * * [illustration: gratifying!--_amateur artist_ (_to the carrier_). "did you see my picture safely delivered at the royal academy?" _carrier._ "yessir, and mighty pleased they seemed to be with it--leastways, if one may jedge, sir. they didn't say nothin'--but--lor' how they did laugh!"] * * * * * [illustration: _artist_ (_who has recommended model to a friend_). "have you been to sit to mr. jones yet?" _model._ "well, i've been to see him; but directly i got into his studio, 'why,' he said, 'you've got a head like a botticelli.' i don't know what a botticelli is, but i didn't go there to be called names, so i come away!"] * * * * * [illustration: _art student_ (_engaging rooms_). "what is that?" _landlady._ "that is a picture of our church done in wool by my daughter, sir. she's subject to art, too."] * * * * * the sub-editor's aunt "i always buy your paper my dear horace," said the old lady, "although there is much in it i cannot approve of. but there is one thing that puzzles me extremely." "yes, aunt?" said the sub-editor meekly, as he sipped his tea. "why, i notice that the contents bill invariably has one word calculated to stimulate the morbid curiosity of the reader. an adjective." "circulation depends upon adjectives," said the sub-editor. "i don't think i object to them," the old lady replied; "but what i want you to tell me is how you choose them. how do you decide whether an occurrence is 'remarkable' or 'extraordinary,' 'astounding' or 'exciting,' 'thrilling' or 'alarming,' 'sensational' or merely 'strange,' 'startling' or 'unique'? what tells you which word to use?" "well, aunt, we have a system to indicate the adjective to a nicety; but----" "my dear horace, i will never breathe a word. you should know that. no one holds the secrets of the press more sacred than i." the sub-editor settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "you see, aunt, the great thing in an evening paper is human interest. what we want to get is news to hit the man-in-the-street. everything that we do is done for the man-in-the-street. and therefore we keep safely locked up in a little room a tame man of this description. he may not be much to look at, but his sympathies are right, unerringly right. he sits there from nine till six, and has things to eat now and then. we call him the thrillometer." "how wonderful! how proud you should be horace, to be a part of this mighty mechanism, the press." "i am, aunt. well, the duties of the thrillometer are very simple. directly a piece of news comes in, it is the place of one of the sub-editors to hurry to the thrillometer's room and read it to him. i have to do this." "poor boy. you are sadly overworked, i fear." "yes, aunt. and while i read i watch his face." "long study has told me exactly what degree of interest is excited within him by the announcement. i know instantly whether his expression means 'phenomenal' or only 'remarkable,' whether 'distressing' or only 'sad,' whether----" "is there so much difference between 'distressing' and 'sad,' horace?" "oh, yes, aunt. a suicide in half moon street is 'distressing'; in the city road it is only 'sad.' again, a raid on a club in whitechapel is of no account; but a raid on a west-end club is worth three lines of large type in the bill, above fry's innings." "do you mean a club in soho when you say west-end?" "yes, aunt, as a rule." "but why do you call that the west-end?" "that was the thrillometer's doing, aunt. he fell asleep over a club raid, and a very good one too, when i said it was in soho; but when i told him of the next--also in soho, chiefly italian waiters--and said it was in the west-end, his eyes nearly came out of his head. so you see how useful the thrillometer can be." "most ingenious, horace. was this your idea?" "yes, aunt." "clever boy. and have the other papers adopted it?" "yes, aunt. all of them." "then you are growing rich, horace?" "no, no, aunt, not at all. unfortunately i lack the business instinct. other people grow rich on my ideas. in fact, so far from being rich, i was going to venture to ask you----" "tell me more about the thrillometer," said the old lady briskly. * * * * * [illustration: at the wrestling match _enthusiastic old gent._ "go on, sonny! stick 'old of 's 'ead."] * * * * * going to the bad all the way from the national gallery unto the royal academy as i walked, i was guilty of raillery, which i felt was very bad o' me. thinking of art's disasters, still sinking to deeper abysses, i said, "from the old masters why go to the new misses?" * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps a visit to an artist's studio.] * * * * * [illustration: _he._ "awfully jolly concert, wasn't it? awfully jolly thing by that fellow--what's his name?--something like doorknob." _she._ "_doorknob!_ whom _do_ you mean? i only know of beethoven, mozart, wagner, handel----" _he._ "that's it! handel. i knew it was something you caught hold of!"] * * * * * [illustration: our artist "if you please, sir, here's the printer's boy called again!" "oh, bother! say i'm busy."] * * * * * [illustration: songs and their singers "'tis hard to give the hand where the heart can _never_ be!"] * * * * * [illustration: songs and their singers. "only this"] * * * * * [illustration: _horse dealer._ "did that little mare i sold you do for you, sir?" _nervous horseman._ "nearly!"] * * * * * [illustration: "optics."--_lecturer._ "now let anyone gaze steadfastly on any object--say, for instance, his wife's eye--and he'll see himself looking so exceedingly small, that----" _strong-minded lady_ (_in front row_). "hear! hear! hear!"] * * * * * [illustration: "after the fair." (_country cousin comes up in august to see the exhibition of pictures at the royal academy!_).--_porter._ "bless yer 'art, we're closed!" _country cousin._ "closed! what! didn't it pay?!!"] * * * * * [illustration: _jones._ "how is it we see you so seldom at the club now?" _old member._ "ah, well, you see, i'm not so young as i was; and i've had a good deal of worry lately; and so, what with one thing and another, i've grown rather fond of my own society." _jones._ "epicure!"] * * * * * the true inwardness of art.--photographs by the röntgen rays. * * * * * man who has a turn for music.--an organ-grinder. * * * * * [illustration: the phonograph cannot lie.--_german dealer_ "now, mein herr! you've chust heerd your lofely blaying rebroduced to berfection! won't you buy one?" _amateur flautist._ "are you sure the thing's all right?" _german dealer._ "zertainly, mein herr." _amateur flautist._ "gad, then, if that's what my playing is like, i'm done with the flute for ever."] * * * * * [illustration: private inquiry.--_surveyor of taxes_ (_to literary gent_). "but surely you can arrive at some estimate of the amount received by you during the past three years for example. don't you keep books?" _literary gent._ (_readily_). "oh dear no. i write them!" _surveyor._ "ahem--i mean you've got some sort of accounts----" _literary gent._ "oh yes, lots"--(_surveyor brightens up_)--"unpaid!"] * * * * * [illustration: "there's a boy wants to see you, sir." "has he got a bill in his hand?" "no, sir." "then he's got it in his pocket! send him away!"] * * * * * [illustration: what our artist has to put up with.--_he._ "by jove, it's the best thing i've ever painted!--and i'll tell you what; i've a good mind to give it to mary morison for her wedding present!" _his wifey._ "oh, but, my love, the morisons have always been _so_ hospitable to us! you ought to give her a _real_ present, you know--a fan, or a scent-bottle, or something of that sort!"] * * * * * [illustration: triumph _frame maker_ (_in ecstasies_). "by jove! jemima--every one of 'em on the line again!"] * * * * * how to be an author mr. punch, having read the latest book on the way to write for the press, feels that there is at least one important subject not properly explained therein: to wit, the covering letter. he therefore proceeds to supplement this and similar books.... it is, however, when your story is written that the difficulties begin. having selected a suitable editor, you send him your contribution accompanied by a covering letter. the writing of this letter is the most important part of the whole business. one story, after all, is very much like another (in your case, probably, exactly like another), but you can at least in your covering letter show that you are a person of originality. your letter must be one of three kinds: pleading, peremptory, or corruptive. i proceed to give examples of each. i.--the pleading letter. , _berkeley square, w._ dear mr. editor,--i have a wife and seven starving children; can you possibly help us by accepting this little story of only , (eighteen thousand) words? not only would you be doing a work of charity to one who has suffered much, but you would also, i venture to say, be conferring a real benefit upon english literature--as i have already received the thanks of no fewer than thirty-three editors for having allowed them to peruse this manuscript. yours humbly, the mchardy. p.s.--my youngest boy, aged three, pointed to his little sister's gazeka toy last night and cried "de editor!" these are literally the first words that have passed his lips for three days. can you stand by and see the children starve? ii.--the peremptory letter. sir,--kindly publish at once and oblige. yours faithfully, eugene hackenkick. p.s.--i shall be round at your office to-morrow about an advertisement for some lb. bar-bells, and will look you up. iii.--the corruptive letter. _middlesex house, park lane, iv._ dear mr. smith,--can you come and dine with us quite in a _friendly_ way on thursday at eight? i want to introduce you to the princess of holdwig-schlosstein and mr. alfred austin, who are so eager to meet you. do you know i am really a little _frightened_ at the thought of meeting such a famous editor? isn't it _silly_ of me? yours very sincerely, emma middlesex. p.s.--i wonder if you could find room in your _splendid little paper_ for a silly story i am sending you. it would be such a surprise for the duke's birthday (on monday).--e. m. before concluding the question of the covering letter i must mention the sad case of my friend halibut. halibut had a series of lithographed letters of all kinds, one of which he would enclose with every story he sent out. on a certain occasion he wrote a problem story of the most advanced kind; what, in fact, the reviewers call a "strong" story. in sending this to the editor of a famous magazine his secretary carelessly slipped in the wrong letter: "dear mr. editor," it ran, "i am trying to rite you a littel story, i do hope you will like my little storey, i want to tell you about my kanary and my pussy cat, it's name is _peggy_ and it has seven kitens, have you any kitens, i will give you one if you print my story, "your loving little friend, "flossie." * * * * * proverb for the council of the royal academy.--"hanging goes by favour." * * * * * the enraged musician.--(_a duologue._) _composer._ did you stay late at lady tittup's? _friend._ yes. heard miss bang play again. i was delighted with her execution. _composer._ her execution! _that_ would have pleased _me_; she deserved it for having brutally murdered a piece of mine. [_exeunt._ * * * * * the gentility of speech.--at the music halls visitors now call for "another acrobat," when they want a second tumbler. * * * * * [illustration: the writing on the window portrait of a gentleman who proposes to say he was detained in town on important business.] * * * * * [illustration: awarding the biscuit _dingy bohemian._ "i want a bath oliver." _immaculate servitor._ "my name is _not_ oliver!"] * * * * * [illustration: "sending-in" day.--indigo brown takes his picture, entitled "peace and comfort," to the r.a. himself, as he says, "those picture carts are certain to scratch it," and, with the assistance of his cabby, adds the finishing touches on his way there!] * * * * * [illustration: an undoubted old master (_by himself_)] * * * * * [illustration: laying it on with a palette-knife.--_miss sere._ "ah, mr. brown, if you could only paint me as i was ten years ago!" _our portrait painter_ (_heroically_). "i am afraid children's portraits are not in my line."] * * * * * [illustration: after the sixth rejection by the r.a.--_the prodigal._ "well, dad, here i am, ready to go into the office to-morrow. i've given up my studio and put all my sketches in the fire." _fond father._ "that's right, 'arold. good lad! your 'art's in the right place, after all!"] * * * * * [illustration: _brown_ (_as hamlet_) _to jones_ (_as charles the second_). "'normous amount of _taste_ displayed here to-night!"] * * * * * [illustration: an art patron "i'll have it if you shorten the 'orizon, and make it quids instead of guineas!"] * * * * * [illustration: show sunday.--_brown_ (_trying to find something to admire in smudge's painting_). "by jove, old chap, those flowers are beautifully put in!" _smudge._ "yes; my old friend--thingummy--'r.a.' you know, painted them in for me."] * * * * * [illustration: envy.--scene--_miss semple and dawber, standing near his picture._ _miss semple._ "why, there's a crowd in front of madder's picture!" _dawber._ "someone fainted, i suppose!"] * * * * * an artistic episode ["incapacity for work has come to be accepted as the hall-mark of genius.... the collector wants only the thing that is rare, and therefore the artist must make his work as rare as he can."--_daily chronicle._] josephine found me stretched full length in a hammock in the garden. "why aren't you at work?" she asked; "not feeling seedy, i hope?" "never better," said i. "but i've been making myself too cheap." "we couldn't possibly help going to the joneses last night, dear." "tush," said i. "i mean there is too much of me." "i don't quite understand," she said; "but there certainly will be if you spend your mornings lolling in that hammock." the distortive wantonness of this remark left me cold. "i have made up my mind," i continued, quite seriously, "to do no more work for a considerable time." "but, my dear boy, just think----" "i'm going to make myself scarce," i insisted. "geoffrey!" she exclaimed, "i knew you weren't well!" i released myself. "josephine," i said solemnly, "those estimable persons who collect my pictures will think nothing of them if they become too common." "how do you know there are such persons?" she queried. "i must decline to answer that question," i replied; "but if there are none it is because my work is not yet sufficiently rare and precious. i propose to work no more--say, for six or seven years. by that time my reputation will be made, and there will be the fiercest competition for the smallest canvas i condescend to sign." she kissed me. "i came out for the housekeeping-money," she remarked simply. i went into the house to fetch the required sum, and, by some means i cannot explain, got to work again upon the latest potboiler. * * * * * music readily acquired.--stealing a march. * * * * * [illustration: the storm fiend songs and their singers] * * * * * [illustration: such is fame!--_duchess_ (_with every wish to encourage conversation, to gentleman just introduced_). "your name is very familiar to me indeed for the last ten years." _minor poet_ (_flattered_). "indeed, duchess! and may i ask what it was that first attracted you?" _duchess._ "well, i was staying with lady waldershaw, and she had a most indifferent cook, and whenever we found fault with any dish she always quoted _you_, and said that _you_ liked it _so much_!"] * * * * * [illustration: domestic bliss.--_wife of your bussum._ "oh! i don't want to interrupt you, dear. i only want some money for baby's socks--and to know whether you will have the mutton cold or hashed."] * * * * * in a minor key.--_hearty friend_ (_meeting operatic composer_). hallo, old man, how are you? haven't seen you for an age! what's your latest composition? _impecunious musician_ (_gloomily_). with my creditors. [_exeunt severally._ * * * * * to be sung at concert pitch.--"the tar's farewell." * * * * * [illustration: safe.--_guest_ (_after a jolly evening_). "good night, ol' fellah--i'll leave my boosh oushide 'door----" _bohemian host._ "au' right, m' boy--(_hic_)--noborry'll toussh 'em--goo' light!!" [_exeunt._] * * * * * consolations for the unhung now that the painful month of suspense in studioland is at an end, it behoves us to apply our most soothing embrocation to the wounded feelings of geniuses whose works have boomeranged their way back from burlington house. let them remember: that very few people really look at the pictures in the academy--they only go to meet their friends, or to say they have been there. that those who _do_ examine the works of art are wont to disparage the same by way of showing their superior smartness. that one picture has no chance of recognition with fourteen hundred others shouting at it. that all the best pavement-artists now give "one-man" shows. they can thus select their own "pitch," and are never ruthlessly skied. that photography in colours is coming, and then the r.a. will have to go. that rembrandt, holbein, rubens and vandyck were never hung at the summer exhibition. that botticelli, correggio and titian managed to rub along without that privilege. that the ten-guinea frame that was bought (or owed for) this spring will do splendidly next year for another masterpiece. that the painter _must_ have specimens of his best work to decorate the somewhat bare walls of his studio. that the best test of a picture is being able to live with it--or live it down--so why send it away from its most lenient critic? that probably the _chef-d'oeuvre_ sent in was shown to the hanging committee up-side down. that, supposing they saw it properly, they were afraid that its success would put the academy to the expense of having a railing placed in front. and finally, we would remind the rejected one that, after all, his bantling _has_ been exhibited in the r.a.--to the president and his colleagues engaged in the work of selection. somebody at least looked at it for quite three seconds. * * * * * art note.--_the early italian style._--an organ-grinder at five o'clock in the morning. * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: our flat.--_extract from lady's correspondence._ "----in fact, our reception was a _complete_ success. we had some excellent musicians. i daresay you will wonder where we put them, with such a crowd of people; but we managed _capitally_!"] * * * * * [illustration: show sunday.--_vandyke browne._ "peace, my dear lady, peace and refinement, those are the two essentials in an artist's surroundings." [_enter master and miss browne. tableau!_] * * * * * [illustration: varnishing day amenities.--_little smudge._ "of course, i know perfectly well my style isn't quite developed yet, but i feel i am, if i might so express it, in a _transition_ stage, don't you know," _brother brush_ ("_skied_" _this year_). "ah! i see, _going from bad to worse_!"] * * * * * the mighty pen ["with this little instrument that rests so lightly in the hand, whole nations can be moved.... when it is poised between thumb and finger, it becomes a living thing--it moves with the pulsations of the living heart and thinking brain, and writes down, almost unconsciously, the thoughts that live--the words that burn.... it would be difficult to find a single newspaper or magazine to which we could turn for a lesson in pure and elegant english."--_miss corelli in_ "_free opinions freely expressed_."] o magic pen, what wonders lie within your little length! though small and paltry to the eye you boast a giant's strength. between my finger and my thumb a living creature you become, and to the listening world you give "the words that burn--the thoughts that live." oft, when the sacred fire glows hot, your wizard power is proved: you write till lunch, and nations not infrequently are moved; 'twixt lunch and tea perhaps you damn for good and all, some social sham, and by the time i pause to sup-- behold carnegie crumpled up! through your unconscious eyes i see strange beauty, little pen! you make life exquisite to me, if not to other men. you fill me with an inward joy no outward trouble can destroy, not even when i struggle through some foolish ignorant review; nor when the press bad grammar scrawls in wild uncultured haste, and which intolerably galls one's literary taste. what are the editors about, whom one would think would edit out the shocking english and the style which every page and line defile? there is, alas! no magazine, no paper that one knows to which a man could turn for clean and graceful english prose; not even, o my pen, though you yourself may write for one or two, and lend to them a style, a tone, a grammar that is all your own. i see the shadows of decay on all sides darkly loom; massage and manicure hold sway, cosmetics fairly boom; old dowagers and budding maids alike affect complexion-aids, while middle age with anxious care dyes to restore its dwindling hair. the time is out of joint, but still i am not hopeless quite so long as you exist, my quill, once more to set it right. woman will cease from rouge, i think, man pour his hair-wash down the sink, if you will yet consent to give "the words that burn--the thoughts that live." * * * * * a hint for the publishers. as the publishing season will soon be in full play--which means that there will be plenty of work--we suggest the following as titles of books, to succeed the publication of "people i have met," by an american:-- people i have taken into custody, by a policeman. people that have met me half-way, by an insolvent. people i have splashed, by a scavenger. people i have done, by a jew bill-discounter. people i have abused, by a 'bus conductor. people i have run over, by a butcher's boy. people i have run against, by a sweep. * * * * * a roaring trade.--keeping a menagerie. * * * * * [illustration: compliments one might improve on.--_mrs. mudge._ "i _do_ admire the women you draw, mr. penink. they're _so_ beautiful and _so_ refined! tell me, _who_ is your model?" [_mrs. mudge rises in mrs. penink's opinion._] _penink._ "oh, my wife always sits for me!" _mrs. mudge_ (_with great surprise_). "you don't say so! well, i think you're one of the _cleverest_ men i know!" [_mrs. penink's opinion of mrs. mudge falls below zero._] * * * * * [illustration: "the green-eyed monster."--_george_ (_itinerant punch-and-judy showman_). "i say, bill, she _do_ draw!" _bill_ (_his partner, with drum and box of puppets_). "h'm--it's more than _we_ can!"] * * * * * [illustration: "selection."--_brown_ (_as he was leaving our art conversazione, after a rattling scramble in the cloak-room_). "confound it! got my own hat, after all!"] * * * * * [illustration: _eccentric old gent_ (_whose pet aversion is a dirty child_). "go away, you dirty girl, and wash your face!" _indignant youngster._ "you go 'ome, you dirty old man, and do yer 'air!"] * * * * * musical fact.--people are apt to complain of the vile tunes that are played about the streets by grinding organs, and yet they may all be said to be the music of handle. * * * * * [illustration: is there room for mary there? songs and their singers] * * * * * [illustration: _photographer._ "i think this is an excellent portrait of your wife." _mr. smallweed._ "i don't know--sort of _repose_ about the _mouth_ that somehow doesn't seem right."] * * * * * [illustration: the great prize fight.--_johnnie_ (_who finds that his box_, £_ _, _has been appropriated by "the fancy"_). "i beg your pardon, but this is _my_ box!" _bill bashford._ "oh, is it? well, why don't you tike it?"] * * * * * [illustration: without prejudice.--_ugly man_ (_who thinks he's a privileged wag, to artist_). "now, mr. _daub_igny, draw me." _artist_ (_who doesn't like being called _daub_igny, and whose real name is smith_). "certainly. but you _won't_ be offended if it's _like_ you. eh?"] * * * * * [illustration: _scrimble._ "so sorry i've none of my work to show you. fact is, i've just sent all my pictures to the academy." _mrs. macmillions._ "what a pity! i did so much want to see them. how soon do you expect them back?"] * * * * * the young novelist's guide to medicine chloroform. invaluable to writers of sensational stories. every high-class fictionary criminal carries a bottle in his pocket. a few drops, spread on a handkerchief and waved within a yard of the hero's nose, will produce a state of complete unconsciousness lasting for several hours, within which time his pockets may be searched at leisure. this property of chloroform, familiar to every expert novelist, seems to have escaped the notice of the medical profession. consumption. the regulation illness for use in tales of mawkish pathos. very popular some years ago, when the heroine made farewell speeches in blank verse, and died to slow music. fortunately, however, the public has lost its fondness for work of this sort. consumption at its last stage is easily curable (in novels) by the reappearance of a hero supposed to be dead. two pages later the heroine will gain strength in a way which her doctors--not unnaturally--will describe as "perfectly marvellous." and in the next chapter the marriage-bells will ring. [illustration] doctor. always include a doctor among your characters. he is quite easy to manage, and invariably will belong to one of these three types: (_a_) the eminent specialist. tall, imperturbable, urbane. only comes incidentally into the story. (_b_) young, bustling, energetic. not much practice, and plenty of time to look after other people's affairs. hard-headed and practical. often the hero's college friend. should be given a pretty girl to marry in the last chapter. (_c_) the old family doctor. benevolent, genial, wise. wears gold-rimmed spectacles, which he has to take off and wipe at the pathetic parts of the book. fever. a nice, useful term for fictionary illnesses. it is best to avoid mention of specific symptoms, beyond that of "a burning brow," though, if there are any family secrets which need to be revealed, delirium is sure to supervene at a later stage. _arthur pendennis_, for instance, had fictional "fever," and baffled doctors have endeavoured ever since to find out what really was the matter with him. "brain-fever," again, is unknown to the medical faculty, but you may safely afflict your intellectual hero with it. the treatment of fictionary fever is quite simple, consisting solely of frequent doses of grapes and cooling drinks. these will be brought to the sufferer by the heroine, and these simple remedies administered in this way have never been known to fail. [illustration] fracture. after one of your characters has come a cropper in the hunting-field he will be taken on a hurdle to the nearest house: usually, by a strange coincidence, the heroine's home. and he will be said to have sustained "a compound fracture"--a vague description which will quite satisfy your readers. gout. an invaluable disease to the humorist. remember that heroes and heroines are entirely immune from it, but every rich old uncle is bound to suffer from it. the engagement of his niece to an impecunious young gentleman invariably coincides with a sharp attack of gout. the humour of it all is, perhaps, a little difficult to see, but it never fails to tickle the public. [illustration] heart disease. an excellent complaint for killing off a villain. if you wish to pave the way for it artistically, this is the recognised method: on page he will falter in the middle of a sentence, grow pale, and press his hand sharply to his side. in a moment he will have recovered, and will assure his anxious friends that it is nothing. but the reader knows better. he has met the same premonitory symptoms in scores of novels, and he will not be in the least surprised when, on the middle of page , the villain suddenly drops dead. [illustration] * * * * * unpopular game at the royal academy.--"high-sky-high!" * * * * * a rough wine.--rude-sheimer. * * * * * nervous.--mrs. malaprop was induced to go to a music hall the other evening. she never means to set foot in one again. the extortions some of the performers threw themselves into quite upset her. * * * * * motto for a model music-hall entertainment.--"everything in its 'turn' and nothing long." * * * * * [illustration: breaking it gently.--_his cousins._ "we sent off the wire to stop your model coming. but you had put one word too many--so we struck it out." _real artist._ "oh, indeed. what word did you strike out?" _his cousins._ "you had written 'he wasn't to come, as you had only just discovered you couldn't paint to-day.' so we crossed out '_to-day_.'"] * * * * * [illustration: the state of the market.--_artist_ (_to customer_, _who has come to buy on behalf of a large furnishing firm in tottenham court road_): "how would this suit you? 'summer'!" _customer_: "h'm--'summer.' well, sir, the fact is we find there's very little demand for _green_ goods just now. if you had a line of _autumn tints_ now--that's the article we find most sale for among our customers!"] * * * * * [illustration: _our amateur romeo_ (_who has taken a cottage in the country, so as to be able to study without interruption_). "arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon----" _owner of rubicund countenance_ (_popping head over the hedge_), "beg pardon, zur! be you a talkin' to oi, zur?"] * * * * * [illustration: bitters at the club _macstodge_ (_pictor ignotus_). "who's that going out?" _o'duffer_ (_pictor ignotissimus_). "one ernest raphael sopely, who painted lady midas!" _macstodge._ "oh, the artist!" _o'duffer._ "no. _the royal academician!_"] * * * * * [illustration: la vie de bohÈme.--_first bohemian_ (_to second ditto_). "i can't for the life of me think why you wasted all that time haggling with that tailor chap, and beating him down, when you know, old chap, you won't be able to pay him at all." _second bohemian._ "ah, that's _it_! _i_ have a conscience. i want the poor chap to lose as little as possible!"] * * * * * [illustration: _little guttersnipe_ (_who is getting quite used to posing_). "will yer want me ter tike my bun down?"] * * * * * [illustration: _genial doctor_ (_after laughing heartily at a joke of his patient's_). "ha! ha! ha! there's not much the matter with _you_! though i do believe that if you were on your death-bed you'd make a joke!" _irrepressible patient._ "why, of course i should. it would be my last chance!"] * * * * * [illustration: _she_ (_to raphael greene_, _who paints gems for the r.a. that are never accepted_). "i _do_ hope you'll be hung this year. i'm sure you deserve to be!"] * * * * * [illustration: art intelligence _she_ (_reads_). "there are upwards of fifty english painters and sculptors now in rome----" _he_ (_british philistine--served on a late celebrated jury!_). "ah! no wonder we couldn't get that scullery white-washed!"] * * * * * [illustration: _devoted little wife_ (_to hubbie, who has been late at the club_). "now, dear, see, your breakfast is quite ready. a nice kipper, grilled chicken and mushrooms with bacon, poached eggs on toast--tea and coffee. anything else you'd like, dearie?" _victim of last night_ (_groans_). "yes--an appetite!" [_collapses._] * * * * * [illustration: after feeding-time.--_showman of travelling menagerie._ "now, ladies and gentlemen, we come to the most interesting part of the 'ole exhibition! seven different species of hanimals, in the same cage, dwellin' in 'armony. you could see them with the naked heye, only you have come too late. they are all now inside the lion!"] * * * * * to billiard players.--if you would obey the _rules_ of billiards, always attend to the _cannons_ of the game. * * * * * the suspensory act.--hanging the academy exhibition. * * * * * in the billiard room.--_major carambole._ i never give any bribes to the club servants on principle. _captain hazard._ then i suppose the marker looks on the tip of your cue without interest. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: in a bar, newmarket.--_seedy individual_ (_to knowing one_). "d'yer want to buy a diamond pin cheap?" _knowing one._ "'ere, get out of this! what d'you take me for? a juggins?" _s. i._ "give yer my word it's worth sixty quid if it's worth a penny. and you can 'ave it for a tenner." _k. o._ "let's 'ave a look at it. where is it?" _s. i._ "in that old gent's tie. _will yer 'ave it?_"] * * * * * [illustration: songs and their singers "yew harxed me woy hoi larved when larve should be a thing hun-der-eamed hof larve twixt yew han me. yew moight hin-tereat the sun tew cease tew she-oine has seek tew sty saw deep a larve has moine."] * * * * * [illustration: shakspeare illustrated "oh, my prophetic soul! my uncle!" _hamlet_, act i., sc. .] * * * * * a brother artist ["we have regularly attended the academy now for many years, but never do we remember such a poor show of portraits; they cannot prove to be otherwise than the laughing-stock of tailors and their customers."--_tailor and cutter._] the tailor leaned upon his goose, and wiped away a tear: "what portraits painting-men produce," he sobbed, "from year to year! these fellows make their sitters smile in suits that do not fit, they're wrongly buttoned, and the style is not the thing a bit. "oh, artist, i'm an artist too! i bid you use restraint, and only show your sitters, do, in fitting coats of paint; in vain you crown those errant seams with smiles that look ethereal, for man may be the stuff of dreams-- but dreams are not material." * * * * * medical.--a sculptor friend, who has strabismus, consoles himself with the thought that he can always keep his profession in view through having a cast in his eye. * * * * * [illustration: _frame-maker_ (_to gifted amateur, who is ordering frames for a few prints and sketches_). "ah, i suppose you want something cheap an' ordinary for _this_?" [_n.b._--_"this" was a cherished little sketch by our amateur himself._] * * * * * not quite the same.--scene: _exhibition of works of art._ _dealer_ (_to friend, indicating stout person closely examining a vandyke_). do you know who _that_ is? i so often see him about. _friend._ i know him. he's a collector. _dealer_ (_much interested_). indeed! what does he collect? pictures? _friend._ no. income tax. [_exeunt severally._ * * * * * art class.--_inspector._ what is a "landscape painter"? _student._ a painter of landscapes. _inspector._ good. what is an "animal painter"? _student._ a painter of animals. _inspector._ excellent. what is a "marine painter"? _student._ a painter of marines. _inspector._ admirable! go and tell it them. call next class. [_exeunt students._ * * * * * the best "publisher's circular."--a round dining-table. * * * * * [illustration: social agonies.--_anxious musician_ (_in a whisper_, _to mrs. lyon hunter's butler_). "where's my cello?" _butler_ (_in stentorian tones_, _to the room_). "signor weresmicello!"] * * * * * [illustration: _brown._ "pity jones has lost--his figure!" _robinson._ "not _lost_, but gone before!"] * * * * * [illustration: _enthusiastic briton_ (_to seedy american_, _who has been running down all our national monuments_). "but even if our houses of parliament 'aren't in it,' as you say, with the masonic temple of chicago, surely, sir, you will admit the thames embankment, for instance----" _seedy american._ "waal, _guess_ i don't think so durned much of your thames embankment, neither. it _rained_ all the blarmed time the night i _slep on it_."] * * * * * a professional view of things.--old paynter never neglects any opportunity for advancing art. every evening he has the cloth drawn. * * * * * beverage for a musician.--thorough bass. * * * * * poetical licence.--a music-hall's. * * * * * turf reform.--mowing your lawn. * * * * * a monster meeting..--a giant and a dwarf. * * * * * the soaker's paradise.--dropmore. * * * * * [illustration: finis] * * * * * bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. mr. punch in the highlands punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch", from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * mr. punch in the highlands [illustration] [illustration: thrift _highlander (he had struck his foot against a "stane")._ "phew-ts!--e-eh what a ding ma puir buit wad a gotten if a'd had it on!!"] * * * * * mr. punch in the highlands [illustration] as pictured by charles keene, john leech, george du maurier, w. ralston, l. raven-hill, j. bernard partridge, e. t. reed, g. d. armour, cecil aldin, a. s. boyd, etc. _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * northward ho! scotsmen--highlanders and lowlanders--have furnished mr. punch with many of his happiest jokes. despite the curious tradition which the cockney imbibes with his mother's milk as to the sterility of scotland in humour, the scots are not only the cause of humour in others but there are occasions when they prove themselves not entirely bereft of the faculty which, with his charming egoism, the cockney supposes to be his own exclusive birthright. indeed, we have it on the authority of mr. spielmann, the author of "the history of _punch_", that "of the accepted jokes from unattached contributors (to punch), it is a notable fact that at least per cent. comes from north of the tweed." as a very considerable proportion of these scottish jokes make fun of the national characteristics of the scot, it is clear that donald has the supreme gift of being able to laugh at himself. it should be noted, however, that mr. punch's most celebrated scottish joke ("bang went saxpence"), which we give on page , was no invention, but merely the record of an actual conversation overheard by an englishman! in the present volume the purpose has been not so much to bring together a representative collection of the scottish humour that has appeared in _punch_, but to illustrate the intercourse of the "sassenach" with the highlander, chiefly as a visitor bent on sport, and incidentally to illustrate some of the humours of highland life. perhaps the distinction between highlander and lowlander has not been very rigidly kept, but that need trouble none but the pedants, who are notoriously lacking in the sense of humour, and by that token ought not to be peeping into these pages. of all mr. punch's contributors, we may say, without risk of being invidious, that charles keene was by far the happiest in the portrayal of scottish character. his highland types are perhaps somewhat closer to the life than his lowlanders, but all are invariably touched off with the kindliest humour, and never in any way burlesqued. if his work overshadows that of the other humorous artists past and present represented in this volume, it is for the reason stated; yet it will be found that from the days of john leech to those of mr. raven-hill. mr. punch's artists have seldom been more happily inspired than when they have sought to depict highland life and the lighter side of sport and travel north of the tweed. * * * * * mr. punch in the highlands sporting notes [illustration] the following are the notes we have received from our sporting contributor. i wish we could say they were a fair equivalent for the notes he has received from _us_, to say nothing of that new henry's patent double central-fire breech-loader, with all the latest improvements, and one of mr. benjamin's heather-mixture suits. such as they are we print them, with the unsatisfactory consolation that if the notes are bad they are like the sport and the birds. of all these it may be said that "bad is the best." _north and south uist._--the awfully hard weather--the natives call it "soft" here--having rendered the chances of winged game out of the question, the sportsmen who have rented the shootings are glad to try the chances of the game, sitting, and have confined themselves to the whist from which the islands take their name. being only two, they are reduced to double dummy. as the rental of the uist moors is £ , they find the points come rather high--so far. _harris._--in spite of repeated inquiries, the proprietress of the island was not visible. her friend, mrs. gamp, now here on a visit, declares she saw mrs. h. very recently, but was quite unable to give me any information as to shootings, except the shootings of her own corns. _fifeshire._--the renters of the fife shootings generally have been seriously considering the feasibility of combining with those of the once well-stocked drum moor in aberdeenshire, to get up something like a band--of hope, that a bag may be made some day. thus far, the only bags made have been those of the proprietors of the shootings, who have bagged heavy rentals. _rum._--i call the island a gross-misnomer, as there is nothing to drink in it but whiskey, which, with the adjacent "egg", may be supposed to have given rise to the neighbouring "mull"--hot drinks being the natural resource of both natives and visitors in such weather as we've had ever since i crossed the tweed. i have seen one bird--at least so the gilly says--after six tumblers, but to me it had all the appearance of a brace. _skye._--birds wild. sportsmen, ditto. sky a gloomy grey--your correspondent and the milk at the hotel at corrieverrieslushin alike sky-blue. _cantire._--can't you? try tramping the moors for eight hours after a pack of preternaturally old birds that know better than let you get within half a mile of their tails. then see if you can't tire. i beg your pardon, but if you knew what it was to make jokes under my present circumstances, you'd give it up, or do worse. if i should not turn up shortly, and you hear of an inquest on a young man, in one of benjamin's heather-mixture suits, with a henry's central-fire breech-loader, and a roll of new notes in his possession, found hanging wet through, in his braces in some remote highland shieling--break it gently to the family of your sporting contributor. * * * * * a pibroch for breakfast. hech, ho, the highland laddie! hech, ho, the finnon haddie! breeks awa', heck, the braw, ho, the bonnie tartan plaidie! hech, the laddie, ho, the haddie, hech, ho, the cummer's caddie, dinna forget the bannocks het, gin ye luve your highland laddie. * * * * * the member for sark writes from the remote highlands of scotland, where he has been driving past an interminable series of lochs, to inquire where the keys are kept? he had better apply to the local authorities in the isle of man. they have a whole house of keys. possibly those the hon. member is concerned about may be found among them. * * * * * [illustration: on the hills _deer stalker (old hand, and fond of it)._ "isn't it exciting? keep cool!" [_jones isn't used to it, and, not having moved for the last half-hour, his excitement has worn off. he's wet through, and sinking fast in the boggy ground, and speechless with cold. so he doesn't answer._ ] * * * * * [illustration: ) mr. buggle's first stag. at the first shot mr buggle's first stag lay prone.] [illustration: ) elated with success mr b. rushed up and seated himself astride his victim] [illustration: ) but alas it was only slightly stunned, and promptly rose to the occasion.] [illustration: ) so did mr b.] [illustration: ) the law of gravity proved too strong when a lucky shot from the keeper] [illustration: ) placed matters upon a satisfactory footing once more.] * * * * * [illustration: my only shot at a cormorant. here she comes!] [illustration: there she goes!] * * * * * full stop in the dawdle from the north. (_leaves from the highland journal of toby, m.p._) "here's a go", i said, turning to sark, after carefully looking round the station to see if we really were back at oban, having a quarter of an hour ago started (as we supposed) on our journey, already fifteen minutes late. [illustration] "well, if you put it in that way", he said, "i should call it an entire absence of go. i thought it was a peculiarly jolting train. never passed over so many points in the same time in my life." "looks as if we should miss train at stirling", i remark, anxiously. "if so, we can't get on from carlisle to woodside to-night." "oh, that'll be all right", said sark, airy to the last; "we'll make it up as we go along." again sort of faint bluish light, which i had come to recognise as a smile, feebly flashed over cadaverous countenance of the stranger in corner seat. certainly no hurry in getting off. more whistling, more waving of green flag. observed that natives who had come to see friends off had quietly waited on platform. train evidently expected back. now it had returned they said good-bye over again to friends. train deliberately steams out of station thirty-five minutes late. every eight or ten miles stopped at roadside station. no one got in or got out. after waiting five or six minutes, to see if any one would change his mind, train crawled out again. performance repeated few miles further on with same result. [illustration] "don't put your head out of the window and ask questions", sark remonstrated, as i banged down the window. "i never did it since i heard a story against himself john bright used to tell with great glee. travelling homeward one day in a particularly slow train, it stopped an unconscionably long time at oldham. finally, losing all patience, he leaned out of the window, and in his most magisterial manner said, 'is it intended that this train shall move on to-night?' the porter addressed, not knowing the great man, tartly replied, 'put in thy big white yedd, and mebbe the train'll start.'" due at loch awe . ; half-past one when we strolled into connel ferry station, sixteen miles short of that point. two more stations before we reach loch awe. "always heard it was a far cry to loch awe", said sark, undauntedly determined to regard matters cheerfully. "you haven't come to the hill yet", said a sepulchral voice in the corner. "what hill?" i asked. "oh, you'll see soon enough. it's where we usually get out and walk. if there are on board the train any chums of the guard or driver, they are expected to lend a shoulder to help the train up." ice once broken, stranger became communicative. told us his melancholy story. had been a w.s. in edinburgh. five years ago, still in prime of life, bought a house at oban; obliged to go to edinburgh once, sometimes twice, a week. only thrice in all that time had train made junction with edinburgh train at stirling. appetite failed; flesh fell away; spirits went down to water level. through looking out of window on approaching stirling, in hope of seeing south train waiting, eyes put on that gaze of strained anxiety that had puzzled me. similarly habit contracted of involuntarily jerking up right hand with gesture designed to arrest departing train. "last week, coming north from edinburgh", said the hapless passenger, "we were two hours late at loch awe. 'a little late to-day, aren't we?' i timidly observed to the guard. 'ou aye! we're a bit late,' he said. 'ye see, we had a lot of rams, and we couldna' get baith them and you up the hill; so we left ye at tyndrum, and ran the rams through first, and then came back for ye.'" fifty minutes late at killin junction. so far from making up time lost at oban, more lost at every wayside station. "i hope we shan't miss the train at stirling?" i anxiously inquired of guard. "weel, no", said he, looking at his watch. "i dinna think ye'll hae managed that yet." this spoken in soothing tones, warm from the kindly scottish heart. hadn't yet finally lost chance of missing train at stirling that should enable us to keep our tryst at woodside. but no need for despair. a little more dawdling and it would be done. done it was. when we reached stirling, porters complacently announced english mail had left quarter of an hour ago. as for stationmaster, he was righteously indignant with inconsiderate travellers who showed disposition to lament their loss. "good night", said cadaverous fellow-passenger, feebly walking out of darkling station. "hope you'll get a bed somewhere. having been going up and down line for five years, i keep a bedroom close by. cheaper in the end. i shall get on in the morning." * * * * * mere invention.--up the highlands way there is, in wet weather, a handsome cataract, the name whereof is spelt anyhow you like, but is pronounced "fyres." there is not much water in hot weather, and then art assists nature, and a bucket or so of the fluid is thrown over for the delectation of tourists. one of them, observing this arrangement, said that the proprietor "began to pail his ineffectual fyres." [this story is quite false, which would be of no consequence, but that every scottish tourist knows it to be false. our contributor should really be more careful.] * * * * * [illustration: "where can that confounded fellow have got to with the lunch-basket?"] [illustration: here he is, remarking, confidentially, that "that ginger-peer is apout the pest he ever tasted."] * * * * * [illustration: _cockney sportsman._ "haw--young woman, whose whiskies do you keep here?" _highland lassie._ "we only keep mcpherson's, sir." _c. s._ "mcpherson? haw--who the deuce is mcpherson?" _h. l._ "my brother, sir."] * * * * * [illustration: during mr. spoffin's visit to the highlands, he found a difficulty in approaching his game--so invented a method of simplifying matters. his "make-up", however, was so realistic, that the jealous old stag nearly finished him!] * * * * * [illustration: his idea of it _native._ "is 't no a daft-like place this tae be takin' a view? there's no naething tae be seen for the trees. noo, if ye was tae gang tae the tap o' knockcreggan, that wad set ye fine! ye can see _five coonties_ frae there!"] * * * * * [illustration: touring in the highlands "hullo, sandy! why haven't you cleaned my carriage, as i told you last night?" "hech, sir, what for would it need washing? it will be just the same when you'll be using it again!"] * * * * * [illustration] * * * * * from our bilious contributor. _to_ mr. punch. my dear sir,[a] embarking at bannavie very early in the morning--_diluculo surgere saluberrimum est_, but it is also particularly disagreeable--i was upon the canal of the caledonians, on my way to the capital of the highlands. this is the last voyage which, upon this occasion, i shall have the pleasure of describing. the vessel was commanded by captain turner, who is a remarkable meteorologist, and has emitted some wonderful weather prophecies. having had, moreover, much opportunity of observing character, in his capacity of captain of boats chiefly used by tourists, he is well acquainted with the inmost nature of the aristocracy and their imitators. being myself of an aristocratic turn of mind (as well as shape of body) it was refreshing to me to sit with him on the bridge and speak of our titled friends. [footnote a: we perfectly understand this advance towards civility as the writer approaches the end of his journey. he is a superior kind of young man, if not the genius he imagines himself.--_ed._] fort augustus, which we passed, is not called so from having been built by the roman emperor of that name, quite the reverse. the next object of interest is a thing called the fall of foyers, which latter word is sounded like fires, and the announcement to cockneys that they are going to see the affair, leads them to expect something of a pyrotechnic character. it is nothing of that sort. the steamboat is moored, you rush on shore, and are instantly arrested by several pikemen--i do not mean soldiers of a mediæval date, but fellows at a gate, who demand fourpence apiece from everybody landing in those parts. being in scotland, this naturally made me think i had come to johnny groat's house, but no such thing, and i have no idea of the reason of this highway robbery, or why a very dirty card should have been forced upon me in proof that i had submitted. we were told to go up an ascending road, and then to climb a dreadfully steep hill, and that then we should see something. for my own part, i felt inclined to see everybody blowed first, but being over-persuaded, i saw everybody blowed afterwards, for that hill is a breather, i can tell you. however, i rushed up like a mounting deer, and when at the top was told to run a little way down again. i did, and saw the sight. you have seen the cataracts of the nile? it's not like them. you have seen a cataract in a party's eye. it's not like that. foyers is a very fine waterfall, and worthy of much better verses than some which mr. burns addressed to it in his english style, which is vile. still, the waterfall at the colosseum, regent's park, is a good one, and has this advantage, that you can sit in a chair and look at it as long as you like, whereas you walk a mile to foyers, goaded by the sailors from the vessel, who are perpetually telling you to make haste, and you are allowed about three minutes and fourteen seconds to gaze upon the scene, when the sailors begin to goad you back again, frightening you with hints that the captain will depart without you. precious hot you come on board, with a recollection of a mass of foam falling into an abyss. that is not the way to see foyers, and i hereby advise all tourists who are going to stop at inverness, to drive over from thence, take their time at the noble sight, and do the pier-beggars out of their fourpences. the stately towers of the capital of the highlands are seen on our right. a few minutes more, and we are moored. friendly voices hail us, and also hail a vehicle. we are borne away. there is news for us. we are forthwith--even in that carriage, were it possible--to induct ourselves into the black tr × ws × rs of refined life and the white cravat of graceful sociality, and to accompany our host to the dinner of the highland railwaymen. _we_ rail. we have not come six hundred miles to dress for dinner. our host is of a different opinion, and being a host in himself, conquers our single-handed resistance. we attend the dinner, and find ourselves among highland chieftains plaided and plumed in their "tartan array." (why doesn't horatio macculloch, noble artist and highland-man, come to london and be _our_ tartan r.a.?) we hear wonders of the new line, which is to save folks the trouble of visiting the lost tribe at aberdeen, and is to take them direct from inverness to perth, through wonderful scenery. we see a programme of toasts, to the number of thirty-four, which of course involves sixty-eight speeches. there is also much music by the volunteers--not, happily, by bag-pipers. we calculate, on the whole, that the proceedings will be over about four in the morning. ha! ha! _dremacky_. there is a _deus ex machiná_ literally, a driver on an engine, and he starts at ten. numbers of the guests must go with him. _claymore!_ we slash out the toasts without mercy--without mercy on men set down to speak and who have spoiled their dinner by thinking over their _impromptus_. but there is one toast which shall be honoured, yea, with the highland honours. _mr. punch's_ health is proposed. it is well that this handsome hall is built strongly, or the highland maidens should dance here no more. the shout goes up for _mr. punch_. i believe that i have mentioned to you, once or twice, that i am an admirable speaker, but upon this occasion i surpassed myself--i was in fact, as the covent garden play-bills say, "unsurpassingly successful." your interests were safe in my hands. i believe that no person present heard a syllable of what i said. it was this: [it may have been, but as what our correspondent has been pleased to send as his speech would occupy four columns, we prefer to leave it to immortality in the excellent newspaper of which he sends us a "cutting." we incline to think that he _was_ weak enough to say what he says he said, because he could not have invented and written it out after a highland dinner, and it was published next morning. it is extremely egotistical, and not in the least entertaining--_ed._] among the guests was a gentleman who owns the mare who will certainly win the cesarewitch. _i know this for a fact_, and i advise you to put your money on _lioness_. his health was proposed, and he returned thanks with the soul of wit. i hope he recollects the hope expressed by the proposer touching a certain saddling-bell. i thought it rather strong in "bible-loving scotland", but to be sure, we were in the highlands, which are england, or at all events where the best english spoken in scotland is heard. we reached our house at an early hour, and i was lulled to a gentle slumber by the sound of the river ness. this comes out of loch ness, and in the latest geographical work with which i am acquainted, namely, "geography anatomiz'd, by pat. gordon, m.a.f.r.s. printed for andr. bell, at the cross keys and bible in cornhill, and r. smith, under the royal exchange, ", i read that "towards the north-west part of _murray_ is the famous _lough-ness_ which never freezeth, but retaineth its natural heat, even in the extremest cold of winter, and in many places this lake hath been sounded with a line of fathom, but no bottom can be found" (just as in the last rehearsal of the artisans' play in the _midsummer night's dream_), but i believe that recent experiments have been more successful, and that though no lead plummet would go so deep, a volume by a very particular friend of mine was fastened to the line, and descended to the bottom in no time. i will mention his name if he is not kind to my next work, but at present i have the highest esteem and respect for him. i only show him that i know this little anecdote. there were what are called highland games to be solemnised in inverness. i resolved to attend them, and, if i saw fit, to join in them. but i was informed by a highland friend of mine, laidle of toddie, a laird much respected, that all competitors must appear in the kilt. as my own graceful proportions would look equally well in any costume, this presented no difficulty, and i marched off to mr. macdougall, the great highland costumier, and after walking through a dazzling array of gaelic glories, i said, mildly, "can you make me a highland dress?" "certainly, in a few hours", said mr. macdougall; but somehow i fancied that he did not seem to think that i was displaying any vast amount of sense. "then, please to make me one, very handsome", said i; "and send it home to-night." and i was going out of the warehouse. "but, sir", said mr. macdougall, "do you belong to any clan, or what tartan will you have?" "mr. macdougall", said i, "it may be that i do belong to a clan, or am affiliated to one. it may be, that like edward waverley, i shall be known hereafter as the friend of the sons (and daughters) of the clan ----. it may be that if war broke out between that clan and another, i would shout our war-cry, and, drawing my claymore, would walk into the hostile clan like one o'clock. but at present that is a secret, and i wear not the garb of any clan in particular. please to make me up a costume out of the garbs of several clans, but be sure you put the brightest colours, as they suit my complexion." i am bound to say that though mr. macdougall firmly declined being party to this arrangement, which he said would be inartistic, he did so with the utmost courtesy. my opinion is, that he thought i was a little cracked. many persons have thought that, but there is no foundation for the suspicion. "you see, mr. macdougall", says i, "i am a plantagenet by descent, and one of my ancestors was hanged in the time of george the second. do those facts suggest anything to you in the way of costume?" "the first does not", he said, "but the second may. a good many persons had the misfortune to be hanged about the time you mention, and for the same reason. i suppose your ancestor died for the stuarts." "no, sir, he died for a steward. the unfortunate nobleman was most iniquitously destroyed for shooting a plebeian of the name of johnson, for which reason i hate everybody of that name, from ben downwards, and will not have a johnson's _dictionary_ in my house." "then, sir", says mr. macdougall, "the case is clear. you can mark your sense of the conduct of the sovereign who executed your respected relative. you can assume the costume of his chief enemies. you can wear the stuart tartan." "hm", says i. "i should look well in it, no doubt; but then i have no hostility to the present house of brunswick." "why", says he, laughing; "her majesty dresses her own princes in the stuart tartan. i ought to know that." "then that's settled", i replied. ha! you would indeed have been proud of your contributor, had you seen him splendidly arrayed in that gorgeous garb, and treading the heather of inverness high street like a young mountaineer. he did not look then like epicurus rotundus. _inverness castle._ * * * * * notice to the highlanders.--whereas mr. punch, through his "bilious contributor", did on the th november, , offer a prize of fifty guineas to the best highland player at spellikins, in the games for . and whereas mr. punch has had the money, with ten years' interest, quite ready, and waiting to be claimed. and whereas no highland player at spellikins appeared at the games of . this to give notice that mr. punch has irrevocably confiscated the money to his own sole and peculiar use, and intends to use it in bribery at the next general election. he begs to remark to the highlands, in the words of his ancestor, robert bruce, at bannockburn--"there is a rose fallen from your wreath!"[b] punch. th november, . [footnote b: of course the king said nothing so sweetly sentimental. what he did say to earl randolph was, "mind your eye, you great stupid ass, or you'll have the english spears in your back directly." nor did the earl reply, "my wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. follow, my household!" but, with an amazing great curse, "i'll cook 'em. come on, you dawdling beggars, and fulfil the prophecies!" but so history is written.] * * * * * more revenge for flodden.--_scene: a scotch hotel. tourist (indignant at his bill)._ "why, landlord, there must be some mistake there!" _landlord._ "mistake? aye, aye. that stupid fellow, the waiter, has just charged you five shillings--too little." * * * * * from the moors.--_sportsman._ "much rain donald?" _donald._ "a bit soft. just wet a' day, wi' showers between." * * * * * [illustration: a pleasant prospect! _english tourist._ "i say, look here. how far is it to this glenstarvit? they told us it was only----" _native._ "aboot four miles." _tourist_ (_aghast_). "all bog like this?" _native._ "eh--h--this is just naethin' till't!!"] * * * * * [illustration: another misunderstanding _'arry_ (_on a northern tour, with cockney pronunciation_). "then i'll 'ave a bottle of aile." _hostess of the village inn._ "_ile_, sir? we've nane in the hoose, but castor ile or paraffin. wad ony o' them dae, sir?"] * * * * * [illustration: the weird sisters] * * * * * [illustration: deer-stalking made easy the patent silent motor-crawler.] * * * * * [illustration: illustrated quotations (_one so seldom finds an artist who realises the poetic conception._) "is this the noble moor ...?"--_othello_, act iv., scene .] * * * * * [illustration: draconian scene.--_police court, north highlands._ _accused._ "put, pailie, it's na provit!" _bailie._ "hoot toots, tonal, and hear me speak! aw'll only fine ye ha'f-a-croon the day, because et's no varra well provit. but if ever ye come before me again, ye'll no get aff under five shillin's, whether et's provit or no!!"] * * * * * [illustration: manners and customs of ye englyshe in deere stalkynge in ye hyghlandes] * * * * * [illustration: one of the advantages of shooting from a butt _keeper (on moor rented by the latest south african millionaire, to guest)._ "never mind the birds, sir. for onny sake, lie down! the maister's gawn tae shoot!"] * * * * * [illustration: the twelfth (_guilderstein in the highlands_) _guild. (his first experience)._ "i've been swindled! that confounded agent said it was all drivin' on this moor, and look at it, all hills and slosh! not a decent carriage road within ten miles!"] * * * * * [illustration: the maternal instinct _the master._ "i'm sayin', wumman, ha'e ye gotten the tickets?" _the mistress._ "tuts, haud your tongue aboot tickets. let me count the weans!"] * * * * * [illustration: "nemo me impune", &c. _the irrepressible._ "hi, scotty, tip us the 'ighland fling." tipped!] * * * * * [illustration: return of the wounded and missing popplewitz omitted to send in after his day on the moors.] * * * * * [illustration: recrimination _inhabitant of uist._ "i say, they'll pe speaking fa-ar petter english in uist than in styornaway." _lass of the lewis._ "put in styornaway they'll not pe caa-in' fush 'feesh,' whatefer!"] * * * * * the highland games at macjiggity whilst staying at macfoozle castle, my excellent host insisted that i should accompany him to see the highland games. the macfoozle himself is a typical hielander, and appeared in a kilt and jelly-bag--philabeg, i mean. suggested to him that i should go, attired in pair of bathing-drawers, norfolk jacket, and glengarry cap, but he, for some inscrutable reason of his own, negatived the idea. had half a mind to dress in kilt myself, but finally decided against the national costume as being too draughty. arrived on ground, and found that "tossing the caber" was in full progress. braw laddies struggled, in turn, with enormous tree trunk. the idea of the contest is, that whoever succeeds in killing the greatest number of spectators by hurling the tree on to them, wins the prize. fancy these laddies had been hung too long, or else they were particularly braw. moved up to windward of them promptly. "who is the truculent-looking villain with red whiskers?" i ask. "hush!" says my host, in awed tones. "that is the macginger himself!" i grovel. not that i have ever even heard his name before, but i don't want to show my ignorance before the macfoozle. the competition of pipers was next in order, and i took to my heels and fled. rejoined macfoozle half an hour later to witness the dancing. on a large raised platform sat the judges, with the mighty macginger himself at their head. can't quite make out whether the dance is a reel, a strathspey, a haggis, or a skirl--sure it is one or the other. just as i ask for information, amid a confusing whirl of arms and legs and "hoots!" a terrific crack is heard, and the platform, as though protesting at the indignities heaped upon it, suddenly gives way, and in a moment, dancers, pipers, and judges are hurled in a confused and struggling heap to the ground. the macginger falls upon some bag-pipes, which emit dismal groanings beneath his massive weight. this ends the dancing prematurely, and a notice is immediately put up all round the grounds that (to take its place) "there will be another competition of bag-pipes." i read it, evaded the macfoozle, and fled. * * * * * song for a scotch duke. my harts in the highlands shall have their hills clear, my harts in the highlands no serf shall come near-- i'll chase out the gael to make room for the roe, my harts in the highlands were ever his foe. * * * * * things no highlander can understand. breaches of promise. * * * * * [illustration: guilderstein in the highlands guilderstein. "missed again! and dat fellow, hoggenheimer, comin'on monday too! why did i not wire to leadenhall for an 'aunch, as betty told me!"] * * * * * [illustration: juvenis. "jolly day we had last week at mcfoggarty's wedding! capital champagne he gave us, and we did it justice, i can tell you--" senex (who prefers whiskey). "eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddings at ye-er time o' life. gie me a gude funeral!"] * * * * * [illustration: hebridean sport _shooting tenant (accounting for very large species of grouse which his setter has just flushed)._ "capercailzie! by george!" _under-keeper neil._ "i'm after thinking, sir, you'll have killed widow mcswan's cochin cock. ye see the crofters were forced to put him and the hens away out here till the oats is ripe!"] * * * * * [illustration: latest from the moors _intelligent foreigner._ "tell me--zee 'ilanders, do zay always wear zee raw legs?"] * * * * * [illustration] a groan from a gillie lasses shouldna' gang to shoot, na, na! gillies canna' help but hoot, ha, ha! yon douce bodies arena' fittin' wi' the gudeman's to be pittin', bide at hame and mind yere knittin'! hoot, awa'! "wimmen's rechts" is vara weel, ooh, aye! for hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel; forbye wimmen's rechts is aiblins wrang when nat'ral weak maun ape the strang, an' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang, auch, fie! hennies shouldna' try to craw sae fast-- their westlin' thrapples canna' blair sic a blast. leave to men-folk bogs and ferns, an' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns; and lasses! ye may mind the bairns-- that's best! tonalt (x) _his mark._ * * * * * [illustration: a precisian _artist (affably)._ "fine morning." _native._ "no' bad ava'." _artist._ "pretty scenery." _native._ "gey an' good." _artist (pointing to st. bannoch's, in the distance)._ "what place is that down at the bottom of the loch?" _native._ "it's no at the bottom--it's at the fut!" _artist (to himself)._ "you past-participled highlander!" [_drops the subject!_ ] * * * * * the thing to do in scotland (_more leaves from the highland journal of toby, m.p._) _quiverfield, haddingtonshire, monday._--you can't spend twenty-four hours at quiverfield without having borne in upon you the truth that the only thing to do in scotland is to play goff. (on other side of tweed they call it golf. here we are too much in a hurry to get at the game to spend time on unnecessary consonant.) the waters of what victor hugo called "the first of the fourth" lave the links at quiverfield. blue as the mediterranean they have been in a marvellous autumn, soon to lapse into november. we can see the bass rock from the eighth hole, and can almost hear the whirr of the balls skimming with swallow flight over the links at north berwick. prince arthur here to-day, looking fully ten years younger than when i last saw him at westminster. plays through live-long day, and drives off fourteen miles for dinner at whittinghame, thinking no more of it than if he were crossing palace yard. our host, waverley pen, is happy in possession of links at his park gates. all his own, for self and friends. you step through the shrubbery, and there are the far-reaching links; beyond them the gleaming waters of the forth. stroll out immediately after breakfast to meet the attendant caddies; play goff till half-past one; reluctantly break off for luncheon; go back to complete the fearsome foursome; have tea brought out to save time; leave off in bare time to dress for dinner; talk goff at dinner; arrange matches after dinner; and the new morning finds the caddies waiting as before. [illustration: fingen's finger.] decidedly the only thing to do in scotland is to play goff. _deeside, aberdeenshire, wednesday._--fingen, m.p., once told an abashed house of commons that he "owned a mountain in scotland." find, on visiting him in his ancestral home, that he owns a whole range. go up one or two of them; that comparatively easy; difficulty presents itself when we try to get down. man and boy, fingen has lived here fifty years; has not yet acquired knowledge necessary to guide a party home after ascending one of his mountains. walking up in cool of afternoon, we usually get home sore-footed and hungry about midnight. "must be going now", says fingen, m.p., when we have seen view from top of mountain. "just time to get down before dark. but i know short cut; be there in a jiffy. come along." we come along. at end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of impassable gorge. "ha!" says fingen, m.p., cheerily. "must have taken wrong turn; better go back and start again." all very well to say go back; but where were we? fingen, m.p., knows; wets his finger; holds it up. "ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing that way, is it? then we turn to the left." another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. path trends downwards. "that's all right", says fingen, m.p.; "must lead on to the road." instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. go back again; make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find ourselves again on top of mountain. "how lucky!" shouts fingen, m.p., beaming with delight. as if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead of to bottom! wants to wet his finger again and try how the wind lies. we protest. let us be saved that at least. fingen leads off in quite another direction. by rocky pathway which threatens sprains; through bushes and brambles that tear the clothes; by dangerous leaps from rock to rock he brings us to apparently impenetrable hedge. we stare forlorn. [illustration: the crack of the whip('s pate!)] "ha!" says fingen, m.p., more aggressively cheerful than ever. "the road is on other side. thought we would come upon it somewhere." somehow or other we crawl through. "nothing like having an eye to the lay of country", says fingen, m.p., as we limp along the road. "it's a sort of instinct, you know. if i hadn't been with you, you might have had to camp out all night on the mountain." they don't play goff at deeside. they bicycle. down the long avenue with spreading elm trees deftly trained to make triumphal arches, the bicycles come and go. whipsroom, m.p., thinks opportunity convenient for acquiring the art of cycling. w. is got up with consummate art. has had his trousers cut short at knee in order to display ribbed stockings of rainbow hue. loose tweed-jacket, blood-red necktie, white felt hat with rim turned down all round, combine to lend him air of a drury lane bandit out of work. determined to learn to ride the bicycle, but spends most of the day on his hands and knees, or on his back. looking down avenue at any moment pretty sure to find w. either running into the iron fence, coming off sideways, or bolting head first over the handles of his bike. get quite new views of him fore-shortened in all possible ways, some that would be impossible to any but a man of his determination. "never had a man stay in the house", says fingen, m.p., ruefully, "who so cut up the lawn with his head, or indented the gravel with his elbows and his knees." evidently i was mistaken about goff. cycling's the thing in scotland. _goasyoucan, inverness-shire, saturday._--wrong again. not goff nor cycling is the thing to do in scotland. it's stalking. soon learn that great truth at goasyoucan. the hills that encircle the house densely populated with stags. to-day three guns grassed nine, one a royal. this the place to spend a happy day, crouching down among the heather awaiting the fortuitous moment. weather no object. rain or snow out you go, submissive to guidance and instruction of keeper; by comparison with whose tyranny life of the ancient galley-slave was perfect freedom. consummation of human delight this, to lie prone on your face amid the wet heather, with the rain pattering down incessantly, or the snow pitilessly falling, covering you up flake by flake as if it were a robin and you a babe in the wood. mustn't stir; mustn't speak; if you can conveniently dispense with the operation, better not breathe. sometimes, after morning and greater part of afternoon thus cheerfully spent, you may get a shot; even a stag. also you may not; or, having attained the first, may miss the latter. at any rate you have spent a day of exhilarating delight. stalking is evidently the thing to do in scotland. it's a far cry to the highlands. happily there is arthur's seat by edinburgh town where beginners can practise, and old hands may feign delight of early triumphs. * * * * * [illustration: the "irrepressible" again _gent in knickerbockers._ "rummy speakers them 'ighlanders, 'enery. when we wos talking to one of the 'ands, did you notice 'im saying '_nozzing_' for '_nothink_,' and '_she_' for '_e_'?"] * * * * * [illustration: "the last straw" "tired out, are you? try a drop of brandy! eh!--what!--confound----by jingo, i've forgotten my flask!"] * * * * * [illustration: nothing like mountain air _tourist (who has been refreshing himself with the toddy of the country)._ "i shay, ole fler! highlands seem to 'gree with you wonerfly--annomishtake. why, you look double the man already!"] * * * * * [illustration: the height of bliss _highland shepherd._ "fine toon, glasco', i pelieve, and lots o' coot meat there." _tourist._ "oh, yes, lots." _highland shepherd._ "an' drink, too?" _tourist._ "oh, yes." _highland shepherd (doubtingly)._ "ye'll get porter tae yir parrich?" _tourist._ "yes, if we like." _highland shepherd._ "cra-ci-ous!" [_speechless with admiration._ ] * * * * * [illustration: tenacity _first north briton_ (_on the oban boat, in a rolling sea and dirty weather_). "thraw it up, man, and ye'll feel a' the better!" _second ditto_ (_keeping it down_). "hech, mon, it's whuskey!!"] * * * * * [illustration: excusable wrath _drover_ (_exhausted with his struggles_). "whit are ye wouf, woufan' there, ye stupit ass! it wud be wis-eer like if ye gang awn hame, an' bring a barrow!"] * * * * * [illustration: a soft impeachment _sporting saxon (mournfully, after three weeks' incessant down-pour)._ "does it always rain like this up here, mr. mcfuskey?" _his guide, philosopher, and friendly landlord (calmly)._ "oo aye, it's a-ye just a wee bit shooery."!!] * * * * * [illustration: antiquarian research a.m. _brown (who has taken a shooting-box in the highlands, and has been "celebrating" his first appearance in a kilt)._ "worsht of these ole-fashioned beshteads is, they take such a lot of climbin' into!"] * * * * * [illustration: guilderstein in the highlands _mrs. g._ "we must leave this horrible place, dear. the keeper has just told me there is disease on the moor. good gracious, the boys might take it!"] * * * * * [illustration: a great drawback _dougal_ (_with all his native contempt for the londoner_). "aye, mon, an' he's no a bad shot?" _davie._ "'deed an' he's a verra _guid_ shot." _dougal._ "hech! it's an awfu' peetie he's a londoner!"] * * * * * notes from the highlands "_jam satis terris,_" _&c._ _alt-na-blashy._--the aqueous and igneous agencies seem to be combined in these quarters, for since the rain we hear of a great increase of burns. in default of the moors we fall back on the kitchen and the cellar. i need hardly add that dry wines are almost exclusively used by our party, and moist sugar is generally avoided. dripping, too, is discontinued, and everything that is likely to whet the appetite is at a discount. _drizzle-arich._--a frenchman, soaked out of our bothy by the moisture of the weather, was overheard to exclaim "_après moi le déluge._" _inverdreary._--greatly to the indignation of their chief, several of the "children of the mist", in this romantic but rainy region, have assumed the garb of the mackintoshes. _loch drunkie._--we have several partners in misery within hail, or life would be fairly washed out of us. we make up parties alternately at our shooting quarters when the weather allows of wading between them. inebriation, it is to be feared, must be on the increase, for few of us who go out to dinner return without making a wet night of it. meantime, the watering-places in our vicinity--in particular the linns o' dun-dreepie--are literally overflowing. it is asserted that even young horses are growing impatient of the reins. our greatest comfort is the weekly budget of dry humour from _mr. punch_. * * * * * a disappointing host.--_sandy._ "a 'm tellt ye hev a new nebbur, donal'." _donald._ "aye." _sandy._ "an' what like is he?" _donald._ "weel, he's a curious laddie. a went to hev a bit talk wi' him th' ither evenin', an' he offered me a glass o' whuskey, d'ye see? weel, he was poorin' it oot, an' a said to him 'stop!'--_an' he stoppit!_ that's the soort o' mon he is." * * * * * [illustration: ambiguity scene--_a highland ferry_ _tourist._ "but we paid you sixpence each as we came over, and you said the same fare would bring us back." _skipper._ "well, well, and i telled ye nothing but the truth, an' it'll be no more than the same fare i'm wantin' the noo for bringin' ye back."] * * * * * [illustration: august in scotland _bag carrier (to keeper)._ "what does the maister aye ask that body tae shoot wi' him for? he canna hit a thing!" _keeper._ "dod, man, i daur say he wishes they was a' like him. the same birds does him a' through the season!"] * * * * * kinreen o' the dee; a piobrach heard wailing down glentanner on the exile of three generations. [illustration] och hey, kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! och hey, kinreen o' the dee! i'll blaw up my chanter, i've rounded fu' weel, to mony a ranter, in mony a reel, an' pour'd a' my heart i' the win'bag wi' glee: och hey, kinreen o' the dee! for licht wis the laughter in bonny kinreen, an' licht wis the footfa' that glanced o'er the green, an' licht ware the hearts a' an' lichtsome the eyne, och hey, kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! och hey, kinreen o' the dee! the auld hoose is bare noo, a cauld hoose to me, the hearth is nae mair noo, the centre o' glee, nae mair for the bairnies the bield it has been, och hey, for bonny kinreen! the auld folk, the young folk, the wee anes, an' a', a hunder years' hame birds are harried awa', are harried an' hameless, whatever winds blaw, och hey, kinreen o' the dee! &c. fareweel my auld pleugh lan', i'll never mair pleugh it: fareweel my auld cairt an' the auld yaud[c] that drew it. fareweel my auld kailyard, ilk bush an' ilk tree! och hey, kinreen o' the dee! fareweel the auld braes, that my hand keepit green, fareweel the auld ways where we waunder'd unseen ere the star o' my hearth came to bonny kinreen, och hey, kinreen o' the dee! &c. the auld kirk looks up o'er the dreesome auld dead, like a saint speakin' hope o'er some sorrowfu' bed. fareweel the auld kirk, an' fareweel the kirk green, they tell o' a far better hame than kinreen! the place we wad cling to--puir simple auld fules, o' our births an' our bridals, oor blesses an' dools, whare oor wee bits o' bairnies lie cauld i' the mools.[d] och hey, kinreen o' the dee! &c. i aft times hae wunder'd if deer be as dear, as sweet ties o' kindred, to peasant or peer; as the tie to the hames o' the land born be, och hey, kinreen o' the dee! the heather that blossoms unkent o' the moor, wad dee in his lordship's best greenhoose, i'm sure, to the wunder o' mony a fairy land flure. och hey, kinreen o' the dee! &c. though little the thing be, oor ain we can ca'; that little we cling be, the mair that it's sma'; though puir wis oor hame, an' thogh wild wis the scene, 'twas the hame o' oor hearts: it was bonnie kinreen. an yet we maun leave it, baith grey head an bairn; leave it to fatten the deer o' cock-cairn, o' pannanich wuds an' o' morven o' gairn. och hey, kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! kinreen o' the dee! sae fareweel for ever, kinreen of the dee! [footnote c: mare.] [footnote d: earth.] * * * * * [illustration: canny! _sportsman._ "that's a tough old fellow, jemmy!" _keeper._ "aye, sir, a grand bird to send to your freens!"] * * * * * [illustration: experto crede _tourist_ (_on approaching hostelry_). "what will you have, coachman?" _driver._ "a wee drap whuskey, sir, thank you." _tourist._ "all right i'll get down and send it out to you." _driver._ "na, na, gie me the saxpence. they'll gie you an unco sma' gless!"] * * * * * [illustration: a lament from the north "and then the weather's been so bad, donald!" "ou ay, sir. only three fine days--and twa of them snappit up by the sawbath!"] * * * * * two on a tour "can you tell me which is croft lochay?" the smith leant on his pitchfork--he had been up at the hay--and eyed gwendolen and myself with friendly interest. "ye'll be the gentry from london mistress mcdiarmat is expectin'?" "and which is the way to her house?" "well", said the smith, shading his eyes as he peered up at the ben, "ye can't see it rightly from here, as it lies behind yon knowe. it's a whole year whatever since i hev not been up myself; but if you follow the burn----" i glanced at gwen and saw that she shared my satisfaction. to cross the edge of civilisation had for months past been our hearts' desire; and to have achieved a jumping-off place only approachable by a burn exceeded our wildest ambitions. we thanked the smith, and set off on our expedition up the mountain side. "we twa hae paidlit in the burn", sang gwendolen as she skipped like a goat from stone to stone. "o jack, isn't it too primitive and delightful!" "rather", said i, inhaling great draughts of the mountain air. "aren't you hungry?" "rather", i repeated. "wonder what there'll be to eat." "oh, i don't care what it is. anything will be delicious. is that the house, do you think?" i looked up and saw above us a low white-washed shanty covered with thatch which was kept in its place by a network of laths. a few heavy stones were evidently designed to keep the roof from blowing off in winter storms. "no", said gwen. "that must be the cowhouse byre, don't you call it?" "i'm not so sure", said i. while we were still uncertain, a figure came to the door and bade us welcome. "come in, come in. ye'll be tired with the travelling, and ye'll like to see the rooms." we acquiesced, and mistress mcdiarmat led the way into the cowhouse. "shoo!" she cried as she opened the door of the bedroom. "get away, speckle! the hens _will_ lay their bit egg on the bed, sir." "what fresh eggs we shall get!" cried gwen, delighted with this fresh proof of rusticity and with the gaelic gutturals with which mistress mcdiarmat emphasized her remarks to speckle. the "other end" was furnished with two hard chairs, a table and a bed. "fancy a bed in the dining-room and hens in your bed!" said gwen, in the highest of spirits. "and here comes tea! eggs and bacon--ah! how lovely they smell, and how much nicer than horrid, stodgy dinners! and oatcakes--and jelly--and the lightest feathery scones! o jack, isn't it heavenly?" "rather", i agreed, beginning the meal with tremendous gusto. the eggs and bacon disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and then we fell to on the light feathery scones. "wish we hadn't wasted a fortnight's time and money in ruinous highland hotels. wonder what schiehallion thinks of hot baths and late dinners, not to speak of waiters and wine-lists." "i suppose", remarked gwendolen, "one _could_ get a bath at the temperance inn we passed on the road?" "baths!" cried i. "why, my dear, one only has to go and sit under the neighbouring waterfall." gwen did not laugh, and looking up i saw she had stopped in the middle of a scone on which she had embarked with great appetite. "try an oat-cake", i suggested. "no, thanks", said gwen. "a little more jelly?" gwen shook her head. i finished my meal in silence and pulled out my pipe. "going to smoke in here?" asked gwen. "it's raining outside, my dear." "oh, very well. but remember this is my bedroom. i decline to sleep with hens." i put the pipe away and prepared for conversation. "can't you sit still?" asked gwen after a long pause. "this chair is very hard, dear." "so is mine." "don't you think we might sit on the bed?" "certainly not. i shouldn't sleep a wink if we disarranged the clothes, and only an expert can re-make a chaff bed." "wish we had something to read", i remarked, after another long pause. "do you expect a circulating library on the top of ben-y-gloe?" i began to realise that gwen was no longer in a conversational mood, and made no further efforts to break the silence. half-an-hour later gwen came across the room and laid her hand on my shoulder. "what are you reading, dear?" she asked. "i find we can get a train from struan to-morrow afternoon which catches the london connection at perth when the train's not more than two hours late." "we can't risk that. isn't there a train in the morning?" "it would mean leaving this at five." "so much the better. o jack, if i eat another meal like that it will be fatal. to think we shall be back in dear old chelsea to-morrow!" * * * * * [illustration: origin of the highland schottische "this is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay, tread the hay; this is the way they tread the hay, tread the hay in scotland!"] * * * * * [illustration: grouse shooting late in the season. jolly, very! "come along, old fellow! here's a point!!"] * * * * * [illustration: deer-stalking made easy. a hint to lusty sportsmen] * * * * * [illustration: sooner or later _old gent._ "when is the steamer due here?" _highland pier-master._ "various. sometimes sooner, sometimes earlier, an' even sometimes before that, too."] * * * * * [illustration: "harmless" _cockney sporting gent._ "but i think it's a 'en!" _sandy (his keeper)._ "shoot, man, shoot! she'll be no muckle the waur o' ye!!"] * * * * * [illustration: pleasant _friend (to novice at salmon fishing)._ "i say, old boy, mind how you wade; there are some tremendous holes, fourteen or fifteen feet deep."] * * * * * [illustration:an important detail _our latest millionaire_ (_to gillie, who has brought him within close range of the finest stag in the forest_). "i say, mac, confound it all, _which eye do you use_?"] * * * * * [illustration: _english tourist (in the far north, miles from anywhere)._ "do you mean to say that you and your family live here all the winter? why, what do you do when any of you are ill? you can never get a doctor!" _scotch shepherd._ "nae, sir. we've just to dee a natural death!"] * * * * * [illustration: scene--a roadside inn in a moorland district, scotland (_the captain and gamekeeper call in to have some refreshment_) _landlady_ (_enters in fear_). "eh, sir, yer gun's no loaded is't? for a never would bide in a hoose whaur the wur a loaded gun in a' m'life." _captain_ (_composedly_). "oh, we'll soon put that all right--have you got a cork?" [_exit landlady and brings a cork, which the captain carefully sticks in the muzzle of the gun, and assures her it is all right now_-- _landlady_ (_relieved_). "ou, aye! it's a' right noo, but it wasna safe afore, ye ken."] * * * * * [illustration: "a monarch of the glen" _transatlantic millionaire (surveying one of his deer-forests)._ "ha! look there! i see _three excursionists_! send 'em to the----!" _gigantic gillie (and chucker-out)._ "if you please, mr. dollers, they're _excisemen_!" _t. m._ "i don't care _who_ they are! send 'em to the----!" _g. g._ "yes, mr. dollers." [_proceeds to carry out order._ ] * * * * * [illustration: sportsman (who declines to be told where to go and what to do by his gillie), after an arduous stalk in the blazing sun, at last manages to crawl within close range of those "brown specks" he discovered miles distant on the hill-side!] * * * * * [illustration: promising! _tourist._ "have you any decent cigars?" _highland grocer._ "decent cigars? ay, here are decent cigars enough." _tourist._ "are they havanahs, or manillas?" _highland grocer._ "they're just from kircaldy!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the miss" _gillie._ "eh, mon! but it's fortunate there's beef in aberdeen!"] * * * * * mr. briggs in the highlands _by_ john leech [illustration: mr. briggs, feeling that his heart is in the highlands a-chasing the deer, starts for the north.] [illustration: before going out, mr. briggs and his friends have a quiet chat about deer-stalking generally. he listens with much interest to some pleasing anecdotes about the little incidents frequently met with--such as balls going through caps--toes being shot off!--occasionally being gored by the antlers of infuriate stags, &c., &c., &c.] [illustration: mr. briggs, previous to going through his course of deer-stalking, assists the forester in getting a hart or two for the house. donald is requesting our friend to hold the animal down by the horns. [n.b. the said animal is as strong as a bull, and uses his legs like a race-horse. ] [illustration: the deer are driven for mr. briggs. he has an excellent place, but what with waiting by himself so long, the murmur of the stream, the beauty of the scene, and the novelty of the situation, he falls asleep, and while he takes his forty winks, the deer pass!] [illustration: as the wind is favourable, the deer are driven again.] [illustration: mr. briggs is suddenly face to face with the monarch of the glen! he is so astonished that he omits to fire his rifle.] [illustration: to-day he goes out for a stalk, and donald shows mr. briggs the way!] [illustration: after a good deal of climbing, our friend gets to the top of ben-something-or-other, and the forester looks out to see if there are any deer on the hills. yes! several hinds, and perhaps the finest hart that ever was seen.] [illustration: to get at him, they are obliged to go a long way round. before they get down, the shower, peculiar to the country, overtakes them, so they "shelter a-wee."] [illustration: with extraordinary perseverance they come within shot of "the finest hart." mr. b. is out of breath, afraid of slipping, and wants to blow his nose (quite out of the question), otherwise he is tolerably comfortable.] [illustration: after aiming for a quarter of an hour, mr. b. fires both his barrels--and--misses!!!! _tableau_--the forester's anguish] [illustration: the royal hart mr. briggs did not hit.] [illustration: mr. briggs has another day's stalking, and his rifle having gone off sooner than he expected, he kills a stag. as it is his first, he is made free of the forest by the process customary on the hills!--] [illustration: and returns home in triumph. he is a little knocked up, but after a nap, will, no doubt, go through the broad-sword dance in the evening as usual.] [illustration: mr. briggs grouse shooting a.m. his arrival on the moor.--mr. briggs says that the fine bracing air makes him so vigorous that he shall never be beat. he also facetiously remarks that he is on "his native heath", and that his "name is macgregor!" [_the result of the day's sport will be communicated by electric telegraph._ ] * * * * * sketches from scotland at the drumquhidder highland gathering. scene--_a meadow near drumquhidder, south perthshire, where the annual highland games are being held. the programme being a long one, there are generally three events being contested in various parts of the ground at the same time. on the benches immediately below the grand stand are seated two drumquhidder worthies_, mr. parritch _and_ mr. havers, _with_ mrs. mctavish _and her niece, two acquaintances from glasgow, to whom they are endeavouring--not altogether successfully--to make themselves agreeable_. _mr. havers_ (_in allusion to the dozen or so of drags, landaus, and waggonettes on the ground_). there's a number o' machines hier the day, messis mctarvish, an' a wonderfu' crood; there'll be a bit scarceness ower on yon side, but a gey many a'thegither. i conseeder we're jest awfu' forrtunate in the day an' a'. [_mrs. mctavish assents, but without enthusiasm._ _mr. parritch._ i've jist ben keekin into the refraishmen' tent. it's an awfu' peety they're no pairmeetin' ony intoaxicans--naethin' but non-alcohoalic liquors an' sic like, an' the hawm-sawndwiches no verra tender. (_with gallantry._) what do ye say, noo, messis mctarvish--wull ye no come an' tak' a bite wi' me? _mrs. mctavish (distantly)._ ah'm no feelin' able for't jist the noo, mester pairritch. _mr. parr._ ye'll hae a boatle o' leemonade at my expense? ye'll no? then ye wull, mess rawse. (_with relief, as miss rose declines also._) aweel, i jist thocht i'd pit the quaistion. (_to a friend of his, who joins them._) an' hoo's a' wi' ye, mester mckerrow? ye're a member o' the cawmittee, i obsairve, sae i'll hae to keck up a bet row wi' ye. _mr. mckerrow (unconcernedly)._ then ye'll jist to hae to keck it doon again. what's wrang the noo? _mr. parr._ i'd like to ask ye if ye conseeder it fair or jest to charrge us tippence every time we'd go aff the groon? man, it's jist an extoartion. _mr. mckerr._ i'm no responsible for't; but, if i'd ben there, i'd ha' chairged ye twa shellins; sae ye'd better say nae mair aboot the maitter. [_mr. parritch does not pursue the subject._ _mr. havers (as a detachment of the black watch highlanders conclude an exhibition of musical drill)._ ye'll be the baiter o' haeing the block wetch hier the day. man, they gie us a colour! it's verra pretty hoo nicely they can pairforrm the drill.... an' noo them sojers is gaun to rin a bet race amang theirsels. this'll be an extry cawmpeteetion, i doot. (_as the race is being run._) it's no a verra suitable dress for rinnin'--the spleughan--or "sporran", is it?--hairrts them tairible. _mr. mckerr. (contradictiously)._ the sporran does na hairrt them at a'. _mr. havers._ man, it's knockin' against them at every stride they tak'. (_his attention wanders to a highland fling, which three small boys are dancing on a platform opposite._) he's an awfu' bonnie dauncer that wee laddie i' the meddle! _mr. mckerr._ na sae awfu' bonnie, he luiks tae much at his taes. yon on the richt is the laddie o' the lote! he disna move his boady at a'.... this'll be the half mile handicap they're stairting for down yonder. it'll gae to jock alister--him in the blue breeks. _mr. parr._ yon grup-luikin' tyke? i canna thenk it. _mr. havers._ na, it'll be yon bald-heided man in broon. he's verra enthusiastic. he's ben rinnin' in a' the races, i obsairve. "smeth" did ye say his neem was? (_to miss rose, "pawkily"._) ye'll hae an affaictionate regaird for that neem, i'm thenking, mess rawse? _miss rose (with maidenly displeasure)._ 'deed, an i'm no unnerstanding why ye should thenk ony sic a thing! _mr. havers (abashed)._ i beg your pairrdon. i don't know hoo it was i gethered smeth was your ain neem. (_miss rose shakes her head._) no? then maybe ye'll be acquaint with a mester alexawnder smeth fro' paisley? (_miss rose is not, nor apparently desires to be, and mr. havers returns to the foot-race._) the baldheid's leadin' them a', i tellt ye he'd----na, he's gien up! it'll be the little block fellow, he's peckin' up tairible! _mr. parr._ 'twull no be him. yon lang chap has an easy jobe o't. ye'll see he'll jist putt a spairrt on at yon faur poast--he's comin' on noo--he's.... losh! he's only thirrd after a'; he didna putt the spairrt on sune eneugh; that was the gran' fau't he made! _mr. havers._ they'll be begenning the wrustling oot yon in the centre....(_as the competitors grip._) losh! that's no the way to wrustle; they shouldna left the ither up; they're no allowed to threp! _mr. mckerr._ that's jist the game, i'm telling ye; ye know naething at a' aboot it! [illustration: "that's jist the game, i'm telling ye; ye know naething at a' aboot it!"] _mr. havers._ i'd sthruggle baiter'n that mysel', it's no great wrustling at a', merely bairrns' play! _mr. mckerr (as a corpulent elderly gentleman appears, in very pink tights)._ ye'll see some science noo, for hier's mcbannock o' balwhuskie, the chawmpion. _mr. havers (disenchanted)._ wull yon be him in the penk breeks. man, but he's awfu' stoot for sic wark! _mr. mckerr._ the wecht of him's no easy put doon. the rest are boys to him. _mr. parr._ i doot the little dairk fellow'll hae him ... it's a gey sthruggle. _mr. mckerr._ he's not doon yet. wull ye bait sexpence against mcbannock, mester pairritch? _mr. parr. (promptly)._ aye, wull i--na, he's got the dairk mon doon. i was jist mindin' the sword-daunce, sae the bait's aff. (_three men in full highland costume step upon the platform and stand, proud and impassive, fronting the grand stand, while the judges walk round them, making careful notes of their respective points._) what wull _they_ be aboot? _mr. mckerr._ it'll be the prize for the mon who's the best dressed hielander at his ain expense. i'm thenkin' they'll find it no verra easy to come to a deceesion. _mr. parr._ deed, it's no sae deeficult; 'twill be the mon in the centre, sure as deith! _mr. havers._ ye say that because he has a' them gowd maidles hing on his jocket! _mr. parr_. (_loftily_). i pay no attention to the maidles at a'. i'm sayin' that dougal macrae is the best dressed hielander o' the three. _mr. havers._ it'll no be macrae at a'. jock mcewan, that's furthest west, 'll be the mon. _mr. parr._ (_dogmatically_). it'll be macrae, i'm tellin' ye. he has the nicest kelt on him that iver i sa'! _mr. havers._ it's no the _kelt_ that diz it, 'tis jist the way they pit it on. an' macrae'll hae his tae faur doon, a guid twa enches too low, it is. _mr. parr._ ye're a' wrang, the kelt is on richt eneugh! _mr. havers._ i know fine hoo a kelt should be pit an, though i'm no hielander mysel', and i'll ask ye, mess rawse, if dougal macrae's kelt isn't too lang; it's jist losin his knees a' thegither, like a lassie he looks in it! [_miss rose declines, with some stiffness, to express an opinion on so delicate a point._ _mr. parr. (recklessly)._ i'll pit a sexpence on macrae wi' ye, come noo! _mr. havers._ na, na, pit cawmpetent jedges on to deceede, and they'll be o' my opeenion; but i'll no bait wi' ye. _mr. parr. (his blood up)._ then i'll hae a sexpence on 't wi you, mester mckerrow! _mr. mckerr._ nay, i'm for macrae mysel'.... an' we're baith in the richt o't too, for they've jist gien him the bit red flag--that means he's got firsst prize. _mr. parr. (to mr. havers, with reproach)._ man, if ye'd hed the speerit o' your opeenions, i'd ha' won sexpence aff ye by noo! _mr. havers (obstinately)._ i canna thenk but that macrae's kelt was too lang--prize or no prize. i'll be telling him when i see him that he looked like a lassie in it. _mr. parr. (with concern)._ i wouldna jist advise ye to say ony sic a thing to him. these hielanders are awfu' prood; and he micht tak' it gey ill fro' ye! _mr. havers._ i see nae hairrm mysel' in jist tellin' him, in a pleesant, daffin-like way, that he looked like a lassie in his kelt. but there's nae tellin' hoo ye may offend some fowk; an' i'm thenking it's no sae verra prawbable that i'll hae the oaportunity o' saying onything aboot the maitter to him. * * * * * awkward for him.--_tam._ "i'm sayin', man, my cairt o' hay's fa'en ower. will ye gie 's a haund up wi' 't?" _jock._ "'deed will i. but ye'll be in nae hurry till i get tae the end o' the raw?" _tam._ "ou no. i'm in nae hurry, but i doot my faither 'll be wearyin'." _jock._ "an' whaur's yer faither?" _tam._ "he's in below the hay!" * * * * * [illustration: "mistaken identity" scene--_northern meeting at inverness._ persons represented--ian gorm _and_ dougald mohr, _gillies_. mr. smith, _of london_. _first gillie._ "wull yon be the macwhannel, ian gorm?" _second ditto._ "no!! hes nae-um is muster smuth! and he ahl-ways wears the kult--and it is foohl that you aar, tougalt mohr!!"] * * * * * [illustration: (loch) fyne grammar (_a sad fact for the school board_) _tugal._ "dud ye'll ever see the _i-oo-na_ any more before?" _tonal._ "surely i was." _tugal._ "ay, ay! maybe you was never on poard too, after thus----" _tonal._ "i dud."] * * * * * [illustration: non ben (lomond) trovato. _rory (fresh from the hills)._ "hech, mon! ye're loassin' a' yer watter!!" _aungus._ "haud yer tongue, ye feul! ett's latt oot to stoap the laddies frae ridin' ahint!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "nothing like leather" _bookseller_ (_to lanarkshire country gentleman who had brought his back numbers to be bound_). "would you like them done in 'russia' or 'morocco,' sir?" _old gentleman._ "na, never maind aboot rooshy or moroccy. i'll just hae 'em boond in glasgy here!"] * * * * * [illustration: the troubles of stalking _irate gillie_ (_on discovering in the distance, for the third time that morning, a "brute of a man" moving about in his favourite bit of "forest"_). "oh! deil take the people! come awa', muster brown, sir; _it's just peekadilly!!!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a fallen ass _indignant gillie_ (_to jones, of london, who has by mistake killed a hind_). "i thoucht ony fule ken't it was the stags that had the horns!"] * * * * * [illustration: bonchienie _young lady tourist_ (_caressing the hotel terrier, bareglourie, n.b._). "oh, binkie is his name! he seems inclined to be quite friendly with me." _waiter._ "oo, aye, miss, he's no vera parteec'lar wha he taks oop wi!"] * * * * * [illustration: "canny" _first north briton._ "'t's a fine day, this?" _second ditto._ "no ill, ava." _first ditto._ "ye'll be travellin'?" _second ditto._ "weel, maybe i'm no." _first ditto._ "gaun t'aberdeen, maybe?" _second ditto._ "ye're no faur aff't!!" [_mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way_ ] * * * * * [illustration: the purchasing limit _mr. steinsen_ (_our latest millionaire--after his third fruitless stalk_). "now, look here, you rascal! if you can't have the brutes tamer, i'm hanged if i don't sack you!"] * * * * * [illustration: growing popularity of the highlands _mrs. smith_ (_of brixton_). "lor', mr. brown, i 'ardly knoo yer! only think of our meetin' _'ere_, this year, instead of dear old margit! an' i suppose that's the costume you go _salmon-stalking_ in?"] * * * * * more sketches from scotland on a callander char-a-banc. scene--_in front of the trossachs hotel. the few passengers bound for callander have been sitting for several minutes on the coach "fitz-james" in pelting rain, resignedly wondering when the driver will consider them sufficiently wet to start._ _the head boots (to the driver)._ there's another to come yet; he'll no be lang now. (_the cause of the delay comes down the hotel steps, and surveys the vehicle and its occupants with a surly scowl._) up with ye, sir, plenty of room on the second seats. _the surly passenger._ and have all the umbrellas behind dripping on my hat! no, thank you, i'm going in front. (_he mounts, and takes up the apron._) here, driver, just look at this apron--it's sopping wet! _the driver (tranquilly)._ aye, i'm thinking it wull ha' got a bet domp. [illustration: "ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it."] _the surly p._ well, i'm not going to have this over me. haven't you got a _dry_ one somewhere? _the driver._ there'll be dry ones at collander. _the surly p. (with a snort)._ at callander! much good that is! (_with crushing sarcasm._) if i'm to keep dry on this concern, it strikes me i'd better get inside the boot at once! _the driver (with the air of a man who is making a concession)._ ou aye, ye can get inside the boot if ye've a mind to it. [_the coach starts, and is presently stopped at a corner to take up a male and a female passenger, who occupy the seats immediately behind the surly passenger._ _the female p. (enthusiastically, to her companion)._ there's dear old mrs. macfarlane, come out to see the last of us! look at her standing out there in the garden, all in the rain. that's what i always say about the scotch--they _are_ warm-hearted! [_she waves her hand in farewell to some distant object._ _her companion. that_ ain't her; that's an old apple-tree in the garden _you_'re waving to. _she's_ keeping indoors--and shows her sense too. _the female p. (disgusted)._ well, i _do_ think after our being at the farm a fortnight and all, she _might_----but that's scotch all _over_, that is; get all they can out of you, and then, for anything _they_ care----! _the surly p._ i don't know whether you are aware of it, ma'am, but that umbrella of yours is sending a constant trickle down the back of my neck, which is _most_ unpleasant! _the female p._ i'm sorry to hear it, sir, but it's no worse for you than it is for me. i've got somebody else's umbrella dripping down _my_ back, and _i_ don't complain. _the surly p._ i _do_, ma'am, for, being in front, i haven't even the poor consolation of feeling that my umbrella is a nuisance to anybody. _a sardonic p. (in the rear, politely)._ on the contrary, sir, i find it a most pleasing object to contemplate. far more picturesque, i don't doubt, than any scenery it may happen to conceal. _a chatty p. (to the driver; not because he cares, but simply for the sake of conversation)._ what fish do you catch in that river there? _the driver (with an effort)._ there'll be troots, an', maybe, a pairrch or two. _the chatty p._ perch? ah, that's rather like a goldfish in shape, eh? _driver (cautiously)._ aye, it would be that. _chatty p._ only considerably bigger, of course. _driver (evasively)._ pairrch is no a verra beg fesh. _chatty p._ but bigger than goldfish. _driver (more confidently)._ ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh. _chatty p. (persistently)._ you've seen goldfish--know what they're like, eh? _driver (placidly)._ i canna say i do. [_they pass a shooting party with beaters._ _chatty p. (as before)._ what are they going to shoot? _driver._ they'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse drivin'. _a lady p._ i wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow flags. i suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they begin firing at the butts. i know they _have_ butts up on the moor, because i've seen them. just look at those birds running after that man throwing grain for them. would those be _grouse_? _driver._ ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, mem; they'll jist be phaysants. _the lady p._ poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. it _does_ seem so cruel to kill them! _her comp._ well, but they kill chickens, occasionally. _the lady p._ not with a horrid gun; and, besides, that's such a totally different thing. _the chatty p._ what do you call that mountain, driver, eh? _driver._ yon hell? i'm no minding its name. _the surly p._ you don't seem very ready in pointing out the objects of interests on the route, i must say. _driver (modestly)._ there'll be them on the corch that know as much aboot it as myself. (_after a pause--to vindicate his character as a cicerone._) did ye nottice a bit building at the end of the loch over yonder? _the surly p._ no, i didn't. _driver._ ye might ha' seen it, had ye looked. [_he relapses into a contented silence._ _chatty p._ anything remarkable about the building? _driver._ it was no the building that's remairkable. (_after a severe struggle with his own reticence._) it was jist the spoat. 'twas there _roderick dhu_ fought _fitz-james_ after convoying him that far on his way. [_the surly passenger snorts as though he didn't consider this information._ _the lady p. (who doesn't seem to be up in her "lady of the lake"). fitz-james who?_ _her comp._ i fancy he's the man who owns this line of coaches. there's his name on the side of this one. _the lady p._ and i saw _roderick dhu's_ on another coach. i _thought_ it sounded familiar, somehow. he must be the _rival_ proprietor, i suppose. i wonder if they've made it up yet. _the driver (to the surly passenger, with another outburst of communicativeness)._ yon stoan is called "sawmson's putting stoan." he hurrled it up to the tope of the hell, whaur it's bided ever sence. [_the surly passenger receives this information with an incredulous grunt._ _the lady p._ what a magnificent old ruin that is across the valley, some ancient castle, evidently; they can't build like that nowadays! _the driver._ that's the collander hydropawthec, mem; burrnt doon two or three years back. _the lady p. (with a sense of the irony of events)._ _burnt_ down! a hydropathic! fancy! _male p. (as they enter callander and pass a trim villa)._ there, _that's_ mr. figgis's place. _his comp._ what--_that_? why, it's quite a _bee-yutiful_ place, with green venetians, and a conservatory, and a croaky lawn, and everything! fancy all that belonging to _him!_ it's well to be a grocer--in _these_ parts, seemingly! _male p._ ah, _we_ ought to come up and start business here; it 'ud be better than being in the caledonian road! [_they meditate for the remainder of the journey upon the caprices of fortune with regard to grocery profits in caledonia and the caledonian road respectively._ * * * * * [illustration: "men were deceivers ever" _mr. punch_ is at present in the highlands "a-chasing the deer." _mrs. punch_ is at home, and has promised all her friends haunches of venison as soon as they arrive!] * * * * * [illustration: "desirable" _saxon passenger (on highland coach)._ "of course you're well acquainted with the country round about here. do you know 'glen accron'?" _driver._ "aye, weel." _saxon passenger (who had just bought the estate)._ "what sort of a place is it?" _driver._ "weel, if ye saw the deil tethered on't, ye'd just say 'puir brute'!"] * * * * * [illustration: isolation!--off the orkneys _southern tourist._ "'get any newspapers here?" _orcadian boatman._ "ou aye, when the steamer comes. if it's fine, she'll come ance a week; but when it's stormy, i' winter, we dinna catch a glint o' her for three months at a time." _s. t._ "then you'll not know what's goin' on in london!" _o. b._ "na--but ye see ye're just as ill aff i' london as we are, for ye dinna ken what's gaun on here!"] * * * * * [illustration: on the moors _the laird's brother-in-law (from london)._ "it's very strange, lachlan! i'm having no luck!--and yet i seem to see two birds in place of one? that was surely very strong whiskey your master gave me at lunch?" _keeper._ "maybe aye and maybe no--the whuskey was goot; but any way ye dinna manage to hit the richt bird o' the twa!!"] * * * * * [illustration: a poor advertisement _tourist._ "i suppose you feel proud to have such a distinguished man staying in your house?" _host of the "drumdonnachie arms."_ "'deed no! a body like that does us mair hairm than guid; his appearance is nae credit tae oor commissariat!"] * * * * * [illustration: generosity _noble lord (whose rifle has brought to a scarcely untimely end a very consumptive-looking fallow deer)._ "tut--t, t, t, t, tut! o, i say, stubbs!"--(_to his keeper_)--"you shouldn't have let me kill such a poor, little, sickly, scraggy thing as this, you know! it positively isn't fit for human food! ah! look here, now! i'll tell you what. you and mcfarlin may have this buck between you!!!"] * * * * * [illustration: traveller too bon fide _dusty pedestrian._ "i should like a glass of beer, missis, please----" _landlady._ "hae ye been trevellin' by rell?" _pedestrian._ "no, i've been walking--fourteen miles." _landlady._ "na, na, nae drink will ony yin get here, wha's been pleesure-seekin' o' the sawbath day!!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch in the highlands he goes on board the _iona_. the only drawback to his perfect enjoyment is the jealousy caused among all the gentlemen by the ladies clustering round him on all occasions.] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps there were often unforeseen circumstances which gave to the highland stalking of those days an added zest!] * * * * * the pleasures of travel (_by ane that has kent them_) [illustration] 'tis a great thing, the traivel; i'll thank ye tae find its equal for openin' the poors o' the mind. it mak's a man polished, an' gies him, ye ken, sic a graun' cosmypollitan knowledge o' men! i ne'er was a stay-at-hame callant ava, i aye must be rantin' an' roamin' awa', an' far hae i wandered, an' muckle hae seen o' the ways o' the warl' wi' ma vara ain een. i've been tae kingskettle wi' wullie an' jeames, i've veesited anster an' elie an' wemyss, i've walked tae kirkca'dy an' cupar an' crail, an' i aince was awa' tae dundee wi' the rail. losh me, sir! the wonnerfu' things that i saw! the kirks wi' their steeples, sae bonny an' braw an' publics whauriver ye turned wi' yer ee-- 'tis jist a complete eddication, dundee! theer's streets--be the hunner! an' shops be the score! theer's bakers an' grocers an' fleshers galore! an' milliners' winders a' flauntin' awa' wi' the last o' the fashions frae lunnon an' a'. an' eh, sic a thrang, sir! i saw in a minnit mair folk than the toun o' kinghorn will hae in it i wadna hae thocht that the hail o' creation could boast at ae time sic a vast population! ma word, sir! it gars ye clap haun' tae yer broo an' wunner what's providence after the noo that he lets sic a swarm o' they cratur's be born wham naebody kens aboot here in kinghorn. what?--leeberal minded?--ye canna but be when ye've had sic a graun' eddication as me. for oh, theer is naethin' like traivel, ye ken, for growin' acquent wi' the natur' o' men. * * * * * "falls of foyers."--a correspondent writes:--"i have seen a good many letters in the _times_, headed 'the falls of the foyers.' here and abroad i have seen many foyers, and only fell down once. this was at the théâtre francais, where the foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be so. if the foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no 'falls.' yours, common sense." * * * * * [illustration: "winged" _first gael._ "what's the matter, tonal?" _second ditto (who had been out with old briggs)._ "matter! hur legs is full o' shoots".] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch at the highland games shows the natives how to "put the stone."] * * * * * [illustration: an artist scamp in the highlands _artist (entering)._ "my good woman, if you'll allow me, i'll just paint that bedstead of yours." _cottager (with bob-curtsey)._ "thank ye, sir, i' sure it's very kind of ye--but dinna ye think that little one over yonder wants it more?"] * * * * * en Écosse _À monsieur punch_ dear mister,--i come of to make a little voyage in scotland. ah, the beautiful country of sir scott, sir wallace, and sir burns! i am gone to render visit to one of my english friends, a charming boy--_un charmant garçon_--and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and their childs. i adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in your country, all buckled--_bouclés_, how say you? i go by the train of night--in french one says "_le sleeping_"--to edimbourg, and then to calendar, where i attend to find a coach--in french one says "_un mail_" or "_un fourinhand_." _nom d'une pipe_, it is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "_un breack_" and in english a char-à-banc--that which the english pronounce "_tcherribaingue_"--which attends us at the going out of the station! eh well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! but a such carriage discovered--_découverte_--seems to me well unuseful in a country where he falls of rain without cease. before to start i demand of all the world some _renseignements_ on the scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "all-days of the rain." by consequence i procure myself some impermeable vestments, one mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of inverness, one mackintosch covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters, and many pairs of boots very thick--not boots of town, but veritable "shootings." i arrive at edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the earth wet, the air humid. therefore i propose to myself to search at calender a place at the interior, _et voilà_--and see there--the _breack_ has no interior! there is but that which one calls a "boot", and me, auguste, can i to lie myself there at the middle of the baggages? ah no! thus i am forced to endorse--_endosser_--my impermeable vestments and to protect myself the head by my south-western hat. then, holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, i say to the coacher, "he goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" he makes a sign of head of not to comprehend. ah, for sure, he is scottish! i indicate the sky and my umbrella, and i say "rain?" and then he comprehends. "_eh huile_", he responds to me, "_ah canna sé, mébi huile no hé meukl the dé_." i write this phonetically, for i comprehend not the scottish language. what droll of conversation! him comprehends not the english; me i comprehend not the scottish. but i essay of new, "how many has he of it from here to the lake?" _c'est inutile_--it is unuseful. i say, "distance?" he comprehends. "_mébi oui taque toua hours_", says he; "_beutt yile no fache yoursel, its no sé lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua_." _quelle langue_--what language, even to write phonetically! i comprehend one sole word, "hours." some hours! _sapristi!_ i say, "hours?" he says "_toua_" all together, a monosyllable. _sans aucune doute ça veut dire_ "twelve"--_douze_. twelve hours on a _breack_ in a such climate! ah, no! _c'est trop fort_--it is too strong! "hold", i cry myself, "attend, i descend, i go not!" it is true that i see not how i can to descend, for i am _entouré_--how say you? of voyagers. we are five on a bench, of the most narrows, and me i am at the middle. and the bench before us is also complete, and we touch him of the knees. and my neighbours carry on the knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &c. _il n'y a pas moyen_--he has not there mean. and the coacher says me "_na, na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest baïd ouar yer sittinn._" then he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. _il va tomber de la pluie! douze heures! mon dieu, quel voyage!_ agree, &c., auguste. * * * * * [illustration: zeal _saxon tourist._ "been at the kirk?" _celt._ "aye." _saxon t._ "how far is it?" _celt._ "daur say it'll be fourteen mile." _saxon t._ "fourteen miles!!" _celt._ "aye, aw'm awfu' fond o' the preachin'"] * * * * * [illustration: thrift _peebles body (to townsman who was supposed to be in london on a visit)._ "e--eh mac! ye're sune hame again!" _mac._ "e--eh, it's just a ruinous place, that! mun, a had na' been the-erre abune twa hoours when--_bang_--went _saxpence!!!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a satisfactory solution "i fear, duncan, that friend of mine does not seem overly safe with his gun." "no, sir. but i'm thinkin' it'll be all right if you wass to go wan side o' him and mr. john the ither. he canna shoot baith o' ye!"] * * * * * [illustration: "vita fumus" _tonal._ "whar'll ye hae been till, tugal?" _tugal._ "at ta mctavishes' funeral----" _tonal._ "an' is ta tavish deed?" _tugal._ "deed is he!!" _tonal._ "losh, mon! fowk are aye deein' noo that never used to dee afore!!"] * * * * * [illustration: precautions _saxon angler (to his keeper)._ "you seem in a great hurry with your clip! i haven't seen a sign of a fish yet--not a rise!" _duncan._ "'deed, sir, i wisna a botherin' mysel' aboot the fush; but seein' you wis new to the business, i had a thocht it widna be lang afore you were needin' a left oot o' the watter yoursel'!"] * * * * * [illustration: his pound of flesh _financier (tenant of our forest, after a week's unsuccessful stalking)._ "now, look here, my man. i bought and paid for ten stags. if the brutes can't be shot, you'll have to trap them! i've promised the venison, and i mean to have it!"] * * * * * [illustration: scrupulous _shepherd._ "o, jims, mun! can ye no gie a whustle on tha ram'lin' brute o' mine? i daurna mysel'; it's just fast-day in oor parish!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "the land of lorn" _it has drizzled incessantly, for a fortnight, since the smiths came down to their charming villa at braebogie, in argyleshire._ _keeper (who has come up to say the boat is ready on the loch, if "they're for fushin' the day")._ "eh! i should na wonder if this weather tur-rns ta rain!!"] * * * * * [illustration: local sunday morning _tourist (staying at the glenmulctem hotel--dubiously)._ "can i--ah--have a boat?" _boatman._ "oo--aye!" _tourist._ "but i thought you--ah--never broke the--aw--sabbath in scotland?" _boatman._ "aweel, ye ken the sawbath disna' come doon to the loch--it just staps at the hottle!"] * * * * * en Écosse (encore) _À monsieur punch_ dear mister,--i have spoken you of my departure from calendar on the _breack_. eh, well, he rained not of the whole of the whole--_du tout du tout! il faisait un temps superbe_--he was making a superb time, the route was well agreeable, and the voyage lasted but two hours, and not twelve. what droll of idea! in scottish _twa_ is two, not twelve. i was so content to arrive so quick, and without to be wetted that i gave the coacher a good to-drink--_un bon pourboire_--though before to start all the voyagers had paid him a "tipp", that which he called a "driver's fee." again what droll of idea! to give the to-drink before to start, and each one the same--six pennys. my friend encountered me and conducted me to his house, where i have passed fifteen days, a sojourn of the most agreeables. and all the time almost not one sole drop of rain! _j'avais beau_--i had fine--to buy all my impermeable vestments, i carry them never. one sole umbrella suffices me, and i open him but two times. and yet one says that the scotland is a rainy country. it is perhaps a season _tout à fait_--all to fact--exceptional. but fifteen days almost without rain! one would believe himself at the border of the mediterranean, absolutely at the south. and i have eaten of the "porridg", me auguste! _partout_ i essay the dish of the country. i take at first a spoonful pure and simple. _oh la, la!_ my friend offers me of the cream. it is well. also of the salt. _quelle idée!_ but no, before me i perceive a dish of _confiture_, that which the scottish call "marmaladde." _a la bonne heure!_ with some marmaladde, some cream, and much of sugar, i find that the "porridg" is enough well, for i taste him no more. one day we make an ascension, and we see many grouses. only we can not to shoot, for it is not yet the season of the huntings. it is but a hill that we mount. the name appears me to be french, but bad written. "ben venue", that is to say, "_bienvenu_"--_soyez le bienvenu_. she is one of the first of the scottish hills, and she says "welcome" in french. it is a pretty idea, and a politeness very amiable towards my country. i salute the hospitable scotland and i thank her. it is a great country, of brave men, of charming women--ah, i recall to myself some eyes so beautiful, some forms so attracting!--of ravishing landscapes, and, at that epoch there, of a climate so delicious. she has one sole and one great defect. the best scottish hotels cost very dear, and, my faith, the two or three that i visited are not great thing like comfortable--_ne sont pas grand'chose comme comfortable!_ one day we make a little excursion on the lake of lomond. the lake is well beautiful, and the steamboat is excellent. but in one certain hotel, in descending from a _breack_, and before to embark, we take the "lunch." we bargain not, we ask not even the price, we eat at the _table d'hôte_ like all the world in swiss, in france, even in germany, when there is but one half hour before the departure of the train or of the boat. _oh la, la!_ i have eaten in the spanish hotels, on the steamboats of the italian lakes, even in the _restaurants--mon dieu!_--of the english railways, but never, never--_au grand jamais_--have i eaten a _déjeuner_ like that! one dish i shall forget never; some exterior green leaves of lettuce, without oil or vinegar, which they called a "salad." _parbleu_--by blue! in all the history of the world there has been but one man who would have could to eat her with pleasure--nabuchodonosor! agree, &c., auguste. * * * * * [illustration: "canny" _sister._ "why, charles, you've got raw whiskey here!" _charles._ "well, it's hardly worth while to bring water. we can always find that as we go along--when we want it."] * * * * * [illustration: cautious _visitor (at out-of-the-way inn in the north)._ "do you know anything about salmon-poaching in this neighbourhood?" _landlady (whose son is not above suspicion)._--"eh--no, sir. maybe it's a new style of cooking as we haven't heard of in these parts, as you see, sir, we only do our eggs that way; and"--(_brightening up_)--"if you like 'em, i can get you a dish at once!"] * * * * * [illustration: a decided opinion _proprietor of shootings ("in the course of conversation")._ "yes, but you know, sandy, it's difficult to choose between the scylla of a shy tenant, and the charybdis of----" _sandy (promptly)._ "aweel! gie me the siller, an' anybuddy that likes may hae the tither!"] * * * * * [illustration: _chappie (after missing his fourth stag, explains)._ "aw--fact is, the--aw--waving grass was in my way." _old stalker._ "hoot, mon, wad he hae me bring out a scythe?"] * * * * * [illustration: our artist catches it again this winter in the highlands.] * * * * * [illustration: a fine head (but not of the right sort of cattle) perkins has paid a mint of money for his shooting, and has had bad luck all the season. to-day, however, he gets a shot, only--it turns out to be at a cow!] * * * * * [illustration: a "scene" in the highlands _ill-used husband_ (_under the bed_). "aye! ye may crack me, and ye may thrash me, but ye canna break my manly sperrit. i'll na come oot!!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch in the highlands he is at present on a boating excursion, and describes the motion as extremely pleasant, and has no dread of sea-sickness.] * * * * * [illustration: "game" in the highlands _captain jinks._ "birds plentiful, i hope, donald?" _donald._ "tousans, sir--in tousans." _captain j._ "any zebras?" _donald_ (_anxious to please_). "is't zebras? they're in tousans, too." _captain j._ "and gorillas, no doubt?" _donald._ "well, noo an' then we see ane or twa--just like yerself."] * * * * * [illustration: miss lavinia brounjones's adventures in the highlands lavinia takes a siesta,] [illustration: and the frightful situation she finds herself in at the end of it.] [illustration: lavinia arrives at a waterfall, and asks its name. the shepherd (not understanding english) informs her in gaelic that it is called (as lavinia supposes) "vicharoobashallochoggilnabo." lavinia thinks it a very pretty name.] [illustration: a bright idea strikes the shepherd, and before lavinia can remonstrate, he transports her, in the usual manner, to the other side.] [illustration: miss lavinia brounjones she comes suddenly on a strange structure--apparently a native fort, and is just going to sketch it, when a savage of gigantic stature, and armed to the teeth, starts from an ambush, and menaces her in gaelic!] * * * * * twenty hours after euston, p.m. i'm sick of this sweltering weather. phew! ninety degrees in the shade! i long for the hills and the heather, i long for the kilt and the plaid; i long to escape from this hot land where there isn't a mouthful of air, and fly to the breezes of scotland-- it's never too stuffy up there. for weeks i have sat in pyjamas, and found even these were _de trop_, and envied the folk of bahamas who dress in a feather or so; but now there's an end to my grilling, my inferno's a thing of the past; hurrah! there's the whistle a-shrilling-- we are off to the highlands at last! callander, p.m. the dull leaden skies are all clouded in the gloom of a sad weeping day, the desolate mountains are shrouded in palls of funereal grey; 'mid the skirl of the wild wintry weather the torrents descend in a sheet as we shiver all huddled together in the reek of the smouldering peat. a plague on the highlands! to think of the heat that but lately we banned; oh! what would we give for a blink of the bright sunny side of the strand! to think there are folk that still revel in summer, and fling themselves down, in the park, or st. james? what the d---- possessed us to hurry from town? * * * * * "out of tune and harsh."--_first elder_ (_at the kirk "skellin'"_). "did ye hear dougal? more snorin' in the sermon?" _second elder_, "parefec'ly disgracefu'! he's waukened 's a'!" * * * * * [illustration: overheard in the highlands _first chieftain._ "i say, old chap, what a doose of a bore these games are!" _second chieftain._ "ah, but, my dear boy, it is this sort of thing that has made us scotchmen _what we are!!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "sermons in stones" _tourist_ (_of an inquiring and antiquarian turn_). "now i suppose, farmer, that large cairn of stones has some history?" _highland farmer._ "ooh, aye, that buig o' stanes has a gran' history whatever!" _tourist_ (_eagerly_). "indeed! i should like to----what is the legend----?" _farmer._ "just a gran' history!" (_solemnly._) "it took a' ma cairts full and horses sax months to gather them aff he land and pit them ther-r-re!!"] * * * * * [illustration: jetsam and flotsam smith being shut out from the continent this year, takes a cottage ornée on dee-side. scotland. the children are sent up first. the house is described as "conveniently furnished"--they find it so!] * * * * * [illustration: in the wilds of the north. _hungry saxon_ (_just arrived, with equally hungry family_). "well, now--er--what can you give us for dinner, as soon as we've had a wash?" _scotch lassie._ "oh, jist onything!" _h. s._ (_rubbing his hands in anticipation_). "ah! now we'll have a nice juicy steak." _lassie._ "a--weel. we'll be haein' some steak here maybe by the boat i' the morn's morn!" _h. s._ (_a little crestfallen_). "oh--well--chops then. we'll say mutton chops." _lassie._ "oh, ay, but we've no been killin' a sheep the day!" [_ends up with boiled eggs, and vows to remain at home for the future._ ] * * * * * the duke of atholl's shilling ( ) the _north british mail_ assures us that the duke of atholl exacts one shilling a head from every person taking a walk in his ground at dunkeld. this is rather dear; but the impost would be insupportable if his grace insisted upon also showing himself for the money. a highland coronach _or lament over the acts and state of the duke of atholl._ after scott. he has shut up the mountain, he has locked up the forest, he has bunged up the fountain, when our need was the sorest; the traveller stirring to the north, may dogs borrow; but the duke gives no hearing, no pass--but to sorrow. the hand of the tourist grasps the carpet-bag grimly, but a face of the dourest frowns through the glen dimly. the autumn winds, rushing, stir a kilt of the queerest, duke and gillies come crushing where pleasure is nearest! queer foot on the corrie, oddly loving to cumber-- give up this odd foray, awake from your slumber! take your ban from the mountain, take your lock from the river, take your bolt from the fountain, now at once, and for ever! * * * * * [illustration: the sad fate of our only ham.--the pursuit.] * * * * * [illustration: a rara mongrellis _tourist._ "your dog appears to be deaf, as he pays no attention to me." _shepherd._ "na, na, sir. she's a varra wise dog, for all tat. but she only speaks gaelic."] * * * * * [illustration: "in for it" _innocent tourist._ "no fish to be caught in loch fine now? and how do you support yourself?" _native._ "whiles she carries parcels, and whiles she raws people in ta poat, and whiles a shentleman 'ull give her a saxpence or a shillin'!"] * * * * * [illustration: a blank day _the keeper_ (_to brown, who rents the forest_). "doon wi' ye! doon wi' ye! get ahint a stang!" _brown_ (_out of temper--he had been "stalking" about all the morning, and missed several times_). "yes, it's all very well to say 'get behind a stone.' but show me one!--show me one!!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch passes a night at mcgillie cullum castle.] [illustration: the laird, as a delicate compliment, serenades him.] * * * * * [illustration: a bad season _sportsman._ "i can assure you, what with the rent of the moor, and my expenses, and 'what not,' the birds have cost me--ah--a sovereign apiece!!" _keeper._ "a' weel, sir! 'deed it's a maircy ye didna kill na mair o' 'em!!"] * * * * * [illustration: candid _sportsman._ "boy, you've been at this whiskey!" _boy_ (_who has brought the luncheon-basket_). "na! the cooark wadna come oot!"] * * * * * [illustration: "unco canny" _noble sportsman._ "missed, eh?" _cautious keeper._ "weel, a' wadna gang quite sae faur as to say that; but a' doot ye hay'na _exactly_ hit."] * * * * * the song of the scotch tourist those scotch hotels! those scotch hotels are fit for princes and for swells; but their high charges don't agree with humbler travellers like me. twelve shillings daily for my board is more than i can well afford, for this includes nor ale nor wine, whereof i drink some when i dine. bad sherry's charged at eight-and-six, a price that in my gizzard sticks: and if i want a pint of port, a crown is what i'm pilfer'd for 't. for service, too, i have to pay, two shillings, as a rule, per day: yet always, when i leave the door, the boots and waiter beg for more. so, till a fortune i can spend, abroad my autumn steps i'll bend; far cheaper there, experience tells, is living than at scotch hotels! * * * * * [illustration: a very different matter _southern lord_ (_staying at highland castle_). "thank you so much. i--ah--weally enjoy your music. i think of having a piper at my own place." _sandy the piper._ "an' fat kin' o' a piper would your lordship be needin'?" _southern lord._ "oh, certainly a good piper like yourself, sandy." _sandy_ (_sniffing_). "och! inteet!--ye might easily fin' a lord like your lordship, but it's nae sae easy to fin' a piper like me whatever!"] * * * * * [illustration] the end bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. john leech's pictures of life and character volume i (of iii) from the collection of "mr. punch" london: bradbury, agnew, & co., [illustration: cover] [illustration: front] [illustration: titlepage] transcriber's note: the only text in this file is that drawn in the images. this is not easily read unless viewing the "medium size" and "original size" available by link under each image. index: advantages of the new postal arrangements ............. ... ... advice gratis ......................................... ... ... affair of importance, an .............................. ... ... after the pantomime ................................... ... ... aged juvenile, an ..................................... ... ... aggravating—rather ...................................