english satires with an introduction by oliphant smeaton london the gresham publishing company southampton street strand to the memory of alexander balloch grosart d.d., ll.d., f.s.a. with a grateful sense of all it owes to his teaching this volume is inscribed by the author preface. in the compilation of this volume my aim has been to furnish a work that would be representative in character rather than exhaustive. the restrictions of space imposed by the limits of such a series as this have necessitated the omission of many pieces that readers might expect to see included. as far as possible, however, the most typical satires of the successive eras have been selected, so as to throw into relief the special literary characteristics of each, and to manifest the trend of satiric development during the centuries elapsing between langland and lowell. acknowledgment is due, and is gratefully rendered, to mrs. c.s. calverley for permission to print the verses which close this book; and to messrs. macmillan & co. for permission to print a.h. clough's "spectator ab extra". to professor c.h. herford my warmest thanks are due for his careful revision of the introduction, and for many valuable hints which have been adopted in the course of the work; also to mr. w. keith leask, m.a.(oxon.), and the librarians of the edinburgh university and advocates' libraries. oliphant smeaton. contents. page introduction xiii william langland i. pilgrimage in search of do-well geoffrey chaucer ii. iii. the monk and the friar john lydgate iv. the london lackpenny william dunbar v. the dance of the seven deadly sins sir david lyndsay vi. satire on the syde taillis--ane supplicatioun directit to the kingis grace-- bishop joseph hall vii. on simony viii. the domestic tutor's position ix. the impecunious fop george chapman x. an invective written by mr. george chapman against mr. ben jonson john donne xi. the character of the bore ben jonson xii. the new cry xiii. on don surly samuel butler xiv. the character of hudibras xv. the character of a small poet andrew marvell xvi. nostradamus's prophecy john cleiveland xvii. the scots apostasie john dryden xviii. satire on the dutch xix. macflecknoe xx. epistle to the whigs daniel defoe xxi. introduction to the true born englishman the earl of dorset xxii. satire on a conceited playwright john arbuthnot xxiii. preface to john bull and his law suit xxiv. the history of john bull xxv. epitaph upon colonel chartres jonathan swift xxvi. mrs frances harris' petition xxvii. elegy on partridge xxviii. a meditation upon a broom stick xxix. the relations of booksellers and authors xxx. the epistle dedicatory to his royal highness prince posterity sir richard steele xxxi. the commonwealth of lunatics joseph addison xxxii. sir roger de coverley's sunday edward young xxxiii. to the right hon. mr. dodington john gay xxxiv. the quidnunckis alexander pope xxxv. the dunciad--the description of dulness xxxvi. sandys' ghost; or, a proper new ballad of the new ovid's metamorphoses, as it was intended to be translated by persons of quality xxxvii. satire on the whig poets xxxviii. epilogue to the satires samuel johnson xxxix. the vanity of human wishes xl. letter to the earl of chesterfield oliver goldsmith xli. the retaliation xlii. the logicians refuted xliii. beau tibbs, his character and family charles churchill xliv. the journey junius xlv. to the king robert burns xlvi. address to the unco guid, or the rigidly righteous xlvii. holy willie's prayer charles lamb xlviii. a farewell to tobacco thomas moore xlix. lines on leigh hunt george canning l. epistle from lord boringdon to lord granville li. reformation of the knave of hearts poetry of the anti jacobin lii. the friend of humanity and the knife-grinder liii. song by rogero the captive coleridge and southey liv. the devil's walk sydney smith lv. the letters of peter plymley--on "no popery" james smith lvi. the poet of fashion walter savage landor lvii. bossuet and the duchess of fontanges lord byron lviii. the vision of judgment lix. the waltz lx. "the dedication" in don juan thomas hood lxi. cockle _v._ cackle lord macaulay lxii. the country clergyman's trip to cambridge winthrop mackworth praed lxiii. the red fisherman; or, the devil's decoy lxiv. mad--quite mad benjamin disraeli (lord beaconsfield) lxv. popanilla on man robert browning lxvi. cristina lxvii. the lost leader william makepeace thackeray lxviii. piscator and piscatrix lxix. on a hundred years hence arthur hugh clough lxx. spectator ab extra c.s. calverley lxxi. "hic vir, hic est" introduction. satire and the satirist have been in evidence in well-nigh all ages of the world's history. the chief instruments of the satirist's equipment are irony, sarcasm, invective, wit, and humour. the satiric denunciation of a writer burning with indignation at some social wrong or abuse, is capable of reaching the very highest level of literature. the writings of a satirist of this type, and to some extent of every satirist who touches on the social aspects of life, present a picture more or less vivid, though not of course complete and impartial, of the age to which he belongs, of the men, their manners, fashions, tastes, and prevalent opinions. thus they have a historical as well as a literary and an ethical value. and thackeray, in speaking of the office of the humorist or satirist, for to him they were one, says, "he professes to awaken and direct your love, your pity, your kindness, your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture, your tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, the unhappy. to the best of his means and ability he comments on all the ordinary actions and passions of life almost."[ ] satire has, in consequence, always ranked as one of the cardinal divisions of literature. its position as such, however, is due rather to the fact of it having been so regarded among the romans, than from its own intrinsic importance among us to-day. until the closing decades of the eighteenth century--so long, in fact, as the classics were esteemed of paramount authority as models--satire proper was accorded a definite place in letters, and was distinctively cultivated by men of genius as a branch of literature. but with the rise of the true _national_ spirit in the various literatures of europe, and notably in that of england, satire has gradually given place to other types of composition. slowly but surely it has been edged out of its prominent position as a separate department, and has been relegated to the position of a _quality of style_, important, beyond doubt, yet no longer to be considered as a prime division of letters.[ ] rome rather than greece must be esteemed the home of ancient satire. quintilian, indeed, claims it altogether for his countrymen in the words, _satira tota nostra est_; while horace styles it _græcis intactum carmen_. but this claim must be accepted with many reservations. it does not imply that we do not discover the existence of satire, together with favourable examples of it, long anterior to the oldest extant works in either grecian or latin literature. the use of what are called "personalities" in everyday speech was the probable origin of satire. conversely, also, satire, in the majority of those earlier types current at various periods in the history of literature, has shown an inclination to be personal in its character. de quincey, accordingly, has argued that the more personal it became in its allusions, the more it fulfilled its specific function. but such a view is based on the supposition that satire has no other mission than to lash the vices of our neighbours, without recalling the fact that the satirist has a reformative as well as a punitive duty to discharge. the further we revert into the "deep backward and abysm of time" towards the early history of the world, the more pronounced and overt is this indulgence in broad personal invective and sarcastic strictures. the earliest cultivators of the art were probably the men with a grievance, or, as dr. garnett says, "the carpers and fault-finders of the clan". their first attempts were, as has been conjectured, merely personal lampoons against those they disliked or differed from, and were perhaps of a type cognate with the homeric _margites_. homer's character of thersites is mayhap a lifelike portrait of some contemporary satirist who made himself dreaded by his personalities. but even in thersites we see the germs of transition from merely personal invective to satire directed against a class; and greek satire, though on the whole more personal than roman, achieved brilliant results. it is enough to name archilochus, whom mahaffy terms the swift of greek literature, simonides of amorgos (circ. b.c.), the author of the famous _satire on women_, and hipponax of ephesus, reputed the inventor of the scazon or halting iambic. but the lasting significance of greek satire is mainly derived from its surpassing distinction in two domains--in the comico-satiric drama of aristophanes, and in the _beast fables_ of 'Æsop'. in later greek literature it lost its robustness and became trivial and effeminate through expending itself on unworthy objects. it is amongst the romans, with their deeper ethical convictions and more powerful social sense, that we must look for the true home of ancient satire. the germ of roman satire is undoubtedly to be found in the rude fescennine verses, the rough and licentious jests and buffoonery of the harvest-home and the vintage thrown into quasi-lyrical form. these songs gradually developed a concomitant form of dialogue styled saturæ, a term denoting "miscellany", and derived perhaps from the _satura lanx_, a charger filled with the first-fruits of the year's produce, which was offered to bacchus and ceres.[ ] in ennius, the "father of roman satire", and varro, the word still retained this old roman sense. lucilius was the first roman writer who made "censorious criticism" the prevailing tone of satire, and his work, the parent of the satire of horace, of persius, of juvenal, and through that of the poetical satire of modern times, was the principal agent in fixing its present polemical and urban associations upon a term originally steeped in the savour of rustic revelry. in the hands of horace, roman satire was to be moulded into a new type that was not only to be a thing of beauty, but, as far as one can yet see, to remain a joy for ever. the great venusian, as he informs us, set before himself the task of adapting the satire of lucilius to the special circumstances, the manners, the literary modes and tastes of the augustan age. horace's satires conform to addison's great rule, which he lays down in the _spectator_, that the satire which only seeks to wound is as dangerous as arrows that fly in the dark. there is always an ethical undercurrent running beneath the polished raillery and the good-natured satire. his genial _bonhomie_ prevents him from ever becoming ill-natured in his animadversions. of those manifold, kaleidoscopically-varied types of human nature which in the augustan age flocked to rome as the centre of the known world, he was a keen and a close observer. jealously he noted the deteriorating influence these foreign elements were exercising on the grand old roman character, and some of the bitterest home-thrusts he ever delivered were directed against this alien invasion.[ ] in those brilliant pictures wherewith his satires are replete, horace finds a place for all. sometimes he criticises as a far-off observer, gazing with a sort of cynical amusement at this human raree-show; at others he speaks as though he himself were in the very midst of the bustling frivolity of the roman vanity fair, and a sufferer from its follies. then his tone seems to deepen into a grave intensity of remonstrance, as he exposes its hollowness, its heartlessness, and its blindness to the absorbing problems of existence. after the death of horace (b.c. ) no names of note occur in the domain of satire until we reach that famous trio, contemporary with one another, who adorned the concluding half of the first century of our era, viz.:--juvenal, persius, and martial. they are severally representative of distinct modes or types of satire. juvenal illustrates rhetorical or tragic satire, of which he is at once the inventor and the most distinguished master--that form of composition, in other words, which attacks vice, wrongs, or abuses in a high-pitched strain of impassioned, declamatory eloquence. in this type of satire, evil is designedly painted in exaggerated colours, that disgust may more readily be aroused by the loathsomeness of the picture. as a natural consequence, sobriety, moderation, and truth to nature no longer are esteemed so indispensable. in this style juvenal has had many imitators, but no superiors. his satires represent the final development the form underwent in achieving the definite purpose of exposing and chastising in a systematic manner the entire catalogue of vices, public and private, which were assailing the welfare of the state. they constitute luridly powerful pictures of a debased and shamelessly corrupt condition of society. keen contemptuous ridicule, a sardonic irony that held nothing in reverence, a caustic sarcasm that burned like an acid, and a vituperative invective that ransacked the language for phrases of opprobrium--these were the agents enlisted by juvenal into the service of purging society of its evil. persius, on the other hand, was the philosophic satirist, whose devotion to stoicism caused him to see in it a panacea for all the evils which nero brought on the empire. the shortness of his life, his studious tastes, and his exceptional moral purity all contributed to keep him ignorant of that world of evil which, as professor sellar has pithily remarked, it is the business of the satirist to know. hence he is purely a philosophic or didactic satirist. only one of his poems, the first, fulfils the special end of satire by representing any phase whatever of the life of his time, and pointing its moral. finally, martial exchanged the epic tirade for the epigram as the vehicle of his satire, and handled this lighter missile with unsurpassed brilliance and _verve_. despite his sycophancy and his fulsome flattery of prospective benefactors, he displays more of the sober moderation and sane common-sense of horace than either of his contemporaries. there are few better satirists of social and literary pretenders either in ancient or modern times. no ancient has more vividly painted the manners of antiquity. if juvenal enforces the lesson of that time, and has penetrated more deeply into the heart of society, martial has sketched its external aspect with a much fairer pencil, and from a much more intimate contact with it. in the first and second centuries of our era two other forms of satire took their rise, viz.:--the milesian or "satiric tale" of petronius and apuleius, and the "satiric dialogue" of lucian. both are admirable pictures of their respective periods. the _tales_ of the two first are conceived with great force of imagination, and executed with a happy blending of humour, wit, and cynical irony that suggests gil blas or barry lyndon. _the supper of trimalchio_, by petronius, reproduces with unsparing hand the gluttony and the blatant vice of the neronic epoch. _the golden ass_ of apuleius is a clever sketch of contemporary manners in the second century, painting in vivid colours the reaction that had set in against scepticism, and the general appetite that prevailed for miracles and magic. finally, ancient satire may be said to close with the famous _dialogues_ of lucian, which, although written in greek, exhibited all the best features of roman satire. certainly the ethical purpose and the reformative element are rather implied than insistently expressed in lucian; but he affords in his satiric sketches a capital glimpse of the ludicrous perplexity into which the pagan mind was plunged when it had lost faith in its mythology, and when a callous indifference towards the pantheon left the roman world literally without a rational creed. as a satire on the old hellenic religion nothing could be racier than _the dialogues of the gods_ and _the dialogues of the dead_. it is impossible in this brief survey to discuss at large the vast chaotic epoch in the history of satire which lies between the end of the ancient world and the dawn of humanism. for satire, as a literary genre, belongs to these two. the mediæval world, inexhaustible in its capacity and relish for abuse, full of rude laughter and drastic humour--prompt, for all its superstition, to make a jest of the priest, and, for all its chivalry, to catalogue the foibles of women--had the satirical animus in abundance, and satirical songs, visions, fables, fabliaux, ballads, epics, in legion, but no definite and recognised school of satire. it is sufficient to name, as examples of the extraordinary range of the mediæval satiric genius, the farce of _pathelin_, the beast-epic of _renart_, the rhymes of walter map, and the _inferno_ of dante. of these satirists before the rise of "satire", mediæval england produced two great examples in chaucer and langland. they typify at the outset the two classes into which dryden divided english satirists--the followers of horace's way and the followers of juvenal's--the men of the world, who assail the enemies of common-sense with the weapons of humour and sarcasm; and the prophets, who assail vice and crime with passionate indignation and invective scorn. since dryden's time neither line has died out, and it is still possible, with all reserves, to recognise the two strains through the whole course of english literature: the one represented in chaucer, donne, marvell, addison, arbuthnot, swift, young, goldsmith, canning, thackeray, and tennyson; the others in langland, skelton, lyndsay, nash, marston, dryden, pope, churchill, johnson, junius, burns, and browning. langland was a naïve mediæval juvenal. the sad-visaged, world-weary dreamer of the malvern hills, sorrowing over the vice, the abuses, and the social misery of his time, finding, as he tells us, no comfort in any of the established institutions of his day, because confronted with the fraud and falsehood that infected them all, is one of the most pathetic figures in literature. as skeat suggests, the object of his great poem was to secure, through the latitude afforded by allegory, opportunities of describing the life and manners of the poorer classes, of inveighing against clerical abuses and the rapacity of the friars, of representing the miseries caused by the great pestilences then prevalent, and by the hasty and ill-advised marriages consequent thereon; of denouncing lazy workmen and sham beggars, the corruption and bribery then too common in the law-courts--in a word, to lash all the numerous forms of falsehood, which are at all times the fit subjects for satire and indignant exposure. amid many essential differences, is there not here a striking likeness to the work of the roman juvenal? langland's satire is not so fiery nor so rhetorically intense as that of his prototype, but it is less profoundly despairing. he satirizes evil rather by exposing it and contrasting it with good, than by vehemently denouncing it. the colours of the pictures are sombre, and the gloom is almost overwhelming, but still it is illumined from time to time with the hope of coming amendment, when the great reformer piers the plowman, by which is typified christ,[ ] should appear, who was to remedy all abuses and restore the world to a right condition. in this sustaining hope he differs from juvenal, the funereal gloom of whose satires is relieved by no gleam of hope for the future. contrast with this the humorous brightness, the laughter, and the light of the surroundings associated with his great contemporary, geoffrey chaucer. his very satire is kindly and quaint, like that of horace, rather than bitterly acidulous. he raps his age over the knuckles, it is true, for its faults and foibles, but the censor's face wears a genial smile. one of his chief attractions for us lies in his bright objectivity. he never wears his heart on his sleeve like langland. he has touches of rare and profound pathos, but these notes of pain are only like undertones of discord to throw the harmony into stronger relief, only like little cloudlets momentarily flitting across the golden sunshine of his humour. we read chaucer, as we read horace, from love of his piquant epicureanism, and the scintillating satire wherewith he enlivens those matchless pictures of his epoch which he has handed down to us. chaucer, as professor minto puts it, wrote largely for the court circle. his verses were first read in tapestried chambers, and to the gracious ear of stately lords and ladies. it was because he wrote for such an audience that he avoids the introduction of any discordant element in the shape of the deeper and darker social problems of the time. the same reticence occurs in horace, writing as he did for the ear of augustus and mæcenas, and of the fashionable circle thronging the great palace of his patron on the esquiline. is not the historic parallel between the two pairs of writers still further verified? chaucer wisely chose the epic form for his greatest poem, because he could introduce thereinto so many distinct qualities of composition, and the woof of racy humour as well as of sprightly satire which he introduces with such consummate art into the texture of his verse is of as fine a character as any in our literature. in langland's great allegory, the satire is earnest, grave and solemn, as though with a sense of deep responsibility; that in chaucer's _canterbury tales_--nay, in all his poems--is genial, laughing, and good-natured; tolerant, like horace's of human weaknesses, because the author is so keenly conscious of his own. langland and chaucer both died about the beginning of the fifteenth century. but from that date until --when gascoigne's _steel glass_, the first verse satire of the elizabethan age, was published--we must look mainly to scotland and the poems of william dunbar, sir david lyndsay, and others, to preserve the apostolic succession of satire. william dunbar is one of the greatest of british satirists. his _dance of the seven deadly sins_, in which the popular poetic form of the age--allegory--is utilized with remarkable skill as the vehicle for a scathing satire on the headlong sensuality of his time, produces by its startling realism and terrible intensity an effect not unlike that exercised by the overpowering creations of salvator rosa. the poem is a bitter indictment of the utter corruption of all classes in the society of his period. like juvenal, to whose school he belongs, he softens nothing, tones down nothing. the evil is presented in all its native hideousness. lyndsay, on the other hand, would have been more vigorous had he been less diffuse, and used the pruning-knife more unsparingly. his finest satiric pictures often lose their point by verbosity and tediousness. brevity is the soul of satire as well as of wit. the most vigorous english satire of this entire period was that which we owe to the scurrilous pen of skelton and the provocative personality of wolsey. with his work may be mentioned the rude and unpolished, yet vigorous, piece bearing the rhyming title, "rede me and be nott wrothe, for i saye no thing but trothe", written by two english observantine franciscan friars, william roy and jerome barlowe;[ ] a satire which stung the great cardinal so sharply that he commissioned hermann rynck to buy up every available copy. alexander barclay's imitation, in his _ship of fools_, of sebastian brandt's _narrenschiff_, was only remarkable for the novel satirical device of the plan. bishop latimer in his sermons is a vigorous satirist, particularly in that discourse upon "the ploughers" ( ). his fearlessness is very conspicuous, and his attacks on the bishops who proved untrue to their trust and allowed their dioceses to go to wreck and ruin, are outspoken and trenchant: "they that be lords will ill go to plough. it is no meet office for them. it is not seeming for their state. thus came up lording loiterers; thus crept in unprechinge prelates, and so have they long continued. for how many unlearned prelates have we now at this day? and no marvel; for if the ploughmen that now be, were made lordes, they would clean give over ploughing, they would leave of theyr labour and fall to lording outright and let the plough stand. for ever since the prelates were made lords and nobles, the plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve. they hawke, they hunte, they carde, they dyce, they pastime in their prelacies with galaunt gentlemen, with their dauncing minions, and with their freshe companions, so that ploughing is set aside."[ ] but after gascoigne's _steel glass_ was published, which professed to hold a mirror or "steel glass" up to the vices of the age, we reach that wonderful outburst of satiric, epigrammatic, and humorous composition which was one of the characteristics, and certainly not the least important, of the elizabethan epoch. lodge's _fig for momus_ ( ) contains certain satires which rank with gascoigne's work as the earliest compositions of that type belonging to the period. that they were of no mean reputation in their own day is evident from the testimony of meres,[ ] who says, "as horace, lucilius, juvenal, persius, and lucullus are the best for satire among the latins, so with us, in the same faculty, these are chiefe, piers plowman, lodge, hall of emanuel college, cambridge, the author of _pygmalion's image and certain satires_[ ] and the author of _skialethea_". this contemporary opinion regarding the fact that _the vision of piers plowman_ was esteemed a satire of outstanding merit in those days, is a curious commentary on hall's boastful couplet describing himself as the earliest english satirist. to name all the writers who, in this fruitful epoch of our literature, devoted themselves to this kind of composition would be impossible. from until the death of james i. upwards of one hundred separate satirists can be named, both in verse and prose. of these bishop hall is one of the greatest, and i have chosen him as the leading representative of the period. to the study of horace and juvenal he had devoted many years of his early manhood, and his imitation of these two great romans is close and consistent. therefore, for vigour, grave dignity, and incisiveness of thought, united to graphic pictures of his age, hall is undeniably the most important name in the history of the elizabethan satire, strictly so called. his exposures of the follies of his age were largely couched in the form, so much affected by horace, of a familiar commentary on certain occurrences, addressed apparently to an anonymous correspondent. contemporary with hall was thomas nash, whose _pierce penilesse's supplication to the devil_ was one of the most extraordinary onslaughts on the social vices of the metropolis that the period produced. written in close imitation of juvenal's earlier satires, he frequently approaches the standard of his master in graphic power of description, in scathing invective, and ironical mockery. in _have with you to saffron walden_ he lashed gabriel harvey for his unworthy conduct towards the memory of robert greene. both satires are written in prose, as indeed are nearly all his works, inasmuch as nash was more of a pamphleteer than anything else. other contemporaries of hall were thomas dekker, whose fame as a dramatist has eclipsed his reputation as a satirist, but whose _bachelor's banquet--pleasantly discoursing the variable humours of women, their quickness of wits and unsearchable deceits_, is a sarcastic impeachment of the gentler sex, while his _gull's hornbook_ must be ranked with nash's work as one of the most unsparing castigations of social life in london. the latter is a volume of fictitious maxims for the use of youths desirous of being considered "pretty fellows". other contemporaries were john donne, john marston, jonson, george chapman, and nicholas breton--all names of men who were conspicuous inheritors of the true elizabethan spirit, and who united virility of thought to robustness and trenchancy of sarcasm. marston and breton were amongst the best of the group, though they are not represented in these pages owing to the unsuitability of their writings for extract. here is a picture from one of the satires of marston which is instinct with satiric power. it is a portrait of a love-sick swain, and runs as follows:-- "for when my ears received a fearful sound that he was sick, i went, and there i found, him laid of love and newly brought to bed of monstrous folly, and a franticke head: his chamber hanged about with elegies, with sad complaints of his love's miseries, his windows strow'd with sonnets and the glasse drawn full of love-knots. i approach'd the asse, and straight he weepes, and sighes some sonnet out to his fair love! and then he goes about, for to perfume her rare perfection, with some sweet smelling pink epitheton. then with a melting looke he writhes his head, and straight in passion, riseth in his bed, and having kist his hand, strok'd up his haire, made a french _congé_, cryes 'o cruall faire!' to th' antique bed-post."[ ] marston manifests more vigour and nervous force in his satires than hall, but exhibits less elegance and ease in versification. in charles fitz-geoffrey's _affaniæ_, a set of latin epigrams, printed at oxford in , marston is complimented as the "second english satirist", or rather as dividing the palm of priority and excellence in english satire with hall. the individual characteristics of the various leading elizabethan satirists,--the vitriolic bitterness of nash, the sententious profundity of donne, the happy-go-lucky "slogging" of genial dekker, the sledge-hammer blows of jonson, the turgid malevolence of chapman, and the stiletto-like thrusts of george buchanan are worthy of closer and more detailed study than can be devoted to them in a sketch such as this. i regret that nicolas breton's _pasquil's madcappe_ proved too long for quotation in its entirety,[ ] but the man who could pen such lines as these was, of a truth, a satirist of a high order:-- but what availes unto the world to talke? wealth is a witch that hath a wicked charme, that in the minds of wicked men doth walke, unto the heart and soule's eternal harme, which is not kept by the almighty arme: o,'tis the strongest instrument of ill that ere was known to work the devill's will. an honest man is held a good poore soule, and kindnesse counted but a weake conceite, and love writte up but in the woodcocke's soule, while thriving _wat_ doth but on wealth await: he is a fore horse that goes ever streight: and he but held a foole for all his wit, that guides his braines but with a golden bit. a virgin is a vertuous kind of creature, but doth not coin command virginitie? and beautie hath a strange bewitching feature, but gold reads so much world's divinitie, as with the heavens hath no affinitie: so that where beauty doth with vertue dwell, if it want money, yet it will not sell. of the satiric forms peculiar to the elizabethan epoch there is no great variety. the _characters_ of theophrastus supplied a model to some of the writers. the close adherence also which the majority of them manifest to the broadly marked types of "horatian" and "juvenalian" satire, both in matter and manner, is not a little remarkable. the genius for selecting from the classics those forms both of composition and metre best suited to become vehicles for satire, and adapting them thereto, did not begin to manifest itself in so pronounced a manner until after the restoration. the elizabethan mind--using the phrase of course in its broad sense as inclusive of the jacobean and the early caroline epochs--was more engrossed with the matter than the manner of satire. perhaps the finest satire which distinguished this wonderful era was the _argenis_ of john barclay, a politico-satiric romance, or, in other words, the adaptation of the "milesian tale" of petronius to state affairs. during the parliamentary war, satire was the only species of composition which did not suffer more or less eclipse, but its character underwent change. it became to a large extent a medium for sectarian bitterness. it lost its catholicity, and degenerated in great measure into the instrument of partisan antagonism, and a means of impaling the folly or fanaticism, real or imagined, of special individuals among the cavaliers and roundheads.[ ] of such a character was the bulk of the satires produced at that time. in a few instances, however, a higher note was struck, as, for example, when "dignified political satire", in the hands of andrew marvell, was utilized to fight the battle of freedom of conscience in the matter of the observances of external religion. _the rehearsal transposed, mr. smirke, or the divine in mode, and his political satires_ are masterpieces of lofty indignation mingled with grave and ironical banter. among many others edmund waller showed himself an apt disciple of horace, and produced charming social satires marked by delicate wit and raillery in the true horatian mode; while the duke of buckingham, in the _rehearsal_, utilized the dramatic parody to travesty the plays of dryden. abraham cowley, in the _mistress_, also imitated horace, and in his play _cutter of coleman street_ satirized the puritans' affectation of superior sanctity and their affected style of conversation. then came john oldham and john cleiveland, who both accepted juvenal as their model. cleiveland's antipathy towards cromwell and the scots was on a par with that of john wilkes towards the latter, and was just as unreasonable, while the language he employed in his diatribes against both was so extravagant as to lose its sarcastic point in mere vulgar abuse. in like manner oldham's _satires on the jesuits_ afford as disgraceful a specimen of sectarian bigotry as the language contains. only their pungency and wit render them readable. he displays juvenal's violence of invective without his other redeeming qualities. all these, however, were entirely eclipsed in reputation by a writer who made the mock-epic the medium through which the bitterest onslaught on the anti-royalist party and its principles was delivered by one who, as a "king's man", was almost as extreme a bigot as those he satirized. the _hudibras_ of samuel butler, in its mingling of broad, almost extravagant, humour and sneering mockery has no parallel in our literature. butler's characters are rather mere "humours" or _qualities_ than real personages. there is no attempt made to observe the modesty of nature. _hudibras_, therefore, is an example not so much of satire, though satire is present in rich measure also, as of burlesque. the poem is genuinely satirical only in those parts where the author steps in as the chorus, so to speak, and offers pithy moralizings on what is taking place in the action of the story. there is visible throughout the poem, however, a lack of restraint that causes him to overdo his part. were _hudibras_ shorter, the satire would be more effective. though in parts often as terse in style as pope's best work, still the poem is too long, and it undoes the force of its attack on the puritans by its exaggeration. all these writers, even butler himself, simply prepared the way for the man who is justly regarded as england's greatest satirist. the epoch of john dryden has been fittingly styled the "golden age of english satire".[ ] to warrant this description, however, it must be held to include the writers of the reign of queen anne. the elizabethan period was perhaps richer, numerically speaking, in representatives of certain types of satirical composition, but the true perfection, the efflorescence of the long-growing plant, was reached in that era which extended from the publication of dryden's _absalom and achitophel_ (part i.) in to the issue of pope's _dunciad_ in its final form in . during these sixty years appeared the choicest of english satires, to wit, all dryden's finest pieces, the _medal_, _macflecknoe_, and _absalom and achitophel_, swift's _tale of a tub_, and his _miscellanies_--among which his best metrical satires appeared; all defoe's work, too, as well as steele's in the _tatler_, and addison's in the _spectator_, arbuthnot's _history of john bull_, churchill's _rosciad_, and finally all pope's poems, including the famous "prologue" as well as the "epilogue" to the _satires_. it is curious to note how the satirical succession (if the phrase be permitted) is maintained uninterruptedly from bishop hall down to the death of pope--nay, we may even say down to the age of byron, to whose epoch one may trace something like a continuous tradition. hall did not die until dryden was twenty-seven years of age. pope delighted to record that, when a boy of twelve years of age, he had met "glorious john", though the succession could be passed on otherwise through congreve, one of the most polished of english satirical writers, whom dryden complimented as "one whom every muse and grace adorn", while to him also pope dedicated his translation of the _iliad_.[ ] bolingbroke, furthermore, was the friend and patron of pope, while the witty st. john, in turn, was bound by ties of friendship to mallet, who passed on the succession to goldsmith, sheridan, ellis, canning, moore, and byron. thereafter satire begins to fall upon evil days, and the tradition cannot be so clearly traced. but satire, during this "succession", did not remain absolutely the same. she changed her garb with her epoch. thus the robust bludgeoning of dryden and shadwell, of defoe, steele, d'urfey, and tom brown, gave place to the sardonic ridicule of swift, the polished raillery of arbuthnot, and the double-distilled essence of acidulous sarcasm present in the _satires_ of pope. there is as marked a difference between the drydenic and the swiftian types of satire, between that of cleiveland and that of pope, as between the diverse schools known as the "horatian" and the "juvenalian". the cause of this, over and above the effect produced by prolonged study of these two classical models, was the overwhelming influence exercised on his age by the great french critic and satirist, boileau. difficult indeed it is for us at the present day to understand the european homage paid to boileau. as hannay says, "he was a dignified classic figure supposed to be the model of fine taste",[ ] his word was law in the realm of criticism, and for many years he was known, not alone in france, but throughout a large portion of europe, as "the lawgiver of parnassus". prof. dowden, referring to his critical authority, remarks:-- "the genius of boileau was in a high degree intellectual, animated by ideas. as a moralist he is not searching or profound; he saw too little of the inner world of the heart, and knew too imperfectly its agitations. when, however, he deals with literature--and a just judgment in letters may almost be called an element in morals--all his penetration and power become apparent. to clear the ground for the new school of nature, truth, and reason was boileau's first task. it was a task which called for courage and skill ... he struck at the follies and affectations of the world of letters, and he struck with force. it was a needful duty, and one most effectively performed.... boileau's influence as a critic of literature can hardly be overrated; it has much in common with the influence of pope on english literature, beneficial as regards his own time, somewhat restrictive and even tyrannical upon later generations."[ ] owing to the predominance of french literary modes in england, this was the man whose influence, until nearly the close of last century, was paramount in england even when it was most bitterly disclaimed. boileau's _satires_ were published during - , and he himself died in ; but, though dead, he still ruled for many a decade to come. this then was the literary censor to whom english satire of the post-drydenic epochs owed so much. neither swift nor pope was ashamed to confess his literary indebtedness to the great frenchman; nay, dryden himself has confessed his obligations to boileau, and in his _discourse on satire_ has quoted his authority as absolute. before pointing out the differences between the drydenic and post-drydenic satire let us note very briefly the special characteristics of the former. apart from the "matter" of his satire, dryden laid this department of letters under a mighty obligation through the splendid service he rendered by the first successful application of the heroic couplet to satire. of itself this was a great boon; but his good deeds as regards the "matter" of satiric composition have entirely obscured the benefit he conferred on its manner or technical form. dryden's four great satires, _absalom and achitophel_, _the medal_, _macflecknoe_, and the _hind and the panther_, each exemplify a distinct and important type of satire. the first named is the classical instance of the use of "historic parallels" as applied to the impeachment of the vices or abuses of any age. with matchless skill the story of absalom is employed not merely to typify, but actually to represent, the designs of monmouth and his achitophel--shaftesbury. _the medal_ reverts to the type of the classic satire of the juvenalian order. it is slightly more rhetorical in style, and is partly devoted to a bitter invective against shaftesbury, partly to an argument as to the unfitness of republican institutions for england, partly to a satiric address to the whigs. the third of the great series, _macflecknoe_, is dryden's masterpiece of satiric irony; a purely personal attack upon his rival, shadwell, "crowned king of dulness, and in all the realms of nonsense absolute". finally, the _hind and the panther_ represents a new development of the "satiric fable". dryden gave to british satire the impulse towards that final form of development which it received from the great satirists of the next century. there is little that appears in swift, addison, arbuthnot, pope, or even byron, for which the way was not prepared by the genius of "glorious john". of the famous group which adorned the reign of queen anne, steele lives above all in his isaac bickerstaff essays, the vehicle of admirably pithy and trenchant prose satire upon current political abuses. but, unfortunately for his own fame, his lot was to be associated with the greatest master of this form of composition that has appeared in literature, and the celebrity of the greater writer dimmed that of the lesser. addison in his papers in the _tatler_ and the _spectator_ has brought what may be styled the essay of satiric portraiture--in after days to be developed along other lines by praed, charles lamb, leigh hunt, and r.l. stevenson--to an unsurpassed standard of excellence. such character studies as those of sir roger de coverley, his household and friends, will honeycomb, sir andrew freeport, ned softly, and others, possess an endless charm for us in the sobriety and moderation of the colours, the truth to nature, the delicate raillery, and the polished sarcasm of their satiric animadversions. addison has studied his horace to advantage, and to the great roman's attributes has added other virtues distinctly english. arbuthnot, the celebrated physician of queen anne, takes rank among the best of english satirists by virtue of his famous work _the history of john bull_. the special mode or type employed was the "allegorical political tale", of which the plot was the historic sequence of events in connection with the war with louis xiv. of france. the object of the fictitious narrative was to throw ridicule on the duke of marlborough, and to excite among the people a feeling of disgust at the protracted hostilities. the nations involved are represented as tradesmen implicated in a lawsuit, the origin of the dispute being traced to their narrow and selfish views. the national characteristics of each individual are skilfully hit off, and the various events of the war, with the accompanying political intrigues, are symbolized by the stages in the progress of the suit, the tricks of the lawyers, and the devices of the principal attorney, humphrey hocus (marlborough), to prolong the struggle. his _memoirs of martinus scriblerus_--a satire on the abuses of human learning,--in which the type of the fictitious biography is adopted, is exceedingly clever. finally, we reach the pair of satirists who, next to dryden, must be regarded as the writers whose influence has been greatest in determining the character of british satire. pope is the disciple of dryden, and the best qualities of the drydenic satire, in both form and matter, are reproduced in his works accompanied by special attributes of his own. owing to the extravagant admiration professed by byron for the author of the _rape of the lock_, and his repeated assurances of his literary indebtedness to him, we are apt to overlook the fact that the noble lord was under obligations to dryden of a character quite as weighty as those he was so ready to acknowledge to pope. but the latter, like shakespeare, so improved all he borrowed that he has in some instances actually received credit for inventing what he only took from his great master. pope was more of a refiner and polisher of telling satiric forms which dryden had in the first instance employed, than an original inventor. to mention all the types of satire affected by this marvellously acute and variously cultured poet would be a task of some difficulty. there are few amongst the principal forms which he has not essayed. in spirit he is more pungent and sarcastic, more acidulous and malicious, than the large-hearted and generous-souled dryden. into his satire, therefore, enters a greater amount of the element of personal dislike and contempt than in the case of the other. while satire is present more or less in nearly all pope's verse, there are certain compositions where it may be said to be the outstanding quality. these are his _satires_, among which should of course be included "the prologue" and "the epilogue" to them, as well as the _moral essays_, and finally the _dunciad_. these comprise the best of his professed satires. his _satires and epistles of horace imitated_ are just what they claim to be--an adaptation to english scenes, sympathies, sentiments, and surroundings of the roman poet's characteristic style. though pope has quite as many points of affinity with juvenal as with horace, the adaptation and transference of the local atmosphere from tiber to thames is managed with extraordinary skill. the historic parallels, too, of the personages in the respective poems are made to accord and harmonize with the spirit of the time. the _satires_ are written from the point of view of opposition to sir robert walpole, the great whig minister. they display the concentrated essence of bitterness towards the ministerial policy. as minto tersely puts it, we see gathered up in them the worst that was thought and said about the government and court party when men's minds were heated almost to the point of civil war.[ ] in the "prologue" and the "epilogue" are contained some of the most finished satiric portraits drawn by pope in any of his works. for caustic bitterness, sustained but polished irony, and merciless sarcastic malice, the characters of atticus (addison), bufo, and sporus have never been surpassed in the literature of political or social criticism.[ ] the _dunciad_ is an instance of the mock-epic utilized for the purposes of satire. here pope, as regards theme, possibly had the idea suggested to him by dryden's _macflecknoe_, but undoubtedly the heroic couplet, which the latter had first applied to satire and used with such conspicuous success, was still further polished and improved by pope until, as mr. courthope says, "it became in his hands a rapier of perfect flexibility and temper". from the time of pope until that of byron this stately measure has been regarded as the metre best suited _par excellence_ for the display of satiric point and brilliancy, and as the medium best calculated to confer dignity on political satire. the _dunciad_, while personal malice enters into it, must not be regarded as, properly speaking, a malicious satire. from a literary censor's point of view almost every lash pope administered was richly deserved. in this respect pope has all horace's fairness and moderation, while at the same time he exhibits not a little of juvenal's depth of conviction that desperate diseases demand radical remedies.[ ] by the side of pope stands an impressive but a mournful figure, one of the most tragic in our literature, to think of whom, as thackeray says, "is like thinking of the ruin of a great empire". as an all-round satirist jonathan swift has no superior save dryden, and he only by virtue of his broader human sympathies. in the works of the great dean we have many distinct forms of satire. scarce anything he wrote, with the exception of his unfortunate _history of the last four years of queen anne_, but is marked by satiric touches that relieve the tedium of even its dullest pages. he has utilized nearly all the recognized modes of satiric composition throughout the range of his long list of works. in the _tale of a tub_ he employed the vehicle of the satiric tale to lash the dissenters, the papists, and even the church of england; in a word, the cant of religion as well as the pretensions of letters and the shams of the world. in the _battle of the books_ the parody or travesty of the romances of chivalry is used to ridicule the controversy raging between temple, wotton, boyle, and bentley, regarding the comparative merits of ancient and modern writers. in _gulliver's travels_ the fictitious narrative or mock journal is impressed into the service, the method consisting in adopting an absurd supposition at the outset and then gravely deducing the logical effects which follow. these three form the trio of great prose satires which from the epoch of their publication until now have remained the wonder and the delight of successive generations. their realism, humorous invention, ready wit, unsparing irony, and keen ridicule have exercised as potent an attraction as their gloomy misanthropy has repelled. among minor satires are his scathing attacks in prose and verse on the war party as a ring of whig stock-jobbers, such as _advice to the october club_, _public spirit of the whigs, &c._, the _virtues of sid hamet_, _the magician's wand_ (directed against godolphin); his _polite conversations_ and _directions to servants_ are savage attacks on the inanity of society small-talk and the greed of the menials of the period. but why prolong the list? from the _drapier's letters_, directed against a supposed fraudulent introduction of a copper currency known as "wood's halfpence", to his skit on _the furniture of a woman's mind_, there were few topics current in his day, whether in politics, theology, economics, or social gossip, which he did not attack with the artillery of his wit and satire. had he been less sardonic, had he possessed even a modicum of the _bonhomie_ of his friend arbuthnot, swift's satire would have exercised even more potent an influence than it has been its fortune to achieve. pope died in , swift in . during their last years there were signs that the literary modes of the epoch of queen anne, which had maintained their ascendency so long, were rapidly losing their hold on the popular mind. a new literary period was about to open wherein new literary ideals and new models would prevail. satire, in common with literature as a whole, felt the influence of the transitional era. as we have seen, it concerned itself largely with ridiculing the follies and eccentricities of men of letters and foolish pretenders to the title; also in lashing social vices and abuses. the political enmity existing between the jacobites and the hanoverians continued to afford occasion for the exchange of party squibs and lampoons. the lengthened popularity of gay's _beggars' opera_, a composition wherein a new mode was created, viz. the satiric opera (the prototype of the comic opera of later days), affords an index to the temper of the time. it was the age of england's lethargy. after the defeat of culloden, satire languished for a while, to revive again during the ministry of the earl of bute, when everything scots came in for condemnation, and when smollett and john wilkes belaboured each other in the _briton_ and the _north briton_, in pamphlet, pasquinade, and parody, until at last lord bute withdrew from the contest in disgust, and suspended the organ over which the author of _roderick random_ presided. the satirical effusions of this epoch are almost entirely worthless, the only redeeming feature being the fact that goldsmith was at that very moment engaged in throwing off those delicious _morceaux_ of social satire contained in _the citizen of the world_. johnson, a few years before, had set the fashion for some time with his two satires written in free imitation of juvenal--_london_, and _the vanity of human wishes_. but from onward until the close of the century, when ellis, canning, and frere opened what may be termed the modern epoch of satire, the influence paramount was that of goldsmith. fielding and smollett were both satirists of powerful and original stamp, but they were so much else besides that their influence was lost in that of the genial author of the _deserted village_ and _retaliation_. his _vicar of wakefield_ is a satire, upon sober, moderate principles, against the vice of the upper classes, as typified in the character of mr. thornhill, while the sketch of beau tibbs in _the citizen of the world_ is a racy picture of the out-at-elbows, would-be man of fashion, who seeks to pose as a social leader and arbiter of taste when he had better have been following a trade. the next revival of the popularity of satire takes place towards the commencement of the third last decade of the eighteenth century, when, using the vehicle of the epistolary mode, an anonymous writer, whose identity is still in dispute, attacked the monarch, the government, and the judicature of the country, in a series of letters in which scathing invective, merciless ridicule, and lofty scorn were united to vigour and polish of style, as well as undeniable literary taste. after the appearance of the _letters of junius_, which, perhaps, have owed the permanence of their popularity as much to the interest attaching to the mystery of their authorship as to their intrinsic merits, political satire may be said to have once more slumbered awhile. the impression produced by the studied malice of the _letters_, and the epigrammatic suggestiveness which appeared to leave as much unsaid as was said, was enormous, yet, strangely enough, they were unable to check the growing influence of the school of satire whereof goldsmith was the chief founder, and from which the fashionable _jeux d'esprit_, the sparkling _persiflage_ of the society _flâneurs_ of the nineteenth century are the legitimate descendants.[ ] the decade - , therefore--that decade when the plays of goldsmith and sheridan were appearing,--witnessed the rise and the development of that genial, humorous raillery, in prose and verse, of personal foibles and of social abuses, of which the _retaliation_ and the beau tibbs papers are favourable examples. these were the distinguishing characteristics of our satiric literature during the closing decade of the eighteenth century until the horrors of the french revolution, and the sympathy with it which was apparently being aroused in england, called political satire into requisition once more. party feeling ran high with regard to the principles enunciated by the so-called "friends of freedom". the sentiments of the "constitutional tories" found expression in the bitter, sardonic, vitriolic mockery visible in the pages of the _anti-jacobin_,[ ] which did more to check the progress of nascent radicalism and the movement in favour of political reform than any other means employed. chief-justice mansfield's strictures and lord braxfield's diatribes alike paled into insignificance beside these deadly, scorching bombs of juvenal-like vituperation, which have remained unapproached in their specific line. as an example take ellis's _ode to jacobinism_, of which i quote two stanzas:-- "daughter of hell, insatiate power! destroyer of the human race, whose iron scourge and maddening hour exalt the bad, the good debase; when first to scourge the sons of earth, thy sire his darling child designed, gallia received the monstrous birth, voltaire informed thine infant mind. well-chosen nurse, his sophist lore, he bade thee many a year explore, he marked thy progress firm though slow, and statesmen, princes, leagued with their inveterate foe. scared at thy frown terrific, fly the morals (antiquated brood), domestic virtue, social joy, and faith that has for ages stood; swift they disperse and with them go the friend sincere, the generous foe-- traitors to god, to man avowed, by thee now raised aloft, now crushed beneath the crowd." space only remains for a single word upon the satire of the nineteenth century. in this category would be included the _bæviad_ and the _mæviad_ by william gifford (editor of the _anti-jacobin_), which, though first printed in the closing years of the eighteenth century, were issued in volume form in . written as they are in avowed imitation of juvenal, persius, and horace, they out-juvenal juvenal by the violence of the language, besides descending to a depth of personal scurrility as foreign to the nature of true satire as abuse is alien to wit. they have long since been consigned to merited oblivion, though in their day, from the useful and able work done by their author in other fields of literature, they enjoyed no inconsiderable amount of fame. two or three lines from the _bæviad_ will give a specimen of its quality:-- "for mark, to what 'tis given, and then declare, mean though i am, if it be worth my care. is it not given to este's unmeaning dash, to topham's fustian, reynold's flippant trash, to andrews' doggerel where three wits combine, to morton's catchword, greathead's idiot line, and holcroft's shug-lane cant and merry's moorfields whine?"[ ] the early years of the present century still felt the influence of the sardonic ridicule which prevailed during the closing years of the previous one, and the satirists who appeared during the first decades of the former belonged to the robust or energetic order. their names and their works are well-nigh forgotten. we now reach the last of the greater satirists that have adorned our literature, one who is in many respects a worthy peer of dryden, swift, and pope. lord byron's fame as a satirist rests on three great works, each of them illustrative of a distinct type of composition. other satires he has written, nay, the satiric quality is present more or less in nearly all he produced; but _the vision of judgment_, _beppo_, and _don juan_ are his three masterpieces in this style of literature. they are wonderful compositions in every sense of the word. the sparkling wit, the ready raillery, the cutting irony, the biting sarcasm, and the sardonic cynicism which characterize almost every line of them are united to a brilliancy of imagination, a swiftness as well as a felicity of thought, and an epigrammatic terseness of phrase which even byron himself has equalled nowhere else in his works. _the vision of judgment_ is an example in the first instance of parody, and, in the second, but not by any means so distinctly, of allegory. its savage ferocity of sarcasm crucified southey upon the cross of scornful contempt. byron is not as good a metrist as a satirist, and the _ottava rima_ in his hands sometimes halts a little; still, the poem is a notable example of a satiric parody written with such distinguished success in a measure of great technical difficulty. it is somewhat curious that all three of byron's great satiric poems should be written in the same measure. yet so it is, for the poet, having become enamoured of the metre after reading frere's clever satire, _whistlecraft_, ever afterwards had a peculiar fondness for it. both _beppo_ and _don juan_ are also excellent examples of the metrical "satiric tale". the former, being the earlier satire of the two, was byron's first essay in this new type of satiric composition. his success therein stimulated him to attempt another "tale" which in some respects presents features that ally it to the mock-epic. _beppo_ is a perfect storehouse of well-rounded satirical phrases that cleave to the memory, such as "the deep damnation of his 'bah'" and the description of the "budding miss", "so much alarmed that she is quite alarming, all giggle, blush, half pertness and half pout". _beppo_ leads up to _don juan_, and it is hard to say which is the cleverer satire of the two. in both, the wit is so unforced and natural, the fun so sparkling, the banter and the persiflage so bright and scintillating, that they seem, as sir walter scott said, to be the natural outflow from the fountain of humour. byron's earliest satire, _english bards and scots reviewers_, is a clever piece of work, but compared with the great trio above-named is a production of his nonage. byron was succeeded by praed, whose social pictures are instinct with the most refined and polished raillery, with the true attic salt of wit united to a metrical deftness as graceful as it was artistic. during praed's lifetime, lamb with his inimitable _essays of elia_, southey, barham with the ever-popular _ingoldsby legends_, james and horace smith with the _rejected addresses_, disraeli, leigh hunt, tom hood, and landor had been winning laurels in various branches of social satire which, consequent upon the influence of byron and then of his disciple, praed, became the current mode. a favourable example of that style is found in leigh hunt's _feast of the poets_ and in edward fitz-gerald's _chivalry at a discount_. other writers of satire in the earlier decades of the present century were peacock, who in his novels (_crotchet castle_, &c.) evolved an original type of satire based upon the athenian new comedy. miss austen in her english novels and miss edgeworth in her irish tales employed satire to impeach certain crying social abuses, as also did dickens in _oliver twist_ and others of his books. douglas jerrold's comedies and sketches are full of titbits of gay and brilliant banter and biting irony. if _sartor resartus_ could be regarded as a satire, as dr. garnett says, carlyle would be the first of satirists, with his thundering invective, grand rhetoric, indignant scorn, grim humour, and satiric gloom in denouncing the shams of human society and of human nature. an admirable american school of satire was founded by washington irving, of which judge haliburton (sam slick), paulding, holmes, artemus ward, and dudley warner are the chief names. since the third and fourth decades of our century, in other words, since the epoch of the reform bill and the chartist agitation, satire has more and more tended to lose its acid and its venom, to slough the dark sardonic sarcasm of past days and to don the light sportive garb of the social humorist and epigrammist. robustious bludgeoning has gone out of fashion, and in its place we have the playful satiric wit, sparkling as of well-drawn moet or clicquot, of mortimer collins, h.s. leigh, arthur locker and frederick locker-lampson, w.s. gilbert, austin dobson, bret harte, f. anstey, dr. walter c. smith, and many other graceful and delightful social satirists whose verses are household words amongst us. from week to week also there appear in the pages of that trenchant social censor, _punch_, and the other high-class comico-satiric journals, many pieces of genuine and witty social satire. every year the demand seems increasing, and yet the supply shows no signs of running dry. political satire, in its metrical form, has had from time to time a temporary revival of popularity in such compositions as james russell lowell's inimitable _biglow papers_, as well as in more recent volumes, of which mr. owen seaman's verse is an example; while are not its prose forms legion in the pages of our periodical press? it has, however, now lost that vitriolic quality which made it so scorching and offensively personal. the man who wrote nowadays as did dryden, and junius, and canning, or, in social satire, as did peter pindar and byron, would be forthwith ostracized from literary fellowship. but what more need be said of an introductory character to these selections that are now placed before the reader? english satire, though perhaps less in evidence to-day as a separate department in letters, is still as cardinal a quality as ever in the productions of our leading authors. if satires are no longer in fashion, satire is perennial as an attribute in literature, and we have every reason to cherish it and welcome it as warmly as of old. the novels of thackeray, as i have already said, contain some of the most delicately incisive shafts of satire that have been barbed by any writer of the present century. "george eliot", also, though in a less degree, has shown herself a satirist of much power and pungency, while others of our latter-day novelists manifest themselves as possessed of a faculty of satire both virile and trenchant. it is one of the indispensable qualities of a great writer's style, because its quarry is one of the most widely diffused of existing things on the face of the globe. there is no age without its folly, no epoch without its faults. so long, therefore, as man and his works are imperfect, so long shall there be existent among us abuses, social, political, professional, and ecclesiastical, and so long, too, shall it be the province and the privilege of those who feel themselves called upon to play the difficult part of _censor morum_, to prick the bubbles of falsehood, vanity, and vice with the shafts of ridicule and raillery. [footnote : _the english humorists of the eighteenth century_.] [footnote : cf. lenient, _history of french satire_.] [footnote : thomson's _ante-augustan latin poetry_.] [footnote : cf. mackail; paten, _Études sur la poésie latine_.] [footnote : see skeat's "langland" in _encyclop. brit._] [footnote : see arber's reprints for .] [footnote : arber's select reprints.] [footnote : _palladis tamia: wits treasury_.] [footnote : this, of course, was marston.] [footnote : from the fifth satire in _the metamorphosis of pygmalion's image and certain satyres_, by john marston. .] [footnote : _pasquil's madcappe: thrown at the corruption of these times_-- . breton, to be read at all, ought to be studied in the two noble volumes edited by dr. a.b. grosart. from his edition i quote.] [footnote : _english literature_, by prof. craik. hannay's _satires and satirists_.] [footnote : _life of dryden_, by sir walter scott. saintsbury's _life of dryden_.] [footnote : thackeray's _english humorists_. hannay's _satires and satirists_.] [footnote : _satire and satirists_, by james hannay. lecture iii.] [footnote : dowden's _french literature_.] [footnote : minto's _characteristics of english poets_.] [footnote : cf. saintsbury's _life of dryden_.] [footnote : cf. gosse, _eighteenth century literature_.] [footnote : thackeray's _english humorists_.] [footnote : _the poetry of the anti-jacobin_--carisbrooke library, .] [footnote : _the bæviad and the mæviad_, by w. gifford, esq., .] english satires. william langland. ( ?- ?) i. pilgrimage in search of do-well. this opening satire constitutes the whole of the eighth _passus_ of _piers plowman's vision_ and the first of do-wel. the "dreamer" here sets off on a new pilgrimage in search of a person who has not appeared in the poem before--do-well. the following is the argument of the _passus_.--"all piers plowman's inquiries after do-well are fruitless. even the friars to whom he addresses himself give but a confused account; and weary with wandering about, the dreamer is again overtaken by slumber. thought now appears to him, and recommends him to wit, who describes to him the residence of do-well, do-bet, do-best, and enumerates their companions and attendants." thus y-robed in russet · romed i aboute al in a somer seson · for to seke do-wel; and frayned[ ] full ofte · of folk that i mette if any wight wiste · wher do-wel was at inne; and what man he myghte be · of many man i asked. was nevere wight, as i wente · that me wisse kouthe[ ] where this leode lenged,[ ] · lasse ne moore.[ ] til it bifel on a friday · two freres i mette maisters of the menours[ ] · men of grete witte. i hailsed them hendely,[ ] · as i hadde y-lerned. and preède them par charité, · er thei passed ferther, if thei knew any contree · or costes as thei wente, "where that do-wel dwelleth · dooth me to witene". for thei be men of this moolde · that moost wide walken, and knowen contrees and courtes, · and many kynnes places, bothe princes paleises · and povere mennes cotes,[ ] and do-wel and do-yvele · where thei dwelle bothe. "amonges us" quod the menours, · "that man is dwellynge, and evere hath as i hope, · and evere shal herafter." "_contra_", quod i as a clerc, · and comsed to disputen, and seide hem soothly, · "_septies in die cadit justus_". "sevene sithes,[ ] seeth the book · synneth the rightfulle; and who so synneth," i seide, · "dooth yvele, as me thynketh; and do-wel and do-yvele · mowe noght dwelle togideres. ergo he nis noght alway · among you freres: he is outher while ellis where · to wisse the peple." "i shal seye thee, my sone" · seide the frere thanne, "how seven sithes the sadde man, · on a day synneth; by a forbisne"[ ] quod the frere, · "i shal thee faire showe. lat brynge a man in a boot, · amydde the brode watre; the wynd and the water · and the boot waggyng, maketh the man many a tyme · to falle and to stonde; for stonde he never so stif, · he stumbleth if he meve, ac yet is he saaf and sound, · and so hym bihoveth; for if he ne arise the rather, · and raughte to the steere, the wynd wolde with the water · the boot over throwe; and thanne were his lif lost, · thorough lackesse of hymselve[ ]. and thus it falleth," quod the frere, · "by folk here on erthe; the water is likned to the world · that wanyeth and wexeth; the goodes of this grounde arn like · to the grete wawes, that as wyndes and wedres · walketh aboute; the boot is likned to oure body · that brotel[ ] is of kynde, that thorough the fend and the flesshe · and the frele worlde synneth the sadde man · a day seven sithes. ac[ ] dedly synne doth he noght, · for do-wel hym kepeth; and that is charité the champion, · chief help ayein synne; for he strengtheth men to stonde, · and steereth mannes soule, and though the body bowe · as boot dooth in the watre, ay is thi soul saaf, · but if thou wole thiselve do a deedly synne, · and drenche so thi soule, god wole suffre wel thi sleuthe[ ] · if thiself liketh. for he yaf thee a yeres-gyve,[ ] · to yeme[ ] wel thiselve, and that is wit and free-wil, · to every wight a porcion, to fleynge foweles, · to fisshes and to beastes: ac man hath moost thereof, · and moost is to blame, but if he werch wel therwith, · as do-wel hym techeth." "i have no kynde knowyng,"[ ] quod i, · "to conceyven alle your wordes: ac if i may lyve and loke, · i shall go lerne bettre." "i bikenne thee christ,"[ ] quod he, · "that on cros deyde!" and i seide "the same · save you fro myschaunce, and gyve you grace on this grounde · goode men to worthe!"[ ] and thus i wente wide wher · walkyng myn one,[ ] by a wilderness, · and by a wodes side: blisse of the briddes.[ ] · broughte me a-slepe, and under a lynde upon a launde[ ] · lened i a stounde[ ], to lythe the layes · the lovely foweles made, murthe of hire mowthes · made me ther to slepe; the merveillouseste metels[ ] · mette me[ ] thanne that ever dremed wight · in worlde, as i wene. a muche man, as me thoughte · and like to myselve, cam and called me · by my kynde name. "what artow," quod i tho, · "that thow my name knowest." "that woost wel," quod he, · "and no wight bettre." "woot i what thou art?" · "thought," seide he thanne; "i have sued[ ] thee this seven yeer, · seye[ ] thou me no rather."[ ] "artow thought," quod i thoo, · "thow koudest me wisse, where that do-wel dwelleth, · and do me that to knowe." "do-wel and do-bet, · and do-best the thridde," quod he, "arn thre fair vertues, · and ben noght fer to fynde. who so is trewe of his tunge, · and of his two handes, and thorugh his labour or thorugh his land, · his liflode wynneth,[ ] and is trusty of his tailende, · taketh but his owene, and is noght dronklewe[ ] ne dedeynous,[ ] · do-wel hym folweth. do-bet dooth ryght thus; · ac he dooth much more; he is as lowe as a lomb, · and lovelich of speche, and helpeth alle men · after that hem nedeth. the bagges and the bigirdles, · he hath to-broke hem alle that the erl avarous · heeld and hise heires. and thus with mammonaes moneie · he hath maad hym frendes, and is ronne to religion, · and hath rendred the bible, and precheth to the peple · seint poules wordes: _libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_: 'and suffreth the unwise' · with you for to libbe and with glad will dooth hem good · and so god you hoteth. do-best is above bothe, · and bereth a bisshopes crosse, is hoked on that oon ende · to halie men fro helle; a pik is on that potente,[ ] · to putte a-down the wikked that waiten any wikkednesse · do-wel to tene.[ ] and do-wel and do-bet · amonges hem han ordeyned, to crowne oon to be kyng · to rulen hem bothe; that if do-wel or do-bet · dide ayein do-best, thanne shal the kyng come · and casten hem in irens, and but if do-best bede[ ] for hem, · thei to be there for evere. thus do-wel and do-bet, · and do-best the thridde, crouned oon to the kyng · to kepen hem alle, and to rule the reme · by hire thre wittes, and noon oother wise, · but as thei thre assented." i thonked thoght tho, · that he me thus taughte. "ac yet savoreth me noght thi seying. · i coveit to lerne how do-wel, do-bet, and do-best · doon among the peple." "but wit konne wisse thee," quod thoght, · "where tho thre dwelle, ellis woot i noon that kan · that now is alyve." thoght and i thus · thre daies we yeden,[ ] disputyng upon do-wel · day after oother; and er we were war, · with wit gonne we mete.[ ] he was long and lene, · lik to noon other; was no pride on his apparaille · ne poverte neither; sad of his semblaunt, · and of softe chere, i dorste meve no matere · to maken hym to jangle, but as i bad thoght thoo · be mene bitwene, and pute forth som purpos · to preven his wittes, what was do-wel fro do-bet, · and do-best from hem bothe. thanne thoght in that tyme · seide these wordes: "where do-wel, do-bet, · and do-best ben in londe, here is wil wolde wite, · if wit koude teche him; and whether he be man or woman · this man fayn wolde aspie, and werchen[ ] as thei thre wolde, · thus is his entente" [footnote : questioned.] [footnote : could tell me.] [footnote : where this man dwelt.] [footnote : mean or gentle.] [footnote : of the minorite order.] [footnote : i saluted them courteously.] [footnote : and poor men's cots.] [footnote : times.] [footnote : example.] [footnote : through his own negligence.] [footnote : weak, unstable.] [footnote : but.] [footnote : sloth.] [footnote : a year's-gift.] [footnote : to rule, guide, govern.] [footnote : mother-wit.] [footnote : i commit thee to christ.] [footnote : to become.] [footnote : by myself.] [footnote : the charm of the birds.] [footnote : under a linden-tree on a plain.] [footnote : a short time.] [footnote : a most wonderful dream.] [footnote : i dreamed.] [footnote : followed.] [footnote : sawest.] [footnote : sooner.] [footnote : gains his livelihood.] [footnote : drunken.] [footnote : disdainful.] [footnote : club staff.] [footnote : to injure.] [footnote : pray.] [footnote : journeyed.] [footnote : we met wit.] [footnote : work.] geoffrey chaucer. ( ?- .) portraits from the canterbury tales. ii. and iii. the monk and the friar. the following complete portraits of two of the characters in chaucer's matchless picture of the canterbury pilgrims are taken from the prologue to the _canterbury tales_. ii. a monk ther was, a fayre for the maistríe,[ ] an outrider, that loved venerie;[ ] a manly man, to ben an abbot able. ful many a deintè[ ] hors hadde he in stable: and whan he rode, men might his bridel here gingeling in a whistling wind as clere, and eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle, ther as this lord was keeper of the celle. the reule of seint maure and of seint beneit, because that it was olde and somdele streit, this ilkè monk lette oldè thingès pace,[ ] and held after the newè world the space. he yaf not of the text a pulled hen,[ ] that saith, that hunters ben not holy men; ne that a monk, whan he is reckèles,[ ] is like to a fish that is waterles; that is to say, a monk out of his cloistre. this ilkè text held he not worth an oistre. and i say his opinion was good. what? shulde he studie, and make himselven wood[ ] upon a book in cloistre alway to pore, or swinken[ ] with his hondès, and laboùre, as austin bit?[ ] how shal the world be served? let austin have his swink to him reserved. therfore he was a prickasoure[ ] a right: greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight: of pricking[ ] and of hunting for the hare was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare. i saw his sleves purfiled[ ] at the hond with gris,[ ] and that the finest of the lond. and for to fasten his hood under his chinne, he hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne; a love-knotte in the greter end ther was. his hed was balled,[ ] and shone as any glas, and eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint. he was a lord ful fat and in good point. his eyen stepe,[ ] and rolling in his hed, that stemed as a forneis of led.[ ] his bootès souple, his hors in gret estat: now certainly he was a fayre prelát. he was not pale as a forpined[ ] gost. a fat swan loved he best of any rost, his palfrey was as broune as is a bery. iii. a frere[ ] ther was, a wanton and a mery, a limitour,[ ] a ful solempnè man. in all the ordres foure is none that can so muche of daliance and fayre langáge. he hadde ymade ful many a mariáge of yongè wimmen, at his owen cost. until[ ] his ordre he was a noble post. ful wel beloved, and familier was he with frankeleins[ ] over all in his contrèe, and eke with worthy wimmen of the toun: for he had power of confessioun, as saide himselfè, more than a curát, for of his ordre he was a licenciat. ful swetely herde he confession, and plesant was his absolution. he was an esy man to give penaunce, ther as he wiste[ ] to han[ ] a good pitaunce: for unto a poure[ ] ordre for to give is signè that a man is wel yshrive.[ ] for if he gaf, he dorstè make avaunt,[ ] he wistè that a man was repentaunt. for many a man so hard is of his herte, he may not wepe although him sorè smerte. therfore in stede of weping and praieres, men mote[ ] give silver to the pourè freres. his tippet was ay farsed[ ] ful of knives, and pinnès, for to given fayrè wives. and certainly he hadde a mery note. wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote.[ ] of yeddinges[ ] he bar utterly the pris. his nekke was white as the flour de lis. therto he strong was as a champioun, and knew wel the tavérnes in every toun, and every hosteler and tappestere, better than a lazar or a beggestere, for unto swiche a worthy man as he accordeth not, as by his facultè, to haven[ ] with sike lazars acquaintànce. it is not honest, it may not avànce,[ ] as for to delen with no swiche pouràille,[ ] but all with riche, and sellers of vitàille. and over all, ther as profit shuld arise, curteis he was, and lowly of servise. ther nas no man no wher so vertuous. he was the beste begger in his hous: [and gave a certain fermè[ ] for the grant, non of his bretheren came in his haunt.] for though a widewe haddè but a shoo, (so plesant was his _in principio_) yet wold he have a ferthing or[ ] he went. his pourchas was wel better than his rent.[ ] and rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp, in lovèdayes,[ ] ther coude he mochel help. for ther he was nat like a cloisterere, with thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere, but he was like a maister or a pope. of double worsted was his semicope,[ ] that round was as a belle out of the presse. somwhat he lisped, for his wantonnesse, to make his english swete upon his tonge; and in his harping, whan that he hadde songe, his eyen twinkeled in his hed aright, as don the sterrès in a frosty night. this worthy limitour was cleped hubèrd. [footnote : a fair one for the mastership.] [footnote : hunting.] [footnote : dainty.] [footnote : pass.] [footnote : did not care a plucked hen for the text.] [footnote : careless; removed from the restraints of his order and vows.] [footnote : mad.] [footnote : toil.] [footnote : biddeth.] [footnote : hard rider.] [footnote : spurring.] [footnote : wrought on the edge.] [footnote : a fine kind of fur.] [footnote : bald.] [footnote : bright.] [footnote : shone like a furnace under a cauldron.] [footnote : tormented.] [footnote : friar.] [footnote : a friar with a licence to beg within certain limits.] [footnote : unto.] [footnote : country gentlemen.] [footnote : knew.] [footnote : have.] [footnote : poor.] [footnote : shriven.] [footnote : durst make a boast.] [footnote : must.] [footnote : stuffed.] [footnote : a stringed instrument.] [footnote : story telling.] [footnote : have.] [footnote : profit.] [footnote : poor people.] [footnote : farm. this couplet only appears in the hengwrt ms. as mr. pollard says, it is probably chaucer's, but may have been omitted by him as it interrupts the sentence. cf. _globe_ chaucer.] [footnote : ere.] [footnote : the proceeds of his begging exceeded his fixed income.] [footnote : days appointed for the amicable settlement of differences.] [footnote : half cloak.] john lydgate. ( ?- .) iv. the london lackpenny. this is an admirable picture of london life early in the fifteenth century. the poem first appeared among lydgate's fugitive pieces, and has been preserved in the harleian mss. to london once my steps i bent, where truth in no wise should be faint; to westminster-ward i forthwith went, to a man of law to make complaint. i said, "for mary's love, that holy saint, pity the poor that would proceed!"[ ] but for lack of money, i could not speed. and, as i thrust the press among, by froward chance my hood was gone; yet for all that i stayed not long till to the king's bench i was come. before the judge i kneeled anon and prayed him for god's sake take heed. but for lack of money, i might not speed. beneath them sat clerks a great rout,[ ] which fast did write by one assent; there stood up one and cried about "richard, robert, and john of kent!" i wist not well what this man meant, he cried so thickly there indeed. but he that lacked money might not speed. to the common pleas i yode tho,[ ] there sat one with a silken hood: i 'gan him reverence for to do, and told my case as well as i could; how my goods were defrauded me by falsehood; i got not a mum of his mouth for my meed,[ ] and for lack of money i might not speed. unto the rolls i gat me from thence, before the clerks of the chancery; where many i found earning of pence; but none at all once regarded me. i gave them my plaint upon my knee; they liked it well when they had it read; but, lacking money, i could not be sped. in westminster hall i found out one, which went in a long gown of ray;[ ] i crouched and knelt before him; anon, for mary's love, for help i him pray. "i wot not what thou mean'st", 'gan he say; to get me thence he did me bid, for lack of money i could not speed. within this hall, neither rich nor yet poor would do for me aught although i should die; which seing, i gat me out of the door; where flemings began on me for to cry,-- "master, what will you copen[ ] or buy? fine felt hats, or spectacles to read? lay down your silver, and here you may speed." to westminster gate i presently went, when the sun was at high prime; cooks to me they took good intent,[ ] and proffered me bread, with ale and wine, ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; a fairé cloth they 'gan for to spread, but, wanting money, i might not then speed. then unto london i did me hie, of all the land it beareth the prize; "hot peascodes!" one began to cry; "strawberries ripe!" and "cherries in the rise!"[ ] one bade me come near and buy some spice; pepper and saffrone they 'gan me bede;[ ] but, for lack of money, i might not speed. then to the cheap i 'gan me drawn,[ ] where much people i saw for to stand; one offered me velvet, silk, and lawn; another he taketh me by the hand, "here is paris thread, the finest in the land"; i never was used to such things indeed; and, wanting money, i might not speed. then went i forth by london stone, throughout all the canwick street; drapers much cloth me offered anon; then comes me one cried, "hot sheep's feet!" one cried, "mackarel!" "rushes green!" another 'gan greet;[ ] one bade me buy a hood to cover my head; but for want of money i might not be sped. then i hied me into east cheap: one cries "ribs of beef and many a pie!" pewter pots they clattered on a heap; there was harpé, pipe, and minstrelsy: "yea, by cock!" "nay, by cock!" some began cry; some sung of "jenkin and julian" for their meed; but, for lack of money, i might not speed. then into cornhill anon i yode where there was much stolen gear among; i saw where hung my owné hood, that i had lost among the throng: to buy my own hood i thought it wrong; i knew it as well as i did my creed; but, for lack of money, i could not speed. the taverner took me by the sleeve; "sir," saith he, "will you our wine assay?" i answered, "that cannot much me grieve; a penny can do no more than it may." i drank a pint, and for it did pay; yet, sore a-hungered from thence i yede; and, wanting money, i could not speed. then hied i me to billings-gate, and one cried, "ho! go we hence!" i prayed a bargeman, for god's sake, that he would spare me my expense. "thou 'scap'st not here," quoth he, "under twopence; i list not yet bestow any almsdeed." thus, lacking money, i could not speed. then i conveyed me into kent; for of the law would i meddle no more. because no man to me took intent, i dight[ ] me to do as i did before. now jesus that in bethlehem was bore[ ], save london and send true lawyers their meed! for whoso wants money with them shall not speed. [footnote : go to law.] [footnote : crowd.] [footnote : went then.] [footnote : reward.] [footnote : striped stuff.] [footnote : exchange.] [footnote : notice.] [footnote : on the bough.] [footnote : offer.] [footnote : approach.] [footnote : call.] [footnote : set.] [footnote : born.] william dunbar. ( - ?) v. the dance of the seven deadly sins. one of dunbar's most telling satires, as well as one of the most powerful in the language. i. of februar the fiftene nicht full lang before the dayis licht i lay intill a trance and then i saw baith heaven and hell me thocht, amang the fiendis fell mahoun gart cry ane dance of shrews that were never shriven,[ ] agains the feast of fastern's even,[ ] to mak their observance. he bad gallants gae graith a gyis,[ ] and cast up gamountis[ ] in the skies, as varlets do in france. ii. helie harlots on hawtane wise,[ ] come in with mony sundry guise, but yet leuch never mahoun, while priests come in with bare shaven necks; then all the fiends leuch, and made gecks, black-belly and bawsy brown.[ ] iii. let see, quoth he, now wha begins: with that the foul seven deadly sins begoud to leap at anis. and first of all in dance was pride, with hair wyld back, and bonnet on side, like to make vaistie wanis;[ ] and round about him, as a wheel, hang all in rumples to the heel his kethat for the nanis:[ ] mony proud trumpour[ ] with him trippit; through scalding fire, aye as they skippit they girned with hideous granis.[ ] iv. then ire came in with sturt and strife; his hand was aye upon his knife, he brandished like a beir:[ ] boasters, braggars, and bargainers,[ ] after him passit in to pairs, all bodin in feir of weir;[ ] in jacks, and scryppis, and bonnets of steel, their legs were chainit to the heel,[ ] frawart was their affeir:[ ] some upon other with brands beft,[ ] some jaggit others to the heft, with knives that sharp could shear. v. next in the dance followit envy, filled full of feud and felony, hid malice and despite: for privy hatred that traitor tremlit; him followit mony freik dissemlit,[ ] with fenyeit wordis quhyte:[ ] and flatterers in to men's faces; and backbiters in secret places, to lie that had delight; and rownaris of false lesings,[ ] alace! that courts of noble kings of them can never be quit. vi. next him in dance came covetyce, root of all evil, and ground of vice, that never could be content: catives, wretches, and ockeraris,[ ] hudpikes,[ ] hoarders, gatheraris, all with that warlock went: out of their throats they shot on other het, molten gold, me thocht, a futher[ ] as fire-flaucht maist fervent; aye as they toomit them of shot, fiends filled them new up to the throat with gold of all kind prent.[ ] vii. syne sweirness, at the second bidding, came like a sow out of a midding, full sleepy was his grunyie:[ ] mony swear bumbard belly huddroun,[ ] mony slut, daw, and sleepy duddroun, him servit aye with sonnyie;[ ] he drew them furth intill a chain, and belial with a bridle rein ever lashed them on the lunyie:[ ] in daunce they were so slaw of feet, they gave them in the fire a heat, and made them quicker of cunyie.[ ] viii. then lechery, that laithly corpse, came berand like ane baggit horse,[ ] and idleness did him lead; there was with him ane ugly sort, and mony stinking foul tramort,[ ] that had in sin been dead: when they were enterit in the dance, they were full strange of countenance, like torches burning red. ix. then the foul monster, gluttony, of wame insatiable and greedy, to dance he did him dress: him followit mony foul drunkart, with can and collop, cup and quart, in surfit and excess; full mony a waistless wally-drag, with wames unweildable, did furth wag, in creesh[ ] that did incress: drink! aye they cried, with mony a gaip, the fiends gave them het lead to laip, their leveray was na less.[ ] x. nae minstrels played to them but doubt,[ ] for gleemen there were halden out, be day, and eke by nicht; except a minstrel that slew a man, so to his heritage he wan, and enterit by brieve of richt.[ ] then cried mahoun for a hieland padyane:[ ] syne ran a fiend to fetch makfadyane, far northwast in a neuck; be he the coronach[ ] had done shout, ersche men so gatherit him about, in hell great room they took: thae tarmigants, with tag and tatter, full loud in ersche begoud to clatter, and roup like raven and rook.[ ] the devil sae deaved[ ] was with their yell; that in the deepest pot of hell he smorit[ ] them with smoke! [footnote : mahoun, or the devil, proclaimed a dance of sinners that had not received absolution.] [footnote : the evening before lent, usually a festival at the scottish court.] [footnote : go prepare a show in character.] [footnote : gambols.] [footnote : holy harlots (hypocrites), in a haughty manner. the term harlot was applied indiscriminately to both sexes.] [footnote : names of spirits, like robin goodfellow in england, and brownie in scotland.] [footnote : pride, with hair artfully put back, and bonnet on side: "vaistie wanis" is now unintelligible; some interpret the phrase as meaning "wasteful wants", but this seems improbable, considering the locality or scene of the poem.] [footnote : his cassock for the nonce or occasion.] [footnote : a cheat or impostor.] [footnote : groans.] [footnote : bear.] [footnote : boasters, braggarts, and bullies.] [footnote : arrayed in the accoutrements of war.] [footnote : in coats of armour, and covered with iron network to the heel.] [footnote : wild was their aspect.] [footnote : brands beat.] [footnote : many strong dissemblers.] [footnote : with feigned words fair or white.] [footnote : spreaders of false reports.] [footnote : usurers.] [footnote : misers.] [footnote : a great quantity.] [footnote : gold of every coinage.] [footnote : his grunt.] [footnote : many a lazy glutton.] [footnote : served with care.] [footnote : loins.] [footnote : quicker of apprehension.] [footnote : neighing like an entire horse.] [footnote : corpse.] [footnote : grease.] [footnote : their reward, or their desire not diminished.] [footnote : no minstrels without doubt--a compliment to the poetical profession: there were no gleemen or minstrels in the infernal regions.] [footnote : letter of right.] [footnote : pageant.] [footnote : by the time he had done shouting the coronach or cry of help, the highlanders speaking erse or gaelic gathered about him.] [footnote : croaked like ravens and rooks.] [footnote : deafened.] [footnote : smothered.] sir david lyndsay. ( - .) vi. satire on the syde taillis--ane supplicatioun directit to the kingis grace-- . the specimen of lyndsay cited below--this satire on long trains--is by no means the most favourable that could be desired, but it is the only one that lent itself readily to quotation. the archaic spelling is slightly modernized. schir! though your grace has put gret order baith in the hieland and the border yet mak i supplicatioun till have some reformatioun of ane small falt, whilk is nocht treason though it be contrarie to reason. because the matter been so vile, it may nocht have ane ornate style; wherefore i pray your excellence to hear me with great patience: of stinking weedis maculate no man nay mak ane rose-chaplet. sovereign, i mean of thir syde tails, whilk through the dust and dubis trails three quarters lang behind their heels, express again' all commonweals. though bishops, in their pontificals, have men for to bear up their tails, for dignity of their office; richt so ane queen or ane empress; howbeit they use sic gravity, conformand to their majesty, though their robe-royals be upborne, i think it is ane very scorn, that every lady of the land should have her tail so syde trailand; howbeit they been of high estate, the queen they should nocht counterfeit. wherever they may go it may be seen how kirk and causay they soop[ ] clean. the images into the kirk may think of their syde taillis irk;[ ] for when the weather been maist fair, the dust flies highest in the air, and all their faces does begarie. gif they could speak, they wald them warie...[ ] but i have maist into despite poor claggocks[ ] clad in raploch-white, whilk has scant twa merks for their fees, will have twa ells beneath their knees. kittock that cleckit[ ] was yestreen, the morn, will counterfeit the queen: and moorland meg, that milked the yowes, claggit with clay aboon the hows,[ ] in barn nor byre she will not bide, without her kirtle tail be syde. in burghs, wanton burgess wives wha may have sydest tailis strives, weel borderéd with velvet fine, but followand them it is ane pyne: in summer, when the streetis dries, they raise the dust aboon the skies; nane may gae near them at their ease, without they cover mouth and neese... i think maist pane after ane rain, to see them tuckit up again; then when they step furth through the street, their fauldings flaps about their feet; they waste mair claith, within few years, nor wald cleid fifty score of freirs... of tails i will no more indite, for dread some duddron[ ] me despite: notwithstanding, i will conclude, that of syde tails can come nae gude, sider nor may their ankles hide, the remanent proceeds of pride, and pride proceeds of the devil, thus alway they proceed of evil. ane other fault, sir, may be seen-- they hide their face all but the een; when gentlemen bid them gude-day, without reverence they slide away... without their faults be soon amended, my flyting,[ ] sir, shall never be ended; but wald your grace my counsel tak, ane proclamation ye should mak, baith through the land and burrowstouns,[ ] to shaw their face and cut their gowns. women will say this is nae bourds,[ ] to write sic vile and filthy words. but wald they clenge[ ] their filthy tails whilk over the mires and middens trails, then should my writing clengit be; none other mends they get of me. [footnote : sweep.] [footnote : be annoyed.] [footnote : curse or cry out.] [footnote : draggle-tails.] [footnote : hatched.] [footnote : houghs.] [footnote : slut.] [footnote : scolding, brawling.] [footnote : burgh towns.] [footnote : scoffs.] [footnote : cleanse.] bishop joseph hall. ( - .) vii. on simony. this satire levels a rebuke at the simoniacal traffic in livings, then openly practised by public advertisement affixed to the door of st. paul's. "si quis" (if anyone) was the first word of these advertisements. dekker, in the _gull's hornbook_, speaks of the "siquis door of paules", and in wroth's _epigrams_ ( ) we read, "a merry greek set up a _siquis_ late". this satire forms the fifth of the second book of the _virgidemiarum_. saw'st thou ever siquis patcht on pauls church door to seek some vacant vicarage before? who wants a churchman that can service say, read fast and fair his monthly homily? and wed and bury and make christen-souls?[ ] come to the left-side alley of st. paules. thou servile fool, why could'st thou not repair to buy a benefice at steeple-fair? there moughtest thou, for but a slendid price, advowson thee with some fat benefice: or if thee list not wait for dead mens shoon, nor pray each morn the incumbents days were doone: a thousand patrons thither ready bring, their new-fall'n[ ] churches, to the chaffering; stake three years stipend: no man asketh more. go, take possession of the church porch door, and ring thy bells; luck stroken in thy fist the parsonage is thine, or ere thou wist. saint fool's of gotam[ ] mought thy parish be for this thy base and servile simony. [footnote : baptize.] [footnote : newly fallen in, through the death of the incumbent.] [footnote : referring to andrew borde's book, _the merry tales of the mad men of gotham_.] viii. the domestic tutor's position. this satire forms the sixth of book ii. of the _virgidemiarum_, and is regarded as one of bishop hall's best. see the _return from parnassus_ and parrot's _springes for woodcocks_ ( ) for analogous references to those occurring in this piece. a gentle squire would gladly entertain into his house some trencher chapelain; some willing man that might instruct his sons, and that would stand to good conditions. first, that he lie upon the truckle-bed whiles his young master lieth o'er his head. second that he do on no default ever presume to sit above the salt. third that he never change his trencher twice. fourth that he use all common courtesies: sit bare at meals and one half rise and wait. last, that he never his young master beat, but he must ask his mother to define, how many jerks she would his breech should line. all these observed, he could contented be, to give five marks and winter livery. ix. the impecunious fop. this satire constitutes satire seven of book iii. the phrase of dining with duke humphrey, which is still occasionally heard, originated in the following manner:--in the body of old st. paul's was a huge and conspicuous monument of sir john beauchamp, buried in , son of guy, and brother of thomas, earl of warwick. this by vulgar mistake was called the tomb of humphrey, duke of gloucester, who was really buried at st. alban's. the middle aisle of st. paul's was therefore called "the duke's gallery". in dekker's _dead terme_ we have the phrase used and a full explanation of it given; also in sam speed's _legend of his grace humphrey, duke of st. paul's cathedral walk_ ( ). see'st thou how gaily my young master goes, vaunting himself upon his rising toes; and pranks his hand upon his dagger's side; and picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide? 'tis ruffio: trow'st thou where he dined to-day? in sooth i saw him sit with duke humphrey. many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer, keeps he for every straggling cavalier; an open house, haunted with great resort; long service mixt with musical disport. many fair younker with a feathered crest, chooses much rather be his shot-free guest, to fare so freely with so little cost, than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host. hadst thou not told me, i should surely say he touched no meat of all this livelong day; for sure methought, yet that was but a guess, his eyes seemed sunk for very hollowness, but could he have--as i did it mistake-- so little in his purse, so much upon his back? so nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt that his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt. see'st thou how side[ ] it hangs beneath his hip? hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip. yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by, all trapped in the new-found bravery. the nuns of new-won calais his bonnet lent, in lieu of their so kind a conquerment. what needed he fetch that from farthest spain, his grandame could have lent with lesser pain? though he perhaps ne'er passed the english shore, yet fain would counted be a conqueror. his hair, french-like, stares on his frighted head, one lock[ ] amazon-like dishevelled, as if he meant to wear a native cord, if chance his fates should him that bane afford. all british bare upon the bristled skin, close notched is his beard, both lip and chin; his linen collar labyrinthian set, whose thousand double turnings never met: his sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings, as if he meant to fly with linen wings. but when i look, and cast mine eyes below, what monster meets mine eyes in human show? so slender waist with such an abbot's loin, did never sober nature sure conjoin. lik'st a strawn scarecrow in a new-sown field, reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield, or, if that semblance suit not every deal, like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel. despised nature suit them once aright, their body to their coat both now disdight. their body to their clothes might shapen be, that will their clothës shape to their bodie. meanwhile i wonder at so proud a back, whiles the empty guts loud rumblen for long lack. [footnote : long.] [footnote : the love-locks which were so condemned by the puritan prynne. cf. lyly's _midas_ and sir john davies' epigram , _in ciprum_.] george chapman. ( - .) x. an invective written by mr. george chapman against mr. ben jonson. this satire was discovered in a "common-place book" belonging to chapman, preserved among the ashmole mss. in the bodleian library, oxford. great, learned, witty ben, be pleased to light the world with that three-forked fire; nor fright all us, thy sublearned, with luciferous boast that thou art most great, most learn'd, witty most of all the kingdom, nay of all the earth; as being a thing betwixt a human birth and an infernal; no humanity of the divine soul shewing man in thee. * * * * * though thy play genius hang his broken wings full of sick feathers, and with forced things, imp thy scenes, labour'd and unnatural, and nothing good comes with thy thrice-vex'd call, comest thou not yet, nor yet? o no, nor yet; yet are thy learn'd admirers so deep set in thy preferment above all that cite the sun in challenge for the heat and light of heaven's influences which of you two knew and have most power in them; great ben, 'tis you. examine him, some truly-judging spirit, that pride nor fortune hath to blind his merit, he match'd with all book-fires, he ever read his dusk poor candle-rents; his own fat head with all the learn'd world's, alexander's flame that cæsar's conquest cow'd, and stript his fame, he shames not to give reckoning in with his; as if the king pardoning his petulancies should pay his huge loss too in such a score as all earth's learned fires he gather'd for. what think'st thou, just friend? equall'd not this pride all yet that ever hell or heaven defied? and yet for all this, this club will inflict his faultful pain, and him enough convict he only reading show'd; learning, nor wit; only dame gilian's fire his desk will fit. but for his shift by fire to save the loss of his vast learning, this may prove it gross: true muses ever vent breaths mixt with fire which, form'd in numbers, they in flames expire not only flames kindled with their own bless'd breath that gave th' unborn life, and eternize death. great ben, i know that this is in thy hand and how thou fix'd in heaven's fix'd star dost stand in all men's admirations and command; for all that can be scribbled 'gainst the sorter of thy dead repercussions and reporter. the kingdom yields not such another man; wonder of men he is; the player can and bookseller prove true, if they could know only one drop, that drives in such a flow. are they not learned beasts, the better far their drossy exhalations a star their brainless admirations may render; for learning in the wise sort is but lender of men's prime notion's doctrine; their own way of all skills' perceptible forms a key forging to wealth, and honour-soothed sense, never exploring truth or consequence, informing any virtue or good life; and therefore player, bookseller, or wife of either, (needing no such curious key) all men and things, may know their own rude way. imagination and our appetite forming our speech no easier than they light all letterless companions; t' all they know here or hereafter that like earth's sons plough all under-worlds and ever downwards grow, nor let your learning think, egregious ben, these letterless companions are not men with all the arts and sciences indued, if of man's true and worthiest knowledge rude, which is to know and be one complete man, and that not all the swelling ocean of arts and sciences, can pour both in: if that brave skill then when thou didst begin to study letters, thy great wit had plied, freely and only thy disease of pride in vulgar praise had never bound thy [hide]. john donne. ( - .) xi. the character of the bore. from donne's _satires_, no. iv.; first published in the quarto edition of the "poems" in . see dr. grosart's interesting essay on the life and writings of donne, prefixed to vol. ii. of that scholar's excellent edition. well; i may now receive and die. my sin indeed is great, but yet i have been in a purgatory, such as fear'd hell is a recreation, and scant map of this. my mind neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been poison'd with love to see or to be seen. i had no suit there, nor new suit to shew, yet went to court: but as glare, which did go to mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse the hundred marks, which is the statute's curse, before he 'scap'd; so't pleas'd my destiny (guilty of my sin of going) to think me as prone to all ill, and of good as forget- ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt, as vain, as witless, and as false as they which dwell in court, for once going that way, therefore i suffer'd this: towards me did run a thing more strange than on nile's slime the sun e'er bred, or all which into noah's ark came; a thing which would have pos'd adam to name: stranger than seven antiquaries' studies, than afric's monsters, guiana's rarities; stranger than strangers; one who for a dane in the danes' massacre had sure been slain, if he had liv'd then, and without help dies when next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise; one whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by; one t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry, sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are. his clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare; sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen) become tufftaffaty; and our children shall see it plain rash a while, then nought at all. the thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues, and only knoweth what t' all states belongs. made of th' accents and best phrase of all these, he speaks one language. if strange meats displease, art can deceive, or hunger force my taste; but pedant's motley tongue, soldier's bombast, mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, are strong enough preparatives to draw me to hear this, yet i must be content with his tongue, in his tongue call'd compliment; in which he can win widows, and pay scores, make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, outflatter favourites, or outlie either jovius or surius, or both together. he names me, and comes to me; i whisper, god! how have i sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod, this fellow, chooseth me? he saith, sir, i love your judgment; whom do you prefer for the best linguist? and i sillily said, that i thought calepine's dictionary. nay, but of men? most sweet sir! beza, then some jesuits, and two reverend men of our two academies, i nam'd. here he stopt me, and said; nay, your apostles were good pretty linguists; so panurgus was, yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass by travel. then, as if he would have sold his tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told, that i was fain to say, if you had liv'd, sir, time enough to have been interpreter to babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood. he adds, if of court-life you knew the good, you would leave loneness. i said, not alone my loneness is, but spartan's fashion, to teach by painting drunkards, doth not last now; aretine's pictures have made few chaste; no more can princes' courts, though there be few better pictures of vice, teach me virtue. he, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeakt, o, sir! 'tis sweet to talk of kings! at westminster, said i, the man that keeps the abbey-tombs, and for his price doth, with who ever comes, of all our harrys and our edwards talk, from king to king, and all their kin can walk: your ears shall hear naught but kings; your eyes meet kings only; the way to it is king's street. he smack'd, and cry'd, he's base, mechanic coarse; so're all our englishmen in their discourse. are not your frenchmen neat? mine, eyes you see, i have but one, sir; look, he follows me. certes, they're neatly cloth'd. i of this mind am, your only wearing is your grogaram. not so, sir; i have more. under this pitch he would not fly. i chaf'd him; but as itch scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground into an edge, hurts worse; so i (fool!) found crossing hurt me. to fit my sullenness, he to another key his style doth dress, and asks, what news? i tell him of new plays: he takes my hand, and, as a still which stays a semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly as loth to enrich me, so tells many a lie, more than ten hollensheads, or halls, or stows, of trivial household trash he knows. he knows when the queen frown'd or smil'd; and he knows what a subtile statesman may gather of that: he knows who loves whom, and who by poison hastes to an office's reversion; he knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg a license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg- shells to transport. shortly boys shall not play at span-counter, or blow-point, but shall play toll to some courtier; and, wiser than us all, he knows what lady is not painted. thus he with home-meats cloys me. i belch, spue, spit, look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet he thrusts on more; and as he had undertook to say gallo-belgicus without book, speaks of all states and deeds that have been since the spaniards came to th' loss of amyens. like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, ready to travail, so i sigh and sweat to hear this makaron[ ] talk in vain; for yet, either my humour or his own to fit, he, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man: he names a price for every office paid: he saith, our wars thrive ill, because delay'd; that offices are entail'd, and that there are perpetuities of them lasting as far as the last day; and that great officers do with the pirates share and dunkirkers. who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes; who loves whores, who boys, and who goats. i, more amaz'd than circe's prisoners, when they felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then becoming traitor, and methought i saw one of our giant statues ope his jaw to suck me in for hearing him: i found that as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound by giving others their sores, i might grow guilty, and be free; therefore i did show all signs of loathing; but since i am in, i must pay mine and my forefathers' sin to the last farthing: therefore to my power toughly and stubbornly i bear this cross; but th' hour of mercy now was come: he tries to bring me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing, and says, sir, can you spare me? i said, willingly. nay, sir, can you spare me a crown? thankfully i gave it as ransom. but as fiddlers still, though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will thrust one more jigg upon you; so did he with his long complimented thanks vex me. but he is gone, thanks to his needy want, and the prerogative of my crown. scant his thanks were ended when i (which did see all the court fill'd with such strange things as he) ran from thence with such or more haste than one who fears more actions doth haste from prison. at home in wholesome solitariness my piteous soul began the wretchedness of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance itself o'er me: such men as he saw there i saw at court, and worse, and more. low fear becomes the guilty, not th' accuser; then shall i, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men fear frowns, and my mistress, truth! betray thee to th' huffing braggart, puft nobility? no, no; thou which since yesterday hast been almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, o sun! in all thy journey vanity such as swells the bladder of our court? i think he which made your waxen garden, and transported it from italy, to stand with us at london, flouts our courtiers; for just such gay painted things, which no sap nor taste have in them, ours are! [footnote : fop, early form of macaroni.] ben jonson. ( - .) these two pieces are taken from jonson's _epigrams_. the first of them was exceedingly popular in the poet's own lifetime. xii. the new cry. ere cherries ripe, and strawberries be gone; unto the cries of london i'll add one; ripe statesmen, ripe: they grow in ev'ry street; at six-and-twenty, ripe. you shall 'em meet, and have him yield no favour, but of state. ripe are their ruffs, their cuffs, their beards, their gate, and grave as ripe, like mellow as their faces. they know the states of christendom, not the places: yet have they seen the maps, and bought 'em too, and understand 'em, as most chapmen do. the counsels, projects, practices they know, and what each prince doth for intelligence owe, and unto whom; they are the almanacks for twelve years yet to come, what each state lacks. they carry in their pockets tacitus, and the gazetti, or gallo-belgicus: and talk reserv'd, lock'd up, and full of fear; nay, ask you how the day goes, in your ear. keep a star-chamber sentence close twelve days: and whisper what a proclamation says. they meet in sixes, and at ev'ry mart, are sure to con the catalogue by heart; or ev'ry day, some one at rimee's looks, or bills, and there he buys the name of books. they all get porta, for the sundry ways to write in cypher, and the several keys, to ope the character. they've found the slight with juice of lemons, onions, piss, to write; to break up seals and close 'em. and they know, if the states make peace, how it will go with england. all forbidden books they get, and of the powder-plot, they will talk yet. at naming the french king, their heads they shake, and at the pope, and spain, slight faces make. or 'gainst the bishops, for the brethren rail much like those brethren; thinking to prevail with ignorance on us, as they have done on them: and therefore do not only shun others more modest, but contemn us too, that know not so much state, wrong, as they do. xiii. on don surly. don surly to aspire the glorious name of a great man, and to be thought the same, makes serious use of all great trade he knows. he speaks to men with a rhinocerote's nose, which he thinks great; and so reads verses too: and that is done, as he saw great men do. he has tympanies of business, in his face, and can forget men's names, with a great grace. he will both argue, and discourse in oaths, both which are great. and laugh at ill-made clothes; that's greater yet: to cry his own up neat. he doth, at meals, alone his pheasant eat, which is main greatness. and, at his still board, he drinks to no man: that's, too, like a lord. he keeps another's wife, which is a spice of solemn greatness. and he dares, at dice, blaspheme god greatly. or some poor hind beat, that breathes in his dog's way: and this is great. nay more, for greatness' sake, he will be one may hear my epigrams, but like of none. surly, use other arts, these only can style thee a most great fool, but no great man. samuel butler. ( - .) xiv. the character of hudibras. this extract is taken from the first canto of hudibras, and contains the complete portrait of the knight, butler's aim in the presentation of this character being to satirize those fanatics and pretenders to religion who flourished during the commonwealth. when civil dudgeon first grew high, and men fell out they knew not why; when hard words, jealousies and fears, set folks together by the ears, and made them fight like mad or drunk, for dame religion as for punk: whose honesty they all durst swear for, though not a man of them knew wherefore: when gospel-trumpeter surrounded with long-ear'd rout to battle sounded, and pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, was beat with fist, instead of a stick: then did sir knight abandon dwelling, and out he rode a-colonelling, a wight he was, whose very sight wou'd intitle him, _mirrour of knighthood_; that never bow'd his stubborn knee to any thing but chivalry; nor put up blow, but that which laid right worshipful on shoulder-blade: chief of domestic knights and errant, either for chartel or for warrant: great in the bench, great in the saddle, that could as well bind o'er as swaddle: mighty he was at both of these, and styl'd of _war_, as well as _peace_, (so some rats, of amphibious nature, are either for the land or water). but here our authors make a doubt, whether he were more wise or stout. some hold the one, and some the other: but howsoe'er they make a pother, the diff'rence was so small his brain outweigh'd his rage but half a grain; which made some take him for a tool that knaves do work with, call'd a _fool_. for 't has been held by many, that as montaigne, playing with his cat, complains she thought him but an ass, much more she would sir hudibras, (for that the name our valiant knight to all his challenges did write) but they're mistaken very much, 'tis plain enough he was no such. we grant although he had much wit, h' was very shy of using it; as being loth to wear it out, and therefore bore it not about unless on holidays, or so, as men their best apparel do. besides, 'tis known he could speak greek as naturally as pigs squeak: that latin was no more difficile, than for a blackbird 'tis to whistle. b'ing rich in both, he never scanted his bounty unto such as wanted; but much of either would afford to many that had not one word. for hebrew roots, although they're found to flourish most in barren ground, he had such plenty as suffic'd to make some think him circumcis'd: and truly so he was, perhaps, not as a proselyte, but for claps, he was in logic a great critic, profoundly skill'd in analytic; he could distinguish, and divide a hair 'twixt south and south west side; on either which he could dispute, confute, change hands, and still confute; he'd undertake to prove by force of argument, a man's no horse; he'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, and that a lord may be an owl; a calf an alderman, a goose a justice, and rooks committee-men and trustees, he'd run in debt by disputation, and pay with ratiocination: all this by syllogism, true in mood and figure, he would do. for rhetoric, he could not ope his mouth, but out there flew a trope; and when he happened to break off i' th' middle of his speech, or cough, h' had hard words, ready to show why, and tell what rules he did it by: else when with greatest art he spoke, you'd think he talk'd like other folk, for all a rhetorician's rules teach nothing but to name his tools. but, when he pleas'd to show't his speech in loftiness of sound was rich; a babylonish dialect, which learned pedants much affect: it was a party-coloured dress of patch'd and pye-ball'd languages; 'twas english cut on greek and latin, like fustian heretofore on satin. it had an odd promiscuous tone, as if h' had talk'd three parts in one; which made some think when he did gabble, th' had heard three labourers of babel; or cerberus himself pronounce a leash of languages at once. this he as volubly would vent as if his stock would ne'er be spent; and truly, to support that charge, he had supplies as vast as large: for he could coin or counterfeit new words with little or no wit: words so debas'd and hard, no stone was hard enough to touch them on: and when with hasty noise he spoke 'em, the ignorant for current took 'em, that had the orator who once did fill his mouth with pebble-stones when he harangu'd but known his phrase, he would have us'd no other ways. in mathematics he was greater then tycho brahe, or erra pater: for he, by geometric scale, could take the size of pots of ale; resolve by sines and tangents, straight, if bread and butter wanted weight; and wisely tell what hour o' th' day the clock does strike by algebra. beside, he was a shrewd philosopher, and had read ev'ry text and gloss over; whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, he understood b' implicit faith: whatever sceptic could inquire for, for every _why_ he had a _wherefore_, knew more than forty of them do, as far as words and terms could go. all which he understood by rote, and as occasion serv'd, would quote: no matter whether right or wrong, they must be either said or sung. his notions fitted things so well, that which was which he could not tell; but oftentimes mistook the one for th' other, as great clerks have done. he cou'd reduce all things to acts, and knew their natures by abstracts; where entity and quiddity, the ghosts of defunct bodies, fly; where truth in persons does appear, like words congeal'd in northern air. he knew what's what, and that's as high as metaphysic wit can fly. in school divinity as able, as he that hight, irrefragable; a second thomas, or at once to name them all, another duns: profound in all the nominal and real ways beyond them all; for he a rope of sand could twist as tough as learned sorbonist: and weave fine cobwebs, fit for scull; that's empty when the moon is full: such as lodgings in a head that's to be let unfurnished. he could raise scruples dark and nice, and after solve 'em in a trice, as if divinity had catch'd the itch, on purpose to be scratch'd; or, like a mountebank, did wound and stab herself with doubts profound, only to show with how small pain the sores of faith are cur'd again; although by woful proof we find, they always leave a scar behind. he knew the seat of paradise, cou'd tell in what degree it lies; and, as he was dispos'd could prove it, below the moon, or else above it. what adam dream'd of when his bride came from her closet in his side; whether the devil tempted her by a high-dutch interpreter; if either of them had a navel; who first made music malleable; whether the serpent, at the fall, had cloven feet, or none at all; all this without a gloss or comment, he could unriddle in a moment, in proper terms such as men smatter, when they throw out and miss the matter. for his religion it was fit to match his learning and his wit; 'twas presbyterian true blue, for he was of that stubborn crew of errant saints, whom all men grant to be the true church militant: such as do build their faith upon the holy text of pike and gun; decide all controversies by infallible artillery; and prove their doctrine orthodox by apostolic blows and knocks; call fire, and sword, and desolation, a godly thorough reformation, which always must be carried on, and still be doing, never done: as if religion were intended for nothing else but to be mended. a sect whose chief devotion lies in odd perverse antipathies: in falling out with that or this, and finding somewhat still amiss more peevish, cross, and splenetic, than dog distract, or monkey sick that with more care keep holiday the wrong, than others the right way: compound for sins they are inclin'd to, by damning those they have no mind to. still so perverse and opposite, as if they worshipp'd god for spite. the self-same thing they will abhor one way, and long another for. free-will they one way disavow, another, nothing else allow. xv. the character of a small poet. from butler's "characters", a series of satirical portraits akin to those of theophrastus. the small poet is one that would fain make himself that which nature never meant him; like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. he sets up haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. he believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit; and whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold with as his own. this he puts together so untowardly, that you may perceive his own wit as the rickets, by the swelling disproportion of the joints. you may know his wit not to be natural, 'tis so unquiet and troublesome in him: for as those that have money but seldom, are always shaking their pockets when they have it, so does he, when he thinks he has got something that will make him appear witty. he is a perpetual talker; and you may know by the freedom of his discourse that he came lightly by it, as thieves spend freely what they get. he is like an italian thief, that never robs but he murders, to prevent discovery; so sure is he to cry down the man from whom he purloins, that his petty larceny of wit may pass unsuspected. he appears so over-concerned in all men's wits, as if they were but disparagements of his own; and cries down all they do, as if they were encroachments upon him. he takes jests from the owners and breaks them, as justices do false weights, and pots that want measure. when he meets with anything that is very good, he changes it into small money, like three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. he disclaims study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which appears to be very true, by his often missing of his mark. as for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense. such matches are unlawful and not fit to be made by a christian poet; and therefore all his care is to choose out such as will serve, like a wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse that wants a foot or two, and if they will but rhyme now and then into the bargain, or run upon a letter, it is a work of supererogation. for similitudes, he likes the hardest and most obscure best; for as ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem fairer than they are, so when an illustration is more obscure than the sense that went before it, it must of necessity make it appear clearer than it did; for contraries are best set off with contraries. he has found out a new sort of poetical georgics--a trick of sowing wit like clover-grass on barren subjects, which would yield nothing before. this is very useful for the times, wherein, some men say, there is no room left for new invention. he will take three grains of wit like the elixir, and, projecting it upon the iron age, turn it immediately into gold. all the business of mankind has presently vanished, the whole world has kept holiday; there has been no men but heroes and poets, no women but nymphs and shepherdesses: trees have borne fritters, and rivers flowed plum-porridge. when he writes, he commonly steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the end of them, as butchers do calves by the tail. for when he has made one line, which is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word that will but rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon an anvil, into what form he pleases. there is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole dictionary is scarce able to contain them; for there is hardly a pond, a sheep-walk, or a gravel-pit in all greece, but the ancient name of it is become a term of art in poetry. by this means, small poets have such a stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryades, hamadryades, aönides, fauni, nymphæ, sylvani, &c. that signify nothing at all; and such a world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all the new inventions and "thorough reformations" that can happen between this and plato's great year. andrew marvell. ( - .) xvi. nostradamus's prophecy. from _political satires and other pieces_. it is curious to note how much of the prophecy was actually fulfilled. for faults and follies london's doom shall fix, and she must sink in flames in "sixty-six"; fire-balls shall fly, but few shall see the train, as far as from whitehall to pudding-lane; to burn the city, which again shall rise, beyond all hopes aspiring to the skies, where vengeance dwells. but there is one thing more (tho' its walls stand) shall bring the city low'r; when legislators shall their trust betray, saving their own, shall give the rest away; and those false men by th' easy people sent, give taxes to the king by parliament; when barefaced villains shall not blush to cheat and chequer doors shall shut up lombard street. when players come to act the part of queens, within the curtains, and behind the scenes: when no man knows in whom to put his trust, and e'en to rob the chequer shall be just, when declarations, lies and every oath shall be in use at court, but faith and troth. when two good kings shall be at brentford town, and when in london there shall not be one: when the seat's given to a talking fool, whom wise men laugh at, and whom women rule; a minister able only in his tongue to make harsh empty speeches two hours long when an old scots covenanter shall be the champion for the english hierarchy: when bishops shall lay all religion by, and strive by law to establish tyranny, when a lean treasurer shall in one year make himself fat, his king and people bare: when the english prince shall englishmen despise, and think french only loyal, irish wise; when wooden shoon shall be the english wear and magna charta shall no more appear: then the english shall a greater tyrant know, than either greek or latin story show: their wives to 's lust exposed, their wealth to 's spoil, with groans to fill his treasury they toil; but like the bellides must sigh in vain for that still fill'd flows out as fast again; then they with envious eyes shall belgium see, and wish in vain venetian liberty. the frogs too late grown weary of their pain, shall pray to jove to take him back again. john cleiveland. ( - .) xvii. the scots apostasie. from _poems and satires_, posthumously published in . is't come to this? what shall the cheeks of fame stretch'd with the breath of learned loudon's name, be flogg'd again? and that great piece of sense, as rich in loyalty and eloquence, brought to the test be found a trick of state, like chemist's tinctures, proved adulterate; the devil sure such language did achieve, to cheat our unforewarned grand-dam eve, as this imposture found out to be sot the experienced english to believe a scot, who reconciled the covenant's doubtful sense, the commons argument, or the city's pence? or did you doubt persistence in one good, would spoil the fabric of your brotherhood, projected first in such a forge of sin, was fit for the grand devil's hammering? or was't ambition that this damnéd fact should tell the world you know the sins you act? the infamy this super-treason brings. blasts more than murders of your sixty kings; a crime so black, as being advisedly done, those hold with these no competition. kings only suffered then; in this doth lie the assassination of monarchy, beyond this sin no one step can be trod. if not to attempt deposing of your god. o, were you so engaged, that we might see heav'ns angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee, till you were shrivell'd to dust, and your cold land parch't to a drought beyond the libyan sand! but 'tis reserv'd till heaven plague you worse; the objects of an epidemic curse, first, may your brethren, to whose viler ends your power hath bawded, cease to be your friends; and prompted by the dictate of their reason; and may their jealousies increase and breed till they confine your steps beyond the tweed. in foreign nations may your loathed name be a stigmatizing brand of infamy; till forced by general hate you cease to roam the world, and for a plague live at home: till you resume your poverty, and be reduced to beg where none can be so free to grant: and may your scabby land be all translated to a generall hospital. let not the sun afford one gentle ray, to give you comfort of a summer's day; but, as a guerdon for your traitorous war, love cherished only by the northern star. no stranger deign to visit your rude coast, and be, to all but banisht men, as lost. and such in heightening of the indiction due let provok'd princes send them all to you. your state a chaos be, where not the law, but power, your lives and liberties may give. no subject 'mongst you keep a quiet breast but each man strive through blood to be the best; till, for those miseries on us you've brought by your own sword our just revenge be wrought. to sum up all ... let your religion be as your allegiance--maskt hypocrisie until when charles shall be composed in dust perfum'd with epithets of good and just. he saved--incenséd heaven may have forgot-- to afford one act of mercy to a scot: unless that scot deny himself and do what's easier far--renounce his nation too. john dryden. ( - .) xviii. satire on the dutch. originally printed in broadside form, being written in the year . it was bitterly resented by the dutch. as needy gallants, in the scriv'ner's hands, court the rich knaves that gripe their mortgag'd lands; the first fat buck of all the season'd sent, and keeper takes no fee in compliment; the dotage of some englishmen is such, to fawn on those, who ruin them, the dutch. they shall have all, rather than make a war with those, who of the same religion are. the straits, the guinea-trade, the herrings too; nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. some are resolv'd, not to find out the cheat, but, cuckold-like, love them that do the feat. what injuries soe'er upon us fall, yet still the same religion answers all. religion wheedl'd us to civil war, drew english blood, and dutchmen's now wou'd spare. be gull'd no longer; for you'll find it true, they have no more religion, faith! than you. int'rest's the god they worship in their state, and we, i take it, have not much of that. well monarchies may own religion's name, but states are atheists in their very frame. they share a sin; and such proportions fall, that, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty, and that what once they were, they still wou'd be. to one well-born th' affront is worse and more, when he's abus'd and baffl'd by a boor. with an ill grace the dutch their mischiefs do; they've both ill nature and ill manners too. well may they boast themselves an ancient nation; for they were bred ere manners were in fashion: and their new commonwealth has set them free only from honour and civility. venetians do not more uncouthly ride, than did their lubber state mankind bestride. their sway became 'em with as ill a mien, as their own paunches swell above their chin. yet is their empire no true growth but humour, and only two kings' touch can cure the tumour. as cato did in africk fruits display; let us before our eyes their indies lay: all loyal english will like him conclude; let cæsar live, and carthage be subdu'd. xix. macflecknoe. this satire was written in reply to a savage poem by the dramatist, thomas shadwell, entitled "the medal of john dayes". dryden and shadwell had been friends, but the enmity begotten of political opposition had separated them. flecknoe, who gives the name to this poem, and of whom shadwell is treated as the son and heir, was a dull poet who had always laid himself open to ridicule. it is not known (says w.d. christie in the _globe_ dryden) whether he had ever given dryden offence, but it is certain that his "epigrams", published in , contain some lines addressed to dryden of a complimentary character. all human things are subject to decay, and, when fate summons, monarchs must obey; this flecknoe found, who, like augustus, young was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long; in prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute, through all the realms of nonsense, absolute this aged prince, now flourishing in peace, and blest with issue of a large increase; worn out with business, did at length debate to settle the succession of the state: and, pond'ring, which of all his sons was fit to reign, and wage immortal war with wit, cry'd, "'tis resolv'd; for nature pleads, that he should only rule, who most resembles me. shadwell alone my perfect image bears, mature in dulness from his tender years: shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he, who stands confirm'd in full stupidity. the rest to some faint meaning make pretence, but shadwell never deviates into sense. some beams of wit on other souls may fall, strike through, and make a lucid interval; but shadwell's genuine night admits no ray, his rising fogs prevail upon the day. besides, his goodly fabrick fills the eye, and seems design'd for thoughtless majesty: thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain and, spread in solemn state, supinely reign. heywood and shirley were but types of thee, thou last great prophet of tautology. even i, a dunce of more renown than they, was sent before but to prepare thy way; and, coarsely clad in norwich drugget, came to teach the nations in thy greater name. my warbling lute, the lute i whilom strung, when to king john of portugal i sung, was but the prelude to that glorious day, when thou on silver thames didst cut thy way, with well-tim'd oars before the royal barge. swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge; and big with hymn, commander of an host, the like was ne'er in epsom blankets tost. methinks i see the new arion fail, the lute still trembling underneath thy nail. at thy well-sharpened thumb, from shore to shore, the trebles squeak with fear, the basses roar: echoes from pissing-alley shadwell call, and shadwell they resound from aston-hall. about thy boat the little fishes throng as at the morning toast, that floats along. sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band, thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand. st. andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time, not ev'n the feet of thy own psyche's rime: though they in number as in sense excel; so just, so like tautology, they fell, that, pale with envy, singleton forswore the lute and sword which he in triumph bore, and vow'd he ne'er would act villerius more." here stopt the good old sire, and wept for joy, in silent raptures of the hopeful boy. all arguments, but most his plays, persuade, that for anointed dulness he was made. close to the walls which fair augusta bind, (the fair augusta much to fears inclin'd) an ancient fabric, rais'd t' inform the sight there stood of yore, and barbican it hight: a watch-tower once; but now so fate ordains, of all the pile an empty name remains: from its old ruins brothel-houses rise, scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys, where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep, and, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep. near these a nursery erects its head where queens are form'd, and future heroes bred; where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry, where infant punks their tender voices try, and little maximins the gods defy. great fletcher never treads in buskins here, nor greater jonson dares in socks appear; but gentle simkin just reception finds amidst this monument of vanish'd minds: poor clinches the suburbian muse affords, and panton waging harmless war with words. here flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, ambitiously design'd his shadwell's throne. for ancient dekker prophesy'd long since, that in this pile should reign a mighty prince, born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense: to whom true dulness should some psyches owe, but worlds of misers from his pen should flow; humorists and hypocrites it should produce, whole raymond families, and tribes of bruce. now empress fame had publish'd the renown of shadwell's coronation through the town. rous'd by report of fame, the nations meet, from near bunhill, and distant watling-street. no persian carpets spread th' imperial way, but scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay; from dusty shops neglected authors come, martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum. much heywood, shirley, ogleby there lay, but loads of shadwell almost chok'd the way. bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepar'd, and herringman was captain of the guard. the hoary prince in majesty appear'd, high on a throne of his own labours rear'd. at his right hand our young ascanius sate, rome's other hope, and pillar of the state. his brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace, and lambent dulness play'd around his face. as hannibal did to the altars come, swore by his sire a mortal foe to rome; so shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain, that he till death true dulness would maintain; and, in his father's right, and realm's defence, ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. the king himself the sacred unction made, as king by office, and as priest by trade. in his sinister hand, instead of ball, he plac'd a mighty mug of potent ale; love's kingdom to his right he did convey, at once his sceptre, and his rule of sway; whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd young, and from whose loins recorded psyche sprung. his temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread that nodding seem'd to consecrate his head. just at the point of time, if fame not lie, on his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly. so romulus, 'tis sung, by tiber's brook, presage of sway from twice six vultures took. th' admiring throng loud acclamations make, and omens of his future empire take. the sire then shook the honours of his head, and from his brows damps of oblivion shed full on the filial dulness: long he stood, repelling from his breast the raging god: at length burst out in this prophetic mood. "heav'ns! bless my son! from ireland let him reign to far barbadoes on the western main; of his dominion may no end be known, and greater than his father's be his throne; beyond love's kingdom let him stretch his pen!--" he paus'd, and all the people cry'd "amen". then thus continu'd he: "my son, advance still in new impudence, new ignorance. success let others teach, learn thou from me pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. let virtuosos in five years be writ; yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. let gentle george in triumph tread the stage, make dorimant betray, and loveit rage; let cully, cockwood, fopling, charm the pit, and in their folly show the writer's wit. yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence, and justify their authors' want of sense. let 'em be all by thy own model made of dulness, and desire no foreign aid; that they to future ages may be known, not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, all full of thee, and diff'ring but in name. but let no alien sedley interpose, to lard with wit thy hungry epsom prose. and when false flowers of rhetorick thou would'st cull, trust nature, do not labour to be dull; but write thy best, and top; and, in each line, sir formal's oratory will be thine: sir formal, though unsought, attends thy quill, and does thy northern dedications fill. nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame, by arrogating jonson's hostile name. let father flecknoe fire thy mind with praise, and uncle ogleby thy envy raise. thou art my blood, where jonson has no part: what share have we in nature or in art? where did his wit on learning fix a brand, and rail at arts he did not understand? where made he love in prince nicander's vein, or swept the dust in psyche's humble strain? where sold he bargains, whip-stitch, kiss my arse, promis'd a play, and dwindled to a farce? when did his muse from fletcher scenes purloin, as thou whole eth'ridge dost transfuse to thine? but so transfus'd, as oil and waters flow, his always floats above, thine sinks below. this is thy province, this thy wondrous way, new humours to invent for each new play: this is that boasted bias of thy mind, by which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclin'd: which makes thy writings lean on one side still, and, in all changes, that way bends thy will. nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense. a tun of man in thy large bulk is writ, but sure thou'rt but a kilderkin of wit. like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep; thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. with whate'er gall thou set'st thyself to write, thy inoffensive satires never bite. in thy felonious heart though venom lies, it does but touch thy irish pen, and dies. thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame in keen iambics, but mild anagram. leave writing plays, and choose for thy command some peaceful province in acrostic land, there thou may'st wings display and altars raise, and torture one poor word ten thousand ways. or if thou would'st thy different talents suit, set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute." he said: but his last words were scarcely heard: for bruce and longvil had a trap prepar'd, and down they sent the yet declaiming bard. sinking he left his drugget robe behind, borne upwards by a subterranean wind. the mantle fell to the young prophet's part, with double portion of his father's art. xx. epistle to the whigs. this excellent specimen of dryden's prose satire was prefixed to his satiric poem "the medal", published in march, . it was inspired by the striking of a medal to commemorate the rejection by the london grand jury, on november , , of a bill of high treason presented against lord shaftesbury. this event had been a great victory for the whigs and a discomfiture for the court. for to whom can i dedicate this poem, with so much justice, as to you? 'tis the representation of your own hero: 'tis the picture drawn at length, which you admire and prize so much in little. none of your ornaments are wanting; neither the landscape of the tower, nor the rising sun; nor the anno domini of your new sovereign's coronation. this must needs be a grateful undertaking to your whole party; especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the original. i hear the graver has made a good market of it: all his kings are bought up already; or the value of the remainder so enhanced, that many a poor polander, who would be glad to worship the image, is not able to go to the cost of him; but must be content to see him here. i must confess, i am no great artist; but sign-post-painting will serve the turn to remember a friend by, especially when better is not to be had. yet, for your comfort, the lineaments are true: and though he sat not five times to me, as he did to b. yet i have consulted history; as the italian painters do, when they would draw a nero or a caligula; though they have not seen the man, they can help their imagination by a statue of him, and find out the colouring from suetonius and tacitus. truth is, you might have spared one side of your medal: the head would be seen to more advantage, if it were placed on a spike of the tower; a little nearer to the sun; which would then break out to better purpose. you tell us, in your preface to the _no-protestant plot_, that you shall be forced hereafter to leave off your modesty. i suppose you mean that little, which is left you: for it was worn to rags when you put out this medal. never was there practised such a piece of notorious impudence in the face of an established government. i believe, when he is dead, you will wear him in thumb-rings, as the turks did scanderbeg; as if there were virtue in his bones to preserve you against monarchy. yet all this while, you pretend not only zeal for the public good, but a due veneration for the person of the king. but all men, who can see an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. that it is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted you; for without them there could be no ground to raise a faction. but i would ask you one civil question: what right has any man among you, or any association of men (to come nearer to you) who, out of parliament cannot be consider'd in a public capacity, to meet, as you daily do, in factious clubs, to vilify the government in your discourses, and to libel it in all your writings? who made you judges in israel? or how is it consistent with your zeal for the public welfare, to promote sedition? does your definition of _loyal_, which is to serve the king according to the laws, allow you the licence of traducing the executive power, with which you own he is invested? you complain, that his majesty has lost the love and confidence of his people; and, by your very urging it, you endeavour, what in you lies, to make him lose them. all good subjects abhor the thought of arbitrary power, whether it be in one or many; if you were the patriots you would seem, you would not at this rate incense the multitude to assume it; for no sober man can fear it, either from the king's disposition or his practice; or even, where you would odiously lay it, from his ministers. give us leave to enjoy the government, and the benefit of laws, under which we were born, and which we desire to transmit to our posterity. you are not the trustees of the public liberty; and if you have not right to petition in a crowd, much less have you to intermeddle in the management of affairs, or to arraign what you do not like; which in effect is everything that is done by the king and council. can you imagine, that any reasonable man will believe you respect the person of his majesty, when 'tis apparent that your seditious pamphlets are stuffed with particular reflections on him? if you have the confidence to deny this, 'tis easy to be evinced from a thousand passages, which i only forbear to quote because i desire they should die and be forgotten. i have perused many of your papers; and to show you that i have, the third part of your _no-protestant plot_ is much of it stolen from your dead author's pamphlet called the _growth of popery_; as manifestly as milton's defence of the english people is from buchanan, _de jure regni apud scotos_; or your first covenant, and new association, from the holy league of the french guisards. anyone, who reads davila, may trace your practices all along. there were the same pretences for reformation and loyalty, the same aspersions of the king, and the same grounds of a rebellion. i know not whether you will take the historian's word, who says, it was reported, that poltrot a huguenot murder'd francis duke of guise, by the instigations of theodore beza; or that it was a huguenot minister, otherwise called a presbyterian (for our church abhors so devilish a tenet) who first writ a treatise of the lawfulness of deposing and murdering kings, of a different persuasion in religion. but i am able to prove from the doctrine of calvin, and principles of buchanan, that they set the people above the magistrate; which, if i mistake not, is your own fundamental; and which carries your loyalty no farther than your liking. when a vote of the house of commons goes on your side, you are as ready to observe it, as if it were passed into a law: but when you are pinch'd with any former, and yet unrepealed, act of parliament, you declare that in some cases you will not be obliged by it. the passage is in the same third part of the _no-protestant plot_; and is too plain to be denied. the late copy of your intended association you neither wholly justify nor condemn: but as the papists, when they are unoppos'd, fly out into all the pageantries of worship, but, in times of war, when they are hard pressed by arguments, lie close intrenched behind the council of trent; so, now, when your affairs are in a low condition, you dare not pretend that to be a legal combination; but whensover you are afloat, i doubt not but it will be maintained and justified to purpose. for indeed there is nothing to defend it but the sword: 'tis the proper time to say anything, when men have all things in their power. in the meantime, you would fain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this association, and that in the time of queen elizabeth. but there is this small difference betwixt them, that the ends of the one are directly opposite to the other: one with the queen's approbation and conjunction, as head of it; the other, without either the consent or knowledge of the king, against whose authority it is manifestly design'd. therefore you do well to have recourse to your last evasion, that it was contriv'd by your enemies, and shuffled into the papers that were seized; which yet you see the nation is not so easy to believe, as your own jury. but the matter is not difficult, to find twelve men in newgate, who would acquit a malefactor. i have one only favour to desire of you at parting; that, when you think of answering this poem, you would employ the same pens against it, who have combated with so much success against absalom and achitophel: for then you may assure yourselves of a clear victory, without the least reply. rail at me abundantly; and, not to break a custom, do it without wit. by this method you will gain a considerable point, which is, wholly to waive the answer of my argument. never own the bottom of your principles, for fear they should be treason. fall severely on the miscarriages of government; for if scandal be not allowed, you are no free-born subjects. if god has not blessed you with the talent of rhyming, make use of my poor stock and welcome; let your verses run upon my feet: and for the utmost refuge of notorious blockheads, reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own lines upon me, and, in utter despair of your own satire, make me satirize myself. some of you have been driven to this bay already; but above all the rest, commend me to the non-conformist parson, who writ _the whip and key_. i am afraid it is not read so much as the piece deserves, because the bookseller is every week crying help, at the end of his gazette, to get it off. you see i am charitable enough to do him a kindness, that it may be published as well as printed; and that so much skill in hebrew derivations may not lie for waste-paper in the shop. yet i half suspect he went no farther for his learning, than the index of hebrew names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of some english bibles. if achitophel signify the brother of a fool, the author of that poem will pass with his readers for the next of kin. and, perhaps, 'tis the relation that makes the kindness. whatever the verses are, buy them up, i beseech you, out of pity; for i hear the conventicle is shut up, and the brother of achitophel out of service. now footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse, for a member of their society, who has had his livery pulled over his ears: and even protestant flocks are brought up among you, out of veneration to the name. a dissenter in poetry from sense and english, will make as good a protestant rhymer, as a dissenter from the church of england a protestant parson. besides, if you encourage a young beginner, who knows but he may elevate his style a little, above the vulgar epithets of profane and saucy jack, and atheistic scribbler, with which he treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm is strong upon him? by which well-manner'd and charitable expressions, i was certain of his sect, before i knew his name. what would you have more of a man? he has damned me in your cause from genesis to the revelations; and has half the texts of both the testaments against me, if you will be so civil to yourselves as to take him for your interpreter, and not to take them for irish witnesses. after all, perhaps, you will tell me, that you retained him only for the opening of your cause, and that your main lawyer is yet behind. now, if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his predecessors, you may either conclude, that i trust to the goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or disdain him, or what you please; for the short on it is, it is indifferent to your humble servant, whatever your party says or thinks of him. daniel defoe. ( - ) xxi. introduction to the true-born englishman. "the true-born englishman" was a metrical satire designed to defend the king, william iii., against the attacks made upon him over the admission of foreigners into public offices and posts of responsibility. speak, satire; for there's none can tell like thee whether 'tis folly, pride, or knavery that makes this discontented land appear less happy now in times of peace than war? why civil feuds disturb the nation more than all our bloody wars have done before? fools out of favour grudge at knaves in place, and men are always honest in disgrace; the court preferments make men knaves in course, but they which would be in them would be worse. 'tis not at foreigners that we repine, would foreigners their perquisites resign: the grand contention's plainly to be seen, to get some men put out, and some put in. for this our senators make long harangues, and florid members whet their polished tongues. statesmen are always sick of one disease, and a good pension gives them present ease: that's the specific makes them all content with any king and any government. good patriots at court abuses rail, and all the nation's grievances bewail; but when the sovereign's balsam's once applied, the zealot never fails to change his side; and when he must the golden key resign, the railing spirit comes about again. who shall this bubbled nation disabuse, while they their own felicities refuse, who the wars have made such mighty pother, and now are falling out with one another: with needless fears the jealous nation fill, and always have been saved against their will: who fifty millions sterling have disbursed, to be with peace and too much plenty cursed: who their old monarch eagerly undo, and yet uneasily obey the new? search, satire, search; a deep incision make; the poison's strong, the antidote's too weak. 'tis pointed truth must manage this dispute, and downright english, englishmen confute. whet thy just anger at the nation's pride, and with keen phrase repel the vicious tide; to englishmen their own beginnings show, and ask them why they slight their neighbours so. go back to elder times and ages past, and nations into long oblivion cast; to old britannia's youthful days retire, and there for true-born englishmen inquire. britannia freely will disown the name, and hardly knows herself from whence they came: wonders that they of all men should pretend to birth and blood, and for a name contend. go back to causes where our follies dwell, and fetch the dark original from hell: speak, satire, for there's none like thee can tell. the earl of dorset. ( - .) xxii. satire on a conceited playwright. the person against whom this attack was directed was edward howard, author of _the british princess_. thou damn'd antipodes to common-sense, thou foil to flecknoe, pr'ythee tell from whence does all this mighty stock of dulness spring? is it thy own, or hast it from snow-hill, assisted by some ballad-making quill? no, they fly higher yet, thy plays are such, i'd swear they were translated out of dutch. fain would i know what diet thou dost keep, if thou dost always, or dost never sleep? sure hasty-pudding is thy chiefest dish, with bullock's liver, or some stinking fish: garbage, ox-cheeks, and tripes, do feast thy brain, which nobly pays this tribute back again. with daisy-roots thy dwarfish muse is fed, a giant's body with a pigmy's head. canst thou not find, among thy numerous race of kindred, one to tell thee that thy plays are laught at by the pit, box, galleries, nay, stage? think on't a while, and thou wilt quickly find thy body made for labour, not thy mind. no other use of paper thou shouldst make than carrying loads and reams upon thy back. carry vast burdens till thy shoulders shrink, but curst be he that gives thee pen and ink: such dangerous weapons should be kept from fools, as nurses from their children keep edg'd tools: for thy dull fancy a muckinder is fit to wipe the slobberings of thy snotty wit: and though 'tis late, if justice could be found, thy plays like blind-born puppies should be drown'd. for were it not that we respect afford unto the son of an heroic lord, thine in the ducking-stool should take her seat, drest like herself in a great chair of state; where like a muse of quality she'd die, and thou thyself shalt make her elegy, in the same strain thou writ'st thy comedy. john arbuthnot. ( - .) xxiii. preface to john bull and his law-suit. first published as a political pamphlet, this piece had an extraordinary run of popularity. it was originally issued in four parts, but these afterwards were reduced to two, without any omission, however, of matter. they appeared during the years - , and the satire was finally published in book form in . the author was the intimate friend of swift, pope, and gay. the volume was exceedingly popular in tory circles. the examples i have selected are "the preface" and also the opening chapters of the history, which i have made to run on without breaking them up into the short divisions of the text. when i was first called to the office of historiographer to john bull, he expressed himself to this purpose: "sir humphrey polesworth[ ], i know you are a plain dealer; it is for that reason i have chosen you for this important trust; speak the truth and spare not". that i might fulfil those his honourable intentions, i obtained leave to repair to, and attend him in his most secret retirements; and i put the journals of all transactions into a strong box, to be opened at a fitting occasion, after the manner of the historiographers of some eastern monarchs: this i thought was the safest way; though i declare i was never afraid to be chopped[ ] by my master for telling of truth. it is from those journals that my memoirs are compiled: therefore let not posterity a thousand years hence look for truth in the voluminous annals of pedants, who are entirely ignorant of the secret springs of great actions; if they do, let me tell them they will be nebused.[ ] with incredible pains have i endeavoured to copy the several beauties of the ancient and modern historians; the impartial temper of herodotus, the gravity, austerity, and strict morals of thucydides, the extensive knowledge of xenophon, the sublimity and grandeur of titus livius; and to avoid the careless style of polybius, i have borrowed considerable ornaments from dionysius halicarnasseus, and diodorus siculus. the specious gilding of tacitus i have endeavoured to shun. mariana, davila, and fra. paulo, are those amongst the moderns whom i thought most worthy of imitation; but i cannot be so disingenuous, as not to own the infinite obligations i have to the _pilgrim's progress_ of john bunyan, and the _tenter belly_ of the reverend joseph hall. from such encouragement and helps, it is easy to guess to what a degree of perfection i might have brought this great work, had it not been nipped in the bud by some illiterate people in both houses of parliament, who envying the great figure i was to make in future ages, under pretence of raising money for the war,[ ] have padlocked all those very pens that were to celebrate the actions of their heroes, by silencing at once the whole university of grub street. i am persuaded that nothing but the prospect of an approaching peace could have encouraged them to make so bold a step. but suffer me, in the name of the rest of the matriculates of that famous university, to ask them some plain questions: do they think that peace will bring along with it the golden age? will there be never a dying speech of a traitor? are cethegus and catiline turned so tame, that there will be no opportunity to cry about the streets, "a dangerous plot"? will peace bring such plenty that no gentleman will have occasion to go upon the highway, or break into a house? i am sorry that the world should be so much imposed upon by the dreams of a false prophet, as to imagine the millennium is at hand. o grub street! thou fruitful nursery of towering geniuses! how do i lament thy downfall? thy ruin could never be meditated by any who meant well to english liberty. no modern lyceum will ever equal thy glory: whether in soft pastorals thou didst sing the flames of pampered apprentices and coy cook-maids; or mournful ditties of departing lovers; or if to mæonian strains thou raisedst thy voice, to record the stratagems, the arduous exploits, and the nocturnal scalade of needy heroes, the terror of your peaceful citizens, describing the powerful betty or the artful picklock, or the secret caverns and grottoes of vulcan sweating at his forge, and stamping the queen's image on viler metals which he retails for beef and pots of ale; or if thou wert content in simple narrative, to relate the cruel acts of implacable revenge, or the complaint of ravished virgins blushing to tell their adventures before the listening crowd of city damsels, whilst in thy faithful history thou intermingledst the gravest counsels and the purest morals. nor less acute and piercing wert thou in thy search and pompous descriptions of the works of nature; whether in proper and emphatic terms thou didst paint the blazing comet's fiery tail, the stupendous force of dreadful thunder and earthquakes, and the unrelenting inundations. sometimes, with machiavelian sagacity, thou unravelledst intrigues of state, and the traitorous conspiracies of rebels, giving wise counsel to monarchs. how didst thou move our terror and our pity with thy passionate scenes between jack catch and the heroes of the old bailey? how didst thou describe their intrepid march up holborn hill? nor didst thou shine less in thy theological capacity, when thou gavest ghostly counsels to dying felons, and didst record the guilty pangs of sabbath-breakers. how will the noble arts of john overton's[ ] painting and sculpture now languish? where rich invention, proper expression, correct design, divine attitudes, and artful contrast, heightened with the beauties of clar. obscur., embellished thy celebrated pieces, to the delight and astonishment of the judicious multitude! adieu, persuasive eloquence! the quaint metaphor, the poignant irony, the proper epithet, and the lively simile, are fled for ever! instead of these, we shall have, i know not what! the illiterate will tell the rest with pleasure. i hope the reader will excuse this digression, due by way of condolence to my worthy brethren of grub street, for the approaching barbarity that is likely to overspread all its regions by this oppressive and exorbitant tax. it has been my good fortune to receive my education there; and so long as i preserved some figure and rank amongst the learned of that society, i scorned to take my degree either at utrecht or leyden, though i was offered it gratis by the professors in those universities. and now that posterity may not be ignorant in what age so excellent a history was written (which would otherwise, no doubt, be the subject of its inquiries), i think it proper to inform the learned of future times, that it was compiled when louis xiv. was king of france, and philip, his grandson, of spain; when england and holland, in conjunction with the emperor and the allies, entered into a war against these two princes, which lasted ten years under the management of the duke of marlborough, and was put to a conclusion by the treaty of utrecht, under the ministry of the earl of oxford, in the year . many at that time did imagine the history of john bull, and the personages mentioned in it, to be allegorical, which the author would never own. notwithstanding, to indulge the reader's fancy and curiosity, i have printed at the bottom of the page the supposed allusions of the most obscure parts of the story. [footnote : a member of parliament, eminent for a certain cant in his conversation, of which there is a good deal in this book.] [footnote : a cant word of sir humphrey's.] [footnote : another cant word, signifying deceived.] [footnote : act restraining the liberty of the press, &c.] [footnote : the engraver of the cuts before the grub street papers.] xxiv. the history of john bull. the occasion of the law-suit. i need not tell you of the great quarrels that have happened in our neighbourhood since the death of the late lord strutt[ ]; how the parson[ ] and a cunning attorney got him to settle his estate upon his cousin philip baboon, to the great disappointment of his cousin esquire south. some stick not to say that the parson and the attorney forged a will; for which they were well paid by the family of the baboons. let that be as it will, it is matter of fact that the honour and estate have continued ever since in the person of philip baboon. you know that the lord strutts have for many years been possessed of a very great landed estate, well-conditioned, wooded, watered, with coal, salt, tin, copper, iron, &c., all within themselves; that it has been the misfortune of that family to be the property of their stewards, tradesmen, and inferior servants, which has brought great incumbrances upon them; at the same time, their not abating of their expensive way of living has forced them to mortgage their best manors. it is credibly reported that the butcher's and baker's bill of a lord strutt that lived two hundred years ago are not yet paid. when philip baboon came first to the possession of the lord strutt's estate, his tradesmen,[ ] as is usual upon such occasion, waited upon him to wish him joy and bespeak his custom. the two chief were john bull,[ ] the clothier, and nic. frog,[ ] the linen-draper. they told him that the bulls and frogs had served the lord strutts with drapery-ware for many years; that they were honest and fair dealers; that their bills had never been questioned, that the lord strutts lived generously, and never used to dirty their fingers with pen, ink, and counters; that his lordship might depend upon their honesty that they would use him as kindly as they had done his predecessors. the young lord seemed to take all in good part, and dismissed them with a deal of seeming content, assuring them he did not intend to change any of the honourable maxims of his predecessors. how bull and frog grew jealous that the lord strutt intended to give all his custom to his grandfather, lewis baboon. it happened unfortunately for the peace of our neighbourhood that this young lord had an old cunning rogue, or, as the scots call it, a false loon of a grandfather, that one might justly call a jack-of-all-trades.[ ] sometimes you would see him behind his counter selling broadcloth, sometimes measuring linen; next day he would be dealing in mercery-ware. high heads, ribbons, gloves, fans, and lace he understood to a nicety. charles mather could not bubble a young beau better with a toy; nay, he would descend even to the selling of tape, garters, and shoe-buckles. when shop was shut up he would go about the neighbourhood and earn half-a-crown by teaching the young men and maids to dance. by these methods he had acquired immense riches, which he used to squander[ ] away at back-sword, quarter-staff, and cudgel-play, in which he took great pleasure, and challenged all the country. you will say it is no wonder if bull and frog should be jealous of this fellow. "it is not impossible," says frog to bull, "but this old rogue will take the management of the young lord's business into his hands; besides, the rascal has good ware, and will serve him as cheap as anybody. in that case, i leave you to judge what must become of us and our families; we must starve, or turn journeyman to old lewis baboon. therefore, neighbour, i hold it advisable that we write to young lord strutt to know the bottom of this matter." a copy of bull and frog's letter to lord strutt. my lord,--i suppose your lordship knows that the bulls and the frogs have served the lord strutts with all sorts of drapery-ware time out of mind. and whereas we are jealous, not without reason, that your lordship intends henceforth to buy of your grandsire old lewis baboon, this is to inform your lordship that this proceeding does not suit with the circumstances of our families, who have lived and made a good figure in the world by the generosity of the lord strutts. therefore we think fit to acquaint your lordship that you must find sufficient security to us, our heirs, and assigns that you will not employ lewis baboon, or else we will take our remedy at law, clap an action upon you of £ , for old debts, seize and distrain your goods and chattels, which, considering your lordship's circumstances, will plunge you into difficulties, from which it will not be easy to extricate yourself. therefore we hope, when your lordship has better considered on it, you will comply with the desire of your loving friends, john bull. nic. frog. some of bull's friends advised him to take gentler methods with the young lord, but john naturally loved rough play. it is impossible to express the surprise of the lord strutt upon the receipt of this letter. he was not flush in ready money either to go to law or clear old debts, neither could he find good bail. he offered to bring matters to a friendly accommodation, and promised, upon his word of honour, that he would not change his drapers; but all to no purpose, for bull and frog saw clearly that old lewis would have the cheating of him. how bull and frog went to law with lord strutt about the premises, and were joined by the rest of the tradesmen. all endeavours of accommodation between lord strutt and his drapers proved vain. jealousies increased, and, indeed, it was rumoured abroad that lord strutt had bespoke his new liveries of old lewis baboon. this coming to mrs. bull's ears, when john bull came home, he found all his family in an uproar. mrs. bull, you must know, was very apt to be choleric. "you sot," says she, "you loiter about ale-houses and taverns, spend your time at billiards, ninepins, or puppet-shows, or flaunt about the streets in your new gilt chariot, never minding me nor your numerous family. don't you hear how lord strutt has bespoke his liveries at lewis baboon's shop? don't you see how that old fox steals away your customers, and turns you out of your business every day, and you sit like an idle drone, with your hands in your pockets? fie upon it. up, man, rouse thyself; i'll sell to my shift before i'll be so used by that knave."[ ] you must think mrs. bull had been pretty well tuned up by frog, who chimed in with her learned harangue. no further delay now, but to counsel learned in the law they go, who unanimously assured them both of justice and infallible success of their lawsuit. i told you before that old lewis baboon was a sort of a jack-of-all-trades, which made the rest of the tradesmen jealous, as well as bull and frog; they, hearing of the quarrel, were glad of an opportunity of joining against old lewis baboon, provided that bull and frog would bear the charges of the suit. even lying ned, the chimney-sweeper of savoy, and tom, the portugal dustman, put in their claims, and the cause was put into the hands of humphry hocus, the attorney. a declaration was drawn up to show "that bull and frog had undoubted right by prescription to be drapers to the lord strutts; that there were several old contracts to that purpose; that lewis baboon had taken up the trade of clothier and draper without serving his time or purchasing his freedom; that he sold goods that were not marketable without the stamp; that he himself was more fit for a bully than a tradesman, and went about through all the country fairs challenging people to fight prizes, wrestling and cudgel-play, and abundance more to this purpose". the true characters of john bull, nic. frog, and hocus.[ ] for the better understanding the following history the reader ought to know that bull, in the main, was an honest, plain-dealing fellow, choleric, bold, and of a very unconstant temper; he dreaded not old lewis either at back-sword, single falchion, or cudgel-play; but then he was very apt to quarrel with his best friends, especially if they pretended to govern him. if you flattered him you might lead him like a child. john's temper depended very much upon the air; his spirits rose and fell with the weather-glass. john was quick, and understood his business very well, but no man alive was more careless in looking into his accounts, or more cheated by partners, apprentices, and servants. this was occasioned by his being a boon companion, loving his bottle and his diversion; for, to say truth, no man kept a better house than john, nor spent his money more generously. by plain and fair dealing john had acquired some plums, and might have kept them had it not been for his unhappy lawsuit. nic. frog was a cunning, sly fellow, quite the reverse of john in many particulars; covetous, frugal, minded domestic affairs, would pinch his belly to save his pocket, never lost a farthing by careless servants or bad debtors. he did not care much for any sort of diversion, except tricks of high german artists and legerdemain. no man exceeded nic. in these; yet it must be owned that nic. was a fair dealer, and in that way acquired immense riches. hocus was an old cunning attorney, and though this was the first considerable suit that ever he was engaged in, he showed himself superior in address to most of his profession. he kept always good clerks, he loved money, was smooth-tongued, gave good words, and seldom lost his temper. he was not worse than an infidel, for he provided plentifully for his family, but he loved himself better than them all. the neighbours reported that he was henpecked, which was impossible, by such a mild-spirited woman as his wife was. [footnote : late king of spain.] [footnote : cardinal portocarero.] [footnote : the first letters of congratulation from king william and the states of holland upon king philip's accession to the crown of spain.] [footnote : the english.] [footnote : the dutch.] [footnote : the character and trade of the french nation.] [footnote : the king's disposition to war.] [footnote : the sentiments and addresses of the parliament at that time.] [footnote : characters of the english and dutch, and the general, duke of marlborough.] xxv. epitaph upon colonel chartres. swift was reported to have had a hand in this piece, and indeed for some time it was ascribed to him. but there is now no doubt that it was entirely the work of arbuthnot. here continueth to rot the body of francis chartres; who, with an inflexible constancy and inimitable uniformity of life, persisted, in spite of age and infirmities, in the practice of every human vice excepting prodigality and hypocrisy: his insatiable avarice exempted him from the first, his matchless impudence from the second. nor was he more singular in the undeviating pravity of his manners, than successful in accumulating wealth. for, without trade or profession, without trust of public money, and without bribe-worthy service, he acquired, or more properly created, a ministerial estate. he was the only person of his time who could cheat without the mask of honesty, retain his primeval meanness when possessed of ten thousand a year; and, having daily deserved the gibbet for what he did, was at last condemned to it for what he could not do. o indignant reader, think not his life useless to mankind, providence connived at his execrable designs, to give to after-ages a conspicuous proof and example of how small estimation is exorbitant wealth in the sight of god, by his bestowing it on the most unworthy of all mortals. _joannes jacet hic mirandula--cætera norunt et tagus et ganges forsan et antipodes_. applied to f. c. here francis chartres lies--be civil! the rest god knows--perhaps the devil. jonathan swift. ( - .) xxvi. mrs. frances harris' petition. written in the year . the lord justices addressed were the earls of berkeley and of galway. the "lady betty" mentioned in the piece was the lady betty berkeley. "lord dromedary", the earl of drogheda, and "the chaplain", swift himself. the author was at the time smarting under a sense of disappointment over the failure of his request to lord berkeley for preferment to the rich deanery of derry. to their excellencies the lord justices of ireland. the humble petition of frances harris, who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries. humbly showeth, that i went to warm myself in lady betty's chamber, because i was cold, and i had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and gold: so, because i had been buying things for my lady last night, i was resolved to tell my money, and see if it was right. now you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock, therefore all the money i have, which god knows, is a very small stock, i keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next my smock. so, when i went to put up my purse, as luck would have it, my smock was unript, and instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt: then the bell rung, and i went down to put my lady to bed; and, god knows, i thought my money was as safe as my stupid head! so, when i came up again, i found my pocket feel very light: but when i search'd and miss'd my purse, law! i thought i should have sunk outright. "lawk, madam," says mary, "how d'ye do?" "indeed," says i, "never worse: but pray, mary, can you tell what i've done with my purse?" "lawk, help me!" said mary; "i never stirred out of this place:" "nay," said i, "i had it in lady betty's chamber, that's a plain case." so mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm: however, she stole away my garters, that i might do myself no harm. so i tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think, but hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink. so i was a-dream'd, methought, that i went and search'd the folks round, and in a corner of mrs. dukes's box, tied in a rag the money was found. so next morning we told whittle, and he fell a-swearing: then my dame wadger came: and she, you know, is thick of hearing: "dame," said i, as loud as i could bawl, "do you know what a loss i have had?" "nay," said she, "my lord colway's folks are all very sad; for my lord dromedary comes a tuesday without fail." "pugh!" said i, "but that's not the business that i ail." says cary, says he, "i've been a servant this five-and-twenty years come spring, and in all the places i lived i never heard of such a thing." "yes," says the steward, "i remember, when i was at my lady shrewsbury's, such a thing as this happen'd, just about the time of gooseberries." so i went to the party suspected, and i found her full of grief, (now, you must know, of all things in the world i hate a thief,) however, i was resolved to bring the discourse slily about: "mrs. dukes," said i, "here's an ugly accident has happen'd out: 'tis not that i value the money three skips of a mouse; but the thing i stand upon is the credit of the house. 'tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, makes a great hole in my wages: besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these ages. now, mrs. dukes, you know, and everybody understands, that tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands." "the devil take me," said she (blessing herself), "if ever i saw't!" so she roar'd like a bedlam, as tho' i had called her all to nought. so you know, what could i say to her any more? i e'en left her, and came away as wise as i was before. well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man: "no," said i, "'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be here anon." so the chaplain came in. now the servants say he is my sweetheart, because he's always in my chamber, and i always take his part. so, as the devil would have it, before i was aware, out i blunder'd, "parson," said i, "can you cast a nativity when a body's plunder'd?" (now you must know, he hates to be called _parson_, like the devil.) "truly," says he, "mrs. nab, it might become you to be more civil; if your money be gone, as a learned divine says, d'ye see: you are no text for my handling; so take that from me: i was never taken for a conjuror before, i'd have you to know." "law!" said i, "don't be angry, i am sure i never thought you so; you know i honour the cloth; i design to be a parson's wife, i never took one in your coat for a conjuror in all my life." with that, he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say, "now you may go hang yourself for me!" and so went away. well: i thought i should have swoon'd, "law!" said i, "what shall i do? i have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too!" then my lord called me: "harry," said my lord, "don't cry, i'll give you something towards your loss;" and, says my lady, "so will i." "o, but," said i, "what if, after all, the chaplain won't come to?" for that, he said, (an't please your excellencies), i must petition you. the premises tenderly consider'd, i desire your excellencies' protection, and that i may have a share in next sunday's collection: and, over and above, that i may have your excellencies' letter, with an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, instead of him, a better: and then your poor petitioner both night and day, or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound, shall ever pray. xxvii. elegy on partridge. this was written to satirize the superstitious faith placed in the predictions of the almanac-makers of the period. partridge was the name of one of them--a cobbler by profession. fielding also satirized the folly in _tom jones_. the elegy is upon "his supposed death", which drew from partridge an indignant denial. well; 'tis as bickerstaff has guess'd, though we all took it for a jest: partridge is dead; nay more, he died ere he could prove the good 'squire lied. strange, an astrologer should die without one wonder in the sky! not one of his crony stars to pay their duty at his hearse! no meteor, no eclipse appear'd! no comet with a flaming beard! the sun has rose, and gone to bed, just as if partridge were not dead; nor hid himself behind the moon to make a dreadful night at noon. he at fit periods walks through aries, howe'er our earthly motion varies; and twice a year he'll cut the equator, as if there had been no such matter. some wits have wonder'd what analogy there is 'twixt cobbling and astrology; how partridge made his optics rise from a shoe-sole to reach the skies. a list the cobbler's temples ties, to keep the hair out of his eyes; from whence 'tis plain, the diadem that princes wear derives from them: and therefore crowns are nowadays adorn'd with golden stars and rays: which plainly shows the near alliance 'twixt cobbling and the planets science. besides, that slow-pac'd sign bootes, as 'tis miscall'd, we know not who 'tis: but partridge ended all disputes; he knew his trade, and call'd it boots. the horned moon, which heretofore upon their shoes the romans wore, whose wideness kept their toes from corns, and whence we claim our shoeing-horns, shows how the art of cobbling bears a near resemblance to the spheres. a scrap of parchment hung by geometry (a great refinement in barometry) can, like the stars, foretell the weather; and what is parchment else but leather? which an astrologer might use either for almanacs or shoes. thus partridge by his wit and parts at once did practise both these arts: and as the boding owl (or rather the bat, because her wings are leather) steals from her private cell by night, and flies about the candle-light; so learned partridge could as well creep in the dark from leathern cell, and in his fancy fly as far to peep upon a twinkling star. besides, he could confound the spheres, and set the planets by the ears; to show his skill, he mars could join to venus in aspect malign; then call in mercury for aid, and cure the wounds that venus made. great scholars have in lucian read, when philip king of greece was dead, his soul and spirit did divide, and each part took a different side: one rose a star; the other fell beneath, and mended shoes in hell. thus partridge still shines in each art, the cobbling and star-gazing part, and is install'd as good a star as any of the cæsars are. triumphant star! some pity show on cobblers militant below, whom roguish boys in stormy nights torment by pissing out their lights, or thro' a chink convey their smoke inclos'd artificers to choke. thou, high exalted in thy sphere, may'st follow still thy calling there. to thee the bull will lend his hide, by phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd: for thee they argo's hulk will tax, and scrape her pitchy sides for wax; then ariadne kindly lends her braided hair to make thee ends; the point of sagittarius' dart turns to an awl by heav'nly art; and vulcan, wheedled by his wife, will forge for thee a paring-knife. for want of room by virgo's side, she'll strain a point, and sit astride, to take thee kindly in between; and then the signs will be thirteen. the epitaph. here, five foot deep, lies on his back a cobbler, star-monger, and quack; who to the stars in pure good-will does to his best look upward still. weep, all you customers that use his pills, his almanacs, or shoes: and you that did your fortunes seek, step to his grave but once a week: this earth, which bears his body's print, you'll find has so much virtue in't, that i durst pawn my ears 't will tell whate'er concerns you full as well, in physic, stolen goods, or love, as he himself could, when above. xxviii. a meditation upon a broom-stick. the remainder of the title is "according to the style and manner of the honourable robert boyle's _meditations_", and is intended as a satire on the style of that philosopher's lucubrations. this single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, i once knew in a nourishing state in a forest: it was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs: but now, in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk. 'tis now at best but the reverse of what it was, a tree turned upside down, the branches on the earth, and the root in the air: 'tis now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to do her drudgery, and, by a capricious kind of fate, destined to make other things clean, and be nasty itself. at length, worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, 'tis either thrown out of doors, or condemned to the last use of kindling a fire. when i beheld this, i sighed and said within myself, surely mortal man is a broom-stick; nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper branches of this reasoning vegetable, till the axe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk. he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew on his head. but now should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, though the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity. partial judges that we are of our own excellencies, and other men's defaults! but a broom-stick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree standing on its head; and pray what is man, but a topsy-turvy creature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, grovelling on the earth! and yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be an universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a remover of grievances, rakes into every sluts' corner of nature, bringing hidden corruptions to the light, and raises a mighty dust where there was none before, sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away. his last days are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving; till, worn to the stumps, like his brother bezom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flames, for others to warm themselves by. xxix. the relations of booksellers and authors. this piece constitutes section x. of _the tale of a tub_. it is an unanswerable argument of a very refined age the wonderful civilities that have passed of late years between the nation of authors and that of readers. there can hardly pop out a play, a pamphlet, or a poem, without a preface full of acknowledgments to the world for the general reception and applause they have given it, which the lord knows where, or when, or how, or from whom it received. in due deference to so laudable a custom, i do here return my humble thanks to his majesty and both houses of parliament, to the lords of the king's most honourable privy council, to the reverend the judges, to the clergy, and gentry, and yeomanry of this land: but in a more especial manner to my worthy brethren and friends at will's coffee-house, and gresham college, and warwick lane, and moorfields, and scotland yard, and westminster hall, and guildhall; in short, to all inhabitants and retainers whatsoever, either in court, or church, or camp, or city, or country, for their generosity and universal acceptance of this divine treatise. i accept their approbation and good opinion with extreme gratitude, and to the utmost of my poor capacity shall take hold of all opportunities to return the obligation. i am also happy that fate has flung me into so blessed an age for the mutual felicity of booksellers and authors, whom i may safely affirm to be at this day the two only satisfied parties in england. ask an author how his last piece has succeeded, "why, truly he thanks his stars the world has been very favourable, and he has not the least reason to complain". and yet he wrote it in a week at bits and starts, when he could steal an hour from his urgent affairs, as it is a hundred to one you may see further in the preface, to which he refers you, and for the rest to the bookseller. there you go as a customer, and make the same question, "he blesses his god the thing takes wonderful; he is just printing a second edition, and has but three left in his shop". you beat down the price; "sir, we shall not differ", and in hopes of your custom another time, lets you have it as reasonable as you please; "and pray send as many of your acquaintance as you will; i shall upon your account furnish them all at the same rate". now it is not well enough considered to what accidents and occasions the world is indebted for the greatest part of those noble writings which hourly start up to entertain it. if it were not for a rainy day, a drunken vigil, a fit of the spleen, a course of physic, a sleepy sunday, an ill run at dice, a long tailor's bill, a beggar's purse, a factious head, a hot sun, costive diet, want of books, and a just contempt of learning,--but for these events, i say, and some others too long to recite (especially a prudent neglect of taking brimstone inwardly), i doubt the number of authors and of writings would dwindle away to a degree most woeful to behold. to confirm this opinion, hear the words of the famous troglodyte philosopher. "it is certain," said he, "some grains of folly are of course annexed as part in the composition of human nature; only the choice is left us whether we please to wear them inlaid or embossed, and we need not go very far to seek how that is usually determined, when we remember it is with human faculties as with liquors, the lightest will be ever at the top." there is in this famous island of britain a certain paltry scribbler, very voluminous, whose character the reader cannot wholly be a stranger to. he deals in a pernicious kind of writings called "second parts", and usually passes under the name of "the author of the first". i easily foresee that as soon as i lay down my pen this nimble operator will have stole it, and treat me as inhumanly as he has already done dr. blackmore, lestrange, and many others who shall here be nameless. i therefore fly for justice and relief into the hands of that great rectifier of saddles and lover of mankind, dr. bentley, begging he will take this enormous grievance into his most modern consideration; and if it should so happen that the furniture of an ass in the shape of a second part must for my sins be clapped, by mistake, upon my back, that he will immediately please, in the presence of the world, to lighten me of the burden, and take it home to his own house till the true beast thinks fit to call for it. in the meantime, i do here give this public notice that my resolutions are to circumscribe within this discourse the whole stock of matter i have been so many years providing. since my vein is once opened, i am content to exhaust it all at a running, for the peculiar advantage of my dear country, and for the universal benefit of mankind. therefore, hospitably considering the number of my guests, they shall have my whole entertainment at a meal, and i scorn to set up the leavings in the cupboard. what the guests cannot eat may be given to the poor, and the dogs under the table may gnaw the bones.[ ] this i understand for a more generous proceeding than to turn the company's stomachs by inviting them again to-morrow to a scurvy meal of scraps. if the reader fairly considers the strength of what i have advanced in the foregoing section, i am convinced it will produce a wonderful revolution in his notions and opinions, and he will be abundantly better prepared to receive and to relish the concluding part of this miraculous treatise. readers may be divided into three classes, the superficial, the ignorant, and the learned, and i have with much felicity fitted my pen to the genius and advantage of each. the superficial reader will be strangely provoked to laughter, which clears the breast and the lungs, is sovereign against the spleen, and the most innocent of all diuretics. the ignorant reader (between whom and the former the distinction is extremely nice) will find himself disposed to stare, which is an admirable remedy for ill eyes, serves to raise and enliven the spirits, and wonderfully helps perspiration. but the reader truly learned, chiefly for whose benefit i wake when others sleep, and sleep when others wake, will here find sufficient matter to employ his speculations for the rest of his life. it were much to be wished, and i do here humbly propose for an experiment, that every prince in christendom will take seven of the deepest scholars in his dominions and shut them up close for seven years in seven chambers, with a command to write seven ample commentaries on this comprehensive discourse. i shall venture to affirm that, whatever difference may be found in their several conjectures, they will be all, without the least distortion, manifestly deducible from the text. meantime it is my earnest request that so useful an undertaking may be entered upon (if their majesties please) with all convenient speed, because i have a strong inclination before i leave the world to taste a blessing which we mysterious writers can seldom reach till we have got into our graves, whether it is that fame being a fruit grafted on the body, can hardly grow and much less ripen till the stock is in the earth, or whether she be a bird of prey, and is lured among the rest to pursue after the scent of a carcass, or whether she conceives her trumpet sounds best and farthest when she stands on a tomb, by the advantage of a rising ground and the echo of a hollow vault. it is true, indeed, the republic of dark authors, after they once found out this excellent expedient of dying, have been peculiarly happy in the variety as well as extent of their reputation. for night being the universal mother of things, wise philosophers hold all writings to be fruitful in the proportion they are dark, and therefore the true illuminated (that is to say, the darkest of all) have met with such numberless commentators, whose scholiastic midwifery hath delivered them of meanings that the authors themselves perhaps never conceived, and yet may very justly be allowed the lawful parents of them, the words of such writers being like seed, which, however scattered at random, when they light upon a fruitful ground, will multiply far beyond either the hopes or imagination of the sower. and therefore, in order to promote so useful a work, i will here take leave to glance a few innuendos that may be of great assistance to those sublime spirits who shall be appointed to labour in a universal comment upon this wonderful discourse. and first, i have couched a very profound mystery in the number of o's multiplied by seven and divided by nine. also, if a devout brother of the rosy cross will pray fervently for sixty-three mornings with a lively faith, and then transpose certain letters and syllables according to prescription, in the second and fifth section they will certainly reveal into a full receipt of the _opus magnum_. lastly, whoever will be at the pains to calculate the whole number of each letter in this treatise, and sum up the difference exactly between the several numbers, assigning the true natural cause for every such difference, the discoveries in the product will plentifully reward his labour. but then he must beware of bythus and sigè, and be sure not to forget the qualities of acamoth; _a cujus lacrymis humecta prodit substantia, à risu lucida, à tristitiâ solida, et à timoré mobilis_, wherein eugenius philalethes[ ] hath committed an unpardonable mistake. [footnote : the bad critics.] [footnote : a name under which thomas vaughan wrote.] xxx. the epistle dedicatory to his royal highness prince posterity. the following is the famous dedication of _the tale of a tub_. the description of "the tyranny of time" was regarded by goethe as one of the finest passages in swift's works. sir, i here present your highness with the fruits of a very few leisure hours, stolen from the short intervals of a world of business, and of an employment quite alien from such amusements as this; the poor production of that refuse of time which has lain heavy upon my hands during a long prorogation of parliament, a great dearth of foreign news, and a tedious fit of rainy weather. for which, and other reasons, it cannot choose extremely to deserve such a patronage as that of your highness, whose numberless virtues in so few years, make the world look upon you as the future example to all princes. for although your highness is hardly got clear of infancy, yet has the universal learned world already resolved upon appealing to your future dictates with the lowest and most resigned submission, fate having decreed you sole arbiter of the productions of human wit in this polite and most accomplished age. methinks the number of appellants were enough to shock and startle any judge of a genius less unlimited than yours; but in order to prevent such glorious trials, the person, it seems, to whose care the education of your highness is committed, has resolved, as i am told, to keep you in almost an universal ignorance of our studies, which it is your inherent birthright to inspect. it is amazing to me that this person should have assurance, in the face of the sun, to go about persuading your highness that our age is almost wholly illiterate and has hardly produced one writer upon any subject. i know very well that when your highness shall come to riper years, and have gone through the learning of antiquity, you will be too curious to neglect inquiring into the authors of the very age before you; and to think that this insolent, in the account he is preparing for your view, designs to reduce them to a number so insignificant as i am ashamed to mention; it moves my zeal and my spleen for the honour and interest of our vast flourishing body, as well as of myself, for whom i know by long experience he has professed, and still continues, a peculiar malice. it is not unlikely that, when your highness will one day peruse what i am now writing, you may be ready to expostulate with your governor upon the credit of what i here affirm, and command him to show you some of our productions. to which he will answer--for i am well informed of his designs--by asking your highness where they are, and what is become of them? and pretend it a demonstration that there never were any, because they are not then to be found. not to be found! who has mislaid them? are they sunk in the abyss of things? it is certain that in their own nature they were light enough to swim upon the surface for all eternity; therefore, the fault is in him who tied weights so heavy to their heels as to depress them to the centre. is their very essence destroyed? who has annihilated them? were they drowned by purges or martyred by pipes? who administered them to the posteriors of ----. but that it may no longer be a doubt with your highness who is to be the author of this universal ruin, i beseech you to observe that large and terrible scythe which your governor affects to bear continually about him. be pleased to remark the length and strength, the sharpness and hardness, of his nails and teeth; consider his baneful, abominable breath, enemy to life and matter, infectious and corrupting, and then reflect whether it be possible for any mortal ink and paper of this generation to make a suitable resistance. oh, that your highness would one day resolve to disarm this usurping _maître de palais_ of his furious engines, and bring your empire _hors du page_! it were endless to recount the several methods of tyranny and destruction which your governor is pleased to practise upon this occasion. his inveterate malice is such to the writings of our age, that, of several thousands produced yearly from this renowned city, before the next revolution of the sun there is not one to be heard of. unhappy infants! many of them barbarously destroyed before they have so much as learnt their mother-tongue to beg for pity. some he stifles in their cradles, others he frights into convulsions, whereof they suddenly die, some he flays alive, others he tears limb from limb, great numbers are offered to moloch, and the rest, tainted by his breath, die of a languishing consumption. but the concern i have most at heart is for our corporation of poets, from whom i am preparing a petition to your highness, to be subscribed with the names of one hundred and thirty-six of the first race, but whose immortal productions are never likely to reach your eyes, though each of them is now an humble and an earnest appellant for the laurel, and has large comely volumes ready to show for a support to his pretensions. the never-dying works of these illustrious persons your governor, sir, has devoted to unavoidable death, and your highness is to be made believe that our age has never arrived at the honour to produce one single poet. we confess immortality to be a great and powerful goddess, but in vain we offer up to her our devotions and our sacrifices if your highness's governor, who has usurped the priesthood, must, by an unparalled ambition and avarice, wholly intercept and devour them. to affirm that our age is altogether unlearned and devoid of writers in any kind, seems to be an assertion so bold and so false, that i have been sometimes thinking the contrary may almost be proved by uncontrollable demonstration. it is true, indeed, that although their numbers be vast and their productions numerous in proportion, yet are they hurried so hastily off the scene that they escape our memory and delude our sight. when i first thought of this address, i had prepared a copious list of titles to present your highness as an undisputed argument for what i affirm. the originals were posted fresh upon all gates and corners of streets; but returning in a very few hours to take a review, they were all torn down and fresh ones in their places. i inquired after them among readers and booksellers, but i inquired in vain; the memorial of them was lost among men, their place was no more to be found; and i was laughed to scorn for a clown and a pedant, devoid of all taste and refinement, little versed in the course of present affairs, and that knew nothing of what had passed in the best companies of court and town. so that i can only avow in general to your highness that we do abound in learning and wit, but to fix upon particulars is a task too slippery for my slender abilities. if i should venture, in a windy day, to affirm to your highness that there is a large cloud near the horizon in the form of a bear, another in the zenith with the head of an ass, a third to the westward with claws like a dragon; and your highness should in a few minutes think fit to examine the truth, it is certain they would be all changed in figure and position, new ones would arise, and all we could agree upon would be, that clouds there were, but that i was grossly mistaken in the zoography and topography of them. but your governor, perhaps, may still insist, and put the question, what is then become of those immense bales of paper which must needs have been employed in such numbers of books? can these also be wholly annihilated, and so of a sudden, as i pretend? what shall i say in return of so invidious an objection? it ill befits the distance between your highness and me to send you for ocular conviction to a jakes or an oven, to the windows of a bawdyhouse, or to a sordid lantern. books, like men their authors, have no more than one way of coming into the world, but there are ten thousand to go out of it and return no more. i profess to your highness, in the integrity of my heart, that what i am going to say is literally true this minute i am writing; what revolutions may happen before it shall be ready for your perusal i can by no means warrant; however, i beg you to accept it as a specimen of our learning, our politeness, and our wit. i do therefore affirm, upon the word of a sincere man, that there is now actually in being a certain poet called john dryden, whose translation of virgil was lately printed in large folio, well bound, and if diligent search were made, for aught i know, is yet to be seen. there is another called nahum tate, who is ready to make oath that he has caused many reams of verse to be published, whereof both himself and his bookseller, if lawfully required, can still produce authentic copies, and therefore wonders why the world is pleased to make such a secret of it. there is a third, known by the name of tom durfey, a poet of a vast comprehension, an universal genius, and most profound learning. there are also one mr. rymer and one mr. dennis, most profound critics. there is a person styled dr. bentley, who has wrote near a thousand pages of immense erudition, giving a full and true account of a certain squabble of wonderful importance between himself and a bookseller; he is a writer of infinite wit and humour, no man rallies with a better grace and in more sprightly turns. further, i avow to your highness that with these eyes i have beheld the person of william wotton, b.d., who has written a good-sized volume against a friend of your governor, from whom, alas! he must therefore look for little favour, in a most gentlemanly style, adorned with utmost politeness and civility, replete with discoveries equally valuable for their novelty and use, and embellished with traits of wit so poignant and so apposite, that he is a worthy yoke-mate to his fore-mentioned friend. why should i go upon farther particulars, which might fill a volume with the just eulogies of my contemporary brethren? i shall bequeath this piece of justice to a larger work, wherein i intend to write a character of the present set of wits in our nation; their persons i shall describe particularly and at length, their genius and understandings in miniature. in the meantime, i do here make bold to present your highness with a faithful abstract drawn from the universal body of all arts and sciences, intended wholly for your service and instruction. nor do i doubt in the least, but your highness will peruse it as carefully and make as considerable improvements as other young princes have already done by the many volumes of late years written for a help to their studies. that your highness may advance in wisdom and virtue, as well as years, and at last outshine all your royal ancestors, shall be the daily prayer of, sir, your highness's most devoted, &c. _decem_. . sir richard steele. ( - .) xxxi. the commonwealth of lunatics. this paper forms no. of _the tatler_, january th, . from my own apartment, _january_ . there is a sect of ancient philosophers, who, i think, have left more volumes behind them, and those better written, than any other of the fraternities in philosophy. it was a maxim of this sect, that all those who do not live up to the principles of reason and virtue are madmen. everyone who governs himself by these rules is allowed the title of wise, and reputed to be in his senses: and everyone, in proportion as he deviates from them, is pronounced frantic and distracted. cicero, having chosen this maxim for his theme, takes occasion to argue from it very agreeably with clodius, his implacable adversary, who had procured his banishment. a city, says he, is an assembly distinguished into bodies of men, who are in possession of their respective rights and privileges, cast under proper subordinations, and in all its parts obedient to the rules of law and equity. he then represents the government from whence he was banished, at a time when the consul, senate, and laws had lost their authority, as a commonwealth of lunatics. for this reason he regards his expulsion from rome as a man would being turned out of bedlam, if the inhabitants of it should drive him out of their walls as a person unfit for their community. we are therefore to look upon every man's brain to be touched, however he may appear in the general conduct of his life, if he has an unjustifiable singularity in any part of his conversation or behaviour; or if he swerves from right reason, however common his kind of madness may be, we shall not excuse him for its being epidemical; it being our present design to clap up all such as have the marks of madness upon them, who are now permitted to go about the streets for no other reason but because they do no mischief in their fits. abundance of imaginary great men are put in straw to bring them to a right sense of themselves. and is it not altogether as reasonable, that an insignificant man, who has an immoderate opinion of his merits, and a quite different notion of his own abilities from what the rest of the world entertain, should have the same care taken of him as a beggar who fancies himself a duke or a prince? or why should a man who starves in the midst of plenty be trusted with himself more than he who fancies he is an emperor in the midst of poverty? i have several women of quality in my thoughts who set so exorbitant a value upon themselves that i have often most heartily pitied them, and wished them for their recovery under the same discipline with the pewterer's wife. i find by several hints in ancient authors that when the romans were in the height of power and luxury they assigned out of their vast dominions an island called anticyra as an habitation for madmen. this was the bedlam of the roman empire, whither all persons who had lost their wits used to resort from all parts of the world in quest of them. several of the roman emperors were advised to repair to this island: but most of them, instead of listening to such sober counsels, gave way to their distraction, until the people knocked them on the head as despairing of their cure. in short, it was as usual for men of distempered brains to take a voyage to anticyra in those days as it is in ours for persons who have a disorder in their lungs to go to montpellier. the prodigious crops of hellebore with which this whole island abounded did not only furnish them with incomparable tea, snuff, and hungary water, but impregnated the air of the country with such sober and salutiferous steams as very much comforted the heads and refreshed the senses of all that breathed in it. a discarded statesman that, at his first landing, appeared stark, staring mad, would become calm in a week's time, and upon his return home live easy and satisfied in his retirement. a moping lover would grow a pleasant fellow by that time he had rid thrice about the island: and a hair-brained rake, after a short stay in the country, go home again a composed, grave, worthy gentleman. i have premised these particulars before i enter on the main design of this paper, because i would not be thought altogether notional in what i have to say, and pass only for a projector in morality. i could quote horace and seneca and some other ancient writers of good repute upon the same occasion, and make out by their testimony that our streets are filled with distracted persons; that our shops and taverns, private and public houses, swarm with them; and that it is very hard to make up a tolerable assembly without a majority of them. but what i have already said is, i hope, sufficient to justify the ensuing project, which i shall therefore give some account of without any further preface. . it is humbly proposed, that a proper receptacle or habitation be forthwith erected for all such persons as, upon due trial and examination, shall appear to be out of their wits. . that, to serve the present exigency, the college in moorfields be very much extended at both ends; and that it be converted into a square, by adding three other sides to it. . that nobody be admitted into these three additional sides but such whose frenzy can lay no claim to any apartment in that row of building which is already erected. . that the architect, physician, apothecary, surgeon, keepers, nurses, and porters be all and each of them cracked, provided that their frenzy does not lie in the profession or employment to which they shall severally and respectively be assigned. _n.b._ it is thought fit to give the foregoing notice, that none may present himself here for any post of honour or profit who is not duly qualified. . that over all the gates of the additional buildings there be figures placed in the same manner as over the entrance of the edifice already erected, provided they represent such distractions only as are proper for those additional buildings; as of an envious man gnawing his own flesh; a gamester pulling himself by the ears and knocking his head against a marble pillar; a covetous man warming himself over a heap of gold; a coward flying from his own shadow, and the like. having laid down this general scheme of my design, i do hereby invite all persons who are willing to encourage so public-spirited a project to bring in their contributions as soon as possible; and to apprehend forthwith any politician whom they shall catch raving in a coffee-house, or any free-thinker whom they shall find publishing his deliriums, or any other person who shall give the like manifest signs of a crazed imagination. and i do at the same time give this public notice to all the madmen about this great city, that they may return to their senses with all imaginable expedition, lest, if they should come into my hands, i should put them into a regimen which they would not like; for if i find any one of them persist in his frantic behaviour i will make him in a month's time as famous as ever oliver's porter was. joseph addison. ( - .) xxxii. sir roger de coverley's sunday. this piece represents the complete paper, no. of _the spectator_, july th, . i am always very well pleased with a country sunday, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. it is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time in which the whole village meet together with their best faces and in their cleanliest habits to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the supreme being. sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. a country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon the change, the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings. my friend sir roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing; he has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion table at his own expense. he has often told me that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular; and that in order to make them kneel and join in the responses he gave every one of them a hassock and a common-prayer book: and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the psalms, upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed out-do most of the country churches that i have ever heard. as sir roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding either wakes them himself or sends his servants to them. several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions: sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing-psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it: sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces amen three or four times to the same prayer; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation or see if any of his tenants are missing. i was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one john matthews to mind what he was about and not disturb the congregation. this john matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. this authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his character makes his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. as soon as the sermon is finished nobody presumes to stir till sir roger is gone out of the church. the knight walks down from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side; and every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church, which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. the chaplain has often told me that upon a catechizing day, when sir roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a bible to be given him next day for his encouragement; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. sir roger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; and that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church service, has promised upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit. the fair understanding between sir roger and his chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable because the very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that rise between the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. the parson is always preaching at the squire, and the squire to be revenged on the parson never comes to church. the squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers; while the parson instructs them every sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every sermon that he is a better man than his patron. in short, matters are come to such an extremity that the squire has not said his prayers either in public or private this half year; and that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation. feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used to be dazzled with riches that they pay as much deference to the understanding of a man of an estate as of a man of learning, and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. edward young. ( - .) xxxiii. to the right hon. mr. dodington. this is justly regarded as one of the finest satires in the english language. it is taken from dr. young's _series of satires_ published in collected form in . dodington was the famous "bubb dodington", satirized as bubo by pope in the "prologue to the satires". long, dodington, in debt, i long have sought to ease the burden of my graceful thought: and now a poet's gratitude you see: grant him two favours, and he'll ask for three: for whose the present glory, or the gain? you give protection, i a worthless strain. you love and feel the poet's sacred flame, and know the basis of a solid fame; though prone to like, yet cautious to commend, you read with all the malice of a friend; nor favour my attempts that way alone, but, more to raise my verse, conceal your own. an ill-tim'd modesty! turn ages o'er, when wanted britain bright examples more? her learning, and her genius too, decays; and dark and cold are her declining days; as if men now were of another cast, they meanly live on alms of ages past, men still are men; and they who boldly dare, shall triumph o'er the sons of cold despair; or, if they fail, they justly still take place of such who run in debt for their disgrace; who borrow much, then fairly make it known, and damn it with improvements of their own. we bring some new materials, and what's old new cast with care, and in no borrow'd mould; late times the verse may read, if these refuse; and from sour critics vindicate the muse. "your work is long", the critics cry. 'tis true, and lengthens still, to take in fools like you: shorten my labour, if its length you blame: for, grow but wise, you rob me of my game; as haunted hags, who, while the dogs pursue, renounce their four legs, and start up on two. like the bold bird upon the banks of nile that picks the teeth of the dire crocodile, will i enjoy (dread feast!) the critic's rage, and with the fell destroyer feed my page. for what ambitious fools are more to blame, than those who thunder in the critic's name? good authors damn'd, have their revenge in this, to see what wretches gain the praise they miss. balbutius, muffled in his sable cloak, like an old druid from his hollow oak, as ravens solemn, and as boding, cries, "ten thousand worlds for the three unities!" ye doctors sage, who through parnassus teach, or quit the tub, or practise what you preach. one judges as the weather dictates; right the poem is at noon, and wrong at night: another judges by a surer gage, an author's principles, or parentage; since his great ancestors in flanders fell, the poem doubtless must be written well. another judges by the writer's look; another judges, for he bought the book: some judge, their knack of judging wrong to keep; some judge, because it is too soon to sleep. thus all will judge, and with one single aim, to gain themselves, not give the writer, fame. the very best ambitiously advise, half to serve you, and half to pass for wise. critics on verse, as squibs on triumphs wait, proclaim the glory, and augment the state; hot, envious, noisy, proud, the scribbling fry burn, hiss, and bounce, waste paper, stink, and die. rail on, my friends! what more my verse can crown than compton's smile, and your obliging frown? not all on books their criticism waste: the genius of a dish some justly taste, and eat their way to fame; with anxious thought the salmon is refus'd, the turbot bought. impatient art rebukes the sun's delay and bids december yield the fruits of may; their various cares in one great point combine the business of their lives, that is--to dine. half of their precious day they give the feast; and to a kind digestion spare the rest. apicius, here, the taster of the town, feeds twice a week, to settle their renown. these worthies of the palate guard with care the sacred annals of their bills of fare; in those choice books their panegyrics read, and scorn the creatures that for hunger feed. if man by feeding well commences great, much more the worm to whom that man is meat. to glory some advance a lying claim, thieves of renown, and pilferers of fame: their front supplies what their ambition lacks; they know a thousand lords, behind their backs. cottil is apt to wink upon a peer, when turn'd away, with a familiar leer; and harvey's eyes, unmercifully keen, have murdered fops, by whom she ne'er was seen. niger adopts stray libels; wisely prone, to cover shame still greater than his own. bathyllus, in the winter of threescore, belies his innocence, and keeps a ----. absence of mind brabantio turns to fame, learns to mistake, nor knows his brother's name; has words and thoughts in nice disorder set, and takes a memorandum to forget. thus vain, not knowing what adorns or blots men forge the patents that create them sots. as love of pleasure into pain betrays, so most grow infamous through love of praise. but whence for praise can such an ardour rise, when those, who bring that incense, we despise? for such the vanity of great and small, contempt goes round, and all men laugh at all. nor can even satire blame them; for 'tis true, they have most ample cause for what they do o fruitful britain! doubtless thou wast meant a nurse of fools, to stock the continent. though phoebus and the nine for ever mow, rank folly underneath the scythe will grow the plenteous harvest calls me forward still, till i surpass in length my lawyer's bill; a welsh descent, which well-paid heralds damn; or, longer still, a dutchman's epigram. when, cloy'd, in fury i throw down my pen, in comes a coxcomb, and i write again. see tityrus, with merriment possest, is burst with laughter, ere he hears the jest: what need he stay? for when the jest is o'er, his teeth will be no whiter than before. is there of thee, ye fair! so great a dearth, that you need purchase monkeys for your mirth! some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire; of houses some; nay, houses that they hire: some (perfect wisdom!) of a beauteous wife; and boast, like cordeliers, a scourge for life. sometimes, through pride, the sexes change their airs; my lord has vapours, and my lady swears; then, stranger still! on turning of the wind, my lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind. to show the strength, and infamy of pride, by all 'tis follow'd, and by all denied. what numbers are there, which at once pursue, praise, and the glory to contemn it, too? vincenna knows self-praise betrays to shame, and therefore lays a stratagem for fame; makes his approach in modesty's disguise, to win applause; and takes it by surprise. "to err," says he, "in small things, is my fate." you know your answer, "he's exact in great". "my style", says he, "is rude and full of faults." "but oh! what sense! what energy of thoughts!" that he wants algebra, he must confess; "but not a soul to give our arms success". "ah! that's an hit indeed," vincenna cries; "but who in heat of blood was ever wise? i own 'twas wrong, when thousands called me back to make that hopeless, ill-advised attack; all say, 'twas madness; nor dare i deny; sure never fool so well deserved to die." could this deceive in others to be free, it ne'er, vincenna, could deceive in thee! whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue, so clear, the dullest cannot take thee wrong. thou on one sleeve wilt thy revenues wear; and haunt the court, without a prospect there. are these expedients for renown? confess thy little self, that i may scorn thee less. be wise, vincenna, and the court forsake; our fortunes there, nor thou, nor i, shall make. even men of merit, ere their point they gain, in hardy service make a long campaign; most manfully besiege the patron's gate, and oft repulsed, as oft attack the great with painful art, and application warm. and take, at last, some little place by storm; enough to keep two shoes on sunday clean, and starve upon discreetly, in sheer-lane. already this thy fortune can afford; then starve without the favour of my lord. 'tis true, great fortunes some great men confer, but often, even in doing right, they err: from caprice, not from choice, their favours come: they give, but think it toil to know to whom: the man that's nearest, yawning, they advance: 'tis inhumanity to bless by chance. if merit sues, and greatness is so loth to break its downy trance, i pity both. behold the masquerade's fantastic scene! the legislature join'd with drury-lane! when britain calls, th' embroider'd patriots run, and serve their country--if the dance is done. "are we not then allow'd to be polite?" yes, doubtless; but first set your notions right. worth, of politeness is the needful ground; where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found. triflers not even in trifles can excel; 'tis solid bodies only polish well. great, chosen prophet! for these latter days, to turn a willing world from righteous ways! well, heydegger, dost thou thy master serve; well has he seen his servant should not starve, thou to his name hast splendid temples raised in various forms of worship seen him prais'd, gaudy devotion, like a roman, shown, and sung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown. inferior offerings to thy god of vice are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice; thy sacrifice supreme, an hundred maids! that solemn rite of midnight masquerades! though bold these truths, thou, muse, with truths like these, wilt none offend, whom 'tis a praise to please; let others flatter to be flatter'd, thou like just tribunals, bend an awful brow. how terrible it were to common-sense, to write a satire, which gave none offence! and, since from life i take the draughts you see. if men dislike them, do they censure me? the fool, and knave, 'tis glorious to offend, and godlike an attempt the world to mend, the world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall, knaves know the game, and honest men pay all. how hard for real worth to gain its price! a man shall make his fortune in a trice, if blest with pliant, though but slender, sense, feign'd modesty, and real impudence: a supple knee, smooth tongue, an easy grace. a curse within, a smile upon his face; a beauteous sister, or convenient wife, are prizes in the lottery of life; genius and virtue they will soon defeat, and lodge you in the bosom of the great. to merit, is but to provide a pain for men's refusing what you ought to gain. may, dodington, this maxim fail in you, whom my presaging thoughts already view by walpole's conduct fired, and friendship grac'd, still higher in your prince's favour plac'd: and lending, here, those awful councils aid, which you, abroad, with such success obey'd! bear this from one, who holds your friendship dear; what most we wish, with ease we fancy near. john gay. ( - .) xxxiv. the quidnunckis. the following piece was originally claimed for swift in the edition of his works published in . but it was undoubtedly written by gay, being only sent to swift for perusal. this explains the fact of its being found amongst the papers of the latter. the poem is suggested by the death of the duke regent of france. how vain are mortal man's endeavours? (said, at dame elleot's,[ ] master travers) good orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard: oh! may all statesmen die prepar'd! i do foresee (and for foreseeing he equals any man in being) the army ne'er can be disbanded. --i with the king was safely landed. ah friends! great changes threat the land! all france and england at a stand! there's meroweis--mark! strange work! and there's the czar, and there's the turk-- the pope--an india-merchant by cut short the speech with this reply: all at a stand? you see great changes? ah, sir! you never saw the ganges: there dwells the nation of quidnunckis (so monomotapa calls monkeys:) on either bank from bough to bough, they meet and chat (as we may now): whispers go round, they grin, they shrug, they bow, they snarl, they scratch, they hug; and, just as chance or whim provoke them, they either bite their friends, or stroke them. there have i seen some active prig, to show his parts, bestride a twig: lord! how the chatt'ring tribe admire! not that he's wiser, but he's higher: all long to try the vent'rous thing, (for power is but to have one's swing). from side to side he springs, he spurns, and bangs his foes and friends by turns. thus as in giddy freaks he bounces, crack goes the twig, and in he flounces! down the swift stream the wretch is borne; never, ah never, to return! zounds! what a fall had our dear brother! morbleu! cries one; and damme, t'other. the nation gives a general screech; none cocks his tail, none claws his breech; each trembles for the public weal, and for a while forgets to steal. awhile all eyes intent and steady pursue him whirling down the eddy: but, out of mind when out of view, some other mounts the twig anew; and business on each monkey shore runs the same track it ran before. [footnote : coffee-house near st. james's.] alexander pope. ( - .) xxxv. the dunciad--the description of dulness. one of the most scathing satires in the history of literature. pope in the latest editions of it rather spoilt its point by substituting colley gibber for theobald as the "hero" of it. our text is from the edition of . the satire first appeared in , and other editions, greatly altered, were issued in , , . the mighty mother, and her son, who brings the smithfield muses[ ] to the ear of kings, i sing. say you, her instruments the great! called to this work by dulness, jove, and fate: you by whose care, in vain decried and curst, still dunce the second reigns like dunce the first; say, how the goddess bade britannia sleep, and poured her spirit o'er the land and deep. in eldest time, ere mortals writ or read, ere pallas issued from the thunderer's head, dulness o'er all possessed her ancient right, daughter of chaos and eternal night: fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave, gross as her sire, and as her mother grave laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind, she ruled, in native anarchy, the mind. still her old empire to restore she tries, for, born a goddess, dulness never dies. o thou! whatever title please thine ear, dean, drapier, bickerstaff, or gulliver! whether thou choose cervantes' serious air, or laugh and shake in rabelais' easy chair, or praise the court, or magnify mankind,[ ] or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind; from thy boeotia though her power retires, mourn not, my swift, at aught our realm acquires, here pleased behold her mighty wings outspread to hatch a new saturnian age of lead. close to those walls where folly holds her throne, and laughs to think monroe would take her down, where o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand,[ ] great cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand; one cell there is, concealed from vulgar eye, the cave of poverty and poetry, keen, hollow winds howl through the bleak recess, emblem of music caused by emptiness. hence bards, like proteus long in vain tied down, escape in monsters, and amaze the town. hence miscellanies spring, the weekly boast of curll's chaste press, and lintot's rubric post:[ ] hence hymning tyburn's elegiac lines,[ ] hence journals, medleys, mercuries, magazines; sepulchral lies, our holy walls to grace, and new-year odes,[ ] and all the grub street race. in clouded majesty here dulness shone; four guardian virtues, round, support her throne: fierce champion fortitude, that knows no fears of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears: calm temperance, whose blessings those partake who hunger, and who thirst for scribbling sake: prudence, whose glass presents the approaching jail: poetic justice, with her lifted scale, where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs, and solid pudding against empty praise. here she beholds the chaos dark and deep, where nameless somethings in their causes sleep, till genial jacob,[ ] or a warm third day, call forth each mass, a poem, or a play: how hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie, how new-born nonsense first is taught to cry, maggots half-formed in rhyme exactly meet, and learn to crawl upon poetic feet. here one poor word an hundred clenches makes, and ductile dulness new meanders takes there motley images her fancy strike, figures ill paired, and similes unlike. she sees a mob of metaphors advance, pleased with the madness of the mazy dance; how tragedy and comedy embrace; how farce and epic get a jumbled race; how time himself[ ] stands still at her command, realms shift their place, and ocean turns to land. here gay description egypt glads with showers, or gives to zembla fruits, to barca flowers; glittering with ice here hoary hills are seen, there painted valleys of eternal green; in cold december fragrant chaplets blow, and heavy harvests nod beneath the snow. all these and more the cloud-compelling queen beholds through fogs, that magnify the scene. she, tinselled o'er in robes of varying hues, with self-applause her wild creation views; sees momentary monsters rise and fall, and with her own fools-colours gilds them all. 'twas on the day when thorold rich and grave,[ ] like cimon, triumphed both on land and wave: (pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces, glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broad faces) now night descending, the proud scene was o'er, but lived in settle's numbers one day more.[ ] now mayors and shrieves all hushed and satiate lay, yet ate, in dreams, the custard of the day; while pensive poets painful vigils keep, sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep. much to the mindful queen the feast recalls what city swans once sung within the walls; much she revolves their arts, their ancient praise, and sure succession down from heywood's[ ] days. she saw, with joy, the line immortal run, each sire impressed, and glaring in his son: so watchful bruin forms, with plastic care, each growing lump, and brings it to a bear. she saw old prynne in restless daniel[ ] shine, and eusden eke out[ ] blackmore's endless line; she saw slow philips creep like tate's poor page, and all the mighty mad[ ] in dennis rage. in each she marks her image full exprest, but chief in bays's monster-breeding breast, bays, formed by nature stage and town to bless, and act, and be, a coxcomb with success. dulness, with transport eyes the lively dunce, remembering she herself was pertness once. now (shame to fortune!) an ill run at play blanked his bold visage, and a thin third day: swearing and supperless the hero sate, blasphemed his gods, the dice, and damned his fate; then gnawed his pen, then dashed it on the ground, sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound! plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there; yet wrote and floundered on in mere despair. round him much embryo, much abortion lay, much future ode, and abdicated play; nonsense precipitate, like running lead, that slipped through cracks and zigzags of the head; all that on folly frenzy could beget, fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit, next, o'er his books his eyes began to roll, in pleasing memory of all he stole, how here he sipped, how there he plundered snug, and sucked all o'er, like an industrious bug. here lay poor fletcher's half-eat scenes, and here the frippery of crucified molière; there hapless shakespeare, yet of tibbald sore, wished he had blotted for himself before. the rest on outside merit but presume, or serve (like other fools) to fill a room; such with their shelves as due proportion hold, or their fond parents dressed in red and gold; or where the pictures for the page atone, and quarles is saved by beauties not his own. here swells the shelf with ogilby the great; there, stamped with arms, newcastle shines complete: here all his suffering brotherhood retire, and 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire: a gothic library! of greece and rome well purged, and worthy settle, banks, and broome. [footnote : smithfield is the place where bartholomew fair was kept, whose shows and dramatical entertainments were, by the hero of this poem and others of equal genius, brought to the theatres of covent garden, lincolns-inn-fields, and the haymarket, to be the reigning pleasures of the court and town. this happened in the reigns of king george i. and ii.] [footnote : _ironicé_, alluding to gulliver's representations of both.--the next line relates to the papers of the drapier against the currency of wood's copper coin in ireland, which, upon the great discontent of the people, his majesty was graciously pleased to recall.] [footnote : mr. caius gabriel cibber, father of the poet laureate. the two statues of the lunatics over the gates of bedlam hospital were done by him, and (as the son justly says of them) are no ill monuments of his fame as an artist.] [footnote : two booksellers. the former was fined by the court of king's bench for publishing obscene books; the latter usually adorned his shop with titles in red letters.] [footnote : it was an ancient english custom for the malefactors to sing a psalm at their execution at tyburn; and no less customary to print elegies on their deaths, at the same time or before.] [footnote : made by the poet laureate for the time being, to be sung at court on every new year's day.] [footnote : jacob tonson the bookseller.] [footnote : alluding to the transgressions of the unities in the plays of such poets.] [footnote : sir george thorold, lord mayor of london in the year . the procession of a lord mayor was made partly by land, and partly by water.--cimon, the famous athenian general, obtained a victory by sea, and another by land, on the same day, over the persians and barbarians.] [footnote : settle was poet to the city of london. his office was to compose yearly panegyrics upon the lord mayors, and verses to be spoken in the pageants: but that part of the shows being at length abolished, the employment of the city poet ceased; so that upon settle's death there was no successor appointed to that place.] [footnote : john heywood, whose "interludes" were printed in the time of henry viii.] [footnote : the first edition had it,-- "she saw in norton all his father shine": daniel defoe was a genius, but norton defoe was a wretched writer, and never attempted poetry. much more justly is daniel himself made successor to w. pryn, both of whom wrote verses as well as politics. and both these authors had a semblance in their fates as well as writings, having been alike sentenced to the pillory.] [footnote : laurence eusden, poet laureate before gibber. we have the names of only a few of his works, which were very numerous. nahum tate was poet laureate, a poor writer, of no invention; but who sometimes translated tolerably when assisted by dryden. in the second part of absalom and achitophel there are about two hundred lines in all by dryden which contrast strongly with the insipidity of the rest.] [footnote : john dennis was the son of a saddler in london, born in . he paid court to dryden; and having obtained some correspondence with wycherley and congreve he immediately made public their letters.] xxxvi. sandys' ghost; or, a proper new ballad of the new ovid's metamorphoses, as it was intended to be translated by persons of quality. this satire owed its origin to the fact that sir samuel garth was about to publish a new translation of ovid's _metamorphoses_. george sandys--the old translator--died in . ye lords and commons, men of wit, and pleasure about town; read this ere you translate one bit of books of high renown. beware of latin authors all! nor think your verses sterling, though with a golden pen you scrawl, and scribble in a berlin: for not the desk with silver nails, nor bureau of expense, nor standish well japanned avails to writing of good sense. hear how a ghost in dead of night, with saucer eyes of fire, in woeful wise did sore affright a wit and courtly squire. rare imp of phoebus, hopeful youth, like puppy tame that uses to fetch and carry, in his mouth, the works of all the muses. ah! why did he write poetry that hereto was so civil; and sell his soul for vanity, to rhyming and the devil? a desk he had of curious work, with glittering studs about; within the same did sandys lurk, though ovid lay without. now as he scratched to fetch up thought, forth popped the sprite so thin; and from the key-hole bolted out, all upright as a pin. with whiskers, band, and pantaloon, and ruff composed most duly; the squire he dropped his pen full soon, while as the light burnt bluely. "ho! master sam," quoth sandys' sprite, "write on, nor let me scare ye; forsooth, if rhymes fall in not right, to budgell seek, or carey. "i hear the beat of jacob's drums, poor ovid finds no quarter! see first the merry p---- comes[ ] in haste, without his garter. "then lords and lordlings, squires and knights, wits, witlings, prigs, and peers! garth at st. james's, and at white's, beats up for volunteers. "what fenton will not do, nor gay, nor congreve, rowe, nor stanyan, tom burnett or tom d'urfey may, john dunton, steele, or anyone. "if justice philips' costive head some frigid rhymes disburses; they shall like persian tales be read, and glad both babes and nurses. "let warwick's muse with ashurst join, and ozell's with lord hervey's: tickell and addison combine, and pope translate with jervas. "lansdowne himself, that lively lord, who bows to every lady, shall join with frowde in one accord, and be like tate and brady. "ye ladies too draw forth your pen, i pray where can the hurt lie? since you have brains as well as men, as witness lady wortley. "now, tonson, 'list thy forces all, review them, and tell noses; for to poor ovid shall befall a strange metamorphosis. "a metamorphosis more strange than all his books can vapour;" "to what" (quoth squire) "shall ovid change?" quoth sandys: "to waste paper". [footnote : the earl of pembroke, probably.--_roscoe_.] xxxvii. satire on the whig poets. this is practically the whole of pope's famous epistle to arbuthnot, otherwise the _prologue to the satires_. the only portion i have omitted, in order to include in this collection one of the greatest of his satires, is the introductory lines, which are frequently dropped, as the poem really begins with the line wherewith it is represented as opening here. soft were my numbers; who could take offence, while pure description held the place of sense? like gentle fanny's was my flowery theme, a painted mistress, or a purling stream. yet then did gildon draw his venal quill;-- i wished the man a dinner, and sat still. yet then did dennis rave in furious fret; i never answered,--i was not in debt. if want provoked, or madness made them print, i waged no war with bedlam or the mint. did some more sober critic come abroad; if wrong, i smiled; if right, i kissed the rod. pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, and all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. commas and points they set exactly right, and 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite. yet ne'er one sprig of laurel graced these ribalds, from slashing bentley down to pidling tibalds: each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells, each word-catcher, that lives on syllables, even such small critic some regard may claim, preserved in milton's or in shakespeare's name. pretty! in amber to observe the forms of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! the things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, but wonder how the devil they got there. were others angry: i excused them too; well might they rage, i gave them but their due. a man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; but each man's secret standard in his mind, that casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, this, who can gratify? for who can guess? the bard whom pilfered pastorals renown, who turns a persian tale for half-a-crown,[ ] just writes to make his barrenness appear, and strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a-year; he, who still wanting, though he lives on theft, steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: and he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, means not, but blunders round about a meaning: and he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, it is not poetry, but prose run mad: all these, my modest satire bade translate, and owned that nine such poets made a tate.[ ] how did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe! and swear, not addison himself was safe. peace to all such! but were there one whose fires true genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; blest with each talent and each art to please, and born to write, converse, and live with ease: should such a man, too fond to rule alone, bear, like the turk, no brother near the throne. view him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, and hate for arts that caused himself to rise; damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, and without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; alike reserved to blame, or to commend, a timorous foe, and a suspicious friend; dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged, and so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; like cato, give his little senate laws, and sit attentive to his own applause; while wits and templars every sentence raise, and wonder with a foolish face of praise:-- who but must laugh, if such a man there be? who would not weep, if atticus[ ] were he? who though my name stood rubric on the walls, or plaistered posts, with claps, in capitals? or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load, on wings of winds came flying all abroad?[ ] i sought no homage from the race that write; i kept, like asian monarchs, from their sight: poems i heeded (now be-rhymed so long) no more than thou, great george! a birthday song. i ne'er with wits or witlings passed my days, to spread about the itch of verse and praise; nor like a puppy, daggled through the town, to fetch and carry sing-song up and down; nor at rehearsals sweat, and mouthed, and cried, with handkerchief and orange at my side; but sick of fops, and poetry, and prate, to bufo left the whole castillan state. proud as apollo on his forked hill, sat full-blown bufo, puffed by every quill;[ ] fed with soft dedication all day long, horace and he went hand in hand in song. his library (where busts of poets dead and a true pindar stood without a head), received of wits an undistinguished race, who first his judgment asked, and then a place: much they extolled his pictures, much his seat, and flattered every day, and some days eat: till grown more frugal in his riper days, he paid some bards with port, and some with praise to some a dry rehearsal was assigned, and others (harder still) he paid in kind, dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh, dryden alone escaped this judging eye: but still the great have kindness in reserve, he helped to bury whom he helped to starve. may some choice patron bless each gray goose quill! may every bavias have his bufo still! so, when a statesman wants a day's defence, or envy holds a whole week's war with sense, or simple pride for flattery makes demands, may dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands! blest be the great! for those they take away, and those they left me; for they left me gay; left me to see neglected genius bloom, neglected die, and tell it on his tomb: of all thy blameless life the sole return my verse, and queensbury weeping o'er thy urn! oh, let me live my own, and die so too! (to live and die is all i have to do:) maintain a poet's dignity and ease, and see what friends, and read what books i please; above a patron, though i condescend sometimes to call a minister my friend. i was not born for courts or great affairs; i pay my debts, believe, and say my prayers; can sleep without a poem in my head; nor know, if dennis be alive or dead. why am i asked what next shall see the light? heavens! was i born for nothing but to write? has life no joys for me? or (to be grave) have i no friend to serve, no soul to save? "i found him close with swift"--"indeed? no doubt," (cries prating balbus) "something will come out." 'tis all in vain, deny it as i will. no, such a genius never can lie still; and then for mine obligingly mistakes the first lampoon sir will,[ ] or bubo[ ] makes. poor guiltless i! and can i choose but smile, when every coxcomb knows me by my style? cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, that tends to make one worthy man my foe, give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear! but he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress, who loves a lie, lame slander helps about, who writes a libel, or who copies out: that fop, whose pride affects a patron's name, yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame: who can your merit selfishly approve, and show the sense of it without the love; who has the vanity to call you friend, yet wants the honour, injured, to defend; who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, and, if he lie not, must at least betray: who to the dean, and silver bell can swear,[ ] and sees at canons what was never there; who reads, but with a lust to misapply, make satire a lampoon, and fiction, lie. a lash like mine no honest man shall dread, but all such babbling blockheads in his stead. let sporus[ ] tremble-- _a_. what? that thing of silk, sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? satire or sense, alas! can sporus feel? who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? _p_. yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, this painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: so well-bred spaniels civilly delight in mumbling of the game they dare not bite. eternal smiles his emptiness betray, as shallow streams run dimpling all the way. whether in florid impotence he speaks, and, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks or at the ear of eve, familiar toad, half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, in puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies. his wit all see-saw, between that and this, now high, now low, now master up, now miss, and he himself one vile antithesis. amphibious thing! that acting either part, the trifling head or the corrupted heart, fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board, now trips a lady, and now struts a lord. eve's tempter thus the rabbins have exprest, a cherub's face, a reptile all the rest; beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust; wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust. not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool, not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool, not proud, nor servile;--be one poet's praise, that, if he pleased, he pleased by manly ways: that flattery, even to kings, he held a shame, and thought a lie in verse or prose the same. that not in fancy's maze he wandered long, but stooped to truth, and moralized his song: that not for fame, but virtue's better end, he stood the furious foe, the timid friend, the damning critic, half-approving wit, the coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit; laughed at the loss of friends he never had, the dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad; the distant threats of vengeance on his head, the blow unfelt, the tear he never shed; the tale revived, the lie so oft o'erthrown, the imputed trash, and dulness not his own; the morals blackened when the writings scape, the libelled person, and the pictured shape; abuse, on all he loved, or loved him, spread, a friend in exile, or a father, dead; the whisper, that to greatness still too near, perhaps, yet vibrates on his sovereign's ear:-- welcome for thee, fair virtue! all the past; for thee, fair virtue! welcome even the last! _a_. but why insult the poor, affront the great? _p_. a knave's a knave, to me, in every state: alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail, sporus at court, or japhet in a jail, a hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer, knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire; if on a pillory, or near a throne, he gain his prince's ear, or lose his own. yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, sappho can tell you how this man was bit; this dreaded satirist dennis will confess foe to his pride, but friend to his distress; so humble, he has knocked at tibbald's door, has drunk with cibber, nay, has rhymed for moore. full ten years slandered, did he once reply? three thousand suns went down on welsted's lie. to please a mistress one aspersed his life; he lashed him not, but let her be his wife. let budgel charge low grub street on his quill, and write whate'er he pleased, except his will. let the two curlls of town and court, abuse his father, mother, body, soul, and muse yet why? that father held it for a rule, it was a sin to call our neighbour fool: that harmless mother thought no wife a whore: hear this, and spare his family, james moore! unspotted names, and memorable long! if there be force in virtue, or in song. of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause, while yet in britain honour had applause) each parent sprung-- _a_. what fortune, pray?-- _p_. their own, and better got, than bestia's from the throne. born to no pride, inheriting no strife, nor marrying discord in a noble wife, stranger to civil and religious rage, the good man walked innoxious through his age, no courts he saw, no suits would ever try, nor dared an oath, nor hazarded a lie. unlearned, he knew no schoolman's subtle art, no language, but the language of the heart. by nature honest, by experience wise, healthy by temperance, and by exercise; his life, though long, to sickness passed unknown, his death was instant, and without a groan. o, grant me, thus to live, and thus to die! who sprung from kings shall know less joy than i. o, friend! may each domestic bliss be thine! be no unpleasing melancholy mine: me, let the tender office long engage, to rock the cradle of reposing age, with lenient arts extend a mother's breath, make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, explore the thought, explain the asking eye, and keep awhile one parent from the sky! on cares like these if length of days attend, may heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend, preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, and just as rich as when he served a queen. _a_. whether that blessing be denied or given, thus far was right, the rest belongs to heaven. [footnote : ambrose philips translated a book called the _persian tales_.] [footnote : nahum tate, the joint-author with brady of the version of the psalms.] [footnote : addison.] [footnote : hopkins, in the th psalm.] [footnote : lord halifax.] [footnote : sir william yonge.] [footnote : bubb dodington.] [footnote : meaning the man who would have persuaded the duke of chandos that pope meant to ridicule him in the epistle on _taste_.] [footnote : lord hervey.] xxxviii. epilogue to the satires. the following piece represents the first dialogue in the epilogue to the satires. huggins mentioned in the poem was the jailer of the fleet prison, who had enriched himself by many exactions, for which he was tried and expelled. jekyl was sir joseph jekyl, master of the rolls, a man of great probity, who, though a whig, frequently voted against the court, which drew on him the laugh here described. lyttleton was george lyttleton, secretary to the prince of wales, distinguished for his writings in the cause of liberty. written in , and first published in the following year. _fr_[_iend_]. not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print, and when it comes, the court see nothing in 't. you grow correct, that once with rapture writ, and are, besides, too moral for a wit. decay of parts, alas! we all must feel-- why now, this moment, don't i see you steal? 'tis all from horace; horace long before ye said, "tories called him whig, and whigs a tory"; and taught his romans, in much better metre, "to laugh at fools who put their trust in peter". but horace, sir, was delicate, was nice; bubo observes, he lashed no sort of vice: horace would say, sir billy served the crown, blunt could do business, huggins knew the town; in sappho touch the failings of the sex, in reverend bishops note some small neglects, and own, the spaniard did a waggish thing, who cropped our ears, and sent them to the king. his sly, polite, insinuating style could please at court, and make augustus smile: an artful manager, that crept between his friend and shame, and was a kind of screen. but 'faith your very friends will soon be sore: patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more-- and where's the glory? 'twill be only thought the great man never offered you a groat. go see sir robert-- p[_ope_]. see sir robert!--hum-- and never laugh--for all my life to come? seen him i have, but in his happier hour of social pleasure, ill exchanged for power; seen him, uncumbered with the venal tribe, smile without art, and win without a bribe. would he oblige me? let me only find, he does not think me what he thinks mankind. come, come, at all i laugh he laughs, no doubt; the only difference is, i dare laugh out. _f_. why yes: with scripture still you may be free: a horse-laugh, if you please, at honesty; a joke on jekyl, or some odd old whig who never changed his principle or wig. a patriot is a fool in every age, whom all lord chamberlains allow the stage: these nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still, and wear their strange old virtue, as they will. if any ask you, "who's the man, so near his prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?" why, answer, lyttleton, and i'll engage the worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage; but were his verses vile, his whisper base, you'd quickly find him in lord fanny's case. sejanus, wolsey, hurt not honest fleury,[ ] but well may put some statesmen in a fury. laugh then at any, but at fools or foes; these you but anger, and you mend not those. laugh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore, so much the better, you may laugh the more. to vice and folly to confine the jest, sets half the world, god knows, against the rest; did not the sneer of more impartial men at sense and virtue, balance all again. judicious wits spread wide the ridicule, and charitably comfort knave and fool. _p_. dear sir, forgive the prejudice of youth: adieu distinction, satire, warmth, and truth! come, harmless characters, that no one hit; come, henley's oratory, osborne's wit! the honey dropping from favonio's tongue, the flowers of bubo, and the flow of yonge! the gracious dew of pulpit eloquence, and all the well-whipped cream of courtly sense, that first was h----vy's, f----'s next, and then the s----te's and then h----vy's once again.[ ] o come, that easy ciceronian style, so latin, yet so english all the while, as, though the pride of middleton[ ] and bland, all boys may read, and girls may understand! then might i sing, without the least offence, and all i sung shall be the nation's sense; or teach the melancholy muse to mourn, hang the sad verse on carolina's[ ] urn, and hail her passage to the realms of rest, all parts performed, and all her children blest! so--satire is no more--i feel it die-- no gazetteer more innocent than i-- and let, a' god's name, every fool and knave be graced through life, and flattered in his grave. _f_. why so? if satire knows its time and place, you still may lash the greatest--in disgrace: for merit will by turns forsake them all; would you know when? exactly when they fall. but let all satire in all changes spare immortal selkirk[ ], and grave de----re. silent and soft, as saints remove to heaven, all ties dissolved and every sin forgiven, these may some gentle ministerial wing receive, and place for ever near a king! there, where no passion, pride, or shame transport, lulled with the sweet nepenthe of a court; there, where no father's, brother's, friend's disgrace once break their rest, or stir them from their place: but passed the sense of human miseries, all tears are wiped for ever from all eyes; no cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb, save when they lose a question, or a job. _p_. good heaven forbid, that i should blast their glory, who know how like whig ministers to tory, and, when three sovereigns died, could scarce be vext, considering what a gracious prince was next. have i, in silent wonder, seen such things as pride in slaves, and avarice in kings; and at a peer, or peeress, shall i fret, who starves a sister, or forswears a debt?[ ] virtue, i grant you, is an empty boast; but shall the dignity of vice be lost? ye gods! shall gibber's son, without rebuke, swear like a lord, or rich out-whore a duke? a favourite's porter with his master vie, be bribed as often, and as often lie? shall ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill? or japhet pocket, like his grace, a will? is it for bond, or peter (paltry things), to pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings? if blount dispatched himself, he played the man, and so mayest thou, illustrious passeran! but shall a printer, weary of his life, learn, from their books, to hang himself and wife? this, this, my friend, i cannot, must not bear; vice thus abused, demands a nation's care; this calls the church to deprecate our sin, and hurls the thunder of the laws on gin. let modest foster, if he will, excel ten metropolitans in preaching well; a simple quaker, or a quaker's wife, outdo llandaff in doctrine,--yea in life: let humble allen, with an awkward shame, do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame. virtue may choose the high or low degree, 'tis just alike to virtue, and to me; dwell in a monk, or light upon a king, she's still the same, beloved, contented thing. vice is undone, if she forgets her birth, and stoops from angels to the dregs of earth: but 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore; let greatness own her, and she's mean no more; her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess; chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless; in golden chains the willing world she draws, and hers the gospel is, and hers the laws, mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, and sees pale virtue carted in her stead. lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car, old england's genius, rough with many a scar, dragged in the dust! his arms hang idly round, his flag inverted trails along the ground! our youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold, before her dance: behind her crawl the old! see thronging millions to the pagod run, and offer country, parent, wife, or son! hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim, that not to be corrupted is the shame. in soldier, churchman, patriot, man in power, 'tis avarice all, ambition is no more! see, all our nobles begging to be slaves! see, all our fools aspiring to be knaves! the wit of cheats, the courage of a whore, are what ten thousand envy and adore; all, all look up, with reverential awe, at crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law; while truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry-- "nothing is sacred now but villainy ". yet may this verse (if such a verse remain) show, there was one who held it in disdain. [footnote : cardinal: and minister to louis xv.] [footnote : this couplet alludes to the preachers of some recent court sermons of a florid panegyrical character; also to some speeches of a like kind, some parts of both of which were afterwards incorporated in an address to the monarch.] [footnote : dr. conyers middleton, author of the _life of cicero_.] [footnote : queen consort to king george ii. she died in .] [footnote : a title given to lord selkirk by king james ii. he was gentleman of the bed-chamber to william iii., to george i., and to george ii. he was proficient in all the forms of the house, in which he comported himself with great dignity.] [footnote : referring to lady m.w. montagu and her sister, the countess of mar.] samuel johnson. ( - .) xxxix. the vanity of human wishes. published in january, , in order, as was reported, to excite interest in the author's tragedy of _irene_. the poem is written in imitation of the tenth satire of juvenal. let observation, with extensive view, survey mankind from china to peru; remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, and watch the busy scenes of crowded life; then say, how hope and fear, desire and hate, o'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, where way'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride, to tread the dreary paths without a guide, as treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude, shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; how rarely reason guides the stubborn choice, rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; how nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, when vengeance listens to the fool's request. fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, each gift of nature, and each grace of art; with fatal heat impetuous courage glows, with fatal sweetness elocution flows; impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath, and restless fire precipitates on death. but, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold; wide wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd, and crowds with crimes the records of mankind: for gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, for gold the hireling judge distorts the laws: wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, the dangers gather as the treasures rise. let hist'ry tell where rival kings command, and dubious title shakes the madded land. when statutes glean the refuse of the sword, how much more safe the vassal than the lord; low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power, and leaves the wealthy traitor in the tower, untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, though confiscation's vultures hover round. the needy traveller, serene and gay, walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy; increase his riches, and his peace destroy; now fears in dire vicissitude invade, the rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade; nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief, one shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails, and pain and grandeur load the tainted gales; few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, th' insidious rival and the gaping heir. once more, democritus, arise on earth, with cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, see motley life in modern trappings dress'd, and feed with varied fools th' eternal jest: thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece; where wealth, unlov'd, without a mourner dy'd; and scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; where change of fav'rites made no change of laws, and senates heard before they judg'd a cause; how would'st thou shake at britain's modish tribe, dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe? attentive truth and nature to descry, and pierce each scene with philosophic eye, to thee were solemn toys, or empty show, the robes of pleasure and the veils of woe: all aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, whose joys are causeless, and whose griefs are vain. such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind; how just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare, search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry pray'r: unnumber'd suppliants crowd preferment's gate, a thirst for wealth, and burning to be great; delusive fortune hears th' incessant call, they mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall. on ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend, hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end. love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door pours in the morning worshipper no more; for growing names the weekly scribbler lies, to growing wealth the dedicator flies, from ev'ry room descends the painted face, that hung the bright palladium of the place: and, smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold, to better features yields the frame of gold; for now no more we trace in ev'ry line heroic worth, benevolence divine: the form distorted, justifies the fall, and detestation rides th' indignant wall. but will not britain hear the last appeal, sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal? through freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, degrading nobles, and controlling kings; our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, and ask no questions but the price of votes; with weekly libels and septennial ale, their wish is full to riot and to rail. in full-blown dignity, see wolsey stand, law in his voice, and fortune in his hand: to him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign. through him the rays of regal bounty shine, turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows, his smile alone security bestows: still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r, claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r: till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please, and rights submitted, left him none to seize. at length his sov'reign frowns--the train of state mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, his suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; now drops at once the pride of awful state, the golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, the regal palace, the luxurious board, the liv'ried army, and the menial lord. with age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, he seeks the refuge of monastic rest. grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, and his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, shall wolsey's wealth, with wolsey's end, be thine? or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, the wisest justice on the banks of trent? for, why did wolsey, near the steeps of fate, on weak foundations raise th' enormous weight? why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, with louder ruin to the gulfs below? what gave great villiers to th' assassin's knife, and fix'd disease on harley's closing life? what murder'd wentworth, and what exil'd hyde, by kings protected, and to kings ally'd? what but their wish indulg'd in courts to shine, and pow'r too great to keep, or to resign? when first the college rolls receive his name, the young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; resistless burns the fever of renown, caught from the strong contagion of the gown: o'er bodley's dome his future labours spread, and bacon's mansion[ ] trembles o'er his head. are these thy views? proceed, illustrious youth, and virtue guard thee to the throne of truth! yet, should thy soul indulge the gen'rous heat till captive science yields her last retreat; should reason guide thee with her brightest ray, and pour on misty doubt resistless day; should no false kindness lure to loose delight, nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; should tempting novelty thy cell refrain, and sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; should no disease thy torpid veins invade, nor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; yet hope not life from grief or danger free, nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee: deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, and pause awhile from letters, to be wise; there mark what ills the scholar's life assail, toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. see nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, to buried merit raise the tardy bust. if dreams yet flatter, once again attend, hear lydiat's life, and galileo's end. nor deem, when learning her last prize bestows, the glitt'ring eminence exempt from woes; see, when the vulgar 'scape, despis'd or aw'd, rebellion's vengeful talons seize on laud. from meaner minds though smaller fines content, the plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent; mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the shock, and fatal learning leads him to the block: around his tomb let art and genius weep, but hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep. the festal blazes, the triumphal show, the ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, the senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous tale, with force resistless o'er the brave prevail. such bribes the rapid greek o'er asia whirl'd, for such the steady romans shook the world; for such in distant lands the britons shine, and stain with blood the danube or the rhine; this pow'r has praise that virtue scarce can warm, till fame supplies the universal charm. yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, where wasted nations raise a single name; and mortgag'd states their grandsires' wreaths regret, from age to age in everlasting debt; wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey, to rust on medals, or on stones decay. on what foundation stands the warrior's pride, how just his hopes, let swedish charles decide; a frame of adamant, a soul of fire, no dangers fright him, and no labours tire; o'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; no joys to him pacific sceptres yield, war sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; behold surrounding kings their pow'r combine, and one capitulate, and one resign; peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain, on moscow's walls till gothic standards fly, and all be mine beneath the polar sky". the march begins in military state, and nations on his eye suspended wait; stern famine guards the solitary coast, and winter barricades the realm of frost; he comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; hide, blushing glory, hide pultowa's day: the vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, and shows his miseries in distant lands; condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, while ladies interpose, and slaves debate. but did not chance at length her error mend? did no subverted empire mark his end? did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? or hostile millions press him to the ground? his fall was destin'd to a barren strand, a petty fortress, and a dubious hand; he left the name, at which the world grew pale to point a moral, or adorn a tale. all times their scenes of pompous woes afford, from persia's tyrant to bavaria's lord. in gay hostility and barb'rous pride, with half mankind embattled at his side, great xerxes comes to seize the certain prey and starves exhausted regions in his way; attendant flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er, till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind, the waves he lashes, and enchains the wind, new pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still bestow'd, till rude resistance lops the spreading god; the daring greeks deride the martial show, and heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; th' insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, a single skiff to speed his flight remains; th' incumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast, through purple billows and a floating host. the bold bavarian, in a luckless hour, tries the dread summits of cæsarian pow'r, with unexpected legions bursts away, and sees defenceless realms receive his sway; short sway! fair austria spreads her mournful charms, the queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms; from hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; the fierce croatian, and the wild hussar, with all the sons of ravage crowd the war; the baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom; his foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, and steals to death from anguish and from shame. enlarge my life with multitude of days! in health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays: hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, that life protracted is protracted woe. time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, and shuts up all the passages of joy: in vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, the fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r; with listless eyes the dotard views the store, he views, and wonders that they please no more: now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, and luxury with sighs her slave resigns. approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: no sounds, alas! would touch th' impervious ear, though dancing mountains witness'd orpheus near; nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend, nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; but everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, perversely grave, or positively wrong. the still returning tale, and ling'ring jest, perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest. while growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer, and scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; the watchful guests still hint the last offence; the daughter's petulance the son's expense, improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill, and mould his passions till they make his will. unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; but unextinguish'd av'rice still remains, and dreaded losses aggravate his pains; he turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, his bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. but grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime; an age that melts in unperceiv'd decay, and glides in modest innocence away; whose peaceful day benevolence endears, whose night congratulating conscience cheers; the gen'ral fav'rite as the gen'ral friend; such age there is, and who shall wish its end? yet ev'n on this her load misfortune flings, to press the weary minutes' flagging wings; new sorrow rises as the day returns, a sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. now kindred merit fills the sable bier, now lacerated friendship claims a tear; year chases year, decay pursues decay, still drops some joy from with'ring life away; new forms arise, and diff'rent views engage, superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage, till pitying nature signs the last release, and bids afflicted worth retire to peace. but few there are whom hours like these await, who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. from lydia's monarch should the search descend, by solon caution'd to regard his end, in life's last scene what prodigies surprise, fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! from marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, and swift expires a driv'ller and a show. the teeming mother, anxious for her race, begs for each birth the fortune of a face; yet vane could tell what ills from beauty spring; and sedley curs'd the form that pleas'd a king. ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise; whom joys with soft varieties invite, by day the frolic, and the dance by night; who frown with vanity, who smile with art, and ask the latent fashion of the heart; what care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save, each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? against your fame with fondness hate combines, the rival batters, and the lover mines. with distant voice neglected virtue calls, less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; tir'd with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign, and pride and prudence take her seat in vain. in crowd at once, where none the pass defend, the harmless freedom, and the private friend. the guardians yield, by force superior ply'd, to int'rest, prudence; and to flatt'ry, pride. here beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd, and hissing infamy proclaims the rest. where then shall hope and fear their objects find? must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, no cries invoke the mercies of the skies? inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain which heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain. still raise for good the supplicating voice, but leave to heav'n the measure and the choice. safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar the secret ambush of a specious pray'r; implore his aid, in his decisions rest, secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best. yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, and strong devotion to the skies aspires, pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, obedient passions and a will resigned; for love, which scarce collective man can fill; for patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill; for faith, that, panting for a happier seat, counts death kind nature's signal of retreat: these goods for man the laws of heav'n ordain, these goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain; with these celestial wisdom calms the mind, and makes the happiness she does not find. [footnote : there is a tradition, that the study of friar bacon, built on an arch over the bridge, will fall when a man greater than bacon shall pass under it. to prevent so shocking an accident, it was pulled down many years since.] xl. letter to the earl of chesterfield. though perhaps scarcely a professedly satirical production in the proper sense of the word, there are few more pungent satires than the following letter. in boswell's _life of johnson_ we read, "when the dictionary was on the eve of publication. lord chesterfield, who, it is said, had flattered himself with expectations that johnson would dedicate the work to him, attempted in a courtly manner to soothe and insinuate himself with the sage, conscious, as it would seem, of the cold indifference with which he had treated its learned author, and further attempted to conciliate him by writing two papers in the _world_ in recommendation of the work.... this courtly device failed of its effect. johnson despised the honeyed words, and he states 'i wrote him a letter expressed in civil terms, but such as might show him that i did not mind what he said or wrote, and that i had done with him'." february , . "my lord, "i have been lately informed by the proprietor of _the world_ that two papers, in which my dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. to be so distinguished is an honour which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, i know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge. "when, upon some slight encouragement, i first visited your lordship, i was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that i might boast myself _le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre_;--that i might obtain that regard for which i saw the world contending; but i found my attendance so little encouraged that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. when i had once addressed your lordship in public, i had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. i had done all that i could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little. "seven years, my lord, have now past since i waited in your outward rooms or was repulsed from your door; during which time i have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. such treatment i did not expect, for i never had a patron before. "the shepherd in virgil grew at last acquainted with love, and found him a native of the rocks. "is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? the notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till i am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till i am solitary, and cannot impart it; till i am known, and do not want it. i hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron which providence has enabled me to do for myself. "having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, i shall not be disappointed though i should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for i have been long wakened from that dream of hope in which i once boasted myself with so much exultation. "my lord, "your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant, "sam johnson." oliver goldsmith. ( - .) xli. the retaliation. the origin of the following satire is told by boswell (who was prejudiced against goldsmith) in this wise: "at a meeting of a company of gentlemen who were well known to each other and diverting themselves among other things with the peculiar oddities of dr. goldsmith, who would never allow a superior in any art, from writing poetry down to dancing a hornpipe, goldsmith, with great eagerness, insisted on matching his epigrammatic powers with garrick's. it was determined that each should write the other's epitaph. garrick immediately said his epitaph was finished, and spoke the following distich extempore: "'here lies nolly goldsmith, for shortness called noll, who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll'. "goldsmith would not produce his at the time, but some weeks after, read to the company this satire in which the characteristics of them all were happily hit off." of old, when scarron his companions invited, each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united; if our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish, let each guest bring himself, and he brings a good dish: our dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; our burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains; our will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour; and dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour; our cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain, and douglas is pudding, substantial and plain: our garrick a salad, for in him we see oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree: to make out the dinner, full certain i am that ridge is anchovy, and reynolds is lamb; that hickey's a capon; and, by the same rule, magnanimous goldsmith a gooseberry-fool. at a dinner so various, at such a repast, who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while i'm able, till all my companions sink under the table; then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, let me ponder, and tell what i think of the dead. here lies the good dean, reunited to earth, who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth; if he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, at least in six weeks i could not find them out; yet some have declared, and it can't be denied them, that slyboots was cursedly cunning to hide them. here lies our good edmund, whose genius was such, we scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, and to party gave up what was meant for mankind: though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat to persuade tommy townshend to lend him a vote: who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, and thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit, too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; for a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; and too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. in short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd or in place, sir, to eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. here lies honest william, whose heart was a mint, while the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't; the pupil of impulse, it forced him along, his conduct still right, with his argument wrong; still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, the coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home: would you ask for his merits? alas, he had none! what was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. here lies honest richard, whose fate i must sigh at, alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet! what spirits were his, what wit and what whim, now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball, now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! in short, so provoking a devil was dick, that we wish'd him full ten times a day at old nick, but, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, as often we wish'd to have dick back again. here cumberland lies, having acted his parts, the terence of england, the mender of hearts; a flattering painter, who made it his care to draw men as they ought to be, not what they are. his gallants are all faultless, his women divine, and comedy wonders at being so fine; like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out, or rather like tragedy giving a rout. his fools have their follies so lost in a crowd of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; and coxcombs, alike in their failings alone, adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own. say, where has our poet this malady caught? or wherefore his characters thus without fault? say, was it, that vainly directing his view to find out men's virtues, and finding them few, quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, he grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? here douglas retires from his toils to relax, the scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks. come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines when satire and censure encircled his throne, i fear'd for your safety, i fear'd for my own: but now he is gone, and we want a detector, our dodds shall be pious, our kenricks shall lecture; macpherson write bombast, and call it a style; our townshend make speeches, and i shall compile; new lauders and bowers the tweed shall cross over, no countryman living their tricks to discover: detection her taper shall quench to a spark, and scotchman meet scotchman and cheat in the dark. here lies david garrick, describe him who can? an abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; as an actor, confessed without rival to shine; as a wit, if not first, in the very first line; yet with talents like these, and an excellent heart, the man had his failings, a dupe to his art; like an ill-judging beauty his colours he spread, and beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. on the stage he was natural, simple, affecting: 'twas only that when he was off he was acting; with no reason on earth to go out of his way, he turn'd and he varied full ten times a day: tho' secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick if they were not his own by finessing and trick; he cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, for he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, and the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, who pepper'd the highest was surest to please. but let us be candid, and speak out our mind: if dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. ye kenricks, ye kellys, and woodfalls so grave, what a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! how did grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised, when he was be-roscius'd and you were bepraised! but peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, to act as an angel, and mix with the skies! those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, shall still be his flatterers, go where he will; old shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, and beaumonts and bens be his kellys above. here hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, and slander itself must allow him good-nature: he cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper: yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? i answer, no, no, for he always was wiser. too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? his very worst foe can't accuse him of that. perhaps he confided in men as they go, and so was too foolishly honest? ah no! then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye,-- he was, could he help it? a special attorney. here reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, he has not left a wiser or better behind: his pencil was striking, resistless, and grand: his manners were gentle, complying, and bland; still born to improve us in every part, his pencil our faces, his manners our heart: to coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, when they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing: when they talk'd of their raphaels, correggios, and stuff, he shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. xlii. the logicians refuted. this piece was first printed in _the busy body_ in , in direct imitation of the style of swift. it was, therefore, improperly included in the dublin edition of swift's works, and in the edition of swift edited by sir walter scott. logicians have but ill defined as rational the human mind, reason they say belongs to man, but let them prove it if they can, wise aristotle and smiglesius by ratiocinations specious have strove to prove with great precision, with definition and division, _homo est ratione preditum_; but for my soul i cannot credit 'em. and must in spite of them maintain, that man and all his ways are vain: and that this boasted lord of nature is both a weak and erring creature. that instinct is a surer guide than reason, boasting mortals' pride; and that brute beasts are far before 'em, _deus est anima brutorum_. who ever knew an honest brute at law his neighbour prosecute. bring action for assault and battery, or friend beguile with lies and flattery? o'er plains they ramble unconfin'd. no politics disturb the mind; they eat their meals, and take their sport, nor know who's in or out at court; they never to the levee go to treat as dearest friend, a foe; they never importune his grace, nor ever cringe to men in place; nor undertake a dirty job, nor draw the quill to write for bob: fraught with invective they ne'er go to folks at pater-noster row: no judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters, no pickpockets, or poetasters, are known to honest quadrupeds, no single brute his fellows leads. brutes never meet in bloody fray, nor cut each other's throats for pay. of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape comes nearest us in human shape. like man he imitates each fashion, and malice is his ruling passion; but both in malice and grimaces, a courtier any ape surpasses. behold him humbly cringing wait upon the minister of state; view him soon after to inferiors aping the conduct of superiors: he promises with equal air, and to perform takes equal care. he in his turn finds imitators, at court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters, their master's manners still contract, and footmen, lords and dukes can act, thus at the court both great and small behave alike, for all ape all. xliii. beau tibbs, his character and family. johnson always maintained that there was a great deal of goldsmith's own nature and eccentricities portrayed in the character of beau tibbs. the following piece constitutes letter of the _citizen of the world_. i am apt to fancy i have contracted a new acquaintance, whom it will be no easy matter to shake off. my little beau yesterday overtook me again in one of the public walks, and slapping me on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most perfect familiarity. his dress was the same as usual, except that he had more powder in his hair, wore a dirtier shirt, a pair of temple spectacles, and his hat under his arm. as i knew him to be an harmless, amusing little thing, i could not return his smiles with any degree of severity: so we walked forward on terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed all the usual topics preliminary to particular conversation. the oddities that marked his character, however, soon began to appear; he bowed to several well-dressed persons, who, by their manner of returning the compliment, appeared perfect strangers. at intervals he drew out a pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums before all the company, with much importance and assiduity. in this manner he led me through the length of the whole walk, fretting at his absurdities, and fancying myself laughed at not less than him by every spectator. when we were got to the end of our procession, "blast me," cries he, with an air of vivacity, "i never saw the park so thin in my life before; there's no company at all to-day; not a single face to be seen." "no company," interrupted i, peevishly; "no company where there is such a crowd! why man, there's too much. what are the thousands that have been laughing at us but company!" "lard, my dear," returned he, with the utmost good-humour, "you seem immensely chagrined; but blast me, when the world laughs at me, i laugh at all the world, and so we are even. my lord trip, bill squash, the creolian, and i sometimes make a party at being ridiculous; and so we say and do a thousand things for the joke. but i see you are grave, and if you are a fine grave sentimental companion, you shall dine with me and my wife to-day, i must insist on't; i'll introduce you to mrs. tibbs, a lady of as elegant qualifications as any in nature; she was bred, but that's between ourselves, under the inspection of the countess of all-night. a charming body of voice, but no more of that, she will give us a song. you shall see my little girl too, carolina wilhelma amelia tibbs, a sweet pretty creature; i design her for my lord drumstick's eldest son, but that's in friendship, let it go no farther; she's but six years old, and yet she walks a minuet, and plays on the guitar immensely already. i intend she shall be as perfect as possible in every accomplishment. in the first place i'll make her a scholar; i'll teach her greek myself, and learn that language purposely to instruct her; but let that be a secret." thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm, and hauled me along. we passed through many dark alleys and winding ways; for, from some motives, to me unknown, he seemed to have a particular aversion to every frequented street; at last, however, we got to the door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets of the town, where he informed me he chose to reside for the benefit of the air. we entered the lower door, which ever seemed to lie most hospitably open, and i began to ascend an old and creaking staircase, when, as he mounted to show me the way, he demanded whether i delighted in prospects, to which answering in the affirmative, "then," says he, "i shall show you one of the most charming in the world out of my windows; we shall see the ships sailing, and the whole country for twenty miles round, tip top, quite high. my lord swamp would give ten thousand guineas for such an one; but as i sometimes pleasantly tell him, i always love to keep my prospects at home, that my friends may see me the oftener." by this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit us to ascend, till we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call the first floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice from within demanded, who's there? my conductor answered that it was him. but this not satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated the demand: to which he answered louder than before; and now the door was opened by an old woman with cautious reluctance. when we were got in, he welcomed me to his house with great ceremony, and turning to the old woman, asked where was her lady? "good troth," replied she, in a peculiar dialect, "she's washing your two shirts at the next door, because they have taken an oath against lending out the tub any longer." "my two shirts," cries he in a tone that faltered with confusion, "what does the idiot mean!" "i ken what i mean well enough," replied the other, "she's washing your two shirts at the next door, because--" "fire and fury! no more of thy stupid explanations," cried he. "go and inform her we have got company. were that scotch hag to be for ever in the family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen of breeding or high life; and yet it is very surprising too, as i had her from a parliament man, a friend of mine, from the highlands, one of the politest men in the world; but that's a secret." we waited some time for mrs. tibbs' arrival, during which interval i had a full opportunity of surveying the chamber and all its furniture; which consisted of four chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he assured me were his wife's embroidery; a square table that had been once japanned, a cradle in one corner, a lumbering cabinet in the other; a broken shepherdess, and a mandarin without a head, were stuck over the chimney; and round the walls several paltry, unframed pictures, which, he observed, were all his own drawing. "what do you think, sir, of that head in a corner, done in the manner of grisoni? there's the true keeping in it; it's my own face, and though there happens to be no likeness, a countess offered me an hundred for its fellow. i refused her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, you know." the wife at last made her appearance, at once a slattern and a coquette; much emaciated, but still carrying the remains of beauty. she made twenty apologies for being seen in such odious dishabille, but hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at the gardens with the countess, who was excessively fond of the horns. "and, indeed, my dear," added she, turning to her husband, "his lordship drank your health in a bumper." "poor jack," cries he, "a dear good-natured creature, i know he loves me; but i hope, my dear, you have given orders for dinner; you need make no great preparations neither, there are but three of us, something elegant, and little will do; a turbot, an ortolan, or a--" "or what do you think, my dear," interrupts the wife, "of a nice pretty bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little of my own sauce."--"the very thing," replies he, "it will eat best with some smart bottled beer: but be sure to let's have the sauce his grace was so fond of. i hate your immense loads of meat, that is country all over; extreme disgusting to those who are in the least acquainted with high life." by this time my curiosity began to abate, and my appetite to increase; the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us melancholy; i therefore pretended to recollect a prior engagement, and after having shown my respect to the house, according to the fashion of the english, by giving the old servant a piece of money at the door, i took my leave; mr. tibbs assuring me that dinner, if i stayed, would be ready at least in less than two hours. charles churchill. ( - .) xliv. the journey. churchill devoted himself principally to satirical attacks upon actors and the stage as a whole. his _rosciad_ created quite a panic among the disciples of thespis, even the mighty garrick courting this terrible _censor morum_. his own morals were but indifferent. some of my friends (for friends i must suppose all, who, not daring to appear my foes, feign great good-will, and not more full of spite than full of craft, under false colours fight) some of my friends (so lavishly i print) as more in sorrow than in anger, hint (tho' that indeed will scarce admit a doubt) that i shall run my stock of genius out, my no great stock, and, publishing so fast, must needs become a bankrupt at the last. recover'd from the vanity of youth, i feel, alas! this melancholy truth, thanks to each cordial, each advising friend, and am, if not too late, resolv'd to mend, resolv'd to give some respite to my pen, apply myself once more to books and men, view what is present, what is past review, and my old stock exhausted, lay in new. for twice six moons (let winds, turn'd porters, bear this oath to heav'n), for twice six moons, i swear, no muse shall tempt me with her siren lay, nor draw me from improvement's thorny way; verse i abjure, nor will forgive that friend, who in my hearing shall a rhyme commend. it cannot be--whether i will, or no, such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow. convinc'd, determin'd, i in prose begin, but ere i write one sentence, verse creeps in, and taints me thro' and thro': by this good light, in verse i talk by day, i dream by night; if now and then i curse, my curses chime, nor can i pray, unless i pray in rhyme, e'en now i err, in spite of common-sense, and my confession doubles my offence. here is no lie, no gall, no art, no force; mean are the words, and such as come of course, the subject not less simple than the lay; a plain, unlabour'd journey of a day. far from me now be ev'ry tuneful maid, i neither ask, nor can receive their aid. pegasus turn'd into a common hack, alone i jog, and keep the beaten track, nor would i have the sisters of the hill behold their bard in such a dishabille. absent, but only absent for a time, let them caress some dearer son of rhyme; let them, as far as decency permits, without suspicion, play the fool with wits, 'gainst fools be guarded; 'tis a certain rule, wits are false things, there's danger in a fool. let them, tho' modest, gray more modest woo; let them with mason bleat, and bray, and coo; let them with franklin, proud of some small greek, make sophocles disguis'd, in english speak; let them with glover o'er medea doze; let them with dodsley wail cleone's woes, whilst he, fine feeling creature, all in tears, melts, as they melt, and weeps with weeping peers; let them with simple whitehead, taught to creep silent and soft, lay fontenelle asleep;[ ] let them with browne contrive, to vulgar trick, to cure the dead, and make the living sick;[ ] let them in charity to murphy give some old french piece, that he may steal and live; let them with antic foote subscriptions get, and advertise a summer-house of wit. thus, or in any better way they please, with these great men, or with great men like these, let them their appetite for laughter feed; i on my journey all alone proceed. if fashionable grown, and fond of pow'r, with hum'rous scots let them disport their hour: let them dance, fairy-like, round ossian's tomb; let them forge lies, and histories for hume; let them with home, the very prince of verse, make something like a tragedy in erse; under dark allegory's flimsy veil let them with ogilvie spin out a tale of rueful length; let them plain things obscure, debase what's truly rich, and what is poor make poorer still by jargon most uncouth; with ev'ry pert, prim prettiness of youth born of false taste, with fancy (like a child not knowing what it cries for) running wild, with bloated style, by affectation taught, with much false colouring, and little thought, with phrases strange, and dialect decreed by reason never to have pass'd the tweed, with words which nature meant each other's foe, forc'd to compound whether they will or no; with such materials let them, if they will, to prove at once their pleasantry and skill, build up a bard to war 'gainst common-sense, by way of compliment to providence; let them with armstrong, taking leave of sense, read musty lectures on benevolence, or con the pages of his gaping day, where all his former fame was thrown away, where all but barren labour was forgot, and the vain stiffness of a letter'd scot; let them with armstrong pass the term of light, but not one hour of darkness; when the night suspends this mortal coil, when memory wakes, when for our past misdoings conscience takes a deep revenge, when by reflection led, she draws his curtain, and looks comfort dead, let ev'ry muse be gone; in vain he turns and tries to pray for sleep; an etna burns, a more than etna in his coward breast, and guilt, with vengeance arm'd, forbids him rest: tho' soft as plumage from young zephyr's wing, his couch seems hard, and no relief can bring. ingratitude hath planted daggers there, no good man can deserve, no brave man bear. thus, or in any better way they please, with these great men, or with great men like these, let them their appetite for laughter feed i on my journey all alone proceed. [footnote : see _the school for lovers_, by mr. whitehead, taken from fontenelle.] [footnote : see _the cure of saul_, by dr. browne.] junius. ( - - .) xlv. to the king. the following is the famous letter which appeared in the _public advertiser_ for december th, . this is also the one on which the advocates of the theory that george, lord sackville, was the writer of the _letters of junius_ lay such stress. _to the printer of the "public advertiser_". december , . sir, when the complaints of a brave and powerful people are observed to increase in proportion to the wrongs they have suffered, when, instead of sinking into submission, they are roused to resistance, the time will soon arrive at which every inferior consideration must yield to the security of the sovereign, and to the general safety of the state. there is a moment of difficulty and danger at which flattery and falsehood can no longer deceive, and simplicity itself can no longer be misled. let us suppose it arrived; let us suppose a gracious, well-intentioned prince, made sensible at last of the great duty he owes to his people, and of his own disgraceful situation; that he looks round him for assistance, and asks for no advice but how to gratify the wishes and secure the happiness of his subjects. in these circumstances, it may be matter of curious _speculation_ to consider, if an honest man were permitted to approach a king, in what terms he would address himself to his sovereign. let it be imagined, no matter how improbable, that the first prejudice against his character is removed; that the ceremonious difficulties of an audience are surmounted; that he feels himself animated by the purest and most honourable affections to his king and country; and that the great person whom he addresses has spirit enough to bid him speak freely, and understanding enough to listen to him with attention. unacquainted with the vain impertinence of forms, he would deliver his sentiments with dignity and firmness, but not without respect. sir, it is the misfortune of your life, and originally the cause of every reproach and distress which has attended your government, that you should never have been acquainted with the language of truth until you heard it in the complaints of your people. it is not, however, too late to correct the error of your education. we are still inclined to make an indulgent allowance for the pernicious lessons you received in your youth, and to form the most sanguine hopes from the natural benevolence of your disposition. we are far from thinking you capable of a direct, deliberate purpose to invade those original rights of your subjects on which all their civil and political liberties depend. had it been possible for us to entertain a suspicion so dishonourable to your character, we should long since have adopted a style of remonstrance very distant from the humility of complaint. the doctrine inculcated by our laws, _that the king can do no-wrong_, is admitted without reluctance. we separate the amiable, good-natured prince from the folly and treachery of his servants, and the private virtues of the man from the vices of his government. were it not for this just distinction, i know not whether your majesty's condition, or that of the english nation, would deserve most to be lamented. i would prepare your mind for a favourable reception of truth by removing every painful, offensive idea of personal reproach. your subjects, sir, wish for nothing but that, as _they_ are reasonable and affectionate enough to separate your person from your government, so _you_, in your turn, should distinguish between the conduct which becomes the permanent dignity of a king and that which serves only to promote the temporary interest and miserable ambition of a minister. you ascended the throne with a declared--and, i doubt not, a sincere--resolution of giving universal satisfaction to your subjects. you found them pleased with the novelty of a young prince whose countenance promised even more than his words, and loyal to you, not only from principle, but passion. it was not a cold profession of allegiance to the first magistrate, but a partial, animated attachment to a favourite prince, the native of their country. they did not wait to examine your conduct nor to be determined by experience, but gave you a generous credit for the future blessings of your reign, and paid you in advance the dearest tribute of their affections. such, sir, was once the disposition of a people who now surround your throne with reproaches and complaints.--do justice to yourself. banish from your mind those unworthy opinions with which some interested persons have laboured to possess you.--distrust the men who tell you that the english are naturally light and inconstant; that they complain without a cause. withdraw your confidence equally from all parties--from ministers, favourites, and relations; and let there be one moment in your life in which you have consulted your own understanding. when you affectedly renounced the name of englishman, believe me, sir, you were persuaded to pay a very ill-judged compliment to one part of your subjects at the expense of another. while the natives of scotland are not in actual rebellion, they are undoubtedly entitled to protection; nor do i mean to condemn the policy of giving some encouragement to the novelty of their affections for the house of hanover. i am ready to hope for everything from their new-born zeal, and from the future steadiness of their allegiance, but hitherto they have no claim to your favour. to honour them with a determined predilection and confidence, in exclusion of your english subjects, who placed your family, and, in spite of treachery and rebellion, have supported it, upon the throne, is a mistake too gross even for the unsuspecting generosity of youth. in this error we see a capital violation of the most obvious rules of policy and prudence. we trace it, however, to an original bias in your education, and are ready to allow for your inexperience. to the same early influence we attribute it that you have descended to take a share, not only in the narrow views and interests of particular persons, but in the fatal malignity of their passions. at your accession to the throne the whole system of government was altered, not from wisdom or deliberation, but because it had been adopted by your predecessor. a little personal motive of pique and resentment was sufficient to remove the ablest servants of the crown; but it is not in this country, sir, that such men can be dishonoured by the frowns of a king. they were dismissed, but could not be disgraced. without entering into a minuter discussion of the merits of the peace, we may observe, in the imprudent hurry with which the first overtures from france were accepted, in the conduct of the negotiation, and terms of the treaty, the strongest marks of that precipitate spirit of concession with which a certain part of your subjects have been at all times ready to purchase a peace with the natural enemies of this country. on _your_ part we are satisfied that everything was honourable and sincere; and, if england was sold to france, we doubt not that your majesty was equally betrayed. the conditions of the peace were matter of grief and surprise to your subjects, but not the immediate cause of their present discontent. hitherto, sir, you had been sacrificed to the prejudices and passions of others. with what firmness will you bear the mention of your own? a man, not very honourably distinguished in the world, commences a formal attack upon your favourite, considering nothing but how he might best expose his person and principles to detestation, and the national character of his countrymen to contempt. the natives of that country, sir, are as much distinguished by a peculiar character as by your majesty's favour. like another chosen people, they have been conducted into the land of plenty, where they find themselves effectually marked and divided from mankind. there is hardly a period at which the most irregular character may not be redeemed. the mistakes of one sex find a retreat in patriotism, those of the other in devotion. mr. wilkes brought with him into politics the same liberal sentiments by which his private conduct had been directed, and seemed to think that, as there are few excesses in which an english gentleman may not be permitted to indulge, the same latitude was allowed him in the choice of his political principles, and in the spirit of maintaining them. i mean to state, not entirely to defend, his conduct. in the earnestness of his zeal he suffered some unwarrantable insinuations to escape him. he said more than moderate men would justify, but not enough to entitle him to the honour of your majesty's personal resentment. the rays of royal indignation, collected upon him, served only to illuminate, and could not consume. animated by the favour of the people on the one side, and heated by persecution on the other, his views and sentiments changed with his situation. hardly serious at first, he is now an enthusiast. the coldest bodies warm with opposition, the hardest sparkle in collision.--there is a holy, mistaken zeal in politics as well as religion. by persuading others, we convince ourselves. the passions are engaged, and create a material affection in the mind, which forces us to love the cause for which we suffer. is this a contention worthy of a king? are you not sensible how much the meanness of the cause gives an air of ridicule to the serious difficulties into which you have been betrayed? the destruction of one man has been now, for many years, the sole object of your government; and, if there can be anything still more disgraceful, we have seen, for such an object, the utmost influence of the executive power, and every ministerial artifice, exerted without success. nor can you ever succeed, unless he should be imprudent enough to forfeit the protection of those laws to which you owe your crown, or unless your minister should persuade you to make it a question of force alone, and try the whole strength of government in opposition to the people. the lessons he has received from experience will probably guard him from such excess of folly, and in your majesty's virtues we find an unquestionable assurance that no illegal violence will be attempted. far from suspecting you of so horrible a design, we would attribute his continued violation of the laws, and even the last enormous attack upon the vital principles of the constitution, to an ill-advised, unworthy, personal resentment. from one false step you have been betrayed into another, and, as the cause was unworthy of you, your ministers were determined that the prudence executed should correspond with the wisdom and dignity of the design. they have reduced you to the necessity of choosing out of a variety of difficulties; to a situation so unhappy that you can neither do wrong without ruin, nor right without affliction. these worthy servants have undoubtedly given you many singular proofs of their abilities. not contented with making mr. wilkes a man of importance, they have judiciously transferred the question from the rights and interests of one man to the most important rights and interests of the people, and forced your subjects from wishing well to the cause of an individual to unite with him in their own. let them proceed as they have begun, and your majesty need not doubt that the catastrophe will do no dishonour to the conduct of the piece. the circumstances to which you are reduced will not admit of a compromise with the english nation. undecisive, qualifying measures will disgrace your government still more than open violence, and, without satisfying the people, will excite their contempt. they have too much understanding and spirit to accept of an indirect satisfaction for a direct injury. nothing less than a repeal, as formal as the resolution itself, can heal the wound which has been given to the constitution, nor will anything less be accepted. i can readily believe that there is an influence sufficient to recall that pernicious vote. the house of commons undoubtedly consider their duty to the crown as paramount to all other obligations. to us they are only indebted for an accidental existence, and have justly transferred their gratitude from their parents to their benefactors, from those who gave them birth to the minister from whose benevolence they derive the comforts and pleasure of their political life, who has taken the tenderest care of their infancy and relieves their necessities without offending their delicacy. but if it were possible for their integrity to be degraded to a condition so vile and abject that, compared with it, the present estimation they stand in is a state of honour and respect, consider, sir, in what manner you will afterwards proceed. can you conceive that the people of this country will long submit to be governed by so flexible a house of commons? it is not in the nature of human society that any form of government, in such circumstances, can long be preserved. in ours, the general contempt of the people is as fatal as their detestation. such, i am persuaded, would be the necessary effect of any base concession made by the present house of commons, and, as a qualifying measure would not be accepted, it remains for you to decide whether you will, at any hazard, support a set of men who have reduced you to this unhappy dilemma, or whether you will gratify the united wishes of the whole people of england by dissolving the parliament. taking it for granted, as i do very sincerely, that you have personally no design against the constitution, nor any view inconsistent with the good of your subjects, i think you cannot hesitate long upon the choice which it equally concerns your interests and your honour to adopt. on one side you hazard the affection of all your english subjects, you relinquish every hope of repose to yourself, and you endanger the establishment of your family for ever. all this you venture for no object whatsoever, or for such an object as it would be an affront to you to name. men of sense will examine your conduct with suspicion, while those who are incapable of comprehending to what degree they are injured afflict you with clamours equally insolent and unmeaning. supposing it possible that no fatal struggle should ensue, you determine at once to be unhappy, without the hope of a compensation either from interest or ambition. if an english king be hated or despised, he _must_ be unhappy; and this, perhaps, is the only political truth which he ought to be convinced of without experiment. but if the english people should no longer confine their resentment to a submissive representation of their wrongs; if, following the glorious example of their ancestors, they should no longer appeal to the creature of the constitution, but to that high being who gave them the rights of humanity, whose gifts it were sacrilege to surrender, let me ask you, sir, upon what part of your subjects would you rely for assistance? the people of ireland have been uniformly plundered and oppressed. in return they give you every day fresh marks of their resentment. they despise the miserable governor you have sent them, because he is the creature of lord bute, nor is it from any natural confusion in their ideas that they are so ready to confound the original of a king with the disgraceful representation of him. the distance of the colonies would make it impossible for them to take an active concern in your affairs, if they were as well affected to your government as they once pretended to be to your person. they were ready enough to distinguish between you and your ministers. they complained of an act of the legislature, but traced the origin of it no higher than to the servants of the crown; they pleased themselves with the hope that their sovereign, if not favourable to their cause, at least was impartial. the decisive personal part you took against them has effectually banished that first distinction from their minds. they consider you as united with your servants against america, and know how to distinguish the sovereign and a venal parliament on one side from the real sentiments of the english people on the other. looking forward to independence, they might possibly receive you for their king; but, if ever you retire to america, be assured they will give you such a covenant to digest as the presbytery of scotland would have been ashamed to offer to charles the second. they left their native land in search of freedom, and found it in a desert. divided as they are into a thousand forms of policy and religion, there is one point in which they all agree: they equally detest the pageantry of a king and the supercilious hypocrisy of a bishop. it is not, then, from the alienated affections of ireland or america that you can reasonably look for assistance; still less from the people of england, who are actually contending for their rights, and in this great question are parties against you. you are not, however, destitute of every appearance of support: you have all the jacobites, non-jurors, roman catholics, and tories of this country, and all scotland, without exception. considering from what family you are descended, the choice of your friends has been singularly directed; and truly, sir, if you had not lost the whig interest of england, i should admire your dexterity in turning the hearts of your enemies. is it possible for you to place any confidence in men who, before they are faithful to you, must renounce every opinion and betray every principle, both in church and state, which they inherit from their ancestors and are confirmed in by their education; whose numbers are so inconsiderable that they have long since been obliged to give up the principles and language which distinguish them as a party, and to fight under the banners of their enemies? their zeal begins with hypocrisy, and must conclude in treachery. at first they deceive, at last they betray. as to the scotch, i must suppose your heart and understanding so biassed from your earliest infancy in their favour that nothing less than _your own_ misfortunes can undeceive you. you will not accept of the uniform experience of your ancestors; and, when once a man is determined to believe, the very absurdity of the doctrine confirms him in his faith. a bigoted understanding can draw a proof of attachment to the house of hanover from a notorious zeal for the house of stuart, and find an earnest of future loyalty in former rebellions. appearances are, however, in their favour: so strongly, indeed, that one would think they had forgotten that you are their lawful king, and had mistaken you for a pretender to the crown. let it be admitted, then, that the scotch are as sincere in their present professions as if you were in reality, not an englishman, but a briton of the north. you would not be the first prince of their native country against whom they have rebelled, nor the first whom they have basely betrayed. have you forgotten, sir, or has your favourite concealed from you, that part of our history when the unhappy charles (and he, too, had private virtues) fled from the open, avowed indignation of his english subjects, and surrendered himself at discretion to the good faith of his own countrymen? without looking for support in their affections as subjects, he applied only to their honour as gentlemen for protection. they received him, as they would your majesty, with bows and smiles and falsehood, and kept him until they had settled their bargain with the english parliament, then basely sold their native king to the vengeance of his enemies. this, sir, was not the act of a few traitors, but the deliberate treachery of a scotch parliament representing the nation. a wise prince might draw from it two lessons of equal utility to himself. on one side he might learn to dread the undisguised resentment of a generous people who dare openly assert their rights, and who in a just cause are ready to meet their sovereign in the field. on the other side he would be taught to apprehend something far more formidable: a fawning treachery against which no prudence can guard, no courage can defend. the insidious smile upon the cheek would warn him of the canker in the heart. from the uses to which one part of the army has been too frequently applied, you have some reason to expect that there are no services they would refuse. here, too, we trace the partiality of your understanding. you take the sense of the army from the conduct of the guards, with the same justice with which you collect the sense of the people from the representations of the ministry. your marching regiments, sir, will not make the guards their example either as soldiers or subjects. they feel and resent, as they ought to do, that invariable, undistinguishing favour with which the guards are treated, while those gallant troops, by whom every hazardous, every laborious service is performed, are left to perish in garrisons abroad, or pine in quarters at home, neglected and forgotten. if they had no sense of the great original duty they owe their country, their resentment would operate like patriotism, and leave your cause to be defended by those on whom you have lavished the rewards and honours of their profession. the prætorian bands, enervated and debauched as they were, had still strength enough to awe the roman populace, but when the distant legions took the alarm they marched to rome and gave away the empire. on this side, then, whichever way you turn your eyes, you see nothing but perplexity and distress. you may determine to support the very ministry who have reduced your affairs to this deplorable situation; you may shelter yourself under the forms of a parliament, and set the people at defiance; but be assured, sir, that such a resolution would be as imprudent as it would be odious. if it did not immediately shake your establishment, it would rob you of your peace of mind for ever. on the other, how different is the prospect! how easy, how safe and honourable, is the path before you! the english nation declare they are grossly injured by their representatives, and solicit your majesty to exert your lawful prerogative, and give them an opportunity of recalling a trust which they find has been scandalously abused. you are not to be told that the power of the house of commons is not original, but delegated to them for the welfare of the people, from whom they received it. a question of right arises between the constituent and the representative body. by what authority shall it be decided? will your majesty interfere in a question in which you have, properly, no immediate concern? it would be a step equally odious and unnecessary. shall the lords be called upon to determine the rights and privileges of the commons? they cannot do it without a flagrant breach of the constitution. or will you refer it to the judges? they have often told your ancestors that the law of parliament is above them. what part then remains but to leave it to the people to determine for themselves? they alone are injured, and since there is no superior power to which the cause can be referred, they alone ought to determine. i do not mean to perplex you with a tedious argument upon a subject already so discussed that inspiration could hardly throw a new light upon it. there are, however, two points of view in which it particularly imports your majesty to consider the late proceedings of the house of commons. by depriving a subject of his birthright they have attributed to their own vote an authority equal to an act of the whole legislature, and, though perhaps not with the same motives, have strictly followed the example of the long parliament, which first declared the regal office useless, and soon after, with as little ceremony, dissolved the house of lords. the same pretended power which robs an english subject of his birthright may rob an english king of his crown. in another view, the resolution of the house of commons, apparently not so dangerous to your majesty, is still more alarming to your people. not contented with divesting one man of his right, they have arbitrarily conveyed that right to another. they have set aside a return as illegal, without daring to censure those officers who were particularly apprised of mr. wilkes' incapacity, not only by the declaration of the house, but expressly by the writ directed to them, and who, nevertheless, returned him as duly elected. they have rejected the majority of votes, the only criterion by which our laws judge of the sense of the people; they have transferred the right of election from the collective to the representative body; and by these acts, taken separately or together, they have essentially altered the original constitution of the house of commons. versed as your majesty undoubtedly is in the english history, it cannot escape you how much it is your interest as well as your duty to prevent one of the three estates from encroaching upon the province of the other two, or assuming the authority of them all. when once they have departed from the great constitutional line by which all their proceedings should be directed, who will answer for their future moderation? or what assurance will they give you that, when they have trampled upon their equals, they will submit to a superior? your majesty may learn hereafter how nearly the slave and tyrant are allied. some of your council, more candid than the rest, admit the abandoned profligacy of the present house of commons, but oppose their dissolution, upon an opinion, i confess, not very unwarrantable, that their successors would be equally at the disposal of the treasury. i cannot persuade myself that the nation will have profited so little by experience. but if that opinion were well founded, you might then gratify our wishes at an easy rate, and appease the present clamour against your government, without offering any material injury to the favourite cause of corruption. you have still an honourable part to act. the affections of your subjects may still be recovered. but before you subdue their hearts you must gain a noble victory over your own. discard those little, personal resentments which have too long directed your public conduct. pardon this man the remainder of his punishment; and, if resentment still prevails, make it what it should have been long since--an act, not of mercy, but of contempt. he will soon fall back into his natural station, a silent senator, and hardly supporting the weekly eloquence of a newspaper. the gentle breath of peace would leave him on the surface, neglected and unremoved. it is only the tempest that lifts him from his place. without consulting your minister, call together your whole council. let it appear to the public that you can determine and act for yourself. come forward to your people. lay aside the wretched formalities of a king, and speak to your subjects with the spirit of a man and in the language of a gentleman. tell them you have been fatally deceived. the acknowledgment will be no disgrace, but rather an honour, to your understanding. tell them you are determined to remove every cause of complaint against your government, that you will give your confidence to no man who does not possess the confidence of your subjects, and leave it to themselves to determine, by their conduct at a future election, whether or no it be in reality the general sense of the nation that their rights have been arbitrarily invaded by the present house of commons, and the constitution betrayed. they will then do justice to their representatives and to themselves. these sentiments, sir, and the style they are conveyed in, may be offensive, perhaps, because they are new to you. accustomed to the language of courtiers, you measure their affections by the vehemence of their expressions, and when they only praise you indifferently, you admire their sincerity. but this is not a time to trifle with your fortune. they deceive you, sir, who tell you that you have many friends, whose affections are founded upon a principle of personal attachment. the first foundation of friendship is not the power of conferring benefits, but the equality with which they are received and may be returned. the fortune which made you a king forbade you to have a friend. it is a law of nature which cannot be violated with impunity. the mistaken prince who looks for friendship will find a favourite, and in that favourite the ruin of his affairs. the people of england are loyal to the house of hanover, not from a vain preference of one family to another, but from a conviction that the establishment of that family was necessary to the support of their civil and religious liberties. this, sir, is a principle of allegiance equally solid and rational, fit for englishmen to adopt, and well worthy of your majesty's encouragement. we cannot long be deluded by nominal distinctions. the name of stuart, of itself, is only contemptible; armed with the sovereign authority, their principles are formidable. the prince who imitates their conduct should be warned by their example, and, while he plumes himself upon the security of his title to the crown, should remember that, as it was acquired by one revolution, it may be lost by another. robert burns. ( - .) xlvi. address to the unco guid, or the rigidly righteous. my son, these maxims make a rule, and lump them aye thegither; the rigid righteous is a fool, the rigid wise anither; the cleanest corn that ere was dight may ha'e some pyles o' caff in; so ne'er a fellow-creature slight for random fits o' daffin'.--_solomon_.--eccles. vii. . this undoubtedly ranks as one of the noblest satires in our literature. it was first published as a broadside, and afterwards incorporated in the kilmarnock and edinburgh editions. oh ye wha are sae guid yoursel', sae pious an' sae holy, ye've nought to do but mark an' tell your neebour's fauts an' folly! whase life is like a weel-gaun[ ] mill, supplied wi' store o' water, the heaped happer's[ ] ebbing still, an' still the clap plays clatter. hear me, ye venerable core, as counsel for poor mortals, that frequent pass douce wisdom's door, for glaiket[ ] folly's portals; i, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, would here propone defences, their donsie[ ] tricks, their black mistakes their failings an' mischances. ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, an' shudder at the niffer[ ], but cast a moment's fair regard, what mak's the mighty differ? discount what scant occasion gave that purity ye pride in, an' (what's aft mair than a' the lave) your better art o' hiding. think, when your castigated pulse gi'es now an' then a wallop, what ragings must his veins convulse, that still eternal gallop. wi' wind an' tide fair i' your tail, right on ye scud your sea-way; but in the teeth o' baith to sail, it makes an unco lee-way. see social life an' glee sit down, all joyous an' unthinking, till, quite transmugrified, they're grown debauchery an' drinking: oh would they stay to calculate th' eternal consequences; or your more dreaded hell to state, damnation of expenses! ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, tied up in godly laces, before ye gi'e poor frailty names, suppose a change o' cases; a dear loved lad, convenience snug, a treacherous inclination-- but, let me whisper i' your lug[ ], ye'er aiblins[ ] nae temptation. then gently scan your brother man, still gentler sister woman; though they may gang a kennin' wrang, to step aside is human: one point must still be greatly dark, the moving why they do it: an' just as lamely can ye mark, how far perhaps they rue it. who made the heart, 'tis he alone decidedly can try us, he knows each chord--its various tone, each spring--its various bias: then at the balance let's be mute, we never can adjust it; what's done we partly may compute, but know not what's resisted. [footnote : well-going.] [footnote : hopper.] [footnote : idle.] [footnote : unlucky.] [footnote : exchange.] [footnote : ear.] [footnote : perhaps.] xlvii. holy willie's prayer. the hero of this daring exposition of calvinistic theology was william fisher, a farmer in the neighbourhood of mauchline, and an elder in mr. auld's session. he had signalized himself in the prosecution of mr. hamilton, elsewhere alluded to; and burns appears to have written these verses in retribution of the rancour he had displayed on that occasion. fisher was afterwards convicted of appropriating the money collected for the poor. coming home one night from market in a state of intoxication, he fell into a ditch, where he was found dead next morning. the poem was first published in , along with the "jolly beggars". oh thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, wha, as it pleases best thysel', sends ane to heaven, an' ten to hell, a' for thy glory, an' no for ony guid or ill they've done afore thee! i bless an' praise thy matchless might, whan thousands thou hast left in night, that i am here afore thy sight, for gifts an' grace a burnin' and a shinin' light to a' this place. what was i, or my generation, that i should get sic exaltation, i wha deserve sic just damnation, for broken laws, five thousand years 'fore my creation, thro' adam's cause? when frae my mither's womb i fell, thou might ha'e plunged me deep in hell, to gnash my gums, to weep an' wail, in burnin' lake, whare damned devils roar an' yell, chain'd to a stake. yet i am here, a chosen sample; to show thy grace is great an' ample; i'm here a pillar in thy temple, strong as a rock, a guide, a buckler, an example, to a' thy flock. but yet, oh lord! confess i must, at times i'm fash'd[ ] wi' fleshly lust; an' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, vile self gets in: but thou remembers we are dust, defil'd in sin. maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn beset thy servant e'en an' morn lest he owre high an' proud should turn, 'cause he's sae gifted; if sae, thy ban' maun e'en be borne, until thou lift it. lord, bless thy chosen in this place, for here thou hast a chosen race: but god confound their stubborn face, and blast their name, wha bring thy elders to disgrace and public shame. lord, mind cawn hamilton's deserts, he drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes[ ], yet has sae mony takin' arts, wi' grit an' sma'[ ], frae god's ain priests the people's hearts he steals awa'. and whan we chasten'd him therefore, thou kens how he bred sic a splore[ ], as set the warld in a roar o' laughin' at us,-- curse thou his basket and his store, kail and potatoes. lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r against the presbyt'ry of ayr; thy strong right hand, lord, mak' it bare upo' their heads, lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare, for their misdeeds. oh lord my god, that glib-tongu'd aiken, my very heart and saul are quakin', to think how we stood groanin', shakin', and swat wi' dread, while he wi' hingin' lips and snakin', held up his head. lord, in the day of vengeance try him, lord, visit them wha did employ him, and pass not in thy mercy by 'em, nor hear their pray'r; but for thy people's sake destroy 'em, and dinna spare, but, lord, remember me and mine, wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, that i for gear[ ] and grace may shine, excell'd by nane, and a' the glory shall be thine, amen, amen! epitaph on holy willie. here holy willie's sair-worn clay tak's up its last abode; his saul has ta'en some ither way, i fear the left-hand road. stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, poor, silly body, see him; nae wonder he's as black's the grun', observe wha's standing wi' him. your brunstane[ ] devilship, i see, has got him there before ye; but haud your nine-tail cat a wee, till ance you've heard my story. your pity i will not implore, for pity ye ha'e nane; justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, and mercy's day is gane. but hear me, sir, de'il as ye are, look something to your credit; a coof[ ] like him wad stain your name, if it were kent ye did it. [footnote : troubled.] [footnote : cards.] [footnote : great and small.] [footnote : row.] [footnote : wealth.] [footnote : brimstone.] [footnote : fool.] charles lamb. ( - .) xlviii. a farewell to tobacco. published originally in in _the reflector_, no. . as lamb himself states, it was meditated for two years before it was committed to paper in , but not published until six years afterwards. may the babylonish curse straight confound my stammering verse, if i can a passage see in this word-perplexity, or a fit expression find, or a language to my mind (still the phrase is wide or scant), to take leave of thee, great plant! or in any terms relate half my love, or half my hate: for i hate yet love thee so, that, whichever thing i show, the plain truth will seem to be a constrained hyperbole, and the passions to proceed more from a mistress than a weed. sooty retainer to the vine, bacchus' black servant, negro fine; sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon thy begrimed complexion, and, for thy pernicious sake, more and greater oaths to break than reclaimèd lovers take 'gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay much too in the female way, while thou suck'st the lab'ring breath faster than kisses or than death. thou in such a cloud dost bind us, that our worst foes cannot find us, and ill fortune, that would thwart us, shoots at rovers, shooting at us; while each man, through thy heightening steam, does like a smoking etna seem, and all about us does express (fancy and wit in richest dress) a sicilian fruitfulness thou through such a mist dost show us, that our best friends do not know us, and, for those allowed features, due to reasonable creatures, liken'st us to fell chimeras-- monsters that, who see us, fear us; worse than cerberus or geryon, or, who first loved a cloud, ixion. bacchus we know, and we allow his tipsy rites. but what art thou, that but by reflex canst show what his deity can do, as the false egyptian spell aped the true hebrew miracle? some few vapours thou may'st raise, the weak brain may serve to amaze. but to the reins and nobler heart canst nor life nor heat impart. brother of bacchus, later born, the old world was sure forlorn wanting thee, that aidest more the god's victories than before all his panthers, and the brawls of his piping bacchanals. these, as stale, we disallow, or judge of _thee_ meant: only thou his true indian conquest art; and, for ivy round his dart, the reformèd god now weaves a finer thyrsus of thy leaves. scent to match thy rich perfume chemic art did ne'er presume through her quaint alembic strain, none so sovereign to the brain. nature, that did in thee excel, framed again no second smell. roses, violets, but toys for the smaller sort of boys, or for greener damsels meant; thou art the only manly scent. stinking'st of the stinking kind, filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, africa, that brags her foison, breeds no such prodigious poison, henbane, nightshade, both together, hemlock, aconite-- nay, rather, plant divine, of rarest virtue; blisters on the tongue would hurt you. 'twas but in a sort i blamed thee; none e'er prospered who defamed thee; irony all, and feigned abuse, such as perplexed lovers use at a need, when, in despair to paint forth their fairest fair, or in part but to express that exceeding comeliness which their fancies doth so strike, they borrow language of dislike, and, instead of dearest miss, jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss, and those forms of old admiring, call her cockatrice and siren, basilisk, and all that's evil, witch, hyena, mermaid, devil, ethiop, wench, and blackamoor, monkey, ape, and twenty more; friendly trait'ress, loving foe,-- not that she is truly so, but no other way they know a contentment to express, borders so upon excess, that they do not rightly wot whether it be pain or not. or as men, constrained to part with what's nearest to their heart, while their sorrow's at the height, lose discrimination quite, and their hasty wrath let fall, to appease their frantic gall, on the darling thing whatever whence they feel it death to sever, though it be, as they, perforce guiltless of the sad divorce. for i must (nor let it grieve thee, friendliest of plants, that i must) leave thee. for thy sake, tobacco, i would do anything but die, and but seek to extend my days long enough to sing thy praise. but, as she who once hath been a king's consort is a queen ever after, nor will bate any title of her state, though a widow or divorced, so i, from thy converse forced, the old name and style retain, a right katherine of spain; and a seat, too, 'mongst the joys of the blest tobacco boys; where, though i, by sour physician, am debarred the full fruition of thy favours, i may catch some collateral sweets, and snatch sidelong odours, that give life like glances from a neighbour's wife; and still live in the byplaces and the suburbs of thy graces, and in thy borders take delight, an unconquered canaanite. thomas moore. ( - .) xlix. lines on leigh hunt. suggested by hunt's _byron and his contemporaries_. next week will be published (as "lives" are the rage) the whole reminiscences, wondrous and strange, of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage of the late noble lion at exeter 'change. though the dog is a dog of the kind they call "sad", 'tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends; and few dogs have such opportunities had of knowing how lions behave--among friends. how that animal eats, how he moves, how he drinks, is all noted down by this boswell so small; and 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks that the lion was no such great things after all. though he roar'd pretty well--this the puppy allows-- it was all, he says, borrow'd--all second-hand roar; and he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows to the loftiest war-note the lion could pour. 'tis indeed as good fun as a cynic could ask, to see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits takes gravely the lord of the forest to task, and judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) with sops every day from the lion's own pan, he lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcase, and--does all a dog, so diminutive, can. however the book's a good book, being rich in examples and warnings to lions high-bred, how they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen, who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead. george canning. ( - .) l. epistle from lord boringdon to lord granville. published in _fugitive verses_, and thence included among canning's works. oft you have ask'd me, granville, why of late i heave the frequent sigh? why, moping, melancholy, low, from supper, commons, wine, i go? why bows my mind, by care oppress'd, by day no peace, by night no rest? hear, then, my friend, and ne'er you knew a tale so tender, and so true-- hear what, tho' shame my tongue restrain, my pen with freedom shall explain. say, granville, do you not remember, about the middle of november, when blenheim's hospitable lord received us at his cheerful board; how fair the ladies spencer smiled, enchanting, witty, courteous, mild? and mark'd you not, how many a glance across the table, shot by chance from fair eliza's graceful form, assail'd and took my heart by storm? and mark'd you not, with earnest zeal, i ask'd her, if she'd have some veal? and how, when conversation's charms fresh vigour gave to love's alarms, my heart was scorch'd, and burnt to tinder, when talking to her at the _winder_? these facts premised, you can't but guess the cause of my uneasiness, for you have heard, as well as i, that she'll be married speedily; and then--my grief more plain to tell-- soft cares, sweet fears, fond hopes,--farewell! but still, tho' false the fleeting dream, indulge awhile the tender theme, and hear, had fortune yet been kind, how bright the prospect of the mind. o! had i had it in my power to wed her--with a suited dower-- and proudly bear the beauteous maid to saltrum's venerable shade,-- or if she liked not woods at saltrum, why, nothing easier than to alter 'em,-- then had i tasted bliss sincere, and happy been from year to year. how changed this scene! for now, my granville, another match is on the anvil. and i, a widow'd dove, complain, and feel no refuge from my pain-- save that of pitying spencer's sister, who's lost a lord, and gained a mister. li. reformation of the knave of hearts. this is an exquisite satire on the attempts at criticism which were current in _pre-edinburgh review_ days, when the majority of the journals were mere touts for the booksellers. the papers in question are taken from nos. and of the _microcosm_, published on monday, february th, --when canning was seventeen years of age. the epic poem on which i shall ground my present critique has for its chief characteristics brevity and simplicity. the author--whose name i lament that i am, in some degree, prevented from consecrating to immortal fame, by not knowing what it is--the author, i say, has not branched his poem into excrescences of episode, or prolixities of digression; it is neither variegated with diversity of unmeaning similitudes, nor glaring with the varnish of unnatural metaphor. the whole is plain and uniform; so much so, indeed, that i should hardly be surprised if some morose readers were to conjecture that the poet had been thus simple rather from necessity than choice; that he had been restrained, not so much by chastity of judgment, as sterility of imagination. nay, some there may be, perhaps, who will dispute his claim to the title of an epic poet, and will endeavour to degrade him even to the rank of a ballad-monger. but i, as his commentator, will contend for the dignity of my author, and will plainly demonstrate his poem to be an epic poem, agreeable to the example of all poets, and the consent of all critics heretofore. first, it is universally agreed that an epic poem should have three component parts--a beginning, a middle, and an end; secondly, it is allowed that it should have one grand action or main design, to the forwarding of which all the parts of it should directly or indirectly tend, and that this design should be in some measure consonant with, and conducive to, the purposes of morality; and thirdly, it is indisputably settled that it should have a hero. i trust that in none of these points the poem before us will be found deficient. there are other inferior properties which i shall consider in due order. not to keep my readers longer in suspense, the subject of the poem is "the reformation of the knave of hearts". it is not improbable that some may object to me that a knave is an unworthy hero for an epic poem--that a hero ought to be all that is great and good. the objection is frivolous. the greatest work of this kind that the world has ever produced has "the devil" for its hero; and supported as my author is by so great a precedent, i contend that his hero is a very decent hero, and especially as he has the advantage of milton's, by reforming, at the end, is evidently entitled to a competent share of celebrity. i shall now proceed to the more immediate examination of the poem in its different parts. the beginning, say the critics, ought to be plain and simple--neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid with pomposity of diction. in this how exactly does our author conform to the established opinion! he begins thus: "the queen of hearts she made some tarts". can anything be more clear! more natural! more agreeable to the true spirit of simplicity? here are no tropes, no figurative expressions, not even so much as an invocation to the muse. he does not detain his readers by any needless circumlocution, by unnecessarily informing them what he _is_ going to sing, or still more unnecessarily enumerating what he _is not_ going to sing; but, according to the precept of horace:-- _in médias res, non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit--_ that is, he at once introduces us and sets us on the most easy and familiar footing imaginable with her majesty of hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic concerns. but to proceed-- "the queen of hearts she made some tarts, all on a summer's day". here indeed the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring; but here is no such thing. there is no task more difficult to a poet than that of rejection. ovid among the ancients, and dryden among the moderns, were perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. the latter, from the haste in which he generally produced his compositions, seldom paid much attention to the _limæ labor_, "the labour of correction", and seldom, therefore, rejected the assistance of any idea that presented itself. ovid, not content with catching the leading features of any scene or character, indulged himself in a thousand minutiæ of description, a thousand puerile prettinesses, which were in themselves uninteresting, and took off greatly from the effect of the whole; as the numberless suckers and straggling branches of a fruit-tree, if permitted to shoot out unrestrained, while they are themselves barren and useless, diminish considerably the vigour of the parent stock. ovid had more genius but less judgment than virgil; dryden more imagination but less correctness than pope; had they not been deficient in these points the former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outshone the merits of his countryman. our author was undoubtedly possessed of that power which they wanted, and was cautious not to indulge too far the sallies of a lively imagination. omitting, therefore, any mention of sultry sirius, sylvan shade, sequestered glade, verdant hills, purling rills, mossy mountains, gurgling fountains, &c., he simply tells us that it was "all on a summer's day". for my own part i confess that i find myself rather flattered than disappointed, and consider the poet as rather paying a compliment to the abilities of his readers, than baulking their expectations. it is certainly a great pleasure to see a picture well painted; but it is a much greater to paint it well oneself. this, therefore, i look upon as a stroke of excellent management in the poet. here every reader is at liberty to gratify his own taste, to design for himself just what sort of "summer's day" he likes best; to choose his own scenery, dispose his lights and shades as he pleases, to solace himself with a rivulet or a horse-pond, a shower or a sunbeam, a grove or a kitchen-garden, according to his fancy. how much more considerate this than if the poet had, from an affected accuracy of description, thrown us into an unmannerly perspiration by the heat of the atmosphere, forced us into a landscape of his own planning, with perhaps a paltry good-for-nothing zephyr or two, and a limited quantity of wood and water. all this ovid would undoubtedly have done. nay, to use the expression of a learned brother commentator--_quovis pignore decertem_, "i would lay any wager", that he would have gone so far as to tell us what the tarts were made of, and perhaps wandered into an episode on the art of preserving cherries. but _our_ poet, above such considerations, leaves every reader to choose his own ingredients, and sweeten them to his own liking; wisely foreseeing, no doubt, that the more palatable each had rendered them to his own taste, the more he would be affected at their approaching loss. "all on a summer's day." i cannot leave this line without remarking that one of the scribleri, a descendant of the famous martinus, has expressed his suspicions of the text being corrupted here, and proposes instead of "all on" reading "alone", alleging, in favour of this alteration, the effect of solitude in raising the passions. but hiccius doctius, a high dutch commentator, one nevertheless well versed in british literature, in a note of his usual length and learning, has confuted the arguments of scriblerus. in support of the present reading he quotes a passage from a poem written about the same period with our author's, by the celebrated johannes pastor[ ], intituled "an elegiac epistle to the turnkey of newgate", wherein the gentleman declares that, rather indeed in compliance with an old custom than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is going-- "all hanged for to be upon that fatal tyburn tree ". now, as nothing throws greater light on an author than the concurrence of a contemporary writer, i am inclined to be of hiccius' opinion, and to consider the "all" as an elegant expletive, or, as he more aptly phrases it _elegans expletivum_. the passage therefore must stand thus:-- "the queen of hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day." and thus ends the first part, or beginning, which is simple and unembellished, opens the subject in a natural and easy manner, excites, but does not too far gratify our curiosity, for a reader of accurate observation may easily discover that the hero of the poem has not, as yet, made his appearance. i could not continue my examination at present through the whole of this poem without far exceeding the limits of a single paper. i have therefore divided it into two, but shall not delay the publication of the second to another week, as that, besides breaking the connection of criticism, would materially injure the unities of the poem. having thus gone through the first part, or beginning of the poem, we may, naturally enough, proceed to the consideration of the second. the second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and business, for incident and adventure:-- "the knave of hearts he stole those tarts". here attention is awakened, and our whole souls are intent upon the first appearance of the hero. some readers may perhaps be offended at his making his _entree_ in so disadvantageous a character as that of a thief. to this i plead precedent. the hero of the iliad, as i observed in a former paper, is made to lament very pathetically that "life is not like all other possessions, to be acquired by theft". a reflection, in my opinion, evidently showing that, if he _did_ refrain from the practice of this ingenious art, it was not from want of an inclination that way. we may remember, too, that in virgil's poem almost the first light in which the pious Æneas appears to us is a deer-stealer; nor is it much excuse for him that the deer were wandering without keepers, for however he might, from this circumstance, have been unable to ascertain whose property they were, he might, i think, have been pretty well assured that they were not his. having thus acquitted our hero of misconduct, by the example of his betters, i proceed to what i think the master-stroke of the poet. "the knave of hearts he stole those tarts, and--took them--quite away!!" here, whoever has an ear for harmony and a heart for feeling must be touched! there is a desponding melancholy in the run of the last line! an air of tender regret in the addition of "quite away!" a something so expressive of irrecoverable loss! so forcibly intimating the _ad nunquam reditura!_ "they never can return!" in short, such an union of sound and sense as we rarely, if ever, meet with in any author, ancient or modern. our feelings are all alive, but the poet, wisely dreading that our sympathy with the injured queen might alienate our affections from his hero, contrives immediately to awaken our fears for him by telling us that-- "the king of hearts called for those tarts". we are all conscious of the fault of our hero, and all tremble with him, for the punishment which the enraged monarch may inflict: "and beat the knave full sore!" the fatal blow is struck! we cannot but rejoice that guilt is justly punished, though we sympathize with the guilty object of punishment. here scriblerus, who, by the by, is very fond of making unnecessary alterations, proposes reading "score" instead of "sore", meaning thereby to particularize that the beating bestowed by this monarch consisted of twenty stripes. but this proceeds from his ignorance of the genius of our language, which does not admit of such an expression as "full score", but would require the insertion of the particle "a", which cannot be, on account of the metre. and this is another great artifice of the poet. by leaving the quantity of beating indeterminate, he gives every reader the liberty to administer it, in exact proportion to the sum of indignation which he may have conceived against his hero, that by thus amply satisfying their resentment they may be the more easily reconciled to him afterwards. "the king of hearts called for those tarts, and beat the knave full sore." here ends the second part, or middle of the poem, in which we see the character and exploits of the hero portrayed with the hand of a master. nothing now remains to be examined but the third part, or end. in the end it is a rule pretty well established that the work should draw towards a conclusion, which our author manages thus:-- "the knave of hearts brought back those tarts". here everything is at length settled; the theft is compensated, the tarts restored to their right owner, and poetical justice, in every respect, strictly and impartially administered. we may observe that there is nothing in which our poet has better succeeded than in keeping up an unremitted attention in his readers to the main instruments, the machinery of his poem, viz. the _tarts_; insomuch that the afore-mentioned scriblerus has sagely observed that "he can't tell, but he doesn't know, but the tarts may be reckoned the heroes of the poem". scriblerus, though a man of learning, and frequently right in his opinion, has here certainly hazarded a rash conjecture. his arguments are overthrown entirely by his great opponent, hiccius, who concludes by triumphantly asking, "had the tarts been eaten, how could the poet have compensated for the loss of his heroes?" we are now come to the _dénouement_, the setting all to rights: and our poet, in the management of his moral, is certainly superior to his great ancient predecessors. the moral of their fables, if any they have, is so interwoven with the main body of their work, that in endeavouring to unravel it we should tear the whole. our author has very properly preserved his whole and entire for the end of his poem, where he completes his main design, the reformation of his hero, thus-- "and vowed he'd steal no more". having in the course of his work shown the bad effects arising from theft, he evidently means this last moral reflection to operate with his readers as a gentle and polite dissuasive from stealing. "the knave of hearts brought back those tarts, and vowed he'd steal no more!" thus have i industriously gone through the several parts of this wonderful work, and clearly proved it, in every one of these parts, and in all of them together, to be a "due and proper epic poem", and to have as good a right to that title, from its adherence to prescribed rules, as any of the celebrated masterpieces of antiquity. and here i cannot help again lamenting that, by not knowing the name of the author, i am unable to twine our laurels together, and to transmit to posterity the mingled praises of genius and judgment, of the poet and his commentator. [footnote : more commonly known, i believe, by the appellation of jack shepherd.] poetry of the anti-jacobin. ( - .) lii. the friend of humanity and the knife-grinder. the _anti-jacobin_ was planned by george canning when he was under-secretary of state for foreign affairs. he secured the collaboration of george ellis, john hookham frere, william gifford, and some others. the last-named was appointed working editor. the first number appeared on the th november, , with a notice that "the publication would be continued every monday during the sitting of parliament". a volume of the best pieces, entitled _the poetry of the anti-jacobin_, was published in . it is almost impossible to apportion accurately the various pieces to their respective authors, though more than one attempt has been made so to do. the following piece is designed to ridicule the extravagant sympathy for the lower classes which was then the fashion. _friend of humanity_. needy knife-grinder! whither are you going? rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-- bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't, so have your breeches! weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, "knives and scissors to grind o!" tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? did some rich man tyrannically use you? was it the squire? or parson of the parish? or the attorney? was it the squire for killing of his game? or covetous parson for his tithes distraining? or roguish lawyer made you lose your little all in a lawsuit? (have you not read the _rights of man_, by tom paine?) drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, ready to fall as soon as you have told your pitiful story. _knife-grinder_. story! god bless you! i have none to tell, sir, only last night a-drinking at the chequers, this poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were torn in the scuffle. constable came up for to take me into custody; they took me before the justice, justice oldmixon put me in the parish stocks for a vagrant. i should be glad to drink your honour's health in a pot of beer, if you would give me sixpence; but, for my part, i never love to meddle with politics, sir. _friend of humanity_. _i_ give thee sixpence! i will see thee damned first-- wretch! whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance-- sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, spiritless outcast! [_kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy_.] liii. song by rogero the captive. this is a satirical imitation of many of the songs current in the romantic dramas of the period. it is contained in the _rovers, or the double arrangement_, act i. sc. , a skit upon the dramatic literature of the day. whene'er with haggard eyes i view this dungeon, that i'm rotting in, i think of those companions true who studied with me in the u- -niversity of gottingen-- -niversity of gottingen. [_weeps, and pulls out a blue 'kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds_. sweet 'kerchief check'd with heavenly blue, which once my love sat knotting in, alas, matilda then was true, at least i thought so at the u- -niversity of gottingen-- -niversity of gottingen. [_at the repetition of this line rogero clanks his chain in cadence_. barbs! barbs! alas! how swift ye flew, her neat post-waggon trotting in! ye bore matilda from my view; forlorn i languish'd at the u- -niversity of gottingen-- -niversity of gottingen. this faded form! this pallid hue! this blood my veins is clotting in, my years are many--they were few when i first entered at the u- -niversity of gottingen-- -niversity of gottingen. there first for thee my passion grew, sweet; sweet matilda pottingen! thou wast the daughter of my tutor, law professor at the u- -niversity of gottingen-- -niversity of gottingen sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu, that kings and priests are plotting in; here doom'd to starve on water-gruel, never shall i see the u- -niversity of gottingen!-- -niversity of gottingen! [_during the last stanza rogero dashes his head repeatedly against the walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion. he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. the curtain drops--the music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen_. coleridge and southey. ( - .) ( - .) liv. the devil's walk. originally written in an album belonging to one of the misses fricker, the ladies whom the two poets married. what was the extent of the collaboration of the respective writers in the poem is unknown, but the fact is beyond a doubt that it was written by them in conjunction. from his brimstone bed at break of day a-walking the devil is gone, to visit his snug little farm upon earth, and see how his stock goes on. over the hill and over the dale, and he went over the plain, and backward and forward he switched his long tail, as a gentleman switches his cane. and how, then, was the devil drest? oh, he was in his sunday best; his jacket was red, and his breeches were blue, and there was a hole where his tail came through. he saw a lawyer killing a viper on a dunghill hard by his own stable; and the devil smiled, for it put him in mind of cain and his brother abel. he saw an apothecary on a white horse ride by on his own vocations; and the devil thought of his old friend death in the revelations. he saw a cottage with a double coach-house, a cottage of gentility; and the devil did grin, for his darling sin is the pride that apes humility. he went into a rich bookseller's shop, quoth he! we are both of one college, for i myself sate like a cormorant once, fast by the tree of knowledge. down the river there plied, with wind and tide, a pig, with vast celerity, and the devil looked wise as he saw how the while it cut its own throat. there! quoth he, with a smile, goes "england's commercial prosperity". as he went through cold-bath fields he saw a solitary cell; and the devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint for improving his prisons in hell. general gascoigne's burning face he saw with consternation; and back to hell his way did take, for the devil thought by a slight mistake it was a general conflagration. sydney smith. ( - .) lv. the letters of peter plymley--on "no popery". in the _letters of peter plymley_ to his brother abraham on the subject of the irish catholics were published. "the letters", as professor henry morley says, "fell like sparks on a heap of gunpowder. all london, and soon all england, were alive to the sound reason recommended by a lively wit." the example of his satiric force and sarcastic ratiocination cited below is the second letter in the series. dear abraham, the catholic not respect an oath! why not? what upon earth has kept him out of parliament, or excluded him from all the offices whence he is excluded, but his respect for oaths? there is no law which prohibits a catholic to sit in parliament. there could be no such law; because it is impossible to find out what passes in the interior of any man's mind. suppose it were in contemplation to exclude all men from certain offices who contended for the legality of taking tithes: the only mode of discovering that fervid love of decimation which i know you to possess would be to tender you an oath "against that damnable doctrine, that it is lawful for a spiritual man to take, abstract, appropriate, subduct, or lead away the tenth calf, sheep, lamb, ox, pigeon, duck", &c., and every other animal that ever existed, which of course the lawyers would take care to enumerate. now this oath i am sure you would rather die than take; and so the catholic is excluded from parliament because he will not swear that he disbelieves the leading doctrines of his religion! the catholic asks you to abolish some oaths which oppress him; your answer is that he does not respect oaths. then why subject him to the test of oaths? the oaths keep him out of parliament; why, then, he respects them. turn which way you will, either your laws are nugatory, or the catholic is bound by religious obligations as you are; but no eel in the well-sanded fist of a cook-maid, upon the eve of being skinned, ever twisted and writhed as an orthodox parson does when he is compelled by the gripe of reason to admit anything in favour of a dissenter. i will not dispute with you whether the pope be or be not the scarlet lady of babylon. i hope it is not so; because i am afraid it will induce his majesty's chancellor of the exchequer to introduce several severe bills against popery, if that is the case; and though he will have the decency to appoint a previous committee of inquiry as to the fact, the committee will be garbled, and the report inflammatory. leaving this to be settled as he pleases to settle it, i wish to inform you, that, previously to the bill last passed in favour of the catholics, at the suggestion of mr. pitt, and for his satisfaction, the opinions of six of the most celebrated of the foreign catholic universities were taken as to the right of the pope to interfere in the temporal concerns of any country. the answer cannot possibly leave the shadow of a doubt, even in the mind of baron maseres; and dr. rennel would be compelled to admit it, if three bishops lay dead at the very moment the question were put to him. to this answer might be added also the solemn declaration and signature of all the catholics in great britain. i should perfectly agree with you, if the catholics admitted such a dangerous dispensing power in the hands of the pope; but they all deny it, and laugh at it, and are ready to abjure it in the most decided manner you can devise. they obey the pope as the spiritual head of their church; but are you really so foolish as to be imposed upon by mere names? what matters it the seven-thousandth part of a farthing who is the spiritual head of any church? is not mr. wilberforce at the head of the church of clapham? is not dr. letsom at the head of the quaker church? is not the general assembly at the head of the church of scotland? how is the government disturbed by these many-headed churches? or in what way is the power of the crown augmented by this almost nominal dignity? the king appoints a fast-day once a year, and he makes the bishops: and if the government would take half the pains to keep the catholics out of the arms of france that it does to widen temple bar, or improve snow hill, the king would get into his hands the appointments of the titular bishops of ireland. both mr. c----'s sisters enjoy pensions more than sufficient to place the two greatest dignitaries of the irish catholic church entirely at the disposal of the crown. everybody who knows ireland knows perfectly well that nothing would be easier, with the expenditure of a little money, than to preserve enough of the ostensible appointment in the hands of the pope to satisfy the scruples of the catholics, while the real nomination remained with the crown. but, as i have before said, the moment the very name of ireland is mentioned, the english seem to bid adieu to common feeling, common prudence, and common sense, and to act with the barbarity of tyrants and the fatuity of idiots. whatever your opinion may be of the follies of the roman catholic religion, remember they are the follies of four millions of human beings, increasing rapidly in numbers, wealth, and intelligence, who, if firmly united with this country, would set at defiance the power of france, and if once wrested from their alliance with england, would in three years render its existence as an independent nation absolutely impossible. you speak of danger to the establishment: i request to know when the establishment was ever so much in danger as when hoche was in bantry bay, and whether all the books of bossuet, or the arts of the jesuits, were half so terrible? mr. perceval and his parsons forget all this, in their horror lest twelve or fourteen old women may be converted to holy water and catholic nonsense. they never see that, while they are saving these venerable ladies from perdition, ireland may be lost, england broken down, and the protestant church, with all its deans, prebendaries, percevals, and rennels, be swept into the vortex of oblivion. do not, i beseech you, ever mention to me again the name of dr. duigenan. i have been in every corner of ireland, and have studied its present strength and condition with no common labour. be assured ireland does not contain at this moment less than , , people. there were returned in the year to the hearth tax , houses, and there is no kind of question that there were about , houses omitted in that return. taking, however, only the number returned for the tax, and allowing the average of six to a house (a very small average for a potato-fed people), this brings the population to , , people in the year : and it can be shown from the clearest evidence (and mr. newenham in his book shows it), that ireland for the last years has increased in its population at the rate of , or , per annum; which leaves the present population of ireland at about , , , after every possible deduction for _existing circumstances, just and necessary wars, monstrous and unnatural rebellions_, and all other sources of human destruction. of this population, two out of ten are protestants; and the half of the protestant population are dissenters, and as inimical to the church as the catholics themselves. in this state of things thumbscrews and whipping--admirable engines of policy as they must be considered to be--will not ultimately avail. the catholics will hang over you; they will watch for the moment, and compel you hereafter to give them ten times as much, against your will, as they would now be contented with, if it were voluntarily surrendered. remember what happened in the american war, when ireland compelled you to give her everything she asked, and to renounce, in the most explicit manner, your claim of sovereignty over her. god almighty grant the folly of these present men may not bring on such another crisis of public affairs! what are your dangers which threaten the establishment? reduce this declamation to a point, and let us understand what you mean. the most ample allowance does not calculate that there would be more than twenty members who were roman catholics in one house, and ten in the other, if the catholic emancipation were carried into effect. do you mean that these thirty members would bring in a bill to take away the tithes from the protestant, and to pay them to the catholic clergy? do you mean that a catholic general would march his army into the house of commons, and purge it of mr. perceval and dr. duigenan? or, that the theological writers would become all of a sudden more acute or more learned, if the present civil incapacities were removed? do you fear for your tithes, or your doctrines, or your person, or the english constitution? every fear, taken separately, is so glaringly absurd, that no man has the folly or the boldness to state it. everyone conceals his ignorance, or his baseness, in a stupid general panic, which, when called on, he is utterly incapable of explaining. whatever you think of the catholics, there they are--you cannot get rid of them; your alternative is to give them a lawful place for stating their grievances, or an unlawful one: if you do not admit them to the house of commons, they will hold their parliament in potatoe place, dublin, and be ten times as violent and inflammatory as they would be in westminster. nothing would give me such an idea of security as to see twenty or thirty catholic gentlemen in parliament, looked upon by all the catholics as the fair and proper organ of their party. i should have thought it the height of good fortune that such a wish existed on their part, and the very essence of madness and ignorance to reject it. can you murder the catholics? can you neglect them? they are too numerous for both these expedients. what remains to be done is obvious to every human being--but to that man who, instead of being a methodist preacher, is, for the curse of us and our children, and for the ruin of troy and the misery of good old priam and his sons, become a legislator and a politician. a distinction, i perceive, is taken by one of the most feeble noblemen in great britain, between persecution and the deprivation of political power; whereas, there is no more distinction between these two things than there is between him who makes the distinction and a booby. if i strip off the relic-covered jacket of a catholic, and give him twenty stripes ... i persecute; if i say, everybody in the town where you live shall be a candidate for lucrative and honourable offices, but you, who are a catholic ... i do not persecute! what barbarous nonsense is this! as if degradation was not as great an evil as bodily pain or as severe poverty: as if i could not be as great a tyrant by saying, you shall not enjoy--as by saying, you shall suffer. the english, i believe, are as truly religious as any nation in europe; i know no greater blessing; but it carries with it this evil in its train, that any villain who will bawl out, "_the church is in danger!_" may get a place and a good pension; and that any administration who will do the same thing may bring a set of men into power who, at a moment of stationary and passive piety, would be hooted by the very boys in the streets. but it is not all religion; it is, in great part, the narrow and exclusive spirit which delights to keep the common blessings of sun and air and freedom from other human beings. "your religion has always been degraded; you are in the dust, and i will take care you never rise again. i should enjoy less the possession of an earthly good by every additional person to whom it was extended." you may not be aware of it yourself, most reverend abraham, but you deny their freedom to the catholics upon the same principle that sarah, your wife, refuses to give the receipt for a ham or a gooseberry dumpling: she values her receipts, not because they secure to her a certain flavour, but because they remind her that her neighbours want it:--a feeling laughable in a priestess, shameful in a priest; venial when it withholds the blessings of a ham, tyrannical and execrable when it narrows the boon of religious freedom. you spend a great deal of ink about the character of the present prime minister. grant you all that you write--i say, i fear he will ruin ireland, and pursue a line of policy destructive to the true interest of his country: and then you tell me, he is faithful to mrs. perceval, and kind to the master percevals! these are, undoubtedly, the first qualifications to be looked to in a time of the most serious public danger; but somehow or another (if public and private virtues must always be incompatible), i should prefer that he destroyed the domestic happiness of wood or cockell, owed for the veal of the preceding year, whipped his boys, and saved his country. the late administration did not do right; they did not build their measures upon the solid basis of facts. they should have caused several catholics to have been dissected after death by surgeons of either religion; and the report to have been published with accompanying plates. if the viscera, and other organs of life, had been found to be the same as in protestant bodies; if the provisions of nerves, arteries, cerebrum, and cerebellum, had been the same as we are provided with, or as the dissenters are now known to possess; then, indeed, they might have met mr. perceval upon a proud eminence, and convinced the country at large of the strong probability that the catholics are really human creatures, endowed with the feelings of men, and entitled to all their rights. but instead of this wise and prudent measure, lord howick, with his usual precipitation, brings forward a bill in their favour, without offering the slightest proof to the country that they were anything more than horses and oxen. the person who shows the lama at the corner of piccadilly has the precaution to write up--_allowed by sir joseph banks to be a real quadruped_, so his lordship might have said--_allowed by the bench of bishops to be real human creatures_.... i could write you twenty letters upon this subject; but i am tired, and so i suppose are you. our friendship is now of forty years' standing; you know me to be a truly religious man; but i shudder to see religion treated like a cockade, or a pint of beer, and made the instrument of a party. i love the king, but i love the people as well as the king; and if i am sorry to see his old age molested, i am much more sorry to see four millions of catholics baffled in their just expectations. if i love lord grenville and lord howick, it is because they love their country; if i abhor ... it is because i know there is but one man among them who is not laughing at the enormous folly and credulity of the country, and that he is an ignorant and mischievous bigot. as for the light and frivolous jester, of whom it is your misfortune to think so highly, learn, my dear abraham, that this political killigrew, just before the breaking up of the last administration, was in actual treaty with them for a place; and if they had survived twenty-four hours longer, he would have been now declaiming against the cry of no popery! instead of inflaming it. with this practical comment on the baseness of human nature, i bid you adieu! james smith. ( - .) lvi. the poet of fashion. from the famous _rejected addresses_. his book is successful, he's steeped in renown, his lyric effusions have tickled the town; dukes, dowagers, dandies, are eager to trace the fountain of verse in the verse-maker's face: while, proud as apollo, with peers _tête-à-tête_, from monday till saturday dining off plate, his heart full of hope, and his head full of gain, the poet of fashion dines out in park lane. now lean-jointured widows who seldom draw corks, whose tea-spoons do duty for knives and for forks, send forth, vellum-covered, a six-o'clock card, and get up a dinner to peep at the bard; veal, sweetbread, boiled chickens, and tongue crown the cloth, and soup _à la reine_, little better than broth. while, past his meridian, but still with some heat, the poet of fashion dines out in sloane street, enrolled in the tribe who subsist by their wits, remember'd by starts, and forgotten by fits, now artists and actors, the bardling engage, to squib in the journals, and write for the stage. now soup _à la reine_ bends the knee to ox-cheek, and chickens and tongue bow to bubble-and-squeak. while, still in translation employ'd by "the row" the poet of fashion dines out in soho. pushed down from parnassus to phlegethon's brink, toss'd, torn, and trunk-lining, but still with some ink, now squat city misses their albums expand, and woo the worn rhymer for "something off-hand"; no longer with stinted effrontery fraught, bucklersbury now seeks what st. james's once sought, and (o, what a classical haunt for a bard!) the poet of fashion dines out in barge-yard. walter savage landor. ( - .) lvii. bossuet and the duchess of fontanges. this is taken from landor's _imaginary conversations_, and is one of the best examples of his light, airy, satiric vein. _bossuet_. mademoiselle, it is the king's desire that i compliment you on the elevation you have attained. _fontanges_, o monseigneur, i know very well what you mean. his majesty is kind and polite to everybody. the last thing he said to me was, "angélique! do not forget to compliment monseigneur the bishop on the dignity i have conferred upon him, of almoner to the dauphiness. i desired the appointment for him only that he might be of rank sufficient to confess you, now you are duchess. let him be your confessor, my little girl." _bossuet_. i dare not presume to ask you, mademoiselle, what was your gracious reply to the condescension of our royal master. _fontanges_. oh, yes! you may. i told him i was almost sure i should be ashamed of confessing such naughty things to a person of high rank, who writes like an angel. _bossuet_. the observation was inspired, mademoiselle, by your goodness and modesty. _fontanges_. you are so agreeable a man, monseigneur, i will confess to you, directly, if you like. _bossuet_. have you brought yourself to a proper frame of mind, young lady? _fontanges_. what is that? _bossuet_. do you hate sin? _fontanges_. very much. _bossuet_. are you resolved to leave it off? _fontanges_. i have left it off entirely since the king began to love me. i have never said a spiteful word of anybody since. _bossuet_. in your opinion, mademoiselle, are there no other sins than malice? _fontanges_. i never stole anything; i never committed adultery; i never coveted my neighbour's wife; i never killed any person, though several have told me they should die for me. _bossuet_. vain, idle talk! did you listen to it? _fontanges_. indeed i did, with both ears; it seemed so funny. _bossuet_. you have something to answer for, then? _fontanges_. no, indeed, i have not, monseigneur. i have asked many times after them, and found they were all alive, which mortified me. _bossuet_. so, then! you would really have them die for you? _fontanges_. oh, no, no! but i wanted to see whether they were in earnest, or told me fibs; for, if they told me fibs, i would never trust them again. _bossuet_. do you hate the world, mademoiselle? _fontanges_. a good deal of it: all picardy, for example, and all sologne; nothing is uglier--and, oh my life! what frightful men and women! _bossuet_. i would say, in plain language, do you hate the flesh and the devil? _fontanges_. who does not hate the devil? if you will hold my hand the while, i will tell him so.--i hate you, beast! there now. as for flesh, i never could bear a fat man. such people can neither dance nor hunt, nor do anything that i know of. _bossuet_. mademoiselle marie-angélique de scoraille de rousille, duchess de fontanges! do you hate titles and dignities and yourself? _fontanges_. myself! does anyone hate me? why should i be the first? hatred is the worst thing in the world: it makes one so very ugly. _bossuet_. to love god, we must hate ourselves. we must detest our bodies, if we would save our souls. _fontanges_. that is hard: how can i do it? i see nothing so detestable in mine. do you? to love is easier. i love god whenever i think of him, he has been so very good to me; but i cannot hate myself, if i would. as god hath not hated me, why should i? beside, it was he who made the king to love me; for i heard you say in a sermon that the hearts of kings are in his rule and governance. as for titles and dignities, i do not care much about them while his majesty loves me, and calls me his angélique. they make people more civil about us; and therefore it must be a simpleton who hates or disregards them, and a hypocrite who pretends it. i am glad to be a duchess. manon and lizette have never tied my garter so as to hurt me since, nor has the mischievous old la grange said anything cross or bold; on the contrary, she told me what a fine colour and what a plumpness it gave me. would not you rather be a duchess than a waiting-maid or a nun, if the king gave you your choice? _bossuet_. pardon me, mademoiselle, i am confounded at the levity of your question. _fontanges_. i am in earnest, as you see. _bossuet_. flattery will come before you in other and more dangerous forms: you will be commended for excellences which do not belong to you; and this you will find as injurious to your repose as to your virtue. an ingenuous mind feels in unmerited praise the bitterest reproof. if you reject it, you are unhappy; if you accept it, you are undone. the compliments of a king are of themselves sufficient to pervert your intellect. _fontanges_. there you are mistaken twice over. it is not my person that pleases him so greatly: it is my spirit, my wit, my talents, my genius, and that very thing which you have mentioned--what was it? my intellect. he never complimented me the least upon my beauty. others have said that i am the most beautiful young creature under heaven; a blossom of paradise, a nymph, an angel; worth (let me whisper it in your ear--do i lean too hard?) a thousand montespans. but his majesty never said more on the occasion than that i was _imparagonable_! (what is that?) and that he adored me; holding my hand and sitting quite still, when he might have romped with me and kissed me. _bossuet_. i would aspire to the glory of converting you. _fontanges_. you may do anything with me but convert me: you must not do that; i am a catholic born. m. de turenne and mademoiselle de duras were heretics: you did right there. the king told the chancellor that he prepared them, that the business was arranged for you, and that you had nothing to do but get ready the arguments and responses, which you did gallantly--did not you? and yet mademoiselle de duras was very awkward for a long while afterwards in crossing herself, and was once remarked to beat her breast in the litany with the points of two fingers at a time, when everyone is taught to use only the second, whether it has a ring upon it or not. i am sorry she did so; for people might think her insincere in her conversion, and pretend that she kept a finger for each religion. _bossuet_. it would be as uncharitable to doubt the conviction of mademoiselle de duras as that of m. le maréchali. _fontanges_. i have heard some fine verses, i can assure you, monseigneur, in which you are called the conqueror of turenne. i should like to have been his conqueror myself, he was so great a man. i understand that you have lately done a much more difficult thing. _bossuet_. to what do you refer, mademoiselle? _fontanges_. that you have overcome quietism. now, in the name of wonder, how could you manage that? _bossuet_. by the grace of god. _fontanges_. yes, indeed; but never until now did god give any preacher so much of his grace as to subdue this pest. _bossuet_. it has appeared among us but lately. _fontanges_. oh, dear me! i have always been subject to it dreadfully, from a child. _bossuet_. really! i never heard so. _fontanges_. i checked myself as well as i could, although they constantly told me i looked well in it. _bossuet_. in what, mademoiselle? _fontanges_. in quietism; that is, when i fell asleep at sermon-time. i am ashamed that such a learned and pious man as m. de fénélon should incline to it, as they say he does. _bossuet_. mademoiselle, you quite mistake the matter. _fontanges_. is not then m. de fénélon thought a very pious and learned person? _bossuet_. and justly. _fontanges_. i have read a great way in a romance he has begun, about a knight-errant in search of a father. the king says there are many such about his court; but i never saw them nor heard of them before. the marchioness de la motte, his relative, brought it to me, written out in a charming hand, as much as the copybook would hold; and i got through, i know not how far. if he had gone on with the nymphs in the grotto, i never should have been tired of him; but he quite forgot his own story, and left them at once: in a hurry (i suppose) to set out upon his mission to saintonge in the _pays de d'aunis_, where the king has promised him a famous _heretic-hunt_. he is, i do assure you, a wonderful creature: he understands so much latin and greek, and knows all the tricks of the sorceresses. yet you keep him under. _bossuet_. mademoiselle, if you really have anything to confess, and if you desire that i should have the honour of absolving you, it would be better to proceed in it, than to oppress me with unmerited eulogies on my humble labours. _fontanges_. you must first direct me, monseigneur: i have nothing particular. the king assures me there is no harm whatever in his love toward me. _bossuet_. that depends on your thoughts at the moment. if you abstract the mind from the body, and turn your heart toward heaven-- _fontanges_. o monseigneur, i always did so--every time but once--you quite make me blush. let us converse about something else, or i shall grow too serious, just as you made me the other day at the funeral sermon. and now let me tell you, my lord, you compose such pretty funeral sermons, i hope i shall have the pleasure of hearing you preach mine. _bossuet_. rather let us hope, mademoiselle, that the hour is yet far distant when so melancholy a service will be performed for you. may he who is unborn be the sad announcer of your departure hence![ ] may he indicate to those around him many virtues not perhaps yet full-blown in you, and point triumphantly to many faults and foibles checked by you in their early growth, and lying dead on the open road you shall have left behind you! to me the painful duty will, i trust, be spared: i am advanced in age; you are a child. _fontanges_. oh, no! i am seventeen. _bossuet_. i should have supposed you younger by two years at least. but do you collect nothing from your own reflection, which raises so many in my breast? you think it possible that i, aged as i am, may preach a sermon on your funeral. we say that our days are few; and saying it, we say too much. marie angélique, we have but one: the past are not ours, and who can promise us the future? this in which we live is ours only while we live in it; the next moment may strike it off from us; the next sentence i would utter may be broken and fall between us.[ ] the beauty that has made a thousand hearts to beat at one instant, at the succeeding has been without pulse and colour, without admirer, friend, companion, follower. she by whose eyes the march of victory shall have been directed, whose name shall have animated armies at the extremities of the earth, drops into one of its crevices and mingles with its dust. duchess de fontanges! think on this! lady! so live as to think on it undisturbed! _fontanges_. o god! i am quite alarmed. do not talk thus gravely. it is in vain that you speak to me in so sweet a voice. i am frightened even at the rattle of the beads about my neck: take them off, and let us talk on other things. what was it that dropped on the floor as you were speaking? it seemed to shake the room, though it sounded like a pin or button. _bossuet_. leave it there! _fontanges_. your ring fell from your hand, my lord bishop! how quick you are! could not you have trusted me to pick it up? _bossuet_. madame is too condescending: had this happened, i should have been overwhelmed with confusion. my hand is shrivelled: the ring has ceased to fit it. a mere accident may draw us into perdition; a mere accident may bestow on us the means of grace. a pebble has moved you more than my words. _fontanges_. it pleases me vastly: i admire rubies. i will ask the king for one exactly like it. this is the time he usually comes from the chase. i am sorry you cannot be present to hear how prettily i shall ask him: but that is impossible, you know; for i shall do it just when i am certain he would give me anything. he said so himself; he said but yesterday-- 'such a sweet creature is worth a world': and no actor on the stage was more like a king than his majesty was when he spoke it, if he had but kept his wig and robe on. and yet you know he is rather stiff and wrinkled for so great a monarch; and his eyes, i am afraid, are beginning to fail him, he looks so close at things. _bossuet_. mademoiselle, such is the duty of a prince who desires to conciliate our regard and love. _fontanges_. well, i think so too, though i did not like it in him at first. i am sure he will order the ring for me, and i will confess to you with it upon my finger. but first i must be cautious and particular to know of him how much it is his royal will that i should say. [footnote : bossuet was in his fifty-fourth year; mademoiselle de fontanges died in child-bed the year following; he survived her twenty-three years.] [footnote : though bossuet was capable of uttering and even of feeling such a sentiment, his conduct towards fénélon, the fairest apparition that christianity ever presented, was ungenerous and unjust. while the diocese of cambray was ravaged by louis, it was spared by marlborough, who said to the archbishop that, if he was sorry he had not taken cambray, it was chiefly because he lost for a time the pleasure of visiting so great a man. peterborough, the next of our generals in glory, paid his respects to him some years afterward.] george, lord byron. ( - .) lviii. the vision of judgment. _the vision of judgment_ appeared in , and created a great sensation owing to its terrible attack on george iii., as well as its ridicule of southey, of whose long-forgotten _vision of judgment_ this is a parody. i. saint peter sat by the celestial gate; his keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, so little trouble had been given of late: not that the place by any means was full, but since the gallic era "eighty-eight", the devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, and "a pull all together", as they say at sea--which drew most souls another way. ii. the angels all were singing out of tune, and hoarse with having little else to do, excepting to wind up the sun and moon, or curb a runaway young star or two, or wild colt of a comet, which too soon broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, splitting some planet with its playful tail, as boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. iii. the guardian seraphs had retired on high, finding their charges past all care below; terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky save the recording angel's black bureau; who found, indeed, the facts to multiply with such rapidity of vice and woe, that he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills, and yet was in arrear of human ills. iv. his business so augmented of late years, that he was forced, against his will no doubt (just like those cherubs, earthly ministers), for some resource to turn himself about, and claim the help of his celestial peers, to aid him ere he should be quite worn out by the increased demand for his remarks: six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks. v. this was a handsome board--at least for heaven; and yet they had even then enough to do, so many conquerors' cars were daily driven, so many kingdoms fitted up anew; each day, too, slew its thousands six or seven, till at the crowning carnage, waterloo, they threw their pens down in divine disgust, the page was so besmear'd with blood and dust. vi. this by the way; 'tis not mine to record what angels shrink from: even the very devil on this occasion his own work abhorr'd, so surfeited with the infernal revel: though he himself had sharpen'd every sword, it almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. (here satan's sole good work deserves insertion-- 'tis that he has both generals in reversion.) vii. let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, and heaven none--they form the tyrant's lease, with nothing but new names subscribed upon't: 'twill one day finish: meantime they increase, "with seven heads and ten horns", and all in front, like saint john's foretold beast; but ours are born less formidable in the head than horn. viii. in the first year of freedom's second dawn died george the third; although no tyrant, one who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn left him nor mental nor external sun: a better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, a worse king never left a realm undone! he died--but left his subjects still behind, one half as mad--and t'other no less blind. ix. he died! his death made no great stir on earth: his burial made some pomp: there was profusion of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth of aught but tears--save those shed by collusion. for these things may be bought at their true worth; of elegy there was the due infusion-- bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and banners, heralds, and relics of old gothic manners, x. form'd a sepulchral mélodrame. of all the fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, who cared about the corpse? the funeral made the attraction, and the black the woe, there throbb'd not there a thought which pierced the pall; and when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, it seem'd the mockery of hell to fold the rottenness of eighty years in gold. xi. so mix his body with the dust! it might return to what it _must_ far sooner, were the natural compound left alone to fight its way back into earth, and fire, and air, but the unnatural balsams merely blight what nature made him at his birth, as bare as the mere million's base unmummied clay-- yet all his spices but prolong decay. xii. he's dead--and upper earth with him has done; he's buried; save the undertaker's bill, or lapidary's scrawl, the world has gone for him, unless he left a german will. but where's the proctor who will ask his son? in whom his qualities are reigning still, except that household virtue, most uncommon, of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. xiii. "god save the king!" it is a large economy in god to save the like; but if he will be saving, all the better; for not one am i of those who think damnation better still; i hardly know, too, if not quite alone am i in this small hope of bettering future ill by circumscribing, with some slight restriction, the eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. xiv. i know this is unpopular; i know 'tis blasphemous; i know one may be damn'd for hoping no one else may e'er be so; i know my catechism: i know we 're cramm'd with the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow; i know that all save england's church have shamm'd; and that the other twice two hundred churches and synagogues have made a _damn'd_ bad purchase. xv. god help us all! god help me too! i am, god knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, and not a whit more difficult to damn, than is to bring to land a late-hooked fish, or to the butcher to purvey the lamb; not that i'm fit for such a noble dish, as one day will be that immortal fry of almost everybody born to die. xvi. saint peter sat by the celestial gate, and nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there came a wondrous noise he had not heard of late-- a rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; in short, a roar of things extremely great, which would have made all save a saint exclaim; but he, with first a start and then a wink, said, "there's another star gone out, i think!" xvii. but ere he could return to his repose, a cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes-- at which saint peter yawn'd and rubb'd his nose; "saint porter," said the angel, "prithee rise!" waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows an earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes; to which the saint replied, "well, what's the matter? is lucifer come back with all this clatter?" xviii. "no," quoth the cherub; "george the third is dead." "and who _is_ george the third?" replied the apostle; "_what george? what third?_" "the king of england," said the angel. "well, he won't find kings to jostle him on his way; but does he wear his head? because the last we saw here had a tussle, and ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, had he not flung his head in all our faces. xix. "he was, if i remember, king of france, that head of his, which could not keep a crown on earth, yet ventured in my face to advance a claim to those of martyrs--like my own. if i had had my sword, as i had once when i cut ears off, i had cut him down; but having but my _keys_, and not my brand, i only knock'd his head from out his hand. xx. "and then he set up such a headless howl, that all the saints came out and took him in; and there he sits by st. paul, cheek by jowl; that fellow paul--the parvenu! the skin of saint bartholomew, which makes his cowl in heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin so as to make a martyr, never sped better than did that weak and wooden head. xxi. "but had it come up here upon its shoulders, there would have been a different tale to tell; the fellow-feeling in the saints' beholders seems to have acted on them like a spell; and so this very foolish head heaven solders back on its trunk: it may be very well, and seems the custom here to overthrow whatever has been wisely done below." xxii. the angel answer'd, "peter! do not pout: the king who comes has head and all entire, and never knew much what it was about-- he did as doth the puppet--by its wire, and will be judged like all the rest, no doubt: my business and your own is not to inquire into such matters, but to mind our cue-- which is to act as we are bid to do." xxiii. while thus they spake, the angelic caravan, arriving like a rush of mighty wind, cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan some silver stream (say ganges, nile, or inde, or thames, or tweed), and 'midst them an old man with an old soul, and both extremely blind, halted before the gate, and in his shroud seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. xxiv. but bringing up the rear of this bright host, a spirit of a different aspect waved his wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved; his brow was like the deep when tempest-toss'd; fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved eternal wrath on his immortal face, and _where_ he gazed, a gloom pervaded space. xxv. as he drew near, he gazed upon the gate ne'er to be enter'd more by him or sin, with such a glance of supernatural hate, as made st. peter wish himself within: he patter'd with his keys at a great rate, and sweated through his apostolic skin: of course his perspiration was but ichor, or some such other spiritual liquor. xxvi. the very cherubs huddled all together, like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt a tingling to the tip of every feather, and form'd a circle like orion's belt around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither his guards had led him, though they gently dealt with royal manes (for by many stories, and true, we learn the angels all are tories). xxvii. as things were in this posture, the gate flew asunder, and the flashing of its hinges flung over space an universal hue of many-color'd flame, until its tinges reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new aurora borealis spread its fringes o'er the north pole, the same seen, when ice-bound, by captain perry's crew, in "melville's sound". xxviii. and from the gate thrown open issued beaming a beautiful and mighty thing of light, radiant with glory, like a banner streaming victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight: my poor comparisons must needs be teeming with earthly likenesses, for here the night of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving johanna southcote, or bob southey raving. xxix. 'twas the archangel michael: all men know the make of angels and archangels, since there's scarce a scribbler has not one to show, from the fiends' leader to the angels' prince. there also are some altar-pieces, though i really can't say that they much evince one's inner notions of immortal spirits; but let the connoisseurs explain _their_ merits. xxx. michael flew forth in glory and in good, a goodly work of him from whom all glory and good arise: the portal pass'd--he stood before him the young cherubs and saints hoary-- (i say _young_, begging to be understood by looks, not years, and should be very sorry to state, they were not older than st. peter, but merely that they seem'd a little sweeter). xxxi. the cherubs and the saints bow'd down before that archangelic hierarch, the first of essences angelical, who wore the aspect of a god; but this ne'er nursed pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core no thought, save for his maker's service, durst intrude, however glorified and high; he knew him but the viceroy of the sky. xxxii. he and the sombre silent spirit met-- they knew each other both for good and ill; such was their power that neither could forget his former friend and future foe; but still there was a high, immortal, proud regret in either's eye, as if't were less their will than destiny to make the eternal years their date of war, and their _champ clos_ the spheres. xxxiii. but here they were in neutral space: we know from job, that satan hath the power to pay a heavenly visit thrice a year or so; and that "the sons of god", like those of clay, must keep him company; and we might show from the same book, in how polite a way the dialogue is held between the powers of good and evil--but 'twould take up hours. xxxiv. and this is not a theologic tract, to prove with hebrew and with arabic, if job be allegory or a fact, but a true narrative; and thus i pick from out the whole but such and such an act, as sets aside the slightest thought of trick. 'tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion, and accurate as any other vision. lix. the waltz. published in and described by its author as an "apostrophic hymn". muse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms are now extended up from legs to arms; terpsichore!--too long misdeem'd a maid-- reproachful term--bestow'd but to upbraid-- henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine, the least a vestal of the virgin nine. far be from thee and thine the name of prude; mock'd, yet triumphant; sneer'd at, unsubdued; thy legs must move to conquer as they fly, if but thy coats are reasonably high; thy breast, if bare enough, requires no shield: dance forth--_sans armour_ thou shalt take the field, and own--impregnable to _most_ assaults, thy not too lawfully begotten "waltz". hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young huzzar, the whisker'd votary of waltz and war, his night devotes, despite of spurs and boots; a sight unmatch'd since orpheus and his brutes: hail, spirit-stirring waltz! beneath whose banners a modern hero fought for modish manners; on hounslow's heath to rival wellesley's fame, cock'd, fired, and miss'd his man--but gain'd his aim: hail, moving muse! to whom the fair one's breast gives all it can, and bids us take the rest. oh, for the flow of busby or of fitz, the latter's loyalty, the former's wits, to "energize the object i pursue", and give both belial and his dance their due! imperial waltz! imported from the rhine (famed for the growth of pedigree and wine), long be thine import from all duty free, and hock itself be less esteem'd than thee; in some few qualities alike--for hock improves our cellar--_thou_ our living stock. the head to hock belongs--thy subtler art intoxicates alone the heedless heart: through the full veins thy gentler poison swims, and wakes to wantonness the willing limbs. o germany! how much to thee we owe, as heaven-born pitt can testify below. ere cursed confederation made thee france's, and only left us thy d--d debts and dances! of subsidies and hanover bereft, we bless thee still--for george the third is left! of kings the best, and last not least in worth, for graciously begetting george the fourth. to germany, and highnesses serene, who owe us millions--don't we owe the queen? to germany, what owe we not besides? so oft bestowing brunswickers and brides: who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood, drawn from the stem of each teutonic stud; who sent us--so be pardon'd all our faults-- a dozen dukes, some kings, a queen--and waltz. but peace to her, her emperor and diet, though now transferr'd to bonaparte's "fiat!" back to thy theme--o muse of motion! say, how first to albion found thy waltz her way? borne on thy breath of hyperborean gales from hamburg's port (while hamburg yet had _mails_), ere yet unlucky fame, compelled to creep to snowy gottenburg was chill'd to sleep; or, starting from her slumbers, deign'd arise, heligoland, to stock thy mart with lies; while unburnt moscow yet had news to send, nor owed her fiery exit to a friend. she came--waltz came--and with her certain sets of true despatches, and as true gazettes: then flamed of austerlitz the blest despatch, which _moniteur_ nor _morning post_ can match; and, almost crush'd beneath the glorious news, ten plays, and forty tales of kotzebue's; one envoy's letters, six composers' airs, and loads from frankfort and from leipsic fairs: meiner's four volumes upon womankind, like lapland witches to ensure a wind; brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it, of heynè, such as should not sink the packet. fraught with this cargo, and her fairest freight, delightful waltz, on tiptoe for a mate, the welcome vessel reach'd the genial strand, and round her flock'd the daughters of the land. not decent david, when, before the ark, his grand _pas-seul_ excited some remark, not love-lorn quixote, when his sancho thought the knight's fandango friskier than it ought; not soft herodias, when, with winning tread, her nimble feet danced off another's head; not cleopatra on her galley's deck, display'd so much of _leg_, or more of _neck_, than thou ambrosial waltz, when first the moon beheld thee twirling to a saxon tune! to you, ye husbands of ten years whose brows ache with the annual tributes of a spouse; to you of nine years less, who only bear the budding sprouts of those that you _shall_ wear, with added ornaments around them roll'd of native brass, or law-awarded gold: to you, ye matrons, ever on the watch to mar a son's, or make a daughter's match; to you, ye children of--whom chance accords-- _always_ the ladies, and _sometimes_ their lords; to you, ye single gentlemen, who seek torments for life, or pleasures for a week; as love or hymen your endeavours guide, to gain your own, or snatch another's bride;-- to one and all the lovely stranger came, and every ball-room echoes with her name. endearing waltz! to thy more melting tune bow irish jig and ancient rigadoon. scotch reels, avaunt! and country dance forego your future claims to each fantastic toe! waltz, waltz alone, both legs and arms demands, liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands; hands which may freely range in public sight where ne'er before--but--pray "put out the light". methinks the glare of yonder chandelier shines much too far, or i am much too near; and true, though strange, waltz whispers this remark, "my slippery steps are safest in the dark!" but here the muse with due decorum halts, and lends her longest petticoat to waltz. observant travellers of every time! ye quartos publish'd upon every clime! oh, say, shall dull romaika's heavy round, fandango's wriggle, or bolero's bound; can egypt's almas--tantalizing group-- columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop-- can aught from cold kamschatka to cape horn with waltz compare, or after waltz be borne? ah, no! from morier's pages down to galt's, each tourist pens a paragraph for "waltz". shades of those belles whose reign began of yore, with george the third's--and ended long before!-- though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive, burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive! back to the ball-room speed your spectred host; fools' paradise is dull to that you lost. no treacherous powder bids conjecture quake; no stiff-starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache (transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape goats in their visage, women in their shape): no damsel faints when rather closely press'd, but more caressing seems when most caress'd; superfluous hartshorn and reviving salts; both banished, by the sovereign cordial, "waltz". seductive waltz!--though on thy native shore even werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore: werter--to decent vice though much inclined, yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind-- though gentle genlis, in her strife with staël, would even proscribe thee from a paris ball; the fashion hails--from countesses to queens, and maids and valets waltz behind the scenes; wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads, and turns--if nothing else--at least our _heads_; with thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce, and cockneys practise what they can't pronounce. gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts, and rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of "waltz!" blest was the time waltz chose for her _début_: the court, the regent, like herself, were new, new face for friends, for foes some new rewards; new ornaments for black and royal guards; new laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread; new coins (most new) to follow those that fled; new victories--nor can we prize them less, though jenky wonders at his own success; new wars, because the old succeed so well, that most survivors envy those who fell; new mistresses--no, old--and yet 'tis true, though they be _old_, the _thing_ is something new; each new, quite new--(except some ancient tricks), new white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all new sticks! with vests or ribbons, deck'd alike in hue, new troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue; so saith the muse! my ----, what say you? such was the time when waltz might best maintain her new preferments in this novel reign; such was the time, nor ever yet was such: hoops are _no more_, and petticoats _not much_: morals and minuets, virtue and her stays, and tell-tale powder--all have had their days. the ball begins--the honours of the house first duly done by daughter or by spouse, some potentate--or royal or serene-- with kent's gay grace, or sapient glo'ster's mien, leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush might once have been mistaken for a blush, from where the garb just leaves the bosom free, that spot where hearts were once supposed to be; round all the confines of the yielded waist, the stranger's hand may wander undisplaced; the lady's in return may grasp as much as princely paunches offer to her touch. pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip, one hand reposing on the royal hip: the other to the shoulder no less royal ascending with affection truly loyal! thus front to front the partners move or stand, the foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand; and all in turn may follow in their rank, the earl of--asterisk--and lady--blank; sir--such-a-one--with those of fashion's host, for whose blest surnames--_vide morning post_ (or if for that impartial print too late, search doctors' commons six months from my date)-- thus all and each, in movement swift or slow, the genial contact gently undergo; till some might marvel, with the modest turk, if "nothing follows all this palming work". true, honest mirza!--you may trust my rhyme-- something does follow at a fitter time; the breast thus publicly resign'd to man in private may resist him--if it can. o ye who loved our grandmothers of yore, fitzpatrick, sheridan, and many more! and thou, my prince! whose sovereign taste and will it is to love the lovely beldames still! thou ghost of queensbury! whose judging sprite satan may spare to peep a single night, pronounce--if ever in your days of bliss asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this; to teach the young ideas how to rise, flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes; rush to the heart, and lighten through the frame, with half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame; for prurient nature still will storm the breast-- _who_, tempted thus, can answer for the rest? but ye, who never felt a single thought, for what our morals are to be, or ought; who wisely wish the charms you view to reap, say--would you make those beauties quite so cheap? hot from the hands promiscuously applied, round the slight waist, or down the glowing side, where were the rapture then to clasp the form from this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm? at once love's most endearing thought resign, to press the hand so press'd by none but thine; to gaze upon that eye which never met another's ardent look without regret; approach the lip which all, without restraint, come near enough--if not to touch--to taint; if such thou lovest--love her then no more, or give--like her--caresses to a score; her mind with these is gone, and with it go the little left behind it to bestow. voluptuous waltz! and dare i thus blaspheme? the bard forgot thy praises were his theme. terpsichore, forgive!--at every ball my wife _now_ waltzes--and my daughters _shall_; _my_ son--(or stop--'tis needless to inquire-- these little accidents should ne'er transpire; some ages hence our genealogic tree will wear as green a bough for him as me)-- waltzing shall rear, to make our name amends, grandsons for me--in heirs to all his friends. lx. "the dedication" in don juan. southey as poet laureate was a favourite target for satirical quips and cranks on the part of byron. this "dedication" was not published until after the author's death. i. bob southey! you're a poet--poet-laureate, and representative of all the race; although 'tis true that you turn'd out a tory last--yours has lately been a common case-- and now, my epic renegade! what are ye at? with all the lakers, in and out of place? a nest of tuneful persons, to my eye like "four-and-twenty blackbirds in a pie; ii. "which pie being open'd they began to sing" (this old song and new simile holds good), "a dainty dish to set before the king", or regent, who admires such kind of food-- and coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, but like a hawk encumber'd with his hood-- explaining metaphysics to the nation-- i wish he would explain his explanation. iii. you, bob, are rather insolent, you know at being disappointed in your wish to supersede all warblers here below, and be the only blackbird in the dish; and then you overstrain yourself, or so, and tumble downward like the flying fish gasping on deck, because you soar too high, bob, and fall, for lack of moisture quite a-dry, bob! iv. and wordsworth, in a rather long "excursion" (i think the quarto holds five hundred pages), has given a sample from the vasty version of his new system to perplex the sages; 'tis poetry--at least by his assertion, and may appear so when the dog-star rages-- and he who understands it would be able to add a story to the tower of babel. v. you--gentlemen! by dint of long seclusion from better company, have kept your own at keswick, and, through still continued fusion of one another's minds, at last have grown to deem as a most logical conclusion, that poesy has wreaths for you alone; there is a narrowness in such a notion, which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for ocean. vi. i would not imitate the petty thought, nor coin my self-love to so base a vice, for all the glory your conversion brought, since gold alone should not have been its price, you have your salary; was't for that you wrought? and wordsworth has his place in the excise! you're shabby fellows--true--but poets still, and duly seated on the immortal hill. vii. your bays may hide the baldness of your brows-- perhaps some virtuous blushes, let them go-- to you i envy neither fruit nor boughs, and for the fame you would engross below, the field is universal, and allows scope to all such as feel the inherent glow; scott, rogers, campbell, moore, and crabbe, will try 'gainst you the question with posterity. viii. for me, who, wandering with pedestrian muses, contend not with you on the winged steed, i wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses, the fame you envy and the skill you need; and recollect a poet nothing loses in giving to his brethren their full meed of merit, and complaint of present days is not the certain path to future praise. ix. he that reserves his laurels for posterity (who does not often claim the bright reversion) has generally no great crop to spare it, he being only injured by his own assertion; and although here and there some glorious rarity arise like titan from the sea's immersion, the major part of such appellants go to--god knows where--for no one else can know. x. if, fallen in evil days on evil tongues, milton appealed to the avenger, time, if time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs, and makes the word "miltonic" mean "_sublime_", _he_ deign'd not to belie his soul in songs, nor turn his very talent to a crime; _he_ did not loathe the sire to laud the son, but closed the tyrant-hater he begun. xi. think'st thou, could he--the blind old man--arise, like samuel from the grave, to freeze once more the blood of monarchs with his prophecies, or be alive again--again all hoar with time and trials, and those helpless eyes, and heartless daughters--worn--and pale--and poor: would _he_ adore a sultan? _he_ obey the intellectual eunuch castlereagh? xii. cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant! dabbling its sleek young hands in erin's gore, and thus for wider carnage taught to pant, transferr'd to gorge upon a sister shore, the vulgarest tool that tyranny could want, with just enough of talent, and no more, to lengthen fetters by another fix'd. and offer poison long already mix'd. xiii. an orator of such set trash of phrase ineffably--legitimately vile, that even its grossest flatterers dare not praise, nor foes--all nations--condescend to smile; not even a sprightly blunder's spark can blaze from that ixion grindstone's ceaseless toil, that turns and turns to give the world a notion of endless torments and perpetual motion. xiv. a bungler even in its disgusting trade, and botching, patching, leaving still behind something of which its masters are afraid, states to be curb'd, and thoughts to be confined, conspiracy or congress to be made-- cobbling at manacles for all mankind-- a tinkering slave-maker, who mends old chains, with god and man's abhorrence for its gains. xv. if we may judge of matter by the mind, emasculated to the marrow _it_ hath but two objects, how to serve, and bind, deeming the chain it wears even men may fit, eutropius of its many masters,--blind to worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit, fearless--because _no_ feeling dwells in ice, its very courage stagnates to a vice. xvi. where shall i turn me not to _view_ its bonds, for i will never _feel_ them:--italy! thy late reviving roman soul desponds beneath the lie this state-thing breathed o'er thee-- thy clanking chain, and erin's yet green wounds, have voices--tongues to cry aloud for me. europe has slaves--allies--kings--armies still, and southey lives to sing them very ill. xvii. meantime, sir laureate, i proceed to dedicate, in honest simple verse, this song to you. and if in flattering strains i do not predicate, 'tis that i still retain my "buff and blue"; my politics as yet are all to educate: apostasy's so fashionable, too, to keep _one_ creed's a task grown quite herculean: is it not so, my tory, ultra-julian? venice, september , . thomas hood. ( - .) lxi. cockle _v_. cackle. this is not meant as a "cut" at that standard medicine named therein which has wrought such good in its day; but is a satire on quack advertising generally. the more worthless the nostrum, the more universal the advertising of it, such is the moral of hood's satire. those who much read advertisements and bills, must have seen puffs of cockle's pills, call'd anti-bilious-- which some physicians sneer at, supercilious, but which we are assured, if timely taken, may save your liver and bacon; whether or not they really give one ease, i, who have never tried, will not decide; but no two things in union go like these-- viz.--quacks and pills--save ducks and pease. now mrs. w. was getting sallow, her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow, and friends portended was preparing for a human pâté périgord; she was, indeed, so very far from well, her son, in filial fear, procured a box of those said pellets to resist bile's shocks, and--tho' upon the ear it strangely knocks-- to save her by a cockle from a shell! but mrs. w., just like macbeth, who very vehemently bids us "throw bark to the bow-wows", hated physic so, it seem'd to share "the bitterness of death": rhubarb--magnesia--jalap, and the kind-- senna--steel--assa-foetida, and squills-- powder or draught--but least her throat inclined to give a course to boluses or pills; no--not to save her life, in lung or lobe, for all her lights' or all her liver's sake, would her convulsive thorax undertake, only one little uncelestial globe! 'tis not to wonder at, in such a case, if she put by the pill-box in a place for linen rather than for drugs intended-- yet for the credit of the pills let's say after they thus were stow'd away, some of the linen mended; but mrs. w. by disease's dint, kept getting still more yellow in her tint, when lo! her second son, like elder brother, marking the hue on the parental gills, brought a new charge of anti-tumeric pills, to bleach the jaundiced visage of his mother-- who took them--in her cupboard--like the other. "deeper and deeper still", of course, the fatal colour daily grew in force; till daughter w. newly come from rome, acting the self-same filial, pillial, part, to cure mamma, another dose brought home of cockles;--not the cockles of her heart! these going where the others went before, of course she had a very pretty store; and then--some hue of health her cheek adorning, the medicine so good must be, they brought her dose on dose, which she gave to the up-stairs cupboard, "night and morning". till wanting room at last, for other stocks, out of the window one fine day she pitch'd the pillage of each box, and quite enrich'd the feed of mister burrell's hens and cocks,-- a little barber of a by-gone day, over the way whose stock in trade, to keep the least of shops, was one great head of kemble,--that is, john, staring in plaster, with a brutus on, and twenty little bantam fowls--with crops. little dame w. thought when through the sash she gave the physic wings, to find the very things so good for bile, so bad for chicken rash, for thoughtless cock, and unreflecting pullet! but while they gathered up the nauseous nubbles, each peck'd itself into a peck of troubles, and brought the hand of death upon its gullet. they might as well have addled been, or ratted, for long before the night--ah woe betide the pills! each suicidal bantam died unfatted! think of poor burrel's shock, of nature's debt to see his hens all payers, and laid in death as everlasting layers, with bantam's small ex-emperor, the cock, in ruffled plumage and funereal hackle, giving, undone by cockle, a last cackle! to see as stiff as stone, his un'live stock, it really was enough to move his block. down on the floor he dash'd, with horror big, mr. bell's third wife's mother's coachman's wig; and with a tragic stare like his own kemble, burst out with natural emphasis enough, and voice that grief made tremble, into that very speech of sad macduff-- "what!--all my pretty chickens and their dam, at one fell swoop!-- just when i'd bought a coop to see the poor lamented creatures cram!" after a little of this mood, and brooding over the departed brood, with razor he began to ope each craw, already turning black, as black as coals; when lo! the undigested cause he saw-- "pison'd by goles!" to mrs. w.'s luck a contradiction, her window still stood open to conviction; and by short course of circumstantial labour, he fix'd the guilt upon his adverse neighbour;-- lord! how he rail'd at her: declaring how, he'd bring an action ere next term of hilary, then, in another moment, swore a vow, he'd make her do pill-penance in the pillory! she, meanwhile distant from the dimmest dream of combating with guilt, yard-arm or arm-yard, lapp'd in a paradise of tea and cream; when up ran betty with a dismal scream-- "here's mr. burrell, ma'am, with all his farmyard!" straight in he came, unbowing and unbending, with all the warmth that iron and a barbe can harbour; to dress the head and front of her offending, the fuming phial of his wrath uncorking; in short, he made her pay him altogether, in hard cash, very _hard_, for ev'ry feather, charging of course, each bantam as a dorking; nothing could move him, nothing make him supple, so the sad dame unpocketing her loss, had nothing left but to sit hands across, and see her poultry "going down ten couple". now birds by poison slain, as venom'd dart from indian's hollow cane, are edible; and mrs. w.'s thrift,-- she had a thrifty vein,-- destined one pair for supper to make shift,-- supper as usual at the hour of ten: but ten o'clock arrived and quickly pass'd, eleven--twelve--and one o'clock at last, without a sign of supper even then! at length the speed of cookery to quicken, betty was called, and with reluctant feet, came up at a white heat-- "well, never i see chicken like them chicken! my saucepans, they have been a pretty while in 'em! enough to stew them, if it comes to that, to flesh and bones, and perfect rags; but drat those anti-biling pills! there is no bile in 'em!" lord macaulay. ( - .) lxii. the country clergyman's trip to cambridge. this is one of the numerous _jeux d'esprit_ in which macaulay, in his earlier years, indulged at election times. it was written in . as i sate down to breakfast in state, at my living of tithing-cum-boring, with betty beside me to wait, came a rap that almost beat the door in. i laid down my basin of tea, and betty ceased spreading the toast, "as sure as a gun, sir," said she, "that must be the knock of the post". a letter--and free--bring it here, i have no correspondent who franks. no! yes! can it be? why, my dear, 'tis our glorious, our protestant bankes. "dear sir, as i know you desire that the church should receive due protection i humbly presume to require your aid at the cambridge election. "it has lately been brought to my knowledge, that the ministers fully design to suppress each cathedral and college, and eject every learned divine. to assist this detestable scheme three nuncios from rome are come over; they left calais on monday by steam, and landed to dinner at dover. "an army of grim cordeliers, well furnish'd with relics and vermin, will follow, lord westmoreland fears, to effect what their chiefs may determine. lollards' tower, good authorities say, is again fitting up as a prison; and a wood-merchant told me to-day 'tis a wonder how faggots have risen. "the finance-scheme of canning contains a new easter-offering tax: and he means to devote all the gains to a bounty on thumb-screws and racks. your living, so neat and compact-- pray, don't let the news give you pain? is promised, i know for a fact, to an olive-faced padre from spain." i read, and i felt my heart bleed, sore wounded with horror and pity; so i flew, with all possible speed, to our protestant champion's committee. true gentlemen, kind and well bred! no fleering! no distance! no scorn! they asked after my wife who is dead, and my children who never were born. they then, like high-principled tories, called our sovereign unjust and unsteady, and assailed him with scandalous stories, till the coach for the voters was ready. that coach might be well called a casket of learning and brotherly love: there were parsons in boot and in basket; there were parsons below and above. there were sneaker and griper, a pair who stick to lord mulesby like leeches; a smug chaplain of plausible air, who writes my lord goslingham's speeches. dr. buzz, who alone is a host, who, with arguments weighty as lead, proves six times a week in the _post_ that flesh somehow differs from bread. dr. nimrod, whose orthodox toes are seldom withdrawn from the stirrup. dr. humdrum, whose eloquence flows, like droppings of sweet poppy syrup; dr. rosygill puffing and fanning, and wiping away perspiration; dr. humbug, who proved mr. canning the beast in st. john's revelation. a layman can scarce form a notion of our wonderful talk on the road; of the learning, the wit, and devotion, which almost each syllable show'd: why, divided allegiance agrees so ill with our free constitution; how catholics swear as they please, in hope of the priest's absolution: how the bishop of norwich had barter'd his faith for a legate's commission; how lyndhurst, afraid to be martyr'd, had stooped to a base coalition; how papists are cased from compassion by bigotry, stronger than steel; how burning would soon come in fashion, and how very bad it must feel. we were all so much touched and excited by a subject so direly sublime, that the rules of politeness were slighted, and we all of us talked at a time; and in tones, which each moment grew louder, told how we should dress for the show, and where we should fasten the powder, and if we should bellow or no. thus from subject to subject we ran, and the journey pass'd pleasantly o'er, till at last dr. humdrum began: from that time i remember no more. at ware he commenced his prelection, in the dullest of clerical drones: and when next i regained recollection we were rumbling o'er trumpington stones. winthrop mackworth praed. ( - .) lxiii. the red fisherman; or, the devil's decoy. published in knight's _annual_. the abbot arose, and closed his book, and donned his sandal shoon, and wandered forth alone, to look upon the summer moon: a starlight sky was o'er his head, a quiet breeze around; and the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed and the waves a soothing sound: it was not an hour, nor a scene, for aught but love and calm delight; yet the holy man had a cloud of thought on his wrinkled brow that night. he gazed on the river that gurgled by, but he thought not of the reeds he clasped his gilded rosary, but he did not tell the beads; if he looked to the heaven, 'twas not to invoke the spirit that dwelleth there; if he opened his lips, the words they spoke had never the tone of prayer. a pious priest might the abbot seem, he had swayed the crozier well; but what was the theme of the abbot's dream, the abbot were loth to tell. companionless, for a mile or more, he traced the windings of the shore. oh beauteous is that river still, as it winds by many a sloping hill, and many a dim o'erarching grove, and many a flat and sunny cove, and terraced lawns, whose bright arcades the honeysuckle sweetly shades, and rocks, whose very crags seem bowers, so gay they are with grass and flowers! but the abbot was thinking of scenery about as much, in sooth, as a lover thinks of constancy, or an advocate of truth. he did not mark how the skies in wrath grew dark above his head; he did not mark how the mossy path grew damp beneath his tread; and nearer he came, and still more near, to a pool, in whose recess the water had slept for many a year, unchanged and motionless; from the river stream it spread away the space of half a rood; the surface had the hue of clay and the scent of human blood; the trees and the herbs that round it grew were venomous and foul, and the birds that through the bushes flew were the vulture and the owl; the water was as dark and rank as ever a company pumped, and the perch that was netted and laid on the bank grew rotten while it jumped; and bold was he who thither came at midnight, man or boy, for the place was cursed with an evil name, and that name was "the devil's decoy"! the abbot was weary as abbot could be, and he sat down to rest on the stump of a tree: when suddenly rose a dismal tone,-- was it a song, or was it a moan?-- "o ho! o ho! above,--below,-- lightly and brightly they glide and go! the hungry and keen on the top are leaping, the lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping; fishing is fine when the pool is muddy, broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy!"-- in a monstrous fright, by the murky light, he looked to the left and he looked to the right; and what was the vision close before him that flung such a sudden stupor o'er him? 'twas a sight to make the hair uprise, and the life-blood colder run: the startled priest struck both his thigh, and the abbey clock struck one! all alone, by the side of the pool, a tall man sat on a three-legged stool, kicking his heels on the dewy sod, and putting in order his reel and rod; red were the rags his shoulders wore, and a high red cap on his head he bore; his arms and his legs were long and bare; and two or three locks of long red hair were tossing about his scraggy neck, like a tattered flag o'er a splitting wreck. it might be time, or it might be trouble, had bent that stout back nearly double, sunk in their deep and hollow sockets that blazing couple of congreve rockets, and shrunk and shrivelled that tawny skin, till it hardly covered the bones within. the line the abbot saw him throw had been fashioned and formed long ages ago, and the hands that worked his foreign vest long ages ago had gone to their rest: you would have sworn, as you looked on them, he had fished in the flood with ham and shem! there was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, as he took forth a bait from his iron box. minnow or gentle, worm or fly,-- it seemed not such to the abbot's eye; gaily it glittered with jewel and jem, and its shape was the shape of a diadem. it was fastened a gleaming hook about by a chain within and a chain without; the fisherman gave it a kick and a spin, and the water fizzed as it tumbled in! from the bowels of the earth, strange and varied sounds had birth; now the battle's bursting peal, neigh of steed, and clang of steel; now an old man's hollow groan echoed from the dungeon stone; now the weak and wailing cry of a stripling's agony!-- cold by this was the midnight air; but the abbot's blood ran colder, when he saw a gasping knight lie there, with a gash beneath his clotted hair, and a hump upon his shoulder. and the loyal churchman strove in vain to mutter a pater noster; for he who writhed in mortal pain was camped that night on bosworth plain-- the cruel duke of glo'ster! there was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, as he took forth a bait from his iron box. it was a haunch of princely size, filling with fragrance earth and skies. the corpulent abbot knew full well the swelling form, and the steaming smell; never a monk that wore a hood could better have guessed the very wood where the noble hart had stood at bay, weary and wounded, at close of day. sounded then the noisy glee of a revelling company,-- sprightly story, wicked jest, rated servant, greeted guest, flow of wine, and flight of cork, stroke of knife, and thrust of fork: but, where'er the board was spread, grace, i ween, was never said!-- pulling and tugging the fisherman sat; and the priest was ready to vomit, when he hauled out a gentleman, fine and fat, with a belly as big as a brimming vat, and a nose as red as a comet. "a capital stew," the fisherman said, "with cinnamon and sherry!" and the abbot turned away his head, for his brother was lying before him dead, the mayor of st. edmund's bury! there was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, as he took forth a bait from his iron box. it was a bundle of beautiful things,-- a peacock's tail and a butterfly's wings, a scarlet slipper, an auburn curl, a mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl, and a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold such a stream of delicate odours rolled, that the abbot fell on his face, and fainted, and deemed his spirit was half-way sainted. sounds seemed dropping from the skies, stifled whispers, smothered sighs, and the breath of vernal gales, and the voice of nightingales: but the nightingales were mute, envious, when an unseen lute shaped the music of its chords into passion's thrilling words: "smile, lady, smile!--i will not set upon my brow the coronet, till thou wilt gather roses white to wear around its gems of light. smile, lady, smile!--i will not see rivers and hastings bend the knee, till those bewitching lips of thine will bid me rise in bliss from mine. smile, lady, smile!--for who would win a loveless throne through guilt and sin? or who would reign o'er vale and hill, if woman's heart were rebel still?" one jerk, and there a lady lay, a lady wondrous fair; but the rose of her lip had faded away, and her cheek was as white and as cold as clay, and torn was her raven hair. "ah ha!" said the fisher, in merry guise, "her gallant was hooked before;" and the abbot heaved some piteous sighs, for oft he had blessed those deep blue eyes, the eyes of mistress shore! there was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, as he took forth a bait from his iron box. many the cunning sportsman tried, many he flung with a frown aside; a minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest, a hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest, jewels of lustre, robes of price, tomes of heresy, loaded dice, and golden cups of the brightest wine that ever was pressed from the burgundy vine. there was a perfume of sulphur and nitre as he came at last to a bishop's mitre! from top to toe the abbot shook, as the fisherman armed his golden hook, and awfully were his features wrought by some dark dream or wakened thought. look how the fearful felon gazes on the scaffold his country's vengeance raises, when the lips are cracked and the jaws are dry with the thirst which only in death shall die: mark the mariner's frenzied frown as the swaling wherry settles down, when peril has numbed the sense and will though the hand and the foot may struggle still: wilder far was the abbot's glance, deeper far was the abbot's trance: fixed as a monument, still as air, he bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer but he signed--he knew not why or how-- the sign of the cross on his clammy brow. there was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, as he stalked away with his iron box. "o ho! o ho! the cock doth crow; it is time for the fisher to rise and go. fair luck to the abbot, fair luck to the shrine! he hath gnawed in twain my choicest line; let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south, the abbot will carry my hook in his mouth!" the abbot had preached for many years with as clear articulation as ever was heard in the house of peers against emancipation; his words had made battalions quake, had roused the zeal of martyrs, had kept the court an hour awake and the king himself three quarters: but ever from that hour, 'tis said, he stammered and he stuttered as if an axe went through his head with every word he uttered. he stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban, he stuttered, drunk or dry; and none but he and the fisherman could tell the reason why! lxiv. mad--quite mad. originally published in the _morning post_ for ; afterwards included in his _essays_. great wits are sure to madness near allied.--_dryden_. it has frequently been observed that genius and madness are nearly allied; that very great talents are seldom found unaccompanied by a touch of insanity, and that there are few bedlamites who will not, upon a close examination, display symptoms of a powerful, though ruined intellect. according to this hypothesis, the flowers of parnassus must be blended with the drugs of anticyra; and the man who feels himself to be in possession of very brilliant wits may conclude that he is within an ace of running out of them. whether this be true or false, we are not at present disposed to contradict the assertion. what we wish to notice is the pains which many young men take to qualify themselves for bedlam, by hiding a good, sober, gentlemanlike understanding beneath an assumption of thoughtlessness and whim. it is the received opinion among many that a man's talents and abilities are to be rated by the quantity of nonsense he utters per diem, and the number of follies he runs into per annum. against this idea we must enter our protest; if we concede that every real genius is more or less a madman, we must not be supposed to allow that every sham madman is more or less a genius. in the days of our ancestors, the hot-blooded youth who threw away his fortune at twenty-one, his character at twenty-two, and his life at twenty-three, was termed "a good fellow", "an honest fellow", "nobody's enemy but his own". in our time the name is altered; and the fashionable who squanders his father's estate, or murders his best friend--who breaks his wife's heart at the gaming-table, and his own neck at a steeple-chase--escapes the sentence which morality would pass upon him, by the plea of lunacy. "he was a rascal," says common-sense. "true," says the world; "but he was mad, you know--quite mad." we were lately in company with a knot of young men who were discussing the character and fortunes of one of their own body, who was, it seems, distinguished for his proficiency in the art of madness. "harry," said a young sprig of nobility, "have you heard that charles is in the king's bench?" "i heard it this morning," drawled the exquisite; "how distressing! i have not been so hurt since poor angelica (his bay mare) broke down. poor charles has been too flighty." "his wings will be clipped for the future!" observed young caustic. "he has been very imprudent," said young candour. i inquired of whom they were speaking. "don't you know charles gally?" said the exquisite, endeavouring to turn in his collar. "not know charles gally?" he repeated, with an expression of pity. "he is the best fellow breathing; only lives to laugh and make others laugh: drinks his two bottles with any man, and rides the finest mare i ever saw--next to my angelica. not know charles gally? why, everybody knows him! he is so amusing! ha! ha! and tells such admirable stories! ha! ha! often have they kept me awake"--a yawn--"when nothing else could." "poor fellow!" said his lordship; "i understand he's done for ten thousand!" "i never believe more than half what the world says," observed candour. "he that has not a farthing," said caustic, "cares little whether he owes ten thousand or five." "thank heaven!" said candour, "that will never be the case with charles: he has a fine estate in leicestershire." "mortgaged for half its value," said his lordship. "a large personal property!" "all gone in annuity bills," said the exquisite. "a rich uncle upwards of fourscore!" "he'll cut him off with a shilling," said caustic. "let us hope he may reform," sighed the hypocrite; "and sell the pack," added the nobleman; "and marry," continued the dandy. "pshaw!" cried the satirist, "he will never get rid of his habits, his hounds, or his horns." "but he has an excellent heart," said candour. "excellent," repeated his lordship unthinkingly. "excellent," lisped the fop effeminately. "excellent," exclaimed the wit ironically. we took this opportunity to ask by what means so excellent a heart and so bright a genius had contrived to plunge him into these disasters. "he was my friend," replied his lordship, "and a man of large property; but he was mad--quite mad. i remember his leaping a lame pony over a stone wall, simply because sir marmaduke bet him a dozen that he broke his neck in the attempt; and sending a bullet through a poor pedlar's pack because bob darrell said the piece wouldn't carry so far." "upon another occasion," began the exquisite, in his turn, "he jumped into a horse-pond after dinner, in order to prove it was not six feet deep; and overturned a bottle of eau-de-cologne in lady emilia's face, to convince me that she was not painted. poor fellow! the first experiment cost him a dress, and the second an heiress." "i have heard," resumed the nobleman, "that he lost his election for ---- by lampooning the mayor; and was dismissed from his place in the treasury for challenging lord c----." "the last accounts i heard of him," said caustic, "told me that lady tarrel had forbid him her house for driving a sucking-pig into her drawing-room; and that young hawthorn had run him through for boasting of favours from his sister!" "these gentlemen are really too severe," remarked young candour to us. "not a jot," we said to ourselves. "this will be a terrible blow for his sister," said a young man who had been listening in silence. "a fine girl--a very fine girl," said the exquisite. "and a fine fortune," said the nobleman; "the mines of peru are nothing to her." "nothing at all," observed the sneerer; "she has no property there. but i would not have you caught, harry; her income was good, but is dipped, horribly dipped. guineas melt very fast when the cards are put by them." "i was not aware maria was a gambler," said the young man, much alarmed. "her brother is, sir," replied his informant. the querist looked sorry, but yet relieved. we could see that he was not quite disinterested in his inquiries. "however," resumed the young cynic, "his profusion has at least obtained him many noble and wealthy friends." he glanced at his hearers, and went on: "no one that knew him will hear of his distresses without being forward to relieve them. he will find interest for his money in the hearts of his friends." nobility took snuff; foppery played with his watch-chain; hypocrisy looked grave. there was long silence. we ventured to regret the misuse of natural talents, which, if properly directed, might have rendered their possessor useful to the interests of society and celebrated in the records of his country. everyone stared, as if we were talking hebrew. "very true," said his lordship, "he enjoys great talents. no man is a nicer judge of horseflesh. he beats me at billiards, and harry at picquet; he's a dead shot at a button, and can drive his curricle-wheels over a brace of sovereigns." "radicalism," says caustic, looking round for a laugh. "he is a great amateur of pictures," observed the exquisite, "and is allowed to be quite a connoisseur in beauty; but there," simpering, "everyone must claim the privilege of judging for themselves." "upon my word," said candour, "you allow poor charles too little. i have no doubt he has great courage--though, to be sure, there was a whisper that young hawthorn found him rather shy; and i am convinced he is very generous, though i must confess that i have it from good authority that his younger brother was refused the loan of a hundred when charles had pigeoned that fool of a nabob but the evening before. i would stake my existence that he is a man of unshaken honour--though, when he eased lieutenant hardy of his pay, there certainly was an awkward story about the transaction, which was never properly cleared up. i hope that when matters are properly investigated he will be liberated from all his embarrassments; though i am sorry to be compelled to believe that he has been spending double the amount of his income annually. but i trust that all will be adjusted. i have no doubt upon the subject." "nor i," said caustic. "we shall miss him prodigiously at the club," said the dandy, with a slight shake of the head. "what a bore!" replied the nobleman, with a long yawn. we could hardly venture to express compassion for a character so despicable. our auditors, however, entertained very different opinions of right and wrong! "poor fellow! he was much to be pitied: had done some very foolish things--to say the truth was a sad scoundrel--but then he was always so mad." and having come unanimously to this decision, the conclave dispersed. charles gave an additional proof of his madness within a week after this discussion by swallowing laudanum. the verdict of the coroner's inquest confirmed the judgment of his four friends. for our own parts we must pause before we give in to so dangerous a doctrine. here is a man who has outraged the laws of honour, the ties of relationship, and the duties of religion: he appears before us in the triple character of a libertine, a swindler, and a suicide. yet his follies, his vices, his crimes, are all palliated or even applauded by this specious _façon de parler_--"he was mad--quite mad!" benjamin disraeli (lord beaconsfield). ( - .) lxv. popanilla on man. this racy piece of satire is taken from lord beaconsfield's mock-heroic romance--written in imitation of _gulliver's travels,--the voyage of captain popanilla_, of which it forms the fourth chapter. six months had elapsed since the first chest of the cargo of useful knowledge destined for the fortunate maldives had been digested by the recluse popanilla; for a recluse he had now become. great students are rather dull companions. our fantasian friend, during his first studies, was as moody, absent, and querulous as are most men of genius during that mystical period of life. he was consequently avoided by the men and quizzed by the women, and consoled himself for the neglect of the first and the taunts of the second by the indefinite sensation that he should, some day or other, turn out that little being called a great man. as for his mistress, she considered herself insulted by being addressed by a man who had lost her lock of hair. when the chest was exhausted, popanilla was seized with a profound melancholy. nothing depresses a man's spirits more completely than a self-conviction of self-conceit; and popanilla, who had been accustomed to consider himself and his companions as the most elegant portion of the visible creation, now discovered, with dismay, that he and his fellow-islanders were nothing more than a horde of useless savages. this mortification, however, was soon succeeded by a proud consciousness that he, at any rate, was now civilized; and that proud consciousness by a fond hope that in a short time he might become a civilizer. like all projectors, he was not of sanguine temperament; but he did trust that in the course of another season the isle of fantaisie might take its station among the nations. he was determined, however, not to be too rapid. it cannot be expected that ancient prejudices can in a moment be eradicated, and new modes of conduct instantaneously substituted and established. popanilla, like a wise man, determined to conciliate. his views were to be as liberal as his principles were enlightened. men should be forced to do nothing. bigotry and intolerance and persecution were the objects of his decided disapprobation; resembling, in this particular, all the great and good men who have ever existed, who have invariably maintained this opinion so long as they have been in the minority. popanilla appeared once more in the world. "dear me! is that you, pop?" exclaimed the ladies. "what have you been doing with yourself all this time? travelling, i suppose. everyone travels now. really you travelled men get quite bores. and where did you get that coat, if it be a coat?" such was the style in which the fantasian females saluted the long-absent popanilla; and really, when a man shuts himself up from the world for a considerable time, and fancies that in condescending to re-enter it he has surely the right to expect the homage due to a superior being, the salutations are awkward. the ladies of england peculiarly excel in this species of annihilation; and while they continue to drown puppies, as they daily do, in a sea of sarcasm, i think no true englishman will hesitate one moment in giving them the preference for tact and manner over all the vivacious french, all the self-possessing italian, and all the tolerant german women. this is a clap-trap, and i have no doubt will sell the book. popanilla, however, had not re-entered society with the intention of subsiding into a nonentity, and he therefore took the opportunity, a few minutes after sunset, just as his companions were falling into the dance, to beg the favour of being allowed to address his sovereign only for one single moment. "sire!" said he, in that mild tone of subdued superciliousness with which we should always address kings, and which, while it vindicates our dignity, satisfactorily proves that we are above the vulgar passion of envy. "sire!" but let us not encourage that fatal faculty of oratory so dangerous to free states, and therefore let us give the "substance of popanilla's speech".[ ] he commenced his address in a manner somewhat resembling the initial observations of those pleasing pamphlets which are the fashion of the present hour, and which, being intended to diffuse information among those who have not enjoyed the opportunity and advantages of study, and are consequently of a gay and cheerful disposition, treat of light subjects in a light and polished style. popanilla, therefore, spoke of man in a savage state, the origin of society, and the elements of the social compact, in sentences which would not have disgraced the mellifluous pen of bentham. from these he naturally digressed into an agreeable disquisition on the anglo-saxons; and, after a little badinage on the bill of rights, flew off to an airy _aperçu_ of the french revolution. when he had arrived at the isle of fantaisie he begged to inform his majesty that man was born for something else besides enjoying himself. it was, doubtless, extremely pleasant to dance and sing, to crown themselves with chaplets, and to drink wine; but he was "free to confess" that he did not imagine that the most barefaced hireling of corruption could for a moment presume to maintain that there was any utility in pleasure. if there were no utility in pleasure, it was quite clear that pleasure could profit no one. if, therefore, it were unprofitable, it was injurious, because that which does not produce a profit is equivalent to a loss; therefore pleasure is a losing business; consequently pleasure is not pleasant. he also showed that man was not born for himself, but for society; that the interests of the body are alone to be considered, and not those of the individual; and that a nation might be extremely happy, extremely powerful, and extremely rich, although every individual member of it might at the same time be miserable, dependent, and in debt. he regretted to observe that no one in the island seemed in the slightest degree conscious of the object of his being. man is created for a purpose; the object of his existence is to perfect himself. man is imperfect by nature, because if nature had made him perfect he would have had no wants; and it is only by supplying his wants that utility can be developed. the development of utility is therefore the object of our being, and the attainment of this great end the cause of our existence. this principle clears all doubts, and rationally accounts for a state of existence which has puzzled many pseudo-philosophers. popanilla then went on to show that the hitherto received definitions of man were all erroneous; that man is neither a walking animal, nor a talking animal, nor a cooking animal, nor a lounging animal, nor a debt-incurring animal, nor a tax-paying animal, nor a printing animal, nor a puffing animal, but a _developing animal_. development is the discovery of utility. by developing the water we get fish; by developing the earth we get corn, and cash, and cotton; by developing the air we get breath; by developing the fire we get heat. thus the use of the elements is demonstrated to the meanest capacity. but it was not merely a material development to which he alluded; a moral development was equally indispensable. he showed that it was impossible for a nation either to think too much or to do too much. the life of man was therefore to be passed in a moral and material development until he had consummated his perfection. it was the opinion of popanilla that this great result was by no means so near at hand as some philosophers flattered themselves, and that it might possibly require another half-century before even the most civilized nation could be said to have completed the destiny of the human race. at the same time, he intimated that there were various extraordinary means by which this rather desirable result might be facilitated; and there was no saying what the building of a new university might do, of which, when built, he had no objection to be appointed principal. in answer to those who affect to admire that deficient system of existence which they style simplicity of manners, and who are perpetually committing the blunder of supposing that every advance towards perfection only withdraws man further from his primitive and proper condition, popanilla triumphantly demonstrated that no such order as that which they associated with the phrase "state of nature" ever existed. "man", said he, "is called the masterpiece of nature; and man is also, as we all know, the most curious of machines. now, a machine is a work of art; consequently the masterpiece of nature is the masterpiece of art. the object of all mechanism is the attainment of utility; the object of man, who is the most perfect machine, is utility in the highest degree. can we believe, therefore, that this machine was ever intended for a state which never could have called forth its powers, a state in which no utility could ever have been attained, a state in which there are no wants, consequently no demand, consequently no supply, consequently no competition, consequently no invention, consequently no profits; only one great pernicious monopoly of comfort and ease? society without wants is like a world without winds. it is quite clear, therefore, that there is no such thing as nature; nature is art, or art is nature; that which is most useful is most natural, because utility is the test of nature; therefore a steam-engine is in fact a much more natural production than a mountain. "you are convinced, therefore," he continued, "by these observations, that it is impossible for an individual or a nation to be too artificial in their manners, their ideas, their laws, or their general policy; because, in fact, the more artificial you become, the nearer you approach that state of nature of which you are so perpetually talking." here observing that some of his audience appeared to be a little sceptical, perhaps only surprised, he told them that what he said must be true, because it entirely consisted of first principles. after having thus preliminarily descanted for about two hours, popanilla informed his majesty that he was unused to public speaking, and then proceeded to show that the grand characteristic of the social action of the isle of fantaisie was a total want of development. this he observed with equal sorrow and surprise; he respected the wisdom of their ancestors; at the same time, no one could deny that they were both barbarous and ignorant; he highly esteemed also the constitution, but regretted that it was not in the slightest degree adapted to the existing want of society; he was not for destroying any establishments, but, on the contrary, was for courteously affording them the opportunity of self-dissolution. he finished by re-urging, in strong terms, the immediate development of the island. in the first place, a great metropolis must be instantly built, because a great metropolis always produces a great demand; and, moreover, popanilla had some legal doubts whether a country without a capital could in fact be considered a state. apologizing for having so long trespassed upon the attention of the assembly, he begged distinctly to state that he had no wish to see his majesty and his fellow-subjects adopt these new principles without examination and without experience. they might commence on a small scale; let them cut down their forests, and by turning them into ships and houses discover the utility of timber; let the whole island be dug up; let canals be cut, docks be built, and all the elephants be killed directly, that their teeth might yield an immediate article for exportation. a short time would afford a sufficient trial. in the meanwhile, they would not be pledged to further measures, and these might be considered "only as an experiment". taking for granted that these principles would be acted on, and taking into consideration the site of the island in the map of the world, the nature and extent of its resources, its magnificent race of human beings, its varieties of the animal creation, its wonderfully fine timber, its undeveloped mineral treasures, the spaciousness of its harbours, and its various facilities for extended international communication, popanilla had no hesitation in saying that a short time could not elapse ere, instead of passing their lives in a state of unprofitable ease and useless enjoyment, they might reasonably expect to be the terror and astonishment of the universe, and to be able to annoy every nation of any consequence. here, observing a smile upon his majesty's countenance, popanilla told the king that he was only a chief magistrate, and he had no more right to laugh at him than a parish constable. he concluded by observing that although what he at present urged might appear strange, nevertheless, if the listeners had been acquainted with the characters and cases of galileo and turgot, they would then have seen, as a necessary consequence, that his system was perfectly correct, and he himself a man of extraordinary merit. here the chief magistrate, no longer daring to smile, burst into a fit of laughter, and, turning to his courtiers, said: "i have not an idea what this man is talking about, but i know that he makes my head ache. give me a cup of wine, and let us have a dance." all applauded the royal proposition; and pushing popanilla from one to another, until he was fairly hustled to the brink of the lagoon, they soon forgot the existence of this bore; in one word, he was cut. when popanillo found himself standing alone, and looking grave while all the rest were gay, he began to suspect that he was not so influential a personage as he previously imagined. rather crestfallen, he sneaked home; and consoled himself for having nobody to speak to by reading some amusing "conversations on political economy". [footnote : _substance of a speech_, in parliamentary language, means a printed edition of an harangue which contains all that was uttered in the house, and about as much again.] robert browning. ( - .) lxvi. cristina. from _dramatic lyrics_; written in . i. she should never have looked at me if she meant i should not love her. there are plenty ... men, you call such, i suppose ... she may discover. all her soul to, if she pleases, and yet leave much as she found them; but i'm not so, and she knew it when she fixed me, glancing round them. ii. what? to fix me thus meant nothing? but i can't tell (there's my weakness) what her look said!--no vile cant, sure, about "need to strew the bleakness of some lone shore with its pearl-seed, that the sea feels"--no "strange yearning that such souls have, most to lavish where there's chance of least returning". iii. oh, we're sunk enough here, god knows! but not quite so sunk that moments, sure tho' seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true endowments stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing. iv. there are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames noondays kindle, whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle, while just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play unstifled, seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled. v. doubt you if, in some such moment, as she fixed me, she felt clearly, ages past the soul existed, here an age 'tis resting merely, and hence fleets again for ages: while the true end, sole and single, it stops here for is, this love-way, with some other soul to mingle? vi. else it loses what it lived for, and eternally must lose it; better ends may be in prospect, deeper blisses (if you choose it), but this life's end and this love-bliss have been lost here. doubt you whether this she felt as, looking at me, mine and her souls rushed together? vii. oh, observe! of course, next moment, the world's honours, in derision, trampled out the light for ever. never fear but there's provision of the devil's to quench knowledge, lest we walk the earth in rapture! --making those who catch god's secret, just so much more prize their capture! viii. such am i: the secret's mine now! she has lost me, i have gained her; her soul's mine: and thus, grown perfect, i shall pass my life's remainder. life will just hold out the proving both our powers, alone and blended: and then, come next life quickly! this world's use will have been ended. lxvii. the lost leader. from _dramatic lyrics_; written in . i. just for a handful of silver he left us, just for a riband to stick in his coat-- found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, lost all the others, she lets us devote; they, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, so much was theirs who so little allowed: how all our copper had gone for his service! rags--were they purple, his heart had been proud! we that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him, lived in his mild and magnificent eye, learned his great language, caught his clear accents, made him our pattern to live and to die? shakespeare was of us, milton was for us, burns, shelley, were with us,--they watch from their graves! he alone breaks from the van and the freemen, he alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! ii. we shall march prospering,--not thro' his presence; songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre; deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence, still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, one task more declined, one more footpath untrod, one more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels, one wrong more to man, one more insult to god! life's night begins: let him never come back to us! there would be doubt, hesitation and pain, forced praise on our part--the glimmer of twilight, never glad confident morning again! best fight on well, for we taught him--strike gallantly, menace our heart ere we master his own; then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne! william makepeace thackeray. ( - .) lxviii. piscator and piscatrix. published among thackeray's "ballads" under the sub-heading "lines written to an album print". as on this pictured page i look, this pretty tale of line and hook, as though it were a novel-book, amuses and engages: i know them both, the boy and girl; she is the daughter of the earl, the lad (that has his hair in curl) my lord the county's page is. a pleasant place for such a pair! the fields lie basking in the glare; no breath of wind the heavy air of lazy summer quickens. hard by you see the castle tall; the village nestles round the wall, as round about the hen its small young progeny of chickens. it is too hot to pace the keep; to climb the turret is too steep; my lord the earl is dozing deep, his noonday dinner over: the postern warder is asleep (perhaps they've bribed him not to peep): and so from out the gate they creep; and cross the fields of clover. their lines into the brook they launch; he lays his cloak upon a branch, to guarantee his lady blanche 's delicate complexion: he takes his rapier from his haunch, that beardless, doughty champion staunch; he'd drill it through the rival's paunch that question'd his affection! o heedless pair of sportsmen slack! you never mark, though trout or jack, or little foolish stickleback, your baited snares may capture. what care has _she_ for line and hook? she turns her back upon the brook, upon her lover's eyes to look in sentimental rapture. o loving pair! as thus i gaze upon the girl who smiles always, the little hand that ever plays upon the lover's shoulder; in looking at your pretty shapes, a sort of envious wish escapes (such as the fox had for the grapes) the poet, your beholder. to be brave, handsome, twenty-two; with nothing else on earth to do, but all day long to bill and coo: it were a pleasant calling. and had i such a partner sweet; a tender heart for mine to beat, a gentle hand my clasp to meet;-- i'd let the world flow at my feet, and never heed its brawling. lxix. on a hundred years hence. this is one of the most popular of the famous roundabout papers written by thackeray for the _cornhill magazine_, of which he was the first editor. where have i just read of a game played at a country house? the party assembles round a table with pens, ink, and paper. some one narrates a tale containing more or less incidents and personages. each person of the company then writes down, to the best of his memory and ability, the anecdote just narrated, and finally the papers are to be read out. i do not say i should like to play often at this game, which might possibly be a tedious and lengthy pastime, not by any means so amusing as smoking a cigar in the conservatory; or even listening to the young ladies playing their piano-pieces; or to hobbs and nobbs lingering round the bottle and talking over the morning's run with the hounds; but surely it is a moral and ingenious sport. they say the variety of narratives is often very odd and amusing. the original story becomes so changed and distorted that at the end of all the statements you are puzzled to know where the truth is at all. as time is of small importance to the cheerful persons engaged in this sport, perhaps a good way of playing it would be to spread it over a couple of years. let the people who played the game in ' all meet and play it once more in ' , and each write his story over again. then bring out your original and compare notes. not only will the stories differ from each other, but the writers will probably differ from themselves. in the course of the year the incidents will grow or will dwindle strangely. the least authentic of the statements will be so lively or so malicious, or so neatly put, that it will appear most like the truth. i like these tales and sportive exercises. i had begun a little print collection once. i had addison in his nightgown in bed at holland house, requesting young lord warwick to remark how a christian should die. i had cambronne clutching his cocked hat, and uttering the immortal _la garde meurt et ne se rend pas_. i had the _vengeur_ going down, and all the crew hurraying like madmen. i had alfred toasting the muffin: curtius (haydon) jumping into the gulf; with extracts from napoleon's bulletins, and a fine authentic portrait of baron munchausen. what man who has been before the public at all has not heard similar wonderful anecdotes regarding himself and his own history? in these humble essaykins i have taken leave to egotize. i cry out about the shoes which pinch me, and, as i fancy, more naturally and pathetically than if my neighbour's corns were trodden under foot. i prattle about the dish which i love, the wine which i like, the talk i heard yesterday--about brown's absurd airs--jones's ridiculous elation when he thinks he has caught me in a blunder (a part of the fun, you see, is that jones will read this, and will perfectly well know that i mean him, and that we shall meet and grin at each other with entire politeness). this is not the highest kind of speculation, i confess, but it is a gossip which amuses some folks. a brisk and honest small-beer will refresh those who do not care for the frothy outpourings of heavier taps. a two of clubs may be a good handy little card sometimes, and able to tackle a king of diamonds, if it is a little trump. some philosophers get their wisdom with deep thought, and out of ponderous libraries; i pick up my small crumbs of cogitation at a dinner-table; or from mrs. mary and miss louisa, as they are prattling over their five-o'clock tea. well, yesterday at dinner, jucundus was good enough to tell me a story about myself, which he had heard from a lady of his acquaintance, to whom i send my best compliments. the tale is this. at nine o'clock on the evening of the st of november last, just before sunset, i was seen leaving no. abbey road, st. john's wood, leading two little children by the hand, one of them in a nankeen pelisse, and the other having a mole on the third finger of his left hand (she thinks it was the third finger, but is quite sure it was the left hand). thence i walked with them to charles boroughbridge's, pork and sausage man, no. upper theresa road. here, whilst i left the little girl innocently eating a polony in the front shop, i and boroughbridge retired with the boy into the back parlour, where mrs. boroughbridge was playing cribbage. she put up the cards and boxes, took out a chopper and a napkin, and we cut the little boy's little throat (which he bore with great pluck and resolution), and made him into sausage-meat by the aid of purkis's excellent sausage-machine. the little girl at first could not understand her brother's absence, but, under the pretence of taking her to see mr. fechter in _hamlet_, i led her down to the new river at sadler's wells, where a body of a child in a nankeen pelisse was subsequently found, and has never been recognized to the present day. and this mrs. lynx can aver, because she saw the whole transaction with her own eyes, as she told mr. jucundus. i have altered the little details of the anecdote somewhat. but this story is, i vow and declare, as true as mrs. lynx's. gracious goodness! how do lies begin? what are the averages of lying? is the same amount of lies told about every man, and do we pretty much all tell the same amount of lies? is the average greater in ireland than in scotland, or _vice versâ_--among women than among men? is this a lie i am telling now? if i am talking about you, the odds are, perhaps, that it is. i look back at some which have been told about me, and speculate on them with thanks and wonder. dear friends have told them of me, have told them to me of myself. have they not to and of you, dear friend? a friend of mine was dining at a large dinner of clergymen, and a story, as true as the sausage story above given, was told regarding me, by one of those reverend divines in whose frocks sit some anile chatterboxes, as any man who knows this world knows. they take the privilege of their gown. they cabal, and tattle, and hiss, and cackle comminations under their breath. i say the old women of the other sex are not more talkative or more mischievous than some of these. "such a man ought not to be spoken to", says gobemouche, narrating the story--and such a story! "and i am surprised he is admitted into society at all." yes, dear gobemouche, but the story wasn't true: and i had no more done the wicked deed in question than i had run away with the queen of sheba. i have always longed to know what that story was (or what collection of histories), which a lady had in her mind to whom a servant of mine applied for a place, when i was breaking up my establishment once, and going abroad. brown went with a very good character from us, which, indeed, she fully deserved after several years' faithful service. but when mrs. jones read the name of the person out of whose employment brown came, "that is quite sufficient", says mrs. jones. "you may go. i will never take a servant out of _that_ house." ah, mrs. jones, how i should like to know what that crime was, or what that series of villainies, which made you determine never to take a servant out of my house! do you believe in the story of the little boy and the sausages? have you swallowed that little minced infant? have you devoured that young polonius? upon my word you have maw enough. we somehow greedily gobble down all stories in which the characters of our friends are chopped up, and believe wrong of them without inquiry. in a late serial work written by this hand, i remember making some pathetic remarks about our propensity to believe ill of our neighbours--and i remember the remarks, not because they were valuable, or novel, or ingenious, but because, within three days after they had appeared in print, the moralist who wrote them, walking home with a friend, heard a story about another friend, which story he straightway believed, and which story was scarcely more true than that sausage fable which is here set down. _o mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!_ but though the preacher trips, shall not the doctrine be good? yea, brethren! here be the rods. look you, here are the scourges. choose me a nice, long, swishing, buddy one, light and well-poised in the handle, thick and bushy at the tail. pick me out a whip-cord thong with some dainty knots in it--and now--we all deserve it--whish, whish, whish! let us cut into each other all round. a favourite liar and servant of mine was a man i once had to drive a brougham. he never came to my house, except for orders, and once when he helped to wait at dinner, so clumsily that it was agreed we would dispense with his further efforts. the (job) brougham horse used to look dreadfully lean and tired, and the livery-stable keeper complained that we worked him too hard. now, it turned out that there was a neighbouring butcher's lady who liked to ride in a brougham; and tomkins lent her ours, drove her cheerfully to richmond and putney, and, i suppose, took out a payment in mutton-chops. we gave this good tomkins wine and medicine for his family when sick--we supplied him with little comforts and extras which need not now be remembered--and the grateful creature rewarded us by informing some of our tradesmen whom he honoured with his custom, "mr. roundabout? lor' bless you! i carry him up to bed drunk every night in the week". he, tomkins, being a man of seven stone weight and five feet high; whereas his employer was--but here modesty interferes, and i decline to enter into the avoirdupois question. now, what was tomkin's motive for the utterance and dissemination of these lies? they could further no conceivable end or interest of his own. had they been true stories, tomkin's master would, and reasonably, have been still more angry than at the fables. it was but suicidal slander on the part of tomkins--must come to a discovery--must end in a punishment. the poor wretch had got his place under, as it turned out, a fictitious character. he might have stayed in it, for of course tomkins had a wife and poor innocent children. he might have had bread, beer, bed, character, coats, coals. he might have nestled in our little island, comfortably sheltered from the storms of life; but we were compelled to cast him out, and send him driving, lonely, perishing, tossing, starving, to sea--to drown. to drown? there be other modes of death whereby rogues die. good-bye, tomkins. and so the night-cap is put on, and the bolt is drawn for poor t. suppose we were to invite volunteers amongst our respected readers to send in little statements of the lies which they know have been told about themselves: what a heap of correspondence, what an exaggeration of malignities, what a crackling bonfire of incendiary falsehoods, might we not gather together! and a lie once set going, having the breath of life breathed into it by the father of lying, and ordered to run its diabolical little course, lives with a prodigious vitality. you say, _magna est veritas et proevalebit_. psha! great lies are as great as great truths, and prevail constantly, and day after day. take an instance or two out of my own little budget. i sit near a gentleman at dinner, and the conversation turns upon a certain anonymous literary performance which at the time is amusing the town. "oh," says the gentleman, "everybody knows who wrote that paper: it is momus's." i was a young author at the time, perhaps proud of my bantling: "i beg your pardon," i say, "it was written by your humble servant." "indeed!" was all that the man replied, and he shrugged his shoulders, turned his back, and talked to his other neighbour. i never heard sarcastic incredulity more finely conveyed than by that "indeed". "impudent liar," the gentleman's face said, as clear as face could speak. where was magna veritas, and how did she prevail then? she lifted up her voice, she made her appeal, and she was kicked out of court. in new york i read a newspaper criticism one day (by an exile from our shores who has taken up his abode in the western republic), commenting upon a letter of mine which had appeared in a contemporary volume, and wherein it was stated that the writer was a lad in such and such a year, and in point of fact, i was, at the period spoken of, nineteen years of age. "falsehood, mr. roundabout," says the noble critic: "you were then not a lad; you were six-and-twenty years of age." you see he knew better than papa and mamma and parish register. it was easier for him to think and say i lied, on a twopenny matter connected with my own affairs, than to imagine he was mistaken. years ago, in a time when we were very mad wags, arcturus and myself met a gentleman from china who knew the language. we began to speak chinese against him. we said we were born in china. we were two to one. we spoke the mandarin dialect with perfect fluency. we had the company with us; as in the old, old days, the squeak of the real pig was voted not to be so natural as the squeak of the sham pig. o arcturus, the sham pig squeaks in our streets now to the applause of multitudes, and the real porker grunts unheeded in his sty! i once talked for some little time with an amiable lady: it was for the first time; and i saw an expression of surprise on her kind face which said as plainly as face could say, "sir, do you know that up to this moment i have had a certain opinion of you, and that i begin to think i have been mistaken or misled?" i not only know that she had heard evil reports of me, but i know who told her--one of those acute fellows, my dear brethren, of whom we spoke in a previous sermon, who has found me out--found out actions which i never did, found out thoughts and sayings which i never spoke, and judged me accordingly. ah, my lad! have i found _you_ out? _o risum teneatis_. perhaps the person i am accusing is no more guilty than i. how comes it that the evil which men say spreads so widely and lasts so long, whilst our good kind words don't seem somehow to take root and bear blossom? is it that in the stony hearts of mankind these pretty flowers can't find a place to grow? certain it is that scandal is good brisk talk, whereas praise of one's neighbour is by no means lively hearing. an acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with mustard and cayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a slice of cold friend with currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelishing meat. now, such being the case, my dear worthy mrs. candour, in whom i know there are a hundred good and generous qualities: it being perfectly clear that the good things which we say of our neighbours don't fructify, but somehow perish in the ground where they are dropped, whilst the evil words are wafted by all the winds of scandal, take root in all soils, and flourish amazingly--seeing, i say, that this conversation does not give us a fair chance, suppose we give up censoriousness altogether, and decline uttering our opinions about brown, jones, and robinson (and mesdames b., j., and r.) at all. we may be mistaken about every one of them, as, please goodness, those anecdote-mongers against whom i have uttered my meek protest have been mistaken about me. we need not go to the extent of saying that mrs. manning was an amiable creature, much misunderstood; and jack thurtell a gallant unfortunate fellow, not near so black as he was painted; but we will try and avoid personalities altogether in talk, won't we? we will range the fields of science, dear madam, and communicate to each other the pleasing results of our studies. we will, if you please, examine the infinitesimal wonders of nature through the microscope. we will cultivate entomology. we will sit with our arms round each other's waists on the _pons asinorum_, and see the stream of mathematics flow beneath. we will take refuge in cards, and play at "beggar my neighbour", not abuse my neighbour. we will go to the zoological gardens and talk freely about the gorilla and his kindred, but not talk about people who can talk in their turn. suppose we praise the high church? we offend the low church. the broad church? high and low are both offended. what do you think of lord derby as a politician? and what is your opinion of lord palmerston? if you please, will you play me those lovely variations of "in a cottage near a wood"? it is a charming air (you know it in french, i suppose? _ah! te dirai-je, maman?_) and was a favourite with poor marie antoinette. i say "poor", because i have a right to speak with pity of a sovereign who was renowned for so much beauty and so much misfortune. but as for giving any opinion on her conduct, saying that she was good or bad, or indifferent, goodness forbid! we have agreed we will not be censorious. let us have a game at cards--at _écarté_, if you please. you deal. i ask for cards. i lead the deuce of clubs.... what? there is no deuce! deuce take it! what? people _will_ go on talking about their neighbours, and won't have their mouths stopped by cards, or ever so much microscopes and aquariums? ah, my poor dear mrs. candour, i agree with you. by the way, did you ever see anything like lady godiva trotter's dress last night? people _will_ go on chattering, although we hold our tongues; and, after all, my good soul, what will their scandal matter a hundred years hence? arthur hugh clough. ( - .) lxx. spectator ab extra. as i sat at the café i said to myself, they may talk as they please about what they call pelf, they may sneer as they like about eating and drinking, but help it i cannot, i cannot help thinking how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. i sit at my table _en grand seigneur_, and when i have done, throw a crust to the poor, not only the pleasure itself of good living, but also the pleasure of now and then giving: so pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! so pleasant it is to have money. they may talk as they please about what they call pelf, and how one ought never to think of one's self, how pleasures of thought surpass eating and drinking, my pleasure of thought is the pleasure of thinking how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. le diner. come along, 'tis the time, ten or more minutes past, and he who came first had to wait for the last; the oysters ere this had been in and been out; while i have been sitting and thinking about how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. a clear soup with eggs; _voilà tout_; of the fish the _filets de sole_ are a moderate dish _À la orly_, but you're for red mullet, you say: by the gods of good fare, who can question to-day how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. after oysters, sauterne; then sherry; champagne, ere one bottle goes, comes another again; fly up, thou bold cork, to the ceiling above, and tell to our ears in the sound that we love how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. i've the simplest of palates; absurd it may be, but i almost could dine on a _poulet-au-riz_, fish and soup and omelette and that--but the deuce-- there were to be woodcocks, and not _charlotte russe_! so pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! so pleasant it is to have money. your chablis is acid, away with the hock, give me the pure juice of the purple médoc; st. peray is exquisite; but, if you please, some burgundy just before tasting the cheese. so pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! so pleasant it is to have money. as for that, pass the bottle, and hang the expense-- i've seen it observed by a writer of sense, that the labouring classes could scarce live a day, if people like us didn't eat, drink, and pay. so useful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so useful it is to have money. one ought to be grateful, i quite apprehend, having dinner and supper and plenty to spend, and so suppose now, while the things go away, by way of a grace we all stand up and say how pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! how pleasant it is to have money. parvenant. i cannot but ask, in the park and the streets, when i look at the number of persons one meets, whate'er in the world the poor devils can do whose fathers and mothers can't give them a _sous_. so needful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so needful it is to have money. i ride, and i drive, and i care not a d--n, the people look up and they ask who i am; and if i should chance to run over a cad, i can pay for the damage, if ever so bad. so useful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so useful it is to have money. it was but this winter i came up to town, and already i'm gaining a sort of renown; find my way to good houses without much ado, am beginning to see the nobility too. so useful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so useful it is to have money. o dear what a pity they ever should lose it, since they are the people who know how to use it; so easy, so stately, such manners, such dinners; and yet, after all, it is we are the winners. so needful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so needful it is to have money. it is all very well to be handsome and tall, which certainly makes you look well at a ball, it's all very well to be clever and witty. but if you are poor, why it's only a pity. so needful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so needful it is to have money. there's something undoubtedly in a fine air, to know how to smile and be able to stare, high breeding is something, but well bred or not, in the end the one question is, what have you got? so needful it is to have money, heigh-ho! so needful it is to have money. and the angels in pink and the angels in blue, in muslins and moirés so lovely and new, what is it they want, and so wish you to guess, but if you have money, the answer is yes. so needful, they tell you, is money, heigh-ho! so needful it is to have money. c.s. calverley. ( - .) lxxi. "hic vir, hic est." the subtle mingling of pathos and satire in this poem evoked the warm admiration of mr. j. russell lowell. this is published by special permission of messrs. g. bell & sons, to whom thanks are tendered. often, when o'er tree and turret, eve a dying radiance flings, by that ancient pile i linger, known familiarly as "king's". and the ghosts of days departed rise, and in my burning breast all the undergraduate wakens, and my spirit is at rest. what, but a revolting fiction, seems the actual result of the census's inquiries, made upon the th ult.? still my soul is in its boyhood; nor of year or changes recks, though my scalp is almost hairless, and my figure grows convex. backward moves the kindly dial; and i'm numbered once again with those noblest of their species called emphatically "men"; loaf, as i have loafed aforetime, through the streets, with tranquil mind, and a long-backed fancy-mongrel trailing casually behind. past the senate-house i saunter, whistling with an easy grace; past the cabbage stalks that carpet still the beefy market-place; poising evermore the eye-glass in the light sarcastic eye, lest, by chance, some breezy nursemaid pass, without a tribute, by. once, an unassuming freshman, thro' these wilds i wandered on, seeing in each house a college, under every cap a don; each perambulating infant had a magic in its squall, for my eager eye detected senior wranglers in them all. by degrees my education grew, and i became as others; learned to blunt my moral feelings by the aid of bacon brothers; bought me tiny boots of mortlock, and colossal prints of roe; and ignored the proposition, that both time and money go. learned to work the wary dogcart, artfully thro' king's parade; dress, and steer a boat, and sport with amaryllis in the shade: struck, at brown's, the dashing hazard; or (more curious sport than that) dropped, at callaby's, the terrier down upon the prisoned rat. i have stood serene on fenner's ground, indifferent to blisters, while the buttress of the period bowled me his peculiar twisters: sung, "we won't go home till morning"; striven to part my backhair straight; drunk (not lavishly) of miller's old dry wines at /:-- when within my veins the blood ran, and the curls were on my brow, i did, oh ye undergraduates, much as ye are doing now. wherefore bless ye, o beloved ones:-- now into mine inn must i, your "poor moralist", betake me, in my "solitary fly". volpone; or, the fox by ben jonson introduction the greatest of english dramatists except shakespeare, the first literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose, satire, and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time affected the subsequent course of english letters: such was ben jonson, and as such his strong personality assumes an interest to us almost unparalleled, at least in his age. ben jonson came of the stock that was centuries after to give to the world thomas carlyle; for jonson's grandfather was of annandale, over the solway, whence he migrated to england. jonson's father lost his estate under queen mary, "having been cast into prison and forfeited." he entered the church, but died a month before his illustrious son was born, leaving his widow and child in poverty. jonson's birthplace was westminster, and the time of his birth early in . he was thus nearly ten years shakespeare's junior, and less well off, if a trifle better born. but jonson did not profit even by this slight advantage. his mother married beneath her, a wright or bricklayer, and jonson was for a time apprenticed to the trade. as a youth he attracted the attention of the famous antiquary, william camden, then usher at westminster school, and there the poet laid the solid foundations of his classical learning. jonson always held camden in veneration, acknowledging that to him he owed, "all that i am in arts, all that i know;" and dedicating his first dramatic success, "every man in his humour," to him. it is doubtful whether jonson ever went to either university, though fuller says that he was "statutably admitted into st. john's college, cambridge." he tells us that he took no degree, but was later "master of arts in both the universities, by their favour, not his study." when a mere youth jonson enlisted as a soldier, trailing his pike in flanders in the protracted wars of william the silent against the spanish. jonson was a large and raw-boned lad; he became by his own account in time exceedingly bulky. in chat with his friend william drummond of hawthornden, jonson told how "in his service in the low countries he had, in the face of both the camps, killed an enemy, and taken opima spolia from him;" and how "since his coming to england, being appealed to the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt him in the arm and whose sword was ten inches longer than his." jonson's reach may have made up for the lack of his sword; certainly his prowess lost nothing in the telling. obviously jonson was brave, combative, and not averse to talking of himself and his doings. in , jonson returned from abroad penniless. soon after he married, almost as early and quite as imprudently as shakespeare. he told drummond curtly that "his wife was a shrew, yet honest"; for some years he lived apart from her in the household of lord albany. yet two touching epitaphs among jonson's "epigrams," "on my first daughter," and "on my first son," attest the warmth of the poet's family affections. the daughter died in infancy, the son of the plague; another son grew up to manhood little credit to his father whom he survived. we know nothing beyond this of jonson's domestic life. how soon jonson drifted into what we now call grandly "the theatrical profession" we do not know. in , marlowe made his tragic exit from life, and greene, shakespeare's other rival on the popular stage, had preceded marlowe in an equally miserable death the year before. shakespeare already had the running to himself. jonson appears first in the employment of philip henslowe, the exploiter of several troupes of players, manager, and father-in-law of the famous actor, edward alleyn. from entries in "henslowe's diary," a species of theatrical account book which has been handed down to us, we know that jonson was connected with the admiral's men; for he borrowed pounds of henslowe, july , , paying back s. d. on the same day on account of his "share" (in what is not altogether clear); while later, on december , of the same year, henslowe advanced s. to him "upon a book which he showed the plot unto the company which he promised to deliver unto the company at christmas next." in the next august jonson was in collaboration with chettle and porter in a play called "hot anger soon cold." all this points to an association with henslowe of some duration, as no mere tyro would be thus paid in advance upon mere promise. from allusions in dekker's play, "satiromastix," it appears that jonson, like shakespeare, began life as an actor, and that he "ambled in a leather pitch by a play-wagon" taking at one time the part of hieronimo in kyd's famous play, "the spanish tragedy." by the beginning of , jonson, though still in needy circumstances, had begun to receive recognition. francis meres--well known for his "comparative discourse of our english poets with the greek, latin, and italian poets," printed in , and for his mention therein of a dozen plays of shakespeare by title--accords to ben jonson a place as one of "our best in tragedy," a matter of some surprise, as no known tragedy of jonson from so early a date has come down to us. that jonson was at work on tragedy, however, is proved by the entries in henslowe of at least three tragedies, now lost, in which he had a hand. these are "page of plymouth," "king robert ii. of scotland," and "richard crookback." but all of these came later, on his return to henslowe, and range from august to june . returning to the autumn of , an event now happened to sever for a time jonson's relations with henslowe. in a letter to alleyn, dated september of that year, henslowe writes: "i have lost one of my company that hurteth me greatly; that is gabriel [spencer], for he is slain in hogsden fields by the hands of benjamin jonson, bricklayer." the last word is perhaps henslowe's thrust at jonson in his displeasure rather than a designation of his actual continuance at his trade up to this time. it is fair to jonson to remark however, that his adversary appears to have been a notorious fire-eater who had shortly before killed one feeke in a similar squabble. duelling was a frequent occurrence of the time among gentlemen and the nobility; it was an impudent breach of the peace on the part of a player. this duel is the one which jonson described years after to drummond, and for it jonson was duly arraigned at old bailey, tried, and convicted. he was sent to prison and such goods and chattels as he had "were forfeited." it is a thought to give one pause that, but for the ancient law permitting convicted felons to plead, as it was called, the benefit of clergy, jonson might have been hanged for this deed. the circumstance that the poet could read and write saved him; and he received only a brand of the letter "t," for tyburn, on his left thumb. while in jail jonson became a roman catholic; but he returned to the faith of the church of england a dozen years later. on his release, in disgrace with henslowe and his former associates, jonson offered his services as a playwright to henslowe's rivals, the lord chamberlain's company, in which shakespeare was a prominent shareholder. a tradition of long standing, though not susceptible of proof in a court of law, narrates that jonson had submitted the manuscript of "every man in his humour" to the chamberlain's men and had received from the company a refusal; that shakespeare called him back, read the play himself, and at once accepted it. whether this story is true or not, certain it is that "every man in his humour" was accepted by shakespeare's company and acted for the first time in , with shakespeare taking a part. the evidence of this is contained in the list of actors prefixed to the comedy in the folio of jonson's works, . but it is a mistake to infer, because shakespeare's name stands first in the list of actors and the elder kno'well first in the dramatis personae, that shakespeare took that particular part. the order of a list of elizabethan players was generally that of their importance or priority as shareholders in the company and seldom if ever corresponded to the list of characters. "every man in his humour" was an immediate success, and with it jonson's reputation as one of the leading dramatists of his time was established once and for all. this could have been by no means jonson's earliest comedy, and we have just learned that he was already reputed one of "our best in tragedy." indeed, one of jonson's extant comedies, "the case is altered," but one never claimed by him or published as his, must certainly have preceded "every man in his humour" on the stage. the former play may be described as a comedy modelled on the latin plays of plautus. (it combines, in fact, situations derived from the "captivi" and the "aulularia" of that dramatist). but the pretty story of the beggar-maiden, rachel, and her suitors, jonson found, not among the classics, but in the ideals of romantic love which shakespeare had already popularised on the stage. jonson never again produced so fresh and lovable a feminine personage as rachel, although in other respects "the case is altered" is not a conspicuous play, and, save for the satirising of antony munday in the person of antonio balladino and gabriel harvey as well, is perhaps the least characteristic of the comedies of jonson. "every man in his humour," probably first acted late in the summer of and at the curtain, is commonly regarded as an epoch-making play; and this view is not unjustified. as to plot, it tells little more than how an intercepted letter enabled a father to follow his supposedly studious son to london, and there observe his life with the gallants of the time. the real quality of this comedy is in its personages and in the theory upon which they are conceived. ben jonson had theories about poetry and the drama, and he was neither chary in talking of them nor in experimenting with them in his plays. this makes jonson, like dryden in his time, and wordsworth much later, an author to reckon with; particularly when we remember that many of jonson's notions came for a time definitely to prevail and to modify the whole trend of english poetry. first of all jonson was a classicist, that is, he believed in restraint and precedent in art in opposition to the prevalent ungoverned and irresponsible renaissance spirit. jonson believed that there was a professional way of doing things which might be reached by a study of the best examples, and he found these examples for the most part among the ancients. to confine our attention to the drama, jonson objected to the amateurishness and haphazard nature of many contemporary plays, and set himself to do something different; and the first and most striking thing that he evolved was his conception and practice of the comedy of humours. as jonson has been much misrepresented in this matter, let us quote his own words as to "humour." a humour, according to jonson, was a bias of disposition, a warp, so to speak, in character by which "some one peculiar quality doth so possess a man, that it doth draw all his affects, his spirits, and his powers, in their confluctions, all to run one way." but continuing, jonson is careful to add: "but that a rook by wearing a pied feather, the cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff, a yard of shoe-tie, or the switzers knot on his french garters, should affect a humour! o, it is more than most ridiculous." jonson's comedy of humours, in a word, conceived of stage personages on the basis of a ruling trait or passion (a notable simplification of actual life be it observed in passing); and, placing these typified traits in juxtaposition in their conflict and contrast, struck the spark of comedy. downright, as his name indicates, is "a plain squire"; bobadill's humour is that of the braggart who is incidentally, and with delightfully comic effect, a coward; brainworm's humour is the finding out of things to the end of fooling everybody: of course he is fooled in the end himself. but it was not jonson's theories alone that made the success of "every man in his humour." the play is admirably written and each character is vividly conceived, and with a firm touch based on observation of the men of the london of the day. jonson was neither in this, his first great comedy (nor in any other play that he wrote), a supine classicist, urging that english drama return to a slavish adherence to classical conditions. he says as to the laws of the old comedy (meaning by "laws," such matters as the unities of time and place and the use of chorus): "i see not then, but we should enjoy the same licence, or free power to illustrate and heighten our invention as they [the ancients] did; and not be tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us." "every man in his humour" is written in prose, a novel practice which jonson had of his predecessor in comedy, john lyly. even the word "humour" seems to have been employed in the jonsonian sense by chapman before jonson's use of it. indeed, the comedy of humours itself is only a heightened variety of the comedy of manners which represents life, viewed at a satirical angle, and is the oldest and most persistent species of comedy in the language. none the less, jonson's comedy merited its immediate success and marked out a definite course in which comedy long continued to run. to mention only shakespeare's falstaff and his rout, bardolph, pistol, dame quickly, and the rest, whether in "henry iv." or in "the merry wives of windsor," all are conceived in the spirit of humours. so are the captains, welsh, scotch, and irish of "henry v.," and malvolio especially later; though shakespeare never employed the method of humours for an important personage. it was not jonson's fault that many of his successors did precisely the thing that he had reprobated, that is, degrade "the humour: into an oddity of speech, an eccentricity of manner, of dress, or cut of beard. there was an anonymous play called "every woman in her humour." chapman wrote "a humourous day's mirth," day, "humour out of breath," fletcher later, "the humourous lieutenant," and jonson, besides "every man out of his humour," returned to the title in closing the cycle of his comedies in "the magnetic lady or humours reconciled." with the performance of "every man out of his humour" in , by shakespeare's company once more at the globe, we turn a new page in jonson's career. despite his many real virtues, if there is one feature more than any other that distinguishes jonson, it is his arrogance; and to this may be added his self-righteousness, especially under criticism or satire. "every man out of his humour" is the first of three "comical satires" which jonson contributed to what dekker called the poetomachia or war of the theatres as recent critics have named it. this play as a fabric of plot is a very slight affair; but as a satirical picture of the manners of the time, proceeding by means of vivid caricature, couched in witty and brilliant dialogue and sustained by that righteous indignation which must lie at the heart of all true satire--as a realisation, in short, of the classical ideal of comedy--there had been nothing like jonson's comedy since the days of aristophanes. "every man in his humour," like the two plays that follow it, contains two kinds of attack, the critical or generally satiric, levelled at abuses and corruptions in the abstract; and the personal, in which specific application is made of all this in the lampooning of poets and others, jonson's contemporaries. the method of personal attack by actual caricature of a person on the stage is almost as old as the drama. aristophanes so lampooned euripides in "the acharnians" and socrates in "the clouds," to mention no other examples; and in english drama this kind of thing is alluded to again and again. what jonson really did, was to raise the dramatic lampoon to an art, and make out of a casual burlesque and bit of mimicry a dramatic satire of literary pretensions and permanency. with the arrogant attitude mentioned above and his uncommon eloquence in scorn, vituperation, and invective, it is no wonder that jonson soon involved himself in literary and even personal quarrels with his fellow-authors. the circumstances of the origin of this 'poetomachia' are far from clear, and those who have written on the topic, except of late, have not helped to make them clearer. the origin of the "war" has been referred to satirical references, apparently to jonson, contained in "the scourge of villainy," a satire in regular form after the manner of the ancients by john marston, a fellow playwright, subsequent friend and collaborator of jonson's. on the other hand, epigrams of jonson have been discovered ( , , and ) variously charging "playwright" (reasonably identified with marston) with scurrility, cowardice, and plagiarism; though the dates of the epigrams cannot be ascertained with certainty. jonson's own statement of the matter to drummond runs: "he had many quarrels with marston, beat him, and took his pistol from him, wrote his "poetaster" on him; the beginning[s] of them were that marston represented him on the stage."* * the best account of this whole subject is to be found in the edition of "poetaster" and "satiromastrix" by j. h. penniman in "belles lettres series" shortly to appear. see also his earlier work, "the war of the theatres," , and the excellent contributions to the subject by h. c. hart in "notes and queries," and in his edition of jonson, . here at least we are on certain ground; and the principals of the quarrel are known. "histriomastix," a play revised by marston in , has been regarded as the one in which jonson was thus "represented on the stage"; although the personage in question, chrisogonus, a poet, satirist, and translator, poor but proud, and contemptuous of the common herd, seems rather a complimentary portrait of jonson than a caricature. as to the personages actually ridiculed in "every man out of his humour," carlo buffone was formerly thought certainly to be marston, as he was described as "a public, scurrilous, and profane jester," and elsewhere as the "grand scourge or second untruss [that is, satirist], of the time" (joseph hall being by his own boast the first, and marston's work being entitled "the scourge of villainy"). apparently we must now prefer for carlo a notorious character named charles chester, of whom gossipy and inaccurate aubrey relates that he was "a bold impertinent fellow... a perpetual talker and made a noise like a drum in a room. so one time at a tavern sir walter raleigh beats him and seals up his mouth (that is his upper and nether beard) with hard wax. from him ben jonson takes his carlo buffone ['i.e.', jester] in "every man in his humour" ['sic']." is it conceivable that after all jonson was ridiculing marston, and that the point of the satire consisted in an intentional confusion of "the grand scourge or second untruss" with "the scurrilous and profane" chester? we have digressed into detail in this particular case to exemplify the difficulties of criticism in its attempts to identify the allusions in these forgotten quarrels. we are on sounder ground of fact in recording other manifestations of jonson's enmity. in "the case is altered" there is clear ridicule in the character antonio balladino of anthony munday, pageant-poet of the city, translator of romances and playwright as well. in "every man in his humour" there is certainly a caricature of samuel daniel, accepted poet of the court, sonneteer, and companion of men of fashion. these men held recognised positions to which jonson felt his talents better entitled him; they were hence to him his natural enemies. it seems almost certain that he pursued both in the personages of his satire through "every man out of his humour," and "cynthia's revels," daniel under the characters fastidious brisk and hedon, munday as puntarvolo and amorphus; but in these last we venture on quagmire once more. jonson's literary rivalry of daniel is traceable again and again, in the entertainments that welcomed king james on his way to london, in the masques at court, and in the pastoral drama. as to jonson's personal ambitions with respect to these two men, it is notable that he became, not pageant-poet, but chronologer to the city of london; and that, on the accession of the new king, he came soon to triumph over daniel as the accepted entertainer of royalty. "cynthia's revels," the second "comical satire," was acted in , and, as a play, is even more lengthy, elaborate, and impossible than "every man out of his humour." here personal satire seems to have absorbed everything, and while much of the caricature is admirable, especially in the detail of witty and trenchantly satirical dialogue, the central idea of a fountain of self-love is not very well carried out, and the persons revert at times to abstractions, the action to allegory. it adds to our wonder that this difficult drama should have been acted by the children of queen elizabeth's chapel, among them nathaniel field with whom jonson read horace and martial, and whom he taught later how to make plays. another of these precocious little actors was salathiel pavy, who died before he was thirteen, already famed for taking the parts of old men. him jonson immortalised in one of the sweetest of his epitaphs. an interesting sidelight is this on the character of this redoubtable and rugged satirist, that he should thus have befriended and tenderly remembered these little theatrical waifs, some of whom (as we know) had been literally kidnapped to be pressed into the service of the theatre and whipped to the conning of their difficult parts. to the caricature of daniel and munday in "cynthia's revels" must be added anaides (impudence), here assuredly marston, and asotus (the prodigal), interpreted as lodge or, more perilously, raleigh. crites, like asper-macilente in "every man out of his humour," is jonson's self-complaisant portrait of himself, the just, wholly admirable, and judicious scholar, holding his head high above the pack of the yelping curs of envy and detraction, but careless of their puny attacks on his perfections with only too mindful a neglect. the third and last of the "comical satires" is "poetaster," acted, once more, by the children of the chapel in , and jonson's only avowed contribution to the fray. according to the author's own account, this play was written in fifteen weeks on a report that his enemies had entrusted to dekker the preparation of "satiromastix, the untrussing of the humorous poet," a dramatic attack upon himself. in this attempt to forestall his enemies jonson succeeded, and "poetaster" was an immediate and deserved success. while hardly more closely knit in structure than its earlier companion pieces, "poetaster" is planned to lead up to the ludicrous final scene in which, after a device borrowed from the "lexiphanes" of lucian, the offending poetaster, marston-crispinus, is made to throw up the difficult words with which he had overburdened his stomach as well as overlarded his vocabulary. in the end crispinus with his fellow, dekker-demetrius, is bound over to keep the peace and never thenceforward "malign, traduce, or detract the person or writings of quintus horatius flaccus [jonson] or any other eminent man transcending you in merit." one of the most diverting personages in jonson's comedy is captain tucca. "his peculiarity" has been well described by ward as "a buoyant blackguardism which recovers itself instantaneously from the most complete exposure, and a picturesqueness of speech like that of a walking dictionary of slang." it was this character, captain tucca, that dekker hit upon in his reply, "satiromastix," and he amplified him, turning his abusive vocabulary back upon jonson and adding "an immodesty to his dialogue that did not enter into jonson's conception." it has been held, altogether plausibly, that when dekker was engaged professionally, so to speak, to write a dramatic reply to jonson, he was at work on a species of chronicle history, dealing with the story of walter terill in the reign of william rufus. this he hurriedly adapted to include the satirical characters suggested by "poetaster," and fashioned to convey the satire of his reply. the absurdity of placing horace in the court of a norman king is the result. but dekker's play is not without its palpable hits at the arrogance, the literary pride, and self-righteousness of jonson-horace, whose "ningle" or pal, the absurd asinius bubo, has recently been shown to figure forth, in all likelihood, jonson's friend, the poet drayton. slight and hastily adapted as is "satiromastix," especially in a comparison with the better wrought and more significant satire of "poetaster," the town awarded the palm to dekker, not to jonson; and jonson gave over in consequence his practice of "comical satire." though jonson was cited to appear before the lord chief justice to answer certain charges to the effect that he had attacked lawyers and soldiers in "poetaster," nothing came of this complaint. it may be suspected that much of this furious clatter and give-and-take was pure playing to the gallery. the town was agog with the strife, and on no less an authority than shakespeare ("hamlet," ii. ), we learn that the children's company (acting the plays of jonson) did "so berattle the common stages... that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither." several other plays have been thought to bear a greater or less part in the war of the theatres. among them the most important is a college play, entitled "the return from parnassus," dating - . in it a much-quoted passage makes burbage, as a character, declare: "why here's our fellow shakespeare puts them all down; aye and ben jonson, too. o that ben jonson is a pestilent fellow; he brought up horace, giving the poets a pill, but our fellow shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him bewray his credit." was shakespeare then concerned in this war of the stages? and what could have been the nature of this "purge"? among several suggestions, "troilus and cressida" has been thought by some to be the play in which shakespeare thus "put down" his friend, jonson. a wiser interpretation finds the "purge" in "satiromastix," which, though not written by shakespeare, was staged by his company, and therefore with his approval and under his direction as one of the leaders of that company. the last years of the reign of elizabeth thus saw jonson recognised as a dramatist second only to shakespeare, and not second even to him as a dramatic satirist. but jonson now turned his talents to new fields. plays on subjects derived from classical story and myth had held the stage from the beginning of the drama, so that shakespeare was making no new departure when he wrote his "julius caesar" about . therefore when jonson staged "sejanus," three years later and with shakespeare's company once more, he was only following in the elder dramatist's footsteps. but jonson's idea of a play on classical history, on the one hand, and shakespeare's and the elder popular dramatists, on the other, were very different. heywood some years before had put five straggling plays on the stage in quick succession, all derived from stories in ovid and dramatised with little taste or discrimination. shakespeare had a finer conception of form, but even he was contented to take all his ancient history from north's translation of plutarch and dramatise his subject without further inquiry. jonson was a scholar and a classical antiquarian. he reprobated this slipshod amateurishness, and wrote his "sejanus" like a scholar, reading tacitus, suetonius, and other authorities, to be certain of his facts, his setting, and his atmosphere, and somewhat pedantically noting his authorities in the margin when he came to print. "sejanus" is a tragedy of genuine dramatic power in which is told with discriminating taste the story of the haughty favourite of tiberius with his tragical overthrow. our drama presents no truer nor more painstaking representation of ancient roman life than may be found in jonson's "sejanus" and "catiline his conspiracy," which followed in . a passage in the address of the former play to the reader, in which jonson refers to a collaboration in an earlier version, has led to the surmise that shakespeare may have been that "worthier pen." there is no evidence to determine the matter. in , we find jonson in active collaboration with chapman and marston in the admirable comedy of london life entitled "eastward hoe." in the previous year, marston had dedicated his "malcontent," in terms of fervid admiration, to jonson; so that the wounds of the war of the theatres must have been long since healed. between jonson and chapman there was the kinship of similar scholarly ideals. the two continued friends throughout life. "eastward hoe" achieved the extraordinary popularity represented in a demand for three issues in one year. but this was not due entirely to the merits of the play. in its earliest version a passage which an irritable courtier conceived to be derogatory to his nation, the scots, sent both chapman and jonson to jail; but the matter was soon patched up, for by this time jonson had influence at court. with the accession of king james, jonson began his long and successful career as a writer of masques. he wrote more masques than all his competitors together, and they are of an extraordinary variety and poetic excellence. jonson did not invent the masque; for such premeditated devices to set and frame, so to speak, a court ball had been known and practised in varying degrees of elaboration long before his time. but jonson gave dramatic value to the masque, especially in his invention of the antimasque, a comedy or farcical element of relief, entrusted to professional players or dancers. he enhanced, as well, the beauty and dignity of those portions of the masque in which noble lords and ladies took their parts to create, by their gorgeous costumes and artistic grouping and evolutions, a sumptuous show. on the mechanical and scenic side jonson had an inventive and ingenious partner in inigo jones, the royal architect, who more than any one man raised the standard of stage representation in the england of his day. jonson continued active in the service of the court in the writing of masques and other entertainments far into the reign of king charles; but, towards the end, a quarrel with jones embittered his life, and the two testy old men appear to have become not only a constant irritation to each other, but intolerable bores at court. in "hymenaei," "the masque of queens," "love freed from ignorance," "lovers made men," "pleasure reconciled to virtue," and many more will be found jonson's aptitude, his taste, his poetry and inventiveness in these by-forms of the drama; while in "the masque of christmas," and "the gipsies metamorphosed" especially, is discoverable that power of broad comedy which, at court as well as in the city, was not the least element of jonson's contemporary popularity. but jonson had by no means given up the popular stage when he turned to the amusement of king james. in "volpone" was produced, "the silent woman" in , "the alchemist" in the following year. these comedies, with "bartholomew fair," , represent jonson at his height, and for constructive cleverness, character successfully conceived in the manner of caricature, wit and brilliancy of dialogue, they stand alone in english drama. "volpone, or the fox," is, in a sense, a transition play from the dramatic satires of the war of the theatres to the purer comedy represented in the plays named above. its subject is a struggle of wit applied to chicanery; for among its dramatis personae, from the villainous fox himself, his rascally servant mosca, voltore (the vulture), corbaccio and corvino (the big and the little raven), to sir politic would-be and the rest, there is scarcely a virtuous character in the play. question has been raised as to whether a story so forbidding can be considered a comedy, for, although the plot ends in the discomfiture and imprisonment of the most vicious, it involves no mortal catastrophe. but jonson was on sound historical ground, for "volpone" is conceived far more logically on the lines of the ancients' theory of comedy than was ever the romantic drama of shakespeare, however repulsive we may find a philosophy of life that facilely divides the world into the rogues and their dupes, and, identifying brains with roguery and innocence with folly, admires the former while inconsistently punishing them. "the silent woman" is a gigantic farce of the most ingenious construction. the whole comedy hinges on a huge joke, played by a heartless nephew on his misanthropic uncle, who is induced to take to himself a wife, young, fair, and warranted silent, but who, in the end, turns out neither silent nor a woman at all. in "the alchemist," again, we have the utmost cleverness in construction, the whole fabric building climax on climax, witty, ingenious, and so plausibly presented that we forget its departures from the possibilities of life. in "the alchemist" jonson represented, none the less to the life, certain sharpers of the metropolis, revelling in their shrewdness and rascality and in the variety of the stupidity and wickedness of their victims. we may object to the fact that the only person in the play possessed of a scruple of honesty is discomfited, and that the greatest scoundrel of all is approved in the end and rewarded. the comedy is so admirably written and contrived, the personages stand out with such lifelike distinctness in their several kinds, and the whole is animated with such verve and resourcefulness that "the alchemist" is a new marvel every time it is read. lastly of this group comes the tremendous comedy, "bartholomew fair," less clear cut, less definite, and less structurally worthy of praise than its three predecessors, but full of the keenest and cleverest of satire and inventive to a degree beyond any english comedy save some other of jonson's own. it is in "bartholomew fair" that we are presented to the immortal caricature of the puritan, zeal-in-the-land busy, and the littlewits that group about him, and it is in this extraordinary comedy that the humour of jonson, always open to this danger, loosens into the rabelaisian mode that so delighted king james in "the gipsies metamorphosed." another comedy of less merit is "the devil is an ass," acted in . it was the failure of this play that caused jonson to give over writing for the public stage for a period of nearly ten years. "volpone" was laid as to scene in venice. whether because of the success of "eastward hoe" or for other reasons, the other three comedies declare in the words of the prologue to "the alchemist": "our scene is london, 'cause we would make known no country's mirth is better than our own." indeed jonson went further when he came to revise his plays for collected publication in his folio of , he transferred the scene of "every man in his humour" from florence to london also, converting signior lorenzo di pazzi to old kno'well, prospero to master welborn, and hesperida to dame kitely "dwelling i' the old jewry." in his comedies of london life, despite his trend towards caricature, jonson has shown himself a genuine realist, drawing from the life about him with an experience and insight rare in any generation. a happy comparison has been suggested between ben jonson and charles dickens. both were men of the people, lowly born and hardly bred. each knew the london of his time as few men knew it; and each represented it intimately and in elaborate detail. both men were at heart moralists, seeking the truth by the exaggerated methods of humour and caricature; perverse, even wrong-headed at times, but possessed of a true pathos and largeness of heart, and when all has been said--though the elizabethan ran to satire, the victorian to sentimentality--leaving the world better for the art that they practised in it. in , the year of the death of shakespeare, jonson collected his plays, his poetry, and his masques for publication in a collective edition. this was an unusual thing at the time and had been attempted by no dramatist before jonson. this volume published, in a carefully revised text, all the plays thus far mentioned, excepting "the case is altered," which jonson did not acknowledge, "bartholomew fair," and "the devil is an ass," which was written too late. it included likewise a book of some hundred and thirty odd "epigrams," in which form of brief and pungent writing jonson was an acknowledged master; "the forest," a smaller collection of lyric and occasional verse and some ten "masques" and "entertainments." in this same year jonson was made poet laureate with a pension of one hundred marks a year. this, with his fees and returns from several noblemen, and the small earnings of his plays must have formed the bulk of his income. the poet appears to have done certain literary hack-work for others, as, for example, parts of the punic wars contributed to raleigh's "history of the world." we know from a story, little to the credit of either, that jonson accompanied raleigh's son abroad in the capacity of a tutor. in jonson was granted the reversion of the office of master of the revels, a post for which he was peculiarly fitted; but he did not live to enjoy its perquisites. jonson was honoured with degrees by both universities, though when and under what circumstances is not known. it has been said that he narrowly escaped the honour of knighthood, which the satirists of the day averred king james was wont to lavish with an indiscriminate hand. worse men were made knights in his day than worthy ben jonson. from to the close of the reign of king james, jonson produced nothing for the stage. but he "prosecuted" what he calls "his wonted studies" with such assiduity that he became in reality, as by report, one of the most learned men of his time. jonson's theory of authorship involved a wide acquaintance with books and "an ability," as he put it, "to convert the substance or riches of another poet to his own use." accordingly jonson read not only the greek and latin classics down to the lesser writers, but he acquainted himself especially with the latin writings of his learned contemporaries, their prose as well as their poetry, their antiquities and curious lore as well as their more solid learning. though a poor man, jonson was an indefatigable collector of books. he told drummond that "the earl of pembroke sent him pounds every first day of the new year to buy new books." unhappily, in , his library was destroyed by fire, an accident serio-comically described in his witty poem, "an execration upon vulcan." yet even now a book turns up from time to time in which is inscribed, in fair large italian lettering, the name, ben jonson. with respect to jonson's use of his material, dryden said memorably of him: "[he] was not only a professed imitator of horace, but a learned plagiary of all the others; you track him everywhere in their snow.... but he has done his robberies so openly that one sees he fears not to be taxed by any law. he invades authors like a monarch, and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him." and yet it is but fair to say that jonson prided himself, and justly, on his originality. in "catiline," he not only uses sallust's account of the conspiracy, but he models some of the speeches of cicero on the roman orator's actual words. in "poetaster," he lifts a whole satire out of horace and dramatises it effectively for his purposes. the sophist libanius suggests the situation of "the silent woman"; a latin comedy of giordano bruno, "il candelaio," the relation of the dupes and the sharpers in "the alchemist," the "mostellaria" of plautus, its admirable opening scene. but jonson commonly bettered his sources, and putting the stamp of his sovereignty on whatever bullion he borrowed made it thenceforward to all time current and his own. the lyric and especially the occasional poetry of jonson has a peculiar merit. his theory demanded design and the perfection of literary finish. he was furthest from the rhapsodist and the careless singer of an idle day; and he believed that apollo could only be worthily served in singing robes and laurel crowned. and yet many of jonson's lyrics will live as long as the language. who does not know "queen and huntress, chaste and fair." "drink to me only with thine eyes," or "still to be neat, still to be dressed"? beautiful in form, deft and graceful in expression, with not a word too much or one that bears not its part in the total effect, there is yet about the lyrics of jonson a certain stiffness and formality, a suspicion that they were not quite spontaneous and unbidden, but that they were carved, so to speak, with disproportionate labour by a potent man of letters whose habitual thought is on greater things. it is for these reasons that jonson is even better in the epigram and in occasional verse where rhetorical finish and pointed wit less interfere with the spontaneity and emotion which we usually associate with lyrical poetry. there are no such epitaphs as ben jonson's, witness the charming ones on his own children, on salathiel pavy, the child-actor, and many more; and this even though the rigid law of mine and thine must now restore to william browne of tavistock the famous lines beginning: "underneath this sable hearse." jonson is unsurpassed, too, in the difficult poetry of compliment, seldom falling into fulsome praise and disproportionate similitude, yet showing again and again a generous appreciation of worth in others, a discriminating taste and a generous personal regard. there was no man in england of his rank so well known and universally beloved as ben jonson. the list of his friends, of those to whom he had written verses, and those who had written verses to him, includes the name of every man of prominence in the england of king james. and the tone of many of these productions discloses an affectionate familiarity that speaks for the amiable personality and sound worth of the laureate. in , growing unwieldy through inactivity, jonson hit upon the heroic remedy of a journey afoot to scotland. on his way thither and back he was hospitably received at the houses of many friends and by those to whom his friends had recommended him. when he arrived in edinburgh, the burgesses met to grant him the freedom of the city, and drummond, foremost of scottish poets, was proud to entertain him for weeks as his guest at hawthornden. some of the noblest of jonson's poems were inspired by friendship. such is the fine "ode to the memory of sir lucius cary and sir henry moryson," and that admirable piece of critical insight and filial affection, prefixed to the first shakespeare folio, "to the memory of my beloved master, william shakespeare, and what he hath left us," to mention only these. nor can the earlier "epode," beginning "not to know vice at all," be matched in stately gravity and gnomic wisdom in its own wise and stately age. but if jonson had deserted the stage after the publication of his folio and up to the end of the reign of king james, he was far from inactive; for year after year his inexhaustible inventiveness continued to contribute to the masquing and entertainment at court. in "the golden age restored," pallas turns the iron age with its attendant evils into statues which sink out of sight; in "pleasure reconciled to virtue," atlas figures represented as an old man, his shoulders covered with snow, and comus, "the god of cheer or the belly," is one of the characters, a circumstance which an imaginative boy of ten, named john milton, was not to forget. "pan's anniversary," late in the reign of james, proclaimed that jonson had not yet forgotten how to write exquisite lyrics, and "the gipsies metamorphosed" displayed the old drollery and broad humorous stroke still unimpaired and unmatchable. these, too, and the earlier years of charles were the days of the apollo room of the devil tavern where jonson presided, the absolute monarch of english literary bohemia. we hear of a room blazoned about with jonson's own judicious "leges convivales" in letters of gold, of a company made up of the choicest spirits of the time, devotedly attached to their veteran dictator, his reminiscences, opinions, affections, and enmities. and we hear, too, of valorous potations; but in the words of herrick addressed to his master, jonson, at the devil tavern, as at the dog, the triple tun, and at the mermaid, "we such clusters had as made us nobly wild, not mad, and yet each verse of thine outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine." but the patronage of the court failed in the days of king charles, though jonson was not without royal favours; and the old poet returned to the stage, producing, between and , "the staple of news," "the new inn," "the magnetic lady," and "the tale of a tub," the last doubtless revised from a much earlier comedy. none of these plays met with any marked success, although the scathing generalisation of dryden that designated them "jonson's dotages" is unfair to their genuine merits. thus the idea of an office for the gathering, proper dressing, and promulgation of news (wild flight of the fancy in its time) was an excellent subject for satire on the existing absurdities among newsmongers; although as much can hardly be said for "the magnetic lady," who, in her bounty, draws to her personages of differing humours to reconcile them in the end according to the alternative title, or "humours reconciled." these last plays of the old dramatist revert to caricature and the hard lines of allegory; the moralist is more than ever present, the satire degenerates into personal lampoon, especially of his sometime friend, inigo jones, who appears unworthily to have used his influence at court against the broken-down old poet. and now disease claimed jonson, and he was bedridden for months. he had succeeded middleton in as chronologer to the city of london, but lost the post for not fulfilling its duties. king charles befriended him, and even commissioned him to write still for the entertainment of the court; and he was not without the sustaining hand of noble patrons and devoted friends among the younger poets who were proud to be "sealed of the tribe of ben." jonson died, august , , and a second folio of his works, which he had been some time gathering, was printed in , bearing in its various parts dates ranging from to . it included all the plays mentioned in the foregoing paragraphs, excepting "the case is altered;" the masques, some fifteen, that date between and ; another collection of lyrics and occasional poetry called "underwoods", including some further entertainments; a translation of "horace's art of poetry" (also published in a vicesimo quarto in ), and certain fragments and ingatherings which the poet would hardly have included himself. these last comprise the fragment (less than seventy lines) of a tragedy called "mortimer his fall," and three acts of a pastoral drama of much beauty and poetic spirit, "the sad shepherd." there is also the exceedingly interesting "english grammar" "made by ben jonson for the benefit of all strangers out of his observation of the english language now spoken and in use," in latin and english; and "timber, or discoveries" "made upon men and matter as they have flowed out of his daily reading, or had their reflux to his peculiar notion of the times." the "discoveries," as it is usually called, is a commonplace book such as many literary men have kept, in which their reading was chronicled, passages that took their fancy translated or transcribed, and their passing opinions noted. many passages of jonson's "discoveries" are literal translations from the authors he chanced to be reading, with the reference, noted or not, as the accident of the moment prescribed. at times he follows the line of macchiavelli's argument as to the nature and conduct of princes; at others he clarifies his own conception of poetry and poets by recourse to aristotle. he finds a choice paragraph on eloquence in seneca the elder and applies it to his own recollection of bacon's power as an orator; and another on facile and ready genius, and translates it, adapting it to his recollection of his fellow-playwright, shakespeare. to call such passages--which jonson never intended for publication--plagiarism, is to obscure the significance of words. to disparage his memory by citing them is a preposterous use of scholarship. jonson's prose, both in his dramas, in the descriptive comments of his masques, and in the "discoveries," is characterised by clarity and vigorous directness, nor is it wanting in a fine sense of form or in the subtler graces of diction. when jonson died there was a project for a handsome monument to his memory. but the civil war was at hand, and the project failed. a memorial, not insufficient, was carved on the stone covering his grave in one of the aisles of westminster abbey: "o rare ben jonson." felix e. schelling. the college, philadelphia, u.s.a. the following is a complete list of his published works:-- dramas: every man in his humour, to, ; the case is altered, to, ; every man out of his humour, to, ; cynthia's revels, to, ; poetaster, to, ; sejanus, to, ; eastward ho (with chapman and marston), to, ; volpone, to, ; epicoene, or the silent woman, to, (?), fol., ; the alchemist, to, ; catiline, his conspiracy, to, ; bartholomew fayre, to, (?), fol., ; the divell is an asse, fol., ; the staple of newes, fol., ; the new sun, vo, , fol., ; the magnetic lady, or humours reconcild, fol., ; a tale of a tub, fol., ; the sad shepherd, or a tale of robin hood, fol., ; mortimer his fall (fragment), fol., . to jonson have also been attributed additions to kyd's jeronymo, and collaboration in the widow with fletcher and middleton, and in the bloody brother with fletcher. poems: epigrams, the forrest, underwoods, published in fols., , ; selections: execration against vulcan, and epigrams, ; g. hor. flaccus his art of poetry, englished by ben jonson, ; leges convivialis, fol., . other minor poems first appeared in gifford's edition of works. prose: timber, or discoveries made upon men and matter, fol., ; the english grammar, made by ben jonson for the benefit of strangers, fol., . masques and entertainments were published in the early folios. works: fol., , volume. , ( - ); fol., , - , ; edited by p. whalley, volumes., ; by gifford (with memoir), volumes., , ; re-edited by f. cunningham, volumes., ; in volumes., ; by barry cornwall (with memoir), ; by b. nicholson (mermaid series), with introduction by c. h. herford, , etc.; nine plays, ; ed. h. c. hart (standard library), , etc; plays and poems, with introduction by h. morley (universal library), ; plays ( ) and poems (newnes), ; poems, with memoir by h. bennett (carlton classics), ; masques and entertainments, ed. by h. morley, . selections: j. a. symonds, with biographical and critical essay, (canterbury poets), ; grosart, brave translunary things, ; arber, jonson anthology, ; underwoods, cambridge university press, ; lyrics (jonson, beaumont and fletcher), the chap books, no. , ; songs (from plays, masques, etc.), with earliest known setting, eragny press, . life: see memoirs affixed to works; j. a. symonds (english worthies), ; notes of ben jonson conversations with drummond of hawthornden; shakespeare society, ; ed. with introduction and notes by p. sidney, ; swinburne, a study of ben jonson, . volpone; or, the fox by ben jonson to the most noble and most equal sisters, the two famous universities, for their love and acceptance shewn to his poem in the presentation, ben jonson, the grateful acknowledger, dedicates both it and himself. never, most equal sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent, as that it could raise itself; but there must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and favourers to it. if this be true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide well towards these accidents; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of reputation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. hence is it, that i now render myself grateful, and am studious to justify the bounty of your act; to which, though your mere authority were satisfying, yet it being an age wherein poetry and the professors of it hear so ill on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. it is certain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed, that the too much license of poetasters in this time, hath much deformed their mistress; that, every day, their manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her: but for their petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let the learned suffer, or so divine a skill (which indeed should not be attempted with unclean hands) to fall under the least contempt. for, if men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man's being the good poet, without first being a good man. he that is said to be able to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them to their first strength; that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than human, a master in manners; and can alone, or with a few, effect the business of mankind: this, i take him, is no subject for pride and ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. but it will here be hastily answered, that the writers of these days are other things; that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted, and nothing remaining with them of the dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe usurps; that now, especially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all license of offence to god and man is practised. i dare not deny a great part of this, and am sorry i dare not, because in some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over-true; but that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious slander. for my particular, i can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that i have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness; have loathed the use of such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene: and, howsoever i cannot escape from some, the imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, i have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest infant but hath come into the world with all his teeth; i would ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society, or general order or state, i have provoked? what public person? whether i have not in all these preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? my works are read, allowed, (i speak of those that are intirely mine,) look into them, what broad reproofs have i used? where have i been particular? where personal? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon, creatures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed? yet to which of these so pointingly, as he might not either ingenuously have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease? but it is not rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle me to other men's crimes. i know, that nothing can be so innocently writ or carried, but may be made obnoxious to construction; marry, whilst i bear mine innocence about me, i fear it not. application is now grown a trade with many; and there are that profess to have a key for the decyphering of every thing: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice, under other men's simplest meanings. as for those that will (by faults which charity hath raked up, or common honesty concealed) make themselves a name with the multitude, or, to draw their rude and beastly claps, care not whose living faces they intrench with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival, for me! i choose rather to live graved in obscurity, than share with them in so preposterous a fame. nor can i blame the wishes of those severe and wise patriots, who providing the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a state, desire rather to see fools and devils, and those antique relics of barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous and exploded follies, than behold the wounds of private men, of princes and nations: for, as horace makes trebatius speak among these, "sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et odit." and men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. the increase of which lust in liberty, together with the present trade of the stage, in all their miscelline interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy, to turn the blood of a christian to water. i cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned are the question; when a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, is, through their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age; and those men subject to the petulancy of every vernaculous orator, that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarchs. this it is that hath not only rapt me to present indignation, but made me studious heretofore, and by all my actions, to stand off from them; which may most appear in this my latest work, which you, most learned arbitresses, have seen, judged, and to my crown, approved; wherein i have laboured for their instruction and amendment, to reduce not only the ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesie, to inform men in the best reason of living. and though my catastrophe may, in the strict rigour of comic law, meet with censure, as turning back to my promise; i desire the learned and charitable critic, to have so much faith in me, to think it was done of industry: for, with what ease i could have varied it nearer his scale (but that i fear to boast my own faculty) i could here insert. but my special aim being to put the snaffle in their mouths, that cry out, we never punish vice in our interludes, etc., i took the more liberty; though not without some lines of example, drawn even in the ancients themselves, the goings out of whose comedies are not always joyful, but oft times the bawds, the servants, the rivals, yea, and the masters are mulcted; and fitly, it being the office of a comic poet to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections; to which i shall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. for the present, most reverenced sisters, as i have cared to be thankful for your affections past, and here made the understanding acquainted with some ground of your favours; let me not despair their continuance, to the maturing of some worthier fruits; wherein, if my muses be true to me, i shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those rotten and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kist of all the great and master-spirits of our world. as for the vile and slothful, who never affected an act worthy of celebration, or are so inward with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her, and think it an high point of policy to keep her in contempt, with their declamatory and windy invectives; she shall out of just rage incite her servants (who are genus irritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat farther than their marrow into their fames; and not cinnamus the barber, with his art, shall be able to take out the brands; but they shall live, and be read, till the wretches die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind. from my house in the black-friars, this th day of february, . dramatis personae volpone, a magnifico. mosca, his parasite. voltore, an advocate. corbaccio, an old gentleman. corvino, a merchant. bonario, son to corbaccio. sir politick would-be, a knight. peregrine, a gentleman traveller. nano, a dwarf. castrone, an eunuch. androgyno, an hermaphrodite. grege (or mob). commandadori, officers of justice. mercatori, three merchants. avocatori, four magistrates. notario, the register. lady would-be, sir politick's wife. celia, corvino's wife. servitori, servants, two waiting-women, etc. scene: venice. the argument. v olpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs, o ffers his state to hopes of several heirs, l ies languishing: his parasite receives p resents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves o ther cross plots, which ope themselves, are told. n ew tricks for safety are sought; they thrive: when bold, e ach tempts the other again, and all are sold. prologue. now, luck yet sends us, and a little wit will serve to make our play hit; (according to the palates of the season) here is rhime, not empty of reason. this we were bid to credit from our poet, whose true scope, if you would know it, in all his poems still hath been this measure, to mix profit with your pleasure; and not as some, whose throats their envy failing, cry hoarsely, all he writes is railing: and when his plays come forth, think they can flout them, with saying, he was a year about them. to this there needs no lie, but this his creature, which was two months since no feature; and though he dares give them five lives to mend it, 'tis known, five weeks fully penn'd it, from his own hand, without a co-adjutor, novice, journey-man, or tutor. yet thus much i can give you as a token of his play's worth, no eggs are broken, nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted, wherewith your rout are so delighted; nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, to stop gaps in his loose writing; with such a deal of monstrous and forced action, as might make bethlem a faction: nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, but makes jests to fit his fable; and so presents quick comedy refined, as best critics have designed; the laws of time, place, persons he observeth, from no needful rule he swerveth. all gall and copperas from his ink he draineth, only a little salt remaineth, wherewith he'll rub your cheeks, till red, with laughter, they shall look fresh a week after. act . scene . . a room in volpone's house. enter volpone and mosca. volp: good morning to the day; and next, my gold: open the shrine, that i may see my saint. [mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, etc.] hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is the teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun peep through the horns of the celestial ram, am i, to view thy splendour darkening his; that lying here, amongst my other hoards, shew'st like a flame by night; or like the day struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled unto the centre. o thou son of sol, but brighter than thy father, let me kiss, with adoration, thee, and every relick of sacred treasure, in this blessed room. well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, title that age which they would have the best; thou being the best of things: and far transcending all style of joy, in children, parents, friends, or any other waking dream on earth: thy looks when they to venus did ascribe, they should have given her twenty thousand cupids; such are thy beauties and our loves! dear saint, riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues; that canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things; the price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot, is made worth heaven. thou art virtue, fame, honour, and all things else. who can get thee, he shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise,-- mos: and what he will, sir. riches are in fortune a greater good than wisdom is in nature. volp: true, my beloved mosca. yet i glory more in the cunning purchase of my wealth, than in the glad possession; since i gain no common way; i use no trade, no venture; i wound no earth with plough-shares; fat no beasts, to feed the shambles; have no mills for iron, oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder: i blow no subtle glass; expose no ships to threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea; i turn no monies in the public bank, nor usure private. mos: no sir, nor devour soft prodigals. you shall have some will swallow a melting heir as glibly as your dutch will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it; tear forth the fathers of poor families out of their beds, and coffin them alive in some kind clasping prison, where their bones may be forth-coming, when the flesh is rotten: but your sweet nature doth abhor these courses; you lothe the widdow's or the orphan's tears should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. volp: right, mosca; i do lothe it. mos: and besides, sir, you are not like a thresher that doth stand with a huge flail, watching a heap of corn, and, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain, but feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs; nor like the merchant, who hath fill'd his vaults with romagnia, and rich candian wines, yet drinks the lees of lombard's vinegar: you will not lie in straw, whilst moths and worms feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds; you know the use of riches, and dare give now from that bright heap, to me, your poor observer, or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite, your eunuch, or what other household-trifle your pleasure allows maintenance. volp: hold thee, mosca, [gives him money.] take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth in all, and they are envious term thee parasite. call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool, and let them make me sport. [exit mos.] what should i do, but cocker up my genius, and live free to all delights my fortune calls me to? i have no wife, no parent, child, ally, to give my substance to; but whom i make must be my heir: and this makes men observe me: this draws new clients daily, to my house, women and men of every sex and age, that bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels, with hope that when i die (which they expect each greedy minute) it shall then return ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous above the rest, seek to engross me whole, and counter-work the one unto the other, contend in gifts, as they would seem in love: all which i suffer, playing with their hopes, and am content to coin them into profit, to look upon their kindness, and take more, and look on that; still bearing them in hand, letting the cherry knock against their lips, and draw it by their mouths, and back again.-- how now! [re-enter mosca with nano, androgyno, and castrone.] nan: now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know, they do bring you neither play, nor university show; and therefore do entreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse, may not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse. if you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, for know, here is inclosed the soul of pythagoras, that juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow; which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from apollo, and was breath'd into aethalides; mercurius his son, where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done. from thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration to goldy-lock'd euphorbus, who was killed in good fashion, at the siege of old troy, by the cuckold of sparta. hermotimus was next (i find it in my charta) to whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing but with one pyrrhus of delos it learn'd to go a fishing; and thence did it enter the sophist of greece. from pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece, hight aspasia, the meretrix; and the next toss of her was again of a whore, she became a philosopher, crates the cynick, as it self doth relate it: since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords and fools gat it, besides, ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock, in all which it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock. but i come not here to discourse of that matter, or his one, two, or three, or his greath oath, by quater! his musics, his trigon, his golden thigh, or his telling how elements shift, but i would ask, how of late thou best suffered translation, and shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. and: like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, counting all old doctrine heresy. nan: but not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured? and: on fish, when first a carthusian i enter'd. nan: why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee? and: of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me. nan: o wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee! for pythagore's sake, what body then took thee? and: a good dull mule. nan: and how! by that means thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans? and: yes. nan: but from the mule into whom didst thou pass? and: into a very strange beast, by some writers call'd an ass; by others, a precise, pure, illuminate brother, of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another; and will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, betwixt every spoonful of a nativity pie. nan: now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation; and gently report thy next transmigration. and: to the same that i am. nan: a creature of delight, and, what is more than a fool, an hermaphrodite! now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation, which body would'st thou choose, to keep up thy station? and: troth, this i am in: even here would i tarry. nan: 'cause here the delight of each sex thou canst vary? and: alas, those pleasures be stale and forsaken; no, 'tis your fool wherewith i am so taken, the only one creature that i can call blessed: for all other forms i have proved most distressed. nan: spoke true, as thou wert in pythagoras still. this learned opinion we celebrate will, fellow eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art, to dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special a part. volp: now, very, very pretty! mosca, this was thy invention? mos: if it please my patron, not else. volp: it doth, good mosca. mos: then it was, sir. nano and castrone [sing.]: fools, they are the only nation worth men's envy, or admiration: free from care or sorrow-taking, selves and others merry making: all they speak or do is sterling. your fool he is your great man's darling, and your ladies' sport and pleasure; tongue and bauble are his treasure. e'en his face begetteth laughter, and he speaks truth free from slaughter; he's the grace of every feast, and sometimes the chiefest guest; hath his trencher and his stool, when wit waits upon the fool: o, who would not be he, he, he? [knocking without.] volp: who's that? away! [exeunt nano and castrone.] look, mosca. fool, begone! [exit androgyno.] mos: 'tis signior voltore, the advocate; i know him by his knock. volp: fetch me my gown, my furs and night-caps; say, my couch is changing, and let him entertain himself awhile without i' the gallery. [exit mosca.] now, now, my clients begin their visitation! vulture, kite, raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey, that think me turning carcase, now they come; i am not for them yet-- [re-enter mosca, with the gown, etc.] how now! the news? mos: a piece of plate, sir. volp: of what bigness? mos: huge, massy, and antique, with your name inscribed, and arms engraven. volp: good! and not a fox stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights, mocking a gaping crow? ha, mosca? mos: sharp, sir. volp: give me my furs. [puts on his sick dress.] why dost thou laugh so, man? mos: i cannot choose, sir, when i apprehend what thoughts he has without now, as he walks: that this might be the last gift he should give; that this would fetch you; if you died to-day, and gave him all, what he should be to-morrow; what large return would come of all his ventures; how he should worship'd be, and reverenced; ride with his furs, and foot-cloths; waited on by herds of fools, and clients; have clear way made for his mule, as letter'd as himself; be call'd the great and learned advocate: and then concludes, there's nought impossible. volp: yes, to be learned, mosca. mos: o no: rich implies it. hood an ass with reverend purple, so you can hide his two ambitious ears, and he shall pass for a cathedral doctor. volp: my caps, my caps, good mosca. fetch him in. mos: stay, sir, your ointment for your eyes. volp: that's true; dispatch, dispatch: i long to have possession of my new present. mos: that, and thousands more, i hope, to see you lord of. volp: thanks, kind mosca. mos: and that, when i am lost in blended dust, and hundred such as i am, in succession-- volp: nay, that were too much, mosca. mos: you shall live, still, to delude these harpies. volp: loving mosca! 'tis well: my pillow now, and let him enter. [exit mosca.] now, my fain'd cough, my pthisic, and my gout, my apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, help, with your forced functions, this my posture, wherein, this three year, i have milk'd their hopes. he comes; i hear him--uh! [coughing.] uh! uh! uh! o-- [re-enter mosca, introducing voltore, with a piece of plate.] mos: you still are what you were, sir. only you, of all the rest, are he commands his love, and you do wisely to preserve it thus, with early visitation, and kind notes of your good meaning to him, which, i know, cannot but come most grateful. patron! sir! here's signior voltore is come-- volp [faintly.]: what say you? mos: sir, signior voltore is come this morning to visit you. volp: i thank him. mos: and hath brought a piece of antique plate, bought of st mark, with which he here presents you. volp: he is welcome. pray him to come more often. mos: yes. volt: what says he? mos: he thanks you, and desires you see him often. volp: mosca. mos: my patron! volp: bring him near, where is he? i long to feel his hand. mos: the plate is here, sir. volt: how fare you, sir? volp: i thank you, signior voltore; where is the plate? mine eyes are bad. volt [putting it into his hands.]: i'm sorry, to see you still thus weak. mos [aside.]: that he's not weaker. volp: you are too munificent. volt: no sir; would to heaven, i could as well give health to you, as that plate! volp: you give, sir, what you can: i thank you. your love hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd: i pray you see me often. volt: yes, i shall sir. volp: be not far from me. mos: do you observe that, sir? volp: hearken unto me still; it will concern you. mos: you are a happy man, sir; know your good. volp: i cannot now last long-- mos: you are his heir, sir. volt: am i? volp: i feel me going; uh! uh! uh! uh! i'm sailing to my port, uh! uh! uh! uh! and i am glad i am so near my haven. mos: alas, kind gentleman! well, we must all go-- volt: but, mosca-- mos: age will conquer. volt: 'pray thee hear me: am i inscribed his heir for certain? mos: are you! i do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe to write me in your family. all my hopes depend upon your worship: i am lost, except the rising sun do shine on me. volt: it shall both shine, and warm thee, mosca. mos: sir, i am a man, that hath not done your love all the worst offices: here i wear your keys, see all your coffers and your caskets lock'd, keep the poor inventory of your jewels, your plate and monies; am your steward, sir. husband your goods here. volt: but am i sole heir? mos: without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning: the wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry upon the parchment. volt: happy, happy, me! by what good chance, sweet mosca? mos: your desert, sir; i know no second cause. volt: thy modesty is not to know it; well, we shall requite it. mos: he ever liked your course sir; that first took him. i oft have heard him say, how he admired men of your large profession, that could speak to every cause, and things mere contraries, till they were hoarse again, yet all be law; that, with most quick agility, could turn, and [re-] return; [could] make knots, and undo them; give forked counsel; take provoking gold on either hand, and put it up: these men, he knew, would thrive with their humility. and, for his part, he thought he should be blest to have his heir of such a suffering spirit, so wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue, and loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce lie still, without a fee; when every word your worship but lets fall, is a chequin!-- [loud knocking without.] who's that? one knocks; i would not have you seen, sir. and yet--pretend you came, and went in haste: i'll fashion an excuse.--and, gentle sir, when you do come to swim in golden lard, up to the arms in honey, that your chin is born up stiff, with fatness of the flood, think on your vassal; but remember me: i have not been your worst of clients. volt: mosca!-- mos: when will you have your inventory brought, sir? or see a coppy of the will?--anon!-- i will bring them to you, sir. away, be gone, put business in your face. [exit voltore.] volp [springing up.]: excellent mosca! come hither, let me kiss thee. mos: keep you still, sir. here is corbaccio. volp: set the plate away: the vulture's gone, and the old raven's come! mos: betake you to your silence, and your sleep: stand there and multiply. [putting the plate to the rest.] now, shall we see a wretch who is indeed more impotent than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop over his grave.-- [enter corbaccio.] signior corbaccio! you're very welcome, sir. corb: how does your patron? mos: troth, as he did, sir; no amends. corb: what! mends he? mos: no, sir: he's rather worse. corb: that's well. where is he? mos: upon his couch sir, newly fall'n asleep. corb: does he sleep well? mos: no wink, sir, all this night. nor yesterday; but slumbers. corb: good! he should take some counsel of physicians: i have brought him an opiate here, from mine own doctor. mos: he will not hear of drugs. corb: why? i myself stood by while it was made; saw all the ingredients: and know, it cannot but most gently work: my life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. volp [aside.]: ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. mos: sir, he has no faith in physic. corb: 'say you? 'say you? mos: he has no faith in physic: he does think most of your doctors are the greater danger, and worse disease, to escape. i often have heard him protest, that your physician should never be his heir. corb: not i his heir? mos: not your physician, sir. corb: o, no, no, no, i do not mean it. mos: no, sir, nor their fees he cannot brook: he says, they flay a man, before they kill him. corb: right, i do conceive you. mos: and then they do it by experiment; for which the law not only doth absolve them, but gives them great reward: and he is loth to hire his death, so. corb: it is true, they kill, with as much license as a judge. mos: nay, more; for he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, and these can kill him too. corb: ay, or me; or any man. how does his apoplex? is that strong on him still? mos: most violent. his speech is broken, and his eyes are set, his face drawn longer than 'twas wont-- corb: how! how! stronger then he was wont? mos: no, sir: his face drawn longer than 'twas wont. corb: o, good! mos: his mouth is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. corb: good. mos: a freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, and makes the colour of his flesh like lead. corb: 'tis good. mos: his pulse beats slow, and dull. corb: good symptoms, still. mos: and from his brain-- corb: i conceive you; good. mos: flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, forth the resolved corners of his eyes. corb: is't possible? yet i am better, ha! how does he, with the swimming of his head? b: o, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: you hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. corb: excellent, excellent! sure i shall outlast him: this makes me young again, a score of years. mos: i was a coming for you, sir. corb: has he made his will? what has he given me? mos: no, sir. corb: nothing! ha? mos: he has not made his will, sir. corb: oh, oh, oh! but what did voltore, the lawyer, here? mos: he smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard my master was about his testament; as i did urge him to it for your good-- corb: he came unto him, did he? i thought so. mos: yes, and presented him this piece of plate. corb: to be his heir? mos: i do not know, sir. corb: true: i know it too. mos [aside.]: by your own scale, sir. corb: well, i shall prevent him, yet. see, mosca, look, here, i have brought a bag of bright chequines, will quite weigh down his plate. mos [taking the bag.]: yea, marry, sir. this is true physic, this your sacred medicine, no talk of opiates, to this great elixir! corb: 'tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile. mos: it shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl. corb: ay, do, do, do. mos: most blessed cordial! this will recover him. corb: yes, do, do, do. mos: i think it were not best, sir. corb: what? mos: to recover him. corb: o, no, no, no; by no means. mos: why, sir, this will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. corb: 'tis true, therefore forbear; i'll take my venture: give me it again. mos: at no hand; pardon me: you shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. i will so advise you, you shall have it all. corb: how? mos: all, sir; 'tis your right, your own; no man can claim a part: 'tis yours, without a rival, decreed by destiny. corb: how, how, good mosca? mos: i'll tell you sir. this fit he shall recover. corb: i do conceive you. mos: and, on first advantage of his gain'd sense, will i re-importune him unto the making of his testament: and shew him this. [pointing to the money.] corb: good, good. mos: 'tis better yet, if you will hear, sir. corb: yes, with all my heart. mos: now, would i counsel you, make home with speed; there, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe my master your sole heir. corb: and disinherit my son! mos: o, sir, the better: for that colour shall make it much more taking. corb: o, but colour? mos: this will sir, you shall send it unto me. now, when i come to inforce, as i will do, your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, your more than many gifts, your this day's present, and last, produce your will; where, without thought, or least regard, unto your proper issue, a son so brave, and highly meriting, the stream of your diverted love hath thrown you upon my master, and made him your heir: he cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead, but out of conscience, and mere gratitude-- corb: he must pronounce me his? mos: 'tis true. corb: this plot did i think on before. mos: i do believe it. corb: do you not believe it? mos: yes, sir. corb: mine own project. mos: which, when he hath done, sir. corb: publish'd me his heir? mos: and you so certain to survive him-- corb: ay. mos: being so lusty a man-- corb: 'tis true. mos: yes, sir-- corb: i thought on that too. see, how he should be the very organ to express my thoughts! mos: you have not only done yourself a good-- corb: but multiplied it on my son. mos: 'tis right, sir. corb: still, my invention. mos: 'las, sir! heaven knows, it hath been all my study, all my care, (i e'en grow gray withal,) how to work things-- corb: i do conceive, sweet mosca. mos: you are he, for whom i labour here. corb: ay, do, do, do: i'll straight about it. [going.] mos: rook go with you, raven! corb: i know thee honest. mos [aside.]: you do lie, sir! corb: and-- mos: your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir. corb: i do not doubt, to be a father to thee. mos: nor i to gull my brother of his blessing. corb: i may have my youth restored to me, why not? mos: your worship is a precious ass! corb: what say'st thou? mos: i do desire your worship to make haste, sir. corb: 'tis done, 'tis done, i go. [exit.] volp [leaping from his couch.]: o, i shall burst! let out my sides, let out my sides-- mos: contain your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope is such a bait, it covers any hook. volp: o, but thy working, and thy placing it! i cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: i never knew thee in so rare a humour. mos: alas sir, i but do as i am taught; follow your grave instructions; give them words; pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. volp: 'tis true, 'tis true. what a rare punishment is avarice to itself! mos: ay, with our help, sir. volp: so many cares, so many maladies, so many fears attending on old age, yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, all dead before them; yea, their very teeth, their instruments of eating, failing them: yet this is reckon'd life! nay, here was one; is now gone home, that wishes to live longer! feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigns himself younger by scores of years, flatters his age with confident belying it, hopes he may, with charms, like aeson, have his youth restored: and with these thoughts so battens, as if fate would be as easily cheated on, as he, and all turns air! [knocking within.] who's that there, now? a third? mos: close, to your couch again; i hear his voice: it is corvino, our spruce merchant. volp [lies down as before.]: dead. mos: another bout, sir, with your eyes. [anointing them.] --who's there? [enter corvino.] signior corvino! come most wish'd for! o, how happy were you, if you knew it, now! corv: why? what? wherein? mos: the tardy hour is come, sir. corv: he is not dead? mos: not dead, sir, but as good; he knows no man. corv: how shall i do then? mos: why, sir? corv: i have brought him here a pearl. mos: perhaps he has so much remembrance left, as to know you, sir: he still calls on you; nothing but your name is in his mouth: is your pearl orient, sir? corv: venice was never owner of the like. volp [faintly.]: signior corvino. mos: hark. volp: signior corvino! mos: he calls you; step and give it him.--he's here, sir, and he has brought you a rich pearl. corv: how do you, sir? tell him, it doubles the twelfth caract. mos: sir, he cannot understand, his hearing's gone; and yet it comforts him to see you-- corv: say, i have a diamond for him, too. mos: best shew it, sir; put it into his hand; 'tis only there he apprehends: he has his feeling, yet. see how he grasps it! corv: 'las, good gentleman! how pitiful the sight is! mos: tut! forget, sir. the weeping of an heir should still be laughter under a visor. corv: why, am i his heir? mos: sir, i am sworn, i may not shew the will, till he be dead; but, here has been corbaccio, here has been voltore, here were others too, i cannot number 'em, they were so many; all gaping here for legacies: but i, taking the vantage of his naming you, "signior corvino, signior corvino," took paper, and pen, and ink, and there i asked him, whom he would have his heir? "corvino." who should be executor? "corvino." and, to any question he was silent too, i still interpreted the nods he made, through weakness, for consent: and sent home th' others, nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse. corv: o, my dear mosca! [they embrace.] does he not perceive us? mos: no more than a blind harper. he knows no man, no face of friend, nor name of any servant, who 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink: not those he hath begotten, or brought up, can he remember. corv: has he children? mos: bastards, some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, gipsies, and jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk. knew you not that, sir? 'tis the common fable. the dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his; he's the true father of his family, in all, save me:--but he has giv'n them nothing. corv: that's well, that's well. art sure he does not hear us? mos: sure, sir! why, look you, credit your own sense. [shouts in vol.'s ear.] the pox approach, and add to your diseases, if it would send you hence the sooner, sir, for your incontinence, it hath deserv'd it thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot!-- you may come near, sir.--would you would once close those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime, like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks, cover'd with hide, instead of skin--nay help, sir-- that look like frozen dish-clouts, set on end! corv [aloud.]: or like an old smoked wall, on which the rain ran down in streaks! mos: excellent! sir, speak out: you may be louder yet: a culverin discharged in his ear would hardly bore it. corv: his nose is like a common sewer, still running. mos: 'tis good! and what his mouth? corv: a very draught. mos: o, stop it up-- corv: by no means. mos: 'pray you, let me. faith i could stifle him, rarely with a pillow, as well as any woman that should keep him. corv: do as you will: but i'll begone. mos: be so: it is your presence makes him last so long. corv: i pray you, use no violence. mos: no, sir! why? why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir? corv: nay, at your discretion. mos: well, good sir, begone. corv: i will not trouble him now, to take my pearl. mos: puh! nor your diamond. what a needless care is this afflicts you? is not all here yours? am not i here, whom you have made your creature? that owe my being to you? corv: grateful mosca! thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, my partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes. mos: excepting one. corv: what's that? mos: your gallant wife, sir,-- [exit corv.] now is he gone: we had no other means to shoot him hence, but this. volp: my divine mosca! thou hast to-day outgone thyself. [knocking within.] --who's there? i will be troubled with no more. prepare me music, dances, banquets, all delights; the turk is not more sensual in his pleasures, than will volpone. [exit mos.] let me see; a pearl! a diamond! plate! chequines! good morning's purchase, why, this is better than rob churches, yet; or fat, by eating, once a month, a man. [re-enter mosca.] who is't? mos: the beauteous lady would-be, sir. wife to the english knight, sir politick would-be, (this is the style, sir, is directed me,) hath sent to know how you have slept to-night, and if you would be visited? volp: not now: some three hours hence-- mos: i told the squire so much. volp: when i am high with mirth and wine; then, then: 'fore heaven, i wonder at the desperate valour of the bold english, that they dare let loose their wives to all encounters! mos: sir, this knight had not his name for nothing, he is politick, and knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs, she hath not yet the face to be dishonest: but had she signior corvino's wife's face-- volp: has she so rare a face? mos: o, sir, the wonder, the blazing star of italy! a wench of the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest! whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, than silver, snow, or lilies! a soft lip, would tempt you to eternity of kissing! and flesh that melteth in the touch to blood! bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold! volp: why had not i known this before? mos: alas, sir, myself but yesterday discover'd it. volp: how might i see her? mos: o, not possible; she's kept as warily as is your gold; never does come abroad, never takes air, but at a window. all her looks are sweet, as the first grapes or cherries, and are watch'd as near as they are. volp: i must see her. mos: sir, there is a guard of spies ten thick upon her, all his whole household; each of which is set upon his fellow, and have all their charge, when he goes out, when he comes in, examined. volp: i will go see her, though but at her window. mos: in some disguise, then. volp: that is true; i must maintain mine own shape still the same: we'll think. [exeunt.] act . scene . . st. mark's place; a retired corner before corvino's house. enter sir politick would-be, and peregrine. sir p: sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil: it is not italy, nor france, nor europe, that must bound me, if my fates call me forth. yet, i protest, it is no salt desire of seeing countries, shifting a religion, nor any disaffection to the state where i was bred, and unto which i owe my dearest plots, hath brought me out; much less, that idle, antique, stale, gray-headed project of knowing men's minds, and manners, with ulysses! but a peculiar humour of my wife's laid for this height of venice, to observe, to quote, to learn the language, and so forth-- i hope you travel, sir, with license? per: yes. sir p: i dare the safelier converse--how long, sir, since you left england? per: seven weeks. sir p: so lately! you have not been with my lord ambassador? per: not yet, sir. sir p: pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate? i heard last night a most strange thing reported by some of my lord's followers, and i long to hear how 'twill be seconded. per: what was't, sir? sir p: marry, sir, of a raven that should build in a ship royal of the king's. per [aside.]: this fellow, does he gull me, trow? or is gull'd? --your name, sir. sir p: my name is politick would-be. per [aside.]: o, that speaks him. --a knight, sir? sir p: a poor knight, sir. per: your lady lies here in venice, for intelligence of tires, and fashions, and behaviour, among the courtezans? the fine lady would-be? sir p: yes, sir; the spider and the bee, ofttimes, suck from one flower. per: good sir politick, i cry you mercy; i have heard much of you: 'tis true, sir, of your raven. sir p: on your knowledge? per: yes, and your lion's whelping, in the tower. sir p: another whelp! per: another, sir. sir p: now heaven! what prodigies be these? the fires at berwick! and the new star! these things concurring, strange, and full of omen! saw you those meteors? per: i did, sir. sir p: fearful! pray you, sir, confirm me, were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, as they give out? per: six, and a sturgeon, sir. sir p: i am astonish'd. per: nay, sir, be not so; i'll tell you a greater prodigy than these. sir p: what should these things portend? per: the very day (let me be sure) that i put forth from london, there was a whale discover'd in the river, as high as woolwich, that had waited there, few know how many months, for the subversion of the stode fleet. sir p: is't possible? believe it, 'twas either sent from spain, or the archdukes: spinola's whale, upon my life, my credit! will they not leave these projects? worthy sir, some other news. per: faith, stone the fool is dead; and they do lack a tavern fool extremely. sir p: is mass stone dead? per: he's dead sir; why, i hope you thought him not immortal? [aside.] --o, this knight, were he well known, would be a precious thing to fit our english stage: he that should write but such a fellow, should be thought to feign extremely, if not maliciously. sir p: stone dead! per: dead.--lord! how deeply sir, you apprehend it? he was no kinsman to you? sir p: that i know of. well! that same fellow was an unknown fool. per: and yet you knew him, it seems? sir p: i did so. sir, i knew him one of the most dangerous heads living within the state, and so i held him. per: indeed, sir? sir p: while he lived, in action. he has received weekly intelligence, upon my knowledge, out of the low countries, for all parts of the world, in cabbages; and those dispensed again to ambassadors, in oranges, musk-melons, apricocks, lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like: sometimes in colchester oysters, and your selsey cockles. per: you make me wonder. sir p: sir, upon my knowledge. nay, i've observed him, at your public ordinary, take his advertisement from a traveller a conceal'd statesman, in a trencher of meat; and instantly, before the meal was done, convey an answer in a tooth-pick. per: strange! how could this be, sir? sir p: why, the meat was cut so like his character, and so laid, as he must easily read the cipher. per: i have heard, he could not read, sir. sir p: so 'twas given out, in policy, by those that did employ him: but he could read, and had your languages, and to't, as sound a noddle-- per: i have heard, sir, that your baboons were spies, and that they were a kind of subtle nation near to china: sir p: ay, ay, your mamuluchi. faith, they had their hand in a french plot or two; but they were so extremely given to women, as they made discovery of all: yet i had my advices here, on wednesday last. from one of their own coat, they were return'd, made their relations, as the fashion is, and now stand fair for fresh employment. per: 'heart! [aside.] this sir pol will be ignorant of nothing. --it seems, sir, you know all? sir p: not all sir, but i have some general notions. i do love to note and to observe: though i live out, free from the active torrent, yet i'd mark the currents and the passages of things, for mine own private use; and know the ebbs, and flows of state. per: believe it, sir, i hold myself in no small tie unto my fortunes, for casting me thus luckily upon you, whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it, may do me great assistance, in instruction for my behaviour, and my bearing, which is yet so rude and raw. sir p: why, came you forth empty of rules, for travel? per: faith, i had some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar, which he that cried italian to me, taught me. sir p: why this it is, that spoils all our brave bloods, trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants, fellows of outside, and mere bark. you seem to be a gentleman, of ingenuous race:-- i not profess it, but my fate hath been to be, where i have been consulted with, in this high kind, touching some great men's sons, persons of blood, and honour.-- [enter mosca and nano disguised, followed by persons with materials for erecting a stage.] per: who be these, sir? mos: under that window, there 't must be. the same. sir p: fellows, to mount a bank. did your instructor in the dear tongues, never discourse to you of the italian mountebanks? per: yes, sir. sir p: why, here shall you see one. per: they are quacksalvers; fellows, that live by venting oils and drugs. sir p: was that the character he gave you of them? per: as i remember. sir p: pity his ignorance. they are the only knowing men of europe! great general scholars, excellent physicians, most admired statesmen, profest favourites, and cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes; the only languaged men of all the world! per: and, i have heard, they are most lewd impostors; made all of terms and shreds; no less beliers of great men's favours, than their own vile med'cines; which they will utter upon monstrous oaths: selling that drug for two-pence, ere they part, which they have valued at twelve crowns before. sir p: sir, calumnies are answer'd best with silence. yourself shall judge.--who is it mounts, my friends? mos: scoto of mantua, sir. sir p: is't he? nay, then i'll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold another man than has been phant'sied to you. i wonder yet, that he should mount his bank, here in this nook, that has been wont t'appear in face of the piazza!--here, he comes. [enter volpone, disguised as a mountebank doctor, and followed by a crowd of people.] volp [to nano.]: mount zany. mob: follow, follow, follow, follow! sir p: see how the people follow him! he's a man may write ten thousand crowns in bank here. note, [volpone mounts the stage.] mark but his gesture:--i do use to observe the state he keeps in getting up. per: 'tis worth it, sir. volp: most noble gentlemen, and my worthy patrons! it may seem strange, that i, your scoto mantuano, who was ever wont to fix my bank in face of the public piazza, near the shelter of the portico to the procuratia, should now, after eight months' absence from this illustrious city of venice, humbly retire myself into an obscure nook of the piazza. sir p: did not i now object the same? per: peace, sir. volp: let me tell you: i am not, as your lombard proverb saith, cold on my feet; or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, than i accustomed: look not for it. nor that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our profession, (alessandro buttone, i mean,) who gave out, in public, i was condemn'd a sforzato to the galleys, for poisoning the cardinal bembo's--cook, hath at all attached, much less dejected me. no, no, worthy gentlemen; to tell you true, i cannot endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlitani, that spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do feats of activity, and then come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out of boccacio, like stale tabarine, the fabulist: some of them discoursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the turks' galleys, when, indeed, were the truth known, they were the christians' galleys, where very temperately they eat bread, and drunk water, as a wholesome penance, enjoined them by their confessors, for base pilferies. sir p: note but his bearing, and contempt of these. volp: these turdy-facy-nasty-paty-lousy-fartical rogues, with one poor groat's-worth of unprepared antimony, finely wrapt up in several scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, and play; yet, these meagre, starved spirits, who have half stopt the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shrivell'd sallad-eating artizans, who are overjoyed that they may have their half-pe'rth of physic; though it purge them into another world, it makes no matter. sir p: excellent! have you heard better language, sir? volp: well, let them go. and, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, know, that for this time, our bank, being thus removed from the clamours of the canaglia, shall be the scene of pleasure and delight; for i have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell. sir p: i told you, sir, his end. per: you did so, sir. volp: i protest, i, and my six servants, are not able to make of this precious liquor, so fast as it is fetch'd away from my lodging by gentlemen of your city; strangers of the terra-firma; worshipful merchants; ay, and senators too: who, ever since my arrival, have detained me to their uses, by their splendidous liberalities. and worthily; for, what avails your rich man to have his magazines stuft with moscadelli, or of the purest grape, when his physicians prescribe him, on pain of death, to drink nothing but water cocted with aniseeds? o health! health! the blessing of the rich, the riches of the poor! who can buy thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enjoying this world without thee? be not then so sparing of your purses, honourable gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of life-- per: you see his end. sir p: ay, is't not good? volp: for, when a humid flux, or catarrh, by the mutability of air, falls from your head into an arm or shoulder, or any other part; take you a ducat, or your chequin of gold, and apply to the place affected: see what good effect it can work. no, no, 'tis this blessed unguento, this rare extraction, that hath only power to disperse all malignant humours, that proceed either of hot, cold, moist, or windy causes-- per: i would he had put in dry too. sir p: 'pray you, observe. volp: to fortify the most indigest and crude stomach, ay, were it of one, that, through extreme weakness, vomited blood, applying only a warm napkin to the place, after the unction and fricace;--for the vertigine in the head, putting but a drop into your nostrils, likewise behind the ears; a most sovereign and approved remedy. the mal caduco, cramps, convulsions, paralysies, epilepsies, tremor-cordia, retired nerves, ill vapours of the spleen, stopping of the liver, the stone, the strangury, hernia ventosa, iliaca passio; stops a disenteria immediately; easeth the torsion of the small guts: and cures melancholia hypocondriaca, being taken and applied according to my printed receipt. [pointing to his bill and his vial.] for, this is the physician, this the medicine; this counsels, this cures; this gives the direction, this works the effect; and, in sum, both together may be termed an abstract of the theorick and practick in the aesculapian art. 'twill cost you eight crowns. and,--zan fritada, prithee sing a verse extempore in honour of it. sir p: how do you like him, sir? per: most strangely, i! sir p: is not his language rare? per: but alchemy, i never heard the like: or broughton's books. nano [sings.]: had old hippocrates, or galen, that to their books put med'cines all in, but known this secret, they had never (of which they will be guilty ever) been murderers of so much paper, or wasted many a hurtless taper; no indian drug had e'er been famed, tabacco, sassafras not named; ne yet, of guacum one small stick, sir, nor raymund lully's great elixir. ne had been known the danish gonswart, or paracelsus, with his long-sword. per: all this, yet, will not do, eight crowns is high. volp: no more.--gentlemen, if i had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed oglio del scoto; with the countless catalogue of those i have cured of the aforesaid, and many more diseases; the pattents and privileges of all the princes and commonwealths of christendom; or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part, before the signiory of the sanita and most learned college of physicians; where i was authorised, upon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency in matter of rare and unknown secrets, not only to disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in all the territories, that happily joy under the government of the most pious and magnificent states of italy. but may some other gallant fellow say, o, there be divers that make profession to have as good, and as experimented receipts as yours: indeed, very many have assayed, like apes, in imitation of that, which is really and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stills, alembecks, continual fires, and preparation of the ingredients, (as indeed there goes to it six hundred several simples, besides some quantity of human fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the anatomists,) but, when these practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo: ha, ha, ha! poor wretches! i rather pity their folly and indiscretion, than their loss of time and money; for these may be recovered by industry: but to be a fool born, is a disease incurable. for myself, i always from my youth have endeavoured to get the rarest secrets, and book them, either in exchange, or for money; i spared nor cost nor labour, where any thing was worthy to be learned. and gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, i will undertake, by virtue of chemical art, out of the honourable hat that covers your head, to extract the four elements; that is to say, the fire, air, water, and earth, and return you your felt without burn or stain. for, whilst others have been at the balloo, i have been at my book; and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to the flowery plains of honour and reputation. sir p: i do assure you, sir, that is his aim. volp: but, to our price-- per: and that withal, sir pol. volp: you all know, honourable gentlemen, i never valued this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight crowns, but for this time, i am content, to be deprived of it for six; six crowns is the price; and less, in courtesy i know you cannot offer me; take it, or leave it, howsoever, both it and i am at your service. i ask you not as the value of the thing, for then i should demand of you a thousand crowns, so the cardinals montalto, fernese, the great duke of tuscany, my gossip, with divers other princes, have given me; but i despise money. only to shew my affection to you, honourable gentlemen, and your illustrious state here, i have neglected the messages of these princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, only to present you with the fruits of my travels.--tune your voices once more to the touch of your instruments, and give the honourable assembly some delightful recreation. per: what monstrous and most painful circumstance is here, to get some three or four gazettes, some three-pence in the whole! for that 'twill come to. nano [sings.]: you that would last long, list to my song, make no more coil, but buy of this oil. would you be ever fair and young? stout of teeth, and strong of tongue? tart of palate? quick of ear? sharp of sight? of nostril clear? moist of hand? and light of foot? or, i will come nearer to't, would you live free from all diseases? do the act your mistress pleases; yet fright all aches from your bones? here's a med'cine, for the nones. volp: well, i am in a humour at this time to make a present of the small quantity my coffer contains; to the rich, in courtesy, and to the poor for god's sake. wherefore now mark: i ask'd you six crowns, and six crowns, at other times, you have paid me; you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor half a ducat; no, nor a moccinigo. sixpence it will cost you, or six hundred pound-- expect no lower price, for, by the banner of my front, i will not bate a bagatine, that i will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from amongst you, to shew i am not contemn'd by you. therefore, now, toss your handkerchiefs, cheerfully, cheerfully; and be advertised, that the first heroic spirit that deignes to grace me with a handkerchief, i will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, than if i had presented it with a double pistolet. per: will you be that heroic spark, sir pol? [celia at a window above, throws down her handkerchief.] o see! the window has prevented you. volp: lady, i kiss your bounty; and for this timely grace you have done your poor scoto of mantua, i will return you, over and above my oil, a secret of that high and inestimable nature, shall make you for ever enamour'd on that minute, wherein your eye first descended on so mean, yet not altogether to be despised, an object. here is a powder conceal'd in this paper, of which, if i should speak to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word; so short is this pilgrimage of man (which some call life) to the expressing of it. would i reflect on the price? why, the whole world is but as an empire, that empire as a province, that province as a bank, that bank as a private purse to the purchase of it. i will only tell you; it is the powder that made venus a goddess (given her by apollo,) that kept her perpetually young, clear'd her wrinkles, firm'd her gums, fill'd her skin, colour'd her hair; from her deriv'd to helen, and at the sack of troy unfortunately lost: till now, in this our age, it was as happily recovered, by a studious antiquary, out of some ruins of asia, who sent a moiety of it to the court of france, (but much sophisticated,) wherewith the ladies there, now, colour their hair. the rest, at this present, remains with me; extracted to a quintessence: so that, whereever it but touches, in youth it perpetually preserves, in age restores the complexion; seats your teeth, did they dance like virginal jacks, firm as a wall; makes them white as ivory, that were black, as-- [enter corvino.] cor: spight o' the devil, and my shame! come down here; come down;--no house but mine to make your scene? signior flaminio, will you down, sir? down? what, is my wife your franciscina, sir? no windows on the whole piazza, here, to make your properties, but mine? but mine? [beats away volpone, nano, etc.] heart! ere to-morrow, i shall be new-christen'd, and call'd the pantalone di besogniosi, about the town. per: what should this mean, sir pol? sir p: some trick of state, believe it. i will home. per: it may be some design on you: sir p: i know not. i'll stand upon my guard. per: it is your best, sir. sir p: this three weeks, all my advices, all my letters, they have been intercepted. per: indeed, sir! best have a care. sir p: nay, so i will. per: this knight, i may not lose him, for my mirth, till night. [exeunt.] scene . . a room in volpone's house. enter volpone and mosca. volp: o, i am wounded! mos: where, sir? volp: not without; those blows were nothing: i could bear them ever. but angry cupid, bolting from her eyes, hath shot himself into me like a flame; where, now, he flings about his burning heat, as in a furnace an ambitious fire, whose vent is stopt. the fight is all within me. i cannot live, except thou help me, mosca; my liver melts, and i, without the hope of some soft air, from her refreshing breath, am but a heap of cinders. mos: 'las, good sir, would you had never seen her! volp: nay, would thou had'st never told me of her! mos: sir 'tis true; i do confess i was unfortunate, and you unhappy: but i'm bound in conscience, no less than duty, to effect my best to your release of torment, and i will, sir. volp: dear mosca, shall i hope? mos: sir, more than dear, i will not bid you to dispair of aught within a human compass. volp: o, there spoke my better angel. mosca, take my keys, gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion; employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too: so thou, in this, but crown my longings, mosca. mos: use but your patience. volp: so i have. mos: i doubt not to bring success to your desires. volp: nay, then, i not repent me of my late disguise. mos: if you can horn him, sir, you need not. volp: true: besides, i never meant him for my heir.-- is not the colour of my beard and eyebrows, to make me known? mos: no jot. volp: i did it well. mos: so well, would i could follow you in mine, with half the happiness! [aside.] --and yet i would escape your epilogue. volp: but were they gull'd with a belief that i was scoto? mos: sir, scoto himself could hardly have distinguish'd! i have not time to flatter you now; we'll part; and as i prosper, so applaud my art. [exeunt.] scene . . a room in corvino's house. enter corvino, with his sword in his hand, dragging in celia. corv: death of mine honour, with the city's fool! a juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank! and at a public window! where, whilst he, with his strain'd action, and his dole of faces, to his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, a crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers, stood leering up like satyrs; and you smile most graciously, and fan your favours forth, to give your hot spectators satisfaction! what; was your mountebank their call? their whistle? or were you enamour'd on his copper rings, his saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't, or his embroider'd suit, with the cope-stitch, made of a herse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather? or his starch'd beard? well; you shall have him, yes! he shall come home, and minister unto you the fricace for the mother. or, let me see, i think you'd rather mount; would you not mount? why, if you'll mount, you may; yes truly, you may: and so you may be seen, down to the foot. get you a cittern, lady vanity, and be a dealer with the virtuous man; make one: i'll but protest myself a cuckold, and save your dowry. i'm a dutchman, i! for, if you thought me an italian, you would be damn'd, ere you did this, you whore! thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder of father, mother, brother, all thy race, should follow, as the subject of my justice. cel: good sir, have pacience. corv: what couldst thou propose less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath and stung with my dishonour, i should strike this steel into thee, with as many stabs, as thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes? cel: alas, sir, be appeas'd! i could not think my being at the window should more now move your impatience, than at other times. corv: no! not to seek and entertain a parley with a known knave, before a multitude! you were an actor with your handkerchief; which he most sweetly kist in the receipt, and might, no doubt, return it with a letter, and point the place where you might meet: your sister's, your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn. cel: why, dear sir, when do i make these excuses, or ever stir abroad, but to the church? and that so seldom-- corv: well, it shall be less; and thy restraint before was liberty, to what i now decree: and therefore mark me. first, i will have this bawdy light damm'd up; and till't be done, some two or three yards off, i'll chalk a line: o'er which if thou but chance to set thy desperate foot; more hell, more horror more wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee, than on a conjurer, that had heedless left his circle's safety ere his devil was laid. then here's a lock which i will hang upon thee; and, now i think on't, i will keep thee backwards; thy lodging shall be backwards; thy walks backwards; thy prospect, all be backwards; and no pleasure, that thou shalt know but backwards: nay, since you force my honest nature, know, it is your own, being too open, makes me use you thus: since you will not contain your subtle nostrils in a sweet room, but they must snuff the air of rank and sweaty passengers. [knocking within.] --one knocks. away, and be not seen, pain of thy life; nor look toward the window: if thou dost-- nay, stay, hear this--let me not prosper, whore, but i will make thee an anatomy, dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture upon thee to the city, and in public. away! [exit celia.] [enter servant.] who's there? serv: 'tis signior mosca, sir. corv: let him come in. [exit servant.] his master's dead: there's yet some good to help the bad.-- [enter mosca.] my mosca, welcome! i guess your news. mos: i fear you cannot, sir. corv: is't not his death? mos: rather the contrary. corv: not his recovery? mos: yes, sir, corv: i am curs'd, i am bewitch'd, my crosses meet to vex me. how? how? how? how? mos: why, sir, with scoto's oil; corbaccio and voltore brought of it, whilst i was busy in an inner room-- corv: death! that damn'd mountebank; but for the law now, i could kill the rascal: it cannot be, his oil should have that virtue. have not i known him a common rogue, come fidling in to the osteria, with a tumbling whore, and, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in't? it cannot be. all his ingredients are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow, some few sod earwigs pounded caterpillars, a little capon's grease, and fasting spittle: i know them to a dram. mos: i know not, sir, but some on't, there, they pour'd into his ears, some in his nostrils, and recover'd him; applying but the fricace. corv: pox o' that fricace. mos: and since, to seem the more officious and flatt'ring of his health, there, they have had, at extreme fees, the college of physicians consulting on him, how they might restore him; where one would have a cataplasm of spices, another a flay'd ape clapp'd to his breast, a third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil, with wild cats' skins: at last, they all resolved that, to preserve him, was no other means, but some young woman must be straight sought out, lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him; and to this service, most unhappily, and most unwillingly, am i now employ'd, which here i thought to pre-acquaint you with, for your advice, since it concerns you most; because, i would not do that thing might cross your ends, on whom i have my whole dependance, sir: yet, if i do it not, they may delate my slackness to my patron, work me out of his opinion; and there all your hopes, ventures, or whatsoever, are all frustrate! i do but tell you, sir. besides, they are all now striving, who shall first present him; therefore-- i could entreat you, briefly conclude somewhat; prevent them if you can. corv: death to my hopes, this is my villainous fortune! best to hire some common courtezan. mos: ay, i thought on that, sir; but they are all so subtle, full of art-- and age again doting and flexible, so as--i cannot tell--we may, perchance, light on a quean may cheat us all. corv: 'tis true. mos: no, no: it must be one that has no tricks, sir, some simple thing, a creature made unto it; some wench you may command. have you no kinswoman? odso--think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir. one o' the doctors offer'd there his daughter. corv: how! mos: yes, signior lupo, the physician. corv: his daughter! mos: and a virgin, sir. why? alas, he knows the state of's body, what it is; that nought can warm his blood sir, but a fever; nor any incantation raise his spirit: a long forgetfulness hath seized that part. besides sir, who shall know it? some one or two-- corv: i prithee give me leave. [walks aside.] if any man but i had had this luck--the thing in't self, i know, is nothing--wherefore should not i as well command my blood and my affections, as this dull doctor? in the point of honour, the cases are all one of wife and daughter. mos [aside.]: i hear him coming. corv: she shall do't: 'tis done. slight! if this doctor, who is not engaged, unless 't be for his counsel, which is nothing, offer his daughter, what should i, that am so deeply in? i will prevent him: wretch! covetous wretch!--mosca, i have determined. mos: how, sir? corv: we'll make all sure. the party you wot of shall be mine own wife, mosca. mos: sir, the thing, but that i would not seem to counsel you, i should have motion'd to you, at the first: and make your count, you have cut all their throats. why! 'tis directly taking a possession! and in his next fit, we may let him go. 'tis but to pull the pillow from his head, and he is throttled: it had been done before, but for your scrupulous doubts. corv: ay, a plague on't, my conscience fools my wit! well, i'll be brief, and so be thou, lest they should be before us: go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal and willingness i do it; swear it was on the first hearing, as thou mayst do, truly, mine own free motion. mos: sir, i warrant you, i'll so possess him with it, that the rest of his starv'd clients shall be banish'd all; and only you received. but come not, sir, until i send, for i have something else to ripen for your good, you must not know't. corv: but do not you forget to send now. mos: fear not. [exit.] corv: where are you, wife? my celia? wife? [re-enter celia.] --what, blubbering? come, dry those tears. i think thou thought'st me in earnest; ha! by this light i talk'd so but to try thee: methinks the lightness of the occasion should have confirm'd thee. come, i am not jealous. cel: no! corv: faith i am not i, nor never was; it is a poor unprofitable humour. do not i know, if women have a will, they'll do 'gainst all the watches of the world, and that the feircest spies are tamed with gold? tut, i am confident in thee, thou shalt see't; and see i'll give thee cause too, to believe it. come kiss me. go, and make thee ready, straight, in all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks: we are invited to a solemn feast, at old volpone's, where it shall appear how far i am free from jealousy or fear. [exeunt.] act . scene . . a street. enter mosca. mos: i fear, i shall begin to grow in love with my dear self, and my most prosperous parts, they do so spring and burgeon; i can feel a whimsy in my blood: i know not how, success hath made me wanton. i could skip out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, i am so limber. o! your parasite is a most precious thing, dropt from above, not bred 'mongst clods, and clodpoles, here on earth. i muse, the mystery was not made a science, it is so liberally profest! almost all the wise world is little else, in nature, but parasites, or sub-parasites.--and yet, i mean not those that have your bare town-art, to know who's fit to feed them; have no house, no family, no care, and therefore mould tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts to please the belly, and the groin; nor those, with their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer, make their revenue out of legs and faces, echo my lord, and lick away a moth: but your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, and stoop, almost together, like an arrow; shoot through the air as nimbly as a star; turn short as doth a swallow; and be here, and there, and here, and yonder, all at once; present to any humour, all occasion; and change a visor, swifter than a thought! this is the creature had the art born with him; toils not to learn it, but doth practise it out of most excellent nature: and such sparks are the true parasites, others but their zanis. [enter bonario.] mos: who's this? bonario, old corbaccio's son? the person i was bound to seek.--fair sir, you are happily met. bon: that cannot be by thee. mos: why, sir? bon: nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me: i would be loth to interchange discourse with such a mate as thou art mos: courteous sir, scorn not my poverty. bon: not i, by heaven; but thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness. mos: baseness! bon: ay; answer me, is not thy sloth sufficient argument? thy flattery? thy means of feeding? mos: heaven be good to me! these imputations are too common, sir, and easily stuck on virtue when she's poor. you are unequal to me, and however, your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not that, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure: st. mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman. [weeps.] bon [aside.]: what! does he weep? the sign is soft and good; i do repent me that i was so harsh. mos: 'tis true, that, sway'd by strong necessity, i am enforced to eat my careful bread with too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside, that i am fain to spin mine own poor raiment out of my mere observance, being not born to a free fortune: but that i have done base offices, in rending friends asunder, dividing families, betraying counsels, whispering false lies, or mining men with praises, train'd their credulity with perjuries, corrupted chastity, or am in love with mine own tender ease, but would not rather prove the most rugged, and laborious course, that might redeem my present estimation, let me here perish, in all hope of goodness. bon [aside.]: this cannot be a personated passion.-- i was to blame, so to mistake thy nature; prithee, forgive me: and speak out thy business. mos: sir, it concerns you; and though i may seem, at first to make a main offence in manners, and in my gratitude unto my master; yet, for the pure love, which i bear all right, and hatred of the wrong, i must reveal it. this very hour your father is in purpose to disinherit you-- bon: how! mos: and thrust you forth, as a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir: the work no way engageth me, but, as i claim an interest in the general state of goodness and true virtue, which i hear to abound in you: and, for which mere respect, without a second aim, sir, i have done it. bon: this tale hath lost thee much of the late trust thou hadst with me; it is impossible: i know not how to lend it any thought, my father should be so unnatural. mos: it is a confidence that well becomes your piety; and form'd, no doubt, it is from your own simple innocence: which makes your wrong more monstrous, and abhorr'd. but, sir, i now will tell you more. this very minute, it is, or will be doing; and, if you shall be but pleas'd to go with me, i'll bring you, i dare not say where you shall see, but where your ear shall be a witness of the deed; hear yourself written bastard; and profest the common issue of the earth. bon: i am amazed! mos: sir, if i do it not, draw your just sword, and score your vengeance on my front and face; mark me your villain: you have too much wrong, and i do suffer for you, sir. my heart weeps blood in anguish-- bon: lead; i follow thee. [exeunt.] scene . . a room in volpone's house. enter volpone. volp: mosca stays long, methinks. bring forth your sports, and help to make the wretched time more sweet. [enter nano, androgyno, and castrone.] nan: dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be. a question it were now, whether of us three, being all the known delicates of a rich man, in pleasing him, claim the precedency can? cas: i claim for myself. and: and so doth the fool. nan: 'tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school. first for your dwarf, he's little and witty, and every thing, as it is little, is pretty; else why do men say to a creature of my shape, so soon as they see him, it's a pretty little ape? and why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion? beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have. admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter, yet, for his brain, it must always come after: and though that do feed him, 'tis a pitiful case, his body is beholding to such a bad face. [knocking within.] volp: who's there? my couch; away! look! nano, see: [exe. and. and cas.] give me my caps, first--go, enquire. [exit nano.] --now, cupid send it be mosca, and with fair return! nan [within.]: it is the beauteous madam-- volp: would-be?--is it? nan: the same. volp: now torment on me! squire her in; for she will enter, or dwell here for ever: nay, quickly. [retires to his couch.] --that my fit were past! i fear a second hell too, that my lothing this will quite expel my appetite to the other: would she were taking now her tedious leave. lord, how it threats me what i am to suffer! [re-enter nano, with lady politick would-be.] lady p: i thank you, good sir. 'pray you signify unto your patron, i am here.--this band shews not my neck enough.--i trouble you, sir; let me request you, bid one of my women come hither to me.--in good faith, i, am drest most favorably, to-day! it is no matter: 'tis well enough.-- [enter waiting-woman.] look, see, these petulant things, how they have done this! volp [aside.]: i do feel the fever entering in at mine ears; o, for a charm, to fright it hence. lady p: come nearer: is this curl in his right place, or this? why is this higher then all the rest? you have not wash'd your eyes, yet! or do they not stand even in your head? where is your fellow? call her. [exit woman.] nan: now, st. mark deliver us! anon, she will beat her women, because her nose is red. [re-enter with woman.] lady p: i pray you, view this tire, forsooth; are all things apt, or no? wom: one hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth. lady p: does't so, forsooth? and where was your dear sight, when it did so, forsooth! what now! bird-eyed? and you too? 'pray you, both approach and mend it. now, by that light, i muse you are not ashamed! i, that have preach'd these things so oft unto you, read you the principles, argued all the grounds, disputed every fitness, every grace, call'd you to counsel of so frequent dressings-- nan [aside.]: more carefully than of your fame or honour. lady p: made you acquainted, what an ample dowry the knowledge of these things would be unto you, able, alone, to get you noble husbands at your return: and you thus to neglect it! besides you seeing what a curious nation the italians are, what will they say of me? "the english lady cannot dress herself." here's a fine imputation to our country: well, go your ways, and stay, in the next room. this fucus was too course too, it's no matter.-- good-sir, you will give them entertainment? [exeunt nano and waiting-women.] volp: the storm comes toward me. lady p [goes to the couch.]: how does my volpone? volp: troubled with noise, i cannot sleep; i dreamt that a strange fury enter'd, now, my house, and, with the dreadful tempest of her breath, did cleave my roof asunder. lady p: believe me, and i had the most fearful dream, could i remember't-- volp [aside.]: out on my fate! i have given her the occasion how to torment me: she will tell me hers. lady p: me thought, the golden mediocrity, polite and delicate-- volp: o, if you do love me, no more; i sweat, and suffer, at the mention of any dream: feel, how i tremble yet. lady p: alas, good soul! the passion of the heart. seed-pearl were good now, boil'd with syrup of apples, tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, your elicampane root, myrobalanes-- volp [aside.]: ah me, i have ta'en a grass-hopper by the wing! lady p: burnt silk, and amber: you have muscadel good in the house-- volp: you will not drink, and part? lady p: no, fear not that. i doubt, we shall not get some english saffron, half a dram would serve; your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints, bugloss, and barley-meal-- volp [aside.]: she's in again! before i fain'd diseases, now i have one. lady p: and these applied with a right scarlet cloth. volp [aside.]: another flood of words! a very torrent! lady p: shall i, sir, make you a poultice? volp: no, no, no; i am very well: you need prescribe no more. lady p: i have a little studied physic; but now, i'm all for music, save, in the forenoons, an hour or two for painting. i would have a lady, indeed, to have all, letters, and arts, be able to discourse, to write, to paint, but principal, as plato holds, your music, and, so does wise pythagoras, i take it, is your true rapture: when there is concent in face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed, our sex's chiefest ornament. volp: the poet as old in time as plato, and as knowing, says that your highest female grace is silence. lady p: which of your poets? petrarch, or tasso, or dante? guarini? ariosto? aretine? cieco di hadria? i have read them all. volp [aside.]: is every thing a cause to my distruction? lady p: i think i have two or three of them about me. volp [aside.]: the sun, the sea will sooner both stand still, then her eternal tongue; nothing can 'scape it. lady p: here's pastor fido-- volp [aside.]: profess obstinate silence, that's now my safest. lady p: all our english writers, i mean such as are happy in the italian, will deign to steal out of this author, mainly: almost as much, as from montagnie; he has so modern and facile a vein, fitting the time, and catching the court-ear! your petrarch is more passionate, yet he, in days of sonetting, trusted them with much: dante is hard, and few can understand him. but, for a desperate wit, there's aretine; only, his pictures are a little obscene-- you mark me not. volp: alas, my mind is perturb'd. lady p: why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves, make use of our philosophy-- volp: oh me! lady p: and as we find our passions do rebel, encounter them with reason, or divert them, by giving scope unto some other humour of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies, there's nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment, and cloud the understanding, than too much settling and fixing, and, as 'twere, subsiding upon one object. for the incorporating of these same outward things, into that part, which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces that stop the organs, and as plato says, assassinate our knowledge. volp [aside.]: now, the spirit of patience help me! lady p: come, in faith, i must visit you more a days; and make you well: laugh and be lusty. volp [aside.]: my good angel save me! lady p: there was but one sole man in all the world, with whom i e'er could sympathise; and he would lie you, often, three, four hours together to hear me speak; and be sometimes so rapt, as he would answer me quite from the purpose, like you, and you are like him, just. i'll discourse, an't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep, how we did spend our time and loves together, for some six years. volp: oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! lady p: for we were coaetanei, and brought up-- volp: some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me! [enter mosca.] mos: god save you, madam! lady p: good sir. volp: mosca? welcome, welcome to my redemption. mos: why, sir? volp: oh, rid me of this my torture, quickly, there; my madam, with the everlasting voice: the bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made like noise, or were in that perpetual motion! the cock-pit comes not near it. all my house, but now, steam'd like a bath with her thick breath. a lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarce another woman, such a hail of words she has let fall. for hell's sake, rid her hence. mos: has she presented? volp: o, i do not care; i'll take her absence, upon any price, with any loss. mos: madam-- lady p: i have brought your patron a toy, a cap here, of mine own work. mos: 'tis well. i had forgot to tell you, i saw your knight, where you would little think it.-- lady p: where? mos: marry, where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend, rowing upon the water in a gondole, with the most cunning courtezan of venice. lady p: is't true? mos: pursue them, and believe your eyes; leave me, to make your gift. [exit lady p. hastily.] --i knew 'twould take: for, lightly, they, that use themselves most license, are still most jealous. volp: mosca, hearty thanks, for thy quick fiction, and delivery of me. now to my hopes, what say'st thou? [re-enter lady p. would-be.] lady p: but do you hear, sir?-- volp: again! i fear a paroxysm. lady p: which way row'd they together? mos: toward the rialto. lady p: i pray you lend me your dwarf. mos: i pray you, take him.-- [exit lady p.] your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair, and promise timely fruit, if you will stay but the maturing; keep you at your couch, corbaccio will arrive straight, with the will; when he is gone, i'll tell you more. [exit.] volp: my blood, my spirits are return'd; i am alive: and like your wanton gamester, at primero, whose thought had whisper'd to him, not go less, methinks i lie, and draw--for an encounter. [the scene closes upon volpone.] scene . the passage leading to volpone's chamber. enter mosca and bonario. mos: sir, here conceal'd, [shews him a closet.] you may here all. but, pray you, have patience, sir; [knocking within.] --the same's your father knocks: i am compell'd to leave you. [exit.] bon: do so.--yet, cannot my thought imagine this a truth. [goes into the closet.] scene . . another part of the same. enter mosca and corvino, celia following. mos: death on me! you are come too soon, what meant you? did not i say, i would send? corv: yes, but i fear'd you might forget it, and then they prevent us. mos [aside.]: prevent! did e'er man haste so, for his horns? a courtier would not ply it so, for a place. --well, now there's no helping it, stay here; i'll presently return. [exit.] corv: where are you, celia? you know not wherefore i have brought you hither? cel: not well, except you told me. corv: now, i will: hark hither. [exeunt.] scene . . a closet opening into a gallery. enter mosca and bonario. mos: sir, your father hath sent word, it will be half an hour ere he come; and therefore, if you please to walk the while into that gallery--at the upper end, there are some books to entertain the time: and i'll take care no man shall come unto you, sir. bon: yes, i will stay there. [aside.]--i do doubt this fellow. [exit.] mos [looking after him.]: there; he is far enough; he can hear nothing: and, for his father, i can keep him off. [exit.] scene . . volpone's chamber.--volpone on his couch. mosca sitting by him. enter corvino, forcing in celia. corv: nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore, resolve upon it: i have so decreed. it must be done. nor would i move't, afore, because i would avoid all shifts and tricks, that might deny me. cel: sir, let me beseech you, affect not these strange trials; if you doubt my chastity, why, lock me up for ever: make me the heir of darkness. let me live, where i may please your fears, if not your trust. corv: believe it, i have no such humour, i. all that i speak i mean; yet i'm not mad; nor horn-mad, see you? go to, shew yourself obedient, and a wife. cel: o heaven! corv: i say it, do so. cel: was this the train? corv: i've told you reasons; what the physicians have set down; how much it may concern me; what my engagements are; my means; and the necessity of those means, for my recovery: wherefore, if you be loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture. cel: before your honour? corv: honour! tut, a breath: there's no such thing, in nature: a mere term invented to awe fools. what is my gold the worse, for touching, clothes for being look'd on? why, this is no more. an old decrepit wretch, that has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat with others' fingers; only knows to gape, when you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow; and, what can this man hurt you? cel [aside.]: lord! what spirit is this hath enter'd him? corv: and for your fame, that's such a jig; as if i would go tell it, cry it on the piazza! who shall know it, but he that cannot speak it, and this fellow, whose lips are in my pocket? save yourself, (if you'll proclaim't, you may,) i know no other, shall come to know it. cel: are heaven and saints then nothing? will they be blind or stupid? corv: how! cel: good sir, be jealous still, emulate them; and think what hate they burn with toward every sin. corv: i grant you: if i thought it were a sin, i would not urge you. should i offer this to some young frenchman, or hot tuscan blood that had read aretine, conn'd all his prints, knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth, and were professed critic in lechery; and i would look upon him, and applaud him, this were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary, a pious work, mere charity for physic, and honest polity, to assure mine own. cel: o heaven! canst thou suffer such a change? volp: thou art mine honour, mosca, and my pride, my joy, my tickling, my delight! go bring them. mos [advancing.]: please you draw near, sir. corv: come on, what-- you will not be rebellious? by that light-- mos: sir, signior corvino, here, is come to see you. volp: oh! mos: and hearing of the consultation had, so lately, for your health, is come to offer, or rather, sir, to prostitute-- corv: thanks, sweet mosca. mos: freely, unask'd, or unintreated-- corv: well. mos: as the true fervent instance of his love, his own most fair and proper wife; the beauty, only of price in venice-- corv: 'tis well urged. mos: to be your comfortress, and to preserve you. volp: alas, i am past, already! pray you, thank him for his good care and promptness; but for that, 'tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven; applying fire to stone-- [coughing.] uh, uh, uh, uh! making a dead leaf grow again. i take his wishes gently, though; and you may tell him, what i have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless. will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune with reverence, when he comes to't. mos: do you hear, sir? go to him with your wife. corv: heart of my father! wilt thou persist thus? come, i pray thee, come. thou seest 'tis nothing, celia. by this hand, i shall grow violent. come, do't, i say. cel: sir, kill me, rather: i will take down poison, eat burning coals, do any thing.-- corv: be damn'd! heart, i'll drag thee hence, home, by the hair; cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose, like a raw rotchet!--do not tempt me; come, yield, i am loth--death! i will buy some slave whom i will kill, and bind thee to him, alive; and at my window hang you forth: devising some monstrous crime, which i, in capital letters, will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, and burning corsives, on this stubborn breast. now, by the blood thou hast incensed, i'll do it! cel: sir, what you please, you may, i am your martyr. corv: be not thus obstinate, i have not deserved it: think who it is intreats you. 'prithee, sweet;-- good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, what thou wilt think, and ask. do but go kiss him. or touch him, but, for my sake.--at my suit.-- this once.--no! not! i shall remember this. will you disgrace me thus? do you thirst my undoing? mos: nay, gentle lady, be advised. corv: no, no. she has watch'd her time. ods precious, this is scurvy, 'tis very scurvy: and you are-- mos: nay, good, sir. corv: an arrant locust, by heaven, a locust! whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared, expecting how thou'lt bid them flow-- mos: nay, 'pray you, sir! she will consider. cel: would my life would serve to satisfy-- corv: s'death! if she would but speak to him, and save my reputation, it were somewhat; but spightfully to affect my utter ruin! mos: ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands. why i'faith, it is her modesty, i must quit her. if you were absent, she would be more coming; i know it: and dare undertake for her. what woman can before her husband? 'pray you, let us depart, and leave her here. corv: sweet celia, thou may'st redeem all, yet; i'll say no more: if not, esteem yourself as lost,--nay, stay there. [shuts the door, and exit with mosca.] cel: o god, and his good angels! whither, whither, is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease, men dare put off your honours, and their own? is that, which ever was a cause of life, now placed beneath the basest circumstance, and modesty an exile made, for money? volp: ay, in corvino, and such earth-fed minds, [leaping from his couch.] that never tasted the true heaven of love. assure thee, celia, he that would sell thee, only for hope of gain, and that uncertain, he would have sold his part of paradise for ready money, had he met a cope-man. why art thou mazed to see me thus revived? rather applaud thy beauty's miracle; 'tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone, but sundry times raised me, in several shapes, and, but this morning, like a mountebank; to see thee at thy window: ay, before i would have left my practice, for thy love, in varying figures, i would have contended with the blue proteus, or the horned flood. now art thou welcome. cel: sir! volp: nay, fly me not. nor let thy false imagination that i was bed-rid, make thee think i am so: thou shalt not find it. i am, now, as fresh, as hot, as high, and in as jovial plight, as when, in that so celebrated scene, at recitation of our comedy, for entertainment of the great valois, i acted young antinous; and attracted the eyes and ears of all the ladies present, to admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. [sings.] come, my celia, let us prove, while we can, the sports of love, time will not be ours for ever, he, at length, our good will sever; spend not then his gifts in vain; suns, that set, may rise again: but if once we loose this light, 'tis with us perpetual night. why should we defer our joys? fame and rumour are but toys. cannot we delude the eyes of a few poor household spies? or his easier ears beguile, thus remooved by our wile?-- 'tis no sin love's fruits to steal: but the sweet thefts to reveal; to be taken, to be seen, these have crimes accounted been. cel: some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike this my offending face! volp: why droops my celia? thou hast, in place of a base husband, found a worthy lover: use thy fortune well, with secrecy and pleasure. see, behold, what thou art queen of; not in expectation, as i feed others: but possess'd, and crown'd. see, here, a rope of pearl; and each, more orient than that the brave egyptian queen caroused: dissolve and drink them. see, a carbuncle, may put out both the eyes of our st mark; a diamond, would have bought lollia paulina, when she came in like star-light, hid with jewels, that were the spoils of provinces; take these, and wear, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring to purchase them again, and this whole state. a gem but worth a private patrimony, is nothing: we will eat such at a meal. the heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales, the brains of peacocks, and of estriches, shall be our food: and, could we get the phoenix, though nature lost her kind, she were our dish. cel: good sir, these things might move a mind affected with such delights; but i, whose innocence is all i can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying, and which, once lost, i have nought to lose beyond it, cannot be taken with these sensual baits: if you have conscience-- volp: 'tis the beggar's virtue, if thou hast wisdom, hear me, celia. thy baths shall be the juice of july-flowers, spirit of roses, and of violets, the milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath gather'd in bags, and mixt with cretan wines. our drink shall be prepared gold and amber; which we will take, until my roof whirl round with the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance, my eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic. whilst we, in changed shapes, act ovid's tales, thou, like europa now, and i like jove, then i like mars, and thou like erycine: so, of the rest, till we have quite run through, and wearied all the fables of the gods. then will i have thee in more modern forms, attired like some sprightly dame of france, brave tuscan lady, or proud spanish beauty; sometimes, unto the persian sophy's wife; or the grand signior's mistress; and, for change, to one of our most artful courtezans, or some quick negro, or cold russian; and i will meet thee in as many shapes: where we may so transfuse our wandering souls, out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures, [sings.] that the curious shall not know how to tell them as they flow; and the envious, when they find what there number is, be pined. cel: if you have ears that will be pierc'd--or eyes that can be open'd--a heart that may be touch'd-- or any part that yet sounds man about you-- if you have touch of holy saints--or heaven-- do me the grace to let me 'scape--if not, be bountiful and kill me. you do know, i am a creature, hither ill betray'd, by one, whose shame i would forget it were: if you will deign me neither of these graces, yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust, (it is a vice comes nearer manliness,) and punish that unhappy crime of nature, which you miscall my beauty; flay my face, or poison it with ointments, for seducing your blood to this rebellion. rub these hands, with what may cause an eating leprosy, e'en to my bones and marrow: any thing, that may disfavour me, save in my honour-- and i will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down a thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health; report, and think you virtuous-- volp: think me cold, frosen and impotent, and so report me? that i had nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think. i do degenerate, and abuse my nation, to play with opportunity thus long; i should have done the act, and then have parley'd. yield, or i'll force thee. [seizes her.] cel: o! just god! volp: in vain-- bon [rushing in]: forbear, foul ravisher, libidinous swine! free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. but that i'm loth to snatch thy punishment out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet, be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, before this altar, and this dross, thy idol.-- lady, let's quit the place, it is the den of villany; fear nought, you have a guard: and he, ere long, shall meet his just reward. [exeunt bon. and cel.] volp: fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin! become my grave, that wert my shelter! o! i am unmask'd, unspirited, undone, betray'd to beggary, to infamy-- [enter mosca, wounded and bleeding.] mos: where shall i run, most wretched shame of men, to beat out my unlucky brains? volp: here, here. what! dost thou bleed? mos: o that his well-driv'n sword had been so courteous to have cleft me down unto the navel; ere i lived to see my life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all thus desperately engaged, by my error! volp: woe on thy fortune! mos: and my follies, sir. volp: thou hast made me miserable. mos: and myself, sir. who would have thought he would have harken'd, so? volp: what shall we do? mos: i know not; if my heart could expiate the mischance, i'd pluck it out. will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat? and i'll requite you, sir. let us die like romans, since we have lived like grecians. [knocking within.] volp: hark! who's there? i hear some footing; officers, the saffi, come to apprehend us! i do feel the brand hissing already at my forehead; now, mine ears are boring. mos: to your couch, sir, you, make that place good, however. [volpone lies down, as before.] --guilty men suspect what they deserve still. [enter corbaccio.] signior corbaccio! corb: why, how now, mosca? mos: o, undone, amazed, sir. your son, i know not by what accident, acquainted with your purpose to my patron, touching your will, and making him your heir, enter'd our house with violence, his sword drawn sought for you, call'd you wretch, unnatural, vow'd he would kill you. corb: me! mos: yes, and my patron. corb: this act shall disinherit him indeed; here is the will. mos: 'tis well, sir. corb: right and well: be you as careful now for me. [enter voltore, behind.] mos: my life, sir, is not more tender'd; i am only yours. corb: how does he? will he die shortly, think'st thou? mos: i fear he'll outlast may. corb: to-day? mos: no, last out may, sir. corb: could'st thou not give him a dram? mos: o, by no means, sir. corb: nay, i'll not bid you. volt [coming forward.]: this is a knave, i see. mos [seeing voltore.]: how! signior voltore! [aside.] did he hear me? volt: parasite! mos: who's that?--o, sir, most timely welcome-- volt: scarce, to the discovery of your tricks, i fear. you are his, only? and mine, also? are you not? mos: who? i, sir? volt: you, sir. what device is this about a will? mos: a plot for you, sir. volt: come, put not your foists upon me; i shall scent them. mos: did you not hear it? volt: yes, i hear corbaccio hath made your patron there his heir. mos: 'tis true, by my device, drawn to it by my plot, with hope-- volt: your patron should reciprocate? and you have promised? mos: for your good, i did, sir. nay, more, i told his son, brought, hid him here, where he might hear his father pass the deed: being persuaded to it by this thought, sir, that the unnaturalness, first, of the act, and then his father's oft disclaiming in him, (which i did mean t'help on,) would sure enrage him to do some violence upon his parent, on which the law should take sufficient hold, and you be stated in a double hope: truth be my comfort, and my conscience, my only aim was to dig you a fortune out of these two old rotten sepulchres-- volt: i cry thee mercy, mosca. mos: worth your patience, and your great merit, sir. and see the change! volt: why, what success? mos: most happless! you must help, sir. whilst we expected the old raven, in comes corvino's wife, sent hither by her husband-- volt: what, with a present? mos: no, sir, on visitation; (i'll tell you how anon;) and staying long, the youth he grows impatient, rushes forth, seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear (or he would murder her, that was his vow) to affirm my patron to have done her rape: which how unlike it is, you see! and hence, with that pretext he's gone, to accuse his father, defame my patron, defeat you-- volt: where is her husband? let him be sent for straight. mos: sir, i'll go fetch him. volt: bring him to the scrutineo. mos: sir, i will. volt: this must be stopt. mos: o you do nobly, sir. alas, 'twas labor'd all, sir, for your good; nor was there want of counsel in the plot: but fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow the projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. corb [listening]: what's that? volt: will't please you, sir, to go along? [exit corbaccio, followed by voltore.] mos: patron, go in, and pray for our success. volp [rising from his couch.]: need makes devotion: heaven your labour bless! [exeunt.] act . scene . . a street. [enter sir politick would-be and peregrine.] sir p: i told you, sir, it was a plot: you see what observation is! you mention'd me, for some instructions: i will tell you, sir, (since we are met here in this height of venice,) some few perticulars i have set down, only for this meridian, fit to be known of your crude traveller, and they are these. i will not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clothes, for they are old. per: sir, i have better. sir p: pardon, i meant, as they are themes. per: o, sir, proceed: i'll slander you no more of wit, good sir. sir p: first, for your garb, it must be grave and serious, very reserv'd, and lock'd; not tell a secret on any terms, not to your father; scarce a fable, but with caution; make sure choice both of your company, and discourse; beware you never speak a truth-- per: how! sir p: not to strangers, for those be they you must converse with, most; others i would not know, sir, but at distance, so as i still might be a saver in them: you shall have tricks else past upon you hourly. and then, for your religion, profess none, but wonder at the diversity, of all: and, for your part, protest, were there no other but simply the laws o' the land, you could content you, nic. machiavel, and monsieur bodin, both were of this mind. then must you learn the use and handling of your silver fork at meals; the metal of your glass; (these are main matters with your italian;) and to know the hour when you must eat your melons, and your figs. per: is that a point of state too? sir p: here it is, for your venetian, if he see a man preposterous in the least, he has him straight; he has; he strips him. i'll acquaint you, sir, i now have lived here, 'tis some fourteen months within the first week of my landing here, all took me for a citizen of venice: i knew the forms, so well-- per [aside.]: and nothing else. sir p: i had read contarene, took me a house, dealt with my jews to furnish it with moveables-- well, if i could but find one man, one man to mine own heart, whom i durst trust, i would-- per: what, what, sir? sir p: make him rich; make him a fortune: he should not think again. i would command it. per: as how? sir p: with certain projects that i have; which i may not discover. per [aside.]: if i had but one to wager with, i would lay odds now, he tells me instantly. sir p: one is, and that i care not greatly who knows, to serve the state of venice with red herrings for three years, and at a certain rate, from rotterdam, where i have correspendence. there's a letter, sent me from one of the states, and to that purpose: he cannot write his name, but that's his mark. per: he's a chandler? sir p: no, a cheesemonger. there are some others too with whom i treat about the same negociation; and i will undertake it: for, 'tis thus. i'll do't with ease, i have cast it all: your hoy carries but three men in her, and a boy; and she shall make me three returns a year: so, if there come but one of three, i save, if two, i can defalk:--but this is now, if my main project fail. per: then you have others? sir p: i should be loth to draw the subtle air of such a place, without my thousand aims. i'll not dissemble, sir: where'er i come, i love to be considerative; and 'tis true, i have at my free hours thought upon some certain goods unto the state of venice, which i do call "my cautions;" and, sir, which i mean, in hope of pension, to propound to the great council, then unto the forty, so to the ten. my means are made already-- per: by whom? sir p: sir, one that, though his place be obscure, yet he can sway, and they will hear him. he's a commandador. per: what! a common serjeant? sir p: sir, such as they are, put it in their mouths, what they should say, sometimes; as well as greater: i think i have my notes to shew you-- [searching his pockets.] per: good sir. sir p: but you shall swear unto me, on your gentry, not to anticipate-- per: i, sir! sir p: nor reveal a circumstance--my paper is not with me. per: o, but you can remember, sir. sir p: my first is concerning tinder-boxes. you must know, no family is here, without its box. now, sir, it being so portable a thing, put case, that you or i were ill affected unto the state, sir; with it in our pockets, might not i go into the arsenal, or you, come out again, and none the wiser? per: except yourself, sir. sir p: go to, then. i therefore advertise to the state, how fit it were, that none but such as were known patriots, sound lovers of their country, should be suffer'd to enjoy them in their houses; and even those seal'd at some office, and at such a bigness as might not lurk in pockets. per: admirable! sir p: my next is, how to enquire, and be resolv'd, by present demonstration, whether a ship, newly arrived from soria, or from any suspected part of all the levant, be guilty of the plague: and where they use to lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes, about the lazaretto, for their trial; i'll save that charge and loss unto the merchant, and in an hour clear the doubt. per: indeed, sir! sir p: or--i will lose my labour. per: 'my faith, that's much. sir p: nay, sir, conceive me. it will cost me in onions, some thirty livres-- per: which is one pound sterling. sir p: beside my water-works: for this i do, sir. first, i bring in your ship 'twixt two brick walls; but those the state shall venture: on the one i strain me a fair tarpauling, and in that i stick my onions, cut in halves: the other is full of loop-holes, out at which i thrust the noses of my bellows; and those bellows i keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion, which is the easiest matter of a hundred. now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally attract the infection, and your bellows blowing the air upon him, will show, instantly, by his changed colour, if there be contagion; or else remain as fair as at the first. --now it is known, 'tis nothing. per: you are right, sir. sir p: i would i had my note. per: 'faith, so would i: but you have done well for once, sir. sir p: were i false, or would be made so, i could shew you reasons how i could sell this state now, to the turk; spite of their galleys, or their-- [examining his papers.] per: pray you, sir pol. sir p: i have them not about me. per: that i fear'd. they are there, sir. sir p: no. this is my diary, wherein i note my actions of the day. per: pray you let's see, sir. what is here? [reads.] "notandum, a rat had gnawn my spur-leathers; notwithstanding, i put on new, and did go forth: but first i threw three beans over the threshold. item, i went and bought two tooth-picks, whereof one i burst immediatly, in a discourse with a dutch merchant, 'bout ragion del stato. from him i went and paid a moccinigo, for piecing my silk stockings; by the way i cheapen'd sprats; and at st. mark's i urined." 'faith, these are politic notes! sir p: sir, i do slip no action of my life, but thus i quote it. per: believe me, it is wise! sir p: nay, sir, read forth. [enter, at a distance, lady politick-would be, nano, and two waiting-women.] lady p: where should this loose knight be, trow? sure he's housed. nan: why, then he's fast. lady p: ay, he plays both with me. i pray you, stay. this heat will do more harm to my complexion, than his heart is worth; (i do not care to hinder, but to take him.) [rubbing her cheeks.] how it comes off! wom: my master's yonder. lady p: where? wom: with a young gentleman. lady p: that same's the party; in man's apparel! 'pray you, sir, jog my knight: i'll be tender to his reputation, however he demerit. sir p [seeing her]: my lady! per: where? sir p: 'tis she indeed, sir; you shall know her. she is, were she not mine, a lady of that merit, for fashion and behaviour; and, for beauty i durst compare-- per: it seems you are not jealous, that dare commend her. sir p: nay, and for discourse-- per: being your wife, she cannot miss that. sir p [introducing per.]: madam, here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly; he seems a youth, but he is-- lady p: none. sir p: yes, one has put his face as soon into the world-- lady p: you mean, as early? but to-day? sir p: how's this? lady p: why, in this habit, sir; you apprehend me:-- well, master would-be, this doth not become you; i had thought the odour, sir, of your good name, had been more precious to you; that you would not have done this dire massacre on your honour; one of your gravity and rank besides! but knights, i see, care little for the oath they make to ladies; chiefly, their own ladies. sir p: now by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood,-- per [aside.]: lord, how his brain is humbled for an oath! sir p: i reach you not. lady p: right, sir, your policy may bear it through, thus. [to per.] sir, a word with you. i would be loth to contest publicly with any gentlewoman, or to seem froward, or violent, as the courtier says; it comes too near rusticity in a lady, which i would shun by all means: and however i may deserve from master would-be, yet t'have one fair gentlewoman thus be made the unkind instrument to wrong another, and one she knows not, ay, and to persever; in my poor judgment, is not warranted from being a solecism in our sex, if not in manners. per: how is this! sir p: sweet madam, come nearer to your aim. lady p: marry, and will, sir. since you provoke me with your impudence, and laughter of your light land-syren here, your sporus, your hermaphrodite-- per: what's here? poetic fury, and historic storms? sir p: the gentleman, believe it, is of worth, and of our nation. lady p: ay, your white-friars nation. come, i blush for you, master would-be, i; and am asham'd you should have no more forehead, than thus to be the patron, or st. george, to a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice, a female devil, in a male outside. sir p: nay, and you be such a one, i must bid adieu to your delights. the case appears too liquid. [exit.] lady p: ay, you may carry't clear, with your state-face!-- but for your carnival concupiscence, who here is fled for liberty of conscience, from furious persecution of the marshal, her will i dis'ple. per: this is fine, i'faith! and do you use this often? is this part of your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion? madam-- lady p: go to, sir. per: do you hear me, lady? why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts, or to invite me home, you might have done it a nearer way, by far: lady p: this cannot work you out of my snare. per: why, am i in it, then? indeed your husband told me you were fair, and so you are; only your nose inclines, that side that's next the sun, to the queen-apple. lady p: this cannot be endur'd by any patience. [enter mosca.] mos: what is the matter, madam? lady p: if the senate right not my quest in this; i'll protest them to all the world, no aristocracy. mos: what is the injury, lady? lady p: why, the callet you told me of, here i have ta'en disguised. mos: who? this! what means your ladyship? the creature i mention'd to you is apprehended now, before the senate; you shall see her-- lady p: where? mos: i'll bring you to her. this young gentleman, i saw him land this morning at the port. lady p: is't possible! how has my judgment wander'd? sir, i must, blushing, say to you, i have err'd; and plead your pardon. per: what, more changes yet! lady p: i hope you have not the malice to remember a gentlewoman's passion. if you stay in venice here, please you to use me, sir-- mos: will you go, madam? lady p: 'pray you, sir, use me. in faith, the more you see me, the more i shall conceive you have forgot our quarrel. [exeunt lady would-be, mosca, nano, and waiting-women.] per: this is rare! sir politick would-be? no; sir politick bawd. to bring me thus acquainted with his wife! well, wise sir pol, since you have practised thus upon my freshman-ship, i'll try your salt-head, what proof it is against a counter-plot. [exit.] scene . . the scrutineo, or senate-house. enter voltore, corbaccio, corvino, and mosca. volt: well, now you know the carriage of the business, your constancy is all that is required unto the safety of it. mos: is the lie safely convey'd amongst us? is that sure? knows every man his burden? corv: yes. mos: then shrink not. corv: but knows the advocate the truth? mos: o, sir, by no means; i devised a formal tale, that salv'd your reputation. but be valiant, sir. corv: i fear no one but him, that this his pleading should make him stand for a co-heir-- mos: co-halter! hang him; we will but use his tongue, his noise, as we do croakers here. corv: ay, what shall he do? mos: when we have done, you mean? corv: yes. mos: why, we'll think: sell him for mummia; he's half dust already. [to voltore.] do not you smile, to see this buffalo, how he does sport it with his head? [aside.] --i should, if all were well and past. [to corbaccio.] --sir, only you are he that shall enjoy the crop of all, and these not know for whom they toil. corb: ay, peace. mos [turning to corvino.]: but you shall eat it. much! [aside.] [to voltore.] --worshipful sir, mercury sit upon your thundering tongue, or the french hercules, and make your language as conquering as his club, to beat along, as with a tempest, flat, our adversaries; but much more yours, sir. volt: here they come, have done. mos: i have another witness, if you need, sir, i can produce. volt: who is it? mos: sir, i have her. [enter avocatori and take their seats, bonario, celia, notario, commandadori, saffi, and other officers of justice.] avoc: the like of this the senate never heard of. avoc: 'twill come most strange to them when we report it. avoc: the gentlewoman has been ever held of unreproved name. avoc: so has the youth. avoc: the more unnatural part that of his father. avoc: more of the husband. avoc: i not know to give his act a name, it is so monstrous! avoc: but the impostor, he's a thing created to exceed example! avoc: and all after-times! avoc: i never heard a true voluptuary discribed, but him. avoc: appear yet those were cited? not: all, but the old magnifico, volpone. avoc: why is not he here? mos: please your fatherhoods, here is his advocate: himself's so weak, so feeble-- avoc: what are you? bon: his parasite, his knave, his pandar--i beseech the court, he may be forced to come, that your grave eyes may bear strong witness of his strange impostures. volt: upon my faith and credit with your virtues, he is not able to endure the air. avoc: bring him, however. avoc: we will see him. avoc: fetch him. volt: your fatherhoods fit pleasures be obey'd; [exeunt officers.] but sure, the sight will rather move your pities, than indignation. may it please the court, in the mean time, he may be heard in me; i know this place most void of prejudice, and therefore crave it, since we have no reason to fear our truth should hurt our cause. avoc: speak free. volt: then know, most honour'd fathers, i must now discover to your strangely abused ears, the most prodigious and most frontless piece of solid impudence, and treachery, that ever vicious nature yet brought forth to shame the state of venice. this lewd woman, that wants no artificial looks or tears to help the vizor she has now put on, hath long been known a close adulteress, to that lascivious youth there; not suspected, i say, but known, and taken in the act with him; and by this man, the easy husband, pardon'd: whose timeless bounty makes him now stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person, that ever man's own goodness made accused. for these not knowing how to owe a gift of that dear grace, but with their shame; being placed so above all powers of their gratitude, began to hate the benefit; and, in place of thanks, devise to extirpe the memory of such an act: wherein i pray your fatherhoods to observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures discover'd in their evils; and what heart such take, even from their crimes:--but that anon will more appear.--this gentleman, the father, hearing of this foul fact, with many others, which daily struck at his too tender ears, and grieved in nothing more than that he could not preserve himself a parent, (his son's ills growing to that strange flood,) at last decreed to disinherit him. avoc: these be strange turns! avoc: the young man's fame was ever fair and honest. volt: so much more full of danger is his vice, that can beguile so under shade of virtue. but, as i said, my honour'd sires, his father having this settled purpose, by what means to him betray'd, we know not, and this day appointed for the deed; that parricide, i cannot style him better, by confederacy preparing this his paramour to be there, enter'd volpone's house, (who was the man, your fatherhoods must understand, design'd for the inheritance,) there sought his father:-- but with what purpose sought he him, my lords? i tremble to pronounce it, that a son unto a father, and to such a father, should have so foul, felonious intent! it was to murder him: when being prevented by his more happy absence, what then did he? not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds, (mischief doth ever end where it begins) an act of horror, fathers! he dragg'd forth the aged gentleman that had there lain bed-rid three years and more, out of his innocent couch, naked upon the floor, there left him; wounded his servant in the face: and, with this strumpet the stale to his forged practice, who was glad to be so active,--(i shall here desire your fatherhoods to note but my collections, as most remarkable,--) thought at once to stop his father's ends; discredit his free choice in the old gentleman, redeem themselves, by laying infamy upon this man, to whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives. avoc: what proofs have you of this? bon: most honoured fathers, i humbly crave there be no credit given to this man's mercenary tongue. avoc: forbear. bon: his soul moves in his fee. avoc: o, sir. bon: this fellow, for six sols more, would plead against his maker. avoc: you do forget yourself. volt: nay, nay, grave fathers, let him have scope: can any man imagine that he will spare his accuser, that would not have spared his parent? avoc: well, produce your proofs. cel: i would i could forget i were a creature. volt: signior corbaccio. [corbaccio comes forward.] avoc: what is he? volt: the father. avoc: has he had an oath? not: yes. corb: what must i do now? not: your testimony's craved. corb: speak to the knave? i'll have my mouth first stopt with earth; my heart abhors his knowledge: i disclaim in him. avoc: but for what cause? corb: the mere portent of nature! he is an utter stranger to my loins. bon: have they made you to this? corb: i will not hear thee, monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide! speak not, thou viper. bon: sir, i will sit down, and rather wish my innocence should suffer, then i resist the authority of a father. volt: signior corvino! [corvino comes forward.] avoc: this is strange. avoc: who's this? not: the husband. avoc: is he sworn? not: he is. avoc: speak, then. corv: this woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore, of most hot exercise, more than a partrich, upon record-- avoc: no more. corv: neighs like a jennet. not: preserve the honour of the court. corv: i shall, and modesty of your most reverend ears. and yet i hope that i may say, these eyes have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar, that fine well-timber'd gallant; and that here the letters may be read, through the horn, that make the story perfect. mos: excellent! sir. corv [aside to mosca.]: there's no shame in this now, is there? mos: none. corv: or if i said, i hoped that she were onward to her damnation, if there be a hell greater than whore and woman; a good catholic may make the doubt. avoc: his grief hath made him frantic. avoc: remove him hence. avoc: look to the woman. [celia swoons.] corv: rare! prettily feign'd, again! avoc: stand from about her. avoc: give her the air. avoc [to mosca.]: what can you say? mos: my wound, may it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, received in aid of my good patron, when he mist his sought-for father, when that well-taught dame had her cue given her, to cry out, a rape! bon: o most laid impudence! fathers-- avoc: sir, be silent; you had your hearing free, so must they theirs. avoc: i do begin to doubt the imposture here. avoc: this woman has too many moods. volt: grave fathers, she is a creature of a most profest and prostituted lewdness. corv: most impetuous, unsatisfied, grave fathers! volt: may her feignings not take your wisdoms: but this day she baited a stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes, and more lascivious kisses. this man saw them together on the water in a gondola. mos: here is the lady herself, that saw them too; without; who then had in the open streets pursued them, but for saving her knight's honour. avoc: produce that lady. avoc: let her come. [exit mosca.] avoc: these things, they strike with wonder! avoc: i am turn'd a stone. [re-enter mosca with lady would-be.] mos: be resolute, madam. lady p: ay, this same is she. [pointing to celia.] out, thou chameleon harlot! now thine eyes vie tears with the hyaena. dar'st thou look upon my wronged face?--i cry your pardons, i fear i have forgettingly transgrest against the dignity of the court-- avoc: no, madam. lady p: and been exorbitant-- avoc: you have not, lady. avoc: these proofs are strong. lady p: surely, i had no purpose to scandalise your honours, or my sex's. avoc: we do believe it. lady p: surely, you may believe it. avoc: madam, we do. lady p: indeed, you may; my breeding is not so coarse-- avoc: we know it. lady p: to offend with pertinacy-- avoc: lady-- lady p: such a presence! no surely. avoc: we well think it. lady p: you may think it. avoc: let her o'ercome. what witnesses have you to make good your report? bon: our consciences. cel: and heaven, that never fails the innocent. avoc: these are no testimonies. bon: not in your courts, where multitude, and clamour overcomes. avoc: nay, then you do wax insolent. [re-enter officers, bearing volpone on a couch.] volt: here, here, the testimony comes, that will convince, and put to utter dumbness their bold tongues: see here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher, the rider on men's wives, the great impostor, the grand voluptuary! do you not think these limbs should affect venery? or these eyes covet a concubine? pray you mark these hands; are they not fit to stroke a lady's breasts?-- perhaps he doth dissemble! bon: so he does. volt: would you have him tortured? bon: i would have him proved. volt: best try him then with goads, or burning irons; put him to the strappado: i have heard the rack hath cured the gout; 'faith, give it him, and help him of a malady; be courteous. i'll undertake, before these honour'd fathers, he shall have yet as many left diseases, as she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets.-- o, my most equal hearers, if these deeds, acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain, may pass with sufferance; what one citizen but owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame, to him that dares traduce him? which of you are safe, my honour'd fathers? i would ask, with leave of your grave fatherhoods, if their plot have any face or colour like to truth? or if, unto the dullest nostril here, it smell not rank, and most abhorred slander? i crave your care of this good gentleman, whose life is much endanger'd by their fable; and as for them, i will conclude with this, that vicious persons, when they're hot and flesh'd in impious acts, their constancy abounds: damn'd deeds are done with greatest confidence. avoc: take them to custody, and sever them. avoc: 'tis pity two such prodigies should live. avoc: let the old gentleman be return'd with care; [exeunt officers with volpone.] i'm sorry our credulity hath wrong'd him. avoc: these are two creatures! avoc: i've an earthquake in me. avoc: their shame, even in their cradles, fled their faces. avoc [to volt.]: you have done a worthy service to the state, sir, in their discovery. avoc: you shall hear, ere night, what punishment the court decrees upon them. [exeunt avocat., not., and officers with bonario and celia.] volt: we thank your fatherhoods.--how like you it? mos: rare. i'd have your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this; i'd have you be the heir to the whole city; the earth i'd have want men, ere you want living: they're bound to erect your statue in st. mark's. signior corvino, i would have you go and shew yourself, that you have conquer'd. corv: yes. mos: it was much better that you should profess yourself a cuckold thus, than that the other should have been prov'd. corv: nay, i consider'd that: now it is her fault: mos: then it had been yours. corv: true; i do doubt this advocate still. mos: i'faith, you need not, i dare ease you of that care. corv: i trust thee, mosca. [exit.] mos: as your own soul, sir. corb: mosca! mos: now for your business, sir. corb: how! have you business? mos: yes, your's, sir. corb: o, none else? mos: none else, not i. corb: be careful, then. mos: rest you with both your eyes, sir. corb: dispatch it. mos: instantly. corb: and look that all, whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys, household stuff, bedding, curtains. mos: curtain-rings, sir. only the advocate's fee must be deducted. corb: i'll pay him now; you'll be too prodigal. mos: sir, i must tender it. corb: two chequines is well? mos: no, six, sir. corb: 'tis too much. mos: he talk'd a great while; you must consider that, sir. corb: well, there's three-- mos: i'll give it him. corb: do so, and there's for thee. [exit.] mos [aside.]: bountiful bones! what horrid strange offence did he commit 'gainst nature, in his youth, worthy this age? [to volt.]--you see, sir, how i work unto your ends; take you no notice. volt: no, i'll leave you. [exit.] mos: all is yours, the devil and all: good advocate!--madam, i'll bring you home. lady p: no, i'll go see your patron. mos: that you shall not: i'll tell you why. my purpose is to urge my patron to reform his will; and for the zeal you have shewn to-day, whereas before you were but third or fourth, you shall be now put in the first; which would appear as begg'd, if you were present. therefore-- lady p: you shall sway me. [exeunt.] act . scene . a room in volpone's house. enter volpone. volp: well, i am here, and all this brunt is past. i ne'er was in dislike with my disguise till this fled moment; here 'twas good, in private; but in your public,--cave whilst i breathe. 'fore god, my left leg began to have the cramp, and i apprehended straight some power had struck me with a dead palsy: well! i must be merry, and shake it off. a many of these fears would put me into some villanous disease, should they come thick upon me: i'll prevent 'em. give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright this humour from my heart. [drinks.] hum, hum, hum! 'tis almost gone already; i shall conquer. any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery, that would possess me with a violent laughter, would make me up again. [drinks again.] so, so, so, so! this heat is life; 'tis blood by this time:--mosca! [enter mosca.] mos: how now, sir? does the day look clear again? are we recover'd, and wrought out of error, into our way, to see our path before us? is our trade free once more? volp: exquisite mosca! mos: was it not carried learnedly? volp: and stoutly: good wits are greatest in extremities. mos: it were a folly beyond thought, to trust any grand act unto a cowardly spirit: you are not taken with it enough, methinks? volp: o, more than if i had enjoy'd the wench: the pleasure of all woman-kind's not like it. mos: why now you speak, sir. we must here be fix'd; here we must rest; this is our master-piece; we cannot think to go beyond this. volp: true. thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious mosca. mos: nay, sir, to gull the court-- volp: and quite divert the torrent upon the innocent. mos: yes, and to make so rare a music out of discords-- volp: right. that yet to me's the strangest, how thou hast borne it! that these, being so divided 'mongst themselves, should not scent somewhat, or in me or thee, or doubt their own side. mos: true, they will not see't. too much light blinds them, i think. each of them is so possest and stuft with his own hopes, that any thing unto the contrary, never so true, or never so apparent, never so palpable, they will resist it-- volp: like a temptation of the devil. mos: right, sir. merchants may talk of trade, and your great signiors of land that yields well; but if italy have any glebe more fruitful than these fellows, i am deceiv'd. did not your advocate rare? volp: o--"my most honour'd fathers, my grave fathers, under correction of your fatherhoods, what face of truth is here? if these strange deeds may pass, most honour'd fathers"--i had much ado to forbear laughing. mos: it seem'd to me, you sweat, sir. volp: in troth, i did a little. mos: but confess, sir, were you not daunted? volp: in good faith, i was a little in a mist, but not dejected; never, but still my self. mos: i think it, sir. now, so truth help me, i must needs say this, sir, and out of conscience for your advocate: he has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd, in my poor judgment, i speak it under favour, not to contrary you, sir, very richly-- well--to be cozen'd. volp: troth, and i think so too, by that i heard him, in the latter end. mos: o, but before, sir: had you heard him first draw it to certain heads, then aggravate, then use his vehement figures--i look'd still when he would shift a shirt: and, doing this out of pure love, no hope of gain-- volp: 'tis right. i cannot answer him, mosca, as i would, not yet; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty, i will begin, even now--to vex them all, this very instant. mos: good sir. volp: call the dwarf and eunuch forth. mos: castrone, nano! [enter castrone and nano.] nano: here. volp: shall we have a jig now? mos: what you please, sir. volp: go, straight give out about the streets, you two, that i am dead; do it with constancy, sadly, do you hear? impute it to the grief of this late slander. [exeunt cast. and nano.] mos: what do you mean, sir? volp: o, i shall have instantly my vulture, crow, raven, come flying hither, on the news, to peck for carrion, my she-wolfe, and all, greedy, and full of expectation-- mos: and then to have it ravish'd from their mouths! volp: 'tis true. i will have thee put on a gown, and take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir: shew them a will; open that chest, and reach forth one of those that has the blanks; i'll straight put in thy name. mos [gives him a paper.]: it will be rare, sir. volp: ay, when they ev'n gape, and find themselves deluded-- mos: yes. volp: and thou use them scurvily! dispatch, get on thy gown. mos [putting on a gown.]: but, what, sir, if they ask after the body? volp: say, it was corrupted. mos: i'll say it stunk, sir; and was fain to have it coffin'd up instantly, and sent away. volp: any thing; what thou wilt. hold, here's my will. get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink, papers afore thee; sit as thou wert taking an inventory of parcels: i'll get up behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken; sometime peep over, see how they do look, with what degrees their blood doth leave their faces, o, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter! mos [putting on a cap, and setting out the table, etc.]: your advocate will turn stark dull upon it. volp: it will take off his oratory's edge. mos: but your clarissimo, old round-back, he will crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch. volp: and what corvino? mos: o, sir, look for him, to-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger, to visit all the streets; he must run mad. my lady too, that came into the court, to bear false witness for your worship-- volp: yes, and kist me 'fore the fathers; when my face flow'd all with oils. mos: and sweat, sir. why, your gold is such another med'cine, it dries up all those offensive savours: it transforms the most deformed, and restores them lovely, as 'twere the strange poetical girdle. jove could not invent t' himself a shroud more subtle to pass acrisius' guards. it is the thing makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. volp: i think she loves me. mos: who? the lady, sir? she's jealous of you. volp: dost thou say so? [knocking within.] mos: hark, there's some already. volp: look. mos: it is the vulture: he has the quickest scent. volp: i'll to my place, thou to thy posture. [goes behind the curtain.] mos: i am set. volp: but, mosca, play the artificer now, torture them rarely. [enter voltore.] volt: how now, my mosca? mos [writing.]: "turkey carpets, nine"-- volt: taking an inventory! that is well. mos: "two suits of bedding, tissue"-- volt: where's the will? let me read that the while. [enter servants, with corbaccio in a chair.] corb: so, set me down: and get you home. [exeunt servants.] volt: is he come now, to trouble us! mos: "of cloth of gold, two more"-- corb: is it done, mosca? mos: "of several velvets, eight"-- volt: i like his care. corb: dost thou not hear? [enter corvino.] corb: ha! is the hour come, mosca? volp [peeping over the curtain.]: ay, now, they muster. corv: what does the advocate here, or this corbaccio? corb: what do these here? [enter lady pol. would-be.] lady p: mosca! is his thread spun? mos: "eight chests of linen"-- volp: o, my fine dame would-be, too! corv: mosca, the will, that i may shew it these, and rid them hence. mos: "six chests of diaper, four of damask."--there. [gives them the will carelessly, over his shoulder.] corb: is that the will? mos: "down-beds, and bolsters"-- volp: rare! be busy still. now they begin to flutter: they never think of me. look, see, see, see! how their swift eyes run over the long deed, unto the name, and to the legacies, what is bequeath'd them there-- mos: "ten suits of hangings"-- volp: ay, in their garters, mosca. now their hopes are at the gasp. volt: mosca the heir? corb: what's that? volp: my advocate is dumb; look to my merchant, he has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost, he faints; my lady will swoon. old glazen eyes, he hath not reach'd his despair yet. corb [takes the will.]: all these are out of hope: i am sure, the man. corv: but, mosca-- mos: "two cabinets." corv: is this in earnest? mos: "one of ebony"-- corv: or do you but delude me? mos: the other, mother of pearl--i am very busy. good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me-- "item, one salt of agate"--not my seeking. lady p: do you hear, sir? mos: "a perfum'd box"--'pray you forbear, you see i'm troubled--"made of an onyx"-- lady p: how! mos: to-morrow or next day, i shall be at leisure to talk with you all. corv: is this my large hope's issue? lady p: sir, i must have a fairer answer. mos: madam! marry, and shall: 'pray you, fairly quit my house. nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but hark you, remember what your ladyship offer'd me, to put you in an heir; go to, think on it: and what you said e'en your best madams did for maintenance, and why not you? enough. go home, and use the poor sir pol, your knight, well, for fear i tell some riddles; go, be melancholy. [exit lady would-be.] volp: o, my fine devil! corv: mosca, 'pray you a word. mos: lord! will you not take your dispatch hence yet? methinks, of all, you should have been the example. why should you stay here? with what thought? what promise? hear you; do not you know, i know you an ass, and that you would most fain have been a wittol, if fortune would have let you? that you are a declared cuckold, on good terms? this pearl, you'll say, was yours? right: this diamond? i'll not deny't, but thank you. much here else? it may be so. why, think that these good works may help to hide your bad. i'll not betray you; although you be but extraordinary, and have it only in title, it sufficeth: go home, be melancholy too, or mad. [exit corvino.] volp: rare mosca! how his villany becomes him! volt: certain he doth delude all these for me. corb: mosca the heir! volp: o, his four eyes have found it. corb: i am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave; harlot, thou hast gull'd me. mos: yes, sir. stop your mouth, or i shall draw the only tooth is left. are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch, with the three legs, that, here, in hope of prey, have, any time this three years, snuff'd about, with your most grovelling nose; and would have hired me to the poisoning of my patron, sir? are not you he that have to-day in court profess'd the disinheriting of your son? perjured yourself? go home, and die, and stink. if you but croak a syllable, all comes out: away, and call your porters! [exit corbaccio.] go, go, stink. volp: excellent varlet! volt: now, my faithful mosca, i find thy constancy. mos: sir! volt: sincere. mos [writing.]: "a table of porphyry"--i marle, you'll be thus troublesome. volp: nay, leave off now, they are gone. mos: why? who are you? what! who did send for you? o, cry you mercy, reverend sir! good faith, i am grieved for you, that any chance of mine should thus defeat your (i must needs say) most deserving travails: but i protest, sir, it was cast upon me, and i could almost wish to be without it, but that the will o' the dead must be observ'd, marry, my joy is that you need it not, you have a gift, sir, (thank your education,) will never let you want, while there are men, and malice, to breed causes. would i had but half the like, for all my fortune, sir! if i have any suits, as i do hope, things being so easy and direct, i shall not, i will make bold with your obstreperous aid, conceive me,--for your fee, sir. in mean time, you that have so much law, i know have the conscience, not to be covetous of what is mine. good sir, i thank you for my plate; 'twill help to set up a young man. good faith, you look as you were costive; best go home and purge, sir. [exit voltore.] volp [comes from behind the curtain.]: bid him eat lettuce well. my witty mischief, let me embrace thee. o that i could now transform thee to a venus!--mosca, go, straight take my habit of clarissimo, and walk the streets; be seen, torment them more: we must pursue, as well as plot. who would have lost this feast? mos: i doubt it will lose them. volp: o, my recovery shall recover all. that i could now but think on some disguise to meet them in, and ask them questions: how i would vex them still at every turn! mos: sir, i can fit you. volp: canst thou? mos: yes, i know one o' the commandadori, sir, so like you; him will i straight make drunk, and bring you his habit. volp: a rare disguise, and answering thy brain! o, i will be a sharp disease unto them. mos: sir, you must look for curses-- volp: till they burst; the fox fares ever best when he is curst. [exeunt.] scene . . a hall in sir politick's house. enter peregrine disguised, and three merchants. per: am i enough disguised? mer: i warrant you. per: all my ambition is to fright him only. mer: if you could ship him away, 'twere excellent. mer: to zant, or to aleppo? per: yes, and have his adventures put i' the book of voyages. and his gull'd story register'd for truth. well, gentlemen, when i am in a while, and that you think us warm in our discourse, know your approaches. mer: trust it to our care. [exeunt merchants.] [enter waiting-woman.] per: save you, fair lady! is sir pol within? wom: i do not know, sir. per: pray you say unto him, here is a merchant, upon earnest business, desires to speak with him. wom: i will see, sir. [exit.] per: pray you.-- i see the family is all female here. [re-enter waiting-woman.] wom: he says, sir, he has weighty affairs of state, that now require him whole; some other time you may possess him. per: pray you say again, if those require him whole, these will exact him, whereof i bring him tidings. [exit woman.] --what might be his grave affair of state now! how to make bolognian sausages here in venice, sparing one o' the ingredients? [re-enter waiting-woman.] wom: sir, he says, he knows by your word "tidings," that you are no statesman, and therefore wills you stay. per: sweet, pray you return him; i have not read so many proclamations, and studied them for words, as he has done-- but--here he deigns to come. [exit woman.] [enter sir politick.] sir p: sir, i must crave your courteous pardon. there hath chanced to-day, unkind disaster 'twixt my lady and me; and i was penning my apology, to give her satisfaction, as you came now. per: sir, i am grieved i bring you worse disaster: the gentleman you met at the port to-day, that told you, he was newly arrived-- sir p: ay, was a fugitive punk? per: no, sir, a spy set on you; and he has made relation to the senate, that you profest to him to have a plot to sell the state of venice to the turk. sir p: o me! per: for which, warrants are sign'd by this time, to apprehend you, and to search your study for papers-- sir p: alas, sir, i have none, but notes drawn out of play-books-- per: all the better, sir. sir p: and some essays. what shall i do? per: sir, best convey yourself into a sugar-chest; or, if you could lie round, a frail were rare: and i could send you aboard. sir p: sir, i but talk'd so, for discourse sake merely. [knocking within.] per: hark! they are there. sir p: i am a wretch, a wretch! per: what will you do, sir? have you ne'er a currant-butt to leap into? they'll put you to the rack, you must be sudden. sir p: sir, i have an ingine-- mer [within.]: sir politick would-be? mer [within.]: where is he? sir p: that i have thought upon before time. per: what is it? sir p: i shall ne'er endure the torture. marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell, fitted for these extremities: pray you, sir, help me. here i've a place, sir, to put back my legs, please you to lay it on, sir, [lies down while peregrine places the shell upon him.] --with this cap, and my black gloves. i'll lie, sir, like a tortoise, 'till they are gone. per: and call you this an ingine? sir p: mine own device--good sir, bid my wife's women to burn my papers. [exit peregrine.] [the three merchants rush in.] mer: where is he hid? mer: we must, and will sure find him. mer: which is his study? [re-enter peregrine.] mer: what are you, sir? per: i am a merchant, that came here to look upon this tortoise. mer: how! mer: st. mark! what beast is this! per: it is a fish. mer: come out here! per: nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him; he'll bear a cart. mer: what, to run over him? per: yes, sir. mer: let's jump upon him. mer: can he not go? per: he creeps, sir. mer: let's see him creep. per: no, good sir, you will hurt him. mer: heart, i will see him creep, or prick his guts. mer: come out here! per: pray you, sir! [aside to sir politick.] --creep a little. mer: forth. mer: yet farther. per: good sir!--creep. mer: we'll see his legs. [they pull off the shell and discover him.] mer: ods so, he has garters! mer: ay, and gloves! mer: is this your fearful tortoise? per [discovering himself.]: now, sir pol, we are even; for your next project i shall be prepared: i am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir. mer: 'twere a rare motion to be seen in fleet-street. mer: ay, in the term. mer: or smithfield, in the fair. mer: methinks 'tis but a melancholy sight. per: farewell, most politic tortoise! [exeunt per. and merchants.] [re-enter waiting-woman.] sir p: where's my lady? knows she of this? wom: i know not, sir. sir p: enquire.-- o, i shall be the fable of all feasts, the freight of the gazetti; ship-boy's tale; and, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries. wom: my lady's come most melancholy home, and says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic. sir p: and i to shun this place and clime for ever; creeping with house on back: and think it well, to shrink my poor head in my politic shell. [exeunt.] scene . . a room in volpone's house. enter mosca in the habit of a clarissimo; and volpone in that of a commandadore. volp: am i then like him? mos: o, sir, you are he; no man can sever you. volp: good. mos: but what am i? volp: 'fore heaven, a brave clarissimo, thou becom'st it! pity thou wert not born one. mos [aside.]: if i hold my made one, 'twill be well. volp: i'll go and see what news first at the court. [exit.] mos: do so. my fox is out of his hole, and ere he shall re-enter, i'll make him languish in his borrow'd case, except he come to composition with me.-- androgyno, castrone, nano! [enter androgyno, castrone and nano.] all: here. mos: go, recreate yourselves abroad; go sport.-- [exeunt.] so, now i have the keys, and am possest. since he will needs be dead afore his time, i'll bury him, or gain by him: i am his heir, and so will keep me, till he share at least. to cozen him of all, were but a cheat well placed; no man would construe it a sin: let his sport pay for it, this is call'd the fox-trap. [exit.] scene . a street. enter corbaccio and corvino. corb: they say, the court is set. corv: we must maintain our first tale good, for both our reputations. corb: why, mine's no tale: my son would there have kill'd me. corv: that's true, i had forgot:-- [aside.]--mine is, i am sure. but for your will, sir. corb: ay, i'll come upon him for that hereafter; now his patron's dead. [enter volpone.] volp: signior corvino! and corbaccio! sir, much joy unto you. corv: of what? volp: the sudden good, dropt down upon you-- corb: where? volp: and, none knows how, from old volpone, sir. corb: out, arrant knave! volp: let not your too much wealth, sir, make you furious. corb: away, thou varlet! volp: why, sir? corb: dost thou mock me? volp: you mock the world, sir; did you not change wills? corb: out, harlot! volp: o! belike you are the man, signior corvino? 'faith, you carry it well; you grow not mad withal: i love your spirit: you are not over-leaven'd with your fortune. you should have some would swell now, like a wine-fat, with such an autumn--did he give you all, sir? corb: avoid, you rascal! volp: troth, your wife has shewn herself a very woman; but you are well, you need not care, you have a good estate, to bear it out sir, better by this chance: except corbaccio have a share. corv: hence, varlet. volp: you will not be acknown, sir; why, 'tis wise. thus do all gamesters, at all games, dissemble: no man will seem to win. [exeunt corvino and corbaccio.] --here comes my vulture, heaving his beak up in the air, and snuffing. [enter voltore.] volt: outstript thus, by a parasite! a slave, would run on errands, and make legs for crumbs? well, what i'll do-- volp: the court stays for your worship. i e'en rejoice, sir, at your worship's happiness, and that it fell into so learned hands, that understand the fingering-- volt: what do you mean? volp: i mean to be a suitor to your worship, for the small tenement, out of reparations, that, to the end of your long row of houses, by the piscaria: it was, in volpone's time, your predecessor, ere he grew diseased, a handsome, pretty, custom'd bawdy-house, as any was in venice, none dispraised; but fell with him; his body and that house decay'd, together. volt: come sir, leave your prating. volp: why, if your worship give me but your hand, that i may have the refusal, i have done. 'tis a mere toy to you, sir; candle-rents; as your learn'd worship knows-- volt: what do i know? volp: marry, no end of your wealth, sir, god decrease it! volt: mistaking knave! what, mockst thou my misfortune? [exit.] volp: his blessing on your heart, sir; would 'twere more!-- now to my first again, at the next corner. [exit.] scene . . another part of the street. enter corbaccio and corvino;-- mosca passes over the stage, before them. corb: see, in our habit! see the impudent varlet! corv: that i could shoot mine eyes at him like gun-stones. [enter volpone.] volp: but is this true, sir, of the parasite? corb: again, to afflict us! monster! volp: in good faith, sir, i'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length should be so over-reach'd. i never brook'd that parasite's hair; methought his nose should cozen: there still was somewhat in his look, did promise the bane of a clarissimo. corb: knave-- volp: methinks yet you, that are so traded in the world, a witty merchant, the fine bird, corvino, that have such moral emblems on your name, should not have sung your shame; and dropt your cheese, to let the fox laugh at your emptiness. corv: sirrah, you think the privilege of the place, and your red saucy cap, that seems to me nail'd to your jolt-head with those two chequines, can warrant your abuses; come you hither: you shall perceive, sir, i dare beat you; approach. volp: no haste, sir, i do know your valour well, since you durst publish what you are, sir. corv: tarry, i'd speak with you. volp: sir, sir, another time-- corv: nay, now. volp: o lord, sir! i were a wise man, would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold. [as he is running off, re-enter mosca.] corb: what, come again! volp: upon 'em, mosca; save me. corb: the air's infected where he breathes. corv: let's fly him. [exeunt corv. and corb.] volp: excellent basilisk! turn upon the vulture. [enter voltore.] volt: well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you now; your winter will come on. mos: good advocate, prithee not rail, nor threaten out of place thus; thou'lt make a solecism, as madam says. get you a biggin more, your brain breaks loose. [exit.] volt: well, sir. volp: would you have me beat the insolent slave, throw dirt upon his first good clothes? volt: this same is doubtless some familiar. volp: sir, the court, in troth, stays for you. i am mad, a mule that never read justinian, should get up, and ride an advocate. had you no quirk to avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature? i hope you do but jest; he has not done it: 'tis but confederacy, to blind the rest. you are the heir. volt: a strange, officious, troublesome knave! thou dost torment me. volp: i know-- it cannot be, sir, that you should be cozen'd; 'tis not within the wit of man to do it; you are so wise, so prudent; and 'tis fit that wealth and wisdom still should go together. [exeunt.] scene . . the scrutineo or senate-house. enter avocatori, notario, bonario, celia, corbaccio, corvino, commandadori, saffi, etc. avoc: are all the parties here? not: all but the advocate. avoc: and here he comes. [enter voltore and volpone.] avoc: then bring them forth to sentence. volt: o, my most honour'd fathers, let your mercy once win upon your justice, to forgive-- i am distracted-- volp [aside.]: what will he do now? volt: o, i know not which to address myself to first; whether your fatherhoods, or these innocents-- corv [aside.]: will he betray himself? volt: whom equally i have abused, out of most covetous ends-- corv: the man is mad! corb: what's that? corv: he is possest. volt: for which, now struck in conscience, here, i prostate myself at your offended feet, for pardon. , avoc: arise. cel: o heaven, how just thou art! volp [aside.]: i am caught in mine own noose-- corv [to corbaccio.]: be constant, sir: nought now can help, but impudence. avoc: speak forward. com: silence! volt: it is not passion in me, reverend fathers, but only conscience, conscience, my good sires, that makes me now tell trueth. that parasite, that knave, hath been the instrument of all. avoc: where is that knave? fetch him. volp: i go. [exit.] corv: grave fathers, this man's distracted; he confest it now: for, hoping to be old volpone's heir, who now is dead-- avoc: how? avoc: is volpone dead? corv: dead since, grave fathers-- bon: o sure vengeance! avoc: stay, then he was no deceiver? volt: o no, none: the parasite, grave fathers. corv: he does speak out of mere envy, 'cause the servant's made the thing he gaped for: please your fatherhoods, this is the truth, though i'll not justify the other, but he may be some-deal faulty. volt: ay, to your hopes, as well as mine, corvino: but i'll use modesty. pleaseth your wisdoms, to view these certain notes, and but confer them; as i hope favour, they shall speak clear truth. corv: the devil has enter'd him! bon: or bides in you. avoc: we have done ill, by a public officer, to send for him, if he be heir. avoc: for whom? avoc: him that they call the parasite. avoc: 'tis true, he is a man of great estate, now left. avoc: go you, and learn his name, and say, the court entreats his presence here, but to the clearing of some few doubts. [exit notary.] avoc: this same's a labyrinth! avoc: stand you unto your first report? corv: my state, my life, my fame-- bon: where is it? corv: are at the stake avoc: is yours so too? corb: the advocate's a knave, and has a forked tongue-- avoc: speak to the point. corb: so is the parasite too. avoc: this is confusion. volt: i do beseech your fatherhoods, read but those-- [giving them the papers.] corv: and credit nothing the false spirit hath writ: it cannot be, but he's possest grave fathers. [the scene closes.] scene . . a street. enter volpone. volp: to make a snare for mine own neck! and run my head into it, wilfully! with laughter! when i had newly 'scaped, was free, and clear, out of mere wantonness! o, the dull devil was in this brain of mine, when i devised it, and mosca gave it second; he must now help to sear up this vein, or we bleed dead.-- [enter nano, androgyno, and castrone.] how now! who let you loose? whither go you now? what, to buy gingerbread? or to drown kitlings? nan: sir, master mosca call'd us out of doors, and bid us all go play, and took the keys. and: yes. volp: did master mosca take the keys? why so! i'm farther in. these are my fine conceits! i must be merry, with a mischief to me! what a vile wretch was i, that could not bear my fortune soberly? i must have my crotchets, and my conundrums! well, go you, and seek him: his meaning may be truer than my fear. bid him, he straight come to me to the court; thither will i, and, if't be possible, unscrew my advocate, upon new hopes: when i provoked him, then i lost myself. [exeunt.] scene . . the scrutineo, or senate-house. avocatori, bonario, celia, corbaccio, corvino, commandadori, saffi, etc., as before. avoc: these things can ne'er be reconciled. he, here, [shewing the papers.] professeth, that the gentleman was wrong'd, and that the gentlewoman was brought thither, forced by her husband, and there left. volt: most true. cel: how ready is heaven to those that pray! avoc: but that volpone would have ravish'd her, he holds utterly false; knowing his impotence. corv: grave fathers, he's possest; again, i say, possest: nay, if there be possession, and obsession, he has both. avoc: here comes our officer. [enter volpone.] volp: the parasite will straight be here, grave fathers. avoc: you might invent some other name, sir varlet. avoc: did not the notary meet him? volp: not that i know. avoc: his coming will clear all. avoc: yet, it is misty. volt: may't please your fatherhoods-- volp [whispers volt.]: sir, the parasite will'd me to tell you, that his master lives; that you are still the man; your hopes the same; and this was only a jest-- volt: how? volp: sir, to try if you were firm, and how you stood affected. volt: art sure he lives? volp: do i live, sir? volt: o me! i was too violent. volp: sir, you may redeem it, they said, you were possest; fall down, and seem so: i'll help to make it good. [voltore falls.] --god bless the man!-- stop your wind hard, and swell: see, see, see, see! he vomits crooked pins! his eyes are set, like a dead hare's hung in a poulter's shop! his mouth's running away! do you see, signior? now it is in his belly! corv: ay, the devil! volp: now in his throat. corv: ay, i perceive it plain. volp: 'twill out, 'twill out! stand clear. see, where it flies, in shape of a blue toad, with a bat's wings! do you not see it, sir? corb: what? i think i do. corv: 'tis too manifest. volp: look! he comes to himself! volt: where am i? volp: take good heart, the worst is past, sir. you are dispossest. avoc: what accident is this! avoc: sudden, and full of wonder! avoc: if he were possest, as it appears, all this is nothing. corv: he has been often subject to these fits. avoc: shew him that writing:--do you know it, sir? volp [whispers volt.]: deny it, sir, forswear it; know it not. volt: yes, i do know it well, it is my hand; but all that it contains is false. bon: o practice! avoc: what maze is this! avoc: is he not guilty then, whom you there name the parasite? volt: grave fathers, no more than his good patron, old volpone. avoc: why, he is dead. volt: o no, my honour'd fathers, he lives-- avoc: how! lives? volt: lives. avoc: this is subtler yet! avoc: you said he was dead. volt: never. avoc: you said so. corv: i heard so. avoc: here comes the gentleman; make him way. [enter mosca.] avoc: a stool. avoc [aside.]: a proper man; and, were volpone dead, a fit match for my daughter. avoc: give him way. volp [aside to mosca.]: mosca, i was almost lost, the advocate had betrayed all; but now it is recovered; all's on the hinge again--say, i am living. mos: what busy knave is this!--most reverend fathers, i sooner had attended your grave pleasures, but that my order for the funeral of my dear patron, did require me-- volp [aside.]: mosca! mos: whom i intend to bury like a gentleman. volp [aside.]: ay, quick, and cozen me of all. avoc: still stranger! more intricate! avoc: and come about again! avoc [aside.]: it is a match, my daughter is bestow'd. mos [aside to volp.]: will you give me half? volp: first, i'll be hang'd. mos: i know, your voice is good, cry not so loud. avoc: demand the advocate.--sir, did not you affirm, volpone was alive? volp: yes, and he is; this gentleman told me so. [aside to volp.] --thou shalt have half.-- mos: whose drunkard is this same? speak, some that know him: i never saw his face. [aside to volp.] --i cannot now afford it you so cheap. volp: no! avoc: what say you? volt: the officer told me. volp: i did, grave fathers, and will maintain he lives, with mine own life. and that this creature [points to mosca.] told me. [aside.] --i was born, with all good stars my enemies. mos: most grave fathers, if such an insolence as this must pass upon me, i am silent: 'twas not this for which you sent, i hope. avoc: take him away. volp: mosca! avoc: let him be whipt. volp: wilt thou betray me? cozen me? avoc: and taught to bear himself toward a person of his rank. avoc: away. [the officers seize volpone.] mos: i humbly thank your fatherhoods. volp [aside.]: soft, soft: whipt! and lose all that i have! if i confess, it cannot be much more. avoc: sir, are you married? volp: they will be allied anon; i must be resolute: the fox shall here uncase. [throws off his disguise.] mos: patron! volp: nay, now, my ruins shall not come alone; your match i'll hinder sure: my substance shall not glue you, nor screw you into a family. mos: why, patron! volp: i am volpone, and this is my knave; [pointing to mosca.] this [to volt.], his own knave; this [to corb.], avarice's fool; this [to corv.], a chimera of wittol, fool, and knave: and, reverend fathers, since we all can hope nought but a sentence, let's not now dispair it. you hear me brief. corv: may it please your fatherhoods-- com: silence. avoc: the knot is now undone by miracle. avoc: nothing can be more clear. avoc: or can more prove these innocent. avoc: give them their liberty. bon: heaven could not long let such gross crimes be hid. avoc: if this be held the high-way to get riches, may i be poor! avoc: this is not the gain, but torment. avoc: these possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers, which trulier may be said to possess them. avoc: disrobe that parasite. corv, mos: most honour'd fathers!-- avoc: can you plead aught to stay the course of justice? if you can, speak. corv, volt: we beg favour, cel: and mercy. avoc: you hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty. stand forth; and first the parasite: you appear t'have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter, in all these lewd impostures; and now, lastly, have with your impudence abused the court, and habit of a gentleman of venice, being a fellow of no birth or blood: for which our sentence is, first, thou be whipt; then live perpetual prisoner in our gallies. volt: i thank you for him. mos: bane to thy wolvish nature! avoc: deliver him to the saffi. [mosca is carried out.] --thou, volpone, by blood and rank a gentleman, canst not fall under like censure; but our judgment on thee is, that thy substance all be straight confiscate to the hospital of the incurabili: and, since the most was gotten by imposture, by feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such diseases, thou art to lie in prison, cramp'd with irons, till thou be'st sick, and lame indeed.--remove him. [he is taken from the bar.] volp: this is call'd mortifying of a fox. avoc: thou, voltore, to take away the scandal thou hast given all worthy men of thy profession, art banish'd from their fellowship, and our state. corbaccio!--bring him near--we here possess thy son of all thy state, and confine thee to the monastery of san spirito; where, since thou knewest not how to live well here, thou shalt be learn'd to die well. corb: ah! what said he? and: you shall know anon, sir. avoc: thou, corvino, shalt be straight embark'd from thine own house, and row'd round about venice, through the grand canale, wearing a cap, with fair long asses' ears, instead of horns; and so to mount, a paper pinn'd on thy breast, to the berlina-- corv: yes, and have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, bruised fruit and rotten eggs--'tis well. i am glad i shall not see my shame yet. avoc: and to expiate thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her home to her father, with her dowry trebled: and these are all your judgments. all: honour'd fathers.-- avoc: which may not be revoked. now you begin, when crimes are done, and past, and to be punish'd, to think what your crimes are: away with them. let all that see these vices thus rewarded, take heart and love to study 'em! mischiefs feed like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed. [exeunt.] [volpone comes forward.] volpone: the seasoning of a play, is the applause. now, though the fox be punish'd by the laws, he yet doth hope, there is no suffering due, for any fact which he hath done 'gainst you; if there be, censure him; here he doubtful stands: if not, fare jovially, and clap your hands. [exit.] glossary abate, cast down, subdue. abhorring, repugnant (to), at variance. abject, base, degraded thing, outcast. abrase, smooth, blank. absolute(ly), faultless(ly). abstracted, abstract, abstruse. abuse, deceive, insult, dishonour, make ill use of. acater, caterer. acates, cates. acceptive, willing, ready to accept, receive. accommodate, fit, befitting. (the word was a fashionable one and used on all occasions. see "henry iv.," pt. , iii. ). accost, draw near, approach. acknown, confessedly acquainted with. acme, full maturity. adalantado, lord deputy or governor of a spanish province. adjection, addition. admiration, astonishment. admire, wonder, wonder at. adrop, philosopher's stone, or substance from which obtained. adscrive, subscribe. adulterate, spurious, counterfeit. advance, lift. advertise, inform, give intelligence. advertised, "be--," be it known to you. advertisement, intelligence. advise, consider, bethink oneself, deliberate. advised, informed, aware; "are you--?" have you found that out? affect, love, like; aim at; move. affected, disposed; beloved. affectionate, obstinate; prejudiced. affects, affections. affront, "give the--," face. affy, have confidence in; betroth. after, after the manner of. again, against, in anticipation of. aggravate, increase, magnify, enlarge upon. agnomination. see paranomasie. aiery, nest, brood. aim, guess. all hid, children's cry at hide-and-seek. all-to, completely, entirely ("all-to-be-laden"). allowance, approbation, recognition. alma-cantaras (astronomy), parallels of altitude. almain, name of a dance. almuten, planet of chief influence in the horoscope. alone, unequalled, without peer. aludels, subliming pots. amazed, confused, perplexed. amber, ambre, ambergris. ambree, mary, a woman noted for her valour at the siege of ghent, . ames-ace, lowest throw at dice. amphibolies, ambiguities. amused, bewildered, amazed. an, if. anatomy, skeleton, or dissected body. andirons, fire-dogs. angel, gold coin worth shillings, stamped with the figure of the archangel michael. annesh cleare, spring known as agnes le clare. answer, return hit in fencing. antic, antique, clown, buffoon. antic, like a buffoon. antiperistasis, an opposition which enhances the quality it opposes. apozem, decoction. apperil, peril. apple-john, apple-squire, pimp, pander. apply, attach. apprehend, take into custody. apprehensive, quick of perception; able to perceive and appreciate. approve, prove, confirm. apt, suit, adapt; train, prepare; dispose, incline. apt(ly), suitable(y), opportune(ly). aptitude, suitableness. arbor, "make the--," cut up the game (gifford). arches, court of arches. archie, archibald armstrong, jester to james i. and charles i. argaile, argol, crust or sediment in wine casks. argent-vive, quicksilver. argument, plot of a drama; theme, subject; matter in question; token, proof. arride, please. arsedine, mixture of copper and zinc, used as an imitation of gold-leaf. arthur, prince, reference to an archery show by a society who assumed arms, etc., of arthur's knights. article, item. artificially, artfully. ascension, evaporation, distillation. aspire, try to reach, obtain, long for. assalto (italian), assault. assay, draw a knife along the belly of the deer, a ceremony of the hunting-field. assoil, solve. assure, secure possession or reversion of. athanor, a digesting furnace, calculated to keep up a constant heat. atone, reconcile. attach, attack, seize. audacious, having spirit and confidence. authentic(al), of authority, authorised, trustworthy, genuine. avisement, reflection, consideration. avoid, begone! get rid of. away with, endure. azoch, mercurius philosophorum. babion, baboon. baby, doll. back-side, back premises. baffle, treat with contempt. bagatine, italian coin, worth about the third of a farthing. baiard, horse of magic powers known to old romance. baldrick, belt worn across the breast to support bugle, etc. bale (of dice), pair. balk, overlook, pass by, avoid. ballace, ballast. balloo, game at ball. balneum (bain marie), a vessel for holding hot water in which other vessels are stood for heating. banbury, "brother of--," puritan. bandog, dog tied or chained up. bane, woe, ruin. banquet, a light repast; dessert. barb, to clip gold. barbel, fresh-water fish. bare, meer; bareheaded; it was "a particular mark of state and grandeur for the coachman to be uncovered" (gifford). barley-break, game somewhat similar to base. base, game of prisoner's base. bases, richly embroidered skirt reaching to the knees, or lower. basilisk, fabulous reptile, believed to slay with its eye. basket, used for the broken provision collected for prisoners. bason, basons, etc., were beaten by the attendant mob when bad characters were "carted." bate, be reduced; abate, reduce. batoon, baton, stick. batten, feed, grow fat. bawson, badger. beadsman, prayer-man, one engaged to pray for another. beagle, small hound; fig. spy. bear in hand, keep in suspense, deceive with false hopes. bearward, bear leader. bedphere. see phere. bedstaff, (?) wooden pin in the side of the bedstead for supporting the bedclothes (johnson); one of the sticks or "laths"; a stick used in making a bed. beetle, heavy mallet. beg, "i'd--him," the custody of minors and idiots was begged for; likewise property fallen forfeit to the crown ("your house had been begged"). bell-man, night watchman. benjamin, an aromatic gum. berlina, pillory. bescumber, defile. beslave, beslabber. besogno, beggar. bespawle, bespatter. bethlehem gabor, transylvanian hero, proclaimed king of hungary. bever, drinking. bevis, sir, knight of romance whose horse was equally celebrated. bewray, reveal, make known. bezant, heraldic term: small gold circle. bezoar's stone, a remedy known by this name was a supposed antidote to poison. bid-stand, highwayman. biggin, cap, similar to that worn by the beguines; nightcap. bilive (belive), with haste. bilk, nothing, empty talk. bill, kind of pike. billet, wood cut for fuel, stick. birding, thieving. black sanctus, burlesque hymn, any unholy riot. blank, originally a small french coin. blank, white. blanket, toss in a blanket. blaze, outburst of violence. blaze, (her.) blazon; publish abroad. blazon, armorial bearings; fig. all that pertains to good birth and breeding. blin, "withouten--," without ceasing. blow, puff up. blue, colour of servants' livery, hence "--order," "--waiters." blushet, blushing one. bob, jest, taunt. bob, beat, thump. bodge, measure. bodkin, dagger, or other short, pointed weapon; long pin with which the women fastened up their hair. bolt, roll (of material). bolt, dislodge, rout out; sift (boulting-tub). bolt's-head, long, straight-necked vessel for distillation. bombard slops, padded, puffed-out breeches. bona roba, "good, wholesome, plum-cheeked wench" (johnson) --not always used in compliment. bonny-clabber, sour butter-milk. bookholder, prompter. boot, "to--," into the bargain; "no--," of no avail. borachio, bottle made of skin. bordello, brothel. borne it, conducted, carried it through. bottle (of hay), bundle, truss. bottom, skein or ball of thread; vessel. bourd, jest. bovoli, snails or cockles dressed in the italian manner (gifford). bow-pot, flower vase or pot. boys, "terrible--," "angry--," roystering young bucks. (see nares). brabbles (brabblesh), brawls. brach, bitch. bradamante, a heroine in "orlando furioso." bradley, arthur of, a lively character commemorated in ballads. brake, frame for confining a horse's feet while being shod, or strong curb or bridle; trap. branched, with "detached sleeve ornaments, projecting from the shoulders of the gown" (gifford). brandish, flourish of weapon. brash, brace. brave, bravado, braggart speech. brave (adv.), gaily, finely (apparelled). braveries, gallants. bravery, extravagant gaiety of apparel. bravo, bravado, swaggerer. brazen-head, speaking head made by roger bacon. breathe, pause for relaxation; exercise. breath upon, speak dispraisingly of. brend, burn. bride-ale, wedding feast. brief, abstract; (mus.) breve. brisk, smartly dressed. brize, breese, gadfly. broad-seal, state seal. brock, badger (term of contempt). broke, transact business as a broker. brook, endure, put up with. broughton, hugh, an english divine and hebrew scholar. bruit, rumour. buck, wash. buckle, bend. buff, leather made of buffalo skin, used for military and serjeants' coats, etc. bufo, black tincture. bugle, long-shaped bead. bulled, (?) bolled, swelled. bullions, trunk hose. bully, term of familiar endearment. bungy, friar bungay, who had a familiar in the shape of a dog. burden, refrain, chorus. burgonet, closely-fitting helmet with visor. burgullion, braggadocio. burn, mark wooden measures ("--ing of cans"). burrough, pledge, security. buskin, half-boot, foot gear reaching high up the leg. butt-shaft, barbless arrow for shooting at butts. butter, nathaniel ("staple of news"), a compiler of general news. (see cunningham). buttery-hatch, half-door shutting off the buttery, where provisions and liquors were stored. buy, "he bought me," formerly the guardianship of wards could be bought. buz, exclamation to enjoin silence. buzzard, simpleton. by and by, at once. by(e), "on the __," incidentally, as of minor or secondary importance; at the side. by-chop, by-blow, bastard. caduceus, mercury's wand. caliver, light kind of musket. callet, woman of ill repute. callot, coif worn on the wigs of our judges or serjeants-at-law (gifford). calvered, crimped, or sliced and pickled. (see nares). camouccio, wretch, knave. camused, flat. can, knows. candle-rent, rent from house property. candle-waster, one who studies late. canter, sturdy beggar. cap of maintence, an insignia of dignity, a cap of state borne before kings at their coronation; also an heraldic term. capable, able to comprehend, fit to receive instruction, impression. capaneus, one of the "seven against thebes." caract, carat, unit of weight for precious stones, etc.; value, worth. caranza, spanish author of a book on duelling. carcanet, jewelled ornament for the neck. care, take care; object. carosh, coach, carriage. carpet, table-cover. carriage, bearing, behaviour. carwhitchet, quip, pun. casamate, casemate, fortress. case, a pair. case, "in--," in condition. cassock, soldier's loose overcoat. cast, flight of hawks, couple. cast, throw dice; vomit; forecast, calculate. cast, cashiered. casting-glass, bottle for sprinkling perfume. castril, kestrel, falcon. cat, structure used in sieges. catamite, old form of "ganymede." catastrophe, conclusion. catchpole, sheriff's officer. cates, dainties, provisions. catso, rogue, cheat. cautelous, crafty, artful. censure, criticism; sentence. censure, criticise; pass sentence, doom. ceruse, cosmetic containing white lead. cess, assess. change, "hunt--," follow a fresh scent. chapman, retail dealer. character, handwriting. charge, expense. charm, subdue with magic, lay a spell on, silence. charming, exercising magic power. chartel, challenge. cheap, bargain, market. chear, cheer, comfort, encouragement; food, entertainment. check at, aim reproof at. chequin, gold italian coin. chevril, from kidskin, which is elastic and pliable. chiaus, turkish envoy; used for a cheat, swindler. childermass day, innocents' day. choke-bail, action which does not allow of bail. chrysopoeia, alchemy. chrysosperm, ways of producing gold. cibation, adding fresh substances to supply the waste of evaporation. cimici, bugs. cinoper, cinnabar. cioppini, chopine, lady's high shoe. circling boy, "a species of roarer; one who in some way drew a man into a snare, to cheat or rob him" (nares). circumstance, circumlocution, beating about the bush; ceremony, everything pertaining to a certain condition; detail, particular. citronise, turn citron colour. cittern, kind of guitar. city-wires, woman of fashion, who made use of wires for hair and dress. civil, legal. clap, clack, chatter. clapper-dudgeon, downright beggar. claps his dish, a clap, or clack, dish (dish with a movable lid) was carried by beggars and lepers to show that the vessel was empty, and to give sound of their approach. claridiana, heroine of an old romance. clarissimo, venetian noble. clem, starve. clicket, latch. clim o' the cloughs, etc., wordy heroes of romance. climate, country. close, secret, private; secretive. closeness, secrecy. cloth, arras, hangings. clout, mark shot at, bull's eye. clown, countryman, clodhopper. coach-leaves, folding blinds. coals, "bear no--," submit to no affront. coat-armour, coat of arms. coat-card, court-card. cob-herring, herring-cob, a young herring. cob-swan, male swan. cock-a-hoop, denoting unstinted jollity; thought to be derived from turning on the tap that all might drink to the full of the flowing liquor. cockatrice, reptile supposed to be produced from a cock's egg and to kill by its eye--used as a term of reproach for a woman. cock-brained, giddy, wild. cocker, pamper. cockscomb, fool's cap. cockstone, stone said to be found in a cock's gizzard, and to possess particular virtues. codling, softening by boiling. coffin, raised crust of a pie. cog, cheat, wheedle. coil, turmoil, confusion, ado. cokely, master of a puppet-show (whalley). cokes, fool, gull. cold-conceited, having cold opinion of, coldly affected towards. cole-harbour, a retreat for people of all sorts. collection, composure; deduction. collop, small slice, piece of flesh. colly, blacken. colour, pretext. colours, "fear no--," no enemy (quibble). colstaff, cowlstaff, pole for carrying a cowl=tub. come about, charge, turn round. comfortable bread, spiced gingerbread. coming, forward, ready to respond, complaisant. comment, commentary; "sometime it is taken for a lie or fayned tale" (bullokar, ). commodity, "current for--," allusion to practice of money-lenders, who forced the borrower to take part of the loan in the shape of worthless goods on which the latter had to make money if he could. communicate, share. compass, "in--," within the range, sphere. complement, completion, completement; anything required for the perfecting or carrying out of a person or affair; accomplishment. complexion, natural disposition, constitution. compliment, see complement. complimentaries, masters of accomplishments. composition, constitution; agreement, contract. composure, composition. compter, counter, debtors' prison. concealment, a certain amount of church property had been retained at the dissolution of the monasteries; elizabeth sent commissioners to search it out, and the courtiers begged for it. conceit, idea, fancy, witty invention, conception, opinion. conceit, apprehend. conceited, fancifully, ingeniously devised or conceived; possessed of intelligence, witty, ingenious (hence well conceited, etc.); disposed to joke; of opinion, possessed of an idea. conceive, understand. concent, harmony, agreement. conclude, infer, prove. concoct, assimilate, digest. conden't, probably conducted. conduct, escort, conductor. coney-catch, cheat. confect, sweetmeat. confer, compare. congies, bows. connive, give a look, wink, of secret intelligence. consort, company, concert. constancy, fidelity, ardour, persistence. constant, confirmed, persistent, faithful. constantly, firmly, persistently. contend, strive. continent, holding together. control (the point), bear or beat down. convent, assembly, meeting. convert, turn (oneself). convey, transmit from one to another. convince, evince, prove; overcome, overpower; convict. cop, head, top; tuft on head of birds; "a cop" may have reference to one or other meaning; gifford and others interpret as "conical, terminating in a point." cope-man, chapman. copesmate, companion. copy (lat. copia), abundance, copiousness. corn ("powder--"), grain. corollary, finishing part or touch. corsive, corrosive. cortine, curtain, (arch.) wall between two towers, etc. coryat, famous for his travels, published as "coryat's crudities." cosset, pet lamb, pet. costard, head. costard-monger, apple-seller, coster-monger. costs, ribs. cote, hut. cothurnal, from "cothurnus," a particular boot worn by actors in greek tragedy. cotquean, hussy. counsel, secret. countenance, means necessary for support; credit, standing. counter. see compter. counter, pieces of metal or ivory for calculating at play. counter, "hunt--," follow scent in reverse direction. counterfeit, false coin. counterpane, one part or counterpart of a deed or indenture. counterpoint, opposite, contrary point. court-dish, a kind of drinking-cup (halliwell); n.e.d. quotes from bp. goodman's "court of james i.": "the king... caused his carver to cut him out a court-dish, that is, something of every dish, which he sent him as part of his reversion," but this does not sound like short allowance or small receptacle. court-dor, fool. courteau, curtal, small horse with docked tail. courtship, courtliness. covetise, avarice. cowshard, cow dung. coxcomb, fool's cap, fool. coy, shrink; disdain. coystrel, low varlet. cozen, cheat. crack, lively young rogue, wag. crack, crack up, boast; come to grief. crambe, game of crambo, in which the players find rhymes for a given word. cranch, craunch. cranion, spider-like; also fairy appellation for a fly (gifford, who refers to lines in drayton's "nimphidia"). crimp, game at cards. crincle, draw back, turn aside. crisped, with curled or waved hair. crop, gather, reap. cropshire, a kind of herring. (see n.e.d.) cross, any piece of money, many coins being stamped with a cross. cross and pile, heads and tails. crosslet, crucible. crowd, fiddle. crudities, undigested matter. crump, curl up. crusado, portuguese gold coin, marked with a cross. cry ("he that cried italian"), "speak in a musical cadence," intone, or declaim (?); cry up. cucking-stool, used for the ducking of scolds, etc. cucurbite, a gourd-shaped vessel used for distillation. cuerpo, "in--," in undress. cullice, broth. cullion, base fellow, coward. cullisen, badge worn on their arm by servants. culverin, kind of cannon. cunning, skill. cunning, skilful. cunning-man, fortune-teller. cure, care for. curious(ly), scrupulous, particular; elaborate, elegant(ly), dainty(ly) (hence "in curious"). curst, shrewish, mischievous. curtal, dog with docked tail, of inferior sort. custard, "quaking--," "--politic," reference to a large custard which formed part of a city feast and afforded huge entertainment, for the fool jumped into it, and other like tricks were played. (see "all's well, etc." ii. , .) cutwork, embroidery, open-work. cypres (cyprus) (quibble), cypress (or cyprus) being a transparent material, and when black used for mourning. dagger ("--frumety"), name of tavern. dargison, apparently some person known in ballad or tale. dauphin my boy, refrain of old comic song. daw, daunt. dead lift, desperate emergency. dear, applied to that which in any way touches us nearly. decline, turn off from; turn away, aside. defalk, deduct, abate. defend, forbid. degenerous, degenerate. degrees, steps. delate, accuse. demi-culverin, cannon carrying a ball of about ten pounds. denier, the smallest possible coin, being the twelfth part of a sou. depart, part with. dependance, ground of quarrel in duello language. desert, reward. designment, design. desperate, rash, reckless. detect, allow to be detected, betray, inform against. determine, terminate. detract, draw back, refuse. device, masque, show; a thing moved by wires, etc., puppet. devise, exact in every particular. devised, invented. diapasm, powdered aromatic herbs, made into balls of perfumed paste. (see pomander.) dibble, (?) moustache (n.e.d.); (?) dagger (cunningham). diffused, disordered, scattered, irregular. dight, dressed. dildo, refrain of popular songs; vague term of low meaning. dimble, dingle, ravine. dimensum, stated allowance. disbase, debase. discern, distinguish, show a difference between. discharge, settle for. discipline, reformation; ecclesiastical system. disclaim, renounce all part in. discourse, process of reasoning, reasoning faculty. discourtship, discourtesy. discover, betray, reveal; display. disfavour, disfigure. disparagement, legal term applied to the unfitness in any way of a marriage arranged for in the case of wards. dispense with, grant dispensation for. display, extend. dis'ple, discipline, teach by the whip. disposed, inclined to merriment. disposure, disposal. disprise, depreciate. dispunct, not punctilious. disquisition, search. dissolved, enervated by grief. distance, (?) proper measure. distaste, offence, cause of offence. distaste, render distasteful. distempered, upset, out of humour. division (mus.), variation, modulation. dog-bolt, term of contempt. dole, given in dole, charity. dole of faces, distribution of grimaces. doom, verdict, sentence. dop, dip, low bow. dor, beetle, buzzing insect, drone, idler. dor, (?) buzz; "give the--," make a fool of. dosser, pannier, basket. dotes, endowments, qualities. dotterel, plover; gull, fool. double, behave deceitfully. doxy, wench, mistress. drachm, greek silver coin. dress, groom, curry. dressing, coiffure. drift, intention. dryfoot, track by mere scent of foot. ducking, punishment for minor offences. duill, grieve. dumps, melancholy, originally a mournful melody. durindana, orlando's sword. dwindle, shrink away, be overawed. ean, yean, bring forth young. easiness, readiness. ebolition, ebullition. edge, sword. eech, eke. egregious, eminently excellent. eke, also, moreover. e-la, highest note in the scale. eggs on the spit, important business on hand. elf-lock, tangled hair, supposed to be the work of elves. emmet, ant. engage, involve. enghle. see ingle. enghle, cajole; fondle. engin(e), device, contrivance; agent; ingenuity, wit. enginer, engineer, deviser, plotter. enginous, crafty, full of devices; witty, ingenious. engross, monopolise. ens, an existing thing, a substance. ensigns, tokens, wounds. ensure, assure. entertain, take into service. entreat, plead. entreaty, entertainment. entry, place where a deer has lately passed. envoy, denouement, conclusion. envy, spite, calumny, dislike, odium. ephemerides, calendars. equal, just, impartial. erection, elevation in esteem. eringo, candied root of the sea-holly, formerly used as a sweetmeat and aphrodisiac. errant, arrant. essentiate, become assimilated. estimation, esteem. estrich, ostrich. ethnic, heathen. euripus, flux and reflux. even, just equable. event, fate, issue. event(ed), issue(d). evert, overturn. exacuate, sharpen. exampless, without example or parallel. excalibur, king arthur's sword. exemplify, make an example of. exempt, separate, exclude. exequies, obsequies. exhale, drag out. exhibition, allowance for keep, pocket-money. exorbitant, exceeding limits of propriety or law, inordinate. exornation, ornament. expect, wait. expiate, terminate. explicate, explain, unfold. extemporal, extempore, unpremeditated. extraction, essence. extraordinary, employed for a special or temporary purpose. extrude, expel. eye, "in--," in view. eyebright, (?) a malt liquor in which the herb of this name was infused, or a person who sold the same (gifford). eye-tinge, least shade or gleam. face, appearance. faces about, military word of command. facinorous, extremely wicked. fackings, faith. fact, deed, act, crime. factious, seditious, belonging to a party, given to party feeling. faeces, dregs. fagioli, french beans. fain, forced, necessitated. faithful, believing. fall, ruff or band turned back on the shoulders; or, veil. falsify, feign (fencing term). fame, report. familiar, attendant spirit. fantastical, capricious, whimsical. farce, stuff. far-fet. see fet. farthingal, hooped petticoat. faucet, tapster. fault, lack; loss, break in line of scent; "for--," in default of. fautor, partisan. fayles, old table game similar to backgammon. fear(ed), affright(ed). feat, activity, operation; deed, action. feat, elegant, trim. fee, "in--" by feudal obligation. feize, beat, belabour. fellow, term of contempt. fennel, emblem of flattery. fere, companion, fellow. fern-seed, supposed to have power of rendering invisible. fet, fetched. fetch, trick. feuterer (fr. vautrier), dog-keeper. fewmets, dung. fico, fig. figgum, (?) jugglery. figment, fiction, invention. firk, frisk, move suddenly, or in jerks; "--up," stir up, rouse; "firks mad," suddenly behaves like a madman. fit, pay one out, punish. fitness, readiness. fitton (fitten), lie, invention. five-and-fifty, "highest number to stand on at primero" (gifford). flag, to fly low and waveringly. flagon chain, for hanging a smelling-bottle (fr. flacon) round the neck (?). (see n.e.d.). flap-dragon, game similar to snap-dragon. flasket, some kind of basket. flaw, sudden gust or squall of wind. flawn, custard. flea, catch fleas. fleer, sneer, laugh derisively. flesh, feed a hawk or dog with flesh to incite it to the chase; initiate in blood-shed; satiate. flicker-mouse, bat. flight, light arrow. flitter-mouse, bat. flout, mock, speak and act contemptuously. flowers, pulverised substance. fly, familiar spirit. foil, weapon used in fencing; that which sets anything off to advantage. foist, cut-purse, sharper. fond(ly), foolish(ly). foot-cloth, housings of ornamental cloth which hung down on either side a horse to the ground. footing, foothold; footstep; dancing. foppery, foolery. for, "--failing," for fear of failing. forbear, bear with; abstain from. force, "hunt at--," run the game down with dogs. forehead, modesty; face, assurance, effrontery. foreslow, delay. forespeak, bewitch; foretell. foretop, front lock of hair which fashion required to be worn upright. forged, fabricated. form, state formally. formal, shapely; normal; conventional. forthcoming, produced when required. founder, disable with over-riding. fourm, form, lair. fox, sword. frail, rush basket in which figs or raisins were packed. frampull, peevish, sour-tempered. frapler, blusterer, wrangler. fraying, "a stag is said to fray his head when he rubs it against a tree to... cause the outward coat of the new horns to fall off" (gifford). freight (of the gazetti), burden (of the newspapers). frequent, full. fricace, rubbing. fricatrice, woman of low character. frippery, old clothes shop. frock, smock-frock. frolics, (?) humorous verses circulated at a feast (n.e.d.); couplets wrapped round sweetmeats (cunningham). frontless, shameless. froted, rubbed. frumety, hulled wheat boiled in milk and spiced. frump, flout, sneer. fucus, dye. fugeand, (?) figent: fidgety, restless (n.e.d.). fullam, false dice. fulmart, polecat. fulsome, foul, offensive. furibund, raging, furious. galley-foist, city-barge, used on lord mayor's day, when he was sworn into his office at westminster (whalley). galliard, lively dance in triple time. gape, be eager after. garagantua, rabelais' giant. garb, sheaf (fr. gerbe); manner, fashion, behaviour. gard, guard, trimming, gold or silver lace, or other ornament. garded, faced or trimmed. garnish, fee. gavel-kind, name of a land-tenure existing chiefly in kent; from th century often used to denote custom of dividing a deceased man's property equally among his sons (n.e.d.). gazette, small venetian coin worth about three-farthings. geance, jaunt, errand. gear (geer), stuff, matter, affair. gelid, frozen. gemonies, steps from which the bodies of criminals were thrown into the river. general, free, affable. genius, attendant spirit. gentry, gentlemen; manners characteristic of gentry, good breeding. gib-cat, tom-cat. gigantomachize, start a giants' war. giglot, wanton. gimblet, gimlet. ging, gang. glass ("taking in of shadows, etc."), crystal or beryl. gleek, card game played by three; party of three, trio; side glance. glick (gleek), jest, gibe. glidder, glaze. gloriously, of vain glory. godwit, bird of the snipe family. gold-end-man, a buyer of broken gold and silver. goll, hand. gonfalionier, standard-bearer, chief magistrate, etc. good, sound in credit. good-year, good luck. goose-turd, colour of. (see turd). gorcrow, carrion crow. gorget, neck armour. gossip, godfather. gowked, from "gowk," to stand staring and gaping like a fool. grannam, grandam. grass, (?) grease, fat. grateful, agreeable, welcome. gratify, give thanks to. gratitude, gratuity. gratulate, welcome, congratulate. gravity, dignity. gray, badger. grice, cub. grief, grievance. gripe, vulture, griffin. gripe's egg, vessel in shape of. groat, fourpence. grogran, coarse stuff made of silk and mohair, or of coarse silk. groom-porter, officer in the royal household. grope, handle, probe. ground, pit (hence "grounded judgments"). guard, caution, heed. guardant, heraldic term: turning the head only. guilder, dutch coin worth about d. gules, gullet, throat; heraldic term for red. gull, simpleton, dupe. gust, taste. hab nab, by, on, chance. habergeon, coat of mail. haggard, wild female hawk; hence coy, wild. halberd, combination of lance and battle-axe. hall, "a--!" a cry to clear the room for the dancers. handsel, first money taken. hanger, loop or strap on a sword-belt from which the sword was suspended. hap, fortune, luck. happily, haply. happiness, appropriateness, fitness. happy, rich. harbour, track, trace (an animal) to its shelter. hard-favoured, harsh-featured. harpocrates, horus the child, son of osiris, figured with a finger pointing to his mouth, indicative of silence. harrington, a patent was granted to lord h. for the coinage of tokens (q.v.). harrot, herald. harry nicholas, founder of a community called the "family of love." hay, net for catching rabbits, etc. hay! (ital. hai!), you have it (a fencing term). hay in his horn, ill-tempered person. hazard, game at dice; that which is staked. head, "first--," young deer with antlers first sprouting; fig. a newly-ennobled man. headborough, constable. hearken after, inquire; "hearken out," find, search out. hearten, encourage. heaven and hell ("alchemist"), names of taverns. hectic, fever. hedge in, include. helm, upper part of a retort. her'nsew, hernshaw, heron. hieronimo (jeronimo), hero of kyd's "spanish tragedy." hobby, nag. hobby-horse, imitation horse of some light material, fastened round the waist of the morrice-dancer, who imitated the movements of a skittish horse. hoddy-doddy, fool. hoiden, hoyden, formerly applied to both sexes (ancient term for leveret? gifford). holland, name of two famous chemists. hone and honero, wailing expressions of lament or discontent. hood-wink'd, blindfolded. horary, hourly. horn-mad, stark mad (quibble). horn-thumb, cut-purses were in the habit of wearing a horn shield on the thumb. horse-bread-eating, horses were often fed on coarse bread. horse-courser, horse-dealer. hospital, christ's hospital. howleglas, eulenspiegel, the hero of a popular german tale which relates his buffooneries and knavish tricks. huff, hectoring, arrogance. huff it, swagger. huisher (fr. huissier), usher. hum, beer and spirits mixed together. humanitian, humanist, scholar. humorous, capricious, moody, out of humour; moist. humour, a word used in and out of season in the time of shakespeare and ben jonson, and ridiculed by both. humours, manners. humphrey, duke, those who were dinnerless spent the dinner-hour in a part of st. paul's where stood a monument said to be that of the duke's; hence "dine with duke humphrey," to go hungry. hurtless, harmless. idle, useless, unprofitable. ill-affected, ill-disposed. ill-habited, unhealthy. illustrate, illuminate. imbibition, saturation, steeping. imbrocata, fencing term: a thrust in tierce. impair, impairment. impart, give money. imparter, any one ready to be cheated and to part with his money. impeach, damage. impertinencies, irrelevancies. impertinent(ly), irrelevant(ly), without reason or purpose. imposition, duty imposed by. impotently, beyond power of control. impress, money in advance. impulsion, incitement. in and in, a game played by two or three persons with four dice. incense, incite, stir up. inceration, act of covering with wax; or reducing a substance to softness of wax. inch, "to their--es," according to their stature, capabilities. inch-pin, sweet-bread. inconvenience, inconsistency, absurdity. incony, delicate, rare (used as a term of affection). incubee, incubus. incubus, evil spirit that oppresses us in sleep, nightmare. incurious, unfastidious, uncritical. indent, enter into engagement. indifferent, tolerable, passable. indigested, shapeless, chaotic. induce, introduce. indue, supply. inexorable, relentless. infanted, born, produced. inflame, augment charge. ingenious, used indiscriminantly for ingenuous; intelligent, talented. ingenuity, ingenuousness. ingenuous, generous. ingine. see engin. inginer, engineer. (see enginer). ingle, or enghle, bosom friend, intimate, minion. inhabitable, uninhabitable. injury, insult, affront. in-mate, resident, indwelling. innate, natural. innocent, simpleton. inquest, jury, or other official body of inquiry. inquisition, inquiry. instant, immediate. instrument, legal document. insure, assure. integrate, complete, perfect. intelligence, secret information, news. intend, note carefully, attend, give ear to, be occupied with. intendment, intention. intent, intention, wish. intention, concentration of attention or gaze. intentive, attentive. interessed, implicated. intrude, bring in forcibly or without leave. invincibly, invisibly. inward, intimate. irpe (uncertain), "a fantastic grimace, or contortion of the body: (gifford)." jack, jack o' the clock, automaton figure that strikes the hour; jack-a-lent, puppet thrown at in lent. jack, key of a virginal. jacob's staff, an instrument for taking altitudes and distances. jade, befool. jealousy, jealous, suspicion, suspicious. jerking, lashing. jew's trump, jew's harp. jig, merry ballad or tune; a fanciful dialogue or light comic act introduced at the end or during an interlude of a play. joined (joint)-stool, folding stool. joll, jowl. jolthead, blockhead. jump, agree, tally. just year, no one was capable of the consulship until he was forty-three. kell, cocoon. kelly, an alchemist. kemb, comb. kemia, vessel for distillation. kibe, chap, sore. kilderkin, small barrel. kill, kiln. kind, nature; species; "do one's--," act according to one's nature. kirtle, woman's gown of jacket and petticoat. kiss or drink afore me, "this is a familiar expression, employed when what the speaker is just about to say is anticipated by another" (gifford). kit, fiddle. knack, snap, click. knipper-doling, a well-known anabaptist. knitting cup, marriage cup. knocking, striking, weighty. knot, company, band; a sandpiper or robin snipe (tringa canutus); flower-bed laid out in fanciful design. kursined, kyrsin, christened. laboured, wrought with labour and care. lade, load(ed). lading, load. laid, plotted. lance-knight (lanzknecht), a german mercenary foot-soldier. lap, fold. lar, household god. lard, garnish. large, abundant. larum, alarum, call to arms. lattice, tavern windows were furnished with lattices of various colours. launder, to wash gold in aqua regia, so as imperceptibly to extract some of it. lave, ladle, bale. law, "give--," give a start (term of chase). laxative, loose. lay aboard, run alongside generally with intent to board. leaguer, siege, or camp of besieging army. leasing, lying. leave, leave off, desist. leer, leering or "empty, hence, perhaps, leer horse, a horse without a rider; leer is an adjective meaning uncontrolled, hence 'leer drunkards'" (halliwell); according to nares, a leer (empty) horse meant also a led horse; leeward, left. leese, lose. legs, "make--," do obeisance. leiger, resident representative. leigerity, legerdemain. lemma, subject proposed, or title of the epigram. lenter, slower. let, hinder. let, hindrance. level coil, a rough game... in which one hunted another from his seat. hence used for any noisy riot (halliwell). lewd, ignorant. leystalls, receptacles of filth. liberal, ample. lieger, ledger, register. lift(ing), steal(ing); theft. light, alight. lightly, commonly, usually, often. like, please. likely, agreeable, pleasing. lime-hound, leash-, blood-hound. limmer, vile, worthless. lin, leave off. line, "by--," by rule. linstock, staff to stick in the ground, with forked head to hold a lighted match for firing cannon. liquid, clear. list, listen, hark; like, please. livery, legal term, delivery of the possession, etc. logget, small log, stick. loose, solution; upshot, issue; release of an arrow. lose, give over, desist from; waste. louting, bowing, cringing. luculent, bright of beauty. ludgathians, dealers on ludgate hill. lurch, rob, cheat. lute, to close a vessel with some kind of cement. mack, unmeaning expletive. madge-howlet or owl, barn-owl. maim, hurt, injury. main, chief concern (used as a quibble on heraldic term for "hand"). mainprise, becoming surety for a prisoner so as to procure his release. maintenance, giving aid, or abetting. make, mate. make, made, acquaint with business, prepare(d), instruct(ed). mallanders, disease of horses. malt horse, dray horse. mammet, puppet. mammothrept, spoiled child. manage, control (term used for breaking-in horses); handling, administration. mango, slave-dealer. mangonise, polish up for sale. maniples, bundles, handfuls. mankind, masculine, like a virago. mankind, humanity. maple face, spotted face (n.e.d.). marchpane, a confection of almonds, sugar, etc. mark, "fly to the--," "generally said of a goshawk when, having 'put in' a covey of partridges, she takes stand, marking the spot where they disappeared from view until the falconer arrives to put them out to her" (harting, bibl. accip. gloss. ). marle, marvel. marrow-bone man, one often on his knees for prayer. marry! exclamation derived from the virgin's name. marry gip, "probably originated from by mary gipcy" = st. mary of egypt, (n.e.d.). martagan, turk's cap lily. maryhinchco, stringhalt. masoreth, masora, correct form of the scriptural text according to hebrew tradition. mass, abb. for master. maund, beg. mauther, girl, maid. mean, moderation. measure, dance, more especially a stately one. meat, "carry--in one's mouth," be a source of money or entertainment. meath, metheglin. mechanical, belonging to mechanics, mean, vulgar. mediterraneo, middle aisle of st. paul's, a general resort for business and amusement. meet with, even with. melicotton, a late kind of peach. menstrue, solvent. mercat, market. merd, excrement. mere, undiluted; absolute, unmitigated. mess, party of four. metheglin, fermented liquor, of which one ingredient was honey. metoposcopy, study of physiognomy. middling gossip, go-between. migniard, dainty, delicate. mile-end, training-ground of the city. mine-men, sappers. minion, form of cannon. minsitive, (?) mincing, affected (n.e.d.). miscellany madam, "a female trader in miscellaneous articles; a dealer in trinkets or ornaments of various kinds, such as kept shops in the new exchange" (nares). miscelline, mixed grain; medley. misconceit, misconception. misprise, misprision, mistake, misunderstanding. mistake away, carry away as if by mistake. mithridate, an antidote against poison. moccinigo, small venetian coin, worth about ninepence. modern, in the mode; ordinary, commonplace. moment, force or influence of value. montanto, upward stroke. month's mind, violent desire. moorish, like a moor or waste. morglay, sword of bevis of southampton. morrice-dance, dance on may day, etc., in which certain personages were represented. mortality, death. mort-mal, old sore, gangrene. moscadino, confection flavoured with musk. mother, hysterica passio. motion, proposal, request; puppet, puppet-show; "one of the small figures on the face of a large clock which was moved by the vibration of the pendulum" (whalley). motion, suggest, propose. motley, parti-coloured dress of a fool; hence used to signify pertaining to, or like, a fool. motte, motto. mournival, set of four aces or court cards in a hand; a quartette. mow, setord hay or sheaves of grain. much! expressive of irony and incredulity. muckinder, handkerchief. mule, "born to ride on--," judges or serjeants-at-law formerly rode on mules when going in state to westminster (whally). mullets, small pincers. mum-chance, game of chance, played in silence. mun, must. murey, dark crimson red. muscovy-glass, mica. muse, wonder. musical, in harmony. muss, mouse; scramble. myrobolane, foreign conserve, "a dried plum, brought from the indies." mystery, art, trade, profession. nail, "to the--" (ad unguem), to perfection, to the very utmost. native, natural. neat, cattle. neat, smartly apparelled; unmixed; dainty. neatly, neatly finished. neatness, elegance. neis, nose, scent. neuf (neaf, neif), fist. neuft, newt. niaise, foolish, inexperienced person. nice, fastidious, trivial, finical, scrupulous. niceness, fastidiousness. nick, exact amount; right moment; "set in the--," meaning uncertain. nice, suit, fit; hit, seize the right moment, etc., exactly hit on, hit off. noble, gold coin worth s. d. nocent, harmful. nil, not will. noise, company of musicians. nomentack, an indian chief from virginia. nones, nonce. notable, egregious. note, sign, token. nought, "be--," go to the devil, be hanged, etc. nowt-head, blockhead. number, rhythm. nupson, oaf, simpleton. oade, woad. obarni, preparation of mead. object, oppose; expose; interpose. oblatrant, barking, railing. obnoxious, liable, exposed; offensive. observance, homage, devoted service. observant, attentive, obsequious. observe, show deference, respect. observer, one who shows deference, or waits upon another. obstancy, legal phrase, "juridical opposition." obstreperous, clamorous, vociferous. obstupefact, stupefied. odling, (?) "must have some relation to tricking and cheating" (nares). ominous, deadly, fatal. once, at once; for good and all; used also for additional emphasis. only, pre-eminent, special. open, make public; expound. oppilation, obstruction. oppone, oppose. opposite, antagonist. oppress, suppress. originous, native. ort, remnant, scrap. out, "to be--," to have forgotten one's part; not at one with each other. outcry, sale by auction. outrecuidance, arrogance, presumption. outspeak, speak more than. overparted, given too difficult a part to play. owlspiegel. see howleglass. oyez! (o yes!), hear ye! call of the public crier when about to make a proclamation. packing penny, "give a--," dismiss, send packing. pad, highway. pad-horse, road-horse. pained (paned) slops, full breeches made of strips of different colour and material. painful, diligent, painstaking. paint, blush. palinode, ode of recantation. pall, weaken, dim, make stale. palm, triumph. pan, skirt of dress or coat. pannel, pad, or rough kind of saddle. pannier-ally, inhabited by tripe-sellers. pannier-man, hawker; a man employed about the inns of court to bring in provisions, set the table, etc. pantofle, indoor shoe, slipper. paramentos, fine trappings. paranomasie, a play upon words. parantory, (?) peremptory. parcel, particle, fragment (used contemptuously); article. parcel, part, partly. parcel-poet, poetaster. parerga, subordinate matters. parget, to paint or plaster the face. parle, parley. parlous, clever, shrewd. part, apportion. partake, participate in. parted, endowed, talented. particular, individual person. partizan, kind of halberd. partrich, partridge. parts, qualities, endowments. pash, dash, smash. pass, care, trouble oneself. passado, fencing term: a thrust. passage, game at dice. passingly, exceedingly. passion, effect caused by external agency. passion, "in--," in so melancholy a tone, so pathetically. patoun, (?) fr. paton, pellet of dough; perhaps the "moulding of the tobacco... for the pipe" (gifford); (?) variant of petun, south american name of tobacco. patrico, the recorder, priest, orator of strolling beggars or gipsies. patten, shoe with wooden sole; "go--," keep step with, accompany. pauca verba, few words. pavin, a stately dance. peace, "with my master's--," by leave, favour. peculiar, individual, single. pedant, teacher of the languages. peel, baker's shovel. peep, speak in a small or shrill voice. peevish(ly), foolish(ly), capricious(ly); childish(ly). pelican, a retort fitted with tube or tubes, for continuous distillation. pencil, small tuft of hair. perdue, soldier accustomed to hazardous service. peremptory, resolute, bold; imperious; thorough, utter, absolute(ly). perimeter, circumference of a figure. period, limit, end. perk, perk up. perpetuana, "this seems to be that glossy kind of stuff now called everlasting, and anciently worn by serjeants and other city officers" (gifford). perspective, a view, scene or scenery; an optical device which gave a distortion to the picture unless seen from a particular point; a relief, modelled to produce an optical illusion. perspicil, optic glass. perstringe, criticise, censure. persuade, inculcate, commend. persway, mitigate. pertinacy, pertinacity. pestling, pounding, pulverising, like a pestle. petasus, broad-brimmed hat or winged cap worn by mercury. petitionary, supplicatory. petronel, a kind of carbine or light gun carried by horsemen. petulant, pert, insolent. phere. see fere. phlegma, watery distilled liquor (old chem. "water"). phrenetic, madman. picardil, stiff upright collar fastened on to the coat (whalley). pict-hatch, disreputable quarter of london. piece, person, used for woman or girl; a gold coin worth in jonson's time s. or s. pieces of eight, spanish coin: piastre equal to eight reals. pied, variegated. pie-poudres (fr. pied-poudreux, dusty-foot), court held at fairs to administer justice to itinerant vendors and buyers. pilcher, term of contempt; one who wore a buff or leather jerkin, as did the serjeants of the counter; a pilferer. piled, pilled, peeled, bald. pill'd, polled, fleeced. pimlico, "sometimes spoken of as a person--perhaps master of a house famous for a particular ale" (gifford). pine, afflict, distress. pink, stab with a weapon; pierce or cut in scallops for ornament. pinnace, a go-between in infamous sense. pismire, ant. pistolet, gold coin, worth about s. pitch, height of a bird of prey's flight. plague, punishment, torment. plain, lament. plain song, simple melody. plaise, plaice. planet, "struck with a--," planets were supposed to have powers of blasting or exercising secret influences. plausible, pleasing. plausibly, approvingly. plot, plan. ply, apply oneself to. poesie, posy, motto inside a ring. point in his device, exact in every particular. points, tagged laces or cords for fastening the breeches to the doublet. point-trusser, one who trussed (tied) his master's points (q.v.). poise, weigh, balance. poking-stick, stick used for setting the plaits of ruffs. politic, politician. politic, judicious, prudent, political. politician, plotter, intriguer. poll, strip, plunder, gain by extortion. pomander, ball of perfume, worn or hung about the person to prevent infection, or for foppery. pommado, vaulting on a horse without the aid of stirrups. pontic, sour. popular, vulgar, of the populace. populous, numerous. port, gate; print of a deer's foot. port, transport. portague, portuguese gold coin, worth over or pounds. portcullis, "--of coin," some old coins have a portcullis stamped on their reverse (whalley). portent, marvel, prodigy; sinister omen. portentous, prophesying evil, threatening. porter, references appear "to allude to parsons, the king's porter, who was... near seven feet high" (whalley). possess, inform, acquaint. post and pair, a game at cards. posy, motto. (see poesie). potch, poach. poult-foot, club-foot. pounce, claw, talon. practice, intrigue, concerted plot. practise, plot, conspire. pragmatic, an expert, agent. pragmatic, officious, conceited, meddling. precedent, record of proceedings. precept, warrant, summons. precisian(ism), puritan(ism), preciseness. prefer, recommend. presence, presence chamber. present(ly), immediate(ly), without delay; at the present time; actually. press, force into service. prest, ready. pretend, assert, allege. prevent, anticipate. price, worth, excellence. prick, point, dot used in the writing of hebrew and other languages. prick, prick out, mark off, select; trace, track; "--away," make off with speed. primero, game of cards. princox, pert boy. print, "in--," to the letter, exactly. pristinate, former. private, private interests. private, privy, intimate. proclive, prone to. prodigious, monstrous, unnatural. prodigy, monster. produced, prolonged. profess, pretend. projection, the throwing of the "powder of projection" into the crucible to turn the melted metal into gold or silver. prolate, pronounce drawlingly. proper, of good appearance, handsome; own, particular. properties, stage necessaries. property, duty; tool. prorumped, burst out. protest, vow, proclaim (an affected word of that time); formally declare non-payment, etc., of bill of exchange; fig. failure of personal credit, etc. provant, soldier's allowance--hence, of common make. provide, foresee. providence, foresight, prudence. publication, making a thing public of common property (n.e.d.). puckfist, puff-ball; insipid, insignificant, boasting fellow. puff-wing, shoulder puff. puisne, judge of inferior rank, a junior. pulchritude, beauty. pump, shoe. pungent, piercing. punto, point, hit. purcept, precept, warrant. pure, fine, capital, excellent. purely, perfectly, utterly. purl, pleat or fold of a ruff. purse-net, net of which the mouth is drawn together with a string. pursuivant, state messenger who summoned the persecuted seminaries; warrant officer. pursy, pursiness, shortwinded(ness). put, make a push, exert yourself (n.e.d.). put off, excuse, shift. put on, incite, encourage; proceed with, take in hand, try. quacksalver, quack. quaint, elegant, elaborated, ingenious, clever. quar, quarry. quarried, seized, or fed upon, as prey. quean, hussy, jade. queasy, hazardous, delicate. quell, kill, destroy. quest, request; inquiry. question, decision by force of arms. questman, one appointed to make official inquiry. quib, quiblin, quibble, quip. quick, the living. quiddit, quiddity, legal subtlety. quirk, clever turn or trick. quit, requite, repay; acquit, absolve; rid; forsake, leave. quitter-bone, disease of horses. quodling, codling. quoit, throw like a quoit, chuck. quote, take note, observe, write down. rack, neck of mutton or pork (halliwell). rake up, cover over. ramp, rear, as a lion, etc. rapt, carry away. rapt, enraptured. rascal, young or inferior deer. rash, strike with a glancing oblique blow, as a boar with its tusk. ratsey, gomaliel, a famous highwayman. raven, devour. reach, understand. real, regal. rebatu, ruff, turned-down collar. rector, rectress, director, governor. redargue, confute. reduce, bring back. reed, rede, counsel, advice. reel, run riot. refel, refute. reformadoes, disgraced or disbanded soldiers. regiment, government. regression, return. regular ("tale of a tub"), regular noun (quibble) (n.e.d.). religion, "make--of," make a point of, scruple of. relish, savour. remnant, scrap of quotation. remora, species of fish. render, depict, exhibit, show. repair, reinstate. repetition, recital, narration. reremouse, bat. resiant, resident. residence, sediment. resolution, judgment, decision. resolve, inform; assure; prepare, make up one's mind; dissolve; come to a decision, be convinced; relax, set at ease. respective, worthy of respect; regardful, discriminative. respectively, with reverence. respectless, regardless. respire, exhale; inhale. responsible, correspondent. rest, musket-rest. rest, "set up one's--," venture one's all, one's last stake (from game of primero). rest, arrest. restive, resty, dull, inactive. retchless(ness), reckless(ness). retire, cause to retire. retricato, fencing term. retrieve, rediscovery of game once sprung. returns, ventures sent abroad, for the safe return of which so much money is received. reverberate, dissolve or blend by reflected heat. reverse, reverso, back-handed thrust, etc., in fencing. revise, reconsider a sentence. rheum, spleen, caprice. ribibe, abusive term for an old woman. rid, destroy, do away with. rifling, raffling, dicing. ring, "cracked within the--," coins so cracked were unfit for currency. risse, risen, rose. rivelled, wrinkled. roarer, swaggerer. rochet, fish of the gurnet kind. rock, distaff. rodomontado, braggadocio. rogue, vagrant, vagabond. rondel, "a round mark in the score of a public-house" (nares); roundel. rook, sharper; fool, dupe. rosaker, similar to ratsbane. rosa-solis, a spiced spirituous liquor. roses, rosettes. round, "gentlemen of the--," officers of inferior rank. round trunks, trunk hose, short loose breeches reaching almost or quite to the knees. rouse, carouse, bumper. rover, arrow used for shooting at a random mark at uncertain distance. rowly-powly, roly-poly. rude, rudeness, unpolished, rough(ness), coarse(ness). ruffle, flaunt, swagger. rug, coarse frieze. rug-gowns, gown made of rug. rush, reference to rushes with which the floors were then strewn. rusher, one who strewed the floor with rushes. russet, homespun cloth of neutral or reddish-brown colour. sack, loose, flowing gown. sadly, seriously, with gravity. sad(ness), sober, serious(ness). saffi, bailiffs. st. thomas a waterings, place in surrey where criminals were executed. saker, small piece of ordnance. salt, leap. salt, lascivious. sampsuchine, sweet marjoram. saraband, a slow dance. saturnals, began december . sauciness, presumption, insolence. saucy, bold, impudent, wanton. sauna (lat.), a gesture of contempt. savour, perceive; gratify, please; to partake of the nature. say, sample. say, assay, try. scald, word of contempt, implying dirt and disease. scallion, shalot, small onion. scanderbag, "name which the turks (in allusion to alexander the great) gave to the brave castriot, chief of albania, with whom they had continual wars. his romantic life had just been translated" (gifford). scape, escape. scarab, beetle. scartoccio, fold of paper, cover, cartouch, cartridge. sconce, head. scope, aim. scot and lot, tax, contribution (formerly a parish assessment). scotomy, dizziness in the head. scour, purge. scourse, deal, swap. scratches, disease of horses. scroyle, mean, rascally fellow. scruple, doubt. seal, put hand to the giving up of property or rights. sealed, stamped as genuine. seam-rent, ragged. seaming laces, insertion or edging. sear up, close by searing, burning. searced, sifted. secretary, able to keep a secret. secular, worldly, ordinary, commonplace. secure, confident. seelie, happy, blest. seisin, legal term: possession. sellary, lewd person. semblably, similarly. seminary, a romish priest educated in a foreign seminary. senseless, insensible, without sense or feeling. sensibly, perceptibly. sensive, sensitive. sensual, pertaining to the physical or material. serene, harmful dew of evening. sericon, red tincture. servant, lover. services, doughty deeds of arms. sesterce, roman copper coin. set, stake, wager. set up, drill. sets, deep plaits of the ruff. sewer, officer who served up the feast, and brought water for the hands of the guests. shape, a suit by way of disguise. shift, fraud, dodge. shifter, cheat. shittle, shuttle; "shittle-cock," shuttlecock. shot, tavern reckoning. shot-clog, one only tolerated because he paid the shot (reckoning) for the rest. shot-free, scot-free, not having to pay. shove-groat, low kind of gambling amusement, perhaps somewhat of the nature of pitch and toss. shot-sharks, drawers. shrewd, mischievous, malicious, curst. shrewdly, keenly, in a high degree. shrive, sheriff; posts were set up before his door for proclamations, or to indicate his residence. shroving, shrovetide, season of merriment. sigilla, seal, mark. silenced brethern, ministers, those of the church or nonconformists who had been silenced, deprived, etc. silly, simple, harmless. simple, silly, witless; plain, true. simples, herbs. single, term of chase, signifying when the hunted stag is separated from the herd, or forced to break covert. single, weak, silly. single-money, small change. singular, unique, supreme. si-quis, bill, advertisement. skeldring, getting money under false pretences; swindling. skill, "it--s not," matters not. skink(er), pour, draw(er), tapster. skirt, tail. sleek, smooth. slice, fire shovel or pan (dial.). slick, sleek, smooth. 'slid, 'slight, 'sprecious, irreverent oaths. slight, sleight, cunning, cleverness; trick. slip, counterfeit coin, bastard. slippery, polished and shining. slops, large loose breeches. slot, print of a stag's foot. slur, put a slur on; cheat (by sliding a die in some way). smelt, gull, simpleton. snorle, "perhaps snarl, as puppy is addressed" (cunningham). snotterie, filth. snuff, anger, resentment; "take in--," take offence at. snuffers, small open silver dishes for holding snuff, or receptacle for placing snuffers in (halliwell). sock, shoe worn by comic actors. sod, seethe. soggy, soaked, sodden. soil, "take--," said of a hunted stag when he takes to the water for safety. sol, sou. soldadoes, soldiers. solicit, rouse, excite to action. sooth, flattery, cajolery. soothe, flatter, humour. sophisticate, adulterate. sort, company, party; rank, degree. sort, suit, fit; select. souse, ear. soused ("devil is an ass"), fol. read "sou't," which dyce interprets as "a variety of the spelling of "shu'd": to "shu" is to scare a bird away." (see his "webster," page ). sowter, cobbler. spagyrica, chemistry according to the teachings of paracelsus. spar, bar. speak, make known, proclaim. speculation, power of sight. sped, to have fared well, prospered. speece, species. spight, anger, rancour. spinner, spider. spinstry, lewd person. spittle, hospital, lazar-house. spleen, considered the seat of the emotions. spleen, caprice, humour, mood. sprunt, spruce. spurge, foam. spur-ryal, gold coin worth s. squire, square, measure; "by the--," exactly. staggering, wavering, hesitating. stain, disparagement, disgrace. stale, decoy, or cover, stalking-horse. stale, make cheap, common. stalk, approach stealthily or under cover. stall, forestall. standard, suit. staple, market, emporium. stark, downright. starting-holes, loopholes of escape. state, dignity; canopied chair of state; estate. statuminate, support vines by poles or stakes; used by pliny (gifford). stay, gag. stay, await; detain. stickler, second or umpire. stigmatise, mark, brand. still, continual(ly), constant(ly). stinkard, stinking fellow. stint, stop. stiptic, astringent. stoccata, thrust in fencing. stock-fish, salted and dried fish. stomach, pride, valour. stomach, resent. stoop, swoop down as a hawk. stop, fill, stuff. stopple, stopper. stote, stoat, weasel. stoup, stoop, swoop=bow. straight, straightway. stramazoun (ital. stramazzone), a down blow, as opposed to the thrust. strange, like a stranger, unfamiliar. strangeness, distance of behaviour. streights, or bermudas, labyrinth of alleys and courts in the strand. strigonium, grau in hungary, taken from the turks in . strike, balance (accounts). stringhalt, disease of horses. stroker, smoother, flatterer. strook, p.p. of "strike." strummel-patched, strummel is glossed in dialect dicts. as "a long, loose and dishevelled head of hair." studies, studious efforts. style, title; pointed instrument used for writing on wax tablets. subtle, fine, delicate, thin; smooth, soft. subtlety (subtility), subtle device. suburb, connected with loose living. succubae, demons in form of women. suck, extract money from. sufferance, suffering. summed, term of falconry: with full-grown plumage. super-negulum, topers turned the cup bottom up when it was empty. superstitious, over-scrupulous. supple, to make pliant. surbate, make sore with walking. surcease, cease. sur-reverence, save your reverence. survise, peruse. suscitability, excitability. suspect, suspicion. suspend, suspect. suspended, held over for the present. sutler, victualler. swad, clown, boor. swath bands, swaddling clothes. swinge, beat. taberd, emblazoned mantle or tunic worn by knights and heralds. table(s), "pair of--," tablets, note-book. tabor, small drum. tabret, tabor. taffeta, silk; "tuft-taffeta," a more costly silken fabric. taint, "--a staff," break a lance at tilting in an unscientific or dishonourable manner. take in, capture, subdue. take me with you, let me understand you. take up, obtain on credit, borrow. talent, sum or weight of greek currency. tall, stout, brave. tankard-bearers, men employed to fetch water from the conduits. tarleton, celebrated comedian and jester. tartarous, like a tartar. tavern-token, "to swallow a--," get drunk. tell, count. tell-troth, truth-teller. temper, modify, soften. tender, show regard, care for, cherish; manifest. tent, "take--," take heed. terse, swept and polished. tertia, "that portion of an army levied out of one particular district or division of a country" (gifford). teston, tester, coin worth d. thirdborough, constable. thread, quality. threaves, droves. three-farthings, piece of silver current under elizabeth. three-piled, of finest quality, exaggerated. thriftily, carefully. thrums, ends of the weaver's warp; coarse yarn made from. thumb-ring, familiar spirits were supposed capable of being carried about in various ornaments or parts of dress. tibicine, player on the tibia, or pipe. tick-tack, game similar to backgammon. tightly, promptly. tim, (?) expressive of a climax of nonentity. timeless, untimely, unseasonable. tincture, an essential or spiritual principle supposed by alchemists to be transfusible into material things; an imparted characteristic or tendency. tink, tinkle. tippet, "turn--," change behaviour or way of life. tipstaff, staff tipped with metal. tire, head-dress. tire, feed ravenously, like a bird of prey. titillation, that which tickles the senses, as a perfume. tod, fox. toiled, worn out, harassed. token, piece of base metal used in place of very small coin, when this was scarce. tonnels, nostrils. top, "parish--," large top kept in villages for amusement and exercise in frosty weather when people were out of work. toter, tooter, player on a wind instrument. touse, pull, rend. toward, docile, apt; on the way to; as regards; present, at hand. toy, whim; trick; term of contempt. tract, attraction. train, allure, entice. transitory, transmittable. translate, transform. tray-trip, game at dice (success depended on throwing a three) (nares). treachour (trecher), traitor. treen, wooden. trencher, serving-man who carved or served food. trendle-tail, trundle-tail, curly-tailed. trick (tricking), term of heraldry: to draw outline of coat of arms, etc., without blazoning. trig, a spruce, dandified man. trill, trickle. trillibub, tripe, any worthless, trifling thing. tripoly, "come from--," able to perform feats of agility, a "jest nominal," depending on the first part of the word (gifford). trite, worn, shabby. trivia, three-faced goddess (hecate). trojan, familiar term for an equal or inferior; thief. troll, sing loudly. tromp, trump, deceive. trope, figure of speech. trow, think, believe, wonder. trowle, troll. trowses, breeches, drawers. truchman, interpreter. trundle, john, well-known printer. trundle, roll, go rolling along. trundling cheats, term among gipsies and beggars for carts or coaches (gifford). trunk, speaking-tube. truss, tie the tagged laces that fastened the breeches to the doublet. tubicine, trumpeter. tucket (ital. toccato), introductory flourish on the trumpet. tuition, guardianship. tumbler, a particular kind of dog so called from the mode of his hunting. tumbrel-slop, loose, baggy breeches. turd, excrement. tusk, gnash the teeth (century dict.). twire, peep, twinkle. twopenny room, gallery. tyring-house, attiring-room. ulenspiegel. see howleglass. umbratile, like or pertaining to a shadow. umbre, brown dye. unbated, unabated. unbored, (?) excessively bored. uncarnate, not fleshly, or of flesh. uncouth, strange, unusual. undertaker, "one who undertook by his influence in the house of commons to carry things agreeably to his majesty's wishes" (whalley); one who becomes surety for. unequal, unjust. unexcepted, no objection taken at. unfeared, unaffrighted. unhappily, unfortunately. unicorn's horn, supposed antidote to poison. unkind(ly), unnatural(ly). unmanned, untamed (term in falconry). unquit, undischarged. unready, undressed. unrude, rude to an extreme. unseasoned, unseasonable, unripe. unseeled, a hawk's eyes were "seeled" by sewing the eyelids together with fine thread. untimely, unseasonably. unvaluable, invaluable. upbraid, make a matter of reproach. upsee, heavy kind of dutch beer (halliwell); "--dutch," in the dutch fashion. uptails all, refrain of a popular song. urge, allege as accomplice, instigator. urshin, urchin, hedgehog. use, interest on money; part of sermon dealing with the practical application of doctrine. use, be in the habit of, accustomed to; put out to interest. usquebaugh, whisky. usure, usury. utter, put in circulation, make to pass current; put forth for sale. vail, bow, do homage. vails, tips, gratuities. vall. see vail. vallies (fr. valise), portmanteau, bag. vapour(s) (n. and v.), used affectedly, like "humour," in many senses, often very vaguely and freely ridiculed by jonson; humour, disposition, whims, brag(ging), hector(ing), etc. varlet, bailiff, or serjeant-at-mace. vaut, vault. veer (naut.), pay out. vegetal, vegetable; person full of life and vigour. vellute, velvet. velvet custard. cf. "taming of the shrew," iv. , , "custard coffin," coffin being the raised crust over a pie. vent, vend, sell; give outlet to; scent, snuff up. venue, bout (fencing term). verdugo (span.), hangman, executioner. verge, "in the--," within a certain distance of the court. vex, agitate, torment. vice, the buffoon of old moralities; some kind of machinery for moving a puppet (gifford). vie and revie, to hazard a certain sum, and to cover it with a larger one. vincent against york, two heralds-at-arms. vindicate, avenge. virge, wand, rod. virginal, old form of piano. virtue, valour. vively, in lifelike manner, livelily. vizard, mask. vogue, rumour, gossip. voice, vote. void, leave, quit. volary, cage, aviary. volley, "at--," "o' the volee," at random (from a term of tennis). vorloffe, furlough. wadloe, keeper of the devil tavern, where jonson and his friends met in the 'apollo' room (whalley). waights, waits, night musicians, "band of musical watchmen" (webster), or old form of "hautboys." wannion, "vengeance," "plague" (nares). ward, a famous pirate. ward, guard in fencing. watchet, pale, sky blue. weal, welfare. weed, garment. weft, waif. weights, "to the gold--," to every minute particular. welkin, sky. well-spoken, of fair speech. well-torned, turned and polished, as on a wheel. welt, hem, border of fur. wher, whether. whetstone, george, an author who lived (?) to (?). whiff, a smoke, or drink; "taking the--," inhaling the tobacco smoke or some such accomplishment. whigh-hies, neighings, whinnyings. whimsy, whim, "humour." whiniling, (?) whining, weakly. whit, (?) a mere jot. whitemeat, food made of milk or eggs. wicked, bad, clumsy. wicker, pliant, agile. wilding, esp. fruit of wild apple or crab tree (webster). wine, "i have the--for you," prov.: i have the perquisites (of the office) which you are to share (cunningham). winny, "same as old word "wonne," to stay, etc." (whalley). wise-woman, fortune-teller. wish, recommend. wiss (wusse), "i--," certainly, of a truth. without, beyond. witty, cunning, ingenious, clever. wood, collection, lot. woodcock, term of contempt. woolsack ("--pies"), name of tavern. wort, unfermented beer. woundy, great, extreme. wreak, revenge. wrought, wrought upon. wusse, interjection. (see wiss). yeanling, lamb, kid. zany, an inferior clown, who attended upon the chief fool and mimicked his tricks. the bickerstaff-partridge papers by jonathan swift jonathan swift, et al. the bickerstaff-partridge papers, etc. annus mirabilis predictions for the year wherein the month, and day of the month are set down, the persons named, and the great actions and events of next year particularly related, as will come to pass. written to prevent the people of england from being farther imposed on by vulgar almanack-makers. by isaac bickerstaff, esq. i have long consider'd the gross abuse of astrology in this kingdom, and upon debating the matter with myself, i could not possibly lay the fault upon the art, but upon those gross impostors, who set up to be the artists. i know several learned men have contended that the whole is a cheat; that it is absurd and ridiculous to imagine, the stars can have any influence at all upon human actions, thoughts, or inclinations: and whoever has not bent his studies that way, may be excused for thinking so, when he sees in how wretched a manner that noble art is treated by a few mean illiterate traders between us and the stars; who import a yearly stock of nonsense, lyes, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the world as genuine from the planets, tho' they descend from no greater a height than their own brains. i intend in a short time to publish a large and rational defence of this art, and therefore shall say no more in its justification at present, than that it hath been in all ages defended by many learned men, and among the rest by socrates himself, whom i look upon as undoubtedly the wisest of uninspir'd mortals: to which if we add, that those who have condemned this art, though otherwise learned, having been such as either did not apply their studies this way, or at least did not succeed in their applications; their testimony will not be of much weight to its disadvantage, since they are liable to the common objection of condemning what they did not understand. nor am i at all offended, or think it an injury to the art, when i see the common dealers in it, the students in astrology, the philomaths, and the rest of that tribe, treated by wise men with the utmost scorn and contempt; but rather wonder, when i observe gentlemen in the country, rich enough to serve the nation in parliament, poring in partridge's almanack, to find out the events of the year at home and abroad; not daring to propose a hunting-match, till gadbury or he have fixed the weather. i will allow either of the two i have mentioned, or any other of the fraternity, to be not only astrologers, but conjurers too, if i do not produce a hundred instances in all their almanacks, to convince any reasonable man, that they do not so much as understand common grammar and syntax; that they are not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even in their prefaces write common sense or intelligible english. then for their observations and predictions, they are such as will equally suit any age or country in the world. "this month a certain great person will be threatened with death or sickness." this the news-papers will tell them; for there we find at the end of the year, that no month passes without the death of some person of note; and it would be hard if it should be otherwise, when there are at least two thousand persons of not in this kingdom, many of them old, and the almanack-maker has the liberty of chusing the sickliest season of the year where he may fix his prediction. again, "this month an eminent clergyman will be preferr'd;" of which there may be some hundreds half of them with one foot in the grave. then "such a planet in such a house shews great machinations, plots and conspiracies, that may in time be brought to light:" after which, if we hear of any discovery, the astrologer gets the honour; if not, his prediction still stands good. and at last, "god preserve king william from all his open and secret enemies, amen." when if the king should happen to have died, the astrologer plainly foretold it; otherwise it passes but for the pious ejaculation of a loyal subject: though it unluckily happen'd in some of their almanacks, that poor king william was pray'd for many months after he was dead, because it fell out that he died about the beginning of the year. to mention no more of their impertinent predictions: what have we to do with their advertisements about pills and drink for the venereal disease? or their mutual quarrels in verse and prose of whig and tory, wherewith the stars have little to do? having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred other abuses of this art, too tedious to repeat, i resolved to proceed in a new way, which i doubt not will be to the general satisfaction of the kingdom: i can this year produce but a specimen of what i design for the future; having employ'd most part of my time in adjusting and correcting the calculations i made some years past, because i would offer nothing to the world of which i am not as fully satisfied, as that i am now alive. for these two last years i have not failed in above one or two particulars, and those of no very great moment. i exactly foretold the miscarriage at toulon, with all its particulars; and the loss of admiral shovel, tho' i was mistaken as to the day, placing that accident about thirty-six hours sooner than it happen'd; but upon reviewing my schemes, i quickly found the cause of that error. i likewise foretold the battle of almanza to the very day and hour, with the loss on both sides, and the consequences thereof. all which i shewed to some friends many months before they happened, that is, i gave them papers sealed up, to open at such a time, after which they were at liberty to read them; and there they found my predictions true in every article, except one or two, very minute. as for the few following predictions i now offer the world, i forbore to publish them till i had perused the several almanacks for the year we are now enter'd on. i find them in all the usual strain, and i beg the reader will compare their manner with mine: and here i make bold to tell the world, that i lay the whole credit of my art upon the truth of these predictions; and i will be content, that partridge, and the rest of his clan, may hoot me for a cheat and impostor, if i fail in any singular particular of moment. i believe, any man who reads this paper, will look upon me to be at least a person of as much honesty and understanding, as a common maker of almanacks. i do not lurk in the dark; i am not wholly unknown in the world; i have set my name at length, to be a mark of infamy to mankind, if they shall find i deceive them. in one thing i must desire to be forgiven, that i talk more sparingly of home-affairs: as it will be imprudence to discover secrets of state, so it would be dangerous to my person; but in smaller matters, and that are not of publick consequence, i shall be very free; and the truth of my conjectures will as much appear from those as the other. as for the most signal events abroad in france, flanders, italy and spain, i shall make no scruple to predict them in plain terms: some of them are of importance, and i hope i shall seldom mistake the day they will happen; therefore, i think good to inform the reader, that i all along make use of the old style observed in england, which i desire he will compare with that of the news-papers, at the time they relate the actions i mention. i must add one word more: i know it hath been the opinion of several of the learned, who think well enough of the true art of astrology, that the stars do only incline, and not force the actions or wills of men: and therefore, however i may proceed by right rules, yet i cannot in prudence so confidently assure the events will follow exactly as i predict them. i hope i have maturely considered this objection, which in some cases is of no little weight. for example: a man may, by the influence of an over-ruling planet, be disposed or inclined to lust, rage, or avarice, and yet by the force of reason overcome that bad influence; and this was the case of socrates: but as the great events of the world usually depend upon numbers of men, it cannot be expected they should all unite to cross their inclinations, from pursuing a general design, wherein they unanimously agree. besides the influence of the stars reaches to many actions and events which are not any way in the power of reason; as sickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents, with many more, needless to repeat. but now it is time to proceed to my predictions, which i have begun to calculate from the time that the sun enters into aries. and this i take to be properly the beginning of the natural year. i pursue them to the time that he enters libra, or somewhat more, which is the busy period of the year. the remainder i have not yet adjusted, upon account of several impediments needless here to mention: besides, i must remind the reader again, that this is but a specimen of what i design in succeeding years to treat more at large, if i may have liberty and encouragement. my first prediction is but a trifle, yet i will mention it, to show how ignorant those sottish pretenders to astrology are in their own concerns: it relates to partridge the almanack-maker; i have consulted the stars of his nativity by my own rules, and find he will infallibly die upon the th of march next, about eleven at night, of a raging fever; therefore i advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs in time. the month of april will be observable for the death of many great persons. on the th will die the cardinal de noailles, archbishop of paris: on the th the young prince of asturias, son to the duke of anjou: on the th a great peer of this realm will die at his country-house: on the th an old layman of great fame for learning: and on the rd an eminent goldsmith in lombard-street. i could mention others, both at home and abroad, if i did not consider it is of very little use or instruction to the reader, or to the world. as to publick affairs: on the th of this month there will be an insurrection in dauphine, occasion'd by the oppressions of the people, which will not be quieted in some months. on the th will be a violent storm on the south-east coast of france, which will destroy many of their ships, and some in the very harbour. the th will be famous for the revolt of a whole province or kingdom, excepting one city, by which the affairs of a certain prince in the alliance will take a better face. may, against common conjectures, will be no very busy month in europe, but very signal for the death of the dauphin, which will happen on the th, after a short fit of sickness, and grievous torments with the strangury. he dies less lamented by the court than the kingdom. on the th a mareschal of france will break his leg by a fall from his horse. i have not been able to discover whether he will then die or not. on the th will begin a most important siege, which the eyes of all europe will be upon: i cannot be more particular: for in relating affairs that so nearly concern the confederates, and consequently this kingdom, i am forced to confine myself, for several reasons very obvious to the reader. on the th news will arrive of a very surprizing event, than which nothing could be more unexpected. on the th three noble ladies of this kingdom will, against all expectation, prove with child, to the great joy of their husbands. on the rd a famous buffoon of the play-house will die a ridiculous death, suitable to his vocation. june. this month will be distinguish'd at home, by the utter dispersing of those ridiculous deluded enthusiasts, commonly call'd the prophets; occasion'd chiefly by seeing the time come that many of their prophecies should be fulfill'd, and then finding themselves deceiv'd by contrary events. it is indeed to be admir'd how any deceiver can be so weak, to foretel things near at hand, when a very few months must of necessity discover the impostor to all the world; in this point less prudent than common almanack-makers, who are so wise to wonder in generals, and talk dubiously, and leave to the reader the business of interpreting. on the st of this month a french general will be killed by a random shot of a cannon-ball. on the th a fire will break out in the suburbs of paris, which will destroy above a thousand houses; and seems to be the foreboding of what will happen, to the surprize of all europe, about the end of the following month. on the th a great battle will be fought, which will begin at four of the clock in the afternoon; and last till nine at night with great obstinacy, but no very decisive event. i shall not name the place, for the reasons aforesaid; but the commanders on each left wing will be killed.--i see bonfires, and hear the noise of guns for a victory. on the th there will be a false report of the french king's death. on the th cardinal portocarero will die of a dysentery, with great suspicion of poison; but the report of his intention to revolt to king charles, will prove false. july. the th of this month a certain general will, by a glorious action, recover the reputation he lost by former misfortunes. on the th a great commander will die a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. on the th a shameful discovery will be made of a french jesuit, giving poison to a great foreign general; and when he is put to the torture, will make wonderful discoveries. in short this will prove a month of great action, if i might have liberty to relate the particulars. at home, the death of an old famous senator will happen on the th at his country-house, worn with age and diseases. but that which will make this month memorable to all posterity, is the death of the french king, lewis the fourteenth, after a week's sickness at marli, which will happen on the th, about six o'clock in the evening. it seems to be an effect of the gout in his stomach, followed by a flux. and in three days after monsieur chamillard will follow his master, dying suddenly of an appoplexy. in this month likewise an ambassador will die in london; but i cannot assign the day. august. the affairs of france will seem to suffer no change for a while under the duke of burgundy's administration; but the genius that animated the whole machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turns and revolutions in the following year. the new king makes yet little change either in the army or the ministry; but the libels against his grandfather, that fly about his very court, give him uneasiness. i see an express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in his looks, arriving by break of day on the th of this month, having travell'd in three days a prodigious journey by land and sea. in the evening i hear bells and guns, and see the blazing of a thousand bonfires. a young admiral of noble birth, does likewise this month gain immortal honour by a great achievement. the affairs of poland are this month entirely settled: augustus resigns his pretensions which he had again taken up for some time: stanislaus is peaceably possess'd of the throne; and the king of sweden declares for the emperor. i cannot omit one particular accident here at home; that near the end of this month much mischief will be done at bartholomew fair, by the fall of a booth. september. this month begins with a very surprizing fit of frosty weather, which will last near twelve days. the pope having long languish'd last month, the swellings in his legs breaking, and the flesh mortifying, will die on the th instant; and in three weeks time, after a mighty contest, be succeeded by a cardinal of the imperial faction, but native of tuscany, who is now about sixty-one years old. the french army acts now wholly on the defensive, strongly fortify'd in their trenches; and the young french king sends overtures for a treaty of peace by the duke of mantua; which, because it is a matter of state that concerns us here at home, i shall speak no farther of it. i shall add but one prediction more, and that in mystical terms, which shall be included in a verse out of virgil, alter erit jam tethys, & altera quae vehat argo. delectos heroas. upon the th day of this month, the fulfilling of this prediction will be manifest to every body. this is the farthest i have proceeded in my calculations for the present year. i do not pretend, that these are all the great events which will happen in this period, but that those i have set down will infallibly come to pass. it will perhaps still be objected, why i have not spoke more particularly of affairs at home, or of the success of our armies abroad, which i might, and could very largely have done; but those in power have wisely discouraged men from meddling in publick concerns, and i was resolv'd by no means to give the least offence. this i will venture to say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the allies, wherein the english forces, both by sea and land, will have their full share of honour: that her majesty queen anne will continue in health and prosperity: and that no ill accident will arrive to any of the chief ministry. as to the particular events i have mention'd, the readers may judge by the fulfilling of 'em, whether i am on the level with common astrologers; who, with an old paultry cant, and a few pothook for planets, to amuse the vulgar, have, in my opinion, too long been suffer'd to abuse the world: but an honest physician ought not to be despis'd, because there are such things as mountebanks. i hope i have some share of reputation, which i would not willingly forfeit for a frolick or humour: and i believe no gentleman, who reads this paper, will look upon it to be of the same cast or mould with the common scribblers that are every day hawk'd about. my fortune has placed me above the little regard of scribbling for a few pence, which i neither value or want: therefore let no wise men too hastily condemn this essay, intended for a good design, to cultivate and improve an ancient art, long in disgrace, by having fallen into mean and unskilful hands. a little time will determine whether i have deceived others or myself: and i think it is no very unreasonable request, that men would please to suspend their judgments till then. i was once of the opinion with those who despise all predictions from the stars, till the year , a man of quality shew'd me, written in his album, that the most learned astronomer, captain h. assured him, he would never believe any thing of the stars' influence, if there were not a great revolution in england in the year . since that time i began to have other thoughts, and after eighteen years diligent study and application, i think i have no reason to repent of my pains. i shall detain the reader no longer, than to let him know, that the account i design to give of next year's events, shall take in the principal affairs that happen in europe; and if i be denied the liberty of offering it to my own country, i shall appeal to the learned world, by publishing it in latin, and giving order to have it printed in holland. ***** the accomplishment of the first of mr bickerstaff's predictions; being an account of the death of mr partridge, the almanack-maker, upon the th instant. in a letter to a person of honour written in the year my lord, in obedience to your lordship's commands, as well as to satisfy my own curiosity, i have for some days past enquired constantly after partridge the almanack-maker, of whom it was foretold in mr. bickerstaff's predictions, publish'd about a month ago, that he should die on the th instant about eleven at night of a raging fever. i had some sort of knowledge of him when i was employ'd in the revenue, because he used every year to present me with his almanack, as he did other gentlemen, upon the score of some little gratuity we gave him. i saw him accidentally once or twice about ten days before he died, and observed he began very much to droop and languish, tho' i hear his friends did not seem to apprehend him in any danger. about two or three days ago he grew ill, and was confin'd first to his chamber, and in a few hours after to his bed, where dr. case and mrs. kirleus were sent for to visit, and to prescribe to him. upon this intelligence i sent thrice every day one servant or other to enquire after his health; and yesterday, about four in the afternoon, word was brought me that he was past hopes: upon which, i prevailed with myself to go and see him, partly out of commiseration, and i confess, partly out of curiosity. he knew me very well, seem'd surpriz'd at my condescension, and made me compliments upon it as well as he could, in the condition he was. the people about him said, he had been for some time delirious; but when i saw him, he had his understanding as well as ever i knew, and spake strong and hearty, without any seeming uneasiness or constraint. after i told him how sorry i was to see him in those melancholy circumstances, and said some other civilities, suitable to the occasion, i desired him to tell me freely and ingeniously, whether the predictions mr. bickerstaff had publish'd relating to his death, had not too much affected and worked on his imagination. he confess'd he had often had it in his head, but never with much apprehension, till about a fortnight before; since which time it had the perpetual possession of his mind and thoughts, and he did verily believe was the true natural cause of his present distemper: for, said he, i am thoroughly persuaded, and i think i have very good reasons, that mr. bickerstaff spoke altogether by guess, and knew no more what will happen this year than i did myself. i told him his discourse surprized me; and i would be glad he were in a state of health to be able to tell me what reason he had to be convinc'd of mr. bickerstaff's ignorance. he reply'd, i am a poor ignorant fellow, bred to a mean trade, yet i have sense enough to know that all pretences of foretelling by astrology are deceits, for this manifest reason, because the wise and the learned, who can only know whether there be any truth in this science, do all unanimously agree to laugh at and despise it; and none but the poor ignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon the word of such silly wretches as i and my fellows, who can hardly write or read. i then asked him why he had not calculated his own nativity, to see whether it agreed with bickerstaff's prediction? at which he shook his head, and said, oh! sir, this is no time for jesting, but for repenting those fooleries, as i do now from the very bottom of my heart. by what i can gather from you, said i, the observations and predictions you printed, with your almanacks, were mere impositions on the people. he reply'd, if it were otherwise i should have the less to answer for. we have a common form for all those things, as to foretelling the weather, we never meddle with that, but leave it to the printer, who takes it out of any old almanack, as he thinks fit; the rest was my own invention, to make my almanack sell, having a wife to maintain, and no other way to get my bread; for mending old shoes is a poor livelihood; and, (added he, sighing) i wish i may not have done more mischief by my physick than my astrology; tho' i had some good receipts from my grandmother, and my own compositions were such as i thought could at least do no hurt. i had some other discourse with him, which now i cannot call to mind; and i fear i have already tired your lordship. i shall only add one circumstance, that on his death-bed he declared himself a nonconformist, and had a fanatick preacher to be his spiritual guide. after half an hour's conversation i took my leave, being half stifled by the closeness of the room. i imagine he could not hold out long, and therefore withdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant at the house with orders to come immediately, and tell me, as near as he could, the minute when partridge should expire, which was not above two hours after; when, looking upon my watch, i found it to be above five minutes after seven; by which it is clear that mr. bickerstaff was mistaken almost four hours in his calculation. in the other circumstances he was exact enough. but whether he has not been the cause of this poor man's death, as well as the predictor, may be very reasonably disputed. however, it must be confess'd the matter is odd enough, whether we should endeavour to account for it by chance, or the effect of imagination: for my own part, tho' i believe no man has less faith in these matters, yet i shall wait with some impatience, and not without some expectation, the fulfilling of mr. bickerstaff's second prediction, that the cardinal de noailles is to die upon the fourth of april, and if that should be verified as exactly as this of poor partridge, i must own i should be wholly surprized, and at a loss, and should infallibly expect the accomplishment of all the rest. ***** an elegy on the supposed death of partridge, the almanack-maker. well, 'tis as bickerstaff has guess'd, tho' we all took it for a jest; partridge is dead, nay more, he dy'd e're he could prove the good 'squire ly'd. strange, an astrologer shou'd die, without one wonder in the sky! not one of all his crony stars to pay their duty at his herse? no meteor, no eclipse appear'd? no comet with a flaming beard? the sun has rose, and gone to bed, just as if partridge were not dead: nor hid himself behind the moon, to make a dreadful night at noon. he at fit periods walks through aries, howe'er our earthly motion varies; and twice a year he'll cut th' equator, as if there had been no such matter. some wits have wonder'd what analogy there is 'twixt cobbling* and astrology: how partridge made his optics rise, from a shoe-sole, to reach the skies. a list of coblers temples ties, to keep the hair out of their eyes; from whence 'tis plain the diadem that princes wear, derives from them. and therefore crowns are now-a-days adorn'd with golden stars and rays, which plainly shews the near alliance 'twixt cobling and the planets science. besides, that slow-pac'd sign bootes, as 'tis miscall'd, we know not who 'tis? but partridge ended all disputes, he knew his trade, and call'd it **boots. the horned moon, which heretofore upon their shoes the romans wore, whose wideness kept their toes from corns, and whence we claim our shooing-horns; shows how the art of cobling bears a near resemblance to the spheres. a scrap of parchment hung by geometry (a great refinement in barometry) can, like the stars, foretel the weather; and what is parchment else but leather? which an astrologer might use, either for almanacks or shoes. thus partridge, by his wit and parts, at once did practise both these arts; and as the boading owl (or rather the bat, because her wings are leather) steals from her private cell by night, and flies about the candle-light; so learned partridge could as well creep in the dark from leathern cell, and, in his fancy, fly as fair, to peep upon a twinkling star. besides, he could confound the spheres, and set the planets by the ears; to shew his skill, he mars could join to venus in aspect mali'n; then call in mercury for aid, and cure the wounds that venus made. great scholars have in lucian read, when philip, king of greece was dead, his soul and spirit did divide, and each part took a diff'rent side; one rose a star, the other fell beneath, and mended shoes in hell. thus partridge still shines in each art, the cobling and star-gazing part, and is install'd as good a star as any of the caesars are. triumphant star! some pity shew on coblers militant below, whom roguish boys in stormy nights torment, by pissing out their lights; or thro' a chink convey their smoke; inclos'd artificers to choke. thou, high exalted in thy sphere, may'st follow still thy calling there. to thee the bull will lend his hide, by phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd. for thee they argo's hulk will tax, and scrape her pitchy sides for wax. then ariadne kindly lends her braided hair to make thee ends. the point of sagittarius' dart turns to an awl, by heav'nly art; and vulcan, wheedled by his wife, will forge for thee a paring-knife. for want of room, by virgo's side, she'll strain a point, and sit astride***, to take thee kindly in between, and then the signs will be thirteen. *partridge was a cobler. ** see his almanack ***tibi brachia contrahet ingens scorpius, etc. ***** an epitaph on partridge. here, five foot deep, lies on his back, a cobler, starmonger, and quack; who to the stars in pure good-will, does to his best look upward still. weep all you customers that use his pills, his almanacks, or shoes; and you that did your fortunes seek, step to his grave but once a week: this earth which bears his body's print, you'll find has so much vertue in't, that i durst pawn my ears 'twill tell whate'er concerns you full as well, in physick, stolen goods, or love, as he himself could, when above. ***** partridge's reply 'squire bickerstaff detected; or, the astrological impostor convicted; by john partridge, student in physick and astrology. it is hard, my dear countrymen of these united nations, it is very hard that a briton born, a protestant astrologer, a man of revolution principles, an assertor of the liberty and property of the people, should cry out, in vain, for justice against a frenchman, a papist, an illiterate pretender to science; that would blast my reputation, most inhumanly bury me alive, and defraud my native country of those services, that, in my double capacity, i daily offer to the publick. what great provocations i have receiv'd, let the impartial reader judge, and how unwillingly, even in my own defence, i now enter the lists against falsehood, ignorance and envy: but i am exasperated, at length, to drag out this cacus from the den of obscurity where he lurks, detect him by the light of those stars he has so impudently traduced, and shew there's not a monster in the skies so pernicious and malevolent to mankind, as an ignorant pretender to physick and astrology. i shall not directly fall on the many gross errors, nor expose the notorious absurdities of this prostituted libeller, till i have let the learned world fairly into the controversy depending, and then leave the unprejudiced to judge of the merits and justice of the cause. it was towards the conclusion of the year , when an impudent pamphlet crept into the world, intituled, 'predictions, etc.' by isaac bickerstaff, esq;--amongst the many arrogant assertions laid down by that lying spirit of divination, he was pleas'd to pitch on the cardinal de noailles and myself, among many other eminent and illustrious persons, that were to die within the compass of the ensuing year; and peremptorily fixes the month, day, and hour of our deaths: this, i think, is sporting with great men, and publick spirits, to the scandal of religion, and reproach of power; and if sovereign princes and astrologers must make diversion for the vulgar---- why then farewel, say i, to all governments, ecclesiastical and civil. but, i thank my better stars, i am alive to confront this false and audacious predictor, and to make him rue the hour he ever affronted a man of science and resentment. the cardinal may take what measures he pleases with him; as his excellency is a foreigner, and a papist, he has no reason to rely on me for his justification; i shall only assure the world he is alive---- but as he was bred to letters, and is master of a pen, let him use it in his own defence. in the mean time i shall present the publick with a faithful narrative of the ungenerous treatment and hard usage i have received from the virulent papers and malicious practices of this pretended astrologer. a true and impartial account of the proceedings of isaac bickerstaff, esq; against me---- the th of march, anno dom. , being the night this sham-prophet had so impudently fix'd for my last, which made little impression on myself; but i cannot answer for my whole family; for my wife, with a concern more than usual, prevailed on me to take somewhat to sweat for a cold; and, between the hours of eight and nine, to go to bed: the maid, as she was warming my bed, with a curiosity natural to young wenches, runs to the window, and asks of one passing the street, who the bell toll'd for? dr. partridge, says he, that famous almanack-maker, who died suddenly this evening: the poor girl provoked, told him he ly'd like a rascal; the other very sedately reply'd, the sexton had so informed him, and if false, he was to blame for imposing upon a stranger. she asked a second, and a third, as they passed, and every one was in the same tone. now i don't say these are accomplices to a certain astrological 'squire, and that one bickerstaff might be sauntring thereabouts; because i will assert nothing here but what i dare attest, and plain matter of fact. my wife at this fell into a violent disorder; and i must own i was a little discomposed at the oddness of the accident. in the mean time one knocks at my door, betty runs down, and opening, finds a sober grave person, who modestly enquires if this was dr. partridge's? she taking him for some cautious city-patient, that came at that time for privacy, shews him into the dining room. as soon as i could compose myself, i went to him, and was surprized to find my gentleman mounted on a table with a two-foot rule in his hand, measuring my walls, and taking the dimensions of the room. pray sir, says i, not to interrupt you, have you any business with me? only, sir, replies he, order the girl to bring me a better light, for this is but a very dim one. sir, says i, my name is partridge: oh! the doctor's brother, belike, cries he; the stair-case, i believe, and these two apartments hung in close mourning, will be sufficient, and only a strip of bays round the other rooms. the doctor must needs die rich, he had great dealings in his way for many years; if he had no family coat, you had as good use the escutcheons of the company, they are as showish, and will look as magnificent as if he was descended from the blood royal. with that i assumed a great air of authority, and demanded who employ'd him, or how he came there? why, i was sent, sir, by the company of undertakers, says he, and they were employed by the honest gentleman, who is executor to the good doctor departed; and our rascally porter, i believe, is fallen fast asleep with the black cloth and sconces, or he had been here, and we might have been tacking up by this time. sir, says i, pray be advis'd by a friend, and make the best of your speed out of my doors, for i hear my wife's voice, (which by the by, is pretty distinguishable) and in that corner of the room stands a good cudgel, which somebody has felt e're now; if that light in her hands, and she know the business you come about, without consulting the stars, i can assure you it will be employed very much to the detriment of your person. sir, cries he, bowing with great civility, i perceive extreme grief for the loss of the doctor disorders you a little at present, but early in the morning i'll wait on you with all necessary materials. now i mention no mr. bickerstaff, nor do i say, that a certain star-gazing 'squire has been playing my executor before his time; but i leave the world to judge, and if he puts things and things fairly together, it won't be much wide of the mark. well, once more i got my doors clos'd, and prepar'd for bed, in hopes of a little repose after so many ruffling adventures; just as i was putting out my light in order to it, another bounces as hard as he can knock; i open the window, and ask who's there, and what he wants? i am ned the sexton, replies he, and come to know whether the doctor left any orders for a funeral sermon, and where he is to be laid, and whether his grave is to be plain or bricked? why, sirrah, says i, you know me well enough; you know i am not dead, and how dare you affront me in this manner? alack-a-day, replies the fellow, why 'tis in print, and the whole town knows you are dead; why, there's mr. white the joiner is but fitting screws to your coffin, he'll be here with it in an instant: he was afraid you would have wanted it before this time. sirrah, sirrah, says i, you shall know tomorrow to your cost, that i am alive, and alive like to be. why, 'tis strange, sir, says he, you should make such a secret of your death to us that are your neighbours; it looks as if you had a design to defraud the church of its dues; and let me tell you, for one that has lived so long by the heavens, that's unhandsomely done. hist, hist, says another rogue that stood by him, away doctor, in your flannel gear as fast as you can, for here's a whole pack of dismals coming to you with their black equipage, and how indecent will it look for you to stand fright'ning folks at your window, when you should have been in your coffin this three hours? in short, what with undertakers, imbalmers, joiners, sextons, and your damn'd elegy hawkers, upon a late practitioner in physick and astrology, i got not one wink of sleep that night, nor scarce a moment's rest ever since. now i doubt not but this villainous 'squire has the impudence to assert, that these are entirely strangers to him; he, good man, knows nothing of the matter, and honest isaac bickerstaff, i warrant you, is more a man of honour, than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals, that walk the streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds; but he is out, if he thinks the whole world is blind; for there is one john partridge can smell a knave as far as grubstreet,--tho' he lies in the most exalted garret, and writes himself 'squire:-- but i'll keep my temper, and proceed in the narration. i could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after this, but presently one comes up to me in the street; mr partridge, that coffin you was last buried in i have not been yet paid for: doctor, cries another dog, how d'ye think people can live by making of graves for nothing? next time you die, you may e'en toll out the bell yourself for ned. a third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders how i have the conscience to sneak abroad without paying my funeral expences. lord, says one, i durst have swore that was honest dr. partridge, my old friend; but poor man, he is gone. i beg your pardon, says another, you look so like my old acquaintance that i used to consult on some private occasions; but, alack, he's gone the way of all flesh---- look, look, look, cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me, would not one think our neighbour the almanack-maker, was crept out of his grave to take t'other peep at the stars in this world, and shew how much he is improv'd in fortune-telling by having taken a journey to the other? nay, the very reader, of our parish, a good sober, discreet person, has sent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the contrary, if i have been interr'd in any other parish, to produce my certificate, as the act requires. my poor wife is almost run distracted with being called widow partridge, when she knows its false; and once a term she is cited into the court, to take out letters of administration. but the greatest grievance is, a paultry quack, that takes up my calling just under my nose, and in his printed directions with n.b. says, he lives in the house of the late ingenious mr. john partridge, an eminent practitioner in leather, physick and astrology. but to show how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice and resentment can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided me a monument at the stone-cutter's and would have erected it in the parish-church; and this piece of notorious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, had i not used my utmost interest with the vestry, where it was carried at last but by two voices, that i am still alive. that stratagem failing, out comes a long sable elegy, bedeck'd with hour-glasses, mattocks, sculls, spades, and skeletons, with an epitaph as confidently written to abuse me, and my profession, as if i had been under ground these twenty years. and, after such barbarous treatment as this, can the world blame me, when i ask, what is become of the freedom of an englishman? and where is the liberty and property that my old glorious friend came over to assert? we have drove popery out of the nation, and sent slavery to foreign climes. the arts only remain in bondage, when a man of science and character shall be openly insulted in the midst of the many useful services he is daily paying to the publick. was it ever heard, even in turkey or algiers, that a state-astrologer was banter'd out of his life by an ignorant impostor, or bawl'd out of the world by a pack of villanous, deep-mouth'd hawkers? though i print almanacks, and publish advertisements; though i produce certificates under the ministers and church-wardens hands i am alive, and attest the same on oath at quarter-sessions, out comes a full and true relation of the death and interment of john partridge; truth is bore down, attestations neglected, the testimony of sober persons despised, and a man is looked upon by his neighbours as if he had been seven years dead, and is buried alive in the midst of his friends and acquaintance. now can any man of common sense think it consistent with the honour of my profession, and not much beneath the dignity of a philosopher, to stand bawling before his own door?---- alive! alive ho! the famous dr. partridge! no counterfeit, but all alive!---- as if i had the twelve celestial monsters of the zodiac to shew within, or was forced for a livelihood to turn retailer to may and bartholomew fairs. therefore, if her majesty would but graciously be pleased to think a hardship of this nature worthy her royal consideration, and the next parliament, in their great wisdom cast but an eye towards the deplorable case of their old philomath, that annually bestows his poetical good wishes on them, i am sure there is one isaac bickerstaff, esq; would soon be truss'd up for his bloody predictions, and putting good subjects in terror of their lives: and that henceforward to murder a man by way of prophecy, and bury him in a printed letter, either to a lord or commoner, shall as legally entitle him to the present possession of tyburn, as if he robb'd on the highway, or cut your throat in bed. i shall demonstrate to the judicious, that france and rome are at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy against me; and that culprit aforesaid is a popish emissary, has paid his visits to st. germains, and is now in the measures of lewis xiv. that in attempting my reputation, there is a general massacre of learning designed in these realms; and through my sides there is a wound given to all the protestant almanack-makers in the universe. vivat regina. ***** a vindication of isaac bickerstaff, esq; against what is objected to him by mr. partridge in his almanack for the present year . by the said isaac bickerstaff, esq; written in the year . mr. partridge hath been lately pleased to treat me after a very rough manner, in that which is called, his almanack for the present year: such usage is very undecent from one gentleman to another, and does not at all contribute to the discovery of truth, which ought to be the great end in all disputes of the learned. to call a man fool and villain, and impudent fellow, only for differing from him in a point meer speculative, is, in my humble opinion, a very improper style for a person of his education. i appeal to the learned world, whether in my last year's predictions i gave him the least provocation for such unworthy treatment. philosophers have differed in all ages; but the discreetest among them have always differed as became philosophers. scurrility and passion, in a controversy among scholars, is just so much of nothing to the purpose, and at best, a tacit confession of a weak cause: my concern is not so much for my own reputation, as that of the republick of letters, which mr. partridge hath endeavoured to wound through my sides. if men of publick spirit must be superciliously treated for their ingenious attempts, how will true useful knowledge be ever advanced? i wish mr. partridge knew the thoughts which foreign universities have conceived of his ungenerous proceedings with me; but i am too tender of his reputation to publish them to the world. that spirit of envy and pride, which blasts so many rising genius's in our nation, is yet unknown among professors abroad: the necessity of justifying myself will excuse my vanity, when i tell the reader that i have near a hundred honorary letters from several parts of europe (some as far as muscovy) in praise of my performance. besides several others, which, as i have been credibly informed, were open'd in the post-office and never sent me. 'tis true the inquisition in portugal was pleased to burn my predictions, and condem the author and readers of them; but i hope at the same time, it will be consider'd in how deplorable a state learning lies at present in that kingdom: and with the profoundest veneration for crown'd heads, i will presume to add, that it a little concerned his majesty of portugal, to interpose his authority in behalf of a scholar and a gentleman, the subject of a nation with which he is now in so strict an alliance. but the other kingdoms and states of europe have treated me with more candor and generosity. if i had leave to print the latin letters transmitted to me from foreign parts, they would fill a volume, and be a full defence against all that mr. partridge, or his accomplices of the portugal inquisition, will be able to object; who, by the way, are the only enemies my predictions have ever met with at home or abroad. but i hope i know better what is due to the honour of a learned correspondence in so tender a point. yet some of those illustrious persons will perhaps excuse me from transcribing a passage or two in my own vindication. the most learned monsieur leibnits thus addresses to me his third letter: illustrissimo bickerstaffio astrologiae instauratori, etc. monsieur le clerc, quoting my predictions in a treatise he published last year, is pleased to say, ita nuperrime bickerstaffius magnum illud angliae fidus. another great professor writing of me, has these words: bickerstaffius, nobilis anglus, astrologorum hujusce saeculi facile princeps. signior magliabecchi, the great duke's famous library-keeper, spends almost his whole letter in compliments and praises. 'tis true, the renowned professor of astronomy at utrecht, seems to differ from me in one article; but it is in a modest manner, that becomes a philosopher; as, pace tanti viri dixerim: and pag. , he seems to lay the error upon the printer (as indeed it ought) and says, vel forsan error typographi, cum alioquin bickerstaffius ver doctissimus, etc. if mr. partridge had followed this example in the controversy between us, he might have spared me the trouble of justifying myself in so publick a manner. i believe few men are readier to own their errors than i, or more thankful to those who will please to inform me of them. but it seems this gentleman, instead of encouraging the progress of his own art, is pleased to look upon all attempts of that kind as an invasion of his province. he has been indeed so wise to make no objection against the truth of my predictions, except in one single point, relating to himself: and to demonstrate how much men are blinded by their own partiality, i do solemnly assure the reader, that he is the only person from whom i ever heard that objection offered; which consideration alone, i think, will take off all its weight. with my utmost endeavours, i have not been able to trace above two objections ever made against the truth of my last year's prophecies: the first was of a french man, who was pleased to publish to the world, that the cardinal de noailles was still alive, notwithstanding the pretended prophecy of monsieur biquerstaffe: but how far a frenchman, a papist, and an enemy is to be believed in his own case against an english protestant, who is true to his government, i shall leave to the candid and impartial reader. the other objection is the unhappy occasion of this discourse, and relates to an article in my predictions, which foretold the death of mr. partridge, to happen on march , . this he is pleased to contradict absolutely in the almanack he has published for the present year, and in that ungentlemanly manner (pardon the expression) as i have above related. in that work he very roundly asserts, that he is not only now alive, but was likewise alive upon that very th of march, when i had foretold he should die. this is the subject of the present controversy between us; which i design to handle with all brevity, perspicuity, and calmness: in this dispute, i am sensible the eyes not only of england, but of all europe, will be upon us; and the learned in every country will, i doubt not, take part on that side, where they find most appearance of reason and truth. without entering into criticisms of chronology about the hour of his death, i shall only prove that mr. partridge is not alive. and my first argument is thus: above a thousand gentelmen having bought his almanacks for this year, merely to find what he said against me; at every line they read, they would lift up their eyes, and cry out, betwixt rage and laughter, "they were sure no man alive ever writ such damn'd stuff as this." neither did i ever hear that opinion disputed: so that mr. partridge lies under a dilemma, either of disowning his almanack, or allowing himself to be "no man alive". but now if an uninformed carcase walks still about, and is pleased to call itself partridge, mr. bickerstaff does not think himself any way answerable for that. neither had the said carcase any right to beat the poor boy who happen'd to pass by it in the street, crying, "a full and true account of dr. partridge's death, etc." secondly, mr. partridge pretends to tell fortunes, and recover stolen goods; which all the parish says he must do by conversing with the devil and other evil spirits: and no wise man will ever allow he could converse personally with either, till after he was dead. thirdly, i will plainly prove him to be dead out of his own almanack for this year, and from the very passage which he produces to make us think him alive. he there says, "he is not only now alive, but was also alive on the very th of march, which i foretold he should die on": by this, he declares his opinion, that a man may be alive now, who was not alive a twelvemonth ago. and indeed, there lies the sophistry of this argument. he dares not assert, he was alive ever since that th of march, but that he is now alive, and was so on that day: i grant the latter; for he did not die till night, as appears by the printed account of his death, in a letter to a lord; and whether he is since revived i leave the world to judge. this indeed is perfect cavilling, and i am ashamed to dwell any longer upon it. fourthly, i will appeal to mr. partridge himself, whether it be probable i could have been so indiscreet, to begin my predictions with the only falsehood that ever was pretended to be in them; and this in an affair at home, where i had so many opportunities to be exact; and must have given such advantages against me to a person of mr. partridge's wit and learning, who, if he could possibly have raised one single objection more against the truth of my prophecies, would hardly have spared me. and here i must take occasion to reprove the above mention'd writer of the relation of mr. partridge's death, in a letter to a lord; who was pleased to tax me with a mistake of four whole hours in my calculation of that event. i must confess, this censure pronounced with an air of certainty, in a matter that so nearly concerned me, and by a grave judicious author, moved me not a little. but tho' i was at that time out of town, yet several of my friends, whose curiosity had led them to be exactly informed (for as to my own part, having no doubt at all in the matter, i never once thought of it) assured me, i computed to something under half an hour: which (i speak my private opinion) is an error of no very great magnitude, that men should raise a clamour about it. i shall only say, it would not be amiss, if that author would henceforth be more tender of other men's reputations as well as his own. it is well there were no more mistakes of that kind; if there had, i presume he would have told me of them with as little ceremony. there is one objection against mr. partridge's death, which i have sometimes met with, though indeed very slightly offered, that he still continues to write almanacks. but this is no more than what is common to all that profession; gadbury, poor robin, dove, wing, and several others, do yearly publish their almanacks, though several of them have been dead since before the revolution. now the natural reason of this i take to be, that whereas it is the privilege of other authors to live after their deaths; almanack-makers are alone excluded, because their dissertations treating only upon the minutes as they pass, become useless as those go off. in consideration of which, time, whose registers they are, gives them a lease in reversion, to continue their works after their death. i should not have given the publick or myself the trouble of this vindication, if my name had not been made use of by several persons, to whom i never lent it; one of which, a few days ago, was pleased to father on me a new sett of predictions. but i think those are things too serious to be trifled with. it grieved me to the heart, when i saw my labours, which had cost me so much thought and watching, bawl'd about by common hawkers, which i only intended for the weighty consideration of the gravest persons. this prejudiced the world so much at first, that several of my friends had the assurance to ask me whether i were in jest? to which i only answered coldly, that the event would shew. but it is the talent of our age and nation, to turn things of the greatest importance into ridicule. when the end of the year had verified all my predictions, out comes mr. partridge's almanack, disputing the point of his death; so that i am employed, like the general who was forced to kill his enemies twice over, whom a necromancer had raised to life. if mr. partridge has practised the same experiment upon himself, and be again alive, long may he continue so; that does not in the least contradict my veracity: but i think i have clearly proved, by invincible demonstration, that he died at farthest within half an hour of the time i foretold, and not four hours sooner, as the above-mentioned author, in his letter to a lord, hath maliciously suggested, with design to blast my credit, by charging me with so gross a mistake. ***** a famous prediction of merlin, the british wizard. written above a thousand years ago, and relating to the year , with explanatory notes. last year was publish'd a paper of predictions, pretended to be written by one isaac bickerstaff, esq; but the true design of it was to ridicule the art of astrology, and expose its professors as ignorant or impostors. against this imputation, dr. partridge hath vindicated himself in his almanack for that year. for a farther vindication of this famous art, i have thought fit to present the world with the following prophecy. the original is said to be of the famous merlin, who lived about a thousand years ago; and the following translation is two hundred years old, for it seems to be written near the end of henry the seventh's reign. i found it in an old edition of merlin's prophecies, imprinted at london by john hawkins in the year , page . i set it down word for word in the old orthography, and shall take leave to subjoin a few explanatory notes. seven and ten addyd to nyne, of fraunce her woe this is the sygne, tamys rivere twys y-frozen, walke sans wetyng shoes ne hozen. then comyth foorthe, ich understonde, from town of stoffe to farryn londe, an herdye chyftan, woe the morne to fraunce, that evere he was born. than shall the fyshe beweyle his bosse; nor shall grin berrys make up the losse. yonge symnele shall again miscarrye: and norways pryd again shall marrye. and from the tree where blosums feele, ripe fruit shall come, and all is wele, reaums shall daunce honde in honde, and it shall be merrye in old inglonde, then old inglonde shall be no more, and no man shall be sorre therefore. geryon shall have three hedes agayne, till hapsburge makyth them but twayne. explanatory notes. seven and ten. this line describes the year when these events shall happen. seven and ten makes seventeen, which i explain seventeen hundred, and this number added to nine, makes the year we are now in; for it must be understood of the natural year, which begins the first of january. tamys rivere twys, etc. the river thames, frozen twice in one year, so as men to walk on it, is a very signal accident, which perhaps hath not fallen out for several hundred years before, and is the reason why some astrologers have thought that this prophecy could never be fulfilled, because they imagine such a thing would never happen in our climate. from town of stoffe, etc. this is a plain designation of the duke of marlborough: one kind of stuff used to fatten land is called marle, and every body knows that borough is a name for a town; and this way of expression is after the usual dark manner of old astrological predictions. then shall the fyshe, etc. by the fish, is understood the dauphin of france, as their kings eldest sons are called: 'tis here said, he shall lament the loss of the duke of burgundy, called the bosse, which is an old english word for hump-shoulder, or crook-back, as that duke is known to be; and the prophecy seems to mean, that he should be overcome or slain. by the green berrys, in the next line, is meant the young duke of berry, the dauphin's third son, who shall not have valour or fortune enough to supply the loss of his eldest brother. yonge symnele, etc. by symnele is meant the pretended prince of wales, who, if he offers to attempt anything against england, shall miscarry as he did before. lambert symnele is the name of a young man, noted in our histories for personating the son (as i remember) of edward the fourth. and norway's pryd, etc. i cannot guess who is meant by norway's pride, perhaps the reader may, as well as the sense of the two following lines. reaums shall, etc. reums, or, as the word is now, realms, is the old name for kingdoms: and this is a very plain prediction of our happy union, with the felicities that shall attend it. it is added that old england shall be no more, and yet no man shall be sorry for it. and indeed, properly speaking, england is now no more, for the whole island is one kingdom, under the name of britain. geryon shall, etc. this prediction, tho' somewhat obscure, is wonderfully adapt. geryon is said to have been a king of spain, whom hercules slew. it was a fiction of the poets, that he had three heads, which the author says he shall have again: that is, spain shall have three kings; which is now wonderfully verified; for besides the king of portugal, which properly is part of spain, there are now two rivals for spain, charles and philip: but charles being descended fro the count of hapsburgh, founder of the austrian family, shall soon make those heads but two; by overturning philip, and driving him out of spain. some of these predictions are already fulfilled; and it is highly probable the rest may be in due time; and, i think, i have not forced the words, by my explication, into any other sense than what they will naturally bear. if this be granted, i am sure it must be also allow'd, that the author (whoever he were) was a person of extraordinary sagacity; and that astrology brought to such perfection as this, is by no means an art to be despised, whatever mr. bickerstaff, or other merry gentlemen are pleased to think. as to the tradition of these lines having been writ in the original by merlin, i confess i lay not much weight upon it: but it is enough to justify their authority, that the book from whence i have transcrib'd them, was printed years ago, as appears by the title-page. for the satisfaction of any gentleman, who may be either doubtful of the truth, or curious to be inform'd; i shall give order to have the very book sent to the printer of this paper, with directions to let anybody see it that pleases, because i believe it is pretty scarce. ***** dr. john arbuthnot and alexander pope annus mirabilis: or, the wonderful effects of the approaching conjunction of the planets jupiter, mars, and saturn. by mart. scriblerus, philomath. in nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora..... i suppose every body is sufficiently appriz'd of, and duly prepar'd for, the famous conjunction to be celebrated the th of this instant december, , foretold by all the sages of antiquity, under the name of the annus mirabilis, or the metamorphostical conjunction: a word which denotes the mutual transformation of sexes, (the effect of that configuration of the celestial bodies) the human males being turn'd into females, and the human females into males. the egyptians have represented this great transformation by several significant hieroglyphicks, particularly one very remarkable. there are carv'd upon an obelisk, a barber and a midwife; the barber delivers his razor to the midwife, and she her swadling-cloaths to the barber. accordingly thales milesius (who like the rest of his countrymen, borrow'd his learning from the egyptians) after having computed the time of this famous conjunction, "then," says he, "shall men and women mutually exchange the pangs of shaving and child-bearing." anaximander modestly describes this metamorphosis in mathematical terms: "then," says he, "shall the negative quantity of the women be turn'd into positive, their - into +;" (i.e.) their minus into plus. plato not only speaks of this great change, but describes all the preparations towards it. "long before the bodily transformation, (says he) nature shall begin the most difficult part of her work, by changing the ideas and inclinations of the two sexes: men shall turn effeminate, and women manly; wives shall domineer, and husbands obey; ladies shall ride a horseback, dress'd like cavaliers; princes and nobles appear in night-rails and petticoats; men shall squeak upon theatres with female voices, and women corrupt virgins; lords shall knot and cut paper; and even the northern people.........:" a greek phrase (which for modesty's sake i forbear to translate) which denotes a vice too frequent amongst us. that the ministry foresaw this great change, is plain from the callico-act; whereby it is now become the occupation of women all over england, to convert their useless female habits into beds, window-curtains, chairs, and joint-stools; undressing themselves (as it were) before their transformation. the philosophy of this transformation will not seem surprizing to people who search into the bottom of things. madam bourignon, a devout french lady, has shewn us, how man was at first created male and female in one individual, having the faculty of propagation within himself: a circumstance necessary to the state of innocence, wherein a man's happiness was not to depend upon the caprice of another. it was not till after he had made a faux pas, that he had his female mate. many such transformations of individuals have been well attested; particularly one by montaigne, and another by the late bishop of salisbury. from all which it appears, that this system of male and female has already undergone and may hereafter suffer, several alterations. every smatterer in anatomy knows, that a woman is but an introverted man; a new fusion and flatus will turn the hollow bottom of a bottle into a convexity; but i forbear, (for the sake of my modest men-readers, who are in a few days to be virgins.) in some subjects, the smallest alterations will do: some men are sufficiently spread about the hips, and contriv'd with female softness, that they want only the negative quantity to make them buxom wenches; and there are women who are, as it were, already the ebauche of a good sturdy man. if nature cou'd be puzzl'd, it will be how to bestow the redundant matter of the exuberant bubbies that now appear about town, or how to roll out the short dapper fellows into well-siz'd women. this great conjunction will begin to operate on saturday the th instant. accordingly, about eight at night, as senezino shall begin at the opera, si videte, he shall be observ'd to make an unusual motion; upon which the audience will be affected with a red suffusion over their countenance: and because a strong succession of the muscles of the belly is necessary towards performing this great operation, both sexes will be thrown into a profuse involuntary laughter. then (to use the modest terms of anaximander) shall negative quantity be turn'd into positive, etc. time never beheld, nor will it ever assemble, such a number of untouch'd virgins within those walls! but alas! such will be the impatience and curiosity of people to act in their new capacity, that many of them will be compleated men and women that very night. to prevent the disorders that may happen upon this occasion, is the chief design of this paper. gentlemen have begun already to make use of this conjunction to compass their filthy purposes. they tell the ladies forsooth, that it is only parting with a perishable commodity, hardly of so much value as a callico under-petticoat; since, like its mistress, it will be useless in the form it is now in. if the ladies have no regard to the dishonour and immorality of the action, i desire they will consider, that nature who never destroys her own productions, will exempt big-belly'd women till the time of their lying-in; so that not to be transformed, will be the same as to be pregnant. if they don't think it worth while to defend a fortress that is to be demolish'd in a few days, let them reflect that it will be a melancholy thing nine months hence, to be brought to bed of a bastard; a posthumous bastard as it were, to which the quondam father can be no more than a dry nurse. this wonderful transformation is the instrument of nature, to balance matters between the sexes. the cruelty of scornful mistresses shall be return'd; the slighted maid shall grow into an imperious gallant, and reward her undoer with a big belly, and a bastard. it is hardly possible to imagine the revolutions that this wonderful phaenomenon will occasion over the face of the earth. i long impatiently to see the proceedings of the parliament of paris, as to the title of succession to the crown, this being a case not provided for by the salique law. there will be no preventing disorders amongst friars and monks; for certainly vows of chastity do not bind but under the sex in which they were made. the same will hold good with marriages, tho' i think it will be a scandal amongst protestants for husbands and wives to part, since there remains still a possibility to perform the debitus conjugale, by the husband being femme couverte. i submit it to the judgment of the gentlemen of the long robe, whether this transformation does not discharge all suits of rapes? the pope must undergo a new groping; but the false prophet mahomet has contriv'd matters well for his successors; for as the grand signior has now a great many fine women, he will then have as many fine young gentelmen, at his devotion. these are surprizing scenes; but i beg leave to affirm, that the solemn operations of nature are subjects of contemplation, not of ridicule. therefore i make it my earnest request to the merry fellows, and giggling girls about town, that they would not put themselves in a high twitter, when they go to visit a general lying-in of his first child; his officers serving as midwives, nurses and rockers dispensing caudle; or if they behold the reverend prelates dressing the heads and airing the linnen at court, i beg they will remember that these offices must be fill'd with people of the greatest regularity, and best characters. for the same reason, i am sorry that a certain prelate, who notwithstanding his confinement (in december ), still preserves his healthy, chearful countenance, cannot come in time to be a nurse at court. i likewise earnestly intreat the maids of honour, (then ensigns and captains of the guard) that, at their first setting out, they have some regard to their former station, and do not run wild through all the infamous houses about town: that the present grooms of the bed-chamber (then maids of honour) would not eat chalk and lime in their green-sickness: and in general, that the men would remember they are become retromingent, and not by inadvertency lift up against walls and posts. petticoats will not be burdensome to the clergy; but balls and assemblies will be indecent for some time. as for you, coquettes, bawds, and chamber-maids, (the future ministers, plenipotentiaries, and cabinet-counsellors to the princes of the earth,) manage the great intrigues that will be committed to your charge, with your usual secrecy and conduct; and the affairs of your masters will go better than ever. o ye exchange women! (our right worshipful representatives that are to be) be not so griping in the sale of your ware as your predecessors, but consider that the nation, like a spend-thrift heir, has run out: be likewise a little more continent in your tongues than you are at present, else the length of debates will spoil your dinners. you housewifely good women, who now preside over the confectionary, (henceforth commissioners of the treasury) be so good as to dispense the sugar-plumbs of the government with a more impartial and frugal hand. ye prudes and censorious old maids, (the hopes of the bench) exert but your usual talent of finding faults, and the laws will be strictly executed; only i would not have you proceed upon such slender evidences as you have done hitherto. it is from you, eloquent oyster-merchants of billingsgate, (just ready to be called to the bar, and quoif'd like your sister-serjants,) that we expect the shortening the time, and lessening the expences of law-suits: for i think you are observ'd to bring your debates to a short issue; and even custom will restrain you from taking the oyster, and leaving only the shell to your client. o ye physicians, (who in the figure of old women are to clean the tripe in the markets) scour it as effectually as you have done that of your patients, and the town will fare most deliciously on saturdays. i cannot but congratulate human nature, upon this happy transformation; the only expedient left to restore the liberties and tranquillity of mankind. this is so evident, that it is almost an affront to common sense to insist upon the proof: if there can be any such stupid creature as to doubt it, i desire he will make but the following obvious reflection. there are in europe alone, at present, about a million of sturdy fellows, under the denomination of standing forces, with arms in their hands: that those are masters of the lives, liberties and fortunes of all the rest, i believe no body will deny. it is no less true in fact, that reams of paper, and above a square mile of skins of vellum have been employ'd to no purpose, to settle peace among those sons of violence. pray, who is he that will say unto them, go and disband yourselves? but lo! by this transformation it is done at once, and the halcyon days of publick tranquillity return: for neither the military temper nor discipline can taint the soft sex for a whole age to come: bellaque matribus invisa, war odious to mothers, will not grow immediately palatable in their paternal state. nor will the influence of this transformation be less in family tranquillity, than it is in national. great faults will be amended, and frailties forgiven, on both sides. a wife who has been disturb'd with late hours, and choak'd with the hautgout of a sot, will remember her sufferings, and avoid the temptations; and will, for the same reason, indulge her mate in his female capacity in some passions, which she is sensible from experience are natural to the sex. such as vanity of fine cloaths, being admir'd, etc. and how tenderly must she use her mate under the breeding qualms and labour-pains which she hath felt her self? in short, all unreasonable demands upon husbands must cease, because they are already satisfy'd from natural experience that they are impossible. that the ladies may govern the affairs of the world, and the gentlemen those of their household, better than either of them have hitherto done, is the hearty desire of, their most sincere well-wisher, m.s. transcriber's note: except for [illustration] labels and similar, all brackets [] are in the original. the augustan reprint society a learned dissertation on dumpling (anonymous) ( ) pudding and dumpling _burnt to pot_. or, a compleat key to the dissertation on dumpling (anonymous) ( ) _introduction by_ samuel l. macey publication number william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles * * * * * * * * * general editors william e. conway, _william andrews clark memorial library_ george robert guffey, _university of california, los angeles_ maximillian e. novak, _university of california, los angeles_ associate editor david s. rodes, _university of california, los angeles_ advisory editors richard c. boys, _university of michigan_ james l. clifford, _columbia university_ ralph cohen, _university of virginia_ vinton a. dearing, _university of california, los angeles_ arthur friedman, _university of chicago_ louis a. landa, _princeton university_ earl miner, _university of california, los angeles_ samuel h. monk, _university of minnesota_ everett t. moore, _university of california, los angeles_ lawrence clark powell, _william andrews clark memorial library_ james sutherland, _university college, london_ h. t. swedenberg, jr., _university of california, los angeles_ robert vosper, _william andrews clark memorial library_ corresponding secretary edna c. davis, _william andrews clark memorial library_ editorial assistant roberta medford, _william andrews clark memorial library_ introduction _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ and its _key_ (_pudding and dumpling burnt to pot_) are typical satiric pamphlets which grew out of the political in-fighting of the first half of the eighteenth century. the pamphlets are distinguished by the fact that the author's level of imagination and writing makes them delightful reading even today. in _dumpling_ the author displays a considerable knowledge of cooks and cookery in london; by insinuating that to love dumpling is to love corruption, he effectively and amusingly achieves satiric indirection against a number of political and social targets, including walpole. the _key_ is in many ways a separate pamphlet in which swift is the central figure under attack after his two secret visits to walpole during . _dumpling_ had a long life for an eighteenth-century pamphlet and was published as late as . dr. f. t. wood has even suggested that it may have influenced lamb's _dissertation on roast pig_;[ ] readers might wish to test this for themselves. _dumpling_ and its _key_ were first claimed for henry carey by dr. wood (pp. - ). carey ( - ) is generally thought to have been an illegitimate scion of the powerful savile family,[ ] with whose name he christened three of his sons. he was perhaps best known as a writer of songs. "sally in our alley" is a classic, and he has even a tenuous claim to the authorship of the english national anthem. carey's _dramatic works_ appeared in , the year in which he met his death, almost certainly by his own hand. several of the plays were successful and particular reference should be made to the burlesques _chrononhotonthologos_ ( ) and _the dragon of wantley_ ( ). the latter even outran the performances of _the beggar's opera_ in its first year. not only do these plays show carey's satiric bent, but so also do a considerable number of his poems. in , , and carey published three different collections of his poetry, each entitled _poems on several occasions_. although a few of the poems were repeated, almost always revised, each edition is very much a different collection. an edition was brought out in this century by dr. wood.[ ] i am strongly inclined to support carey's claim to the authorship of _dumpling_ and its _key_ despite dr. e. l. oldfield's more recent attempt to invalidate it.[ ] there were at least ten editions of _dumpling_ in the eighteenth century. the first seven ( - ) appeared during carey's life, and these (i have seen all but the third) contain the _namby pamby_ verses which later appeared under carey's own name in his enlarged _poems on several occasions_ ( ). there was also a "sixth edition" of _dumpling_ (really the eighth extant edition) in carey's own name published "for t. read, in dogwell-court, white-friars, fleet-street, mdccxliv." though _namby pamby_ was not added to the first edition of the _key_, it appears in the second edition. both editions were published by mrs. dodd, of whom dr. oldfield says: she "seems to have been a neighbour, and known to carey" (p.  ). dr. wood indicates that "at the foot of a folio sheet containing carey's song _mocking is catching_, published in , the sixth edition of _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ is advertised as having been lately published" (p.  ). dr. wood adds in a footnote that this song "appeared in _the musical century_ ( ) under the title _a sorrowful lamentation for the loss of a man and no man_." even more striking would seem to be the fact that although there are ninety-one entries in his _poems_ ( ), carey has placed the _sorrowful lamentation_ directly adjacent to _namby pamby_. dr. wood maintains of _dumpling_ that "the general style bears a close resemblance to that of the prefaces to carey's plays and collections of poetry" (p.  ). i should like strongly to support his statement. dr. oldfield says that an inviolable regard for decency "is nowhere contradicted in carey's works . . . . yet the pamphlets, besides being palpably whiggish, are larded _passim_ with vulgarity of the 'close-stool' and 'clyster' variety" (p.  ). the reader need look no further than _namby pamby_ to see that carey satisfies northrop frye's very proper observation: "genius seems to have led practically every great satirist to become what the world calls obscene." as for the pamphlets being "palpably whiggish," the reader will not look far into the allegory before he realizes that one of the central attacks is against those well-known whigs walpole and marlborough and their appetite for dumpling (i.e., bribery and perquisites). furthermore, the attack on swift, which is central to the _key_, is based on the very real fear that the dean's two recent private interviews with walpole might presage a return to that leader's whig party in exchange for dumpling. the last pages of the _key_ (pp.  - ) deal with the possibility of an accommodation between swift and walpole which is, i feel sure, the main target of attack. in his poems (_poems_, ed. wood, pp.  , , , and _passim_) carey claims to stand between whig and tory, just as he does in the pamphlets (_dumpling_, p.  , and _key_, p.  and _passim_). dr. wood perceptively points to two parallels between _dumpling_ and the satiric _of stage tyrants_ ( ) which carey openly addressed to the earl of chesterfield. _dumpling's_ "o braund, my patron! my pleasure! my pride" (p. [ii]) becomes: "o chesterfield, my patron and my pride" (_poems_, ed. wood, p.  ). the passage which follows, dealing with "all the monkey-tricks of rival harlequins" (_dumpling_, p. [ii]), becomes: prefer pure nature and the simple scene to all the monkey tricks of harlequin (_poems_, ed. wood, p. ). even more striking is a passage in the _key_: "mr. b[ooth] had spoken to mr. w[ilks] to speak to mr. c[ibber] . . ." (p.  ). this is similar to the following lines in _stage tyrants_: booth ever shew'd me friendship and respect, and wilks would rather forward than reject. ev'n cibber, terror to the scribbling crew, would oft solicit me for something new (_poems_, ed. wood, p. ). what is particularly impressive is that carey not only refers to the three managers of drury lane but mentions them in the same order and as bearing the same relationship to himself. several highly topical theatrical allusions in the pamphlets, by which the works can be dated, accord closely to the life, views, and writings of carey. all three managers of drury lane were subscribers to carey's _poems on several occasions_ ( ), which was dedicated to the countess of burlington, who (like the earl of chesterfield) was closely related to carey's putative family. in the _poems_ these people and many others (including pope) would have seen _namby pamby_ under carey's name and drawn the obvious conclusion that _namby pamby_, _dumpling_ and the _key_ were by the same author. we have already seen how closely _dumpling_ and _stage tyrants_ can be tied together; the reader can compare for himself that part of _namby pamby_ containing "so the nurses get by heart / namby pamby's little rhymes," with the passage from the _key_: "it was here the d[ean] . . . got together all his namby pamby . . . from the old nurses thereabouts" (_key_, pp.  - ). there exists in the bodleian an early copy of _namby pamby_ ( ?) "by capt. gordon, author of the apology for parson alberony and the humorist." the joke here is surely in not only letting the whig gordon attack the whig ambrose phillips but then, also by association, connecting gordon's name with the attack on walpole and marlborough. there is a parallel to this: carey's "lilliputian ode on their majesties succession" appeared in _poems_ ( ), separated from the pieces previously mentioned by only one short patriotic stanza. yet in the huntington library there is an almost identical version ( ) which was ostensibly published by swift. the first six editions of _dumpling_ appeared in and both editions of the _key_ are dated . apart from the dates on the title page, this can be verified externally by the initial entries in wilford's _monthly catalogue_ ( - ) of february and april respectively. swift's first return visit to england (in march after twelve years) was subsequent to the publication of _dumpling_; his second visit was in the same month as the publication of the _key_, which assigns him _ex post facto_ the authorship "from page . to page ." of _dumpling_ (_key_, p. ix). sir john pudding and his dumpling are manipulated throughout these pamphlets to carry a multiplicity of meaning which brings them almost as close to symbolism as they are to the allegory that carey claims to be writing (_key_, pp.  , and ). collation of _dumpling_ with its _key_ clearly reveals (with due allowance for satiric arabesque) a series of allegories moving backwards and forwards through history. at various stages, sir john pudding (ostensibly brawn [or john brand], the famous cook of the rummer in queen street who appears in dr. king's _art of cookery_ [ ]), becomes identifiable with king john, sir john falstaff, walpole, marlborough, and even queen anne (for the change in sexes see _key_, p.  ). all of these enjoyed dumpling, and their tastes are ostensibly approved while at the same time being heavily undercut with satiric indirection. naturally enough, walpole (although a dumpling eater) is treated with considerable circumspection. carey has warned us that he is a bad chronologist (_key_, p.  ), and the sir john pudding (be he walpole or marlborough [d. ]), who at the end of _dumpling_ is referred to as "the hero of this dumpleid," is for good reason spoken of in the past tense. the fable of dumpling, in the true spirit of _lanx satura_, allows carey to attack by indirection a complete spectrum of traditional eighteenth-century targets. like the musician and the satirist that he is, he builds up to a magnificent crescendo (pp.  - of his "dumpleid") which results in one of the finest displays of sustained virtuosity in early eighteenth-century pamphlet writing. the notes which follow the texts point to a number of the contemporary allusions, but the reader will surely wish to recognize some of the references and the more delicate ironies for himself. as the author puts it on page of _dumpling_: o wou'd to heav'n this little attempt of mine may stir up some _pudding-headed antiquary_ to dig his way through all the mouldy records of antiquity, and bring to light the noble actions of sir _john_! what scholar could refuse? university of victoria notes to the introduction . "an eighteenth-century original for lamb," _res_, v ( ), . . an exception is henry j. dane who denies the relationship in "the life and works of henry carey," unpublished doctoral dissertation (university of pennsylvania, ), pp. xxix-xxx, and _passim_. . _poems_, ed. f. t. wood (london, ). . "henry carey ( - ) and some troublesome attributions," _bnypl_, lxii ( ), - . bibliographical note these facsimiles of _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ ( ) and _pudding and dumpling burnt to pot_ ( ) are reproduced from copies in the bodleian library and the british museum. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * a learned dissertation on dumpling; its dignity, antiquity, and excellence. with a word upon pudding. and many other useful discoveries, of great benefit to the publick. _quid farto melius? huic suam agnoscit corpus energiam, suam aciem mens: ------------ ---- hinc adoleverunt præstantissimi, hi fartophagi in reipublicæ commodum._ _mab._ de fartophagis, _lib._ iii. _cap._  . _london._ printed for _j. roberts_ in the _oxford-arms_-passage, _warwick-lane_; and sold by the booksellers of _london_ and _westminster_. . [price _d._] [decoration] to mr. braund. sir, let mercenary _authors_ flatter the great, and subject their principle to interest and ambition, i scorn such sordid views; you only are eminent in my eyes: on you i look as the most useful member in a body-politic, and your art far superior to all others: therefore, _tu mihi mecænas eris!_ o braund, my patron! my pleasure! my pride! disdain not to grace my labours with a kind perusal. suspend a-while your more momentous cares, and condescend to taste this little _fricassee_ of mine. i write not this, to bite you by the ear, (_i.e._) flatter you out of a brace or two of guinea's: no; as i am a true _dumpling eater_, my views are purely _epicurean_, and my utmost hopes center'd in partaking of some elegant _quelque chose_ tost up by your judicious hand. i regard money but as a ticket which admits me to your delicate entertainments; to me much more agreeable than all the monkey-tricks of rival _harlequins_, or _puppet-show_ finery of contending _theatres_. the plague and fatigue of dependance and attendance, which call me so often to the court-end of the town, were insupportable, but for the relief i find at austin's, your ingenious and grateful disciple, who has adorn'd _new bond-street_ with your graceful _effigies_. nor can he fail of custom who has hung out a sign so alluring to all true _dumpling-eaters_. many a time and oft have i gaz'd with pleasure on your features, and trac'd in them the exact lineaments of your glorious ancestor sir john brand, vulgarly call'd sir john pudding. tho' the corruption of our _english_ orthography indulges some appearance of distinction between brand and braund, yet in effect they are one and the same thing. the ancient manor of brand's, alias braund's, near kilburn in _middlesex_, was the very manor-house of sir john brand, and is call'd brand's to this day, altho' at present it be in the possession of the family of marsh. what honours are therefore due to one who is in a direct male line, an immediate descendant from the loins of that great man! let this teach you to value your self; this remind the world, how much they owe to the family of the braunds; more particularly to you, who inherit not only the name, but the virtues of your illustrious ancestor. i am, sir, with all imaginable esteem and gratitude, your very most obedient servant, _&c._ page . line , _&c._ for _barnes_ read _brand_. [decoration] a learned dissertation on dumpling; its dignity, antiquity, _&c._ the dumpling-eaters are a race sprung partly from the old _epicurean_, and partly from the _peripatetic sect_; they were brought first into _britain_ by _julius cesar_; and finding it a land of plenty, they wisely resolv'd never to go home again. their doctrines are amphibious, and compos'd _party per pale_ of the two sects before-mention'd; from the _peripatetics_, they derive their principle of walking, as a proper method to digest a meal, or create an appetite; from the _epicureans_, they maintain that all pleasures are comprehended in good eating and drinking: and so readily were their opinions embrac'd, that every day produc'd many proselytes; and their numbers have from age to age increas'd prodigiously, insomuch that our whole island is over-run with them, at present. eating and drinking are become so customary among us that we seem to have entirely forgot, and laid aside the old fashion of fasting: instead of having wine sold at apothecaries shops, as formerly, every street has two or three taverns in it, least these dumpling-eaters should faint by the way; nay, so zealous are they in the cause of _bacchus_, that one of the chief among 'em has made a vow never to say his prayers 'till he has a tavern of _his own_ in every street in _london_, and in every market-town in _england_. what may we then in time expect? since by insensible degrees, their society is become so numerous and formidable, that they are without number; other bodies have their meetings, but where can the dumpling-eaters assemble? what place large enough to contain 'em! the _bank_, _india_, and _south-sea_ companies have their general courts, the _free-masons_ and the _gormogons_ their chapters; nay, our friends the _quakers_ have their yearly meetings. and who would imagine any of these should be dumpling-eaters? but thus it is, the dumpling-eating doctrine has so far prevailed among 'em, that they eat not only dumplings, but _puddings_, and those in no small quantities. the dumpling is indeed, of more antient institution, and of _foreign_ origin; but alas, what were those dumplings? nothing but a few lentils sodden together, moisten'd and cemented with a little seeth'd fat, not much unlike our gritt or oatmeal pudding; yet were they of such esteem among the ancient _romans_, that a statue was erected to _fulvius agricola_, the first inventor of these lentil dumplings. how unlike the gratitude shewn by the publick to our modern projectors! the _romans_, tho' our conquerors, found themselves much out-done in dumplings by our fore-fathers; the _roman_ dumplings were no more to compare to those made by the _britons_, than a stone-dumpling is to a marrow pudding; tho' indeed, the _british_ dumpling at that time, was little better than what we call a stone-dumpling, being no thing else but flour and water: but every generation growing wiser and wiser, the project was improv'd, and dumpling grew to be pudding: one projector found milk better than water; another introduc'd butter; some added marrow, others plumbs; and some found out the use of sugar; so that, to speak truth, we know not where to fix the genealogy or chronology of any of these pudding projectors, to the reproach of our historians, who eat so much pudding, yet have been so ungrateful to the first professors of this most noble science, as not to find 'em a place in history. the invention of eggs was merely accidental, two or three of which having casually roll'd from off a shelf into a pudding which a good wife was making, she found herself under a necessity either of throwing away her pudding, or letting the eggs remain, but concluding from the innocent quality of the eggs, that they would do no hurt, if they did no good. she wisely jumbl'd 'em all together, after having carefully pick'd out the shells; the consequence is easily imagined, the pudding became a pudding of puddings; and the use of eggs from thence took its date. the woman was sent for to court to make puddings for king _john_, who then sway'd the scepter; and gain'd such favour, that she was the making of her whole family. i cannot conclude this paragraph without owning, i received this important part of the history of pudding from old mr. _lawrence_ of _wilsden-green_, the greatest antiquary of the present age. from that time the _english_ became so famous for puddings, that they are call'd pudding-eaters all over the world, to this day. at her demise, her son was taken into favour, and made the king's chief cook; and so great was his fame for puddings, that he was call'd _jack pudding_ all over the kingdom, tho' in truth, his real name was _john brand_, as by the records of the kitchen you will find: this _john brand_, or _jack-pudding_, call him which you please, the _french_ have it _jean boudin_, for his fame had reached _france_, whose king would have given the world to have had our _jack_ for his pudding-maker. this _jack pudding_, i say, became yet a greater favourite than his mother, insomuch that he had the king's ear as well as his mouth at command; for the king, you must know, was a mighty lover of pudding; and _jack_ fitted him to a hair, he knew how to make the most of a pudding; no pudding came amiss to him, he would make a pudding out of a flint-stone, comparatively speaking. it is needless to enumerate the many sorts of pudding he made, such as plain pudding, plumb pudding, marrow pudding, oatmeal pudding, carrot pudding, saucesage pudding, bread pudding, flower pudding, suet pudding, and in short, every pudding but quaking pudding, which was solely invented by, and took its name from our good friends of the _bull and mouth_ before mentioned, notwithstanding the many pretenders to that projection. but what rais'd our hero most in the esteem of this pudding-eating monarch, was his second edition of pudding, he being the first that ever invented the art of broiling puddings, which he did to such perfection, and so much to the king's likeing, (who had a mortal aversion to cold pudding,) that he thereupon instituted him knight of the gridiron, and gave him a gridiron of gold, the ensign of that order, which he always wore as a mark of his sovereign's favour; in short, _jack pudding_, or sir _john_, grew to be all in all with good king _john_; he did nothing without him, they were finger and glove; and, if we may believe tradition, our very good friend had no small hand in the _magna charta_. if so, how much are all _englishmen_ indebted to him? in what repute ought the order of the gridiron to be, which was instituted to do honour to this wonderful man? but alas! how soon is merit forgot? how impudently do the vulgar turn the most serious things into ridicule, and mock the most solemn trophies of honour? for now every fool at a fair, or zany at a mountebank's stage, is call'd _jack pudding_, has a gridiron at his back, and a great pair of spectacles at his buttocks, to ridicule the most noble order of the gridiron. but their spectacles is a most ungrateful reflection on the memory of that great man, whose indefatigable application to his business, and deep study in that occult science, rendred him poreblind; to remedy which misfortune, he had always a 'squire follow'd him, bearing a huge pair of spectacles to saddle his honour's nose, and supply his much-lamented defect of sight. but whether such an unhappiness did not deserve rather pity than ridicule, i leave to the determination of all good christians: i cannot but say, it raises my indignation, when i see these paunch-gutted fellows usurping the title and atchievements of my dear sir _john_, whose memory i so much venerate, i cannot always contain my self. i remember, to my cost, i once carry'd my resentment a little farther than ordinary; in furiously assaulting one of those rascals, i tore the gridiron from his back, and the spectacles from his a--e; for which i was apprehended, carried to pye-powder court, and by that tremendous bench, sentenc'd to most severe pains and penalties. this has indeed a little tam'd me, insomuch that i keep my fingers to my self, but at the same time let my tongue run like a devil: forbear vile miscreants, cry i, where-e'er i meet these wretches? forbear to ascribe to your selves the name and honours of sir _john pudding_? content your selves with being _zanies_, _pickled-herrings_, _punchionellos_, but dare not scandalize the noble name of _pudding_: nor can i, notwithstanding the clamours and ill usage of the vulgar, refrain bearing my testimony against this manifest piece of injustice. what pity it is therefore, so noble an order should be lost, or at least neglected. we have had no account of the real knights of the gridiron, since they appeared under the fictitious name of the _kit-kat club_: in their possession was the very gridiron of gold worn by sir _john_ himself; which identical gridiron dignified the breast of the most ingenious mr. _richard estcourt_ that excellent physician and comedian, who was president of that noble society. _quis talia fando temperet à lachrymis?_ what is become of the gridiron, or of the remains of that excellent body of men, time will, i hope, discover. the world, i believe, must for such discoveries be obliged to my very good friend _j---- t----_ esq; who had the honour to be door-keeper to that honourable assembly. but to return to sir _john_: the more his wit engaged the king, the more his grandeur alarm'd his enemies, who encreas'd with his honours. not but the courtiers caress'd him to a man, as the first who had brought dumpling-eating to perfection. king _john_ himself lov'd him entirely; being of _cesar_'s mind, that is, he had a natural antipathy against meagre, herring-gutted wretches; he lov'd only _fat-headed men, and such who slept o' nights_; and of such was his whole court compos'd. now it was sir _john_'s method, every _sunday_ morning, to give the courtiers a breakfast, which breakfast was every man his dumpling and cup of wine; for you must know, he was yeoman of the wine-cellar at the same time. this was a great eye-sore and heart-burning to some lubberly abbots who loung'd about the court; they took it in great dudgeon they were not invited, and stuck so close to his skirts, that they never rested 'till they outed him. they told the king, who was naturally very hasty, that sir _john_ made-away with his wine, and feasted his paramours at his expence; and not only so, but that they were forming a design against his life, which they in conscience ought to discover: that sir _john_ was not only an heretic, but an heathen; nay worse, they fear'd he was a witch, and that he had bewitcht his majesty into that unaccountable fondness for a _pudding-maker_. they assur'd the king, that on a _sunday_ morning, instead of being at mattins, he and his trigrimates got together hum-jum, all snug, and perform'd many hellish and diabolical ceremonies. in short, they made the king believe that the moon was made of green-cheese: and to shew how the innocent may be bely'd, and the best intentions misrepresented, they told the king, that he and his associates offer'd sacrifices to _ceres_: when, alas, it was only the dumplings they eat. the butter which was melted and pour'd over them, these vile miscreants call'd _libations_: and the friendly compotations of our dumpling-eaters, were call'd _bacchanalian rites_. two or three among 'em being sweet-tooth'd, wou'd strew a little sugar over their dumplings; this was represented as an _heathenish offering_. in short, not one action of theirs, but what these rascally abbots made criminal, and never let the king alone 'till poor sir _john_ was discarded. not but the king did it with the greatest reluctance; but they had made it a religious concern, and he cou'd not get off on't. but mark the consequence: the king never enjoy'd himself after, nor was it long before he was poison'd by a monk at _swineshead_ abbey. then too late he saw his error; then he lamented the loss of sir _john_; and in his latest moments wou'd cry out, oh! that i had never parted from my dear _jack pudding_! wou'd i had never left off pudding and dumpling! i then had never been thus basely poison'd! never thus treacherously sent out of the world!----thus did this good king lament: but, alas, to no purpose, the priest had given him his bane, and complaints were ineffectual. sir _john_, in the mean time, had retir'd into _norfolk_, where his diffusive knowledge extended it self for the good of the county in general; and from that very cause _norfolk_ has ever since been so famous for dumplings. he lamented the king's death to his very last; and was so cautious of being poison'd by the priests, that he never touch'd a wafer to the day of his death; and had it not been that some of the less-designing part of the clergy were his intimate friends, and eat daily of his dumplings, he had doubtless been made-away with; but they stood in the gap for him, for the sake of his dumplings, knowing that when sir _john_ was gone, they should never have the like again. but our facetious knight was too free of his talk to be long secure; for a hole was pick'd in his coat in the succeeding reign, and poor sir _john_ had all his goods and chattels forfeited to the king's use. it was then time for him to bestir himself; and away to court he goes, to recover his lands, _&c._ not doubting but he had friends there sufficient to carry his cause. but alas! how was he mistaken; not a soul there knew him; the very porters used him rudely. in vain did he seek for access to the king, to vindicate his conduct. in vain did he claim acquaintance with the lords of the court; and reap up old civilities, to remind 'em of former kindness; the pudding was eat, the obligation was over: which made sir _john_ compose that excellent proverb, _not a word of the pudding_. and finding all means ineffectual, he left the court in a great pet; yet not without passing a severe joke upon 'em, in his way, which was this; he sent a pudding to the king's table, under the name of a _court-pudding_, or _promise-pudding_. this pudding he did not fail to set off with large encomiums; assuring the king, that therein he wou'd find an hieroglyphical definition of courtiers promises and friendship. this caused some speculation; and the king's physician debarr'd the king from tasting the pudding, not knowing but that sir _john_ had poison'd it. but how great a fit of laughter ensu'd, may be easily guess'd, when the pudding was cut up, it prov'd only a large bladder, just clos'd over with paste: the bladder was full of wind, and nothing else, excepting these verses written in a roll of paper, and put in, as is suppos'd, before the bladder was blown full: as wynde in a bladdere ypent, is lordings promyse and ferment; fain what hem lust withouten drede, they bene so double in her falshede: for they in heart can think ene thing, and fain another in her speaking: and what was sweet and apparent, is smaterlich, and eke yshent. and when of service you have nede, pardie he will not rein nor rede. but when the symnel it is eten, her curtesse is all foryetten. this adventure met with various constructions from those at table: some laugh'd; others frown'd. but the king took the joke by the right end, and laugh'd outright. the verses, tho' but scurvy ones in themselves, yet in those days pass'd for tolerable: nay, the king was mightily pleas'd with 'em, and play'd 'em off on his courtiers as occasion serv'd; he wou'd stop 'em short in the middle of a flattering harangue, and cry, _not a word of the pudding_. this wou'd daunt and mortify 'em to the last degree; they curs'd sir _john_ a thousand times over for the proverb's sake: but to no purpose; for the king gave him a private hearing: in which he so well satisfy'd his majesty of his innocence and integrity, that all his lands were restor'd. the king wou'd have put him in his old post; but he modestly declin'd it, but at the same time presented his majesty with a book of most excellent receipts for all kinds of puddings: which book his majesty receiv'd with all imaginable kindness, and kept it among his greatest rarities. but yet, as the best instructions, tho' never so strictly followed, may not be always as successfully executed, so not one of the king's cooks cou'd make a pudding like sir _john_; nay, tho' he made a pudding before their eyes, yet they out of the very same materials could not do the like. which made his old friends the monks attribute it to witchcraft, and it was currently reported the devil was his helper. but good king _harry_ was not to be fobb'd off so; the pudding was good, it sate very well on his stomach, and he eat very savourly, without the least remorse of conscience. in short, sir _john_ grew in favour in spite of their teeth: the king lov'd a merry joke; and sir _john_ had always his budget full of punns, connundrums and carrawitchets; not to forgot the quibbles and fly-flaps he play'd against his adversaries, at which the king has laugh'd 'till his sides crackt. sir _john_, tho' he was no very great scholar, yet had a happy way of expressing himself: he was a man of the most engaging address, and never fail'd to draw attention: plenty and good-nature smil'd in his face; his muscles were never distorted with anger or contemplation, but an eternal smile drew up the corners of his mouth; his very eyes laugh'd; and as for his chin it was three-double, a-down which hung a goodly whey-colour'd beard shining with the drippings of his luxury; for you must know he was a great epicure, and had a very sensible mouth; he thought nothing too-good for himself, all his care was for his belly; and his palate was so exquisite, that it was the perfect standard of tasting. so that to him we owe all that is elegant in eating: for pudding was not his only talent, he was a great virtuoso in all manner of eatables; and tho' he might come short of _lambert_ for confectionary-niceties, yet was he not inferiour to _brawnd_, _lebec_, _pede_, or any other great masters of cookery; he could toss up a fricassée as well as a pancake: and most of the kickshaws now in vogue, are but his inventions, with other names; for what we call _fricassées_, he call'd _pancakes_; as, a pancake of chickens, a pancake of rabbets, _&c._ nay, the _french_ call a pudding an _english_ fricassée, to this day. we value our selves mightily for roasting a hare with a pudding in its belly; when alas he has roasted an ox with a pudding in his belly. there was no man like him for invention and contrivance: and then for execution, he spar'd no labour and pains to compass his magnanimous designs. o wou'd to heav'n this little attempt of mine may stir up some _pudding-headed antiquary_ to dig his way through all the mouldy records of antiquity, and bring to light the noble actions of sir _john_! it will not then be long before we see him on the stage. sir _john falstaffe_ then will be a shrimp to sir _john pudding_, when rais'd from oblivion and reanimated by the all-invigorating pen of the well-fed, well-read, well-pay'd _c-- j----_ esq; nor wou'd this be all; for the pastry-cooks wou'd from the hands of an eminent physician and poet receive whole loads of memorandums, to remind 'em of the gratitude due to sir _john_'s memory. on such a subject i hope to see sir _richard_ out-do himself. nor _arthur_ nor _eliza_ shall with sir _john_ compare. there is not so much difference between a telescope and a powder-puff, a hoop-petty-coat and a farthing-candle, a birch-broom and a diamond-ring, as there will be between the former writings of this pair of poets and their lucubrations on this head. nor will it stop here: the _opera_ composers shall have t'other contest, which shall best sing-forth his praises. sorry am i that _nicolino_ is not here, he would have made an excellent sir _john_. but _senefino_, being blown up after the manner that butchers blow calves, may do well enough. from thence the painters and print-sellers shall retail his goodly phiz; and what _sacheverel_ was, shall sir _john pudding_ be; his head shall hang elate on every sign, his fame shall ring in every street, and _cluer_'s press shall teem with ballads to his praise. this would be but honour, this would be but gratitude, from a generation so much indebted to so great a man. but how much do we deviate from honour and gratitude, when we put other names to his inventions, and call 'em our own? what is a tart, a pie, or a pasty, but meat or fruit enclos'd in a wall or covering of pudding. what is a cake, but a bak'd pudding; or a _christmas_-pie, but a minc'd-meat-pudding. as for cheese-cakes, custards, tansies, they are manifest puddings, and all of sir _john_'s own contrivance; for custard is as old if not older than _magna charta_. in short, pudding is of the greatest dignity and antiquity. bread it self, which is the very staff of life, is, properly speaking, a bak'd wheat-pudding. to the satchel, which is the pudding-bag of ingenuity, we are indebted for the greatest men in church and state. all arts and sciences owe their original to pudding or dumpling. what is a bag-pipe, the mother of all music, but a pudding of harmony. and what is music it self, but a palatable cookery of sounds. to little puddings or bladders of colours we owe all the choice originals of the greatest painters: and indeed, what is painting, but a well-spread pudding, or cookery of colours. the head of man is like a pudding: and whence have all rhimes, poems, plots and inventions sprang, but from that same pudding. what is poetry, but a pudding of words. the physicians, tho' they cry out so much against cooks and cookery, yet are but cooks themselves; with this difference only, the cooks pudding lengthens life, the physicians shortens it. so that we live and die by pudding. for what is a clyster, but a bag-pudding; a pill, but a dumpling; or a bolus, but a tansy, tho' not altogether so toothsome. in a word; physick is only a puddingizing or cookery of drugs. the law is but a cookery of quibbles and contentions. [a] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * is but a pudding of * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *. some swallow every thing whole and unmix'd; so that it may rather be call'd a heap, than a pudding. others are so squeamish, the greatest mastership in cookery is requir'd to make the pudding palatable: the suet which others gape and swallow by gobs, must for these puny stomachs be minced to atoms; the plums must be pick'd with the utmost care, and every ingredient proportion'd to the greatest nicety, or it will never go down. [footnote a: _the cat run away with this part of the copy, on which the author had unfortunately laid some of mother _crump_'s sausages._] the universe it self is but a pudding of elements. empires, kingdoms, states and republicks are but puddings of people differently made up. the celestial and terrestrial orbs are decypher'd to us by a pair of globes or mathematical puddings. the success of war and fate of monarchies are entirely dependant on puddings and dumplings: for what else are cannon-balls, but military puddings; or bullets, but dumplings; only with this difference, they do not sit so well on the stomach as a good marrow-pudding or bread-pudding. in short, there is nothing valuable in nature, but what, more or less, has an allusion to pudding or dumpling. why then should they be held in disesteem? why should dumpling-eating be ridicul'd, or dumpling-eaters derided? is it not pleasant and profitable? is it not ancient and honourable? kings, princes, and potentates have in all ages been lovers of pudding. is it not therefore of royal authority? popes, cardinals, bishops, priests and deacons have, time out of mind, been great pudding-eaters: is it not therefore a holy and religious institution? philosophers, poets, and learned men in all faculties, judges, privy-councellors, and members of both houses, have, by their great regard to pudding, given a sanction to it that nothing can efface. is it not therefore ancient, honourable, and commendable? _quare itaque fremuerunt auctores?_ why do therefore the enemies of good eating, the starve-gutted authors of grub-street, employ their impotent pens against pudding and pudding-headed, _aliàs_ honest men? why do they inveigh against dumpling-eating which is the life and soul of good-fellowship, and dumpling-eaters who are the ornaments of civil society. but, alas! their malice is their own punishment. the hireling author of a late scandalous libel, intituled, _the dumpling-eaters downfall_, may, if he has any eyes, now see his error, in attacking so numerous, so august a body of people: his books remain unsold, unread, unregarded; while this treatise of mine shall be bought by all who love pudding or dumpling; to my bookseller's great joy, and my no small consolation. how shall i triumph, and how will that mercenary scribbler be mortify'd, when i have sold more editions of my books, than he has copies of his! i therefore exhort all people, gentle and simple, men, women and children, to buy, to read, to extol these labours of mine, for the honour of dumpling-eating. let them not fear to defend every article; for i will bear them harmless: i have arguments good store, and can easily confute, either logically, theologically, or metaphysically, all those who dare oppose me. let not _englishmen_ therefore be asham'd of the name of _pudding-eaters_; but, on the contrary, let it be their glory. for let foreigners cry out ne'er so much against good eating, they come easily into it when they have been a little while in our _land of canaan_; and there are very few foreigners among as who have not learn'd to make as great a hole in a good pudding or sirloin of beef as the best _englishman_ of us all. why shou'd we then be laught out of pudding and dumpling? or why ridicul'd out of good living? plots and politics may hurt us, but pudding cannot. let us therefore adhere to pudding, and keep our selves out of harm's way; according to the golden rule laid down by a celebrated dumpling-eater now defunct; _be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says: sleep very much; think little, and talk less: mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong; but eat your pudding, fool, and hold your tongue._ prior. the author of these excellent lines not only shews his wisdom, but his good-breeding, and great esteem for the memory of sir _john_, by giving his _poem_ the title of _merry andrew_, and making _merry andrew_ the principal spokesman: for if i guess aright, and surely i guess not wrong, his main design was, to ascertain the name of _merry andrew_ to the _fool_ of a droll, and to substitute it instead of _jack pudding_; which name my friend _matt._ cou'd not hear with temper, as carrying with it an oblique reflection on sir _john pudding_ the hero of this dumpleid. let all those therefore who have any regard to politeness and propriety of speech, take heed how they err against this rule laid down by him who was the standard of _english_ elegance. and be it known to all whom it may concern, that if any person whatever shall dare hereafter to apply the name of _jack pudding_ to _merry andrews_ and such-like creatures, i hereby require and impower any stander or standers by, to knock him, her, or them down. and if any action or actions of assault and battery shall be brought against any person or persons so acting in pursuance of this most reasonable request, by knocking down, bruising, beating, or otherwise demolishing such offenders; i will indemnify and bear them harmless. _finis._ [decoration] * * * * * * * * * [decoration] _namby pamby_: or, a panegyric on the new versification address'd to _a---- p----_ esq; _nauty pauty _jack-a-dandy_ stole a piece of sugar-candy from the grocer's shoppy-shop, and away did hoppy-hop._ all ye poets of the age, all ye witlings of the stage, learn your jingles to reform; crop your numbers, and conform: let your little verses flow gently, sweetly, row by row: let the verse the subject fit; little subject, little wit: _namby pamby_ is your guide; _albion_'s joy, _hibernia_'s pride. _namby pamby pilli-pis_, rhimy pim'd on missy-miss; _tartaretta tartaree_ from the navel to the knee; that her father's gracy-grace might give him a placy-place. he no longer writes of mammy _andromache_ and her lammy hanging panging at the breast of a matron most distrest. now the venal poet sings baby clouts, and baby things, baby dolls, and baby houses, little misses, little spouses; little play-things, little toys, little girls, and little boys: as an actor does his part, so the nurses get by heart _namby pamby_'s little rhimes, little jingle, little chimes, to repeat to little miss, piddling ponds of pissy-piss; cacking packing like a lady, or bye-bying in the crady. _namby pamby_ ne'er will die while the nurse sings _lullabye_. _namby pamby_'s doubly mild, once a man, and twice a child; to his hanging-sleeves restor'd; now he foots it like a lord; now he pumps his little wits; } sh--ing writes, and writing sh--s, } all by little tiny bits. } now methinks i hear him say, } _boys and girls, come out to play, } moon do's shine as bright as day._ } now my _namby pamby_'s found sitting on the _friar's ground_, _picking silver, picking gold_, _namby pamby_'s never old. _bally-cally_ they begin, _namby pamby_ still keeps-in. _namby pamby_ is no clown, _london-bridge is broken down_: now he _courts the gay ladee, dancing o'er the lady-lee_: now he sings of _lick-spit liar burning in the brimstone fire; lyar, lyar, lick-spit, lick, turn about the candle-stick_: now he sings of _jacky horner_ _sitting in the chimney corner, eating of a christmas-pie, putting in his thumb, _oh, fie!_ putting in, _oh, fie!_ his thumb, pulling out, _oh, strange!_ a plum._ and again, how _nancy cock_, nasty girl! _besh-t her smock_. now he acts the _grenadier_, calling for _a pot of beer_: _where's his money? he's forgot; get him gone, a drunken sot._ now on _cock-horse_ does he ride; and anon on timber stride. _see-and-saw and sacch'ry down, london is a gallant town._ now he gathers riches in thicker, faster, pin by pin; _pins a-piece to see his show_; boys and girls flock row by row; from their cloaths the pins they take, risque a whipping for his sake; from their frocks the pins they pull, to fill _namby_'s cushion full. so much wit at such an age, does a genius great presage. second childhood gone and past, shou'd he prove a man at last, what must second manhood be, in a child so bright as he! guard him, ye poetic powers; watch his minutes, watch his hours: let your tuneful _nine_ inspire him; let poetic fury fire him: let the poets one and all to his genius victims fall. [decoration] * * * * * * * * * proposals for printing by subscriptions, the antiquities of _grub-street_: with observations critical, political, historical, chronological, philosophical, and philological. by { john walton and } { james andrews } gent. [decoration] this work will be printed on a superfine royal paper, in ten volumes, _folio_: each volume to contain an hundred sheets; besides maps, cuts, and other proper illustrations. the price to _subscribers_ is fifty guinea's each set: half down, and half on delivery. no more to be printed than what are subscribed for. _subscribers_ for six sets, have a seventh _gratis_, as usual. the _subscribers_ names and coats of arms will be prefix'd to the work. for those who are particularly curious, some copies will be printed on vellum, rul'd and illuminated, they paying the difference. it is not doubted but this great undertaking will meet with encouragement from the learned world, several noble persons having already subscribed. subscribers are _taken-in_ by the _authors_, and most _noted_ booksellers in _london_, &c. _n. b._ the very _cuts_ are worth the money; there being, _inter alia_, above curious heads of learned authors, on large copper-plates, engraven by mr. _herman van stynkenvaart_, from the paintings, busto's, and basso-relievo's of the greatest masters. [decoration] * * * * * * * * * advertisement to all gentlemen booksellers, and others. at the house with stone-steps and sash-windows in _hanover-court_ in _grape-street_, vulgarly call'd _grub-street_, liveth an _author_, who writeth all manner of books and pamphlets, in verse or prose, at reasonable rates: and furnisheth, at a minute's warning, any customer with elegies, pastorals, epithalamium's and congratulatory verses adapted to all manner of persons and professions, ready written, with blanks to insert the names of the parties address'd to. he supplieth gentlemen bell-men with verses on all occasions, at  _d._ the dozen, or _s._ the gross; and teacheth them accent and pronunciation _gratis_. he taketh any side of a question, and writeth for or against, or both, if required. he likewise draws up advertisements; and asperses after the newest method. he writeth for those who cannot write themselves, yet are ambitious of being authors; and will, if required, enter into bonds never to own the performance. he transmogrifieth _alias_ transmigrapheth any copy; and maketh many titles to one work, after the manner of the famous mr. e---- c---- n. b. _he is come down from the garret to the first floor, for the convenience of his customers._ [->] _pray mistake not the house; because there are many pretenders there-abouts._ no trust by retale. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * pudding and dumpling _burnt to_ pot. * * * * * * * * * _pudding_ and _dumpling_ _burnt to _pot_._ or, a compleat k e y to the dissertation on _dumpling_. wherein all the mystery of that dark treatise is brought to light; in such a manner and method, that the meanest capacity may know who and who's together. published for the general information of mankind. by _j. w._ author of treatises. _yhuchi! dandi ocatchu gao emousey._ _london:_ _printed and sold by a. dodd, without _temple-bar_, and h. whitridge, the corner of _castle-alley_, in _cornhill_._ m.dcc xxvii. [_price d._] [decoration] preface it very much surprizes me that six editions of a mythological pamphlet, entituled, _a dissertation on dumpling_, should escape your notice of that wonderful unriddler of mysteries the ingenious mr. _e---- c---_ who has at the same time given such proofs of his abilities in his many and most elaborate keys to _gulliver_'s travels; keys, which _gulliver_ himself could never have found out! and withal, so pertinent, that i shall esteem those at the helm, no great lovers of learning, if my friend _edmund_ be not forthwith promoted: for as the sweetness of a kernel is uncomatable, but by the fracture of its shell, so is the beauty of a mystery altogether hid, till the expounder has riddlemayreed the propounder's problem, and render'd it obvious to the meanest capacity. the only plea i can use in mr. _c----'s_ behalf, is, that the author of the dissertation has been a little too free with his character, which probably occasioned that sullenness in our _british oedipus_; who in order to be revenged, has determined not to embelish the work with his interpretation, but rather let it rot and perish in oblivion. this, and nothing else, could be the reason of so profound a silence in so great a mysterymonger, to remedy which loss to the publick, i an unworthy scribler, and faint copier of that great artist, presume with aching heart, and trembling hand, to draw the veil which shades the political pamphlet in question; and show it to my loving countrymen in _puris naturalibus_. if i succeed in this, i hope mr. _l----t_, who all the world knows is a rare chap to his authors, will speedily employ me to unriddle, or at least make a plot to the _rival modes_, which it seems the author has omitted: it is true, he ought to have given it the bookseller with the copy, but has not so done, which makes me wonder he is not sued for breach of covenant; but what is that to me, if i get a job by the bargain? let booksellers beware how they buy plays without plots for the future. i narrowly miss'd solving the problem called _wagner_ and _abericock_; mr. _b----_ had spoke to mr. _w----_ to speak to mr. _c----_, who had just consented to employ me, after having made me abate half my demand: but houses running thin, _colley_ had undertaken the job himself to save charges; intending at the same time, to annex a severe criticism on _pluto_ and _proserpine_. this, gentle reader, will, i hope, induce you to look on me as a writer of some regard, and at the same time, to make a little allowance for whatever errors my great hurry may occasion, being obliged to write night and day, sundays and working days, without the least assistance. all our journeymen writers being now turned masters, i am left to shift for my self; but am bringing up my wife to the business, and doubt not but a long war, and our mutual industry, may rub off old scores, and make us begin a new reckoning with all mankind; pamphleteering having been so dead for many years last past, that (god forgive me!) i have been oftentimes tempted to write treason for mere sustenance. but thanks to better stars and better days, the pen revives, and authors flourish; more money can be made now of a play, nay, though it be a scurvy one, than _dryden_ got by all his works. therefore now or never is the time to strike while the iron is hot, to write my self out of debt, and into place, and then grow idle and laugh at the world, as my betters have done before me. * * * * * * * * * [decoration] introduction. when a book has met with success, it never wants a father; there being those good natured souls in the world, who, rather than let mankind think such productions sprang of themselves, will own the vagabond brat, and thereby become fathers of other mens offsprings. this was the fate of dumpling, whose real father did not take more care to conceal himself, than some did to be thought its author; but if any one will recollect the time of its publication, they will find it within a week after the arrival of d----n _s----t_, from _ireland_; the occasion, as i am very well informed, was this, the d----n, one of the first things he did, went to pay a visit to mr. _t----_, his old bookseller; but, to his surprize, found both the brothers dead, and a relation in the shop, to whom he was an utter stranger. mr. _m----_ for such is this person's name, gathering from the d--n's enquiries who he was, paid him his _devoirs_ in the most respectful manner, solicited his friendship, and invited him to a dinner, which the d----n was pleased to accept. by the way, you must know, he is a great lover of dumpling, as well as the bookseller, who had ordered one for himself, little dreaming of such a guest that day. the dinner, as 'twas not provided on purpose, was but a family one, well enough however for a bookseller; that is to say, a couple of fowls, bacon and sprouts boiled, and a forequarter of lamb roasted. after the usual complements for the unexpected honour, and the old apology of wishing it was better for his sake: the maid, silly girl! came and asked her master if he pleased to have his dumpling; he would have chid her, but the d----n mollified him, insisting at the same time, upon the introduction of dumpling, which accordingly was done. dumpling gave cause of conversation, but not till it was eat; for the reader must understand, that both the gentlemen play a good knife and fork, and are too mannerly to talk with their mouths full. the dumpling eat, as i said before, the d----n drank to the bookseller, the bookseller to the author, and with an obsequious smile, seem'd to say ah! dear doctor, you have been a friend to my predecessor, can you do nothing for me? the d--n took the hint, and after a profound contemplation, cry'd, why ay--dumpling will do--put me in mind of dumpling anon, but not a word more at present, and good reason why, dinner was coming in. so they past the rest of the meal with great silence and application, and no doubt dined well. far otherwise was it with me that day: i remember to my sorrow, i had a hogs maw, without salt or mustard; having at that time, credit with the pork-woman, but not with the chandler: times are since mended, _amen_ to the continuance! the d----n, having eat and drank plentifully, began his usual pleasantries, and made the bookseller measure his ears with his mouth; nay, burst his sides with laughter; however, he found interval enough to remind the d----n of dumpling, who asked him if he had a quick hand at writing: he excused himself, being naturally as lazy as the other was indolent, so they contrived to ease themselves by sending for a hackney writer out of _temple lane_ to be the d--'s _amanuensis_, while he and his new acquaintance crack'd t'other bottle. this account may be depended upon, because i had it from the man himself, who scorns to tell a lye. to be short, my friend had the worst of it, being kept to hard writing, without drinking (churls that they were) about three hours; in which time the dissertation was finished, that is to say, from page . to page . the rest might probably be done at some other leisure time, to fill up the chinks, but of that he knows nothing; sufficient is it that the d----n was the author. proceed we now to the other discoveries, by drawing the veil from before the book it self. * * * * * * * * * [decoration] a k e y to the dissertation on _dumpling_. i shall begin with his motto, which says, _what is better than a pudding?_ the body owns its power, the mind, its delicacy; it will give youth to grey hairs, and life to the most desponding: therefore are pudding eaters of great use in state affairs. this quotation is of a piece with his motto to the tale of a tub, and other writings; altogether fictitious and drole: he adds to the jest, by putting an air of authority or genuine quotation from some great author; when alas! the whole is mere farce and invention. the dedication is one continued sneer upon authors, and their patrons, and seems to carry a glance of derision towards men of quality in general; by setting a cook above them, as a more useful member in a body politick. some will have this _braund_, to be sir ****, others sir ****, others sir ****; but i take it to be more railery than mystery, and that mr. _braund_, at the _rummer_ in _queen-street_, is the person; who having pleas'd the author in two or three entertainments, he, with a view truly _epicurean_, constitutes him his _mæcenas_; as being more agreeable to him than a whole circle of stars and garters, of what colour or denomination soever. in his tale of a tub, he has a fling at dependance, and attendance, where he talks of a body worn out with poxes ill cured, and shooes with dependance, and attendance. not having the book by me, i am forced to quote at random, but i hope the courteous reader will bear me out. he complains of it again in this treatise, and makes a complement to mr. _austin_, mr. _braund_'s late servant; who keeps the _braund_'s head in _new bond-street_, near _hanover-square_; a house of great elegance, and where he used frequently to dine. the distinction of _brand_, _braund_, and _barnes_, is a banter on criticks, and genealogists, who make such a pother about the orthography of names and things, that many times, three parts in four of a folio treatise, is taken up in ascertaining the propriety of a syllable, by which means the reader is left undetermined; having nothing but the various readings on a single word, and that probably, of small importance. i heartily wish some of these glossographists would oblige the world with a folio treatise or two, on the word rabbet: we shall then know whether it is to be spelt with an _e_, or an _i_. for, to the shame of the _english_ tongue and this learned age, our most eminent physicians, surgeons, anatomists and men midwives, have all been to seek in this affair. st. _andré_, } _howard_, } spell it _braithwaite_, } with _ahlers_ and } an _e_. _manningham_, } _douglas_ } and the } spell it gentleman who } with calls himself } an _i_. _gulliver_, } and some of these great wits, have such short memories, that they spell it both ways in one and the same page. the master-key to this mystery, is the explanation of its terms; for example, by _dumpling_ is meant a place, or any other reward or encouragement. a _pudding_ signifies a p----t, and sometimes a c----tee. a _dumpling eater_, is a dependant on the court, or, in a word, any one who will rather pocket an affront than be angry at a tip in time. a _cook_ is a minister of state. the _epicurean_ and _peripatetic_ sects, are the two parties of _whigg_ and _tory_, who both are greedy enough of dumpling. the author cannot forbear his old sneer upon foreigners, but says, in his st page, "that finding it a land of plenty, they wisely resolved never to go home again," and in his d, "nay, so zealous are they in the cause of _bacchus_, that one of the chief among them, made a vow never to say his prayers till he has a tavern of his own in every street in _london_, and in every market-town in _england_:" if he does not mean sir j---- t---- i know not who he means. by the invention of _eggs_, page . is meant perquisites. "he cannot conclude a paragraph in his th _page_, without owning he received that important part of the history of pudding, from old mr. _lawrence_ of _wilsden green_, the greatest antiquary of the present age." this old _lawrence_ is a great favourite of the d--s; he is a facetious farmer, of above eighty years of age, now living at _wilsden green_, near _kilburn_ in _middlesex_, the most rural place i ever saw: exactly like the wilds of _ireland_. it was here the d--n often retired _incog._ to amuse himself with the simplicity of the place and people; where he got together all that rigmayroll of childrens talk, which composes his _namby pamby_. old _lawrence_ told me, the d--n has sate several hours together to see the children play, with the greatest pleasure in life: the rest he learned from the old nurses thereabouts, of which there are a great many, with whom he would go and smoke a pipe frequently, and cordially; not in his clergyman's habit, but in a black suit of cloth clothes, and without a rose in his hat: which made them conclude him to be a presbyterian parson. this mention of old _lawrence_, is in ridicule to a certain great artist, who wrote a treatise upon the word _connoisseur_ (or a knower) and confesses himself to have been many years at a loss for a word to express the action of knowing, till the great mr. _prior_ gave him ease, by furnishing him with the word _connoissance_. our d--n had drawn a drole, parallel to this, _viz._ _boudineur_, a pudding pyeman; and _boudinance_, the making of pudding pies: but several men of quality begging it off, it was, at their request, scratch'd out, but my friend, the _amanuensis_, remembers particularly its being originally inserted. if the reader should ask, who is that k-- _john_ mentioned in the fourth page, and which i ought to have taken in its place. i beg leave to inform him, that by k. _john_ is meant the late q. ----, with whom the d-- of _m----_ was many years in such great favour, that he was nick named k. _john_; it was in that part of the q--'s reign, that sir _john_ pudding, by whom is meant **** _you know who_, came in favour; it is true, the name is odd, and seems to carry an air of ridicule with it, but the character given him by this allegorical writer, is that of an able statesman, and an honest man. and here, begging mr. d--n's pardon, i cannot but think his wit has out run his judgment; for he puts the cart before the horse, and begins at the latter part of sir **** administration: but this might be owing to too plentiful a dinner, and too much of the creature. be that as it will, i must follow my copy, and explain it as it lies. proceed we therefore to the dissertation, _page  ._ "but what rais'd our hero most in the esteem of this pudding-eating monarch, was his second edition of pudding, he being the first that ever invented the art of broiling puddings, which he did to such perfection, and so much to the king's liking (who had a mortal aversion to cold pudding) that he thereupon instituted him knight of the gridiron, and gave him a gridiron of gold, the ensign of that order; which he always wore as a mark of his sovereign's favour." if this does not mean the late revival of an ancient order of knighthood, i never will unriddle mystery more: to prove which, we need but cross over to the next page, where he tells us, "sir _john_ had always a squire, who followed him, bearing a huge pair of spectacles to saddle his honour's nose." _diss. page  ._ after this, he very severely runs upon those would-be statesmen, who put themselves in competition with his favourite, sir ****, with whom he became exceeding intimate, and almost inseperable, all the time he was in _england_. the story of the kit cat club, _dick estcourt_, and _jacob tonson_, is a mere digression; and nothing more to the purpose, than that we may imagine it came uppermost. he returns to his subject in his th _page_. "now it was sir _john_'s method, every _sunday_ morning, to give the courtiers a breakfast; which breakfast was every man his dumpling, and cup of wine: for you must know, he was yeoman of the wine-cellar at the same time." the breakfast is sir *** levee, the yeomanship of the wine-cellar, is the ***. the author of the dissertation, is a very bad chronologist; for at _page_ . we are obliged to go back to the former reign, where we shall find the lubberly abbots (_i.e._) the high church priests, misrepresenting sir _john_'s actions, and never let the q---- alone, till poor sir _john_ was discarded. "this was a great eye-sore, and heart-burning to some lubberly abbots, who lounged about the court; they took it in great dudgeon they were not invited, and stuck so close to his skirts, that they never rested till they outed him. they told the king, who was naturally very hasty, that sir _john_, made-away with his wine, and feasted his _paramours_ at his expence; and not only so, but they were forming a design against his life, which they in conscience ought to discover: that sir _john_ was not only an heretic, but an heathen; nay, worse, they fear'd he was a witch, and that he had bewitch'd his majesty into that unaccountable fondness for a _pudding-maker_. they assured the king, that on a _sunday_ morning, instead of being at mattins, he and his trigrimates got together hum jum, all snug, and perform'd many hellish and diabolical ceremonies. in short, they made the king believe that the moon was made of green-cheese: and to shew how the innocent may be bely'd, and the best intentions misrepresented, they told the king, that he and his associates offered sacrifices to _ceres_: when, alas, it was only the dumplings they eat. "the butter which was melted and poured over them, these vile miscreants, called _libations_: and the friendly compotations of our dumpling eaters, were called _bacchanalian rites_. two or three among them being sweet tooth'd, would strew a little sugar over their dumplings; this was represented as an _heathenish offering_. in short, not one action of theirs, but which these rascally abbots made criminal, and never let the king alone till sir _john_ was discarded; not but the king did it with the greatest reluctance; but they made it a religious concern, and he could not get off on't." _diss. pag._  . all the world knows that the _tory_ ministry got uppermost, for the four last years of the queen's reign, and by their unaccountable management, teaz'd that good lady out of her life: which occasion'd the d--n in his eleventh page to say; "then too late he saw his error; then he lamented the loss of sir _john_; and in his latest moments, would cry out, oh! that i had never parted from my dear _jack-pudding_! would i had never left off pudding and dumpling! then i had never been thus basely poison'd! never thus treacherously sent out of the world!----thus did this good king lament: but alas! to no purpose, the priest had given him his bane, and complaints were ineffectual." this alludes to sir **** imprisonment and disgrace in the year ---- nay, so barefaced is the d--n in his allegory, that he tells us, in his th page, _norfolk_ was his asylum. this is as plain as the nose on a man's face! the subsequent pages are an exact description of the ingratitude of courtiers; and his fable of the _court pudding_, page . is the best part of the whole dissertation. one would imagine the d--n had been at sea, by his writing catharping-fashion, and dodging the story sometimes twenty-years backwards, at other times advancing as many; so that one knows not where to have him: for in his fifteenth page, he returns to the present scene of action, and brings his hero into the favour of k---- _harry_, _alias_ **** who being sensible of his abilities, restores him into favour, and makes use of his admirable skill in cookery, _alias_ state affairs. "not one of the king's cooks could make a pudding like sir _john_; nay, though he made a pudding before their eyes, yet they, out of the very same materials, could not do the like: which made his old friends, the monks, attribute it to witchcraft and it was currently reported the devil was his helper. but good king _harry_ was not to be fobb'd off so; the pudding was good, it sat very well on his stomach, and he eat very savourly, without the least remorse of conscience." _diss. page_  . this seems to hint at the opposition sir **** met with from the contrary party, and how sensible the k---- was, that they were all unable to hold the staff in competition with him. after this the d--n runs into a whimsical description of his heroes personal virtues; but draws the picture too much _alla carraccatura_, and is, in my opinion, not only a little too familiar, but wide of his subject. for begging his deanship's pardon, he mightily betrays his judgment, when he says, sir _john_ was no very great scholar, whereas all men of learning allow him to be a most excellent one; but as we may suppose he grew pretty warm by this time with the booksellers wine, he got into his old knack of raillery, and begins to run upon all mankind: in this mood he falls upon _c---- j----n_, and sir _r---- bl----re_, a pair of twin poets, who suck'd one and the same muse. after this he has a fling at _handel_, _bononcini_ and _attilio_, the opera composers; and a severe sneer on the late high-church idol, _sacheverel_. as for _cluer_, the printer, any body that knows music, or _bow church yard_, needs no farther information. and now he proceeds to a digression, which is indeed the dissertation it self; proving all arts and sciences to owe their origin and existence to _pudding_ and _dumpling_ (_i.e._) encouragement. his _hiatus_ in the th page, i could, but dare not decypher. in his nd page, he lashes the authors who oppose the government; such as the _craftsman_, _occasional writer_, and other scribblers, past, present, and to come. _the dumpling-eaters downfal_, is a title of his own imagination; i have run over all _wilford_'s catalogues, and see no mention made of such a book: all that paragraph therefore is a mere piece of rablaiscism. in his d page, he has another confounded fling at foreigners; and after having determinately dubb'd his hero, the prince of statesmen, he concludes his dissertation with a mess of drollery, and goes off in a laugh. in a word, the whole dissertation seems calculated to ingratiate the d--n in sir **** favour; he draws the picture of an able and an honest minister, painful in his countries service, and beloved by his prince; yet oftentimes misrepresented and bely'd: nay, sometimes on the brink of ruin, but always conqueror. the fears, the jealousies, the misrepresentations of an enraged and disappointed party, give him no small uneasiness to see the ingratitude of some men, the folly of others, who shall believe black to be white, because prejudiced and designing knaves alarm 'em with false fears. we see every action misconstrued, and evil made out of good; but as the best persons and things are subject to scandal and ridicule; so have they the pleasure of triumphing in the truth, which always will prevail. i take the allegory of this dissertation to be partly historical, partly prophetical; the d--n seeming to have carried his view, not only to the present, but even, succeeding times. he sets his hero down at last in peace, plenty, and a happy retirement, not unrelented by his prince; his honesty apparent, his enemies baffled and confounded, and his measures made the standard of good government; and a pattern for all just ministers to follow. thus, gentle reader, have i, at the expence of these poor brains, crack'd this thick shell, and given thee the kernel. if any should object, and say this exposition is a contradiction to the d--n's principles; i assure such objector, that the d--n is an errant _whig_ by education, and choice: he may indeed cajole the _tories_ with a belief that he is of their party; but it is all a joke, he is a _whig_, and i know him to be so; nay more, i can prove it, and defy him to contradict me; did he not just after his arrival and promotion in _ireland_, writing to one of his intimate friends in _london_, conclude his letter in this manner? _thus dear **** from all that has occur'd, you must conclude me a _tory_ in every thing, but my principle, which is yet as unmoved, as, that i am,_ yours, _&c._ this letter, his tale of a tub, and in a word, all his invectives against enthusiasm and priestcraft, plainly prove him to be no _tory_; and if his intimacy, not only with sir **** himself, but most of the prime men in the ministry, cannot prove him a _whig_, i have no more to say. _finis._ [decoration] _advertisement to the _curious_._ the author is night and day at work (in order to get published before the _spaniards_ have raised the siege of _gibraltar_) a treatise, entituled, _truth brought to light, _or_ d--n _s----t_'s _wilsden_ prophecy unfolded_; being a full explanation of a prophetical poem, called _namby pamby_, which, by most people, is taken for a banter on an eminent poet, now in _ireland_; when in fact, it is a true narrative of the siege of _gibraltar_, the defeat of the _spaniards_, and success of the _british_ arms. the author doubts not in this attempt to give manifest proof of his abilities, and make it apparent to all mankind, that he can see as clearly through a milstone, as any other person can through the best optic _martial_ or _scarlet_ ever made; and that there is more in many things, not taken notice of, than the generality of people are aware of. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * notes to _dumpling_ pp. [ii]. -[iii]. . the information on brand, braund, and marsh is confirmed by records in the willesdon public library and by lyson's _county of middlesex_. p. . - . carey also attacks the freemasons and gormogons in _poems_, ed. wood, p.  . p. . . old mr. lawrence is mentioned several times (see particularly _key_, pp.  - ). there was a farmer lawrence of in willesdon at the time, but i have found no direct connection with an antiquary, with swift's namby pamby talk (see _oed_ under _namby pamby_) and his _wilsden prophecy_; nor with jonathan richardson (see note to _key_, p.  ). on another level, the laziness attributed to swift (_key_, p. viii) and the gridiron here connected with the kit cat club are both commonly associated with saint lawrence. p. . - . "bull and mouth" refers to a tavern known as the boulogne mouth (john timbs, _clubs and club life in london_ [london, ], p.  ). pp. . - . . knight of the gridiron: walpole was a member of the kit cat club, which originally met at the pie shop of christopher cat in shire lane. the "second edition" probably refers to the fact that the order of the bath was reintroduced for walpole's benefit in june . (see also _key_, p.  .) there is intentional confusion with estcourt, who as providore of the beefsteak club wore about his neck a small gridiron of silver and was made a knight of saint lawrence. the knights of the toast were an associated group. the gridiron is a symbol both of gormandizing and of the roasting of saint lawrence. p. . . j[acob] t[onson], the publisher, founded the kit cat club which also met at tonson's home in barns elms, and in hampstead (which was only a few miles northeast of willesdon). p. . - . king john is reputed either to have been poisoned or to have died from overeating at swineshead abbey ( - october ). pp. . - . . see also _key_, pp.  - . king harry, at this point, would appear to be george i, with either walpole or marlborough as sir john pudding. nevertheless, there are carefully interpolated overtones regarding falstaff and hal. "one knows not where to have him" (_key_, p.  ) is one of several apt shakespearian allusions in the work. pp. . - . . in _dumpling_, pp. - , and _key_, pp.  - , the references are to the writers sir r[ichard] b[lackmore] and c[harles] j[ohnso]n; opera in the hands of nicolino, senesino, handel, buononcini and attilio; the high-church idol, sacheverel (d. ); the _craftsman_ (founded to attack walpole) and the _occasional writer_ (bolingbroke's pamphlets of jan/feb. ); and finally the discredited music printer, cluer. carey's relationship to opera was ambivalent, but in _mocking is catching_ he strongly attacked senesino. p. . - . matt. prior (d. ), despite his aristocratic pretensions, had been earlier associated with the rummer tavern. he was a member of the kit cat club until he became a tory for dumpling. p.[ ]. . e[dmund] c[url] of the "advertisement" was a publisher notorious for stealing material. carey complained frequently of his writings having been "fathered" by others. notes to the _key_ title page. "j. w.": dr. wood suggests this is the fictitious john walton of the "proposals" at the end of _dumpling_. my own preference is for dr. john woodward, the famous antiquarian and physician. as late as fielding's "dedication" to _shamela_, woodward was being mocked for suggesting that the "gluttony [which] is owing to the great multiplication of pastry-cooks in the city" has "led to the subversion of government...." (see woodward's _the state of physick and of diseases_ [london, ], pp.  - and - . compare this with _dumpling_, pp.  - , on the _dumpling-eaters downfall_, also pp.  and , and _key_, p.  .) swift deals with "repletion" in _gulliver's travels_ (ed. herbert davis [oxford, ], pp.  - and ). p.iii. - . l[intot] was pope's publisher. b[ooth], w[ilks], and c[ibber] were the managers of drury lane. _the london stage, part : - _, ed. emmett l. avery (carbondale, ill., ), shows that j. m. smythe's _rival modes_ was first played january at drury lane; john thurmond's pantomime _the miser: or wagner and abericock_ was first played december at drury lane; and lun's pantomimes _harlequin a sorcerer: with the loves of pluto and proserpine_ and _the rape of proserpine_ were first played at the lincoln's inn fields theatre january and february respectively. p.iv. - . the preface ends on a similar note to carey's _of stage tyrants_ (p.  ). p.[v]. - . to "it never wants a father," compare _of stage tyrants_ (p.  ). p.vi. - . swift's "old bookseller" had been t[ooke] (though there may be overtones here regarding tonson). his new publisher was [benjamin] m[otte]. pp.viii. -ix. . the "hackney writer out of _temple lane_" could very well be carey. (see carey's _records of love_ [london, ], pp.  , , and .) p. . - . carey's poem "the plague of dependence" cautions: "you may dance out your shoes in attendance;/ [while you] .... wait for a court dependence" (p.  ). pp. . - . . here carey cleverly ties in swift's surgeon gulliver, through the "pancake of rabbets" (_dumpling_, p.  ), with the topical and notorious case of mary tofts, who in november was "delivered" of fifteen rabbits. all the people mentioned were connected with this case. nathaniel st. andré was the surgeon and anatomist to the king, and cyriacus ahlers the king's private surgeon; john howard was the apothecary. the imposture was finally brought to light before sir richard manningham (the famous man-midwife who probably influenced sterne) and dr. james douglas. among the many contemporary pamphlets on this subject is one by thomas braithwaite. pp. . - . . the following is a very revealing quotation from records in the willesdon public library under f. a. wood [not dr. f. t. wood], _willesdon_ i, : "these nurse children must have been sent from workhouses round willesdon ... the parish must have become a baby farm.... the large number of deaths between and ought to have caused some official enquiry, which probably did take place, as after they soon ceased altogether." p. . - . see jonathan richardson, _works_, strawberry hill press (london, ), pp.  - : "...had the honour of a letter ... the term _connoisance_ was used.... i must not conceal the name it was mr. prior." richardson, a frequent visitor to hampstead, painted both prior and pope. his essay on "the connoisseur" was frequently published. p. . - . see also p. and _passim_. robert walpole was born and died at houghton in norfolk; he was helped up by marlborough but lost power with him under the tories. walpole went to the tower for five months in before going to his home county, where defoe calls him "king walpole in norfolk." p. . - . the "fable of the _court pudding_" (see also _dumpling_, pp.  - ) ties together both meanings of the scatological latin-english pun on the title page of _dumpling_. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles [decoration] the augustan reprint society publications in print the augustan reprint society publications in print [decoration] [transcriber's note: where available, project gutenberg e-text numbers ( digits) are shown in [brackets]. most other titles are in preparation.] - . henry nevil payne, _the fatal jealousie_ ( ). [ ] . anonymous, "of genius," in _the occasional paper_, vol. iii, no. ( ), and aaron hill, preface to _the creation_ ( ). [ ] - . susanna centlivre, _the busie body_ ( ). [ ] . lewis theobald, _preface to the works of shakespeare_ ( ). [ ] . samuel johnson, _the vanity of human wishes_ ( ), and two _rambler_ papers ( ). [ ] . john dryden, _his majesties declaration defended_ ( ). [ ] - . charles macklin, _the man of the world_ ( ). [ ] - . thomas gray, _an elegy wrote in a country churchyard_ ( ), and _the eton college manuscript_. [ ] - . bernard mandeville, _a letter to dion_ ( ). - . thomas d'urfey, _wonders in the sun; or, the kingdom of the birds_ ( ). - . john tutchin, _selected poems_ ( - ). . anonymous, _political justice_ ( ). . robert dodsley, _an essay on fable_ ( ). . t. r., _an essay concerning critical and curious learning_ ( ). . _two poems against pope:_ leonard welsted, _one epistle to mr. a. pope_ ( ), and anonymous, _the blatant beast_ ( ). [ ] - . daniel defoe and others, _accounts of the apparition of mrs. veal_. . charles macklin, _the covent garden theatre_ ( ). . sir george l'estrange, _citt and bumpkin_ ( ). . henry more, _enthusiasmus triumphatus_ ( ). . thomas traherne, _meditations on the six days of the creation_ ( ). . bernard mandeville, _aesop dress'd or a collection of fables_ ( ). - . edmond malone, _cursory observations on the poems attributed to mr. thomas rowley_ ( ). . anonymous, _the female wits_ ( ). . anonymous, _the scribleriad_ ( ). lord hervey, _the difference between verbal and practical virtue_ ( ). - . lawrence echard, prefaces to _terence's comedies_ ( ) and _plautus's comedies_ ( ). . henry more, _democritus platonissans_ ( ). . walter harte, _an essay on satire, particularly on the dunciad_ ( ). - . john courtenay, _a poetical review of the literary and moral character of the late samuel johnson_ ( ). . john downes, _roscius anglicanus_ ( ). . sir john hill, _hypochondriasis, a practical treatise_ ( ). . thomas sheridan, _discourse ... being introductory to his course of lectures on elocution and the english language_ ( ). . arthur murphy, _the englishman from paris_ ( ). . [catherine trotter], _olinda's adventures_ ( ). publications of the first fifteen years of the society (numbers - ) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $ . per unit, from the kraus reprint company, east th street, new york, n.y. . publications in print are available at the regular membership rate of $ . yearly. prices of single issues may be obtained upon request. subsequent publications may be checked in the annual prospectus. [decoration] the augustan reprint society william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles cimarron street (at west adams), los angeles, california [decoration] _make check or money order payable to_ the regents of the university of california william andrews clark memorial library: university of california, los angeles the augustan reprint society cimarron street, los angeles, california _general editors_: william e. conway, william andrews clark memorial library; george robert guffey, university of california, los angeles; maximillian e. novak, university of california, los angeles _corresponding secretary_: mrs. edna c. davis, william andrews clark memorial library the society's purpose is to publish rare restoration and eighteenth-century works (usually as facsimile reproductions). all income of the society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and mailing. correspondence concerning memberships in the united states and canada should be addressed to the corresponding secretary at the william andrews clark memorial library, cimarron street, los angeles, california. correspondence concerning editorial matters may be addressed to the general editors at the same address. manuscripts of introductions should conform to the recommendations of the m l a _style sheet_. the membership fee is $ . a year in the united states and canada and £ . . in great britain and europe. british and european prospective members should address b. h. blackwell, broad street, oxford, england. copies of back issues in print may be obtained from the corresponding secretary. publications of the first fifteen years of the society (numbers - ) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $ . per unit, from the kraus reprint company, east th street, new york, n.y. . make check or money order payable to the regents of the university of california regular publications for - . john ogilvie, _an essay on the lyric poetry of the ancients_ ( ). introduction by wallace jackson. [ ] . _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ ( ) and _pudding burnt to pot or a compleat key to the dissertation on dumpling_ ( ). introduction by samuel l. macey. [_present text_] . selections from sir roger l'estrange's _observator_ ( - ). introduction by violet jordain. . anthony collins, _a discourse concerning ridicule and irony in writing_ ( ). introduction by edward a. bloom and lillian d. bloom. . _a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of captain lemuel gulliver_ ( ). introduction by martin kallich. . _the art of architecture, a poem. in imitation of horace's art of poetry_ ( ). introduction by william a. gibson. special publication for - gerard langbaine, _an account of the english dramatick poets_ ( ), introduction by john loftis. volumes. approximately pages. price to members of the society, $ . for the first copy (both volumes), and $ . for additional copies. price to non-members, $ . . already published in this series: . john ogilby, _the fables of aesop paraphras'd in verse_ ( ), with an introduction by earl miner. pages. . john gay, _fables_ ( , ), with an introduction by vinton a. dearing. pages. . _the empress of morocco and its critics_ (elkanah settle, _the empress of morocco_ [ ] with five plates; _notes and observations on the empress of morocco_ [ ] by john dryden, john crowne and thomas snadwell; _notes and observations on the empress of morocco revised_ [ ] by elkanah settle; and _the empress of morocco. a farce_ [ ] by thomas duffett), with an introduction by maximillian e. novak. pages. . _after the tempest_ (the dryden-davenant version of _the tempest_ [ ]; the "operatic" _tempest_ [ ]; thomas duffett's _mock-tempest_ [ ]; and the "garrick" _tempest_ [ ]), with an introduction by george robert guffey. pages. price to members of the society, $ . for the first copy of each title, and $ . for additional copies. price to non-members, $ . . standing orders for this continuing series of special publications will be accepted. british and european orders should be addressed to b. h. blackwell, broad street, oxford, england. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * errors and inconsistencies noted by transcriber: as wynde in a bladdere ypent... [_printed in black-letter type_] the _key to the dissertation_ was printed with marginal opening quotes. most closing quotes were supplied by the transcriber. _introduction_ dr. wood (pp. - ) [pp. - ] _dumpling_ and _key_ note author's correction: page . line , _&c._ for _barnes_ read _brand_. tu mihi mecænas eris! [_spelling unchanged_] but for the relief i find at austin's [' invisible] and trac'd in them the exact lineaments [' invisible] and is call'd brand's to this day [' invisible] his real name was _john brand_, [_here and above, see author's correction_] not one of the king's cooks [' invisible] there is not so much difference between [differenee] some of mother _crump_'s sausages [' invisible] see-and-saw and sacch'ry down [' invisible] with elegies, pastorals, epithalamium's [_comma after "elegies" invisible; apostrophe in "epithalamium's" unchanged_] [->] _pray mistake not the house; [-> represents pointing finger] that both the gentlemen play a good knife and fork [_unchanged: error for "ply"?_] having at that time, credit with the pork-woman [_printed text reads "ha-/ing" at line break_] made-away with his wine [_hyphen in original_] _editor's notes_ the scatological latin-english pun [scatalogical] _augustan reprints_ . lewis theobald, _preface to ... [prepace] . bernard mandeville ... ( ). [final . missing] . ... lord hervey... ( ). [_open parenthesis missing_] cimarron street (at west adams), los angeles, california [. for , after "los angeles"] the chronicles of clovis by "saki" (h. h. munro) with an introduction by a. a. milne to the lynx kitten, with his reluctantly given consent, this book is affectionately dedicated h. h. m. august, introduction there are good things which we want to share with the world and good things which we want to keep to ourselves. the secret of our favourite restaurant, to take a case, is guarded jealously from all but a few intimates; the secret, to take a contrary case, of our infallible remedy for seasickness is thrust upon every traveller we meet, even if he be no more than a casual acquaintance about to cross the serpentine. so with our books. there are dearly loved books of which we babble to a neighbour at dinner, insisting that she shall share our delight in them; and there are books, equally dear to us, of which we say nothing, fearing lest the praise of others should cheapen the glory of our discovery. the books of "saki" were, for me at least, in the second class. it was in the westminster gazette that i discovered him (i like to remember now) almost as soon as he was discoverable. let us spare a moment, and a tear, for those golden days in the early nineteen hundreds, when there were five leisurely papers of an evening in which the free-lance might graduate, and he could speak of his alma mater, whether the globe or the pall mall, with as much pride as, he never doubted, the globe or the pall mall would speak one day of him. myself but lately down from st. james', i was not too proud to take some slight but pitying interest in men of other colleges. the unusual name of a freshman up at westminster attracted my attention; i read what he had to say; and it was only by reciting rapidly with closed eyes the names of our own famous alumni, beginning confidently with barrie and ending, now very doubtfully, with myself, that i was able to preserve my equanimity. later one heard that this undergraduate from overseas had gone up at an age more advanced than customary; and just as cambridge men have been known to complain of the maturity of oxford rhodes scholars, so one felt that this westminster free-lance in the thirties was no fit competitor for the youth of other colleges. indeed, it could not compete. well, i discovered him, but only to the few, the favoured, did i speak of him. it may have been my uncertainty (which still persists) whether he called himself sayki, sahki or sakki which made me thus ungenerous of his name, or it may have been the feeling that the others were not worthy of him; but how refreshing it was when some intellectually blown-up stranger said "do you ever read saki?" to reply, with the same pronunciation and even greater condescension: "saki! he has been my favourite author for years!" a strange exotic creature, this saki, to us many others who were trying to do it too. for we were so domestic, he so terrifyingly cosmopolitan. while we were being funny, as planned, with collar-studs and hot-water bottles, he was being much funnier with werwolves and tigers. our little dialogues were between john and mary; his, and how much better, between bertie van tahn and the baroness. even the most casual intruder into one of his sketches, as it might be our tomkins, had to be called belturbet or de ropp, and for his hero, weary man-of-the-world at seventeen, nothing less thrilling than clovis sangrail would do. in our envy we may have wondered sometimes if it were not much easier to be funny with tigers than with collar-studs; if saki's careless cruelty, that strange boyish insensitiveness of his, did not give him an unfair start in the pursuit of laughter. it may have been so; but, fortunately, our efforts to be funny in the saki manner have not survived to prove it. what is saki's manner, what his magic talisman? like every artist worth consideration, he had no recipe. if his exotic choice of subject was often his strength, it was often his weakness; if his insensitiveness carried him through, at times, to victory, it brought him, at times, to defeat. i do not think that he has that "mastery of the conte"--in this book at least--which some have claimed for him. such mastery infers a passion for tidiness which was not in the boyish saki's equipment. he leaves loose ends everywhere. nor in his dialogue, delightful as it often is, funny as it nearly always is, is he the supreme master; too much does it become monologue judiciously fed, one character giving and the other taking. but in comment, in reference, in description, in every development of his story, he has a choice of words, a "way of putting things" which is as inevitably his own vintage as, once tasted, it becomes the private vintage of the connoisseur. let us take a sample or two of "saki, ." "the earlier stages of the dinner had worn off. the wine lists had been consulted, by some with the blank embarrassment of a schoolboy suddenly called upon to locate a minor prophet in the tangled hinterland of the old testament, by others with the severe scrutiny which suggests that they have visited most of the higher-priced wines in their own homes and probed their family weaknesses." "locate" is the pleasant word here. still more satisfying, in the story of the man who was tattooed "from collar-bone to waist-line with a glowing representation of the fall of icarus," is the word "privilege": "the design when finally developed was a slight disappointment to monsieur deplis, who had suspected icarus of being a fortress taken by wallenstein in the thirty years' war, but he was more than satisfied with the execution of the work, which was acclaimed by all who had the privilege of seeing it as pincini's masterpiece." this story, the background, and mrs packletide's tiger seem to me to be the masterpieces of this book. in both of them clovis exercises, needlessly, his titular right of entry, but he can be removed without damage, leaving saki at his best and most characteristic, save that he shows here, in addition to his own shining qualities, a compactness and a finish which he did not always achieve. with these i introduce you to him, confident that ten minutes of his conversation, more surely than any words of mine, will have given him the freedom of your house. a. a. milne. contents esmÉ the match-maker tobermory mrs. packletide's tiger the stampeding of lady bastable the background hermann the irascible--a story of the great weep the unrest-cure the jesting of arlington stringham sredni vashtar adrian the chaplet the quest wratislav the easter egg filboid studge, the story of a mouse that helped the music on the hill the story of st. vespaluus the way to the dairy the peace offering the peace of mowsle barton the talking-out of tarrington the hounds of fate the recessional a matter of sentiment the secret sin of septimus brope "ministers of grace" the remoulding of groby lington acknowledgment esmÉ "all hunting stories are the same," said clovis; "just as all turf stories are the same, and all--" "my hunting story isn't a bit like any you've ever heard," said the baroness. "it happened quite a while ago, when i was about twenty-three. i wasn't living apart from my husband then; you see, neither of us could afford to make the other a separate allowance. in spite of everything that proverbs may say, poverty keeps together more homes than it breaks up. but we always hunted with different packs. all this has nothing to do with the story." "we haven't arrived at the meet yet. i suppose there was a meet," said clovis. "of course there was a meet," said the baroness; all the usual crowd were there, especially constance broddle. constance is one of those strapping florid girls that go so well with autumn scenery or christmas decorations in church. 'i feel a presentiment that something dreadful is going to happen,' she said to me; 'am i looking pale?' "she was looking about as pale as a beetroot that has suddenly heard bad news. "'you're looking nicer than usual,' i said, 'but that's so easy for you.' before she had got the right bearings of this remark we had settled down to business; hounds had found a fox lying out in some gorse-bushes." "i knew it," said clovis, "in every fox-hunting story that i've ever heard there's been a fox and some gorse-bushes." "constance and i were well mounted," continued the baroness serenely, "and we had no difficulty in keeping ourselves in the first flight, though it was a fairly stiff run. towards the finish, however, we must have held rather too independent a line, for we lost the hounds, and found ourselves plodding aimlessly along miles away from anywhere. it was fairly exasperating, and my temper was beginning to let itself go by inches, when on pushing our way through an accommodating hedge we were gladdened by the sight of hounds in full cry in a hollow just beneath us. "'there they go,' cried constance, and then added in a gasp, 'in heaven's name, what are they hunting?' "it was certainly no mortal fox. it stood more than twice as high, had a short, ugly head, and an enormous thick neck. "'it's a hyaena,' i cried; 'it must have escaped from lord pabham's park.' "at that moment the hunted beast turned and faced its pursuers, and the hounds (there were only about six couple of them) stood round in a half-circle and looked foolish. evidently they had broken away from the rest of the pack on the trail of this alien scent, and were not quite sure how to treat their quarry now they had got him. "the hyaena hailed our approach with unmistakable relief and demonstrations of friendliness. it had probably been accustomed to uniform kindness from humans, while its first experience of a pack of hounds had left a bad impression. the hounds looked more than ever embarrassed as their quarry paraded its sudden intimacy with us, and the faint toot of a horn in the distance was seized on as a welcome signal for unobtrusive departure. constance and i and the hyaena were left alone in the gathering twilight. "'what are we to do?' asked constance. "'what a person you are for questions,' i said. "'well, we can't stay here all night with a hyaena,' she retorted. "'i don't know what your ideas of comfort are,' i said; 'but i shouldn't think of staying here all night even without a hyaena. my home may be an unhappy one, but at least it has hot and cold water laid on, and domestic service, and other conveniences which we shouldn't find here. we had better make for that ridge of trees to the right; i imagine the crowley road is just beyond.' "we trotted off slowly along a faintly marked cart-track, with the beast following cheerfully at our heels. "'what on earth are we to do with the hyaena?' came the inevitable question. "'what does one generally do with hyaenas?' i asked crossly. "'i've never had anything to do with one before,' said constance. "'well, neither have i. if we even knew its sex we might give it a name. perhaps we might call it esmé. that would do in either case.' "there was still sufficient daylight for us to distinguish wayside objects, and our listless spirits gave an upward perk as we came upon a small half-naked gipsy brat picking blackberries from a low-growing bush. the sudden apparition of two horsewomen and a hyaena set it off crying, and in any case we should scarcely have gleaned any useful geographical information from that source; but there was a probability that we might strike a gipsy encampment somewhere along our route. we rode on hopefully but uneventfully for another mile or so. "'i wonder what that child was doing there,' said constance presently. "'picking blackberries. obviously.' "'i don't like the way it cried,' pursued constance; 'somehow its wail keeps ringing in my ears.' "i did not chide constance for her morbid fancies; as a matter of fact the same sensation, of being pursued by a persistent fretful wail, had been forcing itself on my rather over-tired nerves. for company's sake i hulloed to esmé, who had lagged somewhat behind. with a few springy bounds he drew up level, and then shot past us. "the wailing accompaniment was explained. the gipsy child was firmly, and i expect painfully, held in his jaws. "'merciful heaven!' screamed constance, 'what on earth shall we do? what are we to do?' "i am perfectly certain that at the last judgment constance will ask more questions than any of the examining seraphs. "'can't we do something?' she persisted tearfully, as esmé cantered easily along in front of our tired horses. "personally i was doing everything that occurred to me at the moment. i stormed and scolded and coaxed in english and french and gamekeeper language; i made absurd, ineffectual cuts in the air with my thongless hunting-crop; i hurled my sandwich case at the brute; in fact, i really don't know what more i could have done. and still we lumbered on through the deepening dusk, with that dark uncouth shape lumbering ahead of us, and a drone of lugubrious music floating in our ears. suddenly esmé bounded aside into some thick bushes, where we could not follow; the wail rose to a shriek and then stopped altogether. this part of the story i always hurry over, because it is really rather horrible. when the beast joined us again, after an absence of a few minutes, there was an air of patient understanding about him, as though he knew that he had done something of which we disapproved, but which he felt to be thoroughly justifiable. "'how can you let that ravening beast trot by your side?' asked constance. she was looking more than ever like an albino beetroot. "'in the first place, i can't prevent it,' i said; 'and in the second place, whatever else he may be, i doubt if he's ravening at the present moment.' "constance shuddered. 'do you think the poor little thing suffered much?' came another of her futile questions. "'the indications were all that way,' i said; 'on the other hand, of course, it may have been crying from sheer temper. children sometimes do.' "it was nearly pitch-dark when we emerged suddenly into the highroad. a flash of lights and the whir of a motor went past us at the same moment at uncomfortably close quarters. a thud and a sharp screeching yell followed a second later. the car drew up, and when i had ridden back to the spot i found a young man bending over a dark motionless mass lying by the roadside. "'you have killed my esmé,' i exclaimed bitterly. "'i'm so awfully sorry,' said the young man; i keep dogs myself, so i know what you must feel about it. i'll do anything i can in reparation.' "'please bury him at once,' i said; 'that much i think i may ask of you.' "'bring the spade, william,' he called to the chauffeur. evidently hasty roadside interments were contingencies that had been provided against. "the digging of a sufficiently large grave took some little time. 'i say, what a magnificent fellow,' said the motorist as the corpse was rolled over into the trench. 'i'm afraid he must have been rather a valuable animal.' "'he took second in the puppy class at birmingham last year,' i said resolutely. "constance snorted loudly. "'don't cry, dear,' i said brokenly; 'it was all over in a moment. he couldn't have suffered much.' "'look here,' said the young fellow desperately, 'you simply must let me do something by way of reparation.' "i refused sweetly, but as he persisted i let him have my address. "of course, we kept our own counsel as to the earlier episodes of the evening. lord pabham never advertised the loss of his hyaena; when a strictly fruit-eating animal strayed from his park a year or two previously he was called upon to give compensation in eleven cases of sheep-worrying and practically to re-stock his neighbours' poultry-yards, and an escaped hyaena would have mounted up to something on the scale of a government grant. the gipsies were equally unobtrusive over their missing offspring; i don't suppose in large encampments they really know to a child or two how many they've got." the baroness paused reflectively, and then continued: "there was a sequel to the adventure, though. i got through the post a charming little diamond brooch, with the name esmé set in a sprig of rosemary. incidentally, too, i lost the friendship of constance broddle. you see, when i sold the brooch i quite properly refused to give her any share of the proceeds. i pointed out that the esmé part of the affair was my own invention, and the hyaena part of it belonged to lord pabham, if it really was his hyaena, of which, of course, i've no proof." the match-maker the grill-room clock struck eleven with the respectful unobtrusiveness of one whose mission in life is to be ignored. when the flight of time should really have rendered abstinence and migration imperative the lighting apparatus would signal the fact in the usual way. six minutes later clovis approached the supper-table, in the blessed expectancy of one who has dined sketchily and long ago. "i'm starving," he announced, making an effort to sit down gracefully and read the menu at the same time. "so i gathered;" said his host, "from the fact that you were nearly punctual. i ought to have told you that i'm a food reformer. i've ordered two bowls of bread-and-milk and some health biscuits. i hope you don't mind." clovis pretended afterwards that he didn't go white above the collar-line for the fraction of a second. "all the same," he said, "you ought not to joke about such things. there really are such people. i've known people who've met them. to think of all the adorable things there are to eat in the world, and then to go through life munching sawdust and being proud of it." "they're like the flagellants of the middle ages, who went about mortifying themselves." "they had some excuse," said clovis. "they did it to save their immortal souls, didn't they? you needn't tell me that a man who doesn't love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul, or a stomach either. he's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed." clovis relapsed for a few golden moments into tender intimacies with a succession of rapidly disappearing oysters. "i think oysters are more beautiful than any religion," he resumed presently. "they not only forgive our unkindness to them; they justify it, they incite us to go on being perfectly horrid to them. once they arrive at the supper-table they seem to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. there's nothing in christianity or buddhism that quite matches the sympathetic unselfishness of an oyster. do you like my new waistcoat? i'm wearing it for the first time to-night." "it looks like a great many others you've had lately, only worse. new dinner waistcoats are becoming a habit with you." "they say one always pays for the excesses of one's youth; mercifully that isn't true about one's clothes. my mother is thinking of getting married." "again!" "it's the first time." "of course, you ought to know. i was under the impression that she'd been married once or twice at least." "three times, to be mathematically exact. i meant that it was the first time she'd thought about getting married; the other times she did it without thinking. as a matter of fact, it's really i who am doing the thinking for her in this case. you see, it's quite two years since her last husband died." "you evidently think that brevity is the soul of widowhood." "well, it struck me that she was getting moped, and beginning to settle down, which wouldn't suit her a bit. the first symptom that i noticed was when she began to complain that we were living beyond our income. all decent people live beyond their incomes nowadays, and those who aren't respectable live beyond other peoples. a few gifted individuals manage to do both." "it's hardly so much a gift as an industry." "the crisis came," returned clovis, "when she suddenly started the theory that late hours were bad for one, and wanted me to be in by one o'clock every night. imagine that sort of thing for me, who was eighteen on my last birthday." "on your last two birthdays, to be mathematically exact." "oh, well, that's not my fault. i'm not going to arrive at nineteen as long as my mother remains at thirty-seven. one must have some regard for appearances." "perhaps your mother would age a little in the process of settling down." "that's the last thing she'd think of. feminine reformations always start in on the failings of other people. that's why i was so keen on the husband idea." "did you go as far as to select the gentleman, or did you merely throw out a general idea, and trust to the force of suggestion?" "if one wants a thing done in a hurry one must see to it oneself. i found a military johnny hanging round on a loose end at the club, and took him home to lunch once or twice. he'd spent most of his life on the indian frontier, building roads, and relieving famines and minimizing earthquakes, and all that sort of thing that one does do on frontiers. he could talk sense to a peevish cobra in fifteen native languages, and probably knew what to do if you found a rogue elephant on your croquet-lawn; but he was shy and diffident with women. i told my mother privately that he was an absolute woman-hater; so, of course, she laid herself out to flirt all she knew, which isn't a little." "and was the gentleman responsive?" "i hear he told some one at the club that he was looking out for a colonial job, with plenty of hard work, for a young friend of his, so i gather that he has some idea of marrying into the family." "you seem destined to be the victim of the reformation, after all." clovis wiped the trace of turkish coffee and the beginnings of a smile from his lips, and slowly lowered his dexter eyelid. which, being interpreted, probably meant, "i don't think!" tobermory it was a chill, rain-washed afternoon of a late august day, that indefinite season when partridges are still in security or cold storage, and there is nothing to hunt--unless one is bounded on the north by the bristol channel, in which case one may lawfully gallop after fat red stags. lady blemley's house-party was not bounded on the north by the bristol channel, hence there was a full gathering of her guests round the tea-table on this particular afternoon. and, in spite of the blankness of the season and the triteness of the occasion, there was no trace in the company of that fatigued restlessness which means a dread of the pianola and a subdued hankering for auction bridge. the undisguised openmouthed attention of the entire party was fixed on the homely negative personality of mr. cornelius appin. of all her guests, he was the one who had come to lady blemley with the vaguest reputation. some one had said he was "clever," and he had got his invitation in the moderate expectation, on the part of his hostess, that some portion at least of his cleverness would be contributed to the general entertainment. until tea-time that day she had been unable to discover in what direction, if any, his cleverness lay. he was neither a wit nor a croquet champion, a hypnotic force nor a begetter of amateur theatricals. neither did his exterior suggest the sort of man in whom women are willing to pardon a generous measure of mental deficiency. he had subsided into mere mr. appin, and the cornelius seemed a piece of transparent baptismal bluff. and now he was claiming to have launched on the world a discovery beside which the invention of gunpowder, of the printing-press, and of steam locomotion were inconsiderable trifles. science had made bewildering strides in many directions during recent decades, but this thing seemed to belong to the domain of miracle rather than to scientific achievement. "and do you really ask us to believe," sir wilfrid was saying, "that you have discovered a means for instructing animals in the art of human speech, and that dear old tobermory has proved your first successful pupil?" "it is a problem at which i have worked for the last seventeen years," said mr. appin, "but only during the last eight or nine months have i been rewarded with glimmerings of success. of course i have experimented with thousands of animals, but latterly only with cats, those wonderful creatures which have assimilated themselves so marvellously with our civilization while retaining all their highly developed feral instincts. here and there among cats one comes across an outstanding superior intellect, just as one does among the ruck of human beings, and when i made the acquaintance of tobermory a week ago i saw at once that i was in contact with a 'beyond-cat' of extraordinary intelligence. i had gone far along the road to success in recent experiments; with tobermory, as you call him, i have reached the goal." mr. appin concluded his remarkable statement in a voice which he strove to divest of a triumphant inflection. no one said "rats," though clovis's lips moved in a monosyllabic contortion which probably invoked those rodents of disbelief. "and do you mean to say," asked miss resker, after a slight pause, "that you have taught tobermory to say and understand easy sentences of one syllable?" "my dear miss resker," said the wonderworker patiently, "one teaches little children and savages and backward adults in that piecemeal fashion; when one has once solved the problem of making a beginning with an animal of highly developed intelligence one has no need for those halting methods. tobermory can speak our language with perfect correctness." this time clovis very distinctly said, "beyond-rats!" sir wilfrid was more polite, but equally sceptical. "hadn't we better have the cat in and judge for ourselves?" suggested lady blemley. sir wilfrid went in search of the animal, and the company settled themselves down to the languid expectation of witnessing some more or less adroit drawing-room ventriloquism. in a minute sir wilfrid was back in the room, his face white beneath its tan and his eyes dilated with excitement. "by gad, it's true!" his agitation was unmistakably genuine, and his hearers started forward in a thrill of awakened interest. collapsing into an armchair he continued breathlessly: "i found him dozing in the smoking-room, and called out to him to come for his tea. he blinked at me in his usual way, and i said, 'come on, toby; don't keep us waiting;' and, by gad! he drawled out in a most horribly natural voice that he'd come when he dashed well pleased! i nearly jumped out of my skin!" appin had preached to absolutely incredulous hearers; sir wilfrid's statement carried instant conviction. a babel-like chorus of startled exclamation arose, amid which the scientist sat mutely enjoying the first fruit of his stupendous discovery. in the midst of the clamour tobermory entered the room and made his way with velvet tread and studied unconcern across to the group seated round the tea-table. a sudden hush of awkwardness and constraint fell on the company. somehow there seemed an element of embarrassment in addressing on equal terms a domestic cat of acknowledged dental ability. "will you have some milk, tobermory?" asked lady blemley in a rather strained voice. "i don't mind if i do," was the response, couched in a tone of even indifference. a shiver of suppressed excitement went through the listeners, and lady blemley might be excused for pouring out the saucerful of milk rather unsteadily. "i'm afraid i've spilt a good deal of it," she said apologetically. "after all, it's not my axminster," was tobermory's rejoinder. another silence fell on the group, and then miss resker, in her best district-visitor manner, asked if the human language had been difficult to learn. tobermory looked squarely at her for a moment and then fixed his gaze serenely on the middle distance. it was obvious that boring questions lay outside his scheme of life. "what do you think of human intelligence?" asked mavis pellington lamely. "of whose intelligence in particular?" asked tobermory coldly. "oh, well, mine for instance," said mavis, with a feeble laugh. "you put me in an embarrassing position," said tobermory, whose tone and attitude certainly did not suggest a shred of embarrassment. "when your inclusion in this house-party was suggested sir wilfrid protested that you were the most brainless woman of his acquaintance, and that there was a wide distinction between hospitality and the care of the feeble-minded. lady blemley replied that your lack of brain-power was the precise quality which had earned you your invitation, as you were the only person she could think of who might be idiotic enough to buy their old car. you know, the one they call 'the envy of sisyphus,' because it goes quite nicely up-hill if you push it." lady blemley's protestations would have had greater effect if she had not casually suggested to mavis only that morning that the car in question would be just the thing for her down at her devonshire home. major barfield plunged in heavily to effect a diversion. "how about your carryings-on with the tortoiseshell puss up at the stables, eh?" the moment he had said it every one realized the blunder. "one does not usually discuss these matters in public," said tobermory frigidly. "from a slight observation of your ways since you've been in this house i should imagine you'd find it inconvenient if i were to shift the conversation on to your own little affairs." the panic which ensued was not confined to the major. "would you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner ready?" suggested lady blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that it wanted at least two hours to tobermory's dinner-time. "thanks," said tobermory, "not quite so soon after my tea. i don't want to die of indigestion." "cats have nine lives, you know," said sir wilfrid heartily. "possibly," answered tobermory; "but only one liver." "adelaide!" said mrs. cornett, "do you mean to encourage that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?" the panic had indeed become general. a narrow ornamental balustrade ran in front of most of the bedroom windows at the towers, and it was recalled with dismay that this had formed a favourite promenade for tobermory at all hours, whence he could watch the pigeons--and heaven knew what else besides. if he intended to become reminiscent in his present outspoken strain the effect would be something more than disconcerting. mrs. cornett, who spent much time at her toilet table, and whose complexion was reputed to be of a nomadic though punctual disposition, looked as ill at ease as the major. miss scrawen, who wrote fiercely sensuous poetry and led a blameless life, merely displayed irritation; if you are methodical and virtuous in private you don't necessarily want every one to know it. bertie van tahn, who was so depraved at seventeen that he had long ago given up trying to be any worse, turned a dull shade of gardenia white, but he did not commit the error of dashing out of the room like odo finsberry, a young gentleman who was understood to be reading for the church and who was possibly disturbed at the thought of scandals he might hear concerning other people. clovis had the presence of mind to maintain a composed exterior; privately he was calculating how long it would take to procure a box of fancy mice through the agency of the exchange and mart as a species of hush-money. even in a delicate situation like the present, agnes resker could not endure to remain too long in the background. "why did i ever come down here?" she asked dramatically. tobermory immediately accepted the opening. "judging by what you said to mrs. cornett on the croquet-lawn yesterday, you were out for food. you described the blemleys as the dullest people to stay with that you knew, but said they were clever enough to employ a first-rate cook; otherwise they'd find it difficult to get anyone to come down a second time." "there's not a word of truth in it! i appeal to mrs. cornett--" exclaimed the discomfited agnes. "mrs. cornett repeated your remark afterwards to bertie van tahn," continued tobermory, "and said, 'that woman is a regular hunger marcher; she'd go anywhere for four square meals a day,' and bertie van tahn said--" at this point the chronicle mercifully ceased. tobermory had caught a glimpse of the big yellow tom from the rectory working his way through the shrubbery towards the stable wing. in a flash he had vanished through the open french window. with the disappearance of his too brilliant pupil cornelius appin found himself beset by a hurricane of bitter upbraiding, anxious inquiry, and frightened entreaty. the responsibility for the situation lay with him, and he must prevent matters from becoming worse. could tobermory impart his dangerous gift to other cats? was the first question he had to answer. it was possible, he replied, that he might have initiated his intimate friend the stable puss into his new accomplishment, but it was unlikely that his teaching could have taken a wider range as yet. "then," said mrs. cornett, "tobermory may be a valuable cat and a great pet; but i'm sure you'll agree, adelaide, that both he and the stable cat must be done away with without delay." "you don't suppose i've enjoyed the last quarter of an hour, do you?" said lady blemley bitterly. "my husband and i are very fond of tobermory--at least, we were before this horrible accomplishment was infused into him; but now, of course, the only thing is to have him destroyed as soon as possible." "we can put some strychnine in the scraps he always gets at dinner-time," said sir wilfrid, "and i will go and drown the stable cat myself. the coachman will be very sore at losing his pet, but i'll say a very catching form of mange has broken out in both cats and we're afraid of it spreading to the kennels." "but my great discovery!" expostulated mr. appin; "after all my years of research and experiment--" "you can go and experiment on the shorthorns at the farm, who are under proper control," said mrs. cornett, "or the elephants at the zoological gardens. they're said to be highly intelligent, and they have this recommendation, that they don't come creeping about our bedrooms and under chairs, and so forth." an archangel ecstatically proclaiming the millennium, and then finding that it clashed unpardonably with henley and would have to be indefinitely postponed, could hardly have felt more crestfallen than cornelius appin at the reception of his wonderful achievement. public opinion, however, was against him--in fact, had the general voice been consulted on the subject it is probable that a strong minority vote would have been in favour of including him in the strychnine diet. defective train arrangements and a nervous desire to see matters brought to a finish prevented an immediate dispersal of the party, but dinner that evening was not a social success. sir wilfrid had had rather a trying time with the stable cat and subsequently with the coachman. agnes resker ostentatiously limited her repast to a morsel of dry toast, which she bit as though it were a personal enemy; while mavis pellington maintained a vindictive silence throughout the meal. lady blemley kept up a flow of what she hoped was conversation, but her attention was fixed on the doorway. a plateful of carefully dosed fish scraps was in readiness on the sideboard, but sweets and savoury and dessert went their way, and no tobermory appeared either in the dining-room or kitchen. the sepulchral dinner was cheerful compared with the subsequent vigil in the smoking-room. eating and drinking had at least supplied a distraction and cloak to the prevailing embarrassment. bridge was out of the question in the general tension of nerves and tempers, and after odo finsberry had given a lugubrious rendering of "melisande in the wood" to a frigid audience, music was tacitly avoided. at eleven the servants went to bed, announcing that the small window in the pantry had been left open as usual for tobermory's private use. the guests read steadily through the current batch of magazines, and fell back gradually, on the "badminton library" and bound volumes of punch. lady blemley made periodic visits to the pantry, returning each time with an expression of listless depression which forestalled questioning. at two o'clock clovis broke the dominating silence. "he won't turn up to-night. he's probably in the local newspaper office at the present moment, dictating the first instalment of his reminiscences. lady what's-her-name's book won't be in it. it will be the event of the day." having made this contribution to the general cheerfulness, clovis went to bed. at long intervals the various members of the house-party followed his example. the servants taking round the early tea made a uniform announcement in reply to a uniform question. tobermory had not returned. breakfast was, if anything, a more unpleasant function than dinner had been, but before its conclusion the situation was relieved. tobermory's corpse was brought in from the shrubbery, where a gardener had just discovered it. from the bites on his throat and the yellow fur which coated his claws it was evident that he had fallen in unequal combat with the big tom from the rectory. by midday most of the guests had quitted the towers, and after lunch lady blemley had sufficiently recovered her spirits to write an extremely nasty letter to the rectory about the loss of her valuable pet. tobermory had been appin's one successful pupil, and he was destined to have no successor. a few weeks later an elephant in the dresden zoological garden, which had shown no previous signs of irritability, broke loose and killed an englishman who had apparently been teasing it. the victim's name was variously reported in the papers as oppin and eppelin, but his front name was faithfully rendered cornelius. "if he was trying german irregular verbs on the poor beast," said clovis, "he deserved all he got." mrs. packletide's tiger it was mrs. packletide's pleasure and intention that she should shoot a tiger. not that the lust to kill had suddenly descended on her, or that she felt that she would leave india safer and more wholesome than she had found it, with one fraction less of wild beast per million of inhabitants. the compelling motive for her sudden deviation towards the footsteps of nimrod was the fact that loona bimberton had recently been carried eleven miles in an aeroplane by an algerian aviator, and talked of nothing else; only a personally procured tiger-skin and a heavy harvest of press photographs could successfully counter that sort of thing. mrs. packletide had already arranged in her mind the lunch she would give at her house in curzon street, ostensibly in loona bimberton's honour, with a tiger-skin rug occupying most of the foreground and all of the conversation. she had also already designed in her mind the tiger-claw brooch that she was going to give loona bimberton on her next birthday. in a world that is supposed to be chiefly swayed by hunger and by love mrs. packletide was an exception; her movements and motives were largely governed by dislike of loona bimberton. circumstances proved propitious. mrs. packletide had offered a thousand rupees for the opportunity of shooting a tiger without overmuch risk or exertion, and it so happened that a neighbouring village could boast of being the favoured rendezvous of an animal of respectable antecedents, which had been driven by the increasing infirmities of age to abandon game-killing and confine its appetite to the smaller domestic animals. the prospect of earning the thousand rupees had stimulated the sporting and commercial instinct of the villagers; children were posted night and day on the outskirts of the local jungle to head the tiger back in the unlikely event of his attempting to roam away to fresh hunting-grounds, and the cheaper kinds of goats were left about with elaborate carelessness to keep him satisfied with his present quarters. the one great anxiety was lest he should die of old age before the date appointed for the memsahib's shoot. mothers carrying their babies home through the jungle after the day's work in the fields hushed their singing lest they might curtail the restful sleep of the venerable herd-robber. the great night duly arrived, moonlit and cloudless. a platform had been constructed in a comfortable and conveniently placed tree, and thereon crouched mrs. packletide and her paid companion, miss mebbin. a goat, gifted with a particularly persistent bleat, such as even a partially deaf tiger might be reasonably expected to hear on a still night, was tethered at the correct distance. with an accurately sighted rifle and a thumbnail pack of patience cards the sportswoman awaited the coming of the quarry. "i suppose we are in some danger?" said miss mebbin. she was not actually nervous about the wild beast, but she had a morbid dread of performing an atom more service than she had been paid for. "nonsense," said mrs. packletide; "it's a very old tiger. it couldn't spring up here even if it wanted to." "if it's an old tiger i think you ought to get it cheaper. a thousand rupees is a lot of money." louisa mebbin adopted a protective elder-sister attitude towards money in general, irrespective of nationality or denomination. her energetic intervention had saved many a rouble from dissipating itself in tips in some moscow hotel, and francs and centimes clung to her instinctively under circumstances which would have driven them headlong from less sympathetic hands. her speculations as to the market depreciation of tiger remnants were cut short by the appearance on the scene of the animal itself. as soon as it caught sight of the tethered goat it lay flat on the earth, seemingly less from a desire to take advantage of all available cover than for the purpose of snatching a short rest before commencing the grand attack. "i believe it's ill," said louisa mebbin, loudly in hindustani, for the benefit of the village headman, who was in ambush in a neighbouring tree. "hush!" said mrs. packletide, and at that moment the tiger commenced ambling towards his victim. "now, now!" urged miss mebbin with some excitement; "if he doesn't touch the goat we needn't pay for it." (the bait was an extra.) the rifle flashed out with a loud report, and the great tawny beast sprang to one side and then rolled over in the stillness of death. in a moment a crowd of excited natives had swarmed on to the scene, and their shouting speedily carried the glad news to the village, where a thumping of tom-toms took up the chorus of triumph. and their triumph and rejoicing found a ready echo in the heart of mrs. packletide; already that luncheon-party in curzon street seemed immeasurably nearer. it was louisa mebbin who drew attention to the fact that the goat was in death-throes from a mortal bullet-wound, while no trace of the rifle's deadly work could be found on the tiger. evidently the wrong animal had been hit, and the beast of prey had succumbed to heart-failure, caused by the sudden report of the rifle, accelerated by senile decay. mrs. packletide was pardonably annoyed at the discovery; but, at any rate, she was the possessor of a dead tiger, and the villagers, anxious for their thousand rupees, gladly connived at the fiction that she had shot the beast. and miss mebbin was a paid companion. therefore did mrs. packletide face the cameras with a light heart, and her pictured fame reached from the pages of the texas weekly snapshot to the illustrated monday supplement of the novoe vremya. as for loona bimberton, she refused to look at an illustrated paper for weeks, and her letter of thanks for the gift of a tiger-claw brooch was a model of repressed emotions. the luncheon-party she declined; there are limits beyond which repressed emotions become dangerous. from curzon street the tiger-skin rug travelled down to the manor house, and was duly inspected and admired by the county, and it seemed a fitting and appropriate thing when mrs. packletide went to the county costume ball in the character of diana. she refused to fall in, however, with clovis's tempting suggestion of a primeval dance party, at which every one should wear the skins of beasts they had recently slain. "i should be in rather a baby bunting condition," confessed clovis, "with a miserable rabbit-skin or two to wrap up in, but then," he added, with a rather malicious glance at diana's proportions, "my figure is quite as good as that russian dancing boy's." "how amused every one would be if they knew what really happened," said louisa mebbin a few days after the ball. "what do you mean?" asked mrs. packletide quickly. "how you shot the goat and frightened the tiger to death," said miss mebbin, with her disagreeably pleasant laugh. "no one would believe it," said mrs. packletide, her face changing colour as rapidly as though it were going through a book of patterns before post-time. "loona bimberton would," said miss mebbin. mrs. packletide's face settled on an unbecoming shade of greenish white. "you surely wouldn't give me away?" she asked. "i've seen a week-end cottage near dorking that i should rather like to buy," said miss mebbin with seeming irrelevance. "six hundred and eighty, freehold. quite a bargain, only i don't happen to have the money." * * * * * louisa mebbin's pretty week-end cottage, christened by her "les fauves," and gay in summertime with its garden borders of tiger-lilies, is the wonder and admiration of her friends. "it is a marvel how louisa manages to do it," is the general verdict. mrs. packletide indulges in no more big-game shooting. "the incidental expenses are so heavy," she confides to inquiring friends. the stampeding of lady bastable "it would be rather nice if you would put clovis up for another six days while i go up north to the macgregors'," said mrs. sangrail sleepily across the breakfast-table. it was her invariable plan to speak in a sleepy, comfortable voice whenever she was unusually keen about anything; it put people off their guard, and they frequently fell in with her wishes before they had realized that she was really asking for anything. lady bastable, however, was not so easily taken unawares; possibly she knew that voice and what it betokened--at any rate, she knew clovis. she frowned at a piece of toast and ate it very slowly, as though she wished to convey the impression that the process hurt her more than it hurt the toast; but no extension of hospitality on clovis's behalf rose to her lips. "it would be a great convenience to me," pursued mrs. sangrail, abandoning the careless tone. "i particularly don't want to take him to the macgregors', and it will only be for six days." "it will seem longer," said lady bastable dismally. "the last time he stayed here for a week--" "i know," interrupted the other hastily, "but that was nearly two years ago. he was younger then." "but he hasn't improved," said her hostess; "it's no use growing older if you only learn new ways of misbehaving yourself." mrs. sangrail was unable to argue the point; since clovis had reached the age of seventeen she had never ceased to bewail his irrepressible waywardness to all her circle of acquaintances, and a polite scepticism would have greeted the slightest hint at a prospective reformation. she discarded the fruitless effort at cajolery and resorted to undisguised bribery. "if you'll have him here for these six days i'll cancel that outstanding bridge account." it was only for forty-nine shillings, but lady bastable loved shillings with a great, strong love. to lose money at bridge and not to have to pay it was one of those rare experiences which gave the card-table a glamour in her eyes which it could never otherwise have possessed. mrs. sangrail was almost equally devoted to her card winnings, but the prospect of conveniently warehousing her offspring for six days, and incidentally saving his railway fare to the north, reconciled her to the sacrifice; when clovis made a belated appearance at the breakfast-table the bargain had been struck. "just think," said mrs. sangrail sleepily; "lady bastable has very kindly asked you to stay on here while i go to the macgregors'." clovis said suitable things in a highly unsuitable manner, and proceeded to make punitive expeditions among the breakfast dishes with a scowl on his face that would have driven the purr out of a peace conference. the arrangement that had been concluded behind his back was doubly distasteful to him. in the first place, he particularly wanted to teach the macgregor boys, who could well afford the knowledge, how to play poker-patience; secondly, the bastable catering was of the kind that is classified as a rude plenty, which clovis translated as a plenty that gives rise to rude remarks. watching him from behind ostentatiously sleepy lids, his mother realized, in the light of long experience, that any rejoicing over the success of her manoeuvre would be distinctly premature. it was one thing to fit clovis into a convenient niche of the domestic jig-saw puzzle; it was quite another matter to get him to stay there. lady bastable was wont to retire in state to the morning-room immediately after breakfast and spend a quiet hour in skimming through the papers; they were there, so she might as well get their money's worth out of them. politics did not greatly interest her, but she was obsessed with a favourite foreboding that one of these days there would be a great social upheaval, in which everybody would be killed by everybody else. "it will come sooner than we think," she would observe darkly; a mathematical expert of exceptionally high powers would have been puzzled to work out the approximate date from the slender and confusing groundwork which this assertion afforded. on this particular morning the sight of lady bastable enthroned among her papers gave clovis the hint towards which his mind had been groping all breakfast time. his mother had gone upstairs to supervise packing operations, and he was alone on the ground-floor with his hostess--and the servants. the latter were the key to the situation. bursting wildly into the kitchen quarters, clovis screamed a frantic though strictly non-committal summons: "poor lady bastable! in the morning-room! oh, quick!" the next moment the butler, cook, page-boy, two or three maids, and a gardener who had happened to be in one of the outer kitchens were following in a hot scurry after clovis as he headed back for the morning-room. lady bastable was roused from the world of newspaper lore by hearing a japanese screen in the hall go down with a crash. then the door leading from the hall flew open and her young guest tore madly through the room, shrieked at her in passing, "the jacquerie! they're on us!" and dashed like an escaping hawk out through the french window. the scared mob of servants burst in on his heels, the gardener still clutching the sickle with which he had been trimming hedges, and the impetus of their headlong haste carried them, slipping and sliding, over the smooth parquet flooring towards the chair where their mistress sat in panic-stricken amazement. if she had had a moment granted her for reflection she would have behaved, as she afterwards explained, with considerable dignity. it was probably the sickle which decided her, but anyway she followed the lead that clovis had given her through the french window, and ran well and far across the lawn before the eyes of her astonished retainers. * * * * * lost dignity is not a possession which can be restored at a moment's notice, and both lady bastable and the butler found the process of returning to normal conditions almost as painful as a slow recovery from drowning. a jacquerie, even if carried out with the most respectful of intentions, cannot fail to leave some traces of embarrassment behind it. by lunch-time, however, decorum had reasserted itself with enhanced rigour as a natural rebound from its recent overthrow, and the meal was served in a frigid stateliness that might have been framed on a byzantine model. halfway through its duration mrs. sangrail was solemnly presented with an envelope lying on a silver salver. it contained a cheque for forty-nine shillings. the macgregor boys learned how to play poker-patience; after all, they could afford to. the background "that woman's art-jargon tires me," said clovis to his journalist friend. "she's so fond of talking of certain pictures as 'growing on one,' as though they were a sort of fungus." "that reminds me," said the journalist, "of the story of henri deplis. have i ever told it you?" clovis shook his head. "henri deplis was by birth a native of the grand duchy of luxemburg. on maturer reflection he became a commercial traveller. his business activities frequently took him beyond the limits of the grand duchy, and he was stopping in a small town of northern italy when news reached him from home that a legacy from a distant and deceased relative had fallen to his share. "it was not a large legacy, even from the modest standpoint of henri deplis, but it impelled him towards some seemingly harmless extravagances. in particular it led him to patronize local art as represented by the tattoo-needles of signor andreas pincini. signor pincini was, perhaps, the most brilliant master of tattoo craft that italy had ever known, but his circumstances were decidedly impoverished, and for the sum of six hundred francs he gladly undertook to cover his client's back, from the collar-bone down to the waistline, with a glowing representation of the fall of icarus. the design, when finally developed, was a slight disappointment to monsieur deplis, who had suspected icarus of being a fortress taken by wallenstein in the thirty years' war, but he was more than satisfied with the execution of the work, which was acclaimed by all who had the privilege of seeing it as pincini's masterpiece. "it was his greatest effort, and his last. without even waiting to be paid, the illustrious craftsman departed this life, and was buried under an ornate tombstone, whose winged cherubs would have afforded singularly little scope for the exercise of his favourite art. there remained, however, the widow pincini, to whom the six hundred francs were due. and thereupon arose the great crisis in the life of henri deplis, traveller of commerce. the legacy, under the stress of numerous little calls on its substance, had dwindled to very insignificant proportions, and when a pressing wine bill and sundry other current accounts had been paid, there remained little more than francs to offer to the widow. the lady was properly indignant, not wholly, as she volubly explained, on account of the suggested writing-off of francs, but also at the attempt to depreciate the value of her late husband's acknowledged masterpiece. in a week's time deplis was obliged to reduce his offer to francs, which circumstance fanned the widow's indignation into a fury. she cancelled the sale of the work of art, and a few days later deplis learned with a sense of consternation that she had presented it to the municipality of bergamo, which had gratefully accepted it. he left the neighbourhood as unobtrusively as possible, and was genuinely relieved when his business commands took him to rome, where he hoped his identity and that of the famous picture might be lost sight of. "but he bore on his back the burden of the dead man's genius. on presenting himself one day in the steaming corridor of a vapour bath, he was at once hustled back into his clothes by the proprietor, who was a north italian, and who emphatically refused to allow the celebrated fall of icarus to be publicly on view without the permission of the municipality of bergamo. public interest and official vigilance increased as the matter became more widely known, and deplis was unable to take a simple dip in the sea or river on the hottest afternoon unless clothed up to the collarbone in a substantial bathing garment. later on the authorities of bergamo conceived the idea that salt water might be injurious to the masterpiece, and a perpetual injunction was obtained which debarred the muchly harassed commercial traveller from sea bathing under any circumstances. altogether, he was fervently thankful when his firm of employers found him a new range of activities in the neighbourhood of bordeaux. his thankfulness, however, ceased abruptly at the franco-italian frontier. an imposing array of official force barred his departure, and he was sternly reminded of the stringent law which forbids the exportation of italian works of art. "a diplomatic parley ensued between the luxemburgian and italian governments, and at one time the european situation became overcast with the possibilities of trouble. but the italian government stood firm; it declined to concern itself in the least with the fortunes or even the existence of henri deplis, commercial traveller, but was immovable in its decision that the fall of icarus (by the late pincini, andreas) at present the property of the municipality of bergamo, should not leave the country. "the excitement died down in time, but the unfortunate deplis, who was of a constitutionally retiring disposition, found himself a few months later, once more the storm-centre of a furious controversy. a certain german art expert, who had obtained from the municipality of bergamo permission to inspect the famous masterpiece, declared it to be a spurious pincini, probably the work of some pupil whom he had employed in his declining years. the evidence of deplis on the subject was obviously worthless, as he had been under the influence of the customary narcotics during the long process of pricking in the design. the editor of an italian art journal refuted the contentions of the german expert and undertook to prove that his private life did not conform to any modern standard of decency. the whole of italy and germany were drawn into the dispute, and the rest of europe was soon involved in the quarrel. there were stormy scenes in the spanish parliament, and the university of copenhagen bestowed a gold medal on the german expert (afterwards sending a commission to examine his proofs on the spot), while two polish schoolboys in paris committed suicide to show what they thought of the matter. "meanwhile, the unhappy human background fared no better than before, and it was not surprising that he drifted into the ranks of italian anarchists. four times at least he was escorted to the frontier as a dangerous and undesirable foreigner, but he was always brought back as the fall of icarus (attributed to pincini, andreas, early twentieth century). and then one day, at an anarchist congress at genoa, a fellow-worker, in the heat of debate, broke a phial full of corrosive liquid over his back. the red shirt that he was wearing mitigated the effects, but the icarus was ruined beyond recognition. his assailant was severely reprimanded for assaulting a fellow-anarchist and received seven years' imprisonment for defacing a national art treasure. as soon as he was able to leave the hospital henri deplis was put across the frontier as an undesirable alien. "in the quieter streets of paris, especially in the neighbourhood of the ministry of fine arts, you may sometimes meet a depressed, anxious-looking man, who, if you pass him the time of day, will answer you with a slight luxemburgian accent. he nurses the illusion that he is one of the lost arms of the venus de milo, and hopes that the french government may be persuaded to buy him. on all other subjects i believe he is tolerably sane." hermann the irascible--a story of the great weep it was in the second decade of the twentieth century, after the great plague had devastated england, that hermann the irascible, nicknamed also the wise, sat on the british throne. the mortal sickness had swept away the entire royal family, unto the third and fourth generations, and thus it came to pass that hermann the fourteenth of saxe-drachsen-wachtelstein, who had stood thirtieth in the order of succession, found himself one day ruler of the british dominions within and beyond the seas. he was one of the unexpected things that happen in politics, and he happened with great thoroughness. in many ways he was the most progressive monarch who had sat on an important throne; before people knew where they were, they were somewhere else. even his ministers, progressive though they were by tradition, found it difficult to keep pace with his legislative suggestions. "as a matter of fact," admitted the prime minister, "we are hampered by these votes-for-women creatures; they disturb our meetings throughout the country, and they try to turn downing street into a sort of political picnic-ground." "they must be dealt with," said hermann. "dealt with," said the prime minister; "exactly, just so; but how?" "i will draft you a bill," said the king, sitting down at his typewriting machine, "enacting that women shall vote at all future elections. shall vote, you observe; or, to put it plainer, must. voting will remain optional, as before, for male electors; but every woman between the ages of twenty-one and seventy will be obliged to vote, not only at elections for parliament, county councils, district boards, parish councils, and municipalities, but for coroners, school inspectors, churchwardens, curators of museums, sanitary authorities, police-court interpreters, swimming-bath instructors, contractors, choir-masters, market superintendents, art-school teachers, cathedral vergers, and other local functionaries whose names i will add as they occur to me. all these offices will become elective, and failure to vote at any election falling within her area of residence will involve the female elector in a penalty of £ . absence, unsupported by an adequate medical certificate, will not be accepted as an excuse. pass this bill through the two houses of parliament and bring it to me for signature the day after to-morrow." from the very outset the compulsory female franchise produced little or no elation even in circles which had been loudest in demanding the vote. the bulk of the women of the country had been indifferent or hostile to the franchise agitation, and the most fanatical suffragettes began to wonder what they had found so attractive in the prospect of putting ballot-papers into a box. in the country districts the task of carrying out the provisions of the new act was irksome enough; in the towns and cities it became an incubus. there seemed no end to the elections. laundresses and seamstresses had to hurry away from their work to vote, often for a candidate whose name they hadn't heard before, and whom they selected at haphazard; female clerks and waitresses got up extra early to get their voting done before starting off to their places of business. society women found their arrangements impeded and upset by the continual necessity for attending the polling stations, and week-end parties and summer holidays became gradually a masculine luxury. as for cairo and the riviera, they were possible only for genuine invalids or people of enormous wealth, for the accumulation of £ fines during a prolonged absence was a contingency that even ordinarily wealthy folk could hardly afford to risk. it was not wonderful that the female disfranchisement agitation became a formidable movement. the no-votes-for-women league numbered its feminine adherents by the million; its colours, citron and old dutch-madder, were flaunted everywhere, and its battle hymn, "we don't want to vote," became a popular refrain. as the government showed no signs of being impressed by peaceful persuasion, more violent methods came into vogue. meetings were disturbed, ministers were mobbed, policemen were bitten, and ordinary prison fare rejected, and on the eve of the anniversary of trafalgar women bound themselves in tiers up the entire length of the nelson column so that its customary floral decoration had to be abandoned. still the government obstinately adhered to its conviction that women ought to have the vote. then, as a last resort, some woman wit hit upon an expedient which it was strange that no one had thought of before. the great weep was organized. relays of women, ten thousand at a time, wept continuously in the public places of the metropolis. they wept in railway stations, in tubes and omnibuses, in the national gallery, at the army and navy stores, in st. james's park, at ballad concerts, at prince's and in the burlington arcade. the hitherto unbroken success of the brilliant farcical comedy "henry's rabbit" was imperilled by the presence of drearily weeping women in stalls and circle and gallery, and one of the brightest divorce cases that had been tried for many years was robbed of much of its sparkle by the lachrymose behaviour of a section of the audience. "what are we to do?" asked the prime minister, whose cook had wept into all the breakfast dishes and whose nursemaid had gone out, crying quietly and miserably, to take the children for a walk in the park. "there is a time for everything," said the king; "there is a time to yield. pass a measure through the two houses depriving women of the right to vote, and bring it to me for the royal assent the day after to-morrow." as the minister withdrew, hermann the irascible, who was also nicknamed the wise, gave a profound chuckle. "there are more ways of killing a cat than by choking it with cream," he quoted, "but i'm not sure," he added, "that it's not the best way." the unrest-cure on the rack in the railway carriage immediately opposite clovis was a solidly wrought travelling-bag, with a carefully written label, on which was inscribed, "j. p. huddle, the warren, tilfield, near slowborough." immediately below the rack sat the human embodiment of the label, a solid, sedate individual, sedately dressed, sedately conversational. even without his conversation (which was addressed to a friend seated by his side, and touched chiefly on such topics as the backwardness of roman hyacinths and the prevalence of measles at the rectory), one could have gauged fairly accurately the temperament and mental outlook of the travelling bag's owner. but he seemed unwilling to leave anything to the imagination of a casual observer, and his talk grew presently personal and introspective. "i don't know how it is," he told his friend, "i'm not much over forty, but i seem to have settled down into a deep groove of elderly middle-age. my sister shows the same tendency. we like everything to be exactly in its accustomed place; we like things to happen exactly at their appointed times; we like everything to be usual, orderly, punctual, methodical, to a hair's breadth, to a minute. it distresses and upsets us if it is not so. for instance, to take a very trifling matter, a thrush has built its nest year after year in the catkin-tree on the lawn; this year, for no obvious reason, it is building in the ivy on the garden wall. we have said very little about it, but i think we both feel that the change is unnecessary, and just a little irritating." "perhaps," said the friend, "it is a different thrush." "we have suspected that," said j. p. huddle, "and i think it gives us even more cause for annoyance. we don't feel that we want a change of thrush at our time of life; and yet, as i have said, we have scarcely reached an age when these things should make themselves seriously felt." "what you want," said the friend, "is an unrest-cure." "an unrest-cure? i've never heard of such a thing." "you've heard of rest-cures for people who've broken down under stress of too much worry and strenuous living; well, you're suffering from overmuch repose and placidity, and you need the opposite kind of treatment." "but where would one go for such a thing?" "well, you might stand as an orange candidate for kilkenny, or do a course of district visiting in one of the apache quarters of paris, or give lectures in berlin to prove that most of wagner's music was written by gambetta; and there's always the interior of morocco to travel in. but, to be really effective, the unrest-cure ought to be tried in the home. how you would do it i haven't the faintest idea." it was at this point in the conversation that clovis became galvanized into alert attention. after all, his two days' visit to an elderly relative at slowborough did not promise much excitement. before the train had stopped he had decorated his sinister shirt-cuff with the inscription, "j. p. huddle, the warren, tilfield, near slowborough." * * * * * two mornings later mr. huddle broke in on his sister's privacy as she sat reading country life in the morning room. it was her day and hour and place for reading country life, and the intrusion was absolutely irregular; but he bore in his hand a telegram, and in that household telegrams were recognized as happening by the hand of god. this particular telegram partook of the nature of a thunderbolt. "bishop examining confirmation class in neighbourhood unable stay rectory on account measles invokes your hospitality sending secretary arrange." "i scarcely know the bishop; i've only spoken to him once," exclaimed j. p. huddle, with the exculpating air of one who realizes too late the indiscretion of speaking to strange bishops. miss huddle was the first to rally; she disliked thunderbolts as fervently as her brother did, but the womanly instinct in her told her that thunderbolts must be fed. "we can curry the cold duck," she said. it was not the appointed day for curry, but the little orange envelope involved a certain departure from rule and custom. her brother said nothing, but his eyes thanked her for being brave. "a young gentleman to see you," announced the parlour-maid. "the secretary!" murmured the huddles in unison; they instantly stiffened into a demeanour which proclaimed that, though they held all strangers to be guilty, they were willing to hear anything they might have to say in their defence. the young gentleman, who came into the room with a certain elegant haughtiness, was not at all huddle's idea of a bishop's secretary; he had not supposed that the episcopal establishment could have afforded such an expensively upholstered article when there were so many other claims on its resources. the face was fleetingly familiar; if he had bestowed more attention on the fellow-traveller sitting opposite him in the railway carriage two days before he might have recognized clovis in his present visitor. "you are the bishop's secretary?" asked huddle, becoming consciously deferential. "his confidential secretary," answered clovis. "you may call me stanislaus; my other name doesn't matter. the bishop and colonel alberti may be here to lunch. i shall be here in any case." it sounded rather like the programme of a royal visit. "the bishop is examining a confirmation class in the neighbourhood, isn't he?" asked miss huddle. "ostensibly," was the dark reply, followed by a request for a large-scale map of the locality. clovis was still immersed in a seemingly profound study of the map when another telegram arrived. it was addressed to "prince stanislaus, care of huddle, the warren, etc." clovis glanced at the contents and announced: "the bishop and alberti won't be here till late in the afternoon." then he returned to his scrutiny of the map. the luncheon was not a very festive function. the princely secretary ate and drank with fair appetite, but severely discouraged conversation. at the finish of the meal he broke suddenly into a radiant smile, thanked his hostess for a charming repast, and kissed her hand with deferential rapture. miss huddle was unable to decide in her mind whether the action savoured of louis quatorzian courtliness or the reprehensible roman attitude towards the sabine women. it was not her day for having a headache, but she felt that the circumstances excused her, and retired to her room to have as much headache as was possible before the bishop's arrival. clovis, having asked the way to the nearest telegraph office, disappeared presently down the carriage drive. mr. huddle met him in the hall some two hours later, and asked when the bishop would arrive. "he is in the library with alberti," was the reply. "but why wasn't i told? i never knew he had come!" exclaimed huddle. "no one knows he is here," said clovis; "the quieter we can keep matters the better. and on no account disturb him in the library. those are his orders." "but what is all this mystery about? and who is alberti? and isn't the bishop going to have tea?" "the bishop is out for blood, not tea." "blood!" gasped huddle, who did not find that the thunderbolt improved on acquaintance. "to-night is going to be a great night in the history of christendom," said clovis. "we are going to massacre every jew in the neighbourhood." "to massacre the jews!" said huddle indignantly. "do you mean to tell me there's a general rising against them?" "no, it's the bishop's own idea. he's in there arranging all the details now." "but--the bishop is such a tolerant, humane man." "that is precisely what will heighten the effect of his action. the sensation will be enormous." that at least huddle could believe. "he will be hanged!" he exclaimed with conviction. "a motor is waiting to carry him to the coast, where a steam yacht is in readiness." "but there aren't thirty jews in the whole neighbourhood," protested huddle, whose brain, under the repeated shocks of the day, was operating with the uncertainty of a telegraph wire during earthquake disturbances. "we have twenty-six on our list," said clovis, referring to a bundle of notes. "we shall be able to deal with them all the more thoroughly." "do you mean to tell me that you are meditating violence against a man like sir leon birberry," stammered huddle; "he's one of the most respected men in the country." "he's down on our list," said clovis carelessly; "after all, we've got men we can trust to do our job, so we shan't have to rely on local assistance. and we've got some boy-scouts helping us as auxiliaries." "boy-scouts!" "yes; when they understood there was real killing to be done they were even keener than the men." "this thing will be a blot on the twentieth century!" "and your house will be the blotting-pad. have you realized that half the papers of europe and the united states will publish pictures of it? by the way, i've sent some photographs of you and your sister, that i found in the library, to the matin and die woche; i hope you don't mind. also a sketch of the staircase; most of the killing will probably be done on the staircase." the emotions that were surging in j. p. huddle's brain were almost too intense to be disclosed in speech, but he managed to gasp out: "there aren't any jews in this house." "not at present," said clovis. "i shall go to the police," shouted huddle with sudden energy. "in the shrubbery," said clovis, "are posted ten men who have orders to fire on anyone who leaves the house without my signal of permission. another armed picquet is in ambush near the front gate. the boy-scouts watch the back premises." at this moment the cheerful hoot of a motor-horn was heard from the drive. huddle rushed to the hall door with the feeling of a man half awakened from a nightmare, and beheld sir leon birberry, who had driven himself over in his car. "i got your telegram," he said, "what's up?" telegram? it seemed to be a day of telegrams. "come here at once. urgent. james huddle," was the purport of the message displayed before huddle's bewildered eyes. "i see it all!" he exclaimed suddenly in a voice shaken with agitation, and with a look of agony in the direction of the shrubbery he hauled the astonished birberry into the house. tea had just been laid in the hall, but the now thoroughly panic-stricken huddle dragged his protesting guest upstairs, and in a few minutes' time the entire household had been summoned to that region of momentary safety. clovis alone graced the tea-table with his presence; the fanatics in the library were evidently too immersed in their monstrous machinations to dally with the solace of teacup and hot toast. once the youth rose, in answer to the summons of the front-door bell, and admitted mr. paul isaacs, shoemaker and parish councillor, who had also received a pressing invitation to the warren. with an atrocious assumption of courtesy, which a borgia could hardly have outdone, the secretary escorted this new captive of his net to the head of the stairway, where his involuntary host awaited him. and then ensued a long ghastly vigil of watching and waiting. once or twice clovis left the house to stroll across to the shrubbery, returning always to the library, for the purpose evidently of making a brief report. once he took in the letters from the evening postman, and brought them to the top of the stairs with punctilious politeness. after his next absence he came half-way up the stairs to make an announcement. "the boy-scouts mistook my signal, and have killed the postman. i've had very little practice in this sort of thing, you see. another time i shall do better." the housemaid, who was engaged to be married to the evening postman, gave way to clamorous grief. "remember that your mistress has a headache," said j. p. huddle. (miss huddle's headache was worse.) clovis hastened downstairs, and after a short visit to the library returned with another message: "the bishop is sorry to hear that miss huddle has a headache. he is issuing orders that as far as possible no firearms shall be used near the house; any killing that is necessary on the premises will be done with cold steel. the bishop does not see why a man should not be a gentleman as well as a christian." that was the last they saw of clovis; it was nearly seven o'clock, and his elderly relative liked him to dress for dinner. but, though he had left them for ever, the lurking suggestion of his presence haunted the lower regions of the house during the long hours of the wakeful night, and every creak of the stairway, every rustle of wind through the shrubbery, was fraught with horrible meaning. at about seven next morning the gardener's boy and the early postman finally convinced the watchers that the twentieth century was still unblotted. "i don't suppose," mused clovis, as an early train bore him townwards, "that they will be in the least grateful for the unrest-cure." the jesting of arlington stringham arlington stringham made a joke in the house of commons. it was a thin house, and a very thin joke; something about the anglo-saxon race having a great many angles. it is possible that it was unintentional, but a fellow-member, who did not wish it to be supposed that he was asleep because his eyes were shut, laughed. one or two of the papers noted "a laugh" in brackets, and another, which was notorious for the carelessness of its political news, mentioned "laughter." things often begin in that way. "arlington made a joke in the house last night," said eleanor stringham to her mother; "in all the years we've been married neither of us has made jokes, and i don't like it now. i'm afraid it's the beginning of the rift in the lute." "what lute?" said her mother. "it's a quotation," said eleanor. to say that anything was a quotation was an excellent method, in eleanor's eyes, for withdrawing it from discussion, just as you could always defend indifferent lamb late in the season by saying "it's mutton." and, of course, arlington stringham continued to tread the thorny path of conscious humour into which fate had beckoned him. "the country's looking very green, but, after all, that's what it's there for," he remarked to his wife two days later. "that's very modern, and i dare say very clever, but i'm afraid it's wasted on me," she observed coldly. if she had known how much effort it had cost him to make the remark she might have greeted it in a kinder spirit. it is the tragedy of human endeavour that it works so often unseen and unguessed. arlington said nothing, not from injured pride, but because he was thinking hard for something to say. eleanor mistook his silence for an assumption of tolerant superiority, and her anger prompted her to a further gibe. "you had better tell it to lady isobel. i've no doubt she would appreciate it." lady isobel was seen everywhere with a fawn coloured collie at a time when every one else kept nothing but pekinese, and she had once eaten four green apples at an afternoon tea in the botanical gardens, so she was widely credited with a rather unpleasant wit. the censorious said she slept in a hammock and understood yeats's poems, but her family denied both stories. "the rift is widening to an abyss," said eleanor to her mother that afternoon. "i should not tell that to anyone," remarked her mother, after long reflection. "naturally, i should not talk about it very much," said eleanor, "but why shouldn't i mention it to anyone?" "because you can't have an abyss in a lute. there isn't room." eleanor's outlook on life did not improve as the afternoon wore on. the page-boy had brought from the library by mere and wold instead of by mere chance, the book which every one denied having read. the unwelcome substitute appeared to be a collection of nature notes contributed by the author to the pages of some northern weekly, and when one had been prepared to plunge with disapproving mind into a regrettable chronicle of ill-spent lives it was intensely irritating to read "the dainty yellow-hammers are now with us and flaunt their jaundiced livery from every bush and hillock." besides, the thing was so obviously untrue; either there must be hardly any bushes or hillocks in those parts or the country must be fearfully overstocked with yellow-hammers. the thing scarcely seemed worth telling such a lie about. and the page-boy stood there, with his sleekly brushed and parted hair, and his air of chaste and callous indifference to the desires and passions of the world. eleanor hated boys, and she would have liked to have whipped this one long and often. it was perhaps the yearning of a woman who had no children of her own. she turned at random to another paragraph. "lie quietly concealed in the fern and bramble in the gap by the old rowan tree, and you may see, almost every evening during early summer, a pair of lesser whitethroats creeping up and down the nettles and hedge-growth that mask their nesting-place." the insufferable monotony of the proposed recreation! eleanor would not have watched the most brilliant performance at his majesty's theatre for a single evening under such uncomfortable circumstances, and to be asked to watch lesser whitethroats creeping up and down a nettle "almost every evening" during the height of the season struck her as an imputation on her intelligence that was positively offensive. impatiently she transferred her attention to the dinner menu, which the boy had thoughtfully brought in as an alternative to the more solid literary fare. "rabbit curry," met her eye, and the lines of disapproval deepened on her already puckered brow. the cook was a great believer in the influence of environment, and nourished an obstinate conviction that if you brought rabbit and curry-powder together in one dish a rabbit curry would be the result. and clovis and the odious bertie van tahn were coming to dinner. surely, thought eleanor, if arlington knew how much she had had that day to try her, he would refrain from joke-making. at dinner that night it was eleanor herself who mentioned the name of a certain statesman, who may be decently covered under the disguise of x. "x," said arlington stringham, "has the soul of a meringue." it was a useful remark to have on hand, because it applied equally well to four prominent statesmen of the day, which quadrupled the opportunities for using it. "meringues haven't got souls," said eleanor's mother. "it's a mercy that they haven't," said clovis; "they would be always losing them, and people like my aunt would get up missions to meringues, and say it was wonderful how much one could teach them and how much more one could learn from them." "what could you learn from a meringue?" asked eleanor's mother. "my aunt has been known to learn humility from an ex-viceroy," said clovis. "i wish cook would learn to make curry, or have the sense to leave it alone," said arlington, suddenly and savagely. eleanor's face softened. it was like one of his old remarks in the days when there was no abyss between them. it was during the debate on the foreign office vote that stringham made his great remark that "the people of crete unfortunately make more history than they can consume locally." it was not brilliant, but it came in the middle of a dull speech, and the house was quite pleased with it. old gentlemen with bad memories said it reminded them of disraeli. it was eleanor's friend, gertrude ilpton, who drew her attention to arlington's newest outbreak. eleanor in these days avoided the morning papers. "it's very modern, and i suppose very clever," she observed. "of course it's clever," said gertrude; "all lady isobel's sayings are clever, and luckily they bear repeating." "are you sure it's one of her sayings?" asked eleanor. "my dear, i've heard her say it dozens of times." "so that is where he gets his humour," said eleanor slowly, and the hard lines deepened round her mouth. the death of eleanor stringham from an overdose of chloral, occurring at the end of a rather uneventful season, excited a certain amount of unobtrusive speculation. clovis, who perhaps exaggerated the importance of curry in the home, hinted at domestic sorrow. and of course arlington never knew. it was the tragedy of his life that he should miss the fullest effect of his jesting. sredni vashtar conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. the doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by mrs. de ropp, who counted for nearly everything. mrs. de ropp was conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. one of these days conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things--such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dullness. without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago. mrs. de ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him "for his good" was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out--an unclean thing, which should find no entrance. in the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. the few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. in a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. he had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. in one corner lived a ragged-plumaged houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. this was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. and one day, out of heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. the woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the house of rimmon. every thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt sredni vashtar, the great ferret. red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the woman's religion, which, as far as conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. and on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. these festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. on one occasion, when mrs. de ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that sredni vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. if the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out. the houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of sredni vashtar. conradin had long ago settled that she was an anabaptist. he did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. mrs. de ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability. after a while conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. "it is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers," she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. with her short-sighted eyes she peered at conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. but conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it "gave trouble," a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye. "i thought you liked toast," she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it. "sometimes," said conradin. in the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. conradin had been wont to chant his praises, to-night he asked a boon. "do one thing for me, sredni vashtar." the thing was not specified. as sredni vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. and choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty corner, conradin went back to the world he so hated. and every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, conradin's bitter litany went up: "do one thing for me, sredni vashtar." mrs. de ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection. "what are you keeping in that locked hutch?" she asked. "i believe it's guinea-pigs. i'll have them all cleared away." conradin shut his lips tight, but the woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. it was a cold afternoon, and conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. from the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there conradin stationed himself. he saw the woman enter, and then he imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. and conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. but he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. he knew that the woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. and he knew that the woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. and in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol: sredni vashtar went forth, his thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white. his enemies called for peace, but he brought them death. sredni vashtar the beautiful. and then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. the door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. they were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. he watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. a sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still conradin stood and waited and watched. hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the paean of victory and devastation. and presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. conradin dropped on his knees. the great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. such was the passing of sredni vashtar. "tea is ready," said the sour-faced maid; "where is the mistress?" "she went down to the shed some time ago," said conradin. and while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. and during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. the loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house. "whoever will break it to the poor child? i couldn't for the life of me!" exclaimed a shrill voice. and while they debated the matter among themselves, conradin made himself another piece of toast. adrian a chapter in acclimatization his baptismal register spoke of him pessimistically as john henry, but he had left that behind with the other maladies of infancy, and his friends knew him under the front-name of adrian. his mother lived in bethnal green, which was not altogether his fault; one can discourage too much history in one's family, but one cannot always prevent geography. and, after all, the bethnal green habit has this virtue--that it is seldom transmitted to the next generation. adrian lived in a roomlet which came under the auspicious constellation of w. how he lived was to a great extent a mystery even to himself; his struggle for existence probably coincided in many material details with the rather dramatic accounts he gave of it to sympathetic acquaintances. all that is definitely known is that he now and then emerged from the struggle to dine at the ritz or carlton, correctly garbed and with a correctly critical appetite. on these occasions he was usually the guest of lucas croyden, an amiable worldling, who had three thousand a year and a taste for introducing impossible people to irreproachable cookery. like most men who combine three thousand a year with an uncertain digestion, lucas was a socialist, and he argued that you cannot hope to elevate the masses until you have brought plovers' eggs into their lives and taught them to appreciate the difference between coupe jacques and macédoine de fruits. his friends pointed out that it was a doubtful kindness to initiate a boy from behind a drapery counter into the blessedness of the higher catering, to which lucas invariably replied that all kindnesses were doubtful. which was perhaps true. it was after one of his adrian evenings that lucas met his aunt, mrs. mebberley, at a fashionable tea shop, where the lamp of family life is still kept burning and you meet relatives who might otherwise have slipped your memory. "who was that good-looking boy who was dining with you last night?" she asked. "he looked much too nice to be thrown away upon you." susan mebberley was a charming woman, but she was also an aunt. "who are his people?" she continued, when the protégé's name (revised version) had been given her. "his mother lives at beth--" lucas checked himself on the threshold of what was perhaps a social indiscretion. "beth? where is it? it sounds like asia minor. is she mixed up with consular people?" "oh, no. her work lies among the poor." this was a side-slip into truth. the mother of adrian was employed in a laundry. "i see," said mrs. mebberley, "mission work of some sort. and meanwhile the boy has no one to look after him. it's obviously my duty to see that he doesn't come to harm. bring him to call on me." "my dear aunt susan," expostulated lucas, "i really know very little about him. he may not be at all nice, you know, on further acquaintance." "he has delightful hair and a weak mouth. i shall take him with me to homburg or cairo." "it's the maddest thing i ever heard of," said lucas angrily. "well, there is a strong strain of madness in our family. if you haven't noticed it yourself all your friends must have." "one is so dreadfully under everybody's eyes at homburg. at least you might give him a preliminary trial at etretat." "and be surrounded by americans trying to talk french? no, thank you. i love americans, but not when they try to talk french. what a blessing it is that they never try to talk english. to-morrow at five you can bring your young friend to call on me."' and lucas, realizing that susan mebberley was a woman as well as an aunt, saw that she would have to be allowed to have her own way. adrian was duly carried abroad under the mebberley wing; but as a reluctant concession to sanity homburg and other inconveniently fashionable resorts were given a wide berth, and the mebberley establishment planted itself down in the best hotel at dohledorf, an alpine townlet somewhere at the back of the engadine. it was the usual kind of resort, with the usual type of visitors, that one finds over the greater part of switzerland during the summer season, but to adrian it was all unusual. the mountain air, the certainty of regular and abundant meals, and in particular the social atmosphere, affected him much as the indiscriminating fervour of a forcing-house might affect a weed that had strayed within its limits. he had been brought up in a world where breakages were regarded as crimes and expiated as such; it was something new and altogether exhilarating to find that you were considered rather amusing if you smashed things in the right manner and at the recognized hours. susan mebberley had expressed the intention of showing adrian a bit of the world; the particular bit of the world represented by dohledorf began to be shown a good deal of adrian. lucas got occasional glimpses of the alpine sojourn, not from his aunt or adrian, but from the industrious pen of clovis, who was also moving as a satellite in the mebberley constellation. "the entertainment which susan got up last night ended in disaster. i thought it would. the grobmayer child, a particularly loathsome five-year-old, had appeared as 'bubbles' during the early part of the evening, and been put to bed during the interval. adrian watched his opportunity and kidnapped it when the nurse was downstairs, and introduced it during the second half of the entertainment, thinly disguised as a performing pig. it certainly looked very like a pig, and grunted and slobbered just like the real article; no one knew exactly what it was, but every one said it was awfully clever, especially the grobmayers. at the third curtain adrian pinched it too hard, and it yelled 'marmar'! i am supposed to be good at descriptions, but don't ask me to describe the sayings and doings of the grobmayers at that moment; it was like one of the angrier psalms set to strauss's music. we have moved to an hotel higher up the valley." clovis's next letter arrived five days later, and was written from the hotel steinbock. "we left the hotel victoria this morning. it was fairly comfortable and quiet--at least there was an air of repose about it when we arrived. before we had been in residence twenty-four hours most of the repose had vanished 'like a dutiful bream,' as adrian expressed it. however, nothing unduly outrageous happened till last night, when adrian had a fit of insomnia and amused himself by unscrewing and transposing all the bedroom numbers on his floor. he transferred the bathroom label to the adjoining bedroom door, which happened to be that of frau hoftath schilling, and this morning from seven o'clock onwards the old lady had a stream of involuntary visitors; she was too horrified and scandalized it seems to get up and lock her door. the would-be bathers flew back in confusion to their rooms, and, of course, the change of numbers led them astray again, and the corridor gradually filled with panic-stricken, scantily robed humans, dashing wildly about like rabbits in a ferret-infested warren. it took nearly an hour before the guests were all sorted into their respective rooms, and the frau hofrath's condition was still causing some anxiety when we left. susan is beginning to look a little worried. she can't very well turn the boy adrift, as he hasn't got any money, and she can't send him to his people as she doesn't know where they are. adrian says his mother moves about a good deal and he's lost her address. probably, if the truth were known, he's had a row at home. so many boys nowadays seem to think that quarrelling with one's family is a recognized occupation." lucas's next communication from the travellers took the form of a telegram from mrs. mebberley herself. it was sent "reply prepaid," and consisted of a single sentence: "in heaven's name, where is beth?" the chaplet a strange stillness hung over the restaurant; it was one of those rare moments when the orchestra was not discoursing the strains of the ice-cream sailor waltz. "did i ever tell you," asked clovis of his friend, "the tragedy of music at mealtimes? "it was a gala evening at the grand sybaris hotel, and a special dinner was being served in the amethyst dining-hall. the amethyst dining-hall had almost a european reputation, especially with that section of europe which is historically identified with the jordan valley. its cooking was beyond reproach, and its orchestra was sufficiently highly salaried to be above criticism. thither came in shoals the intensely musical and the almost intensely musical, who are very many, and in still greater numbers the merely musical, who know how tchaikowsky's name is pronounced and can recognize several of chopin's nocturnes if you give them due warning; these eat in the nervous, detached manner of roebuck feeding in the open, and keep anxious ears cocked towards the orchestra for the first hint of a recognizable melody. "'ah, yes, pagliacci,' they murmur, as the opening strains follow hot upon the soup, and if no contradiction is forthcoming from any better-informed quarter they break forth into subdued humming by way of supplementing the efforts of the musicians. sometimes the melody starts on level terms with the soup, in which case the banqueters contrive somehow to hum between the spoonfuls; the facial expression of enthusiasts who are punctuating potage st. germain with pagliacci is not beautiful, but it should be seen by those who are bent on observing all sides of life. one cannot discount the unpleasant things of this world merely by looking the other way. "in addition to the aforementioned types the restaurant was patronized by a fair sprinkling of the absolutely nonmusical; their presence in the dining-hall could only be explained on the supposition that they had come there to dine. "the earlier stages of the dinner had worn off. the wine lists had been consulted, by some with the blank embarrassment of a schoolboy suddenly called on to locate a minor prophet in the tangled hinterland of the old testament, by others with the severe scrutiny which suggests that they have visited most of the higher-priced wines in their own homes and probed their family weaknesses. the diners who chose their wine in the latter fashion always gave their orders in a penetrating voice, with a plentiful garnishing of stage directions. by insisting on having your bottle pointing to the north when the cork is being drawn, and calling the waiter max, you may induce an impression on your guests which hours of laboured boasting might be powerless to achieve. for this purpose, however, the guests must be chosen as carefully as the wine. "standing aside from the revellers in the shadow of a massive pillar was an interested spectator who was assuredly of the feast, and yet not in it. monsieur aristide saucourt was the chef of the grand sybaris hotel, and if he had an equal in his profession he had never acknowledged the fact. in his own domain he was a potentate, hedged around with the cold brutality that genius expects rather than excuses in her children; he never forgave, and those who served him were careful that there should be little to forgive. in the outer world, the world which devoured his creations, he was an influence; how profound or how shallow an influence he never attempted to guess. it is the penalty and the safeguard of genius that it computes itself by troy weight in a world that measures by vulgar hundredweights. "once in a way the great man would be seized with a desire to watch the effect of his master-efforts, just as the guiding brain of krupp's might wish at a supreme moment to intrude into the firing line of an artillery duel. and such an occasion was the present. for the first time in the history of the grand sybaris hotel, he was presenting to its guests the dish which he had brought to that pitch of perfection which almost amounts to scandal. canetons à la mode d'amblève. in thin gilt lettering on the creamy white of the menu how little those words conveyed to the bulk of the imperfectly educated diners. and yet how much specialized effort had been lavished, how much carefully treasured lore had been ungarnered, before those six words could be written. in the department of deux-sèvres ducklings had lived peculiar and beautiful lives and died in the odour of satiety to furnish the main theme of the dish; champignons, which even a purist for saxon english would have hesitated to address as mushrooms, had contributed their languorous atrophied bodies to the garnishing, and a sauce devised in the twilight reign of the fifteenth louis had been summoned back from the imperishable past to take its part in the wonderful confection. thus far had human effort laboured to achieve the desired result; the rest had been left to human genius--the genius of aristide saucourt. "and now the moment had arrived for the serving of the great dish, the dish which world-weary grand dukes and market-obsessed money magnates counted among their happiest memories. and at the same moment something else happened. the leader of the highly salaried orchestra placed his violin caressingly against his chin, lowered his eyelids, and floated into a sea of melody. "'hark!' said most of the diners, 'he is playing "the chaplet."' "they knew it was 'the chaplet' because they had heard it played at luncheon and afternoon tea, and at supper the night before, and had not had time to forget. "'yes, he is playing "the chaplet,"' they reassured one another. the general voice was unanimous on the subject. the orchestra had already played it eleven times that day, four times by desire and seven times from force of habit, but the familiar strains were greeted with the rapture due to a revelation. a murmur of much humming rose from half the tables in the room, and some of the more overwrought listeners laid down knife and fork in order to be able to burst in with loud clappings at the earliest permissible moment. "and the canetons à la mode d'amblève? in stupefied, sickened wonder aristide watched them grow cold in total neglect, or suffer the almost worse indignity of perfunctory pecking and listless munching while the banqueters lavished their approval and applause on the music-makers. calves' liver and bacon, with parsley sauce, could hardly have figured more ignominiously in the evening's entertainment. and while the master of culinary art leaned back against the sheltering pillar, choking with a horrible brain-searing rage that could find no outlet for its agony, the orchestra leader was bowing his acknowledgments of the hand-clappings that rose in a storm around him. turning to his colleagues he nodded the signal for an encore. but before the violin had been lifted anew into position there came from the shadow of the pillar an explosive negative. "'noh! noh! you do not play thot again!' "the musician turned in furious astonishment. had he taken warning from the look in the other man's eyes he might have acted differently. but the admiring plaudits were ringing in his ears, and he snarled out sharply, 'that is for me to decide.' "'noh! you play thot never again,' shouted the chef, and the next moment he had flung himself violently upon the loathed being who had supplanted him in the world's esteem. a large metal tureen, filled to the brim with steaming soup, had just been placed on a side table in readiness for a late party of diners; before the waiting staff or the guests had time to realize what was happening, aristide had dragged his struggling victim up to the table and plunged his head deep down into the almost boiling contents of the tureen. at the further end of the room the diners were still spasmodically applauding in view of an encore. "whether the leader of the orchestra died from drowning by soup, or from the shock to his professional vanity, or was scalded to death, the doctors were never wholly able to agree. monsieur aristide saucourt, who now lives in complete retirement, always inclined to the drowning theory." the quest an unwonted peace hung over the villa elsinore, broken, however, at frequent intervals, by clamorous lamentations suggestive of bewildered bereavement. the momebys had lost their infant child; hence the peace which its absence entailed; they were looking for it in wild, undisciplined fashion, giving tongue the whole time, which accounted for the outcry which swept through house and garden whenever they returned to try the home coverts anew. clovis, who was temporarily and unwillingly a paying guest at the villa, had been dozing in a hammock at the far end of the garden when mrs. momeby had broken the news to him. "we've lost baby," she screamed. "do you mean that it's dead, or stampeded, or that you staked it at cards and lost it that way?" asked clovis lazily. "he was toddling about quite happily on the lawn," said mrs. momeby tearfully, "and arnold had just come in, and i was asking him what sort of sauce he would like with the asparagus--" "i hope he said hollandaise," interrupted clovis, with a show of quickened interest, "because if there's anything i hate--" "and all of a sudden i missed baby," continued mrs. momeby in a shriller tone. "we've hunted high and low, in house and garden and outside the gates, and he's nowhere to be seen." "is he anywhere to be heard?" asked clovis; "if not, he must be at least two miles away." "but where? and how?" asked the distracted mother. "perhaps an eagle or a wild beast has carried him off," suggested clovis. "there aren't eagles and wild beasts in surrey," said mrs. momeby, but a note of horror had crept into her voice. "they escape now and then from travelling shows. sometimes i think they let them get loose for the sake of the advertisement. think what a sensational headline it would make in the local papers: 'infant son of prominent nonconformist devoured by spotted hyaena.' your husband isn't a prominent nonconformist, but his mother came of wesleyan stock, and you must allow the newspapers some latitude." "but we should have found his remains," sobbed mrs. momeby. "if the hyaena was really hungry and not merely toying with his food there wouldn't be much in the way of remains. it would be like the small-boy-and-apple story--there ain't going to be no core." mrs. momeby turned away hastily to seek comfort and counsel in some other direction. with the selfish absorption of young motherhood she entirely disregarded clovis's obvious anxiety about the asparagus sauce. before she had gone a yard, however, the click of the side gate caused her to pull up sharp. miss gilpet, from the villa peterhof, had come over to hear details of the bereavement. clovis was already rather bored with the story, but mrs. momeby was equipped with that merciless faculty which finds as much joy in the ninetieth time of telling as in the first. "arnold had just come in; he was complaining of rheumatism--" "there are so many things to complain of in this household that it would never have occurred to me to complain of rheumatism," murmured clovis. "he was complaining of rheumatism," continued mrs. momeby, trying to throw a chilling inflection into a voice that was already doing a good deal of sobbing and talking at high pressure as well. she was again interrupted. "there is no such thing as rheumatism," said miss gilpet. she said it with the conscious air of defiance that a waiter adopts in announcing that the cheapest-priced claret in the wine-list is no more. she did not proceed, however, to offer the alternative of some more expensive malady, but denied the existence of them all. mrs. momeby's temper began to shine out through her grief. "i suppose you'll say next that baby hasn't really disappeared." "he has disappeared," conceded miss gilpet, "but only because you haven't sufficient faith to find him. it's only lack of faith on your part that prevents him from being restored to you safe and well." "but if he's been eaten in the meantime by a hyaena and partly digested," said clovis, who clung affectionately to his wild beast theory, "surely some ill-effects would be noticeable?" miss gilpet was rather staggered by this complication of the question. "i feel sure that a hyaena has not eaten him," she said lamely. "the hyaena may be equally certain that it has. you see, it may have just as much faith as you have, and more special knowledge as to the present whereabouts of the baby." mrs. momeby was in tears again. "if you have faith," she sobbed, struck by a happy inspiration, "won't you find our little erik for us? i am sure you have powers that are denied to us." rose-marie gilpet was thoroughly sincere in her adherence to christian science principles; whether she understood or correctly expounded them the learned in such matters may best decide. in the present case she was undoubtedly confronted with a great opportunity, and as she started forth on her vague search she strenuously summoned to her aid every scrap of faith that she possessed. she passed out into the bare and open high road, followed by mrs. momeby's warning, "it's no use going there, we've searched there a dozen times." but rose-marie's ears were already deaf to all things save self-congratulation; for sitting in the middle of the highway, playing contentedly with the dust and some faded buttercups, was a white-pinafored baby with a mop of tow-coloured hair tied over one temple with a pale-blue ribbon. taking first the usual feminine precaution of looking to see that no motor-car was on the distant horizon, rose-marie dashed at the child and bore it, despite its vigorous opposition, in through the portals of elsinore. the child's furious screams had already announced the fact of its discovery, and the almost hysterical parents raced down the lawn to meet their restored offspring. the aesthetic value of the scene was marred in some degree by rose-marie's difficulty in holding the struggling infant, which was borne wrong-end foremost towards the agitated bosom of its family. "our own little erik come back to us," cried the momebys in unison; as the child had rammed its fists tightly into its eye-sockets and nothing could be seen of its face but a widely gaping mouth, the recognition was in itself almost an act of faith. "is he glad to get back to daddy and mummy again?" crooned mrs. momeby; the preference which the child was showing for its dust and buttercup distractions was so marked that the question struck clovis as being unnecessarily tactless. "give him a ride on the roly-poly," suggested the father brilliantly, as the howls continued with no sign of early abatement. in a moment the child had been placed astride the big garden roller and a preliminary tug was given to set it in motion. from the hollow depths of the cylinder came an earsplitting roar, drowning even the vocal efforts of the squalling baby, and immediately afterwards there crept forth a white-pinafored infant with a mop of tow-coloured hair tied over one temple with a pale blue ribbon. there was no mistaking either the features or the lung-power of the new arrival. "our own little erik," screamed mrs. momeby, pouncing on him and nearly smothering him with kisses; "did he hide in the roly-poly to give us all a big fright?" this was the obvious explanation of the child's sudden disappearance and equally abrupt discovery. there remained, however, the problem of the interloping baby, which now sat whimpering on the lawn in a disfavour as chilling as its previous popularity had been unwelcome. the momebys glared at it as though it had wormed its way into their short-lived affections by heartless and unworthy pretences. miss gilpet's face took on an ashen tinge as she stared helplessly at the bunched-up figure that had been such a gladsome sight to her eyes a few moments ago. "when love is over, how little of love even the lover understands," quoted clovis to himself. rose-marie was the first to break the silence. "if that is erik you have in your arms, who is--that?" "that, i think, is for you to explain," said mrs. momeby stiffly. "obviously," said clovis, "it's a duplicate erik that your powers of faith called into being. the question is: what are you going to do with him?" the ashen pallor deepened in rose-marie's cheeks. mrs. momeby clutched the genuine erik closer to her side, as though she feared that her uncanny neighbour might out of sheer pique turn him into a bowl of gold-fish. "i found him sitting in the middle of the road," said rose-marie weakly. "you can't take him back and leave him there," said clovis; "the highway is meant for traffic, not to be used as a lumber-room for disused miracles." rose-marie wept. the proverb "weep and you weep alone," broke down as badly on application as most of its kind. both babies were wailing lugubriously, and the parent momebys had scarcely recovered from their earlier lachrymose condition. clovis alone maintained an unruffled cheerfulness. "must i keep him always?" asked rose-marie dolefully. "not always," said clovis consolingly; "he can go into the navy when he's thirteen." rose-marie wept afresh. "of course," added clovis, "there may be no end of a bother about his birth certificate. you'll have to explain matters to the admiralty, and they're dreadfully hidebound." it was rather a relief when a breathless nursemaid from the villa charlottenburg over the way came running across the lawn to claim little percy, who had slipped out of the front gate and disappeared like a twinkling from the high road. and even then clovis found it necessary to go in person to the kitchen to make sure about the asparagus sauce. wratislav the gräfin's two elder sons had made deplorable marriages. it was, observed clovis, a family habit. the youngest boy, wratislav, who was the black sheep of a rather greyish family, had as yet made no marriage at all. "there is certainly this much to be said for viciousness," said the gräfin, "it keeps boys out of mischief." "does it?" asked the baroness sophie, not by way of questioning the statement, but with a painstaking effort to talk intelligently. it was the one matter in which she attempted to override the decrees of providence, which had obviously never intended that she should talk otherwise than inanely. "i don't know why i shouldn't talk cleverly," she would complain; "my mother was considered a brilliant conversationalist." "these things have a way of skipping one generation," said the gräfin. "that seems so unjust," said sophie; "one doesn't object to one's mother having outshone one as a clever talker, but i must admit that i should be rather annoyed if my daughters talked brilliantly." "well, none of them do," said the gräfin consolingly. "i don't know about that," said the baroness, promptly veering round in defence of her offspring. "elsa said something quite clever on thursday about the triple alliance. something about it being like a paper umbrella, that was all right as long as you didn't take it out in the rain. it's not every one who could say that." "every one has said it; at least every one that i know. but then i know very few people." "i don't think you're particularly agreeable to-day." "i never am. haven't you noticed that women with a really perfect profile like mine are seldom even moderately agreeable?" "i don't think your profile is so perfect as all that," said the baroness. "it would be surprising if it wasn't. my mother was one of the most noted classical beauties of her day." "these things sometimes skip a generation, you know," put in the baroness, with the breathless haste of one to whom repartee comes as rarely as the finding of a gold-handled umbrella. "my dear sophie," said the gräfin sweetly, "that isn't in the least bit clever; but you do try so hard that i suppose i oughtn't to discourage you. tell me something: has it ever occurred to you that elsa would do very well for wratislav? it's time he married somebody, and why not elsa?" "elsa marry that dreadful boy!" gasped the baroness. "beggars can't be choosers," observed the gräfin. "elsa isn't a beggar!" "not financially, or i shouldn't have suggested the match. but she's getting on, you know, and has no pretensions to brains or looks or anything of that sort." "you seem to forget that she's my daughter." "that shows my generosity. but, seriously, i don't see what there is against wratislav. he has no debts--at least, nothing worth speaking about." "but think of his reputation! if half the things they say about him are true--" "probably three-quarters of them are. but what of it? you don't want an archangel for a son-in-law." "i don't want wratislav. my poor elsa would be miserable with him." "a little misery wouldn't matter very much with her; it would go so well with the way she does her hair, and if she couldn't get on with wratislav she could always go and do good among the poor." the baroness picked up a framed photograph from the table. "he certainly is very handsome," she said doubtfully; adding even more doubtfully, "i dare say dear elsa might reform him." the gräfin had the presence of mind to laugh in the right key. * * * * * three weeks later the gräfin bore down upon the baroness sophie in a foreign bookseller's shop in the graben, where she was, possibly, buying books of devotion, though it was the wrong counter for them. "i've just left the dear children at the rodenstahls'," was the gräfin's greeting. "were they looking very happy?" asked the baroness. "wratislav was wearing some new english clothes, so, of course, he was quite happy. i overheard him telling toni a rather amusing story about a nun and a mousetrap, which won't bear repetition. elsa was telling every one else a witticism about the triple alliance being like a paper umbrella--which seems to bear repetition with christian fortitude." "did they seem much wrapped up in each other?" "to be candid, elsa looked as if she were wrapped up in a horse-rug. and why let her wear saffron colour?" "i always think it goes with her complexion." "unfortunately it doesn't. it stays with it. ugh. don't forget, you're lunching with me on thursday." the baroness was late for her luncheon engagement the following thursday. "imagine what has happened!" she screamed as she burst into the room. "something remarkable, to make you late for a meal," said the gräfin. "elsa has run away with the rodenstahls' chauffeur!" "kolossal!" "such a thing as that no one in our family has ever done," gasped the baroness. "perhaps he didn't appeal to them in the same way," suggested the gräfin judicially. the baroness began to feel that she was not getting the astonishment and sympathy to which her catastrophe entitled her. "at any rate," she snapped, "now she can't marry wratislav." "she couldn't in any case," said the gräfin; "he left suddenly for abroad last night." "for abroad! where?" "for mexico, i believe." "mexico! but what for? why mexico?" "the english have a proverb, 'conscience makes cowboys of us all.'" "i didn't know wratislav had a conscience." "my dear sophie, he hasn't. it's other people's consciences that send one abroad in a hurry. let's go and eat." the easter egg it was distinctly hard lines for lady barbara, who came of good fighting stock, and was one of the bravest women of her generation, that her son should be so undisguisedly a coward. whatever good qualities lester slaggby may have possessed, and he was in some respects charming, courage could certainly never be imputed to him. as a child he had suffered from childish timidity, as a boy from unboyish funk, and as a youth he had exchanged unreasoning fears for others which were more formidable from the fact of having a carefully thought-out basis. he was frankly afraid of animals, nervous with firearms, and never crossed the channel without mentally comparing the numerical proportion of lifebelts to passengers. on horseback he seemed to require as many hands as a hindu god, at least four for clutching the reins, and two more for patting the horse soothingly on the neck. lady barbara no longer pretended not to see her son's prevailing weakness; with her usual courage she faced the knowledge of it squarely, and, mother-like, loved him none the less. continental travel, anywhere away from the great tourist tracks, was a favoured hobby with lady barbara, and lester joined her as often as possible. eastertide usually found her at knobaltheim, an upland township in one of those small princedoms that make inconspicuous freckles on the map of central europe. a long-standing acquaintanceship with the reigning family made her a personage of due importance in the eyes of her old friend the burgomaster, and she was anxiously consulted by that worthy on the momentous occasion when the prince made known his intention of coming in person to open a sanatorium outside the town. all the usual items in a programme of welcome, some of them fatuous and commonplace, others quaint and charming, had been arranged for, but the burgomaster hoped that the resourceful english lady might have something new and tasteful to suggest in the way of loyal greeting. the prince was known to the outside world, if at all, as an old-fashioned reactionary, combating modern progress, as it were, with a wooden sword; to his own people he was known as a kindly old gentleman with a certain endearing stateliness which had nothing of standoffishness about it. knobaltheim was anxious to do its best. lady barbara discussed the matter with lester and one or two acquaintances in her little hotel, but ideas were difficult to come by. "might i suggest something to the gnädige frau?" asked a sallow high-cheek-boned lady to whom the englishwoman had spoken once or twice, and whom she had set down in her mind as probably a southern slav. "might i suggest something for the reception fest?" she went on, with a certain shy eagerness. "our little child here, our baby, we will dress him in little white coat, with small wings, as an easter angel, and he will carry a large white easter egg, and inside shall be a basket of plover eggs, of which the prince is so fond, and he shall give it to his highness as easter offering. it is so pretty an idea we have seen it done once in styria." lady barbara looked dubiously at the proposed easter angel, a fair, wooden-faced child of about four years old. she had noticed it the day before in the hotel, and wondered rather how such a towheaded child could belong to such a dark-visaged couple as the woman and her husband; probably, she thought, an adopted baby, especially as the couple were not young. "of course gnädige frau will escort the little child up to the prince," pursued the woman; "but he will be quite good, and do as he is told." "we haf some pluffers' eggs shall come fresh from wien," said the husband. the small child and lady barbara seemed equally unenthusiastic about the pretty idea; lester was openly discouraging, but when the burgomaster heard of it he was enchanted. the combination of sentiment and plovers' eggs appealed strongly to his teutonic mind. on the eventful day the easter angel, really quite prettily and quaintly dressed, was a centre of kindly interest to the gala crowd marshalled to receive his highness. the mother was unobtrusive and less fussy than most parents would have been under the circumstances, merely stipulating that she should place the easter egg herself in the arms that had been carefully schooled how to hold the precious burden. then lady barbara moved forward, the child marching stolidly and with grim determination at her side. it had been promised cakes and sweeties galore if it gave the egg well and truly to the kind old gentleman who was waiting to receive it. lester had tried to convey to it privately that horrible smackings would attend any failure in its share of the proceedings, but it is doubtful if his german caused more than an immediate distress. lady barbara had thoughtfully provided herself with an emergency supply of chocolate sweetmeats; children may sometimes be time-servers, but they do not encourage long accounts. as they approached nearer to the princely daïs lady barbara stood discreetly aside, and the stolid-faced infant walked forward alone, with staggering but steadfast gait, encouraged by a murmur of elderly approval. lester, standing in the front row of the onlookers, turned to scan the crowd for the beaming faces of the happy parents. in a side-road which led to the railway station he saw a cab; entering the cab with every appearance of furtive haste were the dark-visaged couple who had been so plausibly eager for the "pretty idea." the sharpened instinct of cowardice lit up the situation to him in one swift flash. the blood roared and surged to his head as though thousands of floodgates had been opened in his veins and arteries, and his brain was the common sluice in which all the torrents met. he saw nothing but a blur around him. then the blood ebbed away in quick waves, till his very heart seemed drained and empty, and he stood nervelessly, helplessly, dumbly watching the child, bearing its accursed burden with slow, relentless steps nearer and nearer to the group that waited sheep-like to receive him. a fascinated curiosity compelled lester to turn his head towards the fugitives; the cab had started at hot pace in the direction of the station. the next moment lester was running, running faster than any of those present had ever seen a man run, and--he was not running away. for that stray fraction of his life some unwonted impulse beset him, some hint of the stock he came from, and he ran unflinchingly towards danger. he stooped and clutched at the easter egg as one tries to scoop up the ball in rugby football. what he meant to do with it he had not considered, the thing was to get it. but the child had been promised cakes and sweetmeats if it safely gave the egg into the hands of the kindly old gentleman; it uttered no scream, but it held to its charge with limpet grip. lester sank to his knees, tugging savagely at the tightly clasped burden, and angry cries rose from the scandalized onlookers. a questioning, threatening ring formed round him, then shrank back in recoil as he shrieked out one hideous word. lady barbara heard the word and saw the crowd race away like scattered sheep, saw the prince forcibly hustled away by his attendants; also she saw her son lying prone in an agony of overmastering terror, his spasm of daring shattered by the child's unexpected resistance, still clutching frantically, as though for safety, at that white-satin gew-gaw, unable to crawl even from its deadly neighbourhood, able only to scream and scream and scream. in her brain she was dimly conscious of balancing, or striving to balance, the abject shame which had him now in thrall against the one compelling act of courage which had flung him grandly and madly on to the point of danger. it was only for the fraction of a minute that she stood watching the two entangled figures, the infant with its woodenly obstinate face and body tense with dogged resistance, and the boy limp and already nearly dead with a terror that almost stifled his screams; and over them the long gala streamers flapping gaily in the sunshine. she never forgot the scene; but then, it was the last she ever saw. lady barbara carries her scarred face with its sightless eyes as bravely as ever in the world, but at eastertide her friends are careful to keep from her ears any mention of the children's easter symbol. filboid studge, the story of a mouse that helped "i want to marry your daughter," said mark spayley with faltering eagerness. "i am only an artist with an income of two hundred a year, and she is the daughter of an enormously wealthy man, so i suppose you will think my offer a piece of presumption." duncan dullamy, the great company inflator, showed no outward sign of displeasure. as a matter of fact, he was secretly relieved at the prospect of finding even a two-hundred-a-year husband for his daughter leonore. a crisis was rapidly rushing upon him, from which he knew he would emerge with neither money nor credit; all his recent ventures had fallen flat, and flattest of all had gone the wonderful new breakfast food, pipenta, on the advertisement of which he had sunk such huge sums. it could scarcely be called a drug in the market; people bought drugs, but no one bought pipenta. "would you marry leonore if she were a poor man's daughter?" asked the man of phantom wealth. "yes," said mark, wisely avoiding the error of over-protestation. and to his astonishment leonore's father not only gave his consent, but suggested a fairly early date for the wedding. "i wish i could show my gratitude in some way," said mark with genuine emotion. "i'm afraid it's rather like the mouse proposing to help the lion." "get people to buy that beastly muck," said dullamy, nodding savagely at a poster of the despised pipenta, "and you'll have done more than any of my agents have been able to accomplish." "it wants a better name," said mark reflectively, "and something distinctive in the poster line. anyway, i'll have a shot at it." three weeks later the world was advised of the coming of a new breakfast food, heralded under the resounding name of "filboid studge." spayley put forth no pictures of massive babies springing up with fungus-like rapidity under its forcing influence, or of representatives of the leading nations of the world scrambling with fatuous eagerness for its possession. one huge sombre poster depicted the damned in hell suffering a new torment from their inability to get at the filboid studge which elegant young fiends held in transparent bowls just beyond their reach. the scene was rendered even more gruesome by a subtle suggestion of the features of leading men and women of the day in the portrayal of the lost souls; prominent individuals of both political parties, society hostesses, well-known dramatic authors and novelists, and distinguished aeroplanists were dimly recognizable in that doomed throng; noted lights of the musical-comedy stage flickered wanly in the shades of the inferno, smiling still from force of habit, but with the fearsome smiling rage of baffled effort. the poster bore no fulsome allusions to the merits of the new breakfast food, but a single grim statement ran in bold letters along its base: "they cannot buy it now." spayley had grasped the fact that people will do things from a sense of duty which they would never attempt as a pleasure. there are thousands of respectable middle-class men who, if you found them unexpectedly in a turkish bath, would explain in all sincerity that a doctor had ordered them to take turkish baths; if you told them in return that you went there because you liked it, they would stare in pained wonder at the frivolity of your motive. in the same way, whenever a massacre of armenians is reported from asia minor, every one assumes that it has been carried out "under orders" from somewhere or another, no one seems to think that there are people who might like to kill their neighbours now and then. and so it was with the new breakfast food. no one would have eaten filboid studge as a pleasure, but the grim austerity of its advertisement drove housewives in shoals to the grocers' shops to clamour for an immediate supply. in small kitchens solemn pig-tailed daughters helped depressed mothers to perform the primitive ritual of its preparation. on the breakfast-tables of cheerless parlours it was partaken of in silence. once the womenfolk discovered that it was thoroughly unpalatable, their zeal in forcing it on their households knew no bounds. "you haven't eaten your filboid studge!" would be screamed at the appetiteless clerk as he hurried weariedly from the breakfast-table, and his evening meal would be prefaced by a warmed-up mess which would be explained as "your filboid studge that you didn't eat this morning." those strange fanatics who ostentatiously mortify themselves, inwardly and outwardly, with health biscuits and health garments, battened aggressively on the new food. earnest, spectacled young men devoured it on the steps of the national liberal club. a bishop who did not believe in a future state preached against the poster, and a peer's daughter died from eating too much of the compound. a further advertisement was obtained when an infantry regiment mutinied and shot its officers rather than eat the nauseous mess; fortunately, lord birrell of blatherstone, who was war minister at the moment, saved the situation by his happy epigram, that "discipline to be effective must be optional." filboid studge had become a household word, but dullamy wisely realized that it was not necessarily the last word in breakfast dietary; its supremacy would be challenged as soon as some yet more unpalatable food should be put on the market. there might even be a reaction in favour of something tasty and appetizing, and the puritan austerity of the moment might be banished from domestic cookery. at an opportune moment, therefore, he sold out his interests in the article which had brought him in colossal wealth at a critical juncture, and placed his financial reputation beyond the reach of cavil. as for leonore, who was now an heiress on a far greater scale than ever before, he naturally found her something a vast deal higher in the husband market than a two-hundred-a-year poster designer. mark spayley, the brainmouse who had helped the financial lion with such untoward effect, was left to curse the day he produced the wonder-working poster. "after all," said clovis, meeting him shortly afterwards at his club, "you have this doubtful consolation, that 'tis not in mortals to countermand success." the music on the hill sylvia seltoun ate her breakfast in the morning-room at yessney with a pleasant sense of ultimate victory, such as a fervent ironside might have permitted himself on the morrow of worcester fight. she was scarcely pugnacious by temperament, but belonged to that more successful class of fighters who are pugnacious by circumstance. fate had willed that her life should be occupied with a series of small struggles, usually with the odds slightly against her, and usually she had just managed to come through winning. and now she felt that she had brought her hardest and certainly her most important struggle to a successful issue. to have married mortimer seltoun, "dead mortimer" as his more intimate enemies called him, in the teeth of the cold hostility of his family, and in spite of his unaffected indifference to women, was indeed an achievement that had needed some determination and adroitness to carry through; yesterday she had brought her victory to its concluding stage by wrenching her husband away from town and its group of satellite watering-places and "settling him down," in the vocabulary of her kind, in this remote wood-girt manor farm which was his country house. "you will never get mortimer to go," his mother had said carpingly, "but if he once goes he'll stay; yessney throws almost as much a spell over him as town does. one can understand what holds him to town, but yessney--" and the dowager had shrugged her shoulders. there was a sombre almost savage wildness about yessney that was certainly not likely to appeal to town-bred tastes, and sylvia, notwithstanding her name, was accustomed to nothing much more sylvan than "leafy kensington." she looked on the country as something excellent and wholesome in its way, which was apt to become troublesome if you encouraged it overmuch. distrust of town-life had been a new thing with her, born of her marriage with mortimer, and she had watched with satisfaction the gradual fading of what she called "the jermyn-street-look" in his eyes as the woods and heather of yessney had closed in on them yesternight. her will-power and strategy had prevailed; mortimer would stay. outside the morning-room windows was a triangular slope of turf, which the indulgent might call a lawn, and beyond its low hedge of neglected fuchsia bushes a steeper slope of heather and bracken dropped down into cavernous combes overgrown with oak and yew. in its wild open savagery there seemed a stealthy linking of the joy of life with the terror of unseen things. sylvia smiled complacently as she gazed with a school-of-art appreciation at the landscape, and then of a sudden she almost shuddered. "it is very wild," she said to mortimer, who had joined her; "one could almost think that in such a place the worship of pan had never quite died out." "the worship of pan never has died out," said mortimer. "other newer gods have drawn aside his votaries from time to time, but he is the nature-god to whom all must come back at last. he has been called the father of all the gods, but most of his children have been stillborn." sylvia was religious in an honest vaguely devotional kind of way, and did not like to hear her beliefs spoken of as mere aftergrowths, but it was at least something new and hopeful to hear dead mortimer speak with such energy and conviction on any subject. "you don't really believe in pan?" she asked incredulously. "i've been a fool in most things," said mortimer quietly, "but i'm not such a fool as not to believe in pan when i'm down here. and if you're wise you won't disbelieve in him too boastfully while you're in his country." it was not till a week later, when sylvia had exhausted the attractions of the woodland walks round yessney, that she ventured on a tour of inspection of the farm buildings. a farmyard suggested in her mind a scene of cheerful bustle, with churns and flails and smiling dairymaids, and teams of horses drinking knee-deep in duck-crowded ponds. as she wandered among the gaunt grey buildings of yessney manor farm her first impression was one of crushing stillness and desolation, as though she had happened on some lone deserted homestead long given over to owls and cobwebs; then came a sense of furtive watchful hostility, the same shadow of unseen things that seemed to lurk in the wooded combes and coppices. from behind heavy doors and shuttered windows came the restless stamp of hoof or rasp of chain halter, and at times a muffled bellow from some stalled beast. from a distant corner a shaggy dog watched her with intent unfriendly eyes; as she drew near it slipped quietly into its kennel, and slipped out again as noiselessly when she had passed by. a few hens, questing for food under a rick, stole away under a gate at her approach. sylvia felt that if she had come across any human beings in this wilderness of barn and byre they would have fled wraith-like from her gaze. at last, turning a corner quickly, she came upon a living thing that did not fly from her. astretch in a pool of mud was an enormous sow, gigantic beyond the town-woman's wildest computation of swine-flesh, and speedily alert to resent and if necessary repel the unwonted intrusion. it was sylvia's turn to make an unobtrusive retreat. as she threaded her way past rickyards and cowsheds and long blank walls, she started suddenly at a strange sound--the echo of a boy's laughter, golden and equivocal. jan, the only boy employed on the farm, a towheaded, wizen-faced yokel, was visibly at work on a potato clearing half-way up the nearest hill-side, and mortimer, when questioned, knew of no other probable or possible begetter of the hidden mockery that had ambushed sylvia's retreat. the memory of that untraceable echo was added to her other impressions of a furtive sinister "something" that hung around yessney. of mortimer she saw very little; farm and woods and trout-streams seemed to swallow him up from dawn till dusk. once, following the direction she had seen him take in the morning, she came to an open space in a nut copse, further shut in by huge yew trees, in the centre of which stood a stone pedestal surmounted by a small bronze figure of a youthful pan. it was a beautiful piece of workmanship, but her attention was chiefly held by the fact that a newly cut bunch of grapes had been placed as an offering at its feet. grapes were none too plentiful at the manor house, and sylvia snatched the bunch angrily from the pedestal. contemptuous annoyance dominated her thoughts as she strolled slowly homeward, and then gave way to a sharp feeling of something that was very near fright; across a thick tangle of undergrowth a boy's face was scowling at her, brown and beautiful, with unutterably evil eyes. it was a lonely pathway, all pathways round yessney were lonely for the matter of that, and she sped forward without waiting to give a closer scrutiny to this sudden apparition. it was not till she had reached the house that she discovered that she had dropped the bunch of grapes in her flight. "i saw a youth in the wood to-day," she told mortimer that evening, "brown-faced and rather handsome, but a scoundrel to look at. a gipsy lad, i suppose." "a reasonable theory," said mortimer, "only there aren't any gipsies in these parts at present." "then who was he?" asked sylvia, and as mortimer appeared to have no theory of his own, she passed on to recount her finding of the votive offering. "i suppose it was your doing," she observed; "it's a harmless piece of lunacy, but people would think you dreadfully silly if they knew of it." "did you meddle with it in any way?" asked mortimer. "i--i threw the grapes away. it seemed so silly," said sylvia, watching mortimer's impassive face for a sign of annoyance. "i don't think you were wise to do that," he said reflectively. "i've heard it said that the wood gods are rather horrible to those who molest them." "horrible perhaps to those that believe in them, but you see i don't," retorted sylvia. "all the same," said mortimer in his even, dispassionate tone, "i should avoid the woods and orchards if i were you, and give a wide berth to the horned beasts on the farm." it was all nonsense, of course, but in that lonely wood-girt spot nonsense seemed able to rear a bastard brood of uneasiness. "mortimer," said sylvia suddenly, "i think we will go back to town some time soon." her victory had not been so complete as she had supposed; it had carried her on to ground that she was already anxious to quit. "i don't think you will ever go back to town," said mortimer. he seemed to be paraphrasing his mother's prediction as to himself. sylvia noted with dissatisfaction and some self-contempt that the course of her next afternoon's ramble took her instinctively clear of the network of woods. as to the horned cattle, mortimer's warning was scarcely needed, for she had always regarded them as of doubtful neutrality at the best: her imagination unsexed the most matronly dairy cows and turned them into bulls liable to "see red" at any moment. the ram who fed in the narrow paddock below the orchards she had adjudged, after ample and cautious probation, to be of docile temper; to-day, however, she decided to leave his docility untested, for the usually tranquil beast was roaming with every sign of restlessness from corner to corner of his meadow. a low, fitful piping, as of some reedy flute, was coming from the depth of a neighbouring copse, and there seemed to be some subtle connection between the animal's restless pacing and the wild music from the wood. sylvia turned her steps in an upward direction and climbed the heather-clad slopes that stretched in rolling shoulders high above yessney. she had left the piping notes behind her, but across the wooded combes at her feet the wind brought her another kind of music, the straining bay of hounds in full chase. yessney was just on the outskirts of the devon-and-somerset country, and the hunted deer sometimes came that way. sylvia could presently see a dark body, breasting hill after hill, and sinking again and again out of sight as he crossed the combes, while behind him steadily swelled that relentless chorus, and she grew tense with the excited sympathy that one feels for any hunted thing in whose capture one is not directly interested. and at last he broke through the outermost line of oak scrub and fern and stood panting in the open, a fat september stag carrying a well-furnished head. his obvious course was to drop down to the brown pools of undercombe, and thence make his way towards the red deer's favoured sanctuary, the sea. to sylvia's surprise, however, he turned his head to the upland slope and came lumbering resolutely onward over the heather. "it will be dreadful," she thought, "the hounds will pull him down under my very eyes." but the music of the pack seemed to have died away for a moment, and in its place she heard again that wild piping, which rose now on this side, now on that, as though urging the failing stag to a final effort. sylvia stood well aside from his path, half hidden in a thick growth of whortle bushes, and watched him swing stiffly upward, his flanks dark with sweat, the coarse hair on his neck showing light by contrast. the pipe music shrilled suddenly around her, seeming to come from the bushes at her very feet, and at the same moment the great beast slewed round and bore directly down upon her. in an instant her pity for the hunted animal was changed to wild terror at her own danger; the thick heather roots mocked her scrambling efforts at flight, and she looked frantically downward for a glimpse of oncoming hounds. the huge antler spikes were within a few yards of her, and in a flash of numbing fear she remembered mortimer's warning, to beware of horned beasts on the farm. and then with a quick throb of joy she saw that she was not alone; a human figure stood a few paces aside, knee-deep in the whortle bushes. "drive it off!" she shrieked. but the figure made no answering movement. the antlers drove straight at her breast, the acrid smell of the hunted animal was in her nostrils, but her eyes were filled with the horror of something she saw other than her oncoming death. and in her ears rang the echo of a boy's laughter, golden and equivocal. the story of st. vespaluus "tell me a story," said the baroness, staring out despairingly at the rain; it was that light, apologetic sort of rain that looks as if it was going to leave off every minute and goes on for the greater part of the afternoon. "what sort of story?" asked clovis, giving his croquet mallet a valedictory shove into retirement. "one just true enough to be interesting and not true enough to be tiresome," said the baroness. clovis rearranged several cushions to his personal solace and satisfaction; he knew that the baroness liked her guests to be comfortable, and he thought it right to respect her wishes in that particular. "have i ever told you the story of saint vespaluus?" he asked. "you've told me stories about grand-dukes and lion-tamers and financiers' widows and a postmaster in herzegovina," said the baroness, "and about an italian jockey and an amateur governess who went to warsaw, and several about your mother, but certainly never anything about a saint." "this story happened a long while ago," he said, "in those uncomfortable piebald times when a third of the people were pagan, and a third christian, and the biggest third of all just followed whichever religion the court happened to profess. there was a certain king called hkrikros, who had a fearful temper and no immediate successor in his own family; his married sister, however, had provided him with a large stock of nephews from which to select his heir. and the most eligible and royally-approved of all these nephews was the sixteen-year-old vespaluus. he was the best looking, and the best horseman and javelin-thrower, and had that priceless princely gift of being able to walk past a supplicant with an air of not having seen him, but would certainly have given something if he had. my mother has that gift to a certain extent; she can go smilingly and financially unscathed through a charity bazaar, and meet the organizers next day with a solicitous 'had i but known you were in need of funds' air that is really rather a triumph in audacity. now hkrikros was a pagan of the first water, and kept the worship of the sacred serpents, who lived in a hallowed grove on a hill near the royal palace, up to a high pitch of enthusiasm. the common people were allowed to please themselves, within certain discreet limits, in the matter of private religion, but any official in the service of the court who went over to the new cult was looked down on, literally as well as metaphorically, the looking down being done from the gallery that ran round the royal bear-pit. consequently there was considerable scandal and consternation when the youthful vespaluus appeared one day at a court function with a rosary tucked into his belt, and announced in reply to angry questionings that he had decided to adopt christianity, or at any rate to give it a trial. if it had been any of the other nephews the king would possibly have ordered something drastic in the way of scourging and banishment, but in the case of the favoured vespaluus he determined to look on the whole thing much as a modern father might regard the announced intention of his son to adopt the stage as a profession. he sent accordingly for the royal librarian. the royal library in those days was not a very extensive affair, and the keeper of the king's books had a great deal of leisure on his hands. consequently he was in frequent demand for the settlement of other people's affairs when these strayed beyond normal limits and got temporarily unmanageable. "'you must reason with prince vespaluus,' said the king, 'and impress on him the error of his ways. we cannot have the heir to the throne setting such a dangerous example.' "'but where shall i find the necessary arguments?' asked the librarian. "'i give you free leave to pick and choose your arguments in the royal woods and coppices,' said the king; 'if you cannot get together some cutting observations and stinging retorts suitable to the occasion you are a person of very poor resource.' "so the librarian went into the woods and gathered a goodly selection of highly argumentative rods and switches, and then proceeded to reason with vespaluus on the folly and iniquity and above all the unseemliness of his conduct. his reasoning left a deep impression on the young prince, an impression which lasted for many weeks, during which time nothing more was heard about the unfortunate lapse into christianity. then a further scandal of the same nature agitated the court. at a time when he should have been engaged in audibly invoking the gracious protection and patronage of the holy serpents, vespaluus was heard singing a chant in honour of st. odilo of cluny. the king was furious at this new outbreak, and began to take a gloomy view of the situation; vespaluus was evidently going to show a dangerous obstinacy in persisting in his heresy. and yet there was nothing in his appearance to justify such perverseness; he had not the pale eye of the fanatic or the mystic look of the dreamer. on the contrary, he was quite the best-looking boy at court; he had an elegant, well-knit figure, a healthy complexion, eyes the colour of very ripe mulberries, and dark hair, smooth and very well cared for." "it sounds like a description of what you imagine yourself to have been like at the age of sixteen," said the baroness. "my mother has probably been showing you some of my early photographs," said clovis. having turned the sarcasm into a compliment, he resumed his story. "the king had vespaluus shut up in a dark tower for three days, with nothing but bread and water to live on, the squealing and fluttering of bats to listen to, and drifting clouds to watch through one little window slit. the anti-pagan section of the community began to talk portentously of the boy-martyr. the martyrdom was mitigated, as far as the food was concerned, by the carelessness of the tower warden, who once or twice left a portion of his own supper of broiled meat and fruit and wine by mistake in the prince's cell. after the punishment was over, vespaluus was closely watched for any further symptom of religious perversity, for the king was determined to stand no more opposition on so important a matter, even from a favourite nephew. if there was any more of this nonsense, he said, the succession to the throne would have to be altered. "for a time all went well; the festival of summer sports was approaching, and the young vespaluus was too engrossed in wrestling and foot-running and javelin-throwing competitions to bother himself with the strife of conflicting religious systems. then, however, came the great culminating feature of the summer festival, the ceremonial dance round the grove of the sacred serpents, and vespaluus, as we should say, 'sat it out.' the affront to the state religion was too public and ostentatious to be overlooked, even if the king had been so minded, and he was not in the least so minded. for a day and a half he sat apart and brooded, and every one thought he was debating within himself the question of the young prince's death or pardon; as a matter of fact he was merely thinking out the manner of the boy's death. as the thing had to be done, and was bound to attract an enormous amount of public attention in any case, it was as well to make it as spectacular and impressive as possible. "'apart from his unfortunate taste in religions;' said the king, 'and his obstinacy in adhering to it, he is a sweet and pleasant youth, therefore it is meet and fitting that he should be done to death by the winged envoys of sweetness.' "'your majesty means--?' said the royal librarian. "'i mean,' said the king, 'that he shall be stung to death by bees. by the royal bees, of course.' "'a most elegant death,' said the librarian. "'elegant and spectacular, and decidedly painful,' said the king; 'it fulfils all the conditions that could be wished for.' "the king himself thought out all the details of the execution ceremony. vespaluus was to be stripped of his clothes, his hands were to be bound behind him, and he was then to be slung in a recumbent position immediately above three of the largest of the royal beehives, so that the least movement of his body would bring him in jarring contact with them. the rest could be safely left to the bees. the death throes, the king computed, might last anything from fifteen to forty minutes, though there was division of opinion and considerable wagering among the other nephews as to whether death might not be almost instantaneous, or, on the other hand, whether it might not be deferred for a couple of hours. anyway, they all agreed, it was vastly preferable to being thrown down into an evil smelling bear-pit and being clawed and mauled to death by imperfectly carnivorous animals. "it so happened, however, that the keeper of the royal hives had leanings towards christianity himself, and moreover, like most of the court officials, he was very much attached to vespaluus. on the eve of the execution, therefore, he busied himself with removing the stings from all the royal bees; it was a long and delicate operation, but he was an expert bee-master, and by working hard nearly all night he succeeded in disarming all, or almost all, of the hive inmates." "i didn't know you could take the sting from a live bee," said the baroness incredulously. "every profession has its secrets," replied clovis; "if it hadn't it wouldn't be a profession. well, the moment for the execution arrived; the king and court took their places, and accommodation was found for as many of the populace as wished to witness the unusual spectacle. fortunately the royal bee-yard was of considerable dimensions, and was commanded, moreover, by the terraces that ran round the royal gardens; with a little squeezing and the erection of a few platforms room was found for everybody. vespaluus was carried into the open space in front of the hives, blushing and slightly embarrassed, but not at all displeased at the attention which was being centred on him." "he seems to have resembled you in more things than in appearance," said the baroness. "don't interrupt at a critical point in the story," said clovis. "as soon as he had been carefully adjusted in the prescribed position over the hives, and almost before the gaolers had time to retire to a safe distance, vespaluus gave a lusty and well-aimed kick, which sent all three hives toppling one over another. the next moment he was wrapped from head to foot in bees; each individual insect nursed the dreadful and humiliating knowledge that in this supreme hour of catastrophe it could not sting, but each felt that it ought to pretend to. vespaluus squealed and wriggled with laughter, for he was being tickled nearly to death, and now and again he gave a furious kick and used a bad word as one of the few bees that had escaped disarmament got its protest home. but the spectators saw with amazement that he showed no signs of approaching death agony, and as the bees dropped wearily away in clusters from his body his flesh was seen to be as white and smooth as before the ordeal, with a shiny glaze from the honey-smear of innumerable bee-feet, and here and there a small red spot where one of the rare stings had left its mark. it was obvious that a miracle had been performed in his favour, and one loud murmur, of astonishment or exultation, rose from the onlooking crowd. the king gave orders for vespaluus to be taken down to await further orders, and stalked silently back to his midday meal, at which he was careful to eat heartily and drink copiously as though nothing unusual had happened. after dinner he sent for the royal librarian. "'what is the meaning of this fiasco?' he demanded. "'your majesty,' said that official, 'either there is something radically wrong with the bees--' "'there is nothing wrong with my bees,' said the king haughtily, 'they are the best bees.' "'or else,' said the librarian, 'there is something irremediably right about prince vespaluus.' "'if vespaluus is right i must be wrong,' said the king. "the librarian was silent for a moment. hasty speech has been the downfall of many; ill-considered silence was the undoing of the luckless court functionary. "forgetting the restraint due to his dignity, and the golden rule which imposes repose of mind and body after a heavy meal, the king rushed upon the keeper of the royal books and hit him repeatedly and promiscuously over the head with an ivory chessboard, a pewter wine-flagon, and a brass candlestick; he knocked him violently and often against an iron torch sconce, and kicked him thrice round the banqueting chamber with rapid, energetic kicks. finally, he dragged him down a long passage by the hair of his head and flung him out of a window into the courtyard below." "was he much hurt?" asked the baroness. "more hurt than surprised," said clovis. you see, the king was notorious for his violent temper. however, this was the first time he had let himself go so unrestrainedly on the top of a heavy meal. the librarian lingered for many days--in fact, for all i know, he may have ultimately recovered, but hkrikros died that same evening. vespaluus had hardly finished getting the honey stains off his body before a hurried deputation came to put the coronation oil on his head. and what with the publicly-witnessed miracle and the accession of a christian sovereign, it was not surprising that there was a general scramble of converts to the new religion. a hastily consecrated bishop was overworked with a rush of baptisms in the hastily improvised cathedral of st. odilo. and the boy-martyr-that-might-have-been was transposed in the popular imagination into a royal boy-saint, whose fame attracted throngs of curious and devout sightseers to the capital. vespaluus, who was busily engaged in organizing the games and athletic contests that were to mark the commencement of his reign, had no time to give heed to the religious fervour which was effervescing round his personality; the first indication he had of the existing state of affairs was when the court chamberlain (a recent and very ardent addition to the christian community) brought for his approval the outlines of a projected ceremonial cutting-down of the idolatrous serpent-grove. "'your majesty will be graciously pleased to cut down the first tree with a specially consecrated axe,' said the obsequious official. "'i'll cut off your head first, with any axe that comes handy,' said vespaluus indignantly; 'do you suppose that i'm going to begin my reign by mortally affronting the sacred serpents? it would be most unlucky.' "'but your majesty's christian principles?' exclaimed the bewildered chamberlain. "'i never had any,' said vespaluus; 'i used to pretend to be a christian convert just to annoy hkrikros. he used to fly into such delicious tempers. and it was rather fun being whipped and scolded and shut up in a tower all for nothing. but as to turning christian in real earnest, like you people seem to do, i couldn't think of such a thing. and the holy and esteemed serpents have always helped me when i've prayed to them for success in my running and wrestling and hunting, and it was through their distinguished intercession that the bees were not able to hurt me with their stings. it would be black ingratitude, to turn against their worship at the very outset of my reign. i hate you for suggesting it.' "the chamberlain wrung his hands despairingly. "'but, your majesty,' he wailed, 'the people are reverencing you as a saint, and the nobles are being christianized in batches, and neighbouring potentates of that faith are sending special envoys to welcome you as a brother. there is some talk of making you the patron saint of beehives, and a certain shade of honey-yellow has been christened vespaluusian gold at the emperor's court. you can't surely go back on all this.' "'i don't mind being reverenced and greeted and honoured,' said vespaluus; 'i don't even mind being sainted in moderation, as long as i'm not expected to be saintly as well. but i wish you clearly and finally to understand that i will not give up the worship of the august and auspicious serpents.' "there was a world of unspoken bear-pit in the way he uttered those last words, and the mulberry-dark eyes flashed dangerously. "'a new reign,' said the chamberlain to himself, 'but the same old temper.' "finally, as a state necessity, the matter of the religions was compromised. at stated intervals the king appeared before his subjects in the national cathedral in the character of st. vespaluus, and the idolatrous grove was gradually pruned and lopped away till nothing remained of it. but the sacred and esteemed serpents were removed to a private shrubbery in the royal gardens, where vespaluus the pagan and certain members of his household devoutly and decently worshipped them. that possibly is the reason why the boy-king's success in sports and hunting never deserted him to the end of his days, and that is also the reason why, in spite of the popular veneration for his sanctity, he never received official canonization." "it has stopped raining," said the baroness. the way to the dairy the baroness and clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the park exchanging biographical confidences about the long succession of passers-by. "who are those depressed-looking young women who have just gone by?" asked the baroness; "they have the air of people who have bowed to destiny and are not quite sure whether the salute will be returned." "those," said clovis, "are the brimley bomefields. i dare say you would look depressed if you had been through their experiences." "i'm always having depressing experiences;" said the baroness, "but i never give them outward expression. it's as bad as looking one's age. tell me about the brimley bomefields." "well," said clovis, "the beginning of their tragedy was that they found an aunt. the aunt had been there all the time, but they had very nearly forgotten her existence until a distant relative refreshed their memory by remembering her very distinctly in his will; it is wonderful what the force of example will accomplish. the aunt, who had been unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantly rich, and the brimley bomefields grew suddenly concerned at the loneliness of her life and took her under their collective wings. she had as many wings around her at this time as one of those beast-things in revelation." "so far i don't see any tragedy from the brimley bomefields' point of view," said the baroness. "we haven't got to it yet," said clovis. "the aunt had been used to living very simply, and had seen next to nothing of what we should consider life, and her nieces didn't encourage her to do much in the way of making a splash with her money. quite a good deal of it would come to them at her death, and she was a fairly old woman, but there was one circumstance which cast a shadow of gloom over the satisfaction they felt in the discovery and acquisition of this desirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that a comfortable slice of her little fortune would go to a nephew on the other side of her family. he was rather a deplorable thing in rotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the way of getting through money, but he had been more or less decent to the old lady in her unremembered days, and she wouldn't hear anything against him. at least, she wouldn't pay any attention to what she did hear, but her nieces took care that she should have to listen to a good deal in that line. it seemed such a pity, they said among themselves, that good money should fall into such worthless hands. they habitually spoke of their aunt's money as 'good money,' as though other people's aunts dabbled for the most part in spurious currency. "regularly after the derby, st. leger, and other notable racing events they indulged in audible speculations as to how much money roger had squandered in unfortunate betting transactions. "'his travelling expenses must come to a big sum,' said the eldest brimley bomefield one day; 'they say he attends every race-meeting in england, besides others abroad. i shouldn't wonder if he went all the way to india to see the race for the calcutta sweepstake that one hears so much about.' "'travel enlarges the mind, my dear christine,' said her aunt. "'yes, dear aunt, travel undertaken in the right spirit,' agreed christine; 'but travel pursued merely as a means towards gambling and extravagant living is more likely to contract the purse than to enlarge the mind. however, as long as roger enjoys himself, i suppose he doesn't care how fast or unprofitably the money goes, or where he is to find more. it seems a pity, that's all.' "the aunt by that time had begun to talk of something else, and it was doubtful if christine's moralizing had been even accorded a hearing. it was her remark, however--the aunt's remark, i mean--about travel enlarging the mind, that gave the youngest brimley bomefield her great idea for the showing-up of roger. "'if aunt could only be taken somewhere to see him gambling and throwing away money,' she said, 'it would open her eyes to his character more effectually than anything we can say.' "'my dear veronique,' said her sisters, 'we can't go following him to race-meetings.' "'certainly not to race-meetings,' said veronique, 'but we might go to some place where one can look on at gambling without taking part in it.' "'do you mean monte carlo?' they asked her, beginning to jump rather at the idea. "'monte carlo is a long way off, and has a dreadful reputation,' said veronique; 'i shouldn't like to tell our friends that we were going to monte carlo. but i believe roger usually goes to dieppe about this time of year, and some quite respectable english people go there, and the journey wouldn't be expensive. if aunt could stand the channel crossing the change of scene might do her a lot of good.' "and that was how the fateful idea came to the brimley bomefields. "from the very first set-off disaster hung over the expedition, as they afterwards remembered. to begin with, all the brimley bomefields were extremely unwell during the crossing, while the aunt enjoyed the sea air and made friends with all manner of strange travelling companions. then, although it was many years since she had been on the continent, she had served a very practical apprenticeship there as a paid companion, and her knowledge of colloquial french beat theirs to a standstill. it became increasingly difficult to keep under their collective wings a person who knew what she wanted and was able to ask for it and to see that she got it. also, as far as roger was concerned, they drew dieppe blank; it turned out that he was staying at pourville, a little watering-place a mile or two further west. the brimley bomefields discovered that dieppe was too crowded and frivolous, and persuaded the old lady to migrate to the comparative seclusion of pourville. "'you won't find it dull, you know,' they assured her; 'there is a little casino attached to the hotel, and you can watch the people dancing and throwing away their money at petits chevaux.' "it was just before petits chevaux had been supplanted by boule. "roger was not staying in the same hotel, but they knew that the casino would be certain of his patronage on most afternoons and evenings. "on the first evening of their visit they wandered into the casino after a fairly early dinner, and hovered near the tables. bertie van tahn was staying there at the time, and he described the whole incident to me. the brimley bomefields kept a furtive watch on the doors as though they were expecting some one to turn up, and the aunt got more and more amused and interested watching the little horses whirl round and round the board. "'do you know, poor little number eight hasn't won for the last thirty-two times,' she said to christine; 'i've been keeping count. i shall really have to put five francs on him to encourage him.' "'come and watch the dancing, dear,' said christine nervously. it was scarcely a part of their strategy that roger should come in and find the old lady backing her fancy at the petits chevaux table. "'just wait while i put five francs on number eight,' said the aunt, and in another moment her money was lying on the table. the horses commenced to move round, it was a slow race this time, and number eight crept up at the finish like some crafty demon and placed his nose just a fraction in front of number three, who had seemed to be winning easily. recourse had to be had to measurement, and the number eight was proclaimed the winner. the aunt picked up thirty-five francs. after that the brimley bomefields would have had to have used concerted force to get her away from the tables. when roger appeared on the scene she was fifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering forlornly in the background, like chickens that have been hatched out by a duck and are despairingly watching their parent disporting herself in a dangerous and uncongenial element. the supper-party which roger insisted on standing that night in honour of his aunt and the three miss brimley bomefields was remarkable for the unrestrained gaiety of two of the participants and the funereal mirthlessness of the remaining guests. "'i do not think,' christine confided afterwards to a friend, who re-confided it to bertie van tahn, 'that i shall ever be able to touch patÉ de foie gras again. it would bring back memories of that awful evening.' "for the next two or three days the nieces made plans for returning to england or moving on to some other resort where there was no casino. the aunt was busy making a system for winning at petits chevaux. number eight, her first love, had been running rather unkindly for her, and a series of plunges on number five had turned out even worse. "'do you know, i dropped over seven hundred francs at the tables this afternoon,' she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourth evening of their visit. "'aunt! twenty-eight pounds! and you were losing last night too.' "'oh, i shall get it all back,' she said optimistically; 'but not here. these silly little horses are no good. i shall go somewhere where one can play comfortably at roulette. you needn't look so shocked. i've always felt that, given the opportunity, i should be an inveterate gambler, and now you darlings have put the opportunity in my way. i must drink your very good healths. waiter, a bottle of pontet canet. ah, it's number seven on the wine list; i shall plunge on number seven to-night. it won four times running this afternoon when i was backing that silly number five.' "number seven was not in a winning mood that evening. the brimley bomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near to the table where their aunt was now an honoured habituée, and gazed mournfully at the successive victories of one and five and eight and four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse of seven's obstinate backer. the day's losses totalled something very near two thousand francs. "'you incorrigible gamblers,' said roger chaffingly to them, when he found them at the tables. "'we are not gambling,' said christine freezingly; 'we are looking on.' "'i don't think,' said roger knowingly; 'of course you're a syndicate and aunt is putting the stakes on for all of you. anyone can tell by your looks when the wrong horse wins that you've got a stake on.' "aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least they would have if bertie hadn't joined them; all the brimley bomefields had headaches. "the aunt carried them all off to dieppe the next day and set cheerily about the task of winning back some of her losses. her luck was variable; in fact, she had some fair streaks of good fortune, just enough to keep her thoroughly amused with her new distraction; but on the whole she was a loser. the brimley bomefields had a collective attack of nervous prostration on the day when she sold out a quantity of shares in argentine rails. 'nothing will ever bring that money back,' they remarked lugubriously to one another. "'veronique at last could bear it no longer, and went home; you see, it had been her idea to bring the aunt on this disastrous expedition, and though the others did not cast the fact verbally in her face, there was a certain lurking reproach in their eyes which was harder to meet than actual upbraidings. the other two remained behind, forlornly mounting guard over their aunt until such time as the waning of the dieppe season should at last turn her in the direction of home and safety. they made anxious calculations as to how little 'good money' might, with reasonable luck, be squandered in the meantime. here, however, their reckoning went far astray; the close of the dieppe season merely turned their aunt's thoughts in search of some other convenient gambling resort. 'show a cat the way to the dairy--' i forget how the proverb goes on, but it summed up the situation as far as the brimley bomefields' aunt was concerned. she had been introduced to unexplored pleasures, and found them greatly to her liking, and she was in no hurry to forgo the fruits of her newly acquired knowledge. you see, for the first time in her life the old thing was thoroughly enjoying herself; she was losing money, but she had plenty of fun and excitement over the process, and she had enough left to do very comfortably on. indeed, she was only just learning to understand the art of doing oneself well. she was a popular hostess, and in return her fellow-gamblers were always ready to entertain her to dinners and suppers when their luck was in. her nieces, who still remained in attendance on her, with the pathetic unwillingness of a crew to leave a foundering treasure ship which might yet be steered into port, found little pleasure in these bohemian festivities; to see 'good money' lavished on good living for the entertainment of a nondescript circle of acquaintances who were not likely to be in any way socially useful to them, did not attune them to a spirit of revelry. they contrived, whenever possible, to excuse themselves from participation in their aunt's deplored gaieties; the brimley bomefield headaches became famous. "and one day the nieces came to the conclusion that, as they would have expressed it, 'no useful purpose would be served' by their continued attendance on a relative who had so thoroughly emancipated herself from the sheltering protection of their wings. the aunt bore the announcement of their departure with a cheerfulness that was almost disconcerting. "'it's time you went home and had those headaches seen to by a specialist,' was her comment on the situation. "the homeward journey of the brimley bomefields was a veritable retreat from moscow, and what made it the more bitter was the fact that the moscow, in this case, was not overwhelmed with fire and ashes, but merely extravagantly over-illuminated. "from mutual friends and acquaintances they sometimes get glimpses of their prodigal relative, who has settled down into a confirmed gambling maniac, living on such salvage of income as obliging moneylenders have left at her disposal. "so you need not be surprised," concluded clovis, "if they do wear a depressed look in public." "which is veronique?" asked the baroness. "the most depressed-looking of the three," said clovis. the peace offering "i want you to help me in getting up a dramatic entertainment of some sort," said the baroness to clovis. "you see, there's been an election petition down here, and a member unseated and no end of bitterness and ill-feeling, and the county is socially divided against itself. i thought a play of some kind would be an excellent opportunity for bringing people together again, and giving them something to think of besides tiresome political squabbles." the baroness was evidently ambitious of reproducing beneath her own roof the pacifying effects traditionally ascribed to the celebrated reel of tullochgorum. "we might do something on the lines of greek tragedy," said clovis, after due reflection; "the return of agamemnon, for instance." the baroness frowned. "it sounds rather reminiscent of an election result, doesn't it?" "it wasn't that sort of return," explained clovis; "it was a home-coming." "i thought you said it was a tragedy." "well, it was. he was killed in his bathroom, you know." "oh, now i know the story, of course. do you want me to take the part of charlotte corday?" "that's a different story and a different century," said clovis; "the dramatic unities forbid one to lay a scene in more than one century at a time. the killing in this case has to be done by clytemnestra." "rather a pretty name. i'll do that part. i suppose you want to be aga--whatever his name is?" "dear no. agamemnon was the father of grown-up children, and probably wore a beard and looked prematurely aged. i shall be his charioteer or bath-attendant, or something decorative of that kind. we must do everything in the sumurun manner, you know." "i don't know," said the baroness; "at least, i should know better if you would explain exactly what you mean by the sumurun manner." clovis obliged: "weird music, and exotic skippings and flying leaps, and lots of drapery and undrapery. particularly undrapery." "i think i told you the county are coming. the county won't stand anything very greek." "you can get over any objection by calling it hygiene, or limb-culture, or something of that sort. after all, every one exposes their insides to the public gaze and sympathy nowadays, so why not one's outside?" "my dear boy, i can ask the county to a greek play, or to a costume play, but to a greek-costume play, never. it doesn't do to let the dramatic instinct carry one too far; one must consider one's environment. when one lives among greyhounds one should avoid giving life-like imitations of a rabbit, unless one want's one's head snapped off. remember, i've got this place on a seven years' lease. and then," continued the baroness, "as to skippings and flying leaps; i must ask emily dushford to take a part. she's a dear good thing, and will do anything she's told, or try to; but can you imagine her doing a flying leap under any circumstances?" "she can be cassandra, and she need only take flying leaps into the future, in a metaphorical sense." "cassandra; rather a pretty name. what kind of character is she?" "she was a sort of advance-agent for calamities. to know her was to know the worst. fortunately for the gaiety of the age she lived in, no one took her very seriously. still, it must have been fairly galling to have her turning up after every catastrophe with a conscious air of 'perhaps another time you'll believe what i say.'" "i should have wanted to kill her." "as clytemnestra i believe you gratify that very natural wish." "then it has a happy ending, in spite of it being a tragedy?" "well, hardly," said clovis; "you see, the satisfaction of putting a violent end to cassandra must have been considerably damped by the fact that she had foretold what was going to happen to her. she probably dies with an intensely irritating 'what-did-i-tell-you' smile on her lips. by the way, of course all the killing will be done in the sumurun manner." "please explain again," said the baroness, taking out a notebook and pencil. "little and often, you know, instead of one sweeping blow. you see, you are at your own home, so there's no need to hurry over the murdering as though it were some disagreeable but necessary duty." "and what sort of end do i have? i mean, what curtain do i get?" "i suppose you rush into your lover's arms. that is where one of the flying leaps will come in." the getting-up and rehearsing of the play seemed likely to cause, in a restricted area, nearly as much heart-burning and ill-feeling as the election petition. clovis, as adapter and stage-manager, insisted, as far as he was able, on the charioteer being quite the most prominent character in the play, and his panther-skin tunic caused almost as much trouble and discussion as clytemnestra's spasmodic succession of lovers, who broke down on probation with alarming uniformity. when the cast was at length fixed beyond hope of reprieve matters went scarcely more smoothly. clovis and the baroness rather overdid the sumurun manner, while the rest of the company could hardly be said to attempt it at all. as for cassandra, who was expected to improvise her own prophecies, she appeared to be as incapable of taking flying leaps into futurity as of executing more than a severely plantigrade walk across the stage. "woe! trojans, woe to troy!" was the most inspired remark she could produce after several hours of conscientious study of all the available authorities. "it's no earthly use foretelling the fall of troy," expostulated clovis, "because troy has fallen before the action of the play begins. and you mustn't say too much about your own impending doom either, because that will give things away too much to the audience." after several minutes of painful brain-searching, cassandra smiled reassuringly. "i know. i'll predict a long and happy reign for george the fifth." "my dear girl," protested clovis, "have you reflected that cassandra specialized in foretelling calamities?" there was another prolonged pause and another triumphant issue. "i know. i'll foretell a most disastrous season for the foxhounds." "on no account," entreated clovis; "do remember that all cassandra's predictions came true. the m.f.h. and the hunt secretary are both awfully superstitious, and they are both going to be present." cassandra retreated hastily to her bedroom to bathe her eyes before appearing at tea. the baroness and clovis were by this time scarcely on speaking terms. each sincerely wished their respective rôle to be the pivot round which the entire production should revolve, and each lost no opportunity for furthering the cause they had at heart. as fast as clovis introduced some effective bit of business for the charioteer (and he introduced a great many), the baroness would remorselessly cut it out, or more often dovetail it into her own part, while clovis retaliated in a similar fashion whenever possible. the climax came when clytemnestra annexed some highly complimentary lines, which were to have been addressed to the charioteer by a bevy of admiring greek damsels, and put them into the mouth of her lover. clovis stood by in apparent unconcern while the words: "oh, lovely stripling, radiant as the dawn," were transposed into: "oh, clytemnestra, radiant as the dawn," but there was a dangerous glitter in his eye that might have given the baroness warning. he had composed the verse himself, inspired and thoroughly carried away by his subject; he suffered, therefore, a double pang in beholding his tribute deflected from its destined object, and his words mutilated and twisted into what became an extravagant panegyric on the baroness's personal charms. it was from this moment that he became gentle and assiduous in his private coaching of cassandra. the county, forgetting its dissensions, mustered in full strength to witness the much-talked-of production. the protective providence that looks after little children and amateur theatricals made good its traditional promise that everything should be right on the night. the baroness and clovis seemed to have sunk their mutual differences, and between them dominated the scene to the partial eclipse of all the other characters, who, for the most part, seemed well content to remain in the shadow. even agamemnon, with ten years of strenuous life around troy standing to his credit, appeared to be an unobtrusive personality compared with his flamboyant charioteer. but the moment came for cassandra (who had been excused from any very definite outpourings during rehearsals) to support her rôle by delivering herself of a few well-chosen anticipations of pending misfortune. the musicians obliged with appropriately lugubrious wailings and thumpings, and the baroness seized the opportunity to make a dash to the dressing-room to effect certain repairs in her make-up. cassandra, nervous but resolute, came down to the footlights and, like one repeating a carefully learned lesson, flung her remarks straight at the audience: "i see woe for this fair country if the brood of corrupt, self-seeking, unscrupulous, unprincipled politicians" (here she named one of the two rival parties in the state) "continue to infest and poison our local councils and undermine our parliamentary representation; if they continue to snatch votes by nefarious and discreditable means--" a humming as of a great hive of bewildered and affronted bees drowned her further remarks and wore down the droning of the musicians. the baroness, who should have been greeted on her return to the stage with the pleasing invocation, "oh, clytemnestra, radiant as the dawn," heard instead the imperious voice of lady thistledale ordering her carriage, and something like a storm of open discord going on at the back of the room. * * * * * the social divisions in the county healed themselves after their own fashion; both parties found common ground in condemning the baroness's outrageously bad taste and tactlessness. she has been fortunate in sub-letting for the greater part of her seven years' lease. the peace of mowsle barton crefton lockyer sat at his ease, an ease alike of body and soul, in the little patch of ground, half-orchard and half-garden, that abutted on the farmyard at mowsle barton. after the stress and noise of long years of city life, the repose and peace of the hill-begirt homestead struck on his senses with an almost dramatic intensity. time and space seemed to lose their meaning and their abruptness; the minutes slid away into hours, and the meadows and fallows sloped away into middle distance, softly and imperceptibly. wild weeds of the hedgerow straggled into the flower-garden, and wallflowers and garden bushes made counter-raids into farmyard and lane. sleepy-looking hens and solemn preoccupied ducks were equally at home in yard, orchard, or roadway; nothing seemed to belong definitely to anywhere; even the gates were not necessarily to be found on their hinges. and over the whole scene brooded the sense of a peace that had almost a quality of magic in it. in the afternoon you felt that it had always been afternoon, and must always remain afternoon; in the twilight you knew that it could never have been anything else but twilight. crefton lockyer sat at his ease in the rustic seat beneath an old medlar tree, and decided that here was the life-anchorage that his mind had so fondly pictured and that latterly his tired and jarred senses had so often pined for. he would make a permanent lodging-place among these simple friendly people, gradually increasing the modest comforts with which he would like to surround himself, but falling in as much as possible with their manner of living. as he slowly matured this resolution in his mind an elderly woman came hobbling with uncertain gait through the orchard. he recognized her as a member of the farm household, the mother or possibly the mother-in-law of mrs. spurfield, his present landlady, and hastily formulated some pleasant remark to make to her. she forestalled him. "there's a bit of writing chalked up on the door over yonder. what is it?" she spoke in a dull impersonal manner, as though the question had been on her lips for years and had best be got rid of. her eyes, however, looked impatiently over crefton's head at the door of a small barn which formed the outpost of a straggling line of farm buildings. "martha pillamon is an old witch" was the announcement that met crefton's inquiring scrutiny, and he hesitated a moment before giving the statement wider publicity. for all he knew to the contrary, it might be martha herself to whom he was speaking. it was possible that mrs. spurfield's maiden name had been pillamon. and the gaunt, withered old dame at his side might certainly fulfil local conditions as to the outward aspect of a witch. "it's something about some one called martha pillamon," he explained cautiously. "what does it say?" "it's very disrespectful," said crefton; "it says she's a witch. such things ought not to be written up." "it's true, every word of it," said his listener with considerable satisfaction, adding as a special descriptive note of her own, "the old toad." and as she hobbled away through the farmyard she shrilled out in her cracked voice, "martha pillamon is an old witch!" "did you hear what she said?" mumbled a weak, angry voice somewhere behind crefton's shoulder. turning hastily, he beheld another old crone, thin and yellow and wrinkled, and evidently in a high state of displeasure. obviously this was martha pillamon in person. the orchard seemed to be a favourite promenade for the aged women of the neighbourhood. "'tis lies, 'tis sinful lies," the weak voice went on. "'tis betsy croot is the old witch. she an' her daughter, the dirty rat. i'll put a spell on 'em, the old nuisances." as she limped slowly away her eye caught the chalk inscription on the barn door. "what's written up there?" she demanded, wheeling round on crefton. "vote for soarker," he responded, with the craven boldness of the practised peacemaker. the old woman grunted, and her mutterings and her faded red shawl lost themselves gradually among the tree-trunks. crefton rose presently and made his way towards the farm-house. somehow a good deal of the peace seemed to have slipped out of the atmosphere. the cheery bustle of tea-time in the old farm kitchen, which crefton had found so agreeable on previous afternoons, seemed to have soured to-day into a certain uneasy melancholy. there was a dull, dragging silence around the board, and the tea itself, when crefton came to taste it, was a flat, lukewarm concoction that would have driven the spirit of revelry out of a carnival. "it's no use complaining of the tea," said mrs. spurfield hastily, as her guest stared with an air of polite inquiry at his cup. "the kettle won't boil, that's the truth of it." crefton turned to the hearth, where an unusually fierce fire was banked up under a big black kettle, which sent a thin wreath of steam from its spout, but seemed otherwise to ignore the action of the roaring blaze beneath it. "it's been there more than an hour, an' boil it won't," said mrs. spurfield, adding, by way of complete explanation, "we're bewitched." "it's martha pillamon as has done it," chimed in the old mother; "i'll be even with the old toad. i'll put a spell on her." "it must boil in time," protested crefton, ignoring the suggestions of foul influences. "perhaps the coal is damp." "it won't boil in time for supper, nor for breakfast to-morrow morning, not if you was to keep the fire a-going all night for it," said mrs. spurfield. and it didn't. the household subsisted on fried and baked dishes, and a neighbour obligingly brewed tea and sent it across in a moderately warm condition. "i suppose you'll be leaving us, now that things has turned up uncomfortable," mrs. spurfield observed at breakfast; "there are folks as deserts one as soon as trouble comes." crefton hurriedly disclaimed any immediate change of plans; he observed, however, to himself that the earlier heartiness of manner had in a large measure deserted the household. suspicious looks, sulky silences, or sharp speeches had become the order of the day. as for the old mother, she sat about the kitchen or the garden all day, murmuring threats and spells against martha pillamon. there was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigour and intensity where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay. and the uncanny part of it was that some horrid unwholesome power seemed to be distilled from their spite and their cursings. no amount of sceptical explanation could remove the undoubted fact that neither kettle nor saucepan would come to boiling-point over the hottest fire. crefton clung as long as possible to the theory of some defect in the coals, but a wood fire gave the same result, and when a small spirit-lamp kettle, which he ordered out by carrier, showed the same obstinate refusal to allow its contents to boil he felt that he had come suddenly into contact with some unguessed-at and very evil aspect of hidden forces. miles away, down through an opening in the hills, he could catch glimpses of a road where motor-cars sometimes passed, and yet here, so little removed from the arteries of the latest civilization, was a bat-haunted old homestead, where something unmistakably like witchcraft seemed to hold a very practical sway. passing out through the farm garden on his way to the lanes beyond, where he hoped to recapture the comfortable sense of peacefulness that was so lacking around house and hearth--especially hearth--crefton came across the old mother, sitting mumbling to herself in the seat beneath the medlar tree. "let un sink as swims, let un sink as swims," she was, repeating over and over again, as a child repeats a half-learned lesson. and now and then she would break off into a shrill laugh, with a note of malice in it that was not pleasant to hear. crefton was glad when he found himself out of earshot, in the quiet and seclusion of the deep overgrown lanes that seemed to lead away to nowhere; one, narrower and deeper than the rest, attracted his footsteps, and he was almost annoyed when he found that it really did act as a miniature roadway to a human dwelling. a forlorn-looking cottage with a scrap of ill-tended cabbage garden and a few aged apple trees stood at an angle where a swift flowing stream widened out for a space into a decent sized pond before hurrying away again through the willows that had checked its course. crefton leaned against a tree-trunk and looked across the swirling eddies of the pond at the humble little homestead opposite him; the only sign of life came from a small procession of dingy-looking ducks that marched in single file down to the water's edge. there is always something rather taking in the way a duck changes itself in an instant from a slow, clumsy waddler of the earth to a graceful, buoyant swimmer of the waters, and crefton waited with a certain arrested attention to watch the leader of the file launch itself on to the surface of the pond. he was aware at the same time of a curious warning instinct that something strange and unpleasant was about to happen. the duck flung itself confidently forward into the water, and rolled immediately under the surface. its head appeared for a moment and went under again, leaving a train of bubbles in its wake, while wings and legs churned the water in a helpless swirl of flapping and kicking. the bird was obviously drowning. crefton thought at first that it had caught itself in some weeds, or was being attacked from below by a pike or water-rat. but no blood floated to the surface, and the wildly bobbing body made the circuit of the pond current without hindrance from any entanglement. a second duck had by this time launched itself into the pond, and a second struggling body rolled and twisted under the surface. there was something peculiarly piteous in the sight of the gasping beaks that showed now and again above the water, as though in terrified protest at this treachery of a trusted and familiar element. crefton gazed with something like horror as a third duck poised itself on the bank and splashed in, to share the fate of the other two. he felt almost relieved when the remainder of the flock, taking tardy alarm from the commotion of the slowly drowning bodies, drew themselves up with tense outstretched necks, and sidled away from the scene of danger, quacking a deep note of disquietude as they went. at the same moment crefton became aware that he was not the only human witness of the scene; a bent and withered old woman, whom he recognized at once as martha pillamon, of sinister reputation, had limped down the cottage path to the water's edge, and was gazing fixedly at the gruesome whirligig of dying birds that went in horrible procession round the pool. presently her voice rang out in a shrill note of quavering rage: "'tis betsy croot adone it, the old rat. i'll put a spell on her, see if i don't." crefton slipped quietly away, uncertain whether or no the old woman had noticed his presence. even before she had proclaimed the guiltiness of betsy croot, the latter's muttered incantation "let un sink as swims" had flashed uncomfortably across his mind. but it was the final threat of a retaliatory spell which crowded his mind with misgiving to the exclusion of all other thoughts or fancies. his reasoning powers could no longer afford to dismiss these old-wives' threats as empty bickerings. the household at mowsle barton lay under the displeasure of a vindictive old woman who seemed able to materialize her personal spites in a very practical fashion, and there was no saying what form her revenge for three drowned ducks might not take. as a member of the household crefton might find himself involved in some general and highly disagreeable visitation of martha pillamon's wrath. of course he knew that he was giving way to absurd fancies, but the behaviour of the spirit-lamp kettle and the subsequent scene at the pond had considerably unnerved him. and the vagueness of his alarm added to its terrors; when once you have taken the impossible into your calculations its possibilities become practically limitless. crefton rose at his usual early hour the next morning, after one of the least restful nights he had spent at the farm. his sharpened senses quickly detected that subtle atmosphere of things-being-not-altogether-well that hangs over a stricken household. the cows had been milked, but they stood huddled about in the yard, waiting impatiently to be driven out afield, and the poultry kept up an importunate querulous reminder of deferred feeding-time; the yard pump, which usually made discordant music at frequent intervals during the early morning, was to-day ominously silent. in the house itself there was a coming and going of scuttering footsteps, a rushing and dying away of hurried voices, and long, uneasy stillnesses. crefton finished his dressing and made his way to the head of a narrow staircase. he could hear a dull, complaining voice, a voice into which an awed hush had crept, and recognized the speaker as mrs. spurfield. "he'll go away, for sure," the voice was saying; "there are those as runs away from one as soon as real misfortune shows itself." crefton felt that he probably was one of "those," and that there were moments when it was advisable to be true to type. he crept back to his room, collected and packed his few belongings, placed the money due for his lodgings on a table, and made his way out by a back door into the yard. a mob of poultry surged expectantly towards him; shaking off their interested attentions he hurried along under cover of cowstall, piggery, and hayricks till he reached the lane at the back of the farm. a few minutes' walk, which only the burden of his portmanteaux restrained from developing into an undisguised run, brought him to a main road, where the early carrier soon overtook him and sped him onward to the neighbouring town. at a bend of the road he caught a last glimpse of the farm; the old gabled roofs and thatched barns, the straggling orchard, and the medlar tree, with its wooden seat, stood out with an almost spectral clearness in the early morning light, and over it all brooded that air of magic possession which crefton had once mistaken for peace. the bustle and roar of paddington station smote on his ears with a welcome protective greeting. "very bad for our nerves, all this rush and hurry," said a fellow-traveller; "give me the peace and quiet of the country." crefton mentally surrendered his share of the desired commodity. a crowded, brilliantly over-lighted music-hall, where an exuberant rendering of " " was being given by a strenuous orchestra, came nearest to his ideal of a nerve sedative. the talking-out of tarrington "heavens!" exclaimed the aunt of clovis, "here's some one i know bearing down on us. i can't remember his name, but he lunched with us once in town. tarrington--yes, that's it. he's heard of the picnic i'm giving for the princess, and he'll cling to me like a lifebelt till i give him an invitation; then he'll ask if he may bring all his wives and mothers and sisters with him. that's the worst of these small watering-places; one can't escape from anybody." "i'll fight a rearguard action for you if you like to do a bolt now," volunteered clovis; "you've a clear ten yards start if you don't lose time." the aunt of clovis responded gamely to the suggestion, and churned away like a nile steamer, with a long brown ripple of pekingese spaniel trailing in her wake. "pretend you don't know him," was her parting advice, tinged with the reckless courage of the non-combatant. the next moment the overtures of an affably disposed gentleman were being received by clovis with a "silent-upon-a-peak-in-darien" stare which denoted an absence of all previous acquaintance with the object scrutinized. "i expect you don't know me with my moustache," said the new-comer; "i've only grown it during the last two months." "on the contrary," said clovis, "the moustache is the only thing about you that seemed familiar to me. i felt certain that i had met it somewhere before." "my name is tarrington," resumed the candidate for recognition. "a very useful kind of name," said clovis; "with a name of that sort no one would blame you if you did nothing in particular heroic or remarkable, would they? and yet if you were to raise a troop of light horse in a moment of national emergency, 'tarrington's light horse' would sound quite appropriate and pulse-quickening; whereas if you were called spoopin, for instance, the thing would be out of the question. no one, even in a moment of national emergency, could possibly belong to spoopin's horse." the new-comer smiled weakly, as one who is not to be put off by mere flippancy, and began again with patient persistence: "i think you ought to remember my name--" "i shall," said clovis, with an air of immense sincerity. "my aunt was asking me only this morning to suggest names for four young owls she's just had sent her as pets. i shall call them all tarrington; then if one or two of them die or fly away, or leave us in any of the ways that pet owls are prone to, there will be always one or two left to carry on your name. and my aunt won't let me forget it; she will always be asking 'have the tarringtons had their mice?' and questions of that sort. she says if you keep wild creatures in captivity you ought to see after their wants, and of course she's quite right there." "i met you at luncheon at your aunt's house once--" broke in mr. tarrington, pale but still resolute. "my aunt never lunches," said clovis; "she belongs to the national anti-luncheon league, which is doing quite a lot of good work in a quiet, unobtrusive way. a subscription of half a crown per quarter entitles you to go without ninety-two luncheons." "this must be something new," exclaimed tarrington. "it's the same aunt that i've always had," said clovis coldly. "i perfectly well remember meeting you at a luncheon-party given by your aunt," persisted tarrington, who was beginning to flush an unhealthy shade of mottled pink. "what was there for lunch?" asked clovis. "oh, well, i don't remember that--" "how nice of you to remember my aunt when you can no longer recall the names of the things you ate. now my memory works quite differently. i can remember a menu long after i've forgotten the hostess that accompanied it. when i was seven years old i recollect being given a peach at a garden-party by some duchess or other; i can't remember a thing about her, except that i imagine our acquaintance must have been of the slightest, as she called me a 'nice little boy,' but i have unfading memories of that peach. it was one of those exuberant peaches that meet you halfway, so to speak, and are all over you in a moment. it was a beautiful unspoiled product of a hothouse, and yet it managed quite successfully to give itself the airs of a compote. you had to bite it and imbibe it at the same time. to me there has always been something charming and mystic in the thought of that delicate velvet globe of fruit, slowly ripening and warming to perfection through the long summer days and perfumed nights, and then coming suddenly athwart my life in the supreme moment of its existence. i can never forget it, even if i wished to. and when i had devoured all that was edible of it, there still remained the stone, which a heedless, thoughtless child would doubtless have thrown away; i put it down the neck of a young friend who was wearing a very dÉcolletÉ sailor suit. i told him it was a scorpion, and from the way he wriggled and screamed he evidently believed it, though where the silly kid imagined i could procure a live scorpion at a garden-party i don't know. altogether, that peach is for me an unfading and happy memory--" the defeated tarrington had by this time retreated out of ear-shot, comforting himself as best he might with the reflection that a picnic which included the presence of clovis might prove a doubtfully agreeable experience. "i shall certainly go in for a parliamentary career," said clovis to himself as he turned complacently to rejoin his aunt. "as a talker-out of inconvenient bills i should be invaluable." the hounds of fate in the fading light of a close dull autumn afternoon martin stoner plodded his way along muddy lanes and rut-seamed cart tracks that led he knew not exactly whither. somewhere in front of him, he fancied, lay the sea, and towards the sea his footsteps seemed persistently turning; why he was struggling wearily forward to that goal he could scarcely have explained, unless he was possessed by the same instinct that turns a hard-pressed stag cliffward in its last extremity. in his case the hounds of fate were certainly pressing him with unrelenting insistence; hunger, fatigue, and despairing hopelessness had numbed his brain, and he could scarcely summon sufficient energy to wonder what underlying impulse was driving him onward. stoner was one of those unfortunate individuals who seem to have tried everything; a natural slothfulness and improvidence had always intervened to blight any chance of even moderate success, and now he was at the end of his tether, and there was nothing more to try. desperation had not awakened in him any dormant reserve of energy; on the contrary, a mental torpor grew up round the crisis of his fortunes. with the clothes he stood up in, a halfpenny in his pocket, and no single friend or acquaintance to turn to, with no prospect either of a bed for the night or a meal for the morrow, martin stoner trudged stolidly forward, between moist hedgerows and beneath dripping trees, his mind almost a blank, except that he was subconsciously aware that somewhere in front of him lay the sea. another consciousness obtruded itself now and then--the knowledge that he was miserably hungry. presently he came to a halt by an open gateway that led into a spacious and rather neglected farm-garden; there was little sign of life about, and the farm-house at the further end of the garden looked chill and inhospitable. a drizzling rain, however, was setting in, and stoner thought that here perhaps he might obtain a few minutes' shelter and buy a glass of milk with his last remaining coin. he turned slowly and wearily into the garden and followed a narrow, flagged path up to a side door. before he had time to knock the door opened and a bent, withered-looking old man stood aside in the doorway as though to let him pass in. "could i come in out of the rain?" stoner began, but the old man interrupted him. "come in, master tom. i knew you would come back one of these days." stoner lurched across the threshold and stood staring uncomprehendingly at the other. "sit down while i put you out a bit of supper," said the old man with quavering eagerness. stoner's legs gave way from very weariness, and he sank inertly into the arm-chair that had been pushed up to him. in another minute he was devouring the cold meat, cheese, and bread, that had been placed on the table at his side. "you'm little changed these four years," went on the old man, in a voice that sounded to stoner as something in a dream, far away and inconsequent; "but you'll find us a deal changed, you will. there's no one about the place same as when you left; nought but me and your old aunt. i'll go and tell her that you'm come; she won't be seeing you, but she'll let you stay right enough. she always did say if you was to come back you should stay, but she'd never set eyes on you or speak to you again." the old man placed a mug of beer on the table in front of stoner and then hobbled away down a long passage. the drizzle of rain had changed to a furious lashing downpour, which beat violently against door and windows. the wanderer thought with a shudder of what the sea-shore must look like under this drenching rainfall, with night beating down on all sides. he finished the food and beer and sat numbly waiting for the return of his strange host. as the minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock in the corner a new hope began to flicker and grow in the young man's mind; it was merely the expansion of his former craving for food and a few minutes' rest into a longing to find a night's shelter under this seemingly hospitable roof. a clattering of footsteps down the passage heralded the old farm servant's return. "the old missus won't see you, master tom, but she says you are to stay. 'tis right enough, seeing the farm will be yours when she be put under earth. i've had a fire lit in your room, master tom, and the maids has put fresh sheets on to the bed. you'll find nought changed up there. maybe you'm tired and would like to go there now." without a word martin stoner rose heavily to his feet and followed his ministering angel along a passage, up a short creaking stair, along another passage, and into a large room lit with a cheerfully blazing fire. there was but little furniture, plain, old-fashioned, and good of its kind; a stuffed squirrel in a case and a wall-calendar of four years ago were about the only symptoms of decoration. but stoner had eyes for little else than the bed, and could scarce wait to tear his clothes off him before rolling in a luxury of weariness into its comfortable depths. the hounds of fate seemed to have checked for a brief moment. in the cold light of morning stoner laughed mirthlessly as he slowly realized the position in which he found himself. perhaps he might snatch a bit of breakfast on the strength of his likeness to this other missing ne'er-do-well, and get safely away before anyone discovered the fraud that had been thrust on him. in the room downstairs he found the bent old man ready with a dish of bacon and fried eggs for "master tom's" breakfast, while a hard-faced elderly maid brought in a teapot and poured him out a cup of tea. as he sat at the table a small spaniel came up and made friendly advances. "'tis old bowker's pup," explained the old man, whom the hard-faced maid had addressed as george. "she was main fond of you; never seemed the same after you went away to australee. she died 'bout a year agone. 'tis her pup." stoner found it difficult to regret her decease; as a witness for identification she would have left something to be desired. "you'll go for a ride, master tom?" was the next startling proposition that came from the old man. "we've a nice little roan cob that goes well in saddle. old biddy is getting a bit up in years, though 'er goes well still, but i'll have the little roan saddled and brought round to door." "i've got no riding things," stammered the castaway, almost laughing as he looked down at his one suit of well-worn clothes. "master tom," said the old man earnestly, almost with an offended air, "all your things is just as you left them. a bit of airing before the fire an' they'll be all right. 'twill be a bit of a distraction like, a little riding and wild-fowling now and agen. you'll find the folk around here has hard and bitter minds towards you. they hasn't forgotten nor forgiven. no one'll come nigh you, so you'd best get what distraction you can with horse and dog. they'm good company, too." old george hobbled away to give his orders, and stoner, feeling more than ever like one in a dream, went upstairs to inspect "master tom's" wardrobe. a ride was one of the pleasures dearest to his heart, and there was some protection against immediate discovery of his imposture in the thought that none of tom's aforetime companions were likely to favour him with a close inspection. as the interloper thrust himself into some tolerably well-fitting riding cords he wondered vaguely what manner of misdeed the genuine tom had committed to set the whole countryside against him. the thud of quick, eager hoofs on damp earth cut short his speculations. the roan cob had been brought up to the side door. "talk of beggars on horseback," thought stoner to himself, as he trotted rapidly along the muddy lanes where he had tramped yesterday as a down-at-heel outcast; and then he flung reflection indolently aside and gave himself up to the pleasure of a smart canter along the turf-grown side of a level stretch of road. at an open gateway he checked his pace to allow two carts to turn into a field. the lads driving the carts found time to give him a prolonged stare, and as he passed on he heard an excited voice call out, "'tis tom prike! i knowed him at once; showing hisself here agen, is he?" evidently the likeness which had imposed at close quarters on a doddering old man was good enough to mislead younger eyes at a short distance. in the course of his ride he met with ample evidence to confirm the statement that local folk had neither forgotten nor forgiven the bygone crime which had come to him as a legacy from the absent tom. scowling looks, mutterings, and nudgings greeted him whenever he chanced upon human beings; "bowker's pup," trotting placidly by his side, seemed the one element of friendliness in a hostile world. as he dismounted at the side door he caught a fleeting glimpse of a gaunt, elderly woman peering at him from behind the curtain of an upper window. evidently this was his aunt by adoption. over the ample midday meal that stood in readiness for him stoner was able to review the possibilities of his extraordinary situation. the real tom, after four years of absence, might suddenly turn up at the farm, or a letter might come from him at any moment. again, in the character of heir to the farm, the false tom might be called on to sign documents, which would be an embarrassing predicament. or a relative might arrive who would not imitate the aunt's attitude of aloofness. all these things would mean ignominious exposure. on the other hand, the alternative was the open sky and the muddy lanes that led down to the sea. the farm offered him, at any rate, a temporary refuge from destitution; farming was one of the many things he had "tried," and he would be able to do a certain amount of work in return for the hospitality to which he was so little entitled. "will you have cold pork for your supper," asked the hard-faced maid, as she cleared the table, "or will you have it hotted up?" "hot, with onions," said stoner. it was the only time in his life that he had made a rapid decision. and as he gave the order he knew that he meant to stay. stoner kept rigidly to those portions of the house which seemed to have been allotted to him by a tacit treaty of delimitation. when he took part in the farm-work it was as one who worked under orders and never initiated them. old george, the roan cob, and bowker's pup were his sole companions in a world that was otherwise frostily silent and hostile. of the mistress of the farm he saw nothing. once, when he knew she had gone forth to church, he made a furtive visit to the farm parlour in an endeavour to glean some fragmentary knowledge of the young man whose place he had usurped, and whose ill-repute he had fastened on himself. there were many photographs hung on the walls, or stuck in prim frames, but the likeness he sought for was not among them. at last, in an album thrust out of sight, he came across what he wanted. there was a whole series, labelled "tom," a podgy child of three, in a fantastic frock, an awkward boy of about twelve, holding a cricket bat as though he loathed it, a rather good-looking youth of eighteen with very smooth, evenly parted hair, and, finally, a young man with a somewhat surly dare-devil expression. at this last portrait stoner looked with particular interest; the likeness to himself was unmistakable. from the lips of old george, who was garrulous enough on most subjects, he tried again and again to learn something of the nature of the offence which shut him off as a creature to be shunned and hated by his fellow-men. "what do the folk around here say about me?" he asked one day as they were walking home from an outlying field. the old man shook his head. "they be bitter agen you, mortal bitter. aye, 'tis a sad business, a sad business." and never could he be got to say anything more enlightening. on a clear frosty evening, a few days before the festival of christmas, stoner stood in a corner of the orchard which commanded a wide view of the countryside. here and there he could see the twinkling dots of lamp or candle glow which told of human homes where the goodwill and jollity of the season held their sway. behind him lay the grim, silent farm-house, where no one ever laughed, where even a quarrel would have seemed cheerful. as he turned to look at the long grey front of the gloom-shadowed building, a door opened and old george came hurriedly forth. stoner heard his adopted name called in a tone of strained anxiety. instantly he knew that something untoward had happened, and with a quick revulsion of outlook his sanctuary became in his eyes a place of peace and contentment, from which he dreaded to be driven. "master tom," said the old man in a hoarse whisper, "you must slip away quiet from here for a few days. michael ley is back in the village, an' he swears to shoot you if he can come across you. he'll do it, too, there's murder in the look of him. get away under cover of night, 'tis only for a week or so, he won't be here longer." "but where am i to go?" stammered stoner, who had caught the infection of the old man's obvious terror. "go right away along the coast to punchford and keep hid there. when michael's safe gone i'll ride the roan over to the green dragon at punchford; when you see the cob stabled at the green dragon 'tis a sign you may come back agen." "but--" began stoner hesitatingly. "'tis all right for money," said the other; "the old missus agrees you'd best do as i say, and she's given me this." the old man produced three sovereigns and some odd silver. stoner felt more of a cheat than ever as he stole away that night from the back gate of the farm with the old woman's money in his pocket. old george and bowker's pup stood watching him a silent farewell from the yard. he could scarcely fancy that he would ever come back, and he felt a throb of compunction for those two humble friends who would wait wistfully for his return. some day perhaps the real tom would come back, and there would be wild wonderment among those simple farm folks as to the identity of the shadowy guest they had harboured under their roof. for his own fate he felt no immediate anxiety; three pounds goes but little way in the world when there is nothing behind it, but to a man who has counted his exchequer in pennies it seems a good starting-point. fortune had done him a whimsically kind turn when last he trod these lanes as a hopeless adventurer, and there might yet be a chance of his finding some work and making a fresh start; as he got further from the farm his spirits rose higher. there was a sense of relief in regaining once more his lost identity and ceasing to be the uneasy ghost of another. he scarcely bothered to speculate about the implacable enemy who had dropped from nowhere into his life; since that life was now behind him one unreal item the more made little difference. for the first time for many months he began to hum a careless lighthearted refrain. then there stepped out from the shadow of an overhanging oak tree a man with a gun. there was no need to wonder who he might be; the moonlight falling on his white set face revealed a glare of human hate such as stoner in the ups and downs of his wanderings had never seen before. he sprang aside in a wild effort to break through the hedge that bordered the lane, but the tough branches held him fast. the hounds of fate had waited for him in those narrow lanes, and this time they were not to be denied. the recessional clovis sat in the hottest zone but two of a turkish bath, alternately inert in statuesque contemplation and rapidly manoeuvring a fountain-pen over the pages of a note-book. "don't interrupt me with your childish prattle," he observed to bertie van tahn, who had slung himself languidly into a neighbouring chair and looked conversationally inclined; "i'm writing deathless verse." bertie looked interested. "i say, what a boon you would be to portrait painters if you really got to be notorious as a poetry writer. if they couldn't get your likeness hung in the academy as 'clovis sangrail, esq., at work on his latest poem,' they could slip you in as a study of the nude or orpheus descending into jermyn street. they always complain that modern dress handicaps them, whereas a towel and a fountain-pen--" "it was mrs. packletide's suggestion that i should write this thing," said clovis, ignoring the bypaths to fame that bertie van tahn was pointing out to him. "you see, loona bimberton had a coronation ode accepted by the new infancy, a paper that has been started with the idea of making the new age seem elderly and hidebound. 'so clever of you, dear loona,' the packletide remarked when she had read it; 'of course, anyone could write a coronation ode, but no one else would have thought of doing it.' loona protested that these things were extremely difficult to do, and gave us to understand that they were more or less the province of a gifted few. now the packletide has been rather decent to me in many ways, a sort of financial ambulance, you know, that carries you off the field when you're hard hit, which is a frequent occurrence with me, and i've no use whatever for loona bimberton, so i chipped in and said i could turn out that sort of stuff by the square yard if i gave my mind to it. loona said i couldn't, and we got bets on, and between you and me i think the money's fairly safe. of course, one of the conditions of the wager is that the thing has to be published in something or other, local newspapers barred; but mrs. packletide has endeared herself by many little acts of thoughtfulness to the editor of the smoky chimney, so if i can hammer out anything at all approaching the level of the usual ode output we ought to be all right. so far i'm getting along so comfortably that i begin to be afraid that i must be one of the gifted few." "it's rather late in the day for a coronation ode, isn't it?" said bertie. "of course," said clovis; "this is going to be a durbar recessional, the sort of thing that you can keep by you for all time if you want to." "now i understand your choice of a place to write it in," said bertie van tahn, with the air of one who has suddenly unravelled a hitherto obscure problem; "you want to get the local temperature." "i came here to get freedom from the inane interruptions of the mentally deficient," said clovis, "but it seems i asked too much of fate." bertie van tahn prepared to use his towel as a weapon of precision, but reflecting that he had a good deal of unprotected coast-line himself, and that clovis was equipped with a fountain-pen as well as a towel, he relapsed pacifically into the depths of his chair. "may one hear extracts from the immortal work?" he asked. "i promise that nothing that i hear now shall prejudice me against borrowing a copy of the smoky chimney at the right moment." "it's rather like casting pearls into a trough," remarked clovis pleasantly, "but i don't mind reading you bits of it. it begins with a general dispersal of the durbar participants: 'back to their homes in himalayan heights the stale pale elephants of cutch behar roll like great galleons on a tideless sea--'" "i don't believe cutch behar is anywhere near the himalayan region," interrupted bertie. "you ought to have an atlas on hand when you do this sort of thing; and why stale and pale?" "after the late hours and the excitement, of course," said clovis; "and i said their homes were in the himalayas. you can have himalayan elephants in cutch behar, i suppose, just as you have irish-bred horses running at ascot." "you said they were going back to the himalayas," objected bertie. "well, they would naturally be sent home to recuperate. it's the usual thing out there to turn elephants loose in the hills, just as we put horses out to grass in this country." clovis could at least flatter himself that he had infused some of the reckless splendour of the east into his mendacity. "is it all going to be in blank verse?" asked the critic. "of course not; 'durbar' comes at the end of the fourth line." "that seems so cowardly; however, it explains why you pitched on cutch behar." "there is more connection between geographical place-names and poetical inspiration than is generally recognized; one of the chief reasons why there are so few really great poems about russia in our language is that you can't possibly get a rhyme to names like smolensk and tobolsk and minsk." clovis spoke with the authority of one who has tried. "of course, you could rhyme omsk with tomsk," he continued; "in fact, they seem to be there for that purpose, but the public wouldn't stand that sort of thing indefinitely." "the public will stand a good deal," said bertie malevolently, "and so small a proportion of it knows russian that you could always have an explanatory footnote asserting that the last three letters in smolensk are not pronounced. it's quite as believable as your statement about putting elephants out to grass in the himalayan range." "i've got rather a nice bit," resumed clovis with unruffled serenity, "giving an evening scene on the outskirts of a jungle village: 'where the coiled cobra in the gloaming gloats, and prowling panthers stalk the wary goats.'" "there is practically no gloaming in tropical countries," said bertie indulgently; "but i like the masterly reticence with which you treat the cobra's motive for gloating. the unknown is proverbially the uncanny. i can picture nervous readers of the smoky chimney keeping the light turned on in their bedrooms all night out of sheer sickening uncertainty as to what the cobra might have been gloating about." "cobras gloat naturally," said clovis, "just as wolves are always ravening from mere force of habit, even after they've hopelessly overeaten themselves. i've got a fine bit of colour painting later on," he added, "where i describe the dawn coming up over the brahma-putra river: 'the amber dawn-drenched east with sun-shafts kissed, stained sanguine apricot and amethyst, o'er the washed emerald of the mango groves hangs in a mist of opalescent mauves, while painted parrot-flights impinge the haze with scarlet, chalcedon and chrysoprase.'" "i've never seen the dawn come up over the brahma-putra river," said bertie, "so i can't say if it's a good description of the event, but it sounds more like an account of an extensive jewel robbery. anyhow, the parrots give a good useful touch of local colour. i suppose you've introduced some tigers into the scenery? an indian landscape would have rather a bare, unfinished look without a tiger or two in the middle distance." "i've got a hen-tiger somewhere in the poem," said clovis, hunting through his notes. "here she is: 'the tawny tigress 'mid the tangled teak drags to her purring cubs' enraptured ears the harsh death-rattle in the pea-fowl's beak, a jungle lullaby of blood and tears.'" bertie van tahn rose hurriedly from his recumbent position and made for the glass door leading into the next compartment. "i think your idea of home life in the jungle is perfectly horrid," he said. "the cobra was sinister enough, but the improvised rattle in the tiger-nursery is the limit. if you're going to make me turn hot and cold all over i may as well go into the steam room at once." "just listen to this line," said clovis; "it would make the reputation of any ordinary poet: 'and overhead the pendulum-patient punkah, parent of stillborn breeze.'" "most of your readers will think 'punkah' is a kind of iced drink or half-time at polo," said bertie, and disappeared into the steam. * * * * * the smoky chimney duly published the "recessional," but it proved to be its swan song, for the paper never attained to another issue. loona bimberton gave up her intention of attending the durbar and went into a nursing-home on the sussex downs. nervous breakdown after a particularly strenuous season was the usually accepted explanation, but there are three or four people who know that she never really recovered from the dawn breaking over the brahma-putra river. a matter of sentiment it was the eve of the great race, and scarcely a member of lady susan's house-party had as yet a single bet on. it was one of those unsatisfactory years when one horse held a commanding market position, not by reason of any general belief in its crushing superiority, but because it was extremely difficult to pitch on any other candidate to whom to pin ones faith. peradventure ii was the favourite, not in the sense of being a popular fancy, but by virtue of a lack of confidence in any one of his rather undistinguished rivals. the brains of clubland were much exercised in seeking out possible merit where none was very obvious to the naked intelligence, and the house-party at lady susan's was possessed by the same uncertainty and irresolution that infected wider circles. "it is just the time for bringing off a good coup," said bertie van tahn. "undoubtedly. but with what?" demanded clovis for the twentieth time. the women of the party were just as keenly interested in the matter, and just as helplessly perplexed; even the mother of clovis, who usually got good racing information from her dressmaker, confessed herself fancy free on this occasion. colonel drake, who was professor of military history at a minor cramming establishment, was the only person who had a definite selection for the event, but as his choice varied every three hours he was worse than useless as an inspired guide. the crowning difficulty of the problem was that it could only be fitfully and furtively discussed. lady susan disapproved of racing. she disapproved of many things; some people went as far as to say that she disapproved of most things. disapproval was to her what neuralgia and fancy needlework are to many other women. she disapproved of early morning tea and auction bridge, of ski-ing and the two-step, of the russian ballet and the chelsea arts club ball, of the french policy in morocco and the british policy everywhere. it was not that she was particularly strict or narrow in her views of life, but she had been the eldest sister of a large family of self-indulgent children, and her particular form of indulgence had consisted in openly disapproving of the foibles of the others. unfortunately the hobby had grown up with her. as she was rich, influential, and very, very kind, most people were content to count their early tea as well lost on her behalf. still, the necessity for hurriedly dropping the discussion of an enthralling topic, and suppressing all mention of it during her presence on the scene, was an affliction at a moment like the present, when time was slipping away and indecision was the prevailing note. after a lunch-time of rather strangled and uneasy conversation, clovis managed to get most of the party together at the further end of the kitchen gardens, on the pretext of admiring the himalayan pheasants. he had made an important discovery. motkin, the butler, who (as clovis expressed it) had grown prematurely grey in lady susan's service, added to his other excellent qualities an intelligent interest in matters connected with the turf. on the subject of the forthcoming race he was not illuminating, except in so far that he shared the prevailing unwillingness to see a winner in peradventure ii. but where he outshone all the members of the house-party was in the fact that he had a second cousin who was head stable-lad at a neighbouring racing establishment, and usually gifted with much inside information as to private form and possibilities. only the fact of her ladyship having taken it into her head to invite a house-party for the last week of may had prevented mr. motkin from paying a visit of consultation to his relative with respect to the big race; there was still time to cycle over if he could get leave of absence for the afternoon on some specious excuse. "let's jolly well hope he does," said bertie van tahn; "under the circumstances a second cousin is almost as useful as second sight." "that stable ought to know something, if knowledge is to be found anywhere," said mrs. packletide hopefully. "i expect you'll find he'll echo my fancy for motorboat," said colonel drake. at this moment the subject had to be hastily dropped. lady susan bore down upon them, leaning on the arm of clovis's mother, to whom she was confiding the fact that she disapproved of the craze for pekingese spaniels. it was the third thing she had found time to disapprove of since lunch, without counting her silent and permanent disapproval of the way clovis's mother did her hair. "we have been admiring the himalayan pheasants," said mrs. packletide suavely. "they went off to a bird-show at nottingham early this morning," said lady susan, with the air of one who disapproves of hasty and ill-considered lying. "their house, i mean; such perfect roosting arrangements, and all so clean," resumed mrs. packletide, with an increased glow of enthusiasm. the odious bertie van tahn was murmuring audible prayers for mrs. packletide's ultimate estrangement from the paths of falsehood. "i hope you don't mind dinner being a quarter of an hour late to-night," said lady susan; "motkin has had an urgent summons to go and see a sick relative this afternoon. he wanted to bicycle there, but i am sending him in the motor." "how very kind of you! of course we don't mind dinner being put off." the assurances came with unanimous and hearty sincerity. at the dinner-table that night an undercurrent of furtive curiosity directed itself towards motkin's impassive countenance. one or two of the guests almost expected to find a slip of paper concealed in their napkins, bearing the name of the second cousin's selection. they had not long to wait. as the butler went round with the murmured question, "sherry?" he added in an even lower tone the cryptic words, "better not." mrs. packletide gave a start of alarm, and refused the sherry; there seemed some sinister suggestion in the butler's warning, as though her hostess had suddenly become addicted to the borgia habit. a moment later the explanation flashed on her that "better not" was the name of one of the runners in the big race. clovis was already pencilling it on his cuff, and colonel drake, in his turn, was signalling to every one in hoarse whispers and dumb-show the fact that he had all along fancied "b.n." early next morning a sheaf of telegrams went townward, representing the market commands of the house-party and servants' hall. it was a wet afternoon, and most of lady susan's guests hung about the hall, waiting apparently for the appearance of tea, though it was scarcely yet due. the advent of a telegram quickened every one into a flutter of expectancy; the page who brought the telegram to clovis waited with unusual alertness to know if there might be an answer. clovis read the message and gave an exclamation of annoyance. "no bad news, i hope," said lady susan. every one else knew that the news was not good. "it's only the result of the derby," he blurted out; "sadowa won; an utter outsider." "sadowa!" exclaimed lady susan; "you don't say so! how remarkable! it's the first time i've ever backed a horse; in fact i disapprove of horse-racing, but just for once in a way i put money on this horse, and it's gone and won." "may i ask," said mrs. packletide, amid the general silence, "why you put your money on this particular horse. none of the sporting prophets mentioned it as having an outside chance." "well," said lady susan, "you may laugh at me, but it was the name that attracted me. you see, i was always mixed up with the franco-german war; i was married on the day that the war was declared, and my eldest child was born the day that peace was signed, so anything connected with the war has always interested me. and when i saw there was a horse running in the derby called after one of the battles in the franco-german war, i said i must put some money on it, for once in a way, though i disapprove of racing. and it's actually won." there was a general groan. no one groaned more deeply than the professor of military history. the secret sin of septimus brope "who and what is mr. brope?" demanded the aunt of clovis suddenly. mrs. riversedge, who had been snipping off the heads of defunct roses, and thinking of nothing in particular, sprang hurriedly to mental attention. she was one of those old-fashioned hostesses who consider that one ought to know something about one's guests, and that the something ought to be to their credit. "i believe he comes from leighton buzzard," she observed by way of preliminary explanation. "in these days of rapid and convenient travel," said clovis, who was dispersing a colony of green-fly with visitations of cigarette smoke, "to come from leighton buzzard does not necessarily denote any great strength of character. it might only mean mere restlessness. now if he had left it under a cloud, or as a protest against the incurable and heartless frivolity of its inhabitants, that would tell us something about the man and his mission in life." "what does he do?" pursued mrs. troyle magisterially. "he edits the cathedral monthly," said her hostess, "and he's enormously learned about memorial brasses and transepts and the influence of byzantine worship on modern liturgy, and all those sort of things. perhaps he is just a little bit heavy and immersed in one range of subjects, but it takes all sorts to make a good house-party, you know. you don't find him too dull, do you?" "dullness i could overlook," said the aunt of clovis; "what i cannot forgive is his making love to my maid." "my dear mrs. troyle," gasped the hostess, "what an extraordinary idea! i assure you mr. brope would not dream of doing such a thing." "his dreams are a matter of indifference to me; for all i care his slumbers may be one long indiscretion of unsuitable erotic advances, in which the entire servants' hall may be involved. but in his waking hours he shall not make love to my maid. it's no use arguing about it, i'm firm on the point." "but you must be mistaken," persisted mrs. riversedge; "mr. brope would be the last person to do such a thing." "he is the first person to do such a thing, as far as my information goes, and if i have any voice in the matter he certainly shall be the last. of course, i am not referring to respectably-intentioned lovers." "i simply cannot think that a man who writes so charmingly and informingly about transepts and byzantine influences would behave in such an unprincipled manner," said mrs. riversedge; "what evidence have you that he's doing anything of the sort? i don't want to doubt your word, of course, but we mustn't be too ready to condemn him unheard, must we?" "whether we condemn him or not, he has certainly not been unheard. he has the room next to my dressing-room, and on two occasions, when i dare say he thought i was absent, i have plainly heard him announcing through the wall, 'i love you, florrie.' those partition walls upstairs are very thin; one can almost hear a watch ticking in the next room." "is your maid called florence?" "her name is florinda." "what an extraordinary name to give a maid!" "i did not give it to her; she arrived in my service already christened." "what i mean is," said mrs. riversedge, "that when i get maids with unsuitable names i call them jane; they soon get used to it." "an excellent plan," said the aunt of clovis coldly; "unfortunately i have got used to being called jane myself. it happens to be my name." she cut short mrs. riversedge's flood of apologies by abruptly remarking: "the question is not whether i'm to call my maid florinda, but whether mr. brope is to be permitted to call her florrie. i am strongly of opinion than he shall not." "he may have been repeating the words of some song," said mrs. riversedge hopefully; "there are lots of those sorts of silly refrains with girls' names," she continued, turning to clovis as a possible authority on the subject. "'you mustn't call me mary--'" "i shouldn't think of doing so," clovis assured her; "in the first place, i've always understood that your name was henrietta; and then i hardly know you well enough to take such a liberty." "i mean there's a song with that refrain," hurriedly explained mrs. riversedge, "and there's 'rhoda, rhoda kept a pagoda,' and 'maisie is a daisy,' and heaps of others. certainly it doesn't sound like mr. brope to be singing such songs, but i think we ought to give him the benefit of the doubt." "i had already done so," said mrs. troyle, "until further evidence came my way." she shut her lips with the resolute finality of one who enjoys the blessed certainty of being implored to open them again. "further evidence!" exclaimed her hostess; "do tell me!" "as i was coming upstairs after breakfast mr. brope was just passing my room. in the most natural way in the world a piece of paper dropped out of a packet that he held in his hand and fluttered to the ground just at my door. i was going to call out to him 'you've dropped something,' and then for some reason i held back and didn't show myself till he was safely in his room. you see it occurred to me that i was very seldom in my room just at that hour, and that florinda was almost always there tidying up things about that time. so i picked up that innocent-looking piece of paper." mrs. troyle paused again, with the self-applauding air of one who has detected an asp lurking in an apple-charlotte. mrs. riversedge snipped vigorously at the nearest rose bush, incidentally decapitating a viscountess folkestone that was just coming into bloom. "what was on the paper?" she asked. "just the words in pencil, 'i love you, florrie,' and then underneath, crossed out with a faint line, but perfectly plain to read, 'meet me in the garden by the yew.'" "there is a yew tree at the bottom of the garden," admitted mrs. riversedge. "at any rate he appears to be truthful," commented clovis. "to think that a scandal of this sort should be going on under my roof!" said mrs. riversedge indignantly. "i wonder why it is that scandal seems so much worse under a roof," observed clovis; "i've always regarded it as a proof of the superior delicacy of the cat tribe that it conducts most of its scandals above the slates." "now i come to think of it," resumed mrs. riversedge, "there are things about mr. brope that i've never been able to account for. his income, for instance: he only gets two hundred a year as editor of the cathedral monthly, and i know that his people are quite poor, and he hasn't any private means. yet he manages to afford a flat somewhere in westminster, and he goes abroad to bruges and those sorts of places every year, and always dresses well, and gives quite nice luncheon-parties in the season. you can't do all that on two hundred a year, can you?" "does he write for any other papers?" queried mrs. troyle. "no, you see he specializes so entirely on liturgy and ecclesiastical architecture that his field is rather restricted. he once tried the sporting and dramatic with an article on church edifices in famous fox-hunting centres, but it wasn't considered of sufficient general interest to be accepted. no, i don't see how he can support himself in his present style merely by what he writes." "perhaps he sells spurious transepts to american enthusiasts," suggested clovis. "how could you sell a transept?" said mrs. riversedge; "such a thing would be impossible." "whatever he may do to eke out his income," interrupted mrs. troyle, "he is certainly not going to fill in his leisure moments by making love to my maid." "of course not," agreed her hostess; "that must be put a stop to at once. but i don't quite know what we ought to do." "you might put a barbed wire entanglement round the yew tree as a precautionary measure," said clovis. "i don't think that the disagreeable situation that has arisen is improved by flippancy," said mrs. riversedge; "a good maid is a treasure--" "i am sure i don't know what i should do without florinda," admitted mrs. troyle; "she understands my hair. i've long ago given up trying to do anything with it myself. i regard one's hair as i regard husbands: as long as one is seen together in public one's private divergences don't matter. surely that was the luncheon gong." septimus brope and clovis had the smoking-room to themselves after lunch. the former seemed restless and preoccupied, the latter quietly observant. "what is a lorry?" asked septimus suddenly; "i don't mean the thing on wheels, of course i know what that is, but isn't there a bird with a name like that, the larger form of a lorikeet?" "i fancy it's a lory, with one 'r,'" said clovis lazily, "in which case it's no good to you." septimus brope stared in some astonishment. "how do you mean, no good to me?" he asked, with more than a trace of uneasiness in his voice. "won't rhyme with florrie," explained clovis briefly. septimus sat upright in his chair, with unmistakable alarm on his face. "how did you find out? i mean how did you know i was trying to get a rhyme to florrie?" he asked sharply. "i didn't know," said clovis, "i only guessed. when you wanted to turn the prosaic lorry of commerce into a feathered poem flitting through the verdure of a tropical forest, i knew you must be working up a sonnet, and florrie was the only female name that suggested itself as rhyming with lorry." septimus still looked uneasy. "i believe you know more," he said. clovis laughed quietly, but said nothing. "how much do you know?" septimus asked desperately. "the yew tree in the garden," said clovis. "there! i felt certain i'd dropped it somewhere. but you must have guessed something before. look here, you have surprised my secret. you won't give me away, will you? it is nothing to be ashamed of, but it wouldn't do for the editor of the cathedral monthly to go in openly for that sort of thing, would it?" "well, i suppose not," admitted clovis. "you see," continued septimus, "i get quite a decent lot of money out of it. i could never live in the style i do on what i get as editor of the cathedral monthly." clovis was even more startled than septimus had been earlier in the conversation, but he was better skilled in repressing surprise. "do you mean to say you get money out of--florrie?" he asked. "not out of florrie, as yet," said septimus; "in fact, i don't mind saying that i'm having a good deal of trouble over florrie. but there are a lot of others." clovis's cigarette went out. "this is very interesting," he said slowly. and then, with septimus brope's next words, illumination dawned on him. "there are heaps of others; for instance: 'cora with the lips of coral, you and i will never quarrel.' that was one of my earliest successes, and it still brings me in royalties. and then there is--'esmeralda, when i first beheld her,' and 'fair teresa, how i love to please her,' both of those have been fairly popular. and there is one rather dreadful one," continued septimus, flushing deep carmine, "which has brought me in more money than any of the others: 'lively little lucie with her naughty nez retroussé.' of course, i loathe the whole lot of them; in fact, i'm rapidly becoming something of a woman-hater under their influence, but i can't afford to disregard the financial aspect of the matter. and at the same time you can understand that my position as an authority on ecclesiastical architecture and liturgical subjects would be weakened, if not altogether ruined, if it once got about that i was the author of 'cora with the lips of coral' and all the rest of them." clovis had recovered sufficiently to ask in a sympathetic, if rather unsteady, voice what was the special trouble with "florrie." "i can't get her into lyric shape, try as i will," said septimus mournfully. "you see, one has to work in a lot of sentimental, sugary compliment with a catchy rhyme, and a certain amount of personal biography or prophecy. they've all of them got to have a long string of past successes recorded about them, or else you've got to foretell blissful things about them and yourself in the future. for instance, there is: 'dainty little girlie mavis, she is such a rara avis, all the money i can save is all to be for mavis mine.' it goes to a sickening namby-pamby waltz tune, and for months nothing else was sung and hummed in blackpool and other popular centres." this time clovis's self-control broke down badly. "please excuse me," he gurgled, "but i can't help it when i remember the awful solemnity of that article of yours that you so kindly read us last night, on the coptic church in its relation to early christian worship." septimus groaned. "you see how it would be," he said; "as soon as people knew me to be the author of that miserable sentimental twaddle, all respect for the serious labours of my life would be gone. i dare say i know more about memorial brasses than anyone living, in fact i hope one day to publish a monograph on the subject, but i should be pointed out everywhere as the man whose ditties were in the mouths of nigger minstrels along the entire coast-line of our island home. can you wonder that i positively hate florrie all the time that i'm trying to grind out sugar-coated rhapsodies about her." "why not give free play to your emotions, and be brutally abusive? an uncomplimentary refrain would have an instant success as a novelty if you were sufficiently outspoken." "i've never thought of that," said septimus, "and i'm afraid i couldn't break away from the habit of fulsome adulation and suddenly change my style." "you needn't change your style in the least," said clovis; "merely reverse the sentiment and keep to the inane phraseology of the thing. if you'll do the body of the song i'll knock off the refrain, which is the thing that principally matters, i believe. i shall charge half-shares in the royalties, and throw in my silence as to your guilty secret. in the eyes of the world you shall still be the man who has devoted his life to the study of transepts and byzantine ritual; only sometimes, in the long winter evenings, when the wind howls drearily down the chimney and the rain beats against the windows, i shall think of you as the author of 'cora with the lips of coral.' of course, if in sheer gratitude at my silence you like to take me for a much-needed holiday to the adriatic or somewhere equally interesting, paying all expenses, i shouldn't dream of refusing." later in the afternoon clovis found his aunt and mrs. riversedge indulging in gentle exercise in the jacobean garden. "i've spoken to mr. brope about f.," he announced. "how splendid of you! what did he say?" came in a quick chorus from the two ladies. "he was quite frank and straightforward with me when he saw that i knew his secret," said clovis, "and it seems that his intentions were quite serious, if slightly unsuitable. i tried to show him the impracticability of the course that he was following. he said he wanted to be understood, and he seemed to think that florinda would excel in that requirement, but i pointed out that there were probably dozens of delicately nurtured, pure-hearted young english girls who would be capable of understanding him, while florinda was the only person in the world who understood my aunt's hair. that rather weighed with him, for he's not really a selfish animal, if you take him in the right way, and when i appealed to the memory of his happy childish days, spent amid the daisied fields of leighton buzzard (i suppose daisies do grow there), he was obviously affected. anyhow, he gave me his word that he would put florinda absolutely out of his mind, and he has agreed to go for a short trip abroad as the best distraction for his thoughts. i am going with him as far as ragusa. if my aunt should wish to give me a really nice scarf-pin (to be chosen by myself), as a small recognition of the very considerable service i have done her, i shouldn't dream of refusing. i'm not one of those who think that because one is abroad one can go about dressed anyhow." a few weeks later in blackpool and places where they sing, the following refrain held undisputed sway: "how you bore me, florrie, with those eyes of vacant blue; you'll be very sorry, florrie, if i marry you. though i'm easygoin', florrie, this i swear is true, i'll throw you down a quarry, florrie, if i marry you." "ministers of grace" although he was scarcely yet out of his teens, the duke of scaw was already marked out as a personality widely differing from others of his caste and period. not in externals; therein he conformed correctly to type. his hair was faintly reminiscent of houbigant, and at the other end of him his shoes exhaled the right soupÇon of harness-room; his socks compelled one's attention without losing one's respect; and his attitude in repose had just that suggestion of whistler's mother, so becoming in the really young. it was within that the trouble lay, if trouble it could be accounted, which marked him apart from his fellows. the duke was religious. not in any of the ordinary senses of the word; he took small heed of high church or evangelical standpoints, he stood outside of all the movements and missions and cults and crusades of the day, uncaring and uninterested. yet in a mystical-practical way of his own, which had served him unscathed and unshaken through the fickle years of boyhood, he was intensely and intensively religious. his family were naturally, though unobtrusively, distressed about it. "i am so afraid it may affect his bridge," said his mother. the duke sat in a pennyworth of chair in st. james's park, listening to the pessimisms of belturbet, who reviewed the existing political situation from the gloomiest of standpoints. "where i think you political spade-workers are so silly," said the duke, "is in the misdirection of your efforts. you spend thousands of pounds of money, and heaven knows how much dynamic force of brain power and personal energy, in trying to elect or displace this or that man, whereas you could gain your ends so much more simply by making use of the men as you find them. if they don't suit your purpose as they are, transform them into something more satisfactory." "do you refer to hypnotic suggestion?" asked belturbet, with the air of one who is being trifled with. "nothing of the sort. do you understand what i mean by the verb to koepenick? that is to say, to replace an authority by a spurious imitation that would carry just as much weight for the moment as the displaced original; the advantage, of course, being that the koepenick replica would do what you wanted, whereas the original does what seems best in its own eyes." "i suppose every public man has a double, if not two or three," said belturbet; "but it would be a pretty hard task to koepenick a whole bunch of them and keep the originals out of the way." "there have been instances in european history of highly successful koepenickery," said the duke dreamily. "oh, of course, there have been false dimitris and perkin warbecks, who imposed on the world for a time," assented belturbet, "but they personated people who were dead or safely out of the way. that was a comparatively simple matter. it would be far easier to pass oneself of as dead hannibal than as living haldane, for instance." "i was thinking," said the duke, "of the most famous case of all, the angel who koepenicked king robert of sicily with such brilliant results. just imagine what an advantage it would be to have angels deputizing, to use a horrible but convenient word, for quinston and lord hugo sizzle, for example. how much smoother the parliamentary machine would work than at present!" "now you're talking nonsense," said belturbet; "angels don't exist nowadays, at least, not in that way, so what is the use of dragging them into a serious discussion? it's merely silly." "if you talk to me like that i shall just do it," said the duke. "do what?" asked belturbet. there were times when his young friend's uncanny remarks rather frightened him. "i shall summon angelic forces to take over some of the more troublesome personalities of our public life, and i shall send the ousted originals into temporary retirement in suitable animal organisms. it's not every one who would have the knowledge or the power necessary to bring such a thing off--" "oh, stop that inane rubbish," said belturbet angrily; "it's getting wearisome. here's quinston coming," he added, as there approached along the almost deserted path the well-known figure of a young cabinet minister, whose personality evoked a curious mixture of public interest and unpopularity. "hurry along, my dear man," said the young duke to the minister, who had given him a condescending nod; "your time is running short," he continued in a provocative strain; "the whole inept crowd of you will shortly be swept away into the world's waste-paper basket." "you poor little strawberry-leafed nonentity," said the minister, checking himself for a moment in his stride and rolling out his words spasmodically; "who is going to sweep us away, i should like to know? the voting masses are on our side, and all the ability and administrative talent is on our side too. no power of earth or heaven is going to move us from our place till we choose to quit it. no power of earth or--" belturbet saw, with bulging eyes, a sudden void where a moment earlier had been a cabinet minister; a void emphasized rather than relieved by the presence of a puffed-out bewildered-looking sparrow, which hopped about for a moment in a dazed fashion and then fell to a violent cheeping and scolding. "if we could understand sparrow-language," said the duke serenely, "i fancy we should hear something infinitely worse than 'strawberry-leafed nonentity.'" "but good heavens, eugène," said belturbet hoarsely, "what has become of-- why, there he is! how on earth did he get there?" and he pointed with a shaking finger towards a semblance of the vanished minister, which approached once more along the unfrequented path. the duke laughed. "it is quinston to all outward appearance," he said composedly, "but i fancy you will find, on closer investigation, that it is an angel understudy of the real article." the angel-quinston greeted them with a friendly smile. "how beastly happy you two look sitting there!" he said wistfully. "i don't suppose you'd care to change places with poor little us," replied the duke chaffingly. "how about poor little me?" said the angel modestly. "i've got to run about behind the wheels of popularity, like a spotted dog behind a carriage, getting all the dust and trying to look as if i was an important part of the machine. i must seem a perfect fool to you onlookers sometimes." "i think you are a perfect angel," said the duke. the angel-that-had-been-quinston smiled and passed on his way, pursued across the breadth of the horse guards parade by a tiresome little sparrow that cheeped incessantly and furiously at him. "that's only the beginning," said the duke complacently; "i've made it operative with all of them, irrespective of parties." belturbet made no coherent reply; he was engaged in feeling his pulse. the duke fixed his attention with some interest on a black swan that was swimming with haughty, stiff-necked aloofness amid the crowd of lesser water-fowl that dotted the ornamental water. for all its pride of bearing, something was evidently ruffling and enraging it; in its way it seemed as angry and amazed as the sparrow had been. at the same moment a human figure came along the pathway. belturbet looked up apprehensively. "kedzon," he whispered briefly. "an angel-kedzon, if i am not mistaken," said the duke. "look, he is talking affably to a human being. that settles it." a shabbily dressed lounger had accosted the man who had been viceroy in the splendid east, and who still reflected in his mien some of the cold dignity of the himalayan snow-peaks. "could you tell me, sir, if them white birds is storks or halbatrosses? i had an argyment--" the cold dignity thawed at once into genial friendliness. "those are pelicans, my dear sir. are you interested in birds? if you would join me in a bun and a glass of milk at the stall yonder, i could tell you some interesting things about indian birds. right oh! now the hill-mynah, for instance--" the two men disappeared in the direction of the bun stall, chatting volubly as they went, and shadowed from the other side of the railed enclosure by a black swan, whose temper seemed to have reached the limit of inarticulate rage. belturbet gazed in an open-mouthed wonder after the retreating couple, then transferred his attention to the infuriated swan, and finally turned with a look of scared comprehension at his young friend lolling unconcernedly in his chair. there was no longer any room to doubt what was happening. the "silly talk" had been translated into terrifying action. "i think a prairie oyster on the top of a stiffish brandy-and-soda might save my reason," said belturbet weakly, as he limped towards his club. it was late in the day before he could steady his nerves sufficiently to glance at the evening papers. the parliamentary report proved significant reading, and confirmed the fears that he had been trying to shake off. mr. ap dave, the chancellor, whose lively controversial style endeared him to his supporters and embittered him, politically speaking, to his opponents, had risen in his place to make an unprovoked apology for having alluded in a recent speech to certain protesting taxpayers as "skulkers." he had realized on reflection that they were in all probability perfectly honest in their inability to understand certain legal technicalities of the new finance laws. the house had scarcely recovered from this sensation when lord hugo sizzle caused a further flutter of astonishment by going out of his way to indulge in an outspoken appreciation of the fairness, loyalty, and straightforwardness not only of the chancellor, but of all the members of the cabinet. a wit had gravely suggested moving the adjournment of the house in view of the unexpected circumstances that had arisen. belturbet anxiously skimmed over a further item of news printed immediately below the parliamentary report: "wild cat found in an exhausted condition in palace yard." "now i wonder which of them--" he mused, and then an appalling idea came to him. "supposing he's put them both into the same beast!" he hurriedly ordered another prairie oyster. belturbet was known in his club as a strictly moderate drinker; his consumption of alcoholic stimulants that day gave rise to considerable comment. the events of the next few days were piquantly bewildering to the world at large; to belturbet, who knew dimly what was happening, the situation was fraught with recurring alarms. the old saying that in politics it's the unexpected that always happens received a justification that it had hitherto somewhat lacked, and the epidemic of startling personal changes of front was not wholly confined to the realm of actual politics. the eminent chocolate magnate, sadbury, whose antipathy to the turf and everything connected with it was a matter of general knowledge, had evidently been replaced by an angel-sadbury, who proceeded to electrify the public by blossoming forth as an owner of race-horses, giving as a reason his matured conviction that the sport was, after all, one which gave healthy open-air recreation to large numbers of people drawn from all classes of the community, and incidentally stimulated the important industry of horse-breeding. his colours, chocolate and cream hoops spangled with pink stars, promised to become as popular as any on the turf. at the same time, in order to give effect to his condemnation of the evils resulting from the spread of the gambling habit among wage-earning classes, who lived for the most part from hand to mouth, he suppressed all betting news and tipsters' forecasts in the popular evening paper that was under his control. his action received instant recognition and support from the angel-proprietor of the evening views, the principal rival evening halfpenny paper, who forthwith issued an ukase decreeing a similar ban on betting news, and in a short while the regular evening press was purged of all mention of starting prices and probable winners. a considerable drop in the circulation of all these papers was the immediate result, accompanied, of course, by a falling-off in advertisement value, while a crop of special betting broadsheets sprang up to supply the newly-created want. under their influence the betting habit became if anything rather more widely diffused than before. the duke had possibly overlooked the futility of koepenicking the leaders of the nation with excellently intentioned angel under-studies, while leaving the mass of the people in its original condition. further sensation and dislocation was caused in the press world by the sudden and dramatic rapprochement which took place between the angel-editor of the scrutator and the angel-editor of the anglian review, who not only ceased to criticize and disparage the tone and tendencies of each other's publication, but agreed to exchange editorships for alternating periods. here again public support was not on the side of the angels; constant readers of the scrutator complained bitterly of the strong meat which was thrust upon them at fitful intervals in place of the almost vegetarian diet to which they had become confidently accustomed; even those who were not mentally averse to strong meat as a separate course were pardonably annoyed at being supplied with it in the pages of the scrutator. to be suddenly confronted with a pungent herring salad when one had attuned oneself to tea and toast, or to discover a richly truffled segment of patÉ de foie dissembled in a bowl of bread and milk, would be an experience that might upset the equanimity of the most placidly disposed mortal. an equally vehement outcry arose from the regular subscribers of the anglian review who protested against being served from time to time with literary fare which no young person of sixteen could possibly want to devour in secret. to take infinite precautions, they complained, against the juvenile perusal of such eminently innocuous literature was like reading the riot act on an uninhabited island. both reviews suffered a serious falling-off in circulation and influence. peace hath its devastations as well as war. the wives of noted public men formed another element of discomfiture which the young duke had almost entirely left out of his calculations. it is sufficiently embarrassing to keep abreast of the possible wobblings and veerings-round of a human husband, who, from the strength or weakness of his personal character, may leap over or slip through the barriers which divide the parties; for this reason a merciful politician usually marries late in life, when he has definitely made up his mind on which side he wishes his wife to be socially valuable. but these trials were as nothing compared to the bewilderment caused by the angel-husbands who seemed in some cases to have revolutionized their outlook on life in the interval between breakfast and dinner, without premonition or preparation of any kind, and apparently without realizing the least need for subsequent explanation. the temporary peace which brooded over the parliamentary situation was by no means reproduced in the home circles of the leading statesmen and politicians. it had been frequently and extensively remarked of mrs. exe that she would try the patience of an angel; now the tables were reversed, and she unwittingly had an opportunity for discovering that the capacity for exasperating behaviour was not all on one side. and then, with the introduction of the navy estimates, parliamentary peace suddenly dissolved. it was the old quarrel between ministers and the opposition as to the adequacy or the reverse of the government's naval programme. the angel-quinston and the angel-hugo-sizzle contrived to keep the debates free from personalities and pinpricks, but an enormous sensation was created when the elegant lackadaisical halfan halfour threatened to bring up fifty thousand stalwarts to wreck the house if the estimates were not forthwith revised on a two-power basis. it was a memorable scene when he rose in his place, in response to the scandalized shouts of his opponents, and thundered forth, "gentlemen, i glory in the name of apache." belturbet, who had made several fruitless attempts to ring up his young friend since the fateful morning in st. james's park, ran him to earth one afternoon at his club, smooth and spruce and unruffled as ever. "tell me, what on earth have you turned cocksley coxon into?" belturbet asked anxiously, mentioning the name of one of the pillars of unorthodoxy in the anglican church. "i don't fancy he believes in angels, and if he finds an angel preaching orthodox sermons from his pulpit while he's been turned into a fox-terrier, he'll develop rabies in less than no time." "i rather think it was a fox-terrier," said the duke lazily. belturbet groaned heavily, and sank into a chair. "look here, eugène," he whispered hoarsely, having first looked well round to see that no one was within hearing range, "you've got to stop it. consols are jumping up and down like bronchos, and that speech of halfour's in the house last night has simply startled everybody out of their wits. and then on the top of it, thistlebery--" "what has he been saying?" asked the duke quickly. "nothing. that's just what's so disturbing. every one thought it was simply inevitable that he should come out with a great epoch-making speech at this juncture, and i've just seen on the tape that he has refused to address any meetings at present, giving as a reason his opinion that something more than mere speech-making was wanted." the young duke said nothing, but his eyes shone with quiet exultation. "it's so unlike thistlebery," continued belturbet; "at least," he said suspiciously, "it's unlike the real thistlebery--" "the real thistlebery is flying about somewhere as a vocally-industrious lapwing," said the duke calmly; "i expect great things of the angel-thistlebery," he added. at this moment there was a magnetic stampede of members towards the lobby, where the tape-machines were ticking out some news of more than ordinary import. "coup d'État in the north. thistlebery seizes edinburgh castle. threatens civil war unless government expands naval programme." in the babel which ensued belturbet lost sight of his young friend. for the best part of the afternoon he searched one likely haunt after another, spurred on by the sensational posters which the evening papers were displaying broadcast over the west end. "general baden-baden mobilizes boy-scouts. another coup d'État feared. is windsor castle safe?" this was one of the earlier posters, and was followed by one of even more sinister purport: "will the test-match have to be postponed?" it was this disquietening question which brought home the real seriousness of the situation to the london public, and made people wonder whether one might not pay too high a price for the advantages of party government. belturbet, questing round in the hope of finding the originator of the trouble, with a vague idea of being able to induce him to restore matters to their normal human footing, came across an elderly club acquaintance who dabbled extensively in some of the more sensitive market securities. he was pale with indignation, and his pallor deepened as a breathless newsboy dashed past with a poster inscribed: "premier's constituency harried by moss-troopers. halfour sends encouraging telegram to rioters. letchworth garden city threatens reprisals. foreigners taking refuge in embassies and national liberal club." "this is devils' work!" he said angrily. belturbet knew otherwise. at the bottom of st. james's street a newspaper motor-cart, which had just come rapidly along pall mall, was surrounded by a knot of eagerly talking people, and for the first time that afternoon belturbet heard expressions of relief and congratulation. it displayed a placard with the welcome announcement: "crisis ended. government gives way. important expansion of naval programme." there seemed to be no immediate necessity for pursuing the quest of the errant duke, and belturbet turned to make his way homeward through st. james's park. his mind, attuned to the alarums and excursions of the afternoon, became dimly aware that some excitement of a detached nature was going on around him. in spite of the political ferment which reigned in the streets, quite a large crowd had gathered to watch the unfolding of a tragedy that had taken place on the shore of the ornamental water. a large black swan, which had recently shown signs of a savage and dangerous disposition, had suddenly attacked a young gentleman who was walking by the water's edge, dragged him down under the surface, and drowned him before anyone could come to his assistance. at the moment when belturbet arrived on the spot several park-keepers were engaged in lifting the corpse into a punt. belturbet stooped to pick up a hat that lay near the scene of the struggle. it was a smart soft felt hat, faintly reminiscent of houbigant. more than a month elapsed before belturbet had sufficiently recovered from his attack of nervous prostration to take an interest once more in what was going on in the world of politics. the parliamentary session was still in full swing, and a general election was looming in the near future. he called for a batch of morning papers and skimmed rapidly through the speeches of the chancellor, quinston, and other ministerial leaders, as well as those of the principal opposition champions, and then sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief. evidently the spell had ceased to act after the tragedy which had overtaken its invoker. there was no trace of angel anywhere. the remoulding of groby lington "a man is known by the company he keeps." in the morning-room of his sister-in-law's house groby lington fidgeted away the passing minutes with the demure restlessness of advanced middle age. about a quarter of an hour would have to elapse before it would be time to say his good-byes and make his way across the village green to the station, with a selected escort of nephews and nieces. he was a good-natured, kindly dispositioned man, and in theory he was delighted to pay periodical visits to the wife and children of his dead brother william; in practice, he infinitely preferred the comfort and seclusion of his own house and garden, and the companionship of his books and his parrot to these rather meaningless and tiresome incursions into a family circle with which he had little in common. it was not so much the spur of his own conscience that drove him to make the occasional short journey by rail to visit his relatives, as an obedient concession to the more insistent but vicarious conscience of his brother, colonel john, who was apt to accuse him of neglecting poor old william's family. groby usually forgot or ignored the existence of his neighbour kinsfolk until such time as he was threatened with a visit from the colonel, when he would put matters straight by a hurried pilgrimage across the few miles of intervening country to renew his acquaintance with the young people and assume a kindly if rather forced interest in the well-being of his sister-in-law. on this occasion he had cut matters so fine between the timing of his exculpatory visit and the coming of colonel john, that he would scarcely be home before the latter was due to arrive. anyhow, groby had got it over, and six or seven months might decently elapse before he need again sacrifice his comforts and inclinations on the altar of family sociability. he was inclined to be distinctly cheerful as he hopped about the room, picking up first one object, then another, and subjecting each to a brief bird-like scrutiny. presently his cheerful listlessness changed sharply to an attitude of vexed attention. in a scrap-book of drawings and caricatures belonging to one of his nephews he had come across an unkindly clever sketch of himself and his parrot, solemnly confronting each other in postures of ridiculous gravity and repose, and bearing a likeness to one another that the artist had done his utmost to accentuate. after the first flush of annoyance had passed away, groby laughed good-naturedly and admitted to himself the cleverness of the drawing. then the feeling of resentment repossessed him, resentment not against the caricaturist who had embodied the idea in pen and ink, but against the possible truth that the idea represented. was it really the case that people grew in time to resemble the animals they kept as pets, and had he unconsciously become more and more like the comically solemn bird that was his constant companion? groby was unusually silent as he walked to the train with his escort of chattering nephews and nieces, and during the short railway journey his mind was more and more possessed with an introspective conviction that he had gradually settled down into a sort of parrot-like existence. what, after all, did his daily routine amount to but a sedate meandering and pecking and perching, in his garden, among his fruit trees, in his wicker chair on the lawn, or by the fireside in his library? and what was the sum total of his conversation with chance-encountered neighbours? "quite a spring day, isn't it?" "it looks as though we should have some rain." "glad to see you about again; you must take care of yourself." "how the young folk shoot up, don't they?" strings of stupid, inevitable perfunctory remarks came to his mind, remarks that were certainly not the mental exchange of human intelligences, but mere empty parrot-talk. one might really just as well salute one's acquaintances with "pretty polly. puss, puss, miaow!" groby began to fume against the picture of himself as a foolish feathered fowl which his nephew's sketch had first suggested, and which his own accusing imagination was filling in with such unflattering detail. "i'll give the beastly bird away," he said resentfully; though he knew at the same time that he would do no such thing. it would look so absurd after all the years that he had kept the parrot and made much of it suddenly to try and find it a new home. "has my brother arrived?" he asked of the stable-boy, who had come with the pony-carriage to meet him. "yessir, came down by the two-fifteen. your parrot's dead." the boy made the latter announcement with the relish which his class finds in proclaiming a catastrophe. "my parrot dead?" said groby. "what caused its death?" "the ipe," said the boy briefly. "the ipe?" queried groby. "whatever's that?" "the ipe what the colonel brought down with him," came the rather alarming answer. "do you mean to say my brother is ill?" asked groby. "is it something infectious?" "th' colonel's so well as ever he was," said the boy; and as no further explanation was forthcoming groby had to possess himself in mystified patience till he reached home. his brother was waiting for him at the hall door. "have you heard about the parrot?" he asked at once. "'pon my soul i'm awfully sorry. the moment he saw the monkey i'd brought down as a surprise for you he squawked out 'rats to you, sir!' and the blessed monkey made one spring at him, got him by the neck and whirled him round like a rattle. he was as dead as mutton by the time i'd got him out of the little beggar's paws. always been such a friendly little beast, the monkey has, should never have thought he'd got it in him to see red like that. can't tell you how sorry i feel about it, and now of course you'll hate the sight of the monkey." "not at all," said groby sincerely. a few hours earlier the tragic end which had befallen his parrot would have presented itself to him as a calamity; now it arrived almost as a polite attention on the part of the fates. "the bird was getting old, you know," he went on, in explanation of his obvious lack of decent regret at the loss of his pet. "i was really beginning to wonder if it was an unmixed kindness to let him go on living till he succumbed to old age. what a charming little monkey!" he added, when he was introduced to the culprit. the new-comer was a small, long-tailed monkey from the western hemisphere, with a gentle, half-shy, half-trusting manner that instantly captured groby's confidence; a student of simian character might have seen in the fitful red light in its eyes some indication of the underlying temper which the parrot had so rashly put to the test with such dramatic consequences for itself. the servants, who had come to regard the defunct bird as a regular member of the household, and one who gave really very little trouble, were scandalized to find his bloodthirsty aggressor installed in his place as an honoured domestic pet. "a nasty heathen ipe what don't never say nothing sensible and cheerful, same as pore polly did," was the unfavourable verdict of the kitchen quarters. * * * * * one sunday morning, some twelve or fourteen months after the visit of colonel john and the parrot-tragedy, miss wepley sat decorously in her pew in the parish church, immediately in front of that occupied by groby lington. she was, comparatively speaking a new-comer in the neighbourhood, and was not personally acquainted with her fellow-worshipper in the seat behind, but for the past two years the sunday morning service had brought them regularly within each other's sphere of consciousness. without having paid particular attention to the subject, she could probably have given a correct rendering of the way in which he pronounced certain words occurring in the responses, while he was well aware of the trivial fact that, in addition to her prayer book and handkerchief, a small paper packet of throat lozenges always reposed on the seat beside her. miss wepley rarely had recourse to her lozenges, but in case she should be taken with a fit of coughing she wished to have the emergency duly provided for. on this particular sunday the lozenges occasioned an unusual diversion in the even tenor of her devotions, far more disturbing to her personally than a prolonged attack of coughing would have been. as she rose to take part in the singing of the first hymn, she fancied that she saw the hand of her neighbour, who was alone in the pew behind her, make a furtive downward grab at the packet lying on the seat; on turning sharply round she found that the packet had certainly disappeared, but mr. lington was to all outward seeming serenely intent on his hymnbook. no amount of interrogatory glaring on the part of the despoiled lady could bring the least shade of conscious guilt to his face. "worse was to follow," as she remarked afterwards to a scandalized audience of friends and acquaintances. "i had scarcely knelt in prayer when a lozenge, one of my lozenges, came whizzing into the pew, just under my nose. i turned round and stared, but mr. lington had his eyes closed and his lips moving as though engaged in prayer. the moment i resumed my devotions another lozenge came rattling in, and then another. i took no notice for awhile, and then turned round suddenly just as the dreadful man was about to flip another one at me. he hastily pretended to be turning over the leaves of his book, but i was not to be taken in that time. he saw that he had been discovered and no more lozenges came. of course i have changed my pew." "no gentleman would have acted in such a disgraceful manner," said one of her listeners; "and yet mr. lington used to be so respected by everybody. he seems to have behaved like a little ill-bred schoolboy." "he behaved like a monkey," said miss wepley. her unfavourable verdict was echoed in other quarters about the same time. groby lington had never been a hero in the eyes of his personal retainers, but he had shared the approval accorded to his defunct parrot as a cheerful, well-dispositioned body, who gave no particular trouble. of late months, however, this character would hardly have been endorsed by the members of his domestic establishment. the stolid stable-boy, who had first announced to him the tragic end of his feathered pet, was one of the first to give voice to the murmurs of disapproval which became rampant and general in the servants' quarters, and he had fairly substantial grounds for his disaffection. in a burst of hot summer weather he had obtained permission to bathe in a modest-sized pond in the orchard, and thither one afternoon groby had bent his steps, attracted by loud imprecations of anger mingled with the shriller chattering of monkey-language. he beheld his plump diminutive servitor, clad only in a waistcoat and a pair of socks, storming ineffectually at the monkey which was seated on a low branch of an apple tree, abstractedly fingering the remainder of the boy's outfit, which he had removed just out of has reach. "the ipe's been an' took my clothes;" whined the boy, with the passion of his kind for explaining the obvious. his incomplete toilet effect rather embarrassed him, but he hailed the arrival of groby with relief, as promising moral and material support in his efforts to get back his raided garments. the monkey had ceased its defiant jabbering, and doubtless with a little coaxing from its master it would hand back the plunder. "if i lift you up," suggested groby, "you will just be able to reach the clothes." the boy agreed, and groby clutched him firmly by the waistcoat, which was about all there was to catch hold of, and lifted, him clear of the ground. then, with a deft swing he sent him crashing into a clump of tall nettles, which closed receptively round him. the victim had not been brought up in a school which teaches one to repress one's emotions--if a fox had attempted to gnaw at his vitals he would have flown to complain to the nearest hunt committee rather than have affected an attitude of stoical indifference. on this occasion the volume of sound which he produced under the stimulus of pain and rage and astonishment was generous and sustained, but above his bellowings he could distinctly hear the triumphant chattering of his enemy in the tree, and a peal of shrill laughter from groby. when the boy had finished an improvised st. vitus caracole, which would have brought him fame on the boards of the coliseum, and which indeed met with ready appreciation and applause from the retreating figure of groby lington, he found that the monkey had also discreetly retired, while his clothes were scattered on the grass at the foot of the tree. "they'm two ipes, that's what they be," he muttered angrily, and if his judgment was severe, at least he spoke under the sting of considerable provocation. it was a week or two later that the parlour-maid gave notice, having been terrified almost to tears by an outbreak of sudden temper on the part of the master anent some underdone cutlets. "'e gnashed 'is teeth at me, 'e did reely," she informed a sympathetic kitchen audience. "i'd like to see 'im talk like that to me, i would," said the cook defiantly, but her cooking from that moment showed a marked improvement. it was seldom that groby lington so far detached himself from his accustomed habits as to go and form one of a house-party, and he was not a little piqued that mrs. glenduff should have stowed him away in the musty old georgian wing of the house, in the next room, moreover, to leonard spabbink, the eminent pianist. "he plays liszt like an angel," had been the hostess's enthusiastic testimonial. "he may play him like a trout for all i care," had been groby's mental comment, "but i wouldn't mind betting that he snores. he's just the sort and shape that would. and if i hear him snoring through those ridiculous thin-panelled walls, there'll be trouble." he did, and there was. groby stood it for about two and a quarter minutes, and then made his way through the corridor into spabbink's room. under groby's vigorous measures the musician's flabby, redundant figure sat up in bewildered semi-consciousness like an ice-cream that has been taught to beg. groby prodded him into complete wakefulness, and then the pettish self-satisfied pianist fairly lost his temper and slapped his domineering visitant on the hand. in another moment spabbink was being nearly stifled and very effectually gagged by a pillow-case tightly bound round his head, while his plump pyjama'd limbs were hauled out of bed and smacked, pinched, kicked, and bumped in a catch-as-catch-can progress across the floor, towards the flat shallow bath in whose utterly inadequate depths groby perseveringly strove to drown him. for a few moments the room was almost in darkness: groby's candle had overturned in an early stage of the scuffle, and its flicker scarcely reached to the spot where splashings, smacks, muffled cries, and splutterings, and a chatter of ape-like rage told of the struggle that was being waged round the shores of the bath. a few instants later the one-sided combat was brightly lit up by the flare of blazing curtains and rapidly kindling panelling. when the hastily aroused members of the house-party stampeded out on to the lawn, the georgian wing was well alight and belching forth masses of smoke, but some moments elapsed before groby appeared with the half-drowned pianist in his arms, having just bethought him of the superior drowning facilities offered by the pond at the bottom of the lawn. the cool night air sobered his rage, and when he found that he was innocently acclaimed as the heroic rescuer of poor leonard spabbink, and loudly commended for his presence of mind in tying a wet cloth round his head to protect him from smoke suffocation, he accepted the situation, and subsequently gave a graphic account of his finding the musician asleep with an overturned candle by his side and the conflagration well started. spabbink gave his version some days later, when he had partially recovered from the shock of his midnight castigation and immersion, but the gentle pitying smiles and evasive comments with which his story was greeted warned him that the public ear was not at his disposal. he refused, however, to attend the ceremonial presentation of the royal humane society's life-saving medal. it was about this time that groby's pet monkey fell a victim to the disease which attacks so many of its kind when brought under the influence of a northern climate. its master appeared to be profoundly affected by its loss, and never quite recovered the level of spirits that he had recently attained. in company with the tortoise, which colonel john presented to him on his last visit, he potters about his lawn and kitchen garden, with none of his erstwhile sprightliness; and his nephews and nieces are fairly well justified in alluding to him as "old uncle groby." acknowledgement "the background" originally appeared in the leinsters' magazine; "the stampeding of lady bastable" in the daily mail; "mrs. packletide's tiger," "the chaplet," "the peace offering," "filboid studge" and "ministers of grace" (in an abbreviated form) in the bystander; and the remainder of the stories (with the exception of "the music on the hill," "the story of st. vespaluus," "the secret sin of septimus brope," "the remoulding of groby lington," and "the way to the dairy," which have never previously been published) in the westminster gazette. to the editors of these papers i am indebted for courteous permission to reprint them. english men of letters edited by john morley swift by leslie stephen london: macmillan and co. . the right of translation and reproduction is reserved preface. the chief materials for a life of swift are to be found in his writings and correspondence. the best edition is the second of the two edited by scott ( and ). in lord orrery published _remarks upon the life and writings of dr. jonathan swift_. orrery, born , had known swift from about . his remarks give the views of a person of quality of more ambition than capacity, and more anxious to exhibit his own taste than to give full or accurate information. in , dr. delany published _observations upon lord orrery's remarks_, intended to vindicate swift against some of orrery's severe judgments. delany, born about , became intimate with swift soon after the dean's final settlement in ireland. he was then one of the authorities of trinity college, dublin. he is the best contemporary authority, so far as he goes. in deane swift, grandson of swift's uncle godwin, and son-in-law to swift's cousin and faithful guardian, mrs. whiteway, published an _essay upon the life, writings, and character of dr. jonathan swift_, in which he attacks both his predecessors. deane swift, born about , had seen little or nothing of his cousin till the year , when the dean's faculties were decaying. his book is foolish and discursive. deane swift's son, theophilus, communicated a good deal of doubtful matter to scott, on the authority of family tradition. in hawkesworth, who had no personal knowledge, prefixed a life of swift to an edition of the works which adds nothing to our information. in johnson, when publishing a very perfunctory life of swift as one of the poets, excused its shortcomings on the ground of having already communicated his thoughts to hawkesworth. the life is not only meagre but injured by one of johnson's strong prejudices. in thomas sheridan produced a pompous and dull life of swift. he was the son of swift's most intimate companion during the whole period subsequent to the final settlement in ireland. the elder sheridan, however, died in ; and the younger, born in , was still a boy when swift was becoming imbecile. contemporary writers, except delany, have thus little authority; and a number of more or less palpably fictitious anecdotes accumulated round their hero. scott's life, originally published in , is defective in point of accuracy. scott did not investigate the evidence minutely, and liked a good story too well to be very particular about its authenticity. the book, however, shows his strong sense and genial appreciation of character; and remains, till this day, by far the best account of swift's career. a life which supplies scott's defects in great measure was given by william monck mason, in , in his _history and antiquities of the church of st. patrick_. monck mason was an indiscriminate admirer, and has a provoking method of expanding undigested information into monstrous notes, after the precedent of bayle. but he examined facts with the utmost care, and every biographer must respect his authority. in mr. forster published the first instalment of a _life of swift_. this book, which contains the results of patient and thorough inquiry, was unfortunately interrupted by mr. forster's death, and ends at the beginning of . a complete _life_ by mr. henry craik is announced as about to appear. besides these books, i ought to mention an _essay upon the earlier part of the life of swift_, by the rev. john barrett, b.d. and vice-provost of trin. coll. dublin (london, ); and _the closing years of dean swift's life_, by w. r. wilde, m.r.i.a., f.r.c.s. (dublin, ). this last is a very interesting study of the medical aspects of swift's life. an essay by dr. bucknill, in _brain_ for jan. , is a remarkable contribution to the same subject. contents. page chapter i. early years chapter ii. moor park and kilroot chapter iii. early writings chapter iv. laracor and london chapter v. the harley administration chapter vi. stella and vanessa chapter vii. wood's halfpence chapter viii. gulliver's travels chapter ix. decline swift. chapter i. early years. jonathan swift, the famous dean of st. patrick's, was the descendant of an old yorkshire family. one branch had migrated southwards, and in the time of charles i., thomas swift, jonathan's grandfather, was vicar of goodrich, near ross, in herefordshire, a fact commemorated by the sweetest singer of queen ann's reign in the remarkable lines-- jonathan swift had the gift by fatherige, motherige, and by brotherige, to come from gotheridge. thomas swift married elizabeth dryden, niece of sir erasmus, the grandfather of the poet dryden. by her he became the father of ten sons and four daughters. in the great rebellion he distinguished himself by a loyalty which was the cause of obvious complacency to his descendant. on one occasion he came to the governor of a town held for the king, and being asked what he could do for his majesty, laid down his coat as an offering. the governor remarked that his coat was worth little. "then," said swift, "take my waistcoat." the waistcoat was lined with three hundred broad pieces--a handsome offering from a poor and plundered clergyman. on another occasion he armed a ford, through which rebel cavalry were to pass, by certain pieces of iron with four spikes, so contrived that one spike must always be uppermost (_caltrops_, in short). two hundred of the enemy were destroyed by this stratagem. the success of the rebels naturally led to the ruin of this cavalier clergyman; and the record of his calamities forms a conspicuous article in walker's _sufferings of the clergy_. he died in , before the advent of the better times in which he might have been rewarded for his loyal services. his numerous family had to struggle for a living. the eldest son, godwin swift, was a barrister of gray's inn at the time of the restoration: he was married four times, and three times to women of fortune; his first wife had been related to the ormond family; and this connexion induced him to seek his fortune in ireland--a kingdom which at that time suffered, amongst other less endurable grievances, from a deficient supply of lawyers.[ ] godwin swift was made attorney-general in the palatinate of tipperary by the duke of ormond. he prospered in his profession, in the subtle parts of which, says his nephew, he was "perhaps a little too dexterous;" and he engaged in various speculations, having at one time what was then the very large income of _l._ a year. four brothers accompanied this successful godwin, and shared to some extent in his prosperity. in january, , one of these, jonathan, married to abigail erick, of leicester, was appointed to the stewardship of the king's inns, dublin, partly in consideration of the loyalty and suffering of his family. some fifteen months later, in april, , he died, leaving his widow with an infant daughter, and seven months after her husband's death, november , , she gave birth to jonathan, the younger, at , hoey's court, dublin. the dean "hath often been heard to say" (i quote his fragment of autobiography) "that he felt the consequences of that (his parents') marriage, not only through the whole course of his education, but during the greater part of his life." this quaint assumption that a man's parentage is a kind of removable accident to which may be attributed a limited part of his subsequent career, betrays a characteristic sentiment. swift cherished a vague resentment against the fates which had mixed bitter ingredients in his lot. he felt the place as well as the circumstances of his birth to be a grievance. it gave a plausibility to the offensive imputation that he was of irish blood. "i happened," he said, with a bitterness born of later sufferings, "by a perfect accident to be born here, and thus i am a teague, or an irishman, or what people please." elsewhere he claims england as properly his own country; "although i happened to be dropped here, and was a year old before i left it (ireland), and to my sorrow did not die before i came back to it." his infancy brought fresh grievances. he was, it seems, a precocious and delicate child, and his nurse became so much attached to him, that having to return to her native whitehaven, she kidnapped the year-old infant out of pure affection. when his mother knew her loss, she was afraid to hazard a return voyage until the child was stronger; and he thus remained nearly three years at whitehaven, where the nurse took such care of his education, that he could read any chapter in the bible before he was three years old. his return must have been speedily followed by his mother's departure for her native leicester. her sole dependence, it seems, was an annuity of _l._ a year, which had been bought for her by her husband upon their marriage. some of the swift family seem also to have helped her; but for reasons not now discoverable, she found leicester preferable to dublin, even at the price of parting from the little jonathan. godwin took him off her hands and sent him to kilkenny school at the age of six, and from that early period the child had to grow up as virtually an orphan. his mother through several years to come can have been little more than a name to him. kilkenny school, called the "eton of ireland," enjoyed a high reputation. two of swift's most famous contemporaries were educated there. congreve, two years his junior, was one of his schoolfellows, and a warm friendship remained when both had become famous. fourteen years after swift had left the school it was entered by george berkeley, destined to win a fame of the purest and highest kind, and to come into a strange relationship to swift. it would be vain to ask what credit may be claimed by kilkenny school for thus "producing" (it is the word used on such occasions) the greatest satirist, the most brilliant writer of comedies, and the subtlest metaphysician in the english language. our knowledge of swift's experiences at this period is almost confined to a single anecdote. "i remember," he says incidentally in a letter to lord bolingbroke, "when i was a little boy, i felt a great fish at the end of my line, which i drew up almost on the ground; but it dropped in, and the disappointment vexes me to this very day, and i believe it was the type of all my future disappointments."[ ] swift, indeed, was still in the schoolboy stage, according to modern ideas, when he was entered at trinity college, dublin, on the same day, april , , with a cousin, thomas swift. swift clearly found dublin uncongenial; though there is still a wide margin for uncertainty as to precise facts. his own account gives a short summary of his academic history:-- "by the ill-treatment of his nearest relations" (he says) "he was so discouraged and sunk in his spirits that he too much neglected his academic studies, for some parts of which he had no great relish by nature, and turned himself to reading history and poetry, so that when the time came for taking his degree of bachelor of arts, although he had lived with great regularity and due observance of the statutes, he was stopped of his degree for dulness and insufficiency; and at last hardly admitted in a manner little to his credit, which is called in that college _speciali gratia_." in a report of one of the college examinations, discovered by mr. forster, he receives a _bene_ for his greek and latin, a _male_ for his "philosophy," and a _negligenter_ for his theology. the "philosophy" was still based upon the old scholasticism, and proficiency was tested by skill in the arts of syllogistic argumentation. sheridan, son of swift's intimate friend, was a student at dublin shortly before the dean's loss of intellectual power; the old gentleman would naturally talk to the lad about his university recollections; and, according to his hearer, remembered with singular accuracy the questions upon which he had disputed, and repeated the arguments which had been used, "in syllogistic form." swift at the same time declared, if the report be accurate, that he never had the patience to read the pages of smiglecius, burgersdicius, and the other old-fashioned logical treatises. when told that they taught the art of reasoning, he declared that he could reason very well without it. he acted upon this principle in his exercises, and left the proctor to reduce his argument to the proper form. in this there is probably a substratum of truth. swift can hardly be credited, as berkeley might have been, with a precocious perception of the weakness of the accepted system. when young gentlemen are plucked for their degree, it is not generally because they are in advance of their age. but the aversion to metaphysics was characteristic of swift through life. like many other people who have no turn for such speculations, he felt for them a contempt which may perhaps be not the less justified because it does not arise from familiarity. the bent of his mind was already sufficiently marked to make him revolt against the kind of mental food which was most in favour at dublin; though he seems to have obtained a fair knowledge of the classics. swift cherished through life a resentment against most of his relations. his uncle godwin had undertaken his education, and had sent him, as we see, to the best places of education in ireland. if the supplies became scanty, it must be admitted that poor godwin had a sufficient excuse. each of his four wives had brought him a family--the last leaving him seven sons; his fortunes had been dissipated, chiefly, it seems, by means of a speculation in iron-works; and the poor man himself seems to have been failing, for he "fell into a lethargy" in , surviving some five years, like his famous nephew, in a state of imbecility. decay of mind and fortune coinciding with the demands of a rising family might certainly be some apology for the neglect of one amongst many nephews. swift did not consider it sufficient. "was it not your uncle godwin," he was asked "who educated you?" "yes," said swift, after a pause; "he gave me the education of a dog." "then," answered the intrepid inquirer, "you have not the gratitude of a dog." and perhaps that is our natural impression. yet we do not know enough of the facts to judge with confidence. swift, whatever his faults, was always a warm and faithful friend; and perhaps it is the most probable conjecture that godwin swift bestowed his charity coldly and in such a way as to hurt the pride of the recipient. in any case, it appears that swift showed his resentment in a manner more natural than reasonable. the child is tempted to revenge himself by knocking his head against the rock which has broken his shins; and with equal wisdom the youth who fancies that the world is not his friend, tries to get satisfaction by defying its laws. till the time of his degree (february, ), swift had been at least regular in his conduct, and if the neglect of his relations had discouraged his industry, it had not provoked him to rebellion. during the three years which followed he became more reckless. he was still a mere lad, just eighteen at the time of his degree, when he fell into more or less irregular courses. in rather less than two years he was under censure for seventy weeks. the offences consisted chiefly in neglect to attend chapel and in "town-haunting" or absence from the nightly roll-call. such offences perhaps appear to be more flagrant than they really are in the eyes of college authorities. twice he got into more serious scrapes. he was censured (march , ) along with his cousin, thomas swift, and several others for "notorious neglect of duties and frequenting 'the town.'" and on his twenty-first birthday (nov. , ) he[ ] was punished, along with several others, for exciting domestic dissensions, despising the warnings of the junior dean, and insulting that official by contemptuous words. the offenders were suspended from their degrees, and inasmuch as swift and another were the worst offenders (_adhuc intolerabilius se gesserant_), they were sentenced to ask pardon of the dean upon their knees publicly in the hall. twenty years later[ ] swift revenged himself upon owen lloyd, the junior dean, by accusing him of infamous servility. for the present swift was probably reckoned amongst the black sheep of the academic flock.[ ] this censure came at the end of swift's university career. the three last years had doubtless been years of discouragement and recklessness. that they were also years of vice in the usual sense of the word is not proved; nor, from all that we know of swift's later history, does it seem to be probable. there is no trace of anything like licentious behaviour in his whole career. it is easier to believe with scott that swift's conduct at this period might be fairly described in the words of johnson when speaking of his own university experience: "ah, sir, i was mad and violent. it was bitterness that they mistook for frolic. i was miserably poor, and i thought to fight my way by my literature and my wit; so i disregarded all power and all authority." swift learnt another and a more profitable lesson in these years. it is indicated in an anecdote which rests upon tolerable authority. one day, as he was gazing in melancholy mood from his window, his pockets at their lowest ebb, he saw a sailor staring about in the college courts. how happy should i be, he thought, if that man was inquiring for me with a present from my cousin willoughby! the dream came true. the sailor came to his rooms and produced a leather bag, sent by his cousin from lisbon, with more money than poor jonathan had ever possessed in his life. the sailor refused to take a part of it for his trouble, and jonathan hastily crammed the money into his pocket, lest the man should repent of his generosity. from that time forward, he added, he became a better economist. the willoughby swift here mentioned was the eldest son of godwin, and now settled in the english factory at lisbon. swift speaks warmly of his "goodness and generosity" in a letter written to another cousin in . some help, too, was given by his uncle william, who was settled at dublin, and whom he calls the "best of his relations." in one way or another he was able to keep his head above water; and he was receiving an impression which grew with his growth. the misery of dependence was burnt into his soul. to secure independence became his most cherished wish; and the first condition of independence was a rigid practice of economy. we shall see hereafter how deeply this principle became rooted in his mind; here i need only notice that it is the lesson which poverty teaches to none but men of strong character. a catastrophe meanwhile was approaching, which involved the fortunes of swift along with those of nations. james ii. had been on the throne for a year when swift took his degree. at the time when swift was ordered to kneel to the junior dean, william was in england, and james preparing to fly from whitehall. the revolution of meant a breaking up of the very foundations of political and social order in ireland. at the end of a stream of fugitives was pouring into england, whilst the english in ireland were gathering into strong places, abandoning their property to the bands of insurgent peasants. swift fled with his fellows. any prospects which he may have had in ireland were ruined with the ruin of his race. the loyalty of his grandfather to a king who protected the national church was no precedent for loyalty to a king who was its deadliest enemy. swift, a churchman to the backbone, never shared the leaning of many anglicans to the exiled stuarts; and his early experience was a pretty strong dissuasive from jacobitism. he took refuge with his mother at leicester. of that mother we hear less than we could wish; for all that we hear suggests a brisk, wholesome, motherly body. she lived cheerfully and frugally on her pittance; rose early, worked with her needle, read her book, and deemed herself to be "rich and happy"--on twenty pounds a year. a touch of her son's humour appears in the only anecdote about her. she came, it seems, to visit her son in ireland shortly after he had taken possession of laracor, and amused herself by persuading the woman with whom she lodged that jonathan was not her son but her lover. her son, though separated from her through the years in which filial affection is generally nourished, loved her with the whole strength of his nature; he wrote to her frequently, took pains to pay her visits "rarely less than once a year;" and was deeply affected by her death in . "i have now lost," he wrote in his pocket-book, "the last barrier between me and death. god grant i may be as well prepared for it as i confidently believe her to have been! if the way to heaven be through piety, truth, justice, and charity, she is there." the good lady had, it would seem, some little anxieties of the common kind about her son. she thought him in danger of falling in love with a certain betty jones, who, however, escaped the perils of being wife to a man of genius, and married an innkeeper. some forty years later, betty jones, now perkins, appealed to swift to help her in some family difficulties, and swift was ready to "sacrifice five pounds" for old acquaintance' sake. other vague reports of swift's attentions to women seem to have been flying about in leicester. swift, in noticing them, tells his correspondent that he values "his own entertainment beyond the obloquy of a parcel of wretched fools," which he "solemnly pronounces" to be a fit description of the inhabitants of leicester. he had, he admits, amused himself with flirtation; but he has learnt enough, "without going half a mile beyond the university," to refrain from thoughts of matrimony. a "cold temper" and the absence of any settled outlook are sufficient dissuasives. another phrase in the same letter is characteristic. "a person of great honour in ireland (who was pleased to stoop so low as to look into my mind) used to tell me that my mind was like a conjured spirit that would do mischief if i did not give it employment." he allowed himself these little liberties, he seems to infer, by way of distraction for his restless nature. but some more serious work was necessary, if he was to win the independence so earnestly desired, and to cease to be a burden upon his mother. where was he to look for help? chapter ii. moor park and kilroot. how was this "conjured spirit" to find occupation? the proverbial occupation of such beings is to cultivate despair by weaving ropes of sand. swift felt himself strong; but he had no task worthy of his strength: nor did he yet know precisely where it lay: he even fancied that it might be in the direction of pindaric odes. hitherto his energy had expended itself in the questionable shape of revolt against constituted authority. but the revolt, whatever its precise nature, had issued in the rooted determination to achieve a genuine independence. the political storm which had for the time crushed the whole social order of ireland into mere chaotic anarchy, had left him an uprooted waif and stray--a loose fragment without any points of attachment, except the little household in leicester. his mother might give him temporary shelter, but no permanent home. if, as is probable, he already looked forward to a clerical career, the church to which he belonged was, for the time, hopelessly ruined, and in danger of being a persecuted sect. in this crisis a refuge was offered to him. sir william temple was connected, in more ways than one, with the swifts. he was the son of sir john temple, master of the rolls in ireland, who had been a friend of godwin swift. temple himself had lived in ireland, in early days, and had known the swift family. his wife was in some way related to swift's mother; and he was now in a position to help the young man. temple is a remarkable figure amongst the statesmen of that generation. there is something more modern about him than belongs to his century. a man of cultivated taste and cosmopolitan training, he had the contempt of enlightened persons for the fanaticisms of his times. he was not the man to suffer persecution, with baxter, for a creed, or even to lose his head, with russell, for a party. yet if he had not the faith which animates enthusiasts, he sincerely held political theories--a fact sufficient to raise him above the thorough-going cynics of the court of the restoration. his sense of honour, or the want of robustness in mind and temperament, kept him aloof from the desperate game in which the politicians of the day staked their lives, and threw away their consciences as an incumbrance. good fortune threw him into the comparatively safe line of diplomacy, for which his natural abilities fitted him. good fortune, aided by discernment, enabled him to identify himself with the most respectable achievements of our foreign policy. he had become famous as the chief author of the triple alliance, and the promoter of the marriage of william and mary. he had ventured far enough into the more troublous element of domestic politics to invent a highly applauded constitutional device for smoothing the relations between the crown and parliament. like other such devices it went to pieces at the first contact with realities. temple retired to cultivate his garden and write elegant memoirs and essays, and refused all entreaties to join again in the rough struggles of the day. associates, made of sterner stuff, probably despised him; but from their own, that is, the selfish point of view, he was perhaps entitled to laugh last. he escaped at least with unblemished honour, and enjoyed the cultivated retirement which statesmen so often profess to desire, and so seldom achieve. in private, he had many estimable qualities. he was frank and sensitive; he had won diplomatic triumphs by disregarding the pedantry of official rules; and he had an equal, though not an equally intelligent, contempt for the pedantry of the schools. his style, though often slipshod, often anticipates the pure and simple english of the addison period, and delighted charles lamb by its delicate flavour of aristocratic assumption. he had the vanity of a "person of quality,"--a lofty, dignified air which became his flowing periwig, and showed itself in his distinguished features. but in youth, a strong vein of romance displayed itself in his courtship of lady temple, and he seems to have been correspondingly worshipped by her, and his sister, lady giffard. the personal friendship of william could not induce temple to return to public life. his only son took office, but soon afterwards killed himself from a morbid sense of responsibility. temple retired finally to moor park, near farnham, in surrey; and about the same time received swift into his family. long afterwards, john temple, sir william's nephew, who had quarrelled with swift, gave an obviously spiteful account of the terms of this engagement. swift, he said, was hired by sir william to read to him and be his amanuensis, at the rate of _l._ a year and his board; but "sir william never favoured him with his conversation, nor allowed him to sit down at table with him." the authority is bad, and we must be guided by rather precarious inferences in picturing this important period of swift's career. the raw irish student was probably awkward, and may have been disagreeable in some matters. forty years later, we find from his correspondence with gay and the duchess of queensberry, that his views as to the distribution of functions between knives and forks were lamentably unsettled; and it is probable that he may in his youth have been still more heretical as to social conventions. there were more serious difficulties. the difference which separated swift from temple is not easily measurable. how can we exaggerate the distance at which a lad, fresh from college and a remote provincial society, would look up to the distinguished diplomatist of sixty, who had been intimate with the two last kings, and was still the confidential friend of the reigning king, who had been an actor in the greatest scenes, not only of english, but of european history, who had been treated with respect by the ministers of louis xiv., and in whose honour bells had been rung, and banquets set forth as he passed through the great continental cities? temple might have spoken to him, without shocking proprieties, in terms which, if i may quote the proverbial phrase, would be offensive "from god almighty to a blackbeetle." shall i believe a spirit so divine was cast in the same mould with mine? is swift's phrase about temple, in one of his first crude poems. we must not infer that circumstances which would now be offensive to an educated man--the seat at the second table, the predestined congeniality to the ladies'-maid of doubtful reputation--would have been equally offensive then. so long as dependence upon patrons was a regular incident of the career of a poor scholar, the corresponding regulations would be taken as a matter of course. swift was not necessarily more degraded by being a dependent of temple's than locke by a similar position in shaftesbury's family. but it is true that such a position must always be trying, as many a governess has felt in more modern days. the position of the educated dependent must always have had its specific annoyances. at this period, when the relation of patron and client was being rapidly modified or destroyed, the compact would be more than usually trying to the power of forbearance and mutual kindliness of the parties concerned. the relation between sir roger de coverley and the old college friend who became his chaplain meant good feeling on both sides. when poor parson supple became chaplain to squire western, and was liable to be sent back from london to basingstoke in search of a forgotten tobacco-box, supple must have parted with all self-respect. swift has incidentally given his own view of the case in his _essay on the fates of clergymen_. it is an application of one of his favourite doctrines--the advantage possessed by mediocrity over genius in a world so largely composed of fools. eugenio, who represents jonathan swift, fails in life because as a wit and a poet he has not the art of winning patronage. corusodes, in whom we have a partial likeness to tom swift, jonathan's college contemporary, and afterwards the chaplain of temple, succeeds by servile respectability. _he_ never neglected chapel, or lectures: _he_ never looked into a poem: never made a jest himself, or laughed at the jests of others: but he managed to insinuate himself into the favour of the noble family where his sister was a waiting-woman; shook hands with the butler, taught the page his catechism; was sometimes admitted to dine at the steward's table; was admitted to read prayers, at ten shillings a month: and, by winking at his patron's attentions to his sister, gradually crept into better appointments, married a citizen's widow, and is now fast mounting towards the top of the ladder ecclesiastical. temple was not the man to demand or reward services so base as those attributed to corusodes. nor does it seem that he would be wanting in the self-respect which prescribes due courtesy to inferiors, though it admits of a strict regard for the ceremonial outworks of social dignity. he would probably neither permit others to take liberties nor take them himself. if swift's self-esteem suffered, it would not be that he objected to offering up the conventional incense, but that he might possibly think that, after all, the idol was made of rather inferior clay. temple, whatever his solid merits, was one of the showiest statesmen of the time; but there was no man living with a keener eye for realities and a more piercing insight into shams of all kinds than his raw secretary from ireland. in later life swift frequently expressed his scorn for the mysteries and the "refinements" (to use his favourite phrase) by which the great men of the world conceal the low passions and small wisdom actually exerted in affairs of state. at times he felt that temple was not merely claiming the outward show of respect, but setting too high a value upon his real merits. so when swift was at the full flood of fortune, when prime ministers and secretaries of state were calling him jonathan, or listening submissively to his lectures on "whipping-day," he reverts to his early experience. "i often think," he says, when speaking of his own familiarity with st. john, "what a splutter sir william temple makes about being secretary of state." and this is a less respectful version of a sentiment expressed a year before, "i am thinking what a veneration we had for sir w. temple because he might have been secretary of state at fifty, and here is a young fellow hardly thirty in that employment." in the interval there is another characteristic outburst. "i asked mr. secretary (st. john) what the devil ailed him on sunday," and warned him "that i would never be treated like a schoolboy; that i had felt too much of that in my life already (meaning sir w. temple); that i expected every great minister who honoured me with his acquaintance, if he heard and saw anything to my disadvantage, would let me know in plain words, and not put me in pain to guess by the change or coldness of his countenance and behaviour." the day after this effusion, he maintains that he was right in what he said. "don't you remember how i used to be in pain when sir w. temple would look cold and out of humour for three or four days, and i used to suspect a hundred reasons? i have plucked up my spirits since then; faith, he spoiled a fine gentleman." and yet, if swift sometimes thought temple's authority oppressive, he was ready to admit his substantial merits. temple, he says, in his rough marginalia to burnet's _history_, "was a man of sense and virtue;" and the impromptu utterance probably reflects his real feeling. the year after his first arrival at temple's, swift went back to ireland by advice of physicians, who "weakly imagined that his native air might be of some use to recover his health." it was at this period, we may note in passing, that swift began to suffer from a disease which tormented him through life. temple sent with him a letter of introduction to sir robert southwell, secretary of state in ireland, which gives an interesting account of their previous relations. swift, said temple, had lived in his house, read for him, written for him, and kept his small accounts. he knew latin and greek, and a little french; wrote a good hand, and was honest and diligent. his whole family had long been known to temple, who would be glad if southwell would give him a clerkship, or get him a fellowship in trinity college. the statement of swift's qualifications has now a rather comic sound. an applicant for a desk in a merchant's office once commended himself, it is said, by the statement that his style of writing combined scathing sarcasm with the wildest flights of humour. swift might have had a better claim to a place for which such qualities were a recommendation; but there is no reason beyond the supposed agreement of fools to regard genius as a disadvantage in practical life, to suppose that swift was deficient in humbler attainments. before long, however, he was back at moor park; and a period followed in which his discontent with the position probably reached its height. temple, indeed, must have discovered that his young dependent was really a man of capacity. he recommended him to william. in swift went to oxford, to be admitted _ad eundem_, and received the m.a. degree; and swift, writing to thank his uncle for obtaining the necessary testimonials from dublin, adds that he has been most civilly received at oxford, on the strength, presumably, of temple's recommendation, and that he is not to take orders till the king gives him a prebend. he suspects temple, however, of being rather backward in the matter, "because (i suppose) he believes i shall leave him, and (upon some accounts) he thinks me a little necessary to him." william, it is said, was so far gracious as to offer to make swift a captain of horse, and instruct him in the dutch mode of cutting asparagus. by this last phrase hangs an anecdote of later days. faulkner, the dublin printer, was dining with swift, and on asking for a second supply of asparagus, was told by the dean to finish what he had on his plate. "what, sir, eat my stalks!" "ay, sir; king william always ate his stalks." "and were you," asked faulkner's hearer when he related the story, "were you blockhead enough to obey him?" "yes," replied faulkner, "and if you had dined with dean swift _tête-à-tête_ you would have been obliged to eat your stalks too!" for the present swift was the recipient not the imposer of stalks; and was to receive the first shock, as he tells us, that helped to cure him of his vanity. the question of the triennial bill was agitating political personages in the early months of . william and his favourite minister, the earl of portland, found their dutch experience insufficient to guide them in the mysteries of english constitutionalism. portland came down to consult temple at moor park; and swift was sent back to explain to the great men that charles i. had been ruined not by consenting to short parliaments, but by abandoning the right to dissolve parliament. swift says that he was "well versed in english history, though he was under twenty-one years old." (he was really twenty-five, but memory naturally exaggerated his youthfulness). his arguments, however backed by history, failed to carry conviction, and swift had to unlearn some of the youthful confidence which assumes that reason is the governing force in this world, and that reason means our own opinions. that so young a man should have been employed on such an errand, shows that temple must have had a good opinion of his capacities; but his want of success, however natural, was felt as a grave discouragement. that his discontent was growing is clear from other indications. swift's early poems, whatever their defects, have one merit common to all his writings--the merit of a thorough, sometimes an appalling, sincerity. two poems which begin to display his real vigour are dated at the end of . one is an epistle to his schoolfellow, congreve, expatiating, as some consolation for the cold reception of the _double dealer_, upon the contemptible nature of town critics. swift describes, as a type of the whole race, a farnham lad who had left school a year before, and had just returned a "finished spark" from london. stock'd with the latest gibberish of the town, this wretched little fop came in an evil hour to provoke swift's hate,-- my hate, whose lash just heaven has long decreed shall on a day make sin and folly bleed. and he already applies it with vigour enough to show that with some of the satirist's power he has also the indispensable condition of a considerable accumulation of indignant wrath against the self-appointed arbiters of taste. the other poem is more remarkable in its personal revelation. it begins as a congratulation to temple on his recovery from an illness. it passes into a description of his own fate, marked by singular bitterness. he addresses his muse as-- malignant goddess! bane to my repose, thou universal cause of all my woes. she is, it seems, a mere delusive meteor, with no real being of her own. but, if real, why does she persecute him? wert thou right woman, thou should'st scorn to look on an abandon'd wretch by hopes forsook: forsook by hopes, ill fortune's last relief, assign'd for life to unremitting grief; for let heaven's wrath enlarge these weary days if hope e'er dawns the smallest of its rays. and he goes on to declare after some vigorous lines, to thee i owe that fatal bent of mind, still to unhappy restless thoughts inclined: to thee what oft i vainly strive to hide, that scorn of fools, by fools mistook for pride; from thee whatever virtue takes its rise, grows a misfortune, or becomes a vice. the sudden gush as of bitter waters into the dulcet, insipid current of conventional congratulation, gives additional point to the sentiment. swift expands the last couplet into a sentiment which remained with him through life. it is a blending of pride and remorse; a regretful admission of the loftiness of spirit which has caused his misfortunes; and we are puzzled to say whether the pride or the remorse be the most genuine. for swift always unites pride and remorse in his consciousness of his own virtues. the "restlessness" avowed in these verses took the practical form of a rupture with temple. in his autobiographical fragment he says that he had a scruple of entering into the church merely for support, and sir william, then being master of the rolls in ireland,[ ] offered him an employ of about _l._ a year in that office; whereupon mr. swift told him that since he had now an opportunity of living without being driven into the church for a maintenance, he was resolved to go to ireland and take holy orders. if the scruple seems rather finely spun for swift, the sense of the dignity of his profession is thoroughly characteristic. nothing, however, is more deceptive than our memory of the motives which directed distant actions. in his contemporary letters there is no hint of any scruple against preferment in the church, but a decided objection to insufficient preferment. it is possible that swift was confusing dates, and that the scruple was quieted when he failed to take advantage of temple's interest with southwell. having declined, he felt that he had made a free choice of a clerical career. in , as we have seen, he expected a prebend from temple's influence with william. but his doubts of temple's desire or power to serve him were confirmed. in june, , he tells a cousin at lisbon, "i have left sir w. temple a month ago, just as i foretold it you; and everything happened exactly as i guessed. he was extremely angry i left him; and yet would not oblige himself any further than upon my good behaviour, nor would promise anything firmly to me at all; so that everybody judged i did best to leave him." he is starting in four days for dublin, and intends to be ordained in september. the next letter preserved completes the story, and implies a painful change in this cavalier tone of injured pride. upon going to dublin, swift had found that some recommendation from temple would be required by the authorities. he tried to evade the requirement, but was forced at last to write a letter to temple, which nothing but necessity could have extorted. after explaining the case, he adds, "the particulars expected of me are what relates to morals and learning, and the reasons of quitting your honour's family, that is whether the last was occasioned by any ill actions. they are all left entirely to your honour's mercy, though in the past i think i cannot reproach myself any farther than for _infirmities_. this," he adds, "is all i dare beg at present from your honour, under circumstances of life not worth your regard;" and all that is left him to wish ("next to the health and prosperity of your honour's family") is that heaven will show him some day the opportunity of making his acknowledgments at "your honour's" feet. this seems to be the only occasion on which we find swift confessing to any fault except that of being too virtuous. the apparent doubt of temple's magnanimity implied in the letter was happily not verified. the testimonial seems to have been sent at once. swift, in any case, was ordained deacon on the th of october, , and priest on the th of january, . probably swift felt that temple had behaved with magnanimity, and in any case it was not very long before he returned to moor park. he had received from lord capel, then lord deputy, the small prebend of kilroot, worth about _l._ a year. little is known of his life as a remote country clergyman, except that he very soon became tired of it.[ ] swift soon resigned his prebend (in march, ) and managed to obtain the succession for a friend in the neighbourhood. but before this (in may, ) he had returned to moor park. he had grown weary of a life in a remote district, and temple had raised his offers. he was glad to be once more on the edge at least of the great world in which alone could be found employment worthy of his talents. one other incident, indeed, of which a fuller account would be interesting, is connected with this departure. on the eve of his departure, he wrote a passionate letter to "varina," in plain english miss waring, sister of an old college chum. he "solemnly offers to forego all" (all his english prospects, that is) "for her sake." he does not want her fortune; she shall live where she pleases; till he has "pushed his advancement" and is in a position to marry her. the letter is full of true lovers' protestations; reproaches for her coldness; hints at possible causes of jealousies; declarations of the worthlessness of ambition as compared with love; and denunciations of her respect for the little disguises and affected contradictions of her sex, infinitely beneath persons of her pride and his own; paltry maxims calculated only for the "rabble of humanity." "by heaven, varina," he exclaims, "you are more experienced, and have less virgin innocence than i." the answer must have been unsatisfactory; though from expressions in a letter to his successor to the prebend, we see that the affair was still going on in . it will come to light once more. swift was thus at moor park in the summer of . he remained till temple's death in january, . we hear no more of any friction between swift and his patron; and it seems that the last years of their connexion passed in harmony. temple was growing old; his wife, after forty years of a happy marriage, had died during swift's absence in the beginning of ; and temple, though he seems to have been vigorous, and in spite of gout a brisk walker, was approaching the grave. he occupied himself in preparing, with swift's help, memoirs and letters, which were left to swift for posthumous publication. swift's various irritations at moor park have naturally left a stronger impression upon his history than the quieter hours in which worry and anxiety might be forgotten in the placid occupations of a country life. that swift enjoyed many such hours is tolerably clear. moor park is described by a swiss traveller who visited it about ,[ ] as the "model of an agreeable retreat." temple's household was free from the coarse convivialities of the boozing fox-hunting squires; whilst the recollection of its modest neatness made the "magnificent palace" of petworth seem pompous and overpowering. swift himself remembered the moor park gardens, the special pride of temple's retirement, with affection, and tried to imitate them on a small scale in his own garden at laracor. moor park is on the edge of the great heaths which stretch southward to hindhead, and northwards to aldershot and chobham ridges. though we can scarcely credit him with a modern taste in scenery, he at least anticipated the modern faith in athletic exercises. according to deane swift, he used to run up a hill near temple's and back again to his study every two hours, doing the distance of half a mile in six minutes. in later life he preached the duty of walking with admirable perseverance to his friends. he joined other exercises occasionally. "my lord," he says to archbishop king in , "i row after health like a waterman, and ride after it like a postboy, and with some little success." but he had the characteristic passion of the good and wise for walking. he mentions incidentally a walk from farnham to london, thirty-eight miles; and has some association with the golden farmer[ ]--a point on the road from which there is still one of the loveliest views in the southern counties, across undulating breadths of heath and meadow, woodland and down, to windsor forest, st. george's hill, and the chalk range from guildford to epsom. perhaps he might have been a mountaineer in more civilized times; his poem on the carberry rocks seems to indicate a lover of such scenery; and he ventured so near the edge of the cliff upon his stomach, that his servants had to drag him back by his heels. we find him proposing to walk to chester at the rate, i regret to say, of only ten miles a day. in such rambles, we are told, he used to put up at wayside inns, where "lodgings for a penny" were advertised; bribing the maid with a tester to give him clean sheets and a bed to himself. the love of the rough humour of waggoners and hostlers is supposed to have been his inducement to this practice; and the refined orrery associates his coarseness with this lamentable practice; but amidst the roar of railways we may think more tolerantly of the humours of the road in the good old days, when each village had its humours and traditions and quaint legends, and when homely maxims of unlettered wisdom were to be picked up at rustic firesides. recreations of this kind were a relief to serious study. in temple's library swift found abundant occupation. "i am often," he says, in the first period of his residence, "two or three months without seeing anybody besides the family." in a later fragment, we find him living alone "in great state," the cook coming for his orders for dinner, and the revolutions in the kingdom of the rooks amusing his leisure. the results of his studies will be considered directly. a list of books read in gives some hint of their general nature. they are chiefly classical and historical. he read virgil, homer, horace, lucretius, cicero's _epistles_, petronius arbiter, Ã�lian, lucius florus, herbert's _henry viii._, sleidan's _commentaries, council of trent_, camden's _elizabeth_, burnet's _history of the reformation_, voiture, blackmore's _prince arthur_, sir j. davis's poem of _the soul_, and two or three travels, besides cyprian and irenæus. we may note the absence of any theological reading, except in the form of ecclesiastical history; nor does swift study philosophy, of which he seems to have had a sufficient dose in dublin. history seems always to have been his favourite study, and it would naturally have a large part in temple's library. one matter of no small importance to swift remains to be mentioned. temple's family included other dependents besides swift. the "little parson cousin," tom swift, whom his great relation always mentions with contempt, became chaplain to temple. jonathan's sister was for some time at moor park. but the inmates of the family most interesting to us were a rebecca dingley--who was in some way related to the family--and esther johnson. esther johnson was the daughter of a merchant of respectable family who died young. her mother was known to lady giffard, temple's attached sister; and after her widowhood, went with her two daughters to live with the temples. mrs. johnson lived as servant or companion to lady giffard for many years after temple's death; and little esther, a remarkably bright and pretty child, was brought up in the family, and received under temple's will a sufficient legacy for her support. it was of course guessed by a charitable world that she was a natural child of sir william's; but there seems to be no real ground for the hypothesis.[ ] she was born, as swift tells us, on march th, ; and was therefore a little over eight when swift first came to temple, and fifteen when he returned from kilroot.[ ] about this age, he tells us, she got over an infantile delicacy, "grew into perfect health, and was looked upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young women in london. her hair was blacker than a raven, and every feature of her face in perfection." her conduct and character were equally remarkable, if we may trust the tutor who taught her to write, guided her education, and came to regard her with an affection which was at once the happiness and the misery of his life. temple died january , ; and "with him," said swift at the time, "all that was good and amiable among men." the feeling was doubtless sincere, though swift, when moved very deeply, used less conventional phrases. he was thrown once more upon the world. the expectations of some settlement in life had not been realized. temple had left him _l._, the advantage of publishing his posthumous works, which might ultimately bring in _l._ more, and a promise of preferment from the king. swift had lived long enough upon the "chameleon's food." his energies were still running to waste; and he suffered the misery of a weakness due, not to want of power but want of opportunity. his sister writes to a cousin that her brother had lost his best friend, who had induced him to give up his irish preferment by promising preferment in england, and had died before the promise had been fulfilled. swift was accused of ingratitude by lord palmerston, temple's nephew, some thirty-five years later. in reply, he acknowledged an obligation to temple for the recommendation to william and the legacy of his papers; but he adds, "i hope you will not charge my living in his family as an obligation; for i was educated to little purpose if i retired to his house for any other motives than the benefit of his conversation and advice, and the opportunity of pursuing my studies. for, being born to no fortune, i was at his death as far to seek as ever; and perhaps you will allow that i was of some use to him." swift seems here to assume that his motives for living with temple are necessarily to be estimated by the results which he obtained. but if he expected more than he got, he does not suggest any want of goodwill. temple had done his best; william's neglect and temple's death had made goodwill fruitless. the two might cry quits; and swift set to work, not exactly with a sense of injury, but probably with a strong feeling that a large portion of his life had been wasted. to swift, indeed, misfortune and injury seem equally to have meant resentment, whether against the fates or some personal object. one curious document must be noted before considering the writings which most fully reveal the state of swift's mind. in the year he wrote down some resolutions, headed "when i come to be old." they are for the most part pithy and sensible, if it can ever be sensible to make resolutions for behaviour in a distant future. swift resolves not to marry a young woman, not to keep young company unless they desire it, not to repeat stories, not to listen to knavish, tattling servants, not to be too free of advice, not to brag of former beauty and favour with ladies, to desire some good friends to inform him when he breaks these resolutions and to reform accordingly; and finally, not to set up for observing all these rules for fear he should observe none. these resolutions are not very original in substance (few resolutions are), though they suggest some keen observation of his elders; but one is more remarkable. "not to be fond of children, _or let them come near me hardly_." the words in italics are blotted out by a later possessor of the paper, shocked doubtless at the harshness of the sentiment. "we do not fortify ourselves with resolutions against what we dislike," says a friendly commentator, "but against what we feel in our weakness we have reason to believe we are really too much inclined to." yet it is strange that a man should regard the purest and kindliest of feelings as a weakness to which he is too much inclined. no man had stronger affections than swift; no man suffered more agony when they were wounded; but in his agony he would commit what to most men would seem the treason of cursing the affections instead of simply lamenting the injury, or holding the affection itself to be its own sufficient reward. the intense personality of the man reveals itself alternately at selfishness and as "altruism." he grappled to his heart those whom he really loved "as with hoops of steel;" so firmly that they became a part of himself; and that he considered himself at liberty to regard his love of friends as he might regard a love of wine, as something to be regretted when it was too strong for his own happiness. the attraction was intense; but implied the absorption of the weaker nature into his own. his friendships were rather annexations than alliances. the strongest instance of this characteristic was in his relations to the charming girl, who must have been in his mind when he wrote this strange, and unconsciously prophetic, resolution. chapter iii. early writings. swift came to temple's house as a raw student. he left it as the author of one of the most remarkable satires ever written. his first efforts had been unpromising enough. certain _pindaric odes_, in which the youthful aspirant imitated the still popular model of cowley, are even comically prosaic. the last of them, dated , is addressed to a queer athenian society, promoted by a john dunton, a speculative bookseller, whose _life and errors_ is still worth a glance from the curious. the athenian society was the name of john dunton himself, and two or three collaborators who professed in the _athenian mercury_ to answer queries ranging over the whole field of human knowledge. temple was one of their patrons, and swift sent them a panegyrical ode, the merits of which are sufficiently summed up by dryden's pithy criticism--"cousin swift, you will never be a poet." swift disliked and abused dryden ever afterwards, though he may have had better reasons for his enmity than the child's dislike to bitter medicine. later poems, the _epistle to congreve_ and that to temple already quoted, show symptoms of growing power and a clearer self-recognition. in swift's last residence with temple, he proved unmistakably that he had learnt the secret often so slowly revealed to great writers, the secret of his real strength. the _tale of a tub_ was written about ; part of it appears to have been seen at kilroot by his friend, waring, varina's brother; the _battle of the books_ was written in . it is a curious proof of swift's indifference to a literary reputation that both works remained in manuscript till . the "little parson cousin" tom swift, ventured some kind of claim to a share in the authorship of the _tale of a tub_. swift treated this claim with the utmost contempt, but never explicitly claimed for himself the authorship of what some readers hold to be his most powerful work. the _battle of the books_, to which we may first attend, sprang out of the famous controversy as to the relative merits of the ancients and moderns, which began in france with perrault and fontenelle; which had been set going in england by sir w. temple's essay upon ancient and modern learning ( ), and which incidentally led to the warfare between bentley and wotton on one side, and boyle and his oxford allies on the other. a full account of this celebrated discussion may be found in professor jebb's _bentley_; and, as swift only took the part of a light skirmisher, nothing more need be said of it in this place. one point alone is worth notice. the eagerness of the discussion is characteristic of a time at which the modern spirit was victoriously revolting against the ancient canons of taste and philosophy. at first sight, we might therefore expect the defenders of antiquity to be on the side of authority. in fact, however, the argument, as swift takes it from temple, is reversed. temple's theory, so far as he had any consistent theory, is indicated in the statement that the moderns gathered "all their learning from books in the universities." learning, he suggests, may weaken invention; and people who trust to the charity of others will always be poor. swift accepts and enforces this doctrine. the _battle of the books_ is an expression of that contempt for pedants which he had learnt in dublin, and which is expressed in the ode to the athenian society. philosophy, he tells us in that precious production, "seems to have borrowed some ungrateful taste of doubts, impertinence, and niceties from every age through which it passed" (this, i may observe, is verse), and is now a "medley of all ages," "her face patched over with modern pedantry." the moral finds a more poetical embodiment in the famous apologue of the bee and the spider in the _battle of the books_. the bee had got itself entangled in the spider's web in the library, whilst the books were beginning to wrangle. the two have a sharp dispute, which is summed up by Ã�sop as arbitrator. the spider represents the moderns who spin their scholastic pedantry out of their own insides; whilst the bee, like the ancients, goes direct to nature. the moderns produce nothing but "wrangling and satire, much of a nature with the spider's poison, which however they pretend to spit wholly out of themselves is improved by the same arts, by feeding upon the insects and vermin of the age." we, the ancients, "profess to nothing of our own, beyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and our language. for the rest, whatever we have got has been by infinite labour and research, and ranging through every corner of nature; the difference is that, instead of dirt and poison, we have rather chosen to fill our hives with honey and wax, thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest of things, which are sweetness and light." the homeric battle which follows is described with infinite spirit. pallas is the patron of the ancients whilst momus undertakes the cause of the moderns, and appeals for help to the malignant deity criticism, who is found in her den at the top of a snowy mountain, extended upon the spoils of numberless half-devoured volumes. by her, as she exclaims in the regulation soliloquy, children become wiser than their parents, beaux become politicians, and schoolboys judges of philosophy. she flies to her darling wotton, gathering up her person into an octavo compass; her body grows white and arid and splits in pieces with dryness; a concoction of gall and soot is strewn in the shape of letters upon her person; and so she joins the moderns, "undistinguishable in shape and dress from the divine bentley, wotton's dearest friend." it is needless to follow the fortunes of the fight which follows; it is enough to observe that virgil is encountered by his translator dryden in a helmet "nine times too large for the head, which appeared situate far in the hinder part, even like the lady in the lobster, or like a mouse under a canopy of state, or like a shrivelled beau within the penthouse of a modern periwig, and the voice was suited to the visage, sounding weak and remote;" and that the book is concluded by an episode, in which bentley and wotton try a diversion and steal the armour of phalaris and Ã�sop, but are met by boyle, clad in a suit of armour given him by all the gods, who transfixes them on his spear like a brace of woodcocks on an iron skewer. the raillery, if taken in its critical aspect, recoils upon the author. dryden hardly deserves the scorn of virgil; and bentley, as we know, made short work of phalaris and boyle. but swift probably knew and cared little for the merits of the controversy. he expresses his contempt with characteristic vigour and coarseness; and our pleasure in his display of exuberant satirical power is not injured by his obvious misconception of the merits of the case. the unflagging spirit of the writing, the fertility and ingenuity of the illustrations, do as much as can be done to give lasting vitality to what is radically (to my taste at least) a rather dreary form of wit. the _battle of the books_ is the best of the travesties. nor in the brilliant assault upon great names do we at present see anything more than the buoyant consciousness of power, common in the unsparing judgments of youth, nor edged as yet by any real bitterness. swift has found out that the world is full of humbugs; and goes forth hewing and hacking with super-abundant energy, not yet aware that he too may conceivably be a fallible being, and still less that the humbugs may some day prove too strong for him. the same qualities are more conspicuous in the far greater satire the _tale of a tub_. it is so striking a performance that johnson, who cherished one of his stubborn prejudices against swift, doubted whether swift could have written it. "there is in it," he said, "such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much of nature, and art, and life." the doubt is clearly without the least foundation, and the estimate upon which it is based is generally disputed. the _tale of a tub_ has certainly not achieved a reputation equal to that of _gulliver's travels_, to the merits of which johnson was curiously blind. yet i think that there is this much to be said in favour of johnson's theory, namely, that swift's style reaches its highest point in the earlier work. there is less flagging; a greater fulness and pressure of energetic thought; a power of hitting the nail on the head at the first blow, which has declined in the work of his maturer years, when life was weary and thought intermittent. swift seems to have felt this himself. in the twilight of his intellect, he was seen turning over the pages and murmuring to himself, "good god, what a genius i had when i wrote that book!" in an apology (dated ) he makes a statement which may help to explain this fact. "the author," he says, "was then ( ) young, his invention at the height, and his reading fresh in his head. by the assistance of some thinking and much conversation, he had endeavoured to strip himself of as many prejudices as he could." he resolved, as he adds, "to proceed in a manner entirely new;" and he afterwards claims in the most positive terms that through the whole book (including both the tale and the battle of the books) he has not borrowed one "single hint from any writer in the world."[ ] no writer has ever been more thoroughly original than swift, for his writings are simply himself. the _tale of a tub_ is another challenge thrown down to pretentious pedantry. the vigorous, self-confident intellect has found out the emptiness and absurdity of a number of the solemn formulæ which pass current in the world, and tears them to pieces with audacious and rejoicing energy. he makes a mock of the paper chains with which solemn professors tried to fetter his activity, and scatters the fragments to the four winds of heaven. in one of the first sections he announces the philosophy afterwards expounded by herr teufelsdröckh, according to which "man himself is but a micro-coat;" if one of the suits of clothes called animals "be trimmed up with a gold chain, and a red gown, and a white rod, and a pert look, it is called a lord mayor; if certain ermines and furs be placed in a certain position, we style them a judge; and so an apt conjunction of lawn and black satin we entitle a bishop." though swift does not himself develop this philosophical doctrine, its later form reflects light upon the earlier theory. for, in truth, swift's teaching comes to this, that the solemn plausibilities of the world are but so many "shams"--elaborate masks used to disguise the passions, for the most part base and earthly, by which mankind is really impelled. the "digressions" which he introduces with the privilege of a humorist, bear chiefly upon the literary sham. he falls foul of the whole population of grub street at starting, and (as i may note in passing) incidentally gives a curious hint of his authorship. he describes himself as a worn-out pamphleteer who has worn his quill to the pith in the service of the state. "fourscore and eleven pamphlets have i writ under the reigns and for the service of six-and-thirty patrons." porson first noticed that the same numbers are repeated in _gulliver's travels_; gulliver is fastened with "fourscore and eleven chains" locked to his left leg "with six-and-thirty padlocks." swift makes the usual onslaught of a young author upon the critics, with more than the usual vigour, and carries on the war against bentley and his ally by parodying wotton's remarks upon the ancients. he has discovered many omissions in homer; "who seems to have read but very superficially either sendivogus, behmen, or _anthroposophia magia_."[ ] homer, too, never mentions a saveall; and has a still worse fault--his "gross ignorance in the common laws of this realm, and in the doctrine as well as discipline of the church of england"--defects, indeed, for which he has been justly censured by wotton. perhaps the most vigorous and certainly the most striking of these digressions, is that upon "the original use and improvement of madness in a commonwealth." just in passing, as it were, swift gives the pith of a whole system of misanthropy, though he as yet seems to be rather indulging a play of fancy, than expressing a settled conviction. happiness, he says, is a "perpetual possession of being well deceived." the wisdom which keeps on the surface is better than that which persists in officiously prying into the underlying reality. "last week i saw a woman flayed," he observes, "and you will hardly believe how much it altered her person for the worse." it is best to be content with patching up the outside, and so assuring the "serene, peaceful state"--the sublimest point of felicity--"of being a fool amongst knaves." he goes on to tell us how useful madmen may be made: how curtius may be regarded equally as a madman and a hero for his leap into the gulf; how the raging, blaspheming, noisy inmate of bedlam is fit to have a regiment of dragoons; and the bustling, sputtering, bawling madman should be sent to westminster hall; and the solemn madman, dreaming dreams and seeing best in the dark, to preside over a congregation of dissenters; and how elsewhere you may find the raw material of the merchant, the courtier, or the monarch. we are all madmen, and happy so far as mad: delusion and peace of mind go together; and the more truth we know, the more shall we recognize that realities are hideous. swift only plays with his paradoxes. he laughs without troubling himself to decide whether his irony tells against the theories which he ostensibly espouses, or those which he ostensibly attacks. but he has only to adopt in seriousness the fancy with which he is dallying, in order to graduate as a finished pessimist. these, however, are interruptions to the main thread of the book, which is a daring assault upon that serious kind of pedantry which utters itself in theological systems. the three brothers, peter, martin, and jack, represent, as we all know, the roman catholic, the anglican, and the puritanical varieties of christianity. they start with a new coat provided for each by their father, and a will to explain the right mode of wearing it; and after some years of faithful observance, they fall in love with the three ladies of wealth, ambition, and pride, get into terribly bad ways and make wild work of the coats and the will. they excuse themselves for wearing shoulder-knots by picking the separate letters s, h, and so forth, out of separate words in the will, and as k is wanting, discover it to be synonymous with c. they reconcile themselves to gold lace by remembering that when they were boys they heard a fellow say that he had heard their father's man say that he would advise his sons to get gold lace when they had money enough to buy it. then, as the will becomes troublesome in spite of exegetical ingenuity, the eldest brother finds a convenient codicil which can be tacked to it, and will sanction a new fashion of flame-coloured satin. the will expressly forbids silver fringe on the coats; but they discover that the word meaning silver fringe may also signify a broomstick. and by such devices they go on merrily for a time, till peter sets up to be the sole heir and insists upon the obedience of his brethren. his performances in this position are trying to their temper. "whenever it happened that any rogue of newgate was condemned to be hanged, peter would offer him a pardon for a certain sum of money; which when the poor caitiff had made all shifts to scrape up and send, his lordship would return a piece of paper in this form. "'to all mayors, sheriffs, jailors, constables, bailiffs, hangmen, &c. whereas we are informed that a. b. remains in the hands of you or some of you, under the sentence of death: we will and command you, upon sight hereof to let the said prisoner depart to his own habitation whether he stands condemned for murder, &c., &c., for which this shall be your sufficient warrant; and if you fail hereof, god damn you and yours to all eternity; and so we bid you heartily farewell. your most humble man's man, emperor peter.' "the wretches, trusting to this, lost their lives and their money too." peter, however, became outrageously proud. he has been seen to take "three old high-crowned hats and clap them all on his head three-storey high, with a huge bunch of keys at his girdle, and an angling-rod in his hand. in which guise, whoever went to take him by the hand in the way of salutation, peter, with much grace, like a well-educated spaniel, would present them with his foot; and if they refused his civility, then he would raise it as high as their chops, and give him a damned kick on the mouth, which has ever since been called a salute." peter receives his brothers at dinner, and has nothing served up but a brown loaf. come, he says, "fall on and spare not; here is excellent good mutton," and he helps them each to a shoe. the brothers remonstrate, and try to point out that they see only bread. they argue for some time, but have to give in to a conclusive argument. "'look ye, gentlemen,' cries peter in a rage, 'to convince you what a couple of blind, positive, ignorant, wilful puppies you are, i will use but this simple argument. by g-- it is true, good, natural mutton as any in leadenhall market; and g-- confound you both eternally, if you offer to believe otherwise.' such a thundering proof as this left no further room for objection; the two unbelievers began to gather and pocket up their mistake as hastily as they could," and have to admit besides that another large dry crust is true juice of the grape. the brothers jack and martin afterwards fall out: and jack is treated to a storm of ridicule much in the same vein as that directed against peter; and, if less pointed, certainly not less expressive of contempt. i need not further follow the details of what johnson calls this "wild book," which is in every page brimful of intense satirical power. i must however say a few words upon a matter which is of great importance in forming a clear judgment of swift's character. the _tale of a tub_ was universally attributed to swift, and led to many doubts of his orthodoxy and even of his christianity. sharpe, archbishop of york, injured swift's chances of preferment by insinuating such doubts to queen anne. swift bitterly resented the imputation. he prefixed an apology to a later edition, in which he admitted that he had said some rash things; but declared that he would forfeit his life if any one opinion contrary to morality or religion could be fairly deduced from the book. he pointed out that he had attacked no anglican doctrine. his ridicule spares martin, and is pointed at peter and jack. like every satirist who ever wrote, he does not attack the use but the abuse; and as the church of england represents for him the purest embodiment of the truth, an attack upon the abuses of religion meant an attack upon other churches only in so far as they diverged from this model. critics have accepted this apology, and treated poor queen anne and her advisers as representing simply the prudery of the tea-table. the question, to my thinking, does not admit of quite so simple an answer. if, in fact, we ask what is the true object of swift's audacious satire, the answer will depend partly upon our own estimate of the truth. clearly it ridicules "abuses;" but one man's use is another's abuse: and a dogma may appear to us venerable or absurd according to our own creed. one test, however, may be suggested, which may guide our decision. imagine the _tale of a tub_ to be read by bishop butler and by voltaire, who called swift a _rabelais perfectionné_. can any one doubt that the believer would be scandalized and the scoffer find himself in a thoroughly congenial element? would not any believer shrink from the use of such weapons even though directed against his enemies? scott urges that the satire was useful to the high church party because, as he says, it is important for any institution in britain (or anywhere else, we may add) to have the laughers on its side. but scott was too sagacious not to indicate the obvious reply. the condition of having the laughers on your side is to be on the side of the laughers. advocates of any serious cause feel that there is a danger in accepting such an alliance. the laughers who join you in ridiculing your enemy, are by no means pledged to refrain from laughing in turn at the laugher. when swift had ridiculed all the catholic and all the puritan dogmas in the most unsparing fashion, could he be sure that the thirty-nine articles would escape scot free? the catholic theory of a church possessing divine authority, the puritan theory of a divine voice addressing the individual soul, suggested to him, in their concrete embodiments at least, nothing but a horselaugh. could any one be sure that the anglican embodiment of the same theories might not be turned to equal account by the scoffer? was the true bearing of swift's satire in fact limited to the deviations from sound church of england doctrine, or might it not be directed against the very vital principle of the doctrine itself? swift's blindness to such criticisms was thoroughly characteristic. he professes, as we have seen, that he had need to clear his mind of _real_ prejudices. he admits that the process might be pushed too far; that is, that in abandoning a prejudice you may be losing a principle. in fact, the prejudices from which swift had sought to free himself--and no doubt with great success--were the prejudices of other people. for them he felt unlimited contempt. but the prejudice which had grown up in his mind, strengthened with his strength, and become intertwined with all his personal affections and antipathies, was no longer a prejudice in his eyes, but a sacred principle. the intensity of his contempt for the follies of others shut his eyes effectually to any similarity between their tenets and his own. his principles, true or false, were prejudices in the highest degree, if by a prejudice we mean an opinion cherished because it has somehow or other become ours, though the "somehow" may exclude all reference to reason. swift never troubled himself to assign any philosophical basis for his doctrines; having, indeed, a hearty contempt for philosophizing in general. he clung to the doctrines of his church, not because he could give abstract reasons for his belief, but simply because the church happened to be his. it is equally true of all his creeds, political or theological, that he loved them as he loved his friends, simply because they had become a part of himself, and were therefore identified with all his hopes, ambitions, and aspirations public or private. we shall see hereafter how fiercely he attacked the dissenters, and how scornfully he repudiated all arguments founded upon the desirability of union amongst protestants. to a calm outside observer differences might appear to be superficial; but to him, no difference could be other than radical and profound which in fact divided him from an antagonist. in attacking the presbyterians, cried more temperate people, you are attacking your brothers and your own opinions. no, replied swift, i am attacking the corruption of my principles; hideous caricatures of myself; caricatures the more hateful in proportion to their apparent likeness. and therefore, whether in political or theological warfare, he was sublimely unconscious of the possible reaction of his arguments. swift took a characteristic mode of showing that if upon some points he accidentally agreed with the unbeliever, it was not from any covert sympathy. two of his most vigorous pieces of satire in later days are directed against the deists. in he published an _argument to prove that the abolishing of christianity in england may, as things now stand, be attended with some inconveniences, and perhaps not produce those many good effects proposed thereby_. and in , in the midst of his most eager political warfare, he published _mr. collins's discourse of freethinking, put into plain english, by way of abstract, for use of the poor_. no one who reads these pamphlets can deny that the keenest satire may be directed against infidels as well as against christians. the last is an admirable parody, in which poor collins's arguments are turned against himself with ingenious and provoking irony. the first is perhaps swift's cleverest application of the same method. a nominal religion, he urges gravely, is of some use, for if men cannot be allowed a god to revile or renounce, they will speak evil of dignities, and may even come to "reflect upon the ministry." if christianity were once abolished, the wits would be deprived of their favourite topic. "who would ever have suspected asgil for a wit or toland for a philosopher if the inexhaustible stock of christianity had not been at hand to provide them with materials?" the abolition of christianity moreover may possibly bring the church into danger, for atheists, deists, and socinians have little zeal for the present ecclesiastical establishment; and if they once get rid of christianity, they may aim at setting up presbyterianism. moreover, as long as we keep to any religion, we do not strike at the root of the evil. the freethinkers consider that all the parts hold together, and that if you pull out one nail the whole fabric will fall. which, he says, was happily expressed by one who heard that a text brought in proof of the trinity, was differently read in some ancient manuscript; whereupon he suddenly leaped through a long _sorites_ to the logical conclusion: "why, if it be as you say, i may safely ... drink on and defy the parson." a serious meaning underlies swift's sarcasms. collins had argued in defence of the greatest possible freedom of discussion; and tacitly assumed that such discussion would lead to disbelief of christianity. opponents of the liberal school had answered by claiming his first principle as their own. they argued that religion was based upon reason, and would be strengthened instead of weakened by free inquiry. swift virtually takes a different position. he objects to freethinking because ordinary minds are totally unfit for such inquiries. "the bulk of mankind," as he puts it, is as "well qualified for flying as thinking;" and therefore free-thought would lead to anarchy, atheism, and immorality, as liberty to fly would lead to a breaking of necks. collins rails at priests as tyrants upheld by imposture. swift virtually replies that they are the sole guides to truth and guardians of morality, and that theology should be left to them, as medicine to physicians and law to lawyers. the argument against the abolition of christianity takes the same ground. religion, however little regard is paid to it in practice, is in fact the one great security for a decent degree of social order; and the rash fools who venture to reject what they do not understand, are public enemies as well as ignorant sciolists. the same view is taken in swift's sermons. he said of himself that he could only preach political pamphlets. several of the twelve sermons preserved are in fact directly aimed at some of the political and social grievances which he was habitually denouncing. if not exactly "pamphlets," they are sermons in aid of pamphlets. others are vigorous and sincere moral discourses. one alone deals with a purely theological topic: the doctrine of the trinity. his view is simply that "men of wicked lives would be very glad if there were no truth in christianity at all." they therefore cavil at the mysteries to find some excuse for giving up the whole. he replies in effect that there most be mystery though not contradiction, everywhere, and that if we do not accept humbly what is taught in the scriptures, we must give up christianity, and consequently, as he holds, all moral obligation, at once. the cavil is merely the pretext of an evil conscience. swift's religion thus partook of the directly practical nature of his whole character. he was absolutely indifferent to speculative philosophy. he was even more indifferent to the mystical or imaginative aspects of religion. he loved downright concrete realities, and was not the man to lose himself in an _oh, altitudo!_ or in any train of thought or emotion not directly bearing upon the actual business of the world. though no man had more pride in his order or love of its privileges, swift never emphasized his professional character. he wished to be accepted as a man of the world and of business. he despised the unpractical and visionary type, and the kind of religious utterance congenial to men of that type was abhorrent to him. he shrank invariably too from any display of his emotion, and would have felt the heartiest contempt for the sentimentalism of his day. at once the proudest and most sensitive of men, it was his imperative instinct to hide his emotions as much as possible. in cases of great excitement, he retired into some secluded corner, where, if he was forced to feel, he could be sure of hiding his feelings. he always masks his strongest passions under some ironical veil, and thus practised what his friends regarded as an inverted hypocrisy. delany tells us that he stayed for six months in swift's house, before discovering that the dean always read prayers to his servants at a fixed hour in private. a deep feeling of solemnity showed itself in his manner of performing public religious exercises, but delany, a man of a very different temperament, blames his friend for carrying his reserve in all such matters to extremes. in certain respects swift was ostentatious enough; but this intense dislike to wearing his heart upon his sleeve, to laying bare the secrets of his affections before unsympathetic eyes, is one of his most indelible characteristics. swift could never have felt the slightest sympathy for the kind of preacher who courts applause by a public exhibition of intimate joys and sorrows; and was less afraid of suppressing some genuine emotion than of showing any in the slightest degree unreal. although swift took in the main what may be called the political view of religion, he did not by any means accept that view in its cynical form. he did not, that is, hold, in gibbon's famous phrase, that all religions were equally false and equally useful. his religious instincts were as strong and genuine as they were markedly undemonstrative. he came to take (i am anticipating a little) a gloomy view of the world and of human nature. he had the most settled conviction not only of the misery of human life but of the feebleness of the good elements in the world. the bad and the stupid are the best fitted for life, as we find it. virtue is generally a misfortune; the more we sympathize, the more cause we have for wretchedness; our affections give us the purest kind of happiness, and yet our affections expose us to sufferings which more than outweigh the enjoyments. there is no such thing, he said in his decline, as "a fine old gentleman;" if so and so had had either a mind or a body worth a farthing, "they would have worn him out long ago." that became a typical sentiment with swift. his doctrine was, briefly, that: virtue was the one thing which deserved love and admiration; and yet that virtue in this hideous chaos of a world, involved misery and decay. what would be the logical result of such a creed, i do not presume to say. certainly, we should guess, something more pessimistic or manichæan than suits the ordinary interpretation of christian doctrine. but for swift this state of mind carried with it the necessity of clinging to some religious creed: not because the creed held out promises of a better hereafter, for swift was too much absorbed in the present to dwell much upon such beliefs; but rather because it provided him with some sort of fixed convictions in this strange and disastrous muddle. if it did not give a solution in terms intelligible to the human intellect, it encouraged the belief that some solution existed. it justified him to himself for continuing to respect morality, and for going on living, when all the game of life seemed to be decidedly going in favour of the devil, and suicide to be the most reasonable course. at least, it enabled him to associate himself with the causes and principles which he recognized as the most ennobling element in the world's "mad farce;" and to utter himself in formulæ consecrated by the use of such wise and good beings as had hitherto shown themselves amongst a wretched race. placed in another situation, swift no doubt might have put his creed--to speak after the clothes philosophy--into a different dress. the substance could not have been altered, unless his whole character as well as his particular opinions had been profoundly modified. chapter iv. laracor and london. swift at the age of thirty-one had gained a small amount of cash, and a promise from william. he applied to the king, but the great man in whom he trusted failed to deliver his petition; and, after some delay, he accepted an invitation to become chaplain and secretary to the earl of berkeley, just made one of the lords justices of ireland. he acted as secretary on the journey to ireland: but upon reaching dublin, lord berkeley gave the post to another man, who had persuaded him that it was unfit for a clergyman. swift next claimed the deanery of derry, which soon became vacant. the secretary had been bribed by _l._ from another candidate, upon whom the deanery was bestowed: but swift was told that he might still have the preference for an equal bribe. unable or unwilling to comply, he took leave of berkeley and the secretary, with the pithy remark, "god confound you both for a couple of scoundrels." he was partly pacified, however (february ), by the gift of laracor, a village near trim, some twenty miles from dublin. two other small livings, and a prebend in the cathedral of st. patrick, made up a revenue of about _l._ a year.[ ] the income enabled him to live; but, in spite of the rigid economy which he always practised, did not enable him to save. marriage under such circumstances would have meant the abandonment of an ambitious career. a wife and family would have anchored him to his country parsonage. this may help to explain an unpleasant episode which followed. poor varina had resisted swift's entreaties, on the ground of her own ill-health and swift's want of fortune. she now, it seems, thought that the economical difficulty was removed by swift's preferment, and wished the marriage to take place. swift replied in a letter, which contains all our information: and to which i can apply no other epithet than brutal. some men might feel bound to fulfil a marriage engagement, even when love had grown cold; others might think it better to break it off in the interests of both parties. swift's plan was to offer to fulfil it on conditions so insulting that no one with a grain of self-respect could accept. in his letter he expresses resentment for miss waring's previous treatment of him; he reproaches her bitterly with the company in which she lives--including, as it seems, her mother; no young woman in the world with her income should "dwindle away her health in such a sink and among such family conversation." he explains that he is still poor; he doubts the improvement of her own health; and he then says that if she will submit to be educated so as to be capable of entertaining him: to accept all his likes and dislikes: to soothe his ill-humour, and live cheerfully wherever he pleases: he will take her without inquiring into her looks or her income. "cleanliness in the first, and competency in the other, is all i look for." swift could be the most persistent and ardent of friends. but, when any one tried to enforce claims no longer congenial to his feelings, the appeal to the galling obligation stung him into ferocity, and brought out the most brutal side of his imperious nature. it was in the course of the next year that swift took a step which has sometimes been associated with this. the death of temple had left esther johnson homeless. the small fortune left to her by temple consisted of an irish farm. swift suggested to her that she and her friend mrs. dingley would get better interest for their money, and live more cheaply, in ireland than in england. this change of abode naturally made people talk. the little parson cousin asked (in ) whether jonathan had been able to resist the charms of the two ladies who had marched from moor park to dublin "with full resolution to engage him." swift was now ( ) in his thirty-fourth year, and stella a singularly beautiful and attractive girl of twenty. the anomalous connexion was close, and yet most carefully guarded against scandal. in swift's absence, the ladies occupied his apartments at dublin. when he and they were in the same place they took separate lodgings. twice, it seems, they accompanied him on visits to england. but swift never saw esther johnson except in presence of a third person; and he incidentally declares in --near the end of her life--that he had not seen her in a morning "these dozen years, except once or twice in a journey." the relations thus regulated remained unaltered for several years to come. swift's duties at laracor were not excessive. he reckons his congregation at fifteen persons, "most of them gentle and all simple." he gave notice, says orrery, that he would read prayers every wednesday and friday. the congregation on the first wednesday consisted of himself and his clerk, and swift began the service, "dearly beloved roger, the scripture moveth you and me," and so forth. this being attributed to swift, is supposed to be an exquisite piece of facetiousness; but we may hope that, as scott gives us reason to think, it was really one of the drifting jests that stuck for a time to the skirts of the famous humorist. what is certain is, that swift did his best, with narrow means, to improve the living--rebuilt the house, laid out the garden, increased the glebe from one acre to twenty, and endowed the living with tithes bought by himself. he left the tithes on the remarkable condition (suggested probably by his fears of presbyterian ascendancy) that, if another form of christian religion should become the established faith in this kingdom, they should go to the poor--excluding jews, atheists, and infidels. swift became attached to laracor, and the gardens which he planted in humble imitation of moor park; he made friends of some of the neighbours; though he detested trim, where "the people were as great rascals as the gentlemen;" but laracor was rather an occasional retreat than a centre of his interests. during the following years swift was often at the castle at dublin, and passed considerable periods in london, leaving a curate in charge of the minute congregation at laracor. he kept upon friendly terms with successive viceroys. he had, as we have seen, extorted a partial concession of his claims from lord berkeley. for lord berkeley, if we may argue from a very gross lampoon, he can have felt nothing but contempt. but he had a high respect for lady berkeley; and one of the daughters, afterwards lady betty germaine, a very sensible and kindly woman, retained his friendship through life, and in letters written long afterwards refers with evident fondness to the old days of familiarity. he was intimate, again, with the family of the duke of ormond, who became lord lieutenant in , and, again, was the close friend of one of the daughters. he was deeply grieved by her death a few years later, soon after her marriage to lord ashburnham. "i hate life," he says characteristically, "when i think it exposed to such accidents; and to see so many thousand wretches burdening the earth when such as her die, makes me think god did never intend life for a blessing." when lord pembroke succeeded ormond, swift still continued chaplain, and carried on a queer commerce of punning with pembroke. it is the first indication of a habit which lasted, as we shall see, through life. one might be tempted to say, were it not for the conclusive evidence to the contrary, that this love of the most mechanical variety of facetiousness implied an absence of any true sense of humour. swift, indeed, was giving proofs that he possessed a full share of that ambiguous talent. it would be difficult to find a more perfect performance of its kind than the poem by which he amused the berkeley family in . it is the _petition of mrs. frances harris_, a chambermaid, who had lost her purse, and whose peculiar style of language, as well as the unsympathetic comments of her various fellow-servants, are preserved with extraordinary felicity in a peculiar doggerel invented for the purpose by swift. one fancies that the famous mrs. harris of mrs. gamp's reminiscences was a phantasmal descendant of swift's heroine. he lays bare the workings of the menial intellect with the clearness of a master. neither laracor nor dublin could keep swift from london.[ ] during the ten years succeeding , he must have passed over four in england. in the last period mentioned he was acting as an agent for the church of ireland. in the others he was attracted by pleasure or ambition. he had already many introductions to london society, through temple, through the irish viceroys, and through congreve, the most famous of then living wits. a successful pamphlet, to be presently mentioned, helped his rise to fame. london society was easy of access for a man of swift's qualities. the divisions of rank were doubtless more strongly marked than now. yet society was relatively so small, and concentrated in so small a space, that admission into the upper circle meant an easy introduction to every one worth knowing. any noticeable person became, as it were, member of a club which had a tacit existence, though there was no single place of meeting or recognized organization. swift soon became known at the coffee-houses, which have been superseded by the clubs of modern times. at one time, according to a story vague as to dates, he got the name of the "mad parson" from addison and others, by his habit of taking half-an-hour's smart walk to and fro in the coffee-house, and then departing in silence. at last he abruptly accosted a stranger from the country: "pray, sir, do you remember any good weather in the world?" "yes, sir," was the reply, "i thank god i remember a great deal of good weather in my time." "that," said swift, "is more than i can say. i never remember any weather that was not too hot, or too cold, or too wet, or too dry: but, however god almighty contrives it, at the end of the year 'tis all very well;" with which sentiment he vanished. whatever his introduction swift would soon make himself felt. the _tale of a tub_ appeared--with a very complimentary dedication to somers--in , and revealed powers beyond the rivalry of any living author. in the year swift became intimate with addison, who wrote in a copy of his _travels in italy_, to _jonathan swift, the most agreeable companion, the truest friend, and the greatest genius of his age, this work is presented by his most humble servant the author_. though the word "genius" had scarcely its present strength of meaning, the phrase certainly implies that addison knew swift's authorship of the _tale_, and with all his decorum was not repelled by its audacious satire. the pair formed a close friendship, which is honourable to both. for it proves that if swift was imperious and addison a little too fond of the adulation of "wits and templars," each could enjoy the society of an intellectual equal. they met, we may fancy, like absolute kings, accustomed to the incense of courtiers, and not inaccessible to its charms; and yet glad at times to throw aside state and associate with each other without jealousy. addison, we know, was most charming when talking to a single companion, and delany repeats swift's statement that, often as they spent their evenings together, they never wished for a third. steele, for a time, was joined in what swift calls a triumvirate; and though political strife led to a complete breach with steele and a temporary eclipse of familiarity with addison, it never diminished swift's affection for his great rival. "that man," he said once, "has virtue enough to give reputation to an age," and the phrase expresses his settled opinion. swift, however, had a low opinion of the society of the average "wit." "the worst conversation i ever heard in my life," he says, "was that at wills' coffee-house, where the wits (as they were called) used formerly to assemble;" and he speaks with a contempt recalling pope's satire upon the "little senate," of the absurd self-importance and the foolish adulation of the students and templars who listened to these oracles. others have suspected that many famous coteries of which literary people are accustomed to speak with unction, probably fell as far short in reality of their traditional pleasantness. swift's friendship with addison was partly due, we may fancy, to the difference in temper and talent which fitted each to be complement of the other. a curious proof of the mutual goodwill is given by the history of swift's _baucis and philemon_. it is a humorous and agreeable enough travesty of ovid; a bit of good-humoured pleasantry, which we may take as it was intended. the performance was in the spirit of the time, and if swift had not the lightness of touch of his contemporaries, prior, gay, parnell, and pope, he perhaps makes up for it by greater force and directness. but the piece is mainly remarkable because, as he tells us, addison made him "blot out four score lines, add four score, and alter four score," though the whole consisted of only verses.[ ] swift showed a complete absence of the ordinary touchiness of authors. his indifference to literary fame as to its pecuniary rewards, was conspicuous. he was too proud, as he truly said, to be vain. his sense of dignity restrained him from petty sensibility. when a clergyman regretted some emendations which had been hastily suggested by himself and accepted by swift, swift replied that it mattered little, and that he would not give grounds by adhering to his own opinion, for an imputation of vanity. if swift was egotistical, there was nothing petty even in his egotism. a piece of facetiousness, started by swift in the last of his visits to london, has become famous. a cobbler called partridge had set up as an astrologer, and published predictions in the style of _zadkiel's almanac_. swift amused himself in the beginning of by publishing a rival prediction under the name of isaac bickerstaff. bickerstaff professed that he would give verifiable and definite predictions, instead of the vague oracular utterances of his rival. the first of these predictions announced the approaching death, at p.m., on march th, of partridge himself. directly after that day appeared a letter "to a person of honour," announcing the fulfilment of the prediction by the death of partridge within four hours of the date assigned. partridge took up the matter seriously, and indignantly declared himself, in a new almanac, to be alive. bickerstaff retorted in a humorous vindication, arguing that partridge was really dead; that his continuing to write almanacs was no proof to the contrary, and so forth. all the wits, great and small, took part in the joke: the portuguese inquisition, so it is said, were sufficiently taken in to condemn bickerstaff to the flames; and steele, who started the _tatler_, whilst the joke was afoot, adopted the name of bickerstaff for the imaginary author. dutiful biographers agree to admire this as a wonderful piece of fun. the joke does not strike me, i will confess, as of very exquisite flavour; but it is a curious illustration of a peculiarity to which swift owed some of his power, and which seems to have suggested many of the mythical anecdotes about him. his humour very easily took the form of practical joking. in those days, the mutual understanding of the little clique of wits made it easy to get a hoax taken up by the whole body. they joined to persecute poor partridge, as the undergraduates at a modern college might join to tease some obnoxious tradesman. swift's peculiar irony fitted him to take the load; for it implied a singular pleasure in realizing the minute consequences of some given hypothesis, and working out in detail some grotesque or striking theory. the love of practical jokes, which seems to have accompanied him through life, is one of the less edifying manifestations of the tendency. it seems as if he could not quite enjoy a jest till it was translated into actual tangible fact. the fancy does not suffice him till it is realized. if the story about "dearly beloved roger" be true, it is a case in point. sydney smith would have been content with suggesting that such a thing might be done. swift was not satisfied till he had done it. and even if it be not true, it has been accepted because it is like the truth. we could almost fancy that if swift had thought of charles lamb's famous quibble about walking on an empty stomach ("on whose empty stomach?"), he would have liked to carry it out by an actual promenade on real human flesh and blood. swift became intimate with irish viceroys, and with the most famous wits and statesmen of london. but he received none of the good things bestowed so freely upon contemporary men of letters. in , addison, his intimate friend, and his junior by five years, had sprung from a garret to a comfortable office. other men passed swift in the race. he notes significantly in , that "a young fellow," a friend of his, had just received a sinecure of _l._ a year, as an addition to another of _l._ towards the end of he had already complained that he got "nothing but the good words and wishes of a decayed ministry, whose lives and mine will probably wear out before they can serve either my little hopes, or their own ambition." swift still remained in his own district, "a hedge-parson," flattered, caressed and neglected. and yet he held,[ ] that it was easier to provide for ten men in the church, than for one in a civil employment. to understand his claims, and the modes by which he used to enforce them, we must advert briefly to the state of english politics. a clear apprehension of swift's relation to the ministers of the day is essential to any satisfactory estimate of his career. the reign of queen anne was a period of violent party spirit. at the end of , swift humorously declares that even the cats and dogs were infected with the whig and tory animosity. the "very ladies" were divided into high church and low; and, "out of zeal for religion, had hardly time to say their prayers." the gentle satire of addison and steele, in the _spectator_, confirms swift's contemporary lamentations, as to the baneful effects of party zeal upon private friendship. and yet, it has been often said, that the party issues were hopelessly confounded. lord stanhope argues--and he is only repeating what swift frequently said--that whigs and tories had exchanged principles.[ ] in later years, swift constantly asserted that he attacked the whigs in defence of the true whig faith. he belonged indeed to a party, almost limited to himself: for he avowed himself to be the anomalous hybrid, a high-church whig. we must therefore inquire a little further into the true meaning of the accepted shibboleths. swift had come from ireland, saturated with the prejudices of his caste. the highest tory in ireland, as he told william, would make a tolerable whig in england. for the english colonists in ireland, the expulsion of james was a condition not of party success but of existence. swift, whose personal and family interests were identified with those of the english in ireland, could repudiate james with his whole heart, and heartily accepted the revolution; he was therefore a whig, so far as attachment to "revolution principles" was the distinctive badge of whiggism. swift despised james, and he hated popery from first to last. contempt and hatred with him were never equivocal, and in this case they sprang as much from his energetic sense as from his early prejudices. jacobitism was becoming a sham, and therefore offensive to men of insight into facts. its ghost walked the earth for some time longer, and at times aped reality; but it meant mere sentimentalism or vague discontent. swift, when asked to explain its persistence, said that when he was in pain and lying on his right side, he naturally turned to his left, though he might have no prospect of benefit from the change.[ ] the country squire, who drank healths to the king over the water, was tired of the georges, and shared the fears of the typical western, that his lands were in danger of being sent to hanover. the stuarts had been in exile long enough to win the love of some of their subjects. sufficient time had elapsed to erase from short memories the true cause of their fall. squires and parsons did not cherish less warmly the privileges in defence of which they had sent the last stuart king about his business. rather the privileges had become so much a matter of course that the very fear of any assault seemed visionary. the jacobitism of later days did not mean any discontent with revolution principles, but dislike to the revolution dynasty. the whig indeed argued with true party logic, that every tory must be a jacobite, and every jacobite a lover of arbitrary rule. in truth a man might wish to restore the stuarts without wishing to restore the principles for which the stuarts had been expelled: he might be a jacobite without being a lover of arbitrary rule; and still more easily might he be a tory without being a jacobite. swift constantly asserted--and in a sense with perfect truth--that the revolution had been carried out in defence of the church of england, and chiefly by attached members of the church. to be a sound churchman was, so far, to be pledged against the family which had assailed the church. swift's whiggism would naturally be strengthened by his personal relation with temple, and with various whigs whom he came to know through temple. but swift, i have said, was a churchman as well as a whig; as staunch a churchman as laud, and as ready, i imagine, to have gone to the block or to prison in defence of his church as any one from the days of laud to those of mr. green. for a time his zeal was not called into play; the war absorbed all interests. marlborough and godolphin, the great heads of the family clique which dominated poor queen anne, had begun as tories and churchmen, supported by a tory majority. the war had been dictated by a national sentiment: but from the beginning it was really a whig war: for it was a war against louis, popery, and the pretender. and thus, the great men who were identified with the war, began slowly to edge over to the party whose principles were the war principles; who hated the pope, the pretender, and the king of france, as their ancestors had hated phillip of spain, or as their descendants hated napoleon. the war meant alliance with the dutch, who had been the martyrs, and were the enthusiastic defenders of toleration and free thought; and it forced english ministers, almost in spite of themselves, into the most successful piece of statesmanship of the century, the union with scotland. now swift hated the dutch and hated the scotch, with a vehemence that becomes almost ludicrous. the margin of his burnet was scribbled over with execrations against the scots. "most damnable scots," "scots hell-hounds," "scotch dogs," "cursed scots still," "hellish scottish dogs," are a few of his spontaneous flowers of speech. his prejudices are the prejudices of his class intensified as all passions were intensified in him. swift regarded scotchmen as the most virulent and dangerous of all dissenters; they were represented to him by the irish presbyterians, the natural rivals of his church. he reviled the union, because it implied the recognition by the state of a sect which regarded the church of england as little better than a manifestation of antichrist. and, in this sense, swift's sympathies were with the tories. for in truth the real contrast between whigs and tories, in respect of which there is a perfect continuity of principle, depended upon the fact that the whigs reflected the sentiments of the middle classes, the "monied men" and the dissenters; whilst the tories reflected the sentiments of the land and the church. each party might occasionally adopt the commonplaces or accept the measures generally associated with its antagonists; but at bottom, the distinction was between squire and parson on one side, tradesmen and banker on the other. the domestic politics of the reign of anne turned upon this difference. the history is a history of the gradual shifting of government to the whig side, and the growing alienation of the clergy and squires, accelerated by a system which caused the fiscal burden of the war to fall chiefly upon the land. bearing this in mind, swift's conduct is perfectly intelligible. his first plunge into politics was in . poor king william was in the thick of the perplexities caused by the mysterious perverseness of english politicians. the king's ministers, supported by the house of lords, had lost the command of the house of commons. it had not yet come to be understood that the cabinet was to be a mere committee of the house of commons. the personal wishes of the sovereign, and the alliances and jealousies of great courtiers, were still highly important factors in the political situation; as indeed both the composition and the subsequent behaviour of the commons could be controlled to a considerable extent by legitimate and other influences of the crown. the commons, unable to make their will obeyed, proceeded to impeach somers and other ministers. a bitter struggle took place between the two houses, which was suspended by the summer recess. at this crisis swift published his _discourse on the dissensions in athens and rome_. the abstract political argument is as good or as bad as nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand political treatises--that is to say, a repetition of familiar commonplaces; and the mode of applying precedents from ancient politics would now strike us as pedantic. the pamphlet, however, is dignified and well-written, and the application to the immediate difficulty is pointed. his argument is, briefly, that the house of commons is showing a factious, tyrannical temper, identical in its nature with that of a single tyrant and as dangerous in its consequences, that it has therefore ceased to reflect the opinions of its constituents, and has endangered the sacred balance between the three primary elements of our constitution, upon which its safe working depends. the pamphlet was from beginning to end a remonstrance against the impeachments, and therefore a defence of the whig lords; for whom sufficiently satisfactory parallels are vaguely indicated in pericles, aristides, and so forth. it was "greedily bought;" it was attributed to somers and to the great whig bishop, burnet, who had to disown it for fear of an impeachment. an irish bishop, it is said, called swift a "very positive young man" for doubting burnet's authorship; whereupon swift had to claim it for himself. youthful vanity, according to his own account, induced him to make the admission, which would certainly not have been withheld by adult discretion. for the result was that somers, halifax, and sunderland, three of the great whig junto, took him up, often admitted him to their intimacy, and were liberal in promising him "the greatest preferments" should they come into power. before long swift had another opportunity which was also a temptation. the tory house of commons had passed the bill against occasional conformity. ardent partisans generally approved this bill, as it was clearly annoying to dissenters. it was directed against the practice of qualifying for office by taking the sacrament according to the rites of the church of england without permanently conforming. it might be fairly argued--as defoe argued, though with questionable sincerity--that such a temporary compliance would be really injurious to dissent. the church would profit by such an exhibition of the flexibility of its opponents' principles. passions were too much heated for such arguments; and in the winter of - , people, says swift, talked of nothing else. he was "mightily urged by some great people" to publish his opinion. an argument from a powerful writer, and a clergyman, against the bill would be very useful to his whig friends. but swift's high church prejudices made him hesitate. the whig leaders assured him that nothing should induce them to vote against the bill if they expected its rejection to hurt the church or "do kindness to the dissenters." but it is precarious to argue from the professed intentions of statesmen to their real motives, and yet more precarious to argue to the consequences of their actions. swift knew not what to think. he resolved to think no more. at last he made up his mind to write against the bill, but he made it up too late. the bill failed to pass; and swift felt a relief in dismissing this delicate subject. he might still call himself a whig, and exult in the growth of whiggism. meanwhile he persuaded himself that the dissenters and their troubles were beneath his notice. they were soon to come again to the front. swift came to london at the end of , charged with a mission on behalf of his church. queen anne's bounty was founded in . the crown restored to the church the first-fruits and tenths which henry viii. had diverted from the papal into his own treasury, and appropriated them to the augmentation of small livings. it was proposed to get the same boon for the church of ireland. the whole sum amounted to about _l._ a year, with a possibility of an additional _l._ swift, who had spoken of this to king, the archbishop of dublin, was now to act as solicitor on behalf of the irish clergy, and hoped to make use of his influence with somers and sunderland. the negotiation was to give him more trouble than he foresaw, and initiate him, before he had done with it, into certain secrets of cabinets and councils which he as yet very imperfectly appreciated. his letters to king, continued over a long period, throw much light on his motives. swift was in england from november, , till march, . the year was for him, as he says, a year of suspense, a year of vast importance to his career, and marked by some characteristic utterances. he hoped to use his influence with somers. somers, though still out of office, was the great oracle of the whigs, whilst sunderland was already secretary of state. in january, , the bishopric of waterford was vacant, and somers tried to obtain the see for swift. the attempt failed, but the political catastrophe of the next month gave hopes that the influence of somers would soon be paramount. harley, the prince of wire-pulling and back-stair intrigue, had exploded the famous masham plot. though this project failed, it was "reckoned," says swift, "the greatest piece of court skill that has been acted many years." queen anne was to take advantage of the growing alienation of the church party to break her bondage to the marlboroughs, and change her ministers. but the attempt was premature, and discomfited its devisers. harley was turned out of office; marlborough and godolphin came into alliance with the whig junto; and the queen's bondage seemed more complete than ever. a cabinet crisis in those days, however, took a long time. it was not till october, , that the whigs, backed by a new parliament and strengthened by the victory of oudenarde, were in full enjoyment of power. somers at last became president of the council and wharton lord lieutenant of ireland. wharton's appointment was specially significant for swift. he was, as even whigs admitted, a man of infamous character, redeemed only by energy and unflinching fidelity to his party. he was licentious and a freethinker; his infidelity showed itself in the grossest outrages against common decency. if he had any religious principle it was a preference of presbyterians, as sharing his antipathy to the church. no man could be more radically antipathetic to swift. meanwhile, the success of the whigs meant in the first instance the success of the men from whom swift had promises of preferment. he tried to use his influence as he had proposed. in june he had an interview about the first-fruits with godolphin, to whom he had been recommended by somers and sunderland. godolphin replied in vague officialisms, suggesting with studied vagueness that the irish clergy must show themselves more grateful than the english. his meaning, as swift thought, was that the irish clergy should consent to a repeal of the test act, regarded by them and by him as the essential bulwark of the church. nothing definite, however, was said; and meanwhile swift, though he gave no signs of compliance, continued to hope for his own preferment. when the final triumph of the whigs came he was still hoping, though with obvious qualms as to his position. he begged king (in nov. ) to believe in his fidelity to the church. offers might be made to him, but "no prospect of making my fortune shall ever prevail on me to go against what becomes a man of conscience and truth, and an entire friend to the established church." he hoped that he might be appointed secretary to a projected embassy to vienna, a position which would put him beyond the region of domestic politics. meanwhile he had published certain tracts which may be taken as the manifesto of his faith at the time when his principles were being most severely tested. would he or would he not sacrifice his churchmanship to the interests of the party with which he was still allied? there can be no doubt that by an open declaration of whig principles in church matters--such a declaration, say, as would have satisfied burnet--he would have qualified himself for preferment, and have been in a position to command the fulfilment of the promises made by somers and sunderland. the writings in question were the _argument to prove the inconvenience of abolishing christianity_; a _project for the advancement of religion_; and the _sentiments of a church of england man_. the first, as i have said, was meant to show that the satirical powers which had given offence in the _tale of a tub_, could be applied without equivocation in defence of christianity. the _project_ is a very forcible exposition of a text which is common enough in all ages--namely, that the particular age of the writer is one of unprecedented corruption. it shares, however, with swift's other writings, the merit of downright sincerity, which convinces us that the author is not repeating platitudes, but giving his own experience and speaking from conviction. his proposals for a reform, though he must have felt them to be chimerical, are conceived in the spirit common in the days before people had begun to talk about the state and the individual. he assumes throughout that a vigorous action of the court and the government will reform the nation. he does not contemplate the now commonplace objection that such a revival of the puritanical system might simply stimulate hypocrisy. he expressly declares that religion may be brought into fashion "by the power of the administration," and assumes that to bring religion into fashion is the same thing as to make men religious. this view--suitable enough to swift's imperious temper--was also the general assumption of the time. a suggestion thrown out in his pamphlet is generally said to have led to the scheme soon afterwards carried out under harley's administration for building fifty new churches in london. a more personal touch is swift's complaint that the clergy sacrifice their influence by "sequestering themselves" too much, and forming a separate caste. this reads a little like an implied defence of himself for frequenting london coffee-houses, when cavillers might have argued that he should be at laracor. but like all swift's utterances, it covered a settled principle. i have already noticed this peculiarity, which he shows elsewhere when describing himself as a clergyman of special note for shunning others of his coat; which made his brethren of the gown take care betimes to run him down. the _sentiments of a church of england man_ is more significant. it is a summary of his unvarying creed. in politics he is a good whig. he interprets the theory of passive obedience as meaning obedience to the "legislative power;" not therefore to the king specially; and he deliberately accepts the revolution on the plain ground of the _salus populi_. his leading maxim is that the "administration cannot be placed in too few hands nor the legislature in too many." but this political liberality is associated with unhesitating churchmanship. sects are mischievous: to say that they are mischievous is to say that they ought to be checked in their beginning; where they exist they should be tolerated, but not to the injury of the church. and hence he reaches his leading principle that a "government cannot give them (sects) too much ease, nor trust them with too little power." such doctrines clearly and tersely laid down were little to the taste of the whigs, who were more anxious than ever to conciliate the dissenters. but it was not till the end of the year that swift applied his abstract theory to a special case. there had been various symptoms of a disposition to relax the test acts in ireland. the appointment of wharton to be lord lieutenant was enough to alarm swift, even though his friend addison was to be wharton's secretary. in december, , he published a pamphlet, ostensibly a letter from a member of the irish to a member of the english house of commons, in which the necessity of keeping up the test was vigorously enforced. it is the first of swift's political writings in which we see his true power. in those just noticed he is forced to take an impartial tone. he is trying to reconcile himself to his alliance with the whigs, or to reconcile the whigs to their protection of himself. he speaks as a moderator, and poses as the dignified moralist above all party-feeling. but in this letter he throws the reins upon his humour, and strikes his opponents full in the face. from his own point of view the pamphlet is admirable. he quotes cowley's verse, forbid it, heaven, my life should be weighed with thy least conveniency. the irish, by which he means the english, and the english exclusively of the scotch, in ireland, represent this enthusiastic lover, and are called upon to sacrifice themselves to the political conveniency of the whig party. swift expresses his usual wrath against the scots, who are eating up the land, boasts of the loyalty of the irish church, and taunts the presbyterians with their tyranny in former days. am i to be forced, he asks, "to keep my chaplain disguised like my butler, and steal to prayers in a back room, as my grandfather used in those times when the church of england was malignant?" is not this a ripping up of old quarrels? ought not all protestants to unite against papists? no, the enemy is the same as ever. "it is agreed among naturalists that a lion is a larger, a stronger, and more dangerous enemy than a cat; yet if a man were to have his choice, either a lion at his foot fast bound with three or four chains, his teeth drawn out, and his claws pared to the quick, or an angry cat in full liberty at his throat, he would take no long time to determine." the bound lion means the catholic natives, whom swift declares to be as "inconsiderable as the women and children." meanwhile the long first-fruits negotiation was languidly proceeding. at last it seemed to be achieved. lord pembroke, the outgoing lord lieutenant, sent swift word that the grant had been made. swift reported his success to archbishop king with a very pardonable touch of complacency at his "very little" merit in the matter. but a bitter disappointment followed. the promise made had never been fulfilled. in march, , swift had again to write to the archbishop, recounting his failure, his attempt to remonstrate with wharton, the new lord lieutenant, and the too certain collapse of the whole business. the failure was complete; the promised boon was not granted, and swift's chance of a bishopric had pretty well vanished. halifax, the great whig mæcenas, and the bufo of pope, wrote to him in his retirement at dublin, declaring that he had "entered into a confederacy with mr. addison" to urge swift's claims upon government, and speaking of the declining health of south, then a prebendary of westminster. swift endorsed this "i lock up this letter as a true original of courtiers and court promises," and wrote in a volume he had begged from the same person that it was the only favour "he ever received from him or his party." in the last months of his stay he had suffered cruelly from his old giddiness, and he went to ireland, after a visit to his mother in leicester, in sufficiently gloomy mood; retired to laracor, and avoided any intercourse with the authorities at the castle, excepting always addison. to this it is necessary to add one remark. swift's version of the story is substantially that which i have given, and it is everywhere confirmed by contemporary letters. it shows that he separated from the whig party when at the height of their power, and separated because he thought them opposed to the church principles which he advocated from first to last. it is most unjust, therefore to speak of swift as a deserter from the whigs, because he afterwards joined the church party, which shared all his strongest prejudices. i am so far from seeing any ground for such a charge, that i believe that few men have ever adhered more strictly to the principles with which they have started. but such charges have generally an element of truth; and it is easy here to point out what was the really weak point in swift's position. swift's writings, with one or two trifling exceptions, were originally anonymous. as they were very apt to produce warrants for the apprehension of publisher and author, the precaution was natural enough in later years. the mask was often merely ostensible; a sufficient protection against legal prosecution, but in reality covering an open secret. when in the _sentiments of a church of england man_ swift professes to conceal his name carefully, it may be doubted how far this is to be taken seriously. but he went much further in the letter on the test act. he inserted a passage intended really to blind his adversaries by a suggestion that dr. swift was likely to write in favour of abolishing the test; and he even complains to king of the unfairness of this treatment. his assault, therefore, upon the supposed whig policy was clandestine. this may possibly be justified; he might even urge that he was still a whig, and was warning ministers against measures which they had not yet adopted, and from which, as he thinks, they may still be deterred by an alteration of the real irish feeling.[ ] he complained afterwards that he was ruined--that is, as to his chances of preferment from the party--by the suspicion of his authorship of this tract. that is to say, he was "ruined" by the discovery of his true sentiments. this is to admit that he was still ready to accept preferment from the men whose supposed policy he was bitterly attacking, and that he resented their alienation as a grievance. the resentment indeed was most bitter and pertinacious. he turned savagely upon his old friends because they would not make him a bishop. the answer from their point of view was conclusive. he had made a bitter and covert attack, and he could not at once claim a merit from churchmen for defending the church against the whigs, and revile the whigs for not rewarding him. but inconsistency of this kind is characteristic of swift. he thought the whigs scoundrels for not patronizing him, and not the less scoundrels because their conduct was consistent with their own scoundrelly principles. people who differ from me must be wicked, argued this consistent egotist, and their refusal to reward me is only an additional wickedness. the case appeared to him as though he had been a nathan sternly warning a david of his sins, and for that reason deprived of honour. david could not have urged his sinful desires as an excuse for ill-treatment of nathan. and swift was inclined to class indifference to the welfare of the church as a sin even in an avowed whig. yet he had to ordinary minds forfeited any right to make non-fulfilment a grievance, when he ought to have regarded performance as a disgrace. chapter v. the harley administration. in the autumn of swift was approaching the end of his forty-third year. a man may well feel at forty-two that it is high time that a post should have been assigned to him. should an opportunity be then, and not till then, put in his way, he feels that he is throwing for heavy stakes; and that failure, if failure should follow, would be irretrievable. swift had been longing vainly for an opening. in the remarkable letter (of april, ) from which i have quoted the anecdote of the lost fish, he says that, "all my endeavours from a boy to distinguish myself were only for want of a great title and fortune, that i might be used like a lord by those who have an opinion of my parts; whether right or wrong is no great matter; and so the reputation of wit or great learning does the office of a blue riband or of a coach and six horses." the phrase betrays swift's scornful self-mockery; that inverted hypocrisy which led him to call his motives by their worst names, and to disavow what he might have been sorry to see denied by others. but, like all that swift says of himself, it also expresses a genuine conviction. swift was ambitious, and his ambition meant an absolute need of imposing his will upon others. he was a man born to rule; not to affect thought, but to control conduct. he was therefore unable to find full occupation, though he might seek occasional distraction, in literary pursuits. archbishop king, who had a strange knack of irritating his correspondent--not, it seems, without intention--annoyed swift intensely in by advising him (most superfluously) to get preferment, and with that view to write a serious treatise upon some theological question. swift, who was in the thick of his great political struggle, answered that it was absurd to ask a man floating at sea what he meant to do when he got ashore. "let him get there first and rest and dry himself, and then look about him." to find firm footing amidst the welter of political intrigues, was swift's first object. once landed in a deanery he might begin to think about writing; but he never attempted, like many men in his position, to win preferment through literary achievements. to a man of such a temperament, his career must so far have been cruelly vexatious. we are generally forced to judge of a man's life by a few leading incidents; and we may be disposed to infer too hastily that the passions roused on those critical occasions coloured the whole tenor of every-day existence. doubtless swift was not always fretting over fruitless prospects. he was often eating his dinner in peace and quiet, and even amusing himself with watching the moor park rooks or the laracor trout. yet it is true that so far as a man's happiness depends upon the consciousness of a satisfactory employment of his faculties, whether with a view to glory or solid comfort, swift had abundant causes of discontent. the "conjured spirit" was still weaving ropes of sand. for ten years he had been dependent upon temple, and his struggles to get upon his own legs had been fruitless: on temple's death he managed when past thirty to wring from fortune a position of bare independence, not of satisfying activity, he had not gained a fulcrum from which to move the world, but only a bare starting-point whence he might continue to work. the promises from great men had come to nothing. he might perhaps have realized them, could he have consented to be faithless to his dearest convictions; the consciousness that he had so far sacrificed his position to his principles gave him no comfort, though it nourished his pride. his enforced reticence produced an irritation against the ministers whom it had been intended to conciliate, which deepened into bitter resentment for their neglect. the year and a half passed in ireland during - was a period in which his day-dreams must have had a background of disappointed hopes. "i stayed above half the time," he says, "in one scurvy acre of ground, and i always left it with regret." he shut himself up at laracor, and nourished a growing indignation against the party represented by wharton. yet events were moving rapidly in england, and opening a new path for his ambition. the whigs were in full possession of power, though at the price of a growing alienation of all who were weary of a never-ending war, or hostile to the whig policy in church and state. the leaders, though warned by somers, fancied that they would strengthen their position by attacking the defeated enemy. the prosecution of sacheverell in the winter of - , if not directed by personal spite, was meant to intimidate the high-flying tories. it enabled the whig leaders to indulge in a vast quantity of admirable constitutional rhetoric; but it supplied the high church party with a martyr and a cry, and gave the needed impetus to the growing discontent. the queen took heart to revolt against the marlboroughs; the whig ministry were turned out of office; harley became chancellor of the exchequer in august; and the parliament was dissolved in september, , to be replaced in november by one in which the tories had an overwhelming majority. we are left to guess at the feelings with which swift contemplated these changes. their effect upon his personal prospects was still problematical. in spite of his wrathful retirement, there was no open breach between him and the whigs. he had no personal relations with the new possessors of power. harley and st. john, the two chiefs, were unknown to him. and, according to his own statement, he started for england once more with great reluctance in order again to take up the weary firstfruits negociation. wharton, whose hostility had intercepted the proposed bounty, went with his party, and was succeeded by the high church duke of ormond. the political aspects were propitious for a renewed application, and swift's previous employment pointed him out as the most desirable agent. and now swift suddenly comes into full light. for two or three years we can trace his movements day by day; follow the development of his hopes and fears; and see him more clearly than he could be seen by almost any of his contemporaries. the famous _journal to stella_, a series of letters written to esther johnson and mrs. dingley, from september, , till april, , is the main and central source of information. before telling the story, a word or two may be said of the nature of this document, one of the most interesting that ever threw light upon the history of a man of genius. the _journal_ is one of the very few that were clearly written without the faintest thought of publication. there is no indication of any such intention in the _journal to stella_. it never occurred to swift that it could ever be seen by any but the persons primarily interested. the journal rather shuns politics; they will not interest his correspondent, and he is afraid of the post-office clerks--then and long afterwards often employed as spies. interviews with ministers have scarcely more prominence than the petty incidents of his daily life. we are told that he discussed business, but the discussion is not reported. much more is omitted which might have been of the highest interest. we hear of meetings with addison; not a phrase of addison's is vouchsafed to us; we go to the door of harley or st. john; we get no distinct vision of the men who were the centres of all observation. nor, again, are there any of those introspective passages which give to some journals the interest of a confession. what, then, is the interest of the _journal to stella_? one element of strange and singular fascination, to be considered hereafter, is the prattle with his correspondent. for the rest, our interest depends in great measure upon the reflections with which we must ourselves clothe the bare skeleton of facts. in reading the _journal to stella_ we may fancy ourselves waiting in a parliamentary lobby during an excited debate. one of the chief actors hurries out at intervals; pours out a kind of hasty bulletin; tells of some thrilling incident, or indicates some threatening symptom; more frequently he seeks to relieve his anxieties by indulging in a little personal gossip, and only interjects such comments upon politics as can be compressed into a hasty ejaculation, often, as may be supposed, of the imprecatory kind. yet he unconsciously betrays his hopes and fears; he is fresh from the thick of the fight, and we perceive that his nerves are still quivering, and that his phrases are glowing with the ardour of the struggle. hopes and fears are long since faded, and the struggle itself is now but a war of phantoms. yet with the help of the _journal_ and contemporary documents, we can revive for the moment the decaying images, and cheat ourselves into the momentary persuasion that the fate of the world depends upon harley's success, as we now hold it to depend upon mr. gladstone's. swift reached london on september th, ; the political revolution was in full action, though parliament was not yet dissolved. the whigs were "ravished to see him;" they clutched at him, he says, like drowning men at a twig, and the great men made him their "clumsy apologies." godolphin was "short, dry and morose;" somers tried to make explanations, which swift received with studied coldness. the ever-courteous halifax gave him dinners; and asked him to drink to the resurrection of the whigs, which swift refused unless he would add "to their reformation." halifax persevered in his attentions, and was always entreating him to go down to hampton court; "which will cost me a guinea to his servants, and twelve shillings coach hire, and i will see him hanged first." swift, however, retained his old friendship with the wits of the party; dined with addison at his retreat in chelsea, and sent a trifle or two to the _tatler_. the elections began in october; swift had to drive through a rabble of westminster electors, judiciously agreeing with their sentiments to avoid dead cats and broken glasses; and though addison was elected ("i believe," says swift, "if he had a mind to be chosen king, he would hardly be refused"), the tories were triumphant in every direction. and meanwhile, the tory leaders were delightfully civil. on the th of october swift was introduced to harley, getting himself described (with undeniable truth) "as a discontented person, who was ill used for not being whig enough." the poor whigs lamentably confess, he says, their ill usage of him, "but i mind them not." their confession came too late. harley had received him with open arms, and won not only swift's adhesion, but his warm personal attachment. the fact is indisputable, though rather curious. harley appears to us as a shifty and feeble politician, an inarticulate orator, wanting in principles and resolution, who made it his avowed and almost only rule of conduct that a politician should live from hand to mouth.[ ] yet his prolonged influence in parliament seems to indicate some personal attraction, which was perceptible to his contemporaries, though rather puzzling to us. all swift's panegyrics leave the secret in obscurity. harley seems indeed to have been eminently respectable and decorously religious, amiable in personal intercourse, and able to say nothing in such a way as to suggest profundity instead of emptiness. his reputation as a party manager was immense; and is partly justified by his quick recognition of swift's extraordinary qualifications. he had inferior scribblers in his pay, including, as we remember with regret, the shifty defoe. but he wanted a man of genuine ability and character. some months later the ministers told swift that they had been afraid of none but him; and resolved to have him. they got him. harley had received him "with the greatest kindness and respect imaginable." three days later (oct. th) the firstfruits business is discussed, and harley received the proposals as warmly as became a friend of the church, besides overwhelming swift with civilities. swift is to be introduced to st. john; to dine with harley next tuesday; and after an interview of four hours, the minister sets him down at st james's coffee-house in a hackney coach. "all this is odd and comical!" exclaims swift; "he knew my christian name very well," and, as we hear next day, begged swift to come to him often, but not to his levée: "that was not a place for friends to meet." on the th of october, within a week from the first introduction, harley promises to get the firstfruits business, over which the whigs had haggled for years, settled by the following sunday. swift's exultation breaks out. on the th he declares that he stands ten times better with the new people than ever he did with the old, and is forty times more caressed. the triumph is sharpened by revenge. nothing, he says of the sort was ever compassed so soon; "and purely done by my personal credit with mr. harley, who is so excessively obliging, that i know not what to make of it, unless to show the rascals of the other side that they used a man unworthily who deserved better." a passage on nov. th sums up his sentiments. "why," he says in answer to something from stella, "should the whigs think i came from ireland to leave them? sure my journey was no secret! i protest sincerely, i did all i could to hinder it, as the dean can tell you, though now i do not repent it. but who the devil cares what they think? am i under obligations in the least to any of them all? rot them for ungrateful dogs; i will make them repent their usage before i leave this place." the thirst for vengeance may not be edifying; the political zeal was clearly not of the purest; but in truth, swift's party prejudices and his personal resentments are fused into indissoluble unity. hatred of whig principles and resentment of whig "ill-usage" of himself, are one and the same thing. meanwhile, swift was able (on nov. ) to announce his triumph to the archbishop. he was greatly annoyed by an incident, of which he must also have seen the humorous side. the irish bishops had bethought themselves after swift's departure that he was too much of a whig to be an effective solicitor. they proposed therefore to take the matter out of his hands and apply to ormond, the new lord lieutenant. swift replied indignantly; the thing was done, however, and he took care to let it be known that the whole credit belonged to harley, and of course, in a subordinate sense, to himself. official formalities were protracted for months longer, and formed one excuse for swift's continued absence from ireland; but we need not trouble ourselves with the matter further. swift's unprecedented leap into favour meant more than a temporary success. the intimacy with harley and with st. john rapidly developed. within a few months, swift had forced his way into the very innermost circle of official authority. a notable quarrel seems to have given the final impulse to his career. in february, , harley offered him a fifty-pound note. this was virtually to treat him as a hireling instead of an ally. swift resented the offer as an intolerable affront. he refused to be reconciled without ample apology, and after long entreaties. his pride was not appeased for ten days, when the reconciliation was sealed by an invitation from harley to a saturday dinner.[ ] on saturdays, the lord keeper (harcourt) and the secretary of state (st. john) dined alone with harley: "and at last," says swift, in reporting the event, "they have consented to let me among them on that day." he goes next day, and already chides lord rivers for presuming to intrude into the sacred circle. "they call me nothing but jonathan," he adds; "and i said i believed they would leave me jonathan, as they found me." these dinners were continued, though they became less select. harley called saturday his "whipping-day;" and swift was the heartiest wielder of the lash. from the same february, swift began to dine regularly with st. john every sunday; and we may note it as some indication of the causes of his later preference of harley, that on one occasion he has to leave st. john early. the company, he says, were in constraint, because he would suffer no man to swear or talk indecently in his presence. swift had thus conquered the ministry at a blow. what services did he render in exchange? his extraordinary influence seems to have been due in a measure to sheer force of personal ascendency. no man could come into contact with swift without feeling that magnetic influence. but he was also doing a more tangible service. in thus admitting swift to their intimacy, harley and st. john were in fact paying homage to the rising power of the pen. political writers had hitherto been hirelings, and often little better than spies. no preceding, and, we may add, no succeeding writer ever achieved such a position by such means. the press has become more powerful as a whole: but no particular representative of the press has made such a leap into power. swift came at the time when the influence of political writing was already great: and when the personal favour of a prominent minister could still work miracles. harley made him a favourite of the old stamp, to reward his supremacy in the use of the new weapon. swift had begun in october by avenging himself upon godolphin's coldness, in a copy of hudibrastic verses about the virtues of sid hamet the magician's rod--that is, the treasurer's staff of office--which had a wonderful success. he fell savagely upon the hated wharton not long after, in what he calls "a damned libellous pamphlet," of which copies were sold in two days. libellous, indeed, is a faint epithet to describe a production which, if its statements be true, proves that wharton deserved to be hunted from society. charges of lying, treachery, atheism, presbyterianism, debauchery, indecency, shameless indifference to his own reputation and his wife's, the vilest corruption and tyranny in his government are piled upon his victim as thickly as they will stand. swift does not expect to sting wharton. "i neither love nor hate him," he says. "if i see him after this is published, he will tell me 'that he is damnably mauled;' and then, with the easiest transition in the world, ask about the weather, or the time of day." wharton might possibly think that abuse of this kind might almost defeat itself by its own virulence. but swift had already begun writings of a more statesmanlike and effective kind. a paper war was already raging when swift came to london. the _examiner_ had been started by st. john, with the help of atterbury, prior, and others; and, opposed for a short time by addison, in the _whig examiner_. harley, after granting the first-fruits, had told swift, that the great want of the ministry was "some good pen," to keep up the spirits of the party. the _examiner_, however, was in need of a firmer and more regular manager; and swift took it in hand, his first weekly article appearing november nd, , his last on june th, . his _examiners_ achieved an immediate and unprecedented success. and yet to say the truth, a modern reader is apt to find them decidedly heavy. no one, indeed, can fail to perceive the masculine sense, the terseness and precision of the utterance. and yet many writings which produced less effect are far more readable now. the explanation is simple, and applies to most of swift's political writings. they are all rather acts than words. they are blows struck in a party-contest: and their merit is to be gauged by their effect. swift cares nothing for eloquence, or logic, or invective--and little, it must be added, for veracity--so long as he hits his mark. to judge him by a merely literary standard, is to judge a fencer by the grace of his attitudes. some high literary merits are implied in efficiency, as real grace is necessary to efficient fencing: but in either case, a clumsy blow which reaches the heart is better than the most dexterous flourish in the air. swift's eye is always on the end, as a good marksman looks at nothing but the target. what, then, is swift's aim in the _examiner_? mr. kinglake has told us how a great journal throve by discovering what was the remark that was on every one's lips, and making the remark its own. swift had the more dignified task of really striking the keynote for his party. he was to put the ministerial theory into that form in which it might seem to be the inevitable utterance of strong common-sense. harley's supporters were to see in swift's phrases just what they would themselves have said--if they had been able. the shrewd, sturdy, narrow prejudices of the average englishman were to be pressed into the service of the ministry, by showing how admirably they could be clothed in the ministerial formulas. the real question, again, as swift saw, was the question of peace. whig and tory, as he said afterwards,[ ] were really obsolete words. the true point at issue was peace or war. the purpose, therefore, was to take up his ground so that peace might be represented as the natural policy of the church or tory party; and war as the natural fruit of the selfish whigs. it was necessary, at the same time, to show that this was not the utterance of high-flying toryism or downright jacobitism, but the plain dictate of a cool and impartial judgment. he was not to prove but to take for granted that the war had become intolerably burdensome; and to express the growing wish for peace in terms likely to conciliate the greatest number of supporters. he was to lay down the platform which could attract as many as possible, both of the zealous tories and of the lukewarm whigs. measured by their fitness for this end, the _examiners_ are admirable. their very fitness for the end implies the absence of some qualities which would have been more attractive to posterity. stirring appeals to patriotic sentiment may suit a chatham rousing a nation to action; but swift's aim is to check the extravagance in the name of selfish prosaic prudence. the philosophic reflections of burke, had swift been capable of such reflection, would have flown above the heads of his hearers. even the polished and elaborate invective of junius would have been out of place. no man, indeed, was a greater master of invective than swift. he shows it in the _examiners_ by onslaughts upon the detested wharton. he shows, too, that he is not restrained by any scruples when it comes in his way to attack his old patrons, and he adopts the current imputations upon their private character. he could roundly accuse cowper of bigamy, and somers--the somers whom he had elaborately praised some years before in the dedication to the _tale of a tub_--of the most abominable perversion of justice. but these are taunts thrown out by the way. the substance of the articles is not invective, but profession of political faith. one great name, indeed, is of necessity assailed. marlborough's fame was a tower of strength for the whigs. his duchess and his colleagues had fallen; but whilst war was still raging, it seemed impossible to dismiss the greatest living commander. yet whilst marlborough was still in power, his influence might be used to bring back his party. swift's treatment of this great adversary is significant. he constantly took credit for having suppressed many attacks[ ] upon marlborough. he was convinced that it would be dangerous for the country to dismiss a general whose very name carried victory.[ ] he felt that it was dangerous for the party to make an unreserved attack upon the popular hero. lord rivers, he says, cursed the _examiner_ to him for speaking civilly of marlborough; and st. john, upon hearing of this, replied that if the counsels of such men as rivers were taken, the ministry "would be blown up in twenty-four hours." yet marlborough was the war personified; and the way to victory lay over marlborough's body. nor had swift any regard for the man himself, who, he says,[ ] is certainly a vile man, and has no sort of merit except the military--as "covetous as hell, and as ambitious as the prince of it."[ ] the whole case of the ministry implied the condemnation of marlborough. most modern historians would admit that continuance of the war could at this time be desired only by fanatics or interested persons. a psychologist might amuse himself by inquiring what were the actual motives of its advocates; in what degrees personal ambition, a misguided patriotism, or some more sordid passions were blended. but in the ordinary dialect of political warfare there is no room for such refinements. the theory of swift and swift's patrons was simple. the war was the creation of the whig "ring;" it was carried on for their own purposes by the stock-jobbers and "monied men," whose rise was a new political phenomenon, and who had introduced the diabolical contrivance of public debts. the landed interest and the church had been hoodwinked too long by the union of corrupt interests supported by dutchmen, scotchmen, dissenters, freethinkers, and other manifestations of the evil principle. marlborough was the head and patron of the whole. and what was marlborough's motive? the answer was simple. it was that which has been assigned, with even more emphasis, by macaulay--avarice. the twenty-seventh _examiner_ (feb. th, ) probably contains the compliments to which rivers objected. swift, in fact, admits that marlborough had all the great qualities generally attributed to him; but all are spoilt by this fatal blemish. how far the accusation was true matters little. it is put at least with force and dignity; and it expressed in the pithiest shape swift's genuine conviction, that the war now meant corrupt self-interest. invective, as swift knew well enough in his cooler moments, is a dangerous weapon, apt to recoil on the assailant unless it carries conviction. the attack on marlborough does not betray personal animosity; but the deliberate and the highly plausible judgment of a man determined to call things by their right names, and not to be blinded by military glory. this, indeed, is one of the points upon which swift's toryism was unlike that of some later periods. he always disliked and despised soldiers and their trade. "it will no doubt be a mighty comfort to our grandchildren," he says in another pamphlet,[ ] "when they see a few rags hung up in westminster hall which cost a hundred millions, whereof they are paying the arrears, to boast as beggars do that their grandfathers were rich and great." and in other respects he has some right to claim the adhesion of thorough whigs. his personal attacks, indeed, upon the party have a questionable sound. in his zeal he constantly forgets that the corrupt ring which he denounces were the very men from whom he expected preferment. "i well remember," he says[ ] elsewhere, "the clamours often raised during the late reign of that party (the whigs) against the leaders by those who thought their merits were not rewarded; and they had, no doubt, reason on their side, because it is, no doubt, a misfortune to forfeit honour and conscience for nothing"--rather an awkward remark from a man who was calling somers "a false, deceitful rascal" for not giving him a bishopric! his eager desire to make the "ungrateful dogs" repent their ill-usage of him prompts attacks which injure his own character with that of his former associates. but he has some ground for saying that whigs have changed their principles, in the sense that their dislike of prerogative and of standing armies had curiously declined when the crown and the army came to be on their side. their enjoyment of power had made them soften some of the prejudices learnt in days of depression. swift's dislike of what we now call "militarism" really went deeper than any party sentiment; and in that sense, as we shall hereafter see, it had really most affinity with a radicalism which would have shocked whigs and tories alike. but in this particular case it fell in with the tory sentiment. the masculine vigour of the _examiners_ served the ministry, who were scarcely less in danger from the excessive zeal of their more bigoted followers than from the resistance of the whig minority. the pig-headed country squires had formed an october club, to muddle themselves with beer and politics, and hoped--good honest souls--to drive ministers into a genuine attack on the corrupt practices of their predecessors. all harley's skill in intriguing and wire-pulling would be needed. the ministry, said swift (on march th), "stood like an isthmus" between whigs and violent tories. he trembled for the result. they are able seamen, but the tempest "is too great, the ship too rotten, and the crew all against them." somers had been twice in the queen's closet. the duchess of somerset, who had succeeded the duchess of marlborough, might be trying to play mrs. masham's game. harley, "though the most fearless man alive," seemed to be nervous, and was far from well. "pray god preserve his health," says swift; "everything depends upon it." four days later, swift is in an agony. "my heart," he exclaims, "is almost broken." harley had been stabbed by guiscard (march th, ) at the council-board. swift's letters and journals show an agitation, in which personal affection seems to be even stronger than political anxiety. "pray pardon my distraction," he says to stella, in broken sentences. "i now think of all his kindness to me. the poor creature now lies stabbed in his bed by a desperate french popish villain. good night, and god bless you both, and pity me; i want it." he wrote to king under the same excitement. harley, he says, "has always treated me with the tenderness of a parent, and never refused me any favour i asked for a friend; therefore i hope your grace will excuse the character of this letter." he apologizes again in a postscript for his confusion; it must be imputed to the "violent pain of mind i am in--greater than ever i felt in my life." the danger was not over for three weeks. the chief effect seems to have been that harley became popular as the intended victim of an hypothetical popish conspiracy; he introduced an applauded financial scheme in parliament after his recovery, and was soon afterwards made earl of oxford by way of consolation. "this man," exclaimed swift, "has grown by persecutions, turnings out, and stabbings. what waiting and crowding and bowing there will be at his levee!" swift had meanwhile (april ) retired to chelsea "for the air," and to have the advantage of a compulsory walk into town (two miles, or steps each way, he calculates). he was liable, indeed, to disappointment on a rainy day, when "all the three stage-coaches" were taken up by the "cunning natives of chelsea;" but he got a lift to town in a gentleman's coach for a shilling. he bathed in the river on the hot nights, with his irish servant, patrick, standing on the bank to warn off passing boats. the said patrick, who is always getting drunk, whom swift cannot find it in his heart to dismiss in england, who atones for his general carelessness and lying by buying a linnet for dingley, making it wilder than ever in his attempts to tame it, is a characteristic figure in the journal. in june swift gets ten days' holiday at wycombe, and in the summer he goes down pretty often with the ministers to windsor. he came to town in two hours and forty minutes on one occasion: "twenty miles are nothing here." the journeys are described in one of the happiest of his occasional poems-- 'tis (let me see) three years or more (october next it will be four) since harley bid me first attend and chose me for an humble friend: would take me in his coach to chat and question me of this or that: as "what's o'clock?" and "how's the wind?" "whose chariot's that we left behind?" or gravely try to read the lines writ underneath the country signs. or, "have you nothing new to-day, from pope, from parnell, or from gay?" such tattle often entertains my lord and me as far as staines, as once a week we travel down to windsor, and again to town, where all that passes _inter nos_ might be proclaimed at charing cross. and when, it is said, st. john was disgusted by the frivolous amusements of his companions; and his political discourses might be interrupted by harley's exclamation, "swift, i am up; there's a cat"--the first who saw a cat or an old woman, winning the game. swift and harley were soon playing a more exciting game. prior had been sent to france to renew peace negotiations, with elaborate mystery. even swift was kept in ignorance. on his return prior was arrested by officious custom-house officers, and the fact of his journey became public. swift took advantage of the general interest by a pamphlet intended to "bite the town." its political purpose, according to swift, was to "furnish fools with something to talk of;" to draw a false scent across the trail of the angry and suspicious whigs. it seems difficult to believe that any such effect could be produced or anticipated; but the pamphlet, which purports to be an account of prior's journey given by a french valet, desirous of passing himself off as a secretary, is an amusing example of swift's power of grave simulation of realities. the peace negotiations brought on a decisive political struggle. parliament was to meet in september. the whigs resolved to make a desperate effort. they had lost the house of commons, but were still strong in the peers. the lords were not affected by the rapid oscillations of public opinion. they were free from some of the narrower prejudices of country squires, and true to a revolution which gave the chief power for more than a century to the aristocracy: while the recent creations had ennobled the great whig leaders, and filled the bench with low churchmen. marlborough and godolphin had come over to the whig junto, and an additional alliance was now made. nottingham had been passed over by harley, as it seems, for his extreme tory principles. in his wrath, he made an agreement with the other extreme. by one of the most disgraceful bargains of party history, nottingham was to join the whigs in attacking the peace, whilst the whigs were to buy his support by accepting the occasional conformity bill--the favourite high church measure. a majority in the house of lords could not indeed determine the victory. the government of england, says swift in ,[ ] "cannot move a step while the house of commons continues to dislike proceedings or persons employed." but the plot went further. the house of lords might bring about a deadlock, as it had done before. the queen, having thrown off the rule of the duchess of marlborough, had sought safety in the rule of two mistresses, mrs. masham and the duchess of somerset. the duchess of somerset was in the whig interest; and her influence with the queen caused the gravest anxiety to swift and the ministry. she might induce anne to call back the whigs, and in a new house of commons, elected under a whig ministry wielding the crown influence and appealing to the dread of a discreditable peace, the majority might be reversed. meanwhile prince eugene was expected to pay a visit to england, bringing fresh proposals for war, and stimulating by his presence the enthusiasm of the whigs. towards the end of september the whigs began to pour in a heavy fire of pamphlets, and swift rather meanly begs the help of st. john and the law. but he is confident of victory. peace is certain; and a peace "very much to the honour and advantage of england." the whigs are furious; "but we'll wherret them, i warrant, boys." yet he has misgivings. the news comes of the failure of the tory expedition against quebec, which was to have anticipated the policy and the triumphs of chatham. harley only laughs as usual; but st. john is cruelly vexed, and begins to suspect his colleagues of suspecting him. swift listens to both, and tries to smooth matters; but he is growing serious. "i am half weary of them all," he exclaims, and begins to talk of retiring to ireland. harley has a slight illness, and swift is at once in a fright. "we are all undone without him," he says, "so pray for him, sirrahs!" meanwhile, as the parliamentary struggle comes nearer, swift launches the pamphlet which has been his summer's work. the _conduct of the allies_ is intended to prove what he had taken for granted in the _examiners_. it is to show, that is, that the war has ceased to be demanded by national interests. we ought always to have been auxiliaries; we chose to become principals; and have yet so conducted the war that all the advantages have gone to the dutch. the explanation of course is the selfishness or corruption of the great whig junto. the pamphlet, forcible and terse in the highest degree, had a success due in part to other circumstances. it was as much a state paper as a pamphlet; a manifesto obviously inspired by the ministry and containing the facts and papers which were to serve in the coming debates. it was published on nov. th; on december st the second edition was sold in five hours; and by the end of january , copies had been sold. the parliamentary struggle began on december th; and the amendment to the address, declaring that no peace could be safe which left spain to the bourbons, was moved by nottingham, and carried by a small majority. swift had foreseen this danger; he had begged ministers to work up the majority; and the defeat was due to harley's carelessness. it was swift's temper to anticipate though not to yield to the worst. he could see nothing but ruin. every rumour increased his fears, the queen had taken the hand of the duke of somerset on leaving the house of lords, and refused shrewsbury's. she must be going over. swift, in his despair, asked st. john to find him some foreign post, where he might be out of harm's way if the whigs should triumph. st. john laughed and affected courage, but swift refused to be comforted. harley told him that "all would be well;" but harley for the moment had lost his confidence. a week after the vote he looks upon the ministry as certainly ruined; and "god knows," he adds, "what may be the consequences." by degrees a little hope began to appear; though the ministry, as swift still held, could expect nothing till the duchess of somerset was turned out. by way of accelerating this event, he hit upon a plan, which he had reason to repent, and which nothing but his excitement could explain. he composed and printed one of his favourite squibs, the _windsor prophecy_, and though mrs. masham persuaded him not to publish it, distributed too many copies for secrecy to be possible. in this production, now dull enough, he calls the duchess "carrots," as a delicate hint at her red hair, and says that she murdered her second husband.[ ] these statements, even if true, were not conciliatory; and it was folly to irritate without injuring. meanwhile reports of ministerial plans gave him a little courage; and in a day or two the secret was out. he was on his way to the post on saturday, december th, when the great news came. the ministry had resolved on something like a _coup d'état_, to be long mentioned with horror by all orthodox whigs and tories. "i have broke open my letter," scribbled swift in a coffee-house, "and tore it into the bargain, to let you know that we are all safe. the queen has made no less than twelve new peers ... and has turned out the duke of somerset. she is awaked at last, and so is lord treasurer. i want nothing now but to see the duchess out. but we shall do without her. we are all extremely happy. give me joy, sirrahs!" the duke of somerset was not out; but a greater event happened within three days; the duke of marlborough was removed from all his employments. the tory victory was for the time complete. here, too, was the culminating point of swift's career. fifteen months of energetic effort had been crowned with success. he was the intimate of the greatest men in the country; and the most powerful exponent of their policy. no man in england, outside the ministry, enjoyed a wider reputation. the ball was at his feet; and no position open to a clergyman beyond his hopes. yet from this period begins a decline. he continued to write, publishing numerous squibs, of which many have been lost, and occasionally firing a gun of heavier metal. but nothing came from him having the authoritative and masterly tone of the _conduct of the allies_. his health broke down. at the beginning of april, , he was attacked by a distressing complaint; and his old enemy, giddiness, gave him frequent alarms. the daily journal ceased, and was not fairly resumed till december, though its place is partly supplied by occasional letters. the political contest had changed its character. the centre of interest was transferred to utrecht, where negotiations began in january, to be protracted over fifteen months: the ministry had to satisfy the demand for peace, without shocking the national self-esteem. meanwhile jealousies were rapidly developing themselves, which swift watched with ever-growing anxiety. swift's personal influence remained or increased. he drew closer to oxford, but was still friendly with st. john; and to the public his position seemed more imposing than ever. swift was not the man to bear his honours meekly. in the early period of his acquaintance with st. john (february , ), he sends the prime minister into the house of commons, to tell the secretary of state that "i would not dine with him if he dined late." he is still a novice at the saturday dinners when the duke of shrewsbury appears: swift whispers that he does not like to see a stranger among them; and st. john has to explain that the duke has written for leave. st. john then tells swift that the duke of buckingham desires his acquaintance. the duke, replied swift, has not made sufficient advances: and he always expects greater advances from men in proportion to their rank. dukes and great men yielded, if only to humour the pride of this audacious parson: and swift soon came to be pestered by innumerable applicants, attracted by his ostentation of influence. even ministers applied through him. "there is not one of them," he says, in january, , "but what will employ me as gravely to speak for them to lord treasurer, as if i were their brother or his." he is proud of the burden of influence with the great, though he affects to complain. the most vivid picture of swift in all his glory, is in a familiar passage from bishop kennett's diary:-- "swift," says kennett, in , "came into the coffee-house, and had a bow from everybody but me. when i came to the antechamber to wait before prayers, dr. swift was the principal man of talk and business, and acted as minister of requests. he was soliciting the earl of arran to speak to his brother the duke of ormond to get a chaplain's place established in the garrison of hull, for mr. fiddes, a clergyman in that neighbourhood, who had lately been in jail, and published sermons to pay fees. he was promising mr. thorold to undertake with my lord treasurer that according to his petition he should obtain a salary of _l._ per annum, as minister of the english church at rotterdam. he stopped f. gwynne, esq., going in with the red bag to the queen, and told him aloud he had something to say to him from my lord treasurer. he talked with the son of dr. davenant to be sent abroad, and took out his pocket-book and wrote down several things as _memoranda_, to do for him. he turned to the fire, and took out his gold watch, and telling him the time of day, complained it was very late. a gentleman said, "it was too fast." "how can i help it," says the doctor, "if the courtiers give me a watch that won't go right?" then he instructed a young nobleman that the best poet in england was mr. pope (a papist), who had begun a translation of homer into english verse, for which, he said, he must have them all subscribe. 'for,' says he, 'the author _shall not_ begin to print till _i have_ a thousand guineas for him.' lord treasurer, after leaving the queen, came through the room, beckoning dr. swift to follow him; both went off just before prayers." there is undoubtedly something offensive in this blustering self-assertion. "no man," says johnson, with his usual force, "can pay a more servile tribute to the great than by suffering his liberty in their presence to aggrandize him in his own esteem." delicacy was not swift's strong point; his compliments are as clumsy as his invectives are forcible; and he shows a certain taint of vulgarity in his intercourse with social dignitaries. he is perhaps avenging himself for the humiliations received at moor park. he has a napoleonic absence of magnanimity. he likes to relish his triumph; to accept the pettiest as well as the greatest rewards; to flaunt his splendours in the eyes of the servile as well as to enjoy the consciousness of real power. but it would be a great mistake to infer that this ostentatiousness of authority concealed real servility. swift preferred to take the bull by the horns. he forced himself upon ministers by self-assertion; and he held them in awe of him as the lion-tamer keeps down the latent ferocity of the wild beast. he never takes his eye off his subjects, nor lowers his imperious demeanour. he retained his influence, as johnson observes, long after his services had ceased to be useful. and all this demonstrative patronage meant real and energetic work. we may note, for example, and it incidentally confirms kennett's accuracy, that he was really serviceable to davenant,[ ] and that fiddes got the chaplaincy at hull. no man ever threw himself with more energy into the service of his friends. he declared afterwards that in the days of his credit he had done fifty times more for fifty people, from whom he had received no obligations, than temple had done for him.[ ] the journal abounds in proofs that this was not overstated. there is "mr. harrison," for example, who has written "some mighty pretty things." swift takes him up; rescues him from the fine friends who are carelessly tempting him to extravagance; tries to start him in a continuation of the _tatler_; exults in getting him a secretaryship abroad, which he declares to be "the prettiest post in europe for a young gentleman;" and is most unaffectedly and deeply grieved when the poor lad dies of a fever. he is carrying _l._ to his young friend, when he hears of his death. "i told parnell i was afraid to knock at the door, my mind misgave me," he says. on his way to bring help to harrison, he goes to see a "poor poet, one mr. diaper, in a nasty garret, very sick," and consoles him with twenty guineas from lord bolingbroke. a few days before he has managed to introduce parnell to harley, or rather to contrive it so that "the ministry desire to be acquainted with parnell, and not parnell with the ministry." his old schoolfellow congreve was in alarm about his appointments. swift spoke at once to harley, and went off immediately to report his success to congreve: "so," he says, "i have made a worthy man easy, and that is a good day's work."[ ] one of the latest letters in his journal refers to his attempt to serve his other schoolfellow, berkeley. "i will favour him as much as i can," he says; "this i think i am bound to in honour and conscience, to use all my little credit toward helping forward men of worth in the world." he was always helping less conspicuous men; and he prided himself, with justice, that he had been as helpful to whigs as to tories. the ministry complained that he never came to them "without a whig in his sleeve." besides his friend congreve, he recommended rowe for preferment, and did his best to protect steele and addison. no man of letters ever laboured more heartily to promote the interests of his fellow-craftsmen, as few have ever had similar opportunities. swift, it is plain, desired to use his influence magnificently. he hoped to make his reign memorable by splendid patronage of literature. the great organ of munificence was the famous brothers' club, of which he was the animating spirit. it was founded in june, , during swift's absence at wycombe; it was intended to "advance conversation and friendship," and obtain patronage for deserving persons. it was to include none but wits and men able to help wits, and, "if we go on as we begun," says swift, "no other club in this town will be worth talking of." in march, , it consisted, as swift tells us, of nine lords and ten commoners.[ ] it excluded harley and the lord keeper (harcourt) apparently as they were to be the distributors of the patronage; but it included st. john and several leading ministers, harley's son and son-in-law, and harcourt's son; whilst literature was represented by swift, arbuthnot, prior, and friend, all of whom were more or less actively employed by the ministry. the club was therefore composed of the ministry and their dependents, though it had not avowedly a political colouring. it dined on thursday during the parliamentary session, when the political squibs of the day were often laid on the table, including swift's famous _windsor prophecy_, and subscriptions were sometimes collected for such men as diaper and harrison. it flourished, however, for little more than the first season. in the winter of - it began to suffer from the common disease of such institutions. swift began to complain bitterly of the extravagance of the charges. he gets the club to leave a tavern in which the bill[ ] "for four dishes and four, first and second course, without wine and drink," had been _l._ _s._ _d._ the number of guests, it seems, was fourteen. next winter the charges are divided. "it cost me nineteen shillings to-day for my club dinner," notes swift, dec. , . "i don't like it." swift had a high value for every one of the nineteen shillings. the meetings became irregular: harley was ready to give promises, but no patronage: and swift's attendance falls off. indeed, it may be noted that he found dinners and suppers full of danger to his health. he constantly complains of their after-effects; and partly perhaps for that reason he early ceases to frequent coffee-houses. perhaps too his contempt for coffee-house society, and the increasing dignity which made it desirable to keep possible applicants at a distance, had much to do with this. the brothers' club, however, was long remembered by its members, and in later years they often address each other by the old fraternal title. one design which was to have signalized swift's period of power, suggested the only paper which he had ever published with his name. it was a "proposal for correcting, improving, and ascertaining the english language," published in may, , in the form of a letter to harley. the letter itself, written offhand in six hours (feb. , ), is not of much value; but swift recurs to the subject frequently enough to show that he really hoped to be the founder of an english academy. had swift been his own minister instead of the driver of a minister, the project might have been started. the rapid development of the political struggle sent swift's academy to the limbo provided for such things; and few english authors will regret the failure of a scheme unsuited to our natural idiosyncrasy, and calculated, as i fancy, to end in nothing but an organization of pedantry. one remark meanwhile occurs which certainly struck swift himself. he says (march , ) that sacheverel, the tory martyr, has come to him for patronage, and observes that when he left ireland neither of them could have anticipated such a relationship. "this," he adds, "is the seventh i have now provided for since i came, and can do nothing for myself." hints at a desire for preferment do not appear for some time; but as he is constantly speaking of an early return to ireland, and is as regularly held back by the entreaties of the ministry, there must have been at least an implied promise. a hint had been given that he might be made chaplain to harley, when the minister became earl of oxford. "i will be no man's chaplain alive," he says. he remarks about the same time (may , ) that it "would look extremely little" if he returned without some distinction; but he will not beg for preferment. the ministry, he says in the following august, only want him for one bit of business (the _conduct of the allies_ presumably). when that is done, he will take his leave of them. "i never got a penny from them nor expect it." the only post for which he made a direct application was that of historiographer. he had made considerable preparations for his so-called _history of the last four years of queen anne_, which appeared posthumously; and which may be described as one of his political pamphlets without the vigour[ ]--a dull statement of facts put together by a partisan affecting the historical character. this application, however, was not made till april, , when swift was possessed of all the preferment that he was destined to receive. he considered in his haughty way that he should be entreated rather than entreat; and ministers were perhaps slow to give him anything which could take him away from them. a secret influence was at work against him. the _tale of a tub_ was brought up against him; and imputations upon his orthodoxy were common. nottingham even revenged himself by describing swift in the house of lords as a divine "who is hardly suspected of being a christian." such insinuations were also turned to account by the duchess of somerset, who retained her influence over anne in spite of swift's attacks. his journal in the winter of - shows growing discontent. in december, , he resolves to write no more till something is done for him. he will get under shelter before he makes more enemies. he declares that he is "soliciting nothing" (february , ), but he is growing impatient. harley is kinder than ever. "mighty kind!" exclaims swift, "with a ----; less of civility and more of interest;" or as he puts it in one of his favourite "proverbs" soon afterwards--"my grandmother used to say,-- more of your lining and less of your dining." at last swift, hearing that he was again to be passed over, gave a positive intimation that he would retire if nothing was done; adding that he should complain of harley for nothing but neglecting to inform him sooner of the hopelessness of his position.[ ] the dean of st. patrick's was at last promoted to a bishopric, and swift appointed to the vacant deanery. the warrant was signed on april , and in june swift set out to take possession of his deanery. it was no great prize; he would have to pay _l._ for the house and fees, and thus, he says, it would be three years before he would be the richer for it; and, moreover, it involved what he already described as "banishment" to a country which he hated. his state of mind when entering upon his preferment was painfully depressed. "at my first coming," he writes to miss vanhomrigh, "i thought i should have died with discontent; and was horribly melancholy while they were installing me; but it begins to wear off, and change to dulness." this depression is singular, when we remember that swift was returning to the woman for whom he had the strongest affection, and from whom he had been separated for nearly three years; and moreover, that he was returning as a famous and a successful man. he seems to have been received with some disfavour by a society of whig proclivities; he was suffering from a fresh return of ill-health; and besides the absence from the political struggles in which he was so keenly interested, he could not think of them without deep anxiety. he returned to london in october at the earnest request of political friends. matters were looking serious; and though the journal to stella was not again taken up, we can pretty well trace the events of the following period. there can rarely have been a less congenial pair of colleagues than harley and st. john. their union was that of a still more brilliant, daring, and self-confident disraeli with a very inferior edition of sir robert peel, with smaller intellect and exaggerated infirmities. the timidity, procrastination, and "refinement" of the treasurer were calculated to exasperate his audacious colleague. from the earliest period swift had declared that everything depended upon the good mutual understanding of the two; he was frightened by every symptom of discord, and declares (in august, ) that he has ventured all his credit with the ministers to remove their differences. he knew, as he afterwards said (october , ), that this was the way to be sent back to his willows at laracor, but everything must be risked in such a case. when difficulties revived next year he hoped that he had made a reconciliation. but the discord was too vital. the victory of the tories brought on a serious danger. they had come into power to make peace. they had made it. the next question was that of the succession of the crown. here they neither reflected the general opinion of the nation nor were agreed amongst themselves. harley, as we now know, had flirted with the jacobites; and bolingbroke was deep in treasonable plots. the existence of such plots was a secret to swift, who indignantly denied their existence. when king hinted at a possible danger to swift from the discovery of st. john's treason, he indignantly replied that he must have been "a most false and vile man" to join in anything of the kind.[ ] he professes elsewhere his conviction that there were not at this period jacobites in england; and "amongst these not six of any quality or consequence."[ ] swift's sincerity, here as everywhere, is beyond all suspicion; but his conviction proves incidentally that he was in the dark as to the "wheels within wheels"--the backstairs plots, by which the administration of his friends was hampered and distracted. with so many causes for jealousy and discord, it is no wonder that the political world became a mass of complex intrigue and dispute. the queen, meanwhile, might die at any moment, and some decided course of action become imperatively necessary. whenever the queen was ill, said harley, people were at their wits' end; as soon as she recovered they acted as if she were immortal. yet, though he complained of the general indecision, his own conduct was most hopelessly undecided. it was in the hopes of pacifying these intrigues that swift was recalled from ireland. he plunged into the fight, but not with his old success. two pamphlets which he published at the end of are indications of his state of mind. one was an attack upon a wild no-popery shriek emitted by bishop burnet, whom he treats, says johnson, "like one whom he is glad of an opportunity to insult." a man who, like burnet, is on friendly terms with those who assail the privileges of his order must often expect such treatment from its zealous adherents. yet the scornful assault, which finds out weak places enough in burnet's mental rhetoric, is in painful contrast to the dignified argument of earlier pamphlets. the other pamphlet was an incident in a more painful contest. swift had tried to keep on good terms with addison and steele. he had prevented steele's dismissal from a commissionership of stamps. steele, however, had lost his place of gazetteer for an attack upon harley. swift persuaded harley to be reconciled to steele, on condition that steele should apologize. addison prevented steele from making the required submission, "out of mere spite," says swift, at the thought that steele should require other help; rather, we guess, because addison thought that the submission would savour of party infidelity. a coldness followed; "all our friendship is over," says swift of addison (march th, ); and though good feeling revived between the principals, their intimacy ceased. swift, swept into the ministerial vortex, pretty well lost sight of addison; though they now and then met on civil terms. addison dined with swift and st. john upon april rd, , and swift attended a rehearsal of _cato_--the only time when we see him at a theatre. meanwhile the ill feeling to steele remained, and bore bitter fruit. steele and addison had to a great extent retired from politics, and during the eventful years - were chiefly occupied in the politically harmless _spectator_. but steele was always ready to find vent for his zeal; and in he fell foul of the _examiner_ in the _guardian_. swift had long ceased to write _examiners_ or to be responsible for the conduct of the paper, though he still occasionally inspired the writers. steele, naturally enough, supposed swift to be still at work; and in defending a daughter of steele's enemy, nottingham, not only suggested that swift was her assailant, but added an insinuation that swift was an infidel. the imputation stung swift to the quick. he had a sensibility to personal attacks, not rare with those who most freely indulge in them, which was ridiculed by the easy-going harley. an attack from an old friend--from a friend whose good opinion he still valued, though their intimacy had ceased; from a friend, moreover, whom in spite of their separation he had tried to protect; and, finally, an attack upon the tenderest part of his character, irritated him beyond measure. some angry letters passed, steele evidently regarding swift as a traitor, and disbelieving his professions of innocence and his claims to active kindness; whilst swift felt steele's ingratitude the more deeply from the apparent plausibility of the accusation. if steele was really unjust and ungenerous, we may admit as a partial excuse that in such cases the less prosperous combatant has a kind of right to bitterness. the quarrel broke out at the time of swift's appointment to the deanery. soon after the new dean's return to england, steele was elected member for stockbridge, and rushed into political controversy. his most conspicuous performance was a frothy and pompous pamphlet called the _crisis_, intended to rouse alarms as to french invasion and jacobite intrigues. swift took the opportunity to revenge himself upon steele. two pamphlets--_the importance of the "guardian" considered_, and _the public spirit of the whigs_ (the latter in answer to the _crisis_)--are fierce attacks upon steele personally and politically. swift's feeling comes out sufficiently in a remark in the first. he reverses the saying about cranmer, and says that he may affirm of steele, "do him a good turn, and he is your enemy for ever." there is vigorous writing enough, and effective ridicule of steele's literary style and political alarmism. but it is painfully obvious, as in the attack upon burnet, that personal animosity is now the predominant instead of an auxiliary feeling. swift is anxious beyond all things to mortify and humiliate an antagonist. and he is in proportion less efficient as a partizan, though more amusing. he has, moreover, the disadvantage of being politically on the defensive. he is no longer proclaiming a policy, but endeavouring to disavow the policy attributed to his party. the wrath which breaks forth, and the bitter personality with which it is edged, were far more calculated to irritate his opponents than to disarm the lookers-on of their suspicions. part of the fury was no doubt due to the growing unsoundness of his political position. steele in the beginning of was expelled from the house for the _crisis_; and an attack made upon swift in the house of lords for an incidental outburst against the hated scots in his reply to the _crisis_, was only staved off by a manoeuvre of the ministry. meanwhile swift was urging the necessity of union upon men who hated each other more than they regarded any public cause whatever. swift at last brought his two patrons together in lady masham's lodgings, and entreated them to be reconciled. if, he said, they would agree, all existing mischiefs could be remedied in two minutes. if they would not, the ministry would be ruined in two months. bolingbroke assented: oxford characteristically shuffled, said "all would be well," and asked swift to dine with him next day. swift, however, said that he would not stay to see the inevitable catastrophe. it was his natural instinct to hide his head in such moments; his intensely proud and sensitive nature could not bear to witness the triumph of his enemies, and he accordingly retired at the end of may, , to the quiet parsonage of upper letcombe in berkshire. the public wondered and speculated; friends wrote letters describing the scenes which followed, and desiring swift's help; and he read, and walked, and chewed the cud of melancholy reflection, and thought of stealing away to ireland. he wrote, however, a very remarkable pamphlet, giving his view of the situation, which was not published at the time; events went too fast. swift's conduct at this critical point is most noteworthy. the pamphlet (_free thoughts upon the present state of affairs_) exactly coincides with all his private and public utterances. his theory was simple and straightforward. the existing situation was the culminating result of harley's policy of refinement and procrastination. swift two years before had written a very able remonstrance with the october club, who had sought to push harley into decisive measures; but though he preached patience, he really sympathized with their motives. instead of making a clean sweep of his opponents, harley had left many of them in office, either from "refinement"--that over-subtlety of calculation which swift thought inferior to plain common sense, and which, to use his favourite illustration, is like the sharp knife that mangles the paper, when a plain, blunt paper-knife cuts it properly--or else from inability to move the queen, which he had foolishly allowed to pass for unwillingness, in order to keep up the appearance of power. two things were now to be done; first, a clean sweep should be made of all whigs and dissenters from office and from the army; secondly, the court of hanover should be required to break off all intercourse with the opposition, on which condition the heir-presumptive (the infant prince frederick) might be sent over to reside in england. briefly, swift's policy was a policy of "thorough." oxford's vacillations were the great obstacle, and oxford was falling before the alliance of bolingbroke with lady masham. bolingbroke might have turned swift's policy to the account of the jacobites; but swift did not take this into account, and in the _free thoughts_ he declares his utter disbelief in any danger to the succession. what side, then, should he take? he sympathized with bolingbroke's avowed principles. bolingbroke was eager for his help, and even hoped to reconcile him to the red-haired duchess. but swift was bound to oxford by strong personal affection; by an affection which was not diminished even by the fact that oxford had procrastinated in the matter of swift's own preferment; and was, at this very moment, annoying him by delaying to pay the _l._ incurred by his installation in the deanery. to oxford he had addressed (nov. , ) a letter of consolation upon the death of a daughter, possessing the charm which is given to such letters only by the most genuine sympathy with the feelings of the loser, and by a spontaneous selection of the only safe topic--praise of the lost, equally tender and sincere. every reference to oxford is affectionate. when, at the beginning of july, oxford was hastening to his fall, swift wrote to him another manly and dignified letter, professing an attachment beyond the reach of external accidents of power and rank. the end came soon. swift heard that oxford was about to resign. he wrote at once (july , ) to propose to accompany him to his country house. oxford replied two days later in a letter oddly characteristic. he begs swift to come with him; "if i have not tired you _tête-à-tête_, fling away so much of your time upon one who loves you;" and then rather spoils the pathos by a bit of hopeless doggerel. swift wrote to miss vanhomrigh on august . "i have been asked," he says, "to join with those people now in power; but i will not do it. i told lord oxford i would go with him, when he was out; and now he begs it of me, and i cannot refuse him. i meddle not with his faults, as he was a minister of state; but you know his personal kindness to me was excessive; he distinguished and chose me above all other men, while he was great, and his letter to me the other day was the most moving imaginable." an intimacy which bore such fruit in time of trial was not one founded upon a servility varnished by self-assertion. no stauncher friend than swift ever lived. but his fidelity was not to be put to further proof. the day of the letter just quoted was the day of queen anne's death. the crash which followed ruined the "people now in power" as effectually as oxford. the party with which swift had identified himself, in whose success all his hopes and ambitions were bound up, was not so much ruined as annihilated. "the earl of oxford," wrote bolingbroke to swift, "was removed on tuesday. the queen died on sunday. what a world is this, and how does fortune banter us!" chapter vi. stella and vanessa. the final crash of the tory administration found swift approaching the end of his forty-seventh year. it found him in his own opinion prematurely aged both in mind and body. his personal prospects and political hopes were crushed. "i have a letter from dean swift," says arbuthnot in september; "he keeps up his noble spirit, and though like a man knocked down, you may behold him still with a stern countenance and aiming a blow at his adversaries." yet his adversaries knew, and he knew only too well, that such blows as he could now deliver could at most show his wrath without gratifying his revenge. he was disarmed as well as "knocked down." he writes to bolingbroke from dublin in despair. "i live a country life in town," he says, "see nobody, and go every day once to prayers, and hope in a few months to grow as stupid as the present situation of affairs will require. well, after all, parsons are not such bad company, especially when they are under subjection; and i let none but such come near me." oxford, bolingbroke, and ormond were soon in exile or the tower; and a letter to pope next year gives a sufficient picture of swift's feelings. "you know," he said, "how well i loved both lord oxford and bolingbroke, and how dear the duke of ormond is to me; do you imagine i can be easy while their enemies are endeavouring to take off their heads?--_i nunc et versus tecum meditare canoros!_" "you are to understand," he says in conclusion, "that i live in the corner of a vast unfurnished house; my family consists of a steward, a groom, a helper in the stable, a footman, and an old maid, who are all at board wages, and when i do not dine abroad or make an entertainment (which last is very rare), i eat a mutton pie and drink half a pint of wine; my amusements are defending my small dominions against the archbishop, and endeavouring to reduce my rebellious choir. _perditur hæc inter misero lux._" in another of the dignified letters which show the finest side of his nature, he offered to join oxford, whose intrepid behaviour, he says, "has astonished every one but me, who know you so well." but he could do nothing beyond showing sympathy; and he remained alone asserting his authority in his ecclesiastical domains, brooding over the past, and for the time unable to divert his thoughts into any less distressing channel. some verses written in october "in sickness" give a remarkable expression of his melancholy,-- 'tis true--then why should i repine to see my life so fast decline? but why obscurely here alone where i am neither loved nor known? my state of health none care to learn, my life is here no soul's concern, and those with whom i now converse without a tear will tend my hearse. yet we might have fancied that his lot would not be so unbearable. after all, a fall which ends in a deanery should break no bones. his friends, though hard pressed, survived; and, lastly, was any one so likely to shed tears upon his hearse as the woman to whom he was finally returning? the answer to this question brings us to a story imperfectly known to us, but of vital importance in swift's history. we have seen in what masterful fashion swift took possession of great men. the same imperious temper shows itself in his relations to women. he required absolute submission. entrance into the inner circle of his affections could only be achieved by something like abasement; but all within it became as a part of himself, to be both cherished and protected without stint. his affectation of brutality was part of a system. on first meeting lady burlington at her husband's house, he ordered her to sing. she declined. he replied, "sing, or i will make you. why, madam, i suppose you take me for one of your english hedge-parsons; sing when i tell you." she burst into tears and retired. the next time he met her he began, "pray, madam, are you as proud and ill-natured as when i saw you last?" she good-humouredly gave in, and swift became her warm friend. another lady to whom he was deeply attached was a famous beauty, anne long. a whimsical treaty was drawn up, setting forth that "the said dr. swift, upon the score of his merit and extraordinary qualities, doth claim the sole and undoubted right that all persons whatever shall make such advance to him as he pleases to demand, any law, claim, custom, privilege of sex, beauty, fortune or quality to the contrary notwithstanding;" and providing that miss long shall cease the contumacy in which she has been abetted by the vanhomrighs, but be allowed in return, in consideration of her being "a lady of the toast," to give herself the reputation of being one of swift's acquaintance. swift's affection for miss long is touchingly expressed in private papers, and in a letter written upon her death in retirement and poverty. he intends to put up a monument to her memory, and wrote a notice of her, "to serve her memory," and also, as he characteristically adds, to spite the brother who had neglected her. years afterwards he often refers to the "edict" which he annually issued in england, commanding all ladies to make him the first advances. he graciously makes an exception in favour of the duchess of queensberry, though he observes incidentally that he now hates all people whom he cannot command. this humorous assumption, like all swift's humour, has a strong element of downright earnest. he gives whimsical prominence to a genuine feeling. he is always acting the part of despot, and acting it very gravely. when he stays at sir arthur acheson's, lady acheson becomes his pupil, and is "severely chid" when she reads wrong. mrs. pendarves, afterwards mrs. delany, says in the same way that swift calls himself "her master," and corrects her when she speaks bad english.[ ] he behaved in the same way to his servants. delany tells us that he was "one of the best masters in the world," paid his servants the highest rate of wages known, and took great pains to encourage and help them to save. but, on engaging them, he always tested their humility. one of their duties, he told them, would be to take turns in cleaning the scullion's shoes, and if they objected, he sent them about their business. he is said to have tested a curate's docility in the same way by offering him sour wine. his dominion was most easily extended over women; and a long list might be easily made out of the feminine favourites who at all periods of his life were in more or less intimate relations with this self-appointed sultan. from the wives of peers and the daughters of lord-lieutenants down to dublin tradeswomen with a taste for rhyming, and even scullerymaids with no tastes at all, a whole hierarchy of female slaves bowed to his rule, and were admitted into higher and lower degrees of favour. esther johnson, or stella--to give her the name which she did not receive until after the period of the famous journals--was one of the first of these worshippers. as we have seen, he taught her to write, and when he went to laracor, she accepted the peculiar position already described. we have no direct statement of their mutual feelings before the time of the journal; but one remarkable incident must be noticed. during his stay in england in - swift had some correspondence with a dublin clergyman named tisdall. he afterwards regarded tisdall with a contempt which, for the present, is only half perceptible in some good-humoured raillery. tisdall's intimacy with "the ladies," stella and mrs. dingley, is one topic, and in the last of swift's letters we find that tisdall has actually made an offer for stella. swift had replied in a letter (now lost), which tisdall called unfriendly, unkind, and unaccountable. swift meets these reproaches coolly, contemptuously, and straightforwardly. he will not affect unconsciousness of tisdall's meaning. tisdall obviously takes him for a rival in stella's affections. swift replies that he will tell the naked truth. the truth is that "if his fortune and humour served him to think of that state" (marriage) he would prefer stella to any one on earth. so much, he says, he has declared to tisdall before. he did not, however, think of his affection as an obstacle to tisdall's hopes. tisdall had been too poor to marry; but the offer of a living has removed that objection; and swift undertakes to act what he has hitherto acted, a friendly though passive part. he had thought, he declares, that the affair had gone too far to be broken off; he had always spoken of tisdall in friendly terms; "no consideration of my own misfortune in losing so good a friend and companion as her" shall prevail upon him to oppose the match, "since it is held so necessary and convenient a thing for ladies to marry, and that time takes off from the lustre of virgins in all other eyes but mine." the letter must have suggested some doubts to tisdall. swift alleges as his only reasons for not being a rival in earnest his "humour" and the state of his fortune. the last obstacle might be removed at any moment. swift's prospects, though deferred, were certainly better than tisdall's. unless, therefore, the humour was more insurmountable than is often the case, swift's coolness was remarkable or ominous. it may be that, as some have held, there was nothing behind. but another possibility undoubtedly suggests itself. stella had received tisdall's suit so unfavourably that it was now suspended, and that it finally failed. stella was corresponding with swift. it is easy to guess that between the "unaccountable" letter and the contemptuous letter, swift had heard something from stella, which put him thoroughly at ease in regard to tisdall's attentions. we have no further information until, seven years afterwards, we reach the _journal to stella_, and find ourselves overhearing the "little language." the first editors scrupled at a full reproduction of what might strike an unfriendly reader as almost drivelling; and mr. forster reprinted for the first time the omitted parts of the still accessible letters. the little language is a continuation of stella's infantile prattle. certain letters are a cipher for pet names which may be conjectured. swift calls himself pdfr, or podefar, meaning, as mr. forster guesses, "poor, dear foolish rogue." stella, or rather esther johnson, is ppt, say "poppet." md, "my dear," means stella, and sometimes includes mrs. dingley. fw means "farewell," or "foolish wenches;" lele is taken by mr. forster to mean "truly" or "lazy," or "there, there," or to have "other meanings not wholly discoverable." the phrases come in generally by way of leave-taking. "so i got into bed," he says, "to write to md, md, for we must always write to md, md, md, awake or asleep;" and he ends, "go to bed. help pdfr. rove pdfr, md, md. nite darling rogues." here is another scrap, "i assure oo it im vely late now; but zis goes to-morrow; and i must have time to converse with own deerichar md. nite de deer sollahs." one more leave-taking may be enough. "farewell, dearest hearts and souls, md. farewell, md, md, md. fw, fw, fw. me, me. lele, lele, lele, sollahs, lele." the reference to the golden farmer already noted is in the words, "i warrant oo don't remember the golden farmer neither, figgarkick solly," and i will venture to a guess at what mr. forster pronounces to be inexplicable.[ ] may not solly be the same as "sollah," generally interpreted by the editors as "sirrah;" and "figgarkick" possibly be the same as pilgarlick, a phrase which he elsewhere applies to stella,[ ] and which the dictionaries say means "poor, deserted creature"? swift says that as he writes his language he "makes up his mouth just as if he was speaking it." it fits the affectionate caresses in which he is always indulging. nothing, indeed, can be more charming than the playful little prattle which occasionally interrupts the gossip and the sharp utterances of hope or resentment. in the snatches of leisure, late at night or before he has got up in the morning, he delights in an imaginary chat; for a few minutes of little fondling talk help him to forget his worries, and anticipate the happiness of reunion. he caresses her letters, as he cannot touch her hand. "and now let us come and see what this saucy, dear letter of md says. come out, letter, come out from between the sheets; here it is underneath, and it will not come out. come out again, i says; so there. here it is. what says pdf to me, pray? says it. come and let me answer for you to your ladies. hold up your head then like a good letter." and so he begins a little talk, and prays that they may be never separated again for ten days, whilst he lives. then he follows their movements in dublin in passages which give some lively little pictures of their old habits. "and where will you go to-day? for i cannot be with you for the ladies." [he is off sight-seeing to the tower and bedlam with lady kerry and a friend.] "it is a rainy, ugly day; i would have you send for wales, and go to the dean's; but do not play small games when you lose. you will be ruined by manilio, basto, the queen, and two small trumps in red. i confess it is a good hand against the player. but, then, there are spadilio, punto, the king, strong trumps against you, which with one rump more are three tricks ten ace; for suppose you play your manilio--o, silly, how i prate and cannot get away from md in a morning. go, get you gone, dear naughty girls, and let me rise." he delights again in turning to account his queer talent for making impromptu proverbs,-- be you lords or be you earls, you must write to naughty girls. or again,-- mr. white and mr. red write to m.d. when abed: mr. black and mr. brown write to m.d. when you are down: mr. oak and mr. willow write to m.d. on your pillow. and here is one more for the end of the year,-- would you answer m.d.'s letter on new year's day you will do it better: for when the year with m.d. 'gins it without m.d. never 'lins. "these proverbs," he explains, "have always old words in them; _lin_ is leave off." but if on new year you write nones m.d. then will bang your bones. reading these fond triflings we feel even now as though we were unjustifiably prying into the writer's confidence. what are we to say to them? we might simply say that the tender playfulness is charming; and that it is delightful to find the stern gladiator turning from party-warfare to soothe his wearied soul with these tender caresses. there is but one drawback. macaulay imitates some of this prattle in his charming letters to his younger sister, and there we can accept it without difficulty. but stella was not swift's younger sister. she was a beautiful and clever woman of thirty, when he was in the prime of his powers at forty-four. if tisdall could have seen the journal he would have ceased to call swift "unaccountable." did all this caressing suggest nothing to stella? swift does not write as an avowed lover; dingley serves as a chaperone even in these intimate confidences; and yet a word or two escapes which certainly reads like something more than fraternal affection. he apologizes (may , ) for not returning; "i will say no more, but beg you to be easy till fortune takes her course, and to believe that md's felicity is the great goal i aim at in all my pursuits." if such words addressed under such circumstances did not mean "i hope to make you my wife as soon as i get a deanery," there must have been some distinct understanding to limit their force. but another character enters the drama, mrs. vanhomrigh,[ ] a widow rich enough to mix in good society, was living in london with two sons and two daughters, and made swift's acquaintance in . her eldest daughter, hester, was then seventeen, or about ten years younger than stella. when swift returned to london in , he took lodgings close to the vanhomrighs, and became an intimate of the family. in the daily reports of his dinner, the name van occurs more frequently than any other. dinner, let us observe in passing, had not then so much as now the character of a solemn religious rite, implying a formal invitation. the ordinary hour was three (though harley with his usual procrastination often failed to sit down till six), and swift, when not pre-engaged, looked in at court or elsewhere in search of an invitation. he seldom failed: and when nobody else offered he frequently went to the "vans." the name of the daughter is only mentioned two or three times; whilst it is perhaps a suspicious circumstance that he very often makes a quasi-apology for his dining-place. "i was so lazy i dined where my new gown was, at mrs. vanhomrigh's," he says, in may, ; and a day or two later explains that he keeps his "best gown and periwig" there whilst he is lodging at chelsea, and often dines there "out of mere listlessness." the phrase may not have been consciously insincere; but swift was drifting into an intimacy which stella could hardly approve, and, if she desired swift's love, would regard as ominous. when swift took possession of his deanery, he revealed his depression to miss vanhomrigh, who about this time took the title vanessa; and vanessa again received his confidences from letcombe. a full account of their relations is given in the remarkable poem called _cadenus and vanessa_, less remarkable, indeed, as a poem than as an autobiographical document. it is singularly characteristic of swift that we can use what, for want of a better classification, must be called a love poem, as though it were an affidavit in a law-suit. most men would feel some awkwardness in hinting at sentiments conveyed by swift in the most downright terms; to turn them into a poem would seem preposterous. swift's poetry, however, is always plain matter of fact, and we may read _cadenus_ (which means of course _decanus_) _and vanessa_ as swift's deliberate and palpably sincere account of his own state of mind. omitting a superfluous framework of mythology in the contemporary taste, we have a plain story of the relations of this new heloïse and abelard. vanessa, he tells us, united masculine accomplishments to feminine grace; the fashionable fops (i use swift's own words as much as possible) who tried to entertain her with the tattle of the day, stared when she replied by applications of plutarch's morals; the ladies from the purlieus of st. james's found her reading montaigne at her toilet, and were amazed by her ignorance of the fashions. both were scandalized at the waste of such charms and talents due to the want of so called knowledge of the world. meanwhile, vanessa, not yet twenty, met and straightway admired cadenus, though his eyes were dim with study and his health decayed. he had grown old in politics and wit; was caressed by ministers; dreaded and hated by half mankind, and had forgotten the arts by which he had once charmed ladies, though merely for amusement and to show his wit.[ ] he did not understand what was love; he behaved to vanessa as a father might behave to a daughter; that innocent delight he took to see the virgin mind her book was but the master's secret joy in school to hear the finest boy. vanessa, once the quickest of learners, grew distracted. he apologized for having bored her by his pedantry, and offered a last adieu. she then startled him by a confession. he had taught her, she said, that virtue should never be afraid of disclosures; that noble minds were above common maxims (just what he had said to varina), and she therefore told him frankly that his lessons, aimed at her head, had reached her heart. cadenus was utterly taken aback. her words were too plain to be in jest. he was conscious of having never for a moment meant to be other than a teacher. yet every one would suspect him of intentions to win her heart and her five thousand pounds. he tried not to take things seriously. vanessa, however, became eloquent. she said that he had taught her to love great men through their books; why should she not love the living reality? cadenus was flattered and half converted. he had never heard her talk so well, and admitted that she had a most unfailing judgment and discerning head. he still maintained that his dignity and age put love out of the question, but he offered in return as much friendship as she pleased. she replies that she will now become tutor and teach him the lesson which he is so slow to learn. but--and here the revelation ends-- but what success vanessa met is to the world a secret yet.[ ] vanessa loved swift; and swift, it seems, allowed himself to be loved. one phrase in a letter written to him during his stay at dublin, in , suggests the only hint of jealousy. if you are happy, she says, "it is ill-natured of you not to tell me so, except 'tis what is inconsistent with mine." soon after swift's final retirement to ireland, mrs. vanhomrigh died; her husband had left a small property at celbridge. one son was dead; the other behaved badly to his sisters; the daughters were for a time in money difficulties, and it became convenient for them to retire to ireland, where vanessa ultimately settled at celbridge. the two women who worshipped swift were thus almost in presence of each other. the situation almost suggests comedy; but unfortunately it was to take a most tragical and still partly mysterious development. the fragmentary correspondence between swift and vanessa establishes certain facts. their intercourse was subject to restraints. he begs her, when he is starting for dublin, to get her letters directed by some other hand, and to write nothing that may not be seen, for fear of "inconveniences." the post-office clerk surely would not be more attracted by vanessa's hand than by that of such a man as lewis, a subordinate of harley's who had formerly forwarded her letters. he adds that if she comes to ireland, he will see her very seldom. "it is not a place for freedom, but everything is known in a week and magnified a hundred times." poor vanessa soon finds the truth of this. she complains that she is amongst "strange prying deceitful people;" that he flies her and will give no reason except that they are amongst fools and must submit. his reproofs are terrible to her. "if you continue to treat me as you do," she says soon after, "you will not be made uneasy by me long." she would rather have borne the rack than those "killing, killing words" of his. she writes instead of speaking, because when she ventures to complain in person "you are angry, and there is something in your look so awful that it shakes me dumb"--a memorable phrase in days soon to come. she protests that she says as little as she can. if he knew what she thought, he must be moved. the letter containing these phrases is dated , and there are but a few scraps till ; we gather that vanessa submitted partly to the necessities of the situation: and that this extreme tension was often relaxed. yet she plainly could not resign herself or suppress her passion. two letters in are painfully vehement. he has not seen her for ten long weeks, she says in her first, and she has only had one letter and one little note with an excuse. she will sink under his "prodigious neglect." time or accident cannot lessen her inexpressible passion. "put my passion under the utmost restraint; send me as distant from you as the earth will allow, yet you cannot banish those charming ideas which will stick by me, whilst i have the use of memory. nor is the love i bear you only seated in my soul, for there is not a single atom of my frame that is not blended with it." she thinks him changed, and entreats him not to suffer her to "live a life like a languishing death, which is the only life i can lead, if you have lost any of your tenderness for me." the following letter is even more passionate. she passes days in sighing and nights in watching and thinking of one who thinks not of her. she was born with "violent passions, which terminate all in one, that inexpressible passion i have for you." if she could guess at his thoughts, which is impossible ("for never any one living thought like you") she would guess that he wishes her "religious"--that she might pay her devotions to heaven. "but that should not spare you, for was i an enthusiast, still you'd be the deity i should worship." "what marks are there of a deity but what you are to be known by--you are (at?) present everywhere; your dear image is always before my eyes. sometimes you strike me with that prodigious awe, i tremble with fear; at other times a charming compassion shines through your countenance, which moves my soul. is it not more reasonable to adore a radiant form one has seen, than one only described?"[ ] the man who received such letters from a woman whom he at least admired and esteemed, who felt that to respond was to administer poison, and to fail to respond was to inflict the severest pangs, must have been in the cruellest of dilemmas. swift, we cannot doubt, was grieved and perplexed. his letters imply embarrassment; and, for the most part, take a lighter tone; he suggests his universal panacea of exercise; tells her to fly from the spleen instead of courting it; to read diverting books, and so forth; advice more judicious probably than comforting. there are, however, some passages of a different tendency. there is a mutual understanding to use certain catch-words, which recall the "little language." he wishes that her letters were as hard to read as his, in case of accident. "a stroke thus ... signifies everything that may be said to _cad_, at the beginning and conclusion." and she uses this written caress, and signs herself--his own "skinage." there are certain "questions," to which reference is occasionally made; a kind of catechism, it seems, which he was expected to address to himself at intervals, and the nature of which must be conjectured. he proposes to continue the _cadenus and vanessa_--a proposal which makes her happy beyond "expression,"--and delights her by recalling a number of available incidents. he recurs to them in his last letter, and bids her "go over the scenes of windsor, cleveland row, rider street, st. james's street, kensington, the shrubbery, the colonel in france, &c. cad thinks often of these, especially on horseback,[ ] as i am assured." this prosaic list of names recall, as we find, various old meetings. and, finally, one letter contains an avowal of a singular kind. "soyez assurée," he says, after advising her "to quit this scoundrel island," "que jamais personne du monde a été aimée, honorée, estimée, adorée par votre ami que vous." it seems as though he were compelled to throw her just a crumb of comfort here: but, in the same breath, he has begged her to leave him for ever. if vanessa was ready to accept a "gown of forty-four," to overlook his infirmities in consideration of his fame, why should swift have refused? why condemn her to undergo this "languishing death,"--a long agony of unrequited passion? one answer is suggested by the report that swift was secretly married to stella in . the fact is not proved, nor disproved:[ ] nor, to my mind, is the question of its truth of much importance. the ceremony, if performed, was nothing but a ceremony. the only rational explanation of the fact, if it be taken for a fact, must be that swift, having resolved not to marry, gave stella this security that he would, at least, marry no one else. though his anxiety to hide the connexion with vanessa may only mean a dread of idle tongues, it is at least highly probable that stella was the person from whom he specially desired to keep it. yet his poetical addresses to stella upon her birthday (of which the first is dated , and the last ) are clearly not the addresses of a lover. both in form and substance they are even pointedly intended to express friendship instead of love. they read like an expansion of his avowal to tisdall, that her charms for him, though for no one else, could not be diminished by her growing old without marriage. he addresses her with blunt affection, and tells her plainly of her growing size and waning beauty; comments even upon her defects of temper, and seems expressly to deny that he loved her in the usual way. thou, stella, wert no longer young when first for thee my harp i strung, without one word of cupid's darts of killing eyes and bleeding hearts; with friendship and esteem possess'd i ne'er admitted love a guest. we may almost say that he harps upon the theme of "friendship and esteem." his gratitude for her care of him is pathetically expressed; he admires her with the devotion of a brother for the kindest of sisters; his plain prosaic lines become poetical, or perhaps something better; but there is an absence of the lover's strain which is only not, if not, ostentatious. the connexion with stella, whatever its nature, gives the most intelligible explanation of his keeping vanessa at a distance. a collision between his two slaves might be disastrous. and, as the story goes (for we are everywhere upon uncertain ground), it came. in poor vanessa had lost her only sister,[ ] and companion: her brothers were already dead, and, in her solitude, she would naturally be more than ever eager for swift's kindness. at last, in , she wrote (it is said) a letter to stella, and asked whether she was swift's wife.[ ] stella replied that she was, and forwarded vanessa's letter to swift. how swift could resent an attempt to force his wishes, has been seen in the letter to varina. he rode in a fury to celbridge. his countenance, says orrery, could be terribly expressive of the sterner passions. prominent eyes--"azure as the heavens" (says pope)--arched by bushy black eyebrows, could glare, we can believe from his portraits, with the green fury of a cat's. vanessa had spoken of the "something awful in his looks," and of his killing words. he now entered her room, silent with rage, threw down her letter on the table and rode off. he had struck vanessa's death-blow. she died soon afterwards, but lived long enough to revoke a will made in favour of swift, and leave her money between judge marshal and the famous bishop berkeley. berkeley, it seems, had only seen her once in his life. the story of the last fatal interview has been denied. vanessa's death, though she was under thirty-five, is less surprising when we remember that her younger sister and both her brothers had died before her; and that her health had always been weak, and her life for some time a languishing death. that there was in any case a terribly tragic climax to the half-written romance of _cadenus and vanessa_ is certain. vanessa requested that the poem and the letters might be published by her executors. berkeley suppressed the letters for the time; and they were not published in full until scott's edition of swift's works. whatever the facts, swift had reasons enough for bitter regret if not for deep remorse. he retired to hide his head in some unknown retreat; absolute seclusion was the only solace to his gloomy, wounded spirit. after two months he returned to resume his retired habits. a period followed, as we shall see in the next chapter, of fierce political excitement. for a time too he had a vague hope of escaping from his exile. an astonishing literary success increased his reputation. but another misfortune approached which crushed all hope of happiness in life. in swift at last revisited england. he writes in july that he has for two months been anxious about stella's health, and as usual feared the worst. he has seen through the disguises of a letter from mrs. dingley. his heart is so sunk that he will never be the same man again, but drag on a wretched life till it pleases god to call him away. then in an agony of distress he contemplates her death; he says that he could not bear to be present; he should be a trouble to her, and the greatest torment to himself. he forces himself to add that her death must not take place at the deanery. he will not return to find her just dead or dying. "nothing but extremity could make me so familiar with those terrible words applied to so dear a friend." "i think," he says in another letter, "that there is not a greater folly than that of entering into too strict a partnership or friendship with the loss of which a man must be absolutely miserable; but especially [when the loss occurs] at an age when it is too late to engage in a new friendship." the morbid feeling which could withhold a man from attending a friend's deathbed, or allow him to regret the affection to which his pain was due, is but too characteristic of swift's egoistic attachments. yet we forgive the rash phrase, when we read his passionate expressions of agony. swift returned to ireland in the autumn, and stella struggled through the winter. he was again in england in the following summer; and for a time in better spirits. but once more the news comes that stella is probably on her deathbed; and he replies in letters which we read as we listen to groans of a man in sorest agony. he keeps one letter for an hour before daring to open it. he does not wish to live to see the loss of the person for whose sake alone life was worth preserving. "what have i to do in the world? i never was in such agonies as when i received your letter, and had it in my pocket. i am able to hold up my sorry head no longer." in another distracted letter, he repeats in latin the desire that stella shall not die in the deanery, for fear of malignant misinterpretations. if any marriage had taken place, the desire to conceal it had become a rooted passion. swift returned to ireland to find stella still living. it is said that in the last period of her life swift offered to make the marriage public, and that she declined, saying that it was now too late.[ ] she lingered till january , . he sat down the same night to write a few scattered reminiscences. he breaks down; and writes again during the funeral, which he is too ill to attend. the fragmentary notes give us the most authentic account of stella, and show, at least, what she appeared in the eyes of her lifelong friend and protector. we may believe that she was intelligent and charming; as we can be certain that swift loved her in every sense but one. a lock of her hair was preserved in an envelope in which he had written one of those vivid phrases by which he still lives in our memory: "_only a woman's hair_." what does it mean? our interpretation will depend partly upon what we can see ourselves in a lock of hair. but i think that any one who judges swift fairly will read in those four words the most intense utterance of tender affection, and of pathetic yearning for the irrevocable past strangely blended with a bitterness springing not from remorse, but indignation at the cruel tragi-comedy of life. the destinies laugh at us whilst they torture us; they make cruel scourges of trifles, and extract the bitterest passion from our best affections. swift was left alone. before we pass on we must briefly touch the problems of this strange history. it was a natural guess that some mysterious cause condemned swift to his loneliness. a story is told by scott (on poor evidence) that delany went to archbishop king's library about the time of the supposed marriage. as he entered swift rushed out with a distracted countenance. king was in tears, and said to delany, "you have just met the most unhappy man on earth; but on the subject of his wretchedness you must never ask a question." this has been connected with a guess made by somebody that swift had discovered stella to be his natural sister. it can be shown conclusively that this is impossible; and the story must be left as picturesque but too hopelessly vague to gratify any inference whatever. we know without it that swift was unhappy; but we know nothing of any definite cause. another view is that there is no mystery. swift, it is said, retained through life the position of stella's "guide, philosopher and friend," and was never anything more. stella's address to swift (on his birthday, ), may be taken to confirm this theory. it says with a plainness like his own that he had taught her to despise beauty and hold her empire by virtue and sense. yet the theory is in itself strange. the less love entered into swift's relations to stella, the more difficult to explain his behaviour to vanessa. if he regarded stella only as a daughter or a younger sister, and she returned the same feeling, he had no reason for making any mystery about the woman who would not in that case be a rival. if, again, we accept this view, we naturally ask why swift "never admitted love a guest." he simply continued, it is suggested, to behave as teacher to pupil. he thought of her when she was a woman as he had thought of her when she was a child of eight years old. but it is singular that a man should be able to preserve such a relation. it is quite true that a connexion of this kind may blind a man to its probable consequences; but it is contrary to ordinary experience that it should render the consequences less probable. the relation might explain why swift should be off his guard; but could hardly act as a safeguard. an ordinary man who was on such terms with a beautiful girl as are revealed in the _journal to stella_ would have ended by falling in love with her. why did not swift? we can only reply by remembering the "coldness" of temper to which he refers in his first letter: and his assertion that he did not understand love, and that his frequent flirtations never meant more than a desire for distraction. the affair with varina is an exception: but there are grounds for holding that swift was constitutionally indisposed to the passion of love. the absence of any traces of such a passion from writings conspicuous for their amazing sincerity, and (it is added) for their freedoms of another kind, has been often noticed as a confirmation of this hypothesis. yet it must be said that swift could be strictly reticent about his strongest feelings--and was specially cautious, for whatever reason, in regard to his relation with stella.[ ] if swift constitutionally differed from other men, we have some explanation of his strange conduct. but we must take into account other circumstances. swift had very obvious motives for not marrying. in the first place, he gradually became almost a monomaniac upon the question of money. his hatred of wasting a penny unnecessarily began at trinity college, and is prominent in all his letters and journals. it coloured even his politics, for a conviction that the nation was hopelessly ruined is one of his strongest prejudices. he kept accounts down to halfpence, and rejoices at every saving of a shilling. the passion was not the vulgar desire for wealth of the ordinary miser. it sprang from the conviction stored up in all his aspirations that money meant independence. "wealth," he says, "is liberty; and liberty is a blessing fittest for a philosopher--and gay is a slave just by two thousand pounds too little."[ ] gay was a duchess's lapdog: swift, with all his troubles, at least a free man. like all swift's prejudices, this became a fixed idea which was always gathering strength. he did not love money for its own sake. he was even magnificent in his generosity. he scorned to receive money for his writings; he abandoned the profit to his printers in compensation for the risks they ran, or gave it to his friends. his charity was splendid relatively to his means. in later years he lived on a third of his income, gave away a third, and saved the remaining third for his posthumous charity,[ ]--and posthumous charity which involves present saving is charity of the most unquestionable kind. his principle was that by reducing his expenditure to the lowest possible point, he secured his independence and could then make a generous use of the remainder. until he had received his deanery, however, he could only make both ends meet. marriage would therefore have meant poverty, probably dependence, and the complete sacrifice of his ambition. if under these circumstances swift had become engaged to stella upon temple's death, he would have been doing what was regularly done by fellows of colleges under the old system. there is, however, no trace of such an engagement. it would be in keeping with swift's character, if we should suppose that he shrank from the bondage of an engagement; that he designed to marry stella as soon as he should achieve a satisfactory position, and meanwhile trusted to his influence over her, and thought that he was doing her justice by leaving her at liberty to marry if she chose. the close connexion must have been injurious to stella's prospects of a match; but it continued only by her choice. if this were in fact the case, it is still easy to understand why swift did not marry upon becoming dean. he felt himself, i have said, to be a broken man. his prospects were ruined, and his health precarious. this last fact requires to be remembered in every estimate of swift's character. his life was passed under a damocles' sword. he suffered from a distressing illness which he attributed to an indigestion produced by an over-consumption of fruit at temple's when he was a little over twenty-one. the main symptoms were a giddiness, which frequently attacked him, and was accompanied by deafness. it is quite recently that the true nature of the complaint has been identified. dr. bucknill[ ] seems to prove that the symptoms are those of "labyrinthine vertigo," or ménière's disease, so called because discovered by ménière in . the references to his sufferings, brought together by sir william wilde in ,[ ] are frequent in all his writings. it tormented him for days, weeks, and months, gradually becoming more permanent in later years. in he tells gay that his giddiness attacks him constantly, though it is less violent than of old; and in he says that it is continual. from a much earlier period it had alarmed and distressed him. some pathetic entries are given by mr. forster from one of his note-books:--"dec. ( ).--horribly sick. th.--much better, thank god and m.d.'s prayers.... april nd ( ).--small giddy fit and swimming in the head. m.d. and god help me.... july, .--terrible fit. god knows what may be the event. better towards the end." the terrible anxiety, always in the background, must count for much in swift's gloomy despondency. though he seems always to have spoken of the fruit as the cause, he must have had misgivings as to the nature and result. dr. bucknill tells us that it was not necessarily connected with the disease of the brain, which ultimately came upon him; but he may well have thought that this disorder of the head was prophetic of such an end. it was probably in that he said to young of the _night thoughts_, "i shall be like that tree; i shall die at the top." a man haunted perpetually by such forebodings might well think that marriage was not for him. in _cadenus and vanessa_ he insists upon his declining years with an emphasis which seems excessive even from a man of forty-four (in he was really forty-five) to a girl of twenty. in a singular poem called the _progress of marriage_ he treats the supposed case of a divine of fifty-two marrying a lively girl of fashion, and speaks with his usual plainness of the probable consequences of such folly. we cannot doubt that here as elsewhere he is thinking of himself. he was fifty-two when receiving the passionate love-letters of vanessa; and the poem seems to be specially significant. this is one of those cases in which we feel that even biographers are not omniscient; and i must leave it to my readers to choose their own theory, only suggesting that readers too are fallible. but we may still ask what judgment is to be passed upon swift's conduct. both stella and vanessa suffered from coming within the sphere of swift's imperious attraction. stella enjoyed his friendship through her life at the cost of a partial isolation from ordinary domestic happiness. she might and probably did regard his friendship as a full equivalent for the sacrifice. it is one of the cases in which, if the actors be our contemporaries, we hold that outsiders are incompetent to form a judgment, as none but the principals can really know the facts. is it better to be the most intimate friend of a man of genius or the wife of a commonplace tisdall? if stella chose, and chose freely, it is hard to say that she was mistaken, or to blame swift for a fascination which he could not but exercise. the tragedy of vanessa suggests rather different reflections. swift's duty was plain. granting what seems to be probable, that vanessa's passion took him by surprise, and that he thought himself disqualified for marriage by infirmity and weariness of life, he should have made his decision perfectly plain. he should have forbidden any clandestine relations. furtive caresses--even on paper, understandings to carry on a private correspondence, fond references to old meetings, were obviously calculated to encourage her passion. he should not only have pronounced it to be hopeless, but made her, at whatever cost, recognize the hopelessness. this is where swift's strength seems to have failed him. he was not intentionally cruel; he could not foresee the fatal event; he tried to put her aside, and he felt the "shame, disappointment, grief, surprise," of which he speaks on the avowal of her love. he gave her the most judicious advice, and tried to persuade her to accept it. but he did not make it effectual. he shrank from inflicting pain upon her and upon himself. he could not deprive himself of the sympathy which soothed his gloomy melancholy. his affection was never free from the egoistic element which prevented him from acting unequivocally as an impartial spectator would have advised him to act, or as he would have advised another to act in a similar case. and therefore when the crisis came the very strength of his affection produced an explosion of selfish wrath; and he escaped from the intolerable position by striking down the woman whom he loved, and whose love for him had become a burden. the wrath was not the less fatal because it was half composed of remorse, and the energy of the explosion proportioned to the strength of the feeling which had held it in check. chapter vii. wood's halfpence. in one of scott's finest novels, the old cameronian preacher, who had been left for dead by claverhouse's troopers, suddenly rises to confront his conquerors, and spends his last breath in denouncing the oppressors of the saints. even such an apparition was jonathan swift to comfortable whigs who were flourishing in the place of harley and st. john, when, after ten years' quiescence, he suddenly stepped into the political arena. after the first crushing fall he had abandoned partial hope, and contented himself with establishing supremacy in his chapter. but undying wrath smouldered in his breast till time came for an outburst. no man had ever learnt more thoroughly the lesson, "put not your faith in princes;" or had been impressed with a lower estimate of the wisdom displayed by the rulers of the world. he had been behind the scenes, and knew that the wisdom of great ministers meant just enough cunning to court the ruin which a little common sense would have avoided. corruption was at the prow and folly at the helm. the selfish ring which he had denounced so fiercely had triumphed. it had triumphed, as he held, by flattering the new dynasty, hoodwinking the nation, and maligning its antagonists. the cynical theory of politics was not for him, as for some comfortable cynics, an abstract proposition, which mattered very little to a sensible man; but was embodied in the bitter wrath with which he regarded his triumphant adversaries. pessimism is perfectly compatible with bland enjoyment of the good things in a bad world; but swift's pessimism was not of this type. it meant energetic hatred of definite things and people who were always before him. with this feeling, he had come to ireland; and ireland--i am speaking of a century and a half ago--was the opprobrium of english statesmanship. there swift had (or thought he had) always before him a concrete example of the basest form of tyranny. by ireland, i have said, swift meant, in the first place, the english in ireland. in the last years of his sanity he protested indignantly against the confusion between the "savage old irish," and the english gentry who, he said, were much better bred, spoke better english, and were more civilized than the inhabitants of many english counties.[ ] he retained to the end of his life his antipathy to the scotch colonists. he opposed their demand for political equality as fiercely in the last as in his first political utterances. he contrasted them unfavourably[ ] with the catholics, who had indeed been driven to revolt by massacre and confiscation under puritan rule, but who were now, he declared, "true whigs, in the best and most proper sense of the word," and thoroughly loyal to the house of hanover. had there been a danger of a catholic revolt, swift's feelings might have been different; but he always held, that they were "as inconsiderable as the women and children," mere "hewers of wood and drawers of water," "out of all capacity of doing any mischief, if they were ever so well inclined."[ ] looking at them in this way, he felt a sincere compassion for their misery and a bitter resentment against their oppressors. the english, he said, in a remarkable letter,[ ] should be ashamed of their reproaches of irish dulness, ignorance and cowardice. those defects were the products of slavery. he declared that the poor cottagers had "a much better natural taste for good sense, humour and raillery, than ever i observed among people of the like sort in england. but the millions of oppressions they lie under, the tyranny of their landlords, the ridiculous zeal of their priests, and the misery of the whole nation have been enough to damp the best spirits under the sun." such a view is now commonplace enough. it was then a heresy to english statesmen, who thought that nobody but a papist or a jacobite could object to the tyranny of whigs. swift's diagnosis of the chronic irish disease was thoroughly political. he considered that irish misery sprang from the subjection to a government not intentionally cruel, but absolutely selfish; to which the irish revenue meant so much convenient political plunder, and which acted on the principle quoted from cowley, that the happiness of ireland should not weigh against the "least conveniency" of england. he summed up his views in a remarkable letter,[ ] to be presently mentioned, the substance of which had been orally communicated to walpole. he said to walpole, as he said in every published utterance:--first, that the colonists were still englishmen and entitled to english rights; secondly, that their trade was deliberately crushed, purely for the benefit of the english of england; thirdly, that all valuable preferments were bestowed upon men born in england, as a matter of course; and finally, that in consequence of this, the upper classes, deprived of all other openings, were forced to rack-rent their tenants to such a degree that not one farmer in the kingdom out of a hundred "could afford shoes or stockings to his children, or to eat flesh or drink anything better than sour milk and water twice in a year: so that the whole country, except the scotch plantation in the north, is a scene of misery and desolation hardly to be matched on this side lapland." a modern reformer would give the first and chief place to this social misery. it is characteristic that swift comes to it as a consequence from the injustice to his own class:--as, again, that he appeals to walpole not on the simple ground that the people are wretched, but on the ground that they will be soon unable to pay the tribute to england, which he reckons at a million a year. but his conclusion might be accepted by any irish patriot. whatever, he says, can make a country poor and despicable, concurs in the case of ireland. the nation is controlled by laws to which it does not consent; disowned by its brethren and countrymen; refused the liberty of trading even in its natural commodities; forced to seek for justice many hundred miles by sea and land; rendered in a manner incapable of serving the king and country in any place of honour, trust, or profit; whilst the governors have no sympathy with the governed, except what may occasionally arise from the sense of justice and philanthropy. i am not to ask how far swift was right in his judgments. every line which he wrote shows that he was thoroughly sincere and profoundly stirred by his convictions. a remarkable pamphlet, published in , contained his first utterance upon the subject. it is an exhortation to the irish to use only irish manufactures. he applies to ireland the fable of _arachne and pallas_. the goddess, indignant at being equalled in spinning, turned her rival into a spider, to spin for ever out of her own bowels in a narrow compass. he always, he says, pitied poor arachne for so cruel and unjust a sentence, "which, however, is fully executed upon us by england with further additions of rigour and severity; for the greatest part of our bowels and vitals is extracted, without allowing us the liberty of spinning and weaving them." swift of course accepts the economic fallacy equally taken for granted by his opponents, and fails to see that england and ireland injured themselves as well as each other by refusing to interchange their productions. but he utters forcibly his righteous indignation against the contemptuous injustice of the english rulers, in consequence of which the "miserable people" are being reduced "to a worse condition than the peasants in france, or the vassals in germany and poland." slaves, he says, have a natural disposition to be tyrants; and he himself, when his betters give him a kick, is apt to revenge it with six upon his footman. that is how the landlords treat their tenantry. the printer of this pamphlet was prosecuted. the chief justice (whitshed) sent back the jury nine times and kept them eleven hours before they would consent to bring in a "special verdict." the unpopularity of the prosecution became so great that it was at last dropped. four years afterwards a more violent agitation broke out. a patent had been given to a certain william wood for supplying ireland with a copper coinage. many complaints had been made, and in september, , addresses were voted by the irish houses of parliament, declaring that the patent had been obtained by clandestine and false representations: that it was mischievous to the country: and that wood had been guilty of frauds in his coinage. they were pacified by vague promises; but walpole went on with the scheme on the strength of a favourable report of a committee of the privy council; and the excitement was already serious when (in ) swift published the _drapier's letters_, which give him his chief title to eminence as a patriotic agitator. swift either shared or took advantage of the general belief that the mysteries of the currency are unfathomable to the human intelligence. they have to do with that world of financial magic in which wealth may be made out of paper, and all ordinary relations of cause and effect are suspended. there is, however, no real mystery about the halfpence. the small coins which do not form part of the legal tender may be considered primarily as counters. a penny is a penny, so long as twelve are change for a shilling. it is not in the least necessary for this purpose that the copper contained in the twelve penny pieces should be worth or nearly worth a shilling. a sovereign can never be worth much more than the gold of which it is made. but at the present day bronze worth only twopence is coined into twelve penny pieces.[ ] the coined bronze is worth six times as much as the uncoined. the small coins must have some intrinsic value to deter forgery, and must be made of good materials to stand wear and tear. if these conditions be observed, and a proper number be issued, the value of the penny will be no more affected by the value of the copper than the value of the banknote by that of the paper on which it is written. this opinion assumes that the copper coins cannot be offered or demanded in payment of any but trifling debts. the halfpence coined by wood seem to have fulfilled these conditions, and as copper worth twopence (on the lowest computation) was coined into ten halfpence, worth fivepence, their intrinsic value was more than double that of modern halfpence. the halfpence, then, were not objectionable upon this ground. nay, it would have been wasteful to make them more valuable. it would have been as foolish to use more copper for the pence as to make the works of a watch of gold if brass is equally durable and convenient. but another consequence is equally clear. the effect of wood's patent was that a mass of copper worth about , _l._,[ ] became worth , _l._ in the shape of halfpenny pieces. there was therefore a balance of about , _l._ to pay for the expenses of coinage. it would have been waste to get rid of this by putting more copper in the coins; but if so large a profit arose from the transaction, it would go to somebody. at the present day it would be brought into the national treasury. this was not the way in which business was done in ireland. wood was to pay _l._ a year for fourteen years to the crown.[ ] but , _l._ still leaves a large margin for profit. what was to become of it? according to the admiring biographer of sir r. walpole, the patent had been originally given by lord sunderland to the duchess of kendal, a lady whom the king delighted to honour. she already received _l._ a year in pensions upon the irish establishment, and she sold this patent to wood for , _l._ enough was still left to give wood a handsome profit; as in transactions of this kind, every accomplice in a dirty business expects to be well paid. so handsome, indeed, was the profit that wood received ultimately a pension of _l._ for eight years, , _l._, that is, in consideration of abandoning the patent. it was right and proper that a profit should be made on the transaction, but shameful that it should be divided between the king's mistress and william wood, and that the bargain should be struck without consulting the irish representatives, and maintained in spite of their protests. the duchess of kendal was to be allowed to take a share of the wretched halfpence in the pocket of every irish beggar. a more disgraceful transaction could hardly be imagined, or one more calculated to justify swift's view of the selfishness and corruption of the english rulers. swift saw his chance, and went to work in characteristic fashion, with unscrupulous audacity of statement, guided by the keenest strategical instinct. he struck at the heart as vigorously as he had done in the _examiner_, but with resentment sharpened by ten years of exile. it was not safe to speak of the duchess of kendal's share in the transaction, though the story, as poor archdeacon coxe pathetically declares, was industriously propagated. but the case against wood was all the stronger. is he so wicked, asks swift, as to suppose that a nation is to be ruined that he may gain three or fourscore thousand pounds? hampden went to prison, he says, rather than pay a few shillings wrongfully; i, says swift, would rather be hanged than have all my "property taxed at seventeen shillings in the pound at the arbitrary will and pleasure of the venerable mr. wood." a simple constitutional precedent might rouse a hampden; but to stir a popular agitation, it is as well to show that the evil actually inflicted is gigantic, independently of possible results. it requires, indeed, some audacity to prove that debasement of the copper currency can amount to a tax of seventeen shillings in the pound on all property. here, however, swift might simply throw the reins upon the neck of his fancy. anybody may make any inferences he pleases in the mysterious regions of currency; and no inferences, it seems, were too audacious for his hearers, though we are left to doubt how far swift's wrath had generated delusions in his own mind, and how far he perceived that other minds were ready to be deluded. he revels in prophesying the most extravagant consequences. the country will be undone; the tenants will not be able to pay their rents; "the farmers must rob, or beg, or leave the country; the shopkeepers in this and every other town must break or starve; the squire will hoard up all his good money to send to england and keep some poor tailor or weaver in his house, who will be glad to get bread at any rate."[ ] concrete facts are given to help the imagination. squire conolly must have horses to bring his half-yearly rents to town; and the poor man will have to pay thirty-six of wood's halfpence to get a quart of twopenny ale. how is this proved? one argument is a sufficient specimen. nobody, according to the patent, was to be forced to take wood's halfpence; nor could any one be obliged to receive more than fivepence halfpenny in any one payment. this, of course, meant that the halfpence could only be used as change, and a man must pay his debts in silver or gold whenever it was possible to use a sixpence. it upsets swift's statement about squire connolly's rents. but swift is equal to the emergency. the rule means, he says, that every man must take fivepence halfpenny in every payment, _if it be offered_; which, on the next page, becomes simply in every payment; therefore making an easy assumption or two, he reckons that you will receive _l._ a year in these halfpence; and therefore (by other assumptions) lose _l._ a year.[ ] it might have occurred to swift, one would think, that both parties to the transaction could not possibly be losers. but he calmly assumes that the man who pays will lose in proportion to the increased number of coins; and the man who receives, in proportion to the depreciated value of each coin. he does not see, or think it worth notice, that the two losses obviously counterbalance each other; and he has an easy road to prophesying absolute ruin for everybody. it would be almost as great a compliment to call this sophistry, as to dignify with the name of satire a round assertion that an honest man is a cheat or a rogue. the real grievance, however, shows through the sham argument. "it is no loss of honour," thought swift, "to submit to the lion; but who, with the figure of a man, can think with patience of being devoured alive by a rat?" why should wood have this profit (even if more reasonably estimated) in defiance of the wishes of the nation? it is, says swift, because he is an englishman and has great friends. he proposes to meet the attempt by a general agreement not to take the halfpence. briefly, the halfpence were to be "boycotted." before this second letter was written the english ministers had become alarmed. a report of the privy council (july , ) defended the patent, but ended by recommending that the amount to be coined should be reduced to , _l._ carteret was sent out as lord lieutenant to get this compromise accepted. swift replied by a third letter, arguing the question of the patent, which he can "never suppose," or in other words, which everybody knew, to have been granted as a "job for the interest of some particular person." he vigorously asserts that the patent can never make it obligatory to accept the halfpence, and tells a story much to the purpose from old leicester experience. the justices had reduced the price of ale to three-halfpence a quart. one of them therefore requested that they would make another order to appoint who should drink it, "for by god," said he, "i will not." the argument thus naturally led to a further and more important question. the discussion as to the patent brought forward the question of right. wood and his friends, according to swift, had begun to declare that the resistance meant jacobitism and rebellion; they asserted that the irish were ready to shake off their dependence upon the crown of england. swift took up the challenge and answered resolutely and eloquently. he took up the broadest ground. ireland, he declared, depended upon england in no other sense than that in which england depended upon ireland. whoever thinks otherwise, he said, "i, m. b. despair, desire to be excepted; for i declare, next under god, i depend only on the king my sovereign, and the laws of my own country. i am so far," he added, "from depending upon the people of england, that if they should rebel, i would take arms and lose every drop of my blood, to hinder the pretender from being king of ireland." it had been reported that somebody (walpole presumably) had sworn to thrust the halfpence down the throats of the irish. the remedy, replied swift, is totally in your own hands, "and therefore i have digressed a little ... to let you see that by the laws of god, of nature, of nations, and of your own country, you are and ought to be as free a people as your brethren in england." as swift had already said in the third letter, no one could believe that any english patent would stand half an hour after an address from the english houses of parliament such as that which had been passed against wood's by the irish parliament. whatever constitutional doubts might be raised, it was therefore come to be the plain question whether or not the english ministers should simply override the wishes of the irish nation. carteret, upon landing, began by trying to suppress his adversary. a reward of _l._ was offered for the discovery of the author of the fourth letter. a prosecution was ordered against the printer. swift went to the levée of the lord lieutenant, and reproached him bitterly for his severity against a poor tradesman who had published papers for the good of his country. carteret answered in a happy quotation from virgil, a feat which always seems to have brought consolation to the statesman of that day. res dura et regni novitas me talia cogunt moliri. another story is more characteristic. swift's butler had acted as his amanuensis, and absented himself one night whilst the proclamation was running. swift thought that the butler was either treacherous or presuming upon his knowledge of the secret. as soon as the man returned he ordered him to strip off his livery and begone. "i am in your power," he said, "and for that very reason i will not stand your insolence." the poor butler departed, but preserved his fidelity; and swift, when the tempest had blown over, rewarded him by appointing him verger in the cathedral. the grand jury threw out the bill against the printer in spite of all whitshed's efforts; they were discharged; and the next grand jury presented wood's halfpence as a nuisance. carteret gave way, the patent was surrendered, and swift might congratulate himself upon a complete victory. the conclusion is in one respect rather absurd. the irish succeeded in rejecting a real benefit at the cost of paying wood the profit which he would have made, had he been allowed to confer it. another point must be admitted. swift's audacious misstatements were successful for the time in rousing the spirit of the people. they have led, however, to a very erroneous estimate of the whole case. english statesmen and historians[ ] have found it so easy to expose his errors that they have thought his whole case absurd. the grievance was not what it was represented, therefore it is argued that there was no grievance. the very essence of the case was that the irish people were to be plundered by the german mistress; and such plunder was possible because the english people, as swift says, never thought of ireland except when there was nothing else to be talked of in the coffee-houses.[ ] owing to the conditions of the controversy, this grievance only came out gradually, and could never be fully stated. swift could never do more than hint at the transaction. his letters (including three which appeared after the last mentioned, enforcing the same case) have often been cited as models of eloquence, and compared to demosthenes. we must make some deduction from this, as in the case of his former political pamphlets. the intensity of his absorption in the immediate end, deprives them of some literary merits; and we, to whom the sophistries are palpable enough, are apt to resent them. anybody can be effective in a way, if he chooses to lie boldly. yet, in another sense, it is hard to over-praise the letters. they have in a high degree the peculiar stamp of swift's genius; the vein of the most nervous common-sense and pithy assertion with an undercurrent of intense passion, the more impressive because it is never allowed to exhale in mere rhetoric. swift's success, the dauntless front which he had shown to the oppressor, made him the idol of his countrymen. a drapier's club was formed in his honour, which collected the letters and drank toasts and sang songs to celebrate their hero. in a sad letter to pope, in , he complains that none of his equals care for him; but adds that as he walks the streets he has "a thousand hats and blessings upon old scores which those we call the gentry have forgot." the people received him as their champion. when he returned from england in , bells were rung, bonfires lighted and a guard of honour escorted him to the deanery. towns voted him their freedom and received him like a prince. when walpole spoke of arresting him, a prudent friend told the minister that the messenger would require a guard of , soldiers. corporations asked his advice in elections, and the weavers appealed to him on questions about their trade. in one of his satires,[ ] swift had attacked a certain serjeant bettesworth-- thus at the bar the booby bettesworth though half-a-crown o'erpays his sweat's worth. bettesworth called upon him with, as swift reports, a knife in his pocket, and complained in such terms as to imply some intention of personal violence. the neighbours instantly sent a deputation to the dean, proposing to take vengeance upon bettesworth, and though he induced them to disperse peaceably, they formed a guard to watch the house; and bettesworth complained that his attack upon the dean had lowered his professional income by _l._ a year. a quaint example of his popularity is given by sheridan. a great crowd had collected to see an eclipse. swift thereupon sent out the bellman to give notice that the eclipse had been postponed by the dean's orders; and the crowd dispersed. influence with the people, however, could not bring swift back to power. at one time there seemed to be a gleam of hope. swift visited england twice in and . he paid long visits to his old friend pope, and again met bolingbroke, now returned from exile, and trying to make a place in english politics. peterborough introduced the dean to walpole, to whom swift detailed his views upon irish politics. walpole was the last man to set about a great reform from mere considerations of justice and philanthropy, and was not likely to trust a confidant of bolingbroke. he was civil but indifferent. swift, however, was introduced by his friends to mrs. howard, the mistress of the prince of wales, soon to become george ii. the princess, afterwards queen caroline, ordered swift to come and see her, and he complied, as he says, after nine commands. he told her that she had lately seen a wild boy from germany, and now he supposed she wanted to see a wild dean from ireland. some civilities passed; swift offered some plaids of irish manufacture, and the princess promised some medals in return. when, in the next year, george i. died, the opposition hoped great things from the change. pulteney had tried to get swift's powerful help for the _craftsman_, the opposition organ; and the opposition hoped to upset walpole. swift, who had thought of going to france for his health, asked mrs. howard's advice. she recommended him to stay; and he took the recommendation as amounting to a promise of support. he had some hopes of obtaining english preferment in exchange for his deanery in what he calls (in the date to one of his letters[ ]) "wretched dublin in miserable ireland." it soon appeared, however, that the mistress was powerless; and that walpole was to be as firm as ever in his seat. swift returned to ireland, never again to leave it: to lose soon afterwards his beloved stella, and nurse an additional grudge against courts and favourites. the bitterness with which he resented mrs. howard's supposed faithlessness is painfully illustrative in truth of the morbid state of mind which was growing upon him. "you think," he says to bolingbroke in , "as i ought to think, that it is time for me to have done with the world; and so i would, if i could get into a better before i was called into the best, and not die here in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a hole." that terrible phrase expresses but too vividly the state of mind which was now becoming familiar to him. separated by death and absence from his best friends, and tormented by increasing illness, he looked out upon a state of things in which he could see no ground for hope. the resistance to wood's halfpence had staved off immediate ruin; but had not cured the fundamental evil. some tracts upon irish affairs, written after the drapier's letters, sufficiently indicate his despairing vein. "i am," he says in , when proposing some remedy for the swarms of beggars in dublin, "a desponder by nature," and he has found out that the people will never stir themselves to remove a single grievance. his old prejudices were as keen as ever, and could dictate personal outbursts. he attacked the bishops bitterly for offering certain measures which in his view sacrificed the permanent interests of the church to that of the actual occupants. he showed his own sincerity by refusing to take fines for leases which would have benefited himself at the expense of his successors. with equal earnestness he still clung to the test acts, and assailed the protestant dissenters with all his old bitterness, and ridiculed their claims to brotherhood with churchmen. to the end he was a churchman before everything. one of the last of his poetical performances was prompted by the sanction given by the irish parliament to an opposition to certain "titles of ejectment." he had defended the right of the irish parliament against english rulers; but when it attacked the interests of his church his fury showed itself in the most savage satire that he ever wrote, the _legion club_. it is an explosion of wrath tinged with madness. could i from the building's top hear the rattling thunder drop, while the devil upon the roof (if the devil be thunder-proof) should with poker fiery red crack the stones and melt the lead, drive them down on every skull when the den of thieves is full; quite destroy the harpies' nest, how might this our isle be blest! what follows fully keeps up to this level. swift flings filth like a maniac, plunges into ferocious personalities, and ends fitly with the execration,-- may their god, the devil, confound them. he was seized with one of his fits whilst writing the poem and was never afterwards capable of sustained composition. some further pamphlets--especially one on the state of ireland--repeat and enforce his views. one of them requires special mention. the _modest proposal_ (written in ) _for preventing the children of poor people in ireland from being a burden to their parents or country_--the proposal being that they should be turned into articles of food--gives the very essence of swift's feeling, and is one of the most tremendous pieces of satire in existence. it shows the quality already noticed. swift is burning with a passion, the glow of which makes other passions look cold, as it is said that some bright lights cause other illuminating objects to cast a shadow. yet his face is absolutely grave, and he details his plan as calmly as a modern projector suggesting the importation of australian meat. the superficial coolness may be revolting to tender-hearted people, and has indeed led to condemnation of the supposed ferocity of the author almost as surprising as the criticisms which can see in it nothing but an exquisite piece of humour. it is, in truth, fearful to read even now. yet we can forgive and even sympathize when we take it for what it really is--the most complete expression of burning indignation against intolerable wrongs. it utters, indeed, a serious conviction. "i confess myself," says swift in a remarkable paper,[ ] "to be touched with a very sensible pleasure when i hear of a mortality in any country parish or village, where the wretches are forced to pay for a filthy cabin and two ridges of potatoes treble the worth; brought up to steal and beg for want of work; to whom death would be the best thing to be wished for, on account both of themselves and the public." he remarks in the same place on the lamentable contradiction presented in ireland to the maxim that the "people are the riches of a nation," and the _modest proposal_ is the fullest comment on this melancholy reflection. after many visionary proposals, he has at last hit upon the plan, which has at least the advantage that by adopting it "we can incur no danger of disobliging england. for this kind of commodity will not bear exportation, the flesh being of too tender a consistence to admit a long continuance in salt, although perhaps i could name a country which would be glad to eat up a whole nation without it." swift once asked delany[ ] whether the "corruptions and villanies of men in power did not eat his flesh and exhaust his spirits?" "no," said delany. "why, how can you help it?" said swift. "because," replied delany, "i am commanded to the contrary--_fret not thyself because of the ungodly_." that, like other wise maxims, is capable of an ambiguous application. as delany took it, swift might perhaps have replied that it was a very comfortable maxim--for the ungodly. his own application of scripture is different. it tells us, he says, in his proposal for using irish manufactures, that "oppression makes a wise man mad." if, therefore, some men are not mad, it must be because they are not wise. in truth, it is characteristic of swift that he could never learn the great lesson of submission even to the inevitable. he could not, like an easy-going delany, submit to oppression which might possibly be resisted with success; but as little could he submit when all resistance was hopeless. his rage, which could find no better outlet, burnt inwardly and drove him mad. it is very interesting to compare swift's wrathful denunciations with berkeley's treatment of the same before in the _querist_ ( - ). berkeley is full of luminous suggestions upon economical questions which are entirely beyond swift's mark. he is in a region quite above the sophistries of the _drapier's letters_. he sees equally the terrible grievance that no people in the world is so beggarly, wretched, and destitute as the common irish. but he thinks all complaints against the english rule useless and therefore foolish. if the english restrain our trade ill-advisedly, is it not, he asks, plainly our interest to accommodate ourselves to them (no. )? have we not the advantage of english protection without sharing english responsibilities? he asks, "whether england doth not really love us and wish well to us as bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh? and whether it be not our part to cultivate this love and affection all manner of ways?" (nos. , .) one can fancy how swift must have received this characteristic suggestion of the admirable berkeley, who could not bring himself to think ill of any one. berkeley's main contention is no doubt sound in itself, namely, that the welfare of the country really depended on the industry and economy of its inhabitants, and that such qualities would have made the irish comfortable in spite of all english restrictions and government abuses. but, then, swift might well have answered that such general maxims are idle. it is all very well for divines to tell people to become good and to find out that then they will be happy. but how are they to be made good? are the irish intrinsically worse than other men, or is their laziness and restlessness due to special and removable circumstances? in the latter case is there not more real value in attacking tangible evils than in propounding general maxims and calling upon all men to submit to oppression, and even to believe in the oppressor's good-will in the name of christian charity? to answer those questions would be to plunge into interminable and hopeless controversies. meanwhile swift's fierce indignation against english oppression might almost as well have been directed against a law of nature for any immediate result. whether the rousing of the national spirit was any benefit is a question which i must leave to others. in any case, the work, however darkened by personal feeling or love of class-privilege, expressed as hearty a hatred of oppression as ever animated a human being. chapter viii. gulliver's travels. the winter of - passed by swift in england was full of anxiety and vexation. he found time, however, to join in a remarkable literary association. the so-called scriblerus club does not appear, indeed, to have had any definite organization. the rising young wits, pope and gay, both of them born in , were already becoming famous, and were taken up by swift, still in the zenith of his political power. parnell, a few years their senior, had been introduced by swift to oxford as a convert from whiggism. all three became intimate with swift and arbuthnot, the most learned and amiable of the whole circle of swift's friends. swift declared him to have every quality that could make a man amiable and useful with but one defect--he had "a sort of slouch in his walk;" he was loved and respected by every one, and was one of the most distinguished of the brothers. swift and arbuthnot and their three juniors discussed literary plans in the midst of the growing political excitement. even oxford used, as pope tells us, to amuse himself during the very crisis of his fate by scribbling verses and talking nonsense with the members of this informal club, and some doggerel lines exchanged with him remain as a specimen--a poor one it is to be hoped--of their intercourse. the familiarity thus begun continued through the life of the members. swift can have seen very little of pope. he hardly made his acquaintance till the latter part of ; they parted in the summer of ; and never met again except in swift's two visits to england in - . yet their correspondence shows an affection which was no doubt heightened by the consciousness of each that the friendship of his most famous contemporary author was creditable; but which, upon swift's side at least, was thoroughly sincere and cordial, and strengthened with advancing years. the final cause of the club was supposed to be the composition of a joint-stock satire. we learn from an interesting letter[ ] that pope formed the original design; though swift thought that arbuthnot was the only one capable of carrying it out. the scheme was to write the memoirs of an imaginary pedant, who had dabbled with equal wrong-headedness in all kinds of knowledge; and thus recalls swift's early performances--the _battle of the books_ and the _tale of a tub_. arbuthnot begs swift to work upon it during his melancholy retirement at letcombe. swift had other things to occupy his mind; and upon the dispersion of the party the club fell into abeyance. fragments of the original plan were carried out by pope and arbuthnot, and form part of the _miscellanies_, to which swift contributed a number of poetical scraps, published under pope's direction in - . it seems probable that _gulliver_ originated in swift's mind in the course of his meditations upon scriblerus. the composition of _gulliver_ was one of the occupations by which he amused himself after recovering from the great shock of his "exile." he worked, as he seems always to have done, slowly and intermittently. part of brobdingnag at least, as we learn from a letter of vanessa's, was in existence by . swift brought the whole manuscript to england in , and it was published anonymously in the following winter. the success was instantaneous and overwhelming. "i will make over all my profits" (in a work then being published) "to you," writes arbuthnot, "for the property of _gulliver's travels_, which, i believe, will have as great a run as john bunyan." the anticipation was amply fulfilled. _gulliver's travels_ is one of the very few books some knowledge of which may be fairly assumed in any one who reads anything. yet something must be said of the secret of the astonishing success of this unique performance. one remark is obvious. _gulliver's travels_ (omitting certain passages) is almost the most delightful children's book ever written. yet it has been equally valued as an unrivalled satire. old sarah, duchess of marlborough, was "in raptures with it," says gay, "and can dream of nothing else." she forgives his bitter attacks upon her party in consideration of his assault upon human nature. he gives, she declares, "the most accurate" (that is, of course, the most scornful) "account of kings, ministers, bishops, and courts of justice, that is possible to be writ." another curious testimony may be noticed. godwin, when tracing all evils to the baneful effects of government, declares that the author of _gulliver_ showed a "more profound insight into the true principles of political justice than any preceding or contemporary author." the playful form was unfortunate, thinks this grave philosopher, as blinding mankind to the "inestimable wisdom" of the work. this double triumph is remarkable. we may not share the opinions of the cynics of the day, or of the revolutionists of a later generation; but it is strange that they should be fascinated by a work which is studied with delight, without the faintest suspicion of any ulterior meaning, by the infantile mind. the charm of gulliver for the young depends upon an obvious quality, which is indicated in swift's report of the criticism by an irish bishop, who said that "the book was full of improbable lies, and for his part he hardly believed a word of it." there is something pleasant in the intense gravity of the narrative, which recalls and may have been partly suggested by _robinson crusoe_, though it came naturally to swift. i have already spoken of his delight in mystification, and the detailed realization of pure fiction seems to have been delightful in itself. the partridge pamphlets and its various practical jokes are illustrations of a tendency which fell in with the spirit of the time, and of which _gulliver_ may be regarded as the highest manifestation. swift's peculiarity is in the curious sobriety of fancy, which leads him to keep in his most daring flights upon the confines of the possible. in the imaginary travels of lucian and rabelais, to which _gulliver_ is generally compared, we frankly take leave of the real world altogether. we are treated with arbitrary and monstrous combinations which may be amusing, but which do not challenge even a semblance of belief. in _gulliver_ this is so little the case that it can hardly be said in strictness that the fundamental assumptions are even impossible. why should there not be creatures in human form with whom as in lilliput, one of our inches represents a foot, or, as in brobdingnag, one of our feet represents an inch? the assumption is so modest that we are presented--it may be said--with a definite and soluble problem. we have not, as in other fictitious worlds, to deal with a state of things in which the imagination is bewildered, but with one in which it is agreeably stimulated. we have certainly to consider an extreme and exceptional case; but one to which all the ordinary laws of human nature are still strictly applicable. in voltaire's trifle, _micromegas_, we are presented to beings eight leagues in height and endowed with seventy-two senses. for voltaire's purpose the stupendous exaggeration is necessary; for he wishes to insist upon the minuteness of human capacities. but the assumption of course disqualifies us from taking any intelligent interest in a region where no precedent is available for our guidance. we are in the air; anything and everything is possible. but swift modestly varies only one element in the problem. imagine giants and dwarfs as tall as a house or as low as a footstool, and let us see what comes of it. that is a plain, almost a mathematical problem; and we can therefore judge his success, and receive pleasure from the ingenuity and verisimilitude of his creations. "when you have once thought of big men and little men," said johnson, perversely enough, "it is easy to do the rest." the first step might perhaps seem in this case to be the easiest; yet nobody ever thought of it before swift; and nobody has ever had similar good fortune since. there is no other fictitious world the denizens of which have become so real for us, and which has supplied so many images familiar to every educated mind. but the apparent ease is due to the extreme consistency and sound judgment of swift's realization. the conclusions follow so inevitably from the primary data that when they are once drawn we agree that they could not have been otherwise; and infer, rashly, that anybody else could have drawn them. it is as easy as lying; but everybody who has seriously tried the experiment knows that even lying is by no means so easy as it appears at first sight. in fact, swift's success is something unique. the charming plausibility of every incident, throughout the two first parts, commends itself to children, who enjoy definite concrete images, and are fascinated by a world which is at once full of marvels, surpassing jack the giant killer and the wonders seen by sinbad, and yet as obviously and undeniably true as the adventures of robinson crusoe himself. nobody who has read the book can ever forget it; and we may add that besides the childlike pleasure which arises from a distinct realization of a strange world of fancy, the two first books are sufficiently good-humoured. swift seems to be amused as well as amusing. they were probably written during the least intolerable part of his exile. the period of composition includes the years of the vanessa tragedy and of the war of wood's halfpence; it was finished when stella's illness was becoming constantly more threatening, and published little more than a year before her death. the last books show swift's most savage temper; but we may hope that in spite of disease, disappointments, and a growing alienation from mankind, swift could still enjoy an occasional piece of spontaneous, unadulterated fun. he could still forget his cares, and throw the reins on the neck of his fancy. at times there is a certain charm even in the characters. every one has a liking for the giant maid of all work, glumdalelitch, whose affection for her plaything is a quaint inversion of the ordinary relations between swift and his feminine adorers. the grave, stern, irascible man can relax after a sort, though his strange idiosyncrasy comes out as distinctly in his relaxation as in his passions. i will not dwell upon this aspect of _gulliver_, which is obvious to every one. there is another question which we are forced to ask, and which is not very easy to answer. what does _gulliver_ mean? it is clearly a satire--but who and what are its objects? swift states his own view very unequivocally. "i heartily hate and detest that animal called man," he says,[ ] "although i heartily love john, peter, thomas, and so forth." he declares that man is not an _animal rationale_, but only _rationis capax_: and he then adds, "upon this great foundation of misanthropy ... the whole building of my travels is erected." "if the world had but a dozen arbuthnots in it," he says in the same letter, "i would burn my travels." he indulges in a similar reflection to sheridan.[ ] "expect no more from man," he says, "than such an animal is capable of, and you will every day find my description of yahoos more resembling. you should think and deal with every man as a villain, without calling him so, or flying from him or valuing him less. this is an old true lesson." in spite of these avowals, of a kind which, in swift, must not be taken too literally, we find it rather hard to admit that the essence of _gulliver_ can be an expression of this doctrine. the tone becomes morose and sombre, and even ferocious; but it has been disputed whether in any case it can be regarded simply as an utterance of misanthropy. _gulliver's travels_ belongs to a literary genus full of grotesque and anomalous forms. its form is derived from some of the imaginary travels of which lucian's _true history_--itself a burlesque of some early travellers' tales--is the first example. but it has an affinity also to such books as bacon's _atlantis_, and more's _utopia_; and, again, to later philosophical romances like _candide_ and _rasselas_; and not least, perhaps, to the ancient fables, such as _reynard the fox_, to which swift refers in the _tale of a tub_. it may be compared, again, to the _pilgrim's progress_, and the whole family of allegories. the full-blown allegory resembles the game of chess said to have been played by some ancient monarch, in which the pieces were replaced by real human beings. the movements of the actors were not determined by the passions proper to their character, but by the external set of rules imposed upon them by the game. the allegory is a kind of picture-writing, popular, like picture-writing at a certain stage of development, but wearisome at more cultivated periods, when we prefer to have abstract theories conveyed in abstract language, and limit the artist to the intrinsic meanings of the images in which he deals. the whole class of more or less allegorical writing has thus the peculiarity that something more is meant than meets the ear. part of its meaning depends upon a tacit convention in virtue of which a beautiful woman, for example, is not simply a beautiful woman, but also a representative of justice and charity. and as any such convention is more or less arbitrary, we are often in perplexity to interpret the author's meaning, and also to judge of the propriety of the symbols. the allegorical intention, again, may be more or less present: and such a book as gulliver must be regarded as lying somewhere between the allegory and the direct revelation of truth, which is more or less implied in the work of every genuine artist. its true purpose has thus rather puzzled critics. hazlitt[ ] urges, for example, with his usual brilliancy, that swift's purpose was to "strip empty pride and grandeur of the imposing air which external circumstances throw around them." swift accordingly varies the scale, so as to show the insignificance or the grossness of our self-love. he does this with "mathematical precision;" he tries an experiment upon human nature; and with the result that "nothing solid, nothing valuable is left in his system but wisdom and virtue." so gulliver's carrying off the fleet of blefuscu is "a mortifying stroke, aimed at national glory." "after that, we have only to consider which of the contending parties was in the right." hazlitt naturally can see nothing misanthropical or innocent in such a conclusion. the mask of imposture is torn off the world, and only imposture can complain. this view, which has no doubt its truth, suggests some obvious doubts. we are not invited, as a matter of fact, to attend to the question of right and wrong, as between lilliput and blefuscu. the real sentiment in swift is that a war between these miserable pygmies is, in itself, contemptible; and therefore, as he infers, war between men six feet high is equally contemptible. the truth is that, although swift's solution of the problem may be called mathematically precise, the precision does not extend to the supposed argument. if we insist upon treating the question as one of strict logic, the only conclusion which could be drawn from gulliver is the very safe one that the interest of the human drama does not depend upon the size of the actors. a pygmy or a giant endowed with all our functions and thoughts would be exactly as interesting as a being of the normal stature. it does not require a journey to imaginary regions to teach us so much. and if we say that swift has shown us in his pictures the real essence of human life, we only say for him what might be said with equal force of shakspeare or balzac, or any great artist. the bare proof that the essence is not dependent upon the external condition of size is superfluous and irrelevant; and we must admit that swift's method is childish, or that it does not adhere to this strict logical canon. hazlitt, however, comes nearer the truth, as i think, when he says that swift takes a view of human nature such as might be taken by a being of a higher sphere. that, at least, is his purpose; only, as i think, he pursues it by a neglect of "scientific reasoning." the use of the machinery is simply to bring us into a congenial frame of mind. he strikes the key-note of contempt by his imagery of dwarfs and giants. we despise the petty quarrels of beings six inches high; and therefore we are prepared to despise the wars carried on by a marlborough and a eugene. we transfer the contempt based upon mere size, to the motives, which are the same in big men and little. the argument, if argument there be, is a fallacy; but it is equally efficacious for the feelings. you see the pettiness and cruelty of the lilliputians, who want to conquer an empire defended by toy-ships; and you are tacitly invited to consider whether the bigness of french men-of-war makes an attack upon them more respectable. the force of the satire depends ultimately upon the vigour with which swift has described the real passions of human beings, big or little. he really means to express a bitter contempt for statesmen and warriors, and seduces us to his side, for the moment, by asking us to look at a diminutive representation of the same beings. the quarrels which depend upon the difference between the high-boots and the low-heeled shoes; or upon breaking eggs at the big or little end; the party intrigues which are settled by cutting capers on the tight-rope, are meant, of course, in ridicule of political and religious parties; and its force depends upon our previous conviction that the party-quarrels between our fellows are, in fact, equally contemptible. swift's satire is congenial to the mental attitude of all who have persuaded themselves that men are, in fact, a set of contemptible fools and knaves, in whose quarrels and mutual slaughterings the wise and good could not persuade themselves to take a serious interest. he "proves" nothing, mathematically or otherwise. if you do not share his sentiments, there is nothing in the mere alteration of the scale to convince you that they are right; you may say, with hazlitt, that heroism is as admirable in a lilliputian as in a brobdingnagian, and believe that war calls forth patriotism, and often advances civilization. what swift has really done is to provide for the man who despises his species a number of exceedingly effective symbols for the utterance of his contempt. a child is simply amused with bigendians and littleendians; a philosopher thinks that the questions really at the bottom of church quarrels are in reality of more serious import: but the cynic who has learnt to disbelieve in the nobility or wisdom of the great mass of his species finds a most convenient metaphor for expressing his disbelief. in this way _gulliver's travels_ contains a whole gallery of caricatures thoroughly congenial to the despisers of humanity. in brobdingnag swift is generally said to be looking, as scott expresses it, through the other end of the telescope. he wishes to show the grossness of men's passions, as before he has shown their pettiness. some of the incidents are devised in this sense; but we may notice that in brobdingnag he recurs to the lilliput view. he gives such an application to his fable as may be convenient, without bothering himself as to logical consistency. he points out indeed the disgusting appearances which would be presented by a magnified human body; but the king of brobdingnag looks down upon gulliver, just as gulliver looked down upon the lilliputians. the monarch sums up his view emphatically enough by saying, after listening to gulliver's version of modern history, that "the bulk of your natives appear to me to be the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that nature ever suffered to crawl upon the face of the earth." in lilliput and brobdingnag, however, the satire scarcely goes beyond pardonable limits. the details are often simply amusing, such as gulliver's fear when he gets home, of trampling upon the pygmies whom he sees around him. and even the severest satire may be taken without offence by every one who believes that petty motives, folly and selfishness, play a large enough part in human life to justify some indignant exaggerations. it is in the later parts that the ferocity of the man utters itself more fully. the ridicule of the inventors in the third book is, as arbuthnot said at once, the least successful part of the whole; not only because swift was getting beyond his knowledge, and beyond the range of his strongest antipathies, but also because there is no longer the ingenious plausibility of the earlier books. the voyage to the houyhnhnms, which forms the best part, is more powerful, but more painful and repulsive. a word must here be said of the most unpleasant part of swift's character. a morbid interest in the physically disgusting is shown in several of his writings. some minor pieces, which ought to have been burnt, simply make the gorge rise. mrs. pilkington tells us, and we can for once believe her, that one "poem" actually made her mother sick. it is idle to excuse this on the ground of contemporary freedom of speech. his contemporaries were heartily disgusted. indeed, though it is true that they revealed certain propensities more openly, i see no reason to think that such propensities were really stronger in them than in their descendants. the objection to swift is not that he spoke plainly, but that he brooded over filth unnecessarily. no parallel can be found for his tendency even in writers, for example, like smollett and fielding, who can be coarse enough when they please, but whose freedom of speech reveals none of swift's morbid tendency. his indulgence in revolting images is to some extent an indication of a diseased condition of his mind, perhaps of actual mental decay. delany says that it grew upon him in his later years, and, very gratuitously, attributes it to pope's influence. the peculiarity is the more remarkable, because swift was a man of the most scrupulous personal cleanliness. he was always enforcing this virtue with special emphasis. he was rigorously observant of decency in ordinary conversation. delany once saw him "fall into a furious resentment" with stella for "a very small failure of delicacy." so far from being habitually coarse, he pushed fastidiousness to the verge of prudery. it is one of the superficial paradoxes of swift's character that this very shrinking from filth became perverted into an apparently opposite tendency. in truth, his intense repugnance to certain images led him to use them as the only adequate expression of his savage contempt. instances might be given in some early satires, and in the attack upon dissenters in the _tale of a tub_. his intensity of loathing leads him to besmear his antagonists with filth. he becomes disgusting in the effort to express his disgust. as his misanthropy deepened, he applied the same method to mankind at large. he tears aside the veil of decency to show the bestial elements of human nature; and his characteristic irony makes him preserve an apparent calmness during the revolting exhibition. his state of mind is strictly analogous to that of some religious ascetics, who stimulate their contempt for the flesh by fixing their gaze upon decaying bodies. they seek to check the love of beauty by showing us beauty in the grave. the cynic in mr. tennyson's poem tells us that every face, however full-- padded round with flesh and blood, is but moulded on a skull. swift--a practised self-tormentor, though not in the ordinary ascetic sense--mortifies any disposition to admire his fellows by dwelling upon the physical necessities which seem to lower and degrade human pride. beauty is but skin deep; beneath it is a vile carcase. he always sees the "flayed woman" of the _tale of a tub_. the thought is hideous, hateful, horrible, and therefore it fascinates him. he loves to dwell upon the hateful, because it justifies his hate. he nurses his misanthropy, as he might tear his flesh to keep his mortality before his eyes. the yahoo is the embodiment of the bestial element in man; and swift in his wrath takes the bestial for the predominating element. the hideous, filthy, lustful monster yet asserts its relationship to him in the most humiliating fashion: and he traces in its conduct the resemblance to all the main activities of the human being. like the human being it fights and squabbles for the satisfaction of its lust, or to gain certain shiny yellow stones; it befouls the weak and fawns upon the strong with loathsome compliance; shows a strange love of dirt, and incurs diseases by laziness and gluttony. gulliver gives an account of his own breed of yahoos, from which it seems that they differ from the subjects of the houyhnhnms only by showing the same propensities on a larger scale; and justifies his master's remark that all their institutions are owing to "gross defects in reason and by consequence in virtue." the houyhnhnms meanwhile represent swift's utopia; they prosper and are happy, truthful and virtuous, and therefore able to dispense with lawyers, physicians, ministers and all the other apparatus of an effete civilization. it is in this doctrine, as i may observe in passing, that swift falls in with godwin and the revolutionists, though they believed in human perfectibility, whilst they traced every existing evil to the impostures and corruptions essential to all systems of government. swift's view of human nature, is too black to admit of any hopes of their millennium. the full wrath of swift against his species shows itself in this ghastly caricature. it is lamentable and painful, though even here we recognize the morbid perversion of a noble wrath against oppression. one other portrait in swift's gallery demands a moment's notice. no poetic picture in dante or milton can exceed the strange power of his prose description of the struldbrugs--those hideous immortals who are damned to an everlasting life of drivelling incompetence. it is a translation of the affecting myth of tithonus into the repulsive details of downright prose. it is idle to seek for any particular moral from these hideous phantoms of swift's dismal _inferno_. they embody the terror which was haunting his imagination as old age was drawing upon him. the sight, he says himself, should reconcile a man to death. the mode of reconciliation is terribly characteristic. life is but a weary business at best; but, at least, we cannot wish to drain so repulsive a cup to the dregs, when even the illusions which cheered us at moments have been ruthlessly destroyed. swift was but too clearly prophesying the melancholy decay into which he was himself to sink. the later books of _gulliver_ have been in some sense excised from the popular editions of the travels. the yahoos, and houyhnhnms, and struldbrugs, are indeed known by name almost as well as the inhabitants of lilliput and brobdingnag; but this part of the book is certainly not reading for babes. it was probably written during the years when he was attacking public corruption, and when his private happiness was being destroyed, when therefore his wrath against mankind and against his own fate was stimulated to the highest pitch. readers who wish to indulge in a harmless play of fancy will do well to omit the last two voyages; for the strain of misanthropy which breathes in them is simply oppressive. they are probably the sources from which the popular impression of swift's character is often derived. it is important, therefore, to remember that they were wrung from him in later years, after a life tormented by constant disappointment and disease. most people hate the misanthropist even if they are forced to admire his power. yet we must not be carried too far by the words. swift's misanthropy was not all ignoble. we generally prefer flattery even to sympathy. we like the man who is blind to our faults better than the man who sees them and yet pities our distresses. we have the same kind of feeling for the race as we have in our own case. we are attracted by the kindly optimist who assures us that good predominates in everything and everybody, and believes that a speedy advent of the millennium must reward our manifold excellence. we cannot forgive those who hold men to be "mostly fools," or, as swift would assert, mere brutes in disguise, and even carry out that disagreeable opinion in detail. there is something uncomfortable and therefore repellent of sympathy in the mood which dwells upon the darker side of society, even though with wrathful indignation against the irremovable evils. swift's hatred of oppression, burning and genuine as it was, is no apology with most readers for his perseverance in asserting its existence. "speak comfortable things to us" is the cry of men to the prophet in all ages; and he who would assault abuses must count upon offending many who do not approve them, but who would therefore prefer not to believe in them. swift, too, mixed an amount of egoism with his virtuous indignation, which clearly lowers his moral dignity. he really hates wrongs to his race; but his sensitiveness is roused when they are injuries to himself, and committed by his enemies. the indomitable spirit which made him incapable even of yielding to necessity, which makes him beat incessantly against the bars which it was hopeless to break, and therefore waste powers which might have done good service by aiming at the unattainable, and nursing grudges against inexorable necessity, limits our sympathy with his better nature. yet some of us may take a different view, and rather pity than condemn the wounded spirit so tortured and perverted, in consideration of the real philanthropy which underlies the misanthropy, and the righteous hatred of brutality and oppression which is but the seamy side of a generous sympathy. at least we should be rather awed than repelled by this spectacle of a nature of magnificent power struck down, bruised and crushed under fortune, and yet fronting all antagonists with increasing pride, and comforting itself with scorn even when it can no longer injure its adversaries. chapter ix. decline. swift survived his final settlement in ireland for more than thirty years, though during the last five or six it was but the outside shell of him that lived. during every day in all those years swift must have eaten and drunk, and somehow or other got through the twenty-four hours. the war against wood's halfpence employed at most a few months in , and all his other political writings would scarcely fill a volume of this size. a modern journalist who could prove that he had written as little in six months would deserve a testimonial. _gulliver's travels_ appeared in ; and ten years were to pass before his intellect became hopelessly clouded. how was the remainder of his time filled? the death of stella marks a critical point. swift told gay in that it had taken three years to reconcile him to the country to which he was condemned for ever. he came back "with an ill head and an aching heart."[ ] he was separated from the friends he had loved, and too old to make new friends. a man, as he says elsewhere,[ ] who had been bred in a coal-pit might pass his time in it well enough; but if sent back to it after a few months in upper air, he would find content less easy. swift, in fact, never became resigned to the "coal-pit," or, to use another of his phrases, the "wretched, dirty dog-hole and prison," of which he could only say that it was a "place good enough to die in." yet he became so far acclimatized as to shape a tolerable existence out of the fragments left to him. intelligent and cultivated men in dublin, especially amongst the clergy and the fellows of trinity college, gathered round their famous countryman. swift formed a little court; he rubbed up his classics to the academical standard, read a good deal of history, and even amused himself with mathematics. he received on sundays at the deanery, though his entertainments seem to have been rather too economical for the taste of his guests. "the ladies," stella and mrs. dingley, were recognized as more or less domesticated with him. stella helped to receive his guests, though not ostensibly as mistress of the household; and, if we may accept swift's estimate of her social talents, must have been a very charming hostess. if some of swift's guests were ill at ease in presence of the imperious and moody exile, we may believe that during stella's life there was more than a mere semblance of agreeable society at the deanery. her death, as delany tells us,[ ] led to a painful change. swift's temper became sour and ungovernable; his avarice grew into a monomania; at times he grudged even a single bottle of wine to his friends; the giddiness and deafness which had tormented him by fits, now became a part of his life. reading came to be impossible, because (as delany thinks) his obstinate refusal to wear spectacles had injured his sight. he still struggled hard against disease; he rode energetically, though two servants had to accompany him in case of accidents from giddiness; he took regular "constitutionals" up and down stairs when he could not go out. his friends thought that he injured himself by over-exercise; and the battle was necessarily a losing one. gradually the gloom deepened; friends dropped off by death, and were alienated by his moody temper; he was surrounded, as they thought, by designing sycophants. his cousin, mrs. whiteway, who took care of him in his last years, seems to have been both kindly and sensible; but he became unconscious of kindness, and in had to be put under restraint. we may briefly fill up some details in the picture. swift at dublin recalls napoleon at elba. the duties of a deanery are not supposed, i believe, to give absorbing employment for all the faculties of the incumbent; but an empire, however small, may be governed; and swift at an early period set about establishing his supremacy within his small domains. he maintained his prerogatives against the archbishop, and subdued his chapter. his inferiors submitted, and could not fail to recognize his zeal for the honour of the body. but his superiors found him less amenable. he encountered episcopal authority with his old haughtiness. he bade an encroaching bishop remember that he was speaking "to a clergyman, and not to a footman."[ ] he fell upon an old friend, sterne, the bishop of clogher, for granting a lease to some "old fanatic knight." he takes the opportunity of reviling the bishops for favouring "two abominable bills for beggaring and enslaving the clergy (which took their birth from hell)," and says that he had thereupon resolved to have "no more commerce with persons of such prodigious grandeur, who, i feared, in a little time, would expect me to kiss their slipper."[ ] he would not even look into a coach, lest he should see such a thing as a bishop--a sight that would strike him with terror. in a bitter satire he describes satan as the bishop to whom the rest of the irish bench are suffragans. his theory was that the english government always appointed admirable divines, but that unluckily all the new bishops were murdered on hounslow heath by highwaymen, who took their robes and patents, and so usurped the irish sees. it is not surprising that swift's episcopal acquaintance was limited. in his deanery swift discharged his duties with despotic benevolence. he performed the services, carefully criticized young preachers, got his musical friends to help him in regulating his choir, looked carefully after the cathedral repairs, and improved the revenues at the cost of his own interests. his pugnacity broke out repeatedly even in such apparently safe directions. he erected a monument to the duke of schomberg after an attempt to make the duke's descendants pay for it themselves. he said that if they tried to avoid the duty by reclaiming the body, he would take up the bones, and put the skeleton "in his register office, to be a memorial of their baseness to all posterity."[ ] he finally relieved his feelings by an epitaph, which is a bitter taunt against the duke's relations. happily he gave less equivocal proofs of the energy which he could put into his duties. his charity was unsurpassed both for amount and judicious distribution. delany declares that in spite of his avarice he would give five pounds more easily than richer men would give as many shillings. "i never," says this good authority, "saw poor so carefully and conscientiously attended to in my life as those of his cathedral." he introduced and carried out within his own domains a plan for distinguishing the deserving poor by badges--in anticipation of modern schemes for "organization of charity." with the first five hundred pounds which he possessed he formed a fund for granting loans to industrious tradesmen and citizens, to be repaid by weekly instalments. it was said that by this scheme he had been the means of putting more than families in a comfortable way of living.[ ] he had, says delany, a whole "seraglio" of distressed old women in dublin; there was scarcely a lane in the whole city where he had not such a "mistress." he saluted them kindly, inquired into their affairs, bought trifles from them, and gave them such titles as pullagowna, stumpa-nympha, and so forth. the phrase "seraglio" may remind us of johnson's establishment, who has shown his prejudice against swift in nothing more than in misjudging a charity akin to his own, though apparently directed with more discretion. the "rabble," it is clear, might be grateful for other than political services. to personal dependents he was equally liberal. he supported his widowed sister, who had married a scapegrace in opposition to his wishes. he allowed an annuity of _l._ a year to stella's companion, mrs. dingley, and made her suppose that the money was not a gift, but the produce of a fund for which he was trustee. he showed the same liberality to mrs. ridgway, daughter of his old housekeeper, mrs. brent; paying her an annuity of _l._, and giving her a bond to secure the payment in case of accidents. considering the narrowness of swift's income, and that he seems also to have had considerable trouble about obtaining his rents and securing his invested savings, we may say that his so-called "avarice" was not inconsistent with unusual munificence. he pared his personal expenditure to the quick, not that he might be rich, but that he might be liberal. though for one reason or other swift was at open war with a good many of the higher classes, his court was not without distinguished favourites. the most conspicuous amongst them were delany and sheridan. delany ( - ), when swift first knew him, was a fellow of trinity college. he was a scholar, and a man of much good feeling and intelligence, and eminently agreeable in society; his theological treatises seem to have been fanciful, but he could write pleasant verses, and had great reputation as a college tutor. he married two rich wives, and swift testifies that his good qualities were not the worse for his wealth, nor his purse generally fuller. he was so much given to hospitality as to be always rather in difficulties. he was a man of too much amiability and social suavity not to be a little shocked at some of swift's savage outbursts, and scandalized by his occasional improprieties. yet he appreciated the nobler qualities of the staunch, if rather alarming, friend. it is curious to remember that his second wife, who was one of swift's later correspondents, survived to be the venerated friend of fanny burney ( - ), and that many living people may thus remember one who was familiar with the latest of swift's female favourites. swift's closest friend and crony, however, was the elder sheridan, the ancestor of a race fertile in genius, though unluckily his son, swift's biographer, seems to have transmitted without possessing any share of it. thomas sheridan, the elder, was the typical irishman--kindly, witty, blundering, full of talents and imprudences, careless of dignity, and a child in the ways of the world. he was a prosperous schoolmaster in dublin when swift first made his acquaintance (about ), so prosperous as to decline a less precarious post, of which swift got him the offer. after the war of wood's halfpence swift became friendly with carteret, whom he respected as a man of genuine ability, and who had besides the virtue of being thoroughly distrusted by walpole. when carteret was asked how he had succeeded in ireland, he replied that he had pleased dr. swift. swift took advantage of the mutual goodwill to recommend several promising clergymen to carteret's notice. he was specially warm in behalf of sheridan, who received the first vacant living and a chaplaincy. sheridan characteristically spoilt his own chances by preaching a sermon upon the day of the accession of the hanoverian family, from the text, "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." the sermon was not political, and the selection of the text a pure accident; but sheridan was accused of jacobitism, and lost his chaplaincy in consequence. though generously compensated by the friend in whose pulpit he had committed this "sheridanism," he got into difficulties. his school fell off; he exchanged his preferments for others less preferable; he failed in a school at cavan, and ultimately the poor man came back to die at dublin, in , in distressed circumstances. swift's relations with him were thoroughly characteristic. he defended his cause energetically; gave him most admirably good advice in rather dictatorial terms; admitted him to the closest familiarity, and sometimes lost his temper when sheridan took a liberty at the wrong moment, or resented the liberties taken by himself. a queer character of the "second solomon," written, it seems, in , shows the severity with which swift could sometimes judge his shiftless and impulsive friend, and the irritability with which he could resent occasional assertions of independence. "he is extremely proud and captious," says swift, and "apt to resent as an affront or indignity what was never intended for either," but what, we must add, had a strong likeness to both. one cause of poor sheridan's troubles was doubtless that assigned by swift. mrs. sheridan, says this frank critic, is "the most disagreeable beast in europe," a "most filthy slut, lazy, and slothful, luxurious, ill-natured, envious, suspicious," and yet managing to govern sheridan. this estimate was apparently shared by her husband, who makes various references to her detestation of swift. in spite of all jars, swift was not only intimate with sheridan and energetic in helping him, but to all appearance really loved him. swift came to sheridan's house when the workmen were moving the furniture, preparatory to his departure for cavan. swift burst into tears, and hid himself in a dark closet before he could regain his self-possession. he paid a visit to his old friend afterwards; but was now in that painful and morbid state in which violent outbreaks of passion made him frequently intolerable. poor sheridan rashly ventured to fulfil an old engagement that he would tell swift frankly of a growing infirmity, and said something about avarice. "doctor," replied swift, significantly, "did you never read _gil blas_?" when sheridan soon afterwards sold his school to return to dublin, swift received his old friend so inhospitably that sheridan left him, never again to enter the house. swift indeed had ceased to be swift; and sheridan died soon afterwards. swift often sought relief from the dreariness of the deanery by retiring to, or rather by taking possession of, his friends' country-houses. in he stayed for some months, together with "the ladies," at quilca, a small country-house of sheridan's, and compiled an account of the deficiencies of the establishment--meant to be continued weekly. broken tables, doors without locks, a chimney stuffed with the dean's great-coat, a solitary pair of tongs forced to attend all the fireplaces and also to take the meat from the pot, holes in the floors, spikes protruding from the bedsteads, are some of the items; whilst the servants are all thieves, and act upon the proverb, "the worse their sty, the longer they lie." swift amused himself here and elsewhere by indulging his taste in landscape gardening, without the consent and often to the annoyance of the proprietor. in --the year of stella's death--he passed eight months at sir arthur acheson's, near market hill. he was sickly, languid, and anxious to escape from dublin, where he had no company but that of his "old presbyterian housekeeper, mrs. brent." he had, however, energy enough to take the household in hand after his usual fashion. he superintended lady acheson's studies, made her read to him, gave her plenty of good advice; bullied the butler; looked after the dairy and the garden, and annoyed sir arthur by summarily cutting down an old thorn-tree. he liked the place so much that he thought of building a house there, which was to be called drapier's hall, but abandoned the project for reasons which, after his fashion, he expressed with great frankness in a poem. probably the chief reason was the very obvious one which strikes all people who are tempted to build; but that upon which he chiefly dwells is sir arthur's defects as an entertainer. the knight used, it seems, to lose himself in metaphysical moonings when he should have been talking to swift and attending to his gardens and farms. swift entered a house less as a guest than a conqueror. his dominion, it is clear, must have become burdensome in his later years, when his temper was becoming savage and his fancies more imperious. such a man was the natural prey of sycophants, who would bear his humours for interested motives. amongst swift's numerous clients some doubtless belonged to this class. the old need of patronizing and protecting still displays itself; and there is something very touching in the zeal for his friends which survived breaking health and mental decay. his correspondence is full of eager advocacy. poor miss kelly, neglected by an unnatural parent, comes to swift as her natural adviser. he intercedes on behalf of the prodigal son of a mr. fitzherbert in a letter which is a model of judicious and delicate advocacy. his old friend, barber, had prospered in business; he was lord mayor of london in , and looked upon swift as the founder of his fortunes. to him, "my dear good old friend in the best and worst times," swift writes a series of letters, full of pathetic utterances of his regrets for old friends amidst increasing infirmities, and full also of appeals on behalf of others. he induced barber to give a chaplaincy to pilkington, a young clergyman of whose talent and modesty swift was thoroughly convinced. mrs. pilkington was a small poetess, and the pair had crept into some intimacy at the deanery. unluckily swift had reasons to repent his patronage. the pair were equally worthless. the husband tried to get a divorce; and the wife sank into misery. one of her last experiments was to publish by subscription certain "memoirs," which contain some interesting but untrustworthy anecdotes of swift's later years.[ ] he had rather better luck with mrs. barber, wife of a dublin woollendraper, who, as swift says, was "poetically given, and, for a woman, had a sort of genius that way." he pressed her claims not only upon her namesake, the mayor, but upon lord carteret, lady betty germaine, and gay and his duchess. a forged letter to queen caroline in swift's name on behalf of this poetess naturally raised some suspicions. swift, however, must have been convinced of her innocence. he continued his interest in her for years, during which we are glad to find that she gave up poetry for selling irish linens and letting lodgings at bath; and one of swift's last acts before his decay was to present her, at her own request, with the copyright of his _polite conversations_. everybody, she said, would subscribe for a work of swift's, and it would put her in easy circumstances. mrs. barber clearly had no delicacy in turning swift's liberality to account; but she was a respectable and sensible woman, and managed to bring up two sons to professions. liberality of this kind came naturally to swift. he provided for a broken-down old officer, captain creichton, by compiling his memoirs for him, to be published by subscription. "i never," he says in , "got a farthing by anything i wrote--except once by pope's prudent management." this probably refers to _gulliver_, for which he seems to have received _l._ he apparently gave his share in the profits of the _miscellanies_ to the widow of a dublin printer. a few words may now be said about these last writings. in reading some of them, we must remember his later mode of life. he generally dined alone, or with old mrs. brent, then sat alone in his closet till he went to bed at eleven. the best company in dublin, he said, was barely tolerable, and those who had been tolerable were now unsupportable. he could no longer read by candle-light, and his only resource was to write rubbish, most of which he burnt. the merest trifles that he ever wrote, he says in , "are serious philosophical lucubrations in comparison to what i now busy myself about." this, however, was but the development of a lifelong practice. his favourite maxim, _vive la bagatelle_, is often quoted by pope and bolingbroke. as he had punned in his youth with lord berkeley, so he amused himself in later years by a constant interchange of trifles with his friends, and above all with sheridan. many of these trifles have been preserved; they range from really good specimens of swift's rather sardonic humour down to bad riddles and a peculiar kind of playing upon words. a brief specimen of one variety will be amply sufficient. sheridan writes to swift. _times a re veri de ad nota do it oras hi lingat almi e state._ the words separately are latin, and are to be read into the english: "times are very dead; not a doit or a shilling at all my estate." swift writes to sheridan in english, which reads into latin, "am i say vain a rabble is," means, _amice venerabilis_--and so forth. whole manuscript books are still in existence filled with jargon of this kind. charles fox declared that swift must be a goodnatured man to have had such a love of nonsense. we may admit some of it to be a proof of good-humour in the same sense as a love of the backgammon in which he sometimes indulged. it shows, that is, a willingness to kill time in company. but it must be admitted that the impression becomes different when we think of swift in his solitude wasting the most vigorous intellect in the country upon ingenuities beneath that of the composer of double acrostics. delany declares that the habit helped to weaken his intellect. rather it showed that his intellect was preying upon itself. once more we have to think of the "conjured spirit," and the ropes of sand. nothing can well be more lamentable. books full of this stuff impress us like products of the painful ingenuity by which some prisoner for life has tried to relieve himself of the intolerable burden of solitary confinement. swift seems to betray the secret when he tells bolingbroke that at his age "i often thought of death; but now it is never out of my mind." he repeats this more than once. he does not fear death, he says; indeed he longed for it. his regular farewell to a friend was, "good night; i hope i shall never see you again." he had long been in the habit of "lamenting" his birthday, though, in earlier days, stella and other friends had celebrated the anniversary. now it became a day of unmixed gloom, and the chapter in which job curses the hour of his birth lay open all day on his table. "and yet," he says, "i love _la bagatelle_ better than ever." rather we should say, "and therefore," for in truth the only excuse for such trifling was the impossibility of finding any other escape from settled gloom. friends indeed seem to have adopted at times the theory that a humourist must always be on the broad grin. they called him the "laughter-loving" dean, and thought gulliver a "merry book." a strange effect is produced when between two of the letters in which swift utters the bitterest agonies of his soul during stella's illness, we have a letter from bolingbroke to the "three yahoos of twickenham" (pope, gay, and swift), referring to swift's "divine science, _la bagatelle_" and ending with the benediction, "mirth be with you!" from such mirth we can only say, may heaven protect us; for it would remind us of nothing but the mirth of redgauntlet's companions when they sat dead (and damned) at their ghastly revelry, and their laughter passed into such wild sounds as made the daring piper's "very nails turn blue." it is not, however, to be inferred that all swift's recreations were so dreary as this anglo-latin, or that his facetiousness always covered an aching heart. there is real humour, and not all of bitter flavour, in some of the trifles which passed between swift and his friends. the most famous is the poem called _the grand question debated_, the question being whether an old building called hamilton's bawn, belonging to sir a. acheson, should be turned into a malthouse or a barrack. swift takes the opportunity of caricaturing the special object of his aversion, the blustering and illiterate soldier, though he indignantly denies that he had said anything disagreeable to his hospitable entertainer. lady acheson encouraged him in writing such "lampoons." her taste cannot have been very delicate,[ ] and she perhaps did not perceive how a rudeness which affects to be only playful may be really offensive. if the poem shows that swift took liberties with his friends, it also shows that he still possessed the strange power of reproducing the strain of thought of a vulgar mind which he exhibited in mr. harris's petition. two other works which appeared in these last years are more remarkable proofs of the same power. _the complete collection of genteel and ingenious conversation_ and the _directions to servants_, are most singular performances, and curiously illustrative of swift's habits of thought and composition. he seems to have begun them during some of his early visits to england. he kept them by him and amused himself by working upon them, though they were never quite finished. the _polite conversation_ was given, as we have seen, to mrs. barber in his later years, and the _directions to servants_ came into the printer's hands when he was already imbecile. they show how closely swift's sarcastic attention was fixed through life upon the ways of his inferiors. they are a mass of materials for a natural history of social absurdities such as mr. darwin was in the habit of bestowing upon the manners and customs of worms. the difference is that darwin had none but kindly feelings for worms, whereas swift's inspection of social vermin is always edged with contempt. the conversations are a marvellous collection of the set of cant phrases which at best have supplied the absence of thought in society. incidentally there are some curious illustrations of the customs of the day; though one cannot suppose that any human beings had ever the marvellous flow of pointless proverbs with which lord sparkish, mr. neverout, miss notable and the rest manage to keep the ball incessantly rolling. the talk is nonsensical, as most small-talk would be, if taken down by a reporter, and, according to modern standard, hideously vulgar, and yet it flows on with such vivacity that it is perversely amusing. _lady answerall._ but, mr. neverout, i wonder why such a handsome, straight young gentleman as you don't get some rich widow? _lord sparkish._ straight! ay, straight as my leg, and that's crooked at the knee. _neverout._ truth, madam, if it rained rich widows, none would fall upon me. egad, i was born under a threepenny planet, never to be worth a groat. and so the talk flows on, and to all appearance might flow for ever. swift professes in his preface to have sat many hundred times with his table-book ready, without catching a single phrase for his book in eight hours. truly he is a kind of boswell of inanities; and one is amazed at the quantity of thought which must have gone into this elaborate trifling upon trifles. a similar vein of satire upon the emptiness of writers is given in his _tritical essay upon the faculties of the human mind_; but that is a mere skit compared with this strange performance. the _directions to servants_ shows an equal amount of thought exerted upon the various misdoings of the class assailed. some one has said that it is painful to read so minute and remorseless an exposure of one variety of human folly. undoubtedly it suggests that swift must have appeared to be an omniscient master. delany, as i have said, testifies to his excellence in that capacity. many anecdotes attest the close attention which he bestowed upon every detail of his servants' lives, and the humorous reproofs which he administered. "sweetheart," he said to an ugly cookmaid who had overdone a joint, "take this down to the kitchen and do it less." "that is impossible," she replied. "then," he said, "if you must commit faults, commit faults that can be mended." another story tells how when a servant had excused himself for not cleaning boots on the ground that they would soon be dirty again, swift made him apply the same principle to eating breakfast, which would be only a temporary remedy for hunger. in this, as in every relation of life, swift was under a kind of necessity of imposing himself upon every one in contact with him, and followed out his commands into the minutest details. in the _directions to servants_ he has accumulated the results of his experience in one department; and the reading may not be without edification to the people who every now and then announce as a new discovery that servants are apt to be selfish, indolent, and slatternly, and to prefer their own interests to their master's. probably no fault could be found with the modern successors of eighteenth-century servants, which has not already been exemplified in swift's presentment of that golden age of domestic comfort. the details are not altogether pleasant; but, admitting such satire to be legitimate, swift's performance is a masterpiece. swift, however, left work of a more dignified kind. many of the letters in his correspondence are admirable specimens of a perishing art. the most interesting are those which passed between him, pope, and bolingbroke, and which were published by pope's contrivance during swift's last period. "i look upon us three," says swift, "as a peculiar triumvirate, who have nothing to expect or fear, and so far fittest to converse with one another." we may perhaps believe swift when he says that he "never leaned on his elbow to consider what he should write" (except to fools, lawyers, and ministers), though we certainly cannot say the same of his friends. pope and bolingbroke are full of affectations, now transparent enough; but swift in a few trenchant, outspoken phrases, dashes out a portrait of himself as impressive as it is in some ways painful. we must, indeed, remember in reading his inverse hypocrisy, his tendency to call his own motives by their ugliest names--a tendency which is specially pronounced in writing letters to the old friends whose very names recall the memories of past happiness, and lead him to dwell upon the gloomiest side of the present. there is too a characteristic reserve upon some points. in his last visit to pope, swift left his friend's house after hearing the bad accounts of stella's health, and hid himself in london lodgings. he never mentioned his anxieties to his friend, who heard of them first from sheridan; and in writing afterwards from dublin, swift excuses himself for the desertion by referring to his own ill-health--doubtless a true cause ("two sick friends never did well together")--and his anxiety about his affairs, without a word about stella. a phrase of bolingbroke's in the previous year about "the present stella, whoever she may be," seems to prove that he too had no knowledge of stella except from the poems addressed to the name. there were depths of feeling which swift could not lay bare to the friend in whose affection he seems most thoroughly to have trusted. meanwhile he gives full vent to the scorn of mankind and himself, the bitter and unavailing hatred of oppression, and above all for that strange mingling of pride and remorse which is always characteristic of his turn of mind. when he leaves arbuthnot and pope he expresses the warmth of his feelings by declaring that he will try to forget them. he is deeply grieved by the death of congreve, and the grief makes him almost regret that he ever had a friend. he would give half his fortune for the temper of an easy-going acquaintance who could take up or lose a friend as easily as a cat. "is not this the true happy man?" the loss of gay cuts him to the heart; he notes on the letter announcing it that he had kept the letter by him five days "by an impulse foreboding some misfortune." he cannot speak of it except to say that he regrets that long living has not hardened him; and that he expects to die poor and friendless. pope's ill-health "hangs on his spirits." his moral is that if he were to begin the world again, he would never run the risk of a friendship with a poor or sickly man--for he cannot harden himself. "therefore i argue that avarice and hardness of heart are the two happiest qualities a man can acquire who is late in his life, because by living long we must lessen our friends or may increase our fortunes." this bitterness is equally apparent in regard to the virtues on which he most prided himself. his patriotism was owing to "perfect rage and resentment, and the mortifying sight of slavery, folly, and baseness;" in which, as he says, he is the direct contrary of pope, who can despise folly and hate vice without losing his temper or thinking the worse of individuals. "oppression tortures him," and means bitter hatred of the concrete oppressor. he tells barber in that for three years he has been but the shadow of his former self, and has entirely lost his memory, "except when it is roused by perpetual subjects of vexation." commentators have been at pains to show that such sentiments are not philanthropic; yet they are the morbid utterance of a noble and affectionate nature soured by long misery and disappointment. they brought their own punishment. the unhappy man was fretting himself into melancholy and was losing all sources of consolation. "i have nobody now left but you," he writes to pope in ; his invention is gone; he makes projects which end in the manufacture of waste paper; and what vexes him most is that his "female friends have now forsaken him." "years and infirmities," he says in the end of the same year (about the date of the _legion club_), "have quite broke me; i can neither read, nor write, nor remember, nor converse. all i have left is to walk and ride." a few letters are preserved in the next two years--melancholy wails over his loss of health and spirit--pathetic expressions of continual affection for his "dearest and almost only constant friend," and a warm request or two for services to some of his acquaintance. the last stage was rapidly approaching. swift who had always been thinking of death in these later years, had anticipated the end in the remarkable verses _on the death of dr. swift_. this and two or three other performances of about the same period, especially the _rhapsody on poetry_ ( ) and the _verses to a lady_ are swift's chief title to be called a poet. how far that name can be conceded to him is a question of classification. swift's originality appears in the very fact that he requires a new class to be made for him. he justified dryden's remark in so far as he was never a poet in the sense in which milton or wordsworth or shelley or even dryden himself were poets. his poetry may be called rhymed prose, and should perhaps be put at about the same level in the scale of poetry as _hudibras_. it differs from prose not simply in being rhymed, but in that the metrical form seems to be the natural and appropriate mode of utterance. some of the purely sarcastic and humorous phrases recall _hudibras_ more nearly than anything else; as, for example, the often-quoted verses upon small critics in the _rhapsody_. the vermin only tease and pinch their foes superior by an inch. so, naturalists observe a flea has smaller fleas that on him prey, and these have smaller still to bite 'em, and so proceed _ad infinitum_. in the verses on his own death, the suppressed passion, the glow and force of feeling which we perceive behind the merely moral and prosaic phrases seem to elevate the work to a higher level. it is a mere running of every-day language into easy-going verse; and yet the strangely mingled pathos and bitterness, the peculiar irony of which he was the great master, affect us with a sentiment which may be called poetical in substance, more forcibly than far more dignified and in some sense imaginative performances. whatever name we may please to give to such work, swift has certainly struck home and makes an impression which it is difficult to compress into a few phrases. it is the essence of all that is given at greater length in the correspondence; and starts from a comment upon rochefoucauld's congenial maxim about the misfortunes of our friends. he tells how his acquaintance watch his decay, tacitly congratulating themselves that "it is not yet so bad with us;" how, when he dies, they laugh at the absurdity of his will. to public uses! there's a whim! what had the public done for him? mere envy, avarice, and pride, he gave it all--but first he died. then we have the comments of queen caroline and sir robert and the rejoicings of grub street at the chance of passing off rubbish by calling it his. his friends are really touched. poor pope will grieve a month, and gay a week, and arbuthnot a day, st. john himself will scarce forbear to bite his pen and drop a tear, the rest will give a shrug and cry, "'tis pity, but we all must die!" the ladies talk over it at their cards. they have learnt to show their tenderness, and receive the news in doleful dumps. the dean is dead (pray what is trumps?); then, lord have mercy on his soul! (ladies, i'll venture for the _vole_). the poem concludes, as usual, with an impartial character of the dean. he claims, with a pride not unjustifiable, the power of independence, love of his friends, hatred of corruption and so forth; admits that he may have had "too much satire in his vein," though adding the very questionable assertion that he "lashed the vice but spared the name." marlborough, wharton, burnet, steele, walpole and a good many more might have had something to say upon that head. the last phrase is significant,-- he gave the little wealth he had to build a house for fools and mad; and showed by one satiric touch no nation needed it so much, that kingdom he hath left his debtor, i wish it soon may have a better! for some years, in fact, swift had spent much thought and time in arranging the details of this bequest. he ultimately left about , _l._, with which, and some other contributions, st. patrick's hospital was opened for fifty patients in the year . the last few years of swift's life were passed in an almost total eclipse of intellect. one pathetic letter to mrs. whiteway gives almost the last touch. "i have been very miserable all night, and to-day extremely deaf and full of pain. i am so stupid and confounded that i cannot express the mortification i am under both of body and mind. all i can say is that i am not in torture; but i daily and hourly expect it. pray let me know how your health is and your family. i hardly understand one word i write. i am sure my days will be very few, for miserable they must be. if i do not blunder, it is saturday, july , . if i live till monday, i shall hope to see you, perhaps for the last time." even after this he occasionally showed gleams of his former intelligence, and is said to have written a well-known epigram during an outing with his attendants:-- behold a proof of irish sense! here irish wit is seen! when nothing's left that's worth defence they build a magazine. occasionally he gave way to furious outbursts of violent temper; and once suffered great torture from a swelling in the eye. but his general state seems to have been apathetic; sometimes he tried to speak, but was unable to find words. a few sentences have been recorded. on hearing that preparations were being made for celebrating his birthday, he said, "it is all folly; they had better let it alone." another time he was heard to mutter, "i am what i am; i am what i am." few details have been given of this sad period of mental eclipse; nor can we regret their absence. it is enough to say that he suffered occasional tortures from the development of the brain-disease; though as a rule he enjoyed the painlessness of torpor. the unhappy man lingered till the th of october, , when he died quietly at three in the afternoon, after a night of convulsions. he was buried in st. patrick's cathedral, and over his grave was placed an epitaph, containing the last of those terrible phrases which cling to our memory whenever his name is mentioned. swift lies, in his own words,-- ubi sæva indignatio cor ulterius lacerare nequit. what more can be added? the end. london: gilbert and rivington, limited, st. john's square. footnotes: [ ] _deane swift_, p. . [ ] readers may remember a clever adaptation of this incident in lord lytton's _my novel_. [ ] possibly this was his cousin thomas, but the probabilities are clearly in favour of jonathan. [ ] in the _short character of thomas, earl of wharton_. [ ] it will be seen that i accept dr. barrett's statements, _earlier part of the life of swift_, pp. , . his arguments seem to me sufficiently clear and conclusive, and they are accepted by monck mason, though treated contemptuously by mr. forster, p. . on the other hand, i agree with mr. forster that swift's complicity in the _terræ filius_ oration is not proved, though it is not altogether improbable. [ ] temple had the reversion of his father's office. [ ] it may be noticed in illustration of the growth of the swift legend, that two demonstrably false anecdotes--one imputing a monstrous crime, the other a romantic piece of benevolence to swift--refer to this period. [ ] m. maralt. see appendix to courtenay's _life of temple_. [ ] the publichouse at the point thus named on the ordnance map is now (i regret to say) called the jolly farmer. [ ] the most direct statement to this effect was made in an article in the _gentleman's magazine_ for . it professes to speak with authority, but includes such palpable blunders as to carry little weight. [ ] i am not certain whether this means or - . i have assumed the former date in mentioning stella's age; but the other is equally possible. [ ] wotton first accused swift of borrowing the idea of the battle from a french book, by one coutray, called _histoire poétique de la guerre nouvellement declarée entre les anciens et modernes_. swift declared (i have no doubt truly) that he had never seen or heard of this book. but coutray, like swift, uses the scheme of a mock homeric battle. the book is prose, but begins with a poem. the resemblance is much closer than mr. forster's language would imply; but i agree with him that it does not justify johnson and scott in regarding it as more than a natural coincidence. every detail is different. [ ] this was a treatise by thomas, twin brother of henry vaughan, the "silurist." it led to a controversy with henry more. vaughan was a rosicrucian. swift's contempt for mysteries is characteristic. sendivogus was a famous alchemist ( - ). [ ] see forster, p. . [ ] he was in england from april to september in , from april to november in , from november till may , for an uncertain part of , and again for over fifteen months from the end of till the beginning of . [ ] mr. forster found the original ms., and gives us the exact numbers: omitted, added, altered. the whole was lines _after_ the omissions. [ ] see letter to _peterborough_, may , . [ ] in most of their principles the two parties seem to have shifted opinions since their institution in the reign of charles ii. _examiner_, no. . may , . [ ] delany, p. . [ ] letter to king, jan. th, . [ ] swift to king, july , . [ ] these dinners, it may be noticed, seem to have been held on thursdays when harley had to attend the court at windsor. this may lead to some confusion with the brothers' club, which met on thursdays during the parliamentary session. [ ] _letter to a whig lord_, . [ ] _journal to stella_, feb. th, , and jan. th and th, . [ ] _ib._ jan. th, . [ ] _ib._ jan. st, . [ ] _ib._ dec. st, . [ ] _conduct of the allies._ [ ] _advice to october club._ [ ] _behaviour of queen's ministry._ [ ] there was enough plausibility in this scandal to give it a sting. the duchess had left her second husband, a mr. thynne, immediately after the marriage ceremony, and fled to holland. there count coningsmark paid her his addresses, and, coming to england, had mr. thynne shot by ruffians in pall mall. see the curious case in the _state trials_, vol. ix. [ ] letters from smalridge and dr. davenant in . [ ] letter to lord palmerston, jan. th, . [ ] june nd, . [ ] the list, so far as i can make it out from references in the journal, appears to include more names. one or two had probably retired. the peers are as follows:--the dukes of shrewsbury (perhaps only suggested), ormond and beaufort; lords orrery, rivers, dartmouth, dupplin, masham, bathurst, and lansdowne (the last three were of the famous twelve); and the commoners are swift, sir r. raymond, jack hill, disney, sir w. wyndham, st. john, prior, friend, arbuthnot, harley (son of lord oxford), and harcourt (son of lord harcourt). [ ] feb. th, . [ ] its authenticity was doubted, but, as i think, quite gratuitously, by johnson, by lord stanhope, and, as stanhope says, by macaulay. the dulness is easily explicable by the circumstances of the composition. [ ] april , . [ ] letter to king, dec. th, . [ ] _inquiry into the behaviour of the queen's last ministry._ [ ] _autobiography_, i. . [ ] _foster_, p. . [ ] oct. th, . the last use i have observed of this word is in a letter of carlyle's, nov. th, . "strange pilgarlic-looking figures." froude's _life of carlyle_, i. . [ ] lord orrery instructs us to pronounce this name vanummery. [ ] this simply repeats what he says in his first published letters about his flirtations at leicester. [ ] the passage which contains this line was said by orrery to cast an unmanly insinuation against vanessa's virtue. as the accusation has been repeated, it is perhaps right to say that one fact sufficiently disproves its possibility. the poem was intended for vanessa alone; and would never have appeared had it not been published after her death by her own direction. [ ] compare pope's _eloisa_ to _abelard_ which appeared in . if vanessa had read it, she might almost be suspected of borrowing; but her phrases seem to be too genuine to justify the hypothesis. [ ] scott appropriately quotes hotspur. the phrase is apparently a hint at swift's usual recipe of exercise. [ ] i cannot here discuss the evidence. the original statements are in _orrery_, p. &c.; _delany_, p. ; _dean swift_, p. ; _sheridan_, p. ; _monck berkeley_, p. xxxvi. scott accepted the marriage, and the evidence upon which he relied was criticized by monck mason, p. , &c. monck mason makes some good points, and especially diminishes the value of the testimony of bishop berkeley, showing by dates that he could not have heard the story, as his grandson affirms, from bishop ashe, who is said to have performed the ceremony. it probably came, however, from berkeley, who, we may add, was tutor to ashe's son, and had special reasons for interest in the story. on the whole, the argument for the marriage comes to this: that it was commonly reported by the end of swift's life, that it was certainly believed by his intimate friend delany, in all probability by the elder sheridan and by mrs. whiteway. mrs. sican, who told the story to sheridan, seems also to be a good witness. on the other hand, dr. lyon, a clergyman who was one of swift's guardians in his imbecility, says that it was denied by mrs. dingley and by mrs. brent, swift's old housekeeper, and by stella's executors. the evidence seems to me very indecisive. much of it may be dismissed as mere gossip, but a certain probability remains. [ ] _monck mason_, p. , note. [ ] this is sheridan's story. orrery speaks of the letter as written to swift himself. [ ] scott heard this from mrs. whiteway's grandson. sheridan tells the story as though stella had begged for publicity, and swift cruelly refused. delany's statement (p. ), which agrees with mrs. whiteway's, appears to be on good authority, and, if true, proves the reality of the marriage. [ ] besides scott's remarks (see v. of his life) see orrery, _letter_ ; _deane swift_, p. , _sheridan_, p. . [ ] _letter to pope_, july th, . [ ] _sheridan_, p. . [ ] _brain_ for jan., . [ ] _closing years of dean swift's life._ [ ] letter to pope, july th, . [ ] _catholic reasons for repealing the test._ [ ] _letters on sacramental test in ._ [ ] to sir charles wigan, july, . [ ] to lord peterborough, april st, . [ ] the ton of bronze, i am informed, is coined into , pence, that is _l._ the metal is worth about _l._ [ ] simon, in his work on the irish coinage, makes the profit , _l._; but he reckons the copper at _s._ a lb., whereas from the report of the privy council it would seem to be properly _s._ _d._ a lb. swift and most later writers say , _l._, but the right sum is , _l._ tons coined into _s._ _d._ a lb. [ ] monck mason says only _l._ a year, but this is the sum mentioned in the report and by swift. [ ] letter i. [ ] letter ii. [ ] see for example lord stanhope's account. for the other view see mr. lecky's _history of the eighteenth century_, and mr. froude's _english in ireland_. [ ] letter iv. [ ] "on the words brother protestants, &c." [ ] to lord stafford, nov. , . [ ] _maxims controuled in ireland._ [ ] _delany_, p. . [ ] it is in the forster library, and, i believe, unpublished, in answer to arbuthnot's letter mentioned in the text. [ ] letter to pope, sept. th, . [ ] letter to sheridan, sept. th, . [ ] _lectures on the english poets._ [ ] to bolingbroke, may, . [ ] to pope and gay, oct. th, . [ ] _delany_, p. . [ ] bishop of meath, may nd, . [ ] to bishop of clogher, july, . [ ] to carteret, may th, . [ ] substance of a speech to the mayor of dublin. franklin left a sum of money to be employed in a similar way. [ ] see also the curious letters from mrs. pilkington in richardson's correspondence. [ ] or she would hardly have written the _panegyric_. now publishing, in crown vo, price _s._ _d._ each. english men of letters. edited by john morley. "enjoyable and excellent little books."--_academy._ "this admirable series."--_british quarterly review._ "these excellent biographies should be made class-books for schools."--_westminster review._ johnson. by leslie stephen. scott. by r. h. hutton. gibbon. by j. c. morison. shelley. by j. a. symonds. hume. by professor huxley, f.r.s. goldsmith. by william black. defoe. by w. minto. burns. by principal shairp. spenser. by r. w. church, dean of st. paul's. thackeray. by anthony trollope. burke. by john morley. milton. by mark pattison. hawthorne. by henry james, jun. southey. by edward dowden. chaucer. by a. w. ward. cowper. by goldwin smith. bunyan. by j. a. froude. byron. by john nichol. locke. by thomas fowler. pope. by leslie stephen. charles lamb. by rev. alfred ainger. de quincey. by david masson. landor. by sidney colvin. dryden. by george saintsbury. wordsworth. by f. w. h. myers. bentley. by professor r. c. jebb. swift. by leslie stephen. dickens. by a. w. ward. gray. by e. w. gosse. sterne. by h. d. traill. macaulay. by j. c. morison. fielding. by austin dobson. sheridan. by mrs. oliphant. [_just ready._ _other volumes to follow._ _now publishing, in crown vo. s. d. each volume._ macmillan's new s. d. series. a memoir of daniel macmillan. by thomas hughes, q.c. with a portrait engraved by c. h. jeens. (fourth thousand.) the burgomaster's wife: a tale of the siege of leyden. by dr. georg ebers, author of "the egyptian princess," etc. translated by clara bell. only a word. by dr. georg ebers. translated by clara bell. a new novel by an american writer. mr. isaacs: a tale of modern india. by f. marion crawford. democracy: an american novel. popular edition, in paper wrapper. crown vo. _s._ a new novel by miss yonge. stray pearls from the memoirs of margaret de ribaumont, vicomtesse de bellaise. by charlotte m. yonge, author of "the heir of redclyffe," &c. two vols. unknown to history: a novel. by charlotte m. yonge, author of "the heir of redclyffe." two vols. the burman: his life and notions. by shway yoe. two vols. lectures on art. delivered in support of the society for protection of ancient buildings. by reginald stuart poole, professor w. b. richmond, e. j. poynter, r.a., j. t. micklethwaite, and william morris. the story of milicent. by fayr madoc. [_in the press._ the expansion of england. by professor j. r. seeley. [_in the press._ _other volumes to follow._ macmillan's globe library. _price s. d. per volume, in cloth. also kept in a variety of calf and morocco bindings at moderate prices._ "the 'globe' editions are admirable for their scholarly editing, their typographical excellence, their compendious form, and their cheapness."--saturday review. shakespeare's complete works.--edited by w. g. clark, m.a., and w. aldis wright, m.a., editors of the "cambridge shakespeare." with glossary. spenser's complete works.--edited, from the original editions and manuscripts, by r. morris, with a memoir by j. w. hales, m.a. with glossary. sir walter scott's poetical works.--edited, with a biographical and critical memoir, by francis turner palgrave, and copious notes. complete works of robert burns.--edited from the best printed and manuscript authorities, with glossarial index, notes, and a biographical memoir by alexander smith. robinson crusoe.--edited after the original editions, with a biographical introduction by henry kingsley. goldsmith's miscellaneous works.--edited, with biographical introduction, by professor masson. pope's poetical works.--edited, with notes and introductory memoir, by a. w. ward, m.a., professor of history in owens college, manchester. dryden's poetical works.--edited, with a memoir, revised text and notes, by w. d. christie, m.a., of trinity college, cambridge. cowper's poetical works.--edited, with notes and biographical introduction, by william benham, b.d. morte d'arthur.--sir thomas mallory's book of king arthur and of his noble knights of the round table.--the original edition of caxton, revised for modern use. with an introduction by sir edward strachey, bart. the works of virgil.--rendered into english prose, with introductions, notes, running analysis, and an index. by james lonsdale, m.a., and samuel lee, m.a. the works of horace.--rendered into english prose, with introductions, running analysis, notes, and index. by james lonsdale, m.a., and samuel lee, m.a. milton's poetical works.--edited, with introductions, by professor masson. _now publishing in crown vo. price s. d. each._ the english citizen. _a series of short books on_ his rights and responsibilities. this series is intended to meet the demand for accessible information of the ordinary conditions, and the current terms, of our political life. ignorance of these not only takes from the study of history the interest which comes from a contact with practical politics, but, still worse, it unfits men for their place as intelligent citizens. the series will deal with the details of the machinery whereby our constitution works, and the broad lines upon which it has been constructed. the books are not intended to interpret disputed points in acts of parliament, nor to refer in detail to clauses or sections of those acts; but to select and sum up the salient features of any branch of legislation, so as to place the ordinary citizen in possession of the main points of the law. they are intended further to show how such legislation arose, and (without going into minute historical or antiquarian details) to show how it has been the outcome of our history, how circumstances have led up to it, and what is its significance as affecting the relation between the individual and the state. _the following are the titles of the volumes_:-- . central government. h. d. traill, d.c.l., late fellow of st. john's college, oxford. [_ready._ . the electorate and the legislature. spencer walpole, author of "the history of england from ." [_ready._ . local government. m. d. chalmers. [_ready._ . justice and police. f. pollock, late fellow of trinity college, cambridge. . the national budget: the national debt, taxes and rates. a. j. wilson. [_ready._ . the state and education. henry craik, m.a. . the poor law. rev. t. w. fowle. [_ready._ . the state in its relation to trade. t. h. farrer. [_ready._ . the state in relation to labour. w. stanley jevons, ll.d., m.a., f.r.s. [_ready._ . the state and the land. f. pollock, late fellow of trinity college, cambridge. [_in the press._ . the state and the church. hon. a. d. elliot, m.p. [_ready._ . foreign relations. spencer walpole, author of "the history of england from ." [_ready._ . ( ) india. j. s. cotton, late fellow of queen's college, oxford. ( ) colonies and dependencies. e. j. payne, fellow of university college, oxford. [_in the press._ macmillan & co., london. transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. some changes of spelling and punctuation have been made. they are listed at the end of the text. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. oe ligatures have been expanded. the augustan reprint society arbuthnotiana: the story of the st. alb-ns ghost ( ) a catalogue of dr. arbuthnot's library ( ) _introduction by_ patricia kÖster publication number william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles general editors william e. conway, william andrews clark memorial library george robert guffey, university of california, los angeles maximillian e. novak, university of california, los angeles david s. rodes, university of california, los angeles advisory editors richard c. boys, university of michigan james l. clifford, columbia university ralph cohen, university of virginia vinton a. dearing, university of california, los angeles arthur friedman, university of chicago louis a. landa, princeton university earl miner, university of california, los angeles samuel h. monk, university of minnesota everett t. moore, university of california, los angeles lawrence clark powell, william andrews clark memorial library james sutherland, university college, london h. t. swedenberg, jr., university of california, los angeles robert vosper, william andrews clark memorial library curt a. zimansky, state university of iowa corresponding secretary edna c. davis, william andrews clark memorial library editorial assistant jean t. shebanek, william andrews clark memorial library introduction the two pieces here reproduced have long been unavailable; their connections with arbuthnot are rather complex. _the story of the st. alb-ns ghost_ has been ambiguously associated with arbuthnot since the year of its first publication, but it does not seem to have been reprinted since the nineteenth century when editors regularly included it among the minor works of swift. whoever wrote it, the _story_ is a lively and effective tory squib, whose narrative vigor can carry even the twentieth-century reader over the occasional topical obscurities. _a catalogue of the ... library of ... dr. arbuthnot_ has never been reprinted at all, and appears to be unknown by scholars who have thus far written about arbuthnot. _the story of the st. alb-ns ghost_, the first piece included, has always been of doubtful authorship, and must for the present so continue. two days after the _story_ first appeared, swift tantalizingly wrote to stella: "i went to ld mashams to night, & lady masham made me read to her a pretty penny pamphlet calld the st albans ghost. i thought i had writt it my self; so did they, but i did not" ( february ). whoever wrote it, the _story_ succeeded: it was pirated within a week, and had reached its third regular "edition" within three weeks of the first; it appeared in a fifth and apparently final edition on july .[ ] now just during these same months arbuthnot was producing his first political satires, five pamphlets later gathered under the title _history of john bull_. he published the first of these march and the last july .[ ] there are several thematic and methodological connections between _the story of the st. alb-ns ghost_ and the john bull pamphlets: as tory propaganda pieces, they attack leading whigs and make the usual suggestions about irreligion, moral turpitude and misuse of public funds. furthermore, they do so by means of vigorous if sometimes difficult reductive allegories which mock the victims by presenting them as farcical figures from low life. the connection as well as the difficulties must have appeared quite early, for some enterprising publisher (presumably curll)[ ] soon brought out _a complete key to the three parts of law is a bottomless-pit, and the story of the st. alban's ghost_. although the exact date of this is not known, it must lie between the _termini_ april and may , the dates of the third and fourth parts respectively of john bull. furthermore, a "second edition corrected" of the key appeared before the publication of pamphlet four. (the last pages of these two keys, concerning the _story of the st. alb-ns ghost_, are reproduced in the appendix.) the key ran through two further editions as _a complete key to the four parts of law is a bottomless-pit, and the story of the st. alban's ghost_, presumably before july , and came to a fifth (seemingly last) edition with a more general title referring to "all parts" of john bull, and still including the _story_. while the keys by association suggest arbuthnot as author, the only other contemporary document attributes the _story_ to a different physician and wit: the so-called _miscellaneous works of dr. william wagstaffe_ (london, ) reprint the fourth edition of the story. now the _miscellaneous works_ were printed some five months after the death of dr. wagstaffe and more than three months after that of the supposed editor dr. levett;[ ] it is possible that the contents are in part erroneous. in any case, arbuthnot, wagstaffe and swift remain the possible authors with whom scholars must deal until some further evidence is forthcoming. roscoe interprets swift's ambiguous remarks in the _journal to stella_ as an indirect acknowledgement, and dilke goes one step further in assuming that the so-called _miscellaneous works of dr. wagstaffe_ are a mystification, a means for swift to pass off works which he did not wish to include in the _miscellanies_ with pope. sir walter scott thinks that the _story_ is probably a collaboration between arbuthnot and swift, "judging from the style"; professor herbert davis dissociates wagstaffe material generally from the writings of swift, but does not specifically mention the _story_; however, "mr. granger thought st. alban's ghost, attributed to dr. wagstaffe, was [arbuthnot's]."[ ] although recent scholars seem to agree in selecting wagstaffe as author of the _story_, the evidence of the _works_ is implicitly contradicted by the keys. i have made two separate attempts to solve the question of authorship, neither of which has been fully satisfactory. the first of these, a computerized test based on the methods of professor louis t. milic for distinguishing works by swift from works by other authors, has given inconclusive results. in this test the _story_ was the chief unknown, and was compared with samples of similar length from swift, arbuthnot, wagstaffe and, as a control, mrs. manley, who wrote politically keyed narratives but has never been associated with the _story_. the _story_ turned out to be fairly similar to all four authors in the number of different three-word patterns (d), and unlike all of them in number of introductory connectives (ic), where wagstaffe stood the highest, and the _story_ by far the lowest. in the proportion of verbals (vb) the _story_ and wagstaffe were fairly close together and different from the other authors tested, who clustered near the swift figures. thus the test tends to exclude swift, arbuthnot and mrs. manley as possible authors, but does not encourage a full confidence in replacing them with wagstaffe. (it also tends to show that some of the other pieces included in the so-called _miscellaneous works of dr. wagstaffe_ differ considerably in the usages tested both from one another and from the patterns established by the signed works of dr. walstaffe.)[ ] my second attempt was based on textual changes among editions of the _story_. in the second edition there are three small changes from the first; the third and fourth editions seem to be line-for-line reprints of the second. (the "sham, imperfect sort" introduces a large number of variants, mainly errors.) in the fifth edition, however, somebody has altered the typography: many past forms of verbs are altered. thus at the bottom of p. _unbody'd_ becomes _unbodyed_, _carry'd_ and _deliver'd_ become _carryed_, _delivered_. the task of editing is not complete; particularly near the end of the fifth edition many verbs still carry the apostrophe of the earlier editions. the date of the attempt suggests that swift's _proposal for correcting, improving and ascertaining the english tongue_ (first published may , a week after the fourth edition of the _story_) could have provided the motivation, and also that swift himself could not have been the person who made the changes. a study of a few contemporaries shows that swift himself tried to eliminate the apostrophes from the _conduct of the allies_, first published november , and from other works published after that date, but not from works published before that date. oldisworth, apparently under the instructions of swift, tried to do the same during the first few months of the _examiner_, vol. (beginning december ), but by the time he reached volume , oldisworth had apparently given up the struggle against unwilling printers. arbuthnot, roper and manley are not very interested in the matter, and neither are other pamphleteers published by morphew during the months immediately following swift's _proposal_. the items included in the so-called _miscellaneous works of dr. wagstaffe_, on the other hand, fall into three groups chronologically: those which precede swift's _proposal_, and include many apostrophied verb forms; those which immediately follow swift's _proposal_, and include abnormally few apostrophied verb forms; the two "late" pieces ( , ), which are back to the proportion of apostrophied verbs to be found in the early items. if pseudo-wagstaffe was indeed a single writer, then he followed the same pattern as oldisworth, but began later and continued longer to use verbs with an _-ed_ ending. since the genuine signed prose works of dr. wagstaffe come "late" ( , ) and have a fairly large (i.e., normal) number of apostrophied verbs, there is no evidence here as to whether or not pseudo-wagstaffe is wagstaffe; at least there is no contradiction. in the light of these facts, we can see that neither swift nor arbuthnot is a probable author of the _story_; swift would presumably have altered verb typography in the first and all editions, and arbuthnot would not have altered it at all.[ ] in these two projects on authorship we find that authors other than wagstaffe tend to be eliminated, but that wagstaffe himself is not strongly confirmed. the authorship remains as problematic as before, and the _story_ may as well for this century continue with the arbuthnotiana, as it did during the nineteenth with the swiftiana. the device of using a ghost story as vehicle for political satire was by a well-established one. elias f. mengel jr. refers to "the 'ghost' convention, so popular in the restoration,"[ ] and an important poem of queen anne's reign shows some similarities with and perhaps provided a model for the _story_. in _moderation display'd_ (london, ) the recently deceased second earl of sunderland rises from hell to confound his guilty whig companions. tonson (bibliopolo) is the most terrified, and as in the _story_ wharton (clodio) is so wicked that he is not frightened at all. the _story_, however, is both more subtle and more flexible than most other satiric "ghost" narratives. it compresses the actual apparition into the last quarter of the narrative, despite the perhaps deliberately misleading title. nearly half of the _story_ deals with previous events; much of the rest is machinery, introduction of seemingly irrelevant details with a mischievous verisimilitude which actually advances the main satiric aims. the opening paragraph, for example, first denounces roman catholic superstition, a denunciation which almost every englishman could join, and then turns the fire toward "our sectarists." the war on heterodoxy continues in the references to dr. garth, the whig poet and physician noted for his scepticism in religion, to william whiston who during the winter of - was transcribing documents and writing elaborate treatises to uphold his view that christian churches and theologians had all been essentially heretical since the time of athanasius, and to the reverend and honourable lumley lloyd, a low-church minister whose sermons attracted at least two tory satires.[ ] none of these men belongs in the narrative, and only garth was even remotely connected with the marlboroughs, but all of them were whigs, and in various ways serve to "demonstrate" that whigs must be false brethren to the church of england. this charge, although a cliché of tory satires, is here made indirect and witty, as are the staple charges against the duke and duchess of marlborough. whereas, however, the wickedness of nonconformity had been attacked for decades, the duke of marlborough had been associated with the whigs for a relatively short time. as late as wagstaffe could generously declare that "_woodstock's_ too little" a reward (_ramelies, a poem_), but since swift's "bill of british ingratitude" in the _examiner_ ( november ) the tory press had begun to say that the rewards were too many and too great. the _story_ repeats the charge that avaro and haggite "grew richer than their mistress" (p. ), together with the ridiculous insinuations of cowardice and incompetence found constantly reiterated in the second volume of _examiners_. the duchess of marlborough attracted massive satire earlier than her husband, in such books as _the secret history of queen zarah_ (london, ),[ ] and her habit of saying "lawrd" with an affected drawl is mentioned in _the secret history of arlus and odolphus_ (n.p., ), pp. , , . although not so frequent as attacks on the duke and duchess of marlborough, attacks on mrs. jennings the mother of the duchess had already been made, and indeed the _story_ relies for part of its effect on the fact that mrs. jennings is already associated with witchcraft. in _memoirs of europe_ (london, )[ ] for example, she inherits a familiar spirit from sir kenelm digby, there reported the real father of the duchess (ii, - ). in _oliver's pocket looking-glass_ (n.p., ) mrs. jennings appears as "the famous mother shipton, who by the power and influence of her magick art, had plac'd a daughter in the same station at court [i.e., maid of honour] with _meretricia_ [arabella churchill] ..." (p. ). because the author of the story assumes that previous tory allegations are well-known, he is free to perform elegant variations or to allude indirectly. assuming the fact of witchcraft allows him to heap up an ambiguous burlesque of popular superstition which is in part entertainment and in part rebuttal of recent whig sneers at tory credulity during the jane wenham witch trial.[ ] here as throughout the pamphlet, the author demonstrates the virtuosity which even swift commends. since swift praises few pamphlets except those written by himself and arbuthnot (or occasionally mrs. manley), the _story_ enters a fairly select company. it is the only pseudo-wagstaffe piece mentioned by name in the _journal to stella_, the only one found worthy to stand beside the productions of swift and arbuthnot.[ ] the second document reproduced claims to be _a catalogue of the capital and well-known library of books, of the late celebrated dr. arbuthnot_. to the extent that the claim is true, the _catalogue_ will be important for studies of the scriblerian club generally, since arbuthnot is the member with the greatest reputation for learning. although the contents of a man's library do not correspond exactly with the contents of his mind, scholars can discover a good deal about the intellectual methods of dr. arbuthnot by examining the books which he owned. until now this has not been possible; the _catalogue_ is a recent acquisition of the british museum, not so much as mentioned in books thus far published about arbuthnot. for several reasons, however, the document must be used with caution. first of all, the compilers list a total of volumes, but they itemize only ,[ ] and even then often give inadequate information. furthermore, a xerox copy of the sale book records of the auction, very kindly sent to me by the present messrs. christie, manson and woods, shows that almost a quarter of the lots (items - , - , - , ), or volumes, belonged not to the arbuthnot estate but to other owners. finally, dr. arbuthnot died in , whereas the auction was not held until december , about three and a half months after the death of his bachelor son george. of the books belonging to the arbuthnot estate, almost % were printed after , and belonged not to the father but to the son, or perhaps in some cases to the daughter anne, who lived with her brother.[ ] the legal books are likely all to have been george arbuthnot's, and presumably some of the other books printed before also. despite these obscurities, the catalogue throws a good deal of new light upon the most learned scriblerian--and upon his family. dr. arbuthnot seems to have bought relatively few antiquarian books; about % of the itemized volumes belonging to his estate come before , the year when he first went to london. in selecting these older works arbuthnot has shown a catholic taste and linguistic ability: he bought grammars and dictionaries, besides works on medicine and science, literature, history and religion, written in english, french, italian, latin and greek, plus a solitary hebrew bible (item ); his copy of udall's _key to the holy tongue_ is dated (item ). less than a quarter of these earlier books are in english. the sole "cradle" date of the catalogue, for _rosa anglica_ (item ), may be a misprint: editions of and , among others, have been previously recorded, but none for .[ ] when compared with the antiquarian books, the list of titles from the arbuthnot estate either dated or first published after the death of dr. arbuthnot reveals a number of differences. english is the predominant language of the late group, with french a poor second. there is another hebrew bible ( ), a spanish cervantes ( ), an italian machiavelli ( ), but no greek book at all, and astonishingly only two latin: a dictionary ( ) and a horace ( ); cicero appears in a french translation ( ). in part, of course, the shift in languages accompanies the general decline of humanistic learning in the eighteenth century, but it also strengthens our knowledge of dr. arbuthnot's erudition. although apparently not interested in science, george arbuthnot read widely, however, in other areas (see for example , , , , , , , , ). similarly, the books from outside the arbuthnot estate are less learned than those of arbuthnot. they do include two greek testaments ( , ) and some recent scientific works (e.g. , * ), but lack the great greek writers whom arbuthnot collected, such as plato ( ), aristotle ( ), herodotus ( ) or aristophanes ( ). whereas arbuthnot read newton's treatises ( , , , ), one of the other owners read algarotti's simplification (* ). the subjects of the books in the arbuthnot estate can be variously divided. by sheer number of titles, literature is the most important subject, closely followed by science (including medicine as the biggest sub-group), and then by history. in number of volumes, however, the historical section is considerably larger than the literary, and science comes third. books on geography and travel, philosophical treatises, grammars and dictionaries, even a work on astrology ( ), attest to the breadth of arbuthnot's interests. a few works in the fine arts are listed, somewhat surprisingly only two of them on music ( , ). the military item ( ) may come from the doctor's brother george, who was in the army, or it may represent another aspect of the general interest in all human affairs. there is a fairly large number of religious works, including books by eusebius and sozomen ( ), spotswood ( ), huet ( ), charles leslie ( ), leibniz ( ), tillotson ( ) and jeremy taylor ( , ). the elaborately bound greek septuagint ( ) and greek new testament ( ) must be the ones which arbuthnot specified in his will (the only books there mentioned), calling them "the gift of my late royal mistress queen anne."[ ] as the _catalogue_ does not describe any other fine bindings, the other books seem to have been bought for use rather than for show. a study of the duplications among the books in the arbuthnot estate reinforces the opinion that the books were bought for use. the only items appearing three times are the works of pope ( , ) and pope's _iliad_ ( , , ). since two of the former were published after the death of arbuthnot, and must have belonged to the arbuthnot children, perhaps the extra _iliads_ were equally the property of arbuthnot's heirs. the duplicates of molière ( , ), prideaux ( , ), and veneroni ( , * ) could also have belonged to the children. however, the bulk of the duplications seem to involve obtaining a later edition or a necessary text, and thus to have a scholarly rationale. for example, the two editions of eustachius are dated , ( , ), those of livy are dated , ( , ), while both sets of sennertus seem to be broken ( , ). not surprisingly, arbuthnot owned a number of satirical works. in addition to pope and molière, already mentioned, he owned petronius ( ), juvenal and persius ( ), terence ( ), plautus ( ), boileau ( ), gay ( ) and swift's _tale of a tub_ ( ). he presumably bought or was given other works by swift, but no others are itemized; perhaps some were in the "large parcel of pamphlets" ( ). george arbuthnot added a copy of _the four last years of queen anne_ ( ), not published until . although literature bulks large among arbuthnot's books, english poetry is not very conspicuous. according to some of the dates, arbuthnot may have developed his interest in english poetry rather late in life. although he owned a spenser ( ), he did not buy the listed chaucer ( ) until . pope may have inspired the urge to acquire milton ( , ), but there seems to be no literary reason for wanting a milton in french ( ). some other member of the family was, however, sufficiently interested in milton to buy newton's edition in ( ). the minor poets listed are also late in date ( , ). the only dryden is the translation of virgil ( ), which could represent an interest in classical just as much as in english poetry. there are, however, two copies of prior's _poems_ in the large paper edition ( , ). as the compilers of the _catalogue_ have left many volumes unspecified, there must have been other poetic works, but the listed sample is rather small. characteristically uninterested in his personal fame, arbuthnot kept no copies of his own writings except the reissued _tables of ancient coins_ ( , ), associated with a favorite son. the reader revealed by this library is the same arbuthnot whom his contemporaries admired: witty, yet thoughtful and religious; deeply learned, yet modest. his children, although less learned than the father, continued to buy books on current topics, particularly literature, history and travel. aged over seventy, george arbuthnot was still ingesting such materials as laughton's _history of ancient egypt_ ( ) and raynal's comprehensive history of colonialism ( ). despite the obscurity of the word "more" under which the compilers listed half of the total volumes, even the sample of the library is a welcome addition to our knowledge about dr. arbuthnot. university of victoria notes to the introduction [ ] see advertisements in the _evening post_, , , february, march ; and in the _post-boy_, may and july . the research necessary for the present publication was supported by a grant from the university of victoria and by a leave fellowship from the canada council. [ ] the dates given by professor h. teerink in _the history of john bull for the first time faithfully re-issued from the original pamphlets_ (amsterdam, ), pp. - , are drawn from dates in the examiner, a weekly newspaper. three of these dates are correct, and the other two are close, but can be corrected by consulting papers published more often. the first pamphlet seems to have appeared on march (see _post-boy_ of that date), and the third may have appeared on april (see the _daily courant_ of and april; the _post-boy_, however, agrees with the _examiner_ on the date april). [ ] although no publisher is named on the title page of the keys, the fifth edition is advertised among "new pamphlets printed for e. curll" on the back of the half-title page to _the tunbridge-miscellany: consisting of poems, &c. written at tunbridge-wells this summer. by several hands_ (london, ). [ ] wagstaffe died may , levett july ; the _miscellaneous works_ were published on about october . dr. norman moore in his account of wagstaffe has shown that the "life" in the _miscellaneous works_ is substantially correct, and has suggested that dr. levett wrote it; see moore, _history of st. bartholomew's hospital_ (london, ), ii, - . [ ] thomas roscoe, ed., _the works of jonathan swift_ (london, ), i, ; [c.w. dilke], "dean swift and the scriblerians v. dr. wagstaffe," _notes and queries_, d ser., i, - ; sir walter scott, ed., _the works of swift_, d ed. (london, ), v, ; herbert davis, "introduction," prose works of swift, viii, xiv-xv; mark noble, _a biographical history of england, from the revolution to the end of george i's reign_ (london, ), iii, - . vinton a. dearing in his "jonathan swift or william wagstaffe?" _hlb_, vii ( ), - , makes a survey of previous discussions, and concludes that wagstaffe wrote all the pieces in the _miscellaneous works_. see also the article cited in footnote . [ ] "words and numbers: a quantitative approach to swift and some understrappers," _computers and the humanities_, iv ( ), - . this article has been reprinted with minor revisions in roy wisbey, ed., _the computer in literary and linguistic research_ (cambridge, ), pp. - . [ ] the question of verb typography will be further studied in a future article. [ ] _poems on affairs of state: augustan satirical verse_, ii (new haven, ), . [ ] _tint for taunt. the manager managed: or the exemplary moderation and modesty, of a whig low-church-preacher discovered, from his own mouth_ (london, ); _and punch turn'd critick, in a letter to the honourable and (some time ago) worshipful rector of covent-garden. with some wooden remarks on his sermon_ (n.p., ). neither squib is of much literary value, but the second acquires some interest by being associated with the _story of the st. alb-ns ghost_ and a third edition of _a learned comment on tom thumb_ (an earlier pseudo-wagstaffe piece) in the advertising column of _examiner_, vol. ii, no. ( february ). [ ] reproduced in _the novels of mary delariviere manley_, intro. by p. köster (gainesville, fla., ), vols. [ ] jane wenham was sentenced march . white kennet lists a number of pamphlets on both sides in _the wisdom of looking backwards_ (london, ), pp. - , but does not mention the _story_. the _protestant post-boy_ has a series of articles, stemming from the trial, on the improbability of witchcraft ( , , , april ), but predictably ignores the _story_. [ ] dr. moore, however, seems to include the _story_ in his condemnation of all the pseudo-wagstaffe pieces except the _comment upon ... tom thumb_ (now reproduced in augustan reprint no. ) as "abusive, coarse, or dull" (_history of st. bartholomew's hospital_, ii, ). [ ] mr. allan trumpour wrote a sorting program which provided the statistics here and below; mr. james carley and mrs. edna cox both gave considerable help in preparing the contents of the _catalogue_ for computer sorting. [ ] for biographical information see g.a. aitken, _the life and works of john arbuthnot_ (oxford, ), pp. - . [ ] see w. wulff, "introduction," _rosa anglica seu rosa medicinae_, irish texts society, xxv (london, ), p. xix. [ ] aitken, p. . bibliographical note the texts of these facsimiles of _the story of the st. alb-ns ghost_ (t. tract ) and _a catalogue of the capital and well-known library of books, of the late celebrated dr. arbuthnot_ (c. .dd. ) are reproduced from copies in the british museum. the two keys to _the story of the st. alb-ns ghost_ are reproduced from the first and second editions of _a complete key to the three parts of law is a bottomless-pit and the story of the st. alban's ghost_ (both editions ; e. tracts and ; both versos), also in the british museum. all items are reproduced with the kind permission of the trustees. the story of the st. alb-ns ghost, or the apparition of mother _haggy_. collected from the best manuscripts. _sola, novum, dictuq, nefas, harpyia celano prodigium canit, & tristes denuntiat iras._ virg. _london_: printed in the year . the story of the st. alb-ns ghost. i can scarcely say whether we ought to attribute the multitude of ghosts and apparitions, which were so common in the days of our forefathers, to the ignorance of the people, or the impositions of the priest. the romish clergy found it undoubtedly for their interest to deceive them, and the superstition of the people laid themselves open to receive whatsoever they thought proper to inculcate. hence it is, that their traditions are little else, than the miracles and atchievements of unbody'd heroes, a sort of spiritual romance, so artfully carry'd on, and delivered in so probable a manner, as may easily pass for truth on those of an uncultivated capacity, or a credulous disposition. our sectarists indeed still retain the credulity, as well as some of the tenets of that church; and apparitions, and such like, are still the bug-bears made use of by some of the most celebrated of their holders-forth to terrify the old women of their congregation, (who are their surest customers) and enlarge their quarterly subscriptions. i know one of these ambidexters, who never fails of ten or twenty pounds more than ordinary, by nicking _something wonderful_ in due time; he often cloaths his whole family _by the apparition of a person lately executed at_ tyburn; or, _a whale seen at_ greenwich, _or thereabouts_; and i am credibly inform'd, that his wife has made a visit with a brand new sable tippet on, since the death of the _tower lions_. but as these things will pass upon none but the ignorant or superstitious, so there are others that will believe nothing of this nature, even upon the clearest evidence. there are, it must be own'd, but very few of these accounts to be depended on; some however are so palpable, and testify'd by so good authority, by those of such undoubted credit, and so discerning a curiosity, that there is no room to doubt of their veracity, and which none but a sceptic can disbelieve. such is the following story of mother _haggy_ of st. _alb----ns_, in the reign of king _james_ the first, the mighty pranks she plaid in her life-time, and her apparition afterwards, made such a noise, both at home and abroad, and were so terrible to the neighbourhood, that the country people, to this day, cannot hear the mention of her name, without the most dismal apprehensions. the injuries they receiv'd from the sorceries and incantations of the mother, and the injustice and oppression of the son and daughter, have made so deep an impression upon their minds, and begot such an hereditary aversion to their memory, that they never speak of them, without the bitterest curses and imprecations. i have made it my business, being at st. _alb----ns_ lately, to enquire more particularly into this matter, and the helps i have receiv'd from the _most noted men of erudition in this city, have been considerable_, and to whom i make my publick acknowledgment. the charges i have been at in _getting manuscripts_, and labour in _collating them_, the reconciling the disputes about the most _material circumstances_, and adjusting the _various readings_, as they have took me up a considerable time, so i hope they may be done to the satisfaction of my reader. i wish i could have had time to have distinguish'd by an asterism the circumstances deliver'd by tradition only, from those of the manuscripts, which i was advis'd to do by my worthy friend the reverend mr. _wh----n_, who, had he not been _employ'd otherways_, might have been a very proper person to have undertaken such a performance. the best manuscripts are now in the hands of the ingenious dr. _g----th_, where they are left for the curious to peruse, and where any _clergyman_ may be welcome; for however he may have been abus'd by those who deny him to be the author of the _d----y_, and tax'd by others with principles and practices unbecoming a man of his sense and probity, yet i will be bold to say in his defence, that i believe he is as good a christian, as he is a poet, and if he publishes any thing on the late d----d _m----y_, i don't question but it will be interspers'd with as many precepts of reveal'd religion, as the subject is capable of bearing: and it is very probable, those _refin'd pieces_ that the doctor has been pleas'd to own, since the writing of the _d----y_, have been look'd upon, by the lewd debauch'd criticks of the town, to be dull and insipid, for no other reason, but because they are grave and sober; but this i leave for others to determine, and can say for his sincerity, that i am assur'd he believes the following relation as much as any of us all. mother _haggy_ was marry'd to a plain home-spun yeoman of st. _alb----ns_, and liv'd in good repute for some years: the place of her birth is disputed by some of the most celebrated moderns, tho' they have a tradition in the country, that she was never born at all, and which is most probable. at the birth of her daughter _haggite_, something happen'd very remarkable, and which gave occasion to the neighbourhood to mistrust she had a correspondence with _old nick_, as was confirm'd afterwards, beyond the possibility of disproof. the neighbours were got together a merry-making, as they term it, in the country, when the old woman's high-crown'd hat, that had been thrown upon the bed's tester during the heat of the engagement, leap'd with a wonderful agility into the cradle, and being catch'd at by the nurse, was metamorphos'd into a coronet, which according to her description, was not much unlike that of a _german_ prince; but it soon broke into a thousand pieces. _such_, cries old mother _haggy, will be the fortune of my daughter, and such her fall_. the company took but little notice what she said, being surpris'd at the circumstance of the hat. _but this is fact_, says the reverend and honourable l----y _l----d_, _and my grandmother, who was a person of condition, told me_, says he, _she knew the man, who knew the woman, who was_, said she, _in the room at that instant_. the very same night, i saw a comet, neither have i any occasion to tell a lye as to this particular, _says my author_, brandishing its tail in a very surprising manner in the air, but upon the breaking of a cloud, i could discern, _continues he_, a clergyman at the head of a body of his own cloth, and follow'd by an innumerable train of laity, who coming towards the comet, it disappear'd. this was the first time mother _haggy_ became suspected, and it was the opinion of the wisest of the parish, that they should petition the king to send her to be try'd for a witch by the _presbytery of scotland_. how this past off i cannot tell, but certain it is, that some of the great ones of the town were in with her, and 'tis said she was serviceable to them in their amours: she had a wash that would make the skin of a blackamore as white as alabaster, and another, that would restore the loss of a maidenhead, _without any hindrance of business, or the knowledge of any one about them_. she try'd this experiment so often upon her daughter _haggite_, that more than twenty were satisfy'd they had her virginity before marriage. she soon got such a reputation all about the country, that there was not a cow, a smock, or a silver spoon lost, but they came to her to enquire after it; all the young people flock'd to have their fortunes told, which, they say she never miss'd. she told _haggite_'s husband, he should grow rich, and be a great man, but by his covetousness and griping of the poor, should come to an ill end. all which happen'd so exactly, _that there are several old folks in our town, who can remember it, as if it was but yesterday_. she has been often seen to ride full gallop upon a broom-stick at noon-day, and swim over a river in a kettle-drum. sometimes she wou'd appear in the shape of a lioness, and at other times of a hen, or a cat; but i have heard, could not turn herself into a male creature, or walk over two straws across. there were never known so many great winds as about that time, or so much mischief done by them: the pigs gruntled, and the screech-owls hooted oftner than usual; a horse was found dead one morning with hay in his mouth; and a large overgrown jack was caught in a fish-pond thereabouts with a silver tobacco-box in his belly; several women were brought to bed of two children, some miscarry'd, and old folks died very frequently. these things could not chuse but breed a great combustion in the town, as they call it, and every body certainly had rejoyc'd at her death, had she not been succeeded by a son and daughter, who, tho' they were no conjurers, were altogether as terrible to the neighbourhood. she had two daughters, one of which was marry'd to a man who went beyond sea; the other, her daughter _haggite_, to _avaro_, whom we shall have occasion to mention in the sequel of this story. there liv'd at that time in the neighbourhood two brothers, of a great family, persons of a vast estate and character, and extreamly kind to their servants and dependants. _haggite_ by her mother's interest, was got into this family, and _avaro_, who was afterwards her husband, was the huntsman's boy. he was a lad of a fine complexion, good features, and agreeable to the fair sex, but wanted the capacity of some of his fellow servants: tho' he got a reputation afterwards for a man of courage, but upon no other grounds, than by setting the country fellows to cudgelling or boxing, and being a spectator of a broken head and a bloody nose. there are several authentic accounts of the behaviour of these two, in their respective stations, and by what means they made an advancement of their fortunes. there are several relations, i say, now extant, that tell us, how one of these great brothers took _avaro_'s sister for his mistress, which was the foundation of his preferment, and how _haggite_, by granting her favours to any one who would go to the expence of them, became extreamly wealthy, and how both had gain'd the art of getting money out of every body they had to do with, and by the most dishonourable methods. never perhaps, was any couple so match'd in every thing as these, or so fit for one another: a couple so link'd by the bonds of iniquity, as well as marriage, that it is impossible to tell which had the greatest crimes to answer for. it will be needless to relate the fortune of the brothers, who were their successive masters, and the favours they bestow'd on them. it is sufficient that the estate came at last to a daughter of the younger brother, a lady, who was the admiration of the age she liv'd in, and the darling of the whole country, and who had been attended from her infancy by _haggite_. then it was _avaro_ began his tyranny; he was entrusted with all the affairs of consequence, and there was nothing done without his knowledge. he marry'd his daughters to some of the most considerable estates in the neighbourhood, and was related by marriage to one _baconface_, a sort of bailiff to his lady. he, and _baconface_ and _haggite_ got into possession, as it were, of their lady's estate, and carry'd it with so high a hand, were so haughty to the rich, and oppressive to the poor, that they quickly began to make themselves odious; but for their better security, they form'd a sort of confederacy with one _dammyblood_, _clumzy_ their son-in-law, _splitcause_ an attorney, and _mouse_ a noted ballad-maker, and some others. as soon as they had done this, they began so to domineer, that there was no living for those who would not compliment, or comply with them in their villany. _haggite_ cry'd, _lord, madam_, to her mistress, _it must be so_; _avaro_ swore, _by_ g----d, and _baconface_ shook his head, and look'd dismally. they made every tenant pay a tax, and every servant considerably out of his wages toward the mounding their lady's estate, as they pretended, but most part of it went into their own pockets. once upon a time, the tenants grumbling at their proceedings, _clumzy_, the son-in-law, brought in a parcel of beggars to settle upon the estate. thus they liv'd for some years, till they grew richer than their mistress, and were, perhaps, the richest servants in the world: nay, what is the most remarkable, and will scarcely find belief in future ages, they began at last to deny her title to the estate, and affirm, she held it only by their permission and connivance. things were come to this pass, when one of the tenants sons from _oxf----rd_ preach'd up obedience to their lady, and the necessity of their downfall, who oppos'd it. this open'd the eyes of all the honest tenants, but enrag'd _avaro_ and his party, to that degree, that they had hir'd a pack of manag'd bull-dogs, with a design to bait him, and had done it infallibly, had not the gentry interpos'd, and the country people run into his assistance. these, with much ado, muzled the dogs, and petition'd their lady to discard the mismanagers, who consented to it. great were the endeavours, and great the struggles of the faction, for so they were call'd, to keep themselves in power, as the histories of those times mention. they stirr'd up all their ladies acquaintance to speak to her in their behalf, wrote letters to and fro, swore and curs'd, laugh'd and cry'd, told the most abominable and inconsistent lyes, but all to no purpose: they spent their money, lavish'd away their beef, pudding, and _october_, most unmercifully, and made several _jointed-babies_ to shew for sights, and please the tenants sons about _christmas_. old _drybones_ was then the parson of the parish, a man of the most notorious character, who would change his principles at any time to serve a turn, preach or pray _extempore_, talk nonsense, or any thing else, for the advancement of _avaro_ and his faction. he was look'd upon to be the greatest artist in _legerdemain_ in that country; and had a way of shewing the pope and little master in a box, but the figures were so very small, it was impossible for any body but himself to discern them. he was hir'd, as is suppos'd, to tax the new servants with popery, together with their mistress, which he preach'd in several churches thereabouts; but his character was too well known to make any thing credited that came from him. there are several particulars related, both by tradition and the manuscripts, concerning the turning out of these servants, which would require greater volumes than i design. it is enough, that notwithstanding their endeavours, they were discarded, and the lady chose her new servants out of the most honest and substantial of her tenants, of undoubted abilities, who were tied to her by inclination as well as duty. these began a reformation of all the abuses committed by _avaro_ and _baconface_, which discover'd such a scene of roguery to the world, that one would hardly think the most mercenary favourites could be guilty of. _avaro_ now began to be very uneasie, and to be affrighted at his own conscience; he found nothing would pacifie the enrag'd tenants, and that his life wou'd be but a sufficient recompence for his crimes. his money which he rely'd on, and which he lavish'd away to bribe off his destruction, had not force enough to protect him: he could not, as it is reported, sit still in one place for two minutes, never slept at all, eat little or nothing, talk'd very rambling and inconsistent, of _merit_, _hardships_, _accounts_, _perquisites_, _commissioners_, _bread_ and _bread-waggons_, but was never heard to mention any _cheese_. he came and made a confession in his own house to some people he never saw before in his life, and which shews no little disorder in his brain; _that, whatever they might think of him, he was as dutiful a servant as any his mistress had_. _haggite_ rav'd almost as bad as he, and had got st. _anthony's fire_ in her face; but it is a question, says dr. _g--th_, whether there was any thing ominous in that, since it is probable, the distemper only chang'd it's situation. mean while, it was agreed by _baconface_ and others, that a consultation should be call'd at _avaro_'s house, something decisive resolv'd on, in order to prevent their ruin; and accordingly _jacobo_ the messenger was sent to inform the cabal of it. dismal and horrid was the night of that infernal consultation, nothing heard but the melancholly murmuring of winds, and the croaking of toads and ravens; every thing seem'd wild and desert, and double darkness overspread the hemisphere: thunder and lightning, storms and tempest, and earthquakes, seem'd to presage something more then ordinary, and added to the confusion of that memorable night. nature sicken'd, and groan'd, as it were, under the tortures of universal ruine. not a servant in the house but had dreamt the strangest dreams, and _haggite_ her self had seen a stranger in the candle. the fire languish'd and burnt blue, and the crickets sung continually about the oven: how far the story is true concerning the warming-pan and dishes, i cannot say, but certain it is, a noise was heard like that of rolling pease from the top of the house to the bottom; and the windows creak'd, and the doors rattled in a manner not a little terrible. several of their servants made affidavit, that _haggite_ lost a red petticoat, a ruff, and a pair of green-stockings, that were her mother's, but the night before, and a diamond-cross once gave her by a _great man_. 'twas about midnight before this black society got together, and no sooner were they seated, when _avaro_ open'd to them in this manner. we have try'd, _says he_, my friends, all the artifices we cou'd invent or execute, but all in vain. our mistress has discover'd plainly our intentions, and the tenants will be neither flatter'd, nor frighted, nor brib'd into our interest. it remains therefore, and what tho' we perish in the attempt, we must perish otherwise, that once for all we make a push at the very life of----when, lo! _says the manuscript_, an unusual noise interrupted his discourse, and _jacobo_ cry'd out, _the devil, the devil at the door_. scarce had he time to speak, or they to listen, when the apparition of mother _haggy_ entred; but, who can describe the astonishment they were then in? _haggite_ sounded away in the elbow-chair as she sat, and _avaro_, notwithstanding his boasted courage, slunk under the table in an instant: _baconface_ screw'd himself into a thousand postures; and _clumzy_ trembled till his very water trickled from him. _splitcause_ tumbled over a joint-stool, and _mouse_ the ballad-maker broke a brandy-bottle that had been _haggite_'s companion for some years: but _dammyblood, dammyblood_ only was the man that had the courage to cry out g-d d-m your bl--d, what occasion for all this bustle? is it not the devil, and is he not our old acquaintance? this reviv'd them in some measure; but the ghastlyness of the spectacle made still some impression on them. there was an unaccountable irregularity in her dress, a wanness in her complexion, and a disproportion in her features. flames of fire issued from her nostrils, and a sulphurous smoak from her mouth, which together with the condition some of the company were in, made a very noisome and offensive smell; and _i have been told_, says a very grave alderman of _st. albans, some of them saw her cloven foot_. i come, _says she_, at length, (in an hollow voice, more terrible than the celebrated stentor, or the brawny _caledonian_) i come, o ye accomplices in iniquity, to tell you of your crimes, to bid you desist from these cabals, for they are fruitless, and prepare for punishment that is certain. i have, as long as i could, assisted you in your glorious execrable attempts, but time is now no more; the time is coming when you must be deliver'd up to justice. as to you, o son and daughter, _said she_, turning to them, 'tis but a few revolving moons, e'er you must both fall a sacrifice to your avarice and ambition, as i have told you heretofore, but your mistress will be too merciful, and tho' your ready money must be refunded, your estate in land will descend onto your heirs. but you, o _baconface_, you have merited nothing to save either your life or your estate, be contented therefore with the loss of both: and _clumzy, says she_, you must have the same fate, your insolence to your lady, and the beggars you brought in upon the tenants will require it. _dammyblood, continues she_, turning towards him, you must expect a considerable fine; but _splitcause_ and _mouse_ may come off more easily. she said, gave a shriek; and disappear'd; and the cabal dispers'd with the utmost consternation. _finis._ a catalogue of the capital and well-known library of books, of the late celebrated dr. arbuthnot, deceased; which will be sold by auction, by mess. christie and ansell, at their great room, the royal academy, pall mall, on tuesday, december , , and the two following days. to be viewed on friday the th, and to the time of sale (sunday excepted), which will begin each day exactly at o'clock. catalogues may then be had as above. *.* _conditions of sale as usual._ [illustration] a catalogue, &c. [illustration] first day's sale, tuesday, december , . octavo & duodecimo. a large parcel of pamphlets boerhaave praxis de medica, v. and more taylor's holy living and dying, and more gradus ad parnassum, and more vidæ de arte poetica, and more livsii opera omnia, v. fig. livii historia, v. oxonii virgilius in usum delphini, and more petroni arbitri satyricon, and more histoire philosophique et politique des etablissemens & du commerce des europees dans les deux indes, tom. haye pope's homer's iliad, v. gother's spiritual works, v. houstoun's history of ruptures, and more dr. arbuthnot's miscellaneous works, v. , and more tour through great britain, v. , , , and more dryden's virgil, v. , , vo. and more abridgment of the statutes, v. law french dictionary, , and more riverii praxis medica, v. and more blackmore's essays, glover's leonidas, and more oeuvres de scarron, t. amst. ---- moliere, t. and more ---- spirituelles de fenelon, t. ---- d'horace, par dacier, t. a spanish common-prayer book vida y hechos del don quixote, t. fig. lettres de ciceron a atticus, par mongault, t. paris avantures de telemaque, t. fig. par. , fables choisies, par fontaine, fig. t. and more abrege de l'histoire de france, par daniel, t. paris, , and more oeuvres de racine, t. amst. , and more littlebury's history of herodotus, v. hobbes's history of thucydides, v. malcolm's treatise of music, sewed shere's history of polybius, v. l. p. ulloa's voyage to south america, v. cuts grose's voyage to the east indies, v. sewed, and more drake's anatomy, v. cuts, , allen's practice of physic, v. hale's vegetable statics, v. cuts mitchell's poems, v. l. p. innes's essay on the ancient inhabitants of the northern parts of britain, or scotland, v. bolingbroke's letters on the study and use of history, v. sewed tournefort's history of plants, v. friend's history of physic, v. , and more sherwin's mathematical tables jones's introduction to the mathematics, , and more swift's life of swift, orrery remarks on the life and writings of swift jarvis' don quixote, v. cuts bishop sherlock's sermons, v. , &c. bailey's dictionary, , alvarado's spanish and english dialogues miller's gardener's kalender, , gibson's farrier's guide, , and more prideaux's connection of the old and new testament, v. lord clarendon's life, v. rapin's history of england, by tindal, v. with maps, plans, &c traite de la sphere, par rivard, l'homme détrompé t. psalms of david in verse, dr. young's works, v. la mere chretienne, t. la sainte bible, negociation du paix, la vie d'elizabeth reine d'angleterre abregé chronologique de l'histoire de france, traite du poeme epique par bossu, t. relation sur le quietism, par bofluet, avec la reponse de fenelon, quinte curce, t. lat. & francois histoire du patriotisme francois, par rossel, t. de la conversation des enfans, par raulin, le dictionaire chretien, legis d'un ancien medicine a sa patrie, panegyrique de louis xiv. le dictionaire apostolique, t. histoire de russie, par voltaire, t. ---- ecclesiastique de fleury, t. les pseaumes de david histoire sacrette de neron, traite methodique de la goutte & de rhumatisme, par ponsarte, memoires de la vie du president de thou, la sagesse de dieu par ray ---- du fanatisme par bruyes, t. de l'academic francoise par pelisson dictionaire neologique, l'homme dépéé ou le dictionaire du gentilhomme, sentimens des theologiens, pratique de l'humilite, par lamotte, memoires de mr. d'aubery les saturnales francoises, t. les lettres originales de m. la comtesse du barry quarto. wollaston's religion of nature, and more morley collectanea chymica leydensia, and more the scribleriad, an heroic poem, and more hooke's roman history, v. , , boards ramsay's travels of cyrus cumberland's laws of nature, by maxwell waller's works by fenton, boards pemberton's view of sir isaac newton's philosophy, boards bellamy's ethic amusements, v. cuts, boards addison's works, v. boards pope's works, v. and ---- homer's iliad, v. milton's paradise lost, by newton, v. gay's poems, v. milton's paradise lost, by bentley newton's chronology of ancient kingdoms heurnii opera omnia, and more morton opera medica, and more dr. arbuthnot's tables of ancient coins, weights, and measures, sewed newton's optics smart's tables of interest de moivre's doctrine of chances, , harris treatise of navigation sutherland's ship builder's assistant, and more ainsworth's latin dictionary, , littleton's ditto, dictionaire italien & francois, par veneroni, , and more longinus de sublimitate, gr. & lat. per pearce terentius, per hare, (semicomp) cellarii geographia antiqua, v. frezier's voyage to the south sea, cuts parkinson's voyage to the south seas, cuts, charts, &c. boards opere di machiavelli, t. lond. oeuvres diverses de rousseau, t. lond. ---- boileau, t. fig. amst. jugemens des savans, par baillet, t. par. histoire romaine, par catrou and rouille, avec fig. t. paris folio. skinner etymologicon linguæ anglicanæ lhuyd archoeologia britannica wood's institutes, , and more cay's abridgement of the statutes, v. domat's civil law, v. prior's poems, l. p. machiavel's works, , sydney on government, selden's titles of honor gadbury's doctrine of nativities, with his portrait, chaucer's works, by urry blome's cosmography damag'd, and more mariana's general history of spain, by stevens malpighii opera omnia, figuris elegantissimis willughbeii ornithologiæ, descriptiones iconibus elegantissimis, per ray. eustachii tabulæ anatomicæ romæ mayernii opera medica, , and more etmulleri opera omnia, v. medicæ artis principes, post hippocratem & galenum, v. maculat. apud hen. stephanus suidæ lexicon, gr. & lat. opera & studio porti, v. genevæ, , and more dictionaire universel de commerce, par savary, t. corps universel diplomatique du droit des gens, par dumont, t. amst. le grand dictionaire historique, par morery, t. bayle's historical and critical dictionary, v. dionysii halicarnas. gr. & lat. sylburgii, franc. platonis opera omnia, gr. & lat. ficino, franc. aristotelis opera omnia, per du val, v. gr. & lat. maculat. lutet. par. eusebii, sozomeni, &c. historiæ ecclesiasticæ, gr. & lat. per reading, v. cantab. mattaire corpus poetarum latinorum, v. poetæ græci veteres carminis heroici qui extant omnes gr. & lat. v. aur. allob. parker de antiquitate britannicæ, ecclesiasticæ, per drake lond. l'antiquite explique, et representee en figures, par montfaucon, t. boards and uncut, paris end of the first day's sale. [illustration] second day's sale, wednesday, december , . octavo & duodecimo. histoire comique de francion, and more voyage de cyrus, par ramsay, t, and more les vies des hommes illustres de plutarque, par dacier, t. amst. oeuvres de moliere, t. th. and more les poesies d'anacreon et de sapho, par dacier, and more entretiens de ciceron, t. and more la vie de l'admiral de ruyter, and more histoire de l'academie royale des sciences, t. avec fig. amst. lettres galantes, par fontenelle, and more essais de theodocice, sur la bonte de dieu, and more de la vie de richelieu & mazarine, and more ciceronis opera, notis lambini, v. and more sallustius notis var. et thysii, , and more taciti opera, not. var. & gronovii, bound in v. amst. quintiliani institutiones & declamationes, v. notis var. gronovii, &c. &c. lug. bat. horatii opera, v. cum fig. ch. max. apud sandby, euripedis tragoediæ canteri, gr. and more clavis homerica, per patrick, , and more phædri fabulæ, cum notis laurentii, fig. nitid. amst. natalis comitis mythologiæ, gr. & lat. and more raii synopsis methodica avium & piscium, cum fig. , and more cheselden's anatomy, cuts, , boerhaave's chemistry clifton's state of physic, and more tauvry's treatise of medicines, and more quincy's dispensatory, , and more cheyne's philosophical principles of religion, and more stanhope's thomas a kempis, cuts, , peters on the book of job bp. sherlock's discourses on prophecy, and more beattie's essay on truth, warburton's julian spinckes's sick man visited, and more rapin's critical works. v. and more cunn's euclid, and more davenant on the public revenues, and more gurdon's history of the court of parliament, v. torbuck's debates in parliament, odd v. history of marshal turenne, v. and more hennepin's discovery of america, cuts, , martin's descript. of the western islands of scotland, ball's antiquities of constantinople, cuts, , laughton's history of ancient egypt independent whig, and more bolingbroke's letter to windham, and more bp. berkeley's minute philosopher, v. , lee's plays, v. , and more chamberlayne's state of great britain, and more swift's four last years of queen anne, and more rooke's arrian's history of alexander's expedition, v. cooke's essay on the animal oeconomy, v. , and more bp. hurd's introduction to the study of the prophecies, v. hooper's state of the ancient measures, the attic' roman and jewish, , pancirollus's memorable things, and more swift's tale of a tub, hobbes's homer, and more dr. everard's discovery of the wonderful vertues of tobacco, with his portrait, , and more pope's works, v. vo. lord clarendon's history of the rebellion in england and ireland, with the appendix and heads, v. parliamentary history of england, v. neat udal's key to the holy tongue, , and more sewed la paradis perdu de milton, t. sewed, and more quarto. milton's paradise regained haym tesoro britannico, v. d, and more barber's poems ramsay's travels of cyrus chubb's collection of tracts, , baxter on the soul cumberland's laws of nature, by maxwell lord littleton's history of the life and reign of henry the d, v. boards fitzherbert's natura brevium dr. arbuthnot's tables of ancient coins, weights and measures, boards blackstone's charter and charter of the forest, sewed, tyson's anatomy of a pigmie, cuts, , blair's anatomy of the elephant, cuts boerhaave's chemistry by shaw, , and more lamy's introduction to the scriptures, by bundy, cuts, , newton on the prophecies of daniel, boards, holy bible, and more glas's history of the canary islands, boards, , dobbs's account of the countries near hudson's bay, boards cook's voyage to the south pole, and round the world, v. with maps, charts, &c. boards la henriade de voltaire, avec fig. oeuvres de mr. tourreil, t. paris histoire de la reformation, par courayer, t. nov. ephemerides motuum coelestium, e cassinianis, tabulis, a manfredio, v. , and more moeurs des sauvages ameriquains, par lasitau, t. enrichi de figures en taille, douce paris traite des maladies des femmes grosses, par mauririceau, t. sydenham opera medica, and more morgagni adversaria anatomica omnia, v. histoire de la guerre chypre, par peletier, , and more baglivi opera omnia, , and more ap. coelii de opsoniis & condimentis, sive arte coquinaria, notis lister scriptores rei nummariæ veteris, rechlenbergi, v. gronovii de pecunia vetere, gr. & lat. lugd bat. , spanhemii de usu numismatum antiq. amst. regionum indicarum per hispanos, figuris eneis ad vivum fabrefactis, per calas speculum orientalis & occidentalis que indiæ navigationum, a spilbergen et le maire, figuris ac imaginibus illustrata burnet archeologiæ philosophiæ, and more blasii anat. animalium, and more newton philosop. naturalis, , and more de moivre miscellanea analytica, , and more le droit de la nature et des gens, par pusendorf, and more elemens des mathematiques par prestet, and more il pastor fido di guarini, parigi , aminta del tasso, filli di sciro kircheri lingua Ægyptiaca, romæ, , butler's english grammar and history of bees historia insectorum, a raio lond. osservazioni della pontificia, da bolseno, and more alpini de medicina methodica, lug. bat. , le clerc histoire de la medicine, , and more guillimanni de rebus helvetiorum, and more traite du commerce par ricard, amst. , and more tournefort institutiones rei herbariæ, v. tabulis eneis adornata paris lucretius de rerum natura, ap. benenatum lutet. , and more * dictionaire italien et francois, par veneroni, , and more juvenalis & persii satyræ, notis pratei, delp. paris, terentius notis cami ib. plautus, v. notis operarii ib. miscellanea curiosa sive ephemeridum medico-physicarum germanicarum academiæ, v. fig. biblia hebraica, v. paris ap car. steph. tijou's book of drawings for iron gates, &c. macqueen's essay on honour, morocco a treatise of specters or straunge sights, visions and apparitions appearing sensibly unto men a volume of plays and more fleury's ecclesiastical history, v. motte's abridgment of the philosophical transactions, v. , lowthorp's abridgment of ditto, v. bound in morocco philosophical transactions, v. th, morocco, ditto v. and , and some loose numbers pope's homer's iliad and odyssey, v. uniformly bound les principes de la philosophie de descartes, sisteme de la religion protestante, par pigorier histoire de l'eglise et de l'ectpire par le sueur, t. images des grand hommes de l'antiquite gravees, par picart folio. howell's italian, english, french and spanish dictionary, , newman's concordance guicciardin's history of the wars of italy, and more gianone's history of naples, v. neat harris's collection of voyages and travels, v. cuts, howell's history of the world, v. leslie's theological works, v. l. p. prior's poems, l. p. vetus testamentum hebraicum, variis lectionibus edidit kennicott, v. st, sewed spence's polymetis, first impressions, half bound and uncut histoire de france par daniel, t. friend opera omnia medica cowper's treatise on the muscles, fine plates, lond. cowper's anatomy, much damaged oxford eustachii tabulæ anatominæ romæ mathiolus comment. in dioscoridem, cum iconibus, venet. hippocratis opera omnia gr. & lat. foesio gregorii astronomiæ, physicæ & geometricæ elementa hevelii machinæ coelestis apollonii pergæi conicorum euclidis elementa, gr. & lat. gregorii flamsted historiæ coelestis guillim's heraldry gordon's itinerarium septentrionale, cuts locke's works, v. barrow's works, v. histoire du concile de trente, par courayer, t. grabe septuaginta interpretam, v. corio morocco fol. deaurat. oxonii novum testamentum, gr. millii charta max. corio morocco, lin. rub. fol. deaurat. oxonii dugdale's monasticon anglicanum, by stevens, v. cuts, boards and uncut and l'antiquite explique et representee en figures et le supplement par montfaucon. t. paris end of the second day's sale. [illustration] third day's sale, thursday, december , . octavo & duodecimo. smollet's don quixote, v. history of lady frances s----, v. francis's horace, v. sowel's ovid, v. trapp's virgil, v. prior's poems harvey's meditations, v. beauties of history, v. plato's works, v. telemachus, v. pillars of priestcraft, v. new duty of man, fenelon on the existence of god, balsac's letters, quarle's emblems, greenwood's essay, cotton's visions, fenny on the globes, letter writer, rowe's exercises, webster's arithmetic, hudson's guide, coke on littleton, and others chinese spy, v. vicar of wakefield, v. woodbury, v. mariamne, v. cuckoldom triumphant, v. portrait of life, v. unhappy wife, v. placid man, v. les oraisons de ciceron, par villifore, t. entretiens de ciceron, t. tusculanes de ciceron, t. count de vaux, v. history of fanny seymour, cupid and hymen, nicol's poems, epistles to the ladies, v. fault was all his own, v. small friendship, v. world, v. persian letters, temple's miscellanies, and others telemachus, v. beaumont and fletcher's select plays, v. dialogues de platon, t. voltair's works, v. hull's letters, v. quevedo's visions, family instructor rowe's letters, v. lyttleton's dialogues of the dead, v. marmontel's moral tales, v. churchill's poems, v. byron's voyage, scougal's life of god, steel's christian hero, watts's poems, nettleton on virtue, charles xii. guthrie's trial addison's evidence, sherlock on death, religious courtship, rule of life, doddridge's rise and progress, gordon's young man's companion, hammouth's works, v. sherlock's discourses, sherlock on a future state addison's works, v. suckling's works, mills's agriculture, school of arts, v. play for its interest, rousseau's remarks, world to come, two rules for bad horsemen, and others echard's gazetteer, adventures of pomponius, english connoisseur, v. gent's history of york, v. coventry's history, travels into france and italy, and five others prælectiones poeticæ, t. luciani dialogus, erasmus catullus, horatius flaccus, leusden græcum testamentum, ethices compendium, berkenhout's pharmacopeia, and nine others sophoclis tragoediæ, t. conciones et orationes, ovidii, hieronymus, sallust, phædrus, euclidis, bos ellipsis, horatius, artis logicæ, and others rule of life, economy of human life, doddridge's rise and progress, hudibras, gentle shepherd, a testament, principles of the french grammar, wood's farrier, military dictionary, greek grammar, young's centaur not fabulous, heaven opened, and others ray's wisdom of god, religious courtship, life of owen tideric, watts's hymns, cicero--italian, plinius conciones et orationes, english rudiments, petticoat pensioners, ranger's progress, christian manuel, night thoughts, horatius, and others last day, a poem, devil on two sticks, introduction to grammar, thomas's palladium, complete grazier, Æsop's fables, algorotti's letters, cyrus's travels and eight others monro's anatomy, ewing's synopsis, gerrard on taste, characteristics of great britain, derham's astro theology, dilworth's catechism explained, buck's companion, henry's discourses, sophocles, ward's grammar, bunyan's holy war, observations on london, hawking's abridgement of coke, and others tacitus, t. italian, vertot's revolutions of portugal, vertot's revolutions of sweden, nelson's devotions, history of masonry, principles of the christian religion, reflection upon marriage peyton's french grammar, porney sur l'education, recueil des oraisons, principles of the french grammar, Æsopi fabulæ, chambaud's themes, chambaud's exercises, bell's latin grammar, logic by question, freeman's farrier, and others new version, cooper's sermons, birche's inquiry, bishop on the creed, puffendorf's duty of man, duty of a mother, templer on the worship of god lally on the christian religion, v. ibbetson's discourses, lay baptism invalid, second part of lay baptism invalid, inquiry into the church of england, brown on understanding, ambrose's looking unto jesus burnet on religion, v. coneybeare's defence of the christian religion, mayhew's sermons, hale's golden remains, hughes's remarks, new duty of man, hoadly on submission young on corruption in religion, v. cure of deism, v. a common prayer, howard's festivals guyse's paraphrase, v. abernethy's sermons, v. , unity of god, fleming's discourses, hammond's catechism, defence of diocesan episcopacy, lipsiensi's remarks life of cellini, v. chandler's life of david, v. turnbull on universal law, v. ben johnson's plays, v. and , shakespear's works, v. , meilan's works, balthasar courtier, loves of othniel and acsah, v. medley treasury, v. universal catalogue, , monthly review, v. , , grand magazine shakespear's poems, rapin of gardens, rogers's poems, free thoughts on seduction, king lear, female favourites, callipædia, payne on repentance young's six months tour, v. whiston's theory, whichcote's aphorisms, voltaire on the english nation, sharp's pieces, v. dufresnoy's chronological tables, v. mair's book-keeping, female favorites, state of the british empire, history of the pyrites, tull's husbandry, hill's theophrastus, blundeville's exercises les saisons, a poem greek testament, urie, succession of colonels, exercise of foot, a pocket dictionary whichcote's aphorisms, v. history of gustavus, history of the indian nations, overley's gauger's instructor, martyn catalogus, roofe's book-keeping, fencing familiarized, hill on fruit trees, parliamentary register , portal's midwifery, gent's history of the cathedral of york observations on asia, africa and america, v. city remembrancer, v. hill's theophrastus, guthrie's cicero's morals, fitzosborne's letters, hawksby's experiments, falk on mercury * langveti epistolæ, newtonianissimo onaro dialoghi, ovidii epistolarum, virgil, florus, historiarum fabellum, chrysostomi de sacerdotio, dionysii geographia washington's abridgement, trials per pais, græcæ grammaticæ, and others dictionaire universel de bomare, t. brydon's tour, v. smollett's travels, v. newton's milton's paradise lost and regain'd, v. cotton's works, pious poems american pocket atlas, american tracts, american charters, justice and reason, remembrancer, v. royal magazine, v. universal magazine, v. barclay's apology, works of thomas chalkley, quaker's testimonies, life of john fothergill, life of thomas ellwood, works of samuel bownas lucas on happiness, v. burlamaque on law, v. female spectator, v. hill's arithmetic, prideaux's life of mahomet, miller's gardeners calendar, report of silver coins, american negociator, smith's history of new york, law's collection of letters, ellwood's davidis, senex's survey of the roads eduard's eccl. hist. v. martin's philosophical grammar microscope made easy v. boccace's decameron, cook's voyage, coate's heraldry prideaux's commentaries of the old and new testament, v. edward davidis, anguis flagellatus, duty of an apprentice macpherson's fingal, v. hoole's tasso, v. chaucer's tales by ogle, v. seneca's morals, quaker's testimonies, ferguson on civil society, west on the resurrection sherlock on a future state, clarke on the attributes, sherlock on judgment, sherlock on death, hale's contemplations salmon's grammar, bailey's dictionary, gordon's geog. grammar, dyche's dictionary, clarke's introduction, egede's description of greenland shakespear's works, v. dryden's plutarch, v. norden's travels guthrie's cicero's letters, v. cicero's offices, melmoth's pliny, v. locke on understanding, v. nature display'd, v. preceptor, v. history of the world, , , , lyttleton's henry d, v. , , shakespeare, vol. , , , , cowley's works, v. , , burgh's dignity of human nature, v. , history of new england, v. . addison's works, , , , humphry clinker, v. , joseph andrews, v. . bracken's farrier, v. , barrow's voyages, v. , , reflexions on ridicule, v. , tour thro' great britain, v. , , , tom jones, , , , plutarch's lives, to , and others dodsley's poems, v. young's works, v. world, v. spectator, v, guardian, v. play-house dictionary, v. pope's homer's iliad, v. ---- works, v. to , bysshe's art of poetry, v. mariana historia de espana, t. castalio biblia sacra, t. de literis inventis, socraticas gr. historiarum delectus, ovidii metam. l'esprit de loix, t. memoires de bonneval, tom. ovidius, v. horatius, and more plutarch's lives, v. sm. edition whiston's works of josephus, v. rider's history of england, v. cuts, &c. baddam's memoirs of the royal society, v. cuts rapin's history of england, by tindal, v. with maps, &c. london magazine, v. , &c. quarto. bible, oxford, , wright's travels, v. anderson's history of mary queen of scots, v. collection of acts relating to the quakers, pennington's works, v. oldenburg's tables of exchange, , glover's leonidas, , paraphrase of the notes to st. paul, hill's vegetable system, v. horti malibarici, distiller of london * priestley's history and state of electricity, boards folio. heylyn's cosmography, , a concordance, usher's body of divinity stanley's history of philosophy, , prideaux's connection of the old and new testament, v. , fox's journal, d edit. cave's history of the apostles, , penn's works, v. , cotton's concordance fox's book of martyrs, , ---- journal, , elwood's sacred history, , ripa's iconologia, bible, bl. let. , sewel's history of the quakers, , epistles from the yearly meeting of the quakers le brun's voyage to the levant, snelling's view of the gold coin, , cowley's works postlethwayte's dictionary, v. d edit. chambers's dictionary, th edit. v. rapin's history of england, v. d edit. embassys to the emperor of japan, , acherley's britannic constitution cradock's harmony of the four evangelists, limbrochii historia inquisitiones, turtelliani opera inventory of the south sea directors estates, v. leybourne's mathematics burton's history of yorkshire, dryden's plays, v. churchill's collection of voyages, v. to , baker's chronicle, th edit. prideaux's connection of the old and new testament, v. religious ceremonies, large paper, v. entick's naval history, cuts metalick's history of king william, queen mary, queen anne, and george i. le nouveau theatre du monde, t. histoire du concile de trente, par courayer, t. dictionaire historique & critique, par bayle, t. rott. le grand dictionaire historique, par moreri, t. amst. echard's history of england, v. st. sammes's bittannia purcel's orpheus britannicus , and more ld. clarendon's tracts scott's history of scotland garth's ovid's metamorphoses, cuts makenzie's lives and characters of the writers of the scots nation, v. newman's concordance to the bible, , and more prideaux's connection of the old and new testament, v. keith's history of the church and state of scotland, , spotswood's history of the church of scotland (with his portrait, by hollar) dugdale's view of the troubles in england, and more buchanani opera omnia, v. huetii demonstratio evangelica, , and more dion cassius, gr. & lat. xylandri, ap. h. step. herodotus gr. et lat. sylburgii & jungermanni franc. livii. hist. rom. cum figs. franc. thucydidis gr. ap h. step. franc. , aristophanes gr. & lat. biseti. janssonii novus atlas terrarum, t. th architectura di scamozzi venet. d'architecture de vitruve, en maroquin, par. koeheorn's method of fortification, by savary, , and more browne's academy of drawing, painting, &c. with copper plates palladio's architecture, by leoni bp. smalridge's sermons, , ---- taylor's course of sermons cudworth's intellectual system of the universe, , tillotson's works, v. st. hammond on the new testament, and more laud's life and trial, v. , book of homilies, and more ross's silius italicus scarburgh's elements of euclid giannone's history of naples, v. d. boards, , rymer's foedera, v. th plempii fundamenta medicinæ, and more fousch l'histoire des plantes colorees, par. varandæi opera omnia, , and more gorræi opera medica, paris , and more boneti sepulchretum, five anatomia practica, v. sennerti opera, v. and , and more ditto, and more foresti opera omnia, and more avicennæ de medicinis cordialibus & cantica, and more le origini della langua italiana dal menagio, , howell's french and english dictionary histoire des troubles de la grande bretagne , and more le meme, and more barlæi panegyrus de laudibus card. richelii, cum fig. amst. traite de la peinture de l. de vinci, par. , in physionomica aristotelis comment. a baldo plinii hist. naturalis, , and more ortelii theatrum orbis terrarum, and more rosa anglica stokeley on the spleen, sewed, and more sallustii opera, , and more voyage d'Ægypt & de nubie, par norden, t. st, tallent's chronological tables bion's construction of mathematical instruments, by stone life of the duke of espernon, i. p. spenser's faerie queen a volume of dried plants atlas par sanson, colour'd a volume consisting of plates of the florentine gallery, and some of great estimation finis. appendix key to the story of the saint _alban_'s-ghost. mother haggy, mother _jen--gs_. haggite, _d----s of_ m---- avaro, _duke of_ m---- baconface, _earl of_ g----. dammy-blood, _lord_ w----. clumzy, _earl of_ s----. splitcause, _lord_ c----. mouse, _lord_ h----. jointed-babies, _the figures intended for the procession on queen_ elizabeth'_s_ birth-day. dry-bones, _b---- of_ s---- _jacobo_, jacob ton--n, senior, _door-holder to the_ kit-cat-club. _finis._ key to the story of the saint _alban_'s-ghost. mother haggy, mother _jen--gs_. haggite, _d----s of_ m----h. avaro, _duke of_ m----h. baconface, _earl of_ g----n. dammy­blood, _lord_ w----n. clumzy, _earl of_ s----d. splitcause, _lord_ c----r. mouse, _lord_ h----x. jointed-babies, _the figures intended for the procession on queen_ elizabeth'_s_ birth-day. dry-bones, _b----p of_ s----y. _jacobo_, jacob ton--n senior, _door-holder to the_ kit-cat-club. _finis._ william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles [illustration] the augustan reprint society publications in print the augustan reprint society publications in print [illustration] - . henry nevil payne, _the fatal jealousie_ ( ). . nicholas rowe, _some account of the life of mr. william shakespear_ ( ). . anonymous, "of genius," in _the occasional paper_, vol. iii, no. ( ), and aaron hill, preface to _the creation_ ( ). - . susanna centlivre, _the busie body_ ( ). . lewis theobald, _preface to the works of shakespeare_ ( ). . samuel johnson, _the vanity of human wishes_ ( ), and two _rambler_ papers ( ). . john dryden, _his majesties declaration defended_ ( ). - . charles macklin, _the man of the world_ ( ). . thomas gray, _an elegy wrote in a country churchyard_ ( ), and _the eton college manuscript_. - . bernard mandeville, _a letter to dion_ ( ). - . selected hymns taken out of mr. herbert's _temple ..._ ( ). - . sir william temple, _an essay upon the original and nature of government_ ( ). . john tutchin, _selected poems_ ( - ). . anonymous, _political justice_ ( ). . robert dodsley, _an essay on fable_ ( ). . t. r., _an essay concerning critical and curious learning_ ( ). . _two poems against pope_: leonard welsted, _one epistle to mr. a. pope_ ( ), and anonymous, _the blatant beast_ ( ). - . daniel defoe and others, _accounts of the apparition of mrs. veal_. . charles macklin, _the covent garden theatre_ ( ). . sir roger l'estrange, _citt and bumpkin_ ( ). . henry more, _enthusiasmus triumphatus_ ( ). . thomas traherne, _meditations on the six days of the creation_ ( ). . bernard mandeville, _aesop dress'd or a collection of fables_ ( ). - . edmond malone, _cursory observations on the poems attributed to mr. thomas rowley_ ( ). . anonymous, _the female wits_ ( ). . anonymous, _the scribleriad_ ( ). lord hervey, _the difference between verbal and practical virtue_ ( ). - . lawrence echard, prefaces to _terence's comedies_ ( ) and _plautus's comedies_ ( ). . henry more, _democritus platonissans_ ( ). . walter harte, _an essay on satire, particularly on the dunciad_ ( ). - . john courtenay, _a poetical review of the literary and moral character of the late samuel johnson_ ( ). . john downes, _roscius anglicanus_ ( ). . sir john hill, _hypochondriasis, a practical treatise_ ( ). . thomas sheridan, _discourse ... being introductory to his course of lectures on elocution and the english language_ ( ). arthur murphy, _the englishman from paris_ ( ). - . [catherine trotter], _olinda's adventures_ ( ). . john ogilvie, _an essay on the lyric poetry of the ancients_ ( ). . _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ ( ) and _pudding burnt to pot or a compleat key to the dissertation on dumpling_ ( ). . selections from sir roger l'estrange's _observator_ ( - ). . anthony collins, _a discourse concerning ridicule and irony in writing_ ( ). . _a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of captain lemuel gulliver_ ( ). . _the art of architecture, a poem. in imitation of horace's art of poetry_ ( ). - - . thomas shelton, _a tutor to tachygraphy, or short-writing_ ( ) and _tachygraphy_ ( ). - . _deformities of dr. samuel johnson_ ( ). . _poeta de tristibus: or, the poet's complaint_ ( ). . gerard langbaine, _momus triumphans: or, the plagiaries of the english stage_ ( ). publications of the first fifteen years of the society (numbers - ) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $ . per unit, from the kraus reprint company, east th street, new york, n.y. . publications in print are available at the regular membership rate of $ . for individuals and $ . for institutions per year. prices of single issues may be obtained upon request. subsequent publications may be checked in the annual prospectus. [illustration] the augustan reprint society william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles cimarron street (at west adams), los angeles, california [illustration] _make check or money order payable to_ the regents of the university of california transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. some changes of spelling and punctuation have been made. they are listed at the end of the text. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. oe ligatures have been expanded. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) the academy keeper. [price one shilling] the academy keeper: or variety of useful directions concerning the management of an academy, the terms, diet, lodging, recreation, discipline, and instruction of young gentlemen. with the proper methods of addressing parents and guardians of all ranks and conditions. as also necessary rules for the proper choice and treatment of academy-wives, ushers, and other menial servants: with the reasons of making them public. _quando pauperiem, missis ambagibus, horres; accipe, quâ ratione, queas ditescere._ hor. london: printed for tho. peat, no. . fleet-street. m.dcc.lxx. transcriber's note: in the contents, chapter ix has been changed to read "ushers" only and chapter x, "other servants", which was not included in the original text, has been added. sect. in chapter ix is missing from the original text. introduction. after many unsuccessful experiments, made some years ago, to retrieve a declining fortune, i was lucky enough at last to marry the mistress of a boarding-school: her circumstances were not, indeed, at the time of our marriage, very considerable. but as i was neither unacquainted with the world, nor the more useful sciences, by a peculiar attention to the tempers of the boys, and the dispositions of their parents, by a flexibility of face, for which i was always remarkable, the assistance of a northern degree, and a tolerable share of assiduity; i soon accumulated a large fortune with credit. my eldest daughter i afterwards married to a favourite usher, resigned to him the school, and for his service drew up most of the following rules. after his decease i favoured many others with a copy, who adhered to them with equally great advantage, and added a few to their number: i therefore should not acquit myself properly as a citizen of the world, if i did not give every one an opportunity of seeing them who may have occasion to use them. many alterations in the mode of education render them indeed, at this time, peculiarly necessary. mothers, not school-masters, have with great propriety of late, the sole direction of their children's studies; as also what punishments shall be inflicted on them; what diversions must be allowed them; what degree of insolence they may express to their ushers; and what liberties they may take with their school-fellows. these are circumstances formerly unknown, and many, by a too great inattention to them, and an adherence to the ancient plan, have lately been ruined. there is another inducement to the publication of these rules, which i must not suppress. the cause of learning declines with the reputation of its friends. and if we enquire, why the character of an academy-keeper is treated with such general contempt, we shall not find the true causes to be either superciliousness, pedantry, ignorance, or venality, as the world maliciously insinuates, but the modesty of these people, and their disinterested probity; by the former of which they have unhappily prevented the world from being acquainted with their merit, and by the latter prevented themselves from emerging out of a state of poverty and raggedness, which in these golden days cannot be expected to find much courtesy in the world. in retrieving therefore their fortunes, we may not only re-establish their characters, but administer relief to learning and science, which have been wounded through their sides. nor were these my only motives for publishing these papers. another, and very considerable one, was the good of the public. the parents of these times seem duly sensible of the advantages of a good education, and are rather desirous of having their children instructed in the different branches of polite literature, and genteel deportment, than acquainted with the crabbed writers of antiquity, or the useless distinctions and discoveries of modern philosophical subtlety. but, for want of proper information, they know not where those several accomplishments are regularly taught. these directions, therefore, may be of the greatest service; since by properly enquiring how many of them shall be hereafter practised at the respective academies in and near london; parents may generally know in what school their children are likeliest to receive the desired improvements. _note._ as it is not imagined that the following directions are all that may be necessary, whoever amongst my readers is kind enough to communicate to my bookseller others equally pertinent, may be assured of finding them properly noticed in the next edition. a friend to youth. contents. page chap. i. academy terms, &c. chap. ii. diet chap. iii. lodging chap. iv. recreation chap. v. discipline chap. vi. instruction chap. vii. address chap. viii. wives chap. ix. ushers chap. x. other servants errors. page . l. - . expences is, _for_ expences are. ----- l. . charge, _for_ charges. page . l. . is, _for_ are. ----- l. . boulli, _for_ boulliè. page . l. . month, _for_ year. page . l. . _dele_ (see article usher.) the reader is also desired to excuse a few other typographical errors; as the author could not conveniently attend the press. directions to academy keepers. chap. i. terms. sect. . you are desirous of engaging in the management of an academy. are you in low circumstances? are you a broken attorney, or excise-man? a disbanded frenchman, or superannuated clerk? offer your service for a trifling consideration; declaim on the roguery of requiring large sums, and make yourself amends in the inferior articles; quills, paper, ink, books, candles, fire, extraordinary expences, taylors and shoe-maker's bills, are excellent items in academy-accounts. you may charge them as amply as you please, without injury to your reputation. the expence in books, paper, &c. is chearfully paid, as proofs of a rapid progress. the charge of candles, fire, and extraordinary expences, as proofs of your indulgence; and no-body will suspect you to be partner in your taylor's and shoe-maker's bills. this is an approved rule, and practised with success by many of my acquaintance. sect. . but we will suppose you of higher character, and better prospect. we will suppose you an emigrant from some northern university, or a tuftless child of one of our own, and to have been a considerable time assistant in some southern school. twenty-five pounds is the least you can ask. nor are you to neglect to avail yourself of the preceding items; but deem it a general rule that your extraordinary advantages are to bear a direct proportion to your stated terms. sect. . if you have promised to confine your attention to a trifling number; by advertising that one or two are still wanting, or by decreasing your terms, attempt immediately to retract this promise. apply to your first benefactors; hope they will permit you to accommodate a few pretty little masters, sons of mr. such-a-one, who may be of the greatest service to you. they will not deny you; they will consider it as a proof of your rising reputation. you are indebted for this judicious rule to the late eminent mr. jerkham, who died broken-hearted, as is supposed, in consequence of the ridiculous appearance he made in one of our late monthly reviews. i mention this melancholy circumstance, that you may avoid his fate, and let your learning be known only to your boys; it will do you most service, be a proof of your modesty and attention to your school. sect. . when advertising for boys does not answer, advertisements for servants may probably succeed. the following is an approved copy. wanted at an academy near london three domestics; a compleat penman, accomptant, and mathematician, with an undeniable character: a steady careful person capable of teaching the english language grammatically, and willing to attend the children to bed: a cleanly sober wench to look after the children's linen, and do other occasional work: enquire of mr. twitch, broom-maker, in kent-street. by properly publishing advertisements like this, you will seldom fail of attracting the attention of the publick. but you may want none of these servants. you have an easy redress. ask the mathematician if he understands english, the abecedarian if he understands mathematics; upon these conditions promise them each ten pounds a year, (board, lodging, and washing) with eighteen-penny perquisites, and you are acquitted with credit; as to the wench, if she comes bare-foot, almost before the news-paper appears, rebuffs of this kind are so common, that you may say, without suspicion, you are engaged. sect. . if you are at any time desirous of enlarging your terms, expostulate plentifully on your intended improvements, and the large stipends your assistants require. your expences are extremely great, and the business above measure fatiguing; you have been long accustomed to children, and are fond of seeing them about you; and indeed otherwise the business would be insupportable. chap. ii. diet. among the first articles enquired after, both by parents and children, are those of the table. you cannot therefore be too early instructed in the desirable art of giving all reasonable satisfaction in this matter, at the least possible expence. sect. . remember then always, to see the fruit-basket amongst your boys before dinner. fruit is least prejudicial to an empty stomach; and if the children will indulge themselves with biscuit and gingerbread, who can help it. sect. . if your number of boys or their allowances deserve not a fruit-woman's attendance, your wife may properly enough engage in the office; it will prevent the boys from being cheated, and be a proof of her humility. the use of some neighbouring tavern may also be permitted with caution; it is an indulgence which will not fail to conciliate the affection of your leading boys. sect. . if there be no considerable parish work-house near you, it will be your interest to secure the stale loaves and neck-beef; the former is excellent in boiled milk or plumb-pudding, the latter in boulli for a saturday's dinner. the butchers and bakers you must remember have been time immemorial the best academy-ticks. sect. . the worse your fresh joints are dressed the better for you; the boys will eat the less, and it is always the cook's fault. sect. . whenever the boys find fault with the quality of your meat, appear at the head of your table, declare the extraordinary price you have given for it, and call your servants to witness that you sent for the best in the market. whoever replies, turn him away. sect. . i allow of no pies except a little before the holidays. delicacies and dainties are not to be expected in a school. sect. . the less salt, vinegar, pepper, &c. at dinner upon the table, so much the better; boys want no such provocatives. sect. . if you oblige your boys to eat all you send them, it will prevent the frequent return of their plates, and learn them an excellent custom; if not, what they leave will make excellent hashes, and seem more indulgent: in this point i find few who are agreed. sect. . if you are afraid they will eat more than you have provided, say grace. chap. iii. lodging. sect. . few instructions may suffice on this head. the lighter the boys are covered, and the harder the bed, the more natural and more healthy. sect. . the fewer chamber-pots the better; it will prevent the boys catching cold by rising in the night, and make them unwilling to drink much beer at supper. sect. . the more you put in the bed the better also; it will endear them to each other, and prevent their playing wicked tricks. sect. . lodge the great boys always farthest from you, it will prevent them disturbing you in the night. if they lie near the maids, so much the better; the maids may give you proper notice of their behaviour. sect. . your usher must always be stowed amongst the little boys, to prevent them from tumbling out of bed, and to help them in the night. sect. . if you allow the occasional use of a close-stool, let it be locked up in the garret that they may not abuse it. but i rather approve of their easing themselves in some corner of the room, that they may have the less pleasure in resorting thither in the day-time, and tumbling the bed-clothes about; and that their mothers, who always pay a visit to the bed-chambers, may be sensible what trouble you have with them. sect. . let the beds be always to be made, at the time of undressing. going to bed is a thing the boys dislike. this little respite, therefore, will please them mightily, and they will please the maids. chap. iv. recreation. sect. . the more holidays the better; it will give the boys an opportunity of feeding themselves at their own expence, and, by tasking them well, you will prevent the complaints of their parents. but the fewer holidays you promise before-hand the more prudent; it will prevent your usher from gadding abroad. sect. . never give a holiday on the day appointed for the entertainment of your friend; you will have the fewer interruptions, and a good excuse for being absent from your school. sect. . give a holiday always on public rejoicing-days; it will be considered as a proof of your loyalty; and let that day of the month on which your predecessor died, be always a feast for the boys; it is a tribute due to his memory. sect. . send your boys always on a holiday to see something or other in the neighbourhood; it will please both them and their parents, prevent their lurking about the pantry, and employ your ushers. sect. . boys commonly endeavour on these days to dispatch a letter or two privately. it will be your business to intercept them; they may be negligently written; there may be solecisms in them, or misrepresentations of facts, which might be displeasing to their friends. chap. v. discipline. sect. . remember always to exercise your first severity on poor people's children, and day-scholars. the first floggings are a perpetual disgrace, and it is but reasonable that they should bear it, by whom you are least profited. sect. . never punish the favourite of a family, if he have any younger brothers. sect. . boys who bear flogging best are commonly those who most deserve it. if four be accused, therefore, he who bears flogging best is always in the fault. sect. . if a father gives you full power over his son's posteriors, be not afraid to use it, but make him the scape-goat of the school as often as convenient. in this, and many other rules, the reasons are too obvious to be particularly noticed. sect. . no good to be done with a boy who has not a good opinion of his master. if a boy, therefore, accuses you, or your ushers, of ignorance or incapacity, take the first opportunity to expel him, especially if he be clever, and likely to make a progress, in which you may be ill-qualified to accompany him. sect. . insolence to ushers is to be punished with great caution. this will best maintain a proper distinction between you and them. sect. . if some untouchable youth happens to be detected in expressing his insolence, your wife, or the person he has offended, must beg him off. sect. . severe discipline is never to be inflicted immediately before the school breaks up, or very soon after the return. sect. . setting a maid upon her head, or pissing upon a mistress's new gown, is a flogging matter, no more; it might look like partiality. sect. . the best punishment for idleness is confinement and short commons. by an adherence to this rule you will not endanger the children's health; you will save your victuals, expose your scholars to sufficient disgrace, and give them an opportunity of learning their book. chap. vi. instruction. the instruction of youth you must commit in a great measure to your ushers; it is for this purpose you employ them, (see article usher.) but not to omit any thing material, which may concern you, take the following rules. sect. . if your principal boys ask too hard questions, make it a rule never to tell them; it would be excusing them from a necessary part of their duty. tell them it is easy enough, and send them back; the more pains they take to acquire their learning, the longer they will retain it. sect. . if you be ever obliged to have a hard lesson said to you, busy yourself in writing letters, or take an occasional nap; the boys will be glad of it, and it may prevent their accusing you of ignorance. sect. . never explain a passage in a difficult author; your scholars will hereafter have a greater pleasure in making the discovery themselves. sect. . if you ever condescend to hear your head boys tell them of it; it will make them get their lesson the better, and thereby give you less trouble. if they happen to meet with a _ne plus ultra_, abuse them, and send them back; if they grumble, flagellation is necessary. sect. . if you see a boy sent back by an usher, and the boy cries, call him, unseen by the usher, hear him, and let it pass; it will please the boy mightily. sect. . never let your boys get too forward; the longer they stay, the longer they pay. i have known a dozen boys of six years standing in an academy, who neither knew the declension or conjugations of their accidence, their multiplication or pence table, or any thing else besides, which they had been sent to learn, and for the learning of which, some of them to my certain knowledge had paid upwards of three hundred pounds. what then? the boys are rather slow, and require time; or a little idle, and will, it is hoped, grow more thoughtful as they grow up; or your ushers have neglected their duty; and you have therefore thought it necessary to change them. sect. . in all kinds of latin or greek exercises it is best to mark the faults, and let the boys mend them, it puts them on enquiring into the exact meaning of the words they use, and will make them more careful of committing blunders. sect. . if your highest attainments be only some small smattering in the english language, and the command of the pen, it were to be wished you could impress upon the boys a higher opinion of you than you deserve: and, for this purpose, i know nothing better than to inform yourself of the merit of the different authors of the learned languages. declaim on this subject to your boys, and order all their exercises to be publickly submitted to your inspection regularly every evening. this was an infallible rule with our friend gerundivy leech, and he acquired an easy fortune, has taken out his dedimus for the county of wilts, and lives in great repute. sect. . if you are a dissenter, or a roman catholic, you will not fail to make the young gentlemen committed to your care, sensible of the truth of your particular tenets; it will prevent their being bigots. chap. vii. address and behaviour before parents. sect. . when a gentleman or lady pays you a visit, run out, the more slovenly the better; it will shew your attention to business, and a due sense of the honour they do you. it would be proper also that your wife hold the door open; your ushers be all ready to bow as they pass; and that your best looking boys be called into the parlour. sect. . if a parent unfortunately call to see a boy who has been just whipped, call the boy to you, and threaten, if he promises not to behave better, to tell his parents; then carry him into the parlour, pat him upon the head; tell them how prettily he reads, that he is sometimes in fault--but you never tell, and he will do so no more. sect. . if a fond mother come too often to see a favourite child, never fail to tell her, how the child cries when she is gone. sect. . write always to ministers of state, and your brethren of the _birch_, in latin or greek, and the more blunders the better; the former will take them for elegances which they have forgot; and the latter which they never knew. sect. . never ask the parents or friends of the boys to dine with you. you live upon the fragments left by the boys, and have nothing worth asking them to; it will be a proof of your frugality, and they will the more readily pay your demands. chap. viii. academy wives. sect. . the properest person is a daughter or widow of the trade, such a one is commonly best instructed in the mystery of the business, best able to conciliate the affection of the boys, and make most of the children's linen. sect. . if such a one cannot be had, some old maiden must be sought for; she probably may have learnt the art of frugality, and if peevish and proud, the more desirable; you will be liked the better, it will preserve her also from being too familiar with the ushers, and she will be more respected by people of quality. sect. . never, i beseech you, attempt to marry a young woman of fortune or family. sect. . never allow your wife to contradict you before the boys or parents. sect. . the older your wife the better; she will look more motherly, and take more patiently such names as the children may wantonly give her. sect. . never let her be humble enough to inspect the children's heads; it will put her too much on a condition with the servants: and yet she should not be too proud to sell them ribbon, garters, studds, gingerbread, &c. it is a necessary part of her duty. sect. . when you are absent she must watch the ushers, and see that they watch the boys, and cheat them not out of their money or play-things: there is no trusting any of them. chap. ix. ushers. sect. . never employ a man of abilities if you can help it; he will scarce ever submit to the drudgery of your business, or pay that deference to your authority, which you may find necessary. sect. . the most desirable method of procuring ushers is by advertisements. none will apply who are not in desperate circumstances, and these are your men. if they know little it is no great matter; they will be the more diligent: and should the children detect their ignorance, or the parents complain, you may easily dismiss them; others such-like are to be had; and it will shew your friends how desirous you are to oblige them. sect. . when your ushers first come, you must endeavour to open their hearts by kind treatment. make yourself acquainted with their circumstances; you may then more judiciously reduce them to trammels. sect. . it is not your interest that the ushers be too intimate one with another, or with the boys; they may communicate their respective observations; poison the minds of your boys with injurious reflections on your character; or revolt, and make a confusion in your school. sect. . if a search is to be made after some hoards of forbidden dainties, the information must always be declared to come from an usher; it will preserve the odium from you: but the seizure must be made by you or your wife; it will afford you an agreeable repast. sect. . if a boy be sent home, whose parents are in low circumstances, the usher is the man to accompany him: he is the properest person to inform the parents what progress the boy makes: and to send your footman would be making no distinction betwixt the children of the poor and the rich. sect. . if a beggar appears at the door, your usher is the man to send him away, both because he may be mistaken for the master of the house, and because he ought, whilst the boys are at play, to be always at the door. sect. . if you see an usher writing a letter, or reading in school-time, send him a boy to teach; it will shew your regard to the welfare of your boys. sect. . never let your ushers have money before-hand; they may abscond: and you may as well seek a criminal in a coal-mine, as an usher in an academy. sect. . never introduce an usher into company; it will lessen your authority, and he will undermine your credit. sect. . let them always breakfast with the servants, or in some other equally humble manner; it will keep them at a due distance from you, and make them the more thankful for what little notice you may think proper to take of them. sect. . if any of them dislike you, and give you notice of their intentions to leave you, let them go the first possible opportunity; it will prevent their behaving awhile remarkably well, and rendering their memory grateful to the boys: it will also look as if some quarrel had been the occasion of their abrupt departure. sect. . never speak well of an usher when he is gone, nor recommend him to another place; if bad he does not deserve it; if good, it is your interest to keep him as long as you can, and never to suppose or allow him good for any thing after he is gone. sect. . if an usher have it in his power to make advantages of his leisure-hours, this must be carefully denied him; it will make him independent. chap. x. other servants. this is a point of no great consequence. sect. . they must be able to live upon scraps, and lie three in a bed. if you give them no wages it will oblige them to look sharp, and be upon good terms with the boys. sect. . it will always be your interest to have a quarrel between the maids and the ushers; it will prevent the latter from having more meat and drink than they are allowed. sect. . if your maids are taken from taverns or inns so much the better; they will bear with less reluctance the innocent freedoms of the boys.--many other rules might be added on this head, but it is needless; if you adhere strictly to those that i have already prescribed, you will not fail of success; and indeed i am rather afraid you will think them already too many and too plain, as well as object to this method of conveyance. to which i can only answer, that i could think of no other so generally useful; and that notwithstanding some few cautious parents, or guardians, may see more from it than might be wished; you, i am sensible, will remember the rules, when they shall have long forgotten for what good purposes they were given. lambeth, jan. . . the e n d. the english spy: an original work characteristic, satirical, and humorous. comprising scenes and sketches in every rank of society, being portraits drawn from the life by bernard blackmantle. the illustrations designed by robert cruikshank. by frolic, mirth, and fancy gay, old father time is borne away. london: published by sherwood, jones, and co. paternoster-row. . [illustration: cover] [illustration: frontispiece] [illustration: titlepage] bernard blackmantle{*} to the reviewers. "but now, what quixote of the age would care to wage a war with dirt, and fight with air?" messieurs the critics, after twelve months of agreeable toil, made easy by unprecedented success, the period has at length arrived when your high mightinesses will be able to indulge your voracious appetites by feeding and fattening on the work of death. already does my prophetic spirit picture to itself the black cloud of cormorants, swelling and puffing in the fulness of their editorial pride, at the huge eccentric volume which has thus thrust itself into extensive circulation without the usual _cringings_ and _cravings_ to the _pick fault tribe_. but i dare defy the venal crew that prates, from tailor place* to fustian herald thwaites.{**} * the woolly editor of the breeches makers', alias the "westminster review." ** the thing who writes the leaden (leading) articles for the morning herald. let me have good proof of your greediness to devour my labours, and i will dish up such a meal for you in my next volume, as shall go nigh to produce extermination by _surfeit_. one favour, alone, i crave--give me _abuse_ enough; let no squeamish pretences of respect for my bookseller, or disguised qualms of apprehension for your own sacred persons, deter the _natural_ inclination of your hearts. the slightest deviation from your _usual course_ to independent writers--or one step towards commendation from your _gang_, might induce the public to believe i had _abandoned my character_, and become one of your _honourable fraternity_-the very _suspicion of which_ would (to me) produce irretrievable ruin. _your masters_, the _trading brotherhood_, will (as usual) direct you in the course you should pursue; whether to approve or condemn, as their _'peculiar interests_ may dictate. most _sapient_ sirs of the secret _bandit'_ of the screen, inquisitors of literature, raise all your _arms_ and _heels_, your _daggers, masks_, and _hatchets_, to revenge the daring of an _open foe_, who thus boldly defies your _base_ and _selfish views_; for, basking at his ease in the sunshine of public patronage, he feels that his heart is rendered invulnerable to your_ poisoned shafts_. read, and you shall find i have not been parsimonious of the means to grant you _food_ and _pleasure_: errors there are, no doubt, and plenty of them, grammatical and typographical, all of which i might have corrected by an _errata_ at the end of my volume; but i disdain the wish to rob you of your office, and have therefore left them just where i made them, without a single note to mark them out; for if all the _thistles were rooted up_, what would become of the _asses?_ or of those "who pin their easy faith on critic's sleeve, and, knowing nothing, ev'ry thing believe?" fully satisfied that swarms of _literary blow flies_ will pounce upon the errors with delight, and, buzzing with the ecstasy of infernal joy, endeavour to hum their readers into a belief of the profundity of their critic erudition;--i shall nevertheless, with churchill, laughingly exclaim--"perish my muse" "if e'er her labours weaken to refine the generous roughness of a nervous line." bernard blackmantle. contents. page introduction preface, in imitation of the first satire of persius reflections, addressed to those who can think. reflections of an author--weighty reasons for writing-- magister artis ingeniique largitor venter--choice of subject considered--advice of index, the bookseller--of the nature of prefaces--how to commence a new work a few thoughts on myself a shandean scene, between lady mary old-- style and horatio heartly school--boy reminiscences. on early friend-- ship character of bernard blackmantle. by horatio heartly eton sketches of character the five principal orders of eton--doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk eton dames; an ode, neither amatory, ill-- natured, nor pathetic election saturday. a peep at the long chambers--the banquet--reflections on parting--arrival of the provost of king's college, cam-- bridge, and the pozers--the captain's oration--busy monday --the oppidan's farewell--examination and election of the collegers who stand for king's--the aquatic gala and fire-- works--oxonian visitors--night--rambles in eton--transfor- mations of signs and names--the feast at the christopher, with a view of the oppidan's museum, and eton court of claims an eton election scene herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate. a sketch from the life, as he appeared in the montem procession of may, . by bernard blackmantle and robert transit life in eton; a college chaunt in praise of private tutors recollections of an old etonian eton montem farewell to eton my vale the freshman. reflections on leaving eton university--a whip--sketches on the road--the joneses of jesus--picturesque appearance of oxford from the distance--the arrival--welcome of an old etonian--visit to dr. dingyman--a university don-- presentation to the big wig--ceremony of matriculation christ church college. architectural reminiscences--descriptive remarks--simi- litude between the characters of cardinal wolsey and napoleon the dinner party. bernard blackmantle's visit to tom echo--oxford phrase- ology--smuggled dinners--a college party described-- topography of a man's room--portrait of a bachelor of arts --hints to freshmen--customs of the university college servants. descriptive sketch of a college scout--biography of mark supple--singular invitation to a spread taking possession of your rooms. topography of a vacant college larium--anecdotes and propensities of predecessors--a long shot--scout's list of necessaries--condolence of university friends the excursion to bagley wood western entrance into the metropolis. a descriptive sketch. general views of the author relative to subject and style --time and place--perspective glimpse of the great city-- the approach--cockney salutations--the toll house-- western entrance to cockney land--hyde park--sunday noon-sketches of character, costume, and scenery--the ride and drive--kensington gardens--belles and beaux- stars and fallen stars--singularities of -tales of ton- on dits and anecdotes--sunday evening--high life and low life, the contrast--cockney goths--notes, biographical, amorous, and exquisite the opera. the man of fashion--fop's alley--modern roué and frequenters--characteristic sketches in high life--blue stocking illuminati--motives and manners--meeting with the honourable lillyman lionise--dinner at long's--visit to the opera--joined by bob transit--a peep into the green room--secrets behind the curtain--noble amateurs and foreign curiosities--notes and anecdotes by horatio heartly the royal saloon. visit of heartly, lionise, and transit--description of the place--sketches of character--the gambling parsons--horse chaunting, a true anecdote--bang and her friends--moll raffle and the marquis w.--he play man--the touter-- the half-pay officer--charles rattle, esq.--life of a modern roue--b------ the tailor--the subject--jarvey and brooks the dissector--"kill him when you want him" the spread, or wine party at brazen-nose. a college wine party described--singular whim of horace eglantine--meeting of the oxford crackademonians --sketches of eccentric characters, drawn from the life-- the doctor's daughter--an old song--a round of sculls-- epitaphs on the living and the dead--tom tick, a college tale--the voyagers--notes and anecdotes the oxford rake's progress town and gown, an oxford row. battle of the togati and the town--raff--a night--scene in the high-street, oxford--description of the combatants-- attack of the gownsmen upon the mitre--evolutions of the assailants--manoeuvres of the proctors and bull--dogs-- perilous condition of blackmantle and his associates, eglan- tine, echo, and transit--snug retreat of lionise--the high-- street after the battle--origin of the argotiers, and inven- tion of cant--phrases--history of the intestine wars and civil broils of oxford, from the time of alfred--origin of the late strife--ancient ballad--retreat of the togati-- reflections of a freshman--black matins, or the effect of late drinking upon early risers--visit to golgotha, or the place of sculls--lecture from the big--wigs--tom echo receives sentence of rustication towne and gowne the stage coach, or the trip to brighton. improvements in travelling--contrast of ancient and modern conveyances and coachmen--project for a new land steam carriage--the inn--yard at the golden cross, charing cross--mistakes of passengers--variety of characters--ad- vantages of the box--seat--obstructions on the road--a pull--up at the elephant and castle--move on to kennington common--new churches--civic villas at brixton--modern taste in architecture described--arrival at croydon; why not now the king's road?--the joliffe hounds--a hunting leader--anecdotes of the horse, by coachee--the new tunnel at reigate--the baron's chamber--the golden ball --the silver ball--and the golden calf--entrance into brighton the proposition. family secrets--female tactics--how to carry the point sketches at brighton. the pavilion party--interior described--royal and noble anecdotes--the king and mathews characters on the beach and steyne, brighton. on bathing and bathers--advantages of shampooing-- french decency--brighton politeness--sketches of character --the banker's widow--miss j----s--mrs. f---- --peter paragraph, he london correspondent--j--k s----h--the french consul--paphian divinities--c---- l----, esq. squeeze into the libraries--the new plunging bath-- chain pier--cockney comicalities--royal gardens--the club house metropolitan sketches. heartly, echo, and transit start for a spree--scenes by daylight, starlight, and gaslight--black monday at tatter-- sail's--the first meeting after the great st. leger--heroes of the turf paying and receiving--dinner at fishmongers' hall --committee of greeks--the affair of the cogged dice--a regular break--down--rules for the new club--the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy: striking portraits-- counting the stars--covent garden, what it was and what it is--the finish--anecdotes of characters--the hall of infamy, alias the covent garden hell visit to westminster hall. worthies thereof--legal sketches of the long robe--an awkward recognition--visit to banco regis--surrey col-- legians giving a lift to a limb of the law--out of rule and in rule--"thus far shalt thou go, and no further"--park rangers personified--visit to the life academy, somerset house--r. a--ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty--peep into the green rooms of the two theatres royal, drury lane and covent garden--bernard blackmantle reading his new play and farce--the city ball at the mansion house--the squeeze--civic characters--return to oxford-- invite to cambridge--jemmy gordon's frolic--term ends illustrations in the english spy. (by r. cruikshank unless otherwise attributed) we hope it will be generally admitted that few volumes have a more decided claim upon the public patronage, in respect to the novelty and variety of design, as well as the number of illustrations, than the one here presented to the reader. to speak of the choice humorous talent engaged in the work would only be to re-echo the applauding sentiments of the reviewers and admirers of rich graphic excellence. cruikshank and rowlandson are names not unworthy a space upon the same roll with hogarth, gilray, and bunbury: to exhibit scenes of character in real life, sketched upon the spot, was an undertaking of no mean importance; particularly, when it is remembered how great the difficulty must have been in collecting together accurate portraits. the work, it will be perceived, contains thirty-six copper- plates, etched, aquainted, and coloured, by and under the direction of the respective artists whose names appear to the different subjects, the principal part of which are the sole production of mr. robert cruikshank. the wood engravings, twenty-eight in number, besides the _vignettes_, (which are numerous), are equally full of merit; and will be found, upon examination, to be every way worthy the superior style of typographical excellence which characterises the volume, i. the frontispiece is intended to convey a general idea of the nature of the work; combining, in rich classic taste, a variety of subjects illustrative of the polished as well as the more humble scenes of real life. it represents a gothic temple, into which the artist, mr. robert cruikshank, has introduced a greater variety of characteristic subject than was ever before compressed into one design. in the centre compartment, at the top, we have a view of a terrestrial heaven, where music, love, and gay delight are all united to lend additional grace to fashion, and increase the splendour of the revels of terpsichore. in the niches, on each side, are the twin genii, poetry and painting; while the pedestals, right and left, present the protectors of their country, the old soldier and sailor, retired upon pensions, enjoying and regaling themselves on the bounty of their king. in the centre of the plate are three divisions representing the king, lords, and commons in the full exercise of their prerogatives. the figures on each side are portraits of bernard blackmantle (the english spy), and his friend, robert transit (the artist), standing on projecting pedestals, and playing with the world as a ball; not doubting but for this piece of vanity, the world, or the reviewers for them, will knock them about in return. on the front of the pedestals are the arms of the universities of oxford and cambridge; and in the centre armorial shields of the cities of london and westminster. the picture of a modern hell, in the centre, between the pedestals, has the very appropriate emblems of misery and death, in the niches on each side. crowning the whole, the genius of wit is seen astride of an eagle, demonstrative of strength, and wielding in his hand the lash of satire; an instrument which, in the present work, has been used more as a corrective of we than personal ill-nature. ii. the five principal orders of society. the king-corinthian; an elegant female-composite; the nobleman-doric; a member of the university-ionic; and the buck of fashion-tuscan. on the left hand may be seen a specimen of the exquisite, a new order in high estimation at the west end of the town; and on the right hand stands an old order of some solidity in the eastern parts of the metropolis. fashion, taste, and fame, are emblematical of the varied pursuits of life; while the army and navy of the country are the capitals that crown the superstructure, combining the ornamental with the useful. iii. first absence, or the sons of old etona answering morning muster-roll. a view of the school-yard, eton, at the time first absence is called, and just when the learned doctor keat is reviewing the upper school. (portraits.) iv. the oppidan's museum, or eton court of claims at the christopher. bernard blackmantle and robert transit sitting in judge- ment after election saturday, apportioning the remuneration money to the different claimants of the surrounding trophies. v. eton montem, and the mount, salt hill. an accurate sketch of this ancient customary procession made upon the spot. vi. the first bow to alma mater. bernard blackmantle's introduction to the big wig on his arrival at oxford. vii. flooring of mercury, or burning the oaks. a scene in tom quadrangle, oxford. "if wits aright their tale of terror tell, a little after great mercurius fell, *** gownsmen and townsmen throng'd the water's edge to gaze upon the dreadful sacrilege: *** ------there with drooping mien a silent band canons and bedmaker together stand:-- *** in equal horror all alike were seen, and shuddering scouts forgot to cap the dean." viii. college comforts. taking possession of your rooms. bernard blackmantle taking possession of his rooms in brazennose. scout's list of wants. standing the quiz of the togati visible propensities of your predecessor. the day of purification. ix. cap-ing a proctor, or oxford bull-dogs detecting brazennose smugglers. tom echo and horace eglantine lowering the plate-basket, after the college-gates are closed, to obtain a supply of fresh provision, are detected by the proctor and town marshal with their bull-dogs: in their alarm the basket and its contents are suddenly let fall upon the proctor, who is not able to under- stand the joke. x. the arrival, or western entrance into cockney land. portrait of high and low life dandies and dandysettes. xi. the green-room of the king's theatre, r noble amateurs viewing foreign curiosities. portraits of ten noble and distinguished patrons of the opera, with those of certain daughters of terpsichore. xii. the royal saloon in piccadilly, or an hour after the opera. heartly, lionise, and transit in search of character--the gambling parsons--legs and leg-ees-tats men and touters-- moll raffle and bang. xiii. oxford transports, or university exiles. albanians doing penance for past offences. a scene sketched from the life. horace eglantine is proposing "the study of the fathers," a favourite college toast, while tom echo is enforcing obedience to the president's proposition by finishing off a shirker. dick gradus having been declared absent, is taking a cool nap with the ice-pail in his arms and his head resting upon a greek lexicon: in the left hand corner may be seen a scout bearing off a dead man, (but not without hope of resurrection). bob transit and bernard blackmantle occupy the situation on each side of dick gradus; in the right-hand corner, horace's servant is drawing the last cork from the parting bottle, which is to welcome in the peep o' day. injustice to the present authorities it should be stated, that this is a scene of other limes.--vide a. xiv. show sunday, a view in the broad walk, christ church meadows, oxford. portraits of the togati and the town, including big wigs, nobs, and dons. among the more conspicuous are dr. kett, lord g. grenville, dr. grovesnor, alderman fletcher, and mr. swan. xv. town and gown. battle of the togati and town raff of oxford, a night scene. --bernard and his friends, horace and tom, distributing among the bargees of st. clement's. xvi. black matins, or the effects of late drinking upon early risers. a most imposing scene.-time seven o'clock in the morn- ing, the last bell has just tolled, and the university men have just turned out, while the hunting-frock, boots, and appear- ance of some of the party, proclaim that they have just turned in; all are eager to save fine and imposition, and not a few are religiously disturbed in their dreams. the admirable disorder of the party is highly illustrative of the effect produced by an evening wine party in college rooms. xvii. golgotha, or the place of sculls. tom echo receiving sentence of rustication. the big wigs in a bustle. lecture on disobedience and chorus of the synod. reports from the isle of bull dogs. running foul of the quicksands of rustication after having passed point failure and the long hope. nearly blown up at point nonplus, and obliged to lay by to refit. xviii. the evening party at the pavilion, brighton. (by o. m. briohty.) interior of the yellow room--portraits of his majesty, the duke of york, and princess augusta, marquis and marchioness of conyngham, earl of arran, lord francis conyngham, lady elizabeth and sir h. barnard, sir h. turner, sir w. knighton, sir e. nagle, and sir c. paget, sketched from the life. xix. the king at home, or mathews at carlton house. a scene founded on fact; including portraits of the king, mathews, and other celebrated persons. xx. a frolic in high life, or, a visit to billings- gate. a very extraordinary whim of two very distinguished females, whose portraits will be easily recognised. xxi. characters on the steyne, brighton. portraits of illustrious, noble, and wealthy visitors--the banker's widow--a bathing group--the chain pier, &c. xxii. tom echo laid up with the heddington fever, or an oxonian very near the wall. symptoms of having been engaged too deeply in the study of hie fathers. portrait of a well-known esculapian chief. xxiii. monday after the great st. leger, or heroes of the turf paying and receiving at tattersall's. this sketch was made upon the spot by my friend transit, on the monday following the result of the last great st. leger in , when the legs were, for the most part, in mourning from the loss of their favourite sherwood. some long faces will be easily recognized, and some few round ones, though barefoots, not easily be forgotten. the tinkers were many of them levanters. here may be seen the peer and the prig, the wise one and the green one, the pigeon and the rook amalgamated together. it is almost unnecessary to say, the greater part of the characters are portraits. xxiv. exterior of fishmongers'-hall, st. james's street, with a view of a regular breakdown. portraits of the master fishmonger, and many well- known greeks and pigeons. xxv. interior of a modern hell. (vide the affair of the cogged dice.) portraits of upwards of twenty well-known punters and frequenters--greeks and pigeons, noble and ignoble--the fishmonger in a fright, or the gudgeon turned shark--expose of saint hugh's bones--secrets worth knowing. (see work.) xxvi. the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy. interior of tom belcher's parlour. heartly and bob in search of character. striking likenesses of boxers, betters, &c.--with a pen and ink sketch of a noted--one--a fine school for practical experience. (for key to portraits- see work.) xxvii. peep ' days and family men at the finish. a night scene near covent garden--coffee and comical company. xxviii. family men at fault, or an unexpected visit from the bishop and his chaplains. a scene near covent garden, in which are introduced certain well-known characters and bow-street officers: in- cluding messrs. bishop, smith, ruthven, and townshend. xxix. the hall of infamy, alias oyster saloon, in brydges-street, or new covent garden hell. portraits of the old harridan and her flask man tom. sketches of sharps and flats, green ones and impures. done from the life. xxx. westminster hall. portraits of well-known worthies of the bar.--the maiden brief.--dick gradus examining a witness. xxxi. surrey collegians giving a lift to a limb of the law. interior of the king's bench prison--rough-drying a lawyer. xxxii. r-a-ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty at the life academy, somerset house. (by t. rowlandson.) bob transit's first appearance as a student. sketching from the life. outlines of character. how to grow rich but not great. secrets worth knowing, and portraits of all the well-known. xxxiii. bernard blackmantle reading his play in the green-room of covent garden theatre. portraits of messrs. c. kemble, fawcett, farley, jones, farren, grimaldi, macready, young, t. p. cooke, chapman, blanchard, abbott, cooper, yates, and the english spy; mrs. davenport, miss chester, miss m. tree, miss love, and mrs. davison. xxxiv. bernard blackmantle reading his farce in the green room of the theatre royal, drury lane. (by t. wageman.) portraits of elliston, dowton, harley, munden, knight, liston, oxberry, sherwin, gattie, wallack, terry, g. smith, and barnard, miss stephens, mrs. orger, madame vestris, mrs. harlowe, and the english spy. the likenesses are all studies from the life. xxxv. the city ball at the mansion house. portraits of the duke of sussex, the lord mayor (waith- man) and lady mayoress, the sheriffs laurie and whittaker, aldermen wood and curtis, sir richard phillips, messrs. hone, patten, with other well-known characters. xxxvi. jemmy gordon's frolic. a cambridge tale. vide peter house. illustrations on wood from original designs by cruikshank, rowlandson, gilray, and finlay, engraved by bonner and hughes. vignette on title page. old father time borne away on the shoulders of the genii, frolic, mirth, and fancy. . the author's chamber--index, the bookseller, and ber- nard blackmantle, projecting a new work . horatio heartly reading the "english spy" to lady mary oldstyle . a correct view of eton college from the playing-fields . the five principal orders of eton--doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk . the cloisters, eton college . herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate, a sketch from the life as he appeared in the montem procession of may, . accurate view of the interior of eton college hall . interior of eton school room . the oxonian reclining, an emblematical design . five characteristic orders of oxford . portrait of mr. b--the classical alma mater coachman of oxford . view of christchurch college . a bachelor of arts drinking of the pierian spring . view of bagley wood with the gipsy party. an extraordinary fine specimen of art, by bonner. . mother goose, a portrait . kensington gardons, sunday evening. portraits of well-known fashionable eccentricities . vignette.--he subject and the resurrection jarvey, or "kill him when you want him" . albanians starting for a spree, or tom tick on the road to jericho . waiting for bail . the don and the fair of st. clement's. an oxford scene . the university rake's progress . the newly invented steam coach . view of the pavilion, brighton, from the london road . a night scene, or, a rum start near b---- h----l . the widow's ultimatum. a cutting joke, with a most affecting catastrophe . college frolics, or catching urals at ch. ch. . roues rusticating in surrey, or, the first glimpse of banco regis . term, ends--adieu to fagging--the high-street, oxford --the togati in a bustle--the merry good bye the english spy. nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry, "the satirist has pass'd us by:" but, with good humour, view our page depict the manners of the age. introduction. "the proper study of mankind is man." a rhapsody. life's busy scene i sing! its countenance, and form, and varied hue, drawn within the compass of the eye. no tedious voyage, or weary pilgrimage o'er burning deserts, or tempestuous seas, my progress marks, to trace great nature's sources to the fount, and bare her secrets to the common view. in search of wonders, let the learn'd embark, from lordly elgin, to lamented park, to find out what i perhaps some river's course, or antique fragments of a marble horse; while i, more humble, local scenes portray, and paint the men and manners of the day. life's a theatre, man the chief actor, and the source from which the dramatist must cull his choicest beauties, painting up to nature the varied scenes which mark the changeful courses of her motley groups. here she opes her volume to the view of contemplative minds, and spreads her treasures forth, decked in all the variegated tints that flora, goddess of the flowery mead and silvery dell, with many coloured hue, besprinkles the luxuriant land. here, reader, will we travel forth, and in our journey make survey of all that's interesting and instructive. man's but the creature of a little hour, the phantom of a transitory life; prone to every ill, subject to every woe; and oft the more eccentric in his sphere, as rare abilities may gild his brow, setting form, law, and order at defiance. his glass a third decayed 'fore reason shines, and ere perfection crowns maturity, he sinks forgotten in his parent dust. such then is man, uncertain as the wind, by nature formed the creature of caprice, and as atropos wills, day by day, we number to our loss some mirth-enlivening soul, whose talents gave a lustre to the scene.-serious and solemn, thoughts be hence away! imagination wills that playful satire reign:--by sportive fancy led, we take the field. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ preface, in imitation of the first satire of persius. dialogue between the author and his friend. author. however dangerous, or however vain, i am resolved. friend. you'll not offend again? author. i will, by jove! friend. take my advice, reflect; who'll buy your sketches author. many, i expect. friend. i fear but few, unless, munchausen-like, you've something strange, that will the public strike: men with six heads, or monsters with twelve tails, who patter flash, for nothing else prevails in this dull age. author. then my success is certain; i think you'll say so when i draw the curtain, and, presto! place before your wond'ring eyes a race of beings that must 'cite surprise; the strangest compound truth and contradiction owe to dame nature, or the pen of action; where wit and folly, pride and modest worth, go hand in hand, or jostle at a birth; where prince, peer, peasant, politician meet, and beard each other in the public street; ~ ~~ where ancient forms, though still admired, are phantoms that have long expired; where science droops 'fore sovereign folly, and arts are sick with melancholy; where knaves gain wealth, and honest fellows, by hunger pinch'd, blow knav'ry's bellows; where wonder rises upon wonder-- friend. hold! or you may leave no wonders to be told. your book, to sell, must have a subtle plot--mark the great unknown, wily ***** ****: print in america, publish at milan; there's nothing like this scotch-athenian plan, to hoax the cockney lack-brains. author. it shall be: books, like madeira, much improve at sea; 'tis said it clears them from the mist and smell of modern athens, so says sage cadell, whose dismal tales of shipwreck, stress of weather, sets all divine _nonsensia_ mad together; and, when they get the dear-bought novel home, "they love it for the dangers it has overcome." friend. i like your plan: "art sure there's no offence?" author. none that's intended to wound common-sense. for your uncommon knaves who rule the town, your m.p.'s, m.d.'s, r.a.'s and silk gown, empirics in all arts, every degree, just satire whispers are fair game for me. friend. the critic host beware! author. wherefore, i pray? "the cat will mew, the dog will have his day." let them bark on! who heeds their currish note knows not the world--they howl, for food, by rote. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ reflections, addressed to those who can think. reflections of an author--weighty reasons for writing-- magister artis ingeniique largitor venter--choice of subject considered--advice of index, the book-seller--of the nature of prefaces--how to commence a new work. author (solus). i must write--my last sovereign has long since been transferred to the safe keeping of mine hostess, to whom i have the honor to be obliged. i just caught a glance of her inflexible countenance this morning in passing the parlour door; and methought i could perceive the demon aspect of suspicion again spreading his corrosive murky hue over her furrowed front. the enlivening appearance of my golden ambassador had for a few days procured me a faint smile of complacency; but the spell is past, and i shall again be doomed to the humiliation ~ ~~ of hearing mrs martha bridget's morning lectures on the necessity of punctuality. well, she must be quieted, (i.e.) promise crammed, (satisfied, under existing circumstances, is impossible): i know it will require no little skill to obtain fresh supplies from her stores, without the master-key which unlocks the flinty heart; but _nil desperandum_, he who can brave a formidable army of critics, in pursuit of the bubble fame, may at least hope to find wit enough to quiet the interested apprehensions of an old woman. and yet how mortifying is the very suspicion of inattention and disrespect. i have rung six times for my breakfast, and as many more for my boots, before either have made their appearance; the first has indeed just arrived, with a lame apology from mine hostess, that the gentleman on the first floor is a very impetuous fellow, requires prompt attention, gives a great deal of trouble--but--then he pays a great deal of money, and above all, is very punctual: here is my _quietus_ at once; the last sentence admits of no reply from a pennyless author. my breakfast table is but the spectre of former times;--no eggs on each side of my cup, or a plate of fresh lynn shrimps, with an inviting salt odour, that would create an appetite in the stomach of an invalid; a choice bit of dried salmon, or a fresh cut off the roll of some violet-scented epping butter;--all have disappeared; nay, even the usual allowance of cream has degenerated into skimmed milk, and that is supplied in such cautious quantities, that i can scarce eke it out to colour my three cups of inspiring bohea. (a knock at the door.) that single rap at the street door is very like the loud determined knock of a dun. the servant is ascending the stairs--it must be so--she advances upon the second flight;--good heavens, how stupid!--i particularly told her i should not be in town to any of these people for a month. the inattention of servants is unbearable; they can tell fibs ~ ~~ enough to suit their own purposes, but a little white one to serve a gentleman lodger, to put off an impertinent tradesman, or save him from the toils of a sheriffs officer, is sure to be marred in the relation, or altogether forgotten. i'll lock my chamber door, however, by way of precaution. (servant knocking.) "what do you want?" "mr. index, sir, the little gentleman in black." "show him up, betty, directly." the key is instantly turned; the door set wide open; and i am again seated in comfort at my table: the solicitude, fear, and anxiety, attendant upon the apprehensions of surprise, a bailiff, and a prison, all vanish in a moment. "my dear index, you are welcome; the last person i expected, although the first i could have wished to have seen: to what fortunate circumstance am i to attribute the honor of this friendly visit?" "business, sir; i am a man of business: your last publication has sold pretty well, considering how dreadfully it was cut up in the reviews; i have some intention of reprinting a short edition, if you are not too exorbitant in your demands; not that i think the whole number will be sold, but there is a chance of clearing the expenses. a portrait by wageman, the announcement of a second edition, with additions, may help it off; but then these additional costs will prevent my rewarding your merits to the extent i am sensible you deserve." "name your own terms, index, for after all you know it must come to that, and i am satisfied you will be as liberal as you can afford." put in this way, the most penurious of the speculating tribe in paper and print would have strained a point, to overcome their natural infirmity: with index it was otherwise; nature had formed him with a truly liberal heart: the practice of the trade, and the necessary caution attendant upon bookselling speculations, only operated as a check to the noble-minded generosity of the ~ ~~ man, without implanting in his bosom the avarice and extortion generally pursued by his brethren. the immediate subject of his visit arranged to our mutual satisfaction, i ventured to inquire what style of work was most likely to interest the taste of the town. 'the town itself--satire, sir, fashionable satire. if you mean to grow rich by writing in the present day, you must first learn to be satirical; use the lash, sir, as all the great men have done before you, and then, like canning in the cabinet, or gifford and jeffery as reviewers, or byron and southey as poets, you will be followed more from the fear of your pen than from the splendour of your talents, the consistency of your conduct, or the morality of your principles. sir, if you can but use the tomahawk skilfully, your fortune is certain. '_sic itur ad astra_.' read blackwood's noctea ambrosiance. take the town by surprise, folly by the ears; 'the glory, jest, and riddle of the world' is man; use your knowledge of this ancient volume rightly, and you may soon mount the car of fortune, and drive at random wherever your fancy dictates. bear in mind the greek proverb, '_mega biblion, mega kakon_.' in your remarks, select such persons who, from their elevated situations in society, ought to be above reproof, and whose vices are, therefore, more worthy of public condemnation: '------------ridiculum acri fortius ac melius magnas plerumque secat res.' by this means you will benefit the state, and improve the morals of society. the most wholesome truths may be told with pleasantry. satire, to be severe, needs not to be scurrilous. the approval of the judicious will always follow the ridicule which is directed against error, ignorance, and folly." how long little index might have continued in this strain i know not, if i had not ventured to suggest ~ ~~ that the course he pointed out was one of great difficulty, and considerable personal hazard; that to arrive at fortune by such means, an author must risk the sacrifice of many old connexions, and incur no inconsiderable dangers; that great caution would be necessary to escape the fangs of the forensic tribe, and that in voluntarily thrusting his nose into such a nest of hornets, it would be hardly possible to escape being severely stung in retaliation. "_pulchrum est accusari ah accusandis_," said my friend, the bookseller, "who has suffered more by the fashionable world than yourself? have you not dissipated a splendid patrimony in a series of the most liberal entertainments? has not your generous board been graced with the presence of royalty? and the banquet enriched by the attendant stars of nobility, from the duke to the right honorable knight commander. and have you not since felt the most cruel neglect from these your early associates, and much obliged friends, with no crime but poverty, with no reproach but the want of prudence? have you not experienced ingratitude and persecution in every shape that human baseness could find ingenuity to inflict? and can you hesitate to avail yourself of the noble revenge in your power, when it combines the advantages of being morally profitable both to yourself and society? '------------velat materna tempora myrto.' virg. 'when vice the shelter of a mask disdain'd, when folly triumph'd, and a nero reign'd, petronius rose satiric, yet polite, and show'd the glaring monster full in sight; to public mirth exposed the imperial beast, and made his wanton court the common jest.'" with this quotation, delivered with good emphasis, little index bade me good morning, and left me impressed with no mean opinion of his friendship, ~ ~~ and with an increased admiration of his knowledge of the world. but how (thought i) am i to profit by his advice? in what shape shall i commence my eccentric course? a good general at the head of a large army, on the eve of a general battle, with the enemy full in view, feels less embarrassment than a young author finds in marshalling his crude ideas, and placing the raw recruits of the brain in any thing like respectable order. for the title, that is quite a matter of business, and depends more upon the bookseller's opinion of what may be thought attractive than any affinity it may possess to the work itself. dedications are, thanks to the economy of fashion, out of date: great men have long since been laughed into good sense in that particular. a preface (if there be one) should partake something of the spirit of the work; for if it be not brief, lively, and humorous, it is ten to one but your reader falls asleep before he enters upon chapter the first, and when he wakes, fears to renew his application, lest he should be again caught napping. long introductions are like lengthy prayers before meals to hungry men, they are mumbled over with unintelligible rapidity, or altogether omitted, for the more solid gratifications of the stomach, or the enjoyments of the mind. in what fantastic shape and countenance then shall an author appear to obtain general approbation? or in what costume is he most likely to insure success? if he assumes a fierce and haughty front, his readers are perhaps offended with his temerity, and the critics enraged at his assurance. if he affects a modest sneaking posture, and humbly implores their high mightinesses to grant him one poor sprig of laurel, he is treated slightingly, and despised, as a pitiful fellow who wants that essential ingredient in the composition of a man of talent and good breeding, ycleped by the moderns confidence. if he speaks of ~ ~~ the excellence of his subject, he creates doubts both with his readers and reviewers, who will use their endeavours to convince him he has not a correct knowledge of his own abilities. but if, like a well bred man at court, he enters the drawing-room of literature in good taste, neither too mean nor too gaudy, too bold or too formal, makes his bow with the air and finish of a scholar and a gentleman, and passes on to his place, unheedful of remark (because unconscious of offence), he is sure to command respect, if he does not excite admiration. accept then, reader, this colloquial chapter, as the author's apology for a preface, an imaginary short conference, or letter of introduction, which brings you acquainted with the eccentric writer of this volume; and as in all well regulated society a person is expected to give some account of himself before he is placed upon terms of intimacy with the family, you shall in the next page receive a brief sketch of the characteristics of the author. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ a few thoughts on myself. the early biography of a man of genius is seldom, if ever, accurately given to the public eye, unless, indeed, he is one of those _rara avis_ who, with the advantages of great qualifications, inherits high ancestral distinctions. but if, as is generally the case, from obscurity of birth and humble life he rises into notice by the force and exertion of his talents, the associates of his brighter fortunes know but little of the difficulties which have obstructed his progress, or the toils and fatigues he has endured, to arrive at that enviable point from which the temple of fame, and the road to fortune, may be contemplated with some chance of enjoyment and success. unwilling to speak of himself, lest he should incur the charge of vanity or egotism, he modestly trusts to the partial pen of friendship, or the conjectural pen of the commentator, to do justice to events which no quill could relate so well as his own, and which, if impartially and sensibly written, must advance him in the estimation of society, and convince the world that with the mastery of the great secret in his power, he was not more capable of appreciating the characters of the age than familiar with the lights and shadows of his own. "honour and shame from no condition rise; act well your part, there all the honour lies." the reader will, no doubt, anticipate that the name of bernard blackmantle is an assumed quaint cognomen, and perhaps be not less suspicious of the author's right and title to the honorary distinction annexed: ~ ~~ let him beware how he indulges in such chimeras, before he has fully entered into the spirit of the volume before him, lest, on perusal, conviction should compel him to retract the ungracious thought. to be plain, he is not desirous of any higher honorary distinction than the good opinion of his readers. and now, sons and daughters of fashion! ye cameleon race of giddy elves, who flutter on the margin of the whirlpool, or float upon the surface of the silvery stream, and, hurried forwards by the impetus of the current, leave yourselves but little time for reflection, one glance will convince you that you are addressed by an old acquaintance, and, heretofore, constant attendant upon all the gay varieties of life; of this be assured, that, although retired from the fascinating scene, where gay delight her portal open throws to folly's throng, he is no surly misanthrope, or gloomy seceder, whose jaundiced mind, or clouded imagination, is a prey to disappointment, envy, or to care. in retracing the brighter moments of life, the festive scenes of past times, the never to be forgotten pleasures of his halcyon days, when youth, and health, and fortune, blest his lot, he has no tongue for scandal--no pen for malice--no revenge to gratify, but is only desirous of attempting a true portraiture of men and manners, in the higher and more polished scenes of life. if, in the journey through these hitherto unexplored regions of fancy, ought should cross his path that might give pain to worthy bosoms, he would sooner turn aside than be compelled to embody the uncandid thought. "unknowing and unknown, the hardy muse "boldly defies all mean and partial views; "with honest freedom plays the critic's part, "and praises, as she censures, from the heart." and now, having said nearly as much as i think prudent of myself, and considerably more than my ~ ~~ bookseller usually allows by way of prefatory matter, i shall conclude this chapter by informing the reader of some facts, with which i ought to have commenced it, namely--for my parents, it must suffice that my father was a man of talent, my mother accomplished and esteemed, and, what is more to their honour, they were affectionate and kind: peace to their manes! i was very early in life bereft of both; educated at one of the public schools, i was, in due time, sent to matriculate at oxford, where, reader, i propose to commence my eccentric tour. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] a shandean scene, between lady mary oldstyle and horatio heartly. "i know him well," said horatio, with a half-suppressed sigh, as he finished the introductory chapter to the first volume of the english spy, or colloquial sketches of men and manners. "he is no misanthrope," said my aunt, taking off her spectacles to wipe away the pearly drop which meek-eyed pity gave to the recollection of scenes long passed. horatio paused--the book dropped instinctively upon his knee, as his raised eye involuntarily caught the benign aspect of virtue and intelligence, softened by the crystal gems of feeling. "i wish i knew where he lived," said my aunt. "i'll find him out," said horatio;-"do," said my aunt, "and tell him an old friend of his father's, on whom fortune has deigned to smile in the winter of her days, would feign extend to him as much of worldly happiness as can be derived from the enjoyment of worldly treasure." ~ ~~ by that sort of magical attraction which imperceptibly links together the souls of kindred spirits, horatio's chair had made an angular movement, of at least six degrees, in a direction nearer to his venerable relation: no lover ever pressed with more fervency of affection the yielding hand of his soul's deity, than did the grateful nephew, at this moment, clasp within his eager grasp the aged palm of bounteous charity. "i wish he may accept your kind offer," said horatio. "and why should he not?" said my aunt, with a half inclination of extricating her hand, and a penetrating glance of doubt, directed full in the face of the speaker: "i know not," said horatio, (hesitating, as if fearful of giving offence), "but,"-"but what?" said my aunt;-"but i fear his natural love of independence, and eccentricity of mind, will admit of no constraint, which his high sense of honor will anticipate must be partially the case whenever he submits himself to accept the favors of even such generous hearts as yours." "he would feel no such thing," said my aunt. "he could not resist the impression," said horatio; "your liberality would, i know, be calculated to dispossess him of the painful sensation; but if the inherent pride of the man could be subdued, or calmed into acquiescence, by breathing the enchanting air of friendship, the weight of gratitude, the secret monitor of fine-wrought minds, would overpower his tongue, and leave him, in his own estimation, a pauper of the poorest class." "then i'll adopt another mode," said my aunt; "and though i hate the affectation of secret charities, because i think the donor of a generous action is well entitled to his reward, both here and hereafter,--i'll hand out some way, anonymously or otherwise, to indulge my humour of serving him." "you are an angel!" said horatio, with his eyes fixed on the ground--(the spirit of the angel of benevolence,--quoth reason, whispering in his ear, would have been ~ ~~ a better metaphor,--certainly inhabits the aged bosom of your father's sister). horatio's upraised eye rested on the wrinkled front of his antique relative, just as the corrective thought gleamed in visionary brightness o'er his brain; the poetic inspiration of the moment fled like the passing meteor, but the feeling which excited it remained engrafted on his memory for ever. "how shall we find him out, my dear horatio?" said my aunt, her whole countenance animated with delight at the last flattering ejaculation of her nephew-"where shall we seek him?--i'll order the carriage directly." the glow of pleasure and anticipatory gratification, which at this moment beamed in the countenance of the old lady, brought back the circling current of health to the cheeks of age, and, with the blush of honest feeling, dispelled the stains of time; the furrowed streaks of care vanished from her front, and left her whole frame proportionably invigorated. if the mere contemplation of a generous action can thus inspire the young, and give new life to age, what a load of misery and deformity might not the sons and daughters of nature divest themselves of, by following the inherent dictates of benevolence! reflection, whenever he deigned to penetrate the pericranium of my cousin horatio, took entire possession of the citadel, and left him not even the smallest loophole for the observation of any passing event. he was just fixed in one of these abstracted reveries of the mind, traversing over the halcyon scenes of his collegiate days, and re-associating himself with his early friend, the author of the eccentric volume then in his hand, when the above monition sprung from his heart, like the crystal stream that sparkles in the air, when first it bursts through the mineral bondage of the womb of nature. "you are right," said my aunt. horatio started with surprise, almost unconscious of her presence, or ~ ~~ what he had said to deserve her approbation. "true happiness," she continued, "is the offspring of generosity and virtue, and never inhabits a bosom where worldly interest and selfish principles are allowed to predominate. there are many who possess all the requisites for the enjoyment of true happiness, who, from the prejudices of education, or the mistaken pride of ancestry, have never experienced the celestial rapture: they have never been amalgamated with society, are strangers to poverty themselves, and cannot comprehend its operation upon others; born and moving in a sphere where the chilling blasts of indigence never penetrate, or the clouds of adversity appal, they have no conception of the more delightful gratification which springs from the source of all earthly happiness, the pleasure and ability of administering to the wants and comforts of our fellow creatures." "yours is the true philosophy of nature, aunt," said horatio, "where principle and practice may be seen, arm in arm, like the twin sisters, charity and virtue,--a pair of antique curiosities much sought after, but rarely found amid the assemblage of _virtu_ in the collections of your modern people of fashion." "i'll alter my will to-morrow morning," thought my aunt; "this boy deserves to be as rich in acres as he already is in benevolence: he shall have the leicestershire estate added to what i have already bequeathed him, by way of codicil." "you would be delighted with my friend bernard, aunt," said horatio, "that is, when he is in good spirits; but you must not judge of him by the common standard of estimation: if, on the first introduction, he should happen to be in one of those lively humours when his whole countenance is lighted up with the brilliancy of genius, you would be enraptured by the sallies of his wit, and the solidity of his reasoning; but if, on the contrary, he should unfortunately ~ ~~ be in one of those abstracted moods when all terrestrial objects are equally indifferent, you will, i fear, form no very favourable opinion of his merit. he is an eccentric in every respect, and must not be judged of by the acquaintance of an hour. we were boys together at eton, and the associations of youth ripened with maturity into the most sincere friendly attachment, which was materially assisted by the similarity of our dispositions and pursuits, during our residence at college. your kind notice of my poor friend, aunt, has revived the fondest recollections of my life--the joyous scenes of infancy, when the young heart, free from the trammels of the world, and buoyant as the bird of spring, wings along the flowery path of pleasure, plucking at will the sweets of nature, and decking his infant brow with wreaths of fresh gathered wild flowers." horatio paused, not for want of subject, but a train of recollections overpowered his memory, producing an unspeakable sensation, which for a moment choked his utterance. "there is a blank in this work, which you shall fill up," said my aunt; "you must perform the office of an impartial historian for your friend, and before we proceed farther with this volume, give me the history of your school-boy days." [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ school-boy reminiscences. on early friendship. in many a strain of grief and joy my youthful spirit sung to thee; but i am now no more a boy, and there's a gulf 'twixt thee and me. time on my brow has set his seal; i start to find myself a man, and know that i no more shall feel as only boyhood's spirit can. etonian. there is an imperceptible but powerfully connecting link in our early associations and school-boy friendships, which is very difficult to describe, but exceedingly grateful to reflect on; particularly when the retrospective affords a view of early attachments ripened into perfection with maturity, and cementing firmly with increasing years. youth is the period of frankness and of zeal, when the young heart, buoyant with hope and cheering prospects, fills with joy, and expands in all the brightness of fancy's variety. the ambition, lures, and conflicting interests of the world, have as yet made no inroad upon the mind; the bosom is a stranger to misery, the tongue to deceit, the eye glows with all the luxuriance of pleasure, and the whole countenance presents an animated picture of health and intelligence illumined with delight. the playfulness or incaution of youth may demand correction, or produce momentary pain; but the tears of ~ ~~ infancy fall like the summer dew upon the verdant slope, which the first gleam of the returning sun kisses away, and leaves the face of nature tinged with a blush of exquisite brilliancy, but with no trace of the sparkling moisture which lately veiled its beauty. this is the glittering period of life, when the gay perspective of the future seems clothed in every attractive hue, and the objects of this world assume a grace divine: then it is that happiness, borne on the wings of innocence and light-hearted mirth, attends our every step, and seems to wait obedient to our will. what a painful reverse may not the retrospective view afford! how unlike is the finished picture to the inspiring sketch. the one breathing the soft air of nature, and sparkling in brilliant tints of variegated hues, serene, clear, and transparent, like the magic pencilling of the heavenly claude, shedding ambrosial sweets around. the reverse indistinct, and overpowered with gloomy shadows, a mixture of the terrific and the marvellous, like the stormy and convulsive scenes of the mighty genius of salvator rosa, with here and there a flash of wildest eccentricity, that only serves to render more visible the murky deformity of the whole. horatio had just finished his introductory rhapsody, when the door opened, and my aunt's servant entered with tea and toast: the simmering of the water round the heated tube of the urn, tingling in the ears of heartly, broke the thread of his narration. there was a pause of nearly a minute, while john was busy in arranging the equipage. "you should have waited till i had rung, john," said my aunt. "please your ladyship," said john, "you directed me always to bring tea in at six precisely, without waiting for orders." my aunt looked puzzled: "you are right, john, i did; and (addressing horatio) the fault of the interruption must therefore rest with me." horatio bowed; the compliment was too flattering to be ~ ~~ misunderstood. "draw the curtains, john," said my aunt, "and make up the fire: we can help ourselves to what we want--you need not wait; and do not interrupt us again until you are rung for." "this is very mysterious," thought john, as he closed to the drawing-room door; and he related what he thought to my lady's maid, when he returned to the servants' hall. "you are, no conjurer, john," said mrs. margaret, with an oblique inclination of the head, half amorous and half conceited--"the old lady's will has been signed and sealed these three years; i was present when it was made--ay, and i signed it too, and what's more, i knows all its contents; there are some people in the world (viewing herself in an opposite looking-glass) who may be very differently circumstanced some day or other." john's heart had long felt a sort of fluttering inclination to unburthen itself, by linking destinies with the merry mrs. margaret; the prospect of a handsome legacy, or perhaps an annuity, gave an additional spur to john's affectionate feelings, and that night he resolved to put the question. all this mrs. margaret had anticipated, and as she was now on the verge of forty, she very prudently thought there was no time to lose. "they are a pair of oddities," continued the waiting-maid; "i have sometimes surprised them both crying, as if their hearts would break, over a new book: i suppose they have got something very interesting, as my lady calls it and mr. horatio is sermonizing as usual."--mrs margaret was not far wrong in her conjecture, for when my aunt and horatio were again alone, she rallied him on the serious complexion of his style. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ character of bernard blackmantle. by horatio heartly. you shall have it from his own pen, said horatio. in my portfolio, i have preserved certain scraps of bernard's that will best speak his character; prose and poetry, descriptive and colloquial, hudibrastic and pastoral, trifles in every costume of literary fancy, according with the peculiar humour of the author at the time of their inditing, from these you shall judge my eccentric friend better than by any commendation of mine. i shall merely preface these early offerings of his genius with a simple narrative of our school-boy intimacy. i had been about three months at eton, and had grown somewhat familiar with the characters of my associates, and the peculiarities of their phraseology and pursuits, when our dame's party was increased by the arrival of bernard blackmantle. it is usual with the sons of old etona, on the arrival of a fresh subject, to play off a number of school-boy witticisms and practical jokes, which though they may produce a little mortification in the first instance, tend in no small degree to display the qualifications of mind possessed by their new associate, and give him a familiarity with his companions and their customs, which otherwise would take more time, and subject the stranger to much greater inconvenience. bernard underwent all the initiatory school ceremonies and ~ ~~ humiliations with great coolness, but not without some display of that personal courage and true nobleness of mind, which advances the new comer in the estimation of his school-fellows. first impressions are almost always indelible: there was a frankness and sincerity in his manner, and an archness and vivacity in his countenance and conversation, that imperceptibly attached me to the young stranger. we were soon the most inseparable cons,{ } the depositors of each other's youthful secrets, and the mutual participators in every passing sport and pleasure. naturally cheerful, bernard became highly popular with our miniature world; there was however one subject which, whenever it was incautiously started by his companions, always excited a flood of tears, and for a time spread a gloomy abstraction over his mind. bernard had from his very infancy been launched into the ocean of life without a knowledge of his admiral{ } but not without experiencing all that a mother's fondness could supply: when others recapitulated the enjoyments of their paternal home, and painted with all the glow of youthful ardour the anticipated pleasures of the holidays, the tear would trickle down his crimsoned cheek; and quickly stealing away to some sequestered spot, his throbbing bosom was relieved by many a flood of woe. that some protecting spirit watched over his actions, and directed his course, he was well assured, but as yet he had never been able to comprehend the mystery with which he was surrounded. his questions on this point to his mother it was evident gave her pain, and were always met by some evasive answer. he had been early taught to keep his own secret, but the prying curiosity of an eton school-boy was not easily satisfied, and too often rendered the task one of great pain and difficulty. on these occasions i would seek friends. the eton phrase for father. ~ ~~ him out, and as the subject was one of too tender a nature for the tongue of friendship to dwell upon, endeavour to divert his thoughts by engaging him in some enlivening sport. his amiable manners and generous heart had endeared him to all, and in a short time his delicate feelings were respected, and the slightest allusion to ambiguity of birth cautiously avoided by all his associates, who, whatever might be their suspicions, thought his brilliant qualifications more than compensated for any want of ancestral distinction. the following portrait of my friend is from the pen of our elegant con, horace eglantine. a portrait. a heart fill'd with friendship and love, a brain free from passion's excess, a mind a mean action above, a hand to relieve keen distress. poverty smiled on his birth, and gave what all riches exceeds, wit, honesty, wisdom, and worth; a soul to effect noble needs. legitimates bow at his shrine; unfetter'd he sprung into life; when vigour with love doth combine to free nature from priestcraft and strife. no ancient escutcheon he claim'd, crimson'd with rapine and blood; he titles and baubles disdain'd, yet his pedigree traced from the flood. ennobled by all that is bright in the wreath of terrestrial fame, genius her pure ray of light spreads a halo to circle his name. the main-spring of all his actions was a social disposition, which embraced a most comprehensive view ~ ~~ of the duties of good fellowship. he was equally popular with all parties, by never declaring for any particular one: with the cricketers he was accounted a hard swipe{ } an active field{ } and a stout bowler;{ } in a water party he was a stroke{ } of the ten oar; at foot-ball, in the playing fields, or a leap across chalvey ditch, he was not thought small beer{ } of; and he has been known to have bagged three sparrows after a toodle{ } of three miles. his equals loved him for his social qualities, and courted his acquaintance as the _sine qua non_ of society; and the younger members of the school looked up to him for protection and assistance. if power was abused by the upper boys, bernard was appealed to as the mediator between the fag{ } and his master. his grants of liberties{ } to the commonalty were indiscriminate and profuse, while his influence was always exerted to obtain the same privileges for his numerous proteges from the more close aristocrats.{ } he was always to be seen attended by a shoal of dependents of every form in the school, some to get their lessons construed, and others to further claims to their respective stations in a good bat-man. to run well, or keep a good look out. strong and expert. a first rate waterman. not thought meanly of. sometimes this phrase is used in derision, as, he does not think small beer of himself. a walk. any sixth or fifth form boy can fag an oppidan underling: the collegers are exempted from this custom. the liberties, or college bounds, are marked by stones placed in different situations; grants of liberties are licences given by the head boys to the juniors to break bounds, or rather to except them from the disagreeable necessity of shirking, (i. e.) hiding from fear of being reported to the masters. to that interesting original miscellany, the 'etonian,' i am indebted for several valuable hints relative to early scenes. the characters are all drawn from observation, with here and there a slight deviation, or heightening touch, the rather to disguise and free them from aught of personal offence, than any intentional departure from truth and nature. ~ ~~ the next cricket match or water expedition. the duck and green pea suppers at surley hall would have lost half their relish without the enlivening smiles and smart repartees of bernard blackmantle. the preparations for the glorious fourth of june were always submitted to his superior skill and direction. his fiat could decide the claims of the rival boats, in their choice of jackets, hats, and favors; and the judicious arrangement of the fire-works was another proof of his taste. let it not, however, be thought that his other avocations so entirely monopolized him as to preclude a due attention to study. had it been so, his success with the [greek phrase] would never have been so complete: his desire to be able to confer obligations on his schoolfellows induced bernard to husband carefully every hour which he spent at home; a decent scholarship, and much general knowledge, was the reward of this plan. the treasure-house of his memory was well stored, and his reputation as an orator gave promise of future excellence. his classical attainments, if not florid, were liberal, and free from pedantry. his proficiency in english literature was universally acknowledged, and his love of the poets amounted to enthusiasm. he was formed for all the bustle of variegated life, and his conversation was crystallized with the sparkling attractions of wit and humour. subject to the weakness to which genius is ever liable, he was both eccentric and wayward, but he had the good sense to guard his failing from general observation; and although he often shot his arrows anonymously, he never dipt them in the gall of prejudice or ill-nature. i have dwelt upon his character with pleasure, because there are very few who know him intimately. with a happy versatility of talents, he is neither lonesome in his solitude, nor over joyous in a crowd. for his literary attainments, they must be judged of by their fruits. i cannot better conclude my attempt ~ ~~ to describe his qualifications than by offering his first essay to your notice, a school-boy tribute to friendship. true friendship. 'infido scurræ distabit amicus.' horace. how very seldom do we find a relish in the human mind for friendship pure and real; how few its approbation seek, how oft we count its censures weak, disguising what we feel. adulation lives to please, truth dies the victim of disease, forgotten by the world: the flattery of the fool delights the wise, rebuke our pride affrights, and virtue's banner's furl'd. wherefore do we censure fate, when she withholds the perfect state of friendship from our grasp, if we ourselves have not the power, the mind to enjoy the blessed hour, the fleeting treasure clasp? this (i have reason to believe his first poetical essay) was presented me on my birthday, when we had been about two years together at eton: a short time afterwards i surprised him one morning writing in his bedroom; my curiosity was not a little excited by the celerity with which i observed he endeavoured to conceal his papers. "i must see what you are about, bernard," said i. "treason, horatio," replied the young author. "would you wish to be implicated, or become a confederate? if so, take the oath of secrecy, and read." judge of my surprise, when, on casting my eye over his lucubrations, i perceived he had been sketching the portraits of the group, with ~ ~~ whom we were in daily association at our dame's. as i perceive by a glance at his work that most of his early friends have parts assigned them in his colloquial scenes, i consider the preservation of this trifle important, as it will furnish a key to the characters. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ eton sketches of character. '----i'll paint for grown up people's knowledge, the manners, customs, and affairs of college.' portraits in my dame's dining-room. at the head of the large table on the right hand you will perceive the honourable lilyman lionise, the second son of a nobleman, whose ancient patrimony has been nearly dissipated between his evening parties at the club-houses, in french hazard, or rouge et noir, and his morning speculations with his betting book at tattersall's, newmarket, or the fives-court; whose industry in getting into debt is only exceeded by his indifference about getting out; whose acquired property (during his minority) and personals have long since been knocked down by the hammer of the auctioneer, under direction of the sheriff, to pay off some gambling bond in preference to his honest creditor; yet who still flourishes a fashionable gem of the first water, and condescends to lend the lustre of ~ ~~ his name, when he has nothing else to lend, that he may secure the advantage of a real loan in return. his patrimonial acres and heirlooms remain indeed untouched, because the court of chancery have deemed it necessary to appoint a receiver to secure their faithful transmission to the next heir. the son has imbibed a smattering of all the bad qualities of his sire, without possessing one ray of the brilliant qualifications for which he is distinguished. proud without property, and sarcastic without being witty, ill temper he mistakes for superior carriage, and haughtiness for dignity: his study is his toilet, and his mind, like his face, is a vacuity neither sensible, intelligent, nor agreeable. he has few associates, for few will accept him for a companion. with his superiors in rank, his precedent honorary distinction yields him no consideration; with his equals, it places him upon too familiar a footing; while with his inferiors, it renders him tyrannical and unbearable. his mornings, between school hours, are spent in frequent change of dress, and his afternoons in a lounge à la bond-street, annoying the modest females and tradesmen's daughters of eton; his evenings (after absence{ } is called) at home, in solitary dissipation over his box of liqueurs, or in making others uncomfortable by his rudeness and overbearing dictation. he is disliked by the dame, detested by the servants, and shunned by his schoolfellows, and yet he is our captain, a _sextile, a roue_, and above all, an honourable. tom echo. a little to the left of the exquisite, you may perceive tom's merry countenance shedding good-humour around him. he is the only one who can _absence_ is called several times in the course of the day, to prevent the boys straying away to any great distance from the college, and at night to secure them in quarters at the dames' houses: if a boy neglects to answer to his name, or is too late for the call, inquiry is immediately made at his dame's, and a very satisfactory apology must be offered to prevent punishment. manage the _sextile_ with effect: tom is always ready with a tart reply to his sarcasm, or a _cut_ at his consequence. tom is the eldest son of one of the most respectable whig families in the kingdom, whose ancestors have frequently refused a peerage, from an inherent democratical but constitutional jealousy of the crown. independence and tom were nursery friends, and his generous, noble-hearted conduct renders him an universal favorite with the school. then, after holidays, tom always returns with such a rich collection of fox-hunting stories and sporting anecdotes, and gives sock{ } so graciously, that he is the very life of dame ------'s party. there is to be sure one drawback to tom's good qualities, but it is the natural attendant upon a high flow of animal spirits: if any mischief is on foot, tom is certain to be concerned, and ten to one but he is the chief contriver: to be seen in his company, either a short time previous to, or quickly afterwards, although perfectly innocent, is sure to create a suspicion of guilt with the masters, which not unusually involves his companions in trouble, and sometimes in unmerited punishment. tom's philosophy is to live well, study little, drink hard, and laugh immoderately. he is not deficient in sense, but he wants application and excitement: he has been taught from infancy to feel himself perfectly independent of the world, and at home every where: nature has implanted in his bosom the characteristic benevolence of his ancestry, and he stands among us a being whom every one loves and admires, without any very distinguishing trait of learning, wit, or superior qualification, to command the respect he excites. if any one tells a good story or makes a laughable pun, tom retails it for a week, and all the school have the advantage of hearing and enjoying it. any proposition for a boat party, cricketing, or a toodle into windsor, or along the banks of the thames good cheer; any nicety, as pastry, &c. ~ ~~ on a sporting excursion, is sure to meet a willing response from him. he is second to none in a charitable subscription for a poor _cad_, or the widow of a drowned _bargee_; his heart ever reverberates the echo of pleasure, and his tongue only falters to the echo of deceit. horace eglantine is placed just opposite to lily man lionise, a calm-looking head, with blue eyes and brown hair, which flows in ringlets of curls over his shoulders. horace is the son of a city banker, by the second daughter of an english earl, a young gentleman of considerable expectations, and very amusing qualifications. horace is a strange composition of all the good-natured whimsicalities of human nature, happily blended together without any very conspicuous counteracting foible. facetious, lively, and poetical, the cream of every thing that is agreeable, society cannot be dull if horace lends his presence. his imitations of anacreon, and the soft bard of erin, have on many occasions puzzled the cognoscenti of eton. like moore too, he both composes and performs his own songs. the following little specimen of his powers will record one of those pleasant impositions with which he sometimes enlivens a winter's evening: to eliza. oh think not the smile and the glow of delight, with youth's rosy hue, shall for ever be seen: frosty age will o'ercloud, with his mantle of night, the brightest and fairest of nature's gay scene. or think while you trip, like some aerial sprite, to pleasure's soft notes on the dew-spangled mead, that the rose of thy cheek, or thine eyes' starry light, shall sink into earth, and thy spirit be freed. then round the gay circle we'll frolic awhile, and the light of young love shall the fleet hour bless while the pure rays of friendship our eve-tide beguile, above fortune's frowns and the chills of distress ~ ~~ the most provoking punster and poet that ever turned the serious and sentimental into broad humour. every quaint remark affords a pun or an epigram, and every serious sentence gives birth to some merry couplet. such is the facility with which he strings together puns and rhyme, that in the course of half an hour he has been known to wager, and win it--that he made a couplet and a pun on every one present, to the number of fifty. nothing annoys the exquisite _sextile_ so much as this tormenting talent of horace; he is always shirking him, and yet continually falling in his way. for some time, while horace was in the fourth form, these little _jeu-d'esprits_ were circulated privately, and smuggled up in half suppressed laughs; but being now high on the fifth, horace is no longer in fear of _fagging_, and therefore gives free license to his tongue in many a witty jest, which "sets the table in a roar." dick gradus. in a snug corner, at a side table, observe that shrewd-looking little fellow poring over his book; his features seem represented by acute angles, and his head, which appears too heavy for his body, represents all the thoughtfulness of age, like an ancient fragment of phidias or praxiteles placed upon new shoulders by some modern bust carver. dick is the son of an eminent solicitor in a borough town, who has raised himself into wealth and consequence by a strict attention to the principles of interest: sharp practice, heavy mortgages, loans on annuity, and post obits, have strengthened his list of possessions till his influence is extended over half the county. the proprietor of the borough, a good humoured sporting extravagant, has been compelled to yield his influence in st. stephen's to old gradus, that he may preserve his character at newmarket, and continue his pack and fox-hunting festivities at home. the representation of the place is now disposed of to the best bidder, but the ambition of the father has long since determined upon sending his son (when of age) ~ ~~ into parliament--a promising candidate for the "loaves and fishes." richard gradus, m.p.--you may almost perceive the senatorial honor stamped upon the brow of the young aspirant; he has been early initiated into the value of time and money; his lessons of thrift have been practically illustrated by watching the operations of the law in his father's office; his application to learning is not the result of an innate love of literature, or the ambition of excelling his compeers, but a cold, stiff, and formal desire to collect together materials for the storehouse of his memory, that will enable him to pursue his interested views and future operations on society with every prospect of success. genius has no participation in his studies: his knowledge of greek and latin is grammatical and pedantic; he reads livy, tacitus, sallust, cæsar, xenophon, thucydides, in their original language; boasts of his learning with a haughty mien and scornful look of self-importance, and thinks this school-boy exercise of memory, this mechanism of the mind, is to determine the line between genius and stupidity; and has never taken into consideration that the mere linguist, destitute of native powers, with his absurd parade of scholastic knowledge, is a solitary barren plant, when opposed to the higher occupations of the mind, to the flights of fancy, the daring combinations of genius, and the sublime pictures of imagination. dick is an isolated being, a book-worm, who never embarks in any party of pleasure, from the fear of expense; he has no talents for general conversation, while his ridiculous affectation of learning subjects him to a constant and annoying fire from the batteries of etonian wit. still, however, dick perseveres in his course, till his blanched cheeks and cadaverous aspect, from close study and want of proper exercise, proclaim the loss of health, and the probable establishment of some pulmonary affection that may, before he scarcely reaches maturity, blight the ambitious hopes of his father, and consign ~ ~~ the son "to that bourne from whence no traveller returns." horatio heartly. at the lower end of the room, observe a serene-looking head displaying all the quiet character of a youthful portrait by the divine raphael, joined to the inspiring sensibility which flashes from the almost breathing countenance and penetrating brilliancy of eye, that distinguishes a guido. that is my bosom friend, my more than brother, my mentor and my guide. horatio is an orphan, the son of a general officer, whose crimsoned stream of life was dried up by an eastern sun, while he was yet a lisping infant. his mother, lovely, young, and rich in conjugal attachment, fell a blighted corse in early widowhood, and left horatio, an unprotected bud of virtuous love, to the fostering care of lady mary oldstyle, a widowed sister of the general's, not less rich in worldly wealth than in true benevolence of heart, and the celestial glow of pure affection. heartly is a happy combination of all the good-humoured particles of human nature blended together, with sense, feeling, and judgment. learned without affectation, and liberal without being profuse, he has found out the secret of attaching all the school to himself, without exciting any sensation of envy, or supplanting prior friendships. horatio is among the alumni of eton the king of good fellows: there is not a boy in the school, colleger, or oppidan, but what would fight a long hour to defend him from insult; no--nor a sparkling eye among the enchanting daughters of old _etona_ that does not twinkle with pleasure at the elegant congée, and amiable attentions, which he always pays at the shrine of female accomplishment. generous to a fault, his purse--which the bounty of his aunt keeps well supplied--is a public bank, _pro bono publico_. his parties to _sock_ are always distinguished by an excellent selection, good taste, and superior style. in all the varied school sports and pastimes, his manly form and vigorous constitution gain him a superior ~ ~~ station among his compeers, which his cheerful disposition enables him to turn to general advantage. nor is he in less estimation with the masters, who are loud in their praises of his assiduity and proficiency in school pursuits. horatio is not exactly a genius: there is nothing of that wild eccentricity of thought and action which betokens the vivid flights of imagination, or the meteoric brightness of inspiration; his actions are distinguished by coolness, intrepidity, and good sense. he does not pretend to second sight, or a knowledge of futurity; but on the present and the past there are few who can reason with more cogency of remark, or with more classic elegance of diction: with such a concentration of qualities, it is not wonderful that his influence extends through every gradation of the juvenile band. his particular attachments are not numerous; but those who have experienced the sincerity of his private friendship must always remain his debtor--from deficiency of expression; among the most obliged of whom is--the author. bob transit. bob has no fixed situation; therefore it would be in vain to attempt to say where he may be found: sometimes he is placed next to bernard, and between him and heartly, with whom he generally associates; at other times he takes his situation at the side table, or fills up a spare corner opposite to dick gradus, or the exquisite, either of whom he annoys, during dinner, by sketching their portraits in caricature upon the cover of his latin grammar, with their mouths crammed full of victuals, or in the act of swallowing hot pudding: nor does the dame sometimes escape him; the whole table have frequently been convulsed with laughter at bob's comic representation of miss --------'s devout phiz, as exhibited during the preparatory ceremony of a dinner grace: the soul of whim, and source of fun and frolic, bob is no mean auxiliary to a merry party, or the exhilarating pleasure of a broad grin. ~ ~~ bob's _admiral_ is an r.a. of very high repute; who, having surmounted all the difficulties of obscure origin and limited education, by the brilliancy of his talents, has determined to give his son the advantage of early instruction and liberal information, as a prelude to his advancement in the arts. talent is not often hereditary (or at least in succession); but the facility of transit's pencil is astonishing: with the rapidity of a fuseli he sketches the human figure in all its various attitudes, and produces in his hasty drawings so much force of effect and truth of character, that the subject can never be mistaken. his humour is irresistible, and is strongly characterized by all the eccentricity and wit of a gilhay, turning the most trifling incidents into laughable burlesque. between him and horace eglantine there exists a sort of copartnership in the sister arts of poetry and painting: horace rhymes, and bob illustrates; and very few in the school of any note have at one time or other escaped this combination of epigram and caricature. bob has an eye to real life, and is formed for all the bustle of the varied scene. facetious, witty, and quaint, with all the singularity of genius in his composition, these juvenile _jeux d'esprits_ of his pencil may be regarded as the rays of promise, which streak with golden tints the blushing horizon of the morn of youth. as bob is not over studious, or attached to the latin and greek languages, he generally manages to get any difficult lesson construed by an agreement with some more learned and assiduous associate; the _quid pro quo_ on these occasions being always punctually paid on his part by a humorous sketch of the head master calling first absence, taken from a snug, oblique view in the school-yard, or a burlesque on some of the fellows or inhabitants of eton. in this way bob contrives to pass school muster, although these specimens of talent have, on more than one occasion, brought him to the block. it must however ~ ~~ be admitted, that in all these flights of fancy his pencil is never disgraced by any malignancy of motive, or the slightest exhibition of personal spleen. good humour is his motto; pleasure his pursuit: and if he should not prove a porson or an elmsley, he gives every promise of being equally eminent with a bunbury, gillray, or a rowlandson. varied groups are disposed around the room, and make up the back ground of my picture. many of these are yet too young to particularize, and others have nothing sufficiently characteristic to deserve it; some who have not yet committed their first fault, and many who are continually in error; others who pursue the straight beaten track to scholastic knowledge, and trudge on like learned dromedaries. two or three there are who follow in no sphere-eccentric stars, shooting from space to space; some few mischievous wags, who delight in a good joke, and will run the risk of punishment at any time to enjoy it; with here and there a little twinkling gem, like twilight planets, just emerging from the misty veil of nature. these form my dame's dinner party. reader, do not judge them harshly from this hasty sketch: take into your consideration their youth and inexperience; and if they do not improve upon acquaintance, and increase in estimation with their years, the fault must in justice rather be attributed to the author than to any deficiency in their respective merits. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the five principal orders of eton, doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] eton dames*; an ode, neither amatory, ill-natured, nor pathetic. let oxford beaux, to am'rous belles, love's warm epistles write; or cambridge youths, in classic dells, invoke the shadowy night. * the above _jeu-d'esprit_ made its appearance on one of those joyous occasions, when the sons of old etona return from oxford and cambridge, filled with filial regard for early scenes and school-boy friendships, to commemorate a college election. it was, at the time, purposely attributed to some of these waggish visitors, a sort of privileged race, who never fail of indulging in numerous good-humoured freaks with the inhabitants of eton, to show off to the rising generation the pleasantries, whims, and improvements of a college life. the subject is one of great delicacy, but it will, i hope, be admitted by the merry dames themselves, that my friend bernard has in this, as in every other instance, endeavoured to preserve the strongest traits of truth and character, without indulging in offensive satire, or departing from propriety and decorum.--horatio heartly. ~ ~~ let cockney poets boast their flames, of ' vicked cupit' patter: be mine a verse on eton dames-- a more substantial matter. i care not if the graces three have here withheld perfection: brown, black, or fair, the same to me,-- e'en age is no objection. a pleasing squint, or but one eye, will do as well as any; a mouth between a laugh and cry, or wrinkled, as my granny. a hobbling gait, or a wooden leg, or locks of silvery gray; or name her madge, or poll, or peg, she still shall have my lay. perfection centres in the mind, the gen'rous must acknowledge: then, muse, be candid, just, and kind, to dames of eton college.* * the independent students, commonly called _oppidans_, are very numerous: they are boarded at private houses in the environs of the college; the presiding masters and mistresses of which have from time immemorial enjoyed the title of _domine_ and _dame_: the average number of _oppidans_ is from three hundred to three hundred and fifty. five principal orders of eton ~ ~~ proem. said truth to the muse, as they wander'd along, "prithee, muse, spur your pegasus into a song; let the subject be lively,--how like you the belles?" said the muse, "he's no sportsman that kisses and tells. but in females delighting, suppose we stop here, and do you bid the dames of old eton appear; in your mirror their merits, with candour, survey, and i'll sing their worth in my very best lay." no sooner 'twas said, than agreed:--it was done, wing'd mercury summon'd them every one. miss a***lo. first, deck'd in the height of the fashion, a belle, an angel, ere chronos had tipt her with snow, advanced to the goddess, and said, "you may tell, that in eton, there's no better table, you know;" and by truth 'twas admitted, "her generous board is rich, in whatever the seasons afford." the miss t*****s. of ancients, a pair next presented themselves, when in popp'd some waggish oxonian elves, who spoke of times past, of short commons, and cheese, and told tales, which did much the old ladies displease. "good morning," said truth, as the dames pass'd him by: young stomachs, if stinted, are sure to outcry. mrs. r******u. on her _domine_ leaning came dame b******u, the oldest in college, deck'd in rich furbelow. ~ ~~ she curtsied around to the _oppidan_ band, but not one said a word, and but few gave a hand. truth whisper'd the muse,, who, as sly, shook her head, saying, "where little's told, 'tis soon mended, it's said." mrs. g******e. when s******e appear'd, what a shout rent the air! the spruce widow affords the most excellent cheer; for comfort in quarters there's nothing can beat her, so up rose the lads with a welcome to greet her: the muse with true gallantry led her to place, and truth said good humour was writ in her face. mrs. d****n. with a face (once divine), and a figure still smart, and a grace that defies even time's fatal dart, dame d****n advanced, made her curtsy, and smiled: truth welcomed the fair, the grave, witty, and wild; all, all gave their votes, and some said they knew that her numbers by no measure equall'd her due. miss s******s. "by my hopes," said the muse, "here's a rare jolly pair, a right merry frontispiece, comely and fair, to good living and quarters." "you're right," nodded truth. a welcome approval was mark'd in each youth. and 'twas no little praise among numbers like theirs, to meet a unanimous welcome up stairs. miss l******d. lavater, though sometimes in error, you'll find may be here quoted safely; the face tells the mind. good humour and happiness live in her eye. her motto's contentment you'll easily spy. five principal orders of eton ~ ~~ a chair for miss l******d truth placed near the muse; for beauty to rhyme can fresh spirit infuse. mrs. v******y. v******y, in weeds led and angel along, accomplish'd and pretty, who blush'd at the throng. the old dame seem'd to say, and i'faith she might well, "sons of eton, when saw you a handsomer belle?" if any intended the widow to sneer, miss a------won their favor, and banish'd the jeer. three sisters, famed for various parts, one clerks, and one makes savoury tarts; while t'other, bless her dinner face, cuts up the viands with a grace, advanced, and met a cheerful greeting from all who glorify good eating. mrs. w. h****r. with a smile, _à la confident_, came mrs. h, whose domine writing to eton's sons teach: in college, the handiest man you can find for improvements of all sorts, both building and mind: he seem'd on good terms with himself, but the muse said, "the dame claim'd a welcome which none could refuse." dame a****s. dame a****s, respected by all, made her way through the throng that assembled at eton that day. old chronos had wrinkled her forehead, 'tis true; yet her countenance beam'd in a rich, mellow hue of good humour and worth; 'twas a pleasure to mark how the dame was applauded by each eton spark. ~ ~~ miss b*******k. long and loud were the plaudits the lady to cheer, whom the doctor had treated somewhat cavalier: "too young," said the ancient, "the proverb is trite; age and wisdom, good doctor, not always unite." "for prudence and worth," said truth, "i'll be bound she may challenge the dames of old eton around." a crowd pressing forward, the day growing late, truth whisper'd the muse, "we had better retreat; for though 'mong the dames we are free from disasters, i know not how well we may fare with the masters. there's carter, and yonge, knapp, green, and dupuis,* all coming this way with their ladies, i see. our visit, you know, was alone to the belles; the masters may sing, if they please, of themselves. truth mounted a cloud, and the poet his nag, and these whims sent next day by the post-office bag. * lower, and assistant masters, who keep boarding-houses. until lately this practice was not permitted; but it must be confessed that it is a salutary arrangement, as it not only tends to keep the youth in a better state of subjection, but in many instances is calculated to increase their progress in study, by enabling them to receive private instruction. [illustration: page [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ election saturday. a peep at the long chambers--the banquet--reflections on parting--arrival of the provost of king's college, cambridge, and the pozers--the captain's oration--busy monday--the oppidan's farewell--examination and election of the collegers who stand for king's--the aquatic gala and fireworks--oxonian visitors--night--rambles in eton-- transformations of signs and names--the feast at the christopher, with a view of the oppidan's museum, and eton court of claims. now from the schools pour forth a num'rous train, light-hearted, buoyant as the summer breeze, to deck thy bosom, eton: now each face anticipation brightens with delight, while many a fancied bliss floats gaily o'er the ardent mind, chaste as the nautilus, spreading her pearly spangles to the sun: the joyous welcome of parental love, the heart-inspiring kiss a sister yields, a brother's greeting, and the cheering smiles of relatives and friends, and aged domestics, time-honor'd for their probity and zeal, whose silvery locks recall to mem'ry's view some playful scene of earliest childhood, when frolic, mirth, and gambol led the way, ere reason gave sobriety of thought.- now bear the busy _cads_ the new-lopt bough of beech-tree to the dormitories, while active collegers the foliage raise against the chamber walls. a classic grove springs as by magic art, cool and refreshing, a luxury by nature's self supply'd, delicious shelter from the dog-star's ray. in thought profound the studious _sextile_ mark in learned converse with some ancient sage, whose aid he seeks to meet the dread provost. the captain fearless seeks the ancient stand, where old etona's sons, beneath time's altar-piece,* have immemorial welcomed _granta's_ chief. in college-hall the merry cook prepares the choicest viands for the master's banquet: a graceful, healthy throng surround the board, and temp'rance, love, and harmony, prevail. now busy dames are in high bustle caught, preparing for each oppidan's departure; and servants, like wing'd mercury, must fly o'er windsor bridge to hail the london coach. adieus on ev'ry side, farewell, farewell, rings in each passing ear; yet, nor regret nor sorrow marks the face, but all elate with cheerful tongue and brighten'd eye, unite to hail with joy etona's holiday. now comes the trial of who stands for king's, examinations difficult and deep the provost and his pozers to o'ercome. to this succeeds the grand aquatic gala, a spectacle of most imposing import, where, robed in every costume of the world, the gay youth direct the glittering prow; a fleet of well-trimm'd barks upon the bosom of old father thames, glide on to pleasure's note: ~ ~~ the expert victors are received with cheers, and the dark canopy of night's illumin'd with a grand display of brilliant fires. * shortly after the arrival of the provost, he proceeds through the cloisters, where he is met by the captain, or head boy of the school, who speaks a long latin oration before him, standing under the clock. to an old etonian the last week in july brings with it recollections of delight that time and circumstances can never wholly efface. if, beneath the broad umbrage of the refreshing grove, he seeks relief from care and sultry heat, memory recalls to his imagination the scenes of his boyhood, the ever pleasing recollections of infancy, when he reclined upon the flowery bosom of old father thames, or sought amusement in the healthful exercise of bathing, or calmly listened to the murmuring ripple of the waters, or joined the merry group in gently plying of the splashing oar. with what eager delight are these reminiscences of youth dwelt on! with what mingled sensations of hope, fear, and regret, do we revert to the happy period of life when, like the favorite flower of the month, our minds and actions rivalled the lily in her purity! who, that has ever tasted of the inspiring delight which springs from associations of scholastic friendships and amusements, but would eagerly quit the bustle of the great world to indulge in the enjoyment of the pure and unalloyed felicity which is yet to be found among the alumni of eton?--election saturday--the very sound reverberates the echo of pleasure, and in a moment places me (in imagination) in the centre of the long chambers of eton, walking beneath the grateful foliage of the beech-tree, with which those dormitories are always decorated previous to election saturday. i can almost fancy that i hear the rattle of the carriage wheels, and see the four horses smoking beneath the lodge-window of eton college, that conveys the provost of king's to attend examination and election. then too i can figure the classic band who wait to ~ ~~ receive him; the dignified little doctor leading the way, followed by the steady, calm-visaged lower master, carter; then comes benedict yonge, and after him a space intervenes, where one should have been of rare qualities, but he is absent; then follows good-humoured heath, and knapp, who loves the rattle of a coach, and pleasant, clever hawtry, and careful okes, and that shrewd sapper, green, followed by medium dupuis, and the intelligent chapman: these form his classic escort to the cloisters. but who shall paint the captain's envied feelings, the proud triumph of his assiduity and skill? to him the honourable office of public orator is assigned; with modest reverence he speaks the latin oration, standing, as is the custom from time immemorial, under the clock. there too he receives the bright reward, the approbation of the provost of king's college, and the procession moves forward to the college-hall to partake of the generous banquet. on sunday the provost of king's remains a guest with his compeer of eton. but busy monday arrives, and hundreds of oxonians and cantabs pour in to witness the speeches of the boys, and pay a tribute of respect to their former masters. the exhibition this day takes place in the upper school, and consists of sixth form oppidans and collegers. how well can i remember the animated picture eton presents on such occasions: shoals of juvenile oppidans, who are not yet of an age to have been elected of any particular school-party, marching forth from their dames' houses, linked arm in arm, parading down the street with an air and gaiety that implies some newly acquired consequence, or liberty of conduct. every where a holiday face presents itself, and good humour lisps upon every tongue. here may be seen a youthful group, all anxiety and bustle, trudging after some well-known _cad_, who creeps along towards the windsor coach-office, loaded with portmanteaus, carpet bags, and ~ ~~ boxes, like a norfolk caravan at christmas time; while the youthful proprietors of the bulky stock, all anxiety and desire to reach their relatives and friends, are hurrying him on, and do not fail to spur the _elephant_ with many a cutting gibe, at his slow progression. within doors the dames are all bustle, collecting, arranging, and packing up the wardrobes of their respective boarders; servants flying from the hall to the attic, and endangering their necks in their passage down again, from anxiety to meet the breathless impetuosity of their parting guests. books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the corner of each bedroom, making _sock_ for the mice till the return of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. the more mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or a young oxonian, formerly of eton, who has arrived post to take _sock_ with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. here a venerable domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir and hope of some noble house. now is garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a guildhall feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of this world rings through the oaken chambers of the christopher. not even the _sanctum sanctorum_ is forgotten, where, in times long past, i have quaffed my jug of bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching heat of a july day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying observations of the _domine_. one, and one only, class of persons wear a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the confectioners and fruitresses of eton; with them, election saturday and busy monday are like the herald to a jewish black fast, or a stock exchange holiday: they may as well _sport their oaks_ (to use an oxford phrase) till the ~ ~~ return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives. on the succeeding days the examinations of the collegers proceed regularly; then follows the election of new candidates, and the severe trial of those who stand for king's. these scholastic arrangements generally conclude on the wednesday night, or thursday morning, and then pleasure mounts her variegated car, and drives wherever fancy may direct. formerly i find seven or eight scholars went to king's;{*} but in consequence of the fellows of eton holding pluralities, the means are impoverished, and the number consequently reduced to two or three: this is the more to be regretted, on account of the very severe and irrecoverable disappointment the scholars experience in losing their election, merely on account of age; as at nineteen they are superannuated, and cannot afterwards receive any essential benefit from the college. not the blue waves of the engia, covered with the gay feluccas of the greeks, and spreading their glittering streamers in the sun; nor the more lovely * this noble seminary of learning was founded by hen. vi. in . its establishment was then on a limited scale; it has long since been enlarged, and now consists of a provost, vice-provost, six fellows, two schoolmasters, with their assistants, seventy scholars, seven clerks, and ten choristers, besides various inferior officers and servants. the annual election of scholars to king's college, cambridge, takes place about the end of july, or the beginning of august, when the twelve senior scholars are put on the roll to succeed, but they are not removed till vacancies occur; the average number of which is about nine in two years. at nineteen years of age the scholars are superannuated. eton sends, also, two scholars to merton college, oxford, where they are denominated post-masters, and has likewise a few exhibitions of twenty-one guineas each for its superannuated scholars. the scholars elected to king's succeed to fellowships at three years' standing. ~ ~~ adriatic, swelling her translucent bosom to the gentle motion of the gondolier, and bearing on her surface the splendid cars and magnificent pageant of the doge of venice, marrying her waters to the sea, can to an english bosom yield half the delight the grand aquatic eton gala affords; where, decked in every costume fancy can devise, may be seen the noble youth of britain, her rising statesmen, warriors, and judges, the future guardians of her liberties, wealth, and commerce, all vying with each other in loyal devotion to celebrate the sovereign's natal day.{*} then doth thy silvery bosom, father thames, present a spectacle truly delightful; a transparent mirror, studded with gems and stars and splendid pageantry, reflecting a thousand brilliant variegated hues; while, upon thy flowery margin, the loveliest daughters of the land press the green velvet of luxuriant nature, outrivalling in charms of colour, form, and beauty, the rose, the lily, and the graceful pine. there too may be seen the accomplished and the gay youth labouring for pleasure at the healthful oar, while with experienced skill the expert helmsman directs through all thy fragrant windings the trim bark to victory. the race determined, the bright star of eve, outrivalled by the pyrotechnic _artiste_, hides his diminished head. now sallies forth the gay oxonian from the christopher, ripe with the rare falernian of mine host, to have his frolic gambol with old friends. pale luna, through her misty veil, smiles at these harmless pleasantries, and lends the merry group her aid to smuggle signs, alter names, and play off a thousand fantastic vagaries; while the eton townsman, robed in * the grand aquatic gala, which terminates the week's festi- vities at eton, and concludes the water excursions for the season, was originally fixed in honour of his late majesty's birthday, and would have been altered to the period of his successor's, but the time would not accord, the twelfth day of august being vacation. ~ ~~ peaceful slumber, dreams not of the change his house has undergone, and wakes to find a double transformation; his _angel_ vanished, or exchanged for the rude semblance of an oxford _bear_, with a cognomen thereto appended, as foreign to his family nomenclature "as he to hercules." in the morning the dames are wailing the loss of their polished knockers; and the barber-surgeon mourns the absence of his obtrusive pole. the optician's glasses have been removed to the door of some prying _domine_; and the large tin cocked hat has been seized by some midnight giant, who has also claimed old crispin's three-leagued boot. the golden fish has leaped into the thames. the landlord of the lamb bleats loudly for his fleece. the grocer cares not a fig for the loss of his sugar-loaves, but laughs, and takes it as a currant joke. old duplicate is resolved to have his balls restored with interest; and the lady mother of the black doll is quite pale in the face with sorrow for the loss of her child. mine host of the vine looks as sour as his own grapes, before they were fresh gilded; and spruce master pigtail, the tobacconist, complains that his large roll of real virginia has been chopped into short cut. but these are by far the least tormenting jokes. that good-humoured cad, jem miller, finds the honorary distinction of private tutor added to his name. dame ----s, an irreproachable spinster of forty, discovers that of mr. probe, man-midwife, appended to her own. mr. primefit, the eton stultz, is changed into botch, the cobbler. diodorus drowsy, d.d., of windsor, is re-christened diggory drenchall, common brewer; and the amiable mrs. margaret sweet, the eton pastry-cook and confectioner, finds her name united in bands of brass with mr. benjamin bittertart, the baker. the celebrated christopher caustic, esq., surgeon, has the mortification to find his esculapian dormitory decorated with the sign-board of mr. slaughtercalf, a german butcher; while his handsome brass pestle ~ ~~ and mortar, with the gilt galen's head annexed, have been waggishly transferred to the house of some eton dickey gossip, barber and dentist. mr. index, the bookseller, changes names with old frank finis, the sexton. the elegant door plate of miss caroline cypher, spinster, is placed on the right side of nicodemus number, b.a., and fellow of eton, with this note annexed: "new rule of addition, according to cocker." old amen, the parish clerk, is united to miss bridget silence, the pew opener; and theophilus white, m.d. changes place with mr. sable, the undertaker. but we shall become too grave if we proceed deeper with this subject. there is no end to the whimsical alterations and ludicrous changes that take place upon these occasions, when scarce a sign or door plate in eton escapes some pantomimic transformation.* * representations to the masters or authorities are scarcely ever necessary to redress these whimsical grievances, as the injured parties are always remunerated. the next day the spoils and trophies are arranged in due form in a certain snug sanctum sanctorum, the cellar of a favorite inn, well known by the name of the _oppidan's_ museum; for a view of which see the sketch made on the spot by my friend bob transit. here the merry wags are to be found in council, holding a court of claims, to which all the tradesmen who have suffered any loss are successively summoned; and after pointing out from among the motley collection the article they claim, and the price it originally cost, they are handsomely remunerated, or the sign replaced. the good people of eton generally choose the former, as it not only enable them to sport a new sign, but to put a little profit upon the cost price of the old one. the trophies thus acquired are then packed up in hampers, and despatched to oxford, where they are on similar occasions not unfrequently displayed, or hung up, in lieu of some well-known sign, such as the mitre, &c. which has been removed during the night. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] the following jeu-d'esprits issued upon the interference of the authorities at the conclusion of the last election. the "dance of thirty sovereigns" is an allusion to the fine imposed, which was given to the poor. a ladder dance. a moving golden fish. the fall of grapes, during a heavy storm. the cock'd hat combat. a march to the workhouse. bird-cage duett, by messrs. c***** and b****. a public breakfast, with a dance by thirty sovereigns. glee--"when shall we three meet again." the barber's hornpipe, by the learned d****. the turk's head revel. saint christopher's march. the committee in danger. the cloisters, eton [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate. a sketch from the life, as he appeared in the montent procession of may, . by bernard blackmantle, and robert transit bending beneath a weight of time, and crippled as his montem ode, we found the humble son of rhyme busy beside the public road. nor laurel'd wreath or harp had he, to deck his brow or touch the note that wakes the soul to sympathy. his face was piteous as his coat, 'twas motley strange; e'en nature's self, in wild, eccentric, playful mood, had, for her pastime, form'd the elf, a being scarcely understood-- half idiot, harmless; yet a gleam of sense, and whim, and shrewdness, broke the current of his wildest stream; and pity sigh'd as madness spoke. ~ ~~ lavater, lawrence, camper, here philosophy new light had caught: judged by your doctrines 'twould appear the facial line denoted thought.{ } but say, what system e'er shall trace by scalp or visage mental worth? the ideot's form, the maniac's face, are shared alike by all on earth. "comparative anatomy--" if, stockhore, 'twas to thee apply'd, 'twould set the doubting gallist free, and spurzheim's idle tales deride. but hence with visionary scheme, though bell, or abernethy, write; be herbert stockhore all my theme, the laureate's praises i indite; he erst who sung in montem's praise, and, thespis like, from out his cart recited his extempore lays, on eton's sons, in costume smart, who told of captains bold and grand, lieutenants, marshals, seeking _salt_; of colonels, majors, cap in hand, who bade e'en majesty to halt; it is hardly possible to conceive a more intelligent, venerable looking head, than poor herbert stockhore presents; a fine capacious forehead, rising like a promontory of knowledge, from a bold outline of countenance, every feature decisive, breathing serenity and thoughtfulness, with here and there a few straggling locks of silvery gray, which, like the time-discoloured moss upon some ancient battlements, are the true emblems of antiquity: the eye alone is generally dull and sunken in the visage, but during his temporary gleams of sanity, or fancied flights of poetical inspiration, it is unusually bright and animated. according to professor camper, i should think the facial line would make an angle of eighty or ninety degrees; and, judging upon the principles laid down by lavater, poor herbert might pass for a solon. of his bumps, or phrenological protuberances, i did not take particular notice, but i have no doubt they would be found, upon examination, equally illustrative of such visionary systems. ~ ~~ told how the ensign nobly waved the colours on the famous hill; and names from dull oblivion saved, who ne'er the niche of fame can fill: who, like to campbell, lends his name.{ } to many a whim he ne'er did write; when witty scholars, to their shame, 'gainst masters hurl a satire trite.{ } but fare thee well, ad montem's bard,{ } farewell, my mem'ry's early friend the author of "the pleasures of hope," and the editor of the new monthly; but-"_tardè, quo credita lodunt, credimus_." it has long been the custom at eton, particularly during montem, to give herbert stockhore the credit of many a satirical whim, which he, poor fellow, could as easily have penned as to have written a greek ode. these squibs are sometimes very humorous, and are purposely written in doggrel verse to escape detection by the masters, who are not unfrequently the principal porsons alluded to. the following laughable production was sold by poor herbert stockhore during the last montem: we hardly think we need apologise for introducing this specimen of his muse: any account of eton characteristics must have been held deficient without it. the montem ode. may , . muses attend! the british channel flock o'er, call'd by your most obedient servant, stockhore. aid me, o, aid me, while i touch the string; montem and captain barnard's praise i sing; captain barnard, the youth so noble and bright, that none dare dispute his worthy right to that gay laurel which his brother wore, in times that remember long before. what are olympic honours compared to thine, captain, when majesty does combine with heroes, their wives, sons and daughters great, to visit this extremely splendid fête. enough! i feel a sudden inspiration fill my bowels; just as if the tolling bell had sent forth sounds a floating all along the air just such parnassian sounds, though deaf, i'm sure i hear. ~ ~~ may misery never press thee hard, ne'er may disease thy steps attend: listen, ye gents; rude boreas hold your tongue! the pomp advances, and my lyre is strung. first comes marshal thackeray, dress'd out in crack array; ar'nt he a whacker, eh? his way he picks, follow'd by six, like a hen by her chicks: enough! he's gone. as this martial marshall is to music partial, the bandsmen march all his heels upon. he who hits the balls such thumps, king of cricket-bats and stumps,-- barnard comes; sound the drums-- silence! he's past. eight fair pages, of different ages, follow fast. next comes the serjeant-major, who, like an old stager, without need of bridle walks steadily; the same dolphin major by name, major dolphin by title. next struts serjeant brown, very gay you must own; with gallant mr. hughes, in well-polish'd shoes; then sampson, who tramps on, strong as his namesake. then comes webb, who don't dread to die for his fame's sake. next shall i sing of serjeant king, and horace walpole, holding a tall pole, who follows king and antrobus, though he's "pulchrior ambobus." ~ ~~ be all thy wants by those supply'd, whom charity ne'er fail'd to move{ }: this eccentric creature has for many years subsisted entirely upon the bounty of the etonians, and the inhabitants of windsor and eton, who never fail to administer to his wants, and liberally supply him with many little comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries. then to salthill speed on, while the troops they lead on; both mr. beadon, and serjeant mitford, who's ready to fi't for't. then mr. carter follows a'ter; and denman, worth ten men, like a knight of the garter; and cumberbatch, without a match, tell me, who can be smarter? then colonel hand, monstrous grand, closes the band. pass on, you nameless crowd, pass on. the ensign proud comes near. let all that can see behold the ensign dansey; see with what elegance he waves the flag--to please the fancy. pass on, gay crowd; le mann, the big, bright with gold as a guinea-pig, the big, the stout, the fierce le mann, walks like a valiant gentleman. but take care of your pockets, here's salt-bearer platt, with a bag in his hand, and a plume in his hat; a handsomer youth, sure small-clothes ne'er put on, though very near rival'd by elegant sutton. thus then has pass'd this grand procession, in most magnificent progression. farewell you gay and happy throng! ~ ~~ etona's motto, crest, and pride, is feeling, courage, friendship, love. farewell my muse! farewell my song' farewell salthill! farewell brave captain; as ever uniform was clapt in; since fortune's kind, pray do not mock her; your humble poet, herbert stockhore. herbert stockhore was originally a bricklayer, and now resides at a little house which he has built for himself, and called mount pleasant, in a lane leading from windsor to the meadows. he has a wife and daughter, honest, industrious people, who reside with him, and are by no means displeased at the visit of a stranger to their eccentric relative. some idea of the old man's amusing qualifications may be conceived from the following description, to which i have added the account he gives of his heraldic bearings. it must be recollected that the etonians encourage these whims in the poor old man, and never lose an opportunity of impressing stockhore with a belief in the magnificent powers of his genius.--after we had heard him recite several of his unconnected extempore rhapsodies, we were to be indulged with the montem ode; this the old man insisted should be spoken in his gala dress; nor could all the entreaties of his wife and daughter, joined to those of myself and friend (fearful of appearing obtrusive), dissuade old herbert from his design. he appeared quite frantic with joy when the dame brought forth from an upper apartment these insignia of his laureateship; the careful manner in which they were folded up and kept clean gave us to understand that the good woman herself set some store by them. the wife and daughter now proceeded to robe the laureate bard: the first garment which was placed over his shoulders, and came below his waist, was a species of tunic made out of patches of bed-furniture, trimmed in the most fantastic manner with fragments of worsted fringe of all colors. over this he wore an old military jacket, of a very ancient date in respect to costume, and trimmed like the robe with fringe of every variety. a pair of loose trowsers of the same materials as the tunic were also displayed; but the fashion of the poet's head-dress exceeded all the rest for whimsicality: round an old soldier's cap a sheet of pasteboard was bent to a spiral form, rising about fourteen inches, and covered with some pieces of chintz bed-furniture of a very rich pattern; in five separate circles, was disposed as many different colors of fringes; some worsted twisted, to resemble feathers, was suspended from the side; and the whole had the most grotesque appearance, more nearly resembling the papal crown in similitude than any thing else i can conceive. ~ ~~ poor harmless soul, thy merry stave shall live when nobler poets bend; the poor old fellow seemed elated to a degree. we had sent for a little ale for him, but were informed he was not accustomed to drink much of any strong liquor. after a glass, herbert recited with great gesture and action, but in a very imperfect manner, the montem ode; and then for a few minutes seemed quite exhausted. during this exhibition my friend transit was engaged in sketching his portrait, a circumstance that appeared to give great pleasure to the wife and daughter, who earnestly requested, if it was published, to be favored with a copy. we had now become quite familiar with the old man, and went with him to view his montem car and arabian pony, as he called them, in a stable adjoining the house. on our return, my friend transit observed that his cart required painting, and should be decorated with some appropriate emblem. herbert appeared to understand the idea, and immediately proceeded to give us a history of his heraldic bearings, or, as he said, what his coat of arms should be, which, he assured us, the gentlemen of eton had subscribed for, and were having prepared at the heralds' college in london, on purpose for him to display next montem. "my grand-father," said stockhore, "was a hatter, therefore i am entitled to the beaver in the first quarter of my shield. my grandfather by my mother's side was a farmer, therefore i should have the wheat-sheaf on the other part. my own father was a pipe-maker, and that gives me a noble ornament, the cross pipes and glasses, the emblems of good fellowship. now my wife's father was a tailor, and that yields me a goose: those are the bearings of the four quarters of my shield. now, sir, i am a poet--ay, the poet laureate of montem; and that gives me a right to the winged horse for my crest. there's a coat of arms for you," said poor herbert; "why, it would beat every thing but the king's; ay, and his too, if it wasn't for the lion and crown." the attention we paid to this whim pleased the poor creature mightily; he was all animation and delight. but the day was fast declining: so, after making the poor people a trifling present for the trouble we had given them, my friend transit and myself took our farewell of poor herbert, not, i confess, without regret; for i think the reader will perceive by this brief sketch thero is great character and amusement in his harmless whims. i have been thus particular in my description of him, because he is always at montem time an object of much curiosity; and to every etonian of the last thirty years, his peculiarities must have frequently afforded amusement. ~ ~~ and when atropos to the grave thy silvery locks of gray shall send, etona's sons shall sing thy fame, _ad montem_ still thy verse resound, still live an ever cherish'd name, as long as _salt_{ } and sock abound. salt is the name given to the money collected at montem. [illustration: page ] the doubtful point. "why should i not read it," thought horatio, hesitating, with the mss. of life in eton half opened in his hand. a little chesterfield deity, called prudence, whispered--"caution." "well, miss hypocrisy," quoth the student, "what serious offence shall i commit against propriety or morality by reading a whimsical jeu-d'esprit, penned to explain the peculiar lingual localisms of eton, and display her chief characteristic follies." "it is slang," said prudence. "granted," said horatio: "but he who undertakes to depict real life must not expect to make a pleasing or a correct picture, without the due proportions of light and shade. 'vice to be hated needs but to be seen.' playful satire may do more towards correcting the evil than all the dull lessons of sober-tongued morality can ever hope to effect." candour, who just then happened to make a passing call, was appointed referee; and, without hesitation, agreed decidedly with horatio.{ } life at eton will not, i hope, be construed into any intention of the author's to follow in the track of any previous publication: his object is faithfully to delineate character, not to encourage vulgar phraseology, or promulgate immoral sentiment. ~ ~~ life in eton; a college chaunt in praise of private tutors.{ } time hallowed shades, and noble names, etonian classic bowers; pros,{ } masters, fellows, and good dames,{ } where pass'd my school-boy hours; private tutor, in the eton school phrase, is another term for a _cad_, a fellow who lurks about college, and assists in all _sprees_ and sports by providing dogs, fishing tackle, guns, horses, bulls for baiting, a badger, or in promoting any other interdicted, or un-lawful pastime. a dozen or more of these well known characters may be seen loitering in front of the college every morning, making their arrangement with their pupils, the _oppidans_, for a day's sport, to commence the moment school is over. they formerly used to occupy a seat on the low wall, in front of the college, but the present headmaster has recently interfered to expel this assemblage; they still, however, carry on their destructive intercourse with youth, by walking about, and watching their opportunity for communication. the merits of these worthies are here faithfully related, and will be instantly recognised by any etonian of the last thirty years. _pros_. eton college is governed by a provost, vice- provost, six fellows, a steward of the courts, head-master, and a lower, or second master; to which is added, nine assistant masters, and five extra ones, appointed to teach french, writing, drawing, fencing, and dancing. the school has materially increased in numbers within the last few years, and now contains nearly five hundred scholars, sons of noblemen and gentlemen, and may be truly said to be the chief nursery for the culture of the flower of the british nation.--see note to page . _dames_. the appellation given to the females who keep boarding-houses in eton. these houses, although out of the college walls, are subject to the surveillance of the head master and fellows, to whom all references and complaints are made. ~ ~~ come list', while i with con,{ } and sock{ } and chaunt,{ } both ripe and mellow, tell how you knowledge stores unlock, to make a clever fellow.{ } for greek and latin, classic stuff, let tug muttons{ }compose it; give oppidans{ } but blunt{ }enough, what odds to them who knows it. a dapper dog,{ } a right coolfish,{ } who snugly dines on pewter; quaffs bulstrode ale,{ } and takes his dish. con. a con is a companion, or friend; as, "you are cons of late." sock signifies eating or drinking niceties; as, pastry, jellies, bishop, &c. chaunt, a good song; to versify. this is not intended as an imputation on the learned fellows of eton college, but must be taken in the vulgar acceptation--you're a clever fellow, &c. tug muttons, or tugs, collegers, foundation scholars; an appellation given to them by the oppidans, in derision of the custom which has prevailed from the earliest period, and is still continued, of living entirely on roast mutton; from january to december no other description of meat is ever served up at college table in the hall. there are seventy of these young gentlemen on the foundation who, if they miss their election when they are nineteen, lose all the benefits of a fellowship. oppidans, independent scholars not on the foundation. blunt, london slang (for money), in use here. a dapper doc, any thing smart, or pleasing, as, "ay, that's dapper," or, "you are a dapper dog." a right cool fish, one who is not particular what he says or does. bulstrode ale, a beverage in great request at the christopher. when the effects were sold at bulstrode, garraway purchased a small stock of this famous old ale, which by some miraculous process he has continued to serve out in plentiful quantities ever since. the joke has of late been rather against mine host of the christopher, who, however, to do him justice, has an excellent tap, which is now called the queen's, from some since purchased at windsor: this is sold in small quarts, at one shilling per jug. ~ ~~ in private with his tutor.{ } in lieu of ancient learned lore, which might his brain bewilder, rum college slang he patters o'er, with cads{ }who chouse{ } the guilder. who's truly learn'd must read mankind, truth's axiom inculcates: the world's a volume to the mind, instructive more than pulpits.{ } come fill the bowl with _bishop_ up, _clods,{ } fags,{ } and skugs{ } and muttons{ }_; when _absence_{ } calls ye into sup, drink, drink to me, ye gluttons. i'll teach ye how to kill dull care, improve your box of knowledge,{ } many of the young noblemen and gentlemen at eton are accompanied by private tutors, who live with them to expedite their studies; they are generally of the college, and recommended by the head master for their superior endowments. cad, a man of all work, for dirty purposes, yclept private tutor. see note , page . chouse the guilder. chouse or chousing is generally applied to any transaction in which they think they may have been cheated or overcharged. guilder is a cant term for gold. nothing in the slightest degree unorthodox is meant to be inferred from this reasoning, but simply the sentiment of this quotation-'the proper study of mankind is man.' clods, as, "you clod," a town boy, or any one not an etonian, no matter how respectable. fags, boys in the lower classes. every fifth form boy has his fag. scug or skug, a lower boy in the school, relating to sluggish. muttons. see note . absence. at three-quarters past eight in summer, and earlier in winter, several of the masters proceed to the different dames' houses, and call absence, when every boy is compelled to be instantly in quarters for the night, on pain of the most severe punishment. box of knowledge, the pericranium. with all that's witty, choice, and rare, 'fore all the _slugs_{ } of college. of private tutors, vulgo cads, a list i mean to tender; the qualities of all the lads, their prices to a _bender_.{ } first, shampo carter{ } doffs his _tile_, to dive, to fish, or fire; there's few can better time beguile, and none in sporting higher. slugs of college, an offensive appellation applied to the fellows of eton by the townsmen. bender, a sixpence. note from bernard blackmantle, m.a. to shampo carter and co. p.t.'s:-- messieurs the cads of eton, in handing down to posterity your multifarious merits and brilliant qualifications, you will perceive i have not forgotten the signal services and delightful gratifications so often afforded me in the days of my youth. be assured, most assiduous worthies, that i am fully sensible of all your merits, and can appreciate justly your great usefulness to the rising generation. you are the sappers and miners of knowledge, who attack and destroy the citadel of sense before it is scarcely defensible. it is no fault of yours if the stripling of eton is not, at eighteen, well initiated into all the mysteries of life, excepting only the, to him, mysterious volumes of the classics. to do justice to all was not within the limits of my work; i have therefore selected from among you the most distinguished names, and i flatter myself, in so doing, i have omitted very few of any note; if, however, any efficient member of your brotherhood should have been unintentionally passed by, he has only to forward an authenticated copy of his biography and peculiar merits to the publisher, to meet with insertion in a second edition. bernard blackmantle. bill carter is, after all, a very useful fellow, if it was only in teaching the young etonians to swim, which he does, by permission of the head master. tile, a hat. ~ ~~ joe cannon, or my lord's a gun,{ } a regular nine pounder; to man a boat, stands number one, and ne'er was known to flounder. there's foxey hall{ } can throw the line with any walton angler; to tell his worth would task the nine, or pose a cambridge wrangler. next, pickey powell{ } at a ball is master of the wicket; can well deliver at a call a trite essay on cricket. jem flowers { } baits a badger well, for a bull _hank, or tyke_, sir; and as an out and out bred _swell_,{ } was never seen his like. a gun--"he's a great gun," a good fellow, a knowing one. joe is a first rate waterman, and by the etonians styled "admiral of the fleet." "not a better fellow than jack hall among the cads," said an old etonian, "or a more expert angler." barb, gudgeon, dace, and chub, seem to bite at his bidding; and if they should be a little shy, why jack knows how to "go to work with the net." who, that has been at eton, and enjoyed the manly and invigorating exercise of cricket, has not repeatedly heard jem powell in tones of exultation say, "only see me '_liver thin here_ ball, my young master?" and, in good truth, jem is right, for very few can excel him in that particular: and then (when jem is _bacchi plenis_,) who can withstand his _quart of sovereigns_. on such occasions jem is seen marching up and down before the door of his house, with a silver quart tankard filled with gold--the savings of many years of industry. jem flowers is an old soldier; and, in marshalling the forces for a bull or a badger-bait, displays all the tactics of an experienced general officer. caleb baldwin would no more bear comparison with jem than a flea does to an elephant. when it is remembered how near eton is to london, and how frequent the communication, it will appear astonishing, but highly creditable to the authorities, that so little of the current slang of the day is to be met with here. ~ ~~ there's jolly jem,{ } who keeps his punt, and dogs to raise the siller; of _cads_, the captain of the hunt, a right and tight good miller. next barney groves,{ } a learned wight, the impounder of cattle, dilates on birth and common right, and threats _black slugs_ with battle. big george { } can teach the use of fives, or pick up a prime terrier; or _spar_, or keep the game alive, with beagle, bull, or harrier. savager{ } keeps a decent nag, jem miller was originally a tailor; but having dropt a stitch or two in early life, _listed_ into a sporting regiment of cads some years since; and being a better shot at hares and partridges than he was considered at the _heavy goose_, has been promoted to the rank of captain of the private tutors. jem is a true jolly fellow; his house exhibits a fine picture of what a sportsman's hall should be, decorated with all the emblems of fishing, fowling, and hunting, disposed around in great taste. barney groves, the haughward, or impounder of stray cattle at eton, is one of the most singular characters i have ever met with. among the ignorant barney is looked up to as the fountain of local and legal information; and it is highly ludicrous to hear him expatiate on his favourite theme of "our birthrights and common rights;" tracing the first from the creation, and deducing argument in favor of his opinions on the second from doomsday book, through all the intricate windings of the modern inclosure acts. barney is a great stickler for reform in college, and does not hesitate to attack the fellows of eton (whom he denominates black slugs), on holding pluralities, and keeping the good things to themselves. as barney's avocation compels him to travel wide, he is never interrupted by water; for in summer or winter he readily wades through the deepest places; he is consequently a very efficient person in a sporting party. george williams, a well-known dog fancier, who also teaches the art and science of pugilism. savager, a livery-stable keeper, who formerly used to keep a good tandem or two for hire, but on the interference of the head master, who interdicted such amusements as dangerous, they have been put down in eton. ~ ~~ but's very shy of lending, since she put down her tandem _drag_,{ } for fear of keates offending. but if you want to splash along in glory with a _ginger_,{ } or in a stanhope come it strong, try isaac clegg,{ } of windsor. if o'er old father thames you'd glide, and cut the silvery stream; with hester's{ } eight oars mock the tide, he well deserves a _theme_. there's charley miller, and george hall,{ } can beasts and birds restore, sir; and though they cannot bark or squall, look livelier than before, sir. handy jack's { } a general blade, there's none like garraway, sir; boats, ducks, or dogs, are all his trade, he'll fit you to a say, sir. dr a g, london slang for tilbury, dennet, stanhope, &c. a ginger, a showy, fast horse. isaac clegg is in great repute for his excellent turn outs, and prime nags; and, living in windsor, he is out of the jurisdiction of the head master. hester's boats are always kept in excellent trim. at eton exercise on the water is much practised, and many of the scholars are very expert watermen: they have recently taken to boats of an amazing length, forty feet and upwards, which, manned with eight oars, move with great celerity. every saturday evening the scholars are permitted to assume fancy dresses; but the practice is now principally confined to the steersman; the rest simply adopting sailors' costume, except on the fourth of june, or election saturday, when there is always a grand gala, a band of music, and fireworks, on the island in the thames. miller and hall, two famous preservers of birds and animals; an art in high repute among the etonians. a famous boatman, duck-hunter, dog-fighter; or, according to the london phrase--good at everything. ~ ~~ tom new { } in manly sports is old, a tailor, and a trump, sir; and _odd fish bill_,{ } at sight of gold, will steer clear of the bump,"{ } sir. a list of _worthies_, learn'd and great in every art and science, that noble youths should emulate, to set laws at defiance: the church, the senate, and the bar, by these in ethics grounded, must prove a meteoric star, of brilliancy compounded. ye lights of eton, rising suns, of all that's great and godly; the nation's hope, and dread of _duns_, let all your acts be _motley_. learn arts like these, ye oppidan, if you'd astonish greatly the senate, or the great divan, with classics pure, and stately. give greek and latin to the wind, bid pedagogues defiance: these are the rules to grace the mind with the true gems of science. tom new, a great cricketer. bill fish, a waterman who attends the youngest boys in their excursions. the bump, to run against each other in the race. ~ ~~ apollo's visit to eton. ~ ~~ this whimsical production appeared originally in , in an eton miscellany entitled the college magazine; the poetry of which was afterwards selected, and only fifty copies struck off: these have been carefully suppressed, principally we believe on account of this article, as it contains nothing that we conceive can be deemed offensive, and has allusions to almost all the distinguished scholars of that period, besides including the principal contributors to the etonian, a recent popular work: we have with some difficulty filled up the blanks with real names; and, at the suggestion of several old etonians, incorporated it with the present work, as a fair criterion of the promising character of the school at this particular period. the practice of thus distinguishing the rising talents of eton is somewhat ancient. we have before us a copy of verses dated , in which waller, the poet, and other celebrated characters of his time, are particularised. at a still more recent period, during the mastership of the celebrated doctor barnard, the present earl of carlisle, whose classical taste is universally admitted, distinguished himself not less than his compeers, by some very elegant lines: those on the late right hon. c. j. fox we are induced to extract as a strong proof of the noble earl's early penetration and foresight. "how will my fox, alone, by strength of parts. shake the loud senate, animate the hearts of fearful statesmen? while around you stand both peers and commons listening your command. ~ ~~ while _tully's_ sense its weight to you affords, his nervous sweetness shall adorn your words. what praise to pitt,{ } to townshend, e'er was due, in future times, my pox, shall wait on you." at a subsequent period, the leading characters of the school were spiritedly drawn in a periodical newspaper, called the world, then edited by major topham, and the rev. mr. east, who is still, i believe, living, and preaches occasionally at whitehall. from that publication, now very scarce, i have selected the following as the most amusing, and relating to distinguished persons. the great earl of chatham. recollections of an old etonian. the lords littleton--father and son, formed two opposite characters in their times. the former had a distinguished turn for pastoral poetry, and wrote some things at eton with all the enthusiasm of early years, and yet with all the judgment of advanced life. the latter showed there, in some traits of disposition, what was to be expected from him; but he too loved the muses, and cultivated them. he there too displayed the strange contraries of being an ardent admirer of the virtues of classic times, while he was cheating at chuck and all-fours; and though he affected every species of irreligion, was, in fact, afraid of his own shadow. the whole north family have, in succession, adorned this school with their talents--which in the different branches were various, but all of mark and vivacity. to the younger part, dampier was the tutor; who, having a little disagreement with frank north on the hundred steps coming down from the terrace, at windsor, they adjusted it, by frank north's rolling his tutor very quickly down the whole of them. the tutor has since risen to some eminence in the church. lord cholmondeley was early in life a boy of great parts, and they have continued so ever since, though not lively ones. earl of buckingham was a plain good scholar, but ~ ~~ would have been better at any other school, for he was no poet, and verse is here one of the first requisites; besides, he had an impediment in his speech, which, in the hurry of repeating a lesson before a number of boys, was always increased. it was inculcated to him by his dame--that he must look upon himself as the reverse of a woman in every thing, and not hold--that whoever "_deliberates is lost_." lord harrington was a boy of much natural spirit. in the great rebellion, under _forster_, when all the boys threw their books into the thames, and marched to salt hill, he was amongst the foremost. at that place each took an oath, or rather swore, he would be d------d if ever he returned to school again. when, therefore, he came to london to the old lord harrington's, and sent up his name, his father would only speak to him at the door, insisting, at the same time, on his immediate return. "sir," said the son, "consider i shall be d--d if i do!" "and i" answered the father, "will be d--d if you don't!" "yes, my lord," replied the son, "but you will be d--d together i do or no!" the storers. anthony and tom, for west indians, were better scholars than usually fell to the share of those _children of the sun_, who were, in general, too gay to be great. the name of the elder stands to this day at the head of many good exercises; from which succeeding genius has stolen, and been praised for it. tom had an odd capability of running round a room on the edge of the wainscot, a strange power of holding by the foot: an art which, in lower life, might have been serviceable to him in the showing it. and anthony, likewise, amongst better and more brilliant qualifications, had the reputation of being amongst the best dancers of the age. in a political line, perhaps, he did not _dance attendance_ to much purpose. harry conway, brother to the present marquis of ~ ~~ hertford, though younger in point of learning, was older than his brother, lord beauchamp; but he was not so forward as to show this preeminence: a somewhat of modesty, a consciousness of being younger, always kept him back from displaying it. in fact, they were perfectly unlike two irish boys--the wades, who followed them, and who, because the younger was taller, used to fight about which was the eldest. pepys. a name well known for barnard's commendation of it, and for his exercises in the _musæ etonenses_. he was amongst the best poets that eton ever produced. kirkshaw, son to the late doctor, of leeds, and since fellow of trinity college. when his father would have taken him away, he made a singular request that he might stay a year longer, not wishing to be made a man so early. many satiric latin poems bear his name at eton, and he continued that turn afterwards at cambridge. he was remarkable for a very large head; but it should likewise be added, there was a good deal in it. on this head, his father used to hold forth in the country. he was, without a figure, the head of the school, and was afterwards in the caput at the university. wyndham, under barnard, distinguished himself very early as a scholar, and for a logical acuteness, which does not often fall to the share of a boy. he was distinguished too both by land and by water; for while he was amongst the most informed of his time, in school hours, in the playing fields, on the water, with the celebrated boatman, my guinea piper at cricket, or in rowing, he was always the foremost. he used to boast, that he should in time be as good a boxer as his father was, though he used to add, that never could be exactly known, as he could not decently have a _set-to_ with him. ~ ~~ fawkener, the major, was captain of the school; and in those days was famed for the "_suaviter in modo_," and for a turn for gallantry with the windsor milliners, which he pursued up the hundred steps, and over the terrace there. as this turn frequently made him overrun the hours of absence, on his return he was found out, and flogged the next morning; but this abated not his zeal in the cause of gallantry, as he held it to be, like _ovid_, whom he was always reading, suffering in a fair cause. fawkener, everard, minor, with the same turn for pleasure as his brother, but more open and ingenuous in his manner, more unreserved in his behaviour, then manifested, what he has since been, the bon vivant of every society, and was then as since, the admired companion in every party. prideaux was remarkable for being the gravest boy of his time, and for having the longest chin. had he followed the ancient "_sapientem pascere barbam_," there would in fact have been no end of it. with this turn, however, his time was not quite thrown away, nor his gravity. in conjunction with dampier, langley, and serjeant, who were styled the learned cons, he composed a very long english poem, in the same metre as the bath guide, and of which it was then held a favour to get a copy. he had so much of advanced life about him, that the masters always looked upon him as a man; and this serious manner followed him through his pastimes. he was fond of billiards; but he was so long in making his stroke, that no boy could bear to play with him: when the game, therefore, went against him, like fabius-_cunctando restituit rem_; and they gave it up rather than beat him. hulse. amongst the best tennis-players that eton ever sent up to windsor, where he always was. as a poet he distinguished himself greatly, by winning one of the medals given by sir john dalrymple. his ~ ~~ exercise on this occasion was the subject of much praise to doctor forster, then master, and of much envy to his contemporaries in the sixth form, who said it was given to him because he was head boy. these were his arts; besides which he had as many tricks as any boy ever had. he had nothing when præpositer, and of course ruling under boys, of dignity about him, or of what might enforce his authority. when he ought to have been angry, some monkey trick always came across him, and he would make a serious complaint against a little boy, in a hop, step, and a jump. montague. having a great predecessor before him under the appellation of "_mad montague_" had always a consolatory comparison in this way in his favor. in truth, at times he wanted it, for he was what has been termed a genius: but he was likewise so in talent. he was an admirable poet, and had a neatness of expression seldom discoverable at such early years. in proof, may be brought a line from a latin poem on cricket: "_clavigeri fallit verbera--virga cadit_." and another on scraping a man down at the _robin hood_: "_radit arenosam pes inimicus humum_." the scratching of the foot on the sandy floor is admirable. during a vacation, lord sandwich took him to holland; and he sported on his return a dutch-built coat for many weeks. the boys used to call him _mynheer montague_; but his common habit of oddity soon got the better of his coat. he rose to be a young man of great promise, as to abilities; and died too immaturely for his fame. tickell, the elder. _manu magis quam capite_ should have been his motto. by natural instinct he loved ~ ~~ fighting, and knew not what fear was. he went amongst his school-fellows by the name of hannibal, and old tough. a brother school-fellow of his, no less a man than the marquis of buckingham, met, and recognised him again in ireland, and with the most marked solicitude of friendship, did every thing but assist him, in obtaining a troop of dragoons, which he had much at heart. tickell, minor, should then have had the eulogy of how much elder art thou than thy years! in those early days his exercises, read publicly in school, gave the anticipation of what time and advancing years have brought forth. he was an admirable scholar, and a poet from nature; forcible, neat, and discriminating. the fame of his grandsire, the tickell of addison, was not hurt by the descent to him. his sister, who was the beauty of windsor castle, and the admiration of all, early excited a passion in a boy then at school, who afterwards married her. of this sister he was very fond; but he was not less so of another female at windsor, a regard since terminated in a better way with his present wife. his pamphlet of _anticipation_, it is said, placed him where he since was, under the auspices of lord north; but his abilities were of better quality, and deserved a better situation for their employment. lord plymouth, then lord windsor, had to boast some distinctions, which kept him aloof from the boys of his time. he was of that inordinate size that, like falstaff, four square yards on even ground were so many miles to him; and the struggles which he underwent to raise himself when down might have been matter of instruction to a minority member. in the entrance to his dame's gate much circumspection was necessary; for, like some good men out of power, he found it difficult to get in. when in school, or otherwise, he was not undeserving of praise, either as to temper or ~ ~~ scholarship; and whether out of the excellence of his christianity, or that of good humour, he was not very adverse to good living; and he continued so ever after. lord leicester had the reputation of good scholarship, and not undeservedly. in regard to poetry, however, he was sometimes apt to break the eighth commandment, and prove lie read more the musee etonenses than his prayer-book. inheriting it from lord townshend, the father of caricaturists, he there pursued, with nearly equal ability, that turn for satiric drawing. the master, the tutors, slender prior, and fat roberts,--all felt in rotation the effects of his pencil. there too, as well as since, he had a most venerable affection for heraldry, and the same love of collecting together old titles, and obsolete mottos. once in the military, he had, it may be said, a turn for arms. in a zeal of this kind he once got over the natural mildness of his temper, and was heard to exclaim--"there are two griffins in my family that have been missing these three centuries, and by g-, i'll have iliem back again!"-this passion was afterwards improved into so perfect a knowledge, that in the creation of peers he was applied to, that every due ceremonial might be observed; and he never failed in his recollection on these antiquated subjects. tom plummer gave then a specimen of that quickness and vivacity of parts for which he was afterwards famed. but not as a scholar, not as a poet, was he quick alone; he was quick too in the wrong ends of things, as well as the right, with a plausible account to follow it. in fact, he was born for the law; clear, discriminating, judicious, alive, and with a noble impartiality to all sides of questions, and which none could defend better. this goes, however, only to the powers of his head; in those of the heart no one, and in the best ~ ~~ and tenderest qualities of it, ever stood better. he was liked universally, and should be so; for no man was ever more meritorious for being good, as he who had all the abilities which sometimes make a man otherwise. in the progress of life mind changes often, and body almost always. both these rules, however, he lived to contradict; for his talents and his qualities retained their virtue; and when a boy he was as tall as when a man, and apparently the same. capel loft. in the language of eton the word gig comprehended all that was ridiculous, all that was to be laughed at, and plagued to death; and of all gigs that was, or ever will be, this gentleman, while a boy, was the greatest. he was like nothing, "in the heavens above, or the waters under the earth;" and therefore he was surrounded by a mob of boys whenever he appeared. these days of popularity were not pleasant. luckily, however, for himself, he found some refuge from persecution in his scholarship. this scholarship was much above the rate, and out of the manner of common boys. as a poet, he possessed fluency and facility, but not the strongest imagination. as a classic, he was admirable; and his prose themes upon different subjects displayed an acquaintance with the latin idiom and phraseology seldom acquired even by scholastic life, and the practice of later years. beyond this, he read much of everything that appeared, knew every thing, and was acquainted with every better publication of the times. even then he studied law, politics, divinity; and could have written well upon those subjects. these talents have served him since more effectually than they did then; more as man than boy: for at school he was a kind of gray beard: he neither ran, played, jumped, swam, or fought, as ~ ~~ other boys do. the descriptions of puerile years, so beautifully given by _gray_, in his ode: "who, foremost, now delight to cleave, with pliant arm, thy glassy wave? the captive linnet which enthrall? what idle progeny succeed, to chase the rolling circle's speed, or urge the flying ball?" all these would have been, and were, as non-descriptive of him as they would have been of the lord chancellor of england, with a dark brow and commanding mien, determining a cause of the first interest to this country. added to this, in personal appearance he was most unfavored; and exemplified the irish definition of an open countenance--a mouth from ear to ear. lord hinchinbroke, from the earliest period of infancy, had all the marks of the montagu family. he had a good head, and a red head, and a roman nose, and a turn to the _ars amatoria_ of ovid, and all the writers who may have written on love. as it was in the beginning--may be said now. though in point of scholarship he was not in the very first line, the descendant of lord sandwich could not but have ability, and he had it; but this was so mixed with the wanderings of the heart, the vivacity of youthful imagination, and a turn to pleasure, that a steady pursuit of any one object of a literary turn could not be expected. but it was his praise that he went far in a short time; sometimes too far; for barnard had to exercise himself, and his red right arm, as the vengeful poet expresses it, very frequently on the latter end of his lordship's excursions. in one of these excursions to windsor, he had the good or ill fortune to engage in a little amorous amement with a young lady, the consequence of ~ ~~ which was an application to lucina for assistance. of this doctor barnard was informed, and though the remedy did not seem tending towards a cure, he was brought up immediately to be flogged. he bore this better than his master, who cried out, after some few lashes--"psha! what signifies my flogging him for being like his father? what's bred in the bone will never get out of the flesh." gibbs. some men are overtaken by the law, and some few overtake it themselves. in this small, but happy number, may be placed the name in question; and a name of better promise, whether of man or boy, can scarcely be found any where. at school he was on the foundation; and though amongst the collegers, where the views of future life, and hope of better days, arising from their own industry, make learning a necessity, yet to that he added the better qualities of genius and talent. as a classical scholar, he was admirable in both languages. as a poet, he was natural, ready, and yet distinguished. amongst the best exercises of the time, his were to be reckoned, and are yet remembered with praise. for the medals given by sir john dalrymple for the best latin poem, he was a candidate; but though his production was publicly read by doctor forster, and well spoken of, he was obliged to give way to the superiority of another on that occasion. describing the winding of the thames through its banks, it had this beautiful line: "_rodit arundineas facili sinuamine ripas------_" perfect as to the picture, and beautiful as to the flowing of the poetry. he had the good fortune and the good temper to be liked by every body of his own age; and he was not enough found out of bounds, or trespassing against "sacred order," to be disliked by those of greater age who were set over him. ~ ~~ after passing through all the different forms at eton, he was removed to cambridge; where he distinguished himself not less than at school in trials for different literary honors. there he became assistant tutor to sir peter burrell, who then listened to his instructions, and has not since forgotten them. as a tutor, he was somewhat young; but the suavity of his manners took away the comparison of equality; and his real knowledge rendered him capable of instructing those who might be even older than himself. [illustration: page ] apollo's visit to eton.{ } t'other night, as apollo was quaffing a gill with his pupils, the muses, from helicon's rill, (for all circles of rank in parnassus agree in preferring cold water to coffee or tea) the discourse turned as usual on critical matters, and the last stirring news from the kingdom of letters. but when poets, and critics, and wits, and what not, from jeffery and byron, to stoddart and stott,{ } had received their due portion of consideration, cried apollo, "pray, ladies, how goes education? for i own my poor brain's been so muddled of late, in transacting the greater affairs of the state; and so long every day in the courts i've been stewing, i've had no time to think what the children were doing. there's my favorite byron my presence inviting, and milman, and coleridge, and moore, have been writing; and my ears at this moment confoundedly tingle, from the squabbling of blackwood with cleghorn and pringle: but as all their disputes seem at length at an end, and the poets my levee have ceased to attend; since the weather's improving, and lengthen'd the days, for a visit to eton i'll order my chaise: this poem, the reader will perceive, is an humble imitation of leigh hunt's "feast of the poets;" and the lines distinguished by asterisks are borrowed or altered from the original. a writer in "the morning post," mentioned by lord byron, in his "english bards and scotch reviewers." ~ ~~ there's my sister diana my day coach to drive, and i'll send the new canto to keep you alive. so my business all settled, and absence supply'd, for an earthly excursion to-morrow i'll ride." thus spoke king apollo; the muses assented; and the god went to bed most bepraised and contented. 'twas on saturday morning, near half past eleven, when a god, like a devil, came driving from heaven, and with postboys, and footmen, and liveries blazing, soon set half the country a gaping and gazing. when the carriage drove into the christopher yard, how the waiters all bustled, and garraway stared; and the hostlers and boot-catchers wonder'd, and swore "they'd ne'er seen such a start in their lifetime before!" i could tell how, as soon as his chariot drew nigh, every cloud disappear'd from the face of the sky; and the birds in the hedges more tunefully sung, and the bells in st. george's spontaneously rung; and the people, all seized with divine inspiration, couldn't talk without rhyming and versification. but such matters, though vastly important, i ween, are too long for the limits of your magazine. now it soon got abroad that apollo was come, and intended to be, for that evening, "at home;" and that cards would be issued, and tickets be given, to all scholars and wits, for a dinner at seven. so he'd scarcely sat clown, when a legion came pouring of would-be-thought scholars, his favor imploring. first, buller stept in, with a lengthy oration about "scandalous usage," and "hard situation:" and such treatment as never, since eton was started, ~ ~~ had been shown to a genius, like him, "broken-hearted." he'd " no doubt but his friends in parnassus must know how his fine declamation was laugh'd at below; and how keate, like a blockhead ungifted with brains, had neglected to grant him a prize for his pains. he was sure, if such conduct continued much longer, the school must grow weaker, and indolence stronger; that the rights of sixth form would be laid in the dust, and the school after that, he thought, tumble it must. but he knew that apollo was learned and wise, and he hoped that his godship would give him a prize; or, at least, to make up for his mortification, would invite him to dinner without hesitation." now apollo, it seems, had some little pretence to a trifling proportion of wisdom and sense: so without ever asking the spark to be seated, he thus cut short his hopes, and his projects defeated. "after all, mr. buller, you've deign'd to repeat, i'm afraid that you'll think me as stupid as keate: but to wave all disputes on your talents and knowledge, pray what have you done as the captain of college? have you patronized learning, or sapping commended? have you e'er to your fags, or their studies, attended? to the school have you given of merit a sample, and directed by precept, or led by example?" ***** what apollo said more i'm forbidden to say, but buller dined not at his table that day. next, a smart little gentleman march'd with a stare up, a smoothing his neckcloth, and patting his hair up; and with bows and grimaces quadrillers might follow, said, " he own'd that his face was unknown to apollo; ~ ~~ but he held in hand what must be his apology, a short treatise he'd written on _british geology_; and this journal, he hoped, of his studies last week, in philosophy, chemistry, logic, and greek, might appear on perusal: but not to go far in proclaiming his merits--his name was tom carr: and for proofs of his talents, deserts, and what not, he appeal'd to miss baillie, lord byron, and scott." here his speech was cut short by a hubbub below, and in walk'd messrs. maturin, cookesly, and co., and begg'd leave to present to his majesty's finger-- if he'd please to accept--no. of the linger.{ } mr. maturin "hoped he the columns would view with unprejudiced judgment, and give them their due, nor believe all the lies, which perhaps he had seen, in that vile publication, that base magazine,{ } which had dared to impeach his most chaste lucubrations, of obscenity, nonsense, and such accusations. nay, that impudent work had asserted downright, that chalk differ'd from cheese, and that black wasn't white; but he hoped he might meet with his majesty's favor;" and thus, hemming and hawing, he closed his palaver. now the god condescended to look at the papers, but the first word he found in them gave him the vapours: for the eyes of apollo, ye gods! 'twas a word quite unfit to be written, and more to be heard; 'twas a word which a bargeman would tremble to utter, and it put his poor majesty all in a flutter; but collecting his courage, his laurels he shook, and around on the company cast such a look, that e'en turin and dumpling slank off to the door, and the lion was far too much frighten'd to roar; an eton periodical of the time. the college magazine. ~ ~~ while poor carr was attack'd with such qualms at the breast, that he took up his journal, and fled with the rest. when the tumult subsided, and peace 'gan to follow, goddard enter'd the room, with three cards for apollo, and some papers which, hardly five minutes before, three respectable gownsmen had left at the door. with a smile of good humour the god look'd at each, for he found that they came from blunt, chapman, and neech.{ } blunt sent him a treatise of science profound, showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound; some "remarks on debates," and some long-winded stories, of society whigs, and society tories; and six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation, on the present most wicked and dull generation. from chapman came lectures on monk, and on piety; on simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety; with most clear illustrations, and critical notes, on his own right exclusive of canvassing votes. from neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme, satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime; but he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse, for his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse. phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three, and sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea. the affairs of the morning thus happily o'er, phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more, which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse 'mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse: 'mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see, there was howard, and coleridge, and wood, and lavie, the society's props; curzon, major and minor, principal contributors to the etonian. ~ ~~ bowen, hennicker, webbe, were invited to dinner: the theologist buxton, and petit, were seen, and philosopher jenyns, and donald maclean; bulteel too, and dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!) that, though many were ask'd, very few of them came. as for coleridge, he "knew not what right phobus had, d--n me, to set up for a judge in a christian academy; and he'd not condescend to submit his latinity, nor his verses, nor greek, to a heathen divinity. for his part, he should think his advice an affront, full as bad as the libels of chapman and blunt. he'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good, but he'd not go and taste it--be d--d if he would." dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile, and maclean was engaged to the duke of argyll; in a deep fit of lethargy petit had sunk, and theologist buxton with _bishop_ was drunk; bulteel too, and dykes, much against their own will, had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill; and philosopher jenyns was bent on his knees, to electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas. but the rest all accepted the god's invitation, and made haste to prepare for this jollification. now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be, but to tell every dish is too tedious for me; such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long, and, besides, i must haste to the end of my song. 'tis enough to relate that, the better to dine, jove sent them some nectar, and bacchus some wine. from minerva came olives to crown the dessert, and from helicon water was sent most alert, of which howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep, that he almost fell into poetical sleep.{ } when the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round, "nec fonte labra prolui c'aballino, nec in bicipiti sommasse parnasso." persius. ~ ~~ wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound, though lord chesterfield would not have call'd them polite, for they all often burst into laughter outright. ***** but swift flew the moments of rapture and glee, and too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea. with looks most demure, each prepared with a speech, at the table were seated blunt, chapman, and neech. phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free, and with easy politeness shook hands with all three; and the party proceeded, increased to a host, to discuss bread and butter, tea, coffee, and toast. as their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth, and apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth: with divine inspiration he kindled each mind, till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined; and an evening, enliven'd by conviviality, proved how much they were pleased by the god's hospitality. thalia.{ } this poem is attributed to j. moultrie, esq. of trinity college, cambridge. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] eton montem. stand by, old cant, while i admire the young and gay, with souls of fire, unloose the cheerful heart. hence with thy puritanic zeal; true virtue is to grant and feel-- a bliss thou'lt ne'er impart. i love thee, montem,--love thee, by all the brightest recollections of my youth, for the inspiring pleasures which thy triennial pageant revives in my heart: joined with thy merry throng, i can forget the cares and disappointments of the world; and, tripping gaily with the light-hearted, youthful band, cast off the gloom of envy and of worldly pursuit, reassociating myself with the joyous scenes of my boyhood. nay, more, i hold thee in higher veneration than ever did antiquarian worship the relics of _virtu_. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ destruction light upon the impious hand that would abridge thy ancient charter;--be all thy children, father etona, doubly-armed to defend thy ancient honors;--let no modern goth presume to violate thy sacred rights; but to the end of time may future generations retain the spirit of thy present race; and often as the happy period comes, new pleasures wait upon the eton montem.{ } the ancient custom, celebrated at eton every third year, on whit-tuesday, and which bears the title of the montem, appears to have defied antiquarian research, as far as relates to its original institution. it consiste of a procession to a small tumulus on the southern side of the bath road, which has given the name of salt-hill to the spot, now better known by the splendid inns that are established there. the chief object of this celebration, however, is to collect money for salt, according to the language of the day, from all persons who assemble to see the show, nor does it fail to be exacted from travellers on the road, and even at the private residences within a certain, but no inconsiderable, range of the spot. the scholars appointed to collect the money are called _salt- bearers_; they are arrayed in fancy dresses, and are attended by others called scouts, of a similar, but less showy appearance. tickets are given to such persons as have paid their contributions, to secure them from any further demand. this ceremony is always very numerously attended by etonians, and has frequently been honored with the presence of his late majesty, and the different branches of the royal family. the sum collected on the occasion has sometimes exceeded l., and is given to the senior scholar, who is called captain of the school. this procession appears to be coeval with the foundation; and it is the opinion of mr. lysons, that it was a ceremonial of the bairn, or boy- bishop. he states, that it originally took place on the th of december, the festival of st. nicholas, the patron of children; being the day on which it was customary at salisbury, and in other places where the ceremony was observed, to elect the boy-bishop from among the children belonging to the cathedral. this mock dignity lasted till innocents' day; and, during the intermediate time, the boy performed various episcopal functions. if it happened that he died before the allotted period of this extraordinary mummery had expired, he was buried with all the ceremonials which were used at the funerals of prelates. in the voluminous collections relating to antiquities, bequeathed by mr. cole, who was himself of eton and king's colleges, to the british museum, is a note which ~ ~~ mentions that the ceremony of the bairn or boy-bishop was to be observed by charter, and that geoffry blythe, bishop of lichfield, who died in , bequeathed several ornaments to those colleges, for the dress of the bairn-bishop. but on what authority this industrious antiquary gives the information, which, if correct, would put an end to all doubt on the subject, does not appear. but, after all, why may not this custom be supposed to have originated in a procession to perform an annual mass at the altar of some saint, to whom a small chapel might have been dedicated on the mount called salt-hill; a ceremony very common in catholic countries, as such an altar is a frequent appendage to their towns and populous villages? as for the selling of salt, it may be considered as a natural accompaniment, when its emblematical character, as to its use in the ceremonies of the roman church, is contemplated. till the time of doctor barnard, the procession of the montem was every two years, and on the first or second tuesday in february. it consisted of something of a military array. the boys in the remove, fourth, and inferior forms, marched in a long file of two and two, with white poles in their hands, while the sixth and fifth form boys walked on their flanks as officers, and habited in all the variety of dress, each of them having a boy of the inferior forms, smartly equipped, attending on him as a footman. the second boy in the school led the procession in a military dress, with a truncheon in his hand, and bore for the day the title of marshal: then followed the captain, supported by his chaplain, the head scholar of the fifth form, dressed in a suit of black, with a large bushy wig, and a broad beaver decorated with a twisted silk hatband and rose, the fashionable distinction of the dignified clergy of that day. it was his office to read certain latin prayers on the mount at salt-hill the third boy of the school brought up the rear as lieutenant. one of the higher classes, whose qualification was his activity, was chosen ensign, and carried the colours, which were emblazoned with the college arms, and the motto, _pro mort el monte_. this flag, before the procession left the college, he flourished in the school-yard with all the dexterity displayed at astley's and places of similar exhibition. the same ceremony was repeated after prayers, on the mount. the regiment dined in the inns at salt-hill, and then returned to the college; and its dismission in the school-yard was announced by the universal drawing of all the swords. those who bore the title of commissioned officers were exclusively on the foundation, and carried spontoons; the rest were considered as serjeants and corporals, and a most curious assemblage of figures they exhibited. the two principal salt-bearers consisted of an oppidan and a colleger: the former was generally some nobleman, whose figure and personal connexions might advance the interests of the collections. they were dressed like running footmen, and carried, each of them, a silk bag to receive the contributions, in which was a small quantity of salt. during doctor barnard's mastership, the ceremony was made triennial, the time changed from february to whit- tuesday, and several of its absurdities retrenched. an ancient and savage custom of hunting a ram by the foundation scholars, on saturday in the election week, was abolished in the earlier part of the last century. the curious twisted clubs with which these collegiate hunters were armed on the occasion are still to be seen in antiquarian collections. ~ ~~ what coronation, tournament, or courtly pageant, can outshine thy splendid innocence and delightful gaiety? what regal banquet yields half the pure enjoyment the sons of old etona experience, when, after months of busy preparation, the happy morn arrives ushered in with the inspiring notes of "_auld lang syne_" from the well-chosen band in the college breakfast-room? then, too, the crowds of admiring spectators, the angel host of captivating beauties with their starry orbs of light, and luxuriant tresses, curling in playful elegance around a face beaming with divinity, or falling in admired negligence over bosoms of alabastrine whiteness and unspotted purity within! grey-bearded wisdom and the peerless great, the stars of honor in the field and state, the pulpit and the bar, send forth their brightest ornaments to grace etona's holiday. oxford and cambridge, too, lend their classic aid, and many a grateful son of _alma mater_ returns to acknowledge his obligations to his early tutors and swell the number of the mirthful host. here may be seen, concentrated in the quadrangle, the costume of every nation, in all the gay variety that fancy can devise: the persian spangled robe, and the embroidered greek vest; the graceful spanish, and the picturesque italian, the roman toga and the tunic, and the rich old english suit. pages in red frocks, and marshals in their satin ~~ doublets; white wands and splendid turbans, plumes, and velvet hats, all hastening with a ready zeal to obey the call of the muster-roll. the captain with his retinue retires to pay his court to the provost; while, in the doctor's study, may be seen, gathered around the dignitary, a few of those great names who honor eton and owe their honor to her classic tutors. twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession is now marshalled in the quadrangle in sight of the privileged circle, princes, dukes, peers, and doctors with their ladies. here does the ensign first display his skill in public, and the montem banner is flourished in horizontal revolutions about the head and waist with every grace of elegance and ease which the result of three months' practice and no little strength can accomplish. twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession moves forward to the playing fields on its route to salt-hill. now look the venerable spires and antique towers of eton like to some chieftain's baronial castle in the feudal times, and the proud captain represents the hero marching forth at the head of his parti-coloured vassals! the gallant display of rank and fashion and beauty follow in their splendid equipages by slow progressive movement, like the delightful lingering, inch by inch approach to st. james's palace on a full court-day. the place itself is calculated to impress the mind with sentiments of veneration and of heart-moving reminiscences; seated in the bosom of one of the richest landscapes in the kingdom, where on the height majestic windsor lifts its royal brow; calmly magnificent, over-looking, from his round tower, the surrounding country, and waving his kingly banner in the air: 'tis the high court of english chivalry, the birth-place, the residence, and the mausoleum of her kings, and "i' the olden time," the prison of her captured monarchs. "at once, the sovereign's and ~ ~~ the muses' seat," rich beyond almost any other district in palaces, and fanes, and villas, in all the "pomp of patriarchal forests," and gently-swelling hills, and noble streams, and waving harvests; there denham wrote, and pope breathed the soft note of pastoral inspiration; and there too the immortal bard of avon chose the scene in which to wind the snares of love around his fat-encumbered knight. who can visit the spot without thinking of datchet mead and the buck-basket of sweet anne page and master slender, and mine host of the garter, and all the rest of that merry, intriguing crew? and now having reached the foot of the mount and old druidical barrow, the flag is again waved amid the cheers of the surrounding thousands who line its sides, and in their carriages environ its ancient base.{ } now the salt-bearers and the pages bank their collections in one common stock, and the juvenile band partake of the captain's banquet, and drink success to his future prospects in botham's port. then, too, old herbertus stockhore--he must not be forgotten; i have already introduced him to your notice in p. , and my friend bob transit has illustrated the sketch with his portrait; yet here he demands notice in his official character, and perhaps i cannot do better than quote the humorous account given of him by the elegant pen of an old etonian { } "who is that buffoon that travesties the travesty? who is that old cripple alighted from his donkey-cart, who dispenses doggrel and grimaces in all the glory of plush and printed calico?" "that, my most noble cynic, is a prodigious personage. shall birth-days and coronations be recorded in immortal odes, and montem not have its minstrel he, sir, is herbertus stockhore; who first called upon his muse in the good old days of paul whitehead,-- see plate of the montem, sketched on the spot. see knight's quarterly magazine, no. ii. ~ ~~ run a race with pye through all the sublimities of lyres and fires,--and is now hobbling to his grave, after having sung fourteen montems, the only existing example of a legitimate laureate. "he ascended his heaven of invention, before the vulgar arts of reading and writing, which are banishing all poetry from the world, could clip his wings. he was an adventurous soldier in his boyhood; but, having addicted himself to matrimony and the muses, settled as a bricklayer's labourer at windsor. his meditations on the house-tops soon grew into form and substance; and, about the year , he aspired, with all the impudence of shad well, and a little of the pride of petrarch, to the laurel-crown of eton. from that day he has worn his honors on his 'cibberian forehead' without a rival." "and what is his style of composition?" "vastly naïve and original;--though the character of the age is sometimes impressed upon his productions. for the first three odes, ere the school of pope was extinct, he was a compiler of regular couplets such as-- 'ye dames of honor and lords of high renown, who come to visit us at eton town.'" during the next nine years, when the remembrance of collins and gray was working a glorious change in the popular mind, he ascended to pindarics, and closed his lyrics with some such pious invocation as this:-- 'and now we'll sing god save the king, and send him long to reign, that he may come to have some fun at montem once again. ' during the first twelve years of the present century, the influence of the lake school was visible in his ~ ~~ productions. in my great work i shall give an elaborate dissertation on his imitations of the high-priests of that worship; but i must now content myself with a single illustration:-- 'there's ensign ronnell, tall and proud, doth stand upon the hill, and waves the flag to all the crowd, who much admire his skill. and here i sit upon my ass, who lops his shaggy ears; mild thing! he lets the gentry pass, nor heeds the carriages and peel's.' he was once infected (but it was a venial sin) by the heresies of the cockney school; and was betrayed, by the contagion of evil example, into the following conceits: 'behold admiral keato of the terrestrial crew, who teaches greek, latin, and likewise hebrew; he has taught captain dampier, the first in the race, swirling his hat with a feathery grace, cookson the marshal, and willoughby, of size, making minor serjeant-majors in looking-glass eyes.' but he at length returned to his own pure and original style; and, like the dying swan, he sings the sweeter as he is approaching the land where the voice of his minstrelsy shall no more be heard. there is a calm melancholy in the close of his present ode which is very pathetic, and almost shakspearian:-- 'farewell you gay and happy throng! farewell my muse! farewell my song! farewell salt-hill! farewell brave captain.' yet, may it be long before he goes hence and is no more seen! may he limp, like his rhymes, for at least a dozen years; for national schools have utterly annihilated our hopes of a successor!" "i will not attempt to reason with you," said the inquirer, "about the pleasures of montem;--but to an ~ ~~ etonian it is enough that it brings pure and ennobling recollections--calls up associations of hope and happiness--and makes even the wise feel that there is something better than wisdom, and the great that there is something nobler than greatness. and then the faces that come about us at such a time, with their tales of old friendships or generous rivalries. i have seen to-day fifty fellows of whom i remember only the nick-names;--they are now degenerated into scheming m.p.'s, or clever lawyers, or portly doctors; -but at montera they leave the plodding world of reality for one day, and regain the dignities of sixth-form etonians." { } to enumerate all the distinguished persons educated at eton would be no easy task; many of the greatest ornaments of our country have laid the foundation of all their literary and scientific wealth within the towers of this venerable edifice. bishops fleetwood and pearson, the learned john hales, dr. stanhope, sir robert walpole, the great earl camden, outred the mathematician, boyle the philosopher, waller the poet, the illustrious earl of chatham, lord lyttelton, gray the poet, and an endless list of shining characters have owned eton for their scholastic nursery: not to mention the various existing literati who have received their education at this celebrated college. the local situation of eton is romantic and pleasing; there is a monastic gloom about the building, finely contrasting with the beauty of the surrounding scenery, which irresistibly enchains the eye and heart. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ farewell to eton. horatio had just concluded the last sentence of the description of the eton montem, when my aunt, who had now exceeded her usual retiring time by at least half an hour, made a sudden start, upon hearing the chimes of the old castle clock proclaim a notice of the midnight hour. "heavens! boy," said lady mary oldstyle, "what rakes we are! i believe we must abandon all intention of inviting your friend bernard here; for should his conversation prove half as entertaining as these miscellaneous whims and scraps of his early years, we should, i fear, often encroach upon the midnight lamp." "you forget, aunt," replied horatio, "that the swallow has already commenced his spring habitation beneath the housings of our bed-room window, that the long summer evenings will soon be here, and then how delightful would be the society of an intelligent friend to accompany us in our evening perambulations through the park, to chat away half an hour with in the hermitage, or to hold converse on your favourite subject botany, and run through all the varieties of the _camelia japonica_, or the _magnolia fuscata_; then too, i will confess, my own selfishness in the proposition, the pleasure of my friend's company in my fishing excursions, would divest my favourite amusement of its solitary character." ~ ~~ my aunt nodded assent, drew the cowl of her ancient silk cloak over the back part of her head, and, with a half-closed eye, muttered out, in tones of sympathy, her fullest accordance in the proposed arrangement. "i have only one more trifle to read," said horatio, "before i conclude the history of our school-boy days." "we had better have the bed-candles," said my aunt. "you had better hear the conclusion, aunt," said horatio, "and then we can commence the english spy with the evening of to-morrow." my aunt wanted but little excitement to accede to the request, and that little was much exceeded in the promise of horatio's reading bernard's new work on the succeeding evening, when she had calculated on being left in solitary singleness by her nephew's visit to the county ball. "you must know, aunt," said horatio, "that it has been a custom, from time immemorial at eton, for every scholar to write a farewell ode on his leaving, which is presented to the head master, and is called a vale; in addition, some of the most distinguished characters employ first-rate artists to paint their portraits, which, as a tribute of respect, they present to the principal. dr. barnard had nearly a hundred of these grateful faces hanging in his sanctum sanctorum, and the present master bids fair to rival his learned and respected predecessor. ~ ~~ my friend's vale, like every other production of his pen, is marked by the distinguishing characteristic eccentricity of his mind. the idea, i suspect, was suggested by the earl of carlisle's elegant verses, to which he has previously alluded; you will perceive he has again touched upon the peculiarities of his associates, the _dramatis persono_ of 'the english spy,' and endeavoured, in prophetic verse, to unfold the secrets of futurity, as it relates to their dispositions, prospects, and pursuits in life." [illustration: page ] my vale. in infancy oft' by observance we trace what life's future page may unfold; who the senate, the bar, or the pulpit may grace, who'll obtain wreathe of fame or of gold. my vale, should my muse prove but willing and free, parting sorrows to chase from my brain, shall in metre prophetic, on some two or three, indulge in her whimsical vein. first keate let me give to thy talents and worth, a tribute that all will approve; when atropos shall sever thy life's thread on earth thou shalt fall rich in honor and love. revered as respected thy memory last, ~ ~~ long, long, as etona is known, engraved on the hearts of thy scholars, the blast of detraction ne'er sully thy stone. others too i could name and as worthy of note, but my vale 'twould too lengthy extend: sage _domine_ all,--all deserving my vote, who the tutor combine with the friend. but a truce with these ancients, the young i must seek, the juvenile friends of my heart, of secrets hid in futurity speak, and tell how they'll each play their part. first heartly, the warmth of thy generous heart shall expand with maturity's years; new joys to the ag'd and the poor thou'lt impart, and dry up pale misery's tears. next honest tom echo, the giddy and gay, in sports shall all others excel; and the sound of his horn, with "ho! boys, hark--away!" re-echo his worth through life's dell. ~ ~~ horace eglantine deep at pierian spring inspiration poetic shall quaff, in numbers majestic with shakespeare to sing, or in lyrics with pindar to laugh. little gradus, sage dick, you'll a senator see, but a lawyer in every sense, whose personal interest must paramount be, no matter whate'er his pretence. the exquisite lilyman lionise mark, of fashion the fool and the sport; with the gamesters a dupe, he shall drop like a spark, forgot by the blaze of the court. bob transit,--if prudent, respected and rich by his talent shall rise into note; and in fame's honor'd temple be sure of a niche, by each r.a.'s unanimous vote. bernard blackmantle's fortune alone is in doubt, for prophets ne'er tell of themselves; but one thing his heart has a long time found out, ~ ~~ 'tis his love for etonian elves. for the college, and dames, and the dear playing fields where science and friendship preside, for the spot which the balm of true happiness yields, as each day by its fellow doth glide. adieu, honor'd masters! kind dames, fare thee well! ye light-hearted spirits adieu! how feeble my vale--my griev'd feelings to tell as etona declines from my view. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ "men are my subject, and not fictions vain; oxford my chaunt, and satire is my strain." [illustration: page ] five characteristic orders of oxford. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the freshman. reflections on leaving eton--a university whip--sketches on the road--the joneses of jesus--picturesque appearance of oxford from the distance--the arrival--welcome of an old etonian--visit to dr. dingyman--a university don-- presentation to the big wig--ceremony of matriculation. "yes; if there be one sacred scene of ease, where reason yet may dawn, and virtue please; where ancient science bursts again to view with mightier truths, which athens never knew, one spot to order, peace, religion dear; rise, honest pride, nor blush to claim it here." who shall attempt to describe the sensations of a young and ardent mind just bursting from the trammels of scholastic discipline to breathe the purer air of classic freedom--to leap at once from ~ ~~ boyhood and subjection into maturity and unrestricted liberty of conduct; or who can paint the heart's agitation, the conflicting passions which prevail when the important moment arrives that is to separate him from the associates of his infancy; from the endearing friendships of his earliest years; from his schoolboy sports and pastimes (often the most grateful recollections of a riper period); or from those ancient spires and familiar scenes to which his heart is wedded in its purest and earliest love. reader, if you have ever tasted of the delightful cup of youthful friendship, and pressed with all the glow of early and sincere attachment the venerable hand of a kind instructor, or met the wistful eye and hearty grasp of parting schoolfellows, and ancient dames, and obliging servants, you will easily discover how embarrassing a task it must be to depict in words the agitating sensations which at such a moment spread their varied influence over the mind. i had taken care to secure the box seat of the old oxford, that on my approach i might enjoy an uninterrupted view of the classic turrets and lofty spires of sacred {academus}. contemplation had fixed his seal upon my young lips for the first ten miles of my journey. abstracted and thoughtful, i had scarce turned my eye to admire the beauties of the surrounding scenery, or lent my ear to the busy hum of my fellow passengers' conversation, when a sudden action of the coach, which produced a sensation of alarm, first broke the gloomy mist that had encompassed me. after my fears had subsided, i inquired of the coachman what was the name of the place we had arrived at, and was answered henley.-"stony henley, sir," said our driver: "you might have discovered that by the _bit of a shake_ we just now experienced. i'll bet a _bullfinch_{ } that you know the place well enough, my young master, before you've been two terms at oxford." a sovereign. ~ ~~ this familiarity of style struck me as deserving reprehension; but i reflected this classic jehu was perhaps licensed by the light-hearted sons of _alma mater_ in these liberties of speech. suspending therefore my indignation, i proceeded,--"and why so?" said i inquisitively:--"why i know when i was an under graduate{ } of ----, where my father was principal, i used to keep a good _prad_ here for a bolt to the village,{ } and then i had a fresh hack always on the road to help me back to chapel prayers."{ } the nonchalance of the speaker, and the easy indifference with which he alluded to his former situation in life, struck me with astonishment, and created a curiosity to know more of his adventures; he had, i found, brought himself to his present degradation by a passion for gaming and driving, which had usurped every just and moral feeling. his father, i have since learned, felt his conduct deeply, and had been dead some time. his venerable mother having advanced him all her remaining property, was now reduced to a dependence upon the benevolence of a few liberal-minded oxford friends, and this son of the once celebrated head of--------college was now so lost to every sense of shame that he preferred the oxford road to exhibit himself on in his new character of a {university whip}. the circumstances here narrated are unfortunately too notorious to require further explanation: the character, drawn from the life, forms the vignette to this chapter. a cant phrase for a stolen run to the metropolis. no unusual circumstance with a gay oxonian, some of whom have been known to ride the same horse the whole distance and back again after prayers, and before daylight the next morning. when (to use the oxford phrase) a man is confined to chapel, or compelled to attend chapel prayers, it is a dangerous risk to be missing,--a severe imposition and sometimes rustication is sure to be the penalty. ~ ~~ immediately behind me on the roof of the vehicle sat a rosy-looking little gentleman, the rotundity of whose figure proclaimed him a man of some substance; he was habited in a suit of clerical mixture, with the true orthodox hat and rosette in front, the broadness of its brim serving to throw a fine mellow shadow over the upper part of a countenance, which would have formed a choice study for the luxuriant pencil of some modern rubens; the eyes were partially obscured in the deep recesses of an overhanging brow, and a high fat cheek, and the whole figure brought to my recollection a representation i had somewhere seen of silenus reproving his bacchanals: the picture was the more striking by the contrasted subjects it was opposed to: on one side was a spare-looking stripling, of about the age of eighteen, with lank hair brushed smoothly over his forehead, and a demure, half-idiot-looking countenance, that seemed to catch what little expression it had from the reflection of its sire, for such i discovered was the ancient's affinity to this cadaverous importation from north wales. the father, a welsh rector of at least one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, was conveying his eldest born to the care of the principal of jesus, of which college the family of the joneses{ } had been a leading name since the time of their great ancestor hugh ap price, son of rees ap rees, a wealthy burgess of brecknock, who founded this college for the sole use of the sons of cambria, in . david jones or, wine and worsted. hugh morgan, cousin of that hugh whose cousin was, the lord knows who, was likewise, as the story runs, tenth cousin of one david jones. david, well stored with classic knowledge, was sent betimes to jesus college; paternal bounty left him clear for life one hundred pounds a year; and jones was deem'd another croesus among the commoners of jesus. it boots not here to quote tradition, in proof of david's erudition;-- he could unfold the mystery high, of paulo-posts, and verbs in u; scan virgil, and, in mathematics, prove that straight lines were not quadratics. all oxford hail'd the youth's _ingressus_, and wond'ring welshmen cried "cot pless us!" it happen'd that his cousin hugh through oxford pass'd, to cambria due, and from his erudite relation receiv'd a written invitation. ~ ~~ hugh to the college gate repair'd, and ask'd for jones;--the porter stared! "jones! sir," quoth he, "discriminate: of mr. joneses there be eight." "ay, but 'tis david jones," quoth hugh; quoth porter, "we've six davids too." "cot's flesh!" cries morgan, "cease your mockings, my david jones wears worsted stockings!" quoth porter, "which it is, heaven knows, for all the eight wear worsted hose." "my cot!" says hugh, "i'm ask'd to dine with cousin jones, and quaff his wine." "that one word 'wine' is worth a dozen," quoth porter, "now i know your cousin; the wine has stood you, sir, in more stead than david, or the hose of worsted; you'll find your friend at number nine-- we've but one jones that quaffs his wine." all these particulars i gleaned from the rapid delivery of the welsh rector, who betrayed no little anxiety to discover if i was of the university; how long i had been matriculated; what was my opinion of the schools, and above all, if the same system of extravagance was pursued by the students, and under-graduates. too cautious to confess myself a freshman, i was therefore compelled to close the inquiry with a simple negative to his early questions, and an avowal of my ignorance in the last particular. the deficiency was, however, readily supplied by an old gentleman, who sat on the other side of the reverend mr. jones. i had taken ~ ~~ him, in the first instance, for a doctor of laws, physic, or divinity, by the studied neatness of his dress, the powdered head, and ancient appendage of a _queue_; with a measured manner of delivery, joined to an affected solemnity of carriage, and authoritative style. he knew every body, from the vice-chancellor to the scout; ran through a long tirade against driving and drinking, which he described as the capital sins of the sons of _alma mater_, complimented the old rector on his choice of a college for his son, and concluded with lamenting the great extravagance of the young men of the present day, whose affection for long credit compelled honest tradesmen to make out long bills to meet the loss of interest they sustain by dunning and delay. "observe, sir," said he, "the youth of england in our happy age! see, to their view what varied pleasure springs, cards, tennis, hilliards, and ten thousand things; 'tis theirs the coat with neater grace to wear, or tie the neckcloth with a royal air: the rapid race of wild expense to run; to drive the tandem or the chaise and one; to float along the isis, or to fly in haste to abingdon,--who knows not why? to gaze in shops, and saunter hours away in raising bills, they never think to pay: then deep carouse, and raise their glee the more, while angry duns assault th' unheeding door, and feed the best old man that ever trod, the merry poacher who defies his god." "you forget the long purses, sir e--," said our classical jehu, "which some of the oxford tradesmen have acquired by these long practices of the university, sir e--." the little welsh rector bowed with astonishment, while his rustic scion stared with wild alarm to find himself for the first time in his life in company with a man of title. a wink from coachee accompanied with an action of his _rein angle_ against my side, followed by a suppressed laugh, prepared me ~ ~~ for some important communications relative to my fellow traveller. "an old _snyder_,"{ } whispered jehu, "who was once mayor of oxford, and they do say was knighted by mistake,--' a thing of shreds and patches,' 'who, by short skirts and little capes, items for buckram, twist, and tapes, ' has, in his time, fine drawn half the university; but having retired from the seat of trade, now seeks the seat of the muses, and writes fustian rhymes and bell-men's odes at christmas time: a mere clod, but a great man with the corporation." we had now arrived on the heights within a short distance of the city of oxford, and i had the gratification for the first time to obtain a glance of sacred _academus_ peeping from between the elm groves in which she is embowered, to view those turrets which were to be the future scene of all my hopes and fears. never shall i forget the sensations, "----when first these glistening eyes survey'd majestic oxford's hundred towers display'd; and silver isis rolling at her feet adorn the sage's and the poet's seat: saw radcliffe's dome in classic beauty rear'd, and learning's stores in bodley's pile revered; first view'd, with humble awe, the steps that stray'd slow in the gloom of academic shade, or framed in thought, with fancy's magic wand, wise bacon's arch; thy bower, fair rosamond." in the bosom of a delightful valley, surrounded by the most luxuriant meadows, and environed by gently swelling hills, smiling in all the pride of cultivated beauty, on every side diversified by hanging wood, stands the fair city of learning and the arts. the two great roads from the capital converge upon the small church of st. clement, in the eastern suburb, from whence, advancing in a westerly direction, you ~ ~~ arrive at magdalen bridge, so named from the college adjoining, whose lofty graceful tower is considered a fine specimen of architecture. the prospect of the city from this point is singularly grand and captivating; on the left, the botanical garden, with its handsome portal; beyond, steeples and towers of every varied form shooting up in different degrees of elevation. the view of the high-street is magnificent, and must impress the youthful mind with sentiments of awe and veneration. its picturesque curve and expansive width, the noble assemblage of public and private edifices in all the pride of varied art, not rising in splendid uniformity, but producing an enchantingly varied whole, the entire perspective of which admits of no european rival-- "the awful tow'rs which seem for science made; the solemn chapels, which to prayer invite, whose storied windows shed a holy light--" the colleges of queen's and all souls', with the churches of st. mary and all saints' on the northern side of the street, and the venerable front of university college on the south, present at every step objects for contemplation and delight. whirling up this graceful curvature, we alighted at the mitre, an inn in the front of the high-street, inclining towards carfax. a number of under graduates in their academicals were posted round the door, or lounging on the opposite side, to watch the arrival of the coach, and amuse themselves with quizzing the passengers. among the foremost of the group, and not the least active, was my old schoolfellow and con, tom echo, now of christ church. the recognition was instantaneous; the welcome a hearty one, in the true etonian style; and the first connected sentence an invitation to dinner. "i shall make a party on purpose to introduce you, old chap," said tom, "that is, ~ ~~ as soon as you have made your bow to the _big wig_:{ } but i say, old fellow, where are you entered we are most of us overflowingly full here." i quickly satisfied his curiosity upon that point, by informing him i had been for some time enrolled upon the list of the foundation of brazennose, and had received orders to come up and enter myself. our conversation now turned upon the necessary ceremonies of matriculation. tom's face was enlivened to a degree when i showed him my letter of introduction to dr. dingyman, of l-n college. "what, the opposition member, the oxford palladio? why, you might just as well expect to move the temple of the winds from athens to oxford, without displacing a fragment, as to hope the doctor will present you to the vice-chancellor.--it won't do. we must find you some more tractable personage; some good-humoured nob that stands well with the principals, tells funny stories to their ladies, and drinks his three bottles like a true son of orthodoxy." "for heaven's sake! my dear fellow, if you do not wish to be pointed at, booked for an eccentric, or suspected of being profound, abandon all intention of being introduced through that medium. a first interview with that singular man will produce an examination that would far exceed the perils of the _great go_{ }-he will try your proficiency by the chart and scale of truth." "be that as it may, tom," said i, not a little alarmed by the account i had heard of the person to whom i was to owe my first introduction to alma mater, "i shall make the attempt; and should i fail, i shall yet hope to avail myself of your proffered kindness." a big wig. head of a college. a don. a learned man. a nob. a fellow of a college. the principal examining school. ~ ~~ after partaking of some refreshment, and adjusting my dress, we sallied forth to lionise, as tom called it, which is the oxford term for gazing about, usually applied to strangers. proceeding a little way along the high street from the mitre, and turning up the first opening on our left hand, we stood before the gateway of lincoln college. here tom shook hands, wished me a safe passport through what he was pleased to term the "_oxonia purgata_" and left me, after receiving my promise to join the dinner party at christ church. i had never felt so awkwardly in my life before: the apprehensions i was under of a severe examination; the difficulty of encountering a man whose superior learning and endowments of mind had rendered him the envy of the university, and above all, his reputed eccentricity of manners, created fears that almost palsied my tongue when i approached the hall to announce my arrival. if my ideas of the person had thus confounded me, my terrors were doubly increased upon entering his chamber: shelves groaning with ponderous folios and quartos of the most esteemed latin and greek authors, fragments of grecian and roman architecture, were disposed around the room; on the table lay a copy of stuart's athens, with a portfolio of drawings from palladio and vitruvius, and pozzo's perspective. in a moment the doctor entered, and, advancing towards me, seized my hand before i could scarcely articulate my respects. "i am glad to see you--be seated--you are of eton, i read, an ancient name and highly respected here--what works have you been lately reading?" i immediately ran through the list of our best school classics, at which i perceived the doctor smiled. "you have been treated, i perceive, like all who have preceded you: the bigotry of scholastic prejudices is intolerable. i have been for fifty years labouring to remove the veil, and have yet contrived ~ ~~ to raise only one corner of it. nothing," continued the doctor, "has stinted the growth and hindered the improvement of sound learning more than a superstitious reverence for the ancients; by which it is presumed that their works form the summit of all learning, and that nothing can be added to their discoveries. under this absurd and ridiculous prejudice, all the universities of europe have laboured for many years, and are only just beginning to see their error, by the encouragement of natural philosophy. experimental learning is the only mode by which the juvenile mind should be trained and exercised, in order to bring all its faculties to their proper action: instead of being involved in the mists of antiquity." can it be possible, thought i, this is the person of whom my friend tom gave such a curious account? can this be the man who is described as a being always buried in abstracted thoughtfulness on the architer cural remains of antiquity, whose opinions are said never to harmonize with those of other heads of colleges; who is described as eccentric, because he has a singular veneration for truth, and an utter abhorrence of the dogmas of scholastic prejudice there are some few characters in the most elevated situations of life, who possess the amiable secret of attaching every one to them who have the honour of being admitted into their presence, without losing one particle of dignity, by their courteous manner. this agreeable qualification the doctor appeared to possess in an eminent degree. i had not been five minutes in his company before i felt as perfectly unembarrassed as if i had known him intimately for twelve months. it could not be the result of confidence on my part, for no poor fellow ever felt more abashed upon a first entrance; and must therefore only be attributable to that indescribable condescension of easy intercourse which is the sure characteristic of a superior mind. ~ ~~ after inquiring who was to be my tutor, and finding i was not yet fixed in that particular, i was requested to construe one of the easiest passages in the Æneid; my next task was to read a few paragraphs of monkish latin from a little white book, which i found contained the university statutes: having acquitted myself in this to the apparent satisfaction of the doctor, he next proceeded to give me his advice upon my future conduct and pursuits in the university; remarked that his old friend, my father, could not have selected a more unfortunate person to usher me into notice: that his habits were those of a recluse, and his associations confined almost within the walls of his own college; but that his good wishes for the son of an old friend and schoolfellow would, on this occasion, induce him to present me, in person, to the principal of brazennose, of whom he took occasion to speak in the highest possible terms. having ordered me a sandwich and a glass of wine for my refreshment, he left me to adjust his dress, preparatory to our visit to the dignitary. during his absence i employed the interval in amusing myself with a small octavo volume, entitled the "oxford spy:" the singular coincidence of the following extract according so completely with the previous remarks of the doctor, induced me to believe it was his production; but in this suspicion, i have since been informed, i was in error, the work being written by shergold boone, esq. a young member of the university. "thus i remember, ere these scenes i saw, but hope had drawn them, such as hope will draw, a shrewd old man, on isis' margin bred, smiled at my warmth, and shook his wig, and said: 'youth will be sanguine, but before you go, learn these plain rules, and treasure, when you know. wisdom is innate in the gown and band; their wearers are the wisest of the land. ~ ~~ science, except in oxford, is a dream; in all things heads of houses are supreme { } proctors are perfect whosoe'er they be; logic is reason in epitome: examiners, like kings, can do no wrong; all modern learning is not worth a song: passive obedience is the rule of right; to argue or oppose is treason quite:{ } mere common sense would make the system fall: things are worth nothing; words are all in all." on his return, the ancient glanced at the work i had been reading, and observing the passage i have just quoted, continued his remarks upon the discipline of the schools.--"in the new formed system of which we boast," said the master, "the philosophy which has enlightened the world is omitted or passed over in a superficial way, and the student is exercised in narrow and contracted rounds of education, in which his whole labour is consumed, and his whole time employed, with little improvement or useful knowledge. he has neither time nor inclination to attend the public lectures in the several departments of philosophy; nor is he qualified for that attendance. all that he does, or is required to do, is to prepare himself to pass through these contracted rounds; to write a theme, or point an epigram; but when he enters upon life, action, or profession, both the little go, and the great go, he will find to be a by go; for he will find that he has gone by the best part of useful and substantial learning; know all men by these presents, that children in the uni- versities eat pap and go in leading strings till they are fourscore. --terro filius. in a work quaintly entitled "phantasm of an university," there occurs this sweeping paragraph, written in the true spirit of radical reform: "great advantages might be obtained by gradually transforming christ church into a college of civil polity and languages; magdalen, queen's, university, into colleges of moral philosophy; new and trinity into colleges of fine arts; and the five halls into colleges of agriculture and manufactures." ~~ or that it has gone by him: to recover which he must repair from this famous seat of learning to the institutions of the metropolis, or in the provincial towns. i have just given you these hints, that you may escape the errors of our system, and be enabled to avoid the pomp of learning which is without the power, and acquire the power of knowledge without the pomp." here ended the lecture, and my venerable conductor and myself made the best of our way to pay our respects to the principal of my future residence. arrived here--the principal, a man of great dignity, received us with all due form, and appeared exceedingly pleased with the visit of my conductor; my introduction was much improved by a letter from the head master of eton, who, i have no doubt, said more in my favour than i deserved. the appointment of a tutor was the next step, and for this purpose i was introduced to mr. jay, a smart-looking little man, very polite and very portly, with whom i retired to display my proficiency in classical knowledge, by a repetition of nearly the same passages in homer and virgil i had construed previously with the learned doctor; the next arrangement was the sending for a tailor, who quickly produced my academical robes and cap, in the which, i must confess, i at first felt rather awkward. i was now hurried to the vice-chancellor's house adjoining pembroke college, where i had the honour of a presentation to that dignitary; a mild-looking man of small stature, with the most affable and graceful manners, dignified, and yet free from the slightest tinge of _hauteur_. his reception of my tutor was friendly and unembarrassing; his inquiries relative to myself directed solely to my proficiency in the classics, of which i had again to give some specimens; i was then directed to subscribe my name in a large folio album, which proved to contain the thirty-nine articles, not one ~ ~~ sentence of which i had ever read; but it was too late for hesitation, and i remembered tom echo had informed me i should have to attest to a great deal of nonsense, which no one ever took the pains to understand. the remainder of this formal initiation was soon despatched: i separately abjured the damnable doctrines of the pope, swore allegiance to the king, and vowed to preserve the statutes and privileges of the society i was then admitted into; paid my appointed fees, made my bow to the vice-chancellor, and now concluded that the ceremony of the _togati_ was all over: in this, however, i was mistaken; my tutor requesting some conference with me at his rooms, thither we proceeded, and arranged the plan of my future studies; then followed a few general hints relative to conduct, the most important of which was my obeisance to the dignitaries, by capping{ } whenever i met them; the importance of a strict attendance to the lectures of logic, mathematics, and divinity, to the certain number of twenty in each term; a regular list of the tradesmen whom i was requested to patronize; and, lastly, the entry of my name upon the college books and payment of the necessary _caution money_.{ } _entering_ keeps one term; but as rooms were vacant, i was fortunate in obtaining an immediate appointment. as the day was now far advanced, i deemed it better to return to my inn and dress for the dinner party at christ church. capping--by the students and under graduates is touching the cap to the vice-chancollor, proctors, fellows, &c. when passing. at christ church tradesmen and servants must walk bareheaded through the quadrangle when the dean, canons, censors, or tutors are present. at pembroke this order is rigidly enforced, even in wet weather. at brazennose neither servants nor tradesmen connected with the college are allowed to enter it otherwise. it is not long since a certain bookseller was discommoned for wearing his hat in b- n-e quadrangle, and literally ruined in consequence. caution money--a sum of money deposited in the hands of the treasurer or bursar by every member on his name being entered upon the college books, as a security for the payment of all bills and expenses contracted by him within the walls of the college. this money is returned when the party takes his degree or name off the books; and no man can do either of these without receipts in full from the butler, manciple, and cook of their respective colleges. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ architectural reminiscences--descriptive remarks--similitude between the characters of cardinal wolsey and napoleon. it was past five o'clock when i arrived before the majestic towers of christ church.--the retiring sun brightening the horizon with streaks of gold at parting, shed a rich glow over the scene that could not fail to rivet my attention to the spot. not all the fatigues of the day, nor the peculiarities of my new situation, had, in the least, abated my admiration of architectural beauties. the noble octagonal tower in the enriched gothic style, rising like a colossal ~ ~~ monument of art among the varied groups of spires, domes, and turrets, which from a distance impress the traveller with favourable ideas of the magnificence of oxford, first attracted my notice, and recalled to my memory two names that to me appear to be nearly associated (by comparison) with each other, wolsey and napoleon; both gifted by nature with almost all the brightest qualifications of great minds; both arriving at the highest point of human grandeur from the most humble situations; equally the patrons of learning, science, and the arts; and both equally unfortunate, the victims of ambition: both persecuted exiles; yet, further i may add, that both have left behind them a fame which brightens with increasing years, and must continue to do as every passing day removes the mist of prejudice from the eyes of man. such were the thoughts that rushed upon my mind as i stood gazing on the splendid fabric before me, from the western side of st. aidates, unheedful of the merry laughter-loving group of students and under-graduates, who, lounging under the vaulted gateway, were amusing themselves at my expense in quizzing a freshman in the act of lionising. the tower contains the celebrated _magnus thomas_, recast from the great bell of osney abbey, by whose deep note at the hour of nine in the evening the students are summoned to their respective colleges. the upper part of the tower displays in the bracketed canopies and carved enrichments the skilful hand of sir christopher wren, whose fame was much enhanced by the erection of the gorgeous turrets which project on each side of the gateway.{ } not caring to endure a closer attack of the _togati_, who had now approached me, i crossed and entered the great quadrangle, or, according to oxford phraseology, _tom quad_. the irregular nature of the buildings here by no means assimilate with the elegance of the exterior entrance. it was here, in lord orford's opinion, that he "caught the graces of the true gothic taste." [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the eastern, northern, and part of the southern sides of the quadrangle are, i have been since informed, inhabited by the dean and canons; the western by students. the broad terrace in front of the buildings, the extent of the arena, and the circular basin of water in the centre, render this an agreeable promenade.--i had almost forgotten the deity of the place (i hope not symbolical), a leaden mercury{ }; the gift of dr. john radcliffe, which rises from the centre of the basin, on the spot where once stood the sacred cross of st. frideswide, and the pulpit of the reformer, wickliffe. since pulled down and destroyed. the dinner party. bernard blackmantles visit to tom echo---oxford phraseology- smuggled dinners--a college party described--topography of a man's boom--portrait of a bachelor of arts--hints to freshmen--customs of the university. ~ ~~ "when first the freshman, bashful, blooming, young, blessings which here attend not handmaids long, assumes that cap, which franchises the man, and feels beneath the gown dilate his span; when he has stood with modest glance, shy fear, and stiff-starch'd band before our prime vizier, and sworn to articles he scarcely knew, and forsworn doctrines to his creed all new: through fancy's painted glass he fondly sees monastic turrets, patriarchal trees, the cloist'ral arches' awe-inspiring shade, the high-street sonnetized by wordsworth's jade, his raptured view a paradise regards, nurseling of hope! he builds on paper cards." on the western side of tom quad, up one flight of stairs, by the porter's aid i discovered the battered oaken door which led to the _larium_ of my friend echo: that this venerable bulwark had sustained many a brave attack from besiegers was visible in the numerous bruises and imprints of hammers, crowbars, and other weapons, which had covered its surface with many an indented scar. the utmost caution was apparent in the wary scout,{ } a scout, at christ church, performs the same duties for ten or twelve students as a butler and valet in a gentleman's family. there are no women bedmakers at any college except christ church, that duty being performed by the scout. ~ ~~ who admitted me; a necessary precaution, as i afterwards found, to prevent the prying eye of some inquisitive domine, whose nose has a sort of instinctive attraction in the discovery of smuggled dinners.{ } within i found assembled half a dozen good-humoured faces, all young, and all evidently partaking of the high flow of spirits and animated vivacity of the generous hearted tom echo. a college introduction is one of little ceremony, the surname alone being used,--a practice, which, to escape quizzing, must also be followed on your card. "here, old fellows," said tom, taking me by the hand, and leading me forwards to his companions, "allow me to introduce an ex{ }-college man,--blackmantle of brazennose, a freshman{ } and an etonian: so, lay to him, boys; he's just broke loose from the land of sheepishness,{ } passed pupils straits{ } and the isle of matriculation{ } to follow dads will,{ } in the port of stuffs{ }; from which, if he can steer clear of the fields of temptation{ } smuggled dinners are private parties in a student's room, when the dinner is brought into college from a tavern: various are the ingenious stratagems of the togati to elude the vigilance of the authorities: trunks, packing-boxes, violoncello-cases, and hampers are not unfrequently directed as if from a waggon or coach-office, and brought into college on the shoulders of some porter. tin cans of soup are drawn up by means of a string from the back windows in the adjoining street. it is not long since mr. c- of christ church was expelled for having a dinner smuggled into college precisely in the manner adopted by tom echo. a university man who is visiting in a college of which he is not a member. the usual phrase for initiating a freshman on his first appearance in a party or frisk. land of sheepishness--school-boy's bondage. pupil's straits--interval between restraint and liberty. isle of matriculation--first entrance into the university. dad's will--parental authority. port for stay's--assumption of commoner's gown. fields of temptation--the attractions held out to him. ~ ~~ he hopes to make the _land of promise_,{ } anchor his bark in the _isthmus of grace_,{ } and lay up snugly for life on the _land of incumbents_."{ } "for heaven's sake, tom," said i," speak in some intelligible language; it's hardly fair to fire off your battery of oxonian wit upon a poor freshman at first sight." at this moment a rap at the _oak_ announced an addition to our party, and in bounded that light-hearted child of whim, horace eglantine:--"what, blackmantle here? why then, tom, we can form as complete a trio as ever got _bosky_{ } with _bishop_{ } in _the province of bacchus_,{ }! why, what a plague, my old fellow, has given you that rueful-looking countenance? i am sure you was not plucked upon _maro common_ or _homer downs_{ } in passing examination with the big wig this morning; or has tom been frisking{ } you already with some of his jokes about the _straits of independency_{ }; the _waste of ready_{ }; the dynasty of venus,{ } or the quicksands of rustication{ }. land of promise--the fair expectations of a steady novice in oxford. isthmus of grace--obtainment of the grace of one's college. land of incumbents--good livings. bosky is the term used in oxford to express the style of being "half seas over." bishop--a good orthodox mead composed of port wine and roasted oranges or lemons. province of bacchus--inebriety. maro common and homer downs allude to the Æneid of virgil and the iliad of homer--two books chiefly studied for the little-go or responsions. frisking--hoaxing. straits of independency--frontiers of extravagance. waste of ready, including in it hoyle's dominions-- course of gambling, including loo tables. dynasty of venus--indiscriminate love and misguided affections. quicksands of rustication--on which our hero may at any time run foul when inclined to visit a new county. ~ ~~ cheer up, old fellow! you are not half way through the ceremony of initiation yet. we must brighten up that solemn phiz of yours, and give you a lesson or two on college principles? if i had been thrown upon some newly-discovered country, among a race of wild indians, i could not have been more perplexed and confounded than i now felt in endeavouring to rally, and appear to comprehend this peculiar phraseology. a conversation now ensuing between a gentleman commoner, whom the party designated pontius pilate{ } and tom echo, relative to the comparative merits of their hunters, afforded me an opportunity of surveying the _larium_ of my friend; the entrance to which was through a short passage, that served the varied purposes of an ante-room or vestibule, and a scout's pantry and boot-closet. on the right was the sleeping-room, and at the foot of a neat french bed i could perceive the wine bin, surrounded by a regiment of _dead men_{ } who had, no doubt, departed this life like heroes in some battle of bacchanalian sculls. the principal chamber, the very _penetrale_ of the muses, was about six yards square, and low, with a rich carved oaken wainscoting, reaching to the ceiling; the monastic gloom being materially increased by two narrow loopholes, intended for windows, but scarcely yielding sufficient light to enable the student to read his _scapula or lexicon_{ } with the advantage of a meridian sun: the fire-place was immensely wide, emblematical, no doubt, of the capacious stomachs of the good fathers and fellows, the ancient inhabitants of this _sanctum_; but the most singularly-striking characteristic was the modern decorations, introduced by the present occupant. a quaint cognomen applied to him from the rapidity with which he boasted of repeating the nicene creed,--i.e. offering a bet that no would give any man as far as "pontius pilate," and beat him before he got to the "resurrection of the dead." dead men--empty bottles. scapula, hederic, and lexicon, the principal dictionaries in use for studying greek. ~ ~~ over the fire-place hung a caricature portrait of a well-known bachelor of arts, drinking at the _pierian spring, versus_ gulping down the contents of a pembroke _overman_,{ } sketched by the facetious pencil of the humorist, rowlandson. [illustration: page ] eccÈ signum. i could not help laughing to observe on the one side of this jolly personage a portrait of the little female giovanni vestris, under which some wag had inscribed, "_a mistress of hearts_," and on the other a full-length of jackson the pugilist, with this motto--"a striking likeness of a fancy lecturer." an herman--at pembroke, a large silver tankard, holding two quarts and half a pint, so called from the donor, mr. george overman. the late john hudson, the college tonsor and _common room man_,{*} was famous for having several times, for trifling wagers, drank a full overman of strong beer off at a draught. a tun, another vessel in use at pembroke, is a half pint silver cup. a whistler, a silver pint tankard also in use there, was the gift of mr. anthony whistler, a cotemporary with shenstone. * common room man, a servant who is entirely employed in attending upon the members of the common room. junior common room, a room in every college, except christ church, set apart for the junior members to drink wine in and read the newspapers. n.b. there is but one common room at christ church; none but masters of arts and noblemen can be members of it,--the latter but seldom attend. the last who attended was the late duke of dorset. all common rooms are regularly furnished with newspapers and magazines. _curator of the common rooms_.-a senior master of arts, who buys the wine and inspects the accounts. ~ ~~ in the centre of the opposite side hung the portrait of an old _scout_, formerly of brazennose, whose head now forms the admission ticket to the college club. right and left were disposed the plaster busts of aristotle and cicero; the former noseless, and the latter with his eyes painted black, and a huge pair of mustachios annexed. a few volumes of the latin and greek classics were thrown into a heap in one corner of the room, while numerous modern sporting publications usurped their places on the book shelves, richly gilt and bound in calf, but not lettered. the hunting cap, whip, and red coat were hung up like a trophy between two foxes' tails, which served the purpose of bell pulls. at this moment, my topographical observations were disturbed by the arrival of the scout with candles, and two strange-looking fellows in smock frocks, bringing in, as i supposed, a piano forte, but which, upon being placed on the table, proved to be a mere case: the top being taken off, the sides and ends let down in opposite directions, and the cloth pulled out straight, displayed an elegant dinner, smoking hot, and arranged in as much form as if the college butler had superintended the feast. "come, old fellow," said tom, "turn to--no ceremony. i hope, jem," addressing his scout, "you took care that no ~ ~~ college telegraph{ } was at work while you were smuggling the dinner in." "i made certain sure of that, sir," said jem; "for i placed captain cook{ } sentinel at one corner of the quadrangle, and old brady at the other, with directions to whistle, as a signal, if they saw any of the _dons_ upon the look out." finding we were not likely to be interrupted by the _domine_, tom took the chair. the fellows in the smock frocks threw off their disguises, and proved to be two genteelly dressed waiters from one of the inns. "close the oak, jem," said horace eglantine, "and take care no one knocks in{ } before we have knocked down the contents of your master's musical melange." "_punning_ as usual, eglantine," said the honourable mr. sparkle, a gentleman commoner. "yes; and _pun_-ishing too, old fellow!" said horace. "where's the _cold tankard_,{ } echo? a college telegraph--a servant of a college, who carries an account of every trifling offence committed, either by gentlemen or servants, to the college officers. well-known characters in christ church. knocking in--going into college after half-past ten at night. the names of the gentlemen who knock in are entered by the porter in a book kept for that purpose, and the next morning it is carried to the dean and censors, who generally call upon the parties so offending to account for being out of college at so late an hour. a frequent recurrence of this practice will sometimes draw from the dean a very severe reprimand. knocking in money--fines levied for knocking into college at improper hours: the first fine is fixed at half-past ten, and increased every half hour afterwards. these fines are entered on the batter book, and charged among the battels and decrements,* a portion of which is paid to the porter quarterly, for being knocked up. cold tankard--a summer beverage, used at dinner, made of brandy, cider, or perry, lemons cut in slices, cold water, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and the herbs balm and burridge. sometimes sherry or port wine is substituted for cider. the tankard is put into a pitcher, which is iced in a tub, procured from the confectioners. * decrements.--the use of knives, folks, spoons, and other necessaries, with the firing, &c. for the hall and chapel. ~ ~~ we must give our old _con_, blackmantle, a warm reception." "sure, that's a paddyism"{ } said a young irish student. "nothing of the sort," replied horace: "are we not all here the sons of isis (ices)? and tell me where will you find a group of warmer hearted souls?" "bravo! bravo!" shouted the party. "that fellow eglantine will create another _pun_-ic war," said sparkle. "i move that we have him crossed in the buttery{ } for making us laugh during dinner, to the great injury of our digestive organs, and the danger of suffocation." "what! deprive an englishman of his right to battel{ }" said echo: "no; i would sooner inflict the orthodox fine of a double bumper of _bishop_." "bravo!" said horace: "then i plead guilty, and swallow the imposition." "i'll thank you for a cut out of the back of that _lion_,"{ } tittered a man opposite. with all the natural timidity of the hare whom he thus particularised, i was proceeding to help him, when echo inquired if he should send me the breast of a swiss { } and the facetious eglantine, to increase my confusion, requested to be allowed to cut me a slice off the wing of a wool bird.{ } a paddyism is called in this university a "thorpism" from mr. thorp, formerly a hosier of some note in the city. he was famous for making blunders and coining new words, was very fond of making long speeches, and when upon _the toe_, never failed to convulse his hearers with laughter. crossed in the buttery--not allowed to battel, a punishment for missing lecture. by being frequently crossed, a man will lose his term. battels--bread, butter, cheese, salt, eggs, &c. a lion--a hare. siciss--a pheasant. wing of a wool bird--shoulder of lamb. ~ ~~ to have remonstrated against this species of persecution would, i knew, only increase my difficulties; summoning, therefore, all the gaiety i was master of to my aid, i appeared to participate in the joke, like many a modern _roué_, laughing in unison without comprehending the essence of the whim, merely because it was the fashion. what a helpless race, old father etona, are thine (thought i), when first they assume the oxford man; spite of thy fostering care and classic skill, thy offspring are here little better than cawkers{ } or wild indians. "is there no glossary of university wit," said i, "to be purchased here, by which the fresh may be instructed in the art of conversation; no _lexicon balatronicum_ of college eloquence, by which the ignorant may be enlightened?" "plenty, old fellow," said echo: "old grose is exploded; but, never fear, i will introduce you to the _dictionnaire universel_,{ } which may always be consulted, at our _old grandmammas_' in st. clement's, or eglantine can introduce you at vincent's,{ } where better known as the poor curate of h----, crossed the channel. cawker--an eton phrase for a stranger or novice. dictionnaire universel--a standing toast in the common room at-----college. the origin of the toast is as follows: when buonaparte was at elba, dr. e-, one of the wealthy senior fellows of ---- college. soon after his arrival at paris, as he was walking through the streets of that city, he was accosted by an elegantly dressed cyprian, to whom he made a profound bow, and told her (in english), that he was not sufficiently acquainted with the french language to comprehend what she had said to him, expressing his regret that he had not his french and english dictionary with him. scarcely had he pronounced the word dictionary, when the lady, by a most astonishing display, which in england would have disgraced the lowest of the frail sisterhood, exclaimed, "behold the dictionnaire universel, which has been opened by the learned of all nations."{ } dr. e--, on his return from france, related this anecdote in the common room at ---------, and the dictionnaire universel has ever since been a standing toast there. a well known respectable bookseller near brazennose, who has published a whimsical trifle under the title of "oxford in epitome" very serviceable to freshmen. you may purchase "oxford in epitome," with a key accompaniment explaining the whole art and mystery of the _finished style_. ~ ~~ after a dissertation upon _new college puddings_,{ } rather a choice dish, an elegant dessert and ices was introduced from jubbers.{ } the glass now circulated freely, and the open-hearted mirth of my companions gave me a tolerable idea of many of the leading eccentricities of a collegian's life. the oxford toast, the college divinity, was, i found, a miss w-, whose father is a wealthy horse-dealer, and whom all agreed was a very amiable and beautiful girl. i discovered that sadler, randal, and crabbe were rum ones for prime hacks--that the _esculapii dii_ of the university, the demi-gods of medicine and surgery, were messrs. wall and tuckwell--that all proctors were tyrants, and their men savage bull dogs--that good wine was seldom to be bought in oxford by students--and pretty girls were always to be met at bagley wood--that rowing a fellow{ } was considered good sport, and an idle master{ } a jolly dog--that all tradesmen were duns, and all gownsmen suffering innocents--and lastly. new college puddings--a favourite dish with freshmen, made of grated biscuit, eggs, suet, moist sugar, currants and lemon-peel, rolled into balls of an oblong shape, fried in boiling fat, and moistened with brandy. a celebrated oxford pastry-cook. rowing a fellow--going with a party in the dead of the night to a man's room, nailing or screwing his oak up, so as it cannot be opened on the inside, knocking at his door, calling out fire, and when he comes to the door, burning a quantity of shavings, taken from halfpenny faggots dipped in oil from the staircase lamps, so as to impress him with an idea that the staircase, in which his rooms are, is on fire. and when he is frightened almost out of his senses, setting up a most hideous horse-laugh and running away. this joke is practised chiefly upon quiet timid men. an idle master--a master of arts on the foundation, who does not take pupils. ~ ~~ i was informed that a freshman was a scamp without seasoning--and a fellow of no spirit till he had been pulled up before the big wig and suffered imposition{ } fine, and rustication.{ } it was now half an hour since old _magnus thomas_ had tolled his heavy note, most of the party were a little cut,{ } and the salt pits of attic wit had long since been drained to the very bottom--sparkle proposed an adjournment to the temple of bacchus,{ } while echo and a man of trinity set forth for the plains of betteris.{ } pleading the fatigues of the day, and promising to attend a spread{ } on the morrow to be given by horace eglantine, i was permitted to depart to my inn, having first received a caution from echo to steer clear of the don peninsula{ } and the seat of magistracy.{ } on regaining my inn, i was not a little surprised to hear the smirking barmaid announce me by my christian and surname, directing the waiter to place candles for mr. bernard blackmantle in the _sanctum_. how the deuce, thought i, have these people discovered my family nomenclature, or are we here under the same system of _espionage_ as the puerile inhabitants of france, where every hotel-keeper, waiter, and servant, down to the very shoe-black, is a spy upon your actions, and a creature in the pay of the police{ } "pray, waiter," said i, "why is this snug little _larium__ designated the sanctum_?" imposition--translations set by the principal for absence and other errors. rustication is the term applied to temporary dismissal for non-observance of college discipline. a little cut--half seas over. temple of bacchus--some favourite inn. plains of betteris--the diversion of billiards. a spread--a wine party. the don peninsula--the range of all who wear long black hanging sleeves, and bear the name of domini. seat of magistracy--proctor's authority. the tact of the oxford tradesmen in this particular is very ingenious.--the strength of a man's account is always regulated by the report they receive on his entering, from some college friend, respecting the wealth of his relations, or the weight of his expectancies. ~ ~~ "because it's extra-proctorial, sir: none of the town _raff_ are ever admitted into it, and the marshal and his bull dogs never think of intruding here. with your leave, sir, i'll send in master--he will explain things better; and mayhap, sir, as you are fresh, he may give you a little useful information." "do so,--send me in a bottle of old madeira and two glasses, and tell your master i shall be happy to see him." in a few moments i was honoured with the company of mine host of the mitre, who, to do him justice, was a more humorous fellow than i had anticipated. not quite so ceremonious as he of the christopher at eton, or the superlative of a bond-street _restaurateur_; but with an unembarrassed roughness, yet respectful demeanour, that partook more of the sturdy english farmer, or an old weather-beaten sportsman, than the picture i had figured to myself of the polished landlord of the principal inn in the sacred city of learning. we are too much the creatures of prejudice in this life, and first impressions are not unfrequently the first faults which we unthinkingly commit against the reputation of a new acquaintance. master peake was, i discovered, a fellow of infinite jest, an old fox-hunter, and a true sportsman; and supposing me, from my introduction by tom echo to his house, to be as fond of a good horse, a hard run, and a black bottle, as my friend, he had eagerly sought an opportunity for this early introduction. "no man in the country, sir," said peake, "can boast of a better horse or a better wife: i always leave the management of the bishop's cap to the petticoat; for look ye, sir, gown against gown is the true orthodox system, i believe.--when i kept the blue pig{ } by the town hall, the big wigs used to grunt a little now and then about the gemmen of the university getting _bosky_ in a _pig-sty_; so, egad, i thought i would fix them at last, and removed here; for i knew it would be deemed sacrilegious to attack the mitre, or hazard a pun upon the head of the church. the blue boar, since shut up. ~ ~~ if ever you should be _tiled_ up in _eager heaven_,{ } there's not a kinder hearted soul in christendom than mrs. peake: dr. wall says that he thinks she has saved more gentlemen's lives in this university by good nursing and sending them niceties, than all the material medicals put together. you'll excuse me, sir, but as you are fresh, take care to avoid the _gulls_{ }; they fly about here in large flocks, i assure you, and do no little mischief at times." "i never understood that gulls were birds of prey," said i.--"only in oxford, sir; and here, i assure you, they bite like hawks, and pick many a poor young gentleman as bare before his three years are expired, as the crows would a dead sheep upon a common. every thing depends upon your obtaining an honest scout, and that's a sort of _haro ravis_ (i think they call the bird) here." suppressing my laughter at my host's latinity, i thought this a fair opportunity to make some inquiries relative to this important officer in a college establishment. "i suppose you know most of these ambassadors of the togati belonging to the different colleges'?" "i think i do, sir," said peake, "if you mean the scouts; but i never heard them called by that name before. if you are of christ church, i should recommend dick cook, or, as he is generally called, gentleman cook, as the most finished, spritely, honest fellow of the whole. dick's a trump, and no telegraph,--up to every frisk, and down to every move of the domini, thorough bred, and no want of courage?" Æager haven--laid up in the depot of invalids. gulls--knowing ones who are always on the look out for freshmen. ~ ~~ "but not having the honour of being entered there, i cannot avail myself of dick's services: pray tell me, who is there at brazennose that a young fellow can make a confidant of?" "why, the very best old fellow in the world,--nothing like him in oxford,--rather aged, to be sure, but a good one to go, and a rum one to look at;--i have known mark supple these fifty years, and never heard a gentleman give him a bad word: shall i send for him, sir? he's the very man to put you _up to a thing or two_, and finish you off in prime style." "in the morning, i'll see him, and if he answers your recommendation, engage with him: "for, thought i, such a man will be very essential, if it is only to act as interpreter to a young novice like myself. the conversation now turned to sporting varieties, by which i discovered mine host was a leading character in the neighbouring hunts; knew every sportsman in the field, and in the course of half an hour, carried me over godrington's manors, moystoris district, and somerset range,{ } taking many a bold leap in his progress, and never losing _sight of the dogs_. "we shall try your mettle, sir," said he, "if we catch you out for a day's sport; and if you are not quite mounted at present to your mind, i have always a spare nag in the stable for the use of a freshman." the three packs of hounds contiguous to oxford. though i did not relish the concluding appellation, coming from a tavern-keeper, i could not help thanking peake for his liberal offer; yet without any intention of risking my neck in a steeple chase. the interview had, however, been productive of some amusement and considerable information. the bottle was now nearly finished; filling my last glass, i drank success to the mitre, promised to patronise the landlord, praise the hostess, coquet with the little cherry-cheek, chirping lass in the bar, and kiss as many of the chamber-maids as i could persuade to let me. wishing mine host a good night, and ringing for my bed-candle, i proceeded to put the last part of my promise into immediate execution. college servants. descriptive sketch of a college scout--biography of mark supple--singular invitation to a spread. the next morning, early, while at breakfast, i received a visit from mr. mark supple, the _scout_, of whom mine host of the mitre had on the preceding night spoken so highly. there was nothing certainly very prepossessing in his exterior appearance; and if he had not previously been eulogised as the most estimable of college servants, i should not have caught the impression from a first glance. he was somewhere about sixty years of age, of diminutive stature and spare habit, a lean brother with a scarlet countenance, impregnated with tints of many a varied hue, in which however the richness of the ruby and the soft purple of the ultramarine evidently predominated. his forehead was nearly flat; upon his eyebrows and over his _os frontis_ and scalp, a few straggling straight hairs were extended as an apology for a wig, but which was much more like a discarded crow's nest turned upside down. immense black bushy eyebrows overhung a pair of the queerest looking oculars i had ever seen; below which sprung forth what had once been, no doubt, a nose, and perhaps in youth an elegant feature; but, heaven help the wearer! it was now grown into such a strange form, and presented so many choice exuberances, that one might have supposed it was the original bardolph's, and charged with the additional sins of every succeeding generation. the loss of his ~ ~~ teeth had caused the other lip to retire inwards, and consequently the lower one projected forth, supported by a huge chin, like the basin or receiver round the crater of a volcano. his costume was of a fashion admirably corresponding with his person. it might once have graced a dean, or, perhaps, a bishop, but it was evident the present wearer was not by when the _artiste_ of the needle took his measure or instructions. three men of mark's bulk might very well have been buttoned up in the upper habiliment; and as for the _inexpressibles_, they hung round his _ultimatum_ like the petticoat trowsers of a dutch smuggler: then for the colour, it might once have been sable or a clerical mixture; but what with the powder which the collar bore evidence it had once been accustomed to, and the weather-beaten trials it had since undergone, it was quite impossible to specify. the _beaver_ was in excellent keeping, _en suite_, except, perhaps, from the constant application of the hand to pay due respect to the dignitaries, it was here and there enriched with some more shining qualities. i at first suspected this ancient visitor was a hoax of my friend tom echo's, who had concerted the scheme with the landlord; but a little conversation with the object of my surprise soon convinced me it was the genuine mark supple, the true college _scout_, and no counterfeit. "the welcome of isis to you, sir," said the old man. "the domini of the bishops cap here gave me a hint you wished to see me.--i have the honour to be mark supple, sir, senior scout of brazennose, and as well known to all the members of the university for the last fifty years, as magdalen bridge, or old magnus thomas. the first of your name, sir, i think, who have been of oxford--don't trace any of the blackmantles here antecedent--turned over my list this morning before i came--got them all arranged, sir, take notice, in chronological order, from the friars of ~ ~~ oseny abbey down to the university of bucks of --very entertaining, sir, take notice--many a glorious name peeping out here and there--very happy to enrol the first of the blackmantles in my remembrancer, and hope to add m. a. and m. s. s. which signifies honour to you, as master of arts, and glory to your humble servant, mark supple scout--always put my own initials against the gentleman's names whom i have attended, take notice." the singularity of the ancient's climax amused me exceedingly--there was something truly original in the phrase: the person and manners of the man were in perfect keeping. "you must have seen great changes here, mark," said i; "were you always of brazennose?" "i was born of christ church, sir, take notice, where my father was college barber, and my mother a bed-maker; but the students of that period insisted upon it that i was so like to a certain old big wig, whose christian name was mark, that i most censoriously obtained the appellation from at least a hundred godfathers, to the no small annoyance of the dignitary, take notice. my first occupation, when a child, was carrying billet doux from the students of christ church to the tradesmen's daughters of oxford, or the nuns of st. clement's, where a less important personage might have excited suspicion and lost his situation. from a college mercury, i became a college devil, and was promoted to the chief situation in _glorio_,{ } alias _hell_, where i continued for some time a shining character, and sharpened the edge of many a cutting thing, take notice. here, some wag having a design upon my reputation, put a large piece of cobbler's wax into the dean's boots one morning, which so irritated the _big wig_ that i was instantly expelled college, discommoned, and blown up at point non plus, take notice. glorio.--a place in christ church called the scout's pantry, where the boots and shoes and knives are cleaned, and a small quantity of geneva, or bill holland's double, is daily consumed during term time. ~ ~~ having saved a trifle, i now commenced stable-keeper, bought a few prime hacks, and mounted some of the best tandem turn outs in oxford, take notice: but not having wherewithal to stand tick, and being much averse to dunning, i was soon sold up, and got a birth in brazennose as college scout, where i have now been upwards of forty years, take notice. no gentleman could ever say old mark supple deceived him. i have run many risks for the gown; never cared for the town; always stuck up for my college, and never telegraphed the big wigs in my life, take notice."--"is your name blackmantle?" said a sharp-looking little fellow, in a grey frock livery, advancing up to me with as much _sang froid_ as if i had been one of the honest fraternity of college servants. being answered in the affirmative, and receiving at the same time a look that convinced him i was not pleased with his boldness, he placed the following note in my hand and retired.{ } the usual style of invitation to a college wine party or spread. [illustration: page ] the above is an exact copy of a note received from a man of brazennose. ~ ~~ handing the note to old mark--"pray," said i, not a little confused by the elegance of the composition, "is this the usual style of college invitations?" mark mounted his spectacles, and having deciphered the contents, assured me with great gravity that it was very polite indeed, and considering where it came from, unusually civil. another specimen of college ceremony, thought i;--"but come, mark, let us forth and survey my rooms." we were soon within-side the gates of brazennose; and mark having obtained the key, we proceeded to explore the forsaken chamber of the muses. [illustration: page ] taking possession of your rooms. topography of a vacant college larium--anecdotes and propensities of predecessors--a long shot--scout's list of necessaries--condolence of university friends. ascending a dark stone staircase till the oaken beams of the roof proclaimed we had reached the domiciliary abode of genius, i found myself in the centre of my future habitation, an attic on the third floor: i much doubt if poor belzoni, when he discovered the egyptian sepulchre, could have exhibited more astonishment. the old bed-maker, and the scout of my predecessor, had prepared the apartment for my reception by gutting it of every thing useful to the value of a cloak pin: the former was engaged in sweeping up the dust, which, from the clouds that surrounded us, would not appear to have been disturbed for six months before at least. i had nearly broken my shins, on my first entrance, over the fire-shovel and bucket, and i was now in more danger of being choked with filth. "who inhabited this delightful place before, mark?" "a mad wag, but a generous gentleman, sir, take notice, one charles rattle, esq., who was expelled college for smuggling, take notice: the proctor, with the town marshal and his bull dogs, detected him and two others one night drawing up some fresh provision in the college plate-basket. mr. rattle, in his fright, dropped the fair nun of st. clement's plump upon the proctor, who could not understand the joke; but, having recovered ~ ~~ his legs, entered the college, and found one of the fair sisters concealed in mr. rattle's room, take notice. in consequence he was next day pulled up before the big wigs, when, refusing to make a suitable apology, he received sentence of expulsion, take notice." "he must have been a genius," quoth i, "and a very eccentric one too, from the relics he has left behind of his favourite propensities." in one corner of the room lay deposited a heap of lumber, thrown together, as a printer would say, in _pie_, composed of broken tables, broken bottles, trunks, noseless bellows, books of all descriptions, a pair of _muffles_, and the cap of sacred academus with a hole through the crown (emblematical, i should think, of the pericranium it had once covered), and stuck upon the leg of a broken chair. the rats, those very agreeable visitors of ancient habitations, were seen scampering away upon our entrance, and the ceiling was elegantly decorated with the smoke of a candle in a great variety of ornamented designs, consisting of caricatures of dignitaries and the christian names of favourite damsels. there was poor cicero, with a smashed crown, turned upside down in the fire-place, and a map of oxford hanging in tatters above it; a portrait of tom crib was in the space adjoining the window, not one whole pane of which had survived the general wreck; but what most puzzled me was the appearance of the cupboard door: the bottom hinge had given way, and it hung suspended by one joint in an oblique direction, exhibiting, on an inside face, a circle chalked for a target and perforated with numerous holes this door was in a right line with the bedroom, and, when thrown open, covered a loop-hole of a window that looked across the quadrangle directly into the principal's apartments.{ } [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ it was in this way (as mark informed me) my predecessor amused himself in a morning by lying in bed and firing at the target, till, unhappily, on one occasion the ball passed through a hole in the door, the loop-hole window, and, crossing the quadrangle, entered whizzing past the dignitary's ear and that of his family who were at breakfast with him into the back of the chair he had but a moment before providentially quitted to take a book from his library shelves. the affair occasioned a strict search, and the door in question bore too strong an evidence to escape detection; rattle was rusticated for a term, but, returning the same singular character, was always in some scrape or other till his final expulsion. having given the necessary orders for repairs, mark made one of his best bows, and produced a long scroll of paper, on which was written a list of necessaries?{ } "which," said the ancient, "take notice, every gentleman provides on his taking possession of his rooms." "and every gentleman's scout claims upon his leaving, take notice" said i. mark bowed assent. i had now both seen and heard enough of college comforts to wish myself safe back again at eton in the snug, clean, sanded dormitory of my old dame. looking first at my purse and then at the list of necessaries, i could not resist a sigh on perceiving my _new guinea_{ } to be already in danger, that it would require some caution to steer clear of the forest of debt,{ } and keep out of _south jeopardy_,{ } and some talent to gain the _new settlements_{ } or prevent my being ultimately laid up in the _river tick_{ } condemned in the _vice-chancellor's court_,{ } and consigned, for the benefit of the captors, to _fort marshal_.{ } the circumstance here alluded to actually occurred some time since, when g- c-n and lord c-e nearly shot dr. capplestone of oriel and his predecessor, dr. eveleigh: the former was expelled in consequence. a list of necessaries consists of all the necessary culinary articles, tea equipage, brooms, brushes, pails, &c. &c. &c. new guinea--first possession of income. forest of debt--payment of debts. south jeopardy--terrors of insolvency. next settlements--final reckoning. river tick--springing out of standing debts, which only==> vice-chancellor's court--creditor's last shift. fort marshal--university marshal's post, charge themselves at the expiration of three years by leaving the lake of credit, and meandering through the haunts of a hundred creditors. ~ ~~ "rather romantic, but not elegant," said some voices at the door, which, on turning my head, i discovered to be my two friends, echo and eglantine, who, suspecting the state of the rooms, from the known character of the previous occupier, had followed me up stairs to enjoy the pleasure of quizzing a novice. "a snug appointment this, old fellow," said echo. "very airy and contemplative" rejoined eglantine, pointing first to the broken window, and after to the mutilated remains of books and furniture. "quite the larium of a man of genius," continued the former, "and very fine scope for the exhibition of improved taste." "and an excellent opportunity for raillery," quoth i. "well, old fellow," said tom, "i wish you safe through _dun territory_{ } and the _preserve of long bills_{ }: if you are not pretty well _blunted_,{ } the first start will try _your wind._" "courage, blackmantle," said eglantine, "we must not have you laid up here in the _marshes of impediment_{ } with all the horrors of _east jeopardy_,{ } as if you was lost in the _cave of antiquity_{ }: rally, my old fellow, for _the long hope_,{ }shoot past _mounts_ dun territory--circle of creditors to be paid. preserve of long bills--stock of debts to be discharged. blunted--london slang for plenty of money. marshes of impediment--troublesome preparation for the schools. east jeopardy--terrors of anticipation. cave of antiquity--depot of old authors. the long hope--johnson defines "a hope" to be any sloping plain between two ridges of mountains. here it is the symbol of long expectations in studying for a degree. ~ ~~ _aldrich and euclid_,{ } the _roman tumuli_{ } and _point failure_{ } and then, having gained _fount stagira_{ } pass easily through _littlego vale_,{ } reach the summit of the _pindaric heights_{ } and set yourself down easy in the _temple of bacchus_{ } and the _region of rejoicing"{ } "or if you should fall a sacrifice in the district of {sappers_,{ } old fellow!" said echo, "or founder in _dodd's sound_,{ } why, you can retreat to _cam roads_,{ } or lay up for life in the _bay of condolence_."{ } "for heaven's sake, let us leave the _gulf of misery_," said i, alluding to the state of my rooms, "and bend our course where some more amusing novelty presents itself." "to bagley wood," said echo, "to break cover and introduce you to the egyptians; only i must give my scout directions first to see the old bookseller{ } and have my _imposition_{ } ready for being absent from chapel this morning, or else i shall be favoured with another mount aldrich, mount euclid--logic and mathematics. tumuli raised by the romans--difficulties offered by livy and tacitus in the studies for first class honours. point failure--catastrophe of plucking. fount stagira--fount named after the birth-place of aris- totle. littlego vale--orderly step to the first examination. pindaric heights--study of pindar's odes. temple of bacchus--merry-making after getting a liceat. region of rejoicing--joy attendant on success in the schools. district of sabers--track of those who sap at their quarto and folio volumes. dodd's sound--where the candidate will have to acknowledge the receipt of a certificate empowering him to float down bachelor creek. cam roads--retreat to cambridge by way of a change. bay of condolence--where we console our friends, if plucked, and left at a nonplus. a well-known bookseller in oxford generally called imposition g-, from his preparing translations for the members of the university. imposition--see prick bill. ~ ~~ visit from the _prick bill_."{ } "agreed," said eglantine, "and blackmantle and myself will, in the meantime, visit sadler, and engage a couple of his prime hacks to accompany you." prick bills--at christ church, junior students who prick with a pin the names of those gentlemen who are at chapel. immediately after the service, the bills, with the noblemen and gentlemen commoners' names, are taken to the dean; those with the students and commoners' names, to the acting censor for the week; and the bachelors' bills to the sub-dean, who generally inform the prick bills what impositions shall be set those gentlemen who absented themselves from chapel: these are written upon strips of paper and carried to the gentlemen by the prick bill's scouts. copy of an original imposition. "sp particular m m c. p. b."--signifies translate no. spectator to the word "particular" by monday morning at chapel time.--prick bill. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] the excursion to bagley wood. oxford scholars and oxford livery men--how to insure a good horse and prevent accidents--description of bagley wood--a freshman breaking cover--interview with the egyptian-- secrets of futurity unveiled--abingdon beauties--singular anecdote and history of mother goose. ~ ~~ the ride to bagley wood introduced me to some new features of a college life, not the least entertaining of which was the dialogue before starting between my friend eglantine, the livery-stable keeper, and his man, where we went to engage the horses. eglan. (to the ostler) well, dick, what sort of a stud, hey? any thing rum, a ginger or a miller, three legs or five, got by whirlwind out of skyscraper? come, fig out two lively ones. dick. i mun see measter first, zur, before i lets any gentleman take a nag out o' yard. it's more as my place is worth to act otherwise. eglan. what coming tip-street over us, hey, dick? ~ ~~ _frisking the freshman_ here, old fellow? (pointing to me). it won't do--no go, dick--he's my friend, a _cawker_ to be sure, but must not _stand sam_ to an _oxford raff_, or a yorkshire _johnny raw_. dick. i axes pardon, zur. i didna mean any such thing, but ever since you rode the grey tit last, she's never been out o' stall. eglan. not surprised at that, dick. never crossed a greater slug in my life--she's only fit to carry a dean or a bishop--no go in her. dick. no, zur, measter zays as how you took it all out on her. eglan. why, i did give her a winder, dick, to be sure, only one day's hunting, though, a good hard run over somerset range, not above sixty miles out and home. dick. ay, i thought as how you'd been in some break-neck tumble-down country, zur, for tit's knuckels showed she'd had a somerset or two. eglan. well, blister the mare, dick! there's _half a bull_ for your trouble: now put us on the right scent for a good one: any thing young and fresh, sprightly and shewy? dick. why, there be such a one to be zure, zur, but you munna split on me, or i shall get the zack for telling on ye. if you'll sken yon stable at end o' the yard, there be two prime tits just com'd in from abingdon fair, thorough-bred and devils to go, but measter won't let 'em out. eglan. won't he? here he comes, and we'll try what a little persuasion will do. (enter livery man.) well, old fellow, i've brought you a new friend, blackmantle of brazennose: what sort of _praxis_ can you give us for a trot to bagley wood, a short ride for something shewy to _lionise_ a bit? livery m. nothing new, sir, and you know all the stud pretty well (knowingly). suppose you try the grey mare you rode t'other day, and i'll find a quiet one for your friend. ~ ~~ eglan. if i do, i am a _black horse_. she's no paces, nothing _but a shuffle_, not a _leg to stand on_. livery m. every one as good as the principal of all-souls. not a better bred thing in oxford, and all horses here gallop by instinct, as every body knows, but they can't go for ever, and when gentlemen ride steeple chases of sixty miles or more right a-head, they ought to find their own horse-flesh. eglan. what coming _crabb_ over us, old fellow, hey very well, i shall bolt and try randall, and that's all about it. come along, blackmantle. my friend's threat of withdrawing his patronage had immediately the desired effect. horace's judgment in horse-flesh was universally admitted, and the knowing dealer, although he had suffered in one instance by hard riding, yet deeply calculated on retrieving his loss by some unsuspecting freshman, or other university nimrod in the circle of eglantine's acquaintance. by this time echo had arrived, and we were soon mounted on the two fresh purchases which the honest yorkshireman had so disinterestedly pointed out; and which, to do him justice, deserved the eulogium he had given us on their merits. one circumstance must not however be forgotten, which was the following notice posted at the end of the yard. "to prevent accidents, gentlemen pay _before mounting_." "how the deuce can this practice of paying beforehand prevent accidents?" said i. "you're fresh, old fellow," said echo, "or you'd understand after a man breaks his neck he fears no duns. now you know by accident what old humanity there means." bagley is about two miles and a half from oxford on the abingdon road, an exceedingly pleasant ride, leaving the sacred city and passing over the old bridge where formerly was situated the study or observatory of the celebrated friar bacon. not an object in the shape of a petticoat escaped some raillery, and scarcely ~~ a town _raff_ but what met with a corresponding display of university wit, and called forth many a cutting joke: the place itself is an extensive wood on the summit of a hill, which commands a glorious panoramic view of oxford and the surrounding country richly diversified in hill and dale, and sacred spires shooting their varied forms on high above the domes, and minarets, and towers of rhedycina. this spot, the favourite haunt of the oxonians, is covered for many miles with the most luxuriant foliage, affording the cool retreat, the love embowered shades, over which prudence spreads the friendly veil. here many an amorous couple have in softest dalliance met, and sighed, and frolicked, free from suspicion's eye beneath the broad umbrageous canopy of nature; here too is the favourite retreat of the devotees of cypriani, the spicy grove of assignations where the velvet sleeves of the proctor never shake with terror in the wind, and the savage form of the university _bull dog_ is unknown. a party of wandering english arabs had pitched their tents on the brow of the hill just under the first cluster of trees, and materially increased the romantic appearance of the scene. the group consisted of men, women, and children, a tilted cart with two or three asses, and a lurcher who announced our approach. my companions were, i soon found, well known to the females, who familiarly approached our party, while the male animals as condescendingly betook themselves into the recesses of the wood. "black nan," said echo, "and her daughter, the gypsy beauty, the bagley brunette."--"shall i tell your honour's fortune?" said the elder of the two, approaching me; while eglantine, who had already dismounted and given his horse to one of the brown urchins of the party, had encircled the waist of the younger sibyl, and was tickling her into a trot in an opposite direction. "ay do, nan," ~ ~~ said echo, "cast his nativity, open the book of fate, and tell the boy his future destiny." it would be the height of absurdity to repeat half the nonsense this oracle of bagley uttered relative to my future fortunes; but with the cunning peculiar to her cast, she discovered i was fresh, and what tormented me more, (although on her part it was no doubt accidental) alluded to an amour in which my heart was much interested with a little divinity in the neighbourhood of eton. this hint was sufficient to give tom his cue, and i was doomed to be pestered for the remainder of the day with questions and raillery on my progress in the court of love. on our quitting the old gypsy woman, a pair of buxom damsels came in sight, advancing from the abingdon road; they were no doubt like ourselves, i thought, come to consult the oracle of bagley, or, perhaps, were the daughters of some respectable farmer who owned the adjoining land. all these doubts were, however, of short duration; for tom echo no sooner caught sight of their faces, than away he bounded towards them like a young colt in all the frolic of untamed playfulness, and before i could reach him, one of the ladies was rolling on the green carpet of luxuriant nature. in the deep bosom of bagley wood, impervious to the eye of authority, many a sportive scene occurs which would alarm the ethics of the solemn sages of the cloistered college. they were, i discovered, sisters, too early abandoned by an unfeeling parent to poverty, and thus became an easy prey to the licentious and the giddy, who, in the pursuit of pleasure, never contemplate the attendant misery which is sure to follow the victim of seduction. there was something romantic in their story: they were daughters of the celebrated mother goose, whose person must have been familiar to every oxonian for the last sixty years prior to her decease, which occurred but a short time since of ~ ~~ this woman's history i have since gleaned some curious particulars, the most remarkable of which (contained in the annexed note) have been authenticated by living witnesses.{ } her portrait, by a member of all souls, is admirable, and is here faithfully copied. [illustration: page ] "_mother goose_," formerly a procuress, and one of the most abandoned of her profession. when from her advanced age, and the loss of her eye-sight, she could no longer obtain money by seducing females from the path of virtue, she married a man of the name of h., (commonly called gentleman h.) and for years was led by him to the students' apartments in the different colleges with baskets of the choicest flowers. her ancient, clean, and neat appearance, her singular address, and, above all, the circumstance of her being blind, never failed of procuring her at least ten times the price of her posy, and which was frequently doubled when she informed the young gentlemen of the generosity, benevolence, and charity of their grandfathers, fathers, or uncles whom she knew when they were at college. she had several illegitimate children, all females, and all were sacrificed by their unnatural mother, except one, who was taken away from her at a very tender age by the child's father's parents. when of age, this child inherited her father's property, and is now (i believe) the wife of an irish nobleman, and to this time is unconscious that mother goose, of oxford, gave her birth. the person who was instrumental in removing the child is still living in oxford, and will testify to the authenticity of the fact here related. his present majesty never passed through oxford without presenting mother goose with a donation, but of course without knowing her early history. ~ ~~ having, as echo expressed it, now broke cover, and being advanced one step in the study of the fathers, we prepared to quit the abingdon fair and rural shades of bagley on our return to oxford, something lighter in pocket, and a little too in morality. we raced the whole of the distance home, to the great peril of several groups of town raff whom we passed in our way. on our arrival my friends had each certain lectures to attend, or college duties to perform. an idle freshman, there was yet three hours good before the invitation to the spread, and as kind fortune willed it to amuse the time, a packet arrived from horatio heartley. he had been spending the winter in town with his aunt, lady mary oldstyle, and had, with his usual tact, been sketching the varied groups which form the circle of fashionable life. it was part of the agreement between us, when leaving each other at eton, that we should thus communicate the characteristic traits of the society we were about to amalgamate with. he has, in the phraseology of the day, just come out, and certainly appears to have made the best use of his time. kensington gardens--sunday evening. singularities of . [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ western entrance into the metropolis; a descriptive sketch. general views of the author relative to subject and style-- time and place--perspective glimpse of the great city--the approach--cockney salutations--the toll house--western entrance to cockney land--hyde park--sunday noon-- sketches of character, costume, and scenery--the ride and drive--kensington gardens--belles and beaux--stars and fallen stars--singularities of --tales of ton--on dits and anecdotes--sunday evening--high life and low life, the contrast--cockney goths--notes, biographical, amorous, and exquisite. [illustration: page ] its wealth and fashion, wit and folly, pleasures, whims, and melancholy: of all the charming belles and beaux who line the parks, in double rows; of princes, peers, their equipage, the splendour of the present age; of west-end fops, and crusty cits, who drive their gigs, or sport their tits; with all the groups we mean to dash on who form the busy world of fashion: proceeding onwards to the city, with sketches, humorous and witty. the man of business, and the change, will come within our satire's range: nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry-- "the satirist has pass'd us by," but with good humour view our page depict the manners of the age. our style shall, like our subject, be distinguished by variety; familiar, brief we could say too-- (it shall be whimsical and new), but reader that we leave to you. 'twas morn, the genial sun of may o'er nature spread a cheerful ray, when cockney land, clothed in her best, we saw, approaching from the west, and 'mid her steeples straight and tall espied the dome of famed st. paul, surrounded with a cloud of smoke from many a kitchen chimney broke; a nuisance since consumed below by bill of michael angelo.{ } the coach o'er stones was heard to rattle, m. a. taylor's act for compelling all large factories, which have steam and other apparatus, to consume their own smoke. ~ ~~ the guard his bugle tuned for battle, the horses snorted with delight, as piccadilly came in sight. on either side the road was lined with vehicles of ev'ry kind, and as the rapid wheel went round, there seem'd scarce room to clear the ground. "gate-gate-push on--how do--well met-- pull up--my tits are on the fret-- the number--lost it--tip then straight, that covey vants to bilk the gate." the toll-house welcome this to town. your prime, flash, bang up, fly, or down, a tidy team of prads,--your castor's quite a joliffe tile,--my master. thus buck and coachee greet each other, and seem familiar as a brother. no chinese wall, or rude barrier, obstructs the view, or entrance here; nor fee or passport,--save the warder, who draws to keep the roads in order; no questions ask'd, but all that please may pass and repass at their ease. in cockney land, the seventh day is famous for a grand display of modes, of finery, and dress, of cit, west-ender, and noblesse, who in hyde park crowd like a fair to stare, and lounge, and take the air, or ride or drive, or walk, and chat on fashions, scandal, and all that.-- here, reader, with your leave, will we commence our london history. 'twas sunday, and the park was full with mistress, john, and master bull, and all their little fry. the crowd pour in from all approaches, tilb'ries, dennets, gigs, and coaches; ~ ~~ the bells rung merrily. old dowagers, their fubsy faces{ } painted to eclipse the graces, pop their noddles out of some old family affair that's neither chariot, coach, or chair, well known at ev'ry rout. but bless me, who's that coach and six? "that, sir, is mister billy wicks, a great light o' the city, tallow-chandler, and lord mayor{ }; miss flambeau wicks's are the fair, who're drest so very pretty. it's only for a year you know he keeps up such a flashy show; and then he's melted down. the man upon that half-starved nag{ } is an ex-s------ff, a strange wag, half flash, and half a clown. but see with artful lures and wiles the paphian goddess, mrs. g***s,{ } there are from twenty to thirty of these well known relics of antiquity who regularly frequent the park, and attend all the fashionable routs,--perfumed and painted with the utmost extravagance: if the wind sets in your face, they may be scented at least a dozen carriages off. it is really ludicrous to observe the ridiculous pride of some of these ephemeral things;--during their mayoralty, the gaudy city vehicle with four richly caparisoned horses is constantly in the drive, with six or eight persons crammed into it like a family waggon, and bedizened out in all the colours of the rainbow;--ask for them six months after, and you shall find them more suitably employed, packing rags, oranges, or red herrings. this man is such a strange compound of folly and eccentricity, that he is eternally in hot water with some one or other. mrs. fanny g- -s, the ci-devant wife of a corn merchant, a celebrated courtezan, who sports a splendid equipage, and has long figured upon town as a star of the first order in the cyprian hemisphere. she has some excellent qualities, as poor m---------n can vouch; for when the fickle goddess fortune left him in the lurch, she has a handsome annuity from a sporting peer, who was once the favoured swain. ~ ~~ from out her carriage peeps; she nods to am'rous mrs. d-----,{ } who bends with most sublime congee, while ruin'd-----------sleeps. who follows 'tis the hopeful son of the proud earl of h-----------n, who stole the parson's wife.{ } the earl of h-----------and flame, for cabriolets she's the dame,{ } a dasher, on my life. jack t----- shows his pleasant face{ }; a royal likeness here you'll trace, you'd swear he was a guelph. see lady mary's u------walk,{ } and though but aide-de-camp to york, an adonis with himself, mrs. d---------, alias mrs. b-k-y, alias miss montague, the wife of poor jem b-k-y, the greater his misfortune,--a well known paphian queen, one of five sisters, who are all equally notorious, and whose history is well known. she is now the favoured sultana of a ci-devant banker, whose name she assumes, to the disgrace of himself and family. the clerical cornuto recovered, in a crim. con. action, four thousand pounds for the loss of his frail rib, from this hopeful sprig of nobility. mrs. s------, a most voluptuous lady, the discarded chère amie of the late lord f- -d, said to be the best carriage woman in the park: she lies in the earl of h------- --'s cabriolet most delightfully stretched out at full length, and in this elegant posture is driven through the park. captain t------l of the guards, whose powerful similitude to the reigning family of england is not more generally admitted than his good-humoured qualities are universally admired. the hon. general u---------, aide-de-camp to the duke of york, whose intrigue with lady mary------------was, we have heard, a planned affair to entrap a very different person. be that as it may, it answered the purpose, and did not disturb the friendship of the parties. the honourable general has obtained the appellation of the park adonis, from his attractive figure and known gallantries. ~ ~~ a-----------y mark, a batter'd beau,{ } who'll still the fatal dice-box throw till not a guinea's left. beyond's the brothers b-----e,{ } of gold and acres quite as free, by gaming too bereft. here trips commercial dandy ra-k-s,{ } lord a------y, the babe of honour--once the gayest of the gay, where fashion holds her bright enchanting court; now wrinkled and depressed, and plucked of every feather, by merciless greek banditti. such is the infatuation of play, that he still continues to linger round the fatal table, and finds a pleasure in recounting his enormous losses. a---y, who is certainly one of the most polished men in the world, was the leader of the dandy club, or the unique four, composed of beau brummell, sir henry mildmay, and henry pierrepoint, the ambassador, as he is generally termed. when the celebrated dandy ball was given to his majesty (then prince of wales), on that occasion the prince seemed disposed to cut brummell, who, in revenge, coolly observed to a------y, when he was gone,--"big ben was vulgar as usual." this was reported at carlton house, and led to the disgrace of the exquisite.--shortly afterwards he met the prince and a------y in public, arm in arm, when the former, desirous of avoiding him, quitted the baron: brummell, who observed his motive, said loud enough to be heard by the prince,--"who is that fat friend of yours?" this expression sealed his doom; he was never afterwards permitted the honour of meeting the parties at the palace. the story of "george, ring the bell," and the reported conduct of the prince, who is said to have obeyed the request and ordered mr. brummell's carriage, is, we have strong reasons for thinking, altogether a fiction: brummell knew the dignity of his host too well to have dared such an insult. the king since generously sent him l. when he heard of his distress at calais. brummell was the son of a tavern-keeper in st. james's, and is still living at calais. the brothers are part of a flock of r------r geese, who have afforded fine plucking for the greeks. parson ambrose, the high priest of pandemonium, had a leg of one and a wing of the other devilled for supper one night at the gothic hall. they have cut but a lame figure ever since. a quaint cognomen given to the city banker by the west- end beaux;--he is a very amiable man. ~ ~~ who never plays for heavy stakes, but looks to the main chance. there's georgy w-b-ll, all the go,{ } the mould of fashion,--the court beau, since brummell fled to france: his bright brass harness, and the gray, the well known black cabriolet, is always latest there; the reason,--george, with captain p------ the lady-killing coterie, come late--to catch the fair. see w-s-r, who with pious love,{ } for her, who's sainted now above, a sister kindly takes; so, as the ancient proverb tells, "the best of husbands, modern belles, are your reformed rakes." in splendid mis'ry down the ride alone,--see ****** lady glide,{ } neglected for a--------. what's fame, or titles, wealth's increase, compared unto the bosom's peace? they're bubbles,--nothing more. george, although a _roué_ of the most superlative order, is not deficient in good sense and agreeable qualifications. since poor beau brummell's removal from the hemisphere of fashion, george has certainly shone a planet of the first magnitude: among the fair he is also considered like his friend, captain p-r-y, a perfect lady-killer:--many a little milliner's girl has had cause to regret the seductive notes of a.z.b. limmer's hotel. the marquis of w-c-t-r has, since his first wife's death, married her sister.--reformation, we are happy to perceive, is the order of the day. the failure of howard and gibbs involved more than one noble family in embarrassments. the amours of this child of fortune are notorious both on the continent and in this country. it is very often the misfortune of great men to be degraded by great profligacy of conduct: the poor lady is a suffering angel. ~ ~~ observe yon graceful modest group{ } who look like chaste diana's troop, the ladies molineaux; with sefton, the nimrod of peers, as old in honesty,--as years, a stanch true buff' and blue. "what portly looking man is that in plain blue coat,--to whom each hat is moved in ride and walk!" that pleasant fellow, be it known, is heir presumptive to the throne, 'tis frederick of york.{ } a better, kinder hearted soul you will not and, upon the whole, within the british isle. but see where p-t's wife appears,{ } who changed, though rather late in years, for honest george ar-le. now by my faith it gives me pain the female branches of the sefton family are superior to the slightest breath of calumny, and present an example to the peerage worthy of more general imitation. no member of the present royal family displays more agreeable qualifications in society than the heir presumptive.--un-affected, affable, and free, the duke may be seen daily pacing st. james's-street, pall-mall, or the park, very often wholly un-attended: as his person is familiar to the public, he never experiences the slightest inconvenience from curiosity, and he is so generally beloved, that none pass him who know him without paying their tribute of respect. in all the private relations of life he is a most estimable man,--in his public situation indefatigable, prompt, and attentive to the meanest applica- tion. a more lamentable instance of the profligacy of the age cannot be found than in the history of the transaction which produced this exchange of wives and persons. a wag of the day published a new list of promotions headed as follows,-- lady b------n to be lady a------r p-t,--by exchange--lady p-t to be duchess of a------e,--by promotion--lady charlotte w--y to be lady p-t, vice lady p-t, promoted. ~ ~~ to see thee, cruel lady j-,{ } regret the golden ball. tis useless now:--"the fox and grapes" remember, and avoid the apes which wait an old maid's fall. gay lady h-----e's twinkling star{ } it is not long since that, inspired by love or ambition, a wealthy commoner sought the promise of the fair hand of lady j-, nor was the consent of her noble father (influenced by certain weighty reasons*) wanting to complete the anticipated happiness of the suitor.--all the preliminary forms were arranged,--jointure and pin money liberally fixed,--some legal objections as to a covenant of forfeiture overcame, a suitable establishment provided. the happy day was fixed, when--"mark inconstant fickle woman"--the evening previous to completion (to the surprise of all the town), she changed her mind; she had reconsidered the subject!--the man was wealthy, and attractive in person; but then-- insupportable objection--he was a mere plebeian, a common esquire, and his name was odious,--lady j- b- ,--she could never endure it: the degrading thought produced a fainting fit,--the recovery a positive refusal,--the circumstance a week's amusement to the fashionable world. reflection and disappointment succeeded, and a revival was more than once spoken of; but the recent marriage of the bachelor put an end to all conjecture, and the poor lady was for some time left to bewail in secret her single destiny. who can say, when a lady has the golden ball at her foot, where she may kick it? circumstances which have occurred since the above was written prove that the lady has anticipated our advice. her ladyship's crimson vis-à-vis and her tall footman are both highly attractive--there are no seats in the vehicle--the fair owner reclines on a splendid crimson velvet divan or cushion. she must now be considered a beauty of the last century, being already turned of fifty: still she continued to flourish in the annals of--fashion, until within the last few years; when she ceased to go abroad for amusement, finding it more convenient to purchase it at home. as her parties in grosvenor-square are of the most splendid description, and her dinners (where she is the presiding deity, and the only one) are frequent, and unrivalled for a display of the "savoir vivre," her ladyship can always draw on the gratitude of her guests for that homage to hospitality which she must cease to expect to her charms, "now in the sear and yellow leaf:"--she is a m-nn- rs-"verbum sal." speaking of m-nn-ra, where is the portly john (the regent's double, as he was called some few years since), and the amiable duchess, who bestowed her hand and fortune upon him?--but, n'importe. * the marquis is said to have shown some aversion in the first instance, till h-s b- sent his rent roll for his inspection: this was immediately returned with a very satisfactory reply, but accompanied with a more embarrassing request, namely, a sight of his pedigree. ~ ~~ glimmers in eclipse,--afar's the light of former time. in gorgeous pride and vis-à-vis,{ } a-b-y's orange livry see, the gayest in the clime. camac and wife, in chariot green, constant as turtle-doves are seen, with two bronze slaves behind; next h-tf-d's comely, widow'd dame,{ } with am'rous g------, a favourite name, when g------was true and kind. "the gorgeous a-b-y in the sun-flower's pride." this lady's vis-à-vis by far the most splendidly rich on town. her footmen (of which there are four on drawing-room days) are a proper emblem of that gaudy flower--bright yellow liveries, black lower garments, spangled and studded. there is a general keeping in this gorgeous equipage, which is highly creditable to the taste of the marchioness, for the marquis, "good easy man," (though a bruce), he is too much engaged preserving his game at ro-er-n park, and keeping up the game in st. stephen's (where his influence is represented by no less than eight "sound men and true"), to attend to these trifling circumstances. this, with a well paid rental of upwards of £ , per annum, makes the life of this happy pair pass in an uninterrupted stream of fashionable felicity. the marchioness is said to bear the neglect of a certain capricious friend with much cool philosophy. soon after the intimacy had ceased, they met by accident. on the sofa, by the side of the inconstant, sat the reigning favourite; the marchioness placed herself (uninvited) on the opposite side: astonishment seized the ****; he rose, made a very graceful bow to one of the ladies, and coolly observed to the marchesa--"if this conduct is repeated, i must decline meeting you in public." this was the cut royal. ~ ~~ see s-b-y's peeress, whom each fool of fashion meets in sunday school,{ } to chat in learned lore; where rhyming peers, and letter'd beaus, blue stocking belles to love dispose, and wit is deem'd a bore. with brave sir ronald, toe to toe, see mrs. m-h-l a-g-lo,{ } superb equestriana. next--that voluptuous little dame,{ } who sets the dandy world in flame, the female giovanni. erin's sprightly beauteous belle, gay lady g-t-m, and her swell the yorkshire whiskerandoes.{ } the dulness of the marchioness's sunday evening conver- saziones have obtained them the fashionable appellation of the sunday-school. lord byron thought it highly dangerous for any wit to accept a second invitation, lest he should be inoculated with ennui. mrs. m- a-g-e, a very amiable and accomplished woman, sister to sir h-y v-ne t-p-t. she is considered the best female equestrian in the ride. a consideration for the delicacy of our fair readers will not allow us to enter upon the numerous amours of this favourite of apollo and the muses, and not less celebrated intriguant. she may, however, have ample justice entailed upon her under another head. latterly, since the police have been so active in suppressing the gaming houses, a small party have met with security and profit for a little chicken hazard in curzon-street, at which mr. c-t has occasionally acted as croupier and banker. elliston used to say, when informed of the sudden indisposition or absence of a certain little actress and singer-"ay, i understand; she has a more profitable engagement than mine this evening." the amorous trio, cl-g-t, charles h-r-s, and the exquisite master g-e, may not have cause to complain of neglect. the first of these gentlemen has lately, we understand, been very successful at play; we trust experience will teach him prudence. his lordship commands the york hussars, in defence of whose whiskers he sometime since made a quixotic attack upon a public writer. as he is full six feet high, and we are not quite five, prudence bids us place our finger on our lip. ~ ~~ pale lambton, he who loves and hates by turns, what pitts, or pit, creates, led by the whig fandangoes. sound folly's trumpet, fashion's drums,-- here great a------y w------ce comes,{ } 'mong tailors, a red button. with luminarious nose and cheeks, which love of much good living speaks, observe the city glutton: sir w-m, admiral of yachts, of turtles, capons, port, and pots, in curricle so big. jack f-r follows;--jack's a wag,{ } a------y w------o, esq. otherwise the renowned billy button, the son and heir to the honours, fortune, and shopboard of the late billy button of bedford-street, covent garden. the latter property he appears to have transferred to the front of the old brown landau, where the aged coachman, with nose as flat as the ace of clubs, sits, transfixed and rigid as the curls of his caxon, from three till six every sunday evening, urging on a cabbage-fed pair of ancient prods, which no exertion of the venerable jehu has been able for the last seven years to provoke into a trot from hyde park gate to that of cumberland and back again. the contents of the vehicle are equally an exhibition. billy, with two watches hung by one chain, undergoing the revolutionary movements of buckets in a well, and his eye-glass set round with false pearls, are admirably "en suite" with his bugle optics. the frowsy madam in faded finery, with all the little buttons, attended by a red-haired poor relation from inverness (who is at once their governess and their victim), form the happy tenantry of this moving closet. no less than three, crests surmount the arms of this descendant of wallace the great. a waggish hibernian, some few months since, added a fourth, by chalking a goose proper, crested with a cabbage, which was observed and laughed at by every one in the park except the purblind possessor of the vehicle, who was too busy in looking at himself. honest jack is no longer an m.p., to the great regret of the admirers of senatorial humours. some few years since, being btuehi plenus, he reeled into st. stephen's chapel a little out of a perpendicular; when the then dignified abbot having called him to order, he boldly and vociferously asserted that "jack f-r of rose-hill was not to be set down by any little fellow in a wig. "this offence against the person and high office of the abbot of st. stephen's brought honest jack upon his knees, to get relieved from a troublesome serjeant attendant of the chapel. knowing his own infirmities, and fearing perhaps that he might be com- pelled to make another compulsory prayer, jack resigned his pretensions to senatorial honors at the last general election. his chief amusement, when in town, is the watching and tormenting the little marchandes des modes who cross over or pass in the neighbourhood of regent-street--he is, however, perfectly harmless. an unlucky accident, occasioned by little th-d the wine merchant overturning f-z-y in his tandem, compelled the latter to sell out of the army, but not without having lost a leg in the service. a determined patriot, he was still resolved to serve his country. a barrister on one leg might be thought ominous of his client's cause, or afford food for the raillery of his opponent. the bar was therefore rejected. but the church opened her arms to receive the dismembered son of mars (a parson with a cork leg, or two wooden ones, or indeed without a leg to stand on, was not un-orthodox), and f-z-y was soon inducted to a valuable benefice. he is now, we believe, a pluralist, and, if report be true, has shown something of the old soldier in his method of retaining them. f-y married miss wy-d-m, the daughter of mrs. h-s, who was the admired of his brother, l-d p-. he is generally termed the fighting parson, and considered one of the best judges of a horse in town: he sometimes does a little business in that way among the young ones. ~ ~~ a jolly dog, who sports his nag, or queers the speaker's wig: to venus, jack is stanch and true; to bacchus pays devotion too, but likes not bully mars. next him, some guardsmen, exquisite,- a well-dress'd troop;--but as to fight, it may leave ugly scars. here a church militant is seen,{ } who'd rather fight than preach i ween, once major, now a parson; with one leg in the grave, he'll laugh, chant up a pard, or quaintly chaff, to keep life's pleasant farce on. ~ ~~ lord arthur hill his arab sports, and gentle-usher to the courts: see horace and kang c-k,{ } who, with the modern mokamna c-m-e, must ever bear the sway for ugliness of look. a pair of ancients you may spy,{ } sir edward and sir carnaby, from brighton just set free; the jesters of our lord the king, who loves a joke, and aids the thing in many a sportive way. a motley group come rattling on,{ } horace s-y-r, gentleman usher to the king, and k-g c-k, said to be the ugliest man in the british army: in the park he is rivalled only by c-c. for the benefit of all the married ladies, we would recommend both of these singularities to wear the veil in public. sir ed-d n-g-e. his present majesty is not less fond of a pleasant joke than his laughter-loving predecessor, charles ii. the puke of clarence, while at the pavilion (a short time since), admired a favourite grey pony of sir e-d n-e's; in praise of whose qualities the baronet was justly liberal. after the party had returned to the palace, the duke, in concert with the k-g, slily gave directions to have the pony painted and disfigured (by spotting him with water colour and attaching a long tail), and then brought on the lawn. in this state he was shown to sir e--, as one every way superior to his own. after examining him minutely, the old baronet found great fault with the pony; and being, at the duke's request, induced to mount him, objected to all his paces, observing that he was not half equal to his grey. the king was amazingly amused with the sagacity of the good- humoured baronet, and laughed heartily at the astonishment he expressed when convinced of the deception practised upon him. sir c-n-y h-s-ne, although a constant visitor at the pavilion, is not particularly celebrated for any attractive qualification, unless it be his unlimited love of little ladies. he is known to all the horse dealers round london, from his constant inquiries for a "nice quiet little horse to carry a lady;" but we never heard of his making a purchase. the middle order of society was formerly in england the most virtuous of the three--folly and vice reared their standard and recruited their ranks in the highest and the lowest; but the medium being now lost, all is in the extreme. the superlative dandy inhabitant of a first floor from the ground in bond-street, and the finished inhabitant of a first floor from heaven (who lives by diving) in fleet- street, are in kindness and habits precisely the same. ~ ~~ who ape the style and dress of ton, and scarce are worth review; yet forced to note the silly elves, who take such pains to note themselves, we'll take a name or two. h-s-ly, a thing of shreds and patches,{ } whose manners with his calling matches, that is, he's a mere goose. old st-z of france, a worthy peer, from shopboard rais'd him to a sphere of ornament and use. the double dandy, fashion's fool, the lubin log of liverpool, fat mister a-p-ll, upon his cob, just twelve hands high, a mountain on a mouse you'll spy trotting towards the mall. sir *-----*-, the chicken man,{ } young priment, as he is generally termed, the once dashing foreman and cutter out, now co-partner of the renowned baron st-z, recently made a peer of france. who would not be a tailor (st-z has retired with a fortune of £ , . )! lord de c-ff-d, some time since objecting to certain items in his son's bill from st-z, as being too highly charged, said, "tell mr. s- i will not pay him, if it costs me a thousand pounds to resist it. " st-z, on hearing this, said, "tell his lordship that he shall pay the charge, if it costs me ten thousand to make him." h-s-ly with some little satisfaction was displaying to a customer the prince of c-b-g's bill for three months (on the occasion of his highness's new field-marshal's suit, we suppose): "here," said he, "see what we have done for him: his quarter's tailor's bill now comes to more than his annual income formerly amounted to." mr. h-s-ly sports a bit of blood, a dennet, and a filly; and, for a tailor, is a superfine sort of dandy, but with a strong scent of the shop about him. the redoubtable general's penchant for little girls has obtained him the tender appellation of the chicken man. many of these _petits amours_ are carried on in the assumed name of sir lewis n-t-n, aided by the skill and ingenuity of captain *-. youth may plead whim and novelty for low intrigue; but the aged beau can only resort to it from vitiated habit. ~ ~~ with pimp *-a-t in the van, the spy of an old spy; who beat up for recruits in town, mong little girls, in chequer'd gown, of ages rather shy. that mild, complacent-looking face,{ } who sits his bit of blood with grace, is tragic charley young: with dowager savant a beau, who'll spout, or tales relate, you know, nobility among. "sure such a pair was never seen" by nature form'd so sharp and keen as h-ds-n and jack l-g; or two who've play'd their cards so well, as many a pluck'd roué can tell, whose purses once were strong: both deal in pipes--and by the nose have led to many a green horn's woes a few gay bucks to surrey, where marshal jones commands in chief a squadron, who to find relief are always in a hurry. they're folloiv'd by a merry set-- cl-m-ris, l-n-x, young b-d-t, whom they may shortly follow. that tall dismember'd dandy mark, who strolls dejected through the park, with cheeks so lank and hollow; that's badger b-t-e, poet a-- the mighty author of "to-day," this truly respectable actor is highly estimated among a large circle of polished society; where his amusing talents and gentlemanly demeanour render him a most entertaining and agreeable companion. ~ ~~ forgotten of "to-morrow;" a superficial wit, who 'll write for shandy little books of spite, when cash he wants to borrow. the pious soul who 's driving by, and at the poet looks so shy, is parson a- the gambler;{ } his deaf-lugg'd daddy a known blade in pandemonium's fruitful trade, 'mong paphians a rambler. augusta h-ke (or c-i) moves along the path--her little doves-- decoys, upon each arm. where 's jehu martin, four-in-hand, an exile in a foreign land from fear of legal charm. a pensioner of cyprian queen, the bond-street tailor here is seen, the tally-ho so gay. next p------s,{ } who by little goes, the parson is so well known, and has been so plentifully be-spattered on all sides, that we shall, with true orthodox charity, leave him with a strong recommendation to the notice of the society for the suppression of vice, with this trite remark, "_vide hic et ubique_." this man, who is now reported to be worth three hundred thousand pounds, was originally a piece-broker in bedford- bury, and afterwards kept a low public house in vinegar- yard, drury-lane; from whence he merged into an illegal lottery speculation in northumberland-street, strand, where he realized a considerable sum by insurances and little goes; from this spot he was transplanted to norris-street, in the haymarket, managing partner in a gaming-house, when, after a run of ill luck, an affair occurred that would have occasioned some legal difficulty but for the oath of a pastry-cook's wife, who proved an alibi, in return for which act of kindness he afterwards made her his wife. obtaining possession of the rooms in pall-mall (then the celebrated e. o. tables, and the property of w-, the husband, by a sham warrant), the latter became extremely jealous; and, to make all comfortable, our hero, to use his own phrase, generously bought the mure and coll.--mrs. w--and her son--both since dead: the latter rose to very high rank in an honourable profession. the old campaigner has now turned pious, and recently erected and endowed a chapel. he used to boast he had more promissory notes of gambling dupes than would be sufficient to cover the whole of pall-mall; he may with justice add, that he can command bank notes enough to cover cavendish-square. ~ ~~ and west-end hells, to fortune rose by many a subtle way. patron of bull-baits, racings, fights, a chief of black-legg'd low delights-- 'tis the new m------s, f-k; time was, his heavy vulgar gait, with one of highest regal state took precedence of rank: but now, a little in disgrace since j-e usurp'd his m------'s place, a stranger he's at court; unlike the greatest and the best who went before, his feather'd nest is well enrich'd by sport. f- -y disastrous, honour's child; l-t-he the giddy, gay, and wild, and sportive little jack; the prince of dandies join the throng, where gwydir spanks his fours along, the silvery grays or black. the charming f-te, and colonel b-,{ } snugly in close carriage see with crimson coats behind: and mrs. c--, the christmas belle, we shall not follow the colonel's example, or we could give some extracts from the letters of a. female corespondent of his that would be both curious and interesting; but _n'importe_, consideration for the lady alone prevents the publication. in town he is always discovered by a group of would-be exquisites, the satellites of the jupiter of b-k-y c-t-e at gl-r; or at ch---------m they have some name; but here they are more fortunate, for o'er them oblivion throws the friendly veil. ~ ~~ with banker's clerk, a tale must tell to all who are not blind. ah! poodle byng appears in view,{ } who gives at whist a point or two to dowagers in years. and see where ev'ry body notes the star of fashion, romeo coates{ } the amateur appears: but where! ah! where, say, shall i tell are the brass cocks and cockle shell? ill hazard, rouge et noir if it but speak, can tales relate of many an equipage's fate, and may of many more. ye rude canaille, make way, make way, the countess and the count--------,{ } this gentleman is generally designated by the name of "the whist man:" he holds a situation in the secretary of state's office, and is in particular favour with all the old dowagers, at whose card parties it is said he is generally fortunate. he has recently been honoured with the situation of grand chamberlain to their black majesties of the sandwich isles. poor borneo's brilliancy is somewhat in eclipse, and though not quite a fallen star, he must not run on black too long,--lest his diamond-hilted sword should be the price of his folly. the countess of ---------------is the daughter of governor j-----------; her mother's name was patty f-d, the daughter of an auctioneer who was the predecessor of the present mr. christie's father. patty, then a very beautiful woman, went with him to india, and was a most faithfull and attentive companion.--on the voyage home with j------- -----and her three children, by him, the present countess, and her brothers james and george, they touched at the cape, where the old governor most ungratefully fell in love with a young portuguese lady, whom he married and brought to england in the same ship with his former associate, whom he soon after completely abandoned, settling l. a year upon her for the support of herself and daughter; his two sons, james and george, he provided with writerships in the company's service, and sent to india. james died young, and george returned to england in a few years, worth , pounds.--he lingered in a very infirm state of health, the effects of the climate and mrs. m-, alias madame haut gout; and at his death, being a bachelor, he left the present countess, his sister who lived with him, the whole of his property. there are various tales circulated in the fashionable world relative to the origin and family of the count, who has certainly been a most fortunate man: he is chiefly indebted for success with the countess to his skill as an amateur on the flute, rather than to his paternal estates. the patron of foreigners, he takes an active part in the affairs of the opera-house.--poor tori having given some offence in this quarter, was by his influence kept out of an engagement; but it would appear he received some amends, by the following extract from a fashionable paper of the day. a certain fashionable------l, who was thought to be _au comble de bonheur_, has lately been much tormented with that green-eyed monster, jealousy, in the shape of an opera singer. _plutôt mourir que changer_, was thought to be the motto of the pretty round-faced english------------s; but, alas! like the original, it was written on the sands of disappointment, and was scarcely read by the admiring husband, before his joy was dashed by the prophetic wave, and the inscription erased by a favoured son of apollo. _l'oreille est le chemin du cour_: so thought the ------l, and forbade the ----------s to hold converse with monsieur t.; but _les femmes peuvent tout, parce-qu'elles gouvernent ceux qui gouvernent tous_. a meeting took place in grosvenor-square, and, amid the interchange of doux yeux, the ---------l arrived: a desperate scuffle ensued; the intruder was banished the house, and, as he left the door, is said to have whistled the old french proverb of _le bon temps viendra_. this affair has created no little amusement among the _beau monde_. all the dowagers are fully agreed on one point, that _l'amour est une passion qui vient souvent sans qu'on s'en apperçoîve, et, qui s'en va aussi de même_. ~ ~~ who play _de prettee_ flute, who charm _une petit_ english ninnie, till all the joueur j------'s guinea him _pochée en culotte_. who follows? 'tis the signor tori, 'bout whom the gossips tell a story, with some who've gone before: "the bird in yonder cage confined can sing of lovers young and kind," but there, he'll sing no more. ~ ~~ lord l------looks disconsolate,{} no news from spain i think of late, per favour m--------i. ne'er heed, my lord, you still may find some opera damsel true and kind, who'll prove less coy and naughty. "now by the pricking of my thumbs, there's something wicked this way comes," 'tis a-'s false dame,{ } who at almack's, or in the park, with whispers charms a clucal spark, to blight his wreath of fame. observe, where princely devonshire,{ } his lordship, though not quite so deeply smitten as the now happy swain, had, we believe, a little __penchant for the charming little daughter of terpsichore. "what news from spain, my lord, this morning?" said sir c. a. to lord l------"i have no connexion with the foreign office," replied his lordship.--"i beg pardon, my lord, but i am sure i met a spanish messenger quitting your house as i entered it." on the turf, his lordship's four year old (versus five) speculations with cove b-n have given him a notoriety that will, we think, prevent his ruining himself at newmarket. like the immortal f-e, he is one of the opera directors, and has a great inclination for foreign curiosities. vide the following extract.-- "the new corps de ballot at the opera this season, , is entirely composed of parisian elegantes, selected with great taste by lord l---------, whose judgment in these matters is perfectly con amore. in a letter to a noble friend on this subject, lord l--------says that he has seen, felt, and (ap-) proved them all------to be excellent artistes with very finished movements." certain ridiculous reports have long been current in the fashionable world, relative to a mysterious family affair, which would preclude the noble duke's entering into the state of matrimony: it is hardly necessary to say they have no foundation in truth. the duke was certainly born in the same house and at nearly the same time (in florence) when lady e. f-st-r, since duchess of d-, was delivered of a child--but that offspring is living, and, much to the present duke's honour, affectionately regarded by him. the duke was for some years abroad after coming to his title, owing, it is said, to an unpleasant affair arising out of a whist party at a great house, which was composed of a prince, lords l------and y------th, another foreign prince, and a colonel b-, of whom no one has heard much since.--a noble mansion in piccadilly was there and then assigned to the colonel, who at the request of the -e, who had long wished to possess it as a temporary residence, during some intended repairs at the great house, re-conveyed it to the------. on the receipt of a note from y- the next morning, claiming the amount of the duke's losses, he started with surprise at the immense sums, and being now perfectly recovered from the overpowering effects of the bottle, hastened with all speed to take the opinions of two well-known sporting peers, whose honour has never been questioned, lords f-y and s-n; they, upon a review of the circumstances, advised that the money should not be paid, but that all matters in dispute should be referred to a third peer, earl g-y, who was not a sporting man: to this effect a note was written to the applicant, but not before some communication had taken place with a very high personage; the consequence was that no demand was ever afterwards made to the referee. lord g- c- afterwards re- purchased the great house with the consent of the duke from the fortunate holder, as he did not like it to be dismembered from the family. we believe this circumstance had a most salutary effect in preventing any return of a propensity for play. charley loves good place and wine, and charley loves good brandy, and charley's wife is thought divine, by many a jack a dandy. parody on an old nursery rhyme. { } a character of devonshire. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ in action, heart, and mind, a peer, avoids the public gaze; graceful, yet simple in attire, you'd take him for a plain esquire; "his acts best speak his praise." that queer, plain, yellow chariot, mark, which drives so rapid through the park, the servants clothed in gray-- that's george, incog.--george who? george-king,{ } of whom near treason 'tis to sing, in this our sportive lay. kings like their subjects should have air and exercise, without the stare which the state show attends; i love to see in public place the monarch, who'll his people face, and meet like private friends. so may the crown of this our isle re ever welcomed with a smile, and, george, that smile be thine! then when the time,--and come it must, that crowns and sceptres shall be dust, thou shalt thy race outshine, shalt live in good men's hearts, and tears, from age to age, while mem'ry rears the proud historic shrine. from the diary of a politician. "through manchester-square took a canter just now, met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow; this did of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil, but got such a look,--oh! 'twas black as the devil. how unlucky!--incog, he was traveling about, and i like a noodle must go find him out! mem. when next by the old yellow chariot i ride, to remember there is nothing princely inside." tom moore, ~ ~~ what rueful-looking knight is that,{ } with sunken eye and silken hat, lord p-r-m, the delicate dandy. laced up in stays to show his waist, and highly rouged to show his taste, his whiskers meeting 'neath his chin, with gooseberry eye and ghastly grin, with mincing steps, conceited phrase, such as insipid p- displays: these are the requisites to shine a dandy, exquisite, divine. ancient dandies.--a confession. the doctor{*}, as we learn, once said, to mistress thrale-- howe'er a man be stoutly made, and free from ail, in flesh and bone, and colour thrive, "he's going down at ." yet horace could his vigour muster and would not till a later lustre f one single inch of ground surrender to any swain in cupid's calendar. but one i think a jot too low, and t'other is too high, i know. yet, what i've found, i'll freely state-- the thing may do till.-- but that's a job--for then, in truth, one's but a clumsy sort of youth: and maugre looks, some evil tongue will say the dandy is not young:-- for 'mid the yellow and the sear, {**} though here and there a leaf be green no more the summer of the year it is, than when one swallow's seen. * johnson. t---------------------fuge suspicari cujus octavum trepidavit otas claudere lustrum.--od. . . ii. now tottering on to forty years, my age forbids all jealous fears. ** "my may of life is fallen into the sear and yellow leaf."--macbeth. ~ ~~ pinch'd in behind and 'fore? whose visage, like la mancha's chief, seems the pale frontispiece to grief, as if 'twould ne'er laugh more: whose dress and person both defy the poet's pen, the painter's eye, 'tis _outre tout nature_. his arab charger swings his tail, curvets and prances to the gale like death's pale horse,-- and neighing proudly seems to say, here fashion's vot'ries must pay homage of course: tis p-h-m, whom mrs. h-g-s at opera and play-house dodges since he gain'd josephine; tailors adorn a thousand ways, and (though time won't) men may make slays; the dentist, barber, make repairs, new teeth supply, and colour hairs; but art can ne'er return the spring-- and spite of all that she can do, _a beau's_ a very wretched thing at ! the late princess charlotte issued an order, interdicting any one of her household appearing before her with frightful fringes to their leaden heads. in consequence of this cruel command, p-r-m, being one of the lords of the bed-chamber, was compelled to curtail his immense whiskers. a very feeling ode appeared upon the occasion, entitled my whiskers, dedicated to the princess; it was never printed, but attributed to thomas moore. the kiss, or lady francis w- w-'s frolic, had nearly produced a fatal catastrophe. how would poor lady anne w-m have borne such a misfortune? or what purling stream would have received the divine form of the charming mrs. h-d-s? but alas! he escaped little w-'s ball, only to prove man's base ingratitude, for he has since cut with both these beauties for the interesting little josephine, the protégée of t------y b-t, and the sister of the female giovanni. ~ ~~ ye madly vicious, can it be! a mother sunk in infamy, to sell her child is seen. let bow-street annals, and tom b-t,{ } who paid the mill'ner, tell the rest, it suits not with our page; just satire while she censures,--feels,-- verse spreads the vice when it reveals the foulness of the age. 'tis half-past five, and fashion's train no longer in hyde park remain, bon ton cries hence, away; the low-bred, vulgar, sunday throng, who dine at two, are ranged along on both sides of the way; with various views, these honest folk descant on fashions, quiz and joke, or mark a shy cock down{ }; for many a star in fashion's sphere can only once a week appear in public haunts of town, lest those two ever watchful friends, the step-brothers, whom sheriff sends, john doe and richard roe, a taking pair should deign to borrow, to wit, until all souls, the morrow, the body of a beau; poor tom b-t has paid dear for his protection of the josephine: fifteen hundred pounds for millinery in twelve months is a very moderate expenditure for so young a lady of fashion. it is, to be sure, rather provoking that such an ape as lord ------should take command of the frigate, and sail away in defiance of the chartered party, the moment she was well found and rigged for a cruize. see common plea reports, the sunday men, as they are facetiously called in the fashionable world, are not now so numerous as formerly: the facility of a trip across the channel enables many a shy cock to evade the scrutinizing eye and affectionate attachment of the law. but sunday sets the pris'ner free, he shows in park, and laughs with glee at creditors and bum. then who of any taste can bear the coarse, low jest and vulgar stare of all the city scum, of fat sir gobble, mistress fig, in buggy, sulky, coach, or gig, with dobbin in the shay? at ev'ry step some odious face, of true mechanic cut, will place themselves plump in your way. now onward to the serpentine, a river straight as any line, near kensington, let's walk; or through her palace gardens stray, where elegantes of the day ogle, congee, and talk. here imperial fashion reigns, here high bred belles meet courtly swains by assignation. made at almack's, argyle, or rout, while lady mother walks about in perturbation, watching her false peer, or to make a benedict of some high rake, to miss a titled prize. here, cameleon-colour'd, see beauty in bright variety, such as a god might prize. here, too, like the bird of juno, fancy's a gaudy group, that you know, of gay _marchands des modes_. haberdashers, milliners, fops from city desks, or bond-street shops, and belles from oxford-road, crowds here, commingled, pass and gaze, and please themselves a thousand ways; ~ ~~ some read the naughty rhymes which are on ev'ry alcove writ, immodest, lewd attempt at wit, disgraceful to the times. here scotland's dandy irish earl,{ } with noblet on his arm would whirl, and frolic in this sphere; with mulberry coat, and pink cossacks, the red-hair'd thane the fair attacks, f-'s ever on the leer; and when alone, to every belle the am'rous beau love's tale will tell, intent upon their ruin. beware, macduff, the fallen stars! venus aggrieved will fly to mars; there's mischief brewing. what mountain of a fair is that, whose jewels, lace, and spanish hat, proclaim her high degree, with a tall, meagre-looking man, who bears her reticule and fan? that was maria d-, now the first favourite at court, his lordship is equally celebrated in the wars of mars and venus, as a general in the service of spain. when lord m-d-ff, in the desperate bombardment of matagorda (an old fort in the bay of cadiz), the falling of a fragment of the rock, struck by a shell, broke, his great toe; in this wounded state he was carried about the alameda in a cherubim chair by two bare-legged gallegos, to receive the condolations of the grandees, and, we regret to add, the unfeeling jeers of the british, who made no scruple to assert that his lordship had, as usual, "put his foot in it." the noble general would no doubt have added another leaf to bis laurel under the auspices of the ex-smuggler, late illustrissimo general ballasteros, had not he suddenly become a willing captive to the soul-subduing charms of the beauteous antonia of terrifa, of whose history and melancholy death we may speak hereafter. on a late occasion, he has been honoured with the star of the guelphic order (when, for the first time in his life, he went on his knees), as some amends for his sudden dismissal from the bed-chamber. noblet, who has long since been placed upon the pension list, has recently retired, and is succeeded by a charming little parisian actress who lives in the new road, and plays with the french company now at tottenham-street theatre. lord l---------has also a little interest in the same concern. his lordship's _affaires des cour_ with antonia, noblet, and m---------, though perfectly platonic, have proved more expensive than the most determined votary to female attractions ever endured: for the gratification of this innocent passion, marr's{*} mighty pines have bit the dust, and friendly purses bled. ~ ~~ and, if we may believe report, she holds the golden key of the backstairs, and can command a potent influence in the land, but k------n best can tell; tis most clear, no ill betide us, near the georgium sidus this planet likes to dwell. lovely as light, when morning breaks{ } above the hills in golden streaks, observe yon blushing rose, uxbridge, the theme of ev'ry tongue, the sylph that charms the ag'd and young, where grace and virtue glows. gay lady h-e her lounge may take,{ } reclining near the indian lake., and think she's quite secure; the beautiful little countess, the charming goddess of the golden locks, was a miss campbell, a near relation of the duke of argyll. she is a most amiable and interesting elegante. although lord l-e is the constant attendant of lady h-, report says the attachment is merely platonic. his lordship was once smitten with her sister; and having thero suffered the most cruel disappointment, consoles himself for his loss in the sympathizing society of lady h------. * marr forest, belonging to his lordship, producing the finest mast pines in the empire; the noble earl has lately cut many scores of them ami some old friends, rather than balk his fancy. ~ ~~ as well might c- -ft hope to pass upon the town his c-----r lass for genuine and pure. see warwick's charming countess glide,{ } with constant harry by her side, along the gay _parterre_; and look where the loud laugh proclaims the cits and their cameleon dames, the gaudy cheapside fair, drest in all colours o' the shop, fashion'd for the easter hop, to grace the civic feast, where the great lord mayor presides o'er tallow, ribands, rags, and hides, the sultan o' the east. the would-be poet, ch-s l-h,{ } comes saunt'ring with his graces three, the little gay coquettes. after, view the cyprian corps of well-known traders, many score, from bang to angel m-tz, a heedless, giddy, laughing crew, who'd seem as if they never knew of want or fell despair; yet if unveil'd the heart might be, you'd find the demon, misery, had ta'en possession there. think not that satire will excuse, ye frail, though fair; or that the muse will silent pass ye by: to you a chapter she'll devote, where all of fashionable note lady sarah saville, afterwards lady monson, now countess of warwick, a most beautiful, amiable, and accomplished woman. by constant "harry" is meant her present earl. see amatory poems by ch-os l-h. we could indulge our readers with a curious account of the demolition of the paphian car at covent garden theatre, but the story is somewhat musty. ~ ~~ shall find their history. "vice to be hated, needs but be seen;" and thus shall ev'ry paphian queen be held to public view; and though protected by a throne, the gallant and his miss be shown in colours just and true. the countess of ten thousand see,{ } the dear delightful savante b-, who once was sold and bought: the magic-lantern well displays the scenes of long forgotten days, and gives new birth to thought. nay, start not, here we'll not relate the break-neck story gossips prate within the em'rald isle: no spirit gray, or black, or brown, we'll conjure up, with hideous frown, to chase the dimpled smile. in fleeting numbers, as we pass, we find these shadows in our glass, we move, and they're no more. but see where chief of folly's train, the beautiful and accomplished countess is a lovely daughter of hibernia; her maiden name was p-r, and her father an irish magistrate of high respectability. her first matrimonial alliance with captain f-r proved unfortunate; an early separation was the consequence, which was effected through the intervention of a kind friend, captain j-s of the th. shortly afterwards her fine person and superior endowments of mind made an impression upon the earl that nothing but the entire possession of the lady could allay. the affair of lord a- and mrs. b- is too well known to need repetition--it could not succeed a second time. abelard f- having paid the debt of nature, there was no impediment but a visit to the temple of hymen, on which point the lady was determined; and the yielding suitor, wounded to the vital part, most readily complied. it is due to the countess to admit, that since her present elevation, her conduct has been exemplary and highly praiseworthy. ~ ~~ conceited, simple, rash, and vain, comes lib'ral master g-e,{ } a dandy, half-fledged exquisite, who paid nine thousand pounds a night to female giovanni. reader, i think i hear you say, "what pleasure had he for his pay?" upon my word, not any; for soon as v-t-s got the cash, she set off with a splendid dash from op'ra to paris; left cl-t and this simple fool,{ } who no doubt's been an easy tool, to spend it with charles h-s. see, carolina comes in view, a lamb, from merry melbourne's ewe, who scaped the fatal knife. h-ll-d's blue stocking rib appears, who makes amends in latter years for early cause of strife. catullus george, the red-hair'd bard, whose rhymes, pedantic, crude, and hard, he calls translations, follows the fair; a nibbling mouse from westminster, by cam hobhouse expell'd his station. now twilight, with his veil of gray, the stars of fashion frights away the carriage homeward rolls along to music-party, cards and song, a very singular adventure, which occurred in . the enamoured swain, after settling an annuity of seven hundred pounds per annum upon the fair inconstant, had the mortification to find himself abandoned on the very night the deeds were completed, the lady having made a precipitate retreat, with a more favoured lover, to paris. the affair soon became known, and some friends interfered, when the deeds were cancelled. captain citizen cl-t, an exquisite of the first order, for a long time the favourite of the reigning sultana. ~ ~~ and many a gay delight. the goths of essex-street may groan,{ } turn up their eyes, and inward moan, they dare not here intrude; dare not attack the rich and great, the titled vicious of the state, the dissolute and lewd. vice only is, in some folks' eyes, immoral, when in rags she lies, by poverty subdued; but deck her forth in gaudy vest, with courtly state and titled crest, she's every thing that's good. "doth kalpho break the sabbath-day? why, kalpho hath no funds to pay; how dare he trespass then? how dare he eat, or drink, or sleep, or shave, or wash, or laugh, or weep, or look like other men?" my lord his concerts gives, 'tis true, the speaker holds his levee too, and fashion cards and dices; but these are trifles to the sin of selling apples, joints, or gin-- the present times have very properly been stigmatized as the age of cant. the increase of the puritans, the smooth-faced evangelical, and the lank-haired sectarian, with their pious love-meetings and bible associations, have at last roused the slumbering spirit of the constituted authorities, who are now making the most vigorous efforts to impede the progress of these anti-national and hypocritical fanatics, who, mistaking the true dictates of religion and benevolence, have, in their inflamed zeal, endeavoured to extirpate every species of innocent recreation, and have laid formidable siege to honest-hearted mirth and rustic revelry. "i am no prophet, nor the son of one; "but if ever the noble institutions of my country suffer any revolutionary change, it is my humble opinion it will result from these sainted associations, from these pious opposers of our national characteristics, and the noblest institution of our country, the foundation stone of our honour and glory, the established church of england. there is (in my opinion) more mischief to be apprehended to the state from the humbug of piety than from all the violence of froth, political demagogues, or the open-mouthed howl of the most hungry radicals. let it be understood i speak not against toleration in its most extended sense, but war only with hypocrisy and fanaticism, with those of whom juvenal has written--"_qui aurios simulant el baechemalia vivinit_." ~ ~~ low, execrable vices. cease, persecutors, mock reclaimers, ye jaundiced few, ye legal maimers of the lone, poor, and meek; ye moral fishers for stray gudgeons, ye sainted host of old curmudgeons, who ne'er the wealthy seek! if moralists ye would appear, attack vice in its highest sphere, the cause of all the strife; the spring and source from whence does flow pollution o'er the plains below, through all degrees of life. [illustration: page ] the opera. the man of fashion--fop's alley--modern roué and frequenters--characteristic sketches in high life--blue stocking illuminati--motives and mariners--meeting with the honourable lillyman lionise--dinner at long's--visit to the opera--joined by bob transit--a peep into the green room-- secrets behind the curtain--noble amateurs and foreign curiosities--notes and anecdotes by horatio heartly. ~ ~~ the opera, to the man of fashion, is the only tolerable place of public amusement in which the varied orders of society are permitted to participate. here, lolling at his ease, in a snug box on the first circle, in dignified security from the vulgar gaze, he surveys the congregated mass who fill the arena of the house, deigns occasionally a condescending nod of recognition to some less fortunate _roué_, or younger brother of a titled family, who is forcing his way through the well-united phalanx of vulgar faces that guard the entrance to _fop's alley_; or, if he should be in a state of single blessedness, inclines his head a little forward to cast round an inquiring glance, a sort of preliminary overture, to some fascinating daughter of fashion, whose attention he wishes to engage for an amorous interchange of significant looks and melting expressions during the last act of the opera. for the first, he would not be thought so _outré_ as to witness it--the attempt would require a sacrifice of the dessert and madeira, and completely revolutionize ~ ~~ the regularity of his dinner arrangement. the divertissement he surveys from the side wings of the stage, to which privilege he is entitled as an annual subscriber; trifles a little badinage with some well-known operatic intriguant, or favourite danseusej approves the finished movements of the male artistes, inquires of the manager or committee the forthcoming novelties, strolls into the green room to make his selection of a well-turned ankle or a graceful shape, and, having made an appointment for some non play night, makes one of the distinguished group of operatic cognoscenti who form the circle of taste in the centre of the stage on the fall of the curtain. this is one, and, perhaps, the most conspicuous portrait of an opera frequenter; but there are a variety of characters in the same school all equally worthy of a descriptive notice, and each differing in contour and force of chiaroscuro as much as the one thousand and one family maps which annually cover the walls of the royal academy, to the exclusion of meritorious performances in a more elevated branch of art. the dowager duchess of a------ retains her box to dispose of her unmarried daughters, and enjoy the gratification of meeting in public the once flattering groups of noble expectants who formerly paid their ready homage to her charms and courted her approving smile; but then her ducal spouse was high in favour, and in office, and now these "summer flies o' the court" are equally steady in their devotion to his successor, and can scarcely find memory or opportunity to recognise the relict of their late ministerial patron. lord e------ and the marchioness of r.------ subscribe for a box between them, enjoying the proprietorship in alternate weeks. during the marchesa's periods of occupation you will perceive lady h., and the whole of the blue stocking illuminati, irradiating from this point, like the tributary stars round some major planet, forming ~ ~~ a grand constellation of attraction. here new novels, juvenile poets, and romantic tourists receive their fiat, and here too the characters of one half the fashionable world undergo the fiery ordeal of scrutinization, and are censured or applauded more in accordance with the prevailing on dits of the day, or the fabrications of the club, than with any regard to feeling, truth, or decorum. the following week-, how changed the scene!--the venerable head of the highly-respected lord e------ graces the corner, like a corinthian capital finely chiseled by the divine hand of praxiteles; the busy tongue of scandal is dormant for a term, and in her place the solons of the land, in solemn thoughtfulness, attend the sage injunctions of their learned chief. too enfeebled by age and previous exertion to undergo the fatigues of parliamentary duty, the baron here receives the visits of his former colleagues, and snatching half an hour from his favourite recreation, gives a decided turn to the politics of a party by the cogency of his reasoning and the brilliancy of his arguments. the earl of f------has a grand box on the ground tier, for the double purpose of admiring the chaste evolutions of the sylphic daughters of terpsichore, and of being observed himself by all the followers of the cameleon-like, capricious goddess, fashion. the g------b-----, the wealthy commoner, fortune's favoured child, retains a box in the best situation, if not on purpose, yet in fact, to annoy all those within hearing, by the noisy humour of his bacchanalian friends, who reel in at the end of the first act of the opera, full primed with the choicest treasures of his well stocked bins, to quiz the young and modest, insult the aged and respectable, and annihilate the anticipated pleasures of the scientific and devotees of harmony, by the coarseness of their attempts at wit, the overpowering clamour of their conversation, and ~ ~~ the loud laugh and vain pretence to taste and critic skill. the ministerialists may be easily traced by their affectation of consequence, and a certain air of authority joined to a demi-official royal livery, which always distinguishes the corps politique, and is equally shared by their highly plumed female partners. the opposition are equally discernible by outward and visible signs, such as an assumed nonchalance, or apparent independence of carriage, that but ill suits the ambitious views of the wearer, and sits as uneasily upon them as their measures would do upon the shoulders of the nation. added to which, you will never see them alone; never view them enjoying the passing scene, happy in the society of their accomplished wives and daughters, but always, like restless and perturbed spirits, congregating together in conclave, upon some new measure wherewith to sow division in the nation, and shake the council of the state. and yet to both these parties a box at the opera is as indispensable as to the finished courtezan, who here spreads her seductive lures to catch the eye, and inveigle the heart of the inexperienced and unwary. but what has all this to do with the opera? or where will this romantic correspondent of mine terminate his satirical sketch? i think i hear you exclaim. a great deal more, mr. collegian, than your philosophy can imagine: you know, i am nothing if not characteristic; and this, i assure you, is a true portrait of the place and its frequenters. i dare say, you would have expected my young imagination to have been encompassed with delight, amid the mirth-inspiring compositions of corelli, mozart, or rossini, warbled forth by that enchanting siren, de begnis, the scientific pasta, the modest caradori, or the astonishing catalani:--heaven enlighten your unsuspicious mind! attention to the merits of the ~ ~~ performance is the last thing any fashionable of the present day would think of devoting his time to. no, no, my dear bernard, the opera is a sort of high 'change, where the court circle and people of ton meet to speculate in various ways, and often drive as hard a bargain for some purpose of interest or aggrandisement, as the plebeian host of all nations, who form the busy group in the grand civic temple of commerce on cornbill. you know, i have (as the phrase is), just come out, and of course am led about like a university lion, by the more experienced votaries of ton. an accident threw the honourable lillyman lionise into my way the other morning; it was the first time we had met since we were at eton: he was sauntering away the tedious hour in the arcade, in search of a specific for ennui, was pleased to compliment me on possessing the universal panacea, linked arms immediately, complained of being devilishly cut over night, proposed an adjournment to long's--a light dinner--maintenon cutlets--some of the queensberry hock{ } (a century and a half old)--ice-punch-six whin's from an odoriferous hookah--one cup of renovating fluid (impregnated with the parisian aromatic { }); and then, having reembellished our persons, sported{ } a figure at the opera. in the grand entrance, we enlisted bob transit, between whom and the honourable, i congratulated myself on being in a fair way to be enlightened. bob knows every body--the exquisite was not so general in his information; but then he occasionally furnished some little anecdote of the surrounding elegantes, relative to affairs de l'amour, or pointed out the superlative of the haut class, without which much of the interesting would have escaped my notice. the late duke of queensberry's famous old hock, which since his decease was sold by auction. a parisian preparation, which gives a peculiar high flavour and sparkling effect to coffee. an oxford phrase. ~ ~~ in this society, i made my first appearance in the green room; a little, narrow, pink saloon at the back of the stage, where the dancers congregate and practise before an immense looking-glass previous to their appearance in public. to a fellow of warm imagination and vigorous constitution, such a scene is calculated to create sensations that must send the circling current into rapid motion, and animate the heart with thrilling raptures of delight. before the mirror, in all the grace of youthful loveliness and perfect symmetry of form, the divine little fairy sprite, the all-conquering andalusian venus, mercandotti, was exhibiting her soft, plump, love-inspiring person in pirouétte: before her stood the now happy swain, the elegant h------ b-, on whose shoulder rested the earl of fe-, admiring with equal ecstasy the finished movements of his accomplished protégée{ }; on the right hand of the earl stood the single duke of d--------------e, quizzing the little daughter of terpsichore through his eye-glass; on the opposite of the circle was seen the noble it was very generally circulated, and for some time believed, that the charming little andalusian venus was the natural daughter of the earl of f-e: a report which had not a shadow of truth in its foundation, but arose entirely out of the continued interest the earl took in the welfare of the lady from the time of her infancy, at which early period she was exhibited on the stage of the principal theatre in cadiz as an infant prodigy; and being afterwards carried round (as is the custom in spain) to receive the personal approval and trifling presents of the grandees, excited such general admiration as a beautiful child, that the earl of f- e, then lord m- and a general officer in the service of spain, adopted the child, and liberally advanced funds for her future maintenance and instruction, extending his bounty and protection up to the moment of her fortunate marriage with her present husband. it is due to the lady to add, that in every instance her conduct has been marked by the strictest sense of propriety, and that too in situations where, it is said, every attraction was offered to have induced a very opposite course. ~ ~~ musical amateur b-----h, supported by the director de r-s on one hand, and the communicative manager, john ebers, of bond-street, on the other; in a snug corner on the right hand of the mirror was seated one of his majesty's most honourable privy council, the earl of w-----d, with a double dollond's operatic magnifier in his hand, studying nature from this most delightful of all miniature models. "a most perfect divinity," whispered the exquisite. "a glorious fine study," said transit,--and, pulling out his card-case and pencil, retired to one corner of the room, to make a mem., as he called it, of the scene. (see plate.) "who the deuce is that eccentric-looking creature with the marquis of hertford?" said i. "hush," replied the exquisite, "for heaven's sake, don't expose yourself! not to know the superlative roué of the age, the all-accomplished petersham, would set you down for a barbarian at once." "and who," said i, "is the amiable fair bending before the admiring worter?" "an old and very dear acquaintance of the earl of f-e, mademoiselle noblet, who, it is said, displays much cool philosophy at the inconstancy of her once enamoured swain, consoling herself for his loss, in the enjoyment of a splendid annuity." a host of other bewitching forms led my young fancy captive by turns, as my eye travelled round the magic circle of delight: some were, i found, of that yielding spirit, which can pity the young heart's fond desire; with others had secured honourable protection: and if his companion's report was to be credited, there were very few among the enchanting spirits before yet with whom that happiness which springs from virtuous pure affection was to be anticipated. if was no place to moralize, but, to you who know my buoyancy of spirit, and susceptibility of mind, i must confess, the reflection produced a momentary pang of the keenest misery. [illustration: page ] the royal saloon. visit of heartly, lionise, and transit--description of the place--sketches of character--the gambling parsons--horse chaunting, a true anecdote--bang and her friends--moll raffle and the marquis w.--the play man--the touter--the half-pay officer--charles rattle, esq.--life of a modern roué-b------ the tailor--the subject--jarvey and brooks the dissector-- "kill him when you want him" ~ ~~ after the opera, bob transit proposed an adjournment to the royal saloon, in piccadilly, a place of fashionable resort (said bob) for shell-fish and sharks, greeks and pigeons, cyprians and citizens, noble and ignoble--in short, a mighty rendezvous, where every variety of character is to be found, from the finished sharper to the finished gentleman; a scene pregnant with subject for the pencil of the humorist, and full of the richest materials for the close observer of men and manners. hither we retired to make a night of it, or rather to consume the hours between midnight and morning's dawn. the place itself is fitted up in a very novel and attractive style of decoration, admirably calculated for a saloon of pleasure and refreshment; but more resembling a turkish kiosk than an english tavern. on the ground floor, which is of an oblong form and very spacious, are a number of divisions enclosed on each side with rich damask curtains, having each a table and seats for the reception of supper or drinking parties; at the extreme end, and ~ ~~ on each side, mirrors of unusual large dimensions give an infinity of perspective, which greatly increases the magnificence of the place. in the centre of the room are pedestals supporting elegant vases filled with choice exotics. a light and tasteful trellis-work surrounds a gallery above, which forms a promenade round the room, the walls being painted to resemble a conservatory, in which the most luxuriant shrubs are seen spreading their delightful foliage over a spacious dome, from the centre of which is suspended a magnificent chandelier. here are placed, at stated distances, rustic tables, for the accommodation of those who choose coffee and tea; and leading from this, on each side, are several little snug private boudoirs for select parties, perfectly secure from the prying eye of vulgar curiosity, and where only the privileged few are ever permitted to enter. it was in this place, surrounded by well-known greeks, with whom he appeared to be on the most intimate terms, that transit pointed out to my notice the eccentric vicar of k**, the now invisible author of l****, whose aphorisms and conduct bear not the slightest affinity to each other--nor was he the only clerical present; at the head of a jolly party, at an adjoining table, sat the ruby-faced parson john a-----e, late proprietor of the notorious gothic hall, in pall mall, a man of first rate wit and talent, but of the lowest and most depraved habits. "the divine is a character" said bob, "who, according to the phraseology of the ring, is 'good at every thing:' as he came into the world without being duly licensed, so he thinks himself privileged to pursue the most unlicensed conduct in his passage through it. as a specimen of his ingenuity in horse-dealing, i'll give you an anecdote.--it is not long since that the parson invited a party of bucks to dinner, at his snug little villa on the banks of the thames, near richmond, in surrey. previous to the repast, the reverend ~ ~~ led his visitors forth to admire the gardens and surrounding scenery, when just at the moment they had reached the outer gate, a fine noble-looking horse was driven past in a tilbury by a servant in a smart livery.--'what a magnificent animal!' said the parson; 'the finest action i ever beheld in my life: there's a horse to make a man's fortune in the park, and excite the envy and notice of all the town.' 'who does he belong to?' said a young baronet of the party, who had just come out. 'i'll inquire,' said the parson: 'the very thing for you, sir john.' away posts the reverend, bawling after the servant, 'will your master sell that horse, my man?' 'i can't say, sir,' said the fellow, 'but i can inquire, and let you know.' 'do, my lad, and tell him a gentleman here will give a handsome price for him.' away trots the servant, and the party proceed to dinner. as soon as the dessert is brought in, and the third glass circulated, the conversation is renewed relative to the horse--the whole party agree in extolling his qualities; when, just in the nick of time, the servant arrives to say his master being aged and infirm, the animal is somewhat too spirited for him, and if the gentleman likes, he may have him for one hundred guineas. 'a mere trifle,' vociferates the company. 'cheap as rivington's second-hand sermons,' said the parson. the baronet writes a check for the money, and generously gives the groom a guinea for his trouble--drives home in high glee--and sends his servant down next morning to the parson's for his new purchase--orders the horse to be put into his splendid new tilbury, built under the direction of sir john lade--just reaches grosvenor-gate from hamilton-place in safety, when the horse shows symptoms of being a miller. baronet, nothing daunted, touches him smartly under the flank, when up he goes on his fore-quarters, smashes the tilbury into ten thousand pieces, bolts away with the traces and shafts, and leaves the baronet with a broken head ~ ~~ on one side of the road, and his servant with a broken arm on the other. 'where the devil did you get that quiet one from, sir john!' said the honourable fitzroy st-----e, whom the accident had brought to the spot. 'the parson bought him of an old gentleman at richmond yesterday for me.' 'done, brown as a berry,' said fitzroy: 'i sold him only on saturday last to the reverend myself for twenty pounds as an incurable miller. why the old clerical's turned coper{ }--;a new way of raising the wind--letting his friends down easy--gave you a good dinner, i suppose, sir john, and took this method of drawing the bustle{ } for it: an old trick of the reverend's.' after this it is hardly necessary to say, the servant was a confederate, and the whole affair nothing more or less than a true orthodox farce of horse chaunting,{ } got up for the express purpose of raising a temporary supply."{ } a horse-dealer. money. tricking persons into the purchase of unsound or vicious horses. a practice by no means uncommon among a certain description of dashing characters, who find chaunting a horse to a green one, a snug accidental party at chicken hazard, or a confederacy to entrap some inexperienced bird of fashion, where he may be plucked by greek banditti, pay exceedingly well for these occasional dinner parties. at this moment our attention was engaged by the entrance of a party of exquisites and elegantes, dressed in the very extreme of opera costume, who directed their steps to the regions above us. "i'll bet a hundred," said the honourable, "i know that leg," eyeing a divine little foot and a finely turned ankle that was just then discernible from beneath a rich pink drapery, as the possessor ascended the gallery of the conservatory, lounging on the arm of the irish earl of c------; " the best leg in england, and not a bad figure for an ancient," continued lionise: "that is the celebrated mrs. bertram, alias bang--everybody ~ ~~ knows bang; that is, every body in the fashionable world. she must have been a most delightful creature when she first came out, and has continued longer in bloom than any of the present houris of the west; but i forgot you were fresh, and only in training, heartly--i must introduce you to bang: you will never arrive at any eminence among the haut classe unless you can call these beauties by name." "and who the deuce is bang?" said i: "not that elegantly-dressed female whom i see tripping up the gallery stairs yonder, preceded by several other delightful faces." "the same, my dear fellow: a fallen star, to be sure, but yet a planet round whose orbit move certain other little twinkling luminaries whose attractive glimmerings are very likely to enlighten your obscure sentimentality. bang was the daughter of a bathing-woman at brighton, from whence she eloped early in life with a navy lieutenant-has since been well known as a dasher of the first water upon the pave--regularly sports her carriage in the drive--and has numbered among her protectors, at various times, the marquis w------, lord a------, colonel c------, and, lastly, a descendant of the mighty wallace, who, in an auto-biographical sketch, boasts of his intimacy with this fascinating cyprian. she has, however, one qualification, which is not usually found among those of her class--she has had the prudence to preserve a great portion of her liberal allowances, and is now perfectly independent of the world. we must visit one of her evening parties in the neighbourhood of euston-square, when she invites a select circle of her professional sisters to a ball and supper, to which entertainment her male visitors are expected to contribute liberally. she has fixed upon the earl, i should think, more for the honour of the title than with any pecuniary hopes, his dissipation having left him scarce enough to keep up appearances." "the amiable who precedes her," said i, "is of the same class, i ~ ~~ presume--precisely, and equally notorious." "that is the celebrated mrs. l------, better known as moll raffle, from the circumstance of her being actually raffled for, some years since, by the officers of the seventh dragoons, when they were quartered at rochester: like her female friend, she is a woman of fortune, said to be worth eighteen hundred per annum, with which she has recently purchased herself a spanish cavalier for a husband. a curious anecdote is related of moll and her once kind friend, the marquis of w--------, who is said to have given her a bond for seven thousand pounds, on a certain great house, not a mile from hyde-park corner, which he has since assigned to a fortunate general, the present possessor; who, thinking his title complete, proceeded to take possession, but found his entry disputed by the lady, to whom he was eventually compelled to pay the forfeiture of the bond. come along, my boy," said lionise; "i'll introduce you at once to the whole party, and then you can make your own selection." "not at present: i came here for general observation, not private intrigue, and must confess i have seldom found a more diversified scene." "i beg pardon, gentlemen," said an easy good-looking fellow, with something rather imposing in his manner--"shall i intrude here?--will 'you permit me to take a seat in your box?" "by all means," replied i; bob, at the same moment, pressing his elbow into my side, and the exquisite raising his glass very significantly to his eye, the stranger continued--"a very charming saloon this, gentlemen, and the company very superior to the general assemblage at such places: my friend, the earl of c------, yonder, i perceive, amorously engaged; lord p------, too, graces the upper regions with the delightful josephine: really this is quite the café royal of london; the accommodation, too, admirable--not merely confined to refreshments; i am told there are excellent billiard ~ ~~ tables, and snug little private rooms for a quiet rubber, or a little chicken hazard. do you play, gentlemen? very happy to set you for a main or two, by way of killing time." that one word, play, let me at once into the secret of our new acquaintance's character, and fully explained the distant reception and cautious bearing of my associates. my positive refusal to accommodate produced a very polite bow, and the party immediately retired to reconnoitre among some less suspicious visitants. "a nibble," said transit, "from an ivory turner."{ } "by the honour of my ancestry," said lionise, "a very finished sharper; i remember lord f------ pointing him out to me at the last newmarket spring meeting, when we met him, arm in arm, with a sporting baronet. what the fellow was, nobody knows; but he claims a military title--captain, of course--perhaps has formerly held a lieutenancy in a militia regiment: he now commands a corps of sappers on the greek staff, and when he honoured us with a call just now was on the recruiting service, i should think; but our friend, heartly, here, would not stand drill, so he has marched off on the forlorn hope, and is now, you may perceive, concerting some new scheme with a worthy brother touter,{ } who is on the half pay of the british army, and receives full pay in the service of the greeks. we must make a descent into hell some night," said transit, "and sport a few crowns at roulette or rouge et noir, to give heartly his degree. we shall proceed regularly upon college principles, old fellow: first, we will visit the little go in king-street, and then drop into the great go, alias watiers, in piccadilly; after which we can sup in crockford's pandemonium among parliamentary pigeons, unfledged a tats man, a proficient with the bones, one who knows every chance upon the dice. a decoy, who seduces the young or inexperienced to the gaming table, and receives a per centage upon their losses. ~ ~~ ensigns of the guards, broken down titled legs, and ci-devant bankers, fishmongers, and lightermen; and here comes the very fellow to introduce us--an old college chum, charles rattle, who was expelled brazennose for smuggling, and who has since been pretty well plucked by merciless greek banditti and newmarket jockeys, but who bears his losses with the temper of a philosopher, and still pursues the destructive vice with all the infatuation of the most ardent devotee." "how d'ye do, old fellows?--how d'ye do? who would have thought to have met the philosopher (pointing to me) at such a place as this, among the impures of both sexes, legs and leg-ees? come to sport a little blunt with the table or the traders, hey! heartly? always suspected you was no puritan, although you wear such a sentimental visage. well, old fellows, i am glad to see you, however,--come, a bottle of champagne, for i have just cast off all my real troubles--had a fine run of luck to-night--broke the bank, and bolted with all the cash. just in the nick of time-off for epsom to-morrow--double my bets upon the derby, and if the thing comes off right, i'll give somebody a thousand or two to tie me up from playing again above five pounds stakes as long as i live. the best thing you ever heard in your life--a double to do. ned c-----d having heard i had just received a few thousands, by the sale of the yorkshire acres, planned it with colonel t----- to introduce me to the new club, where a regular plant was to be made, by some of his myrmidons, to clear me out, by first letting me win a few thousands, when they were to pounce upon me, double the stakes, and finish me off in prime style, fleecing me out of every guinea--very good-trick and tie, you know, is fair play--and for this very honest service, my friend, the colonel, was to receive a commission, or per centage, in proportion to my losses: the very last man in the world that the old pike could ~ ~~ have baited for in that way--the colonel's down a little, to be sure, but not so low as to turn confederate to a leg--so suppressed his indignation at the proposition, and lent himself to the scheme, informing me of the whole circumstances--well, all right--we determined to give the old one a benefit--dined with him to-day--a very snug party--devilish good dinner--superb wines--drank freely--punished his claret--and having knocked about saint hugh's bones{ } until i was five thousand in pocket, politely took my leave, without giving the parties their revenge. never saw a finer scene in the course of my life-such queer looks, and long faces, and smothered wailings when they found themselves done by a brace of gudgeons, whom they had calculated upon picking to the very bones! come, old fellows, a toast: here's fishmonger's hall, and may every suspected gudgeon prove a shark." the bottle now circulated freely, and the open-hearted rattle delighted us with the relation of some college anecdotes, which i shall reserve for a hearty laugh when we meet. the company continued to increase with the appearance of morning; and here might be seen the abandoned profligate, with his licentious female companion, completing the night's debauch by the free use of intoxicating liquors--the ruined spendthrift, fresh from the gaming-table, loudly calling for wine, to drown the remembrance of his folly, and abusing the drowsy waiter only to give utterance to his irritated feelings. in a snug corner might be seen a party of sober, quiet-looking gentlemen, taking their lobster and bucellas, whose first appearance would impress you with the belief of their respectability, but whom, upon inquiry, you would discover to be greek banditti, retired hither to divide their ill gotten spoils. it was among a party of this description that rattle pointed out a celebrated writer, whose lively style and accurate description of saint hugh's bones, a cant phrase for dice. ~ ~~ men and manners display no common mind. yet here he was seen associated with the most depraved of the human species--the gambler by profession, the common cheat! what wonder that such connexions should have compelled him for a time to become an exile to his country, and on his return involved him in a transaction that has ended in irretrievable ruin and disgrace? "by the honour of my ancestry," said lionise, "yonder is that delectable creature, old crony, the dinner many that is the most surprising animal we have yet found among the modern discoveries--polite to and point--always well dressed--keeps the best society--or, i should say, the best society keeps him: to an amazing fund of the newest on dits and anecdotes of ton, always ready cut and dried, he joins a smattering of the classics, and chops logic with the learned that he may carve their more substantial fare gratis; has a memory tenacious as a chief judge on matter of invitation, and a stomach capacious as a city alderman in doing honour to the feast; pretends to be a connoisseur in wines, although he never possessed above one bottle at a time in his cellaret, i should think, in the whole course of his life; talks about works of art and virtu as if sir joshua reynolds had been his nurse--claude his intimate acquaintance--or praxiteles his great great grandfather. the fellow affects a most dignified contempt for the canaille, because, in truth, they never invite him to dinner--is on the free list of all the theatres, from having formerly been freely hiss'd upon their boards--a retired tragedy king on a small pension, with a republican stomach, who still enacts the starved apothecary at home, from penury, and liberally crams his voracious paunch, stuffing like father paul, when at the table of others. with these habits, he has just managed to scrape together some sixty pounds per annum, upon which, by good management, he contrives to live like an emperor; for instance, he keeps a regular book of ~ invitations, numbers his friends according to the days of the year, and divides and subdivides them in accordance with their habits and pursuits, so that an unexpected invitation requires a reference to his journal: if you invite him for saturday next, he will turn to his tablets, apologise for a previous engagement, run his eye eagerly down the column for an occasional absentee, and then invite himself for some day in the ensuing week, to which your politeness cannot fail to accede. you will meet him in london, brighton, bath, cheltenham, and margate during the fashionable periods; at all of which places he has his stated number of dinner friends, where his presence is as regularly looked for as the appearance of the swallow. among the play men he is useful as a looker on, to make one at the table when they are thin of customers, or to drink a young one into a proper state for plucking: in other society he coins compliments for the fair lady of the mansion, extols his host's taste and good fellowship at table, tells a smutty story to amuse the _bon vivants_ in their cups, or recites a nursery rhyme to send the children quietly to bed; and in this manner crony manages to come in for a good dinner every day of his life. call on him for a song, and he'll give you, what he calls, a free translation of a latin ode, by old walter de mapes, archdeacon of oxford in the eleventh century, a true _gourmands_ prayer-- mihi est propositum in tabernâ mon.' i'll try and hum you crony's english version of the cantilena. 'i'll in a tavern end my days, midst boon companions merry, place at my lips a lusty flask replete with sparkling sherry, that angels, hov'ring round, may cry, when i lie dead as door-nail, 'rise, genial deacon, rise, and drink of the well of life eternal.' ***** ~ ~~ 'various implements belong to ev'ry occupation; give me an haunch of venison--and a fig for inspiration! verses and odes without good cheer, i never could indite 'em; sure he who meagre, days devised is d-----d ad infinitum! ***** 'mysteries and prophetic truths, i never could unfold 'em without a flagon of good wine and a slice of cold ham; but when i've drained my liquor out, and eat what's in the dish up, though i am but an arch-deacon, i can preach like an arch- bishop.'" "a good orthodox ode," said transit, "and admirably suited to the performer, who, after all, it must be allowed, is a very entertaining fellow, and well worthy of his dinner, from the additional amusement he affords. i remember meeting him in company with the late lord coleraine, the once celebrated colonel george hanger, when he related an anecdote of the humorist, which his lordship freely admitted to be founded on fact. as i have never seen it in print, or heard it related by any one since, you shall have it instanter: it is well known that our present laughter-loving monarch was, in earlier years, often surrounded, when in private, by a coruscation of wit and talent, which included not only the most distinguished persons in the state, but also some celebrated bon vivants and amateur vocalists, among whom the names of the duke of orleans, earl of derby, charles james fox, richard brinsley sheridan, the facetious poet lauréat to the celebrated beefsteak club, tom hewardine, sir john moore, mr brownlow, captain thompson, bate dudley, captain morris, and colonel george hanger, formed the most conspicuous characters at the princely anacreontic board. but 'who would be grave--when wine can save the heaviest soul from thinking, and magic grapes give angel's shapes to every girl we're drinking!' ~ ~~ it was on one of these festive occasions, when whim, and wit, and sparkling wine combined to render the festive scene the 'feast of reason and the flow of soul,' that the prince of wales invited himself and his brother, the duke of york, to dine with george hanger. an honour so unlooked for, and one for which george was so little prepared (as he then resided in obscure lodgings near soho-square), quite overpowered the colonel, who, however, quickly recovering his surprise, assured his royal highness of the very high sense he entertained of the honour intended him, but lamented it was not in his power to receive him, and his illustrious brother, in a manner suitable to their royal dignity. 'you only wish to save your viands, george,' said the prince: 'we shall certainly dine with you on the day appointed; and whether you reside on the first floor or the third, never mind--the feast will not be the less agreeable from the altitude of the apartment, or the plainness of the repast.' thus encouraged, george was determined to indulge in a joke with his royal visitors. on the appointed day, the prince and duke arrived, and were shown up stairs to george's apartments, on the second floor, where a very tasteful banquet was set out, but more distinguished by neatness than splendour: after keeping his illustrious guests waiting a considerable period beyond the time agreed on, by way of sharpening their appetites, the prince good-humouredly inquired what he meant to give them for dinner?' only one dish,' said george; 'but that one will, i flatter myself, be a novelty to my royal guests, and prove highly palatable.' 'and what may that be?' said the prince. 'the wing of a wool-bird,' replied the facetious colonel. it was in vain the prince and duke conjectured what this strange title could import, when george appeared before them with a tremendous large red baking dish, ~ ~~ smoking hot, in which was supported a fine well-browned shoulder of mutton, dropping its rich gravy over some crisp potatoes. the prince and his brother enjoyed the joke amazingly, and they have since been heard to declare, they never ate a heartier meal in their life, or one (from its novelty to them in the state in which it was served up), which they have relished more. george had, however, reserved a _bonne bouche_, in a superb dessert and most exquisite wines, for which the prince had heard he was famous, and which was, perhaps, the principal incitement to the honour conferred." after a night spent in the utmost hilarity, heightened by the vivacity and good-humour of my associates, to which might be added, the full gratification of my prevailing _penchant_ for the observance of character, we were on the point of departing, when transit, ever on the alert in search of variety, observed a figure whom (in his phrase) he had long wished to book; in a few moments a sketch of this eccentric personage was before us. "that is the greatest original we have yet seen," said our friend bob: "he is now in the honourable situation of croupier to one of the most notorious hells in the metropolis. this poor devil was once a master tailor of some respectability, until getting connected with a gang of sharpers, he was eventually fleeced of all his little property: his good-natured qualifications, and the harmless pleasantries with which he abounds, pointed him out as a very proper person to act as a confederate to the more wealthy legs; from a pigeon he became a bird of prey, was enlisted into the corps, and regularly initiated into all the diabolical mysteries of the black art. for some time he figured as a decoy upon the town, dressed in the first style of fashion, and driving an unusually fine horse and elegant stanhope, until a circumstance, arising out of a ~ ~~ joke played off upon him by his companions, when in a state of intoxication, made him so notorious, that his usefulness in that situation was entirely frustrated, and, consequently, he has since been employed within doors, in the more sacred mysteries of the greek temple. the gentleman i mean is yonder, with the joliffe tile and sharp indented countenance: his real name is b------; but he has now obtained the humorous cognomen of 'the subject' from having been, while in a state of inebriety, half stripped, put into a sack, and in this manner conveyed to the door of mr. brooks, the celebrated anatomist in blenheim-street, by a hackney night-coachman, who was known to the party as the resurrection jarvey. on his being deposited in this state at the lecturer's door, by honest jehu, who offered him for sale, the surgeon proceeded to examine his subject, when, untying the sack, he discovered the man was breathing: 'why, you scoundrel,' said the irritable anatomist, 'the man's not dead.' 'not dead!' re-echoed coachee, laughing at the joke, 'why, then, kill him when you want him!' the consequence of this frolic had, however, nearly proved more serious than the projectors anticipated: the anatomist, suspecting it was some trick to enter his house for burglarious purposes, gave the alarm, when jarvey made his escape; but poor b------was secured, and conveyed the next morning to marlborough-street, where it required all the ingenuity of a celebrated old bailey solicitor to prevent his being committed for the attempt to rob a bonehouse." after this anecdote, we all agreed to separate. transit would fain have led us to the covent-garden finish, which he describes as being unusually rich in character; but this was deferred until another night, when i shall introduce you to some new acquaintances.--adieu. lady mary oldstyle and the d'almaine family are off to-morrow for brighton, from which place expect some few descriptive sketches. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] the spread,{ } or wine party at brazen-nose. ~ ~~ "hear, momus, hoar! blithe sprite, whose dimpling cheek of quips, and cranks ironic, seems to speak, who lovest learned victims, and whose shrine groans with the weight of victims asinine. nod with assent! thy lemon juice infuse! though of male sex, i woo thee for a muse." _a college wine party described--singular whim of horace eglantine--meeting of the oxford crackademonians--sketches of eccentric characters, drawn from the life--the doctor's daughter--an old song--a round of sculls--epitaphs on the living and the dead--tom tick, a college tale--the voyagers --notes and anecdotes._ a college wine party i could very well conceive from the specimen i had already of my companion's frolicsome humours, was not unlikely to produce some departure from college rules which might eventually involve me in _rustication, fine_, or _imposition_. to avoid it was impossible; it was the first invitation of an early friend, and must be obeyed. the anticipation of a bilious head-ache on the morrow, or perhaps a first appearance before, or lecture from, the vice-chancellor, principal, or proctor, made me somewhat tardy in my appearance at the _spread_. the butler was just marching a second a spread. a wine party of from thirty to one hundred and twenty persons. the party who gives the spread generally invites all the under-graduates he is acquainted with; a dessert is ordered either from jubber's, or sadler's, for the number invited, for which he is charged at per head. ~ ~~ reinforcement of _black men, or heavy artillery_ from the college magazine, across the quadrangle, for the use of the dignitaries' table; when i, a poor solitary _freshman_, advanced with sentimental awe and fearful stride beneath the arched entrance of brazen-nose. where eglantine's rooms were situated i had no means of knowing, his card supplying only the name of his college; to make some inquiry would be necessary, but of whom, not a creature but what appeared much too busily employed, as they ran to and fro laden with wine and viands, to answer the interrogatories of a stranger. i was on the point of retreating to obtain the requisite information from the waiter at the mitre, when old mark supple made his appearance, with "your servant, sir: i have been in search of you at your inn, by command of mr. eglantine, _take notice_--who with a large party of friends are waiting your company to a _spread_." "a large party, mark?" said i, suspecting there was some secret drama in rehearsal, in which i was to play a principal part. "a very large party, sir, and a very extraordinary one too, _take notice_--such a collection as i never saw before within the walls of a college--living curiosities, _take notice_--all the _comicals_ of oxford brought together,{ } and this this adventure, strange as it may appear, actually occurred a short time since, when mr. j*****n of brazen-nose invited the characters here named to an entertainment in the college. sir richard steele, when on a visit to edinburgh, indulged in a similar freak: he made a splendid feast, and whilst the servants were wondering for what great personages it was intended, he sent them into the streets, to collect all the eccentrics, beggars, and poor people, that chance might throw in their way, and invite them to his house. a pretty large party being mustered, they were well plied with whiskey-punch and wine; when, forgetting their cares, and free from all restraint, they gave loose to every peculiarity of their respective characters. when the entertainment was over, sir richard declared, that besides the pleasure of filling so many hungry bellies, and enjoying an hour of rich amusement, he had gleaned from them humour enough to form a good comedy, or at least a farce. the spread, or wine party at brazen-nose is what mr. eglantine calls his _museum of character_, but which i should call a _regiment of caricatures, take notice_--but i heard him say, that he had invited them on purpose to surprise you; that he knew you was fond of eccentricity, and that he thought he had prepared a great treat. i only wish he may get rid of them as easily as he brought them there, for if the bull-dogs should gain scent of them there would be a pretty row, _take notice_." mark's information, instead of producing the alarm he evidently anticipated, had completely dispelled all previous fears, and operated like the prologue to a rich comedy, from which i expected to derive considerable merriment: following, therefore, my conductor up one flight of stairs on the opposite side of the space from which i had entered, i found myself at the closed _oak_ of my friend. "mr. eglantine is giving them a _chaunt_" said mark, who had applied his ear to the key-hole of the door: "we must wait till the song is over, or you will be fined in a double bumper of _bishop_, for interrupting the _stave, take notice_." curiosity prompted me to follow mark's example, when i overheard horace chanting part of an old satirical ballad on john wilkes, to the tune of the dragon of wantley; commencing with-- and ballads i have heard rehearsed by harmonists itinerant, who modern worthies celebrate, yet scarcely make a dinner on't. some of whom sprang from noble race, and some were in a pig-sty born, dependent upon royal grace or triple tree of tyburn. chorus. john wilkes he was for middlesex, they chose him knight of the shire: he made a fool of alderman bull, and call'd parson home a liar. ~ ~~ the moment silence was obtained, old mark gave three distinct knocks at the door, when horace himself appeared, and we were immediately admitted to the temple of the muses; where, seated round a long table, appeared a variety of characters that would have rivalled (from description) the beggars' club in st. giles's--the covent-garden finish--or the once celebrated peep o' day boys in fleet-lane. at the upper end of the table were tom echo and bob transit, the first smoking his cigar, the second sketching the portraits of the motley group around him on the back of his address cards; at the lower end of the room, on each side of the chair from which eglantine had just risen to welcome me, sat little dick gradus, looking as knowing as an old bailey counsel dissecting a burglary case, and the honourable lillyman lionise, the eton _exquisite_, looking as delicate and frightened as if his whole system of ethics was likely to be revolutionized by this night's entertainment. to such a society a formal introduction was of course deemed essential; and this favour horace undertook by recommending me to the particular notice of the _crackademonians_ (as he was pleased to designate the elegant assemblage by whom we were then surrounded), in the following oration: "most noble _cracks_, and worthy cousin _trumps_--permit me to introduce a brother of the _togati, fresh_ as a new-blown rose, and innocent as the lilies of st. clement's. be unto him, as ye have been to all gownsmen from the beginning, ever ready to promote his wishes, whether for spree or sport, in term or out of term--against the _inquisition_ and their _bull-dogs_--the town _raff_ and the _bargees_--well _blunted or stiver cramped_--against _dun or don--nob or big wig_--so may you never want a bumper of _bishop_: and thus do i commend him to your merry keeping." "full charges, boys," said echo, "fill up their glasses, count dennett{ }; count dennett, hair-dresser at corpus and oriel colleges, a very eccentric man, who has saved considerable property; celebrated for making bishops' wigs, playing at cribbage, and psalm-singing. ~ ~~here's brother blackmantle of brazen-nose." "a speech, a speech!" vociferated all the party. "yes, worthy brother _cracks_," replied i, "you shall have a speech, the very acme of oratory; a brief speech, composed by no less a personage than the great lexicographer himself, and always used by him on such occasions at the club in ivy-lane. here's all your healths, and _esto perpétua_." "bravo!" said eglantine;" the boy improves. now a toast, a university lass--come, boys, the doctor's daughter; and then a song from crotchet c--ss."{ } burton ale. an ancient oxford ditty. of all the belles who christ church bless, none's like the doctor's daughter{ }; who hates affected squeamishness almost as much as water. unlike your modern dames, afraid of bacchus's caresses; she far exceeds the stoutest maid of excellent queen bess's. hers were the days, says she, good lack, the days to drink and munch in; when butts of burton, tuns of sack, wash'd down an ox for luncheon. confound your _nimpy-pimpy_ lass, who faints and fumes at liquor; give me the girl that takes her glass like moses and the vicar. mr. c--ss, otherwise crotchet c--ss, bachelor of music, and organist of christ church college, st. john's college, and st. mary's church. an excellent musician, and a jolly companion: he published, some time since, a volume of chants. a once celebrated university toast, with whose eccentricities we could fill a volume; but having received an intimation that it would be unpleasant to the lady's feelings, we gallantly forbear. ~ ~~ true emblem of immortal ale, so famed in british lingo; stout, beady, and a little _stale_-- long live the burton stingo! "a vulgar ditty, by my faith," said the exquisite, "in the true english style, all _fol de rol_, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, echo, let us have some _divertissement_ of a less boisterous character." "agreed," said eglantine, winking at echo; "we'll have a _round of sculls_. every man shall sing a song, write a poetical epitaph on his right hand companion, or drink off a double dose of rum booze."{ } "then i shall be confoundedly _cut_," said dick gradus, "for i never yet could chant a stave or make a couplet in my life." "and i protest against a practice," said lionise, "that has a tendency to trifle with one's _transitory tortures_." "no appeal from the chair," said eglantine: "another bumper, boys; here's the fair _nuns of st. clement's_." "to which i beg leave to add," said echo, "by way of rider, their favourite pursuit, _the study of the fathers_." by the time these toasts had been duly honoured, some of the party displayed symptoms of being _moderately cut_, when echo commenced by reciting his epitaph on his next friend, bob transit:-- here rests a wag, whose pencil drew life's characters of varied hue, bob transit--famed in humour's sphere for many a transitory year. though dead, still in the "english spy" he'll live for ever to the eye. here uncle white{ } reclines in peace, secure from nephew and from niece. rum booze--flip made of white or port wine, the yolks of eggs, sugar and nutmeg. uncle white, a venerable bed-maker of all souls' college, eighty-three years of age; has been in the service of the college nearly seventy years: is always dressed in black, and wears very largo silver knee and shoe-buckles; his hair, which is milk-white, is in general tastefully curled: he is known "to, and called uncle by, every inhabitant of the university, and obtained the cog-nomen from his having an incredible number of nephews and nieces in oxford. in appearance he somewhat resembles a clergyman of the old school. ~ ~~ of all-souls' he, alive or dead; of milk-white name, the milk-white head. by uncle white. here lies billy chadwell,{ } who perform'd the duties of a dad well. by billy chadwell. ye maggots, now's your time to crow: old boggy hastings{ } rests below. by boggy hastings. a grosser man ne'er mix'd with stones than lies beneath--'tis figgy jones.{ } by figgy jones. here marquis wickens{ } lies incrust, in clay-cold consecrated dust: no more he'll brew, or pastry bake; his sun is set--himself a cake. billy chadwell, of psalm-singing notoriety, since dead; would imitate syncope so admirably, as to deceive a whole room full of company--in an instant he would become pale, motionless, and ghastly as death; the action of his heart has even appeared to be diminished: his sham fits, if possible, exceeded his fainting. he was very quarrelsome when in his cups; and when he had aggravated any one to the utmost, to save himself from a severe beating would apparently fall into a most dreadful fit, which never failed to disarm his adversary of his rage, and to excite the compassion of every by-stander. old boggy hastings supplies members of the university and college servants who are anglers with worms and maggots. tommy j***s, alias figgy jones, an opulent grocer in the high-street, and a common-councilman in high favour with the lower orders of the freemen; a sporting character. marquis wickens formerly a confectioner, and now a common brewer. he accumulated considerable property as a confectioner, from placing his daughters, who were pretty genteel girls, behind his counter, where they attracted a great many gownsmen to the shop. no tradesman ever gained a fortune more rapidly than this man: as soon as he found himself inde-pendent of the university, he gave up his shop, bought the sun inn, built a brewhouse, and is now gaining as much money by selling beer as he formerly did by confectionery. ~ ~~ by marquis wickens. ye _roués_ all, be sad and mute; who now shall cut the stylish suit? _buck_ sheffield's{ }gone--ye oxford men, where shall ye meet his like again? by buck sheffield. maclean{ } or _tackle_, which you will, in quiet sleeps beneath this hill. ye anglers, bend with one accord; the stranger is no more abroad. by maclean. here rests a punster, jemmy wheeler{ } in wit and whim a wholesale dealer; unbound by care, he others bound, and now lies gathered underground. sheffield, better known by the name of buck sheffield, a master tailor and a member of the common council. maclean, an old bacchanalian scotchman, better known by the name of tackle: a tall thin man, who speaks the broad scotch dialect; makes and mends fishing-tackle for members of the university; makes bows and arrows for those who belong to the archery society; is an indifferent musician, occasionally amuses under-graduates in their apartments by playing to them country dances and marches on the flute or violin. he published his life a short time since, in a thin octavo pamphlet, entitled "the stranger abroad, or the history of myself," by maclean. jemmy wheeler of magpie-lane, a bookbinder, of punning celebrity; has published two or three excellent versified puns in the oxford herald. he is a young man of good natural abilities, but unfortunately applies them occasionally to a loose purpose. ~ ~~ by jemmy wheeler. a speedy-man, by nimble foe, lies buried in the earth below: the baron perkins,{ } mercury to all the university. men of new college, mourn his fate, who _early_ died by drinking _late_. by baron perkins. ye oxford _duns_, you're done at last; here smiler w----d{ } is laid fast. no more his _oak_ ye need assail; he's book'd inside a wooden jail. by smiler w---- of c---- college. a thing called exquisite rests here: for human nature's sake i hope, without uncharitable trope, 'twill ne'er among us more appear. william perkins, alias baron perkins, alias the baron, a very jovial watchman of holywell, the new college speedy- man,{*} and factotum to new college. mr. w----d, alias smiler w----d, a commoner of ----. this gentleman is always laughing or smiling; is long-winded, and consequently pestered with _duns_, who are sometimes much chagrined by repeated disappointments; but let them be ever so crusty, he never fails in laughing them into a good humour before they leave his room. it was over smiler's oak in----, that some wag had printed and stuck up the following notice: men traps and spring guns set here to catch _duns_. * a _speedy-man_ at new college is a person employed to take a letter to the master of winchester school from the warden of new college, acquaint-ing him that a fellowship or scholarship is become vacant in the college, and requiring him to send forthwith the next senior boy. the speedy-man always performs his journey on foot, and within a given time. ~ ~~ by lillyman lionise. here rests a poet--heaven keep him quiet, for when above he lived a life of riot; enjoy'd his joke, and drank his share of wine-- a mad wag he, one horace eglantine.{ } the good old orthodox beverage now began to display its potent effects upon the heads and understandings of the party. all restraint being completely banished by the effect of the liquor, every one indulged in their characteristic eccentricities. dick gradus pleaded his utter incapability to sing or produce an impromptu rhyme, but was allowed to substitute a prose epitaph on the renowned school-master of magdalen parish, fatty t--b,{ } who lay snoring under the table. "it shall be read over him in lieu of burial service," said echo. "agreed, agreed," vociferated all the party; and jemmy this whim of tagging rhymes and epitaphs, adopted by horace eglantine, is of no mean authority. during the convivial administration of lord north, when the ministerial dinners were composed of such men as the lords sandwich, weymouth, thurlow, richard rigby, &c, various pleasantries passed current for which the present time would be deemed too refined. among others, it was the whim of the day to call upon each member, after the cloth was drawn, to tag a rhyme to the name of his left hand neighbour. it was first proposed by lord sandwich, to raise a laugh against the facetious lord north, who happened to sit next to a mr. mellagen, a name deemed incapable of a rhyme. luckily, however, for lord north, that gentleman had just informed him of an accident that had befallen him near the pump in pall mall; when, therefore, it came to his turn, he wrote the following distich:-- oh! pity poor mr. mellagen, who walking along pall mall, hurt his foot when down he fell, and fears he won't get well again. fatty t----, better known as the sixpenny schoolmaster: a little fat man, remarkable for his love of good living. ~ ~~ jumps,{ } the parish clerk of saint peter's, was instantly mounted on a chair, at the head of the defunct schoolmaster, to recite the following whim:-- epitaph on a glutton. beneath this table lie the remains of fatty t***; who more than performed the duties of an excellent eater, an unparalleled drinker, and a truly admirable sleeper. his stomach was as disinterested as his appetite was good; so that his impartial tooth alike chewed the mutton of the poor,and the turtle of the rich. james james, alias jemmy jumps, alias the oxford caleb quotum, a stay-maker, and parish-clerk of saint peter le bailey--plays the violin to parties on water excursions, attends public-house balls--is bellows-blower and factotum at the music-room--attends as porter to the philharmonic and oxford choral societies--is constable of the race-course and race balls--a bill distributor and a deputy collector of poor rates--calls his wife his _solio_. he often amuses his companions at public-houses by reciting comic tales in verse. a woman who had lost a relative desired jemmy jumps to get a brick grave built. on digging up a piece of ground which had not been opened for many years, he discovered a very good brick grave, and, to his great joy, also discovered that its occupant had long since mouldered into dust. he cleaned the grave out, procured some reddle and water, brushed the bricks over with it, and informed the person that he had a most excellent _second-hand grave to sell as good as new_, and if she thought it would suit her poor departed friend, would let her have it at half the price of a new one: this was too good an offer to be rejected; but jemmy found, on measuring the coffin, that his second-hand grave was too short, and consequently was obliged to dig the earth away from the end of the grave and beat the bricks in with a beetle, before it would admit its new tenant. ~ ~~ he was a zealous opposer of the aqua-_arian_ heresy, a steady devourer of beef-steaks, a stanch and devout advocate for _spiced bishop_, a firm friend to bill holland's _double x_, and an active disseminator of the bottle, he was ever uneasy unless employed upon the good things of this world; and the interment of a _swiss_ or lion, or the dissolution of a pasty, was his great delight. he died full of drink and victuals, in the undiminished enjoyment of his digestive faculties, in the forty-fifth year of his appetite. the collegians inscribed this memento, in perpetual remembrance of his _pieous_ knife and fork. "very well for a _trencher_ man," said horace; "now we must have a recitation from strasburg.{ } come, you jolly old teacher of hebrew, mount the rostrum, and "give us a taste of your quality." "ay, or by heavens we'll baptize him with a bumper of bishop," said echo. "for conscience sake, mishter echo, conshider vat it is you're about; i can no more shpeek in english than i can turn christian--i've drank so much of your red port to-day as voud make anoder red sea." "ay, and you shall be drowned in it, you old _sheenie_," said tom, "if you don't give us a speech." "a speech, a speech!" resounded from all { } strasburg, an eccentric jew, who gave lessons in hebrew to members of the university. ~ ~~the yet living subjects of the party. "veil, if i musht, i musht; but i musht do it by shubstitute then; my old friend, mark supple here, vill give you the history of tom tick." to this echo assented, on account of the allusions it bore to the albanians, some of whom were of the party. old mark, mounted on the chair at the upper end of the table, proceeded with the tale. [illustration: page ] the oxford rake's progress. tom was a tailor's heir, a dashing blade, whose sire in trade enough had made, by cribbage, short skirts, and little capes, long bills, and items for buckram, tapes, buttons, twist, and small ware; which swell a bill out so delightfully, or perhaps i should say frightfully, ~ ~~ that is, if it related to myself. suffice it to be told in wealth he roll'd, and being a fellow of some spirit, set up his coach; to 'scape reproach, he put the tailor on the shelf, and thought to make his boy a man of merit. on old etona's classic ground, tom's infant years in circling round were spent 'mid greek and latin; the boy had parts both gay and bright, a merry, mad, facetious sprite, with heart as soft as satin. for sport or spree tom never lack'd; a _con_{ } with all, his sock he crack'd with _oppidan_ or gownsman: could _smug_ a sign, or quiz the _dame_, or row, or ride, or poach for game, with _cads_, or eton townsmen. tom's _admiral_ design'd, most dads are blind to youthful folly, that tom should be a man of learning, to show his parent's great discerning, a parson rich and jolly. to oxford tom in due time went, upon degree d.d. intent, but more intent on ruin: _a freshman_, steering for the _port of stuff's_,{ } round _isle matricula_, and _isthmus of grace_, intent on living well and little doing. here tom came out a dashing blood, kept doll at woodstock, and a stud for hunting, race, or tandem; could _bag_ a proctor, _floor a raff_, or stifle e'en a _hull-dog's gaff_, get _bosky_, drive at random. eton phraseology--a friend. oxford phraseology--all these terms have been explained in an earlier part of the work. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] but long before the first term ended, tom was inform'd, unless he mended, he'd better change his college. which said, the _don_ was hobbling to the shelf where college butler keeps his book of _battell_; tom nimbly ran, erased his name himself, to save the scandal of the students' prattle. in oxford, be it known, there is a place where all the mad wags in disgrace retire to improve their knowledge; the town _raff_ call it _botany bay_, its inmates _exiles, convicts_, and they say saint alban takes the student refugees: here tom, to 'scape _point non plus_, took his seat after a _waste of ready_--found his feet safe on the shores of indolence and ease; here, 'mid choice spirits, in the _isle of flip_, dad's will, and _sapping_, valued not young _snip_; scapula, homer, lexicon, laid by, join'd the peep-of-day boys in full cry.{ } a saving sire a sad son makes this adage suits most modern rakes, it was in the actual participation of these bacchanalian orgies, during the latter days of dr. w----y, the former head of the hall, when infirmities prevented his exercising the necessary watchful-ness over the buoyant spirits committed to his charge, that my friend bob transit and myself were initiated into the mysteries of the albanians. the accompanying scene, so faithfully delineated by his humorous pencil, will be fresh in the recollection of the _choice spirits_ who mingled in the joyous revelry. to particularise character would be to "betray the secrets of the prison-house," and is besides wholly unnecessary, every figure round the board being a portrait; kindred souls, whose merrie laughter-loving countenances and jovial propensities, will be readily recognised by every son of _alma mater_ who was at oxford during the last days of the _beaux esprits_ of alban hall. (_see plate_.) in justice to the learned grecian who now presides, it should be told, that these scenes are altogether suppressed. ~ ~~ and tom above all others. i should have told before, he was an only child, and therefore privileged to be gay and wild, having no brothers, whom his example might mislead into extravagance, or deed ridiculous and foolish. three tedious years in oxford spent, in midnight brawl and merriment, tom bid adieu to college, to cassock-robe of orthodox, to construe and decline--the box, supreme in stable knowledge; to dash on all within the ring, bet high, play deep, or rioting, at long's to sport his figure in honour's cause, some small affair give modern bucks a finish'd air, tom pull'd the fatal trigger. he kill'd his friend--but then remark, his friend had kill'd another spark, so 'twas but trick and tie. the cause of quarrel no one knew, not even tom,--away he flew, till time and forms of law, to fashionable vices blind, excuses for the guilty find, call murder a _faux pas_. the tinsell'd coat next struck his pride, how dashing in the park to ride a cornet of dragoons; upon a charger, thorough bred, to show off with a high plumed head, the gaze of legs and spoons; to rein him up in all his paces, then splash the passing trav'lers' faces, and spur and caper by; ~ ~~ get drunk at mess, then sally out to lisle-street fair, or beat a scout, or black a waiter's eye. of all the clubs,--the clippers, screws, the fly-by-nights, four horse, and blues, the daffy, snugs, and peep-o-day, tom's an elect; at all the hells, at bolton-row, with tip-top swells, and tat's men, deep he'd play. his debts oft paid by snyder's{ } pelf, who paid at last a debt himself, which all that live must pay. tom book'd{ } the old one snug inside, wore sables, look'd demure and sigh'd some few short hours away; till from the funeral return'd, then tom with expectation burn'd to hear his father's will:-- "twice twenty thousand pounds in cash,"-- "that's prime," quoth tom, "to cut a dash "at races or a mill,"-- "all my leaseholds, house and plate, my pictures and freehold estate, i give my darling heir; not doubting but, as i in trade by careful means this sum have made, he'll double it with care."-- "ay, that i will, i'll hit the nick, seven's the main,--here ned and dick bring down my blue and buff; take off the hatband, banish grief, 'tis time to turn o'er a new leaf, sorrow's but idle stuff." fame, trumpet-tongued, tom's wealth reports, his name is blazon'd at the courts of carlton and the fives. his equipage, his greys, his dress, his polish'd self, so like _noblesse_, "is ruin's sure perquise." flash for tailor. screwed up in his coffin. ~ ~~ beau brummell's bow had not the grace, alvanly stood eclipsed in face, the _roués_ all were mute, so exquisite, so chaste, unique, the mark for every leg and greek, who play the concave suit.{ } at almack's, paradise o' the west, tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd, and fashion cries supreme. his op'ra box, and little quean, to lounge, to see, and to be seen, makes life a pleasant dream. such dreams, alas! are transient light, a glow of brightness and delight, that wakes to years of pain. tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er, and clam'rous _duns_ assail the door when credit's on the wane. his riches pay his folly's price, and vanish soon a sacrifice, then friendly comrades fly; his ev'ry foible dragg'd to light, and faults (unheeded) crowd in sight, asham'd to show his face. beset by tradesmen, lawyers, _bums_,{ } he sinks where fashion never comes, a wealthier takes his place. _beat at all points, floor'd, and clean'd out_, tom yet resolv'd to brave it out, cards cut in a peculiar manner, to enable the leg to fleece his pigeon securely. "persons employed by the sheriff to hunt and seize human prey: they are always bound in sureties for the due execution of their office, and thence are called _bound bailiff's_, which the common people have corrupted into a much more homely ex-pression--_to wit, bum-bailiffs or bums_."--l _black com_. . ~ ~~ if die he must, die game. some few months o'er, again he strays 'midst scenes of former halcyon days, on other projects bent; no more ambitious of a name, or mere unprofitable fame, on gain he's now intent, to deal a flush, or cog a die, or plan a deep confed'racy to pluck a pigeon bare. elected by the legs a brother, his plan is to entrap some other in greeting's fatal snare. here for a time his arts succeed, but vice like his, it is decreed, can never triumph long: a noble, who had been his prey, convey'd the well cogg'd bones away, exposed them to the throng. now blown, "his occupation's" o'er, indictments, actions, on him pour, his ill got wealth must fly; and faster than it came, the law can fraud's last ill got shilling draw, tom's pocket soon drain'd dry. again at sea, a wreck, struck down, by fickle fortune and the town, without the means to bolt. his days in bed, for fear of bums, at night among the legs he comes, who gibe him for a dolt. he's cut, and comrades, one by one, avoid him as they would a dun. here finishes our tale-- tom tick, the life, the soul, the whim of courts and fashion when in trim, is left-- waiting for bail. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] by the time old mark supple had finished his somewhat lengthy tale, the major part of the motley group of eccentrics who surrounded us were terribly cut: the garrulous organ of jack milburn was unable to articulate a word; _goose_ b----l, the gourmand, was crammed full, and looked, as he lay in the arms of morpheus, like a fat citizen on the night of a lord mayor's dinner--a lump of inanimate mortality. in one corner lay a poor little grecian, papa chrysanthus demetriades, whom tom echo had plied with bishop till he fell off his chair; count dennet was safely deposited beside him; and old will stewart,{ } the poacher, was just humming himself to sleep with the fag end of an old ballad as he sat upon the ground portraits of the three last-mentioned eccentrics will be found in page , sketched from the life. ~ ~~ resting his back against the defunct grecian. a diminutive little cripple, johnny holloway, was sleeping between his legs, upon whose head tom had fixed a wig of immense size, crowned with an opera hat and a fox's tail for a feather. "now to bury the dead," said eglantine; "let in the lads, mark." "now we shall have a little sport, old fellows," said echo: "come, transit, where are your paints and brushes?" in a minute the whole party were most industriously engaged in disfiguring the objects around us by painting their faces, some to resemble tattooing, while others were decorated with black eyes, huge mustachios, and different embellishments, until it would have been impossible for friend or relation to have recognised any one of their visages. this ceremony being completed, old mark introduced a new collection of worthies, who had been previously instructed for the sport; these were, i found, no other than the well-known oxford _cads_, marston will, tom webb, harry bell, and dick rymal,{ } all out and outers, as echo reported, for a spree with the gown, who had been regaled at some neighbouring public house by eglantine, to be in readiness for the wind-up of his eccentric entertainment; to the pious care of these worthies were consigned the strange-looking mortals who surrounded us. the plan was, i found, to carry them out quietly between two men, deposit them in a cart which they had in waiting, and having taken them to the water-side, place them in a barge and send them drifting down the water in the night to iffley, where their consternation on recovering the next morning and strange appearance would be sure to create a source of merriment both for the city and university. the instructions were most punctually obeyed, and the amusement the freak afterwards afforded the good people of oxford will not very well-known sporting cads, who are always ready to do a good turn for the _togati_, either for sport or spree. ~ ~~quickly be forgotten. thus ended the spread--and now having taken more than my usual quantity of wine, and being withal fatigued by the varied amusements of the evening, i would fain have retired to rest: but this, i found, would be contrary to good fellowship, and not at all in accordance with _college principles_. "we must have a spree" said echo, "by way of finish, the rum ones are all shipped off safely by this time--suppose we introduce blackmantle to our _grandmamma_, and the pretty _nuns_ of st. clement's." "soho, my good fellows," said transit; "we had better defer our visit in that direction until the night is more advanced. the old don{ } of----, remember, celebrates the paphian mysteries in that quarter occasionally, and we may not always be able to _shirk_ him as effectually as on the other evening, when echo and myself were snugly enjoying a _tête-a-tête_ with maria b----and little agnes s----{ }; we accidentally caught a glimpse of _old morality_ cautiously toddling after the pious mrs. a--ms, _vide-licet_ of arts,{ } a lady who has been regularly matriculated at this university, and taken up her degrees some years since. it was too rich a bit to lose, and although at the risk of discovery, i booked it immediately _eo instunti. 'exegi monumentum aere perennius_'--and here it is." we all must reverence dons; and i'm about to talk of dons--irreverently i doubt. for many a priest, when sombre evening gray mantles the sky, o'er maudlin bridge will stray-- forget his oaths, his office, and his fame, and mix in company i will not name. _aphrodisiacal licenses_. paphian divinities in high repute at oxford. pretty much in the same sense, probably, in which moore's gifted leman fanny is by him designated mistress of arts. and oh!--if a fellow like me may confer a diploma of hearts, with my lip thus i seal your degree, my divine little mistress of arts. for an account of fan's proficiency in astronomy, ethics, (not the nicomachean), and eloquence, see moore's epistles, vol. ii. p. . ~ ~~ [illustration: pge ] "an excellent likeness, i'faith, is it," said eglantine; whose eyes twinkled like stars amid the wind-driven clouds, and whose half clipped words and unsteady motion sufficiently evinced that he had paid due attention to the old laws of potation. "there's nothing like the _cloth_ for comfort, old fellows; remember what a man of christ church wrote to george colman when he was studying for the law. 'turn parson, colman, that's the way to thrive; your parsons are the happiest men alive. judges, there are but twelve; and never more, but stalls untold, and bishops twenty-four. of pride and claret, sloth and venison full, yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull! ~ ~~ he ne'er, good man, need pensive vigils keep to preach his audience once a week to sleep; on rich preferment battens at his ease, nor sweats for tithes, as lawyers toil for fees.' if colman had turned parson he would have had a bishoprick long since, and rivalled that jolly old ancient walter de mapes. then what an honour he would have been to the church; no drowsy epistles spun out in lengthened phrase, 'like to the quondam student, named of yore, who with aristotle calmly choked a boar;' but true orthodox wit: the real light of grace would have fallen from his lips and charmed the crowded aisle; the rich epigrammatic style, the true creed of the churchman; no fear of canting innovations or evangelical sceptics; but all would have proceeded harmoniously, ay, and piously too--for true piety consists not in purgation of the body, but in purity of mind. then if we could but have witnessed colman filling the chair in one of our common rooms, enlivening with his genius, wit, and social conversation the learned _dromedaries_ of the sanctum, and dispelling the habitual gloom of a college hospitium, what chance would the sectarians of wesley, or the infatuated followers even of that arch rhapsodist, irving, have with the attractive eloquence and sound reasoning of true wit?" "bravo! bravo!"vociferated the party. "an excellent defence of the church," said echo, "for which eglantine deserves to be inducted to a valuable benefice; suppose we adjourn before the college gates are closed, and install him under the mitre." a proposition that met with a ready acquiescence from all present.{ } the genius of wit, mirth, and social enjoyment, can never find more sincere worshippers than an oxford wine-party seated round the festive board; here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, the gaiety of hearts made glad with wine and revelry, the brilliant flashes of genius, and the eye beaming with delight, are found in the highest perfection. the merits of the society to which the youthful aspirant for fame and glory happens to belong often afford the embryo poet the theme of his song. impromptu parodies on old and popular songs often add greatly to the enjoy-ment of the convivial party. the discipline of the university prohibits late hours; and the evenings devoted to enjoyment are not often disgraced by excess. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] town and gown, an oxford row. battle of the togati and the town-raff--a night-scene in the high-street, oxford--description of the combatants--attack of the gunsmen upon the mitre--evolutions of the assailants--manoeuvres of the proctors and bull dogs-- perilous condition of blackmantle and his associates, eglantine, echo, and transit--snug retreat of lionise--the high-street after the battle--origin of the argotiers, and invention of cant-phrases--history of the intestine wars and civil broils of oxford, from the time of alfred--origin of the late strife--ancient ballad--retreat of the togati-- reflections of a freshman--black matins, or the effect of late drinking upon early risers--visit to golgotha, or the place of sculls--lecture from the big-wigs--tom echo receives sentence of rustication. [illustration: page ] the clocks of oxford were echoing each other in proclaiming the hour of midnight, when eglantine led the way by opening the door of his _hospitium_ to descend into the quadrangle of brazen-nose. "steady, steady, old fellows," said horace; "remember the don on the first-floor--hush, all be silent as the grave till you pass his oak." "let us _row_ him--let us fumigate the old fellow," said echo; "this is the night of purification, lads--bring some pipes, and a little frankincense, mark." and in this laudable ~ ~~enterprise of blowing asafoetida smoke through the don's key-hole the whole party were about to be instantly engaged, when an accidental slip of eglantine's spoiled the joke. while in the act of remonstrating with his jovial companions on the dangerous consequences attending detection, the scholar sustained a fall which left him suddenly deposited against the oak of the crabbed old master of arts, who inhabited rooms on the top of the lower staircase; fortunately, the dignitary had on that evening carried home more _liquor_ than _learning_ from the common room, and was at the time of the accident almost as sound asleep as the original founder. "there lies the domini of the feast," said echo, "knocked down in true orthodox style by the bishop--follow your leader, boys; and take care of your craniums, or you may chance to get a few phreno-lo-lo-logi-cal bu-lps--i begin to feel that hard study has somewhat impaired my artic-tic-u-u-la-tion, but then i can always raise a per-pendic-dic-u-u-lar, you see--always good at mathemat-tics. d--n aristotle, and the rest of the saints! say i: you see what comes of being logical." all of which exultation over poor eglantine's disaster, echo had the caution to make while steadying himself by keeping fast hold of one of the balustrades on the landing; which that arch wag transit perceiving, managed to cut nearly through with a knife, and then putting his foot against it sent tom suddenly oft in a flying leap after his companion, to the uproarious mirth of the whole party. by the time our two friends had recovered their legs, we were all in marching order for the mitre; working in sinuosities along, for not one of the party could have moved at right angles to any given point, or have counted six street lamps without at least multiplying them to a dozen. in a word, they were ripe for any spree, full of frolic, and bent on mischief; witness the piling a huge load of coals ~ ~~against one man's door, screwing up the oak of another, and _milling the glaze_ of a third, before we quitted the precincts of brazen-nose, which we did separately, to escape observation from the cerberus who guarded the portal. it is in a college wine-party that the true character of your early associates are easily discoverable: out of the excesses of the table very often spring the truest impressions, the first, but indelible affection which links kindred spirits together in after-time, and cements with increasing years into the most inviolable friendship. here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, or fettered by restraint, give loose to mirth and revelry; and the brilliancy of genius and the warm-hearted gaiety of pure delight are found in the highest perfection. the blue light of heaven illumined the magnificent square of radcliffe, when we passed from beneath the porch of brazen-nose, and tipping with her silvery light the surrounding architecture, lent additional beauty to the solemn splendour of the scene. sophisticated as my faculties certainly were by the copious libations and occurrences of the day, i could yet admire with reverential awe the imposing grandeur by which i was surrounded. a wayward being from my infancy, not the least mark of my eccentricity is the peculiar humour in which i find myself when i have sacrificed too freely to the jolly god: unlike the major part of mankind, my temperament, instead of being invigorated and enlivened by the sparkling juice of the grape, loses its wonted nerve and elasticity; a sombre gloominess pervades the system, the pulse becomes nervous and languid, the spirits flagging and depressed, and the mind full of chimerical apprehensions and _ennui_. it was in this mood that eglantine found me ruminating on the noble works before me, while resting against a part of the pile of radcliffe library, contemplating ~ ~~the elegant crocketed pinnacles of all souls, the delicately taper spire of st. mary's, and the clustered enrichments and imperial canopies of masonry, and splendid traceries which every where strike the eye: all of which objects were rendered trebly impressive from the stillness of the night, and the flittering light by which they were illumined. i had enough of wine and frolic, and had hoped to have _shirked_ the party and stolen quietly to my lodgings, there to indulge in my lucubrations on the scene i had witnessed, and note in my journal, according to my usual practice, the more prominent events of the day, when horace commenced with-- "where the devil, old fellow, have you been hiding yourself? i've been hunting you some time. a little _cut_, i suppose: never mind, my boy, you'll be better presently. here's glorious sport on foot; don't you hear the war-cry?" at this moment a buzz of distant voices broke upon the ear like the mingled shouts of an election tumult. "there they are, old fellow: come, buckle on your armour--we must try your mettle to-night. all the university are out--a glorious row--come along, no shirking---the _togati_ against the town raff--remember the sacred cause, my boy." and in this way, spite of all remonstrance, was i dragged through the lane and enlisted with the rest of my companions into a corps of university men who were just forming themselves in the high-street to repel the daring attack of the very scum of the city, who had ill-treated and beaten some gownsmen in the neighbourhood of st. thomas's, and had the temerity to follow and assail them in their retreat to the high-street with every description of villanous epithet, and still more offensive and destructive missiles. "stand fast there, old fellows," said echo; who, although _devilishly cut_, seemed to be the leader of the division. "where's old mark supple?" "here i am sir, _take notice_" said the old scout, who appeared as active as ~ ~~an american rifleman. "will peake send us the bludgeons?" "he won't open his doors, sir, for anybody, _take notice_." "then down with the mitre, my hearties;" and instantly a rope was thrown across the _bishop's cap_ by old mark, and the tin sign, lamp, and all came tumbling into the street, smashed into a thousand pieces. peake (looking out of an upper window in his night-cap). doey be quiet, and go along, for god's zake, gentlemen! i shall be _ruinated and discommoned_ if i open my door to any body. tom echo. you infernal old fox-hunter! if you don't doff your knowledge bag and come to the door, we'll mill all your glaze, burst open your gates, and hamstring all your horses. mrs. peake (in her night-gown). stand out of the way, peake; let me speak to the gentlemen. gentlemen, doey, gentlemen, consider my reputation, and the reputation of ray house. o dear, gentlemen, doey go somewhere else--we've no sticks here, i azzure ye, and we're all in bed. doey go, gentlemen, pray do. transit. dame peake, if you don't open your doors directly, we'll break them open, and unkennel that old bagg'd fox, your husband, and drink all the black strap in your cellar, and--and play the devil with the maids. mrs. peake. don'te say so, don'te say so, mr. transit; i know you to be a quiet, peaceable gentleman, and i am zure you will befriend me: doey persuade 'em to go away, pray do, ~ ~~ mark supple. dame peake mrs. peake. oh, mr. mark supple, are you there i talk to the gentlemen, mr. mark, pray do. mark supple. it's no use, dame peake; they won't be gammon'd, take notice. if you have any old broom-handles, throw 'em out directly, and if not, throw all the brooms you have in the house out of window--throw out all your sticks--throw peake out. i'm for the gown, _take notice_. down with the town! down with the town! bill mags. (the waiter, at a lower window.) hist, hist, mr. echo; mr. eglantine, hist, hist; master's gone to the back of the house with all the sticks he can muster; and here's an old kitchen-chair you can break up and make bludgeons of (throwing the chair out of window), and here's the cook's rolling-pin, and i'll go and forage for more ammunition. horace eglantine. you're a right good fellow, bill; and i'll pay you before i do your master; and the brazen-nose men shall make your fortune. tom echo. but where's the academicals i sent old captain cook for we shall be beating one another in the dark without caps and gowns. captain cook. (a scout of christ church.) here i be, zur. that old rogue, dick shirley, refuses to send any gowns; he says he has nothing but noblemen's gowns and gold tufts in his house. ~ ~~ the hon. lillyman lionise. by the honour of my ancestry, that fellow shall never draw another stitch for christ church as long as he lives. come along, captain: by the honour of my ancestry, we'll uncase the old _snyder_; we'll have gowns, i warrant me, noble or not noble, gold tufts or no tufts. come along, cook. in a few moments old captain cook and the exquisite returned loaded with gowns and caps, having got in at the window and completely cleared the tailor's shop of all his academicals, in spite of his threats or remonstrances. in the interim, old mark supple and echo had succeeded in obtaining a supply of broom-handles and other weapons of defence; when the insignia of the university, the toga and cap, were soon distributed indiscriminately: the numbers of the university men increased every moment; and the yell of the town raff seemed to gain strength with every step as they approached the scene of action. gown! gown! town! town! were the only sounds heard in every direction; and the clamour and the tumult of voices were enough to shake the city with dismay. the authorities were by no means idle; but neither proctors or pro's, or marshal, or bull-dogs, or even deans, dons, and dignitaries, for such there were, who strained their every effort to quell the disturbance, were at all attended to, and many who came as peace-makers were compelled in their own defence to take an active part in the fray. from the bottom of the high-street to the end of the corn-market, and across again through st. aldate's to the old bridge, every where the more peaceable and respectable citizens might be seen popping their noddles out of window, and rubbing their half-closed eyes with affright, to learn the cause of the alarming strife. ~ ~~of the strong band of university men who rushed on eager for the coming fray, a number of them were fresh light-hearted etonians and old westminsters, who having just arrived to place themselves under the sacred banners of academus, thought their honour and their courage both concerned in defending the _togati_: most of these youthful zealots had as usual, at the beginning of a term, been lodged in the different inns and houses of the city, and from having drank somewhat freely of the welcome cup with old schoolfellows and new friends, were just ripe for mischief, unheedful of the consequences or the cause. on the other hand, the original fomenters of the strife had recruited their forces with herds of the lowest rabble gathered from the purlieus of their patron saints, st. clement and st. thomas, and the shores of the charwell,--the bargees, and butchers, and labourers, and scum of the suburbians: a huge conglomerated mass of thick sculls, and broad backs, and strengthy arms, and sturdy legs, and throats bawling for revenge, and hearts bursting with wrathful ire, rendered still more frantic and desperate by the magic influence of their accustomed war-whoop. these formed the base barbarian race of oxford truands,{ } including every vile thing that passes under the generic name of raff. from college to college the mania spread with the rapidity of an epidemic wind; and scholars, students, and fellows were every where in motion: here a stout bachelor of arts might be seen knocking down the ancient cerberus who opposed his passage; there the iron-bound college gates were forced open by the united power of the youthful inmates. in another quarter might be seen the heir of some noble family risking his neck in the headlong leap { }; and near him, a party of the _togati_ scaling the sacred battlements with as much energetic zeal as the ancient crusaders would have displayed against the ferocious saracens. the french _truands_ were beggars, who under the pretence of asking alms committed the most atrocious crimes and excesses. it was on one of these occasions that the celebrated charles james fox made that illustrious leap from the window of hertford college. ~ ~~scouts flying in every direction to procure caps and gowns, and scholars dropping from towers and windows by bell-ropes and _sheet-ladders_; every countenance exhibiting as much ardour and frenzied zeal, as if the consuming elements of earth and fire threatened the demolition of the sacred city of rhedycina. it was on the spot where once stood the ancient conduit of carfax, flanked on the one side by the venerable church of st. martin and the colonnade of the old butter-market, and on the other by the town-hall, from the central point of which terminate, south, west, and north, st. aldate's, the butcher-row, and the corn-market, that the scene exhibited its more substantial character. it was here the assailants first caught sight of each other; and the yell, and noise, and deafening shouts became terrific. in a moment all was fury and confusion: in the onset the gown, confident and daring, had evidently the advantage, and the retiring raff fell back in dismay; while the advancing and victorious party laid about them with their quarter-staves, and knuckles drawing blood, or teeth, or cracking crowns at every blow, until they had driven them back to the end of the corn-market. it was now that the strong arm and still stronger science of the sturdy bachelors of brazen-nose, and the square-built, athletic sons of cambria, the jones's of jesus, proved themselves of sterling mettle, and bore the brunt of the battle with unexampled courage: at this instant a second reinforcement arriving from the canals and wharfs on the banks of the isis, having forced their way by george-lane, brought timely assistance to the town raff, and enabled them again to rally and present so formidable an appearance, ~ ~~that the _togati_ deemed it prudent to retreat upon their reserve, who were every moment accumulating in immense numbers in the high-street: to this spot the townsmen, exulting in their trifling advantage, had the temerity to follow and renew the conflict, and here they sustained the most signal defeat: for the men of christ church, and pembroke, and st. mary's hall, and oriel, and corpus christi, had united their forces in the rear; while the front of the gown had fallen back upon the effective trinitarians, and albanians, and wadhamites, and men of magdalen, who had by this time roused them from their monastic towers and cells to fight the holy war, and defend their classic brotherhood: nor was this all the advantages the gown had to boast of, for the _scouts_, ever true to their masters, had summoned the lads of the fancy, and marston will, and harry bell, and a host of out and outers, came up to the scratch, and floored many a _youkel_ with their _bunch of fives_. it was at this period that the conflict assumed its most appalling feature, for the townsmen were completely hemmed into the centre, and fought with determined courage, presenting a hollow square, two fronts of which were fully engaged with the infuriated gown. long and fearful was the struggle for mastery, and many and vain the attempts of the townsmen to retreat, until the old oxford night coach, in its way up the high-street to the star inn in the corn-market, was compelled to force its passage through the conflicting parties; when the bull-dogs and the constables, headed by marshal holliday and old jack smith, united their forces, and following the vehicle, opened a passage into the very centre of the battle, where they had for some time to sustain the perilous attacks of oaths, and blows, and kicks from both parties, until having fairly wedged themselves between the combatants, they succeeded by threats and entreaties, and seizing a few of the ringleaders on ~ ~~both sides, to cause a dispersion, and restore by degrees the peace of the city. it was, however, some hours before the struggle had completely subsided, a running fight being kept up by the various straggling parties in their retreat; and at intervals the fearful cry of town and gown would resound from some plebeian alley or murky lane as an unfortunate wight of the adverse faction was discovered stealing homewards, covered with mud and scars. of my college friends and merry companions in the fray, tom echo alone remained visible, and he had (in his own phraseology) _dropped his sash_: according to hudibras, he looked "as men of inward light are wont to turn their opticks in upon't;" or, in plain english, had an _invisible_ eye. the "_disjecta fragmenta_" of his academical robe presented a most pitiful appearance; it was of the ragged sort, like the _mendicula impluviata_ of plautus, and his under habiliments bore evident marks of his having bitten the dust (i.e. mud) beneath the ponderous arm of some heroic blacksmith or bargee; but yet he was lively, and what with blows and exertion, perfectly sobered. "what, blackmantle? and alive, old fellow? well clone, my hearty; i saw you set to with that fresh water devil from charwell, the old bargee, and a pretty milling you gave him. i had intended to have seconded you, but just as i was making up, a son of vulcan let fly his sledge-hammer slap at my _smeller_, and stopped up one of my _oculars_, so i was obliged to turn to and finish him off; and when i had completed the job, you had bolted; not, however, without leaving your marks behind you. but where's eglantine? where's transit? where's the honourable? by my soul the _roué_ can handle his _mauleys_ well; i saw him floor one of the raff in very prime style. but come along, my hearty; we must walk over the ~ ~~field of battle and look after the wounded: i am desperately afraid that eglantine is _booked inside_--saw him surrounded by the _bull-dogs_--made a desperate effort to rescue him--and had some difficulty to clear myself; but never mind, ''tis the fortune of war,' and there's very good lodging in the castle. surely there's mark supple with some one on his back. what, mark, is that you?" "no, sir--yes, sir--i mean, sir, it's a gentleman of our college--o dearey me, i thought it had been a proctor or a bull-dog--for heaven's sake, help, sir! here's mr. transit quite senseless, _take notice_--picked him up in a doorway in lincoln-lane, bleeding like a pig, _take notice_. o dear, o dear, what a night this has been! we shall all be sent to the castle, and perhaps transported for manslaughter. for heaven's sake, mr. echo, help! bear his head up--take hold of his feet, mr. blackmantle, and i'll go before, and ring at dr. tuckwell's bell, _take notice_." in this way poor transit was conveyed to the surgery, where, after cleansing him from the blood and dirt, and the application of some aromatics, he soon recovered, and happily had not sustained any very serious injury. from old mark we learned that eglantine was a captive to the bull-dogs, and safely deposited in the castle along with marston will, who had fought nobly in his defence: of lionise we could gain no other tidings than that mark had seen him at the end of the fray climbing up to the first floor window of a tradesman's house in the high-street, whose daughter it was well known he had a little intrigue with, and where, as we concluded, he had found a balsam for his wounds, and shelter for the night. it was nearly three o'clock when i regained my lodging and found mags, the waiter of the mitre, on the look-out for me: echo had accompanied me home, and in our way we had picked up a wounded man of university college, who had suffered severely in the contest. it was worthy ~ ~~the pencil of a hogarth to have depicted the appearance of the high-street after the contest, when we were cautiously perambulating from end to end in search of absent friends, and fearing at every step the approach of the proctors or their bull-dogs: the lamps were almost all smashed, and the burners dangling to and fro with the wind, the greater part extinguished, or just emitting sufficient light to make night horrible. on the lamp-irons might be seen what at first sight was most appalling, the figure of some hero of the _togati_ dangling by the neck, but which, on nearer approach, proved to be only the dismembered academical of some gentleman-commoner hung up as a trophy by the town raff. broken windows and shutters torn from their hinges, and missiles of every description covering the ground, from the terrific scotch paving-pebble torn up from the roads, to the spokes of coach-wheels, and the oaken batons, and fragments of lanterns belonging to the town watch, skirts of coats, and caps, and remnants of _togas_ both silken and worsted, bespoke the quality of the heroes of the fray; while here and there a poor terrified wretch was exposing his addle head to the mildews of the night-damp, fearing a revival of the contest, or anxiously watching the return of husband, brother, father, or son.{ } this picture of an oxford row is not, as the general reader might imagine, the mere fiction of the novelist, but the true description of a contest which occurred some few years since; the leading features of which will be (although the names have been, except in one or two instances, studiously suppressed) easily recognised by many of the present sons of alma mater who shared in the perils and glory of the battle. to those who are strangers to the sacred city, and these casual effervescences of juvenile spirit, the admirable graphic view of the scene by my friend bob transit (see plate) will convey a very correct idea. to the credit of the more respectable and wealthy class of oxford citizens it should be told, they are now too sensible of their own interest, and, besides, too well-informed to mix with these civil disturbances; the lower orders, therefore, finding themselves unequal to the contest without their support, submit to the _togati_; and thus the civil wars that have raged in oxford with very little interruption from the days of alfred seem for the present extinguished. ~ ~~ on our arrival at the mitre, poor mrs. peake, half frightened to death, was up and busy in administering to the sufferers various consolatory draughts composed of bishop, and flesh and blood{ } and _rumbooze_; while the chambermaids, and peake, and the waiters were flying about the house with warm water, and basins, and towels, to the relief of the numerous applicants, who all seemed anxious to wash away the dirty remembrances of the disgusting scene. hitherto i had been so busily engaged in defending myself and preserving my friends, that i had not a moment for reflection. it has been well observed, that "place an englishman in the field of battle, no matter what his political feelings, he will fight like a lion, by instinct, or the mere force of example;" so with the narrator of this contest. i had not, up to this time, the least knowledge of the original cause of the row. i have naturally an aversion to pugilistic contests and tumultuous sports, and yet i found by certain bruises, and bumps, and stains of blood, and stiffness of joints, and exhaustion, and the loss of my upper garment, which i had then only just discovered, that i must have borne a _pretty considerable_{ } part in the contest, and carried away no small share of victorious laurels, since i had escaped without any very visible demonstration of my adversaries' prowess; but for this i must acknowledge myself indebted to my late private tutor the eton cad, joe cannon, whose fancy lectures on noseology, and the science of the milling system, had enabled me to brandy and port wine, half and half. an oxford phrase. ~ ~~defend my bread-basket, cover up my peepers, and keep my nob out of chancery{ }: a merit that all the use of a peculiar cant phraseology for different classes, it would appear, originated with the argoliers, a species of french beggars or monkish impostors, who were notorious for every thing that was bad and infamous: these people assumed the form of a regular government, elected a king, established a fixed code of laws, and invented a language peculiar to themselves, constructed probably by some of the debauched and licentious youths, who, abandoning their scholastic studies, associated with these vagabonds. in the poetical life of the french robber cartouche, a humorous account is given of the origin of the word _argot_; and the same author has also compiled a dictionary of the language then in use by these people, which is annexed to the work. hannan, in his very singular work, published in , entitled "a caveat, or warning for common cursitors (runners), vulgarly called vagabones," has described a number of the words then in use, among what he humorously calls the "lued lousey language of these lewtering beskes and lasy lovrels." and it will be remembered that at that time many of the students of our universities were among these cursitors, as we find by an old statute of the xxii of hen. viii.; "that scholars at the universities begging without licence, were to be punished like common cursi- tors." the vagabonds of spain are equally celebrated for their use of a peculiar slang or cant, as will be seen on reference to a very curious work of rafael frianoro, entitled" _il vagabondo, overo sferzo de bianti e vagabondi_." _viterbo_, , mo. as also in those excellent novels, "lazarillo do tormes," and "guzman de alfarache." the _romany_ or gipsies' dialect is given with the history of that singular people by mr. grellman; an english translation of which was published in , by roper, in quarto: from those works, grose principally compiled his "lexicon ballatronicum." in the present day we have many professors of slang, and in more ways than one, too many of cant; the greater part of whom are dull impostors, who rather invent strange terms to astonish the vulgar than adhere to the peculiar phrases of the persons they attempt to describe. it has long been matter of regret with the better order of english sporting men, that the pugilistic contests and turf events of the day are not written in plain english, "which all those who run might read," instead of being rendered almost unintelligible by being narrated in the language of beggars, thieves, and pickpockets--a jargon as free from true wit as it is full of obscenity. ~ ~~keate's{ } learning would not have compensated for under the peculiar circumstances in which i was placed. it was now that the mischief was done, and many a sound head was cracked, and many a courageous heart was smarting 'neath their wounds in the gloomy dungeons of the castle, or waiting in their rooms the probing instrument and plasters of messrs. wall, or kidd, or bourne, that a few of us, who had escaped tolerably well, and were seated round a bowl of bishop in the snug _sanctum sanctorum_ of the mitre, began to inquire of each other the origin of the fray. after a variety of conjectures and vague reports, each at variance with the other, and evidently deficient in the most remote connexion with the true cause of the strife, it was agreed to submit the question to the waiter, as a neutral observer, who assured us that the whole affair arose out of a trifling circumstance, originating with some mischievous boys, who, having watched two gownsmen into a cyprian temple in the neighbourhood of saint thomas, circulated a false report that they had carried thither the wives of two respectable mechanics. without taking the trouble to inquire into the truth or falsehood of the accusation, the door was immediately beset; the old cry of town and gown vociferated in every direction; and the unfortunate wights compelled to seek their safety by an ignominious flight through a back door and over the meadows. the tumult once raised, it was not to be appeased without some victim, and for this purpose they thought proper to attack a party of the _togati_, who were returning home from a little private sport with a well-known fancy lecturer: the opportunity was a good one to show-off, a regular fight commenced, and the raff were floored in every direction, until their numbers increasing beyond all the highly respected and learned head-master of eton college. ~ comparison, the university men were compelled to raise the cry of gown, and fly for succour and defence to the high-street: in this way had a few mischievous boys contrived to embroil the town and university in one of the most severe intestine struggles ever remembered. [illustration: page ] _a true chronicle of ye bloodie fighte betweene the clerkes of and scholairs of oxenforde, and the townsmen of the citie, who were crowdinge rounde the easterne gaite to see the kinge enter in his progresse wostwarde._ ~ ~~ sir gierke of oxenforde, prepare your robis riche, and noble cheere. ye kinge with alle his courtlie trane is spurring on your plaice to gane. and heere ye trumpet's merrie note, his neare approache proclaims, i wote; ye doctors, proctors, scholairs, go, and fore youre sovereigne bend ye lowe. now comes the kinge in grande arraie; and the scholairs presse alonge the waye, till ye easterne gaite was thronged so rounde, that passage coulde no where be founde. then the sheriffe's men their upraised speares did plye about the people's eares. and woe the day; the rabble route their speares did breake like glasse aboute. then the doctors, proctors, for the kinge, most lustilie for roome did singe; but thoughe theye bawled out amaine, no passage throughe the crowde coulde gane. ye northern gownsmen, a bold race, now swore they'd quicklie free the plaice; with stalwart gripe, and beadle's staffe theye clefte the townsmen's sculls in half. ~ ~~ and now the wrathful rabble rave, and quick returne withe club and stave; and heades righte learn'd in classic lore felt as they'd never felt before. now fierce and bloody growes the fraye: in vaine the mayore and sheriffe praye for peace--to cool the townsmens' ire, intreatie but impelles the fire. downe with the towne! the scholairs cry; downe with the gowne! the towne reply. loud rattle the caps of the clerkes in aire, and the citizens many a sortie beare; and many a churchman fought his waye, like a heroe in the bloodie fraye. and one right portlie father slewe of rabble townsmen not a fewe. and now 'mid the battle's strife and din there came to the easterne gate, the heralde of our lorde the kinge, with his merrie men all in state. "god help us!" quoth the courtlie childe, "what means this noise within? with joye the people have run wilde." and so he peeped him in, and throughe the wicker-gate he spied, and marvelled much thereat, the streets withe crimson current dyed, and towne and gowne laide flat. then he called his merrie men aloud, to bringe him a ladder straighte; the trumpet sounds--the warlike crowde in a moment forget theire hate. up rise the wounded, down theire arms both towne and gowne do lie; the kinge's approache ye people charmes, and alle looke merrilie. for howe'er towne and gowne may fighte, yet bothe are true to ye kinge. so on bothe may learning and honour lighte, let all men gailie singe.{ } ~ ~~ the above imitation of the style of the ancient ballad is founded on traditional circumstances said to have occurred when the pacific king james visited oxford.--_bernard blackmantle_. _intestine broils and civil wars of oxford_.--anthony wood, the faithful historian of oxford, gives an account of a quarrel between the partisans of st. guinbald and the residents of oxford, in the days of alfred, on his refounding the university, a.d. . after his death the continual inroads of the danes kept the oxonians in perpetual alarm, and in the year they destroyed the town by fire, and repeated their outrage upon the new built town in . seven years after, swein, the danish leader, was repulsed by the inhabitants in a similar attempt, who took vengeance on their im-placable enemy by a general massacre on the feast of st. brice. in the civil commotions under the saxon prince, oxford had again its full share of the evils of war. after the death of harold, william the conqueror was bravely opposed by the citizens in his attempt to enter oxford, which effecting by force, he was so much exas- perated at their attachment to harold, that he bestowed the government of the town on robert de oilgo, a norman, with permission to build a castle to keep his oxford subjects in awe. the disturbances during the reign of stephen and his successor were frequent, and in the reign of john, a. d. , an unfortunate occurrence threatened the entire destruction of oxford as a seat of learning. a student, engaged in thoughtless diversion, killed a woman, and fled from justice. a band of citizens, with the mayor at their head, surrounded the hall to which he belonged, and demanded the offender; on being informed of his absence, the lawless multitude seized three of the students, who were entirely unconnected with the transaction, and ob-tained an order from the weak king (whose dislike to the clergy is known), to put the innocent persons to death--an order which was but too promptly obeyed. the scholars, justly en-raged by this treatment, quitted oxford, some to cambridge and reading, and others to maidstone, in kent. the offended students also applied to the pope, who laid the city under an interdict and discharged all professors from teaching in it. this step completely humbled the citizens, who sent a deputation of the most respectable to wait on the pope's legate (then at westminster) to acknowledge their rashness and request mercy; the legate (nicholas, bishop of tusculum, ) granted their petition only on the most humiliating terms. the mayor and corporation were en-joined, by way of penance, to proceed annually, on the day dedicated to st. nicholas, to all the parish churches bare-headed, with hempen halters round their necks, and whips in their hands, on their bare feet, and in their' shirts, and there pray the benefit of absolution from the priests, repeating the penitential psalms, and to pay a mark of silver per annum to the students of the hall peculiarly injured; in addition to which they were, on the recurrence of the same day, to entertain one hundred poor scholars "_honestis refectionibus_," the abbot of evesham yearly paying sixteen shillings towards the festival expense a part of this ceremony, but without the degrading marks of it, is continued to this day. henry iii. occasionally resided at oxford, and held there many parliaments and councils: in the reign of this king the university flourished to an unexampled degree, the number of students being estimated at fifteen thousand. its popularity was about this time also greatly increased from the circumstance of not less than one thousand students quitting the learned institutions of paris, and repairing to oxford for instruction; but these foreigners introduced so dangerous a levity of manners, that the pope deemed it necessary to send his legate for the purpose of reforming " certain flagrant corruptions of the place." the legate was at first treated with much affected civility, but an occasion for quarrel being soon found, he would, in all probability, have been sacrificed upon the spot, had he not hidden himself in a belfry from the fury of the assailants. this tumult was, by the exercise of some strong measures, speedily appeased; but the number of students was at this period infinitely too great to preserve due subordination. they divided themselves into parties, among which the north and south countrymen were the most violent, and their quarrels harassing and perpetual. according to the rude temper of the age, these disputes were not settled by argument, but by dint of blows; and the peace of the city was in this way so often endangered, that the king thought it expedient to add to the civil power two aldermen and eight burgesses assistant, together with two bailiffs. from petty and intestine broils, the students appear to have acquired a disposition for political inter- ference. when prince edward, returning from paris, marched with an army towards wales, coming to oxford he was by the burghers refused admittance, "on occasion of the tumults now prevailing among the barons:" he quartered his soldiers in the adjacent villages, and "lodged himself that night in the royal palace of magdalen," the next morning proceeding on his intended journey; but the scholars, who were shut in the town, being desirous to salute a prince whom they loved so much, first assembled round _smith-gate_, and demanded to be let into the fields, which being refused by one of the bailiffs, they returned to their hostels for arms and broke open the gate, whereupon the mayor arrested many of them, and, on the chancellor's request, was so far from releasing them that he ordered the citizens to bring out their banners and display them in the midst of the street; and then embattling them, commanded a sudden onset on the rest of the scholars remaining in the town; and much blood-shed had been committed had not a scholar, by the sound of the school-bell in saint mary's church, given notice of the danger that threatened the students, then at dinner. on this alarm they straightways armed and went out, and in a tremendous conflict subdued and put the townsmen to flight. in consequence of this tumult, the king required the scholars to retire from the city during the time of holding his parliament; the chief part of the students accordingly repaired to northampton, where, shortly after the insurgent barons had fortified themselves, on the king's laying siege to the place, the scholars, offended by their late removal, joined with the nobility, and repaired to arms under their own standard, behaving in the fight with conspicuous gallantry, and greatly increasing the wrath of the king; who, however, on the place being subdued, was restrained from pur-suing them to extremities, from prudential motives. as the kingdom became more settled, the disturbances were less frequent, and within the last century assumed the character of sportive rows rather than malicious feuds. on a recent lamentable occasion (now happily forgotten) the political feelings of the gown and town in some measure revived the spirit of the "olden time;" but since then peace has waved her olive-branch over the city of oxford, and perfect harmony, let us hope, will exist between town and gown for evermore. ~ ~~ the veil of night was more than half drawn, ere the youthful inmates of the mitre retired to rest; and many of the party were compelled to put up with sorry accommodation, such was the influx of ~ ~~gownsmen who, shut out of lodging and college, had sought this refuge to wait the approaching morn;--a morn big with the fate of many a scholastic woe--of lectures and reprovals from tutors, and fines and impositions and denunciations from principals, of proctorial reports to the vice-chancellor, and examinations before the _big wigs_, and sentences of expulsion ~~and rustication: coming evils which, by anticipation, kept many a man awake upon his pillow, spite of the perilous fatigue which weighed so heavy upon the exhausted frame. the freshman had little to fear: he could plead his ignorance of college rules, or escape notice altogether, from not having yet domiciled within the walls of a college. although i had little to expect from the apprehension of any of these troubles, as my person was, from my short residence, most likely unknown to any of the authorities--yet did morpheus refuse his soporific balsam to the mind--i could not help thinking of my young and giddy companions, of the kind-hearted eglantine, immured within the walls of a dungeon; of the noble-spirited echo, maltreated and disfigured by the temporary loss of an eye; of the facetious bob transit, so bruised and exhausted, that a long illness might be expected; and, lastly, of our eton sextile, the incomparable exquisite lionise, who, if discovered in his dangerous frolic, would, perhaps, have to leap out of a first floor window at the risk of his neck, sustain an action for damages, and his expulsion from college at the same time. little dick gradus, with his usual cunning, had shirked us at the commencement of hostilities; and the honourable mr. sparkle had been carried home to his lodging, early in the fray, more overcome by hard drinking than hard fighting, and there safely put to bed by the indefatigable mark supple, to whose friendly zeal and more effective arm we were all much indebted. in this reflective mood, i had watched the retiring shadows of the night gradually disperse before the gray-eyed morn, and had just caught a glimpse of the golden streaks which illumine the face of day, when my o'er-wearied spirit sank to rest. [illustration: page ] a little before seven o'clock i was awoke by echo, who came into my room to borrow some clean linen, to enable him to attend chapel prayers at christ church. judge my surprise when i perceived my one-eyed ~ ~~warrior completely restored to his full sight, and not the least appearance of any participation in the affair of the previous night. "what? you can't comprehend how i managed my black optic? hey, old fellow," said echo; "you shall hear: knocked up transit, and made him send for his colours, and paint it over--looks quite natural, don't it?--defy the big wigs to find it out--and if i can but make all right by a sop to the old cerberus at the gate, and _queer_ the _prick bills_ at chapel prayers, i hope to escape the _quick-sands of rustication_, and pass safely through the _creek of proctorial jeopardy_. if you're fond of fun, old fellow, jump up and view the christ church men proceeding to _black matins_ this morning. after the roysten hunt yesterday--the dinner at the black bear at woodstock--and the _town and gown row_ of last night, there will be a motley procession this morning, i'll bet a hundred." the opportunity was a rare one to view the effect of late drinking upon early risers (see plate); slipping on my academicals, therefore, i accompanied my friend tom to morning prayers,--a circumstance, as i have since been informed, which would have involved me in very serious disgrace, had the appearance of an _ex college_ man at vespers attracted the notice of any of the big wigs. fortunately, however, i escaped the prying eyes of authority, which, on these occasions, are sometimes as much under the dominion of morpheus--and literally walk in their sleep from custom--as the young and inexperienced betray the influence of some more seductive charm. the very bell that called the drowsy student from his bed seemed to rise and fall in accordant sympathy with the lethargic humour that prevailed, tolling in slow and half-sounding notes scarcely audible beyond the college gates. the broken light, that shed its misty hue through the monastic aisle of painted windows and clustered columns, gave an increased appearance of drowsiness to the scene; while the chilling air of the ~ ~~morning nipped the young and dissolute, as it fell in hazy dews upon the bare-headed sons of _alma mater_, within many of whose bosoms the fires of the previous night's debauch were but scarce extinguished. then came the lazy unwashed _scout_, crawling along the quadrangle, rubbing his heavy eyes, and cursing his hard fate to be thus compelled to give early notice to some slumbering student of the hour of seven, waking him from dreams of bliss, by thundering at his _oak_ the summons to _black matins_. now crept the youthful band along the avenue, and one by one the drowsy congregation stole through the gothic ante-chamber that leads to christ church chapel, like unwilling victims to some pious sacrifice. here a lengthened yawn proclaimed the want of rest, and near a tremulous step and heavy half-closed eye was observed, pacing across the marble floor, with hand pressed to his _os frontis_, as if a thousand odd and sickly fantasies inhabited that chamber of the muses. now two friends might be seen, supporting a third, whose ghastly aspect bespoke him fresh in the sacred mysteries of college parties and of bacchus; but who had, nevertheless, undergone a tolerable seasoning on the previous night. there a jolly nimrod, who had just cleared the college walls, and reached his rooms time enough to cover his hunting frock and boots with his academicals, was seen racing along, to 'scape the _prick bill's_ report, with his round hunting cap in his hand, in lieu of the square tufted trencher of the schools. night-caps thrown off in the entry--shoes and stockings tied in the aisle--a red slipper and the black jockey boot decorating one pair of legs was no uncommon sight; while on every side rushed forward the anxious group with gowns on one arm, or trailing after them, or loosely thrown around the shoulders to escape tribulation, with here and there a sentimental-looking personage of portly habit and solemn gait moving slowly on, filled up the motley picture. the prayers were, indeed, brief, and ~ ~~hurried through with a rapidity that, i dare say, is never complained of by the _togati_; but is certainly little calculated to impress the youthful mind with any serious respect for these relics of monkish custom, which, after all, must be considered more in the light of a punishment for those who are compelled to attend than any necessary or instructive service connected with the true interests of orthodoxy. in a quarter of an hour the whole group had dispersed to their respective rooms, and within the five minutes next ensuing, i should suppose, the greater part were again comfortably deposited beneath their bedclothes, snoozing away the time till ten or twelve, to make up for these inroads on the slumbers of the previous night. a few hours spent in my friend's rooms, lolling on the sofa, while the scout prepared breakfast, and tom decorated his person, brought the awful hour of the morning, when all who had taken any very conspicuous share in the events of the previous night were likely to hear of their misdoings, and receive a summons to appear before the vice-chancellor in the divinity school, better known by the name of _golgotha_, or the place of skulls, (see plate); where, on this occasion, he was expected to meet the big wigs, to confer on some important measures necessary for the future peace and welfare of the university. the usual time had elapsed for these unpleasant visitations, and echo was chuckling finely at his dexterity in evading the eye of authority, nor was i a little pleased to have escaped myself, when a single rap at the oak, not unlike the hard determined thump of an inflexible dun, in one moment revived all our worst apprehensions, and, unfortunately, with too much reason for the alarm. the proctors had marked poor tom, and traced him out, and this visit was from one of their bull-dogs, bringing a summons for echo to attend before the vice-chancellor and dignitaries. "what's to be done, old fellow?" said echo; "i shall be ~ ~~expelled to a certainty--and, if i don't strike my own name off the books at the buttery hatch, shall be prevented making a retreat to cam roads.--you're out of the scrape, that's clear, and that affords me some hope; for as you are fresh, your word will pass for something in extenuation, or arrest of judgment." after some little time spent in anticipating the charges likely to be brought against him, and arranging the best mode of defence, it was agreed that echo should proceed forthwith to _golgotha_, and there, with undaunted front, meet his accusers; while i was to proceed to transit and lionise, and having instructed them in the story we had planned, meet him at the _place of skulls_, fully prepared to establish, by the most incontrovertible and consistent evidence, that we were not the aggressors in the row. a little persuasion was necessary to convince both our friends that their presence would be essential to echo's acquittal; they had too many just qualms, and fears, and prejudices of this inquisitorial court not to dread perhaps detection, and a severe reprimand themselves: having, however, succeeded in this point, we all three compared notes, and proceeded to where the vice-chancellor and certain heads of houses sat in solemn judgment on the trembling _togati_. echo was already under examination; one of the _bull-dogs_ had sworn particularly to tom's being a most active leader in the fray of the previous night; and having, in the contest, suffered a complete disorganization of his lower jaw, with the total loss of sundry of his _front rails_, he took this opportunity of affixing the honour of the deed to my unlucky friend, expecting, no doubt, a very handsome recompense would be awarded him by the court. expostulation was in vain: transit, lionise, and myself were successively called in and examined very minutely, and although we all agreed to a letter in our story, and made a very clever ~ ~~defence of the culprit, we yet had the mortification to hear from little dodd, who kept the door, and who is always best pleased when he can convey unpleasant tidings to the gown, that echo had received sentence of rustication for the remainder of the term; and that eglantine, in consideration of the imprisonment he had already undergone, and some favourable circumstances in his case, was let off with a fine and imposition. [illustration: page ] thus ended the row of the _town and gown_, as far as our party was personally concerned; but many of the members of the different colleges were equally unfortunate in meeting the heavy censures and judgments of authority. i have just taken possession of my _hospitium_, and set down with a determination _to fagg_; do, therefore, keep your promise, and enliven the dull routine of college studies with some account of the world at brighton. bernard blackmantle. on what dread perils doth the youth adventure, who dares within the fellows' bog to enter. [illustration: page b] [illustration: page ] the stage coach, or the trip to brighton. _improvements in travelling--contrast of ancient and modern conveyances and coachmen--project for a new land steam carriage--the inn-yard at the golden cross, charing cross-- mistakes of pas-sengers--variety of characters--advantages of the box-seat--obstructions on the road--a pull-up at the elephant and castle--move on to kensington common--hew churches--civic villas at brixton--modern taste in architecture described-arrival at croydon; why not now the king's road?--the joliffe hounds--a hunting leader-- anecdotes of the horse, by coachee--the new tunnel at reigate--the baron's chamber--the golden ball--the silver ball--and the golden calf--entrance into brighton._ ~ ~~ that every age is an improved edition of the former i am not (recollecting the splendid relics of antiquity) prepared to admit; but that the present is particularly distinguished for discoveries in science, and vast improvements in mechanical arts, every accurate observer must allow: the _prodigious_ inventions of late years cannot fail in due time of producing that perfectibility, the great consummation denominated the millennium. of all other improvements, perhaps the most conspicuous are in the powers of motion as connected with the mode and means of travelling. with what astonishment, were it possible to reanimate the clay-cold relics, would our ancestors survey the accelerated perfection to which coaching is brought in the present day! the journey from london to brighton, for instance, was, half-a-century since, completed at great risk in twenty-four hours, over a rough road that threatened destruction at every turn; and required the most laborious exertion to reach the summit of precipices that are now, like a ruined spendthrift, cut through and through: the declivities too have disappeared, and from its level face, the whole country would appear to have undergone another revolutionary change, even to the horses, harness, and the driver of the vehicle. in such a country as this, where a disposition to activity and a rambling propensity to seek their fortunes forms one of the most distinguishing characteristics, it was to be expected that travelling would be brought to great perfection; but the most sanguine in this particular could never have anticipated the rapidity with which we are now whirled from one end of the kingdom to the other; fifty-two miles in five hours and a quarter, five changes of horses, and the same coachman to whisk you back again to supper over the same ground, and within the limits of the same day. no _ruts or quarterings_ now--all level as a bowling-green--half-bred blood cattle--bright brass harness--_minute and a half time_ to change--and a well-bred gentlemanly fellow for a coachman, who amuses you ~ ~~with a volume of anecdotes, if you are fortunate enough to secure the box-seat, or touches his hat with the _congee_ of a courtier, as he pockets your tributary shilling at parting. no necessity either for settling your worldly affairs, or taking an affectionate farewell of a long string of relations before starting; travelling being now brought to a security unparalleled, and letters patent having passed the great seal of england to ensure, by means of _safety coaches_, the lives of her rambling subjects. there requires but one other invention to render the whole perfect, and that, if we may believe the newspapers, is very near completion--a coach to go without horses: to this i beg leave to propose, the steam apparatus might be made applicable to all the purposes of a portable kitchen. the coachman, instead of being a good judge of horse-flesh, to be selected from a first rate london tavern for his proficiency in cooking, a known prime hand at decomposing a turtle; instead of a book of roads, in the inside pocket should be placed a copy of mrs. glasse on cookery, or dr. kitchener on culinaries; where the fore-boot now is might be constructed a glazed larder, filled with all the good things in season: then too the accommodation to invalids, the back seat of the coach, might be made applicable to all the purposes of a shampooing or vapour bath--no occasion for molineux or his black rival mahomed; book your patients inside back seat in london, wrap them up in blankets, and give directions to the cook to keep up a good steam thermometer during the journey, °, and you may deliver them safe at brighton, properly hashed and reduced for any further medical experiments. (see engraving, p. .) the accommodation to fat citizens, and western _gourmands_, would be excellent, the very height of luxury and refinement--inhaling the salubrious breeze one moment, and gurgling down the glutinous calipash the next; no ~ ~~exactions of impudent waiters, or imposing landlords, or complaints of dying from hunger, or choking from the want of time to masticate; but every wish gratified and every sense employed. then how jovial and pleasant it would appear to see perched up in front a john bull-looking fellow in a snow-white jacket, with a night-cap and apron of the same, a carving-knife in a case by his side, and a poker in his hand to stir up the steam-furnace, or singe a highwayman's wig, should any one attack the coach; this indeed would be an improvement worthy of the age, and call forth the warmest and most grateful tributes of applause from all ranks in society. for myself, i have always endeavoured to read "men more than books," and have ever found an endless diversity of character, a never-failing source of study and amusement in a trip to a watering-place: perched on the top in summer, or pinched inside in winter of a stage-coach, here, at leisure and unknown, i can watch the varied groups of all nations as they roam about for profit or for pleasure, and note their varieties as they pass away like the retiring landscape, never perhaps to meet the eye again. the excursion to brighton was no sooner finally arranged, than declining the proffered seat in d'almaine's travelling carriage, i packed up my portmanteau, and gave directions to my servant to book me outside at the golden cross, by the seven o'clock morning coach, for brighton; taking care to secure the box-seat, by the payment of an extra shilling to the porter. an inn-yard, particularly such a well-frequented one as the golden cross, charing cross, affords the greatest variety of character and entertainment to a humorist. vehicles to all parts of the kingdom, and from the inscription on the dover coaches, i might add to all parts of the world, _via paris_. "does that coach go the whole way to france?" said an ~ ~~unsuspecting little piece of female simplicity to me, as i stood lolling on the steps at the coach-office door. "certainly," replied i, unthinkingly. "o, then i suppose," said the speaker, "they have finished the projected chain-pier from dover to calais." "france and england united? nothing more impossible," quoth i, correcting the impression i had unintentionally created. "are you going by the brighton, mam?" "yes, i be." "can't _take_ all that luggage." "then you sha'n't _take_ me." "don't wish to be __taken for a waggon-man." "no, but by jasus, friend, you are a wag-on-her," said a merry-faced hibernian, standing by. "have you paid down the _dust_, mam?" inquired the last speaker. "i have paid for my place, sir," said the lady; "and i shall lose two, if i don't go." "then by the powers, cookey, you had better pay for one and a half, and that will include luggage, and then you'll be a half gainer by the bargain." "what a cursed narrow hole this is for a decent-sized man to cram himself in at?" muttered an enormous bulky citizen, sticking half-way in the coach-door, and panting for breath from the violence of his exertions to drag his hind-quarters after him. "take these hampers on the top, jack," said the porter below to the man loading the coach, and quietly rested the baskets across the projecting _ultimatum_ of the fat citizen (to the no little amusement of the bystanders), who through his legs vociferated, "i'll indict you, fellows; i'll be----if i don't, under dick martin's act." "it must be then, my jewel," said the waggish hibernian, "for overloading a mule." "do we take _the whole_ of you to-day, sir?" said coachee, assisting to push him in. "what do you mean by _the whole_? i am only one man." "a master tailor," said coachee, aside, "he must be then, with the _pickings_ of nine poor journeymen in his paunch." "ish tere any room outshide te coach?" bawled out a black-headed little israelite; "ve shall be all shmotered vithin, ~ ~~tish hot day; here are too peepels inshite, vat each might fill a coach by temselves." "all right--all right; take care of your heads, gemmen, going under the gateway; give the bearing rein of the near leader one twist more, and pole up the off wheeler a link or two. all right, tom--all right--stand away from the horses' heads, there--ehewt, fee'e't!"--smack goes the whip, and away goes the brighton times like a congreve rocket, filled with all manner of combustibles. the box-seat has one considerable advantage--it exempts you from the inquisitive and oftentimes impertinent conversation of a mixed group of stage-coach passengers; in addition to which, if you are fond of driving, a foible of mine, i confess, it affords an opportunity for an extra lesson on the noble art of _handling the ribbons_, and at the same time puts you in possession of all the topographical, descriptive, and anecdotal matter relative to the resident gentry and the road. the first two miles from the place of starting is generally occupied in clearing obstructions on the road, taking up old maids at their own houses, with pug-dogs, pattens, and parrots, or pert young misses at their papas' shop-doors; whose mammas take this opportunity of delaying a coach-load of people to display their maternal tenderness at parting, while the junior branches of the family hover round the vehicle, and assail your ears with lisping out their eternal "good b'yes," and the old hairless head of the family is seen slyly _tipping_ coachee an extra shilling to take care of his darling girl. the elephant and castle produces another _pull-up_, and here a branch-coach brings a load of lumber from the city, which, while the porter is stowing away, gives time to exhibit the _lions_ who are leaving london in every direction. king's bench rulers with needy habiliments, and lingering looks, sighing for term-time and ~ ~~a _horse_,{ } on one side the road, and jews, newsmen, and _touters_, on the other; who nearly _give away_ their goods, if you believe them, for the good of the nation, or force you into a coach travelling in direct opposition to the road for which you have been booked, and in which your luggage may by such mischance happily precede you at least half a day. at length all again is declared right, the supervisor delivers his _way-bill_, and forward moves the coach, at a somewhat brisker pace, to kennington common. i shall not detain my readers here with a long dull account of the unfortunate rebels who suffered on this spot in ; but rather direct their attention to a neat protestant church, which has recently been erected on the space between the two roads leading to croydon and sutton, the portico of which is in fine architectural taste, and the whole building a very great accommodation and distinguished ornament to the neighbourhood. about half a mile farther, on the rise of brixton hill, is another newly erected church, the portico in the style of a greek temple, and in an equally commanding situation: from this to croydon, ten miles, you have a tolerable specimen of civic taste in rural architecture. on both sides of the road may be seen a variety of incongruous edifices, called villas and cottage _ornées_, peeping up in all the pride of a retired linen-draper, or the consequential authority of a man in office, in as many varied styles of architecture as of dispositions in the different proprietors, and all exhibiting (in their possessors' opinion) claims to the purest and most refined taste. for example, the basement story is in the chinese or venetian style, the first floor in that of the florid gothic, with tiles and a pediment _à-la-nash_, at the bank; a doorway with inclined jambs, and a hieroglyphic _à-la-greek_: a gable-ended glass _lean to_ on a day-rule, so called. ~ ~~one side, about big enough for a dog-kennel, is called a green-house, while a similar erection on the other affords retirement for the _tit_ and tilbury; the door of which is always set wide open in fine weather, to display to passers-by the splendid equipage of the occupier. the parterre in front (green as the jaundiced eye of their less fortunate brother tradesmen) is enriched with some dozens of vermilion-coloured flower-pots mounted on a japanned verdigris frame, sending forth odoriferous, balmy, and enchanting gales to the grateful olfactory organs, from the half-withered stems of pining and consumptive geraniums; to complete the picture, two unique plaster casts of naked figures, the apollo belvidere and the venus de medici, at most a foot in altitude, are placed on clumsy wooden pedestals of three times that height before the parlour-windows, painted in a chaste flesh-colour, and guarded by a whitechapel bull-cdog, who, like another cerberus, sits growling at the gate to fright away the child of poverty, and insult the less wealthy pedestrian. happy country! where every man can consult his own taste, and build according to his own fancy, amalgamating in one structure all the known orders and varieties, persian, egyptian, athenian, and european. croydon in contained the _archiepiscopal palace_ of the celebrated archbishop parker, who, as well as his successor whitgift, here had frequently the honour to entertain queen elizabeth and her court: the manor since the reign of william the conqueror has belonged to the archbishops of canterbury. the church is a venerable structure, and the stately tower, embowered with woods and flanked by the surrey hills, a most picturesque and commanding object; the interior contains some monuments of antiquity well worthy the attention of the curious. the town itself has little worthy of note except the hospital, ~ ~~founded by archbishop whitgift for a warder and twenty poor men and women, decayed housekeepers of croyden and lambeth: a very comfortable and well-endowed retirement. "this was formerly the king's road," said coachee, "but the radicals having thought proper to insult his majesty on his passing through to brighton during the affair of the late queen, he has ever since gone by the way of sutton: a circumstance that has at least operated to produce one christian virtue among the inhabitants, namely, that of humility; before this there was no _getting change_ for a civil sentence from them." to merstham seven miles, the road winds through a bleak valley called smithem bottom, till recently the favourite resort of the cockney gunners for rabbit-shooting; but whether from the noise of their harmless double-barrel _nocks_, or the more dreadful carnage of the croydon poachers, these animals are now exceedingly scarce in this neighbourhood. just as we came in sight of merstham, the distant view halloo of the huntsman broke upon our ears, when the near-leader rising upon his haunches and neighing with delight at the inspiring sound, gave us to understand that he had not always been used to a life of drudgery, but in earlier times had most likely carried some daring nimrod to the field, and bounded with fiery courage o'er hedge and gate, through dell and brake, outstripping the fleeting wind to gain the honour of _the brush_. ere we had gained the village, reynard and the whole field broke over the road in their scarlet frocks, and dogs and horses made a dash away for a steeple chase across the country, led by the worthy-hearted owner of the pack, the jolly fox-hunting colonel, hilton jolliffe, whose residence caps the summit of the hill. from hence to reigate, four miles farther, there was no circumstance or object of interest, if i except a very romantic tale coachee ~ ~~narrated of his hunting leader, who had of course been bred in the stud of royalty itself, and had since been the property of two or three sporting peers, when, having put out a _spavin_, during the last hunting season, he was sold for a __machiner; but being since fired and turned out, he had come up all right, and was now, according to coachee's disinterested opinion, one of the best hunters in the kingdom. as i was not exactly the customer coachee was looking for, being at the time pretty well mounted, i thought it better to indulge him in the joke, particularly as any doubt on my part might have soured the whip, and made him sullen for the rest of the journey. at reigate a trifling accident happened to one of the springs of the coach, which detained us half an hour, and enabled me to pay a visit to the celebrated sand cavern, where, it is reported, the barons met, during the reign of king john, to hold their councils and draw up that great _palladium_ of english liberty, _magna charta_, which was afterwards signed at runnymede. there was something awful about this stupendous excavation that impressed me with solemn thoughtfulness; it lies about sixty feet from the surface of the earth, and is divided into three apartments with arched roofs, the farthest of which is designated the barons' chamber. time flowed back upon my memory as i sat in the niches hewn out in the sides of the cavern, and meditation deep usurped my mind as i dwelt on the recollections of history; on the "majestic forms, and men of other times, retired to fan the patriotic fire, which, bursting forth at runnymede, with rays of glory lightened all the land!" near to the mouth of this cavern stands the remains of holms castle, celebrated in the history of the civil wars between charles the first and his parliament; and on the site of an ancient monastic establishment, ~ ~~near to the spot, has been erected a handsome modern mansion called the priory of holmsdale, the name of the valley in which the town is situate. returning to the inn i observed the new tunnel, which we had previously passed under, a recent work of great labour and expense, which saves a considerable distance in the approach to the town; it has been principally effected by a wealthy innkeeper, and certainly adds much to the advantage and beauty of the place. coachee had now made all right, and his anxious passengers were again replaced in their former situations to proceed on our journey. the next stage, ten miles, to crawley, a picturesque place, afforded little variety, if i except an immense elm which stands by the side of the road as you enter, and has a door in front to admit the curious into its hollow trunk. our next post was cuckfield, nine miles, where i did not discover any thing worthy of narration; from this to brighton, twelve miles, coachee amused me with some anecdotes of persons whom we passed upon the road. a handsome chariot, with a most divine little creature in the inside, and a good-looking _roué_, with huge mustachios, first attracted my notice: "that is the golden ball," said coachee, "and his new wife; he often _rolls down_ this road for a day or two--spends his cash like an emperor--and before he was _tied up_ used to tip pretty freely for _handling the ribbons_, but that's all up now, for _mamsell_ mercandotti finds him better amusement. a gem-man who often comes down with me says his father was a slopseller in ratcliffe highway, and afterwards marrying the widow of admiral hughes, a rich old west india nabob, he left this young gemman the bulk of his property, and a very worthy fellow he is: but we've another rich fellow that's rather notorious at brighton, which we distinguish by the name of the _silver ball_, only he's a bit of a _screw_, and has lately ~ ~~got himself into a scrape about a pretty actress, from which circumstance they have changed his name to the _foote ball_. i suppose you guess where i am now," said coachee, tipping me one of his knowing winks. "do you see that machine before us, a sort of cabriolet, with two horses drove in a curricle bar? that is another _swell_ who is very fond of brighton, a jew gentleman of the name of solomon, whom the wags have made a christian of by the new appellation of the _golden calf_; but his godfathers were never more out in their lives, for in _splitting a bob_, it's my opinion, he'd bother all bevis marks and the stock exchange into the bargain." in this way we trotted along, gathering good air and information at every step, until we were in sight of brighton downs, a long chain of hills, which appear on either side; with their undulating surfaces covered with the sweet herb wild thyme, and diversified by the numerous flocks of south-down sheep grazing on their loftiest summits. after winding through the romantic valley of preston, the white-fronted houses and glazed bricks of brighton break upon the sight, sparkling in the sun-beams, with a distant glimpse of the sea, appearing, at first sight, to rise above the town like a blue mountain in the distance: we entered the place along what is called the london road, with a view of the pavilion before us, the favourite abode of royalty, shooting its minaret towers and glass dome upwards in the most grotesque character, not unlike the representations of the kremlin at moscow; exciting, at the first glance, among the passengers, the most varied and amusing sallies of witticisms and conjectures.--having procured a sketch of it from this view, i shall leave you to contemplate, while i retire to my inn and make the necessary arrangements for refreshment and future habitation. by way of postscript, i enclose you a very entertaining scene i witnessed between d'almaine and ~ ~~his wife the night previous to my journey: they are strange creatures; but you love eccentrics, and may be amused with this little drama, which formed the motive for my visit. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] the proposition. _family secrets--female tactics--how to carry the point._ ~ ~~"it was ever thus, d'almaine," said lady mary; "always hesitating between a natural liberality of disposition, and a cold, calculating, acquired parsimony, that has never increased our fortune in the sum of sixpence, or added in the slightest degree to our domestic comforts." "all the _prejudice of education_" said d'almaine, good-humouredly; "my old uncle, the banker, to whose bounty we are both much indebted, my dear, early inculcated these notions of thrift into the brain of a certain lighthearted young gentleman, whose buoyant spirits sometimes led him a little beyond the _barrier of prudence_, and too often left him environed with difficulties in the _marshes of impediment_. 'look before you leap,' was a wise saw of the old gentleman's; and 'be just before you're generous,' a proverb that never failed to accompany a temporary supply, or an additional demand upon his generosity."--"hang your old uncle!" replied lady mary, pouting and trying to look ill-tempered in the face of lord henry's good-natured remonstrance,--"i never ask a favour for myself, or solicit you to take the recreation necessary to your own health and that of your family, but i am pestered with the revised musty maxims of your dead old uncle. he has been consigned to the earth these ten years, and ~ ~~if it were not for the ten thousand per annum he left us, ought long since to have shared the fate of his ancestry, whose names were never heard more of than the tributary tablet imparts to the eye of curiosity in a country church, and within whose limits all inquiry ends." "gratitude, lady mary, if not respect for my feelings, should preserve that good man's name from reproach." lord henry's eye was unusually expressive--he continued:--"the coronet that graces your own soul-inspiring face would lack the lustre of its present brilliancy, but for the generous bequest of the old city banker, whose _plum_ was the _sweetest windfall_ that ever dropt into the empty purse of the poor possessor of an ancient baronial title. the old battlements of crackenbury have stood many a siege, 'tis true; but that formidable engine of modern warfare, the _catapulta_ of the auctioneer, had, but for him, proved more destructive to its walls than the battering-ram and hoarse cannonades of ancient rebels." ~ ~~when a woman is foiled at argument, she generally has recourse to finesse. lady mary had made up her mind to carry her point; finding therefore the right column of her vengeance turned by the smart attack of d'almaine's raillery, she was determined to out-flank him with her whole park of well-appointed artillery, consisting of all those endearing, solicitous looks and expressions, that can melt the most obdurate heart, and command a victory over the most experienced general. it was in vain that lord henry urged the unusual heavy expenses of the season in town,--the four hundred paid for the box at the opera,--or the seven hundred for the greys and the new barouche,--the pending demand from messrs. rundell's for the new service of plate,--and the splendid alterations and additions just made to the old family hall,--with ~ ~~numerous other most provoking items which the old steward had conjured up, as if on purpose, to abridge the pleasures of lady mary's intended tour. "it was very _distressing_--she heartily wished there was no such thing as money in the world--it made people very miserable--they were a much happier couple, she contended, when they were merely honourables, and lived upon a paltry two thousand and the expectancy--there never was any difficulty then about money transactions, and a proposition for a trip to a watering-place was always hailed with pleasure."--"true, lady mary; but then you forget we travelled in a stage coach, with your maid on the outside, while my man servant, with a led-horse, followed or preceded us. then, we were content with lodgings on the west-cliff, and the use of a kitchen: now, we require a splendid establishment, must travel in our own chariot, occupy half a mews with our horses, and fill half a good-sized barrack with our servants. then, we could live snug, accept an invitation to dinner with a commoner, and walk or ride about as we pleased, without being pointed at as _lions_ or _raro aves_ just broke loose from the great state aviary at st. james's." "we shall scarcely be discovered," said lady mary, "among the stars that surround the regal planet."--"we shall be much mortified then," said lord henry, facetiously.--"you are very provoking, d'almaine. i know your turf speculations have proved fortunate of late: i witnessed sir charles paying you a large sum the other morning; and i have good reason for thinking you have been successful at the club, for i have not heard your usual morning salutation to your valet, who generally on the occasion of your losses receives more checks than are payable at your bankers. you shall advance me a portion of your winnings, in return for which i promise you good health, good society, and, perhaps, if the stars _shoot ~ ~~rightly_, a good place for our second son. in these days of peace, the distaff can effect more than the field-marshal's baton."--"always provided," said my sire (clapping his hand upon his _os frontis_), "that nothing else _shoots out_ of such condescensions." "but why has brighton the preference as a watering place?" said lord henry: "the isle of wight is, in my opinion, more retired; southampton more select; tunbridge wells more rural; and worthing more social."--"true, d'almaine; but i am not yet so old and woe-begone, so out of conceit with myself, or misanthropic with the world, to choose either the retired, the select, the rural, or the social. i love the bustle of society, enjoy the promenade on the steyne, and the varied character that nightly fills the libraries; i read men, not books, and above all i enjoy the world of fashion. where the king is, there is concentrated all that is delightful in society. your retired dowagers and opposition peers may congregate in rural retirement, and sigh with envy at the enchanting splendour of the court circle; those only who have felt its cheering influence can speak of its inspiring pleasures; and all who have participated in the elegant scene will laugh at the whispers of malignity and the innuendoes of disappointment, which are ever pregnant with some newly invented _on dit_ of scandalous tendency, to libel a circle of whom they know nothing but by report; and that report, in nine instances out of ten, 'the weak invention of the enemy.'" "bravo, lady mary; your spirited defence of the pavilion party does honour to your heart, and displays as much good sense as honest feeling; but a little interest, methinks, lurks about it for all that: i have not forgotten the honour we received on our last visit; and you, i can perceive, anticipate a renewal of the same gratifying condescension; so give james his instructions, and let him proceed to brighton to-morrow to make the necessary arrangements for our arrival." ~ ~~thus ended the colloquy in the usual family manner, when well-bred men entertain something more than mere respect for their elegant and accomplished partners. [illustration: page ] sketches at brighton. _the pavilion party--interior described--royal and noble anecdotes--king and mathews_. ~ ~~i had preceded d'almaine and the countess only a few hours in my arrival at brighton; you know the vivacity and enchanting humour which ever animates that little divinity, and will not therefore be surprised to hear, on her name being announced at the pavilion, we were honoured with a royal invitation to an evening party. i had long sighed for an opportunity to view the interior of that eccentric building; but to have enjoyed such a treat, made doubly attractive by the presence of the king, reposing from the toils of state in his favourite retreat, and surrounded by the select circle of his private friends, was more than my most sanguine expectations could have led me to conjecture. suspending, therefore, my curiosity until the morrow, relative to the steyne, the beach, the libraries, and the characters, i made a desperate effort in embellishing, to look unusually stylish, and as usual, never succeeded so ill in my life. our residence on the grand parade is scarcely a hundred yards from, and overlooks the pavilion--a circumstance which had quite escaped my recollection; for with all the natural anxiety of a young and ardent mind, i had fully equipped myself before the count had even thought of entering his dressing-room. half-an-hour's lounge at the projecting window of our new habitation, on a tine summer's evening, gave me an opportunity of remarking the ~ ~~singular appearance the front of this building presents: "if minarets, rising together, provoke from the lips of the vulgar the old-fashioned joke-- '_de gustibus non est_ (i think) _disputandum_' the taste is plebeian that quizzes at random." there is really something very romantic in the style of its architecture, and by no means inelegant; perhaps it is better suited for the peculiar situation of this marine palace than a more classical or accredited order would be. it has been likened, on its first appearance, to a chess-board; but, in my thinking, it more nearly resembles that soul-inspiring scene, the splendid banquet table, decorated in the best style of modern grandeur, and covered with the usual plate and glass enrichments: for instance, the central dome represents the water magnum, the towers right and left, with their pointed spires, champagne bottles, the square compartments on each side are exactly like the form of our fashionable liqueur stands, the clock tower resembles the centre ornament of a plateau, the various small spires so many enriched _candelabra_, the glass dome a superb dessert dish; but "don't expect, my dear boy, i can similies find for a heap of similitudes so undefined. and why should i censure tastes not my concern? 'tis as well for the arts that all tastes have their turn." if i had written for three hours on the subject, i could not have been more explicit; you have only to arrange the articles in the order enumerated, and you have a model of the upper part of the building before you. at nine o'clock we made our _entré_ into the pavilion, westward, passing through the vestibule and hall, when we entered one of the most superb apartments that art or fancy can devise, whether for richness of effect, decoration, and design: this is ~ ~~called the _chinese gallery_, one hundred and sixty-two feet in length by seventeen feet in breadth, and is divided into five compartments, the centre being illumined with a light of stained glass, on which is represented the god of thunder, as described in the chinese mythology, surrounded by the imperial five-clawed dragons, supporting pendent lanterns, ornamented with corresponding devices. the ceiling or cove is the colour of peach blossom; and a chinese canopy is suspended round from the lower compartment with tassels, bells, &c.: the furniture and other decorations, such as cabinets, chimney-piece, trophies, and banners, which are in the gallery, are all in strict accordance with the chinese taste; while on every side the embellishments present twisted dragons, pagodas, and mythological devices of birds, flowers, insects, statues, formed from a yellow marble; and a rich collection of oriental china. the extreme compartments north and south are occupied by chased brass staircases, the lateral ornaments of which are serpents, and the balusters resemble bamboo. in the north division is the _fum_{ } or chinese bird of royalty: this gallery opens into the music room, an apartment forty-two feet square, with two recesses of ten feet each, and rising in height forty-one feet, to a dome thirty feet in diameter. the magnificence and imposing grandeur of effect surpasses all effort at detail. it presented a scene of enchantment which brought to recollection the florid descriptions, in the persian tales, of the palaces of the genii: the prevailing decoration is executed in green gold, and produces a most singularly splendid effect. on the walls are twelve highly finished paintings, views in china, principally near pekin, imitative of the crimson japan. the fum is said to be found in no part of the world but china. it is described as of most admirable beauty; and their absence for any time from the imperial city regarded as an omen of misfortune to the royal family. the emperor and mandarins have the semblance of these birds embroidered on their vestments. ~ ~~the dome appears to be excavated out of a rock of solid gold, and is supported by an octagonal base, ornamented with the richest chinese devices; at each angle of the room is a pagoda-tower, formed of the most costly materials in glass and china, with lamps attached; beneath the dome and base is a splendid canopy, supported by columns of crimson and gold, with twisted serpents of enormous size, and terrific expression surrounding them. a magnificent organ, by sinclair, the largest and best in the kingdom, occupies the north recess, twenty feet in width, length, and height: there are two entrances to this room, one from the _egyptian gallery_, and another from the yellow drawing-room, each under a rich canopy, supported by gold columns. a beautiful chimney-piece of white statuary marble, and an immense mirror, with splendid draperies of blue, red, and yellow satin, rare china jars, and ornaments in ormolu, increase the dazzling brilliancy of the apartment. as this was my first appearance in the palace, the countess, very considerately, proposed to sir h----t----, who conducted us, that we should walk through the other public apartments, before we were ushered into the presence chamber--a proposition the good-natured equerry very readily complied with. repassing, therefore, the whole length of the chinese gallery, the southern extremity communicates with the _royal banqueting room_, sixty feet in length, by forty-two in breadth: the walls are bounded at the height of twenty-three feet by a cornice, apparently inlaid with pearls and gold, from which spring four ecliptic arches, supported by golden columns, surmounted with a dome, rising to a height of forty-five feet, and constructed to represent an eastern sky; beneath which is seen spreading the broad umbrageous foliage of the luxuriant plantain, bearing its fruit and displaying, in all the progressive stages, ~ ~~the different varieties, from the early blossom to maturity: curious chinese symbols are suspended from the trunk, and connect themselves with a grand lustre, rising to a height of thirty feet, and reflecting the most varied and magical effect, being multiplied by other lustres, in the several angles adjoining. the walls are decorated with groups of figures, nearly the size of life, portraying the costume of the higher classes of the chinese; domestic episodes, painted on a ground of imitative pearl, richly wrought, in all the varied designs of chinese mythology. the furniture is of the most costly description--rose-wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and enriched with _or molu_ chasings of the most elegant design; the effect of which is admirably contrasted with the rich glossy jars of blue porcelain, of english manufacture, and magnificent brilliancy. centrally, between these magnificent apartments, is the rotunda or saloon; an oblong interior of fifty-five feet in length, the decoration chaste and classical in the extreme, being simply white and gold, the enriched cornice being supported by columns and pilasters, and the whole decoration uniting coolness with simplicity. the passages to some of the minor apartments are unique in their style of embellishment, which appears to be of polished white marble, but is, in fact, nothing but a superior dutch tile, cemented smoothly, in plaster of paris, and highly varnished. there are many other private and anterooms to the west of the chinese gallery, the decorations of which are more simple, but in a corresponding style. we had now arrived at the _yellow room (see plate_), where we understood his majesty would receive his evening party. [illustration: page ] the apartment is fifty-six feet in length, by twenty in breadth, and is hung round with a rich fluted drapery of yellow satin, suspended from the ceiling, and representing a magnificent chinese tent, from the centre of which hangs a chandelier of ~ ~~the most splendid design, the light of which is diffused through painted glasses, resembling in shape and colour every variety of the tulip, exciting the greatest admiration. the chimney-piece is chinese, the stove formed by _chimera_ chased in _or molu_, the figures above being models or automatons, of nearly the size of life, dressed in splendid costume, occasionally moving their heads and arms. the furniture of the room is of a similar character to those already described, except the seats, which are ottomans of yellow velvet, the window draperies being of the same splendid material. it was in this truly royal apartment we had the honour of waiting the approach of his majesty, who entered, at about a quarter before ten, apparently in the enjoyment of the most excellent health and highest spirits. he was preceded by sir a. f. barnard and lord francis conyngham, the grooms in waiting, and entered with the princess augusta leaning on his arm, the left of her royal highness being supported by the duke of york; the marquis of conyngham followed, leading in his marchioness; and the beautiful and accomplished lady elizabeth honoured sir william knighton as her conductor. the old earl of arran came hobbling on his crutches, dreadfully afflicted with the gout. sir c. paget, that merry son of neptune, with sir e. nagle, followed; the rear being brought up by the fascinating countess of warwick and her ever constant earl. _(see plate.)_ do not imagine, my dear bernard, that i shall so far outrage the honourable feelings of a gentleman as to relate every word, look, or action, of this illustrious party, for the rude ear of eager curiosity. those only who have witnessed the monarch in private life, freed from the weight of state affairs, and necessary regal accompaniments, can form a correct judgment of the unaffected goodness of his heart; the easy affability, and pliant condescension, with which he can divest ~ ~~every one around him of any feeling of restraint--the uncommon sprightliness and vivacity he displays in conversation--the life and soul of all that is elegant and classical, and the willing participator and promoter of a good joke. suffice it to say, the reception was flattering in the extreme, the entertainment conversational and highly intellectual. the moments flew so quickly, that i could have wished the hour of eleven, the period of the king's retiring, had been extended to the noontide of the morrow. but is this all, i think i can hear you say, this friend of my heart dares to repose with me on a subject so agreeable? no--you shall have a few _on dits_, but nothing touching on the scandalous; gleanings, from sir e---- and sir c----, the jesters of our sovereign lord the king; but nothing that might excite a blush in the cheek of the lovely countess, to whom i was indebted for the honour and delight i on that occasion experienced. imprimis:--i know you are intimate with that inimitable child of whim, charles mathews. he is in high estimation with royalty, i assure you; and annually receives the king's command to deliver a selection from his popular entertainments before him--an amusement of which his majesty speaks in terms of the warmest admiration. on the last occasion, a little _scena_ occurred that must have been highly amusing; as it displays at once the kind recollections of the king, and his amiable disposition. as i had it from sir c----, you may depend upon its authenticity. i shall denominate it the king at home, or mathews in carlton palace. _(see plate.)_ [illustration: page ] previous to mathews leaving this country for america, he exhibited a selection from his popular entertainments, by command of his majesty, at carlton palace.--a party of not more than six or eight persons were present, including the princess augusta and the marchioness of conyngham. during ~ ~~the entertainment (with which the king appeared much delighted), mathews introduced his imitations of various performers on the british stage, and was proceeding with john kemble in the stranger, when he was interrupted by the king, who, in the most affable manner, observed that his general imitations were excellent, and such as no one who had ever seen the characters could fail to recognise; but he thought the comedian's portrait of john kemble somewhat too boisterous.--"he is an old friend, and i might add, tutor of mine," observed his majesty: "when i was prince of wales he often favoured me with his company. i will give you an imitation of john kemble," said the good-humoured monarch. mathews was electrified. the lords of the bed-chamber eyed each other with surprise. the king rose and prefaced his imitations by observing, "i once requested john kemble to take a pinch of snuff with me, and for this purpose placed my box on the table before him, saying 'kemble, oblige (obleege) me by taking a pinch of snuff' he took a pinch, and then addressed me thus:--(here his majesty assumed the peculiar carriage of mr. kemble.) 'i thank your royal highness for your snuff, but, in future, do extend your royal jaws a little wider, and say oblige.'" the anecdote was given with the most powerful similitude to the actor's voice and manners, and had an astonishing effect on the party present. it is a circumstance equally worthy of the king and the scholar. mathews, at the conclusion, requested permission to offer an original anecdote of kemble, which had some affinity to the foregoing. kemble had been for many years the intimate friend of the earl of aberdeen. on one occasion he had called on that nobleman during his morning's ride, and left mrs. kemble in the carriage at the door. john and the noble earl were closely engaged on some literary subject a very long time, while mrs. kemble was ~ ~~shivering in the carriage (it being very cold weather). at length her patience being exhausted, she directed her servant to inform his master that she was waiting, and feared the cold weather would bring on an attack of the rheumatism. the fellow proceeded to the door of the earl's study, and delivered his message, leaving out the final letter in rheumatism.--this he had repeated three several times, by direction of his mistress, before he could obtain an answer. at length, kemble, roused from his subject by the importunities of the servant, replied, somewhat petulantly, "tell your mistress i shall not come, and, fellow, do you in future say '_tism_." among the party assembled on this occasion was the favoured son of esculapius, sir w---- k----, the secret of whose elevation to the highest confidence of royalty is one of those mysteries of the age which it is in vain to attempt to unravel, and which, perhaps, cannot be known to more than two persons in existence: great and irresistible, however, must that influence be, whether moral or physical, which could obtain such dominion over the mind as to throw into the shade the claims of rank and courtly _lions_, and place an humble disciple of esculapius on the very summit of royal favour. of his gentlemanly and amusing talents in society every one must speak in terms of the highest praise, and equally flattering are the reports of his medical skill; but many are the fleeting causes and conjectures assigned for his supremacy--reports which may not be written here, lest i assist in the courtly prattle of misrepresentation. sir w---- was, i believe, the executor of an old and highly-favoured confidential secretary; might not _certain circumstances_ arising out of that trust have paved the way to his elevation? if the intense merits of the individual have raised him to the dazzling ~ ~~height, the world cannot value them too highly, and sufficiently extol the discrimination of the first sovereign and first gentleman of the age who could discover and reward desert with such distinguished honour. but if his elevation is the result of any sacrifice of principle, or of any courtly intrigue to remove a once equally fortunate rival, and pave his path with gold, there are few who would envy the favoured minion: against such suspicion, however, we have the evidence of a life of honour, and the general estimation of society. of his predecessor, and the causes for his removal, i have heard some curious anecdotes, but these you shall have when we meet. a very good story is in circulation here among the court circle relative to the eccentric lady c---- l----, and a young marchioness, who, spite of the remonstrances of her friends and the general good taste of the ladies in that particular, recently selected an old man for a husband, in preference to a choice of at least twenty young and titled, dashing _roués_: the whim and caprice of the former is notorious, while the life and animation of the little marchioness renders her the brightest star of attraction in the hemisphere of fashion. "i should like to see billingsgate, amazingly," said the marchioness to her eccentric friend, while reading a humorous article on the subject in the morning chronicle. "it must be entertaining to hear the peculiar phraseology and observe the humorous vulgarities of these _naiades_, if one could do so _incog_." "and why not, my dear?" said lady c----; "you know there never was a female quixote in existence among the petticoat blue-stockings, from lady wortley montague to lady morgan, who was more deeply affected with the tom and jerry _mania_ than i am: leave all to me, and i'll answer for taking you there safely, enjoying the scene securely, and escaping without chance of detection." with lady ~ ~~c---- a whim of this description is by no means unusual, and the necessary attendance of a confidential servant to protect, in case of danger, a very essential personage. to this mercury, lady c---- confided her plan; giving directions for the completion of it on the morning of the morrow, and instructing him to obtain disguises from his wife, who is an upper servant in the family, for the use of the ladies. john, although perfectly free from any alarm on account of lady c----, should the whim become known, was not so easy in respect to the young and attractive marchioness, whose consort, should any thing unpleasant occur, john wisely calculated, might interfere to remove him from his situation. with this resolve he prudently communicated the ladies' intention to a confidential friend of the marquis, who, on receiving an intimation of their intentions, laughed at the whim, and determined to humour the joke, by attending the place, properly disguised, to watch at a distance the frolic of the ladies. the next morning, at the appointed hour, the footman brought a hackney-coach to the door, and the ladies were quickly conveyed to the scene of action, followed (unknowingly) by the marquis and his friend. here they amused themselves for some time in walking about and observing the bustle and variety of the, to them, very novel scene; soon, however, fatigued with the mobbing, thrusting, and filthiness, which is characteristic of the place, the marchioness was for returning, remarking to her friend that she had as yet heard none of that singular broad humour for which these nymphs of the fish-market were so celebrated. "then you shall have a specimen directly," said lady c----, "if i can provoke it; only prepare your ethics and your ears for a slight shock; "and immediately approaching an old fresh-water dragon, who sat behind an adjoining stall, with a countenance spirited in the ~ ~~extreme, and glowing with all the beautiful varieties of the ultra-marine and vermilion, produced by the all-potent properties of hodge's full-proof, she proceeded to cheapen the head and shoulders of a fine fish that lay in front of her, forcing her fingers under the gills, according to the approved custom of good housewives, to ascertain if it was fresh. [illustration: page ] after a parley as to price, lady c---- hinted that she doubted its being perfectly sweet: the very suspicion of vending an unsavoury article roused the old she-dragon at once into one of the most terrific passions imaginable, and directing all her ire against the ladies, she poured forth a volley of abuse fiery and appalling as the lava of a volcano, which concluded as follows.--"not sweet, you ----," said the offended deity; "how can i answer for its sweetness, when you have been tickling his gills with your stinking paws " _(see plate.)_ the marchioness retreated at the first burst of the storm, but lady c----continued to provoke the old naiad of the shambles, till she had fully satisfied her humour. again safely escorted home by the liveried mercury, the ladies thought to have enjoyed their joke in perfect security; but what was their astonishment, when on meeting the marquis and a select party at dinner, to find the identical fish served up at their own table, and the marquis amusing his friends by relating the whole circumstances of the frolic, as having occurred to two ladies of distinction during the laughter-loving days of charles the second. i need not animadvert upon the peculiar situation of the ladies, who, blushing through a crimson veil of the deepest hue, bore the raillery of the party assembled with as much good sense as good nature; acknowledging the frolic, and joining in the laugh the joke produced. beneath, you have one of our facetious friend bob transit's humorous sketches of an incident said to have occurred near b---- h----: in which an eccentric ~ ~~lady chose to call up the servants in the dead of the night, order out the carriage, and mounting the box herself, insisted upon giving the footman, who had been somewhat tardy in leaving his bed, a gentle airing in his shirt. [illustration: page ] characters on the beach and steyne, brighton. _on bathing and bathers--advantages of shampooing--french decency--brighton politeness--sketches of character--the banker's widow--miss jefferies--mrs. f----l--peter paragraph, the london correspondent--jack smith--the french consul--paphian divinities--c---- l----, esq.-- squeeze into the libraries--the new plunging bath--chain pier--cockney comicalities--royal gardens--the club house._ ~ ~~the next morning early i proceeded to the beach to enjoy the delightful and invigorating pleasure of sea-bathing. the clean pebble shore extending, as it does here, for a long distance beneath the east cliff, is a great advantage to those who, from indisposition or luxury, seek a dip in the ocean. one practice struck me as being a little objectionable, namely, the machines of the males and females being placed not only within sight of each other, but actually close alongside; by which circumstance, the sportive nymphs sometimes display more of nature's charms to the eager gaze of her wanton sons than befits me to tell, or decency to dwell on. i could not, however, with all the purity of my ethics, help envying a robust fellow who was assisting in clucking the dear unencumbered creatures under the rising wave.{ } some of the female bathers are very adventurous, and from the great drawback of water many accidents have occurred. i was much amused one morning with three sisters, in the machine adjoining mine, continually crying out to a male attendant "to push on, and not be afraid of the consequences; we can all swim well," said one of the miss b----'s (well known as the _marine graces_). "but my machine a'n't water-tight," replied the bathing-man, "and if i trust it any farther in, i shall never be able to get it out again." a frenchman who came down to bathe with his wife and sister insisted upon using the same machine with the ladies; the bathing-women remonstrated, but _monsieur_ retorted very fairly thus--"_mon dieu i vat is dat vat you tell me about décence. tromperie_--shall i no dip _mon femme a sour_ myself vith quite as much _bienséance_ as dat vulgar brute vat i see ducking de ladies yondere?" ~ ~~the naiads of the deep are a strange race of mortals, half fish and half human, with a masculine coarseness of manner that, i am told, has been faithfully copied from their great original, the once celebrated martha gun. it is not unusual for these women to continue in the water up to their waists for four hours at a time, without suffering the least affection of cold or rheumatism, and living to a great age. a dingy empiric has invented a new system of _humbug_ which is in great repute here, and is called _shampooing_; a sort of stewing alive by steam, sweetened by being forced through odoriferous herbs, and undergoing the pleasant sensation of being dabbed all the while with pads of flannels through holes in the wet blankets that surround you, until the cartilaginous substances of your joints are made as pliable as the ligaments of boiled calves' feet, your whole system relaxed and unnerved, and your trembling legs as useless in supporting your body as a pair of boots would be without the usual quantity of flesh and bone within them. the steyne affords excellent subject for the study of character, and the pencil of the humorist; the walks round are paved with brick, which, when the thermometer is something above eighty-six in the shade (the case just now), is very like pacing your parched feet over the pantiles of a turkish stove. there is, indeed, a ~ ~~grass-plot within the rails, but the luxury of walking upon it is reserved for the fishermen of the place exclusively, except on some extraordinary occasion, when the whole rabble of the town are let loose to annoy the visitants by puffing tobacco smoke in their faces, or jostling and insulting them with coarse ribaldry, until the genteel and decent are compelled to quit the promenade. i have had two or three such specimens of brighton manners while staying here, and could only wish i had the assistance of about twenty of the _oxford_togati_, trinitarians, or bachelors of brazennose. i think we should hit upon some expedient to tame these brutes, and teach them civilized conduct--an herculean labour which the town authorities seem afraid to attempt. the easy distance between this and the metropolis, with the great advantages of expeditious travelling, enable the multitudinous population of london to pour forth its motley groups, in greater variety than at any other watering place, margate excepted, with, however, this difference in favour of the former, that the mixture had more of the sprinkling of fashion about them, here and there a name of note, a splendid equipage, or a dazzling star, to illumine the dull nomenclatures in the library books of the johnson's, the thomson's, the brown's, and the levi's. the last-mentioned fraternity congregate here in shoals, usurp all the best lodgings, at the windows of which they are to be seen soliciting notice, with their hooked noses, copper countenances, and inquisitive eyes, decked out in all the faded finery of petticoat-lane, or bevis marks; while the heads of the houses of israel run down on a saturday, after the stock exchange closes, and often do as much business here on the sabbath, in gambling speculations for the _account day_, as they have done all the week before in london. here, too, you have the felicity to meet your tailor in his tandem, your ~ ~~butcher on his _trotter_, your shoemaker in a _fly_, and your wine-merchant with his bit of blood, his girl, and tilbury, making a greater splash than yourself, and pleasantly pointing you out to observation as a long-winded one, a great gambler, or some other such gratuitous return for your ill-bestowed patronage. to amalgamate with such _canaille_ is impossible--you are therefore driven into seclusion, or compelled to confine your visits and amusements to nearly the same circle you have just left london to be relieved from. among the "observed" of the present time, the great star of attraction is the rich banker's widow, who occupies the corner house of the grand parade, eclipsing in splendid equipages and attendants an eastern nabob, or royalty itself. good fortune threw old crony in my way, just as i had caught a glimpse of the widow's cap: you know his dry sarcastic humour and tenacious memory, and perhaps i ought to add, my inquisitive disposition. from him i gleaned a sketch of the widow's history, adorned with a few comments, which gallantry to the fair sex will not allow me to repeat. she had just joined conversation with the marquis of h----, who was attended by jackson, the pugilist; an illustrious personage and a noble earl were on her left; while behind the _jolie_ dame, at a respectful distance, paced two liveried emblems of her deceased husband's bounty, clad in the sad habiliments of woe, and looking as merry as mutes at a rich man's funeral. _(see plate.) [illustration: page ] "she has the reputation of being very charitable," said i. "she has," responded crony; "but the total neglect of poor wewitzer, in the hour of penury and sickness, is no proof of her feeling, much less of her generosity. i have known her long," continued crony, "from her earliest days of obscurity and indigence to these of unexampled prosperity, and i never could agree with common report in that particular." i dare say i looked at this moment very ~ ~~significantly; for crony, without waiting my request, continued his history. "her father was the gay and dissolute jack kinnear, well known in dublin for his eccentricities about the time of the rebellion, in which affair he made himself so conspicuous that he was compelled to expatriate, and fled to england by way of liverpool; where his means soon failing, jack, never at a loss, took up the profession of an actor, and succeeded admirably. his animated style and attractive person are still spoken of with delight by many of the old inhabitants of carlisle, rochdale, kendal, and the neighbouring towns of lancashire, where he first made his appearance in an itinerant company, then under the management of a man of the name of bibby, and in whose house, under very peculiar circumstances, our heroine was born; but 'merit and worth from no condition rise; act well your part--there all the honour lies.' ~ ~~that little harriet was a child of much promise there is no doubt, playing, in her mother's name, at a very early period, all the juvenile parts in bibby's company with great _éclat_ until she attained the age of eighteen, when her abilities procured her a situation to fill the first parts in genteel comedy in the theatres-royal manchester and liverpool. from this time her fame increased rapidly, which was not a little enhanced by her attractive person, and consequent number of admirers; for even among the cotton lords of manchester a fine-grown, raven-locked, black-eyed brunette, arch, playful, and clever, could not fail to create sensations of desire: but at this time the affections of the lady were fixed on a son of thespis, then a member of the same company, and to whom she was shortly afterwards betrothed; but the marriage, from some capricious cause or other, was never consummated: the actor, well-known as scotch grant, is now much reduced in life, and a member of ~ ~~one of the minor companies of the metropolis. on her quitting liverpool, in , she played at the stafford theatre during the election contest, where, having the good-fortune to form an intimacy with the hortons, a highly-respectable family then resident there, and great friends of sheridan, they succeeded, on the return of that gentleman to parliament for the borough of stafford, to obtain from him an engagement for our heroine at the theatre-royal drury lane, of which he was at that time proprietor. 'brevity is the soul of wit,'" said crony: "i shall not attempt to enumerate all the parts she played there; suffice it to say, she was successful, and became a great favourite with the public. it was here she first attracted the notice of the rich old banker, who having just discarded another actress, mrs. m----r, whom he had kept some time, on account of an intimacy he discovered with the lady and p----e, the oboe player, he made certain propositions, accompanied with such liberal presents, that the fair yielded to the all-powerful influence, not of love, but gold; and having, through the interference of poor w----, secured to herself a settlement which made her independent for life, threw out the well-planned story of the lottery ticket, as a 'tub to the whale': a stratagem that, for some time, succeeded admirably, until a malicious wag belonging to the company undertook to solve the riddle of her prosperity, by pretending to bet a wager of one hundred, that the lady had actually gained twenty thousand pounds by the lottery, and he would name the ticket: with this excuse, for what otherwise might have been deemed impertinent, he put the question, and out of the reply developed the whole affair. all london now rung with the splendour of her equipage, the extent of her charities, and the liberality of her conduct to an old actor and a young female friend, miss s----n, who was invariably seen with ~ ~~her in public. such was the notoriety of the intimacy, that the three married daughters of the banker, all persons of title and the highest respectability, thought it right to question their father, relative to the truth of the reports in circulation. whatever might have been their apprehensions, their fears were quieted by the information, that the lady in question was a natural daughter, born previous to the alliance to which they owed their birth: this assurance not only induced the parties to admit her to their presence, but she was also introduced to, and became intimate with, the wife of the man to whom she owes her present good fortune. it was now, that, feeling herself secure, she displayed that capricious feeling which has since marked her character: poor w----r, her mentor and defender, was on some mere pretence abandoned, and a sturdy blustering fellow, in the same profession, substituted for the sincere adviser, the witty and agreeable companion: it was to r----d she sent a present of one thousand pounds, for a single ticket, on his benefit night. but her ambition had not yet attained its highest point: the banker's wife died, and our fortunate heroine was elected to her place while yet the clay-cold corse of her predecessor remained above ground; a circumstance, which brought down a heavy calamity on the clerical who performed the marriage rites,{ } but which was remedied by an annuity from the banker. from this period, the haughty bearing of the lady exceeded all bounds; the splendour of her establishment, the extravagance of her parties, and the munificence of her charities, trumpeted forth by that many-tongued oracle, the public press, eclipsed the brilliancy of the saturnine b----n, the author of 'the stage,' a poem, on hearing the day after her marriage with the banker, a conversation relative to her age, said he was sure the party were all in error, as there could be no doubt the lady was on the previous night _under age_. ~ ~~royal banquets, and outshone the greatest and wealthiest of the stars of fashion. about this time, her hitherto inseparable companion made a slip with a certain amorous manager; and such was the indignation of our moral heroine on the discovery, that she spurned the unfortunate from her for ever, and actually turned the offending spark out of doors herself, accompanying the act with a very unladylike demonstration of her vengeance. b----d, her most obsequious servant, died suddenly. poor dr. j---- a----s, who gave up a highly respectable and increasing practice, in greek-street, soho, as a physician, to attend, exclusively, on the 'geud auld mon' and his rib, met such a return for his kindness and attention, that he committed suicide. her next friend, a mr. g----n, a very handsome young man, who was induced to quit his situation in the bank for the office of private secretary, made a mistake one night, and eloped with the female confidante of the banker's wife, a crime for which the perpetrator could never hope to meet with forgiveness. it is not a little singular," said crony, "that almost all her intimate acquaintances have, sooner or later, fallen into disrepute with their patroness, and felt how weak is the reliance upon the capricious and the wayward." on the death of the old banker, our heroine had so wheedled the dotard, that he left her, to the surprise of the world, the whole of his immense property, recommending only certain legacies, and leaving an honourable and high-minded family dependent upon her bountiful consideration. "i could relate some very extraordinary anecdotes arising out of that circumstance," said crony; "but you must be content with one, farcical in the extreme, which fully displays the lady's affection for her former profession, and shows she is a perfect mistress of stage effect. on the removal of the shrivelled remains of the old dotard for interment, his affectionate rib accompanied the ~ ~~procession, and when they rested for the night at an inn on the road, guarded them in death as she had done in the close of life, by sleeping on a sofa in the same room. cruel, cruel separation! what a scene for the revival of 'grief à la mode!' "but she is unhappy with all her wealth," said the cynic. "careless as some portion of our nobility are in their choice of companions for their sports or pleasures, they have yet too much consideration left of what is due to their rank, their wives, and daughters, not to hesitate before they receive----. but never mind," said crony; "you know the rest. you must have heard of a recent calamity which threatened the lady; and on which that mad wag, john bull, let fly some cutting jokes. a very sagacious police magistrate, accompanied by one of his _indefatigables_, went to _inspect the premises_, accompanied by a gentleman of the faculty; but, after all their united efforts to unravel the mystery, it turned out a mere _scratch_, a very flat affair. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~"i think," said crony, "we have now arrived at the ultimatum of the widow's history, and may as well take a turn or two up the steyne, to look out for other character. the ancient female you perceive yonder, leaning on her tall gold-headed cane, is miss j----s, a maid of honour to the late queen charlotte, and the particular friend of mrs. f----l: said to be the only one left out of eight persons, who accompanied two celebrated personages, many years since, in a stolen matrimonial speculation to calais. she is as highly respected as her friend mrs. f----l is beloved here." "who the deuce is that strange looking character yonder, enveloped in a boat-cloak, and muffled up to the eyes with a black handkerchief?" "that is a very important personage in a watering place, i assure you," replied crony; "being no other than the celebrated peter paragraph, the london correspondent to the morning post, who involves, to use his own phrase, the whole hemisphere of fashion in his mystifications and reports: informs the readers of that paper how many rays of sunshine have exhilarated the brightonians during the week, furnishes a correct journal of fogs, rains, storms, shipwrecks, and hazy mists; and, above all, announces the arrivals and departures, mixing up royal and noble fashionables and _kitchen stuff'_ in the same beautiful obscurity of diction. peter was formerly a _friseur_; but has long since quitted the shaving and cutting profession for the more profitable calling of collector of _on dits_ and _puffs extraordinaire_. the swaggering broad-shouldered blade who follows near him, with a frontispiece like the red lion, is the well-known radical, jack s----h, now agent to the french consul for this place, and the unsuccessful candidate for the _independent_ borough of shoreham." "a complete eccentric, by all my hopes of pleasure! crony, who are those two dashing divinities, who come tripping along so lively yonder?" "daughters of ~ ~~pleasure," replied the cynic; "a pair of justly celebrated paphians, west-end comets, who have come here, no doubt, with the double view of profit and amusement. the plump looking dame on the right, is aug--ta c--ri, (otherwise lady h----e); so called after the p--n--ss a----a, her godmamma. her father, old ab--t, one of q----n c----te's _original_ german pages, brought up a large family in respectability, under the fostering protection of his royal mistress. aug----ta, at the early age of fifteen, eloped from st. james's, on a matrimonial speculation with a young musician, mr. an----y c----, (himself a boy of )! from such a union what could be expected? a mother at , and a neglected dishonoured wife, before she had counted many years of womanhood. if she fell an unresisting victim to the seduction which her youth, beauty, and musical talents attracted, '_her stars were more to blame than she._' let it be recorded, however, that her conduct as wife and mother was free from reproach, until a _depraved, unnatural_ man (who by the way has since fled the country) set her the example of licentiousness. "amongst her earliest admirers, was the wealthy citizen, mr. s---- m----, a bon vivant, a _five-bottle_ man (who has, not unaptly, been since nominated a representative in p----l for one of the _cinque ports_). to this witty man's generous care she is indebted for an annuity, which, with common prudence, ought to secure her from want during her own life. on her departure from this lover, which proceeded entirely from her own caprice and restless extravagance, the vain aug--ta launched at once into all the dangerous pleasures of a cyprian life. the court, the city, and the _'change_, paid homage to her charms. one high in the r----l h----h----id wore her chains for many months; and it was probably more in the spirit of revenge for open neglect, than admiration of such a ~ ~~faded beau, that lady g---- b---- admitted the e---- of b----e to usurp the husband's place and privilege. it is extraordinary that the circumstance just mentioned, which was notorious, was not brought forward in mitigation of the damages for the loss of conjugal joys; and which a jury of citizens, with a tender feeling for their own honour, valued at ten thousand pounds. my lord g---- b---- pocketed the injury and the ten thousand,; and his noble substitute has since made the 'amende honorable' to public morals, by uniting his destinies with an amiable woman, the daughter of a doctor of music, and a beauty of the sister country, who does honour to the rank to which she has been so unexpectedly elevated. "mrs. c----i had no acquaintance of her own sex in the world of gaiety but one; the beautiful, interesting, mademoiselle st. m--g--te, then ( and ) in the zenith of her charms. the gentle ad--l--de, whose sylph-like form, graceful movements, and highly polished manner, delighted all who knew her, formed a strange and striking contrast to the short, fat, bustling, salacious aug--ta, whose boisterous bon-mots, and horse-laughical bursts, astonished rather than charmed. both, however, found abundance of admirers to their several tastes. it was early in the spring of that the subject of this article had the good or evil fortune to attract the eye of a noble lord of some notoriety, who pounced on his plump prey with more of the amorous assurance of the bird of jove than the cautious hoverings of the wary h--ke. love like his admitted of no delay. preliminaries were soon arranged, under the auspices of that experienced matron, madame d'e--v--e, whose address, in this delicate negotiation, extorted from his lordship's generosity, besides a cheque on h----d and g--bbs for a cool hundred, the payment of 'brother martin's' old score, of long standing, for bed and board at madame's house of business, little st. martin's-~ ~~street. the public have been amused with the ridiculous story of the mock marriage; but whatever were his faults or follies, and he is since called to his account, his l--ds--p stands guiltless of this. 'tis true, her 'ladyship' asserted, nay, we believe, swore as much; but she is known to possess such boundless imaginative faculties, that her nearest and dearest friends have never yet been able to detect her in the weakness of uttering a palpable truth. the assumption of the name and title arose out of a circumstance so strange, so ridiculous, and so unsavoury, that, with all our 'gusto' for fun, we must omit it: suffice it to say, that it originated in--what?--gentle reader--in a dose of physic!!! for further particulars, apply to mrs. c----l, of the c--s--le s--t--h--ll. after this strange event, which imparted to her ladyship all the honours of the coronet, mrs. c----i was to be seen in the park, from day to day; the envy of every less fortunate dolly, and the horror of the few friends which folly left her lordly dupe. in this state of doubtful felicity her ladyship rolled on (for she almost lived in her carriage) for three years; when, alas! by some cruel caprice of love, or some detected intrigue, or from the holy scruples of his lordship's reverend adviser, padre ambrosio, this connexion was suddenly dissolved at paris; when mrs. c----, no longer acknowledged as my lady, was at an hour's notice packed off in the dilly for dover, and her jewels, in half the time, packed up in their casket and despatched to lafitte's, in order to raise the ways and means for the peer and his ghostly confessor! "her ladyship's next attempt at notoriety was her grand masked ball at the argyll rooms in ; an entertainment which, for elegant display and superior arrangement, did great credit to her taste, or to that of her broad-shouldered milesian friend, to whom it is said the management of the whole was committed. the expense of this act of folly has been variously ~ ~~estimated; and the honour of defraying it gratuitously allotted to an illustrious commander, whose former weakness and culpability has been amply redeemed by years of truly r----l benevolence and public service. we can state, however, that neither the purse or person of the royal d----contributed to the _éclat_ of the _fête_. an amorous hebrew city clerk, who had long '_looked and loved_' at humble distance, taking advantage of his uncle's absence on the continent in a _diamond hunting_ speculation, having left the immediate jewel of his soul, his cash, at home, the enamoured youth seized the very 'nick o' time,' furnished half the funds for the night, for half a morning's conversation in upper y--street: her ladyship's indefatigable industry furnished the other moiety in a couple of days. a mr. z--ch--y contributed fifty, which coming to the ears of his sandy-haired lassie, his own paid forfeit of his folly, to their almost total abstraction from the thick head to which they project with asinine pride. since this splash in the whirlpool of fashionable folly, her 'ladyship,' for she clings to the rank with all the tenacity of a fencible field officer, has lived in comparative retirement near e--dg--e r--d, nursing a bantling of the new era, and singing '_john anderson my joe_' to her now 'gude man;' only occasionally relapsing into former gaieties by a sly trip to box hill or virginia water with the grandson of a barber, a flush but gawky boy, who, forgetting that it is to the talents and judicial virtues of his honoured sire he owes his elevation, rejects that proud and wholesome example; and, by his arrogance and vanity, excites pity for the father and contempt for the son. her ladyship, who by her own confession has been 'just nine and twenty' for the last ten years, may still boast of her conquests. her amour with the _yellow dwarf_ of g--vs--r p--e is too good to be lost. they are followed by one, who, time was, would have chased them round the steyne ~ ~~and into cover with all the spirit of a true sportsman; but his days of revelry are past,--that is the celebrated _roué_, c---- l----, a '_trifle light as air,_' yet in nature's spite a very ultra in the pursuit of gallantry. to record the number of frail fair ones to whose charms he owned ephemeral homage would fill a volume. the wantons wife whose vices sunk her from the drawing-room to the lobby; the{ } kitchen wench, whose pretty face and lewd ambition raised her to it; the romance bewildered{ } miss, and the rude unlettered { } villager, the hardened drunken profligate, and the timid half-ruined victim (the almost infant jenny!) have all in turn tasted his bounty and his wine, have each been honoured with a page in his trifles: of his caresses he wisely was more chary. which of the frail sisterhood has not had a ride in g---- l----'s worn out in the service and which in its day might be said to roll mechanically from c----l----to c----s-s--t, with almost instinctive precision. but his days of poesy and nights of folly are now past! honest c----has taken the hint from nature, and retired, at once, from the republics of venus and of letters. a kind, a generous, and a susceptible heart like his must long ere this have found, in the arms of an amiable wife, those unfading and honourable joys which, reflection must convince him, were not to be extracted from those foul and polluted sources from whence he sought and drew a short-lived pleasure." you know crony's affection for a good dinner, and will not therefore be surprised that i had the honour of his company this day; but i'faith he deserved his reward for the cheerfulness and amusement with which he contrived to kill time. lady b----e. mrs. h----y. louisa v----e. mrs. s--d--s. mrs. s--mm--ns. ~ ~~in the evening it was proposed to visit the libraries; but as these places of public resort are not always eligible for the appearance of a star, crony and myself were despatched first to reconnoitre and report to the countess our opinions of the assembled group. the association of society has perhaps undergone a greater change in england within the last thirty years than any other of our peculiar characteristics; at least, i should guess so from crony's descriptions of the persons who formerly honoured the libraries with their presence; but whose names (if they now condescend to subscribe) are entered in a separate book, that they may not be defiled by appearing in the same column with the plebeian host of the three nations who form the united family of great britain. "ay, sir," said crony, with a sigh that bespoke the bitterness of reflection, "i remember when this spot (luccombe's library) was the resort of all the beauty and brilliancy that once illumined the hemisphere of calton palace,--the satellites of the heir apparent, the brave, the witty, and the gay,--the soul-inspiring, mirthful band, whose talents gave a splendid lustre to the orb of royalty, far surpassing the most costly jewel in his princely coronet. but they are gone, struck to the earth by the desolating hand of the avenger death, and have left no traces of their genius upon the minds of their successors." of the motley assemblage which now surrounds us it would be difficult to attempt a picture. the pencil of a cruikshank or a rowlandson might indeed convey some idea; but all weaker hands would find the subject overpowering. a mob of manufacturers, melting hot, elbowing one another into ill-humour, by their anxiety to teach their offspring the fashionable vice of gaming; giving the pretty innocents a taste for _loo_, which generally ends in _loo_-sening what little purity of principle the prejudice of education has left upon their intellect. in our more fashionable _hells_, wine and choice _liqueurs_ are the stimulants ~ ~~to vice; here, the seduction consists in the strumming of an ill-toned piano, to the squeaking of some poor discordant whom poverty compels to public exposure; and who, generally being of the softer sex, pity protects from the severity of critical remark. i need not say our report to the dalmaines was unfavourable; and the divine little countess, frustrated in her intentions of honouring the libraries with her presence, determined upon promenading up the west cliff, attended by old crony and myself. the bright-eyed goddess of the night emitted a ray of more than usual brilliancy, and o'er the blue waters of the deep spread forth a silvery and refulgent lustre, that lent a charm of magical inspiration to the rippling waves. for what of nature's mighty works can more delight, than '----circling ocean, when the swell by zephyrs borne from off the main, heaves to the breeze, and sinks again?' the deep murmuring of the hollow surge as it rolls over the pebble beach, the fresh current of saline air that braces and invigorates, and the uninterrupted view of the watery expanse, are attractions of delight and contemplation which are nowhere to be enjoyed in greater perfection than at brighton. the serenity of the evening induced us to pass the barrier of the chain-pier, and bend our steps towards the projecting extremity of that ingenious structure. an old welsh harper was touching his instrument with more than usual skill for an itinerant professor, while the plaintive notes of the air he tuned accorded with the solemnity of the surrounding scene. "i could pass an evening here," said the countess, in a somewhat contemplative mood, "in the society of kindred spirits, with more delightful gratification than among the giddy throng who meet at almack's." crony bowed to the ground, overpowered by the ~ ~~compliment; while your humble servant, less obsequious, but equally conscious of the flattering honour, advanced my left foot sideways, drew up my right longitudinally, and touched my beaver with a _congée_, that convinced me i had not forgotten the early instructions of our old eton posture-master, the all-accomplished signor angelo. "a __wery hextonishing vurk, this here pier," said a fat, little squab of a citizen, sideling up to crony like a full-grown porpoise; "_wery hexpensive_, and _wery huseless, i thinks_" continued the intruder. crony reared his crest in silent indignation, while his visage betokened an approaching storm; but a significant look from the countess gave him the hint that some amusement might be derived from the _animal_; who, without understanding the contempt he excited, proceeded--"_vun_ of the new _bubble_ companies' _specks, i supposes, vat old daddy boreas vill blow avay sum night in a hurrikin_. it puts me _wery_ much in mind of a two bottle man." "why so?" said crony. "bekause it's only half seas _hover_." this little civic _jeu d'esprit_ made his peace with us by producing a hearty laugh, in which he did not fail to join in unison. "but are you aware of the usefulness and national importance of the projector's plans? said crony. "not i," responded the citizen: "i hates all projections of breweries, bridges, buildings, and boring companies, from the golden-lane speck to the vaterloo; from thence up to the new street, and down to the tunnel under the thames, vich my banker, sir william curtis, says, is the greatest bore in london." "but humanity, sir," said crony, "has, i hope, some influence with you; and this undertaking is intended not only for the healthful pleasure of the brighton visitors, but for the convenience of vessels in distress, and the landing of passengers in bad weather." "ay, there it is,--that's hexactly vat i thought; to help our rich people more easily out of ~ ~~the country, and bring a set of poor half-starved foreigners in: vy, i'm told it's to be carried right across the channel in time, and then the few good ones ve have left vill be marching off to the enemy." this conceit amused the countess exceedingly, and was followed by many other equally strange expressions and conjectures; among which, crony contrived to persuade him that great amusement was to be derived in bobbing for mackerel and turbot with the line: a pleasure combining so much of profit in expectancy that the old citizen was, at last, induced to admit the utility of the chain-pier. retracing our steps towards the steyne, we had one more good laugh at our companion's credulity, who expressed great anxiety to know what the huge wheel was intended for, which is at the corner by the barrier, and throws up water for the use of the town; but which, crony very promptly assured him, was the grand action of the improved roasting apparatus at the york hotel. we now bade farewell to our amusing companion, and proceeded to view the new plunging bath at the bottom of east-street, built in the form of an amphitheatre, and surrounded by dressing-rooms, with a fountain in the centre, from which a continued supply of salt-water is obtained. the advantages may be great in bad weather; but to my mind there is nothing like the open sea, particularly as confined water is always additionally cold. on our arrival at home, a parcel from london brought the enclosed from tom echo, upon whom the sentence of rustication has, i fear, been productive of fresh follies. [illustration: page ] dear heartily, having cut college for a _bolt_ to the _village_,{ } i expected to have found you in the _bay of condolence_,{ } but hear you left your _moorings_ lately london, so called at oxford. the consolation afforded by friends when _plucked_ or rusticated. ~ ~~to _waste the ready_ among the _sharks_ at brighton. though not quite at _point nonplus_, i am very near the _united kingdoms_ of _sans souci and sans sixsous_,{ } and shall bring to, and wait for company, in the province of bacchus. i have only just quitted _Æager haven_, and been very near the _wall_{ }; have sustained another dreadful fire from _convocation castle,_{ } which had nigh shattered my _fore-lights_, and was very near being _blown up_ in attempting to pass the _long hope_.{ } if you wish to save an old etonian from _east jeopardy_,{ } set sail directly, and tow me out of the _river tick_ into the _region of rejoicing_; then will we get _bosky_ together, sing old songs, tell merry tales, and _spree_ and _sport_ on the _states of independency_. yours truly, the _oxford rustic_, london. tom echo. p. s. i should not have cut so suddenly, but joined bob transit and eglantine in giving two of the old big wigs a flying leap t'other evening, as they left christ church hall, in return for rusticating me:--to escape suspicion, broke away by the mail. i know your affection for a good joke, so induced bob to book it, and let me have the sketch, which i here enclose. riddance of cares, and, ultimately, of sixpences. the depot of invalids; dr. wall being a celebrated surgeon, whose skill is proverbial in the cure of the headington or bagley fever. for a view of poor tom during his suffering--_(see plate by bob transit.)_ the house of convocation in oxford, when the twenty-five heads of colleges and the masters meet to transact and investigate university affairs. the symbol of long expectation in studying for a degree. terrors of anticipation. the remaining phrases have all been explained in an earlier part of the work. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] mad as the d'almaine's must think me for obeying such a summons, i have just bade them adieu, and am off to-morrow, by the earliest coach, for london. the only place i have omitted to notice, in my sketches of brighton, is the club house on the steyne parade, where a few _old rooks_ congregate, to keep a sharp look-out for an unsuspecting _green one_, or a wealthy _pigeon_, who, if once _netted_, seldom succeeds in quitting the trap without being plucked of a few of his feathers. the greatest improvement to a place barren of foliage and the agreeable retirement of overshadowed walks, is the royal gardens, on the level at the extremity of the town, in a line with the steyne enclosures as you enter from the london road. the taste, variety, and accommodation displayed in this elegant place of amusement, renders it certainly the most attractive of public gardens, while the arrangements are calculated to gratify all ~ ~~classes of society without the danger of too crowded an assemblage. let us see you when term ends; and in the interim expect a long account of sprees and sports in the village. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] metropolitan sketches. _heartly, echo, and transit start for a spree--scenes by daylight, starlight, and gaslight--black mon-day at tattersall's--the first meeting after the great st. leger-- heroes of the turf paying and receiving--dinner at fishmongers' hall--com-mittee of greeks--the affair of the cogged dice--a regular break-down--rules for the new club-- the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy: striking portraits--counting the stars--covent garden, what it was, and what it is--the finish--anecdotes of characters--the hall of infamy, alias the covent garden hell._ of all the scenes where rich and varied character is to be found in the metropolis and its environs, none can exceed that emporium for sharps and flats, famed tattersall's, whether for buying a good horse, betting a round sum, or, in the sporting phrase, learning how to make the best of every thing. "shall we take a _tooddle_ up to hyde-park corner?" said echo; "this is the settling day for all bets made upon the great doncaster st. léger, when the _swells book up_, and the knowing ones _draw_ their _bussel_:--_black_ monday, as sir john lade terms it, when the event has not come off right." "a noble opportunity," replied transit, "for a picture of turf curiosities. come, heartly, throw philosophy aside, and let us set forth for a day's enjoyment, and then to finish with a night of frolic. an occasional spree is as necessary to the relaxation of the mind, as exercise is to ~ ~~ensure health. the true secret to make life pleasant, and study profitable, is to be able to throw off our cares as we do our morning gowns, and, when we sally forth to the world, derive fresh spirit, vigour, and information from cheerful companions, good air, and new objects. high 'change among the heroes of the turf presents ample food for the humorist; while the strange contrast of character and countenance affords the man of, feeling and discernment subject for amusement and future contemplation." it was in the midst of one of the most numerous meetings ever remembered at tattersall's, when barefoot won the race, contrary to the general expectation of the knowing ones, that we made our _entré_. with echo every sporting character was better known than his college tutor, and not a few kept an eye upon the boy, with hopes, no doubt, of hereafter benefiting by his inexperience, when, having got the whip-hand of his juvenile restrictions, he starts forth to the world a man of fashion and consequence, with an unencumbered property of fifteen thousand per annum, besides expectancies. "here's a game of chess for you, transit," said echo; "why, every move upon the board is a character, and not one but what is worth booking. observe the arch slyness of the jockey yonder, ear-wigging his patron, a young blood of the fancy, into a _good thing_; particularising all the capabilities and qualities of the different horses named, and making the event (in his own estimation) as _sure as the bank of england_:--how finely contrasted with the easy indifference of the dignified sportsman near him, who leaves all to chance, spite of the significant nods and winks from a regular _artiste_ near him, who never suffers him to make a bet out of the ring, if it is possible to prevent him, by throwing in a little suspicion, in order that he and his friends may have the plucking of their victim exclusively. the portly-looking man in the left-hand corner _(see ~ ~~plate)_ is mr. tanfield, one of the greatest betting men on the turf; who can lose and pay twenty thousand without moving a muscle, and pocket the like sum without indulging in a smile; always steady as old time, and never giving away a chance, but carefully keeping his eye upon cocker (i. e. his book), to see how the odds stand, and working away by that system which is well understood under the term management. in front of him is the sporting earl of sefton, and that highly-esteemed son of nimrod, colonel hilton joliffe,--men of the strictest probity, and hence often appointed referees on matters in dispute. [illustration: page ] lawyer l----, and little wise-man, are settling their differences with _bluff_ bland, who carries all his bets in his memory till he reaches home, because a book upon the spot would be useless. in the right-hand corner, just in front of old general b----n, is john gully, once the pugilist, but now a man of considerable property, which has been principally acquired by his knowledge of calculation, and strict attention to honourable conduct: there are few men on the turf more respected, and very few among those who keep _betting_ books whose conduct will command the same approbation. the old beau in the corner is sir lumley s----n, who, without the means to bet much, still loves to linger near the scene of former extravagance." "a good disciple of lavater," said transit, "might tell the good or ill fortunes of those around him, by a slight observance of their countenances. see that merry-looking, ruby-faced fellow just leaving the door of the subscription-room: can any body doubt that he has _come off all right_?--or who would dispute that yon pallid-cheeked gentleman, with a long face and quivering lip, betrays, by the agitation of his nerves, the extent of his sufferings? the peer with a solemn visage tears out his last check, turns upon his heel, whistles a tune, and sets against the gross amount of his losses another mortgage of ~ ~~the family acres, or a _post obit_ upon some expectancy: the regular sporting man, the out and outer, turns to his book-- 'for there he finds, _no matter who has won_,{ } whichever animal, or mare, or colt; nay, though each horse that started for't should bolt, or all at once fall lame, or die, or stray, he yet must pocket hundreds by the day.'" two or three amusing scenes took place among those who wanted, and those who had nothing to give, but yet were too honourable to _levant_: many exhibited outward and visible signs of inward grief. a man of metal dropped his last sovereign with a sigh, but chafed a little about false reports of chaunting up a losing horse, doing the _thing neatly_, keeping the secret, and other such like delicate innuendoes, which among sporting men pass current, provided the losers pay promptly. several, who had gone beyond their depth, were recommended to the consideration of the humane, in hopes that time might yet bring them about. we had now passed more than two hours among the motley group, when tom, having exchanged the time o'day with most of his sporting friends, proposed an adjournment to _fishmongers' hall_, or, as he prefaced it, with a visit to the new club in st. james's-street; to which resort of greeks and gudgeons we immediately proceeded. [illustration: page ] we had just turned the corner of st. james's-street, and were preparing to ascend the steps which lead to the new club, as crockford's establishment is termed, when old crony accosted me. to all but betting men, this must appear impossible; but management is every thing; and with a knowledge of the secret, according to turf logic, it is one hundred to one against calculation, and, by turf mathematics, five hundred to one against any event coming right upon the square. in the sporting phrase, 'turf men never back any thing to win;' they have no favourites, unless there is a x; and their common practice is to accommodate all, by taking the odds, till betting is reduced to a _certainty_. ~ ~~he had it seems come off by the brighton ten o'clock coach, and was now, "according to his usual custom i' the afternoon," on the look-out for an _invite_ to a good dinner and a bottle. as i knew he would prove an agreeable, if not a very useful companion in our present enterprise, i did not hesitate to present him to echo and transit, who, upon my very flattering introduction, received him graciously; although bob hinted he was rather _too old_ for a _play-fellow_, and echo whispered me to keep a _sharp lookout_, as he strongly suspected he was a _staff officer_ of the _new greek corps of sappers and miners_. in london you can neither rob nor be robbed genteelly without a formal introduction: how echo had contrived it i know not, but we were very politely ushered into the grand club-room, a splendid apartment of considerable extent, with a bow-window in front, exactly facing white's. to speak correctly of the elegance and taste displayed in the decorations and furniture, not omitting the costly sideboard of richly-chased plate, i can only say it rivalled any thing i had ever before witnessed, and was calculated to impress the young mind with the most extravagant ideas of the wealth and magnificence of the members or _committee_. the honourable mr. b----, one of the brothers of the earl of r----, was the _procureur_ to whom, i found, we were indebted, for the present _honour_--a gay man, of some fashionable notoriety, whose fortune is said to have suffered severely by his attachment to the _orthodox orgies_ at the once celebrated gothic hall, when parson john ambrose used to officiate as the presiding minister. "here he is a member of the committee," said crony, "and, with his brother and the old lord f----, the marquis h----, colonel c----, and the earl of g----, forms the _secret directory_ of the new club, which is considered almost as good a thing as a mexican mine; for, if report speaks truly, the amount ~ ~~of the profits in the last season exceeded one hundred thousand pounds, after payment of expenses." a sudden crash in the street at this moment drew the attention of all to the window, where an accident presented a very ominous warning to those within _(see plate)_. "a regular break down," said echo. "_floored_" said transit, "_but not much the matter_." "i beg your pardon, sir," said a wry-mouthed portly-looking gentleman, who stood next to bob; "it is a very _awkward_ circumstance to have occurred just here: i'll bet ten to one it spoils all the _play_ to-night; and if any of those newspaper fellows get to hear of it, _fishmongers' hall_ and its members will figure in print again to-morrow;" and with that he bustled off to the street to assist in re-producing a _move_ with all possible celerity. "who the deuce was the queer-looking _cawker_?" we all at once inquired of crony. "what, gentlemen! not know the director-general, the accomplished commander-in-chief, the thrice-renowned cocker crockford? (so named from his admirable tact at calculation): why, i thought every one who had witnessed a horse-race, or a boxing-match, or betted a guinea at tattersall's, must have known the _director_, who has been a notorious character among the sporting circles for the last thirty years: and, if truth be told, is not the worst of a bad lot. about five-and-twenty years since i remember him," said crony, "keeping a snug little fishmonger's shop, at the corner of essex-street, in the strand, where i have often betted a guinea with him on a trotting match, for he was then fond of _the thing_, and attended the races and fights in company with old jerry cloves, the lighterman, who is now as well _breeched_ as himself. it is a very extraordinary fact," continued crony, "and one which certainly excites suspicion, that almost all those who have made large fortunes by the turf or play are men of obscure origin, who, but a few years since, were not worth a guinea, ~ ~~while those by whom they have risen are now reduced to beggary." how many representatives of noble houses, and splendid patrimonies, handed down with increasing care from generation, to generation, have been ruined and dissipated by this pernicious vice! --the gay and inexperienced nipped in the very bud of life, and plunged into irretrievable misery--while the high-spirited and the noble-minded victims to false honour, too often seek a refuge from despair in the grave of the suicide! such were the reflections that oppressed my mind while contemplating the scene before me: i was, however, roused from my reverie by crony's continuation of the _director's_ history. "he bears the character of an honourable man," said our mentor, "among the play world, and has the credit of being scrupulously particular in all matters of play and pay. for the fashion of his manners, they might be much improved, certainly; but for generosity and a kind action, there are very few among the _greeks_ who excel the old fishmonger. he was formerly associated with t--l-r and others in the french hazard bank, at watier's club house, corner of bolton-row; but t--l-r, having purchased the house without the knowledge of his partners, wanted so many exclusive advantages for himself, that the director withdrew, just in time to save himself from the obloquy of an affair which occurred shortly afterwards, in which certain persons were charged with using false dice. the complainant, a young sprig of fashion, seized the _unhallowed bones_, and bore them off in triumph to a stick shop in the neighbourhood; where, for some time afterwards, they were exhibited to the gaze of many a fashionable dupe. the circumstance produced more than one good effect--it prevented a return of any disposition to play on the part of the detector, and closed the house for ever since." after the dinner, which was served up in a princely style, we were invited by the honourable to ~ ~~view the upper apartment, called the grand saloon, a true picture of which accompanies this, from the pencil of my friend, bob transit, and into which he has contrived to introduce the affair of the cogged dice _(see plate)_, a licence always allowable to poets and painters in the union of time and place. the characters here will speak for themselves. [illustration: page ] they are all sketches from the life, and as like the originals as the reflection of their persons would be in a looking-glass. by the frequenters of such places they will be immediately recognised; while to the uninitiated the family cognomen is of little consequence, and is omitted, as it might give pain to worthy bosoms who are not yet irrecoverably lost. by the strict rules of _fishmongers' hall_, the members of brookes', white's, boodle's, the cocoa tree, alfred and travellers' clubs only are admissible; but this restriction is not always enforced, particularly where there is a chance of a _good bite_. the principal game played here is french hazard, the director and friends supplying the bank, the premium for which, with what the box-money produces, forms no inconsiderable source of profit. it is ridiculous to suppose any unfair practices are ever resorted to in the general game; in a mixed company they would be easily detected, and must end in the ruin of the house: but the chances of the game, calculation, and superior play, give proficients every advantage, and should teach the inexperienced caution. "it is heart-rending," said crony, whom i had smuggled into one corner of the room, for the purpose of enjoying his remarks free from observation, "to observe the progress of the unfortunate votaries to this destructive vice, as they gradually proceed through the various stages of its seductive influence. the young and thoughtless are delighted with the fascination of the scene: to the more profligate sensualist it affords an opportunity of enjoying the choicest _liqueurs_, coffee, and wines, ~ ~~free of expense; and, although he may have no money to lose himself, he can do the house a _good turn_, by introducing some _pigeon_ who has _just come out_; and he is therefore always a welcome visitor. at crockford's, all games where the aid of mechanism would be necessary are cautiously avoided, not from any moral dislike to _rouge et noir or roulette_, but from the apprehension of an occasional visit from the police, and the danger attending the discovery of such apparatus, which, from its bulk, cannot easily be concealed. in the space of an hour echo had lost all the money he possessed, and had given his i o u for a very considerable sum; although frequently urged to desist by transit, who, with all his love of life and frolic, is yet a decided enemy to gaming. one excess generally leads to another. from tattersall's we had passed to crockford's; and on quitting the latter it was proposed we should visit tom belcher's, the castle tavern, holborn, particularly as on this night there was a weekly musical muster of the _fancy_, yclept the _daffy club_; a scene rich in promise for the pencil of our friend bob, of sporting information to echo, and full of characteristic subject for the observation of the english spy--of that eccentric being, of whom, i hope, i may continue to sing '_esto perpétua_!' life is, with him, a golden dream, a milky way, where all's serene. wit's treasured stores his humour wait,-- his volume, man in every state,-- from grave to gay, from rich to poor, from gilded dome to rustic door. through all degrees life's varied page, he shows the manners of the age. the daffy club presents to the eye of a calm observer a fund of entertainment; to the merry mad-wag who is fond of _life_, blowing his _steamer_, and drinking _blue ruin_, until all is blue before him, a ~ ~~source of infinite amusement; the convivial finds his antidote to the rubs and jeers of this world in a rum chaunt; while the out and outer may here open his mag-azine of tooth-powder, cause a grand explosion, and never fear to meet a broadside in return. the knowing cove finds his account in looking out for the green ones, and the greens find their head sometimes a little heavier, and their pockets lighter, by an accidental rencontre with the fancy. to see the place in perfection, a stranger should choose the night previous to some important mill, when our host of the castle plays second, and all the lads are mustered to _stump up_ their blunt, or to catch the important _whisper_ where the _scene of action_ is likely to be (for there is always due caution used in the disclosure), to take a peep at the pugilists present, and trot off as well satisfied as if he had partaken of a splendid banquet with the great mogul. the long room is neatly fitted up, and lighted with gas; and the numerous sporting subjects, elegantly framed and glazed, have rather an imposing effect upon the entrance of the visitor, and among which may be recognised animated likenesses of the late renowned jem belcher, and his daring competitor (that inordinate glutton) burke. the fine whole-length portrait of mr. jackson stands between those of the champion and tom belcher; the father of the present race of boxers, old joe ward; the jew phenomenon, dutch sam; bob gregson, in water colours, by the late john emery, of covent garden theatre; the scientific contest between humphreys and mendoza; also the battle between crib and jem belcher; a finely executed portrait of the late tremendous molineux; portraits of gulley, randall, harmer, turner, painter, tom owen, and scroggins, with a variety of other subjects connected with the turf, chase, &c, including a good likeness of the dog trusty, the champion of the canine race in fifty battles, and the favourite ~ ~~animal of jem belcher, the gift of lord camelford--the whole forming a characteristic trait of the sporting world. the long table, or the ring, as it is facetiously termed, is where the _old slanders_ generally perch themselves to receive the visits of the swells, and give each other the office relative to passing events: and what set of men are better able to speak of society in all its various ramifications, from the cabinet-counsellor to the _cosey costermonger_? jemmy soares, the president, must be considered a _downy one_; having served five apprenticeships to the office of sheriffs representative, and is as good a fellow in his way as ever _tapped a shy one_ upon the shoulder-joint, or let fly a _ca sa_ at your goods and chattels. lucky bob is a fellow of another stamp, "a _nation good vice_" as ever was attached to the house of _brunswick_. then comes our host, a civil, well-behaved man, without any of the exterior appearance of the ruffian, or perhaps i should say of his profession, and with all the good-natured qualifications for a peaceable citizen, and an obliging, merry landlord: next to him you will perceive the _immortal typo_, the all-accomplished pierce egan; an eccentric in his way, both in manner and person, but not deficient in that peculiar species of wit which fits him for the high office of historian of the ring. the ironical praise of blackwood he has the good sense to turn to a right account, laughs at their satire, and pretends to believe it is all meant in _right-down earnest_ approbation of his extraordinary merits. for a long while after his great instructor's neglect of his friends, pierce kept undisturbed possession of the throne; but recently competitors have shown themselves in the field _well found_ in all particulars, and carrying such witty and weighty ammunition wherewithal, that they more than threaten "to push the hero from his stool."{ } tom the editors of the annals of sporting, and bell's life in london, are both fellows of infinite wit. ~ ~~spring, who is fond of _cocking_ as well as fighting, is seen with his bag in the right-hand corner, chaffing with the duck-lane doss man; while lawyer l----e, a true sportsman, whether for the turf or chase, is betting the odds with brother adey, greek against greek. behind them are seen the heroes scroggins and turner; and at the opposite end of the table, a wake-ful one, but a grosser man than either, and something of the _levanter_: the bald-headed stag on his right goes by the quaint cognomen of the _japan oracle_, from the retentive memory he possesses on all sporting and pugilistic events. the old waiter is a picture every frequenter will recognise, and the smoking a dozer no unusual bit of a spree. here, my dear bernard, you have before you a true portrait of the celebrated daffy{ } club, done from the life by our the great lexicographer of the fancy gives the following definition of the word daffy. the phrase was coined at the mint of the fancy, and has since passed current without ever being overhauled as queer. the colossus of literature, after all his nous and acute researches to explain the synonyms of the english language, does not appear to have been down to the interpretation of daffy; nor indeed does bailey or sheridan seem at all fly to it; and even slang grose has no touch of its extensive signification. the squeamish fair one who takes it on the sly, merely to cure the vapours, politely names it to her friends as white wine. the swell chaffs it as blue ruin, to elevate his notions. the laundress loves dearly a drain of ould tom, from its strength to comfort her inside. the drag fiddler can toss off a quartern of max without making a wry mug. the costermonger illumines his ideas with a flash of lightning.' the hoarse cyprian owes her existence to copious draughts of jacky. the link-boy and mud larks, in joining their browns together, are for some stark naked. and the out and outers, from the addition of bitters to it, in order to sharpen up a dissipated and damaged victualling office, cannot take any thing but fuller's earth. much it should seem, therefore, depends upon a name; and as a soft sound is at all times pleasing to the listener--to have denominated this sporting society the gin club would not only have proved barbarous to the ear, but the vulgarity of the chant might have deprived it of many of its elegant friends. it is a subject, however, which it must be admitted has a good deal of taste belonging to it--and as a sporting man would be nothing if he was not flash, the daffy club meet under the above title. ~ ~~mutual friend, bob transit (see plate), in closing my account of which i have only to say, we were not disappointed in our search after variety, and came away high in spirits, and perfectly satisfied with the good-humour and social intercourse of our eccentric associates. [illustration: ] the sad, the sober, and the sentimental were all gone to roost, before our merry trio sallied forth from the castle tavern, ripe for any sport or spree. of all the bucks in this buckish age, your london buck is the only true fellow of spirit; with him life never begins too early, or finishes too late; how many of the west-end _roués_ ride twenty miles out, in a cold morning, to meet the hounds, and after a hard day's run mount their hack and ride twenty miles home to have the pleasure of enjoying their own fire-side, or of relating the hair-breadth perils and escapes they have encountered, to their less active associates at long's or stevens's, the cider cellar, or the coal-hole! the general introduction of gas throws too clear a light upon many dark transactions and midnight frolics to allow the repetition of the scenes of former times: here and there to be sure an odd nook, or a dark cranny, is yet left unenlightened; but the leading streets of the metropolis are, for the most part, too well illuminated to allow the _spreeish_ or the _sprightly_ to carry on their jokes in security, or bolt away with safety when a charley thinks proper to set his _child a crying_.{ } we had crossed the road, in the direction of chancery-lane, expecting to have met with a hackney _rattler_, but not one was to be found upon the stand, when bob espied the broad _tilt_ of a _jarvey perched_ upon his _shop-board_, and impelling along, with no little labour of the whip, a pair of _anatomies_, whose external appearance showed they springing his rattle. ~ ~~had benefited very little by the opening of the ports for oats, or the digestive operation of the new corn-bill. "hired, old jarvey?" said echo, fixing himself in the road before the fiery charioteer. "no, but tired, young davey," replied the dragsman. "take a fare to covent garden?" "not if i knows it," was the knowing reply; "so stir your stumps, my tight one, or i shall drive over you." "you had better take us," said transit. "i tell you i won't; i am a day man, going home, and i don't take night jobs." "but i tell you, you must," said echo; "so round with your drag, and we'll make your last day a long day, and give you the benefit of resurrection into the bargain." "why, look ye, my jolly masters, if you're up to a lark of that 'ere sort, take care you don't get a floorer; i've got a rum customer inside what i'm giving a lift to for love--only josh hudson, the miller; and if he should chance to wake, i think he'll be for dusting some of your jackets." "what, my friend josh inside?" vociferated echo, "then it's all right: go it, my hearties; mount the box one on each hand, and make him drive us to the finish--while i settle the matter with the inside passenger." josh, who had all this time been taking _forty winks_, while on his road to his crony belcher's, soon recognised his patron, echo; and jarvey, finding that all remonstrance was useless, thought it better to make a "virtue of necessity;" so turning his machine to the right about, he, in due time, deposited us in the purlieus of covent garden. the hoarse note of the drowsy night-guard reverberated through the long aisle of the now-forsaken piazzas, as the trembling flame of the parish lamp, flittering in its half-exhausted jet, proclaimed the approach of day; the heavy rumbling of the gardeners' carts, laden with vegetables for the ensuing market, alone disturbed the quiet of the adjoining streets. in a dark angle might be seen the houseless wanderer, or the abandoned profligate, ~ ~~gathered up like a lump of rags in a corner, and shivering with the nipping air. the gloom which surrounded us had, for a moment, chilled the wild exuberance of my companions' mirth; and it is more than probable we should have suspended our visit to the _finish_, at least for that night, had not the jocund note of some uproarious bacchanalian assailed our ears with the well-known college chant of old walter de mapes, "_mihi est propositum in tabernâ mori_," which being given in g major, was re-echoed from one end to the other of the arched piazza: at a little distance we perceived the jovial singer reeling forwards, or rather working his way, from right to left, in sinuosities, along, or according to nautical phrase, upon __tack and half tack, bearing up to windward, in habiliments black as a crow, with the exception of his neckcloth and under vest; but judge our surprise and delight, when, upon nearer approach, we discovered the _bon vivant_ to be no other than our old friend crony, who had been sacrificing to the jolly god with those choice spirits the members of the beefsteak club,{ } who meet in a room built expressly this club, which may boast among its members some of the most distinguished names of the age, including royalty itself, owed its origin to the talents of those celebrated artists richards and loutherbourg, whose scenic performances were in those days often exhibited to a select number of the nobility and gentry, patrons of the drama and the arts, in the painting-room of the theatre, previous to their being displayed to the public. it was on one of those occasions that some noblemen surprised the artist cooking his beef- steak for luncheon in his painting-room, and kindly partaking of the _déjeuné à la fourchette_, with him, suggested and established the beef-steak club, which was originally, and up to the time of the fire, held in an apart-ment over the old theatre royal, covent garden; but since that period the members have been accommodated by mr. arnold, who built the present room expressly for their use. in page of this work, allusion will be found by name to some of the brilliant wits who graced this festive board, and gave a lustre to the feast. in the old place of meeting the identical gridiron on which richards and loutherbourg operated was to be seen attached to the ceiling, emblematical of the origin of the society, which may now be considered as the only relic left of that social intercourse which formerly existed in so many shapes between those who were distinguished for their noble birth and wealth, and the poorer, but equally illustrious, of the children of genius. it would be an act of injustice to the present race of scenic artists to close this note without acknowledging their more than equal merits to their predecessors: the grieves (father and sons), phillips, marinari, wilson, tomkins, and stanfield, are all names of high talent; but the novelty of their art has, from its general cultivation, lost much of this peculiar attraction. ~ ~~for them over the audience part of the english opera house. the ruby glow of the old boy's countenance shone like an omen of the merry humour of his mind. "what, out for a spree, boys, or just bailed from the watch-house, which is it? the alpha or omega, for they generally follow one another?" "then you are in time for the _equivoque_, crony," said echo; "so enlist him, transit;" and without more ceremony, crony was marched off, __vi et armis, to the _finish_, a coffee-house in james-street, covent garden, where the _peep-o'-day boys_ and _family men_ meet to conclude the night's debauch _(see plate)_; "_video meliora proboque, détériora sequoi_;" you will exclaim, and 'tis granted; but "_lusus animo debent aliquando dari, ad cogitandum melior ut red eat sibi_," says phodrus, and be the poet's apology mine, for i am neither afraid or ashamed to confess myself an admirer of life in all its variegated lights and shadows, deriving my amusement from the great source of knowledge, the study of that eccentric volume--man. the new police act has, in some measure, abated the extent of these nuisances, the low coffee-shops of the metropolis, which were, for the greater part, little better than a rendezvous for thieves of every description, depots both for the ~ ~~plunder and the plunderer; where, if an unthinking or profligate victim once entered, he seldom came out without experiencing treatment which operated like a severe lesson, that would leave its moral upon his mind as long as he continued an inhabitant of the terrestrial world. [illustration: page ] the attempt to describe the party around us baffled even the descriptive powers of old crony; some few, indeed, were known to the man of the world as reputed sharpers,--fellows who are always to be found lingering about houses of such resort, to catch the inexperienced; when, having sacrificed their victim either by gambling, cheating, or swindling, they divide the profits with the keeper of the house, without whose assistance they could not hope to arrive at the necessary information, or be enabled to continue their frauds with impunity; but, thus protected, they have a ready witness at hand to speak to their character, without the suspicion of his being a confederate in their villany. here might be seen the woman of pleasure, lost to every sense of her sex's shame, consuming the remaining portion of the night by a wasteful expenditure of her ill-acquired gains upon some abandoned profligate, bearing, indeed, the outward form of man, but presenting a most degrading spectacle--a wretch so lost to all sense of honour and manhood as meanly to subsist on the wages of prostitution. one or two characters i must not omit: observe the fair cyprian with the ermine tippet, seated on the right of a well-known _billiard sharp_, who made his escape from dublin for having dived a little too deep into the pockets of his brother emeralders; here he passes for a swell, and has abandoned his former profession for the more honest union of callings, a pimp and playman, in other words, a finished _greek_. the lady was the _chère amie_ of the unfortunate youth hayward (designated as the modern macheath), who suffered an ignominious death. he was betrayed and sold to the ~ ~~officers by this very woman, upon whom he had lavished the earnings of his infamy, when endeavouring to secrete himself from the searching eye of justice. the unhappy female on the other side was early in life seduced by the once celebrated lord b----, by whose title, to his lasting infamy, she is still known: what she might have been, but for his arts, reflection too often compels her to acknowledge, when sober and sinking under her load of misery; at other times she has recourse to liquor to drown her complicated misfortunes; when wild and infuriated, she more nearly resembles a demon than a woman, spreading forth terror and destruction upon all around; in this state she is often brought to the police-office, where the humanity of the magistrates, softened perhaps by a recollection of her wrongs, generally operates to procure for her some very trifling and lenient sentence.{ } the life of a woman of the town. ah! what avails how once appear'd the fair, when from gay equipage she falls obscure? in vain she moves her livid lips in prayer; what man so mean to recollect the poor? from place to place, by unfee'd bailiffs drove, as fainting fawns from thirsty bloodhounds fly; see the sad remnants of unhallow'd love in prisons perish, or on dunghills die. pimps and dependents once her beauties praised, and on those beauties, vermin-like, they fed; from wretchedness the crew her bounty raised, when by her spoils enrich'd--deny her bread. through street to street she wends, as want betides, like shore's sad wife, in winter's dismal hours; the bleak winds piercing her unnourish'd sides, her houseless head dripping with drizzy showers. sickly she strolls amidst the miry lane, while streaming spouts dash on her unclothed neck; by famine pinch'd, pinch'd by disease-bred pain, contrition's portrait, and rash beauty's wreck. ~ ~~we had now passed from the first receptacle to an inner and more elegant apartment, where we could be accommodated with suitable refreshments, wine, spirits, or, in fact, any thing we pleased to order and were disposed to pay for; a practice at most of these early coffee-houses, as they are denominated. the company in this room were, as far as appearances went, of rather a better order; but an event soon occurred which convinced us that their morality was perhaps more exceptionable than the motley group which filled the outer chamber. a bevy of damsels were singing, flirting, and drinking, to amuse their companions,--when all at once the doors were forced open, and in rushed three of the principal officers of bow-street, the indefatigable bishop, the determined smith, and the resolute ruthven (see plate), all armed and prepared for some dreadful encounter: in an instant their followers had possessed themselves of the doors--flight, therefore, was in vain; and bob transit, in attempting it, narrowly escaped an awkward crack on the crania from old jack townshend, who being past active service, was posted at the entrance with the beak himself, to do garrison duty. [illustration: page ] "_the traps! the traps!_" vociferated some one in the adjoining room; "_douse the glims! stash it--stash it!_" was the general exclamation in ours: but before the party could effect their purpose, the principals were in safe custody: and the reader (i.e. pocket-book) containing all the stolen property, preserved from the flames by the wary eye and prompt arm of the _indefatigable_ bishop. before any one was allowed to depart the room, a general muster and search took place, in which poor bob transit felt most awkward, as some voluptuous sketches found in his pocket called forth she dies; sad outcast! heart-broke by remorse; pale, stretch'd against th' inhospitable doors; while gathering gossips taunt the flesh less corse, and thank their gods _that they were never w--res!_ ~ ~~the severe animadversion of his worship, the beak, who lamented that such fine talent should be thus immorally applied: with this brief lecture, and a caution for the future, we were allowed to escape; while almost all the rest, male and female, were marched off to an adjoining watch-house, to abide the public examination and fiat of the morrow. of all the party, old crony was the most sensibly affected by the late rencontre; twenty bottles of soda-water could not have produced a more important change. his conversation and appearance had, in an instant, recovered their wonted steadiness; and before we were half across the market, crony was moralizing upon the dangers of the scene from which we had so recently and fortunately escaped. but hearts young and buoyant as ours, when lighted up by the fire of enterprise, and provoked to action by potent charges of the grape, were not to be dashed by one repulse, or compelled to beat a retreat at the first brush with a reconnoitring party; we had sallied forth in pursuit of a spree, and frolic we were determined upon, "while misty night, with silent pace, steals gradual o'er the wanton chase." there is something very romantic in prowling the streets of the metropolis at midnight, in quest of adventure; at least, so my companions insisted, and i had embarked too deeply in the night's debauch to moralize upon its consequences. how many a sober-looking face demure when morning dawns would blush to meet the accusing spirit of the night, dressed out in all the fantasies of whim and eccentricity with which the rosy god of midnight revelry clothes his laughter-loving bacchanals-- "while sleep attendant at her drowsy fane, parent of ease, envelopes all your train!" the lamentations of old crony brought to mind the ~ ~~complaints of honest jack falstaff against his associates. "there is no truth in villanous man!" said our monitor. "i remember when a gentleman might have reeled round the environs of covent garden, in and out of every establishment, from the bedford to mother butlers, without having his pleasures broken in upon by the irruptions of bow-street mohawks, or his person endangered by any association he chose to mix with; but we are returning to the times of the _roundheads_ and the _puritans; cant,_ vile hypocritical _cant_, has bitten the ear of authority, and the great officers of the state are infected with the jesuitical mania. 'man is a ship that sails with adverse winds, and has no haven till he land at death. then, when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank, conies a rude billow betwixt him and safety, and beats him back into the deep again.'" "i subscribe to none of their fooleries," said i; "for i am of the true orthodox--love my king, my girl, my friend, and my bottle: a truce with all their raven croakings; they would overload mortality, and press our shoulders with too great a weight of dismal miseries. but come, my boys, we who have free souls, let us to the banquet, while yet sol's fiery charioteer lies sleeping at his eastern palace in the lap of thetis--let us chant carols of mirth to old jove or bully mars; and, like chaste votaries, perform our orgies at the shrine of venus, ere yet aurora tears aside the curtain that conceals our revels." in this way we rallied our cameleon-selves, until we again found shelter from the dews of night in carpenter's coffee-house; a small, but well-conducted place, standing at the east end of the market, which opens between two and three o'clock in the morning, for the accommodation of those who are hourly arriving with waggon loads of vegetable commodities. here, over a bottle of mulled port, crony gave us the history of ~ ~~what covent garden used to be, when the eminent, the eccentric, and the notorious in every walk of life, were to be found nightly indulging their festivities within its famous precincts. "covent garden," said crony, once so celebrated for its clubs of wits and convents of fine women, is grown as dull as _modern athens_, and its ladies of pleasure almost as vulgar as scotch landladies; formerly, the first beauties of the time assembled every evening under the piazzas, and promenaded for hours to the soft notes of the dulcet lute, and the silver tongues of amorous and persuasive beaus; then the gay scene partook of the splendour of a venetian carnival, and such beauties as the kitten, peggy yates, sally hall the brunette, betsy careless, and the lively mrs. stewart, graced the merry throng, with a hundred more, equally famed, whose names are enrolled in the cabinet of love's votaries. then there was a celebrated house in charles-street, called the _field of blood_, where the droll fellows of the time used nightly to resort, and throw down whole regiments of _black_ artillery; and then at tom or moll king's, a coffee-house so called, which stood in the centre of covent garden market, at midnight might be found the bucks, bloods, demireps, and choice spirits of london, associated with the most elegant and fascinating cyprians, congregated with every species of human kind that intemperance, idleness, necessity, or curiosity could assemble together. there you might see tom king enter as rough as a bridewell whipper, roaring down the long room and rousing all the sleepers, thrusting them and all who had empty glasses out of his house, setting everything to rights,--when in would roll three or four jolly fellows, claret-cosey, and in three minutes put it all into uproar again; playing all sorts of mad pranks, until the guests in the long room were at battle-royal together; for in those days pugilistic encounters were equally common as with the present ~ ~~times, owing to the celebrity of broughton and his amphitheatre, where the science of boxing was publicly taught. then was the spiller's head in clare-market, in great vogue for the nightly assemblage of the wits; there might be seen hogarth, and betterton the actor, and dr. garth, and charles churchill, the first of english satirists, and the arch politician, wilkes, and the gay duke of wharton, and witty morley, the author of joe miller, and walker, the celebrated macheath, and the well-known bab selby, the oyster-woman, and fig, the boxer, and old corins, the clerical attorney.--all "hail, fellow, well met."{ } and a friend of mine has in his possession a most extraordinary picture of hogarth's, on this subject, which has never yet been engraved from. it is called st. james's day, or the first day of oysters, and represents the interior of the spiller's head in clare-market, as it then appeared. the principal figures are the gay and dissolute duke of wharton, for whom the well-known bab selby, the oyster-wench, is opening oysters; spiller is standing at her back, patting her shoulder; the figure sitting smoking by the side of the duke is a portrait of morley, the author of joe miller; and the man standing behind is a portrait of the well-known attendant on the duke's drunken frolics, fig, the brother of fig, the boxer: the person drinking at the bar is corins, called the parson-attorney, from his habit of dressing in clerical attire; the two persons sitting at the table represent portraits of the celebrated dr. garth, and betterton, the actor; the figures, also, of walker, the celebrated macheath, and lavinia fenton, the highly-reputed polly, afterwards duchess of bolton, may be recognised in the back-ground. the circumstances of this picture having escaped the notice of the biographer of hogarth is by no means singular. mr. halls, one of the magistrates at bow-street, has, among other choice specimens by hogarth, the lost picture of the harlot's progress; the subject telling her fortune by the tea-grounds in her cup, admirably characteristic of the artist and his story. in my own collection i have the original picture of the fish-women of calais, with a view of the market-place, painted on the spot, and as little known as the others to which i have alluded. there are, no doubt, many other equally clever performances of hogarth's prolific pencil which are not generally known to the public, or have not yet been engraved. ~ ~~in the same neighbourhood, in russel-court, at the old cheshire cheese, the inimitable but dissolute tom brown wrote many of his cleverest essays. then too commenced the midnight revelries and notoriety of the cider cellar, in maiden-lane, when sim sloper, bob washington, jemmy tas well, totty wright, and harry hatzell, led the way for a whole regiment more of frolic-making beings who, like falstaff, were not only, witty themselves, but the cause of keeping it alive in others: to these succeeded porson the grecian, captain thompson, tom hewerdine, sir john moore, mr. edwin, mr. woodfall, mr. brownlow, captain morris, and a host of other highly-gifted men, the first lyrical and political writers of the day,--who frequented the cider cellar after the meetings of the _anacreontic, beefsteak_, and _humbug_ clubs then held in the neighbourhood, to taste the parting bowl and swear eternal friendship. in later times, her majesty the queen of bohemia{ } raised her standard in tavistock-row, covent garden, where she held a midnight court for the wits; superintended by the renowned daughter of hibernia, and maid of honour to her majesty, the facetious mother butler--the ever-constant supporter of richard brinsley sheridan, esquire, and a leading feature in all the memorable westminster elections of the last fifty years. how many jovial nights have i passed and jolly fellows have i met in the snug _sanctum sanctorum!_ a little _crib_, as the _fishmongers_ would call it, with an entrance through the bar, and into which none were ever permitted to enter without a formal introduction and the gracious permission of the hostess. among those who were thus specially privileged, and had the honour of the _entré_, were the reporters for the morning papers, the leading members of the _eccentrics_, the actors and musicians of the two theatres royal, merry members of both houses of the sign of the house. ~ ~~parliament, and mad wags of every country who had any established claim to the kindred feelings of genius. such were the frequenters of the finish. here, poor tom sheridan, with a comic gravity that set discretion at defiance, would let fly some of his brilliant drolleries at the _improvisatore_, theodore hook; who, lacking nothing of his opponent's wit, would quickly return his tire with the sharp encounter of a satiric epigram or a brace of puns, planted with the most happy effect upon the weak side of his adversary's merriment. there too might be seen the wayward and the talented george cook, gentlemanly in conduct, and full of anecdote when sober, but ever captious and uproarious in his cups. then might be heard a strange encounter of expressions between the queen of covent garden and the voluptuary, lord barrymore,{ } seconded by his brother, the pious augustus. in one corner might be seen poor dermody, the poet, shivering with wretchedness, and mother butler pleading his cause with a generous feeling that does honour to her heart, collecting for him a temporary supply which, alas! his imprudence generally dissipated with the morrow. here, george sutton manners,{ } and peter finnerty,{ } and james brownly,{ } inspired by frequent potations of the real designated cripplegate and newgate. the relative of the present archbishop of canterbury, and then editor of the satirist magazine. peter finnerty was a reporter on the chronicle. the his- tory of finnerty's political persecutions in his own country (ireland), and afterwards in this, are interwoven with our history. the firmness and honesty of his mind had endeared him to a very large circle of patriot friends. he was eloquent, but impetuous, his ideas appearing to flow too fast for delivery. with all the natural warmth of his country, he had a heart of sterling gold. finnerty died in , very shortly after his friend perry. james brownly, formerly a reporter on the times; of whom sheridan said, hearing him speak, that his situation ought to have been in the body of the house of commons, instead of the gallery. brownly possessed very rare natural talents, was originally an upholsterer in catherine- street, strand, and by dint of application acquired a very correct knowledge of the tine arts: he was particularly skilled in architecture and heraldry. in addition to his extraordinary powers as an orator, he was a most elegant critic, and a very amiable man. he died in , much regretted by all who knew him. ~ ~~rocrea whiskey, would hold forth in powerful contention, until mine hostess of the _finish_{ } would put an end to the debate; and the irritation it would sometimes engender, by disencumbering herself of a few of her milesian monosyllables. then would bounce into the room, felix m'carthy, the very cream of comicalities, and the warm-hearted james hay ne, and frank phippen, and michael nugent, and the eloquent david power, and memory middleton, and father proby, just to sip an emulsion after the close of their labours in reporting a long debate in the house of commons. here, too, i remember to have seen for the first time in my life, the wayward byron, with the light of genius beaming in his noble countenance, and an eye brilliant and expressive as the evening star; the rich juice of the tuscan grape had diffused an unusual glow over his features, and inspired him with a playful animation, that but rarely illumined the misanthropic gloominess of his too sensitive mind. an histrionic star alike distinguished for talent and eccentricity accompanied him--the gallant, gay lothario, kean. but i should consume the remnant of the night to retrace more of the fading recollections of the _finish_. that it was a scene where prudence did not always preside, is true; but there was a rich union of talent and character always to be found within its circle, that mother butler, the queen of covent-garden, for many years kept the celebrated finish, where, if shut out of your lodging, you might take shelter till morning, very often in the very best of company. the house has, since she left it, been shut up through the suspension of its licence. mother butler was a witty, generous-hearted, and very extraordinary woman. she is, i believe, still living, and in good circumstances. ~ ~~prevented any very violent outrage upon propriety or decorum. in the present day, there is nothing like it--the phoenix,{ } offley's,{ } the coal-hole,{ } and what yet remains of the dismembered eccentrics,{ } bears no comparison to the ripe drolleries and a society established at the wrekin tavern in broad- court, in imitation of the celebrated club at brazennose college, oxford, and of whom i purpose to take some notice hereafter. the burton ale rooms; frequented by baby bucks, black- legs and half-pay officers. a tavern in fountain-court, strand, kept by the poet rhodes; celebrated for the saturday ordinary. in the room, where of old the eccentrics {*} met; when mortals were brilliants, and fond of a whet, and _hecate_ environ'd all london in jet. where adolphus, and shorri',{**} and famed charley fox, with a hundred good whigs led by alderman cox, put their names in the books, and their cash in the box; where perpetual whittle,{***} facetiously grand, on the president's throne each night took his stand, with his three-curly wig, and his hammer in hand: then brownly, with eloquence florid and clear, pour'd a torrent of metaphor into the ear, with well-rounded periods, and satire severe. here too peter finnerty, erin's own child, impetuous, frolicsome, witty, and wild, with many a tale has our reason beguiled: then wit was triumphant, and night after night was the morn usher'd in with a flood of delight. * the eccentrics, a club principally composed of persons connected with the press or the drama, originally established at the swan, in chandos-street, covent-garden, under the name of the brilliants, and afterwards removed to the sutherland arms, in may's-buildings, st. martin's-lane; --here, for many years, it continued the resort of some of the first wits of the time; the chair was seldom taken till the theatres were over, and rarely vacated till between four and five in the morning. ** sheridan, charles fox, adolphus, and many of the most eminent men now at the bar, were members or occasional frequenters. *** james whittle, esq., of fleet-street, (or, as he was more generally denominated, the facetious jemmy whittle, of the respectable firm of laurie and whittle, booksellers and publishers) was for some years perpetual president of the society, and by his quaint manners, and good-humoured sociality, added much to the felicity of the scene--he is but recently dead. ~ ~~pleasant witticisms which sparkled forth in endless variety among the choice spirits who frequented the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the _old finish_. "there is yet, however, one more place worthy of notice," said crony; "not for any amusement we shall derive from its frequenters, but, simply, that it is the most notorious place in london." thither it was agreed we should adjourn; for crony's description of _madame and messieurs_ the _conducteurs_ was quite sufficient to produce excitement in the young and ardent minds by which he was then surrounded. i shall not pollute this work by a repetition of the circumstances connected with this place, as detailed by old crony, lest humanity should start back with horror and disgust at the bare mention, and charity endeavour to throw discredit on the true, but black recital. the specious pretence of selling shell-fish and oysters is a mere trap for the inexperienced, as every description of expensive wines, liqueurs, coffee, and costly suppers are in more general request, and the wanton extravagance exhibited within its vortex is enough to strike the uninitiated and the moralist with the most appalling sentiments of horror and dismay. yet within this _saloon (see plate)_ did we enter, at four o'clock in the morning, to view the depravity of human nature, and watch the operation of licentiousness upon the young and thoughtless. [illustration: page ] a newgate turnkey would, no doubt, recognize many old acquaintances; in the special hope of which, bob transit has faithfully delineated some of the most conspicuous characters, as they appeared on that occasion, lending their hearty assistance in the general scene of maddening uproar. it was past five o'clock in the morning ere we quitted this den of dreadful depravity, heartily tired out by the night's adventures, yet solacing ourselves with the reflection that we had seen much and suffered little either in respect to our purses or our persons. visit to westminster hall. _worthies thereof--legal sketches of the long robe--the maiden brief--an awkward recognition--visit to banco regis-- surrey collegians giving a lift to a limb of the late, "thus far shalt thou go and no farther"--park rangers--visit to the life academy--r--a--ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty--arrival of bernard black-mantle in london--reads his play and farce in the green rooms of the two theatres royal, drury lane and covent garden--sketches of theatrical character--the city ball at the mansion house-- the squeeze--civic characters--return to alma mater--the wind-up--term ends_. ~ ~~a note from dick gradus invited echo and myself to hear his opening speech in westminster hall. "i have received my _maiden brief_" writes the young counsel, "and shall be happy if you will be present at my first attempt, when, like a true _amicus curio_, the presence of an old school-fellow will inspire confidence, and point out what may strike him as defective in my style." "we will all go," said transit; "echo will be amused by the oratory of the bar, and i shall employ my pencil to advantage in taking notes, not of _short hand_, but of _long heads_, and still _longer faces_." the confusion created by the building of the new courts at westminster has literally choked up, for a time, that noble specimen of gothic architecture--the ancient hall; the king's bench sittings are therefore temporarily held in the sessions house, a small, but ~ ~~rather compact octangular building, on the right of parliament-street. hither we hasted, at nine o'clock in the morning, to take a view of the court, judges, and counsel, and congratulate our friend gradus on his _entrée_. it has been said, that the only profession in this country where talents can insure success, is the law. if by this is meant talents of a popular kind, the power of giving effect to comprehensive views of justice and the bonds of society, a command of language, and a faculty of bringing to bear upon one point all the resources of intellect and knowledge, they are mistaken; they speak from former experience, and not from present observation: they are thinking of the days of a mingay or an erskine, not of those of a marryat or a scarlett; of the time when juries were wrought upon by the united influence of zeal and talent, not when they are governed by _precedents and practice_; when men were allowed to feel a little, as well as think a great deal; when the now common phrase of possessing the _ear of the court_ was not understood, and the tactician and the bully were unknown to the bar. it is asserted, that one-fifth of the causes that come before our courts are decided upon mere matters of form, without the slightest reference to their merits. every student for the bar must now place himself under some special pleader, and go through all the complicated drudgery of the office of one of these underlings, before he can hope to fill a higher walk; general principles, and enlarged notions of law and justice, are smothered in laborious and absurd technicalities; the enervated mind becomes shackled, until the natural vigour of the intellect is so reduced, as to make its bondage cease to seem burdensome. dick, with a confidence in his own powers, has avoided this degrading preparation; it is only two months since he was first called to the bar, and with a knowledge of his father's influence and property added to his own talents, he hopes to make a ~ ~~stand in court, previous to his being transplanted to the commons house of parliament. a tolerable correct estimate may be formed of the popularity of the judges, by observing the varied bearings of respect evinced towards them upon their entrance into court. mr. justice best came first, bending nearly double under a painful infirmity, and was received by a cold and ceremonious rising of the bar. to him succeeded his brother holroyd, a learned but not a very brilliant lawyer, and another partial acknowledgment of the counsel was observable. then entered the chief justice, sir charles abbot, with more of dignity in his carriage than either of the preceding, and a countenance finely expressive of serenity and comprehensive faculties: his welcome was of a more general, and, i may add, genial nature; for his judicial virtues have much endeared him to the profession and the public. but the universal acknowledgment of the bar, the jury, and the reporters for the public press, who generally occupy the students' box, was reserved for mr. justice bayley; upon whose entrance, all in court appeared to rise with one accord to pay a tribute of respect to this very distinguished, just, and learned man. all this might have been accidental, you will say; but it was in such strict accordance with my own feelings and popular opinion besides, that, however invidious it may appear, i cannot resist the placing it upon record. to return to the chief justice: he is considered a man of strong and piercing intellect, penetrating at once to the bottom of a cause, when others, even the counsel, are very often only upon the surface; his intuition in this respect is proverbial, and hence much of the valuable time of the court is saved upon preliminary or immaterial points. added to which, he is an excellent lawyer, shrewd, clear, and forcible in his delivery, very firm in his judgments, and mild in his ~ ~~language; with a patient command of temper, and continued appearance of good-humour, that adds much to his dignity, and increases public veneration. that he has been the architect of his own elevation is much to be applauded; and it is equally honourable to the state to acknowledge, that he is more indebted to his great talents and his legal knowledge for his present situation than to any personal influence of great interest{ }: of him it may be justly said, he hath "a piercing wit quite void of ostentation; high-erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy; an eloquence as sweet in the uttering, as slow to come to the uttering." _sir p. sidney's arcadia_. it was dick gradus's good-luck to be opposed to scarlett in a case of libel, where the latter was for the defendant. "of all men else at the bar, i know of no one whom i so much wish to encounter," said gradus. his irritable temper, negligence in reading his briefs, and consummate ignorance{ } in any thing beyond term-reports, renders him an easy conquest to a quiet, learned, and comprehensive mind. the two former are qualifications gradus possesses in a very superior degree, and he proved he was in no wise deficient in his opponent's great requisite; i suppose we must call it confidence; but another phrase would be more significant. scarlett is a great tactician; and in defending his client, never hesitates to take we hear that an allusion in page of this work has been supposed to relate to a near relative of the respected chief justice: if it bears any similitude, it is the effect of accident alone; the portrait being drawn for another and a very different person, as the reference to altitude might have shown. see the castigation he received in the courier of friday. dec. , , for his total ignorance of the common terms of art. "----that trick of courts to wear silk at the cost of flattery." _james shirley's poems_. ~ ~~what i should consider the most unfair, as they are ungentlemanly advantages. but there "be they that use men's writings like brute beasts, to make them draw which way they list." _t. nash's lenten stuff_, . his great success and immense practice at the bar is more owing to the scarcity of silk-gowns{ } than the profundity of his talents. the perpetual simper that plays upon his ruby countenance, when finessing with a jury, has, no doubt, its artful effect; although it is as foreign to the true feelings of the man, as the malicious grin of the malignant satirist would be to generosity and true genius. of his oratory, the _aureum flumen orationis_ is certainly not his; and, if he begins a sentence well, he seldom arrives at the conclusion on the same level: he is always most happy in a reply, when he can trick his adversary by making an abusive speech, and calling no witnesses to prove his assertions. our friend gradus obtained a verdict, and after it the congratulations of the court and bar, with whom scarlett is, from his superciliousness, no great favourite. owen feltham, in his resolves, well says, that "arrogance is a weed that ever grows upon a dunghill."{ } the contrast between scarlett and his great opponent, mr. serjeant copley, generally speaking, the management of two-thirds of the business of the court is entrusted to _four silk-gowns_, and about twice as many _worsted_ robes behind the bar. an impromptu written in the court of king's bench during a recent trial for libel. the learned pig. "my learned friend," the showman cries; the pig assents--the showman lies; so counsel oft address a brother in flattering lie to one another; calling their friend some legal varlet, who lies, and bullies, till he's scarlett. ~ ~~the present attorney-general, is a strong proof of the truth of this quotation. to a systematic and profound knowledge of the law, this gentleman unites a mind richly stored with all the advantages of a liberal education and extensive reading, not merely confined to the dry pursuit in which he is engaged, but branching forth into the most luxuriant and highly-cultivated fields of science and the arts. on this account, he shines with peculiar brightness at _nisi prius_; and is as much above the former in the powers of his mind and splendour of his oratory, as he is superior to the presumptuousness of scarlett's vulgarity. mr. marryat is said to possess an excellent knowledge of the heavy business of his profession; and it must be admitted, that his full, round, heavy-looking countenance, and still heavier attempts at wit and humour, admirably suit the man to his peculiar manner: after all, he is a most persevering counsel; not deficient in good sense, and always distinguished by great zeal for his client's interests. mr. gurney is a steady, pains-taking advocate, considered by the profession as a tolerable criminal lawyer, but never affecting any very learned arguments in affairs of principles or precedents. in addressing a jury, he is both perspicuous and convincing; but far too candid and gentlemanly in his practice to contend with the trickery of scarlett.--mr. common-serjeant denman is a man fitted by nature for the law. i never saw a more judicial-looking countenance in my life; there is a sedate gravity about it, both "stern and mild," firm without fierceness, and severe without austerity:--he appears thoughtful, penetrating, and serene, yet not by any means devoid of feeling and expression:--deeply read in the learning of his profession, he is yet much better than a mere lawyer; for his speeches and manners must convince his hearers that he is an accomplished gentleman. of brougham, it may be justly said,~ ~~ ----" his delights are dolphin-like; they show his back above the elements he lives in:" his voice, manner, and personal appearance, are not the happiest; but the gigantic powers of his mind, and the energy of his unconquerable spirit, rise superior to these defects. his style of speaking is marked by a nervous freedom of the most convincing character; he aims little at refinement, and labours more to make himself intelligible than elegant. in zeal for his clients, no man is more indefatigable; and he always appears to dart forward with an undaunted resolution to overcome and accomplish. but here i must stop sketching characters, and refer you to a very able representation of the court, the bar, and jury, by our friend transit, in which are accurate likenesses of all i have previously named, and also of the following worthies, messrs. raine, pollock, ashworth, courtney, starkie, williams, parke, rotch, piatt, patterson, raper, browne, lawrence, and whately, to which are added some whom-- "god forbid me if i slander them with the title of learned, for generally they are not."--nash's lenten stuff, . [illustration: page ] we were just clearing the steps of the court house, when a jolly-looking, knowing sort of fellow, begged permission to speak to echo. a crimson flush o'erspread tom's countenance in a moment. transit, who was down, as he phrased it, tipped me a wink; and although i had never before seen either of the professional brothers-in-law, john doe and richard roe, the smart jockey-boots, short stick, sturdy appearance, and taking manners of the worthy, convinced me at once, that our new acquaintance was one or other of those well-known personages: to be brief, poor tom was arrested for a large sum by a bond-street hotel-keeper, who had trusted him somewhat too long. ~ ~~arrangement by bail was impossible: this was a proceeding on a judgment; and with as little ceremony, and as much _sang froid_ as he would have entered a theatre, poor tom was placed inside a hackney coach, accompanied by the aforesaid personage and his man, and drove off in apparent good spirits for the king's bench prison, where transit and myself promised to attend him on the morrow, employing the mean time in attempting to free him from durance vile. it was about twelve at noon of the next day, when transit and myself, accompanied by tom's creditor and his solicitor, traversed over waterloo bridge, and bent our steps towards the abode of our incarcerated friend. "the winds of march, with many a sudden gust, about saint george's fields had raised the dust; and stirr'd the massive bars that stand beneath the spikes, that wags call _justice abbot's teeth_." the first glimpse of the obelisk convinced us we had entered the confines of _abbot's park_, as the rules are generally termed, for here bob recognised two or three among the sauntering rangers, whose habiliments bore evidence of their once fashionable notoriety; "and still they seem'd, though shorn of many a ray, not less than some arch dandy in decay." "a very pretty _bit of true life_," said bob; and out came the sketch book to note them down, which, as we loitered forward, was effected in his usual rapid manner, portraying one or two well-known characters; but for their cognomens, misfortune claims exemption:--to them we say, "thou seest thou neither art mark'd out or named, and therefore only to thyself art shamed." _j. withers's abuses strict and whipt_. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] to be brief, we found echo, by the aid of the crier, safely tiled in at ten in twelve, happy to all appearance, and perfectly domiciled, with two other equally fresh associates. the creditor and his solicitor chose to wait the issue of our proposition in the lobby; a precaution, as i afterwards found, to be essentially necessary to their own safety; for, "he whom just laws imprison still is free beyond the proudest slaves of tyranny." although i must confess the exhibition we had of _freedom in banco regis_ was rather a rough specimen; a poor little limb of the law, who had formerly been a leg himself, had, like other great lawyers, ratted, and commenced a furious warfare upon some old cronies, for divers penalties and perjuries, arising out of greek prosecutions: too eager to draw the blunt, he had been inveigled into the interior of the prison, and there, after undergoing a most delightful pumping upon, ~ ~~was _rough-dried_ by being tossed in a blanket (see plate). [illustration: page ] this entertainment we had the honour of witnessing from echo's room window; and unless the marshal and his officers had interfered, i know not what might have been the result. a very few words sufficed to convince tom of the necessity of yielding to his creditor's wishes. a letter of licence was immediately produced and signed, and the gay-hearted echo left once more at liberty to wing his flight wherever his fancy might direct. on our road home, it was no trifling amusement to hear him relate "the customs of the place, the manners of its mingled populace, the lavish waste, the riot, and excess, neighbour'd by famine, and the worst distress; the decent few, that keep their own respect, and the contagion of the place reject; the many, who, when once the lobby's pass'd, away for ever all decorum cast, and think the walls too solid and too high, to let the world behold their infamy." ever on the alert for novelty, we hopped into and dined at the coal hole tavern in the strand, certainly one of the best and cheapest ordinaries in london, and the society not of the meanest. rhodes himself is a punster and a poet, sings a good song, and sells the best of wine; and what renders mine host more estimable, is the superior manners of the man. here was congregated together a mixed, but truly merry company, composed of actors, authors, reporters, clerks in public departments, and half-pay officers, full of whim, wit, and eccentricity, which, when the mantling bowl had circulated, did often "set the table in a roar." in the evening, transit proposed to us a visit to the life academy, somerset house, where he was an admitted student; but on trying the experiment, was not able to effect our introduction: you must therefore be content with ~ ~~his sketch of the _true sublime_, in which he has contrived to introduce the portraits of several well-known academicians _(see plate)_. [illustration: page ] thus far horatio heartly had written, when the unexpected appearance of bernard blackmantle in london cut short the thread of his narrative. "where now, mad-cap?" said the sincere friend of his heart: "what unaccountable circumstance can have brought you to the village in term and out of vacation?" "a very uncommon affair, indeed, for a young author, i assure you: i have had the good fortune to receive a notice from the managers of the two theatres royal, that my play is accepted at covent garden, and my farce at drury lane, and am come up post-haste to read them in the green rooms to-morrow, and take the town by storm before the end of the next month." "it is a dangerous experiment," said horatio. "i know it," replied the fearless bernard; "but he who fears danger will never march on to fortune or to victory. i am sure i have a sincere friend in charles kemble, if managerial influence can ensure the success of my play; and i have cast my farce so strong, that even with all elliston's mismanagement, it cannot well fail of making a hit. _nil desperandum_ is my motto; so a truce with your friendly forebodings of doubts, and fears, and critics' _scratches_; for i am determined 'to seek the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth.'" thus ended the colloquy, and on the morning of the morrow bernard was introduced, in due form, to the _dramatis personæ_ of the theatre royal, covent garden (see plate). [illustration: page ] there is as much difference between the rival companies of the two patent theatres as there is between the habits and conduct of the managers: in covent garden, the gentlemanly manners of charles kemble, and his amiable desire to make all happy around him, has imparted something of a kindred feeling to the ~ ~~performers; and hence, assisted by the friendly ancient fawcett, the whole of the establishment has all the united family feeling of a little commonwealth, struggling to secure its independence and popularity. here bernard's reception was every thing a young author could wish: kind attention from the company, and considerative hints for the improvement of his play, accompanied with the good wishes of all for its success, left an impression of gratitude upon the mind of the young author, that gave fresh inspiration to his talents, and increased his confidence in his own abilities. at drury lane the case was far otherwise; and the want of that friendly attention which distinguished the rival company proved very embarrassing to the early buddings of dramatic genius. perhaps a slight sketch of the scene might not prove uninstructive to young authors, or fail in its intended effect upon old actors. reader, imagine bernard blackmantle, an enthusiastic and eccentric child of genius, seated at the green-room table, reading his musical farce to the surrounding company, and then judge what must be the effect of the following little scene. programme. bernard blackmantle reading; mr. elliston speaking to spring, the box-office keeper; and mr. winston in a passion, at the door, with the master carpenter; mr. knight favouring the author with a few new ideas; and the whole company engaged in the most amusing way, making side speeches to one another (see plate). dowton. 'gad, renounce me--little valorous--d----d annoying, (_looking at his watch_)--these long rehearsals always spoil my vauxhall dinner--more hints to the author--better keep them for his next piece. ~ ~~munden (sputtering). my wigs and eyes--dowton's a better part than mine; i'll have a fit of the gout, on purpose to get out of it--that's what i will. knight (to the author). my dear boy, it strikes me that it might be much improved. (aside) got an idea; but can't let him have it for nothing. harley (to elliston). if this piece succeeds, it can't be played every night--let fitz. understudy it--don't breakfast on beef-steaks, now. if you wish to enjoy health--live at pimlico--take a run in the parks--and read abernethy on constitutional origin. terry (to mrs. orger). it's a remarkable thing that the manager should allow these d----d interruptions. if it was my piece, i would not suffer it--that's my opinion. wallace (to himself). what a little discontented mortal that is!--it's the best part in the piece, and he wishes it made still better. elliston (awakening). silence there, gentlemen, or it will be impossible to settle this important point--and my property will, in consequence, be much deteriorated. (enter boy with brandy and water.) proceed, sir--(to author, after a sip)--very spirited indeed. [illustration: page ] enter sam. spring, touching his hat. spring. underline a special desire, sir, next week? elliston. no, sam., i fear our special desires are nearly threadbare. prompter's boy calling in at the door. mr. octavius clarke would be glad to speak with mr. elliston. elliston. he be d----d! silence that noise between messrs. winston and bunn--and turn out waterloo tom. madame vestris. my dear elliston, do you mean to keep us here all day? ~ ~~elliston (whispering). i had rather keep you all night, madame. sherwin (to g. smith). i wish it may be true that one of our comedians is going to the other house; i shall then stand some chance for a little good business--at present i have only two decent parts to my back. liston (as stiff as a poker). if i pass an opinion, i must have an increase of salary; i never unbend on these occasions. mrs. orger (to the author). this part is not so good as sally mags. i must take my friend's opinion in the city. miss stephens (laughing). i shall only sing one stanza of this ballad--it's too sentimental. miss smithson (aside, but loud enough for the manager to hear). ton my honour, mr. elliston never casts me any thing but the sentimental dolls and _la la_ ladies. g-- smith (in a full bass voice). nor me any thing but the rough cottagers and banditti men; but, never mind, my bass solo will do the trick. gattie (yawning). i wish it was twelve o'clock, for i'm half asleep, and i've made a vow never to take snuff before twelve; if you don't believe me, ask mrs. g. after the hit i made in monsieur tonson, it's d--d hard they don't write more frenchmen. madame vestris. mr. author, can't you make this a breeches part?--i shall be _all abroad_ in petticoats. bernard blackmantle. i should wish to be _at home_ with madame vestris. mrs. harlowe. really, mr. author, this part of mine is a mere clod's wife--nothing like so good as dame ashfield. could not you introduce a supper-scene? at length silence is once more obtained; the author finishes his task, and retires from the _green-room_ ~ ~~looking as blue as megrim, and feeling as fretful as the renowned sir plagiary. of the success or failure of the two productions, i shall speak in the next volume; when i propose to give the first night of a new play, with sketches of some of the critical characters who usually attend. in the evening, transit, echo, and heartly enlisted me for the lord mayor's ball at the mansion house--a most delightful squeeze; and, it being during waithman's mayoralty, abounding with lots of character for my friend bob; to whose facetious pencil, i must at present leave the scene (see plate); intending to be more particular in my civic descriptions, should i have the honour of dining with the corporation next year in their guildhall. [illustration: page a] the wind-up of the term rendered it essentially necessary that i should return to oxford with all possible expedition, as my absence at such a time, if discovered, might involve me in some unpleasant feeling with the big wigs. hither i arrived, in due time to save a lecture, and receive an invitation to spend a few weeks in the ensuing year at cambridge, where my kind friend horace eglantine has entered himself of trinity; and by the way of inducement, has transmitted the characteristic sketch of the notorious jemmy gordon playing off one of his mad pranks upon the big wigs of peter-house, (see plate) the particulars of which, will, with more propriety, come into my sketches at cambridge. [illustration: page b] we are here all bustle--scouts packing up and posting off to the coach-offices with luggage--securing places for students, and afterwards clearing places for themselves--oxford duns on the sharp look-out for shy-ones, and pretty girls whimpering at the loss of their lovers--dons and big wigs promising themselves temporal pleasures, and their ladies reviling the mantua-makers for not having used sufficient expedition--some taking their last farewell of _alma mater_, and others sighing to behold the joyous faces of affectionate kindred and early friends. long ~ ~~bills, and still _longer_ promises passing currently--and the high-street exhibiting a scene of general confusion, until the last coach rattles over magdalen bridge, and oxford tradesmen close their _oaks_. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] term ends. conclusion of volume one. [illustration: page ] volume ii. the english spy an original work, characteristic, satirical, and humorous, comprising scenes and sketches in every rank of society, being portraits of the illustrious, eminent, eccentric and notorious drawn from the life by bernard blackmantle the illustrations designed by robert cruikshank vol. ii [illustration: spines] by frolic, mirth, and fancy gay, old father time is borne away. london: published by sherwood, gilbert, and piper, paternoster-row. . london. printed by thomas davison, whitefriars [illustration: titlepage] [illustration: title ] illustrations in the english spy. to face page i. a short set-to at long's hotel; or, stopford not getting the best of it. ii. courtiers carousing in a cadger's ken. iii. the wake; or, teddy o'rafferty's last appearance. a scene in the holy land. iv. the cyprian's ball at the argyll room. v. john liston and the lambkins; or, the citizen's treat. vi. the great actor; or, mr punch in all his glory. amusements of the lower orders. scene in leicester-fields. vii. college ghosts. a frolic of the westminster blacks. a scene in dean's yard. viii. the marigold family on a party of plea- sure; or, the effect of a storm in the little bay of biscay, otherwise, chelsea reach. hints to fresh water sailors, the alderman and family running foul of the safety. a bit of fun for the westminster scholars. how to make ducks and geese swim after they are cooked. calamities of a cit's water party to richmond. ix. the epping hunt on easter monday; or, cockney comicalities in full chase. lots of characters and lots of accidents, runaways and fly-aways, no goes and out and outers, the flask and the foolish, gibs, spavins, millers and trumpeters. the stag against the field. bob transit's excursion with the nacker man. x. the tea-pot row at harrow; or, the battle of hog lane. harrow boys making a smash among the crockery, a scene sketched from the life, dedicated to the sons of noblemen and gentlemen participators in the sport. xi. the cit's sunday ordinary at the gate house, highgate; or, every hog to his own apple. another trip with the marigold family. specimens of gormandizing. inhabitants of cockayne ruralizing. cits and their cubs. cutting capers, a scramble for a dinner. xii. bulls and bears in high bustle; or, billy wright's pony made a member of the stock exchange. interior view of the money market. portraits of well-known stock brokers. a scene sketched from the life. xiii. the promenade at cowes. with portraits of noble commanders and members of the royal yacht club. xiv. the return to port. sailors carousing, or a jollification on board the piranga. xv. point street, portsmouth. chairing the cockswain. british tars and their girls in high glee. xvi. evening and in high spirits, a scene at long's hotel, bond-street. well-known roués and their satellites. portraits from the life, including the pea green hayne, tom best, lord w. lennox, colonel berkeley, mr. jackson, white headed bob, hudson the tobacconist, john long, &c. &c. xvii. morning, and in low spirits, a lock up scene in a sponging house, carey street.-- a bit of good truth. for particulars, see work; or inquire of fat radford, the domini of the domxts. xviii. the house of lords in high debate. sketched at the time when ii. r. h. the duke of york was making his celebrated speech upon the catholic question. portraits of the dukes of york, gloucester, wellington, de- vonshire, marquesses of anglesea and hertford, earls of liver- pool, grey, westmorland, bathurst, eldon, and pomfret, lords holland, king, ellenborough, &c. &c. and the whole bench of bishops. xix. the point of honour decided; or, the leaden arguments of a love affair. view in hyde park. tom echo engaged in an affair of honour. a chapter on duelling. xx. the great subscription room at brookes's. opposition members engaged upon hazardous points. por- traits of the great and the little well-known parliamentary characters. xxi. the evening in the circular room; or, a squeeze at carlton palace. exquisites and elegantes making their way to the presence chamber. portraits of stars of note and ton, blue ribands and red ribands, army and navy. xxii. the high street, cheltenham. well-known characters among the chelts. xxiii. going out. a view of berkeley hunt kennel. xxiv. the royal wells at cheltenham; or, spas- modic affections from spa waters. chronic affections and cramp comicalities. xxv. the bag-men's banquet. a view of the commercial room at the bell inn, chelten- ham. portraits of well-known travellers. xxvi. the oakland cottages, cheltenham; or, fox hunters and their favourites, a tit bit, done from the life. dedicated to the members of the berkeley hunt. xxvii. doncaster race course during the great st. leger race, . well-known heroes of the turf. legs and loungers. xxviii. the comical procession from gloucester to berkeley. xxix. the post office, bristol. arrival of the london mail. lots of news, and new characters. portraits of well-known bristolians. xxx. fancy ball at the upper rooms, bath. xxxi. the pump room, bath. visitors taking a sip with king bladud. xxxii. the old beau and false belle; or, mr. b. and miss l. a bath story. xxxiii. the public baths at bath; or, stewing alive. bernard blackmantle and bob transit taking a dip with king bladud. union of the sexes. welsh wigs and decency. no swimming or plunging allowed. xxxiv. milsom street and bond street, or bath swells. well-known characters at the court of king bladud. xxxv. the buff club at the pig and whistle, avon street, bath. a bit of real life in the territories of old king bladud. xxxvi. the bowling alley at worcester; or, the well-known characters of the hand and glove club. engravings on wood. . the gate house, highgate, citizens toiling up the hill to the sunday ordinary . a lame duck waddling out of the stock exchange . the dandy candy man, a cheltenham vignette . the floating harbour and welsh back, bristol. . bath market-place, with portraits of the celebrated orange women . the sporting club at the castle tavern. portraits of choice spirits . the battle of the chairs . vignette. portraits of blackmantle the english spy, and transit the english spy. nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry, "the satirist has pass'd us by:" but, with good humour, view our page depict the manners of the age. vide work. introduction to the second volume. bernard blackmantle to the public. "the muse's office was by heaven design'd to please, improve, instruct, reform mankind." --churchill. readers!--friends, i may say, for your flattering support has enabled me to continue my sketches of society to a second volume with that prospect of advantage to all concerned which makes labour delightful--accept this fresh offering of an eccentric, but grateful mind, to that shrine where alone he feels he owes any submission--the tribunal of public opinion. in starting for the goal of my ambition, the prize of your approbation, i have purposely avoided the beaten track of other periodical writers, choosing for my subjects scenes and characters of real life, transactions of our own times, _characteristic, satirical, and humorous_, confined to no particular place, and carefully avoiding every thing like personal ill-nature or party feeling. my associates, the artists and publishers, are not less anxious than myself to acknowledge their gratitude; and we intend to prove, by our united endeavours, how highly we appreciate the extensive patronage we have already obtained. bernard blackmantle, ode, congratulatory and advisiory, to bernard blackmantle, esq. on the completion of his first volume of the spy. "i smell a rat."--book of common parlance. "more sinned against than sinning."--william shakspeare. "the very _spy_ o' the time."--ibid. well done, my lad, you've run on strong amidst the bustle of life's throng, nor thrown a _spavin_ yet; you've gone at score, your pace has told; i hope, my boy, your wind will hold-- you've others yet to fret. you've told the town that you are _fly_ to cant, and rant, and trickery; and that whene'er you doze, like bristol men, you never keep but one eye closed--so you can tweak e'en then a scoundrel's nose. pull up, and rinse your mouth a bit; it is hot work, this race of wit, and sets the bellows piping; next vol. you'll grind _the flats_ again, and file the _sharps_ unto the grain, their very stomachs griping. ~ ~~ but why, good bernard, do you dream that we reviewers scorn the cream{ } arising from your jokes? upon my soul, we love some fun as well as any 'neath the sun, although we fight in cloaks. heav'n help thee, boy, we are not they who only go to damn a play, and cackle in the pit; like good sir william curtis{ } we can laugh at _nous_ and drollery, though of ourselves 'twere writ. was yours but sky blue milk and water, we'd hand you over to the slaughter of cow committee-men{ }; for butterflies, and "such small deer," are much beneath our potent spear-- the sharp gray goose-wing'd pen. see my friend bernard's _cracker_ to the reviewers in no. , a perfect fifth of november bit of _firework_, i can assure you, good people. but it won't go off with me without a brand from the bonfire in return. "bear this bear all." have you ever dared the "salt sea ocean," my readers, with the alderman admiral? if not, know that he has as pretty a collection of caricatures in his cabin, and all against his own sweet self, as need be wished to heal sea-sickness. is not this magnanimity? i think so. the baronet is really "a worthy gentleman." vide advertisements of "alderney milk company." what company shall we keep next, my masters? mining companies, or steam brick companies, or washing companies? how many of them will be in the suds anon? pshaw! throw physic to the projectors--i prefer strong beer well hopped. but yours we feel is sterner stuff, and though perchance _too much in huff_, _more natural_ you will swear; it really shows such game and pluck, that we could take with you "pot luck," and deem it decent fare. but, 'pon our _conscience_, bonny lad, (we've got _some_, boy), it is too bad so fiercely to show fight; gadzooks, 'tis time when comes the foe to strip and sport a word and blow, my dear pugnacious wight! 'tis very wise, t own, to pull fast by the horns some butting bull, when 'gainst yourself he flies; but to attack that sturdy beast, when he's no thoughts on you to feast, is very _otherwise_. but we'll forgive your paper balls, which on our jackets hurtless falls, like hail upon a tower: pray put wet blankets on your ire; really, good sir, we've no desire to blight so smart a flower. well, then, i see no reason why there should be war, good mister spy so, faith! we'll be allies; and if we must have fights and frays, we'll shoot at pride and poppinjays, and folly as it flies. there's field enough for both to _beat_ employment for our hands, eyes, feet, to mark the quarry down, _black game_ and white game a full crop, fine birds, fine feathers for to lop, in country and in town. ~ ~~ new city _specs_, new west-end rigs, new gas-blown boots, new steam-curl'd wigs, new fashionable schools, new dandies, and new bond-street dons, and new intrigues, and new crim cons, new companies of fools.{ } maria foote and edmund kean, the "lions" just now of the scene, shall yield to newer fun; for all our wonders at the best are cast off for a newer vest, after a nine days' run. old beaux at bath, manoeuvring belles, and pump-room puppies, melsom swells, and mr. _heaviside_,{ } and cheltenham carders,{ } every _runt_, see note , page . mr. heaviside, the polite m. c. of bath. he has the finest cauliflower head of hair i over remember; but it covers a world of wit, for all that, and therefore however it may appear, it certainly is not the heavy side of him. cards, cards, cards, nothing but cards from "rosy morn to dewy eve" at the town of cheltenham. whist, with the sun shining upon their sovereigns, one would think a sovereign remedy for their waste of the blessed day--_écarte_, whilst the blue sky is mocking the blue countenances of your thirty pound losers in as many seconds. is it not marvellous? fathers, husbands, men who profess to belong to the church. by jupiter! instead of founding the new university they talk about, they had better make it for the pupilage of perpetual card-players, and let them take their degrees by the cleverness in odd tricks, or their ability in shuffling. "no offence, gregory." "no wonder they have their decrepit ones, their ranters." ~ ~~ the playhouse, berkeley, and "the hunt," with marshall{ } by their side. all these and more i should be loth to let escape from one or both, so saddle for next heat: the bell is rung, the course is cleared, mount on your hobby, "nought afear'd," _black-jacket_ can't be beat. "dum _spiro_ spero" shout, and ride till you have 'scalp'd old folly's hide, and none a kiss will waft her; bind all the fools in your new book, that "i spy!" may lay my hook, and d--n them nicely after. an honest reviewer.{ } given at my friend, "sir john barleycorn's" chambers, tavistock, covent garden, this the th, day of february, , "almost at odds with morning." mr. marshall, the m. c. of cheltenham. "wear him in your heart's core, horatio." i knew him well, a "fellow of infinite jest." a long reign and a merry one to him. my anonymous friend will perceive that i estimate his wit and talent quite as much as his honesty: had he not been such a _rara avis_ he would have been consigned to the "tomb of all the capulets." cytherean beauties. "the trav'ller, if he chance to stray, may turn uncensured to his way; polluted streams again are pure, and deepest wounds admit a cure; but woman no redemption knows-- the wounds of honour never close." --moore. ~ ~~tremble not, ye fair daughters of chastity! frown not, ye moralists! as your eyes rest upon the significant title to our chapter, lest we should sacrifice to curiosity the blush of virtue. we are painters of real life in all its varieties, but our colouring shall not be over-charged, or our characters out of keeping. the glare of profligacy shall be softened down or so neutralized as not to offend the most delicate feelings. in sketching the reigning beauties of the time, we shall endeavour to indulge the lovers of variety without sacrificing the fair fame of individuals, or attempting to make vice respectable. pleasure is our pursuit, but we are accompanied up the flowery ascent by contemplation and reflection, two monitors that shrink back, like sensitive plants, as the thorns press upon them through the ambrosial beds of new-blown roses. in our record of the daughters of pleasure, we shall only notice those who are distinguished as _belles of ton--stars_ of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of fashion; and of these the reader may say, with one or two exceptions, they "come like shadows, so depart." we would rather excite sympathy and pity for the ~ ~~unfortunate, than by detailing all we know produce the opposite feelings of obloquy and detestation. "unhappy sex! when beauty is your snare, exposed to trials, made too frail to bear." then, oh! ye daughters of celestial virtue, point not the scoffing glance at these, her truant children, as ye pass them by--but pity, and afford them a gleam of cheerful hope: so shall ye merit the protection of him whose chief attribute is charity and universal benevolence. and ye, lords of the creation! commiserate their misfortunes, which owe their origin to the baseness of the seducer, and the natural depravity of your own sex. ladies of distinction, "dans le parterre des impures." "simplex sigillum veri." "nought is there under heav'n's wide hollowness that moves more dear, compassion of the mind, than beauty brought t' unworthy wretchedness." ~ ~~if ever there was a fellow formed by nature to captivate and conquer the heart of lovely woman, it is that arch-looking, light-hearted apollo, horace eglantine, with his soul-enlivening conversational talents, his scraps of poetry, and puns, and fashionable anecdote; his chivalrous form and noble carriage, joined to a mirth-inspiring countenance and soft languishing blue eye, which sets half the delicate bosoms that surround him palpitating between hope and fear; then a glance at his well-shaped leg, or the fascination of an elegant compliment, smilingly overleaping a pearly fence of more than usual whiteness and regularity, fixes the fair one's doom; while the young rogue, triumphing in his success, turns on his heel and plays off another battery on the next pretty susceptible piece of enchanting simplicity that accident may throw into his way. "who is that attractive star before whose influential light he at present seems to bow with adoration?" "a _fallen one_," said crony, to whom the question was addressed, as he rode up the drive in hyde park, towards cumberland-gate, accompanied by bernard blackmantle. "a _fallen one_" reiterated the oxonian--"impossible!" "why, i have marked the fair daughter of fashion myself for the last fortnight constantly in the drive with one of the most superb ~ ~~equipages among the _ton_ of the day." "true," responded crony, "and might have done so for any time these three years." in london these daughters of pleasure are like physicians travelling about to destroy in all sorts of ways, some on foot, others on horseback, and the more finished lolling in their carriages, ogling and attracting by the witchery of bright eyes; the latter may, however, very easily be known, by the usual absence of all armorial bearings upon the panel, the chariot elegant and in the newest fashion, generally dark-coloured, and lined with crimson to cast a rich glow upon the occupant, and the servants in plain frock liveries, with a cockade, of course, to imply their mistresses have _seen service_. i know but of one who sports any heraldic ornament, and that is the female giovanni, who has the very appropriate crest of a serpent coiled, and preparing to spring upon its prey, _à la cavendish_. the _elegante_ in the dark _vis_, to whom our friend horace is paying court, is the _ci-devant_ lady ros--b--y, otherwise clara w----. by the peer she has a son, and from the plebeian a pension of two hundred pounds per annum: her origin, like most of the frail sisterhood, is very obscure; but clara certainly possesses talents of the first order, and evinces a generosity of disposition to her sisters and family that is deserving of commendation. in person, she is plump and well-shaped, but of short stature, with a fine dark eye and raven locks that give considerable effect to an otherwise interesting countenance. a few years since she had a penchant for the stage, and played repeatedly at one of the minor theatres, under the name of "the lady;" a character clara can, when she pleases, support with unusual _gaieté_: instance her splendid parties in manchester-street, manchester-square, where i have seen a coruscation of beauties assembled together that must have made great havoc in their time among the hearts of the young, the gay, and the generous. like ~ ~~most of her society, clara has no idea of prudence, and hence to escape some pressing importunities, she levanted for a short time to scotland, but has since, by the liberal advances of her present delusive, been enabled to quit the interested apprehensions of the _dun_ family. the swaggering belle in the green pelisse yonder, on the _pavé_, is the celebrated courtezan, mrs. st*pf**d, of curzon-street, may-fair. how she acquired her present cognomen i know not, unless it was for her _stopping_ accomplishment in the polite science of pugilism and modern patter, in both of which she is a finished proficient, as poor john d------, a dashing savoury chemist, can vouch for. on a certain night, she followed this unfaithful swain, placing herself (unknown to him) behind his carriage, to the house of a rival sister of cytherea, mrs. st**h**e, and there enforced, by divers potent means, due submission to the laws of constancy and love; but as such compulsory measures were not in _good taste_ with the _protector's_ feelings, the contract was soon void, and the lady once more liberated to choose another and another swain, with a pension of two hundred pounds per annum, and a well-furnished house into the bargain. she was formerly, and when first she came out, the _chère amie_ of tom b-----, who had, in spite of his science recently, in a short affair at long's hotel, not much the best of it. (see plate). [illustration: page ] from him she bolted, and enlisted with an officer of the nineteenth lancers; but not liking the house of montague, she obtained the grant of a furlough, and has since indulged in a plurality of lovers, without much attention to size, age, persons, or professions. of her talent in love affairs, we have given some specimens; and her courage in war can never be doubted after the formidable attack she recently made upon general sir john d***e, returning through hounslow from a review, from which _rencontre_ she has obtained the appropriate appellation of the _brazen ~ ~~ bellona_. a pretty round face, dark hair, and fine bushy eyebrows, are no mean attractions; independent of which the lady is always upon good terms with herself. the _belle whip_ driving the cabriolet, with a chestnut horse and four white legs, is the _edgeware diana_ mrs. s***h, at present engaged in a partnership affair, in the foreign line, with two citizens, messrs o. r. and s.; the peepholes at the side of her machine imply more than mere curiosity, and are said to have been invented by general ogle, for the use of the ladies when on active service. the beautiful little water lily in the chocolate-coloured chariot, with a languishing blue eye and alabaster skin, is mrs. ha****y, otherwise k**d***k, of gr--n-street, a great favourite with all who know her, from the elegance of her manners and the attractions of her person (being perfect symmetry); at present she is under the _special protection_ of a city stave merchant, and has the _reputation_ of being very sincere in her attachments. "you must have been a desperate fellow in your time, crony," said i, "among the belles of this class, or you could never have become so familiar with their history." "it is the fashion," replied the veteran, "to understand these matters; among the _bons vivants_ of the present day a fellow would be suspected of _chastity_, or regarded as _uncivilized_, who could not run through the history of the reigning beauties of the times, descanting upon their various charms with poetical fervor, or illuminating, as he proceeds, with some choice anecdotes of the _paphian divinities_, their protectors and propensities; and to do the fair _citherians_ justice, they are not much behindhand with us in that respect, for the whole conversation of the sisterhood turns upon the figure, fortune, genius, or generosity of the admiring beaux. to a young and ardent mind, just emerging from scholastic discipline, with feelings uncontaminated by ~ ~~fashionable levities, and a purse equal to all pleasurable purposes, a correct knowledge of the mysteries of the _citherian principles of astronomy_ may be of the most essential consequence, not less in protecting his _morals and health_ than in the preservation of life and fortune. one half the duels, suicides, and _fashionable bankruptcies_ spring from this polluted source. the stars of this order rise and fall in estimation, become fixed planets or meteors of the most enchanting brilliancy, in proportion not to the grace of modesty, or the fascination of personal beauty, but to the notoriety and number of their amours, and the peerless dignity of their plurality of lovers. "place the goddess of love on the pedestal of chastity, in the sacred recesses of the grove of health, veiled by virgin innocence, and robed in celestial purity, and who among the _cameleon_ race of fashionable _roués_ would incur the charge of _vandalism_, or turn aside to pay devotion at her shrine? but let the salacious deity of impurity mount the car of profligacy, and drive forth in all the glare of crimson and gold, and a thousand devotees are ready to sacrifice their honour upon her profligate altars, or chain themselves to her chariot wheels as willing slaves to worship and adore." "let us take another turn up the drive," said i, "for i am willing to confess myself much interested in this _new system of astronomy_, and perhaps we may discover a few more of the _terrestrial planets_, and observe the _stars_ that move around their frail orbits." "i must first make you acquainted with the signs of the _paphian zodiac_," said crony; "for every one of these attractions have their peculiar and appropriate fashionable appellations. i have already introduced you to the _bang bantum_, mrs bertram; the _london leda_, moll raffles; the _spanish nun_, st. margurite; the _sparrow hawk_, augusta c****e{ }; the _golden_ see vol. i. ~ ~~_pippin_, mrs. c.; the _white crow_, clara w****; the _brazen bellona_, mrs. st**f**d; the _edgeware diana_, mrs. s**th; and the _water lily symmeterian_, ha**l*y--_all planets_ of the first order, carriage curiosities. let us now proceed to make further observations. the _jolie_ dame yonder, in the phaeton, drawn by two fine bays, is called the _white doe_, from her first deer protector; and although somewhat on the decline, she is yet an exhibit of no mean attraction, and a lady of fortune. thanks to the liberality of an old hewer of stone, and the talismanic powers of the _golden ball_, deserted by her last swain since his marriage, she now reclines upon the velvet cushion of independence, enjoying in the kilburn retreat, her _otium cum dignitate_, secure from the rude winds of adversity, and in the occasional society of a few old friends. the lovely thais in the brown chariot, with a fine roman countenance, dark hair, and sparkling eyes, is the favourite elect of a well-known whig member; here she passes by the name of the _comic muse_, the first letter of which will also answer for the leading initial of her theatrical cognomen. her, private history is well-known to every son of _old etona_ who has taken a _toodle_ over windsor-bridge on a market-day within the last fifteen years, her parents being market gardeners in the neighbourhood; and her two unmarried sisters, both fine girls, are equally celebrated with the bath orange-women for the neatness of their dress and comeliness of their persons. there is a sprightliness and good-humour about the _comic muse_ that turns aside the shafts of ill-nature; and had she made her selection more in accordance with propriety, and her own age, she might have escaped our notice; but, alas!" said crony, "she forgets that 'the rose's age is but a day; its bloom, the pledge of its decay, sweet in scent, in colour bright, it blooms at morn and fades at night. ~ ~~at this moment a dashing little horsewoman trotted by in great style, followed by a servant in blue and gold livery; her bust was perfection itself, but studded with the oddest pair of _ogles_ in the world, and crony assured me (report said) her person was supported by the shortest pair of legs, for an adult, in christendom. "that is the _queen_ of the _dandysettes_," said my old friend, "sophia, selina, or, as she is more generally denominated, _galloping_ w****y, from a _long pole_, who settled the interest of five thousand upon her for her natural life; she is since said to have married her groom, with, however, this prudent stipulation, that he is still to ride behind her in public, and answer all demands in _propria persona_. she is constantly to be seen at all masquerades, and may be easily known by her utter contempt for the incumbrance of decent costume." "how d'ye do? how d'ye do?" said a most elegant creature, stretching forth her delicate white kid-covered arm over the _fenêtre_ of lord hxxxxxxx*h's _vis à vis_. "ah! _bon jour, ma chère amie_," said old crony, waving his hand and making one of his best bows in return. "you are a happy dog," said i, "old fellow, to be upon such pleasant terms with that divinity. no plebeian blood there, i should think: a peeress, i perceive, by the coronet on the panels." "_a peine cognoist, ou la femme et le melon_," responded crony, "you shall hear. among the _ton_ she passes by the name of vestina the titan, from her being such a finished tactician in the campaigns of venus;. her ordinary appellation is mrs. st--h--pe: whether this be a _nom de guerre or a nom de terre_, i shall not pretend to decide; if we admit that _la chose est toute_, _et que la nom n'y fait rien_, the rest is of no consequence. it would be an intricate task to unravel the family web of our fashionable frail ones, although that of many frail fashionables stands high in heraldry. the lady in question, although in 'the sear o' the leaf,' is yet in high request; 'fat, fair, and forty' shall i say? ~ ~~alas! that would have been more suitable ten years since; but, _n'importe_, she has the science to conceal the ravages of time, and is yet considered attractive. no one better understands the art of intrigue; and she is, moreover, a travelled dame, not deficient in intellect, full of anecdote; and as _conjugation and declension_ go hand in hand with some men of taste, she has risen into notice when others usually decline. a sporting colonel is said to have formerly contributed largely to her comforts, and her tact in matters of business is notorious; about two hundred per annum she derived from the stock exchange, and her present _peerless protector_ no doubt subscribes liberally. to be brief, laura has money in the funds, a splendid house, carriage, gives her grand parties, and lives proportionably expensive and elegant; yet with all this she has taken care that the age of gold may succeed to the age of brass, that the retirement of her latter days may not be overclouded by the storms of adversity. she had two sisters, both gay, who formerly figured on the _pavé_, sarah and louisa; but of late they have disappeared, report says, to _conjugate_ in private. turn your eyes towards the promenade," said crony, "and observe that constellation of beauties, three in number, who move along _le verd gazon_: they are denominated the _red rose_, the _moss rose_, and the _cabbage rose_. the first is rose co*l**d, a dashing belle, who has long figured in high life; her first appearance was in company with lord william f***g***ld, by whom she has a child living; from thence we trace her to the protection of another peer, lord ty*****], and from him gradually declining to the rich relative of a northern baronet, sportive little jack r*****n, whose favourite _lauda finem_ she continued for some time; but as the law engrossed rather too much of her protector's affairs, so the fair engrossed rather too much of the law; whether she has yet given up ~ ~~practice in the king's bench i cannot determine, but her appearance here signifies that she will accept a fee from any side; rose has long since lost every tint of the maiden's blush, and is now in the full blow of her beauty and maturity, but certainly not without considerable personal attractions; with some her _nom de guerre_ is _rosa longa_, and a wag of the day says, that rose is a beauty in _spite of her teeth_. the _moss rose_ has recently changed her cognomen with her residence, and is now mrs. f**, of beaumout-street; she was never esteemed a _planet_, and may be now said to have sunk into a star of the second order, a little _twinkling light_, useful to assist elderly gentlemen in finding their way to the paphian temple. the _cabbage rose_ is one of your vulgar beauties, ripe as a peach, and rich in countenance as the ruby: if she has never figured away with the peerage, she has yet the credit of being entitled to _three balls_ on her coronet, and an _old uncle_ to support them: she has lately taken a snug box in park-place, regent's-park, and lives in very good style. the belle in the brown chariot, gray horses, and blue liveries is now the lady of a baronet, and one of three _graceless graces_, the elxxxxx's, who, because their father kept a livery stable, must needs all go to _rack_: she has a large family living by mr. v*l*b***s, whom she left for the honour of her present connexion. that she is married to the baronet, there is no doubt; and it is but justice to add, she is one among the many instances of such compromises in fashionable life who are admitted into society upon sufferance, and falls into the class of demi-respectables. among the park beaux she is known by the appellation of the _doldrums_ her two sisters have been missing some time, and it is said are now rusticating in paris." my friend eglantine had evidently fled away with the white crow, and the fashionables were rapidly decreasing in the drive, when crony, whose scent of ~ ~~dinner hour is as staunch as that of an old pointer at game, gave evident symptoms of his inclination to masticate. "we must take another opportunity to finish our lecture on the principles of _citherian astronomy_," said the old beau, "for as yet we are not half through the list of constellations. i have a great desire to introduce you to harriette wilson and her sisters, whose true history will prove very entertaining, particularly as the fair writer has altogether omitted the genuine anecdotes of herself and family in her recently published memoirs." at dinner we were joined by horace eglantine and bob transit, from the first of whom we learned, that a grand fancy ball was to take place at the argyll rooms in the course of the ensuing week, under the immediate direction of four fashionable impures, and at the expense of general trinket, a broad-shouldered milesian, who having made a considerable sum by the commissariat service, had returned home to spend his peninsular pennies among the paphian dames of the metropolis. for this entertainment we resolved to obtain tickets, and as the ci-devant lady h***e was to be patroness, crony assured us there would be no difficulty in that respect, added to which, he there promised to finish his sketches of the citherian beauties of the metropolis, and afford my friend transit an opportunity of sketching certain portraits both of paphians and their paramours. [illustration: page ] the wake; or, teddy o'rafferty's last appearance. a scene in the holy land. ~ ~~ 'twas at teddy o'rafferty's wake, just to comfort ould judy, his wife, the lads of the hod had a frake. and kept the thing up to the life. there was father o'donahoo, mr. delany, pat murphy the doctor, that rebel o'shaney, young terence, a nate little knight o' the hod, and that great dust o'sullivan just out o' quod; then florence the piper, no music is riper, to all the sweet cratures with emerald fatures who came to drink health to the dead. not bryan baroo had a louder shaloo when he gave up his breath, to that tythe hunter death, than the howl over teddy's cowld head: 'twas enough to have rais'd up a saint. all the darlings with whiskey so faint, and the lads full of fight, had a glorious night, when ould teddy was wak'd in his shed. --original. he who has not travelled in ireland should never presume to offer an opinion upon its natives. it is not from the wealthy absentees, who since the union have abandoned their countrymen to wretchedness, for the advancement of their own ambitious views, that we can form a judgment of the exalted irish: nor is it from the lowly race, who driven forth by starving penury, crowd our more prosperous shores, ~ ~~that we can justly estimate the true character of the peasantry of that unhappy country. the memoirs of captain rock may have done something towards removing the national prejudices of englishmen; while the frequent and continued agitation of that important question, the emancipation of the catholics, has roused a spirit of inquiry in every worthy bosom that will much advantage the oppressed, and, eventually, diffuse a more general and generous feeling towards the irish throughout civilized europe. i have been led into this strain of contemplation, by observing the ridiculous folly and wasteful expenditure of the nobility and fashionables of great britain; who, neglecting their starving tenantry and kindred friends, crowd to the shores of france and italy in search of scenery and variety, without having the slightest knowledge of the romantic beauties and delightful landscapes, which abound in the three kingdoms of the rose, the shamrock, and the thistle. how much good might be done by the examples of a few illustrious, noble, and wealthy individuals, making annual visits to ireland and scotland! what a field does it afford for true enjoyment! how superior, in most instances, the accommodations and security; and how little, if at all inferior, to the scenic attractions of foreign countries. then too the gratification of observing the progress of improvement in the lower classes, of administering to their wants, and consoling with them under their patient sufferings from oppressive laws, rendered perhaps painfully necessary by the political temperature of the times or the unforgiving suspicions of the past. but i am becoming sentimental when i ought to be humorous, contemplative when i should be characteristic, and seriously sententious when i ought to be playfully satirical. forgive me, gentle reader, if from the collapse of the spirit, i have for a moment turned aside from the natural gaiety of my ~ ~~style, to give utterance to the warm feelings of an eccentric but generous heart. but, _allons_ to the wake. "plaze ye'r honor," said barney o'finn (my groom of the chambers), "may i be _axing_ a holiday to-night?" "it will be very inconvenient, barney; but------" "but, your honor's not the jontleman to refuse a small trate o' the sort," said barney, anticipating the conclusion of my objection. there was some thing unusually anxious about the style of the poor fellow's request that made me hesitate in the refusal. "it's not myself that would be craving the favor, but a poor dead cousin o' mine, heaven rest his sowl!" "and how can the granting of such a request benefit your departed relation, barney?" quoth i, not a little puzzled by the strangeness of the application. "sure, that's mighty _dare_ of comprehension, your honor. teddy o'rafferty was my own mother's brother's son, and devil o' like o' him there was in all kilgobbin: we went to ould father o'rourke's school together when we were spalpeens, and ate our _paraters_ and butter-milk out o' the same platter; many's the scrape we've been in together: bad luck to the ould schoolmaster, for he flogged all the _larning_ out o' poor teddy, and all the liking for't out of barney o'finn, that's myself, your honor--so one dark night we took advantage of the moon, and having joined partnership in property put it all into a limerick silk handkerchief, with which we made the best of our way to dublin, travelling stage arter stage by the ould-fashioned conveyance, pat adam's ten-toed machine. many's the drap we got on the road to drive away care. all the wide world before us, and all the fine family estate behind,--pigs, poultry, and relations,--divil a tenpenny did we ever touch since. it's not your honor that will be angry to hear a few family misfortins," said barney, hesitating to proceed with his narration, "give me my hat, fellow," said ~ ~~i, "and don't torture me with your nonsense."-- "may be it an't nonsense your honor means?" "and why not, sirrah?"--"bekase it's not in your nature to spake light o' the dead." up to this point, my attention had been divided between the morning chronicle which lay upon my breakfast table, and barney's comical relation; a glance at the narrator, however, as he finished the last sentence, convinced me that i ought to have treated him with more feeling. he was holding my hat towards me, when the pearly drop of affliction burst uncontrollably forth, and hung on the side of the beaver, like a sparkling crystal gem loosed from the cavern's roof, to rest upon the jasper stone beneath. i would have given up my mastership of arts to have recalled that word nonsense: i was so touched with the poor fellow's pathos.--" shall i tell your onor the _partikilars_?" "ay, do, barney, proceed."--"well, your onor, we worked our way to london togither--haymaking and harvesting: 'taste fashions the man' was a saw of ould father o'rourke's; 'though divil a taste had he, but for draining the whiskey bottle and bating the boys, bad luck to his mimory! 'is it yourself?' said i, to young squire o'sullivan, from scullanabogue, whom good fortune threw in my way the very first day i was in london.--'troth, and it is, barney,' said he: 'what brings you to the sate of government?' 'i'm seeking sarvice and fortune, your onor,' said i. 'come your ways, then, my darling,' said he; and, without more to do, he made me his _locum tenens_, first clerk, messenger, and man of all work to a maynooth milesian. there was onor enough in all conscience for me, only it was not vary profitable. for, altho' my master followed the law, the law wouldn't follow him, and he'd rather more bags than briefs:--the consequence was, i had more banyan days than the man in the wilderness. divil a'care, i got a character by my conduct, and a good place when i left him, as your ~ ~~govonor can testify. as for poor teddy, divil a partikle of taste had he for fashionable life, but a mighty pratty notion of the arts, so he turned operative arkitekt; engaged himself to a layer of bricks, and skipped nimbly up and down a five story ladder with a long-tailed box upon his shoulder--pace be to his ashes! he was rather too fond of the _crature_--many's the slip he had for his life--one minute breaking a jest, and the next breaking a joint; till there wasn't a sound limb to his body. arrah, sure, it was all the same to teddy--only last monday, he was more elevated than usual, for he had just reached the top of the steeple of one of the new churches with a three gallon can of beer upon his _knowledge-box_, and, perhaps a little too much of the _crature_ inside o! it. 'shout, teddy, to the honour of the saint,' said the foreman of the works (for they had just completed the job). poor teddy's religion got the better of his understanding, for in shouting long life to the dedicatory saint, he lost his own--missed his footing, and pitched over the scaffold like an odd chimney-pot in a high wind, and came down smash to the bottom with a head as flat as a bump. divil a word has he ever spake since; for when they picked him up, he was dead as a dublin bay herring--and now he lies in his cabin in dyot-street, st. giles, as stiff as a poker,--and to-night, your onor, we are going to _wake_ him, poor sowl! to smoke a pipe, and spake an _horashon_ over his corpse before we put him dacently to bed with the shovel. then, there's his poor widow left childless, and divil a rap to buy paraters wid--bad luck to the eye that wouldn't drap a tear to his mimory, and cowld be the heart that refuses to comfort his widow!" here poor barney could no longer restrain his feelings, and having concluded the family history, blubbered outright. it was a strange mixture of the ludicrous and the sorrowful; but told with such an artless simplicity and genuine traits of feeling, that i would have defied the most ~ ~~volatile to have felt uninterested with the speaker. "you shall go, by all means, barney," said i: "and here is a trifle to comfort the poor widow with." "the blessings of the whole calendar full on your onor!" responded the grateful irishman. what a scene, thought i, for the pencil of my friend bob transit!"could a stranger visit the place," i inquired, without molestation or the charge of impertinence, barney?" "divil a charge, your onor; and as to impertinence, a wake's like a house-warming, where every guest is welcome." with this assurance, i apprised barney of my intention to gratify curiosity, and to bring a friend with me; carefully noted down the direction, and left the grateful fellow to pursue his course. the absurdities of funeral ceremonies have hitherto triumphed over the advances of civilization, and in many countries are still continued with almost as much affected solemnity and ridiculous parade as distinguished the early processions of the pagans, heathens, and druids. the honours bestowed upon the dead may inculcate a good moral lesson upon the minds of the living, and teach them so to act in this life that their cold remains may deserve the after-exordium of their friends; but, in most instances, funeral pomp has more of worldly vanity in it than true respect, and it is no unusual circumstance in the meaner ranks of life, for the survivors to abridge their own comforts by a wasteful expenditure and useless parade, with which they think to honour the memory of the dead. the egyptians carry this folly perhaps to the most absurd degree; their catacombs and splendid tombs far outrivalling the habitations of their princes, together with their expensive mode of embalming, are with us matters of curiosity, and often induce a sacrilegious transfer of some distinguished mummy to the museums of the connoisseur. the athenians, greeks, and romans, had each their peculiar funeral ceremonies in the exhumation, ~ ~~sacrifices, and orations performed on such occasions; and much of the present customs of the romish church are, no doubt, derivable from and to be traced to these last-mentioned nations. in the present times, no race of people are more superstitious in their veneration for the ancient customs of their country and funeral rites, than the lower orders of the irish, and that folly is often carried to a greater height during their domicile in this country than when residing at home. it was about nine o'clock at night when eglantine, transit, and myself sallied forth to st. giles's in search of the wake, or, as bob called it, on a crusade to the holy land. formerly, such a visit would have been attended with great danger to the parties making the attempt, from the number of desperate characters who inhabited the back-slums lying in the rear of broad-street: where used to be congregated together, the most notorious thieves, beggars, and bunters of the metropolis, amalgamated with the poverty and wretchedness of every country, but more particularly the lower classes of irish, who still continue to exist in great numbers in the neighbourhood. here was formerly held in a night-cellar, the celebrated beggars' club, at which the dissolute lord barrymore and colonel george hanger, afterwards lord coleraine, are said to have often officiated as president and vice-president, attended by their profligate companions, and surrounded by the most extraordinary characters of the times; the portraits and biography of whom may be seen in smith's 'vagabondiana,' a very clever and highly entertaining work. it was on this spot that george parker collected his materials for 'life's painter of variegated characters,' and among its varieties, that grose and others obtained the flash and patter which form the cream of their humorous works. formerly, the beggars' ordinary, held in a cellar was a scene worthy ~ ~~of the pencil of a hogarth or a cruikshank; notorious impostors, professional paupers, ballad-singers, and blind fiddlers might here be witnessed carousing on the profits of mistaken charity, and laughing in their cups at the credulity of mankind; but the police have now disturbed their nightly orgies, and the mendicant society ruined their lucrative calling. the long table, where the trenchers consisted of so many round holes turned out in the plank, and the knives, forks, spoons, candle-sticks, and fire-irons all chained to their separate places, is no longer to be seen. the night-cellar yet exists, where the wretched obtain a temporary lodging and straw bed at twopence per head; but the augean stable has been cleansed of much of its former impurities, and scarce a vestige remains of the disgusting depravity of former times. [illustration: page ] a little way up dyot-street, on the right hand from holborn, we perceived the gateway to which barney had directed me, and passing under it into a court filled with tottering tenements of the most wretched appearance, we were soon attracted to the spot we sought, by the clamour of voices apparently singing and vociferating together. the faithful barney was ready posted at the door to receive us, and had evidently prepared the company to show more than usual respect. an old building or shed adjoining the deceased's residence, which had been used for a carpenter's shop, was converted for the occasion from its general purpose to a melancholy hall of mourning. at one end of this place was the corpse of the deceased, visible to every person from its being placed on a bed in a sitting posture, beneath a tester of ragged check-furniture; large sheets of white linen were spread around the walls in lieu of tapestries, and covered with various devices wrought into fantastic images of flowers, angels, and seraphim. a large, fresh-gathered posy in the bosom of the deceased had a most striking effect, when contrasted ~ ~~with the pallidness of death; over the lower parts of the corpse was spread a counterpane, covered with roses, marigolds, and sweet-smelling flowers; whilst on his breast reposed the cross, emblematical of the dead man's faith; and on a table opposite, at the extreme end, stood an image of our redeemer, before which burned four tall lights in massive candlesticks, lent by the priest upon such occasions to give additional solemnity to the scene. there is something very awful in the contemplation of death, from which not even the strongest mind can altogether divest itself. but at a _wake_ the solemn gloom which generally pervades the chamber of a lifeless corpse is partially removed by the appearance of the friends of the deceased arranged around, drinking, singing, and smoking tobacco in profusion. still there was something unusually impressive in observing the poor widow of o'rafferty, seated at the feet of her deceased lord with an infant in her arms, and all the appearance of a heart heavily charged with despondency and grief. an old irishwoman, seated at the side of the bed, was making the most violent gesticulations, and audibly calling upon the spirit of the departed "to see how they onor'd his mimory," raising the cross before her, while two or three others came up to the head, uttered a short prayer, and then sat down to drink his sowl out of purgation. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] but the most extraordinary part of the ceremony was the _howl_, or oration spoken over the dead man by a rough-looking, broad-shouldered emeralder, who descanted upon his virtues as if he had been an hero of the first magnitude, and invoked every saint in the calendar to free the departed from perdition. for some time decorum was pretty well preserved; but on my friends bob transit and horace eglantine sending barney out for a whole gallon of whiskey, and a proportionate quantity of pipes and tobacco, the dull scene of silent meditation ~ ~~gave way to sports and spree, more accordant with their feelings; and the kindred of the deceased were too familiar with such amusements to consider them in any degree disrespectful. there is a volatile something in the irish character that strongly partakes of the frivolity of our gallic neighbours; and it is from this feature that we often find them gay amidst the most appalling wants, and humorous even in the sight of cold mortality. a song was soon proposed, and many a ludicrous stave sung, as the inspiring cup made the circle of the company. "luke caffary's kilmainham minit," an old flash chant, and "the night before larry was stretched," were among the most favourite ditties of the night. a verse from the last may serve to show their _peculiar_ character. "the night before larry was stretch'd, the boys they all paid him a visit; and bit in their sacks too they fetch'd, they sweated their duds till they riz it. for larry was always the lad, when a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer. but he'd fence all the foss that he had to help a poor friend to a sneezer, and moisten his sowl before he died." ere eleven o'clock had arrived, the copious potations of whiskey and strong beer, joined to the fumes of the tobacco, had caused a powerful alteration in the demeanor of the assembled group, who now became most indecorously vociferous. "by the powers of poll kelly!" said the raw-boned fellow who had howled the lament over the corpse, "i'd be arter making love to the widow mysel', only it mightn't be altogether dacent before teddy's put out o' the way." "you make love to the widow!" responded the smart-looking florence m'carthy; "to the divil i pitch you, you bouncing bogtrotter! it's myself alone that will have that onor, bekase teddy o'rafferty wished me to take his wife as a legacy. 'it's all i've got, mr. florence,' ~ ~~said he to me one day, 'to lave behind for the redemption of the small trifle i owe you.'" "it aint the like o' either of you that will be arter bamboozling my cousin, mrs. judy o'rafferty, into a blind bargain," said barney o'finn; in whose noddle the whiskey began to fumigate with the most valorous effect. "you're a noble-spirited fellow, barney," said horace eglantine, who was using his best exertions to produce a _row_. "at them again, barney, and tell them their conduct is most indecent." thus stimulated and prompted, barney was not tardy in re-echoing the charge; which, as might have been expected, produced an instantaneous explosion and general battle. in two minutes the company were thrown into the most appalling scene of confusion--chairs and tables upset, bludgeons, pewter pots, pipes, glasses, and other missiles flying about in all directions, until broken heads and shins were as plentiful as black eyes, and there was no lack of either--women screaming and children crying, making distress more horrible. in this state of affairs, bob transit had climbed up and perched himself upon a beam to make observations; while the original fomenter of the strife, that mad wag eglantine, had with myself made our escape through an aperture into the next house, and having secured our persons from violence were enabled to become calm observers of the affray, by peeping through the breach by which we had entered. in the violence of the struggle, poor teddy o'rafferty was doomed to experience another upset before his remains were consigned to the tomb; for just at the moment that a posse of watchmen and night-constables arrived to put an end to the broil, such was the panic of the assailants that in rushing towards the bed to conceal themselves from the _charlies_, they tumbled poor teddy head over heels to the floor of his shed, leaving his head's antipodes sticking up where his head should have been; a ~ ~~circumstance that more than any thing else contributed to appease the inflamed passions of the group, who, shocked at the sacrilegious insult they had committed, immediately sounded a parley, and united to reinstate poor teddy o'rafferty in his former situation. this was the signal for horace and myself to proceed round to the front door, and pretending we were strangers excited by curiosity, succeeded, by a little well-timed flattery and a small trifle to drink our good healths, in freeing the assailants from all the horrors of a watch-house, and eventually of restoring peace and unanimity. it was now past midnight; leaving therefore poor barney o'finn to attend mass, and pay the last sad tribute to his departed relative, on the morning of the morrow we once more bent our steps towards home, laughing as we went at the strange recollections of the wake, the row, and last appearance of teddy o'rafferty.{ } requiescat in pace. as the reader might not think this story complete without gome account of the concluding ceremonies, i have ascertained from barney that his cousin teddy was quietly borne on the shoulders of his friends to the church of st. paneras, where he was safely deposited with his mother- earth, a bit of a bull, by the by; and after the mourners had made three circles round his ashes, and finished the ceremony by a most delightful howl and prayers said over the crossed spades, they all retired peaceably home, moderately laden with the juice of the _crature_. [illustration: page ] the cyprian's ball, or sketches of characters at the venetian carnival. scene.--argyll rooms. ~ ~~ "hymen ushers the lady astrea, the jest took hold of latona the cold, ceres the brown, with bright cytherea, thetis the wanton, bellona the bold; shame-faced aurora with witty pandora, and maia with flora did company bear;" (and many 'tis stated went there to be mated, who all their lives have been hunting the fair. ) blackmantle, transit, eglantine, and crony's visit to the venetian carnival--exhibits--their char-acters drawn from the life--general trinket, the m.c.--crony's singidar anecdote of the great earl of chesterfield, and origin of the debouchettes--the omissions in the wilson memoirs supplied--biographical reminiscences of the amiable mrs. debouchette--harriette and lier sisters--amy--mary--fanny-- julia--sophia--charlotte and louisa--paphians and their paramours--peers and plebeians--the bang bantam--london leda --spanish nun--sparrow hawk--golden pippin--white crow-- brazen bellona--edgeware diana ~ ~~ water lily--white doe--comic muse--queen of the dansysettes--vestina the titan--the red rose--moss rose and cabbage rose--the doldrum stars of erin--wren of paradise-- queen of the amazons--old pomona--venus mendicant--venus callypiga--goddess of the golden locks--mocking bird--net perdita--napoleon venus--red swan--black swan--blue-eyed luna--tartar sultana the bit of rue--brompton ceres-- celestina conway--lucy bertram--water wagtail--tops and bottoms--the pretenders--the old story--lady of the priory-- little white morose--queen of trumps--giovanni the syren, with ileal names "unexed--original portraits and anecdotes of the dukes of m------and d------, marquisses ii------ and ii ----, earls w------, f------, and c------, lords p------, a------, m------, and n------, llonourables b------c, l------s, and f------s--general trinket--colonel caxon--messrs. ii--b--h, r------, d------, and b------, and other innumerables. it was during the fashionable season of the year , when augusta corri, _ci-devant_ lady hawke,{ } shone forth under her newly-acquired title a planet of the first order, that a few amorous noblemen and wealthy dissolutes, ever on the _qui vive_ for novelty, projected and sanctioned the celebrated venetian carnival given at the argyll-rooms under the patronage of her ladyship and four other equally celebrated courtezans. of course, the female invitations were confined exclusively to the sisterhood, but restricted to the planets and stars of cytherea, the carriage curiosities, and fair impures of the most dashing order and notoriety; and never were the revels of terpsichore kept up with more spirit, or graced with a more choice collection of beautiful, ripe, and wanton fair ones. in page of our first volume we have given a brief biographical sketch of her ladyship and her amours. ~ ~~nor was there any lack of distinguished personages of the other sex; almost all the leading _roués_ of the day being present, from lord p******** tom b***, including many of the highest note in the peerage, court calendar, and army list. the elegance and superior arrangement of this cytherean _fête_ was in the most exquisite taste; and such was the number of applications for admissions, and the reported splendour of the preparations, that great influence in a certain court was necessary to insure a safe passport into the territories of the paphian goddess. the enormous expense of this act of folly has been estimated at upwards of two thousand pounds; and many are the dupes who have been named as bearing proportions of the same, from a royal duke to a hebrew star of some magnitude in the city; but truth will out, and the ingenuity of her ladyship in raising the wind has never been disputed, if it has ever been equalled, by any of her fair associates. the honour of the arrangement and a good portion of the expense were, undoubtedly, borne by a broad-shouldered milesian commissary-general, who has since figured among the ton under the quaint cognomen of general trinket, from his penchant for filling his pockets with a variety of cheap baubles, for the purpose of making presents to his numerous dulcineas; a trifling extravagance, which joined to his attachment to _rouge et noir_ has since consigned him to durance vile. the general is, however, certainly a fellow of some address, and, as a master of the ceremonies, deserves due credit for the superior genius he on that occasion displayed. during dinner, crony had been telling us a curious anecdote of the great earl of chesterfield and miss debouchette, the grandmother of the celebrated courtezans, harriette wilson and sisters. "at one of the places of public entertainment at the hague, a very beautiful girl of the name of debouchette, who ~ ~~acted as _limonadière_, had attracted the notice of a party of english noblemen, who were all equally anxious to obtain so fair a prize. intreaties, promises of large settlements, and every species of lure that the intriguers could invent, had been attempted and played off without the slightest success; the fair _limonadière_ was proof against all their arts. in this state of affairs arrived the then elegant and accomplished earl of chesterfield, certainly one of the most attractive and finished men of his time, but, without doubt, equally dissipated, and notorious for the number of his amours. whenever a charming girl in the humbler walks of life becomes the star of noble attraction and the reigning toast among the _roués_ of the day, her destruction may be considered almost inevitable. the amorous beaux naturally inflame the ardour of each other's desires by their admiration of the general object of excitement; until the honour of possessing such a treasure becomes a matter of heroism, a prize for which the young and gay will perform the most unaccountable prodigies, and, like the chivalrous knights of old, sacrifice health, fortune, and eventually life, to bear away in triumph the fair conqueror of hearts. such was the situation of miss debouchette, when the earl of chesterfield, whose passions had been unusually inflamed by the current reports of the lady's beauty, found himself upon inspection that her attractions were irresistible, but that it would require no unusual skill to break down and conquer the prudence and good sense with which superior education had guarded the mind of the fair _limonadière_. to a man of gallantry, obstacles of the most imposing import are mere chimeras, and readily fall before the ardour of his impetuosity; 'faint heart never won fair lady,' is an ancient but trite proverb, that always encourages the devotee. the earl had made a large bet that he would carry off the lady. in ~ ~~england, among the retiring and the most modest of creation's lovely daughters, his success in intrigues had become proverbial; yet, for a long time, was he completely foiled by the fair debouchette. no specious pretences, nor the flattering attentions of the most polished man in europe, could induce the lady to depart from the paths of prudence and of virtue; every artifice to lure her into the snare of the seducer had been tried and found ineffectual, and his lordship was about to retire discomfited and disgraced from the scene of his amorous follies, with a loss of some thousands, the result of his rashness and impetuosity, when an artifice suggested itself to the fertile brain of his foreign valet, who was an experienced tactician in the wars of venus. this was to ascertain, if possible, in what part of the mansion the lady slept; to be provided with a carriage and four horses, and in the dead of the night, with the assistance of two ruffians, to raise a large sheet before her window dipt in spirits, which being lighted would burn furiously, and then raising the cry of fire, the fair occupant would, of course, endeavour to escape; when the lover would have nothing more to do than watch his opportunity, seize her person, and conveying it to the carriage in waiting, drive off secure in his victory. the scheme was put in practice, and succeeded to the full extent of the projector's wishes; but the affair, which made considerable noise at the time, and was the subject of some official remonstrances, had nearly ended in a more serious manner. the brother of the lady was an officer in the army, and both the descendants of a poor but ancient family; the indignity offered to his name, and the seduction of his sister, called forth the retributive feelings of a just revenge; he sought out the offender, challenged him, but gave him the option of redeeming his sister's honour and his own by marriage. alas! that was impossible; the earl was already engaged. a meeting took place, ~ ~~when, reflection and good sense having recovered their influence over the mind of the dissipated lover, he offered every atonement in his power, professed a most unlimited regard for the lady, suggested that his destruction would leave her, in her then peculiar state, exposed to indigence, proposed to protect her, and settle an annuity of two hundred pounds per annum upon her for her life; and thus circumstanced the brother acceded, and the affair was, by this interposition of the seconds, amicably arranged. there are those yet living who remember the fair _limonadière_ first coming to this country, and they bear testimony to her superior attractions. the lady lived for some years in a state of close retirement, under the protection of the noble earl, in the neighbourhood of chelsea, and the issue of that connexion was a natural son, mr. debouchette, whom report states to be the father of harriette wilson and her sisters. 'ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he was born most noble, who was born most free.' --otway. so thought young debouchette; for a more wild and giddy fellow.in early life has seldom figured among the medium order of society. whether the mother of the cyprians was really honoured with the ceremony of the ritual, i have no means of knowing," said crony; "but i well remember the lady, before these her beauteous daughters had trodden the slippery paths of pleasure: there was a something about her that is undefinable in language, but conveys to the mind impressions of no very pure principles of morality; a roving eye, salacious person, and swaggering carriage, with a most inviting condescension, always particularized the elder silk-stocking grafter of chelsea, while yet the fair offspring of her house were lisping infants, innocent and beautiful as playful lambs. debouchette himself was a right jolly fellow, careless of domestic ~ ~~happiness, and very fond of his bottle; and indeed that was excusable, as during a long period of his life he was concerned in the wine trade. to the conduct and instructions of the mother the daughters are indebted for their present share of notoriety, with all the attendant infamy that attaches itself to harriette and her sisters:--and this perhaps is the reason why mrs. rochford, alias harriette wilson, so liberally eulogises, in her memoirs, a parent whose purity of principle is so much in accordance with the exquisite delicacy of her accomplished daughter. as the girls grew up, they were employed, amy and harriette, at their mother's occupation, the grafting of silk stockings, while the junior branches of the family were operative clear starchers, as the old board over the parlour window used to signify, which brummel would facetiously translate into getters up of fine linen, when petersham did him the honour of driving him past the door, that he might give his opinion upon the rising merits of the family, who, like fragrant exotics, were always placed at the window by their judicious parent, to excite the attention of the curious. but, allons" said crony, "we shall be late at the carnival, and i would not miss the treat of such an assemblage for the honour of knighthood." a very few minutes brought transit, eglantine, crony, and myself, within the vortex of this most seductive scene. waltzing was the order of the night-- "endearing waltz! to thy more melting tune bow irish jig and ancient rigadoon; scotch reels avaunt! and country dance forego your future claims to each fantastic toe. waltz--waltz alone both legs and arms demands, liberal of feet and lavish of her hands. hands, which may freely range in public sight, where ne'er before--but--pray 'put out the light.'" a coruscation of bright eyes and beauteous forms shed a halo of delight around, that must have warmed the cyprian's ball ~ ~~the heart and animated the pulse of the coldest stoic in christendom. the specious m. c, general o'm***a, introduced us in his best style, quickly bowing each of us into the graces of some fascinating fair, than whom "not cleopatra on her galley's deck display'd so much of leg or more of neck." for myself, i had the special honour of being engaged to the honourable mrs. j-- c******y, otherwise padden, who, whatever may have been her origin,{ } has certainly acquired the ease and elegance of mrs. padden is said to have been originally a servant-maid at plymouth, and the victim of early seduction. when very young, coming to london with her infant in search of a captain d----- in the d--------e militia, her first but inconstant swain, chance threw her in her abandoned condition into the way of colonel c-----, who was much interested by her tale of sorrow, and more perhaps by her then lovely person, to obtain possession of which, he took a house for her, furnished it, and (as the phrase is) _set her up_. how long the duke's _aide-de-camp_ continued the favourite lover is not of any consequence; but both parties are known to have been capricious in _affaires de cour_. her next acknowledged protector was the light-hearted george d-----d, then a great gun in the fashionable world: to him succeeded an _amorous thane_, the irish earl of f-----e; and when his lordship, satiated by possession, withdrew his eccentric countenance, lord mo--f--d succeeded to the vacant couch. the venetian masquerade is said to have produced a long carnival to this _belle brunette_, who seldom kept _lent_; and who hero met, for the first time, a now noble marquess, then lord y--------, to whose liberality she was for some time indebted for a very splendid establishment; but the precarious existence of such connexions is proverbial, and mrs. padden has certainly had her share of fatal experience. her next paramour was a diamond of the first water, but no star, a certain dashing jeweller, mr. c-----, whose charmer she continued only until kind fortune threw in her way her present constant jack. with the hoy-day of the blood, the fickleness of the heart ceases; and mrs. padden is now in the "sear o' the leaf," and somewhat _passée_ with the town. it does therefore display good judgment in the lady to endeavour, by every attention and correct conduct, to preserve an attachment that has now existed for some considerable time. ~ ~~indeed it is hardly possible to find a more conversational or attractive woman, or one less free from the vulgarity which usually accompanies ladies of her caste. with this fair i danced a waltz, and then danced off to my friend crony, who had been excused a display of agility on the score of age, and from whom i anticipated some interesting anecdotes of the surrounding stars. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] the montagues, five sisters, all fine women, and celebrated as the stars of erin, shone forth on this occasion with no diminished ray of their accustomed brilliancy; mrs. drummond, otherwise h--n dr--y ba--y, me--t--o, or bulkly, the last being the only legal _cognomen_ of the fair, led the way, followed by maria cross, otherwise latouche, matilda chatterton, isabella cummins, and amelia hamilton, all ladies of high character in the court of cytherea, whose amours, were i to attempt them, would exceed in volumes, if not in interest, the chronicles of their native isle. among the most interesting of the fairy group was the beautiful louisa rowley, since married to lord l**c**les, and that charming little rosebud, the captivating josephine, who, although a mere child, was introduced under the special protection of the celebrated mr. b***, who has since been completely duped by the little _intriguante_, as also was hep second lover lord p********? who succeeded in the lady's favour afterwards; but from whom she fled to lord h****t, since whose death, an event which occurred in paris, i hear she has reformed, and is now following the example of an elder sister, by preparing herself for the stage. "who is that dashing looking brunette in the turban, that is just entering the room?" inquired transit, who appeared to be mightily taken with the fair incognita. "that lady, with the mahogany skin and _piquant_ appearance, is the favourite mistress of the poor duke of ma**b****h," responded crony, "and is no other than ~ ~~the celebrated poll-----pshaw! everybody has heard of the queen of the amazons, a title given to the lady, in honour, as i suppose, of his grace's fighting ancestor. poll is said to be a great voluptuary; but at any rate she cannot be very extravagant, that is, if she draws all her resources from her protector's present purse. do you observe that _jolie dame_ yonder sitting under the orchestra? that is the well-known nelly mansell, of crawford-street, called the _old pomona_, from the richness of her _first fruits_. nelly has managed her affairs with no trifling share of prudence, and although in the decline of life, she is by no means in declining circumstances. h**re the banker married her niece, and the aunt's cash-account is said to be a very comfortable expectancy. the _elegante_ waltzing so _luxuriantly_ with h------ b------ h------ is the lovely emma richardson, sometime since called standish or davison, a cytherean of the very first order, and the sister planet to the equally charming ellen hanbury, otherwise bl-----g-----ve, constellations of the utmost brilliancy, very uncertain in their appearance, and equally so, if report speaks truth, in their attachment to either jupiter, mars, vulcan, or apollo. the first is denominated _venus mendicant_, from her always pleading poverty to her suitors, and thus artfully increasing their generosity towards her. sister ellen has obtained the appellation of _venus callipyga_, from her elegant form and generally half-draped appearance in public. do you perceive the swarthy amazon waddling along yonder, whom the old earl of w-----d appears to be eyeing with no little anticipation of delight? that is a lady with a very ancient and most fish-like flavor, odoriferous in person as the oily female esquimaux, or the more _fragrant_ feminine inhabitants of russian tartary and the crimea; she has with some of her admirers obtained the name of _dolly drinkwater_, from her known dislike to any ~ ~~thing _stronger_ than pure french brandy. her present travelling cognomen is mrs. sp**c*r, otherwise _black moll_; and a wag of the day, who is rather notorious for the variety of his taste, has recently insisted upon re-christening her by the _attractive nom de guerre_ of _nux vomica_. the little goddess of the golden locks, dancing with a well-known _roué_, is fanny my*rs, a very efficient partner in the dance, and if report be true not less engaging in the sacred mysteries of cytherea." it would fill the ample page to relate the varied anecdote with which crony illustrated, as he proceeded to describe the scyllo and charybdes of the unwary and the gay; who in their voyage through life are lured by the syrens of sweet voice, and the pyrrhas of sweet lip, the cleopatras of modern times, the conquerors of hearts, and the voluptuous rioters in pleasurable excesses, of those of whom byron has sung,-- "round all the confines of the yielding waist, the strangest hand may wander undisplaced. * * * till some might marvel with the modest turk, if 'nothing follows all this palming work.'" to draw all the portraits who figured in the fascinating scene of gay delight would be a task of almost equal magnitude with the herculean labours, and one which in attempting, i fear some of my readers may censure me for already dwelling too long upon: but let them remember, i am a professed painter of real life, not the inventor or promoter of these delectable _nocte attici_ and depraved orgies; that in faithfully narrating scenes and describing character, the object of the author and artist is to show up vice in all its native deformity; that being known, it may be avoided, and being exposed, despised. but i must crave permission to extend my notice of the cythereans to a few more characters, ere yet the mirth-inspiring notes of the band have ceased to vibrate, or the graceful ~ ~~fair ones to trip it lightly on fantastic toe; this done, i shall perhaps take a peep into the supper-room, drink champagne, and pick the wing of a chicken while i whisper a few soft syllables into the ear of the nearest _elegante_; and then--gentle reader, start not--then----- "the breast thus _publicly_ resign'd to man in _private_ may resist him--if it can." but here the curtain shall drop upon all the fairy sirens who lead the young heart captive in their silken chains; and the _daughters of pleasure_ and the _sons of profligacy_ may practise the mysteries of cytherea in private, undisturbed by the pen of the satirist or the pencil of the humorist. "the scandalizing group in close conference in the left-hand corner, behind lord william lenox and another dashing ensign in the guards, is composed," said crony, "of mrs. nixon, the _ci-devant_ mrs. baring, nugent's old.flame, mrs. christopher harrison, the two sisters, mesdames gardner and peters, and the well-known kitty stock, all minor constellations, mostly on the decline, and hence full of envious jealousy at the attention paid by the beaux to the more attractive charms of the newly discovered planets, the younger sisterhood of the convent." "if we could but get near enough to overhear their conversation," said transit, "we should, no doubt, obtain possession of a few rich anecdotes of the paphians and their paramours." "i have already enough of the latter," said i, "to fill a dozen albums, without descending to the meanness of becoming a listener. amorous follies are the least censurable of the sins of men, when they are confined to professed courtezans. the heartless conduct of the systematic seducer demands indignation; but the trifling peccadillos of the sons of fortune and the stars of fashion may be passed by, without any serious personal exposure, since _time, ~ ~~cash, and constitution are the three practising physicians_ who generally effect a radical cure, without the aid of the satirist. but come, crony, you must give us the _nom de guerre_ of the last-mentioned belles: you have hitherto distinguished all the cythereans by some eccentric appellation; let us therefore have the list complete." "by all means, gentlemen," replied the old beau: "if i must stand godfather to the whole fraternity of cyprians, i think i ought, at least, to have free access to every convent in christendom; but i must refer to my tablets, for i keep a regular entry of all the new appearances, or i should never remember half their designations. mrs. n------has the harmonious appellation of the _mocking bird_, from her silly habit of repeating every word you address to her. mrs. b------is called the _new perdita_, from a royal conquest she once made, but which we have only her own authority for believing; at any rate, she is known to be fond of a _new-gent_, and the title may on that account be fairly her own. mrs. c-----h------ has the honour of being distinguished by the appropriate name of the _napoleon venus_, from the similarity of her contour with the countenance of that great man. the two sisters, mesdames g------and p------, are well known by the flattering distinctions of the red and the black swan, from the colour of their hair and the stateliness of their carriage; and kitty stock has the poetical cognomen of _blue-eyed lima_. now, you have nearly the whole vocabulary of love's votaries," said old crony; "and be sure, young gentlemen, you profit by the precepts of experience; for not one of these frail fair ones but in her time has made as many conquests as wellington, and caused perhaps as much devastation among the sons of men as any hero in the world. but a new light breaks in upon us," said crony, "in the person of mrs. simmons, the _tartar sultana_, whom you may observe conversing with lords h------d and p-----m in the centre of the room. poor n--g--nt the cyprian's ball ~ ~~will long remember her prowess in battle, when the strength of her passion had nearly brought matters to a point, and that not a very tender one; but the swain cut the affair in good time, or might have been cruelly cut himself. messrs. h--h and r--s--w could also give some affecting descriptions of the tartar sultana's rage when armed with jealousy or resentment. her residence, no. , b--k--r-street, has long been celebrated as the three x x x; a name probably given to it by some spark who found the sultana three times more cross than even common report had stated her to be." the night was now fast wearing away, when crony again directed our attention to the right-hand corner of the room, where, just under the orchestra, appeared the elder sister of the notorious harriette wilson seated, and in close conversation with the milesian m. c, o'm--------a, who, according to his usual custom, was dispensing his entertaining anecdotes of all his acquaintance who graced the present scene. "that is amy campbell, otherwise sydenham, &e., &c, but now legally bochsa, of whom harriette has since told so many agreeable stories relative to the black puddings and argyle; however, considerable suspicion attaches itself to harriette's anecdotes of her elder sister, particularly as she herself admits they were not very good friends, and harriette never would forgive amy for seducing the duke of argyle from his allegiance to her. mrs. campbell was for some years the favourite sultana of his grace, and has a son by him, a fine boy, now about twelve years of age, who goes by the family name, and for whose support the kind-hearted duke allows the mother a very handsome annuity. amy is certainly a woman of considerable talent; a good musician, as might have been expected from her attachment to the harpist, and an excellent linguist, speaking the french, spanish, and italian languages with the greatest fluency. in her person she begins to exhibit the ravages of time, is somewhat _embonpoint_, with ~ ~~dark hair and fine eyes, but rather of the keen order of countenance than the agreeable; and report says, that the signior composer, amid his plurality of wives, never found a more difficult task to preserve the equilibrium of domestic harmony. by the side of this fair one, arm in arm with a well-known bookseller, you may perceive harriette kochforte, alias wilson, who, according to her own account, has had as many amours as the grand seignor can boast wives, and with just as little of affection in the _affaires de cour_ as his sublime highness, only with something more of publicity. harriette gives the honour of her introduction into the mysteries of cytherea to the earl of craven; but it is well known that a certain dashing solicitor's clerk then living in the neighbourhood of chelsea, and near her amiable mamma's residence, first engrossed, her attention, and by whom she exhibited increasing symptoms of affection, which being properly engrafted on the person of the fair stockinger, in due time required a release from a practitioner of another profession; an innocent affair that now lies buried deep in an odd corner at the old churchyard at chelsea, without a monumental stone or epitaph to point out the early virtues of the fair cytherean. to this limb of the law succeeded the honourable be-- --y c------n, who was then too volatile and capricious to pay his devotions at any particular shrine for more than a week together. it was this cold neglect of the honourable's that has, perhaps, secured him from mention in her memoirs; since harriette never speaks of her beaux without giving the reader to suppose they were desperately in love with herself: then there was more of the dignified in an affair with an earl, and madame harriette has a great notion of preserving her consequence, although, it must be confessed, she has latterly shown the most perfect indifference to the preservation of character. the the cyprian's ball ~ ~~circumstance which first gave miss wilson her great notoriety was the affair with the young marquis of worcester, then just _come out_, and a willing captive to her artful wiles. so successfully did she inveigle her noble swain, and so completely environ his heart, that in the fulness of his boyish adoration of the fair cytherean, he executed in her favour a certain promise in writing, not a promise to pay, for that might have been of no consequence, nor a promise of settlement, nor a promise to protect, nothing so unsettled,--nothing less did the fair intriguante obtain than a full, clear, and definite promise of marriage, with a sufficient penalty thereunto attached to make the matter alarming and complete, with every appearance on his part to ratify the contract. in this state of things, information reached his grace of b--f--t of his noble heir's intention, who not much relishing the intended honour, or perhaps doubting the permanency of his son's passion (for to question the purity of the lady was impossible), entered into a negotiation with harriette, by which, on condition of her resigning the promise and pledging herself never to see the marquis more on familiar terms, this disinterested woman was to receive eight hundred pounds per annum--so anxious was his grace to prevent a mes-alliance in his family. but, alas for harriette! jealousy for once got the better of her love of gain; her pride was wounded to see a sister flirting with her affianced lord, and in a moment of irritation, she in a most unequivocal manner publicly asserted her right to his person: the gallant yielded, the bond was __null and void, the _promise burnt_, his grace relieved from the payment of eight hundred pounds per annum, and his son the marquis, profiting by past experience, not so green as to renew the former obligation. "my intention is not to pirate the lady's memoirs, and so rob her of the fair gain of her professional ~ ~~experience," said crony, when i mentioned these circumstances to him afterwards; "i only mean to supply certain trifling omissions in the biography of harriette and her family, which the fair narrator has very modestly suppressed. it is but a few months since, that passing accidentally into warwick-court, holborn, to call upon an old friend, a navy lieutenant on half-pay, i thought i recognised the well-known superlative wig of the dandy rochforte, thrust longitudinally forward from beneath the sash of a two pair of stairs window.--can it be possible? thought i: and then again, i asked myself, why not? for the last time i saw him he was rusticating in surrey, beating the balls about in _banco regis_; from which black place he did not escape without a little white-washing: however, he's a full colonel of some unknown corps of south american independents for all that, and was once in his life, although for a very short time, a full cornet, in lincoln stanhope's regiment, the th dragoons, i think it was, and has never clipped his mustachios since, one would imagine, by their length and ferocious appearance. to be brief, i had scarcely placed my glass into the orifice before my imperfect vision, when harriette appeared at the adjoining window, and instantly recognizing an old acquaintance, invited me up stairs. 'times are a little changed,' said she, 'mr. crony, since last we met:' 'true, madam,' i responded; and then to cheer the belle a little, i added, 'but not persons, i perceive, for you are looking as young and as attractive as ever.' the compliment did not seem to please the colonel in the wig, who turned round, looked frowningly, and then twirled the dexter side of his lip wing into a perfect circle. it is not possible that this thing can affect jealousy of such a woman as harriette? thought i: so proceeded with our conversation: and he shortly resumed his polite amusement of spitting upon the children who were ~ ~~playing marbles beneath his window. 'i am really married to that monster, yonder,' said she, in an under tone: 'how do you like my choice?' 'i am not old enough in the gentleman's acquaintance to hazard an opinion on his merits,' quoth i; 'but you are a woman of experience, belle harriette, and should be a good judge of male bipeds, although i cannot say much in favour of your military taste.' 'and you was always a _quiz_, crony,' retorted belle harriette: 'remember my sister mary, who is now mrs. bochsa,{ } how you used to annoy her about her gaudy style of dressing, when we used to foot it at chelsea:--but i there were in all eight sisters of the debouchettes, and three brothers; but only one of the latter is living. of the girls, amy is now mrs. bochsa; mary, married to a nephew of sir richard bo****hs, a great irish contractor; harriette, actually married to cornet rochforte; fanny expired in the _holy keeping_ of the present marquis of h-----; sophia has been raised to the peerage, by the style and title of lady b-----k, and by her subsequent conduct well deserves her elevation; julia, an affectionate girl, clung to the house of coventry through poor tom's days of adversity, and died early, leaving some unprotected orphans; charlotte and louisa, younger sisters, the first now about eighteen and very beautiful, although a little lame, have been educated and brought up by their elder sister, the baroness, and are by her intended for the church--vestals for hymen's altar: at any rate, i hope they will escape the _sacrifices of cytherea_. harriette is now about forty years of age: she was, when at her zenith, always celebrated rather for her tact in love affairs, and her talent at invention, than the soft engaging qualifications of the frail fair, which fascinate the eye and lead the heart captive with delight: her conversational powers were admirable; but her temper was outrageous, with a natural inclination to the satirical:--to sum up her merits at once, she was what a _connoisseur_ would have called a bold fine woman, rather than an engaging handsome one--more of the english bellona than the _venus de medici_. crony's account of the round room and belle harriette's first views of publishing are, i have since learned, strictly correct. there is not a person mentioned in her memoirs, or scarcely one of any note in the court-guide, of whom she has at any time had the slightest knowledge, that have not been applied to repeatedly within the last three years, and received threats of exposure to compel them to submit to extortion. ~ ~~want your assistance.' egad, i dare say, i looked rather comical at this moment, for in truth i was somewhat alarmed at the last phrase. harriette burst into a loud fit of laughter; the colonel drew in his elegant wig, and deigned a smile; while i, involuntarily forcing my hand into the pocket of my inexpressibles, carefully drove the few sovereigns i had up into one corner, fearing the belle harriette had a mighty notion of laying strong siege to them: in this, however, i was agreeably disappointed; for recovering herself, she acknowledged she had perceived my embarrassment, but assured me i need be under no alarm on this occasion, as, at present, she only wanted to borrow a few--ideas: what a relief the last short word afforded! 'i have been writing some sketches of my life,' said she, 'and am going to publish: give me your opinion, crony, upon its merits;' and without more ceremony, she thrust a little packet of papers into my hand, headed 'sketches in the round room at the opera house;' in which all the characters of the opera frequenters were tolerably well drawn, nor was the dialogue deficient in spirit; but the titles were all fictitious--such as my lord red head, for the marquess of h-----d, lord pensiveham, for p------m, and so on to the end of the chapter. having glanced through the contents, i recommended her to colburn, as the universal speculator in paper and print; but his highness is playing _magnifico_, à la murray, in his new mansion, it would seem; for he, as i have since learned, refused to publish. at length, after trying allman and others, belle harriette hit upon stockdale, who having made some bad hits in his time, thought a little _courtesanish_ scandal could not make bad worse. under his superintendence real names were substituted for the fictitious; and it is said, that the choice notes of the lady are interwoven and extended, connected and illustrated, by the same elegant apollo who used to write love letters for mary ann, and ~ ~~love epistles to half a thousand, including bang and the bantum, in the dark refectory of the celebrated mother wood, the lady of the priory, or lisle-street convent." "if such is the case, 'how are the mighty fallen!'" said i.------but let us return to the ball-room. as the night advanced, a few more stars made their appearance in the firmament of beauty; among these, crony pointed out some of the demirespectables, attracted thither either by curiosity or the force of old habit: among these was charles wy--h--m's bit of rue, that herb of grace, the once beautiful mrs. ho--g--s, since closely connected with the whiskered lord p-----, to whose brother, the honourable f------g, her daughter, the elegant miss w--------n, had the good fortune to be early married. in the same group appeared another star of no mean attraction, the honourable mrs. l-----g, whose present husband underwent the ordeal of a crim. con. trial to obtain her person. 'par nobile fratum,' the world may well say of the brothers, p------ and l-----g; while f--------y, with all his eccentricities, has the credit of being a very good husband. three little affected mortals, the misses st--ts, crony introduced by the name of the pretenders, from the assumed modesty and great secrecy with which they carry on their amours. '_pas à pas on va bien loin_,' says the old french proverb, and rightly too," remarked our ancient; "for if you boys had not brought me here, i should never have known the extent of my experience, or have attempted to calculate the number of my female acquaintances." in the supper-room, which opened at four o'clock in the morning, waud had spread forth a banquet every way worthy the occasion: a profuse display of the choicest viands of the season and delicacies of the most costly character graced the splendid board, where the rich juice of the grape, and the inviting ripeness of the dessert, were only equalled by the voluptuous votaries who ~ ~~surrounded the repast. it was now that ceremony and the cold restraint of well regulated society were banished, by the free circulation of the glass. the eye of love shot forth the electric flash which animates the heart of young desire, lip met lip, and the soft cheek of violet beauty pressed the stubble down of manliness. then, while the snowy orbs of nature undisguised heaved like old ocean with a circling swell, the amorous lover palmed the melting fair, and led her forth to where shame-faced aurora, with her virgin gray, the blue-eyed herald of the golden morn, might hope in vain to draw aside the curtain and penetrate the mysteries of cytherea. and now, gentle reader, be ye of the hardy sex, who dare the glories of the healthful chase and haunt the peopled stream of gay delight--or of that lovely race, from which alone man's earthly joys arise, the soft-skinned conquerors of hearts--be ye prudes or stoics, chaste as virgin gold, or cold as alpine snow--confess that i have strictly kept my promise here, nor strayed aside in all my wanderings among the daughters of pleasure, to give pain to worthy bosoms or offend the ear of nicest modesty. pity for the unfortunate, and respect for the feelings of the relatives of the vicious and the dissolute, has prevented the insertion of many anecdotes, with which crony illustrated his sketches of character. enough, it is presumed, has been done to show vice in all its native deformity, without wounding the ear by one immoral or indelicate expression. for the unhappy fair ones who form the principal portraits, it should be remembered they have been selected from those only who are notorious, as belles of the first order, stars of fashion, and if not something indebted to fortune they would have escaped enrolment here. when beauty and poverty are allied, it must too often fall a victim to the eager eye of roving lust; for, even to the titled ~ ~~profligate, beauty, when arrayed in a simple garb of spotless chastity, seems "----fairer she in innocence and homespun vestments spread, than if cerulean sapphires at her ears shone pendent, or a precious diamond cross heaved gently on her panting bosom white. but let the frail remember, that the allurements of wealth and the blandishments of equipage fall off with possession and satiety; to the force of novelty succeeds the baseness of desertion. for a short time, the fallen one is fed like the silk-worm upon the fragrant mulberry leaf, and when she has spun her yellow web of silken attraction, sinks into decay, a common chrysalis, shakes her trembling and emaciated wings in hopeless agony, and then flutters and droops, till death steps in and relieves her from an accumulation of miseries, ere yet the transient summer of youth has passed over her devoted head. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] the philosophy of laughter; or, mr punch in all his glory. thoughts on the philosophy of laughter--bernard blackmantle in search of a wife--first visit to the marigold family-- sketches of the alderman, his lady, and daughter--anecdote of john liston, and the citizen's dinner party--of the immortal mr. punch--some account of the great actor--a street scene, sketched from the life--the wooden drama--the true sublime. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ you may sing of old thespis, who first in a cart, to the jolly god bacchus enacted a part; miss thalia, or mrs. melpomene praise, or to light-heel'd terpsichore offer your lays. but pray what are these, bind them all in a bunch, compared to the acting of signor punch? of garrick, or palmer, or kemble, or cooke, your moderns may whine, or on each write a book; or mathews, or munden, or fawcett, suppose they could once lead the town as they pleased by the nose; a fig for such actors! tied all in a bunch, mere mortals compared to old deified punch. not chester can charm us, nor foote with her smile, like the first blush of summer, our bosoms beguile, half so well, or so merrily drive caro away, as old punch with his judy in amorous play. kean, young, and macready, though thought very good, have heads, it is true, but then they're not of wood. ~ ~~ be ye ever so dull, full of spleen or ennui, mighty punch can enliven your spirits with glee. not honest jack harley, or liston's rum mug can produce half the fun of his juggity-jug: for a right hearty laugh, tie thorn all in a bunch, not an actor among them like signor punch. --bernard blackmantle. it was the advice of the prophet tiresias to menippus, who had travelled over the terrestrial globe fend descended into the infernal regions in search of content, to be merry and wise; "to laugh at all the busy farce of state, employ the vacant hour in mirth and jest." "the merrier the heart the longer the life," says burton in his anatomy of melancholy. mirth is the principal of the three salernitan doctors, dr. merryman, dr. diet, and dr. quiet. the nepenthes of homer, the bowl of retenus, and the girdle of venus, are only the ancient types of liveliness and mirth, by the free use of which the mind is dispossessed of dulness, and the cankerworm of care destroyed. seneca calls the happiness of wealth bracteata félicitas, tinfoiled happiness, and infelix félicitas, an unhappy felicity. a poor man drinks out of a wooden dish, and eats his hearty meal with a wooden spoon; while the rich man, with a languid appetite, picks his dainties with a silver fork from plates of gold--but, in auro bibitur venenum; the one rinds health and happiness in his pottered jug, while the other sips disease and poison from his jewelled cup. a good laugh is worth a guinea, (to him who can afford to pay for it) at any time; but it is best enjoyed when it comes gratuitously and unexpectedly, and breaks in upon us like the radiant beams of a summer sun forcing its way through the misty veil of an inland fog. i had been paying a morning visit to a wealthy ~ ~~citizen, mr. alderman marigold, and family, at the express desire of my father, who had previously introduced me for the purpose of fixing my--affection --tush--no, my attention, to the very weighty merits of miss biddy marigold, spinster; a spoiled child, without personal, but with very powerful attractions to a poor colebs. two hours' hard fighting with the alderman had just enabled me to retreat from the persecution of being compelled to give an opinion upon the numerous bubble companies of the time, without understanding more than the title of either; to this succeeded the tiresome pertinacity of mrs. marigold's questions relative to the movements, ondits, and fashionable frivolities westward, until, fairly wearied out and disgusted, i sat down a lion exhausted, in the window seat, heartily wishing myself like liston{ } safe out of purgatory; when the sound john liston, the comedian, is in private life not less conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the expectation of his displaying at table some of his professional excellences. john had, on one occasion, accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en famille; the repast over--the wine had circulated--a snug friend proposed the health of mr. liston; and john returned thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating white bait at blackwall with the worshipful company of fishmongers. then came the amiable civilities of the lady of the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with the actor, the better to secure his assent to her request, but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least encouragement. the little citizens, who were huddled round their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious expectation, were growing very impatient. the eldest boy had already recited young norval's speech to lady douglas, by way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "lord, mr. liston, what a funny figure you looked t'other night in moll flaggon!" or, "how you made thorn laugh in tony lumpkin! and then what a fright you was in mrs. cheshire. couldn't you give us a touch just now?" "ay, do, mr. liston, pray do," vociferated a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses and mastery. "the children have been kept up two hours later than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "ay, come, my good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another glass, and then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." this was the finishing blow to liston's offended dignity--to be invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" i have it," thought john, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing, therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some little arrangement in his dress, to personate vanish; when, leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the servant that mr. liston had suddenly vanished by the street- door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more. ~ ~~of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "i vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said mrs. alderman marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "it's wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. when another blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "see the conquering hero comes," "la, mamma," whined out miss biddy marigold, "i declare, it's that filthy fellow punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; i prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek by throwing avay a whole shilling upon his fooleries." "you've no taste for fun, biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his daughter and myself a substitute for crutches, by resting a hand upon each shoulder. "i never laid out a shilling better in the whole course of my life. a good laugh beats all the french medicine, and drives the gout out at the great toe. i mean to pension mr. punch at a shilling a veek to squeak before my vindow of a saturday, in preference to paying six guineas for a ~ ~~box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the hopera." "la, pa, how ungenteel!" said miss biddy; "i declare you're bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy vonien, french true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, nobody has no peace not at all in the neighbourhood." during this elegant colloquy, the immortal mr. punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath the woollen drapery, and the italian comedian had just commenced his merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little snatches of tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, anticipates as much or more delight, than if they were assembled to see charles kemble, young, and macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. there is something so indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of mr. punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority of the lignum vito roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and blood. the eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama, the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords--all combine to make mr. punch the most popular performer in the world. of italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in england, that he may now be considered naturalized by common consent. indeed, i much question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than the removal or suppression of mr. punch and his laugh-provoking drolleries:--it would be considered a national calamity; but mirth protect ~ ~~us from such a terrible mishap! another sound from an old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "arm, arm, ye brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more "tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. the half inflated lungs of the alderman expand by anticipation, and his full foggy breathings upon the window-glass have already compelled me more than once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. the assembled group waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. what a scene for my friend transit! i shall endeavour to depict it for him. the steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor, how sagaciously he leers round about him to see if he is likely to be recognised! not a countenance to whom he is known; he smiles with self-complacency at the treat he is about to enjoy; plants himself in a respectable doorway, for three reasons; first, the advantage from the rise of the step increasing his altitude; second, the security of his pockets from attacks behind; and third, the pretence, should any goth to whom he is known, observe him enjoying the scene, that he is just about to enter the house, and has merely been detained there by accident. excellent apologist!--how ridiculous!--excessive delicacy, avaunt! give me a glorious laugh, and "throw (affectation) to the dogs; i'll have none of it." now the farce begins: up starts the immortal hero himself, and makes his bow; a simultaneous display of "broad grins" welcomes his felicitous entrée; and for a few seconds the scene resembles the appearance of a popular election candidate, sir francis burdett, or his colleague, little cam hobhouse, on the hustings in covent garden; nothing is heard but one deafening shout of clamorous approbation. observe the butcher's boy has stopped his ~ ~~horse to witness the fun, spite of the despairing cook who waits the promised joint; and the jolly lamp-lighter, laughing hysterically on the top of his ladder, is pouring the oil from his can down the backs and into the pockets of the passengers beneath, instead of recruiting the parish-lamp, while the sufferers are too much interested in the exhibition to feel the trickling of the greasy fluid. the baker, careless of the expectant owner's hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold; and the blushing little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at once, enjoying the frolics of signor punch, and inventing some plausible excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. how closely the weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke of signor punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and pressing, poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when jack only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "my toplights! what the devil will that fellow punch do next, poll?" the milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (see plate.) inimitable actor! glorious signor punch! show me among the whole of the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single performer who can compete with the mighty wooden roscius. [illustration: page ] the alderman's eulogium on mr. punch was superlatively good. "i love a comedy, mr. blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most desirable. then i love a farce still better than a comedy, because that is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir, a pantomime beats both comedy and ~ ~~farce hollow; there's such lots of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning to the end. but, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these, tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is mister punch--for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities of the multitude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced itinerant. if any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the mellow affections, and that he can pass punch, 'nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;' then, i say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for mellowness." mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround punch, who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpie peeping into a marrow bone; "--how luxuriantly they laugh, or stand with their eyes and mouths equally distended, staring at the minikin effigy of fun and phantasy; thinking, no doubt, "he bin the greatest wight on earth." and, certainly, he has not his equal, as a positive, dogmatic, knock-me-down argument-monger; a dare devil; an embodied phantasmagoria, or frisky infatuation. i have often thought that punch might be converted to profitable use, by being made a speaking pasquin; and, properly instructed, might hold up his restless quarter staff, in terrorem, over the heads of all public outragers of decency; and by opening the eyes of the million, who flock to his orations, enlighten them, at least, as much as many greater folks, who make more noise than he, and who, ~ ~~like him, often get laughed at, without being conscious that they are the subjects of merriment. the very name of our old friend punch inspires us in our social moments. what other actor has been commemorated by the potential cup? is not the sacred bowl of friendship dedicated to the wooden hero? would you forget the world, its cares, vexations, and anxieties, sip of the mantling, mirth-inspiring cordial, and all within is jollity and gay delight. "for punch cures the gout, the cholic, and the phthisic, and it is to every man the very best of physic." honest, kind-hearted punch! i could write a volume in thy praise, and then, i fear, i should leave half thy merits untold. thou art worth a hundred of the fashionable kickshaws that are daily palmed upon us to be admired; and thy good-humoured efforts to please at the expense of a broken pate can never be sufficiently praised. but now the curtain rises, and mr. punch steals from behind his two-foot drapery: the very tip of his arched nose is the prologue to a merry play; he makes his bow to the multitude, and salutes them with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. what a glorious reception does he meet with from an admiring audience! and now his adventures commence--his "dear judy," the partner of his life, by turns experiences all the capricious effects of love and war. what a true picture of the storms of life!--how admirable an essay on matrimonial felicity! then his alternate uxoriousness to the lady, and his fondlings of that pretty "kretur" with the family countenance; his chivalrous exploits on horseback, and mimic capering round the lists of his chequered tilt-yard; his unhappy differences with the partner of his bosom, and her lamentable catastrophe; the fracas with the sheriff's substitute; and his interview with that incomprehensible personage, ~ ~~the knight of the sable countenance, who salutes him with the portentous address of "schalabala! schalabala! schalabala!" his successive perils and encounters with the ghost of the martyred judy; and, after his combat with the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, "propria marte" his temporary triumph; and, finally, his defeat by a greater man than old lucifer, the renowned mr. john ketch. talk of modern dramas, indeed!--show me any of your dimonds, reynolds, dibdins, or crolys that can compare with punchiana, in the unities of time, place, costume, and action, intricate and interesting plot, situations provokingly comical and effective, and a catastrophe the most appallingly surprising and agreeable. then his combats aux batons are superior even to bradley and blanchard; but the ne plus ultra of his exploits, the cream of all his comicalities, the grand event, is the ingenious trick by which mr. punch, when about to suffer on the scaffold, disposes of the executioner, and frees himself from purgatory, by persuading the unsuspecting hangman, merely for the sake of instruction to an uninitiated culprit, to try his own head in the noose: punch, of course, seizes the perilous moment--runs him up to the top of the fatal beam--mr. john ketch hangs suspended in the air--punch shouts a glorious triumph--all the world backs him in his conquest--the old cracked trumpet sounds to victory--the showman's hat has made the transit of the circle, and returns half-filled with the voluntary copper contributions of the happy audience. the alderman drops his tributary shilling, while his fat sides shake with laughter; even mrs. marigold and the amiable miss biddy have become victims to the vulgar inspiration, and are laughing as heartily as if they were enjoying the grimaces of the first of buffos, signor ambrogetti. and now the curtain falls, and the busy group disperse their several ways, chuckling with delight over the ~ ~~recollections of the mad waggeries of immortal mr. punch. all hail! thou first great mimic chief, physician to the mind's relief; thrice hail! most potent punch. not momus' self, should he appear, could dim the lustre of thy sphere; so hail! all hail! great punch. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] the westminster scholar. reminiscences of former times--lamentations of old crony-- ancient sports and sprees--modern im-provements--hints to builders and buyers--some account of the school and its worthies--recollections of old schoolfellows--sketches of character--the living and the dead. "fast by, an old but noble fabric stands, no vulgar work, but raised by princely hands; which, grateful to eliza's memory, pays, in living monuments, an endless praise." from a poem by a westminster scholar, written during dr. friend's mastership, in . ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] "what say you to a stroll through _thorney island_,{ } this morning?" said old crony, with whom i had been taking a _déjeuné à la fourchette_; "you have indulged your readers with all the whims and eccentricities of eton and of oxford, and, in common justice, you must not pass by the _westminster blacks_."{ } crony had, i learned, been a foundation scholar during the mastership of dr. samuel smith; when the poet churchill, robert lloyd, (the son of the under-master) bonnel thornton, george colman the elder, richard cumberland, and a host of other highly-gifted names, were associated within the precincts of the abbey cloisters. our way towards the abbey ground, so called by the monkish writers; but, since busby's time, more significantly designated by the scholars _birch island.--vide tidier_. black------s from westminster; ruff--s from winchester; and gentlemen from eton.--_old cambridge proverb_. ~ ~~westminster from the surrey side of vauxhall bridge, where crony had taken up his abode, lay through the scene of his earliest recollections; and, not even crockery himself could have been more pathetic in his lamentations over the improvements of modern times. "here," said crony, placing himself upon the rising ground which commands an uninterrupted view of the bank, right and left, and fronts the new road to chelsea, and, the grosvenor property; "here, in my boyish days, used the westminster scholars to congregate for sports and sprees. many a juvenile frolic have i been engaged in beneath the shadowy willows that then o'ercanopied the margin of old father thames; but they are almost all destroyed, and with them disappears the fondest recollections of my youth. upwards, near yonder frail tenement which is now fast mouldering into decay, lived the beautiful gardener's daughter, the flower of millbank, whose charms for a long time excited the admiration of many a noble name, ay, and inspired many a noble strain too, and produced a chivalrous rivalry among the young and generous hearts who were then of westminster. close to that spot all matches on the water were determined; and beneath yon penthouse, many a jovial cup have i partook of with the contending parties, when the aquatic sports were over, in the evening's cool retirement, or seated on the benches which then filled up the space between the trees in front of watermans' hall, as the little public house then used to be called. about half a mile above was the favourite bathing-place; and just over the water below lambeth palace, yet may be seen doo's house, where, from time immemorial, the westminster boys had been supplied with funnies, skiffs, wherries, and sailing-boats. the old mill which formerly stood on the right-hand of the river, and from which the place derived its name, has now entirely disappeared; and in lieu of the ~ ~~green fields and pleasant walks with which this part of the suburbs abounded, we have now a number of square brick-dust tubs, miscalled cottages _ornée_, and a strange-looking turkish sort of a prison called a penitentiary, which from being judiciously placed in a swamp is rendered completely uninhabitable. cumberland-gardens, on the opposite side, was, in former times, in great vogue; here the cits used to rusticate on a summer's evening, coming up the water in shoals to show their dexterity in rowing, and daring the dangers of the watery element to _blow a cloud_ in the fresh air, and ruralise upon the 'margin of old father thames.' [illustration: page ] but where can the westminster boys of the present day look for amusements? there's no snug spot now for a dog-tight or a badger-bait. earl grosvenor has converted all the green lanes into macadamised roads, and covered the turf with new brick tenements. no taking a pleasant toodle with a friend now along the sequestered banks, or shooting a few sparrows or fieldfares in the neighbourhood of the _five chimnies_{ } not a space to be found free from the encroachments of modern speculators, or big enough for a bowling alley or a cricket match. tothill-fields have altogether disappeared; and the wand of old merlin would appear to have waved over and dispersed the most trifling vestiges and recollections of the past. a truce with your improvements!" said crony, combating my attempt to harmonise his feelings; "tell me what increases the lover's boldness and the maiden's tenderness more than the fresh and fragrant air, the green herbage, and the quiet privacy of retired spots, where all nature yields a delightful inspiration to the mind. there where the lovers find delight, the student finds repose, secluded from the busy haunts of men, and yet able, by a few strides, to mingle again at pleasure with the world, the man of since called the five-fields, chelsea; and a favourite resort of the westminster scholars of that time, but now built upon. ~ ~~contemplation turns aside to consult his favourite theme, and having run out his present stock of thoughtful meditation, wheels him round, and finds himself one of the busy group again.{ } as we advance the rogent's-park, formerly called marylebone, is an improve-ment of this nature. it was originally a park, and had a royal palace in it, where, i believe, queen elizabeth occasionally resided. it was disbarked by oliver cromwell, who settled it on colonel thomas harrison's regiment of dragoons for their pay; but at the restoration of charles ii. it passed into the hands of other possessors; from which time it has descended through different proprietors, till, at length, it has reverted to the crown, by whose public spirit a magnificent park is secured to the inhabitants of london. the expense of its planting, &c. must have been enormous; but money cannot be better laid out than on purposes of this lasting benefit and national ornament. the plan and size of the park is in every respect worthy of the nation. it is larger than hyde-park, st. james's, and the greenpark together; and the trees planted in it about twelve years ago have already become umbrageous. the water is very extensive. as you are rowed on it, the variety of views you come upon is admirable: sometimes you are in a narrow stream, closely overhung by the branches of trees; presently you open upon a wide sheet of water, like a lake, with swans sunning themselves on its bosom; by and by your boat floats near the edge of a smooth lawn fronting one of the villas; and then again you catch the perspective of a range of superb edifices, the elevation of which is contrived to have the effect of one palace. the park, in fact, is now belted with groups of these mansions, entirely excluding all sight of the streets. those that are finished, give a satisfactory earnest of the splendid spirit in which the whole is to be accomplished. there will be nothing like it in europe. the villas in the interior of the park are planted out from the view of each other, so that the inhabitant of each seems, in his prospect, to be the sole lord of the surround-ing picturesque scenery. in the centre of the park there is a circular plantation of im-mense circumference, and in the interior of this you are in a perfect arcadia. the mind cannot conceive any thing more hushed, more sylvan, more entirely removed from the slightest evidence of proximity to a town. nothing is audible there except the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. kensington gardens, beautiful as they are, have no seclusion so perfect as this. ~ ~~in life we cling still closer to the recollections of our infancy; the cheerful man loves to dwell over the scenes and frolics of his boyish days; and we are stricken to the very heart by the removal or change of these pleasant localities; the loss of an old servant, an old building, or an old tree, is felt like the loss of an old friend. the paths, and fields, and rambles of our infancy are endeared to us by the fondest and the purest feelings of the mind; we lose sight of our increasing infirmities, as we retrace the joyous mementos of the past, and gain new vigour as we recall the fleeting fancies and pleasant vagaries of our earliest days. i am one of those," continued crony, "who am doomed to deplore the destructive advances of what generally goes by the name of improvement; and yet, i am not insensible to the great and praiseworthy efforts of the sovereign to increase the splendour of the capital westward; but leave me a few of the green fields and hedgerow walks which used to encircle the metropolis, or, in a short space, the first stage from home will only be half-way out of london. a humorous writer of the day observes, that 'the rage for building fills every pleasant outlet with bricks, mortar,rubbish,and eternal scaffold-poles, which, whether you walk east, west, north, or south, seem to be running after you. i heard a gentleman say, the other day, that he was sure a resident of the suburbs could scarcely lie down after dinner, and take a nap, without finding, when he awoke, that a new row of buildings had started up since he closed his eyes. it is certainly astonishing: one would think the builders used magic, or steam at least, and it would be curious to ask those gentlemen in what part of the neighbouring counties they intend london should end. not content with separate streets, squares, and rows, they are actually the founders of new towns, which in the space of a few months become finished and inhabited. the precincts of london have more the appearance of a newly-discovered colony than ~ ~~the suburbs of an ancient city.{ } and what, sir, will be the pleasant consequences of all this to posterity? instead of having houses built to encumber the earth for a century or two, it is ten to one but they disencumber the mortgagee, by falling down with a terrible crash during the first half life, and, perhaps, burying a host of persons in their ruins. mere paste-board palaces are the structures of the present times, composed of lath and plaster, and parker's cement, a few coloured bricks, a fanciful viranda, and a balcony, embellished within by the _décorateur_, and stuccoed or whitewashed without, to give them a light appearance, and hide the defects of an ignorant architect or an unskilful builder; while a very few years introduces the occupant to all the delightful sensations of cracked walls, swagged floors, bulged fronts, sinking roofs, leaking gutters, inadequate drains, and other innumerable ills, the effects of an originally bad constitution, which dispels any thing like the hopes of a reversionary interest, and clearly proves that without a renovation equal to resurrection, both the building and the occupant are very likely to fall victims to a rapid consumption." in this way did crony contrive to beguile the time, until we found ourselves entering the arena in front of the dean's house, westminster. "here, alone," said my old friend, "the hand of the innovator has not been permitted to intrude; this spot remains unpolluted; but, for the neighbourhood, alas!" sighed crony, "that is changed indeed. the tavern in union-street, for instance: in what a very short time back were the bays-water-fields, there is now a populous district, called by the inhabitants "moscow;" and at the foot of primrose- hill we are amazed by coming upon a large complication of streets, &c. under the name of "portland town." the rustic and primaeval meadows of kilburn are also filling with raw buildings and incipient roads; to say nothing of the charming neighbourhood of st. john's wood farm, and other spots nearer town. ~ ~~where charles churchill, and lloyd, and bonnel thornton used to meet and mix wit, and whim, and strong potation, has sunk into a common pot-house, and is wholly neglected by the scholars of the present time: not that they are a whit more moral than their predecessors, but, professing to be more refined, they are now to be found at the tavistock, or the hummums, at long's, or steven's; more polished in their pleasures, but more expensive in their pursuits." [illustration: page ] as we approached the centre of dean's-yard, crony's visage evidently grew more sentimental; the curved lips of the cynic straightened to an expression of kindlier feeling, and ere we had arrived at the school-door, the old eccentric had mellowed down into a generous contemplatist. "ay," said crony, "on this spot, mr. black mantle, half a century ago, was i, a light-hearted child of whim, as you are now, associated with some of the greatest names that have since figured in the history of our times, many of whom are now sleeping in their tombs beneath a weight of worldly honours, while some few have left a nobler and a surer monument to exalt them with posterity, the well-earned tribute of a nation's gratitude, the never-fading fame which attaches itself to good works and great actions. among the few families of my time who might be styled ''_magni nominis_' in college, were the finches, the drummonds, (arch-bishop's sons), and the markhams. tom steele{ } was on the foundation also, and had much fame in playing davus. the hothams{ } were considered among the lucky hits of westminster; the byngs{ } thought not as lucky as they should have been. mr. drake{ } a descendant of the celebrated sir richard steele, the associate of addison in the spectator, tatler, crisis, &c. sir henry and sir william hotham, admirals in the british navy. viscount torrington, a rear-admiral of the blue. thomas tyrwhitt drake, esq., (i believe) member for agmondesham, bucks. ~ ~~of amersham was one of the best scholars of his time; for a particular act of beneficence, two guineas given out of his private pocket-money to a poor sufferer by a fire, dr. smith gave him a public reward of some books. lord carmarthen{ } here came to the title, on the death of his eldest brother. here too he found the jacksons, and what was more, the jacksons{ } found him. lord foley had, during his stay here, two narrow escapes for his life, once being nearly drowned in the thames, and secondly, by a hack-horse running away with him: the last incident was truly ominous of the noble lord's favourite, but unfortunate pursuits{ }. sir john st. aubyn is here said to have formed his attachments with several established characters in the commercial world, as mr. beckett, and others; which afterwards proved of the highest consequence to his pursuits and success in life. lord bulkley had the credit of being one of the handsomest and best-humoured boys of his time, and so he continued through life. michael angelo taylor{ } was remarkable for his close application, under his tutor hume, and the tutor as remarkable for application to him. hatton, junior. lawyers, if not always good scholars, generally are something better; with much strong practical sense, and a variety of all that "makes a ready man; "hatton was all this, both as to scholarship, and the pertinent application of it. though a nephew of lord mansfield, and bred up under his auspices, he was not more remarkable than his brother george for the love of bullion. his abilities were great, and they would have been greatly thought of, had he been personally less locomotive. "ah, ah," said his uncle, "you'll never prosper till you learn to stay in a place." he replied, "o never fear, sir, do but get me a place; and i'll learn of you to stay in it." the present duke of leeds. dr. cyril jackson, afterwards sub-preceptor to his majesty, george the fourth, and since canon of christ church, oxford. he refused the primacy of ireland; was an excellent governor of his college, and died universally respected at fulpham, in sussex, in . dr. william jackson, his brother, who was bishop of oxford, was also regius professor of greek to that university; he died in . his lordship's attachment to the turf is as notorious as his undeviating practice of the purest principles of honour. it will not excite surprise, that such conduct has not been in such pursuits successful. the member for durham. ~ ~~lord deerhurst (now earl of coventry) had then, as now, very quick parts, and early insight into beautiful composition. whatever good thing he met with, he was always ready with an immediate parallel; latin, greek, or from honesty into english, nothing came amiss to him. he had a quick sense of the ridiculous; and could scout a character at all absurd and suspicious, with as much pleasant scurrility as a gentleman need have. banks always made his own exercises, as his exercises have since made him. he was a diligent and good boy; and though an early arithmetician, and fond of numbers, he was as soon distinguished for very honourable indifference to number one. douglas (now, i believe, marquis of queensberry) was remarkable for the worst penmanship in the school, and the economy of last moments; till then he seldom thought of an exercise. his favourite exercise was in tothill-fields; from whence returning once very late, he instantly conceived and executed some verses, that were the best of his day. on another day, he was as prompt, and thought to have been more lucky than before; when, lo, the next morning he was flogged! for the exercise was so ill written, that it was not legible even by himself. lord maiden was remarkable for his powers of engaging, and he then, as since, made some engagements, which might as well have been let alone. he made an early promise of all he has since performed. he was very fond of dramatic entertainments, and he enacted much; was accounted a good actor; so was his crony, jack wilson, so well known at mrs. hobart's, &c., for his fal de ral tit and for his duets with lady craven, lady a. foley, &c, &c. lord mansfield, then william murray, here began his career. when at school, he was not remarkable for personal courage, or for mental bravery; though one of the stoutest boys of his standing, he was often beat by boys a year or two below him; and though then acute and voluble, his opinions were suppressed and retracted before minds less powerful but more intrepid than his own. of his money allowance he was always so good a manager, ~ ~~that he could lend to him who was in need. the famous exercise which niçois made such a rout about, was in praise of abundance: an english theme on this thesis, from horace-- "_dulce est de magno tollore acervo_. " he was in college; and no man on earth could conjecture that in his own _acervo_ there would ever be aggrandizement, such as it has since occurred. lord stormont at school began his knack of oral imitations, and when a child, could speak quite as well as afterwards; after his uncle, the disgusting pronunciation of the letter o then too infected his language; he made it come to the ear like an a. humorously glancing at this affectation, onslow or stanhope said "murray's horse is an ass." markham, the archbishop of york, made an early display of classical taste, and the diligent cultivation of it. some of his school exercises are extant, and show more than a promise of that refinement and exactness, which afterwards distinguished his performances at christ church. the latin version of the fragment of simonides, as beautiful as any thing in the whole range of poetical imitation, though published in the oxford lachrymo as mr. bournes, is known to be written by mr. markham. at school, too, markham's conversation had a particularity known to distinguish it. war was his favourite topic, and caught, perhaps, from the worthy major, his father, and from his crony webb, afterwards the general. it was apparent upon all occasions; when he was to choose his reading as a private study, in the sixth form, cæsar was his first book; and so continuing through most of his leisure time addicted to this sort of inquiry, the archbishop was afterwards able to talk war with any soldier in england. but, indeed, what is there he could not talk equal to any competitor? to the archbishop markham, and through him to westminster, attach the credit of the good scholarship of the present king. this is little less than a credit to the country. the marquis of stafford had fame for his english exercises; and after saying this of his wednesday nights' themes, let it also be noted, that he had fame for other exercises of old england. he could ride, run, row, and bat better than most of his comtemporaries; in his potations, too, he was rather deep; but though deep, yet clear; and though gentle, yet not dull. at once a most jolly fellow, and the most magnificent of his time,--and so "_ab incepto processerit_." the duke of dorset, then sackville, (since dead) was good-humoured, manly, frank, and passionately fond of various school ~ ~~exercises; as billiards, at the alehouse in union-street, (then perhaps a tavern) and _double-fives_ between the two walls at the school-door. for tothill-fields fame as to cricket, he was yet more renowned: there he was the champion of the town-boys against those in college; and in the great annual match, he had an innings that might have lasted till the time baccelli _run him out_, had not the other side given up the game. as to the school itself, there it was easy to catch him out; though such was his address, that he was seldom caught out. when he was in school, really few boys were there to better purpose; he made several good prose exercises both in english and latin; and, what is rare for a boy of rank, with but small aid from the tutor. at school, he shot and rowed pretty well; and as he could not always pay for his boat in specie, somebody proposed a barter of _tothill-fields game_; but he had a soul above it, and what was more, at his elbow another soul, saying, _carpamus dulcia_, and of my dressing. that friend was lord edward bentinck, whose culinary fame began on the sparrows and fieldfares knocked down about the five chimnies and jenny's whim. at a bill of fare, and the science how dinner should be put before him, he was then, as since, unrivalled; yet more to his good memorial, he knew how a dinner should be put before other people. for one day, as he was beginning to revel in a surreptitious banquet in the bowling-alley, his share of the mess lord edward gave to the relief of want, which then happened to be wandering by the window.--"this praise shall last." old elwes, the late member for berks, may occur, on the mention of want wandering by, though, notwithstanding appearance, he suffered nobody about him to be in such wants as himself. penurious, perhaps, on small objects; in those which are greater, he was certainly liberal almost to prodigality. the hoarding principle might be strong in him, but in the conduct of it he was often generous, always easy. no man in england probably lost more money in large sums, for want of asking for it: for small money, as in farthings to street beggary, few men probably have lost less. what he had not sufficiently cultivated, was the habit of letting money easily go. so far, he was the reverse of charles the second; for on greater occasions, again i say it, he seemed to own the act under the ennobling impulse of systematic generosity, expanding equally in self-denial, and in social sympathy. he was among the most dispassionate and tender-tempered men alive; and, considering ~ ~~all things, it might be reasonable to allot him the meed of meekness upon earth, and of that virtue which seeketh not her own reward. his ruling passion was the love of ease. the beginnings of all this were more or less discernible at school, where lord mansfield gave him the nick-name of jack meggot. his other little particularities were the best running and walking in the school, and the commencement of his fame for riding, which, in the well-known trials in the swiss academy, outdid all competition. worsley, of the board of works, alone divided the palm; he rode more gracefully. elwes was by far the boldest rider. the duke of portland (who died in ) was among the _delicciæ_ of each form at westminster, in all that appertained to temper, the tenderness and warmth of feeling, suavity of approach, and the whole passive power of pleasing. thus much internal worth, tempered with but little of those showy powers which dazzle and seduce, gave early promise that he would escape all intriguing politics, and never degrade himself by the projects of party; for a party-man must always be comparatively mean, even on a scale of vicious dignity; in violence, subordinate to the ruffian; in chicane, below a common town-sharper. he had, happily, no talents for party; he was better used by nature. he seemed formed for the kindliest offices of life; to appreciate the worth, and establish the dignity of domestic duties; to exemplify the hardest tasks of friendship and affinity; to display each hospitable charm. all that he afterwards did for chace price, and lord eduard, appeared as a flower in its bud, in dean's-yard and tothill-fields, with the fruit-woman under the gateway, and the coffee-house then opposite. in his school-exercises, fame is not remembered to have followed any but his wednesday evening themes: some of them were incomparably the best of the standing. in the rest of the school business, said the master to him one day, "you just keep on this side whipping." his smaller habits were none remarkable, except that his diet was rather more blameable in the article of wine. a little too early; a little too much. this, probably, more than any hereditary taint, made him, in immediate manhood, a martyr to the gout. against this, his ancestor's nostrum was tried in vain; the disease would not yield, till it was overborne by abstinence, which, to the praise of the duke's temper, he began and continued, with a splendour of resolution not any where exceeded. ~ ~~the duke had been long estranged from all animal food but fish, and every fermented liquor. according to the old latin distich, the poetry of a water-drinker is said to be short-lived, and not fit to live: was this proverbial doom extended to what was not poetry, it might be checked by the prose of the duke of portland. most of his common letters were among the models of epistolary correspondence. the duke of beaufort{ } exhibited at school more of the rudiments of a country gentleman, than the rudiments of busby; he knew a horse practically, while other boys took it only from description in virgil. _stare loco nescit_, was however his motto; and through all the demesnes adjacent to his little reign, on the water, and in the water, he was well; on horseback he was yet better; and to ride, or tie, on foot, or on horseback, no boy of his time was more ready at every good turn. he loved his friend; and, such were the engaging powers of his very frank and pleasant manner, his friends all loved him. some encumbrances, _solito de more_ of all boys, with the coffee-house, for jellies, fruit, &c, left when he left school, he afterwards discharged with singular éclat. in regard to scholarship, he was by no means wanting; though it must be owned, he wanted always to be better strangers with them. like many other boys, he knew much more than he was aware of; for he had as much aversion to the greek epigrams, as the best critic could have; and in terence, as he could find nothing to laugh, lloyd often raised an opposite emotion. lloyd, had he lived to this time, would have taken terence as a main ingredient in his enjoyments. so benevolent is nature to fit the feelings of man to his destiny. m'donald, afterwards solicitor general, was in college, and had then about him much that was remarkable for good value. the different ranks in college are rather arduous trials of temper; and he that can escape without imputation through them, and be, as it is called, a junior without meanness, and a senior without obduracy, exhibits much early promise, both as to talents and virtue. this early promise was m 'donald's. he was well-respected in either rank, and he deserved it; for he obeyed the time, without being time-serving; he commanded, as one not forgetting what it was to obey. _par negotiis, neque supra_, characterised his scholarship. died in . ~ ~~he had in every form sufficiency, and sometimes eminence. he had more facility in greek than most boys; his english exercises were conspicuous for language and neatness of turn. he was a very uncorrupt boy, and his manners were rather elevated; yet it is not remembered that he lost popularity even with the worst boys in the school; the whole secret of which was _specie minus quam vi_. he was better than he seemed. there was no pride, no offending wish at seclusion. though not so remarkable for book knowledge as his brother sir james, who thus, indeed, was nothing less than a prodigy, yet was m'donald extremely well and very variously read. in miscellaneous information, far more accomplished than any boy of his time. markham, the master, had a high opinion of him; and once, in the midst of strong and favourable prognostics, said, "there was nothing against him but what was for him; rank and connections, and the too probable event of thence advancing into life too forward and too early." markham spoke with much sagacity. the _rosa sera_ is the thing, for safe and spreading efflorescence. well as the wreath might be about m'donald's brow, it had probably been better, if gathered less eagerly, if put on later. cock langford was the son of the auctioneer-- and there never was an inheritance of qualities like it. he would have made as good an auctioneer as his father; a better could not bo. cock langford, so called, from the other auctioneer cock, very early in the school discovered great talents for ways and means; and, by private contract, could do business as much and as well as his father. his exercises were not noted for any excess of merit, or the want of it. he certainly had parts, if they had been put in their proper direction: that was trade. in that he might have been conspicuously useful. as he was in college, and nothing loath in any occasion that led to notice, in spite of a lisp in his speech, he played davus in the phormio; which he opened with singidar absurdity, as the four first words terminate in the letter s, which he, from the imperfection in his speech, could not help mangling. from the patronage of lord orford, mr. langford had one of the best livings in norfolk, £ a year; and afterwards, i understand, very well exemplified the useful and honourable duties of a clergyman resident on his benefice. hamilton. every thing is the creature of accident; as that ~ ~~works upon time and place, so are the vicissitudes which follow; vicissitudes that reach through the whole allotment of man, even to the charm of character, and the qualities which produce it. physically speaking, human nature can redress itself of climate, can generate warmth in high latitudes, and cold at the equator; but in respect to mind and manners, from the law of latitude there is no appeal. man, like the plants that grow for him, has a proper sky and soil: with them to flourish, without them to fade; through either kingdom, vegetable and moral, in situations that are aquatic, the alpine nature cannot live. all this applies to hamilton wasting himself at westminster. "wild nature's vigour working at his root;" his situation should have been accordingly; where he might have spread wide and struck deep. with more than boyish aptitudes and abilities, he should not thus have been lost among boys. his incessant intrepidity, his restless curiosity, his undertaking spirit, all indicated early maturity; all should have led to pursuits, if not better, at least of more pith and moment than the mere mechanism of dead language! this by hamilton (disdaining as a business what as an amusement perhaps might have delighted him) was deemed a dead letter, and as such, neglected; while he bestowed himself on other mechanism, presenting more material objects to the mind. [illustration: page ] exercises out of school took place of exercises within. not that like sackville or hawkins, he had a ball at every leisure moment in his hand; but, preferably to fives or cricket, he would amuse himself in mechanical pursuits; little in themselves, but great as to what they might have been convertible. in the fourth form, he produced a red shoe of his own making. and though he never made a pocket watch, and probably might mar many, yet all the interior machinery he knew and could name. the whole movement he took to pieces, and replaced. the man who is to find out the longitude, cannot have beginnings; better than these. count bruhl, since madge's death, the best watch-maker of his time, did not raise more early wonder. besides this, hamilton was to be found in every daring oddity. lords burlington and kent, in all their rage for porticos, were nothing to him in a rage for pediments. for often has the morning caught him scaling the high pediments of the school-door, and at peril of ins life clambering down, opening the door within, before the boy who kept the gate could come with the key. his evenings set upon no less perils; in pranks with gunpowder; in leaping from unusual heights into the ~ ~~thames. as a practical geographer of london, and heaven only knows how many miles round it, omniscient jackson himself could not know more. all this, surely, was intrinsically right, wrong only in its direction. had he been sent to woolwich, he might have come out, if not a rival of the duke of richmond, then master of the ordnance, at least a first-rate engineer. in economical arts and improvements, nothing less than national, he might have been the duke of bridgewater of ireland. had the sea been his profession, lord mulgrave might have been less alone in the rare union of science and enterprise. but all this capability of usefulness and fair fame, was brought to nought by the obstinate absurdity of the people about him; nothing could wean them from westminster. his grandfather roan, or rohan, an old man who saved much money in rathbone-place, and spent but little of it every evening at slaughter's coffee-house, holding out large promise to property, so became absolute; and absolute nonsense was his conduct to his grandson. he persevered in the school; where, if a boy disaffects book-knowledge, his books are only bought and sold. and after westminster, when the old man died, as if solicitous that every thing about his grave, but poppy and mandragora, should grow downwards, his will declared his grandson the heir, but not to inherit till he graduated at cambridge. to cambridge therefore he went; where having pursued his studies, as it is called, in a ratio inverse and descending, he might have gone on from bad to worse; and so, as many do, putting a grave face upon it, he might have had his degree. but his animal spirits, and love of bustle, could not go off thus undistinguished; and so, after coolly attempting to throw a tutor into the cam--after shaking all cambridge from its propriety by a night's frolic, in which he climbed the sign-posts, and changed the principal signs, he was rusticated; till the good-humour of the university returning, he was re-admitted, and enabled to satisfy his grandfather's will! after that, he behaved with much gallantry in america; and with good address in that very disagreeable affair, the contested marriage of his sister with mr. beresford the clergyman. indeed, through the intercourse of private life he was very amiable. the same suavity of speech, courteous attentions, and general good-nature, he had when a boy, continued and improved: good qualities the more to be prized, as the less probable, from his bold and eager temper, from the turbulence of his wishes, and the hurry of his pursuits. ~ ~~jekyl had in part, when a boy, the same happy qualities which afterwards distinguished him so entirely: in his economy of time, in his arts of arranging life, and distributing it exactly, between what was pleasant and what was grave. with vigorous powers and fair pursuits, the doing one thing at a time is the mode to do every thing. had jekyl no other excellence than this, i could not be surprised when he became attorney-general. "when you got into the place of your ancestor, sir joseph," said the tutor of jekyl to him, "let this be your motto: _et properare loco, et cesare_." "jekyl," said mrs. hobart one day, struck with the same address and exactness, "do you know, if you were a painter, poussin would be nothing to you in the balance of a scene." several of his english exercises, and his verses, will not easily be forgotten. and it will be remembered also, in a laughable way, that he was as mischievous as a gentleman need be; the mobbing a vulgar, the hoaxing a quiz, all the dialect of the thames below chelsea-reach, and the whole reach of every thing, pleasant but wrong, which the school statutes put out of reach, but what are the practice of the wits, and of every gentleman who would live by the statutes. all these were among jekyl's early peculiarities, and raised his fame very high for spirit and cleverness. "so sweet and voluble was his discourse." he was very popular among all the boys of his time. and he had a knack yet more gratifying, of recommending himself to the sisters and cousins of the boys he visited. and he well held up in theory what he afterwards exemplified in fact. for in one of the best themes of the time on this subject, "_non formosus erat, sod erat facundus ulysses_," he was much distinguished. ~ ~~"but the grave has closed upon most of the gay spirits of my earlier time," said crony; "and i alone remain the sad historian. yonder porch leads to the dormitory and school-room.{ } 'there busby's awful picture decks the place, shining where once he shone a living grace.' this school was founded by queen elizabeth in , for the education of forty boys, denominated king's scholars from the royalty of their founders; besides which, the nobility and gentry send their sons thither for instruction, so that this establishment vies with eton in celebrity and respectability. the school is not endowed with lands and possessions specifically appropriated to its own maintenance, but is attached to the general foundation of the collegiate church of westminster, as far as relates to the support of the king's scholars. it is under the care of the dean and chapter of westminster, conjointly with the dean of christ church, oxford, and the master of trinity, cambridge, respect-ing the election of scholars to their respective colleges. the foundation scholars sleep in the dormitory, a building erected from the design and under the superintendence of the celebrated earl of burlington, in the reign of george the first; and in this place the annual theatrical exhibitions take place; the scenery and arrangements having been contrived under the direction of mr. garrick, were presented by archbishop markham, the former master of the school. the king's scholars are distin- guished from the town-boys, or independents, by a gown, cap, and college waistcoat; they have their dinner in the hall, but seldom take any other meal in college; they pay for education and accommodation as the town-boys; eight of them are generally elected at the end of the fourth year to the colleges above-named; they have studentships at oxford, and scholarships at cambridge; the former worth from forty to sixty pounds per annum, but the latter of small beneficial consideration. the scholars propose themselves for the foundation by challenge, and contend with each other in latin and greek every day for eight weeks successively, when the eight at the head of the number are chosen according to vacancies. this contest occasions the king's scholarships to be much sought after, as it becomes the ground-work of reputation, and incites desire to excel. there are four boys who are called bishop's boys, from their being established by williams, bishop of lincoln; they have a gratuitous education, and a small allowance which is suffered to accumulate till the period of their admission into st. john's college, cambridge; they are distinguished by wearing a purple gown, and are nominated by the dean and head- master. what a cloud of recollections, studded with bright and variegated lights, passes before my inward vision! stars of eminence in every branch of learning, science, and public duties, who received their education within those walls; old westminsters, whose fame will last as long as old england's records, and who shall doubt ~ ~~that will be to the end of time? here grew into manhood and renown the lord burleigh, king, bishop of london, the poet cowley, the great dryden, charles montague, earl of halifax, dr. south, matthew prior, the tragedian rowe, bishop hooper, kennet, bishop of peterborough, dr. friend, the physician, king, archbishop of dublin, the philosopher locke, atterbury, bishop of rochester, bourne, the latin poet, hawkins browne, boyle, earl of cork and orrery, carteret, earl of granville, charles churchill, the english satirist, frank nicholls, the anatomist, gibbon, the historian, george colman, bonnel thornton, the great earl of mansfield, clayton mordaunt cracherode, richard cumberland, the poet cowper. these are only a few of the great names which occur to me at this moment; but here is enough to immortalize the memory of the old westminsters." on feasters and feasting. on the attachment of the moderns to good eating and drinking--its consequences and operation upon society-- different description of dinner parties--royal--noble-- parliamentary--clerical--methodistical--charitable-- theatrical--legal--parochial--literary--commercial and civil gourmands--sketches at a side-table, by bernard blackmantle. ~ ~~ "there are, while human miseries abound, a thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, without one fool or flatterer at your board, without one hour of sickness or disgust." --armstrong. in such esteem is good eating held by the moderns, that the only way in which englishmen think they can celebrate any important event, or effect any charitable purpose, is by a good dinner. from the palace to the pot-house, the same affection for good eating and drinking pervades all classes of mankind. the sovereign, when he would graciously condescend to bestow on any individual some mark of his special favour, invites him to the royal banquet, seats him _tète-à-tête_ with the most polished prince in europe; by this act of royal notice exalts him in the public eye, and by the suavity and elegance of his manners rivets his affections and secures his zeal for the remainder of his life. the ministers too have their state dinners, where all important questions are considered before they are submitted to the grand council of the nation. the bishops dine in holy ~ ~~conclave to benefit christianity, and moralize over champagne on the immorality of mankind. the judges dine with the lord chancellor on the first day of term, and try their powers of mastication before they proceed to try the merits of their fellow citizens' causes. a lawyer must eat his way to the bar, labouring most voraciously through his commons dinners in the temple or lincoln's inn halls, before he has any chance of success in common law, common pleas, or common causes in the court of king's bench or chancery. the speaker's parliamentary dinners are splendid spreads for poor senators; but sometimes the feast is infested with rats, whom his majesty's royal rat-catcher immediately cages, and contrives, by the aid of a blue or red ribband, to render extremely useful and docile. your orthodox ministers dine on tithes, turtle, and easter offerings, until they become as sleek as their own velvet cushions, and eke from charity to mankind almost as red in the face from the ruby tint of red port, and the sorrowful recollections of sin and death. the methodist and sectarians have their pious love feasts--bachelor's fare, bread and butter and kisses, with a dram of comfort at parting, i suppose. the deaf, the dumb, the lame, the blind, all have their annual charitable dinnerings; and even the actor's fund is almost entirely dependent on the fund of amusement they contrive to offer to their friends at their annual fund dinner. the church-wardens dine upon a child, and the overseers too often upon the mite extorted from the poor. even modern literature is held in thraldom by the banquetings of modern booksellers and publishers, who by this method contrive to cram the critics with their crudities, and direct the operation of their servile pens in the cutting up of poor authors. at the publisher's club, held at the albion, dr. kitchener and will jerdau rule the roast; here these worthies may be heard commenting with ~ ~~profound critical consistency on culinaries and the classics, gurgling down heavy potations of black strap, and making still heavier remarks upon black letter bibliomania, until all the party are found labouring "_dare pondus idonea fumo_," or, in the language of cicero, it may be justly said of them, "_damnant quod non intelligent_." the magnifico murray has his merry meetings, where new books are made palatable to certain tastes by sumptuous feastings, and a choice supply of old wines. colburn brings his books into notice by first bringing his dinner _coteries_ into close conclave; and longman's monthly melange of authors and critics is a literary statute dinner, where every guest is looking out for a liberal engagement. [illustration: page ] even the booksellers themselves feast one another before they buy and sell; and a trade sale, without a trade dinner to precede it, would be a very poor concern indeed. fire companies and water companies, bubble companies and banking companies, all must be united and consolidated by a good dinner company. your fat citizen, with a paunch that will scarce allow him to pass through the side avenue of temple bar, marks his feast days upon his sheet almanack, as a lawyer marks his term list with a double dash, thus =, and shakes in his easy chair like a sack of blubber as lie recapitulates the names of all the glorious good things of which he has partaken at the annual civic banquet at fishmonger's hall, or the bible association dinner at the city of london tavern: at the mention of white bait, his lips smack together with joy, and he lisps out instinctively blackwall: talk of a rump steak and dolly's, his eyes grow wild with delight; and just hint at the fine green fat of a fresh killed turtle dressed at birch's, and his whole soul's in arms for a corporation dinner. reader, i have been led into this strain of thinking by an excursion i am about to make with alderman marigold and family, ~ ~~to enjoy the pleasures of a sunday ordinary in the suburbs of the metropolis; an old fashioned custom that is now fast giving way to modern notions of refinement, and is therefore the more worthy of characteristic record. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page b] a sunday ramble to highgate, or, the cits ordinary. bernard blackmantle's first excursion with the marigold family--lucubrations of the alderman on the alterations of the times--sketches and recollections on the road--the past and the present--arrival at the gate house, highgate--the cit's ordinary--traits of character--the water drinker, the vegetable eater, and the punster--tom cornish, the gourmand--anecdote of old tattersall and his beef eater-- young tat. and the turnpike man. ~ ~~"may i never be merry more," said the alderman, "if we don't go a maying on sunday next, and you must accompany us, master blackmantle: i always make a country excursion once a year, to wit, on the first sunday in may, when we join a very jolly party at the gate house, highgate, and partake of an excellent ordinary." "i thought, pa, you would have given up that vulgar custom when we removed westward, and you were elected alderman of the ward of cheap." "ay," said mrs. marigold, "if you wish to act politely to your wife and daughter write to the star and garter at richmond, or the toy at hampton court, and order a choice dinner beforehand for a select party; then we should be thought something of, and be able to dine in comfort, without being ~ ~~_scrowged_ up in a corner by a leadenhall landlady, or elbowed out of every mouthful by a smithfield salesman." "there it is, mr. blackmantle, that's the evil of a man having a few pounds more in his purse than his neighbours--it makes him miserable with his family at home, and prevents him associating with old friends abroad. if you marry my biddy, make these conditions with her--to dispense with all mrs. marigold's maxims on modern manners, and be at liberty to smoke your pipe where, and with whom you please." "i declare, pa, one would imagine you wished mr. blackmantle to lose all his manners directly after marriage, and all respect for his intended bride beforehand." "nothing of the sort, miss sharpwit; but, ever since i made the last fortunate contract, you and your mother have contracted a most determined dislike to every thing social and comfortable--haven't i cut the coger's society in bride lane, and the glee club at the ram in smithfield? don't i restrain myself to one visit a week to the jolly old scugs{ } society in abchurch lane? haven't i declined the chair of the free and easy johns, and given up my command in the lumber troop?--are these no sacrifices? is it nothing to have converted my ancestors' large estate in thames street into warehouses, and emigrated westward to be confined in one of your kickshaw cages in tavistock square? don't i keep a chariot and a chaise for your comfort, and consent to be crammed up in a corner at a concert party to hear some foreign stuff i don't understand? plague take your drives in hyde park and promenades in kensington gardens! give me the society where i can eat, drink, laugh, joke, and smoke blue coat boys. the others are all well-known anacreontic meetings held in the city. ~ ~~as i like, without being obliged to watch every word and action, as if my tongue was a traitor to my head, and my stomach a tyrant of self-destruction." the alderman's remonstrance was delivered with so much energy and good temper, that there was no withstanding his argument; a hearty laugh, at the conclusion, from miss biddy and myself, accompanied by an ejaculation of "poor man, how ill you are used!" from his lady, restored all to good-humour, and obtained the "_quid pro quo_," a consent on their parts to yield to old customs, and, for once in a way, to allow the alderman to have a day of his own. the next morning early an open barouche received our party, the coachman being particularly cautioned not to drive too fast, to afford the alderman an opportunity of _luxuriating_ upon the reminiscences of olden time. as the carriage rolled down the hill turning out of the new road the alderman was particularly eloquent in pointing out and describing the once celebrated tea gardens, bagnigge wells. "in my young days, sir, this place was the great resort of city elegance and fashion, and divided the town with vauxhall. here you might see on a sunday afternoon, or other evenings, two thirds of the corporation promenading with their wives and daughters; then there was a fine organ in the splendid large room, which played for the entertainment of the company, and such crowds of beautiful women, and gay fellows in embroidered suits and lace ruffles, all powdered and perfumed like a nosegay, with elegant cocked hats and swords in their sides; then there were such rural walks to make love in, take tea or cyder, and smoke a pipe; you know, mrs. marigold, you and i have had many a pleasant hour in those gardens during our courting days, when the little naked cupid used to sit astride of a swan, and the water spouted from its beak as high as the ~ ~~monument; then the grotto was so delightful and natural as life, and the little bridge, and the gold fish hopping about underneath it, made it quite like a terrestrial paradise{ }; but about that time dr. whitfield and the countess of huntingdon undertook to save the souls of all the sinners, and erected a psalm-singing shop in tottenham court road, where they assembled the pious, and made wry faces at the publicans and sinners, until they managed to turn the heads without turning the hearts of a great number of his majesty's liege subjects, and by the aid of cant and hypocrisy, caused the orthodox religion of the land to be nearly abandoned; but we are beginning to be more enlightened, mr. blackmantle, and understand these _trading_ missionaries and _bible merchants_ much better than they could wish us to have done. then, sir, the pantheon, in spa fields, was a favourite place of resort for the bucks and gay ladies of the time; and sadler's wells and islington spa were then in high repute for their mineral waters. at white conduit house the jews and jewesses of the metropolis held their carnival, and city apprentices used to congregate at dobney's bowling-green, afterwards named, in compliment to garrick's stratford procession, the jubilee tea-gardens; those were the times to grow rich, mr. blackmantle, when half-a-crown would cover the day's expenditure of five persons, and behave liberally too."--in our way through islington, the alderman pointed out to us the place as formerly celebrated for a weekly consumption of cakes and ale; and as we passed through holloway, informed us that it was in former time equally notorious for its cheese-cakes, the fame of which attracted vast numbers on upon reference to an old print of bagnigge wells, i find the alderman's description of the place to be a very faithful portrait. the pantheon is still standing, but converted into a methodist chapel. ~ ~~the sunday, who, having satiated themselves with pastry, would continue their rambles to the adjacent places of hornsey wood house, colney hatch, and highgate, returning by the way of hampstead to town. the topographical reminiscences of the alderman were illustrated as we proceeded by the occasional sallies of mrs. marigold's satire: "she could not but regret the depravity of the times, that enabled low shop-keepers and servants to dress equal to their betters: it is now quite impossible to enjoy society and be comfortable in public, without being associated with your tallow-chandler, or your butcher, or take a pleasant drive out of town, without meeting your linen-draper, or your tailor, better mounted or in a more fashionable equipage than yourself." "all for the good of trade," said the alderman: "it would be very hard indeed if those who enable others to cut a dash all the week could not make a splash themselves on a sunday; besides, my dear, it's a matter of business now-a-days: many of your kickshaw tradesmen west of temple bar find it as necessary to consult _appearances_ in the park and watch the _new come outs_, as i do to watch the stock market: if they find their customers there in good feather and high repute, they venture to cover another leaf in their ledger; but if, on the contrary, they appear shy, only show of a sunday, and are cut by the nobs, why then they understand it's high time to close the account, and it's very well for them if they are ever able to _strike a balance_." at the conclusion of this colloquy, we had arrived at the gate house, highgate, just in time to hear the landlord proclaim that dinner was that moment about to be served up: the civic rank of the alderman did not fail to obtain its due share of servile attention from boniface, who undertook to escort our party into the room, and having announced the consequence ~ ~~of his guests, placed the alderman and his family at the head of the table. i have somewhere read, "there is as much valour expected in feasting as in fighting; "and if any one doubts the truth of the axiom, let him try with a hungry stomach to gratify the cravings of nature at a crowded ordinary--or imagine a well disposed group of twenty persons, all in high appetite and "eager for the fray" sitting down to a repast scantily prepared for just half the number, and crammed into a narrow room, where the waiters are of necessity obliged to wipe every dish against your back, or deposit a portion of gravy in your pocket, to say nothing of the sauce with which a remonstrance is sure to fill both your ears. most of the company present upon this occasion appeared to have the organs of destructiveness to an extraordinary degree, and mine host of the gate house, who is considered an excellent physiognomist, looked on with trembling and disastrous countenance, as he marked the eager anxiety of the expectant _gourmands_ sharpening their knives, and spreading their napkins, at the shrine of sensuality, exhibiting the most voracious symptoms of desire to commence the work of demolition. a small tureen of mock turtle was half lost on its entrance, by being upset over the leg of a dancing-master, who capered about the room to double quick time, from the effects of a severe scalding; on which the alderman (with a wink) observed, that the gentleman had no doubt caused many a _calf s head to dance_ about in his time, and now he had met with a rich return. "i'll bring an action against the landlord for the carelessness of his waiter." "you had better not," said the alderman. "why not, sir?" replied the smarting son of terpsichore. "because you have only _one leg to stand on_." this sally produced a general laugh, and restored all to good humour. on the appearance of a fine cod's head and shoulders, the ~ ~~rosy gills of marigold seemed to extend with extatic delight; while a dozen voices assailed him at once with "i'll take fish, if you please." "ay, but you don't take me for a fag: if you please, gentlemen, i shall help the ladies first, then myself and friend, and afterwards you may divide the _omnium and scrip_ just as you please." "what a strange animal!" whispered the dancing master to his next neighbour, an old conveyancer. "yes, sir," replied the man of law, "a city shark, i think, that will swallow all our share of the fish." "don't you think, mr. alderman," said a lusty lady on the opposite side of the table, "the fish is rather _high_?" "no, ma'ain, it's my opinion," (looking at the fragments) "the company will find it rather low." "ay, but i mean, mr. alderman, it's not so _fresh_ as it might be." "why the head did whisper to me, ma'am, that he had not been at sea these ten days; only i thought it rude to repeat what was told me in confidence, and i'm not fond of _fresh things_ myself, am i, mrs. marigold? shall i help you to a little fowl, ma'am, a wing, or a merry thought?" "egad! mr. alderman, you are always ready to assist the company with the latter." "yes, ma'am, always happy to help the ladies to a __tit bit: shall i send you the _recorder's nose_? bless my heart, how warm it is! here, joe, hang my wig behind me, and place that calf's-head before me." (see plate.) "very sorry, ma'am, very sorry indeed," said mr. deputy flambeau to the lady next him, whose silk dress he had just bespattered all over; "could not have supposed this little pig had so much gravy in him," as lady macbeth says. "i wish you'd turn that ere nasty thing right round, mr. deputy," growled out a city ~ ~~costermonger, "'cause my wife's quite alarmed for her _grose_ de naples." "not towards me, if you please, mr. deputy," simpered out miss marigold, "because thereby hangs a tail, i.e. (tale)." "that's my biddy's ultimatum," said the alderman; "she never makes more than one good joke a day." "if they are all as good as the last, they deserve the benefit of frequent resurrection, alderman." "why so, mr. blackmantle?" "because they will have the merit of being very funny upon a very grave subject--_jeu d'esprits_ upon our latter end." "could you make room for three more gentlemen?" said the waiter, ushering in three woe-begone knights of the trencher, who, having heard the fatal clock strike when at the bottom of the hill, and knowing the punctuality of the house, had toiled upwards with breathless anxiety to be present at the first attack, and arrived at the end of the second course, _just in time to be too late_. "confound all clocks and clockmakers! set my watch by bishopsgate church, and made sure i was a quarter too fast." "very sorry, gentlemen, very sorry, indeed," said boniface; "nothing left that is eatable--not a chop or a steak in the house; but there is an excellent ordinary at the spaniards, about a mile further down the lane; always half an hour later than ours." "ay, it's a grievous affair, landlord; but howsomdever, if there's nothing to eat, why we must go: we meant to have done you justice to-day--but never mind, we'll be in time for you another sunday, old gentleman, depend upon it; "and with this significant promise the three _hungarians_ departed, not a little disappointed. "those three men are no ordinary customers," said our host; "they have done us the honour to dine here _before_, and what is more, of leaving nothing _behind_; one of them is the celebrated yorkshireman, tom ~ ~~cornish, whom general picton pitted against a hanoverian glutton to eat for a fortnight, and found, at the end of a week, that he was a whole bullock, besides twelve quartern loaves, and half a barrel of beer, ahead of his antagonist; and if the hanoverian had not given up, tom would have eaten the rations of a whole company. his father is said to have been equally gluttonous and penurious, and could eat any given quantity: this person once dining with a member of the society of friends, who was also a scion of elwes' school, after having eat enough for four moderate visitors, re-helped himself, exclaiming, 'you see it's cut and come again with me! 'to which the sectarian gravely replied, 'friend, cut again thou may'st, but come again thou never shalt.'" "ay, that's a very good joke, landlord," said the alderman; "but you know i am up to your jokes: you think these long stories will save your mutton, but there you're wrong--they only give time to take breath; so bring in the sirloin and the saddle of mutton, waiter; and when we've done dinner i'll tell you an anecdote of old tattersall and his beef-eater, which occurred at this house in a former landlord's time. come, mr. blackmantle, let me send you a slice of the sirloin, and tell us what you think of good eating." "that the wit of modern times directs all its rage _ad gulam_; and the only inducement to study is _erudito luxu_, to please the palate, and satisfy the stomach. even my friend ebony, the northern light, has cast off the anchorite, and sings thus jollily: 'the science of eating is old, its antiquity no man can doubt: though adam was squeamish, we're told, eve soon found a _dainty bit_ out.' "we talk of the degeneracy of the moderns, as if men now-a-days were in every respect inferior to their ~ ~~ancestors; but i maintain, and challenge contradiction, that there are many stout rubicund gentlemen in this metropolis that might be backed for eating or drinking with any bacchanalian or masticator since the days of adam himself. what was _offellius bibulus_, the roman parasite, or _silenus ebrius_, or _milo_, who could knock down an ox, and eat him up directly afterwards, compared to tom cornish, or richardson the oyster eater?{ } or what are all these opposed to the oxonian, who, a short time since, went to the swan at bedford, and ordered dinner? a goose being brought, he hacked it in a style at which mrs. glass would have fainted; indeed so wretched was the mutilated anatomy, in appearance, from bad carving, that, being perfectly ashamed of it, he seized the moment when some poor mendicant implored his charity at the window, deposited the remains of the goose in his apron, rang the bell, and asked for his bill: the waiter gazed a moment at the empty dish, and then rushing to the landlord, exclaimed, 'oh! measter, measter, the gentleman eat the goose, bones and all!' and the worthies of bedford believe the wondrous tale to this day." to return to tom cornish, our host informed us his extraordinary powers of mastication were well known, and dreaded by all the tavern-keeping fraternity who had sunday ordinaries within ten miles round london, with some of whom he was a regular annuitant, receiving a trifle once a year, in lieu of giving them a _benefit_, as he terms the filling of his voracious paunch. a story is told of his father, who is said to have kept a very scanty table, that dining one saturday with in , says evelyn in his diary, "one richardson, amongst other feats, performed the following: taking a live coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster; the coal was blown on with a bellows, till it flamed in his mouth, and so remained till the oyster gaped, and was quite boiled." certainly the most simple of all cooking apparatus. ~ ~~his son at an ordinary in cambridge, he whispered in his ear, "tom, you must eat for to-day and to-morrow." "o yes," retorted the half-starved lad, "but i han't eaten for yesterday, and the day before yet, father." in short, tom makes but one hearty meal in a week, and that one might serve a troop of infantry to digest. the squalling of an infant at the lower end of the room, whose papa was vainly endeavouring to pacify the young gourmand with huge spoonfuls of mock-turtle, drew forth an observation from the alderman, that had well nigh disturbed the entire arrangement of the table, and broke up the harmony of the scene "with most admired disorder;" for on the head of the marigold family likening the youngster's noise to a chamber organ, and quaintly observing that they always had music during dinner at fishmongers' hall, the lady mother of the infant, a jolly dame, who happened to be engaged in the shell fish line, took the allusion immediately to herself, and commenced such a furious attack upon the alderman as proved her having been regularly matriculated at the college in thames street. when the storm subsided the ladies had vanished, and the alderman moved an adjournment to what he termed the _snuggery_, a pleasant little room on the first floor, which commanded a delightful prospect over the adjacent country. here we were joined by three eccentric friends of the marigold family, who came on the special invitation of the alderman, mr. peter pendragon, a celebrated city punster, mr. philotus wantley, a vegetable dieter, and mr. galen cornaro, an abominator of wine, and a dyspeptic follower of kitchener and abernethy--a trio of singularities that would afford excellent materials for my friend richard peake, the dramatist, in mixing up a new _monopolylogue_ for that facetious child of whim and wit, the inimitable charles mathews. our first story, while the wine was decantering, proceeded from the ~ ~~alderman, who having been driven from the dinner table somewhat abruptly by the amiable _caro sposa_ of the fish-merchant, had failed in giving us his promised anecdote of old tattersall and his beef-eater. "i have dined with him often in this house," said the alderman, "in my earlier days, and a pleasant, jovial, kindhearted fellow he was, one who would ride a long race to be present at a good joke, and never so happy as when he could trot a landlord, or knock down an argument monger with his own weapons. the former host of the gate house was a bit of a screw, and old tat knew this; so calling in one day, as if by accident, tat sat him down to a cold round of beef, by way of luncheon, and having taken some half ounce of the meat, with a few pickles, requested to know what he had to pay for his eating. 'three shillings, sir,' said the waiter. 'three devils!' ejaculated tat, with strong symptoms of surprise, for in those days three shillings would have nearly purchased the whole round: 'send in your master.' in walks the host, and tat renewed his question, receiving in reply a reiteration of the demand, but accompanied with this explanation, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price: 'in short, sir,' said the host, 'i keep this house, and i mean the house should keep me, and the only way i find to insure that is to make the short stomachs pay for the long ones.' 'very well,' said tat, paying the demand, 'i shall remember this, and bring a friend to dine with you another day.' at this time tat had in his employ a fellow called oxford will, notorious for his excessive gluttony, a very famine breeder, who had won several matches by eating for a wager, and who had obtained the appellation of tattersall's beef-eater. this fellow tat dressed in decent style, and fixing him by his side in the chaise, drove up to the gate house on a sunday to dine at the ordinary, taking care to be in excellent time, and making a previous appointment with a few friends ~ ~~to enjoy the joke. at dinner will was, by arrangement, placed in the chair, and being well instructed and prepared for execution, was ably supported by tat and his friends: the host, too, who was in excellent humour, quite pleased to see such a numerous and respectable party, apologised repeatedly, observing that he would have provided more abundantly had he known of the intended honour: in this way all things proceeded very pleasantly with the first course, will not caring to make any very wonderful display of his masticatory prowess with either of the _unsubstantials_, fish or soup; but when a fine _aitch-bone_ of beef came before the gourmand, he stuck his fork into the centre, and, unheedful of the ravenous solicitations of those around him requesting a slice, proceeded to demolish the whole joint, with as much celerity as the hyena would the harmless rabbit: the company stared with astonishment; the landlord, to whom the waiters had communicated the fact, entered the room in breathless haste; and on observing the empty dish, and hearing will direct the waiter to take away the bone and bring him a clean plate, was apparently thunder-struck: but how much was his astonishment increased upon perceiving will help himself to a fine young turkey, stuffed with sausages, which he proceeded to dissect with anatomical ability, and by this time the company understanding the joke, he was allowed uninterruptedly to deposit it in his immense capacious receptacle, denominated by old tat the _fathomless vacuum_. hitherto the company had been so completely electrified by the extra-ordinary powers of the glutton, that astonishment had for a short time suspended the activity of appetite, as one great operation of nature will oftentimes paralyze the lesser affections of the body; but, as will became satisfied, the remainder of the party, stimulated by certain compunctious visitings of nature, called cravings of the stomach, gave evident symptoms of ~ ~~a very opposite nature: in vain the landlord stated his inability to produce more viands, he had no other provisions in the house, it was the sabbath-day, and the butchers' shops were shut, not a chop or a steak could be had: here will feigned to join his affliction with the rest--he could have enjoyed a little snack more, by way of finish. this was the climax; the party, according to previous agreement, determined to proceed to the next inn to obtain a dinner; the landlord's remonstrance was perfectly nugatory; they all departed, leaving tat and his man to settle with the infuriated host; and when the bill was brought in they refused to pay one sixpence more than the usual demand of three shillings each, repeating the landlord's own words, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price." with the first glass of wine came the inspiring toast of "the ladies," to which mr. philotus wantley demurred, not on account of the sex, for he could assure us he was a fervent admirer, but having studied the wise maxims of pythagoras, and being a disciple of the brahma school, abominators of flesh and strong liquors, he hoped to be excused, by drinking the ladies in _aqua pura_.--" water is a monstrous drink for christians!" said the alderman, "the sure precursor of coughs, colds, consumptions, agues, dropsies, pleurisies, and spleen. i never knew a water-drinker in my life that was ever a fellow of any spirit, mere morbid anatomies, starvelings and hypochondriacs: your water-drinkers never die of old age, but melancholy."--"right, right, alderman," said mr. pendragon; "a cup of generous wine is, in my opinion, excellent physic; it makes a man lean, and reduces him to friendly dependence on every thing that bars his way: sometimes it is a little grating to his feelings, to be sure, but it generally passes off with an hic-cup. according to galen, sir, the waters of _astracan_ breed worms in those who taste them; those ~ ~~of _verduri_, the fairest river in macedonia, make the cattle who drink of them black, while those of peleca, in thessaly, turn every thing white; and bodine states that the stuttering of the families of aquatania, about labden, is entirely owing to their being water-drinkers: a man might as well drink of the river styx as the river thames, '_stygio monstrum conforme paludi_,' a monstrous drink, thickened by the decomposition of dead christians and dead brutes, and purified by the odoriferous introduction of gas water and puddle water, joined to a pleasant and healthy amalgamation of all the impurities of the common sewers. 'as nothing goes in so thick, and nothing comes out so thin, it must follow, of course, that no-thing can be worse, as the dregs are all left within.'" "very well, mr. pendragon, very well, indeed," said mr. galen cornaro, an eccentric of the same school, but not equally averse to wine; "'temperance is a bridle of gold; and he who uses it rightly is more like a god than a man.' i have no objection to a cup of generous wine, provided nature requires it--but 'simple diet,' says pliny, 'is best;' for many dishes bring many diseases. do you know john abernethy, sir? he is the _manus dei_ of my idolatry. 'what ought i to drink?' inquired a friend of mine of the surgeon. 'what do you give your horse, sir?' was the question in reply. 'water.' 'then drink water,' said abernethy. after this my friend was afraid to put the question of eatables, lest the doctor should have directed him to live on oats. 'your modern good fellows,' continued john, 'are only ambitious of rivalling a brewer's horse; who after all will carry more liquor than the best of them.' 'what is good to assist a weak digestion?' said another patient. 'weak food and warm clothing,' was the reply; 'not, ~ ~~however, forgetting my _blue pill_.' when you have dined well, sleep well: wrap yourself up in a warm watch-coat, and imitate your dog by basking yourself at full length before the fire; these are a few of the abernethy maxims for dyspeptic patients." i had heard much of this celebrated man, and was desirous of gleaning some more anecdotes of his peculiarities. with this view i laid siege to mr. galen cornaro, who appeared to be well acquainted with the whims of the practitioner. "i remember, sir," said my informant, "a very good fellow of the name of elliot, a bass-singer at the concerts and theatres of the metropolis; a man very much resembling john abernethy in person, and still more so in manner; one who under a rough exterior carried as warm a heart as ever throbbed within the human bosom. elliot had fallen ill of the jaundice, and having imbibed a very strong dislike to the name of doctor, whether musical or medical, refused the solicitations of his friends to receive a visit from any one of the faculty; to this eccentricity of feeling he added a predilection for curing every disease of the body by the use of simples, decoctions, and fomentations extracted from the musty records of old culpepper, the english physician. pursuing this principle, elliot every day appeared to grow worse, and drooped like the yellow leaf of autumn in its sear; until his friends, alarmed for his safety, sent to abernethy, determined to take the patient by surprise. imagine a robust-formed man, sinking under disease and _ennui_, seated before the fire, at his side a table covered with phials and pipkins, and near him his _vade mecum_, the renowned culpepper. a knock is heard at the door. 'come in!' vociferates the invalid, with stentorian lungs yet unimpaired; and enter john abernethy, not a little surprised by the ungraciousness of his reception. 'who are you?' said elliot in thorough-bass, just inclining his head half round to recognize his visitor, ~ ~~without attempting to rise from his seat: abernethy appeared astonished, but advancing towards his patient, replied, 'john abernethy.' 'elliot. oh, the doctor! 'abernethy. no, not the doctor; but plain john abernethy, if you please. 'elliot. ay, my stupid landlady sent for you, i suppose. 'abernethy. to attend a very stupid patient, it would appear. 'elliot. well, as you are come, i suppose i must give you your fee. (placing the gold upon the table.) 'abernethy (looking rather cross.) what's the matter with you? 'elliot. can't you see? 'abernethy. oh yes, i see very well; then tasting some of the liquid in the phials, and observing the source from whence the prescriptions had been extracted, the surgeon arrived at something that was applicable to the disease. who told you to take this? 'elliot. common sense. 'abernethy putting his fee in his pocket, and preparing to depart. good day. 'elliot (reiterating the expression.) good day! why, you mean to give me some advice for my money, don't you? 'abernethy, with the door in his hand. follow common sense, and you'll do very well.' "thus ended the interview between abernethy and elliot. it was the old tale of the stammerers personified; for the professional and the patient each conceived the other an imitator. on reaching the ground-floor the surgeon was, however, relieved from his embarrassment by the communication of the good woman of the house, who, in her anxiety to serve elliot, had produced this extraordinary scene. abernethy laughed heartily--assured her that the patient would do well--wrote a prescription for him--begged ~ ~~he might hear how he proceeded--and learning he was a professional man, requested the lady of the mansion to return him his fee." "ay," said the alderman, "that was just like john abernethy. i remember when he tapped poor mrs. marigold for the dropsy, he was not very tender, to be sure, but he soon put her out of her tortures. and when on his last visit i offered him a second twenty pound note for a fee, i thought he would have knocked me down; asked me if i was the fool that gave him such a sum on a former occasion; threw it back again with indignation, and said he did not rob people in that manner." no professional man does more generous actions than john abernethy; only it must be after his own fashion. "come, gentlemen, the bottle stands still," said mr. pendragon, "while you are running through the merits of drinking. does not rabelais contend that good wine is the best physic?' because there are more old tipplers than old physicians.' custom is every thing; only get well seasoned at the first start, and all the rest of life is a summer's scene. snymdiris the sybarite never once saw the sun rise or set during a course of twenty years; yet he lived to a good old age, drank like a centaur, and never went to bed sober." and when his glass was out, he fell like some ripe kernel from its shell. "i was once an anti-gastronomist and a rigid antisaccharinite; sugar and milk were banished from my breakfast-table, vegetables and puddings my only diet, until i almost ceased to vegetate, and my cranium was considered as soft as a custard; and curst hard it was to cast off all culinary pleasures, sweet reminiscences of my infancy, commencing with our first spoonful of pap, for all young protestants are papists; to this day my heart (like wordsworth's) ~ ~~overflows at the sight of a pap-boat--the boat a child first mans; to speak naughty-cally, as a nurse would say, how many a row is there in the pap-boat--how many squalls attend it when first it comes into contact with the skull! but i am now grown corpulent; in those days i was a lighter-man, and i believe i should have continued to live (exist) upon herbs and roots; but dr. kitchener rooted up all my prejudices, and overturned the whole system of my theory by practical illustrations. "thus he that's wealthy, if he's wise, commands an earthly paradise; that happy station nowhere found, but where the glass goes freely round. then give us wine, to drown the cares of life in our declining years, that we may gain, if heav'n think fitting, by drinking, what was lost by eating: for though mankind for that offence were doom'd to labour ever since, yet mercy has the grape impower'd to sweeten what the apple sour'd." to this good-humoured sally of pendragon succeeded a long dissertation on meats, which it is not _meet_ i should relate, being for the most part idle conceits of mr. galen cornaro, who carried about him a long list of those prescribed eatables, which engender bile, breed the _incubus_, and produce spleen, until, according to his bill of fare, he had left himself nothing to subsist upon in this land of plenty but a mutton-chop, or a beef-steak. what pleased me most was, that with every fresh bottle the two disciples of pythagoras and abernethy became still more vehement in maintaining the necessity for a strict adherence to the theory of water and vegetable economy; while their zeal had so far blinded their recollection, that when the ladies returned from their walk to join us at tea, they were both "_bacchi plenis_," as colman has it, something inclining from ~ ~~a right line, and approaching in its motion to serpentine sinuosities. a few more puns from mr. pendragon, and another story from the alderman, about his friend, young tattersall, employing scroggins the bruiser, disguised as a countryman to beat an impudent highgate toll-keeper, who had grossly insulted him, finished the amusements of the day, which mrs. marigold and miss biddy declared had been spent most delightfully, so rural and entertaining, and withal so economical, that the alderman was induced to promise he would not dine at home again of a sunday for the rest of the summer. to me, at least, it afforded the charm of novelty; and if to my readers it communicates something of character, blended with pleasure in the perusal, i shall not regret my sunday trip with the marigold family and first visit to the gate house, highgate. [illustration: page ] the stock exchange. ~ ~~ have you ever seen donnybrook fair? or in a _caveau_ spent the night? on waterloo's plains did you dare to engage in the terrific fight? has your penchant for life ever led you to visit the finish or slums, at the risk of your pockets and head? or in banco been fixed by the bums? in a smash at the hells have you been, when pigeons were pluck'd by the bone? or enjoy'd the magnificent scene when our fourth george ascended his throne? have you ever heard tierney or canning a commons' division address? or when to the gallery ganging, been floor'd by a rush from the press? has your taste for the fine arte impell'd you to visit a bull-bait or fight? or by rattles and charleys propell'd, in a watch-house been lodged for the night? in a morning at bow-street made one of a group just to bother sage birnie? stood the racket, got fined, cut and run, being fleeced by the watch and attorney? or say, have you dined in guildhall with the mayor and his corporate souls? or been squeezed at a grand civic ball, with dealers in tallow and coals? mere nothings are these, though the range through all we have noticed you've been, when compared to the famed stock exchange, that riotous gambling scene. ~ ~~ the unexpected legacy--bernard blackmantle and bob transit visit capel court--characters in the stocks--bulls, bears and bawds, brokers, jews and jobbers--a new acquaintance, peter principal--his account of the market--the royal exchange--tricks upon travellers--slating a stranger--the hebrew star and his satellites--dividend hunters and paragraph writers--the new bubble companies--project extraordinary--prospectus in rhyme of the life, death, burial, and resurrection company--lingual localisms of the stock exchange explained--the art and mystery of jobbing exposed--anecdotes of the house and its members--flying a tile--billy wright's brown pony--selling a twister--a peep into botany bay--flats and flat-catchers--the rotunda and the transfer men--how to work the telegraph--create a rise-- put on the pot--bang down the market--and waddle out a lame duck. a bequest of five hundred pounds by codicil from a rich old aunt had most unexpectedly fallen to my friend transit, who, quite unprepared for such an overwhelming increase of good fortune, was pondering on the best means of applying this sudden acquisition of capital, when i accidentally paid him a visit in half-moon street. "give me joy, bernard," said bob; "here's a windfall;" thrusting the official notice into my hand; "five hundred pounds from an old female miser, who during her lifetime was never known to dispense five farthings for any generous or charitable purpose; but being about to _slip her wind_ and make a _wind-up_ of her accounts, was kind enough to remember at parting that she had a poor relation, an ~ ~~artist, to whom such a sum might prove serviceable, so just hooked me on to the tail end of her testamentary document and booked me this legacy, before she booked herself inside for the other world. and now, my dear bernard," continued bob, "you are a man of the world, one who knows 'what's what, and that's as high as metaphysic wit can fly.' i am puzzled, actually bewildered what to do with this accumulation of wealth: only consider an eccentric artist with five hundred pounds in his pocket; why it must prove his death-warrant, unless immediate measures are taken to free him from its magical influence. shall i embark it in some of the new speculations? the milk company, or the water company, the flesh, fish, or fowl companies, railways or tunnel-ways, or in short, only put me in the right way, for, at present, i am mightily abroad in that respect." "then my advice is, that you keep your money at home, or in other words, fund it; unless you wish to be made fun of and laughed at for a milksop, or a bubble merchant, or be taken for one of the gudgeon family, or a chicken butcher, a member of the poultry company, where fowl dealing is considered all fair; or become a liveryman of the worshipful company of minors (i.e. miners), where you may be fleeced à la hayne, by legs, lawyers, bankers and brokers, demireps and contractors'; or, perhaps, you ~ ~~will feel disposed to embark in a new company, of which i have just strung together a prospectus in rhyme: a speculation which has, at least, much of novelty in this country to recommend it, and equally interests all orders of society. it is not surprising, we see, that lawyers, bankers, and brokers are found at the bottom of most of the new schemes. their profits are certain, whatever the fate of the gudgeon family. the brokers, in particular, have a fine harvest of it. their charges being upon the full nominal amount of the shares sold, they get twice as much by transferring a single l. share in a speculation, although only l. may have been paid on it, as by the purchase or sale of l. consols, of which the price is l. or, to make the matter plainer to the uninitiated, suppose an individual wishes to lay out l. in the stock-market. if he orders his broker to purchase into the british funds, the latter will buy him about l. three per cent, consols; and the brokerage, at one-eighth per cent, will be about s. but if the same person desires to invest the same sum in the stock of a new mine or rail-road company, which is divided into l. shares, on each of which say l. is paid, and there is a premium of l. (as is the case at this moment with a stock we have in our eye) his broker's account will then stand thus:-- bought shares in the ---- company. first instalment of l. paid £ premium l. per share brokerage £ per cent, on , l. stock which will leave mr. adventurer to pay l. s. to his broker, and to pay l. more on each of his shares, when the------company "call" for it! or, let us reverso the case, and suppose our speculator, having been an original subscriber for shares in the ---- company, and having consequently obtained them for nothing, wishes to sell, finding them at a premium of s. per share, and either fearing they may go lower, or not being able to pay even the first instalment called for by the directors. if he is an humble tradesman, he is perhaps eager to realise a profit obtained without labour, and hugs him-self at the idea of the hundred crowns and the hundred shillings he shall put into his pocket by this pleasant process. away he posts to cornhill, searches out a broker, into whose hands he puts the letter entitling him to the shares, with directions to sell at the current premium. the broker takes a turn round 'change, finds a customer, and the whole affair is settled in a twinkling, by an entry or two in the broker's memorandum-book, and the drawing of a couple of cheques. our fortunate speculator, who is anxiously waiting at batson's the return of his man of business, and spending perhaps s. d. in bad negus and tough sandwiches, on the strength of his good luck, is then presented with a draft on a banker for l. neatly folded up in a small slip of foolscap, containing the following satisfactory particulars:-- sold shares in the------company--nothing paid--prem. s. £ brokerage, / per cent, on , l. stock by cheque he stares wildly at this document, utterly speechless, for five minutes, during which the broker, after saying he shall be happy to "do" for him another time, throws a card on the table, and exit. the lucky speculator wanders into 'change with the account in his hand, and appeals to several jews to know whether he has not been cheated: some abuse him for the insinuation against so "respectable" a man as mr.----- the broker; others laugh in his face; and all together hustle him into the street. he goes home richer by l.. s. d. than when he went out, and finds that a wealthy customer, having called three times in his absence to give him a particular order, had just left the shop in a rage, swearing he would no longer encourage so inattentive a tradesman.-- _examiner_. the life, death, burial, and resurrection company. capital.--one hundred millions shares.--one pound. ~ ~~ in this age of projectors, when bubbles are spread with illusive attractions to bother each head, when bulls, bears, jews, and jobbers all quit capelcourt to become speculators and join in the sport, who can wonder, when interest with intellect clashes, we should have a new club to dispose of our ashes; to rob death of its terrors, and make it delightful to give up your breath, and abolish the frightful old custom of lying defunct in your shroud, surrounded by relatives sobbing aloud? we've a scheme that shall mingle the "grave with the gay," and make it quite pleasant to die, when you may. first, then, we propose with the graces of art, like our parisian friends, to make ev'ry tomb smart; and, by changing the feelings of funeral terrors, remove what remain'd of old catholic errors. our plan is to blend in the picturesque style smirke, soane, nash, and wyatville all in one pile. so novel, agreeable, and grateful our scheme, that death will appear like a sweet summer's dream; and the horrid idea of a gloomy, cold cell, will vanish like vapours of mist from a dell. ~ thus changed, who'll object a kind friend to inhume, when his sepulchre's made like a gay drawing-room a diversified, soothing commixture of trees, umbrageous and fann'd by the perfumed breeze; with alcoves, and bowers, and fish-ponds, and shrubs, select, as in life, from intrusion of scrubs; while o'er your last relics the violet-turf press must a flattering promise afford of success. "lie light on him, earth," sung a poet of old; our earth shall be sifted, and never grow cold; no rude weight on your chest--how like ye our scheme { } where your grave will be warm'd by a process of steam, which will boil all the worms and the grubs in their holes, and preserve from decay ev'ry part but your souls. our cemetery, centred in fancy's domain, shall by a state edict eternal remain to all parties open, the living or dead; or christian, or atheist, here rest their head, in a picturesque garden, and deep shady grove, where young love smiles, and fashion delighteth to rove. to render the visitors' comforts complete, and afford the grieved mourners a proper retreat, the directors intend to erect an hotel, where a _table d'hôte_ will be furnished well; not with the "cold meats of a funeral feast," but a banquet that's worthy a nabob at least; of _lachryma christi_, and fine _vin de grave_, and cordial compounds, a choice you may have. twice a week 'tis proposed to illumine the scene, and to waltz and quadrille on the velvety green; while colinet's band and the opera corps play and dance with a spirit that's quite _con amore_, a committee of taste will superintend the designs and inscriptions to each latter end. ~ ~~ take notice, no cross-bones or skulls are allowed, or naked young cherubims riding a cloud; in short, no allusions that savour of death, nor aught that reminds of a friend's parting breath. the inscriptions and epitaphs, elegies too, must all be poetical, lively, and new; such as never were heard of, or seen heretofore, to be written by proctor, sam. rogers, or moore. in lieu of a sermon, glee-singers attend, who will chant, like the cherubims, praise without end. three decent old women, to enliven the hours, attend with gay garlands and sacred flowers, the emblems of grief--artificial, 'tis true, but very like nature in a general view. lord graves will preside, and vice-president coffin will pilot the public into the offing. the college of surgeons and humane society have promised to send a delightful variety. the visitors all are physicians of fame; and success we may, therefore, dead certainty name. to the delicate nervous, who'd wish a snug spot, a romantic temple, or moss-cover'd grot, let them haste to john ebers, and look at the plan; where the grave-book lies open, its merits to scan. gloves, hatbands, and essence of onions for crying, white 'kerchiefs and snuff, and a cordial worth trying, the attendants have ready; and more--as time presses, no objection to bury you in fancy dresses. our last proposition may frighten you much; we propose to reanimate all by a touch, by magic revive, if a century old, the bones of a father, a friend, or a scold. in short, we intend, for all--but a wife, to bring whom you please in a moment to life; that is, if the shares in our company rise,-- if not 'tis a bubble, like others, of lies. --bernard blackmantle. ~ ~~the recitation of this original _jeu d'esprit_ had, i found, the salutary effect of clearing my friend transit's vision in respect to the _speculation mania_; and being by this time fully accoutred and furnished with the possibles, we sallied forth to make a purchase in the public funds. there is something to be gleaned from every event in this life, particularly by the eccentric who is in search of characteristic matter. i had recently been introduced to a worthy but singular personage in the city, mr. peter principal, stock broker, of the firm of hazard and co.--a man whose probity was never yet called in question, and who, having realized a large property by the most honourable means, was continually selected as broker, trustee, and executor by all his acquaintance. to him, therefore, i introduced my friend bob, who being instantly relieved from all his weighty troubles, and receiving in return the bank receipts, we proceeded to explore the regions of pluto (i.e. the money market), attended by peter principal as our guide and instructor. on our entrance into capel court we were assailed by a motley group of jews and gentiles, inhabitants of lower tartary (i.e. botany bay{ }), who, suspecting we came there on business, addressed us in a jargon that was completely unintelligible either to transit or myself. one fellow inquired if i was a bull,{ } and his companion wished to know if transit was a bear{ }; another eagerly offered to give us _five eighths_, or sell us, at the same price, for the account'{ }; while a fourth thrust his a place so named, without the stock exchange, where the lame ducks and fallen angels of upper tartary assemble when expelled the house, to catch a hint how the puff's and bangs succeed in the private gambling market; when if they can saddle their neighbour before he is up to the variation, it is thought good jobbing. persons that purchase with a view for a rise in the funds. one who sells with a view to a fall in the price of stock. a certain future day, fixed upon by the committee of the stock exchange, for the settlement of _time bargains_--they are usually appointed at an interval of six weeks, and the price of stocks on this given day determines the speculator's gain or loss. ~ ~~copper countenance into my face, and offered to do business with me at a fiddle.{ } "tush, tush," said peter principal to the increasing multitude which now barred our passage, "we are only come to take a look, and watch the operation of the market." "_dividend hunters_{ } i suppose," said a knowing looking fellow, sarcastically, "ear wigging{ }--hey, mr. principal, something good for the pull out{ }? well, if the gentlemen wish to put on the pot, although it be for a pony,{ } i'm their man, only a little rasping,{ } you know." to this eloquent appeal succeeded a similar application from a son of israel, who offered to accommodate us in any way we wished, either for the _call_{l } or _put_{ }; to which friendly offer little principal put his direct negative, and, after innumerable when a broker has got money transactions of any conse- sequence, as there is no risk in these cases, he will fiddle one finger across the other, signifying by this that the jobber must give up half the turn of the market price to him, which he pockets besides his commission. those who suppose by changing stock they get double interest, by receiving four dividends in one year instead of two; but in this they are deceived, as the jobber, when he changes stock, gains the advantage; for instance, if he buys consols at sixty, when he sells out there will be deducted one and a half per cent. for the dividend. when bargains are done privately by a whisper, to conceal the party's being a bull. buying or selling for ready money. pony, , l. giving greater turns to the jobbers than those regulated in the market. _call_. buying to call more at one-eighth or one-fourth above the price on a certain day, if the buyer chooses, and the price is in his favour. _put_. selling to put more to it on a certain day, at one-eighth or one-fourth under the market price. ~ ~~attacks of this sort, we reached the upper end of the court, and found ourselves upon the steps which lead to the regions of upper tartary, (i.e.) the stock exchange. at this moment our friend principal was summoned by his clerk to attend some antique spinster, who, having scraped together another hundred, had hobbled down to annex it to her previous amount of consols. "you must not attempt to enter the room by yourselves," said principal; "but accompany me back to the royal exchange, where you can walk and wait until i have completed the old lady's _job_." while principal was gone to invest his customer's stock, we amused ourselves with observing the strange variety of character which every where presents itself among the groups of all nations who congregate together in this arena of commerce. perhaps a more fortunate moment for such a purpose could not have occurred: the speculative transactions of the times had drawn forth a certain portion of the stock exchange, gamblers, or inhabitants of upper tartary, who, like experienced sharpers of another description, never suffer a good thing to escape them. capel court was partially abandoned for exchange bubbles,{ } and new companies opened a new system of fraudulent enrichment for these sharks of the money market. the speculative mania, which at this time raged with un- precedented violence among a large portion of his majesty's liege subjects, gave the "john bull" a glorious opportunity for one of their witty satires, in which the poet has very humorously described the bubbles of . tune--"run, neighbours, run." run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous projects that amuse john bull; run, take a peep on 'change, for anxious crowds beset us there, each trying which can make himself the greatest gull. no sooner are they puff'd, than a universal wish there is for shares in mines, insurances in foreign loans and fisheries. ~ ~~ no matter where the project lies, so violent the mania, in africa, new providence, peru, or pennsylvania! run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. few folks for news very anxious at this crisis are, for marriages, and deaths, and births, no thirst exists; all take the papers in, to find out what the prices are of shares in this or that, upon the broker's lists. the doctor leaves his patient--the pedagogue his lexicon, for mines of real monte, or for those of anglo-mexican: e'en chili bonds don't cool the rage, nor those still more romantic, sir, for new canals to join the seas, pacific and atlantic, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. at home we have projects too for draining surplus capital, and honest master johnny of his cash to chouse; though t'other day, judge abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all. and eldon launched his thunder from the upper house. investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone-- proposals for assurance--there's no end of that, in london; and one amongst the number, who in parliament now press their bills, for lending cash at eight per cent, on coats and inexpressibles. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. no more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works, a company must serve you now with milk and cream; perhaps they've some connexion with the advertising water-works, that promise to supply you from the limpid stream. another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get, by selling fish at hungerford, and knocking up old billingsgate: another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir, and brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. ~ when greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir, how pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line; and ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir, shall cross from bristol's channel to the tweed or tyne. and dame speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends, will give us docks at bermondsey, st. saviour's, and st. catherine's; while side long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder, sir, and lamp-light tunnels all day long convey the cocknies under, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. a tunnel underneath the sea, from calais straight to dover, sir, that qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore, with sluices made to drown the french, if e'er they would come over, sir, has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous bore. amongst the many scheming folks, i take it he's no ninny, sir, who bargains with the ashantees to fish the coast of guinea, sir; for, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has, of lighting up the famous town of timbuctoo with oil gas. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. then a company is form'd, though not yet advertising, to build, upon a splendid scale, a large balloon, and send up tools and broken stones for fresh mac-adamizing the new discover'd turnpike roads which cross the moon. but the most inviting scheme of all is one proposed for carrying large furnaces to melt the ice which hems poor captain parry in; they'll then have steam boats twice a week to all the newly-seen land, and call for goods and passengers at labrador and greenland! run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull, ~ ~~high 'change was a subject full of the richest materials for my friend bob, who, without knowing more of the characters than their exterior appearances of eccentricity and costume exhibited, proceeded to _book_, as he termed it, the leading features. every now and then there was a rush to different parts of the arena, and an appearance of great anxiety among the crowd to catch the attention of a person who flourished a large parchment above their heads with all the pride and importance of a field marshal's baton. this was, i found, no other than the leading agent of some newly projected company, who took this method of _indulging_ the subscribers with shares, or letting the fortunate applicants know how many of these speculative chances the committee had allowed them to possess. the return of little principal afforded me a key to the surrounding group, without which their peculiar merits would have been lost to the world, or have remained individually unknown, like the profit of many of the modern speculations. "you must not suppose," said principal, "that great talents make great wealth here, or that honourable conduct and generous feelings command respect--no such thing; men are estimated upon 'change in proportion to the supposed amount of their property, and rise or fall in the worldly opinion of their associates as prosperity or adversity operates upon the barometer of their fortunate speculations; a lucky hit will cause a dolt to be pointed out as a clever fellow, when, the next turn of the market proving unsuccessful, he is despised and insulted: so much are the frequenters of 'change influenced by the most sordid and mercenary feelings, that almost all of them are the willing dupes of riches and good fortune. however, as you are strangers here, gentlemen, i will introduce you, _entre nous_, to a few of the characters who thrive by the destruction of thousands of their fellow-creatures. the bashaw in black yonder, who rests his elephantic trunk against a pillar of the exchange, with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, is the hebrew star--the jewish luminary, a very shiloh among the peoples of his own persuasion, and, i am sorry to say, much too potent ~ ~~with the orthodox ministers of george the fourth. the fellow's insolence is intolerable, and his vulgarity and ignorance quite unbearable. he commenced his career in manchester by vending trinkets and spectacle-cases in the streets of that town, from which station he gradually rose to the important occupation of a dealer in _fag ends_, from which he ascended to the dignity of a bill-broker, when, having the command of money, and some wealthy hebrew relatives conveniently distributed over the continent for the transaction of business, he took up his abode in london, and towards the termination of the late war, when a terrible smash took place among some of his tribe, he found means to obtain their confidence, and having secured, by the aid of spies, the earliest foreign intelligence, he rapidly made a colossal fortune in the british funds, without much risk to himself. it is said he can scarcely write his own name, and it only requires a minute's conversation to inform you of the general ignorance of his mind; in short, he is one of hazlitt's men, with only one idea, but that one entirely directed to the accumulation of gold. a few years since some of the more respectable members of the stock exchange, perceiving the thraldom in which the public funds of the country were held by the tricks and manouvres of the jew party, determined to make a stand against them: among these was a highly respected member of parliament, a great sporting character, and a very worthy man. his losses proved excessive, but they were promptly paid. in order to weaken his credit, and, if possible, shake his confidence and insult his feelings, the jew took an opportunity, during high 'change, of telling him, 'dat he had got his cote and vaistcote, and he should very soon have his shirt into de bargain:' in this prophecy, however, mr. mordecai was mistaken; for the market took a sudden turn, and the gentleman alluded to recovered all his losses in a short time, to the great discomfiture ~ ~~of the high priest and the jews. in private life he is equally abrupt and vulgar, as the following anecdote will prove, at his own table: a christian broker solicited some trifling favour, observing, he had granted what he then requested to another member of the house, who was his brother-in-law. 'vary true, vary true,' said solomon gruff, as he is sometimes called, 'but then you do not shleep vid my shister, my boy; dat makes all de differance.' at present this fellow's influence is paramount at most of the courts of europe, at some of which his family enjoy considerable honours; in short, he is the head of the locust tribe, and the leader of that class of speculators whom a witty writer has well described in the following lines, addressed to the landholders: 'the national debt may be esteemed a mass of filth which grows corrupter every day; and in this heap, as always comes to pass, reptiles and vermin breed, exist, decay. 'tis now so huge, that he must be an ass who thinks it ever can be clear'd away: and the time's quickly coming, to be candid, when funded men will swallow up the landed. 'then will these debt-bred reptiles, hungry vermin, fed from the mass corrupt of which i spoke, usurp your place. a jew, a dirty german, who has grown rich by many a lucky stroke, shall rule the minister, and all determined to treat your bitter sufferings as a joke. said i, he shall! it will be nothing new; the treasury now is govern'd by a jew.' [illustration: page ] the tall dandy-looking youth standing near the great man is a scion of the former head of the hebrew family: his father possessed very superior talents, but was too much attached to splendid society to die rich; his banquets were often graced by royalty, and his liberality and honourable conduct proverbial, until misfortune produced a catastrophe that will not bear ~ ~~repeating. the very name of the sire causes a feeling of dislike in the breast of the colossus, and consequently the son is no partaker in the good things which the great man has to dispose of. the three tall jews standing together are brothers, and all members of the stock exchange; their affinity to the high priest, more than their own talents, renders their fortunes promising. observe the pale-faced genteel-looking man.on the right hand side of the arena--that is major g--s, an unsuccessful speculator in the funds, but a highly honourable officer, who threw away the proceeds of his campaigns in the peninsula among the sharks of the stock exchange and the lesser gamblers of st. james's: he has lately given to the world a sketch of his own life, under the assumed name of 'ned clinton, or the commissary,' in which he has faithfully narrated scenes and characters. the little, jolly, fresh-coloured gentleman near him is tommy b--h, a great speculator in the funds, a lottery contractor, and wine merchant, and quite at home in the tea trade. the immense fat gent behind him is called the dinner man and m. c. of vaux hall, of which place tommy b--h holds a principal share; his office is to write lyrics for the lottery, and gunpowder puffs for the genuine tea company, paragraphs for vauxhall, and spirited compositions in praise of spiritless wines: amid all these occupations it is no wonder, considering his bulk, that he invariably falls asleep before the dinner cloth is removed, and snores most mellifluously between each round of the bottle. the sharp-visaged personage to the left of him is the well known count bounce---------"--"excuse me, mr. principal," said i, "but i happen to know that worthy well myself; that is, i believe, sam dixon, the _coper_ of barbican, a jobber in the funds, it would appear, as well as in horses, coaches, and chaises: of the last named article i have had a pretty good specimen from his emporium myself, ~ ~~which, i must ever remember, was at the risk of my life.--"do you observe that stout-looking gentleman yonder with large red whiskers, in a drab surtout, like a stage coachman? that is the marquis of h-----------, one of the most fortunate gamblers (i.e. speculators) of the present day: during the war his lordship acquired considerable sums of money by acting on his priority of political information, his policy being to make one of the party in power, without holding office, and by this means be at liberty to act in the money market as circumstances required: among the _roués_ of the west he has not been less successful in games of chance, until his coffers are crammed with riches; but it must be admitted he is liberal in his expenditure, and often-times generous to applicants, particularly sporting men, who seek his favours and assistance. the little club of sage personages who are mustered together comparing notes, in the corner of the dutch walk, are the paragraph-writers for the morning and evening press; very potent personages here, i assure you, for without their kind operation the public could never be gulled to any great extent. the most efficient of the group is the elegant-looking tall man who has just moved off to consult his patron, the hebrew star, who gives all his foreign information exclusively to the leviathan of the press, of which paper mr. a-----------r is the representative. next to him in importance, information, and talent, is the reporter for the globe and traveller, g--------s m--------e, a shrewd clever fellow, with considerable tact for business. mr. f--------y, of the courier, stands near him on his left; and if he does but little with the stocks, he does that little well. the sandy-haired laddie with the high cheek bones and hawk-like countenance is m'c-----------h, of the chronicle, but a wee bit of a _wastrell_ in stock exchange affairs; and the mild-looking young gentleman who is in ~ ~~conversation with him represents the mighty little man of the morning herald. the rest of the public prints are mostly supplied with stock exchange information by a bandy-legged jew, a very solomon in funded wisdom, who pens paragraphs at a penny a line for the papers, and puts into them whatever the projectors dictate, in the shape of a puff, at per agreement. the knot of swarthy-looking athletic fellows, many of whom are finger-linked together, and wear rings in their ears, are american captains, and traders from the shores of the atlantic. that jolly-looking ruby-faced old gentleman in black, who is laughing at the puritanical tale of his lank brother, alderman shaw, is the celebrated grand city admiral, sir w. curtis, a genuine john bull, considered worth a _plum_ at least, and the author of a million of good jokes. observe that quiet-looking pale-faced gentleman now crossing the arena: from the smartness of his figure and the agility with which he bustles among the crowd, you would suppose him an active young man of about five-and-twenty, while, in fact, about sixty summers have rolled over his head; such are the good effects of temperance, system, and attention to diet. here he is known by the designation of mr. evergreen; a name, perhaps, affixed to him with a double meaning, combining in view the freshness of his age and his known attachment to theatricals, of which pursuits, as a recreation, he is devotedly fond. as a broker, lottery contractor, and a man of business, mr. d----- stands no. one for promptitude, probity, and the strictest sense of honour; wealthy without pride, and learned without affectation, his company is eagerly sought for by a large circle of the literati of the day, with whom, from his anecdotal powers, he is in high repute: on stage affairs he is a living 'biographia dramatica,' and charles mathews, it is said, owes much of his present celebrity to the early advice and persevering friendship of this worthy man. the pair ~ ~~of tall good-looking gentlemen on the french walk are messrs. j. and h------s***h, merchants in the city, and authors at the west end of the town: here they have recently been designated by the title of their last whimsical production, and now figure as messrs. gaiety and gravity, cognomens by no means inapplicable to the temper, feeling, and talent of the witty brothers. but come," said principal, "the 'change is now becoming too full to particularize, and as this is _settling_ day at the stock exchange, suppose we just walk across to the alley, take a look at the market, and see how the _account_ stands."--in passing down saint bartholomew lane, accident threw in our way the respected chief magistrate of the city, john garrett, esq. of whose sire little principal favoured us with some entertaining anecdotes.--"old francis garrett, who began business in the tea trade without cash, but with great perseverance and good credit, _cut up_ at his death for near four hundred thousand pounds, and left his name in the firm to be retained for seven years after his decease, when his posthumous share of the profits was to be divided among his grand-children. as he generally travelled for orders himself, he was proverbial for despatch; and has been known to call a customer up in the morning at four o'clock to settle his account, or disturb his repose in the night, if old francis was determined to make a lamp of the moon, and pursue his route. a very humorous story is related of him. arriving at benson, near henley, on a sunday morning, just as his customer, a mr. newberry, had proceeded to church, old francis was very importunate to prevail upon the servant-maid to call him out, in order that he might proceed to oxford that night: after much persuasion she was induced to accompany him to the church, to point out the pew where her master sat. at their entrance the eccentric figure of the tea-broker caused a general movement of recognition among the congregation; but francis, ~ ~~nothing abashed, was proceeding up the aisle with his cash instead of prayer-book in his hand, when his attention was arrested by the clergyman's text, 'paul we know, and silas we know, but who art thou?' the singular coincidence of the words, added to the authoritative style of the pastor, quite staggered francis garrett, who, however, quickly recovering, made a low bow, and then, in a true business-like style, proceeded to, apologize to the reverend and congregation for this seeming want of respect, adding he was only old francis garrett, of thames-street, the tea broker, whom every body knew, come to settle a small account with his friend mr. newberry. the eccentricity of the man was notorious, and this, perhaps, better than the apology, induced the clergyman to overlook the offence; but the story will long be remembered by the good people of benson, and never fail to create a laugh in the commercial room among the merry society of gentlemen travellers. the son, who has deservedly risen to the highest civic honours, is a worthy and highly honourable man, whose conduct since he has been elected lord mayor reflects great credit upon his fellow citizens' choice."--we had now mounted the steps which lead to the stock exchange, or, as principal, who, though one among them, may be said not to be one of them, observed, we had arrived at the _wolves' den_, "the secret arcana of which place, with its curious intricacies and perplexing paradoxical systems and principles, i shall now," continued our friend, "endeavour to explain; from which exposition the public will be able to see the monster that is feeding on the vitals of the country, while smiling in its face and tearing at its heart, yet cherished by it, as the lacedemonian boy cherished the wolf that devoured him. i am an enemy to all monopolies," said principal, "and this is one of the worst the country is infested with. "a private or exclusive market, that is, a market ~ ~~into which the public have not the liberty or privilege of either going to make, or to see made, bargains in their own persons, is one where the most sinister arts are likely to prevail. the stock exchange is of this description, and accordingly is one where the public are continually gulled out of their money by a system of the most artful and complicated traffic--a traffic calculated to raise the hopes of novices, to puzzle the wits of out-door speculators, and sure to have the effect of diminishing the property of those who are not members of the fraternity.{ } "one of the principles of the stock exchange is, that the public assist against themselves, which is not the less true than paradoxical. it is contrary to the generally-received opinion that stocks should either be greatly elevated or depressed, without some apparent cause: it is contrary to natural inference that they should rise,--not from the public sending in to purchase, or to buy or sell, which however frequently happens. it follows, therefore, that the former is occasioned by the arts of the interested stock-jobbers, and the latter by out-door speculators, who have the market price _banged down_ upon them by those whose business and interest it is to fleece them all they can. in the language of the stock exchange, you must be either a _bull or a bear,_ a _buyer or a seller_: now as it is not necessary you should have one shilling of property in the funds to embark in this speculation, but may just as well sell a hundred thousand pounds of stock as one pound, according to the practice of time bargains, which is wagering contrary to law--so neither party can be compelled to complete their agreement, or to pay whatever the difference of the amount may be upon the stock when the account closes: all transactions the mode of exchanging stock in france is in public. a broker stands in the situation of an auctioneer, and offers it to the best bidder. ~ ~~are, therefore, upon honour; and whoever declines to pay his loss is posted upon a black board, declared a defaulter, shut out of the association, and called by the community a _lame duck_. "it is not a little extraordinary, while the legislature and the judges are straining every nerve to suppress low gambling and punish its professors, they are the passive observers of a system pregnant with ten times more mischief in its consequences upon society, and infinitely more vicious, fraudulent, and base than any game practised in the hells westward of temple bar; but we are too much in the practice of gaping at a gnat and swallowing a camel, or the great subscription-houses, such as white's, brooke's, and boodle's, would not have so long remained uninterrupted in this particular, while the small fry that surround them, and which are, by comparison, harmless, are persecuted with the greatest severity. as there is a natural disposition in the human mind for gambling, and as it is visible to all the world that many men (cobblers, carpenters, and other labourers), by becoming stock-jobbers, are suddenly raised from fortunes of a few pounds to hundreds of thousands, therefore every falling shop-keeper or merchant flies to this disinterested seminary with the same hope: but the jobbers, perceiving their transactions interrupted by these persons intruding, in order to keep them at a distance, formed themselves into a body, and established a market composed of themselves, excluding every person not regularly known to the craft.{ } as the brokers found difficulty always to meet with people that would accommodate them either to buy or sell without waiting in the regular an article in their by-laws expresses, that no new member shall be admitted who follows any other trade or business, or in any wise is subject to the bankrupt laws: at the same time it is curious to observe, that most of them are either _soi-disant_ merchants or shopkeepers. ~ ~~market in the bank, to save themselves time they got accommodated among these gamblers in buying or selling as they wished; at the same time they gave the jobber one-eighth per cent, for such accommodation. as the loss was nothing to the broker, of course this imposition was looked over, because it saved his own time, and did not diminish his own commission.{ } it is clear, therefore, that the stock exchange is a self-constituted body, without any charter, but merely established at the will of the members, to the support of which a subscription is paid by each individual. they are ruled by by-laws, and judged by a committee, chosen from among themselves. this committee, as well as the members, are regularly re-balloted once in every year; of course no person is admitted within the walls of this house who does not regularly pay his subscription. "in this way has the stock market been established and forced from its original situation by a set of jobbers and brokers, who are all, it will be seen, interested in keeping their transactions from the eye of the public. these men being always ready either to buy or sell, renders it easy for the brokers to get their business done, having no trouble but merely stepping into the stock exchange. if a broker wants to buy l. stock, or any other sum, for a principal, the jobber will readily sell it, although perhaps possessing no part of it himself at the time, but will take his chance of other brokers coming to put him in possession of it, and may have to purchase the amount in two or three different transactions,{ } but in doing that he will take care to call the price lower than he sold at.{ } if the system of the private market had tended to lessen the broker's commission, he would have gone or stood any where else to transact business for his principals. this at present only applies to young beginners, but old jobbers, who have enjoyed the system long enough, have been put in pos-session of large fortunes, and are now enabled to buy into or sell out of their own names to the amount of hundreds of thousands. should other brokers not come into the market to sell to him, he is then obliged, at a certain hour of the day, to go among his brethren to get it at the most suitable price possible. this is sometimes the cause of a momentary rise, and what is known by the jobbers turning out bears for the day. a depression some-times takes place on the same principle when they are bulls for a future day, and cannot take stock. ~ ~~after the stock is transferred from the seller to the buyer, instead of the money, he will write you a draft on his banker, although he has no effects to discharge the same till such time as he is put in possession of it also by the broker whom he sold it to; and it sometimes occurs, such drafts having to pass through the clearing-house,{ } the principal is not certain whether his money, is safe till the day following. in this way does the floating stock pass and repass through the stock exchange to and from the public, each jobber seizing and laying his hand on as much as he can, besides the eighth per cent. certain, which the established rule gives in their favour: the price frequently gives way, or rises much more to his advantage, which advantage is lost to the principals, and thrown into the pockets of middle men by the carelessness and indolence of the broker, who will not trouble himself in looking out for such persons as he might do business with in a more direct way.{ } when the stock market was more public, that is, when they admitted the public by paying sixpence a day, competitors for government loans were to be seen in numbers, which enabled ministers to make good bargains for the country{ }; a room situated in lombard-street, where the banking clerks meet for the mutual exchange of drafts. the principal business commences at three o'clock in the afternoon, and the balances are paid and received at five o'clock. query,--when a broker has to buy and sell for two different principals, may he not act as a jobber also, and put the turns into his own pocket? in such cases the jobbers are convenient cloaks to disguise the transaction. the loans taken by boyd and co., goldsmidt, and others, were generally contracted for upon much better terms for the country than those taken by the stock exchange; but as they were contending against what is known by the interests of the house, they all were ruined in their turns, as the jobbers could always depreciate the value of stocks by making sales for time of that they did not possess. ~ ~~but, since the establishment of the present private market, the stock-jobbers have been found to have so much power over the price of stocks, after loans had been contracted for, that real monied men, merchants, and bankers, have been obliged to creep in under the wings of this body of gamblers, and be satisfied with what portion of each loan this junto pleases to deal out to them."--in this way little principal opened the secret volume of the stock exchange frauds, and exposed to our view the vile traffic carried on there by the _flat-catchers of the money market_. in ordinary cases it would be a task of extreme peril for a stranger to intrude into this _sanctum sanctorum_; but as our friend, the broker, was highly respected, we were allowed to pass through unmolested--a favour that will operate in suppressing our notice of certain characters whom we recognized within. it will, however, hardly be credited that in this place, where every man is by profession a gambler, and sharping is the great qualification, so much of their time is devoted to tricks and fancies that would disgrace a school-boy. among these the most prominent is hustling a stranger; an ungenerous and unmanly practice, that is too often played off upon the unsuspecting, who have been, perhaps, purposely invited into the den for the amusement of the wolves. another point of amusement is _flying a tile, or slating_ a man, as the phrases of the stock exchange describe it. an anecdote is told of one of their own members which will best convey an idea of this trick. one who was ever foremost in _slating_ his brothers, or kicking about a new castor, had himself just sported a new hat, but, with prudence which is proverbial among the craft, he would leave his new _tile_ at the counting-house, ~ ~~and proceed to the stock exchange in an old one kept for the purpose: this becoming known to some of the wags, members of the house, they despatched a note and obtained the new hat, which no sooner made its appearance in the house than it was thrown up for general sport; a joke in which none participated more freely than the unsuspecting owner, whose chagrin may be very well conceived, when, on his return to his counting-house from capel-court, he discovered that he had been assisting in kicking his own property to pieces. another trick of these wags is the screwing up a number of pieces of paper longitudinally with a portion of black ink inside them, and lying on the table before some person, whom they will endeavour to engage in serious conversation upon the state of the market, when it is ten to one if he does not roll some of these _twisters_ between his fingers, and from agitation or deep thought on his approaching losses, or the risk of his speculations, blacken his fingers and his face, to the horse-laughical amusement of the by-standers. one of the best among the recent jokes my friend bob has depicted to the life. (see plate.) the fame of mr. wright's brown pony had often reached the ears of his brother brokers, but hitherto the animal himself was personally unknown: to obviate this difficulty, some sportive wight ascertained the stable where the old gentleman usually left his nag during the time he was attending the market, and by a well-executed forgery succeeded in bringing the pony to capel-court, when, without further ceremony, he was introduced into the house during the high bustle of the market, to the no small amusement of the house and the utter astonishment of his owner. there is a new stock exchange established in capel-court, where a number of jews, shopkeepers, and tradesmen assemble, and jobbers who have emigrated from their friends in the upper house, some ~ ~~of whom have either been _ducks_, or have retired out of it on some honourable occasion; but as all is conducted upon honour in this traffic of gambling, these men also set up the principle of honour, on which they risk what has been honourably brought away from their honourable fellow labourers in the principal vineyard: these men stand generally in the alley, and, hearing what is going on in the other market (as they speculate also upon the price established there), they will give advice to strangers who may be on the out-look to make, as they expect, a speedy fortune by dabbling in the stocks. if they find a person to be respectable, they will offer to do business with him on the principle of their brethren, and also exact the one-eighth per cent, as they do, trusting to his honour, that (although they do not know where he lives) he will appear on or before the settling day to balance the account, and pay or receive the difference.{ } these jobbers speculate a great deal upon puts and calls, and will give a chance sometimes for a mere trifle. they have not, like the private market, the public generally to work upon, the by-laws in the stock exchange prohibiting any broker or jobber, being a regular member, from dealing with them, on pain of forfeiting his right to re-enter; but, notwithstanding, some of the brokers, and even the jobbers inside, will run all risks when there appears a good chance of getting a turn on the price in their favour: from this cause, however, the alley, or new stock exchange jobbers, are obliged to gamble more directly with each other; consequently many get thrown to the leeward, and those who stand longest are generally such as have other resources from the trade or there have many lately entered into gambling transactions with these gentlemen, and have taken the profit so long as they were right in their speculations; but as soon as a loss came upon them, knowing they have no black board, they walk themselves coolly away with what they get. ~ ~~occupation they carry on elsewhere. from this place, called by the members of the _house lower tartary, or hell_, the next step of degradation, when obliged to waddle out of the court, is the _rotunda of new botany bay_. here may be seen the private market in miniature; a crowd of persons calling themselves jobbers and brokers, and, of course, a market to serve any person who will deal with them; the same system of _ear-wigging_, nods, and winks, is apparent, and the same _fiddling, rasping_, and attempts at overreaching each other, as in upper tartary, or the den; and of course, while they rasp and fiddle, their principals have to pay for the music: but as no great bargains are contracted here (these good things being reserved for a select few in the private market), the jobbers, who are chiefly of little note, are glad if they can pick up a few shillings for a day's job, by cutting out money stock for servants' and other people's small earnings. here may be seen my lord's footman from the west end of the town, who is a great politician, and knows for a certainty that the stocks will be down; therefore he wants to sell out his l. savings, to get in at less: here also may be some other lord's footman, who has taken a different view of things, and wants to buy; and, although their respective brokers might meet each other, and transact business in a direct way, at a given price, notwithstanding they either do, or they pretend to have given the jobbers the turn,{ } that is, the one sold at one-eighth, and the other bought at one-fourth.--this market, as in the alley, is ruled by the prices established in the private gambling market, which being the case, some will have messengers running to and from this market to see how the puffs and bangs proceed; and if they can saddle their neighbour before he knows the price is changed, it is thought good jobbing. from the stock some act both as jobbers and brokers, and will charge a com-mission for selling their own stock. ~ ~~exchange to the rotunda, every where, it will be perceived, a system of gambling and deception is practised upon the public, and the country demoralized and injured by a set of men who have no principle but interest, and acknowledge no laws but those of gain. [illustration: page ] as this was settling-day, we had the gratification to observe one unfortunate howled out of the craft for having speculated excessively; and not being able or willing to pay his differences, he was compelled to waddle{ }; which he did, with a slow step and melancholy countenance, accompanied by the hootings and railings of his unfeeling tribe, as he passed down the narrow avenue from upper tartary, proclaimed to the lower regions and the world a lame duck those who become ducks are not what are termed true jobbers; they are those who either job or speculate, or are half brokers and half jobbers, and are left to pay out-door speculators' accounts; or if a jobber lend himself to get off large amounts of stock, in cases where the broker does not wish the house to know he is operating, he generally gives him an immediate advantage in the price in a private bargain; this is termed being such-a-one's bawd. the isle of wight. ~ ~~ garden of england! spangle of the wave! loveliest spot that albion's waters lave! hail, beauteous isle! thou gem of perfumed green, fancy's gay region, and enchantment's scone. here where luxuriant nature pours, in frolic mood, her choicest stores, bedecking with umbrageous green and richest flowers the velvet scene, begirt by circling ocean's swell, enrich'd by mountain, moor, and dell; here bright hygeia, queen of health, bestows a gift which bankrupts wealth. the oxford student--reflections on the close of a term--the invitation--arrival at southampton--remarks--the steam boat-- advantages of steam--voyage to the isle of wight-- southampton water--the solent sea and surrounding scenery-- marine villas, castles, and residences--west cowes--its harbour and attractions--the invalid or the convalescent-- the royal yacht club--circular in rhyme--aquatic sports considered in a national point of vieio--a night on board the rover yacht--the progress of navigation--the embarkation--the soldier's wife--sketches of scenery and characters--evening promenaders--excursions in the island, to ryde, newport, shanklin chine, bonchurch, the needle rocks--descriptive poetry--morning, noon, and night-- the regatta--the pilot's review--the race ball--adieu to vectis. the oxford commemoration was just over, and the newdigate laurels graced the brow of the victor; the ~l l~~last concert which brings together the scattered forces of _alma mater_, on the eve of a long vacation, had passed off like the note of the cygnet; the rural shades of christchurch meadows were abandoned by the classic gownsmen, and the aquatic sons of brazen-nose and jesus had been compelled to yield the palm of marine superiority to their more powerful opponents, the athletic men of exeter. the flowery banks of isis no longer presented the attractive evening scene, when all that is beautiful and enchanting among the female graces of oxford sport like the houris upon its velvet shores, to watch the prowess of the college youth: the regatta had terminated with the term; even the high street, the usually well-frequented resort of prosing dons, and dignitaries, and gossiping masters of arts, bore a desolate appearance. now and then, indeed, the figure of a solitary gownsman glanced upon the eye, but it was at such long and fearful intervals, and then, vision-like, of such short duration, that, with the closed oaks of the tradesmen, and the woe-begone faces of the starving _scouts and bed-makers_, a stranger might have imagined some ruthless plague had swept away, "at one fell swoop," two-thirds of the population of rhedycina. it was at this dull period of time, that a poor student, having passed successfully the scylla and charybdis of an oxonian's fears, the great go and little go, and exhausted by long and persevering efforts to obtain his degree, had just succeeded in adding the important academical letters to his name, when he received a kind invitation from an old brother etonian to spend a few weeks with him in the isle of wight, "the flowery seat of the muses," said horace eglantine, (the inviter), "and the grove of hygeia; the delightful spot, above all others, best calculated to rub off the rust of college melancholy, engendered by hard reading, invigorate the studious mind, and divest the hypochrondriac of _la maladie ~ ~~imaginaire!_'" "and where," said bernard blackmantle, reasoning within himself, "is the student who could withstand such an attractive summons? friendship, health, sports, and pleasures, all combined in the prospective; a view of almost all the blessings that render life desirable; the charm that binds man to society, the medicine that cures a wounded spirit, and the cordial which reanimates and brightens the intellectual faculties of the philosopher and the poet; in short, the health-inspiring draught, without which the o'ercharged spirit would sink into earth, a prey to black despondency, or linger out a wearisome existence only to become a gloomy misanthrope, a being hateful to himself and obnoxious to all the world." with nearly as much alacrity as the lover displays when, on the wings of anticipated delight, he hastes to seek the beloved of his soul, did i, bernard blackmantle, pack up my portmanteau, and make the best of my way to southampton, from which place the steam boat conveys passengers, morning and evening, to and from the island. southampton has in itself very little worthy the notice of the lover of the characteristic and the humorous, at least that i discovered in a few hours' ramble. it is a clean well-built town, of considerable extent and antiquity, particularly its entrance gate, enlivened by numerous elegant shops, whose blandishments are equally attractive with the more fashionable _magazines de modes_ of the british metropolis. the accommodations for visitors inclined to bathe or walk have been much neglected, and the vapours arising from its extended shores at low water are, in warm weather, very offensive; but the influx of strangers is, nevertheless, very great, from its being the port most eligible to embark from for either havre de grace, guernsey, jersey, or the isle of wight. the market here is accounted excellent, and from this source the visitors of cowes are principally ~ ~~supplied with fruit, fish, fowl, and delicacies. the steam boat is a new scene for the painter of real life, and the inquisitive observer of the humorous and eccentric. the facility it affords of a quick and certain conveyance, in defiance of wind and tide, ensures its proprietors, during the summer months, a harvest of success. its advantages i have here attempted to describe in verse, a whim written during my passage; and this will account for the odd sort of measure adopted, which i attribute to the peculiar motion of the vessel, and the clanking of the engine; for, as everybody knows, poets are the most susceptible of human beings in relation to local circumstances. the advantages of steam. if adam or old archimedes could wake as from a dream, how the ancients would be puzzled to behold arts, manufactures, coaches, ships, alike impell'd by steam; fire and water changing bubbles into gold. steam's universal properties are every day improving, all you eat, or drink, or wear is done by steam; and shortly it will be applied to every thing that's moving, as an engine's now erecting to write novels by the ream. fine speeches in the parliament, and sermons 'twill deliver; to newspapers it long has been applied; in king's bench court or chancery a doubtful question shiver with an argument already "cut and dried." its benefits so general, and uses so extensive, that steam ensures the happiness of all mankind; we grow rich by its economy, and travel less expensive to the indies or america, without the aid of wind. here we are, then, on board the steam boat, huge clouds of smoke rolling over our heads, and the reverberatory paddles of the engine just beginning to cut the bosom of southampton water. every where the eye of the traveller feasts with delight upon the surrounding scenery and objects, while his cranium is protected from the too powerful heat of a summer's ~ ~~sun by an elegant awning spread from side to side of the forecastle, and under which he inhales the salubrious and saline breezes, enjoying an uninterrupted prospect of the surrounding country. on the right, the marine villas of sir arthur pagett and sir joseph yorke, embowered beneath the most luxuriant foliage, claim the notice of the traveller; and next the antique ruins of netley abbey peep out between the portals of a line of rich majestic trees, bringing to the reflective mind reminiscences of the past, of the days of superstition and of terror, when the note of the gloomy bell reverberated through the arched roofs the funeral rite of some departed brother, and, lingering, died in gentle echoings beneath the vaulted cloisters, making the monkish solitude more horrible; but now, as keate has sung, "mute is the matin bell, whose early call warn'd the gray fathers from their humble beds; no midnight taper gleams along the wall, or round the sculptured saint its radiance sheds." at the extremity of the new forest, and commanding the entrance to the river, the picturesque fort called calshot castle stretches forth, like the martello towers in the bay of naples, an object of the most romantic appearance; and at a little distance from it rises the stately tower of eaglehurst, with its surrounding pavilions and plantations. to the westward is the castle of hurst; and now opens to the astonished traveller's view the wight, extending eastward and westward far as the eye can compass, but yet within its measurement from point to point. ------"here in this delicious garden is variety without end; sweet interchange of hills and valleys, rivers, woods, and plains; now land, now sea, and shores with forests crown'd, rocks, dens, and caves." the coast presents a combination of romantic, pastoral, and marine beauties, that are deservedly the ~ ~~theme of admiration, and certainly no spot of the same extent, in the three kingdoms, perhaps in the world, can boast of such a diversity of picturesque qualities, of natural charms, and local advantages--attractions which have justly acquired for it the emphatic distinction of the garden of england. every where the coast is adorned with cottages or villas, hill or vale, enriched by the most luxuriant foliage, and crowned in the distance by a chain of lofty downs; while in front the coasts of gosport and portsmouth, and that grand naval station for england's best bulwarks, spithead, present a forest of towering masts and streamers, which adds much to the natural grandeur of the scene. as we near cowes we are delighted with a variety of striking objects: the chaste and characteristic seat of norris, the residence of lord henry seymour, massive in its construction, and remarkable for the simplicity of its style and close approximation to the ancient castle. on the brow of the hill the picturesque towers of east cowes castle rise from a surrounding grove, and present a very beautiful appearance, which is materially increased upon nearer inspection by the rapid spread of the deep-hued ivy clinging to its walls, and giving it an appearance of age and solidity which is admirably relieved by the diversity of the lighter foliage. on the other side projects from a point westward cowes castle, the allotted residence of the governor, but now inhabited by the marquis of anglesey and his family, to whose partiality for aquatic sports cowes is much indebted for its increasing consequence and celebrity. the building itself, although much improved of late, is neither picturesque nor appropriate; but the adjoining scenery, and particularly the marine villas of lord grantham and the late sir j. c. hippesley, have greatly increased the beauty of the spot, which first strikes the eye of a stranger in his progress to west cowes from ~ ~~southampton water. the town itself rises like an amphitheatre from the banks of a noble harbour, affording security and convenience for large fleets of ships to ride at anchor safely, or to winter in from stress of weather, or the repair of damages. but here ends my topographical sketches for the present. the inspiring air of "home, sweet home," played by the steward upon the key bugle, proclaims our arrival; the boat is now fast drawing to her moorings at the fountain quay, the boatmen who flock along-side have already solicited the care of my luggage, and the hand of my friend, horace eglantine, is stretched forth to welcome my arrival at west cowes. the first salutations over with my friend eglantine, i could not help expressing my surprise at the sailor-like appearance of his costume. "all the go here, old fellow," said horace; "we must start that long-tailed gib of yours for a nice little square mizen, just enough to cover your beam and keep your bows cool; so bear a hand, my boy, and let us drop down easy to our births, and when properly rigged you shall go on board my yacht, the rover, and we will bear away for the westward. only cast off that sky scraper of yours before the boom sweeps it overboard, and cover your main top with a waterloo cap: there, now, you are cutter rigg'd, in good sailing trim, nothing queer and yawl-like about you." in this way i soon found myself metamorphosed into a complete sailor, in appearance; and as every other person of any condition, from the marquis downwards, adopted the same dress, the alteration was indispensably necessary to escape the imputation of being considered a goth. among the varied sports in which the nobility and gentry of england have at any time indulged, or that have, from the mere impulse of the moment and the desire of novelty, become popular, none have been more truly national and praiseworthy than the establishment of the royal yacht club. the promotion ~ ~~of aquatic amusement combines the soundest policy in the pursuit of pleasure, two points but rarely united; in addition to which it benefits that class of our artizans, the shipwrights, who, during a time of profound peace, require some such auxiliary aid; nor is it less patriotic in affording employment to sea-faring men, encouraging the natural characteristic of britons, and feeding and fostering a branch of service upon which the country must ever rely for its support and defence in time of peril. to the owners it offers advantages and attractions which are not, in other pursuits, generally attainable; health here waits on pleasure,--science benefits by its promotion,--friends may partake without inconvenience or much additional expense,--travel is effected with economy,--and change of scene and a knowledge of foreign coasts obtained without the usual privations and incumbrances attendant upon the public mode of conveyance. by a recent regulation, any gentleman's pleasure yacht may enter the ports of france, or those of any other power in alliance with england, exempted from the enormous exactions generally extorted from private and merchant vessels, as harbour and other dues,--a privilege of no mean consequence to those who are fond of sailing. in addition, there are those, and of the service too, who contend, that since the establishment of the royal yacht club, by their building superior vessels, exciting emulation, and creating a desire to excel in naval architecture, and also by the superiority of their sailing, the public service of the country has been much benefited, particularly as regards our lighter vessels, such as revenue cutters and cruizers. this club, which originated with some gentlemen at cowes in the year , now comprises the name of almost every nobleman and gentleman in the kingdom who keeps a yacht, and is honoured with that of the sovereign, and other members of his family, ~ ~~as its patrons. cowes harbour is the favourite rendezvous; and here in the months of july and august may be seen above one hundred fine vessels built entirely for purposes of pleasure, and comprising every size and variety of rigging, from a ship of three hundred tons burthen to the yawl of only eight or ten. it was just previous to that delightful spectacle, the regatta, taking place, when the roads and town presented an unusually brilliant appearance, that i found myself agreeably seated on board the rover, a cutter yacht of about thirty tons, who, if she was not fitted up with all the superiority of many of those which surrounded me, had at least every comfortable and necessary accommodation for half a dozen visitors, without incommoding my friend horace or his jovial crew. i had arrived at cowes a low-spirited weakly invalid, more oppressed in mind than body; but a few trips with my friend eglantine to sea, on board the rover, and some equally pleasant rambles among the delightful scenery which surrounds the bay of cowes, had in one week's residence banished all symptoms of dispepsia and nervous debility, and set the master of arts once more upon his legs again. some idea of my condition, on leaving _alma mater_, may be obtained by the following effusion of my muse, who, to do her justice, is not often sentimental, unless when sickness presses her too close. the invalid. light-hearted mirth and health farewell, twin sisters of my youthful days, who through life's early spangled dell would oft inspire my humble lays. fancy, cameleon of the mind, the poet's treasure, life, and fame, thou too art fled, with wreath to bind the budding of some happier name. ~ ~~ oppression's sway, or fortune's frown, my buoyant spirits once could bear; but now chimeras press me down, and all around seems fell despair. with fev'rish dreams and frenzied brain, when hecate spreads her veil, i'm crost; my body sinks a prey to pain, and all but lingering hope is lost. with the return of health and spirits, horace insisted i should write the "l'allegro" to this "il penseroso" effusion. so, finding the jade had recovered her wonted buoyancy, i prayed her mount on gayest wing, and having spread her pinions to the sun, produced the following impromptu. the convalescent. welcome, thou first great gift below, hygeian maid, with rosy glow, thrice welcome to my call. let misers hug their golden store, i envy none the servile ore; to me thou art all in all. thou spring of life, and herald fair, whose charm dispels disease and care, and yields a summer joy, all hail! celestial seraph, hail! thou art the poet's coat of mail, his mirth without alloy. there is a prepossessing something in the life of a sailor which improves the natural attachment of englishmen to every thing nautical; so much so, that i never heard of one in my life who was not, after a single trip, always fond of relating his hair-breadth perils and escapes, and of seizing every opportunity to display his marine knowledge by framing his conversation _ship shape_, and decorating his oratory with a few of those lingual localisms, which to a landsman must be almost unintelligible without the aid of ~ ~~a naval glossary. a fortnight's tuition under the able auspices of my friend horace had brought me into tolerable good trim in this particular; i already knew the difference between fore and aft, a gib, a mainsail, and a mizen;could hand a rope, or let go the foresail upon a tack; and having gained the good opinion of the sailing captain, i was fast acquiring a knowledge how to box the binnacle and steer through the needle's eye. but, my conscience! as the dominie says, i could never learn how to distinguish the different vessels by name, particularly when at a little distance; their build and rigging being to my eye so perfectly similar. in all this, however, my friend horace was as completely at home as if he had studied naval architecture at the college; the first glance of a vessel was quite enough for him: like an old sportsman with the pedigree of a horse or a dog, only let him see her, through his glass head or stern, or upon a lee lurch, and he would hail her directly, specify her qualities and speed, tell you where she was built, and who by, give you the date of her register, owner's name, tonnage, length and breadth of her decks, although to the eye of the uninitiated there was no distinguishing mark about her, the hull being completely black, and the rigging, to a rope, like every other vessel of the same class. "for instance," said horace, "who could possibly mistake that beautiful cutter, the pearl? see how she skims along like a swan with her head up, and stern well under the wind! then, look at her length; there's a bowsprit, my boy! full half the measurement of her hull; and her new mainsail looks large enough to sweep up every breath of wind between the sea and the horizon. then only direct your fore lights to her trim; every rope just where it should be, and not a line too much; and when she fills well with a stiff breeze, not a wrinkle in all her canvas from the gib to the gaff topsail. then observe how she dips in the bows, and what a breadth she ~ ~~has; why she's fit for any seas; and if the arrow ever shoots past her, i'll forfeit every shot in my lockers." "avast there! master horace," said our master at the helm, who was an old cowes pilot, and as bluff as a deal sea-boat; "the pearl is a noble sailer; but a bird can't fly without wings, nor a ship run thirteen knots an hour without a good stiff breeze. if the light winds prevail, the arrow will have the advantage, particularly now she's cutter rigged, and has got the marquis's old mainsail up to take the wind out of his eye." "ay, ay," said horace, "you must tell that story to the marines, old boy; it will never do for the sailors." "mayhap, your honours running right a-head with the pearl, and betting your blunt all one way; but, take an old seaman's advice; may i get no more rest than a dog-vane, or want a good _grego_{ } in a winter's watch, if i don't think you had better keep a good look-out for the wind's changing aft; and be ready to haul in your weather-braces, and bear the back-stays abreast the top-br'im, ere the boatswain's mate pipes the starboard-watch a-hoy." "tush, tush, old fellow," said horace, with whom i found lord anglesey's cutter stood a one at lloyd's. "may my mother sell vinegar, and i stay at home to bottle it off, if i would give a farthing per cent, to be ensured for my whole risk upon the grand match! mind your weather roll, master--belay every inch of that. there now; look out a-head; there's the liberty giving chase to the julia, and the jack-o'lantern weathering the swallow upon every tack. his grace of norfolk won't like that; but a pleasure hack must not be expected to run against a thorough-bred racer. there is but one yawl in the club, and that is the little eliza, that can sail alongside a cutter; but then sir george thomas is a tar for all weathers--a true blue jacket--every thing so snug--cawsand rig--no topmasts--all so square and trim, that nothing of his bulk can a watch-coat. ~ ~~beat him." in this way my friend eglantine very soon perfected me in nautical affairs, or, to use his expression, succeeded in putting a "timber head in the ship;" and the first use i made of my newly acquired information was to pen a _jeu d'esprit_, in the way of a circular in rhyme, inviting the members of the royal yacht club to assemble in cowes-roads. the whim was handed about in ms., and pleased more from its novelty than merit; but as it contains a correct list of the club at this period, and as the object of the english spy is to perpetuate the recollections of his own time, i shall here introduce it to the notice of my readers. a circular, addressed to the members op the royal yacht club. come, lads, bend your sails; o'er the blue waters thronging, in barks like the sea-mew that skims o'er the lave; all you to the royal yacht squadron belonging, come, muster at cowes, for true sport on the wave.{ } first our king,{ } heaven bless him! who's lord of the sea, and delights in the sport of the circling wave, commands you attend him wherever ye be, sons of ocean, ye loyal, ye witty, and brave. here anglesey,{ } waterloo's hero, shall greet ye; the club generally assemble in cowes-roads about the middle of july to commence their aquatic excursions, which are continued until after the regatta in august. his majesty is graciously pleased to honour the club by becoming its patron. the marquis of anglesey is a principal promoter of this truly british sport, and resides with his family at cowes castle during the season. the pearl cutter, tons, and the liberty cutter, tons, are both his property. ~ ~~ the pearl, and the liberty, cutters in trim, the welds { } in the arrow and julia too meet ye, the match for eight hundred affording you whim. here grantham{ } his nautilus, steer'd by old hollis, shall cut through the wave like a beautiful shell; and symonds{ } give chase in the yawl the cornwallis, and webster{ } the scorpion manage right well; and williams{ } the younger, and owen{ } his dad, from the shores of beaumaris have run the gazelle; and craven{ } his may-fly wings o'er like a lad that is used to the ocean, and fond of its swell. come, lads, bear a hand--here's sir george hove in sight, with his little eliza{ } so snug and so trim; tan sails, cawsand rigg'd--for all weather she's tight; you must sail more than well, if you mean to beat him. then steady, boys, steady--here's yarborough's{ } falcon, a very fine ship, but a little too large; and here is a true son of neptune to talk on, vice-admiral hope,{ } k.cb. in his barge. joseph and james welds, esqrs., of southampton, the wealthy and spirited owners of the arrow yawl, tons, and the julia, tons. these gentlemen evince the greatest spirit in challenging and sailing any of the club. lord grantham, nautilus, cutter, tons, a new and very fast sailer. owner vessel class tons capt. j. c. symonds, r.n. adm. cornwallis yawl sir godfrey webster scorpion, cutter t. p. williams, esq., hussar, schooner, and the blue-eyed maid, cutter, owen williams, esq. gazelle cutter earl craven may-fly yawl sir george thomas, bart. eliza yawl lord yarborough commodore falcon ship vice-admiral sir w. johnston hope, k.c.b., who is here in one of the admiralty yachts. ~ ~~ come, lads, spread your canvas for health and for pleasure, for both are combined in this true british sport; come, muster in cowes-roads without further leisure, blue jackets and trowsers for dresses at court. see deerhurst{ } his mary sticks to like a lover, and lindegren's{ }dove wings it over the main; powell's { } briton, 'tis very well known, is a rover, in union the pagets{ }must ever remain; here's smith's { }jack o'lantern and chamberlayne's fairy,{ } earl harborough's{ } ann, and f. pake's rosabelle{ } lord willoughby's { } antelope, penleaze's { }mary, and gauntlet's{ }water-sprite sails very well. come, jolly old curtis,{ } bear up in your emma, eight cheerily laden with turtle and port; and melville{ } set sail if you'd scape the dilemma of being too late for our aquatic sport. see norfolk { }already is here in the swallow, and the don giovanni a challenge has sent, which lyons { } accepts, and intends to beat hollow, that is if the londoner should not repent. owner vessel viscount deerhurst mary j. lindegren, esq. dove. j. b. powell, esq. briton right hon. sir a. paget union t. a. smith, jun. esq. jack o'lantern w. chamberlayne, esq. fairy earl of harborough ann f. pare, esq. rosabelle lord willoughby do broke antelope j. s. penleaze, esq. mary captain j. gauntlet water sprite sir william curtis, bart. rebecca maria, yawl, tons. and emma, schooner, tons. lord melville admiralty yacht duke of norfolk swallow yawl captain edmund lyons (the polar navigator) had just launched the queen mab. ~ ~~ but look, what a crowd of fine yachts are arriving! the elizabeth,{ }unicorn,{ } cygnet,{ } and jane,{ } the eliza, sabrina,{ } madora,{ } all striving to beat one another as coursing the main. a fleet of small too, at anchor are riding; the margaret{ } sapphire,{ } the molly,{ } and hind,{ } the orion,{ } and dormouse{ } and janette{ }abiding the time when each vessel shall covet the wind. then, boys, bend your sails, and weigh for our regatta, we've a sylph?{ and a rambler{ } and a merry maid,{ } a syren{ } a cherub{ } a charlotte{ } and at her a corsair( } who looks as if nothing afraid. here the lord of the isles{ } and freebooter rob roy,{ } by a will o' the wisp{ } are led over the deep; j. fleming, esq. elizabeth h. perkins, esq. unicorn, j. reynolds, esq. cygnet hon. william hare jane james maxie, esq. sâbrina h. hopkins, esq. madora hon. william white margaret james dundas, esq. sapphire lieutenant-colonel harris charming molly capt. herringham, r.n. hind james smith, esq. orion . p. peach, esq. dormouse capt. c. wyndham, r.n. janette r. w. newman, esq. sylph j. h. durand, esq. jolly rambler joseph gulston, esq. merry-maid t. lewin, esq. syren t. challen, esq. cherub john vassall, esq. charlotte corbett, esq. corsair colonel seale lord of the isles w. gaven, esq. rob roy e. h. dolatield, esq. will o' the wisp and the highland lass{ } blushes a welcome of joy, as alongside the wombwell{ } she anchors to sleep. here the donna del lago{ } consorts with rostellan,{ } to the new grove,{ } lord nelson{ } louisa { } attends, galatea{ } runs a harrie{ } in chase of the erin,{ } and here with the club list my circular ends. owner vessel class tons lieut.-gen. mackenzie highland lass yawl t. harman, esq. wombivell cutter s. halliday, esq. lady of die lake yawl marquis of thoruond rostellan schooner john roche, esq. new grove cutter reverend c. a. north lord nelson cutter arch. swinton, esq. louisa yawl c. r. m. talbot, esq. galatea schooner sir r. j. a. kemys harrier schooner t. allen, esq. erin schooner ~ ~~ "a right merrie conceit," said horace, "and a good-humoured jingle that must be gratifying to all mentioned, and will serve as a record of the present list of the yacht club to future times. we must petition the commodore to enter you upon the ship's books as poet-laureate to the squadron: you shall pen lyrics for our annual club-dinner at east cowes, compose sea-chants for our cabin jollifications, sing the praises of our wives and sweethearts, and write a congratulatory ode descriptive of our vessels, crews, and commanders, at the end of every season; and your reward shall be a birth on board any of the fleet when you choose a sail, and a skin-full of grog whenever you like to command it. so come, old fellow, give us a spice of your qualifications for your new office; something descriptive of the science of navigation, from its earliest date to the perfection of a first-rate man of war." ~ ~~ the progress of navigation, an original song; dedicated to the members of the royal yacht club. in the first dawn of science, ere man could unfold the workings of nature, or valued dull gold; ere yet he had ventured to dare ocean's swell, or could say by the moon how the tides rose and fell; a philosopher seated one day on the brink of the silvery margin thus took him to think: "if on this side the waters are girted by land, what controls the wide expanse, i'd fain understand." thus buried in thought had he ponder'd till now, but a beautiful nautilus sail'd to and fro; just then a sly breeze raised the curls from his eyes, and he woke from a dream to extatic surprise. o'er his head a huge oak spread a canopy round, whose trunk being hollow, he levell'd to ground; with a branch form'd a mast, and some matting a sail, and thus rudely equipp'd dared the perilous gale; of the winds and the waves both the mercy and sport, his bark was long tost without guidance to port, and the storms of the ocean went nigh to o'erwhelm, when the tail of the dolphin suggested a helm. ry degrees, the canoe to a cutter became, and order and form newly-moulded the same, ropes, rigging, and canvas, and good cabin room, a bowsprit, a mizen, a gib, and a boom. from the cutter, the schooner, brig, frigate arose; till britons, determined to conquer their foes, built ships like to castles, they call'd men of war, the fame of whose broadsides struck terror afar. now boldly, philosophy aided by skill, bent his course o'er the blue waters sailing at will, but dubious the track, for as yet 'twas unknown how to steer 'twixt the poles for a north or south zone, ~ ~~ till the magnet's attraction, by accident found, taught man how the globe he could traverse around; new worlds brought to light, and new people to view, and by commerce connected turk, christian, and jew. all this while, father neptune lay snug in his bed, till he heard a sad riot commence o'er his head, folks firing, and fighting, and sailing about, when his godship popp'd up just to witness the rout; it happen'd in one of those actions to be when europe combined fought the isle of the sea, and, as usual, were conquer'd, sunk, fired, or run, that old neptune acknowledged each briton his son. "from this time," said his godship, "henceforth, be it known, little england's the spot for the ocean-king's throne; and this charter i grant, and enrol my decree, that my brave sons, the britons, are lords of the sea." "there's nothing like a good song," said horace, "for conveying information on nautical subjects, or promoting that national spirit which is the pride and glory of our isle. i question if the country are not more indebted to old charles dibdin for his patriotic effusions during the late war, than to all the psalm-singing admirals and chaplains of the fleet put together. i know that crab gambier, and the methodist privateers who press all sail to pick up a deserter from the orthodox squadron, do a great deal of mischief among our seamen; for as corporal trim says, 'what time has a sailor to palaver about creeds when it blows great guns, or the enemies of his country heave in sight? a sailor's religion is to perform his duty aloft and do good below; honour his king, love his girl, obey his commander, and burn, sink, and destroy the foes of his country.' here we have an occasional exhibition of this sort on board the depot vessel in the harbour, when the _bethel_ flag ~ ~~is hoisted, and the voice of the puritan is heard from east cowes to eaglehurst; as if there were not already conventicles enough on shore for those who are disposed to separate themselves from the established church, without the aid of a floating chapel, furnished by the government agent to subvert the present order of things. on this point, you know, i was always a liberal thinker, but a firm friend to the church, as being essential to the best interests of the state. an old college chum of ours, who has been unusually fortunate in obtaining ecclesiastical preferment, thought proper to send me a friendly lecture in one of his letters the other day on this subject, to which i returned the following answer, and put an end to his scruples, as i think, for ever: i have entitled it the universalist. 'to a friend who questioned the propriety of his religious opinions. 'you ask what creed is mine? and where i seek the lord in holy prayer? what sect i follow? by what rule, perhaps you mean, i play the fool? i answer, none; yet gladly own i worship god, but god alone. no pious fraud or monkish lies shall teach me others to despise; whate'er their creed, i love them all, so they before their maker fall. the sage, the savage, and refined, on this one point are equal blind: shall man, the creature of an hour, arraign the all-creative power? or, by smooth chin, or beard unshaved, decree who shall or not be saved? presumptuous priests, in silk and lawn, may lib'ral minds denounce with scorn; the reason's clear--remove the veil, their trade and interest both must fail. ~ i hold that being worse than blind, where bigotry usurps the mind; and more abhor him who for pelf, denouncing others, damns himself. look round, observe creation's work, from afric's savage to the turk; through polish'd europe turn your eye, to where the sun of liberty on western shores illumes the wave, that flows o'er many a patriot's grave; as varied as their skin's the creed, by which they hope they shall succeed in presence of their god, to prove their claim to his eternal love; a claim that must and will have weight, no matter what their creed or state. by modes of faith let none presume to fix his fellow-creature's doom.'" "a truce with religion, horace," said i; "it is a controversy that generally ends in making friends foes, and foes the most implacable of persecutors: with the one it shuts out all hope of reconciliation, with the other breeds a war of extermination; so come, lad, leave theology to the fathers--we that have liberal souls tolerate all creeds. more hollands, steward: here's a glass to all our college acquaintance, not forgetting grandmamma and the pretty nuns of saint clement's. where the deuce is all that singing we hear above, steward?" "on board the transport, your honour." "ay, i remember, i saw the poor devils embark this morning, and a doleful sight it was--one hundred of my fellow-creatures, in the prime of life, consigned to an early grave, transported to the pestilential climate of sierre leone: inquire for them three months hence, and you shall find them--not where they will find you--but where whole regiments of their predecessors have been sacrificed, on the unhealthy shores--victims to the false policy of holding what is worse than useless, and of enslaving the original owners of the soil. ~ ~~liquor, and the reflection of their desperate fortunes, have driven them mad, and now they give vent to their feelings in a forced torrent of wild mirth, in which they would bury the recollections of those they are parted from for ever. on the beach this morning i witnessed a most distressing scene: wives separated by force from their husbands, and children torn from the fond embraces of parents whose parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave. 'push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. my heart sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife, as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my pitying muse could not resist recording. 'the soldier's wipe. 'there's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express, a heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes, when the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress, of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves. 'twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief, the wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd; not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief, but sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast. now nearer she presses--now severed for life the waves bear the lord of her bosom from view; distraction suspends the red current of life, and she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'" "zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said horace: "you must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for the sailors. here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us have a tune, jack's alive, malbrook, or the college hornpipe;" an order that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the ~ ~~men on board i found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. during the occasional rests of the band, horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written in imitation of moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at eton. the evening tide. tune--" the young may moon." whither so fast away, my dear? the star of eve is bright and clear, and the parting day, as it fades away, to lovers brings delight, my dear: then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear, come list t' the young heart's tale sincere; yon orb of light, so chaste and bright, love's magic yields within her sphere. then through the shady grove, my love, let's wander with the cooing dove, till the starry night, to morning's light, shall break upon our wooing, love. as life's young dream shall pass, my love, together let us gaily row, and day by day, in sportive play, enjoy life's meeting gloss, my love. [illustration: page ] it was on one of those warm evenings in the month of july, when scarcely a zephyr played upon the wanton wave, and the red sun had sunk to rest behind the castle turrets, giving full promise of another sultry day, that our little band had attracted a more than usual display of promenaders on the walk extending from the fort point to the marine hotel. with the report of the evening gun, or, as horace termed it, the _admiral's grog bell_, we had quitted the cabin, and mustering our little party upon deck, suffered the rover to drift nearer in shore with the tide, that we might enjoy the gratifying spectacle of more closely observing the young, the beautiful, and the ~ ~~accomplished _elegantes_ who traversed to and fro upon the beach to catch the soft whispers of the saline air. at the castle causeway a boat had just landed a group of beautiful children, who appeared clinging round a tall well-formed man, in a blue jacket and white trowsers, resting a hand upon each of two fine boys dressed in a similar style: he walked on, with a slight affection of lameness, towards the castle entrance, preceded by three lovely little female fairies, who gambolled in his path like sportive zephyrs.--"there moves one of the bravest men, and best of fathers, in his majesty's dominions," said horace--"the commander of the pearl." "what," said i, "the marquis of anglesey?" "the same--who here seeks retirement in the bosom of his family, and without ostentation enjoys a pleasure, which, in its pursuit, produces permanent advantage to many, and enables others, his friends and relations, to participate with him in his amusements. we are much indebted to the marquis for the promotion of this truly british sport, who with his brothers, sir charles and sir arthur, were among the first members of the royal yacht club. the group of blue jackets to the left, whom the marquis recognised as he passed, consist of that merry fellow, sir godfrey webster, who lias a noble yacht here, the scorpion; the commander of the sabrina, james manse, esq. another jovial soul; the two williams's, father and son, who have both fine yachts in our roads; sir charles sullivan; and the polar navigator, captain lyons, who has just launched a beautiful little boat called the queen mab, with whom he means to bewitch the don giovanni of london." "who is that interesting female leaning over the railings in front of the gothic house, attended by a dark pensive-looking swain, with a very intelligent countenance? methinks there is an air of style about the pair that speaks nobility; and yet i have observed ~ ~~they appear too fond of each other's society to be fashionables." "that is the delightful lady f. l. gower and her lord: i thought you would have recognised that star instantly, from the splendid picture of her by lawrence, which hangs in the stafford gallery at cleveland-house. the elegant group pacing the lawn in front of the castellated mansion, on this side of lord gower, is the amiable countess of craven and her family: the earl, that generous and once merry-hearted soul, i lament to hear, is a victim to the gout; but it is hoped a few trips on board the may-fly will restore him to health, and the enjoyment of his favourite pursuit." "by my soul, horace," said i, "here comes a splendid creature, a very divinity, my boy: i' faith just such a woman as might melt the heart of a corsair." "by my honour you have hit the mark exactly," replied eglantine, "for she is already the corsair's bride, and corbett feels, as he ought to do, not a little proud of his good fortune. the raven-haired graces accompanying that true son of neptune, sir george thomas, are daughters of the baronet, and, report says, very accomplished girls. now by all that's fascinating and charming, hither comes the beautiful miss seymour, mrs. fitzherbert's _protégé_, and his majesty's little pet--an appellation i have often heard him salute her by. the magnificent-looking belle by her side is a relation, the charming mrs. seymour, acknowledged to be a star of the first magnitude in female attractions. the three portly-looking gentlemen whose grog-blossomed visages speak their love of the good things of this world are the admirals scott and hope, and that facetious of all funny senators, sir isaac coffin. if you are an admirer of the soft and the sentimental, of the love-enkindling eye, and madonna-like expression of countenance, observe that band of arcadian shepherdesses in speckled dresses yonder--bristol diamonds of the first and purest ~ ~~water, i assure you; and their respected father, the wealthy proprietor of miles's-court, bristol, may well be delighted with his amiable and beauteous daughters. the little dapper-looking man in the white hat yonder is the liberal, good-tempered duke of norfolk; and the dashing _roué_ by his side, the legitimate heir to his title, is the earl of surrey, whose son, the young baron of mowbray, follows hand in hand with captain wollaston, an old man-of-war's man, who sails the swallow cutter. the female group assembled in front of the king's-house are the minor constellations from east cowes, and the congregated mixture of oddities who grace the balconies of the pavilion boarding-house comprise every grade of society from the oxford invalid to the retired shopkeeper, the messieurs _newcomes_ of the island." "a rich subject for a more extended notice," said i, "when on some future occasion i visit margate or brighton, where the diversity of character will be more numerous, varied, and eccentric than in this sequestered spot." as the evening advanced, the blue-eyed maid of heaven spread forth her silvery light across the glassy surface of the deep, yielding a magic power to the soul-inspiring scene, and, by reflection, doubling the objects on the sea, whose translucent bosom scarcely heaved a sigh, or murmured forth a ripple on the ear; and now, amid the stillness of the night, we were suddenly amused with the deep-sounding notes of the key-bugle reverberating over the blue waters with most harmonious effect. "we are indebted to that mad wag, ricketts, for this unexpected pleasure," said horace; "he is an amateur performer of no mean talent, and delights in surprising the visitors in this agreeable manner." "rover, a-hoy," hailed a voice from the shore; off went our boat, and on its return brought an accession to our party of half a dozen right merry fellows, among whom was that choice spirit, henry day, whose facetious powers of oratory and whim are ~ ~~universally esteemed, and have often afforded us amusement, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of london and the brilliants of the press, who assemble for social purposes at the wrekin. the days are too well known and respected as a family of long standing in the island to require the eulogy of the english spy, but to acknowledge their hospitality and kindness he penned the following tribute ere he quitted the shores of vectis. love, law, and physic. in vectis' isle three happy days by any may be seen: first, james, who loves by social ways to animate mirth's scene; an honest lawyer, henry, next with speech and bottle plies you; and when by fell disease perplex'd, charles physics and revives you. "love, law, and physic," here combine to claim the poet's praise: may fortune's sunbeams ever shine on three such worthy days. a few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and now our friends having departed to their homes, horace and myself took a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion of the vessel into sweet repose. the events of the former evening, the novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of nature, as she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the transition ~ ~~of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my muse to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island scenery. a delightful pleasure i have endeavoured to convey to my readers in the following rhymes. morning in the isle of wight. when o'er the foreland glimmering day just breaks above the eastern lulls, and streaks of gold through misty gray dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills; then, when the landsman 'gins to mow the perfumed crop on grounds above, and sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo," then young hearts wake to life and love. when still and slow the murmuring swell of ocean, rising from his throne, o'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell to prayer invites the college drone; then, when the pennant floats on high, and anchor's weigh'd again to rove, and tuneful larks ascend the sky, then young hearts wake to life and love. when, by unerring nature's power, creation breaks the spell of night, and plants their leaves expand and flow'r, and all around breathes gay delight; then when the herdsman opes his fold to let the merry lambkin rove, and distant hills are tipt with gold, then young hearts wake to life and love, ~ ~~ noon in the isle of wight. when toiling 'neath meridian sun the boatman plies the lab'ring oar, and sportive nymphs the margin shun of ocean's pebble-parched shore; then when beneath some shadowy cliff, o'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale, the trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. when nature, languid, seems to rest, nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave, and zephyrs sleep, by sol caress'd, and sportive swallows skim the lave; then, when by early toil oppress'd, the peasant seeks the glen or dale, enjoys his frugal meal and rest, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. when close beneath the forest's pride the upland's group of cattle throng, and sultry heat dissevers wide the feather'd host of tuneful song; then when a still, dead, settled calm o'er earth, and air, and sea prevail, and lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. ~ ~~ evening in the isle of wight. when twilight tints with sober gray the distant hills, and o'er the wave the mellow glow of parting day crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave; then when the sea-bird seeks the mast, and signal lights illume the tower, and sails are furl'd, and anchors cast, then, then is love's delicious hour. when o'er the beach the rippling wave breaks gently, heaving to and fro, like maiden bosoms, ere the knave of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe; then, when the watch their vigils keep, and grog, and song, and jest have power to laugh to scorn the peril'd deep, then, then is love's delicious hour. when cynthia sheds her mystic light in silv'ry circles o'er the main; and hecate spreads her veil of night o'er hearts that ne'er may meet again; then, anna, blest with thee, i stray 'mid scenes of bliss--through nature's bower; while eve's star guides us on our way, then, then is love's delicious hour. it has often been observed by inquisitive travellers, that in most of our country villages not only the three best houses are inhabited by the lawyer, the parson, and the doctor, but three-fourths of the whole property of the place is generally monopolized by the same disinterested triumvirate: however true the satire ~ ~~may be in a general sense, it certainly does not apply to cowes, where the liberal professions are really practised by liberal minds, and where the desire to do good outweighs the desire to grow rich. but the good people of cowes are not without their nabobs; for instance, the eastern shores of the river are under the dominion of lord henry seymour and mr. nash, who there rule over their humble tenantry with mild paternal sway. on the western side, the absolute lords of the soil are messrs. bennett and ward: the first, like other great landed proprietors, almost always an absentee; and the last somewhat greedy to grapple at every thing within his reach. "who does that fine park and mansion belong to?" said a stranger, surveying northwood from the summit of the hill. "king george," replied the islander. "and who owns the steam-boats, which i now see arriving?" "king george," reiterated the fellow. "and who is the largest proprietor of the surrounding country?" "king george." "indeed!" said the stranger, "i was not aware that the crown lands were so extensive in the wight. have you much game?" "ees, ees." "and who is the lord of the manor?" "king george." "and these new roads i see forming, are they also done by king george?" "ees, ees, he ought to gi' us a few new ones, i think; bekase ize zure he's stopped up enou of our old ones." "what, by some new inclosure act, i suppose?" "naye, naye, by some old foreclosure acts, i expect." "why, you do not mean to say that our gracious sovereign is a money-lender and mortgagee?" "no; but our ungracious king be the', and a money-maker too." "fellow, take care; you are committing treason against the lord's anointed." "ees, ees, he be a 'nointed one, zure enou," retorted the fellow, laughing outright in the traveller's face. "sirrah," said the offended stranger, "i shall have you taken before a justice." "ees, ees, ize heard o' them ere chaps at east cowes, but ize ~ ~~not much respect for 'em." "not care for the magistrate!" "lord love you,--you be one of the mr. newcome, ize warrant me; why, we've gotten no zuch animal here, nothing o' sort nearer as newport; and lawyer day can out-talk the best of them there, whenever he likes." "there must be some mistake here," said the stranger, cooling a little of his choler: "did you not tell me, fellow, that the king of england owned all the land here, and the steam-boats, and the manor, and the town, and the people, and-----------." "hold, hold thee there," said the islander; "i said, king george; and here he comes, in his four-wheeled calabash, and before he undertakes to give us any more new roads, i wish he'd set about mending his own queer ways" however strong the current of prejudice may run against squire ward in the island, among a few of the less wealthy residents, it must be admitted, that he is hospitable even to a proverb, a sincere and persevering friend, and a liberal master to his tenantry: the christmas festivities at northwood, when the poor are plentifully regaled with excellent cheer, smacks of a good old english custom, that shall confer upon the donor lasting praise, and hand down his name to posterity with better chance of grateful remembrance than all his mine of wealth can purchase; there are some well authenticated anecdotes in circulation of george ward, which prove that he has, with all his eccentricities, "a tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, to melting charity." to his enterprising spirit cowes is indebted for much of its present popularity, the facility of travelling to and from the island being greatly aided by the steamboats (his property) from portsmouth and southampton; but much yet remains to be done by the inhabitants themselves, if they wish to secure their present high partronage, and increase with succeeding seasons the number of their visitors. the promenade, admirably situate for the enjoyment of the sea ~ ~~breeze, and the delightful spectacle of a picturesque harbour filled with a forest of beautiful pleasure yachts, is of an evening generally obstructed by the assemblage of a juvenile band of both sexes, of the very lowest description, who render it utterly impossible for the delicate ear of female propriety to hazard coming in contact with their boisterous vulgarities. the beautiful walk round the castle battery is wholly usurped by this congregated mass of rabble; and yet the appointment of a peace-officer, a useful animal i never once saw at cowes, would remove the objection, and preserve a right of way and good order among the crowd that would at least render it safe, if not pleasant, to traverse the extended shore. the visit of their royal highnesses the duke and duchess of cambridge to john nash, esq. the eminent architect, at east cowes castle, gave a new lustre to the enchanting scene, and afforded the english spy a favourable opportunity for completing his sketches of the scenery and character of the island. among the festivities which the presence of the royal visitors gave birth to, the most attractive and delightful was the grand _déjeuné a la fourchette_, given at st. lawrence by the commodore of the yacht club, the right honourable lord yarborough. the invitations to meet the royal party were very general, including all of note and respectability on the island, and extending to the number of six hundred persons, for whom a most liberal and princely banquet was prepared upon the lawn of a delightful cottage, near his seat of appuldurcombe. the spot selected for this entertainment was situated under a bold line of cliffs, extending in a semicircular form for above a mile in length, and inclosing one of the most romantic of nature's variegated scenes, abounding with hill, and dale, and rich umbrageous foliage, delightfully increased by the inspiring freshness of the sea breeze, and the unbroken view of the channel in front, and ~ ~~rendered still more attractive and picturesque by the numerous tents and temporary pavilions which had been erected for the accommodation of the visitors, spreading over a line of ground like an encampment in the pyrenees, a similitude of feature that was more powerfully increased when the well-concerted echo of the signal bugles resounded from hill to hill, and the cannon's loud report, from the battery beneath, reverberating through the surrounding hill and dale, proclaimed for many a mile the gladsome tidings of the approach of royalty. the scene was, beyond description, magnificent; the assemblage of fashionables included a long list of noble and distinguished persons, who, on the approach of the duke and duchess, congregated upon an eminence, immediately opposite the entrance to the lawn, and by their loyal cheers, and smiles, and birthday suits, gave honest welcome to their monarch's brother, and in the fulness of their hearty zeal, paid a grateful tribute to their absent king. the ungenial state of the morning's weather had prevented many of the yachts from coming round, but a few jolly hearts had weathered the needles, and displayed their loyalty by decorating their vessels with all the colours of all the nations of the world. at an appointed signal the tents were thrown open, and the royal party having retired to the pavilion, the company sat down to an entertainment, where a profusion of choice wines and viands covered the extended line; then commenced the interchange of bright eyes and soft sayings, and the rosy blush of maiden beauty tinged the cheek of many a sylphic form as the accomplished beau challenged the fair to wine with him, and many a heart from that day's sportive scene shall date the first impression of the soveieign passion which blends with life's red current all of happiness or misery here below. the repast over, the company again met the royal party and promenaded on the lawn, and while thus ~ ~~engaged, a new delight was prepared for them--a scene not less congenial than peculiar to the english character, and one which may well uplift that honest pride of country which ever animates a briton's heart. the tables being again replenished, the peasantry of the surrounding districts were admitted and regaled with unrestricted hospitality. and round the gay board cheerful industry shone, in a pureness and brightness to wealth oft unknown; 'twas a feast where a monarch might wish to preside, for the cottager's comfort's his country's pride; and benevolence smiled on the heart-moving scene, and music and beauty enlivened the green, while the labourer, gratefully raising the glass, gave his king, then his donor, his dame, and his lass. the commodore's liberality is proverbial; he had sold his old yacht, the falcon, and the new vessel was not likely to be launched this season, yet he would not forego the pleasure of a grand fête, and as it could not be given on board his own ship, according to annual custom, he seized upon this opportunity of the royal visit to unite loyalty and friendship under one banner, and it must be recorded, that he displayed an excellence of arrangement which left no wish ungratified. an excursion round the island, sailing in a westerly direction, is one of most delightful amusement to a lover of the picturesque; the circuit is nearly eighty miles, every where presenting new features of the most beautiful variety and romantic scenery, a voyage we made in the rover in about eight hours. clearing sconce point, which is the first object worthy notice from cowes, you perceive the cottage, battery, and residence of captain farrington on the rise of the hill, and beyond are gurnet and harness bays closely succeeding one another, the shores above being well diversified with foliage and richly cultivated grounds. from this station the coast gradually sinks towards newtown river, where the luxuriant woods of swainton are perceived rising in the distance, crowned by ~ ~~shalfleet church and a rich country as far as calbourne, the landscape bounded by a range of downs which stretch to the extremity of the island. the coast at hamsted, the farm estate of john nash, esq. presents a very bold outline, and approaching yarmouth, which has all the appearance of an ancient french fort, the view of the opposite point, called norton, is very picturesque, presenting a well-wooded promontory, adorned with numerous elegant residences; from this spot the coast begins to assume a very bold, but sterile aspect, composed of steep rugged slopes, and dull-coloured earthy cliffs, till the attention of the voyager is suddenly arrested by the first view of the needle rocks, situate at the termination of a noble promontory called freshwater cliffs, which extend along a line of nearly three miles, and at a part called mainbench are six hundred feet above the sea level, in some places perpendicular, and in others overhanging the ocean in a most terrific manner; at the extreme point, or needles, is the light-house, where the view of the bays and cliffs beneath is beyond description awfully sublime, and the precipices being covered with myriads of sea-fowl of all description, who breed in the crannies of the rocks, if called into action by the report of a gun fill the air with screams and cries of most appalling import; the grandeur of the scene being much increased by the singularly majestic appearance of the needle rocks, rearing their craggy heads above the ocean, and giving an awful impression of the storms and convulsions which must have shaken and devoured this once enormous mass. their present form bears no resemblance to their name, which was derived from a spiral rock, about one hundred and twenty feet high, that fell in the year , and left the present fragments of its grandeur to moulder away, like the base of some proud column of antiquity. on the opposite coast is hurst castle, a circular fort, built by henry ~ ~~the eighth; and on the north side of the promontory is alum bay, the most beautiful and unique feature of the sea cliffs of albion. for about a quarter of a mile from the needles the precipice is one entire glare of white chalk, which curves round to, and is joined by a most extraordinary mixture of vertical strata, composed of coloured sands and ocherous earths blending into every variety of tint, and so vivid and beautiful in colour, that they have been not unfrequently compared to the prismatic hues of the rainbow. it was on this spot the fomone, a frigate of fifty guns, returning home, after an absence of three years, with some persian princes on board, in june, , struck upon the rocks and went to pieces: the appearance of a wreck, in such an extraordinary situation, must have formed a combination of grand materials for the painter, that would be truly sublime. at saint catherine's, in the cliffs, is the gloomy ravine called blackgang chine, which should be visited by the traveller at sunset, when the depth of shade materially increases the savage grandeur of its stupendous and terrific effect. tradition reports, that the awful chasm beneath was formerly the retreat of a gang of pirates, from which it derived its name. the total absence of vegetation, and the dusky hue of the soil, combined with the obvious appearance of constant decay, the dismembered fragments, and the streamlet to which it owes its origin, falling perpendicularly over a ledge of hard rock from above seventy feet high, producing a wild echo in the cavity beneath, all conspire to render it the most striking and astonishing of nature's wildest works. the view off the sand rock presents the tasteful marine villas of sir willoughby gordon and mrs. arnold, whose well-cultivated grounds and rich plantations reach down to the sea shore. saint lawrence brings to view the romantic cottage of lord yarborough, succeeded by steep hill, the lovely retreat of the late earl dysart; ~ ~~the romantic flank of saint boniface down, and in the distance the fairy land of bonchurch, whose enchanting prospects and picturesque scenery have so often called forth the varied powers of the painter and the poet, where sportive nature, clothed in her gayest vest, presents a diversified landscape, abounding with all the delightful combinations of rural scenery, of rich groves, and dells, and meads of green, and rocks, and rising grounds; streams edged with osiers, and the lowing herd spread over the luxuriant land. as you approach east end, you perceive an extensive scene of devastation, caused by the frequent landslips near to luccombe chine, and the romantic chasm of shanklin, from which spot sandown comes next in view, and sailing under the towering culver cliffs we arrive at the eastern extremity of the island. at bimbridge a very dangerous ledge spreads out into the sea, and gaining brading haven the old church tower of saint helen's proclaims you are fast gaining upon that delightful watering-place, the town of ryde, whose picturesque pier, shooting forth into the ocean, and covered with groups of elegant visitors, forms an object of the most pleasing description. from this point the whole line of coast to cowes wears a rich and highly-cultivated appearance, being divided into wood, arable, and pasture lands, diversified by the villas of earl spencer, mr. g. player, and mr. fleming, when, having passed wooten creek, the next object is norris castle; and now, having cleared the point, you are once more landed in safety at the vine key, and my old friend, mrs. harrington, whose pleasant countenance, obliging manners, and good accommodation, are the universal theme of every traveller's praise, has already made her best curtsy to welcome you back to cowes. the regatta was, indeed, a glorious scene, when the harbour was literally filled with a forest of masts and streamers, the vessels of the royal yacht ~ ~~club spread forth their milk white canvas to the gale, many of those who were riding at anchor being decorated from head to stem, over-mast, with the signal colours of most of the squadron and the ensigns of the different nations. on the shore, and round the castle battery, the congregated groups of lovely females traversed to and fro, and the witchery of blight eyes and beauteous faces upon the manly hearts of the sons of neptune must have been magically triumphant. the pearl beat the arrow, and the julia the liberty,--thus equalizing the victory between the contending parties. the procession of the pilot boats, about forty in number, was a very animated scene; and in the sailing match of the succeeding day, our little craft, the rover, came in second, and received the awarded prize. the race ball at east cowes gave the young and fair another opportunity of riveting their suitors' chains, and the revels of terpsichore were kept up with spirit until the streaking blush of golden morn shone through the dusky veil which hecate spreads around the couch of drowsy night. but the day of parting was at hand; the last amusement of the time was a match made between captain lyon and a mr. davey, of london, to sail their respective yachts, the queen mab and the don giovanni, upon the challenge of the last mentioned, a stipulated distance, for a sum of two hundred guineas--an affair which did not, to use a sporting phrase, _come off well_, for the don most ungallantly refused to meet his fair opponent; and being wofully depressed in spirits, either from apprehension of defeat, or sea sickness, or some such fresh water fears, the little queen was compelled to sail over the course alone to claim the reward of her victory. and now the sports of the season being brought to a conclusion, and the rough note of old boreas and the angry groanings of father neptune giving token of approaching storms, i bade farewell to vectis, my ~ ~~friend horace transporting me in his yacht to southampton water. reader, if i should appear somewhat prolix in my descriptions, take a tour yourself to the island, visit the delightful scenery with which it abounds, participate in the aquatic excursions of the place, and meet, as i have done, with social friends, and kind hearts, and lovely forms, and your own delightful feelings will be my excuse for extending my notice somewhat beyond my usual sketchy style. farewell to vectis. blest isle, fare thee well! land of pleasure and peace, may the beaux and the belles on thy shores still increase: how oft shall my spirit, by absence opprest, revisit thy scenes, and in fancy be blest, in the magic of slumber still sport on thy wave, and dream of delights that i waken to crave. farewell, merry hearts! fare ye well, social friends! adieu! see the rover her canvas unbends; land of all that is lovely for painting or verse, farewell! ere in distance thy beauties disperse, now calshot is passed, now receding from view, once more, happy vectis, a long, last adieu. [illustration: page ] portsmouth in time of peace. ~ ~~ where now are the frolicsome care-killing souls, with their girls and their fiddlers, their dances and bowls? where now are the blue jackets, once on our shore the promoters of merriment, spending their store? where now are our tars in these dull piping times? laid up like old hulks, or enlisted in climes where the struggle for liberty calls on the brave, the peruvians, the greeks, or brazilians to save from the yoke of oppression--there, britons are found dealing death and destruction to tyrants around; for wherever our tars rear the banner of fame, they are still the victorious sons of the main. a trip to portsmouth on board the medina steam-boat--the change from war to peace--its consequences--the portsmouth greys--the man of war's man--tom tackle and his shipmate-- lamentation of a tar--the hero cochrane--an old acquaintance--reminiscences of the past--sketches of point- street and gosport beach--naval anecdotes--"a man's like a ship on the ocean of life." "bear a hand, old fellow!" said horace eglantine one morning, coming down the companion hatchway of the rover: "if you have any mind for a land-cruise, let us make portsmouth to-day on board the steamer, while our yacht goes up the harbour to get her copper polished and her rigging overhauled." in earlier days, while yet the light-heartedness of youth ~ ~~and active curiosity excited my boyish spirit, i had visited portsmouth, and the recollection of the scenes i then witnessed was still fresh upon my memory. the olive-branch of peace now waved over the land of my fathers; and while the internal state of the country, benefited by its healing balm, flourished, revived, invigorated and prosperous, portsmouth and gosport, and such like sea-ports, were almost deserted, and the active bustle and variety which but now reigned among their inhabitants had given way to desolation and abandonment: at least such was the account i had received from recent visitors. i was, therefore, anxious from observation to compare the present with the past; and, with this view, readily met the invitation of my friend horace eglantine. the voyage from cowes to portsmouth on board the steam-boat, performed, as it now is, with certainty, in about an hour and a half, is a delightful excursion; and the appearance of the entrance to the harbour from sea, a most picturesque and imposing scene. the fortifications, which are considered the most complete in the world, stretching from east to west, on either side command the sea far as the cannons' power can reach. nor is the harbour less attractive, flanked on each side by the towns of gosport and portsmouth, and filled with every description of vessel from the flag-ship of england's immortal hero, nelson, which is here moored in the centre, a monument of past glory, to the small craft of the trader, and the more humble ferry-boat of the incessant applicant, who plys the passenger with his eternal note of "common hard, your honour." one of my companions on board the medina was an old man of war's man, whose visage, something of the colour and hardness of dried salmon, sufficiently indicated that the possessor had weathered many a trying gale, and was familiar with all the vicissitudes of the mighty deep. with the habitual roughness of ~ ~~his manners was combined a singular degree of intelligence, and he evinced a disposition to be communicative, of which i found it very agreeable to avail myself. on approaching the harbour, my attention was arrested by the sight of a number of boats rowed by men arrayed in a grotesque uniform of speckled jackets, whose freights, to judge from appearances, must have been of no common weight, as the rowers seemed compelled to use a degree of exertion little inferior to that employed by galley-slaves. i inquired of my nautical mentor who these men were, and in what description of service they were occupied. "them, master," replied he, releasing the quid from his mouth, and looking with his weather-eye unutterable things; "they are the _portsmouth greys_." my countenance spoke plainly enough that this reply had by no means made me _au fait_ to the subject of my question, and my informant accordingly proceeded--"shiver my timbers, mate, they are as rum a set, them boat's crews, as ever pulled an oar--chaps as the public keeps out of their own pocket for the public good; and it's been but just a slip, as one may say, between the cup and the lip, as has saved a good many on 'em from being run up to the yard-arm. some on 'em forgot to return things as they _found_ rather too easy, and some, instead of writing their own name, _by mistake_ wrote somebody's else's; so government sent 'em here, at its own charge, to finish their _edication_. you see the _floating academy_ as is kept a purpose for 'em," said he, pointing to the receiving-hulk for the convicts at this station, which was lying in the harbour: "them as is rowing in the boats," added the talkative seaman, "has been a getting stones, and ballast, and such like, for the repairs of the harbour; they does all the rough and dirty jobs as is to be done about the works and place--indeed, we calls 'em the _port admiral's skippers_." i now fully understood the import of the term _portsmouth greys_, which had before been an enigma to ~ ~~me; and comprehended that the unhappy beings before me were of the ill-fated children of suff'ring and sin, with conscience reproaching and sorrow within; bosoms that mis'ry and guilt could not sever, hearts that were blighted and broken for ever: where each, to some vice or vile passion a slave, shared the wreck of the mind, and the spirit's young grave. whose brief hist'ry of life, ere attain'd to its prime, unfolded a volume of madness and crime, such as leaves on the forehead of manhood a stain which tears over shed seek to blot out in vain; a stain which as long as existence will last, embitt'ring the future with thoughts of the past. i might have indulged much longer in these reflections, but my musing mood was interrupted by the medina reaching her destination, and we disembarked safely at portsmouth point. [illustration: page ] on landing, the worthy veteran, who had, by his confabulation during the voyage, claimed, in his own opinion, a right of becoming my companion for a time, a privilege which, in such a scene, and at such a place, it will easily be believed i was not averse from granting him, proceeded along with me _carpere iter comités parati_, up point street, and at one of the turnings my friend made a sudden stop. "my eyes!" he exclaimed, "may i perish, but that is my old messmate, tom tackle. many's the can of flip we've scuttled while on board the _leander_ frigate together; and when we were obliged to part convoy and go on board different ships, there was above a little matter of brine about both our eyes." at this moment tom tackle came up with us: the warmth of affection with which his old shipmate had spoken of him had interested me not a little in his favour, and his mutilated frame spoke volumes in behalf of the gallantry he had displayed in the service of his country. one eye was entirely ~ ~~lost; one coat-sleeve hung armless by his side; and one vanished leg had its place superseded by a wooden substitute. i gazed upon the "unfortunate brave" with mingled pity and veneration; yet, so true is the observation of the ancient, "_res sunt humanæ flobilo ludibrium_" that is, human feelings and affairs are a singular compound of the ludicrous and the lamentable, that i could not avoid giving way to my mercurial disposition, and congratulating my fellow-voyager on the ease with which he had recognized his old comrade by his present remaining half. "lord help your honour!" said he, "a seaman's weather-gauge is made for squalls--foul weather or fair--in stays or out of trim--sailing all right before the wind, or coming up under jury-masts; he's no tar that cannot make out an old friend at a cable's length, and bring to without waiting for signals of distress. shiver my timbers, if i should not know my old messmate here while there's a timber rib left in his hulk, or a shoulder-boom to hang a blue jacket on. but, my toplights, tom!" continued he, "where's all the girls, and the tiddlers, and the jews, and bumboat-women that used to crowd all sail to pick up a spare hand ashore? not a shark have i seen in the harbour, and all the old grog-shops with their foul-weather battens up and colours half-mast." "all in mourning for mr. nap, shipmate," said tom; "we've had no fun here since they cooped him up on board the bellerophon, and stowed him away at st. helena. all the jews have cut and run, and all the bumboat-women retired upon their fortunes; the poor landlords are most of them in the bilboes at winchester: and as for a pretty girl--whew!--not such an article to be had at point now, either for love or money: and all this comes of the peace--shiver my odd forelight! mate, if it lasts much longer, it will be the ruin of the navy. ~ ~~~how i long to hear the sound of the boatswain's whistle once more! 'up hammocks, boys--clear the decks, and prepare for action! 'that's the way to live and be merry; then the music of a good broadside pouring into an enemy's under-works, and cutting her slap in two between wind and water--that's glory, my christian! may i never taste grog again, if we are not all ruined by the peace. there's only one fighting fellow left of the old stock of commanders, and they have turned him out of the navy lest he should infect the psalm-singers. look out a-head there, shipmate; d'ye see that fine frigate, the peranga, now lying oft' spithead, and can you ever forget basque roads and the gallant cochrane? i just got a glimpse of his figure head t'other morning, coming up point here; so i hauled to and threw my shattered hulk slap across his headway, lowering my top-gallants as i passed round under his bows. 'officer,' said he, 'you and i should know one another, methinks.' 'success attend your honour,' said i; 'do you remember your master-gunner when you captured the spanish galleon, who carried away a spar or two in the action?' 'what, tom tackier said he: 'heaven help thee, lad! i'd give the bounty of a good boat's crew if i could put you into sailing-trim and commission again; but here, officer, is something to drink to old acquaintance with, and if you can find your way on board the peranga to-morrow, i'll take care they don't throw you over the ship's side before you have had a skinfull of grog: 'so seizing fast hold of my single tin with both his grappling-irons, i thought he would have shook it out of the goose-neck at parting; and when i went on board next day, he treated me like a port-admiral, and sent me on shore with every cranny well-filled, from my beef-tub to my grog-bucket, and put a little more of the right sort o' stuff" in my jacket pockets to pay harbour dues with. that's the commander for me! and now i hear, after having taken ~ ~~and destroyed all the spanish king's navy, he's off to give the grand signor a taste of his quality. my forelights! how i should like to see him with his double rows of grinders wide open, bearing down upon a whole fleet of mussulmen--there'd be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing o' teeth among the turks! i wouldn't give my wooden pin for the whole of the grand sultan's flotilla. but come, shipmate, may i never want 'bacca, if we don't drink his health, and that 'ere gemman you've taken in tow shall join us, if he likes." i was too much amused to desire to part company just yet, and the good-humoured tars perceiving my bent, linked themselves to each arm, and in this way, laughing at the curiosity we provoked, did our party reach the middle of point-street, and brought ourselves to anchor under the head of old admiral benbow, where tom assured us we should be supplied with the best of grog and ship-stores of the first quality. horace had proceeded to escort some ladies, whom he met with on board the steamboat, to the house of a friend in the high-street, where i had appointed to meet him in the space of an hour. sitting myself down therefore with my two jovial associates, i determined to humour the frolic which had brought me into the society of such eccentric characters. "shiver my timbers! jem," said the one-legged mariner, "but you never make any inquiries after betsy bluff, among your other old friends. it's true, the wench has got spliced again, to be sure; but then, you know, she waited three years, and had the log-books overhauled first." "ay, ay, tom, so they say she did; but i never believed 'em: howsomedever, that wasn't the worst of it; for having got my will and my power in her possession, she drew all my pay and prize-money, and when at last i got home from an enemy's keeping, i had not a shot left in the locker to keep myself. but the mischief did not end even there, for she disgraced me, ~ ~~and the british flag, by marrying a half-starved tailor, and setting him up in the sally port with the money that i had been fighting the enemies of my country for. may i never get groggy again, if i couldn't have forgiven her freely if she'd taken some honest-hearted fellow, like yourself, in tow, who had got disabled in the service, or consorted with a true man of war's man, all right and tight; but to go and lash herself alongside of such a crazy land lubber as this ninth degree of manhood--may i never taste 'bacca again if bet's conduct is bearable! she's no wife of mine, tom; and when i go to pieces, a wreck in this world, may i be bolted into old belzy's caboose if she shall be a copper fastening the better for jem buntline!" during the recital of this story the countenance of the old tar assumed a fiery glow of honest indignation, and when he had finished the tale, his fore lights gave evident signs that his heart had been long beating about in stormy restlessness at the remembrance of his wife's unfaithfulness. "cheer up, messmate," said tom; "i see how the land lies. come, fill your pipe, and i'll sing you the old stave i used to chant on saturday nights, when we messed together on board the leander. a man's like a ship on the ocean of life, the sport both of fair and foul weather, where storms of misfortune, and quicksands of strife, and clouds of adversity gather. if he steers by the compass of honour, he'll find, no matter what latitude meets him, a welcome in every port to his mind, and a friend ever ready to greet him. if love takes the helm in an amorous gale, of the rocks of deception beware, steer fairly for port, and let reason prevail, and you're thus sure to conquer the fair. for the bay of deceit keep a steady look out, steer clear of the shoals of distress, ~ ~~ yet ever be ready to tack and about when the black waves of misery press. like a vessel, digest out in all colours, d'ye see, are the virtues and vices of life: blue and red are the symbols of friendship and glee, white and black of ill-humour and strife. true worth, like true honour, is born of no clime, but known by true courage and feeling, where power and pity in unison chime, and the heart is above double dealing." [illustration: page ] "ay, tom, now you're on the right tack--a good song, and a jovial friend, and let the marines blubber about love and lullaby, it'll never do for the sailors. as we are overhauling old friends, do you remember charley capstan, the coxswain's mate of the leander v "shiver my timbers, but i do; and a bit of tough yarn he was, too: hard as old junk without, and soft as captain's coop meat within. wasn't i one of the crew that convoyed him up this very street when returning from a cruise off the straits, we heard that charley's old uncle had slipt his cable, and left him cash enough to buy out and build a ship of his own? that was a gala, messmate! there was charley, a little fat porpoise, as round as a nine-pounder, mounted on an eighteen gallon cask of the real jamaica, lashed to a couple of oars, and riding astride, on his messmates' shoulders, up to the point. then such a jolly boat's crew attended him, rigged out with bran new slops, and shiners on their topmasts, with the leander painted in front, and half a dozen fiddlers scraping away 'jack's alive,' and all the girls decked out in their dancing dresses, with streamers flying about their top-gallants, and loose nettings over their breastworks--that was a gala, messmate! and didn't charley treat all point to the play that night, and engage the whole of the gallery cabin for his own friends' accommodation; and when the reefers in the hold turned saucy, didn't you and two or three more ~ ~~drop down upon 'em, and having shook the wind out of their sails, run up the main haliards again, without working round by the gangway?" "right, tom, right; and don't you remember the illumination, when we stuck up ten pound of lighted candles round the rim of the gallery before the play began, and when jane shore was in the midst of her grief, charley gave the signal, and away they went, like a file of marines from a double broadside, right and left, tumbling about the ears of the reefers and land lubbers in the chicken coops below? those were the days of glory, messmate, when old jack junk, who had never seen a play before, took it all for right down arnest matter o' fact; and when poor mrs. shore came to ask charity of that false-hearted friend of hers, what was jealous of her, and fell down at the door, overcome by grief and hunger, poor jack couldn't stand it no longer; so after suffering the brine to burst through the floodgates of his heart, till he was as blind as our chaplain to sin, he jumped up all at once, and made for the offing, blubbering as he went, 'may i be blistered, if ever i come to see such cruel stuff as this again!' then didn't stephen collins, and kelly, and maxfield, the three managers, come upon deck, and drink success to the leander's crew, out of a bucket of grog we had up for the purpose, and the ould mare of portsmouth sent his compliments to us, begging us not to break our own necks or set fire to the playhouse? another glass, jem, to the crew of the leander: don't you remember the ducking ould mother macguire, the bum-boat woman, received, for bringing paw-paw articles on board, when we came in to refit?" "may i never want 'bacca, if i shall ever forget that old she crocodile! wasn't it her that brought that sea-dragon, bet bluff, on board, and persuaded me to be spliced to her? shiver her timbers for it!" "avast there! messmate," said tom: "when you ~ ~~can't skuttle an enemy, it's best to sail right away from her hulk before she blows up and disables her conqueror. may i never get groggy, if i shall ever forget the joke between you and the old sheenie, when you threatened to throw him overboard for selling you a dumb time-keeper. 'blesh ma heart,' said the jew, while his under works shook like a cutter's foresail going about, 'how could you expect de vatch to go well, ven de ship vas all in confushion?' an excuse that saved him from sailing ashore in a skuttle-bucket." "have you weathered gosport lately?" inquired jem: "there used to be a little matter of joviality going forward there upon the beach in war time, but i suppose it's all calm enough now." "all ruined by the peace; and all that glorious collection of the kings and queens of england, and her admirals and heroes, which used to swing to and fro in the wind, when every house upon the beach was a grog-shop, are past, vanished, or hanging like pirates in tatters; the sound of a fiddle never reaches their ears; and the parlour-floors, where we used to dance and sing till all was blue, are now as smooth and as clean as the decks of lord nelson's flag ship, the victory, which lies moored in our harbour, like a greenwich pensioner, anchored in quiet, to drop to pieces with old age. you may fire a nine-pounder up the principal street at noon-day now and not hurt any body; and if the peace lasts much longer, horses may graze in their roads, and persons receive pensions for inhabiting the vacant houses." the period within which i had promised to join horace eglantine had now elapsed. it was no easy task to separate myself from my nautical friends, and the amusement they had afforded me demanded some acknowledgment in return; calling, therefore, for a full bowl of punch, we drank success to the british navy, toasted wives and sweethearts, honoured our gracious king, shook ~ ~~hands at parting, like old friends, and having promised to renew my acquaintance before i left portsmouth, i bade adieu to jolly jem buntline and what remained of his noble messmate, the lion-hearted tom tackle. [illustration: page ] evening, and in high spirits. a scene at long's hotel. ~ ~~ sketches of character--fashionable notorieties--modern philosophy--the man of genius and the buck--"a short life and a merry one "--a short essay on--john longs--long corks --long bills--long credits--long-winded customers--the ancients and the moderns, a contrast by old crony. ye bucks who in manners, dress, fashion, and shiny, so often have hail'd me as lord of your gang-- "o lend me your ears!" whilst i deign to relate the cause of my splendour, the way to be great; my own chequered life condescend to unfold, and give a receipt of more value than gold; reveal t' ye the spot where the graces all dwell, and point out the path like myself to excel. --pursuits of fashion. only contrive to obtain the character of an eccentric, and you may ride the _free horse_ round the circle of your acquaintance for the remainder of your life. if my readers are not by this time fully satisfied of my peculiar claims to the appellation of an _oddity_, i have no hopes of obtaining pardon for the past whims and fancies of a volatile muse, or anticipating patronage for the future wanderings of a restless and inquisitive humorist. but my bookseller, a steady, persevering, inflexible sort of personage, whose habits of business are as rigid as a citizen of the last century, or a puritan of the cromwell commonwealth, has lately suffered the marble muscles of his frigid countenance to unbend with a sort of mechanical ~ ~~inclination to an expression of--what shall i say--lib--lib--liberality; no, no, that will never do for a bookseller--graciousness--ay, that's a better phrase for the purpose; more characteristic of his manner, and more congenial to my own feelings. well, to be plain then, whenever a young author can pass through an interview with the headman of the firm without hearing any thing in the shape of melancholy musings, serious disappointments, large numbers on hand, doubtful speculation, and such like pleasant innuendoes, he may rest satisfied that his book is selling well, and his publisher realizing a fair proportion of profit for his adventurous spirit. i am just now enjoying that pleasant gratification, the reflection of having added to my own comforts without having detracted from the happiness of others. in short, my scheme improves with every fresh essay, and my friend bob transit, who has just joined me in a bottle of iced claret at long's, has been for some minutes busily engaged in booking mine host and his exhibits; while i, under pretence of writing a letter, have been penning this introduction to a chapter on fashion and its follies, annexing thereunto a few notes of characters, that may serve to illustrate that resort of all that is exquisite and superlative in the annals of high ton. "evening, and in high spirits," --a scene worthy of the acknowledged talent of the artist, and full of fearful and instructive narrative for the pen of the english spy. seated snugly in one corner of long's new and splendid coffee-room, we had resolved on our entering to depart early; but the society we had the good fortune to be afterwards associated with might have tempted stronger heads than those of either bob transit the artist, or bernard blackmantle the moralist. [illustration: page ] "waiter, bring another bottle of iced claret, and tell long to book it to the king's lieutenant." "by the honour of my ancestry," said the honourable lillyman lionise, "but i am devilishly cut already." ~ ~~"you do well, mighty well, sir, to swear by the honour of your ancestors; for very few of your modern stars have a ray of that same meteoric light to illumine their own milky way." "that flash of your wit, lieutenant, comes upon one like the electric shock of an intended insult, and i must expect you will apologize." "then i fear, young valiant, you will die of the disease that has killed more brave men than the last twenty years' war." "and what is that, sir, may i ask?" "expectation, my jewel! i've breakfasted, dined, supped, and slept upon it for the last half century, and am not one step higher in the army list yet." "but, lieutenant, let me observe that--that--" "that we are both pretty nigh bosky, and should not therefore be too fastidious in our jokes over the bottle." enter waiter. "the claret, gentlemen. mr. long's compliments, and he requests permission to assure you that it is some of the late duke of queensberry's choice stock, marked a one." "which signifies, according to long's edition of cocker, that we must pay double for the liqueur. come, lionise, fill a bumper; and let us tails of the lion toast our caput, the sovereign, the first corinthian of his day, and the most polished prince in the world." "tiger, tiger,"{ } ejaculated a soft voice in the adjoining box; "ask tom who the trumps are in the next stall, and if they are known here, tell them the honourable thomas optimus fills a bumper to their last toast." since the death of the earl of barrymore, tom has succeeded to the "vacant chair" at long's; nor is the tiger mercury the only point in which he closely resembles his great prototype. ~ ~~a smart, clever-looking boy of about fifteen years of age darted forward to execute the honourable's commands; when having received the requisite information from the waiter, he approached the lieutenant and his friend, and with great politeness, but no lack of confidence, made the wishes of his master known to the _bon vivants_; the consequence was, an immediate interchange of civilities, which brought the honourable into close contact with his merry neighbours; and the result, a unanimous resolution to make a night of it. at this moment our _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the appearance of old crony, who, stanch as a well-trained pointer to the scent of game, had tracked me hither from my lodgings; from him i learned the lieutenant was a fellow of infinite jest and sterling worth; a descendant of the o'farellans of tipperary, whose ancestry claimed precedence of king bryan baroch; a specimen of the antique in his composition, robust, gigantic, and courageous; time and intestine troubles had impaired the fortunes of his house, but the family character remained untainted amid the conflicting revolutions that had convulsed the emerald isle. enough, however, was left to render the lieutenant independent of his military expectations: he had joined the army when young; seen service and the world in many climates; but the natural uncompromising spirit which distinguished him, partaking perhaps something too much of the pride of ancestry, had hitherto prevented his soliciting the promotion he was fairly entitled to. like a majority of his countrymen, he was cold and sententious as a laplander when sober, and warm and volatile as a frenchman when in his cups; half a dozen duels had been the natural consequence of an equal number of intrigues; but although the scars of honour had seared his manly countenance, his heart and person were yet devoted to the service of the ladies. fame had trumpeted forth his prowess in the wars of ~ ~~venus, until notoriety had marked him out an object of general remark, and the king's lieutenant was as proud of the myrtle-wreath as the hero of waterloo might be of the laurel crown. but see, the door opens; how perfumed, what style! long bows to the earth. what an exquisite smile! such a coffee-house visitor banishes pain: while optimus rising, cries "welcome, joe hayne! may you never want cash, boy--here, waiter, a glass; lieutenant, you'll join us in toasting a lass. i'll give you an actress--maria the fair." "i'll drink her; but, tom, you have ruined me there. by my hopes! i am blown, cut, floor'd, and rejected, at the critical moment, sirs, when i expected to revel in bliss. but, here's white-headed bob, my prime minister; he shall unravel the job. and if jackson determines you've not acted well, i'll mill you, tom optimus, though you're a swell." "sit down, joe; be jolly--'twas carter alone that has every obstacle in your way thrown. nay, never despair, man--you'll yet be her liege; but rally again, boy, you'll carry the siege." thus quieted, joe sat him down to get mellow; for joe at the bottom's a hearty good fellow. "have you heard the report," said optimus, "that harborough is actually about to follow your example, and marry an actress? ay, and his old flame, mrs. stonyhewer, is ready to die of love and a broken heart in consequence." "just as true, my jewel, as that i shall be gazetted field-marshal; or that you, mr. optimus, will be accused of faithfulness to lady emily. our young friend here, the rich commoner, has given currency to such a variety of common reports, that the false jade grows bold enough to beard us in our very teeth." "why, zounds! lieutenant," said lionise, "how very sentimental you are becoming." "it's a way of mine, jewel, to appear singular in some sort of society." ~ ~~"and satirical in all, i'll vouch for you, lieutenant;" said optimus. "by jasus, you've hit it! if truth be satire, it's a language i love, although it's not very savoury to some palates." "will the duke marry the banker's widow, joel that's the grand question at tattersall's, now your match with maria's off, and earl rivers's greyhounds are disposed of. only give me the office, boy, in that particular, and i'll give you a company to-morrow, if money will purchase one; and realize a handsome fortune by betting on the event." "then i'll bet cox and greenwood's cash account against the commander-in-chief's, that the widow marries a beau-clerc, becomes in due time duchess of st. alban's, and dies without issue, leaving her immense property as a charitable bequest to enrich a poor dukedom; and thus, having in earlier life degraded one part of the peerage, make amends to the butes, the guildfords, and the burdetts, by a last redeeming act to another branch of the aristocracy." "at it again, lieutenant; firing ricochet shot, and knocking down duck and drake at the same time." "sure, that has been the great amusement of my life; in battle and abroad i have contrived to knock down my share of the male enemies of my country; in peace and at home i've a mighty pleasant knack of winging a few female bush fighters." "but the widow, my dear fellow, is now a woman of high { } character; has not the moral marquis of hertford undertaken to remove all ------and disabilities? and did he not introduce the lady to the fashionable world at his own hotel, the piccadilly (peccadillo) guildhall? was not the fête at holly grove attended by h.r.h. the duke of york, and mrs. c--y, and all the virtuous portion of our nobility? and has she not since been admitted to the parties at the duke of "query--did mr. optimus mean _high_ as game is _high_? ~ ~~devonshire's, and what is still more wonderful, been permitted to appear at court, and since, in the royal presence, piously introduced to the whole bench of bishops?" "by jasus, that's true; and i beg belle harriette's pardon. but, i well remember, i commanded the cityguard in the old corn-market, dublin, on the very night her reputed father, jolly jack kinnear, as the rebels called him, contrived to wish us good morning very suddenly, and took himself off to the sate of government." i shall be obliged to entertain the world with a few of her eccentricities some day or other; the ghost of poor ralph wewitzer cries loudly for revenge. the sapient police knight, when he _secured the box of letters_ for his patroness, little suspected that they had all been _previously copied_ by lieutenant terence o'farellan of the king's own. a mighty inquisitive sort of a personage, who will try his art to do her justice, spite of "leather or prunella." the party was at this moment increased by the arrival of lord william, on whose friendly arm reposed the berkley adonis--"_par nobile fratrum_." "give me leave, lieutenant," said his lordship, "to introduce my friend the colonel." "and give me leave," whispered optimus, "to withdraw my friend hayne, for 'two suns shine not in the same hemisphere.'" "the man that makes a move in the direction of the door makes me his enemy," said the lieutenant, loudly. and the whole party were immediately seated. hitherto, my friend crony and myself had been too pleasantly occupied with the whim, wit, and anecdote of the lieutenant, to pay much attention to the individuality of character that surrounded the festive board; but, having now entered upon our second bottle, the humorist commenced his satirical sketches.-- "holding forth to the gaze of this fortunate time the extremes of the beautiful and the sublime." ~ ~~"suppose i commence with the pea-green count," said crony. "i know the boy's ambition is notoriety; and an artist who means to rise in his profession should always aim at painting first-rate portraits, well-known characters; because they are sure to excite public inquiry, thus extending the artist's fame, and securing the good opinion of his patrons by the gratification of their unlimited vanity. the sketch too may be otherwise serviceable to the rising generation; the mr. greens and newcomes of the world of fashion, if they would avoid the sharks who infest the waters of pleasure, and are always on the anxious _look-up_ for a nibble at a new 'come out.' "the young exquisite's connexion with the fancy, or rather with the lowest branch of that illustrious body, the bruising fraternity and their boon companions, had been, though not an avowed, a real source of jealousy to many of his dear bosom friends at long's hotel, from the moment of the count's making his _début_, '_imberbis juvenis, tandem custode remote_,' into the fashionable world. that he would be ultimately floored by his milling _protégés_ it did not require the sagacity of a conjurer to foresee; nor was it likely that the term of such a catastrophe would be so tediously delayed, as to subject any one who might be eager to witness its arrival to that sickness of the heart which arises from hope deferred. but this process for scooping out the silver (or foote) ball, as he has since been designated, by no means suited the ideas of the worthies before alluded to. the learned scriblerus makes mention of certain _doctors_,{ } frequently seen at white's in his day, of a modest and upright appearance, with no air of overbearing, and habited like true masters of arts in black and white only. they were justly styled, says the above high authority, a cant phrase for dice, ~ ~~subtiles and graves, but not always irrefragabiles, being sometimes examined and, by a nice distinction, divided and laid open. the descendants of these doctors still exist, and have not degenerated, either in their numbers or their merits, from their predecessors. they take up their principal residence in some well-known mansions about the neighbourhood of the court, and many of the gentlemen who honoured the count with their especial notice on his _entrée_ into public life are understood to be familiarly acquainted with them. now could they have only instilled into the young gentleman a wish to be introduced to these doctors, or once prevailed upon him to take them in hand for the purpose of deciding what might be depending upon the result of the investigation; nay, could they even have spurred him on to an exhibition of his tactics, in manoeuvring 'those party-colour'd troops, a shining train, drawn forth to combat on the velvet plain;' they could have so delightfully abridged the task which to their impatient eyes appeared to be much too slow in executing, could have spared their dear friend so much unnecessary time and labour in disencumbering himself of the superfluity of worldly dross which had fallen to his share. a little _cogging, sleeving, and palming_; nay, a mere spindle judiciously planted, or a few long ones introduced on the weaving system, could have effected in one evening what fifty milling matches, considering the 'glorious uncertainty' attaching to pugilistic as well as legal contests, might fail to accomplish. by this method, too, the person in whom they kindly took so strong an interest would, even when he had lost every thing, have escaped the imputation of having dissipated his property. it would have been comfortably distributed in respectable dividends among a few gentlemen of acknowledged talent, instead of floating in air like the leaves of the ~ ~~sibyl, and alighting in various parts of the inner and outer ring; now depositing a few cool hundreds in the pockets of a sporting priestley bookseller, or the brother of a westminster abbott; now contributing a small modicum to brighten the humbler speculations of the dean-street casemen, or the battersea gardener. "but to this conclusion horatio would not come. he was good for backing and betting on pugilists, but on the turf he would do little, and at the tables nothing. his zealous friends had therefore no chance in the way they would have liked best; but being men of the world, and knowing, like gay's bear, that 'there might be picking ev'n in the carving of a chicken,' they did not disdain to make the most in their power by watching the motions of his hobby, and if this was not a sufficient prize to furnish much cause for exultation, it was at least one that it would have been unwise to reject. "a contemporary writer has exerted to the utmost the very little talent he possesses to represent the peagreen's uniform resistance to all the temptations of cards and dice, as a proof of his possessing a strength of mind and decision of character rarely found in young men of his fortune and time of life. in the elegant language of this apologist, the count, by this prudent abstinence, 'has shown himself not half so green as some supposed, and the sharps, and those who have tried on the grand mace with him, have discovered that he was no flat.' how far this negative eulogium may be gratifying to the feelings of the individual on whom it is bestowed, i will not say; in my character of english spy i have been under the necessity of carefully observing this fortunate youth, _depuis que la rose venait d'eclore_, in other words, from the time that he became, or rather might ~ ~~have become, his own master; and i should certainly not attribute his refraining from the tables to any superior strength of mind: indeed, it would be singular if such a characteristic belonged to a man whose own hired advocate could only vindicate his client's heart at the expense of his head. pope tells us, that to form a just estimate of any one's character, we must study his ruling passion; and by adopting this rule, we shall soon obtain a satisfactory clew both to the exquisite count's penchant for the prize-ring, and his aversion to the _hells_. some persons exhibit an inexplicable union of avarice and extravagance, of parsimony and prodigality--something of this kind is observable in the gentleman in question. but self predominates with him in all; and being joined to rather alow species of vanity, and a strong inclination to be what is vulgarly called _cock of the walk_, it has uniformly displayed itself in an insatiate thirst for notoriety. now pugilists, from the very nature of their profession, must be public characters; while the gamester, to the utmost of his power, does what he does 'by stealth, and blushes to find it fame.' to be the patron of some noted bruiser, to bear him to the field of action in your travelling barouche, accompanied by tom crib the xx champion, tom spring the x champion, jack langan and tom cannon the would-be champions, and lily white richmond, is sure to make your name as notorious, though perhaps not much more reputable, than those of your associates; but the man who, like 'the youth that fired the ephesian dome,' aims at celebrity alone, in frequenting the purlieus of the gaming-house only 'wastes his sweetness on the desert air.' moreover, the members of the ebony clubs being compelled to assume the appearance, and adopt the manners, insensibly imbibe too much of the feelings of gentlemen, to be likely to pay, to the most passive _pigeon_ that ever submitted to _rooking_, the cap in hand homage rendered by a ~ ~~practitioner within the pins and binders of the prize-ring to the swell who takes five pounds worth of benefit tickets, or stands a fifty in the stakes for a milling match. "these motives seem to me sufficient to have prompted the count's predominating attachment to the prize-ring and its heroes, which, however, having as i have before remarked, been viewed with no favourable eye by some of his comrades, his recent ill-luck at warwick could hardly be expected to escape the jests and sarcasms of his bottle companions." "'fore god," said optimus, "this backing of your man against the black diamond has been but a bad spec. out heavyish i suppose, ay, joe?" count. why, a stiffish bout, i must confess; and what's more, i'm not by any means without my suspicions about the correctness of the thing. optimus. what, cross and jostle work again? a second edition of virginia water? but i thought you felt assured that cannon would not do wrong for the wealth of windsor castle? count. true, i did feel so, and others confirmed me in my assurance, but i believe i was wofully mistaken; and curse me if i don't think they were all in the concern of doing me. optimus. was not there a floating report about the bargeman receiving a thousand to throw it over? count. something of the sort; but don't believe it. two bills for five hundred, but so drawn that they could not be negotiated. i shall certainly, said the count, give notice to the stake-holders not to give up the battle-money for the present. optimus. pshaw! that will never do. a thing of that nature must be done at the time. besides, cannon stood two hundred in his own money, and says he will freely pay his losses. count. a pretty do that, when he had a cheque ~ ~~of mine for the sum he put down. but i've stopped payment of that at my banker's. optimus. and will as surely be obliged to revoke that order, as well as to give up disputing the stakes. no, no, joe; get out of the business now as you can, and cut it. i always thought and told you, that i thought your man had no chance. but his going to fight so out of condition, in a contest where all his physical powers were necessary, does look as if you had been put in for a piece of ready made luck. but what could you expect? can any good thing come out of nazareth? that a gentleman can patronize such fellows! count. i am still of opinion that the spirit of national courage is much promoted-------- optimus. spirit of a fiddle-stick! nonsense, man; that card will win no trick now. you, like others might have thought so once; but you have seen enough by this time to know that the system is on altogether a different tack; that its stanchest upholders and admirers are bullies, sharpers, pickpockets, pothouse keepers, coachmen, fradulent bankrupts, the jon bee's and big b's, and all the lowest b's of society in station and character, whose only merit, if such it can be called, is the open disclaiming of any thing like honour or principle. and after having been a patron of such a set of wretches, you will end by becoming, according to circumstances, the object of their vulgar abuse, or the butt of their coarse ridicule. "the latter, i understand,"said lord william, "is pretty much the case already. a friend of mine was telling me, that one of the precious brotherhood, on hearing that joe meant to dispute his bets, asked what better could be expected from a foote-mam out of place?" "no more of that, hal, if thou lovest him," exclaimed optimus, who immediately perceived, by his ~ ~~countenance, that the last hit had been too hard. much more has been said upon this affair than it is worth. let us change the subject. "by my conscience," exclaimed the lieutenant, "and here's an excellent episode to wind up the drama with, headed, 'the foote ball's farewell to the ring:' i'll read it you, with permission, and afterwards, colonel, you shall have a copy of it for next sunday's 'age;' it will save the magnanimous little b., your accommodating editor, or his locum tenens, the fat gent, the trouble of straining their own weak noddles to produce any more soft attempts at the scandalous and the sarcastic. "by the honour of my ancestry," rejoined the gloucestershire colonel, "do you take me for a reporter to the paper in question?" "why not?" said the lieutenant, coolly: "if you are not a reporter and a supporter too, my gallant friend, by the powers of poll kelly but you are the most ill-used man in his majesty's dominions!" "sir, i stand upon my honour," said the colonel, petulantly. "by the powers, you may, and very easily too," whispered o'farellan, in a side speech to his left hand companion; "for it has been trodden under foote by others these many months. to be plain with you, colonel, there are certain big whispers abroad, that you and your noble associate, the amiable yonder, with that beautiful obliquity of vision, which is said to have pierced the heart of a northern syren, are the joint telegraphs of the age. sure no man in his senses can suspect messieurs the conducteurs of knowing any thing of what passes in polished life, or think-- "ah, my dear wewitzer," said belle harriet, now mrs. goutts, speaking to the late comedian, of some female friend, "she has an eye! an eye, that would pierce through a deal board." "by heavens," said wewitzer, "that must be then a gimhlet eye." ~ ~~of charging them with any personal knowledge of the amusing incidents they pretend to relate, beyond a certain little wanton's green room _on dits_, or the chaste conversations of the blushless naiads who sport and frolic in the cytherian mysteries which are nightly performed in the dark groves of vauxhall. take a word of advice from an old soldier, colonel: it is worse than leading a forlorn hope to attempt to storm a garrison single handed; club secrets must be protected by club laws, for 'tis an old eton maxim, that tales told out of school generally bring the relater to the block. but my friend stanhope will no doubt explain this matter with a much better grace when he comes in contact with the tale-bearer." "hem," instinctively ejaculated horace c-----t, the once elegant apollo of hyde park, "thereby hangs a tale; 'tis a vile age, and the sooner we forget it, the better--i am for love and peace." "i.e. a piece" responded the lieutenant. horace smiled, and continued, "come, tom duncombe, i'll give our mutual favourite, the female giovanni. lads, fill your glasses; we toast a deity, and one, too, who has equal claims upon most of us for the everlasting favours she has conferred." "'fore gad, lieutenant," simpered out lord william, squaring himself round to resume the conversation with the veteran, "if you do not mind your hits, we must positively cut. my friend, the colonel, will certainly set his blacks{ } upon you, and i shall be obliged to speak to little magnanimous, the ex-brummagem director, to strike off a counterfeit impression of you in his scandalous sunday chronicle, 'pon honour, i must." a very curious tradition is connected with a certain castle near gloucester, which foretells, that the family name shall be extinct when the race of the blacks* cease to be peculiar to the family; a prophecy that i think not very likely to be fulfilled, judging by the conduct of the present race of representatives. * a species of danish blood-hound, whose portraits and names are carved in the oaken cornice of one of the castle chambers. ~ ~~"the divil a care," said the lieutenant, laughingly; "to arms with you, my lord william; my fire engine will soon damp the ardour of little magnanimous, and an extra dose of tom bish's compounds put his friend, the fat gent, where his readers have long been, in sweet somniferous repose. but zounds, gentlemen, i am forgetting the count, whose pardon i crave, for bestowing my attention on minor constellations while indulged with the overpowering brilliancy of his meteoric presence." "the 'farewell to the ring,'" vociferated the count. "come, lieutenant, give us the episode: i long to hear all my misfortunes strung together in rhyme." "by the powers, you shall have it, then; and a true history it is, as ever was said or sung in church, chapel, or conventicle, with only one little exception--by the free use of poetic license, the satirist has fixed his hero in a very embarrassing situation--just locked him up at radford's steel hotel in carey street, chancery lane, coning over a long bill of john long's, and a still longer one of the lawyers, with a sort of codicil, by way of refresher, of the house charges, and a smoking detainer tacked on to its tail, by hookah hudson, long enough to put any gentleman's pipe out. [illustration: page ] there's the argument, programme, or fable. now for the characters; they are all drawn from the life by the english spy (see plate), under the amusing title of 'morning, and in low spirits, a scene in a lock-up house;' a very appropriate spot for a lament to the past, and "'tis past, and the sun of my glory is set. how changed in my case is the fortune of war! with no money to back, and no credit to bet, no more in the fancy i shine forth a star. ~ ~~ "accursed be the day when my bargeman i brought to fight with jos. hudson!--the thought is a sting. i sighing exclaim, by experience taught, farewell to tom cannon, farewell to the ring! "by the blackwater vict'ry made drunk with success, endless visions of milling enchanted my nob; i thought my luck in: so i could do no less than match 'gainst the streatham my white-headed bob. "i've some reason to think that there, too, i was done; for it oft has been hinted that battle was cross'd: but i well know that all which at yately i won, with a thousand _en outre_ at bagshot i lost. "at warwick a turn in my favour again appear'd, and my crest i anew rear'd with pride; hudson's efforts to conquer my bargeman were vain, i took the _long odds_, and i floor'd _the flash side_. "but with training, and treating, and sparring, and paying for all through the nose, as most do in beginning their fancy career, i am borne out in saying, i was quite out of pocket in spite of my winning. "so when bob fought old george, being shortish of money, and bearing in mem'ry the bagshot affair, in my former pal's stakes i stood only _a pony_, (which was never return'd, so i'm done again there). "to be perfectly safe, on the old one i betted; for the knowing ones told me the thing was made right: if it had been, a good bit of blunt i'd have netted; but a double x spoilt it, and bob won the fight. ~ ~~ "but the famed stage of warwick, and ward, were before me-- i look'd at tom cannon, and thought of the past; i was sure he must win, and that wealth would show'r o'er me, so, like richard, i set all my hopes on a cast; "and the die was soon thrown, and my luck did not alter-- i was floor'd at all points, and my hopes were a hum; i'm at tattersall's all but believed a defaulter, and here, in a spunging house, shut by a bum. "'mid the lads of the fancy i needs must aspire to be quite _au fait_; and i have scarcely seen of mills half a score, ere i'm fore'd to retire-- o thou greenest among all the green ones, pea green! "and what have i gain'd, but the queer reputation of a whimsical dandy, half foolish, half flash? to bruisers and sharpers, in high and low station, a poor easy dupe, till deprived of my cash. "all you who would enter the circle i've quitted, reflect on my fate, and think what you're about: by brib'ry betray'd, or by cunning outwitted, in the fancy each novice is quickly clean'd out. "for me it has lost its attractions and lustre; the thing's done with me, and i've done with the thing: the blunt for my bets i must manage to muster, then farewell to tom cannon, farewell to the ring!" the reading of this morceau produced, as might have been expected, considerable merriment on the ~ ~~one hand, and some little discussion upon the other; the angry feelings of the commander in chief and his pals overbalancing the mirthful by their solemnly protesting against the exposure of the secrets of the prison house, which, in this instance, they contended, were violently distorted by some enemy to the modern accomplishment of pugilism. in a few moments all was chaos, and the stormy confusion of tongues, prophetk: of the affair ending in a grand display and milling catastrophe; the apprehensions of which induced john long, and john long's man, to be on the alert in removing the service, _en suite_, of superb cut glass, which had given an additional lustre to the splendour of the dessert. the arrival of other characters, and the good humour of the count, joined to a plentiful supply of soda water and iced punch, had, however, the effect of cooling the malcontents, who had no sooner recovered their wonted hilarity, than old crony proceeded to particularize, by a comparison of the past with the present, interspersing his remarks with anecdotes of the surrounding group. "these are your modern men of fashion," said crony; "and the specimen you have this day had of their conduct and pursuits an authority you may safely quote as one generally characteristic. 'to support this new fashion in circles of _ton_. new habits, new thoughts, must of course be put on; taste, feeling, and friendship, laid by on the shelf, and nothing or worshipp'd, or thought of, but--self.' [illustration: page ] "it was not thus in the days of our ancestors: the farther we look back, the purer honour was. in the days of chivalry, a love promise was a law; the braver the knight, the truer in love: then, too, religion, delicacy, sentiment, romantic passion, disinterested friendship, loyalty to king, love of country, a thirst for fame, bravery, nay, heroism, characterized ~ ~~the age, the nation, the noble, the knight, and esquire. mercy! what 'squires we have now-a-days! at a more recent date, all was courtliness, feeling, high sentiment, proud and lofty bearing, principle, the word inviolable, politeness at its highest pitch of refinement: lovers perished to defend their ladies' honour; now they live to sully it: the nobility and the people were distinct in dress and address; but, above all, amenity and good-breeding marked the distinction, and the line was unbroken. now, dress is all confusion, address far below par, amenity is a dead letter, and as to breeding, it is confined to the breeding of horses and dogs, except when law steps in to encourage the breeding of disputes; not to mention the evils arising from crossing the old breed; nor can we much wonder at it, when we reflect on the altered way of life, the change of habits, and the declension of virtue, arising from these very causes. 'each hopeful hero now essays to start to spoil the intellect, destroy the heart, to render useless all kind nature gave, and live the dupe of ev'ry well dress'd knave; to herd with gamblers, be a blackleg king, and shine the monarch of the betting ring.' "men of family and fashion, in those golden days, passed their time in courts, in dancing-rooms, and at clubs composed of the very cream of birth and elegance. you heard occasionally of lord such-a-one being killed in a duel, or of the baronet or esquire dying from cold caught at a splendid _fête_, or by going lightly clad to his magnificent vis-à-vis, after a select masquerade; but you never read his death in a newspaper from a catarrh caught in the watch-house, from & fistic fight, or in a row at a hell--things now not astonishing, since even men with a title and a name of rank pass their time in the stable, at common hells, at the fives-court--the hall of infamy; in the watch-house, the justice-room, and make the finish in ~ ~~the fleet, king's bench, or die in misery and debt abroad. in the olden times, a star of fashion was quoted for dancing at court, for the splendour of his equipages, his running footmen and black servants, his expensive dress, his accomplishments, his celebrity at foreign courts, his fine form, delicate hand, jewels, library, &c. &c. now fame (for notoriety is so called) may be obtained by being a greek, or pigeon, by being mistaken for john the coachman, when on the box behind four tits; by being a good gentleman miller, by feeding the fancy, standing in print for crim. con., breaking a promise of marriage once or twice, and breaking as many tradesmen as possible afterwards; breaking the watchman's head on the top of the morn; and lastly, breaking away (in the skirmish through life) for calais, or the low countries. there is as much difference between the old english gentleman and him who ought to be the modern representative of that name, as there is between a racer and a hack, a fine spaniel and a cross of the terrier and bull dog. in our days of polish and refinement, we had a lord stair, a sedley, a sir john stepney, a sir william hamilton, and many others, as our ambassadors, representing our nation as the best bred in the world; and by their grace and amiability, gaining the admiration of the whole continent. we had, in remoter times, our lords bolingbroke, chesterfield, and lyttleton, our steele, &c, the celebrated poets, authors, and patterns of fashion and elegance of the age. we had our argyle, 'the state's whole thunder form'd to wield, and shake at once the senate and the field.' we had our virtuosi of the highest rank, our rich and noble authors in abundance. the departed byron stood alone to fill their place. the classics were cultivated, not by the learned profession only, but by the votaries of fashion. now, our greek scholars are of ~ ~~another cast.{ } in earlier days the chivalrous foe met his opponent in open combat, and broke a lance for the amusement of the spectators, while he revenged his injuries in public. now, the practice of duelling{ } has become almost a profession, and the privacy with which it is of necessity conducted renders it always subject to suspicion (see plate); independent of which, the source of quarrel is too often beneath the dignity of gentlemen, and the wanton sacrifice of life rather an act of bravado than of true courage.{ } "adeipe nunc danaûm insidiai, et----ab uno, disce omnes!" the greek population of the fashionable world comprises a very large portion of society, including among its members names and persons of illustrious and noble title, whose whole life and pleasure in life appears to "rest upon the hazard of a die." the modern greek, though he cannot boast much resemblance to achilles, ajax, patroclus, or nestor, is, nevertheless, a close imitator of the equally renowned chief of ithaca. to describe his person, habits, pursuits, and manners, would be to sketch the portrait of one or more _finished roués_, who are to be found in most genteel societies. the mysteries of his art are manifold, and principally consist in the following rules and regulations, put forth by an old member of the corps, whose conscience returned to torture him when his reign of earthly vice was near its close. elements of greeking. . a greek should be like a mole, visible only at night. . he should be a niggard of his speech, and a profligate with his liquor, giving freely, but taking cautiously. . he must always deprecate play in public, and pretend an entire ignorance of his game. . he must be subtle as the fox, and vary as the well-trained hawk; never showing chase too soon, or losing his pigeon by an over eager desire to pluck him. . he must be content to lose a little at first, that he may thereby make a final hit decisive. . he must practise like a conjuror in private, that his slippery tricks in public may escape observation. palming the _digits_ requires no ordinary degree of agility. . he must secure a confederate, who having been pigeoned, has since been enlightened, and will consent to decoy others to the net. . he should have once held the rank of captain, as an introduction to good society, and a privilege to bully any one who may question his conduct. . he must always put on the show of generosity with those he has plucked--that is, while their bill, bond, post obit, or other legal security is worth having. ~ ~~ . he should be a prince of good fellows at his own table, have the choicest wines for particular companies, and when a grand hit cannot be made, refuse to permit play in his own house; or on a decisive occasion, let his decoy or partner pluck the pigeon, while he appears to lose to some confederate a much larger sum. . he must not be afraid to fight a duel, mill & rumbustical green one, or bully a brother sharper who attempts to poach upon his preserves. . he must concert certain signals with confederates for _working the broads_ (i.e. cards), such as fingers at whist: toe to toe for an ace, or the left hand to the eye for a king, and so on, until he can make the fate of a rubber certain. on this point he must be well instructed in the arts of _marked cards, briefs, broads, corner bends, middle ditto, curves, or kingston bridge_, and other arch tricks of _slipping, palming, forcing_, or even _substituting_, whatever card may be necessary to win the game. such are a few of the elements of modern greeking, contained in the twelve golden rules recorded above, early attention to which may save the inexperienced from ruin. [illustration: page ] elements of duelling. "the british code of duel," a little work professing to give the necessary instructions for _man-killing according to honour_, lays down the following rules as indispensable for the practice of principals and seconds in the pleasant and humane amusement of shooting at each other. " . to choose out a snug sequestered spot, where the ground is level, and no natural, terrestrial, or celestial line presenting itself to assist either party in his views of sending his opponent into eternity. . to examine the pistols; see that they are alike in quality and length, and load in presence of each other. . to measure the distance; ten paces of not less than thirty inches being the minimum, the parties to step to it, not from it. . to fire by signal and at random; it being considered unfair to take aim at the man whose life you go out to take. . not to deliver the pistols cocked, lest they should go off un-expectedly; and after one fire the second should use his endeavours to produce a reconciliation. . if your opponent fire in the air, it is very unusual, and must be a case of extreme anguish when you are obliged to insist upon another shot at him. . three fires must be the ultimatum in any case; any more reduces duel to a conflict for blood," says the code writer; "if the parties can afford it, there should be two surgeons in attendance, but if economical, one mutual friend will suffice; the person receiving the first fire, in case of wound, taking the first dressing. . it being always understood that wife, children, parents, and relations are no impediment with men of very different relative stations in society to their meeting on equal terms." the _consistency, morality, justice, and humanity of this code, i leave to the gratifying reflection of those who have most honourably killed their man_. ~ ~~ 'for, as duelling now is completely a science, and sets, the old bailey itself at defiance; now hibernians are met with in every street, 'tis as needful to know how to shoot as to eat.' the following singular challenge is contained in a letter from sir william herbert, of st. julian's, in monmouthshire, father-in-law to the famous lord herbert, of cherbury, to a gentleman of the name of morgan. the original is in the british museum. "sir--peruse this letter, in god's name. be not disquieted. i reverence your hoary hair. although in your son i find too much folly and lewdness, yet in you i expect gravity and wisdom. "it hath pleased your son, late at bristol, to deliver a challenge to a man of mine, on the behalf of a gentleman (as he said) as good as myself; who he was, he named not, neither do i know; but if he be as good as myself, it must either be for virtue, for birth, for ability, or for calling and dignity. for virtue i think he meant not, for it is a thing which exceeds his judgment: if for birth, he must be the heir male of an earl, the heir in blood of ten earls; for, in testimony thereof, i bear their several coats. besides, he must be of the blood royal, for by my grandmother devereux i am lineally and legitimately descended out of the body of edward iv. if for ability he must have a thousand pounds a year in possession, a thousand pounds more in expectation, and must have some thousands in substance besides. if for calling and dignity, he must be knight or lord of several seignories in several kingdoms, a lieutenant of his county, and a counsellor of a province. "now to lay all circumstances aside, be it known to your son, or to any man else, that if there be any one who beareth the name of gentleman, and whose words are of reputation in his county, that doth say, or dare say, that i have done unjustly, spoken an untruth, stained my credit and reputation in this matter, or in any matter else, wherein your son is exasperated, i say he lieth in his throat, and my sword shall maintain my word upon him, in any place or province, wheresoever he dare, and where i stand not sworn to observe the peace. but if they be such as are within my governance, and over whom i have authority, i will for their re-formation chastise them with justice, and for their malaport misdemeanour bind them to their good behaviour. of this sort, i account your son, and his like; against whom i will shortly issue my warrant, if this my warning doth not reform them. and so i thought fit to advertise you hereof, and leave you to god. "i am, &c. "wm. herbert." ~ ~~"the art of fencing formerly distinguished the gentleman, who then wore a sword as a part of his dress. he is now contented with a regular stand-up fight, and exhibits a fist like a knuckle-bone of mutton--hard, coarse, and of certain magnitude. the bludgeon hammer-headed whip, or a vulgar twig, succeeds the clouded and amber-headed cane; and instead of the snuff-box being rare, and an article of parade, to exhibit a beauty's miniature bestowed in love, or that of a crowned head, given for military or diplomatic services, all ranks take snuff out of cheap and vulgar boxes, mostly of inferior french manufacture, with, not unfrequently, indecent representations on them; or you have wooden concerns with stage coaches, fighting-cocks, a pugilistic combat, or an ill-drawn neck and neck race upon them. the frill of the nobleman and gentleman's linen once bore jewels of high price, or a conceit, like a noted beauty's eye, set in brilliants less sparkling than what formed the centre. now, a fox, a stag, or a dog, worthily occupies the place of that enchanting resemblance. in equitation, we had sir sydney meadows, a pattern and a prototype for gentlemen horsemen. the melton hunt now is more in vogue, and the sons of our nobility ride like their own grooms and postboys--ay, and dress like them too. autrefois, a man of fashion might be perceived ere he was seen, from a reunion ~ ~~of rich and costly perfumes. now, snuff and tobacco, the quid, the pinch, and the cigar, announce his good taste. the cambric pocket-handkerchief was the only one known in the olden times. the belcher (what a name! ) supplies its place, together with the bird's eye, or the colours of some black or white boxer. an accomplished man was the delight of all companies in former times. an out and outer, one up to every thing, down as a nail or the knocker of newgate, a trump, or a trojan, now carry the mode of praise; one that can _patter flash, floor a charley, mill a coal-heaver_, come coachey in prime style, up to every rig and row in town, and down to every move upon the board, from a nibble at the club to a dead hit at a hell; can swear, smoke, take snuff, lush, play at all games, and throw over both sexes in different ways--he is the finished man. the attributes of a modern fine gentleman are, to have his address at his club, and his residence any where; to lounge, laugh, lisp, and loll away the time from four to eight, when having dressed, eat his olives, he goes to almack's if he can, or struts into fop's alley at the opera in boots, in defiance of decency or the remonstrance of the door-keepers; talks loud to be noticed; and having handed some woman of fashion to her carriage, gets in after her without invitation, and, as a matter of course, behaves rudely in return; makes a last call at the club in his way home to learn the issue of the debate, and try his luck at french hazard or fleecing a novice. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] if his fortune should be one thousand per annum, his income may be extended to five, by virtue of credit and credulity. if he comes out very early in life, say eighteen, he will scarcely expect to be visible at twenty-four; but if he does not appear until he is twenty-one, and then lives all his days, he may die fairly of old age, infirmity, and insolvency, at twenty-six. his topographical knowledge of town is bounded by the fashionable ~ ~~directory, which limits his recognition, on the north, by oxford-street, on the east, by bond-street, on the south, by pall mall, and on the west, by park-lane. ask him where is russell square, and he stares at you for a rustic; inquire what authors he reads, and he answers weatherbey and rhodes; ask what are their works, and he laughs outright at your ignorance of the 'racing calendar,' 'annals of sporting,' 'boxiana,' and 'turf remembrancer;' question his knowledge of science, it consists in starch _à la brummel_{ }; of mathematics, in working problems on the cards; of algebra, in calculating the long odds, or squaring the chances of the dice; he tells you, his favourite book is his betting account, that john bull is the only newspaper worth reading, and that you must never expect to be admitted into good society if the cut of your coat does not bear outward proofs of its being fabricated either in saint james's street or bond street; that the great requisites are _confidence, indifference, and nonchalance_; as, for instance, george wombwell being thrown out of his tilbury on high gate hill, when driving captain burdett, and both being dreadfully bruised, george is picked when brummel fell into disgrace, he devised the starched neckcloth, with the design of putting the prince's neck out of fashion, and of bringing his royal highness's muslin, his bow, and wadding, into contempt. when he first appeared in this stiffened cravat, tradition says that the sensation in st. james's-street was prodigious; dandies were struck dumb with envy, and washerwomen miscarried. no one could conceive how the effect was produced--tin, card, a thousand contrivances were attempted, and innumerable men cut their throats in vain experiments; the secret, in fact, puzzled and baffled every one, and poor dandy l------d died raving mad of it; his mother, sister, and all his relations waited on brummel, and on their knees implored him to save their kinsman's life by the explanation of the mystery; but the beau was obdurate, and l------d miserably perished. when brummel fled from england, he left this secret a legacy to his country; he wrote on a sheet of paper, on his dressing-table, the emphatic words, "starch is the man." ~ up by a countryman, when he inquires, very coolly, if 't'other blackguard is not quite dead:' his amours are more distinguished by their number than attractions, and the first point is, not attachment, but notoriety; the lady always being the more desirable, in proportion to the known variety of her gallants; that of all the pleasures of this life, there is nothing like a squeeze at court (see plate), or being wedged into a close room at a crowded rout. [illustration: page ] a ruffian was never thought of by our forefathers; the exquisite was; but he was more sublimated than the exquisite of the nineteenth century. the dandy is of modern date; but there is some polish on him--suppose it be on his boots alone. shape and make are attended to by him; witness the cumberland corset, and his making what he can of every body. then, again, he must have a smattering of french, and affect to be above old england. when he smokes, he does it from vanity, to show his _écume de mer_ pipe. he may have a gold snuff-box and a little diamond pin; and when he swears, he lisps it out like a baby's lesson. sometimes (not often) he plays upon the guitar; and the peninsular war may have made a man of him, and a linguist too; but he is far below the ancient exquisites (who touched the lute, the lyre, and violoncello). and he is an egotist in every thing--in gallantry, in conversation, in principle, and in heart. nor has the deterioration of the gentleman been confined to england only--polite and ceremonious france has felt her change. the revolution brought in coarse and uncivilised manners. the awkward and unsuccessful attempt at spartan and roman republican manners; the citizen succeeding to monsieur; the blasphemous, incredulous, atheistical principles instilled into the then growing generation of all classes; the system of equality, subversive of courtliness, and the obliging attentions and suavities of society, poisoned at once the source ~ ~~of morals and of manners; for there can be nothing gentlemanlike in atheism, radicalism, and the level, ling system. to this state of things succeeded a reign of terror, assassination, and debauchery; and lastly, a military despotism, in which the private soldier rose to the marshals baton; a groom in the stables of the prince of condé saw himself ennobled; peers and generals had brothers still keeping little retail shops; and a drum-boy lived to see his wife--a washerwoman, or fish vender--a duchess (madame lefevre). how can we expect breeding from such materials? bayonets gave brilliancy to the imperial court; and the youth of the country were all soldiers, without dreaming of the gentleman, except in a low bow and flourish of the hat; a greater flourish of self-praise, and a few warm, loose, and dangerous compliments to the fairer sex, became more than even the objects of their passion, but less so of their attentions and prepossessing assiduities. this military race taught us to smoke, to snuff, to drink brandy, and to swear; for although john bull never was backward in that point, yet st. giles's and not st. james's, was the _rendezvous_ for those who possessed that brutal and invincible habit. these were not amongst the least miseries and curses which the war produced; and they have left such mischievous traces behind them, that the mature race in france laugh at the old court, and at all old civil and religious principles, whilst our demoralized youth play the same game at home. and if a bolingbroke or a chesterfield was now to appear, he would be quizzed by all the smokers, jokers, hoaxers, glass-cockers, blacklegs, and fancy-fellows of the town, amongst whom all ranks are perfectly lost, and morality is an absolute term. o tempora! o moses! (as the would-be lady sckolard said.) nor does moses play second best in these characters of the day. moses has crept into all circles; from the ring to the peerage and baronetage, the stage, the ~ ~~race-course; and our clubs are tinged with the israelitish: they may lend money, but they cannot lend a lustre to the court, or to the gilded and painted saloons of the _beau monde_. the style of things is altered; we mean not the old style and new in point of date, but in point of brilliancy in the higher circles. our ancestors never bumped along the streets, with a stable-boy by their side, in a one-horse machine, which is now the _bon ton_ in imitation of our gallic neighbours, whose equipage is measured by their purse. where do you now see a carriage with six horses, and three outriders, and an _avant courier_, except on lord mayor's day? yet how common this was with the nobility _d'autrefois_. two grooms are no longer his grace's and my lord's attendants, but each is followed by one groom in plain clothes, not very dissimilar from the man he serves. do we ever see the star of nobility in the morning, to guard him who has a right to it from popular rudeness and a confusion of rank? all is now privacy, concealment, equality in exterior, musty and meanness: not that the plain style of dress would be exceptionable, if we could say in verity-- 'we have within what far surpasseth show.' but the lining is now no better (oftentimes worse) than the coat. our principles and our politeness are on a par--at low-water mark. the tradesman lives like the gentleman, and the nobleman steps down a degree to be, like other people, up to all fashionable habits and modern customs; whilst the love for gain, at the clubs, on the turf, in the ring, and in private life, debases one part of society, and puts down the other, which becomes the pigeon to the rook. whilst all this goes on, the press chronicles and invents follies for us; and there are men stupid enough to glory in their depravity, to be pleased with their own deformity of mind, body, or dress, of their affectations, ~ ~~and their leading of a party. there is something manly in the yacht club, in a dexterously driving four fleet horses in hand, in reining in the proud barb, and in gymnastic exercises: but the whole merit of these ceases, when my lord (like him of carroty beard) becomes the tar without his glory, and wears the check shirt without the heart of oak--when the driver becomes the imitator of the stage and hackney box--when the rider is the unsuccessful rival of the jockey; and the frequenter of the gymnastic arena becomes a bruiser, or one turning strength into money, be the bet or the race what it may. 'shades of our ancestors! whose fame of old in ev'ry time the echoing world has told! whose dauntless valour and heroic deeds, each british bosom yet enraptur'd reads! deeds, which in ev'ry country, clime, and age, have fill'd the poet's and historian's page; of ev'ry muse the theme, and ev'ry pen: ye i invoke! and ye, my countrymen, if british blood yet flows within your veins, if for your country aught of love remains, o make your first, your chief, your only care, that which first rais'd and made you what you were.'" [illustration: page ] cheltonian characters. a trip to the spas. chapter i. ~ ~~ bernard blackmantle and bob transit pay a visit to the chelts--privileges of a spy--alarm at chelten-him--the rival editors--the setting of a great son--how to sink in popularity and respect--a noble title--an old flame-- poetical _jeu d'esprit_, by vinegar penn--muriatic acid--an attorney-general's opinion on family propensities given without a fee!!--the cheltenham dandy, or the man in the cloak, a sketch from the life-noble anecdote of the fox- hunting parson--bury-ing alive at berkeley--public theatricals in private--"a michaelmas preachment," by an honest reviewer--a few words for ourselves--the grand marshall--interesting story of a former m. c. "oh, i've been to countries rare; seen such sights, 'twould make you stare." [illustration: page ] "that last chapter of yours, blackmantle, on john long and john long's customers, will long remain a memorial of your scrutinizing qualifications, and, as i think, will prevent your taking your port, punch, pines, or soda-water in bond-street for some time to come, lest 'suspicion, which ever haunts the guilty mind,' should in the course of conversation convict you; and then, my dear fellow, you would certainly go off pop like the last-mentioned article in the above reference to the luxuries of long's hotel." ~ ~~"bravo, bob transit!" said i; "this comes mighty well from you, sir, my _fidus achates_.--'_a bon chat bon rat_'--the _fidus and audax_ satirists of the present times. and who, sir, dares to doubt our joint authority? are we not the very spies o' the age? 'joint monarchs of all we survey; our right there is none to dispute.' from the throne to, the thatched cottage, wherever there is character, 'there fly we,' and, on the wings of merry humour, draw with pen and pencil a faithful portraiture of things as they are; not tearing aside the hallowed veil of private life, but seizing as of public right on public character, and with a playful vein of satire proving that we are of the poet's school; 'form'd to delight at once and lash the age.' at this season of the year fashion cries out of town; so, pack up, master robert, and let us to chelt's retiring banks, where beaux and beauties throng, to drink at spas and play rum pranks, that here will live in song. what cheltenham was, is no business of ours; what it is, as regards its buildings, salubrious air, and saline springs, its walks, views, libraries, theatre, and varieties, my friend williams, whose shop at the corner of the assembly rooms is the grand lounge of the literati, will put the visitor into possession of for the very moderate sum of five shillings. but, reader, if you would search deeper into society, and know something of the whim and character of the frequenters and residents of this fashionable place of public resort, you must consult the english spy, and trace in his pages and the accompanying plates of his friend bob transit the faithful likenesses of the scenes and persons who figure in the maze of fashion, ~ ~~or attract attention by the notoriety of their amours, the eccentricity of their manners, or the publicity of their attachments to the ball or the billiard-room, the card or the hazard-table, the turf or the chase; for in all of these does cheltenham abound. from the _cercle de la basse to the cercle de la haute_, from the nadir to the zenith, 'i know ye, and have at ye all'--ye busy, buzzing, merry, amorous groups of laughter-loving, ogling, ambling, gambling cheltenham folk. 'a chiel's among ye taking notes, and faith, he'll print them.' to spy out your characteristic follies, ye sons and daughters of pleasure, have we, bernard blackmantle and robert transit, esquires, travelled down to cheltenham to collect materials for an odd chapter of a very odd book, but one which has already established its fame by continued success, and, as i hope owes much of its increasing prosperity to its characteristic good-humour; so, without more preface, imagine a little dapper-looking fellow of about five feet something in altitude, attended by a tall sharp-visaged gentleman in very spruce costume, parading up and down the high-street, cheltenham--lounging for a few minutes in williams's library--making very inquisitive remarks upon the passing singularities--and then the little man most impertinently whispering to his friend with the quixotic visage, book him, bob--when out comes the note book of both parties, and down goes somebody. afterwards see them popping into this shop, and then into the other, spying and prying about--occasionally nodding perhaps to a london actor, who shines forth here a star of the first magnitude; john liston, for instance, or tyrone power--then posting off to the well walks, or disturbing the peaceful dead by ambling over their graves in search of humorous epitaphs--making their way down to the berkeley kennel in north-street (see plate), ~ ~~or paying a visit to the paphian divinities at the oakland cottages under the cleigh hills--trotting here and there--making notes and sketches until all cheltenham is in a state of high excitement, and the rival editors of the chronicle and journal, messrs. halpine and judge, are so much alarmed that they are almost prepared to become friends, and unite their forces for the time against the common enemy. [illustration: page ] imagine such an animated, whispering, gazing, inquiring scene, as i have here presented you with a slight sketch of, and, reader, you will be able to form some idea of the first appearance of the english spy and his friend the artist, among the ways and walks of merry cheltenham. then here 'at once, i dedicate my lay to the gay groups that round me swarm, like may-bees round the honied hive, when fields are green, and skies are warm and all in nature seems alive.' time was, a certain amorous colonel carried every thing here, and bore away the belle from all competitors; the hunt, the ball, the theatre, and the card-party all owned his sovereign sway; although it must be admitted, that, in the latter amusement, he seldom or ever hazarded enough to disturb his financial recollections on the morrow. but time works wonders--notoriety is of two complexions, and what may render a man a very agreeable companion to foxhunters and frolicsome lordlings, is not always the best calculated to recommend him in the eyes of the accomplished and the rigid in matters of moral propriety. but other equally celebrated and less worthy predilections have been trumpeted forth in courts and newspapers, until the fame of the colonel has spread itself through every grade of society, and, unlike that wreath which usually decks the gallant soldier's brow, a cypress chaplet binds the early gray, and makes admonitory signal of the ill-spent past. the wrongs of an injured ~ ~~and confiding husband, whose fortunes, wrecked by the false seducer, have left him a prey to shattered ruin, yet live in the remembrance of some honest cheltenham hearts; and although these may feel for the now abandoned object of his illicit passion, there are but few who, while they drop a tear of pity as she passes them daily in the street, do not invoke a nobler feeling of indignation upon the ruthless head of him who forged the shafts of misery, and pierced at one fell blow the hearts of husband, wife, and children! what father that has read maria's hapless tale of woe, and marked the progress of deceptive vice, will hereafter hazard the reputation of his daughters by suffering them to mix in cheltenham society with the branded seducer and his profligate associates? gallantry, an unrestricted love of the fair sex, and a predilection for variety, may all be indulged in this country to any extent, without betraying confidence on the one hand or innocence upon the other, without outraging decency, or violating the established usages of society. while the profligate confines his sensual pleasures with such objects as i allude to within the walls of his harem, the moralist has no right to trespass upon his privacy; it is only when they are blazoned forth to public view, and daringly opposed to public scorn, that the lash of the satirist is essentially useful, if not in correcting, at least in exposing the systematic seducer, and putting the inexperienced and the virtuous on their guard against the practice of profligacy. it is the frequency and notoriety of such scenes that has at last alarmed the chelts, who, fearing more for their suffering interests than for their suffering fellow-creatures, begin to murmur rather loudly against the berkeley adonis, representing that the town itself suffers in respectability and increase of visitors, by its being known as the rendezvous of the bloods and blacks of berkeley. the truth of this assertion may be gathered from the ~ ~~following _jeu d' esprit_, only one among a hundred of such squibs that have been very freely circulated in cheltenham and the neighbourhood within the last year. 'news from cheltenham. 'the season runs smartly in cheltenham's town, the gossips are up, and the colonel is down; he has taken the place of the famous old gun { } that exploded last year, and created some fun. were no lives then lost? some say, yes! and some, no! the report even shook the old walls of glasgow.{ } and the bushe was found out to be no safe retreat, for in love, as in war, you may chance to be beat; and a hell-shaming fellow can never be reckon'd, whate'er he may publish, a capital second.' "but now having had our fling at his vices, let us speak of him more agreeably; for the fellow hath some qualifications which, if humour suit, enables him to shine forth a star of the first magnitude among _bons vivants_ and sporting characters, who ride, amble, and vegetate upon the banks of the chelt. such is his love of hunting, a pleasure in which he not only indulges himself, but enables others, his friends, to participate with him, by keeping up a numerous stud of thirty well trained horses, and a double pack of fox-hounds, that no appropriate day may be lost, nor any opportunity missed, of pursuing the sports of the chase. this is as it should be, and smacks of that glorious spirit which animated his ancestors; although the violence of his temper will sometimes break out even here, in the field, when some young and forward nimrod, unable to restrain his fiery steed, _o'er-caps_ the hounds, or crosses the scent. as the chelts are, or have been, greatly benefited by the hounds being kept alternately during the hunting months between a good-morrow to you, captain gun. miss glasgow, divine perfection of antique virgin purity! what could the poet mean by this allusion? ~ ~~cheltenham and gloucester, they must at least feel some little gratitude to be due to the man who is the cause of such an increase of society, and consequent expenditure of cash. but, say they, we lose in a fourfold degree; for the respectable portion of the fashionable visitants have of late cut us entirely, to save their sons and daughters from pollution and ruin, by association or the force of example. 'tis not in the nature of the english spy rudely to draw aside the curtain, even to expose the midnight revelries and debaucheries, of which he possesses some extraordinary anecdotes; events, which, if recorded here, would, in the language of the poet, 'give ample room, and verge enough, the characters of hell to trace; how through each circling year, on many a night, have severn's waves re-echoed with affright the shrieks of (maids) through berkeley's roofs that ring.' "but let these tales be told hereafter, as no doubt they will be, by the creatures who now pander to vice, when the satiated and the sullen chief sinks into decay, or cuts from his emaciated trunk the filthy excrescences which, like poisonous fungus, suck the sap of honour and of life. the colonel hath had many trials in this life, and much to break down a noble and a proud spirit. in earlier days, a question of birthright, while it cut off one entail, brought on another, which entailed a name, not the ancient gift of a monarch, but one still more ancient, and, according to dodsley's chronology of the kings of england, the origin of british sovereignty itself--a '_filius nullius,_' a title that left it open to the wearer to have established his own fame, and to have been the architect of a nobler fortune; for 'who nobly acts may hold to scorn the man who is but nobly born.' "had the colonel acted thus, there is little doubt but long ere this the kind heart of his majesty would have ~ ~~warmed into graciousness as he reflected upon the untoward circumstances which removed from the eldest born of an ancient house the honours of its armorial bearings; the _engrailed bar_ might have been erased from the shield, and the coronet of nobility have graced the elder brother, without invading the legal designation or claims of the legitimate younger; but i sing of a day that is gone and past, of a chance that is lost, and a die that's cast. and even now, while i am sermonizing on late events but too notorious, the busy hum of many voices buzzes a tale upon the ear that sickens with its unparalleled profligacy; but the english spy, the faithful historian of the present times, refuses to stain his pages by giving credit to, or recording, the imputed profligate connexion. adieu, _monsieur_ the colonel; fain would i have passed you by without this comment; but your association with the black spirits of the 'age'{ } has placed you upon a pedestal, the proper mark for satire to shoot her barbed arrows at. "but let us take a turn down the high street; and as i live here comes an old flame of the colonel's, miss r*g*rs, who is now turned into mrs. e***n, and who, it is said, most wickedly turned her pen, and pointed the following _jeu d'esprit_ against her late protector, when he was laid up by a serious accident, which happened to his knee after the more serious loss of a--_foote_. "a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind" says pope; and it would appear so from the intimacy which subsists between the colonel and his jackall bunn, the would-be captain, who it is said is the _filius nullius_ of old ben bunn the _conveyancer_, not of legal title or estate by roll of parchment, but of the very soil itself. lord w. lennox, too, no doubt, prides himself upon the illegitimate origin of his ancestry; and the publisher of the infamous scandals manufactured in the quadrant is also of the same kidney, being the reputed natural son of jolly old bardolph jennyns. what the remaining portion of the coterie spring from, the gents and bs., the sensitive nose of a sensible man will very easily discover. ~ ~~ 'to cupid's colonel help, ye people all; he's missed his _footing_, 'pride has had a fall;' the knee's uncapp'd, the calf laid open quite, the foote presents the most distressing sight; its form so perfect, pity none were nigh, with warning voice to guard from injury. waltzers! your peerless partner view, the gallant gay lothario quite _perdu; sans foote_ to rest upon, his claims deny'd to take a birth by english nobles' side. let him to cheltenham, 'tis not to go far; he's sure to find a _seat--on irish car_.' "i am told, but i cannot discover the allusion myself, that miss b*g*rs was prompted to this effusion of the satiric muse by the green-eyed monster, jealousy, observe that machine yonder, rumbling up the street like an irish jaunting-car, that contains the numerous family of m***r, the vinegar merchant, whose lady being considered by the chelts as lineally descended from the tartar race, they have very facetiously nicknamed muriatic acid. the mad wag with the sandy whiskers yonder, and somewhat pleasant-looking countenance, is a second-hand friend of the colonel's; mark how he is ogling the young thing in the milliner's shop through the window: his daily occupation, making assignations, and his nightly amusement, a new favourite. a story is told of his father, a highly respected legal character in the emerald isle, that, on being asked by a friend why his son had left the country, replied, 'by jasus, sir, it was high time: sure i am there's enough of the family left behind. is not his lady in a _promising_ way, and both his female servants, and those of two or three of his friends, and are not both mine in a similar situation? zounds, sir, if he had remained here much longer, there would not have been a single female in the whole country. however, 'good wine, they say, needs no bushe,' so i shall leave him unmarked by his family cognomen, lest this ~ ~~should be taken as a puff-card of his capabilities, and thereby add to the list of his cytherean exploits. in a late affair, when the colonel was called out (but did not come), sir patrick beat about the bushe for him very judiciously, and by great skill in diplomacy enabled his friend to come off second best. but here comes one who stands at odds with description, and attracts more notice in cheltenham than even the colonel, his companions, and all the metropolitan visitory put together. if i was to lend myself to the circulation of half the strange tales related of him by the chelts, i could fill a small-sized volume; but brevity is the soul of wit, and the eccentric mackey, with all his peculiarities and strange fancies for midnight mastications, has a soul superior to the common herd, and a 'heart and hand, open as day, to melting charity.' it is strange, 'passing strange,' that one so rich and fond of society, and well-descended withal, should choose thus to ape the ridiculous; a man, too, if report speaks truly, of no ordinary talents as a writer on finance, and an expounder of the solar system. vanity! vanity! what strange fantasies and eccentric fooleries dost thou sometimes fill the brain of the biped with, confining thy freaks, however, to that strange animal--man. the countenance of our eccentric is placid and agreeable, and, provided it was cleared of a load of snuff, which weighs down the upper lip, might be said to be, although in the sear o' the leaf, highly intellectual; but the old scotch cloak, the broad-brimmed hat of the covenanter, the loose under vest, the thread-bare coat shaking in the wind, like the unmeasured garment of the scarecrow, and the colour-driven nankeens, grown short by age and frequent hard rubbings; then, too, the flowing locks of iron gray straggling over the shoulders like the withered tendrils of a blighted vine--all conspire to arrest the attention of an inquisitive eye; yet the chelts know but little ~ ~~about his history, beyond his being a man of good property, the proprietor of the vittoria boarding-house, inoffensive in manners, obliging in disposition, and intelligent in conversation. his great penchant is a midnight supper, stewed chicken and mushrooms, or any other choice and highly-seasoned dish; to enjoy which in perfection, he hath a maiden sleeping at the foot of his bed ready to attend his commands, which, it is said, are communicated to her in a very singular way; no particle of speech being used to disturb the solemn silence of the night, but a long cane reaching downwards to the slumbering maid, by certain horizontal taps against her side, propelled forward by the hand of the craving _gourmand_, wakes her to action, and the banquet, piping-hot from the stew-pan, smokes upon the board, unlike a vision, sending up real and enchanting odoriferous perfumes beneath his olfactory organs. extraordinary as this account may appear, it is, i believe, strictly true, and is the great feature of the eccentric's peculiarities, all the minor whims and fancies being of a subordinate and uninteresting nature. i shall conclude my notice of him by relating an action that would do honour to a king, and will excuse the eccentric with the world, although his follies were ten times more remarkable. during the suspension of payments by one of the cheltenham banks, and when all the poorer class of mechanics and labourers were in a most piteous situation from the unprecedented number of one pound provincial notes then in circulation, mr. mackey, to his eternal-honour be it related, and without the remotest interest in the bank, stepped nobly forward, unsolicited and unsupported, gave to all the poor people who held the one pound notes the full value for them, reserving to himself only the chance of the dividend. ye berkeleys, ducies, lennoxes, cravens, hammonds, bushes, molineauxes, and coventrys, and all the long list of cheltenham gay! ~ ~~show me an action like this ye have done--a spirit so noble, when did you display?--do you see that rosy-gilled fellow coming this way, with a hunting-whip in his hand? in costume, more like a country horse-dealer than a country clergyman; yet such he was, until the bishop of the diocese removed the clerical incumbrance of the cassock, to give the wearer freer license to indulge his vein for hunting, coursing, cock-fighting, and the unrestricted pleasures of the table and the bottle. a good story is told of him and his friend, the colonel, who, having invited some unsophisticated farmer to partake of the festivities of the castle, laid him low with strong potations of _black strap_, and in that state had him carried forth to the stable-yard, where he was immured up to his neck in warm horse-dung, the pious ex-chaplain reading the burial-service over him in presence of the surviving members of the hunt." "who the deuce is that pleasant-looking fellow," said bob, "who appears to give and gain the _quid pro quo_ from every body that passes him?" "that, my dear fellow, is the grand marshal of all the merry meetings here, and a very gentlemanly, jovial, and witty fellow; just such a man as should fill the office of master of the ceremonies, having both seen and experienced enough of the world to know how to estimate character almost at a first interview; he is highly and deservedly respected. there is a very affecting anecdote in circulation respecting his predecessor, the detail of which i much regret that i have lost; but the spirit of the affair was too strongly imprinted upon my memory to be easily obliterated. he had, it appears, loved a beauteous girl in early life, and met with a reciprocal return; but the stern mandate of parental authority prevented their union. the lover, almost broken-hearted, sought a distant clime, and, after years of peril, returned to england, bringing with him a wife. the match had been one ~ ~~of interest, and they are seldom those of domestic bliss. it proved so here--he became dissipated, and squandered away the property he had possessed himself of by marriage. in this situation, he collected together the wreck of his fortunes, and retired to cheltenham, where his amiable qualities and gentlemanly conduct endeared him to a large circle of acquaintance, and, in the end, he was induced to accept the situation of master of the ceremonies. time rolled on, and his former partner being dead, he was, from his volatile and thoughtless disposition, again plunged in difficulties, and imprisoned for debt. the circumstance became known to her at whose shrine in early life he had vowed eternal devotion: with a still fond recollection of him, who alone had ever shared her heart, she hastened to the spot, and, being now a wealthy spinster, paid all his debts and released him from durance. gratitude and love both pointed out the course for the obliged m. c. to pursue; but, alas! there is nothing certain in the anticipations of complete happiness in this life. the lady fell suddenly sick, and died on the very day they were to have been married, leaving him sole executor of her property. the calamitous event made such a deep impression upon a feeling mind, already shaken by trouble and disease, that finding his prospects of bliss again blighted without a chance of recovery, he fell into a state of despondency, and was, within a week, laid a corpse by the side of his first love. at the post-office,--purposely placed out of the way by the sagacious chelts to give strangers the trouble of making inquiries,--i received the following whim from the same witty pen who wrote me, anonymously, an inauguration ode to commence my second volume with." "who is this whimsical spirit in the clouds?" said bob. "ay, lad," i retorted, "that's just the inquiry i have been making for the last eight months: ~ ~~although it would appear we have--_ad interim_--been running, riding, racing, rowing, and sailing together in various parts of the kingdom, you perceive, bob, there are more spies than ourselves at work. however, this must be some protecting geni who hovers over our heads and fans the air on silken wing, wafting zephyr-like the ambrosial breeze, where'er our merry fancies stray. anon, 'we'll drink a measure the table round;' and if we forget the 'honest reviewer,' may we lose all relish for a racy joke, and be forgotten ourselves by the lovers of good fellowship and good things." "which we never shall be," said bob; "for those eccentric _tomes_ of ours must and will continue to amuse a laughter-loving age, when we are booked inside and bound for t'other world." there was not a little egotism, methought, about friend transit's eulogy; but as every parent has a sort of poetical licence allowed him in praising his own bantlings, perhaps the patronage bestowed by the public upon the english spy may excuse a little vanity in either the author or the artist. "but you are the great magician o' the south yourself, bernard," continued transit, "and will you not use your power, you who can 'call spirits from the vasty deep'" "true, bob; i can call, but will they come when i shall command? however, let us retire to our inn, and after dinner we'll chant his lay; and if he dances not to the music of his own metre, then hath he no true inspiration in him, and is a poet without vanity, a _vara avis_ who delighteth not in receiving the reward of merit; so on, old fellow, to our quarters, where we will 'carve the goose, and quaff the wine,' and wish our sprite were here to dine-- we'd give him hearty cheer; a welcome such as hand and heart to kindred spirits should impart, where friendship reigns sincere.' ~ ~~we would punish him for sending his odes to us without sending his family cognomen therewith. have we not done him immortal honour--placed him in front of our second volume like a golden dedication, and what is more, selected him from many a pleasant whim, to stand by our side; the only associate who can claim one line engrafted on to the never-ending fame of the english spy?--but to the 'preachment;' let us have another taste of his quality." a second ode to bernard blackmantle, esq. or a michaelmas-day preachment. by an honest reviewer. "_iterumque, iterumque vocabo_."--ancient classics. "'tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do goods on't." --winter's tale. "ours is the skie, where at what fowle we please our hawks shall flie." --anon. ay, here i come once more, great sir, out of pure love to minister some golden truths to thee; faustus ye're not, nor frankenstein, yet, being up to trap, i ween you'll need a sprite like me. eve watch'd you closely, my young squire, since at vol. two i cool'd the ire that left a little stain; and therefore wonder not, sweet spy, since both of us at follies fly, your "tonson comes again." ~ ~~ this is the day of michaelmas. many would say, ay, "let that pass" as a forgotten thing. not so with us, our rent we pay, and do we not, on quarter-day, our taxes to the king? since, then, "our withers are unwrung," and we need wish no blister'd tongue to creditors and duns, let's carve the goose, and quaff the wine, and toast september twenty-nine, nor mark how fast time runs. we've clone the same; that is, we've quaffd, and sung, and danced, and drunk, and laugh'd, when we were half seas over; i don't mean tipsy, bless you, no! but when we pass'd, like dart from bow, cowes roads on board the rover. so pipe all hands; for though no gale from sea-wash'd shores distend our sail, we'll man a vessel here. this room's our ship; this wine's our tide; and the good friends we sit beside, the messmates of our cheer. ay, this looks well; now till the glass to king, to country, and our lass, and all of pluck and feather; that done around, and nothing loth, since we are "learned thebans" both, we'll have some talk together. you've been to cheltenham, i find, and, zounds! you really ride the wind, to bath and worcester too; to south'ton and the isle of wight, as if increase of appetite with every new dish grew. ~ but it was really _infra dig_. spite of your old horse and new gig, you did not, some fine morn, drive up to malcolm ghur, d'ye see,{ } and leave two pretty cards for me and sir john barleycorn. we would have been your chorus, sir, or, an' you pleased, your trumpeter, and _lioned_ you about; have shown you every pretty girl, and every _nouvelle_ quadrille twirl, and every crowded rout. at eight o' morns have call'd you down, (what would they say of that in town?) to swallow pump-room water; at eight o' nights have call'd you up, (our grandams used just then to sup), to 'gin the dinner slaughter. have whisk'd you o'er to colonel b's, or drove you up to captain p's, dons unto cheltenham steady. but i forget the world, good lack, have play'd enough with such a pack of great court-cards already. malcolm ghur, one of the very prettiest of the many pretty newly-erected mansions that give a character to the environs of cheltenham. to its proprietor do i owe much for hospitality; a merrier man, withal, dwells not in my remembrance; he is of your first-rate whist players, though he rarely now joins in the game. as the chaplain of the county-lodge of f. m. he is much distinguished; and, at the dinners of the friendly brothers--which are luxurious indeed, and all for the "immortal memory" of william, king of that name, and whose portrait ornaments their reading- room--who better than he can "set the table in a roar"? ~ ~~ have set you down at ten pound whist with a-------y, and the _au fait_ list,{ } turning your nights to days; or, somewhat wiser, bid you mix where less expensive are odd tricks, and where friend r-------n plays.{ } have made you try a double trade, by clapping you in masquerade, to jaunt at fancy-balls; you would have seen some merry sights on two or three particular nights, in good miss-----------'s halls.{ } you could have gone as harlequin, or clad yourself in zamiel's skin, your tending spirits we; or "peeping tom" may be more apt, since all are in your record clapp'd we send to coventry. colonel a------y, certainly tho first whist player of the rooms. if he ever drilled a company of raw recruits half as well as he manages a handful of bad cards, he must have been the very admirable crichton of soldiership. mr. r------n, a facetious and good-humoured son of erin; true as clock-work to the board of green cloth, though he has been an age making a fortune from it. among the most fashionable amusements of cheltenham are the fancy-balls, given by two or three of the principal sojourners in that place, of card-playing, scandal, freemasonry, and hot water--god knows how many are in the latter ingredient! the most splendid i recollect was given by colonel---------, or rather miss---------, whose _protégé_ he married; touching which alliance, there is a story of some interest and much romance. of that, as pierce egan says very wittily in every critique, "of that anon." there certainly was some fun and humour displayed by a few of the characters on the particular evening i mention; the two best performers were a reverend gentleman as one of russell's waggoners, inimitably portrayed, and captain b. a-----e, not the author of "to day," but his brother, as an indian prince. the dress, appearance, and language to the life. ~ ~~ yet still you've shown us, my smart beau, things that we should and should not know, vide the oakland cots. bernard blackmantle, learned spy, don't you think hundreds will cry fie, if you expose such plots? you should have told them as i do, and yet i love your hunters too, that nothing is so vile as strutting up and down a street, dirt-spatter'd o'er from head to feet, in the horse-jockey style. _ne sutor ultra crep_, should tell these red-coats 'tis a paltry swell, such careless customs backing; if they must strut in spurs and boots, for once i'd join the chalk recruits, and shout, "use turner's blacking." howe'er, push on--there are of all, good, bad, high, low, and short, and tall, that seek from you decrees. fear not, strike strong--you must not fly-- we will have shots enough--i'm by, a mephistopheles. there surely is much and offensive vanity in the practice adopted by many members of the b. h. of appearing on the pro-menades and in the rooms of cheltenham, bespattered o'er with the slush and foam of the hunting field. every situation has its decent appropriations, and one would suppose comfort would have taught these nimrods a better lesson. it is pardonable for children to wear their valentines on the th of february, or for a young ensign to strut about armed _cap à pie_ for the first week of his appointment; but the fashion of showing off in a red jerkin, soiled smalls, mudded boots, and blooded spurs, is not imitable: there is nothing of the old manhood of sport in it; foppery and fox-hunting are not synonymous. members of the b. h. look to it; follow no leader in this respect. or, if you must needs persevere, turn your next fox out in the ball-room, and let the huntsman's horn and the view halloo supersede the necessity of harps and fiddle-strings. ~ ~~ we'll learn and con them each by heart, set them in note books by our art, each lord, and duke, and tailor. from dr. s------{ } to peter k------, u------, o------, and i------, and e-----, and a------, down to the ploughman naylor.{ } then let them sow their crop of cares, their flowers, their weeds, their fruit, their tares, not looking ere they leap. we, like the folks in jamie's book{ } will i' the dark sharp up our hook, and, my own barnard, reap. dr. s---------e, a very singular, but a very hearty kind of caleb quotem. he has been soldier, and sailor, doctor, and, i believe, divine. he is as well known at the best parties as the wells and the market-house. he gives feasts fit for the gods at home, and invariably credits his neighbours' viands as being jove's nectar or the fruits of paradise, so as to him they be not forbidden. short commons could not upset his politeness. his anecdotes have a spice of the old courtier about them; but the line old _chanson à boire_, from gammar gurton's needle, "back and side go bare, go bare, both foot and hand go cold; but belly, god send good ale enough, whether it be new or old;" he really gives beautifully, and with a spice of the olden time quite delightful. mr. naylor, of the plough hotel; an excellent boniface, a good friend, and a merry companion. as a boy, i recollect him keeping the castle at marlborough; at "frisky eighteen," i have contributed to his success at the crown at portsmouth; and i now, older, and it may be, a little wiser grown, patronize him occasionally at cheltenham. vide hogg's brownie of bodsbeck. a trip to the spas. ~ ~~ chapter ii. the spas--medicinal properties--interesting specimens of the picturesque--"spasmodic affections from spa waters"-- grotesque scripture--the goddess hygeia--humorous epitaph-- characters in the high street--traveller's hall, or sketches in the commercial room at the bell inn, cheltenham. "for walks and for waters, for beaux and for belles, there's nothing in nature to rival their wells." inquisitive traveller, if you would see the well-walks in perfection, you must rise early, and take a sip of the saline aperients before you taste of the more substantial meal which the _plough_-man. naylor, or the cheltenham _bell_-man, or the _shep-herd_ of the _fleece_, will be sure to prepare for your morning mastication. fashion always requires some talismanic power to draw her votaries together, beyond the mere healthful attractions of salubrious air, pleasant rides, romantic scenery, and cheerful society; and this magnet the chelts possess in the acknowledged medicinal properties of their numerous spas, the superior qualities of which have been thus pleasantly poetized:-- "they're a healthful, and harmless, and purgative potion, and as purely saline as the wave of the ocean, whilst their rapid effects like a---- ----hush! never mind; we'll leave their effects altogether behind." in short, if you wish to obtain benefit by the drinking of the waters, you must do it _dulcius ex ipso fonte_, as my lord bottle-it-out's system, the nobleman who originally planned the well-walks, of sending it home ~ ~~to the drinkers in bed, has long since been completely exploded; while, on the other hand, its rapid effects have been very faithfully delineated by my friend transit's view of the royal wells, as they appeared on the morning of our visitation, presenting some very interesting specimens of the picturesque in the cruikshank style, actually drawn upon the spot, and affording to the eye of a common observer the most indubitable proofs of the active properties of the sulphate of soda, and oxide of iron, and gases, that none but the muse of a byron would attempt to describe in the magic of sound, lest it made a report ere he'd quitted the ground; and poets are costive, as all the world knows, and value no fame that smells under their nose. "would you like to take off a glass of the waters, sir?" said a very respectable-looking old lady to my friend transit, who was at that moment too busily engaged in taking off the water-drinkers to pay attention to her request. "there's a beautiful contortion!" exclaimed bob; sketching a beau who exhibited in his countenance all the horrors of cholera, and was running away as fast as his legs could carry him. "see, with what alacrity the old gentleman is moving off yonder, making as many wry faces as if he had swallowed an ounce of corrosive sublimate--and the ladies too, bless me, how their angelic smiles evaporate, and the roseate bloom of their cheeks is changed to the delicate tint of the lily, as they partake of these waters. what an admirable school for study is this! here we can observe every transition the human countenance is capable of expressing, from a ruddy state of health and happiness, to one of extreme torture, without charging our feelings with violence, and knowing that the pains are those of the patient's own seeking, and the penalties not of any long duration." in short, my friend bob furnished, instanter, the subject of "spasmodic affections from, ~ ~~spa waters," (see plate); certainly one of his most spirited efforts. [illustration: page ] but we must not pass by the elegant structure of montpelier spa, the property of pearson thompson, esquire, whose gentlemanly manners, superior talents, and kind conduct, have much endeared him to all who know him as an acquaintance, and more to those who call him their friend. passing on the left-hand side of the upper well-walk, we found ourselves before this tasteful structure, and were much delighted with the arrangement of the extensive walks and grounds by which it is surrounded:--a health-inspiring spot, and as we are told, "where thompson's supreme and immaculate taste has a paradise form'd from a wilderness waste; with his walks rectilineous, all shelter'd with trees, that shut out the sunshine and baffle the breeze, and a field, where the daughters of erin{ }may roam in a fence of sweet-brier, and think they're at home." the sherborne spa, but recently erected, is indeed a very splendid building, and forms a very beautiful object from the high-street, from which it is plainly seen through a grove of trees, forming a vista of nearly half a mile in length, standing on a gentle eminence, presenting on both sides gravelled walks, with gardens and elegant buildings, that display great taste in architecture. the pump-room is a good specimen of the grecian ionic, said to be correctly modelled from the temple on the river ilissus at athens, and certainly is altogether a work worthy of admiration. the grotesque colossal piece of sculpture which crowns the central dome, as well as the building, has been wittily described by the author of the "cheltenham mail." the great number of irish families who reside and congregate at cheltenham fully justifies the poet's particular allusion to the fair daughters of erin. ~ ~~ "and then lower down, in fine leckampton stone, we've the fane of _ilissus_ in miniature shown; and crown'd with hygeia--a bouncer, my lud! and as plump, ay, as any princess of the blood, carved in stone, but a good imitation of wood: with her vest all in plaits, like some ancient costume, but or roman or grecian, i'm loth to presume, so i cannot be _poz_ yet i blush to confess, that her limbs are shown off in a little undress; whilst the goddess herself, _en bon point_ as she is, with her curls _à la grecque_, and but little _chemise_, is so plump and so round, my dear sir, it is plain, she must bring _the robust_ into fashion again." coming back through the churchyard from alstone spa, we discovered the following humorous epitaph. "here lies john ball; an unfortunate fall, by crossing a wall, brought him to his end." peace to his manes! but, with such a notice above him to excite attention, it is well he hears not, or ten times a clay his sleep might be sadly disturbed. once more we are in the high street, where i shall just sketch two or three singularities, without which my notice of the eccentrics of cheltenham might be deemed imperfect. the dashing knight coming this way on horseback, with his double-pommelled saddle, is a well-known cheltenham resident, whose love of the good things of this world induced him to look into the kitchen for a helpmate, and he found one, who not only supplies his table with excellent dishes, but also furnishes the banquet with a liberal quantity of sauce. the group of _roués_ to the right, standing under the portico (i suppose i must call it) to the rooms, is composed of that good-humoured fellow ormsby, who sometimes figures here as an amateur actor, and, whether on or off the stage, is generally respected for the amiable qualities of his heart. the ~ ~~gentleman with the _blue bauble_ round his neck is, or was, a lieutenant-colonel, and still loves to fire a great gun now and then, when he gets into the trenches before seringapatam; but i must leave others to unriddle the character, while i pay my respects to another military hero, who is no less famous among the chelts for his attachment to the stage--lieutenant-colonel b*****ll, of whom it would be difficult for any one who knew him to speak disrespectfully. sir john n****tt and his son, who are here called the inseparables, finish the picture upon this spot, with the exception of my old friend the jack of trumps, r*l*y, whose arch-looking visage i perceive peeping out like the first glance of a court card in the rear of a bad hand; but let him pass: the mirror of the english spy reflects good qualities as well as bad ones, and i should not do him justice if i denied him a fair proportion of both. descending to observe the eccentrics in a more humble sphere, who can pass by the dandy candy man with his box of sweetmeats, clean in person as a new penny, and his sturdy figure most religiously decorated with lawn sleeves, and a churchman's _tablier_ in front; while his ruddy weather-beaten countenance, and hairy foraging cap, give him the appearance of a scotch presbyterian militant in the days of the covenanters. then, too, his wares cure all diseases, from a ravaging consumption to a frame-shaking hooping cough; and not unlikely are as efficacious as the nostrums of the less mundivagant professors of patent empiricism. of all men in the world your coach _cad_ has the quickest eye for detecting a stranger; and who but sam spring, the box-book keeper of drury lane, whose eternal bow has grown proverbial, could ask an impudent question with more politeness than mr. court, the _chargé de affaires_ in the high street, for the conflicting interests of half a hundred coach proprietors "do you travel to-day, sir?--very happy to send for your luggage--go by the early coach, sir?--our porter ~ ~~shall call you up, only let me put you down at our office." thus actually bowing you into his book a week before you had any serious intention of travelling, by the very circumstance of reminding you of the mode by which you intend to reach home. i could add to these sketches a few singularities among the trading brotherhood of the chelts; but we may meet again: and after all it would, perhaps, be considered invidious to point out the honest tradesman to public notice, merely because he has caught something of the eccentricities of his betters, or, like them, is led away by the force of example. errata. in chapter i, page , contents, dele hi, and for penn, read pun. the man in the cloak, noble anecdote of, instead of the fox* hunting parson,--printer. traveller's hall. ~ ~~ sketches in the commercial room at the bell inn, cheltenltam--the traveller's ordinary--trade puns--bolton trotters and trottees--song, all the booksellers--curious sporting anecdote of a commercial man--song, the knight of the saddle bags--private theatricals in public--visit to the oakland cottages, a night scene. an invitation to dine with the traveller to a london house in the paper and print line, yclept booksellers, introduced the english spy and his friend, the artist, to the scene here presented (see plate). [illustration: page ] reader, if you wish to make a figure among the chelts and be thought any thing of, you will, of course, domicile at the plough; but if your object is a knowledge of life, social conversation, a great variety of character, and a never-failing fund of mirth and anecdote, join the gentleman travellers who congregate at the bell or the fleece, where you will meet with merry fellows, choice viands, good wine, excellent beds, and a pretty chambermaid into the bargain. your commercial man is often a fellow of infinite jest, a travelling vocabulary of provincial knowledge, and a faithful narrator of the passing events of the time. who can speak of the increasing prosperity, or calculate upon the falling interests of a town, so well as your flying man of business the moment he enters a new place he expects the landlord to be ready, cap in hand, to welcome him; he first sees his horse into a stall, and lectures the ostler upon the art of rubbing him down--orders boots to ~ ~~bring in his travelling bags or his driving box, and bids the waiter send the chambermaid to show him his bed-room--grumbles that it is too high up, has no chimney in the apartment, or is situate over the kitchen or the tap-room--swears a tremendous oath that he will order his baggage to be taken to the next house, and frightens the poor girl into the giving him one of the best bed-apartments, usually reserved for the coffee-room company. returning below, he abuses the waiter for not giving him his letters, that have been waiting his arrival a week, before he went up stairs--directs boots to be ready to make the circuit of the town with him after dinner, carrying his pattern-books, perhaps half a hundred-weight of birmingham wares, brass articles, or patterns of coffin furniture; and having thus succeeded in putting the whole house into confusion, only to let them know that the brummagem gentleman has arrived on his annual visit to the chelts, with a new stock of every thing astonishing in the brass line, he places himself down at a side table, to answer to his principals for being some days later on his march than they had concluded--remits a good sum in bills and acceptances, and adds thereunto a sheet of orders, that will suffice to keep the firm in good temper for a week to come: sometimes, indeed, the postscript contains a hint of an expected "whereas," or strong suspicions of an act of insolvency, but always couched in the most consolatory terms, hoping the dividend will turn out to be better than present circumstances might lead them to expect. in his visits to his customers he is the most courteous, obliging fellow imaginable; there is no trouble he thinks too much if he is likely to obtain his last account and a fresh order; then, too, his generosity is unbounded: he invites the tradesman to take wine with him at his inn, inquires kindly after all the family, hopes business is thriving, makes an offer of ~ ~~doing any thing for him along the road, and bows himself and his pattern-cards out of the shop, with as much humility and apparent sense of obligation as the most expert courtier could put on when his sovereign deigns to confer upon him some special mark of his royal favour. it is at his inn alone that his independence breaks forth, and here he often assumes as much consequence as if he was the head of the firm he represents, and always carried about him a _plum_ at least in his breeches pocket. this is a general character, and one, too, formed upon no slight knowledge of commercial men; but with all this, the man of the world will admire them and seek their company; first, that his accommodations are generally better, and the charges not subject to the caprice of the landlord; and, secondly, for the sake of society; for what on earth can be more horrible than to be shut up in a lone room, a stranger in a provincial town, to eat, drink, and pass the cheerless hour, a prey to solitude and _ennui_? but there is sometimes a little fastidiousness about these _knights of the saddle-bag_, in admitting a stranger to hob and nob with them; to prevent a knowledge, therefore, of our pursuits, my friend bob was instructed, before entering the room, to sink the arts, and if any inquisitive fellow should inquire what line he travelled in, to reply, in the print line; while your humble servant, it was agreed, should represent some firm in the spring trade; and thus armed against suspicion, we boldly marched into the commercial-room just as the assembled group of men of business were sitting down to dinner, hung our hats upon a peg, drew our chairs, uninvited, to the table, fully prepared to feel ourselves at home, and do ample justice to the "bagmen's banquet." the important preliminary point settled, of whom the duty of chairman devolved on, a situation, as i understood, always filled in a commercial room by ~ ~~the last gentleman traveller who makes it his residence, we proceeded to business. the privilege of finding fault with the dinner, which, by the by, was excellent, is always conceded to the ancients of the fraternity of traders; these gentlemen who, having been half a century upon the road, remember all the previous proprietors of the hotel to the fifteenth or twentieth generation removed, make a point of enumerating their gracious qualities upon such occasions, to keep the living host and representative _up to the mark_, as they phrase it. for instance--the old buck in the chair, who was a city tea broker, found fault with the fish: "there vas nothing of that ere sort to be had good but at billingsgate, where all the best fish from all the vorld vas, as he contended, to be bought cheaper as butcher's meat." the result of which remark induced the young wags at the table to finish a very fine brill, without leaving him a taste, while he was abusing it. "this soup is not like friend birch's," said mr. obadiah pure, a gentleman in the drug line; "it hath a watery and unchristianlike taste with it." "ay," replied a youngster at the bottom of the table, with whom it appeared to be in request, "i quake for fear while i am eating it, only i know there can be no drugs in it, or you would not find fault with a customer." "thou art one of the newly imported, friend," replied mr. pure, "and art yet like a young bear, with all thy troubles to come." "true," said the wag, "thou may be right, friend; but i shall not be found a _bruin_ with thy materials for all that." this sally put down the drug merchant for the rest of the dinner-time. "you had better take a little fish or soup before they are cold," said the chairman, to a bluff-looking beef-eater at his back, who was arranging his papers and samples. "sir, i never eat warm wittals, drink hot liquors, wear a great coat, or have my bed warmed." "the natural heat of your ~ ~~constitution, i suppose, excuses you," said i, venturing upon a joke. "sir, you had better heat your natural meal, while it is hot, without attempting to heat other people's tempers," was the reply; to which bob retorted, by saying, "it was quite clear the gentleman was not mealy-mouthed." "this beef smells a little of hounslow heath," said a jeweller's gentleman, on my right. "why so, sir?" was inquired by one who knew him. "because it has hung rather too long to be sightly." "you should not have left out the chains in that joke, sam," said his friend; "they would have linked it well together, and sealed the subject." "who takes port?" inquired the chairman. "i must sherry directly after dinner, gentlemen," said one. "what," retorted the company, "boxing the wine bin! committing treason, by making a sovereign go farther than he is required by law. fine him, mr. chairman." "gentlemen, it is not in my power; he is a bottle conjuror, i assure you, 'a good man and true;' he only retires to bleed a patient, and will return instanter." "happy to take a glass of wine with you, sir." "what do you think of that port, sir?" "excellent." "ay, i knew you would say so; the house of barnaby blackstrap, brothers, and company, of upper thames street, have always been famous for selling wines of the choicest vintage. do me the honour, sir, of putting a card of ours in your pocket: i sent this wine into this house in jennings's time, for the grand dinner, when the first stone of the new rooms over the way was laid, and john kelly, the proprietor, took the chair. you are lucky, sir, in meeting me here; they always pull out an odd bottle from the family bin, marked a-- , when i visit them." "yes, and some _odd sort_ of wine at any other time," grumbled out a queer-looking character at a side table opposite. "that's nothing but spleen, mr. sable," said the knight of the ruby countenance: "you and i have met occasionally at this house together now for three and twenty years; and although i never ~ ~~come a journey without taking an order from them, i thank heaven, i never knew you to receive one yet: many a dead man have we seen in this room, but none of them requiring a coffin plate to tell their age, and very few of them that were like to receive the benefit of resurrection." "i shall book you inside, mr. blackstrap,'' replied sable, "for joking on my articles of trade, which is contrary to the established usage of a commercial room." "do any thing you like but bury me," said the _bon vivant_." gentlemen, as chairman, it is my duty to put an end to all grave subjects. will you be kind enough to dissect that turkey?" "i don't see the bee's wing in this port, mr. blackstrap, that you are bouncing about," said a london traveller to a timber-merchant. "no, sir," said the humorist, "it is not to be seen until you are a deal higher in spirits; the film of the wing is seldom discernible in such mahogany-coloured wine as this." "sir, i blush like rose wood at your impertinence." "ay, sir, and you'll soon be as red as logwood, or as black as ebony, if you will but do justice to the bottle," was the reply. "there is no being cross-grained with you," said the timber-merchant. "not unless you cut me," retorted blackstrap, "and you are not sap enough for that." "gentlemen," continued the facetious wine-merchant, "if we do not get a little fruit, i shall think we have not met with our dessert; and although there may be some among us whose principals are worth a plum, there are very few of their representatives, i suspect, who will offer any objections to my reasons." thus pleasantly apostrophised, the fruit made its appearance, and with it a fresh supply of the genuine oporto, which our merry companion, blackstrap, called "his _old particular_." one of his stories, relative to a joke played off upon the bolton trotters, by his friend sable, the travelling undertaker, is too good to be lost. in lancashire the custom of hoaxing is called ~ ~~_trotting_, and in many instances, particularly at bolton, is still continued, and has frequently been played off upon strangers with a ruinous success. sable had, it would appear, taken up his quarters at a commercial inn, and, as is usual with travellers, joined the tradesmen in the smoking room at night to enjoy his pipe, and profit, perhaps, by introduction in the way of business. the pursuit of the undertaker and dealer in coffin furniture was no sooner made generally known, than it was unanimously agreed to trot him, by giving him various orders for articles in his line, which none of the parties had any serious intention of paying for or receiving. with this view, one ordered a splendid coffin for himself, and another one for his wife; a third gave instructions for an engraved plate and gilt ornaments; and a fourth chose to order an elegant suite of silver ornaments to decorate the last abode of frail mortality: in this way the company were much amused with the apparent unsuspecting manner of sable, who carefully noted down all their orders, and pledged himself to execute them faithfully. the bolton people did not fail to circulate this good joke, as they then thought it, among their neighbours, and having given fictitious names, expected to have had additional cause for exultation when the articles arrived; but how great was their surprise and dismay, when in a short time every order came, directed properly to the person who had given it! coffins and coffin-plates, silk shrouds and velvet palls, and all the expensive paraphernalia of the charnel-house were to be seen carried about from the waggon-office in bolton, to be delivered at the residences of the principal inhabitants. many refused to receive these mementoes of their terrestrial life, and others denied having ever ordered the same. sable, however, proved himself too _fast a trotter_ for the bolton people; for having, by the assistance of the waiter, obtained the true description of his ~ ~~customers on the night of the joke, and finding they were most of them wealthy tradesmen, he very wisely determined to humour the whim, and execute the orders given, and in due course of time insisted upon payment for the same. thus ended the story of the bolton trotters, which our merry companion concluded, by observing, that it put an end to sporting, in that way, for some time; and by the chagrin it caused to many of the trottees, distanced them in this life, and sent them off the course in a galloping consumption.{ } "there's honour for you," said sable, "civilized a _a bolton definition_.--when the bolton canal was first pro-posed, the athenians (for that bolton is the athens of lancashire no one can doubt) could not well understand how boats were to be raised above the level of the sea. a lock to them was as incom-prehensible as locke on the human understanding. a celebrated member of a celebrated trotting club was amongst the number of those who could not comprehend the mystery. unwilling to appear ignorant upon a question which formed the common topic of conversation, he applied to a scientific gentleman in the neighbourhood for an accurate description of a lock. it happened that the man of science had on one occasion been a _trottee_, and was glad to have an opportunity of retaliation. "a lock," said he, "is a quantity of sawdust congealed into boards, which, being let down into the water in a perpendicular slope- level, raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"--" eh?" said the athenian, "what dun yo' say?" the gentleman repeated his description, and the worthy boltonian recorded every word in the tablet of his memory. sometime afterwards he had the honour of dining with some worshipful brothers of the quorum, men as profoundly ignorant of the law as any of the unpaid magistracy need to be, but who, having seen canals, knew well enough what locks were. our athenian took an early opportunity of adverting to the proposed "cut," and introduced his newly-acquired learning in the following terms: "ah! measter fletcher, it's a foine thing a lock; yo' know'n i loike to look into them theere things; a lock is a perpendicular slop level, which, being let into the sea, is revealed into boards, that raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"--as it is the province and privilege of the ignorant to laugh at a greater degree of ignorance than their own, it may be supposed that their worships enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of their attic brother. ~ ~~whole district of english barbarians by one action, and, what is more, they have never ventured to trot with any one of our fraternity since." the conversation now took a turn relative to the affairs of trade; and if any one had been desirous of knowing the exact degree of solvency in which the whole population of the county of gloucester was held by these flying merchants and factors, they might easily have summed up the estimate from the remarks of the company. they were, however, a jovial party; and my friend bob and myself had rarely found ourselves more pleasantly circumstanced, either as regarded our social comforts, or the continued variety of new character with which the successive speakers presented us. as the evening approached our numbers gradually diminished, some to pursue their journeys, and others to facilitate the purposes of trade. the representative of the house of blackstrap and co., his friend sable, the timber merchant, our inviter the bookseller, and the two interlopers, remained fixed as fate to the festive board, until the chairman, and scarce any one of the company, could clearly define, divide, and arrange the exact arithmetical proportions of the dinner bill. after a short cessation of hostilities, during which our commercial friends despatched their london letters, and bob and the english spy, to escape the suspicion of not having any definable pursuit, emigrated to the high street; we returned to our quarters, and found the whole party debating upon a proposition of the bon vivants, to have another bottle, and make a night of it by going to the theatre at half price; a question that was immediately carried, _nemine contradicente_. mr. margin, our esteemed companion, who represented the old established house of sherwood and co., was known to sing a good stave, and what was still more attractive, was himself a child of song--one of the inspired of the nine, who, at the anacreontic club, held in ivy lane, would often amuse ~ ~~the society with an original chant; "whose fame," as blackstrap expressed it, "had extended itself to the four corners of the island, wherever the sporting works of sherwood and co., or the travelled histories of the messrs. longmans, have found readers and admirers." "gentlemen," said mr. margin, "my songs are all of a local nature; whims written to amuse a meeting of the trade for a dinner at the albion or the london, when the booksellers congregate together to buy copyrights, or sell at a reduced price the refuse of their stock. but, such as it is, you shall have it instanter." all the booksellers; a new song, by a london traveller. tune--family pride--irish air. first, longmans are famous for travels, will sherwood for sporting and fun, old ridgway the science unravels how politic matters are done. the ponderous tomes of deep learning, the heavy, profound, and the flat, by baldwin and cradock's discerning, are cheaper by half to come at. baines deals out to methodist readers cant, piously strung into rhyme; while rivingtons, 'gainst the seceders, with church and king hatchard will chime. john murray's the lords' own anointed, i mean not indeed to blaspheme, but the peers have him solely appointed to sell what their highnesses scheme. ~ ~~ colburn defies day and martin to beat him with " real japan;" if puffing will sell books, 'tis certain, he'll rival the bookselling clan. catechisms for miss and for master, for ladies who're fond oft, romance, sheriff whittaker publishes faster than booksellers' porters can dance. operatives, mechanics, combiners, knight and lacey will publish for you; they'll tickle ye out of your shiners, by teaching the power o' the screw. an architect looks out for taylor, a general egerton seeks; tommy tegg at the trade is a railer, but yet for a slice of it sneaks. richardson furnishes india with all books from europe she buys; near st. paul's, in old harris's window, the juveniles look for a prize. cadell is scotch ebony's factor, collecting the news for blackwood; john miller 's the man for an actor, america 's done him some good. the newmans of fam'd leadenhall in very old novels abound; while kelly, respected by all, as sheriff of london is found. will simpkin supplieth the trade from his office in stationers' court; and stockdale too much cash has made by publishing harriette 's report. ~ ~~the english spy antiquarians seek arch of cornhill; joe butterworth furnishes law; and major his pockets will fill by giving to walton _éclat_. where, with old parson ambrose, the legs once in gothic hall pigeons could fleece, there, hurst and co. now hang on pegs the fine arts of rome and of greece. john ebers with opera dancers is too much engaged for to look how the bookselling business answers, and publishes only "ude's cook." hookham and carpenter both are as cautious as caution can be; while andrews, nor chapple, a sloth are in trade, both as lib'ral as free. billy sams is a loyal believer, and publishes prints by the score; but his likeness, i will not deceive her, of chester _is not con amore_. if the world you are ganging to see, its manners and customs to note, in the strand, you must call upon leigh, where you'll find a directory wrote. cincinnatus like, guiding the plough, on harding each farmer still looks; clerc smith is the man for a bow, and his shop is as famous for books. _facetiæ_ collectors, give ear, who with mack letter spirits would deal; if rich in old lore you'd appear, pay a visit to priestley and weale. ~ ~~ there's ogle, and westley, and black, with mawman, and kirby, and cole, and souter, and wilson--alack! i cannot distinguish the whole. for robins, and hunter, and poole, and evans, and scholey, and co. would fill out my verse beyond rule, and my pegasus halts in the bow. the radicals all are done up; sedition is gone to the dogs; and benbow and cobbett may sup with their worthy relations the hogs. so here i will wind up my list with underwood, callow, and highley; who bring to the medicals grist, by books on diseases wrote dryly. just one word at parting i crave-- if italian, french, german, or dutch, to bother your noddle you'd have, send to berthoud, or treuttel and wurtz, or zotti, or dulau, or bohn, but they're all very good in their way; bossange, bothe, boosey and son, all expect _monsieur jean_ bull to pay. "a right merrie conceit it is," said blackstrap, "and an excellent memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "ay, sir," continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being useful, as well as amusing. there was 'chevy chase, and 'king john and his barons,' and 'merry sherwood,' all of them exquisite chants; conveying information to the mind, and relating some grand historical fact, while they charmed the ear. but ~ ~~your modern kickshaws are all about 'no, my love, no,' or 'sigh no more, lady,' or some such silly stuff that nobody cares to learn the words of, or can understand if they did. i remember composing a ballad in this town myself, some few years since, on a very strange adventure that happened to one of our commercial brethren. he had bought an old hunter at bristol to finish his journey homeward with, on account of his former horse proving lame, and just as he was entering cheltenham by the turnpike-gate at the end of the town, the whole of the berkeley hunt were turning out for a day's run, and having found, shot across the road in full cry. away went the dogs, and away went the huntsmen, and plague of any other way would the old hunter go: so, despite of the two hundred weight of perfumery samples contained in his saddle-bags, away went delcroix's deputy over hedge and ditch, and straight forward for a steeple chase up the cleigh hills; but in coming down rather briskly, the courage of the old horse gave way, and down he came as groggy before as a chelsea pensioner, smashing all the appendages of trade, and spilling their contents upon the ground, besides raising such an odoriferous effluvia on the field, that every one present smelt the joke.--but you shall have the song." the knight of the saddle-bags; a true relation of a traveller's adventure at cheltenham. tune--the priest of kajaga. a knight of the saddle-bags, jolly and gay, rode near to blithe cheltenham's town; his coat was a drab, and his wig iron-gray, and the hue of his nag was a brown. ~ ~~ from bristol, through glo'ster, the merry man came; and jogging along in a trot, on the road happ'd to pass him, in pursuit of game, of berkeley's huntsmen a lot. tally-ho! tally-ho! from each voice did resound; hark forward! now cheer'd the loud pack; sir knight found his horse spring along like a hound,' for the devil could not hold him back. away went sly reynard, away went sir knight, with the saddle-bags beating the side of his horse, as he gallop'd among them in fright; 'twas in vain that the hunt did deride. now up the cleigh hills, and adown the steep vale, crack, crack, went the girths of his saddle; sir knight was dismounted, o piteous tale! in wasjies the fishes might paddle. as prostrate he lay, an old hound that way bent gave tongue as he pass'd him along; which attracted the pack, who thus drawn by the scent, would have very soon ended his song. for o! it was strange, but, though strange, it was true! with perfumery samples, his bags with essences, musks, and rich odours a few, he had joined peradventure the nag's. the field took the joke in good-humour and jest; sir knight was invited to dine at the plough the same day, where a fine haunch was dress'd, and naylor gave excellent wine. from that time, 'raong the chelts, has a knight of the bag been look'd on as a man of spirit; for who but a knight could have hunted a nag so laden, and come off with merit? ~ ~~a visit from two of the commercial gentlemen of the fleece gave blackstrap another opportunity of showing off, which he did not fail to avail himself of in no very measured paces, by ridiculing the rival house, and extending his remarks to the taste of the frequenters. to which one of them replied, "mine host of the fleece is no 'wolf in sheep's clothing,' but a right careful good shepherd, who provides well for his flock; and although the fleece hangs over his door, it is not symbolical of any fleecing practices within." "ay," said the other, defending his hotel; "then, sir, we live like farmers at a harvest-home, and sleep on beds of down beneath coverings of lamb's wool; and our attendant nymphs of the chamber are as beautiful and lively as arcadian shepherdesses, and chaste as the goddess diana." "very good," retorted blackstrap; "but you know, gentlemen, that the beaux of this house must be better off for the belle. we will allow you of the fleece your rustic enjoyments, seeing that you are country gentlemen, for your hotel is certainly out of the town." a good-natured sally that quickly restored harmony, and called forth another song from the muse of blackstrap. health, competence, and good-humour. let titles and fame on ambition be shed, or history's page of great heroes relate; the motto i'd choose to encircle my head is competence, health, and good-humour elate. ~ ~~ the chaplet of virtue, by friendship entwined, sheds a lustre that rarely encircles the great; while health and good-humour eternally find a competence smiling on every state. no luxuries seeking my board to encumber, contented receiving what providence sends; age brightens with pleasure, while virtue may number competence, health, and good-humour as friends. then, neighbours, let's smile at old chronos and care; still shielded with honour, we're fearless of fate: with the sports of the field and the joys of the fair, we've competence, health, and good-humour elate. at the conclusion of this fresh specimen of our chairman's original talent, it was proposed we should adjourn to the theatre, where certain fashionable amateurs were amusing themselves at the expense of the public. "sir, i dislike these half and half vagabonds," said blackstrap, with one of his original gestures, "who play with an author before the public, that they may the more easily play with an actress in private. yon coxcomb, for instance, who buffoons brutus, with his brothers, are indeed capital brutes by nature, but as deficient of the art histrionic as any biped animals well can be. i remember a very clever artist exhibiting a picture of the colonel and his mother's son, augustus, with a captain austin, in the exhibition of the royal academy for the year , in the characters of brutus, marc antony, and julius cæsar, which caused more fun than anything else in the collection, and produced more puns among the cognoscenti than any previous work of art ever gave rise to. the romans were such rum ones--brutus was a black down-looking biped, with gray whiskers, and a growl upon his lip; marc antony, without the remotest mark of the ancient hero about him; and ~ ~~cassius looked as if he had been cashiered by the commander of some strolling company of itinerants for one, whose placid face could neither move to woe, nor yield grimace; and yet they were all accounted excellent likenesses, perfect originals, like wombwell's bonassus, only not quite so natural." during this rhapsody of blackstrap's, transit on the one side, and the english spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his satire by assuring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken, to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur actors. but as the english spy intends to finish his sketches on this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic illustrated his discourse. the "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and, although my "spirit in the clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous consequences likely to result from a visit to the "oakland cottages," yet such was the flexibility of my friend transit's ethics, his penchant for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my philosophy, nor the sage monitions of blackstrap, nor thought, nor care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making a pilgrimage to the altar of love. for be it known to the amorous beau, these things are not permitted to pollute the sanctity of the sainted chelts; but in a snug convent, situate a full mile and a half from cheltenham, at the extremity ~ ~~of a lane where four roads meet, and under the cleigh hills, the lady abbess and the fair sisters of cytherea perform their midnight mysteries, secure from magisterial interference, or the rude hand of any pious parochial poacher. start not, gentle reader; i shall not draw aside the curtain of delicacy, or expose "the secrets of the prison-house:" it is enough for me to note these scenes in half tints, and leave the broad effects of light and shadow to the pencils of those who are amorously inclined and well-practised in giving the finishing------touch. but to return to my friend transit. bright luna tipt with silvery hue the surrounding clouds, and o'er the face of nature spread her mystic light; the blue concave of high heaven was illumined by a countless host of starry meteors, and the soft note of philomel from the grove came upon the soul-delighted ear like the sweet breathings of the eolian harp, or the celestial cadences of that heart-subduing cherub, stephens; when we set out on our romantic excursion. reader, you may well start at the introduction of the plural number; but say, what man could abandon his friend to such a dangerous enterprise? or what moralists refuse his services where there was such a probability of there being so much need for them? but we are poor frail mortals; so a truce with apology, or prithee accept one in the language of moore: "dear creatures! we can't live without them, they're all that is sweet and seducing to man; looking, sighing, about and about them, we dote on them, die for them, do all we can." to be brief: we found excellent accommodation, and spent the night pleasantly, free from the sin of single blessedness. many a choice anecdote did the paphian divinities furnish us with of the _gay well-known_ among the chelts; stories that will be told again and again over the friendly bottle, but must not be recorded ~ ~~here. whether transit, waking early from his slumbers, was paying his devotions to venus or the water-bottle, i know not; but i was awoke by him about eight in the morning, and heard the loud echo of the huntsman's hallo in my ear, summoning me to rise and away, for the sons of nimrod had beset the house; information which i found, upon looking through the window, was alarmingly true, but which did not appear either to surprise or affright the fair occupants of the cottages, who observed, it was only some of the "berkeley hunt going out," (see plate), who, if they did not find any where else, generally came looking after a brush in that neighbourhood. [illustration: page ] "then the best thing we can do," said transit, "is to brush off, before they brush up stairs and discover a couple of poachers among their game." this, however, the ladies would by no means admit, and the huntsmen quickly riding away, we took our chocolate with the lady abbess and her nuns, made all matters perfectly pleasant, saluted the fair at parting, and bade adieu to the oakland cottages. upon our return to our inn, we received a good-humoured lecture from blackstrap, who was just, as he phrased it, on the wing for bristol and bath, "where" said he, "if you will meet me at old matthew temple's, the castle inn, i will engage to give you a hearty welcome, and another bottle of the old particular;" a proposition that was immediately agreed to, as the route we had previously determined upon. one circumstance had, during our sojourn in the west, much annoyed my friend transit and myself; we had intended to have been present at the doncaster race meeting for , and have booked both the betting men and their betters. certainly a better bit of sport could never have been anticipated, but we were neither of us endowed with ubiquity, and were therefore compelled to cry content in the west when our hearts and inclinations were in the ~ ~~north. "if now your 'spirit in the clouds,' your merry unknown, he that sometimes shoots off his witty arrows at the same target with ourselves, should archly suspect that old tom whipcord was not upon the turf, i would venture a cool hundred against the field, that we should have a report from him, 'ready cut and dried,' and quite as full of fun and whim as if you had been present yourself, master bernard, aided and assisted by our ally, tom whipcord of oxford." "heaven forgive you, blackmantle, for the sins you have laid upon that old man's back! you are not content with working him hard in the 'annals' every month, but you must make him mount the box of some of the short stages, and drive over the rough roads of the metropolis, where he is in danger of having his wheel locked, or meeting with a regular upset at every turn." though bob has given sufficient proofs of his spirit in danger, i certainly never suspected him to be possessed of the spirit of divination, and yet his prophetic address had scarcely concluded before boots announced a parcel for bernard blackmantle, esq. forwarded from london, per favour of mr. williams. and, heaven preserve me from the charge of imposing upon my reader's credulity! but, as i live, it was his very hand--another sketch by my attendant sprite, "the spirit in the clouds," and to the very tune of transit's anticipations, and my wishes. a familiar epistle to bernard blackmantle, esq., humorous description of doncaster races, the great st. leger, horses, and characters, in . by an honest reviewer, alias "the spirit in the clouds."{ } "all hail, great master! grave sir, hail! i come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curl'd clouds; to thy strong bidding, task ariel, and all his quality. prospero. why, that's my spirit! shakspeare--tempest. "good morrow to my worthy masters; and a merry christmas to you all!"--the bellman. "mendiei, mimi, balatrones."--hor. "mimics, beggars, and characters of all sorts and sizes." --free translation. my good mr. spy, will you not exclaim, mercy upon us! here is a text and title as long and as voluminous as a modern publication, or the sermon of the fox-hunting parson, who, when compelled to see last number of the spy, part xxi. p. . ~ ~~preach on a saint's day, mounted the pulpit in his sporting toggery, using his gown as "a cloak of maliciousness?" but have patience, sweet spy; be kindly-minded, dear bernard: like john of magna charta memory, "i have a thing to say;" and do now be a good attentive hubert to hear me out. "indeed, since you have inspirited, if not inspired me, by the 'immortal honour' of dubbing me your 'associate,' i were wanting in common gratitude not to attempt, by the return of moon, for i believe that luminary, like your numbers, comes out new every fourth week, to convey to you the swellings-over of my gratitude for the kind and fine things you have been pleased to cheer me with; although even yet, though the time will come, i can neither withdraw my vizor, nor disclose my 'family cognomen.' [illustration: page ] it was true, and joy it was 'twas true, that we were at rowings, sailings, feastings, and dancings together, but how comes it we were not at the great racings together? that neither you, nor your ministers, they who, "----correspondent to command, perform thy spiriting gently----" were at the grand muster of the north, the doncaster meeting? bernard, i tell thee all the world was there; from royalty and loyalty down to the dustman and democracy. then such "sayings and doings," a million of hooks could hardly have had an eye to all. you have read of the confusion of tongues, of "babel broke loose," of the crusaders' contributory encampment peopled by dozens of nations; you have seen the inside of a patent theatre on the first night of a christmas pantomime, or mingled in an opera-house masquerade; have listened to a covent-garden squabble, a billingsgate commotion, or a watch-house row; but in the whole course of your life, varied as ~ ~~it has been, active as it has proved, you never have, never could have experienced any thing at all to eclipse or even to equal the "hey, fellow, well met" congregatory musters, and the "beautiful and elegant confusions" of doncaster town in the race week of (september) eighteen hundred and twenty-five! i am not, however, about to inflict upon you a "list of the horses," nor "the names, weights, and colours of the riders;" but i cannot help thinking that the english spy will not have quite completed his admirable gallery of portraits, and his unique museum of curiosities for the benefit and delight of posterity, if he omit placing in their already splendid precincts two or three heads and sketches, which the genius of notoriety is ready to contribute as her own, and which to pass over would be as grievous to miss, as mrs. waylett's breeches,{ } characters at the haymarket theatre, or a solution of euclid by one of dr. birkbeck's "operatives." allow me, then, who am not indeed "without vanity," once more to "stand by your side," or rather for you, and to attempt, albeit i have not your magic pencil, another taste of my quality, by dashing off _con amore_ the lions of the north. there frequently occur circumstances in a younker's life which lie never, in all his after career, forgets. i remember a very worthy and a very handsome old gentlewoman, the wife of an eminent physician, once being exceedingly wroth, it was almost the only time i ever knew her seriously angry, because a nephew of hers asserted all women were, what in the vulgate is called "knock-knee'd," and almost threatened to prove the contrary. had she lived in our days, the truth, almost on any evening on our stage, might be ascertained, and i fear not at all to the satisfaction of the defender of her sex's shape. nature never intended women to wear the breeches, and the invention of petticoats was the triumph of art. why will eve's daughters publicly convince us they are not from top to toe perfect? ~ ~~as, however, some that attend my sitting are quite as difficult to manage as the conspirators of prospero's isle, it may be as well if, like ariel, i sing to them as i lay on the colours of identification. bear in mind still, that i am a "spirit in the clouds," and, therefore, there can be nothing of "_michin malachi_" in my melody. i love a race-course, that i do; but then, good folks, it is as true, only don't blab, i tell it you, i can't love all its people; for though i'm somewhat down and fly, is slang gone out, sweet mister spy? of trade with them i am as shy as jumping from a steeple. yet what with fashion's feather'd band, and pawing steeds, and crowded stand; its sights are really very grand, which to deny were sin. but then, though fast the horses run, few gain by "clone," and "done," and "done," for what a damper to the fun! those "only laugh who win." oh! what a mixture must we greet in rooms, at inns, on turf, in street; be "hand and glove" with all we meet, old files, and new-bronzed faces! with marquis, lord, and duke, and squire, we now keep up the betting fire; and then the guard of the "highflyer" we book at northern races.{ } a song would be no song at all without notes; i must there-fore try a few. i can assure you they are not mere humming ones. _allons_--"all is not gold that glitters," neither is it all "prunella" that blows a horn upon the stern of a coach. the "york highflyer" i really am not to go down gratis "next jour-ney" for puffing it is a good coach, and the guard is a good guard, and he ventured a "good bit" of money on the léger, and was "floored," for "cleveland" was a slow one. however, it didn't balk his three days' holiday, nor spoil his new coat, nor blight his nosegay. i saw him after his defeat, looking as rosy as pistol, and heard him making as much noise as one; "nor malice domestic nor foreign levy" could hurt him. ~ ~~ look in that room,{ } judge for yourself; see what a struggle's made for wealth, what crushings, bawlings for the pelf, 'twixt high heads and low legs. that is lord k----,{ } and that lord d-----,{ } that's gully{ }; yon's fishmonger c;{ } a octree-man that; that, harry lee,{ } who stirr'd mendoza's pegs. or walk up stairs; behold yon board, rich with its thrown-down paper hoard, but oh! abused, beset, adored by wine-warm'd folks o' nights. the playing cog, the paying peer, pigeon and greek alike are here; and some are clear'd, and others clear; ask bayner,{ } and such wights. the new subscription room; where down stairs more than the "confusion of tongues" prevails, and above a man's character, if in-sured, would go under the column of "trebly hazardous." it is really a pity that hone-racing should appear so close a neighbour to gambling as it does at doncastor. my men of letters are not merely alphabet men, but bona fide characters of consideration upon the turf. i confess lord kennedy is a bit of a favourite of mine, ever since i saw him so good-natured at the pigeon-shooting matches at battersea; and greatly rejoiced was i to find him unplucked at the more desperate wagerings of the north. he really is clever in the main, and no subject for st. luke's, though he depends much on a bedlamite. gulley, crock-ford, and bland, need no character; and every body knows harry lee fought a pluck battle with old dan. but it is "box harry" with fighters now. poor rayner of c. g. t.--hundreds at one fell swoop! all his morning's winnings gone in one evening's misfortune. let him think on't when next he plays "the school of reform." ~ ~~ nay, thick as plagues of egypt swarm these emblems of the devil's charm, when the fall'n angel works a harm to eve's demented brood; worse than of famish'd shark the maw, worse than snake's tooth, or tiger's claw, the gambler's fish{ } spits from its maw hell's poison-filled food! but, halt! who're they so deep in port, who jostle thus the dons of sport, with all th' assumed airs of court, from which indeed they are? but not from court of carlton, nor james's court, nor any one; but where "the fancy" used to run to see the creatures spar. the one's a diamond, that you see, but yet a black one i agree, and in the way of chancery a smart ward in his time; the other he's from vinsor down, and though a great gun in that town, has lately been quite basted brown, and gone off--out of time.{ } the spotted ball now, worse in its woe-causing than the apple of ida, is disgorged from a splendidly gilded fish. what a pity it is that the eternal vociforators of "red wins, black loses," et vice versa, could not be turned into jonahs, and their odd fish into a whale, and let all be cast into the troubled waters (without a three days' redemption) they brew for others! "there never were such times." x xs, in the ring, and failures in the fives court, overcome us now without our special wonder; for boxers are become betters to extents that would make the fathers of the p.r. bless themselves and bolt. cannon and ward were, however, both on the right side, and the nods with which they honoured their old acquaintance were certainly improvements upon the style of the academy for manners in saint martin's street. ~ ~~ look, here's a bevy; who but they! just come to make the poor tykes pay the charge of post-horses and chay, that brought them to some tune; lo! piccadilly goodered laughs, as when some novice, reeling, quaffs his gooseberry wine in tipsy draughts, at his so pure saloon.{ } good gracious, too! (oh, what a trade can oyster sales at night be made!) here swallowing wine, like lemonade, sits mrs. h's man{ }! and by the loves and graces all, by vestris' trunks, maria's shawl, there trots the nun herself, so tall, a flirting of a fan, and blushing like the "red, red rose," with paly eyes and a princely nose, and laced in nora crinas clothes, (cool, like a cucumber,) with beaver black, with veil so green, and huntress boots 'neath skirt quite clean, she looks diana's self--_a quean_, in habit trimm'd with fur. and mr. wigelsworth he flew,{ } and miss and mistress w. to bow and court'sy to the new arrival at their boy; "lightly tread, 'tis hallow'd ground." i dare not go on; you have been before me, bernard: (vide vol. i. p. , of spy). but really it will be worth while for us to look in on goodered some fine morning, say three, a.m., when he gets his print of memnon home, to which, at sheardowns, he was so liberal as to subscribe. he will discourse to you of the round table! "if i stand here, i saw him."--shakespeare, hamlet. the host of the black boy at doncastor, who really pro- vided race ordinaries in no ordinary way. ~ ~~ though he was black, yet she was fair; and sure i am that nothing there with that clear nymph could aught compare, or more glad eyes employ. but where there is, after all, but little reason in many of the scenes witnessed at the period i quote, why should i continue to rhyme about them? let it therefore suffice, that with much of spirit there was some folly, with a good deal of splendour an alloy of dross, and, with real consequence, a good deal of that which was assumed. like a showy drama, the players (there was a goodly company in the north), dresses (they were of all colours of the rainbow), and decorations (also various and admirable), during the time of performance, were of the first order; but that over, and the green and dressing rooms displayed many a hero sunk into native insignificance, and the trappings of tamerlane degenerated to the hungry coat of a jeremy diddler (and there were plenty of "raising the wind" professors at doncaster), or the materiel of the king and queen of denmark to the dilapidated wardrobe of mr. and mrs. sylvester daggerwood. _mais apropos de le drame, monsieur l'espion_, what is your report of our theatres? have you seen the monkeys? are they not, for a classic stage, grand, ----those happiest smiles that play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know what guests were in her eyes, which parted thence as pearls from diamonds dropt. in brief, her room would be a rarity most beloved, if all could so become it." shakespeare, a little altered. i would just say here, that if any disapprove of my picture of the lady, they may take bernard blackmantle's ~ ~~_magnifique, et admirable_? do they not awake in you visions of rapturous delight, as you contrast their antics and mimicry, their grotesque and beautiful grimaces, their cunning leers, with the eye of garrick, the stately action of kemble, the sarcasm of cooke, the study of henderson, the commanding port of siddons, the fire of kean, the voice of young, the tones of o'neill? when you see them, as the traveller dampier has it, "dancing from tree to tree over your head," and hear them "chattering, and making a terrible noise," do you not think of lord chesterfield, and exclaim, "a well-governed stage is an ornament to society, an encouragement to wit and learning, and a school of virtue, modesty, and good manners?" do you not feel, when you behold the flesh and blood punch and man-monkey of covent garden theatre "twist his body into all manner of shapes," or "monsieur gouffe," of the surrey, "hang himself for the benefit of mr. bradley," that we may pay our money, and "see, and see, and see again, and still glean something new, something to please, and something to instruct;" and, lastly, in a fit of enthusiasm, exclaim, "to wake the soul by tender strokes of art, to raise the genius and to mend the heart, to make mankind in conscious virtue bold, live o'er each scene, and be what they behold;" for this great jocko's self first leap'd the stage; for this was puffd in ev'ry well-bribed page, from evening "courier" down to sunday "age!"{ } it is suspicious, to say the least of it, this excess of praise to an old representation; for, after all, punch, the original punch, punch in the street, though not so loud, is ten times more to "our manner born," and much more original. that the beings who banish legitimate performers should puff, till we grow sick, a "thing of shreds and patches!" but "the world is still deceived by ornament." ~ ~~but charles kemble pays well on occasions, and gold would make "hyperion" of a "satyr." seriously, mr. blackmantle, the town is overrun with monkeys; they are as busy, and as importunate, as lady montague's boys on may day, or the guy fawkes representatives on the fifth of november. they are "here, there, and every where," and the baboon monopolists of exeter 'change and the tower are ruined by the importation:--a free trade in the article with the patentees of our classic theatres, as the purchasing-merchants, has done the business for mr. cross and the beef-eaters. like the athenian audience, the "thinking people" of england are more pleased with the mimic than the real voice of nature; and the four-footed puggys of the brazils, like the true pig of the grecian, are cast in the shade by their reasoning imitator! in short, not to be prosy on a subject which has awakened poetry and passion in all, hear, as the grave-diggers say, "the truth on't."{ } when winter triumph'd o'er the summer's flame, and c. g. opened, punchinello came; each odd grimace of monkey-art he drew, exhausted postures and imagined new: the stage beheld him spurn its bounded reign, and frighten'd fiddlers scraped to him in vain; his seven-leagued leaps so well the fashion fit, that all adore him--boxes, gallery, pit,{ } it is suspicious, to say the least of it, this excess of praise to an old representation; for, after all, punch, the original punch, punch in the street, though not so loud, is ten times more to "our manner born," and much more original. that the beings who banish legitimate performers should puff, till we grow sick, a "thing of shreds and patches!" but "the world is still deceived by ornament." one dr. samuel johnson has something like this, but then his lines were in praise of a "poor player," of a man who wasted much paper in writing dramas now thought nothing of. this is his doggrel. ~ ~~but i must have done. christmas will soon be here, and "i have a journey, sirs, shortly to go" to be prepared for its delights, and to fit myself for its festivities; and yet i am unwilling, acute bernard, merry echo, cheerful eglantine, correct transit, to "shake hands and part," without tendering the coming season's congratulations; so if it like you, dear spies o' the time, i will, like the swan, go off singing. marching along with berried brow, and snow flakes on his "frosty pow," see father christmas makes his bow, and proffers jovial cheer; about him tripping to and fro, picking the holly as they go, and kiss-allowing misletoe, his merry elves appear. then broach the barrel, fill the bowl, and let us pledge the hearty soul, though swift the waning minutes roll, and time will stay for none; lads, we will have a gambo still, for though we've made the foolish feel, and shamed the sinner in his ill, our withers are unwrung. "when learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes first rear'd the stage, immortal skakspeare rose; each change of many-colour'd life he drew, exhausted worlds, and then imagined new; existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, and panting time toil'd after him in vain: his powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd, and unresisted passion storm'd the breast." ~ ~~ no poison in the cup have ye, in all your travell'd history, pour'd for the hearty, good, and free; this will your book evince: so "here's the king!"fill, fill for him, then for our country, to the brim; with it, good souls, we'll sink or swim. huzzah! 'tis gall'd jades wince! but now, adieu; o'er hill and plain i scud, ere we shall meet again; meantime, all prosp'rous be your reign, and friends attend in crowds; before your splendid course is o'er, and blackmantle shall please no more, you'll know, though yet i'm doom'd to soar, your spirit in the clouds.{ }" november, . adieu, thou facetious sprite, and may the graybeard time tread lightly on thy buoyant spirits! meet thee or not hereafter, thou shalt live in my remembrance a cherished name, long as memory holds her influence o'er the eccentric mind of bernard blackmantle. here, too, must transit and myself take a farewell of merry cheltenham, ever on the wing for novelty: our sketches have been brief, but full of genuine character; nor can they, as i hope, be considered in any instance as violating our established rule--of being true to nature, without offending the ear of chastity, or exciting aught but "a. word to the wise," &c. get honest "tom whipcord" to take you by his hand on valentine's night to the "noctes" muster of the _sporting annals_ gents. you will know me by a brace of "bleeding hearts" in my plaited neckerchief, and a blue bunch of ribbons in my sinister side, as big as the herald newspaper, the gifts of my lady-love. ~ ~~the approving smile of the lovers of mirth, and the patrons of life's merriments. we had intended to have drawn aside the curtain of the theatre and the castle, and have shown forth to the gaze of the public the unhallowed mysteries which are sometimes performed there; but reflection whispered, that morality might find more cause to blush at the recital than her attendants would benefit by the exposure; and is is lamentably true, that some persons would cheerfully forfeit all claim to respectability of character for the honour of appearing in print, depicted in their true colours, as systematic and profligate seducers. to disappoint this infamous ambition, more than from any fear of the threatened consequences, we have left the sable colonel and his dark satellites to grope on through the murky ways of waywardness and intrigue, without staining our pages with a full relation of their heartless conduct, since to have revived the now forgotten tales might have given additional pain to some beauteous victims whose fair names have dropped into lethe's waters, like early spring flowers nipped by the lingering hand of slow-paced winter; or, in other instances, have disturbed the repose of an unsuspecting husband, or have stung the aged heart of a doting parent--evils we could not have avoided, had we determined upon rehearsing the love scenes and intrigues of certain well-known cheltenham amateurs. adieu, merry chelts! we're for quitting our quarters; adieu to the chase, to thy walks and thy waters, to thy hunt, ball, and theatre, and card tables too, and to all thy gay fair ones, a long, long adieu! blackmantle and transit, the spy and his friend, through gloucester and bristol, to bath onward bend. to show how amused they have been in your streets, they give you, at parting, this man of sweetmeats; a character, famous as mackey, the dandy, the london importer of horehound and candy; the cheapest of doctors, whose nostrums dispense a cure for all ills that affect taste or sense, i doubt not quite as good as one half your m.d.'s, though sweet is the physic and simple the fees; this, at least, you'll admit, as we dart from your view that our vignette presents you with a sweet adieu! a visit to gloucester and berkeley. sketches on the mood--singular introduction to an old friend--a tithe cause tried--a strange assemblage of witnesses--traits of character--effects of the farmers' success--an odd cavalcade--rejoicings at berkeley. ~ ~~the road from cheltenham to gloucester affords a good view of the cotswold and stroudwater hills, diversified by the vales of evesham, gloucester, and berkeley, bounded on the east by the severn, and presenting in many situations a very rich picturesque appearance. we are not of the dull race who dwell on musty records and ancient inscriptions, or travel through a county to collect the precise date when the first stone of some now moss-crowned ruin was embedded in the antique clay beneath. let the dead sleep in peace; we are not _anti-queer-ones_ enough to wish the mouldering reliques of our ancestors arrayed in chronological order before our eyes, nor do we mean to risk our merry lives in exploring the monastic piles and subterranean vaults and passages of other times. no; our office is with the living, with the enriched gothic of modern courts, and the finished corinthian capitals of society, illustrating, as we proceed, with choice specimens of the rustic and the grotesque; now laughing over our wine with the tuscan bacchanal, or singing a soft tale of love in the ear of some chaste daughter of the composite order; ~ ~~trifling perhaps a little harmless badinage with a simple ionic, or cracking a college joke with a learned doric; never troubling our heads, or those of our readers, about the origin or derivation of these orders, whether they came from early greece or more accomplished home; or be their progenitors of saxon, norman, danish, or of anglo-saxon character, we care not; 'tis ours to depict them as they at present appear, leaving to the profound topographers and compilers of county histories all that relates to the black letter lore of long forgotten days. gloucester is proverbial for its dulness, and from the dirty appearance of the streets and houses, was, by my friend transit, denominated the black city; a designation he maintained to be strictly correct, since it has a cathedral, a bishop, and a black choir of canonicals, and was from earliest times the residence of a black brotherhood of monks, whose black deeds are recorded in the black letter pages of english history; to which was added another confirmatory circumstance, that upon our entrance it happened the assizes for the county had just commenced, and the black gowns of banco regis, and of the law, were preparing to try the blacks of gloucestershire, out of which arose a black joke, that will long be remembered by the inhabitants of berkeley, and the tenantry of the sable colonel. we had made our domicile at the ham inn, by the recommendation of our cheltenham host, where we met with excellent accommodations, and what, beside, we could never have anticipated to have met with in such a place, one of the richest scenes that had yet presented itself in the course of our eccentric tour. the unusual bustle that prevailed in every department of the inn, together with a concatenation of sounds now resembling singing and speaking, and the occasional scraping of some ill-toned violins above our heads, induced us to make a few inquisitive ~ ~~remarks to mine host of the ham, that quickly put us in possession of the following facts. it appeared, that a suit respecting the right of the vicar of berkeley to the great tithes of that town had been long pending in the court of chancery, in which the reverend was opposed to his former friend, the colonel, the churchwardens of berkeley, and the whole of the surrounding tenantry. now this cause was, by direction of the lord chancellor, to be tried at these assizes, and, in consequence, the law agents had been most industrious in bringing together, by subpoena, all the ancient authorities of the county, the aged, the blind, and the halt, to give evidence against their worthy pastor; and as it is most conducive to success in law, the keeping witnesses secure from tampering, and in good-humour with the cause, the legal advisers had prepared such festive cheer at the bam, for those of the popular interest, as would have done honour to the colonel's banquet at the castle. such was the information we obtained from our host, to whose kind introduction of us to the lawyers we were afterwards indebted for a very pleasant evening's amusement. we were ushered into the room by one of the legal agents as two gentlemen from london, who, being strangers in the place, were desirous of being permitted to spend their evening among such a jovial society. the uproarious mirth, and rude welcome, with which this communication was received by the company, added to the clouds of smoke which enveloped their chairman, prevented our immediate recognition of him; but great and pleasant indeed was our surprise to find the most noble, the very learned head of the table, to be no other than our old eton _con._ little dick gradus, to whose lot it had fallen to conduct this action, and defend the interests of the agriculturalists against the mercenary encroachments of the church militant. this was indeed no common cause; and the greatest difficulty ~ ~~our friend gradus had to encounter was the restricting within due bounds of moderation the over-zealous feelings of his witnesses. it was quite clear a parson's tithes, if left to the generosity of his parishioners, would produce but a small modicum of his reverence's income. the jovial farmer chuckled with delight at the prospect of being able to curtail the demands of his canonical adversary. "measter carrington," said he, "may be a very good zort of a preacher, but i knows he has no zort of business with tithing my property; and if zo be as the gentleman judge will let me, gad zooks! but i will prove my words, better than he did the old earl's marriage, when he made such a fool of himsel' before the peers in parliament." "that's your zort, measter tiller," resounded from all the voices round the table. "let the clergy zow for themselves, and grow for themselves, as the varmers do; what a dickens should we work all the week for the good of their bodies, when they only devote one hour in the whole seven days for the benefit of our zouls?" "that's right, measter coppinger," said some one next to the speaker; "you are one hundred years of age, and pray how many times have you heard the parson preach?" "i never zeed him in his pulpit in the whole courze of my life; but then you know that were my fault, i might if i would; but i'ze been a main close attendant upon the church for all that: during the old earl's lifetime, i was a sort of deputy huntsman, and then the parson often followed me; and when i got too old to ride, i was made assistant gamekeeper, and then i very often followed the parson; so you zee i'ze a true churchman, every inch of me; only i don't like poaching, and when his reverence wants me to help him sack his tithes, old jack coppinger will tell him to his head, he may e'en carry the bag himself." "a toast from the chair! let's hear the lawyer' zentiments on this zubject," said another; with which request gradus complied, by giving, "may he who ~ ~~ploughs and plants the soil reap all its fruits!" "ay, measter gradus, that is as it should be," reiterated a farmer on his right, "zo i'll give you, 'the varmers against the parsons,' and there's old tom sykes yonder, the thatcher, he will give you a zong about the 'tithe pig and the tenth child,' a main good stave, i do azzure you." a request which the old thatcher most readily complied with, to the great delight of all present; for independent of his dialect, which was of the true rich west-country character, there was considerable wit and humour in the song, and an archness of manner in the performer, that greatly increased the good-humour of the society. in this way the evening was spent very pleasantly; and as the cause was to come on the first thing on the ensuing morning, transit and myself determined to await the issue, anticipating that, if our merry-hearted companions, the rustics, should be successful, there would be no lack of merriment, and some exhibition of good sport both for the pen and pencil. we had strayed after breakfast to view the cathedral, which is very well worthy the attention of the curious, and certainly contains some very ancient relics of the great and the good of earliest times. on our return, the deafening shouts of the multitude, who were congregated outside the sessions house, proclaimed a favourable verdict for the farmers, who, in the excess of their joy at having beaten their reverend adversary, gave loose to the most unrestrained expressions of exultation: a messenger was immediately despatched to berkeley to convey, express, the glad tidings; and the head farmers of the parish, with whom were the church-wardens, determined to commemorate their victory by roasting a bullock whole on the brow of the hill which overlooked their vicar's residence, and for the preparation of which festivity they also sent their instructions. the next grand point was, how to ~ ~~convey the witnesses, who were very numerous, to the scene of action, a distance of eighteen miles. to have despatched them in post-chaises, could they have found a sufficient number in gloucester, was neither in accordance with economy, nor with the wishes of the parties themselves, who were very anxious to have a grand procession, and enjoy themselves as they went along in smoking, singing, drinking, and proclaiming their triumph to their neighbours and friends. mine hostess of the ram, with every female in her establishment, had been, from the moment the verdict was given to the departure of the group, busily engaged in making large blue favours, of the colonel's colour, to decorate the hats of the visitors, until mr. boots arrived with the dismaying intelligence, that not another yard of riband, of the colour required, could be obtained in all the city of gloucester. with equal industry and perseverance the host himself had put in requisition every species of conveyance that he could muster, which was calculated to suit the views of the parties, and form a grand cavalcade; without much attention to the peculiar elegance of the vehicles, to be sure, but with every arrangement for social comfort. it had been decided that my friend transit and myself should accompany richard gradus, esq. the solicitor to the fortunate defendants, in a post coach in front, preceded by four of mine host's best horses, with postillions decorated with blue favours, and streamers flying from the four corners of the carriage; and now came the marshalling of the procession to follow. [illustration: page ] one of the colonel's hay vans had been supplied with seats, lengthwise, in which the first division of farmers placed themselves, not, however, forgetting to take in a good supply of ale and pipes with them; next in order was one of the old-fashioned double-bodied stages, which had not been cleaned, or out of the coach-yard, for twenty years before, and both in the ~ ~~inside and on the roof of which the more humble rustics and farmers' labourers were accommodated: this vehicle was drawn by four cart horses, of the roughest description; the rear of the whole being brought up by a long black funeral hearse, with three horses, unicorn fashion, on the roof of which the men sate sidewise, while the interior was, by gradus's orders, well filled with casks of the best gloucester ale. about a dozen of the farmers, on horseback, rode by the side of the vehicles; and in this order, with the accompaniment of a bugle in the hay van, and a couple of blind fiddlers scraping on the centre of the roof of the hearse, did we sally forth in most grotesque order, amid the joyous acclamations of the multitude, on our way to berkeley, every countenance portraying exultation and good-humour, and every where upon the road meeting with a corresponding welcome. a more humorous or whimsical procession cannot well be imagined, men, animals, and vehicles being perfectly unique. by the time we had reached our destination, the potent effects of the gloucester ale, added to the smoking and vociferous expressions of joy that attended us throughout, had left very few of our rustic friends without the visible and outward signs of their inward devotions to the jolly god. on our arrival near to berkeley, we were met by crowds of the joyous inhabitants, and proceeded onward to the spot selected for the festive scene, where we found the bullock already roasting on the top of the hill, and where also they had pitched a tent, and brought some small cannon, with which they fired a _feu de joie_ on our arrival, taking special care to point their artillery in the direction of the vicar's residence. on the opposite side of the road was the church; and it is not a little singular, that the steeple, belfry, and tower are completely detached from the body of the building. the vicar, dreading the riotous joy of his parishioners upon ~ ~~this occasion, had locked up the church, and issued his mandate to the wardens to prevent a merry peal; but these persons insisting that as the church was detached from the belfry, the vicar had no authority over it, they directed the ringers to give them a triple bob major, which canonical music was merrily repeated at intervals, to the great dismay of the parson, who, over and above the loss he was likely to sustain in his future interests, had by this defect suffered under a legal expenditure of some thousands of pounds. the colonel did not show, perhaps from prudential motives of respect to his old friend, but his agents were well instructed in their duty, and there was no lack of a plentiful supply of provision and ale for his tenantry to make right merry with. thus ended our trip to berkeley, where, after taking a view of the castle on the following morning, and surveying the delightful scenery with which that most ancient building is surrounded, we bade adieu to our friend gradus, and mounted the cheltenham coach, as it passed through, on our way to bristol. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] a day in bristol. a glance at the bristolians--their pursuits and characteristics--the london mail--a walk to the hot wells and clifton--blackmantle and transit start for the territories of king bladud. ~ ~~the worthy bristolians must not feel offended if we pass them by rather briefly; had ours been a tour of business, connected with commercial pursuit instead of a search after whim and character, we should no doubt have found materials enough to have filled a dozen chapters; but such pursuits are foreign to the eccentric volumes of the english spy, whose sole aim is humour, localized, and embracing characteristic scenes. such is the above sketch, which struck transit and myself, as we took a stroll down bridge-street while our breakfast was preparing at the white hart; it was a bit of true life, and cannot fail to please: but, after all, bristol resembles london so closely, at least the ~ ~~eastern part of the metropolis, that although we saw much that would have been worthy the attention of the antiquary and the curious in their several churches and museums, or might, with great advantage, have been transferred to the note book of the topographer, yet we met with none of that peculiar whimsical character that distinguishes the more fashionable places of resort. the sole object of the bristolians is trade, and every face you meet with has a ledger-like countenance, closely resembling the calculating citizen of london, whose every thought is directed to the accumulation of wealth, by increased sales of merchandize, or the overreaching his neighbour in taking the first advantage of the market. [illustration: page ] the arrival of the london mail, which comes in about ten o'clock in the morning, afforded transit another opportunity of picking up what little of character there was to be found. at bristol there is always a great anxiety to obtain the london news and price current; so much so, that the leading merchants and others assemble in front of the post-office, which also joins the exchange, to wait the arrival of the mail (see plate), and receive the letters of advice which are to regulate their concerns. it is but justice to add, there is no place in the kingdom of the same distance to which the conveyance is quicker, and the facility of delivery more promptly attended to. after breakfast we took a stroll round the docks, and then bent our steps towards the heights, and along the delightful walk which leads to the hot wells and clifton. to attempt a just description of the magnificent and romantic scenery which surrounds clifton, as it is viewed from the downs, would occupy more space than our limits will allow us to devote to the beauties of landscape; and would, besides, interfere with an intention which transit and myself have in view at some future period of our lives, namely, the making a topographical and characteristic tour through the united kingdoms, which being divided into counties, ~ ~~and embracing not only the historical and the picturesque, will be enlivened by all the humorous vagaries, eccentric characters, and peculiar sports of each, written in a colloquial style; and embracing the lingual localisms, proverbs, and provincialisms of the inhabitants: thus producing a humorous but most correct view of the present state of society and manners. the materials for such a work have gradually presented themselves during the progress of the present eccentric volumes; but, as our object here has been good-humoured satire joined to comic sketches of existing persons and scenes, more in the way of anecdote than history, we hope to meet with the same kind friends in a more extended work, among those who have journeyed onwards with us through two years--pleasantly we must suppose, by their continued support; and profitably, we are gratefully bound to acknowledge, to all parties interested. an early dinner at clifton, and a pleasant walk back by the terrace-road, brought us once more into the busy streets of bristol, where after sauntering away the time until five o'clock, we mounted a bath coach, and started forwards with a fresh impetus, and much promise of amusement, to explore the territories of king bladud. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] sketches in bath. ~ ~~ first view of the elegant city--meeting with old blackstrap --domicile at the castle tavern--matthew and mrs. temple worthy characters--sportsmans hall--bath heroes of the turf the ring, and the chace--portraits and peculiarities drawn from the life. may i ne'er flutter in the thoughtless train with fashion's elves, the giddy, and the vain; may i ne'er stroll again with milsom swells to tully's shop, or lounge with pump-room belles; may i no more to sidney gardens stray, if, bath, i wrong thee in my hum'rous lay. court of king blad', where crescents circling rise above each other till they reach the skies; and hills o'er-topping with their verdant green the abbey church, are in the distance seen: ~ ~~where inns invite ye, and where lodgings smile a ready welcome to some grecian pile; where chairmen wait ye, ready to attend and box ye up upon your latter end; where summer breezes on hygeia wait, and cards and fashion hold their courts of state. hither we're come to bath, to spy and tell what reigning follies mark the beau and belle; what stars eccentric move within thy sphere, or who's the greatest lion of the year. "have at ye all," we satirists give no quarter; yet shall our mirth prove grateful as bath water. the distant appearance, or first glimpse of the city of bath, is enough to impress a stranger with the most favourable opinions of the place. the regularity of the streets, and the tasteful character of the architecture of the principal buildings, are certainly superior to that of any other place of public resort in england; added to which, there is an attention to cleanliness apparent in the costume of the lower classes that is not so conspicuous in other places. "blest source of health! seated on rising ground, with friendly hills by nature guarded round; from eastern blasts and sultry south secure, the air's balsamic, and the soil is pure." surrounded by delightful scenery, and guarded from the piercing north winds by the hilly barriers of nature, the spot seems above all others best calculated to restore the health of the valetudinarian, whose constitution has become shattered and infirm by a course of fashionable dissipation, or a lengthened residence in the pestilential climates of the indies. "sweet bath! the liveliest city of the land; where health and pleasure ramble hand in hand, where smiling belles their earliest visit pay, and faded maids their lingering blooms delay. delightful scenes of elegance and ease! realms of the gay, where every sport can please." ~ ~~thus sings the bath poet, bayly; who, if he is somewhat too servile an imitation of moore in his style, has certainly more of originality in his matter than generally distinguishes poems of such a local nature. one of the greatest characters in the city of bath was the worthy host of our hotel, the castle; at whose door stood the rubicund visage of our cheltenham friend, blackstrap, ready to give us a hearty welcome, and introduce us to matthew temple, who making one of his best bows, led the way into the coffee-room, not forgetting to assure us that mistress temple, who was one of the best women in the world, would take the greatest care that we had every attention paid to our commands and comforts; and, in good truth, honest matthew was right, for a more comely, good-humoured, attentive, kind hostess exists not in the three kingdoms of his gracious majesty george the fourth. in short, mrs. temple is the major-domo of the castle, while honest matthew, conscious of his own inability to direct the active operations of the garrison within doors, beats up for recruits without; attends to all the stable duty and the commissariat, keeps a sharp look-out for new arrivals by coach, and a still sharper one that no customer departs without paying his bill; and thus having made his daily bow to the inns and the outs, honest matthew retires at night to take his glass of grog with the choice spirits who frequent sportsman's hall, a snug little smoking room on the left of the gateway, where the heroes of the turf and the lads of the fancy nightly assemble to relate their sporting anecdotes, sing a merry chaunt, book the long odds, and blow a friendly cloud in social intercourse and good fellowship. i do not know that it matters much at what end of bath society i commence my sketches; and experience has taught me, that the more fashionable frivolities of high life seldom present the same opportunity for the ~ ~~study of character, which is to be found in the merry, open-hearted, mirthful meetings of the medium classes and the lower orders. the pleasure we had felt in blackstrap's society at cheltenham, induced us to engage him to dine in the coffee-room, with our early friends heartly and eglantine, both of whom being then at bath, we had invited to meet us, in the expectation that dick gradus, having arranged his legal affairs at berkeley, would, by the dinner hour, arrive to join such a rare assemblage of old eton _cons_--a gratification we had the pleasure to experience; and never did the festive board resound with more pleasant reminiscences from old friends: the social hour fled gaily, and every fresh glass brought its attendant joke. heartly and eglantine had, we found, been sufficiently long in bath to become very able instructors to transit and myself in all that related to the haute class, and old barnaby blackstrap was an equally able guide to every description of society, from the mediums down to the strange collections of vagrant oddities which are to be found in the back janes and suburbs of the city of bath. it has been well said, in a spirited reply to the reverend mr. ek--r--s--l's illiberal satire, entitled "the bath man," that "london has its divisions of good and bad sets as well as bath; nay, every little set has its lower set; bank looks down contemptuously upon wealth; those who are asked to carlton palace cut the muligatawny set; the ancient aristocracy call law-lords and _parvenues_ a bad set; and so downward through the whole scale of society, from almack's to a sixpenny hop, 'still in the lowest deep a lower deep,' and human pride will ever find consolation that there is something to be found beneath it. plain men, accustomed to form their notions of good and evil on more solid foundations than grades of fashionable distinctions, will not consent to stigmatize as bad any class of society because there may happen to ~ ~~be a class above it." and what better apology could we desire for our eccentric rambles through every grade of bath society? with us every set has its attractions, and i have known my friend transit cut a nobleman and half a dozen honourables for the delightful gratification of enjoying the eccentricities of a beggars' club, and being enabled to sketch from the life the varied exhibition of passion and character which such a meeting would afford him. it will not, therefore, create any surprise in my readers, that our first evening in bath should have been devoted to the social pipe; the pleasant account blackstrap gave us of the sporting party, in matthew temple's snuggery, induced us to adjourn thither in the evening, where we might enjoy life, smoke our cigars, join a little chaffing about the turf and the ring, sip our punch and grog, enjoy a good chaunt, and collect a little character for the pages of the english spy. to such as are fond of these amusements, most heartily do i recommend a visit to the sporting parlour at the castle, where they will not fail to recognise many of the jovial characters represented in the opposite page; and as old time pays no respect to worth and mellow-hearted mortals, but in his turn will mow down my old friend matthew and his merry companions, i am desirous to perpetuate their memory by a song, which will include all of note who upon this occasion joined the festive scene. [illustration: page ] sportsman's hall. a scene at the castle. ~ ~~ come all you gay fellows, so merry and witty, ye somerset lads of the elegant city, ye sons of the turf who delight in a race, and ye nimrods of bath who are fond of the chase; come join us, and pledge us, like true brothers all, at old matthew temple's, the castle and ball. will partridge, the father of sports, in the chair, with honest george wingrove will welcome you there, while handy, who once on two horses could ride, and merry jack bedford will meet you beside; then for sport or for spree, or to keep up the ball, we've an excellent fellow, you'll own, in bill hall. ~ ~~ captain beaven, a yeoman of merry renown, will keep up the joke with the gay ones from town, while, if you'd go off in a canter or speed, you've only to take a few lessons with mead; then sharland can suit every beau to a t, so haste to the castle, ye lovers of glee. sweet margerim, clerk of the course, will be found with any young sportsman to trot o'er the ground, though his honesty, since at wells races 'twas tried, it must be admitted, has bolted aside; the newcombe's are good at all sports in the ring, while, like chanticleer, hunt the cocker will sing. jack langley, the fam'd 'squire western of bath, a jolly fox-hunter, who's fond of a laugh, with mellow tom williams, of brewers a pair, are the bacchanals form'd for to banish dull care; then haste to the castle, ye true merry sprites, where the song, and the chase, and the fancy delights. give a host more to name of the jovial and free, that my song would extend till to-morrow d'ye see: but a truce to particulars; take them all round, there's nothing in bath like themselves to be found; where harmony, friendship, and mirth can combine, the pleasures of life with kind hearts and good wine. and in good truth, there is no place within the dominions of king bladud, where the social man can find more cheerful companions, the sporting man more kindred spirits, and the lovers of the characteristic and the humorous meet with a greater variety of genuine eccentricity, unalloyed with any baser or offensive material. matthew temple himself is a great original, pure somerset, perfectly good-natured, ever ready to oblige, and although for many years the commander-in-chief of the castle, is yet in all the chicanery of his ~ ~~ profession, and the usual obtrusiveness of a landlord, as unlike the generality of his brethren as a raw recruit is to an effective soldier. old master william partridge is also worthy of notice as the father of the turf, and then if you would ride to hounds, no man in bath can mount you better, or afford you such good corn, great attentions, and a warm stall for a prime hack. rich in anecdote, and what is still better, with a charitable purse and a worthy heart, there are few men who have earned for themselves more respect in this life, or deserve it better, than william handy, esq. the once celebrated equestrian, who having realized a handsome competency, retired, some years since, to bath, to enjoy his _otium cum dignitate_: here, at an advanced age, with all the spirits of youth, and a lively interest in every thing relating to sporting, you will meet with the character i have described; and, take my word for it, will not be disappointed in the likeness. among the bon vivants of sportsmans' hall i must not omit that care-killing soul captain beaven, whose easy flow of good-humour and love of good sport is not less conspicuous than his love for a pretty lass, and his delight in a good song and a cheerful glass. honest george wingrove, a wealthy baker, and the patriarch of the room, will never prove a crusty customer, i am sure; and if that good-looking fellow mead, the riding-master, does sometimes "o'erstep the modesty of nature" in his mode of addressing his pupils, adopting the familiar style of addressing them by their christian name--as, for instance, "set upright, sally; more forward, eliza; keep your rein-hand more square, ellen;" and soon; he hath, however, yet many good points that amply compensate for this perverseness of habit. among the genuine good ones, the real thing, as the sporting phrase has it, not a biped in bath beats tom williams, who, agreeable to our eton gradus, is good at every thing: a more jovial, worthy-hearted, respected soul breathes not within the merry court of king bladud, and very ~ ~~few there that can rival him in a good horse, a long run, or as a lively companion. tom is married to the sister of bartley, the comedian, and carries with him into private life the estimation which ever attends him in public. for a rum story, a bit of real life, or a roguish joke, who shall excel jack bedford? and then, if your honour would knock the balls about, why "jack's the lad" to accommodate you. and little bill hall, who keeps the kingston billiard-rooms, will be most happy to make his best bow to you without any view to the mace. but, i' faith, i am sketching away here in sportsman's hall at old matthew temple's, and could continue so to do for another chapter; forgetting, as transit says, that we have yet to traverse the whole city of bath through, spying into the vagaries and varieties of the more polished, and taking a slight occasional glance at the lowest grade of society, in order to diversify and keep up the chiaroscuro of our pictures. [illustration: page ] merry reader, for such i hope thou art, we have now travelled on for nearly two years together; and many a varied scene in life's pilgrimage have we set before you, from the gilded dome of royalty to the humble shed of the emeralder; but our visit to bath will afford you a richer treat than aught that has yet preceded it. it was when the party broke up at temple's, and that was not before the single admonition of old father time had sounded his morning bell, that a few _bon vivants_ of the castle, accompanied by the english spy and his merry friends, sallied forth in quest of strange adventure; for it must be admitted, that in the elegant city "candles and ladies' eyes oft shine most bright, when both should be extinguish'd for the night." a fancy ball at the upper rooms on this night had attracted all the elegance, fashion, and beauty to be found within the gay circle of pleasure, and thither ~ ~~we bent our steps, having first provided ourselves with the necessary introductions. the scene above all others in the fascination of gay life and the display of female charms is a fancy ball; a species of entertainment better suited to the modest character of our countrywomen than the masquerade, and, in general, much better liked in this country, where the masked entertainment, unless in private, is always avoided by females of rank and character. one of the most amusing scenes which first presented itself to our notice on approaching the entrance to the rooms was the eager anxiety and determined perseverance of the liveried mercuries and bath dromedaries, alias chairmen, to procure for their respective masters and mistresses a priority of admission; an officious zeal that was often productive of the most ludicrous circumstances, and, in two or three instances, as far as indispensable absence from the pleasures of the night could operate, of the most fatal effects. a well-known city beau, who had been at considerable expense in obtaining from london the splendid dress of a greek prince, was completely upset and rolled into the kennel by his chairmen running foul of a sedan, in which lord molyneaux and his friend lord ducie had both crammed themselves in the dress of tyrolese chieftains. the countess of d--------, who personated psyche, in attempting to extricate herself from an unpleasant situation, in which the obstinacy of her chairmen had placed her, actually had her glittering wings torn away, unintentionally, from her shoulders by the rude hand of a bath rustic, whose humanity prompted him to attempt her deliverance. old lady l--------, in the highest state of possible alarm, from feeling her sedan inclining full twenty degrees too much to the right, popped her head up, and raising the top part of the machine, screamed out most piteously for assistance, and on drawing it back ~ ~~again, tore off her new head-dress, and let her false front shut in between the flap of the chair, by which accident, all the beautiful parisian curls of her ladyship were rendered quite flat and uninteresting. an old gentleman of fortune, who was suffering under hypochondriacal affection, and had resolved to attempt sir john falstaff, received the end of a sedan pole plump in his chest, by which powerful application he was driven through the back part of the machine, and effectually cured of "_la maladie imaginaire_" by the acuteness of a little real pain. the flambeau of a spruce livery servant setting fire to the greasy tail of a bath chairman's surtout produced a most awkward _rencontre_, by which a husband and wife, who had not been associated together for some years, but were proceeding to the ball in separate chairs, were, by the accidental concussion of their sedans in a moment of alarm, actually thrown into each other's arms; and such was the gallantry of the gentleman, that he marched into the ball-room bearing up the slender frame of his heretofore forsaken rib, to whom he from that time has become reunited. the lady mayoress of the city was excessively indignant on finding her preeminence of _entrée_ disputed by the wife of a bristol butcher; while the chair of the master of the ceremonies was for some time blocked in between the sedans of two old tabbies, whose expressions of alarm, attempts at faintings, and little flights of scandal, had so annoyed the poor m. c. that when he entered the ball-room, he felt as irritable as a tantalized lover between two female furies. in short, the scene was rich in amusement for the group of merry hearts who had left the castle in quest of adventure; and while we were enjoying the ludicrous effects produced by the jostling of the sedans, my friend transit had sketched the affair in his usual happy style, and designated it thus: ~ ~ the battle of the chairs. "the chairs are order'd, and the moment comes, when all the world assemble at the rooms." illustration: page ] for the ball-room itself, it was the most splendid scene that the magic power of fancy could devise. the variety of characters, the elegance of the dresses, and the beauty of the graceful fair, joined to their playful wit and accomplished manners, produced a succession of delights which banished from the heart of man the recollection of his mortal ills, and gave him, for the passing time, a semblance of elysian pleasures. the rooms are admirably calculated for this species of entertainment, and are, i believe, the largest in england; while the excellent regulations and arrangements adopted by the master of the ceremonies to prevent any of those unpleasant intrusions, too often admitted into mixed assemblies, deserved the highest commendation. it is from scenes of this description that the writer on men ~ ~~and manners extracts his characters, and drawing aside from the mirth-inspiring group, contemplates the surrounding gaieties, noting down in his memory the pleasing varieties and amusing anecdotes he has there heard; pleasantries with which at some future time he may enliven the social circle of his friends, or by reviving in print, recall the brightest and the best recollections of those who have participated in their gay delights. "in this distinguish'd circle you will find many degrees of man and woman kind." and as i am here "life's painter, the very spy o' the time," i shall endeavour to sketch a few of the leading bath characters; most of the gay well-known being upon this occasion present, and many an eccentric star shining forth, whose light it would be difficult to encounter in any other circle. the accompanying view of the rooms by transit will convey a correct idea of the splendour of the entertainment, and the fascinating appearance of the assembled groups. "ranged on the benches sit the lookers-on, who criticise their neighbours one by one; each thinks herself in word and deed so bless'd, that she's a bright example for the rest. numerous tales and anecdotes they hatch, and prophesy the dawn of many a match; and many a matrimonial scheme declare, unknown to either of the happy pair; much delicate discussion they advance, about the dress and gait of those who dance; one stoops too much; and one is so upright, he'll never see his partner all the night; one is too lazy; and the next too rough; this jumps too high, and that not high enough. thus each receives a pointed observation, not that it's scandal--merely conversation." a three months' sojournment at bath had afforded my friend eglantine an excellent opportunity for ~ ~~estimating public character, a science in which he was peculiarly well qualified to shine; since to much critical acumen was joined a just power of discrimination, aided by a generosity of feeling that was ever enlivened by good-humoured sallies of playful satire. to horace eglantine, i may apply the compliment which cleland pays to pope--he was incapable of either saying or writing "a line on any man, which through guilt, through shame, or through fear, through variety of fortune, or change of interest, he would ever be unwilling to own." it too often happens that the cynic and the satirist are themselves more than tinged with the foibles which they so severely censure in others. "you shall have a specimen of this infirmity," said horace, "in the person of peter paul pallet; a reverend gentleman whom you will observe yonder in the dress of a chinese mandarin. some few years since this pious personage took upon himself the task of lashing the prevailing follies of society in a satire entitled bath characters, and it must be admitted, the work proves him to have been a fellow of no ordinary talent; but an unfortunate amour with the wife of a reverend brother, which was soon after made public, added to certain other peculiarities and eccentricities, have since marked the satirist himself as one of the most prominent objects for the just application of his own weapon." come hither, paul pallet, your portrait i'll paint: you're a satirist, reverend sir, but no saint. but as some of his characters are very amusing, and no doubt very correct portraits of the time, , my readers shall have the advantage of them, that they may be the better able to contrast the past with the present, and form their own conclusions how far society has improved in morality by the increase of methodism, the influx of evangelical breathings, or the puritanical pretensions of bible societies. i shall pass by his description of the club; gaming ever was ~ ~~and ever will be a leading fashionable vice, which only poverty and ruin can correct or cure. the clergy must, however, be greatly delighted at the following picture of the cloth, drawn by one of their holy brotherhood. "the bath church," says the satirist, "is filled with croaking ravens, chattering jays, and devouring cormorants; black-headed fanatics and white-headed 'dreamers of dreams;' the aqua-fortis of mob politics, and the mawkish slip-slop of modern divinity; rank cayenne pepper, and genuine powder of post!" really a very flattering description of our clerical comforters, but one which, i lament to say, will answer quite as well for , with, perhaps, a little less of enthusiasm in the composition, and some faint glimmerings of light opposed to the darkness of bigotry and the frauds of superstition. methodism is said to be on the wane--we can hear no better proof that true religion and good sense are coming into fashion. the sketch of mrs. vehicle, by the same hand, is said to have been a true copy of a well-known female gambler; it is like a portrait of sir joshua reynolds, a picture worthy of preservation from its intrinsic merits, long after the original has ceased to exist: how readily might it be applied to half a score card-table devotees of the present day! "observe that _ton_ of beauty, mrs. vehicle, who is sailing up the passage, supported like a nobleman's coat of arms by her amiable sisters, the virtuous widow on one side, and the angelic miss speakplain on the other. by my soul! the same roses play upon her cheeks now that bloomed there winters ago, the natural tint of that identical patent rouge which she has enamelled her face with for these last twenty years; her gait and presence, too, are still the same--_vera incessa patuit dea_; she yet boasts the enchanting waddle of a dutch venus, and the modest brow of a tower-hill diana. ah, jack, would you but take a few lessons from my old friend ~ ~~at the science of shuffle and cut, you would not rise so frequently from the board of green cloth, as you now do, with pockets in which the devil might dance a saraband without injuring his shins against their contents. why, man, she is a second breslaw with a pack; i have known her deal four honours, nine trumps to herself three times in the course of one rubber, and not cut a higher card to her adversary than a three during the whole evening. sensible of her talents, and of the impropriety of hiding them in a napkin, she chose bath, independence, and her own skill in preference to a country parsonage, conjugal control, and limited pin-money. her _caro sposo_ meanwhile retired to his living; and now blesses himself on his escape from false deals, odd tricks, and every honour but the true one." one more sketch, and i have done; but i cannot pass by the admirable portrait of a bath canonical, "jolly old dr. mixall, rosy as a ripe tomata, and round as his own right orthodox wig, 'with atlantean shoulders, fit to bear the weight of mightiest monarchies!' awful and huge, he treads the ground like one of bruce's moving pillars of sand! what a dark and deep abyss he carries before him--the grave insatiate of turtle and turbot, red mullet and john dories, haunches and pasties, claret, port, and home-brewed ale! but his good-humour alone would keep him at twenty stone were he to cease larding himself for a month to come; and when he falls, may the turf lie lightly on his stomach! then shall he melt gently into rich manure; 'and fat be the gander that feeds on his grave.'" "but now for the moderns," said horace; "for the enchanting fair, 'whose snow-white bosoms fascinate the eye, swelling in all the pride of _nudity_; ~ ~~ the firm round arm, soft cheek, and pouting lip, and backs exposed below the jutting hip; to these succeed dim eyes, and wither'd face», and pucker'd necks as rough as shagreen cases, but whose kind owners, hon'ring bladud's ball, benevolently show their little all.'" but i must not particularize here, as i intend sketching the more prominent personages during a morning lounge in milsom-street; when, appearing in their ordinary costume, they will be the more easily recognised in print, and remain a more lasting memorial of bath eccentrics, sketches in bath--chapter ii. ~ ~~ well-known characters in the pump-room taking a sip with king bladud--free sketches of fair game--the awkward rencontre, or mr. b------and miss l.--public bathing or stewing alive--sober thoughts--milsom-street swells--a visit to the pig and whistle, avon-street--of the buff club. to the pump-room we went, where the grave, and the gay, and the aged, and the sickly, lounge time away; where all the choice spirits are seen making free with the sov'reign cordial, the true _eau de vie_. [illustration: page ] the _déjeuné_ over, the first place to which the stranger in bath is most desirous of an introduction is the pump-room; not that he anticipates restoration to health from drinking the waters, or imagines the virtues of immortality are to be found by immersion in the baths; but if he be a person of any condition, he is naturally anxious to _show off_ make his bow to the gay throng, and, at the same time, elucidate the exact condition of bath society. if, however, he is a mere plebeian in search of novelty, coupling pleasure with business, or an invalid sent here by his doctors to end his days, he is still anxious, while life remains, to see and be seen; to observe whom he can recognise among the great folks he has known in the metropolis, or perchance, meet consolation from some suffering fellow citizen, who, like himself, has been conveyed to bath to save his family the misery of seeing him expire beneath his own roof. "what an admirable variety of character does this scene present," said transit, who, on our first ~ ~~entrance, was much struck with the magnificence of the rooms, and still more delighted with the immense display of eccentricities which presented themselves. "i must introduce you, old fellow," said eglantine, "to a few of the oddities who figure here. the strange-looking personage in the right-hand corner is usually called dick solus, from his almost invariably appearing abroad by himself, or dangling after the steps of some fair thespian, to the single of whom he is a very constant tormentor. mrs. egan of the theatre, 'who knows what's what,' has christened him mr. dillytouch; while the heroes of the sock and buskin as invariably describe him by the appellation of shake, from an unpleasant action he has both in walking and sitting. the sour-visaged gentleman at this moment in conversation with him is the renowned peter paul pallet, esq., otherwise the reverend mr. m-----------. behind them appears a celebrated dentist and his son, who has attained the rank of m.d., both well known here by the titles of the grand duke of tusk-aney and count punn-tusk-y, a pair of worthies always on the lookout for business, and hence very constant attendants at the promenade in the pump-room. the old gentleman in the chintz morning-gown hobbling along on crutches, from the gout, is a retired vinegar merchant, the father of a chancery m.p., of whom the bath wags say, 'that when in business, he must always have carried a sample of his best vinegar in his face.'" at this moment old blackstrap advanced, and requested permission to introduce to our notice jack physick, an honest lawyer, and, as he said, one of the cleverest fellows and best companions in bath. jack had the good fortune to marry one of the prettiest and most attractive actresses that ever appeared upon the bath stage, miss jamieson, upon which occasion, the wags circulated many pleasant _jeux d'esprits_ on the union of "love, law, and physic." the arrival of a very pompous gentleman, who appeared to ~ ~~excite general observation, gave my friend eglantine an opportunity of relating an anecdote of the eccentric, who figures in pultney-street under the cognomen of the bath bashaw. "there," said horace, "you may see him every morning decorated in his flannel _robe de chambre_ and green velvet cap, seated outside in his balcony, smoking an immensely large german pipe, and sending forth clouds of fragrant perfume, which are pleasantly wafted right or left as the wind blows along the breakfast tables of his adjoining neighbours. this eccentric was originally a foundling discovered on the steps of a door in rath, and named by the parochial officers, parish: by great perseverance and good fortune he became a hambro' merchant, and in process of time realized a handsome property, which, much to his honour and credit, he retired to spend a portion of among the inhabitants of this city, thus paying a debt of gratitude to those who had protected him in infancy when he was abandoned by his unnatural parents. the little fellow yonder with a military air, and no want of self-conceit, is a field-officer of the bath volunteers, adjutant captain o'donnel, a descendant from the mighty king bryan baroch, and, as we say at eton, no _small beer man_, i assure you." "who is that gigantic fellow just entering the rooms'?" said heartly. "that is long heavisides," replied eglantine, "whom handsome jack and two or three more of the bath wits have christened, in derision, mr. light-sides, a right pleasant fellow, quite equal in intellect and good-humour to the altitude of his person, which, i am told, measures full six feet six." "gentlemen," said the facetious blackstrap, "here comes an old lady who has paid dearly for a bit of the brown, lately the relict of the late admiral m'dougal, and now fresh at seventy the blooming wife of a young spark who has just attained the years of discretion, at least, as far as regards ~ ~~pecuniary affairs; for before leading the old lady into church, she very handsomely settled three thousand per annum upon her adonis, as some little compensation to his feelings, for the rude jests and jeers he was doomed to bear with from his boon companions." "eyes right, lads," said eglantine; "the tall stout gentleman in a blue surtout and white trowsers is general b---------." "pshaw! never mind his name," said heartly; "what are his peculiarities?" "why--imprimis, he has a lovely young female commander in chief by his side--is a great reader with a very little memory. a very good story is told of him, that i fear might be applied with equal justice to many other great readers; namely, that some wags having at different times altered the title-page, and pasted together various leaves of a popular scotch novel, they thus successfully imposed upon the general the task of reading the same matter three times over--by this means creating in his mind an impression, not very far from the truth, that all the works of the great unknown bore a very close similitude to each other; an opinion which the general is said to maintain very strenuously unto this hour. of all the characters in the busy scene of life which can excite a pleasurable sensation in the close observer of men and manners, is your gay ancient, whether male or female; the sprightly evergreens of society, whose buoyant spirits outlive the fiery course of youth, while their playful leafage buds forth in advanced life with all the freshness, fragrance, and vigour of the more youthful plants. such," said eglantine, "is the old beau yonder, my friend curtis, who is here quaintly denominated the everlasting. [illustration: page ] the jolly bacchanalian, who accompanies him in his morning's lounge, is charles davis, a right jolly fellow, universally respected, although, it must be admitted, he is a _party_ man, since in a ~ ~~show of hands, charles must always, unfortunately, be on one side." a promenade up and down the room, and a visit to the goddess hygeia, for such, i suppose, the ancient matron who dispenses the healing draught must be designated, gave us an opportunity of observing the fresh arrivals, among whom we had the pleasure to meet with an old naval officer, known to heartly, a victim to the gout, wheeled about in a chair, expecting, to use his own sea phrase, to go to pieces every minute, but yet full of spirits as an admiral's grog bottle, as fond of a good joke as a fresh-caught reefer, and as entertaining as the surgeon's mate, or the chaplain of the fleet. "i say, master heavtly," said the captain, "the frigate yonder with the brown breast works, and she with the pink facings, look something like privateers. my forelights, master heartly, but if i had the use of my under works, i should be for firing a little grape shot across their quarters to see if i could not bring them into action!" "and i will answer for it, they would not show any objection to lie alongside of you, captain," said eglantine, "while you had got a shot left in your locker. mere cyprian traders, captain, from the gulf of venus, engaged in gudgeon bawling, or on the lookout for flat fish. the little craft, with the black top, is called the throgmorton; and the one alongside the ormsby of berkeley is the pretty lacy, a prime frigate, and quite new in the service. if you have a mind to sail up the straits of cytherea, captain, i can answer for it we shall fall in with a whole fleet of these light vessels, the two sisters; the emery's; the yawl, thomson; that lively little cutter, jackson; the transports, king and hill; the lugger, lewis; and the country ship, the lady grosvenor, all well found, and ready for service, and only waiting to be well manned. a good story is just now afloat about the lacy, who, being recently taken up for private trade by commodore bowen, was ~ ~~discovered to be sailing under false colours. it appears, that during the commander's absence a dashing enemy, the captain of the hussar, a man of war, had entered the cabin privately, and having satisfied himself of the state of the vessel, took an opportunity to overhaul the ship's stores, when drinking rather freely of some choice love~age, a cordial kept expressly for the commodore's own use, he was unexpectedly surprised by the return of the old commander on board; and in making his escape through the cabin window into a boat he had in waiting, unfortunately left his time-piece and topmast behind. this circumstance is said to have put the commodore out of conceit with his little frigate, who has since been paid off', and is now chartered for general purposes." at this little episode of a well-known bath story, the captain laughed heartily, and transit was so much amused thereat, that on coming in contact with the commodore and the captain in our perambulations, he furnished the accompanying sketch of that very ludicrous scene, under the head of the bath beau and frail belle, or mr. b------and miss l-----. an excellent band of music, which continues to play from one to half past three o'clock every day during the season, greatly increases the attraction to the rooms, and also adds much to the cheerfulness and gaiety of the scene. we had now nearly exhausted our materials for observation; and having, to use transit's phrase, booked every thing worthy of note, taken each of us a glass of the bath water, although i confess not swallowing it without some qualmish apprehensions from the recollection of the four lines in anstey's bath guide. "they say it is right that for every glass, a tune you should take that the water may pass; so while little tabby was washing her rump, the ladies kept drinking it out of the pump." ~ ~~a very pleasant piece of satire, but somewhat, as i understand, at the expense of truth, since the well from which the water in the pump room is obtained is many feet below the one that supplies the baths; situation certainly assists the view of the satirist. i ought not to pass over here the story told us by our old friend blackstrap, respecting the first discovery of these waters by bladud, the son of lud hudibras, king of britain; a fabulous tale, which, for the benefit of the city all true bathonians are taught to lisp with their horn book, and believe with their creed, as genuine orthodox; and on which subject my friend horace furnished the following impromptu. oh, lud! oh, lud! that hogs and mud{ } should rival sage m.d.'s; and hot water, in this quarter, cure each foul disease. "throw physic to the dogs, i'll have none on't,'" said horace: "if hot water can effect such wonders, why, a plague on all the doctors! let a man be content to distil his medicine fresh from his own teakettle, or make his washing copper serve the double purpose for domestic uses and a medicated bath. 'but what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'd any one of the physical gentlemen stew'd. from the day that king bladud first found out these bogs, and thought them so good for himself and his hogs, not one of the faculty ever has tried these excellent waters to cure his own hide; though many a skilful and learned physician, with candour, good sense, and profound erudition, obliges the world with the fruits of his brain, their nature and hidden effects to explain.' see the fabulous account alluded to in warner's history of bath, where bladud is represented to have discovered the properties of the warm springs at beechen wood swainswick, by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that was impregnated therewith, and thus to have derived the knowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection. ~ ~~but _allons_, lads," said horace, "we are here to follow the fashion, and indulge in all the eccentricities of the place; to note the follies of the time, and depict the chief actors, without making any personal sacrifice to correct the evil. our satire will do more to remove old prejudices when it appears in print, aided by bob transit's pencil, than all our reasonings upon the spot can hope to effect, although we followed mr. m'culloch's economy, and lectured upon decency from break of day to setting sun. in quitting the pump-room we must not, however, omit to notice the statue of beau nash, before which transit appears, in _propria personæ_, sketching off the marble memento, without condescending to notice the busts of pope and newton, which fill situations on each side; a circumstance which in other times produced the following epigram from the pen of the witty earl of chesterfield. "the statue plac'd the busts between adds satire to the strength; wisdom and wit are little seen, but folly at full length." such is the attachment of man to the recollections of any thing associated with pleasure, that it is questionable if the memory of old joe miller is not held in higher estimation by the moderns than that of father luther, the reformer; and while the numerous amusing anecdotes in circulation tend to keep alive the fame of nash, it is not surprising that the merry pay court to his statue, being in his own dominions, before they bow at the classic shrine of pope, or bend in awful admiration beneath the bust of the greatest of philosophers. "'twas said of old, deny it now who can, the only laughing animal is man." and we are about to present the reader with a right merry scene, one, too, if he has any fun in his composition, or loves a good joke, must warm the cockles ~ ~~of his heart. who would ever have thought, in these moralizing times, when the puritans are raising conventicles in every town and village, and the cant of vice societies has spread itself over the land, that in one of our most celebrated places of fashionable resort, there should be found baths where the young and the old, the beauteous female and the gay spark, are all indiscriminately permitted to enjoy the luxurious pleasure together. that such is the case in bath no one who has recently participated in the pleasures of immersion will dispute, and in order to perpetuate that gratification, bob transit has here faithfully delineated the scene which occurred upon our entering the king's bath, through the opening from the queen's, where, to our great amusement and delight, we found ourselves surrounded by many a sportive nymph, whose beauteous form was partially hidden by the loose flannel gown, it is true; but now and then the action of the water, produced by the continued movements of a number of persons all bathing at the same time, discovered charms, the which to have caught a glimpse of in any other situation might have proved of dangerous consequences to the fair possessors. the baths, it must be admitted, are delightful, both from their great extent and their peculiar properties, as, on entering from the queen's bath you may enjoy the water at from to degrees, or requiring more heat have only to walk forward, through the archway, to obtain a temperature of . the first appearance of old blackstrap's visage floating along the surface of the water, like the grog-blossomed trunk of the ancient bardolph, bound up in a welsh wig, was truly ludicrous, and produced such an unexpected burst of laughter from my merry companions, that i feared some of the fair naiads would have fainted in the waters from fright, and then heaven help them, for decency would have prevented our rushing to their assistance. the notices to prevent gentlemen ~ ~~from swimming in the baths are, in my opinion, so many inducements or suggestions for every young visitor to attempt it. among our mad wags, horace eglantine was more than once remonstrated with by the old bathing women for indulging in this pleasure, to the great alarm of the ladies, who, crowding together in one corner with their aged attendants, appeared to be in a high state of apprehension lest the loose flannel covering that guards frail mortality upon these occasions should be drawn aside, and discover nature in all her pristine purity--an accident that had very nearly happened to myself, when, in endeavouring to turn round quickly, i found the water had disencumbered my frame of the yellow bathing robe, which floated on the surface behind me. [illustration: page ] one circumstance which made our party more conspicuous, was, the rejection of the welsh wigs, which not all the entreaties of the attendant could induce any of the wags to wear. the young ladies disfigure themselves by wearing the black bonnets of the bathing women; but spite of this masquerading in the water, their lovely countenances and soul-subduing eyes, create sensations that will be more easily conceived than prudently described. a certain facetious writer, who has published his "walks through bath," alluding to this practice, speaks of it as having been prohibited in the fifteenth century. how long such prohibition, if it ever took place, continued, it is not for me to know; but if the bath peripatetic historian had made it his business to have seen what he has described, he would have found, that the practice of bathing males and females together in _puris naturalibus_ was still continued in high perfection, in spite of the puritans, the vice society, or the prohibition of bishop beckyngton.{ } it appears, that about the middle of the fifteenth century it was the custom for males and females to bathe together, in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited by bishop beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, the wearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency was suppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of the sixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author of the "walks through bath" mean? the incumbrance of the breeches and petticoats, we must imagine). it also seems, that about it was the fashion for both sexes to bathe together indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decorate their heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode of attracting attention and heightening their charms. the husband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with beau nash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of his wife, that he very im-prudently observed, "she looked like an angel, and he wished to be with her." nash immediately seized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; this circumstance produced a duel, and nash was wounded in his right arm: it however had the good effect of establishing the reputation of nash, who shortly after became master of the ceremonies. ~ ~~ "you cannot conceive what a number of ladies were wash'd in the water the same as our maid is: how the ladies did giggle and set up their clacks all the while an old woman was rubbing their backs; oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels, and then take the water, like so many spaniels; and though all the while it grew hotter and hotter, they swam just as if they were hunting an otter. 'twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sex all wading with gentlemen up to their necks, and view them so prettily tumble and sprawl in a great smoking kettle as big as our hall; and to-day many persons of rank and condition were boil'd, by command of an able physician." from the baths we migrated to the grand promenade of fashion, milsom street, not forgetting to take a survey of the old abbey church, which, as a monument of architectural grandeur without, and of dread monition within, is a building worthy the attention of the antiquarian and the philosopher; while perpetuating the remembrance of many a cherished name to worth, to science, and to virtue dear, the artist and the amateur may derive much gratification from examining the many excellent ~ ~~pieces of sculpture with which the abbey abounds. but for us, gay in disposition, and scarcely allowing ourselves time for reflection, such a scene had few charms, unless, indeed, the english spy could have separated himself from the buoyant spirits with which he was attended, and then, wrapt in the gloom of the surrounding scene, and given up to serious contemplation, the emblems of mortality which decorate the gothic pile might have conjured up in his mind's eye the forms of many a departed spirit, of the blest shades of long-lost parents and of social friends, of those who, living, lent a lustre to the arts, of witty madcaps frost-bitten by the sable tyrant death, nipped in the very bud of youth, while yet the sparkling jest was ripe upon the merry lip, and the ruddy glow of health upon the cheek gave earnest of a lengthened life------but, soft! methinks i hear my reader exclaim, "how now, madcap, moralizing mr. spy? art thou, too, bitten by the desire to philosophize, thou, 'the very spy o' the time,' the merry buoyant rogue who has laughed all serious scenes to scorn, and riding over hill, and dale, and verdant plain upon thy fiery courser, fleet as the winds, collecting the cream of comicalities, and, beshrew thee, witling, plucking the brightest flowers that bloom in the road of pleasure to give thy merry garland's perfume, and deck thy page withal, art thou growing serious? then is doomsday near; and poor, deserted, care-worn man left unprotected to the tempest's rage!" not so, good reader, we are still the same merry, thoughtless, laughing, buoyant sprite that thou hast known us for the last two years; but the archer cannot always keep his bow upon the stretching point; so there are scenes, and times, and fancies produced by recollective circumstances and objects, which create strange conceits even in the light-hearted bosom of the english spy. such was the train of reflections which rushed in ~ ~~voluntarily upon my mind as i noted down the passing events of the day, a practice usual with me when, retiring from the busy hum of men, i seek the retirement of my chamber to commit my thoughts to paper. i had recently passed through the depository where rest the remains of a tender mother--had sought the spot, unnoticed by my light-hearted companions, and having bedewed with tears of gratitude her humble grave, gave vent to my feelings, by the following tribute to a parent's worth. my mother's grave. beneath yon ivy-mantled wall, in a lone corner, where the earth presents a rising green mound, all of her who lov'd and gave me birth lies buried deep. no trophied stone, or graven verse denotes the spot: her worth her epitaph alone, the green-sward grave her humble lot. how silent sleep the virtuous dead! for them few sculptured honours rise, no marble tablet here to spread a fame--their every act implies. no mockery here, nor herald's shield, to glitter o'er a bed of clay; but snow-drops and fresh violets yield a tribute to worth pass'd away. tread lightly, ye who love or know en life's young road a parent's worth, who yet are strangers to the woe of losing those who gave you birth, ~ ~~ who cherish'd, fondled, fed, and taught from infancy to manhood's pride, directing every opening thought, teaching how reason's power should guide. ye rich and bold, ye grave and gay, ye mightiest of the sons of men, wealth, honours, fame shall sink away, and all be equalized again; save what the sculptor may pourtray, and any tyrant, fool, or knave who has the wealth, may in that way his name from dull oblivion save; that is, he may perpetuate his worthlessness, his frauds, and crimes; no matter what his tomb relate, his character lives with the times. shade of my parent! couldst thou hear the voice of him, thine only child, implore thy loss with filial tear, and deck thy grave with sonnets wild, 'twould all thy troubles past repay, thy anxious cares, thy hopes and fears, to find as time stole life away, thy mem'ry brighten'd with his years. yes, sacred shade! while mem'ry guides this ever wild eccentric brain, while reason holds or virtue chides, still will i pour the filial strain. "what," said my old friend horace eglantine, after reading this tribute to parental worth, "bernard blackmantle moralizing; our spy turned ~ ~~monody-maker, writing epitaphs, and elegies, and odes to spirits that have no corporal substance, when there are so many living subjects yet left for his merrier muse to dwell upon? come, old fellow, shake off this lethargy of the mind, this vision of past miseries, and prepare for present merriments. 'the streets begin to fill, the motley throng to see and to be seen, now trip along; some lounge in the bazaars, while others meet to take a turn or two in milsom-street; some eight or ten round mirvan's shop remain, to stare at those who gladly stare again.' in short, my dear fellow, we are all waiting your company to join the swells in milsom-street; where, i have no doubt, you will find many a star of fashion, whose eccentricities you will think justly entitles him to a niche in your gallery of living characters. 'lords of the creation, who, half awake, adorn themselves their daily lounge to take; each lordly man his taper waist displays, combs his sweet locks, and laces on his stays, ties on his starch'd cravat with nicest care, and then steps forth to petrify the fair.' such, for instance, is that roué yonder, the very prince of bath fops, handsome jack, whose vanity induces him to assert that his eyebrows are worth one hundred per annum to any young fellow in pursuit of a fortune: it should, however, be admitted, that his gentlemanly manners and great good-nature more than compensate for any little detractions on the score of self-conceit. what the son is, the father was in earlier life; and the old beau is not a little gratified to observe the estimation in which his son is held by the fair sex, on account of his attractive person and still more prepossessing manners. "you have heard of peagreen hayne's exploits at burdrop park; and here comes the proprietor of the ~ ~~place, honest tom calley, as jovial a true-hearted english gentleman as ever followed a pack of foxhounds, or gloried in preserving and promoting the old english hospitalities of the table: circumstances, the result of some hard runs and long odds, have a little impaired the family exchequer; however the good wishes of all who know him attend him in adversity. but the clouds which have for a time obstructed his sunshine of mirth are fast wearing away, and when he shall return to the enjoyment of his patrimonial acres, he will be sure to meet a joyous welcome from all surrounding him, accompanied with the heartfelt congratulations of those to whom in bath he is particularly endeared. the smart little fellow driving by in his cabriolet is beau burgess, a single star, and one of no mean attraction among the fair spinsters, who can estimate the merits and admire the refulgence of ten thousand sovereign attendant satellites. [illustration: page ] bath is, perhaps, now the only place in the kingdom where there is yet to be found a four-in-hand club; a society of gentlemen jehus, who formerly in london cut no inconsiderable figure in the annals of fashion, and who, according to our mode of estimating the amusements of the gay world, were very unfairly satirized, seeing, that with the pursuit of pleasure was combined the additional employment of a large number of mechanics, and a stimulus given, not only to the improvement of a noble breed of horses, but to the acquirement of a knowledge, the perfection of which in the metropolis is particularly necessary to the existence of the peripatetic pleasures of his majesty's subjects. here we have colonel allen, who puts along a good team in very prime style, and having lately been spliced to a good fortune, is a perfect master in the _manage_-ment of the bit. "squire richards is, also, by no means a contemptible knight of the ribbons, only he sometimes measures ~ ~~his distance a little too closely; a practice, which if he does not improve upon, may some day, in turning a corner, not bring him off right. 'a follower of the buxton school and a true knight of the throng,' says old tom whipcord in the annals of sporting, 'must not expect to drive four high-bred horses well with an opera-glass stuck in his right ogle.' a bit of good advice that will not only benefit the squire if he attends to it, but perhaps save the lives of one or two of the bath pedestrians. the leader of the club, who, by way of distinction from his namesake the colonel, is designated scotch allen, is really a noble whip, putting along four horses in first-rate style, all brought well up to their work, and running together as close and as regular as the wheels of his carriage. the comical little character upon the strawberry pony is the bath adonis; a fine specimen of the irish antique, illustrated with a beautiful brogue,and emblazoned with a gold coat of arms. the amours of old b-----------in bath would very well fill a volume of themselves; but the anecdote i gave you in the pump-room of little lacy and her paramour will be sufficient to show you in what estimation he is held by the ladies." "give me leave to introduce you to a raer fellow," said heartly; "an old friend of mine, who has all his lifetime been a wholesale dealer in choice spirits, and having now bottled off enough for the remainder of his life, is come to spend the evening of his days in bath among the bon vivants of the elegant city, enjoying the tit bits of pleasure, and courting the sweet society of the pretty girls. by heavens! boys, we shall be found out, and you, mr. spy, will be the ruin of us all, for here comes our old sporting acquaintance, charles bannatyne, with his jackall at his heels, accompanied by that mad wag oemsby, the cheltenham amateur of fashion, and the gallant little lieutenant valombre, who having formerly made a rich capture of spanish dollars, is perhaps upon the look-out here ~ ~~for a frigate well-laden with english specie, in order to sail in consort, and cruize off the straits of independence for life. well, success attend him," said heartly; "for he well deserves a good word whether at sea or on shore. the military-looking gentleman yonder, who is in close conversation with that rough diamond, ellis, once a london attorney, is the highly-respected colonel fitzgerald, whom our friend transit formerly caricatured under the cognomen of colonel saunter, a good-humoured joke, with which he is by no means displeased himself." "but, my dear fellows," said transit, "if we remain fixed to this spot much longer, we shall have the eyes of all the _beau monde_ upon us, and stand a chance of being pointed at for the rest of the time that we remain in bath." a piece of advice that was not wholly unnecessary, for being personally known to a few of the sporting characters, our visit to the elegant city had spread like wildfire, and on our appearance in milsom-street, a very general desire was expressed by the beaux to have a sight of the english spy and his friend transit, by whose joint labours they anticipated they might hereafter live to fame. one of the most remarkable personages of the old school still left to bath is the celebrated captain mathews, the author of "a short treatise on whist," and the same gentleman who at an early period of life contested with the late r. b. sheridan, upon lansdowne, for the fair hand of the beauteous miss lindly, the lady to whom the wit was afterwards married. in this way did my pleasant friends heartly and eglantine continue to furnish me with brief notices of the most attractive of the stars of fashion who usually lounge away the mornings in milsom-street, exchanging the familiar nod and "how d'ye do?" and holding sweet discourse among their fragrant selves upon the pursuits of the _haute classe_, the merits of the last new novel, or the fortune of the last unmarried feminine ~ ~~arrival. to these may be added reminiscences of the last night's card-table and remarks upon the balls at the rooms; for "two musical parties to bladud belong, to delight the old rooms and the upper; one gives to the ladies a supper, no song, and the other a song and no supper." "the _jolie_ dame to the right," said horace, "is the mother of england's best friend, the secretary for the foreign department, george canning, a man to whom we are all indebted for the amalgamation of party, and the salvation of the country the clerical who follows immediately behind mrs. hunn is a reverend gentleman whose daughters both recently eloped from his house on the same morning attended by favoured lovers to bind with sacred wreaths their happy destinies at the shrine of hymen." we had now reached the bottom of the street again, after having made at least a dozen promenades to and fro, and were on the point of retiring to our hotel to dress for dinner, when heartly directed my attention to a dashing roue, who, dressed in the extreme of superlative style, was accompanied by a beautiful piece of fair simplicity in the garb of a puritan. "that," said my friend, "is the beautiful miss d**t--one of the faithful, whom the dashing count l***c***t has recently induced to say ay for life: thus gaining a double prize of no mean importance by one stroke of good luck--a fine girl and a fine fortune into the bargain." i must not forget our friend the consulting surgeon h***ks, or omit to notice that in bath the faculty are all distinguished by some peculiar title of this sort, as, the digestive physician, the practical apothecary, and the operative chemist; a piece of quackery not very creditable to their acknowledged skill and general respectability. at dinner we were again joined by our facetious ~ ~~friend blackstrap, who, to use his own phraseology, having made "a good morning's work of it," hoped he might be permitted to make one among us, a request with which we were most willing to comply. in the evening, after the bottle had circulated freely, some of our party proposed a visit to the theatre, but as bath theatricals could not be expected to afford much amusement to london frequenters of the theatres royal, transit suggested our sallying forth for a spree;" for," said he, "i have not yet booked a bit of true life since i have been in bath. the pump-room, the bathers, and the swells in milsom-street, are all very well for the lovers of elegant life; but our sporting friends and old college chums will expect to see a genuine touch or two of the broad humour of bath--something suburban and funny. cannot you introduce us to any thing pleasant of this sort!" said transit, addressing blackstrap: "perhaps give us a sight of the interior of a snug convent, or show us where the bath wonderfuls resort to carouse and sing away their cares."--"it is some years since," said blackstrap, "that in the company of a few merry wags, i paid a visit to the buff-club in avon-street: but as you, gentlemen, appear disposed for a little fun, if you will pledge yourselves to be directed by me, i will undertake to introduce you to a scene far exceeding in profligacy and dissipation the most florid picture which our friend transit has yet furnished of the back settlements in the holy-land." with this understanding, and with no little degree of anticipatory pleasure, did our merry group set forth to take a survey of the interior of the long room at the pig and whistle in avon-street. of the origin of this sign, blackstrap gave us a very humorous anecdote: the house was formerly, it would appear, known by the sign of the crown and thistle, and was at that time the resort of the irish traders who visited bath to dispose of their linens. one of these emeralders ~ ~~having lost his way, and being unable to recollect either the name of the street or the sign of his inn, thus addressed a countryman whom he accidentally met: "sure i've quite forgotten the sign of my inn." "be after mentioning something like it, my jewel," said his friend. "sure it's very like the pig and whistle," replied the enquirer. "by the powers, so it is:--the crown and thistle, you mean;" and from this mistake of the emeralder, the house has ever since been so designated. upon our visit to this scene of uproarious mirth, we found it frequented by the lowest and most depraved characters in society; the mendicants, and miserable of the female sex, who, lost to every sense of shame or decency, assemble here to indulge in profligacies, the full description of which must not stain the pages of the english spy. [illustration: page ] as a scene of low life, my friend transit has done it ample justice, where the portraits of lady grosvenor as one of the cyprian frequenters is designated, the toad in a hole, and lucy the fair, will be easily recognised. a gallon of gin for the ladies, and a liberal distribution of beer and tobacco for the males, made us very welcome guests, and insured us, during our short stay, at least from personal interruption. it may be asked why such a house is licensed by the magistracy; but when it is known that characters of this sort will always be found in well-populated places, and that the doors are regularly closed at eleven o'clock, it is perhaps thought to be a measure of prudence to let them continue to assemble in an obscure part of the suburbs, where they congregate together under the vigilant eye of the police, instead of being driven abroad to seek fresh places of resort, and by this means increase the evils of society. the next morning saw my friend transit and myself again prepared to separate from our friends heartly and eglantine, on our way to worcester, ~ ~~where we had promised to pay a visit to old crony on our road back to london. reader, if our sketches in bath are somewhat brief, remember we are ever on the wing in search of novelty, and are not disposed to stay one day longer in any place than it affords fresh food for pen and pencil in the characters we have sketched we disclaim any thought of personal offence; eccentrics are public property, and must not object to appear in print, seeing that they are in the journey through life allowed to ride a free horse, without that curb which generally restrains the conduct of others but i must here take my farewell of the elegant city of that attractive spot of which bayley justly sings "in this auspicious region all mankind (whate'er their taste) congenial joys may find; here monied men may pass for men of worth; and wealthy cits may hide plebeian birth. here men devoid of cash may live with ease, appear genteel, and pass for what they please." waggeries at worcester. ~ ~~the meeting with an old friend at worcester induced us to domicile there for the space of three days, during which time i will not say we were laid up with lavender, but certainly near enough to scent it. most of our worcester acquaintance will however understand what is meant by this allusion to one of the pleasantest fellows that ever commanded the uncivil customers in the castle, since the time of the civil wars. the city is perhaps as quiet a dull place as may be found within his majesty's dominions, where a cannon-ball might be fired down the principal street at noon-day without killing more than the ruby-nosed incumbent of a fat benefice, a superannuated tradesman, or a manufacturer of crockery-ware. no stranger should, however, pass through the place without visiting the extensive china works of messrs. flight and barr, to which the greatest facility is given by the proprietors; and the visit must amply repay any admirer of the arts. a jovial evening, spent with our old friend of the castle, had ended with a kind invitation from him to partake of a spread at his hotel on the following morning; but such was the apprehensions of transit at the idea of entering this mansion of the desolate, from being troubled with certain qualmish remembrances of the previous night's debauch, that not all my intreaties, nor the repeated messages of the worthy commander of the castle, could bring our friend transit to book. ~ ~~to those who know my friend john, and there are few of any respectability who do not both know and admire him, his facetious talent will require but little introduction. lavender is what a man of the world, whose business it has been to watch over the interests of society, should be, superior in education and in mind, to any one i ever met with filling a similar situation: the governor of the castle is a companion for a lord, or to suit the purposes of justice, instantly metamorphosed into an out and outer, a regular knowing cove, whose knowledge of flash and the cant and slang used by the dissolute is considered to be superior to that of any public officer. a specimen of this will be found in the following note, which a huge fellow of a turnkey brought to my bedside, and then apologised for disturbing me, by pleading the governor's instructions. "queer coves, "i hope you have left your dabs,{ } and nobs,{ } all right: perhaps prime legs{ } is queer in the oration-box{ } from a too frequent use of the steamer{ } last darky.{ } i make this fakement{ } to let you know i and morning spread are waiting. steel-hotel, yours, &c. june , . lockit." [illustration: page ] my readers will very readily conceive that with such a companion we were not long in tracing out what little of true life was to be found in worcester, and certainly one of the pleasantest scenes in which we participated was a visit to the subscription bowling alley, where, in the summer time, the most respectable of the inhabitants of worcester meet every evening beds. heads. cruikshank.. cranium. a pipe. night. a note. ~ ~~for recreation; and a right pleasant company we found them. the caleb quotem of the society, dr. davis, united in one person all the acquirements of the great original: he not only keeps the time of the city, but keeps all the musicians of the place in time; regulates the watch and the watches, and plays a solo _à la dragonetti_ upon the double bass. sam swan is another choice spirit, who sings a good chant, lives well respected, and sails down the stream of time as pleasantly as if he was indeed a royal bird. an old burdettite, will shunk, recognised in us a partizan of the government candidate at one of the westminster elections: "but, sir," said will, "politics and i have nearly parted; for you must know, i am tolerably _well breeched_, and can fairly say i am hand and glove with all the first nobility in the kingdom." a truth to which captain corls readily assented by explaining that master william shunk was a first-rate glover, and considered worth a plum at least: "in short, sir," said the captain, "he is a nabob here, and brings to my mind some of the eastern princes with whom i have met during my campaigns in the east." the very mention of which exploit induced our friend the governor to tip us the office, and the joke was well humoured until silver powell, who they say comes from norfolk, interrupted our travels in india, with, "captain, can't you see that ere athlantic fellow, the governor, is making fun of you to amuse his london friends." a hint that appeared to strike the captain very forcibly, for it struck him dumb. a good-humoured contest between honest joe shelton, and probert the school-master, elicited some very comical exposures in the way of recriminations. joe, it would appear, is an artist in economy; and an old story about a lobster raised joe's ire to its height, and produced the lex taliones on probert, ~ ~~whose habits of frugality wanted his competitor's humour to make them pass current. transit, who had been amusing himself with sketching the characters, had become acquainted with a sporting reverend, whose taste for giblets had proved rather expensive; and who was most desirous of appearing in print: a favor merry stephen godson, the lawyer, requested might also be extended to him." "ay," said john portman, "and if you want a character for your foreground rich in colour, my phiz is much at your service; and here's george brookes, the radical, to form a good dark object in the distance." in this way the evening passed off very pleasantly. our friend had made the object of our visit to the bowling alley known to some few of his intimates, circumstance that i have no doubt rather operated to prevent a display of some of those good-humoured eccentricities with which it is not unfrequently marked. upon my return to town, i received a farewell ode from my spirit in the clouds, evidently written under a misconception that the english spy was about to withdraw himself for a time, from his sketches on men and manners, when in fact, although his labours will here close with the completion of a second volume, his friends will find, that he is most desirous of still engaging their attentions in a new form, attended not only by all his former associates, but uniting in his train the brightest and the merriest of all the choice spirits of the age. bernard blackmantle to his readers. to prevent a misconception, and do himself justice, the author of the english spy feels it necessary to state, that in every instance the subjects for the plates illustrating this work have been furnished by his pen, and not unfrequently, the rough ideas have ~ ~~first emanated from his own pencil; while he states this fact to prevent error, he is most anxious to acknowledge the great assistance he has derived from the inimitable humour and graphic skill in the execution of the designs, by his friend robert transit. [illustration: page ] a short ode at parting, from his "spirit in the clouds" to the english spy. ~ ~~ prospero. now does my project gather to a head; my charms crack not; my spirits obey: ----how's the day? ariel. on the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, you said our work should cease. --shakspkare's tempest. so fare you well; i have left you commands. ibid.--as you like it. "'tis true, and pity 'tis, 'tis true," that though on fairest winds we flew, i in the clouds, beneath them you, we still must parted be; and that, e'en whilst the world still hung on what you wrote, and what i sung, enamour'd of our double tongue, exits my bernard b-----. well, all great actors must have pause, when toiling in a patriot cause, and ere another scene he draws, new characters to cast, ~ ~~ secure of having played his part, as nature dictates, from the heart, 'tis fair before another start, he brush up from the last. but how will humbugs of the age, (i don't mean mr. b.'s dull page,) crow that they scape satiric rage, and get off in whole skins; how will dramatic fools rejoice! no more is heard great bernard's voice, and that, heav'n knows, there is a choice, their flummery begins.{ } but go your ways; it may be wise, to let these puny, pestering flies buzz about people's ears and eyes, a season or two longer; there must be evil mixed with good, a bottom to the clearest flood, and let them stand where others stood, till shown who is the stronger. then, fortune-hunting squires of bath, fine as the burmese jewell'd rath,{ } pray totter o'er your bond-street path, a respite short is yours. i speak of would-be actors (male and female), vain and incompetent managers, flippant and unequal critics, puffed and translating authors, in short, of all before and behind the curtain who have injured, or may injuro, the legitimate drama. let the theatres, like our trade, be free, and monopoly thrive not, and for their success the spirit will ever pray; at present, it is "a mad world, my masters;" and i am afraid mr. rayner with his long and set speeches, as chairman of thomas's shakspeareans, will not mend the matter. we note this to him in a friendly way; seeing, that he is a worthy fellow, and a clever caliban, and really loves shakspeare next to newmarket and doncaster. the burmese carriage is certainly a curious machine of indian workmanship; but it is, we should fancy, mere outside--fine to look at, but a "rum one to go," like the be-togged, be-booted, be-spurred, furred, and cloaked half pays, fortune-hunters, gentlemen with the brogue, &c. that pay their court so assiduously to mrs. dolland's cheesecakes and mr. heaviside's quadrilles. but the world is often ornament caught. ~ ~~ and daughter-selling mothers, still lure the young boys, their eyes may kill, to wed your flesh and blood, and fill your purse, and pay your tours. ye london blacks, ye cheltenham whites,{ } ye turners of the days to nights, make, make the most of all your flights, whilst i and bernard doze; but still be sure, by this same token, we still shall sleep with one eye open{ } and the first hour our nap is broken, you'll pay for't through the nose. there are indeed "black spirits and white spirits" of all sorts and sizes, at all times and places; and a well-cut coat and a white satin dress are frequently equally dangerous glossings to frail and cunning mortality within. to be sure, we have brought down the "tainted wethers of dame nature's flock" with the double barrels of wit and satire, right and left; but like mushrooms or mole-hills, they are a breeding, increasing species, and it will be only a real battue of sharp-shooting that will destroy the coveys. nevertheless, "i have a rod in pickle, their------------------" i declare the spirit is growing earthly. the bristol men "down along," sleep, they say, in this way and hence is it rare for jew or gentile, turk or infidel, to get the blind side of them. some of them, however, have ere now been done brown, and that too by being too fanciful and neat in their likings. these tales of the sleepers of an eye are too good to be lost; they shall be bound up in the volume of my brain, hereafter to be perused with advantage. at present, "i hear a voice thou canst not hear; i see a hand thou canst not see; it calls to me from yonder sphere, it points to where my brethren be." ~ when that time comes, and come it must, for what we say is not pie-crust, to yield to every trifling thrust, england shall see some fun. like "eagles in a dove-cote," we both rooks and pigeons will make flee, whilst every cashless company shall, laugh'd at, "cut and run." thus telling painted folly's sect, what they're to look to, what expect, my farewell words i now direct to thee, migrating spy; that done, deliver'd all commands, i man a cloud-ship with brave hands, and sail to (quitting mortal lands), my parlour in the sky. bernard, farewell; may rosy health companion'd by that cherub wealth, be constant to you, like myself, your own departing spirit. not that you're going to die; no, no, you'll only take a nap or so; but yet i wish you, 'fore you go, these blessings to inherit. bernard, farewell; pray think of me, when you ride earth, or cross the sea; on both, you know, i've been with thee, and sung some pretty things; great spy, farewell; when next you rise to make of fools a sacrifice, you'll hear, down-cleaving from the skies, the rustle of my wings. january, . ~ ~~ bernard blackmantle and bob transit, [illustration: page ] the end. the romance of mathematics. the romance of mathematics: being the original researches of a lady professor of girtham college in _polemical science, with some account of the social properties of a conic; equations to brain waves; social forces; and the laws of political motion._ by p. hampson, m.a., oriel college, oxford. london: elliot stock, , paternoster row. . introduction. the lectures, essays, and other matter contained in these pages have been discovered recently in a well-worn desk which was formerly the property of a lady professor of girtham college; and as they contain some original thoughts and investigations, they have been considered worthy of publication. how they came into the possession of the present writer it is not his intention to disclose; but inasmuch as they seemed to his unscientific mind to contain some important discoveries which might be useful to the world, he determined to investigate thoroughly the contents of the mysterious desk, and make the public acquainted with its profound treasures. he found some documents which did not refer exactly to the subject of 'polemical mathematics;' but knowing the truth of the hindoo proverb, 'the words of the wise are precious, and never to be disregarded,' and feeling sure that this lady professor of girtham college was entitled to that appellation, he ventured to include them in this volume, and felt confident that in so doing he would be carrying out the intention of the authoress, had she expressed any wishes on the subject. in fact, as he valued the interests of the state and his own peace of mind, he dared not withhold any particle of that which he conceived would confer a lasting benefit on mankind. internal evidence seems to show that the earlier portion of the ms. was written during the period when the authoress was still _in statu pupillari_; but her learning was soon recognised by the collegiate authorities, and she was speedily elected to a professorship. her lectures were principally devoted to the abstruse subject of scientific politics, and are worthy of the attention of all those whose high duty it is to regulate the affairs of the state. the editor has been able to gather from the varied contents of the desk some details of the author's life, which increase the interest which her words excite; and he ventures to hope that the public will appreciate the wisdom which created such a profound impression upon those whose high privilege it was to hear the lectures for the first time in the hall of girtham college. contents. paper page i. some remarks on female education: cambridge man's powers of application.--torturing ingenuity of examiners.--slaying an enemy.--'concentration.'-- 'tangential action.'--'gravity' ii. lecture on the theory of brain waves and the transmigration and potentiality of mental forces iii. the social properties of a conic section, and the theory of polemical mathematics: 'circle.'--'parabola.'--'ellipse.' 'eccentricity of curves' iv. the social properties of a conic section (_continued_): 'ellipse.'--most favoured state.--alarming result of suppression of house of lords.--analogies of nature.-- directrix.--contact of curves and states.--'hyperbola.'-- problems.--radical axis and patriotism.--extension of franchise to women.--correspondence v. social forces, with some account of polemical kinematics: the use of imagination in scientific discovery.--kinetic and potential energy.--social statics and dynamics.--attractive forces.--cohesion.--formation of states.--inertia.--dr. tyndall on social forces vi. social forces (_continued_): polemical statics and dynamics: 'personal equation.'--public opinion, how calculated.-- impulsive forces.--friction.--progress vii. laws of political motion: m. auguste comte on political science.--first law of motion.--the biology of politics.--stages of growth and decay of states.--doctrine of nationality.--doctrine of independence.--law of morality.--ignorance of electors and selfishness of statesmen opposed to action of law.--final 'reign of law' viii. the principle of polemical cohesion: centralization.--co-operation of states.--marriage.--trade unions.--international law extracts from the diary of the lady professor conclusion paper i. some remarks of a girtham girl on female education. [_this essay upon female education was evidently written when the future professor of girtham college was still in the lowlier condition of studentship, before she attained that eminence for which her talents so justly entitled her. its unfinished condition tends to show that it was probably evolved during moments of relaxation from severer studies, without any idea of subsequent publication._] oh, why should i be doomed to the degradation of bearing such a foolish appellation! a girtham girl! i suppose we have to thank that fiend of invention who is responsible for most of the titular foibles and follies of mankind--artful alliteration. the two _g_'s, people imagine, run so well together; and it is wonderful that they do not append some other delectable title, such as 'the gushing girl of girtham,' or 'the glaring girl of glittering girtham.' o alliteration! alliteration! what crimes have been wrought in thy name! little dost thou think of the mischief thou hast done, flooding the world with meaningless titles and absurd phrases. how canst thou talk of 'lyrics of loneliness,' 'soliloquies of song,' 'pearls of the peerage'? why dost thou stay thine hand? we long for thee to enrich the world with 'dreams of a dotard,' the 'dog doctor's daughters,' and other kindred works. exercise thine art on these works of transcendent merit, but cease to style thy humble, but rebellious, servant a girtham girl! but what's in a name? let the world's tongue wag. i am a student, a hard-working, book-devouring, never-wearied student, who burns her midnight oil, and drinks the strong bohea, to keep her awake during the long hours of toil, like any oxford or cambridge undergraduate. i often wonder whether these mighty warriors in the lists--the class lists, i mean--really work half so hard as we poor unfortunate 'girls of girtham.' now that i am writing in strict confidence, so that not even the walls can hear the scratchings of my pen, or understand the meaning of all this scribbling, i beg to state that i have my serious doubts upon the subject; and when last i attended a soirée of the anthropological society, sounds issued forth from the windows of the snug college rooms, which could not be taken as evidences of profound and undisturbed study. sometimes i glance at the examination papers set for these hard-working students, in order that they may attain the glorious degree of b.a., and astonish their sisters, cousins, and aunts by the display of these magic letters and all-resplendent hood. and again i say in strict confidence that if this same glorious hood does not adorn the back of each individual son of alma mater, he ought to be ashamed of himself, and not to fail to assume a certain less dignified, but expressive, three-lettered qualification. but before those tripos papers i bow my head in humble adoration. they sometimes take my breath away even to read the terrible excruciating things, which seem to turn one's brain round and round, and contort the muscles of one's face, and stop the pulsation of one's heart, when one tries to grasp the horrid things. here is a fair example of the ingenuity of the hard-hearted examiners, who resemble the inquisitors presiding over the tortures of the rack, and giving the hateful machine just one turn more by way of bestowing a parting benediction on their miserable victims: 'a uniform rod' (it is a marvellous act of mercy that the examiner invented it _uniform_; it is strange that its thickness did not vary in some complicated manner, and become a veritable birch-rod!) 'of length _ c_, rests in stable equilibrium' (stable! another act of leniency!), 'with its lower end at the vertex of a cycloid whose plane is vertical' (why not incline it at an angle of °?) 'and vertex downwards, and passes through a small, smooth, fixed ring situated in the axis at a distance _b_ from the vertex. show that if the equilibrium be slightly disturbed, the rod will perform small oscillations with its lower end on the arc of the cycloid in the time +------------------- | a{c² + (b - c)²} [pi]\ | ----------------- , \| g(b² - ac) where _ a_ is the length of the axis of the cycloid.' a sweet pretty problem, truly! and there are hundreds of the same kind--birch-rods for every back! how the examiner must have rejoiced when he invented this diabolical rod, with its equilibrium, its oscillations, its cycloid, and other tormenting accessories. and yet, i suppose, before my days of studentship are over, i shall be called upon to attack some such impregnable fortresses of mathematics, when i hope to be declared equal to some twentieth wrangler, if i escape the misfortune of sharing a portion of the 'wooden spoon.' ah, you male sycophants! you would prevent us from competing with you; you would separate yourselves on your island of knowledge, and sink the punt which would bear us over to your privileged shore. of all the twaddle--forgive me, male sycophants!--that the world has ever heard, i think the greatest is that which you have talked about female education. and the best of it is, you are so anxious about our welfare; you are so afraid that we should injure our health by overmuch mental exertion; you profess to think that our brains are not calculated to stand the strain of continued mental exercise; you think that competition is not good for the female mind; that we are too competitive by nature--too ambitious! yes, we are so ambitious that we would enter the lists with those who are asked in public examinations to find the simple interest on £ , for years at ¼ per cent.; so ambitious that we would compete with those who are requested to disclose the first aorist middle of [greek: tuptô]. oh, think of the mental strain involved in such questions! how it must ruin your health to find out how many times a wheel of radius feet will turn round between york and london, a distance of miles! it is quite wonderful how your brains, my dear male sycophants, can stand such fearful demands upon your intelligence and industry! but you are so kind to us, so afraid of our health! really, we are much obliged to you. if you married one of us, or became our guardian, or left us a legacy, we should then recognise your interest in us, and be very grateful to you for your good advice. but as matters stand, we are quite capable of taking care of ourselves. we will promise not to work too hard, if you will promise not to weary us with your paternal jurisdiction. but, male sycophants, i want a word with you. why do you object to our taking degrees, or going in for examinations in order to qualify ourselves for our duties in life? you need not speak out loud if you would rather not. are you not just a little afraid that we might eclipse you? and it is not pleasant to be beaten by a woman, is it? and then you profess to think that we ought to be all housewives and cooks, and knitters of stockings, and sewers-on of our husbands' buttons; but what if we have no husbands, no buttons to sew? and is it not a little selfish, my dear male sycophant, to wish to keep us all to yourself? to attend upon the wants of the lords of creation, who often distinguish themselves so much in the domain of science? now, look me straight in the face (no shirking, sir!). is it not jealousy--green-eyed, false-tongued jealousy--which saps your generous instincts, and makes you talk rubbish and nonsense about strains, and brains, and ambition, and the like? and if that is not hypocritical, i do not know what is. well, good-day to you, male sycophant! i really have not time to indulge myself in scolding you any more. you are a good creature, no doubt; and when you have shown us what you can do, and can estimate the capacity of the female brain, and take a common-sense view of things, we will recognise your privilege to speak; and when i am the presiding genius of girtham college, i will grant you the use of our hall for the purpose of lecturing to us on 'women's rights,' or, as you may prefer to entitle your discourse, 'men's wrongs.' * * * * * oh, this is shameful! i really am very sorry. here have i been wasting a good half-hour in dreaming, and slaying an imaginary enemy with envenomed words and frequent dabs of ink. if i cannot concentrate my mind more on these mathematical researches, i fear a dreadful 'plough' will harrow my feelings at the end of my sojourn in these halls of learning. concentration! how many of our words and ideas and thoughts are derived from that primal fount of all arts and sciences--mathematics! here is one which owes its origin to the mathematically trained mind of some early philological professor, who had learnt to apply his scientific knowledge to the enrichment of his native tongue. he quoted to himself the words of the roman poet: 'ego cur, acquirere pauca si possum, invideor, cum lingua catonis et ennî sermonem patrium ditaverit, et nova rerum nomina protulerit? licuit, semperque licebit.' his mind conceived endless figures of circles and ellipses scattered promiscuously over the page, defying the attempts of the student to reduce them to order. what must he do before he can apply his formulæ and equations, determine their areas, or describe their eccentric motion? he must reduce them to a common centre, and then he can proceed to calculate the abstruse problems in connection with the figures described. they may be the complex motions of double-star orbits, or the results of the impact of various projectiles on the tranquil surface of a pool. it matters not--the principle is the same; he must concentrate, and reduce to a common centre. this is the great defect of those who have no accurate mathematical knowledge; they cannot concentrate their minds with the same degree of intensity upon the work which lies before them. their thoughts fly off at a tangent, as mine do very often; but then i have not been classed yet in the tripos; and, o male poetical sycophant, you may be right after all when you say: 'o woman! in our hours of ease uncertain, coy and hard to please, as variable as the noon-day shade.' yes, as variable as the most variable quantities _x_, _y_, _z_. i, a student of girtham college, blush to own that my thoughts very often fly off at a tangent. 'fly off at a tangent!' all hail to thee, most noble mathematical phrase! here is another fine mathematical expression, plainly exemplifying the action of centrifugal force. the faster the wheel turns, the greater is the velocity of the discarded particles which fly off along the line, perpendicular to the radius of the circle. the world travels very fast now; the increased velocity of the transit of earthly bodies, the rate at which they live, the multiplicity of engagements, etc., have made the social world revolve so fast that the speed would have startled the torpid life of the last century. and what is the result? men's thoughts fly off at a tangent; they are unable to concentrate their minds on any given subject; they are content with hasty generalisms, with short magazine articles on important subjects, which really require large volumes and patient study to elucidate them fully. what we want to do is to increase the attractive force, in order to prevent this tangential motion--to increase the _force of gravity_. 'well,' says the young lady who loves to revel in the 'ghastly secret of the moated dungeon,' or the 'mysteries of footlight fancy,' 'you are _grave_ enough. pray don't increase your gravity!' thank you, gentle critic. i will, in turn, ask you one favour. leave for once the 'mysteries of footlight fancy;' seek to know no more 'ghastly secrets,' and increase _your gravity_--your mental weight; and hence your attraction in the eyes of all who are worth attracting will be marvellously increased, by understanding a little about newton's law of universal gravitation, and don't fly off at a tangent. * * * * * at the end of this portion of the ms. the editor of these papers discovered a photograph which, from subsequent inquiry, proved to be that of the accomplished authoress of the above reflections. the face is one of considerable beauty, with eyes as clear, steadfast, and open as the day. there is a degree of firmness about the mouth, but it is a sweet and pretty one notwithstanding; and a smile, half scornful, half playful, can be detected lurking about the corners of the lips, which do not seem altogether fitted for pronouncing hard mathematical terms and abstruse scientific problems. this photograph might have been the identical one which nearly brought an enamoured youth into grave difficulties by its secretion in the folds of his blotting-paper during examination. the said enamoured youth had evidently placed it there for the sake of its inspiring qualities; and it was said that all his hopes of gaining the hand of the fair original depended upon his passing that same examination. but the wakeful eye of a stern examiner had watched him as he turned again and again to consult the sweet face which beamed from beneath his blotting-paper; and he narrowly escaped expulsion from the senate-house on the charge of 'cribbing.' certainly he took a mean advantage of his fellow-sufferers, if this were the identical photograph, for it portrays a most inspiring face. forgive us, lenient reader; one moment! there--thank you--we have done. and now we will proceed to disclose the researches and original problems which the ms. contains. evidently the collegiate authorities were not slow in recognising the talents of the assiduous student, and elected her without much delay to a professorship of girtham. in this capacity the learned lady delivered several lectures, of which the second ms. contains the first of the series. paper ii. lecture on the theory of brain waves and the transmigration and potentiality of mental forces. professors and students of the university of girtham, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen,--i have the honour to bring before you this evening some original conceptions and discoveries which have been formulated by me during my researches in the boundless field of mathematical knowledge; and though you may be inclined at first to pronounce them as somewhat hastily conceived hypotheses, i hope to be able to demonstrate the actual truth of the propositions which i shall now endeavour to enunciate. it is with some feelings of diffidence that i stand before so august an assembly as the present; and if i were not actually convinced of the accuracy of my calculations, i should never have presumed to appear before you in the character of a lecturer. but '_magna est veritas, et prævalebit_.' i cast aside maiden timidity; i clothe myself in the professorial robe which you have bestowed upon me, and sacrifice my own feelings on the altar of truth. i have been engaged, as you are doubtless aware, for some years in the pursuit of mathematical research, exploring the mines of science, which have of late been worked very persistently, but often, like the black diamond mines, at a loss. concurrently with these researches, i have speculated on the great social problems which perplex the minds of men, both individually and collectively. and i have come to the conclusion that the same laws hold good in both spheres of work; that methods of mathematical procedure are applicable to the grand social problems of the day and to the regulation of the mutual relations which exist between man and man. take, for example, the force of public opinion. of what is it composed? it is the resultant of all the forces which act upon that which is generally designated the 'social system.' public opinion is a compromise between the many elements which make up human society; and compromise is a purely mechanical affair, based on the principle of the parallelogram of forces. sometimes disturbing forces exert their influence upon the action of public opinion, causing the system to swerve from its original course, and precipitating society into a course of conduct inconsistent with its former behaviour; and it is the duty of the governing body to eliminate as far as possible such disturbing forces, in order that society may pursue the even tenor of its way. professors, we have one great problem to solve; and all questions social, political, scientific, or otherwise, are only fragments of that great problem. all truths are but different aspects of different applications of one and the same truth; and although they may appear opposed, they are not really so; and resemble lines which run in various directions, but lovingly meet in one centre. now, let us take for our consideration the secret influence which men exert upon each other, apart from that produced by the power of speech (although that would come under the same general law). as mathematicians, you are aware that the undulatory theory of light and heat and sound are now accepted by scientific men as the only sure basis of accurate calculation. we know that the rays of light travel in waves, and the equation representing the waves is a [pi] y = --- sin ------ (vt - r), r [lambda] where _y_ is the disturbance of the ether, _a_ the initial amplitude, _r_ the distance from the starting-point, [lambda] the wave-length, and _v_ the velocity of light. sound and heat likewise have much the same form of equation. now, i maintain that the waves of thought are governed by the same laws, and can be determined by an equation of the same form. you are aware that in all these equations a certain quantity denoted by [lambda] appears, and varies for the different media through which the sound, or light, or heat passes, and which must be determined by experiment now, in my equation for brain waves, the same quantity [lambda] appears which must be determined by the same method--by _experiment_. but how is this to be done? after mature deliberation and much careful thought, i have discovered the method for finding [lambda]. this method is _mesmerism_. we find the ratio of brain to brain--the relative strength which one bears to another; and then by an application of our formula we can actually determine the wave of thought, and read the minds of our fellow-creatures. an unbounded field for reflection and speculation is here suggested. like all great discoveries, the elements of the problem have unconsciously been utilized by many who are unable to account for their method of procedure. for example, thought-readers, mesmerists, and the like, have unconsciously been working on this principle, although lack of mathematical training has prevented them from fully mastering the details of the problem. hence in popular minds a kind of mystery has hung about the actions of such people, and excited the curiosity of mankind. the development of this theory of brain waves may be of great practical utility to the world. it shows that great care ought to be exercised in the domain of thought, as well as that of speech. for example: a man has made a startling discovery, from which he expects to receive considerable worldly advantage. he would be careful not to disclose his discovery in speech to his acquaintances until his plans are sufficiently matured, lest they should impart it to the world, patent his device, and reap the reward. but while he is endeavouring to talk carelessly about it, the wave of thought may be travelling from brain to brain, suggesting the existence of the discovery; and if the conditions are favourable, and [lambda] sufficiently small, it is possible that the idea itself may be conveyed. of course the more complicated the discovery, the less likely would the wave convey the conception. or suppose that one of the learned professorial body of our sister university should conceive an attachment for a lady-student of girtham college (of course a very improbable supposition!), and the infatuated _savant_ became somewhat jealous of another learned lecturer of the same college (another improbability!), the fact of his jealousy would be imparted to the latter by a wave of thought, and might cause considerable confusion in the serene course of love or science. the fact of the existence of the wave is indisputable. what do all the stories of impressions and double-sight teach us? how could the intelligence of the death of professor steele have been conveyed to his friend and fellow-student, professor tait--the one at cambridge, the other at edinburgh--were it not for the existence of some wave, which, like that of electricity, wings its rapid flight unobserved by human eyes? are all the records of the psychical society only myths and legends bred of superstitious fancy? it were hard to suppose so. but if, gentlemen, and ladies especially, you wish to keep your secret discoveries to yourselves, watch over your thoughts as well as your words; for my researches prove, and the universal experience of mankind corroborates the fact, that some portion of your inmost thoughts and secret desires are understood by your neighbours (especially when [lambda] is small!); that they travel along the waves which i have attempted to indicate; and if you would desire to extend your influence in the world, probe the secret instincts of mankind, and prevent yourself from being deceived and wronged--study the art and science of brain waves. * * * * * the following verses of rather doubtful merit were found in connection with the previous ms. they were evidently written by a different hand; but inasmuch as they were deemed worthy of preservation by the learned owner of the sealed desk, we venture to publish them. they are closely connected with the previous lecture, and were evidently composed by an admirer of the fair lecturer who did not share her love for scientific research. wavelet,[ ] wing thy airy flight; let thine amplitude be great; tell her all my thoughts to-night, how i long to know my fate. all the fields of mathematics i have roamed at her decree; from binomial and quadratics, to the strange hyperbole.[ ] i have soared through differential, deeply drunk of finite boole;[ ] though its breath is pestilential, reeking of the hateful school. i have tried to shape a conic, vainly read the calculus; but my feebleness is chronic, _morbus mathematicus_. all my curves are cardioidal; i confuse my _x_ and _y_s, which they say is suicidal; and my tutor vainly sighs. wavelet, tell her how i love her, as she mounts her learned throne; and that love i hope may cover all the failings which i own. wavelet, cry to her for pity; bid her end this bitter woe; i might do something 'in the city,' but never pass my little-go. [ ] we presume this is addressed to an imaginary brain wave. [ ] we observe here the dash of an indignant pen, and a substituted for e. but now the rhyme is spoiled. gentle muse, thou art sacrificed by the stern hand of mathematical truth! [ ] query: does the writer refer to the learned treatise on finite differences by professor boole? paper iii. lecture on the social properties of a conic section, and the theory of polemical mathematics. most learned professors and students of this university,--from the interest manifested in my first lecture, i conclude that my method of investigation has not proved altogether unsatisfactory to you, and i hope ere long to produce certain investigations which will probably startle you, and revolutionize the current thought of the age. the application of mathematics to the study of social science and political government has curiously enough escaped the attention of those who ought to be most conversant with these matters. i shall endeavour to prove in the present lecture that the relations between individuals and the government are similar to those which mathematical knowledge would lead us to postulate, and to explain on scientific principles the various convulsions which sometimes agitate the social and political world. indeed, by this method we shall be able to prophesy the future of states and nations, having given certain functions and peculiarities appertaining to them, just as easily as we can foretell the exact day and hour of an eclipse of the moon or sun. in order to do this, we must first determine the _social properties of a conic section_. for the benefit of the unlearned and ignorant, i will first state that a cone is a solid figure described by the revolution of a right-angled triangle about one of the sides containing the right angle, which remains fixed. the fixed side is called the axis of the cone. conic sections are obtained by cutting the cone by planes. it may easily be proved that if the angle between the cutting plane and the axis be equal to the angle between the axis and the revolving side of the triangle which generates the cone, the section described on the surface of the cone is a parabola; if the former angle be greater than the latter, the curve will be an ellipse; and if less, the section will be a hyperbola. but the simplest conic section is, of course, a circle, which is formed by a plane at right angles to the axis of the cone; and the simplest circle is that formed by a plane passing through the apex of the cone. all this is simple mathematics; and let beginners consult more elementary treatises than this one to satisfy themselves on these points. but if they will assume these things to be true, they will know quite enough for our present purpose. the simplest conic section of all has been proved to be a _point_. now, this represents the simplest and original form of society, a _single family_. 'it is not good for man to be alone' was the first observation made by the wise creator upon the rational creature whom he had introduced into paradise as its lord. marriage is the rudiment of all social life, from which all others spring, out of which all others are developed. around the parents' knees soon cluster a group of children, and in their relation to each other we discern the earliest forms of law and discipline--the bonds by which society is held together. when the children grow up, separate households are formed; and then the multiplication of families, the congregating of men together for purposes of security and mutual advantages in division of labour; and thus is gradually formed a state, which is only the development of the family--the king representing the parent, and ruling on the same principle. mathematically speaking, our plane no longer passes through the apex. the point represented the single family; but keeping the plane horizontal, we move it along the axis, the sections will become _circles_, which represent mathematically the next simplest form of society, where the centre is the seat of government, which is connected with each individual member of the social circle by equal radii. the social property of a circle is that of a monarchical government in its purest and simplest form. the larger the circle becomes (_i.e._, the further you move the plane from the apex), the greater the distance between the individual and the monarch. therefore, the more independent the monarchy becomes, and the less influence do individuals possess over the ruling power. hence, we may infer that as years roll on, the government will become more despotic; but the stability of the country diminished, and probably some individual particle, when sufficiently withdrawn from the attraction of the central head, will begin to revolve on its own account, and spontaneously generate a government of its own. we may, therefore, conclude from mathematical reasoning that an unlimited monarchy, though advantageous for small states, is not a safe form of government for a large or populous country, inasmuch as the people do not derive much benefit from the sovereign; the mutual attraction, which ought to exist in a flourishing state between the ruler and the ruled, is weakened; and the isolation of the monarch tends to make him still more despotic. as a practical example of the truth of the foregoing statement, i may mention the present condition of russia, which shows that the result of an unlimited monarchy, in a large and unwieldy social circle, is such as we should have reasonably expected from mathematical investigations. invariably, under the circumstances which i have described, the country will become disorganized; the sovereign will cease to have any power over the people, and the country will become a chaos, without order, influence, or power. when the centre of a conic section moves along the axis of the curve to infinity, banished by the mutual consent of the individual particles which compose the curve, or the nation, a figure is formed, called a _parabola_. this is the curve which the most erratic bodies in the universe describe in space, as they rush along at a speed inconceivable to human minds, and are supposed to produce all kinds of mischief and injury to the worlds whose courses they wend their way among. this curve, then, represents the position which the nation assumes when the constituted monarchy, the centre of the system, has been _banished to infinity_. a revolution has occurred; the monarch has been dethroned; and it is not hard to see that the same erratic course which the comet pursues in its flight, is observable with respect to the social system which is represented by a parabola. we observe with eager scrutiny the wanderings of these erratic comets. they appear suddenly with their vapoury tails; sometimes they shine upon us with their soft, silvery light, brilliant as another moon; sometimes they stand afar off in the distant skies, and deign not to approach our steady-going earth, which pursues its regular course day by day, and year by year. then, after a few days' coy inspection of our planet from different points of view, they fly to other remote parts of the universe, and do not condescend to show themselves again for a hundred years or so. such is the erratic conduct of a heavenly body whose course is regulated by a parabolic curve. we may look for similar eccentric behaviour on the part of a community, nation, or state, whose centre is at infinity, whose constitution has been violently disturbed, and whose monarchy is situated in the far-off regions of unlimited space. the erratic course of republican rule is proverbial. there is no stability, no regularity. to-day we may observe its brilliancy, which seems to laugh at and eclipse the sombre shining of more steady and enduring worlds; but ere to-morrow's moon has risen, it may have vanished into the regions of eternal night, and we look for its bright shining light in the councils of the nations, but it has ceased to shed its rays, and we are disappointed. sometimes it is asked, with fear and trembling: 'what would be the effect if our earth were to come in contact with the tail of a comet? should we be destroyed by the collision, and our ponderous world cease to be?' but we are assured that no such disastrous results would follow. we have already passed through the tails of many comets, but we have not discovered any inconvenient change in our ordinary mode of procedure. it is probable that the comet's tail is composed of no solid substance. we may therefore infer by analogy that a republican state would not offer any powerful resistance if it were to come into collision with a nation possessing a more settled form of government. a shower of meteoric stones, like passing fireworks, might take place; but beyond that nothing would occur to excite the fear, or arouse the energies of the more favoured nation. as an example of the weakness of a republican state i may mention france. there we see an industrious race of people, endowed with many natural gifts and graces, a country rich and productive; and yet, owing to the unsettled nature of its government, all these natural advantages are neutralized; its course amongst the nations is erratic in the extreme, a spectacle of feeble administration; and it would offer no more resistance to a colliding power than the empty vacuum of a comet's tail. this example will demonstrate to you the truth of our theory with regard to the instability of a social system which is geometrically represented by a parabolic curve. we will now turn from this picture of insecurity and unrest to another figure which possesses most advantageous social properties. i refer to the ellipse. an ellipse is a curve formed by the section of a cone by a plane surface inclined at an angle to the vertical axis of the cone, greater than the angle between the axis and the generating line. now, this is a curve which possesses most attractive properties. it is the curve which the earth and other planetary orbs describe around the centre of the solar system, as if nature intended that we should take this figure as a guide in choosing the most advantageous social system. it possesses a centre, c, in view of all the particles which compose the curve, and connected with them by close ties. it has two foci, s and s', fixed points, by the aid of which we may trace the curve. in the interpretation of this figure, the centre of the curve represents the throne of monarchy. there is no tendency here to revolutionize the state, to banish the ruling power, and institute a republican form of government; but inasmuch as we saw the weakness of an absolute monarchy in large and populous states, as represented by the circle, the wisdom of an elliptical social system has ordained that there shall be two foci, or houses of representatives of the people, who shall assist in regulating the progress of the nation. here we have a limited monarchy; the throne is supported by the representatives of the people; and the nearer these foci of the nation are to the centre (_i.e._, in mathematical language, the less the _eccentricity_ of the curve), the more perfect the system becomes--the greater the happiness of the community. in cases where the _eccentricity_ becomes very great, the beauty of the curve is destroyed, and ultimately the ellipse is merged into one straight line. most learned professors, here we have a terrible warning of the awful result of too much eccentricity. whether we regard the life of the nation or of the individual, let all bear in mind this alarming fact, that eccentricity of thought, habit, or behaviour may result, as in the case of this unfortunate ellipse, which once presented such fair and promising proportions to the student's admiring gaze, in the 'sinister effacement of a man,' or the gradual absorption of a state into an uninteresting thing 'which lies evenly between its extreme points.' the great examples of bacon, of milton, of newton, of locke, and of others, happen to be directly opposed to the popular inference that eccentricity and thoughtlessness of conduct are the necessary accompaniments of talent, and the sure indications of genius. i am indebted to lacon for that reflection. you may point to byron, or savage, or rousseau, and say, 'were not these eccentric people talented?' 'certainly,' i answer; 'but would they not have been better and greater men if they had been less eccentric--if they had restrained their caprice, and controlled their passions?' do not imagine, my young students of this university, that by being eccentric you will therefore become great men and women of genius. the world will not give you credit for being brilliant because you affect the extravagances which sometimes accompany genius. some of you ladies, i perceive, have adopted a peculiar form of dress, half male, half female; or, to be more correct, three-fourths male, and one-fourth female. do not imagine that you will thus attain to the highest honours in this university by your eccentricity, unless your talents are hid beneath your short-cut hair, and brains are working hard under your college head-gear. as well might we expect to find that all females who wear sage-green and extravagant æsthetic costumes are really born artists and future royal academicians. it is apparent that many aspirers to fame and talent are eager to exhibit their eccentricities to the gaze of the world, in order that they may persuade the multitude that they possess the genius of which eccentricity is falsely supposed to be the outward sign. i may remark in passing that the eccentricity of a parabolic curve is always _unity_. what does this prove? you will remember that a republican state is represented by a parabola. therefore, however such a nation may strive to alter its condition, and secure a settled form of government, its eccentricity will always remain the same. it will always be erratic, peculiar, unsettled; and this conclusion substantiates our previous proposition with regard to the condition of a social system represented by a parabola. with regard to other advantages afforded by an elliptical social system, we will defer the consideration of this important subject until my next lecture. paper iv. the social properties of a conic section, and the theory of polemical mathematics--(_continued_). most learned professors and students of this university,--you have already gathered from my preceding lecture my method of procedure in the investigation of the corresponding properties of curves and states. you have perceived that we have here the elements of a new science, which may be extended indefinitely, and applied to the various departments of self-government and state control. this new science of polemical mathematics is in itself an extension of the _principle of continuity_, for the discovery of which poncelet is so justly renowned. we can prove by geometry that the properties of one figure may be derived from those of another which corresponds to it; and the new science teaches us that if we can represent, by projection or otherwise, a society of particles or individuals on a plane surface, the properties of the state so represented are analogous to the properties of the curve with which it corresponds. it is only possible for me to touch upon the elements of the science in these lectures, but i hope to arouse an interest in these somewhat unusual complications and curious problems, that you may hereafter make further discoveries in this unexplored region of knowledge, and that the world may reap the benefit of your labours and abstruse studies. i have already, in my previous lecture, touched upon the social properties of the parabola, and examined the constitution of erratic curves and eccentric nations. it is my intention to-day to speak of similar problems which arise with reference to elliptical states. but, first, let me answer an objection which may have occurred to your minds. am i wrong in my calculations in attributing too much to the power and usefulness of forms of government? does the well-being and happiness of a nation depend on the government, or upon the individuals who compose the nation? most assuredly, i assert, they rest upon the former. men love their country when the good of every particular man is comprehended in the public prosperity; they undertake hazard and labour for the government when it is justly administered. when the welfare of every citizen is the care of the ruling power, men do not spare their persons or their purses for the sake of their country and the support of their sovereign. but where selfish aims are manifest in court or parliament, the people care not for state officials who are indifferent to their country's weal; they become selfish too; liberty hides her head, and shakes off the dust of her feet ere she leaves that doomed land, and the stability, welfare, and prosperity of that country cease. i might refer you to many a stained page of national history in order to prove this. compare the closing chapters of the life of the roman empire with the record of the brave deeds of its ancient warriors and valorous statesmen. grecian preeminence and virtue died when liberty expired. i agree with sidney when he writes that it is absurd to impute this to the change of times; for time changes nothing, and nothing was changed in those times but the government, and that changed all things. these are his words: 'as a man begets a man, and a beast a beast, that society of men which constitutes a government upon the foundation of justice, virtue, and the common good, will always have men to promote those ends; and that which intends the advancement of one man's desires and vanity will abound in those that will foment them.' i may not, therefore, be altogether wrong in attributing the prosperity and well-being of a nation to the form of government which it possesses. we will now proceed to the consideration of the social advantages which an elliptical state affords. this is the form of government and social position which we, as a nation, at present enjoy; and from mathematical considerations i am of opinion that it is the best, and hope that no change will ever be made in our constitution. you may remember that i have previously stated that an ellipse has a centre and two foci, in view of all the particles which compose the curve, and connected with them by close ties. the centre, in the projected figure, represents the monarchy, which is limited; and the government is carried on by the aid of the two houses of representatives of the people, depicted in the projection by the two foci. now the social advantages of the ellipse are given by the fact that the sum of the distances of any point from the foci is always constant. no particle is left out in the cold; no one does not possess the advantages of a social government. though his distance may be far from the upper house, he has the advantage of nearness to the lower, and _vice versâ_. the sum of the distances is constant. the extinction of one focus, the house of lords, for example, would create a complete disorganization of the whole system: the other focus would set up a powerful magnetic attraction, and a curious bulb-shaped curve would be evolved, very different from the beautiful symmetrical form which the original figure presented to the eye. the centre of the system would be disturbed; and it is probable that ere long it would disappear along the axis and be vanished to infinity. thus the curve would become a parabola. this is the alarming result of the extinction of one focus. abolish the house of lords, and you will soon find that the throne will be disturbed; the state will become disorganized; the nation will become confused by the magnetic force of the lower house, uncounteracted by any other attraction; and very soon a complete revolution of the whole system will set in: the monarch will be dethroned, and a republican form of government, with all the eccentricities of a parabolic course, will take the place of a more orderly and settled constitution. this is a plain deduction from our mathematical investigations; and it behoves all our statesmen, our philosophers and great men, our fellow-citizens and the humblest artisans in our manufacturing towns, to weigh well this alarming result of the abolition of that house which has been threatened with destruction; and to ascertain for themselves the truths upon which my proposition and reasoning rest. i have already observed that the fact that the earth's orbit and that of other planets are in the form of ellipses; that the curvature of the earth is nearly the same, ought to guide us in choosing this particular curve as a model of the projection of a complete and most advantageous social system. the circle described on the major axis of an ellipse, is called the _auxiliary circle_, and affords much assistance in the investigation of the properties of an ellipse. as we have already shown, the circle represents the simplest form of monarchical government. hence, if we compare the form of government represented by an ellipse (_i.e._, such as we now enjoy) with that of a system where the king is the only governing power, we may obtain great assistance in solving complicated political problems. in all conics there is a straight line called the 'directrix,' which represents in social or polemical science the laws of the nation, and plays a prominent part in the mutual relations of the individual particles. for instance, in the case of the parabola, the distance of any particle from the directrix is equal to its distance from the focus. from this we may conclude that if an individual deviates at all from the path which the laws (or, directrix) indicate, if he does not show true respect to the decrees of the focal government, and preserve the true position between them, directly he is found deviating from his course, he is quickly banished to a less enlightened sphere. in an ellipse there is less likelihood of his straying away from the course which the directrix points out, on account of the two-fold guidance which he receives from the two foci. the following curious problem may be noticed. if a parabola roll on another parabola, their vertices coinciding, the focus of the first traces out the directrix of the second. here we come to the consideration of the international relationship of states. two nations have the same form of government (in this example this form is republican); their policies coincide: we may conclude from this proposition that the course which the government of one nation will pursue, will be that which is prescribed by the laws of the other. the subject of the contact of curves presents many interesting problems with reference to polemical science, and may be extended indefinitely. it is well known that there are different orders of contact, which are designated as the _first_, _second_, or _third_ order. this last order may be termed the 'marriage of curves,' cemented by the osculating circle, or 'wedding-ring;' and when two nations have contact of the third order, they have formed a very close alliance, and by calculation we can obtain the _radius of curvature_, or size of the wedding-ring, by means of which they may be united. the theory and nature of contact constitute a branch of our newly discovered science which we commend to the careful consideration of those who have undertaken the difficult and perplexing study of international law. alas! too many states refuse this friendly contact, and, consequently, _cut_ each other, instead of blending in sweet accord. their peace is at best an armed neutrality; and if they have contact of only the _first_ or _second_ order, we can prove mathematically that they are sure to intersect in some other point or points; and divergence of policy and disturbed relations are the results. contact of the _third, or highest, order_ is the only safe position for two allied, or contiguous, states. with your permission i will add a few words to those i have already uttered with regard to the directrix. as necessary as the directrix is to the curve, so are the corresponding laws to the state. i will prove this fact by a few examples. english people have laws, and know how to obey them; therefore their numbers increase; they thrive and are prosperous. a friendly critic of another nation has said that the reason why englishmen rule the world, is because they know how to obey. on the other hand, the gipsies have no laws; hence they become fewer and less powerful. what is the condition of all tribes and nations which are not governed by laws? they invariably remain poor and miserable. they are in want of a directrix; and if we could supplement the gift with foci and centre, they would soon emerge from their savage condition, and become more civilized. i have omitted to mention the hyperbolic form of government. the curve formed by the intersection of the surface of a cone with a plane will be a hyperbola, when the inclination of the cutting plane to the axis of the cone is less than the constant angle which the generating line forms with the axis. it is manifest that the plane will thus intersect the higher cone, and produce the figure which is known to mathematicians as the hyperbola. we may hence deduce the following property of the corresponding hyperbolic state. we take cognizance of that higher cone with which the mundane affairs of the lower cone are closely connected. as an example of this system we may mention the vast temporal rule and power of the papal throne, which formerly exercised such marvellous sway over the nations of europe. by an appeal to a higher authority than that of earthly kings and potentates was this rule exercised; but its hyperbolic form is fast passing away, and degenerating into that of a circle with indefinitely small radius. we shall not, therefore, discuss the complex polemical problems which a hyperbolic state suggests. i will now mention a few problems which are easily capable of proof, and deduce from them the necessary conclusions which must follow when we apply our newly discovered principles of polemical science. . 'if from any point in a straight line a pair of tangents be drawn to an ellipse, the chords of contact will pass through a fixed point.' i will not trouble you with the proof of this proposition, as it is evident to all mathematicians, and can easily be demonstrated. but mark well the deductions, when we interpret this mathematical language in correct polemical terms. a state, through various convulsions of its own, has merged into a condition represented by a straight line, having lost its symmetry, its beauty, its curvilinear proportion. an individual unhappily situated in this unfortunate community regards with longing eyes the prosperous condition of those who enjoy the social advantages of a settled form of government, and other blessings which accompany elliptical jurisdiction and laws. [two tangents are drawn to an ellipse.] no matter where the individual may be in the unhappy envious straight line, the result of his reflection will be the same. sympathetic chords are drawn, joining the points of contact of the tangents with the curve; they all pass through a fixed point. all these conclusions of the various individuals on the straight line will be the same. all are of opinion that the elliptical form is the best; and they mourn in secret over the sad events which have occurred in their own national life, their eccentricity, their lawlessness, when they see the advantages which their more staid and sober-minded neighbours so freely enjoy. . the normal at any point of an ellipse bisects the angle between the focal distances of that point. the normal is the perpendicular from the point on the major axis; it is the line of thought directed by the observance of just laws and rules. hence this proposition shows that the individual citizen, when guided by sound judgment, regards with equal favour and entire approval the existence of both foci, or houses of legislature. he considers that both are necessary to his comfort, and the right regulation of the state's welfare. he cares not for the _abnormal_ condition of those who talk as if the existence of either house were unnecessary to his country's weal, and bestows a pitying glance on those wandering lights, or disturbed erratic governments, which do not possess the advantages which from experience he has learned to love and to respect. no matter what his condition may be, the same opinions are held by all classes, all ranks and degrees; and if a self-opinionated particle think otherwise, he ought to be transferred to a less enlightened sphere, and migrate to a parabolic state, or uninteresting straight line. and when he has changed his location, he will look back on his old home and old surroundings with longing eyes and an aching heart, thinking of the blessings he has lost by his own rash act. this can be proved mathematically. he looks for an ideal state of society, leaps after the shadow his fancy has depicted; and when he finds himself outside his former state, he looks back with longing eyes at the once-scorned focus. what is the focus of a perpendicular on the tangent of an ellipse from any external point? can it not be proved to be a _circle_? that is to say, he will be more conservative than ever. he would like to return to a primitive form of government. farewell to his wild schemes and revolutionary measures! farewell to his disestablishments, abolitions, and suppressions! the throne and government have new attractions in his eyes; loyalty, a new feeling, asserts its benign influence; and if he could return to his former position, his normal conduct would be straighter than ever, for by sad experience he has learned the value of those things which he once despised. but we need not depend upon one proof alone. exactly the same result may be obtained from the well-known proposition which states that 'the angle between the tangent from any external point and the focal distance is equal to the angle between the other tangent and the focal distance.' . the same opinions are often held by individuals in quite different walks and classes of life. let these individuals be represented by points on an ellipse. join these, and we have a system of parallel chords. draw a straight line through the middle points of these chords, and lo! it will always pass through the centre. this shows that the central thought of all people is directed to the sovereign--that _loyalty_ is inherent in the hearts of those who recognise elliptical laws. i will conclude this lecture with a few remarks on the nature and properties of the _radical axis_. this name was first given, i believe, by m. gaultier, of tours, and for a full account of its nature i refer you to the _journal de l'École polytechnique_, xvi., . the radical axis of two circles is the line perpendicular to the line joining the centres, from any point of which the tangents to the circles are equal. let us suppose that one circle becomes a point, and that this point is situated on the circumference of the first circle. what is the result? the radical axis becomes the tangent to the circle. hence we may conclude that in a social system of monarchical government the radical axis is perpendicular to the line attaching the individual with the monarch. therefore we may conclude that the radical axis indicates a tendency of particles, or individuals, to fly off at a tangent, at right angles to the connecting-link between the individual and the king. when any motion takes place, this is evident, and this tendency is called centrifugal force. sad is it for the state when this force is called into play, and the radical axis is a standing menace to the stability of states and nations. the only way to counteract its baneful, disturbing influence is to increase the attraction of the monarch on the individual, which nullifies the former force, and prevents further mischief. this is the method which nature itself adopts in the motions of the planetary worlds; the attraction of the sun prevents any disturbance which might be caused in the course of the planets by the action of centrifugal force, and nature suggests this plan for our adoption. increase the attraction of the throne; rigidly connect each individual by the strong chords of affection, advantage and utility with the ruling power; and then, though the radical axis may be there, it will cease to indicate any motion along it, it will not prevail over the counteracting influence of loyalty, and the stability of the social system and the happiness of the individuals will be the results. 'i would serve my king, serve him with all my fortune here at home, and serve him with my person in the wars; watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him, die for him, as every true-born subject ought.' this, most noble professors, is the language of true patriotic loyalty. let the monarch be loved and loving, let the laws be just and equal, happy will be the people, prosperous the realm. there are those who counsel different things, and preach sedition and the breaking-up of laws; but those who advocate such doctrines lack that judicial mathematical training which we, students and professors of girtham college, have acquired. if polemical mathematics, the science of the future, should become more widely studied; if its results were disseminated far and wide; above all, if the proper position which women ought to occupy in the counsels of the nation were assigned to them, we should hear less of these wild schemes and foolish theories, and the influence of women would tend greatly to promote the stability and security of the state. why, let me ask, should woman be excluded from that position which is so justly hers? from those duties which she can discharge so faithfully? it has been said that if we wish to know the political and moral condition of a state, we must ask what rank women hold in it. we are told that women have more strength in their looks than men have in their laws. why, then, do men debar her from those fields of occupation wherein she may labour for the nation's good, and use her influence, which they acknowledge to be great, in those callings wherein she may most easily benefit the state, and the country she so ardently loves? at some future time i hope to speak more fully on this subject; and in concluding this lecture, i will remark that english politics need a leavening influence which will counteract the evil tendencies and corrupt theories which, in spite of our advantageous social system, at present exist; and this leavening influence will be best produced by the admission of those into the counsels of the nation who are acknowledged to have a benign and healthy influence--the women of england. let women have their proper share in the government of the country, and i have no fear lest we shall preserve our elliptical constitution, and all the advantages which we at present enjoy. * * * * * [editorial note.]--in the bundle of papers which contained the foregoing lectures, some letters of great interest were found, which show that the fame of the learned lady professor of girtham college had already gone abroad, and attracted the attention of the leading statesmen of the day. it is to be regretted that the answers to these letters are not forthcoming, as it might be proved from them that the science of polemical mathematics has already influenced the minds of our legislators in their conduct of affairs at home and abroad. the following letter is of unique interest, and may be taken as evidence of the favourable impression which this new science has made on the mind of one of our greatest thinkers and statesmen: downing street, may, -- my dear lady professor,--the report of the amazing results of your scientific researches has reached me, and i congratulate you most heartily on the originality and acumen which you have displayed in your investigations. a new light has dawned upon our country. instead of groping in the darkness of political warfare, ensnared by party ties and jealousies, the statesmen of the future will be able to calculate and determine the correct course with mathematical precision and perfect accuracy. no one can dispute the truth of a proposition in euclid, or the genuineness of newton's laws; and if your method enables men to calculate and determine the correct political course of action, to solve political problems as easily as exponential equations, why--then adieu to the bickerings of party, the querulous complaints of the opposition! nay, joy to the ministry! there will be no opposition! our statesmen will be able to guide the great ship of the state by means of charts which know no error; and they will resemble an association of savants met together to determine the exact moment of the transit of venus, or to examine the degree of density of a comet's tail. this condition of parliamentary procedure is much to be desired; you have shown how such an ideal state of things may be obtained. in the name of the government i thank you for your endeavours on behalf of your country's welfare, and look forward to a further development of your admirably conceived system. as in the domain of ordinary science there are complex questions which defy the acumen of the philosopher; so in polemical science there may be questions which present the same difficulties and complications. but as the first are daily yielding before the persevering attacks of the mathematician, so i doubt not polemical science will soon overcome the various problems which may arise. but it is mainly on my own account that i venture to address you. i desire to consult you with regard to certain matters--political complications--which have recently occupied the attention of her majesty's ministers. by the help of your new science, can you aid us in our deliberations? of course, i am writing to you in _strict confidence_, and beg that you will keep this communication profoundly secret. i fear that would be a hard task for many of your sex, who do not possess your knowledge and powers of mind; but i have great confidence in your discretion. these are the problems which are presented to us for solution: . some members of the cabinet are secretly in favour of protection, and the country is rather stirred by the question. can you, from your knowledge of the contact of curves and nations, help us to determine what course we ought to take with regard to spain, for example? are the principles of adam smith mathematically correct? . i observe that england is represented mathematically by an ellipse. are we right in assuming that ireland is a portion of that ellipse? or, on the other hand, in our chart of nations, must we describe that troublesome country as a rotating parabola, or complex figure, altogether outside our more favoured state? . do you consider, from your minute observation of our social system, that the form of our elliptical government is gradually undergoing a change, and that a revolutionary parabolic tendency is observable in the action of individual particles? . is it not possible that the differences in the policy of the various nations of europe; the difficulties which beset the carrying out of international law; the jealousies, quarrels, and rivalries of states might disappear, if the same form of government (_i.e._, elliptical) were adopted in each? if you will kindly favour her majesty's ministers with your opinion on these questions, they will owe you a debt of gratitude, which they, as representatives of the nation, will do their utmost to repay. with every good wish for your further success in the regions of polemical science, i beg to remain, my dear lady professor, your faithful servant, +----------------------+ | | | [ ] | | | +----------------------+ [editorial note.]--the next letter is not of quite the same pleasing nature as the foregoing, and shows that it is impossible to please everyone, even if that happy consummation were desirable. this letter was evidently called forth by some remarks which the learned lady professor had made in her third lecture with reference to eccentricity in dress. our readers will recollect that the professor pointed out that an extravagant 'bloomer' costume--half male, half female--was no more a sign of genius than æsthetic dresses, always betokened the artist.[ ] this latter statement evidently gave great offence to the members of a society which called itself the 'Æsthetic and dress improvement association,' and the following letter is the result of one of their solemn conclaves: oscar villa, south kensington, june, --. the secretary of the Æsthetic and dress improvement association presents his compliments to the lady professor of girtham college, and begs to contradict emphatically her statements with regard to a subject upon which she is evidently in entire and lamentable ignorance, and to protest against her aspersions upon the artistic studies of this and kindred societies. he begs to state that true æsthetes are _not_ eccentric (they leave that to lady professors and her philistine followers); that to dress becomingly is one of the principal objects of life, and that true greatness is achieved as much by the study of the art of dress as by any other noble pursuit or graceful accomplishment. are not horatio postlethwaite, leonara saffronia gillan, vandyke smithson entitled to greatness? and yet their laurels have been won solely by the art of dress. perhaps the lady professor has never read 'sartor resartus'! in conclusion, he would ask the lady professor to refrain from casting obloquy upon the work of the association which he has the honour to represent; to prevail upon her pupils to abandon the unfeminine attire which some of them have assumed, contrary to the first principles of art; to array themselves in flowing robes of sage-green and other choice colours (patterns enclosed), and to study art, instead of absurd mathematics, which no one can understand, and do no one any good. (approved by the committee of the Æsthetic and dress improvement association.) june, --. [editorial note.]--the next letter, written by a pupil of the lady professor, requires no explanation, and speaks for itself. jesus college, cambridge, march, --. my dear tutor, you will be glad to hear that after superhuman exertions i have at last succeeded in passing my little-go, and i am eternally grateful to you for all you have done for me. i should never have got through if it had not been for you. all the coaches in cambridge would never have managed it, but you drove me through in a canter. and why? i never could make up my mind to work for them; but when i coached with you, you made me like it. i almost revelled in the binomial when you wrote it out for me; and then i could not help listening to you; and you looked so grieved when i would not learn, and made me feel such a brute; so somehow or other you drove some mathematics into my head, and i pulled through. by-the-bye, i think you must have tried the 'brain wave' dodge with the examiners, as five out of the six propositions in euclid, which you told me to get up specially, were set! i wish i could read people's thoughts; can you read mine? if i were a don, or a fellow, or something, i would advise the university to have some lady professors like you to teach the men, instead of some of these sleepy old tutors. it would be a great improvement, and i am sure we should get through a great deal more work. they have given me a place in the jesus eight, which i shall take now that i am released from your professorial ban, and have time for rowing. but i don't half like giving up mathematics. you see, i have grown fond of the study. do you think you could make a wrangler of me? at any rate, i should like to come to your lectures again. may i? your grateful pupil. * * * [ ] it is to be regretted that this letter has evidently fallen into the hands of some autograph collector, who has ruthlessly cut off the signature; but the reader will easily determine, after careful perusal of the document, from whose pen it emanated. [ ] cf. page . paper v. a lecture upon social forces, with some account of polemical kinematics. most noble professors and students of girtham college,--since last 'i wandered 'twixt the pole and heavenly hinges, 'mongst encentricals, centres, concentricks, circles, and epicycles,' like the great albumazar, and found them full of life and wisdom for the guidance of our states and laws, i have turned my attention to the applied mathematics, in order to determine what other truths this shaft may yield. the strength of all sciences, according to bacon, consists in their harmony; and it is truly marvellous how perfect this harmony is, if our ears are tuned aright to hear it. we have observed how the beautiful and regular laws of curves and cones correspond to the social laws of states and nations, guiding them as if by word of counsel, admonishing them on what principle they ought to regulate their governments and inter-relations. we have seen that the laws which govern thought and light and sound are almost identical, and that harmony pervades not merely the ordinary sciences, but extends her benign influence over these newly discovered fields of scientific research, which i claim to have discovered. all this may appear at first sight surprising; but the real philosopher, who knows that all kinds of truth are intimately connected, will receive such revelations of science with satisfaction rather than astonishment; for this new science, which has opened itself out before me, is only an extension of other well-known laws and discoveries which have come down to us from the remote past. if my investigations should appear to you, most noble professors, somewhat novel and imaginary, remember the maxim of the sage, that in the infancy of science there is no speculation which does not merit careful examination; and the most remote and fanciful explanations of facts have often been found the true ones. perhaps some 'self-opinionated particle' (i speak mathematically) may have been inclined to laugh at our theories and discoveries, as the wise fools of the day laughed at kepler and his laws; but time has changed the world's laughter into praise, and a century hence our discoveries may rank among the achievements of modern science. as cicero says, 'time obliterates the fictions of opinions, but confirms the decisions of nature.' i have not shunned, most noble professors, to enlist imagination under the banner of geometry; for i am fully persuaded that it is a powerful organ of knowledge, and is as much needed by the mathematician as by the poet or novelist. it is, i fear, often banished with too much haste from the fields of intellectual research by those who take upon themselves to give laws to philosophy. we need imagination to form an hypothesis; and without hypotheses science would soon become a lifeless and barren study, a horse-in-the-mill affair ever strolling round and round, unconscious of the grinding corn. in my previous investigations my imagination pictured the symmetry of curves and states; the hypothesis followed that the laws which regulated them were identical, and you have observed how the supposition was confirmed by our subsequent calculations. in this lecture i propose to examine some of the forces which exist in our social system, and shall endeavour to estimate them by methods of mathematical procedure and analogical reasoning. we will begin with the old definition of force as _that which puts matter into motion, or which stops, or changes, a motion once commenced_. when a mass is in motion, it has a capacity for doing work, which is called _energy_; and when this energy is caused by the motion of a body it is called kinetic energy (in mathematical language ke = ½ mv²). another form of kinetic energy is called potential energy, which is in reality the capacity of a body for doing work _owing to its position_. for example we may take an ordinary eight-day clock. when the weights are wound up, they have a certain amount of potential energy stored up, which will counteract the friction of the wheels and the resistance of the air on the pendulum. or, again, we have the example of a water-wheel: first the water in the reservoir, being higher than the wheel, has an amount of potential energy. this is converted into kinetic energy in striking against the paddles, and after this we have potential energy again produced by the action of the fly-wheel. by the principle of conservation of energy, if we consider the whole universe, not our planet alone (for its heat and energy are continually diminished to some slight degree), we find that _no energy is lost_. force is recognised as acting in two ways: in _statics_, so as to compel rest, or to prevent change of motion; and in _kinetics_, so as to produce or to change motion; and the whole science which investigates the action of force is called _dynamics_. all this is of course pure mathematics, and i have made these elementary observations for the benefit of my younger hearers, the students of this university. my grave and reverend seniors will pardon, i am sure, the repetition of facts well known to them for the sake of those who are less informed than themselves. now before i proceed further, i will endeavour to point out that these elementary truths of physical science hold good in our social system. each individual is a mass, acted on by numerous forces, capable of 'doing work,' which work can be measured and his velocity calculated. some individuals have a vast _potential energy_; that is to say, from their position and station in the social system, they have a power which is capable of producing work which a less exalted individual has not. like the weights in an eight-day clock, or the water in a reservoir, they have a capacity for doing work, owing to the position to which they have been raised. how vast the influence of a primate or a premier, a general or a king! and yet their power is chiefly potential energy, arising from the position they occupy, not from the individuals themselves. schiller has described this in poetical language, which, strange to say, is mathematically correct: 'yes, there's a patent of nobility above the meanness of our common state; with what they _do_ the vulgar natures buy their titles; and with what they _are_, the _great_.' other forces may have raised these men to their exalted positions; but their influence is due to their height, their potential energy. placed on a lower level, they would cease to have that power. how calm the dignity of this potential rank! the water in the reservoir is scarcely ruffled or disturbed, as if unconscious of its power; when it has lost its force it rushes along with a sullen murmur and a roar, howling and hissing and boiling in endless torture, until-- 'it gains a safer bed, and steals at last along the mazes of the quiet vale.' so the vulgar crowd rushes on, with plenty of kinetic force, making noise enough and looking very busy; while those who seem to sleep in calm forgetfulness, exercise their potential energy, and do the real work of turning the great engine of the state. there are attractive and repulsive forces (more commonly the latter, the cynic will say) in our social system, but each individual is the centre of various forces acting upon him. in nature all matter possesses the force of gravity, and whatever the size of two particles may be, they mutually attract each other. the earth attracts the moon; the moon attracts the earth. a stone thrown up into the air exercises an infinitesimal force upon the earth; so in the social system every individual, however small and insignificant he may be, exercises some attractive force upon his neighbour. there is no one in the world who does not exercise some influence for good or for evil upon his fellows. the force of _cohesion_ is manifest in society as in nature, that force, i mean, which resists the separation of a body's particles. different bodies possess different powers of cohesion, _e.g._, the cohesion of chalk is far less than that of flint embedded in it; even the same body possesses different powers of cohesion in different directions, _e.g._, it is easier to split wood in the direction of the fibres than perpendicular to them. if by our old principle of continuity we change the words 'bodies' into 'states' or 'individuals,' we shall see that the same laws hold good in social science as in natural philosophy. these are a few analogous laws which i have taken almost at random; but it must strike the most casual listener to my remarks that it is wondrous strange that men, regarded as social beings, should possess the same qualities, and be governed by the same laws, as the rest of _matter_. as bishop butler says, 'the force of analogy consists in the frequency of the supposed analogous facts, and the real resemblance of the things compared.' it appeals to the reasoning faculty, and may form a solid argument. hence, if we can prove the similarity of various laws and conditions, we may not be wrong in assuming by analogy the identity of those laws and conditions. i have stated my case in this manner in order to convince the gainsayers, if any such there be, and to banish any doubts or questionings which may have arisen in your minds. i will now proceed with some further investigations, full of the most profound interest and importance. doubtless many of the lady-students present are in the habit of welcoming peaceful evening in with a potent draught of 'the cup which cheers but not inebriates;' and as men are great flatterers (for imitation is the greatest flattery), i believe the male portion of my audience have been known to follow that excellent example. some perhaps are in the habit of burning the midnight oil, and keep their eyes open by means of this fruit of the hermit's pious zeal, endowed by high omnipotence with the power of hindering sleep;[ ] but that practice i do not advise, as that delicate portion of our system, the nerves, especially of women, often becomes injured by such stimulating doses. however, you will have observed (if you do not follow the modern pernicious fashion of taking tea without sugar) that numerous bubbles are formed upon the surface of the liquid. after a few moments these unite into one central mass of bubbles by the force of mutual attraction. it appears from considerations which are detailed in works on physical astronomy, that two particles of matter placed at any sensible distance apart attract each other with a force directly proportional to the product of their masses, and inversely proportional to the square of their distance. now, suppose that we have a number of circular masses situated upon a plane surface, they will attract each other with a force which may be determined with exactitude; and the greater the masses the greater the force. we will now apply this to polemical science. the agricultural settlement is the first stage in the civilization and formation of a state. how did this arise? first, a single family immigrated to some uncultivated parts of the country, perhaps accompanied by others, who formed a little colony. other settlements were made in other parts of the land; and thus the country became overspread with these detached and separate communities. an eminent writer declares that these settlements can be traced in the beginnings of every race which has made progress; that they were characteristic of those races in greece and italy, in asia and africa, which grew into the opulent and famous cities in which so much in the early history of civilization was developed. the colonies of england have been formed in the same way, just as in olden time england itself was occupied when the roman power ceased. these settlements correspond to the circular masses situated on the plane surface; they were quite separate from each other, each having its own laws, its own headman or ruler, its own assembly or parish council. but as time elapsed, the force of mutual attraction set in; by degrees these separate settlements were drawn together by force which increased in proportion as the settlements increased; until at last one united kingdom was formed under one king, governed by uniform laws and regulations. the bubbles have blended, the circles have come together, and one large circle or other curve is the result. this may be called the _law of social attraction_. in accordance with the results of one of my previous lectures, i have taken the circle as representing the simplest form of government, which figure, in the case of the elementary settlements, must have been small. many of you, most noble professors, are doubtless accustomed to make experiments with the microscope. i will suggest a simple one, which illustrates very forcibly what i am endeavouring to show you. take some particles of copper, and scatter them at intervals over the surface of an object-glass, and pour some sulphuric acid upon the glass. now, what is the result? a beautiful network of apparently golden texture spreads itself gradually over the whole area of the glass. steadily it pursues its way, and the result is beautiful to behold. the minute particles of copper were the original settlements scattered over the land; the sulphuric acid the civilizing agent; and the final picture of a united civilized homogeneous nation is well represented by the progressive and finally glorious network of gold. this example is of course outside our present subject, but it serves as a beautiful illustration. as an instance of the attractive force exercised by small communities upon each other, i may mention the united kingdom of germany, which is composed of numerous small states and nations, which have been drawn together by the power of mutual attraction. until recently they were each self-contained, separate constitutions, with their own kings and forms of government; but the attracting force, assisted by forces from without, has proved too much for them, and the great and powerful united kingdom of germany is the result. but why, you may ask, have not the people in hindustan united in the same way? there the agricultural settlements remain as they did ages ago; separate petty chieftains rule under the all-governing power of england. why have they not united? to this objection i reply that there is in social science, as in nature, a _vis inertia_; that is to say, there is a tendency in matter to remain at rest if unmoved by any external agency, and also of persisting to move, after it has once been set in motion. the _vis inertia_ of some bodies is greater than that of others, and depends upon their weight and density. now it so happens that the moral _vis inertia_ of the hindustani is very great, hence their tendency to amalgamation is small. they remain in the state in which they happen to be. on the other hand the inertia of englishmen is small, of englishwomen smaller, and therefore their power of combining is greater. here let me observe that the quality of inertia is one which ought to be removed as far as possible from each social system. inertia was regarded as a capital crime by the egyptians. solon ordained that inert persons should be put to death, and not contaminate the community. as savages bury living men, so does inertia practise the same barbarous custom upon states and individuals. observe the putrid state of inert water, the clear and sparkling beauty of the moving stream, bearing away by the force of its own motion aught that might contaminate it. men more often resemble the stagnant water than the rivulet. a healthy social state enforces labour by natural laws, and banishes inertia as much as possible from the system. if the principles of some noisy english politicians were fully carried out, and all things made '_free_,' inertia would be increased, and listless indolence pervade the masses of our countrymen. i may say that inertia is not entirely unknown in our sister university of cambridge. the existence of social forces is supported by the testimony of dr. tyndall, who plainly recognises their power, though he does not attempt to expound their origin. 'thoughtful minds are driven to seek, in the interaction of social forces, the genesis and development of man's moral nature. if they succeed in their search--and i think they are sure to succeed--social duty would be raised to a higher level of significance, and the deepening sense of social duty would, it is to be hoped, lessen, if not obliterate, the strife and heart-burnings which now beset and disguise our social life.' i accept with gratification dr. tyndall's conclusions: to determine, examine, trace, calculate these social forces which exercise such a powerful influence on our characters, our lives, our customs, which produce the greatness of the state, or drag it down with irresistible strength from its pinnacle of glory to an abyss of degradation; to estimate such forces is the great and noble object of our lectures and researches in this university. prosecute, most noble professors, your studies in this direction with all the energy of your enlightened intellects, and there is yet hope that this new science, which i have endeavoured to sketch out, however feebly, may be the means of saving our beloved nation from degradation and ruin, and raising her to a higher level of glory and honour. i hope to continue the subject of social forces in my next lecture. [ ] a chinese legend relates that a pious hermit, who in his watchings and prayers had often been overtaken by sleep, so that his eyelids closed, in holy wrath against the weakness of the flesh, cut them off, and threw them on the ground. but a god caused a tea-shrub to spring out of them, the leaves of which exhibit the form of an eyelid bordered with lashes, and possess the gift of hindering sleep.--dr. ure. paper vi. on social forces (_continued_)--polemical statics and dynamics. most noble professors and students of girtham,--we have embarked upon a stormy sea of speculation, on a voyage of grand discovery, and the dangerous waves of adverse criticism, and the deceptive under-current of prejudice, often make the steersman's lot by no means an enviable one. but our vessel is sound and perfectly equipped, and therefore i do not fear to guide her across the great unknown. it may have occurred to you that the problems which present themselves for solution in social science are far more difficult and complicated than those which arise in ordinary mathematics. that is undoubtedly the case; but this extra degree of difficulty is due to the fact that we make no assumptions; we take the things as they really are, not as they are assumed to be. in physical science, if we take into consideration the resistance of the air, the curvature of the earth, the rigid connection which exists between particles in the same body, and a host of other things which are often conveniently neglected in elementary works, how complicated the various problems become! so we must not be surprised at some of the difficulties which occur in social science, as nothing is neglected; the whole problem is before us, and having solved it we need not make allowances for any falsely assumed _data_. it is possible that other professors of this science may come to slightly different conclusions to those which i have arrived at. that is only to be expected, because their original observations may have slightly varied. but in physical science allowances are made for different observers. in astronomy, for example, we find the value of the 'personal equation.' one observer on looking through the telescope may take the meridian of a star rather differently from another watcher of the heavenly bodies, and the _personal equation_ is used to make allowances for this quickness, or slowness, of observation. so in social science there must be a personal equation too, and our object ought to be, in the ordinary affairs of life as well as in the higher duties of scientific action, to make our personal equation as small as possible. but until the old proverb, '_quot homines, tot sententiæ_,' has ceased to have any meaning, there will be abundant need of this most useful aid to accuracy. the close connection which exists between social forces and material forces is plainly shown by the doctrine of the conservation of energy. 'this doctrine,' says dr. tyndall, 'recognises in the material universe a constant sum of power made up of items among which the most protean fluctuations are incessantly going on. it is as if the body of nature were alive, the thrill and interchange of its energies resembling those of an organism. the parts of the stupendous whole shift and change, augment and diminish, appear and disappear; while the total of which they are the parts remains quantitatively immutable, _plus_ accompanies _minus_, gain accompanies loss, no item varying in the slightest degree without an absolutely equal change of some other item in the opposite direction.' so do the forces in the social world ebb and flow, rise and fall, carrying on the same universal law which regulates the energy of material force. i will now proceed to enumerate some of those forces which exercise such a powerful influence on society. first, let us take the force of _public opinion_, which seems to exercise a relentless sway over the minds and manners of men. this is a very subtle and secret force, which is most difficult to trace, and resembles electricity in the science of physics. we cannot see it, but are only able to judge of its power by its results. its point of application is not in the individual, but in the collection of individuals who make up the social system; and it is, in reality, the resultant of, or the compromise between, the various elementary forces which make up human society. yes, compromise is a purely mechanical affair, based on the principle of the parallelogram of forces; and as public opinion is the result of a compromise, we may calculate its force. for example: 'it is required to know the state of public opinion in the matter of politics, when the results of a general election show that the conservatives are to the liberals as : .' let oc be the direction of the conservative force. let ol be that of the liberal. then by _data_ oc : ol :: : . [illustration] complete the parallelogram, and join op. then op represents the force of public opinion in magnitude and direction. n.b.--the direction of ol is determined by the amount of deviation of the policy of the liberals from that of the conservatives. as in physical, so in social science, impulsive forces sometimes act, and effectually disturb our system and our calculations. public opinion is very liable to the action of disturbing forces. panic is an impulsive force, which defies the power of the most learned professors of social science to determine its magnitude and direction. some strange unforeseen catastrophe--the fascination caused by a brilliant and unscrupulous orator, a cruel wrong, a blind revenge for real or imaginary injustice--will sometimes rouse one element of passion latent in the vast body of public opinion; so that it breaks with all that hitherto restrained and balanced it, and precipitates society into a course of conduct inconsistent with its former behaviour, and bloodshed, revolution, the breaking-up of laws, are the terrible results of panic or revengeful passion. society is, as it were, split up by the terrible action of such impulsive forces, just as wood is split up by the repeated blows of the hatchet. it is, therefore, the duty of statesmen to increase the power or force of cohesion, to strengthen the fibres of the state, so that the force of such impulsive blows may not be felt, nor disturb the continuity of the framework of the state. if such measures had been adopted in the neighbouring country of france, much misery might have been avoided, and the terrible revolutions which have so frequently convulsed her social system entirely prevented. _friction_ is another disturbing element in our calculations, and although it may be made a useful servant, it is a bad master in mathematics, as in polemics. without the aid of friction, progress would be impossible. for example: take the case of a man with perfectly smooth skates on perfectly hard, smooth ice; he would be unable to reach the land unless he had provided himself with some stones, by throwing which he would just be able to get to his destination by a backward motion. the engine would be unable to proceed on its iron road if it were not for friction. the same is true in polemical science: the government of the country would not be able to be carried on under our present conditions if it were not for _party friction_. but suppose it increased indefinitely, party friction becomes party _obstruction_; and the engine of the state would no longer proceed smoothly and evenly along its appointed course at the rate of sixty miles an hour, but would resemble an old-fashioned coach, up to its axle-trees in mud, its motion altogether stopped by the action of party friction. we have seen that forces have two ways of acting: that of compelling rest and that of producing motion. in statics forces act so as to prevent any change of motion, or disturb the body's original position. in kinetics, on the contrary, the power is recognised as acting so as to produce or change a body's motion. now, in polemical science we have these two ways of considering the action of forces. there is the _statical_ or _conservative_ force, which compels rest, which seeks security, stability, and peace, and is not ardently devoted to change. it reduces the system to equilibrium. there are, of course, two kinds of equilibrium--_stable_ and _unstable_--according as the social and political system is in a healthy or unhealthy state. if a body is in stable equilibrium, and any slight motion takes place, the body will return immediately to its former position; but if in unstable, it will decline further and further away from its original position, and be entirely upset. so a healthy and sound conservative equilibrium is not disturbed by outside forces, and the state will resume its former position of stability and rest when the opposing force is withdrawn. but an unhealthy and insecure conservatism is as easily disturbed as an egg balanced on its narrow end. the kinetics of society, that is to say the radical way of estimating force, is the party of motion, generally supposed to be the 'party of progress.' it has therefore many attractions in the eyes of those who delight in motion, speed, and rushing about. to run at full speed, to feel the keen air upon one's face, to experience the delightful sensation of freedom of will, and limb, are joys which cannot be denied. such exercise is beneficial to the system, bodily or political. motion is the life of all things; it is characteristic of nature; it adores nature; because it is an emblem and characteristic of life. the ceaseless rolling of the ocean waves, the swaying of the trees, the bending of the flowers, the waving of the corn, all these fill us with pleasure; whereas a flat uninteresting plain, unrelieved by the motion of terrestrial objects, is depressing to the spirit. so there is much to be said in favour of motion, and carlyle has defined progress as 'living movement.' and men love this 'living movement,' and take up the laureate's cry: 'forward, forward, let us range, let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.' but, after all, there is a danger in this everlasting motion. we cannot tell whither this progress may lead. it may be along a safe sure road; but perchance a precipice may open out before us; and rejoicing in the acceleration of our velocity, with eyes intent upon some distant heights of glory and ambition, we may not discover our danger until it is too late to stop, and a terrible plunge into an unknown abyss of turmoil and tumultuous waves is the alarming result of an unguarded policy of unrestrained 'progress.' i recall to my mind the quaint words of holmes which aptly illustrate my contention. 'if the wild filly, "progress", thou would'st ride, have young companions ever at thy side; but wouldst thou stride the staunch old mare, "success," go with thine elders, though they please thee less.' progress and success do not always go together hand in hand; and while motion is essential to life, it is not always safe to urge a country forward at too great a speed; and security and stability are quite as important to the nation's life as actual progress. there are other impulsive forces which act occasionally in the sphere of politics, and which baffle all our calculations, and exclude scientific considerations of the polemical problems which arise. _ambition_ is such an impulsive force, and when the rulers of the people are actuated by it, and struggle for money, place, and power, politics is degraded from its position as a science, and it becomes impossible to estimate the result of forces so generated. in my next lecture i propose to treat the important subject of the laws which govern states and governments, and which regulate, generate, and control the social forces which we have seen at work in the body politic. paper vii. laws of political motion. since the last time i had the honour of addressing you on polemical matters, i have met with a passage in the writings of m. auguste comte which afforded me much pleasure. it seemed to be the one word for which i had been waiting, and confirmed many of my own impressions and speculations. he lays down two propositions: first, that the constructive politics of the future must be based on the history of the past; and second, that political science is a composite study, and presupposes the complete apprehension of every branch of science, beginning with the physical, such as astronomy, and ending with the moral, such as ethics and sociology. m. comte evidently does not regard as a vain dream and imaginative speculation the theory that it will be possible for statesmen to calculate a policy, and to determine a course of action by purely scientific considerations. may i entertain the hope that in this university, where all branches of physical science have found a home, and are studied by most able and learned professors, the science of politics may be pursued under most favourable circumstances? i trust that each professor will bring before me the results of their deliberations, and contribute to the growth of this particular science for which our university has already become deservedly famous. my present lecture is devoted to the important consideration of _law_. at first sight it may appear to you that the wills and passions of mankind are so diverse and unknowable, that it would be absurd to suppose that they can be calculated, or rendered amenable to any law. but professor amos has pointed out that in proportion as we examine history, and compare the actions present and past of different nations and states, the more uniform does human nature appear; the more calculable the actions, sentiments, and emotions of large masses of people. as we have already stated, the difficulties of the study are not likely to deter the professors of girtham college from the pursuit of any particular branch of science. _a priori_ we might suppose from analogy that these polemical laws existed, as there is no department of nature which is not governed by law. it is an essential feature in nature, and also in government. what is political economy but the study of certain laws of nature? these were first discovered by adam smith, and have since been traced and estimated by such men as ricardo, the two mills, professor cairnes, jevons, and many others. moreover, our physical constitutions are governed by laws, which physicians have determined, and which it is perilous to resist. our moral constitution is also governed by laws, which evidently exist, although it is difficult to find them out. but the nation is only an assemblage of individuals; and since individuals are so governed, it is only natural to suppose that the nation, composed of individuals, is so constituted and controlled. and not only is that true, but we shall see that polemical laws are as permanent and universal, as invariable and irreversible, as the laws of nature which regulate the courses of the heavenly bodies, and raise the tides, or depress the sandstone hills. we may notice first the preponderant impulse observable in a nation's life in favour of supporting existing facts and institutions; and every reformer has discovered the difficulty and danger of changing or opposing the customs and habits of the people. as a wheel will travel most smoothly along a well-worn groove, whereby friction is diminished, so there is a natural national tendency always to run along those paths with which the habits and customs of the people have made them familiar. this law is nothing else than newton's first law of motion, which is quite as applicable to human masses as to lifeless matter. the tendency of matter to remain at rest, if unmoved by any external agency, and of persisting to move after it has once been set in motion, is a conservative tendency; and is as true in political science as in any other. the special branch of our science, which we may call the _biology of politics_, shows how absolute is the domain of law in polemical matters. the law of human life is that men are born, grow, become strong and vigorous, and then decay and die. this is the law of life, to which we must all yield an enforced obedience. this same law is observed to be at work in the heavenly bodies; and astronomy shows us that planets are born, flourish, and at length die, just as our human bodies do. the moon is, as you may have observed, a dead planet, such as our earth may be some day. the same growth and decay are also manifest in national life. first, there is the birth of the nation, which sometimes lies a long time in a dormant state, and then wakes up to life and energy. china and russia are examples of dormant states, just waking from a long sleep of childishness and ignorance. the next stage is the strong an healthy period of its existence, which england is at present enjoying; and then, after various stages of gradual decline, we come to the senile period of national life, when every energy and faculty, every national feeling and power of invention, are completely exhausted. as an example of this depressing condition, we may mention turkey and several of the effete states of south america. sometimes, when life is nearly extinct in the human body, physicians have made use of the power of galvanism, in order to revive the dying energies. this process of galvanizing a state into life was tried by lord palmerston and others on the worn-out frame of turkey. but such attempts can only meet with partial and transitory success; and where the loss of national power and faculty betokens the senile period of the nation's existence, it is vain to attempt to restore its former life and energy. the study of the biology of politics presents many interesting and important details in this special branch of knowledge; and i commend this part of our subject to the special attention of the professor of physiology. the law of development is observable in nations as in nature. recent scientific discoveries have tended to take away all ideas of _chance_ in the workings of nature, and have substituted _law_ instead of it. it would be unscientific and incorrect to speak of the world being formed by the 'fortuitous concourse of atoms.' so we cannot speak of a state being generated in this manner. laws--economical, geographical, natural--preside over the formation of states and nations, and produce their further development. the laws of political motion occupy the same prominent place in our new science as newton's laws do in ordinary dynamics. these are very important in calculating the positions which various states will occupy in the future. first, we have the _doctrine of nationality_, which prevented the progress of austria into italy, and of the bourbons in naples, and produced the amalgamation of the small german states in the great empire of germany. the second law of political motion is the doctrine of the _independence_ of all true states, and the equality of all states to each other. this had its growth in feudalism; and all the chief wars of modern times have been the result of the efforts of nature to establish this law of independence. the doctrine of intervention is a modification of the preceding law, and is applicable when the law of necessity demands its use, such as the restoration of order after protracted anarchy, the abolition of slave trade, etc. the third law is the _law of morality_. just as for each man there exists a _right_ and a _wrong_; just as _duty_ and _conscience_ are certain elements in his daily motion, which dictate his course of action, although he may chose to neglect them; so a nation is bound by the same moral laws which govern the individual; and a nation errs if it transgresses them. christianity is the agent which has produced so powerful an influence in making men obey the dictates of conscience and walk in the path of duty; and i read with thankfulness the conclusion of mr. amos, that christianity has triumphed quite as much in moralizing secular politics as it has in the sphere of individual life. * * * * * these are some of the principal laws of motion which i have observed at work in various states and nations. inasmuch as political science embraces, in addition to the physical sciences, all those branches which are contained in ethics, economics, jurisprudence, sociology and others, the laws of each are generally applicable to the whole grand subject of which my lectures treat. other general laws may be deduced, and have been enumerated in my previous lectures, from the social properties of curves and conics; and when our researches are complete we may hope to produce a code of laws for the guidance of our statesmen which maybe of immense use in determining the policies of the future. already there is strong evidence that the affairs of this country are being conducted on sound scientific principles, rather than by any species of guess-work or haphazard contrivances. the use of history is recognised as extremely important in determining a future line of conduct; and statesmen are in the habit of endeavouring to find from their study of the past what is the logical sequence of events. just as mathematicians endeavour to determine the law of a series of figures, and having found the law, can write down the next, and the next, _ad infinitum_; so scientific politicians may be able soon to establish the various laws of a series of events, and calculate their course of actions. that there is considerable progress in this direction is manifest by the value which they place upon statistics, and their continued use of this important information. there are a few great evils in our present system which are strongly opposed to any scientific methods in politics; and in the interests of the country as well as those of science they ought to be removed. one great evil is the want of political and scientific knowledge on the part of the electors, who are in the habit of choosing their representatives on personal grounds, or party considerations, rather than on sound principles of political science. all this is opposed to any idea of law. owing to the ignorance of the electors they fall an easy prey to adventurers and unprincipled politicians, who make all kinds of specious promises, tempt them with all manner of baits, and make self-interest instead of the welfare of the state the principle of voting. selfishness is the ruin of social life and intercourse, the destroyer of all happiness, peace, and mutual trust in family life or in society. it is the root of most of the faults, vices, and crimes in the individual; and who can tell the endless disasters which will befall the state, where selfishness is the chief motive-power of the electors and the elected? a selfish statesman, one who goes into parliament to gain his own ends and forward his own personal interests, is a disgrace to society-- 'feeling himself, his own low self, the whole, when he by sacred sympathy might make the whole one self. self, that no alien knows! self, far diffused as fancy's wing can travel! self, spreading still, oblivious of its own, yet all of all possessing!' i have said that the ignorance of the electorate makes them an easy prey to such men; and until they have learnt to detect the false from the true, until they become acquainted with the elements of political science, and have been taught that their own selfish interests are not the highest aims of social government, it is vain to hope for a reasonable method of regulating the affairs of the nation, based upon logical laws and scientific principles. and how is this work of educating the electors to be accomplished? not, i maintain, by furious speeches and rhetorical displays; not by bribery, baits and banter; but by patient, never-ceasing labour, by lectures on history and science, by individual instruction, is the great work to be accomplished upon which the security and stability of the country depend. then we may hope that the 'reign of law' in polemical science may be ushered in with the joyful acclamations of an enlightened and united people, and its benign influence extend from the throne of the monarch and the council-chamber of his ministers to the hearth of the cottager. politicians will rule by law; policies be calculated by laws; people vote by law; and then methinks i see in my mind (to use the words of the blind old poet) a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks; methinks i see her as an eagle, renewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam; purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds flutter about amazed at what she means. such is the glorious vision of the 'reign of law.' let it be the business of every englishman and englishwoman to arrange the framework of our social and political system, that law may have an uninterrupted sway; then shall we be a united, prosperous, and contented people, and the reign of lawless agitators, bribery-mongers, and counterfeit statesmen will have passed away into the oblivion and obscurity of a more suitable but less favoured region. paper viii. on the principle of polemical cohesion. in my previous lectures i have had occasion to mention the principle of cohesion; but it plays so vital a part in the constitution of states and their relations to each other that i consider it advisable to devote this lecture entirely to it. this is a large and comprehensive subject, and embraces such principles as the centralization of states; the co-operation of states; monogamic marriage; unions; free trade, and many others equally important. we have already noticed that cohesion is a well-known property of matter; that its influence is not confined to the regions of physical sciences; and that it is the manifest duty of all governments to increase the force of cohesion. various methods have been tried to accomplish this purpose. the principle of feudalism was one of the earliest attempts to produce the cohesion of the nation; and, in an elementary condition of society, it was partly successful. the theories of 'divine right' and 'social contract' were other methods which have been adopted; and the unity of the christian church has been the great means of producing the cohesion of the state in olden times; and its aid may be again required for the same beneficent object in future complications and social disruptions. but it is always advantageous in scientific pursuits to go back to first principles; and we will adopt that method in our present investigations. the social unit is the family; the multiplication of families makes the tribe; the multiplication of tribes makes the state; and, therefore, we shall not be far wrong if we consider the family tie as the first principle of political cohesion. i am in agreement with several learned thinkers upon this subject when i say that marriage is a most important political factor; and as marriage cannot take place without women, it is evident that women play a very important part in promoting the cohesion of the state. this prominent position was duly assigned to women by one of our greatest political philosophers, m. auguste comte, who strongly opposed the fatal fallacy of ancient political systems, which greatly overestimated the powers of men, and depreciated those of women. if the superiority of bodily strength be the sole cause of greatness in political and intellectual pursuits, then, most noble lords of creation, we yield to you the palm--you are our masters in this respect. but if, on the other hand, it can be shown that physical strength is not a requisite for great achievements in these occupations; if the powers of endurance, elasticity, adaptability, nervous energy, and patience are quite as needful as mere animal strength; then we women are quite as capable, and indeed more capable than men, for achieving political greatness. in the 'good old days,' when the law of might was right, and the strongest arm was the most powerful machinery in the government of the country, women were compelled naturally to occupy a less prominent position in the conduct of the affairs of the nation; and for centuries they have been degraded by a dominating tradition, and supposed incapable of performing duties for which they were mentally well suited. but those militant days are past. animal strength and brute force are no longer needed in the councils of the nation; and the time has arrived when women should cease to be oppressed by the disparaging, illogical deductions of former generations, and when their assistance ought to be invoked in the great work of promoting the nation's welfare. i have stated that marriage is an important political factor; and, therefore, women have always occupied a primary, though obscure, part in political affairs. the cohesion of the state has been produced by the secret influence of family life. but it may be asked, what kind of marriage is most conducive to national cohesion? this question has been carefully and conclusively answered by a learned scientific writer, who shows that polygamic marriage never exists in an advanced state, as instanced by the history of judaism and mohammedanism; that a strict form of monogamic marriage is essential to political greatness and true progress in civilization. the cohesion of the state is destroyed by polygamy, and by any system which relaxes the binding nature of the marriage tie. 'domestic disorganization is a sure augury of political disruption.' cohesion, the essential property of all rightly constituted nations, is often in danger of being lost when the state is geographically very large, or when local interests have greater power than the attractive force of the central government. to obviate this evil, the method of centralization has been adopted with satisfactory results, as in the case of the united states of america, and germany. by this means the local authorities are brought into close relationship with the central head, and the centrifugal influences of independent interests and customs are counteracted by the force of central attraction. centralization increases the importance of the whole body, and, like the pendulum of a clock, regulates the movements of the whole state. in some cases it tends to make the government despotic, when the local governments are entirely under the control of the central; and every enactment, and scheme, and plan checked and supervised by the chief officers of the state. such was the system adopted in france by napoleon iii. but cohesion without the enforcement of a hard and rigid connection, a general supervision without severe tyrannical jurisdiction, are the best methods of securing the unity of composite states. but the force of cohesion is evidently at work in the nation apart from centralization. men who have a community of interests unite together for the purposes of strength and mutual assistance. they combine for the sake of securing means of support in sickness, and form benefit societies, such as the order of oddfellows or foresters. this force of cohesion has produced trade unions, and similar institutions which exist for the purpose of protecting a common interest, and giving expression to the concurrent opinions of the members. these have their legitimate use in every civilized state, in spite of some of the disadvantages which follow in their train. there are, of course, opposed interests in every community: _attractive_ forces, which produce trade unions, guilds, corporations, companies, and the like; and _repulsive_ forces, which result from the opposed interests of employers and employed, landlords and tenants, and similar pairs of different classes in the community. as time goes on, and the state advances with it, these forces will gain in strength; the cohesion of classes will become greater; association will grow as naturally as the bubbles form on the surface of our evening beverage. it is a law of nature, and therefore cannot be resisted. but the repulsive forces will be no less strong, and to calculate the resultant of these contending interests will be the problem for practical statesmen to solve. the force of cohesion is also evidently at work, not only in individual states, but also amongst the nations of europe, and of the world. that is to say, there is an evident desire for co-operation on the part of those nations who have attained to the highest degree of civilization and internal cohesion. international law is based on the principle of cohesion, and every day it is gaining power and favour in the eyes of our leading statesmen. the doctrine of free trade, which, if universally adopted, would be of the greatest service to mankind, results from a desire for co-operation; and whatever evils may result from one-sided free trade in this country at the present time, there can be no doubt that ultimately the complete system will be adopted. sad is the fate of a nation when the force of cohesion is weakened. the first revolution in france is a proof of this assertion; there was no cohesion, no common faith, or loyalty to the throne and government; and indeed the government, which was rotten to the core, was hardly likely to awake any feelings of loyalty and respect; and therefore the social disruption which followed was only a natural sequence of events, and was prophesied with the accuracy with which an astronomer can foretell an eclipse. but that is not all; when the cohesion of the state is destroyed, it takes a long time to restore the action of the force; and, as in the case of france, further disruption is sure to take place. in this lecture i have already enumerated some of the ways in which this force acts; there are doubtless others which will suggest themselves to you. but i contend that the prosperity of the state, and the peace of the world, depend upon cohesion. let this be your work, most noble professors, to promote the action of this helpful and life-giving force. promote, as far as in you lies, the sacred union of family life. encourage the generous feelings of true loyalty and patriotism amongst the people of this realm of england; counsel our statesmen with regard to the primary necessity of national cohesion, and the advantages of international co-operation; and your work will be blessed; your names will rank with those heroes of the sword and of the pen who have raised our beloved country to her present pinnacle of greatness and prosperity; and your memory will live in the hearts of your grateful countrymen. [editorial note.]--we regret to state that the various mss. in the sealed desk are nearly exhausted, and are therefore compelled to present the series of lectures on polemical studies in an incomplete form. but we had the good fortune to light upon a brief diary which discloses some interesting information with regard to the author's life and occupations. we append a few extracts: extracts from the author's diary. _june rd_.--arnold called again to-day--the fifth time during the last fortnight! his attention is rather overpowering, and wastes much of my valuable time. he says he hates science--the heathen!--and wants me to lecture in classics. he affirms that mathematics are dry and hard--too hard for women, and tend to make them unsympathetic and critically severe. i am afraid i was rather severe with him. but really he is very trying, and always seems to talk like a greek chorus in the most profound platitudes. arnold is a classical tutor at clare college. my old pupil is getting on famously. poor fellow! he seems quite oppressed with his work. but he is making great progress, and sticks to his books like--a student of girtham college! _june th_.--lectured on the scientific basis of blackstone's commentaries; afterwards received pupils until p.m. really blanch s---- is more tiresome than ever. it appears that she has taken up with a young undergraduate of king's, and there is no prospect of any improvement in her work unless this nonsense is terminated. how foolish some of my sex are, in spite of their improved opportunities! i blush for them! arnold has sent me a copy of robert browning's 'belaustion,' in order to make me like classics, and give up science. misguided young man! he has written some tolerable verses on the fly-leaf; but i have no intention of playing belaustion to his 'entranced youth.' these are his verses: 'my lady dear, if i may call you so, for you are dearer than all else beside, i know the love you bear to golden verse, to golden thoughts enshrined in classic lore, to all that's beautiful; so here i send some echoes of the songs of ancient days, attuned and chanted by an english bard, who fires one's old love for the rolling lines of youthful hellas; may your cultured ear receive, and gladly welcome his sweet song. and while we revel in the poet's dream, and hear his actors speak, we'll play our parts. you, sweet belaustion on the temple-steps, taking your captors captive by your voice; and i, the youth who, more entranced than all, was bound by fetters that he would not loose; and so we'll play our part. what say you, dear?' _june th_.--have just seen our new professor of physics, amelia cordial, who is an excellent woman, and well suited for the high office which she holds. she has told me of the foolish conduct of lady mary, who is evidently of opinion that the professorial mantle ought to have fallen on her shoulders. really, this jealousy in the ranks of the learned is most disgraceful; and the bickerings which arise from disappointed ambition, the envyings and silly quarrels, are the weak places in our female collegiate system. such good news! the wrangler list is just out, and my hard-working pupil is _bracketed twelfth!_ this is really delightful, and abundantly repays us for all our hard toil. but really i have not found working with him distasteful; he is such an excellent pupil, so painstaking and eager, that i have quite looked forward to his coming, and found him much more interesting than some of these foolish maidens. but i almost dread seeing him. he will be so elated and overpoweringly grateful, whereas i ought to be grateful to him for all his work for me; for i am sure he would never have gone in for the tripos if i had not persuaded him. well, i wonder why he does not come to tell me of his triumph. _june th_.--_it_ has come! and i half expected it. my eager pupil writes with all the energy and love of his noble nature to ask me to be his wife! he says _that_ is all he cares for, and only values his honours as a step to a higher honour and dignity, that of gaining my love and being my husband. all this is very nice to read; but a terribly difficult problem is placed before me for solution. i do indeed love this dear, good fellow--no one could help doing so, i am sure; but do i not love science more? there is a stringent regulation in this university that no one shall occupy the position of professor who is bound by any domestic ties or cares. all married women are excluded. if i say 'yes,' i must resign my high position, leave this beloved college, give no more lectures to entranced audiences. in the interests of science, ought i to refuse, and sacrifice my heart's affections for the cause of mathematics? but if i say 'no,' i must give up--_him_; sacrifice his happiness too, and blight his life. was ever anyone so perplexed? science, aid thine obedient servant! may i not determine this vital question by thine all-pervading light?... * * * * * [editorial note.]--we had just arrived at this exciting moment in the life of the learned and accomplished lady whose writings form the subject of these pages--a moment when love and science were trembling in the balance--when a footstep was heard upon the stairs leading to our study, and ere we could secrete our ms. the door was opened, and a well-known voice exclaimed: 'i do not know why you should have become so studious lately, ernest, and why you should refuse to take me into your confidence. you spend hours and hours in this room all by yourself, writing away, and never say a word to me about the subject of your literary work. there was a time when things were different, and you were not so slow in availing yourself of my help, and asking my advice.' we murmured something about taking up the pen which had been laid aside by a far abler hand, and our deep gratitude for past assistance in our work, which could never be forgotten. 'and do you think that i cannot help you now?' our visitor replied, in a very injured tone of voice. 'is the old power dead, because it has not recently been used? ernest, i think you very ungrateful not to confide in me. come, tell me what you are writing.' a suggestion about the proverbial curiosity of women rose to our lips, but died away without utterance. in the meantime, her eyes wandered over our study-table strewed with papers, and lighted upon the well-worn desk. 'why, ernest, where did you find this? my dear old desk, which has been lost ever so long! i do believe you have been ransacking its contents! why did you not tell me that you had found it? what are you doing with my papers, sir?' the mischief was out! we tried to explain that the world ought not to be deprived of that which would benefit mankind; that the peace and prosperity of the country might be sacrificed if it were deprived of these discoveries of science, which were calculated to secure such beneficial results. at length we gained our point, and obtained the full sanction of the late lady professor of girtham college to publish her papers. thus her obedient pupil is enabled to repay his late instructress for all her kindness to him, and in some measure to compensate the scientific and political world for the loss of one of its most original investigators in the regions of polemical studies, which, not without a struggle, she resigned when she deigned to become his wife. the end. _elliot stock, paternoster row, london._ transcribed from the cassell & company edition by david price, email ccx @pglaf.org the battle of the books and other short pieces. by jonathan swift. cassell & company, limited: _london_, _paris_, _new york & melbourne_. . introduction. jonathan swift was born in , on the th of november. his father was a jonathan swift, sixth of the ten sons of the rev. thomas swift, vicar of goodrich, near ross, in herefordshire, who had married elizabeth dryden, niece to the poet dryden's grandfather. jonathan swift married, at leicester, abigail erick, or herrick, who was of the family that had given to england robert herrick, the poet. as their eldest brother, godwin, was prospering in ireland, four other swifts, dryden, william, jonathan, and adam, all in turn found their way to dublin. jonathan was admitted an attorney of the king's inns, dublin, and was appointed by the benchers to the office of steward of the king's inns, in january, . he died in april, , leaving his widow with an infant daughter, jane, and an unborn child. swift was born in dublin seven months after his father's death. his mother after a time returned to her own family, in leicester, and the child was added to the household of his uncle, godwin swift, who, by his four wives, became father to ten sons of his own and four daughters. godwin swift sent his nephew to kilkenny school, where he had william congreve among his schoolfellows. in april, , swift was entered at trinity college as pensioner, together with his cousin thomas, son of his uncle thomas. that cousin thomas afterwards became rector of puttenham, in surrey. jonathan swift graduated as b.a. at dublin, in february, , and remained in trinity college for another three years. he was ready to proceed to m.a. when his uncle godwin became insane. the troubles of also caused the closing of the university, and jonathan swift went to leicester, where mother and son took counsel together as to future possibilities of life. the retired statesman, sir william temple, at moor park, near farnham, in surrey, was in highest esteem with the new king and the leaders of the revolution. his father, as master of the irish rolls, had been a friend of godwin swift's, and with his wife swift's mother could claim cousinship. after some months, therefore, at leicester, jonathan swift, aged twenty-two, went to moor park, and entered sir william temple's household, doing service with the expectation of advancement through his influence. the advancement he desired was in the church. when swift went to moor park he found in its household a child six or seven years old, daughter to mrs. johnson, who was trusted servant and companion to lady gifford, sir william temple's sister. with this little esther, aged seven, swift, aged twenty-two, became a playfellow and helper in her studies. he broke his english for her into what he called their "little language," that was part of the same playful kindliness, and passed into their after-life. in july, , with sir william temple's help, jonathan swift commenced m.a. in oxford, as of hart hall. in , swift's ambition having been thwarted by an offer of a clerkship, of pounds a year, in the irish rolls, he broke from sir william temple, took orders, and obtained, through other influence, in january, , the small prebendary of kilroot, in the north of ireland. he was there for about a year. close by, in belfast, was an old college friend, named waring, who had a sister. swift was captivated by miss waring, called her varina, and would have become engaged to marry her if she had not flinched from engagement with a young clergyman whose income was but a hundred a year. but sir william temple had missed jonathan swift from moor park. differences were forgotten, and swift, at his wish, went back. this was in , when his little pupil, esther johnson, was fifteen. swift said of her, "i knew her from six years old, and had some share in her education, by directing what books she should read, and perpetually instructing her in the principles of honour and virtue, from which she never swerved in any one action or moment of her life. she was sickly from her childhood until about the age of fifteen; but then grew into perfect health, and was then looked upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young women in london, only a little too fat. her hair was blacker than a raven, and every feature of her face in perfection." this was the stella of swift's after-life, the one woman to whom his whole love was given. but side by side with the slow growth of his knowledge of all she was for him, was the slow growth of his conviction that attacks of giddiness and deafness, which first came when he was twenty, and recurred at times throughout his life, were signs to be associated with that which he regarded as the curse upon his life. his end would be like his uncle godwin's. it was a curse transmissible to children, but if he desired to keep the influence his genius gave him, he could not tell the world why he refused to marry. only to stella, who remained unmarried for his sake, and gave her life to him, could all be known. returned to moor park, swift wrote, in , the "battle of the books," as well as the "tale of the tub," with which it was published seven years afterwards, in . perrault and others had been battling in france over the relative merits of ancient and modern writers. the debate had spread to england. on behalf of the ancients, stress was laid by temple on the letters of phalaris, tyrant of agrigentum. wotton replied to sir william for the moderns. the hon. charles boyle, of christ church, published a new edition of the epistles of phalaris, with translation of the greek text into latin. dr. bentley, the king's librarian, published a "dissertation on the epistles of phalaris," denying their value, and arguing that phalaris did not write them. christ church replied through charles boyle, with "dr. bentley's dissertation on the epistles of phalaris examined." swift entered into the war with a light heart, and matched the ancients in defending them for the amusement of his patron. his incidental argument between the spider and the bee has provided a catch-phrase, "sweetness and light," to a combatant of later times. sir william temple died on the th of january, . swift then became chaplain to lord berkeley in dublin castle, and it was as a little surprise to lady berkeley, who liked him to read to her robert boyle's "meditations," that swift wrote the "meditation on a broomstick." in february, , he obtained from lord berkeley the vicarage of laracor with the living of rathbeggan, also in the diocese of meath. in the beginning of esther johnson, to whom sir william temple had bequeathed a leasehold farm in wicklow, came with an elder friend, miss dingley, and settled in laracor to be near swift. during one of the visits to london, made from laracor, swift attacked the false pretensions of astrologers by that prediction of the death of mr. partridge, a prophetic almanac maker, of which he described the accomplishment so clearly that partridge had much ado to get credit for being alive. the lines addressed to stella speak for themselves. "cadenus and vanessa" was meant as polite and courteous admonition to miss hester van homrigh, a young lady in whom green-sickness seems to have produced devotion to swift in forms that embarrassed him, and with which he did not well know how to deal. h. m. the bookseller to the reader. this discourse, as it is unquestionably of the same author, so it seems to have been written about the same time, with "the tale of a tub;" i mean the year , when the famous dispute was on foot about ancient and modern learning. the controversy took its rise from an essay of sir william temple's upon that subject; which was answered by w. wotton, b.d., with an appendix by dr. bentley, endeavouring to destroy the credit of aesop and phalaris for authors, whom sir william temple had, in the essay before mentioned, highly commended. in that appendix the doctor falls hard upon a new edition of phalaris, put out by the honourable charles boyle, now earl of orrery, to which mr. boyle replied at large with great learning and wit; and the doctor voluminously rejoined. in this dispute the town highly resented to see a person of sir william temple's character and merits roughly used by the two reverend gentlemen aforesaid, and without any manner of provocation. at length, there appearing no end of the quarrel, our author tells us that the books in st. james's library, looking upon themselves as parties principally concerned, took up the controversy, and came to a decisive battle; but the manuscript, by the injury of fortune or weather, being in several places imperfect, we cannot learn to which side the victory fell. i must warn the reader to beware of applying to persons what is here meant only of books, in the most literal sense. so, when virgil is mentioned, we are not to understand the person of a famous poet called by that name; but only certain sheets of paper bound up in leather, containing in print the works of the said poet: and so of the rest. the preface of the author. satire is a sort of glass wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kind reception it meets with in the world, and that so very few are offended with it. but, if it should happen otherwise, the danger is not great; and i have learned from long experience never to apprehend mischief from those understandings i have been able to provoke: for anger and fury, though they add strength to the sinews of the body, yet are found to relax those of the mind, and to render all its efforts feeble and impotent. there is a brain that will endure but one scumming; let the owner gather it with discretion, and manage his little stock with husbandry; but, of all things, let him beware of bringing it under the lash of his betters, because that will make it all bubble up into impertinence, and he will find no new supply. wit without knowledge being a sort of cream, which gathers in a night to the top, and by a skilful hand may be soon whipped into froth; but once scummed away, what appears underneath will be fit for nothing but to be thrown to the hogs. a full and true account of the battle fought last friday between the ancient and the modern books in saint james's library. whoever examines, with due circumspection, into the annual records of time, will find it remarked that war is the child of pride, and pride the daughter of riches:--the former of which assertions may be soon granted, but one cannot so easily subscribe to the latter; for pride is nearly related to beggary and want, either by father or mother, and sometimes by both: and, to speak naturally, it very seldom happens among men to fall out when all have enough; invasions usually travelling from north to south, that is to say, from poverty to plenty. the most ancient and natural grounds of quarrels are lust and avarice; which, though we may allow to be brethren, or collateral branches of pride, are certainly the issues of want. for, to speak in the phrase of writers upon politics, we may observe in the republic of dogs, which in its original seems to be an institution of the many, that the whole state is ever in the profoundest peace after a full meal; and that civil broils arise among them when it happens for one great bone to be seized on by some leading dog, who either divides it among the few, and then it falls to an oligarchy, or keeps it to himself, and then it runs up to a tyranny. the same reasoning also holds place among them in those dissensions we behold upon a turgescency in any of their females. for the right of possession lying in common (it being impossible to establish a property in so delicate a case), jealousies and suspicions do so abound, that the whole commonwealth of that street is reduced to a manifest state of war, of every citizen against every citizen, till some one of more courage, conduct, or fortune than the rest seizes and enjoys the prize: upon which naturally arises plenty of heart-burning, and envy, and snarling against the happy dog. again, if we look upon any of these republics engaged in a foreign war, either of invasion or defence, we shall find the same reasoning will serve as to the grounds and occasions of each; and that poverty or want, in some degree or other (whether real or in opinion, which makes no alteration in the case), has a great share, as well as pride, on the part of the aggressor. now whoever will please to take this scheme, and either reduce or adapt it to an intellectual state or commonwealth of learning, will soon discover the first ground of disagreement between the two great parties at this time in arms, and may form just conclusions upon the merits of either cause. but the issue or events of this war are not so easy to conjecture at; for the present quarrel is so inflamed by the warm heads of either faction, and the pretensions somewhere or other so exorbitant, as not to admit the least overtures of accommodation. this quarrel first began, as i have heard it affirmed by an old dweller in the neighbourhood, about a small spot of ground, lying and being upon one of the two tops of the hill parnassus; the highest and largest of which had, it seems, been time out of mind in quiet possession of certain tenants, called the ancients; and the other was held by the moderns. but these disliking their present station, sent certain ambassadors to the ancients, complaining of a great nuisance; how the height of that part of parnassus quite spoiled the prospect of theirs, especially towards the east; and therefore, to avoid a war, offered them the choice of this alternative, either that the ancients would please to remove themselves and their effects down to the lower summit, which the moderns would graciously surrender to them, and advance into their place; or else the said ancients will give leave to the moderns to come with shovels and mattocks, and level the said hill as low as they shall think it convenient. to which the ancients made answer, how little they expected such a message as this from a colony whom they had admitted, out of their own free grace, to so near a neighbourhood. that, as to their own seat, they were aborigines of it, and therefore to talk with them of a removal or surrender was a language they did not understand. that if the height of the hill on their side shortened the prospect of the moderns, it was a disadvantage they could not help; but desired them to consider whether that injury (if it be any) were not largely recompensed by the shade and shelter it afforded them. that as to the levelling or digging down, it was either folly or ignorance to propose it if they did or did not know how that side of the hill was an entire rock, which would break their tools and hearts, without any damage to itself. that they would therefore advise the moderns rather to raise their own side of the hill than dream of pulling down that of the ancients; to the former of which they would not only give licence, but also largely contribute. all this was rejected by the moderns with much indignation, who still insisted upon one of the two expedients; and so this difference broke out into a long and obstinate war, maintained on the one part by resolution, and by the courage of certain leaders and allies; but, on the other, by the greatness of their number, upon all defeats affording continual recruits. in this quarrel whole rivulets of ink have been exhausted, and the virulence of both parties enormously augmented. now, it must be here understood, that ink is the great missive weapon in all battles of the learned, which, conveyed through a sort of engine called a quill, infinite numbers of these are darted at the enemy by the valiant on each side, with equal skill and violence, as if it were an engagement of porcupines. this malignant liquor was compounded, by the engineer who invented it, of two ingredients, which are, gall and copperas; by its bitterness and venom to suit, in some degree, as well as to foment, the genius of the combatants. and as the grecians, after an engagement, when they could not agree about the victory, were wont to set up trophies on both sides, the beaten party being content to be at the same expense, to keep itself in countenance (a laudable and ancient custom, happily revived of late in the art of war), so the learned, after a sharp and bloody dispute, do, on both sides, hang out their trophies too, whichever comes by the worst. these trophies have largely inscribed on them the merits of the cause; a full impartial account of such a battle, and how the victory fell clearly to the party that set them up. they are known to the world under several names; as disputes, arguments, rejoinders, brief considerations, answers, replies, remarks, reflections, objections, confutations. for a very few days they are fixed up all in public places, either by themselves or their representatives, for passengers to gaze at; whence the chiefest and largest are removed to certain magazines they call libraries, there to remain in a quarter purposely assigned them, and thenceforth begin to be called books of controversy. in these books is wonderfully instilled and preserved the spirit of each warrior while he is alive; and after his death his soul transmigrates thither to inform them. this, at least, is the more common opinion; but i believe it is with libraries as with other cemeteries, where some philosophers affirm that a certain spirit, which they call _brutum hominis_, hovers over the monument, till the body is corrupted and turns to dust or to worms, but then vanishes or dissolves; so, we may say, a restless spirit haunts over every book, till dust or worms have seized upon it--which to some may happen in a few days, but to others later--and therefore, books of controversy being, of all others, haunted by the most disorderly spirits, have always been confined in a separate lodge from the rest, and for fear of a mutual violence against each other, it was thought prudent by our ancestors to bind them to the peace with strong iron chains. of which invention the original occasion was this: when the works of scotus first came out, they were carried to a certain library, and had lodgings appointed them; but this author was no sooner settled than he went to visit his master aristotle, and there both concerted together to seize plato by main force, and turn him out from his ancient station among the divines, where he had peaceably dwelt near eight hundred years. the attempt succeeded, and the two usurpers have reigned ever since in his stead; but, to maintain quiet for the future, it was decreed that all polemics of the larger size should be hold fast with a chain. by this expedient, the public peace of libraries might certainly have been preserved if a new species of controversial books had not arisen of late years, instinct with a more malignant spirit, from the war above mentioned between the learned about the higher summit of parnassus. when these books were first admitted into the public libraries, i remember to have said, upon occasion, to several persons concerned, how i was sure they would create broils wherever they came, unless a world of care were taken; and therefore i advised that the champions of each side should be coupled together, or otherwise mixed, that, like the blending of contrary poisons, their malignity might be employed among themselves. and it seems i was neither an ill prophet nor an ill counsellor; for it was nothing else but the neglect of this caution which gave occasion to the terrible fight that happened on friday last between the ancient and modern books in the king's library. now, because the talk of this battle is so fresh in everybody's mouth, and the expectation of the town so great to be informed in the particulars, i, being possessed of all qualifications requisite in an historian, and retained by neither party, have resolved to comply with the urgent importunity of my friends, by writing down a full impartial account thereof. the guardian of the regal library, a person of great valour, but chiefly renowned for his humanity, had been a fierce champion for the moderns, and, in an engagement upon parnassus, had vowed with his own hands to knock down two of the ancient chiefs who guarded a small pass on the superior rock, but, endeavouring to climb up, was cruelly obstructed by his own unhappy weight and tendency towards his centre, a quality to which those of the modern party are extremely subject; for, being light- headed, they have, in speculation, a wonderful agility, and conceive nothing too high for them to mount, but, in reducing to practice, discover a mighty pressure about their posteriors and their heels. having thus failed in his design, the disappointed champion bore a cruel rancour to the ancients, which he resolved to gratify by showing all marks of his favour to the books of their adversaries, and lodging them in the fairest apartments; when, at the same time, whatever book had the boldness to own itself for an advocate of the ancients was buried alive in some obscure corner, and threatened, upon the least displeasure, to be turned out of doors. besides, it so happened that about this time there was a strange confusion of place among all the books in the library, for which several reasons were assigned. some imputed it to a great heap of learned dust, which a perverse wind blew off from a shelf of moderns into the keeper's eyes. others affirmed he had a humour to pick the worms out of the schoolmen, and swallow them fresh and fasting, whereof some fell upon his spleen, and some climbed up into his head, to the great perturbation of both. and lastly, others maintained that, by walking much in the dark about the library, he had quite lost the situation of it out of his head; and therefore, in replacing his books, he was apt to mistake and clap descartes next to aristotle, poor plato had got between hobbes and the seven wise masters, and virgil was hemmed in with dryden on one side and wither on the other. meanwhile, those books that were advocates for the moderns, chose out one from among them to make a progress through the whole library, examine the number and strength of their party, and concert their affairs. this messenger performed all things very industriously, and brought back with him a list of their forces, in all, fifty thousand, consisting chiefly of light-horse, heavy-armed foot, and mercenaries; whereof the foot were in general but sorrily armed and worse clad; their horses large, but extremely out of case and heart; however, some few, by trading among the ancients, had furnished themselves tolerably enough. while things were in this ferment, discord grew extremely high; hot words passed on both sides, and ill blood was plentifully bred. here a solitary ancient, squeezed up among a whole shelf of moderns, offered fairly to dispute the case, and to prove by manifest reason that the priority was due to them from long possession, and in regard of their prudence, antiquity, and, above all, their great merits toward the moderns. but these denied the premises, and seemed very much to wonder how the ancients could pretend to insist upon their antiquity, when it was so plain (if they went to that) that the moderns were much the more ancient of the two. as for any obligations they owed to the ancients, they renounced them all. "it is true," said they, "we are informed some few of our party have been so mean as to borrow their subsistence from you, but the rest, infinitely the greater number (and especially we french and english), were so far from stooping to so base an example, that there never passed, till this very hour, six words between us. for our horses were of our own breeding, our arms of our own forging, and our clothes of our own cutting out and sewing." plato was by chance up on the next shelf, and observing those that spoke to be in the ragged plight mentioned a while ago, their jades lean and foundered, their weapons of rotten wood, their armour rusty, and nothing but rags underneath, he laughed loud, and in his pleasant way swore, by ---, he believed them. now, the moderns had not proceeded in their late negotiation with secrecy enough to escape the notice of the enemy. for those advocates who had begun the quarrel, by setting first on foot the dispute of precedency, talked so loud of coming to a battle, that sir william temple happened to overhear them, and gave immediate intelligence to the ancients, who thereupon drew up their scattered troops together, resolving to act upon the defensive; upon which, several of the moderns fled over to their party, and among the rest temple himself. this temple, having been educated and long conversed among the ancients, was, of all the moderns, their greatest favourite, and became their greatest champion. things were at this crisis when a material accident fell out. for upon the highest corner of a large window, there dwelt a certain spider, swollen up to the first magnitude by the destruction of infinite numbers of flies, whose spoils lay scattered before the gates of his palace, like human bones before the cave of some giant. the avenues to his castle were guarded with turnpikes and palisadoes, all after the modern way of fortification. after you had passed several courts you came to the centre, wherein you might behold the constable himself in his own lodgings, which had windows fronting to each avenue, and ports to sally out upon all occasions of prey or defence. in this mansion he had for some time dwelt in peace and plenty, without danger to his person by swallows from above, or to his palace by brooms from below; when it was the pleasure of fortune to conduct thither a wandering bee, to whose curiosity a broken pane in the glass had discovered itself, and in he went, where, expatiating a while, he at last happened to alight upon one of the outward walls of the spider's citadel; which, yielding to the unequal weight, sunk down to the very foundation. thrice he endeavoured to force his passage, and thrice the centre shook. the spider within, feeling the terrible convulsion, supposed at first that nature was approaching to her final dissolution, or else that beelzebub, with all his legions, was come to revenge the death of many thousands of his subjects whom his enemy had slain and devoured. however, he at length valiantly resolved to issue forth and meet his fate. meanwhile the bee had acquitted himself of his toils, and, posted securely at some distance, was employed in cleansing his wings, and disengaging them from the ragged remnants of the cobweb. by this time the spider was adventured out, when, beholding the chasms, the ruins, and dilapidations of his fortress, he was very near at his wit's end; he stormed and swore like a madman, and swelled till he was ready to burst. at length, casting his eye upon the bee, and wisely gathering causes from events (for they know each other by sight), "a plague split you," said he; "is it you, with a vengeance, that have made this litter here; could not you look before you, and be d---d? do you think i have nothing else to do (in the devil's name) but to mend and repair after you?" "good words, friend," said the bee, having now pruned himself, and being disposed to droll; "i'll give you my hand and word to come near your kennel no more; i was never in such a confounded pickle since i was born." "sirrah," replied the spider, "if it were not for breaking an old custom in our family, never to stir abroad against an enemy, i should come and teach you better manners." "i pray have patience," said the bee, "or you'll spend your substance, and, for aught i see, you may stand in need of it all, towards the repair of your house." "rogue, rogue," replied the spider, "yet methinks you should have more respect to a person whom all the world allows to be so much your betters." "by my troth," said the bee, "the comparison will amount to a very good jest, and you will do me a favour to let me know the reasons that all the world is pleased to use in so hopeful a dispute." at this the spider, having swelled himself into the size and posture of a disputant, began his argument in the true spirit of controversy, with resolution to be heartily scurrilous and angry, to urge on his own reasons without the least regard to the answers or objections of his opposite, and fully predetermined in his mind against all conviction. "not to disparage myself," said he, "by the comparison with such a rascal, what art thou but a vagabond without house or home, without stock or inheritance? born to no possession of your own, but a pair of wings and a drone-pipe. your livelihood is a universal plunder upon nature; a freebooter over fields and gardens; and, for the sake of stealing, will rob a nettle as easily as a violet. whereas i am a domestic animal, furnished with a native stock within myself. this large castle (to show my improvements in the mathematics) is all built with my own hands, and the materials extracted altogether out of my own person." "i am glad," answered the bee, "to hear you grant at least that i am come honestly by my wings and my voice; for then, it seems, i am obliged to heaven alone for my flights and my music; and providence would never have bestowed on me two such gifts without designing them for the noblest ends. i visit, indeed, all the flowers and blossoms of the field and garden, but whatever i collect thence enriches myself without the least injury to their beauty, their smell, or their taste. now, for you and your skill in architecture and other mathematics, i have little to say: in that building of yours there might, for aught i know, have been labour and method enough; but, by woeful experience for us both, it is too plain the materials are naught; and i hope you will henceforth take warning, and consider duration and matter, as well as method and art. you boast, indeed, of being obliged to no other creature, but of drawing and spinning out all from yourself; that is to say, if we may judge of the liquor in the vessel by what issues out, you possess a good plentiful store of dirt and poison in your breast; and, though i would by no means lesson or disparage your genuine stock of either, yet i doubt you are somewhat obliged, for an increase of both, to a little foreign assistance. your inherent portion of dirt does not fall of acquisitions, by sweepings exhaled from below; and one insect furnishes you with a share of poison to destroy another. so that, in short, the question comes all to this: whether is the nobler being of the two, that which, by a lazy contemplation of four inches round, by an overweening pride, feeding, and engendering on itself, turns all into excrement and venom, producing nothing at all but flybane and a cobweb; or that which, by a universal range, with long search, much study, true judgment, and distinction of things, brings home honey and wax." this dispute was managed with such eagerness, clamour, and warmth, that the two parties of books, in arms below, stood silent a while, waiting in suspense what would be the issue; which was not long undetermined: for the bee, grown impatient at so much loss of time, fled straight away to a bed of roses, without looking for a reply, and left the spider, like an orator, collected in himself, and just prepared to burst out. it happened upon this emergency that aesop broke silence first. he had been of late most barbarously treated by a strange effect of the regent's humanity, who had torn off his title-page, sorely defaced one half of his leaves, and chained him fast among a shelf of moderns. where, soon discovering how high the quarrel was likely to proceed, he tried all his arts, and turned himself to a thousand forms. at length, in the borrowed shape of an ass, the regent mistook him for a modern; by which means he had time and opportunity to escape to the ancients, just when the spider and the bee were entering into their contest; to which he gave his attention with a world of pleasure, and, when it was ended, swore in the loudest key that in all his life he had never known two cases, so parallel and adapt to each other as that in the window and this upon the shelves. "the disputants," said he, "have admirably managed the dispute between them, have taken in the full strength of all that is to be said on both sides, and exhausted the substance of every argument _pro_ and _con_. it is but to adjust the reasonings of both to the present quarrel, then to compare and apply the labours and fruits of each, as the bee has learnedly deduced them, and we shall find the conclusion fall plain and close upon the moderns and us. for pray, gentlemen, was ever anything so modern as the spider in his air, his turns, and his paradoxes? he argues in the behalf of you, his brethren, and himself, with many boastings of his native stock and great genius; that he spins and spits wholly from himself, and scorns to own any obligation or assistance from without. then he displays to you his great skill in architecture and improvement in the mathematics. to all this the bee, as an advocate retained by us, the ancients, thinks fit to answer, that, if one may judge of the great genius or inventions of the moderns by what they have produced, you will hardly have countenance to bear you out in boasting of either. erect your schemes with as much method and skill as you please; yet, if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of your own entrails (the guts of modern brains), the edifice will conclude at last in a cobweb; the duration of which, like that of other spiders' webs, may be imputed to their being forgotten, or neglected, or hid in a corner. for anything else of genuine that the moderns may pretend to, i cannot recollect; unless it be a large vein of wrangling and satire, much of a nature and substance with the spiders' poison; which, however they pretend to spit wholly out of themselves, is improved by the same arts, by feeding upon the insects and vermin of the age. as for us, the ancients, we are content with the bee, to pretend to nothing of our own beyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and our language. for the rest, whatever we have got has been by infinite labour and search, and ranging through every corner of nature; the difference is, that, instead of dirt and poison, we have rather chosen to till our hives with honey and wax; thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest of things, which are sweetness and light." it is wonderful to conceive the tumult arisen among the books upon the close of this long descant of aesop: both parties took the hint, and heightened their animosities so on a sudden, that they resolved it should come to a battle. immediately the two main bodies withdrew, under their several ensigns, to the farther parts of the library, and there entered into cabals and consults upon the present emergency. the moderns were in very warm debates upon the choice of their leaders; and nothing less than the fear impending from their enemies could have kept them from mutinies upon this occasion. the difference was greatest among the horse, where every private trooper pretended to the chief command, from tasso and milton to dryden and wither. the light-horse were commanded by cowley and despreaux. there came the bowmen under their valiant leaders, descartes, gassendi, and hobbes; whose strength was such that they could shoot their arrows beyond the atmosphere, never to fall down again, but turn, like that of evander, into meteors; or, like the cannon-ball, into stars. paracelsus brought a squadron of stinkpot-flingers from the snowy mountains of rhaetia. there came a vast body of dragoons, of different nations, under the leading of harvey, their great aga: part armed with scythes, the weapons of death; part with lances and long knives, all steeped in poison; part shot bullets of a most malignant nature, and used white powder, which infallibly killed without report. there came several bodies of heavy-armed foot, all mercenaries, under the ensigns of guicciardini, davila, polydore vergil, buchanan, mariana, camden, and others. the engineers were commanded by regiomontanus and wilkins. the rest was a confused multitude, led by scotus, aquinas, and bellarmine; of mighty bulk and stature, but without either arms, courage, or discipline. in the last place came infinite swarms of calones, a disorderly rout led by l'estrange; rogues and ragamuffins, that follow the camp for nothing but the plunder, all without coats to cover them. the army of the ancients was much fewer in number; homer led the horse, and pindar the light-horse; euclid was chief engineer; plato and aristotle commanded the bowmen; herodotus and livy the foot; hippocrates, the dragoons; the allies, led by vossius and temple, brought up the rear. all things violently tending to a decisive battle, fame, who much frequented, and had a large apartment formerly assigned her in the regal library, fled up straight to jupiter, to whom she delivered a faithful account of all that passed between the two parties below; for among the gods she always tells truth. jove, in great concern, convokes a council in the milky way. the senate assembled, he declares the occasion of convening them; a bloody battle just impendent between two mighty armies of ancient and modern creatures, called books, wherein the celestial interest was but too deeply concerned. momus, the patron of the moderns, made an excellent speech in their favour, which was answered by pallas, the protectress of the ancients. the assembly was divided in their affections; when jupiter commanded the book of fate to be laid before him. immediately were brought by mercury three large volumes in folio, containing memoirs of all things past, present, and to come. the clasps were of silver double gilt, the covers of celestial turkey leather, and the paper such as here on earth might pass almost for vellum. jupiter, having silently read the decree, would communicate the import to none, but presently shut up the book. without the doors of this assembly there attended a vast number of light, nimble gods, menial servants to jupiter: those are his ministering instruments in all affairs below. they travel in a caravan, more or less together, and are fastened to each other like a link of galley-slaves, by a light chain, which passes from them to jupiter's great toe: and yet, in receiving or delivering a message, they may never approach above the lowest step of his throne, where he and they whisper to each other through a large hollow trunk. these deities are called by mortal men accidents or events; but the gods call them second causes. jupiter having delivered his message to a certain number of these divinities, they flew immediately down to the pinnacle of the regal library, and consulting a few minutes, entered unseen, and disposed the parties according to their orders. meanwhile momus, fearing the worst, and calling to mind an ancient prophecy which bore no very good face to his children the moderns, bent his flight to the region of a malignant deity called criticism. she dwelt on the top of a snowy mountain in nova zembla; there momus found her extended in her den, upon the spoils of numberless volumes, half devoured. at her right hand sat ignorance, her father and husband, blind with age; at her left, pride, her mother, dressing her up in the scraps of paper herself had torn. there was opinion, her sister, light of foot, hood-winked, and head-strong, yet giddy and perpetually turning. about her played her children, noise and impudence, dulness and vanity, positiveness, pedantry, and ill-manners. the goddess herself had claws like a cat; her head, and ears, and voice resembled those of an ass; her teeth fallen out before, her eyes turned inward, as if she looked only upon herself; her diet was the overflowing of her own gall; her spleen was so large as to stand prominent, like a dug of the first rate; nor wanted excrescences in form of teats, at which a crew of ugly monsters were greedily sucking; and, what is wonderful to conceive, the bulk of spleen increased faster than the sucking could diminish it. "goddess," said momus, "can you sit idly here while our devout worshippers, the moderns, are this minute entering into a cruel battle, and perhaps now lying under the swords of their enemies? who then hereafter will ever sacrifice or build altars to our divinities? haste, therefore, to the british isle, and, if possible, prevent their destruction; while i make factions among the gods, and gain them over to our party." momus, having thus delivered himself, stayed not for an answer, but left the goddess to her own resentment. up she rose in a rage, and, as it is the form on such occasions, began a soliloquy: "it is i" (said she) "who give wisdom to infants and idiots; by me children grow wiser than their parents, by me beaux become politicians, and schoolboys judges of philosophy; by me sophisters debate and conclude upon the depths of knowledge; and coffee-house wits, instinct by me, can correct an author's style, and display his minutest errors, without understanding a syllable of his matter or his language; by me striplings spend their judgment, as they do their estate, before it comes into their hands. it is i who have deposed wit and knowledge from their empire over poetry, and advanced myself in their stead. and shall a few upstart ancients dare to oppose me? but come, my aged parent, and you, my children dear, and thou, my beauteous sister; let us ascend my chariot, and haste to assist our devout moderns, who are now sacrificing to us a hecatomb, as i perceive by that grateful smell which from thence reaches my nostrils." the goddess and her train, having mounted the chariot, which was drawn by tame geese, flew over infinite regions, shedding her influence in due places, till at length she arrived at her beloved island of britain; but in hovering over its metropolis, what blessings did she not let fall upon her seminaries of gresham and covent-garden! and now she reached the fatal plain of st. james's library, at what time the two armies were upon the point to engage; where, entering with all her caravan unseen, and landing upon a case of shelves, now desert, but once inhabited by a colony of virtuosos, she stayed awhile to observe the posture of both armies. but here the tender cares of a mother began to fill her thoughts and move in her breast: for at the head of a troup of modern bowmen she cast her eyes upon her son wotton, to whom the fates had assigned a very short thread. wotton, a young hero, whom an unknown father of mortal race begot by stolen embraces with this goddess. he was the darling of his mother above all her children, and she resolved to go and comfort him. but first, according to the good old custom of deities, she cast about to change her shape, for fear the divinity of her countenance might dazzle his mortal sight and overcharge the rest of his senses. she therefore gathered up her person into an octavo compass: her body grow white and arid, and split in pieces with dryness; the thick turned into pasteboard, and the thin into paper; upon which her parents and children artfully strewed a black juice, or decoction of gall and soot, in form of letters: her head, and voice, and spleen, kept their primitive form; and that which before was a cover of skin did still continue so. in this guise she marched on towards the moderns, indistinguishable in shape and dress from the divine bentley, wotton's dearest friend. "brave wotton," said the goddess, "why do our troops stand idle here, to spend their present vigour and opportunity of the day? away, let us haste to the generals, and advise to give the onset immediately." having spoke thus, she took the ugliest of her monsters, full glutted from her spleen, and flung it invisibly into his mouth, which, flying straight up into his head, squeezed out his eye-balls, gave him a distorted look, and half-overturned his brain. then she privately ordered two of her beloved children, dulness and ill-manners, closely to attend his person in all encounters. having thus accoutred him, she vanished in a mist, and the hero perceived it was the goddess his mother. the destined hour of fate being now arrived, the fight began; whereof, before i dare adventure to make a particular description, i must, after the example of other authors, petition for a hundred tongues, and mouths, and hands, and pens, which would all be too little to perform so immense a work. say, goddess, that presidest over history, who it was that first advanced in the field of battle! paracelsus, at the head of his dragoons, observing galen in the adverse wing, darted his javelin with a mighty force, which the brave ancient received upon his shield, the point breaking in the second fold . . . _hic pauca_ _. . . . desunt_ they bore the wounded aga on their shields to his chariot . . . _desunt_ . . . _nonnulla_. . . . then aristotle, observing bacon advance with a furious mien, drew his bow to the head, and let fly his arrow, which missed the valiant modern and went whizzing over his head; but descartes it hit; the steel point quickly found a defect in his head-piece; it pierced the leather and the pasteboard, and went in at his right eye. the torture of the pain whirled the valiant bow-man round till death, like a star of superior influence, drew him into his own vortex _ingens hiatus_ . . . . _hic in ms._ . . . . . . . . when homer appeared at the head of the cavalry, mounted on a furious horse, with difficulty managed by the rider himself, but which no other mortal durst approach; he rode among the enemy's ranks, and bore down all before him. say, goddess, whom he slew first and whom he slew last! first, gondibert advanced against him, clad in heavy armour and mounted on a staid sober gelding, not so famed for his speed as his docility in kneeling whenever his rider would mount or alight. he had made a vow to pallas that he would never leave the field till he had spoiled homer of his armour: madman, who had never once seen the wearer, nor understood his strength! him homer overthrew, horse and man, to the ground, there to be trampled and choked in the dirt. then with a long spear he slew denham, a stout modern, who from his father's side derived his lineage from apollo, but his mother was of mortal race. he fell, and bit the earth. the celestial part apollo took, and made it a star; but the terrestrial lay wallowing upon the ground. then homer slew sam wesley with a kick of his horse's heel; he took perrault by mighty force out of his saddle, then hurled him at fontenelle, with the same blow dashing out both their brains. on the left wing of the horse virgil appeared, in shining armour, completely fitted to his body; he was mounted on a dapple-grey steed, the slowness of whose pace was an effect of the highest mettle and vigour. he cast his eye on the adverse wing, with a desire to find an object worthy of his valour, when behold upon a sorrel gelding of a monstrous size appeared a foe, issuing from among the thickest of the enemy's squadrons; but his speed was less than his noise; for his horse, old and lean, spent the dregs of his strength in a high trot, which, though it made slow advances, yet caused a loud clashing of his armour, terrible to hear. the two cavaliers had now approached within the throw of a lance, when the stranger desired a parley, and, lifting up the visor of his helmet, a face hardly appeared from within which, after a pause, was known for that of the renowned dryden. the brave ancient suddenly started, as one possessed with surprise and disappointment together; for the helmet was nine times too large for the head, which appeared situate far in the hinder part, even like the lady in a lobster, or like a mouse under a canopy of state, or like a shrivelled beau from within the penthouse of a modern periwig; and the voice was suited to the visage, sounding weak and remote. dryden, in a long harangue, soothed up the good ancient; called him father, and, by a large deduction of genealogies, made it plainly appear that they were nearly related. then he humbly proposed an exchange of armour, as a lasting mark of hospitality between them. virgil consented (for the goddess diffidence came unseen, and cast a mist before his eyes), though his was of gold and cost a hundred beeves, the other's but of rusty iron. however, this glittering armour became the modern yet worsen than his own. then they agreed to exchange horses; but, when it came to the trial, dryden was afraid and utterly unable to mount. . . _alter hiatus_ . . . . _in ms._ lucan appeared upon a fiery horse of admirable shape, but headstrong, bearing the rider where he list over the field; he made a mighty slaughter among the enemy's horse; which destruction to stop, blackmore, a famous modern (but one of the mercenaries), strenuously opposed himself, and darted his javelin with a strong hand, which, falling short of its mark, struck deep in the earth. then lucan threw a lance; but aesculapius came unseen and turned off the point. "brave modern," said lucan, "i perceive some god protects you, for never did my arm so deceive me before: but what mortal can contend with a god? therefore, let us fight no longer, but present gifts to each other." lucan then bestowed on the modern a pair of spurs, and blackmore gave lucan a bridle. . . . _pauca desunt_. . . . . . . . creech: but the goddess dulness took a cloud, formed into the shape of horace, armed and mounted, and placed in a flying posture before him. glad was the cavalier to begin a combat with a flying foe, and pursued the image, threatening aloud; till at last it led him to the peaceful bower of his father, ogleby, by whom he was disarmed and assigned to his repose. then pindar slew ---, and --- and oldham, and ---, and afra the amazon, light of foot; never advancing in a direct line, but wheeling with incredible agility and force, he made a terrible slaughter among the enemy's light-horse. him when cowley observed, his generous heart burnt within him, and he advanced against the fierce ancient, imitating his address, his pace, and career, as well as the vigour of his horse and his own skill would allow. when the two cavaliers had approached within the length of three javelins, first cowley threw a lance, which missed pindar, and, passing into the enemy's ranks, fell ineffectual to the ground. then pindar darted a javelin so large and weighty, that scarce a dozen cavaliers, as cavaliers are in our degenerate days, could raise it from the ground; yet he threw it with ease, and it went, by an unerring hand, singing through the air; nor could the modern have avoided present death if he had not luckily opposed the shield that had been given him by venus. and now both heroes drew their swords; but the modern was so aghast and disordered that he knew not where he was; his shield dropped from his hands; thrice he fled, and thrice he could not escape. at last he turned, and lifting up his hand in the posture of a suppliant, "godlike pindar," said he, "spare my life, and possess my horse, with these arms, beside the ransom which my friends will give when they hear i am alive and your prisoner." "dog!" said pindar, "let your ransom stay with your friends; but your carcase shall be left for the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field." with that he raised his sword, and, with a mighty stroke, cleft the wretched modern in twain, the sword pursuing the blow; and one half lay panting on the ground, to be trod in pieces by the horses' feet; the other half was borne by the frighted steed through the field. this venus took, washed it seven times in ambrosia, then struck it thrice with a sprig of amaranth; upon which the leather grow round and soft, and the leaves turned into feathers, and, being gilded before, continued gilded still; so it became a dove, and she harnessed it to her chariot. . . . . . . . _hiatus valde de-_ . . . . _flendus in ms_. the episode of bentley and wotton. day being far spent, and the numerous forces of the moderns half inclining to a retreat, there issued forth, from a squadron of their heavy-armed foot, a captain whose name was bentley, the most deformed of all the moderns; tall, but without shape or comeliness; large, but without strength or proportion. his armour was patched up of a thousand incoherent pieces, and the sound of it, as he marched, was loud and dry, like that made by the fall of a sheet of lead, which an etesian wind blows suddenly down from the roof of some steeple. his helmet was of old rusty iron, but the vizor was brass, which, tainted by his breath, corrupted into copperas, nor wanted gall from the same fountain, so that, whenever provoked by anger or labour, an atramentous quality, of most malignant nature, was seen to distil from his lips. in his right hand he grasped a flail, and (that he might never be unprovided of an offensive weapon) a vessel full of ordure in his left. thus completely armed, he advanced with a slow and heavy pace where the modern chiefs were holding a consult upon the sum of things, who, as he came onwards, laughed to behold his crooked leg and humped shoulder, which his boot and armour, vainly endeavouring to hide, were forced to comply with and expose. the generals made use of him for his talent of railing, which, kept within government, proved frequently of great service to their cause, but, at other times, did more mischief than good; for, at the least touch of offence, and often without any at all, he would, like a wounded elephant, convert it against his leaders. such, at this juncture, was the disposition of bentley, grieved to see the enemy prevail, and dissatisfied with everybody's conduct but his own. he humbly gave the modern generals to understand that he conceived, with great submission, they were all a pack of rogues, and fools, and confounded logger-heads, and illiterate whelps, and nonsensical scoundrels; that, if himself had been constituted general, those presumptuous dogs, the ancients, would long before this have been beaten out of the field. "you," said he, "sit here idle, but when i, or any other valiant modern kill an enemy, you are sure to seize the spoil. but i will not march one foot against the foe till you all swear to me that whomever i take or kill, his arms i shall quietly possess." bentley having spoken thus, scaliger, bestowing him a sour look, "miscreant prater!" said he, "eloquent only in thine own eyes, thou railest without wit, or truth, or discretion. the malignity of thy temper perverteth nature; thy learning makes thee more barbarous; thy study of humanity more inhuman; thy converse among poets more grovelling, miry, and dull. all arts of civilising others render thee rude and untractable; courts have taught thee ill manners, and polite conversation has finished thee a pedant. besides, a greater coward burdeneth not the army. but never despond; i pass my word, whatever spoil thou takest shall certainly be thy own; though i hope that vile carcase will first become a prey to kites and worms." bentley durst not reply, but, half choked with spleen and rage, withdrew, in full resolution of performing some great achievement. with him, for his aid and companion, he took his beloved wotton, resolving by policy or surprise to attempt some neglected quarter of the ancients' army. they began their march over carcases of their slaughtered friends; then to the right of their own forces; then wheeled northward, till they came to aldrovandus's tomb, which they passed on the side of the declining sun. and now they arrived, with fear, toward the enemy's out-guards, looking about, if haply they might spy the quarters of the wounded, or some straggling sleepers, unarmed and remote from the rest. as when two mongrel curs, whom native greediness and domestic want provoke and join in partnership, though fearful, nightly to invade the folds of some rich grazier, they, with tails depressed and lolling tongues, creep soft and slow. meanwhile the conscious moon, now in her zenith, on their guilty heads darts perpendicular rays; nor dare they bark, though much provoked at her refulgent visage, whether seen in puddle by reflection or in sphere direct; but one surveys the region round, while the other scouts the plain, if haply to discover, at distance from the flock, some carcase half devoured, the refuse of gorged wolves or ominous ravens. so marched this lovely, loving pair of friends, nor with less fear and circumspection, when at a distance they might perceive two shining suits of armour hanging upon an oak, and the owners not far off in a profound sleep. the two friends drew lots, and the pursuing of this adventure fell to bentley; on he went, and in his van confusion and amaze, while horror and affright brought up the rear. as he came near, behold two heroes of the ancient army, phalaris and aesop, lay fast asleep. bentley would fain have despatched them both, and, stealing close, aimed his flail at phalaris's breast; but then the goddess affright, interposing, caught the modern in her icy arms, and dragged him from the danger she foresaw; both the dormant heroes happened to turn at the same instant, though soundly sleeping, and busy in a dream. for phalaris was just that minute dreaming how a most vile poetaster had lampooned him, and how he had got him roaring in his bull. and aesop dreamed that as he and the ancient were lying on the ground, a wild ass broke loose, ran about, trampling and kicking in their faces. bentley, leaving the two heroes asleep, seized on both their armours, and withdrew in quest of his darling wotton. he, in the meantime, had wandered long in search of some enterprise, till at length he arrived at a small rivulet that issued from a fountain hard by, called, in the language of mortal men, helicon. here he stopped, and, parched with thirst, resolved to allay it in this limpid stream. thrice with profane hands he essayed to raise the water to his lips, and thrice it slipped all through his fingers. then he stopped prone on his breast, but, ere his mouth had kissed the liquid crystal, apollo came, and in the channel held his shield betwixt the modern and the fountain, so that he drew up nothing but mud. for, although no fountain on earth can compare with the clearness of helicon, yet there lies at bottom a thick sediment of slime and mud; for so apollo begged of jupiter, as a punishment to those who durst attempt to taste it with unhallowed lips, and for a lesson to all not to draw too deep or far from the spring. at the fountain-head wotton discerned two heroes; the one he could not distinguish, but the other was soon known for temple, general of the allies to the ancients. his back was turned, and he was employed in drinking large draughts in his helmet from the fountain, where he had withdrawn himself to rest from the toils of the war. wotton, observing him, with quaking knees and trembling hands, spoke thus to himself: o that i could kill this destroyer of our army, what renown should i purchase among the chiefs! but to issue out against him, man against man, shield against shield, and lance against lance, what modern of us dare? for he fights like a god, and pallas or apollo are ever at his elbow. but, o mother! if what fame reports be true, that i am the son of so great a goddess, grant me to hit temple with this lance, that the stroke may send him to hell, and that i may return in safety and triumph, laden with his spoils. the first part of this prayer the gods granted at the intercession of his mother and of momus; but the rest, by a perverse wind sent from fate, was scattered in the air. then wotton grasped his lance, and, brandishing it thrice over his head, darted it with all his might; the goddess, his mother, at the same time adding strength to his arm. away the lance went hizzing, and reached even to the belt of the averted ancient, upon which, lightly grazing, it fell to the ground. temple neither felt the weapon touch him nor heard it fall: and wotton might have escaped to his army, with the honour of having remitted his lance against so great a leader unrevenged; but apollo, enraged that a javelin flung by the assistance of so foul a goddess should pollute his fountain, put on the shape of ---, and softly came to young boyle, who then accompanied temple: he pointed first to the lance, then to the distant modern that flung it, and commanded the young hero to take immediate revenge. boyle, clad in a suit of armour which had been given him by all the gods, immediately advanced against the trembling foe, who now fled before him. as a young lion in the libyan plains, or araby desert, sent by his aged sire to hunt for prey, or health, or exercise, he scours along, wishing to meet some tiger from the mountains, or a furious boar; if chance a wild ass, with brayings importune, affronts his ear, the generous beast, though loathing to distain his claws with blood so vile, yet, much provoked at the offensive noise, which echo, foolish nymph, like her ill-judging sex, repeats much louder, and with more delight than philomela's song, he vindicates the honour of the forest, and hunts the noisy long-eared animal. so wotton fled, so boyle pursued. but wotton, heavy-armed, and slow of foot, began to slack his course, when his lover bentley appeared, returning laden with the spoils of the two sleeping ancients. boyle observed him well, and soon discovering the helmet and shield of phalaris his friend, both which he had lately with his own hands new polished and gilt, rage sparkled in his eyes, and, leaving his pursuit after wotton, he furiously rushed on against this new approacher. fain would he be revenged on both; but both now fled different ways: and, as a woman in a little house that gets a painful livelihood by spinning, if chance her geese be scattered o'er the common, she courses round the plain from side to side, compelling here and there the stragglers to the flock; they cackle loud, and flutter o'er the champaign; so boyle pursued, so fled this pair of friends: finding at length their flight was vain, they bravely joined, and drew themselves in phalanx. first bentley threw a spear with all his force, hoping to pierce the enemy's breast; but pallas came unseen, and in the air took off the point, and clapped on one of lead, which, after a dead bang against the enemy's shield, fell blunted to the ground. then boyle, observing well his time, took up a lance of wondrous length and sharpness; and, as this pair of friends compacted, stood close side by side, he wheeled him to the right, and, with unusual force, darted the weapon. bentley saw his fate approach, and flanking down his arms close to his ribs, hoping to save his body, in went the point, passing through arm and side, nor stopped or spent its force till it had also pierced the valiant wotton, who, going to sustain his dying friend, shared his fate. as when a skilful cook has trussed a brace of woodcocks, he with iron skewer pierces the tender sides of both, their legs and wings close pinioned to the rib; so was this pair of friends transfixed, till down they fell, joined in their lives, joined in their deaths; so closely joined that charon would mistake them both for one, and waft them over styx for half his fare. farewell, beloved, loving pair; few equals have you left behind: and happy and immortal shall you be, if all my wit and eloquence can make you. and now. . . . _desunt coetera_. a meditation upon a broomstick. _according to the style and manner of the hon. robert boyle's meditations_. this single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, i once knew in a flourishing state in a forest. it was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs; but now in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk; it is now at best but the reverse of what it was, a tree turned upside-down, the branches on the earth, and the root in the air; it is now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to do her drudgery, and, by a capricious kind of fate, destined to make other things clean, and be nasty itself; at length, worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, it is either thrown out of doors or condemned to the last use--of kindling a fire. when i behold this i sighed, and said within myself, "surely mortal man is a broomstick!" nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper branches of this reasoning vegetable, till the axe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk; he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew on his head; but now should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, through the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity. partial judges that we are of our own excellencies, and other men's defaults! but a broomstick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree standing on its head; and pray what is a man but a topsy-turvy creature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, grovelling on the earth? and yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a remover of grievances, rakes into every slut's corner of nature, bringing hidden corruptions to the light, and raises a mighty dust where there was none before, sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away. his last days are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving; till, worn to the stumps, like his brother besom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flames for others to warm themselves by. predictions for the year . wherein the month, and day of the month are set down, the persons named, and the great actions and events of next year particularly related as will come to pass. _written to prevent the people of england from being farther imposed on by vulgar almanack-makers_. by isaac bickerstaff, esq. i have long considered the gross abuse of astrology in this kingdom, and upon debating the matter with myself, i could not possibly lay the fault upon the art, but upon those gross impostors who set up to be the artists. i know several learned men have contended that the whole is a cheat; that it is absurd and ridiculous to imagine the stars can have any influence at all upon human actions, thoughts, or inclinations; and whoever has not bent his studies that way may be excused for thinking so, when he sees in how wretched a manner that noble art is treated by a few mean illiterate traders between us and the stars, who import a yearly stock of nonsense, lies, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the world as genuine from the planets, though they descend from no greater a height than their own brains. i intend in a short time to publish a large and rational defence of this art, and therefore shall say no more in its justification at present than that it hath been in all ages defended by many learned men, and among the rest by socrates himself, whom i look upon as undoubtedly the wisest of uninspired mortals: to which if we add that those who have condemned this art, though otherwise learned, having been such as either did not apply their studies this way, or at least did not succeed in their applications, their testimony will not be of much weight to its disadvantage, since they are liable to the common objection of condemning what they did not understand. nor am i at all offended, or think it an injury to the art, when i see the common dealers in it, the students in astrology, the philomaths, and the rest of that tribe, treated by wise men with the utmost scorn and contempt; but rather wonder, when i observe gentlemen in the country, rich enough to serve the nation in parliament, poring in partridge's almanack to find out the events of the year at home and abroad, not daring to propose a hunting-match till gadbury or he have fixed the weather. i will allow either of the two i have mentioned, or any other of the fraternity, to be not only astrologers, but conjurers too, if i do not produce a hundred instances in all their almanacks to convince any reasonable man that they do not so much as understand common grammar and syntax; that they are not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even in their prefaces write common sense or intelligible english. then for their observations and predictions, they are such as will equally suit any age or country in the world. "this month a certain great person will be threatened with death or sickness." this the newspapers will tell them; for there we find at the end of the year that no month passes without the death of some person of note; and it would be hard if it should be otherwise, when there are at least two thousand persons of note in this kingdom, many of them old, and the almanack-maker has the liberty of choosing the sickliest season of the year where he may fix his prediction. again, "this month an eminent clergyman will be preferred;" of which there may be some hundreds, half of them with one foot in the grave. then "such a planet in such a house shows great machinations, plots, and conspiracies, that may in time be brought to light:" after which, if we hear of any discovery, the astrologer gets the honour; if not, his prediction still stands good. and at last, "god preserve king william from all his open and secret enemies, amen." when if the king should happen to have died, the astrologer plainly foretold it; otherwise it passes but for the pious ejaculation of a loyal subject; though it unluckily happened in some of their almanacks that poor king william was prayed for many months after he was dead, because it fell out that he died about the beginning of the year. to mention no more of their impertinent predictions: what have we to do with their advertisements about pills and drink for disease? or their mutual quarrels in verse and prose of whig and tory, wherewith the stars have little to do? having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred other abuses of this art, too tedious to repeat, i resolved to proceed in a new way, which i doubt not will be to the general satisfaction of the kingdom. i can this year produce but a specimen of what i design for the future, having employed most part of my time in adjusting and correcting the calculations i made some years past, because i would offer nothing to the world of which i am not as fully satisfied as that i am now alive. for these two last years i have not failed in above one or two particulars, and those of no very great moment. i exactly foretold the miscarriage at toulon, with all its particulars, and the loss of admiral shovel, though i was mistaken as to the day, placing that accident about thirty-six hours sooner than it happened; but upon reviewing my schemes, i quickly found the cause of that error. i likewise foretold the battle of almanza to the very day and hour, with the lose on both sides, and the consequences thereof. all which i showed to some friends many months before they happened--that is, i gave them papers sealed up, to open at such a time, after which they were at liberty to read them; and there they found my predictions true in every article, except one or two very minute. as for the few following predictions i now offer the world, i forbore to publish them till i had perused the several almanacks for the year we are now entered on. i find them all in the usual strain, and i beg the reader will compare their manner with mine. and here i make bold to tell the world that i lay the whole credit of my art upon the truth of these predictions; and i will be content that partridge, and the rest of his clan, may hoot me for a cheat and impostor if i fail in any single particular of moment. i believe any man who reads this paper will look upon me to be at least a person of as much honesty and understanding as a common maker of almanacks. i do not lurk in the dark; i am not wholly unknown in the world; i have set my name at length, to be a mark of infamy to mankind, if they shall find i deceive them. in one thing i must desire to be forgiven, that i talk more sparingly of home affairs. as it will be imprudence to discover secrets of state, so it would be dangerous to my person; but in smaller matters, and that are not of public consequence, i shall be very free; and the truth of my conjectures will as much appear from those as the others. as for the most signal events abroad, in france, flanders, italy, and spain, i shall make no scruple to predict them in plain terms. some of them are of importance, and i hope i shall seldom mistake the day they will happen; therefore i think good to inform the reader that i all along make use of the old style observed in england, which i desire he will compare with that of the newspapers at the time they relate the actions i mention. i must add one word more. i know it hath been the opinion of several of the learned, who think well enough of the true art of astrology, that the stars do only incline, and not force the actions or wills of men, and therefore, however i may proceed by right rules, yet i cannot in prudence so confidently assure the events will follow exactly as i predict them. i hope i have maturely considered this objection, which in some cases is of no little weight. for example: a man may, by the influence of an over- ruling planet, be disposed or inclined to lust, rage, or avarice, and yet by the force of reason overcome that bad influence; and this was the case of socrates. but as the great events of the world usually depend upon numbers of men, it cannot be expected they should all unite to cross their inclinations from pursuing a general design wherein they unanimously agree. besides, the influence of the stars reaches to many actions and events which are not any way in the power of reason, as sickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents, with many more, needless to repeat. but now it is time to proceed to my predictions, which i have begun to calculate from the time that the sun enters into aries. and this i take to be properly the beginning of the natural year. i pursue them to the time that he enters libra, or somewhat more, which is the busy period of the year. the remainder i have not yet adjusted, upon account of several impediments needless here to mention. besides, i must remind the reader again that this is but a specimen of what i design in succeeding years to treat more at large, if i may have liberty and encouragement. my first prediction is but a trifle, yet i will mention it, to show how ignorant those sottish pretenders to astrology are in their own concerns. it relates to partridge, the almanack-maker. i have consulted the stars of his nativity by my own rules, and find he will infallibly die upon the th of march next, about eleven at night, of a raging fever; therefore i advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs in time. the month of _april_ will be observable for the death of many great persons. on the th will die the cardinal de noailles, archbishop of paris; on the th, the young prince of asturias, son to the duke of anjou; on the th, a great peer of this realm will die at his country house; on the th, an old layman of great fame for learning, and on the rd, an eminent goldsmith in lombard street. i could mention others, both at home and abroad, if i did not consider it is of very little use or instruction to the reader, or to the world. as to public affairs: on the th of this month there will be an insurrection in dauphiny, occasioned by the oppressions of the people, which will not be quieted in some months. on the th will be a violent storm on the south-east coast of france, which will destroy many of their ships, and some in the very harbour. the th will be famous for the revolt of a whole province or kingdom, excepting one city, by which the affairs of a certain prince in the alliance will take a better face. _may_, against common conjectures, will be no very busy month in europe, but very signal for the death of the dauphin, which will happen on the th, after a short fit of sickness, and grievous torments with the strangury. he dies less lamented by the court than the kingdom. on the th a marshal of france will break his leg by a fall from his horse. i have not been able to discover whether he will then die or not. on the th will begin a most important siege, which the eyes of all europe will be upon: i cannot be more particular, for in relating affairs that so nearly concern the confederates, and consequently this kingdom, i am forced to confine myself for several reasons very obvious to the reader. on the th news will arrive of a very surprising event, than which nothing could be more unexpected. on the th three noble ladies of this kingdom will, against all expectation, prove with child, to the great joy of their husbands. on the rd a famous buffoon of the playhouse will die a ridiculous death, suitable to his vocation. _june_. this month will be distinguished at home by the utter dispersing of those ridiculous deluded enthusiasts commonly called the prophets, occasioned chiefly by seeing the time come that many of their prophecies should be fulfilled, and then finding themselves deceived by contrary events. it is indeed to be admired how any deceiver can be so weak to foretell things near at hand, when a very few months must of necessity discover the impostor to all the world; in this point less prudent than common almanack-makers, who are so wise to wonder in generals, and talk dubiously, and leave to the reader the business of interpreting. on the st of this month a french general will be killed by a random shot of a cannon-ball. on the th a fire will break out in the suburbs of paris, which will destroy above a thousand houses, and seems to be the foreboding of what will happen, to the surprise of all europe, about the end of the following month. on the th a great battle will be fought, which will begin at four of the clock in the afternoon, and last till nine at night with great obstinacy, but no very decisive event. i shall not name the place, for the reasons aforesaid, but the commanders on each left wing will be killed. i see bonfires and hear the noise of guns for a victory. on the th there will be a false report of the french king's death. on the th cardinal portocarero will die of a dysentery, with great suspicion of poison, but the report of his intention to revolt to king charles will prove false. _july_. the th of this month a certain general will, by a glorious action, recover the reputation he lost by former misfortunes. on the th a great commander will die a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. on the th a shameful discovery will be made of a french jesuit giving poison to a great foreign general; and when he is put to the torture, will make wonderful discoveries. in short, this will prove a month of great action, if i might have liberty to relate the particulars. at home, the death of an old famous senator will happen on the th at his country house, worn with age and diseases. but that which will make this month memorable to all posterity is the death of the french king, louis the fourteenth, after a week's sickness at marli, which will happen on the th, about six o'clock in the evening. it seems to be an effect of the gout in his stomach, followed by a flux. and in three days after monsieur chamillard will follow his master, dying suddenly of an apoplexy. in this month likewise an ambassador will die in london, but i cannot assign the day. _august_. the affairs of france will seem to suffer no change for a while under the duke of burgundy's administration; but the genius that animated the whole machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turns and revolutions in the following year. the new king makes yet little change either in the army or the ministry, but the libels against his grandfather, that fly about his very court, give him uneasiness. i see an express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in his looks, arriving by break of day on the th of this month, having travelled in three days a prodigious journey by land and sea. in the evening i hear bells and guns, and see the blazing of a thousand bonfires. a young admiral of noble birth does likewise this month gain immortal honour by a great achievement. the affairs of poland are this month entirely settled; augustus resigns his pretensions which he had again taken up for some time: stanislaus is peaceably possessed of the throne, and the king of sweden declares for the emperor. i cannot omit one particular accident here at home: that near the end of this month much mischief will be done at bartholomew fair by the fall of a booth. _september_. this month begins with a very surprising fit of frosty weather, which will last near twelve days. the pope, having long languished last month, the swellings in his legs breaking, and the flesh mortifying, will die on the th instant; and in three weeks' time, after a mighty contest, be succeeded by a cardinal of the imperial faction, but native of tuscany, who is now about sixty-one years old. the french army acts now wholly on the defensive, strongly fortified in their trenches, and the young french king sends overtures for a treaty of peace by the duke of mantua; which, because it is a matter of state that concerns us here at home, i shall speak no farther of it. i shall add but one prediction more, and that in mystical terms, which shall be included in a verse out of virgil-- _alter erit jam tethys_, _et altera quae vehat argo_ _delectos heroas_. upon the th day of this month, the fulfilling of this prediction will be manifest to everybody. this is the farthest i have proceeded in my calculations for the present year. i do not pretend that these are all the great events which will happen in this period, but that those i have set down will infallibly come to pass. it will perhaps still be objected why i have not spoken more particularly of affairs at home, or of the success of our armies abroad, which i might, and could very largely have done; but those in power have wisely discouraged men from meddling in public concerns, and i was resolved by no means to give the least offence. this i will venture to say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the allies, wherein the english forces, both by sea and land, will have their full share of honour; that her majesty queen anne will continue in health and prosperity; and that no ill accident will arrive to any in the chief ministry. as to the particular events i have mentioned, the readers may judge by the fulfilling of them, whether i am on the level with common astrologers, who, with an old paltry cant, and a few pothooks for planets, to amuse the vulgar, have, in my opinion, too long been suffered to abuse the world. but an honest physician ought not to be despised because there are such things as mountebanks. i hope i have some share of reputation, which i would not willingly forfeit for a frolic or humour; and i believe no gentleman who reads this paper will look upon it to be of the same cast or mould with the common scribblers that are every day hawked about. my fortune has placed me above the little regard of scribbling for a few pence, which i neither value nor want; therefore, let no wise man too hastily condemn this essay, intended for a good design, to cultivate and improve an ancient art long in disgrace, by having fallen into mean and unskilful hands. a little time will determine whether i have deceived others or myself; and i think it is no very unreasonable request that men would please to suspend their judgments till then. i was once of the opinion with those who despise all predictions from the stars, till in the year a man of quality showed me, written in his album, that the most learned astronomer, captain h---, assured him, he would never believe anything of the stars' influence if there were not a great revolution in england in the year . since that time i began to have other thoughts, and after eighteen years' diligent study and application, i think i have no reason to repent of my pains. i shall detain the reader no longer than to let him know that the account i design to give of next year's events shall take in the principal affairs that happen in europe; and if i be denied the liberty of offering it to my own country, i shall appeal to the learned world, by publishing it in latin, and giving order to have it printed in holland. the accomplishment of the first of mr. bickerstaff's predictions; being an account of the death of mr. partridge the almanack-maker, upon the th instant. _in a letter to a person of honour_; _written in the year_ . my lord,--in obedience to your lordship's commands, as well as to satisfy my own curiosity, i have for some days past inquired constantly after partridge the almanack-maker, of whom it was foretold in mr. bickerstaff's predictions, published about a month ago, that he should die the th instant, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. i had some sort of knowledge of him when i was employed in the revenue, because he used every year to present me with his almanack, as he did other gentlemen, upon the score of some little gratuity we gave him. i saw him accidentally once or twice about ten days before he died, and observed he began very much to droop and languish, though i hear his friends did not seem to apprehend him in any danger. about two or three days ago he grew ill, was confined first to his chamber, and in a few hours after to his bed, where dr. case and mrs. kirleus were sent for, to visit and to prescribe to him. upon this intelligence i sent thrice every day one servant or other to inquire after his health; and yesterday, about four in the afternoon, word was brought me that he was past hopes; upon which, i prevailed with myself to go and see him, partly out of commiseration, and i confess, partly out of curiosity. he knew me very well, seemed surprised at my condescension, and made me compliments upon it as well as he could in the condition he was. the people about him said he had been for some time delirious; but when i saw him, he had his understanding as well as ever i knew, and spoke strong and hearty, without any seeming uneasiness or constraint. after i had told him how sorry i was to see him in those melancholy circumstances, and said some other civilities suitable to the occasion, i desired him to tell me freely and ingenuously, whether the predictions mr. bickerstaff had published relating to his death had not too much affected and worked on his imagination. he confessed he had often had it in his head, but never with much apprehension, till about a fortnight before; since which time it had the perpetual possession of his mind and thoughts, and he did verily believe was the true natural cause of his present distemper: "for," said he, "i am thoroughly persuaded, and i think i have very good reasons, that mr. bickerstaff spoke altogether by guess, and knew no more what will happen this year than i did myself." i told him his discourse surprised me, and i would be glad he were in a state of health to be able to tell me what reason he had to be convinced of mr. bickerstaff's ignorance. he replied, "i am a poor, ignorant follow, bred to a mean trade, yet i have sense enough to know that all pretences of foretelling by astrology are deceits, for this manifest reason, because the wise and the learned, who can only know whether there be any truth in this science, do all unanimously agree to laugh at and despise it; and none but the poor ignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon the word of such silly wretches as i and my fellows, who can hardly write or read." i then asked him why he had not calculated his own nativity, to see whether it agreed with bickerstaff's prediction, at which he shook his head and said, "oh, sir, this is no time for jesting, but for repenting those fooleries, as i do now from the very bottom of my heart." "by what i can gather from you," said i, "the observations and predictions you printed with your almanacks were mere impositions on the people." he replied, "if it were otherwise i should have the less to answer for. we have a common form for all those things; as to foretelling the weather, we never meddle with that, but leave it to the printer, who takes it out of any old almanack as he thinks fit; the rest was my own invention, to make my almanack sell, having a wife to maintain, and no other way to get my bread; for mending old shoes is a poor livelihood; and," added he, sighing, "i wish i may not have done more mischief by my physic than my astrology; though i had some good receipts from my grandmother, and my own compositions were such as i thought could at least do no hurt." i had some other discourse with him, which now i cannot call to mind; and i fear i have already tired your lordship. i shall only add one circumstance, that on his death-bed he declared himself a nonconformist, and had a fanatic preacher to be his spiritual guide. after half an hour's conversation i took my leave, being half stifled by the closeness of the room. i imagined he could not hold out long, and therefore withdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant at the house with orders to come immediately and tell me, as nearly as he could, the minute when partridge should expire, which was not above two hours after, when, looking upon my watch, i found it to be above five minutes after seven; by which it is clear that mr. bickerstaff was mistaken almost four hours in his calculation. in the other circumstances he was exact enough. but, whether he has not been the cause of this poor man's death, as well as the predictor, may be very reasonably disputed. however, it must be confessed the matter is odd enough, whether we should endeavour to account for it by chance, or the effect of imagination. for my own part, though i believe no man has less faith in these matters, yet i shall wait with some impatience, and not without some expectation, the fulfilling of mr. bickerstaff's second prediction, that the cardinal do noailles is to die upon the th of april, and if that should be verified as exactly as this of poor partridge, i must own i should be wholly surprised, and at a loss, and should infallibly expect the accomplishment of all the rest. baucis and philemon. _imitated from the eighth book of ovid_. in ancient times, as story tells, the saints would often leave their cells, and stroll about, but hide their quality, to try good people's hospitality. it happened on a winter night, as authors of the legend write, two brother hermits, saints by trade, taking their tour in masquerade, disguised in tattered habits, went to a small village down in kent; where, in the strollers' canting strain, they begged from door to door in vain; tried every tone might pity win, but not a soul would let them in. our wandering saints in woeful state, treated at this ungodly rate, having through all the village passed, to a small cottage came at last, where dwelt a good honest old yeoman, called, in the neighbourhood, philemon, who kindly did these saints invite in his poor hut to pass the night; and then the hospitable sire bid goody baucis mend the fire; while he from out the chimney took a flitch of bacon off the hook, and freely from the fattest side cut out large slices to be fried; then stepped aside to fetch 'em drink, filled a large jug up to the brink, and saw it fairly twice go round; yet (what is wonderful) they found 'twas still replenished to the top, as if they ne'er had touched a drop the good old couple were amazed, and often on each other gazed; for both were frightened to the heart, and just began to cry,--what art! then softly turned aside to view, whether the lights were burning blue. the gentle pilgrims soon aware on't, told 'em their calling, and their errant; "good folks, you need not be afraid, we are but saints," the hermits said; "no hurt shall come to you or yours; but, for that pack of churlish boors, not fit to live on christian ground, they and their houses shall be drowned; whilst you shall see your cottage rise, and grow a church before your eyes." they scarce had spoke; when fair and soft, the roof began to mount aloft; aloft rose every beam and rafter, the heavy wall climbed slowly after. the chimney widened, and grew higher, became a steeple with a spire. the kettle to the top was hoist, and there stood fastened to a joist; but with the upside down, to show its inclination for below. in vain; for a superior force applied at bottom, stops its coarse, doomed ever in suspense to dwell, 'tis now no kettle, but a bell. a wooden jack, which had almost lost, by disuse, the art to roast, a sudden alteration feels, increased by new intestine wheels; and what exalts the wonder more, the number made the motion slower. the flyer, though 't had leaden feet, turned round so quick, you scarce could see 't; but slackened by some secret power, now hardly moves an inch an hour. the jack and chimney near allied, had never left each other's side; the chimney to a steeple grown, the jack would not be left alone; but up against the steeple reared, became a clock, and still adhered; and still its love to household cares by a shrill voice at noon declares, warning the cook-maid not to burn that roast meat which it cannot turn. the groaning chair began to crawl, like a huge snail along the wall; there stuck aloft in public view; and with small change a pulpit grew. the porringers, that in a row hung high, and made a glittering show, to a less noble substance changed, were now but leathern buckets ranged. the ballads pasted on the wall, of joan of france, and english moll, fair rosamond, and robin hood, the little children in the wood, now seemed to look abundance better, improved in picture, size, and letter; and high in order placed, describe the heraldry of every tribe. a bedstead of the antique mode, compact of timber, many a load, such as our ancestors did use, was metamorphosed into pews: which still their ancient nature keep, by lodging folks disposed to sleep. the cottage, by such feats as these, grown to a church by just degrees, the hermits then desired their host to ask for what he fancied most. philemon having paused a while, returned 'em thanks in homely style; then said, "my house is grown so fine, methinks i still would call it mine: i'm old, and fain would live at ease, make me the parson, if you please." he spoke, and presently he feels his grazier's coat fall down his heels; he sees, yet hardly can believe, about each arm a pudding sleeve; his waistcoat to a cassock grew, and both assumed a sable hue; but being old, continued just as thread-bare, and as full of dust. his talk was now of tithes and dues; he smoked his pipe and read the news; knew how to preach old sermons next, vamped in the preface and the text; at christenings well could act his part, and had the service all by heart; wished women might have children fast, and thought whose sow had farrowed last against dissenters would repine, and stood up firm for right divine. found his head filled with many a system, but classic authors,--he ne'er missed 'em. thus having furbished up a parson, dame baucis next they played their farce on. instead of home-spun coifs were seen good pinners edg'd with colberteen; her petticoat transformed apace, became black satin flounced with lace. plain goody would no longer down, 'twas madam, in her grogram gown. philemon was in great surprise, and hardly could believe his eyes, amazed to see her look so prim; and she admired as much at him. thus, happy in their change of life, were several years this man and wife; when on a day, which proved their last, discoursing o'er old stories past, they went by chance amidst their talk, to the church yard to take a walk; when baucis hastily cried out, "my dear, i see your forehead sprout!" "sprout," quoth the man, "what's this you tell us? i hope you don't believe me jealous, but yet, methinks, i feel it true; and really, yours is budding too-- nay,--now i cannot stir my foot; it feels as if 'twere taking root." description would but tire my muse; in short, they both were turned to yews. old goodman dobson of the green remembers he the trees has seen; he'll talk of them from noon till night, and goes with folks to show the sight; on sundays, after evening prayer, he gathers all the parish there, points out the place of either yew: here baucis, there philemon grew, till once a parson of our town, to mend his barn, cut baucis down; at which, 'tis hard to be believed how much the other tree was grieved, grow scrubby, died a-top, was stunted: so the next parson stubbed and burnt it. the logicians refuted. logicians have but ill defined as rational, the human kind; reason, they say, belongs to man, but let them prove it, if they can. wise aristotle and smiglesius, by ratiocinations specious, have strove to prove with great precision, with definition and division, _homo est ratione praeditum_; but, for my soul, i cannot credit 'em. and must, in spite of them, maintain that man and all his ways are vain; and that this boasted lord of nature is both a weak and erring creature. that instinct is a surer guide than reason-boasting mortals pride; and, that brute beasts are far before 'em, _deus est anima brutorum_. whoever knew an honest brute, at law his neighbour prosecute, bring action for assault and battery, or friend beguile with lies and flattery? o'er plains they ramble unconfined, no politics disturb their mind; they eat their meals, and take their sport, nor know who's in or out at court. they never to the levee go to treat as dearest friend a foe; they never importune his grace, nor ever cringe to men in place; nor undertake a dirty job, nor draw the quill to write for bob. fraught with invective they ne'er go to folks at paternoster row: no judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters, no pickpockets, or poetasters are known to honest quadrupeds: no single brute his fellows leads. brutes never meet in bloody fray, nor cut each others' throats for pay. of beasts, it is confessed, the ape comes nearest us in human shape; like man, he imitates each fashion, and malice is his ruling passion: but, both in malice and grimaces, a courtier any ape surpasses. behold him humbly cringing wait upon the minister of state; view him, soon after, to inferiors aping the conduct of superiors: he promises, with equal air, and to perform takes equal care. he, in his turn, finds imitators, at court the porters, lacqueys, waiters their masters' manners still contract, and footmen, lords, and dukes can act. thus, at the court, both great and small behave alike, for all ape all. the puppet show. the life of man to represent, and turn it all to ridicule, wit did a puppet-show invent, where the chief actor is a fool. the gods of old were logs of wood, and worship was to puppets paid; in antic dress the idol stood, and priests and people bowed the head. no wonder then, if art began the simple votaries to frame, to shape in timber foolish man, and consecrate the block to fame. from hence poetic fancy learned that trees might rise from human forms the body to a trunk be turned, and branches issue from the arms. thus daedalus and ovid too, that man's a blockhead have confessed, powel and stretch { } the hint pursue; life is the farce, the world a jest. the same great truth south sea hath proved on that famed theatre, the ally, where thousands by directors moved are now sad monuments of folly. what momus was of old to jove the same harlequin is now; the former was buffoon above, the latter is a punch below. this fleeting scene is but a stage, where various images appear, in different parts of youth and age alike the prince and peasant share. some draw our eyes by being great, false pomp conceals mere wood within, and legislators rang'd in state are oft but wisdom in machine. a stock may chance to wear a crown, and timber as a lord take place, a statue may put on a frown, and cheat us with a thinking face. others are blindly led away, and made to act for ends unknown, by the mere spring of wires they play, and speak in language not their own. too oft, alas! a scolding wife usurps a jolly fellow's throne, and many drink the cup of life mix'd and embittered by a joan. in short, whatever men pursue of pleasure, folly, war, or love, this mimic-race brings all to view, alike they dress, they talk, they move. go on, great stretch, with artful hand, mortals to please and to deride, and when death breaks thy vital band thou shalt put on a puppet's pride. thou shalt in puny wood be shown, thy image shall preserve thy fame, ages to come thy worth shall own, point at thy limbs, and tell thy name. tell tom he draws a farce in vain, before he looks in nature's glass; puns cannot form a witty scene, nor pedantry for humour pass. to make men act as senseless wood, and chatter in a mystic strain, is a mere force on flesh and blood, and shows some error in the brain. he that would thus refine on thee, and turn thy stage into a school, the jest of punch will ever be, and stand confessed the greater fool. cadenus and vanessa. _written anno _. the shepherds and the nymphs were seen pleading before the cyprian queen. the counsel for the fair began accusing the false creature, man. the brief with weighty crimes was charged, on which the pleader much enlarged: that cupid now has lost his art, or blunts the point of every dart; his altar now no longer smokes; his mother's aid no youth invokes-- this tempts free-thinkers to refine, and bring in doubt their powers divine, now love is dwindled to intrigue, and marriage grown a money-league. which crimes aforesaid (with her leave) were (as he humbly did conceive) against our sovereign lady's peace, against the statutes in that case, against her dignity and crown: then prayed an answer and sat down. the nymphs with scorn beheld their foes: when the defendant's counsel rose, and, what no lawyer ever lacked, with impudence owned all the fact. but, what the gentlest heart would vex, laid all the fault on t'other sex. that modern love is no such thing as what those ancient poets sing; a fire celestial, chaste, refined, conceived and kindled in the mind, which having found an equal flame, unites, and both become the same, in different breasts together burn, together both to ashes turn. but women now feel no such fire, and only know the gross desire; their passions move in lower spheres, where'er caprice or folly steers. a dog, a parrot, or an ape, or some worse brute in human shape engross the fancies of the fair, the few soft moments they can spare from visits to receive and pay, from scandal, politics, and play, from fans, and flounces, and brocades, from equipage and park-parades, from all the thousand female toys, from every trifle that employs the out or inside of their heads between their toilets and their beds. in a dull stream, which, moving slow, you hardly see the current flow, if a small breeze obstructs the course, it whirls about for want of force, and in its narrow circle gathers nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers: the current of a female mind stops thus, and turns with every wind; thus whirling round, together draws fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. hence we conclude, no women's hearts are won by virtue, wit, and parts; nor are the men of sense to blame for breasts incapable of flame: the fault must on the nymphs be placed, grown so corrupted in their taste. the pleader having spoke his best, had witness ready to attest, who fairly could on oath depose, when questions on the fact arose, that every article was true; _nor further those deponents knew_: therefore he humbly would insist, the bill might be with costs dismissed. the cause appeared of so much weight, that venus from the judgment-seat desired them not to talk so loud, else she must interpose a cloud: for if the heavenly folk should know these pleadings in the courts below, that mortals here disdain to love, she ne'er could show her face above. for gods, their betters, are too wise to value that which men despise. "and then," said she, "my son and i must stroll in air 'twixt earth and sky: or else, shut out from heaven and earth, fly to the sea, my place of birth; there live with daggled mermaids pent, and keep on fish perpetual lent." but since the case appeared so nice, she thought it best to take advice. the muses, by their king's permission, though foes to love, attend the session, and on the right hand took their places in order; on the left, the graces: to whom she might her doubts propose on all emergencies that rose. the muses oft were seen to frown; the graces half ashamed look down; and 'twas observed, there were but few of either sex, among the crew, whom she or her assessors knew. the goddess soon began to see things were not ripe for a decree, and said she must consult her books, the lovers' fletas, bractons, cokes. first to a dapper clerk she beckoned, to turn to ovid, book the second; she then referred them to a place in virgil (_vide_ dido's case); as for tibullus's reports, they never passed for law in courts: for cowley's brief, and pleas of waller, still their authority is smaller. there was on both sides much to say; she'd hear the cause another day; and so she did, and then a third, she heard it--there she kept her word; but with rejoinders and replies, long bills, and answers, stuffed with lies demur, imparlance, and essoign, the parties ne'er could issue join: for sixteen years the cause was spun, and then stood where it first begun. now, gentle clio, sing or say, what venus meant by this delay. the goddess, much perplexed in mind, to see her empire thus declined, when first this grand debate arose above her wisdom to compose, conceived a project in her head, to work her ends; which, if it sped, would show the merits of the cause far better than consulting laws. in a glad hour lucina's aid produced on earth a wondrous maid, on whom the queen of love was bent to try a new experiment. she threw her law-books on the shelf, and thus debated with herself:-- "since men allege they ne'er can find those beauties in a female mind which raise a flame that will endure for ever, uncorrupt and pure; if 'tis with reason they complain, this infant shall restore my reign. i'll search where every virtue dwells, from courts inclusive down to cells. what preachers talk, or sages write, these i will gather and unite, and represent them to mankind collected in that infant's mind." this said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers a sprig of amaranthine flowers, in nectar thrice infuses bays, three times refined in titan's rays: then calls the graces to her aid, and sprinkles thrice the now-born maid. from whence the tender skin assumes a sweetness above all perfumes; from whence a cleanliness remains, incapable of outward stains; from whence that decency of mind, so lovely in a female kind. where not one careless thought intrudes less modest than the speech of prudes; where never blush was called in aid, the spurious virtue in a maid, a virtue but at second-hand; they blush because they understand. the graces next would act their part, and show but little of their art; their work was half already done, the child with native beauty shone, the outward form no help required: each breathing on her thrice, inspired that gentle, soft, engaging air which in old times adorned the fair, and said, "vanessa be the name by which thou shalt be known to fame; vanessa, by the gods enrolled: her name on earth--shall not be told." but still the work was not complete, when venus thought on a deceit: drawn by her doves, away she flies, and finds out pallas in the skies: dear pallas, i have been this morn to see a lovely infant born: a boy in yonder isle below, so like my own without his bow, by beauty could your heart be won, you'd swear it is apollo's son; but it shall ne'er be said, a child so hopeful has by me been spoiled; i have enough besides to spare, and give him wholly to your care. wisdom's above suspecting wiles; the queen of learning gravely smiles, down from olympus comes with joy, mistakes vanessa for a boy; then sows within her tender mind seeds long unknown to womankind; for manly bosoms chiefly fit, the seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit, her soul was suddenly endued with justice, truth, and fortitude; with honour, which no breath can stain, which malice must attack in vain: with open heart and bounteous hand: but pallas here was at a stand; she know in our degenerate days bare virtue could not live on praise, that meat must be with money bought: she therefore, upon second thought, infused yet as it were by stealth, some small regard for state and wealth: of which as she grew up there stayed a tincture in the prudent maid: she managed her estate with care, yet liked three footmen to her chair, but lest he should neglect his studies like a young heir, the thrifty goddess (for fear young master should be spoiled) would use him like a younger child; and, after long computing, found 'twould come to just five thousand pound. the queen of love was pleased and proud to we vanessa thus endowed; she doubted not but such a dame through every breast would dart a flame; that every rich and lordly swain with pride would drag about her chain; that scholars would forsake their books to study bright vanessa's looks: as she advanced that womankind would by her model form their mind, and all their conduct would be tried by her, as an unerring guide. offending daughters oft would hear vanessa's praise rung in their ear: miss betty, when she does a fault, lets fall her knife, or spills the salt, will thus be by her mother chid, "'tis what vanessa never did." thus by the nymphs and swains adored, my power shall be again restored, and happy lovers bless my reign-- so venus hoped, but hoped in vain. for when in time the martial maid found out the trick that venus played, she shakes her helm, she knits her brows, and fired with indignation, vows to-morrow, ere the setting sun, she'd all undo that she had done. but in the poets we may find a wholesome law, time out of mind, had been confirmed by fate's decree; that gods, of whatso'er degree, resume not what themselves have given, or any brother-god in heaven; which keeps the peace among the gods, or they must always be at odds. and pallas, if she broke the laws, must yield her foe the stronger cause; a shame to one so much adored for wisdom, at jove's council-board. besides, she feared the queen of love would meet with better friends above. and though she must with grief reflect to see a mortal virgin deck'd with graces hitherto unknown to female breasts, except her own, yet she would act as best became a goddess of unspotted fame; she knew, by augury divine, venus would fail in her design: she studied well the point, and found her foe's conclusions were not sound, from premises erroneous brought, and therefore the deduction's nought, and must have contrary effects to what her treacherous foe expects. in proper season pallas meets the queen of love, whom thus she greets (for gods, we are by homer told, can in celestial language scold), "perfidious goddess! but in vain you formed this project in your brain, a project for thy talents fit, with much deceit, and little wit; thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see, deceived thyself instead of me; for how can heavenly wisdom prove an instrument to earthly love? know'st thou not yet that men commence thy votaries, for want of sense? nor shall vanessa be the theme to manage thy abortive scheme; she'll prove the greatest of thy foes, and yet i scorn to interpose, but using neither skill nor force, leave all things to their natural course." the goddess thus pronounced her doom, when, lo, vanessa in her bloom, advanced like atalanta's star, but rarely seen, and seen from far: in a new world with caution stepped, watched all the company she kept, well knowing from the books she read what dangerous paths young virgins tread; would seldom at the park appear, nor saw the play-house twice a year; yet not incurious, was inclined to know the converse of mankind. first issued from perfumers' shops a crowd of fashionable fops; they liked her how she liked the play? then told the tattle of the day, a duel fought last night at two about a lady--you know who; mentioned a new italian, come either from muscovy or rome; gave hints of who and who's together; then fell to talking of the weather: last night was so extremely fine, the ladies walked till after nine. then in soft voice, and speech absurd, with nonsense every second word, with fustian from exploded plays, they celebrate her beauty's praise, run o'er their cant of stupid lies, and tell the murders of her eyes. with silent scorn vanessa sat, scarce list'ning to their idle chat; further than sometimes by a frown, when they grew pert, to pull them down. at last she spitefully was bent to try their wisdom's full extent; and said, she valued nothing less than titles, figure, shape, and dress; that merit should be chiefly placed in judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste; and these, she offered to dispute, alone distinguished man from brute: that present times have no pretence to virtue, in the noble sense by greeks and romans understood, to perish for our country's good. she named the ancient heroes round, explained for what they were renowned; then spoke with censure, or applause, of foreign customs, rites, and laws; through nature and through art she ranged, and gracefully her subject changed: in vain; her hearers had no share in all she spoke, except to stare. their judgment was upon the whole, --that lady is the dullest soul-- then tipped their forehead in a jeer, as who should say--she wants it here; she may be handsome, young, and rich, but none will burn her for a witch. a party next of glittering dames, from round the purlieus of st. james, came early, out of pure goodwill, to see the girl in deshabille. their clamour 'lighting from their chairs, grew louder, all the way up stairs; at entrance loudest, where they found the room with volumes littered round, vanessa held montaigne, and read, whilst mrs. susan combed her head: they called for tea and chocolate, and fell into their usual chat, discoursing with important face, on ribbons, fans, and gloves, and lace: showed patterns just from india brought, and gravely asked her what she thought, whether the red or green were best, and what they cost? vanessa guessed, as came into her fancy first, named half the rates, and liked the worst. to scandal next--what awkward thing was that, last sunday, in the ring? i'm sorry mopsa breaks so fast; i said her face would never last, corinna with that youthful air, is thirty, and a bit to spare. her fondness for a certain earl began, when i was but a girl. phyllis, who but a month ago was married to the tunbridge beau, i saw coquetting t'other night in public with that odious knight. they rallied next vanessa's dress; that gown was made for old queen bess. dear madam, let me set your head; don't you intend to put on red? a petticoat without a hoop! sure, you are not ashamed to stoop; with handsome garters at your knees, no matter what a fellow sees. filled with disdain, with rage inflamed, both of herself and sex ashamed, the nymph stood silent out of spite, nor would vouchsafe to set them right. away the fair detractors went, and gave, by turns, their censures vent. she's not so handsome in my eyes: for wit, i wonder where it lies. she's fair and clean, and that's the most; but why proclaim her for a toast? a baby face, no life, no airs, but what she learnt at country fairs. scarce knows what difference is between rich flanders lace, and colberteen. i'll undertake my little nancy, in flounces has a better fancy. with all her wit, i would not ask her judgment, how to buy a mask. we begged her but to patch her face, she never hit one proper place; which every girl at five years old can do as soon as she is told. i own, that out-of-fashion stuff becomes the creature well enough. the girl might pass, if we could get her to know the world a little better. (_to know the world_! a modern phrase for visits, ombre, balls, and plays.) thus, to the world's perpetual shame, the queen of beauty lost her aim, too late with grief she understood pallas had done more harm than good; for great examples are but vain, where ignorance begets disdain. both sexes, armed with guilt and spite, against vanessa's power unite; to copy her few nymphs aspired; her virtues fewer swains admired; so stars, beyond a certain height, give mortals neither heat nor light. yet some of either sex, endowed with gifts superior to the crowd, with virtue, knowledge, taste, and wit, she condescended to admit; with pleasing arts she could reduce men's talents to their proper use; and with address each genius hold to that wherein it most excelled; thus making others' wisdom known, could please them and improve her own. a modest youth said something new, she placed it in the strongest view. all humble worth she strove to raise; would not be praised, yet loved to praise. the learned met with free approach, although they came not in a coach. some clergy too she would allow, nor quarreled at their awkward bow. but this was for cadenus' sake; a gownman of a different make. whom pallas, once vanessa's tutor, had fixed on for her coadjutor. but cupid, full of mischief, longs to vindicate his mother's wrongs. on pallas all attempts are vain; one way he knows to give her pain; vows on vanessa's heart to take due vengeance, for her patron's sake. those early seeds by venus sown, in spite of pallas, now were grown; and cupid hoped they would improve by time, and ripen into love. the boy made use of all his craft, in vain discharging many a shaft, pointed at colonels, lords, and beaux; cadenus warded off the blows, for placing still some book betwixt, the darts were in the cover fixed, or often blunted and recoiled, on plutarch's morals struck, were spoiled. the queen of wisdom could foresee, but not prevent the fates decree; and human caution tries in vain to break that adamantine chain. vanessa, though by pallas taught, by love invulnerable thought, searching in books for wisdom's aid, was, in the very search, betrayed. cupid, though all his darts were lost, yet still resolved to spare no cost; he could not answer to his fame the triumphs of that stubborn dame, a nymph so hard to be subdued, who neither was coquette nor prude. i find, says he, she wants a doctor, both to adore her, and instruct her: i'll give her what she most admires, among those venerable sires. cadenus is a subject fit, grown old in politics and wit; caressed by ministers of state, of half mankind the dread and hate. whate'er vexations love attend, she need no rivals apprehend her sex, with universal voice, must laugh at her capricious choice. cadenus many things had writ, vanessa much esteemed his wit, and called for his poetic works! meantime the boy in secret lurks. and while the book was in her hand, the urchin from his private stand took aim, and shot with all his strength a dart of such prodigious length, it pierced the feeble volume through, and deep transfixed her bosom too. some lines, more moving than the rest, struck to the point that pierced her breast; and, borne directly to the heart, with pains unknown, increased her smart. vanessa, not in years a score, dreams of a gown of forty-four; imaginary charms can find, in eyes with reading almost blind; cadenus now no more appears declined in health, advanced in years. she fancies music in his tongue, nor farther looks, but thinks him young. what mariner is not afraid to venture in a ship decayed? what planter will attempt to yoke a sapling with a falling oak? as years increase, she brighter shines, cadenus with each day declines, and he must fall a prey to time, while she continues in her prime. cadenus, common forms apart, in every scene had kept his heart; had sighed and languished, vowed and writ, for pastime, or to show his wit; but time, and books, and state affairs, had spoiled his fashionable airs, he now could praise, esteem, approve, but understood not what was love. his conduct might have made him styled a father, and the nymph his child. that innocent delight he took to see the virgin mind her book, was but the master's secret joy in school to hear the finest boy. her knowledge with her fancy grew, she hourly pressed for something new; ideas came into her mind so fact, his lessons lagged behind; she reasoned, without plodding long, nor ever gave her judgment wrong. but now a sudden change was wrought, she minds no longer what he taught. cadenus was amazed to find such marks of a distracted mind; for though she seemed to listen more to all he spoke, than e'er before. he found her thoughts would absent range, yet guessed not whence could spring the change. and first he modestly conjectures, his pupil might be tired with lectures, which helped to mortify his pride, yet gave him not the heart to chide; but in a mild dejected strain, at last he ventured to complain: said, she should be no longer teased, might have her freedom when she pleased; was now convinced he acted wrong, to hide her from the world so long, and in dull studies to engage one of her tender sex and age. that every nymph with envy owned, how she might shine in the _grande-monde_, and every shepherd was undone, to see her cloistered like a nun. this was a visionary scheme, he waked, and found it but a dream; a project far above his skill, for nature must be nature still. if she was bolder than became a scholar to a courtly dame, she might excuse a man of letters; thus tutors often treat their betters, and since his talk offensive grew, he came to take his last adieu. vanessa, filled with just disdain, would still her dignity maintain, instructed from her early years to scorn the art of female tears. had he employed his time so long, to teach her what was right or wrong, yet could such notions entertain, that all his lectures were in vain? she owned the wand'ring of her thoughts, but he must answer for her faults. she well remembered, to her cost, that all his lessons were not lost. two maxims she could still produce, and sad experience taught her use; that virtue, pleased by being shown, knows nothing which it dare not own; can make us without fear disclose our inmost secrets to our foes; that common forms were not designed directors to a noble mind. now, said the nymph, i'll let you see my actions with your rules agree, that i can vulgar forms despise, and have no secrets to disguise. i knew by what you said and writ, how dangerous things were men of wit; you cautioned me against their charms, but never gave me equal arms; your lessons found the weakest part, aimed at the head, but reached the heart. cadenus felt within him rise shame, disappointment, guilt, surprise. he know not how to reconcile such language, with her usual style: and yet her words were so expressed, he could not hope she spoke in jest. his thoughts had wholly been confined to form and cultivate her mind. he hardly knew, till he was told, whether the nymph were young or old; had met her in a public place, without distinguishing her face, much less could his declining age vanessa's earliest thoughts engage. and if her youth indifference met, his person must contempt beget, or grant her passion be sincere, how shall his innocence be clear? appearances were all so strong, the world must think him in the wrong; would say he made a treach'rous use. of wit, to flatter and seduce; the town would swear he had betrayed, by magic spells, the harmless maid; and every beau would have his jokes, that scholars were like other folks; that when platonic flights were over, the tutor turned a mortal lover. so tender of the young and fair; it showed a true paternal care-- five thousand guineas in her purse; the doctor might have fancied worst,-- hardly at length he silence broke, and faltered every word he spoke; interpreting her complaisance, just as a man sans consequence. she rallied well, he always knew; her manner now was something new; and what she spoke was in an air, as serious as a tragic player. but those who aim at ridicule, should fix upon some certain rule, which fairly hints they are in jest, else he must enter his protest; for let a man be ne'er so wise, he may be caught with sober lies; a science which he never taught, and, to be free, was dearly bought; for, take it in its proper light, 'tis just what coxcombs call a bite. but not to dwell on things minute, vanessa finished the dispute, brought weighty arguments to prove, that reason was her guide in love. she thought he had himself described, his doctrines when she fist imbibed; what he had planted now was grown, his virtues she might call her own; as he approves, as he dislikes, love or contempt her fancy strikes. self-love in nature rooted fast, attends us first, and leaves us last: why she likes him, admire not at her, she loves herself, and that's the matter. how was her tutor wont to praise the geniuses of ancient days! (those authors he so oft had named for learning, wit, and wisdom famed). was struck with love, esteem, and awe, for persons whom he never saw. suppose cadenus flourished then, he must adore such god-like men. if one short volume could comprise all that was witty, learned, and wise, how would it be esteemed, and read, although the writer long were dead? if such an author were alive, how all would for his friendship strive; and come in crowds to see his face? and this she takes to be her case. cadenus answers every end, the book, the author, and the friend, the utmost her desires will reach, is but to learn what he can teach; his converse is a system fit alone to fill up all her wit; while ev'ry passion of her mind in him is centred and confined. love can with speech inspire a mute, and taught vanessa to dispute. this topic, never touched before, displayed her eloquence the more: her knowledge, with such pains acquired, by this new passion grew inspired. through this she made all objects pass, which gave a tincture o'er the mass; as rivers, though they bend and twine, still to the sea their course incline; or, as philosophers, who find some fav'rite system to their mind, in every point to make it fit, will force all nature to submit. cadenus, who could ne'er suspect his lessons would have such effect, or be so artfully applied, insensibly came on her side; it was an unforeseen event, things took a turn he never meant. whoe'er excels in what we prize, appears a hero to our eyes; each girl, when pleased with what is taught, will have the teacher in her thought. when miss delights in her spinnet, a fiddler may a fortune get; a blockhead, with melodious voice in boarding-schools can have his choice; and oft the dancing-master's art climbs from the toe to touch the heart. in learning let a nymph delight, the pedant gets a mistress by't. cadenus, to his grief and shame, could scarce oppose vanessa's flame; but though her arguments were strong, at least could hardly with them wrong. howe'er it came, he could not tell, but, sure, she never talked so well. his pride began to interpose, preferred before a crowd of beaux, so bright a nymph to come unsought, such wonder by his merit wrought; 'tis merit must with her prevail, he never know her judgment fail. she noted all she ever read, and had a most discerning head. 'tis an old maxim in the schools, that vanity's the food of fools; yet now and then your men of wit will condescend to take a bit. so when cadenus could not hide, he chose to justify his pride; construing the passion she had shown, much to her praise, more to his own. nature in him had merit placed, in her, a most judicious taste. love, hitherto a transient guest, ne'er held possession in his breast; so long attending at the gate, disdain'd to enter in so late. love, why do we one passion call? when 'tis a compound of them all; where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet, in all their equipages meet; where pleasures mixed with pains appear, sorrow with joy, and hope with fear. wherein his dignity and age forbid cadenus to engage. but friendship in its greatest height, a constant, rational delight, on virtue's basis fixed to last, when love's allurements long are past; which gently warms, but cannot burn; he gladly offers in return; his want of passion will redeem, with gratitude, respect, esteem; with that devotion we bestow, when goddesses appear below. while thus cadenus entertains vanessa in exalted strains, the nymph in sober words intreats a truce with all sublime conceits. for why such raptures, flights, and fancies, to her who durst not read romances; in lofty style to make replies, which he had taught her to despise? but when her tutor will affect devotion, duty, and respect, he fairly abdicates his throne, the government is now her own; he has a forfeiture incurred, she vows to take him at his word, and hopes he will not take it strange if both should now their stations change the nymph will have her turn, to be the tutor; and the pupil he: though she already can discern her scholar is not apt to learn; or wants capacity to reach the science she designs to teach; wherein his genius was below the skill of every common beau; who, though he cannot spell, is wise enough to read a lady's eyes? and will each accidental glance interpret for a kind advance. but what success vanessa met is to the world a secret yet; whether the nymph, to please her swain, talks in a high romantic strain; or whether he at last descends to like with less seraphic ends; or to compound the bus'ness, whether they temper love and books together; must never to mankind be told, nor shall the conscious muse unfold. meantime the mournful queen of love led but a weary life above. she ventures now to leave the skies, grown by vanessa's conduct wise. for though by one perverse event pallas had crossed her first intent, though her design was not obtained, yet had she much experience gained; and, by the project vainly tried, could better now the cause decide. she gave due notice that both parties, _coram regina prox' die martis_, should at their peril without fail come and appear, and save their bail. all met, and silence thrice proclaimed, one lawyer to each side was named. the judge discovered in her face resentments for her late disgrace; and, full of anger, shame, and grief, directed them to mind their brief; nor spend their time to show their reading, she'd have a summary proceeding. she gathered under every head, the sum of what each lawyer said; gave her own reasons last; and then decreed the cause against the men. but, in a weighty case like this, to show she did not judge amiss, which evil tongues might else report, she made a speech in open court; wherein she grievously complains, "how she was cheated by the swains." on whose petition (humbly showing that women were not worth the wooing, and that unless the sex would mend, the race of lovers soon must end); "she was at lord knows what expense, to form a nymph of wit and sense; a model for her sex designed, who never could one lover find, she saw her favour was misplaced; the follows had a wretched taste; she needs must tell them to their face, they were a senseless, stupid race; and were she to begin again, she'd study to reform the men; or add some grains of folly more to women than they had before. to put them on an equal foot; and this, or nothing else, would do't. this might their mutual fancy strike, since every being loves its like. but now, repenting what was done, she left all business to her son; she puts the world in his possession, and let him use it at discretion." the crier was ordered to dismiss the court, so made his last o yes! the goddess would no longer wait, but rising from her chair of state, left all below at six and seven, harnessed her doves, and flew to heaven. stella's birthday, . stella this day is thirty-four (we shan't dispute a year or more) however, stella, be not troubled, although thy size and years are doubled since first i saw thee at sixteen, the brightest virgin on the green. so little is thy form declined; made up so largely in thy mind. oh, would it please the gods to split thy beauty, size, and years, and wit, no age could furnish out a pair of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair: with half the lustre of your eyes, with half your wit, your years, and size. and then, before it grew too late, how should i beg of gentle fate, (that either nymph might lack her swain), to split my worship too in twain. stella's birthday, . all travellers at first incline where'er they see the fairest sign; and if they find the chambers neat, and like the liquor and the meat, will call again and recommend the angel inn to every friend what though the painting grows decayed, the house will never lose its trade: nay, though the treach'rous tapster thomas hangs a new angel two doors from us, as fine as daubers' hands can make it, in hopes that strangers may mistake it, we think it both a shame and sin, to quit the true old angel inn. now, this is stella's case in fact, an angel's face, a little cracked (could poets, or could painters fix how angels look at, thirty-six): this drew us in at first, to find in such a form an angel's mind; and every virtue now supplies the fainting rays of stella's eyes. see, at her levee, crowding swains, whom stella freely entertains, with breeding, humour, wit, and sense; and puts them but to small expense; their mind so plentifully fills, and makes such reasonable bills, so little gets for what she gives, we really wonder how she lives! and had her stock been less, no doubt, she must have long ago run out. then who can think we'll quit the place, when doll hangs out a newer face; or stop and light at cloe's head, with scraps and leavings to be fed. then cloe, still go on to prate of thirty-six, and thirty-eight; pursue your trade of scandal picking, your hints that stella is no chicken. your innuendoes when you tell us, that stella loves to talk with fellows; and let me warn you to believe a truth, for which your soul should grieve: that should you live to see the day when stella's locks, must all be grey, when age must print a furrowed trace on every feature of her face; though you and all your senseless tribe, could art, or time, or nature bribe to make you look like beauty's queen, and hold for ever at fifteen; no bloom of youth can ever blind the cracks and wrinkles of your mind; all men of sense will pass your door, and crowd to stella's at fourscore. stella's birthday. _a great bottle of wine, long buried, being that day dug up_. _ _. resolved my annual verse to pay, by duty bound, on stella's day; furnished with paper, pens, and ink, i gravely sat me down to think: i bit my nails, and scratched my head, but found my wit and fancy fled; or, if with more than usual pain, a thought came slowly from my brain, it cost me lord knows how much time to shape it into sense and rhyme; and, what was yet a greater curse, long-thinking made my fancy worse forsaken by th' inspiring nine, i waited at apollo's shrine; i told him what the world would sa if stella were unsung to-day; how i should hide my head for shame, when both the jacks and robin came; how ford would frown, how jim would leer, how sh---r the rogue would sneer, and swear it does not always follow, that _semel'n anno ridet_ apollo. i have assured them twenty times, that phoebus helped me in my rhymes, phoebus inspired me from above, and he and i were hand and glove. but finding me so dull and dry since, they'll call it all poetic licence. and when i brag of aid divine, think eusden's right as good as mine. nor do i ask for stella's sake; 'tis my own credit lies at stake. and stella will be sung, while i can only be a stander by. apollo having thought a little, returned this answer to a tittle. tho' you should live like old methusalem, i furnish hints, and you should use all 'em, you yearly sing as she grows old, you'd leave her virtues half untold. but to say truth, such dulness reigns through the whole set of irish deans; i'm daily stunned with such a medley, dean w---, dean d---l, and dean s---; that let what dean soever come, my orders are, i'm not at home; and if your voice had not been loud, you must have passed among the crowd. but, now your danger to prevent, you must apply to mrs. brent, { } for she, as priestess, knows the rites wherein the god of earth delights. first, nine ways looking, let her stand with an old poker in her hand; let her describe a circle round in saunder's { } cellar on the ground a spade let prudent archy { } hold, and with discretion dig the mould; let stella look with watchful eye, rebecea, ford, and grattons by. behold the bottle, where it lies with neck elated tow'rds the skies! the god of winds, and god of fire, did to its wondrous birth conspire; and bacchus for the poet's use poured in a strong inspiring juice: see! as you raise it from its tomb, it drags behind a spacious womb, and in the spacious womb contains a sovereign med'cine for the brains. you'll find it soon, if fate consents; if not, a thousand mrs. brents, ten thousand archys arm'd with spades, may dig in vain to pluto's shades. from thence a plenteous draught infuse, and boldly then invoke the muse (but first let robert on his knees with caution drain it from the lees); the muse will at your call appear, with stella's praise to crown the year. stella's birthday, . as when a beauteous nymph decays, we say she's past her dancing days; so poets lose their feet by time, and can no longer dance in rhyme. your annual bard had rather chose to celebrate your birth in prose; yet merry folks who want by chance a pair to make a country dance, call the old housekeeper, and get her to fill a place, for want of better; while sheridan is off the hooks, and friend delany at his books, that stella may avoid disgrace, once more the dean supplies their place. beauty and wit, too sad a truth, have always been confined to youth; the god of wit, and beauty's queen, he twenty-one, and she fifteen; no poet ever sweetly sung. unless he were like phoebus, young; nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, unless like venus in her prime. at fifty-six, if this be true, am i a poet fit for you; or at the age of forty-three, are you a subject fit for me? adieu bright wit, and radiant eyes; you must be grave, and i be wise. our fate in vain we would oppose, but i'll be still your friend in prose; esteem and friendship to express, will not require poetic dress; and if the muse deny her aid to have them sung, they may be said. but, stella say, what evil tongue reports you are no longer young? that time sits with his scythe to mow where erst sat cupid with his bow; that half your locks are turned to grey; i'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'tis true, but let it not be known, my eyes are somewhat dimish grown; for nature, always in the right, to your decays adapts my sight, and wrinkles undistinguished pass, for i'm ashamed to use a glass; and till i see them with these eyes, whoever says you have them, lies. no length of time can make you quit honour and virtue, sense and wit, thus you may still be young to me, while i can better hear than see: oh, ne'er may fortune show her spite, to make me deaf, and mend my sight. stella's birthday, march , . this day, whate'er the fates decree, shall still be kept with joy by me; this day, then, let us not be told that you are sick, and i grown old, nor think on our approaching ills, and talk of spectacles and pills; to-morrow will be time enough to hear such mortifying stuff. yet, since from reason may be brought a better and more pleasing thought, which can, in spite of all decays, support a few remaining days: from not the gravest of divines accept for once some serious lines. although we now can form no more long schemes of life, as heretofore; yet you, while time is running fast, can look with joy on what is past. were future happiness and pain a mere contrivance of the brain, as atheists argue, to entice, and fit their proselytes for vice (the only comfort they propose, to have companions in their woes). grant this the case, yet sure 'tis hard that virtue, styled its own reward, and by all sages understood to be the chief of human good, should acting, die, or leave behind some lasting pleasure in the mind. which by remembrance will assuage grief, sickness, poverty, and age; and strongly shoot a radiant dart, to shine through life's declining part. say, stella, feel you no content, reflecting on a life well spent; your skilful hand employed to save despairing wretches from the grave; and then supporting with your store, those whom you dragged from death before? so providence on mortals waits, preserving what it first creates, you generous boldness to defend an innocent and absent friend; that courage which can make you just, to merit humbled in the dust; the detestation you express for vice in all its glittering dress: that patience under to torturing pain, where stubborn stoics would complain. must these like empty shadows pass, or forms reflected from a glass? or mere chimaeras in the mind, that fly, and leave no marks behind? does not the body thrive and grow by food of twenty years ago? and, had it not been still supplied, it must a thousand times have died. then, who with reason can maintain that no effects of food remain? and, is not virtue in mankind the nutriment that feeds the mind? upheld by each good action past, and still continued by the last: then, who with reason can pretend that all effects of virtue end? believe me, stella, when you show that true contempt for things below, nor prize your life for other ends than merely to oblige your friends, your former actions claim their part, and join to fortify your heart. for virtue in her daily race, like janus, bears a double face. look back with joy where she has gone, and therefore goes with courage on. she at your sickly couch will wait, and guide you to a better state. o then, whatever heav'n intends, take pity on your pitying friends; nor let your ills affect your mind, to fancy they can be unkind; me, surely me, you ought to spare, who gladly would your sufferings share; or give my scrap of life to you, and think it far beneath your due; you to whose care so oft i owe that i'm alive to tell you so. to stella, _visiting me in my sickness_, _october_, . pallas, observing stella's wit was more than for her sex was fit; and that her beauty, soon or late, might breed confusion in the state; in high concern for human kind, fixed honour in her infant mind. but (not in wranglings to engage with such a stupid vicious age), if honour i would here define, it answers faith in things divine. as natural life the body warms, and, scholars teach, the soul informs; so honour animates the whole, and is the spirit of the soul. those numerous virtues which the tribe of tedious moralists describe, and by such various titles call, true honour comprehends them all. let melancholy rule supreme, choler preside, or blood, or phlegm. it makes no difference in the case. nor is complexion honour's place. but, lest we should for honour take the drunken quarrels of a rake, or think it seated in a scar, or on a proud triumphal car, or in the payment of a debt, we lose with sharpers at piquet; or, when a whore in her vocation, keeps punctual to an assignation; or that on which his lordship swears, when vulgar knaves would lose their ears: let stella's fair example preach a lesson she alone can teach. in points of honour to be tried, all passions must be laid aside; ask no advice, but think alone, suppose the question not your own; how shall i act? is not the case, but how would brutus in my place; in such a cause would cato bleed; and how would socrates proceed? drive all objections from your mind, else you relapse to human kind; ambition, avarice, and lust, and factious rage, and breach of trust, and flattery tipped with nauseous fleer, and guilt and shame, and servile fear, envy, and cruelty, and pride, will in your tainted heart preside. heroes and heroines of old, by honour only were enrolled among their brethren in the skies, to which (though late) shall stella rise. ten thousand oaths upon record are not so sacred as her word; the world shall in its atoms end ere stella can deceive a friend. by honour seated in her breast, she still determines what is best; what indignation in her mind, against enslavers of mankind! base kings and ministers of state, eternal objects of her hate. she thinks that nature ne'er designed, courage to man alone confined; can cowardice her sex adorn, which most exposes ours to scorn; she wonders where the charm appears in florimel's affected fears; for stella never learned the art at proper times to scream and start; nor calls up all the house at night, and swears she saw a thing in white. doll never flies to cut her lace, or throw cold water in her face, because she heard a sudden drum, or found an earwig in a plum. her hearers are amazed from whence proceeds that fund of wit and sense; which, though her modesty would shroud, breaks like the sun behind a cloud, while gracefulness its art conceals, and yet through every motion steals. say, stella, was prometheus blind, and forming you, mistook your kind? no; 'twas for you alone he stole the fire that forms a manly soul; then, to complete it every way, he moulded it with female clay, to that you owe the nobler flame, to this, the beauty of your frame. how would ingratitude delight? and how would censure glut her spite? if i should stella's kindness hide in silence, or forget with pride, when on my sickly couch i lay, impatient both of night and day, lamenting in unmanly strains, called every power to ease my pains, then stella ran to my relief with cheerful face and inward grief; and though by heaven's severe decree she suffers hourly more than me, no cruel master could require, from slaves employed for daily hire, what stella by her friendship warmed, with vigour and delight performed. my sinking spirits now supplies with cordials in her hands and eyes, now with a soft and silent tread, unheard she moves about my bed. i see her taste each nauseous draught, and so obligingly am caught: i bless the hand from whence they came, nor dare distort my face for shame. best pattern of true friends beware, you pay too dearly for your care; if while your tenderness secures my life, it must endanger yours. for such a fool was never found, who pulled a palace to the ground, only to have the ruins made materials for a house decayed. _while dr. swift was at sir william temple's_, _after he left the university of dublin_, _he contracted a friendship with two of sir william's relations_, _mrs. johnson and mrs. dingley_, _which continued to their deaths_. _the former of these was the amiable stella_, _so much celebrated in his works_. _in the year _, _being in england_, _he received the melancholy news of her last sickness_, _mrs. dingley having been dead before_. _he hastened into ireland_, _where he visited her_, _not only as a friend_, _but a clergyman_. _no set form of prayer could express the sense of his heart on that occasion_. _he drew up the following_, _here printed from his own handwriting_. _she died jan. _, _ _. the first he wrote oct. , . most merciful father, accept our humblest prayers in behalf of this thy languishing servant; forgive the sins, the frailties, and infirmities of her life past. accept the good deeds she hath done in such a manner that, at whatever time thou shalt please to call her, she may be received into everlasting habitations. give her grace to continue sincerely thankful to thee for the many favours thou hast bestowed upon her, the ability and inclination and practice to do good, and those virtues which have procured the esteem and love of her friends, and a most unspotted name in the world. o god, thou dispensest thy blessings and thy punishments, as it becometh infinite justice and mercy; and since it was thy pleasure to afflict her with a long, constant, weakly state of health, make her truly sensible that it was for very wise ends, and was largely made up to her in other blessings, more valuable and less common. continue to her, o lord, that firmness and constancy of mind wherewith thou hast most graciously endowed her, together with that contempt of worldly things and vanities that she hath shown in the whole conduct of her life. o all-powerful being, the least motion of whose will can create or destroy a world, pity us, the mournful friends of thy distressed servant, who sink under the weight of her present condition, and the fear of losing the most valuable of our friends; restore her to us, o lord, if it be thy gracious will, or inspire us with constancy and resignation to support ourselves under so heavy an affliction. restore her, o lord, for the sake of those poor, who by losing her will be desolate, and those sick, who will not only want her bounty, but her care and tending; or else, in thy mercy, raise up some other in her place with equal disposition and better abilities. lessen, o lord, we beseech thee, her bodily pains, or give her a double strength of mind to support them. and if thou wilt soon take her to thyself, turn our thoughts rather upon that felicity which we hope she shall enjoy, than upon that unspeakable loss we shall endure. let her memory be ever dear unto us, and the example of her many virtues, as far as human infirmity will admit, our constant imitation. accept, o lord, these prayers poured from the very bottom of our hearts, in thy mercy, and for the merits of our blessed saviour. _amen_. the second prayer was written nov. , . o merciful father, who never afflictest thy children but for their own good, and with justice, over which thy mercy always prevaileth, either to turn them to repentance, or to punish them in the present life, in order to reward them in a better; take pity, we beseech thee, upon this thy poor afflicted servant, languishing so long and so grievously under the weight of thy hand. give her strength, o lord, to support her weakness, and patience to endure her pains, without repining at thy correction. forgive every rash and inconsiderate expression which her anguish may at any time force from her tongue, while her heart continueth in an entire submission to thy will. suppress in her, o lord, all eager desires of life, and lesson her fears of death, by inspiring into her an humble yet assured hope of thy mercy. give her a sincere repentance for all her transgressions and omissions, and a firm resolution to pass the remainder of her life in endeavouring to her utmost to observe all thy precepts. we beseech thee likewise to compose her thoughts, and preserve to her the use of her memory and reason during the course of her sickness. give her a true conception of the vanity, folly, and insignificancy of all human things; and strengthen her so as to beget in her a sincere love of thee in the midst of her sufferings. accept and impute all her good deeds, and forgive her all those offences against thee, which she hath sincerely repented of, or through the frailty of memory hath forgot. and now, o lord, we turn to thee in behalf of ourselves, and the rest of her sorrowful friends. let not our grief afflict her mind, and thereby have an ill effect on her present distemper. forgive the sorrow and weakness of those among us who sink under the grief and terror of losing so dear and useful a friend. accept and pardon our most earnest prayers and wishes for her longer continuance in this evil world, to do what thou art pleased to call thy service, and is only her bounden duty; that she may be still a comfort to us, and to all others, who will want the benefit of her conversation, her advice, her good offices, or her charity. and since thou hast promised that where two or three are gathered together in thy name, thou wilt be in the midst of them to grant their request, o gracious lord, grant to us who are here met in thy name, that those requests, which in the utmost sincerity and earnestness of our hearts we have now made in behalf of this thy distressed servant, and of ourselves, may effectually be answered; through the merits of jesus christ our lord. _amen_. the beasts' confession ( ). when beasts could speak (the learned say they still can do so every day), it seems, they had religion then, as much as now we find in men. it happened when a plague broke out (which therefore made them more devout) the king of brutes (to make it plain, of quadrupeds i only mean), by proclamation gave command, that every subject in the land should to the priest confess their sins; and thus the pious wolf begins: good father, i must own with shame, that, often i have been to blame: i must confess, on friday last, wretch that i was, i broke my fast: but i defy the basest tongue to prove i did my neighbour wrong; or ever went to seek my food by rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. the ass approaching next, confessed, that in his heart he loved a jest: a wag he was, he needs must own, and could not let a dunce alone: sometimes his friend he would not spare, and might perhaps be too severe: but yet, the worst that could be said, he was a wit both born and bred; and, if it be a sin or shame, nature alone must bear the blame: one fault he hath, is sorry for't, his ears are half a foot too short; which could he to the standard bring, he'd show his face before the king: then, for his voice, there's none disputes that he's the nightingale of brutes. the swine with contrite heart allowed, his shape and beauty made him proud: in diet was perhaps too nice, but gluttony was ne'er his vice: in every turn of life content, and meekly took what fortune sent: enquire through all the parish round, a better neighbour ne'er was found: his vigilance might seine displease; 'tis true, he hated sloth like pease. the mimic ape began his chatter, how evil tongues his life bespatter: much of the cens'ring world complained, who said his gravity was feigned: indeed, the strictness of his morals engaged him in a hundred quarrels: he saw, and he was grieved to see't, his zeal was sometimes indiscreet: he found his virtues too severe for our corrupted times to bear: yet, such a lewd licentious age might well excuse a stoic's rage. the goat advanced with decent pace: and first excused his youthful face; forgiveness begged, that he appeared ('twas nature's fault) without a beard. 'tis true, he was not much inclined to fondness for the female kind; not, as his enemies object, from chance or natural defect; not by his frigid constitution, but through a pious resolution; for he had made a holy vow of chastity, as monks do now; which he resolved to keep for ever hence, as strictly, too, as doth his reverence. { } apply the tale, and you shall find how just it suits with human kind. some faults we own: but, can you guess? why?--virtue's carried to excess; wherewith our vanity endows us, though neither foe nor friend allows us. the lawyer swears, you may rely on't, he never squeezed a needy client: and this he makes his constant rule, for which his brethren call him fool; his conscience always was so nice, he freely gave the poor advice; by which he lost, he may affirm, a hundred fees last easter term. while others of the learned robe would break the patience of a job; no pleader at the bar could match his diligence and quick despatch; ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast, above a term or two at most. the cringing knave, who seeks a place without success, thus tells his case: why should he longer mince the matter? he failed because he could not flatter: he had not learned to turn his coat, nor for a party give his vote. his crime he quickly understood; too zealous for the nation's good: he found the ministers resent it, yet could not for his heart repent it. the chaplain vows he cannot fawn, though it would raise him to the lawn: he passed his hours among his books; you find it in his meagre looks: he might, if he were worldly-wise, preferment get, and spare his eyes: but owned he had a stubborn spirit, that made him trust alone in merit: would rise by merit to promotion; alas! a mere chimeric notion. the doctor, if you will believe him, confessed a sin, and god forgive him: called up at midnight, ran to save a blind old beggar from the grave: but, see how satan spreads his snares; he quite forgot to say his prayers. he cannot help it, for his heart, sometimes to act the parson's part, quotes from the bible many a sentence that moves his patients to repentance: and, when his medicines do no good, supports their minds with heavenly food. at which, however well intended, he hears the clergy are offended; and grown so bold behind his back, to call him hypocrite and quack. in his own church he keeps a seat; says grace before and after meat; and calls, without affecting airs, his household twice a day to prayers. he shuns apothecaries' shops; and hates to cram the sick with slops: he scorns to make his art a trade, nor bribes my lady's favourite maid. old nurse-keepers would never hire to recommend him to the squire; which others, whom he will not name, have often practised to their shame. the statesman tells you with a sneer, his fault is to be too sincere; and, having no sinister ends, is apt to disoblige his friends. the nation's good, his master's glory, without regard to whig or tory, were all the schemes he had in view; yet he was seconded by few: though some had spread a thousand lies, 'twas he defeated the excise. 'twas known, though he had borne aspersion, that standing troops were his aversion: his practice was, in every station, to serve the king, and please the nation. though hard to find in every case the fittest man to fill a place: his promises he ne'er forgot, but took memorials on the spot: his enemies, for want of charity, said he affected popularity: 'tis true, the people understood, that all he did was for their good; their kind affections he has tried; no love is lost on either side. he came to court with fortune clear, which now he runs out every year; must, at the rate that he goes on, inevitably be undone. oh! if his majesty would please to give him but a writ of ease, would grant him license to retire, as it hath long been his desire, by fair accounts it would be found, he's poorer by ten thousand pound. he owns, and hopes it is no sin, he ne'er was partial to his kin; he thought it base for men in stations to crowd the court with their relations: his country was his dearest mother, and every virtuous man his brother: through modesty or awkward shame (for which he owns himself to blame), he found the wisest men he could, without respect to friends or blood; nor never acts on private views, when he hath liberty to choose. the sharper swore he hated play, except to pass an hour away: and well he might; for to his cost, by want of skill, he always lost. he heard there was a club of cheats, who had contrived a thousand feats; could change the stock, or cog a dye, and thus deceive the sharpest eye: no wonder how his fortune sunk, his brothers fleece him when he's drunk. i own the moral not exact; besides, the tale is false in fact; and so absurd, that, could i raise up from fields elysian, fabling aesop; i would accuse him to his face, for libelling the four-foot race. creatures of every kind but ours well comprehend their natural powers; while we, whom reason ought to sway, mistake our talents every day: the ass was never known so stupid to act the part of tray or cupid; nor leaps upon his master's lap, there to be stroked, and fed with pap: as aesop would the world persuade; he better understands his trade: nor comes whene'er his lady whistles, but carries loads, and feeds on thistles; our author's meaning, i presume, is a creature _bipes et implumis_; wherein the moralist designed a compliment on human-kind: for, here he owns, that now and then beasts may degenerate into men. an argument to prove that the abolishing of christianity in england may, as things now stand, be attended with some inconveniences, and perhaps not produce those many good effects proposed thereby. _written in the year _. i am very sensible what a weakness and presumption it is to reason against the general humour and disposition of the world. i remember it was with great justice, and a due regard to the freedom, both of the public and the press, forbidden upon several penalties to write, or discourse, or lay wagers against the --- even before it was confirmed by parliament; because that was looked upon as a design to oppose the current of the people, which, besides the folly of it, is a manifest breach of the fundamental law, that makes this majority of opinions the voice of god. in like manner, and for the very same reasons, it may perhaps be neither safe nor prudent to argue against the abolishing of christianity, at a juncture when all parties seem so unanimously determined upon the point, as we cannot but allow from their actions, their discourses, and their writings. however, i know not how, whether from the affectation of singularity, or the perverseness of human nature, but so it unhappily falls out, that i cannot be entirely of this opinion. nay, though i were sure an order were issued for my immediate prosecution by the attorney-general, i should still confess, that in the present posture of our affairs at home or abroad, i do not yet see the absolute necessity of extirpating the christian religion from among us. this perhaps may appear too great a paradox even for our wise and paxodoxical age to endure; therefore i shall handle it with all tenderness, and with the utmost deference to that great and profound majority which is of another sentiment. and yet the curious may please to observe, how much the genius of a nation is liable to alter in half an age. i have heard it affirmed for certain by some very odd people, that the contrary opinion was even in their memories as much in vogue as the other is now; and that a project for the abolishing of christianity would then have appeared as singular, and been thought as absurd, as it would be at this time to write or discourse in its defence. therefore i freely own, that all appearances are against me. the system of the gospel, after the fate of other systems, is generally antiquated and exploded, and the mass or body of the common people, among whom it seems to have had its latest credit, are now grown as much ashamed of it as their betters; opinions, like fashions, always descending from those of quality to the middle sort, and thence to the vulgar, where at length they are dropped and vanish. but here i would not be mistaken, and must therefore be so bold as to borrow a distinction from the writers on the other side, when they make a difference betwixt nominal and real trinitarians. i hope no reader imagines me so weak to stand up in the defence of real christianity, such as used in primitive times (if we may believe the authors of those ages) to have an influence upon men's belief and actions. to offer at the restoring of that, would indeed be a wild project: it would be to dig up foundations; to destroy at one blow all the wit, and half the learning of the kingdom; to break the entire frame and constitution of things; to ruin trade, extinguish arts and sciences, with the professors of them; in short, to turn our courts, exchanges, and shops into deserts; and would be full as absurd as the proposal of horace, where he advises the romans, all in a body, to leave their city, and seek a new seat in some remote part of the world, by way of a cure for the corruption of their manners. therefore i think this caution was in itself altogether unnecessary (which i have inserted only to prevent all possibility of cavilling), since every candid reader will easily understand my discourse to be intended only in defence of nominal christianity, the other having been for some time wholly laid aside by general consent, as utterly inconsistent with all our present schemes of wealth and power. but why we should therefore cut off the name and title of christians, although the general opinion and resolution be so violent for it, i confess i cannot (with submission) apprehend the consequence necessary. however, since the undertakers propose such wonderful advantages to the nation by this project, and advance many plausible objections against the system of christianity, i shall briefly consider the strength of both, fairly allow them their greatest weight, and offer such answers as i think most reasonable. after which i will beg leave to show what inconveniences may possibly happen by such an innovation, in the present posture of our affairs. first, one great advantage proposed by the abolishing of christianity is, that it would very much enlarge and establish liberty of conscience, that great bulwark of our nation, and of the protestant religion, which is still too much limited by priestcraft, notwithstanding all the good intentions of the legislature, as we have lately found by a severe instance. for it is confidently reported, that two young gentlemen of real hopes, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon a thorough examination of causes and effects, and by the mere force of natural abilities, without the least tincture of learning, having made a discovery that there was no god, and generously communicating their thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, by an unparalleled severity, and upon i know not what obsolete law, broke for blasphemy. and as it has been wisely observed, if persecution once begins, no man alive knows how far it may reach, or where it will end. in answer to all which, with deference to wiser judgments, i think this rather shows the necessity of a nominal religion among us. great wits love to be free with the highest objects; and if they cannot be allowed a god to revile or renounce, they will speak evil of dignities, abuse the government, and reflect upon the ministry, which i am sure few will deny to be of much more pernicious consequence, according to the saying of tiberius, _deorum offensa diis curoe_. as to the particular fact related, i think it is not fair to argue from one instance, perhaps another cannot be produced: yet (to the comfort of all those who may be apprehensive of persecution) blasphemy we know is freely spoke a million of times in every coffee-house and tavern, or wherever else good company meet. it must be allowed, indeed, that to break an english free-born officer only for blasphemy was, to speak the gentlest of such an action, a very high strain of absolute power. little can be said in excuse for the general; perhaps he was afraid it might give offence to the allies, among whom, for aught we know, it may be the custom of the country to believe a god. but if he argued, as some have done, upon a mistaken principle, that an officer who is guilty of speaking blasphemy may, some time or other, proceed so far as to raise a mutiny, the consequence is by no means to be admitted: for surely the commander of an english army is like to be but ill obeyed whose soldiers fear and reverence him as little as they do a deity. it is further objected against the gospel system that it obliges men to the belief of things too difficult for freethinkers, and such who have shook off the prejudices that usually cling to a confined education. to which i answer, that men should be cautious how they raise objections which reflect upon the wisdom of the nation. is not everybody freely allowed to believe whatever he pleases, and to publish his belief to the world whenever he thinks fit, especially if it serves to strengthen the party which is in the right? would any indifferent foreigner, who should read the trumpery lately written by asgil, tindal, toland, coward, and forty more, imagine the gospel to be our rule of faith, and to be confirmed by parliaments? does any man either believe, or say he believes, or desire to have it thought that he says he believes, one syllable of the matter? and is any man worse received upon that score, or does he find his want of nominal faith a disadvantage to him in the pursuit of any civil or military employment? what if there be an old dormant statute or two against him, are they not now obsolete, to a degree, that empson and dudley themselves, if they were now alive, would find it impossible to put them in execution? it is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom, above ten thousand parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lords the bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young gentlemen of wit and pleasure, and free-thinking, enemies to priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices, who might be an ornament to the court and town: and then again, so a great number of able [bodied] divines might be a recruit to our fleet and armies. this indeed appears to be a consideration of some weight; but then, on the other side, several things deserve to be considered likewise: as, first, whether it may not be thought necessary that in certain tracts of country, like what we call parishes, there should be one man at least of abilities to read and write. then it seems a wrong computation that the revenues of the church throughout this island would be large enough to maintain two hundred young gentlemen, or even half that number, after the present refined way of living, that is, to allow each of them such a rent as, in the modern form of speech, would make them easy. but still there is in this project a greater mischief behind; and we ought to beware of the woman's folly, who killed the hen that every morning laid her a golden egg. for, pray what would become of the race of men in the next age, if we had nothing to trust to beside the scrofulous consumptive production furnished by our men of wit and pleasure, when, having squandered away their vigour, health, and estates, they are forced, by some disagreeable marriage, to piece up their broken fortunes, and entail rottenness and politeness on their posterity? now, here are ten thousand persons reduced, by the wise regulations of henry viii., to the necessity of a low diet, and moderate exercise, who are the only great restorers of our breed, without which the nation would in an age or two become one great hospital. another advantage proposed by the abolishing of christianity is the clear gain of one day in seven, which is now entirely lost, and consequently the kingdom one seventh less considerable in trade, business, and pleasure; besides the loss to the public of so many stately structures now in the hands of the clergy, which might be converted into play-houses, exchanges, market-houses, common dormitories, and other public edifices. i hope i shall be forgiven a hard word if i call this a perfect cavil. i readily own there hath been an old custom, time out of mind, for people to assemble in the churches every sunday, and that shops are still frequently shut, in order, as it is conceived, to preserve the memory of that ancient practice; but how this can prove a hindrance to business or pleasure is hard to imagine. what if the men of pleasure are forced, one day in the week, to game at home instead of the chocolate-house? are not the taverns and coffee-houses open? can there be a more convenient season for taking a dose of physic? is not that the chief day for traders to sum up the accounts of the week, and for lawyers to prepare their briefs? but i would fain know how it can be pretended that the churches are misapplied? where are more appointments and rendezvouses of gallantry? where more care to appear in the foremost box, with greater advantage of dress? where more meetings for business? where more bargains driven of all sorts? and where so many conveniences or incitements to sleep? there is one advantage greater than any of the foregoing, proposed by the abolishing of christianity, that it will utterly extinguish parties among us, by removing those factious distinctions of high and low church, of whig and tory, presbyterian and church of england, which are now so many mutual clogs upon public proceedings, and are apt to prefer the gratifying themselves or depressing their adversaries before the most important interest of the state. i confess, if it were certain that so great an advantage would redound to the nation by this expedient, i would submit, and be silent; but will any man say, that if the words, whoring, drinking, cheating, lying, stealing, were, by act of parliament, ejected out of the english tongue and dictionaries, we should all awake next morning chaste and temperate, honest and just, and lovers of truth? is this a fair consequence? or if the physicians would forbid us to pronounce the words pox, gout, rheumatism, and stone, would that expedient serve like so many talismen to destroy the diseases themselves? are party and faction rooted in men's hearts no deeper than phrases borrowed from religion, or founded upon no firmer principles? and is our language so poor that we cannot find other terms to express them? are envy, pride, avarice, and ambition such ill nomenclators, that they cannot furnish appellations for their owners? will not heydukes and mamalukes, mandarins and patshaws, or any other words formed at pleasure, serve to distinguish those who are in the ministry from others who would be in it if they could? what, for instance, is easier than to vary the form of speech, and instead of the word church, make it a question in politics, whether the monument be in danger? because religion was nearest at hand to furnish a few convenient phrases, is our invention so barren we can find no other? suppose, for argument sake, that the tories favoured margarita, the whigs, mrs. tofts, and the trimmers, valentini, would not margaritians, toftians, and valentinians be very tolerable marks of distinction? the prasini and veniti, two most virulent factions in italy, began, if i remember right, by a distinction of colours in ribbons, which we might do with as good a grace about the dignity of the blue and the green, and serve as properly to divide the court, the parliament, and the kingdom between them, as any terms of art whatsoever, borrowed from religion. and therefore i think there is little force in this objection against christianity, or prospect of so great an advantage as is proposed in the abolishing of it. it is again objected, as a very absurd, ridiculous custom, that a set of men should be suffered, much less employed and hired, to bawl one day in seven against the lawfulness of those methods most in use towards the pursuit of greatness, riches, and pleasure, which are the constant practice of all men alive on the other six. but this objection is, i think, a little unworthy so refined an age as ours. let us argue this matter calmly. i appeal to the breast of any polite free-thinker, whether, in the pursuit of gratifying a pre-dominant passion, he hath not always felt a wonderful incitement, by reflecting it was a thing forbidden; and therefore we see, in order to cultivate this test, the wisdom of the nation hath taken special care that the ladies should be furnished with prohibited silks, and the men with prohibited wine. and indeed it were to be wished that some other prohibitions were promoted, in order to improve the pleasures of the town, which, for want of such expedients, begin already, as i am told, to flag and grow languid, giving way daily to cruel inroads from the spleen. 'tis likewise proposed, as a great advantage to the public, that if we once discard the system of the gospel, all religion will of course be banished for ever, and consequently along with it those grievous prejudices of education which, under the names of conscience, honour, justice, and the like, are so apt to disturb the peace of human minds, and the notions whereof are so hard to be eradicated by right reason or free-thinking, sometimes during the whole course of our lives. here first i observe how difficult it is to get rid of a phrase which the world has once grown fond of, though the occasion that first produced it be entirely taken away. for some years past, if a man had but an ill- favoured nose, the deep thinkers of the age would, some way or other contrive to impute the cause to the prejudice of his education. from this fountain were said to be derived all our foolish notions of justice, piety, love of our country; all our opinions of god or a future state, heaven, hell, and the like; and there might formerly perhaps have been some pretence for this charge. but so effectual care hath been since taken to remove those prejudices, by an entire change in the methods of education, that (with honour i mention it to our polite innovators) the young gentlemen, who are now on the scene, seem to have not the least tincture left of those infusions, or string of those weeds, and by consequence the reason for abolishing nominal christianity upon that pretext is wholly ceased. for the rest, it may perhaps admit a controversy, whether the banishing all notions of religion whatsoever would be inconvenient for the vulgar. not that i am in the least of opinion with those who hold religion to have been the invention of politicians, to keep the lower part of the world in awe by the fear of invisible powers; unless mankind were then very different from what it is now; for i look upon the mass or body of our people here in england to be as freethinkers, that is to say, as staunch unbelievers, as any of the highest rank. but i conceive some scattered notions about a superior power to be of singular use for the common people, as furnishing excellent materials to keep children quiet when they grow peevish, and providing topics of amusement in a tedious winter night. lastly, it is proposed, as a singular advantage, that the abolishing of christianity will very much contribute to the uniting of protestants, by enlarging the terms of communion, so as to take in all sorts of dissenters, who are now shut out of the pale upon account of a few ceremonies, which all sides confess to be things indifferent. that this alone will effectually answer the great ends of a scheme for comprehension, by opening a large noble gate, at which all bodies may enter; whereas the chaffering with dissenters, and dodging about this or t'other ceremony, is but like opening a few wickets, and leaving them at jar, by which no more than one can get in at a time, and that not without stooping, and sideling, and squeezing his body. to all this i answer, that there is one darling inclination of mankind which usually affects to be a retainer to religion, though she be neither its parent, its godmother, nor its friend. i mean the spirit of opposition, that lived long before christianity, and can easily subsist without it. let us, for instance, examine wherein the opposition of sectaries among us consists. we shall find christianity to have no share in it at all. does the gospel anywhere prescribe a starched, squeezed countenance, a stiff formal gait, a singularity of manners and habit, or any affected forms and modes of speech different from the reasonable part of mankind? yet, if christianity did not lend its name to stand in the gap, and to employ or divert these humours, they must of necessity be spent in contraventions to the laws of the land, and disturbance of the public peace. there is a portion of enthusiasm assigned to every nation, which, if it hath not proper objects to work on, will burst out, and set all into a flame. if the quiet of a state can be bought by only flinging men a few ceremonies to devour, it is a purchase no wise man would refuse. let the mastiffs amuse themselves about a sheep's skin stuffed with hay, provided it will keep them from worrying the flock. the institution of convents abroad seems in one point a strain of great wisdom, there being few irregularities in human passions which may not have recourse to vent themselves in some of those orders, which are so many retreats for the speculative, the melancholy, the proud, the silent, the politic, and the morose, to spend themselves, and evaporate the noxious particles; for each of whom we in this island are forced to provide a several sect of religion to keep them quiet; and whenever christianity shall be abolished, the legislature must find some other expedient to employ and entertain them. for what imports it how large a gate you open, if there will be always left a number who place a pride and a merit in not coming in? having thus considered the most important objections against christianity, and the chief advantages proposed by the abolishing thereof, i shall now, with equal deference and submission to wiser judgments, as before, proceed to mention a few inconveniences that may happen if the gospel should be repealed, which, perhaps, the projectors may not have sufficiently considered. and first, i am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasure are apt to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many daggle-tailed parsons that happen to fall in their way, and offend their eyes; but at the same time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage and felicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of scorn and contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and divert their spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves, especially when all this may be done without the least imaginable danger to their persons. and to urge another argument of a parallel nature: if christianity were once abolished, how could the freethinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning be able to find another subject so calculated in all points whereon to display their abilities? what wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived of from those whose genius, by continual practice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and invectives against religion, and would therefore never be able to shine or distinguish themselves upon any other subject? we are daily complaining of the great decline of wit among as, and would we take away the greatest, perhaps the only topic we have left? who would ever have suspected asgil for a wit, or toland for a philosopher, if the inexhaustible stock of christianity had not been at hand to provide them with materials? what other subject through all art or nature could have produced tindal for a profound author, or furnished him with readers? it is the wise choice of the subject that alone adorns and distinguishes the writer. for had a hundred such pens as these been employed on the side of religion, they would have immediately sunk into silence and oblivion. nor do i think it wholly groundless, or my fears altogether imaginary, that the abolishing of christianity may perhaps bring the church in danger, or at least put the senate to the trouble of another securing vote. i desire i may not be mistaken; i am far from presuming to affirm or think that the church is in danger at present, or as things now stand; but we know not how soon it may be so when the christian religion is repealed. as plausible as this project seems, there may be a dangerous design lurk under it. nothing can be more notorious than that the atheists, deists, socinians, anti-trinitarians, and other subdivisions of freethinkers, are persons of little zeal for the present ecclesiastical establishment: their declared opinion is for repealing the sacramental test; they are very indifferent with regard to ceremonies; nor do they hold the _jus divinum_ of episcopacy: therefore they may be intended as one politic step towards altering the constitution of the church established, and setting up presbytery in the stead, which i leave to be further considered by those at the helm. in the last place, i think nothing can be more plain, than that by this expedient we shall run into the evil we chiefly pretend to avoid; and that the abolishment of the christian religion will be the readiest course we can take to introduce popery. and i am the more inclined to this opinion because we know it has been the constant practice of the jesuits to send over emissaries, with instructions to personate themselves members of the several prevailing sects amongst us. so it is recorded that they have at sundry times appeared in the guise of presbyterians, anabaptists, independents, and quakers, according as any of these were most in credit; so, since the fashion hath been taken up of exploding religion, the popish missionaries have not been wanting to mix with the freethinkers; among whom toland, the great oracle of the anti- christians, is an irish priest, the son of an irish priest; and the most learned and ingenious author of a book called the "rights of the christian church," was in a proper juncture reconciled to the romish faith, whose true son, as appears by a hundred passages in his treatise, he still continues. perhaps i could add some others to the number; but the fact is beyond dispute, and the reasoning they proceed by is right: for supposing christianity to be extinguished the people will never he at ease till they find out some other method of worship, which will as infallibly produce superstition as this will end in popery. and therefore, if, notwithstanding all i have said, it still be thought necessary to have a bill brought in for repealing christianity, i would humbly offer an amendment, that instead of the word christianity may be put religion in general, which i conceive will much better answer all the good ends proposed by the projectors of it. for as long as we leave in being a god and his providence, with all the necessary consequences which curious and inquisitive men will be apt to draw from such promises, we do not strike at the root of the evil, though we should ever so effectually annihilate the present scheme of the gospel; for of what use is freedom of thought if it will not produce freedom of action, which is the sole end, how remote soever in appearance, of all objections against christianity? and therefore, the freethinkers consider it as a sort of edifice, wherein all the parts have such a mutual dependence on each other, that if you happen to pull out one single nail, the whole fabric must fall to the ground. this was happily expressed by him who had heard of a text brought for proof of the trinity, which in an ancient manuscript was differently read; he thereupon immediately took the hint, and by a sudden deduction of a long sorites, most logically concluded: why, if it be as you say, i may safely drink on, and defy the parson. from which, and many the like instances easy to be produced, i think nothing can be more manifest than that the quarrel is not against any particular points of hard digestion in the christian system, but against religion in general, which, by laying restraints on human nature, is supposed the great enemy to the freedom of thought and action. upon the whole, if it shall still be thought for the benefit of church and state that christianity be abolished, i conceive, however, it may be more convenient to defer the execution to a time of peace, and not venture in this conjuncture to disoblige our allies, who, as it falls out, are all christians, and many of them, by the prejudices of their education, so bigoted as to place a sort of pride in the appellation. if, upon being rejected by them, we are to trust to an alliance with the turk, we shall find ourselves much deceived; for, as he is too remote, and generally engaged in war with the persian emperor, so his people would be more scandalised at our infidelity than our christian neighbours. for they are not only strict observers of religions worship, but what is worse, believe a god; which is more than is required of us, even while we preserve the name of christians. to conclude, whatever some may think of the great advantages to trade by this favourite scheme, i do very much apprehend that in six months' time after the act is passed for the extirpation of the gospel, the bank and east india stock may fall at least one per cent. and since that is fifty times more than ever the wisdom of our age thought fit to venture for the preservation of christianity, there is no reason we should be at so great a loss merely for the sake of destroying it. hints towards an essay on conversation. i have observed few obvious subjects to have been so seldom, or at least so slightly, handled as this; and, indeed, i know few so difficult to be treated as it ought, nor yet upon which there seemeth so much to be said. most things pursued by men for the happiness of public or private life our wit or folly have so refined, that they seldom subsist but in idea; a true friend, a good marriage, a perfect form of government, with some others, require so many ingredients, so good in their several kinds, and so much niceness in mixing them, that for some thousands of years men have despaired of reducing their schemes to perfection. but in conversation it is or might be otherwise; for here we are only to avoid a multitude of errors, which, although a matter of some difficulty, may be in every man's power, for want of which it remaineth as mere an idea as the other. therefore it seemeth to me that the truest way to understand conversation is to know the faults and errors to which it is subject, and from thence every man to form maxims to himself whereby it may be regulated, because it requireth few talents to which most men are not born, or at least may not acquire without any great genius or study. for nature bath left every man a capacity of being agreeable, though not of shining in company; and there are a hundred men sufficiently qualified for both, who, by a very few faults that they might correct in half an hour, are not so much as tolerable. i was prompted to write my thoughts upon this subject by mere indignation, to reflect that so useful and innocent a pleasure, so fitted for every period and condition of life, and so much in all men's power, should be so much neglected and abused. and in this discourse it will be necessary to note those errors that are obvious, as well as others which are seldomer observed, since there are few so obvious or acknowledged into which most men, some time or other, are not apt to run. for instance, nothing is more generally exploded than the folly of talking too much; yet i rarely remember to have seen five people together where some one among them hath not been predominant in that kind, to the great constraint and disgust of all the rest. but among such as deal in multitudes of words, none are comparable to the sober deliberate talker, who proceedeth with much thought and caution, maketh his preface, brancheth out into several digressions, findeth a hint that putteth him in mind of another story, which he promiseth to tell you when this is done; cometh back regularly to his subject, cannot readily call to mind some person's name, holdeth his head, complaineth of his memory; the whole company all this while in suspense; at length, says he, it is no matter, and so goes on. and, to crown the business, it perhaps proveth at last a story the company hath heard fifty times before; or, at best, some insipid adventure of the relater. another general fault in conversation is that of those who affect to talk of themselves. some, without any ceremony, will run over the history of their lives; will relate the annals of their diseases, with the several symptoms and circumstances of them; will enumerate the hardships and injustice they have suffered in court, in parliament, in love, or in law. others are more dexterous, and with great art will lie on the watch to hook in their own praise. they will call a witness to remember they always foretold what would happen in such a case, but none would believe them; they advised such a man from the beginning, and told him the consequences just as they happened, but he would have his own way. others make a vanity of telling their faults. they are the strangest men in the world; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have lost abundance of advantages by it; but, if you would give them the world, they cannot help it; there is something in their nature that abhors insincerity and constraint; with many other unsufferable topics of the same altitude. of such mighty importance every man is to himself, and ready to think he is so to others, without once making this easy and obvious reflection, that his affairs can have no more weight with other men than theirs have with him; and how little that is he is sensible enough. where company hath met, i often have observed two persons discover by some accident that they were bred together at the same school or university, after which the rest are condemned to silence, and to listen while these two are refreshing each other's memory with the arch tricks and passages of themselves and their comrades. i know a great officer of the army, who will sit for some time with a supercilious and impatient silence, full of anger and contempt for those who are talking; at length of a sudden demand audience; decide the matter in a short dogmatical way; then withdraw within himself again, and vouchsafe to talk no more, until his spirits circulate again to the same point. there are some faults in conversation which none are so subject to as the men of wit, nor ever so much as when they are with each other. if they have opened their mouths without endeavouring to say a witty thing, they think it is so many words lost. it is a torment to the hearers, as much as to themselves, to see them upon the rack for invention, and in perpetual constraint, with so little success. they must do something extraordinary, in order to acquit themselves, and answer their character, else the standers by may be disappointed and be apt to think them only like the rest of mortals. i have known two men of wit industriously brought together, in order to entertain the company, where they have made a very ridiculous figure, and provided all the mirth at their own expense. i know a man of wit, who is never easy but where he can be allowed to dictate and preside; he neither expecteth to be informed or entertained, but to display his own talents. his business is to be good company, and not good conversation, and therefore he chooseth to frequent those who are content to listen, and profess themselves his admirers. and, indeed, the worst conversation i ever remember to have heard in my life was that at will's coffee-house, where the wits, as they were called, used formerly to assemble; that is to say, five or six men who had written plays, or at least prologues, or had share in a miscellany, came thither, and entertained one another with their trifling composures in so important an air, as if they had been the noblest efforts of human nature, or that the fate of kingdoms depended on them; and they were usually attended with a humble audience of young students from the inns of courts, or the universities, who, at due distance, listened to these oracles, and returned home with great contempt for their law and philosophy, their heads filled with trash under the name of politeness, criticism, and belles lettres. by these means the poets, for many years past, were all overrun with pedantry. for, as i take it, the word is not properly used; because pedantry is the too front or unseasonable obtruding our own knowledge in common discourse, and placing too great a value upon it; by which definition men of the court or the army may be as guilty of pedantry as a philosopher or a divine; and it is the same vice in women when they are over copious upon the subject of their petticoats, or their fans, or their china. for which reason, although it be a piece of prudence, as well as good manners, to put men upon talking on subjects they are best versed in, yet that is a liberty a wise man could hardly take; because, beside the imputation of pedantry, it is what he would never improve by. this great town is usually provided with some player, mimic, or buffoon, who hath a general reception at the good tables; familiar and domestic with persons of the first quality, and usually sent for at every meeting to divert the company, against which i have no objection. you go there as to a farce or a puppet-show; your business is only to laugh in season, either out of inclination or civility, while this merry companion is acting his part. it is a business he hath undertaken, and we are to suppose he is paid for his day's work. i only quarrel when in select and private meetings, where men of wit and learning are invited to pass an evening, this jester should be admitted to run over his circle of tricks, and make the whole company unfit for any other conversation, besides the indignity of confounding men's talents at so shameful a rate. raillery is the finest part of conversation; but, as it is our usual custom to counterfeit and adulterate whatever is too dear for us, so we have done with this, and turned it all into what is generally called repartee, or being smart; just as when an expensive fashion cometh up, those who are not able to reach it content themselves with some paltry imitation. it now passeth for raillery to run a man down in discourse, to put him out of countenance, and make him ridiculous, sometimes to expose the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasions he is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not being able to take a jest. it is admirable to observe one who is dexterous at this art, singling out a weak adversary, getting the laugh on his side, and then carrying all before him. the french, from whom we borrow the word, have a quite different idea of the thing, and so had we in the politer age of our fathers. raillery was, to say something that at first appeared a reproach or reflection, but, by some turn of wit unexpected and surprising, ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the person it was addressed to. and surely one of the best rules in conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can reasonably wish we had rather left unsaid; nor can there anything be well more contrary to the ends for which people meet together, than to part unsatisfied with each other or themselves. there are two faults in conversation which appear very different, yet arise from the same root, and are equally blamable; i mean, an impatience to interrupt others, and the uneasiness of being interrupted ourselves. the two chief ends of conversation are, to entertain and improve those we are among, or to receive those benefits ourselves; which whoever will consider, cannot easily run into either of those two errors; because, when any man speaketh in company, it is to be supposed he doth it for his hearers' sake, and not his own; so that common discretion will teach us not to force their attention, if they are not willing to lend it; nor, on the other side, to interrupt him who is in possession, because that is in the grossest manner to give the preference to our own good sense. there are some people whose good manners will not suffer them to interrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, will discover abundance of impatience, and lie upon the watch until you have done, because they have started something in their own thoughts which they long to be delivered of. meantime, they are so far from regarding what passes, that their imaginations are wholly turned upon what they have in reserve, for fear it should slip out of their memory; and thus they confine their invention, which might otherwise range over a hundred things full as good, and that might be much more naturally introduced. there is a sort of rude familiarity, which some people, by practising among their intimates, have introduced into their general conversation, and would have it pass for innocent freedom or humour, which is a dangerous experiment in our northern climate, where all the little decorum and politeness we have are purely forced by art, and are so ready to lapse into barbarity. this, among the romans, was the raillery of slaves, of which we have many instances in plautus. it seemeth to have been introduced among us by cromwell, who, by preferring the scum of the people, made it a court-entertainment, of which i have heard many particulars; and, considering all things were turned upside down, it was reasonable and judicious; although it was a piece of policy found out to ridicule a point of honour in the other extreme, when the smallest word misplaced among gentlemen ended in a duel. there are some men excellent at telling a story, and provided with a plentiful stock of them, which they can draw out upon occasion in all companies; and considering how low conversation runs now among us, it is not altogether a contemptible talent; however, it is subject to two unavoidable defects: frequent repetition, and being soon exhausted; so that whoever valueth this gift in himself hath need of a good memory, and ought frequently to shift his company, that he may not discover the weakness of his fund; for those who are thus endowed have seldom any other revenue, but live upon the main stock. great speakers in public are seldom agreeable in private conversation, whether their faculty be natural, or acquired by practice and often venturing. natural elocution, although it may seem a paradox, usually springeth from a barrenness of invention and of words, by which men who have only one stock of notions upon every subject, and one set of phrases to express them in, they swim upon the superficies, and offer themselves on every occasion; therefore, men of much learning, and who know the compass of a language, are generally the worst talkers on a sudden, until much practice hath inured and emboldened them; because they are confounded with plenty of matter, variety of notions, and of words, which they cannot readily choose, but are perplexed and entangled by too great a choice, which is no disadvantage in private conversation; where, on the other side, the talent of haranguing is, of all others, most insupportable. nothing hath spoiled men more for conversation than the character of being wits; to support which, they never fail of encouraging a number of followers and admirers, who list themselves in their service, wherein they find their accounts on both sides by pleasing their mutual vanity. this hath given the former such an air of superiority, and made the latter so pragmatical, that neither of them are well to be endured. i say nothing here of the itch of dispute and contradiction, telling of lies, or of those who are troubled with the disease called the wandering of the thoughts, that they are never present in mind at what passeth in discourse; for whoever labours under any of these possessions is as unfit for conversation as madmen in bedlam. i think i have gone over most of the errors in conversation that have fallen under my notice or memory, except some that are merely personal, and others too gross to need exploding; such as lewd or profane talk; but i pretend only to treat the errors of conversation in general, and not the several subjects of discourse, which would be infinite. thus we see how human nature is most debased, by the abuse of that faculty, which is held the great distinction between men and brutes; and how little advantage we make of that which might be the greatest, the most lasting, and the most innocent, as well as useful pleasure of life: in default of which, we are forced to take up with those poor amusements of dress and visiting, or the more pernicious ones of play, drink, and vicious amours, whereby the nobility and gentry of both sexes are entirely corrupted both in body and mind, and have lost all notions of love, honour, friendship, and generosity; which, under the name of fopperies, have been for some time laughed out of doors. this degeneracy of conversation, with the pernicious consequences thereof upon our humours and dispositions, hath been owing, among other causes, to the custom arisen, for some time past, of excluding women from any share in our society, further than in parties at play, or dancing, or in the pursuit of an amour. i take the highest period of politeness in england (and it is of the same date in france) to have been the peaceable part of king charles i.'s reign; and from what we read of those times, as well as from the accounts i have formerly met with from some who lived in that court, the methods then used for raising and cultivating conversation were altogether different from ours; several ladies, whom we find celebrated by the poets of that age, had assemblies at their houses, where persons of the best understanding, and of both sexes, met to pass the evenings in discoursing upon whatever agreeable subjects were occasionally started; and although we are apt to ridicule the sublime platonic notions they had, or personated in love and friendship, i conceive their refinements were grounded upon reason, and that a little grain of the romance is no ill ingredient to preserve and exalt the dignity of human nature, without which it is apt to degenerate into everything that is sordid, vicious, and low. if there were no other use in the conversation of ladies, it is sufficient that it would lay a restraint upon those odious topics of immodesty and indecencies, into which the rudeness of our northern genius is so apt to fall. and, therefore, it is observable in those sprightly gentlemen about the town, who are so very dexterous at entertaining a vizard mask in the park or the playhouse, that, in the company of ladies of virtue and honour, they are silent and disconcerted, and out of their element. there are some people who think they sufficiently acquit themselves and entertain their company with relating of facts of no consequence, nor at all out of the road of such common incidents as happen every day; and this i have observed more frequently among the scots than any other nation, who are very careful not to omit the minutest circumstances of time or place; which kind of discourse, if it were not a little relieved by the uncouth terms and phrases, as well as accent and gesture peculiar to that country, would be hardly tolerable. it is not a fault in company to talk much; but to continue it long is certainly one; for, if the majority of those who are got together be naturally silent or cautious, the conversation will flag, unless it be often renewed by one among them who can start new subjects, provided he doth not dwell upon them, but leaveth room for answers and replies. thoughts on various subjects. we have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another. reflect on things past as wars, negotiations, factions, etc. we enter so little into those interests, that we wonder how men could possibly be so busy and concerned for things so transitory; look on the present times, we find the same humour, yet wonder not at all. a wise man endeavours, by considering all circumstances, to make conjectures and form conclusions; but the smallest accident intervening (and in the course of affairs it is impossible to foresee all) does often produce such turns and changes, that at last he is just as much in doubt of events as the most ignorant and inexperienced person. positiveness is a good quality for preachers and orators, because he that would obtrude his thoughts and reasons upon a multitude, will convince others the more, as he appears convinced himself. how is it possible to expect that mankind will take advice, when they will not so much as take warning? i forget whether advice be among the lost things which aristo says are to be found in the moon; that and time ought to have been there. no preacher is listened to but time, which gives us the same train and turn of thought that older people have tried in vain to put into our heads before. when we desire or solicit anything, our minds run wholly on the good side or circumstances of it; when it is obtained, our minds run wholly on the bad ones. in a glass-house the workmen often fling in a small quantity of fresh coals, which seems to disturb the fire, but very much enlivens it. this seems to allude to a gentle stirring of the passions, that the mind may not languish. religion seems to have grown an infant with age, and requires miracles to nurse it, as it had in its infancy. all fits of pleasure are balanced by an equal degree of pain or languor; it is like spending this year part of the next year's revenue. the latter part of a wise man's life is taken up in curing the follies, prejudices, and false opinions he had contracted in the former. would a writer know how to behave himself with relation to posterity, let him consider in old books what he finds that he is glad to know, and what omissions he most laments. whatever the poets pretend, it is plain they give immortality to none but themselves; it is homer and virgil we reverence and admire, not achilles or aeneas. with historians it is quite the contrary; our thoughts are taken up with the actions, persons, and events we read, and we little regard the authors. when a true genius appears in the world you may know him by this sign; that the dunces are all in confederacy against him. men who possess all the advantages of life, are in a state where there are many accidents to disorder and discompose, but few to please them. it is unwise to punish cowards with ignominy, for if they had regarded that they would not have been cowards; death is their proper punishment, because they fear it most. the greatest inventions were produced in the times of ignorance, as the use of the compass, gunpowder, and printing, and by the dullest nation, as the germans. one argument to prove that the common relations of ghosts and spectres are generally false, may be drawn from the opinion held that spirits are never seen by more than one person at a time; that is to say, it seldom happens to above one person in a company to be possessed with any high degree of spleen or melancholy. i am apt to think that, in the day of judgment, there will be small allowance given to the wise for their want of morals, nor to the ignorant for their want of faith, because both are without excuse. this renders the advantages equal of ignorance and knowledge. but, some scruples in the wise, and some vices in the ignorant, will perhaps be forgiven upon the strength of temptation to each. the value of several circumstances in story lessens very much by distance of time, though some minute circumstances are very valuable; and it requires great judgment in a writer to distinguish. it is grown a word of course for writers to say, "this critical age," as divines say, "this sinful age." it is pleasant to observe how free the present age is in laying taxes on the next. _future ages shall talk of this_; _this shall be famous to all posterity_. whereas their time and thoughts will be taken up about present things, as ours are now. the chameleon, who is said to feed upon nothing but air, hath, of all animals, the nimblest tongue. when a man is made a spiritual peer he loses his surname; when a temporal, his christian name. it is in disputes as in armies, where the weaker side sets up false lights, and makes a great noise, to make the enemy believe them more numerous and strong than they really are. some men, under the notions of weeding out prejudices, eradicate virtue, honesty, and religion. in all well-instituted commonwealths, care has been taken to limit men's possessions; which is done for many reasons, and among the rest, for one which perhaps is not often considered: that when bounds are set to men's desires, after they have acquired as much as the laws will permit them, their private interest is at an end, and they have nothing to do but to take care of the public. there are but three ways for a man to revenge himself of the censure of the world: to despise it, to return the like, or to endeavour to live so as to avoid it. the first of these is usually pretended, the last is almost impossible; the universal practice is for the second. i never heard a finer piece of satire against lawyers than that of astrologers, when they pretend by rules of art to tell when a suit will end, and whether to the advantage of the plaintiff or defendant; thus making the matter depend entirely upon the influence of the stars, without the least regard to the merits of the cause. the expression in apocrypha about tobit and his dog following him i have often heard ridiculed, yet homer has the same words of telemachus more than once; and virgil says something like it of evander. and i take the book of tobit to be partly poetical. i have known some men possessed of good qualities, which were very serviceable to others, but useless to themselves; like a sun-dial on the front of a house, to inform the neighbours and passengers, but not the owner within. if a man would register all his opinions upon love, politics, religion, learning, etc., beginning from his youth and so go on to old age, what a bundle of inconsistencies and contradictions would appear at last! what they do in heaven we are ignorant of; what they do not we are told expressly: that they neither marry, nor are given in marriage. it is a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is the life of a spider. the stoical scheme of supplying our wants by lopping off our desires, is like cutting off our feet when we want shoes. physicians ought not to give their judgment of religion, for the same reason that butchers are not admitted to be jurors upon life and death. the reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages. if a man will observe as he walks the streets, i believe he will find the merriest countenances in mourning coaches. nothing more unqualifies a man to act with prudence than a misfortune that is attended with shame and guilt. the power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable; for the happy impute all their success to prudence or merit. ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed in the same posture with creeping. censure is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent. although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet perhaps as few know their own strength. it is, in men as in soils, where sometimes there is a vein of gold which the owner knows not of. satire is reckoned the easiest of all wit, but i take it to be otherwise in very bad times: for it is as hard to satirise well a man of distinguished vices, as to praise well a man of distinguished virtues. it is easy enough to do either to people of moderate characters. invention is the talent of youth, and judgment of age; so that our judgment grows harder to please, when we have fewer things to offer it: this goes through the whole commerce of life. when we are old, our friends find it difficult to please us, and are less concerned whether we be pleased or no. no wise man ever wished to be younger. an idle reason lessens the weight of the good ones you gave before. the motives of the best actions will not bear too strict an inquiry. it is allowed that the cause of most actions, good or bad, may he resolved into the love of ourselves; but the self-love of some men inclines them to please others, and the self-love of others is wholly employed in pleasing themselves. this makes the great distinction between virtue and vice. religion is the best motive of all actions, yet religion is allowed to be the highest instance of self-love. old men view best at a distance with the eyes of their understanding as well as with those of nature. some people take more care to hide their wisdom than their folly. anthony henley's farmer, dying of an asthma, said, "well, if i can get this breath once _out_, i'll take care it never got _in_ again." the humour of exploding many things under the name of trifles, fopperies, and only imaginary goods, is a very false proof either of wisdom or magnanimity, and a great check to virtuous actions. for instance, with regard to fame, there is in most people a reluctance and unwillingness to be forgotten. we observe, even among the vulgar, how fond they are to have an inscription over their grave. it requires but little philosophy to discover and observe that there is no intrinsic value in all this; however, if it be founded in our nature as an incitement to virtue, it ought not to be ridiculed. complaint is the largest tribute heaven receives, and the sincerest part of our devotion. the common fluency of speech in many men, and most women, is owing to a scarcity of matter, and a scarcity of words; for whoever is a master of language, and hath a mind full of ideas, will be apt, in speaking, to hesitate upon the choice of both; whereas common speakers have only one set of ideas, and one set of words to clothe them in, and these are always ready at the mouth. so people come faster out of a church when it is almost empty, than when a crowd is at the door. few are qualified to shine in company; but it is in most men's power to be agreeable. the reason, therefore, why conversation runs so low at present, is not the defect of understanding, but pride, vanity, ill-nature, affectation, singularity, positiveness, or some other vice, the effect of a wrong education. to be vain is rather a mark of humility than pride. vain men delight in telling what honours have been done them, what great company they have kept, and the like, by which they plainly confess that these honours were more than their due, and such as their friends would not believe if they had not been told: whereas a man truly proud thinks the greatest honours below his merit, and consequently scorns to boast. i therefore deliver it as a maxim, that whoever desires the character of a proud man, ought to conceal his vanity. law, in a free country, is, or ought to be, the determination of the majority of those who have property in land. one argument used to the disadvantage of providence i take to be a very strong one in its defence. it is objected that storms and tempests, unfruitful seasons, serpents, spiders, flies, and other noxious or troublesome animals, with many more instances of the like kind, discover an imperfection in nature, because human life would be much easier without them; but the design of providence may clearly be perceived in this proceeding. the motions of the sun and moon--in short, the whole system of the universe, as far as philosophers have been able to discover and observe, are in the utmost degree of regularity and perfection; but wherever god hath left to man the power of interposing a remedy by thought or labour, there he hath placed things in a state of imperfection, on purpose to stir up human industry, without which life would stagnate, or, indeed, rather, could not subsist at all: _curis accuunt mortalia corda_. praise is the daughter of present power. how inconsistent is man with himself! i have known several persons of great fame for wisdom in public affairs and counsels governed by foolish servants. i have known great ministers, distinguished for wit and learning, who preferred none but dunces. i have known men of great valour cowards to their wives. i have known men of the greatest cunning perpetually cheated. i knew three great ministers, who could exactly compute and settle the accounts of a kingdom, but were wholly ignorant of their own economy. the preaching of divines helps to preserve well-inclined men in the course of virtue, but seldom or never reclaims the vicious. princes usually make wiser choices than the servants whom they trust for the disposal of places: i have known a prince, more than once, choose an able minister, but i never observed that minister to use his credit in the disposal of an employment to a person whom he thought the fittest for it. one of the greatest in this age owned and excused the matter from the violence of parties and the unreasonableness of friends. small causes are sufficient to make a man uneasy when great ones are not in the way. for want of a block he will stumble at a straw. dignity, high station, or great riches, are in some sort necessary to old men, in order to keep the younger at a distance, who are otherwise too apt to insult them upon the score of their age. every man desires to live long; but no man would be old. love of flattery in most men proceeds from the mean opinion they have of themselves; in women from the contrary. if books and laws continue to increase as they have done for fifty years past, i am in some concern for future ages how any man will be learned, or any man a lawyer. kings are commonly said to have _long hands_; i wish they had as _long ears_. princes in their infancy, childhood, and youth are said to discover prodigious parts and wit, to speak things that surprise and astonish. strange, so many hopeful princes, and so many shameful kings! if they happen to die young, they would have been prodigies of wisdom and virtue. if they live, they are often prodigies indeed, but of another sort. politics, as the word is commonly understood, are nothing but corruptions, and consequently of no use to a good king or a good ministry; for which reason courts are so overrun with politics. a nice man is a man of nasty ideas. apollo was held the god of physic and sender of diseases. both were originally the same trade, and still continue. old men and comets have been reverenced for the same reason: their long beards, and pretences to foretell events. a person was asked at court, what he thought of an ambassador and his train, who were all embroidery and lace, full of bows, cringes, and gestures; he said, it was solomon's importation, gold and apes. most sorts of diversion in men, children, and other animals, is an imitation of fighting. augustus meeting an ass with a lucky name foretold himself good fortune. i meet many asses, but none of them have lucky names. if a man makes me keep my distance, the comfort is he keeps his at the same time. who can deny that all men are violent lovers of truth when we see them so positive in their errors, which they will maintain out of their zeal to truth, although they contradict themselves every day of their lives? that was excellently observed, say i, when i read a passage in an author, where his opinion agrees with mine. when we differ, there i pronounce him to be mistaken. very few men, properly speaking, live at present, but are providing to live another time. laws penned with the utmost care and exactness, and in the vulgar language, are often perverted to wrong meanings; then why should we wonder that the bible is so? although men are accused for not knowing their weakness, yet perhaps as few know their own strength. a man seeing a wasp creeping into a vial filled with honey, that was hung on a fruit tree, said thus: "why, thou sottish animal, art thou mad to go into that vial, where you see many hundred of your kind there dying in it before you?" "the reproach is just," answered the wasp, "but not from you men, who are so far from taking example by other people's follies, that you will not take warning by your own. if after falling several times into this vial, and escaping by chance, i should fall in again, i should then but resemble you." an old miser kept a tame jackdaw, that used to steal pieces of money, and hide them in a hole, which the cat observing, asked why he would hoard up those round shining things that he could make no use of? "why," said the jackdaw, "my master has a whole chest full, and makes no more use of them than i." men are content to be laughed at for their wit, but not for their folly. if the men of wit and genius would resolve never to complain in their works of critics and detractors, the next age would not know that they ever had any. after all the maxims and systems of trade and commerce, a stander-by would think the affairs of the world were most ridiculously contrived. there are few countries which, if well cultivated, would not support double the number of their inhabitants, and yet fewer where one-third of the people are not extremely stinted even in the necessaries of life. i send out twenty barrels of corn, which would maintain a family in bread for a year, and i bring back in return a vessel of wine, which half a dozen good follows would drink in less than a month, at the expense of their health and reason. a man would have but few spectators, if he offered to show for threepence how he could thrust a red-hot iron into a barrel of gunpowder, and it should not take fire. footnotes: { } two puppet-show men. { } the house-keeper. { } the butler. { } the footman. { } the priest his confessor. headlong hall by thomas love peacock contents preface i. the mail ii. the squire--the breakfast iii. the arrivals iv. the grounds v. the dinner vi. the evening vii. the walk viii. the tower ix. the sexton x. the skull xi. the anniversary xii. the lecture xiii. the ball xiv. the proposals xv. the conclusion all philosophers, who find some favourite system to their mind, in every point to make it fit, will force all nature to submit. p r e f a c e to "headlong hall" and the three novels published along with it in . -------- all these little publications appeared originally without prefaces. i left them to speak for themselves; and i thought i might very fitly preserve my own impersonality, having never intruded on the personality of others, nor taken any liberties but with public conduct and public opinions. but an old friend assures me, that to publish a book without a preface is like entering a drawing-room without making a bow. in deference to this opinion, though i am not quite clear of its soundness, i make my prefatory bow at this eleventh hour. "headlong hall" was written in ; "nightmare abbey" in ; "maid marian", with the exception of the last three chapters, in ; "crotchet castle" in . i am desirous to note the intervals, because, at each of those periods, things were true, in great matters and in small, which are true no longer. "headlong hall" begins with the holyhead mail, and "crotchet castle" ends with a rotten borough. the holyhead mail no longer keeps the same hours, nor stops at the capel cerig inn, which the progress of improvement has thrown out of the road; and the rotten boroughs of have ceased to exist, though there are some very pretty pocket properties, which are their worthy successors. but the classes of tastes, feelings, and opinions, which were successively brought into play in these little tales, remain substantially the same. perfectibilians, deteriorationists, statu-quo-ites, phrenologists, transcendentalists, political economists, theorists in all sciences, projectors in all arts, morbid visionaries, romantic enthusiasts, lovers of music, lovers of the picturesque, and lovers of good dinners, march, and will march for ever, _pari passu_ with the march of mechanics, which some facetiously call the march of the intellect. the fastidious in old wine are a race that does not decay. literary violators of the confidences of private life still gain a disreputable livelihood and an unenviable notoriety. match-makers from interest, and the disappointed in love and in friendship, are varieties of which specimens are extant. the great principle of the right of might is as flourishing now as in the days of maid marian: the array of false pretensions, moral, political, and literary, is as imposing as ever: the rulers of the world still feel things in their effects, and never foresee them in their causes: and political mountebanks continue, and will continue, to puff nostrums and practise legerdemain under the eyes of the multitude: following, like the "learned friend" of crotchet castle, a course as tortuous as that of a river, but in a reverse process; beginning by being dark and deep, and ending by being transparent. the author of "headlong hall". _march_ , . h e a d l o n g h a l l ---*--- chapter i the mail the ambiguous light of a december morning, peeping through the windows of the holyhead mail, dispelled the soft visions of the four insides, who had slept, or seemed to sleep, through the first seventy miles of the road, with as much comfort as may be supposed consistent with the jolting of the vehicle, and an occasional admonition to _remember the coachman_, thundered through the open door, accompanied by the gentle breath of boreas, into the ears of the drowsy traveller. a lively remark, that _the day was none of the finest_, having elicited a repartee of _quite the contrary_, the various knotty points of meteorology, which usually form the exordium of an english conversation, were successively discussed and exhausted; and, the ice being thus broken, the colloquy rambled to other topics, in the course of which it appeared, to the surprise of every one, that all four, though perfect strangers to each other, were actually bound to the same point, namely, headlong hall, the seat of the ancient and honourable family of the headlongs, of the vale of llanberris, in caernarvonshire. this name may appear at first sight not to be truly cambrian, like those of the rices, and prices, and morgans, and owens, and williamses, and evanses, and parrys, and joneses; but, nevertheless, the headlongs claim to be not less genuine derivatives from the antique branch of cadwallader than any of the last named multiramified families. they claim, indeed, by one account, superior antiquity to all of them, and even to cadwallader himself, a tradition having been handed down in headlong hall for some few thousand years, that the founder of the family was preserved in the deluge on the summit of snowdon, and took the name of rhaiader, which signifies a _waterfall_, in consequence of his having accompanied the water in its descent or diminution, till he found himself comfortably seated on the rocks of llanberris. but, in later days, when commercial bagmen began to scour the country, the ambiguity of the sound induced his descendants to drop the suspicious denomination of _riders_, and translate the word into english; when, not being well pleased with the sound of the _thing_, they substituted that of the _quality_, and accordingly adopted the name _headlong_, the appropriate epithet of waterfall. i cannot tell how the truth may be: i say the tale as 'twas said to me. the present representative of this ancient and dignified house, harry headlong, esquire, was, like all other welsh squires, fond of shooting, hunting, racing, drinking, and other such innocent amusements, _meizonos d' allou tinos_, as menander expresses it. but, unlike other welsh squires, he had actually suffered certain phenomena, called books, to find their way into his house; and, by dint of lounging over them after dinner, on those occasions when he was compelled to take his bottle alone, he became seized with a violent passion to be thought a philosopher and a man of taste; and accordingly set off on an expedition to oxford, to inquire for other varieties of the same genera, namely, men of taste and philosophers; but, being assured by a learned professor that there were no such things in the university, he proceeded to london, where, after beating up in several booksellers' shops, theatres, exhibition-rooms, and other resorts of literature and taste, he formed as extensive an acquaintance with philosophers and dilettanti as his utmost ambition could desire: and it now became his chief wish to have them all together in headlong hall, arguing, over his old port and burgundy, the various knotty points which had puzzled his pericranium. he had, therefore, sent them invitations in due form to pass their christmas at headlong hall; which invitations the extensive fame of his kitchen fire had induced the greater part of them to accept; and four of the chosen guests had, from different parts of the metropolis, ensconced themselves in the four corners of the holyhead mail. these four persons were, mr foster[ . ], the perfectibilian; mr escot[ . ], the deteriorationist; mr jenkison[ . ], the statu-quo-ite; and the reverend doctor gaster[ . ], who, though of course neither a philosopher nor a man of taste, had so won on the squire's fancy, by a learned dissertation on the art of stuffing a turkey, that he concluded no christmas party would be complete without him. the conversation among these illuminati soon became animated; and mr foster, who, we must observe, was a thin gentleman, about thirty years of age, with an aquiline nose, black eyes, white teeth, and black hair--took occasion to panegyrize the vehicle in which they were then travelling, and observed what remarkable improvements had been made in the means of facilitating intercourse between distant parts of the kingdom: he held forth with great energy on the subject of roads and railways, canals and tunnels, manufactures and machinery: "in short," said he, "every thing we look on attests the progress of mankind in all the arts of life, and demonstrates their gradual advancement towards a state of unlimited perfection." mr escot, who was somewhat younger than mr foster, but rather more pale and saturnine in his aspect, here took up the thread of the discourse, observing, that the proposition just advanced seemed to him perfectly contrary to the true state of the case: "for," said he, "these improvements, as you call them, appear to me only so many links in the great chain of corruption, which will soon fetter the whole human race in irreparable slavery and incurable wretchedness: your improvements proceed in a simple ratio, while the factitious wants and unnatural appetites they engender proceed in a compound one; and thus one generation acquires fifty wants, and fifty means of supplying them are invented, which each in its turn engenders two new ones; so that the next generation has a hundred, the next two hundred, the next four hundred, till every human being becomes such a helpless compound of perverted inclinations, that he is altogether at the mercy of external circumstances, loses all independence and singleness of character, and degenerates so rapidly from the primitive dignity of his sylvan origin, that it is scarcely possible to indulge in any other expectation, than that the whole species must at length be exterminated by its own infinite imbecility and vileness." "your opinions," said mr jenkison, a round-faced little gentleman of about forty-five, "seem to differ _toto coelo_. i have often debated the matter in my own mind, _pro_ and _con_, and have at length arrived at this conclusion,--that there is not in the human race a tendency either to moral perfectibility or deterioration; but that the quantities of each are so exactly balanced by their reciprocal results, that the species, with respect to the sum of good and evil, knowledge and ignorance, happiness and misery, remains exactly and perpetually _in statu quo_." "surely," said mr foster, "you cannot maintain such a proposition in the face of evidence so luminous. look at the progress of all the arts and sciences,--see chemistry, botany, astronomy----" "surely," said mr escot, "experience deposes against you. look at the rapid growth of corruption, luxury, selfishness----" "really, gentlemen," said the reverend doctor gaster, after clearing the husk in his throat with two or three hems, "this is a very sceptical, and, i must say, atheistical conversation, and i should have thought, out of respect to my cloth----" here the coach stopped, and the coachman, opening the door, vociferated--"breakfast, gentlemen;" a sound which so gladdened the ears of the divine, that the alacrity with which he sprang from the vehicle superinduced a distortion of his ankle, and he was obliged to limp into the inn between mr escot and mr jenkison; the former observing, that he ought to look for nothing but evil, and, therefore, should not be surprised at this little accident; the latter remarking, that the comfort of a good breakfast, and the pain of a sprained ankle, pretty exactly balanced each other. chapter ii the squire--the breakfast squire headlong, in the meanwhile, was quadripartite in his locality; that is to say, he was superintending the operations in four scenes of action--namely, the cellar, the library, the picture-gallery, and the dining-room,--preparing for the reception of his philosophical and dilettanti visitors. his myrmidon on this occasion was a little red-nosed butler, whom nature seemed to have cast in the genuine mould of an antique silenus, and who waddled about the house after his master, wiping his forehead and panting for breath, while the latter bounced from room to room like a cracker, and was indefatigable in his requisitions for the proximity of his vinous achates, whose advice and co-operation he deemed no less necessary in the library than in the cellar. multitudes of packages had arrived, by land and water, from london, and liverpool, and chester, and manchester, and birmingham, and various parts of the mountains: books, wine, cheese, globes, mathematical instruments, turkeys, telescopes, hams, tongues, microscopes, quadrants, sextants, fiddles, flutes, tea, sugar, electrical machines, figs, spices, air-pumps, soda-water, chemical apparatus, eggs, french-horns, drawing books, palettes, oils and colours, bottled ale and porter, scenery for a private theatre, pickles and fish-sauce, patent lamps and chandeliers, barrels of oysters, sofas, chairs, tables, carpets, beds, looking-glasses, pictures, fruits and confections, nuts, oranges, lemons, packages of salt salmon, and jars of portugal grapes. these, arriving with infinite rapidity, and in inexhaustible succession, had been deposited at random, as the convenience of the moment dictated,--sofas in the cellar, chandeliers in the kitchen, hampers of ale in the drawing-room, and fiddles and fish-sauce in the library. the servants, unpacking all these in furious haste, and flying with them from place to place, according to the tumultuous directions of squire headlong and the little fat butler who fumed at his heels, chafed, and crossed, and clashed, and tumbled over one another up stairs and down. all was bustle, uproar, and confusion; yet nothing seemed to advance: while the rage and impetuosity of the squire continued fermenting to the highest degree of exasperation, which he signified, from time to time, by converting some newly unpacked article, such as a book, a bottle, a ham, or a fiddle, into a missile against the head of some unfortunate servant who did not seem to move in a ratio of velocity corresponding to the intensity of his master's desires. in this state of eager preparation we shall leave the happy inhabitants of headlong hall, and return to the three philosophers and the unfortunate divine, whom we left limping with a sprained ankle, into the breakfast-room of the inn; where his two supporters deposited him safely in a large arm-chair, with his wounded leg comfortably stretched out on another. the morning being extremely cold, he contrived to be seated as near the fire as was consistent with his other object of having a perfect command of the table and its apparatus; which consisted not only of the ordinary comforts of tea and toast, but of a delicious supply of new-laid eggs, and a magnificent round of beef; against which mr escot immediately pointed all the artillery of his eloquence, declaring the use of animal food, conjointly with that of fire, to be one of the principal causes of the present degeneracy of mankind. "the natural and original man," said he, "lived in the woods: the roots and fruits of the earth supplied his simple nutriment: he had few desires, and no diseases. but, when he began to sacrifice victims on the altar of superstition, to pursue the goat and the deer, and, by the pernicious invention of fire, to pervert their flesh into food, luxury, disease, and premature death, were let loose upon the world. such is clearly the correct interpretation of the fable of prometheus, which is the symbolical portraiture of that disastrous epoch, when man first applied fire to culinary purposes, and thereby surrendered his liver to the vulture of disease. from that period the stature of mankind has been in a state of gradual diminution, and i have not the least doubt that it will continue to grow _small by degrees, and lamentably less_, till the whole race will vanish imperceptibly from the face of the earth." "i cannot agree," said mr foster, "in the consequences being so very disastrous. i admit, that in some respects the use of animal food retards, though it cannot materially inhibit, the perfectibility of the species. but the use of fire was indispensably necessary, as aeschylus and virgil expressly assert, to give being to the various arts of life, which, in their rapid and interminable progress, will finally conduct every individual of the race to the philosophic pinnacle of pure and perfect felicity." "in the controversy concerning animal and vegetable food," said mr jenkison, "there is much to be said on both sides; and, the question being in equipoise, i content myself with a mixed diet, and make a point of eating whatever is placed before me, provided it be good in its kind." in this opinion his two brother philosophers practically coincided, though they both ran down the theory as highly detrimental to the best interests of man. "i am really astonished," said the reverend doctor gaster, gracefully picking off the supernal fragments of an egg he had just cracked, and clearing away a space at the top for the reception of a small piece of butter--"i am really astonished, gentlemen, at the very heterodox opinions i have heard you deliver: since nothing can be more obvious than that all animals were created solely and exclusively for the use of man." "even the tiger that devours him?" said mr escot. "certainly," said doctor gaster. "how do you prove it?" said mr escot. "it requires no proof," said doctor gaster: "it is a point of doctrine. it is written, therefore it is so." "nothing can be more logical," said mr jenkison. "it has been said," continued he, "that the ox was expressly made to be eaten by man: it may be said, by a parity of reasoning, that man was expressly made to be eaten by the tiger: but as wild oxen exist where there are no men, and men where there are no tigers, it would seem that in these instances they do not properly answer the ends of their creation." "it is a mystery," said doctor gaster. "not to launch into the question of final causes," said mr escot, helping himself at the same time to a slice of beef, "concerning which i will candidly acknowledge i am as profoundly ignorant as the most dogmatical theologian possibly can be, i just wish to observe, that the pure and peaceful manners which homer ascribes to the lotophagi, and which at this day characterise many nations (the hindoos, for example, who subsist exclusively on the fruits of the earth), depose very strongly in favour of a vegetable regimen." "it may be said, on the contrary," said mr foster, "that animal food acts on the mind as manure does on flowers, forcing them into a degree of expansion they would not otherwise have attained. if we can imagine a philosophical auricula falling into a train of theoretical meditation on its original and natural nutriment, till it should work itself up into a profound abomination of bullock's blood, sugar-baker's scum, and other _unnatural_ ingredients of that rich composition of soil which had brought it to perfection[ . ], and insist on being planted in common earth, it would have all the advantage of natural theory on its side that the most strenuous advocate of the vegetable system could desire; but it would soon discover the practical error of its retrograde experiment by its lamentable inferiority in strength and beauty to all the auriculas around it. i am afraid, in some instances at least, this analogy holds true with respect to mind. no one will make a comparison, in point of mental power, between the hindoos and the ancient greeks." "the anatomy of the human stomach," said mr escot, "and the formation of the teeth, clearly place man in the class of frugivorous animals." "many anatomists," said mr foster, "are of a different opinion, and agree in discerning the characteristics of the carnivorous classes." "i am no anatomist," said mr jenkison, "and cannot decide where doctors disagree; in the meantime, i conclude that man is omnivorous, and on that conclusion i act." "your conclusion is truly orthodox," said the reverend doctor gaster: "indeed, the loaves and fishes are typical of a mixed diet; and the practice of the church in all ages shows----" "that it never loses sight of the loaves and fishes," said mr escot. "it never loses sight of any point of sound doctrine," said the reverend doctor. the coachman now informed them their time was elapsed; nor could all the pathetic remonstrances of the reverend divine, who declared he had not half breakfasted, succeed in gaining one minute from the inexorable jehu. "you will allow," said mr foster, as soon as they were again in motion, "that the wild man of the woods could not transport himself over two hundred miles of forest, with as much facility as one of these vehicles transports you and me through the heart of this cultivated country." "i am certain," said mr escot, "that a wild man can travel an immense distance without fatigue; but what is the advantage of locomotion? the wild man is happy in one spot, and there he remains: the civilised man is wretched in every place he happens to be in, and then congratulates himself on being accommodated with a machine, that will whirl him to another, where he will be just as miserable as ever." we shall now leave the mail-coach to find its way to capel cerig, the nearest point of the holyhead road to the dwelling of squire headlong. chapter iii the arrivals in the midst of that scene of confusion thrice confounded, in which we left the inhabitants of headlong hall, arrived the lovely caprioletta headlong, the squire's sister (whom he had sent for, from the residence of her maiden aunt at caernarvon, to do the honours of his house), beaming like light on chaos, to arrange disorder and harmonise discord. the tempestuous spirit of her brother became instantaneously as smooth as the surface of the lake of llanberris; and the little fat butler "plessed cot, and st tafit, and the peautiful tamsel," for being permitted to move about the house in his natural pace. in less than twenty-four hours after her arrival, everything was disposed in its proper station, and the squire began to be all impatience for the appearance of his promised guests. the first visitor with whom he had the felicity of shaking hands was marmaduke milestone, esquire, who arrived with a portfolio under his arm. mr milestone[ . ] was a picturesque landscape gardener of the first celebrity, who was not without hopes of persuading squire headlong to put his romantic pleasure-grounds under a process of improvement, promising himself a signal triumph for his incomparable art in the difficult and, therefore, glorious achievement of polishing and trimming the rocks of llanberris. next arrived a post-chaise from the inn at capel cerig, containing the reverend doctor gaster. it appeared, that, when the mail-coach deposited its valuable cargo, early on the second morning, at the inn at capel cerig, there was only one post-chaise to be had; it was therefore determined that the reverend doctor and the luggage should proceed in the chaise, and that the three philosophers should walk. when the reverend gentleman first seated himself in the chaise, the windows were down all round; but he allowed it to drive off under the idea that he could easily pull them up. this task, however, he had considerable difficulty in accomplishing, and when he had succeeded, it availed him little; for the frames and glasses had long since discontinued their ancient familiarity. he had, however, no alternative but to proceed, and to comfort himself, as he went, with some choice quotations from the book of job. the road led along the edges of tremendous chasms, with torrents dashing in the bottom; so that, if his teeth had not chattered with cold, they would have done so with fear. the squire shook him heartily by the hand, and congratulated him on his safe arrival at headlong hall. the doctor returned the squeeze, and assured him that the congratulation was by no means misapplied. next came the three philosophers, highly delighted with their walk, and full of rapturous exclamations on the sublime beauties of the scenery. the doctor shrugged up his shoulders, and confessed he preferred the scenery of putney and kew, where a man could go comfortably to sleep in his chaise, without being in momentary terror of being hurled headlong down a precipice. mr milestone observed, that there were great capabilities in the scenery, but it wanted shaving and polishing. if he could but have it under his care for a single twelvemonth, he assured them no one would be able to know it again. mr jenkison thought the scenery was just what it ought to be, and required no alteration. mr foster thought it could be improved, but doubted if that effect would be produced by the system of mr milestone. mr escot did not think that any human being could improve it, but had no doubt of its having changed very considerably for the worse, since the days when the now barren rocks were covered with the immense forest of snowdon, which must have contained a very fine race of wild men, not less than ten feet high. the next arrival was that of mr cranium, and his lovely daughter miss cephalis cranium, who flew to the arms of her dear friend caprioletta, with all that warmth of friendship which young ladies usually assume towards each other in the presence of young gentlemen.[ . ] miss cephalis blushed like a carnation at the sight of mr escot, and mr escot glowed like a corn-poppy at the sight of miss cephalis. it was at least obvious to all observers, that he could imagine the possibility of one change for the better, even in this terrestrial theatre of universal deterioration. mr cranium's eyes wandered from mr escot to his daughter, and from his daughter to mr escot; and his complexion, in the course of the scrutiny, underwent several variations, from the dark red of the peony to the deep blue of the convolvulus. mr escot had formerly been the received lover of miss cephalis, till he incurred the indignation of her father by laughing at a very profound craniological dissertation which the old gentleman delivered; nor had mr escot yet discovered the means of mollifying his wrath. mr cranium carried in his own hands a bag, the contents of which were too precious to be intrusted to any one but himself; and earnestly entreated to be shown to the chamber appropriated for his reception, that he might deposit his treasure in safety. the little butler was accordingly summoned to conduct him to his _cubiculum_. next arrived a post-chaise, carrying four insides, whose extreme thinness enabled them to travel thus economically without experiencing the slightest inconvenience. these four personages were, two very profound critics, mr gall and mr treacle, who followed the trade of reviewers, but occasionally indulged themselves in the composition of bad poetry; and two very multitudinous versifiers, mr nightshade and mr mac laurel, who followed the trade of poetry, but occasionally indulged themselves in the composition of bad criticism. mr nightshade and mr mac laurel were the two senior lieutenants of a very formidable corps of critics, of whom timothy treacle, esquire, was captain, and geoffrey gall, esquire, generalissimo. the last arrivals were mr cornelius chromatic, the most profound and scientific of all amateurs of the fiddle, with his two blooming daughters, miss tenorina and miss graziosa; sir patrick o'prism, a dilettante painter of high renown, and his maiden aunt, miss philomela poppyseed, an indefatigable compounder of novels, written for the express purpose of supporting every species of superstition and prejudice; and mr panscope, the chemical, botanical, geological, astronomical, mathematical, metaphysical, meteorological, anatomical, physiological, galvanistical, musical, pictorial, bibliographical, critical philosopher, who had run through the whole circle of the sciences, and understood them all equally well. mr milestone was impatient to take a walk round the grounds, that he might examine how far the system of clumping and levelling could be carried advantageously into effect. the ladies retired to enjoy each other's society in the first happy moments of meeting: the reverend doctor gaster sat by the library fire, in profound meditation over a volume of the "_almanach des gourmands_:" mr panscope sat in the opposite corner with a volume of rees' cyclopaedia: mr cranium was busy upstairs: mr chromatic retreated to the music-room, where he fiddled through a book of solos before the ringing of the first dinner bell. the remainder of the party supported mr milestone's proposition; and, accordingly, squire headlong and mr milestone leading the van, they commenced their perambulation. chapter iv the grounds "i perceive," said mr milestone, after they had walked a few paces, "these grounds have never been touched by the finger of taste." "the place is quite a wilderness," said squire headlong: "for, during the latter part of my father's life, while i was _finishing_ my _education_, he troubled himself about nothing but the cellar, and suffered everything else to go to rack and ruin. a mere wilderness, as you see, even now in december; but in summer a complete nursery of briers, a forest of thistles, a plantation of nettles, without any live stock but goats, that have eaten up all the bark of the trees. here you see is the pedestal of a statue, with only half a leg and four toes remaining: there were many here once. when i was a boy, i used to sit every day on the shoulders of hercules: what became of _him_ i have never been able to ascertain. neptune has been lying these seven years in the dust-hole; atlas had his head knocked off to fit him for propping a shed; and only the day before yesterday we fished bacchus out of the horse-pond." "my dear sir," said mr milestone, "accord me your permission to wave the wand of enchantment over your grounds. the rocks shall be blown up, the trees shall be cut down, the wilderness and all its goats shall vanish like mist. pagodas and chinese bridges, gravel walks and shrubberies, bowling-greens, canals, and clumps of larch, shall rise upon its ruins. one age, sir, has brought to light the treasures of ancient learning; a second has penetrated into the depths of metaphysics; a third has brought to perfection the science of astronomy; but it was reserved for the exclusive genius of the present times, to invent the noble art of picturesque gardening, which has given, as it were, a new tint to the complexion of nature, and a new outline to the physiognomy of the universe!" "give me leave," said sir patrick o'prism, "to take an exception to that same. your system of levelling, and trimming, and clipping, and docking, and clumping, and polishing, and cropping, and shaving, destroys all the beautiful intricacies of natural luxuriance, and all the graduated harmonies of light and shade, melting into one another, as you see them on that rock over yonder. i never saw one of your improved places, as you call them, and which are nothing but big bowling-greens, like sheets of green paper, with a parcel of round clumps scattered over them, like so many spots of ink, flicked at random out of a pen,[ . ] and a solitary animal here and there looking as if it were lost, that i did not think it was for all the world like hounslow heath, thinly sprinkled over with bushes and highwaymen." "sir," said mr milestone, "you will have the goodness to make a distinction between the picturesque and the beautiful." "will i?" said sir patrick, "och! but i won't. for what is beautiful? that what pleases the eye. and what pleases the eye? tints variously broken and blended. now, tints variously broken and blended constitute the picturesque." "allow me," said mr gall. "i distinguish the picturesque and the beautiful, and i add to them, in the laying out of grounds, a third and distinct character, which i call _unexpectedness_." "pray, sir," said mr milestone, "by what name do you distinguish this character, when a person walks round the grounds for the second time?"[ . ] mr gall bit his lips, and inwardly vowed to revenge himself on milestone, by cutting up his next publication. a long controversy now ensued concerning the picturesque and the beautiful, highly edifying to squire headlong. the three philosophers stopped, as they wound round a projecting point of rock, to contemplate a little boat which was gliding over the tranquil surface of the lake below. "the blessings of civilisation," said mr foster, "extend themselves to the meanest individuals of the community. that boatman, singing as he sails along, is, i have no doubt, a very happy, and, comparatively to the men of his class some centuries back, a very enlightened and intelligent man." "as a partisan of the system of the moral perfectibility of the human race," said mr escot,--who was always for considering things on a large scale, and whose thoughts immediately wandered from the lake to the ocean, from the little boat to a ship of the line,--"you will probably be able to point out to me the degree of improvement that you suppose to have taken place in the character of a sailor, from the days when jason sailed through the cyanean symplegades, or noah moored his ark on the summit of ararat." "if you talk to me," said mr foster, "of mythological personages, of course i cannot meet you on fair grounds." "we will begin, if you please, then," said mr escot, "no further back than the battle of salamis; and i will ask you if you think the mariners of england are, in any one respect, morally or intellectually, superior to those who then preserved the liberties of greece, under the direction of themistocles?" "i will venture to assert," said mr foster, "that considered merely as sailors, which is the only fair mode of judging them, they are as far superior to the athenians, as the structure of our ships is superior to that of theirs. would not one english seventy-four, think you, have been sufficient to have sunk, burned, and put to flight, all the persian and grecian vessels in that memorable bay? contemplate the progress of naval architecture, and the slow, but immense succession of concatenated intelligence, by which it has gradually attained its present stage of perfectibility. in this, as in all other branches of art and science, every generation possesses all the knowledge of the preceding, and adds to it its own discoveries in a progression to which there seems no limit. the skill requisite to direct these immense machines is proportionate to their magnitude and complicated mechanism; and, therefore, the english sailor, considered merely as a sailor, is vastly superior to the ancient greek." "you make a distinction, of course," said mr escot, "between scientific and moral perfectibility?" "i conceive," said mr foster, "that men are virtuous in proportion as they are enlightened; and that, as every generation increases in knowledge, it also increases in virtue." "i wish it were so," said mr escot; "but to me the very reverse appears to be the fact. the progress of knowledge is not general: it is confined to a chosen few of every age. how far these are better than their neighbours, we may examine by and bye. the mass of mankind is composed of beasts of burden, mere clods, and tools of their superiors. by enlarging and complicating your machines, you degrade, not exalt, the human animals you employ to direct them. when the boatswain of a seventy-four pipes all hands to the main tack, and flourishes his rope's end over the shoulders of the poor fellows who are tugging at the ropes, do you perceive so dignified, so gratifying a picture, as ulysses exhorting his dear friends, his eriaeres 'etairoi, to ply their oars with energy? you will say, ulysses was a fabulous character. but the economy of his vessel is drawn from nature. every man on board has a character and a will of his own. he talks to them, argues with them, convinces them; and they obey him, because they love him, and know the reason of his orders. now, as i have said before, all singleness of character is lost. we divide men into herds like cattle: an individual man, if you strip him of all that is extraneous to himself, is the most wretched and contemptible creature on the face of the earth. the sciences advance. true. a few years of study puts a modern mathematician in possession of more than newton knew, and leaves him at leisure to add new discoveries of his own. agreed. but does this make him a newton? does it put him in possession of that range of intellect, that grasp of mind, from which the discoveries of newton sprang? it is mental power that i look for: if you can demonstrate the increase of that, i will give up the field. energy--independence--individuality--disinterested virtue--active benevolence--self-oblivion--universal philanthropy--these are the qualities i desire to find, and of which i contend that every succeeding age produces fewer examples. i repeat it; there is scarcely such a thing to be found as a single individual man; a few classes compose the whole frame of society, and when you know one of a class you know the whole of it. give me the wild man of the woods; the original, unthinking, unscientific, unlogical savage: in him there is at least some good; but, in a civilised, sophisticated, cold-blooded, mechanical, calculating slave of mammon and the world, there is none--absolutely none. sir, if i fall into a river, an unsophisticated man will jump in and bring me out; but a philosopher will look on with the utmost calmness, and consider me in the light of a projectile, and, making a calculation of the degree of force with which i have impinged the surface, the resistance of the fluid, the velocity of the current, and the depth of the water in that particular place, he will ascertain with the greatest nicety in what part of the mud at the bottom i may probably be found, at any given distance of time from the moment of my first immersion." mr foster was preparing to reply, when the first dinner-bell rang, and he immediately commenced a precipitate return towards the house; followed by his two companions, who both admitted that he was now leading the way to at least a temporary period of physical amelioration: "but, alas!" added mr escot, after a moment's reflection, "epulae nocuere repostae![ . ]" chapter v the dinner the sun was now terminating his diurnal course, and the lights were glittering on the festal board. when the ladies had retired, and the burgundy had taken two or three tours of the table, the following conversation took place:-- _squire headlong._ push about the bottle: mr escot, it stands with you. no heeltaps. as to skylight, liberty-hall. _mr mac laurel._ really, squire headlong, this is the vara nectar itsel. ye hae saretainly discovered the tarrestrial paradise, but it flows wi' a better leecor than milk an' honey. _the reverend doctor gaster._ hem! mr mac laurel! there is a degree of profaneness in that observation, which i should not have looked for in so staunch a supporter of church and state. milk and honey was the pure food of the antediluvian patriarchs, who knew not the use of the grape, happily for them.--(_tossing off a bumper of burgundy._) _mr escot._ happy, indeed! the first inhabitants of the world knew not the use either of wine or animal food; it is, therefore, by no means incredible that they lived to the age of several centuries, free from war, and commerce, and arbitrary government, and every other species of desolating wickedness. but man was then a very different animal to what he now is: he had not the faculty of speech; he was not encumbered with clothes; he lived in the open air; his first step out of which, as hamlet truly observes, is _into his grave_[ . ]. his first dwellings, of course, were the hollows of trees and rocks. in process of time he began to build: thence grew villages; thence grew cities. luxury, oppression, poverty, misery, and disease kept pace with the progress of his pretended improvements, till, from a free, strong, healthy, peaceful animal, he has become a weak, distempered, cruel, carnivorous slave. _the reverend doctor gaster._ your doctrine is orthodox, in so far as you assert that the original man was not encumbered with clothes, and that he lived in the open air; but, as to the faculty of speech, that, it is certain, he had, for the authority of moses---- _mr escot._ of course, sir, i do not presume to dissent from the very exalted authority of that most enlightened astronomer and profound cosmogonist, who had, moreover, the advantage of being inspired; but when i indulge myself with a ramble in the fields of speculation, and attempt to deduce what is probable and rational from the sources of analysis, experience, and comparison, i confess i am too often apt to lose sight of the doctrines of that great fountain of theological and geological philosophy. _squire headlong._ push about the bottle. _mr foster._ do you suppose the mere animal life of a wild man, living on acorns, and sleeping on the ground, comparable in felicity to that of a newton, ranging through unlimited space, and penetrating into the arcana of universal motion--to that of a locke, unravelling the labyrinth of mind--to that of a lavoisier, detecting the minutest combinations of matter, and reducing all nature to its elements--to that of a shakespeare, piercing and developing the springs of passion--or of a milton, identifying himself, as it were, with the beings of an invisible world? _mr escot._ you suppose extreme cases: but, on the score of happiness, what comparison can you make between the tranquil being of the wild man of the woods and the wretched and turbulent existence of milton, the victim of persecution, poverty, blindness, and neglect? the records of literature demonstrate that happiness and intelligence are seldom sisters. even if it were otherwise, it would prove nothing. the many are always sacrificed to the few. where one man advances, hundreds retrograde; and the balance is always in favour of universal deterioration. _mr foster._ virtue is independent of external circumstances. the exalted understanding looks into the truth of things, and, in its own peaceful contemplations, rises superior to the world. no philosopher would resign his mental acquisitions for the purchase of any terrestrial good. _mr escot._ in other words, no man whatever would resign his identity, which is nothing more than the consciousness of his perceptions, as the price of any acquisition. but every man, without exception, would willingly effect a very material change in his relative situation to other individuals. unluckily for the rest of your argument, the understanding of literary people is for the most part _exalted_, as you express it, not so much by the love of truth and virtue, as by arrogance and self-sufficiency; and there is, perhaps, less disinterestedness, less liberality, less general benevolence, and more envy, hatred, and uncharitableness among them, than among any other description of men. (_the eye of mr escot, as he pronounced these words, rested very innocently and unintentionally on mr gall._) _mr gall._ you allude, sir, i presume, to my review. _mr escot._ pardon me, sir. you will be convinced it is impossible i can allude to your review, when i assure you that i have never read a single page of it. _mr gall, mr treacle, mr nightshade, and mr mac laurel._ never read our review! ! ! ! _mr escot._ never. i look on periodical criticism in general to be a species of shop, where panegyric and defamation are sold, wholesale, retail, and for exportation. i am not inclined to be a purchaser of these commodities, or to encourage a trade which i consider pregnant with mischief. _mr mac laurel._ i can readily conceive, sir, ye wou'd na wullingly encoorage ony dealer in panegeeric: but, frae the manner in which ye speak o' the first creetics an' scholars o' the age, i shou'd think ye wou'd hae a leetle mair predilaction for deefamation. _mr escot._ i have no predilection, sir, for defamation. i make a point of speaking the truth on all occasions; and it seldom happens that the truth can be spoken without some stricken deer pronouncing it a libel. _mr nightshade._ you are perhaps, sir, an enemy to literature in general? _mr escot._ if i were, sir, i should be a better friend to periodical critics. _squire headlong._ buz! _mr treacle._ may i simply take the liberty to inquire into the basis of your objection? _mr escot._ i conceive that periodical criticism disseminates superficial knowledge, and its perpetual adjunct, vanity; that it checks in the youthful mind the habit of thinking for itself; that it delivers partial opinions, and thereby misleads the judgment; that it is never conducted with a view to the general interests of literature, but to serve the interested ends of individuals, and the miserable purposes of party. _mr mac laurel._ ye ken, sir, a mon mun leeve. _mr escot._ while he can live honourably, naturally, justly, certainly: no longer. _mr mac laurel._ every mon, sir, leeves according to his ain notions of honour an' justice: there is a wee defference amang the learned wi' respact to the defineetion o' the terms. _mr escot._ i believe it is generally admitted that one of the ingredients of justice is disinterestedness. _mr mac laurel._ it is na admetted, sir, amang the pheelosophers of edinbroo', that there is ony sic thing as desenterestedness in the warld, or that a mon can care for onything sae much as his ain sel: for ye mun observe, sir, every mon has his ain parteecular feelings of what is gude, an' beautifu', an' consentaneous to his ain indiveedual nature, an' desires to see every thing aboot him in that parteecular state which is maist conformable to his ain notions o' the moral an' poleetical fetness o' things. twa men, sir, shall purchase a piece o' grund atween 'em, and ae mon shall cover his half wi' a park---- _mr milestone._ beautifully laid out in lawns and clumps, with a belt of trees at the circumference, and an artificial lake in the centre. _mr mac laurel._ exactly, sir: an' shall keep it a' for his ain sel: an' the other mon shall divide his half into leetle farms of twa or three acres---- _mr escot._ like those of the roman republic, and build a cottage on each of them, and cover his land with a simple, innocent, and smiling population, who shall owe, not only their happiness, but their existence, to his benevolence. _mr mac laurel._ exactly, sir: an' ye will ca' the first mon selfish, an' the second desenterested; but the pheelosophical truth is semply this, that the ane is pleased wi' looking at trees, an' the other wi' seeing people happy an' comfortable. it is aunly a matter of indiveedual feeling. a paisant saves a mon's life for the same reason that a hero or a footpad cuts his thrapple: an' a pheelosopher delevers a mon frae a preson, for the same reason that a tailor or a prime meenester puts him into it: because it is conformable to his ain parteecular feelings o' the moral an' poleetical fetness o' things. _squire headlong._ wake the reverend doctor. doctor, the bottle stands with you. _the reverend doctor gaster._ it is an error of which i am seldom guilty. _mr mac laurel._ noo, ye ken, sir, every mon is the centre of his ain system, an' endaivours as much as possible to adapt every thing aroond him to his ain parteecular views. _mr escot._ thus, sir, i presume, it suits the particular views of a poet, at one time to take the part of the people against their oppressors, and at another, to take the part of the oppressors, against the people. _mr mac laurel._ ye mun alloo, sir, that poetry is a sort of ware or commodity, that is brought into the public market wi' a' other descreptions of merchandise, an' that a mon is pairfectly justified in getting the best price he can for his article. noo, there are three reasons for taking the part o' the people; the first is, when general leeberty an' public happiness are conformable to your ain parteecular feelings o' the moral an' poleetical fetness o' things: the second is, when they happen to be, as it were, in a state of exceetabeelity, an' ye think ye can get a gude price for your commodity, by flingin' in a leetle seasoning o' pheelanthropy an' republican speerit; the third is, when ye think ye can bully the menestry into gieing ye a place or a pansion to hau'd your din, an' in that case, ye point an attack against them within the pale o' the law; an' if they tak nae heed o' ye, ye open a stronger fire; an' the less heed they tak, the mair ye bawl; an' the mair factious ye grow, always within the pale o' the law, till they send a plenipotentiary to treat wi' ye for yoursel, an' then the mair popular ye happen to be, the better price ye fetch. _squire headlong._ off with your heeltaps. _mr cranium._ i perfectly agree with mr mac laurel in his definition of self-love and disinterestedness: every man's actions are determined by his peculiar views, and those views are determined by the organisation of his skull. a man in whom the organ of benevolence is not developed, cannot be benevolent: he in whom it is so, cannot be otherwise. the organ of self-love is prodigiously developed in the greater number of subjects that have fallen under my observation. _mr escot._ much less i presume, among savage than civilised men, who, _constant only to the love of self, and consistent only in their aim to deceive, are always actuated by the hope of personal advantage, or by the dread of personal punishment_[ . ]. _mr cranium._ very probably. _mr escot._ you have, of course, found very copious specimens of the organs of hypocrisy, destruction, and avarice. _mr cranium._ secretiveness, destructiveness, and covetiveness. you may add, if you please, that of constructiveness. _mr escot._ meaning, i presume, the organ of building; which i contend to be not a natural organ of the _featherless biped_. _mr cranium._ pardon me: it is here.--(_as he said these words, he produced a skull from his pocket, and placed it on the table to the great surprise of the company._)--this was the skull of sir christopher wren. you observe this protuberance--(_the skull was handed round the table._) _mr escot._ i contend that the original unsophisticated man was by no means constructive. he lived in the open air, under a tree. _the reverend doctor gaster._ the tree of life. unquestionably. till he had tasted the forbidden fruit. _mr jenkison._ at which period, probably, the organ of constructiveness was added to his anatomy, as a punishment for his transgression. _mr escot._ there could not have been a more severe one, since the propensity which has led him to building cities has proved the greatest curse of his existence. _squire headlong._ (_taking the skull._) _memento mori._ come, a bumper of burgundy. _mr nightshade._ a very classical application, squire headlong. the romans were in the practice of adhibiting skulls at their banquets, and sometimes little skeletons of silver, as a silent admonition to the guests to enjoy life while it lasted. _the reverend doctor gaster._ sound doctrine, mr nightshade. _mr escot._ i question its soundness. the use of vinous spirit has a tremendous influence in the deterioration of the human race. _mr foster._ i fear, indeed, it operates as a considerable check to the progress of the species towards moral and intellectual perfection. yet many great men have been of opinion that it exalts the imagination, fires the genius, accelerates the flow of ideas, and imparts to dispositions naturally cold and deliberative that enthusiastic sublimation which is the source of greatness and energy. _mr nightshade._ _laudibus arguitur vini vinosus homerus._[ . ] _mr jenkison._ i conceive the use of wine to be always pernicious in excess, but often useful in moderation: it certainly kills some, but it saves the lives of others: i find that an occasional glass, taken with judgment and caution, has a very salutary effect in maintaining that equilibrium of the system, which it is always my aim to preserve; and this calm and temperate use of wine was, no doubt, what homer meant to inculcate, when he said: _par de depas oinoio, piein hote thumos anogoi._[ . ] _squire headlong._ good. pass the bottle. (_un morne silence_). sir christopher does not seem to have raised our spirits. chromatic, favour us with a specimen of your vocal powers. something in point. mr chromatic, without further preface, immediately struck up the following song in his last binn sir peter lies, who knew not what it was to frown: death took him mellow, by surprise, and in his cellar stopped him down. through all our land we could not boast a knight more gay, more prompt than he, to rise and fill a bumper toast, and pass it round with three times three. none better knew the feast to sway, or keep mirth's boat in better trim; for nature had but little clay like that of which she moulded him. the meanest guest that graced his board was there the freest of the free, his bumper toast when peter poured, and passed it round with three times three. he kept at true good humour's mark the social flow of pleasure's tide: he never made a brow look dark, nor caused a tear, but when he died. no sorrow round his tomb should dwell: more pleased his gay old ghost would be, for funeral song, and passing bell, to hear no sound but three times three. (_hammering of knuckles and glasses and shouts of bravo!_) _mr panscope._ (_suddenly emerging from a deep reverie._) i have heard, with the most profound attention, every thing which the gentleman on the other side of the table has thought proper to advance on the subject of human deterioration; and i must take the liberty to remark, that it augurs a very considerable degree of presumption in any individual, to set himself up against the _authority_ of so many great men, as may be marshalled in metaphysical phalanx under the opposite banners of the controversy; such as aristotle, plato, the scholiast on aristophanes, st chrysostom, st jerome, st athanasius, orpheus, pindar, simonides, gronovius, hemsterhusius, longinus, sir isaac newton, thomas paine, doctor paley, the king of prussia, the king of poland, cicero, monsieur gautier, hippocrates, machiavelli, milton, colley cibber, bojardo, gregory nazianzenus, locke, d'alembert, boccaccio, daniel defoe, erasmus, doctor smollett, zimmermann, solomon, confucius, zoroaster, and thomas-a-kempis. _mr escot._ i presume, sir, you are one of those who value an _authority_ more than a reason. _mr panscope._ the _authority_, sir, of all these great men, whose works, as well as the whole of the encyclopaedia britannica, the entire series of the monthly review, the complete set of the variorum classics, and the memoirs of the academy of inscriptions, i have read through from beginning to end, deposes, with irrefragable refutation, against your ratiocinative speculations, wherein you seem desirous, by the futile process of analytical dialectics, to subvert the pyramidal structure of synthetically deduced opinions, which have withstood the secular revolutions of physiological disquisition, and which i maintain to be transcendentally self-evident, categorically certain, and syllogistically demonstrable. _squire headlong._ bravo! pass the bottle. the very best speech that ever was made. _mr escot._ it has only the slight disadvantage of being unintelligible. _mr panscope._ i am not obliged, sir, as dr johnson observed on a similar occasion, to furnish you with an understanding. _mr escot._ i fear, sir, you would have some difficulty in furnishing me with such an article from your own stock. _mr panscope._ 'sdeath, sir, do you question my understanding? _mr escot._ i only question, sir, where i expect a reply; which, from things that have no existence, i am not visionary enough to anticipate. _mr panscope._ i beg leave to observe, sir, that my language was perfectly perspicuous, and etymologically correct; and, i conceive, i have demonstrated what i shall now take the liberty to say in plain terms, that all your opinions are extremely absurd. _mr escot._ i should be sorry, sir, to advance any opinion that you would not think absurd. _mr panscope._ death and fury, sir---- _mr escot._ say no more, sir. that apology is quite sufficient. _mr panscope._ apology, sir? _mr escot._ even so, sir. you have lost your temper, which i consider equivalent to a confession that you have the worst of the argument. _mr panscope._ lightning and devils! sir---- _squire headlong._ no civil war!--temperance, in the name of bacchus!--a glee! a glee! _music has charms to bend the knotted oak._ sir patrick, you'll join? _sir patrick o'prism._ troth, with all my heart; for, by my soul, i'm bothered completely. _squire headlong._ agreed, then; you, and i, and chromatic. bumpers! come, strike up. squire headlong, mr chromatic, and sir patrick o'prism, each holding a bumper, immediately vociferated the following glee a heeltap! a heeltap! i never could bear it! so fill me a bumper, a bumper of claret! let the bottle pass freely, don't shirk it nor spare it, for a heeltap! a heeltap! i never could bear it! no skylight! no twilight! while bacchus rules o'er us: no thinking! no shrinking! all drinking in chorus: let us moisten our clay, since 'tis thirsty and porous: no thinking! no shrinking! all drinking in chorus! grand chorus _by squire headlong, mr chromatic, sir patrick o'prism, mr panscope, mr jenkison, mr gall, mr treacle, mr nightshade, mr mac laurel, mr cranium, mr milestone, and the reverend dr gaster._ a heeltap! a heeltap! i never could bear it! so fill me a bumper, a bumper of claret! let the bottle pass freely, don't shirk it nor spare it, for a heeltap! a heeltap! i never could bear it! 'omados kai doupos ororei' the little butler now waddled in with a summons from the ladies to tea and coffee. the squire was unwilling to leave his burgundy. mr escot strenuously urged the necessity of immediate adjournment, observing, that the longer they continued drinking the worse they should be. mr foster seconded the motion, declaring the transition from the bottle to female society to be an indisputable amelioration of the state of the sensitive man. mr jenkison allowed the squire and his two brother philosophers to settle the point between them, concluding that he was just as well in one place as another. the question of adjournment was then put, and carried by a large majority. chapter vi the evening mr panscope, highly irritated by the cool contempt with which mr escot had treated him, sate sipping his coffee and meditating revenge. he was not long in discovering the passion of his antagonist for the beautiful cephalis, for whom he had himself a species of predilection; and it was also obvious to him, that there was some lurking anger in the mind of her father, unfavourable to the hopes of his rival. the stimulus of revenge, superadded to that of preconceived inclination, determined him, after due deliberation, to _cut out_ mr escot in the young lady's favour. the practicability of this design he did not trouble himself to investigate; for the havoc he had made in the hearts of some silly girls, who were extremely vulnerable to flattery, and who, not understanding a word he said, considered him a _prodigious clever man_, had impressed him with an unhesitating idea of his own irresistibility. he had not only the requisites already specified for fascinating female vanity, he could likewise fiddle with tolerable dexterity, though by no means so _quick_ as mr chromatic (for our readers are of course aware that rapidity of execution, not delicacy of expression, constitutes the scientific perfection of modern music), and could warble a fashionable love-ditty with considerable affectation of feeling: besides this, he was always extremely well dressed, and was heir-apparent to an estate of ten thousand a-year. the influence which the latter consideration might have on the minds of the majority of his female acquaintance, whose morals had been formed by the novels of such writers as miss philomela poppyseed, did not once enter into his calculation of his own personal attractions. relying, therefore, on past success, he determined _to appeal to his fortune_, and already, in imagination, considered himself sole lord and master of the affections of the beautiful cephalis. mr escot and mr foster were the only two of the party who had entered the library (to which the ladies had retired, and which was interior to the music-room) in a state of perfect sobriety. mr escot had placed himself next to the beautiful cephalis: mr cranium had laid aside much of the terror of his frown; the short craniological conversation, which had passed between him and mr escot, had softened his heart in his favour; and the copious libations of burgundy in which he had indulged had smoothed his brow into unusual serenity. mr foster placed himself near the lovely caprioletta, whose artless and innocent conversation had already made an impression on his susceptible spirit. the reverend doctor gaster seated himself in the corner of a sofa near miss philomela poppyseed. miss philomela detailed to him the plan of a very moral and aristocratical novel she was preparing for the press, and continued holding forth, with her eyes half shut, till a long-drawn nasal tone from the reverend divine compelled her suddenly to open them in all the indignation of surprise. the cessation of the hum of her voice awakened the reverend gentleman, who, lifting up first one eyelid, then the other, articulated, or rather murmured, "admirably planned, indeed!" "i have not quite finished, sir," said miss philomela, bridling. "will you have the goodness to inform me where i left off?" the doctor hummed a while, and at length answered: "i think you had just laid it down as a position, that a thousand a-year is an indispensable ingredient in the passion of love, and that no man, who is not so far gifted by _nature_, can reasonably presume to feel that passion himself, or be correctly the object of it with a well-educated female." "that, sir," said miss philomela, highly incensed, "is the fundamental principle which i lay down in the first chapter, and which the whole four volumes, of which i detailed to you the outline, are intended to set in a strong practical light." "bless me!" said the doctor, "what a nap i must have had!" miss philomela flung away to the side of her dear friends gall and treacle, under whose fostering patronage she had been puffed into an extensive reputation, much to the advantage of the young ladies of the age, whom she taught to consider themselves as a sort of commodity, to be put up at public auction, and knocked down to the highest bidder. mr nightshade and mr mac laurel joined the trio; and it was secretly resolved, that miss philomela should furnish them with a portion of her manuscripts, and that messieurs gall & co. should devote the following morning to cutting and drying a critique on a work calculated to prove so extensively beneficial, that mr gall protested he really _envied_ the writer. while this amiable and enlightened quintetto were busily employed in flattering one another, mr cranium retired to complete the preparations he had begun in the morning for a lecture, with which he intended, on some future evening, to favour the company: sir patrick o'prism walked out into the grounds to study the effect of moonlight on the snow-clad mountains: mr foster and mr escot continued to make love, and mr panscope to digest his plan of attack on the heart of miss cephalis: mr jenkison sate by the fire, reading _much ado about nothing_: the reverend doctor gaster was still enjoying the benefit of miss philomela's opiate, and serenading the company from his solitary corner: mr chromatic was reading music, and occasionally humming a note: and mr milestone had produced his portfolio for the edification and amusement of miss tenorina, miss graziosa, and squire headlong, to whom he was pointing out the various beauties of his plan for lord littlebrain's park. _mr milestone._ this, you perceive, is the natural state of one part of the grounds. here is a wood, never yet touched by the finger of taste; thick, intricate, and gloomy. here is a little stream, dashing from stone to stone, and overshadowed with these untrimmed boughs. _miss tenorina._ the sweet romantic spot! how beautifully the birds must sing there on a summer evening! _miss graziosa._ dear sister! how can you endure the horrid thicket? _mr milestone._ you are right, miss graziosa: your taste is correct--perfectly _en regle_. now, here is the same place corrected--trimmed--polished --decorated--adorned. here sweeps a plantation, in that beautiful regular curve: there winds a gravel walk: here are parts of the old wood, left in these majestic circular clumps, disposed at equal distances with wonderful symmetry: there are some single shrubs scattered in elegant profusion: here a portugal laurel, there a juniper; here a laurustinus, there a spruce fir; here a larch, there a lilac; here a rhododendron, there an arbutus. the stream, you see, is become a canal: the banks are perfectly smooth and green, sloping to the water's edge: and there is lord littlebrain, rowing in an elegant boat. _squire headlong._ magical, faith! _mr milestone._ here is another part of the grounds in its natural state. here is a large rock, with the mountain-ash rooted in its fissures, overgrown, as you see, with ivy and moss; and from this part of it bursts a little fountain, that runs bubbling down its rugged sides. _miss tenorina._ o how beautiful! how i should love the melody of that miniature cascade! _mr milestone._ beautiful, miss tenorina! hideous. base, common, and popular. such a thing as you may see anywhere, in wild and mountainous districts. now, observe the metamorphosis. here is the same rock, cut into the shape of a giant. in one hand he holds a horn, through which that little fountain is thrown to a prodigious elevation. in the other is a ponderous stone, so exactly balanced as to be apparently ready to fall on the head of any person who may happen to be beneath[ . ]: and there is lord littlebrain walking under it. _squire headlong._ miraculous, by mahomet! _mr milestone._ this is the summit of a hill, covered, as you perceive, with wood, and with those mossy stones scattered at random under the trees. _miss tenorina._ what a delightful spot to read in, on a summer's day! the air must be so pure, and the wind must sound so divinely in the tops of those old pines! _mr milestone._ bad taste, miss tenorina. bad taste, i assure you. here is the spot improved. the trees are cut down: the stones are cleared away: this is an octagonal pavilion, exactly on the centre of the summit: and there you see lord littlebrain, on the top of the pavilion, enjoying the prospect with a telescope. _squire headlong._ glorious, egad! _mr milestone._ here is a rugged mountainous road, leading through impervious shades: the ass and the four goats characterise a wild uncultured scene. here, as you perceive, it is totally changed into a beautiful gravel-road, gracefully curving through a belt of limes: and there is lord littlebrain driving four-in-hand. _squire headlong._ egregious, by jupiter! _mr milestone._ here is littlebrain castle, a gothic, moss-grown structure, half bosomed in trees. near the casement of that turret is an owl peeping from the ivy. _squire headlong._ and devilish wise he looks. _mr milestone._ here is the new house, without a tree near it, standing in the midst of an undulating lawn: a white, polished, angular building, reflected to a nicety in this waveless lake: and there you see lord littlebrain looking out of the window. _squire headlong._ and devilish wise he looks too. you shall cut me a giant before you go. _mr milestone._ good. i'll order down my little corps of pioneers. during this conversation, a hot dispute had arisen between messieurs gall and nightshade; the latter pertinaciously insisting on having his new poem reviewed by treacle, who he knew would extol it most loftily, and not by gall, whose sarcastic commendation he held in superlative horror. the remonstrances of squire headlong silenced the disputants, but did not mollify the inflexible gall, nor appease the irritated nightshade, who secretly resolved that, on his return to london, he would beat his drum in grub street, form a mastigophoric corps of his own, and hoist the standard of determined opposition against this critical napoleon. sir patrick o'prism now entered, and, after some rapturous exclamations on the effect of the mountain-moonlight, entreated that one of the young ladies would favour him with a song. miss tenorina and miss graziosa now enchanted the company with some very scientific compositions, which, as usual, excited admiration and astonishment in every one, without a single particle of genuine pleasure. the beautiful cephalis being then summoned to take her station at the harp, sang with feeling and simplicity the following air:-- love and opportunity oh! who art thou, so swiftly flying? my name is love, the child replied: swifter i pass than south-winds sighing, or streams, through summer vales that glide. and who art thou, his flight pursuing? 'tis cold neglect whom now you see: the little god you there are viewing, will die, if once he's touched by me. oh! who art thou so fast proceeding, ne'er glancing back thine eyes of flame? marked but by few, through earth i'm speeding, and opportunity's my name. what form is that, which scowls beside thee? repentance is the form you see: learn then, the fate may yet betide thee: she seizes them who seize not me.[ . ] the little butler now appeared with a summons to supper, shortly after which the party dispersed for the night. chapter vii the walk it was an old custom in headlong hall to have breakfast ready at eight, and continue it till two; that the various guests might rise at their own hour, breakfast when they came down, and employ the morning as they thought proper; the squire only expecting that they should punctually assemble at dinner. during the whole of this period, the little butler stood sentinel at a side-table near the fire, copiously furnished with all the apparatus of tea, coffee, chocolate, milk, cream, eggs, rolls, toast, muffins, bread, butter, potted beef, cold fowl and partridge, ham, tongue, and anchovy. the reverend doctor gaster found himself rather _queasy_ in the morning, therefore preferred breakfasting in bed, on a mug of buttered ale and an anchovy toast. the three philosophers made their appearance at eight, and enjoyed _les premices des depouilles_. mr foster proposed that, as it was a fine frosty morning, and they were all good pedestrians, they should take a walk to tremadoc, to see the improvements carrying on in that vicinity. this being readily acceded to, they began their walk. after their departure, appeared squire headlong and mr milestone, who agreed, over their muffin and partridge, to walk together to a ruined tower, within the precincts of the squire's grounds, which mr milestone thought he could improve. the other guests dropped in by ones and twos, and made their respective arrangements for the morning. mr panscope took a little ramble with mr cranium, in the course of which, the former professed a great enthusiasm for the science of craniology, and a great deal of love for the beautiful cephalis, adding a few words about his expectations; the old gentleman was unable to withstand this triple battery, and it was accordingly determined--after the manner of the heroic age, in which it was deemed superfluous to consult the opinions and feelings of the lady, as to the manner in which she should be disposed of--that the lovely miss cranium should be made the happy bride of the accomplished mr panscope. we shall leave them for the present to settle preliminaries, while we accompany the three philosophers in their walk to tremadoc. the vale contracted as they advanced, and, when they had passed the termination of the lake, their road wound along a narrow and romantic pass, through the middle of which an impetuous torrent dashed over vast fragments of stone. the pass was bordered on both sides by perpendicular rocks, broken into the wildest forms of fantastic magnificence. "these are, indeed," said mr escot, "_confracti mundi rudera_[ . ]: yet they must be feeble images of the valleys of the andes, where the philosophic eye may contemplate, in their utmost extent, the effects of that tremendous convulsion which destroyed the perpendicularity of the poles, and inundated this globe with that torrent of physical evil, from which the greater torrent of moral evil has issued, that will continue to roll on, with an expansive power and an accelerated impetus, till the whole human race shall be swept away in its vortex." "the precession of the equinoxes," said mr foster, "will gradually ameliorate the physical state of our planet, till the ecliptic shall again coincide with the equator, and the equal diffusion of light and heat over the whole surface of the earth typify the equal and happy existence of man, who will then have attained the final step of pure and perfect intelligence." "it is by no means clear," said mr jenkison, "that the axis of the earth was ever perpendicular to the plane of its orbit, or that it ever will be so. explosion and convulsion are necessary to the maintenance of either hypothesis: for la place has demonstrated, that the precession of the equinoxes is only a secular equation of a very long period, which, of course, proves nothing either on one side or the other." they now emerged, by a winding ascent, from the vale of llanberris, and after some little time arrived at bedd gelert. proceeding through the sublimely romantic pass of aberglaslynn, their road led along the edge of traeth mawr, a vast arm of the sea, which they then beheld in all the magnificence of the flowing tide. another five miles brought them to the embankment, which has since been completed, and which, by connecting the two counties of meirionnydd and caernarvon, excludes the sea from an extensive tract. the embankment, which was carried on at the same time from both the opposite coasts, was then very nearly meeting in the centre. they walked to the extremity of that part of it which was thrown out from the caernarvonshire shore. the tide was now ebbing: it had filled the vast basin within, forming a lake about five miles in length and more than one in breadth. as they looked upwards with their backs to the open sea, they beheld a scene which no other in this country can parallel, and which the admirers of the magnificence of nature will ever remember with regret, whatever consolation may be derived from the probable utility of the works which have excluded the waters from their ancient receptacle. vast rocks and precipices, intersected with little torrents, formed the barrier on the left: on the right, the triple summit of moelwyn reared its majestic boundary: in the depth was that sea of mountains, the wild and stormy outline of the snowdonian chain, with the giant wyddfa towering in the midst. the mountain-frame remains unchanged, unchangeable: but the liquid mirror it enclosed is gone. the tide ebbed with rapidity: the waters within, retained by the embankment, poured through its two points an impetuous cataract, curling and boiling in innumerable eddies, and making a tumultuous melody admirably in unison with the surrounding scene. the three philosophers looked on in silence; and at length unwillingly turned away, and proceeded to the little town of tremadoc, which is built on land recovered in a similar manner from the sea. after inspecting the manufactories, and refreshing themselves at the inn on a cold saddle of mutton and a bottle of sherry, they retraced their steps towards headlong hall, commenting as they went on the various objects they had seen. _mr escot._ i regret that time did not allow us to see the caves on the sea-shore. there is one of which the depth is said to be unknown. there is a tradition in the country, that an adventurous fiddler once resolved to explore it; that he entered, and never returned; but that the subterranean sound of a fiddle was heard at a farm-house seven miles inland. it is, therefore, concluded that he lost his way in the labyrinth of caverns, supposed to exist under the rocky soil of this part of the country. _mr jenkison._ a supposition that must always remain in force, unless a second fiddler, equally adventurous and more successful, should return with an accurate report of the true state of the fact. _mr foster._ what think you of the little colony we have just been inspecting; a city, as it were, in its cradle? _mr escot._ with all the weakness of infancy, and all the vices of maturer age. i confess, the sight of those manufactories, which have suddenly sprung up, like fungous excrescences, in the bosom of these wild and desolate scenes, impressed me with as much horror and amazement as the sudden appearance of the stocking manufactory struck into the mind of rousseau, when, in a lonely valley of the alps, he had just congratulated himself on finding a spot where man had never been. _mr foster._ the manufacturing system is not yet purified from some evils which necessarily attend it, but which i conceive are greatly overbalanced by their concomitant advantages. contemplate the vast sum of human industry to which this system so essentially contributes: seas covered with vessels, ports resounding with life, profound researches, scientific inventions, complicated mechanism, canals carried over deep valleys, and through the bosoms of hills: employment and existence thus given to innumerable families, and the multiplied comforts and conveniences of life diffused over the whole community. _mr escot._ you present to me a complicated picture of artificial life, and require me to admire it. seas covered with vessels: every one of which contains two or three tyrants, and from fifty to a thousand slaves, ignorant, gross, perverted, and active only in mischief. ports resounding with life: in other words, with noise and drunkenness, the mingled din of avarice, intemperance, and prostitution. profound researches, scientific inventions: to what end? to contract the sum of human wants? to teach the art of living on a little? to disseminate independence, liberty, and health? no; to multiply factitious desires, to stimulate depraved appetites, to invent unnatural wants, to heap up incense on the shrine of luxury, and accumulate expedients of selfish and ruinous profusion. complicated machinery: behold its blessings. twenty years ago, at the door of every cottage sate the good woman with her spinning-wheel: the children, if not more profitably employed than in gathering heath and sticks, at least laid in a stock of health and strength to sustain the labours of maturer years. where is the spinning-wheel now, and every simple and insulated occupation of the industrious cottager? wherever this boasted machinery is established, the children of the poor are death-doomed from their cradles. look for one moment at midnight into a cotton-mill, amidst the smell of oil, the smoke of lamps, the rattling of wheels, the dizzy and complicated motions of diabolical mechanism: contemplate the little human machines that keep play with the revolutions of the iron work, robbed at that hour of their natural rest, as of air and exercise by day: observe their pale and ghastly features, more ghastly in that baleful and malignant light, and tell me if you do not fancy yourself on the threshold of virgil's hell, where continuo auditae voces, vagitus et ingens, _infantumque animae flentes_, in limine primo, quos _dulcis vitae exsortes_, et ab ubere raptos, _abstulit atra dies_, et funere mersit acerbo! as mr escot said this, a little rosy-cheeked girl, with a basket of heath on her head, came tripping down the side of one of the rocks on the left. the force of contrast struck even on the phlegmatic spirit of mr jenkison, and he almost inclined for a moment to the doctrine of deterioration. mr escot continued: _mr escot._ nor is the lot of the parents more enviable. sedentary victims of unhealthy toil, they have neither the corporeal energy of the savage, nor the mental acquisitions of the civilised man. mind, indeed, they have none, and scarcely animal life. they are mere automata, component parts of the enormous machines which administer to the pampered appetites of the few, who consider themselves the most valuable portion of a state, because they consume in indolence the fruits of the earth, and contribute nothing to the benefit of the community. _mr jenkison._ that these are evils cannot be denied; but they have their counterbalancing advantages. that a man should pass the day in a furnace and the night in a cellar, is bad for the individual, but good for others who enjoy the benefit of his labour. _mr escot._ by what right do they so? _mr jenkison._ by the right of all property and all possession: _le droit du plus fort_. _mr escot._ do you justify that principle? _mr jenkison._ i neither justify nor condemn it. it is practically recognised in all societies; and, though it is certainly the source of enormous evil, i conceive it is also the source of abundant good, or it would not have so many supporters. _mr escot._ that is by no means a consequence. do we not every day see men supporting the most enormous evils, which they know to be so with respect to others, and which in reality are so with respect to themselves, though an erroneous view of their own miserable self-interest induces them to think otherwise? _mr jenkison._ good and evil exist only as they are perceived. i cannot therefore understand, how that which a man perceives to be good can be in reality an evil to him: indeed, the word _reality_ only signifies _strong belief_. _mr escot._ the views of such a man i contend are false. if he could be made to see the truth---- _mr jenkison._ he sees his own truth. truth is that which a man _troweth_. where there is no man there is no truth. thus the truth of one is not the truth of another.[ . ] _mr foster._ i am aware of the etymology; but i contend that there is an universal and immutable truth, deducible from the nature of things. _mr jenkison._ by whom deducible? philosophers have investigated the nature of things for centuries, yet no two of them will agree in _trowing_ the same conclusion. _mr foster._ the progress of philosophical investigation, and the rapidly increasing accuracy of human knowledge, approximate by degrees the diversities of opinion; so that, in process of time, moral science will be susceptible of mathematical demonstration; and, clear and indisputable principles being universally recognised, the coincidence of deduction will necessarily follow. _mr escot._ possibly when the inroads of luxury and disease shall have exterminated nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine of every million of the human race, the remaining fractional units may congregate into one point, and come to something like the same conclusion. _mr jenkison._ i doubt it much. i conceive, if only we three were survivors of the whole system of terrestrial being, we should never agree in our decisions as to the cause of the calamity. _mr escot._ be that as it may, i think you must at least assent to the following positions: that the many are sacrificed to the few; that ninety-nine in a hundred are occupied in a perpetual struggle for the preservation of a perilous and precarious existence, while the remaining one wallows in all the redundancies of luxury that can be wrung from their labours and privations; that luxury and liberty are incompatible; and that every new want you invent for civilised man is a new instrument of torture for him who cannot indulge it. they had now regained the shores of the lake, when the conversation was suddenly interrupted by a tremendous explosion, followed by a violent splashing of water, and various sounds of tumult and confusion, which induced them to quicken their pace towards the spot whence they proceeded. chapter viii the tower in all the thoughts, words, and actions of squire headlong, there was a remarkable alacrity of progression, which almost annihilated the interval between conception and execution. he was utterly regardless of obstacles, and seemed to have expunged their very name from his vocabulary. his designs were never nipped in their infancy by the contemplation of those trivial difficulties which often turn awry the current of enterprise; and, though the rapidity of his movements was sometimes arrested by a more formidable barrier, either naturally existing in the pursuit he had undertaken, or created by his own impetuosity, he seldom failed to succeed either in knocking it down or cutting his way through it. he had little idea of gradation: he saw no interval between the first step and the last, but pounced upon his object with the impetus of a mountain cataract. this rapidity of movement, indeed, subjected him to some disasters which cooler spirits would have escaped. he was an excellent sportsman, and almost always killed his game; but now and then he killed his dog.[ . ] rocks, streams, hedges, gates, and ditches, were objects of no account in his estimation; though a dislocated shoulder, several severe bruises, and two or three narrow escapes for his neck, might have been expected to teach him a certain degree of caution in effecting his transitions. he was so singularly alert in climbing precipices and traversing torrents, that, when he went out on a shooting party, he was very soon left to continue his sport alone, for he was sure to dash up or down some nearly perpendicular path, where no one else had either ability or inclination to follow. he had a pleasure boat on the lake, which he steered with amazing dexterity; but as he always indulged himself in the utmost possible latitude of sail, he was occasionally upset by a sudden gust, and was indebted to his skill in the art of swimming for the opportunity of tempering with a copious libation of wine the unnatural frigidity introduced into his stomach by the extraordinary intrusion of water, an element which he had religiously determined should never pass his lips, but of which, on these occasions, he was sometimes compelled to swallow no inconsiderable quantity. this circumstance alone, of the various disasters that befell him, occasioned him any permanent affliction, and he accordingly noted the day in his pocket-book as a _dies nefastus_, with this simple abstract, and brief chronicle of the calamity: _mem. swallowed two or three pints of water_: without any notice whatever of the concomitant circumstances. these days, of which there were several, were set apart in headlong hall for the purpose of anniversary expiation; and, as often as the day returned on which the squire had swallowed water, he not only made a point of swallowing a treble allowance of wine himself, but imposed a heavy mulct on every one of his servants who should be detected in a state of sobriety after sunset: but their conduct on these occasions was so uniformly exemplary, that no instance of the infliction of the penalty appears on record. the squire and mr milestone, as we have already said, had set out immediately after breakfast to examine the capabilities of the scenery. the object that most attracted mr milestone's admiration was a ruined tower on a projecting point of rock, almost totally overgrown with ivy. this ivy, mr milestone observed, required trimming and clearing in various parts: a little pointing and polishing was also necessary for the dilapidated walls: and the whole effect would be materially increased by a plantation of spruce fir, interspersed with cypress and juniper, the present rugged and broken ascent from the land side being first converted into a beautiful slope, which might be easily effected by blowing up a part of the rock with gunpowder, laying on a quantity of fine mould, and covering the whole with an elegant stratum of turf. squire headlong caught with avidity at this suggestion; and, as he had always a store of gunpowder in the house, for the accommodation of himself and his shooting visitors, and for the supply of a small battery of cannon, which he kept for his private amusement, he insisted on commencing operations immediately. accordingly, he bounded back to the house, and very speedily returned, accompanied by the little butler, and half a dozen servants and labourers, with pickaxes and gunpowder, a hanging stove and a poker, together with a basket of cold meat and two or three bottles of madeira: for the squire thought, with many others, that a copious supply of provision is a very necessary ingredient in all rural amusements. mr milestone superintended the proceedings. the rock was excavated, the powder introduced, the apertures strongly blockaded with fragments of stone: a long train was laid to a spot which mr milestone fixed on as sufficiently remote from the possibility of harm: the squire seized the poker, and, after flourishing it in the air with a degree of dexterity which induced the rest of the party to leave him in solitary possession of an extensive circumference, applied the end of it to the train; and the rapidly communicated ignition ran hissing along the surface of the soil. at this critical moment, mr cranium and mr panscope appeared at the top of the tower, which, unseeing and unseen, they had ascended on the opposite side to that where the squire and mr milestone were conducting their operations. their sudden appearance a little dismayed the squire, who, however, comforted himself with the reflection, that the tower was perfectly safe, or at least was intended to be so, and that his friends were in no probable danger but of a knock on the head from a flying fragment of stone. the succession of these thoughts in the mind of the squire was commensurate in rapidity to the progress of the ignition, which having reached its extremity, the explosion took place, and the shattered rock was hurled into the air in the midst of fire and smoke. mr milestone had properly calculated the force of the explosion; for the tower remained untouched: but the squire, in his consolatory reflections, had omitted the consideration of the influence of sudden fear, which had so violent an effect on mr cranium, who was just commencing a speech concerning the very fine prospect from the top of the tower, that, cutting short the thread of his observations, he bounded, under the elastic influence of terror, several feet into the air. his ascent being unluckily a little out of the perpendicular, he descended with a proportionate curve from the apex of his projection, and alighted not on the wall of the tower, but in an ivy-bush by its side, which, giving way beneath him, transferred him to a tuft of hazel at its base, which, after upholding him an instant, consigned him to the boughs of an ash that had rooted itself in a fissure about half way down the rock, which finally transmitted him to the waters below. squire headlong anxiously watched the tower as the smoke which at first enveloped it rolled away; but when this shadowy curtain was withdrawn, and mr panscope was discovered, _solus_, in a tragical attitude, his apprehensions became boundless, and he concluded that the unlucky collision of a flying fragment of rock had indeed emancipated the spirit of the craniologist from its terrestrial bondage. mr escot had considerably outstripped his companions, and arrived at the scene of the disaster just as mr cranium, being utterly destitute of natatorial skill, was in imminent danger of final submersion. the deteriorationist, who had cultivated this valuable art with great success, immediately plunged in to his assistance, and brought him alive and in safety to a shelving part of the shore. their landing was hailed with a view-holla from the delighted squire, who, shaking them both heartily by the hand, and making ten thousand lame apologies to mr cranium, concluded by asking, in a pathetic tone, _how much water he had swallowed?_ and without waiting for his answer, filled a large tumbler with madeira, and insisted on his tossing it off, which was no sooner said than done. mr jenkison and mr foster now made their appearance. mr panscope descended the tower, which he vowed never again to approach within a quarter of a mile. the tumbler of madeira was replenished, and handed round to recruit the spirits of the party, which now began to move towards headlong hall, the squire capering for joy in the van, and the little fat butler waddling in the rear. the squire took care that mr cranium should be seated next to him at dinner, and plied him so hard with madeira to prevent him, as he said, from taking cold, that long before the ladies sent in their summons to coffee, every organ in his brain was in a complete state of revolution, and the squire was under the necessity of ringing for three or four servants to carry him to bed, observing, with a smile of great satisfaction, that he was in a very excellent way for escaping any ill consequences that might have resulted from his accident. the beautiful cephalis, being thus freed from his _surveillance_, was enabled, during the course of the evening, to develop to his preserver the full extent of her gratitude. chapter ix the sexton mr escot passed a sleepless night, the ordinary effect of love, according to some amatory poets, who seem to have composed their whining ditties for the benevolent purpose of bestowing on others that gentle slumber of which they so pathetically lament the privation. the deteriorationist entered into a profound moral soliloquy, in which he first examined _whether a philosopher ought to be in love?_ having decided this point affirmatively against plato and lucretius, he next examined, _whether that passion ought to have the effect of keeping a philosopher awake?_ having decided this negatively, he resolved to go to sleep immediately: not being able to accomplish this to his satisfaction, he tossed and tumbled, like achilles or orlando, first on one side, then on the other; repeated to himself several hundred lines of poetry; counted a thousand; began again, and counted another thousand: in vain: the beautiful cephalis was the predominant image in all his soliloquies, in all his repetitions: even in the numerical process from which he sought relief, he did but associate the idea of number with that of his dear tormentor, till she appeared to his mind's eye in a thousand similitudes, distinct, not different. these thousand images, indeed, were but one; and yet the one was a thousand, a sort of uni-multiplex phantasma, which will be very intelligible to some understandings. he arose with the first peep of day, and sallied forth to enjoy the balmy breeze of morning, which any but a lover might have thought too cool; for it was an intense frost, the sun had not risen, and the wind was rather fresh from north-east and by north. but a lover, who, like ladurlad in the curse of kehama, always has, or at least is supposed to have, "a fire in his heart and a fire in his brain," feels a wintry breeze from n.e. and by n. steal over his cheek like the south over a bank of violets; therefore, on walked the philosopher, with his coat unbuttoned and his hat in his hand, careless of whither he went, till he found himself near the enclosure of a little mountain chapel. passing through the wicket, and stepping over two or three graves, he stood on a rustic tombstone, and peeped through the chapel window, examining the interior with as much curiosity as if he had "forgotten what the inside of a church was made of," which, it is rather to be feared, was the case. before him and beneath him were the font, the altar, and the grave; which gave rise to a train of moral reflections on the three great epochs in the course of the _featherless biped_,--birth, marriage, and death. the middle stage of the process arrested his attention; and his imagination placed before him several figures, which he thought, with the addition of his own, would make a very picturesque group; the beautiful cephalis, "arrayed in her bridal apparel of white;" her friend caprioletta officiating as bridemaid; mr cranium giving her away; and, last, not least, the reverend doctor gaster, intoning the marriage ceremony with the regular orthodox allowance of nasal recitative. whilst he was feasting his eyes on this imaginary picture, the demon of mistrust insinuated himself into the storehouse of his conceptions, and, removing his figure from the group, substituted that of mr panscope, which gave such a violent shock to his feelings, that he suddenly exclaimed, with an extraordinary elevation of voice, _oimoi kakodaimon, kai tris kakodaimon, kai tetrakis, kai pentakis, kai dodekakis, kai muriakis!_[ . ] to the great terror of the sexton, who was just entering the churchyard, and, not knowing from whence the voice proceeded, _pensa que fut un diableteau_. the sight of the philosopher dispelled his apprehensions, when, growing suddenly valiant, he immediately addressed him:-- "cot pless your honour, i should n't have thought of meeting any pody here at this time of the morning, except, look you, it was the tevil--who, to pe sure, toes not often come upon consecrated cround--put for all that, i think i have seen him now and then, in former tays, when old nanny llwyd of llyn-isa was living--cot teliver us! a terriple old witch to pe sure she was--i tid n't much like tigging her crave--put i prought two cocks with me--the tevil hates cocks--and tied them py the leg on two tombstones--and i tug, and the cocks crowed, and the tevil kept at a tistance. to pe sure now, if i had n't peen very prave py nature--as i ought to pe truly--for my father was owen ap-llwyd ap-gryffydd ap-shenkin ap-williams ap-thomas ap-morgan ap-parry ap-evan ap-rhys, a coot preacher and a lover of _cwrw_[ . ]--i should have thought just now pefore i saw your honour, that the foice i heard was the tevil's calling nanny llwyd--cot pless us! to pe sure she should have been puried in the middle of the river, where the tevil can't come, as your honour fery well knows." "i am perfectly aware of it," said mr escot. "true, true," continued the sexton; "put to pe sure, owen thomas of morfa-bach will have it that one summer evening--when he went over to cwm cynfael in meirionnydd, apout some cattles he wanted to puy--he saw a strange figure--pless us!--with five horns!--cot save us! sitting on hugh llwyd's pulpit, which, your honour fery well knows, is a pig rock in the middle of the river----" "of course he was mistaken," said mr escot. "to pe sure he was," said the sexton. "for there is no toubt put the tevil, when owen thomas saw him, must have peen sitting on a piece of rock in a straight line from him on the other side of the river, where he used to sit, look you, for a whole summer's tay, while hugh llwyd was on his pulpit, and there they used to talk across the water! for hugh llwyd, please your honour, never raised the tevil except when he was safe in the middle of the river, which proves that owen thomas, in his fright, did n't pay proper attention to the exact spot where the tevil was." the sexton concluded his speech with an approving smile at his own sagacity, in so luminously expounding the nature of owen thomas's mistake. "i perceive," said mr escot, "you have a very deep insight into things, and can, therefore, perhaps, facilitate the resolution of a question, concerning which, though i have little doubt on the subject, i am desirous of obtaining the most extensive and accurate information." the sexton scratched his head, the language of mr escot not being to his apprehension quite so luminous as his own. "you have been sexton here," continued mr escot, in the language of hamlet, "man and boy, forty years." the sexton turned pale. the period mr escot named was so nearly the true one, that he began to suspect the personage before him of being rather too familiar with hugh llwyd's sable visitor. recovering himself a little, he said, "why, thereapouts, sure enough." "during this period, you have of course dug up many bones of the people of ancient times." "pones! cot pless you, yes! pones as old as the 'orlt." "perhaps you can show me a few." the sexton grinned horribly a ghastly smile. "will you take your pible oath you ton't want them to raise the tevil with?" "willingly," said mr escot, smiling; "i have an abstruse reason for the inquiry." "why, if you have an _obtuse_ reason," said the sexton, who thought this a good opportunity to show that he could pronounce hard words as well as other people; "if you have an _obtuse_ reason, that alters the case." so saying he led the way to the bone-house, from which he began to throw out various bones and skulls of more than common dimensions, and amongst them a skull of very extraordinary magnitude, which he swore by st david was the skull of cadwallader. "how do you know this to be his skull?" said mr escot. "he was the piggest man that ever lived, and he was puried here; and this is the piggest skull i ever found: you see now----" "nothing can be more logical," said mr escot. "my good friend will you allow me to take this skull away with me?" "st winifred pless us!" exclaimed the sexton, "would you have me haunted py his chost for taking his plessed pones out of consecrated cround? would you have him come in the tead of the night, and fly away with the roof of my house? would you have all the crop of my carden come to nothing? for, look you, his epitaph says, "he that my pones shall ill pestow, leek in his cround shall never crow." "you will ill bestow them," said mr escot, "in confounding them with those of the sons of little men, the degenerate dwarfs of later generations; you will well bestow them in giving them to me: for i will have this illustrious skull bound with a silver rim, and filled with mantling wine, with this inscription, nunc tandem: signifying that that pernicious liquor has at length found its proper receptacle; for, when the wine is in, the brain is out." saying these words, he put a dollar into the hands of the sexton, who instantly stood spellbound by the talismanic influence of the coin, while mr escot walked off in triumph with the skull of cadwallader. chapter x the skull when mr escot entered the breakfast-room he found the majority of the party assembled, and the little butler very active at his station. several of the ladies shrieked at the sight of the skull; and miss tenorina, starting up in great haste and terror, caused the subversion of a cup of chocolate, which a servant was handing to the reverend doctor gaster, into the nape of the neck of sir patrick o'prism. sir patrick, rising impetuously, _to clap an extinguisher_, as he expressed himself, _on the farthing rushlight of the rascal's life_, pushed over the chair of marmaduke milestone, esquire, who, catching for support at the first thing that came in his way, which happened unluckily to be the corner of the table-cloth, drew it instantaneously with him to the floor, involving plates, cups and saucers, in one promiscuous ruin. but, as the principal _materiel_ of the breakfast apparatus was on the little butler's side-table, the confusion occasioned by this accident was happily greater than the damage. miss tenorina was so agitated that she was obliged to retire: miss graziosa accompanied her through pure sisterly affection and sympathy, not without a lingering look at sir patrick, who likewise retired to change his coat, but was very expeditious in returning to resume his attack on the cold partridge. the broken cups were cleared away, the cloth relaid, and the array of the table restored with wonderful celerity. mr escot was a little surprised at the scene of confusion which signalised his entrance; but, perfectly unconscious that it originated with the skull of cadwallader, he advanced to seat himself at the table by the side of the beautiful cephalis, first placing the skull in a corner, out of the reach of mr cranium, who sate eyeing it with lively curiosity, and after several efforts to restrain his impatience, exclaimed, "you seem to have found a rarity." "a rarity indeed," said mr escot, cracking an egg as he spoke; "no less than the genuine and indubitable skull of cadwallader." "the skull of cadwallader!" vociferated mr cranium; "o treasure of treasures!" mr escot then detailed by what means he had become possessed of it, which gave birth to various remarks from the other individuals of the party: after which, rising from table, and taking the skull again in his hand, "this skull," said he, "is the skull of a hero, _palai katatethneiotos_[ . ], and sufficiently demonstrates a point, concerning which i never myself entertained a doubt, that the human race is undergoing a gradual process of diminution, in length, breadth, and thickness. observe this skull. even the skull of our reverend friend, which is the largest and thickest in the company, is not more than half its size. the frame this skull belonged to could scarcely have been less than nine feet high. such is the lamentable progress of degeneracy and decay. in the course of ages, a boot of the present generation would form an ample chateau for a large family of our remote posterity. the mind, too, participates in the contraction of the body. poets and philosophers of all ages and nations have lamented this too visible process of physical and moral deterioration. 'the sons of little men', says ossian. '_oioi nun brotoi eisin_,' says homer: 'such men as live in these degenerate days.' 'all things,' says virgil, 'have a retrocessive tendency, and grow worse and worse by the inevitable doom of fate.'[ . ] 'we live in the ninth age,' says juvenal, 'an age worse than the age of iron; nature has no metal sufficiently pernicious to give a denomination to its wickedness.'[ . ] 'our fathers,' says horace, 'worse than our grandfathers, have given birth to us, their more vicious progeny, who, in our turn, shall become the parents of a still viler generation.'[ . ] you all know the fable of the buried pict, who bit off the end of a pickaxe, with which sacrilegious hands were breaking open his grave, and called out with a voice like subterranean thunder, _i perceive the degeneracy of your race by the smallness of your little finger!_ videlicet, the pickaxe. this, to be sure, is a fiction; but it shows the prevalent opinion, the feeling, the conviction, of absolute, universal, irremediable deterioration." "i should be sorry," said mr foster, "that such an opinion should become universal, independently of my conviction of its fallacy. its general admission would tend, in a great measure, to produce the very evils it appears to lament. what could be its effect, but to check the ardour of investigation, to extinguish the zeal of philanthropy, to freeze the current of enterprising hope, to bury in the torpor of scepticism and in the stagnation of despair, every better faculty of the human mind, which will necessarily become retrograde in ceasing to be progressive?" "i am inclined to think, on the contrary," said mr escot, "that the deterioration of man is accelerated by his blindness--in many respects wilful blindness--to the truth of the fact itself, and to the causes which produce it; that there is no hope whatever of ameliorating his condition but in a total and radical change of the whole scheme of human life, and that the advocates of his indefinite perfectibility are in reality the greatest enemies to the practical possibility of their own system, by so strenuously labouring to impress on his attention that he is going on in a good way, while he is really in a deplorably bad one." "i admit," said mr foster, "there are many things that may, and therefore will, be changed for the better." "not on the present system," said mr escot, "in which every change is for the worse." "in matters of taste i am sure it is," said mr gall: "there is, in fact, no such thing as good taste left in the world." "oh, mr gall!" said miss philomela poppyseed, "i thought my novel----" "my paintings," said sir patrick o'prism---- "my ode," said mr mac laurel---- "my ballad," said mr nightshade---- "my plan for lord littlebrain's park," said marmaduke milestone, esquire---- "my essay," said mr treacle---- "my sonata," said mr chromatic---- "my claret," said squire headlong---- "my lectures," said mr cranium---- "vanity of vanities," said the reverend doctor gaster, turning down an empty egg-shell; "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." chapter xi the anniversary among the _dies alba creta notandos_, which the beau monde of the cambrian mountains was in the habit of remembering with the greatest pleasure, and anticipating with the most lively satisfaction, was the christmas ball which the ancient family of the headlongs had been accustomed to give from time immemorial. tradition attributed the honour of its foundation to headlong ap-headlong ap-breakneck ap-headlong ap-cataract ap-pistyll ap-rhaidr[ . ] ap-headlong, who lived about the time of the trojan war. certain it is, at least, that a grand chorus was always sung after supper in honour of this illustrious ancestor of the squire. this ball was, indeed, an aera in the lives of all the beauty and fashion of caernarvon, meirionnydd, and anglesea, and, like the greek olympiads and the roman consulates, served as the main pillar of memory, round which all the events of the year were suspended and entwined. thus, in recalling to mind any circumstance imperfectly recollected, the principal point to be ascertained was, whether it had occurred in the year of the first, second, third, or fourth ball of headlong ap-breakneck, or headlong ap-torrent, or headlong ap-hurricane; and, this being satisfactorily established, the remainder followed of course in the natural order of its ancient association. this eventful anniversary being arrived, every chariot, coach, barouche and barouchette, landau and landaulet, chaise, curricle, buggy, whiskey, and tilbury, of the three counties, was in motion: not a horse was left idle within five miles of any gentleman's seat, from the high-mettled hunter to the heath-cropping galloway. the ferrymen of the menai were at their stations before daybreak, taking a double allowance of rum and _cwrw_ to strengthen them for the fatigues of the day. the ivied towers of caernarvon, the romantic woods of tan-y-bwlch, the heathy hills of kernioggau, the sandy shores of tremadoc, the mountain recesses of bedd-gelert, and the lonely lakes of capel-cerig, re-echoed to the voices of the delighted ostlers and postillions, who reaped on this happy day their wintry harvest. landlords and landladies, waiters, chambermaids, and toll-gate keepers, roused themselves from the torpidity which the last solitary tourist, flying with the yellow leaves on the wings of the autumnal wind, had left them to enjoy till the returning spring: the bustle of august was renewed on all the mountain roads, and, in the meanwhile, squire headlong and his little fat butler carried most energetically into effect the lessons of the _savant_ in the court of quintessence, _qui par engin mirificque jectoit les maisons par les fenestres_[ . ]. it was the custom for the guests to assemble at dinner on the day of the ball, and depart on the following morning after breakfast. sleep during this interval was out of the question: the ancient harp of cambria suspended the celebration of the noble race of shenkin, and the songs of hoel and cyveilioc, to ring to the profaner but more lively modulation of _voulez vous danser, mademoiselle?_ in conjunction with the symphonious scraping of fiddles, the tinkling of triangles, and the beating of tambourines. comus and momus were the deities of the night; and bacchus of course was not forgotten by the male part of the assembly (with them, indeed, a ball was invariably a scene of "_tipsy dance and jollity_"): the servants flew about with wine and negus, and the little butler was indefatigable with his corkscrew, which is reported on one occasion to have grown so hot under the influence of perpetual friction that it actually set fire to the cork. the company assembled. the dinner, which on this occasion was a secondary object, was despatched with uncommon celerity. when the cloth was removed, and the bottle had taken its first round, mr cranium stood up and addressed the company. "ladies and gentlemen," said he, "the golden key of mental phaenomena, which has lain buried for ages in the deepest vein of the mine of physiological research, is now, by a happy combination of practical and speculative investigations, grasped, if i may so express myself, firmly and inexcusably, in the hands of physiognomical empiricism." the cambrian visitors listened with profound attention, not comprehending a single syllable he said, but concluding he would finish his speech by proposing the health of squire headlong. the gentlemen accordingly tossed off their heeltaps, and mr cranium proceeded: "ardently desirous, to the extent of my feeble capacity, of disseminating as much as possible, the inexhaustible treasures to which this golden key admits the humblest votary of philosophical truth, i invite you, when you have sufficiently restored, replenished, refreshed, and exhilarated that osteosarchaematosplanchnochondroneuromuelous, or to employ a more intelligible term, osseocarnisanguineoviscericartilaginonervomedullary, _compages_, or shell, the body, which at once envelopes and developes that mysterious and inestimable kernel, the desiderative, determinative, ratiocinative, imaginative, inquisitive, appetitive, comparative, reminiscent, congeries of ideas and notions, simple and compound, comprised in the comprehensive denomination of mind, to take a peep with me into the mechanical arcana of the anatomico-metaphysical universe. being not in the least dubitative of your spontaneous compliance, i proceed," added he, suddenly changing his tone, "to get everything ready in the library." saying these words, he vanished. the welsh squires now imagined they had caught a glimpse of his meaning, and set him down in their minds for a sort of gentleman conjuror, who intended to amuse them before the ball with some tricks of legerdemain. under this impression, they became very impatient to follow him, as they had made up their minds not to be drunk before supper. the ladies, too, were extremely curious to witness an exhibition which had been announced in so singular a preamble; and the squire, having previously insisted on every gentleman tossing off a half-pint bumper, adjourned the whole party to the library, where they were not a little surprised to discover mr cranium seated, in a pensive attitude, at a large table, decorated with a copious variety of skulls. some of the ladies were so much shocked at this extraordinary display, that a scene of great confusion ensued. fans were very actively exercised, and water was strenuously called for by some of the most officious of the gentlemen; on which the little butler entered with a large allowance of liquid, which bore, indeed, the name of _water_, but was in reality a very powerful spirit. this was the only species of water which the little butler had ever heard called for in headlong hall. the mistake was not attended with any evil effects: for the fluid was no sooner applied to the lips of the fainting fair ones, than it resuscitated them with an expedition truly miraculous. order was at length restored; the audience took their seats, and the craniological orator held forth in the following terms: chapter xii the lecture "physiologists have been much puzzled to account for the varieties of moral character in men, as well as for the remarkable similarity of habit and disposition in all the individual animals of every other respective species. a few brief sentences, perspicuously worded, and scientifically arranged, will enumerate all the characteristics of a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or a bear, or a squirrel, or a goat, or a horse, or an ass, or a rat, or a cat, or a hog, or a dog; and whatever is physiologically predicted of any individual lion, tiger, wolf, bear, squirrel, goat, horse, ass, hog, or dog, will be found to hold true of all lions, tigers, wolves, bears, squirrels, goats, horses, asses, hogs, and dogs, whatsoever. now, in man, the very reverse of this appears to be the case; for he has so few distinct and characteristic marks which hold true of all his species, that philosophers in all ages have found it a task of infinite difficulty to give him a definition. hence one has defined him to be a _featherless biped_, a definition which is equally applicable to an unfledged fowl: another to be _an animal which forms opinions_, than which nothing can be more inaccurate, for a very small number of the species form opinions, and the remainder take them upon trust, without investigation or inquiry. "again, man has been defined to be _an animal that carries a stick_: an attribute which undoubtedly belongs to man only, but not to all men always; though it uniformly characterises some of the graver and more imposing varieties, such as physicians, oran-outangs, and lords in waiting. "we cannot define man to be a reasoning animal, for we do not dispute that idiots are men; to say nothing of that very numerous description of persons who consider themselves reasoning animals, and are so denominated by the ironical courtesy of the world, who labour, nevertheless, under a very gross delusion in that essential particular. "it appears to me that man may be correctly defined an animal, which, without any peculiar or distinguishing faculty of its own, is, as it were, a bundle or compound of faculties of other animals, by a distinct enumeration of which any individual of the species may be satisfactorily described. this is manifest, even in the ordinary language of conversation, when, in summing up, for example, the qualities of an accomplished courtier, we say he has the vanity of a peacock, the cunning of a fox, the treachery of an hyaena, the cold-heartedness of a cat, and the servility of a jackal. that this is perfectly consentaneous to scientific truth, will appear in the further progress of these observations. "every particular faculty of the mind has its corresponding organ in the brain. in proportion as any particular faculty or propensity acquires paramount activity in any individual, these organs develope themselves, and their development becomes externally obvious by corresponding lumps and bumps, exuberances and protuberances, on the osseous compages of the occiput and sinciput. in all animals but man, the same organ is equally developed in every individual of the species: for instance, that of migration in the swallow, that of destruction in the tiger, that of architecture in the beaver, and that of parental affection in the bear. the human brain, however, consists, as i have said, of a bundle or compound of all the faculties of all other animals; and from the greater development of one or more of these, in the infinite varieties of combination, result all the peculiarities of individual character. "here is the skull of a beaver, and that of sir christopher wren. you observe, in both these specimens, the prodigious development of the organ of constructiveness. "here is the skull of a bullfinch, and that of an eminent fiddler. you may compare the organ of music. "here is the skull of a tiger. you observe the organ of carnage. here is the skull of a fox. you observe the organ of plunder. here is the skull of a peacock. you observe the organ of vanity. here is the skull of an illustrious robber, who, after a long and triumphant process of depredation and murder, was suddenly checked in his career by means of a certain quality inherent in preparations of hemp, which, for the sake of perspicuity, i shall call _suspensiveness_. here is the skull of a conqueror, who, after over-running several kingdoms, burning a number of cities, and causing the deaths of two or three millions of men, women, and children, was entombed with all the pageantry of public lamentation, and figured as the hero of several thousand odes and a round dozen of epics; while the poor highwayman was twice executed-- 'at the gallows first, and after in a ballad, sung to a villainous tune.' "you observe, in both these skulls, the combined development of the organs of carnage, plunder, and vanity, which i have separately pointed out in the tiger, the fox, and the peacock. the greater enlargement of the organ of vanity in the hero is the only criterion by which i can distinguish them from each other. born with the same faculties, and the same propensities, these two men were formed by nature to run the same career: the different combinations of external circumstances decided the differences of their destinies. "here is the skull of a newfoundland dog. you observe the organ of benevolence, and that of attachment. here is a human skull, in which you may observe a very striking negation of both these organs; and an equally striking development of those of destruction, cunning, avarice, and self-love. this was one of the most illustrious statesmen that ever flourished in the page of history. "here is the skull of a turnspit, which, after a wretched life of _dirty work_, was turned out of doors to die on a dunghill. i have been induced to preserve it, in consequence of its remarkable similarity to this, which belonged to a courtly poet, who having grown grey in flattering the great, was cast off in the same manner to perish by the same catastrophe." _after these, and several other illustrations, during which the skulls were handed round for the inspection of the company, mr cranium proceeded thus:--_ "it is obvious, from what i have said, that no man can hope for worldly honour or advancement, who is not placed in such a relation to external circumstances as may be consentaneous to his peculiar cerebral organs; and i would advise every parent, who has the welfare of his son at heart, to procure as extensive a collection as possible of the skulls of animals, and, before determining on the choice of a profession, to compare with the utmost nicety their bumps and protuberances with those of the skull of his son. if the development of the organ of destruction point out a similarity between the youth and the tiger, let him be brought to some profession (whether that of a butcher, a soldier, or a physician, may be regulated by circumstances) in which he may be furnished with a licence to kill: as, without such licence, the indulgence of his natural propensity may lead to the untimely rescission of his vital thread, 'with edge of penny cord and vile reproach.' if he show an analogy with the jackal, let all possible influence be used to procure him a place at court, where he will infallibly thrive. if his skull bear a marked resemblance to that of a magpie, it cannot be doubted that he will prove an admirable lawyer; and if with this advantageous conformation be combined any similitude to that of an owl, very confident hopes may be formed of his becoming a judge." a furious flourish of music was now heard from the ball-room, the squire having secretly dispatched the little butler to order it to strike up, by way of a hint to mr cranium to finish his harangue. the company took the hint and adjourned tumultuously, having just understood as much of the lecture as furnished them with amusement for the ensuing twelvemonth, in feeling the skulls of all their acquaintance. chapter xiii the ball the ball-room was adorned with great taste and elegance, under the direction of miss caprioletta and her friend miss cephalis, who were themselves its most beautiful ornaments, even though romantic meirion, the pre-eminent in loveliness, sent many of its loveliest daughters to grace the festive scene. numberless were the solicitations of the dazzled swains of cambria for the honour of the two first dances with the one or the other of these fascinating friends; but little availed, on this occasion, the pedigree lineally traced from caractacus or king arthur; their two philosophical lovers, neither of whom could have given the least account of his great-great-grandfather, had engaged them many days before. mr panscope chafed and fretted like llugwy in his bed of rocks, when the object of his adoration stood up with his rival: but he consoled himself with a lively damsel from the vale of edeirnion, having first compelled miss cephalis to promise him her hand for the fourth set. the ball was accordingly opened by miss caprioletta and mr foster, which gave rise to much speculation among the welsh gentry, as to who this mr foster could be; some of the more learned among them secretly resolving to investigate most profoundly the antiquity of the name of foster, and ascertain what right a person so denominated could have to open the most illustrious of all possible balls with the lovely caprioletta headlong, the only sister of harry headlong, esquire, of headlong hall, in the vale of llanberris, the only surviving male representative of the antediluvian family of headlong ap-rhaiader. when the first two dances were ended, mr escot, who did not choose to dance with any one but his adorable cephalis, looking round for a convenient seat, discovered mr jenkison in a corner by the side of the reverend doctor gaster, who was keeping excellent time with his nose to the lively melody of the harp and fiddle. mr escot seated himself by the side of mr jenkison, and inquired if he took no part in the amusement of the night? _mr jenkison._ no. the universal cheerfulness of the company induces me to rise; the trouble of such violent exercise induces me to sit still. did i see a young lady in want of a partner, gallantry would incite me to offer myself as her devoted knight for half an hour: but, as i perceive there are enough without me, that motive is null. i have been weighing these points _pro_ and _con_, and remain _in statu quo_. _mr escot._ i have danced, contrary to my system, as i have done many other things since i have been here, from a motive that you will easily guess. (_mr jenkison smiled._) i have great objections to dancing. the wild and original man is a calm and contemplative animal. the stings of natural appetite alone rouse him to action. he satisfies his hunger with roots and fruits, unvitiated by the malignant adhibition of fire, and all its diabolical processes of elixion and assation; he slakes his thirst in the mountain-stream, _summisgetai tae epituchousae_, and returns to his peaceful state of meditative repose. _mr jenkison._ like the metaphysical statue of condillac. _mr escot._ with all its senses and purely natural faculties developed, certainly. imagine this tranquil and passionless being, occupied in his first meditation on the simple question of _where am i? whence do i come? and what is the end of my existence?_ then suddenly place before him a chandelier, a fiddler, and a magnificent beau in silk stockings and pumps, bounding, skipping, swinging, capering, and throwing himself into ten thousand attitudes, till his face glows with fever, and distils with perspiration: the first impulse excited in his mind by such an apparition will be that of violent fear, which, by the reiterated perception of its harmlessness, will subside into simple astonishment. then let any genius, sufficiently powerful to impress on his mind all the terms of the communication, impart to him, that after a long process of ages, when his race shall have attained what some people think proper to denominate a very advanced stage of perfectibility, the most favoured and distinguished of the community shall meet by hundreds, to grin, and labour, and gesticulate, like the phantasma before him, from sunset to sunrise, while all nature is at rest, and that they shall consider this a happy and pleasurable mode of existence, and furnishing the most delightful of all possible contrasts to what they will call his vegetative state: would he not groan from his inmost soul for the lamentable condition of his posterity? _mr jenkison._ i know not what your wild and original man might think of the matter in the abstract; but comparatively, i conceive, he would be better pleased with the vision of such a scene as this, than with that of a party of indians (who would have all the advantage of being nearly as wild as himself), dancing their infernal war-dance round a midnight fire in a north american forest. _mr escot._ not if you should impart to him the true nature of both, by laying open to his view the springs of action in both parties. _mr jenkison._ to do this with effect, you must make him a profound metaphysician, and thus transfer him at once from his wild and original state to a very advanced stage of intellectual progression; whether that progression be towards good or evil, i leave you and our friend foster to settle between you. _mr escot._ i wish to make no change in his habits and feelings, but to give him, hypothetically, so much mental illumination, as will enable him to take a clear view of two distinct stages of the deterioration of his posterity, that he may be enabled to compare them with each other, and with his own more happy condition. the indian, dancing round the midnight fire, is very far deteriorated; but the magnificent beau, dancing to the light of chandeliers, is infinitely more so. the indian is a hunter: he makes great use of fire, and subsists almost entirely on animal food. the malevolent passions that spring from these pernicious habits involve him in perpetual war. he is, therefore, necessitated, for his own preservation, to keep all the energies of his nature in constant activity: to this end his midnight war-dance is very powerfully subservient, and, though in itself a frightful spectacle, is at least justifiable on the iron plea of necessity. _mr jenkison._ on the same iron plea, the modern system of dancing is more justifiable. the indian dances to prepare himself for killing his enemy: but while the beaux and belles of our assemblies dance, they are in the very act of killing theirs--time!--a more inveterate and formidable foe than any the indian has to contend with; for, however completely and ingeniously killed, he is sure to rise again, "with twenty mortal murders on his crown," leading his army of blue devils, with ennui in the van, and vapours in the rear. _mr escot._ your observation militates on my side of the question; and it is a strong argument in favour of the indian, that he has no such enemy to kill. _mr jenkison._ there is certainly a great deal to be said against dancing: there is also a great deal to be said in its favour. the first side of the question i leave for the present to you: on the latter, i may venture to allege that no amusement seems more natural and more congenial to youth than this. it has the advantage of bringing young persons of both sexes together, in a manner which its publicity renders perfectly unexceptionable, enabling them to see and know each other better than, perhaps, any other mode of general association. _tete-a-tetes_ are dangerous things. small family parties are too much under mutual observation. a ball-room appears to me almost the only scene uniting that degree of rational and innocent liberty of intercourse, which it is desirable to promote as much as possible between young persons, with that scrupulous attention to the delicacy and propriety of female conduct, which i consider the fundamental basis of all our most valuable social relations. _mr escot._ there would be some plausibility in your argument, if it were not the very essence of this species of intercourse to exhibit them to each other under false colours. here all is show, and varnish, and hypocrisy, and coquetry; they dress up their moral character for the evening at the same toilet where they manufacture their shapes and faces. ill-temper lies buried under a studied accumulation of smiles. envy, hatred, and malice, retreat from the countenance, to entrench themselves more deeply in the heart. treachery lurks under the flowers of courtesy. ignorance and folly take refuge in that unmeaning gabble which it would be profanation to call language, and which even those whom long experience in "the dreary intercourse of daily life" has screwed up to such a pitch of stoical endurance that they can listen to it by the hour, have branded with the ignominious appellation of "_small talk_." small indeed!--the absolute minimum of the infinitely little. _mr jenkison._ go on. i have said all i intended to say on the favourable side. i shall have great pleasure in hearing you balance the argument. _mr escot._ i expect you to confess that i shall have more than balanced it. a ball-room is an epitome of all that is most worthless and unamiable in the great sphere of human life. every petty and malignant passion is called into play. coquetry is perpetually on the alert to captivate, caprice to mortify, and vanity to take offence. one amiable female is rendered miserable for the evening by seeing another, whom she intended to outshine, in a more attractive dress than her own; while the other omits no method of giving stings to her triumph, which she enjoys with all the secret arrogance of an oriental sultana. another is compelled to dance with a _monster_ she abhors. a third has set her heart on dancing with a particular partner, perhaps for the amiable motive of annoying one of her _dear friends_: not only he does not ask her, but she sees him dancing with that identical _dear friend_, whom from that moment she hates more cordially than ever. perhaps, what is worse than all, she has set her heart on refusing some impertinent fop, who does not give her the opportunity.--as to the men, the case is very nearly the same with them. to be sure, they have the privilege of making the first advances, and are, therefore, less liable to have an odious partner forced upon them; though this sometimes happens, as i know by woeful experience: but it is seldom they can procure the very partner they prefer; and when they do, the absurd necessity of changing every two dances forces them away, and leaves them only the miserable alternative of taking up with something disagreeable perhaps in itself, and at all events rendered so by contrast, or of retreating into some solitary corner, to vent their spleen on the first idle coxcomb they can find. _mr jenkison._ i hope that is not the motive which brings you to me. _mr escot._ clearly not. but the most afflicting consideration of all is, that these malignant and miserable feelings are masked under that uniform disguise of pretended benevolence, _that fine and delicate irony, called politeness, which gives so much ease and pliability to the mutual intercourse of civilised man, and enables him to assume the appearance of every virtue without the reality of one_.[ . ] the second set of dances was now terminated, and mr escot flew off to reclaim the hand of the beautiful cephalis, with whom he figured away with surprising alacrity, and probably felt at least as happy among the chandeliers and silk stockings, at which he had just been railing, as he would have been in an american forest, making one in an indian ring, by the light of a blazing fire, even though his hand had been locked in that of the most beautiful _squaw_ that ever listened to the roar of niagara. squire headlong was now beset by his maiden aunt, miss brindle-mew grimalkin phoebe tabitha ap-headlong, on one side, and sir patrick o'prism on the other; the former insisting that he should immediately procure her a partner; the latter earnestly requesting the same interference in behalf of miss philomela poppyseed. the squire thought to emancipate himself from his two petitioners by making them dance with each other; but sir patrick vehemently pleading a prior engagement, the squire threw his eyes around till they alighted on mr jenkison and the reverend doctor gaster; both of whom, after waking the latter, he pressed into the service. the doctor, arising with a strange kind of guttural sound, which was half a yawn and half a groan, was handed by the officious squire to miss philomela, who received him with sullen dignity: she had not yet forgotten his falling asleep during the first chapter of her novel, while she was condescending to detail to him the outlines of four superlative volumes. the doctor, on his part, had most completely forgotten it; and though he thought there was something in her physiognomy rather more forbidding than usual, he gave himself no concern about the cause, and had not the least suspicion that it was at all connected with himself. miss brindle-mew was very well contented with mr jenkison, and gave him two or three ogles, accompanied by a most risible distortion of the countenance which she intended for a captivating smile. as to mr jenkison, it was all one to him with whom he danced, or whether he danced or not: he was therefore just as well pleased as if he had been left alone in his corner; which is probably more than could have been said of any other human being under similar circumstances. at the end of the third set, supper was announced; and the party, pairing off like turtles, adjourned to the supper-room. the squire was now the happiest of mortal men, and the little butler the most laborious. the centre of the largest table was decorated with a model of snowdon, surmounted with an enormous artificial leek, the leaves of angelica, and the bulb of blancmange. a little way from the summit was a tarn, or mountain-pool, supplied through concealed tubes with an inexhaustible flow of milk-punch, which, dashing in cascades down the miniature rocks, fell into the more capacious lake below, washing the mimic foundations of headlong hall. the reverend doctor handed miss philomela to the chair most conveniently situated for enjoying this interesting scene, protesting he had never before been sufficiently impressed with the magnificence of that mountain, which he now perceived to be well worthy of all the fame it had obtained. "now, when they had eaten and were satisfied," squire headlong called on mr chromatic for a song; who, with the assistance of his two accomplished daughters, regaled the ears of the company with the following terzetto[ . ] grey twilight, from her shadowy hill, discolours nature's vernal bloom, and sheds on grove, and field, and rill, one placid tint of deepening gloom. the sailor sighs 'mid shoreless seas, touched by the thought of friends afar, as, fanned by ocean's flowing breeze, he gazes on the western star. the wanderer hears, in pensive dream, the accents of the last farewell, as, pausing by the mountain stream, he listens to the evening bell. this terzetto was of course much applauded; mr milestone observing, that he thought the figure in the last verse would have been more picturesque, if it had been represented with its arms folded and its back against a tree; or leaning on its staff, with a cockle-shell in its hat, like a pilgrim of ancient times. mr chromatic professed himself astonished that a gentleman of genuine modern taste, like mr milestone, should consider the words of a song of any consequence whatever, seeing that they were at the best only a species of pegs, for the more convenient suspension of crotchets and quavers. this remark drew on him a very severe reprimand from mr mac laurel, who said to him, "dinna ye ken, sir, that soond is a thing utterly worthless in itsel, and only effectual in agreeable excitements, as far as it is an aicho to sense? is there ony soond mair meeserable an' peetifu' than the scrape o' a feddle, when it does na touch ony chord i' the human sensorium? is there ony mair divine than the deep note o' a bagpipe, when it breathes the auncient meelodies o' leeberty an' love? it is true, there are peculiar trains o' feeling an' sentiment, which parteecular combinations o' meelody are calculated to excite; an' sae far music can produce its effect without words: but it does na follow, that, when ye put words to it, it becomes a matter of indefference what they are; for a gude strain of impassioned poetry will greatly increase the effect, and a tessue o' nonsensical doggrel will destroy it a' thegither. noo, as gude poetry can produce its effect without music, sae will gude music without poetry; and as gude music will be mair pooerfu' by itsel' than wi' bad poetry, sae will gude poetry than wi' bad music: but, when ye put gude music an' gude poetry thegither, ye produce the divinest compound o' sentimental harmony that can possibly find its way through the lug to the saul." mr chromatic admitted that there was much justice in these observations, but still maintained the subserviency of poetry to music. mr mac laurel as strenuously maintained the contrary; and a furious war of words was proceeding to perilous lengths, when the squire interposed his authority towards the reproduction of peace, which was forthwith concluded, and all animosities drowned in a libation of milk-punch, the reverend doctor gaster officiating as high priest on the occasion. mr chromatic now requested miss caprioletta to favour the company with an air. the young lady immediately complied, and sung the following simple ballad "o mary, my sister, thy sorrow give o'er, i soon shall return, girl, and leave thee no more: but with children so fair, and a husband so kind, i shall feel less regret when i leave thee behind. "i have made thee a bench for the door of thy cot, and more would i give thee, but more i have not: sit and think of me there, in the warm summer day, and give me three kisses, my labour to pay." she gave him three kisses, and forth did he fare. and long did he wander, and no one knew where; and long from her cottage, through sunshine and rain, she watched his return, but he came not again. her children grew up, and her husband grew grey; she sate on the bench through the long summer day: one evening, when twilight was deep on the shore, there came an old soldier, and stood by the door. in english he spoke, and none knew what he said, but her oatcake and milk on the table she spread; then he sate to his supper, and blithely he sung, and she knew the dear sounds of her own native tongue: "o rich are the feasts in the englishman's hall, and the wine sparkles bright in the goblets of gaul: but their mingled attractions i well could withstand, for the milk and the oatcake of meirion's dear land." "and art thou a welchman, old soldier?" she cried. "many years have i wandered," the stranger replied: "'twixt danube and thames many rivers there be, but the bright waves of cynfael are fairest to me. "i felled the grey oak, ere i hastened to roam, and i fashioned a bench for the door of my home; and well my dear sister my labour repaid, who gave me three kisses when first it was made. "in the old english soldier thy brother appears: here is gold in abundance, the saving of years: give me oatcake and milk in return for my store, and a seat by thy side on the bench at the door." various other songs succeeded, which, as we are not composing a song book, we shall lay aside for the present. an old squire, who had not missed one of these anniversaries, during more than half a century, now stood up, and filling a half-pint bumper, pronounced, with a stentorian voice--"to the immortal memory of headlong ap-rhaiader, and to the health of his noble descendant and worthy representative!" this example was followed by all the gentlemen present. the harp struck up a triumphal strain; and, the old squire already mentioned, vociferating the first stave, they sang, or rather roared, the following chorus hail to the headlong! the headlong ap-headlong! all hail to the headlong, the headlong ap-headlong! the headlong ap-headlong ap-breakneck ap-headlong ap-cataract ap-pistyll ap-rhaiader ap-headlong! the bright bowl we steep in the name of the headlong: let the youths pledge it deep to the headlong ap-headlong, and the rosy-lipped lasses touch the brim as it passes, and kiss the red tide for the headlong ap-headlong! the loud harp resounds in the hall of the headlong: the light step rebounds in the hall of the headlong: where shall music invite us, or beauty delight us, if not in the hall of the headlong ap-headlong? huzza! to the health of the headlong ap-headlong! fill the bowl, fill in floods, to the health of the headlong! till the stream ruby-glowing, on all sides o'erflowing, shall fall in cascades to the health of the headlong! the headlong ap-headlong ap-breakneck ap-headlong ap-cataract ap-pistyll ap-rhaiader ap-headlong! squire headlong returned thanks with an appropriate libation, and the company re-adjourned to the ballroom, where they kept it up till sunrise, when the little butler summoned them to breakfast. chapter xiv the proposals the chorus which celebrated the antiquity of her lineage, had been ringing all night in the ears of miss brindle-mew grimalkin phoebe tabitha ap-headlong, when, taking the squire aside, while the visitors were sipping their tea and coffee, "nephew harry," said she, "i have been noting your behaviour, during the several stages of the ball and supper; and, though i cannot tax you with any want of gallantry, for you are a very gallant young man, nephew harry, very gallant--i wish i could say as much for every one" (added she, throwing a spiteful look towards a distant corner, where mr jenkison was sitting with great _nonchalance_, and at the moment dipping a rusk in a cup of chocolate); "but i lament to perceive that you were at least as pleased with your lakes of milk-punch, and your bottles of champagne and burgundy, as with any of your delightful partners. now, though i can readily excuse this degree of incombustibility in the descendant of a family so remarkable in all ages for personal beauty as ours, yet i lament it exceedingly, when i consider that, in conjunction with your present predilection for the easy life of a bachelor, it may possibly prove the means of causing our ancient genealogical tree, which has its roots, if i may so speak, in the foundations of the world, to terminate suddenly in a point: unless you feel yourself moved by my exhortations to follow the example of all your ancestors, by choosing yourself a fitting and suitable helpmate to immortalize the pedigree of headlong ap-rhaiader." "egad!" said squire headlong, "that is very true, i'll marry directly. a good opportunity to fix on some one, now they are all here; and i'll pop the question without further ceremony." "what think you," said the old lady, "of miss nanny glen-du, the lineal descendant of llewelyn ap-yorwerth?" "she won't do," said squire headlong. "what say you, then," said the lady, "to miss williams, of pontyglasrhydyrallt, the descendant of the ancient family of----?" "i don't like her," said squire headlong; "and as to her ancient family, that is a matter of no consequence. i have antiquity enough for two. they are all moderns, people of yesterday, in comparison with us. what signify six or seven centuries, which are the most they can make up?" "why, to be sure," said the aunt, "on that view of the question, it is no consequence. what think you, then, of miss owen, of nidd-y-gygfraen? she will have six thousand a year." "i would not have her," said squire headlong, "if she had fifty. i'll think of somebody presently. i should like to be married on the same day with caprioletta." "caprioletta!" said miss brindle-mew; "without my being consulted." "consulted!" said the squire: "i was commissioned to tell you, but somehow or other i let it slip. however, she is going to be married to my friend mr foster, the philosopher." "oh!" said the maiden aunt, "that a daughter of our ancient family should marry a philosopher! it is enough to make the bones of all the ap-rhaiaders turn in their graves!" "i happen to be more enlightened," said squire headlong, "than any of my ancestors were. besides, it is caprioletta's affair, not mine. i tell you, the matter is settled, fixed, determined; and so am i, to be married on the same day. i don't know, now i think of it, whom i can choose better than one of the daughters of my friend chromatic." "a saxon!" said the aunt, turning up her nose, and was commencing a vehement remonstrance; but the squire, exclaiming "music has charms!" flew over to mr chromatic, and, with a hearty slap on the shoulder, asked him "how he should like him for a son-in-law?" mr chromatic, rubbing his shoulder, and highly delighted with the proposal, answered, "very much indeed:" but, proceeding to ascertain which of his daughters had captivated the squire, the squire demurred, and was unable to satisfy his curiosity. "i hope," said mr chromatic, "it may be tenorina; for i imagine graziosa has conceived a _penchant_ for sir patrick o'prism."--"tenorina, exactly," said squire headlong; and became so impatient to bring the matter to a conclusion, that mr chromatic undertook to communicate with his daughter immediately. the young lady proved to be as ready as the squire, and the preliminaries were arranged in little more than five minutes. mr chromatic's words, that he imagined his daughter graziosa had conceived a _penchant_ for sir patrick o'prism, were not lost on the squire, who at once determined to have as many companions in the scrape as possible, and who, as soon as he could tear himself from mrs headlong elect, took three flying bounds across the room to the baronet, and said, "so, sir patrick, i find you and i are going to be married?" "are we?" said sir patrick: "then sure won't i wish you joy, and myself too? for this is the first i have heard of it." "well," said squire headlong, "i have made up my mind to it, and you must not disappoint me." "to be sure i won't, if i can help it," said sir patrick; "and i am very much obliged to you for taking so much trouble off my hands. and pray, now, who is it that i am to be metamorphosing into lady o'prism?" "miss graziosa chromatic," said the squire. "och violet and vermilion!" said sir patrick; "though i never thought of it before, i dare say she will suit me as well as another: but then you must persuade the ould orpheus to draw out a few _notes_ of rather a more magical description than those he is so fond of scraping on his crazy violin." "to be sure he shall," said the squire; and, immediately returning to mr chromatic, concluded the negotiation for sir patrick as expeditiously as he had done for himself. the squire next addressed himself to mr escot: "here are three couple of us going to throw off together, with the reverend doctor gaster for whipper-in: now, i think you cannot do better than make the fourth with miss cephalis; and then, as my father-in-law that is to be would say, we shall compose a very harmonious octave." "indeed," said mr escot, "nothing would be more agreeable to both of us than such an arrangement: but the old gentleman, since i first knew him, has changed, like the rest of the world, very lamentably for the worse: now, we wish to bring him to reason, if possible, though we mean to dispense with his consent, if he should prove much longer refractory." "i'll settle him," said squire headlong; and immediately posted up to mr cranium, informing him that four marriages were about to take place by way of a merry winding up of the christmas festivities. "indeed!" said mr cranium; "and who are the parties?" "in the first place," said the squire, "my sister and mr foster: in the second, miss graziosa chromatic and sir patrick o'prism: in the third, miss tenorina chromatic and your humble servant: and in the fourth to which, by the by, your consent is wanted----" "oho!" said mr cranium. "your daughter," said squire headlong. "and mr panscope?" said mr cranium. "and mr escot," said squire headlong. "what would you have better? he has ten thousand virtues." "so has mr panscope," said mr cranium; "he has ten thousand a year." "virtues?" said squire headlong. "pounds," said mr cranium. "i have set my mind on mr escot," said the squire. "i am much obliged to you," said mr cranium, "for dethroning me from my paternal authority." "who fished you out of the water?" said squire headlong. "what is that to the purpose?" said mr cranium. "the whole process of the action was mechanical and necessary. the application of the poker necessitated the ignition of the powder: the ignition necessitated the explosion: the explosion necessitated my sudden fright, which necessitated my sudden jump, which, from a necessity equally powerful, was in a curvilinear ascent: the descent, being in a corresponding curve, and commencing at a point perpendicular to the extreme line of the edge of the tower, i was, by the necessity of gravitation, attracted, first, through the ivy, and secondly through the hazel, and thirdly through the ash, into the water beneath. the motive or impulse thus adhibited in the person of a drowning man, was as powerful on his material compages as the force of gravitation on mine; and he could no more help jumping into the water than i could help falling into it." "all perfectly true," said squire headlong; "and, on the same principle, you make no distinction between the man who knocks you down and him who picks you up." "i make this distinction," said mr cranium, "that i avoid the former as a machine containing a peculiar _cataballitive_ quality, which i have found to be not consentaneous to my mode of pleasurable existence; but i attach no moral merit or demerit to either of them, as these terms are usually employed, seeing that they are equally creatures of necessity, and must act as they do from the nature of their organisation. i no more blame or praise a man for what is called vice or virtue, than i tax a tuft of hemlock with malevolence, or discover great philanthropy in a field of potatoes, seeing that the men and the plants are equally incapacitated, by their original internal organisation, and the combinations and modifications of external circumstances, from being any thing but what they are. _quod victus fateare necesse est_." "yet you destroy the hemlock," said squire headlong, "and cultivate the potato; that is my way, at least." "i do," said mr cranium; "because i know that the farinaceous qualities of the potato will tend to preserve the great requisites of unity and coalescence in the various constituent portions of my animal republic; and that the hemlock, if gathered by mistake for parsley, chopped up small with butter, and eaten with a boiled chicken, would necessitate a great derangement, and perhaps a total decomposition, of my corporeal mechanism." "very well," said the squire; "then you are necessitated to like mr escot better than mr panscope?" "that is a _non sequitur_," said mr cranium. "then this is a _sequitur_," said the squire: "your daughter and mr escot are necessitated to love one another; and, unless you feel necessitated to adhibit your consent, they will feel necessitated to dispense with it; since it does appear to moral and political economists to be essentially inherent in the eternal fitness of things." mr cranium fell into a profound reverie: emerging from which, he said, looking squire headlong full in the face, "do you think mr escot would give me that skull?" "skull!" said squire headlong. "yes," said mr cranium, "the skull of cadwallader." "to be sure he will," said the squire. "ascertain the point," said mr cranium. "how can you doubt it?" said the squire. "i simply know," said mr cranium, "that if it were once in my possession, i would not part with it for any acquisition on earth, much less for a wife. i have had one: and, as marriage has been compared to a pill, i can very safely assert that _one is a dose_; and my reason for thinking that he will not part with it is, that its extraordinary magnitude tends to support his system, as much as its very marked protuberances tend to support mine; and you know his own system is of all things the dearest to every man of liberal thinking and a philosophical tendency." the squire flew over to mr escot. "i told you," said he, "i would settle him: but there is a very hard condition attached to his compliance." "i submit to it," said mr escot, "be it what it may." "nothing less," said squire headlong, "than the absolute and unconditional surrender of the skull of cadwallader." "i resign it," said mr escot. "the skull is yours," said the squire, skipping over to mr cranium. "i am perfectly satisfied," said mr cranium. "the lady is yours," said the squire, skipping back to mr escot. "i am the happiest man alive," said mr escot. "come," said the squire, "then there is an amelioration in the state of the sensitive man." "a slight oscillation of good in the instance of a solitary individual," answered mr escot, "by no means affects the solidity of my opinions concerning the general deterioration of the civilised world; which when i can be induced to contemplate with feelings of satisfaction, i doubt not but that i may be persuaded _to be in love with tortures, and to think charitably of the rack_[ . ]." saying these words, he flew off as nimbly as squire headlong himself, to impart the happy intelligence to his beautiful cephalis. mr cranium now walked up to mr panscope, to condole with him on the disappointment of their mutual hopes. mr panscope begged him not to distress himself on the subject, observing, that the monotonous system of female education brought every individual of the sex to so remarkable an approximation of similarity, that no wise man would suffer himself to be annoyed by a loss so easily repaired; and that there was much truth, though not much elegance, in a remark which he had heard made on a similar occasion by a post-captain of his acquaintance, "that there never was a fish taken out of the sea, but left another as good behind." mr cranium replied that no two individuals having all the organs of the skull similarly developed, the universal resemblance of which mr panscope had spoken could not possibly exist. mr panscope rejoined; and a long discussion ensued, concerning the comparative influence of natural organisation and artificial education, in which the beautiful cephalis was totally lost sight of, and which ended, as most controversies do, by each party continuing firm in his own opinion, and professing his profound astonishment at the blindness and prejudices of the other. in the meanwhile, a great confusion had arisen at the outer doors, the departure of the ball-visitors being impeded by a circumstance which the experience of ages had discovered no means to obviate. the grooms, coachmen, and postillions, were all drunk. it was proposed that the gentlemen should officiate in their places: but the gentlemen were almost all in the same condition. this was a fearful dilemma: but a very diligent investigation brought to light a few servants and a few gentlemen not above _half-seas-over_; and by an equitable distribution of these rarities, the greater part of the guests were enabled to set forward, with very nearly an even chance of not having their necks broken before they reached home. chapter xv the conclusion the squire and his select party of philosophers and dilettanti were again left in peaceful possession of headlong hall: and, as the former made a point of never losing a moment in the accomplishment of a favourite object, he did not suffer many days to elapse, before the spiritual metamorphosis of eight into four was effected by the clerical dexterity of the reverend doctor gaster. immediately after the ceremony, the whole party dispersed, the squire having first extracted from every one of his chosen guests a positive promise to re-assemble in august, when they would be better enabled, in its most appropriate season, to form a correct judgment of cambrian hospitality. mr jenkison shook hands at parting with his two brother philosophers. "according to your respective systems," said he, "i ought to congratulate _you_ on a change for the better, which i do most cordially: and to condole with _you_ on a change for the worse, though, when i consider whom you have chosen, i should violate every principle of probability in doing so." "you will do well," said mr foster, "to follow our example. the extensive circle of general philanthropy, which, in the present advanced stage of human nature, comprehends in its circumference the destinies of the whole species, originated, and still proceeds, from that narrower circle of domestic affection, which first set limits to the empire of selfishness, and, by purifying the passions and enlarging the affections of mankind, has given to the views of benevolence an increasing and illimitable expansion, which will finally diffuse happiness and peace over the whole surface of the world." "the affection," said mr escot, "of two congenial spirits, united not by legal bondage and superstitious imposture, but by mutual confidence and reciprocal virtues, is the only counterbalancing consolation in this scene of mischief and misery. but how rarely is this the case according to the present system of marriage! so far from being a central point of expansion to the great circle of universal benevolence, it serves only to concentrate the feelings of natural sympathy in the reflected selfishness of family interest, and to substitute for the _humani nihil alienum puto_ of youthful philanthropy, the _charity begins at home_ of maturer years. and what accession of individual happiness is acquired by this oblivion of the general good? luxury, despotism, and avarice have so seized and entangled nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand of the human race, that the matrimonial compact, which ought to be the most easy, the most free, and the most simple of all engagements, is become the most slavish and complicated,--a mere question of finance,--a system of bargain, and barter, and commerce, and trick, and chicanery, and dissimulation, and fraud. is there one instance in ten thousand, in which the buds of first affection are not most cruelly and hopelessly blasted, by avarice, or ambition, or arbitrary power? females, condemned during the whole flower of their youth to a worse than monastic celibacy, irrevocably debarred from the hope to which their first affections pointed, will, at a certain period of life, as the natural delicacy of taste and feeling is gradually worn away by the attrition of society, become willing to take up with any coxcomb or scoundrel, whom that merciless and mercenary gang of cold-blooded slaves and assassins, called, in the ordinary prostitution of language _friends_, may agree in designating as a _prudent choice_. young men, on the other hand, are driven by the same vile superstitions from the company of the most amiable and modest of the opposite sex, to that of those miserable victims and outcasts of a world which dares to call itself virtuous, whom that very society whose pernicious institutions first caused their aberrations,--consigning them, without one tear of pity or one struggle of remorse, to penury, infamy, and disease,--condemns to bear the burden of its own atrocious absurdities! thus, the youth of one sex is consumed in slavery, disappointment, and spleen; that of the other, in frantic folly and selfish intemperance: till at length, on the necks of a couple so enfeebled, so perverted, so distempered both in body and soul, society throws the yoke of marriage: that yoke which, once rivetted on the necks of its victims, clings to them like the poisoned garments of nessus or medea. what can be expected from these ill-assorted yoke-fellows, but that, like two ill-tempered hounds, coupled by a tyrannical sportsman, they should drag on their indissoluble fetter, snarling and growling, and pulling in different directions? what can be expected for their wretched offspring, but sickness and suffering, premature decrepitude, and untimely death? in this, as in every other institution of civilised society, avarice, luxury, and disease constitute the triangular harmony of the life of man. avarice conducts him to the abyss of toil and crime: luxury seizes on his ill-gotten spoil; and, while he revels in her enchantments, or groans beneath her tyranny, disease bursts upon him, and sweeps him from the earth." "your theory," said mr jenkison, "forms an admirable counterpoise to your example. as far as i am attracted by the one, i am repelled by the other. thus, the scales of my philosophical balance remain eternally equiponderant, and i see no reason to say of either of them, oichetai eis aidao[ . ]." notes chapter [ . ] foster, quasi _phostaer_,--from _phaos_ and _taereo_, lucem servo, conservo, observo, custodio,--one who watches over and guards the light; a sense in which the word is often used amongst us, when we speak of _fostering_ a flame. [ . ] escot, quasi _es skoton_, _in tenebras_, scilicet, intuens; one who is always looking into the dark side of the question. [ . ] jenkison: this name may be derived from _aien ex ison_, _semper ex aequalibus_--scilicet, mensuris omnia metiens: one who from equal measures divides and distributes all things: one who from equal measures can always produce arguments on both sides of a question, with so much nicety and exactness, as to keep the said question eternally pending, and the balance of the controversy perpetually in statu quo. by an aphaeresis of the _a_, an elision of the second _e_, and an easy and natural mutation of _x_ into _k_, the derivation of this name proceeds according to the strictest principles of etymology: _aien ex ison--ien ex ison--ien ek ison--ien 'k ison--ienkison_--ienkison--jenkison. [ . ] gaster: scilicet _gastaer_--venter, et praeterea nihil. chapter [ . ] see emmerton on the auricula. chapter [ . ] mr knight, in a note to the landscape, having taken the liberty of laughing at a notable device of a celebrated _improver_, for giving greatness of character to a place, and showing an undivided extent of property, by placing the family arms on the neighbouring _milestones_, the improver retorted on him with a charge of misquotation, misrepresentation, and malice prepense. mr knight, in the preface to the second edition of his poem, quotes the improver's words:--"the market-house, or other public edifice, or even a _mere stone with distances_, may bear the arms of the family:" and adds:--"by a _mere stone with distances_, the author of the landscape certainly thought he meant a _milestone_; but, if he did not, any other interpretation which he may think more advantageous to himself shall readily be adopted, as it will equally answer the purpose of the quotation." the improver, however, did not condescend to explain what he really meant by a _mere stone with distances_, though he strenuously maintained that he did _not_ mean a _milestone._ his idea, therefore, stands on record, invested with all the sublimity that obscurity can confer. [ . ] "il est constant qu'elles se baisent de meilleur coeur, et se caressent avec plus de grace devant les hommes, fieres d'aiguiser impunement leur convoitise par l'image des faveurs qu'elles savent leur faire envier."--rousseau, _emile_, liv. . chapter [ . ] see price on the picturesque. [ . ] see knight on taste, and the edinburgh review, no. xiv. [ . ] protracted banquets have been copious sources of evil. chapter [ . ] see lord monboddo's ancient metaphysics. [ . ] drummond's academical questions. [ . ] homer is proved to have been a lover of wine by the praises he bestows upon it. [ . ] a cup of wine at hand, to drink as inclination prompts. chapter [ . ] see knight on taste. [ . ] this stanza is imitated from machiavelli's _capitolo dell' occasione_. chapter [ . ] fragments of a demolished world. [ . ] took's diversions of purley. chapter [ . ] some readers will, perhaps, recollect the archbishop of prague, who also was an excellent sportsman, and who, com' era scritto in certi suoi giornali, ucciso avea con le sue proprie mani un numero infinito d'animali: cinquemila con quindici fagiani, seimila lepri, ottantantre cignali, e per disgrazia, ancor _tredici cani_, &c. chapter [ . ] me miserable! and thrice miserable! and four times, and five times, and twelve times, and ten thousand times miserable! [ . ] pronounced cooroo--the welsh word for _ale._ chapter [ . ] long since dead. [ . ] georg. i. . [ . ] sat. xiii. . [ . ] carm. iii. , . chapter [ . ] pistyll, in welch, signifies a cataract, and rhaidr a cascade. [ . ] rabelais. chapter [ . ] rousseau, discours sur les sciences. [ . ] imitated from a passage in the purgatorio of dante. chapter [ . ] jeremy taylor. chapter [ . ] _it descends to the shades_: or, in other words, _it goes to the devil_. transcription notes source form: printed book title: headlong hall author: thomas love peacock publisher: j. m. dent & co. at aldine house, great eastern st., london. date: editor: richard garnett, lld. printer: turnbull and spears, printers, edinburgh. british library shelfmark: .i. / description: tan cloth over board binding, mm x mm x mm, pages plus at front and at back modifications chapter head and foot decorations have been deleted -- to simplify production to purely text. decorative chapter-start drop-caps have been replaced with capitals -- to simplify production to purely text. page numbers and headers have been deleted -- the new document is unpaginated. fullstops have been deleted from chapter titles and song titles -- they are superfluous. all notes have been moved to the end of the document -- to suit the unpaginated format. all notes by the editor richard garnett have been deleted -- to remove (insubstantial) attachments to the original text. chapter paragraph : inserted closing quotes after "perpetually in statu quo." -- they appear to be missing, since the speech is not continued in the next paragraph. chapter paragraph : deleted fullstop after "astronomy----" -- the sentence is truncated, it does not end. chapter paragraph : deleted fullstop after "selfishness----" -- the sentence is truncated, it does not end. chapter paragraph : deleted fullstop after "cloth----" -- the sentence is truncated, it does not end. chapter paragraph : inserted a comma after "sprained ankle" -- there is a small comma-sized gap at the end of the line where a comma appears to have been omitted. chapter paragraph : deleted comma after "oils" in "oils, and colours" -- "and" clusters things in an item, not separates items, in this list. chapter paragraph : inserted closing quotes after "summit of ararat." -- they appear to be missing, since the speech is not continued in the next paragraph. chapter paragraph : replaced emdash before "exactly, sir: an' ye" with fullstop and space -- it appears to be an erroneous inconsistency, there being no other like instances in speech indication. chapter paragraph : deleted closing quotes after "confracti mundi rudera:" -- the phrase is not quoted, and the speech does not end there. chapter paragraph : replaced "procession" with "precession" in "the procession of the equinoxes" -- it appears to be a spelling error, since mr foster is informed on the subject and not tending to make such mistakes. chapter paragraph : inserted "_mr escot._" at start of paragraph before "nor is" -- to follow consistent indication and layout of speech. chapter paragraph : replaced "befel" with "befell" -- it appears to be a spelling error. chapter paragraph : replaced fullstop with questionmark after "the tevil with" -- the sentence is a question. chapter paragraph : replaced fullstop with questionmark after "away with me" -- the sentence is a question. chapter paragraph : replaced "b" with "p" in "by his chost" -- the sexton in all other cases says "py" instead of "by". chapter paragraph : inserted single closing quote after "_oioi nun brotoi eisin_" -- it appears to be missing. chapter paragraph : replaced "y" in "vouley" with "z" -- it appears to be a spelling error. chapter paragraph : replaced "wolves" in "individual lion, tiger, wolves," with "wolf" -- it is a list of singulars. chapter paragraph : inserted paragraph start and opening quotes before "you observe, in both these skulls" -- blockquotes cannot be inside paragraphs in the layout scheme. chapter paragraph : inserted closing quotes after "becoming a judge." -- they appear to be missing, since the speech is not continued in the next paragraph. chapter paragraph : replaced "woful" with "woeful" in "by woful experience" -- it appears to be a spelling error. chapter ballad: replaced "feats" with "feasts" in "o rich are the feats" -- it appears to be a spelling error. chapter paragraph : replaced fullstop with questionmark after "llewelyn ap-yorwerth" -- the sentence is a question. chapter paragraph : inserted comma after "said the lady" -- one would be expected here. chapter paragraph : capitalised "squire" in ""your daughter," said squire headlong." -- all other instances of "squire headlong" are capitalised. transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. oe ligatures have been expanded. the works of the right honourable _john_ earl of _rochester_. consisting of satires, songs, translations, and other occasional poems. [illustration] _london_: printed for the booksellers of _london_ and _westminster_. . price _s._ [illustration] the contents. a _satire against mankind_. page _tunbridge-wells: a satire._ p. horace_'s nempe incomposita dixi pede, &c. imitated._ p. _a satire against marriage._ p. _a letter from _artemisa_ in the town, to _cloe_ in the country._ p. _an epistolary essay from _m. g._ to _o. b._ upon their mutual poems._ p. _the maim'd debauchee._ p. _upon nothing._ p. _the advice._ p. _the discovery._ p. _the ninth elegy in the second book of _ovid_'s amours translated._ to love. p. _woman's honour. a song._ p. _grecian kindness. a song._ p. _the mistress. a song._ p. _a song._ p. _to _corinna_. a song._ p. _a young lady to her antient lover. a song._ p. _to a lady, in a letter. a song._ p. _the fall. a song._ p. _love and life. a song._ p. _a song._ p. _a song._ p. _a song._ p. _upon his leaving his mistress._ p. _upon drinking in a bowl._ p. _a song._ p. _a song._ p. _the answer._ p. _a song._ p. _constancy. a song._ p. _a song._ p. [illustration] _finis._ a satire against mankind. were i, who to my cost already am, one of those strange, prodigious creatures _man_, a spirit free, to chuse for my own share, } what sort of flesh and blood i pleas'd to wear, } i'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear; } or any thing, but that vain animal, who is so proud of being rational. the senses are too gross; and he'll contrive a sixth, to contradict the other five: and before certain instinct, will prefer reason, which fifty times for one does err. reason, an _ignis fatuus_ of the mind, which leaves the light of nature, sense, behind. pathless, and dang'rous, wand'ring ways it takes, thro error's fenny boggs, and thorny brakes: whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain mountains of whimseys heapt in his own brain; stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down into doubt's boundless sea, where like to drown, books bear him up a while, and make him try to swim with bladders of philosophy: in hopes still to o'ertake the skipping light, } the vapour dances in his dazzled sight, } till spent, it leaves him to eternal night. } then old age and experience, hand in hand, lead him to death, and make him understand, after a search so painful, and so long, that all his life he has been in the wrong. huddled in dirt the reas'ning engine lies, who was so proud, so witty, and so wise: pride drew him in, as cheats their bubbles catch, and made him venture to be made a wretch: his wisdom did his happiness destroy, aiming to know the world he should enjoy. and wit was his vain frivolous pretence, of pleasing others at his own expence. for _wits_ are treated just like _common-whores_; first they're enjoy'd, and then kick'd out of doors. the pleasure past, a threat'ning doubt remains, that frights th' enjoyer with succeeding pains. women, and men of wit are dang'rous tools, and ever fatal to admiring fools. pleasure allures, and when the fops escape, } 'tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate; } and therefore what they fear, at heart they hate. } but now methinks some formal band and beard takes me to task, come on, sir, i am prepar'd: then by your favour, any thing that's writ against this gibing, gingling knack call'd wit, likes me abundantly; but you'll take care upon this point not to be too severe: perhaps my muse were fitter for this part; } for i profess i can be very smart } on wit, which i abhor with all my heart. } i long to lash it in some sharp essay, } but your grand indiscretion bids me stay, } and turns my tide of ink another way. } what rage ferments in your degen'rate mind, to make you rail at reason and mankind? blest glorious man, to whom alone kind heav'n an everlasting soul hath freely giv'n; whom his great maker took such care to make, that from himself he did the image take; and this fair frame in shining reason drest, to dignify his nature above beast. reason, by whose aspiring influence, we take a flight beyond material sense, dive into mysteries, then soaring pierce the flaming limits of the universe; search heav'n and hell, find out what's acted there, and give the world true grounds of hope and fear. hold, mighty man, i cry; all this we know from the pathetick pen of _ingelo_: from _patrick_'s pilgrim, _sibb_'s soliloquies, and 'tis this very reason i despise; this supernat'ral gift, that makes a mite think he's the image of the infinite; comparing his short life, void of all rest, to the eternal and the ever-blest: this busy, puzzling, stirrer up of doubt, that frames deep mysteries, then finds 'em out, filling with frantick crouds of thinking fools, the rev'rend bedlams, colleges and schools, born on whose wings each heavy sot can pierce the limits of the boundless universe. so charming ointments make an old witch fly, and bear a crippl'd carcase thro' the sky. 'tis this exalted pow'r whose bus'ness lies in nonsense and impossibilities: this made a whimsical philosopher, before the spacious world his tub prefer: and we have many modern coxcombs who retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do. but thoughts were giv'n for action's government; where action ceases, thought's impertinent. our sphere of action is life's happiness, and he that thinks beyond, thinks like an ass. thus whilst against false reas'ning i inveigh, i own right reason, which i would obey; that reason which distinguishes by sense, and gives us rules of good and ill from thence; that bounds desires with a reforming will, to keep them more in vigour, not to kill: your reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy, renewing appetites yours would destroy. my reason is my friend, yours is a cheat, hunger calls out, my reason bids my eat; perversly yours your appetite do's mock; this asks for food, that answers what's't a clock. this plain distinction, sir, your doubt secures; 'tis not true reason, i despise but yours. thus, i think reason righted: but for man, i'll ne'er recant, defend him if you can. for all his pride, and his philosophy, } 'tis evident beasts are, in their degree, } as wise at least, and better far than he. } those creatures are the wisest, who attain by surest means, the ends at which they aim. if therefore _jowler_ finds, and kills his hare, better than _meres_ supplies committee chair; tho' one's a statesman, t'other but a hound; _jowler_ in justice will be wiser found. you see how far man's wisdom here extends: look next if human nature makes amends; whose principles are most generous and just, and to whose morals you wou'd sooner trust. be judge your self, i'll bring it to the test, which is the basest creature, man, or beast: birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey, but savage man alone do's man betray. prest by necessity, _they_ kill for food; man undoes man, to do himself no good. with teeth and claws, by nature arm'd, _they_ hunt nature's allowance, to supply their want: but man with smiles, embraces, friendships, praise, inhumanly his fellow's life betrays; with voluntary pains works his distress; not thro' necessity, but wantonness. for hunger, or for love, _they_ bite, or tear, whilst wretched man is still in arms for fear; for fear he arms, and is of arms afraid; from fear to fear successively betray'd. base fear, the source whence his best passions came, his boasted honour, and his dear-bought fame: the lust of pow'r, to which he's such a slave, and for the which alone he dares be brave: to which his various projects are design'd, which makes him gen'rous, affable, and kind: for which he takes such pains to be thought wise, and scrues his actions in a forc'd disguise: leads a most tedious life in misery, under laborious, mean hypocrisy. look to the bottom of his vast design, wherein man's wisdom, pow'r, and glory join; the good he acts, the ill he do's endure, 'tis all from fear, to make himself secure. meerly for safety, after fame they thirst; for all men would be cowards, if they durst: and honesty's against all common sense, men must be knaves; 'tis in their own defence mankind's dishonest: if they think it fair, amongst known cheats, to play upon the square, you'll be undone-- nor can weak truth your reputation save; the knaves will all agree to call you knave. wrong'd shall he live, insulted o'er, opprest, who dares be less a villain than the rest. thus here you see what human nature craves, most men are cowards, all men shou'd be knaves. the difference lies, as far as i can see, not in the thing it self, but the degree; and all the subject matter of debate, is only who's a knave of the first rate. _tunbridge-wells_: a satire. at five this morn, when _phoebus_ rais'd his head from _thetis_ lap, i rais'd my self from bed; and mounting steed, i trotted to the waters, } the rendezvous of fools, buffoons, and praters, } cuckolds, whores, citizens, their wives and daughters. } my squeamish stomach i with wine had brib'd, to undertake the dose that was prescrib'd; but turning head, a sudden cursed crew, } that innocent provision overthrew, } and without drinking, made me purge and spew; } from coach and six, a thing unwieldy roll'd, whom lumber-cart more decently would hold, as wise as calf it look'd, as big as bully, but handled, prov'd a meer sir _nich'las cully_: a bawling fop, a _nat'ral nokes_, and yet he dar'd to censure, to be thought a wit. to make him more ridiculous in spite, nature contriv'd the fool should be a knight. how wise is nature when she does dispense a large estate to cover want of sense. the man's a fool, 'tis true, but that's no matter, } for he's a mighty wit with those that flatter, } but a poor blockhead is a wretched creature. } _grant the unlucky stars, this o'ergrown boy to purchase some aspiring pretty toy, that may his want of sense and wit supply, as buxom crab-fish doth his lechery._ tho' he alone was dismal sight enough, } his train contributed to set him off; } all of his shape, all of the self-same stuff: } no spleen or malice could on them be thrown, } nature had done the bus'ness of lampoon, } and in their looks their characters were shewn. } endeavouring this irksome sight to baulk, } and a more irksom noise, their silly talk; } i silently slunk down to'th lower walk. } but often when one would _charybdis_ shun, down upon _scylla_ 'tis our fate to run: for there it was my cursed luck to find as great a fop, tho' of another kind; a tall, stiff fool, that walk'd in _spanish_ guise, } the buckram poppet never stirrd his eyes, } but grave as owl he look'd, as woodcock wise. } he scorns the empty talk of this made age, and speaks all proverb, sentence, and adage: can with as much solemnity buy eggs, as a cabal can talk of their intrigues: master of ceremonies, yet can't dispense with the formality of talking sense. from whence unto the upper walk i came, where a new scene of foppery began; a tribe of curates, priests, canonical elves, fit company for none besides themselves, were got together; each his distemper told, scurvy, stone, strangury; some were so bold, to charge the spleen to be their misery, and on that wise disease lay infamy: but none had modesty enough t'explain } his want of learning, honesty, or brain, } the general diseases of that train. } these call themselves ambassadors of heaven, and sawcily pretend commissions given: but should an _indian_ king, whose small command seldom extends beyond ten miles of land, send forth such wretched fools on an embassage. he'd find but small effects of such a message. list'ning, i found the cob of all this rabble, pert _bayes_ with his importance comfortable; he being rais'd to an archdeaconry, by trampling on religion, liberty, was grown so great, and look'd too fat and jolly } to be disturb'd with care and melancholly, } tho' _marvel_ had enough expos'd his folly. } he drank to carry off some old remains his lazy dull distemper left in's brains; let him drink on; but 'tis not a whole flood } can give sufficient sweetness to his blood, } to make his nature, or his manners good. } _importance_ drank too, _tho' she had been no sinner, to wash away some dregs he had spew'd in her_. next after these, a fulsom _irish_ crew of silly _macks_ were offer'd to my view; the things did talk, but hearing what they said, i hid my self the kindness to evade. nature had plac'd these wretches beneath scorn, they can't be call'd so vile as they are born. amidst the crowd, next i my self convey'd, for now there comes, white-wash and paint being laid, mother and daughter, mistress and the maid, and squire with wig and pantaloons display'd. but ne'er could conventicle, play, or fair, for a true medly with this herd compare, here lords, knights, squires, ladies, and countesses, chandlers, and barren women, sempstresses, were mix'd together; nor did they agree more in their humours, than their quality. here waiting for gallant young damsel stood leaning on cane, and muffl'd up in hood. the wou'd-be-wit, whose bus'ness was to woe, with hat remov'd, and solemn scrape of shoe, advances bowing, then gentilely shrugs, and ruffl'd fore-top into order tugs; and thus accosts her: _madam, methinks the weather is grown much more serene, since you came hither: you influence the heav'ns; but shou'd the sun withdraw himself, to see his rays outdone by your bright eyes, they could supply the morn, and make a day, before the day be born._ with mouth screw'd up, conceited winking eyes, and breast thrust forward, _lard sir_, she replies, _it is your goodness, and not my deserts, which makes you shew this learning, wit, and parts._ he puzzled, bites his nails, both to display the sparkling ring, and think what next to say, and thus breaks forth afresh; _madam, egad, your luck at cards, last night, was very bad; at cribbidge fifty nine, and the next shew, to make the game, and yet to want these two. g--d--me, madam, i'm the son of a whore, if, in my life, i saw the like before._ to pedlar's stall he drags her, and her breast with hearts, and such like foolish toys he drest, and then, more smartly to expound the riddle of all his prattle, gives her a _scotch_ fiddle. tir'd with this dismal stuff, away i ran, } where were two wives, with girl just fit for man, } short-breath'd, and palled lips, and visage wan. } some court'sies past, and the old compliment of being glad to see each other, spent, with hand in hand they lovingly did walk, and one began thus to renew the talk: _i pray, good madam, if it mayn't be thought rudeness in me, what cause has hither brought your ladyship?_ she soon replying, smil'd, _we've got a good estate, but have no child; and i'm inform'd, these wells will make a barren woman as fruitful as a coney-warren._ the first return'd, _for this cause i am come, for i can have no quietness at home; my husband grumbles, tho' we have got one, this poor young girl, and mutters for a son: and this is griev'd with head-ach, pangs, and throws, is full sixteen, and never yet had those._ she soon reply'd, _get her a husband, madam; i marry'd about that age, and ne'er had had 'em was just like her, steel waters let alone, a back of steel will better bring them down. and ten to one, but they themselves will try the same means to increase the family._ poor silly fribble! who by subtilty, of midwife, truest friend to lechery, perswaded art to be at pains and charge, to give thy wife occasion to enlarge thy silly head: for here walks _cuff_ and _kick_, with brawny back, and legs, and potent p----, who more substantially can cure thy wife, and on her half-dead womb bestow new life; from these the waters got their reputation of good assistants unto propagation. some warlike men were now got into th' throng, with hair ty'd back, singing a bawdy song; not much afraid, i got a nearer view, and 'twas my chance to know the dreadful crew; they were cadets, that seldom can appear, damn'd to the stint of thirty pounds a year; with hawk on fist, and grey-hound led in hand, the dog and foot-boys sometimes to command, and now having trimm'd a cast of spavin'd horse, } with three half-pence for guineas in their purse, } two rusty pistols, scarf about their arse, } coat lin'd with red, they here presume to swell, this goes for captain, that for collonel. so the bear-garden ape, on his steed mounted, no longer is a jackanapes accounted; and is, by virtue of his trump'ry, then call'd by the name of the young gentleman: bless me! thought i, what thing is man, that thus in all his shapes is so ridiculous? our selves with noise of reason we do please, in vain humanity is our worst disease; thrice happy beasts are, who because they be of reason void, are so of foppery. _faith, i was so asham'd, that with remorse, i us'd the insolence to mount my horse; for he doing only things fit for his nature, did seem to me by much the wiser creature._ _horace_'s _nempe incomposito dixi pede_, &c. imitated. well, sir, 'tis granted, i said _dryden_'s rhimes were stoll'n, unequal, nay, dull many times: what foolish patron is there found of his so blindly partial to deny me this? but that his plays embroider'd up and down } with wit and learning, justly please the town, } in the same paper i as freely own. } yet having this allow'd, the heavy mass that stuffs up his loose volumes, must not pass: for by that rule, i might as well admit _crown_'s tedious sense for poetry and wit. 'tis therefore not enough, when your false sense hits the false judgment of an audience of clapping fools assembling, a vast crowd, till the throng'd play-house crack with the dull load; tho' ev'n that talent merits, in some sort, that can divert the rabble and the court; which blund'ring _settle_ never could attain, and puzz'ling _otway_ labours at in vain: but within due proportion circumscribe whate'er you write, that with a flowing tide the stile may rise, yet in its rise forbear with useless words t'oppress the weary'd ear. here be your language lofty, there more light, your rhet'rick with your poetry unite: for elegance sake, sometimes allay the force of epithets, 'twill soften the discourse a jest in scorn points out, and hits the thing more home, than the morosest satyr's sting. _shakespear_ and _johnson_ did in this excel, and might herein be imitated well; whom refin'd _etherege_ copies not at all, but is himself a meer original; nor that slow drudge in swift pindarick strains, } _flatman_, who _cowley_ imitates with pains, } and rides a jaded muse, whipt, with loose reins. } when _lee_ makes temp'rate _scipio_ fret and rave, and _hannibal_ a whining am'rous slave, i laugh, and wish the hot-brain'd fustian fool in _busby_'s hands, to be well lash'd at school. of all our modern wits, none seem to me } once to have touch'd upon true _comedy_, } but hasty _shadwell_, and slow _wycherley_. } _shadwell_'s unfinish'd works do yet impart great proofs of force of nature, none of art; with just bold stokes he dashes here and there, shewing great mastery with little care; scorning to varnish his good touches o'er, to make the fools and women praise him more: but _wycherley_ earns hard whate'er he gains; he wants no judgment, and he spares no pains: he frequently excells, and at the least, makes fewer faults than any of the rest. _waller_, by nature for the bays design'd, } with force, and fire, and fancy, unconfin'd, } in panegyrick do's excel mankind: } he best can turn, enforce, and soften things, to praise great conquerors, and flatter kings. for pointed satyr i would _buckhurst_ choose, the best good man with the worst-natur'd muse. for songs and verses mannerly obscene, } that can stir nature up by springs unseen, } and, without forcing blushes, warm the queen; } _sedley_ has that prevailing, gentle art, } that can with a resistless pow'r impart } the loosest wishes to the chastest heart; } raise such a conflict, kindle such a fire betwixt declining virtue and desire, till the poor vanquish'd maid dissolves away in dreams all night, in sighs and tears all day. _dryden_ in vain try'd this nice way of wit, for he to be a tearing blade thought fit; but when he would be sharp, he still was blunt, to frisk and frolick fancy he'd cry ---- wou'd give the ladies a dry bawdy bob; and thus he got the name of poet squab: but to be just, 'twill to his praise be found, his excellences more than faults abound; nor dare i from his sacred temples tear the laurel, which he best deserves to wear; but do's not _dryden_ find ev'n _johnson_ dull? _beaumont_ and _fletcher_ incorrect and full of _lewd lines_, as he calls 'em? _shakespear_'s stile stiff and affected? to his own the while, allowing all the justice that his pride so arrogantly had to these deny'd? and may not i have leave impartially to search and censure _dryden_'s works, and try if those gross faults his choice pen doth commit, proceed from want of judgment, or of wit? or if his lumpish fancy do's refuse spirit and grace to his loose slattern muse? five hundred verses ev'ry morning writ prove him no more a poet than a wit: such scribb'ling authors have been seen before, } _mustapha_, the _island princess_, forty more, } were things, perhaps, compos'd in half an hour. } to write, what may securely stand the test of being well read over, thrice at least; compare each phrase, examine ev'ry line, weigh ev'ry word, and ev'ry thought refine; scorn all applause the vile rout can bestow, and be content to please those few who know. canst thou be such a vain mistaken thing, to wish thy works might make a play-house ring with the unthinking laughter and poor praise of fops and ladies factious for thy plays? then send a cunning friend to learn thy doom from the shrewd judges in the drawing room. i've no ambition on that idle score, } but say with _betty morris_ heretofore, } when a court lady call'd her _buckhurst_'s whore: } i please one man of wit, am proud on't too, let all the coxcombs dance to bed to you. should i be troubled when the purblind knight, } who squints more in his judgment, than his sight, } picks silly faults, and censures what i write? } or when the poor-fed poets of the town, for scraps and coach-room cry my verses down? i loath the rabble; 'tis enough for me; if _sedley_, _shadwell_, _sheppard_, _wycherley_, _godolphin_, _butler_, _buckhurst_, _buckingham_, } and some few more, whom i omit to name, } approve my sense, i count their censure fame. } a satire against marriage. husband, thou dull unpitied miscreant, wedded to noise, to misery and want: sold an eternal vassal for thy life, oblig'd to cherish, and to hate thy wife: drudge on till fifty at thy own expence, breathe out thy life in one impertinence: repeat thy loath'd embraces every night, prompted to act by duty, not delight: christen thy froward bantling once a year, and carefully thy spurious issue rear: go once a week to see the brat at nurse, and let the young impostor drain thy purse: hedge-sparrow-like, what cuckows have begot, do thou maintain, incorrigible sot. o! i could curse the pimp, (who could do less?) he's beneath pity, and beyond redress. pox on him, let him go, what can i say? _anathema_'s on him are thrown away: the wretch is marry'd and hath known the worst; and his great blessing is, he can't be curst. _marriage!_ o hell and furies! name it not; hence, ye holy cheats, a plot, a plot! _marriage!_ 'tis but a licens'd way to sin; a noose to catch religious woodcocks in: or the nick-name of love's malicious fiend, begot in hell to persecute mankind: 'tis the destroyer of our peace and health, mispender of our time, our strength and wealth; the enemy of valour, wit, mirth, all that we can virtuous, good, or pleasant call: by day 'tis nothing but an endless noise, by night the eccho of forgotten joys: abroad the sport and wonder of the crowd, at home the hourly breach of what they vow'd: in youth it's _opium_ to our lustful rage, which sleeps awhile, but wakes again in age: it heaps on all men much, but useless care; for with more trouble they less happy are. ye gods! that man, by his own slavish law, should on himself such inconvenience draw. if he would wiser nature's laws obey, those chalk him out a far more pleasant way, when lusty youth and fragrant wine conspire to fan the blood into a gen'rous fire. we must not think the gallant will endure the puissant issue of his calenture, nor always in his single pleasures burn, tho' nature's handmaid sometimes serves the turn: no: he must have a sprightly, youthful wench, in equal floods of love his flames to quench: one that will hold him in her clasping arms, and in that circle all his spirits charms; that with new motion and unpractis'd art, can raise his soul, and reinsnare his heart. hence spring the noble, fortunate, and great, always begot in passion and in heat: but the dull offspring of the marriage-bed, what is it! but a human piece of lead; a sottish lump ingender'd of all ills; begot like cats against their fathers wills. if it be bastardis'd, 'tis doubly spoil'd, the mother's fear's entail'd upon the child. thus whether illegitimate, or not, cowards and fools in wedlock are begot. let no enabled soul himself debase by lawful means to bastardise his race; but if he must pay nature's debt in kind, to check his eager passion, let him find some willing female out, who, tho' she be the very dregs and scum of infamy: tho' she be linsey-woolsey, bawd, and whore, close-stool to _venus_, nature's common-shore, impudent, foolish, bawdy, and disease, the sunday crack of suburb-prentices; what then! she's better than a wife by half; and if thour't still unmarried, thou art safe. with whores thou canst but venture; what thou'st lost, may be redeem'd again with care and cost; but a damn'd wife, by inevitable fate, destroys soul, body, credit, and estate. a letter from _artemisa_ in the town, to _cloe_ in the country. _cloe_, by your command, in verse i write: shortly you'll bid me ride astride, and fight: such talents better with our sex agree, than lofty flights of dangerous poetry. among the men, i mean the men of wit, (at least, they past for such before they writ) how many bold advent'rers for the bays, proudly designing large returns of praise; who durst that stormy, pathless world explore, } were soon dash'd back, and wreck'd on the dull shore, } broke of that little stock they had before. } how wou'd a woman's tott'ring bark be tost, where stoutest ships, (the men of wit) are lost? when i reflect on this, i streight grow wise, and my own self i gravely thus advise. dear _artemisa_! poetry's a snare: _bedlam_ has many mansions; have a care: your muse diverts you, makes the reader sad: you think your self inspir'd, he thinks you mad: consider too, 'twill be discreetly done, to make your self the fiddle of the town: to find th' ill-humour'd pleasure at their need; curst when you fail, and scorn'd when you succeed. thus, like an arrant woman, as i am, } no sooner well convinc'd writing's a shame, } that _whore_ is scarce a more reproachful name } than poetess-- like men that marry, or like maids that woo, because 'tis th' very worst thing they can do: pleas'd with the contradiction, and the sin, methinks i stand on thorns till i begin. y'expect to hear, at least, what love has past in this lewd town, since you and i saw last; what change has happen'd of intrigues, and whether the old ones last, and who and who's together. but how, my dearest _cloe_, shou'd i set my pen to write, what i wou'd fain forget? or name that lost thing love without a tear, since so debauch'd by ill-bred customs here? love, the most gen'rous passion of the mind; the softest refuge innocence can find; the safe director of unguided youth; fraught with kind wishes, and secur'd by truth: that cordial-drop heav'n in our cup has thrown, to make the nauseous draught of life go down: on which one only blessing god might raise, in lands of atheists, subsidies of praise: for none did e'er so dull and stupid prove, but felt a god, and bless'd his pow'r in love: this only joy, for which poor we are made, is grown, like play, to be an arrant trade: the rooks creep in, and it has got of late, as many little cheats and tricks as that. but, what yet more a woman's heart wou'd vex, 'tis chiefly carry'd on by our own sex. our silly sex, who, born like monarchs, free, } turn gypsies for a meaner liberty; } and hate restraint, tho' but from infamy: } they call whatever is not common nice, } and, deaf to nature's rule, or love's advice, } forsake the pleasure to pursue the vice. } to an exact perfection they have brought the action love; the passion is forgot. 'tis below wit, they tell you, to admire; and ev'n without approving, they desire. their private wish obeys the publick voice, 'twixt good and bad, whimsey decides, not choice. fashions grow up for taste, at forms they strike; they know not what they wou'd have, nor what they like. _bovy_'s a beauty, if some few agree } to call him so, the rest to that degree } affected are, that with their ears they see. } where i was visiting the other night, comes a fine lady with her humble knight, who had prevail'd with her, thro' her own skill, as his request, tho' much against his will, to come to _london_-- as the coach stopt, i heard her voice, more loud than a great bellied woman's in a crowd; telling the knight that her affairs require he, for some hours, obsequiously retire. i think she was asham'd he shou'd be seen, } hard fate of husbands! the gallant has been, } tho' a diseas'd, ill-favour'd fool, brought in. } dispatch, says she, the business you pretend, your beastly visit to your drunken friend. a bottle ever makes you look so fine; methinks i long to smell you stink of wine. your country-drinking breath's enough to kill: sour ale corrected with a lemon-pill. prithee, farewel: we'll meet again anon. the necessary thing bows, and is gone. she flies up stairs, and all the haste does show that fifty antick postures will allow, and then burst out--dear madam, am not i the strangest, alter'd creature: let me die i find my self ridiculously grown, embarrast with my being out of town rude and untaught like any _indian_ queen; my country nakedness is plainly seen. how is love govern'd? love that rules the state; and pray who are the men most worn of late? when i was marry'd, fools were a-la-mode; the men of wit were held then incommode. slow of belief, and fickle in desire, } who, e'er they'll be persuaded, must enquire; } as if they came to spy, and not to admire. } with searching wisdom, fatal to their ease, they still find out why, what may, shou'd not please: nay, take themselves for injur'd, when we dare make 'em think better of us than we are: and, if we hide our frailties from their sights, call us deceitful jilts, and hypocrites: they little guess, who at our arts are griev'd, the perfect joy of being well deceiv'd. inquisitive, as jealous cuckolds, grow; } rather than not be knowing, they will know, } what being known, creates their certain woe. } women should these, of all mankind, avoid; for wonder, by clear knowledge, is destroy'd. woman, who is an arrant bird of night, } bold in the dusk, before a fool's dull sight, } must fly, when reason brings the glaring light. } but the kind easie fool, apt to admire } himself, trusts us, his follies all conspire } to flatter his, and favour our desire. } vain of his proper merit, he, with ease, believes we love him best, who best can please: on him our gross, dull, common flatteries pass; ever most happy when most made an ass: heavy to apprehend; tho' all mankind } perceive us false, the fop, himself, is blind. } who, doating on himself,-- } thinks every one that sees him of his mind. } these are true womens men--here, forc'd to cease thro' want of breath, not will, to hold her peace; she to the window runs, where she had spy'd her much-esteem'd, dear friend, the monkey ty'd: with forty smiles, as many antick bows, as if't had been the lady of the house the dirty, chatt'ring monster she embrac'd; and made it this fine tender speech at last. kiss me, thou curious miniature of man; how odd thou art, how pretty, how japan: oh! i could live and die with thee: then on, for half an hour, in complements she ran. i took this time to think what nature meant, } when this mixt thing into the world she sent, } so very wise, yet so impertinent. } one that knows ev'ry thing that god thought fit shou'd be an ass thro' choice, not want of wit. whose foppery, without the help of sense, cou'd ne'er have rose to such an excellence. nature's as lame in making a true fop as a philosopher, the very top and dignity of folly we attain by studious search, and labour of the brain: by observation, counsel, and deep thought: god never made a coxcomb worth a groat. we owe that name to industry and arts; an eminent fool must be a fool of parts. and such a one was she; who had turn'd o'er as many books as men; lov'd much, read more: had discerning wit; to her was known every one's fault, or merit, but her own. all the good qualities that ever blest } a woman so distinguish'd from the rest, } except discretion only, she possest. } but now _mon cher_, dear pug, she crys, adieu, and the discourse broke off, does thus renew: you smile to see me, who the world perchance, mistakes to have some wit, so far advance the interest of fools, that i approve their merit more than men of wit in love. but in our sex too many proofs there are of such whom wits undo and fools repair. this, in my time, was so observ'd a rule, hardly a wench in town but had her fool. the meanest, common slut, who long was grown the jest and scorn of ev'ry pit-buffoon; had yet left charms enough to have subdu'd some fop or other; fond to be thought lewd. _foster_ could make an _irish_ lord a _nokes_; and _betty morris_ had her city cokes. a woman's ne'er so ruin'd but she can be still reveng'd on her undoer, man: how lost soe'er, she'll find some lover more, a more abandon'd fool than she a whore. that wretched thing _corinna_, who has run thro' all th' several ways of being undone: cozen'd at first by love, and living then by turning the too dear-bought cheat on men: gay were the hours, and wing'd with joy they flew, when first the town her early beauties knew: courted, admir'd, and lov'd, with presents fed; youth in her looks, and pleasure in her bed: 'till fate, or her ill angel, thought it fit to make her doat upon a man of wit: who found 'twas dull to love above a day; made his ill-natur'd jest, and went away. now scorn'd of all, forsaken and oppress'd, she's a _memento mori_ to the rest: diseas'd, decay'd, to take up half a crown must mortgage her long scarf, and manto gown; poor creature, who unheard of, as a fly, in some dark hole must all the winter lie: and want and dirt endure a whole half year, that for one month she tawdry may appear. in _easter_ term she gets her a new gown; when my young master's worship comes to town: from pedagogue and mother just set free; the heir and hopes of a great family: who with strong beer and beef the country rules; and ever since the conquest have been fools: and now with careful prospect to maintain this character, lest crossing of the strain shou'd mend the booby-breed; his friends provide a cousin of his own to be his bride: and thus set out-- with an estate, no wit, and a young wife: the sole comforts of a coxcomb's life: dunghil and pease forsook, he comes to town, turns spark, learns to be lewd, and is undone: nothing suits worse with vice than want of sense: fools are still wicked at their own expence. this o'er-grown school-boy lost _corinna_ wins; at the first dash to make an ass begins: pretends to like a man that has not known the vanities or vices of the town: fresh in his youth, and faithful in his love, eager of joys which he does seldom prove: healthful and strong, he does no pains endure, but what the fair one he adores can cure. grateful for favours does the sex esteem, and libels none for being kind to him. then of the lewdness of the town complains, rails at the wits and atheists, and maintains 'tis better than good sense, than pow'r or wealth, to have a blood untainted, youth and health. the unbred puppy who had never seen a creature look so gay, or talk so fine; believes, then falls in love, and then in debt: mortgages all, ev'n to the ancient seat, to buy his mistress a new house for life: to give her plate and jewels robs his wife. and when to th' heighth of fondness he is grown, 'tis time to poison him, and all's her own. thus meeting in her common arms his fate, he leaves her bastard-heir to his estate: and as the race of such an owl deserves, his own dull lawful progeny he starves. nature (that never made a thing in vain, but does each insect to some end ordain) wisely provokes kind-keeping fools, no doubt, to patch up vices men of wit wear out. thus she ran on two hours, some grains of sense still mixt with follies of impertinence. but now 'tis time i shou'd some pity show } to _cloe_, since i cannot chuse but know, } readers must reap what dullest writers sow. } by the next post i will such stories tell, as, join'd to these, shall to a volume swell; as true as heaven, more infamous than hell: but you are tir'd, and so am i. _farewel._ an epistolary essay from _m.g._ to _o.b._ upon their mutual poems. dear friend, i hear this town does so abound with saucy censurers, that faults are found with what of late we (in poetick rage) bestowing threw away on the dull age. but (howsoe'er envy their spleens may raise, to rob my brows of the deserved bays) their thanks at least i merit; since thro' me they are partakers of your poetry: and this is all i'll say in my defence, } t'obtain one line of your well-worded sence, } i'll be content t'have writ the _british_ prince. } i'm none of those who think themselves inspir'd nor write with the vain hope to be admir'd; but from a rule i have (upon long trial) t'avoid with care all sort of self-denial. which way soe'er desire and fancy lead, (contemning fame) that path i boldly tread; and if exposing what i take for wit, } to my dear self a pleasure i beget, } no matter tho' the cens'ring criticks fret. } these whom my muse displeases are at strife, with equal spleen against my course of life, the least delight of which i'll not forego, for all the flatt'ring praise man can bestow. if i design'd to please, the way were then to mend my manners, rather than my pen: the first's unnatural, therefore unfit; } and for the second, i despair of it, } since grace is not so hard to get as wit. } perhaps ill verses ought to be confin'd in meer good breeding, like unsav'ry wind, were reading forc'd, i shou'd be apt to think, men might no more write scurvily than stink: but 'tis your choice, whether you'll read, or no. if likewise of your smelling it were so, i'd fart just as i write, for my own ease, nor shou'd you be concern'd unless you please. i'll own that you write better than i do, but i have as much need to write as you. what tho' the excrements of my dull brain, flows in a harsh and an insipid strain; while your rich head eases it self of wit, must none but civet cats have leave to shit? in all i write, shou'd sense, and wit, and rhime fail me at once, yet something so sublime, shall stamp my poem, that the world may see, it cou'd have been produc'd by none but me. and that's my end; for man can wish no more than so to write, as none e'er writ before. yet why am i no poet of the times? i have allusions, similes, and rhimes, and wit; or else 'tis hard that i alone, of the whole race of mankind shou'd have none. unequally the partial hand of heav'n, has all but this one only blessing giv'n. the world appears like a great family, whose lord, oppress'd with pride and poverty, (that to a few great bounty he may show) is fain to starve the num'rous train below: just so seems providence, as poor and vain, keeping more creatures than it can maintain: here 'tis profuse, and there it meanly saves, and for one prince it makes ten thousand slaves. in wit, alone, 't has been magnificent, } of which so just a share to each is sent, } that the most avaricious are content. } for none e'er thought (the due division's such) his own too little, or his friends too much. yet most men shew, or find, great want of wit, writing themselves, or judging what is writ. but i who am of sprightly vigour full, look on mankind, as envious, and dull. born to my self, i like my self alone; and must conclude my judgment good, or none: for cou'd my sense be naught, how shou'd i know whether another man's were good or no, thus i resolve of my own poetry, that 'tis the best; and there's a fame for me. if then i'm happy, what does it advance whether to merit due, or arrogance? oh! but the world will take offence hereby: why then the world shall suffer for't, not i. did e'er this saucy world and i agree, to let it have its beastly will on me? why shou'd my prostituted sense be drawn, to ev'ry rule their musty customs spawn? but men may censure you, 'tis two to one whene'er they censure they'll be in the wrong. there's not a thing on earth, that i can name, so foolish, and so false, as common fame: it calls the courtier knave; the plain man rude; haughty the grave; and the delightful lewd; impertinent the brisk; morose the sad; mean the familiar; the reserv'd one mad. poor helpless woman, is not favour'd more, she's a sly hypocrite, or publick whore. then who the dev'l wou'd give this to be free from th' innocent reproach of infamy. these things consider'd, make me, in despite of idle rumour, keep at home and write. the _maim'd debauchee_. i. as some brave admiral in former war depriv'd of force, but prest with courage still, two rival fleets appearing from afar, crawls to the top of an adjacent hill. ii. from whence (with thoughts full of concern) he views the wise, and daring conduct, of the fight: and each bold action to his mind renews, his present glory, and his past delight. iii. from his fierce eyes flashes of rage he throws, as from black clouds when lightning breaks away, transported thinks himself amidst his foes, and absent yet enjoys the bloody day. iv. so when my days of impotence approach, and i'm by love and wine's unlucky chance, driv'n from the pleasing billows of debauch, on the dull shore of lazy temperance. v. my pains at last some respite shall afford, while i behold the battels you maintain; when fleets of glasses sail around the board, from whose broad-sides vollies of wit shall rain. vi. nor shall the sight of honourable scars, which my too forward valour did procure, frighten new-listed soldiers from the wars, past joys have more than paid what i endure. vii. shou'd some brave youth (worth being drunk) prove nice, and from his fair inviter meanly shrink, 'twould please the ghost of my departed vice, if at my counsel he repent and drink. viii. or shou'd some cold complexion'd sot forbid, with his dull morals, our nights brisk alarms, i'll fire his blood by telling what i did, when i was strong, and able to bear arms. ix. i'll tell of whores attack'd their lords at home, bawds quarters beaten up, and fortress won; windows demolish'd, watches overcome, and handsome ills by my contrivance done. x. with tales like these i will such heat inspire. as to important mischief shall incline; i'll make him long some ancient church to fire, and fear no lewdness they're call'd to by wine. xi. thus statesman-like i'll saucily impose, and safe from danger valianly advise; shelter'd in impotence urge you to blows, and being good for nothing else be wise. upon _nothing_. i. _nothing!_ thou elder brother ev'n to shade, thou hadst a being e'er the world was made, and (well fix'd) art alone, of ending not afraid. ii. e'er time and place were, time and place were not, when primitive _nothing_ something straight begot, then all proceeded from the great united--what. iii. something the gen'ral attribute of all, sever'd from thee, it's sole original, into thy boundless self must undistinguish'd fall. iv. yet something did thy mighty pow'r command, and from thy fruitful emptiness's hand, snatch'd men, beasts, birds, fire, air, and land. v. matter, the wicked'st off-spring of thy race, by form assisted, flew from thy embrace, and rebel light obscur'd thy rev'rend dusky face. vi. with form and matter, time, and place did join, body, thy foe, with thee did leagues combine to spoil thy peaceful realm, and ruin all thy line. vii. but turn-coat time assists the foe in vain, and, brib'd by thee, assists thy short-liv'd reign. and to thy hungry womb drives back thy slaves again. viii. tho' mysteries are barr'd from laick eyes, and the divine alone, with warrant, pries into thy bosom, where the truth in private lies. ix. yet this of thee the wise may freely say, thou from the virtuous nothing tak'st away, and to be part with thee the wicked wisely pray. x. great negative, how vainly wou'd the wise enquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise? didst thou not stand to point their dull philosophies. xi. _is_, or _is not_, the two great ends of fate, and, true or false, the subject of debate, that perfect, or destroy, the vast designs of fate. xii. when they have rack'd the politician's breast, within thy bosom most securely rest, and, when reduc'd to thee, are least unsafe and best. xiii. but, _nothing_, why does _something_ still permit, that sacred monarchs should at council sit, with persons highly thought at best for nothing fit. xiv. whilst weighty _something_ modestly abstains, from princes coffers, and from statesmens brains, and nothing there like stately _nothing_ reigns. xv. _nothing_, who dwell'st with fools in grave disguise, for whom they rev'rend shapes and forms devise, lawn sleeves, and furs, and gowns, when they like thee look wise. xvi. _french_ truth, _dutch_ prowess, _british_ policy, _hibernian_ learning, _scotch_ civility, _spaniards_ dispatch, _danes_ wit, are mainly seen in thee. xvii. the great man's gratitude to his best friend, king's promises, whores vows tow'rds thee they bend, flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end. the advice. all things submit themselves to your command, fair _cælia_, when it does not love withstand: the pow'r it borrows from your eyes alone; all but the god must yield to, who has none. were he not blind, such are the charms you have, he'd quit his godhead to become your slave: be proud to act a mortal hero's part, and throw himself for fame on his own dart. but fate has otherwise dispos'd of things, in different bands subjected slaves and kings: fetter'd in forms of royal state are they, while we enjoy the freedom to obey. that fate like you resistless does ordain, to love, that over beauty he shall reign. by harmony the universe does move, and what is harmony but mutual love? who would resist an empire so divine, which universal nature does enjoin? see gentle brooks, how quietly they glide, kissing the rugged banks on either side. while in their crystal streams at once they show, and with them feed the flow'rs which they bestow: tho' rudely throng'd by a too near embrace, in gentle murmurs they keep on their pace to the lov'd sea; for streams have their desires; cool as they are, they feel love's powerful fires; and with such passion, that if any force stop or molest them in their amorous course; they swell, break down with rage, and ravage o'er the banks they kiss'd, and flow'rs they fed before. submit then, _cælia_, e'er you be reduc'd; for rebels, vanquish'd once, are vilely us'd. beauty's no more but the dead soil, which love manures, and does by wise commerce improve: sailing by sighs, thro' seas of tears, he sends courtships from foreign hearts, for your own ends: cherish the trade, for as with _indians_ we get gold and jewels for our trumpery: so to each other for their useless toys, lovers afford whole magazines of joys. but if you're fond of baubles, be, and starve, your guegaw reputation still preserve: live upon modesty and empty fame, foregoing sense for a fantastick name. the discovery. _cælia_, that faithful servant you disown, would in obedience keep his love his own: but bright ideas, such as you inspire, we can no more conceal, than not admire. my heart at home in my own breast did dwell, like humble hermit in a peaceful cell. unknown and undisturb'd it rested there, stranger alike to hope and to despair. now love with a tumultuous train invades the sacred quiet of those hollow'd shades. his fatal flames shine out to ev'ry eye, like blazing comets in a winter sky. how can my passion merit your offence, that challenges so little recompence? for i am one, born only to admire; too humble e'er to hope, scarce to desire. a thing whose bliss depends upon your will, who wou'd be proud you'd deign to use him ill. then give me leave to glory in my chain, my fruitless sighs, and my unpitied pain. let me but ever love, and ever be th' example of your pow'r and cruelty. since so much scorn does in your breast reside, be more indulgent to its mother pride. kill all you strike, and trample on their graves; but own the fates of your neglected slaves: when in the croud yours undistinguish'd lies, you give away the triumph of your eyes. perhaps (obtaining this) you'll think i find more mercy than your anger has design'd: but love has carefully design'd for me, the last perfection of misery. for to my state the hopes of common peace, which ev'ry wretch enjoys in death, must cease: my worst of fates attend me in my grave, since, dying, i must be no more your slave. the ninth elegy, in the second book of _ovid_'s amours, translated. _to love._ o love! how cold and slow to take my part? thou idle wanderer about my heart: why, thy old faithful soldier, wilt thou see oppress'd in thy own tents? they murther me. thy flames consume, thy arrows pierce thy friends: rather on foes pursue more noble ends. _achilles_ sword would certainly bestow a cure, as certain as it gave the blow. hunters, who follow flying game, give o'er when the prey's caught, hopes still lead on before. we thine own slaves feel thy tyrannick blows, whilst thy tame hand's unmov'd against thy foes. on men disarm'd, how can you gallant prove? and i was long ago disarm'd by love. millions of dull men live, and scornful maids: we'll own love valiant when he these invades. _rome_ from each corner of the wide world snatch'd a laurel, or't had been to this day thatch'd. but the old soldier has his resting place; and the good batter'd horse is turn'd to grass: the harrass'd whore, who liv'd a wretch to please, has leave to be a bawd, and take her ease. for me then, who have truly spent my blood (love) in thy service; and so boldly stood in _cælia_'s trenches; were't not wisely done, e'en to retire, and live in peace at home? no--might i gain a godhead to disclaim my glorious title to my endless flame: _divinity_ with scorn i wou'd forswear such sweet, dear, tempting devils _women_ are. whene'er those flames grow faint, i quickly find a fierce, black storm pour down upon my mind: headlong i'm hurl'd like horsemen, who, in vain, their (fury-flaming) coursers would restrain. as ships, just when the harbour they attain, are snatch'd by sudden blasts to sea again: so love's fantastick storms reduce my heart half rescu'd, and the god resumes his dart. strike here, this undefended bosom wound, and for so brave a conquest be renown'd. shafts fly so fast to me from ev'ry part, you'll scarce discern the quiver from my heart. what wretch can bear a live-long night's dull rest? fool--is not sleep the image of pale death? there's time for rest, when fate hath stopt your breath. me may my soft deluding dear deceive; i'm happy in my hopes while i believe. now let her flatter, then as fondly chide: often may i enjoy; oft be deny'd. with doubtful steps the god of war does move by the example, in ambiguous love. blown to and fro like down from thy own wing; who knows when joy or anguish thou wilt bring: yet at thy mother's and thy slave's request, fix an eternal empire in my breast: and let th' inconstant, charming, sex, whose wilful scorn does lovers vex, submit their hearts before thy throne: the vassal world is then thy own. _woman's honour._ a song. i. _love_ bid me hope, and i obey'd; _phillis_ continu'd still unkind: then you may e'en despair, he said, in vain i strive to change her mind. ii. _honour's_ got in, and keeps her heart; durst he but venture once abroad, in my own right i'd take your part, and shew my self a mightier _god_. iii. this huffing _honour_ domineers in breasts, where he alone has place: but if true gen'rous _love_ appears, the hector dares not shew his face. iv. let me still languish, and complain, be most inhumanly deny'd: i have some pleasure in my pain, she can have none with all her pride. v. i fall a sacrifice to _love_, she lives a wretch for _honour_'s sake; whose tyrant does most cruel prove, the difference is not hard to make. vi. consider _real honour_ then, you'll find _hers_ cannot be the same, 'tis noble confidence in men, in women mean mistrustful shame. _grecian_ kindness. a song. i. the utmost grace the _greeks_ could shew, when to the _trojans_ they grew kind, was with their arms to let 'em go, and leave their lingring wives behind. they beat the men, and burnt the town, then all the baggage was their own. ii. there the kind deity of wine kiss'd the soft wanton god of love; this clapt his wings, that press'd his vine, and their best pow'rs united move. while each brave _greek_ embrac'd his punk, lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk. the mistress. a song. i. an age in her embraces past, would seem a winter's day; where life and light with envious haste, are torn and snatch'd away. ii. but, oh! how slowly minutes roul, when absent from her eyes; that fed my love, which is my soul, it languishes and dies. iii. for then no more a soul but shade, it mournfully does move; and haunts my breast, by absence made the living tomb of love. iv. you wiser men despise me not; whose love-sick fancy raves, on shades of souls, and heav'n knows what; short ages live in graves. v. whene'er those wounding eyes, so full of sweetness, you did see; had you not been profoundly dull, you had gone mad like me. vi. nor censure us, you who perceive my best belov'd and me, sigh and lament, complain and grieve, you think we disagree. vii. alas! 'tis sacred jealousie, love rais'd to an extream; the only proof 'twixt them and me, we love, and do not dream. viii. fantastick fancies fondly move; and in frail joys believe: taking false pleasure for true love; but pain can ne'er deceive. ix. kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears, and anxious cares, when past; prove our hearts treasure fix'd and dear, and make us blest at last. a song. i. absent from thee i languish still; then ask me not, when i return? the straying fool 'twill plainly kill, to wish all day, all night to mourn. ii. _dear_, from thine arms then let me fly, that my fantastick mind may prove, the torments it deserves to try, that tears my fix, heart from my love. iii. when wearied with a world of woe, to thy safe bosom i retire, where love and peace and truth does flow, may i contented there expire. iv. left once more wandring from that heav'n, i fall on some base heart unblest; faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, and lose my everlasting rest. to _corinna_. a song. i. what cruel pains _corinna_ takes, to force that harmless frown: when not one charm her face forsakes, love cannot lose his own. ii. so sweet a face, so soft a heart, such eyes so very kind, betray, alas! the silly art virtue had ill design'd. iii. poor feeble tyrant! who in vain would proudly take upon her, against kind nature to maintain affected rules of honour. iv. the scorn she bears so helpless proves, when i plead passion to her, that much she fears, (but more she loves,) her vassal should undo her. _a young lady to her ancient lover._ a song. i. ancient person, for whom i all the flatt'ring youth defie; long be it e're thou grow old, aking, shaking, crasie, cold. but still continue as thou art, _ancient person of my heart_. ii. on thy withered lips and dry, which like barren furrows lie; brooding kisses i will pour, shall thy youthful heart restore. such kind show'rs in autumn fall, and a second spring recal: nor from thee will ever part, _ancient person of my heart_. iii. thy nobler part, which but to name, in our sex wou'd be counted shame, by ages frozen grasp possess'd from their ice shall be releas'd: and, sooth'd by my reviving hand, in former warmth and vigour stand. all a lover's wish can reach, for thy joy my love shall teach: and for thy pleasure shall improve all that art can add to love, yet still i love thee without art, _ancient person of my heart_. to a lady: in a letter. a song. i. such perfect bliss, fair _chloris_, we in our enjoyment prove: 'tis pity restless jealousie should mingle with our love. ii. let us, since wit has taught us how, raise pleasure to the top: you rival bottle must allow, i'll suffer rival fop. iii. think not in this that i design a treason 'gainst love's charms, when following the god of wine, i leave my _chloris_ arms. iv. since you have that, for all your haste, at which i'll ne'er repine, its pleasure can repeat as fast, as i the joys of wine. v. there's not a brisk insipid spark, that flutters in the town: but with your wanton eyes you mark him out to be your own. vi. nor do you think it worth your care, how empty, and how dull, the head of your admirers are, so that their veins be full. vii. all this you freely may confess, yet we ne'er disagree: for did you love your pleasure less, you were no match for me. the fall. a song. i. how blest was the created state of man and woman e're they fell, compar'd to our unhappy fate, we need not fear another hell! ii. naked, beneath cool shades, they lay, enjoyment waited on desire: each member did their wills obey, nor could a wish set pleasure higher. iii. but we, poor slaves, to hope and fear, are never of our joys secure; they lessen still, as they draw near, and none but dull delights endure. iv. then, _chloris_, while i duty pay, the nobler tribute of my heart, be not you so severe to say, you love me for a frailer part. _love_ and _life_. a song. i. all my past life is mine no more, the flying hours are gone: like transitory dreams giv'n o'er, whose images are kept in store, by memory alone. ii. the time that is to come is not; how can it then be mine? the present moment's all my lot; and that, as fast as it is got, _phillis_, is only thine. iii. then talk not of inconstancy, false hearts, and broken vows; if i, by miracle, can be this live long minute true to thee, 'tis all that heav'n allows. a song. i. while on those lovely looks i gaze, to see a wretch pursuing; in raptures of a blest amaze, his pleasing happy ruin; 'tis not for pity that i move; his fate is to aspiring, whose heart, broke with a load of love, dies wishing and admiring. ii. but if this murder you'd forego, your slave from death removing; let me your art of charming know, or learn you mine of loving. but whether life, or death, betide, in love it's equal measure, the victor lives with empty pride; the vanquish'd die with pleasure. a song. i. love a woman! you're an ass, 'tis a most insipid passion; to chuse out for your happiness, the silliest part of god's creation. ii. let the porter, and the groom, things design'd for dirty slaves; drudge in fair _aurelia_'s womb, to get supplies for age and graves. iii. farewel, woman, i intend, henceforth, ev'ry night to sit with my lewd well-natur'd friend, drinking to engender wit. a song. i. to this moment a rebel, i throw down my arms, great _love_, at first sight of _olinda_'s bright charms: made proud, and secure by such forces as these, you may now play the tyrant as soon as you please. ii. when innocence, beauty, and wit do conspire, to betray, and engage, and inflame my desire, why should i decline what i cannot avoid, and let pleasing hope by base fear be destroy'd? iii. her innocence cannot contrive to undo me, her beauty's inclin'd, or why shou'd it pursue me? and wit has to pleasure been ever a friend, then what room for despair since delight is _love_'s end. iv. there can be no danger in sweetness and youth, where love is secur'd by good-nature and truth: on her beauty i'll gaze, and of pleasure complain; while every kind look adds a link to my chain. v. 'tis more to maintain, than it was to surprize, but her wit leads in triumph the slave of her eyes: i beheld, with the loss of my freedom before, but hearing, for ever must serve and adore. vi. too bright is my goddess, her temple too weak: retire, divine image! i feel my heart break. help, _love_, i dissolve in a rapture of charms; at the thought of those joys i shou'd meet in her arms. upon his leaving his _mistress_. i. 'tis not that i am weary grown of being yours, and yours alone: but with what face can i incline, to damn you to be only mine? you, whom some kinder pow'r did fashion, } by merit, and by inclination, } the joy at least of a whole nation. } ii. let meaner spirits of your sex, with humble aims their thoughts perplex: and boast, if, by their arts they can contrive to make _one_ happy man. while, mov'd by an impartial sense, } favours, like nature you dispense, } with universal influence. } iii. see the kind seed-receiving earth, to ev'ry grain affords a birth: on her no show'rs unwelcom fall, her willing womb retains 'em all. and shall my _cælia_ be confin'd? } no, live up to thy mighty mind; } and be the mistress of mankind. } upon drinking in a bowl. i. _vulcan_ contrive me such a cup as _nestor_ us'd of old: shew all thy skill to trim it up; damask it round with gold. ii. make it so large that, fill'd with sack up to the swelling brim, vast toasts on the delicious lake, like ships at sea, may swim. iii. engrave not battel on his cheek; with war i've nought to do: i'm none of those that took _mastrick_, nor _yarmouth_ leaguer knew. iv. let it no name of planets tell, fixt stars, or constellations: for i am no sir _sindrophel_, nor none of his relations. v. but carve thereon a spreading vine; then add two lovely boys; their limbs in amorious folds intwine, the type of future joys. vi. _cupid_ and _bacchus_ my saints are; may drink and love still reign: with wine i wash away my cares, and then to love again. a song. i. as _chloris_ full of harmless thoughts beneath a willow lay, kind love a youthful shepherd brought, to pass the time away. ii. she blusht to be encounter'd so, and chid the amorous swain: but as she strove to rise and go, he pull'd her down again. iii. a sudden passion seized her heart, in spight of her disdain; she found a pulse in ev'ry part, and love in ev'ry vein. iv. ah, youth! (said she) what charms are these, that conquer and surprize? ah! let me--for unless you please, i have no power to rise. v. she fainting spoke, and trembling lay, for fear he should comply her lovely eyes her heart betray, and give her tongue the lye. vi. thus she whom princes had deny'd, with all their pomp and train; was, in the lucky minute, try'd, and yielded to a swain. a song. i. give me leave to rail at you, i ask nothing but my due; to call you false, and then to say you shall not keep my heart a day: but, alas! against my will, i must be your captive still. ah! be kinder then; for i cannot change, and would not die. ii. kindness has resistless charms, all besides but weakly move; fiercest anger it disarms, and clips the wings of flying love. beauty does the heart invade, kindness only can persuade; it gilds the lover's servile chain, and makes the slaves grow pleas'd again. the _answer_. i. nothing adds to your fond fire more than scorn, and cold disdain: i, to cherish your desire, kindness us'd, but 'twas in vain. ii. you insisted on your slave, humble love you soon refus'd: hope not then a pow'r to have, which ingloriously you us'd. iii. think not, _thirsis_, i will e're, by my love my empire lose: you grow constant through dispair, love return'd you wou'd abuse. iv. though you still possess my heart, scorn and rigour i must feign: ah! forgive that only art, love has left your love to gain. v. you that could my heart subdue, to new conquests ne'er pretend: let the example make me true, and of a conquer'd foe a friend. vi. then, if e'er i should complain of your empire, or my chain, summon all the powerful charms, and kill the rebel in your arms. a song. i. fair _chloris_ in a pig-sty lay, her tender herd lay by her: she slept, in murmuring gruntlings they, complaining of the scorching day, her slumbers thus inspire. ii. she dreamt, while she with careful pains, her snowy arms employ'd, in ivory pails to fill out grains, one of her love-convicted swains, thus hastning to her cry'd: iii. fly, nymph, oh! fly, e're 'tis too late, a dear-lov'd life to save: rescue your bosom pig from fate, who now expires, hung in the gate that leads to yonder cave. iv. my self had try'd to set him free, rather than brought the news: but i am so abhorr'd by thee, that ev'n thy darling's life from me, i know thou wou'dst refuse. v. struck with the news, as quick she flies as blushes to her face: not the bright lightning from the skies, nor love, shot from her brighter eyes, move half so swift a pace. vi. this plot, it seems, the lustful slave had laid against her honour: which not one god took care to save, for he persues her to the cave, and throws himself upon her. vii. now pierced is her virgin zone, she feels the foe within it; she hears a broken amorous groan, the panting lover's fainting moan, just in the happy minute. viii. frighted she wakes, and waking sighs, nature thus kindly eas'd, in dreams rais'd by her murm'ring pigs, and her own th--b between her l--gs, she's innocently pleas'd. constancy. a song. i. i cannot change, as others do, though you unjustly scorn: since that poor swain that sighs for you, for you alone was born. no, _phillis_, no, your heart to move a surer way i'll try: and to revenge my slighted love, will still love on, will still love on, and die. ii. when, kill'd with grief, _amintas_ lies; and you to mind shall call, the sighs that now unpitied rise, the tears that vainly fall. that welcome hour that ends this smart, will then begin your pain; for such a faithful tender heart can never break, can never break in vain. a song. i. my dear mistress has a heart soft as those kind looks she gave me, when with love's resistless art, and her eyes, she did enslave me. but her constancy's so weak, she's so wild, and apt to wander; that my jealous heart wou'd break, should we live one day asunder. ii. melting joys about her move, killing pleasures, wounding blisses; she can dress her eyes in love, and her lips can arm with kisses. angels listen when she speaks, she's my delight, all mankind wonder: but my jealous heart would break, should we live one day asunder. _finis._ the augustan reprint society a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of captain _lemuel gulliver_. (anonymous) ( ) _introduction by_ martin kallich publication number william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles general editors william e. conway, _william andrews clark memorial library_ george robert guffey, _university of california, los angeles_ maximillian e. novak, _university of california, los angeles_ associate editor david s. rodes, _university of california, los angeles_ advisory editors richard c. boys, _university of michigan_ james l. clifford, _columbia university_ ralph cohen, _university of virginia_ vinton a. dearing, _university of california, los angeles_ arthur friedman, _university of chicago_ louis a. landa, _princeton university_ earl miner, _university of california, los angeles_ samuel h. monk, _university of minnesota_ everett t. moore, _university of california, los angeles_ lawrence clark powell, _william andrews clark memorial library_ james sutherland, _university college, london_ h. t. swedenberg, jr., _university of california, los angeles_ robert vosper, _william andrews clark memorial library_ corresponding secretary edna c. davis, _william andrews clark memorial library_ editorial assistant roberta medford, _william andrews clark memorial library_ introduction we have a book lately publish'd here which hath of late taken up the whole conversation of the town. tis said to be writ by swift. it is called, the travells of lemuell gulliver in two volumes. it hath had a very great sale. people differ vastly in their opinions of it, for some think it hath a great deal of wit, but others say, it hath none at all. john gay to james dormer ( november ) as gay's letter suggests, details concerning the contemporary reception of _gulliver's travels_ exhibit two sides of jonathan swift's character--the pleasant (that is, merry, witty, amusing) and the unpleasant (that is, sarcastic, envious, disaffected). a person with a powerful ego and astringent sense of humor, swift must have been a delightful friend, if somewhat difficult, but also a dangerous enemy. _a letter from a clergyman_ ( ), here reproduced in a facsimile of its first and only edition, is a reaction typical of those who regard swift and the sharp edge of his satire with great suspicion and revulsion. it displays the dangerously satanic aspect of swift--that side of his character which for some people represented the whole man since the allegedly blasphemous satire in _a tale of a tub_, published and misunderstood early in his career, critically affected, even by his own admission, his employment in the church. it is this evil character of the author, the priest with an indecorous and politically suspect humor, that offended some contemporary readers. to them, the engraved frontispiece of jonathan smedley's scurrilous _gulliveriana_ ( ) is the proper image of the author of the _travels_. it portrays swift in a priest's vestments that barely conceal a cloven hoof. in the following pages, we shall define the historical context of the clergyman's _letter_ and illuminate the nature of the literary warfare in which swift was an energetic if not particularly cheerful antagonist when _gulliver's travels_ was published late in . in another letter, gay remarked to swift ( november ) that "the politicians to a man agree, that it [the _travels_] is free from particular reflections"; nevertheless some "people of greater perspicuity" would "search for particular applications in every leaf." he also predicted that "we shall have keys publish'd to give light into gulliver's design." his prediction was correct, for it was not long before four _keys_, the earliest commentary in pamphlet form on the _travels_, were published by a signor corolini, undoubtedly a pseudonym for edmund curll, the london printer and bookseller. but surprisingly, the observations do not exhibit swift in a harsh factional light. as a matter of fact, in his introduction to the _keys_, which are entitled _lemuel gulliver's travels into several remote nations of the world. compendiously methodized, for publick benefit: with observations and explanatory notes throughout_ ( ), curll flatters swift as possessing "the true vein of humour and polite conversation" (i, ). regarding the _travels_, he observes, "the town are infinitely more eager after them than they were after _robinson crusoe_" (i, ). in general, the _keys_ are pleasantly written, including no nasty innuendoes critical of swift's high-church sectarian zeal or his high-flying tory political sympathies. they may be considered a frankly commercial venture meant to exploit the popularity of the _travels_. curll merely summarizes the narratives, occasionally providing substantial extracts or sprinkling explanatory comments on some allusions that attract him. some of the annotations are ridiculous, or curious, like the equations of blefuscu with scotland, of the storm gulliver passes through before reaching brobdingnag with "the _south-sea_ and _mississippi_ confusion," and of the giants with inflated south sea stock (ii, ). some remarks, however, appear convincing, such as his belief that "the _trifling transactions_ of the present _english royal society_" on insects and fossils are "finely rallied" (ii, - ). curll also notes about the third voyage that "besides the political allegory, mr. _gulliver_ has many shrewd remarks upon men and books, sects, parties, and opinions" (iii, - ). concerning the fourth, he equates the good portuguese captain don pedro with the dean's "good friend the earl of _p[eterboroug]h_" (iv, ). the roman catholic peterborough, we recall, fought in spain and was also pope's good friend. other more suggestive comments on swift's political meaning may be cited. for example, the "_ancient temple_" in which gulliver is housed in lilliput, a structure "_polluted ... by an unnatural murder_," he identifies as "the _banquetting-house_ at _white-hall_, before which structure, king charles i was beheaded" (i, - ). this allusion to "the _royal-martyr_" (iii, ) may be considered a modest clue to swift's toryism, and it is associated with the jacobitism of which his whiggish enemies accused him. yet an unusual reading of the struldbruggs in the third voyage (particularly the controls imposed on the senile creatures in order to prevent their engrossing the civil power) as an attack on the religious dissenters demonstrates that curll and swift agreed on the issue of an established church. the clergy who wished to separate state from church, or as curll describes the situation, that implacable spirit and rancour ... [of] those _english_ ecclesiasticks, who have asserted the _independency_ of the _church_ upon the _state_ ... ought to the latest posterity in _england_, to be called _struldbruggs_. for it will be found ... that, _whenever they assume the_ civil power, _their want_ of abilities _to_ manage, _must end in the_ ruin _of the_ publick. (iii, ) indeed, among the most interesting of currl's annotations are those which suggest that a religious reading of the _travels_ was by no means unappreciated by swift's contemporaries. thus, again, besides his unusual politico-religious comment on the struldbruggs, curll is fairly sharp in his annotation of the passage on religious differences in chapter v of the fourth voyage, concerning "_transubstantiation_ as believed by the _papists_," "cathedral-worship," kissing the crucifix, vestments,--and resulting furious religious wars (iv, - ). all in all, however, the _keys_ are singularly shallow and agreeably bland. curll simply agrees with gulliver-swift, and reinforces the meaning by practically repeating the text, as he does at this point when deploring inessential differences in ritual as needless causes of cruel conflict. although curll was aware of the presence of politics and religion in swift's allegories, his annotations do not reflect unfavorably on swift's character. but it was not long before an attack on swift was mounted. it began with _a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of capt. lemuel gulliver: and a character of the author. to which is added, the true reasons why a certain doctor was made a dean_ ( )--the first substantial attack on swift resulting from the publication of his most celebrated work. the identity of the author is unknown. steele, swift's implacable political enemy, had retired to the country at this time and was soon to die. because of the numerous references to swift's treacherous disloyalty to steele's friendship, we could speculate on a connection between the anonymous author and steele and infer that it was a friendly relationship. the long and breathless title underlines the malicious content of this polemical pamphlet, a pungent libel on swift's character that includes cutting observations on swift's chief fiction as well. obviously, the author's intent is to vilify swift in retaliation for attacks on the writer's friends. inspired by the publication of the _travels_, he presents a crudely defamatory "character of the author." he claims an acquaintance with swift "in publick and private life" (p. ) but offers no evidence to substantiate this claim. drawing from common knowledge, he simply cites the well-known negative evidence of _a tale of a tub_, in which swift, he indignantly asserts like swift's former enemy william wotton, "levelled his jests at almighty god; banter'd and ridiculed religion," thereby offending queen anne and blocking his own church preferment (p. ). except for "some gross words, and lewd descriptions, and had the inventor's intention been innocent" (p. [note the suspicion of swift's political and religious bias]), the author is mildly pleased with the first three voyages. but he finds intolerable the satire on human nature in the last, here echoing addison's criticism of the demoralizing effect of a satire on mankind (_spectator _, december ). however, swift's "intention" in the first three voyages is, he angrily declares, tinctured by his poisonous malice and envy, the result of twelve years of exile. he is positive of the identity of the vicious person behind the mask of the imaginary memoirist: here, sir, you may see a reverend divine, a dignify'd member of the church unbosoming himself, unloading his breast, discovering the true temper of his soul, drawing his own picture to the life; here's no disguise, none could have done it so well as himself.... (p. ) he detects envy in what he believes is the incendiary narrator of the _travels_, and insists that by siding with the enemies of the nation, meaning france, swift was "endeavouring to ruin the _british_ constitution, set aside the _hanover_ succession, and bring in a [tyrannical] popish pretender," and, of course, "destroy our church establishment" (pp. , - ). thereupon, he furiously threatens swift with punishment for his pernicious attack on the government, that is, the present political administration. clearly motivated by politico-religious fears, this whig militantly defends not only the protestant succession but also the ministry of sir robert walpole--which the numerous allusions to the "_great man_" and "the greatest man this nation ever produced" (p. ) confirm. swift's mean character of flimnap, the lilliputian prime minister, stung badly: "with what indignation must every one that has had the honour to be admitted to this _great man_, review the doctor's charging him with being morose" (p. ). he counters swift's insulting reduction of the great man to a petty little man with an egregiously fulsome panegyric that magnifies the virtues of sir robert's public and private character, and concludes with abuse of swift's character as an irish dean disaffected from the government--hence deserving of permanent exile in ireland.[ ] the author of the fiery _letter_ focuses on swift's impiety--pointing to his wickedness, the sneering tone of his sacrilegious satire, his indiscreet joking about religion, all of which swift's enemies were quick to emphasize as the outstanding features of _a tale of a tub_, as well as portions of the _travels_. for example, even gay, in the letter to swift quoted above ( november ) also noted that those "who frequent the church, say his [gulliver's] design is impious, and that it is an insult on providence, by depreciating the works of the creator,"--a line of attack soon to be pursued by edward young, james beattie, and others who were not in the least charmed by swift's satire. but swift's friends were not idle; for it was precisely this bitter onslaught on swift's religion in the _letter_ that brought another writer to the defense in the ironically entitled _gulliver decypher'd: or remarks on a late book, intitled, travels into several remote nations of the world, vindicating the reverend dean on whom it is maliciously father'd, with some conjectures concerning the real author_ ( ).[ ] this writer, probably john arbuthnot, may be considered one of the earliest defenders of the religious orthodoxy of the _travels_. he extracts passages from swift's work, such as the lilliputian quarrel over breaking eggs, the satire on corrupt bishops, and the affirmation of the principle of limited toleration for religious dissent in brobdingnag as evidences of his belief, presented ironically, that "the reverend dean" could not possibly have fathered the work because the author of the _travels_ did not have religious ideals in mind. one of the passages that this defender cites demonstrates that only a person like the religious dean could have made this observation about the concern for religious instruction by the lilliputians before their fall from original perfection: ... we cannot think, but that the courteous reader is fully satisfied, that the reverend d---- we are vindicating, cannot possibly be the author of this part of the book that is maliciously ascrib'd to him; which is so very trifling, that it is not to be imagined that a _serious_ d----n, who has religion, and the good of souls so _much_ at heart, could act so contrary to the dignity of his character merely to gratify a little party malice, or to oblige a set of people who are never likely to have it in their power to serve him or any of their adherents. doubtless he, _good man_, employs his time to more sacred purposes than in writing satyrs and libels upon his superiors, or in composing _grub-street_ pamphlets to divert the vulgar of all denominations.[ ] consider also his defense of swift's exposure of the corrupt bishops, the "holy persons" in the house of lords (_travels_, ii, vi). believing that swift's pungent satire on the church hierarchy is good and true, he makes the dean himself the target of a playful bit of raillery, a type of irony for which swift and arbuthnot were both notorious: being _slavish prostitute chaplains_ is certainly a good step _towards becoming an holy lord_; but it does not always succeed, as _some folks_ very well know by experience; for the same degree of iniquity that can raise one man to an _archbishoprick_, cannot lift another above a _deanery_.[ ] such commentary suggests that at least one very early reader of the _travels_ sensed the possibility of swift's use of certain portions of his narrative to vent disappointment at his failure to receive the church preferment he thought he deserved and to carry on his personal vendetta against obstructive bishops like the "crazy prelate" sharpe, archbishop of york, one of the detestable and "dull divines" pilloried in the autobiographical poem "the author upon himself" ( ). concerning swift's religious uniformitarianism, the author of _gulliver decypher'd_ defends swift's understandable bias for the established anglican church as a vested interest, which in the _travels_ is expressed through the giant king's strictures against civil liberty for religious dissenters (ii, vi). he recommends this passage as a proper explanation of the principle restricting the civil liberty of potentially subversive dissidents, adding, furthermore, that "the sectaries" themselves were "averse to all the modes" of religion and opposed religious diversity.[ ] all these remarks figured prominently in what may be considered the earliest debate on the religious meaning of the _travels_. certainly, some contemporary readers of swift's major work were not insensitive to its religious significance, as even the commentary on the religious instruction of the upper classes--a relatively minor part of the satire which twentieth-century readers would easily overlook, as well as the more serious observations on the endian dispute between catholics and protestants over the eucharist demonstrate. yet like all the early critics of the _travels_, this author has nothing to say about this episode of central importance in the narrative about lilliput, the reason probably being that its meaning was taken for granted by the protestants of swift's england. thus the author of _gulliver decypher'd_ merely says the obvious: "the reflections that will accrue to every reader, upon this conference [with reldresal], is [_sic_] so obvious, that we shall not so much as hint at them."[ ] thus it is also not strange for the antagonistic clergyman to say nothing in his _letter_ about the heart of the lilliputian narrative--the profound allegory on the religious wars over the eucharist and the serious issues raised by swift. no doubt, however, he probably read swift's interpretation of gulliver's role in this conflict as a tory version of history, and resented it accordingly. that is, like the whigs of the day, he would object to an easy peace for catholic france and would conclude that the treaty of utrecht concluding the war of the spanish succession, was not sufficiently punitive. among the works that capitalized on the popularity of the _travels_ were the imitative _memoirs of lilliput_ ( ) and _a voyage to cacklogallinia_ ( ). the author of the _memoirs_ emphasizes the evil character of the lilliputians, particularly their lecherous clergy, and concludes with an account of the sufferings of big-endian exiles and extensive observations on the dangers of political factionalism. but he is most attracted by prurient sexual adventures. a vulgar work obviously meant to appeal to a neurotic taste for sexuality, it includes no attack on swift as it explores at length some topics to which gulliver in his memoirs only tangentially alludes. the second abortive effort, an animal satire of exotic talking fowl, also resembles swift's satire as it touches on several similar topics--the hypocrisy of the people, the scepticism of their nobility, the love of luxury of the higher clergy--but again because it includes no comment on swift's personal or public character, it is not relevant to a discussion of the angry _letter from a clergyman_. we can therefore pass quickly from these two works to perhaps the best, in the sense of the most stinging and most comprehensive, assault on swift at the time of the publication of his _travels_, that entitled _gulliveriana_ ( ), by the irish dean of clogher, jonathan smedley. "that rascall smedley," about whom swift once wrote in vexation (to archdeacon walls, december ), is the very same hack who carried on the subsidized _baker's news; or the whitehall journal_ ( - ) on behalf of sir robert walpole's government. he is also immortalized in pope's _dunciad_ ( ) as "a person dipp'd in scandal, and deeply immers'd in dirty work" (_dunciad_ a, ii, ff; b, ii, ff). his _gulliveriana_ (including the satires on pope, the _alexandriana_), a scurrilous anthology of abuse in the form of jingles, ballads, parodies in prose, and other satirical essays, was inspired by the recent publication of the pope-swift _miscellany_. in his preface smedley indicts swift for an almost endless series of misdemeanors--for shifting his allegiance from the whigs to the tories; for restricting his verse to the burlesque style and its groveling doggerel manner; for failing in eloquence and oratory, theology and mathematics; and for being a pedant, poetaster, hack-politician, jockey, gardener, punster, and skilful swearer. in short smedley insists that swift is accomplished in the art of sinking according to the prescription which he and pope wrote in the _peri bathos_, the first part of the _miscellany_ that aroused smedley's ire. swift is, to sum up, "_ludicrous, dull, and profane_; and ... an instance of _that decay of delicacy and refinement_ which he mentions" (p. xxvii). as for the recently published _gulliver's travels_, smedley shows it no mercy: an abominable piece! by being _quite out of life_! the _fable_ is entirely ridiculous; the _moral_ but ludicrous; the _satire_ trite and worn out, and the _instructions_ much better perform'd by many other pens. i call on his _lilliputian art of government_, and _education of children_ for proof. (p. xix) it comes as no surprise to see that smedley's whiggish bias encourages him to detect "hints" in the _travels_ of swift's "zeal for high church and toryism" (p. ), so that obviously the work is "_trifling_" and "_nothing_." the pious dean has done what in him lies to render _religion_, _reason_, and _common_ sense ridiculous, and to set up in their stead, _buffoonry_, _grimace_, and _impertinence_, and, like _harlequin_, carries it off all with a _grin_. (p. )[ ] among smedley's clever parodies of swift's writings are those of _a tale of a tub_, _against abolishing christianity_, and _gulliver's travels_. the comprehensiveness of abuse is demonstrated in the nasty gulliverian allegory, in which swift is accused of being an ignorant, hypocritical, atheistical irishman, high-flying tory, and jacobite papist. even swift's sex life--his relationship with stella and vanessa--is made ugly (pp. - ). indeed, smedley believes that it is his duty to keep his readers well-informed about swift's "odd" conduct; thus with evident relish he advises the poet to tell us what _swift_ is now a doing: or whineing politicks or wooing; with sentence grave, or mirth uncommon, pois'ning the clergy, and the women. (p. ) among the ballads, one will see the infamous "verses, fix'd on the cathedral door, the day of dean gulliver's installment," which begins with the following delectable quatrain: today, this temple gets a _dean_, of parts and fame, uncommon; us'd, both to pray, and to prophane, to serve both _god_ and _mammon_. then the poem proceeds with the usual diatribe of swift's desertion of the whigs, his atheism, high-church sympathies, and sacrilegious humor (pp. - ). in almost every conceivable literary style smedley takes exception to swift's divinity and politics and attempts to blacken swift's character. as we should expect, differences over politics and religion were determining causes. thus smedley adores the outstanding literary whig addison, contrasting the polish and beauty of addison's style with swift's failures, ugliness, ineptitude, vulgarity, intolerable filthiness. likewise, following the author of the _letter_, he writes favorably of steele, castigating swift for his treacherous betrayal of steele's friendship. but his catalogue of swift's vices is far more intriguing than that of our clergyman, his gossip far more detailed and malicious. clearly, swift could not possibly do anything to please some of his readers. if their hostile reactions have any meaning, they prove that swift's political connections and high-church sympathies prevented many of his contemporaries from responding to the virtues of _gulliver's travels_; and that, on the contrary, his chief work was tapped for evidence of the author's suspected impiety and partisan politics. that this hostility persisted far into the eighteenth century may be seen in the illuminating anecdote told in the 's by horace walpole, son of the "great man" so glowingly praised in the _letter from a clergyman_: swift was a good writer, but had a bad heart. even to the last he was devoured by ambition, which he pretended to despise. would you believe that, after finding his opposition to the ministry fruitless, and, what galled him still more, contemned, he summoned up resolution to wait on sir robert walpole? sir robert seeing swift look pale and ill, inquired the state of his health, with his usual old english good humour and urbanity. they were standing by a window that looked into the court-yard, where was an ancient ivy dropping towards the ground. "sir," said swift, with an emphatic look, "i am like that ivy; i want support." sir robert answered, "why then, doctor, did you attach youself to a falling wall?" swift took the hint, made his bow, and retired.[ ] northern illinois university notes to the introduction [ ] in _the intelligencer, no. iii_ ( ), swift defends gay's satire on the "great man," _the beggar's opera_ ( ), and continues his offensive against sir robert walpole. here it may be mentioned that in his apology for the irony used by persecuted dissenters, anthony collins [_a discourse concerning ridicule and irony_ ( )] remarks that "high-church" overlooked swift's "_drolling_ upon christianity," and was unwilling to punish him because of his "_drollery_ upon the _whigs_, _dissenters_, and the _war_ with _france_." collins interprets the effect of swift's wit on his church career as follows: "and his usefulness in _drollery_ and _ridicule_ was deem'd sufficient by the _pious_ queen _anne_, and her _pious ministry_, to intitle him to a church preferment of several hundred pounds _per ann._ ... notwithstanding [the objections of] a _fanatick high-churchman_, who weakly thought _seriousness_ in religion of more use to high-church than _drollery_" (pp. - ). [ ] g. a. aitken, _the life and works of john arbuthnot_ (oxford, ), pp. - ; and h. teerink-arthur h. scouten, _a bibliography of the writings of jonathan swift_ (philadelphia, ), no. , consider it an uncomplimentary attack on swift and his friends--but mistakenly, i believe. lester m. beattie, _john arbuthnot: mathematician and satirist_ (cambridge, mass., ), p. , unqualifiedly rejects arbuthnot's authorship of this work. but a correspondent to _notes and queries_, sixth series, vii ( ), - , argues convincingly for the attribution to arbuthnot. [ ] _gulliver decypher'd_ (london, ), pp. - ; reprinted in arbuthnot's _miscellaneous works_ (glasgow, ), i, . [ ] _gulliver decypher'd_, pp. n, ; _misc. works_, i, n, . [ ] _gulliver decypher'd_, p. ; _misc. works_, i, . [ ] _gulliver decypher'd_, p. ; _misc. works_, i, . [ ] john oldmixon, another whig writer, repeats some of these slanders against swift, even using some of the same words like "trifling and grimace"--in his reactions to the swift-pope _miscellanies_ and _gulliver's travels_. he too finds the tales in the _travels_ frivolous because lacking a moral and the satire a debasing of "the dignity of human nature" (_the arts of logick and rhetorick_ [london, ], pp. - ). [ ] john pinkerton, _walpoliana_ (london, n.d.), i, - . for additional typical evidences of horace walpole's antipathy, see his angry assaults on swift's insolence, arrogance, vanity, and hypocrisy (including sexuality), in his letters to montagu, june and to horace mann, january ; and a remark in his _anecdotes of painting, works_ (london, ), iii, . bibliographical note this facsimile of _a letter from a clergyman_ ( ) is reproduced from a copy in the british museum. a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of capt. _lemuel gulliver_: and a character of the author. to which is added, the true reasons why a certain doctor was made a dean. _london_: printed for _a. moore_ near st. _paul's_. mdccxxvi. _price d._ [illustration: decorative border] a letter from a clergyman to his friend. _sir_, to let the town into the chief motives for this publication, i am obliged to acquaint them, that it is my love of truth and justice, enforc'd by my inclination to please my friend; the motive, all will undoubtedly allow to be a laudable one; and i could, if required, give so many unanswerable reason for being influenc'd by the latter, that to an impartial reader it would appear almost as sufficient, for my proceeding thus, as the former. your desires, sir, shall always be comply'd with by me to the utmost of my power; i ever have, and ever shall look upon your requests as commands; and as such esteem them my honour. 'tis hardly to be imagined that an objection will so readily be made to my undertaking on any account, as that of my inequality to it; therefore i shall only hint, that as every man in the like case, unless totally incapable, may if requir'd, give his judgment, provided he does it with impartiality and candour, so i shall be regardless what others say, while i strictly adhere to these principles, and meet with your approbation. you was pleased to say at our last conversation, that you look'd upon me to be rather more capable of giving a just character of the reputed author of these travels, than most men in town, from my having been conversant with him in publick and private life; in his early days, as well as since; when he first appear'd in the world; at home and abroad; in the camp and cabinet; a little when he was in favour, more since in disgrace; and thus, sir, your expectations seem to enlarge. but here for the sake of our cloth i must beg leave to draw a viel, and to keep it on, as much, and as long, as the nature of my design will admit: was i indeed to follow the captain's example, what vile, what cruel things might i not suggest of him? what hard things could i not prove? which many would recollect as well as my self, and more would believe: how might i justly turn his artillery upon himself, and stifle him with that filth he has so injuriously loaded others with; if the greatest heap that ever was scraped together would stifle him who is entitled to it all; but i forbear now, and am resolved to do so, unless oblig'd to break this determination to preserve, as i hinted before, the consistency of my undertaking. i began a little to hesitate at my design, upon being informed, that the captain was not here to answer for himself; thinking it something dishonourable to attack a man in this method that was obliged to abscond; but when i considered that if these enormities were not to be taken notice of, till the author should venture to come into _great britain_, they might wholly pass with impunity, my dilemna was no more: no, the captain is certainly gone for life; he has now taken a voyage from whence he never can, never dares return; this he'll find the longest he ever made, and the last from hence he can make. besides when a performance of this nature is once publick, i conceive it submitted to the judgment of all, and of course to be approved, receiv'd or rejected, and in a word, treated as various opinions, inclinations, interests or apprehensions influence those who peruse it: some will undoubtedly approve of the captain's production because 'tis scandalous and malicious; others will disapprove of it for the very same reasons; for the tasts of mankind being as different as their constitutions, they must of consequence be often as opposite as the most absolute contraries in nature: a knave loves and delights in scandal, detraction, infamy, in blasting, ruining his neighbour's character, because these are consonant to the depravity of humane nature, and in themselves vile: upon the very same account an honest man abominates them all, with the utmost abhorrence of soul. thus having said as much as i think needful by way of introduction; i would turn my thoughts more immediately to the work before me; i have, as you directed me, sir, read it over with the greatest distinction, and exactness i was able; i've enter'd as much, as was possible for me, into the spirit and design of the author: by the strictest examination i've endeavoured to sift every material passage; and i persuade my self the drift of the author has appear'd plain to me thro' the whole. from all which i conclude, that had care been taken to have adapted them to modest virtuous minds, by leaving out some gross words, and lewd descriptions, and had the inventor's intention been innocent, the first three parts of these travels would undoubtedly have proved diverting, agreeable, and acceptable to all; there is a great deal of wit and more invention in them; though, as is pretty usual in so large a work of this sort, there are some unnatural incidents, and here and there an inconsistency with it self. in the fourth part, which is more than half of the second volume, the author flags, he loses his vivacity, and in my opinion, maintains little of his former spirit, but the rancour. this indeed appears most plentifully in this part; and the captain seems so wholly influenced by it, that he makes a sort of recapitulation of invectives he had vented before; and having receiv'd a fresh supply of gall, appears resolv'd to discharge it, though he has no way than by varying the phrase, to express in other words, the unjust sentiments he had disclosed before: in this long tedious part the reader loses all that might have been engaging to him in the three former; the capacity and character given there of brutes, are so unnatural; and especially the great preheminence asserted of them, to the most virtuous and noble of humane nature, is so monstrously absurd and unjust, that 'tis with the utmost pain a generous mind must indure the recital; a man grows sick at the shocking things inserted there; his gorge rises; he is not able to conceal his resentment; and closes the book with detestation and disappointment. but to return to the three former parts, as i have said all i can with justice say, on their behalf; allow me now to shew a little of the great malignity, and evil tendency of their nature: here i might be abundantly prolix, had i not absolutely determined to be otherwise, the field is large, the matter very copious: here, sir, you may see a reverend divine, a dignify'd member of the church unbosoming himself, unloading his breast, discovering the true temper of his soul, drawing his own picture to the life; here's no disguise, none could have done it so well as himself: here's the most inveterate rancour of his mind, and a hoard of malice, twelve years collecting, discharged at once: here's envy, the worst of all passions, in perfection; envy, the most beloved darling of hell; the greatest abhorrence of heaven; envy, the crime mankind should be the most ashamed of, having the least to say in excuse for it; the canker of the soul, most uneasy to the possessor; a passion not to be gratify'd, not possible of pleasure; the peculiar one would imagine of infernal beings, and much of their punishment. envy, is ever levell'd at merit, and superior excellence; and the most deserving are, for being such, the properest objects of envy. view now, sir, the doctor, as i shall henceforward call him; and upon examination, i fear 'twill be found, that his conduct too fully answers the description of this detestable passion: i shall be very plain and expressive; an honest man will no more conceal the truth, than deny it, when the former may prove prejudicial to the innocent: whether the government may ever think proper publickly to chastise the doctor for his insolence, i know nothing of; perhaps such snarling may be thought too low to engage such a resentment: however this i am fully persuaded of, that as no good government ought to be so insulted and male-treated; so there is no honest man among us but would contribute the utmost in his power to bring the author, and those concerned with him to exemplary punishment, in order to deter others from the like pernicious practices for the future. what can be viler in the intention? what may be worse in the consequence, than an attempt to interrupt the harmony and good understanding between his majesty and his subjects, and to create a dislike in the people to those in the administration; and especially to endeavour at this, in such a juncture as the present? what could in all probability be the issue of bringing such matters to bear, but the throwing ourselves and all _europe_ into a flame? ruining our credit, destroying our trade, beggaring of private families, setting us a cutting one another's throats; by which we should become an easy prey to the common enemy, who would at once subvert our constitution, the happiest, the best in the world; destroy our church establishment; and subject us to all the cruelty and sufferings the unbounded lust of tyrants, and the insatiable avarice of priests could load us with. 'tis true, praised be almighty god, and thanks to the wisdom of those in the ministry, 'tis not in the power of an incendiary to do this; but the attempt is not for that, at all the less criminal; we are too sensible of our happiness to be either banter'd or frightned out of it; and 'tis therefore with the utmost indignation all honest minds, every true _englishman_ treats the persons who would disturb their felicity. all are sensible of his majesty's wisdom, goodness, justice and clemency. he is indeed the father of his people who love and fear him as such; under his auspicious reign we enjoy all the happiness a nation can enjoy: we have religion and liberty, wealth, trade, peace, and the greatest plenty at home; we are loved by our friends, dreaded by our enemies, and in the utmost reputation abroad; so that in his majesty's reign and under the present administration we have nothing so much to desire as the continuance of both, being the source under god, whence all our felicity flows. but whatever the doctor deserves, 'tis given out that he has been so much upon his guard, that no forms of law can touch him; in this, sir, i beg leave to differ from his abbettors; for as i take it, that point has been settled for some time; and seems by the geral consent, the determination has met with, to be rightly settled. so that his imaginary cautions would be in vain; 'twas the opinion of a late learned chief justice of the king's bench, that the universal notion of the people in these cases, notwithstanding the artful disguises of an author, ought much to influence the determinations of a jury; for as he very judiciously added; how absurd was it to imagine that all the world should understand his meaning but just that particular judge and jury, by whom he was to be try'd; thus far his lordship. besides, i conceive it, sir, the peoples judgment ought to be regarded; or an ill designing man may do much harm, with great impunity: if in order to it, he should pretend only to amuse, and deliver himself in obstruse terms, such as may naturally enough be apply'd to the disadvantage of the publick, and are so apply'd; surely in this case he ought to be punish'd for the detriment that ensues and for not speaking the truth, if he meant the truth, in plain terms. but leaving this point to those who are more capable to determine it; i go forward: the doctor divests himself of the gentleman and christian entirely; and in their stead assumes, or if my instructions are right, i should rather have said, discloses the reverse to them both; a character too gross to be describ'd here and is better conceiv'd than express'd; he makes a collection of all the meanest, basest, terms the rabble use in their contests with one another in the streets, and these he discharges without any other distinction than only, that they who are persons of the greatest worth and desert are loaded with the greatest number of 'em. he spares neither age or sex, neither the living or the dead; neither the rich, the great, or the good; the best of characters is no fence, the innocent are the least secure; even his majesty's person is not sacred, the royal blood affords no protection here; he equally endeavours to bring into contempt with the people, his majesty, the royal family, and the ministry. the next great attack, as all people understand it, is no less than upon a _british_ parliament; this august assembly, the wisest, the noblest, the most awful in the world, he treats with words of the utmost scurrility, with _billingsgate_ terms of the lowest sort; this body of the best gentlemen in the kingdom he calls pedlars, pickpockets, highway-men, and bullies; words never spoke of a _british_ parliament before, and 'twould be a national reproach they should now pass unpunished: this is beyond all bounds; who that are _english_ men can with temper think of such an insult upon the body of their representatives; the centre of the national power; the great preserver of our laws, religion and liberties, and of all, that as men and christians we ought to hold dear and valuable. i wish i could keep in better terms with my old companion, my inclination's good t'wards it, but notwithstanding that, and all my resolutions, i find it impracticable; his conduct is so enormously bad, 'tis insufferable; humane nature must be worse than he has represented it, and i never saw it look so ghastly before, to bear with him. all that have read these travels must be convinc'd i do the doctor no injustice by my assertions: his method of forming his characters seems to be new, it looks as if he first drew up a set of ill names and reproachful epithets, and then apply'd them as he thought proper, without regarding at all, whether the persons they were so apply'd to, deserv'd such treatment or not; and in this, tho' the concurrent testimony of thousands or millions was against him, it seems to have signify'd nothing; tho' daily experience and universal consent prov'd the contrary, they appear to have been of no weight with the doctor; he knew very well t'would sufficiently answer his end if by boldly and roundly asserting whatever he thought proper, and sticking at no method of defamation he should make the whole appear plausible and gain adherents; and therefore with the utmost assurance he affirms this woman to be a whore, that a bawd, this man a pimp, that a pathick tho' neither of them ever gave any reason to be thought such, or were ever thought such, before. whether the doctor would like to be serv'd thus himself let the world determine, and that they may the better do it i shall give them one instance, using almost the doctor's own words, and applying them to himself as thus; doctor copper-farthing, was by pimping, swearing, for-swearing, flattering, suborning, forging, gaming, lying, fawning, hectoring, voting, scribling, whoring, canting, libeling, free-thinking, endeavouring to ruin the _british_ constitution, set aside the _hanover_ succession, and bring in a popish pretender; by prostituting his wife, his sister, his daughter, advanced to be a dean: now, sir, this character being form'd, as i observ'd, before i had concluded who to bestow it on, i am oblig'd to make some little alteration, and to do the doctor no injustice, i take away that whole sentence, _by prostituting his wife_, _his sister_, _his daughter_; because being well assur'd he never had any of his own; if such have been used so by him they must have belong'd to other people: if i had not pitch'd upon the doctor you can't but be sensible, like him, i could have made this character have serv'd with some small curtailings or additions an admiral, a general, a bishop, a minister of state, or any other person i had a mind to be angry with, and was i set upon abusing an hundred of each, by the power of transformation, t'would be sufficient for them all. don't look upon this, sir, as my invention, i assure you 'tis wholly the doctor's; may the reputation of it be all his own: 'tis thus he treats the wisest, the greatest men in this nation; nobility, ladies and gentlemen of the best families and brightest characters in the kingdom; and his malice is greatest where worth and virtue are most conspicuous; this of course must engage him to vent a very large portion of his rage against the family and person of the greatest man this nation ever produced. but how vain is the attempt here? how impotent, as well as base the malice? there is no immediate fence indeed against an infamous tongue, and must often be for some time submitted to; but in this case 'tis otherwise; what the doctor asserts of this person and his family is so universally known to be false, and condemned as such by the voice of the whole nation; that the doctor has the mortification to find his aspersions here, do not take in the least. with what indignation must every one that has had the honour to be admitted to this _great man_, review the doctor's charging him with being morose; and what contempt must they have of the doctor's veracity, who to satisfy the vilest passion will thus sacrifice his judgment: what a cloud of witnesses might i have, if required, to set in opposition to this single assertion of the doctor's, he is indeed the only person that ever was known to have thought such a thing. the great condescention and kindness, the good nature and complacency with which that person treats all mankind, render him amiable to all; he has been so particularly remarkable for this, that as he does the best the kindest things in the most agreeable way, which inhances their value, so when he is obliged from the nature of a request to deny it, he so qualifies the refusal, that the person concerned is not immediately sensible of a disappointment; and from the excess of his good nature, when convinc'd of the difficulties and distresses of families he'll out of his private purse remove those uneasiness's, which he could not in honour have done out of the nation's money; and thus multitudes hourly bless his name and family, who subsist by his bounty alone: he daily feeds the hungry, cloaths the naked, delivers the prisoner; and what i look upon a thousand degrees beyond the other, he saves and raises many a family just sinking into ruine; delivers them from infamy, imprisonment, and want; which to those that never felt either, and have the appearance of all in view, must be circumstances more dreadful than 'tis possible can be rightly conceived of by any, but those who have themselves been in them: to help these has been his peculiar care. here's one of the best acts can be done by man in private life; these things will, they must, they ought to endear him; i could carry this, if necessary, to an almost boundless length; was i to trace this great man thro' every scene of private life, you'd find the whole a noble record, of which this is an epitome; such as ne'er was exceeded, or perhaps equall'd. i look upon what i have hitherto said as necessary to my undertaking; indulge me now, sir, in a digression that seems naturally enough to present it self, and may be better made here than afterwards; the transition is easy, from the private, allow me to pass to the publick life, of the person i have been speaking: here i might make a general challenge and say; who can charge him with want of wisdom, judgment, knowledge, integrity, uprightness, justice, or clemency, and a long _&c._ but this would be but faint to the latitude i may with justice take the other way: this great man, is the wise director of the publick affairs; he is the delight of his royal master, and the darling of the people; he is an honour to his nation, adds a lustre to the crown, and is deservedly valued by us and all _europe_, as a general publick blessing; born for the good, the happiness of mankind; and arrived to a capacity of serving his country best, when his country stands most in need of his service; and if his life's continued, which may the great god grant, so that he compleat his designs for the publick good; _great britain_ will undoubtedly be led to espouse her true interest; her commerce will be extended and established; and we shall become a more flourishing, united, powerful people, than we are, even at present; and we are now so, in all respects beyond whatever we were before. might i be allow'd to enter upon his conduct during the late, and still critical situation of affairs in _europe_, what a noble scene might i open; how has the honour and interest of the nation been persu'd and maintain'd, notwithstanding all the various turns in affairs? how has the ambition of princes been baulkt? their councils over-rul'd, their measures broke, and their greatest designs brought to nothing by him? how by one turn of his hand has he preserv'd the peace of _europe_, prevented the effusion of blood, and treasure, kept us from war abroad, from invasions at home, tho' most apparently threaten'd with both? how, in a word, has he, by a management, peculiar to himself secur'd that tranquility in _europe_, which if broke in upon, might have cost the lives of a million of men, an immense treasure, and many years to have restor'd? and all this without any expence but what is an advantage to us. how will a future ministry become wise from this great pattern. how easy will it be for a man to make a figure at the head of affairs when in all difficulties he has nothing else to do but to act in conformity to his measures? measures, that have been try'd and found to answer; measures, that as they have done, in the like cases will always do; but i find, sir, i must put a restraint upon my inclination, or this agreeable subject would run me much beyond the limits of a letter; and indeed, it is a very great restraint i put upon myself to break off without saying much more, for how can an honest true-hearted _englishman_ bear to have the person insulted, who is so much the cause of his prosperity and happiness; whose one general intention is the good of his country; who is indefatigable in his endeavours to procure it; who is the glory of the present age, and will be admir'd and imitated while good or great men continue upon earth. i can't conclude without observing to you, sir, that this work is so far a finishing stroke with the doctor, that he seems by it to have compleated his character: in a former performance, he levelled his jests at almighty god; banter'd and ridiculed religion and all that's good and adorable above: by this, he has abused and insulted those, who are justly valued by us, as the best, the greatest below: how his present conduct may be relished, time, i say, will best discover; his former, had a resentment attending it, and her late majesty would not be prevailed upon to admit him a prebendary of _windsor_, notwithstanding very powerful and pressing instances were made on his behalf: her majesty was most highly displeased, she would not allow him to come near her person; her majesty said, she had been but too credibly informed of the immorality of his life; and as for his writings, she knew them to be profane and impious; that he was the scandal of his cloth, a reproach to religion; and therefore she could not in conscience give him any preferment in the church. this answer ruffled the doctor, and made his friends uneasy; however, they set down with it for the present, and gave over their sollicitations; but the doctor having been the minion of a great minister, and deeply engaged in the dirty work of the day, his patron thought himself obliged to take care of him; and upon a d----y in _ireland_ becoming vacant, he prevailed with the queen to grant it him; which her majesty did not at last without much reluctancy; nor would have done it at all, as 'twas then thought, but to remove the doctor further from her, and get rid of the sollicitations, upon his account, that were become very uneasy to her. one might have imagined, that when the doctor had got thus into snug, warm quarters, he would have been easy; and at least not have flown in the face, and broke out, as it were, into open acts of hostility with those by whom he is protected and defended there; those that secure to him all the happiness, that ease, indolence, and fulness can furnish out to him: what pretence has he more than any other man, to a thousand a year for doing nothing, or little more than strutting behind a verger, and lording it ever men honester, and more deserving, than himself, and yet can't he be contented? how scandalous wou'd conduct like this be in a soldier; was an officer, one that eats his majesty's bread, and wears his cloth, to behave thus, what would he deserve? i ought, indeed, to offer some apology for only making the supposition; the comparison won't hold, 'tis not just; the officers are all men of honour, they not only abhor all such conduct, but they look upon it their duty, in which they are certainly right, to do whatever is in their power for promoting the honour and interest of their royal master, and those intrusted by him with the administration; and for furthering their reputation and welfare: this ought, indeed, to be the temper of the doctor; is he not paid, and well paid too, to preach up charity and benevolence; to teach people their duty to the superior powers; to tell them of their obligations to good governors; to inculcate a love and a reverence for these in the minds of all; to engage them to peace and a dutiful behaviour; in a word, to fear god and honour the king; and obey those for conscience sake who are by his majesty placed with authority over them. this is the sum of what the doctor has in charge, and what he is under the most solemn obligations to comply with. only a bear neglect of these things would be sufficiently criminal; what then must the man deserve, who could be found so hardy, in breach of his oath and honour, to act the reverse of all these? and such is the doctor: he contemns the power he should revere; he strives to undermine that government he ought to uphold; he endeavours at reflexions upon those he should have in the highest honour and esteem; he is leading people into disaffection and disloyalty who are committed to his care for right information; he poisons those he is paid to feed; he receives the nation's money, but sides with its enemies; with those whose desires and constant endeavours are to enslave and ruin us: what the doctor deserves is easy to determine; but what he may meet with must be left to others; i shall but say, a soldier for neglect of duty only, is discarded, never fails to meet with disgrace, and often death; here is what's much worse than the utmost such a charge can amount to; that the cloth should make such a difference that he who ought to have the severest treatment, finds the most favourable is no great encomium upon our national justice. i cannot but be a little surpris'd at the impolitick method of the doctor's proceeding; who should attack mankind in a way he is himself the most to be exposed in of almost any man breathing; i have given you a small sketch of it here, sir; but no further than was absolutely necessary; if i find it requisite you may hereafter expect from me a full and true account of the doctor's life, and conversation for upwards of thirty years past; which will disclose such scenes that all mankind must look upon it a piece of great assurance in the doctor to offer at the private characters of others, when his own has been so very defective. i shall trespass no longer upon your patience, than to do myself the honour to assure you, and all the world, that i am, _sir, your most obedient,_ _devoted humble servant_, &c: _dec. . ._ william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles the augustan reprint society publications in print the augustan reprint society publications in print - . henry nevil payne, _the fatal jealousie_ ( ). . anonymous, "of genius," in _the occasional paper_, vol. iii, no. ( ), and aaron hill, preface to _the creation_ ( ). - . susanna centlivre, _the busie body_ ( ). . lewis theobald, _preface to the works of shakespeare_ ( ). . samuel johnson, _the vanity of human wishes_ ( ), and two _rambler_ papers ( ). . john dryden, _his majesties declaration defended_ ( ). - . charles macklin, _the man of the world_ ( ). - . thomas gray, _an elegy wrote in a country churchyard_ ( ), and _the eton college manuscript_. - . bernard mandeville, _a letter to dion_ ( ). - . thomas d'urfey, _wonders in the sun; or, the kingdom of the birds_ ( ). - . john tutchin, _selected poems_ ( - ). . anonymous, _political justice_ ( ). . robert dodsley, _an essay on fable_ ( ). . t. r., _an essay concerning critical and curious learning_ ( ). . _two poems against pope_: leonard welsted, _one epistle to mr. a. pope_ ( ), and anonymous, _the blatant beast_ ( ). - . daniel defoe and others. _accounts of the apparition of mrs. veal._ . charles macklin, _the covent garden theatre_ ( ). . sir george l'estrange, _citt and bumpkin_ ( ). . henry more, _enthusiasmus triumphatus_ ( ). . thomas traherne, _meditations on the six days of the creation_ ( ). . bernard mandeville, _aesop dress'd or a collection of fables_ ( ). - . edmond malone, _cursory observations on the poems attributed to mr. thomas rowley_ ( ). . anonymous, _the female wits_ ( ). . anonymous, _the scribleriad_ ( ). lord hervey, _the difference between verbal and practical virtue_ ( ). - . lawrence echard, prefaces to _terence's comedies_ ( ) and _plautus's comedies_ ( ). . henry more, _democritus platonissans_ ( ). . walter harte, _an essay on satire, particularly on the dunciad_ ( ). - . john courtenay, _a poetical review of the literary and moral character of the late samuel johnson_ ( ). . john downes, _roscius anglicanus_ ( ). . sir john hill, _hypochondriasis, a practical treatise_ ( ). . thomas sheridan, _discourse ... being introductory to his course of lectures on elocution and the english language_ ( ). . arthur murphy, _the englishman from paris_ ( ). . [catherine trotter], _olinda's adventures_ ( ). publications of the first fifteen years of the society (numbers - ) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $ . per unit, from the kraus reprint company, east th street, new york, n.y. . publications in print are available at the regular membership rate of $ . yearly. prices of single issues may be obtained upon request. subsequent publications may be checked in the annual prospectus. the augustan reprint society william andrews clark memorial library university of california, los angeles cimarron street (at west adams), los angeles. california _make check or money order payable to_ the regents of the university of california william andrews clark memorial library: university of california, los angeles the augustan reprint society cimarron street, los angeles, california _general editors_: william e. conway, william andrews clark memorial library; george robert guffey, university of california, los angeles; maximillian e. novak, university of california, los angeles _corresponding secretary_: mrs. edna c. davis, william andrews clark memorial library the society's purpose is to publish rare restoration and eighteenth-century works (usually as facsimile reproductions). all income of the society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and mailing. correspondence concerning memberships in the united states and canada should be addressed to the corresponding secretary at the william andrews clark memorial library, cimarron street, los angeles, california. correspondence concerning editorial matters may be addressed to the general editors at the same address. manuscripts of introductions should conform to the recommendations of the mla _style sheet_. the membership fee is $ . a year in the united states and canada and £ . . in great britain and europe. british and european prospective members should address b. h. blackwell, broad street, oxford, england. copies of back issues in print may be obtained from the corresponding secretary. publications of the first fifteen years of the society (numbers - ) are available in paperbound units of six issues at $ . per unit, from the kraus reprint company, east th street, new york, n.y. . make check or money order payable to the regents of the university of california regular publications for - . john ogilvie, _an essay on the lyric poetry of the ancients_ ( ). introduction by wallace jackson. . _a learned dissertation on dumpling_ ( ) and _pudding burnt to pot or a compleat key to the dissertation on dumpling_ ( ). introduction by samuel l. macey. . selections from sir roger l'estrange's _observator_ ( - ). introduction by violet jordain. . anthony collins, _a discourse concerning ridicule and irony in writing_ ( ). introduction by edward a. bloom and lillian d. bloom. . _a letter from a clergyman to his friend, with an account of the travels of captain lemuel gulliver_ ( ). introduction by martin kallich. . _the art of architecture, a poem. in imitation of horace's art of poetry_ ( ). introduction by william a. gibson. special publication for - gerard langbaine, _an account of the english dramatick poets_ ( ), introduction by john loftis. volumes. approximately pages. price to members of the society, $ . for the first copy (both volumes), and $ . for additional copies. price to non-members, $ . . already published in this series: . john ogilby, _the fables of aesop paraphras'd in verse_ ( ), with an introduction by earl miner. pages. . john gay, _fables_ ( , ), with an introduction by vinton a. dearing. pages. . _the empress of morocco and its critics_ (elkanah settle, _the empress of morocco_ [ ] with five plates; _notes and observations on the empress of morocco_ [ ] by john dryden, john crowne and thomas snadwell; _notes and observations on the empress of morocco revised_ [ ] by elkanah settle; and _the empress of morocco. a farce_ [ ] by thomas duffett), with an introduction by maximillian e. novak. pages. . _after the tempest_ (the dryden-davenant version of _the tempest_ [ ]; the "operatic" _tempest_ [ ]; thomas duffett's _mock-tempest_ [ ]; and the "garrick" _tempest_ [ ]), with an introduction by george robert guffey. pages. price to members of the society, $ . for the first copy of each title, and $ . for additional copies. price to non-members, $ . . standing orders for this continuing series of special publications will be accepted. british and european orders should be addressed to b. h. blackwell, broad street, oxford, england. transcriber's notes: passages in italics indicated by underscore _italics_. long "s" has been modernized. misprint "and and" corrected to "and" (page ). misprint "equall d" corrected to "equall'd" (page ). extra line spacing in the introduction is intentional to represent both the end of the quote and the beginning of a new paragraph.