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JILTS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/jiltsothersocialOOmurr 
 
1 
 
 JILTS 
 
 OTHER SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS. 
 
 E. C. GRENVILLE MURRAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “ SIDE LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY,” “jHIGH LIFE IN FRANCE 
 UNDER THE REPUBLIC,” &C. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH 150 ENGRAVINGS 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 VI ZE TELL Y 6- CO 42, CATHERLNE STREET, STRAND . 
 
 1887, 
 
LONDON 
 
 BRADBURY, AONEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARH. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 i. Mrs. Pinkerton 13 
 
 ii. A Western-County Belle 24 
 
 hi. Zoe, Lady Tryon 36 
 
 iy. An Inconsolable Jilt ...... 44 
 
 v. A Jilted Dry salter 52 
 
 yi. Love and Pickles 61 
 
 vn. An Entr’acte . . 73 
 
 viii. Mrs. Prago and Miss Daisy Caunter . . .81 
 
 ix. A Widow with a Nice Little Estate ... 96 
 
 x. An Unmercenary Pair of Jilts . . .109 
 
 ADVENTURERS AND ADVENTURESSES. 
 
 i. Of the Genus Generally 125 
 
 ii. Matrimonial Adventurers 128 
 
 hi. Lord Cookham, the Joint-stock Company Chair- 
 man 142 
 
 rv. A Financial Adventurer, Baron Doneham . . 146 
 
 v. “A Professional Greek”: Brillianti Bey . 153 
 
 vi. The Countess D’Orenbarre 158 
 
 vii. Lady Goldsworth and the Hon. Agnes Rosa 
 
 Matilda Veneer 169 
 
 viii. Mirabel Hildacourse 182 
 
 ix. Lily Gorr 191 
 
 x. Bella Martingale 197 
 
 xi. Pious Mrs. Palmhold 203 
 
 xii. Mrs. De Coy 210 
 
 xiii. Mrs. Lawkins 220 
 
 VOL. i, b 
 
X 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PUBLIC SCHOOL BOYS AND UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 PAOK 
 
 i. English Public Schools — Drawbacks of Eton . 229 
 
 ii. Of Various Eton Boys 235 
 
 hi. Rugby and Rugbeians 254 
 
 iv. Harrow, Winchester, Westminster . . 262 
 
 v. Oxford Undergraduates 283 
 
 vi. University Discipline 295 
 
 vii. Sporting and Athletic Undergraduates . 303 
 
 viii. Reading and Religious Undergraduates .317 
 
JILTS. 
 
I. 
 
 MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 “All Jilts, sir: every one among ’em,” said our 
 friend Mowser, who knows all the ins and outs of 
 Society, and holds the key to many a cupboard where 
 family skeletons are kept. He is perhaps a bit of a 
 misogynist, for he has had more than one unsuccessful 
 love passage with Amazons, who smote him in the 
 tenderest spot of his heart and then fled. But Mowser 
 having a heart, does not speak out of the coldness of 
 the cynic, and we know that he holds truth as a jewel, 
 
 i. 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 so we believed him when he repeated with emphasis ; 
 “ All Jilts, sir — every one.” 
 
 We were at a Charity Bazaar which was being held 
 in the Hanover Square Rooms, for the purpose of 
 supplying false teeth to the Toothless Poor. There 
 were stalls all along the two sides of the large room 
 upstairs, and in the smaller rooms below. A band 
 was pounding music in a pestle and mortar fashion 
 out of trombones and cymbals. The crowds of 
 buyers were large, and the daughters of Eve who 
 sold their fancy goods, refreshments, cigars, and 
 what not, were all young and comely matrons with 
 sprightly tongues — women who could ogle, coax, and 
 would not mind letting a kiss be snatched from them 
 in a corner, in return for a bank note or two for the 
 aforesaid Toothless Poor. 
 
 Mowser is our authority for the latter statement, 
 but we confess to not having tried whether the charity 
 of these pretty creatures extended so far. They 
 were every one members of the Strawberry Club — a 
 social institution for promoting private theatricals, 
 Richmond dinners, bazaars like this one, fancy dress 
 balls and garden parties. The president was a young 
 Duchess : all the committee women had dainty 
 coronets painted on the panels of their broughams ; 
 and not a member of the Club but was somebody either 
 by right of her husband’s status or of her own charms. 
 It goes without saying that all these Strawberry ladies 
 had money or credit at command, for the lives they 
 
MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 15 
 
 led obliged them to sport several scores of new dresses 
 every year. 
 
 But to begin in order. We had scarcely passed 
 through the entrance door when a wide-awake little 
 woman in a tight-fitting black silk dress which trailed 
 two yards behind her, and with a mass of flaxen hair 
 fluffed doggie-wise over her forehead, called to us softly 
 
16 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 to give up our umbrellas. She delivered tickets in 
 exchange for them, and said there was half-a-crown to 
 pay. Her manner of ticketing the umbrellas was so 
 deft and the joke she made about giving no change, 
 as she accepted a sovereign and pocketed it, was so 
 merry, that we were fascinated ; but not so Mowser, 
 who ejaculated as we ascended the staircase : “ Poor 
 
 Dick A ! You remember Dick, who w T as at Christ 
 
 Church, don’t you ? It was that poodle-headed little 
 mite who drove him to the dogs.” 
 
 “ Didn’t know Dick had gone to the dogs,” was our 
 rejoinder. 
 
 “Well, he’s sweltering among the jackals in India, 
 which comes to the same thing. Dick was as pleasant 
 
 a fellow as ever breathed till Rose B smashed him.” 
 
 “ Her name is Rose B ? ” 
 
 “ It was, but she’s Mrs. Pinkerton now — married a 
 pudding-headed squire for the sake of his money. It’s 
 an old story — ” and, yielding to our request, Mowser 
 gave the outlines of the events by which the winsome 
 lady, who had confiscated our umbrellas, had developed 
 into gilt. 
 
 Rose B was the daughter of a retired officer, who 
 
 lived at Cheltenham, in fair but not abundant circum- 
 stances ; and she had a brother who went to Oxford. 
 
 Dick A was one of this brother’s best friends, and 
 
 it came to pass that at one commemoration Dick and 
 Rose became acquainted. He danced with her at the 
 Christ Church ball, and escorted her to the flower show 
 
DICK ROWING STROKE AND ROSE STEERING. 
 
MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 17 
 
 in Worcester College gardens. Next day lie went to 
 
 lunch at the “ Mitre/' where Colonel B and his 
 
 daughter were staying, and from that time a quiet 
 love-making arose between the two. Dick was hand- 
 some and cheerful. He pulled stroke in one of the 
 College boats, and looked mighty well in his straw hat 
 and striped shirt in the procession of boats that rowed 
 on the Regatta night. Then he owned a delightful set 
 of roums, and gave Rose and her father a champagne 
 breakfast in them. Rose could not refrain from 
 questioning her brother about his friend, and elicited 
 numerous facts to Dick’s advantage. He was one of 
 the j oiliest fellows alive ; a younger son, but clever and 
 sure to make his way. Rose’s brother did not exactly 
 know what Dick’s way was going to be, but thought 
 his friends would keep him till he picked up a living 
 at the Bar, prior to becoming Lord Chancellor. 
 
 So the upshot of this was that Dick suggested a 
 three days’ water party. As the long vacation had 
 
 arrived, he and his friend would row Colonel B 
 
 and Rose from Wallingford to London, doing the trip 
 by easy stages, and breaking it by a couple of days’ 
 sojourn at Windsor. It was beautiful weather for a 
 boating tour, and nothing was so well calculated to 
 ripen a budding passion into a fast attachment. 
 The Colonel, an easy man, noticed nothing, but Rose’s 
 brother guessed the secret without being told of it, and 
 did his best to embolden the lovers, by seeming un- 
 conscious of their groin^s on. The Colonel used to lie. 
 
18 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 smoking, in the bows of the roomy boat. Dick 
 rowed stroke, Eose steered, and the two being thus 
 close together could talk in whispers and exchange 
 smiles unperceived. 
 
 Either Rose was a born flirt, or else her heart was 
 seriously smitten on this particular occasion, for she 
 led poor Dick on and on till he only waited for an 
 opportunity to make his declaration. All along the 
 beautiful reaches of the upper Thames, by the woods 
 of Cliveden, and the riverside lawns below Monkey 
 Island, the mutual wooing continued, and it was good 
 to see Dick's honest eyes glow as they admiringly 
 gazed on the little hand which Rose, every now and 
 then, trailed in the rippling water whilst holding the 
 rudder lines. 
 
 At last Windsor was reached, and there Dick dis- 
 closed his new-born love. Sauntering under the trees 
 in the Long Walk he told Rose of his prospects, his 
 hopes. He had taken his degree ; his friends would 
 help him on in the world ; he thought they could get 
 him a post under Government, and he would toil with 
 all his might to set up a home. Would Rose wait for 
 him two years ? As he asked this, Dick’s voice 
 trembled, but Rose, who had lowered her eyes to the 
 grass, looked up with a blush, and gave him her hand, 
 promising to wait for him as long as he pleased. She 
 loved him with all her heart, she said, and would 
 never marry anyone else — even if he were to die ; no, 
 indeed she wouldn’t ! ” 
 

ROSE AND PINKERTON WITH THE COTSWOLD HOUNDS. 
 
 L 19. 
 
MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 19 
 
 “Well,” said Mowser with a sneer, “ Christmas 
 hadn’t come before she was engaged to Pinkerton. 
 Pinkie was rich, you see, so he had only to show 
 himself with his moony face and vacant grin, and Dick 
 was at once forgotten. Pinkerton used to hunt with 
 the Cotswold hounds, and Rose was introduced to him 
 one bright November morning, when she had ridden 
 with her father to see the hounds throw off. The best 
 part of the fellow was his red coat, his hack, and his 
 two seventeen-handers. He never stinted his horse- 
 flesh for a good run, but rode like a centaur, taking 
 everything that came in his way with that splash-dash 
 nerve which only true-born oafs have. 
 
 “ He and Rose met again at St. Mary’s Church on 
 the following Sunday, and again at several Cheltenham 
 balls ; and their admiration for one another kept on 
 increasing, as was natural, for Pinkerton has £20,000 
 a year, and Rose, dazzled by this income, flattered him 
 to the top of his bent, till she seemed to worship the 
 very spurs on his 'tops.’ Pinkie was used to being 
 pretty hotly courted, but he had never yet been made 
 an idol of in this way, and thought it so pleasant that 
 he let himself be inveigled into a proposal between a 
 couple of waltzes, and was accepted out of hand. Egad, 
 Rose knew better than to let such an occasion slip, 
 and everybody approved her choice, her father in the 
 first place, and then her brother, Dick’s precious friend, 
 who had already calculated the advantage of being 
 related to such a gilded individual as Pinkerton. So 
 
20 
 
 UNDEJEt THE LENS. 
 
 the only question was how Dick should be dismissed ; 
 but Kose was a sharp girl, and thought the most 
 summary ways were the best. When Dick came 
 down to Cheltenham to wish her a merry Christmas, 
 she told him point blank that she had never loved 
 him, and that their engagement was only a piece of 
 childish nonsense which she had never taken an 
 serieux” 
 
 “ Well, but wasn’t that rather to her credit % If a 
 girl does not love a man, why should she marry 
 him ? ” 
 
 “ A girl loves whom it pleases her to love,” replied 
 
MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 21 
 
 Mowser ; “ the little minx was fond enough of Dick, 
 so long as there was no other man in the way, and if 
 she had had any heart, she would have remained faith- 
 ful to him.” 
 
 “ If she had no heart, Dick was perhaps well rid of 
 her.” 
 
 “ That’s what people always say, but it’s a fallacy. A 
 girl may behave heartlessly before marriage, when she 
 is not under control, and yet turn out a good wife 
 afterwards, when she has to make the best of her 
 position. Rose gets on well enough with Pinkerton.” 
 
 “ But doesn’t that prove that she likes him l ” 
 
 “ No, it proves her power of adapting herself to cir- 
 cumstances, and it doesn’t excuse her for smashing the 
 happiness of that wretched Dick, who swore hatred to 
 the whole sex after her behaviour, and is grizzling to 
 this day, cantankerous as a bear.” 
 
 Mowser seemed to take the conventional view of 
 jilting, but there is something to be said on the other 
 side of the question — girls being often inveigled by a 
 momentary weakness into engagements the fulfilment 
 of which would certainly make them miserable. The 
 bright little lady who had secured our umbrellas, may 
 or may not have destroyed the happiness of Dick 
 
 A ; but Dick was possibly unwise to ask for a 
 
 promise before he had sufficiently studied his charmer’s 
 character. Under the trees of the Long Walk, on a 
 warm June day after a joyous water party and a 
 luncheon at which, may be, the champagne was not 
 
22 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 spared, the wooing of a handsome cavalier in a straw 
 hat and white flannel trousers no doubt seemed for 
 the moment infinitely sweet, and the prospect of facing 
 life’s troubles in his company not particularly hard. 
 
 But why did tl at eternal want of pence force Dick 
 to go back to London and to hard labour in a Govern- 
 
MRS. PINKERTON. 
 
 23 
 
 ment office, while Eose returned to Cheltenham, out- 
 side the magic circle of his influence ? If the pair had 
 remained together, his power over her might have 
 strengthened day by day, till nothing would have 
 broken through it, not even Pinkerton on his three 
 hundred guinea hunters. Women are not made to be 
 left alone, and girls least of all. Their hearts are soft 
 as wax and will take the impress of the first man who 
 stamps his effigy firmly on them ; but this process 
 requires time and care, and if the man goes away, 
 leaving but a faint outline of his lineaments on the 
 virgin heart, he must not be surprised if somebody 
 else, stepping in with a golden seal, imprints a new 
 image, which entirely obliterates the old one. This 
 was the excuse which we ventured to offer for Mrs. 
 Pinkerton’s jilting of Dick, but Mowser declined to 
 see it. 
 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 We walked upstairs where the fun of the bazaar was 
 loudest. Ail the stalls were prettily festooned with 
 pink and white muslin, and over each figured an 
 escutcheon bearing the name of the lady to whom the 
 stall belonged. In elbowing our way up the crowded 
 room we come to a mimic post-office, where a lovely 
 post-mistress in sky-blue silk is delivering letters and 
 post-cards at exorbitant rates. Any one can have a 
 missive, a valentine, or a parcel for the asking. “ Any 
 letters for me ? ” “ Oh yes,” says the attractive official 
 with a laugh, “ you look as if you were expecting a 
 love letter ; what name, please \ ” “ Any name, Tom, 
 Dick, Harry.” “ Oh, very well, there are letters for you 
 addressed to each of those names,” and sorting a parcel 
 of epistles in fancy-coloured envelopes, pink, saffron, 
 and mauve, the post-mistress throws five upon the 
 counter, each bearing in lieu of a stamp, a miniature 
 photograph of her own pretty head and bust. Delight- 
 ful innovation, and who would grudge the cost of it ? 
 “ These notes come from afar, you see, but the charge 
 

A WESTEEN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 25 
 
 is moderate,” she observes archly, “ half- a- sovereign 
 apiece, please.” 
 
 But who keeps this so excellent post-office? Her 
 name is Lady St. Mellion, nee Fanny Flounce. It is 
 not for want of beaux that she has taken this stall 
 this year, for her good husband, Sir Charles, is unre- 
 mitting in his attentions, as most men are to their 
 second wives. The indifferent type of husband does 
 not often marry again. Fanny, though, has diplomatic 
 reasons for selling letters on behalf of the Toothless 
 Poor, apart from the mere fun of the thing. First, 
 Mrs. Fortescue, the young and brilliant wife of a naval 
 captain, now her neighbour in Eaton-square, and 
 formerly her schoolfellow, must know that she has her 
 accomplishments, and it is not by simple dint of 
 wealth and rank that she shines. Next there are five 
 younger sisters to be chaperoned at this bazaar, two 
 little ones in pink who are helping to sort the letters, 
 two nubile selling refreshments, and another nubile also 
 retailing be-ribboned packets of cigarettes at the 
 tobacco stall. But Fanny’s strongest reason, mayhap, 
 though she would not own it, is that her exertions 
 last year at a country bazaar in behalf of the Ragged 
 Bald, were so conspicuous that she must, for very 
 shame, exert herself equally again, lest any one should 
 suppose that it was only to hook a husband that she 
 took so much trouble then. Everybody remembers 
 by what arts at the bazaar in question she touched 
 the widowed breast of Sir Charles St. Mellion, M.P. 
 
26 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Sir Charles, who somehow never liked bazaars and 
 does not now, looks in for a few moments at the 
 Hanover Square Rooms, bows, smiles, and retires. 
 His dark hair has thinned more since his second 
 marriage than it did in the three years of his widow- 
 hood ; and his tall figure stoops a little more than it 
 did when he had only himself to lean upon. He is 
 perplexed at the gradual retirement of his old servants 
 and puzzled at the confidence with which no fewer than 
 three gentlemen are paying their court to his wife’s 
 second sister, Miss Julia Flounce. 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 27 
 
 But Mowser has little to say about Miss Julia : it 
 is to the fair post-mistress that he calls attention with 
 a nudge prior to whispering her history. She was 
 born in a flourishing county, on one of the beautiful 
 rivers of western England, a torrent rendered navi- 
 gable by the tides. The extreme beauty of this river 
 is caused by the shortness of its bed ; for, halfway 
 along its course, where Markland lies, one is within 
 easy reach of trout and badgers up the stream, or 
 eels and herons in the other direction. A half 
 hours stroll from Markland northward will take 
 the romantically-inclined to woods and cascades : a 
 half-hour’s row southward will take the athlete to a 
 good course for a boat-race. The river is a deep furrow 
 in a high table-land ; so one has shelter for cold 
 weather, or breezes for summer, by spending five or 
 six minutes in walking from moor to river, or from 
 river to moor. Markland is most picturesquely situate 
 and built. A thin line of houses on the quay; a 
 staircase of short terraces up the quarter-mile of bank ; 
 a few roomy well-built residences on the crown of 
 the hill, and just at the most commanding point on 
 the edge of the slope the granite church and stuccoed 
 parsonage — a commentary on the perishable character 
 of individual theory contrasted with the eternity of 
 universal truth. 
 
 It was in this stuccoed parsonage that Fanny and 
 her sisters were brought up, amid scenes of sylvan 
 beauty to which every season lent enchantment; for 
 
28 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 on the sunny slopes the wild cherry and the royal fern 
 fill the spaces between gardens ; and in the more shady 
 places, the valleys are lighted in spring and autumn 
 with the green and russet of sturdy young oaks, and 
 in winter with the silvery bark of the graceful 
 birch. The purple heath and yellow gorse shine from 
 rocks of variegated limestone, and the emerald 
 grass of the marsh shows off the red ochre of the 
 
 o 
 
 whirling stream. 
 
 In such a spot as this it would be hard indeed if the 
 women were not pretty, and it is notorious that they 
 are so ; Mowser affirms it with a sigh, nor were the 
 six Misses Flounce any exception to the rule. They 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 29 
 
 came of two genuine county families, having that 
 pre-historic pedigree, which, if it could be written, 
 would exhibit a goodly array of names from Miletus, 
 Phoenicia, Galatia, Rome, Norway and Saxony. The 
 stalwart blood of ages has gone to make English 
 beauty what it is — the true Anglo-Saxon beauty, we 
 mean, of pink cheeks and merry blue eyes. As to the 
 Norman invasion it has left scarcely a trace on that 
 free and mirthful district where Markland lies. The 
 simpering formality of your French-mannered 
 Londoner would strike the Marklanders most un- 
 pleasantly, and would be understood by them as an 
 expression of distrust and hatred. The Marklanders 
 speak as they think, and think naively. 
 
 The Flounce family had everything to make them 
 frank and hearty. From their birth they knew the 
 whole country side ; the fashions of their neighbour- 
 hood were just such as they pleased to set : they were 
 the Rectors daughters, and the Squire — a cousin of 
 St. Mellion’s — who lived almost always on the spot 
 dispensing hospitality, gave the girls the free run of 
 his grounds, where his children were their playmates, 
 and kept them posted as to all that went on in the 
 world by lending them his illustrated papers, maga- 
 zines, and novels from Mudie's. 
 
 The mother of the pretty bevy of girls died when 
 they were children. Their father let them go their 
 own way ; they educated themselves for the most 
 part, and, all things considered, did it well. They 
 
 VOL. I 
 
 c 
 
80 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 were very fair musicians, and could ride and drive to 
 
 perfection. They could 
 make delicate lace or 
 swing up a heavy church 
 bell. They were clever 
 florists and capital 
 housewives. They could 
 glide smoothly over a 
 polished floor or tread 
 firmly on a pointed rock. 
 They were at home on 
 skates or on stilts, and 
 knew perfectly well how 
 to acquit themselves of 
 the duties of a sick 
 room. 
 
 They could all of them fascinate, and, at the same 
 time, without a moment's warning, repel effectually. 
 They usually hunted in couples, and so were able to 
 say many things which would have sounded bold if 
 uttered by a girl alone ; yet they had plenty of sense 
 and character, and at times, when they wished to help 
 their old father, they did it with a will, making them- 
 selves agreeable among the parishioners — distributing 
 comfort among the old women, and too often agony 
 among the young men. 
 
 They had, most of them, their little love adventures. 
 One had a good offer and meant to accept it, but played 
 with it too long, and the country gentleman — an un- 
 
THE FLOUNCE SISTERS AT MARKLAND. 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE, 
 
 31 
 
 imaginative person — got tired of waiting. Another 
 tempted a soft young man to break off an engagement, 
 
 c 2 
 
31 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 but lie went back after all to his first love, frightened 
 by the capriciousness which said him “ yes ” to-day 
 and to-morrow “nay,” without rhyme or reason. A 
 third captivated one of her fathers curates, but he 
 was choked off by the contention of the others and by 
 the advice of a friend, who warned him that he would 
 be like a rat among six terriers. 
 
 As for our heroine, Fanny, she had all along been 
 the gayest of the family. She tried her ’prentice hand 
 on a mere lad whose delight it was to drive a donkey 
 four-in-hand over the downs. Then she aimed her 
 shafts at a clever patentee, but missed her mark. After- 
 wards she fairly brought down a curate, and nearly 
 broke his heart, but he recovered, became a colonial 
 bishop, and a married man. Some love passages sub- 
 sequently ensued between her and a piscatorial young 
 squire of the neighbourhood, but after a time he threw 
 her over with a coolness which for a while struck 
 her speechless with indignation. There are ups and 
 downs of this sort in the life of every flirt, but they 
 teach a girl caution, and Fanny revenged herself for 
 the disdain of the amateur of the rod and line by 
 successively jilting three mild young men who had 
 done nothing to deserve such a hard fate, except that 
 they wrote bad verses to her. 
 
 Then at last came Sir Charles St. Mellion, while she 
 was in the full flush of the strength which conquering 
 beauty gives, and she managed to get hold of his heart 
 before he was fairly aware that it was in danger. It was 
 
MISS FANNY AND THE YOUNG SQUIRE. 
 
 I. 32. 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 33 
 
 a case of checkmate in three moves. All the county 
 was astonished, and Sir Charles most of all ; but none 
 gainsaid that Fanny bore the honours of her ladyship 
 
 with right noble dignity. Even at the bazaar for the 
 Toothless Poor one could see how perfectly she had 
 entered into the spirit of her social role — how justly 
 she gauged the limits of coquetry to which she could 
 go as a young wife. The letters that she gave us were 
 real works of genius, so nicely worded as to amuse and 
 enthral the reader without compromising the writer. 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 .‘H 
 
 Her clear blonde colour and slender figure disguised 
 her twenty-five years even better than her playfulness. 
 She looked no more than twenty, and quite artless, 
 though in reality she was deep as a well, and pre- 
 sented to her sisters a beautiful pattern of the arts by 
 which men may be caught and bound fast. 
 
 “ Tn fact she's a dangerous woman," said Mowser, 
 who had known her from childhood, “ and you’ll see 
 that her sisters will turn out worse Jilts than herself. 
 Her example is enough to corrupt a whole family. 
 
 Everyone of those parsonage hoydens will want to 
 be marrying ten thousand a year." 
 
 “ Well, they’re worth the money," was our reflection, 
 
A WESTERN-COUNTY BELLE. 
 
 35 
 
 and we could not see that Miss Fanny Flounce had 
 done anything but what was meritorious in bringing 
 her charms to the best market. She made a good wife 
 to St. Mellion ; she was a good sister, and had been 
 by all accounts a good daughter. Her father was on 
 the way to becoming a Dean, one of her brothers had 
 obtained a commission in a crack regiment, and another 
 had been sent to Cambridge at Sir Charles’s expense. 
 All this could not have happened if Fanny had given 
 herself to one of the three mild young men who wrote 
 bad verses, or even to the youthful hobbledy-hoy — 
 her first true love — who drove the four donkeys. 
 When, indeed, one considers all the good she did by 
 her marriage, it almost deserves to be called an act 
 of charity — especially if it be admitted that charity 
 should begin at home. 
 
III. 
 
 ZOE, LADY TRYON. 
 
 But Mowser had other Jilts to show us. The further 
 end of the room was occupied by a refreshment buffet, 
 served by five ladies, three of them married, and the 
 others marriageable. They drew beer from an engine 
 as expertly as barmaids. One, with a cambric apron 
 reaching up to her neck like a German tavern-wait- 
 ress’s, uncorked bottles of soda-water. Another pre- 
 sided over the decanters of sherry and port. The bar 
 was so besieged by customers that it was as much as 
 the five ladies could do to attend to them ; but like 
 Mrs. Pinkerton, they expedited matters by giving no 
 change. 
 
 “Now that’s a bad case — that woman with the 
 lemonade,” said Mowser, alluding to the waitress with 
 the high apron. “ She jilted the very man who is 
 flirting with her now — that tall fellow with the mous- 
 tache. He’s in the Blues.” 
 
 “ He doesn’t look as if he were in the ‘ blues.’ ” 
 
 “ In the Horse Guards Blue, I mean. But she likes 
 him better than any creature on earth. See how she 
 
ZOE, LADY TRYON. 
 
 37 
 
 allows him to whisper in her ear. He’s doing his very 
 best to drag her towards the D. C., and perhaps he’ll 
 succeed — peeress though she is.” 
 
 “ Lady Try on, isn’t it ? That’s one of the names on 
 the board.” 
 
 “ Yes, Lady Tryon, and the ‘ Blue ’ is Jack Dar- 
 merer. Look how he squeezed the tip of her finger 
 and made her spill a lot of that effervescing stuff. He 
 follows her wherever she goes. He hands her into 
 her carriage after parties ; he helps to muffle her in 
 her cloak when she is leaving a ball ; if she goes to the 
 Opera he is to be seen in the stalls, and visits her in her 
 box between the acts. They ride in the Row together. 
 They sit side by side for hours at the Zoo on Sundays ; 
 Jack goes to church for the sake of meeting my Lady 
 when she comes out. Everybody is accustomed to see 
 them together, and I’ll be bound he calls her by her 
 Christian name of Zoe, by virtue of some distant 
 cousinship which he claims.” 
 
 “ And what does Lord Tryon say to all that ? ” 
 
 “ Oh he’s taken up with experimental charities, 
 schools, and that kind of thing. He’s an entomologist, 
 too, and collects stag-beetles. If his wife ever elopes 
 he’ll be the last man to hear of it.” 
 
 “ But she surely won’t elope ? ” 
 
 ; ‘H’m, I don’t know. She looks like doing it this 
 very afternoon.” 
 
 In this, though, Mowser was wrong, for if he had 
 been a shrewder physiognomist he would have per- 
 
38 
 
 TIN DER THE LENS. 
 
 ceived that Zoe, Lady Try on, looked well able to take 
 care of herself. Fall she might, but in some soft 
 private spot where her fall would make no noise — 
 never in public, headlong over the cliff of proprieties. 
 She was a tall, resplendent creature, of the fleshly 
 type dear to Eubens. The tavern apron and little 
 laced cap that matched with it, in which she had 
 decked herself out for this particular occasion, suited 
 her so well that she might have been copied, as an 
 ideal serving wench, straight into a picture of a 
 Flemish kermese. Her dimpling cheeks teemed with 
 health, her sensuous scarlet lips were moist as ripe 
 cherries; her hair could have vied with a Prussian 
 Gretchen's for luxuriance and warmth of golden 
 tint ; but there was a mocking devil in her blue 
 eyes that told of a greater experience in the world's 
 ways than even tavern wenches have. If she had 
 struggled to win a coronet it was not for the sake of 
 throwing it into the mire to please such a one as Jack 
 Darmerer. 
 
 Yet Mowser was right in saying that she loved this 
 moustached Adonis better than any soul alive, and her 
 jilting of him had been rather a prudential than a 
 mercenary transaction. Jack could not have afforded 
 to maintain such an expensive wife as she was ; and 
 they were neither of them persons who could have 
 lived happy in a cottage upon cold mutton and kisses. 
 The thing might have done for a time — a week or two 
 — but afterwards ? Zoe had been obliged to consider 
 
Z0E, LADY TKYON. 
 
 39 
 
 the “ afterwards ” even at a moment when her whole 
 being thrilled with hardly restrainable passion, and 
 when Jack himself was so enamoured that he mistook 
 
 his debts for capital in hand, and would have bravely 
 married on the strength of them. Oh, if some old 
 uncle would but have left him a legacy, so that he 
 might never want for well- cut coats, expensive hacks, 
 and the best of cigars ! 
 
 Zoe used to think that if he had no more than two 
 thousand a year she would have married him, and this 
 
40 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 to her mind was heroism. She would have refused a 
 Duke for love of him, if he could but have given her 
 a comfortable home. But to accept draggle-tail misery 
 without a prospect of better things in the future, when 
 there was young Lord Tryon pressing her with offers of 
 a grand rent-roll and dazzling social position — this 
 was too much, and she told Jack so, with a frankness 
 which made him swear, but which he saw to be 
 unanswerable even while he swore at it. . He by no 
 means gave her up without a struggle, and she had to 
 adapt her cherry lips to shrill language to send him 
 about his business when mere reasoning would not 
 avail. 
 
 But when once Zoe had got married and found her 
 husband a dull fellow — when his conversation had 
 ceased to please, and his stag-beetles to amuse her; 
 when she had a satiety of all the pleasures which 
 wealth can give, then she bethought her that life was 
 not much without a little love, and she turned to Jack 
 again. He sulked a bit at first, for he was hurt in 
 his dignity at not having been allowed to make a 
 fool of himself, but she was a fascinating creature who 
 soon wheedled him round; and there they were now 
 Darby ing and Joaning coram populo, he holding a 
 tumbler and whispering some pleasantry in her ear, 
 while she was pouring out lemonade for him and 
 laughing with all her features aglow. 
 
 There are plenty of Jilts like Lady Tryon, and no 
 wonder, considering that marriage is a woman’s career, 
 
ZOE, LADY TEYON. 
 
 41 
 
 and that she has to look at it as prudently as a man 
 does at the profession which he chooses. Nobody 
 blames a man for saying that he does not marry so 
 and so because he cannot afford it ; why then should 
 a woman be condemned for calculating in a similar 
 fashion % A girl is brought up in the midst of luxury ; 
 she is taught to be fond of rich dresses ; her accom- 
 
42 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 plishments consist in riding and dancing, and house- 
 wifery is a science of which she knows not the A, B, 
 C, yet she is to be stigmatized as heartless if she 
 shrinks from facing poverty in the company of the 
 first good-looking young fellow who chances to take 
 her fancy ! 
 
 This is neither kind nor rational. Poverty in the 
 society of such persons as Jack Darmerer of the Blues 
 is no joke, and Miss Zoe showed her sense in divining 
 
 that neither she 
 nor Jack were 
 made for such 
 sport. After all, 
 the Jack she 
 loved was the 
 handsome, easy 
 living fellow 
 always well- 
 dressed, fed and 
 perfumed, and 
 he would have 
 been this Jack 
 no longer if 
 he had had to 
 bring up a fam- 
 ily in a little 
 suburban house 
 on £400 a year, cut off from his friends and the 
 amusements which were the business of his life. And 
 
ZOE, LADY TRYON. 
 
 43 
 
 she — Zoe — how would she have looked serving one 
 o'clock dinners to a brood of noisy brats, wrangling 
 with tradesmen, stitching all her own gowns, and 
 seeing all her relatives drop her because she could no 
 longer afford to visit them ? 
 
 O 
 
 These things have to be weighed by a girl who 
 knows more about the price of pearls than of butcher's 
 meat ; and who has no inclination for the romance 
 which consists in darning the loved one's socks and 
 chronicling his small beer. But, says Morality and 
 Mowser, Zoe having married Lord Try on, ought to 
 have borne with his dryness, his dulness and his stag- 
 beetles, and have remained a faithful wife to him. So 
 she ought, and we should certainly have liked her 
 better, if she had kept Jack Darmerer at a more 
 respectful distance whilst he was drinking that 
 lemonade, to the tune of the waltzes and quadrilles 
 which the brass band kept on pounding. 
 
IV. 
 
 A 1ST INCONSOLABLE JILT. 
 
 “ Cigars, sir, or a bundle of cigarettes ; you may 
 rely upon the quality.” This assurance came from 
 Fanny St. Mellions sister Julia, who was keeping a 
 stall with Mrs. O’Mores of the Glens. So ran the 
 name on the escutcheon. Somebody had christened 
 her and her husband collectively 0 Tempora , O 
 Mores ! because he looked older than his real age and 
 she younger than hers. She was a very demure 
 person, with languishing eyes, and would not be 
 prevailed upon to bite off the end of a cigar for any- 
 body. She let Julia Flounce do all the active part of 
 the business, and confined herself to handing articles 
 that were asked for. Some prettily embroidered 
 tobacco-pouches were arranged on the counter, and 
 various customers inquired whether it was she who 
 had worked them ; but Mrs. O’Mores shook her head 
 with a blush, and looked embarrassed. Shopkeeping 
 was hardly her element. She was devoting herself to 
 the cause of the Toothless Poor, but not con amove. 
 
 We had no need for Mowser to tell us who Mrs. 
 
AN INCONSOLABLE -JILT. 
 
 45 
 
 O’Mores was, for we knew more about her than he clid. 
 She was a Jilt too, if a girl be a Jilt for throwing over 
 a man whom she does not like in order to many 
 one whom she does : anyhow, if men were in the 
 habit of bringing actions for breach of promise, Mrs. 
 O’Mores would have laid herself open to one and have 
 been cast in heavy damages, had the jury assessed the 
 suitors loss in proportion to her beauty. 
 
 Her name was Lily, and she was the only daughter 
 of a London merchant, who, having gone on a Con- 
 tinental tour with her when she was twelve years old, 
 fell in with a Northamptonshire squire who had a son 
 of sixteen. Between the merchant and the squire a 
 fast friendship arose. They were both widowers, and 
 had congenial tastes. They were tired of England, 
 and thought of settling down for awhile in some 
 French town, where their young people could learn 
 foreign languages. It was eventually decided that they 
 should club their resources and spend a year under 
 the same roof, and this led to Lily Carden and Hugh 
 Rowden becoming playmates like brother and sister. 
 
 While the elders read their journals on the ramparts 
 of Abbeville, the boy and girl strolled further afield 
 and enjoyed the Museum, the bands, and the August 
 fair. They went to inspect the battlefield of Crecy, 
 and traced the monotonous Somme for miles. They 
 would make a solemn agreement to speak only 
 French for an hour, and after a dead silence of some 
 minutes would look at one another and laugh ex- 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 D 
 
46 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 cessively, then chatter merrily in English. They did 
 not speak of marriage, but the elders thought of it, and 
 even sounded each other on the subject. Of course 
 this did not bind the children. 
 
 In due time they all returned to England, and went 
 to their respective homes. From this period, Hugh, 
 who was entered at Cambridge, spent a part of all his 
 holidays at Mr. Carden’s house at Eoehampton ; and 
 whilst he was absent, Lily and her father used to go 
 down and visit Mr. Eowden at Melworth. Lily was 
 still too much a girl to be more than a pet to the 
 young Cantab, but by and by, when he had taken his 
 degree and came home to help his father manage the 
 estate, he saw her ripen into a perfect beauty. When she 
 was eighteen, and he twenty-two, they were still calling 
 each other by their Christian names ; but a shade of 
 gravity was observable in the young fellow, and Lily, 
 who liked fun, began to think that he gave too much 
 time to his drains and cattle, and not enough to her. 
 The fact is he had thoughts now of making her his wife, 
 for his father had thrown out broad hints in that 
 direction, and had rather gratuitously added that 
 marriage was a serious business, so that Hugh thought 
 
 o 7 O O 
 
 it incumbent upon him to qualify for the wedded 
 estate by putting away childish things. 
 
 He would have done better to remain natural, for 
 Lily resented his affectation of superiority ; and when 
 he took it upon himself to lecture her for some 
 frivolities in dress, she first pouted and then cried for 
 
HUGH AND LILY AT ROEHAMPTON. 
 

AN INCONSOLABLE JILT. 
 
 47 
 
 shame. He meanwhile strode about sturdily, in 
 leather gaiters and velveteens, with a strong farmyard 
 odour about him. He had always samples of grains 
 in his pockets, and estimates for cow-house repairs 
 trotting about his head. He talked of lambing and 
 foaling, fencing and dykeing, and attended all the 
 markets around. Of an evening he was so tired of 
 trudging over ploughed fields, that he would drop off 
 to sleep in the drawing-room, while Lily played the 
 piano ; and this made the elders laugh. At first 
 Lily laughed too, but she ceased to do so 'when Hugh 
 fell into a habit of sleeping, and appeared to think he 
 was playing the man in acting thus. 
 
 The Cardens used to spend part of the winter at 
 Melworth. At the end of one of these visits, Lily 
 returned to town seriously piqued by her lover’s 
 boorishness. He came to pass a month of the season 
 in London, and then she began comparing him with the 
 other young men who fluttered round her at balls, 
 and who were charmingly polite. There was the 
 0 ’Mores of the Glens, for instance — an Irish gentleman 
 of property who had all the blarneying talent of his 
 race, and never accosted her without a well-turned 
 compliment. She began to think him immensely 
 better bred than Hugh, and better dressed too. Hugh 
 never took her to flower shows. He was always off 
 to visit an exhibition of agricultural implements, or a 
 sale of farming stock. He slouched about without 
 gloves, refused to dance, and called the Opera “ rot.” 
 
43 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Nothing moreover would render Hugh jealous, and 
 that was bad, for it aggravates a girl to see a man make 
 too sure of possessing her. Lily tried to excite the young 
 boor in a hundred ,ways, and this was token enough 
 that at heart she did love him ; and truly one honest 
 outburst of jealous rage would have reinstated him 
 firmly in her affections. But he would not condescend 
 to any such display of feeling, least of all in respect of 
 the O’Mores, whom he despised and ridiculed as an 
 “ Irish hopper ” in her hearing. 
 
 To be brief, Hugh grew more and more unbearable 
 in proportion as the Irishman became more tender. 
 Lily was romantic, and liked to be courted with words 
 of hyperbolical endearment. When she came to weigh 
 mentally the respective merits of the two men who 
 disputed her hand, Hugh’s merits decidedly kicked the 
 beam. He was not richer than the O’Mores, his 
 temper was not so sweet, he was far more likely to 
 prove a domestic tyrant, and, to sum up, he did not 
 seem to care for her a bit. 
 
 The one point in Hugh’s favour consisted in his 
 being a suitor of older standing ; and when Lily looked 
 back on the sunny past, to the days when they 
 were both children, she felt a compunction about 
 throwing him over. She was almost afraid to do it, 
 as much for his father’s sake, and for her father’s, as 
 for his own. 
 
 Lily resolved to give Hugh one more chance, and 
 announced to him with playful demureness that she 
 
AN INCONSOLABLE JILT. 
 
 49 
 
 thought the O’Mores was in love with her, and intended 
 to propose. What should she do ? Was Ireland a 
 nice country ? How would it work if she married an 
 Irishman ? They said the O’Mores had some beautiful 
 family lace, and she doated so upon lace ; she would 
 almost marry a man for the sake of wearing the lace 
 that had figured on his grandmother’s shoulders. In 
 saying all this, Lily was playful as a kitten ; but 
 Hugh, possessed by some demon of contention, ab- 
 solutely declined to take the joke. His brow grew 
 dark, and he answered icily that if Lily chose to throw 
 herself at the head of the first jackanapes who crossed 
 her path, she was welcome. Thereat, the girl was 
 mortified and indignant. “ Very well, since you are 
 so indifferent about it, I will marry a man who does 
 care for me,” she said, with tears in her eyes ; and for 
 a moment she hoped that Hugh would take her hands 
 in his, smile in his old way, and make his final peace 
 with her. But he walked out, sulking. She dried her 
 eyes by herself, and before the end of the season, was 
 Mrs. O’Mores. 
 
 In all this Hugh Bowden was quite in the wrong, 
 and he saw it the instant Lily Carden had become lost 
 to him for ever. The moment the scales dropped from 
 his eyes he recognised his blunder — perceived that lie 
 had been acting a fool’s part, felt ashamed of himself, 
 and would have given half his fortune to retrace his 
 steps. Lily on her side was never fairly happy after 
 j ilting him. It was in vain that she repeated to her- 
 
50 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 self how greatly she had been provoked. She would 
 flush at thinking of his unkindness ; she was angry 
 with him ; she tried to harden herself into satisfaction 
 at having acted with spirit ; but it was all to no 
 purpose. She had severed her first love from the sur- 
 face of her heart, but the roots remained, and they were 
 so deep that no effort could eradicate them. 
 
 A dismal position this, and for a married woman 
 constant misery. Lily’s husband suspected nothing of 
 his wife’s sentiments. He was gentle, good-humoured, 
 careful to please her ; and she did her best to requite 
 his attentions by every outward show of tenderness. 
 But in her stray thoughts Hugh Bowden was ever 
 present. The merest mention of his name was enough 
 to make her heart beat with painful pulses. Mel- 
 worth and its inmates, its walks, tall trees, and slop- 
 ing lawns, remained as deeply engraved in her memory 
 as if the place had been her home ; and there were 
 times when the idea that some other girl would 
 become mistress of all this, and Hugh’s wife at the 
 same time, made her cry out with grief. But Hugh 
 did not marry. One day they met, and he looked so 
 altered ; his manners were so kind, brotherly, and un- 
 assuming — so full of implied forgiveness too — that it 
 seemed to Lily as if the Hugh of her girlhood had 
 suddenly returned ; and she could not refrain from 
 bursting into tears while he stood by with a quivering 
 lip. 
 
 We told Mowser as much of this history as we then 
 
THE AFTER MEETING OF HUGH ROWDEN AND LILY CARDEN. 
 
 I. 50. 
 
AN INCONSOLABLE JILT. 
 
 51 
 
 knew (it has been completed since by other par- 
 ticulars), and he turned pensive : — 
 
 “ Well, it’s better that they didn't marry/’ said he. 
 “ They would never have been happy together.” 
 
 “ Why not % Had not Lily the right to expect that 
 Hugh would evince his appreciation of her by wooing 
 her properly \ ” 
 
 “ Girls are too sweet-toothed : they always want 
 one to give them sugar. If a wife once takes it into 
 her head that it’s a husband’s duty to go on dropping 
 lumps into her tea-cup, the man might as well leave 
 off farming and turn confectioner.” 
 
 “ He might as well leave off playing the churl ; but 
 that’s another matter. If Lily and Hugh had married, 
 their respective asperities would have rubbed away in 
 time. She would have found that he was an excel- 
 lent fellow at bottom, and he would have become 
 less of a bear when he discovered that his manners 
 really annoyed her. It was her unfortunate misunder- 
 standing that parted them.” 
 
 “ No, it was the fact of her being at heart a Jilt. If 
 she had been a true-hearted girl, she would have seen 
 that her lover’s ruggedness covered every quality you 
 mention. But women are creatures of variety, and 
 would rather inflict a death-wound than let it be 
 believed that they have no arrows in their quiver.” 
 
 “ You take a one-eyed view of the sex, Mowser.” 
 
 “ One eye is enough to see with, if it be wide open,” 
 was this misogynist’s reply. 
 
A JILTED DRYS ALTER. 
 
 The band continued to crash out cacophony with 
 its cymbals and flutes, and the crowd in the rooms 
 grew thicker. We made some purchases and were 
 fleeced. We struggled our way to the refreshment 
 bar, and got Lady Tryon to serve us each with a glass 
 of sherry ; then we struggled out again, for our 
 pockets were as empty as the gums of any toothless 
 pauper. There was nothing more to see, and Mowser 
 assured us that we should never get away if we 
 stopped to recall the histories of all the Jilts in the 
 room. He had invitations to some private theatricals 
 that were to be given next day by the Strawberry 
 Club at the house of Lady St. Mellion, and proposed 
 that we should accompany him, suggesting that there 
 we might sate our eyes with more obdurate specimens 
 of the genus Jilt than any w r e had yet beheld. 
 
 Two drawing-rooms, the one converted into a stage 
 the other into an auditorium — such was the locus 
 dramatis; and a number of playbills on white satin, 
 with pink letters, were hung on the walls to lend 
 
A JILTED DRY SALTER. 
 
 53 
 
 additional local colouring. All Belgravia was there 
 to see the fun, and a Prince of the Blood sat in the 
 front row of armchairs, 
 playing the agreeable to 
 the hostess. Mowser 
 and ourselves had no 
 seats, but were jammed 
 in a window embrasure, 
 close to a portly gentle- 
 man of fifty with a bene- 
 volent countenance, and 
 a head bald as an ostrich 
 egg. Mowser and he 
 shook hands, and were 
 talking together when 
 the curtain rose. A 
 moment afterwards the 
 portly gentleman sud- 
 denly turned the hue of 
 cranberry, and appear- 
 ed, in American par- 
 lance, to “ feel bad.” 
 
 Without a word of ex- 
 planation, he squared his 
 elbows and made for the 
 door. “ Hush ! ” cried the polite audience, astonished ; 
 but he paid no heed, and jostled his way on till he 
 reached the landing, when he vanished, and we saw 
 no more of him. 
 
54 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Mowser laughed, and said, “ That’s poor Nibbs the 
 drysalter, and that golden-haired woman in the small- 
 clothes and the leopard’s skin, who is playing Diana, 
 is Lady Wastelyffe, who drove him half-mad.” 
 
 “ Why did he come here to-night if her presence 
 excites him in that way ? ” 
 
 “ I suppose he didn’t see the playbills, or perhaps 
 he was simple enough to imagine that he was steeled 
 against her magic ; but he lias found out his mistake, 
 you see. She cost him twenty thousand pounds 
 before sending him about his business.” 
 
 “ He probably got some return for his money in 
 the pleasure of being fooled ? ” 
 
 “ Well, the process is pleasurable until the climax 
 comes,” admitted Mowser ; “ but this was an excep- 
 tionally villainous case. Lady Wastelyffe was an 
 Earl’s daughter, and poor Nibbs was ambitious of get- 
 ting a rise in the world by marrying her. This fall 
 of his was naturally all the harder as it covered him 
 with ridicule.” 
 
 “ More stupid of him to expose himself to such a 
 catastrophe.” 
 
 “ There have been plenty of Job’s comforters to tell 
 him that,” said Mowser. “ And no doubt if he had 
 wooed a brother drysalter’s daughter, he would have 
 met with better treatment. But it is hard lines that 
 a man shouldn’t be able to rely on the honour of a 
 peer’s daughter. She allowed Nibbs to pay all her 
 debts and her brother’s, and only threw him over when 
 
A JILTED DRYSALTER. 
 
 he had extricated her precious family out of a heap of 
 difficulties.” 
 
 “ She’s an adorable-looking woman anyhow,” was 
 our remark ; and we quoted the lines : — 
 
 11 If to her chance some human errors fall, 
 
 Look on her face and you’ll forget them all.” 
 
 lc Oh, yes : she’d coax a donkey out of a bunch of 
 carrots, trust her for that,” rejoined Mowser, drily ; 
 and for a moment we were both silent, gazing at Lady 
 Waste! yffe’s poses plastiques , as she attitudinized 
 voluptuously before a young lady representing En- 
 dymion. 
 
 By and by a smart, punning dialogue commenced 
 between the pair, and her ladyship’s voice sounded 
 clear as a full-toned bell. It was an aristocratic voice. 
 Lady Wastelyffe was one of those persons who never 
 speak low, being of too high rank to care whether the 
 vulgar overhear their remarks. In drawing-rooms, in 
 the hunting field, wherever she went, she had a calm 
 indifferent look. She was chatty and quick of repartee 
 with persons of her own rank ; very exacting of 
 homage with men ; rude and spiteful towards women 
 whom she hated. She never let a slight pass, nor 
 accepted an epigram without repaying it with usury. In 
 her cool, full-pitched voice she said the most monstrous 
 things of members of her own sex who had offended 
 her. On one occasion the wife of an M.P. having 
 crossed tongues with her, she said quite aloud in the 
 hearing of a hundred persons, “ My good woman, your 
 
56 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 husband says you should never be argued with after 
 you have dined. Let us break off please.’’ 
 
 How would poor Nibbs have got on with a wife 
 of this sort ? She would have crushed his soft heart 
 into water, that would have oozed from his eyes day 
 and night. He was a zany to have ever pitched his 
 ambition on winning her ; and the rebuff he got was 
 a warning sent by Providence to other drysalters who 
 might have been tempted similarly to forget them- 
 selves. Not but that Lady Wastelyffe made an 
 excellent wife to the noble Marquis her husband ; but 
 his was just such a cool nature as hers. They were 
 perfectly mated — he a rake, gambler, owner of racing 
 stables, who had already lost one fortune on the 
 turf and was running through another — she a 
 coquette of the grand monde , who accounted money 
 as mere dross, and scattered it to satisfy her every 
 whim. 
 
 The Marquis never scolded her, and her behaviour 
 to him was always good natured. He went his way, 
 she hers. When he had won a few thousands on a 
 race, he gave her as much as she wanted, and he 
 supplied her with advice as to the horses she should 
 back for her own private book. She betted as 
 much as he did, though not such large sums, and was 
 never at a loss to find rich men who were ready to give 
 or take the odds she mentioned. She would have 
 laughed at a goody-goody bet for gloves. Society 
 knew that on a certain Gold Cup day at Ascot she had 
 
A JILTED DRYSALTER. 
 
 57 
 
 netted seven thousand pounds ; but her expenditure 
 in dresses and jewellery was so large, that she scarcely 
 ever had a penny more than she wanted. 
 
 Her ladyship had begun contracting debts in her 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 5 8 
 
 first season out; and her father, who was nervous 
 about her, very much desired that she should 
 marry steady- going Nibbs. He would not hear of 
 Lord Wastelyffe, and forbade him the house. But 
 what can a fathers prohibition avail against a sharp 
 girls tactics ? Lady Florence kept the steady-going 
 Nibbs in a fool's paradise of hope till he had settled 
 her bills (not in cash, but by equivalent presents, which 
 she never returned) and paid her pet brother in the 
 Guards out of some scrape where his good name was 
 like to have foundered. She allowed him to re-furnish 
 Nibs worth Hall, Surrey, in the anticipation of her 
 becoming its mistress. She chose the hangings of a 
 sky-blue boudoir that was to be hers ; and with 
 admirably-acted interest gave her advice about the 
 building of a conservatory. 
 
 The enchanted Nibbs used to strut about his offices 
 in Salt Lane, E.C., saying that he was going to enter 
 the exalted family of Lord Angleham, whose interest 
 would procure him a seat in Parliament, a baronetage, 
 and possibly a coronet by and by. His partners in 
 the dry sal ting business were jaundiced with envy, and 
 laughed in their sleeves at the patronising airs he 
 assumed, though they feared to resent them to his 
 face. Poor Nibbs, who was a good fellow at bottom, 
 had no idea of how offensive and ludicrous he was 
 becoming. All Salt Lane took to wishing him a 
 “cropper," and truly there was mirth in that com- 
 mercial district on the day when it became known 
 
A JILTED DRYSALTER. 
 
 59 
 
 how egregiously he had been sold by his aristocratic 
 sweetheart. 
 
 She eloped from him one bright morning when he 
 had taken her to her milliner’s to order her wedding 
 dress. He was waiting outside in his brougham, and 
 she suffered him to wait there many hours ; for she 
 had gone out by a side door in another street, where 
 Lord Wastelyffe was in attendance with a marriage 
 licence in his pocket. The pair were wedded half-an- 
 hour later, while the steady-going Nibbs was still in his 
 brougham ; and Lord Angleham received intimation 
 of the happy event through a note which Lady Florence 
 sent, requesting that her clothes might be forwarded to 
 her husband’s seat in Leicestershire. It was only in 
 the postscript that she added : “ Dear papa, you will see 
 by my signature that I married Lord Wastelyffe this 
 morning.” 
 
 Ill-starred Nibbs, an object of derision in Salt Lane 
 and in Society ! No doubt it was abominably hard, 
 and he might well be excused for tearing out tufts 
 of his hair in the privacy of his own chambers ; but if 
 he had been a man of wit, what a fine chance he would 
 have had to bear off his calamity with a twinkling eye 
 that would have put the laughers on his side. He 
 should have gone about rejoicing that he was quit of 
 an awkward bargain. He should have sent the new 
 Lady Wastelyffe a wedding present. He should have 
 courted her society instead of shunning it, and have 
 greeted her with the eye of polite mockery. 
 
60 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 All this should Nibbs have done if lie had been a 
 fellow of nerve and sense ; but instead of that there 
 was not a house but he filled with his unmanly 
 wailings. He went about telling all the ladies he 
 knew how grossly he had been deceived, how much 
 money he had spent ; he computed the cost of his new 
 conservatory and of the yards of satin hangings that 
 had been bought for Lady Florence's sky-blue boudoir. 
 He maundered about, being a blighted object, and said 
 that he thought the law courts would avenge him if 
 he applied to them, which he would not do, for he was 
 not vindictive, only heart-broken, at which his fair 
 listeners had some trouble to keep from laughing in his 
 face. There are some men who can get no pity for 
 their amorous woes, and Mowser was possibly the only 
 man in Society who thought that Nibbs was an ill-used 
 drysalter. 
 
VI. 
 
 LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 But what of the young lady who was playing 
 Endymion to Lady Wastelyffe’s Diana ? The scene 
 represented a garden with a moss bank ; and after 
 the running dialogue already mentioned, Endymion 
 lay down to sleep, with a stream of electric light 
 beating upon him. The Prince of the Blood clapped 
 his hands with enthusiasm. Endymion looked beauti- 
 ful in these rays of simulated moonlight, and many in 
 the room were inquiring the actress’s name. It was 
 Mrs. Dewberry, wife of Dewberry, the great pickle 
 manufacturer. He had made a colossal fortune out of 
 gherkins. His wares filled every mouth. His name 
 and trade mark were known to the dinner tables of all 
 humanity. 
 
 Oddly enough, Mrs. Dewberry’s story was the exact 
 converse of Lady Wastelyffe’s. She had pined to 
 marry a curate. From the day when she had first 
 begun to blossom into lovely maidenhood, with 
 almond-shaped eyes and hair dark as a crow’s wing, 
 she had loved a young clergyman with red hair and 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 E 
 
62 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 cheeks rosy as codlings. A joyous, clever divine he 
 was, who wrote comical verses and was great at 
 getting up games on a winter evening. He used to 
 
 blacken his face and sing nigger melodies with a 
 battered white hat on his head. His antics would 
 have made a stuffed bird laugh. The Archdeacon, a 
 solemn man, could never preserve his gravity at sight 
 
LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 63 
 
 of him ; and as for Grace Dillon — as Mrs. Dewberry 
 was then called — she thought no more gifted being 
 had ever adorned Holy Orders. 
 
 Mr. Lambkin was not only a facetious curate — he 
 was a man of talent, who had taken high university 
 honours. He wrote capital magazine articles, and 
 employed a good deal of his leisure in literary 
 work which was making him a name. He also 
 preached fluently, and with greater earnestness than 
 one would have expected from a man so cheerful in 
 private life. He was one of those persons who are 
 never idle a moment. Always ready for social amuse- 
 ments, and equally ready to give his time and energies 
 for the relief of anyone in trouble, he never wasted a 
 minute of the time that was his own. He was not 
 badly off, for he had a fellowship, and derived a 
 substantial addition to his income from his pen. He 
 was certain to obtain a college living by and by ; he 
 could also rely on securing as many private pupils 
 as he cared to take ; and altogether he was in a 
 position to marry and offer his wife a most comfortable 
 home. 
 
 But the Rev. Peter Lambkin s advantages, when 
 balanced against those of Mr. Dewberry, the pickle 
 man, weighed only as a pea against a nugget. Lamb- 
 kin might have talent and character, but Dewberry 
 had gherkins and consols. His manufactures employed 
 fifteen hundred workwomen, who pickled without cessa- 
 tion. Four hundred more were engaged in potting, 
 
64 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 and another hundred found constant employment in 
 pasting labels with the fine red and gold trade-marks 
 on to the pots. Then Dewberry had been thrice 
 mayor of his town and four times a candidate for 
 Parliament in the Liberal interest. He had been un- 
 successful, to be sure ; but the majority against him 
 diminished at every election, and everyone was per- 
 suaded that his perseverance and money would end by 
 carrying the day. 
 
 Such a man as this could not be made light of by 
 a family whose circumstances were a little precarious. 
 Grace Dillon's father was a retired Colonel, who had 
 contracted expensive tastes in the army and fretted in 
 the quasi-beggary of half-pay. He had settled in an 
 inland watering town which passed for being cheap, 
 but which was not so, owing to the pretensions of all 
 who lived in it to outshine one another in hospitalities. 
 London is the only cheap place for persons who desire 
 to live quietly. At X there were constant inno- 
 
 vations that mulcted the purses of the inhabitants. 
 First a club was started, then a racecourse, then a 
 theatre was opened. New streets were built, the 
 population increased, house-rent rose apace, and the 
 summer-time influx of fashionable visitors obliged the 
 permanent residents to indulge in elegancies of dress 
 and entertainment. 
 
 Colonel Dillon, whose social position made it 
 incumbent upon him to take a lead in the gaieties of 
 the place, and whose tastes would have instigated him to 
 
LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 65 
 
 do so, whether compelled or not, found his resources 
 unequal to his expenditure, and naturally began to 
 look forward to bettering himself by the marriage of 
 his only daughter. At first he did not object to the 
 
 idea of Grace marrying Mr. Lambkin. So long as no 
 richer suitor was in view, he calculated that a clerical 
 son-in-law, with a good benefice and a houseful of 
 rich pupils, might do for him; but the instant Mr. Mayor 
 
66 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Dewberry offered himself the case was altered, and 
 Grace was sternly prohibited from holding any further 
 intercourse with the “ carroty parson.” 
 
 Now a clergyman cannot foil parental tyranny by 
 eloping with the object of his affections. Such freaks 
 are permissible in laymen, and especially in the 
 military ; but a priest who should carry off a girl 
 under age,, and marry her “through the window,” 
 would have to hear some stiff words from his Bishop, 
 and possibly find his clerical career cut very short. All 
 that Lambkin could do was to offer respectful remon- 
 strance, and to plead that Grace Dillon loved him — 
 which she did. Their courtship had long been 
 connived at by the Colonel, if not actually encouraged. 
 He had said more than once : “ Lambkin, my boy, 
 you must think of settling in life. The girl who 
 marries you will have a good time of it ; " and Lamb- 
 kin even pretended having heard the Colonel say that 
 he would not wish his daughter a better fate than to 
 become Mrs. Lambkin. But this the Colonel denied, 
 and snatched the statement as a peg to hang a quarrel 
 upon. He was surprised at the curate's effrontery. If 
 it were not for his cloth, he would have chastised him 
 in public. At any rate, his rector should hear how 
 grossly he had behaved, and all respectable persons in 
 the town should be warned against admitting him to 
 their houses. 
 
 Poor Lambkin stood aghast. The Colonel was a 
 powerful man, as active as he was choleric, and when 
 
LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 67 
 
 he set himself to declaring everywhere — at the club, 
 in the streets, on the racecourse — that the “ con- 
 founded parson was a regular blackguard, by Jove ! — 
 a fellow whose morals couldn’t be touched with a pair 
 of tongs” — all who were ignorant as to how the 
 
 o o 
 
 quarrel had arisen, and they were the majority, 
 thought that Mr. Lambkin must indeed have done 
 something monstrous. He, the while, was too much 
 attached to Grace to think of defending himself at her 
 father’s expense. To his rector alone he told the 
 truth, but this reverend gentleman received the con- 
 
68 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 fession coldly, for he had daughters of his own, and 
 thought that the curate would have shown good taste 
 in making his selection from among them. He re- 
 buked Lambkin, saying that fathers are the best 
 judges of their children's happiness — that Colonel 
 Dillon was a most respectable man, a good church- 
 man, an influential person, and that Lambkin would 
 do well to apologise to him. 
 
 Apologise for what ? Lambkin was not so spiritless 
 as to avow himself the offender when he had been 
 sinned against — and bitterly ; and so the upshot was 
 that he left the diocese. But before going he wrote 
 Grace a letter of justification, and pledged her his 
 inextinguishable and faithful love. He said that he 
 would release her from her engagement if she pleased, 
 but that if she would wait for him till she was of age, 
 he would also wait for her, though, in the meantime, 
 he counselled her to submit to her parents and try to 
 win their consent by obedience, not by obstinacy. 
 
 Nothing could have been better than this letter, 
 which was that of a gentleman as well as an ardent 
 lover ; but of course Grace never received it. Her 
 father threw it into the fire, and in informing her 
 that Mr. Lambkin had left the town, used the word 
 “ absconded," and hinted at his being involved in 
 transactions most discreditable. Grace could not 
 believe that. With welling eyes and trembling lips, 
 she begged to be told what these transactions were, 
 for though of soft mood, she was not craven ; and it 
 
LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 69 
 
 seemed, for a day or two, as if she intended to rebel 
 against paternal authority. But the Colonel would 
 give her no explanations, and told her in a flustering 
 tone never to recur “ to the disreputable subject/’ 
 Grace’s mother also lectured her sharply for her 
 “ impropriety ; ” and then began for the unhappy 
 girl that struggle between inclination and filial duty 
 which has to be waged, not desultorily, but every day 
 
 and hour. She did as other girls do — grew thin and 
 languid, fretted, cried in her own room, but finally 
 gave in. The pickle merchant was decidedly too 
 
70 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 pressing, and the curate too far off. Why did not 
 the latter write just a few lines to advise her how to 
 act % Grace could not so much as learn whither he 
 had gone. She thought he might have used some 
 covert means of getting a letter conveyed to her, and 
 his not having done so seemed a proof that he was 
 indifferent to her. Girls understand nothing about 
 delicacy in love matters — that is, about delicacy of 
 which they are the victims. They are all for clandes- 
 tine methods; and if the Reverend Peter Lambkin 
 had addressed a letter to some other place than 
 Grace’s home — say to the Circulating Library to 
 which she was a subscriber — she would have re- 
 mained stubbornly faithful to him as long as he 
 pleased. 
 
 As it was, Grace ended by marrying the pickle mer- 
 chant, He was not a bad sort of man, though lean, 
 ugly, and unsteady with his “ h’s.” He had no 
 romance in his composition, but talked commercially 
 of marriage as a “ partnership for life,” a “ contract 
 between parties mutually agreeable ; ” and he pro- 
 mised that Grace should be no “ loser ” by the step 
 she took, that her wishes should always “ be reckoned 
 with,” and that she should be repaid with “good 
 interest ” for any affection she chose to “ advance.” 
 Dreary jargon this, but it did not prevent honest 
 Dewberry from sincerely loving his beautiful bride, 
 and from lifting his head very proudly the first time 
 he took her to visit his gherkin factory, where those 
 
LOVE AND PICKLES. 
 
 71 
 
 two thousand workpeople were eternally pickling, 
 potting, and labelling. 
 
 Marriage, moreover, lent a spur to Dewberry's 
 ambition, and Colonel Dillon found no difficulty in 
 persuading him that he ought now to make another 
 try for Parliament. He did so, and the town of 
 
 X long rang with fables as to the prodigious 
 
 sums which had been spent to carry “ Old Vinegar, 1 ” 
 as he was called, to the top of the poll. Never was 
 seen such a profusion of bill-sticking, treating, mon- 
 ster meetings, demonstrations with banners, rotten- 
 egg riots, and brass bands. Party spirit ran so high 
 that the pickle merchant had to walk through the 
 streets with his umbrella up in broad sunlight, because 
 of the dead cats and cabbage -stalks that were flying 
 to and fro. He had his nose half-flattened with a 
 brick-bat and one eye blackened with a Tory fist ; 
 but the upshot of all this was that he got elected, 
 and his opponent found himself so badly beaten, that 
 he hesitated to lodge a petition for unseating him. 
 
 Mr. Dewberry now came up to town with his wife, 
 hired a house for the season, and was presented at 
 Court together with Mrs. D. He was determined to 
 do things gradually, as he said, and began to keep 
 open house for the entertainment of those whom his 
 father-in-law recommended to him as eligible people. 
 As for Grace, her beauty was a passport everywhere, 
 and she soon became queen of a small circle of her 
 own ; then she got enrolled a member of the fashion- 
 
72 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 able Strawberry Club, and that is how she came to be 
 acting the part of Endymion in a charade at St. Mel- 
 lion House. 
 
 But what of poor Lambkin ? Well, he conceived a 
 bad opinion of the sex, and thought he had been hardly 
 used. He betook himself for refuge to the columns 
 of the Saturday Censor , and earned a name as the 
 “ wild curate ” who wrote such stinging articles on the 
 frailties of women. He had his precedent for such a 
 course in the revenge taken by a great poet who bom- 
 barded his jilting “ Cousin Amy” with a poem which 
 is known from London to Cathay ; but if he flattered 
 himself that by these means he ever stirred remorse in 
 the breast of the pickle merchant’s wife, he was wrong, 
 for women rather like to feel that they have driven a 
 man mad. Grace read Lambkin’s articles with enjoy- 
 ment, and laughed over them in her husband’s 
 company. Colonel Dillon talked of going to tweak 
 the curate’s nose ; but his daughter dissuaded him, and 
 it was decided between them all that Mr. Lambkin 
 was “a despicable creature who had behaved very 
 badly.” Many other people continued to think so too. 
 In fact, people have a tendency to think as rich pickle 
 merchants and the like bid them. 
 
VII. 
 
 
 AN ENTR’ACTE. 
 
 The curtain fell upon the loves of Endymion and 
 Diana. The Prince of the Blood told our hostess how 
 delighted he was, and pending the next charade, two 
 fiddles and a piano discoursed music whilst tea and 
 ices w r ere handed round. Mowser began to moralize 
 
74 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 upon the education we give our women, and advanced 
 the bold opinion that it taught them nothing but folly. 
 What was the sense of women exhibiting themselves 
 in public with bare backs and shoulders, pounds of 
 false hair, and twenty-button gloves which reached to 
 their elbows ? Did they trick themselves out thus to 
 please their husbands ? if not, whom ? and why should 
 husbands pay in order that other men might be 
 pleased ? Did a man marry for the sake of having a 
 wife to himself, or merely to give his name to a 
 woman who should spend her life in trying to excite 
 the admiration and captivate the hearts of men at 
 large ? Society was a medley of persons who instigate 
 one another to do evil. Nine out of every ten women 
 in it cared more for the compliments of strangers than 
 for the good opinion of their own husbands, and nine 
 out of every ten men were bent upon delighting other 
 men’s wives rather than their own. “ I don’t wonder 
 at there being so many Jilts,” said Mowser. “ Edu- 
 cation says to the girls, ‘ Learn to shine, my dears — 
 dance, babble, unveil your shoulders.’ It teaches them 
 that women are made to be toyed with, so they prefer 
 fulfdling that destiny by marrying rich men to drudg- 
 ing in poverty, which they have not learned to regard 
 as suitable to their charms.” 
 
 “ Stay a moment ; poor men find wives as easily as 
 the rich,” was our objection. 
 
 “ All can’t draw prizes, but all try for them,” 
 answered Mowser. “ The poor man’s wife would have 
 
AN ENTR’ACTE. 
 
 75 
 
 given herself to a richer man if she had had the chance. 
 ’Tice any girl with a coronet, and see how quickly 
 she’ll be drawn. The fact is there is mighty little 
 romance in poverty, whereas there is a great deal in 
 rank and wealth. Your plutocrat can do such nice 
 things in his wooing. He can court a girl through all 
 her five senses at once. Bouquets, bracelets, opera- 
 boxes, and champagne luncheons are so many deputies 
 
 which he employs to plead his cause when he has no 
 eloquence of his own.” 
 
 “ Do you think these things avail much when a 
 girl is really in love ? ” was our sceptical query. 
 
 “ They avail more than the girls themselves fancy,” 
 replied Mowser. “ To begin with, what is love ? an 
 
76 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 inclination felt for a man who has made himself more 
 agreeable than other men. He may not be a pleasant 
 fellow at all, but some physical or social superiority he 
 possesses lifts him temporarily on a pedestal, where 
 he lords it till his very arrogance helps to complete the 
 fascination of the simple creature groVelling at his 
 feet. I have seen girls fall in love with the veriest 
 cubs for lack of other male society. Don't tell me 
 - there was any deep sentiment in these attachments. 
 The girls wanted husbands, that is all ; they were 
 obeying the natural law which attracts sex to sex, and 
 the social law which bids a girl get married as fast as 
 she can, lest she glide into old spinsterhood. 
 
 “ If a girl, after deciding to accept a genteel pauper, 
 chances to allure a man who has it in his power to 
 make her a bed of rose-leaves, see how quickly her 
 eyes get opened to the beauties of indolence and 
 luxury. Self-esteem tells her that she was not made 
 merely for the procreation of indigent brats, and the 
 study of that parsimonious arithmetic which consists 
 in paring down bakers' bills. She wants to walk in 
 silk attire, and feels grateful to the man who, by his 
 courtship, acknowledges her right to do so. Who can 
 deny the magic of fine linen, jewels, softly-cushioned 
 broughams, champagne, and obedient menials upon a 
 woman's mind ? and who can dispute the still greater 
 magic afforded by the prospect of eclipsing sisters and 
 school-friends who have married poorly ? 
 
 “ Sometimes, if a girl has got hopelessly engaged to 
 
AX ENTR’ACTE. 
 
 77 
 
 a fellow with a shrunken purse — if she be so near her 
 wedding-day that it is impossible to break off the 
 match without making a scandal — pride and vanity 
 will induce her to keep her pledge, but this will be 
 simply because the plutocrat came too late into the 
 field. If the two had started at the post together, or 
 if the pauper had had but a half-distance start, the 
 plutocrat would have run him down and come in first 
 with flying colours. Moreover, a woman feels sore all 
 her life at having missed the chance of a rich mar- 
 riage. The thought of it turns her sour the first time 
 matrimonial difficulties begin, and her wretched hus- 
 band has uxorial peevishness and contempt poured 
 upon him by the bucketful.” 
 
 “ That may be, Mowser, but we have also instances 
 of rich men’s wives who deplored not having married 
 their first loves, poor though they were.” 
 
 “ Which all comes of the contrariness of human 
 nature in never being satisfied with its present lot,” re- 
 sponded the misogynist emphatically. “The man 
 who wrote the ‘Praises of Poverty’ — Seneca, wasn’t 
 it ? — indited his remarks upon a golden table, and 
 had a couple of slaves beside him to fan the flics 
 away. . A woman who sits by her boudoir fire with 
 her feet well- warmed, a novel on her lap, and a five 
 o’clock tea with cream and crumpets at her elbow, is 
 very apt to dream that she was cut out for the part of 
 heroine. She gilds poverty with her imaginative 
 touches till it looks all rosy. Her husband bores her, 
 
 v. l. r. 
 
 F 
 
78 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 ancl she thinks of the other man who used to make her 
 laugh, and whose muscles were like whipcord. She 
 attributes to him talents which he never had, charms 
 which she never discovered in him while she had the 
 opportunity of observing him every day, and she 
 dreams of herself as fighting life’s battles by his side, 
 and always winning. 
 
 “ It never occurs to her to reflect that the lot she 
 renounced was that of being a perennial wet-nurse, of 
 living upon mutton hash, and growing up into a 
 dowdy slattern, worried, and perhaps bullied, by a 
 man rendered cantankerous by failures in his profes- 
 sion. It is easy to be happy in fancy with a man 
 whose ideal perfections one may depict at one’s leisure. 
 A woman is often found whimpering over a novel 
 which portrays the life of a heroine such as she 
 thinks herself to be ; but just let her rich husband die, 
 leaving her penniless, and you’ll see whether she 
 doesn’t at once set her widow’s cap at another rich 
 man sooner than betake herself to that life of 
 struggling which she deemed so exciting when viewed 
 from a distance.” 
 
 “That would in effect only prove that women, 
 having grown accustomed to luxuries, find it hard to 
 do without them. But, talking of widows, don’t you 
 think a first experience as to the vanity of riches 
 makes those who have enough to live on more anxious 
 to secure happiness than rank or wealth in their 
 second marriages ? ” 
 
AN ENTR’ACTE. 
 
 79 
 
 “ That depends, ” said Mowser ; “ but anyhow, a 
 widow’s second choice is generally a calculation of 
 pure selfishness. Girls sometimes marry to please 
 their sweethearts, widows re-marry to please them- 
 selves. They are even worse Jilts than girls, for they 
 have learned to know the sort of men who make 
 good husbands, and in hunting for them, use up 
 candidates by the series. In most cases the ambition 
 of a widow is to find a second husband as little like 
 her dear departed as possible. But stay — there’s the 
 curtain going to rise. I think we are about to see a 
 widow in the next piece and another pert Miss who 
 is an heiress. I know them both, and they have 
 edifying histories.” 
 
 The murmur of tongues and the clattering of tea- 
 spoons ceased as Mowser said this. The two fiddles 
 and the piano finished their tune with a flourish ; the 
 Prince of the Blood re-settled himself in his arm-chair, 
 and the curtain rose upon a cottage scene wherein two 
 members of the Strawberry Club, attired as peasant 
 girls but wearing diamond rings, were scouring milk 
 pails. They began to sing a duet descriptive of the 
 charms of country life, new mown hay, daffodils, and 
 white cows. Then a gallant Colonel disguised as a 
 yokel came in and kissed them both, made them 
 squeal, and danced a jig in their company. His clogs 
 made a fearful row, and every time he brought one 
 foot down with a bang, he exclaimed that he 
 wouldn’t exchange his pigs and cows for a kingdom. 
 
80 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 The young ladies answered by chorussing, “ Who 
 wouldn’t be a milkmaid 1 ” It must have occurred to 
 many men in the room that it would be no bad fun to 
 be a milkman if all milkmaids were fashioned after 
 the model of these two. 
 
VIII. 
 
 MRS. PRAGO AND MISS DAISY CAUNTER. 
 
 The milkmaids’ names were Miss Gaunter and 
 Mrs. Prago, the former one of the richest heiresses in 
 Wales, the latter a lady whose first husband was still 
 alive, but divorced from her. There had been some 
 queer stories in Society about Mrs. Prago. Many people 
 were undecided as to whether they ought to receive her 
 into their houses. Some said of her “ poor thing,” 
 others called her a jade. This evening’s performance 
 at St. Mellion House was, however, to have a decisive 
 influence upon her destiny ; for when it was seen how 
 familiar she was with Miss Caunter, the most strait- 
 laced were fain to own that there could not be much 
 that was wrong in her. 
 
 Miss Daisy Caunter was known to be most par- 
 ticular in the choice of her friends. She had alre ady 
 refused some two dozen offers of marriage, generally 
 alleging as a reason that the connections of her suitors 
 Avere not satisfactory. This may or may not have 
 been the real cause, but anyhow the young lady’s 
 well-known exclusiveness served as an aegis to Mrs. 
 
82 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Prago, who in truth had need of some such guarantee 
 as to her respectability. 
 
 If the things bruited about Mrs. Prago were true, 
 she had simply been bought of her first husband by 
 her second, who had paid a good round sum for the 
 purchase. To be sure her first husband was a sot, a 
 gambler, a fellow who was often drunk, and Mr. Prago 
 was a wealthy Portuguese of good family and fascinat- 
 ing address; but, however that might be, the divorce 
 case of “ Faccy v. Facey ” would probably have been 
 followed up by the intervention of the Queen’s Proctor, 
 had that active functionary at all suspected under 
 what circumstances the double charges of conjugal in- 
 fidelity and cruelty had been concocted against Tom 
 Facey. 
 
 Mowser, who was omniscient, pretended that Tom 
 had received £1 000 down and a pension of £400 a year 
 to allow himself to be abused at Westminster by his 
 wife’s lawyers, and afterwards to betake himself to 
 America, where he now was. He had let the parti- 
 culars of this creditable transaction leak out during a 
 fit of boozing. There was no inducement for him to 
 set foot in England, for lie would have forfeited his 
 allowance, and £400 a year was of more use to him 
 than a wife, as he candidly owned, being a truthful 
 fellow at bottom. 
 
 Who would have guessed, from looking at Mrs. 
 Prago, that she had such an awkward secret as the 
 foregoing at her heart ? No one ; but the human 
 
MES. PEAGO AND MISS DAISY CAUNTEE. 
 
 8:3 
 
 countenance is tlie safest of masks, especially with 
 women. Mrs. Prago danced, laughed, and sang like 
 the blithest of fairy-tale village girls, and Prago sat in 
 his stall stroking his moustache and watching her with 
 evident pride. They were an attached couple, and 
 smiled at one another whenever their eyes met. They 
 had been married three years now, but always went 
 about together as during a honeymoon. Prago could 
 speak English, and belonged to one or two first-rate 
 clubs — a circumstance which had enabled him to pour 
 into influential ears that version of his wife’s first 
 matrimonial career, which he desired to be circulated 
 in Society. He was the most convenient husband a 
 woman in Minna Facey’s position could have married, 
 for he cherished no British prejudices against duelling, 
 and would at once have challenged any man whom 
 he had heard had been talking lightly of his wife’s fame. 
 This was well known, and men were not only cautious 
 themselves, but exhorted their wives to be so likewise. 
 
 In addition to this, Prago had presented his pretty 
 Minna at the Portuguese Court, and had taken her the 
 round of all the Imperial and Eoyal soirees in Europe 
 before bringing her back to be presented at St. James’s 
 as the subject of a foreign state. The presentation at 
 St. James’s, however, never came off, for there is an 
 implacable law at the British Court about divorced 
 ladies, and the Lord Chamberlain was fain to return 
 Mrs. Prago’s 'Cards with a word of polite — nay, almost 
 humble — explanation destined to soothe the husband’s 
 
84 
 
 UNDER THE LEX 8. 
 
 feelings as much as possible. Senor Prago could not 
 call out the Lord Chamberlain, but this rebuff did his 
 wife good rather than otherwise. Compassionate per- 
 sons said it was a shame to taboo a woman who had 
 only availed herself of the laws of the kingdom to get 
 separated from an odious wretch, who would have 
 bullied her to her grave had she remained united to 
 him. If divorce was allowed by the statute book, why 
 should the Sovereign set her face against it ? This 
 query remains unanswered to the present day, but it 
 was the hard case of Mrs. Prago that first started it. 
 
 Mrs. Prago had such large eyes and pretty pouting 
 mouth, spoke with so much softness and bore herself 
 with such grace and dignified modesty, that even those 
 who thought there might be some truth in the stories 
 concerning her, utterly rejected Tom Facey’s hiccough- 
 ing declarations that she had acted like a termagant 
 towards him, and had been the chief cause of his going 
 to the bad. The good-for-naught swore that he had 
 been a promising youngster, till the day, when, being 
 a subaltern in a marching regiment, he had been moved 
 to elope with Minna. She was the daughter of a 
 country doctor, and had fascinated Tom Facey at the 
 time his regiment was quartered in the county town 
 where she and her father resided. 
 
 The young lady had no fortune whatever of her 
 own, and Tom had nothing to live on beyond his pay, 
 so that he was obliged to borrow money upon his 
 commission in order to defray the cost of their honey- 
 
MRS. PRAGO AND MLSS DAISY GAUNTER. 
 
 S5 
 
 moon tour upon the Kliine. Soon afterwards lie 
 sold out, and wished to embark his little capital in 
 some hotel speculation, of which he was to have the 
 management : but Minna was for ever wanting new 
 dresses, hired broughams, and pleasure parties. So 
 long as Tom had a sovereign, she made him spend it 
 
86 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 upon their joint amusement ; and when he was cleaned 
 out, she sulked, wept, and made a martyr of him, till, 
 by hook or crook, he had raised some more cash. 
 
 He tried his hand successively at a dozen things, in 
 any one of which he might have succeeded eventually, 
 had his wife been content to live frugally for a while. 
 He accepted a secretaryship to a club ; wrote for the 
 press ; took a share in a theatre ; started a comic 
 paper and ended by going on the turf as a betting- 
 man. He seemed to have a knack of making money, 
 but his wife had a still greater knack for wheedling it 
 out of him. And, however many guineas he might 
 clear by one of his lucky strokes, they remained no 
 longer in his pockets than water in a sieve. Tom had 
 none of the stiffness that can keep a woman straight ; 
 when his wife abused him for having seduced her into 
 a life of beggary he bent his head and remained out 
 of conceit with himself till he had contrived to bring 
 home one of those hatfuls of money that always set 
 Minna smiling afresh. 
 
 Graceful Minna — charming Minna — she could be 
 the most ravishing of wives when she pleased ! but 
 when things went wrong no wild cat could compare 
 with her for spite. Poor Tom soon broke his health 
 in his efforts to keep her in good temper, then he took 
 to stimulants to recover tone, but recovered nothing 
 except a little pot- valour, which emboldened him to 
 tell his wife some plain truths and then to thrash her 
 for not acknowledging them. These thrashings were 
 
 o o o 
 
MRS. PRAGO AND MISS DAISY GAUNTER. 
 
 87 
 
 renewed once or twice but no more, for Minna learned 
 to defend herself, and Tom occasionally appeared on 
 race-courses with his face slashed all over with weals 
 inflicted by the uxorial riding-whip. His next down- 
 ward step was to be summoned to a police court, 
 charged with committing an assault upon Minna whilst 
 under the influence of drink. He had no distinct 
 recollection of this occurrence, and used to swear that 
 the charge had been concocted to give his wife an 
 excuse for leaving him and setting up a ground for 
 divorce. However, as Minna entered the witness-box 
 with her arm in a sling and one eye black (witli paint 
 said Tom), and as furthermore she gave her evidence 
 with gushes of weeping, saying she was sure she should 
 be murdered if not protected against her husband’s 
 drunken excesses, the magistrate took a serious view 
 of the charge and sent Tom to prison for six months 
 with hard labour. 
 
 What became of Minna whilst her husband was in 
 gaol picking oakum and exercising himself upon the 
 treadmill ? This the wretched convict never learned, 
 but as soon as his time had expired he was met at the 
 very door of the prison by a solicitor, who informed 
 him that a petition had been lodged against him in the 
 Divorce Court and that the already mentioned terms 
 of £1000 down and £400 a year for life would be paid 
 him if he agreed to let the suit go undefended. Tom 
 had not a guinea 'in the world when this handsome 
 offer was made him, and although he was dreadfully 
 
88 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 enraged against his wife, yet as the rejection of it 
 would not have benefited him in the least, he accepted 
 it with more gladness than dignity and received a first 
 instalment of his money on the spot. A few months 
 later the case of “ Facey v. Facey ” came on at West- 
 minster and resulted in a decree nisi ; twelve months 
 later this decree was made absolute, and Tom, who 
 was by that time in New York, read in the papers 
 that three or four weeks afterwards his late wife had 
 become Mrs. Prago. 
 
 Such was the story as told by Tom himself, and 
 Mowser in commenting thereon remarked that “Minna 
 Prago was a finished type of the woman who, after 
 marrying a needy man, repents of her bargain and tries 
 to back out of it. All women of her sort are not, how- 
 ever, so clever as she ; for to drive Tom to drink and 
 then to get him put into a prison, so that all the wrongs 
 seemed to rest on his shoulders, were strokes of true 
 genius. Indeed women who played their cards so 
 adroitly almost deserved to win tin* stakes ; but it was 
 none the less a queerish thing to see this slippery 
 creature airing her modest graces in a polite society as 
 if she had been a persecuted angel.” 
 
 “ It would be well if those odd adventures of hers 
 were all true, but they must be taken cumgro.no,” was 
 our rejoinder. 
 
 %< Ah yes, exactly,” laughed Mowser. “ Enormities 
 are always incredible, so that when a woman kicks 
 over the traces she had better jump clean out of 
 
SCORNFUL DAISY CAUNTER. 
 
 T. R9. 
 
MRS. ERAGO AND MISS DAISY CAUNTER. 
 
 89 
 
 harness at the same time ; plenty will be found to 
 believe that she was never in harness at all. I 
 suppose you apprehend that Prago will be shooting a 
 bullet into you if you don’t accept his own version of 
 Minna’s early life.” 
 
 “ Prago may shoot his bullets where he pleases, but 
 his wife doesn’t certainly look such a loose fish as you 
 describe — nor docs Miss Gaunter ; by-tlie-bye, what’s 
 the scandal about her?” 
 
 “ None : only, like Margaret of Navarre, she might 
 carry at her girdle the dried hearts of a full score of 
 men whom she has taken up and cast aside.” 
 
 “ Are these gallants dead then ? ” 
 
 “ No, I believe one was idiot enough to take lauda- 
 num, but he was purged and recovered, and all the 
 rest are alive and kicking.” 
 
 “ Where’s the harm then ? ” 
 
 “ The harm consists in the awful amount of bad 
 language which Miss Gaunter must have provoked,” 
 answered Mo wser with a grim smile. “Just totalize 
 the number of curses which must have been emitted 
 by men whom she has jilted. You consider that she 
 is an heiress, she owns the third of a county, and the 
 man who marries her will become a magistrate, a 
 county M.P., and anything else he cares to be. The 
 minx is pretty besides and worth winning for her 
 own sake. She plays on the piano, rides straight to 
 hounds, sings comic songs, and draws excellent cari- 
 catures in pencil or chalk. It seems that her favourite 
 
90 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 method of signifying to a suitor that she has had 
 enough of his attentions is to present him with a 
 cartoon in which he is exhibited in a light at once 
 
 O 
 
 mercenary and ridiculous. I know a fellow whom she 
 depicted in the act of scrambling up a greasy pole 
 to reach a cheque book with her name on it.” 
 
MRS. PRAGO AND MISS DAISY CAUNTER. 
 
 91 
 
 “ If she did that often, I should fancy men would 
 all be aware of her tricks, and shun her like a 
 pantheress.” 
 
 “ Oh no ; men hide those facetious drawings, and 
 don't boast about them,” replied Mowser. “ It was 
 only by accident that I saw the one to which I allude, 
 but Daisy Caunter has rejected half-a-dozen other men 
 since that time, and may blow off a dozen more.” 
 
 “ Until she gets tired of the fun and chooses ” 
 
 “ A snob, with the stature of a heavy dragoon and 
 the principles of a card- sharper ; yes, the thing gene- 
 rally ends in that way. Miss Daisy has been spoiled 
 by novels which generally deal with masculine nature 
 as with a blacking-brush ; but she also has the 
 womanly fondness for independence, and knows that 
 wlren she has parted with her liberty she will never 
 enjoy the same social homage as she does now. At 
 present, when she enters a- drawing-room, conversa- 
 tions are for a moment hushed, and then a general 
 hum of flatteries arise, which must tickle her ears like 
 a spring breeze. There is scarcely anything that she 
 might not do with the certainty of being absolved by 
 her gold ; and that freak of hers in taking up Mrs. 
 Prago, as she is doing, is only an outburst of her 
 will to try her power over Society by every possible 
 methods, even those which will earn her a character 
 for eccentricity.” 
 
 “ Why not attribute her patronage of Mrs. Prago 
 to more charitable motives ? ” 
 
92 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 “ Because it would be absurd to do so,” responded 
 Mowser. “ Daisy Gaunter likes to show that she has 
 a will of her own. She has not yet reached the phase 
 of strong-mindedness ; but she is sick with hum-drum 
 things, and craves for sensations. She is in the state 
 of mind for detesting shams, standing up for the 
 weak, doing battle against prejudices. She will drop 
 Mrs. Prago some day as capriciously as she has taken 
 her up ; for, after she has pushed eccentricity to the 
 length of marrying a man whose name, morals, and 
 manners will make Society gape, she will feel the 
 need of redeeming her character. These pert heiresses 
 who spend their first years of freedom in treading 
 upon everybody’s toes, have to pass their after-lives 
 in contriving that everybody shall not stamp upon 
 their husband. Daisy is a despot now ; when she 
 has a wedding-ring on her finger she will turn slave.” 
 
 “ Is that so sure ? She looks too sharp a girl to 
 make a silly choice.” 
 
 “Sharpness has nothing to do with choosing in 
 these cases,” said Mowser. “If Daisy Caunter won’t 
 content herself with a loose husband, she’ll have to go 
 without, for she won’t get any decent man to court 
 her, for fear of being snubbed. Though she has more 
 fellows dangling after her now than ever, they are all 
 semi-shady people ; and if she is herself blind to this 
 fact, that only proves how a girl’s perceptions get 
 blunted when she exercises them amiss. An heiress 
 starts with the notion that every man who courts her 
 
DAISY CAUNTER AND HER CROWD OF ADMIRERS, 
 
MRS. PRAGO AND MISS DAISY GAUNTER. 
 
 93 
 
 has an eye to her money ; she is often wrong, but she 
 won’t admit it, and goes on rejecting one man after 
 another, till all who have any self-respect keep aloof 
 from her. Those who remain in the field are the 
 weeds and tares ; and when she eventually resigns 
 herself to making a choice, her selection must perforce 
 be made from among these.” 
 
 The foregoing remarks of Mowsers had been uttered 
 in a low tone, but as he had raised his voice a little 
 towards the end, he caused a fidgety old gentleman 
 near us to cry “ Hush ! ” This made him lapse into 
 silence, and he said no more until the curtain had 
 fallen on the second Act of the Charade. We did not 
 stay for the third Act, for these parties of the Straw- 
 berry Club were managed on the principle of packing- 
 spectators as close as sardines, and the amusement of 
 hearing pretty women sing doggerel almost as well, or 
 badly, as real actresses, was not sufficient compensation 
 for the discomfort of being squeezed flat in corners. 
 We retired while the Prince of the Blood was cracking 
 his gloves in applauding Mrs. Prago and Miss Can n ter, 
 who had been called before the curtain : others retired 
 with us, and thus it befell that as we were slipping on 
 our overcoats in the cloak-room, a lady passed near us 
 and heard Mowser ejaculate : “ Well, have you seen 
 enough Jilts this evening ? I think if we had over- 
 hauled the antecedents of every woman in the room 
 we could have found enough to place each one in 
 that category.” 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
94 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 “ Oil Mr. Mowser, how can you ! ” laughed the lady, 
 who was a well-looking person of about thirty, with a 
 dimpling chin and hazel eyes ; and she shook her 
 fan at the misogynist. 
 
 “ Mrs. Bussel — I beg pardon,” said Mowser, redden- 
 ing a little. “ I had no notion ” 
 
 “ I hope not,” she interrupted good humouredly ; 
 “ what you have just said was not complimentary 
 enough to be spoken to one's face.” 
 
 “ It didn’t apply to you at all events.” 
 
 “ How do you know ? I have perhaps jilted a good 
 many men in my time.” 
 
 “ I shouldn't wonder if you had,” he laughed as he 
 helped her to put on her cloak. “ With pretty women 
 it’s always a case of many being called, and but few 
 chosen.” 
 
 “ Only one chosen, if you please,” remarked Mrs. 
 Bussel. “ A woman can only choose her husband, and 
 then, I suppose, all the other men claim the right to 
 say they have been jilted.” 
 
 She was in her brougham by this time, for Mowser 
 had escorted her out. He bowed, saw her off, and 
 returned chuckling : “ That’s Mrs. Bussel, a widow, 
 who owns Lonestone in my county — one of the most 
 consummate fishers of men who ever wore weeds.” 
 
 “ She doesn’t wear weeds.” 
 
 “ No : that’s only a figure of speech, but she’s a 
 widow and rich, and I was once fool enough to offer 
 her my empty hand, which she refused.” 
 
MRS. PRAGO AND MISS DAISY CAUNTER. 
 
 95 
 
 “ Not simply because it was empty, we may pre- 
 sume. ” 
 
 “ I cion t know for what other reason then/’ replied 
 Mowser innocently, as he put up the collar of his coat. 
 “ It’s a dry moonlight night — shall we walk ? I’ll 
 tell you as we go along something about this woman — 
 and mighty glad lam that she didn’t take me.” 
 
 He seemed to speak what he felt. We lit our 
 cigars, and as we strolled along over the white pave- 
 ments towards Club-land, Mowser enabled us to add 
 one more to our list of Jilts by his description of 
 Mrs. Bussel. 
 
 G 2 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 
 
 Mrs. Bussel did not often come to London, but 
 lived in so-called retirement in her late husband’s 
 country house at Lonestone. Lonestone was three 
 miles from its post-town — a little market borough, 
 very gay during its race-week, and dull the rest of the 
 year. It was seven miles from a garrison town which 
 had also a reputation for being fairly quiet. On the 
 whole Mrs. Bussel resided in a pretty, agreeable 
 neighbourhood, and took advantage of all the recrea- 
 tions it afforded. 
 
 For about ten miles round her house, the villages 
 were made up of three or four hamlets, each with 
 its gentleman’s seat ; and the fat grey horses and 
 fat grey coachman were well aware that the 
 length of their buxom mistress’s visiting list 
 would not disgrace a dweller in the metropolis. 
 December and January were passed on the South 
 Coast for fear of floods : in February the return 
 journey was made via London, which implied a few 
 visits and suggested an opportunity for asking a 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 
 
 97 
 
 few friends to find tlieir way to Lonestone. It was 
 too big for Mrs. Bussel, but one must live somewhere ; 
 as she said : “ It was rather a drag on her powers, look- 
 ing after men-servants, and trying to understand what 
 animals want ; but her gentlemen friends were very 
 
 kind, only perhaps they did not like to tell her all 
 they thought, and of course they could not take much 
 real interest in a place not their own.” From such 
 sayings hearers were soon led to infer that Lonestone 
 wanted a master, and that Mrs. Bussel did so too. 
 
 All through the summer the house looked like a 
 bower, with its garden beds in full bloom, and its 
 
98 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 drawing-rooms fragrant with fresli-cut flowers. Little 
 Mabel Wicks, recently brought out, came and stayed 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 
 
 99 
 
 a good deal there. — “ No relation, you know, only a 
 family friend, and I must find the dear girl some 
 amusement/’ said the widow ; and on this pretence 
 many a cheerful party was given at Lonestone. Mrs. 
 Bussel w r as very fond of having as she said “ a few 
 quiet guests,” to dine with her — “just the clergyman 
 and the doctor (who were both bachelors), and poor 
 dear Willie Blayer. Dear me, though, I keep forget- 
 ting that I must not call him by his Christian name 
 now as I did when we made hay together ! ” Willie, 
 as the widow styled him, was a native of the county, 
 and had harboured intentions of going into the Line, 
 but somehow settled into the yeomanry instead, and 
 devoted himself to shooting all through the winter, and 
 punt-fishing during the summer, as if he had received 
 a standing commission from Providence to slay 
 members of the brute creation in all weathers. 
 
 Mrs. Bussel evidently liked Willie, but she liked 
 the doctor and clergyman too, and could not make 
 up her mind which she preferred. She flirted with 
 all three and by so doing incurred the implacable 
 detestation of the parson’s two sisters, who lived 
 with their brother and never knew on what foot 
 to dance because of the uncertainty in their pro- 
 spects engendered by the widow’s goings on. If 
 the Revd. Septimus Dulcet married Mrs. Bussel he 
 would make over his patrimony to his sisters and they 
 would go to live at Bath. That was tacitly settled — 
 not that the Misses Dulcet wished to leave their 
 
100 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 brother, but because they felt they could not live 
 under the same roof as “ that woman.” More than 
 once they urged their brother to push on his suit with 
 vigour, so that they might know to what fate they 
 were to be consigned — but he pleaded for time. He 
 was a timid man and Mrs. Bussel so very — very much 
 superior to him, as he modestly confessed. However 
 he did take heart of grace, and one Sunday as the 
 widow was complimenting him upon an excellent 
 sermon he had preached “ and which made her feel 
 that he was such a good man,” he popped the question 
 — and was refused. 
 
 Mrs. Bussel did not mean to pain him, and perhaps 
 the word “ yes ” trembled on her lips, instead of “ no ; ” 
 but she spoke the negative monosyllable because at the 
 moment of parting with her liberty she hesitated, like 
 a school-girl standing upon the brink of a cold bath in 
 winter. The parson was terribly grieved. He held 
 a white rose, which he had intended offering at the 
 critical moment ; but he frittered its petals on to 
 the earth, and made his case worse by sighing with a 
 sorrowful abstraction. Widows must be stormed, not 
 besieged. The Revd. Septimus, who was verging on 
 forty, looked mean and small in the character of a 
 dismal suitor ; and Mrs. Bussel could hardly repine 
 for not having entrusted her hand to a man who 
 showed so little spirit in struggling for it. However, 
 when the two Misses Dulcet heard of what had 
 happened their indignation was something to see. It 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 101 
 
 was only by piteous supplications that their brother 
 persuaded them not to make themselves ridiculous by 
 cutting the woman who had shown such effrontery — 
 such heartlessness — such — such everything that wrs 
 unladylike and shocking. 
 
 The doctor played his cards more cleverly with the 
 widow, and was nearer to succeeding. He was a 
 droll person ; had travelled a good deal, and seemed 
 at home everywhere. He understood the widow’s 
 health, and prescribed her only such things as she 
 liked. He paid her those blunt 'compliments which 
 can come from a medical man without sounding like 
 flatteries. She had a splendid organization, a remark- 
 able intellectual development, a temperament which 
 offered the happiest admixture of the nervous and 
 sanguine without a particle of the bilious. Her pulses 
 were regular as clockwork ; her breathing light and 
 pure as a child’s. He had never seen any woman 
 with such limpid eyes, and such a beautiful skin. 
 What a pity it was that she had no children — the boys 
 would have been strong as young lions, and the girls 
 perfect little angels for beauty. 
 
 All this was delightful ; and as the widow had a 
 tendency to plumpness, it could not but flatter her 
 vastly to see this tendency ignored by her able doctor, 
 who, far from prohibiting pastry, butter, porter and 
 such other things as the plump do hanker after, main- 
 tained on the contrary that her robust health required 
 rich feeding. Of a truth, there were days when, holding 
 
102 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 the widow’s white and well rounded wrist to feel her 
 pulse, the doctor might have made it his for ever by 
 stooping to press a kiss on it; but his too great caution 
 withheld him from compromising himself, and conse- 
 quently made him lose many a propitious occasion. He 
 could never forget that Mrs. Bussel was his best patient, 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 
 
 ] 03 
 
 and that if he were rejected by her they might possibly 
 quarrel, which would lose him a valuable connection. 
 The widow on her side often balanced in her mind the 
 disadvantages of becoming a doctors wife. If he 
 adhered to his practice he would be called out at all 
 sorts of unseasonable night hours. If he gave it up, 
 what would he do with that abundant stock of energy 
 which was always impelling him to frisk about and 
 chatter ? He knew nothing of agriculture, and so 
 would be of little use in managing the estate. If he 
 stayed in-doors and busied himself about household 
 matters, he might become a fidget. 
 
 Nevertheless, when Mrs. Bussel eventually refused 
 the doctor, it was only because he chose his time 
 badly. He committed the sovereign imprudence of pro- 
 posing to her while she had a headache, and whilst he 
 himself looked much greyer and harder than usual, 
 owing to a drive through a black frost. It suddenly 
 struck the widow that her amiable physician was 
 getting to be quite an old man, and that possibly a great 
 deal of her time would have to be spent in nursing 
 him. An untoward allusion of his to some incipient 
 rheumatics which made him anxious for rest, sealed 
 his fate and made Mrs-. Bussel reject his offer with a 
 laugh, saying she was sure he was only joking. 
 
 There remained the young squire, who devoted him- 
 self to shooting and fishing ; but Willie Blayer had not 
 the qualities which moneyed widows are prone to snap. 
 He went little into Society, preferred the company of 
 
104 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 his clogs to that of women, and would miss an appoint- 
 ment to dinner for the sake of having a try at the 
 gudgeon and perch in a pelting rain. His pockets 
 were always full of fishing-tackle, and he used to bring, 
 unconsciously, from his kennels squads of alert little 
 insects, which would dart unseen from his clothes on to 
 those of persons whom he honoured with his visits. 
 Then too, Willie was fonder of beer and pipes than 
 beseemed a lover, and it was rather a drawback than 
 an advantage to him that he was heir to an entailed 
 estate and had no need to work for his living. 
 
 Mrs. Bussel did not want a rich husband. One of 
 the pleasures which she hoped to derive from a second 
 marriage was that of enriching some accomplished man 
 who but for her would never have enjoyed otium cum 
 dignitate. If she had married Willie Blayer, that 
 agreeable cub would be no better off than he was now, 
 and would have no occasion to feel that he was much 
 indebted to her. These reflections began to force 
 themselves on the widow so soon as she saw that 
 Willie was paying her his court, but doing so in such 
 a languid fashion as to suggest that it was immaterial 
 to him whether he were accepted or not, so long as her 
 preserves remained open to him every September and 
 October. 
 
 Mrs. Bussel did not fancy being wooed in this 
 fashion. She thought to fillip the young squire's 
 gallantry by telling him that a man ought to have 
 some purpose in life, and that she for her part would 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 
 
 105 
 
 never marry one who had not distinguished himself in 
 some way — the which remark, making Willie shy as 
 a November partridge, caused him to seal his lips for 
 evermore on the question of matrimony. In vain did 
 the nettled widow seek to draw him into a new offer : 
 he would not be drawn. He continued with a pro- 
 voking coolness to shoot her covers : he brought her 
 
106 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 presents of fish, and one birthday gave her a poodle- 
 pup as a token of his esteem ; but beyond these lines 
 of conventional amity he would no more trespass than 
 a poacher on to grounds where man-traps are set up. 
 
 All this was very disheartening, and the worst part 
 of the matter was that Mrs. Bussel, having exhausted 
 her list of selections by refusing the three most eligible 
 men in her neighbourhood, got noted as a flirt and 
 Jilt far and wide. The doctor, the parson, and the 
 latter’s two sisters all bit up her fame with little pecks, 
 and were joined by a whole covey of women who 
 were as jealous of the widow’s charms as of the 
 luxuries of her pretty estate of Lonestone. Mrs. 
 Bussel began to feel conscious of a decline of the 
 public regard for her : just as though the atmosphere 
 around her had grown chilly. She got men to accept 
 her invitations, but they evinced a disinclination to 
 be left alone in her company. At the county 
 assemblies, at magistrates’ meetings, and at hunting 
 meets it had grown a standing joke to ask : “ Who’ll 
 marry Mrs. Bussel ? ” — and men were positively afraid 
 to get entrapped in her toils, lest they should have to 
 encounter the chaff of a whole county for having made 
 a mercenary match. 
 
 A chatter-box maid of the widow’s carried the 
 rumour of these abominable pleasantries to her mistress, 
 and the effect upon Mrs. Bussel was as of a bucket of 
 iced water dashed upon her head. Nothing but a 
 season in London and a triumphant return with a 
 
MRS. BUSSELL CHAPERONES MISS MABEL WICKS. 
 
 I. 107. 
 
A WIDOW WITH A NICE LITTLE ESTATE. 107 
 
 husband culled from among the fine fieur of Society 
 was capable of restoring her to her pedestal. She felt 
 this at once and acted upon the resolution without a 
 moment’s delay. It was spring. A fuller crimson had 
 come upon the robins’ breasts, the wanton lapwings were 
 getting themselves other crests, and the Morning Post 
 was filled with columns of “ Fashionable Arrange- 
 ments,” extending to the end of July. Mrs. Bussel 
 packed her trunks, and accompanied by her young 
 friend Mabel Wicks, to whom she meant to act as 
 chaperone, came to London bent on the same errand as 
 Diogenes: namely, to find an honest man. She went 
 a good deal into Society with her young charge and 
 had been absorbed in her quest for a couple of months 
 or so, when Mowser and ourselves had the pleasure of 
 meeting her at St. Mellion House. 
 
 Mowser could not be drawn into confessing where 
 and when his own love passages with Mrs. Bussel had 
 occurred. As they had ended in discomfiture he 
 seemed sore upon the subject, and confined himself to 
 saying “ that he had been deucedly ill used, as usual.” 
 However, a few days later, chancing to fall in with 
 him at a garden party, we learned from him that the 
 fair owner of Lonestone had at last found a husband. 
 That accounted for her good humour on the evening 
 when she had exchanged jokes with him about jilting. 
 She had been at that very moment on the eve of 
 betrothal to a barrister in first-rate practice, who was 
 on the high-road to a judgeship or the post of attorney- 
 
108 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 general. Mowser opined that lie was going to many 
 for the sake of getting into Parliament through her 
 landed influence, lie was only using her as a stepping- 
 stone. 
 
 “ Say rather a stepping-cushion, and a pretty soft 
 one/’ was our laughing remark. 
 
 3 o o 
 
 “ Oh, the luck is all on her side,” said Mowser, in a 
 pooh-poohing tone ; “ but Jilts are lucky, somehow. I 
 only wish Mrs. Bussel’s husband joy of his bargain.” 
 
 “ Depend upon it he won’t find the grapes so sour 
 as you do, Mowser.” 
 
 “ Well, my teeth are on edge, I confess,” answered 
 the misogynist ; “ nor can 1 find any of that sweetness in 
 women of which poets boast.’’ 
 
 “You should turn poet yourself, Mowser, and 
 write a satire against them.” 
 
 “ I have rhymed an ode in my contumely of the 
 entire sex, and will show it you if you like.” 
 
 “ Pray do, instanter.” 
 
 “No, not now, by-and-by. There is the charming 
 Miss Boultby and the equally seductive Mrs. Rippen- 
 liam waiting for you to play croquet with them. Go 
 and be charmed, whilst I move to the refreshment 
 tent.” 
 
X. 
 
 AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 We were at a garden party on the banks of the 
 Thames at Twickenham, and our hostesses were again 
 the members of the Strawberry Club, who had hired a 
 villa in these parts for the whole season, and gave al 
 fresco entertainments in its grounds when the weather 
 was fine. The amusements were lawn tennis, croquet 
 bowls and tea-drinking. When dusk came on, the 
 gardens were lit up by the moon, or failing that by an 
 electric light which shone like it. Then the Strawberry 
 patronesses and their guests had the choice of dining 
 in flowered arbours, or in a sumptuous dining-hall 
 overlooking the lawn. 
 
 Dinner hour was still far off and we played a game 
 of croquet with Miss Boultby and Mrs. Rippenham, 
 who were sisters. They were a blithe-hearted pair, 
 and pleased one by an absence of all affectation. They 
 had large circling eyes full of innocency, and lips that 
 were always ready to smile. They talked much about 
 men, and little of women, which is a sign of charity, 
 for women as a rule only allude to their own sex to 
 abuse it. They knew all about the prowess of this 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 H 
 
no 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 one and that at cricket, in the saddle, or with the 
 gun. They could count all the good waltzers in 
 London on their fingers : and would laugh outright in 
 mentioning the foibles of such and such a man whose 
 head turned with dancing, or who shirked a five- 
 barred gate with the hounds, or straggled about un- 
 steadily on the ice — or who was in fact a “muff” in 
 any way. 
 
 They passed most of their time in witnessing 
 athletic amusements. They could themselves swim, 
 ride like Amazons, and even bring down a woodcock 
 on the wing. These were their equalities, but in other 
 respects they were not intellectual sisters, and cared 
 not a hair-pin for liigh-art, poetry, or music — other 
 than dance music and the marches of military bands. 
 They read sporting novels and turf newspapers. They 
 pleaded guilty to not knowing how to draw flowers or 
 talk French. The English they spoke was terse, 
 vigorous Anglo-Saxon — spiced rather than adulterated 
 with bits of hunting-field slang, but quite exempt from 
 languid Society embellishments. They were never 
 caught saying that a thing was “ quite too nice.” 
 
 One distinguishing peculiarity in these amiable 
 beauties was, that they accounted no man love-worthy 
 because of the money he possessed. They made fun of 
 Lords as of the humbler mortals of creation. They 
 loathed cotton lords, and retired meat-salesmen who 
 sought to cut a figure in Society, and had such a 
 general contempt for “ money bags,” as to think it an 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. Ill 
 
 additional merit in a man, if, being a pleasant fellow, 
 he had empty pockets. The reason of all this was that 
 Mrs. Rippenham had originally jilted a banker to 
 marry a “detrimental” dragoon, and had been rewarded 
 by a thumping legacy from an aunt who admired her 
 pluck in marrying for love against parental advice. 
 
 Such things do not happen every day, but Mrs. 
 Rippenham had drawn from her good luck the moral 
 that honesty is the best policy in love and in other 
 
 matters, and she had inculcated the same on her 
 sister. Polly Boultby, who was scarce turned eighteen. 
 
112 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 desired nothing better than to believe so consoling an 
 axiom. She lived under her sisters roof, was chaperoned 
 by her in society, and received daily encouragements 
 from her brother-in-law to cast her eyes about for a 
 man she liked, then to ticket him “ Sold” and appro- 
 priate him. This joke used to make them all laugh 
 every morning at breakfast. While cracking his egg 
 Captain Rippenham used to say : “ Well, sister Poll, 
 have you found your phoenix yet \ ” to which Polly 
 Boultby would answer saucily : “ A phoenix isn’t 
 necessary, Dick — else Jenny would never have mar- 
 ried you!’ 
 
 The sincerest misogynist — if any of that brood be 
 sincere — must have felt his prejudices thaw at the 
 contact with these unconventional sisters enjoying 
 their game of croquet like school girls, and quite 
 unabashed by the circle of admiring men who stood 
 around muttering audible eulogies on their play. 
 Jenny Rippenham had a science all her own for 
 driving her ball through the hoops by a series of 
 steady matronly strokes ; Polly Boultby was better at 
 sending an adversary’s ball bounding far over the 
 lawn. There was a whole volume of the poetry of 
 motion in the way in which she raised her skirts a 
 little in order to disengage her foot, poised her mallet, 
 and with a him clicking stroke successfully achieved 
 her “ croquet.” 
 
 She laughed gleefully every time she got an oppor- 
 tunity of doing this. Certes, she was none of your 
 
POLLY BOULTBY AT A CROQUET PARTY. 
 
 I. 112. 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 113 
 
 bread-and-milk misses who are afraid to disturb the 
 symmetry of their silken summer costumes by over 
 exertion ; or who feel afraid to humiliate a man too 
 much by beating him markedly at a game of skill. It 
 is common enough, by-the-bye, to see a man seriously 
 annoyed at having the shine taken out of him by a 
 girl. Men like to show courtesy by letting women 
 have the victory in garden games ; they do not always 
 care to see them take it by sheer superiority, as Polly 
 Boultby did. There was not a country parson who 
 could match the joyous girl with the mallet ; and she 
 could vanquish mere amateurs so thoroughly that they 
 looked foolish. But their foolishness gave her no more 
 concern than their compliments. She was just a chip 
 of the same fine-grained block as her sister, who had 
 jilted a millionaire young banker to marry Dick 
 Rippenham, who at that time had very little beyond 
 his pay. 
 
 Jilting presupposes amatory encouragements ; how 
 came it then that Jenny Boultby, having first en- 
 couraged the banker — nay, plighted her troth to him, 
 if rumours were true — ended by turning her back to 
 him, although he was neither old nor churlish ? Possi- 
 bly Jenny cared little for money, and that was why 
 Fortune, by a humorous revenge, afterwards threw a 
 whole shower of it into her lap. She could not have 
 been a common-place girl, for the banker had been 
 making himself agreeable to her for months before she 
 met Dick Rippenham. It was not therefore as though 
 
114 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 she had known this dragoon from childhood, and 
 cherished him for “auld king syne." They two met 
 at a garrison ball, where they danced twice under the 
 young banker's eyes — “And oh, how he waltzed ! ” said 
 Jenny afterwards to her sister. Another ball came 
 not long after, and they waltzed again ; then followed 
 a carpet dance somewhere, and the spell was made 
 perfect. 
 
 Dick Rippenham proposed during a stand-up 
 supper, whilst he held a plate out of which Jenny 
 was eating raised pie, and her answer was to look up 
 at him without lettinsf ero her knife and fork, and to 
 say : “ 0, how shall I manage about Mr. Bullion ? 
 Papa and mamma will be so angry if I throw him 
 over." — “ Never mind, I'll make it all right with him, 
 and with them too, if I can. The only drawback is 
 that I haven't a penny." — “ Nor have I," said Jenny. 
 — “ I suppose we shall rub along somehow," rejoined 
 Dick, laughing. — “ I’ll do my best," was Jenny's 
 answer. — And so the compact was sealed soon after in 
 a dark corner of the conservatory, where Dick gave 
 his charmer a kiss, and asked her to return it — which 
 she did, nothing loth. 
 
 It is thus not an universal rule that girls can always 
 be caught by a golden hook. There are some excep- 
 tions — many exceptions ; and, indeed, feminine natures 
 seem to have been cast on purpose by Providence in 
 such diverse moulds that man shall never be able to 
 base any general theories on them. If there are girls 
 
JENNY BOULTBY AND CAPTAIN RIPPENHAM AT THE GARRISON BALL. 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 115 
 
 to whom poverty seems a bleak house, there are others 
 to whom it has no terrors, for they trust in their 
 powers to make it tolerable. Jenny Boultby would 
 not have minded any of the domestic inconveniences 
 from which some other of the ladies whom we have 
 sketched recoiled. She would have stitched and 
 cooked if need be, and made suet dumplings taste 
 good by her smiles in serving them. She was full of 
 little helpful devices to make pence do double duty, 
 and her husband looked back to the time before her 
 
116 
 
 UNDER TJIE LENS, 
 
 aunt’s legacy had arrived as the happiest in their 
 married life. 
 
 She wore no trailing gowns in those days, nor five- 
 
 guinea bonnets. She consented to travel in third 
 class carriages, and rather liked it because of the odd 
 fellow-passengers whom she was enabled to study. 
 She stinted herself of gloves that her husband might 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 117 
 
 buy cigars, and lie clandestinely saved up his cigar 
 money to buy her presents. On fine evenings they 
 used to go out arm in arm and look into the shop 
 windows, wondering what things they would buy if 
 they were rich ; and when it rained they sat at home, 
 Dick reading the paper aloud, while Jenny did some 
 piece of needle-work, and made comments. There 
 had never been an hour’s tiff between them ; never a 
 secret which one kept from the other. Jenny used to 
 open Dick’s letters if he were not at home when the 
 postman came ; and she never wrote to either parent 
 or school-friend without reading him what she had 
 written. The money they inherited added to the 
 luxuries of their life, but not to their happiness ; for 
 they had everything that they wished for in the con- 
 sciousness that they were all in all to each other, and 
 had truly got wedded — as so many do not — for better 
 or worse, for richer or poorer. All who knew them 
 were freshened by the sight of their pleasant, trustful 
 partnership, and said without exception, that while 
 Dick was a lucky fellow, Jenny was not the less a 
 lucky girl. 
 
 So we, too, thought, as we watched them side by 
 side during this game of croquet, while Polly Boultby 
 disposed of our ball in her usual manner by sending it 
 to goodness knows where. But presently the evening 
 shadows overtook us, and the game had to be aban- 
 doned. The musical chinking of forks and spoons in 
 the dining arbours announced that the convivial hour 
 
118 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 was approaching, and we made a move towards the 
 villa. Just then the irrepressible Mowser joined us, 
 and we asked him in a whisper what he thought of 
 Poll Boultby \ He thought a good deal about her. 
 The damsel did not overhear the cordial things he 
 said in acknowledgment of her fascinating powers, 
 else she might have concluded that such homage 
 coming from a professed contemner of the sex had 
 something too personal in it. She would have been 
 wrong, though, for Mowser s praise was by no means 
 unrestricted. 
 
 Whilst we were in the lavatory splashing our hands 
 in basins deep as wine-vats he launched into one of 
 his paradoxes on the eternal danger of trusting to 
 appearances in women. Their hearts were weather- 
 cocks and veered about with every passing wind. To- 
 day Jenny Kippenham and her sister were worshippers 
 of the beef and muscle order of mankind — shindy 
 churl who developed their biceps at the expense of 
 their brains — but how would it be in ten years time ? 
 If Mrs. Rippenham became a widow she would not 
 choose her second husband from among the athletes, 
 but give herself to some book- worm who would speak 
 a language new to her ears and irresistible from its 
 novelty. As to Polly, she had no doubt, in her heart 
 of hearts, already taken a surfeit of the amusements 
 she affected to love and was preparing to startle her 
 family by jilting half a dozen batsmen, polo-players, 
 dead shots, and steeple-chasers. There would be 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 119 
 
 nothing odd if she married a curate or one of those 
 cads who write funeral odes for the comic papers. 
 
 “ If that be your idea, Mowser, why don’t you put 
 yourself on the ranks ? ” we asked, rubbing our hands 
 cheerfully on a huckaback. “ Poll Boultby would make 
 you a capital wife. Her cheerfulness would be a set- 
 off against your melancholy.” 
 
 “ I’m not melancholy a bit,” protested Mowser. “ A 
 man who has been frequently jilted gets bronzed. 
 There isn’t a woman alive who could make me feel a 
 pang now.” 
 
 “ That’s a bit of brag, isn’t it ? But you have never 
 yet explained how you came to be so often jilted ; 
 for after all you are a decent fellow.” 
 
 “And good looking, and rich, having two coats,” 
 laughed Mowser quoting Dogberry. “Go on; when 
 you’ve painted me couleur tie rose throw on some ochre 
 for relief.” 
 
 “Oh yes; you’ve some yellow in you too. You 
 look at women with such a jaundiced eye that they 
 can’t but see you’re over-critical, and that women 
 don’t like. Plus onjuge moins on aime .” 
 
 “ I deny being over-critical. "When I used to fall 
 in love I gave my sweethearts credit for quantities of 
 perfections they had not got. I was the very image 
 of Cupid with a handkerchief tied over my eyes.” 
 “Well, that’s about the same thing as being too 
 critical ; for if you begin by transforming a woman into 
 a goddess she may dread the day when, the hand- 
 
120 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 kerchief having fallen off, sudden disenchantment may 
 kill love. Why not take women as you find ’em ?” 
 
 “ I do and have always found them Flirts and Jilts.” 
 “ Try again.” 
 
 “ No : ten times bitten — once shjV J replied the 
 mysogynist, furbishing his face with a towel. Then 
 going to his coat, which hung on a peg, he extracted 
 from its tail-pocket a folded paper. “ See here,” said 
 he. “ Here’s that little bit of rhyme of which I spoke to 
 you. It sums up my experiences of the sex, which is 
 adorned by Lady Try on and Mrs. Prago, Miss Caunter 
 and Mrs Bussel. Read and be warned.” 
 
 We obediently unfolded the paper and read : — 
 
 Fra forty, and never was spliced : 
 
 Pray what do you think is the reason ? 
 
 The hearts of the women are iced ; 
 
 They’re made up of witch’ry and treason. 
 
 I was twelve when I courted Kate Spence : 
 
 To this day at her mention I writhe, oh ! 
 
 My love for the maid was intense ; 
 
 But she left me for Charley Bolitho. 
 
 At twenty I spooned Jenny Dunn ; 
 
 I still have her hair in a locket : 
 
 She allowed that I’d faith, health, and fun ; 
 
 But there was not enough in my pocket. 
 
 I vowed not to love any more, 
 
 And for three years my promise I kept, sir ; 
 
 But before I was quite twenty-four, 
 
 Again in love’s meshes I’d stepped, sir. 
 
AN UNMERCENARY PAIR OF JILTS. 
 
 121 
 
 Lily Haggis has broken my peace ; 
 
 Polly Round on my heart put a blister ; 
 
 I’ve been caught by a general’s niece, 
 
 And hooked by an adjutant’s sister. 
 
 Four daughters of merchants and clerks. 
 
 Four daughters of priests and attorneys, 
 
 With their bright eyes have kindled the sparks 
 That have flamed in my heart like a furnace. 
 
 Now I live in a cottage and dig, 
 
 And have no matrimonial fetters ; 
 
 And I’m wearing a curly white w'ig, 
 
 All made up of shreds of love-letters. 
 
 So I swear that I’ll never be spliced, 
 
 And I think you’ll admit I’ve good reason ; 
 
 For the hearts of the women are iced, 
 
 And their witch’ry’s a mask for their treason. 
 
ADVENTURERS AND ADVENTURESSES. 
 
I. 
 
 OF THE GENUS GENERALLY. 
 
 ERY circle of London Society 
 has its Adventurers of both 
 sexes who live by preying upon 
 people of a credulous turn. Let 
 any man having a large number 
 of acquaintances reflect a mo- 
 ment, and if he be in the least 
 observant, he will perceive that 
 one or two of them are not 
 precisely as they should be. There is a something 
 about them which makes them different from other 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 I 
 
126 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 people. They have interesting stories to tell about 
 themselves, they are brilliant talkers, uncommonly 
 amiable, full of plans or expectations. They have 
 no recognised means of livelihood — neither estates, 
 nor stocks, nor shares ; no salaries or pensions — 
 but they are going to get a good deal of money at 
 some time or other, through legacies, or the realization 
 of important and strictly honest financial schemes. 
 Meanwhile, they live in free style, and are known to 
 be anxious to contract small loans, bearing high inte- 
 rest, and secured by their words of honour. It never 
 astonishes the observant man when he hears that 
 these interesting persons have exploded. 
 
 But all men are not observant and suspicious, so 
 that the more clever Adventurers generally carry off a 
 good deal of plunder when they vanish from the scene 
 of their brief triumphs. For their careers as Adven- 
 turers are always brief. They live at such a pace that 
 they must come either to fortune or to disgrace 
 quickly. In the former case they cease to be Adven- 
 turers, and join the ranks of the very elite of creation 
 — those who have succeeded in life by their own 
 talents, and for whom everyone has an admiring word 
 to say ; in the latter event their fall may carry them 
 downwards to any depths. It may be remarked that 
 the difference between success and failure is often the 
 result of the merest chance. The most trifling 
 accident, such as a careless act, an untruth prematurely 
 detected, a whisper from someone whose suspicions 
 
OF THE GENUS GENERALLY. 
 
 127 
 
 have been excited, has brought the Adventurer to the 
 ground just as he or she was about to soar success- 
 fully. 
 
 It is much easier for a man to succeed in adventur- 
 ing than it is for a woman. Woman’s sphere of opera- 
 tion is limited. It contains a few concentric circles on 
 one or other of which she must always turn ; and the 
 risks which she runs of being stopped before she has 
 completed her rounds are many. Man’s range is 
 practically unlimited, and the chances of his success or 
 failure are pretty evenly balanced. 
 
 Adventurers form an innumerable host, if one 
 reckons in their ranks all the men who start in life 
 with no assured means of income, and who have to 
 make a path to fortune for themselves by their unaided 
 wits. But we are chiefly concerned here with Adven- 
 turers of the more unscrupulous species. To be sure 
 they are all, more or less, unscrupulous ; but there is 
 a difference bet ween the Adventurer who only aims at 
 living in decent comfort, and the one who aspires to 
 win wealth, or a commanding position rapidly. The 
 former’s objects are perfectly legitimate, and the 
 latter’s are generally held to be so when he has 
 attained them ; but not when he fails. In this 
 event, the brilliant Adventurer is always regarded as 
 the sorriest of rogues. 
 
II. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 Nine-tenths of the 
 younger sons of our aristo- 
 cracy may be said to be 
 Mat r i m on ial Advent ur ers . 
 
 They have been brought up 
 to enjoy the same luxuries as 
 cider sons, and if they marry 
 at all, they must find wives 
 who can maintain them in 
 suitable ease and dignity. 
 The lion. Sylvan Keane- 
 Forrester, the Earl of Old- 
 moors fifth son, had these 
 maxims impressed upon him 
 by a sagacious mother almost 
 as soon as he could walk. 
 He was his mother’s darling, 
 and he grew up to be the 
 handsomest of his well- 
 favoured family. He went 
 to Eton, and then into the Guards. His father allowed 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 129 
 
 him £500 a year, and promised to leave him 
 that income by will ; but added that he could do 
 no more, for his eldest son, Lord Chevy chase, was a 
 very expensive young man to keep. Sylvan was quite 
 aware of this, and knowing that he had nothing 
 further to hope for from his noble father, made it the 
 business of his life to look out for a nice girl with 
 money. 
 
 Why he failed so often it would be difficult to say, 
 for his manners were perfect, and he had no more con- 
 ceit about him than women like, yet he was so 
 frequently refused, that his ill-luck became proverbial, 
 and secured him a scandalous reputation. Girls 
 seemed to have entered into a league against him, and 
 when it was seen that after having been rejected by 
 one, he turned, without any fuss or remembrance of 
 former vows, to another, it was said, with a certain 
 show of reason, that he was an arrant flirt, and had 
 no heart at all. 
 
 His mother thought that he simply lacked dis- 
 crimination. He took his shots without measuring his 
 distances. He would propose straightway to a girl 
 whom he had known but twenty-four hours, whereas 
 if he had waited a little he might have been accepted. 
 The best of the young fellow was that he never fretted 
 over his disappointments. To the unspeakable annoy- 
 ance and spite of the young ladies who had refused 
 him, he addressed them with the most cheerful 
 familiarity whenever he met them, and was quite 
 
UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 130 
 
 callous to reminders of the threats he had made to hang 
 himself if he were not accepted. 
 
 It came to pass ultimately that Lady Oldmoor told 
 her pet son that these goings on must cease ; and he 
 quite agreed with her, for he owed several thousands 
 of pounds and his purveyors were growing clamorous. 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 131 
 
 Among them was a tailor, who had lent Sylvan money 
 besides supplying him with clothes ; and he began to 
 talk of taking legal proceedings, and making his 
 debtor bankrupt — a step which would have quite 
 spoiled the latter’s matrimonial chances. Just about 
 this time Sylvan went down to Brighton for a few 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 132 
 
 days, and at a subscription ball held in the Pavilion 
 he danced with a very pretty girl, who, somebody 
 told him, was an heiress. 
 
 The name of this pretty girl was Dobson and the 
 name of Sylvan’s tailor was Dobson, but the young 
 man had not the slightest idea that there would be any 
 relationship between the pair. He met Miss Dobson 
 on the day after the ball in company with her mother, 
 and went with them to the Pier to hear the band play. 
 The young lady casually mentioned that her father 
 was a merchant, and frequently alluded to his estate in 
 Wiltshire, his horses, and pictures. On these hints 
 the handsome Sylvan prolonged his stay at Brighton, 
 paid his addresses, and a fortnight after his introduction 
 to Miss Dobson, he proposed to her and was accepted. 
 But accepted only with the proviso that the engage- 
 ment should be kept secret for awhile, for Miss Dobson 
 felt by no means sure that her father would consent. 
 The truth is the poor girl, who had grown fond of 
 Sylvan, was terribly afraid that Sylvan himself would 
 break off the match when lie discovered that her father 
 was his tailor. 
 
 Sylvan, fancying that Miss Dobson’s aversion to 
 publicity arose from the fact that his character did not 
 stand well in the eyes of the Dobson family, proposed 
 a clandestine marriage, and was delighted at the 
 alacrity with which this suggestion was accepted. A 
 licence was procured, and one morning the Honourable 
 Sylvan Keane-Forrester and Miss Emily Dobson were 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 133 
 
 married at St. Nicholas’s, with only the clerk and a 
 pew-opener as witnesses. Sylvan left the church with 
 a happy feeling of having done well for himself at last ; 
 but his exultation did not last long, for the bride had 
 telegraphed to her father just before the ceremony, and 
 taking her husband to her home towards luncheon 
 time, she introduced him to his new relative. The 
 interview may be more easily imagined than described. 
 The expression on the Honourable Mr. Forrester’s face, 
 as his pretty bride unceremoniously pushed him into 
 the tailor’s arms, was certainly a thing to be seen and 
 remembered of. 
 
 Sylvan found a consolation for his mistake in the 
 double circumstance that his bride was both a nice 
 young woman and very rich ; but all his relations set 
 up a fearful clamour, and the whole aristocracy on 
 hearing of the matter was stricken with unbecoming 
 mirth. Lord Oldmoor vowed at first that he would 
 break the rascally tailor’s bones ; but he became some- 
 what pacified when Mr. Dobson consented to retire 
 from business and settle down as a country gentleman. 
 As for Sylvan, he deemed it expedient to leave Eng- 
 land with his young wife, and sojourn for a few years 
 in Italy. There he changed his religion and his 
 name, for high influences and liberal donations 
 obtained for him the title of Count of the Holy 
 Roman Empire from the Pope. Few persons who pass 
 by the splendid Biscotti Palace at Rome are aware 
 that the lordly owner, Count Biscotti, is none other 
 
134 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 than the Honourable S. Keane-Forrester, who had pro- 
 posed to about twenty daughters of dukes, earls, and 
 wealthy baronets, before marrying the daughter of 
 Dobson the West-end tailor. 
 
 There was some irony of fate in that the proudest of 
 the young ladies who had refused Sylvan — Lady Myra 
 Tantallon, the Earl of Clan march’s only child — 
 married not clandestinely, but in the broad light of 
 day, Charley Toppe, one of Sylvan’s schoolfellows, and 
 a nobody. 
 
 Charley Toppe was the younger son of a successful 
 barrister, who was himself the son of a curate, offspring 
 of a grocer. Charley’s portion was as slender as his 
 pedigree ; but he was a merry-tempered stout-hearted 
 young man, with a few splendid manly qualities. He 
 was one of the best cricketers of the day, lie rode 
 straight to hounds, and his muscular strength and pluck 
 were wondrous. He had fought a prize-fighter and 
 thrashed him. In some foreign hotel having been 
 appealed to to protect an English lady, who was annoyed 
 by the gallantries of a foreign officer, he had caught 
 that officer by the seat of his pantaloons and pitched 
 him out of a ground-floor window, sword, spurs and 
 all, in the presence of a room full of people ; and after- 
 wards, by way of giving his victim “ satisfaction,” he 
 had met him in single combat and sliced one of his 
 ears off. 
 
 Such exploits as these render a man dear to the 
 
THE HON. SYLVAN KEANE-FORRESTER PITCHING THE FOREIGN OFFICER OUT OF THE WINDOW. 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 135 
 
 female bosom, and Lady Myra Tantallon, who was a 
 romantic admirer of muscularity, fell in love with 
 Charley Toppe, simply from hearing people talk about 
 him. Charley, on his side, was a deep young fellow, 
 
136 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 who luad made up his mind from the first to marry 
 well ; but he did not make himself at all cheap. He 
 knew better than that. He wanted his marriage to be 
 a square, solid settlement, quite above board — a thing 
 that should give him promotion in the sight of all 
 mankind ; and to this end, once he saw that he had 
 well hooked Lady Myra’s heart, he played with it 
 as coolly as he sometimes did with big salmon in 
 Scotch rivers. 
 
 She would never have been suffered to marry him 
 had lie not done this. He had to drive the girl half- 
 mad with love, jealousy, and anxiety in order that her 
 father might favour the match, from fear of seeing his 
 daughter die. Even, however, when the Earl inti- 
 mated to him, through third parties, that there would 
 be no opposition to the marriage, Charley was very 
 prudent about the matter. He said that he was a poor 
 man, who valued his good name, and would not incur 
 the reproach of being a fortune-hunter. He had never 
 aspired to the honour of an illustrious alliance. He 
 deeply admired Lady Myra, but she was too much 
 above him, and so forth. 
 
 Everybody who heard of this, were loud in their 
 commendations of Mr. Toppe, who had behaved, they 
 said, with extraordinary delicacy, and Lord Clanmarch, 
 transported with admiration, actually went to Charley’s 
 chambers one morning and besought him with tears 
 in his eyes to “ waive his scruples ” and marry Lady 
 Myra : “ Egad, my boy, the poor girl will pine away 
 
CHARLEY TORPE AND LADY MARY TANTALLON. 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 137 
 
 if you don't,” said the old Lord, as a last wistful 
 argument. 
 
 So Charley gave in. But to appease his honourable 
 susceptibilities, and put him in an unimpeachable posi- 
 tion before the world, Lord Clanmarch got him elected 
 to Parliament, prior to the marriage, and caused him to 
 be appointed a Junior Lord of the Treasury. He more- 
 over contrived that an old kinswoman of his, who was 
 dying, should leave Charley a legacy on condition of 
 his assuming the name and arms of Tantallon. So 
 Charley made a pretty good thing out of his diploma- 
 tizing. This wedding at St. George's was a most 
 
 o o o 
 
 brilliant affair — choral service and a bevy of beauteous 
 bridesmaids — and nobody grudged the bridegroom 
 the honours which appeared to have been thrust upon 
 
138 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 him in despite of his modesty. He was one of those 
 Adventurers who certainly deserved success. 
 
 There are other classes of Matrimonial Adventurers, 
 including of course the brazen Hibernian fortune- 
 hunter, who advertises his long descent and brawny 
 proportions in the columns of staid English seaside 
 newspapers, in the hope of fascinating some well- 
 dowered scraggy spinster, or buxom widow in pos- 
 session of a nice little estate. Here is one of these 
 gallant effusions, culled from the so-called le Visitors’ 
 List ” of a fashionable watering-place on the southern 
 coast. 
 
 M ATRIMONY. — An Irish Gentleman, age 35, of tall 
 handsome figure and dark complexion, wishes to 
 correspond with a LADY of means with a view to 
 above ; age no object. A Protestant. Highly con- 
 nected ; Ancient lineage ; found in Burke’s Landed 
 Gentry ; Strictest secrecy. — Apply, with real name and 
 all particulars (including amount of income), to The 
 0‘Mulligan, Blarney Castle, County Cork. 
 
 Another class of Matrimonial Adventurer commences 
 by graduating as a spendthrift and finally develops 
 into a keen fortune-hunter. When however he has 
 managed to bring down his game, he commonly finds 
 lie is not allowed to bag it, his reputation being so 
 notorious that fathers and guardians prudently insist 
 upon the strictest settlements, and tie up every penny 
 of the lady’s fortune so tightly that he is unable to 
 touch it. And it is as well that they do so, for with 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENT U R EES. 
 
 139 
 
 men of this stamp old habits are not easily eradicated ; 
 in their book of life new leaves are not readily turned 
 over. The married Adventurer of this type may be 
 to all appearances at the head of a large establish- 
 ment, and the seeming possessor of any number of 
 carriages and horses, besides hunters for his own par- 
 ticular use, and yet those who are unsuspecting enough 
 to trust him rarely succeed in getting paid even the 
 most trifling claims, if the debtor by hook or by 
 crook can possibly escape from them. 
 
 Quite recently an Adventurer of the above stamp was 
 committed to prison for six weeks by a county court 
 judge, for having neglected to pay a comparatively 
 small debt incurred for horse fodder, and for which 
 judgment had been obtained. On the case coming 
 before the Queen's Bench Division on appeal, the fol- 
 lowing amusing colloquy among the big-wigs on the 
 bench ensued : — 
 
 Mr. Justice Meadow : I frequently have this kind of dis- 
 tressing case before me. The debtor generally belongs to three or 
 four clubs, attends Ascot, Goodwood, and Epsom, and goes every- 
 where to enjoy himself, but says he has nothing whatever of his 
 own, and only lives upon an allowance made to him from a 
 Avife or brother or some other relation. It is really too cruel that 
 a person of this kind should have to go to Hollo Avay Gaol because 
 he has not paid for the feed of the horses Avhich he hunts. 
 
 Baron Muddleston : His Avife supplies him with a hunting 
 coat and breeches, I suppose. 
 
 Mr. Justice Meadow : And yet will not give him a penny 
 to pay for the goods supplied by the plaintiffs. 
 
 Mr. Starchibald, ayIio appeared for the debtor, said his 
 client's affidavit set forth that he Avas adjudicated a bankrupt in 
 
140 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 1874 and had not yet obtained liis discharge, and that during 
 his bankruptcy he had not acquired any money or property of any 
 description whatever ; that his wife had money settled upon her 
 for her separate use, and he had no interest whatever in it. 
 
 Baron Muddleston : It is a cheap way of doing things— to 
 obtain food for his wife’s horses without paying for it, and to ride 
 them in the hunting field. The amount paid for the debtor’s 
 
 hunting coat, breeches, and pipeclay would be more than suffi- 
 cient to pay this debt. 
 
 Mr. Starchibald : My contention is that the debtor has no 
 money whatever, as he is still a bankrupt. 
 
MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURERS. 
 
 141 
 
 Mr. Justice Meadow : And probably will continue so to the 
 end of his days. I never realised before what a great advantage it is 
 to be an undischarged bankrupt. He cannot have any property of 
 his own, yet he may order goods and enjoy them, without paying 
 for them or being sent to prison. 
 
 Baron Muddleston : This is a picture of things as they are. 
 A man may live in luxury and splendour after having settled all 
 his wife’s property on her, and, becoming a bankrupt, need not 
 pay anybody. 
 
 The lowest class of Matrimonial Adventurer is un- 
 questionably the vulgar bigamist who dubs himself 
 “ Captain ’’ and prefixes 
 “ Honourable ” to his ig- 
 noble name. One of these 
 smooth-tongued scoundrels, 
 aged no more than 35, 
 lately made his sixth ap- 
 pearance before one of Her 
 Majesty’s judges, by whom 
 he was sentenced to five 
 years’ penal servitude. 
 
 During his comparatively 
 brief career he had married 
 no less than five wives, 
 amonfr whom were the 
 
 O 
 
 daughter of a baronet and 
 a ward in chancery, and had dissipated whatever 
 property his unsuspecting dupes had brought him. He 
 had been tried three times for bigamy, twice for 
 forgery and perjury, and had been divorced from 
 three of his five victims at the time of this forced 
 interregnum occurring in his criminal career. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 K 
 
TIL 
 
 LORD COOKHAM, THE JOINT-STOCK COMPANY CHAIRMAN. 
 
 Much cannot he said in 
 favour of Lord Cookham, 
 who lias won a great for- 
 tune by very shady methods. 
 Lord Cookham is probably 
 as dishonest a scamp as 
 any to be met with inside 
 gaols : but one must not 
 say this too loudly, because 
 he is a peer ; and English- 
 men do not like to see a Lord attacked. 
 
 The truth about Lord Cookham is that his grand- 
 father almost ruined the family property. His father 
 tried to build it up again by dint of great thrift and 
 prudent investments, and earned a character for honesty 
 and steadiness by so doing, so that the next Lord Cook- 
 ham — the one with whom we are concerned — started 
 in life under favourable auspices. He succeeded to his 
 title when he was just thirty, and found himself 
 comfortably off, but no more. He had not run up 
 many debts during his fathers lifetime, for the old 
 
LORD COOKHAM. 
 
 143 
 
 Lord had looked rather sharply after him, and had kept 
 him out of mischief by getting him a post in the 
 diplomatic service. 
 
 The consequences of this strict training were very 
 valuable to Lord Cookham by and by, for though he 
 had expensive tastes, an inbred thirst for wealth — not 
 for wealth’s own sake but for the pleasures it affords 
 — he inherited his coronet without having in any way 
 smirched his name. Had the old Lord been less vigilant 
 his heir would almost certainly have come to trouble. 
 As it was, the latter on succeeding to his property, soon 
 found that his clear name was of more profit to him 
 than all his acres. 
 
 In the diplomatic service he had learned to dress 
 well and to be cautious in speaking. He had a smug, 
 impenetrable face ; distant manners, and a knowledge 
 of men and things that was not deep but pretty 
 extensive. He never gave straightforward answers ; 
 his letters were short, courteous, and couched in 
 phraseology which always involved the writer’s 
 meaning in some doubt ; when he spoke he carefully 
 guarded himself against the expression of downright 
 opinions, but canted in vague terms about the public 
 welfare, the spread of faith and the advance of science. 
 In his politics he was a Liberal, which is the most 
 convenient designation for a man to assume when he 
 wants to change nothing and to be well spoken of by 
 the newspapers. 
 
 Lord Cookham was just the man to shine as chair- 
 
144 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 man and director of joint stock companies. He sold his 
 name to the promoters of sucli concerns on conditions 
 which were ingeniously fraudulent. He used to take 
 the number of shares necessary to give him a qualifi- 
 cation ; but the value was always privately handed 
 over to him in hard money, and he received a number 
 of other paid-up shares as well, which he invariably 
 disposed of as soon as they were at a premium. The 
 moment one of his companies began unmistakably to 
 totter he would retire from it on the score of ill-health 
 or in consequence of a difference with his co-directors, 
 in which he always contrived to get the advantage. 
 Practically what he did was to swindle the public 
 coolly and systematically. 
 
 During the early and palmy days of a company, Lord 
 Cookham was generally put up to address the share- 
 holders at their meetings. The sight of a smug-faced, 
 soft-spoken Lord, who affected the straitest principles of 
 morality, and had apparently a genius of no common 
 order for figures, never failed to have its effect on these 
 dupes. Lord Cookham, however, had no talent at all 
 for figures. He understood women, good living, and 
 music ; but could not have done a sum in rule of three 
 without a mistake. His financial speeches were all 
 learned by heart beforehand at the cost of great intel- 
 lectual labour, and his lordship could not deliver them 
 without frequent reference to well classified notes. 
 The delivery of them, however, was always admirable 
 in its way — so much so, that there was a common 
 
LORD COOKHAM. 
 
 145 
 
 delusion abroad that Lord Cookham was one of the 
 ablest financiers of the time. 
 
 Two railway companies which were at war actually 
 chose him as arbiter in their dispute, and the written 
 judgment which he gave forth (and which had been 
 prepared for him by an accountant’s clerk) was often 
 quoted as a model of terse reasoning and shrewd 
 reckoning. Lord Cookham received a fee of a 
 thousand guineas for his arbitration, and he gave the 
 accountant’s clerk — a clever young man — the odd 
 shillings : namely, £50. 
 
 It was a wonder that the cunning creature was 
 never found out. Almost all the companies which he 
 helped to launch were rotten, and expired early ; yet 
 his name never suffered a taint. Meanwhile my Lord, 
 heaping up plundered money, devoted his private life 
 to sensuality of the grossest kind. There was no more 
 profligate debauchee than he in London ; he revelled 
 indeed in refinements of costly vice. In eating and 
 drinking also he was a strangely well constituted 
 gourmand , keeping both his stomach and palate in 
 capital working order, so that no indigestion ever 
 troubled him. Lord Cookham lived only for self- 
 indulgence ; or one might say lives, for this noble 
 person still flourishes and prospers at his old trade. 
 His name came out as chairman of a new company 
 only yesterday ; and his steward has just sent an order 
 to France, for twenty dozen of twenty year old claret 
 of the Chateau Lafite brand. 
 
IV. 
 
 A FINANCIAL ADVENTURER, BARON DONEHAM. 
 
 Lord Cookham conjured with his coronet — a simple 
 Baron’s coronet, but an English Baron’s, and con- 
 sequently a much safer receptacle to beg the public 
 monies with than any foreign head-dress of the same 
 sort. Baron Doneliam’s coronet was of German make, 
 and bore about the same relative value to Lord Cook- 
 ham’s as German silver does to English. 
 
 Baron Doneham was said to be a German Jew, 
 named Abnehm, who early in life came to seek his 
 fortune in this country. After toiling for some years 
 as clerk in a City counting-house, he made a success- 
 ful speculation with some savings, and having thus 
 amassed a little capital, resigned his high stool, and 
 settled down to speculation as a business. He had a 
 better head for figures than Lord Cookham, though 
 he had not the latter’s advantages of rank and cha- 
 racter. He had a plausible tongue also, with which 
 he could always persuade distinguished people in 
 Society to make money for themselves by assisting 
 him, when they ran no risks. Mr. Doneham — who 
 had assumed the name of his English wife, but had 
 
A FINANCIAL ADVENTURER, BARON DONEHAM. 147 
 
 not yet become a Baron — made foreign concessions 
 his specialite. Travelling about the Continent, he 
 used to interest himself in the wants of divers cities. 
 He would ascertain that here a new harbour was 
 needed, there a line of rail or tramways, and upon 
 this he would enter into relations with the local 
 authorities. He mostly learned that money alone 
 was required to complete the works which the city 
 needed ; but that rates and taxes being already high, 
 the authorities feared to draw any further on the 
 local purses. Then Mr. Don eh am, ne Abnehm, used 
 to say, “ Supposing I got the thing done with English 
 capital ? ” 
 
 The proposal was always received with enthusiasm, 
 and Mr. Doneham used to return to England to float 
 a company, with the promise of a concession in his 
 pocket. It was never difficult to get a company 
 floated. There are ever so many gentlemen in London, 
 like Lord Cookham, willing to sell their names for a 
 fair consideration ; and of speculators ready to advance 
 money for public works abroad, there is evidently no 
 lack either. To do Mr. Doneham justice, he actually 
 did supply two or three foreign cities with tramways ; 
 others he paved, while others he lighted with gas. 
 The swiftness of his operations, and the business-like 
 way in which he silenced local opposition by squaring 
 troublesome malcontents, soon won him a reputation, 
 so that he was enabled to plume his wings for higher 
 flights. He went in for great harbours then, and for 
 
148 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 foreign loans. The City rang with his name. A 
 German Grand Duke for whom he did a little 
 financing on easy terms, created him a Baron, and 
 conferred on him an Order of knighthood, with a red 
 riband like that of the Bath. Baron Doneham hired a 
 grand mansion in Belgravia, and, by lavish expendi- 
 ture, got himself returned to Parliament, to be 
 unseated, however, on petition for having been too 
 liberal in treating the free and independent burgesses 
 of the borough he sought to represent, on the eve of 
 the election. 
 
 His name was at that time connected with about 
 twenty companies, and he was in the full tide of 
 success. Many called him the financier of the age. 
 It was thought that he would end by eclipsing the 
 Rothschilds. His ante-rooms were filled with dusky 
 diplomatists from South American Republics, who 
 wanted to raise loans in order to open up communica- 
 tions between gold mines and the sea-coast, and who 
 offered any rate of interest to prospective purchasers 
 of scrips. To Baron Doneham himself these diploma- 
 tists offered gifts of all kinds, excepting money — 
 decorations, signed commissions in blank to general- 
 ships, consulships, ambassadorships, medical diplomas, 
 &c. ; and the Baron privately accepted some of these 
 offerings, as they were useful for distribution amongst 
 humbler Adventurers whom he turned to account and 
 who came to beg them of him. 
 
 After several years of prosperity, Baron Doneham 
 
A FINANCIAL ADVENTURER, BARON DONEHAM. 149 
 
 felt mighty enough to build a suburban palace on the 
 site of an old mansion which had once housed the 
 favourite of a king and in recent times had degene- 
 rated to a private mad-house. In the rear of the 
 grounds surrounding this mansion was a rookery of 
 the lower class of Irish, which had long been the 
 plague-spot of the aristocratic suburb. Baron Done- 
 
150 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 liam not only coveted the ground on which this 
 rookery stood, hut desired to disembarrass himself of 
 his inconvenient neighbours, and with this view, 
 opened negociations for buying up the interests of 
 both leaseholder and freeholder. He managed to 
 secure the property on easy terms, for the rents were 
 collected with nearly the same difficulty as though 
 the land itself, as well as the tenants, belonged to the 
 Emerald Isle, while as for ejecting the immigrant 
 bog-trotters in a mass, he would iudeed have been a 
 bold man who would have ventured on so dubious a 
 proceeding. 
 
 As soon as the deeds were signed, the new landlord 
 called a meeting of his tenants, and after treating 
 them with whisky in moderation, proceeded to address 
 them as follows : “ My friends,” said he, “ you have 
 of course all of you heard, that I am now your land- 
 lord, and no doubt you have also been told by evil 
 tongues that I mean to deprive you of your homes, 
 where some of you drew your first breath, and im- 
 bibed your mothers’ milk when infants, and were 
 dandled on that loving mother’s knee. {Suppressed 
 snivels .) I say they lie who tell you this! {Cheers.) 
 Instead of depriving you of your homes, I mean to 
 give them to you — give them to you out and out, for 
 nothing. {Renewed cheers .) Aye, for nothing ! And 
 not merely to live in, but to be your own absolute 
 property. {Frantic cheer incj.) Every stick and brick, 
 every beam and plank, every pane of glass, every sheet 
 
A FINANCIAL ADVENTURER, BARON DONEHAM. 151 
 
 of lead, every hundredweight of iron, every foot of 
 piping, every lock, holt, bar, and water-butt, are 
 yours, to make the most of! You all of you know 
 the best market for these things, so don’t delay. Pat, 
 Mike, Tim, and Larry, borrow a pick or a crowbar, 
 every man of you, and set to work, this very night if 
 you like, or if not, early to-morrow, and before 
 sunset put as many golden sovereigns as you can into 
 your pockets. Depend Upon it, it will be the very 
 best day’s work you have ever done in all your lives. 
 So fire away, as soon as you please, and may luck and 
 the Virgin’s blessing be with you ! Now then, three 
 cheers for old Ireland.” ( Cheering accordingly.) 
 
 This ingenious harangue answered its purpose, and 
 had the effect of not merely ridding the Baron of his 
 undesirable neighbours, but he got the ground cleared 
 for nothing, whereas a contractor would have charged 
 him several hundred pounds for the job. 
 
 The imposing structure reared by Baron Doneham, 
 with its surrounding charming grounds, would 
 certainly have stood comparison on the score of 
 splendour, if not of taste, with any palace of prince or 
 peer in the neighbourhood of London, As if to show 
 how r endless his resources seemingly were, the Baron 
 about the same time presented the metropolis with 
 the freehold of a neglected piece of ground, which at 
 great expense he had converted into a handsome 
 garden, adorned with statues and busts of national 
 celebrities. Very soon after, however, his prosperity 
 
152 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 and credit all at once collapsed like an overblown 
 
 balloon. 
 
 The Baron himself had a 
 very narrow shave. Some of 
 his gigantic speculations had 
 turned out badly for the share- 
 holders, who sought to prove 
 that the prospectuses issued 
 with the object of capti- 
 vating their confidence were 
 fraudulent. Some lawsuits 
 ensued, and the Baron was 
 ordered to refund large sums 
 of money. He is believed 
 in the main, however, to 
 have done very well for him- 
 self, although it was never 
 given him to inhabit the 
 splendid palace which he had 
 caused to be built in an 
 hour of exulting vanity. It 
 was in fact the fate of this 
 gorgeous building literally to 
 fall beneath the auctioneer's 
 hammer, and to be disposed 
 of piecemeal for a mere frac- 
 tion of its original cost. 
 
 THE SHAREHOLDERS’ THER- 
 MOMETER. 
 
“ A PROFESSIONAL GREEK ” : BRILLIANTI BEY. 
 
 Though Englishmen profess to have little respect for 
 foreign titles, it is curious to observe how readily they 
 get dazzled by them. Brillianti was clerk to a Greek 
 currant merchant, and seems to have made his start 
 in life by embezzling some of his employer’s money. 
 Having thus provided himself with the necessary 
 funds he made the round of the German Kursaals in 
 their flourishing days, and operated by turns at 
 “ roulette” and “ trente et quarante ” with varying 
 success. Eventually he turned up in Paris, where he 
 was detected sharping at cards in a club of doubtful 
 repute. Being ejected thence, — but not too noisily, 
 for the club did not want any scandals, — he flitted off 
 to the seaside, and distinguished himself at divers 
 casinos, where his manual dexterity at “ bac ” and 
 “nap” and similar games caused the authorities to 
 beseech him rather urgently that he would take 
 himself off to other climes. Brillianti, being a 
 dangerous rogue, in fact, was warned out of one 
 casino after another, and finally his name was entered 
 permanently on the books of the French police as that 
 of an habitual criminal. 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 154- 
 
 This did not prevent him from succeeding very well 
 in London, when he came there usurping the Turkish 
 title of pasha. Turkey was then d la mode , and 
 Brillianti with his supposed anti-Russian proclivities 
 was made a welcome guest in the houses of eminent 
 “ Jingoes.” Although the amplest information could 
 have been obtained about him from the police of 
 Paris, nobody entertained the slightest suspicion that 
 the rascal was a Greek, by nationality as well as by 
 profession. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL GREEK : 
 
 BR1LLIANTI BEY. 155 
 
 a 
 
 }j 
 
 He secured admittance to some good clubs, and to 
 houses where high play went on. There are ladies in 
 London, who, while deriving no profit from the 
 
 gambling that goes on in their drawing-rooms, enjoy 
 the society of gamblers, and allow them to play for 
 what stakes they please. Brillianti found himself one 
 evening at one of these houses, and he won £1000 
 
156 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 there. The Russian Ambassador was among the losers 
 present ; but unfortunately for Brillianti, another of 
 the losers happened to be one of the astutest men 
 in London — a gentleman of property, politician, 
 journalist, editor and wit, and noted beyond every- 
 thing for his fearlessness. This gentleman, who is 
 indeed nothing if not courageous, startled Society by 
 denouncing the irresistible Brillianti as a swindler. 
 Brillianti fired up at this, and finding many friends 
 among simpletons, he thought good to institute 
 actions for libel ; but as he heard that his adversary 
 was collecting damning evidence against him he 
 decided not to await the issue of the trial, and left 
 England. He was proclaimed a rogue by solemn 
 verdict during his absence. 
 
 It is to be remarked, however, that Brillianti might 
 very well have succeeded in making a large fortune 
 among the unsuspecting set to whom he had managed 
 to get introduced, if it had not been for his exceptional 
 ill-luck in bringing himself under the immediate notice 
 of a curiously sharp man of the world. Brillianti Bey 
 was one of those who trip up over a piece of orange- 
 peel at the very turning point in the race of life. No 
 unfrequent accident, this. It is especially common 
 among those who make their “ running” on the card- 
 table or on the turf. 
 
 The latter class of Adventurers is so numerous, that 
 the type of the genus has become too common to 
 require special limning. From the peer to the welsher 
 
“ A PROFESSIONAL GREEK ” : BRILLIANTI BEY. 157 
 
 there are thousands of men who live on the hazardous 
 gains of the turf, and try to correct the chances of 
 Fortune by sheer swindling. Most of them appear to 
 suceeed, for one finds them year after year at the 
 same races, and though they may often be heard com- 
 plaining that they have been “ hard hit,” yet they 
 always appear to have money enough to pay for 
 expensive drink, and all that tends to their amuse- 
 ment. Now and then a welsher comes to trouble for 
 the matter of a few pounds, and is kicked off a course 
 with every mark of contumely. Now and then a man 
 of name becomes a defaulter for several thousands, 
 and retires to France or America, where he begins 
 his old games afresh, and in the majority of instances 
 contrives to live pleasantly enough. It is with turf 
 adventurers as with other kinds of money-hunters, the 
 little rogues who try for small gains, generally have a 
 worse time of it when they do shabby tricks, than the 
 big rogues, whose mal-practices involve the gain of 
 thousands. 
 
 And to sum up the whole matter, the worst rogues 
 of all amongst Adventurers are generally those who suc- 
 ceed, and who come to no sort of harm. We find them 
 in every walk of life, and lift our hats to them. They 
 are very powerful, and might knock off our hats if we 
 did not render them this homage. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 L 
 
VI. 
 
 THE COUNTESS D'ORENBARRE. 
 
 Some seasons ago many people were duped by a 
 lady with the above high-sounding title. She suddenly 
 appeared in London with good letters of recommenda- 
 tion, and two handsome daughters of marriageable age. 
 She rented a furnished mansion in South Kensington. 
 She was said to belong to the family of Lord Skillalee, 
 an Irish peer of ancient lineage, and her husband was 
 a French nobleman who had been Minister Plenipo- 
 tentiary under the Second Empire. The Countess 
 was a Roman Catholic, and many of the letters which 
 she brought were from foreign prelates, who lauded 
 her virtues to the members of the Romish hierarchy in 
 England. By these means the Countess quickly 
 became acquainted with some very good families, and 
 was in a position to patronize other families of less 
 exalted standing, who, seeing her on familiar terms 
 with peers and Cardinals, invited her to their houses, 
 and considered it an honour that their hospitalities 
 should be accepted. 
 
 The Countess was extremely condescending. She 
 
THE COUNTESS d'oRENBARRE. 
 
 159 
 
 accepted most invitations, and seemed to have a pre- 
 dilection for nouveaux riches and comfortably es- 
 tablished people of the upper middle class — solicitors, 
 merchants, bankers, and stock-brokers. Such people, 
 of course, made more of her than members of the 
 
160 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 aristocracy could be expected to do. It gave them a 
 pleasurable thrill to see the Countess’s well-appointed 
 carriage and pair with its coronetted panels, and its 
 powdered footman, clatter up to their doors; and they 
 took it very kindly of the Countess that she should 
 nod to them in public places, and procure them invi- 
 tations to houses which they could never have entered 
 on the strength of their own connections. 
 
 The truth is, the Countess d’Orenbarre had not a 
 penny. Her husband, the “ diplomatist ” was an 
 upstanding fact; but he was neither Count nor ex- 
 Minister. He was simply Monsieur Orenbarre, who 
 had been French Consul in Siam ; but having lost that 
 appointment, had gone away, none knew whither, to 
 seek his fortune, and had left his wife and daughters 
 to shift for themselves. 
 
 As for Lord Skillalee, he was certainly connected in 
 a distant way with Madame Orenbarre, nee O’Flinn, 
 and he good-naturedly allowed her to make the most 
 of the connection when he heard from her coaxing lips 
 (for she was a fine woman), that it would help her to 
 establish those dear girls. But then Lord Skillalee 
 believed in the countship and the diplomatic services 
 of Monsieur Orenbarre, and he thought that the 
 Countess had some money. Had he known the facts 
 of her history, he might have been more cautious about 
 introducing her right and left as his kinswoman, and 
 promising to do the fatherly towards her daughters if 
 either of them got married during her fathers absence. 
 
LORD SKILLALEE INTRODUCING THE COUNTESS D’ORENBARRE AS HIS KINSWOMAN. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE COUNTESS d’oRENBARRE. 
 
 161 
 
 For the Countess kept on saying that her husband had 
 gone on a private mission from the Court of Rome to 
 conclude a Concordat with the King of Rangoon, and 
 was likely to be engaged for a year or two in this 
 difficult politico-religious business. 
 
 To get her daughters Maria and Stella well married 
 was of course the great object of the Countess's life. 
 She had landed in London with just £300 in cash, 
 which was all she had in the world except her luggage 
 and jewels. She had to run into debt for everything 
 
162 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 she wanted, and she knew that under such conditions 
 as these she could not keep up her grand style of 
 living for more than a season at most, unless she 
 chanced to make some very lucky haul, for people 
 require a certain amount of ready-money even when 
 they live by a general system of indebtedness. 
 
 The Countess set eyes on one of her new friends, an 
 enriched tradesman, who seemed a good-natured sort 
 of person, and confided to him that some remittances 
 which she expected from Rangoon were a little late, 
 and that it would be a great convenience to her to 
 have £500, for the use of which during six months she 
 would pay six per cent, interest. The nouveau riclie , 
 who, through the Countess’s influence, had secured an 
 invitation for himself and family to a garden party in 
 a ducal mansion, offered £1,000, and thought that he 
 was doing a good stroke of business, six per cent, 
 being high interest in these our times, when, no matter 
 however hard-up individuals as a rule may be, the 
 City articles in the newspapers are constantly re- 
 iterating that there is a perfect glut of money in the 
 market. 
 
 The Countess lodged the money in an aristocratical 
 bank, and from that time things went on pretty 
 smoothly with her. Her cheques inspired confidence, 
 and she took care to circulate them in a good many 
 directions, in order that if it suddenly became expedient 
 to fly, she might find plenty of people willing to cash 
 her drafts, and thus provide her with journey-money. 
 
THE COUNTESS u'ORENBARRE. 
 
 163 
 
 To such a woman as the Countess £1,000 in a good 
 bank represented a potential £5,000 of capital. 
 
 But those dear girls of the Countess's gave her 
 trouble. They would not go off. They were pretty, 
 vivacious, keenly alive to their own interests, and 
 fearfully eager to be married, and yet they were 
 foolish, for they were sentimental, and would not 
 show as much amiability to one man as to another. 
 They/wantedTo marry rich men, but they were anxious 
 that these men should be “ nice," and they were some- 
 what exacting” on the score of niceness. Maria, could 
 not bear fat men or men who looked as if they were 
 going to be fat ; and Stella, on her part, disliked men 
 who smoked. 
 
 Had the fond mother been cognizant of these repre- 
 hensible prejudices, she would have combated them 
 with authority ; but the girls were scarcely aware 
 themselves of the feelings that were in them. In- 
 stinctively Maria behaved coldly to fat men, while 
 Stella showed signs of discomfort when approached by 
 men whose clothes were perfumed with tobacco. The 
 fat men and the men who smoked could not under- 
 stand it. They said that the girls gave themselves 
 airs, and by their reports they scared away from them 
 a great many well-disposed lean men and an equal 
 number of men to whom tobacco was odious. This 
 was a pity, for any lean man with a dark, drooping 
 moustache and £10,000 a year would have found in 
 Maria a loving wife, whereas Stella could have made 
 
164 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 herself positively delightful to any millionaire willing 
 to abjure regalias for her sake. 
 
 The Countess ended by seeing that there was some- 
 thing wrong, but, conscience pricking her, she supposed 
 that men were backward in paying court to her daugh- 
 ters because her own status was not above suspicion. 
 This made her nervous, and induced her to romance 
 about the extent of her husband’s fortune in order that 
 people might imagine that Maria and Stella were 
 heiresses. This device succeeded. A young and very 
 gentlemanlike clerk in the War Office, with a slender 
 
THE COUNTESS D’ORENBARRE. 
 
 165 
 
 figure, and a moustache that left nothing to be desired, 
 found constant opportunities of being in the society of 
 the Misses d’Orenbarre, and eventual] y proposed to 
 the eldest of the two sisters ; whilst a young vicar 
 who smelt of incense and eau de Cologne made an offer 
 to the youngest after meeting her once at a garden 
 party. Both these gentlemen, who were very nice, 
 had heard that the Misses d’Orenbarre would have 
 £20,000 apiece, and by way of proving that they 
 were not fortune-hunters they gave themselves out as 
 young men of good expectations. The truth how- 
 ever was that the clerk had a salary of £500 a year 
 and the vicar a living worth about the same amount, 
 and that there was no prospect of any important in- 
 crease to these modest incomes. 
 
 The Countess had hoped much better things for her 
 girls, but the season was drawing to a close, and to get 
 them married to respectable men of any sort was now 
 her prime consideration. The saddest part of the 
 business Avas, that the girls were not aware of their 
 mother being an Adventuress, They of course knew 
 that tire Countess had now and then been in straits for 
 money ; but as she kept them well supplied with new 
 dresses, bonnets, gloves and pocket-money, they had a 
 misty belief in their father, the “ Minister/' whom they 
 had not seen since they were little girls, but whom 
 their mother described as busily engaged in making a 
 fortune. 
 
 The Countess had been wise in not taking her girls 
 
 O O 
 
16G 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 entirely into her confidence, for by doing so she might 
 have rendered them either too nervous or too bold. 
 As it was, Maria and Stella both entered innocently 
 into the Countess’s plot, and spoke about themselves 
 to their respective lovers as having plenty of money 
 in prospect. The lovers, having made misstatements 
 on their own accounts, were of course wary of pushing 
 their investigations too far, lest their own circumstances 
 should be too closely inquired into. They were chiefly 
 concerned to get married as soon as possible. 
 
 So the double wedding took place. Lord Skillalee 
 gave away the two brides, and made them presents. 
 Other distinguished people had sent gifts, and alto- 
 gether the wedding was a very gay and auspicious 
 affair. Nobody who saw the Countess d’Orenbarre at 
 the breakfast could have suspected that she was just 
 then at the last extremities of impecuniosity, and on 
 the point of taking to flight. 
 
 Yet such was the case. As soon as the two bridal 
 parties had started for their honeymoon tours, the 
 Countess packed up her own trunks and disappeared, 
 none knew whither. A month later, her two sons-in- 
 law, on their return to London, were made acquainted 
 with the facts of the case, and had to face this 
 dilemma. Their mother-in-law, before bolting, had 
 raised money right and left by means of her cheque- 
 book, having signed no end of post-dated drafts, which 
 at her urgent entreaty had been cashed by acquaint- 
 ances, tradesmen and others on their being assured 
 
THE COUNTESS D'ORENBARRE. 
 
 167 
 
 that she was in daily expectation of remittances from 
 Rangoon. 
 
 The Countess had collected nearly £2,000 in this 
 way, and she had also made money by pawning goods 
 obtained by her on credit, and especially jewelry which 
 she had caused to be sent to her on approval, with a 
 view, as she had said, to choosing presents for her 
 daughters on their marriage. Altogether, the Coun- 
 tess's debts in one direction and another were found to 
 amount to about £5,000, and it became a question for 
 her sons-in-law whether they would pay this sum or see 
 her brought back from the Continent on an extradition 
 warrant to meet a charge of wholesale swindling. 
 
 As the two sons-in-law had been calculating upon 
 receiving £20,000 apiece, their sensations when they 
 learned the full truth may be imagined. They called 
 on Lord Skillalee, and asked him what he meant to do 
 by way of saving the honour of the family name ? 
 Lord Skillalee would have been glad to do nothing at 
 all ; but he had compromised himself by standing 
 towards the Misses d'Orenbarre in loco parentis at 
 their wedding ; and so, after a great deal of profane 
 swearing, he was induced to put his hands into his 
 pockets to avoid a scandal. 
 
 The sons-in-law, on their own parts, had to pay up, 
 to do which they were compelled to appeal to their 
 relatives, to borrow money, and to mortgage such 
 slender expectations as they really had ; but some- 
 how the thing was done, and the Countess escaped 
 
168 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 punishment. She lived abroad on the spoils she had 
 carried away ; and when last heard of was doing 
 very well at Nice, keeping open house, where a good 
 deal of high play went on at nights. 
 
 As for Maria and Stella, they have had to exercise 
 their womanly wits in smoothing the ruffled feelings 
 of their respective husbands. Luckily, their husbands 
 had grown fond of them, and they of their husbands, 
 so that matters did not turn out quite so badly for 
 the little dears as they might have done. 
 
VII. 
 
 LADY GOLDSWORTH AND THE HON. AGNES ROSA 
 MATILDA VENEER. 
 
 There is a lady now shining in London Society 
 who began life under the queerest auspices. A dozen 
 years ago she was a barmaid at a public-house in the 
 Strand. Her name was Kate Hathaway. A profes- 
 sional bookmaker took a fancy to her, and proposed 
 that she should accompany him to the different towns 
 of the kingdom where race-meetings were held ; but 
 he explained that he was unable to marry her, as he 
 was already provided with a wife, who was “ cruising 
 about somewhere/’ neglecting to give him her address. 
 Kate took the place of the cruiser ; but after spending 
 some months in the bookmaker’s company, the supe- 
 rior advantages of travelling about the country with 
 a rich young Baronet, who had a stud of his own, 
 became demonstrated to her. She left Tom Sharp, 
 the bookmaker, without any unnecessary fuss, and 
 her desertion drove him to bad language and brandy- 
 and- water ; for he had got to be very fond of her, and 
 in contemplation of marriage, had paid a Private 
 Inquiry Office to ascertain the true Mrs. Sharps 
 whereabouts, in order that he might regale that 
 
170 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 quondam partner of liis betting profits with a citation 
 in the Divorce Court. 
 
 Tom Sharp would have married Kate had she 
 waited a little ; but she preferred to go off with Sir 
 Frank Galloway, a most entertaining patrician, who 
 could imitate comic actors, and used to make her 
 laugh till she cried, by standing upon his head, and 
 balancing champagne bottles on the heels of his boots. 
 Sir Frank and she remained united six months ; but 
 one day, the Baronet having winked at another young 
 lady in her presence, she was so justly offended, that 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH. 
 
 171 
 
 she immediately commended herself to the protection 
 of young Lord Nuffe, aged twenty-two, one of our 
 hereditary legislators. 
 
 Lord Nuffe, though he helped to make laws for us, 
 was thought by his family to be not quite right in his 
 wits. Kate could easily have become Lady Nuffe had 
 she pleased. His lordship made overtures to her on 
 this subject, being doubtful whether the charms of his 
 society would be sufficient of themselves to fix the 
 pretty wanderer permanently to his side. The Dow- 
 ager Lady Nuffe heard of the matter, and at once 
 despatched her brother, General Pepper, to bring the 
 odious girl to her senses, or else to offer her money to 
 take herself off, no matter where, so long as it were 
 out of Lord Nuffes way. It would not have been 
 easy to bring Kate to her senses if she had been fond 
 of Lord Nuffe ; but it happened that the General 
 arrived just as she was yawning miserably, after 
 having heard his lordship repeat the names and quali- 
 ties of all his dogs to her three times over, to show 
 what a good memory he had. 
 
 Lord Nuffe had just gone out when the General pre- 
 sented himself, looking at once fierce and timid like a 
 man of the world who knows that women are the most 
 awkward of enemies to face. A glance at Kate showed 
 him that if fighting was in question he would find 
 a “ game ” adversary, and this discovery made him 
 civil. He offered money, and the Lady Nuffe in posse 
 accepted it with business-like readiness. Some idyllic 
 
172 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 notion was just then floating in her mincl of going off 
 to live for six months at Margate, where she had an 
 aunt who kept an oyster-shop and let lodgings. Here 
 perhaps she might find some respectable young man to 
 marry her and join her in opening a public-house, with 
 a handsome luncheon-bar nicely fitted up with plate 
 glass and gilding • for to become mistress of such an 
 establishment was, at this moment, one of her fondest 
 dreams. 
 
 Sentiment has many strings ; and the sentimental 
 fibres of Kate's heart were most easily stirred by 
 recollections of the innocent days when she worked 
 the handles of a beer-engine. Her hankerings after 
 innocency being indeed strong at the time when 
 General Pepper called upon her, she obliged that 
 warrior to give her more money than had been con- 
 templated either by himself or the Dowager Lady 
 Nuffe. 
 
 “ The sum you demand is very large," exclaimed 
 the General, aghast. 
 
 “ You may please yourself about paying it,” replied 
 Kate, coolly. “ If you don’t I shall marry Nuffe, and 
 turn out old Lady Nuffe from Nuffe Hall as soon, 
 as I get there. I shall also cut down the wedding 
 portions of Nuffe’s sisters, for I know they are depen- 
 dent on him. In fact I’ll play old gooseberry all 
 round." 
 
 “You talk as if you were sure Lord Nuffe would 
 marry you ; but remember that is by no means certain. 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH, 
 
 173 
 
 He would doubtless yield to his mother s remon- 
 strances/’ 
 
 “ If you believe any such rubbish as that why come 
 to me ? I think I shall marry him after all. He is a 
 very nice fellow and I’m growing quite fond of him.” 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 M 
 
m 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 “ You said just now you did not care a snap for 
 him.” 
 
 “Yes I did just now ; but this money dispute with 
 you has made him more precious to me ; and Til tell 
 you what, General, if you don't at once accept my 
 terms, he will have become so dear to me in five 
 minutes' time that I shall double them.” 
 
 The General in alarm took the hint, and signed a 
 cheque for which Kate Hathaway gave him a receipt. 
 The same afternoon, as per agreement, she took the 
 train to Margate, leaving the unsuspecting Nuffe in 
 the lurch. 
 
 At the close of a six months’ sojourn at the favourite 
 cockney watering-place, Kate Hathaway had grown 
 pretty tired of her aunt and of the latter’s oysters and 
 lodgers. She then steamed ofF for Australia. This 
 was a sudden resolution taken on the spur of the 
 moment, and at the instigation of a young man with 
 hazel eyes and a brown moustache named Walker, 
 and a commercial traveller in the wine trade. He had 
 saved a little money and was going to emigrate to 
 Queensland, where he meant to open an hotel ; and he 
 suggested that if Kate would join hands and funds 
 with him they might do a good stroke of business. 
 Kate agreed to the voyage ; but she prudently 
 adjourned all decisions about matrimony until she 
 should have travelled long enough with her companion 
 to see how she liked him. For propriety’s sake, how- 
 ever, the pair were entered on the passenger list as 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH. 
 
 175 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Walker, and Great Britain heard no more 
 of Kate Hathaway. 
 
 But a couple of seasons ago, a rich Australian, Sir 
 Michael Golds worth, suddenly appeared in England, 
 astonishing Society by his profuse expenditure. He 
 had been a gold-digger, a sheep-farmer, a Prime 
 Minister in a colonial Cabinet, and he had got knighted 
 for his spirited policy in the latter capacity. He was 
 no sooner in England than he bought a town mansion, 
 an estate assumed to have belonged to his ancestors, 
 a stud of race-horses, and a constituency ; he was 
 elected to Parliament, and became popular at once by 
 his hospitalities. 
 
 Sir Michael had a charming wife, who dressed well, 
 talked well, rode well, danced well ; and who was 
 much run after. This wife was none other than Kate 
 Hathaway, who soon after landing in Australia had 
 parted company with Mr. Walker, and had paid a 
 respectable elderly widow to chaperone her and pass 
 her off as Miss Spring, the orphan daughter of a 
 Queensland sheep farmer. Sir Michael had married 
 her, fully believing that she was of Australian pedigree. 
 
 London Society was not likely to inquire strictly 
 into the matter. Everyone knows that it would not 
 do to be too particular about the pedigree of Austra- 
 lians, so that when people had ascertained that Lady 
 Goldsworth’s maiden name was Spring, and that she 
 was the daughter of a rich colonial landowner, all had 
 been learned about her that sensible people had ex- 
 
176 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 pected to know. Lady Goldsworth’s Christian name 
 was Mary, but somebody flatteringly christened her the 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH. 
 
 177 
 
 Queensland Daisy, and by that name she became gene- 
 rally alluded to. It was not a very appropriate jiame : 
 for one associates the daisy with rustic simplicity, and 
 there was nothing at all rustic or simple about Lady 
 Golds worth. Her beauty was of the kind which shows 
 to best advantage with rich attire : and her conver- 
 sation disclosed a taste for town rather than for country 
 topics. 
 
 Thus, although Lady Golds worth was supposed 
 never to have visited England until she came to settle 
 there with her husband, she evinced a surprising 
 acquaintanceship with things English and especially 
 with racing matters. She also knew a good deal about 
 the byways of London and Margate. Little j>articles 
 of this knowledge, which she pretended she had 
 acquired in reading, used to escape from her at un- 
 expected moments, when she was in high spirits, 
 causing her hearers to marvel at the close attention 
 with which she must have perused books and news- 
 papers. But Kate Hathaway had dyed her hair and 
 in eight years her features and figure had got some- 
 what more matronly ; so that she was almost un- 
 recognizable to old acquaintances ; and yet not 
 entirely so. 
 
 One evening at a ball Lady Goldsworth had for her 
 vis-a-vis Sir Frank Galloway, the gentleman who used 
 to balance champagne bottles on the heels of his boots. 
 He started when he saw her, and stared with all his 
 might, far more than was civil. She reddened and 
 
178 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 seemed slightly embarrassed, but it might have been 
 only the effect of his staring so at her. 
 
 As soon as the dance was over Sir Frank got intro- 
 duced to her ladyship, and when he had heard the 
 sound of her voice he said in a low tone : — “ Lady 
 Goldsworth, you remind me very much of a young 
 lady whom I once knew — a Miss Hathaway.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” answered Lady Goldsworth, carelessly 
 toying with her fan. 
 
 “ Your hair is not of the same colour as hers, and 
 your expression is not quite the same.” 
 
 “ Then it seems that I am not like her \ ” 
 
 “ Well, I was going to say you are so very much 
 like her that I was about to ask whether your maiden 
 name was Hathaway ?” 
 
 “ No ; and I was never in England before my 
 marriage,” replied Lady Goldsworth, but in saying 
 this she smiled so pleasantly at the Baronet that he 
 did not feel snubbed. 
 
 Sir Frank was intimately persuaded that Lady Golds- 
 worth and Kate Hathaway were one and the same 
 person, but he was too much of a gentleman to go and 
 spread his suspicions abroad. He even had the 
 kindness to take her ladyship's part against Lord 
 Nuffe, who also recognized Lady G. as an old flame 
 of his, and was disposed to blurt out his opinions on 
 this “ doosed strange ” thing in clubs and other places. 
 But Sir Frank, who had known Kate Hathaway quite as 
 well as Lord Nuffe, told the latter that he was mistaken ; 
 
THE HON. AGNES ROSA MATILDA VENEER POCKETING THE RED. 
 
 I. 179. 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH. 
 
 179 
 
 and added that, as Lady Golds worth was a friend of 
 his family, he must trouble Nuffe to keep a discreet 
 tongue in his head when talking about her : which 
 Nuffe, who knew his man, accordingly did. 
 
 So Lady Golds worth went on her way through 
 London Society quite safely under Sir Frank’s pro- 
 tection ; and there she shines to this day. And Sir 
 Frank still protects her and is in all things her very 
 obedient servant, and much liked by Sir Michael 
 Goldsworth, who looks upon him as a nice funny fellow 
 and mighty good company. 
 
 Mating with an Australian plutocrat did not prove 
 equally advantageous to that fast aristocratic young 
 beauty, the Honourable Agnes Rosa Matilda Veneer. 
 The death of this young lady’s father during her girl- 
 hood, set her free from paternal control ; and as soon 
 as she came of age, she proceeded to kick over the 
 maternal traces, and in conjunction with a sister 
 of hers, led a gay life of unchaperoned freedom. 
 They accompanied certain of their male friends to 
 private boxes at Evans’s, and indulged in midnight 
 carousals after parties to the theatre with the “ gilded 
 youth” of the epoch, whom Agnes was partial to 
 challenging to a trial of skill at pool or pyramids. 
 While sojourning at Nice she frequented the gambling 
 saloons at Monaco, and on one occasion is said to have 
 driven home during the small hours of the morning, 
 escorted by a party of inebriated Italians. 
 
180 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Circumstances rendering it necessary that the Hon. 
 Agnes should be wedded and wedded soon, she made 
 desperate efforts to hook one of her middle-aged 
 admirers, a drunken, dissipated, and partially paralytic 
 Australian millionaire, known in London Society by 
 the expressive cognomen of “the Nugget.” The 
 antipodean plutocrat had purchased a fine estate 
 which just then chanced to be in the market, and 
 under the shade of his newly acquired ancestral trees, 
 he proceeded to erect a huge castle, stocking it with 
 antique furniture, family portraits, and heirlooms from 
 Wardour Street. He spent, however, but little of his 
 time there ; the distractions of the metropolis having 
 special charms for him. Among a certain section of 
 Society he was noted for the splendid quality of his 
 horse-flesh, and for the wild supper-parties he was in 
 the habit of giving in his gorgeous suite of rooms at 
 the Imperial Hotel — parties at which the charming 
 Agnes was a frequent and welcome guest. 
 
 The Hon. Agnes having prudently provided herself 
 with a special licence in order to take advantage of 
 any outburst of maudlin affection her tipsy admirer 
 might give way to, succeeded after one or two checks 
 in accomplishing her purpose. An accommodating 
 parson living close at hand was opportunely introduced 
 one evening, when the Nugget, who had been previously 
 well primed with champagne, was led like a lamb, or 
 more properly speaking a goat, to the sacrifice. On a 
 son and heir making his appearance several months 
 
LADY GOLDSWORTH. 
 
 181 
 
 earlier than the astonished husband anticipated, 
 differences arose between the pair, causing much 
 scandal at the time and culminating in a judicial 
 separation of the parties. This was followed by the 
 revoking of the legacy of the great bulk of his fortune, 
 which during halcyon honeymoon days the deeply 
 smitten Australian had bequeathed to his newly made 
 bride. This reprehensible proceeding on his part gave 
 rise, on the Nugget's decease a short time afterwards, 
 to a famous cause celebre from which, in accordance 
 with established usage, the lawyers and the mad 
 doctors were the chief parties to profit. 
 
Y T IIJ. 
 
 MIRABEL HILDACOURSE. 
 
 While the struggle was still proceeding in the law 
 courts over the will of the Australian millionaire, an 
 Adventuress, whose matrimonial manoeuvres in regard 
 to another wealthy old gentleman had met with a less 
 fortunate termination, was being driven in a police 
 van to the House of Correction, under a sentence of 
 twelve months' imprisonment. The career of Miss 
 Mirabel Hildacourse, and its untoward collapse, had 
 been for some weeks previous to this incident the talk 
 of London. 
 
 People talked about it because it showed such stupe- 
 fying audacity. That a woman should pass herself off 
 under a false name and title, and make dupes on the 
 faith of her supposed high connections, is a common 
 occurrence enough ; but that a widow, with a son 
 twenty years old should give herself out to be a young 
 lady of twenty-five, under the care of a guardian living 
 as far off as the antipodes, and should play her assumed 
 part with the utmost success, is a much rarer thing. 
 
 Mirabel Hildacourse was one of those women with 
 
MIRABEL HILDACOURSE. 
 
 183 
 
 good figures and well-chiselled features, who by the 
 help of cosmetics can preserve their beauty for a 
 long time. She was clever and had fascinating man- 
 ners. If it had been her luck to meet with an honest 
 man in early life she would no doubt have made him 
 happy, and everybody would have called her a charm- 
 ing woman ; but it was her ill-luck to marry a scamp, 
 and the whole of her life was naturally affected there- 
 by. % The scamp deserted her, and some time afterwards 
 died ; but in the interval between her desertion and 
 widowhood Mirabel had to provide for herself and 
 two young children, under circumstances so difficult 
 to women without resources, who are neither wives 
 nor widows. 
 
 She first of all went out as a governess, but her high 
 spirit could not brook the restraint and contumely she 
 was subjected to in this dependent position. She then 
 set up a small school of her own, which failed lament- 
 ably. Being equally unsuccessful in other enterprises 
 the upshot was that she was constrained to pull the 
 devil by the tail in various ways till at length she 
 heard of her husband’s death, and then the idea 
 occurred to her of trying to re-marry profitably. 
 
 As she contemplated accomplishing this object in 
 the capacity of a spinster, it was necessary that she 
 should separate herself for a time from her children. 
 Like a dutiful mother, however, she took care to pro- 
 vide for their board, education and clothing while 
 they continued apart by placing them for limited 
 
I8i 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 periods at one boarding school after another, where 
 their wardrobes might be renewed whenever necessary 
 by confiding tradesmen of the town, who, together 
 with the proprietors of the eduational establishments 
 in question, were invariably left to whistle for their 
 money. To provide for her own subsistence and main- 
 
MIRABEL HILDACOURSE. 
 
 185 
 
 tain such a position was as essential to the success of her 
 scheme, Miss Mirabel Hildacourse, as she had now 
 become, had recourse to practices which, in plain 
 language, can only be characterized as swindling. 
 
 When matters were at a very low ebb with our 
 heroine, chance threw her in the way of a philanthropic 
 doctor who was forming a corps of ambulance nurses for 
 service in the East during the Russo-Turkish war. An 
 avocation of this character exercises a strong hold over 
 the imaginations of women of the adventurous class, 
 and Mirabel begged that she might be enrolled a 
 member of the corps. On her services being accepted 
 she succeeded by some ingenious means in raising 
 sufficient money to get conveyed to the seat of Avar, 
 Avhere she behaved exceedingly Avell as a hospital 
 nurse. Among patients and doctors there was but 
 one opinion as to her courage and gentleness, her 
 untiring watchfulness and steadfast devotion. The 
 result of all this was that Miss Hildacourse made many 
 friends, and eventually returned to England with 
 many letters of introduction to persons of good 
 position, dignitaries of the Church, and individuals of 
 influence generally. 
 
 Among the latter Avas an elderly physician of pro- 
 perty, Avho took a fancy to Mirabel as soon as he saAv 
 her. She had called upon him ostensibly to ask his 
 assistance in procuring a situation as matron in a 
 hospital, but he at once told her that such a position 
 Avas not suited to a lady of her educated tastes and 
 
186 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 evident abilities, and he invited her to remain as a 
 guest in his house until he could find her some 
 better occupation. 
 
 Doubtless the old gentleman was smitten at first sight 
 with the juvenile ways of the middle-aged widow, in 
 which case what wonder if she should have conceived the 
 project of marrying the amiable septuagenarian. Mira- 
 bel Hildacourse settled herself in his house as house- 
 keeper, companion, and reader. She was certainly very 
 good and useful to him ; she kept his home in perfect 
 order, and transacted all his business affairs for him. 
 His servants liked her, and to all appearances she was 
 as devoted and attentive as the most affectionate 
 daughter could have been — so much so, indeed, that 
 the poor old man began to miss her if she were away 
 
MIRABEL HILDACOURSE IN THE HOME OF THE OLD PHYSICIAN. 
 
 I. 186 . 
 
MIRABEL HILDACOURSE. 
 
 187 
 
 from his sight for a single hour. The clay came when 
 Mirabel saw that her hold on the somewhat weak- 
 minded old gentleman was sufficiently strong to justify 
 her in urging him to marry her, and he unquestionably 
 would have acceded to her wishes in this respect had 
 not his grown-up children — for he was a widower — 
 seeing the turn that matters were taking, suddenly 
 stepped forward and denounced her to him as an 
 Adventuress. 
 
 These sons and daughters of the old physician had 
 at first received Miss Hildacourse with favour. They 
 liked their father to have a companion, and they liked 
 Miss Hildacourse well enough, so long as she occupied 
 no more intimate position in the family ; but when it 
 became a question of seeing this soi-disant young lady 
 set over them as a mother-in-law, with the prospect, 
 too, of her securing the lion’s share of their anticipated 
 inheritance, tlieir sentiments towards her naturally 
 changed. The doctor’s son happened to meet with 
 somebody who thought he recognized “ Miss ” Hilda- 
 course as a married woman, who had formerly passed 
 under another name. He pushed his inquiries, and un- 
 earthed a young gentleman, who was said to be 
 Miss Hildacourse’s son, but whom she declared to be 
 her brother. 
 
 These facts being communicated to the old doctor, 
 who was moreover terrified by hints that attempts 
 were being made to poison him, filled him with dire 
 dismay, though they need scarcely have done so. Like 
 
188 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 other old fools similarly circumstanced, he had grown 
 dotingly fond of Mirabel Hildacourse, and common 
 sense should have told him that the woman had every 
 inducement to continue faithful and attentive to him 
 during the remaining years he had to live. There 
 was no need for him to feel that he had had great 
 good luck in escaping from the hands of an Adven- 
 turess, who might perhaps have poisoned him. Mirabel 
 Hildacourse, glad to have secured so pleasant a home 
 for herself, rather than have shortened the life of her 
 benefactor, would most likely have tried to prolong it, 
 and have moreover sought to render his existence 
 extremely comfortable. It is certain, however, that 
 she would have inherited a good share of the old gentle- 
 man’s property at his death, and this is what his sons 
 and daughters, no doubt, wanted to prevent. 
 
 They drove out the wretched Adventuress with 
 ignominy from the house, and at the same time 
 brought to ruin the character she had lately won for 
 herself. She was not really a bad woman — she had 
 sinned more from necessity than inclination — but they 
 made it appear as if she were something particularly 
 despicable, so that in a wild, despairing mood, the poor 
 woman, seeing all her plans and hopes shattered, was 
 moved to prosecute them for libel. It was a foolish 
 proceeding, for when she had lost her suit she of 
 course laid herself open to a charge of perjury. The 
 whole of her past life had been brought out in open 
 court ; that she had told fib upon fib was manifest 
 
MIRABEL HILDACOURSE. 
 
 189 
 
 enough without the overwhelming arguments of 
 counsel, and the “ hanging” judge, who pronounced 
 
 sentence upon her, hinted that she might consider 
 herself lucky in getting off with twelve months- 
 imprisonment. 
 
 And no doubt she was, seeing how English justice ap- 
 portions sentences as a rule. A husband who beats; 
 his wife black and blue, and ends by kicking out all 
 her front teeth, gets six months’ imprisonment as a 
 maximum. Mirabel Hildacourse, for trying to better 
 her position by an untruth, or rather a series of un- 
 truths, as to her age and other matters — which, how- 
 ever, really injured no one — was bid to congratulate her- 
 self on o;ettin^ twelve months as a minimum. She had 
 certainly told many lies, but all these flowed naturally 
 from the first lie which she had been guilty ofi 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 N 
 
190 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Having given a romancing account of herself, she was 
 of course bound *to support her first untruth by a 
 number of collateral fibs, so that the counts for perjury 
 against her seemed innumerable, whereas they were all 
 practically included in one — just as the various chapters 
 of a novel go to make up a single story. 
 
 Emile Augier, in his Aventuriere , has produced a 
 heroine very much like Mirabel Hildacourse, and the 
 type is necessarily a common one, for what becomes of 
 all those women who lead so called “ gay ” lives, and 
 who are to be met with of an evening on the “ Rogues’ 
 Walk, 5 ’ or at the Aquarium ? Some of them go from 
 bad to worse, and end their careers in wanton infamy ; 
 but others are saved by some lucky chance from rolling 
 completely downhill ; and how is it possible for these 
 to make a new start in honesty without dissembling 
 more or less about their past lives 1 They are obliged 
 to swear, and to swear very hard, to a number of un- 
 true things if they are to live in any peace ; and some 
 sympathy must inevitably attach to them, if at the 
 moment when they seem to have discarded the past 
 utterly, it suddenly rises up in judgment against them 
 and overwhelms them. 
 
IX. 
 
 LILY GORR. 
 
 It is not often that a “ gay ” lady, known generally 
 to have belonged to the class so styled, succeeds in 
 making her way to a respectable position, where she 
 is esteemed not only by men but by her own sex. 
 Yet the thing happens sometimes. Lily Gorr was 
 an edifying example of what talent and cool impu- 
 dence will do towards helping a “ soiled dove ” on its 
 onward flight. 
 
 Some years ago there was a fat old woman called 
 Kate Hamilton, who kept a night drinking house in the 
 purlieus of the Gaymarket, and a boarding-house at 
 Evangel Grove. The boarders were young ladies who 
 had latch-keys of their own, and kept early hours, 
 coming home mostly at 2 or 3 a.m. Lily Gorr was 
 one of Kate Hamilton’s lodgers, and perhaps the 
 prettiest of them. She had a soft baby face with 
 large dark eyes, very deep and earnest : yet she was 
 no baby at all, far from it. None knew better than 
 she the value of a £5 note, or the taste of dry cham- 
 pagne. She had as much worldly wisdom in her head 
 as three old men. While lolling in an easy chair 
 and allowing herself to be talked to while she puffed the 
 
 N 2 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 192 
 
 clouds of her cigarette ceiling wards, she was carefully 
 on her guard against being fooled. She had no heart 
 at all. Everything in her was to be bought — her good 
 temper was purchaseable at so much, her company to 
 dinner, or to any other form of entertainment at so much 
 more. By these means she made a good deal of money. 
 
 One day this pretty little thing, who had many 
 feline graces — and was just about as gentle as a kitten 
 with mice — suddenly made her appearance on a Lon- 
 don stage as a tragedy actress. What is more, she did 
 
LILY GORR 
 
 193 
 
 very well. She had become acquainted with some 
 poor wretch of a man of letters, who had taken her in 
 hand as Mr. Bowes did Miss Cortigan, whom lie con- 
 verted into the Fotheringay. The difference was, 
 however, that Lily Gorr really had talent ; so that all 
 the lessons bestowed upon her were invested at good 
 interest. There was no need to teach her how to fold 
 her hands across her bosom and smile while curtseying 
 to the public. She did all that kind of thing very well 
 of her own inspiration ; quite an artless, childish thing 
 was she to look at — most modest in her deportment, 
 soft in speech, graceful in gesture — just the girl to 
 play Juliet and look the part to perfection. 
 
 She had no native shyness to overcome, and that 
 was a great help to her. Shy \ — bless your heart, the 
 hussey would have stared a regiment of dragoons out of 
 countenance — horses, bandsmen, regimental doctor and 
 all : though perhaps the regimental doctor would have 
 made her more nervous than anybody else. After a 
 little practice on the stage her talent came out in full 
 bloom ; she achieved great success, took the town by 
 storm, and became rated as a first-class actress. 
 
 But her morals did not improve much. She 
 married by way of making her private life seem re- 
 spectable, and chose an unbeneficed clergyman for her 
 partner. This reverend gentleman had a droll time 
 of it. Lily’s temper was strongly charged with elec- 
 tricity and her language when she was angry was 
 enough to make the housemaids stop their ears. Her 
 
194 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 husband learned a good deal of swearing from licr, and 
 tried now and then to make use of it in silencing her ; 
 but when speech failed she took to her claws, and at 
 this game he was no match for licr. 
 
 It was a bad feature in Lily Gorr’s character that in 
 her calm moments she was an insufferably conceited 
 little minx. No conversation had any charm for her 
 unless it turned on her beauty. She talked of herself 
 coolly as the prettiest woman in London, and had such 
 a high opinion of her own acting that she was jealous 
 of all other actresses, and would not hear any one of 
 them praised in her hearing. She took care to keep 
 all the prominent critics in her favour by granting 
 them whatever return they chose to ask for, and her 
 husband had to bear this as he could. He bore it for 
 a few years with the meekness of Moses or of Menelaus ; 
 but at last died in the prime of life to his no small re- 
 lief. He seems to have become an infidel in his iatter 
 days, solely because the idea of there being another 
 world in which he might meet his wife again, was 
 something too dreadful for him to believe in. 
 
 Lily's marriage had given her the respectable 
 domestic position she wanted, and had enabled ladies 
 of a certain sort to invite her to their houses. There 
 are ladies who have such a natural affinity with every- 
 thing that is improper that they only beg impropriety 
 to put on the flimsiest veil in order that they may 
 take it to their arms. Everybody knew pretty well 
 who Lily Gorr had been, and that she was utterly and 
 
LILY GORE. 
 
 195 
 
 scandalously unfit to enter any decent drawing-room ; 
 but many ladies chose to shut their eyes to this and 
 claimed to be good philanthropists for taking her up. 
 The truth is there was something piquant to them in 
 the society of the clever and faulty Eahab, who could 
 tell them so much about the private goings on of their 
 husbands, brothers and uncles. 
 
 Lily grew rich ; she went starring in America ; she 
 bought a fine house ; she invested money in good 
 securities ; and she often went on short trips to Paris 
 for her amusement, escorted now by one man, now by 
 another, for she was electric and hated loneliness. It 
 was in Paris that she met with her death. A glass of 
 iced milk, taken in the Bois dc Boulogne in sultry 
 weather and on the top of some spirits imbibed in the 
 morning, brought on some stomach cramps, which a 
 foolish doctor treated as for dropsy, and so disposed of 
 the pretty dramatic flower while she was still in her 
 full bloom. 
 
 After her death it was found that Lily Gorr had 
 amassed a good deal of money, and had bequeathed 
 by far the greater part of it to a gallant General 
 (belonging to a millionaire family) who had once been 
 her protector. She also left some legacies in favour of 
 theatrical critics who had been good to her, and to wdiom 
 in return she had been good enough too. One of the 
 fraternity, w r ho had written her up in fine style on 
 various occasions, was, however, forgotten in the 
 will ; and naturally conceiving that his disinterested 
 
196 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 praise deserved some better return, lie appears to have 
 expressed his lamentations in the hearing of third 
 parties. Hence arose certain ferocious strictures in 
 the columns of the Bottle Holder , a radical Sunday 
 sporting paper, followed by a rather noisy law-suit in 
 which the gallant General, coming forward to save 
 the honour of the assailed critic, could not escape 
 giving evidence touching his own by no means 
 reputable relations with the Lily deceased. 
 
 A soiled lily she was at the best, socially s})eaking. 
 As an actress she deserved all the praise she received, 
 and there would be no occasion for recalling her little 
 history here had she confined herself to the stage. 
 But the impudent success with which she forced her 
 way into the outskirts of Society, and won something 
 like a character for sweetness and repentant purity — 
 she, the most vixenish and irredeemable of hardened 
 sinners ! — may fairly be said to earn her a place in 
 any gallery of Adventuresses. 
 
X. 
 
 BELLA MAIITJNG ALE. 
 
 All female Adventurers are not 
 ^ { y cast in the same mould. 
 
 Bella Martingale was what 
 'i ,/ the French call une bonne 
 
 !'X ? Jille , a term not exactly 
 
 translateable by the words “ good 
 
 girl : ” yet she was a good girl too, 
 though she did not look it. On a casual 
 
 acquaintance, anybody would be apt to have 
 taken her for a maiden of the same persuasion in ethics 
 as Lily Gorr. She was the daughter of Martingale the 
 horse-dealer. All London knew her, and she was 
 known in the shires too. Every day in the Park she 
 could be seen driving a superb pair of ponies, or 
 ambling along the Row on a beautiful hack. No 
 woman could ride or drive as she did. Her ponies 
 went spinning along at a pace which no other human 
 creature could have got out of them without whipping, 
 and every hack she rode became gentle as a sheep 
 before she had been long in its saddle. 
 
 The women scrutinized Bella, and men touched 
 
198 
 
 TTNDER THE LENS. 
 
 tlieir liats to her as she careered about ; but she got. 
 more nods than formal salutations, and a good many 
 winks with the nods. Sometimes she drew up her 
 pony-chaise under the trees, and held an open-air 
 court. A dapper groom, faultless as to hat and tops, 
 stood at the ponies’ heads, while a dozen gentlemen 
 of undeniable rank and fortune grouped themselves 
 around, admired her turn-out, and talked about horses 
 with her. The talk seldom dwelt loim on other 
 
 O 
 
 subjects, for Bella was known to be oil the look out 
 for a husband, and men were rather shy of venturing 
 on sweet topics with her. 
 
BELLA MARTINGALE. 
 
 199 
 
 Bella was a pretty girl, and altogether fascinating, 
 and any one of her many admirers would have been 
 
 delighted to set her up in a villa in Evangel Grove 
 without any tedious preliminaries in the way of 
 marriage. But Bella was not going to ruin herself 
 
 O O O 
 
200 
 
 UNDER TIIE LENS, 
 
 in that way. Old Martingale, her father, knew that 
 he could trust her, and sent her out without any fear, 
 accompanied only by that knowing imp, Jack her groom. 
 Daring the hunting season she used to go down alone 
 to Melton — that is, alone with her maid and Jack — 
 and stay at the house of a well-to-do married farmer, 
 her fathers friend. All this was strictly proper, and, 
 indeed, Bella was so well fenced in proprieties, that 
 not a man could boast of ever having spoken a word 
 to her in private excepting in the open air. 
 
 Her exploits in the hunting-field were enough to 
 make some men, reputed brave, writhe in their saddles. 
 
BELLA MARTINGALE. 
 
 I. 200. 
 
BELLA MARTINGALE. 
 
 201 
 
 It made one thrill to see her ride at a stiff hedge and 
 ditch, which looked as if no horse could clear it. 
 What a seat she had ! With her pretty cheeks slightly 
 flushed from the excitement of the gallop ; her lips 
 quietly, but not tightly, set ; and her whole face 
 wearing a perfectly collected expression, she cleared 
 the stiffest obstacles without fear, and laughed in a 
 pleasing, girlish way when congratulated or remon- 
 strated with on her daring. 
 
 Aristocratic sportswomen viewed Bella without any 
 gratification, and took care to keep her sternly at a 
 distance ; but inwardly they pondered over the ex- 
 quisite cut of her habit, the nice look of her well- 
 blocked hat, and the strange, wondrous grace of her 
 entire appearance. They were envious of her, and it 
 made them the more angry that scandal had not a 
 word to say against her. 
 
 Poor Bella, she had her run of ill-luck at last. She 
 married Dick Spinney, Lord Copswood’s nephew and 
 heir. The prospect of the coronet dazzled her and 
 blinded her to Dick’s fondness for the bottle. Some- 
 body warned her that she was going to make a bad 
 purchase, but she had faith in herself, and thought she 
 could manage Dick. Perhaps she was a little fond of 
 him, for he had been known once as handsome Dick, 
 and the weakness of his character was more calculated 
 to attract than to repel a girl of nerve like hers. 
 
 Bella certainly did her best for the sorry good-for- 
 nought, and would have saved him if anything could 
 
20 2 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 have clone it. She made the most admirable, patient, 
 and judicious of wives ; and not a word ever escaped 
 from her to show that she repented of her choice and 
 despised her husband. Often she had to sit up for 
 him late at night, having sent her servants to bed ; and 
 when he reeled home soaked with brandy and dropped 
 senseless on the door-mat, she carried him upstairs to 
 bed in her strong lithe arms just as if he were a 
 baby. 
 
 The poor wretch had fits of maudlin penitence at 
 times and shed tears, but this never lasted long ; he 
 always broke out again, and ended by dying of D.T. 
 in his own house, for Bella would not have him taken 
 to an asylum. He died before he could inherit his 
 uncle’s title, and he left his young wife with a couple 
 of epileptic children. 
 
 Poor Bella : she deserved better ; and it is sad to 
 see her nowadays, with her pale face and dulled eyes, 
 watching over the two children of a drunken, imbecile 
 father, — children who, she knows, no care of hers 
 will prevent from becoming lunatics. She bought 
 the chance of a coronet rather dear — with her life’s 
 happiness ! 
 
XL 
 
 PIOUS MRS. PALMHOLD. 
 
 “ Have you heard bloody and Sankey ? Have you 
 heard Mrs. Palmhold ? ” 
 
 Mrs. Palmhold had no connection with Moody and 
 Sankey, but the above question was often asked in 
 the same breath. Mrs. Palmhold was as Moody and 
 Sankey rolled into one and made female. She sang, 
 she preached, and she played the American organ. 
 She could, alone and unsupported, take all the parts 
 in a religious entertainment and keep the attention 
 of the congregation from flagging a single instant. 
 There was always a crush at the doors to obtain ad- 
 mittance, and, when the collection plates went round, 
 gold and silver were showered in freely. 
 
 Who was Mrs. Palmhold \ The first time she 
 appeared on a religious stage under the auspices of 
 some highly respectable lay churchmen who had 
 organized special Sunday services for the people, she 
 declared herself in a beautifully toned voice to be “ a 
 reclaimed sinner.” She was a handsome, attractive 
 woman, with a creamy complexion, auburn hair and 
 lustrous eyes, which had a soft, kindly expression. 
 
201 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Her smile was most winning, and she smiled often 
 while she preached, for she inculcated the doctrine 
 of universal brotherly love, and there is nothing to 
 make one frown in that. 
 
 Her appearance was rendered additionally effective 
 by the fine clothes she wore. She dressed in black, 
 
 but in the very height of fashion : her pretty bonnets, 
 loaded with jet and black lace, cost ten guineas, and 
 her twelve-button black gloves cased her small hands 
 
PIOUS MRS. PALMHOLD. 
 
 205 
 
 — size, small fives — without a crease. Her dresses 
 fitted close to her figure and displayed its symmetrical 
 proportions to the greatest advantage, and when she 
 moved from her preaching desk to her organ, and 
 slightly lifted her skirt, her dumb-stricken audience 
 beheld with pious wonder and satisfaction the tiniest 
 of feet in the most unmatchable of boots. All this 
 was well enough ; but who was Mrs. Palmhold ? 
 
 A woman who had been a great sinner ! She said 
 this so often, and with such sweet earnestness, that it 
 would have been discourtesy to doubt her word. One 
 was free to conclude that at some time or other, and in 
 some place or other, there had been a Air. Palmhold, 
 who had not found his life a very pleasant one ; but 
 she vouchsafed no details as to her manner of misbe- 
 having towards this unfortunate man : nor did she 
 
 O 
 
 express any public hope that he would forgive her. 
 She asked her congregation to forgive her ; and this 
 they freely did twice every Sunday in great crowds, 
 and sometimes on week-days as well. 
 
 Mrs. Palmholds Special Salvation Services were 
 advertised in the papers. The notices did not state 
 that there would be preaching and music, admission 
 one shilling ; the admission was free, but when Mrs. 
 Palmhold had got her audience well under the spell of 
 her fascinating eye, when she had talked to them 
 about their sins till their eyes were moist, and 
 played to them till they all roared in chorus that they 
 wanted to be off to Jordan, then she told them that it 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 O 
 
206 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 would please her if they gave of their superfluity to 
 relieve the necessities of other sinners whom she had 
 taken under her special protection. 
 
 To please her the enthusiastic congregations who 
 attended her special services would have done any- 
 thing. When Mrs. Palmhold invited the callous, the 
 hardened, the infidels, to come to her to tread the road 
 which she had walked, to place their hands in her 
 sisterly hand, many of her male hearers thought that 
 they should very much like to cross with her that road 
 alone* which she had travelled and which she called the 
 Wilderness of Sin. Some of them too would have 
 been happy to sojourn with her, for a long time, in that 
 fascinating naughty wilderness. 
 
 She must have made a great deal of money, for, in 
 addition to the regular offertories, she received large 
 contributions towards divers charitable works which 
 she had undertaken. She was purposing to found a 
 Refuge for Castaways, and a Training College for 
 preachers of the fair sex, so soon as she should have 
 collected £20,000. An architect had prepared designs 
 of these two institutions, and they hung framed and 
 glazed in the lobby of her Mission Hall with money 
 boxes under them. 
 
 That the objects Mrs. Palmhold had in view were 
 most excellent and lofty none could doubt ; for how 
 doubt a woman who so strenuously repeated that she 
 had been a terribly wicked sinner % The candour of 
 this avowal disarmed all criticism, for if anybody had 
 
MRS. PALMHOLD. 
 
 I. 206 . 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
PIOUS MRS. PALMHOLD. 
 
 207 
 
 started up to say that at one period of her life Mrs. 
 Palmhold had been a very naughty person, thousands 
 would have answered that this was no news, for that 
 Mrs. Palmhold acknowledged the fact with touching 
 good faith every Sunday at 1 1 a.m. and 7 p.m. 
 
 She had most telling ways of impressing upon her 
 “ dear friends/’ as she called her congregation, that she 
 wished them to believe unreservedly in what she said 
 about her past life. She would break off in the midst 
 of playing and singing to say quietly : “ Formerly, 
 when I was so wicked, this next verse always moved 
 me strangely/’ and she would sing that verse in a 
 subdued tone,, with a slight tremulous quaver on the 
 last notes, and tears in her eyes that gazed heaven- 
 wards. If the people had been in a theatre they 
 would have applauded : as it was they snivelled. 
 
 Mrs. Palmhold once fell ill, and her special services 
 had to be suspended for a fortnight. When she 
 reappeared, she prefaced her sermon by expressing her 
 u deep thanks to all kind friends for the many marks 
 of sympathy and love ” she had received during her 
 trial. The truth is that her knocker and bell had 
 been going constantly, as servants and messengers 
 came to her door bringing cases of wine, hampers of 
 game, baskets of fruit, butter, cream, eggs, and 
 envelopes containing cheques to pay her doctors bills. 
 All these tokens of affection the pretty preacher 
 summed up in appropriate words, by saying that her 
 illness had been a “ blessed time ” to her. 
 
208 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Mrs. Palmhold received many offers of marriage. 
 Two or three wealthy middle-aged gentlemen flung 
 themselves at her feet, exclaiming that they could 
 never be saved unless she would take their salvation 
 into her own hands. She rebuked their desponding 
 sentiments, and stroked the heated brows of her 
 
PIOUS MRS. PALMHOLD. 
 
 209 
 
 admirers with her soft, cool hands, telling them to be 
 good and self-denying, and to look upon her only as a 
 dear sister. They sobbed awfully at being thus spoken 
 to, and pressed heavy cheques upon her for her Refuge 
 and College, hoping perhaps that they might thereby 
 touch her heart. 
 
 But Mrs. Palmhold did not marry. After a long 
 and successful round of services in London she went 
 through the provinces ; then she embarked for America, 
 and it was understood that she had confided all her 
 business arrangements to an impresario who paid 
 her travelling expenses, allowed her two hundred 
 guineas a week (for the unbuilt Refuge and College of 
 course), and kept the surplus of the offertories for 
 himself. After a protracted and most lucrative tour 
 through the States, Mrs. Palmhold returned to Europe ; 
 but the doctors forbade her to preach again, saying 
 that her lungs were affected, and ordered her to reside 
 in a warm climate. 
 
 Upon this our interesting sinner disappeared, and it 
 was not known exactly what warm climate she had 
 chosen : but one of her quondam admirers met her 
 rather unexpectedly some months ago in the lobby of 
 the Grand Opera in Paris. She was waiting for her 
 carriage, and was leaning on the arm of a handsome 
 young man with light curly hair — probably a “ dear 
 brother/' And she cut the other “ dear brother ” — 
 her quondam admirer — dead. 
 
XII. 
 
 MRS. DE COY. 
 
 What becomes of divorced women ? When the last 
 act of the conjugal drama is played out ; when Sir J. 
 Hannen has pronounced his decree nisi with costs 
 against the co-respondent, how fares it with the respon- 
 dent who is deprived of husband, children, home, and 
 dame all at a stroke ? 
 
 Mrs. De Coy, the heroine of a divorce case that made 
 a great stir a few years ago, was so unlucky as to have 
 a co-respondent who was not rich enough to marry her. 
 The costs in the case aforesaid ruined him. Mrs. De 
 Coy was of good family, but her family were not par- 
 ticularly pleased with her for having brought herself 
 under Sir J. Hannen’s notice, and the only terms on 
 which they would consent to help her were, that she 
 should live abroad. They agreed to allow her £200 a 
 year, but this allowance was to cease if ever she set 
 foot again in England. Mrs. De Coy's allowance 
 would in the days when she lived with her husband 
 have been scarcely enough to pay her glover’s yearly 
 bill ; and as she was still in the prime of youth at the 
 time of her divorce, she resolved not to worry herself 
 
MRS. DE COY. 
 
 211 
 
 by any attempt to live within it. She had plenty of 
 male friends, relics of her former visiting-list, and with 
 the kind assistance of these she was soon leading a 
 merry life in Paris. She had apartments in the 
 
 Champs Elysdes ; she drove to the Bois in a grand 
 barouche, and she went a good deal into official society. 
 French official society is not exclusive, and Frenchmen 
 certainly find it difficult to understand the exact 
 status of an English divorced woman. They believe 
 
212 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 that the English are peculiar in their ways, and that 
 they can get their marriage ties dissolved easily. 
 
 The “jolie Madame De Coy/’ who seemed to have 
 plenty of money, and who gave such nice little dinner 
 parties, where one met distinguished politicians, artists, 
 journalists, English peers and Russian princesses, did 
 not look at all like a declctssee. She differed from 
 Frenchwomen judicially separated from their husbands 
 in that she was free to marry again — which was a 
 great point — and it is highly probable that she would 
 have remarried had her friends continued generous. 
 But she was a little woman of very extravagant turn 
 who spent money without counting; and she was 
 deficient in the arts by which professional a nonymas 
 of the better sort keep their purses well-filled. Being 
 a lady by birth, education and manners, she kept her 
 acquaintances under a feeling of rather awkward re- 
 straint. She claimed the respect due to the old posi- 
 tion which she had forfeited ; and sometimes showed 
 herself a little too touchy and prim in her efforts to 
 appear respectable. The consequence was that men 
 grew weary of her and left her. 
 
 Then she began her apprenticeship as a clemi- 
 mondaine in grim earnest. She was continually in 
 debt and in pecuniary straits. Her furniture and 
 jewels were seized ; she had to fly from Paris to 
 escape the imprisonment to which aliens are subject 
 when they run up bills they cannot pay. She betook 
 herself to one watering-place after another, remain- 
 
MRS. DE COY. 
 
 213 
 
 ing just long enough in each to make the place 
 too hot to hold her. She wrote begging-letters for 
 £10 notes to the men who had formerly given her 
 hundreds ; she dunned all her friends and her 
 husbands friends : so shameless did she grow under 
 the pinch of poverty, that she ended by writing to her 
 husband, saying she was dying of consumption in a 
 hospital, and begged him for pity's sake to send her a 
 few pounds that she might be decently buried. 
 
 The unhappy man who had once deeply loved her 
 was so much moved by this epistle, that he forgot all 
 his resentment, and hastened off to Fecamp, whence the 
 letter had been dated. He found his wife not in the 
 hospital, but in shabby lodgings lunching off Burgundy 
 and pate de foie gras. She was dressed in a soiled 
 peignoir , with her hair falling over her shoulders, and 
 there was a greasy pack of cards on the table, with 
 which she had been telling her own fortune. On the 
 hearthrug sprawled a baby two years old. 
 
 Mrs. De Coy had not expected her husband, and 
 the sight of him gave her a turn. She rose very pale, 
 and was half inclined to run away ; but he stopped 
 her with a wave of the hand. He was so overcome — 
 so shocked and sorrowful, that for some minutes he 
 could not speak ; but at last he pointed to the baby, 
 who had scrambled to its feet and was staring at him 
 with a finger in her mouth. 
 
 “ Yes, that’s mine,” she said, hoarsely. 
 
 <e And the father — who is he ? where is he ? ” 
 
214 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Mrs. De Coy shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 “ Oh, my poor Lizzie, that you should have come to 
 this state,” moaned the wretched husband. He 
 uttered no other reproach beyond this ; but asked her 
 how much money would be required to set her quite 
 
MRS. DE COY. 
 
 215 
 
 ■straight ; and by-and-bye he induced her to make out 
 •a list of all the debts she had incurred since their 
 parting. Ho promised to pay everything, and double 
 her allowance, so that she might have the means of 
 living in decent comfort ; and he offered to adopt her 
 child. She burst into tears then : up to that moment 
 she had kept mastery over her feelings, and tried to 
 show a hard sullenness, but all that was left of good in 
 her leapt into an expiring flame at the mention of her 
 child. She had other children — those of her husband, 
 whom she was never to see again, and the thought 
 that this poor little waif would lead a life very 
 different to theirs, if not rescued in time, suddenly 
 wrung her heart. She would have loved to keep the 
 child ; but for the child’s own sake, she sobbed out : — 
 “ Yes, take her.” 
 
 “ My poor Lizzie, try and do better,” faltered the 
 husband presently as he was going away ; “ you can’t 
 be happy, living as you are.” 
 
 “ Happy ! no,” she answered bitterly. Nevertheless, 
 on the day after her husband had gone away with her 
 child, she was humming contentedly enough before 
 her looking-glass as she dressed her hair. Her debts 
 were to be paid ; her allowance was doubled, so she 
 had cause enough to sing. Women of Mrs. De Coy’s 
 description, necessarily get hardened. Emotion may 
 seize upon them sometimes, but if they yielded too 
 often to that kind of thing it would kill them. On 
 the whole, Mrs. De Coy said to herself, that the 
 
216 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 doleful letter which she had written to her husband 
 to announce her approaching death had produced 
 capital results. 
 
 She spent the ensuing winter at Nice, whence she 
 paid frequent visits to the gambling saloons of Monte 
 Carlo, in company with one of her male admirers 
 — a bald-pated Hebrew banker, whose acquaintance 
 
 
MRS. DE COY. 
 
 217 
 
 she had made at Dieppe. In the spring she returned 
 to Paris but could not resume her former position 
 there, for it had got bruited abroad that her ante- 
 cedents were disreputable. She had not been care- 
 ful to keep up appearances in the days when she 
 wandered about among sea-coast towns, and some 
 stories concerning her embarrassments and the ways of 
 getting out of them had been so exaggerated as to 
 wear an ugly look. However, having now a clean 
 slate so far as duns were concerned, she obtained fresh 
 credit on the strength of her bills having been paid 
 — long after her creditors had struck them off their 
 books as bad debts — and she commenced quite a new 
 sort of life among new friends. 
 
 She gave brilliant parties almost every evening of 
 the week, and they were attended by Princesses and 
 Countesses in great numbers ; but all these ladies were 
 tarred with the same brush as herself. They were 
 “ irregulars ” separated from their husbands — the aris- 
 tocracy of the “ half-world ”, the leaders of the grand 
 army of Adventuresses. They were fascinating enough 
 to attract at first some of the best male society of the 
 capital ; but one evening there was an awkward affair 
 caused by a “ Greek ” slipping into the rooms and 
 cheating an ambassador at cards, after which the com- 
 pany distinctly deteriorated in quality. 
 
 Madame De Coy s saloons then became a regular 
 private hell to which ‘‘Greeks” allured very young 
 2nen, and inexperienced foreigners, chiefly South 
 
218 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 American plutocrats, Russians and Turks. Swindling- 
 was carried on there as a nightly business upon which 
 the hostess received an ample commission. She might 
 have got rich now had she been able to curb her 
 extravagant propensities ; but before she had seriously 
 set herself to lay by for a rainy day, a destructive 
 storm burst upon her unexpectedly. One night the 
 police made a raid into her rooms, seized all the money 
 on the card-tables, and conveyed her to the Prefecture 
 along with several “ Greeks ” and Countesses her 
 accomplices. She was locked up in a cell and re- 
 mained there for several days : then she was removed 
 to the prison of St. Lazare under remand from a Juge 
 dTnstruction, who announced his intention of com- 
 mitting her for trial on a charge of swindling. 
 
 Once again her husband had to interfere to save- 
 her ; but this time he could only do so by getting her 
 declared insane. The French lunacy laws are very lax,, 
 and doctors will always be found to certify that a 
 “ grande dame ” who misconducts herself must be 
 mad. So Mrs. De Coy was removed to a jnivate- 
 asylum, and there she is still, to her great disgust, for a 
 long incarceration was more than she had bargained 
 for. 
 
 After her arrest she had telegraphed to her ex- 
 liusband in the wildest terms imploring him to save- 
 her ; but she had calculated that she would not be 
 made to spend more than a few weeks or months in 
 an asylum. Mr. De Coy, however, acting upon advice 
 
MRS. DE COY. 
 
 219 
 
 both legal and medical, resolved that she should no 
 longer drag his name in the mud ; and so, although he 
 had strictly speaking no hold over her, he made use of 
 the power which a long purse gives to get Mrs. De Coy 
 put into the charge of a mad doctor who was not likely 
 to let her go so long as a high price for her main- 
 tenance was regularly paid. Mrs. De Coy enjoys every 
 material comfort in her seclusion ; but she will probably 
 not recover her liberty until she is quite an old woman, 
 even if she gets it then. 
 
XIII. 
 
 MRS. LAWKINS. 
 
 Mrs. De Coy was an Adventuress both lucky and 
 unlucky in having friends to assist her, save her from 
 prison, and shut her up ; Mrs. Lawkins is the type of 
 an Adventuress of whom many specimens are to be 
 found in semi-genteel localities, whence they often 
 proceed to penitentiaries. She was a woman of the 
 same calibre as our friend the Countess d’Orenbarrc, 
 but operating in a lower social circle. 
 
 Mrs. Lawkins, fat, grey-haired, and fifty, took 
 lodgings in a genteel street in Bloomsbury, at two 
 guineas a week ; and entered into possession with 
 luggage enough to win the respect of her landlord and 
 landlady. She had the drawing-room floor, and during 
 six weeks paid her rent with commendable regularity 
 every Monday. She paid likewise for the things she 
 ate and drank, and gave no cause whatever for re- 
 proach. Altogether she paid about £20 in the course 
 of those six weeks. 
 
 But for these £20 she contrived in a year to get 
 about £400 from her landlord — which was not a bad 
 return for her investment. The landlord was a Mr. 
 
MRS. LAWKINS. 
 
 221 
 
 Flatte, a gentleman who had business in the City and 
 was never seen at home between the hours of 9 a.m. 
 and 6 p.m., except on Sundays and bank-holidays. He 
 and his wife had not long been married, and they were 
 a nice young couple, with all their troubles before 
 them, all their experience to buy, and one baby already 
 to provide for. The story which Mrs. Lawkins told to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Flatte interested them vastly. She had 
 inherited a large legacy from a relative in Australia. 
 She showed them a long letter from a colonial lawyer, 
 setting forth the terms of her relative’s will, giving 
 full details of the property bequeathed to her, and 
 asking for instructions with reference to the realization 
 of the estate. An active correspondence seemed to be 
 going on between Mrs. Lawkins and the solicitor at 
 the Antipodes ; but the good lady complained that she 
 was put to great expense for searches of certificates of 
 births, marriages and deaths, necessary to be filed in 
 the colonial courts. In a private conversation with 
 Mrs. Flatte, she confidentially confessed that her income 
 being small, these unexpected calls, however gratifying 
 in one sense, were becoming a serious drag upon her, 
 and that she thought of giving up her apartments 
 and going to live at an economical boarding-house 
 until the business was settled and some remittances 
 which she had already written for reached her from 
 Australia. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Flatte was in a state of great conster- 
 nation at this intelligence. The drawing-room floor, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 p 
 
222 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 which had long been vacant, now nearly paid the rent 
 of the house ; and Mrs. Flatte urged upon her hus- 
 band the policy of keeping their lodger with them 
 as long as they possibly could. 
 
 Mr. Flatte thereupon good naturedly told Mrs. 
 Lawkins that she need not trouble herself to pay for 
 
MRS. LAWKIXS. 
 
 223 
 
 her rooms and board until it was quite convenient to 
 ■do so. He could very well afford to wait, he said ; and 
 meanwhile, if he could oblige her with a few pounds 
 on loan lie should be very happy to let her have them. 
 The upshot of this was that for weeks and weeks Mrs. 
 Lawkins lived at free quarters in the Flattes’ house, 
 and on one pretence and another borrowed several ten 
 pound notes from the confiding couple. 
 
 In truth these inexperienced young people were 
 really very glad to let Mrs. Lawkins have the money, 
 for they were persuaded that she was about to become 
 very rich : and besides, she had more than once hinted 
 that she would repay a hundredfold any kindnesses 
 shown her now. She talked of lending Mr. Flatte 
 a large sum of money to enable him to set up as a 
 merchant on his own account. She had faith in his 
 •abilities, and was persuaded that money placed in 
 his hands would be more prudently and profitably 
 employed than if it were invested in any of those 
 swindling joint-stock companies which are continually 
 coming to smash. She would be his sleeping partner, 
 she said, and if he succeeded lie would owe her no 
 thanks, for the gain would be all on her side. 
 
 These generous sayings pleased simple Mr. Flatte, 
 who became more and more free with his £10 notes, 
 and at length advanced £250 (every penny of his 
 savings) all in a lump to enable Mrs. Lawkins to pay a 
 certain portion of the legacy duty which owing, as she 
 explained, to an unaccountable mistake of the Austra- 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 224 
 
 lian lawyers, was payable in London. As security 
 for this advance, however, Mrs. Lawkins lodged in Mr. 
 Flatted hands a bill of exchange for £5000 at ninety 
 days, which had been sent out to her from Australia 
 as a first small instalment of the money coming to her. 
 Mr. Flatte was requested kindly to present the bill 
 when it became due, as Mrs. Lawkins did not know 
 “ how those things were managed.” He promised to 
 do what was required, and locked up the bill in his 
 desk. Some few days afterwards, Mrs. Lawkins 
 showed the Flattes a letter of invitation, from, as she 
 said, some distant relative asking her to spend a few 
 days in the country, and announced that she would not 
 be back for a week, or perhaps a little longer. 
 
 She never returned at all, however, and the poor 
 Flattes were not long in finding out that they had 
 been hoaxed. It transpired that Mrs. Lawkins had 
 for some time past been quietly removing her most 
 valuable portable property from the house, and had 
 replaced it with some worthless weighty articles which 
 had made the boxes she left behind feel uncommonly 
 heavy. The revelation of so much cunning and fraud 
 quite prostrated the Flattes, who had no resource but 
 to lodge a complaint with the police. Unhappily 
 they could bring no serious charge against their ex- 
 lodger, for the sham bill of exchange, which might 
 have afforded ground for a charge of forgery, was 
 found to be missing from Mr. Flattes desk. The 
 nimble Mrs. Lawkins must have somehow abstracted 
 
MRS. LAWKINS. 
 
 225 
 
 it with a prudent eye to future possibilities ; so Mr. 
 Flatte had to content himself with preferring a charge 
 of obtaining money under false pretences, and a warrant 
 was issued to apprehend Mrs. Lawkins wherever she 
 might be found. 
 
 She was not found for a long time, but about two 
 years after she had absconded from the Flattes’ she 
 was arrested elsewhere on a similar charge, and poor 
 Mr. Flatte reading of her case in the papers then came 
 forward with his own accusation against her. Mrs. 
 Lawkins was tried at the Old Bailey, but the judge 
 
 
 showed himself rather favourable towards her. He 
 made some uncomplimentary remarks on the Flattes, 
 saying that there was a category of persons who 
 seemed to carry their money in their open hands as 
 
*>26 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 a standing temptation to the needy. Noticing the- 
 bias of his lordship’s mind, Mrs. Lawkins’s counsel 
 advised her to plead guilty to the several charges* 
 and throw herself on the mercy of the Court — which 
 she did with a perfectly unmoved countenance, and 
 was duly sentenced to a year’s imprisonment — not 
 much considering that this wiped out all her old 
 scores against Society, and put her in the comfortable- 
 position of being able to move about in perfect security 
 so soon as her term should have expired. Mr. Flatte- 
 had to walk out of court with his head bowed down in 
 sorrow, having met with no sympathy from anybody* 
 not even from his own solicitor, who repeatedly asked 
 him how he could have been so utterly foolish \ 
 
 Yet his was a foolishness that came as much from a 
 good heart as from a simple head ; and it speaks pretty 
 well for human nature that foolishness such as his- 
 should be so common. 
 
PUBLIC SCHOOL BOYS AND 
 UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
ETON COLLEGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 ENGLISH PUBLIC SCHOOLS — DRAWBACKS OF ETON. 
 
 Since the Boy is father to the Man, his education is 
 ever a matter of vital interest to the community. It 
 is more so in the British Isles than elsewhere, for ours 
 is a country of large families, of primogeniture, and 
 of competitive examinations. On the use which an 
 English boy makes of his time at school and college 
 depends much of his chance of success in after life. 
 There is no country where so much importance is 
 attached to a good university degree, to prizes for 
 Latin and Greek, and there is none where so many 
 careers are ojien to mere proficiency in early studies. 
 At twenty a well-crammed youth has before him a 
 
230 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 multitude of professions, all affording an immediate 
 competency, and prospects at once lucrative and 
 honourable. He lias the Church, with its countless 
 benefices, tutorships, and schoolmasterships ; the Civil 
 Service, at home and in India ; and the Army, which 
 may be made a paying profession to those who work 
 in it. Even the Bar has ceased to be quite a close 
 corporation, and it offers innumerable resources to the 
 studious, whether a man choose to plod patiently in 
 it, with a view to a good practice and a judgeship in 
 England, or to accept one of the many judicial offices 
 obtainable in the colonies. 
 
 As a land abounding in younger sons, who have 
 only their wits to rely on, England has established a 
 social equality which is a much more solid thing than 
 the political equality of Frenchmen — namely, the 
 equality before Examiners. Every boy who aspires 
 to climb high by means of books can do so, and he 
 gets his first chance when he is barely out of the 
 nursery — at ten years of age — when he can win a 
 foundation scholarship, which secures him a first-class 
 education for a very small yearly sum. 
 
 Consequently British public schools are closely 
 watched by parents, and they are, taking them all in 
 all, the best in the world. Foreigners are as unani- 
 mous about that as Englishmen themselves. If it 
 were only for the great fact that English schools have 
 succeeded in making a boy’s life pleasant, instead of 
 the fearful drudgery it once was, they would still 
 
ENGLISH PUBLIC SCHOOLS — DRAWBACKS OF ETON. 231 
 
 carry the palm from foreign educational establish- 
 ments, where it remains a maxim that lads must bo 
 confined, bored, overtasked, and ill-fed. Amongst 
 English schools, however, there are good, better, and 
 best ; and even the best leave something to be desired. 
 An educational system which works upon the plan of 
 allowing boys as much liberty as possible, is naturally 
 liable to beget abuses, and it may be complained that 
 in some of our most famous public schools these* 
 abuses have not been reduced to a minimum. 
 
 The finest of English schools is Eton. It is the 
 most agreeable to boys, the most costly for parents,, 
 the richest in endowments, the most aristocratic, and 
 the most ill-conducted of any. Why Eton should be 
 so ill-conducted is perhaps due less to any defect in 
 its organization than to the fact that it has not, within 
 living memory, possessed a Head Master who was 
 actuated by any zeal for improvements, or by any 
 great sense of his responsibilities in training boys to be 
 intelligent, upright, and useful men. Doctors Keate,. 
 Goodal, Hawtrey, Goodford, and Balstow have all been 
 scholars and gentlemen, who looked rather to main- 
 taining things as they found them than to introducing 
 changes which should raise the tone of the school and 
 galvanize their boys into a sturdiness of purpose in all 
 things, whether sports or lessons. 
 
 Etonians themselves, they were imbued with the 
 idea that Eton was a school apart, which had no need 
 to take examples from outside — which must not > 
 
232 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 indeed, condescend to take them — and, mixing largely 
 with lords, squires, rich merchants, and bishops, who 
 asked little more than that their sons should be taught 
 a smattering of the classics and be kept out of mis- 
 chief, they confined their functions strictly within 
 these limits. They were, in fact, custodians of boys 
 rather than teachers. They were content to see work 
 scrambled through, discipline ignored in the spirit, 
 provided it was observed in the letter, and morals cor- 
 rupted, so long as there was no scandal ; it was only 
 when a boy proved unruly that they woke up, and 
 imagined they did their duty by throwing him off 
 their hands, instead of keeping him and trying to 
 make him more reasonable. The present Head Master 
 of Eton, Dr. Hornby,'"' is neither better nor worse than 
 his predecessors. 
 
 But if the head-masters of Eton have been listless 
 the assistant-masters have in general been apathetic 
 and incompetent, as men must be who have no active 
 chief to keep them up to a high mark. The rule of 
 most Eton masters ever has been, and is, to stimulate 
 such few boys as show an eagerness to work, and to 
 leave the others to follow their own devices. They 
 complain that they are too busy to do justice to all, 
 that their school divisions are of unwieldy size, that 
 twenty pupils are the utmost that a master can con- 
 scientiously manage, and that, in fact, they are all 
 
 * Doctor Hornby has been appointed Provost of Eton College since the 
 above was written. 
 
ENGLISH PUBLIC SCHOOLS — DRAWBACKS OF ETON. 233 
 
 overworked ; but while uttering these lamentations 
 every master has constantly striven to stuff his house 
 with as many boys as he could get, and one was not so 
 long ao*o dismissed for the ostensible reason that he 
 refused to limit his number of boarders to forty-five, 
 i.e . 9 to twice as many as he could by any possibility 
 superintend."' 
 
 To grow rich, to have little trouble, to maintain 
 pleasant social relations with the parents of aristo- 
 cratical pupils, these have been the objects of the Eton 
 masters ambition ; and few of them have ever be- 
 stowed any pains upon training boyish natures that 
 showed a tendency to grow crooked. From the 
 moment a lad comes up to Eton he is treated much as 
 a full-grown man. Outside school he is subject to no 
 supervision ; and even in school he may do only just 
 as much work as suits him, trusting to his luck to 
 avoid punishment. He grows up in lazy, extrava- 
 gant habits : he becomes a dawdler, sometimes an 
 affected coxcomb, and if he does not very often come 
 
 * The master in question is the Rev. Oscar Browning, and it is only fair 
 to state that at the time of his dismissal there were several houses which 
 contained, and contain to this day, more than 45 boys, one had 58. The 
 true reason of Mr. Browning's dismissal was that he and the Head Master 
 could not work together ; and Dr. Hornby would have acted more candidly 
 in avowing this, than in trying to fix upon his subordinate the stigma of 
 having acted in a way which outsiders, knowing nothing of Eton, may have 
 thought improper. Mr. Browning only followed the Eton custom in trying 
 to fill his house, but in most respects he was superior to the average run of 
 Eton masters. He is a man of high attainments and principle — industrious, 
 liberal-minded, and was highly popular amongst his pupils. Perhaps his 
 too great popularity was not a merit in the eyes of Dr. Hornby, whose 
 qualities are not of the endearing sort. 
 
234 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 to grief, it is because in general his relatives are rich 
 enough to cast his after-lines in smooth places. 
 
 But Eton is a giant academy of dunces. Ninc- 
 tenths of the boys who leave it know nothing. They 
 have learned to dress and talk well, to wear smoothly 
 brushed hats, to tie a white cravat properly, to swim, 
 pull an oar, play football and cricket, drink beer and 
 •champagne ; but there their accomplishments end. 
 Even in such small talents as are desiderated in 
 British squires they are deficient. Set up one of them 
 to make a speech on a hustings or at a harvest dinner, 
 and his confusion is entertaining to witness. He 
 blushes, stammers, wriggles, and is occasionally 
 reduced to mouthing his ideas by the help of a piece 
 ■of paper pasted in the bottom of his hat. Yet Eton 
 boasts her debating societies, and Sixth-form boys are 
 educated to address large audiences of their school- 
 fellows at periodical intervals in the Upper School, 
 where they wear tight breeches and black-silk stock- 
 ings to encourage them. 
 
 o o 
 
 L 
 
II. 
 
 OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 We have said that when a hoy comes to Eton he 
 finds himself treated much like a full-grown man. To 
 begin with he has a room to himself, with a fireplace 
 and a bureau, a cupboard full of crockery, a teapot, 
 kettle, and a saucepan. He takes breakfast and tea 
 by himself, or forms a mess with one or more of the 
 boys in his boarding house. Rations of tea or coffee 
 and sugar are served out to him weekly, and of bread 
 and butter morning and evening. Nobody has a 
 right to control his commissariat, which is limited 
 only by the resources of his exchequer. If he can 
 afford it, he may fill himself with sausages, eggs, jam, 
 and potted meats without stint. 
 
 Every boy adds to the furniture of his room such 
 adornments as he pleases in the way of pictures, clocks, 
 and chimney nick-nacks. An Etonian is not so well- 
 lodged as a University Undergraduate, but often 
 better than an officer living within barracks. He takes 
 care of his own linen and clothes. He puts on what 
 apparel he likes, keeping only to the rule of wearing a 
 tall hat, black jacket, and black necktie, or else a 
 
236 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 white tie if he be in “ tails ” — that is, coats. Should 
 he desire a new hat or garment, he has only to ask his 
 tutor for an order on the hosier or tailor, and mostly 
 gets it without parley. Some of the older boys deal 
 directly with the tradesmen, who supply them ad 
 libitum , and send the bills to their parents. It is thus 
 that habits of economy are inculcated at an early 
 age ! 
 
 To be sure Etonians have not much need to study 
 economy, for few of them are poor ; but those of their 
 number who stand in the case of having to earn their 
 bread in after life cannot but suffer sorely from the 
 temptations to expenditure and debt thrown in their 
 way. Almost all the Eton tradesmen give “ tick ” — 
 some directly urge their young customers to accept 
 goods on credit. A boy can run up bills with the 
 confectioner, picture-dealer, fives-ball vendor, and with 
 various tavern-keepers up the river. Some get in debt 
 for beer, wine, and tobacco. Dr. Hornby has made a 
 rule that a boy seen entering any of the Windsor 
 hotels shall be expelled ; but these places of entertain- 
 ment are largely frequented on the sly, and more than 
 one lad has learned in them the first lessons of intem- 
 perance, destined to bear bad fruit by-and-by. 
 
 Parents in moderate circumstances who send their 
 boys to Eton, in the hopes of their making valuable 
 aristocratical acquaintances, may be sure that the first 
 thing learned by the lads will be to live above their 
 means and to be idle. No glory is to be got at Eton 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 237 
 
 by working. Lessons are learned by “ cribs.” A boy 
 who wants to be thought a “ swell” reads up his 
 Homer or Horace just well enough to escape getting a 
 
 poena of a hundred lines if called up to construe, and 
 he crams himself for the half-yearly trials, or examina- 
 tions, just as much as may be necessary to obtain him 
 his remove. 
 
 If a boy does more than this — if he seek to master 
 his lessons thoroughly, and to take a good place in the 
 examinations, he is contemptuously called a “ sap ; ” 
 and might as well be at Eossall or Shrewsbury for all 
 the social benefit he is likely to derive from the 
 school. The workers at Eton, are the seventy founda- 
 
 Q 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
233 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 tion scholars, complimentarily termed “ tugs,” and 
 some few Oppidans, who are not unfrequently hoys of 
 delicate health unable to take part in sports. Peers’ 
 younger sons occasionally “ sap,” and such a thing 
 has been seen as a peer s first-born who made light of 
 the title of “muff” (usually appended to that of 
 “ sap ”) and went in bravely for assiduous book-work ; 
 but these studiously inclined young noblemen belong 
 to the phoenix species, and they are seldom much 
 liked by their companions. 
 
 The dislike to incurring the epithet of “muff” 
 induces an Etonian to make an early choice as to 
 whether he shall be a " dry-bob ” or a “ wet-bob.” If 
 
 / 
 
 ETON COLLEGE FROM THE THAMES. 
 
AT THE ETON AND HARROW CRICKET MATCH, 
 
 I. 230. 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 239 
 
 FUTURE, PRESENT, AND PAST. 
 
 the former, he devotes himself to cricket in the hope 
 of ultimately figuring in a light blue cap at Lord’s in 
 the match against Harrow ; if he prefers aquatics, 
 he first passes his swimming examination, then hires 
 a “ chance-boat ” or a lock-up ” * for the year at Good- 
 man’s or Salter’s. He may cherish the ambition of 
 getting into the eight, and competing for the Ladies’ 
 Challenge Plate at Henley, or failing that, he will be 
 content to enter the “ Boats,” which is the abbreviated 
 name for the School Boating Club, which comprises 
 eight 8-oars and one 10-oar. 
 
 * For £2 10s. or £3 a-year a boy can hire a “ chance-boat,” i.e. the right 
 to take his chance of any of the skiffs on the boat -builders’ rafts. For £5 
 he hires a boat which is exclusively his own. 
 
240 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Cricketing and row- 
 ing when assiduously 
 followed, are both expen- 
 sive pursuits, but rowing espe- 
 cially so. The “ dry-bobs ” are a steadier class of boys 
 than the u wet,” and it has been noticed that they seldom 
 go wrong in after life. Once they begin to shine at 
 cricket, the game absorbs all their spare moments and 
 keeps them out of mischief. First, as Lower boys, they 
 play in “ Sixpenny ; ” then, on reaching the Fifth-form 
 they are enrolled in the Lower Club, and finally they 
 are promoted to the Upper Club, where the glories of 
 the Eleven or the Twenty- two may await them. At 
 this stage, they take tea three times a week, during 
 the summer-half, in the open air under the trees of 
 Poet’s Walk. On school-match days, those who are in 
 
 AT HENLEY. 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 241 
 
 “ ’AV yer colours, gents.” 
 
 the Eleven lunch and dine at their own expense with 
 the team that has come down to play against them ; 
 and in the course of the half are saddled with the 
 extra cost of the two days’ match at Lord’s, and the 
 match against Winchester, which is played on alter- 
 nate years at Eton and in Hampshire. 
 
 The expenses of a boy in the Eleven amount to 
 
 “WHOSE HAT WILL GET IT?” 
 
242 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 about £25 during the midsummer half, and sometimes 
 'exceed that sum, but the expenditure of time is a 
 much more serious item, for it may be said, that a boy 
 in the Eleven does nothing but play. He prepares his 
 work in odd half-hours, frequently gets his Latin 
 verses done for him by some friendly “sap,” and 
 contrives to toil through his construing in school by 
 means of English words written in pencil over the 
 Latin and Greek ones. But his form master is sure to 
 be indulgent to him in consideration of his prowess 
 with the bat or ball. It would be thought an ill- 
 natured thing of a tutor to set pcenas to a lad whose 
 excuse for unlearned lessons was that he had been 
 practising to sustain the supremacy of his school over 
 Harrow. 
 
 “ Wet bobs ” waste even more time than dry ones, 
 and to much less profit, for it is only a small minority 
 of them who take to rowing for rowing's sake, and 
 seriously strive to perfect themselves in oarsmanship. 
 The rest loaf about the river in skiffs and outriggers ; 
 scull up to Surley Hall and Mrs. Franklin’s at Monkey 
 Island, where they drink beer ; or moon about the 
 Brocas in flannel shirts, chaffing the boat-builders’ 
 men. Their life becomes a grand lounge — a perfected 
 system of laziness. They bet on boat races, learn to 
 bandy words with bargees, and become adepts in the 
 emptying of pewters. Thus far they get as Lower boys, 
 but when they reach Fifth-form and can enter the 
 “Boats” they find additional incentives to dissipation. 
 

ETON VERSUS HARROW : A DRAWN GAME. 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 243 
 
 SURLEY. 
 
 for they pull up to the riverside taverns in crews of 
 eight, and often get leave for half-holiday water parties, 
 which include a champagne dinner at Monkey Island 
 or Maidenhead. 
 
 Then there is the 4th of June regatta, when the 
 boats all go up processionally to Surley for an alfresco 
 supper followed by a row back in the dusk, and fire- 
 works off the eyot near Windsor Bridge. This is a 
 regular carnival, pretty to look at and agreeable to join 
 in. The crews all wear fancy sailors costumes, 
 beflowered straw hats, and gilt-buttoned jackets, 
 lined and faced with black or white silk. The 
 coxwains are attired as admirals, naval captains, or 
 midshipmen, and sport huge nosegays. Crowds of 
 carriages containing friends and strangers follow the 
 boats to Surley ; and hundreds of Lower boys mingling 
 with the cads of the county of Bucks throng round the 
 ables where the supper is spread. There is a hamper 
 
244 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 of champagne to every boat’s crew, to say nothing of 
 claret and sherry. Toasts are proposed and drunk one 
 after another without heel-taps. After the third glass 
 the young oarsmen get lively, and begin passing 
 bumpers over their shoulders to the Lower boys, who 
 scream and fight for them. 
 
 Many of these youngsters get maudlin drunk on the 
 spot, drop down and have to be carried back to college 
 by good Samaritans ; others have legs enough left to 
 stagger along with, yelling or weeping as they go. It 
 is not a rare thing on 4tli of June nights for a couple 
 of hundred boys to be the worse for liquor, but it is 
 the custom of the place, and no notice is taken by the 
 authorities, except in cases where the tipsiness has 
 been uproarious, and led to some scandal. In this 
 event the juvenile tippler is taught the virtue of 
 sobriety by a good birching ; and there the matter 
 ends till the following year, when the same thing 
 repeats itself. 
 
 It is fair to state, however, that drunkenness has de- 
 clined at Eton of late years. Ten years or so ago 
 there was an Election Saturday regatta, besides that 
 on the 4th of June, and five-and-twenty years ago 
 there were a series of “ Check nights ” on alternate 
 Saturdays through the summer half, when it was the 
 custom for all the “ Boats ” to fuddle themselves in 
 private banquets. Old Etonians can also recollect the 
 “ Oppidan dinner ” at the White Hart at Windsor 
 which used to close the summer half ; and “ leaving 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 245 
 
 breakfasts ” which boys who left the school were 
 expected to give to those who had presented them 
 with “ leaving books/’ 
 
 All these feasts were occasions for hard drinking, 
 which kept Dr. Goodford’s birch in active employment, 
 but elicited no other remonstrance on his part. The 
 worthy Doctor was even averse from flogging for such 
 trifles, and had brought his assistants to wink at as 
 much inebriation as did not entail an absolute loss of 
 equilibrium and power of speech. Oppidan dinner 
 has now vanished, and Dr. Hornby has abolished leav- 
 ing books, so that leaving breakfasts have ceased to be 
 customary. The Windsor hotel-keepers mourn the 
 decline in toping which has resulted from these 
 changes, and talk of Eton as being a much slower 
 school than it formerly was. 
 
 It is not so slow as all that, however, for present 
 Etonians are allowed amusements which were sternly 
 denied to their predecessors. What would old Dr. 
 Hawtrey have thought could he have foreseen that a 
 time would come when the whole school would be 
 suffered to attend the Windsor races, and mix twice a 
 year for three consecutive days with all the social scum 
 which pollutes second class racecourses in these days % 
 It is curious to watch the crowd of well-dressed boys, 
 mingling on the turf with a mob of sharpers, black-legs, 
 book-makers, thimble-riggers, and stable-men. They 
 enliven the proceedings, for they cheer their favourites 
 as if they were witnessing an honest contest of speed 
 
246 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 on their own river ; but they also bet, they haunt 
 the refreshment booths, taking strong pulls of beer or 
 American drinks, and they are worked into a fearful 
 state of excitement, and horsey passion by the atmo- 
 sphere of noise and tobacco, stable slang and foul 
 oaths of disappointed backers. 
 
 Masters occasionally prowl about the course, looking 
 oddly out of place in their black clothes and white ties, 
 but they cannot keep their eyes everywhere at once. 
 Demure rogues are on the watch for the boys, enticing 
 their half-sovereigns with offers of long odds. Fluffy - 
 haired liouris from London ogle the elder ones from 
 waggonettes, or the box seats of regimental drags. If 
 one of these striplings is known to be a Lord or a 
 banker’s heir, he is coaxed into acceptiug champagne 
 cup, and his charmers take care to slip their cards into 
 his hand that he may know where to find them in 
 London during the holidays ; and should a master 
 unexpectedly hover near the spot, these affable ladies 
 will tell their young dupe, giddy with mocking wine 
 and flattery, to lie down flat in the bottom of the 
 vehicle while they cover him up, giggling, with their 
 skirts until that kill-joy tutor is out of sight. 
 
 Dr. Hornby does not expressly allow these things. 
 He does not give the boys a holiday that they may 
 have more leisure to improve their minds by associa- 
 tion with bad company, but he does not prohibit them 
 from attending the races, nor cause them to be sent 
 back to college and punished if they are seen there. 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 247 
 
 ~ It is a queer 
 inconsistency which 
 renders a lad liable 
 to expulsion for en- 
 tering a respectable 
 hotel, while suffering 
 him to mix in scenes which even grown-up persons 
 find morally insalubrious ; but one may suppose that 
 Dr. Hornby’s ideas as to the so-called manly sport of 
 
24-8 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 racing are derived from the days when he himself was 
 young, and the ring was comparatively pure beside 
 what it is now. 
 
 Windsor fair, held yearly in October, is another of 
 the things which has ceased to be interdicted nowa- 
 days. 0 Etonians of the past, what a change is there 
 from the times when to wander among the booths of 
 Thames Street led to almost certain swishing, and 
 when to be caught in Bachelor’s Acre among the 
 shows of learned pigs and giantesses, the rifle-galleries, 
 and the clandestine roulette tables, meant “ twelve 
 cuts and turning down \ ” Who does not remember 
 those frantic chevies down Castle Hill, when a dozen 
 boys, scampering like hares, would fling a shilling to 
 some cad to trip up the master who was running 
 behind ? Many a divine has measured his length 
 along those hard flags — many a one who was darting 
 across the Acre in pursuit of his juvenile quarry has 
 been stopped by a cocoa-nut flung full in his face by 
 the unerring hand of a gipsy. 
 
 It was the smaller boys who suffered most then, for 
 the elder ones knew of the snug places between tents 
 whose every approach was well guarded by sturdy 
 scamps, and where they could lose handfuls of pocket 
 money, to their hearts’ content, with loaded dice, or 
 roulette wheels, whose careering ball the squinting 
 croupier knew well how to stop when it suited him. 
 Sometimes there were fierce battles between boys 
 who guessed they were being robbed and their 
 
AN ETON MASTER BROUGHT SUDDENLY UP AT WINDSOR FAIR 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 249 
 
 despoilers, who sought to scare them away from 
 claiming their own by the cry, “ Here’s the masters 
 a cornin’.” Then stalls would be wrecked, and tent 
 pegs pulled up ; Aunt Sally sticks would be used as 
 missiles, bleeding noses and cracked pates would 
 abound, and, after the whole Acre had been thrown 
 into a state of turmoil resembling an Irish faction- 
 fight, a grand charge would be made towards one of 
 the shows, and the learned pig, squealing madly, 
 would be borne off to college as a hostage and a 
 trophy. 
 
 Bachelor’s Acre is still, we believe, forbidden ground, 
 except to the Sixth-form, but the other parts of the 
 fair are free, and we make little doubt that the owners 
 of the gambling tables have transferred their portable 
 paraphernalia to nooks round the Town Hall, and that 
 dicing, rouge et noir, and what not, continue to clean 
 out Etonian pockets during a yearly fortnight of jov, 
 as much as they ever did.* 
 
 Eton is essentially a fast school, and must continue 
 to be so, as long as it remains the favourite educa- 
 tional place of the very rich. The quieter sort of 
 country squires, men with £5000 a year or so, who 
 
 * It is characteristic of the way in which things were done at Eton not so 
 long ago, that although the fair was strictly forbidden, several masters used 
 to give their boys double allowance of pocket-money to spend at the fair ! 
 But those were the days of shirking , when a boy might go out of bounds 
 provided he made pretence of hiding, by walking into a shop, or behind a 
 hedge, at light of a master. In those days Windsor Castle was in bounds, 
 and all the approaches to it out of bounds. Dr. Hornby has abolished these 
 anomalies. 
 
250 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 in their day formed the. elite of Eton, have rather left 
 off sending their sons there, finding that the incursion 
 of the plutocracy has destroyed its character for 
 selectness. The wealthier and higher class of peers 
 may also possibly take a dislike to it before long, for 
 it is not always thought desirable by a Duke or an 
 Earl that his sons should be brought up in the com- 
 panionship of nouveaux riches, whose fortunes have 
 not necessarily been amassed with clean fingers. 
 Every man who has made his money rapidly in joint 
 stock companies, Australian mines, or American 
 railways, Lisbon tramways, or foreign army contracts, 
 nowadays, sends his sons to Eton, that they may get 
 the polish which was denied to himself ; and he is 
 equally satisfied whether they mix with lordlings and 
 honourables, or with the offspring of the more respect- 
 able merchants, bankers, brewers, and M. P.s, who 
 look askance at him when they meet. Eton over- 
 flows with “ new blood,” and smells rank of fresh 
 gilding. 
 
 It is unquestionable, though, that its alumni do get 
 a polish not to be obtained elsewhere. The roughest 
 cub is planed down there to a smoothness which he 
 retains all his life. It is not the result of hard knocks 
 either, for there is no bullying at Eton, and pugilism 
 has become unfashionable. The days are long gone 
 by when a meet at le sixpenny wall ” was the obligato 
 termination to any difference of opinion ; and even 
 shinning-matches, originally imported by squirelings 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 251 
 
 from the wilds of Lancashire, have come to be thought 
 dreadfully bad form. 
 
 The smoothness which Etonians acquire is due to 
 the rubbing with little gentlemen who have been 
 admirably brought up at home, and who have imbibed 
 dignity with nurses’ milk. Sons of peers, magistrates, 
 and great employers of labour, they have had servants 
 since they could toddle, and know perfectly how their 
 inferiors should be addressed. No boy can infuse such 
 a mixture of good-humoured condescension and 
 hauteur as an Etonian, into his apostrophes to 
 policemen, boatmen, apple-vendors, and butlers. He 
 calls all these people generically “ cads,” but is not 
 offensive towards them, and they admit his imposing 
 superiority even when his stature scarcely exceeds 
 that of two hats juxtaposed. 
 
 Then Etonians are scrupulous enough in their 
 pecuniary dealings with one another. If they bet they 
 pay on the nail. They are shy about borrowing 
 money ; they regard it as one of the grossest offences 
 for an “ old fellow ” to wheedle a loan of money, or a 
 gift in “ sock ” (dainties) from a “ new fellow,” and in 
 general any shadiness of transaction leads to a social 
 ostracism, which may affect the culprit even after he 
 has left the school. Occasionally Etonians have 
 committed robberies from their schoolfellows, and been 
 expelled for it, but such offences are extremely rare 
 considering how populated the school is, and what 
 facilities exist for the perpetration of petty thefts ; any- 
 
252 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 how the whole school would resent as a bitter insult 
 such a notice as may be seen posted within the college 
 doors at Cheltenham, requesting boys not to leave their 
 watches or purses about so as to avoid tempting their 
 companions . 0 The fact that such a notice should have 
 been suffered by the boys to remain in a place where 
 all eyes could read it, marks the profound difference 
 between the spirit which prevails at the minor schools 
 and that which rules at Eton. 
 
 Again, Etonians learn to take care of themselves 
 pretty soon, and at the Universities they are steadier 
 than the boys from other schools. The liberty they 
 enjoy makes them self-reliant ; and the variety of 
 amusements to which they have been accustomed, 
 renders them in a manner biases for anything that 
 Oxford or Cambridge has to offer. What care they 
 for wines or good dinners — they who have always fed 
 high and tippled champagne freely ? They experience 
 no such sudden sense of liberty, as exhilarates and 
 often bewilders the youth who has been trained at a 
 place where discipline was strict. 
 
 If it were only for this, Eton would deserve to be 
 favourably noted ; and indeed should the school ever 
 be thoroughly reformed, no one would care to see the 
 freedom of the boys much restricted. It is certainly 
 desirable to keep them off race-courses ; but the other 
 improvements should be chiefly directed towards 
 
 * We saw this notice at Cheltenham in the time of Dr. Jcx-Bluke, now 
 head-master of Rugby. It has, perhaps, been removed since. 
 
OF VARIOUS ETON BOYS. 
 
 253 
 
 •making them work when they profess to be at work, 
 an order that the money of their parents may not be 
 spent solely on procuring for them the polish above 
 mentioned, which, though a good thing in its way, may 
 be bought too dear. Idleness in school begets indolence 
 in playtime, and thence follows a languor of manners, 
 tending to moral supineness in after-life — Eton turns 
 'out gentlemen, but not men — exceptis excipiendis. 
 
 HER FIRST IXNINGS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 U 
 
III. 
 
 RUGBY AND RUGBEIANS. 
 
 At Rugby, where the “ Muscular Christian ” was first 
 developed, it is precisely contrary to wbat it is at Eton. 
 The principle laid down by Dr. Arnold, and revived 
 after an interval of collapse by his fourth successor 
 Dr. Temple, was that boys should be made to take an 
 
 GATEWAY OF KUGBY SCHOOL. 
 
RUGBY AND RUGBEIANS. 
 
 255 
 
 active interest in all they do. Be they at work or 
 play let them do it with all their might. Dr. Arnold 
 cared little for his boys to be polished gentlemen, but 
 he wished them to be men and Englishmen — bold, 
 rational, truthful, and energetic. He succeeded in 
 making some of them queerly opinionated. The 
 characteristic of the Bugbeian since his time has not 
 been excess of modesty ; it is even pretended that in 
 the common rooms at the Universities, at regimental 
 and circuit messes, the Bugbeian is apt to make 
 his presence felt after the same manner as the hedge- 
 hog did when he got into the hole where the toads 
 were. But it is something to possess strong opinions 
 and to hold to them, nor will such intellectual bristles 
 as sprout over the model “ Bug ” ever hinder him in 
 jostling his way to the foremost ranks of life — much 
 the contrary. 
 
 It was the glory of Arnold that he discovered the 
 secret of managing boys otherwise than by the rod. 
 He became as it were the head boy in his school. He 
 liked boys. He knew how to stimulate everything 
 that was good in each of them. He encouraged them 
 to confide fearlessly in him and in their tutors. He 
 accepted their words as those of grown men, and 
 thereby taught them to shun falsehood. Withal, he 
 set his face against every form of affectation, and 
 took care that his pupils should remain boys in spirit 
 and action till the proper time came for them to put. 
 away boyish things. Jean-Jacques Bousseau had 
 
256 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 advocated tliese theories long before the Rugby head- 
 master endeavoured to put them into practice, and 
 they were in truth deemed so impracticable, that it 
 was lucky Arnold kept his place long enough to make 
 converts and watch the seeds of his teaching bear 
 harvest, else his new system would all have been 
 uprooted by his three next successors, Dr. Wool — a 
 very Orbilius ; Dr. Goulburn, the present Dean of 
 Norwich ; and the late Archbishop of Canterbury, who 
 were all head-masters on the Eton pattern. 
 
 It was naturally a part of Arnold’s plan to surround 
 himself with assistants who understood boys as he did, 
 and were willing to throw all their hearts into their 
 work. Dr. Temple caught up this principle, and had 
 organised so powerful a staff that Dr. Hay man, who 
 succeeded him, was unable to manage it. This is not 
 the place to revive the Hayman controversy, but those 
 who pity this ill-used master most must allow that 
 Rugby had found a more suitable ruler in Dr. Jex- 
 Blake, who was once a pupil, and by-and-by an assis- 
 tant master in the school, and is impact with all the 
 best traditions of the place. Zealousness in superin- 
 tending boys may be a quality which Dr. Jex-Blake 
 pushes a trifle too far, but none can deny that his 
 activity proceeds from a sincere interest in the welfare 
 of his young charges ; and after all it may be difficult 
 for a head-master to hit the happy mean between 
 over-care and the laxity which we have blamed in 
 respect of Eton. 
 
RUGBY AND RUGBEIANS. 
 
 257 
 
 This much is certain, that the assistant masters of 
 Rugby who help Dr. Blake, tower by a head and 
 shoulders in worth over those of Eton.* Of their 
 comparative merits as scholars we do not speak, for 
 we are concerned only with their work as trainers of 
 youth, and a few words as to two of them, the Revs. 
 Neville and Christopher Hutchinson, will show wliat 
 grit is in these men, and how safely any parent might 
 remit a boy to their hands. 
 
 Mr. Neville Hutchinson and his brother are the sons 
 of an architect established at Birmingham, who died 
 when they were both young, and left them almost 
 unprovided for. They had been well taught, however, 
 at King Edward’s Grammar School, and had set their 
 hearts on going to the University. Other young men 
 of less spirit might have sat down and moaned all their 
 lives at the loss of opportunities caused by their father’s 
 death ; but they did not. Neville having obtained a 
 small schoolmastership, Christopher was entered as a 
 sizar at St. John’s, Cambridge, and during three years 
 his brother paid his expenses there out of his slender 
 earnings. In due time, and after unremitting labour, 
 Christopher took a first-class degree and obtained a 
 fellowship, then it became his turn to help his brother, 
 who, coming up to the same college, ended also by 
 winning his first-class honours and fellowship. The 
 
 * The Rev. Edmond Warre and Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell must be mentioned 
 as brilliant exceptions among Eton masters. Their influence over the boys, 
 and on the morale of the school has been unquestionably beneficial. It is 
 only to be regretted that there are not more like them. 
 
258 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 two brothers eventually married two sisters and came 
 to Rugby, where their work has been all that might 
 have been expected of such men, who are as popular 
 for their genial hearty goodness as they are honoured 
 for their talents and splendid strength of character. 
 
 The Reverend Robert Mayor, who now holds a 
 benefice in Essex, is another of those masters whom any 
 school might be proud to boast. It happened while 
 Mr. Mayor was at Rugby, that the father of a boy in 
 his house was ruined, and was compelled to give 
 notice that he should remove his son from the school. 
 But the boy was getting on well with his studies, and 
 his tutor thought it such a pity that his prospects 
 should be marred, that he generously kept the lad for 
 two years more without any remuneration. We might 
 cite many an instance of Etonians whose fathers w r ere 
 ruined, but we have never heard of one whose tutor 
 thought good to assume the cost of his education after 
 such a catastrophe ; nor do w 7 e think anybody else 
 could quote such a case. 
 
 Rugby is a school of rough games. Big- side foot- 
 ball is a most trying ordeal to the nerves and shins ; 
 and “ house-washing ” which consists in jumping by 
 batches of boys into a muddy ditch until every jumper 
 is soaked through, is one of those sports in wdiich no 
 human being, save a British boy could take any 
 delight. Then tossing in blankets is held in high 
 honour as a pastime for whiling away long evenings ; 
 and so is “ corking ” as an amusement for odd half- 
 
RUGBY AND RUGBEIANS. 
 
 259 
 
 hours in the school-yard. Corking is a kind of pitched 
 battle with tennis balls, which the boys fling at one 
 another as hard as they can. If a boy can catch with 
 his hand the missile aimed at his pate so much the 
 better, if not the next best thing is to evince his 
 agility by ducking down and exposing a more honour- 
 able part of his person as a target. In snowy winters 
 there are desperate encounters with snowballs between 
 Ruoheians and the “ cads ” of the town. These last 
 
 O 
 
 stand in the Dunchurch Road, while the schoolboys 
 keep to their close. Woe then to the adventurous 
 cad who comes too near to the low wooden railing that 
 marks the close boundary : he will remember his 
 impudence for a long time. 
 
 Despite all this there is no more bullying at Rugby 
 than there is at Eton. The “ Sixth/’ (who have 
 monitorial powers, not exercised by those at the more 
 aristocratical school,) promptly chastise any hobble- 
 dehoy who tyrannizes over a little fellow, and if need- 
 ful the punishment is inflicted with a certain solemnity 
 in the presence of the whole Sixth in the Library. 
 It is a custom at Rugby to leave a good deal of 
 authority to the Sixth-form in maintaining order out 
 of school, so that the surveillance of the masters is 
 lessened in proportion, and the Head-Master is re- 
 lieved of the necessity for much flogging. 
 
 The birch, which plays an important part in Eton 
 education, has become well-nigh obsolete at Rugby. 
 Etonians are birched for the merest trifles. A pert 
 
260 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 reply to a tutor, an ill-learned lesson, a tell-tale smell 
 of tobacco hanging about a jacket and not satis- 
 factorily accounted for, are all enough to secure for a 
 boy a short but painful interview with Dr. Hornby in 
 the Sixth-form room which is adorned with a whipping- 
 
 block, or with Mr. Durnford in the Lower School,, 
 where also stands one of those wooden apparatus 
 adapted for suppliant attitudes. Dr. Hornby, when he 
 took office and received the customary presentation 
 birch tied up with blue ribbons, from the captain of 
 the school, hinted that he should make but a sparing 
 use of this implement, but he has not fulfilled the 
 pledge. Mr. Durnford, who is a regular type of the 
 old birching divine, compromised himself by no 
 promise, and his energy in flourishing the rod, seems 
 to indicate that he takes as great a pleasure in scho- 
 lastic executions, as did Dr. Keate of terrible memory. 
 
RUGBY AND RUGBEIANS. 
 
 261 
 
 At Rugby since the time of Dr. Wool — who, being 
 a man of little stature and fond of whipping, left 
 a reputation which caused his reign to be styled, 
 “much cry and little wool ” — at Rugby corporal 
 punishment has declined more and more until now 
 there are scarcely more than half-a-dozen floggings in 
 the course of a year. The punishment is reserved for 
 very heinous offences, as for idleness so persistent as 
 to prove that a boy is unamenable to gentle influences ; 
 and in such cases the victims may be said to get no 
 more than they deserve. 
 
 For the rest the Sixth are empowered to set 
 “ impots ” or punishment lines to boys whom they find 
 smoking, straying out of bounds, or doing wanton 
 damage of any kind. They are also licensed to inflict 
 six cuts with a cane should they find the punishment 
 lines fail in effect ; and the masters, knowing that 
 these powers are conscientiously wielded, prefer to rely 
 on them as much as maybe, and only take cognizance 
 of offences too glaring to be passed over. It may be 
 doubted, however, whether, if the matter were left to 
 the choice of the boys, most of them would not rather 
 receive ten cuts with a birch from Dr. Jex-Blake, 
 than six with a cane from a Sixth-form boy. An 
 earnest monitor is a wonderful searcher out of tender 
 places. 
 
IV. 
 
 HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 
 
 Harrow is a cross between Eton and Rugby, and 
 its special characteristics are not numerous enough to 
 demand much notice. Harrovians are less languid 
 than Etonians, less rough, ready and well-taught than 
 
 Rugs.” Since Eton has become the resort of the 
 flash plutocracy, Harrow has advanced more and 
 more in the favour of the squires, and there are signs 
 that it will gradually be accepted as the more select 
 school of the two. Its pupils make excellent country 
 gentlemen, capital cricketers, and racket-players — 
 there being no river to divert the energies of the 
 boys into two currents. They also take more pride 
 in their rifle-corps than does Eton ; but they do not 
 shine at book- work. 
 
 The few brilliant scholars which the school has pro- 
 duced since Dr. Vaughan’s time, cannot be matched 
 for number against those exceptional stars which 
 occasionally flash out from Eton ; and Eton, thanks to 
 the encouragement held out by the Prince Consort’s 
 prizes, distinctly holds the palm over Harrow for 
 modern languages. In all other respects the schools 
 stand pretty well back to back. The tone cultivated at 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 
 
 2C3 
 
 Jolin Lyon's foun- 
 dations is the So- 
 ciety tone — tempe- 
 rate, unemotional, 
 unoriginal ; and the 
 Harrow masters as 
 a rule think it no 
 part of their duty harrow school. 
 
 to force a boy into working if he has a dislike so to do. 
 As long as he can pull through his examination his 
 performances are considered satisfactory, even though 
 the sum of his accpirements when he reaches the top 
 forms may not be sufficient to fit him to enter the 
 army or matriculate at Balliol without a three months' 
 crammiug from a private “ coach," 
 
 But what shall be said of Westminster ? West- 
 
UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 •BHB 
 
 uttl&tg 1 
 
 : )\\ 5 U 
 
 : H M MAiW 
 
 C ?A RRf 
 
 :, IrufcNDf R,S| 
 
 ; g handle 
 
 iSSSSi 
 
 GATEWAY, WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. 
 
 minster lias woefully degenerated since the pre-railway 
 times, when it boasted five hundred boys, and when its 
 “ eight ” could beat Eton on the river. It is a school 
 of fine traditions. Dryden, Cov r per, Warren Hastings, 
 and Anglesey were educated there ; and so was Earl 
 
 Sot 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 
 
 265 
 
 Kussell, who, however, did not send his son to be 
 trained under the shadow of the old Abbey. Nowa- 
 days, one would hardly hope to find the scion of a 
 ducal house on the list which Mr. Ginger puts forth 
 from his pokey little bookseller’s shop in College 
 Street. There are sons of lawyers, clergymen, and 
 Indian officers. The school is convenient for parents 
 who live in London and wish to have their boys under 
 their own eyes, or for those who, being on foreign 
 service, have friends in town to whose care they may 
 consign their sons. 
 
 Apart from these considerations, the college pos- 
 sesses such valuable exhibitions that, if it were better 
 known, if its masters were more able, and if one or 
 two reforms were introduced by the governing body, 
 Westminster would soon recover its prestige and 
 popularity. A large public school of the best sort is 
 wanted in London, and if the outcry for removing 
 Westminster to the country were listened to, there 
 would soon be a movement for instituting an equiva- 
 lent in its place. It will be much better to keep the 
 school where it is, but to improve away the abuses 
 which hinder its growth. 
 
 o 
 
 These abuses are of many kinds. First, the school 
 having three yearly exhibitions to Christ Church, 
 Oxford, and as many to Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 these are open only to the fourth year boys on the 
 foundation. This foundation comprises forty boys 
 called Queen’s scholars, who are divided into four 
 
2C6 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 “ elections,” eacli of which has a year’s seniority over 
 the other ; but the numbers in each election vary so 
 that a few years ago there being only seven of 
 the senior election, these seven were found competing 
 for the six exhibitions. Fourteen is the greatest num- 
 ber that has ever figured in one election ; and consider- 
 ing how valuable the exhibitions are (those at Christ 
 Church are junior studentships worth £120 a-year with 
 free rooms for four years), it would not be too much 
 to ask that they should be thrown open to the school. 
 
 Again, the Queen’s scholars remain classed during 
 four years in exactly the same order as when they 
 passed on to the foundation ; that is, the boy who 
 takes the first place keeps it, whether he toil hard or 
 not, and becomes captain of the school three years 
 later ; the next three become monitors, and the last 
 remains last to the end of the chapter, notwithstanding 
 that by dint of hard work he may have become the 
 best scholar in the school. This immutable classifica- 
 tion naturally damps emulation, and converts many a 
 promising lad into a careless skimmer of lessons, 
 besides souring him a little by the constant recollection 
 of a failure past recall. It is not fair that a boy should 
 be allowed no chance of retrieving an early defeat ; 
 nor that one who has carried the first place perhaps by 
 a fluke, when he was fourteen, should be suffered to- 
 retain it till the end of his school-time without any 
 new trials to test his continuing fitness for the honour. 
 
 Dr. Scott, who has been Head Master of Westminster 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 
 
 267 
 
 many years, is one of the most finished scholars in 
 England, and a pleasant man too, but as a ruler he is 
 humdrum, and his assistants are quite as ron tine-ridden 
 as himself. It is their fault if Westminster holds no 
 higher rank than it does. They are easy men of 
 second-rate abilities whom the notion of change scares. 
 Well-wishers are not wanting who have told them what 
 things are needed to convert Westminster into a school 
 of first-rate order, and to make it a real boon to 
 Londoners, but not one of them will put his finger to 
 the good work. This is the greater pity, as in teaching 
 such few boys as they have these masters have been 
 successful. Having small classes they can more readily 
 check idleness ; and Dr. Scott’s form especially are 
 admirably instructed. Those of them who fail to take 
 honours at the Universities are the exception. 
 
 The peculiarities of Westminster are numerous. 
 Its Queen’s scholars wear caps, gowns, and white ties. 
 They are admitted to attend the debates in the House 
 of Commons, and may pass in to the reserved place 
 behind the bar on the days when the House is most 
 crowded, and when hundreds of ordinary folks are 
 applying in vain for admission. Every year, in 
 December, these Queen’s scholars enact the famous 
 “ Westminster Play,” which is a comedy of Terence or 
 Plautus, with a prologue and epilogue by some “ Old 
 Westminster.” On these occasions the dormitory is 
 converted into a theatre. There is a stage, scenery, 
 classical costumes, and on three nights the old build- 
 
UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 268 
 
 ings, where tlie shades of Edward the Confessor, of 
 Elizabeth and Dr. Busby may hover, are thronged by 
 distinguished visitors, who take a pleasure in hearin 
 crisp, Latin dialogue, smartly delivered by youn 
 fellows carefully trained in pronunciation and acting. 
 The epilogue is usually a farce in elegiacs, performed 
 in modern dresses, and abounding in epigrammatical 
 allusions to the leading events of the day. 
 
 A fair thing and mighty pretty (as Mr. Pepys, 
 himself a “ Westminster,” might have said,) to see. 
 Bevies of ladies sit out these proceedings, and force up 
 
 03 03 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 269 
 
 courageous smiles as the jokes, of which they cannot 
 understand a word, are rapturously applauded by the 
 junior boys in the gallery. It is enough, however, that 
 they should understand the sense of the “ capping ” 
 which follows, when college caps are handed round 
 among the audience for the collection of banknotes and 
 gold to pay the expenses of the play. Often the sums 
 raised in the three nights are considerable, and the 
 surplus which remains, after the costumier and others 
 have been satisfied, is divided among the boy-actors, 
 — not, perhaps, a very dignified way of remunerating 
 them, but one consecrated by long usage. As an 
 institution unique in its way, the Westminster Play 
 deserves to last, but there seems to be no reason why 
 the town boys should not be allowed to take part in it, 
 since in these days they are as much members of the 
 school as the Queen's scholars. 
 
 The Westminster Town boys do not stand on quite 
 the same footing as the Eton Oppidans, who look down 
 on their King's scholars and call them “ tugs." When 
 they were more numerous they were as supercilious 
 as the Etonians, and perhaps they may become so 
 again should they ever form such a large majority as 
 to grow independent of the Queen's scholars for their 
 sports. But at present the Town boys mustering but 
 one hundred and twenty, of whom but half reside in 
 the two boarding houses of Little Dean's Yard, the 
 foundation scholars are relatively too strong to be 
 despised, and this suggests the query, whether the time 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 s 
 
270 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 has not come for permanently removing in all schools 
 the social inferiority which results from a charity 
 dress and a separate style of living ? Why should not 
 “ Town ” and “ Gown ” be everywhere amalgamated^ 
 and the foundation benefits be made to consist of 
 a yearly sum paid towards a boy’s expenses in an 
 ordinary boarding house 'l In French public schools 
 things are managed in this way, and a bonrsier’s 
 schoolfellows do not always know that he is being 
 educated for a less sum than they — he is frequently 
 unaware of the fact himself. 
 
 There is urgency for some such reform in England, 
 for at Eton, the position of the “ tugs,” though 
 ameliorated of late years in the matter of creature 
 comforts, is not enviable as regards the treatment they 
 get from the Oppidans. They are made to feel the 
 poverty of their parents as if it were a stigma ; they 
 are sneered at and chaffed about the mutton they eat ; 
 tricks are played with their gowns in school ; and 
 custom still debars them from intruding into Brown’s, 
 Barnes’s, and Webber’s (the Oppidan confectioners), 
 but relegates them to Mother Trone’s, a “ sock shop ” 
 of their own. Such indignities, though flea-bites 
 compared with the savage bullying they suffered in 
 old times, are not calculated to enhance a boy’s spirit, 
 nor to promote good feeling in those who inflict 
 them. 
 
 Westminster was until some fifteen or sixteen years 
 ago a bullying school in all the ancient force of the 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 271 
 
 word. Small boys in college were “ buccassed ” by 
 the elders, i.e., made to stand at “ attention ” while 
 their cheeks were slapped with might and main, or 
 they were chastised with rackets — horrible imple- 
 ments. But these cruelties have now ceased, and the 
 only objection that can fairly be taken to the school is 
 that it stands in close proximity to the Westminster 
 Aquarium, and the Haymarket ; and that the boys in 
 going to their playground at Vincent Square are 
 obliged to pass through a number of squalid streets. 
 But these drawbacks have been exaggerated, for it is 
 not proven that the boys feel much attraction towards 
 the Aquarium and the Haymarket, or could get there 
 easily if they did. Whilst in respect of the slums 
 that hedge in Vincent Square, their very unsavouri- 
 ness would repel well-bred lads from loitering in 
 them. 
 
 Westminster boasts a good play-ground in Dean’s 
 Yard besides that at Vincent Square, and a racket 
 court in Little Dean’s Yard, to say nothing of a first- 
 rate gymnasium, and the Abbey cloisters which make 
 a rare strolling place in wet weather. On the whole 
 the school is one whose advantages more than counter- 
 balance its demerits ; and it is but just to remark, that 
 the tone inculcated on the boys is essentially 
 gentlemanlike. “ Westminsters ” are always liked at 
 the Universities ; they have a modesty which puts 
 Rugbeians to the blush, and yet a quiet pride in 
 their school, and a promptness in rallying to its 
 
272 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 rescue when attacked which are pleasing to see, 
 and creditable. 
 
 We should like to say a good word for Win- 
 chester, but with the “ t unding ” scandal still fresh 
 in one's memory, and recollecting above all the 
 lame way in which Dr. Kidding hobbled out of the 
 scrape into which this grievous business led him, it is 
 difficult to avoid the conclusion that William of 
 Wykeham’s foundation is an ill-managed place. 
 Were it not it would probably have more boys than it 
 has, for there is no earthly reason save mismanage- 
 ment why such time-honoured and richly endowed 
 schools as these should let themselves be distanced by 
 new places like Cheltenham, Rossall, and Marlborough. 
 Winchester has everything in its favour : a great 
 name, a first-rate situation, a close connection with 
 one of the Oxford colleges (New) and yet the school 
 has shrunk more and more while newer ones expanded, 
 and whenever it has come prominently before the 
 world of late, it has been in connection with some- 
 thing unpleasant. 
 
 Nobody need be proud of owning himself a 
 Wykehamist nowadays, for the school has lost all 
 distinctive cachet for good ; though it may probably 
 revive if on the retirement of Dr. Ridding,* the 
 governing body have the judgment to appoint a man 
 
 * Dr. Ridding has been presented to the See of Southwell while this work 
 was passing through the press. 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 273 
 
 of talent and nerve as his successor. One of the 
 present assistant masters, Mr. Fearon, who took a 
 double first class at Oxford and was President of the 
 Union, would be just the man for the post. 
 
 We may mention fagging in connection with Win- 
 chester, for this institution has a greater range there 
 than anywhere else. A relic of primitive times, when 
 small schoolboys did most of the work that now 
 devolves upon servants, and when even the sons of 
 noblemen were sent to serve as pages in great houses, 
 fagging is a good method for promoting discipline and 
 taking conceit out of little urchins who on the 
 strength of their birth or money might give them- 
 selves airs. The sight of a small Marquis toasting a 
 crumpet for the future curate, who may some day beg 
 a living of him hat in hand, may be ludicrous, but it is 
 gratifying. Fagging only becomes an evil when boys 
 are set to perform tasks which are above their 
 strength, or which encroach too much on their time, 
 and are set merely for the purpose of humouring the 
 martinet tendencies of an elder youth devoid of 
 gentlemanlike feeling. This is no longer the case at 
 Eton, Harrow, or Fugby ; at Westminster, fagging in 
 college — that is among the Queen’s scholars — is still a 
 little more vexatious than it might be, but at 
 Winchester it verges pretty closely upon tyranny. 
 
 At Eton any boy above the upper-Lower division of 
 the Fifth-form may fag any boy below the Fifth, that 
 is he may despatch him upon errands. To have a fag 
 
274 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 of one’s own, is another matter. It depends on the 
 number of Lower boys available in a boarding-house. 
 In some houses a boy has to wait until he is high in 
 the middle-Fifth, before he can obtain one fag : in 
 others he may get a couple as soon as he reaches 
 upper-Lower, and have six by the time he is captain 
 of the House. 
 
 A fag lays his master’s breakfast, and tea-things, 
 makes his tea or coffee, cooks his eggs, sausages or 
 bloaters, and does other jobs. His duties may take 
 him about twenty minutes, morning or evening, but 
 seldom more, for Etonians are considerate, and the 
 general opinion of a House would resent over-tasking. 
 The grosser kinds of fagging have become obsolete at 
 Eton. There is no blacking of boots, no enforced 
 long-stopping, or fielding out at cricket, whilst a 
 “slogging” master hits out all over the field, no 
 obligation to do a lazy master’s verses for him, or to 
 scull him about the river whilst he reclines in the bows 
 and dozes. An Upper boy who wants a message 
 carried to a long distance — say to Windsor — mutters a 
 semi-apology about it, and hearkens to the plea of “ no 
 time ; ” or, if the business be urgent, he promises exemp- 
 tion from fagging for a day or two in consideration of this 
 particular errand being performed. Sometimes Lower 
 boys are requested to do illicit things, such as “ keep 
 cave ” while their elders play whist or roulette — a 
 function which consists in standing at the end of a 
 passage and whistling a signal if the house-tutor be 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 275 
 
 heard approaching ; or they are sent to buy tobacco, 
 or bring bottles of beer from the “ Tap ” in the High 
 Street, wrapped up in flannel shirts, at the certain 
 risk of being swished if caught. But in these cases an 
 Upper boy always thanks the Lower one for his 
 service, and perhaps would not enforce the order if 
 a stand were made against it. 
 
 If one were to say that a young Lord got as much 
 fagging at Eton as a commoner, the reader might feel 
 sceptical, knowing that human nature, as regards the 
 koo-tooing to dignities is the same everywhere, even 
 among boys. But it is creditable to Etonians that 
 they reverence titles much — very much — less than 
 might be supposed ; and as a rule little Earls and 
 Barons owe the alleviation of their tasks, rather to 
 their own obedient alacrity than to any display of 
 arrogance on their parts. Besides a small Earl is 
 often cast as the fag of a bigger Earl, and then his 
 rank avails him little. 
 
 At Winchester a fag is still looked upon as the 
 “ slavey ” and beast of burden of his master. He is 
 forced to sweep out studies; to sit for dreary half- 
 hours reading out the “ crib ” by which his master 
 prepares his lessons. If he be clever, and his master 
 the reverse, he is requested to do verses and themes. 
 In summer he fields out, picking up balls for entire 
 sweltering afternoons ; in winter he is made to keep 
 goals at football, and shivers for bleak hours in piercing 
 east winds. His time is never fairly his own. He is 
 
£76 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 called away from the preparation of his lessons to pro- 
 vide amusement for some dolt of a “ master ” by 
 singing to him, or perhaps playing at “ cock-fighting ” 
 with some other junior, each of them being bound 
 hand and foot, and trussed under the knees with a 
 poker. 
 
 Again, Winchester rejoices in an absurd slang 
 vocabulary, in which lower boys are periodically 
 catechised, and if they fail in knowledge of the foolish 
 jargon they are “ tunded ” with ash-sticks. The 
 monitorial power of inflicting corporal punishment 
 which ought only to be conceded in grave circum- 
 stances, is allowed for trifles at W inchester ; and there 
 is very little gentlemanlike spirit in the school to 
 control its exercise within merciful bounds. A school 
 may become a purgatory if the tone which prevails in 
 it is not one that prescribes gentleness towards the 
 weak ; and it is a positive fact that the lower boys of 
 Winchester are much worse off than those at any other 
 place. 
 
 Under the idea of promoting manliness, the 
 elder boys cling to traditions of ill-usage and petty 
 despotisms which are churlish, and promote nothing 
 else but discomfort and discontent. No protest is 
 excited if an upper boy punishes a fag by putting him 
 in a corner and flinging boots at him. Nobody takes 
 the part of the wretched junior if he is compelled to 
 play against his will at rough sports for which his 
 health unfits him. It may be noted, incidentally, 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 
 
 277 
 
 that floggings by the head-master are as frequent at 
 Winchester as at Eton, but are usually inflicted on the 
 small of the back with six apple-twigs. Birchings 
 a posteriori are kept for the heavier offences, but they 
 are deemed by cognoscenti less painful than the cuts 
 with apple-twigs. 
 
278 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 All the other schools besides those already enumer- 
 ated belong: to the second class of educational establish- 
 ments, and are little patronized by the sons of the Upper 
 Ten Thousand. The Charterhouse at Godaiming, may, 
 however, rank with Eugby for the excellence of the 
 teaching which it provides ; and so may Cheltenham, 
 which under the rule of those praiseworthy head- 
 masters Dr. Barry, Dr. Jex-Blake, and Dr. Snow, has 
 risen to a high reputation, and has at present more 
 than five hundred pupils. Cheltenham is the rising 
 school of the future, and will probably apply before 
 long for a royal charter which will ensure its 
 stability. Though quite a young place, it has already 
 sent some distinguished men into the world ; among 
 others Lord Wolseley. 
 
 Shrewsbury became a prosperous school, and seemed 
 likely to be a famous one under Dr. Kennedy; but 
 when the Master and Fellows of St. John’s, Cambridge, 
 who are its patrons, appointed Mr. Moss, they com- 
 mitted a mistake which has had damaging conse- 
 quences. Mr. Moss is not remarkable for the sweet- 
 ness of his temper. It was he who inflicted a brutal 
 flogging of eighty-eight cuts with a birch upon a boy 
 called Geoffrey Loxdale, and it passes comprehension 
 that the governing body should have suffered him to 
 retain office after such an exhibition of savagery. It 
 was curious, however, though very characteristic of 
 English schoolboys, how all the “ Salopians ” rallied 
 from esprit cle corps round their master — unpopular 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 279 
 
 as he is among them — when he was assailed in the 
 press ; and it was they who put forward for him the 
 ingenious excuse by which he escaped punishment. 
 It seems that the kind-hearted pedagogue only went 
 on flogging Loxdale so long because the boy wouldn’t 
 scream. If Loxdale had screamed he might have been 
 “ unhorsed ” after a dozen cuts or so ; as it was 
 Mr. Moss was obliged to give up from sheer weari- 
 ness, and because the birch had become a mere stump 
 in his hand. Poor man ! 
 
 The abovesaid screaming stipulation would not be 
 likely to find favour at most English public schools ; 
 for it is ever a point of honour with boys to take 
 their stripes without flinching. They have an ugly 
 custom at Westminster of flogging boys with a birch 
 on the back of the hand — an abominable thing in 
 frosty weather, when knuckles are chapped or chill- 
 blained. However, no boy was ever heard to howl 
 under it ; and the utmost lengths he would go in dis- 
 approval of the castigation would be to wink to the 
 monitor who handed the rod out of the cupboard, as a 
 request to him to “ pull the buds off.” Etonians have 
 been known to laugh at a punishment which, from 
 being oft undergone, had lost its terrors. One who 
 was awaiting his turn in the Sixth-form whilst a friend 
 was being scourged, turned suddenly to the wall and 
 burst into a loud fit of hilarity. Asked what he 
 meant by this intempestive mirth, he pointed to the 
 kneeling figure of his comrade still writhing on the 
 
280 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 block, and exclaimed : “ Oh, a fellow does look too 
 absurd in that posture ! ” 
 
 Manliness does, after all, appear as the chief out- 
 come of English school-training, and it is manliness of 
 a dogged sort, utterly devoid of sentiment. Modern 
 boys are not callous to pain from bravado, but because 
 it is mauvais genre to show feeling. They are 
 ashamed to cry ; they do not like to be seen kissing 
 their parents ; they are shy of alluding to their mothers, 
 their sisters, or to anything connected with their 
 homes except the dinners and the sports they get 
 there. They have a dread of being called milksops, 
 and to avoid this title will keep such a command over 
 their emotions that they will seem to be cynical. 
 There is very little romance in them. They scoff at 
 ardent language as “ rot,” and sneer at any departure 
 from conventionality as a breach of good taste and 
 manners. Love of poetry, patriotism, hero-worship, 
 are things which may stir the bosoms of individual 
 boys, but not the boy-masses of our large schools. 
 
 The days for these sentimentalities have gone. As 
 the fathers teach so will the sons learn ; and it is not 
 among the generation that has held cautiously aloof 
 from all the great European struggles and converted 
 “ British Interests” and “ British Honour” into words 
 of mockery, that one must look for those eager, generous 
 aspirations which in old times were wont to make the 
 pulses of our boys beat fast. 
 
 How different this from the French schoolboy, who 
 
HARROW, WINCHESTER, WESTMINSTER. 281 
 
 cherishes the names of all the great poets, soldiers and 
 statesmen of his country, and can always be fanned 
 into flame by allusions to Frances glory — and how 
 different from the young German, who glows at the 
 name of “ Vaterland,” and delights in singing-clubs 
 where he learns to chorus ballads teeming with 
 patriotism and romance of the most refined character. 
 Not but that the young Englishman is attached to his 
 country, too, in an undemonstrative way. But he 
 values it chiefly because it is the only place where 
 good cricket, boating, and sport can be had. Its su- 
 premacy is a fact which he takes coolly for granted, and 
 he would be moved to amused contempt for anyone 
 who doubted it. Frenchmen are guys in his eyes, and 
 Germans snobs. That is all he knows about them, 
 and he cares to hear no more. 
 
 One may suppose that in any times of national 
 danger this crust — for it is no more than a crust of 
 indifferentism — would scale off, and nobler qualities 
 would break forth than those which we can now 
 descry on the surface ; but we are dealing with things 
 as they are, and must perforce take note of the un- 
 emotional stolidity which has become the distinguish- 
 ing feature of modern boyishness. Radley and 
 Lancing colleges are, we believe, the only schools 
 where a different style of thought is cultivated ; but 
 these institutions being under the rule of ritualist 
 clergymen, the tone of them is somewhat akin to that 
 of the Jesuits' schools on the Continent; and the intel- 
 
282 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 lectualism inculcated there is of the gushing, hysterical 
 sort, which often converts the boys into “shrieking” 
 men. This is perhaps worse than the doggedness we 
 have criticized ; for your maudlin ranting English- 
 man, impact with sacerdotalism and Romanish ten- 
 dencies, is a fearful creature. One would like a middle 
 term between rant and callousness ; but it is doubtless 
 difficult to find, for Englishmen are not as a nation 
 remarkable for the tact which French call le sentiment 
 de la mesure . 
 
 NEW BUILDINGS, HARROW. 
 
V. 
 
 OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 The characteristics of boys begin to shape them- 
 selves out pretty clearly at school, but the final form 
 is given to them at the University. Ahoy is studious, 
 idle, religious, flippant, an adept at games, or a lover 
 of bad company : he carries his proclivities with him 
 to Oxford or Cambridge, and there they are fashioned 
 into a decided bent. University life sometimes im- 
 proves a lad’s qualities, it is but seldom that it rids 
 him of his defects. Therefore a boy who has begun 
 to go wrong at school is pretty sure to go more wrong 
 at college unless he pass an interval between school 
 and college with a good private tutor — and this specific 
 cannot be too earnestly recommended to parents who 
 are in doubt as to the direction which their sons’ 
 characters are taking. A year’s residence with a good 
 tutor has been the saving of many a boy, who, but for 
 it, would have gone utterly to the bad. It has 
 enabled him to sever his connection with his com- 
 panions in mischief at school, it has prepared him 
 for the liberty of University life, and fortified him in 
 some measure against its temptations. 
 
284 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 Those temptations are neither few nor small ; for 
 the moment a lacl settles into his college rooms, he 
 finds more inducements to play than to work, and he 
 is beset by a crowd of persons who seem to be in 
 league to draw him into extravagance. 
 
 The Oxford colleges are much of a muchness in 
 this respect, but an exception must be allowed in 
 favour of Balliol, for in the first place, Undergraduates 
 are only matriculated there after a stiff examination, 
 and in the next, they are not suffered to remain on 
 the books if they do not work. The Balliol tutors, 
 too, report to an Undergraduate's friends if they see 
 him fall into bad habits ; and they do not wait to see 
 this until the truth has been forced upon them in the 
 
OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 285 
 
 shape of an ugly scandal. If all the colleges were 
 managed like Balliol, one would hear less of youngsters 
 ruining their careers by early debts, indolence, and 
 dissipation. 
 
 What old ' Varsity man does not remember the day 
 when he was first inducted into the possession of a set 
 of rooms looking out upon some venerable “ quad.” 
 or trimly kept garden ? His furniture was not in 
 very good state, for it had done duty under several 
 former proprietors, but custom obliged him to take it 
 at a valuation, and he proceeded to do so, incurring a 
 little additional bill into the bargain, for indispensable 
 repairs. Before he had slept a night in college, he 
 found himself in debt also for his new cap and gown, 
 for the fuel in his grate, the lamp on his table, and for 
 numerous parcels of groceries which his “ scout ” had 
 kindly purchased. Not but that he offered to pay for 
 the above things in ready money, but the scout 
 informed him it was not the practice of the place. 
 Gentlemen paid their bills at the end of the term, or, 
 if they liked it better, when they “ went down” 
 after taking their degrees. Tradesmen did not like 
 keeping accounts for small sums, and he — the scout — 
 usually did all the catering for gentlemen on his 
 staircase to save them trouble. 
 
 Perhaps young Freshman had come up to college 
 well supplied with funds, and full of virtuous resolu- 
 tions about paying for everything in cash; but the 
 “ customs ” of a place are insidious tempters, and then 
 
 VOL. I. x 
 
286 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 the prospects of being able to keep the contents of his 
 purse as pocket money, was too alluring to be re- 
 sisted. Facile descensus: it is easy work gliding down 
 a hill of debt, the end of which need only be reached 
 in three years’ time. Three years ; why, it is an age, 
 and heaps of things may happen before then ; but 
 Freshman thinks that if the worst betide, i.e ., if he 
 fall into debt up to the neck — he can work hard 
 during his last year and, by taking a good degree, 
 bribe his relatives into loosening their purse-strings. 
 
 For all this, it does rather surprise a Freshman at 
 first to note how extremely affable University trades- 
 men are, and how apparently indifferent to pecuniary 
 considerations. The tailor is not content to measure 
 
OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 287 
 
 him for one new suit, but presses upon him the 
 necessity for being always well-dressed, and suggests 
 that his whole wardrobe wants renewing. The hosier 
 coaxes him into accepting many pairs of gloves, showy 
 neck-scarves and cambric handkerchiefs. A jewellers 
 tout waits upon him with samples of some neat things 
 in rings and pins, and is shocked at seeing that the 
 watch he wears (given him by his mother) is of such 
 poor workmanship. At the horse-dealer's he beholds 
 groves of tame nags at his service, and may hunt for 
 three guineas a diem, or drive tandem for half a 
 guinea an hour, without having to pay, for the 
 present, more than an occasional florin to the ostler. 
 At either of the three hotels which he chooses to 
 patronise, a clean page of the ledger is placed at his 
 disposal, to be filled up with accounts for dinners, 
 little suppers, or casual refreshments. The pastry- 
 cook solicits his custom for wines ; two or three 
 tobacconists send him boxes of cigars on approval ; he 
 receives a circular from the proprietor of a billiard 
 room, inviting him to inspect a beautiful new table, 
 whereon the science of cannoning will be taught him 
 by a world-renowned marker. Last, but not least, a 
 professional money-lender has an obliging word to say 
 to him on a pink, printed form, promising easy terms 
 and strict secrecy. 
 
 The Freshman soon falls into the humour of these 
 solicitations, and by the time he has been “ up ” two 
 or three terms he has dropped into a blissful state of 
 
288 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 carelessness as to tlie cost of tilings. He lias adorned 
 his rooms with handsome engravings and sporting 
 cracks ; he gives “ wines ” at which an immense 
 amount of confectionery and a fair quantity of claret 
 
 are consumed ; he plays cards for high stakes as he 
 can afford to do, spending all his allowance as pocket- 
 money, and he dresses according to the height of 
 fashion, which he indeed helps to lead by airing 
 garments of strange new-fangled cuts, invented speci- 
 ally to suit his figure — says his polite tailor. There 
 is nothing to remind the festive youth that all the 
 luxuries he enjoys — his fruity wines, fine flavoured 
 cigars, broken-kneed hunters, and gay clothing, all 
 
OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 289 
 
 represent certain sums which will have to be dis- 
 bursed some day. He does everything on “ tick,” and 
 the authorities of his college encourage him in self- 
 indulgence by allowing him to be supplied out of the 
 college buttery and kitchen with beer almost un- 
 limited, and savoury breakfasts for as many friends as 
 he pleases to entertain. 
 
 His life is a round of amusements, wherewith learn- 
 ing is but scantily interspersed. Except but for 
 five attendances a week in chapel and occasional 
 presence at lectures, he might as well be in London 
 for all there is to mark that he is still in statu 
 pupillari. To be sure college rules oblige him to be 
 within gates by midnight, so that the rectitude of his 
 morals is partially guaranteed ; but, if he be an open- 
 handed fellow, he finds no great difficulty in bribing 
 his scout to wink at night-absences from time to time. 
 If the scout do not report him absent, there is no one 
 else who can ascertain the fact, for no precautions 
 exist in the way of roll-calls. Besides, an Under- 
 graduate is not denied a couple of days 5 leave now 
 and then, if he can imagine some good excuse for 
 asking it. 
 
 All this makes the road to ruin quite straight ; but 
 the longest road has a turning, and sometimes the 
 Undergraduate spendthrift is pulled up short by a 
 number of bills presented before he expected them. 
 Let one of those smooth University tradesmen but 
 suspect that a lad is outrunning his tether, and con- 
 
290 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 trading more debts than bis friends will be willing to 
 pay, and lie will suddenly send in his account with an 
 apology about the badness of the times, but an assur- 
 ance that unless lie gets settled with he shall be 
 obliged to take out a summons in the Vice-Chancellor’s 
 court. This precious court has been instituted for the 
 recovery of debts by University authorities, whose 
 business it should have been to prevent an Under- 
 graduate from getting into debt at all. Minority is no 
 bar to an action in it. When an Undergraduate has 
 received a summons, which costs £5 85. 6d., he must 
 appear in person before the Vice-Chancellor, or some 
 deputed Doctor of Divinity, who is flanked by an acute 
 solicitor, and some such dialogue as this takes place : 
 
 “ Here is a long bill for wines — sherry, port, and 
 several dozens of champagne. Why don't you pay 
 instead of coming here 'i " 
 
 “ 111 pay, sir, in time ; but I understood I was to 
 have credit until I took my degree." 
 
 “ You will never take your degree if you drink so 
 much. My order is that you pay by this day week." 
 
 “ Please sir, give me a little longer : I shall not be 
 able to get a remittance from home within that time." 
 
 “ Well, then, take a fortnight, but not a day more ; 
 if you have not paid then I shall issue an order of 
 distraint." 
 
 It is useless to protest. Once a tradesman has 
 issued a summons, numbers of others follow suit, and 
 the juvenile debtor must either contrive to pay up to 
 
OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 291 
 
 the last farthing, with costs of process besides, or his 
 goods are seized to be sold by auction. But as this 
 fiscal measure involves disgrace, academical penalties 
 are added to it, and the spendthrift is ordered to take 
 his name off the books of his college, in other words, 
 he is expelled the University. 
 
 More often, though, the crash does not come till 
 degree day, for the tradesmen know that they have a 
 stronger hold upon a man, who, having spent his three 
 years at a University does not want to lose the fruits 
 
 “TESTAMUR, SIR?”— “NO, SIR.' 
 
292 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 his last terms, and has slaved hard to get his testamur . 
 He gets it and is qualified for his degree ; but then 
 comes the reckoning of his liabilities, and he discovers 
 these to be so very much heavier than he had calcu- 
 lated, that all idea of appealing to his friends with a 
 statement of the whole truth is laid aside. At most 
 he ventures to write home for a fifth part of what he 
 really o^ves, and he tries to effect a composition. But 
 his creditors will hear of no arrangement. Their 
 alternative is plain. If they are not satisfied in full 
 they will “ pluck ” their debtor — which means that 
 when the debtor's name has been read out in the 
 “ Schools" among the candidates for the bachelors 
 hood, and when the proctor walks up and down mut- 
 tering the formula Placet ne ? they will record their 
 non placet by plucking at this officials gown. 
 
 This may be done three times without the plucker 
 being called upon for his reasons, but the fourth time 
 of plucking, explanations have to be given before the 
 Vice-Chancellor, and then the candidate is apprised 
 that he will be jDermanently estopped from applying 
 for his hood, until he can exhibit receipts from all his 
 creditors. Pluckings have become rare because 
 debtors avoid applying for their hoods out of fear of 
 them ; and in general, a career of university extrava- 
 gance ends, either in the spendthrift going out into 
 the world with the satisfaction of having wasted three 
 years to no purpose, or he has to bleed and pinch his 
 friends, till by some excruciating effort they can 
 
OXFORD UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 293 
 
 muster enough, to indemnify the harpies who have been 
 suffered to prey upon him. 
 
 A good deal has been written about college debts, 
 but tutors and Heads of Houses have never seen fit to 
 look upon Undergraduates as legal infants who have a 
 claim to the protection of their masters. Debt and all 
 its attendant miseries would easily be checked at the 
 Universities, if the governing bodies abolished the 
 Vice-Chancellor’s court and “ discommoned ” the trades- 
 men who were proved to have given credit to Under- 
 graduates. This reform is so simple — so necessary — 
 the denial of it is so absurd, that one is amazed at 
 having to suggest it ; but it would seem that the main 
 obstacle to it lies in the fact that University authori- 
 ties — or at least some of them — derive a solid profit 
 from the irregularities of tradesmen. They, too, — the 
 Dons — take long credit for necessaries and luxuries, 
 but in consideration of the help they afford in making 
 Undergraduates pay, their own bills are moderate and 
 never dunned for. 
 
 This is an ugly aspect of the question, but a still 
 uglier one was revealed a few years ago by a fellow of 
 St. John’s, Cambridge, the Reverend John Vavasour 
 Durell, at present rector of Fulbourne, Cambridgeshire. 
 This gentleman did the good service of disclosing that 
 certain tutors were in the habit of summoning their 
 pupils who had got into debt, and ordering them to 
 pay within a given time, not straight to the creditors, 
 but to themselves — the tutors. Having got the 
 
294 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 money, the tutors did not immediately hand it over to 
 the tradesmen, but kept it a year or two in hand, 
 deriving interest therefrom, with the tradesmen’s con- 
 sent, more or less spontaneous. Naturally these 
 revelations so shocked the Fellows of St. John’s, that 
 they hastened to present Mr. Durell with a valuable 
 living, lest mayhap, by residing in college, he might 
 have laid his eye on some other odd secrets. 
 
 
VI. 
 
 UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 There is much talk of University Reform, but the 
 first of all reforms will be to convince such men as 
 Dr. Liddell, Dean of Christ Church, that Universities 
 are maintained for purposes of study, and that if an 
 Undergraduate will not work, he had best be sent home 
 to his parents, that he may not squander their money 
 and corrupt others by his example. We mention Dr. 
 Liddell because he is the worst offender in the matter 
 of allowing boys to go wrong. With his virtues as a 
 Christian, his attainments as a scholar, or his attrac- 
 tions as a Society divine, we have nothing to do. He 
 is the Head of a great college, where extravagance and 
 idleness are proverbially rife and have been for years. 
 He thinks he is not bound to remedy this state of 
 things. He should be taught that he is wrong. 
 
 So should others of his fellow-Heads, who are 
 animated with the same preposterous idea as to the 
 limitation of their functions within a small orna- 
 mental sphere. They think that so long as they strut 
 pompously to the meetings of the Hebdomadal council, 
 give their votes to job college livings, and make a 
 
296 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 defiant stand against innovation of every sort, tliey 
 have discharged their duty. Yet it is only within the 
 present century, in proportion as the Universities 
 waxed richer and richer, that these notions of 
 pococuranteism in high places have been suffered to 
 pass current. The statutes do not provide that the 
 Head of a college shall be a mere Olympian lay figure. 
 On the contrary he is strictly charged to care for the 
 morals and manners of the Undergraduates. In the 
 quaint old Latin charters drawn up by founders who 
 well knew how boys ought to be managed, he is re- 
 quired to stand towards the younger members of his 
 college in loco parentis, and not to tolerate the 
 “ devils vice ” of idleness. 
 
 Dr. Liddell might urge that he would find it heavy 
 work, to act as father towards more than three 
 hundred Undergraduates, all the more so as he has 
 ecclesiastical functions, being Dean of Oxford Cathedral 
 as well as principal of Christ Church. This is true, 
 and it affords a strong argument for separating the 
 Deanery of Oxford from the Headship of Christ 
 Church. A man in Dr. Liddells position should be 
 able to give all his time to his college, and should be 
 assisted by energetic subordinates, over whose activity 
 he should exercise a never-failing control. But at all 
 events Dr. Liddell’s plea for inaction cannot by any 
 possibility be urged by the Heads of smaller colleges 
 and halls, such as Corpus, Wadham, St. Mary’s, &c., 
 yet at these places the Heads feel it incumbent upon 
 
UNDERGRADUATES CHEVIED BY A TROCTOR AND HIS BULL DOGS. 
 
UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 297 
 
 their dignity to hold aloof 
 from the Undergraduates 
 — in other words not to 
 do the work which they 
 are paid — and paid too 
 well — to do. 
 
 There is an idea abroad 
 that discipline is main- 
 tained in the University 
 by the proctors. Two of 
 these gentlemen are ap- 
 pointed yearly at a salary 
 of £500. 
 sleeves, and dash about 
 the streets of an even- 
 ing escorted by three or 
 four men, known as 
 “ bulldogs,' ” and whose 
 function it is to chevy 
 an Undergraduate who 
 may be caught trans- 
 gressing any rule, and 
 who may be tempted 
 to bolt when accosted. 
 As a fact the sins which 
 proctors punish are the 
 being out without cap 
 and gown, smoking 
 billiards after 9 p.m. 
 
 They wear cloth gowns with velvet 
 
 WITHOUT CAP AND GOWN. 
 
 in the High Street, and playing 
 They may be observed now and 
 
298 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 then tackling some nnfortunate Undergraduate, whose 
 name and college they take down and whom they fine 
 55., 105 ., or £1 as the case may be. But, 0 irony of 
 things ! the Undergraduate who is fined for puffing a 
 cigar in the “ High ” may smoke like a chimney in all 
 
 A CONTRIBUTION TO THE UNIVERSITY CHEST. 
 
 the other streets or within his own college, and though 
 it be an offence in him to be abroad without his acade- 
 micals after dark, he may ride or saunter about in all 
 sorts of fantastic garment^, hunting-pinks, loud shoot- 
 ing coats, or boating flannels, during the day. 
 
UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 299 
 
 BILLIARDS AFTER 9 P.M. 
 
 This is Oxford all over — a great pretence of doing 
 what is not done, and charging heavily for the farce. 
 As for the notion that proctors serve to keep improper 
 female characters off the streets, it may be remarked 
 that this is well managed by the detectives of the 
 University and Town police, and that it needs no 
 clergyman at £500 a year, to say nothing of a brace of 
 bull-dogs at £80 a-piece, to assist in the work. If the 
 bull-dogs wish to be really useful, let them keep an eye 
 on Bicester and Abingdon, where fair members of the 
 London dramatic corps are often entertained by young 
 noblemen of Christ Church ; let them penetrate into 
 
300 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 the slums of dog-fanciers, where cock fighting and 
 badger drawing are freely practised, or join with the 
 college authorities in putting down the unlimited loo 
 and “ nap ” which goes on in the rooms of Canter- 
 bury Quad and Peckwater, or in the studies of Merton 
 and Magdalen. 
 
 Recently it has been shrewdly pointed out by 
 a Cambridge graduate, the Rev. A. W. Towy of St. 
 John’s, who drew his facts from a comparison between 
 more than twenty home and foreign Universities, that 
 the more a University is endowed the higher is the 
 cost of living there. Endowments have not even the 
 advantage of procuring tuition cheap, for tuition is 
 three times dearer at Oxford and Cambridge than at 
 Edinburgh. Gottingen, and Heidelberg, without being 
 better. High salaries induce greed among the pro- 
 fessors, indolence among the Masters and Heads ; and 
 extravagance being practised by the authorities the 
 impulse of it is carried through all the ranks of the 
 University hierarchy, so that every official down to the 
 scouts is extortionate. 
 
 There is no earthly reason why an Undergraduate at 
 Oxford and Cambridge should not be able to live and 
 learn comfortably on £100 a year ; but he cannot 
 make two ends meet on twice that sum, although he 
 resides barely six months in college, and no wonder, 
 when we hear of the fortunes amassed by the cooks 
 and butlers of the large colleges, like Christ Church, 
 Trinity, and St. John’s, and the very snug competencies 
 
UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 301 
 
 secured by the same functionaries at the smaller 
 foundations. Undergraduates pay for everything too 
 dearly. Their dinners are costly and often bad ; the 
 colleges which sell them beer, butter, cheese, &c., 
 retail these things at a greater profit than the trades- 
 men of the town would dare charge ; and the fees for 
 room-rents, tuition, firing, &c., are always increasing 
 out of proportion to the costs of living outside. 
 
 All these abuses cry aloud for the pruning-hook, and 
 while we are on this subject, it may be as well to 
 observe that the long vacation, which throws Under- 
 graduates on their own resources during four months, 
 from June till October, is a relic of old times which 
 has no more its raison d’etre. It was originally 
 established in order that the Undergraduates, who were 
 then mostly the sons of yeomen, might go home to 
 take part in the field labours of summer, haymaking, 
 harvesting, and so forth ; and its maintenance was 
 advocated in later times, before the railway era, be- 
 cause it was said that the Dons could improve their 
 minds during four months by travel. But a great 
 deal of travelling can be done nowadays in six weeks 
 or two months, and if the long vacation were reduced 
 within these reasonable limits, the addition of two or 
 three months yearly to the scholastic terms might open 
 up the way to conferring degrees at the end of two 
 years instead of three, as now. 
 
 We are perfectly aware that it is frequently 
 contended that the long vacation enables Under- 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
 U 
 
302 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 graduates of a studious turn to do more reading tlian 
 they could manage in college ; but is not this the most 
 sarcastic reflection upon University management ? 
 And surely it is nonsense to send men away to read at 
 home, when the University towns offer such facilities 
 for study in the shape of libraries, &c., as are not to be 
 found elsewhere. The expense entailed upon parents 
 by these long vacations is also a point which cannot 
 be left out of account, for, as things go, an Under- 
 graduate’s total expenses very seldom fall short of 
 £400 a year, even when he does not get into debt ; 
 and it is quite absurd that a boy’s education should be 
 rendered so onerous. 
 
VII. 
 
 SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 This said, and taking it for granted that the 
 Universities are places where lads need not work unless 
 they please, it may be asked, how those who do not 
 work dispose of their time ? All do not abandon 
 themselves to the dissipation of drink, cards, and 
 billiards. There are some who hunt assiduously, others 
 boat or play cricket, others are inveterate players of 
 rackets, runners and gymnasts. It is good that 
 physical training should keep pace with intellectual, 
 and there would be nothing to urge against all the 
 above amusements, if they were followed as recreations 
 instead of being made the exclusive objects of those 
 who pursue them. 
 
 The Sporting Undergraduate mostly hails from 
 Christ Church. He is a nobleman, or the son of a 
 wealthy father. He keeps a hunter or two at Pollit’s, 
 and has four or five first-rate packs in the neighbour- 
 hood to dispute his patronage. He may be a keen 
 Nimrod, and attend five meets a week, but in general 
 he is more moderate and confines himself to two. On 
 hunting mornings he jloes not go to chapel. He is 
 ready equipped in “tops ” and pink coat by eight, and, 
 
 T 7 2 
 
304 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 after a breakfast of steaks, with other men who may be 
 going to join him, he sallies out and mounts the hack 
 waiting at the college gates. The Head of the college 
 may be walking out at the same moment, and the 
 pair exchange bows, but it never occurs to the Head to 
 stop and enquire whether the youth who is so flagrantly 
 infringing the statute as to academical garments has 
 not some lectures demanding his presence that day. 
 
 The Sporting man is chary of fatiguing himself with 
 lectures. Riding to the meet at Woodstock or Abing- 
 don at a leisurely amble, he looks as if he were 
 complete master of his time and does not think of 
 shortening his day by any care for book-work. He 
 returns at four o'clock, may be, after a hard run ; puts 
 himself into easy clothes, and finds just time for a 
 
.SPORTING .AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 305 
 
 glass of something stimulating,' with a cigar and a 
 chat with pals who stroll into his rooms to talk over 
 the day’s events, before going to “ Hall.” After Hall 
 dinner he is pretty sure to have an invitation to “ wine ” 
 somewhere, and later in the evening he repairs to the 
 rooms of some chum for a quiet rubber at sixpence the 
 point, or a go of loo which winds up with a supper of 
 broiled bones and mulled claret. The good riders are 
 necessarily pretty abstemious and keep regular hours ; 
 those who hunt only for the purpose of airing their 
 pink coats, and whose ultimate fate it is to be brought 
 back to college some day on a hurdle, with a broken 
 collar bone — these hold the loo, the mulled wines, and 
 the late hours, followed as a matter of course by 
 racking head-aches on the morrow, to be inseparable 
 adjuncts to fox-chasing. 
 
 In the off-days the Sporting Undergrad often indulges 
 in a day’s pigeon shooting at Iffley ; or he drives out 
 to Bicester or Wallingford in a tandem, or takes a 
 little relaxation at billiards. He does not show much 
 at cock-fights or badger-drawings — it is only the 
 “ doggie Undergrads ” who do that. He loafs a good 
 deal about the stable yards at Simmons’ or Pollit’s 
 examining the points of neat “ tits ” that are to be had 
 dirt cheap at a hundred and twenty guineas and up- 
 wards. He attends Birmingham horse shows ; sales 
 of yearlings within railway reach ; and seldom misses 
 an important race provided he can get to it and come 
 back to college by midnight. On Derby day chapel 
 
306 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 and “ Halls ” being generally compulsory at Oxford in 
 order that Undergraduates may not betake themselves 
 to Epsom, the sportsman will often put in an ceger — 
 that is, pretend to be unwell — and risk rustication by 
 slipping up to town whilst he is supposed to be lying 
 ill in bed. But he is seldom found out, for being 
 generous with his small coin, scouts and college porters 
 are all in league to wink at his delinquencies. It was 
 a Christ Church sportsman who, having asked for leave 
 on the eve of the national equine festival, was made to 
 promise by a simple-minded Don that he would not 
 attend the race “to be held to-morrow at Derby ” 
 The sportsman readily enough promised that he would 
 not go to Derby , but said nothing whatever about 
 keeping away from Dorling’s Grand Stand on Epsom 
 downs. 
 
 In the summer term the Sporting Undergraduate 
 often developes into a cricketer ; but if downright 
 horsey, he takes to cricket as a mere pastime, and 
 seldom devotes himself to it with energy enough to 
 get chosen for the University eleven. The Cricketing 
 Undergraduate thinks of little else but bats and balls, 
 and is a professional in all except the fact that he does 
 not make money by his prowess. No sooner has the 
 sun of March begun to shine upon the Christ Church 
 meadows, and upon Fenner’s ground at Cambridge, 
 than he is out trying how the ground feels after the 
 winter floods. He is seriously concerned about its 
 
SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 307 
 
 deadness, or rejoices in its liveliness, according to 
 circumstances. He gets a professional to bowl to 
 him, and practises earnestly for hours to remedy the 
 points in which he feels weakest. If he be a 
 bowler, he sets up a single stump and asks a good 
 blocker to defend it, practising pitch, break and spin, 
 till he hits upon some knack of commanding twisters 
 and shooters at will. 
 
 Before Easter he is busy trying the styles of the 
 different recruits who have come up to the J Varsity 
 since last October term. He is soon familiar with the 
 pick of what Eton, Harrow, and Rugby have set up, 
 and can estimate the probable strength of his Univer- 
 sity in the annual match at Lord’s. After Easter, 
 when the matches begin, he is in constant employment. 
 He has a wondrous stock of flannel shirts, and gaily 
 coloured caps denoting the different clubs to which he 
 belongs ; and his list of engagements comprises matches 
 that will take place far in the vacation, even unto the 
 end of the cricket season. He takes in Bell’s Life , 
 which is a faithful chronicler of University cricket, 
 and his one thought, waking and sleeping, is how to 
 keep up his average of runs. His talk at Hall, in his 
 rooms of an evening, and on Sundays during his 
 walks, is all about the scores he has made, and the 
 confounded ill-luck which lost him his bails on such 
 and such a memorable occasion. He is a partisan of 
 the new or the old school in cricket, and either 
 advocates “ pad with the leather, and slogs with the 
 
308 
 
 UNDER THE LENS, 
 
 willow,” or he declares that the new style of greased- 
 lightning balls, and furious swiping are destructive of 
 true cricket. His ambition is to play for his college, 
 then to be selected in the 'Varsity team, and if he 
 compasses the last honour, he is drawn into a vortex of 
 cricket which absorbs him body and soul. He courts 
 occasions for meeting the best professionals, and getting 
 inured to their balls ; and whenever he can snatch a 
 spare day he goes off to Lord’s or the Oval to witness 
 what may be doing there. 
 
 When the summer term is over, and he has distin- 
 guished himself ou behalf of his many college clubs, 
 his work is by no means ended, for first there is the 
 Inter-University match, and then a succession of county 
 and mixed matches which will keep him travelling 
 all over the kingdom till October. He belongs to 
 I Zingari, the M. C. C., the Kamblers, and the 
 Peripatetics. He is invited to play at Canterbury 
 during the annual “ week ; ” perhaps he gets nomi- 
 nated for the crowning distinction of representing 
 the Gentlemen against the Players. He crosses over to 
 Ireland to play a match in Phoenix Park, then rushes 
 back for an engagement at Aldershot, and is off to 
 Halifax the week after for an encounter between 
 Yorkshire and All-England. 
 
 P»y dint of rambling about to cricket fields, his face 
 becomes known w 7 herever six stumps are pitched for 
 purposes of first-class cricket ; and he on his side 
 knows hundreds of men with whom matches have 
 

 BOATING UNDERGRADUATES ON THE ISIS. 
 
SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 3 09 
 
 brought him into contact. A good cricketer's life is 
 one of great expense, but if he has the means to carry 
 it on for a few years, it brings much social pleasant- 
 ness. In country hall and town house the cricketer is 
 welcome. He is hand in glove with so many eligible 
 persons, that, although his connections may be not 
 much to boast of, and his pecuniary circumstances 
 slender, he becomes eligible himself, and generally 
 makes a good marriage. Or if he marry for pure love, 
 and have to close his cricketing career in consequence of 
 being unable to afford continuing it, the prestige of 
 his past honours and the friendships it has secured him, 
 ensure his being helped forward in any profession he 
 may choose. 
 
 If he turns parson he may count on getting a living. 
 If he enter the bar something good is found for him 
 
 o o 
 
 in the colonies, or in the civil service ; or lie gets 
 installed in some secretaryship to a club or hotel 
 company, or to some joint-stock concern for promoting 
 aquariums, rinks, or what not. The Lubbocks and 
 Lytteltons, the Walkers and Lucases, who are great 
 cricketing families, are influential families too, and 
 cricketers who are on close terms with them are 
 never suffered to go begging for such plums as private 
 influence can obtain in England. 
 
 The University boating man is a very different 
 person from the cricketer, his life being neither so en- 
 joyable, nor his ultimate destiny so secure. All Under- 
 
310 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 graduates boat more or less ; but the term of “ boating 
 man” does not apply to those who merely paddle 
 about the Isis or Cam in skiffs or canoes, and whose 
 highest ambition it is to get into their college 
 u torpids.” The boating man proper must be in the 
 crack boat of his college, and aspire to row in the 
 ’Varsity race at Putney. He is a fellow of thews and 
 sinews, whose chief dread it is to get fat, and who has 
 himself periodically weighed to see how much flesh he 
 has gained or lost within the last month. He is always 
 
AT THE OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE BOAT RACE. 
 
SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 311 
 
 more or less in training, and 
 eschews pastry, sugar, and messes 
 of all descriptions from an idea that sound tissue can 
 
312 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 only be built up on meat and a short allowance of 
 liquids. 
 
 If he gets into the ’Varsity team, he becomes at 
 once an important personage. For weeks his name 
 and weight are printed every day in the papers. His 
 qualities of form and wind — his reach, recovery, and 
 style in feathering are exhaustively discussed in the 
 journals, from The Times to The Field. He has to take 
 minute precautions about his health, and lives in a 
 state of semi-monastic discipline lest, by breaking down 
 just before the race, he should jeopardize the laurels 
 of his University. He often overtrains himself, and 
 has alarming eruptions of boils in critical places. 
 
SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 313 
 
 Naturally, the necessities of training oblige the 
 boating man to lay all work aside. He would think 
 it bad for his health to sit up for an evening and read 
 Homer. From Christmas to the end of the Easter 
 term all the resources in him are directed towards pre- 
 paring for the race at Putney ; and it is only when 
 
314 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 this world-famed event has come off that he can settle 
 into the ordinary existence of human beings. Even 
 then, however, the true boating man does not cease 
 from training his muscles ; for he has the summer 
 races to think of, and possibly he may compete for 
 the diamond sculls or the pair-oar goblets at Henley 
 Ee^atta, so that his mind is full of these various 
 concerns until June. 
 
 In due time the boating man becomes president 
 of his University or college boat-club, and the 
 duties of this exalted function make a heavy demand 
 on his time and energies. He has to coach crews of 
 
SPORTING AND ATHLETIC UNDERGRADUATES. 315 
 
 freshmen, at times running along the towing path, or 
 riding upon a cob. He has to give private tuition 
 in rowing to pairs, whom he takes out in “ tubs.” 
 He is always advising, encouraging, rebuking, — 
 demonstrating the beauties of a long reach or of a 
 quick, snatching stroke, according as his fancy may 
 lie. The career of the boating man is generally limited 
 by the fact that a man cannot keep perpetually within 
 rowing weight. Once that he exceeds 12 stone 7 lbs., 
 he is deemed a trifle heavy, and if in his efforts 
 to keep down to rowing weight he continues to over- 
 train himself, the consequence may be a shattered 
 constitution. 
 
 This being so, the boating man who has sense as well 
 as muscle resigns his aquatic honours during his last 
 year at college, in order that he may read for his 
 degree. If he does not he is pretty sure to be 
 “ploughed” in the final Schools, and he has no such con- 
 solation as the cricketer in being able to think that 
 his proficiency with the oar will stand him instead 
 of learning all his life through. The boating man’s 
 glory vanishes out of remembrance as soon as he has 
 run to flesh and retired from the river, unless, indeed, 
 he have been stroke of the ’Varsity crew in an eventful 
 year, in which case he stands a chance of preserving 
 his kudos all his life through. 
 
 Taking him altogether the boating man is generally 
 a good fellow — though slow-witted and apt to be- 
 come lazy when fat, owing to the loafing habits he 
 
316 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 has contracted in idling about boat-liouses. In any 
 case his training teaches him lessons in steadiness and 
 sobriety which he seldom forgets, so that his after-life 
 is one of respectability. The instances of hard-rowing 
 ’Varsity men who have gone to the bad are very few 
 indeed. 
 
 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET— HENLEY FORM. 
 
VIII. 
 
 READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 
 
 We have talked thus far of playing Undergraduates 
 because they form the majority at our so-called seats 
 of learning ; but every college has its studious men, 
 its religious men, and its discussive men, who go in 
 for the cultivation of fads, in ethics, politics, or art. 
 
 The Studious Undergraduate who toils to obtain a 
 first class in honours or a high wranglership is often a 
 surprising young man, whose power of work must be 
 witnessed to be realized. He. lives in libraries and 
 lecture-rooms, and of an evening when he works in his 
 own room one may be sure to find his “ oak sported ” 
 with a view to barring out idlers. The prizes of 
 University learning are so numerous that once an 
 Undergraduate has set them before him their fasci- 
 nation lures him on to extraordinary feats of cram- 
 ming. In addition to the honours of first classes, there 
 are college prizes to be won, and university prizes, and 
 scholarships, and finally a fellowship, which means 
 £200 or £300 a year, with ofttimes a tutorship annexed, 
 and, in any case, an excellent start in life. 
 
 The lads of genius who can afford to face the 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 X 
 
318 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 examinations coolly, without much preparatory work, 
 are of course few ; and usually it may be said that 
 hard University reading means overwork. The exami- 
 nation papers are too hard, or at least they are so 
 
 STUDYING EXAM. PAPERS. 
 
 ingeniously searching in their questions that candidates 
 have to read up an immense amount of rubbish to 
 prepare for them. Your hard-reading man frequently 
 wears out his sight, and has to don premature specta- 
 cles. His shoulders stoop. His cheeks are pale for 
 want of exercise, and his head often splits with pain 
 owing to a delightful habit he has of wrapping his 
 brow in wet towels, and drinking powerfully strong 
 coffee of an evening to drive sleep away. By dint of 
 such tricks many a promising candidate has come up 
 to the Schools in the condition of a racer lame at the 
 post. He has learned so much that the receptacles of 
 his brain have burst under the pressure of facts and 
 left him semi-idiotic. 
 
<c 
 
 » 
 
 I. 311 
 
 PASSED. 
 
READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 319 
 
 GOING UP FOR EXAM. 
 
 But the reading-man who can come to the Schools in 
 prime condition has splendid moments of triumph in 
 store. There are few sensations equal to the joy of 
 obtaining that coveted “ first-class,” which makes a man 
 a conspicuous object for life, and all the more so as to 
 many reading-men a “ first-class ” means all sorts of 
 valuable pecuniary things in the future. Think of the 
 man whose friends have pinched themselves to send 
 him to the University, whose mother has built fond 
 hopes on him, whose sisters are looking into the news- 
 paper every morning to find his name in the honours 
 list ! It can be no indifferent thing: to such a one, 
 whether he be placed in the first class or the second. 
 He is to be the bread-winner of his house, perhaps its 
 glory. If he gets only a “ second-class ” there will cling 
 to him all his life the recollection of having tried for a 
 great thing and failed in it. He will be out of the 
 
320 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 running for professional prizes. No hopes of a fellow- 
 ship or college tutorship ; no chance of obtaining a 
 post as master in one of the great public schools. The 
 world pooh-poohs second-class honours, and it were 
 better for some men to be “ploughed” than to get them, 
 for if " ploughed ” they would have the opportunity 
 of making a fresh attempt later. But the semi-stigma 
 of a “ second-class ” once got by a struggling man is 
 ineffaceable. 
 
 A candidate for honours seldom has the nerve to go 
 in person and hear the list read out. He sends a 
 friend and remains nervous in his rooms till the result 
 is brought him. At Cambridge, the list is read out in 
 the Senate House, before a great mob of noisy Under- 
 graduates at nine in the morning; at Oxford it is 
 given out without any ceremony late in the afternoon, 
 bv a servant who stands behind the closed gate of the 
 
 •/ o 
 
 Schools. It is touching enough sometimes to see a 
 
 o o 
 
 younger brother waiting to hear how his elder has 
 fared — cheers greet some of the popular names, others 
 excite exclamations of wonder — commonly the “ dark 
 bosses ; ” these who have kept their coaching a 
 secret : but the majority are unknown except to a 
 familiar few. When a youngster raises a shrill shout 
 at the mention of Iris brother's name, he is often 
 solitary in bestowing this ovation ; but see how he 
 runs when he has caught the triumphal tidings ! 
 Down the streets with his gown flying behind, and the 
 tassel of his cap dancing, through his college gates, up 
 
“ PLOUGHED.” 
 
 I. 320. 
 
READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 321 
 
 the stone stairs, till he breaks into the room where the 
 weakly short sighted scholar, is waiting w T ith a flush 
 on both cheeks to learn the news that will make or 
 mar him. 
 
 No — there is nothing equal to these studious 
 victories, which throw open the portals to such rosy 
 hopes. For several days after the class list has been 
 issued, the “ first-class ” man, or the High wrangler, is 
 unnerved by pleasurable excitement. He has tele- 
 graphed to his friends ; he receives their gushing 
 replies ; his tutor is proud of him ; men with whom he 
 had never exchanged a word, shake his hand and offer 
 their congratulations, and he begins to perceive — if he 
 never knew it before — how kind the world is to suc- 
 cessful men. We say nothing special of the man who 
 comes out Senior Wrangler at Cambridge, or gets a 
 “ double-first ” in Classics and Natural Sciences at 
 Oxford. These exceptionally gifted beings have mostly 
 given such early promises of talent, that their final 
 triumph takes nobody — not even themselves — by 
 surprise. 
 
 What shall we write now about that respectable, 
 but really most solemn creature, the Religious Under- 
 graduate ? In these days of Ritualism and Romanist 
 revivals it is natural that sacerdotal zeal should have 
 spread to the younger members of the Universities ; 
 and among the future candidates for Orders there are 
 
 O 
 
 several pious sects who hold private meetings for the 
 
322 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 sake of discussing the burning religious questions of 
 the day. The religious Undergraduate is almost in- 
 variably a Ritualist who has affinities with the Holy 
 Cross Society. He wears an iron cross on his watch- 
 chain. He is regular in his attendance at college 
 chapels, but thinks the service performed there, inde- 
 corous and “ contrary to law ” because it is not solem- 
 nized in accordance with the rubric which sets forth 
 that, “ such ceremonies and vestments shall be adopted 
 as were in use in the 2nd year of the reign of King 
 Edward VI.” This means chasubles, candles, incense, 
 eastward position, and what not. It never occurs to 
 the Religious Undergraduate that the mania for 
 ecclesiastical millinery, and altar toys, is perilous to 
 the church of which he professes to be a member, for 
 in truth he does not care about the Church as a State 
 establishment, though he is very keen in arguing about 
 its endowments. 
 
 He and his friends subscribe to defray the expenses 
 of Ritualist priests in trouble with the law courts. 
 They send letters of sympathy to Mr. Tooth, and bad 
 Latin verses to Mr. Bennet. They fast on Fridays and 
 the Vigils of Saints, taking care that everybody shall 
 know of it. In their private meetings they mumble 
 monkish prayers in obsolete Latin, and are said by 
 their profaner brethren to scourge each other humbly, 
 but firmly, on the Black-letter days. They are 
 abhorred by the tutors, who see in their fanaticism, a 
 reflection upon the religious torpor which prevails in 
 
READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 323 
 
 higher University circles ; but they are are on good 
 terms with some one or other among the University 
 preachers, a fanatic like themselves, who encourages 
 their antics, and looks upon them as disciples. 
 Nothing is more doleful than to hear a number of 
 Eitualist Undergraduates singing a canticle in a 
 college room with “ oak sported,” for they swear by 
 Gregorian ch aunts, devoid of melody, and their per- 
 formance sounds like the plaintive howling of black 
 dogs on a windy night. 
 
 The young Eitualist seldom takes a good degree, 
 for he is too much engrossed in controversial literature 
 to prepare for his examinations properly. He delights 
 in unclean manuals for auricular confession ; he fills 
 himself with a subtle pruriency by grovelling in all 
 the ancient popish books which treat of the relations 
 of priests with women. He makes up his mind never 
 to marry, and spends part of his vacation in “retreats” 
 at Eitualist monasteries, where he is fed on oatmeal 
 and salt fish, which makes him lean and fiercely dis- 
 putant. When the Eitualist youngster has taken his 
 degree and been admitted to Orders, one soon finds 
 him prowling round an astonished parish, in a cloth 
 cassock and a “ Gloucester ” hat. From being merely 
 ignorant and blatant, lie has become truculent and 
 
 O J 
 
 vulgar, and tortuous in an argument as a Jesuit. 
 
 He defies his bishop, an easy man who beseeches 
 him to hold his peace — and, professing to have the 
 law on his side, he grows so bumptious that he has to 
 
324 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 be stripped of liis curacy — upon which he shrieks that 
 he is persecuted, and slavers his childish, venomous 
 prose all over the columns of that sweet, Christian 
 organ, the Church Times . One can never see a young 
 Ritualist without reflecting how much good a sound 
 birching would have done him. But since Milton was 
 whipped on the buttery hatch at Christs College, 
 Cambridge, this mode of doctoring Undergraduate con- 
 ceit has been discarded : and it is no longer possible 
 to apply the wholesome maxim : “ Scourge the Ritualist 
 whilst he is young, and cease not for his crying.” 
 
 The Discussive Undergraduate, to call him by an 
 invented name, is neither studious nor religious, but 
 an active politician, and a busy speaker at the Union 
 Debates. These debates are held once a week in a 
 building which is used at ordinary times as a club. 
 Both Universities have one, and the discussions held 
 there afford a pretty good training in public oratory, 
 though it may be remarked that the speakers are 
 subjected to less chaff and unruly rudeness than one 
 sees in the House of Commons. The Discussive 
 Undergrad is often a fine fellow with a good many 
 generous ideas. He is jocular or enthusiastic, a critic 
 of half-hearted legislation or a denouncer of England’s 
 nerveless foreign policy ; or if social questions be his 
 forte , he has often wonderfully bold systems to 
 recommend, which are not the less attractive from 
 being impracticable. But of course this sort of 
 
READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 325 
 
 youngster occasionally talks sad twaddle, especially if 
 he dub himself a free-thinker and take to airing the 
 sophistries of foreign pagans and the political crotchets 
 of French revolutionists. 
 
 The Discussive Undergraduate does not only shine 
 at the Union’s debates : he comes out strong in the 
 common rooms (combination rooms at Cambridge) 
 where he has a smaller but more lively and appre- 
 ciative audience. Over claret, biscuits, and coffee he 
 may start what themes he pleases without being 
 called to order and the wordy wrangles which he 
 provokes are carried on with spirit and gusto for 
 hours. But it is all up with an Undergraduate who 
 lacks temper and tact, for his weak points are soon 
 found out in these common rooms and if he once 
 establishes himself as a bore who has a hobby and 
 cannot be got off it, he will cause his audience to melt 
 or his mouth will be closed by a motion interdicting 
 the intrusion of the particular topic which he may 
 have at heart. 
 
 Rugbeians with their gushing but pedantic attain- 
 ments, and their boisterous Liberal- Christian ism are 
 more shunned in the common rooms than other men, 
 for it is difficult to silence them, and they talk of their 
 school as if it were the world’s axis : nor are they 
 better liked because few can bandy logic with them. 
 Etonians get on more smoothly, but occasionally 
 an Undergraduate who was no great shakes at Eton 
 either in games or lessons, will startle his old school- 
 
32G 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 fellows by blossoming out into a discussive prig of the 
 finest quality affecting to speak as if his opinions were 
 those of all Eton, or else if he be radically inclined, 
 abusing his old school with a bitterness which causes 
 a hubbub at the Eton club. Both Universities have 
 an Eton club, and one of Harrovians too, but at these 
 places there is no room for disputation, the institutions 
 being merely of a social and festive character. 
 
 There are Undergraduates who write verses and try 
 their hands at journalism in those sheets which spring 
 up from time to time under the auspices of University 
 publishers, and are given out as “ conducted by 
 Undergraduates. ” The Literary Oxonian or Cantab is, 
 however, scarcely a type, for at times he is altogether 
 extinct, and at others he flourishes with such vigour 
 as to be easily distinguished as a man who will shortly 
 make his mark in literature. In the latter case his 
 effusions are pretty sure to be good, but in any case 
 they deserve encouragement, for an Undergraduate 
 cultivating literature is a young man doing the right 
 thing in the right place. Many excellent things in the 
 way of satire, odes, epigrams, parodies of famous poems 
 or political speeches are written from time to time in 
 Oxford and Cambridge, and it is rather to be regretted 
 that these productions are not centralised in a well 
 established magazine instead of being scattered in the 
 pages of journals which have but an ephemeral 
 existence. 
 
READING AND RELIGIOUS UNDERGRADUATES. 327 
 
 The poet Undergraduate competes for the verse prizes 
 at his University, and at Oxford the winners have to 
 read out their compositions in public at the Sheldonian 
 Theatre during Commemoration. This is a trying 
 ordeal to the man who has committed the Latin ode 
 on Heliogabalus or the Greek Iambics on the fall of 
 Troy. The galleries shout to him to speak up : he 
 screams, his voice cracks, the Doctors look bored, the 
 ladies amused, the Masters of Arts on the floor of the 
 House whisper and smile, and the riot of the Under- 
 graduates grows faster and louder till not a line can be 
 heard of the many that rise in gulps from the pulpit 
 where the prize winner is perched. The English Verse 
 Prizeman gets a better reception if his lines rhyme and 
 if he have not disdained to introduce a stanza or two of 
 comical lines. Apropos of Commemoration it must be 
 noted that the unseemly tumult of yahooism which 
 used to disgrace this yearly festival has been abolished 
 by the simple expedient of mixing ladies with Under- 
 graduates in the Sheldonian galleries. The uproar 
 now does not transcend the limits of good fun. 
 
 With the Literary Undergraduate we exhaust our 
 varieties of University men unhooded. In conclusion 
 we must repeat our belief that Oxford and Cambridge, 
 although they have their good points, their advantages, 
 their claims to reverence on account of the few brilliant 
 scholars they produce, are nevertheless not at all what 
 they might be. They are not universal, for it is only 
 
328 
 
 UNDER THE LENS. 
 
 the affluent classes who can afford to send tlieir sons 
 there, and they are but in a limited degree seats of 
 learning, for the majority of those who go there learn 
 nothing — at least nothing worth learning, unless it be 
 experience, which they purchase too dear. The day 
 may be far distant, or it may be near, when both 
 Universities will undergo a searching reform, but until 
 that day comes Oxford and Cambridge will deserve to 
 be described as places where hundreds of boys waste 
 their time, and where some few ruin themselves 
 irremediably with the permission of learned and devout 
 men, their spiritual teachers, pastors, and masters. 
 
 END OF VOL. i. 
 
 BRADBURT, AONEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
42 , Catherine Street, Strand, 
 September, 1886 . 
 
 VIZETELLY & CO.’S 
 NE IV BOOKS, 
 
 AND NE IV EDITIONS. 
 
 NEW REALISTIC NOVELS. 
 
 FLAUBERT’S MASTERPIECE. 
 
 In crown 8 vo, beautifully printed on vellum-texture paper, and Illustrated with 
 Six Etchings , by French Artists , price 6s., elegantly bound. 
 
 MADAME BOVARY : Provincial Manners. 
 
 By GUSTAVE FLAUBERT. 
 
 Translated by Eleanor Marx-Aveling. With an Introduction and Notes of the 
 proceedings against the author before the “Tribunal Correctionnel ” of Paris. 
 
 M. EMILE ZOLA ON “MADAME BOVARY.” 
 
 “ The first characteristic of the naturalistic novel, of which ‘ Madame Bovary ’ is the type, is 
 the exact reproduction of life, the absence of every romantic element. The scenes themselves are 
 every day ones ; but the author has carefully sorted and balanced them in such a way as to make 
 his work a monument of art and science. It is a true picture of life presented to us in an admira- 
 bly selected frame. All extraordinary invention is therefore banished from it. One no longer 
 encounters in its pages children marked at their birth, then lost, to be found again in the last 
 chapter ; nor secret drawers containing documents which come to light at the right moment for 
 the purpose of saving persecuted innocence. In fact all intrigue, even the simplest, is absent. 
 The story marches straight on, relating events day by day, harbouring no surprise ; and, when it is 
 finished, it is as though, after being as it were out in the world, you had regained your home. 
 
 “The whole of ‘Madame Bovary,’ even in its slightest incidents, possesses a heartrending 
 interest— a new interest, unknown prior to the appearance of this book — the interest of reality, 
 of the drama of daily life. It grips your very vitals with an invincible power, like some scene 
 you have witnessed, some event which is actually happening before your eyes. The personages 
 of the story are among your acquaintances, you have assisted at their proceedings twenty times 
 over. You are in your own sphere in this work, and all that transpires is even dependent upon 
 your surroundings. It is this which causes such profound emotion. But there is also to be added 
 the prodigious art of the writer. Throughout, the tone is of an absolute exactitude. The arrange- 
 ment of the action is continuous as it would be in reality, without a digression due to imagination, 
 without the slighest kind of invention. The life, the colouring, succeed in creating the illusion. 
 The writer accomplishes the prodigy of disappearing completely, and yet making his great art 
 everywhere felt.” 
 
 BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE ON ‘ MADAME BOVARY.” 
 
 “ Flaubert is among the first of social realists. He addresses himself almost avowedly to the 
 senses and not to the feelings. He treats of love in its physiological aspects, and indulges in the 
 minutest analysis of the grosser corporeal sensations. In intelligence and accomplishments, as 
 well as literary skill, he was no ordinary man. He had read much and studied profoundly ; he had 
 travelled far, keeping his eyes open, and had made some reputation in certain blanches of science. 
 
 “ Flaubert wrote his great masterpiece ‘Madame Bovary’ deliberately in his maturity: and 
 the notoriety which carried him with it into the law-courts, made him a martyr in a society that 
 was by no means fastidious. Seldom before has an author concentrated such care and thought on 
 a single work. Each separate chapter is wrought out with an exactness of elaboration to which 
 the painting of the Dutch school is sketchy and superficial. Those who fill the humblest parts, 
 or who are merely introduced to be dismissed, are made as much living realities to us as Madame 
 Bovary herself, or her husband Charles. Flaubert goes beyond Balzac in the accumulation of details. 
 Yet it is clear in the retrospect that the effects have been foreseen, and we acknowledge in the 
 end the vivid impressions the author has made on us. 
 
 “ Flaubert proposes to set the truth before everything, and we presume he does so to the best 
 of his conviction. He goes to his work as cruelly and imperturbably as the Scotch surgeon in 
 the pirate ship, who is said to have claimed a negro as his share of the spoil, that he might practise 
 on the wretch in a series of operations.” 
 
 B 
 
2 VIZETELLY 6 - CO.’S NEW BOOKS &> NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 NEW REALISTIC NOVELS — continued. 
 
 In Crown 8v o, with Ornamental Initials and Vignettes , and a Portrait of the Author. 
 Etched by Bocourt from a drawing by Flaubert’s niece. Price 65. 
 
 SALAMBO. 
 
 By GUST A YE FLAUBERT. 
 
 Translated from the french “Edition definitive ” by J. S. CHARTRES. 
 
 AND PREFACED BY AN ESSAY ON FLAUBERT’S WORKS. 
 
 Press Opinions on Mr. J. S. Chartres’s Translation of “ Salambo.” 
 
 “ Some little while ago there was published an extraordinary bad translation of Flaubert's 
 ‘ Salambo’ [by M. French Sheldon]. By some means (there are so many of these means) it was 
 puffed as even in our time few if any books so bad have been puffed. Names of all sorts and 
 conditions of men (‘the highest authorities in the land,’ said the advertisement) were pressed 
 into its service. And hand in hand with the puffing went some dark warnings against other 
 possible translations, which would inevitably be spurious, infamous, and I know not what elso. 
 The reason of this warning is now clear. Another tranlsation has appeared, done by Mr. J. 8. 
 Chartres, and published by Vizetelly, which is much superior to its predecessor.” — The World. 
 
 ‘‘We are al»le to declare that this second translation, the work of Mr. Chartres, and 
 published b}' Messrs. Vizetelly, is very much the better of the two. ... To show the relation of 
 this translation to its rival and to the original, we shall quote the first few lines of all three. 
 The beginning of ‘ Salambo ’ is a very good test passage. ... It is hardly necessary to ask which 
 of the two is nearest to the French. Turn over the page and an abundance of equally instructive 
 parallel passages are to be found.” — Saturday Review. 
 
 “ After being made the subject of an indifferent translation, Salambo has now been dealt with 
 by a master of the literary art, who has produced such a version of the great Carthaginian 
 romance as Flaubert himself might have been delighted with. Why, one cannot help asking, ha 
 the good wine been thus kept to the last? ’’—St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ‘‘We said something about the singularly inefficient translation of ‘Salambo’ by Mrs. 
 Sheldon, which excited a still more singular revival of the almost defunct art of puffery. Of the 
 rival version by Mr. Chartres, if it is not positively good, that is because the original is so hard 
 to translate that little short of actual genius, provided beforehand with an exceptional knowledge 
 both of French and English, could give a good translation of it.” — Athenceum. 
 
 “ As regards the translator’s work, which is allowed on all hands to have been a very arduous 
 task, there is little or no reason to doubt that a good, faithful, and readable rendering has been 
 accomplished. A very useful appendix has been most thoughtfully and considerately added to 
 the story ; it contains criticisms of the romance at its first appearance, and replies marie to them 
 by the author. This course was honest, wise, and satisfactory.’' —Illustrated London News. 
 
 “The present volume brought out by Messrs. Vizetelly quite deserves the adjective scholarly 
 Whenever this enterprising firm undertakes a translation it is generally executed in a way above 
 reproach, and ‘ Salambo ’ is no exception to the rule.” — Whitehall Rerie w. 
 
 TWELFTH THOUSAND. 
 
 With 32 highly finished page Engravings, cloth gilt, price 3 s. 8d. 
 
 SAPPHO: Parisian Manners. 
 
 By ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 
 Unabridged Translation from the 100th French Edition. 
 
 “The book may, without exaggeration, be described as a glowing picture of Parisian life, 
 with all its diversity of characters, with its Bohemian and half- world circles that are to be found 
 nowhere else ; with all its special immorality, in short, but also with the touch of poetry that 
 saves it from utter corruption, and with the keen artistic sense that preserves its votaries from 
 absolute degradation .” — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 V VIZETELLY A CO.’S Edition of “ SAPPHO” is the only complete one. 
 It contains every line of the original work and fifty pages more matter than any other. 
 
VIZETELLY & CO.'S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 3 
 
 Specimen of the Engravings in DAUDET’S “SAPPHO.” 
 
 “Alone in the little garden of the restaurant they were kissing each other and eating their 
 fish. All at once, from a rustic arbour built among the branches of the plane-tree at whose foot 
 their table was set out, a loud and bantering voice was heard : * I say, there, when you’ve done 
 
 billing and cooing and the leonine face and ruddy beard of Caoudal the sculptor appeared 
 
 through an opening in the woodwork of the hut. ” 
 
4 VIZETELLV &> CO.’S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 NEW REALISTIC NOVELS— continued. 
 
 Third Edition , in crown 8 vo, with Frontispiece , cloth gilt , price §s. 
 
 A DRAMA IN MUSLIN. 
 
 By GEORGE MOORE. 
 
 Author of “A Mummer’s Wife,” “A Modern Lover,” &c. 
 
 “ Mr. George Moore has already proved his right to be considered one of the conspicuous 
 novelists of the day. He can depict human beings in an original and consistent fashion; he can 
 tell a story well, and he has an excellent eye fur effect, so that his novel is picturesque, well 
 constructed, and full of human interest.” — Athenmnn. 
 
 “Mr. George Moore’s work stands on a very much higher plane than the facile fiction of the 
 circulating libraries. Its purpose is good (for it is a novel with a purpose and the essentials of its 
 matter are good. The hideous comedy of the marriage-market has been a stock topic with 
 novelists from Thackeray downwards ; but M r. Moore goes deep into the yet more hideons tragedy 
 which forms its afterpiece, the tragedy of enforced stagnant celibacy, with its double catastrophe 
 of disease and vice. The characters are drawn with patient care, and with a power of individual- 
 isation which marks the born novelist. It is a serious, powerful, and in many respects edifying 
 book.” — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 “ Mr. Moore has the full courage of his opinions ; he is true to them and to himself ; and he 
 has this excuse for making details paramount, that he has a talent of the very highest order for 
 observation and reproduction ; even for creating them where experience is lacking. Alice and 
 Olive Barton, May Gould, and Violet Scully arc subjected to the dissecting knife cruelly and 
 unpleasantly ; but then morbid anatomy is the author’s metier, and vivisection cannot be per- 
 formed without much that is disagreeable The novel is an exceptionally brilliant outcome 
 
 from an intensely objectionable school." — Graphic. 
 
 “ Mr. Thackeray may sermonise over his Amelias and Charlottes, but Mr. Moore knows what 
 the real live girl is like, and he insists on telling the truth with an accuracy which women them- 
 selves recognise. The young lady of the library novel is a sweet and mealy-mouthed creature, 
 but the luxuriant girl of flesh and blood is a different being, as all teachers very well know.” — 
 The Hat. 
 
 GERMINIE LACERTEUX. 
 
 By EDMOND and JULES DE GONCOURT. 
 
 M. EMILE ZOLA ON “GERMINIE LACERTEUX.” 
 
 Germinie Lacerteux’ is the story of a servant girl, the servant of an old maiden lady. 
 The interest is not centred in the incidents, but in the analysis of this girl s temperament, in 
 her fall, her struggles, her agony. On its first appearance, the novel gave rise to an enormous 
 scandal, and the critics picked up their tongs wherewith to turn over its pages. No one, 
 moreover, treated it in accordance with its merits. 
 
 “ ‘ Germinie Lacerteux ’ fixes a date in our contemporary literature. For the first time 
 the lower classes are studied by writers who are masters of observation and style. And I repeat 
 it is not a question of a more or less interesting story, but of a complete lesson of moral and 
 physical anatomy. The novelist throws a woman on to the slab of the amphitheatre, the first 
 woman that comes to his hand, the servant girl crossing the street with her apron on ; he 
 patiently dissects her, shows each muscle, gives full play to the nerves, seeks for causes and 
 relates results ; and this suffices to uncover a whole bleeding corner of humanity. The reader 
 feels the sobs rising in his throat, and it happens that this dissection becomes a heartrending 
 spectacle, full of the highest morality.” 
 
 Shortly. In crown 8 vo. Price 3 s. 
 
 A CRUEL ENIGMA. 
 
 Uniform with “ A Cruel Enigma.” 
 
 A LOVE CRIME. 
 
 By PAUL BOURGET. 
 
 By PAUL BOURGET. 
 
VIZETELLY &* CO.’S NEW BOOKS &* NEW EDITIONS. 5 
 
 NEW ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “MR. BUTLER’S WARD.' 
 
 Second Edition , in crown 8 vo, price 6s. 
 
 DISENCHANTMENT. 
 
 By F. MABEL EOBINSON. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 “ * Disenchantment ’ is a novel of considerable power. There is not one of the characters which 
 does not become more and more an actual man or woman as one turns the pages. . . . The 
 
 book is full of humour and the liveliest and healthiest appreciation of the tender and emotional 
 side of life, and the accuracy — the almost relentless accuracy — with which the depths of life are 
 sounded, is startling in the work of an almost unknown writer.” — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 “ * Disenchantment ’ proves Miss Robinson to be capable of high achievement as a writer of 
 romance It contains scene after scene of conspicuous power, and displays that happy combina- 
 tion of the analytic faculty with intensity of human feeling which is essential to the true novelist. 
 It is not often that a young writer creates and vividly portrays three characters so strong and so 
 fine as Philip Preston, his brother John, and Delia Mayne.” — The Athenceum. 
 
 “ ‘ Disenchantment’ is a powerful, painful, youthful book. Miss Mabel Robinson has, in very 
 unusual measure, the faculty of keen observation. The pitiful story of Philip Preston’s weakness, 
 of his wife’s cruelty, and of his half-desperate, half self-sacrificing end, is told by Miss Robinson 
 with a great deal of pathos.” — The Academy. 
 
 “ Some of the scenes are given with remarkably impressive power, rendered the more effective 
 by the side-play of widely contrasted characters which, while interesting in themselves, serve to 
 bring out the central portraits all the more fully. The book is altogether of exceptional interest 
 as an original study of many sides of actual human nature. The style, it should be added, is 
 entirely unaffected, and altogether admirable.”— The Graphic. 
 
 “ This powerful novel.” — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 “Augusta Desborough and Delia Mayne are finished studies of women who must at some time 
 or other have come under the author’s personal knowledge. The book is not crowded with 
 characters, but those which are introduced are of flesh and blood, and drawn from life. The 
 reader makes friends with them, and parts from them regretfully.” — Whitehall Review. 
 
 “There is a great deal of analytical and delineative skill, there is minute realism of the better 
 sort, and there are many charming scenes and touches to be met with in ‘ Disenchantment.” — 
 Illustrated London Neu's. 
 
 “ The work is exceedingly praiseworthy. It is fresh in subject and individual in treatment. 
 Miss Robinson shows remarkable insight into character, male as well as female ; and her Philip 
 is as human as her Augusta. The Globe. 
 
 “Of all the young novelists of the day, Miss Mabel Robinson is the most promising. 
 ‘ Disenchantment ’ is no idle tale for silly school-girls and foolish women. It is a novel for strong 
 and healthy minds to delight in, and, moreover, it is good wholesome literature. . . . Fine novel 
 as it is, ‘ Disenchantment ’ may be accepted as an earnest of still better things to come.” — Life. 
 
 In crown 8ro, price 5s. 
 
 By the Author of “ A Jaunt in a Junk 
 
 In crown 8 vo, price 5s. 
 
 By FfiLISE LOA r ELACE. 
 
6 VIZETELLY &* CO.’S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 THE NOVELS OF FEDOR DOSTOIEFFSKY. 
 
 Translated from the Original Russian. 
 
 Second Edition. In crown 8 vo, 450 pages, jirice 6*. 
 
 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT. 
 
 A RUSS [AN REALISTIC NOVEL. 
 
 By FEDOR DOSTOIEFFSKY. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 The Athenaeum. 
 
 “ Outside Russia the name of Fedor Dostoievsky was till lately almost unknown. Yet Dostoieffsky 
 is one of the most remarkable of modern writers, and his book, ‘Crime and Punishment,’ is one 
 of the most moving of modern novels. It is the story of a murder and of the punishment which 
 dogs the murderer ; and its effect is unique in fiction. It is realism, but such realism as M. Zola 
 and his followers do not dream of. The reader knows the personages— strange, grotesque, terrible 
 personages they are -more intimately than if he had been years with them in the flesh. He is con- 
 strained to live their lives, to suffer their tortures, to scheme and resist with them, exult with 
 them, weep and laugh and despair with them ; he breathes the very breath of their nostrils, and with 
 the madness that comes upon them he is afflicted even as they. This sounds extravagant praise, no 
 doubt; but only to those who have not read the volume. To those who have, we are sure that it 
 will appear rather under the mark than otherwise.” 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 “ The figures in the grand, gloomy picture are a handful of men and women taken haphazard from 
 the crowd of the Russian capital. They are nearly all poor. The central figure in the novel is one 
 of those impecunious “ students,’’ the outcomes of whose turbulent brains have often been a curse 
 where they were intended to be a blessing to their country. He appears everywhere ; is never out 
 of sight in the scenes, vibrating between the highest heights and deepest depths of life. The 
 
 character of Sonia is drawn with consummate skill. She is a ligure of tragic pathos A 
 
 strange fascination attracts Raskolnikott’ to seek her out in her own lodgings, a bare little room in 
 an obscure street of St. Petersburg ; and there, in the haunt of impurity and sin, the harlot and the 
 assassin meet together to read the story of Lazarus and Dives. In that same den Rodia confesses 
 his crime, and, in anguish almost too deep for words, the outcast girl implores the criminal, for 
 God’s sake, to make atonement. The subtle skill with which the various characters are delineated 
 make ‘Crime and Punishment,’ one of the most interesting and curious psychological studies of 
 modern fiction. Sometimes a beautiful poem in prose, in the shape of a dream that is told, lightens 
 up the scene with a golden brightness of sunlight that now and then recalls the l»est passages in 
 the novels of Turgeniefl.” 
 
 The Spectator. 
 
 “ There are three Russian novelists who, though, with one exception, little known out of their own 
 country, stand head and shoulders above most of their contemporaries. In the opinion of some not 
 indifferent critics, they are superior to all other novelists of this generation. Two of them, 
 Dostoieffsky and Turgenieff, died not long ago, the third, Lyof Tolstoi, still lives. The one with the 
 most marked individuality of character, probably the most highly gifted, was unquestionably 
 Dostoieffsky. In our opinion his finest work is ‘ Crime and Punishment.’ Though never Zolaesquc, 
 Dostoieffsky is intensely realistic, calls a spade a spade with the most uncompromising frankness. 
 He describes sin in its most hideous shapes ; yet he is full of tenderness and loving-kindness for its 
 victims, and shows us that even the most abandoned are not entirely bad, and that for all there is 
 hope — hope of redemption and regeneration. Dostoieffsky sounded the lowest depths of human 
 nature, and wrote with the power of a master. None but a Russian and a genius could draw such a 
 character as Rodia Raskolnikoff, who has been aptly named the ‘ Hamlet of the Madhouse.’ : ’ 
 
 The Academy. 
 
 “Raskolnikoff, the St. Petersburg student-hero of this story, who finds his guardian angel in 
 Sonia, a poor girl, whom the poverty of her family and the drunkenness of her father have driven 
 into the streets, is not bad in the ordinary sense of the word. He is only mad and poor, and given 
 to what he calls psychology, and, in a frenzy of madness, privation, and philosophy, he murders a 
 
 female usurer and her sister Besides Raskolnikoff and Sonia, the chief characters in 
 
 ‘Crime and Punishment’ are his mother, his sister, and her three lovers — Razoumikhin, a fellow 
 .student, Looshin, a low-minded official, and Svidriga'iloff, a wild sensualist. These three last, 
 especially Razoumikhin, who is a sort of Russian George Warrington, are ably drawn. There are 
 many passionate scenes in the book, one of them, between Svidrigailoff and RaskolnikofTs sister, 
 in which the latter fires at her lover with a revolver, is sketched with great, and, indeed, revolting, 
 power. Nor is ‘Crime and Punishment’ devoid of humour, or of almost Juvenalian satire, upon 
 the present condition of society in Russia.” 
 
VIZETELLY & CO:S NEW BOQKS &* NEW EDITIONS. 7 
 
 Some Press Opinions on Fedor Dostoieffsky’s “ Crime and Punishment.” 
 
 The World. 
 
 “The publisher has done much better work in publishing ‘ Crime and Punishment, a trans- 
 lation of Dostoieffsky’s much-praised novel— a little over-praised, perhaps, and nota little brutal (in 
 the literary sense of the epithet), but a strong thing, beyond all question.” 
 
 Westminster Review. 
 
 “ ‘ Crime and Punishment’ is powerful, and not without a certain weird fascination.” 
 
 Now Ready. In crown 8 vo, with Portrait and Memoir, price 5 s. 
 
 INJURY AND INSULT. By Fedor Dostoieffsky. 
 
 Translated from the Original Russian by F, Whishaw. 
 
 To be followed by 
 
 THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY, & THE GAMBLER. 
 THE IDIOT. THE BROTHERS KARAMASOFF. 
 
 UNCLE’S DREAM, & THE PERMANENT HUSBAND. 
 
 THE NOVELS OF COUNT LYOF TOLSTOI. 
 
 Count Lyof Tolstoi presents us with spirited and felicitous studies of the intrigues prevalent 
 in the highest spheres of Russian society, and of their centre of gravitation, the Court. Herein 
 he is in his native element ; he has seen both the court and the army — has held a position at the 
 
 one the same as in the other Count Tolstoi amuses himself in taking every part of 
 
 the human puppet to pieces. Never yielding to emotion, this doctor at every minute of the day 
 is feeling the pulses of all whom he meets, and coldly noting the state of their moral health.”— 
 Viscount de Vogue. 
 
 Now Ready. In crown 8 vo, os. each volume 
 
 “ War and Peace ” Series : 
 
 1. BEFORE TILSIT. 2. THE INVASION. 
 
 3. THE FRENCH AT MOSCOW. 
 
 Now Ready. In one volume , crown 8 vo, 780 pages, 7s. 6d. 
 
 ANNA KARENINA. 
 
 A REALISTIC NOVEL. 
 
 “ As you read on you do not say, ‘This is like life,’ but, ‘This is life.’ It lias not only the complexion, 
 the very hue, of life, but its movement, its advances, its strange pauses, its seeming reversions to 
 former conditions, and its perpetual change, its apparent isolations, its essential solidarity. It is a 
 world, and you live in it while you read, and long afterward ; but at no step have you been betrayed, 
 not because your guide has warned or exhorted you, but because he has been true, and has shown 
 you all things as they are.” — W. I). Howells, in Harper's Monthly. 
 
 In crown £v >, icith a Pot trait and Memoir of Count Tolstoi , price 5s. 
 
 CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD, AND YOUTH. 
 
THE MERMAID SERIES. 
 
 “ I lie and dream of your sweet Mermaid wine.” 
 
 Master Francis Beaumont to Ben Jonsott. 
 
 Preparing for Publication , 
 
 An Unexpurgated Edition of 
 
 THE BEST PLAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE OLD DRAMATISTS, 
 
 Under the General Editorship of HAVELOCK ELLIS, 
 
 In half-crown monthly vols., post 8vo, each vol. containing about 400 pages, 
 bound in cloth with cut or uncut edges. 
 
 ^ Vg/" LTHOUGH a strong and increasing interest is felt to-day in the great 
 
 Elizabethan dramatists who are grouped around Shakspere, no satisfac- 
 tory attempt has hitherto been made to bring their works before the 
 public in a really popular manner. With the exception of such monu- 
 mental and for most readers inaccessible editions as those of Dyce and 
 Bullen, they have either been neglected or brought out in a mutilated and 
 inadequate form. Some of the most delightful of them, such as Middleton 
 and Thomas Hey wood, and even Beaumont and Fletcher are closed to all^ 
 the few, and none of them are obtainable in satisfactory editions at 
 moderate prices. In the Mermaid Series it is proposed to issue the finest 
 examples of the Elizabethan Drama, those which, with Shakspere’s works, con- 
 stitute the chief contribution of the English spirit to the literature of the world. 
 
 save 
 
 The Mermaid Series will appear in half-crown monthly volumes, two of which 
 will be published during November. The Editors who have promised their assist- 
 ance to the undertaking include men of literary eminence, who have already distinguished 
 themselves in this field, as well as younger writers of ability. The first volume will contain 
 
VIZETELLY &* CO.'S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS. 9 
 
 a general introduction by Mr. J. A. Symonds, dealing with the Elizabethan Drama 
 generally, as the chief expression of English national life at one of its points of greatest 
 power and expansion. 
 
 Each volume will contain on an average five complete Plays, prefaced by an Intro- 
 ductory Notice of the Author. Great care will be taken to ensure, by consultation among 
 the Editors, that the Plays selected are in every case the best and most representative — and 
 not the most conventional, or those which have lived on a merely accidental and traditional 
 reputation. A feature will be made of plays by little known writers, which although often 
 so admirable are now almost inaccessible. The names of the Editors will be sufficient 
 guarantee for the quality of the selection. In every instance the utmost pains will be taken 
 to secure the best text, the spelling will be modernised, and brief but adequate notes 
 supplied. 
 
 In no case will the Plays undergo any process of expurgation. It is believed that, 
 although they may sometimes run counter to what is called modern taste, the free and 
 splendid energy of Elizabethan art, with its extreme realism and its extreme idealism — 
 embodying, as it does, the best traditions of the English Drama — will not suffer from the 
 frankest representation. 
 
 Carefully etched Portraits of those Dramatists of whom authentic portraits exist 
 will be given as frontispieces to the various volumes, and every pains will be taken to 
 ensure typographical accuracy and excellence, and to produce the series in a satisfactory- 
 manner in every respect. 
 
 The following is the proposed Order of Publication — 
 
 MARLOWE. Edited by Havelock Ellis. With a General 
 Introduction by J. A. Symonds. 
 
 MASSINGER. Edited by Arthur Symons. 
 
 MIDDLETON. With an Introduction by A. C. Swinburne. 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (2 vols.). Edited by J. St. 
 Loe Strachey. 
 
 WEBSTER and CYRIL TOURNEUR. Edited by J. A. 
 Symonds. 
 
 SHIRLEY. Edited by Edmund Gosse. 
 
 DEKKER. Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM and other Plays attributed to 
 Shakspere. Edited by Arthur Symons. 
 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. Edited by J. A. Symonds. 
 
 FORD. Edited by Havelock Ellis. 
 
 To be followed by BEN JONSON (2 vols.), CHAPMAN, 
 MARSTON, WILLIAM ROWLEY and FIELD, 
 DRYDEN, OTWAY, LEE, CONGREVE, &c. 
 
IO VIZETELLY &* CO.'S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 NEW STORY BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE CHEVELEY NOVELS.” 
 
 In Crown 8vo, attractively bound , price 3s. Qd. 
 
 HIS CHILD FRIEND. 
 
 By the Author of “A Modern Minister,” “Saul Weir,” &c. 
 
 “ Is told tenderly and with graphic skill. All the chaiacters are well and truthfully drawn.” 
 
 — A cademy. 
 
 A STORY OF THE STAGE. 
 
 In Crown 8vo, with eight tinted page engravings , price 2s. 8d. 
 
 SAVED BY A SMILE. 
 
 By JAMES SIREE. 
 
 Second Edition. In crown 8vo, with page engravings , price 2s. Qd. 
 
 MY FIRST CRIME. 
 
 By G. MACE, former “ Chef de la Surety ” of the Paris Police. 
 
 “ An account by a real Lecoq of a real crime is a novelty among the mass of criminal 
 novels with which the world has been favoured since the death of the great originator Gaboriau. 
 It is to M. Mac£, who has had to deal with real jv</es tl’ instruction, real agents de la mirett, and real 
 murderers, that we are indebted for this really interesting addition to a species of literature 
 which has of late begun to pall.” — Saturday Revitxc. 
 
 A BOOK FOR THE PRESENT CRISIS. 
 
 Second Edition. In crown 8vo, paper cover , price Is., or cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 IRISH HISTORY FOR ENGLISH READERS. 
 
 By WILLIAM STEPHENSON GREGG. 
 
 “ The history is one that every Englishman ought to read. As an outline to be filled up by 
 wider reading it is an admirable little book.”- Literary World. 
 
 Shortly will be published in Shilling Volumes , with picture cover, 
 
 CAPITAL STORIES. 
 
 The Earlier Volumes will Include : 
 
 THE CHAPLAIN’S SECRET, by leon de tinseau. 
 
 AVATAR. By THEOPHILE GAUTIER. 
 
 (The above work evidently suggested “ Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.") 
 
 COLONEL QUAGG’S CONVERSION ; and Other Stories. 
 
 By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 THE MONKEYS’ REVENGE. By LEON GOZLAN. 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS’S TEAM, by l£on de tinseau. 
 
VIZETELLY &> CO.’S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS . 
 
 ii 
 
 MR. E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY’S WORKS. 
 
 Second Edition , in post 8 vo, 434 pp., with numerous Page and other Engravings , 
 handsomely bound , price 10s. 6d. 
 
 IMPRISONED IN A SPANISH CONVENT: 
 
 AN ENGLISH GIRL’S EXPERIENCES. 
 
 “Intensely fascinating. The expose is a remarkable one, and as readable as remarkable.” — 
 Society. 
 
 “ Excellent specimens of their author in his best and brightest mood.”— Athenaeum. 
 
 “ Highly dramatic.” — Scotsman. “ Strikingly interesting .” — Literary World. 
 
 “ Instead of the meek cooing dove with naked feet and a dusty face who had talked of dying 
 for me, I had now a bright-eyed rosy-cheeked companion who had cambric pocket-handkerchiefs 
 with violet scent on them and smoked cigarettes on the sly.”— Page 75. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition , Two Vols. large post 8 vo, attractively bound , price 155. 
 
 UNDER THE LENS: SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH ABOUT 300 ENGRAVINGS BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS. 
 CONTENTS JILTS — ADVENTURERS AND ADVENTURESSES - HONOURABLE 
 GENTLEMEN (M.P.s)-PUBLIC SCHOOLBOYS AND UNDERGRADUATES- SPENDTHRIFTS 
 —SOME WOMEN I HAVE KNOWN— ROUGHS OF HIGH AND LOW DEGREE. 
 
 “ Brilliant, highly-coloured sketches. . . . containing beyond doubt some of the best writing 
 that has come from Mr. Grenville-Murray’s pen.” — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 “ Limned audaciously, unsparingly, and with much ability.” — World. 
 
 “ Distinguished by their pitiless fidelity to nature.” — Society. 
 
VIZETELLY & CO.’S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS. 13 
 
 MR. E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY’S WORKS -continued. 
 
 Seventh Edition , in post 8vo, handsomely bound , price 7s. 6d. 
 
 SIDE-LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY: 
 
 from Etfe, foetal anti Oatmeal. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 300 CHARACTERISTIC ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 CONTENTS FLIRTS. — ON HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY’S SERVICE. — SEMI- 
 DETACHED WIVES — NOBLE LORDS.— YOUNG WIDOWS.— OUR SILVERED YOUTH, 
 OR NOBLE OLD BOYS. 
 
 “ This is a startling book. The volume is expensively and elaborately got up ; the writing is 
 bitter, unsparing, and extremely clever.” — Vanity Fair. 
 
 “Mr. Grenville-Murray sparkles very steadily throughout the present volume, and puts to 
 excellent use his incomparable knowledge of life and manners, of men and cities, of appearances 
 and facts. Of his several descants upon English types, I shall only remark that they are 
 brilliantly and dashingly written, curious as to their matter, and admirably readable.”— Truth. 
 
 “No one can question the brilliancy of the sketches, nor affirm that ‘ Side-Lights ’ is aught but 
 
 a fascinating book The book is destined to make a great noise in the world .” — Whitehall 
 
 Review. 
 
 Third Edition , with Frontispiece and Vignette , price 3s. 6d. 
 
 HIGH LIFE IN FRANCE UNDER THE 
 REPUBLIC : 
 
 SOCIAL AND SATIRICAL SKETCHES IN PARIS AND THE PROVINCES. 
 
 “ Take this book as it stands, with the limitations imposed upon its author by circumstances, 
 
 and it will be found very enjoyable The volume is studded with shrewd observations on 
 
 French life at the present day. ’’—Spectator. 
 
 “ A very clever and entertaining series of social and satirical sketches, almost French in their 
 point and vivacity.” — Contemporary Review. 
 
 “ A most amusing book, and no less instructive if read with allowances and understanding.” 
 — World. 
 
 « < Fu ii of the caustic humour and graphic character- painting so characteristic of Mr. Grenville- 
 Murray’s work, and dealing trenchantly yet lightly with almost every conceivable phase of 
 ocial, political, official, journalistic and theatrical life.” Society. 
 
14 V1ZETELLY CO.’S NEW BOOKS & NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 MR. E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY’S WORKS -continued. 
 Second Edition , in large 8 vo, tastefully bound , with gilt edges , price 10s. 6cL 
 FORMING A HANDSOME VOLUME FOR A PRESENT. 
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE MET. 
 
 Illustrated with 54 tinted Page Engravings, from Designs by Fred. Barnard. 
 
 CONTENTS : — 
 
 The Old Earl. 
 
 The Dowager. 
 
 The Family Solicitor. 
 The College Don. 
 
 The Rich Widow. 
 
 The Rector. 
 
 The Curate. 
 
 The Governess. 
 
 The Tutor. 
 
 The Promising Son. 
 
 The Ornamental Director. The Favourite Daughte 
 The Old Maid. The Squire. 
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 The Retired Colonel. 
 The Chaperon. 
 
 The Usurer. 
 
 The Spendthrift, 
 r. Le Nouveau Riche. 
 The Maiden Aunt. 
 
 The Bachelor. 
 
 The Younger Son. 
 
 The Grandmother. 
 
 The Newspaper Editor. 
 The Butler. 
 
 The Devotee. 
 
 TIIE RICH WIDOW (reduced from the original engraving.) 
 
 “ Mr. Grenville-Murray’s pages sparkle with cleverness and with a shrewd wit, caustic or 
 cynical at times, but by no means excluding a due appreciation of the softer virtues of women 
 and the sterner excellences of men. The talent of the artist (Mr. Barnard) is akin to that of the 
 author, and the result of the combination is a book that, once taken up, can hardly be laid down 
 until the last page is perused. ” — Spectator. 
 
 “ All of Mr. Grenville-Murray’s portraits are clever and life-like, and some of them are not 
 unworthy of a model who was more before the author’s eyes than Addison — namely, Thackeray.” 
 — Truth. 
 
 “ Mr. Grenville-Murray’s sketches are genuine studies, and are the best things of the kind 
 that have been published since 4 Sicetches by Boz,’ to which they are superior in the sense in 
 which artistically executed character portraits arc superior to caricatures.’’— Si. James's Gazette. 
 
 “No book of its class can be pointed out so admirably calculated to show another generation 
 the foibles and peculiarities of the men and women of our times.” — Morning Post. 
 
 An Edition of “ PEOPLE I HAVE MET ” is published in small 8vo, 
 with Frontispiece, price 3s. 6d. 
 
VIZETELLY 6 - CO.’S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 1$ 
 
 MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA’S WORKS. 
 
 “ It was like your imperence to come smouchin’ round here, looking after de white folks’ washm.’" 
 
 In One Volume , demy 8vo, 560 pages, price 12 s., the Fifth Edition of 
 
 AMERICA REVISITED, 
 
 FROM THE BAY OF NEW YORK TO THE GULF OF MEXICO, & FROM LAKE MICHIGAN 
 TO THE PACIFIC, including a sojourn among the mormons in salt lakei city. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 400 ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 “In ‘America Revisited’ Mr. Sala is seen at his very best; better even than in his Paris 
 book, more evenly genial and gay, and with a fresher subject to handle.” — World. 
 
 “ Mr. Sala’s good stories lie thick as plums in a pudding throughout this handsome work.”— 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
16 VIZETELLY 6 - CO.'S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 MR. G. A. S ALA’S WORKS — continued. 
 
 In demy 8vo, handsomely printed on hand-made paper, with the Illustrations on 
 India paper mounted ( only 250 copies printed), price 10s. Qd. 
 
 UNDER THE SUN: 
 
 ESSAYS MAINLY WRITTEN IN HOT COUNTRIES. 
 
 A New Edition, containing several Additional Essays, with an Etched Portrait 
 of the Author by Bocouiit, and 12 full-page Engravings. 
 
 “ There are nearly four hundred pages between the covers of this volume, which means that 
 they contain plenty of excellent reading." — St. James’s Gazette. 
 
 Uniform with the above, with Frontispiece and other Page Engravings. 
 
 DUTCH PICTURES, and PICTURES DONE 
 WITH A QUILL. 
 
 The Graphic remarks : “ We have received a sumptuous new edition of Mr. G. A. Sala’s well- 
 known ‘ Dutch Pictures.’ It is printed on rough paper, and is enriched with many admirable 
 illustrations.” 
 
 “ Mr. Sala’s best work has in it something of Montaigne, a great deal of Charles Lamb— made 
 deeper and broader— and not a little of Lamb’s model, the accomplished and quaint Sir Thomas 
 Brown. These ‘Dutch Pictures’ and ‘Pictures Done with a Quill’ should be placed alongside 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes's inimitable budgets of friendly gossip and Thackeray’s ‘Roundabout 
 Papers.’ They display to perfection the quick eye, good taste, and ready hand of the born 
 essayist — they are never tiresome.” — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 UNDER THE SUN, and DUTCH PICTURES AND PICTURES DONE 
 WITH A QUILL arc also published in crown 8 vo, price 5s. each. 
 
 Second Edition, in demy 8 vo, cloth gilt , price 12s. 6d. 
 
 A JOURNEY DUE SOUTH; 
 
 TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF SUNSHINE, 
 
 INCLUDINO 
 
 MARSEILLES, NICE, BASTIA, AJACCIO, GENOA, PISA, BOLOGNA, 
 VENICE, ROME, NAPLES, POMPEII, kc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH 16 FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS BY VARIOUS ARTISTS. 
 
 “ In * A Journey due South’ Mr. Sala is in his brightest and cheeriest mood, ready with quip, 
 and jest, and anecdote, brimful of allusion ever happy and pat.” — Saturday Review. 
 
 Eighth Edition , in crown 8 vo, 558 pages , attractively bound, price 3 s. 6d., 
 or gilt at the side and with gilt edges, 4s. 
 
 PARIS HERSELF AGAIN. 
 
 By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 WITH 350 CHARACTERISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRENCH ARTISTS. 
 
 “On subjects like those in his present work, Mr. Sala is at his best.” — The Times. 
 
 “ This book is one of the most readable that has appeared for many a day. Few Englishmen 
 know so much of old and modern Paris as Mr. Sala.” — Truth. 
 
 ‘“Paris Herself Again’ is infinitely more amusing than most novels. There s no style so 
 chatty and so unwearying as that of which Mr. Sala is a master.” — The World. 
 
a buck of the kegency : from “ DUTCH PICTURES.” 
 
 “ Mr. Sala’s best work has in it something of Montaigne, a great deal of Charles Lamb — made 
 deeper and broader— and not a little of Lamb’s model, the accomplished and quaint feir Thomas 
 Brown. These ‘ Dutch Pictures ’ and ‘ Pictures Done With a Quill’ should be placed alongside 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes’s inimitable budgets of friendly gossip and Thackeray’s ‘Roundabout 
 Papers.’ They display to perfection the quick eye, good taste, and ready hand of the born 
 essayist — they are never tiresome.” —Daily Telegraph. 
 
 c 
 
1 8 VIZETELLY 6- CO.’S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 VIZETELLY’S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. 
 
 CHEAPER ISSUE. 
 
 “ The idea of publishing cheap one- volume novels is a good one, and we wish the series every 
 success .” — Saturday Review. 
 
 2s. 0d. each. 
 
 FIFTH EDITION. 
 
 THE IRONMASTER; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET. 
 
 TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 146th FRENCH EDITION. 
 
 “ This work, the greatest literary success in any language of recent times, has already 
 yielded its author upwards of £12,000.” 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 NUMA ROUMESTAN ; OR, JOY ABROAD AND 
 GRIEF AT HOME. 
 
 By ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY Mrs. J. G. LAYARD. 
 
 “ * Nrnna Roumestan ’ is a masterpiece ; it is really a perfect work ; it has no fault, no weak- 
 ness. It is a compact and harmonious whole.” — Mr. Henry James. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 THE CORSARS; OR, LOVE AND LUCRE. 
 
 By JOHN HILL, Author of “The Waters of Marah,” “Sally,” &c. 
 
 “ It is indubitable that Mr. Hill has produced a strong and lively novel, full of story, cha- 
 racter, situations, murder, gold-mines, excursions, and alarms. The bcok is so rich in promise 
 that we hope to receive some day from Mr. Hill a romance which will win every vote.” — 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 The Book that made M. Ohuet’s reputation, and was crowned by the French Academy. 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 PRINCE SERGE PANINE. 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET. Author of “The Ironmaster.” 
 TRANSLATED, WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT, FROM THE 110th FRENCH EDITION. 
 
 “ This excellent version is sure to meet with large success on our side of the Channel.” — Lond -n 
 Figaro. 
 
 BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN. 
 
 By INA L. CASSILIS, Author of “Society’s Queen,” &c. 
 
 “An ingenious plot, cleverly handled.” — Athenreum. 
 
 “The interest begins with the first page, and is ably sustained to the conclusion.” — Edinburgh 
 Courant. 
 
 ROLAND; OR THE EXPIATION OF A SIN. 
 
 By ARY ECTLAW. 
 
 “ A novel entitled ‘Roland’ is creating an immense sensation in Paris. The first, second, 
 and third editions were swept away in as many dRj s. The work is charmingly written.’ — 'The 
 World. 
 
V 1 ZETELLY &> CO.'S NEW BOOKS &* NEW EDITIONS. 19 
 
 VIZETELLY’S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS— continued. 
 
 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 EIGHTH EDITION, CAREFULLY REVISED, AND WITH A SPECIAL PREFACE. 
 
 A MUMMER’S WIFE. A Realistic Novel. 
 
 By GEORGE MOORE, Author of “A Modern Lover.” 
 
 “ A striking book, different in tone from current English fiction. The woman’s character is 
 a very powerful study.” — Atlienceum. 
 
 “ A Mummer’s Wife, in virtue of its vividness of presentation and real literary skill, may be 
 regarded as a representative example of the work of a literary school that has of late years 
 attracted to itself a good deal of notoriety.” — Spectator. 
 
 “ * A Mummer’s Wife ’ holds at present a unique position among English novels. It is a 
 conspicuous success of its kind.” — Graphic. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 COUNTESS SARAH. 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET, Author of “The Ironmaster.” 
 
 TRANSLATED, WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT, FROM THE 118tu FRENCH EDITION. 
 
 “ The book contains some very powerful situations and first-rate character studies.” — 
 Whitehall lb-view. 
 
 “ To an interesting plot is added a number of strongly-marked and cleverly drawn characters.” 
 —■Society. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 MR. BUTLER’S WARD. 
 
 By MABEL ROBINSON. 
 
 “ A charming book, poetically conceived, and worked out with tenderness and insight.”— 
 
 Atlienceum 
 
 “ The heroine is a very happy conception, a beautiful creation whose affecting history is 
 •heated with much delicacy, sympathy, and command of all that is touching.” — Illustrated News. 
 
 “ All the characters are new to fiction, and the author is to be congratulated on having made 
 
 <so full and original a haul out of the supposed to be exhausted waters of modern society ” 
 
 —Graphic. 
 
 THE THREATENING EYE. 
 
 By E. F. KNIGHT, Author of “A Cruise in the Falcon.” 
 
 “There is a good deal of power about this romance.” — Graphic. 
 
 “ Full of extraordinary power and originality. The story is one of quite exceptional force and 
 impressiveness.”— Manchester Examiner. 
 
 THE FORKED TONGUE. 
 
 By R. LANGSTAFF DE HAVILLAND, M.A., Author of “ Enslaved,” &c. 
 
 “In many respects the story is a remarkable one. Its men and women are drawn with power 
 and without pity; their follies and their vices are painted in unmistakable colours, and with 
 a skill that fascinates.” — Society. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 A MODERN LOVER. 
 
 By GEORGE MOORE, Author of “A Mummer’s Wife.” 
 
 “ Mr. Moore has a real power of drawing character, and some of his descriptive scenes are 
 capital.” — St. James' 1 s Gazette. 
 
 “ It would be difficult to praise too highly the strength, truth, delicacy, and yiathos of the 
 incident of Gwynnie Lloyd, and the admirable treatment of the great sacrifice she makes. The 
 incident is depicted with skill and beauty.” — Spectator. 
 
“ Kiss me, dear,” r>aiu Au.enais. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, beautifully printed on toned paper , price 5s., or handsomely 
 bound with gilt edges , suitable in every way for a present, 6s. 
 
 An Illustrated Edition of M. Ohnet’s Celebrated Novel. 
 
 THE IRONMASTER; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 
 
 Containing 42 Full-Page Engravings by French- Artists, Printed 
 Separate from the Text. 
 
VIZETELLY &* CO.’S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 21 
 
 VIZETELLY’S ONE VOLUME NOVELS— continued. 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 PRINCE ZILAH. 
 
 By JULES CLARETIE. 
 
 Translated from the 51th French edition. 
 
 “ M. Jules Claretie has of late taken a conspicuous place as a novelist in France.” — Times. 
 
 THE TRIALS OF JETTA MALAUBRET. 
 
 (NOIRS ET ROUGES.) 
 
 By VICTOR CHERBQLIEZ, of the French Academy. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY THE COUNTESS G. DE LA ROCHEFbUCAULD. 
 
 “ 4 Jetta Malaubret ’ deals with the experiences of a young girl who is taken from a convent 
 and deliberately plunged into a sort of society calculated to teach h r the utmost possible amount 
 .of worldly wisdom — to say nothing of worse things — in the shortest possible time. The char- 
 ■acterization and dialogue are full of piquancy and cleverness.” — Society. 
 
 In post 8 vo, with numerous Page and other Engravings , cloth gilt , price 3s. Qd . , 
 
 NO ROSE WITHOUT A THORN, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 By F. C. BURNAND. H. SAVILE CLARKE, R. E. FRAXCILLON, &c. 
 
 “ By the aid of the chimney with the register up Mrs. Lupscombe’s curiosity was, to a 
 certain extent, gratified .” — Page 19. 
 
 In post 8 vo, with numerous Page and other Engravings , cloth gilt, price 3s. Qd. 
 
 THE DOVE’S NEST, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 By JOSEPH HATTON, RICHARD JEFFERIES, H. SAVILE CLARKE, &c. 
 
22 VIZETELLY & CO.’S NEW BOOKS Sr NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 ZOLA’S POWERFUL REALISTIC NOVELS. 
 
 TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT. 
 
 Illustrated with Page Engravings by French Artists. 
 
 In crown 8 vo, price 6*. each. 
 
 Mr. HENRY JAMES on ZOLA’S NOVELS. 
 
 “ A novelist with a system, a passionate conviction, a great plan — incontestable attributes of 
 M. Zola — is not now to be easily found in England or the United States, where the story-teller’s 
 art is almost exclusively feminine, is mainly in the hands of timid (even when very accomplished) 
 women, whose acquaintance with life is severely restricted, and who are not conspicuous for 
 general views. The novel, moreover, among ourselves, is almost always addressed to young 
 unmarried ladies, or at least always assumes them to be a large part of the novelist’s public. 
 
 “ This fact, to a French story-teller, appears, of course, a damnable restriction, and M. Zola 
 would probably decline to take au strieux any work produced under such unnatural conditions. 
 Half of life is a sealed book to young unmarried ladies, and how can a novel be worth anything 
 that deals only with half of life? These objections are perfectly valid, and it maybe said that 
 our English svstem is a good thing for virgins and boys, and a bad thing for the novel itself, 
 when the novel is regarded as something more than a simple j*.u (l esprit, and considered as a 
 composition that treats of life at large and helps us to know." 
 
 NANA. 
 
 From the 121 th French Edition. 
 
 THE “ ASSOMMOI R.” (The Pntade to “Naka.", 
 
 From the 97</t French Edition. 
 
 PIPING HOT! (POT BOUILLE.) 
 
 From the 63 rd French Edition. 
 
 GERMINAL; OR, MASTER AND MAN. 
 
 From the 47th French Edition. 
 
 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. , L * c U »a, 
 
 From the 34 tli French Edition. 
 
 THE LADIES’ PARADISE. (The Sequel to “TiriNG Hot!”) 
 
 From the 50 th French Edition. 
 
 ABBE MOURET’S TRANSGRESSION. 
 
 From the 31sf French Edition. 
 
 THERESE RAQUIN. 
 
 The above Works are published without Illustrations, price 5s. each, 
 
 HIS MASTERPIECE? , l-«uv» b ., 
 
 With a Forlroit of M. EMILE ZOLA, Etched by Bocourt. 
 
VIZETELLY & CO.’S NEW BOOKS &*» NEW EDITIONS. 23 
 
 ZOLA’S REALISTIC NOVELS— continued. 
 
 The following Volumes will be published during the Autumn : — 
 
 HOW JOLLY LIFE IS! 
 
 From the iith French Edition. 
 
 THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS. 
 
 From the 24 th French Edition. 
 
 A LOVE EPISODE. 
 
 From the 52nd French Edition. 
 
 HIS EXCELLENCY EUGENE ROUGON. 
 
 From the 22 nd French Edition. 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS. 
 
 From the 23 rd French Edition. 
 
 The following- are published, in larg-e octavo, price 7s. 65. per Vol. 
 
 Each Volume contains about 100 Engravings , half of which are page-size. 
 
 l. NANA. 2 . THE ASS0MM0IR. 3. PIPING HOT. 
 
 Designs by BELLENGER, BERTALL, GLAIRIN', GILL, VIERGE, &c. 
 
 THE BOULEVARD NOVELS. 
 
 Pictures of French Morals and Manners. 
 
 In small 8 vo, attractively bound , price 2 s. Qd. each. 
 
 NANA’S DAUGHTER. 
 
 By ALFRED SIRVEN and HENRI LEYERDIER. 
 
 From the 35 th French Edition. 
 
 THE YOUNG GUARD. 
 
 By VAST-RICOUARD. 
 
 From the 1 5th French Edition. 
 
 THE WOMAN OF FIRE. 
 
 By ADOLPHE BELOT. 
 
 From the 30th French Edition. 
 
 ODETTE’S MARRIAGE. 
 
 By ALBERT DELPIT. 
 
 From the 22nd French Edition. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL JULIE & THE VIRGIN WIDOW. 
 
 By A. MATTHEY. 
 
24 V1ZETELLY & CO.’S NEW BOOKS NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 5s., the Third and Completely Revised Edition of 
 
 THE STORY OF THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 
 
 By HENRY YIZETELLY. 
 
 Author of “ Berlin Under The New Empire,” “ Paris in Peril,” &c. 
 
 Illustrated with an Exact Representation of the Diamond Necklace, from a contemporary 
 Drawing, and a Portrait of the Countess de la Mottc, engraved on Steel. 
 
 “ Had the most daring of our sensational novelists put forth the present plain unvarnished 
 statement of facts as a work of fiction, it would have been denounced as so violating all 
 probabilities as to be a positive insult to the common sense of the reader. Yet stranere, startling, 
 incomprehensible as is the narrative which the author has here evolved, every word of it is true.” 
 — Notes and Queries. 
 
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 CAROLINE BAUER AND THE COBURGS. 
 
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 Illustrated with Two carefully engraved Portraits of Caroline Bauer. 
 
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 ADVENTURES OF GUZMAN OF ALFARAQUE. 
 
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 ILLUSTRATED WITH HIGHLY-FINISHED ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL FROM DESIGNS BY STAHL. 
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 THE CHILDISHNESS AND BRUTALITY OF 
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26 VIZETELLY & 
 
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 A HISTORY OF CHAMPAGNE; 
 
 WITH NOTES ON THE OTHER SPARKLING WINES OF FRANCE. 
 
 By HENRY VIZETELLY. 
 
 Chevalier of the Order of Franz-Josef. 
 
 WINE JUROR FOR GREAT BRITAIN AT THE VIENNA AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS OF 1S73 AND 1878. 
 
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
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 FACTS ABOUT CHAMPAGNE, 
 
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 THE WINES OF THE WORLD, 
 
 .28 VIZETELLY S-* CO.’S NEW BOOKS &• NEW EDITIONS. 
 
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 Price Is. 6d. ornamental cat er ; or 2s. fid. in elegant cloth binding. 
 
 FACTS ABOUT PORT AND MADEIRA, 
 
 GLEANED DURING A TOUR IN THE AUTUMN OF 1S77. 
 
 By HENRY VIZETELLY, 
 
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VIZETELLY CO.’S NEW BOOKS &* NEW EDITIONS. 29 
 
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 THE GABORIAU AND DU BOISGOBEY 
 SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 “ All, friend, how many and many a while 
 They’ve made the slow time fleetly flow, 
 
 And solaced pain and charmed exile, 
 
 .Boisgobey and Gaboriau ! ” 
 
 Ballade of Railway Novels in “ Longman's Magazine." 
 
 UN PERIL OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 “ A story of thrilling interest, and admirably translated.”- -Sunday Times. 
 
 “ Hardly ever has a more ingenious circumstantial case been imagined than that which- 
 ... puts the hero in peril of his life, and the manner in which the proof of his innocence is- 
 
 finally brought about is scarcely less skilful.” — Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News. 
 
 -THE LEROUGE CASE. 
 
 “ M. Gaboriau is a skilful and brilliant writer, capable of so diverting-the attention and' 
 interest of his readers that not one word or line in his book will be skipped or read care- 
 lessly.”— Hampshire Advertiser. 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY. 
 
 “The interest is kept up throughout, and the story is told graphically and with a good' 
 
 I deal of art.” — London Figaro. 
 
 II 
 
 LECOQ THE DETECTIVE. TwoVok. 
 
 “In the art of forging a tangled chain of complicated incidents involved and inex- 
 plicable until the last link is reached and the whole made clear, Mr. Wilkie Collins is • 
 equalled, if not excelled, by M. Gaboriau.” — Brighton Herald. 
 
 THE GILDED CLIQUE. 
 
 “Full of incident, and instinct with life and action. Altogether this is a mosfet 
 fascinating book.” — Hampshire Advertiser. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. 
 
 “The Author keeps the interest of the reader at fever heat, and by a succession of 
 unexpected turns and incidents, the drama is ultimately worked out to a very plea- 
 sant result. The ability displayed is unquestionable.” — Sheffield Independent. 
 
 DOSSIER NO. 113. 
 
 “ The plot is worked out with great skill, and from first to last the reader’s interest is- 
 never allowed to flag.” — Dumbarton Herald. 
 
 THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. 
 
 THE SLAVES OF PARIS. Two Vols. 
 
 “Sensational, full of interest, cleverly conceived, and wrought out with consummate 
 
 I skill.” — Oxford and Cambridge Journal. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. Two Ydb. 
 
 “ A p-lot vigorously and skilfully constructed, leading through- a series of surprising 
 dramatic scenes and thrilling mysteries, and culminating in a sudden and complete 
 exposure of crime and triumph of innocence. ‘ The Catastrophe ’ does ample credit t< > 
 M. Gaboriau’s reputation as a novelist of vast resource in incident and of wonderful* 
 ingenuity in constructing and unravelling thrilling mysteries.” — Aberdeen Journal. \ 
 
30 VIZETELLY £-» CO.’S NEW BOOKS 6 - NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. 
 
 “ The wonderful Sensational Novels of Emile Gaboriau.” — Globe. 
 
 THE COUNT’S MILLIONS. Two Vols. 
 
 “To those who love the mysterious and the sensational, Gaboriau’s stories are irre 
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 absolute fidelity ; and the interest with which he contrives to invest his characters prove 
 that exaggeration is unnecessary to a master.” — Society. 
 
 THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. Two Vols. 
 
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 most extraordinary animals.” — Standard. 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 a 
 
 t 
 
 6 
 
 IN THE SERPENTS’ COILS. 
 
 “This is a most picturesque, dramatic, and powerful sensational novel. Its interest 
 never flags. Its terrific excitement continues to the end. The reader is kept spell 
 bound.” — Oldham Chronicle. 
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. Two Vols. 
 
 “ M. du Boisgobey gives us no tiresome descriptions or laboured analyses of character; ' 
 under his facile pen plots full of incident are quickly opened and unwound. He does 
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 reader’s curiosity on the stretch, and offer a lull scope to his own really wonderful 
 ingenuity for unravelling.” — Times. 
 
 THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 “ The plot is a marvel of intricacy and cleverly managed surprises.” — Literary World, i 
 
 “ Readers who like a thoroughly entangled and thrilling plot will welcome this novc 
 with avidity.” — Bristol Mercury. 
 
 BERTHA’S SECRET. 
 
 “ ‘ Bertha’s Secret ’ is a most effective romance. We need not say how the story ends, 
 for this would sjxtil the reader’s pleasure in a novel which depends for all its interest on 
 the skilful weaving and unweaving of mysteries, but we will repeat that ‘Bertha’s 
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 WHO DIED LAST? OR THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 
 
 “Travellers at this season of the year will find the time occupied by a long journey 
 pass away as rapidly as they can desire with one of Du Boisgobey’s absorbing volumes in 
 their hand." — London Figaro. 
 
 THE CRIME OF THE OPERA HOUSE. Two Vols. 
 
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 thorough admiration for the vigorous romaneist who has the courage to fulfil the true 
 function of the story-teller, by making reflection subordinate to action.” — Aberdeen 
 Journal. 
 
 Lately published Volumes. 
 
 THE MATAPAN AFFAIR. - A FIGHT FOR A FORTUNE. 
 THE GOLDEN PIG; OR, THE IDOL OF MODERN PARIS. 2 Vols. 
 PRETTY BABIOLE. — THE CORAL PIN. Two Vols. 
 
 THE THUMB STROKE. -THE JAILER’S PRETTY WIFE. 
 THE ANGEL OF THE CHIMES.-HIS GREAT REVENGE. 
 
 [Two Yds. 
 
VIZETELLY 
 
 CO.S NEW BOOKS &> NEW EDITIONS. 31 
 
 <S- 
 
 In double volumes , bound in scarlet cloth , 'price 2s. 6d. each. 
 
 NEW EDITIONS OF THE 
 
 GABORIAU AND DU BOISGOBEY 
 SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 1— THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL, AND THE GILDED CLIQUE. 
 
 2. — THE LEROUGE CASE, AND OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY. 
 
 3. LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 4.-THE SLAVES OF PARIS. 
 
 5. — IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE, AND INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. 
 
 6. — DOSSIER NO. 113, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF JtJA 
 
 TIGNOLLES. 7.-THE COUNT’S MILLIONS. 
 
 8. — THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 
 
 9. — THE CATASTROPHE. 10.-THE DAY OF RECKONING. 
 
 11. — THE SEVERED HAND, AND IN THE SERPENTS’ COILS. 
 
 12. BERTHA’S SECRET, AND WHO DIED LAST? 
 
 13. — THE CRIME OF THE OPERA HOUSE. 17. -THE CORAL PIN. 
 
 14. — THE MATAPAN AFFAIR, AND A FIGHT FOR A FORTUNE. 
 
 15. — THE GOLDEN PIG. 18.-HIS GREAT REVENGE. 
 
 16. -THE THUMB STROKE, AND PRETTY BABIOLE. 
 
 19.— JAILER’S PRETTY WIFE, AND ANGEL OF THE CHIMES. 
 
 In small post 8 vo, ornamental covers , Is. each ; in cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
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 TRANSLATIONS OF THE BEST EXAMPLES OF RECENT FRENCH 
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 FROMONT THE YOUNGER & RISLER THE ELDER. By 
 
 A. Daudet. 
 
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 may be inferred from the fact that this English version is said to be ‘ translated from the 
 fiftieth French edition.’ "—Illustrated London News. 
 
 SAMUEL BROHL AND PARTNER. By v. Cherbuliez. 
 
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 upremely dramatic study of the man who lived two lives at once, even within himself. 
 The reader’s discovery of his double nature is one of the most cleverly managed of sur- 
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 THE DRAMA OF THE RUE DE LA PAIX. By A. Belot. 
 
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 MAUGARS JUNIOR. By A. Theuriet. 
 
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32 VIZETELLY & 
 
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 WAYWARD DOSIA, & THE GENEROUS DIPLOMATIST. 
 
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 A NEW LEASE OF LIFE, & SAVING A DAUGHTER'S 
 
 DOWRY. By E. About. 
 
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 very end.” — Dublin Evening Mail. 
 
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 COLOMBA, & CARMEN. By r. mmuit. 
 
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 A WOMAN’S DIARY, & THE LITTLE COUNTESS. By 
 
 0. Feuillet. 
 
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 BLUE-EYED META HOLDENIS, & A STROKE OF DIPLO- 
 
 MACY. By Y. Cheubuliez. 
 
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 THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS. By A. Theuriet. 
 
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 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT & MARIANNE. By George 
 
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 THE LOW-BORN LOVER’S REVENGE. By V. Cherbuliez. 
 
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 THE NOTARY’S NOSE, AND OTHER AMUSING STORIES. 
 
 By E. About. 
 
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 DOCTOR CLAUDE ; OR, LOVE RENDERED DESPERATE. 
 
 By H. Malot. Two vols. 
 
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 THE THREE RED KNIGHTS; OR, THE BROTHERS’ 
 
 VENGEANCE. By P. FEval. 
 
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 Bradbury, Agnew, & Co-, 
 
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