
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 </> 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 OCT 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
FIRESIDE SAINTS, 
 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER PAPERS. 
 
In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, 
 Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; 
 Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, 
 There is uo living with thee, nor without thee. 
 
 Martial, as translated by Addison. 
 
Fireside Saints, 
 
 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK, 
 
 AND OTHER PAPERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 
 
 BOSTON: 4 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 New York : 
 
 LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. 
 1873. 
 
K 1 
 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 
 
 By LEE AND SHEPARD, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 /' 
 
 Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
 No. 19 Spring Lane. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Leigh Hunt, in a little speech at the Museum 
 Club, said that if Jerrold had the " sting of the bee, 
 he had also his honey." In this volume 'there is, 
 undoubtedly, more honey than sting ; though, it 
 must be confessed, there is also plenty of the latter, 
 particularly in "Mr. Caudle's Breakfast Talk," 
 "Silas Fleshpots," "Michael Lynx," and "The 
 Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils" — a story or 
 allegory almost as grim and ghastly as anything in 
 Spenser. But if these papers, and perhaps one or 
 two others, are full of caustic humor and biting wit, 
 keenly and unsparingly exposing " the hypocrisy 
 of life," many of the essays, sketches, and stories 
 in the collection are remarkable for their pleasant 
 satire, and easy, good-natured Rabelaisian philoso- 
 phy. Even the " Hedgehog Letters," which are 
 nothing if not satirical, are not very bitter or ill— 
 
 5 
 
6 NOTE. 
 
 natured in their assaults upon cant and humbug in 
 church and state in England. " The Recollections of 
 Guy Fawkes " is a paper nearly as genial and pleas- 
 ant as an essay by Leigh Hunt or Charles Lamb. 
 And the "Fireside Saints" are, I think, the sweetest 
 and sunniest of Jerrold's writings. The fancy, grace, 
 and humor of these little thumb-nail sketches will 
 be appreciated by the reader, who, after perusing 
 them, and others of kindred excellence in the vol- 
 ume, will, I hope, say, with Hawthorne,* " I like 
 Douglas Jerrold very much." 
 
 None of the papers in this volume are included 
 in the collected works of Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 J. E. B. 
 
 Melrose, July 24, 1873. 
 
 * English Note Books, vol. ii. p. 11. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fireside Saints i 
 
 Saint Dolly, Saint Patty, Saint Norah, Saint Betsy, Saint Phillis, 
 Saint Phcebe, Saint Sally, Saint Becky, Saint Lily, Saint Fan- 
 ny, Saint Jenny, Saint Florence or Saint Nightingale. 
 
 Mr. Caudle's Breakfast Talk 16 
 
 Chapter I. — How Mr. Caudle married Miss Prettyman, and 
 how he "nagged" her to Death. 
 
 Chapter II. — How Mr. Caudle begins to show off "the Fiend 
 that's in him." 
 
 Chapter III. — Showing how Mr. Caudle could go out and en- 
 joy himself. 
 
 Chapter IV. — Showing how Caudle, having lost Money at 
 Cards, determines to abridge the House Expenses. 
 
 Chapter V. — Showing how Caudle came Home very late, and 
 very vinous : he complains of Want of Sympathy. 
 
 Chapter VI. — Showing how Caudle brought Home some 
 " Good Fellows " to spend the Evening, and found Mrs. Cau- 
 dle with some Female Friends at Tea. 
 
 Chapter VII. — Showing how Caudle brought home a New- 
 foundland Dog, insisting that "The Poor Animal can't add to 
 the Expense." 
 
 Chapter VIII. — Showing how Caudle thought " that Bill " set- 
 tled a long Time ago. 
 
 Chapter IX. — Showing how Mr. Caudle objected to Mrs. Cau- 
 dle's Female Friend, a Visitor for a Month. 
 
 Chapter X. — Showing Mr. Caudle again perplexed with Do- 
 mestic Finance. 
 
 Chapter XL — Showing how Mr. Caudle thought something 
 "very odd." 
 
 Chapter XII. — Mr. Caudle's Defence of his Tyranny. 
 
 An Old House in the City 38 
 
 Some Account of the last Parachute. . . 77 
 
 7 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 My Husband's " Winnings." — A Household Inci- 
 dent. 86 
 
 Midnight at Madame T.'s 104 
 
 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. . . 122 
 The Little Great and the Great Little. . .149 
 
 Pope Gregory and the Pear Tree. . . . 154 
 
 Some Account of a Stage Devil 163 
 
 The Castle-builders of Padua. . . . . 181 
 
 The "Lord of Peiresc." 185 
 
 Brevities . 205 
 
 Pigs : Addressed to those about to leave Busi- 
 ness. 207 
 
 Silas Fleshpots : "a Respectable Man." .. . 212 
 
 The True History of a Great Pacificator. . 238 
 
 Michael Lynx: "the Man who knew Himself." 257 
 
 Recollections of Guy Fawkes 278 
 
 The Hedgehog Letters. ...... 286 
 
 Containing the Opinions and Adventures of Juniper Hedgehog, 
 Cabman, London ; and written to his Relatives and Acquaint- 
 ance, in various parts of the World. 
 
 Letter I. — To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney. 
 " II. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 " III. —To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 M IV. — To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong Kong. 
 " V. — To Mrs. Earbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia. 
 " VI. —To Mr. Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia. 
 " VII. —To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 " VIII. — To Samuel Hedgehog, Gallantee Showman, Rat- 
 
 cliffe Highway. 
 " IX. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 11 X. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 «• XI. —To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, Philadelphia. 
 " XII.— To Mrs. Hedgehog, New York. 
 •* XIII. —To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M. P. 
 " XIV. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 " XV. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 Saint Dolly. 
 
 AT an early age, St. Dolly showed the sweetness 
 of her nature by her tender love of her widowed 
 father, a baker, dwelling at Pie Corner, with a large 
 family of little children. It chanced that, with 
 bad harvests, bread became so dear that, of course, 
 bakers were ruined by high prices. The miller fell 
 upon Dolly's father, and swept the shop with his 
 golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or 
 his little ones. St. Dolly slept upon a flour-sack, 
 having prayed that good angels would help her to 
 help her father. Now, sleeping, she dreamed that 
 the oven was lighted, and she felt, falling in a show- 
 er about her, raisins, currants, almonds, lemon-peal, 
 flour, with heavy drops of brandy. Then, in her 
 dream, she saw the fairies gather up the things that 
 fell, and knead them into a cake. They put the 
 cake into the oven, and dancing round and round, 
 the fairies vanished, crying, " Dravj the cake, Dolly ; 
 Dolly, draw the cake" And Dolly awoke and drew 
 the cake ; and, behold, it was the first Twelfth Cake, 
 
 9 
 
IO FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 sugared at the top, and bearing three images of Faith, 
 Hope, and Charity. Now, this cake, shown in the 
 window, came to the King's ear ; and the King bought 
 the cake, knighted the baker, and married Dolly to 
 his grand falconer, to whom she proved a faithful and 
 loving wife, bearing him a baker's dozen of lovely 
 children. 
 
 Saint Patty. 
 
 St. Patty was an orphan, and dwelt in a cot with 
 a sour old aunt. It chanced, it being bitter cold, that 
 three hunters came and craved for meat and drink. 
 " Pack," said the sour aunt ; " neither meat nor drink 
 have ye here." " Neither meat nor drink," said Patty, 
 " but something better." And she ran and brought 
 some milk, some eggs, and some flour, and beating 
 them up, poured the batter in the pan. Then she 
 took the pan, and tossed the cake once ; and then a 
 robin alighted at the window, and kept singing these 
 words : u One good turn deserves another" And 
 Patty tossed and tossed the cakes, and the hunters ate 
 their full and departed. And next day the hunter 
 baron came in state to the cot, and trumpets were 
 blown, and the heralds cried, " One good turn de- 
 serves another" And in token whereof Patty be- 
 came the baron's wife, and pancakes were eaten on 
 Shrove Tuesday ever after. 
 
 Saint Norah. 
 
 St. Norah was a poor girl, and came to England 
 to service. Sweet-tempered and gentle, she seemed 
 
FIRESIDE SAINTS. II 
 
 to love everything she spoke to. And she prayed to 
 St. Patrick that he would give her a good gift, that 
 would make her not proud, but useful ; and St. 
 Patrick, out of his own head, taught St. Norah how to 
 boil a potato, A sad thing, and to be lamented, that 
 the secret has come down to so few. 
 
 Saint Betsy. 
 
 St. Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with 
 Raleigh, and brought home tobacco ; and the knight 
 smoked. But he thought that St. Betsy, like other 
 fine ladies of the court, would fain that he should 
 smoke out of doors, nor taint with 'bacco-smoke the 
 tapestry. Whereupon the knight would seek his 
 garden, his orchard, and in any weather smoke sub 
 Jove, Now it chanced, as the knight smoked, St. 
 Betsy came to him and said, " My lord, pray ye, come 
 into the house." And the knight went with St. 
 Betsy, who took him into a newly-cedared room, and 
 said, u I pray, my lord, henceforth smoke here : for is 
 it not a shame that you, who are the foundation and 
 the prop of your house, should have no place to put 
 your head into and smoke? " And St. Betsy led him 
 to a chair, and with her own fingers filled him a pipe ; 
 and from that time the knight sat in the cedar 
 chamber and smoked his weed. 
 
 Saint Phillis. 
 
 St. Phillis was a virgin of noble parentage, but 
 withal as simple as any shepherdess of curds-and- 
 
12 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 cream. She married a wealthy lord, and had much 
 pin-money. But when other ladies wore diamonds 
 and pearls, St. Phillis only wore a red and white rose 
 in her hair. Yet her pin-money bought the best of 
 jewelry in the happy eyes of the poor about her. St. 
 Phillis was rewarded. She lived until fourscore, and 
 still carried the red and the white rose in her face, 
 and left their fragrance in her memory. 
 
 Saint Phcebe. 
 
 St. Phcebe was married early to a wilful, but, with- 
 al, a good-hearted husband. He was a merchant, and 
 would come home sour and sullen from 'Change. 
 Whereupon, after much pondering, St. Phcebe, in her 
 patience, set to work, and praying the while, made 
 of dyed lamb's-wool, a door-mat. And it chanced 
 from that time, that never did the husband touch that 
 mat that it didn't clean his temper with his shoes ; and 
 he sat down by his Phcebe as mild as the lamb whose 
 wool he had trod upon. Thus gentleness may make 
 miraculous door-mats ! 
 
 Saint Sally. 
 
 St. Sally, from her childhood, was known for her 
 innermost love of truth. It was said of her that her 
 heart was in a crystal shrine, and all the world might 
 see it. Now, once, when other women denied, or 
 strove to hide, their age, St. Sally said, " I am Jive- 
 and-thirty I " Whereupon, next birthday, St. Sally's 
 husband, at a feast of all their friends, gave her a 
 
FIRESIDE SAINTS. . 1 3 
 
 necklace of six and thirty opal beads ; and on every 
 birthday added a bead, until the beads amounted to 
 fourscore and one. And the beads seemed to act as 
 a charm ; for St. Sally, wearing the sum of her age 
 about her neck, age never appeared in her face. 
 Such, in the olden time, was the reward of simplicity 
 and truth. 
 
 Saint Becky. 
 
 A very good man was St. Becky's husband, but 
 with his heart a little too much in his bottle. Port 
 wine — red port wine — was his delight, and his con- 
 stant cry was a bee's-wing. Now, as he sat tipsy in 
 his arbor, a wasp dropped into his glass ; and the wasp 
 was swallowed, stinging the man inwardly. Doctors 
 crowded, and with much ado the man was saved. 
 Now, St. Becky nursed her husband tenderly to health, 
 and upbraided him not. But she said these words, 
 and they reformed him : " My dear, take wine, and 
 bless your heart with it ; but wine in moderation. 
 Else never forget that the bee* s-wing of to-day be- 
 comes the wasp' s sting of to-morrow " 
 
 Saint Lily. 
 
 St. Lily was the wife of a poor man, w 7 ho tried to 
 support his family, — and the children were many, — 
 by writing books. But in those days it was not as easy 
 for a man to find a publisher as to say his Paternoster. 
 Many were the books that were written by the 
 husband of St. Lily ; but to every book St. Lily gave 
 at least two babies. However, blithe as the cricket 
 
14 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 was the spirit that ruled about the hearth of St. Lily. 
 And how she helped her helpmate ! She smiled sun- 
 beams into his ink-bottle, and turned his goose-pen to 
 the quill of a dove ! She made the paper he wrote 
 on as white as her name, and as fragrant as her soul. 
 And when folks wondered how St. Lily managed so 
 lightly with fortune's troubles, she always answered, 
 that she never heeded them, for, " That troubles were 
 like babies, a7td only grew the bigger by nursing" 
 
 Saint Fanny. 
 
 St. Fanny was a notable housewife. Her house 
 was a temple of neatness. Kings might have dined 
 upon her staircase ! Now, her great delight was to 
 provide all things comfortable for her husband, a 
 hard-working merchant, much abroad, but loving his 
 home. Now, one night he returned tired and hungry, 
 . and by some mischance there was nothing for supper. 
 Shops were shut, and great was the grief of St. Fanny. 
 Taking, off a bracelet of seed pearl, she said, "I'd 
 give this ten times over for a supper for my hus- 
 band" And every pearl straightway became an 
 oyster ; and St. Fanny opened, and the husband ate, 
 and lo ! in every oyster was a pearl as large as a hazel- 
 nut ; and so was St. Fanny made rich for life. 
 
 Saint Jenny. 
 
 St. Jenny was wedded to a very poor man ; they 
 had scarcely bread to keep them ; but Jenny was of 
 so sweet a temper that even want bore a bright face, 
 
FIRESIDE SAINTS. 1 5 
 
 and Jenny always smiled. In the worst seasons Jenny 
 would spare crumbs for the birds, and sugar for the 
 bees. Now, it so happened that an autumn storm 
 rent their cot in twenty places apart; when, behold, 
 between the joists, from the basement to the roof, there 
 was nothing but honey-comb and honey. A little 
 fortune for St. Jenny and her husband in honey. 
 Now, some said it was the bees, but more declared it 
 was the sweet temper of St. Jenny that had filled the 
 poor man's house with honey. 
 
 Saint Florence, or Saint Nightingale. 
 
 St. Florence, by her works, had her lips blessed 
 with comforting, and her hands touched with healing. 
 And she crossed the sea, and built hospitals, and 
 solaced, and restored. And so long as English mistle- 
 toe gathers beneath it truthful hearts, and English 
 holly brightens happy eyes, so long will Englishmen, 
 at home or abroad, on land or on the wave, so long — 
 in memory of that Eastern Christmas — will they cry, 
 " God bless St. Florence I Bless St. Nightingale I " 
 
 Note. — These little sketches, so graceful, genial, and fanciful, appeared in 
 Punch's Almanac for 1857. " They are holy little presences these," says Mr. 
 Blanchard Jerrold, "with each her special shining virtue to be imitated. Any 
 home shall be the better for looking at — for studying them. They were the 
 author's last marked success in Punch — that is, the last thing of his which the 
 public seized upon and welcomed, acknowledging their author." — Ed. 
 
1 6 MR. caudle's breakfast talk. 
 
 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK* 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 How Mr. Caudle married Miss Prettyinan, and 
 how he " nagged" her to Death. 
 
 WHEN Harry Prettyman saw the very superb 
 funeral of Mrs. Caudle, — Prettyman attended 
 as mourner, and was particularly jolly in the coach, — 
 he observed that the disconsolate widower showed 
 that, above all men, he knew how to make the best of 
 a bad bargain. The remark, as the dear deceased 
 would have said, was unmanly, brutal, but quite like 
 that Prettyman. The same scoffer, when Caudle 
 declared " he should never cease to weep," replied, 
 " he was very sorry to hear it ; for it must raise the 
 price of onions." It was not enough to help to break 
 the heart of a wife ; no, the savage must joke over its 
 precious pieces. 
 
 The funeral, we repeat, was remarkably handsome : 
 in Prettyman's words, nothing could be more satisfac- 
 tory. Caudle spoke of a monument. Whereupon 
 Prettyman suggested " Death gathering a nettle." 
 Caudle — the act did equal honor to his brain and 
 his bosom — rejected it. 
 
 Mr. Caudle, attended by many of his friends, re- 
 turned to his widowed home in tolerable spirits. 
 
 * This " Breakfast Talk," which is a fit and characteristic sequel to "Mrs. 
 Caudle's Curtain Lectures," will please the women, who have always looked 
 upon Mrs. Caudle as a witty libel upon the sex. "Mr. Caudle's Breakfast 
 Talk " was originally published m ' ' Punch's Almanac " for 1846. — Ed. 
 
MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 1 7 
 
 Prettyman said, jocosely poking his two fingers in 
 Caudle's ribs, that in a week he'd look " quite a 
 tulip." Caudle merely replied — he could hardly 
 hope it. 
 
 Prett}' man's mirth, however, communicated itself 
 to the company; and in a very little time the meeting 
 took the air of a very pleasant party. Somehow, Miss 
 Prettyman presided at the tea-table. There was in 
 her manner a charming mixture of grace, dignity, and 
 confidence — a beautiful black swan. Prettyman, by 
 the way, whispered to a friend, that there was just 
 this difference between Mrs. Caudle and his sister — 
 " Mrs. Caudle was a great goose, whereas Sarah was 
 a little duck." We will not swear that Caudle did 
 not overhear the words ; for, as he resignedly stirred 
 his tea, he looked at the lady at the head of the table, 
 smiled, and sighed. 
 
 It was odd ; but women are so apt ! Miss Pretty- 
 man seemed as familiar with Caudle's silver tea-pot 
 as with her own silver thimble. With a smile upon 
 her face — like the butter on the muffins — she handed 
 Caudle his tea-cup. Caudle would, now and then, 
 abstractedly cast his eyes above the mantel-piece. 
 There was Mrs. Caudle's portrait. Whereupon Miss 
 Prettyman w T ould say, "You must take comfort, Mr. 
 Caudle, indeed you must." At length Mr. Caudle 
 replied, " I will, Miss Prettyman." 
 
 What then passed through Caudle's brain we know 
 not ; but this we know : in a twelvemonth and a 
 week from that day, Sarah Prettyman was Caudle's 
 second wife. Mrs. Caudle, number two. Poor 
 thing ! 
 
MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 How Mr. Caudle begins to show " off the Fiend 
 that's iiz him* 99 
 
 " It is rather extraordinary, Mrs. Caudle, that we 
 have now been married four weeks, — I don't exactly 
 see what you have to sigh about, — and yet you can't 
 make me a proper cup of tea. However, I don't 
 know how I should expect it. There never was but 
 one woman who could make tea to my taste, and she 
 is now in Heaven. Now, Mrs. Caudle, let me hear 
 no crying. I'm not one of the people to be melted by 
 the tears of a woman ; for you can all cry — all of you 
 — at a minute's notice. The water's always laid on, 
 and down it comes if a man only holds up his finger. 
 
 " Tou didn't think I could be so brutal? That's 
 it. Let a man only speak, and he's brutal. It's a 
 woman's first duty to make a decent cup of tea. 
 What do you think I married you for? It's all very 
 well with your tambour-work and such trumpery. 
 You can make butterflies on kettle-holders ; but can 
 you make a pudding, ma'am ? I'll be bound not. 
 
 " Of course, as usual ; you've given me the corner- 
 roll, because you know I hate a corner-roll. I did 
 think you must have seen that. I did hope I should 
 not be obliged to speak on so paltry a subject — but 
 it's no use to hope to be mild with you. I see that's 
 hopeless. 
 
 " And what a herring ! And you call it a bloater, 
 I suppose ? Ha ! there was a woman who had au 
 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 1 9 
 
 eye for a bloater, but — sainted creature ! — she's here 
 no longer. You wish she was? O, I understand 
 that. I'm sure, if anybody should wish her back, it's 
 — but she was too good for me. 4 When I'm gone, 
 Caudle,' she used to say, 6 then you'll know the 
 wife I was to you.' And now I do know it. 
 
 " Here's the eggs boiled to a stone again ! Do you 
 think, Mrs. Caudle, I'm a canary-bird, to be fed upon 
 hard eggs ? Don't tell me about the servant. A wife 
 is answerable to her husband for her servants. It's 
 her business to hire proper people : if she doesn't, she's 
 not fit to be a wife. I find the money, Mrs. Caudle, 
 and I expect you to find the cookery. 
 
 " There you are with your pocket-handkerchief 
 again ; the old flag of truce ; but it doesn't trick me. 
 A fretty ho?ieymoon ? Honeymoon ? nonsense ! Peo- 
 ple can't have two honeymoons in their lives. There 
 are feelings — I find it now — that we can't have 
 twice in our existence. There's no making honey a 
 second time. 
 
 64 No ; I think I've put up with your neglect long 
 enough : and there's nothing like beginning as we 
 intend to go on. Therefore, Mrs. Caudle, if my tea 
 isn't made a little more to my liking to-morrow — and 
 if you insult me with a herring like that — and boil 
 my eggs that you might fire 'em out of guns — why, 
 perhaps, Mrs. Caudle, you may see a man in a 
 passion. It takes a good deal to rouse me, but when 
 I am up — I say, when I am up — that's all. 
 
 "Where did I put my gloves? You don't know? 
 Of course not : you know nothing." 
 
20 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Showing how Mr. Cazcdle could go out and enjoy 
 himself. 
 
 " By the by, Sarah, just put half a dozen shirts, and 
 all that sort of thing, in my portmanteau. I'm going — 
 There you are with your black looks again ! I can 
 never go anywhere, just a little to enjoy myself, but 
 you look like thunder. What ! I might sometimes 
 take you out? Nonsense! women — that is, women 
 when they're married — are best at home. What can 
 they want to go out for? It's quite enough for them 
 to go out to hunt for husbands ; when they've caught 
 'em, let 'em sit at home, and sing with the kettle 
 and the cat ; their best place is their fireside. 
 
 " Half a dozen shirts, I say, and my shaving tackle. 
 Do you hear me, Mrs. Caudle ? Perhaps when you've 
 done counting the legs of that fly on the ceiling, you'll 
 attend to me. Eh? I think you never want to go 
 out? Quite the contrary ; it's my belief you'd always 
 be out. If you wanted to go about like a June fly, 
 why did you marry? 
 
 " I should have told you where I was going ; but 
 as you've shown your temper, I won't tell you a syl- 
 lable. No ; nor I shan't tell you whom I am going 
 with, or when I shall be back. When you see me, 
 then you may expect me ; and not before. And mind 
 all the buttons are on my shirts — that's all. 
 
 " It's miserable always being left by yourself I 
 Yourself, indeed ! Arn't there books in the house? 
 
MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 21 
 
 There's capital company on the shelves if you'd only 
 get acquainted with them. I'm sure you'd be none 
 the worse for 'em. Besides, there's the cookery book : 
 read that. A wife can't study anything better. 
 
 " The fact is, Mrs. Caudle, I've indulged you too 
 much. I've made a fool of you. JVb, I haven't? 
 Well, then, who has? If I haven't, somebody has, 
 it's plain. Going out, indeed ! I've no opinion of any 
 woman who wants to go out at all. Women were 
 never intended to go out ; only the fact is, we've let 
 you have your own way. Ha ! they manage these 
 matters much better in the East. 
 
 ;c I'm generally a pretty quiet man, Mrs. Caudle, 
 and you know it. Nevertheless, I have a little of the 
 lion in^ne ; just a little. Don't rouse it, that's all. 
 
 " There you are, with the pocket-handkerchief 
 again. Always hoisting that signal of distress. No, 
 no ; I'm not made of sugar, like a twelfth-cake image ; 
 I'm not to be melted with tears : let them be as 
 many and as hot as they will. Besides, as I say, you 
 can all do it when you like — every mother's soul of 
 you. But I'm not to be washed off my legs by any 
 river of the sort. 
 
 "All I say to you is, stay at home. You've a 
 needle and thread, haven't you? and I'll be sworn for 
 it, plenty of things to make or to mend. And if 
 you haven't, cut holes, and sew 'em up again. 
 
 " Now, see when I come home that my portman- 
 teau's ready. What's o'clock? You %v ant Jive min- 
 utes to ? No doubt : the old story ; you're al- 
 ways wanting something." 
 
22 MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Showing- how Caudle, having lost Money at Cards, 
 deterinines to abridge the House Expenses* 
 
 " I don't know how it is, my dear ; but when I re- 
 member there's only you and myself — just two of us, 
 and I eat and drink next to nothing — and when I see 
 what other people do with half our money, I do think 
 you might be a little more careful. I'm sure I spend 
 no money on myself — none. Nobody can be more 
 watchful of every sixpence ; but, of course, a man can 
 save but little when he knows, or, that is, when he 
 fears he knows, that everything's going to w^aste at 
 home. Besides, it's a woman's place — particularly 
 a woman's place — to save. Women were designed 
 for it. Economy is one of the noblest virtues bound 
 up with matrimony. There can be very little real 
 love, Mrs. Caudle, where economy's neglected. A 
 woman can't truly care for a man's heart, unless she 
 has an equal regard for his pocket : the things go to- 
 gether, and always did from the first. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Caudle, I did not lose at my whist 
 club last night, that is, only next to nothing ; in 
 other words, nothing to speak of. Now, that's like 
 your sex. You always set about hunting for some 
 foolish, shabby motive for whatever your husbands 
 complain about. Because I lose at cards, I donH 
 want to get the money back out of your cupboard. 
 No : I want to save money, that, should I be taken 
 from you — and life at all times is uncertain, Mrs. 
 
MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK, 23 
 
 Candle — you might be left snug and comfortable — 
 that's my object. But I never knew any woman yet 
 — except one, rest her sainted soul! — who had the 
 mind or the generosity to allow a truly noble motive 
 to what her husband should do, that is, if it went 
 against herself. You can't help it, poor things ! — 
 nevertheless, when a man is depriving himself of 
 every little enjoyment that he may lay by something 
 for a rainy day, it is hard — a little hard, I think — to 
 have a woman spend what you do in housekeeping. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Caudle, be rational ; and, for the thou- 
 sandth time, let me beg of you not to cry. You only 
 waste your trouble and your tears. Both are thrown 
 away upon me. I'm not one of the people, I tell you 
 again, to be melted with a little soft water. My ex- 
 penses, that is, your expenses, are dreadful. Your 
 grocer's bill — and when I never taste sugar in my 
 tea — is preposterous ; enough to ruin a man often 
 thousand a year. What ? / take sugar in my grog, 
 and so do my friends. Scarcely any — nothing to 
 speak of; not worth naming. 
 
 " And then look at your butcher for the last fort- 
 night. Well? I know I won't eat cold joints. I 
 had enough of them with my first — that is, I can't 
 bear 'em. Besides, with half the money you have, a 
 cold joint is an insult to any man. 
 
 " And finally, Mrs. Caudle, — for you know I hate 
 this talk at breakfast ; it's a meal of all others I like to 
 enjoy when I can, — finally, I have made a calculation, 
 and in the next month, come what will, your cup- 
 board must do with ten pounds less. It's for your 
 good, I tell you, when I'm gone, and ten pounds I 
 must have of you." 
 
24 MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Showing Iiow Caudle came Home very late^ and very 
 vinous : he complains of Wa?zt of Sympathy. 
 
 " The old story, Mrs. Caudle ! Sulky again ! But 
 so it is with women of no intellect ; they can never 
 properly sympathize with a man. You make the tea 
 as if you were making poison, and all because I kept 
 you up just a little last night. Ha ! I only wish 
 you had half what T have upon my mind. What ! 
 You wouldn't have half what I had in my head? 
 Indeed I know what you mean ; but I only wish you 
 had. You'd have a little more sympathy for what I 
 have to go through ; as I say, you don't know what's 
 in my mind. Women, who have to sit quietly bask- 
 ing before the fire all day, doing nothing whatever, 
 except, perhaps, a little sewing — women, in their snug 
 homes, know nothing of what their husbands have to 
 go through in the world ; slaving and wearing, as I 
 may say, their very souls out. Ha ! I only wish I'd 
 been a woman. O, you needn't sigh, Mrs. Caudle ; 
 you've all the best of it from the beginning. 
 
 " For how can you tell, when your husband is doing 
 all he can to seem happy and delighted at home. 
 What! You never saw him in such a state! You 
 might, if you'd eyes like any other woman. I sav, 
 how can you tell at the very time he's full — running 
 over, I may say, with smiles, and affability, and 
 good temper — how can you tell that his brain isn't 
 being torn into bits, and all to make his wife happy 
 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 25 
 
 and comfortable at her own fireside? I must say it ; 
 I only wish you'd my anxieties, sometimes ; just for 
 half a day, that's all ; you'd have more sympathy, 
 Mrs. Caudle ; a little more sympathy. There you go 
 on again, — with your woman's argument. If I have 
 so much on my mind, I needn't stay out so late I 
 How can you possibly tell what it is that detains me? 
 If I chose, like some men, to tell my wife everything, 
 and so worry you and make you unhappy with all 
 sorts of anxieties, — then, indeed, I dare say I might 
 have a little more tenderness from you. But, precisely 
 because I wish to keep you in clover — precisely be- 
 cause I won't let you be worried by worldly matters 
 — you think I've nothing to contend with. Ha ! Mrs. 
 Caudle — I can't help saying it — if you only knew 
 what was on my mind ! 
 
 " What do you know what wine will do, or won't 
 do? Besides, I'd taken but a poor half pint of the 
 very weakest sherry last night! Only half a pint. 
 But when I'm harassed you ought to know how a lit- 
 tle tells upon me. I was not intoxicated, Mrs. Cau- 
 dle ; I was merely intensely anxious. And if you'd 
 any sympathy you'd known it. Yes, a woman with 
 sympathy would have felt for me ; would have turned 
 a face upon me beaming with love and comfort— and 
 not have been all night making up looks of thunder to 
 come to breakfast with. 
 
 " I'm going out, now, and I shall take the key ; so 
 don't sit up again. I promised to sup at Doubleday's 
 to-night ; and you don't know what's on my mind." 
 
2 6 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Showing' how Caudle brought home some " Good 
 Fellozvs " to spend the Evening, and found Mrs, 
 Caudle with some Female Frieitds at Tea. 
 
 " I didn't choose to say anything to you last night, 
 Mrs. Caudle — no : you needn't tell me that; I know 
 I didn't open my lips; don't I say so, woman? — I 
 didn't speak, because, indeed, I was too tired. But I 
 do think it hard that I can't leave the house for a few 
 days but I must find it swarming with petticoats 
 when I come back. Your friends, as you call 'em ! 
 as if women could ever be friends ! It's rather hard, 
 with what I'm charged for housekeeping, that I must 
 find the place like a fair. Tou did7t't expect me 
 home till to-morrow? O, no ! Else I should have 
 found you alone, ana as mute as a mouse ; and not a 
 word would you have said to me about the pack of 
 gossips you'd had about you ! 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Caudle, for the future just remember 
 one thing. Never think to expect me ; for you shall 
 never know the exact time when I shall come home. 
 No: I shall always take you, by surprise; as every 
 man who'd know what his wife's about should do. 
 
 " Well, I think I may guess now where the house- 
 keeping money goes to ! Now I can account for the 
 grocer's bills — and I can't tell what other bills be- 
 sides — when I see the people you have to eat me up. 
 And then when 1 bring home a few friends that I find 
 aboard the steamboat — good fellows, I know, every 
 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 27 
 
 one of 'em ; though I never saw them before — when 
 I come home, I find my house full of silks and satins 
 — a mountain of bonnets on my bed— -and nothing 
 fit for Christians to sit down to. And after such con- 
 duct you'll expect me to keep my temper! Yes: 
 you'll open your eyes and affect to stare at me, if I 
 only swear the smallest in the world — when if you'd 
 married some men, Mrs. Caudle, the house wouldn't 
 have held you ! Now, I should like to know what 
 my friends thought of me last night — what they 
 thought of you? Why, of course they looked upon 
 me as a fool for putting up with your cpnduct as 
 quietly as I did; whilst for you, but— I'll respect 
 your feelings — I won't say what they must have 
 thought of you. 
 
 " For an hour and a half, at least, did we wait for 
 supper — if supper, indeed, you could call it; for I 
 blushed at everything upon the table. An hour and 
 a half. There was nothing in the house; every- 
 thing was to begot? Why, that's what I complain of, 
 woman. That's the very fault. I bring home a few 
 friends to supper, and there's nothing in the house. 
 But I come home, and I find you with I don't know 
 what cotton-box acquaintances, and the house smell- 
 ing of toast and tea-cake enough to ruin one. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Caudle, if we wish to continue happy 
 together, understand that I won't have it. If I can't 
 give a little supper to friends at my own home, I'd 
 better give up housekeeping altogether. 
 
 " Where's my hat and gloves? I dine out to-day." 
 
MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Showing how Caudle brought home a Newfoundland 
 Dog, insisting that " The poor Animal can't add 
 to the Expense." 
 
 " O, no ! I know what the objection is, Mrs. Caudle. 
 It isn't that the poor faithful animal will add to the 
 butcher's bill — not a bit of it. No: it is only be- 
 cause the creature is fond of me, that you object to it. 
 'Tis only because of its love for its master — and it's 
 well I can get somebody about the house that does 
 love me — that you make an excuse of the expense. 
 You can keep your canary-bird — that's rattling away 
 all day like a whistle in hysterics — and I never com- 
 plain of the expense of that. You can keep your half 
 a dozen gold-fish too, and do I ever murmur at what 
 they cost? I think not. And yet when I bring home 
 a dog — a fine fellow as high as the table — instead 
 of admiring the noble animal as any other wife would 
 do, you begin to talk about what it will eat ! But 
 that's like you, Mrs. Caudle ; that's the rock we've 
 always split upon. You never had any sympathy — 
 not an atom. True marriage ought to melt two 
 hearts into one piece. Ours — I am sorry to say it — 
 have only been tacked together. There was, indeed, 
 a woman — but, sainted darling! — why should I 
 name her? 
 
 U I repeat it; if you thought of me as you ought, 
 you'd be delighted with the animal. A true wife 
 would love even .a crocodile or a boa-constrictor, if 
 
MR. CAUDLI^S BREAKFAST TALK. 29 
 
 her husband brought it home. But my wife's like no 
 other woman — never was. You don't object to the 
 dog if I chain it up? I think, Mrs. Caudle, you 
 ought to know my principles a little better by this 
 time. No, madam ; liberty — though it's quite above 
 the female intellect to understand its beautiful essence 
 — but liberty I wouldn't deny even to a dog. The 
 poor beast shall have the run of the house all day, 
 and - — noble fellow — sleep at my bed-room door all 
 night. I'll have somebody near me that loves me — 
 I'm determined ! 
 
 a What are you whimpering about? The beast 
 %v ill kill your cat? Perhaps he may ; and what if he 
 does? Cats are plenty enough, I suppose. I'm sure 
 there's more in my house than catch mice ; I know 
 that. Not that I see the noble fellow need kill her 
 unless you choose. What do I mean? Mean! Why, 
 lock her up in the cellar, or cupboard, or coal-hole. 
 He won't kill her, if he can't get at her. I'll 
 answer for him. Eh? And yet I talk of liberty? 
 To be sure I do. But there's your great defect again, 
 Mrs. Caudle ; you've no sympathy — none, or you'd 
 know what I mean directly. Liberty for dogs is one 
 thing ; liberty for cats is another. There's what I 
 call a moral distinction entirely." 
 
30 MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 • Chapter VIII. 
 
 Showing how Caudle thought " that Bill" settled 
 a lo?ig Time ago. 
 
 " If, now, I were to leave you, Mrs. Caudle, — if I 
 were to do what I really ought to do as a husband, — 
 break up the establishment and go myself into cham- 
 bers, just giving you enough to live upon — of course 
 the world — the world that never can judge between 
 man and wife, but always will poke its nose in be- 
 tween 'em whenever they separate — the world, I've 
 no doubt, would begin to abuse me. What's the 
 matte?'? Matter enough, I think ! I'm called out, 
 from my breakfast too, and this, Mrs. Caudle, this 
 little bit of paper, put into my hand. What, have 
 you the face to ask, Mrs. Caudle ? What of it? Don't 
 I know I owe it? Why, of course not ! I could have 
 laid my life that that bill was paid long ago ! I could 
 have sworn it ! How was it to be paid? You ask 
 that! Why, with money, of course. But I never 
 gave you the money? Nonsense! You're enough to 
 drive a man mad, Mrs. Caudle. I must have given 
 you the money ; of course I must. Else where can 
 all the money go to? When did I give it? Well, 
 if you are not the most outrageous, perplexing woman ! 
 When did I give it, indeed ! As if, with what I have 
 on my mind, I can exactly recollect the day, and the 
 hour, and the place when I gave you the money for 
 that bill ! I, who am always giving you money for 
 bills. Do you think I'm a calculating machine, Mrs, 
 
MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 3T 
 
 Caudle, — to remember everything, and with what I 
 have in my head ? All I know is — and that's enough 
 for any reasonable man — all I know is, I must have 
 given you the money. The bill's been delivered a 
 month ago, the man told me ; and you're not the 
 woman, I know, to let me remain quiet for % a bill so 
 long. No, indeed ; for if there's anything in the 
 world gives you pleasure, it is continually coming to 
 my pocket. And you must think I've a gold mine 
 there ; to dip as you do into it. 
 
 " There you are ! crying again ! That's the mean 
 advantage you women always try to take of your hus- 
 bands. What! You wish Td common feelings, and 
 you wish you were in your grave? Of course. A 
 man can't open his mouth, can't make the slightest re- 
 monstrance, when a woman lets money matters go all 
 wrong, but he wants feelings. Ha ! He'd better want 
 a few feelings than want money. And I'm sure, Mrs. 
 Caudle, that's your opinion, if you spoke the truth. 
 And then again, you must always be scratching your 
 grave up before me ! And only because I just spoke 
 about a bill. Of course, you've paid away the money 
 for something else — some new gowns, perhaps — 
 and forgot it. 
 
 " However, Mrs. Caudle, it is not worth quarrelling 
 about — certainly not. Besides, I hate quarrelling. 
 However, this I have to say : as I'm convinced that 
 I've given you the money for the bill, I'm not going to 
 pay it a second time. You must save it out of some- 
 thing else. What are you to save it out of P Any- 
 thing : cat's-meat and canary-seed! — but I don't pay 
 twice." 
 
33 MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 Showing how Mr. Caudle objected to Mrs. Cau- 
 dles jFe??iale Friend, a Visitor for a Month. 
 
 
 
 " When a husband comes home to what he ex- 
 pects to find a comfortable house, it is a little — I say 
 a little annoying for him — to break his shins over a 
 heap of portmanteaus in the hall, and find, too, he's 
 saddled with a visitor, — some stupid Miss or the 
 other, with all her boarding-school starch about her. 
 Eh — what? Ton told me you'd invited dear Miss 
 Loveday? You took an advantage of me, then, 
 and told me when I was asleep. I don't recollect it. 
 And now I shall be stunned to death by her for three 
 months — for of course she plays the piano; and I 
 shouldn't wonder if she's brought a guitar besides 
 with her. For three precious months ! What ! She's 
 only invited for one month? Humph! Then she'll 
 stay three, of course : they always do. 
 
 " Nice breakfasts I shall have now — for she'll not 
 always stay in her own room ; she won't always be 
 tired travelling. Nice breakfasts I'm doomed to ! 
 What ! How will the dear soul hurt me? O, in the 
 gentlest way possible — I know. She'll always be 
 reading the play-house advertisements in the paper, 
 and always be wanting to go to the opera, or concert, 
 or fireworks, or some show of that sort. I know the 
 sideway talk of such girls very well. But understand, 
 Mrs. Caudle, I'm not hampered with her. As you 
 say she was your school-fellow once — I suppose I 
 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 33 
 
 shall have all Minerva House here in their turn 
 
 you alone must be troubled with her. I shall behave 
 as civil as I can — but don't expect that I'll take her 
 out, or spend money upon her; that's your affair, 
 not mine. 
 
 " No, I don't forget when I'd my three friends here 
 all together : not at all ; I was too happy ever to for- 
 get it. Jack Stokes — noble fellow ! What a song 
 he sang, and what punch he made : Tom Ryder — the 
 best fellow he at whist and a chorus : and Sam Slab, 
 who gave such a licking to the coal-heaver. Ha ! 
 they were something like people to have in one's 
 house. What ! Ton never cojnplained of them*and 
 why can't you have a friend? That's quite a differ- 
 ent thing. Besides, as I say, women never have 
 friendship one among another— they don't know 
 what it means. No, indeed ; I don't think friendship's 
 a thing of cigars and brandy and water — not but 
 what all these are a very pretty mixture. They were 
 something like nights we had. Ton never got to sleep 
 till four while my friends were here? What's that 
 to do with it? Is that any reason you should bring a 
 lot of visitors to my house who can't say " bo " to a 
 goose? And when you know, too, how I like to 
 enjoy the comfort of my friends alone ! How I hate 
 that we should have anybody to disturb us ! And if 
 you loved me really, you'd hate it too — but it's a 
 bad business to have all the love on one side : I feel 
 that." 
 
34 mr. caudle's breakfast talk. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Showing Mr. Caudle again perplexed with Do- 
 mestic Finance. 
 
 " Is it not a most extraordinary thing, that I can't 
 sit clown to enjoy a bit of breakfast, but under ■ my 
 nose there's a paper for taxes ? It's just been left, 
 and if s Sarah's fault? * No ! — it's your fault, Mrs. 
 Caudle : you know that such things at such a time 
 always affect my appetite, and it's my belief that you 
 have 'em put there to save your cupboard. Taxes — 
 taxes! What! You don't pay 'em? No: but 
 what's quite as bad, you are always plaguing me 
 about them. I can't help saying it, Mrs. Caudle, but 
 what a much nicer wife you'd be, if there was no 
 money ! 
 
 " But I know it : when a woman likes to be ex- 
 travagant, let a man do what he will, he's no match 
 for her. I see that every day. Only yesterday I saw 
 an old coat of mine — a very good coat too — on old 
 Digges. Ha ! my dear first wife used to turn my 
 left-off clothes into beautiful mugs. But then, to be 
 sure, she had some respect for my exertions. She 
 used to calculate how and where the money came 
 from. But — I must say it — I've no confidence in 
 what's spent here. 
 
 " No, indeed, Airs. Caudle. I'm not a cruel, unjust 
 man — nor have I anything of the tyrant about me, — 
 not a bit. But when women happen to be a little 
 younger than their husbands — and that — I knew it, 
 
MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 35 
 
 to be sure — was your fault when I married you — 
 they are apt to indulge in expenses; and — I must 
 say it — that last hosier's bill that came in I don't at 
 all understand. I'm sure by the socks that's down for 
 me, anybody would think I was a centipede. Well, 
 I can't help sometimes suspecting — I should be glad 
 if I could be disabused — but I can't help thinking, 
 now and then, that what I've paid for hosiery you've 
 worn in velvet and silk. 
 
 " If I could only be sure of this, I should know very 
 well how to act. Then my course would be plain 
 enough. What? If Pm not sure, why do I accuse 
 you? O, there can be nothing lost by that. For if 
 a woman is blamed when she doesn't deserve it, she's 
 sure some time or other to escape when she does ; 
 so there's nothing thrown away, blame her when 
 you will." 
 
 With this liberal axiom Caudle took his hat, ob- 
 serving to his weeping wife that he " might be home 
 to dinner, and he might not." 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 Shoxving how Mr. Caudle thought something, 
 "very odd" 
 
 "Anything particular, my dear, in the paper — 
 I mean anything in the military way? What do I 
 mean? O, nothing. Ha, ha! A little joke of 
 mine — j us t a little joke. What do you think of the 
 cavalry regiment? What am I driving at? Noth- 
 
36 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 
 
 ing at all. I thought you might have seen 'em. 
 They go by the window, you know, twice a day. 
 What of it? Nothing, to be sure. Only it is odd — 
 I must say it is odd, that one of 'em — a young fel- 
 low with sandy mustachios — always turns his head 
 towards this house. I say it's odd — slightly odd. 
 Now, you can't say he's looking for Miss Loveday. 
 She's gone — thank Heaven ! at last. I waited till 
 she went before I spoke ; because I know how women 
 will stand by one another. 
 
 "Well, Miss Loveday is gone — do you hear me, 
 Mrs. Caudle ? — and still that fellow with the sandy 
 mustachios looks towards this house. Now, I think 
 that's something very odd. And I should like to 
 know what he's looking for ? What ! Fd better 
 ask him? I shall take my own opinion as to that, 
 Mrs. Caudle ; but allow me to say this much — that 
 — ha ! there was a woman — who never, never 
 caused me the finger ache. That I had never lost 
 that woman ! Eh? You wish I never had? Ha! 
 She never gave herself airs about her beauty. What ! 
 She couldn't? Mrs. Caudle, I don't wish to say a 
 harsh thing of you — far from it. But permit me, in 
 all good temper, to say, that you are not fit to stir the 
 tea of that blessed woman. She never looked about 
 her — never stared at anybody but her own husband 
 when she went out. She never thought there was 
 another such in the world. But I deserved to lose 
 her — I didn't think enough of her then. 
 
 " If any soldier had dared to look twice at any 
 house she was in, she'd have shown what she felt as 
 a wife, and closed every shutter. But she did know 
 heir duty — I wish other people did." 
 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 37 
 
 Upon this, the second Mrs. Caudle — poor ill-used 
 soul! — simply remarked that " she knew he was a 
 brute," and left him with his own bad thoughts, and 
 his own bohea. 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 Mr. Caudle's Defence of his Tyranny. 
 
 Mr. Caudle, ere he left this world, had much 
 more " Breakfast Talk" with his unfortunate wife ; but 
 it is believed that we have given the principal heads 
 of his discourses ; for his topics were like the church 
 bells — they u nearly always rang the same morning 
 peal." To the reader who believed in the declaration 
 of the first Mrs. Caudle that her husband " was really 
 an aggravating man," with her prophecy that " the 
 world would at last know him as well as she did," 
 the conduct of this individual towards the insnared 
 and unfortunate Miss Pretty man, may not afford sur- 
 prise. Caudle himself, however, set up an ingenious 
 if not a credible defence. Prettyman, his brother- 
 in-law, had now and then remonstrated with him. 
 "I don't mean it, — upon my life, I mean nothing. 
 I'm very fond of your sister — extremely fond ; it's 
 only a habit, my ill-treatment — nothing but a habit." 
 
 " A habit ! " cried Prettyman ; " why, that's what 
 we complain of! That's what we want you to get 
 rid of." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear boy — quite impossible. 
 Having lived twenty years with the late Mrs. Caudle, 
 though I believed her to be a sainted woman notwith- 
 
38 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 standing — how was it to be expected that I shouldn't 
 make a natural use of my liberty ? You don't suppose 
 I was going to suffer Mrs. Caudle the second to be 
 only another Mrs. Caudle the first — so, you see, I 
 bent the bar the other way." 
 
 fci And this is your defence," cried Pretty man. 
 
 " My excellent friend," said Caudle, " bad temper's 
 catching. Therefore, let folks beware how they 
 come together. If I've been a little bit of a tyrant in 
 my second marriage, 'tis only because I was a slave 
 in the first ; and all tyrants, my dear boy, are only 
 slaves turned inside out." 
 
 " I can make nothing of that figure," said Pretty- 
 man, " but this : that in most marriages there are 
 faults on both sides." 
 
 " Exactly so," answered Caudle, " and both I've 
 known." 
 
 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 ANTIQUITY hath abundance of charity — she 
 pleadeth for the mighty and the mean, the 
 magnanimous and the contemptible. Touched by 
 her influence, we gaze with reverence at the great 
 pyramid, and can look with interest at a gibbet — we 
 venerate the dust of a sage, and linger even by the 
 mummy of a lawyer. Placed in her circle, her host 
 of shadows passing before us, we not only bow to 
 poets and philosophers, but can nod and give a " good 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 39 
 
 den " to usurers and pickpockets. The veriest rascal, 
 seen through the haze of centuries, becomes pictur- 
 esque. Who, for example, can see Guido Fawkes 
 as he really moved and lived? Who can place be- 
 fore himself the veritable Claude du Val ? The vulgar, 
 cold-blooded conspirator is a. fearful conjuration of 
 romance, the highwayman a sprightly ill-used gentle- 
 man — the dark lantern of the fanatic is lighted with 
 a fiery star, the fiddle of the cutpurse sounds in truth 
 a most taking instrument. And why this delusion — 
 why this charity towards the long departed? Is it 
 not that we feel they are no longer partakers of our 
 state of existence, but that they form a portion of that 
 mystery, to the attainment of which life is but the 
 preface ? Is our homage that of ignorance towards 
 intelligence? Is it, that, feeling a tree of knowledge 
 springs alike through every coffin, our prejudices as 
 to the peculiar earth are lost in speculation on the 
 fruit? It may, we feel, be apples of Paradise — it 
 may be apples of the Dead Sea ; but whatever the 
 produce, it can only grow from a dead man, and thus 
 the corpse of the poorest slave has higher wisdom 
 than a breathing Solomon. This, however, is more 
 serious — if you will, more dull — than we intended. 
 Only desirous of proving hovv time can plead for even 
 antiquity, how evil may be hallowed by the conse- 
 crated garments of years, we break off our sermon. 
 This we will say : such lovers are we of the real an- 
 tique, that we would not destroy a single twig from a 
 upas-tree, if the said tree had flourished for centuries 
 — no, let pestilence drop from the branches, if the 
 branches were really and truly old. 
 
40 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 With such benevolent feelings have we many a 
 time gazed at the mansion of Messieurs Cat and 
 Condor — yes, with no less amiable emotion have we 
 beheld their " Old House in the City." We never 
 asked our friends, but have little doubt that the walls 
 were built of the first bricks imported by the Earl of 
 Arundel — to our eyes more valuable than the bricks 
 of Babylon — writ with far deeper, far more recondite 
 mysteries. Many a time, our back supported by an 
 opposite door, with upturned looks and folded arms, 
 have we contemplated the external features of that 
 " Old House." Yet ere we narrate our wayward 
 musings, it is right we give precedence to the opin- 
 ions of " sage, grave men," of " great ones of the 
 city." We will inflict on the reader but two or three 
 examples. 
 
 " Pray, Sir (I am strange to business), what may 
 be the character of the firm of Messrs. Cat and Con- 
 dor?" This question has a thousand times been put 
 by a thousand different querists : the answer has ever 
 been, " An Old House in the City." Such are the 
 words, but conveyed in no less than a thousand differ- 
 ent tones : some replying in a note of explosive sur- 
 prise, some with a pitying sneer at the interrogator, 
 some with a chuckle at his boorish ignorance, some 
 with deep solemnity, taking especial care to dwell 
 upon the " Old." 
 
 Having produced the gravest testimony as to the an- 
 tiquity of the house, we may now venture to add our 
 evidence to that of serious, matter-of-fact witnesses. 
 We have in many a reverie read the walls of the house 
 — we have dived into their mysteries — we have de- 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 41 
 
 ciphered their hierographs, and, rapt by our discov- 
 eries, we have lost sight of the bricks ; as, in reading 
 Homer or Shakespeare, we are wholly oblivious of 
 the printer and the papermaker. Thus our " House " 
 has at times seemed to us built up of human bones, a 
 mansion composed of the spoils of the churchyard. 
 We have seen the pithless joints of the old and the 
 young — we have beheld the skull of the widow and 
 the orphan cemented in one compact mass — and still 
 the walls grew higher and higher, as new materials 
 fell into the hands of the builders — and every bone 
 had its legend, every skull its curious history. 
 
 Anthony Cat — merry, simple-minded man — 
 whilst seated in his leather-bottomed chair, conning 
 his daily ten hours'- task, never dreamed of out- 
 of-door opinions. He knew the walls of the old 
 house were in good condition, for they had been sur- 
 veyed ; but for any types or texts to be found in them, 
 he no more thought of such superstition than the fly 
 in a painted paper cage thinks of the daubing of its 
 prison. Anthony Cat professed himself a Christian, 
 and proved himself a man of business. For ourselves, 
 we care not so much for professions as for deeds ; 
 therefore, waving what Anthony said, we may state 
 what he seemed — for in mind he may have been an 
 infidel, but in practice he was (in pounds, shillings, 
 and pence) a true believer. Anthony owed his first 
 advance in life to his humanity. In the first Ameri- 
 can war, though he only held a situation partaking 
 of the errand boy and the junior clerk, he was at 
 once a philanthropist and an admirer of his master's 
 daughter. Being on principle averse to the war, he 
 
42 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 conceived that, by lessening the resources of his 
 country, he might best accelerate the advent of peace 
 — to which end, whenever despatched for stamped 
 sheets, he six times out of ten supplied the office from 
 his own garret, putting the purchase-money in his own 
 pocket. How, it will be asked, was the cheat effected ? 
 By the unassisted genius of the simple Anthony, who, 
 to while away the dreariness of his lesiure, would cut 
 the stamps from old, extinct bonds, and with the most 
 praiseworthy dexterity, with a nice ingenuity worthy 
 a Chinese, would let them into plain parchment. 
 " This was the way to thrive ; " and Anthony had 
 the double satisfaction of assisting the cause of national 
 peace and individual profit. This is a truth, a truth 
 without one thread of fiction. In time Anthony be- 
 came the second clerk — still his heart grew bigger, 
 still his purse dilated. However, a proposal for his 
 fair young mistress was met by the indignation of her 
 father, and Anthony was about to be discarded, when 
 an accidental discovery of a false stamp procured him 
 another interesting interview with his master. The 
 old gentleman was full of virtuous indignation, and 
 talked of hanging. Anthony fell upon his knees, and, 
 to the horror of the elderly lawyer, confessed a long 
 catalogue of forgeries ; nay, more, avowed himself 
 ready to publish to the world the name of every client 
 whose property had been placed in jeopardy by a 
 spurious stamp. Of course the master gave quills, 
 ink, and paper to the penitent for the purpose of jus- 
 tice? Not so; the lawyer was a discreet man — 
 were the iniquity of his clerk made known, his busi- 
 ness, his connection was gone ! Anthony rightly in- 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 43 
 
 terpreted the silence of his master, and again and 
 again proposed to make a ;; clean breast." The good 
 man got up a visible shudder at what he termed the 
 consequences of a prosecution — he could not see an 
 old, though worthless servant hanged ! Will it be be- 
 lieved by the modest reader? The instant Anthony 
 was assured that his master would not consign him 
 to the gallows, he again prayed that he might take 
 his daughter to the church. The master paused at 
 the request ; but at length, wisely thinking that the 
 best way to stop the mouth of his clerk would be to 
 give him a wife, he consented to the match. This 
 auspicious beginning was followed by u thick-com- 
 ing " successes, and in the course of a few years, be- 
 hold Anthony Cat partner of u An Old House in the 
 City." He looked worthy of his prosperity — his face 
 was ever in a glow of satisfaction, his voice rung 
 like glass, and he would rub his hands with an air 
 that told you they were as pure as his own pounce. 
 And yet no man had a sterner eye to the " inevitable 
 decencies " of life. Though he was outwardly smil- 
 ing, meek, and gracious, he had in his way of busi- 
 ness a heart more than Roman. Little knew the} 7 of 
 the interior of Anthony Cat who judged him by his 
 short laugh, his venerable jest, or his one ballad at 
 the club — nay, they who paused at his Hoxton Villa, 
 garnished with potted myrtles and geraniums, and 
 saw the owner pacing his lawn W'ith a pink 'twixt 
 his fingers brushing his nose, did him wrong if they 
 confounded him with the same Cat setting a suit in 
 his " Old House in the City," or following it out at 
 Westminster. 
 
44 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 Augustus Condor, the second partner, seemed ex- 
 pressly sent into the world to do two things — to 
 keep accounts and eat a dinner. He accomplished 
 the double purpose of his being with surpassing ability. 
 No man had greater powers of calculation and diges- 
 tion. His moral lining was, we are convinced, com- 
 posed of a Ready Reckoner and a Cookery Book. 
 Place him before the cedars of Lebanon, and his first 
 thought would be to calculate the height and girth of 
 every cedar tree,' and next its market price. Fix him 
 on the shores of the Ganges, and his first inquiry 
 would be, if turtle swarmed there ; and Condor knew 
 himself, and so knowing, left the difficulties of consul- 
 tation to his more mercurial partner. Cat looked to 
 the pockets of the house, and Condor to the belly. 
 
 Having introduced the reader to the two partners, 
 we will now take him into their office. So, being 
 entered, one gentle question, dispassionate reader. 
 (We suppose it to be the first time our friend has 
 entered the office of a lawyer.) Do nothing new and 
 strange strike upon your sense ? Be there no " odors " 
 here? Do you feel assured that there are no subtile 
 particles flying about you, no peculiar emanations? 
 Do you not yearn and gasp for the sweet air of even 
 a London street? Do not your heart sink and your 
 lips part in sickness? Has nothing fatal to your 
 genial every-day flow of blood entered your system ? 
 Your finger to your pulse — now, as there is an im- 
 mortal soul in truth — are you the same man you 
 were ere you crossed the threshold ? No ; for you 
 are not made of oak or quartz ? — You share the com- 
 mon attributes of our. common nature, and you are a 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 45 
 
 changed man. You ask why is this? We who have 
 felt the influence of the genius loci — we whom no 
 experience can blunt to it — cannot clearly divine the 
 mystery — we can only speculate. Look at those 
 piled rows of japanned boxes. We think much of 
 the evil ; a great portion of the malaria issues thence : 
 there are the deeds of the dying, the dead, and — but 
 we will not increase the number of the parties, though 
 we sacrifice alliteration. Surely within all those tombs 
 all cannot be sound — no, there is the decay of truth, 
 the rottenness of falsehood. Though some may be 
 wholesomely embalmed with honest ink and wax, all 
 do not u smell sweet, and blossom in the pounce. " 
 
 Thence rise the vapors, thence the noxious exha- 
 lations. And hark? Hear ye no sounds? A voice 
 of wailing and misery, a sobbing, a groaning, as from 
 a crucified spirit? though the notes are fine, an ear un- 
 sophisticated may catch them. From whence, you 
 ask, this anguish ? from whence this rending lamen- 
 tation? We answer, from poor common sense 
 locked up, gyved, disfigured, racked by a thousand 
 menials, some called Whereas, some Notwithstand- 
 ing, some Aforesaid, and some with names of gibber- 
 ish, counting more syllables than the Spaniard. Even 
 as the dainty spirit Ariel w r as imprisoned in the pine 
 by Sycorax, that " blue-eyed hag/' so is poor common 
 sense captive to an unrelenting beldam. And, reader, 
 did you ever see the thumb-screw or the steel boot? 
 You have ; and your cheek has wrinkled and your 
 heart fallen as you gazed on those inventions of the 
 devil, and thought of the blackened flesh, the spurting 
 blood, the cracking bone, and broken marrow of the 
 
46 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 victim? Well, screw and boots maybe made from 
 the skins of inoffensive sheep ; from rags cast from a 
 beggar, and — but we must pause. We have given 
 loose to a morbid imagination. We have (it is our 
 failing) been dreaming a day-dream, in which have 
 mingled all kinds of monstrous horrors, whilst, in- 
 deed, we were comfortably seated in the office of 
 Messrs. Cat and Condor. We have taken a journey 
 to a den of guilt and misery, while our feet reposed 
 on the matting of an " Old House in the City." It is 
 fortunate we are awake, or we know not how basely 
 we might have misrepresented that young pale-faced 
 sandy-haired clerk, with a very white shirt-collar. 
 Who knows how we might have typified the respect- 
 able partners themselves, the worthy Cat and Condor, 
 those solid pillars of the " Old House in the City." 
 We have now to dismiss from the mind of our com- 
 panion all that we have said : we are not justified in 
 attempting to shake the nerves of any man ; therefore 
 the reader may as frequently as he pleases defy the 
 atmosphere of an attorney's office ; for our part, being 
 naturally delicate, we love sweet air, and respect our 
 health. 
 
 " Very sorry, very sorry, indeed ; but, sir, money is 
 money, and people are so difficult ! " 
 
 For the wisdom enshrined in these words the 
 reader is indebted to Mr. Cat, who, with one of his 
 blandest smiles, his eyes twinkling through his specta- 
 cles, his body gently inclined, and the tip of each 
 thumb and finger nicely touching the tip of its brother, 
 assured a client that money was money ; and to give 
 Cat his due, he was capable of no better definition. 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 47 
 
 To his client, however, money was liberty, peace of 
 mind, everything ; he bit his lips, his eyes glared, 
 and it was with some effort that with apparent com- 
 posure the stranger asked, " When may I have the 
 money ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, sir, to-morrow." 
 
 The tone and manner of Cat were most convincing, 
 and yet they evidently failed to assure his client, who, 
 it must be conceded, ought to have been impressed 
 with the promise of his agent, as the worthy man had 
 almost every day, for the previous fortnight, repeated 
 it. To-morrow bubbled from the mouth of Cat as 
 freely as w T ater from a source — - but Lieutenant Lacy, 
 we regret to say it, was a suspicious man, and when 
 looking at the support of the " Old House " from the 
 crown to the gaiters, he turned upon his heel, and 
 said, " Then I'll come to-morrow." It was but too 
 plain that he quitted the office an unbeliever. Indeed, 
 to confess all, as he descended the staircase, a muti- 
 lated oath escaped his lips, an oath in which Messrs. 
 Cat and Condor were very deeply interested. How- 
 ever, something must in charity be allowed to the igno- 
 rance of the man. How was it possible that he, a 
 sailor, could judge of the difficulties of what Mr. Cat 
 ever delighted to call " a financial operation " ? What 
 may appear very fair and simple to an unlearned 
 mariner, abounds with perplexities in the eyes of 
 prudent attorneys like Cat and Condor. Two and 
 two may make four on the quarter-deck, but such 
 false calculation is not to pass in an " Old House in 
 the City." 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy, in addition to his majesty's com- 
 
48 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 mission and three body-wounds, had a wife and five 
 children. Whilst his laurels were growing at sea, 
 his olive branches had flourished at home ; and though 
 they were all fair and beautiful, Elizabeth, a girl of 
 seventeen, was the fairest, the most beautiful — " an 
 angel, if ever an angel walked," to use the words of 
 a young gentleman transfixed one summer evening 
 by her graces ; and the exclamation must be received 
 as a triumphant evidence of the loveliness of Eliza- 
 beth, for certain we are that the speaker was not one 
 of those happy people who, in their dreams, awake or 
 sleeping, see angelic faces ; he had no standard of 
 beauty, but paid an instinctive homage to its influ- 
 ence. Charles Bars was himself the child of an offi- 
 cer, and when, on the 2d of May, his eyes met the 
 bright orbs of Elizabeth, as, accompanied by her 
 mother and younger sister ! she walked in the Tem- 
 ple Gardens, he felt an admiration so uncontrollable, 
 that he three times thrust his head beneath her bon- 
 net ; nay, so powerful was his emotion, that it abso- 
 lutely drove her from the spot When she vanished 
 from his sight, and he was prevented by a sense of 
 delicacy (for we are almost certain that he despised 
 the uplifted cane of a meddling gentleman) from fol- 
 lowing her, so profoundly was he touched, that he 
 flung away an almost whole cigar, and for that even- 
 ing ceased to smoke. Vesuvius itself could not give 
 a stronger evidence of what Mrs. Siddons once called 
 " desperate tranquillity." 
 
 Let the reader suffer a day to have elapsed, and we 
 will then return to the office of Cat and Condor. 
 Enter Lieutenant Lacy ; he is met with a smile so 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 49 
 
 gracious, so cheering, by the partner of the u Old 
 House," that he returns it with a look of perfect satis- 
 faction. " How have I wronged this excellent man ! 
 Doubtless there were many difficulties in the way of 
 the negotiation ; money, on the best of security, is 
 scarce." Now, though Lieutenant Lacy spoke no 
 syllable of this, every word of it passed through his 
 brain, as Mr. Cat, having again carefully deposited 
 himself in his chair, stretched forth his right leg, and 
 began with an encouraging air to pat its ca ] f. He 
 then placed both his hands in his breeches pockets, 
 and — credulous Lieutenant Lacy (for he thought he 
 heard the crumpling of bank-notes)— observed, " I am 
 very sorry." As he said this, his client leaped to his 
 feet witli a noise that even awakened the calculating 
 Condor, who, dropping his jaw, coolly ran his tongue 
 round his upper lip, and stared at the disturber. Cat 
 widened his mouth, smiled with great industry, and 
 to some very rapid and homely queries of the Lieu- 
 tenant, again exclaimed, " To-morrow." Here — we 
 regret to record it — the sailor lost all respect for the 
 rejDresentatives of the " Old House," and in a tone not 
 to be mistaken demanded back his papers. Cat smiled 
 consent, and opening the door, asked one of the clerks 
 in the outer office for " Lieutenant Lacy's bill." 
 
 The Lieutenant was a brave man, but at the sound 
 of the word bill, he looked the veriest coward. The 
 clerks of the " Old House" were celebrated for de- 
 spatch, and in a trice the last item, viz., the consulta- 
 tion of that day, was added to the account, and placed 
 between the fingers of the debtor, who found himself 
 " written down " forty pounds in the books of Cat 
 4 
 
5<3 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 and Condor. Somewhat recovered from the first 
 shock, the Lieutenant promised payment, but again 
 loudly demanded his papers. Again Condor gaped, 
 and again Cat smiled. " Certainly, Lieutenant Lacy 
 — to be sure, when our bill is paid/' Now Lieutenant 
 Lacy had not forty shillings. 
 
 We have said the Lieutenant was a suspicious man, 
 and we hate suspicion, for ninety-nine times out of a 
 hundred, it takes away more than it secures. A man 
 whose road lies through a .wild forest, if told that 
 the place be infested by a ravenous wolf, suspects 
 everything that moves about him to be no other than 
 the wolf; if a fox, a hare, or a poor rabbit start at 
 his feet, he trembles, fearing it the wolf; nay, if a lit- 
 tle squirrel crack nuts on his native branch, the sus- 
 picious man stands aghast, assured he hears the wolf; 
 and if a few yards within his journey's end a pretty 
 glow-worm glisten in a bush, he runs hallooing home, 
 and gathering all his neighbors about him, vows he 
 hath escaped by a miracle, having beheld the very 
 eye of the very wolf! Now, had nobody rilled the 
 poor fellow's head with terrible stories of the beast, 
 he had scarcely thought of it, but had gone through 
 the wood enjoying the singing birds, the waving trees, 
 and the breathing flowers ! 
 
 We know not whether Lieutenant Lacy had given 
 ear to any malignant gossip touching the " Old 
 House," or whether his present valuation of Messrs. 
 Cat and Condor was the result of his unassisted ob- 
 servations ; but certain we are that he viewed the still 
 smiling Anthony with that kind of interrogative 
 glance which the reader may have seen put by one 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 5 1 
 
 gentleman in a crowd when the inquirer has lost his 
 pocket-book or repeater. " Are you a thief? " de- 
 mands the despoiled with all the force and eloquence 
 of eyes. When Mr. Cat made the surrender of his 
 client's papers provisional on the payment of his 
 client's bill, Lieutenant Lacy, though silent, put a 
 question, and Cat, though he spoke not, smiled an 
 answer. Cat was a philosopher, it is true ; for a libel 
 written or spoken he had a vein of unexampled tender- 
 ness, but for mere dumb opinion, for the thoughts 
 that dwell within the chambers of men's brains, they 
 no more affected him than they could wound the cynic 
 through his tub. No, Cat was a liberal ; he was for 
 the free exercise of thought so long as thought went 
 about its business, speaking no word and scrawling 
 no pot-hook. It is clear Lieutenant Lacy was poorly 
 matched against such a man, who was so strong in the 
 consciousness of his own integrity, that when his in- 
 temperate client " prepared to chide," the lawyer 
 beckoned in the senior clerk to listen to the vitupera- 
 tion. Whether the Lieutenant felt his want of elo- 
 quence, or whether, like a high-minded player, he 
 refused to exhibit before so poor an audience, we can- 
 not decide. Sure we are, that the instant the sailor 
 caught the eye of the clerk, that instant the speaker 
 became dumb ; and more, without deigning to accept 
 an invitation significantly put to him by the smiling 
 Cat, he swung from the office of the " Old House " 
 with a promptitude and decision worthy of Drake or 
 Blake. 
 
 We spoke of an invitation on the part of Cat, and 
 must trespass a few lines in the way of comment : 
 
52 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 Has the reader — we beg his pardon ; of course he has 
 — beheld a beautiful pair of lips, red and ripe as 
 cherries, that, placed within the reach of even Origen 
 himself, would win him to their audible cry of, " Kiss 
 me ? " Show us the man who hath the. marble entrails 
 to with sf and the invitation, and we shall honor him 
 for a true philosopher, or despise him for a cowardly 
 fool. Now, we place Lieutenant Lacy in the hands of 
 the reader : it is for him to decide on the future char- 
 acter of the client of the " Old House," when we 
 state an equal instance of his forbearance. For be it 
 known, that as the Lieutenant prepared to depart, 
 looking death at his attorney, Mr. Cat, with an im- 
 proved smile, with both hands in his pockets, the tails 
 of his coat accidentally hanging over his arms, and 
 his head unusually advanced, approached the Lieu- 
 tenant, and again grinning, " Perhaps to-morrow," 
 turned his back upon .the officer. It was a critical 
 moment for the tempted Lacy ; for if ever, in her im- 
 mortal life, Venus, without speaking, cried, " Kiss," 
 Cat, by his smiling look, and the dexterity with which 
 he took the most tantalizing position, cried, " Kick." 
 A maiden gazing at the full moon is a beautiful ob- 
 ject ; an astronomer surveying its valleys, plains, and 
 mountains challenges our admiration and respect ; an 
 Indian trembling at an eclipse, beating his tambour 
 and yelling, to scare the dragon from swallowing the 
 planet, calls up our pity at his darkness ; a magician 
 writing his riddles on the moon's bright face carries 
 us into the boundless realms of imagination ; — but 
 each and all of these, in the various emotions which 
 they feel and excite, are, in our opinion, powerless, 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 53 
 
 compared to the sensations glowing, swelling in the 
 bosom of Lieutenant Lacy, as he surveyed the pre- 
 sented disc of Anthony Cat, lawyer — as he looked 
 on the broad stone of honor of u the Old House in the 
 City." Happy are we to say we know nothing of 
 anatomy, and seek not to know ; for were we ac- 
 quainted with the minute, the delicate machinery 
 with which we are intrusted, could we enjoy, as in 
 our present ignorance, our dinner and plurality of 
 bottles? No; — wearing, as we should, our eyes in 
 our bellies, we should shudder at the despotism which 
 we daily exercise over a thousand tender subjects, 
 with whose names and duties we are now unacquaint- 
 ed ; and trembling at the cruel taskmaster Appetite, 
 we should confidently predict intestine revolution — 
 dissolution. It is thus that their deep knowledge 
 makes all the faculty temperate as chameleons ; no 
 true physician, no real surgeon, cares for his meals — 
 empirics may gormandize, but science rarely dines. 
 However, this much anatomical knowledge we have 
 arrived at from the deportment of the Lieutenant in 
 the hour of his temptation, — we think there can be 
 no muscle from the heart to the toe, or fearful we are 
 that the Lieutenant's toe had gone up. The invita- 
 tion on the part of Mr. Anthony Cat was so une- 
 quivocal, that how Lacy, as a man of common courte- 
 sy, rejected it, he can best explain — we cannot. The 
 Lieutenant descended the staircase. Mr. Cat returned 
 to his seat with a look of disappointment, and the 
 senior clerk vanished to his desk, balked of what at 
 first promised to be a very pretty assault. 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy was a man of the highest courage ; 
 
54 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 a ship's crew had presented him with a sword for his 
 signal bravery in an awkward affair of " cutting out." 
 He merited to the full so flattering a testimonial of 
 his active gallantry ; but how much greater the recom- 
 pense due to him for the passive magnanimity we 
 have recorded ! In such a case, and with such provo- 
 cation, not to kick appears to us the grandest triumph 
 of human equanimity. Cat himself was astounded 
 at the moral elevation, which, however, brought its 
 reward. Ziska's skin, specially bequeathed by the 
 wearer to cover a drum, though no doubt capable of 
 the loudest and most terrible sounds, was, we are 
 certain, thin and weak as gold beater's, compared to 
 our Cat's skin, sounding a charge of assault at West- 
 minster. Convinced we are that several eminent 
 persons might, at their deaths, forever silence the 
 fame of the aforesaid drum, would they but leave, for 
 a similar instrument, that which by good kicking 
 hath been so admirably prepared on the living animal. 
 At present we must dwell no longer on the subject ; 
 — yes, we must record a startling instance of good 
 fortune bound up with kicking. 
 
 A worthy man, happily intrusted with the guid- 
 ance of public taste, owed the full blazon of his pros- 
 perity to this summary, and, as it w r ould seem, intelli- 
 gent operation. It chanced that a gentleman from a 
 great London house sojourned, in the way of business, 
 at the country factory of our man with the toe, and 
 was at once astonished and delighted to hear the ap- 
 plication of the said toe threatened upon the lightest 
 blunder or disobedience of the people employed. 
 
 "Can it be?" asked ^the visitor, with a look of 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 55 
 
 mingled pleasure and credulity. " Is that your way 
 of governing? Do you really kick ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 The querist folded the respondent in his arms, then, 
 as Ophelia describes Hamlet, surveyed him at a dis- 
 tance, clasped his hand, and with an exulting voice, 
 fairly crowing at the discovered gem, and an eye 
 swimming with transport, exclaimed, " Come to 
 London ! " The operator quitted his country business, 
 and in a trice was placed in the Metropolitan House. 
 It is true, he was doomed to undergo a practical 
 lesson from an amateur, in the very art in which he 
 had dubbed himself regiusprofessor before he himself 
 had given a solitary lecture. But passing that slight 
 annoyance, he had cause to rejoice at the discovery 
 of kicking, which — enthusiastic in the remedy — 
 he held, like Shakespeare's u barber's chair," to be 
 equally adapted to all parties. Little knew an ad- 
 miring world, when it gazed on the enchantments of 
 the London repository, when it beheld dancing 
 nymphs and flying Cupids, that even such delicate 
 creatures were marshalled in their graces by the 
 threatened foot. Processions, triumphal choruses, 
 battles, weddings — all were kicked up ! Next to the 
 Pope, no man had such a toe ! To proceed with our 
 history. An unforeseen and critical event increased 
 the disappointment of the Lieutenant. Arrived at his 
 lodgings, he found a letter from Portsmouth, calling 
 for his instant return to his vessel, the ship being 
 under sailing orders. The papers must be obtained 
 from Messrs. Cat and Condor at any sacrifice ; he 
 must dispose of the reversion of a trifling freehold, if*- 
 
56 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 herited by his wife on the death of her mother. He 
 had debts to pay, butchers, bakers, schoolmasters to 
 satisfy, and money must be had. 
 
 With this deep conviction, Lieutenant Lacy ad- 
 dressed himself to a solicitor, who promised an in- 
 staneous recovery of the documents from the " Old 
 • House." For the client, he knew not what to make 
 of the procrastination of Mr. Cat, who, three weeks 
 before, on almost the first glance at the papers, 
 declared them to be immediately convertible ; money 
 might be had upon them, ay, by noon the next day. 
 Nothing was more easy ; the Lieutenant might depend 
 upon the cash. From that time, however, until the 
 final interview, there was some new, some unexpected 
 difficulty — always, it is true, explained away by the 
 zealous Cat, who always cried " to-morrow," and 
 always smiled with increasing complacency. 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy was seated in the front parlor of 
 Number , St. 's Court. His daughter Eliza- 
 beth, making the most of the light of a June evening, 
 as it sickened through the windows, was employed on 
 a crayon portrait of her father, a dear memorial for 
 hearts at home, when he was " far amid the melan- 
 choly main." Elizabeth had heard of the hasty sum- 
 mons and worked in silence. The sailor never showed 
 greater heroism than at that hour. His heart was 
 heaving for his wife and children, — he was about to 
 quit them, perhaps forever, — to leave tfie beautiful 
 creature before him intrusted to a tempting world ; 
 and yet, with these thoughts piercing his brain, he 
 kept a smile upon his face for the gentle artist. Lieu- 
 tenant Lacy had looked with unblenched gaze on the 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY-. 57 
 
 guns of an approaching enemy ; but in that dreadful 
 pause of life he showed less noble self-control, than 
 when, with a mind racked by household wants, he 
 looked with a smile into his daughter's eyes. Great 
 are the battles gained on field and deck, but greater 
 far the triumphs won by the struggling spirit at the 
 desolate fireside. 
 
 Father and daughter were thus employed, when a 
 knock at the door proclaimed a new arrival. The 
 circumstance, commonplace as it was, afforded a re- 
 lief to Elizabeth, who longed, but knew not how, to 
 break the silence. 
 
 " It is not mamma," she said ; " she will not be at 
 home this hour." 
 
 The landlady briefly informed Lieutenant Lacy 
 that a gentleman wished to speak to him. The Lieu- 
 tenant quitted the apartment, but in two minutes re- 
 turned followed by his visitor, who, beholding Eliza- 
 beth, seemed struck with amazement. 
 
 " I will but retire to my room, and then be with 
 you immediately," said the Lieutenant to the stranger, 
 in a tone partaking as much of a request as of a simple 
 intimation. 
 
 " At your leisure, Captain — I beg pardon, Lieuten- 
 ant Lacy," replied the gentleman, venturing a second 
 look at Elizabeth, who was about to follow her father, 
 when a glance from him told her to remain. 
 
 a Most happy, Miss Lacy, at the unexpected de- 
 light of this second meeting ; most happy indeed, upon 
 my honor." 
 
 Yes, reader, the visitor was no other than Charles 
 Bars, the saunterer from the Temple Gardens. 
 
58 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 "Really? — What! your father?" exclaimed the 
 young gentleman, with the most enviable confidence ; 
 and he took the drawing from the table, and stared at 
 it very like a patron of the fine arts. " Humph ! in- 
 deed, a fine-looking man. Well, never mind, matters 
 must blow over ; and depend upon it, Miss Lacy, 
 your papa will be a post-captain." Had Charles 
 Bars been first lord of the admiralty, he could not 
 have taken a higher tone of prophecy. " But really, 
 Miss Lacy, it's hard your papa must leave his family ; 
 is there no way of keeping him?" 
 
 " I fear, sir, none ; he must almost immediately set 
 offfor the fleet." 
 
 " No, no ; " cried Charles Bars, " not so bad as that 
 — not immediately. I feel I can on my own re- 
 sponsibility allow the Lieutenant some further time ; 
 indeed, I came with the best intentions." 
 
 It was clear to Elizebeth that the visitor was some 
 functionary of the Admiralty ; his confident tone be- 
 trayed his power and importance. 
 
 " Do you indeed, sir? " said the girl, forgetful of 
 even the face of Charles Bars under her bonnet ; 
 " you will make my mamma so happy ! we must all 
 thank you." 
 
 " Not at all, Miss Lacy ; for my part, if you desire 
 it, your father shan't budge — anything to please you, 
 my dear Miss Lacy ; " and with every word he spoke, 
 Mr. Charles Bars approached a step nearer to Eliza- 
 beth ; and when he uttered the last syllable, his au- 
 dacious arm surrounded her waist. 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy was a man of marked decision ; 
 and entering the room at this instant, without one 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 59 
 
 word or breath of warning given, Charles Bars, by 
 some extraordinary process, was flung with his head 
 under the fire-grate, his neck uncomfortably supported 
 by the edge of an iron fender. There he lay, and 
 lying, bled like Caesar. We, however, have one ex- 
 cuse for the wounded. It was his firm conviction 
 that Lieutenant Lacy had quitted the house by some 
 back door, or by scaling the roof, and descending a 
 neighboring chimney. But why, it may be asked, 
 should the Lieutenant shun an interview with the visit- 
 or? Why treat with such contumely the son of an offi- 
 cer? The truth is, when we spoke of the profession of 
 Charles Bars's father, we forgot to state his precise 
 service. Be it known, then, that he was neither mili- 
 tary officer nor naval officer, but officer to the sheriff! 
 And Charles himself, though young, enjoyed no less 
 a dignity, in support of which he had that evening 
 visited Lieutenant Lacy at the suit of Messrs. Cat 
 and Condor, for services not rendered, The pros- 
 trate legalist, calculating that the courage of his as- 
 sailant " preyed not upon carcasses," lay motionless 
 as Bracton ; but he proved that his lungs were of cor- 
 responding brass with his face, and he roared, " Bob 
 Sykes ! " who, listening in the street, loudly responded 
 to the call with the brass of the street door knocker. 
 The landlady, with feminine quickness, jumped at 
 right conclusions, and admitted the clamorous gentle- 
 man without, who rushed into the parlor, and, blind 
 to the blood of his companion, in the pursuit of his 
 duty, cried, "Where's the Leaftenant?" Where, in- 
 deed? All we know of his escape is this: — The 
 landlady, ere she admitted Robert Sykes, with a 
 
60 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 strength proceeding from the hatred of her visitors, 
 fairly clawed the gallant seaman from the parlor, and 
 carried him off ere he himself was aware of the ab- 
 duction. Where the woman hid her victim we know 
 not. In what household fastness, in what domestic 
 crypt, the Lieutenant lay shut up from the searching 
 kindness of Robert Sykes remains to this day undi- 
 vulged. The Lieutenant himself would never con- 
 fess it. 
 
 " A pretty business this, marm ; suppose he had 
 killed the man ? " asked Bob Sykes of Mrs. Smith, 
 when, having given up the search for the Lieutenant, 
 
 he had time to sympathize with the maltreated 
 
 " Suppose he had killed the man ? " again he asked ; 
 and again Mrs. Smith rubbed her hands, and gave 
 one of her quiet looks. 
 
 If we know ourselves, we are made up of gentle- 
 ness and mercy ; we w r ould no more kill an officer 
 of the sheriff than we would tread on a poor beetle. 
 But as human nature at the best is weak, and as the 
 father of evil, indefatigable in his business, ever 
 watches about the meekest and the purest, should we 
 ever be betrayed into the indiscretion of slaying a 
 sheriff's officer, — should we ever be guilty of the ab- 
 surd weakness, — our only hope is, that we may be 
 tried for the peccadillo by a jury of matrons. If there 
 be only one Mrs. Smith among the dozen, the serenity 
 with which we shall appear in the prisoners' dock 
 will, as Mr. Pepys would say, " be pretty to see." 
 
 The blood from the nose of Charles Bars continued 
 to meander down the finest shirt and the gayest waist- 
 coat of his multitudinous wardrobe. The truth is, his 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 6 1 
 
 father " held that night a solemn supper," where all 
 the world was invited. We speak advisedly, for 
 among the guests there were many veteran officers 
 and their families, half a dozen bill-brokers, and 
 a sprinkling of hard-working attorneys, particular 
 frfends of the hospitable host. Charles Bars had 
 risen from the hands of the hair-dresser, and, aided 
 by his sister Constantia, was about to rehearse, at 
 their grand piano-forte, 
 
 "Together let us range the fields ; " 
 
 he proposing to challenge Miss Solomons to the per- 
 formance of that duet in the course of the evening, 
 when he was summoned by his father to execute a 
 writ on Lieutenant Lacy. Charles was the model 
 of filial obedience, and Messrs. Cat and Condor were 
 excellent customers. However, we have already de- 
 tailed the difficulties of Charles in the pursuit of his 
 duty. Giving the writ to Sykes, he now quitted the 
 house, and, entering a hackney-coach, drove home- 
 wards, speculating by the way on the amount of 
 damages. Lieutenant Lacy emerged from his mys- 
 terious hiding-place, and immediately set off for the 
 private house of his new solicitor. He was within 
 sight of the door, when, somebody calling his name, 
 he turned round and felt a paralyzing hand on his 
 right shoulder. 
 
 " Lieutenant Lacy, you must come with me." The 
 speaker was no other than the discerning and ubiqui- 
 tous Bob Sykes, who, by a lamp, had caught a glimpse 
 of the Lieutenant's features as he rapidly passed him. 
 True it is, Bob had never before beheld his prisoner ; 
 
62 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 but with restless observation he had scrutinized the 
 drawing at the Lieutenant's lodging, and the readiness 
 with which he therefore recognized the original was 
 a high compliment to the powers of the artist. Noth- 
 * ing now remained but to enter into a new negotiation 
 w 7 ith the partners of the " Old House/' who consented 
 to withdraw their action, avowing themselves ready 
 to take their bills from the proceeds of the sale of the 
 Lieutenant's property — a sale which they now hoped 
 immediately to effect. They had never wished to 
 distress the Lieutenant — not they ; but he had been 
 so unadvised, so very impatient. Lacy even apolo- 
 gized to Messrs. Cat and Condor for his hasty mis- 
 interpretation of their motives. But time pressed ; he 
 must immediately have the money — in two days the 
 fleet sailed — he had that morning seen the news in 
 the papers, and so, in truth, had Messrs. Cat and Con- 
 dor ; and knowing, as they did, that the subsistence, 
 nay, the very reputation of their client depended upon 
 joining his ship, — knowing, in fact, that he had not 
 an hour to spare, — they wished, at any sacrifice, to 
 effect a sale. 
 
 " In the evening, Lieutenant Lacy, I have no doubt, 
 we may sign and seal." 
 
 " Evening, sir ! " exclaimed Lacy, frantically, dash- 
 ing his fist upon the desk. " In an hour, Mr. Cat, in 
 an hour, or I am a lost man ! " 
 
 And he sank again into his chair, and a tear burned 
 in his eye. 
 
 Be composed, my dear sir, pray be composed," cried 
 Cat, looking himself the spirit of tranquillity. " As 
 the gentleman, who, we believe, is desirous of pur- 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 6* 
 
 chasing the cottage, is our client, we will immediately 
 send to him. Edward, here! No; wait until I 
 write, and take this note to Mr. Fortescue, and be sure 
 and bring an answer." 
 
 The junior clerk vanished with the missive, and 
 Mr. Cat proceeded to mend his goose-quill. The 
 operation finished, he politely handed the newspaper 
 to Lacy, who, after a vain endeavor to read it, arose, 
 and, with vacant looks, gazed out of the window. 
 He was, however, shortly called to a recollection -of 
 things by the sharp whistling of a man below, who 
 sauntered backwards and forwards, evidently as if 
 waiting for somebody. Lacy thought he recognized 
 the gait, the costume of the loiterer. Yes, he was 
 not mistaken; the whistler was Bob Sykes. For 
 whom, for what could he be waiting? Edward, the 
 junior clerk, was fleet as a greyhound ; and Mr. For- 
 tescue, being luckily at home, in a few minutes person- 
 ally answered the letter from the " Old House." 
 " Mr. Fortescue is come, sir," said Edward. 
 And Mr. Cat, with a slight bow to the Lieutenant, 
 quitted the office, we presume to settle preliminaries 
 with the visitor. After a short absence he returned, 
 ushering in Mr. Fortescue. He was, in reality, a man 
 of about two-and-thirty ; but we suppose it was either 
 the smoke of his fireplace, or a continual cast of 
 thought, which gave to his features, in themselves 
 not regularly handsome, the aspect of eight-and-forty 
 Mr. Fortescue had been a party to many of the " finan- 
 cial operations" of the « Old House," and thus must 
 have possessed considerable wealth. Indeed, the fact 
 was roundly asserted by Messrs. Cat and Condor, who 
 
64 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 would facetiously (we know not with which of the 
 partners originated the joke) call him their golden 
 calf. In sober truth, they had talked so much of his 
 wealth, that the poor man passed for an incorrigible 
 miser ; and neither his dwelling nor his garments 
 were calculated to falsify the opinion. Indeed, what 
 can be said of a man who dwells in the top apart- 
 ment of a magazine for old bottles, old rags, old iron, 
 at the bottom of Saffron Hill, and yet bargains for 
 and purchases twenty houses in the year — beautiful 
 mansions, rich acres, parks, woods, fisheries? What 
 can be urged in defence of him who, by his dealings, 
 we should judge capable of wearing each day a new 
 suit of gold cloth, whose whole wardrobe, were he 
 turned out from it clean as Adam, would be no good 
 pennyworth at fifteen shillings ? The case was plain : 
 Mr. Fortescue was a muck-worm ; yet, with all the 
 paralyzing passions of a miser, he had retained the 
 lively sense of benefits received. He was bound by a 
 feeling of gratitude, heart and soul, to Messrs. Cat 
 and Condor, who, in a most difficult law case, in a 
 cause which perilled the whole of his worldly proper- 
 ty, had, with their proverbial sagacity, effected his 
 triumph. 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy started when introduced to Mr. 
 Fortescue. The appearance of the stranger was 
 not prepossessing : harsh, dark features, completely 
 mapped by the small-pox — a large, black, cowering 
 eye, and a mouth wide and rigid, as though modelled 
 by a horse-shoe, rarely appeal with success to the 
 confidence of the superficial ; and Lieutenant Lacy, 
 though a worthy man, we do not set up for a sage. 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 65 
 
 A faded green coat, with honest copper "buttons, the 
 deceptive gilding having long since disappeared, a 
 blue plush waistcoat, brown breeches, boots with clay- 
 colored tops, a hat of the like hue, verdantly turned 
 up, and a cotton neckerchief, pattern white ground, 
 with a small dark-blue lozenge, composed all the 
 visible obligations of Mr. Fortescue to the sophistica- 
 tions of dress. The business was soon commenced : 
 and luckily Mr. Fortescue was a man of few words ; 
 we say luckily, for his voice was not one of those 
 living harmonies the ear loves to dwell upon, at least 
 it was not on the present occasion, but perhaps Mr. 
 Fortescue had a cold. 
 
 " Mr. Fortescue is prepared to give one hundred 
 and fifty pounds for the cottage." 
 
 " One hundred and fifty ! " cried Lieutenant Lacy. 
 "Three hundred, Mr. Cat — three hundred was the 
 sum." 
 
 " You asked? Yes, Lieutenant, I remember, and 
 in other times worth the money ; nay, I think now, 
 cheap at the amount ; but Mr. Fortescue has said a 
 hundred and fifty." 
 
 We must account for a peculiar emphasis on Mr. 
 Fortescue has said. Briefly, then, Mr. Cat always 
 eulogized his rich client for one stern virtue in deal- 
 ing ; he never rose or fell in his first offer. He was a 
 man to die a martyr to his first dixi. 
 
 " But surely, Mr. Cat, Mr. Fortescue is not aware 
 of the extent of the property, of the natural ad- 
 vantages — " 
 
 " Fully aware, my dear Lieutenant. I have shown 
 him the plan, taken by our Plymouth agent; he is 
 5 
 
66 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 fully possessed of everything, and he is ready to put 
 down for the purchase " — and here Mr. Cat met the 
 eye of Mr. Fortescue, who looked upon the ground, 
 and turned away his head with an air of indifference, 
 and said very gruffly, — 
 
 " One hundred and fifty." 
 
 " Never ! Nothing shall force me to the sacrifice," 
 exclaimed the Lieutenant. " Nothing ! A hundred 
 and fifty for — " 
 
 He seized his hat, and was about to rush from the 
 room, when the shrill whistling of Bob Sykes below, 
 like the voice of the snake-charmer, fixed him motion- 
 less. The sweat broke in beads upon his forehead, 
 his eyes glowed, and a hectic flush came to his cheek, 
 as he said in a tone almost tremulous with entreaty, 
 " Say two hundred." 
 
 Mr. Cat said nothing, but threw open the palms of 
 his hands and looked at Mr. Fortescue, who remained 
 dumb. 
 
 " Say two hundred," repeated the Lieutenant. 
 
 " Mr. Fortescue?" cried Cat, awaiting his answer. 
 "Mr. Fortescue?" 
 
 Mr. Fortescue again averted his face, and, as 
 it- appeared, with a slight convulsive elevation of 
 the shoulders, again replied, " One hundred and 
 fifty." 
 
 " It will not suffice, sir, it will not suffice," cried 
 Lacy ; and then, in a lower tone, deepening as he pro- 
 ceeded, " I have engagements to meet, debts of a 
 most pressing, delicate nature to discharge, children 
 who — Mr. Cat, you promised three hundred ! " 
 
 " Very true, Lieutenant, and I still think the house 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 67 
 
 a bargain at the money ; and, moreover, I have no 
 doubt, since Mr. Fortescue will make no advance, 
 but in a day or two another purchaser — " 
 
 "A day or two? You know, sir, I must quit 
 London to-night. To-morrow I must be on board 
 my ship, or I am a ruined, a dishonored man. 
 Mr.. Fortescue," cried Lacy, in a tone that seemed 
 to pierce the spinal marrow of the purchaser, for 
 again his shoulders leaped at the sound, but his head 
 was turned away, and he replied no syllable. There 
 was a dead pause in the sanctum of the " Old House ; " 
 the Lieutenant looked livid with repressed agitation ; - 
 Mr. Cat gently rubbed his hands, and looked over his 
 spectacles ; Condor raised his eyes from his book, and 
 again passed his tongue round his upper lip, and Mr. 
 Fortescue rocked to and fro, his head sunk on his 
 bosom. Then Lacy, gazing wildly about him, his 
 eye fell on the newspaper, and the line, " naval intel- 
 ligence," struck on his brain like fire. Falling in a 
 chair, he cried, or rather groaned, " Give me the 
 money." The deeds were signed, the hundred and 
 fifty pounds paid, and then Mr. Fortescue immediate- 
 ly departed. The original bill of Messrs. Cat and 
 Condor, for negotiating the purchase, was forty 
 pounds, to which must, be added the expense of the 
 arrest, which they so deeply regretted. These de- 
 mands were of course discharged by the Lieutenant, 
 who had then but little more than a hundred pounds 
 to provide for claims to twice that amount. Puzzled 
 how to make one guinea perform the duty of two (in 
 this tragic comedy of the world, a most frequent but 
 no less difficult double), Lacy prepared to return to 
 
68 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 his lodgings. " Tarry a little, Lieutenant ; the law 
 hath yet another hold on thee." It is enacted in too 
 scrupulous England, that a man shall not, even in the 
 way of relaxation, break the nose of a sheriff's officer 
 gratis. Now, Charles Bars had admirable grounds 
 of action ; the family surgeon could conscientiously 
 testify to the battered condition of the nose of his 
 patient by violent contact with the knuckles of the 
 sea Lieutenant. No time was lost to inform the as- 
 sailant of his delicate predicament ; still it was in- 
 sinuated that Christian charity was not extinct in the 
 family of the Bars ; a compromise of sufficient weight 
 might be received. Now, Lieutenant Lacy, recol- 
 lecting a wise axiom of warriors, that to get rid of a 
 troublesome enemy it is lawful to build for him a 
 bridge of gold, applied a principle of the field to 
 remove a civil difficulty, and thus relieved himself of 
 the broken nose of Charles Bars, by a sacrifice of ten 
 guineas ; in proper phrase, by building for him a 
 bridge of gold. 
 
 Ten guineas for the single nose of a sheriff's officer ! 
 If so small a portion of the sheriff's face divine be so 
 costly, what must be the value of the whole animal? 
 Little knew an excellent friend of ours, whose whole 
 heart was cream and honey, what magnificent sport 
 he was preparing for the world, when he gave it as 
 his firm conviction, that once a year every honest 
 man, duly equipped for shooting, should be per- 
 mitted unrestricted sport in and within the vicinity 
 of Chancery Lane ! Of what worth would be a single 
 head of game, when it is seen that the market price 
 of one nose is ten guineas ! But then, on this expen- 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 69 
 
 sive scale, what an opportunity would be offered to 
 the rich to display their wealth ! Thus, no banquet, 
 however luxuriously composed, would be deemed 
 complete, unless, instead of being invited to partake 
 of pheasant, teal, or woodcock, a carver could ob- 
 serve, " Permit me, sir, the happiness of helping you 
 to a little sheriff's officer." Of course at first the in- 
 vitation might create a start, a tremor among many 
 guests, but the luxury would soon be understood, and 
 as a luxury highly relished. Our gross ancestors 
 served up the boar, the swan, nay, the porpoise. Let 
 us prove our advancement in civilized and rational 
 life, by dishing sheriff's officers. However, to leave 
 the delicacies of the table for our narrative. 
 
 Lieutenant Lacy took a hurried farewell of his wife 
 and children, and threw himself into the mail for 
 Portsmouth. The sacrifice which he 'had been com- 
 pelled to make, rendering the discharge of all claims 
 upon him wholly impossible, he could not feel secure 
 of his liberty until far upon the road. Disappointed 
 in certain views for the provision of her family in 
 London, Mrs. Lacy and the children prepared to 
 return to their native place — a village two or three 
 miles from Plymouth — at which seaport, twenty years 
 before, an event occurred, which, gaining for the 
 Lieutenant general esteem and admiration, we think 
 had some influence on the affection of his future wife. 
 
 Lacy, at the time whereof we write, was about 
 
 nineteen, a midshipman on board H. M. S. -. The 
 
 ship's crew had received long arrears of pay, and all 
 on board was clamorous merriment and high*festivity. 
 The slopsellers in Plymouth thronged the vessel to 
 
70 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 ply their dreadful trade. The first thing a sailor buys 
 is a watch. Now, Mr. Lazarus, a patriarchal slop- 
 seller, had sold some twenty chronometers among the 
 ship's company ; but by some unaccountable error of 
 the maker or makers, one and all of the watches 
 stopped, as by general consent, on the second day. 
 The day after, Mr. Lazarus, attended by his son, a 
 boy of about ten years old, came on board — no doubt 
 as an assiduous and honest tradesman, to inquire into 
 the merits of his various timepieces. Mr. Lazarus 
 was between sixty and seventy — a man uniting to 
 the keenest views of business a singularly mild and 
 venerable outside. He would dilate on the excel- 
 lences of a Guernsey frock with the winning sim- 
 plicity of an antique shepherd. Touched by his 
 tongue, trinkets of copper glistened in the eyes of the 
 buyer virgin gold. There never was so meek, so 
 picturesque a slopseller. Behold him with imper- 
 turbable tranquillity surrounded by a crowd of sailors, 
 every man exhibiting a watch — some roaring, some 
 growling, some sneering, some blaspheming — and 
 not a few grasping the frail memorial of time, as 
 though meditating a cast at the seller's skull. In this 
 tempest of bad words and unequivocal glances, Mr. 
 Lazarus was motionless and patient as the figure- 
 head — a composure highly annoying to his cus- 
 tomers, who began to close about him — and push 
 him, now to the right and now to the left — now 
 backwards and now forwards, until — how the ac- 
 cident came about not one of the crew could ever 
 tell: the venerable Mr. Lazarus was — pushed into 
 the sea ! " Man overboard ! " is a cry that thrills 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. y x 
 
 through the heart of a ship's company ; but whether 
 in the present instance the general festivity had made 
 men deaf to the call, or whether the cry was not suf- 
 ficiently loud to be generally audible, we cannot ven- 
 ture to determine : but this we know, the tide, run- 
 ning strong, was carrying away the old Jew, cum- 
 brously and heavily clothed, and in a few seconds 
 Plymouth would have mourned its oldest slopseller, 
 had not a young midshipman leaped into the sea, 
 and, being an admirable swimmer, come up with the 
 sinking Israelite as his gray hairs were fast disappear- 
 ing in the deep. Young Lacy supported the drown- 
 ing wretch until a boat received them. The old man's 
 son, who had shrieked in helpless agony as he saw 
 him borne away, fell on his knees at the feet of the 
 young officer, embracing his legs in speechless grati- 
 tude. All Plymouth rang with praises of the human- 
 ity of the midshipman for his wonderful philanthropy 
 in saving even Mr. Lazarus. However, Lacy had 
 his reward ; for, as we have hinted, we doubt not 
 he owed to the circumstance the first affection of 
 his wife. 
 
 Arrived at Portsmouth, Lacy lost not a moment, 
 but hastened to go on board. What was his despair 
 to see the whole fleet under sail ! It had weighed 
 anchor an hour before ; the wind was fair and fresh- 
 ening—to come up with his ship was impossible — 
 he saw her — with a sailor's eye he marked her 
 canvas lessening as he looked. He seemed fixed, 
 motionless with misery. Another moment, and he 
 leaped into a waterman's boat. " Five pounds," he 
 cried to the two men, " if I reach my ship." 
 
72 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 " Which is she, sir? What's her name? " 
 « Th e » 
 
 "Impossible, sir — she is the fastest frigate in the 
 navy, and the breeze, you may see, is getting up — 
 impossible.'' 
 
 " Make the trial, my good fellow — if I lose my 
 ship, I am lost forever. My family — " Lacy could 
 speak no more. 
 
 "What do you say, Peter?" asked the waterman 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Say ? " replied the man, looking suspiciously at the 
 fleet, and arming himself with a mouthful of pigtail — 
 " it's impossible, you know ; but, poor gentleman, we 
 must do it." 
 
 The boat was pushed off, the sail hoisted, and the 
 men, with arms of iron, plied their oars. For some 
 time the Lieutenant sat gazing at his receding ship in 
 silence. Every moment she gained upon them. 
 
 " Lay to it, boys, lay to it," said Lacy, despairingly. 
 
 The appeal was needless. The men toited at the 
 top of their strength — their faces were scarlet, and 
 their stout oars bent and quivered like rods of steel — 
 the boat, a taught, trim craft, shot like an arrow 
 through the water — still she seemed to close upon 
 the frigate. 
 
 " Damn her," said one of the men, casting a back- 
 ward look at the vessel* and speaking in a tone of 
 mingled disappointment and admiration, " damn her, 
 she flies like a gull." 
 
 " The wind is getting up," said Lacy, hopelessly. 
 
 " No, sir ; if anything, going down," answered 
 Peter, though he looked as if he knew well enough it 
 was not so. 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 73 
 
 "They are setting studding-sails," said the Lieu- 
 tenant, as though he gave up all for lost. 
 
 " The more credit for us if we beat 'em," answered 
 the encouraging Peter. 
 
 Again Lacy was silent., though in the waywardness 
 of suspense he could have talked to the boat as to a 
 creature instinct with life and reason. Then, as he 
 cast his eyes upon the sea, he beheld not the green 
 fields, the vales, and groves, which a seaman struck by 
 the calenture sickens for ; but he saw mirrored in the 
 deep, still following him and still looking on him, the 
 face of his wife — the faces of his five children. 
 
 " My turn now," said Lacy, tearing himself from 
 the vision, and relieving one of the men at the 
 oar. 
 
 For another hour they pulled in almost unbroken 
 silence. At the last, the man cried to his resting com- 
 panion, " It's no use, Peter." Lacy felt that every 
 stroke of the forward oar became less and less power- 
 ful — that his ship became less and less distinct — the 
 whole fleet looked no more than a flight of wild 
 swans. " It's no use, Peter," repeated the man ; and 
 he ran in his oar. 
 
 " We are gaining 6n them, we are gaining fast," 
 said Lacy ; " for God's sake, men, do not fail me." 
 
 " It's no use, sir," replied the man ; and the sweat 
 ran down his very fingers. 
 
 " My good fellow ! " cried Lacy, imploringly to 
 Peter. 
 
 Peter gave another look at the fleet, and then 
 echoed his partner — " It's no use, sir." 
 
 Lacy sprang to his feet, stretched out his arms. 
 
74 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 and, with a look of agonized madness, glared over, 
 the boat. 
 
 The men, startled, rose with him. 
 
 At that instant, as with a charm, the wind fell. 
 
 " Where's the wind ? " said Peter, as the sail fell to 
 the mast. 
 
 "A dead calm," cried his wondering companion. 
 
 " Come you aft," said Peter, and again he seized 
 the oar — " now, sir," cried he, " the blessing of 
 God, and a long stroke, and we board her." 
 
 Again Lacy and Peter bent to it — the oars rang in 
 the rowlocks, and the water boiled as the craft shot 
 through it. It was a long, a hard pull ; but Lacy stood 
 on the deck of his own ship. 
 
 His brother officers crowded about him with con- 
 gratulations, and even the captain, strict disciplinarian 
 as he was, hardly repressed a smile as he said, 
 " Better late than never, Mr. Lacy." 
 
 In the solitude of his cabin, reviewing the hurried 
 events of the past few days, Lacy remembered and 
 drew from his pocket an unopened letter. It had 
 been delivered to him as he was about to get upon 
 the mail. Fearing it contained no pleasing com- 
 munication, he cared not to break the seal. He now 
 opened the letter, and found it enclosed two hundred 
 pounds in bank notes. Bewildered by the treasure, 
 and still more rapt as he proceeded, he read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Sir : It was some comfort to me, in the bitter- 
 ness of this morning, to find you did not know me. 
 Twenty times I could have fallen at your feet, and 
 
 
AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 75 
 
 begged you to trample upon me. O, sir, I saw it all 
 again — I saw the old man strangling in the sea — I 
 saw your blessed hand pluck him back to life. If 
 ever my eyes beheld my old father, they saw him in 
 that office — there where I was brought to cheat, to 
 rob you. Never before did I feel what it was to be a 
 scoundrel. At the first glance I knew you, and I felt 
 as if I had swallowed burning coals. The money I 
 send you will make up the fair value of the house. 
 For your compassion of an old man in the hour of 
 peril, may the God of Israel forever bless you. 
 
 " David Lazarus, alias Fortescue. 
 " P. S. Any attempt to discover where I am will 
 be useless. I shall free myself from the bondage in 
 which you saw me, and leave England for some 
 place where I shall be unknown. God bless you, 
 dear sir." 
 
 It was even so — Mr. Fortescue was no other than 
 the tool of Messrs. Cat and Condor, the poor nominal 
 purchaser of all their bargains. " But," says the 
 reader, " you spoke of a lawsuit, in which all the 
 property of Fortescue had been preserved by the 
 partners of the 'Old House.'" Very true, for his 
 only property was his neck. He had" been brought 
 through a very ugly business by Cat and Condor, 
 who afterwards secured him for their own mercantile 
 purposes. He had, however, by some means saved 
 three hundred pounds, with which he contemplated 
 speculations on his own account, when his meeting 
 with the preserver of his father's life, a victim to a 
 conspiracy in which he himself played a most odious 
 
7^ THE OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 
 
 character, struck upon his heart, and made it flow 
 with gratitude. The miserable wretch, scurfed as he 
 was with his daily villanies, at one touch of nature 
 shook off his moral leprosy, and stood a healthful 
 man. With his one hundred pounds he went abroad, 
 and lived and died a flourishing and wealthy citizen. 
 For once Mr. Charles Bars might claim the reputation 
 of a prophet ; for in a few months the fleet returned to 
 Portsmouth, and in two days afterwards a communi- 
 cation from the Admiralty greeted Lacy Commander. 
 But what of Messrs. Cat and Condor? w r hat of the 
 partners of the " Old House " ? On an eventful feast, 
 in the fourth plate of turtle, Condor went off in an 
 apoplexy. His fortune, inherited by a profligate 
 nephew, passed in two years into the hands of black- 
 legs. For Cat, he became a bigoted believer in su- 
 pernatural signs and tokens. He sank to mere im- 
 becility, and may .now be seen in a certain asylum, 
 pacing the court-yard, vacantly smiling, rubbing his 
 hands, and crying every minute, — 
 " To-morrow, sir ! to-morrow ! " 
 
 1835- 
 
THE LAST PARACHUTE. 77 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LAST PARA- 
 CHUTE. 
 
 CONSIDERABLE excitement was on the — th 
 ult. manifested throughout the populous dis- 
 trict of Walworth. It had been industriously, though 
 confidentially, whispered that Mr. Minnow, a fish- 
 monger and vestryman, distinguished no less for his 
 public spirit than his private virtues, was about to 
 share in the perilous ascent of Mrs. Graham. A 
 new parachute, invented by Mr. Minnow, whose 
 scientific attainments had long been the theme of ad- 
 miration among a select circle of friends, was to be 
 tried on the occasion. And, with that liberality 
 which had ever characterized the conduct of the 
 above-named gentleman, a bushel of live oysters, sup- 
 plied from his own warehouse, was to accompany the 
 aerial voyagers at least five miles above the earth, 
 and then to descend in a parachute, in order that the 
 timid and sceptical might be assured and convinced 
 of the perfect safety of the conveyance. In his zeal 
 for science, Mr. Minnow now resolved that his own 
 infant — the youngest of an interesting family of ten 
 — should be the favored tenant of the parachute ; 
 but, as it had been only three days short-coated, Mrs. 
 Minnow, in her natural anxiety for the health of her 
 offspring, suggested that the dear baby might possibly 
 take cold ; and when it was considered that oysters 
 would do quite as well, the maternal hesitation on 
 the part of Mrs. Minnow must find some allowance 
 
78 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 
 
 in the bosoms of the most curious and the most scien- 
 tific. 
 
 We should waste time, ink, and paper were we to 
 attempt to demonstrate the vast utility of the para- 
 chute. Its extraordinary influence on the comforts 
 of society is, happily, not now to be disputed. To 
 be able to shoot from a balloon to the earth, when 
 the balloon itself would afford that transit, is to enjoy 
 the most gratifying sense of independence. Who 
 would descend the stairs of a house when a safe and 
 rapid flight into the street might be taken from the 
 garret window? However, to the eventful proceed- 
 ings of the day. 
 
 At an early hour the ground was thronged. The 
 balloon was inflated, and, by its tugging motion, 
 seemed, like a young eagle, to desire to wing its 
 proud and lofty way into that bright and circumam- 
 bient air wherein it was soon to soar in gentle grace 
 and glittering beauty. At three o'clock Mrs. Gra- 
 ham appeared upon the ground, and was received 
 with marked enthusiasm. She looked at the balloon, 
 bowed, and smiled confidently. She was dressed in 
 a brown gown, white straw bonnet, and blue ribbons. 
 We had almost forgotten to state that she also wore 
 a chinchilla tippet. By those who stood near her 
 she was understood to inquire for her fellow-passen- 
 ger, Mr. Minnow. 
 
 At this moment, as we are credibly informed by an 
 ear-witness of unimpeachable character, Mr. Min- 
 now came upon the ground. He was at first re- 
 ceived with silence ; but, on several persons exclaim- 
 ing, " That's he — that's Minnow ! " an indescribable 
 
THE LAST PARACHUTE. 79 
 
 shout seemed to rend apart the very heavens. Mr. 
 Minnow put his hand upon his heart, and bowed. 
 He was a remarkably respectable-looking man, hav- 
 ing on a handsome blue coat with bright buttons, 
 drab breeches and gaiters, a white hat turned up with 
 green, a gold watch (he took it out to inquire the 
 hour), and large appendages. He carried in his 
 hand what — and w r e think, too, we state the gen- 
 eral impression — we took it to be a gig umbrella. 
 Reader, it was the new parachute ! Who that 
 looked upon the machine could have suspected it? 
 Who, when the mystery was unfolded, can describe the 
 deKght of the intoxicated multitude? At length all 
 was prepared, and — 
 
 And here, readers and fellow-countrymen, we are 
 compelled to pause to call upon you to applaud the 
 vigilant benevolence of the district magistracy, who 
 had caused Inspector Lynx, of the " I " division, to 
 prohibit the ascent of the oysters — we are bound to 
 say there was a full bushel — unless it could be sat- 
 isfactorily proved to him, upon scientific principles, 
 that no accident could accrue to them from the ex- 
 periment. 
 
 We were delighted at this interference for two rea- 
 sons. The first is, it proved the humanity and activi- 
 ty of the magistrates ; and the second afforded us the 
 pleasure of hearing Mr. Minnow shortly, but lucidly, 
 lecture on the principles of his new parachute, and 
 convince Inspector Lynx that it was impossible the 
 descent from any height could be so violent as to 
 break in pieces both shells of the oyster ; that, if the 
 bottom shell were broken, the top would be unin- 
 
80 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 
 
 jured, and vice versa. On this, in the most hand- 
 some manner, — on this Inspector Lynx suffered the 
 bushel of adventurous aeronauts to be placed in the 
 parachute ; and we deal in no hyperbolical figure 
 when we state that expectation was upon tiptoe. 
 
 Mr. Minnow handed Mrs. Graham into the basket- 
 car, and, with no visible emotion, followed. A third 
 passenger, a studious-looking man, — as it was whis- 
 pered, the editor of a journal of considerable weight, 
 — took his seat upon the " cross-bench. " The word 
 was given — the ropes were cut — the balloon rose 
 very, very slowly. Mrs. Graham flung out several 
 bags of sand, and Mr. Minnow lightened his pockets 
 of several packs of cards, eagerly sought for by the 
 crowd as mementos of the soul-stirring occurrence. 
 We were happy in securing one of these precious 
 tokens, the subjoined facsimile of which we are 
 proud to lay before our readers : — 
 
 PETER MINNOW, 
 
 ^jirimp raft Ilj£ii-/t3jr 3Hraj}irat ; 
 
 NEW CUT, LAMBETH. 
 
 The only Warehouse for the real Parachute Oysters. 
 
 Sent in Barrels to all parts of the United Kingdom. 
 
 N. B. rEBIWmKLES IN EVEKY VABIETY. 
 
 Although many bags of sand and several packs of the 
 above cards were flung from the car, the* balloon rose 
 lazily, and some of the lower order of spectators had 
 
THE LAST PARACHUTE. 8 1 
 
 their mouths ready formed to hiss, when Mrs. Gra- 
 ham darted a glance of suspicion at the editor. With 
 some confusion in his manner he put his hand to his 
 coat pocket, and hurriedly flung an unsuspected copy 
 of his own journal from him ; and, extraordinary as 
 it may appear, the balloon, with the parachute at- 
 tached to it, shot like a rocket into the air, Minnow 
 just before exclaiming to his wife, " Mind, Betsy, 
 the left box ! " 
 
 The crowd huzzaed, Mrs. Graham, Minnow, and 
 the second gentleman each waving a flag of a differ- 
 ent hue. 
 
 We are happy to say that here our task concludes, 
 for we have now to report the words of that daring 
 aeronaut, Peter Minnow, himself: — 
 
 " We rose with a gentle and steady breeze. For 
 at least five minutes — so clearly could we discern 
 objects — I could distinguish the mustache of Pot- 
 lid, the master tinman of Lambeth Marsh ; nor was 
 it until two minutes more had elapsed that we had 
 wholly lost sight of his tip. 
 
 " We crossed the Thames between Waterloo and 
 Blackfriars. By the reflection of the sun upon a 
 black cloud, and by the aid of an excellent glass, we 
 plainly discerned the copper edge of a bad sixpence 
 presented to, and taken by, the unsuspecting toll- 
 man. 
 
 " The coal barges looked no larger than old shoes, 
 
 and the fan-tail hats of the coal-heavers like patches 
 
 on the cheeks of a lady. The pearl buttons on the 
 
 velveteen jacket of a ticket-porter, as Mrs. Graham 
 
 6 
 
82 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 
 
 assured me, presented quite an era in the history of 
 aerostation. 
 
 " We looked from time to time with intense inter- 
 est on the passengers in the parachute, all of whom 
 appeared perfectly tranquil. We felt assured, from 
 their unaltered demeanor, that no timidity on their 
 part would prevent a fair trial of the powers of the 
 new machine. 
 
 " The weather was beautiful. As we steered east- 
 ward St. Paul's became a conspicuous and animating 
 object. We hovered above it like an eagle flapping 
 his fan-like wings in the molten sun.* Here we de- 
 scended so low, and there was about us such a death- 
 like calm, that we heard, or thought we heard, the 
 half-pence chink at the door of the cathedral. Mrs. 
 Graham playfully remarked to me that the statue 
 of Queen Anne, observed from our point of view, 
 looked very like a Bavarian broom-girl. 
 
 " As we were wafted gently onwards Bow Church 
 arose in all its simple dignity. By a strange coinci- 
 dence Bow bells were ringing. We were borne 
 tranquilly onwards until we found ourselves above 
 the Stock Exchange. Here many persons looked 
 very small indeed, and here we experienced a dead 
 calm. In order that we might rise into another cur- 
 rent we cast more sand out, and feared, from the 
 confusion we saw below, that we had unconsciously 
 flung a great deal of dust into the eyes of several con- 
 tractors. 
 
 * We trust we do no wrong to Mr. Minnow, but we shrewdly suspect that 
 his companion, the editor, has helped him to a figure or two. 
 
THE LAST PARACHUTE. 83 
 
 "We rose and found another current, and, to our 
 inexpressible satisfaction, were carried due west. 
 Even at such an altitude we were able to make out 
 objects. I saw what I am sure was the line of stakes 
 belonging to the Golden Cross, but Mrs. Graham in- 
 sisted that it was the National Gallery. 
 
 " I observed to the gentleman that accompanied us 
 that the rarefied air produced in me symptoms of 
 sudden hunger. At this he significantly asked if it 
 were necessary that the whole bushel of oysters 
 should descend unopened. To this I replied, with 
 firmness, that I could not break faith with the pub- 
 lic — the parachute must go the whole bushel. 
 
 " We were now driven on with great speed, and 
 were about the desired five miles above the surface 
 of the globe, when Mrs. Graham remarked that we 
 had sailed a great distance, and that, consequently, 
 we should have an equal distance to return. 
 
 " I had promised the spirited proprietor of the 
 Victoria Theatre to present myself upon his stage at 
 half past eleven at night. (I may be here permitted 
 to express my regret that, as an old neighbor of that 
 gentleman, I was compelled to refuse the terms of 
 the proprietor of the Surrey Theatre. I could not, 
 with justice to my family, take two pounds, and in- 
 clude the bushel of oysters. My tub is still at his 
 service for the dress-boxes.) Half past eleven at the 
 latest ; the hour was . stated in the bills, and I ex- 
 pected a great crowd in my rooms when the play 
 was over. On this I preferred to let the parachute 
 descend. 
 
 •' It was an anxious moment. I cut the cord, the 
 
84 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 
 
 aeronauts — the whole bushel — shot quicker than 
 lightning down the blue abyss. We rose, but, owning 
 to the skilful direction of Mrs. Graham, suffered no 
 inconvenience. The balloon was almost immediate- 
 ly at our command, and we prepared to descend, that 
 we might join as soon as possible our brother aero- 
 nauts. 
 
 " We alighted in a paddock, the property of Mr. 
 Fuss, late of Houndsditch, at the picturesque village of 
 Pinner. To himself, his- amiable lady, their lovely 
 family, and various domestics, we owe the greatest 
 thanks for assistance in our descent. 
 
 " Mr. Cuts, schoolmaster of Pinner, in the most 
 handsome way despatched his fifty boys in various 
 directions in search of the parachute, liberally offer- 
 ing sixpence from his own pocket to the fortunate 
 finder. 
 
 " We were then ushered by Mr. and Mrs. Fuss into 
 their front parlor, where we partook of a cold colla- 
 tion — shoulder of mutton, pickled walnuts, ale, &c. 
 
 " We made a hearty meal, but were naturally anx- 
 ious for the fate of the parachute. At length our 
 fears were dissipated by the appearance of a male 
 and female gypsy, followed by some of the boys of 
 Mr. Cuts, who brought to us the uninjured parachute 
 and all the — shells ! 
 
 " The gypsies were rigidly cross-examined, but 
 were firm in their statement that the oysters came to 
 the earth ready opened. When the peculiar lawless- 
 ness of this class of people is taken into considera- 
 tion, their statement will weigh nothing with the 
 scientific ; for it is plain that the same force that 
 
THE LAST PARACHUTE. 85 
 
 opened an oyster must have had some effect upon the 
 frail fabric of the parachute, which will, for the next 
 six weeks, be exhibited in my rooms for the satisfac- 
 tion of the curious, whether they take their oysters 
 raw or scalloped. 
 
 " He indeed must be the most sceptical or the most 
 envious of men, or both, who can ever venture to 
 question the safety and utility of my parachute. 
 
 " After enjoying the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Fuss, the balloon and parachute were packed up, and 
 we arrived at the stage door of the Victoria Theatre 
 at five-and-twenty minutes past eleven, where we 
 were cordially welcomed by the lessee ! " 
 
 Thus far goes the simple statement of Mr. Min- 
 now. It is now our duty to declare that no sooner 
 was his arrival made known, than a loud shout was 
 set up for him, when he instantly appeared upon the 
 stage, led on by the manager. A supernumerary in 
 the background carried the parachute. 
 
 Mrs. Graham was next called for, when that lady 
 appeared, and courtesied an acknowledgment of the 
 honor. 
 
 A vehement cry was next raised for the proprietor. 
 He came on after some hesitation, and was welcomed 
 with a loud burst of applause. He was so affected 
 by the novelty of his situation that he was led off, 
 leaning on the arms of his friend, the stage-manager. 
 
 Mrs. Minnow and numerous family were next re- 
 cognized in the left hand stage-box. They were loud- 
 ly applauded, and severally returned their mute yet 
 eloquent thanks. 
 
 The friends of science will, we feel assured, be 
 
86 my husband's winnings. 
 
 delighted to learn that it is next season the intention 
 of Mr. Minnow to ascend every evening with his 
 parachute, beginning on Easter Monday, until fur- 
 ther notice. I ^37* 
 
 MY HUSBAND'S "WINNINGS." 
 
 A HOUSEHOLD INCIDENT. 
 
 "Most men in something cheat their wives." — The Honeymoon. 
 
 " r 1 ^HERE, Alary, my love, take my winnings," 
 JL said Air. Joseph Langshawe ; at the same 
 time laying a sovereign and a sixpence upon the 
 breakfast table. 
 
 " Won again, Joseph ! " cried Airs. Langshawe, 
 with one of her prettiest looks of astonishment; 
 " won again ! " 
 
 " Take my winnings," repeated Mr. Langshawe, 
 and, suppressing a sigh, he languidly stirred his 
 coffee. 
 
 The reader may be assured that, for a winning 
 man, Mr. Joseph Langshawe had one of the longest 
 faces out of Chancery ; yet, at the time at which our 
 story commences, he appeared to his wife the chosen 
 of good fortune ; there never was such a lucky man ! 
 It seemed enough for him to touch the cards to turn 
 them to trumps. Joseph Langshawe had won again ! 
 
 Certainly the continued prosperity of Langshawe 
 was to his wife marvellous : he never sat down to 
 
MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 87 
 
 cards that he did not rise money in pocket. Had 
 Joseph made a terrible compact with that crafty gen- 
 eral dealer who continually roams about the earth, 
 seeking cheap pennyworths? Had he trucked his 
 immortal jewel for pasteboard diamonds as he chose 
 to evoke them in this world? Had he surrendered 
 himself to the great demon for a magical influence 
 over tens, and fives, and sequences ? In a word, 
 was Joseph Langshawe become the fated Faust of 
 five-card cribbage? Mysterious fears of future evil 
 mingled in the marvellings of Mrs. Langshawe! 
 
 " When I think of Joseph's continued good fortune," 
 observed Mrs. Langshawe to a female friend, " I own 
 to you it sometimes makes me tremble." 
 
 " Why, my dear ? " asked Mrs. Bridgeman. " Why? 
 I thought you told me, that, like a good creature as 
 he is, he always gave you his winnings." 
 
 " And so he does," replied Mrs. Langshawe ; " in- 
 variably." 
 
 u What a good soul ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman. 
 " Dear fellow ! it proves him so free from any selfish 
 motives — shows that he merely plays for innocent 
 excitement. And does Langshawe never lose ? " 
 
 " Never," replied Mrs. Langshawe ; " and it is that 
 which makes me so very unhappy." 
 
 " Makes you unhappy ! Well, you are the strangest 
 creature," cried Mrs. Bridgeman. 
 
 " That is," rejoined Mrs. Langshawe, " when I 
 fear that his continued good luck may some day 
 tempt him to play for a ruinous sum ; for it is im- 
 possible, my dear, that such fortune as Joseph's can 
 last. I should be so happy if he'd never touch a 
 card again ! " 
 
88 my husband's winnings. 
 
 " Why, you bought that beautiful chain, and your 
 diamond drops, and all out of your husband's win- 
 nings," exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman. 
 
 " Very true," allowed Mrs. Langshawe ; and then 
 she repeated, with a deep sigh, " but such fortune as 
 Joseph's can't last." 
 
 Certain we are that the reader, after some further 
 acquaintance with Langshawe, would not wish 
 Joseph's fortune to continue. A brief extract from 
 the conversation of the night previous to the presenta- 
 tion of the sovereign and sixpence may explain the 
 mystery of Langshawe's winnings. 
 
 " Well, Langshawe," cried a friend from an op- 
 posite table, as Joseph rose to go home, " how have 
 you fared to-night? " 
 
 " As usual," said Joseph, and he tried to whistle ; 
 " as usual — there's no standing Bridgeman's luck." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Fourpoints, "lost again? 
 Why, you always lose." 
 
 " I should say always," replied Joseph ; " never 
 mind — it's all right; yes, I've just enough;" and 
 Langshawe held in his hand a sovereign, and a half 
 crown, and a sixpence. 
 
 " Brought down to that, eh? " asked Flush, looking 
 at the three pieces of coin. 
 
 u All that's left," answered Langshawe, " out of 
 five and twenty pounds. Never mind, there's just 
 enough : half a crown will pay for my coach home, 
 and then — yes, that will make a very good show ; " 
 and Joseph surveyed at a distance the little piece of 
 gold and lesser piece of silver in his palm ; " a very 
 good show for my winnings." 
 
MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 89 
 
 " Winnings ! " exclaimed a new member of the 
 club — " winnings ! I thought, sir, you had nothing 
 but losses ? " 
 
 " That's very true, sir," replied Langshawe ; " not- 
 withstanding, I always make it a point in my domes- 
 tic economy, whatever my losses may be, to take 
 home my profits to my wife. You perceive," — and 
 Joseph exhibited the coin, — " when the coach is paid 
 for, although Fve lost to Bridgeman nearly four and 
 twenty pounds, here's just a sovereign and a sixpence 
 for my winnings." 
 
 " A sixpence ! Why be so particular with the six- 
 pence?" inquired the new member. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Langshawe looked one of his gravest 
 looks in the face of the new member, and, after a com- 
 passionate shake of the head, observed, " I should say, 
 sir, you were a bachelor ; I should say, — pardon me if 
 I'm wrong, — that as yet you know nothing of conjugal 
 confidence, otherwise you would perceive that the 
 sixpence was a — a clincher." 
 
 " A clincher ! " repeated the simple new member. 
 
 " The sovereign by itself," observed Joseph, u might 
 appear suspicious ; but don't you perceive there's a 
 reality in odd money. Mrs. Langshawe will see 
 truth, sir, truth in the tester." 
 
 And the next morning, as we have already shown, 
 Joseph handed over to the partner of his worldly 
 goods a sovereign and a sixpence — his winnings ! 
 
 u And who played last night?" asked Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe — we must again ask the reader's attendance at 
 the breakfast table — u who played ? Bridgeman ? " 
 
 " Bridgeman," answered Joseph, shortly. 
 
90 MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 
 
 " My dear Joseph, " said Mrs. Langshawe, very 
 gravely, " I wish you'd exert the influence of a friend 
 over Bridgeman ; he confesses nothing to his wife, 
 poor, dear woman ! — but I'm sure his losses must be 
 very heavy. Everybody hasn't your good fortune, 
 Joseph." Langshawe buried that expressive feature, 
 his mouth, and half his nose, in his tea-cup. u It 
 would make me truly unhappy, Joseph, if I thought 
 you won any of his money," said Mrs. Langshawe. 
 
 " Make yourself perfectly easy on that point, my 
 dear," said Langshawe, internally wincing at the 
 absurd suspicion ; " my hands are»clean of Bridgeman, 
 though I played with him." 
 
 " I'm delighted to hear it," cried Mrs. Langshawe. 
 " And now, Joseph, if you'll promise me to leave off 
 play altogether — " 
 
 " I have serious thoughts of it," said Joseph. 
 
 " You'll make me completely happy. For, depend 
 upon it, as I have said again and again, your present 
 fortune can't last." 
 
 " I've thought so too," said Langshawe ; who might 
 have added, " and that's why I have gone on." 
 
 " And if you give up cards, perhaps the example 
 may have a good effect upon Bridgeman ; for the 
 Bridgemans are not like us, Joseph ; they want, I 
 fear, that mutual confidence in one another, without 
 which marriage must be — " 
 
 " To be sure, my dear," said Langshawe, acutely 
 anticipating his wife's period — " to be sure. No — I 
 shall give up play." 
 
 "I hope you will — I sincerely hope," said Mrs. 
 Langshawe, as she took up the sovereign and the six- 
 pence, " that this will be the last of your winnings." 
 
MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 91 
 
 Noon had scarcely passed ere a passionate knock- 
 ing at the door of the Langshawes announced a visitor. 
 " Bless me ! yes, it is — it is, dear Mrs. Bridgeman," 
 said Mrs. Langshawe, with mingled surprise and 
 pleasure, as she heard the silvery voice of her friend 
 on the staircase. " Dear Mrs. Bridgeman ! " 
 
 As the visitor was introduced, Mrs. Langshawe 
 jumped from her chair to run and kiss her best ac- 
 quaintance, when Mrs. Bridgeman smiled somewhat 
 severely, half dropped a courtesy, put her hand to her 
 brow, and sank into a seat. 
 
 u What's the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe. 
 
 Mrs. Bridgeman entered into no details of her 
 complaint, but simply observed, " I shall be better 
 presently/' 
 
 "Anything happened at home?" inquired Mrs. 
 Langshawe. "How's Bridgeman?" 
 
 Hath the reader beheld the countenance of an 
 invalid when prescribed a certain drug, of all drugs 
 his worst abhorrence? Hath the reader himself felt 
 the cold shiver running through his vitals, twisting 
 the very tips of his toes — the indescribable nausea 
 that hath puckered up his countenance divine, and 
 given his head a shake of most expressive loathing? 
 Any one, so experienced, would have thought from 
 Mrs. Bridgeman's manner that Mrs. Langshawe had 
 spoken, it might be, of rhubarb, and not of Bridge- 
 man — of assafoetida, perhaps, and not of a husband. 
 
 "I hope he's well?" said Mrs. Langshawe, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " I believe Mr. Bridgeman is very well," said his 
 
92 MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 
 
 wife ; " but you know he never tells me anything. 
 Yes, last night I did gather from him that he had 
 played at cards only with Mr. Langshawe." 
 
 u So Joseph told me," observed the innocent Mrs. 
 Langshawe. 
 
 " Ha ! you are blessed with a fortunate husband," 
 said Mrs. Bridgeman, dryly. " Some people, it is 
 plain, are born with lucky fingers." 
 
 " I'm afraid it is so: however, Joseph has almost 
 promised me never, never to play again." 
 
 " 'Twill be a happy circumstance for some of his 
 friends," remarked Mrs. Bridgeman, significantly. 
 
 " If, however, he will play and win, I am resolved 
 — for it lies heavily upon my conscience to spend the 
 money upon myself — I am determined to devote the 
 money to some benevolent purpose : and, since the 
 thought has taken me, I am so delighted that you are 
 come to advise me ! What do you think, my dear 
 Mrs. Bridgeman," and Mrs. Langshawe drew herself 
 nearer to her friend, — " what do you think of the 
 Society for the Conversion of the Jews ? " 
 
 u Do you intend to subscribe Mr. Langshawe's win- 
 nings of last night to that estimable body ? " asked 
 Mrs. Bridgeman, biting her lips. 
 
 " How kind the suggestion ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Langshawe. u What a good creature you are! I 
 did not think to do so, but now I certainly shall." 
 
 " For five-and-twenty pounds," said Mrs. Bridge- 
 man, with a terrible smile, " no doubt you may be a 
 life governess." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty pounds ! " cried Mrs. Lang 
 shawe, laughingly. 
 
MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 93 
 
 " The losses of Mr. Bridgeman last night," re- 
 marked his wife ; "he played with Mr. Langshawe, 
 and, I presume, as usual, the fortunate man gave you 
 his winnings." This was -said in a cold, cutting tone, 
 sharp enough to sever every silver tie of female 
 friendship. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Bridgeman, there must be some 
 mistake. Joseph gave me his winnings, certainly, but 
 they were only a sovereign — " 
 
 "A sovereign*! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " And a — sixpence," added Mrs. Langshawe, with 
 her usual meekness. 
 
 " And a sixpence ! A sovereign and a sixpence ! 
 My dear," said Mrs. Bridgeman, with awakened 
 sympathy, " you are a deceived, an injured woman." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " asked Mrs. Langshawe, 
 unconscious of the calamity. 
 
 " Mr. Langshawe won five-and-twenty pounds — 
 I have secret but certain means of knowing — of 
 poor, innocent Bridgeman : five-and-twenty pounds, 
 madam ; and the crafty man makes his winnings a 
 sovereign and a — a — well, the effrontery of some 
 people ! And had you no suspicion of your hus- 
 band's falsehood ? Why, that very sixpence — the 
 affected scrupulousness of the thing — would have 
 made me doubt him. My love, I have seen more of 
 the marriage state than you, and I know that men are 
 never so very particular, except when they mean to 
 deceive us." 
 
 " I'm sure I can't see why Joseph should misrep- 
 
94 MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 
 
 resent his winnings. I don't see the motive," said 
 the artless Mrs. Langshawe. 
 
 " Perhaps not, my love ; perhaps not. How should 
 you know what he does with all his money? It's 
 plain he has some object in deceiving you/' w r as the 
 charitable opinion, expressed with more than suf- 
 ficient force, of Mrs. Bridgeman. 
 
 " It would really seem so," said Mrs. Langshawe, 
 almost trembling at her doubts. 
 
 " Be sure of it," said Mrs. Bridgeman ; " you haven't 
 a twentieth part of his winnings, and where they 
 go-" 
 
 " Many pardons," cried Langshawe, who had sud- 
 denly opened the door ; u trust I bgreak upon no 
 secrets. How's Bridgeman? " 
 
 Mrs. Bridgeman looked at one hand, then at the 
 other, and, with an effort, said, "I hope — that is, 
 very well." 
 
 " Where are you going, love? " asked Langshawe, 
 as his wife moved towards the door. 
 
 " Entertain Mrs. Bridgeman for a minute ; I'll 
 return directly," said Mrs. Langshawe ; for she felt 
 her eyes filling with tears as she looked upon Joseph, 
 and thought of his duplicity, the sovereign, and the 
 sixpence. 
 
 u Bridgeman very well, eh?" said Langshawe, in 
 his easy, pleasant style. 
 
 " All things considered, remarkably well," an- 
 swered Mrs. Bridgeman. 
 
 " Nothing happened ? " inquired Langshawe, struck 
 by the serious manner of the lady. " Eh? bless me ! 
 all right at home I hope ? — no domestic loss — no — " 
 
MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 95 
 
 " Some people, Mr. Langshawe, would call it one. 
 
 •Mr. Bridgeman's income, though sufficient for all 
 
 reasonable enjoyments, is hardly adequate to the calls 
 
 made by cards upon it, together with the constant 
 
 good fortune of his bosom friends." 
 
 " Bridgeman plays now and then, to be sure," said 
 Langshawe, in mollifying voice, u but then, he al- 
 ways wins." 
 
 " Wins ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman ; " you know 
 better than anybody, you know — that last night he 
 lost five-and-twenty pounds. " 
 
 " Is it possible? " cried Langshawe. 
 
 " Possible ! " echoed the lady. " Losing would 
 seem a matter of certainty when he plays with some 
 people. It is as certain for Mr. Bridgeman to lose as 
 for Mr. Langshawe to win." 
 
 Langshawe, hurt by the words, yet more by the 
 piercing looks of Mrs. Bridgeman, resolved to clear 
 himself of the odium of constant success. With this 
 determination, first glancing towards the door, he 
 took the lady's hand. " My dear Mrs. Bridgeman, 
 I'm sure you can keep a secret." 
 
 The compliment at once disarmed Mrs. Bridge- 
 man : she, too, looked towards the door, and then 
 said, " I can, Mr. Langshawe." 
 
 " Then, between ourselves, my dear madam," said 
 Langshawe, in a low, soft voice, u I never win." 
 
 " Never win, Mr. Langshawe ! — " 
 
 " Never. The truth is, Mary — bless her! — is 
 such a rigid economist in everything that concerns 
 herself, is so averse to laying out a shilling upon 
 the smallest trinket, that I am compelled to use a 
 
96 my husband's winnings. 
 
 little harmless deceit, to induce her to commit the 
 least expense." 
 
 " Then your winnings last night, Mr. Langshawe ? " 
 
 " Quite apocryphal, I assure you — all, what I may 
 call," said Langshawe, " a conjugal fiction." 
 
 "Mr. Langshawe," said Mrs. Bridgeman, with a 
 subdued fierceness that made Joseph stare, — " a man 
 may from habit consider himself justified in attempt- 
 ing the most unblushing fraud upon his own wife — 
 habit goes far in all matters — but, sir, that you should 
 hold my common sense in so contemptuous a light — " 
 
 " My dear madam, I protest ! " exclaimed Lang- 
 shawe, coloring to the eyelids ; " I protest that I have 
 the profoundest sense of — " 
 
 " Adds, sir — adds to the meanness of your first du- 
 plicity. You know that Mr. Bridgeman, your dear 
 friend, as you are pleased to call him, last night lost 
 five-and-twenty pounds." 
 
 u I vow I know nothing of the matter," cried 
 Joseph. 
 
 u And more, and worse than all, that Mr. Lang- 
 shawe was the winner." 
 
 " Now, my dear Mrs. Bridgeman," said Joseph, 
 almost amused at the extravagance of the charge, he 
 himself having been the sufferer, " it is very true 
 that I spoke of winnings to Mary — I — " 
 
 " I know, sir — I know ; one piece of gold and a 
 sixpence, Mr. Langshawe," cried Mrs. Bridgeman, 
 for a lady very sternly — "I am astounded at your 
 double falsehood — I blush for your meanness — I — " 
 
 Langshawe could say nothing. For the first time 
 he regretted that he had ever appeared to his wile a 
 winning man. 
 
MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 97 
 
 " Mr. Langshawe ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman, 
 with new energy, " may I solicit of you one — a last 
 — favor?" ' 
 
 " Twenty, my dear Mrs. Bridgeman," answered 
 the obliging Joseph. 
 
 " One — one will suffice, Mr. Langshawe. Promise 
 me never to play with my unfortunate husband again. 
 Heaven knows what his losses may have been ! His 
 poor wife knows nothing. But where there are great 
 winnings, there must consequently be — you under- 
 stand me, dear Mr. Langshawe ? " — and Mrs. Bridge- 
 man tried to forget her passion, and to smile Lang- 
 shawe into acquiescence. " Poor Bridgeman/' she 
 added, in a very equivocal tone, " is really no match 
 for you. You are — you know you are — I hear it 
 upon all hands — such an invincible player; whilst 
 simple Bridgeman, in the vanity of his heart, thinks 
 himself your equal. Now, do pray take pity of his 
 weakness — don't, don't play with him;" and Mrs. 
 Bridgeman solicited the compassion of Langshawe, 
 as she would have entreated the mercy of a highway- 
 man : indeed, despite the peculiarity of Joseph's win- 
 nings, he felt himself before Mrs. Bridgeman some- 
 what in the situation of a pickpocket. " There is a 
 fate about you," said Mrs. Bridgeman — " as might 
 be said of Macbeth, you bear * charmed ' cards — 
 therefore, do spare my silly man — do spare." 
 
 " Mr. Bridgeman," said the servant, opening the 
 door. 
 
 " Bridgeman ! " cried his wife and Langshawe. 
 
 " My mistress is with him, sir," said the domestic, 
 and disappeared. 
 7 
 
98 MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 
 
 It was ttfo true. Whilst Mrs. Bridgeman and Mr. 
 Langshawe bad been left to conversation, Airs. Lang- 
 shawe and Mr. Bridgeman — the gentleman entered 
 the house as Mary quitted Joseph — had discoursed of 
 the gain and loss of the preceding evening. 
 
 " Mr. Bridgeman, I am so glad you're come !" said 
 the gentle Mrs. Langshawe. " Your dear wife is up 
 stairs." 
 
 " Indeed ! " observed Bridgeman, very tranquilly. 
 He then asked, " How's Langshawe? " 
 
 " Very well ; he is with your lady. O, Mr. Bridge- 
 man ! I cannot express to you how much I am an- 
 noyed at the circumstances of last night." 
 
 Mr. Bridgeman put his hand to his chin, gently ex- 
 alted his shoulders, and spoke not. 
 
 " I wish to my heart that Joseph would not play, 
 for his fortune is so extraordinary," said Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe. 
 
 Now, as Mr. Bridgeman was fully aware that, al- 
 though Joseph always lost to him, he invariably, as 
 in the case of the sovereign and the sixpence, took 
 home winnings to some amount to Mrs. Langshawe, 
 he did not feel quite at ease in his present situation 
 with that lady. " Fortune," he endeavored to observe, 
 " does act extraordinarily with Langshawe." 
 
 " And then there is something to me so uncomforta- 
 ble, to say the least of it, in winning the money of 
 our friends ; " and Mrs. Langshawe looked innocently 
 in the perturbed face of Bridgeman. 
 
 " Cards are like love, Mrs. Langshawe, as I take 
 it ; friends are not to be considered in the matter," 
 replied the impartial Bridgeman. 
 
MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 99 
 
 " I can't think so. I think there is something al- 
 most mean and sordid in these continual attempts on 
 the purse of those for whom we profess an esteem, a 
 friendship," said Mrs. Langshawe. 
 
 Mr. Bridgeman, with the weight of many pounds 
 of his friend Langshawe about the neck of his con- 
 science, began to think the interview less pleasant 
 than it might have been. It was plain, however, 
 from her looks, that Mrs. Langshawe expected sotpe 
 reply ; therefore Mr. Bridgeman nodded his head 
 affirmatively. 
 
 " But the worst of all is, Mr. Bridgeman," said 
 Mrs. Langshawe, with animation, " that falsehood, 
 positive falsehood, comes of the practice. Never — 
 never before has Joseph deceived me ! " (Poor little 
 dear !) " And now I have found him capable of the 
 least deceit — of misrepresentation in the simplest 
 things — it has made me truly wretched. Without 
 mutual confidence, Mr. Bridgeman, there can be no 
 happiness in the marriage state." 
 
 Mr. Bridgeman bowed very solemnly — perhaps it 
 was so. 
 
 " To be sure, he may have been ashamed of the 
 sum — really, too much to w T in of anybody, and, 
 more than all, of a friend." 
 
 " Has Langshawe really confessed to having lost? 
 Did he bring home no winnings?" thought Bridge- 
 man. 
 
 " Tell me, pray tell me, Mr. Bridgeman, was not 
 the loss between you last night five-and-twenty 
 pounds? " 
 
 Mrs. Langshawe's manner had so surprised Bridge- 
 
IOO MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 
 
 man, her sudden energy had so confused him, that 
 the color rose to his face, and he began to stammer, 
 as he thought, " It's plain Joseph has confessed his 
 losses — it's plain." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty pounds?" again pressed Mrs. 
 Langshawe. 
 
 u Not — not quite," answered Bridgeman. 
 
 " It is true, then," cried Mrs. Langshawe ; " Mrs. 
 Bridgeman's right ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Bridgeman ! " said her husband. 
 
 " It was she who told me the real amount of money 
 lost, and not Mr. Langshawe. That Joseph should 
 have won nearly five-and-twenty pounds of you — of 
 you, his old, his early friend ! I shall hardly know 
 how to look in Mrs. Bridgeman's face again — I 
 shall — " 
 
 To the inexpressible relief of Bridgeman — who, 
 really being the winner of his friend's money, felt 
 with double acuteness the reproaches inveighed 
 against the innocent — Langshawe entered the apart- 
 ment, — Mrs. Langshawe as instantly quitting it. 
 
 " Bridgeman," said Langshawe, in a low voice, 
 and with an accusing shake of the head, " this is 
 really very wrong." 
 
 " There's something wrong somewhere," replied 
 Bridgeman. 
 
 " My dear fellow," cried Langshawe, " if you 
 wanted to account for five-and-twenty pounds to your 
 wife, you needn't have laid the loss upon my 
 shoulders." 
 
 " I account to Mrs. Bridgeman ! I lose five-and- 
 twenty pounds ! 'Twas just my winnings. The 
 
MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. IOI 
 
 fact is, Langshawe — not that I am under the influ- 
 ence of my wife — " 
 
 " No more am I — not at all — no man less," said 
 Langshawe. " If I have fabled a little as to my win- 
 nings, it was out of affection, not fear — no, no, it 
 was to keep Mary happy, and the house quiet — ' 
 nothing more." 
 
 " I was about to say, if you must win large sums of 
 money, you might, out of respect of the feelings of 
 Mrs. Bridgeman, win them of anybody but her hus- 
 band." 
 
 " But I never win large sums ; never, never but 
 once, when I told Mary that I had won thirty guineas, 
 cause I wanted her to buy a pair of diamond drops, 
 which otherwise she wouldn't consent to purchase. 
 Never a large sum but then," said Langshawe. 
 
 11 Nonsense ! Mrs. Langshawe feels assured at this 
 minute that you won a large sum of me last night," 
 cried Bridgeman. 
 
 "And if she does," replied Langshawe, " it is be- 
 cause Mrs. Bridgeman told her as much ; and who 
 told Mrs. Bridgeman I needn't declare to you." 
 
 " Langshawe," said Bridgeman, " we have known 
 one another many years, and I should be sorry to 
 quarrel with you." 
 
 " Should equally regret it, Bridgeman," answered 
 Langshawe ; " but when men can't keep matters like 
 these to themselves — when their wives must be made 
 parties to everything — there's an end of the very 
 principle of manly friendship." 
 
 " I think so too," was the gloomy reply of Bridge- 
 man. 
 
102 MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 
 
 " At all events, then, Mr. Bridgeman," said Lang- 
 shawe, endeavoring to clothe his lengthened face 
 with dignity, — " at all events — " Unhappily, or we 
 should rather say happily, the appearance of the 
 ladies not only cut short the wordy encounter of the 
 gentlemen, but the smiles and beamy looks of the 
 wives suddenly lighted up the faces of their husbands. 
 The ladies requested that nothing more might be said 
 of the matter, and hoping that their husbands would 
 leave filthy cards forever, all shook hands, and, at 
 the usual hour, sat down happily to dinner. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeman had departed for their 
 home, and Mr. and Mrs. Langshawe still sat at their 
 hearth. 
 
 " I forgive you, Joseph, this time, but never tell me 
 a fib again," said the pretty Mrs. Langshawe. 
 " Moreover, if you must play, promise me not to win 
 of Bridgeman. His wife found out his loss in the 
 oddest way : he had taken out fifty pounds to pay a 
 bill, and returned home — how she discovered that I 
 can't tell — with less than half the money : the bill, 
 however, was not paid, for 'twas called for before he 
 was up." (The truth is, that Bridgeman had not 
 taken the note with him, but replaced it in his desk.) 
 " When she heard that he had played with you, know- 
 ing that you always won, she of course concluded 
 that you had the money. And how naughty of you 
 to tell me such a tale about a sovereign, and — but I 
 have promised not to scold you ; " and Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe patted the blushing cheek of Joseph. 
 
 u She's a very violent woman, Mrs. Bridgeman," 
 said Langshawe. 
 
MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. IO3 
 
 " Veiy : I was quite surprised at her passion — be- 
 sides, it showed an avarice that — O, Joseph ! I 
 wouldn't have had you keep those winnings for any 
 consideration." 
 
 " Keep them ! Why — eh ? — Mrs. Bridgeman 
 seemed suddenly in excellent spirits — you never re- 
 turned the money — you — " 
 
 " Not exactly the money, Joseph," said Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe, who smiled with some meaning. 
 
 Mr. Langshawe gaped, stared, and said, " Not ex- 
 actly money — what then ? M 
 
 " O, I hit upon an excellent plan. You know my 
 diamond drops that I bought out of your winnings?" 
 
 " Thirty guineas ! " cried Joseph Langshawe, turn- 
 ing a little pale. 
 
 " Mrs. Bridgeman was always admiring them. So 
 to-day, whilst you and her husband were alone, after 
 a little persuasion, I induced 'Mrs. Bridgeman — to 
 accept them." 
 
 "You did, Mary?" 
 
 " I did, Joseph ! " said Mrs. Langshawe, delighted 
 at her dexterity. 
 
 u Your diamond drops ! " cried Langshawe. 
 
 u And as they cost thirty guineas, and as last night 
 you took less than five-and-twenty of Bridgeman, 
 why, his wife having the diamonds, you may now be 
 said to have won less than nothing," said Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe. 
 
 " Much less," groaned Joseph. 
 
 We believe, though we cannot vouch for him, that 
 from that time Langshawe forswore cards. Of this, 
 
104 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 
 
 however, we are certain ; if he did play, Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe was never again perplexed with her " hus- 
 
 band's winnings." 
 
 1838. 
 
 MIDNIGHT AT "MADAME T.'S." 
 
 HE could judge little of the deep meaning of a 
 very deep face, who, standing on Wednesday 
 last in the lobby of Madame Tussaud's Rooms, Ba- 
 ker Street, Portman Square, saw nought remarkable 
 in the visage of Mr. Gabriel Marmoset as he slowly 
 approached the serious money-taker. With a brood- 
 ing air, he placed his left hand in his pocket, and in 
 a low, sepulchral voice, demanded — " How much? " 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said the money-taker ; " as one of 
 us, you know, you are on the free list." 
 
 " Bless me ! " exclaimed Mr. Gabriel Marmoset ; 
 " and so I am. I had forgotten. My poor head ! " 
 This simple incident to the thousands who delight in 
 the personal acquaintance of Mr. Gabriel Marmoset 
 will prove beyond anything how deep that gentleman 
 was sunk in meditation. He passed into the Rooms, 
 and, with vacant eye, surveyed the wax images about 
 him. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and the 
 Rooms, according to the promise of Madame Tus- 
 saud, were " brilliantly illuminated." Almost uncon- 
 scious of the presence of a throng of visitors, Mr. 
 Gabriel Marmoset paced the floor ; from time to time 
 pausing before the effigy of some desperado, where, 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 
 
 j o5 
 
 in the quotation tastefully adopted by Madame Tus- 
 saud, might be seen his 
 
 "Eyes, nose, lip, 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
 The pretty dimples of chi7i and cheek ; his smiles, 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, and finger ! " 
 
 " Humph ! " communed Mr. Marmoset with him- 
 self, looking very covetously on the image of Dennis 
 Collins; "humph! he's not copyright. Something 
 must be done by Christmas. A gradual falling off 
 of three sixpences per night — humph ! " Then Mr. 
 Gabriel Marmoset seated himself, and thought down 
 " hours to minutes," and thinking, fell asleep. 
 
 It deserves to be generally known, that with a 
 proper regard to the health and morals of her visitors, 
 Madame Tussaud closes her doors at ten o'clock. 
 That hour was arrived, and the manager, unseen, un- 
 thought of, had been locked up still in deepest slum- 
 ber, dreaming of mountains of half-price sixpences — 
 dreaming that all the " leaves of Vallambrosa " were 
 insufficient to the demands for nightly checks. 
 
 " Collins is not copyright — Hume is not copyright 
 — none of 'em are copyright," murmured Marmoset in 
 his sleep ; " I can have 'em done, and show 'em at 
 threepence." As the manager spoke thus in his 
 slumber, the clock struck — twelve ! 
 
 What was the astonishment of Mr. Gabriel Marmo- 
 set to find himself in the presence of living men and 
 women ! Yea, surrounded by the breathing, moving 
 figures he had before looked upon as insensible mat- 
 ter ! Field-marshal Von Blucher stepped with heavy 
 tread to Frederick William of Prussia — Francis of 
 
106 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 
 
 Austria kissed his fingers to the smiling Mary Queen 
 of Scots — Napoleon, touching his hat, offered his 
 box to Fieschi — the " infant son of Madame Tussaud, 
 which, " as she informs us, she had " the honor to 
 model " expressly for the Duchess of York, called 
 hastily for his "Mammy" — Daniel O'Connell ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 u Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
 Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow? " 
 
 General Washington whistled " Yankee Doodle," 
 and Joseph Hume commenced upon his fingers a sum 
 of compound fractions. Everybody suddenly did or 
 said something. The whole company appeared as 
 if they had been relieved from the irksome duty of 
 remaining silent in one position all day, and were 
 resolved to enjoy to its full extent their midnight 
 holiday. Ca ira was sung from the " Chamber of 
 Horrors," Dennis Collins inveighing against all out- 
 landish gibberish, and calling lustily for u the col- 
 lege hornpipe." We have neither space nor leisure to 
 particularize the conduct of every individual. All, 
 however, seemed bent on enjoyment — on the dolce 
 far niente; and none more so than all the cabinet 
 ministers, past and present. 
 
 At first, Mr. Gabriel Marmoset was abashed at the 
 high company amongst whom he found himself. He 
 had never seen so many kings, save those he had paid 
 on a Saturday : and though a morbid modesty was 
 not the disease of the manager, he nevertheless re- 
 quired some minutes to raise his self-assurance. He 
 was happily relieved by the observing condescension 
 of Lord John Russell. 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 107 
 
 Lord John. What ! as I think Mr. — 
 
 Marmoset. Marmoset, your Lordship, of the Roy- 
 al Sanguinary Theatre. If your Lordship will do me 
 the honor to recollect, I was distinguished by an in- 
 terview with your Lordship on three great public 
 questions — the Savoyards, white mice, and barrel- 
 organs. 
 
 Lord y. I remember : you complained that they 
 injured the interest of the legitimate drama. 
 
 Mar. {Sighing:) Ha! your Lordship; there's 
 no standing against foreign artists and foreign music. 
 The legitimate drama — 
 
 Lord J. By the way, Mr. Marmoset, will you do 
 me a great favor? 
 
 Mar. Is it to get up D071 Carlos ? I am very 
 sorry, but my leading tragedian is at present in 
 Horsemonger Lane, and — 
 
 Lord y. No — no ; the favor I solicit is — 
 
 Mar. To dramatize the Reform Bill? It will be 
 long for a play ; but if yourself or any of your friends 
 can manage to reduce it to a farce, I — 
 
 Lord y. No — no ; the favor I ask of the kind- 
 ness and intelligence of Mr. Marmoset is this. Will 
 he oblige me by defining what is generally understood 
 by his profession to be a legitimate drama? 
 
 Mar. {Drawing himself up.) My Lord, that is 
 a point on which I have spent more consideration than 
 any man alive ! Though I say it, my Lord, there is 
 no manager, from a peculiarity of circumstances, so 
 capable of affording you the required information. I 
 have ransacked the whole globe for attraction ; I 
 may say it, I have gone, as it were, into Noah's ark 
 
IOS MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 
 
 for actors. I have executed, what meaner men 
 would die blushing to think of — and the result of 
 my experience, after much thinking, is this ; that the 
 drama is to all intents and purposes the most legiti- 
 mate — you understand me, my Lord — the most 
 legitimate — 
 
 Lord J. Very good. 
 
 Mar. That brings the most money ! I have said 
 it. That brings the most money, my Lord. 
 
 Joseph Hume. (Aside to Dennis Collins.) A 
 very sensible man this. Who is he? 
 
 Dennis Collins. (Aside, in a confidential voiced) 
 Hush ! that's Marmyset, of the Sanguinary Theatre. 
 
 Hume. Are you sure ? 
 
 Collins. Cock ! 'cause he come to me in Reading 
 gaol, and offered to buy my wooden leg for what he 
 called a nistorical local drammy. 
 
 Hmne. And didn't you sell it? 
 
 Collins. What do you take me for, Mr. Hume? 
 'Cause I was in trouble, and going over the water my- 
 self, was that any reason I should disgrace my leg by 
 sending it afore me? 
 
 Lord J. And pray, Mr. Marmoset — (at this 
 moment several illustrious and i?ifa?nous persons 
 came up) — but allow me to introduce to your pat- 
 ronage, Mr. Marmoset of the Sanguinary Theatre. 
 What brings him here? I was about to ask. Can- 
 dor, I can tell you, is his great characteristic — a 
 simple good creature, as full of truth as his own play- 
 bills. 
 
 Mar. Oh ! my Lord. The truth then is, I came 
 here to — for among friends business is not what it 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 109 
 
 used to be — I came to look out for attraction. I 
 came to see my way ; and to any man or men who 
 can bring me one hundred and fifty pounds per night, 
 I have not the slightest hesitation in offering five-and- 
 forty shillings as a weekly salary. 
 
 Lord Byron. Ha, ha ! Grey, do you want an 
 engagement? {His Lordship shakes his head.} 
 
 Napoleon. Well — man! Always had a liking 
 for the stage ; would have made Racine a prince had 
 he lived in my time. ( Grimly smiling.} What do 
 you offer me? 
 
 Mar. Really, General — 
 
 Nap. General ! 
 
 Mar. I beg your pardon ; but in the last piece 
 you were always called General, and — 
 
 Nap. Last piece ? eh — what ? 
 
 Collins. I seed you myself in the sixpenny gal- 
 lery ; and more than that — hissed you like a true- 
 born Englishman. 
 
 Mar. Quite true ; we've had you at all ages. 
 
 Nap. Had me? 
 
 Mar. To prove it : if you have any fancy for the 
 identical hat that you wore at Marengo, you can pur- 
 chase it of Mr. Moses Ragby, who lent it at two-and- 
 sixpence a night to Covent Garden. 
 
 Nap. Indeed ! 
 
 Mar. Besides your real pocket-handkerchief from 
 St. Helena, before the imperial crown was picked 
 out of the corner. 
 
 Nap. And who — who has acted me ? 
 
 Mar. Everybody; the fact is, you are a stock 
 part, and now go with the heavy old man. 
 
IIO MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 
 
 Nap. Bah ! 
 
 Prince Talleyrand, Eh, Monsieur ? dis done — est- 
 il possible que — 
 
 Mar. Beg your pardon, sir, pray speak English, 
 because the gentleman who translates for me isn't 
 here. 
 
 Byron. Come, Mr. Marmoset, can you make no 
 use of the Emperor? 
 
 Mar. Don't see, my Lord, how. By the way, 
 my Lord, that Sardanapalus of yours is a pretty thing 
 for the closet. 
 
 Byron. Did you ever meet with it there? 
 
 Mar. Never, my Lord : only, as it failed upon the 
 stage — that is, my Lord — I — the truth is, my Lord, 
 it is always a point with gentlemen of my profession, 
 when we find a piece not quite the thing for the 
 boards, to praise it for the library. 
 
 Byron. Because then you are sure never to meet 
 with it — eh ? 
 
 Mar. {Pushing his forefinger in the stoinach 
 #/"Lord Byron.) You're a wag still, my Lord — 
 'pon my life you are. 
 
 Byron. And can you do nothing with poor Na- 
 poleon ? 
 
 Mar. {Aside.) Between ourselves, my Lord, 
 the fleas have done for him. 
 
 Byron. Fleas! Worms, you mean? 
 
 Mar. No, my Lord, no : since the showmen have 
 mounted him on flea-back, he's become vulgar. He's 
 a drug even with the image-boys. I wouldn't hurt 
 his feelings ; but at the Royal Sanguinary Theatre I 
 wouldn't let him carry a banner — that is, unless he 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. Ill 
 
 changed his coat, and went on without a salary. I 
 wish I could hit upon something to stir the town ! Do, 
 my Lord, help me to an idea. 
 
 Byron. What do you think of engaging the House 
 of Commons. 
 
 Mar. To say the truth, that struck me ; but some 
 of the railway members ask such terms, you'd think 
 senators were of the same consequence as singers — 
 for they positively demand nearly as high salaries. 
 If you could suggest something at once new and mu- 
 sical. 
 
 Byron. What ! is cat-gut at a premium? 
 
 Mar. Nothing like music, my Lord, in all its 
 branches ; last week three traders in German bull- 
 finches started each a carriage : music ! Penny 
 w 7 histles sell for twopence. Something musical 
 now ! 
 
 Daniel (J Conn ell. I have it : I'll make a speech 
 for you. 
 
 Mar. Should be very happy indeed, sir : but, you 
 know, you've tried at every theatre but mine : and 
 I — I can't afford it. If I could get a new effect with 
 a striking character ! 
 
 Brougham. Why not put Talleyrand in a panto- 
 mine ? 
 
 Byron. Don't you hear, my Lord Vaux, that the 
 manager wants something new? 
 
 Collins. What do you say to me, my old 'un? 
 
 Mar. Ha! Mr. Collins : if you had but taken my 
 terms when the bloom of your reputation was upon 
 you. 
 
 Collins. Tell you what, old fellow ! D — n the 
 
112 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 
 
 shiners ! Dennis never cared for 'em : to prove it, 
 I'll do you what you like for twenty- pounds a night, 
 and throw you in the ornpipe for nothing. 
 
 Mar. Under other circumstances, Mr. Collins, I 
 should have been delighted : but at present I can't 
 clearly see my way. {Here the Manager sees Nmn- 
 ber Seventy- Two and Seventy-Three of the collec- 
 tion beckoning to him, and crosses over.) Ha ! gen- 
 tlemen, if your terms are moderate — if I can see my 
 way with yon — 
 
 Seventy- Two. How much ? 
 
 Seventy- Three. And find our own sack? 
 
 Alar. Ha ! my dear friends, if I had only had 
 you a few years ago ; but now, murder does not bring 
 what it used to. I've played three assassinations and 
 two forgeries this very season to less than my ex- 
 penses. 
 
 Seventy-Two. Naething sae slippery as public 
 taste, ye ken. 
 
 Seventy-Three. {Visibly affected.) You'd hardly 
 believe it, Mr. Marmoset, but naebody speers at us 
 now ! 
 
 Seventy- Two. {With a sigh.) They a' gang 
 into the " Chamber o' Horrors." 
 
 Mar. {Aside, glancing towards the " Chamber") 
 Yes; that — that, indeed, would be a hit. He's the 
 newest upon town ; and, as I believe he is no singer, 
 his terms may be met. 
 
 John Kemble. Mr. Marmoset, are you in want of — 
 
 Alar. Nothing at all — nothing, my dear sir, in 
 your way. And yet, Mr. Kemble, if we could come 
 to terms — 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 113 
 
 Kemble. For a round of characters? 
 
 Mar. Not as actor, Mr. Kemble — not as actor; 
 you were very well in your time — very well indeed. 
 But, ha ! Mr. Kemble, if you could write me anoth- 
 er " Lodoiska" ! 
 
 Kemble. Am I to understand that you wish to re- 
 tain me solely as an author? 
 
 Mar. Solely ; and if you will write me a quad- 
 ruped piece — I have a whole menagerie at my 
 disposal, besides a dancing-woman from the Chip- 
 pewahs, and very good hopes of a real mer- 
 maid. 
 
 Kemble. Is there no public taste, Mr. Mar- 
 moset ? 
 
 Mar. Plenty of it, sir, if one can but be lucky 
 enough to catch it. As a manager, I am bound to 
 bait with everything. I had a tank made for a hippo- 
 potamus ; the animal was caught, sir — was coming 
 over in robust health, but — I mention no names — 
 early one morning watch the creature was found 
 dead. As I said, I mention no names ; but I may be 
 allowed to state this curious fact — the third mate of 
 the ship was proved to be own cousin to a rival mana- 
 ger. The hippopotamus was flung into the sea. I 
 accuse nobody — but would have given fifty pounds 
 if that hippopotamus had been opened. 
 
 Kemble. You haven't a play-bill about you, Mr. 
 Marmoset ? 
 
 Mar. There, Mr. Kemble — a little more red in 
 the bills now, little bigger type, too, than we ca?z rec- 
 ollect, eh? 
 
 8 
 
114 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 
 
 Kemble. {Reading- the bill.) " Overflowing 
 house !" What is that, Mr. Marmoset? 
 
 Mar. That is, sir, when the gallery — as I am 
 proud to say it frequently happens at my establish- 
 ment — when the galleiy runs into the boxes. In 
 summer I fill 'em, as they filter water, by ascension. 
 
 Kemble. Curious man ! Pray explain yourself. 
 Ascension ! 
 
 Afar. You see, Mr. Kemble, I've a large ventila- 
 tor in the roof. I fill my pit with paper, and then 
 turn the paper into shillings. Marry, how? you 
 will say. Listen : When the pit is crammed full, and 
 a thousand people more at the door — it sometimes 
 happens — for there I give no orders, — that there's 
 not a soul in the boxes ; nice, cool, airy boxes, lined 
 with real scarlet serge, Mr. Kemble. The pit thus 
 crammed, with the ventilator open, is only moderate- 
 ly hot ; upon this, I resolutely close my ventilator ! 
 The effect, Mr. Kemble, is magical ! Half the pit 
 have, in five minutes, the extra money in their hands 
 for the boxes — a little door, generously constructed 
 for the occasion, is flung hospitably open, and the 
 boxes are filled, as I say, by " ascension." That I 
 call an overflowing house, Mr. Kemble. 
 
 Kemble. And what may you call " a brilliant au- 
 dience " ? 
 
 Mar. Almost the same thing: it's when I see 
 glittering in the fingers of every person in the pit an 
 extra shilling for the dress boxes. 
 
 Kemble. I see you state that the house " continues 
 to be crowned to suffocation." Do you think that 
 an inducement to others to be suffocated? 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 115 
 
 Mar. No doubt : I'd take upon myself to make 
 an air-pump popular by exactly the same advertise- 
 ment 
 
 Kemble. What do you consider " universal and 
 enthusiastic shouts " ? 
 
 Mar. When the applause is almost enough to 
 drown the hisses. 
 
 Kemble. And what the " most fashionable audi- 
 ence of the season " ? 
 
 Mar. When the hackney-coaches in front of the 
 theatre outnumber the cabs. 
 
 Kemble. And do you think the town believes all 
 this? 
 
 Mar. To speak out, Mr. Kemble, I don't think it 
 does. 
 
 Ke?nble. Then why, my dear sir — why continue 
 to print it? 
 
 Mar. That's very well — very well, indeed, of 
 you : but, when a manager has lied for years togeth- 
 er, you can't think how impossible it is for him to 
 speak the truth. Bless you ! he wouldn't believe him- 
 self if he did. Can you suggest nothing, Mr. Kem- 
 ble? 
 
 Kemble. Here is something — lent to me last 
 night by my neighbor here. " Seventy-Two." 
 
 Mar. Ha! It looks like a MS., eh? What? 
 " The Terrific Tapeworm," a domestic drama of 
 peculiar interest, by Dr. M n ! 
 
 Seventy- Tzco. He came here yestreen, and while 
 he was feeling the knobs on my skull, I dips my 
 hand into his pocket ! 
 
 Mar. And here are parts, and all copied out. Gen- 
 
Il6 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'S. 
 
 tlemen — friends — will you go through the piece ? 
 " The Terrific Tapeworm ! " The name's enough. 
 Gentlemen, allow me to cast the drama. {Distribut- 
 ing the parts?) 
 
 Collins. I say, messmate — (about to return the 
 part) — this here's no use to me ; I can't read. 
 
 Mar. My dear sir, in the present state of things 
 that's not of the slightest consequence. Now, gen- 
 tlemen, " The Terrific Tapeworm " ! There must 
 be something in such a title. Now, gentlemen : 
 Scene first — Enter 
 
 In three seconds after this Mr. Marmoset awoke ; 
 but — and the phenomenon has been satisfactorily ac- 
 counted for in the philosophy of dreams — in that 
 space of time, the whole domestic drama was per- 
 fectly represented, the gentlemen "having kindly 
 undertaken their several parts at the shortest no- 
 tice." 
 
 Happily Mr. Marmoset retains a vivid recollection 
 of every syllable of the piece ; but, too distrustful of 
 himself, has retained us to look to the minute points 
 of orthography, and to soften the severity of his punc- 
 tuation. 
 
 The drama itself he has not yet dictated to us ; but, 
 with a fine sense of gratitude, he has already sent the 
 following dedication of the forthcoming pages to the 
 printer : — 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. Il7 
 
 "TO MADAME TUSSAUD, 
 
 WHO, 
 
 "With an enlarged Humanity, 
 
 Takes for her Models 
 
 The best and basest of mankind; 
 
 AND WHO 
 
 Unreservedly mingling them together, 
 
 Extracts from the whole 
 
 The good that all men seek, 
 
 This Drama 
 
 is gratefully dedicated." 
 
 Thus much for the dedication. And though we 
 are not able, at the present moment, to lay the drama 
 before the reader, we are happy to state that we can 
 afford him some matter for reasonable speculation on 
 its deep character and diversified interest in the fol- 
 lowing address of thanks to the actors employed, sea- 
 soned with criticisms on their various talents and 
 imperfections. The manager (who, without any 
 compunction, puts himself in the place of author) 
 says, — 
 
 " How difficult is it to particularize where almost 
 all alike demand our thanks ! How hard the task to 
 vary eulogy where nearly everybody is to be praised ! 
 Never, never, since Thespis begged grease for his 
 cart-wheel, has author been so bowed with obligation. 
 Turn my thoughts where they will, they meet a cred- 
 itor. Let 'me, however, — hard as may be the task, 
 imperfect as may be my words, — strive at best to 
 stammer my gratitude ! 
 
 " To his Grace, the Duke of Wellington, I can nev- 
 er sufficiently express my thanks : first, for the con- 
 descension he displayed in accepting a part so mani- 
 
Il8 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 
 
 festly below his genius ; and next, for the importance 
 he gave to it. The part was a part of lines ; but how 
 great was his Grace in the lines ! 
 
 " Napoleon was, perhaps, never so much at home 
 as in his low comedy with Fieschi. All his by-play 
 showed him to be a perfect master of his art. The 
 playful manner in which he pulled Voltaire by the 
 nose must form one of the most endearing and de- 
 lightful recollections of all who beheld it* Truly 
 does Madame T., in her historical and eloquent 
 catalogue, say of him, ' Unlike his person, which was 
 small, his mind was that of a giant ! ' If this gen- 
 tleman would but cultivate his singing, he would be a 
 very great acquisition to opera ; for though his organs 
 are weak, they are extremely mellifluous. He has, 
 unfortunately, too great diffidence in making use of 
 them. 
 
 " To Sir Francis Burdett, for having undertaken, 
 at a very short notice, a part so infinitely below 
 him, I ought to pay volumes of acknowledgment. 
 The part was a very trifling one ; but how much can 
 the baronet make of a little ! 
 
 " Oliver Cromwell, as the frank, light-hearted lover, 
 exhibited the tender passion, even to the married, in 
 the most favorable view ; whilst his scene at the tav- 
 ern displayed all that buoyancy of heart, that gener- 
 osity of spirit, and delicacy of sentiment, hifherto con- 
 sidered by the superficial as incompatible with ex- 
 treme drunkenness. The illusion was perfect : to 
 hear him drop his words was to listen to the wine 
 
 * It will be seen that Mr. Marmoset writes as if "The Tapeworm" had 
 already been represented to "a brilliant and overflowing audience. " 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. II9 
 
 running from the bottle. It is plain that nature in- 
 tended him to play the very highest comedy. 
 
 " To Mr. J. P. Kemble, for the undisguised manner 
 in which, throughout the play, he exhibited his skull, 
 I beg to return my sincere thanks. He, I know, will 
 think the exhibition of an entire skull but a small 
 matter to obtain praise ; but I, who, unhappily, 
 know how very few actors can, for a whole night, 
 be induced to show the least part of one, am happy 
 to express to him my enlarged sense of obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 " Lord Byron, from his excessive timidity, pre- 
 vented the display of what I will venture to predict 
 to be a very respectable talent. If he would but 
 borrow a little of the wild jollity of William Penn, 
 he would give a flavor to his otherwise too quiet 
 humor. 
 
 " Sir Walter Scott only wants encouragement to 
 become really a tolerable favorite. He delivered a 
 message in a manner that almost surprised me. It is 
 charming to watch the early development of talent. 
 With great study, great time, and some luck, Sir 
 Walter may become a very useful person in general 
 utility. 
 
 "Mr. Washington, as a rebel drummer, elicited 
 scintillations of lambent humor. It is sometimes so 
 difficult td judge of young beginners ! but I think Mr. 
 Washington will do. 
 
 " If Prince Talleyrand were not so nervous, I 
 should have high hopes of him. I much fear, how- 
 ever, that mauvaise honte will utterly blast his pros- 
 pects in life. 
 
120 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 
 
 " Mr. Joseph Hume played his part to perfection. 
 His address to a milk-score showed the artist. 
 
 " I regret that I cannot praise Lord Nelson. There 
 is not one particle of salt in his sailors : they are all 
 landsmen, with frogs in their throats. In low comedy 
 he might stand a chance. 
 
 "Monsieur Voltaire might be tolerated as Panta- 
 loon : in no other character can he ever be accepted. 
 I never knew so dull a person — that is, when he 
 speaks. 
 
 " Neither Charles Fox nor George Canning can 
 be trusted with a single line. I never heard such 
 speakers. 
 
 " Mr. William Pitt plays too much like a proprie- 
 tor ; he is always looking up as if ' counting the gal- 
 leries/ 
 
 " I have now to return my most sincere — most 
 unqualified thanks to gentlemen who, true to their 
 engagements, have withstood the base and unmanly 
 temptations of unprincipled rivals. 
 
 " My thanks, then, are especially due to Mr. Den- 
 nis Collins — not only for the magnanimity with 
 which he spurned the offers of a hostile manager, but 
 for the quiet humor with which he dealt his harm- 
 less sarcasms about him ; for the agility with which 
 he danced his hornpipe, (I was proud to hear the 
 applause of Mr. T. P. Cooke — it was hearty, gener- 
 ous) ; and, indeed, for the sweet cheerfulness with 
 which he performed all his arduous duties. 
 
 " There are other gentlemen (Seventy-Two and 
 Seventy-Three) — whose names, out of respect to 
 their extreme modesty, I suppress — to whom I am 
 
MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 121 
 
 bound in everlasting gratitude. Every machination 
 was employed to deprive me of the services of those 
 gentlemen ; but they magnanimously spurned every 
 offer in favor of the highest bidder. 
 
 " To another gentleman, a distinguished inhabitant 
 of the i Chamber of Horrors/ I am especially in- 
 debted. Every manager was on tiptoe to receive 
 him ; but he had given his word — and he could give 
 no more. 
 
 " To the ' talented ' Madame Tussaud, and her no 
 less ' talented ' sons, for their extraordinary ana* unu- 
 sual courtesy in not ' suspending the free list,' in 
 consequence of ' the great attraction ' of the last cor- 
 ner (number three) in the ' Chamber of Horrors,' — 
 
 " In fine, to everybody concerned or not concerned 
 in the representation of The Terrific Tapeworm, I 
 beg to express the highest, the deepest, the broadest, 
 and the largest sense of my esteem and my respect. 
 
 " G. M. 
 " Bowl and Dagger Cottage. " 
 
 We look with inexpressible anxiety for the MS. it- 
 self; as it is evident from the above that the drama 
 contains an extraordinary variety of parts, we are 
 impatient to enjoy the happy art of the writer who 
 has so cunningly introduced them, and bound them 
 in one common interest by the peculiar originality 
 of his fable. 
 
 Awaiting this, we seize the opportunity of stating, 
 on our own account, that — in consequence of a great 
 loss of property, and therefore of rank in life (hav- 
 ing been a large shareholder, and principal director, 
 
122 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS* 
 
 with two or three eminent sheriff's officers, in the late 
 Aerostation Company) — we superintend the birth of 
 books of any size and on any subject. We therefore 
 beg to assure the literary nobility, gentry, and public 
 in general, that we continue to dot i's and cross fs 
 on the lowest terms, and with the greatest possible 
 despatch. 
 
 Please to direct (post paid) " H. B., Esq.,* Red 
 Herring Alley, Moorfields." 
 
 1837. 
 
 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE 
 PUPILS. 
 
 THREE fathers had each a son — they were 
 determined, come what might, that the boys 
 should be wisely taught — in other words, should be 
 instructed in the mode of getting on. They made 
 all inquiries after a teacher, but, for some time, with 
 no success : one was too poor, and therefore incapable 
 of instruction ; another, too merry ; good-nature was 
 a losing quality. At length they heard of a person 
 anxious, and, they believed, well fitted to take charge 
 of youth. The parents Hastened to the scholar's 
 abode ; it was a miserable hut in the middle of a 
 marsh : the croak of frogs and buzz of flies were the 
 only sounds heard about the master's dwelling, which 
 was guarded by a little ugly cur, that, yelping at the 
 
 * Henry Brownrigg, Esq., Jerrold's occasional nom de plume in The New 
 Monthly Magazine. — Ed. 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 23 
 
 approach of the visitors, caused its master to throw 
 open the casement, and reveal himself to the view of 
 those who sought him. 
 
 He was a man of about sixty — his whole appear- 
 ance wild and meagre. His face seemed sharp and 
 bloodless — the dry, yellow skin, tightened over his 
 high cheek bones, came into more ghastly relief from 
 a dead-black eye. His brow was seamed with 
 wrinkles. His hair, of speckled black and gray, 
 drooped in unsocial lankness. His beard seemed 
 half-rusted wire. His long, naked arms were fear- 
 fully muscular ; and his nails hooked as the bill of a 
 parrot. He was employed feeding a nest of owlets, 
 with some crushed snails, before him. Looking up at 
 his visitors, he smiled, and displayed two rows of 
 huge teeth, of pearly whiteness. He opened the door, 
 and the visitors entered the tutor's habitation. It 
 consisted of one room, grotesquely furnished ; Indian 
 flies were pinned to the walls — here was the jaw 
 of a shark — there a tiger's skin — with snakes of all 
 sorts, wreathed in knots, hanging around. In one 
 corner of the hovel was the miser's bed — a heap of 
 rags, with, an account-book for a pillow. A mess 
 of adder broth was on the fire, to which old Rapax 
 (for so was the tutor called) invited the appetites of 
 his visitors. " There are eels," said he ; u but ad- 
 ders go the farthest." 
 
 The bargain was soon closed. Rapax was to have 
 the children ; and, next morning, Scowl, Topaz, and 
 Blitheheart set out for their future master's dwelling. 
 Topaz laughed as he stood on the other side of a 
 ditch fronting the tutor's hut ; then springing over, he 
 
124 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 relapsed into a gloom as he approached the habita- 
 tion. Scowl neither paused nor smiled, but dashed 
 sulkily over, following his companion in silence. 
 Blitheheart had tarried behind, gathering a w r ater-lily 
 — now, he comes, skipping along, bounds across, 
 and arrives at his future school almost ere he sees 
 it. Rapax was leaning through the window, pursu- 
 ing his occupation of yesterday. " You are wel- 
 come," said he ; " enter. — And you, sir " (addressing 
 himself to Scowl), " come, feed my owlets." 
 
 " Feed owlets ! Not I, by the rusty holiness of 
 your beard. Feed owlets ! " 
 
 " You, young sir" (to Topaz), " will perhaps take 
 the office?" 
 
 " An' they were a nest of linnets for a pretty 
 daughter of yours, indeed would I ; but owlets are 
 not young men's birds." 
 
 " Gentle youth," said Rapax, turning to Blithe- 
 heart, "will you assist me?" 
 
 " Willingly, sir," replied the boy ; " but shew me 
 the fashion." 
 
 The old man muttered to himself, " Humph ! — 
 scornful, jesting, and ingenious! Well, well — the 
 same end by different ways." Then to the youths, — 
 " But to our business. Enter ; here we must lose 
 nothing, and we have squandered away ten minutes 
 without a purchase." 
 
 " I marvel," said Topaz, " at your exact calcula- 
 tion — for I see no dial here." 
 
 "Nature's clock, young man — thus," answered 
 Rapax, as he placed his finger to his wrist. " Can 
 there be a better monitor than our pulse? — spurs it 
 not to action? — clamors it not against idleness? " 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 25 
 
 " No," replied Scowl ; " it rather tells us of the 
 uselessness of employment, for every pulsation is but 
 the knell of life gone try." 
 
 " Prithee, good father, what are you to teach us? 
 Come, whistle for your dragon, and let us to the 
 moon." 
 
 " My business is not in the clouds, young man." 
 
 " Shall we sail with you in a cockle-shell? Are 
 you a sea-magician? I should like to string pearls 
 with mermaids mightily," said Blitheheart. 
 
 " Nor can I fathom the ocean," observed Rapax. 
 
 "Will you then take us into the mines of earth? 
 Shall we play at hustle-cap with diamonds? Shall 
 we go into the earth ? " asked Scowl. 
 
 " Ay, in good time." 
 
 u Truly, yes," sneered Topaz, " and without your 
 necromancy. — Come, what will you teach us? " 
 
 " To be rich." 
 
 64 Then why art not rich thyself? " said Scowl. 
 
 " How know you that I am not? I am rich." 
 
 " Are you so?" answered Scowl, with bitterness. 
 — " Poor man*! " and he looked sneeringly at the 
 wretched abode. 
 
 " He who hoards gold," replied Rapax, " does it 
 not for the insensible love of its glitter ; but he looks 
 abroad — he sees of what the eminence of human 
 flesh is composed — he scrapes together wealth — 
 and knowing that he can be splendid when he may, 
 cares not to be so. Such am I." 
 
 u And this mystery," said Scowl, " you are to teach 
 us? How?" 
 
 " Enter and learn." 
 
126 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 The youths entered the hut, and they seemed as 
 though struck with sudden plague. The old man 
 took from a little box a piece of brilliant gold, im- 
 pressed with cabalistic figures ; and throwing it upon 
 the table, desired the youths to look at it. " What 
 think you of this metal? Each answer me. What 
 is it?" 
 
 Scowl unceremoniously took it from the table, and 
 throwing it up, and catching it in his hand, again 
 cast it down scornfully, muttering, " Gold — the 
 price of human brains ! " 
 
 " But do you not value it? " demanded Rapax. 
 
 " I hate myself and all the world, that I must 
 sometimes value this piece of ore beyond the flower 
 or pebble trodden under foot. I value it not — but 
 scorn it as I bow to it." 
 
 u And you, young man? " said Rapax, glancing to 
 Topaz. 
 
 " I look on this metal," answered the youth, " and 
 I say to myself — ' This life is a mockery ; man hath 
 made it a miserable one ; and then he forms a partial 
 antidote to its wretchedness, to be obtained by guilt, 
 folly, or craft/ Well, I have this antidote. I ask, 
 ' How can I use it to pleasure me?' Fancy gives 
 the answer, and — farewell gold ! " 
 
 " For me," said Blitheheart, " were I in a meadow, 
 or by a road-side, with this gold in my hand, and 
 some miserable wretch, with pistol at my head, 
 should ask me for the coin, Fd freely give it him ; 
 and, pitying his poverty who made gold his only 
 wealth, Fd raise my empty hands towards heaven, 
 and in the lasting beauty of creation, count me 
 beyond all princes — rich ! " 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 27 
 
 " Look on this gold," cried Rapax, in a deep, com- 
 manding voice. — There was fascination in the metal. 
 The youths looked silently and intensely ; their souls 
 w^ere in their eyes, and they were spell-bound. Their 
 bosoms heaved, their mouths gaped, their fingers 
 clutched the air, and tears rolled down their cheeks. 
 The fiend had entered their hearts. The old man's 
 face was wrinkled with delight, and* a ghastly smile 
 lurked at his shrivelled lips. The youths were 
 changed, as if by magic — they were the bondsmen 
 of sin and rapine ! 
 
 It was evening when the scholars quitted the hut. 
 The old man gave to each a piece of coin. They 
 had not proceeded far ere they were accosted by a 
 wretched, starving woman, with a half-naked babe. 
 She first addressed herself to Scowl — " In the name 
 of Heaven, young sir, and as you hope to change this 
 miserable world for one where sorrow never enters, 
 give me charity for the sake of my poor babe ! " 
 
 " And will you live to beg? — in the grave there is 
 independence. Seek it ! " — and Scowl passed on- 
 ward. 
 
 The woman then turned to Topaz. "You are 
 merry, my good woman ; you w r ill but try us ! Have 
 beauty, yet ask for charity? Go to cities — go to 
 cities ! " 
 
 She then appeared to Blitheheart. He was about 
 to speak — then paused, and at length stammered an 
 excuse — " he had no money." 
 
 The youths proceeded on their way. For a time 
 they were silent. At length Scowl observed, " Sure- 
 ly our master works by magic — else I had not denied 
 
128 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 that woman. But a short time, and though I frowned 
 at man and all his wants, yet would I have taken out 
 my purse, and, laughing at the objections of nature, 
 emptied its contents to the crowd, to see them — like 
 hungry fowls for barley — fight, and peck, and sidle 
 for the grain. Now I would dash among the feeders, 
 and scaring them hence, fill my own pouch with 
 their corn, even though it grew mouldy whilst its 
 rightful owners starved. A short time since, I 
 scorned the world's misery and corruption — now 
 I will prey upon them. My heart is, on a sudden, 
 hard and moistureless. Good thoughts have van- 
 ished from my brain — tears are dried up in mine 
 eyes." 
 
 " And where I would have smiled or meditated," 
 said Topaz, " now I would sneer and answer groans 
 with jibes." 
 
 " Never before," cried Blitheheart, " could I have 
 resisted that woman's appeal. I told a lie, and yet I 
 did not blush. Surely we are bewitched ! " 
 
 44 But awakened to reason," replied Scowl. " The 
 film is taken from our eyes. The eye of worldly 
 reason looks farther into earth than the vision of 
 romantic youth pierces the heavens." 
 
 " How long," asked Blitheheart, " do our wise 
 fathers propose to keep us at this academy? When 
 are we to enter the world? " 
 
 " I know not — but soon, I hope," said Topaz ; 
 '• for I long to have a match with its cunning 
 creatures." 
 
 " All in good time," remarked Scowl. " We are 
 a while to look on the game before we play. Fare- 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 29 
 
 well ; the night is coming on — and now her gew- 
 gaws have no charms for me. Good night!" — and 
 each betook him to a different route, although one 
 road led to their several habitations. 
 
 Every morning brought the scholars to Rapax. 
 The fathers — though they complained of a growing 
 lack of obedience in their children — could find no 
 fault with the progress of their education. Indeed, 
 they were charmed with their scholarship — they had 
 grown so subtle and so disputative ! Rapax was a 
 rare master ! 
 
 One morning, as Scowl was about to visit the 
 pedagogue, a girl — a young and beautiful girl — 
 stood in the pupil's path. "Jane ! " he exclaimed, in 
 a tone of mingled wonder and remorse. He glared 
 fiercely at the girl, and her lineaments searched by 
 his eyes awakened thoughts and images maddening 
 and confounding. He threw himself upon a bank, 
 and groaned heavily. "Jane ! " he repeated. The 
 girl was at his side. His manner became more com- 
 posed and solemn. He shook his head, as the eyes 
 of Jane seemed eagerly to penetrate his mystery — he 
 shook his head, and with a sickly smile exclaimed, 
 " You seek in vain." 
 
 " Alas ! have you not happiness ? " mournfully 
 inquired the girl. 
 
 "What is that?" answered Scowl — "that same 
 enigma, happiness? — that common jilt — that sound 
 of all lips — that mockery of all hearts? Fools lisp 
 its name, and gray-bearded men crimp their wrinkled 
 visages, and clasp their yellow hands, and look at the 
 sky when this happiness is named. What is it? I 
 9 
 
130 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 would learn — thou art a fair teacher. Have you 
 known it ? — what was it like ? — how was it 
 called ?" 
 
 " Once I thought it bore the lineaments of your affec- 
 tion ; I thought its name was yours — your love ! " 
 
 " My love ! Pshaw ! I have neither face nor form 
 for woman's sublimer fancies. On my brow there are 
 no curls to catch fair ladies' hearts ; my lips are not 
 honeyed, but steeped in gall ; I am puny — misshapen 
 
 — not at all the creature for a fair one's love." 
 
 " Thou knowest my heart — thou knowest it 
 wholly thine!" 
 
 " I might have loved you once — but now.,— Away, 
 girl ! Seek some pliant, thoughtless fool, who marries 
 from fashion, because his neighbor weds, or his own 
 blood burns. Show not to me Love's wreath of 
 flowers — my breath would taint the buds — my eye 
 wither them ! " 
 
 " O, what a change is this ! " exclaimed the heart- 
 broken girl. " I ask not for myself — do as you will. 
 But your parents — why are you thus changed 
 towards them ? " 
 
 " Parents ! I have none- — they divorced me from 
 them — they drove me from their hearth, and placed 
 me with another. He has taught me to scorn them 
 
 — or at least to value them but as the common mass 
 around me. Yet there is one I love — thanks to my 
 good master ! — whom I love — dearly, fiercely love ; 
 to whom I would sacrifice father, mother, thee — all 
 ties that keep me to the world — all thoughts of man 
 and man's affection — " 
 
 " And who — what is it hath this fearful love? " 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 131 
 
 " Self! That is my god ! I make all else bow 
 down and worship it ! Farewell — we part forever. 
 When you see me turn yonder hedge, think me fallen 
 into an unfathomable gulf. Farewell ! " 
 
 " Stay I " exclaimed the girl ; and then, in speech- 
 less agony, she held forth her clasped hands, looking 
 imploringly at Scowl, who retreated a pace or two, 
 and, with calm brutality, surveyed her posture of 
 frenzy and despair. 
 
 " Truly," said he, " an inspired modern Sibyl ! 
 Your attitude has all the eloquence of speechless 
 misery; and yet I think the neck is too — " (She 
 shrunk back.) — " So — well improved ! Now, would 
 I were a sculptor ! I would carve your image thus, to 
 say my — ha ! ha ! — my prayers to — a stone ! You 
 would be a fitting partner for my heart. Seek you a 
 human husband. All affections are dead within me 
 
 — all feeling save one — an eternal and all-consum- 
 ing pang — the pang of hunger — the longing after 
 gold ! " 
 
 " You ambitious of such dross ! — you, who 
 have — " 
 
 11 Laughed, mocked at it. My master hath taught 
 me better. Mark me, girl — then shun me. So wild, 
 so universal, is this' craving after wealth, that, did I 
 think these yellow locks could, by chemical art, be 
 made to yield one grain of gold — could your heart's 
 last drop be petrified by death into a gem, although I 
 saw beseeching angels kneel around you, I'd lock my 
 hand within your hair — tear forth your living heart 
 
 — and leave you, tombless, to the birds. Have I 
 not said enough?" 
 
132 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 He spoke to a senseless image. The girl fell, 
 stricken by misery, to the earth ; and the student 
 pursued his way to the hut of the schoolmaster. 
 
 "How now, son?" said Rapax ; "why thus 
 late? What have you to show in exchange for so 
 much time? " 
 
 " A woman's broken heart," returned Scowl. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " — and the haggard fiend crowed in 
 the laugh — " put it by with the baubles. But come, 
 what say you, my lads? — we have tarried long 
 enough here? Are you for moving? Will you all 
 follow me? " 
 
 "We will!" was the sudden and unanimous re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " Then," said the master, "prepare to meet me at 
 twelve to-night upon the beach. I have skiff, sail, 
 and compass. By my art I have learned, that where 
 the sun sets is gold ; and thither we will steer. Bid 
 adieu to your friends, and be punctual." 
 
 " Adieu ! " muttered Scowl. " As surely as the 
 wave breaks upon the beach, so surely will I be 
 there. For adieus! — But no matter. I say I will 
 be there." 
 
 " And I," said Topaz. 
 
 " And I," cried Blitheheart, " will but run home to 
 see what I may pick up to help me on the voyage, 
 and then for the ocean." 
 
 The young men departed from * the hut, and the 
 master busied himself securing his bags of gold, his 
 jewels, with provisions, and all else needful for the 
 enterprise. 
 
 The night came. Scowl was the first at the ap- 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 33 
 
 pointed spot. It was a narrow point, jutting into the 
 sea, which beat over vast fragments of rocks fallen 
 from the surrounding precipices. The night was 
 chilly; the moon and stars were in the skies — yet 
 there seemed a desolation in the heavens. The 
 heavy beating of the waves was in monotonous ac- 
 cordance with the apathy of his soul, who, seated on 
 the rock, raised his eyes from the deep to the cloud- 
 veiled moon, as though they asked^ " Why moves 
 this water?" The moon returns him in mystery to 
 the wave ; and the sea-weed, that listlessly he plucks 
 from the rock, adds to the whole riddle, and all is 
 darkness. His existence seemed to pause in the 
 question of u What is existence?" Night seemed 
 again to shed some part of its former influence over 
 him. After vainly venturing to search the hidden 
 springs of nature — the wave's motion, the wind's 
 chamber, the moon's glorious light — he wept at his 
 darkness. He lay, for a time, the smarting penitent 
 to nature, stricken down by self-accusation, whilst 
 compunction triumphed over him, and like the 
 scorpion near the flame, he writhed, stung with his 
 own venom. He prayed for the rock to yawn and 
 swallow him ; he asked for annihilation, or to change 
 his being with the weed or shell-fish clinging to the 
 cliff. His prayers were scoffed — he still must live,, 
 and bear the human stamp. 
 
 Thus for a time he lay, passively suffering the em- 
 braces of one who had watched and followed his 
 steps where even the nest seeking school-boy had 
 feared to tread. By degrees, the vacant look of 
 Scowl changed from its wandering dulness, and his 
 
134 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 eyes flashed fire. He looked with a demon's glance 
 at the girl ; and, his voice rattling in his throat, he 
 cried, " Have I not said enough? " 
 
 The girl answered not. She sank upon her knees, 
 and, pale and trembling, with outstretched hands and 
 averted head, in silence waited her destiny. Scowl, 
 raising himself from the rock, hurried to and fro on 
 the little space allowed by the uneven surface — then 
 stopping and looking at the girl, he exclaimed, 
 "Jane ! " She turned her face towards his, but rose 
 not. "Jane, you have seen me weep — have heard 
 me groan ; you have beheld me snatch in hope at the 
 fruits of heaven, and heard my teeth gnash at finding 
 them ashes ; you have twisted a shining serpent in 
 my path ; you have — " And he approached her 
 with madness in his features. 
 
 "O God! and will you?" shrieked the girl, as, 
 trembling, she seized the arm that grasped her. 
 
 " What ! fear you death ? Look at the beach be- 
 neath. But a moment, and, when your fragile form 
 shall dash upon its bed, you will be as insensible as 
 the pebble you displace. The rising tide will bear you 
 to the ocean's vault ; and — ha, ha ! — sighing nymphs 
 will mourn the love-murdered maid. Why have you 
 haunted me? Was it not enough that I gave up 
 heaven, man's social feelings — pity? love, benevo- 
 lence? Did I not already stand the grim, uncouth 
 image of man ? — must the mockery be painted with 
 blood?" 
 
 " Are your wishes blood ? " replied the girl, for a 
 moment moved beyond herself; " I thought they 
 were gold ! " 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 135 
 
 " And gold is blood ! " fiercely answered Scowl. 
 " Could gold weep for the means by which men 
 obtain it, a new Red Sea would swallow misers in 
 their homes." 
 
 " I have gold. Here " (and she presented to 
 Scowl a small, well-filled leathern bag) — " here is 
 gold — madness — infamy eternal ! Ask not how I 
 gained it ! " 
 
 " Girl ! what have you done? " 
 
 " Loved you — lost myself! " 
 
 " That woman so should fall ! But, come, let me 
 know your story — else, unwittingly, I may want 
 gratitude." 
 
 " This gold — I thought my heart would stop, my 
 arm be palsied, as I touched it — was my father's. 
 It is — O ! shall I say — it is my husband's ! " 
 
 " Husband ! I must trudge and sneak about the 
 world, filching from all men. A wife is an en- 
 cumbrance to a social ruffian. Were I a proclaimed 
 bandit, then you should be my robber-queen — should 
 kiss nvy sword for good fortune when I went forth, 
 and wash my hands from blood at my return. But I 
 cannot war so. I take your offering, but leave your 
 hand for another." 
 
 " O Heaven ! you cannot mean ! — Scowl ! I have 
 lost all for you ! I must — I will follow you ! — 
 O, look not so, for you qannot madden me. — Be 
 merciful ! " 
 
 " I will. Jane, this is your dying hour ! Say, is 
 not death sweet amid these rocks, with the waves and 
 the stars to witness the fleeting soul? " 
 
 " Death ! — O ! to die with guilt so newly on me ! 
 Heaven have mercy ! Save me — save me ! " 
 
I36 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 Scowl seized the shrieking girl, who, after a short 
 struggle, broke from his grasp, and rushed to a higher 
 point of the rock. He follows her ; she falls ; and 
 the next moment the beach bears a mangled corse ! 
 
 A low, long whistle echoed among the rocks. 
 Scowl leapt from point to point, gained the beach, 
 and there beheld his master and his comrades. He 
 threw himself into the skiff, and plied violently at the 
 oar, as though he would numb the mind's action by 
 bodily exertion.' 
 
 For a time they proceeded in silence. At length 
 Rapax exclaimed, "What! lads homesick already? 
 What! Scowl — dull?" 
 
 " Have I proved dull since we first met? " 
 
 " In truth, no ; you are an apt scholar." 
 
 " 'Tis well you had me. Had I learned from 
 another master, I might have been as great a spend- 
 thrift as I will now be miser. — But whither are we 
 bound, and with whom are we to mingle ? " 
 
 u Our destined land," replied the master, " is a 
 fruitful one, and the inhabitants as nature made them. 
 They worship the stars, and offer fruits, flowers, and 
 shells to the spirits of air, earth, and ocean. Their 
 land is a bloodless one, and their lives pass in the con- 
 stant intercourse of what civilization calls benevo- 
 lence ! " 
 
 " What ! " said Scowl, " have they no holiness? — 
 holiness that burns and tortures one another? So, 
 then, be my trade hypocrisy ! " 
 
 "I," said Topaz, " will teach them to divide and 
 subdivide their lands. I will show them how to 
 make man-traps and spring-guns, and how (best art!) 
 to make a mystery of common sense." 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PU.PILS. 137 
 
 "And I," cried Blitheheart, "will create disease, 
 and then be physician infallible." 
 
 " Truly," said Scowl, " our vessel hath a goodly 
 freight — superstition, law-making, and physic ! " 
 
 " Welcome to your inheritance ! I give this land to 
 your practices ! " exclaimed Rapax, as he pointed to 
 the shore, which, with miraculous speed, they had 
 alread}' approached. 
 
 . Followed by his pupils, he pursued his way into the 
 island. At length they beheld a multitude of people 
 seated on the grass. The women were lovely, and 
 the men seemed worthy of their partners ; their limbs 
 indicated a pliant vigor, and in their features was 
 that dauntless independence which surely adorned 
 men in the early day. 
 
 It were long and vain to tell the means by which 
 the strangers lured the people from their happiness 
 and independence — by which they set parent against 
 child, and child against father. In fine, the land was 
 civilized ; slaves were made, and taxes were levied ; 
 some few fed to repletion, whilst thousands pined and 
 died with hunger. Rapax and his scholars controlled 
 the wx>rk. Trees were felled — houses built — -the 
 earth ransacked for iron for locks and bars, and 
 swords, and bayonets. Palaces arose — then an in- 
 quisition, halls of justice, and a school of anatomy. 
 There were several prisons, and some admirable 
 powder manufactories. There were likewise tax- 
 gatherers and executioners. The people were civi- 
 lized. 
 
 At length the seeming divinity of the task-masters 
 became a question. Some brave hearts spoke out. 
 
 " What ! " said they, u are millions to be fools and 
 
138 THE ( TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 wretches, that some two or three may be idlers and 
 knaves ? " 
 
 At length King Rapax — for king he was — ap- 
 proached the crisis of mortality. He ordered his 
 riches to be displayed about his chamber, and his 
 blood-shot eye gleamed with horrible delight as he 
 beheld the glittering heaps to which his soul was yet 
 adhering ; and he grasped a handful of gold even 
 whilst its tinkling was responded to by the, convulsive 
 rattles in the miser's throat. When death gave the 
 last charge,- Rapax screamed and groaned, as though 
 he would fight him still ; and, in the agony, he 
 crushed the metal in his hand till the blood started 
 from the withered flesh. Tearing away his vest- 
 ments, he threw himself amidst a heap of gold, as 
 though there he could defy his follower ; and as he 
 writhed among the ore, he scrambled for the jewels 
 and the vessels that were about him, supplicating the 
 assistance of the beholders to stand before him and 
 his foe. A terrific laugh of triumph extended his 
 jaws, as he stretched forth his hand to seize a massive 
 piece of gold to hide his head from the attack. Just 
 as, with almost supernatural force, he poised the 
 weight above him, his eyes start — his tongue works 
 in his mouth — the ore rattles with the struggle of his 
 limbs — and the uplifted mass, falling with a crash, 
 thunders the knell of the miser ! 
 
 The ministers paused not a moment. The ghastly 
 corse, heaped round about by gold, appalled them 
 not. Each was rushing on to take possession — when 
 shouts were heard — then the trample of multitudes. 
 The doors were burst open, and the people, thronging 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 139 
 
 onward, recoiled as they beheld the naked body of 
 their dead enslaver. The pupils, one and all, pounced 
 upon a small casket still held in the gripe of the 
 corse. Scowl was master of the prize, and, in an 
 instant, eluding the vigilance of the populace, disap- 
 peared. Topaz and Blitheheart likewise escaped. 
 The streets were empty — the houses deserted : the 
 old men, women, and children had been removed, 
 under a strong guard, to a secure retreat, whilst the 
 attack was made upon Rapax and the younger des- 
 pots. Scowl, with two or three of his minions, tossed 
 burning brands into the unguarded habitation ; the 
 winds rose, the flames raged, and destruction seemed 
 to hover over the devoted city. Again Scowl led on 
 his mercenaries ; again he was defeated. The dwell- 
 ings consecrated to the fair stranger-deities (for 
 such Rapax and his pupils had been deemed) were 
 consumed to ashes — nearly all who fought for the 
 bad cause, relentlessly slaughtered. A few, faithful 
 in adversity, by Scowl's orders launched the boat 
 which here first touched the island, and which had 
 been venerated as something little less than sacred. 
 There was no other refuge save the howling sea for 
 the gold-worshipper. All day he lay hidden ; and, 
 when night came, he hurried timidly to the spot 
 where, in an obscure creek, lay the boat. His at- 
 tendants were waiting his arrival. Scowl, unwilling 
 to venture with such a number in so fragile a bark, " 
 despatched all, save one, to his late hiding-place, in 
 the excuse of having left there a treasure of great 
 value. No sooner had the party quitted him, than 
 he leaped into a boat, and, bidding the man follow, 
 
IAO THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 was launching the craft into the sea, when his name 
 was called, and, looking round, he observed his com- 
 panions, Topaz and Blitheheart, rise from a pit which 
 they had dug in the sand. 
 
 " My brother ! " said Blitheheart, " we have watched 
 for you. Let us away from this cursed spot ! " and, 
 approaching, they were about to enter the boat. 
 
 '■' Stay ! " said Scowl ; " this is all mine. Shall I 
 not be rewarded for my work? What do you give 
 for your passage ? " 
 
 " You do but jest! What! friends barter for an 
 act of grace ! " 
 
 " I jest not. Pay me, and you shall make the voy- 
 age. Offer to palter, or to touch the gunwale of the 
 craft, and — " 
 
 As he spoke out, he seized the oar, and stood in the 
 act to strike. 
 
 " I will humor you, though you do but jest," 
 groaned Blitheheart ; and he gave him some twenty 
 gems. 
 
 "More! more!" exclaimed the insatiate Scowl. 
 Blitheheart fairly quivered with hate, as he sur- 
 rendered up all his hoard to the griping hand of 
 Scowl, who then permitted him to take his seat in 
 the boat. 
 
 " Surely you will not leave me ! " cried Topaz, in 
 an agony of fear. 
 
 " Ay, will I," replied Scowl, " unless you pay." 
 
 "Alas! I have no means. I have lost all — all! 
 But my future profits shall be yours." 
 
 " I am no speculator, brother," answered Scowl, 
 with malicious coolness, at the same time pushing 
 the boat from the strand. 
 
• THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 141 
 
 " Blitheheart ! will you pay my passage? " screamed 
 Topaz, as he waded into the sea, stretching his hand 
 tow T ards the drifting skiff. 
 
 Blitheheart turned aside his head. Topaz, in 
 madness, seized the boat. Scowl, catching up a 
 sword, struck at the petitioner just above the wrist. 
 With a piercing howl, he let go his hold — his hand 
 hung but by the slightest filament ! His shrieks were 
 lost in a sudden shout. The party of Scowl were 
 seen rushing down the beach, followed by the enraged 
 multitude. His followers begged Scowl to return — 
 he laughed ! One of the men, seizing a musket, fired ; 
 but, missing his aim, wounded the innocent compan- 
 ion of Scowl and Blitheheart. The man was, in an 
 instant, tossed into the sea ; the sail was hoisted ; the 
 wind sprang up ; and on the boat flew from the 
 island. The passengers heard the tumult of the 
 affray — clash of swords — groans and maledictions. 
 The boat sailed on : they were shortly girted round 
 by the wild and dreary sea. 
 
 And the islanders were civilized. They knew the 
 value of gold and iron : tliey bought slaves with the 
 one, and made war with the other. They had prisons 
 for debtors : and they could kill at two hundred 
 paces. They were civilized ! 
 
 The old pilgrim quitted the companions of his 
 travel when he reached the city. He looked at every 
 house with suspicion. There was in his face the as- 
 sumed meekness of devotion ; but his eyes had, at 
 times, a wolfish glare, that made the beholder gasp 
 as it flashed upon him. The devotee appeared aged 
 
142 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. • 
 
 and travel-worn ; he s«emed to walk and move from 
 the impulse of some deep, unquenchable passion, 
 rather than from the ease of natural motion. Fre- 
 quently he paused as he slunk through the streets, and 
 then hurried from the door he was about to knock at. 
 He arrived at a mosque, and, as if instinctively, 
 bowed his head. He sat upon the steps, and, wearied 
 with travel, slept. His old limbs were crouched 
 all night upon the marble. When the morning came, 
 numbers stood about, looking at the sleeper, who, 
 according to the charity of the beholder, seemed some- 
 thing more or less than human. To some he ap- 
 peared a sleeping fiend. His black, distended eye- 
 lids were in strong contrast to the bloodless pallor of 
 his cheeks ; his sharp nose, as though protruding 
 through the skin ; his fallen jaw, discovering his 
 firm-set teeth ; and his arms, hugging his breast, 
 gave him, with different minds, the appearance of a 
 saint or devil. 
 
 At length a youth approached the sleeper, and 
 pulled his garment. The pilgrim, as under the in- 
 fluence of some dream, sprang up, and seizing the 
 affrighted youth, shouted, " Where, where?" then, 
 with the rapidity of thought, felt at his breast, and 
 smiled as he seemed to grasp something. Then a 
 sudden cramp, the effect of his cold bed and the night 
 air, shooting through his legs, he fell ; and his fore- 
 head striking against the edge of the step, the blood 
 gushed from the wound. The people closed about 
 him to render assistance; but, although stunned, he 
 threw forth his legs to keep off the multitude, and 
 never once loosened his grasp from his garment. At 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 43 
 
 length the people resolved to carry him to a neigh- 
 boring surgeon ; and the pilgrim, fainting from the 
 loss of blood, was borne to a low hovel in an obscure 
 lane. 
 
 Here dwelt the leech, a rare compound of quaint 
 humor, cheerfulness, and avarice. The wounded 
 man was left alone with the surgeon, who bound up 
 the hurt, and strove to unclinch the pilgrim's hands. 
 Insensibility gave the patient greater strength ; and 
 already the man of healing trembled for his fee. He 
 administered violent restoratives to the patient, who 
 at length breathed more freely — he panted, and his 
 hands fell for an instant upon his knees. The surgeon 
 thrust his arm into the sick man's bosom — a deep 
 snarl rattled in the pilgrim's throat, as, recovering his 
 consciousness, he grasped the arm at his breast, and 
 threw back his head to confront the danger that men- 
 anced him. There was a terrific interchange of look : 
 eye flashed on eye — the face of each was distended — 
 their lips worked, as though in disgust and hatred of 
 the name they uttered — as " Scowl," " Blitheheart," 
 fell, like venom, from them. 
 
 The companions were again united. The hunters 
 had again met. A hatred of each other in youth had 
 become more deadly in age : but dissimulation could 
 give a seeming sanctity to the purpose of a fiend. 
 
 " Dear brother," cried Scowl, " you have a good 
 trade." 
 
 " Poor, wretchedly poor," answ r ered Blitheheart. 
 " What then ? I am not what I w r as. Now wealth 
 hath no charms for me." (Scowl glanced about the 
 hut.) •" Believe it — I have more silver in my beard 
 
144 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 than my bag. But come, you are wearied. Though 
 we wear turbans we can drink wine. — Come, come, 
 we are too old to be choked with a grape-stone. I 
 have no money, but I have credit — we will have wine, 
 boy ; and drink to the memory of our old master ! " 
 So saying, Blitheheart left the hut on his liberal 
 errand. 
 
 Scowl had well scanned his early companion. He 
 had read him with eyes of distrust and hate. No sooner 
 then had Blitheheart quitted the hovel than Scowl 
 cast his greedy looks around — every corner, every 
 cranny, was ransacked — the search was unsuccessful. 
 Waiting his companion's return, Scowl took up a 
 knife to cut a thorn from his foot — he cut, and still 
 his face was cold and colorless : he whetted the 
 knife upon the stone floor — it stuck at a small iron 
 ring. Scowl seized it, and bending every nerve to 
 the effort, lifted up a huge granite slab. He staggered 
 half blind from the spot, and the low roof echoed the 
 rejoicing of the demon. A blaze of gold and jewels 
 shone upon him. At this moment the door opened, 
 and Blitheheart entered. Scowl threw himself before 
 the treasure, and, with the knife firmly grasped in his 
 extended hand, dared the approach of his hi dear 
 brother," who, wildered at the discovery, moved not, 
 spoke not, but breathed a deep groan of agony, let 
 the pitcher fall, and, subdued to utter imbecility, threw 
 himself upon his knees : he held out his clasped, trem- 
 bling hands ; the tears rolled down his withered 
 cheeks ; he tried to speak — but articulation was lost 
 in guttural moanings. 
 
 "What! I have found a treasure 1" exclaimed 
 Scowl. 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 45 
 
 " My all, my all ! " sobbed Blitheheart, tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 u All ! " echoed Scowl, and drawing his finger 
 down the edge of the knife, and his eyes flashing with 
 triumph, he cried, in a mingled tone of mockery and 
 menace, " Halves, brother ! " 
 
 The lips of Blitheheart quivered, as though struck 
 with sudden ague. The veins worked like young 
 snakes in his brow. Still he strove to call up a 
 ghastly smile into his face. " Halves — ay, ay — 
 we'll see — but the wine is gone — we must have 
 more — we — " 
 
 " Regale yourself — here is my banquet. Brother 
 (by which dear name I claim half your substance), I 
 say halves ! Why so," he pursued, as he searched 
 among the treasure, " this is well ; a good trade, in 
 faith, this physic. Brother, how many men died 
 in this?" and he held up a piece of coin, and then 
 again turned over the store. The tinkling of every 
 piece of metal added torture to Blitheheart — his 
 clinched hands struck each other in impotent frenzy, 
 and he rushed forward. Scowl dashed back the ter- 
 rified wretch * a struggle ensued ; and the tenant of 
 the hut lay dumb and insensible. Scowl searched 
 amongst the heap of wealth : he was speedily loaded 
 — indeed, he was almost held to the spot by the 
 weight of his pilferings. He took up a large golden 
 vase — twice he put it down, and then resumed it. 
 It could not be he must relinquish it — with hate 
 and selfish disappointment he dashed it from him, 
 and the metal tinkled against the bald skull of the 
 dumb and prostrate man. Blitheheart groaned heav- 
 10 
 
146 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 ily, and Scowl, with a fiendish chuckle, crossed the 
 threshold. 
 
 u Is there no mercy?" asked a manacled wretch; 
 and the rattling of his chains seemed to answer — 
 " None." The prisoner was a thin old man, whose 
 face, though meagre, was animated with strong con- 
 temptuous feeling : his lips seemed festering with 
 satire. He slunk to a corner of his dungeon, and 
 lifting a stone, took from under it a small bag: it 
 was filled with precious gems. He sat dow r n, and 
 taking up a loose pebble, drove the jewels between 
 the crannies of the dungeon walls. u If they kill the 
 birds, they shall not have the plumes," he muttered, as 
 he studded the cell of death with gems fitting a dia- 
 dem. " I fix them thus low, that they shall not glare 
 upon men's eyes ; for even in a dungeon man does 
 not look down ; his hopes will fly upward, even 
 though they lose their pinions through the bars." 
 Ashe accomplished his work the jailer entered — a 
 friend was at the gate. " Friend ! " echoed the cap- 
 tive', sneeringly — u say I have no legacies." The 
 visitor would take no denial : it was Sc^wl who 'came 
 to console the captive Topaz. Scowl held forth his 
 hand. " What ! " cried Topaz, with a malignant grin, 
 " have you another sword behind you ? — nay, leave 
 one hand for the cord of the hangman." 
 
 Scowl approached Topaz, and touching his chains, 
 cried, " Death, ha?" 
 
 u Yes, a little sleep after a long walk." 
 
 " And these are the men we cultivated. We 
 taught them to dig for gold, and they hang you for 
 
THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 147 
 
 usury. 'Tis a jest, though not a blithe one. Come, 
 no bequest for a friend ? — no wealth ? " 
 
 " Wealth, I have none, though these fools hunt 
 me for it. They surely think I have a vein of gold 
 where other men have marrow. Yet I will bequeath 
 you something ! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The rope that hangs me, will serve you for a 
 penitential cord." 
 
 The jailer entered — the friends must separate. 
 They approached each other with outstretched arms. 
 Think, brother, do you give nothing ? " cried Scowl. 
 
 " Nothing?" was the answer. Scowl, turning his 
 back on his companion, quitted the cell, and the 
 usurer was led forth to death. 
 
 Scowl, as his vessel sailed from the land, beheld the 
 carcass of the miser hanging to the winds. 
 
 All was bustle at the village of . Scowl had 
 
 returned to his native home. He had built a stately 
 and gorgeous palace, yet the edifice had but few in- 
 habitants. Two or three palsied old men from the 
 poorhouse tottered in the halls ; and the roofs that 
 might have sheltered monarchs echoed the shambling 
 tread of the pauper. Here Scowl would live in soli- 
 tude, as though he communed with his riches, giving 
 them natures and dispositions. He would talk to 
 them — for his mind was sinking — as they were his 
 ministers and friends. 
 
 At length he ventured upon a task imposed upon 
 him by his late master. It was a dark, wintry night 
 when he hobbled to the marsh where once stood the 
 
1 48 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 
 
 cottage of old Rapax. Scowl began to dig the earth, 
 and after a long and wearisome toil, he beheld the 
 buried riches of his master. Here night after night 
 he toiled, removing the treasure stealthily to his man- 
 sion. One night he beheld a man moving slowly 
 towards the pit — he saw him leap into it, and heard 
 him rattle his wealth. Scowl sprang upon the 
 robber, seized a bag, and swinging it with all his 
 strength, dashed it against the head of his opponent, 
 who fell, screaming inarticulate sounds. Scowl re- 
 peated the blows, then throwing in the earth, buried 
 the unknown corse of Blitheheart with his idol. 
 Scowl caught up the bag, and hastened to his 
 mansion. 
 
 " It must be," exclaimed Scowl ; " none else could 
 know the spot ! " And then he sought to place the 
 bag with his stores : he felt in his bosom — groaned, 
 and let the bag fall. The noise awakened his ser- 
 vants : the old men ran to their master, whom they 
 found aghast and trembling. Scowl wildly cried, 
 " My keys ! my keys ! gone — buried ! " One of the 
 old men took up the bag — Scowl darted forth to seize 
 it, then staggered back — as he beheld it wet with 
 the blood of his victim. The servants cut it open, 
 and the gold fell about the floor. Scowl stamped 
 and shrieked as he saw the old men fighting and 
 struggling for the coin. He rushed to the iron door 
 of his treasures, forbidding all approach. Here, in 
 madness, he raved for hours. The old men, terrified, 
 and their suspicions awakened by the appearance of 
 the bag, soon gave tongue to their fears. The civil 
 authorities, with a crowd of villagers, were in attend- 
 
THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. I49 
 
 ance. They burst open the bolted door of the apart- 
 ment which led to the retreat of the miser, beheld 
 him stretched at the door of his treasury. They 
 raised him up — he was dead. In his madness, he 
 had flung himself violently against the door, and a 
 deep wound on his brow showed the indention of 
 one of the iron rivets with which it was studded. 
 
 These are the deaths of the three pupils of Rapax. 
 One was gibbeted — the other murdered by his 
 fellow — the third fractured his own skull against 
 the barrier of his wealth. They all got on in the 
 world. 1 83 1. 
 
 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT 
 LITTLE. 
 
 EXTRAORDINARY is the mind of man ! He 
 sails in mid-air; he compasseth the globe; he 
 blunts the lightning; he writeth Hamlet, Pai-adise 
 Lost, the Principla, and he chaineth a flea by the 
 leg. He maketh the strong elephant to bend his 
 joints, and he subdueth a flea, if not to " hew wood," 
 at least to draw water. These, the later triumphs 
 of the human essence, are now on exhibition some- 
 where in that long ark for modern monsters, Regent 
 Street! Yes, the "Industrious Fleas" at once de- 
 light and shame fashionable idlers, sending them to 
 their beds to ruminate on the sagacity of the living 
 world about them. 
 
150 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 
 
 We love a monster as much as ever did Trinculo ; 
 hence we have been bitten ; that is, we have made 
 acquaintance with the " Industrious Fleas. " Let us 
 shortly enumerate their separate capabilities. One 
 flea, a fine muscular fellow, worthy, did fairies die, 
 to be mourning coach-horse at the funeral of Queen 
 Titania (how long since the fairies had a corona- 
 tion!), draws a very splendid carriage, constructed 
 from the pith of elder. He curvets, and bounds, and 
 shows his blood (he must have been fed in some 
 royal stable — he hath surely fattened on kings) with 
 the proudest royal coach-horse, on — as they say at 
 public dinners — " the proudest day of its life." Hav- 
 ing seen its legs, we shall think more seriously of the 
 kick of a flea ever after. Then, to talk of a " flea 
 bite," as a proverb for a wife — a mere nothing; let 
 those who speak thus vainly contemplate the terrible 
 proboscis of the aforesaid chariot flea, and then think 
 of the formidable weapon, plunged through one's 
 tender skin, and sucking up by quarts (we saw, we 
 looked through a microscope) our hearts' best blood ! 
 To go to bed appears no wonder, but to be able to 
 rise again after what we have beheld, seems to us a 
 daily miracle ! To proceed. Another of the " in- 
 dustrious " takes the air with a chain and a weight to 
 his leg, the wonder consisting in its resignation to its 
 destiny. A third flea, also manacled, draws water. 
 A fourth flea has a more awful duty — to bear 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, late of France, but now of St. 
 Helena — there he is, the victor of a hundred fights, 
 majestically seated on flea back. An enthusiastic 
 Frenchman may, if he have good eyes, see in the 
 
THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 151 
 
 miniature emperor, the sallow, thoughtful face, the 
 " brassy eye " {vide Haydon's account), of the original 
 despot — could the figure take snuff, the illusion would 
 be perfect. Two other fleas, soldiers, fight a desperate 
 combat, affording in their proper persons a triumphant 
 refutation to the celebrated dogma of the philosopher, 
 that «• fleas are not lobsters." We understood from 
 the cicerone, that their deadly enmity was excited 
 towards each other by a mutual tickling. We were 
 also informed, that one of the fleas (" epicurean 
 animal ! ") had the honor to sup off the hand of the 
 Princess Augusta. This fact was shamefully hushed 
 up by the magas of the Court Circular, else how 
 would it have astonished the world to have read, 
 that "last night her Royal Highness the Princess 
 Augusta gave a supper to the fleas " ! Certain it is, 
 the document contains at times news of less interest.* 
 This condescension on the part of her Highness, 
 though it speaks much for her affability, has been the 
 cause of grievous heartburnings and bickerings among 
 the society. It is extraordinary the airs that every 
 flea gives himself about " his blood." However, it is 
 to be hoped that a herald will be appointed to settle 
 the claims of each disputant, and to favor the whole 
 with a genealogical tree. Who knows whether one 
 of these fleas' ancestors did not bite Sancho Panza, or 
 the Dulcinea del Toboso, or the Carters, who were 
 "bitten like a tench"? Speaking on our own re- 
 sponsibility, we are afraid that each of these little 
 creatures, after all its vanity about pure blood, has 
 
 * Her Majesty the Queen, and Prince George of Cumberland, stood the 
 whole of the sermon 1 1 — Court Circular^ April 8, 1832. 
 
152 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE, 
 
 been somewhat capricious in its appetite ; a fault, by 
 the by, which often puzzles the heralds in their 
 labors, for certain other Httle animals are very angry, 
 when they speak of blood, too. 
 
 We quitted the exhibition, and walking at a 
 melancholy pace, with our long, lean visage bent 
 towards the earth, we were accosted by a man — an 
 odd-looking person, with a box at his back — who 
 begged we would stop and see his show. We were 
 in a sight-seeing humor, and at once consented. The 
 box was placed on a trestle, our eye was at the glass, 
 and our ears open, when the man commenced his 
 description : — 
 
 " The first view presents you with a grand state 
 coach of the Great Mogul ; it is drawn by a thousand 
 curious animals ; they are, as you will perceive, very 
 finely dressed in rich harness, tall feathers, and flying 
 ribbons ; they come and tie themselves to the coach, 
 and feel*it an honor to be bridled ; they snort, and 
 caper, and kick mud into the eyes of the bystanders. 
 
 " The next view shows you one of these animals with 
 a long chain and a heavy log. This chain was fixed 
 upon his leg when he was born ; and though he has 
 sometimes tried to file away the links, he has had his 
 knuckles so smartly rapped, and been called so many 
 names, — been so preached to that the chain and log 
 were for his own good, and that it would ruin him to 
 take them from him, — that 'tis likely he will, for the 
 public benefit, be made to wear them to the end of 
 his days. 
 
 " The animal in the next view, that is chained and 
 draws water, is one of the Great Mogul's million of 
 
THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 1 53 
 
 slaves. Although he draws bucket after bucketful 
 for the Mogul's house and his household, for his 
 horses, and his dogs, and his kitchen, and his flower- 
 garden, he is often perishing himself for one half 
 mouthful ; his lips are blistered, and his tongue black, 
 with the water drawn by his own hands, running 
 about him. 
 
 " The fourth animal is mounted on a fiery dragon, 
 that, belching flames, kindles forests, fires towns, dries 
 rivers, blasts harvests, and swallows men, women, 
 and sucking babes. Look to the left, and the dragon 
 is turned to a something no bigger than a mouse, and 
 with its stinted rations of butter and cheese. 
 
 " In the fifth and last view you see ten thousand 
 of these animals ferociously killing, biting, tearing 
 another ten thousand, whom they never saw till a few 
 minutes ago, and with whom they have no quarrel. 
 But they kill one another because they are tickled to 
 do so. That is, certain animals go about with tic- 
 kling wands called ' glory,' < deathless renown,' 
 4 laurel,' and other titillating syllables, poking in the 
 ribs of the poor benighted creatures." 
 
 I took my eye from the glass. — " My good man, 
 what have you shown me?" 
 
 " Fleas, sir." 
 
 " Fleas ! — nonsense ; the fleas are shown above." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but mine are the fleas with two legs ; 
 though, if I must be honest, I can't say I see any 
 difference between the fleas in my show-box and the 
 fleas above." i§-i2. 
 
154 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 
 
 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 
 
 HUGO BON COMPAGNO was one of the gay- 
 est of the gay children of the south. He had 
 archness and vivacity — a bright eye and a ready 
 tongue. He was the favorite of the neighbors, and was 
 predestined by the monk who taught him Latin to 
 make a great figure in the world. Hugo had formed a 
 close friendship with a youth about his own age — the 
 son of a gardener ; in all respects his inferior, save in 
 that plastic quality of temper that moulded itself to 
 the will of others, and which, by its docility, made, 
 very frequently, a far deeper impression on those who 
 knew him, than the more apt and vivacious qualities 
 of his patronizing companion. However, the two 
 lads were firm friends, and in the day-dreams of boy- 
 hood, ere the warm impulses of our nature become 
 chilled in the school of selfishness — ere, in our prog- 
 ress through the world, we imperceptibly imbibe so 
 great a portion of its clay — the youths had but one 
 hope, saw but one fortune for both. Wealth, if they 
 gained any, was to be equally shared by them — 
 honors, if they came, must be participated by either. 
 So dreamt they in the delicious time of youth ; so 
 lived they in one of the loveliest spots of Italy — at a 
 village some few miles from Bologna. The world 
 as yet lay before them, an undiscovered country ; they 
 saw it, as the great navigator saw, in his dreams, the 
 distant yet unknown land ; a halo of glory was about 
 it ; it was rich in fruit and flowers, and spicy forests, 
 and mines of gold. 
 
POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 155 
 
 At length the time arrived when this romantic 
 region was to be explored. Hugo was to go into the 
 world. At the period of which we write, the church 
 was the surest road to honor; and Hugo, as we have 
 before implied, had that keen and subtle tempera- 
 ment, that untiring perseverance, and that aptitude 
 for book-learning, which, in those days, were con- 
 sidered the indispensable requisites for one who, in 
 ostensibly devoting himself to God, sought to grasp 
 at temporal sway; and who, as he bowed with a 
 seeming inward reverence to the cross, leered with a 
 miser's eye at Mammon and his heaps. Hugo was 
 devoted to the church ; he quitted his native village, 
 and, grown beyond childish years, and having cast 
 away u ail childish things," he became a monk, and 
 in his function pored over that awful volume, so 
 blotted with crime, so stained with tears, so confused, 
 so scrawled with error — that mystery of mysteries — 
 the human heart. Thus he labored, all his thoughts 
 and feelings attuned to one purpose — worldly am- 
 bition. His home, his relatives, the companions of 
 his youth, the scenes of his boyhood — all, all were 
 forgotten — the monk had killed the man. 
 
 " Well, Hugo, ' said Luigi, with a saddened air, 
 " to-morrow you quit us : to-morrow you leave the 
 village, and the saints alone know if we shall ever 
 meet again." 
 
 "Meet again, Luigi? and why not? You will 
 come and see me. I shall sometimes come here. 
 We shall see one another often — very often." 
 
 "Yes — see one another! But you will only be 
 to me as the ghost of a dead friend ! " 
 
156 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE, 
 
 " The ghost of a friend ! Can I ever forget Luigi ! 
 — my earliest playmate — the brother of my heart, 
 though not of my blood? Trust me, I shall ever love 
 you." 
 
 "A monk love I — a monk has neither parents nor 
 friends ! " 
 
 " No : he loves, with an equal affection, all man- 
 kind ! " 
 
 "Ay — and only with all must Luigi take his 
 share. Farewell, Hugo, and the Virgin bless you : " 
 and Luigi turned away with ill-concealed emotion, 
 and endeavored to proceed with his work. Hugo 
 was likewise sensibly affected by the sincere passion 
 of his friend. And let not the reader too hastily 
 condemn the scene as weak and puerile — hitherto 
 Luigi, although he had known and conceded to the 
 superiority of Hugo, yet felt proud of the excellence 
 that had cast its favor upon himself. — He now saw in 
 it the cause of separation ; he now felt that he was 
 the humble Luigi, the gardener, destined to eat from 
 his daily toil, and that Hugo, his earliest and choicest 
 friend, was to be severed from him to pursue a path, 
 it might be, of glory and renown. Luigi continued 
 at his work. 
 
 "What are you going to plant there, Luigi?" 
 asked Hugo. 
 
 " A pear tree, — and it is said to be of a rare kind." 
 
 " Stay ; let me help you," rejoined Hugo ; and ap- 
 proaching Luigi, he assisted him in planting the 
 young shrub, for it was little more. Whilst thus em- 
 ployed, they uttered not a word — each drew a sombre 
 picture of the future, and for the time Hugo felt 
 
POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 157 
 
 that he could give up all hopes of the power and 
 
 splendor promised to him in his dreams, and in those 
 
 reveries more delicious, though often as equally vain. 
 
 as the visions of the night— that he could forego all 
 
 temporal pomp, all spiritual domination, rather than 
 
 wound the honest heart beside him. — For a moment 
 
 the genius of the place seemed to ask him—" Why 
 
 not abide here in the home of thy father — why not 
 
 rest with us, and get thy food from the earth — why 
 
 pant for the commerce of the world, < as the hart 
 
 panteth after the water-brooks?'" Ere the young 
 
 tree stood supported by the earth, this feeling had 
 
 subsided, as it had never risen, and Hugo stood again 
 
 about to say farewell to Luigi, who looked at him 
 
 with a look of mingled sorrow and distrust. 
 
 " Luigi ! " exclaimed Hugo, with sudden animation, 
 ' let this tree be as a covenant between us. As 'it 
 stands, it is no unapt type of your friend. The rich 
 earth is about its roots, and the ' dew will lie upon 
 its branches ; ' with the blessings of the saints, it may 
 put forth swelling buds and leaves, and rich and 
 odorous fruit — and men may pluck refreshing sweet- 
 ness from its boughs, and rejoice beneath their shade. 
 So it may grow up, and so may it adorn the land that 
 doth sustain it ; and, Luigi, it may be that it may 
 pine and shrink, and never put forth one green leaf 
 — or blight may eat its buds, and canker gnaw its 
 heart, and so, cut down, it may be cast upon the fire, 
 and so may perish. 
 
 " Thus stands your friend : I shall be planted in the 
 church, Luigi, — in that soil, rich with the flesh and 
 blood of saints — heaven may rain its dews upon me, 
 
I58 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 
 
 and I may put forth glorious fruit, and, Luigi (the 
 voice of the speaker became slightly tremulous), 
 these hopes may be a melancholy mockery of my fate 
 — for I may perish, unknown, unhonored, unregretted. 
 I know not how to account for it ; my mind is pos- 
 sessed by a sudden superstition. I feel — - and it is an 
 odd, perhaps an unchristian fancy — that this tree will 
 be the symbol of my destiny ; if it flourish, I shall 
 prosper; if it fade, Hugo will decay too. But, how- 
 ever it may be, Luigi, the hearts of our youth shall, 
 in their friendship, be the hearts of our old age. And 
 though we shall meet, yes, often meet, yet here I 
 promise, that there is no time so distant, no state so 
 high, that even though, parting here as }'ouths, we 
 never meet but as gray-headed men — that here, em- 
 bracing in this humble garden, w T e next encountered 
 in the halls of kings — I give my solemn word that 
 you shall be to me the same Luigi, I the same 
 Hugo." 
 
 Luigi grasped the hand of the speaker — u Heaven 
 prosper you, Hugo — and forget not your friends. 
 Remember, remember the pear-tree." 
 
 Hugo quitted his paternal home ; years passed on, 
 and whilst Luigi, a happy aad contented man, tilled 
 his ground, and propped his vines, and saw his ruddy 
 offspring flourishing around him — whilst he enjoyed 
 that great gift of Paradise, " a country life," and 
 lived in an atmosphere of serenity and sweetness, 
 Hugo was toiling through the devious paths of church- 
 craft, a childless man. He was a politician and a 
 priest — then, more than ever, twin-flowers upon one 
 stalk — he had advanced in dignity, and had almost 
 
POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 1 59 
 
 within his grasp that bright reality, the shadow of 
 which had shone like a star upon his tide of life, and 
 tempted him to ford all depths, to dare all dangers, 
 to hold all toil as nought. 
 
 And Luigi lived on, and became an old man. His 
 children's children frolicked under the shadow of the 
 pear tree, which shot up, and spread out, as though 
 some spirit were specially charged to tend it. 
 
 " Ha ! " cried Luigi, " 'tis a rare crop ; " as two of 
 his grandchildren, perched in the boughs, plucked 
 the fruit, and threw it into the laps of their little 
 sisters, who piled it in two large baskets — " 'tis a 
 rare crop," repeated Luigi, " and if Hugo bear but 
 half as much, there are few richer among the brother- 
 hood. He said, as this tree flourished, so should he 
 prosper : he was a true prophet ; though 'tis well he 
 left something behind to inform me of his increasing 
 greatness — it seems I should never have known it 
 from himself." 
 
 Hugo had, shortly after his departure, forgotten his 
 friend, who, however, continued to tread the same 
 humble, happy path, in which he had at first set out. 
 He had had nothing to disquiet him, no losses, no 
 family afflictions ; the dove, Peace, had always nestled 
 in his cot — and it was not until the old man was 
 bending downwards to the grave, that misfortune 
 threatened his hearth-stone. 
 
 A man of high birth and immense wealth had built 
 a magnificent palazzo in the neighborhood of Luigi 's 
 cottage. This man was connected by marriage with 
 the family of Hugo. He was purse-proud and des- 
 potic, making of his gold a sword against the poor. 
 
l6o POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 
 
 One day it was his arrogant whim that the cottage 
 of the gardener interfered with the beauty of the pros- 
 pect from the palazzo. It was almost instantly con- 
 veyed to Luigi, that he must seek another abode, as 
 the land on which the house was built, together with 
 the gardens, belonging to his potent neighbor, was to 
 be devoted to other purposes. The intelligence fell 
 with a heavy blow upon the old man. To leave the 
 cottage — the roof under which himself, his fathers, 
 were born — to quit his gardens, his trees, things 
 which, next to his own children, he loved with a 
 yearning affection — the very thought of it appeared 
 to him a kind of death. He refused to quit — he re- 
 monstrated — implored — it was of no avail — the cot- 
 tage interfered with the prospect. 
 
 One evening the old man, half bewildered, had re- 
 turned from a fruitless journey to the palazzo. He 
 sat down in his garden, and looked with swimming 
 eyes upon his mirthful grandchildren (heedless pretty 
 ones, whose very happiness gives a deeper melan- 
 choly to a house of sorrow) ; shocked and wounded by 
 the tyranny of his landlord, he glanced at Hugo's 
 Pear Tree-— (for so he always called it). The old 
 man leaped from his seat ; his resolution was taken ; 
 he would go to Rome — he would, as a last hope, 
 strive to find some part of his boyish playmate, Hugo, 
 in the wrinkled, politic churchman. All things were 
 soon ordered for his journey, and he quitted the cot- 
 tage, bearing with him a small basket filled with the 
 finest pears plucked from Hugo's tree. Luigi arrived 
 in Rome ; and now with a sinking heart, now with a 
 confidence based on honest pride, he sought the pres- 
 
POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. l6l 
 
 enceofthe Holy Father. Appearing before the ser- 
 vants of his Holiness, Luigi asked for an audience 
 with Messer Hugo Bon Compagno. When re- 
 minded of this unbecoming familiarity, Luigi replied 
 that he knew not Pope Gregory XIII., but was a dear 
 friend of Hugo's, and therefore demanded to see his 
 companion, not caring, he said, to trouble the pope. 
 
 To this Luigi obstinately adhered, continually 
 urging, with great earnestness, that he should be ad- 
 mitted to the presence of his early comrade. There 
 was a simplicity in the old man's manner that for 
 once won upon the minions of the great; and the 
 strange demand of Luigi being reported to his Holi- 
 ness, he was with great ceremony ushered before the 
 sovereign Pontiff- before the man who was courted 
 by emperors, nattered by kings. All retired, and the 
 rustic and God's vicar upon earth were confronted. 
 
 How changed, since the friends had last met ! — 
 Then, they were, at least in fortunes, almost equal 
 Now, one was bent beneath the load of empire — 
 worshipped as one only « a little lower than the 
 angels" — the triple crown upon his head — St 
 Peter's keys within his hand. What has the poor 
 gardener to show against all these? — A basket of 
 pears ! 
 
 "Now, my son," said Pope Gregory — "you 
 sought Hugo Bon Compagno -you find him in 
 £nT?» the Thirteenth - What ask J™, at his 
 
 "Justice, most holy father— justice, and no favor." 
 " Speak." 
 
 "I made with another, in my time of youth, a 
 II 
 
1 62 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 
 
 mutual compact of kindness and protection — we 
 vowed that whichever should prosper in his fortune, 
 should serve and assist the other." 
 
 " It was a Christian promise. Well ! Stand you 
 in need of succor?" 
 
 "Most grievously — oppression has come upon me 
 in ray old age." 
 
 "And your friend forsakes you in your need? 
 Have you witnesses to the compact of which you 
 
 speak ? " 
 
 "Yes — this basket of pears ! " 
 
 "Pears!" cried the Pontiff; and light darted from 
 his eyes as he fixed them earnestly on Luigi. 
 
 " We planted the tree on which they grew — ' Let 
 this tree be a covenant between us ' — were the words 
 of my companion. He and the tree have flourished : 
 for forty years that tree has never failed ; for every 
 year it hath brought forth a crop of luscious fruit — 
 and I have sat beneath that tree and wondered how 
 it could be so bountiful to me, when he who helped 
 to plant it, he who was bending beneath his honors 
 and his wealth, had forgotten to send me even a single 
 
 pear." 
 
 u Luigi — Luigi," exclaimed the Pontiff; and with 
 a face crimsoned with blushes, he threw his arms 
 about the rustic ! — Their gray heads lay on each 
 other's shoulder. Thus they continued for some 
 moments, and then Luigi, stooping to the basket, pre- 
 sented a pear to Gregory : he took it, and looking at 
 it, burst into tears. 
 
 Luigi kept his cottage. 
 
 1831. 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 163 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 T^HE "principle of evil," as commonly embodied 
 -L in the theatre, has been a sorry affair ; —the 
 stage devil in a word, a shabby person. From the 
 time of he Mysteries at Coventry to the melo-dramas 
 of the phosphoric pen of the blue-fire dramatist, the 
 father of iniquity has made his appearance in a 
 manner more provocative of contempt than of fear • 
 a candidate for our smiles, rather than a thin- of 
 terrors: we have chuckled where we should have 
 shuddered. 
 
 That the stage devil should have been so common- 
 place an individual, when there were devils in- 
 numerable wherefrom an admirable selection of 
 demons might be "constantly on hand," made it the 
 more inexcusable on the part of those gentlemen 
 invested with the power of administering to, and in 
 some measure forming, public taste. What a cata- 
 logue of devils may be found in the Fathers ! Let us 
 particularize a few from the thousands of demons 
 with which tne benevolent imaginations of our ances- 
 tors have peopled the air, the earth, and the flood. 
 root humanity stands aghast at the fearful odds of 
 spiritual influences arrayed against it; for it is the 
 fixed opinion of Paracelsus, that "the air is not so 
 full of fhes m summer, as it is at all times of invisible 
 devils; whdst another philosopher declares that 
 there ,s "not so much as a hair-breadth empty in 
 earth or in waters, above or under the earth » l 
 
164 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 Cornelius Agrippa has carefully classified devils, 
 making them of nine orders. The first are the false 
 gods adored at Delphos and elsewhere in various 
 idols, having for their captain Beelzebub ; the second 
 is of '* lyars and equivocators," as Apollo — poor 
 Apollo ! — " and the like ; " the third are " vessels of 
 anger, inventors of all mischief," and their prince is 
 Belial ; the fourth are malicious, revengeful devils, 
 their chief being Asinodeus ; the fifth are cozeners, 
 such as belong to magicians and witches — their 
 prince is Satan ; the sixth are these aerial devils that 
 corrupt the air, and cause plagues, thunder, fire, and 
 tempests — Meresin is their prince; the seventh is a 
 destroyer, captain of the Fairies ; the eighth is an 
 accusing or calumniating devil ; and the ninth are all 
 these in several kinds, their commander being Mam- 
 mon. Of all these infernal creatures Cornelius 
 Agrippa writes with the confidence and seeming ac- 
 curacy of a man favored with their most intimate 
 acquaintance. 
 
 In addition to these, we have, on the authority of 
 grave philosophers, legions of household devils, from 
 such as " commonly work by blazing stars," fire- 
 drakes or ignes fatui, to those who u counterfeit 
 suns and moons, and oftentimes sit on ship masts." 
 Their common place 'of rendezvous, when unem- 
 ployed, is Mount Hecla. Cardon, with an enviable 
 gravity, declares that " his father had an aerial devil 
 bound to him for twenty and eight years." Paracelsus 
 relates many stories, all authenticated, of she-devils 
 46 that have lived and been married to mortal men, 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 165 
 
 and so continued for certain years with them, and 
 after, for some dislike, have forsaken them." Olaus 
 Magnus — a most delightful liar — has a narrative of 
 "one Hotheius, a king of Sweden, that, having lost 
 his company as he was hunting one day, met with 
 these water-nymphs and fairies, and was feasted by 
 them ; " and Hector Boethius of" Macbeth and Banco, 
 two Scottish lords, that, as they were wandering in 
 the woods, had their fortunes told them by three 
 strange women." For the " good people," the wood- 
 nymphs, foliots, fairies, they are, on the best authority, 
 to be seen in many places in Germany, " where they 
 do usually walk in little coats some two feet long." 
 Subterranean devils are divided by Olaus Magnus 
 into six companies ; they commonly haunt mines ; 
 " and the metal-men in many places account it good 
 luck, a sign of treasure and rich ore, when they see 
 them." Georgius Agricola (De subterraneis Ani- 
 mantibus) reckons two more kinds, that are " clothed 
 after the manner of metal-men, and will do their 
 work." Their office, according to the shrewd guess 
 of certain philosophers, u is to keep treasure in the 
 earth that it be not all at once revealed." 
 
 On the 20th of June, 1484, it is upon record that 
 the devil appeared " at Hamrud, in Saxony," in the 
 likeness of a field piper, and carried away a hundred 
 and thirty children u that were never after seen." 
 I might fill folios with the pranks and malicious 
 mummeries of the evil spirit, all, too, duly attested by 
 the most respectable witnesses ; but shall at once 
 leave the demons of the philosophers for the spirits 
 
1 66 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 of the play-mongers — the devils of the world for the 
 devils of the stage. 
 
 Why is it that, nine times out of ten, your stage 
 devil is a droll rather than a terrible creature? I 
 suspect that this arises from the bravado of our in- 
 nate wickedness. We endeavor to shirk all thoughts, 
 all recollections, of his horrible attributes, by endowing 
 him with grotesque propensities : we strive to laugh 
 ourselves out of our fears : we make a mountebank 
 of what is in truth our terror, and resolutely strive to 
 grin away our apprehensions. Surely some feeling 
 of this kind must be at the bottom of all our ten 
 thousand jokes at the devil's expense — of the glee 
 and enjoyment with which the devil is received at 
 the theatre ; where, until the appearance of Mr. 
 Wieland, he has been but a commonplace absurdity 
 — a dull repetition of a most dull joke. 
 
 Wieland has evidently studied the attributes of the 
 evil principle ; with true German profundity he has 
 taken their length, and their depth, and their breadth : 
 he has all the devil at his very finger-ends, and richly 
 deserves the very splendid silver-gilt horns and tail 
 (manufactured by Rundell and Bridges) presented to 
 him a few nights since by the company at the English 
 Opera House ; presented, with a speech from the 
 stage-manager, which — or I have been grossly mis- 
 informed — drew tears from the eyes of the very scene- 
 shifters. 
 
 Can anybody forget Wieland' s devil in " The Daugh- 
 ter of the Danube " ? Never was there a more dainty 
 bit of infernal nature. It lives in my mind like one 
 of Hoffman's tales ; a realization of the hero of the 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 167 
 
 nightmare — a thing in almost horrible affinity with 
 human passions. How he eyed the Naiades ! how 
 he languished, and ogled, and faintingly approached, 
 then wandered round the object of his demoniacal af- 
 fections ! And then how he burst into action ! How 
 he sprang, and leaped, and whirled — and, chuc- 
 kling at his own invincible nature, spun like a tee- 
 totum at the sword of his baffled assailant ! And 
 then his yawn and sneeze ! There was absolutely 
 poetry in them — the very highest poetry of the 
 ludicrous : a fine imagination to produce such sounds 
 as part of the strange, wild, grotesque phantom — to 
 give it a voice that, when we heard it, we felt to be 
 the only voice such a thing could have. There is fine 
 truth in the devils of Wieland — we feel that they 
 live and have their being in the realms of fancy ; they 
 are not stereotype commonplaces, but most rare and 
 delicate monsters brought from the air, the earth, or 
 the flood ; and wherever they are from, bearing in 
 them the finest characteristics of their mysterious and 
 fantastic whereabout. 
 
 Wieland's last devil, in an opera bearing his fear- 
 ful name, is not altogether so dainty a fellow as his 
 elder brother of the Danube ; whose melancholy so 
 endeared him to our sympathies, whose lack-a-daisi- 
 cal demeanor so won upon our human weakness. 
 In " The Devil's Opera,'' the hero is more of the 
 pantomimist than of the thinking creature : he is not 
 contemplative, but all for action : he does not, like 
 the former fiend, retire into the fastness of his infernal 
 mind to -brood on love and fate, but is incessantly 
 grinning, leaping, tumbling: hence he is less in- 
 
l6S SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 teresting to the meditative part of the audience 
 though, possibly, more attractive to the majority of 
 playgoers, who seem to take the » ev.1 principle 
 under* their peculiar patronage, laughing, shouting 
 and hurrahing at every scurvy tnck played by ^t on 
 poor, undefended humanity, though with a bold aim 
 of genius on the part of the author, the devil, in the 
 opera, is made the ally of love and virtue, against 
 bUnd'tyranny and silly superstition. The devil is 
 chained, bound, the bond-slave of the good and re- 
 spectable part of the dramatis person* to the con- 
 fusion of the foolish and the wicked. This is cer- 
 tainly putting the "evil principle" to the very first 
 advantage. The best triumph of the highest benevo- 
 lence is, undoubtedly, to turn the dominating fiend 
 into the toiling vassal; and in the new opera this 
 elory is most unequivocally achieved. 
 
 To Wieland we are greatly indebted for having 
 reformed the " infernal powers " of the theatre ; for 
 having rescued the imp of the stage from the vulgar . 
 commonplace character in which lie has too long dis- 
 guised himself, or, I ought rather to say, exposed him- 
 "elf; for there was no mystery whatever in him: lie 
 was a sign-post devil -a miserable daub ; with not 
 one of those emanations of profound unearthly 
 thought- not the slightest approach to that dehcacy 
 of coloring, that softening of light into shade and 
 shade into light, that distinguish the devd of \\ .eland. 
 No : in him we have the foul fiend divested of all his 
 vulgar Bartlemy-fair attributes; his horns and tail 
 and saucer-eyes, and fish-hook nails, are the east 
 part of him ; they are the mere accidents oi his nature, 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 160 
 
 not his nature itself; we have the devil in the abstract, 
 and are compelled to receive with some consideration 
 the popular and charitable proverb, that declares 
 him to be not quite so black as limners have shad- 
 owed him. 
 
 By the rarest accident, I have obtained some ac- 
 count of the birth and childhood of Wieland. It 
 appears that he is a German born, being the youngest 
 of six sons of Hans Wieland, a poor and most amia- 
 ble doll-maker, a citizen of Hildesheim. When only 
 four years old, the child was lost in the Hartz Moun- 
 tains, whither his father and several neighbors had 
 resorted to make holiday. The child had from his 
 cradle manifested the greatest propensities towards 
 the ludicrous ; it was his delight to place his father's 
 dolls in the most preposterous positions, doing this 
 with a seriousness, a gravity, in strange contrast with 
 his employment. It was plain to Professor Teu- 
 felskopf, a frequent visitor at the shop of old Wieland 
 employed by the Professor on toys that are yet to 
 astound the world, — being no other than a man and 
 wife and four children, made entirely out of pear tree, 
 and yet so exquisitely constructed as to be enabled to 
 eat and drink, cry, and pay taxes, with a punctuality 
 and propriety not surpassed by many machines of 
 flesh and blood, — I say it was the opinion of Profess- 
 or Teufelskopf that young Wieland was destined to 
 play a great part among men — an opinion, we are 
 happy to say, nightly illustrated by the interestino- 
 subject of this memoir. We have, however, to speak 
 of his adventures, when only four years old, in the 
 Hartz Mountains. For a whole month was the child 
 
170 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 missing, to the agony of his parents, and the deep 
 regret of all the citizens of Hildesheim, with whom 
 little George was an especial favorite. The mountains 
 were overrun by various parties in search of- the un- 
 fortunate little vagrant ; but with no success. It was 
 plain that the boy had been caught away by some 
 spirit of the mines with which the marvellous dis- 
 trict abounds, or, it might be, carried to the very 
 height of the Brockenberg, by the king of the moun- 
 tain, to be his page and cup-bearer. The gravest 
 folks of Hildesheim shook their heads, and more than 
 two declared that they never thought George would 
 grow up to a man — he was so odd, so strange, so 
 fantastic ; so unlike any other child. The despair of 
 Hans Wieland was fast settling into deep melancholy, 
 and he had almost given up all hope, when, as he sat 
 brooding at his fireside one autumn night, his wife — ■ 
 she had quitted him not a minute to go up stairs — 
 uttered a piercing shriek. Hans rushed from the fire- 
 side, and in an instant joined his wife, who, speech- 
 less with delight and wonder, pointed to the nook in 
 the chamber where little George was wont to sleep, 
 and where, at the time, but how brought there was 
 never, never known, the boy lay in the profoundest 
 slumber ; in all things, the same plump, good-looking 
 child, save that his cheek was more than usually 
 flushed. Hans Wieland and his wife fell upon their 
 knees and sobbed thanksgiving. 
 
 I cannot dwell upon the eifect produced by this mys- 
 terious return of the child upon the people of Hildes- 
 heim. The shop of Hans Wieland was thronged with 
 folks anxious to learn from the child himself a full ac- 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 71 
 
 count of his wanderings — of how he happened to stray 
 away — of what he had seen — and by what means 
 he had been brought back. To all these questions,' 
 though on other points a most docile infant, George 
 maintained the most dogged silence. Several of the 
 church authorities, half a dozen professors, nay, the 
 great Teufelskopf himself, questioned the child ; but 
 all in vain — George was resolutely dumb. It was 
 plain, however, that he had been the play-fellow, the 
 pet, of supernatural things; and though there can be 
 little doubt that his fiends and devils, as shown upon 
 the stage, are no other than faithful copies of the 
 grotesque originals at this moment sporting in the 
 neighborhood of the Brockenberg, Mr. Wieland, as I 
 am credibly informed, though a gentle and amiable 
 person in every other respect, is apt to be ruffled, nay, 
 violent, if impertinently pressed upon the subject of 
 his early wanderings. When, however, we reflect 
 upon the great advantages obtained by Mr. Wieland 
 from what is now to be considered the most fortunate 
 accident of his childhood, we must admit that there 
 is somewhat less praise due to him, than if he ap- 
 peared before us as a great original. Since I com- 
 menced this paper I have been informed by Mr. 
 Dullandry, of" The Wet Blanket," that the goblin in 
 " The Daughter of the Danube/' a touch of acting i n 
 which Mr. Wieland gathered a wreath of recMiot 
 laurels, is by no means what it was taken for, a piece 
 of fine invention on the part of the actor, but an 
 imitation, a most servile copy of the real spirit that 
 carried George away from his 'father and friends, 
 tempting the little truant with a handful of most 
 
172 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 delicious black cherries, and a draught of kirschen- 
 wasser ; that every gesture, every movement, nay, 
 that the leer of the eye, and the " villanous hanging 
 of the nether lip," the sneeze, the cough, the sigh — 
 the lightning speed, the 
 
 "Infernal beauty, melancholy grace," — 
 
 all the attributes of mind and body of that most deli- 
 cate fiend of the Brockenberg, were given in the hob- 
 goblin of the Danube. Hence, if Mr. Wieland be 
 not, as we thought him, a great original, he is most 
 assuredly the first of mimics, and has turned a peril 
 of his childhood to a golden purpose. Dullandry de- 
 clares upon the best authority — doubtless his own — 
 that the devil of the Brockenberg, when little George 
 cried to go home to his father and mother, his brother 
 and sisters, would solace the child by playing on a 
 diabolic fiddle — the strings of wolf's gut, and the 
 bow strung from the snowy hair of the witch of the 
 Alps — dancing the while, and by the devilish magic 
 of the music bringing from every fissure in the rocks, 
 every cleft in the earth, and from every stream, their 
 supernatural intelligences to caper and make holiday 
 for the especial delight of the poor kidnapped son of 
 the doll-maker of Hildesheim. If this be true, — and 
 when Dullandry speaks, it is hard to doubt, his 
 words being pearls without speck or flaw, — if this 
 be true, we here beg leave to inform Mr. Wieland 
 that from this minute we withdraw from him a great 
 part of that admiration with which we have always 
 remembered the spasmodic twitch of his elbow, the 
 self-complacency about his eyes and jaws, the lofty 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 73 
 
 look of conscious power, the stamping of the foot, 
 and the inexhaustible energy of bowing which marked 
 his " Devil on Two Sticks," all such graces and 
 qualifications being, as from Dullandry it now ap- 
 pears, the original property of the devil of the Brock- 
 enberg. However, to return to our narrative ; which, 
 as I am prepared to show, has, in these days of dar- 
 ing speculation, the inestimable charm of truth to 
 recommend it to the severest attention of my read- 
 ers : — 
 
 Little George remained a marvel to the good 
 citizens of Hildesheim, few of whom, for certain pru- 
 tential reasons, would any longer permit their chil- 
 dren to play with him ; fearing, and reasonably 
 enough, some evil from contact with a child who was 
 evidently a favorite with the spirits of the Hartz 
 Mountains. However, this resolution had no effect 
 on George, w T ho more than ever indulged in solitary 
 rambles, becoming day by day more serious and taci- 
 turn. His little head — as Professor Teufelskopf 
 sagaciously observed — was filled with the shapes 
 and shadows haunting the Brockenberg ! Many 
 were the solicitations, made by Teufelskopf and rival 
 professors to Hans Wieland, to be permitted to take 
 little George and educate him for a philosopher, an 
 alchemist, in fact for anything and everything, the 
 boy displaying capacities, as all declared, only to be 
 found in an infant Faust. To all these prayers Hans 
 Wieland was deaf, resolved to bring up hrs son to the 
 honest and useful employment of doll-making, keep- 
 ing, if possible, his head free from the cobwebs and 
 dust of the schools, and making him a worthy minister 
 
174 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 to the simple and innocent enjoyments of baby girls,* 
 rather than consenting to his elevation as a puzzler 
 and riddler among men. Thus our hero, denied to the 
 scholastic yearnings of the great Teufelskopf, sat at 
 home, articulating the joints of dolls, and helping to 
 make their eyes open and shut, when — had his father 
 had the true worldly ambition in him — the boy would 
 have been inducted into knowledge that might have 
 given him supernatural power over living flesh and 
 blood, bending and blinding it to his own high, philo- 
 sophic purposes. Hans Wieland, however, was a sim- 
 ple, honest soul, with a great, and therefore proper 
 sense of the beauties and uses of the art of doll-making. 
 Glad also am I to state, that little George, with all his 
 dreaminess, remained a most dutiful, sweet-tempered 
 boy ; and might be seen, seven hours at least out of 
 the twenty-four, seated on a three-legged stool, fitting 
 the legs and arms of the ligneous hopes of the little 
 girls of Hildesheim ; his thoughts, it may be, far, far 
 away with the fiddling goblins of the Brockenberg, — 
 making holiday with the multitude of spirits in the 
 Hartz Mountains. 
 
 This mental abstraction on the part of little George 
 was but too often forced upon the observation of 
 
 * One of the most touching instances of the "maternal instinct," as it has been 
 called, in children, came under my notice a few months ago. A wretched 
 woman, with an infant in her arms — mother and child in very tatters — solicited 
 the alms of a nursery-maid passing with a child, clothed in the most luxurious 
 manner, hugging a large wax-doll. The moiher followed the girl, begging for 
 relief k( to get bread for her child," whilst the child itself, gazing at the treasure 
 in the arms of the baby of prosperity, cried, "Mammy, when will yoo buy me a 
 doll ? " I have met with few things more affecting than the contrast of the desti- 
 tute parent begging for bread (the misery seemed real), and the beggar's child 
 begging of its modicr for "a doll" i 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 75 
 
 the worthy Hans, the young doll-maker constantly 
 giving the looks and limbs of hobgoblins to the faces 
 and bodies of dolls, intended by the father to supply 
 the demand for household dolls of the same staid and 
 prudish aspect, of the same proportion of members, 
 as the dolls that had for two hundred years soothed 
 and delighted the little maidens of Hildesheim. It is 
 a fact hitherto unknown in England, that in the 
 Museum at Hildesheim — a beautiful, though some- 
 what heavy building of the Saxon order — there are 
 either eleven or twelve (I think twelve) demon dolls 
 made by young Wieland, and to this day shown to 
 the curious — though the circumstance has, strangely 
 enough, remained unnoticed by the writers of Guide 
 Books — as faithful portraits of the supernatural in- 
 habitants of the Hartz Mountains. I am told, how- 
 ever, that within the last three years one of the figures 
 has been removed into a separate chamber, and is 
 only to be seen by an express order from the town 
 council, in consequence of its lamentable effects on 
 the nerves of a certain German princess, who was so 
 overcome by the exhibition, that it was very much to 
 be feared that the whole of the principality — ex- 
 tending in territory at least a mile and a quarter, and 
 containing no less than three hundred and twenty 
 subjects — will pass to a younger brother, or, what 
 is worse, be the scene of a frightful revolution, an 
 heir direct being wanted to consolidate the dynasty. 
 This unfortunate event, though possibly fatal to the 
 future peace of the said principality, is, nevertheless, 
 a striking instance of the powerful imagination, or 
 rather of the retentive memory, of young Wieland. 
 
176 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 The doll, like all the others, is a true copy from diabolic 
 life : how the painful story attached to it should have 
 escaped all the foreign correspondents of all the 
 newspapers, is a matter of surpassing astonishrnqnt. 
 
 We now arrive at an important change in the life 
 of our hero. His father had received a munificent 
 order for three dolls from Prince Gotheoleog, a great 
 patron of the fine arts in all their many branches. 
 The dolls were intended by the prince — he was the 
 best and most indulgent of fathers — as presents for his 
 daughters ; and therefore no pains, no cost, were to 
 be spared upon them. After a lapse of three months 
 the order was completed ; and young Wieland, then 
 in his seventh year, was dressed in his holiday suit, 
 and — the dolls being carried by Peter Shnicht, an oc- 
 casional assistant of Hans Wieland — he took his way 
 to the palace of the prince. It was about half past 
 twelve when he arrived there, and the weather being 
 extremely sultry, George sat down on the palace steps 
 to rest and compose himself before he ventured to 
 knock at the gate. Pie had remained there but a 
 short time, when he was addressed by a tall, majestic- 
 looking person, clothed in a huntsman's suit, and car- 
 rying a double-barrel gun, a weapon used in the neigh- 
 borhood of Hildesheim in boar-shooting, who, asking 
 our hero his name and business, was struck with the 
 extraordinary readiness of the boy's answer, and, more 
 than all, with a certain look of diabolic reverence 
 peeping from his eyes, and odd smiles playing about 
 his mouth. The stranger knocked at the gate, gave 
 his gun to a servant, and bade the little doll-maker 
 follow the domestic, who showed him into a sumptu- 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. I 77 
 
 ous apartment The reader is prepared to find in 
 the man with the gun no other person than Prince 
 Gotheoleog himself, who in a few minutes reappeared 
 to George, asked him, in the most condescending 
 manner, various questions respecting his proficiency 
 in reading and writing, and finally dismissed him 
 with the reward often groschen for his extraordinary 
 intelligence. Six months after this Prince Gotheoleog 
 was appointed ambassador to the Court of St. James's, 
 and young Wieland attended him in the humble, yet 
 most honorable capacity of page. This appointment 
 Hans Wieland, in his simplicity, believed would ef- 
 fectually win his romantic son from his errant habits, 
 would cure him of day-dreaming by plunging him 
 neck deep into the affairs of this world. Alas ! it had 
 precisely the reverse effect upon the diplomatic doll- 
 maker : from the moment that he found himself as- 
 sociated, though in the slightest degree, with politics, 
 the latent desire to play the devil burst forth with in- 
 extinguishable ardor. A sense of duty — a filial re- 
 gard for the prejudices of his father — did for a time 
 restrain him from throwing up his very lucrative and 
 most promising situation in the household of Prince 
 Gotheoleog, and kept him to the incessant toil, the 
 unmitigated drudgery, of diplomatic life ; but, having 
 one luckless night gained admission into the gallery 
 of the House of Commons on the debate of a certain 
 question, to which I shall not more particularly allude, 
 and there having seen and heard a certain member, 
 whose name I shall not specify, sv/ay and convulse 
 the senate, George resolved from that moment to 
 play the devil, and nothing but the devil, to the end 
 12 
 
1 78 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 of his days. He immediately retired to Bellamy's, and 
 penned his resignation to Prince Gotheoleog, trusting, 
 with the confidence of true genius, to fortune, to his 
 own force of character, or, what is more likely, with- 
 out once thinking of the means or accidents to obtain 
 the end of his indomitable aspirations — an appear- 
 ance as the devil. Unrivalled as Wieland is as the 
 representative of the fiend in all his thousand shapes 
 
 — to be sure the great advantages of our hero's edu- 
 cation in the Hartz Mountains are not to be forgotten 
 
 — it is yet to be regretted that he ever 
 
 " To the playhouse gave up what was meant for mankind." 
 
 It is, and must ever be, a matter of sorrow not only 
 to his best wishers, but to the friends of the world at 
 large, that those high qualifications, those surpassing 
 powers of diabolic phlegm, vivacity, and impudence, 
 which have made Mr. Wieland's devils .the beau 
 ideal of the infernal, had not been suffered to ripen 
 in the genial clime of diplomacy. In the full glow 
 of my admiration of his diabolic beauties — that is, 
 since the facts above narrated have been in my pos- 
 session — I have often scarcely suppressed a sigh to 
 think how great an ambassador has been sacrificed 
 in a playhouse fiend. Indeed, nothing can be more 
 truly diplomatic than the supernatural shifts of Wie- 
 land. Had he acted in France in the days of Na- 
 poleon, he had been kidnapped from the stage, and, 
 ?iolens volens, made a plenipotentiary. 
 
 It is a painful theme to dwell upon the stragglings 
 of modest, and, consequently, unsupported genius. 
 Therefore I shall, at least for the present, suppress 
 
SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 79 
 
 a very long and minute account of the trials that 
 beset our hero. in his attempts to make known the 
 wonders that were in him. I shall not relate how he 
 was flouted by one manager, snubbed by another, de- 
 risively smiled upon by a third ; how, at length, he 
 obtained a footing in the theatre, but was condemned 
 to act the minor iniquities, less gifted men being pro- 
 moted to play the devil himself. In all these trials, 
 however, in all these disappointments and occasional 
 heartburnings, the genius of our hero continued to 
 ripen. His horns still budded, and his tail gave 
 token of great promise ; and, at length, he burst upon 
 the town from top to toe, intits et in cute, a perfect 
 and most dainty devil. Great as his success has 
 been, I should not have thus lengthily dwelt upon it, 
 were I not convinced of its future increase. There 
 are great mysteries in Wieland — a part of his infant 
 wanderings in the Hartz — yet to be revealed. I feel 
 certain from the demoniacal variety of his humor, that 
 there are yet a legion of spirits, fantastic and new, 
 yet to be shown to us ; all of them the old acquaint- 
 ances of our hero's babyhood, all from the same genu- 
 ine source of romance as his " Devil on Two Sticks," 
 his wt Devil of the Danube," and his " Devil of the 
 Opera." 
 
 Having discussed the professional merits of Mr. 
 Wieland, the reader may probably 'feel curious re- 
 specting the private habits of the man so distinguished 
 by his supernatural emotions. lam enabled — it is 
 with considerable satisfaction I avow it — to satisfy the 
 laudable anxiety of the reader, and from the same au- 
 thentic materials that have supplied the principal part 
 of this notice. 
 
l8o SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 
 
 Mr. Wieland is a gentleman of the most retired and 
 most simple manners. After the severest rehearsals 
 of a new devil, he has been known to recreate him- 
 self in the enclosure of St. James's Park ; and further, 
 to illustrate his contemplative and benevolent habits, 
 by flinging to the various water-fowl in the canal — 
 by the way, in imitation of a great legal authority — 
 fragments of cakes and biscuits. His dress is of the 
 plainest kind, being commonly a snuff-colored coat 
 buttoned up to the neck, a white cravat, drab small- 
 clothes, and drab knee-gaiters. A gold-headed cane, 
 said to have been in the possession of Cornelius Agrip- 
 pa, is sometimes in his hand. He is occasionally in- 
 duced to take a pinch of snuff, but was never seen to 
 smoke. His face is as well known at the British 
 Museum as are the Elgin Marbles, Mr, Wieland hav- 
 ing for some years been employed on a new edition 
 of the " Talmud." Although a German by birth, Mr. 
 Wieland speaks English with remarkable purity, hav- 
 ing had the advantage of early instruction in our lan- 
 guage from a British dramatist, who, driven from the 
 stage by the invasion of French pieces, sought to earn 
 his precarious bread as a journeyman doll-maker 
 with Mr. Wieland, senior. We could enter into fur- 
 ther particulars, but shall commit a violence upon 
 ourselves, and here wind up what we trust will hence- 
 forth prove a model for all stage biographies. 
 
 The inquiring reader may possibly desire to learn 
 how we became possessed of the valuable documents 
 from which the above narrative is gathered. To this 
 we boldly make answer : we blush not whilst we 
 avow that our dear friend Dullandry has a careless 
 
THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. l8l 
 
 habit of carrying his most valuable communications 
 for " The Wet Blanket" in his coat pocket : and that 
 only on Thursday last we overtook him, with his pa- 
 pers peeping from their sanctuary, when, — when, in 
 a word, the temptation was too much for us, and the 
 consequence is, that the readers of " The New Month- 
 ly " have " Some Account of a Stage Devil." 
 
 Why should all dramatic truths be confined to the 
 impartial and original pages of " The Wet Blanket " ? 
 
 1838. 
 
 THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 
 
 GIULIO and Ippolito were sons of a farmer liv- 
 ing near Padua. The old man was of a quiet 
 and placable temper, rarely suffering any mischance 
 to ruffle him, but, in the firm and placid hope of the 
 future, tranquillizing himself under the evil of the 
 present. If blight came upon his corn one year, he 
 would say 'twere a rare thing to have blights in two 
 successive seasons ; and so he would hope that the 
 next harvest, in its abundance, might more than com- 
 pensate for the scarcity of the last. Thus he lived 
 from boyhood to age, and retained in the features 
 of the old man a something of the lightness and vi- 
 vacity of youth. His sons, however, bore no resem- 
 blance to their father. Instead of laboring on the 
 farm, they wasted their time in idly wishing that for- 
 tune had made them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons of 
 
I S3 THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 
 
 a farmer, the children of some rich magnifico, that so 
 they might have passed their days in all the sports 
 of the times, in jousting, hunting, and in studying 
 the fashions of brave apparel. They were of a hu- 
 mor at once impetuous and sulky, and would either 
 idly mope about the farm, or violently abuse and ill- 
 treat whomsoever accident might throw in their way. 
 The old man was inly grieved at the wilfulness and 
 disobedience of his sons, but, with his usual disposi- 
 tion, hoped that time might remedy the evil ; and so, 
 but rarely reproving them, they w r ere left sole masters 
 of their hours and actions. 
 
 One night, after supper, the brothers walked into 
 the garden to give loose to their idle fancies, always 
 yearning after matters visionary and improbable. It 
 was a glorious night ; the moon was at the full, and 
 myriads of stars glowed in the deep blue firmament. 
 The air stirred among the trees and flowers, wafting 
 abroad their sweetness ; the dew glittered on the 
 leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale, perched in a 
 citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song upon the 
 air. It w T as an hour for good thoughts and holy as- 
 pirations. Giulio threw himself upon a bank, and, 
 after gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Would that I had fields ample as the heaven 
 above us ! " 
 
 " I would," rejoined Ippolito, " I had as many 
 sheep as there are stars." 
 
 " And what," asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, 
 " would your wisdom do with them?" 
 
 " Marry," replied Ippolito, " I would pasture them 
 in your sageship's fields." 
 
THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 1 83 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising him- 
 self upon his elbow, and looking with an eye of fire 
 upon his brother, u whether I would or not? " 
 
 " Truly, ay," said Ippolito, with a stubborn sig- 
 nificance of manner. 
 
 " Have a care," cried Giulio, " have a care, Ippo- 
 lito ; do not thwart me. Am I not your elder 
 brother?" 
 
 " Yes ; and marry, what of that? Though you 
 came first into the world, I trow you left some man- 
 hood for him who followed after." 
 
 " You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, 
 despite the determination of your elder brother, you 
 will pasture your sheep in my grounds? " 
 
 " In truth, but I do." 
 
 " And that," rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, 
 and his lip tremulous, " and that without fee or rec- 
 ompense ? " 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clinched 
 hand against a tree, with a face full of passion, and 
 in a voice made terrible by rage, .he screamed, rath- 
 er than said, " By the blessed Virgin, but you do 
 not ! " 
 
 " And by St. Ursula and her eleven thousand vir- 
 gins, I protest I will." This was uttered by Ippolito 
 ill a tone of banter and bravado that for a moment 
 made the excited frame of Giulio quiver from head 
 to foot. He gazed at the features of Ippolito, all 
 drawn into a sneer, and for a moment gnashed his 
 teeth. He was hastily approaching the scoffer, when, 
 by an apparently strong effort, he arrested himself, 
 
184 THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 
 
 and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down 
 another path, where he might be seen pacing with 
 short, quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a 
 tree, carelessly sang a few lines of a serenata. This 
 indifference was too much for Giulio ; he stopped 
 short, turned, and then rapidly came up to Ippolito, 
 and, with a manner of attempted tranquillity, said, 
 " Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you ; I am 
 your elder brother ; then give up the point." 
 
 " Not I," replied Ippolito, with the same immova- 
 ble smile. 
 
 "What, then, you are determined that your sheep 
 shall, in very despite of me, pasture in my fields? " 
 
 " They shall." 
 
 " Villain ! " raved Giulio ; and ere the word was 
 well uttered he had dashed his clinched hand in his 
 brother's face. Ippolito sprang like a wild beast at 
 Giulio, and for some moments they stood with a hand 
 at each other's throat, and their eyes, in the words of 
 the Psalmist, were " whetted " on one another. They 
 stood but to gain breath, then grappled closer. Ippo- 
 lito threw his brother to the earth, huddling his knees 
 upon him ; furious blows were exchanged, but scarce 
 a sound was uttered, save at intervals a blasphemous 
 oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was complete- 
 ly overpowered by the superior strength and cooler 
 temper of his brother ; but, lying prostrate and con- 
 quered, his hands pinioned to his breast, and Ippo- 
 lito glaring at him with malicious triumph, he cursed 
 and spat at him. Ippolito removed his hand from his 
 brother's throat, and ere his pulse could beat, Giulio's 
 poniard was in his brother's heart. He gave a loud 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 185 
 
 shriek, and fell a streaming corpse upon his mur- 
 derer. The father, aroused by the sound, came hur- 
 rying to the garden ; Giulio, leaping from under the 
 dead body, rushed by the old man, who was all too 
 speedily bending over his murdered child. From 
 that hour hope and tranquillity forsook the father ; he 
 became a brain=sick, querulous creature, and in a few 
 months died almost an idiot. Giulio joined a party 
 of robbers, and, after a brief but dark career of crime, 
 was shot by the sbirri. 
 
 Ye who would build castles in the air — who 
 would slay your hours with foolish and unprofitable 
 longings — ponder on the visionary fields, the ideal 
 sheep of Giulio and Ippolito. 
 
 THE "LORD OF PEIRESC." 
 
 THERE are readers who may, possibly, prepare 
 themselves to receive the " Lord of Peiresc " 
 as the hero of a tale of chivalry, of old romance — 
 of a story full of the marvels of the world in its 
 simplicity of age, when the dreams of the fabulist 
 were a part of the realities of life, imparting to life 
 its characteristic tone and color. We hasten to dis- 
 appoint such, assuring them that "Nicholas Claudius 
 Fabricius, Lord of Peiresc," was really and truly a 
 denizen of this world — a man with a heart brimful 
 of love towards his fellows — a man who was at 
 
lS6 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 once a pattern of the gentleman, the nobleman, and 
 the scholar. Nothing can be more beautiful than the 
 details of his long, amiable, and useful life, as written 
 with affectionate regard by his friend Petrus Gas- 
 sendus ; and, believing that the taste of the general 
 reader is not yet become too vitiated by the sugared 
 nothings of many of our present phrase-mongers to 
 relish the fine homeliness of the early biographer, we 
 shall, in due course, proceed to select from him two or 
 three passages, in which, by a few artless strokes of 
 truth, the a Lord of Peiresc " is painted to the life ; 
 in which he looks, and moves, and has his being. 
 
 We have three reasons for attempting the present 
 paper. The first is the real interest appertaining to 
 the subject ; the second arises from a hope of win- 
 ning a reverent attention to an all-but-forgotten name ; 
 the third, from a belief that the biography of Peiresc 
 is not commonly met with, and, at a first glance, 
 may seem to promise but meagre entertainment to 
 the general reader. There is, we allow, some husk 
 about the book : but it possesses a kernel sweet and 
 toothsome to those who have fed at the simple, 
 healthy tables of the old writers, and have drank 
 purity and strength from their maple cups. Sterne 
 glances laughingly at Peireskius, and D'Israeli, in his 
 " Curiosities," has a passage in honor of his scholarly 
 sagacity ; but we know of no book, no essay, which 
 has, in popular form, exhibited the kindliness, the 
 simplicity, and the utility of the sage and the philoso- 
 pher to the admiration of the general reader. And 
 yet was Peiresc the friend and correspondent of the 
 worthiest Englishmen — Camden, Selden, Sir Rob- 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 187 
 
 ert Cotton, Sperman, Harvey, John Barclay, and oth- 
 ers. Throughout France, Holland, and Italy, he 
 was sought for and honored by all the learned ; the 
 sweetness of his disposition and the innocency of 
 manners endearing him to men of every shade of 
 faith. Peiresc, as limned by Gassendus, is the living 
 picture of a scholar of the seventeenth century, of a 
 man rising above the superstition of his time, yet 
 with a mind slightly tinged by the romantic spirit of 
 his age. We see in Peiresc the hearty struggle be- 
 tween new-born inquiry and ancient dogma : his 
 mind boldly asserts itself in natural speculation, when 
 not narrowed and hampered by the tyranny of 
 early teaching. For instance, in 1608, it was re- 
 ported by the husbandmen that a shower of blood 
 had fallen, which " divines judged was a work of 
 the devils and witches, who had killed innocent young 
 children." This, however, Peiresc " counted a mere 
 conjecture, possibly, also, injurious to the goodness and 
 providence of God," and therefore sought for a natu- 
 ral solution to the seeming wonder. An incredible 
 number of butterflies had preceded this " red rain." 
 Peiresc shut up " a certain palmer-worm which he 
 had found, rare for its bigness and form." In due 
 time " the worm turned into a very beautiful butter- 
 fly, which presently flew away, leaving in the bottom 
 of the box a red drop as broad as an ordinary sous." 
 He thus satisfactorily accounts for the shower of 
 blood ; doubtless to the discomfiture of those who, 
 "benefiting by the ignorance of their hearers, might 
 have turned it to a profitable account. There was, 
 it appears, a shower of blood in the time of Childe- 
 
I S3 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 bert — in the time of King Robert', that is, if we 
 may take the comment of Gassendus in the discovery 
 of Peiresc, there were in those seasons innumerable 
 butterflies. However, the intelligence that enabled 
 Peiresc to defeat superstition in its " showers of 
 blood," did not serve him to snatch " sorcerers " from 
 its wild and cruel hands. It was his opinion that 
 " though magicians have not so much commerce with 
 the devil as is supposed, yet ought they to be pun- 
 ished for their bad mi?id" For the signs, the stig- 
 mata by which the sorcerer was popularly known, 
 Peiresc doubted their genuineness ; " they might be 
 natural, and belong to some peculiar of that disease 
 which is termed elephantiasis." Our philosopher 
 was doubtless wrought into this opinion by the 
 agonies of a priest of Marseilles, " accused of magic, 
 but freed by the court, having been first pricked all 
 the body over, to find out these same insensible 
 places stigmatized by the devil, which could nowhere 
 be discovered." What a melancholy, though instruc- 
 tive lesson is this ! Peiresc, the humane, enlightened 
 philosopher, a cold advocate for the accused sor- 
 cerer ; the champion of light bearing witness for 
 darkness ! This was in 1608 ; some years, it is true, 
 before the appearance of our own Sir Thomas 
 Browne, at Bury St. Edmunds, the destroyer of 
 " Vulgar Errors," errors learned too against his own 
 exploded witches. 
 
 Nicholas Claudius Fabricius Peireskius, was of 
 noble family, coming, says Gassendus, from the !Fa- 
 bricii of Pisa, who settled in Provence in the time of 
 Saint Louis. He was born in the castle of Beaugen- 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 1 89 
 
 sier, on the ist of December, 1580, whither his 
 parents had retired from Aix, in consequence of the 
 plague then raging in that city. His father was a 
 senator of Aix, and his mother, selected for her come- 
 liness by Catherine Medicis to receive " the honor of 
 a kiss," on the Queen Mother's visit to that place, 
 was descended from nobility. Nicholas assumed the 
 name of Peiresc " from a town in his mother's juris- 
 diction." The following circumstance displays the 
 spirit of the times. Gassendus says, " His parents 
 having lived together divers years without a child, 
 his mother, for that cause, as soon as she perceived 
 she was great, took up a resolution that the child's 
 godfather should be no nobleman, but, such was her 
 piety, the first poor man they should meet with ! " 
 And so it happened ; the poor man giving our scholar 
 the name of Claudius, to which was prefixed, by the 
 special request of his uncle, who hastily arrived at 
 the fount, that of Nicholas. An accident that befell 
 our baby scholar shows that wicked spirits marked 
 him for their early victim. For — 
 
 " It is reported, that when he was hardly two 
 months old, an ancient woman, that was a witch, en- 
 tered the chamber, and threw down before his mother 
 a hatchet which she had in her hand, saying that she 
 had brought it her again." 
 
 From what follows, it would appear to have been 
 very dangerous in the year 1580, in Beaugensier, to 
 return a borrowed hatchet ; for from the moment 
 the dame brought back the weapon " the mother 
 lost her speech, and the child his crying ; and both 
 their heads were so depressed upon one shoulder, and 
 
190 
 
 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 held so stiffly in that posture, that they could not bend 
 them." The story says further, ." that when his uncle 
 knew it, he caused the old woman to be beaten, who 
 was found in the chimney with her neck upon one of 
 her shoulders, who, as soon as ever she lifted up her 
 head to signify that she had beating enough, and to 
 desire them to hold their hands, she said, which ap- 
 peared to be true, that the mother and child were 
 both well." 
 
 On this Gassendus sensibly remarks, " Doubtless 
 'tis a very strange thing that an old hag, bowing her 
 own neck, should dart out spirits with so strong a 
 nerve as to turn the head of one distant from her in 
 like manner aside ! " Perhaps Sir Kenelm Digby 
 would account for it by the presence of " powder of 
 sympathy," touching the powers of which he made a 
 wise discourse " in a solemn assembly of nobles and 
 learned men at Montpellier in France." The young 
 Peiresc, despite of all the uncomely old women of 
 Provence, passed through his boyhood unhurt by 
 witchcraft, every day displaying new proofs of that 
 restless curiosity which in all its after successes made 
 him the oracle of his contemporaries. No trifle es- 
 caped his observation — no accident, however slight, 
 but ministered to his thirst for a knowledge of the 
 principles of things. He is eighteen, " washing him- 
 self in the lesser streams of the river Rhodanus," 
 when he finds the ground, " which was wont to be 
 even and soft," grown hard, with " little round balls 
 or bunches, like hard-boiled eggs when their shell is 
 peeled* off." This sets him wondering, but his as- 
 tonishment is increased "when, after a few days, 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 I 9 I 
 
 returning to the river, he finds those little balls or 
 lumps turned into perfect stones." On this he begins 
 to study "the generation of stones." In Italy— for 
 he departs for Rome in his nineteenth year — he sees 
 in a museum " a sprig of coral which grew upon a 
 dead man's skull," and he resolves " to go and see 
 men fish for coral." In his progress to Rome he was 
 entertained by the learned, who wrote verses to him 
 as " the genius of Provence in France." On their own 
 grounds, in their own academies, Peiresc was enabled 
 to solve antiquarian doubts, to discover truths, and 
 correct errors, to the delight and astonishment of 
 native wise men and philosophers. 
 
 " But in what esteem he was in at Padua " we 
 
 quote Gassendus — " this one thing does testify ; that, 
 whereas the print of a sapphire being sent thither 
 from Augsburg, with an inscription, in which the 
 word Xiphia did puzzle all the curious antiquarians, 
 Pimellus writ unto him referring unto him the exami- 
 nation and judgment thereof. I omit how he satisfied 
 their doubts and gave light to that word, chiefly from 
 Strabo, who, from Polybius, makes mention of the 
 hunting of Xiphia, which was a sea-monster." 
 
 The reputation of young Peiresc reaches the Pope 
 himself; for our scholar and his brother being desirous 
 to see his Holiness wait upon the poor men 4i whom 
 he daily feeds," thought of this expedient: they 
 " bought the turns of two poor men, and putting on 
 their clothes, they were present among the rest ; and 
 though the Pope knew who they were, yet he 
 pleasantly dissembling his knowledge, and taking no 
 notice of them 5 they saw all." 
 
I92 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 Peiresc was in his twenty-third year when he yielded 
 to the oft-repeated desires of his uncle, and received the 
 degree of a doctor ; which degree " he carried with so 
 much alacrity and vigor, that did ravish all the by- 
 standers with admiration." Two days after, he con- 
 ferred the " doctoral ornaments" upon his younger 
 brother, making a discourse which " filled the minds 
 of his hearers with sweet content ; " the argument of 
 which may not be familiar to every reader : — 
 
 "For from a certain statue of Metrodorus, with his 
 hat, Arcadian cap, and labels, with his philosopher's 
 cloak, and ring on his left hand ; also from certain 
 statues of Hippocrates w T ith the like cloak and an 
 hood upon it ; from a certain inscription of Eubulus 
 Marathonius, and a statue with labels not about his 
 neck, but his head ; from the like statues of Plato, 
 Theophrastus, Phavorinus, and others ; out of certain 
 gothic pieces, upon which there were mitres, not 
 much unlike caps ; in a word, out of innumerable 
 other monuments, he showed how the use of those 
 ornaments came from the Greeks to the Latins, and 
 so down to us ; and how, from the philosophers and 
 ancient priests, it was by degrees introduced among 
 the professors of several sciences in our modern uni- 
 versities I " 
 
 The degree of doctor is yet upon Peiresc " in its 
 newest gloss," when he receives the king's patent 
 appointing him to the dignity of senator of Aix, his 
 uncle having resigned in his favor. He, however, de- 
 clines for a time the privileges of the patent, and, 
 " having obtained a delay, he applies his mind to 
 more free studies, to court the sweeter and more de- 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 X 93 
 
 lightfnl Muses, to advance good arts, and to help as 
 much as in him lay the promoters of learning." And 
 to these high, ennobling ends he devoted all his life, 
 waving a profitable match in favor of his brother, and 
 betaking himself to the sea-coast " to search out all 
 the monuments of antiquity, and to get in travel the 
 rarest plants, which were to be sent to the garden of 
 Beaugensier." Our fair readers will, we are certain, 
 be happy to know to whom they owe " flowering 
 myrtles," with the accident — so prettily told by 
 Gassendus — that led Peiresc to its discovery. 
 
 " About this time (1605), when Peiresc went from 
 Marseilles to Beaugensier, he would needs take his 
 way by Castellet to visit the parish priest called 
 Julius, whom he already dearly affected by reason of 
 his ingenuous curiosity. Being by him led a little 
 without the village, they met a muleteer carrying a 
 branch of myrtle with a broad leaf and full flower, 
 such as Peireskius had never seen, nor knew that 
 there was such a thing in nature. Wondering, there- 
 fore, at the plant, he would be brought into the mid- 
 dle of the wood where it grew, and caused the same 
 to be taken up, that it might be manured and propa- 
 gated. . . . This I thought good to mention, because 
 a myrtle tree with a full flower was a thing unknown 
 in Europe; and the thanks are due to Peireskius 
 that it is now to be seen in the king's gardens, at 
 Rome, in the Low Countries, and other places." 
 
 In the same year (1605), we find Peiresc at Paris, 
 
 courted by Thuanus, Isaac Casaubon, and Bagarrius, 
 
 " keeper of the lung's jewel-house of rarities ; " to the 
 
 last of whom our antiquary explained the hitherto 
 
 *3 
 
194 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 unknown inscription on an amethyst, marked with 
 indents, " which had long perplexed inquirers." It 
 immediately occurred to Peiresc " that these marks 
 were nothing more than holes for small nails, which 
 had formerly fastened little lamiitce, which repre- 
 sented as many Greek letters." Peiresc drew lines 
 from one hole to another, and the amethyst revealed 
 the name of the sculptor ! In the following year, 
 Peiresc accompanies the French king's ambassador 
 to England. For the benefit of the thousands who 
 cross the Channel, we quote the means adopted by 
 our voyager to prevent extreme sea-sickness : — 
 
 u Peireskius, to prevent the same in himself, left the 
 rest of the company, and sat by the mainmast, where 
 he was not so sick as they were. The reason being 
 asked, he said there was least agitation in that part of 
 the ship, and that, therefore, -he withdrew himself 
 thither, that he might not be stomach-sick, as the rest 
 were, who, being in the head or stern, were much 
 tossed." 
 
 Peireskius is graciously received by James, who 
 " tenderly respected him ; " and who desired to have 
 " from his own mouth" the story which had preceded 
 him — of how, drinking with a toper of great repu- 
 tation, one Doctor Torie, he baffled the drinker by 
 "craftily qualifying" his own wine with water! 
 With James a little humor went a great way, and 
 thus on a small stock of that much-abused commodity, 
 Peireskius might have passed with the English Solo- 
 mon as- an extraordinary wag. From England our 
 philosopher goes to Amsterdam. Whilst staying at 
 the Hague, " he would not depart until he became 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 1 95 
 
 acquainted with Hugo Grotius," then a young man. 
 From the Hague he stepped aside to Scheveling, 
 where was the famous flying wagon. 
 
 " On my return from Leyden through the Hague 
 (quoth Doctor Slop, not Gassendus), I walked as far 
 as Scheveling, which is two long miles, on purpose to 
 take a view of it." 
 
 " That's nothing," replied my Uncle Toby, " to 
 what the learned Peireskius did, who walked a mat- 
 ter of five hundred miles, returning from Paris to 
 Scheveling, and from Scheveling to Paris back again, 
 in order to see it, and nothing else." 
 
 In 1607 Peiresc assumed the senatorial dignity, 
 when he so executed " his office, that nothing was 
 found wanting him," and still was left to him time 
 enough " to study good arts, and to maintain his cor- 
 respondence with learned men." At the latter end 
 of this year, he lost his Uncle Claudius, whose " most 
 faithful dog followed the corse all along, stood waiting 
 upon the bier, could not for many days be gotten 
 from the tomb, and after he was brought back to the 
 house, stood a long time still before his picliwe" 
 (This last touch of affection is not unworthy of the 
 consideration of Landseer. What a mourner would 
 he conjure up by the exquisite magic of his art !) In 
 1609 Peiresc was affected with a severe fever, when 
 he recovered, as he avers, by eating muskmelons, 
 which in after years became his principal medicine. 
 From this time he busies himself with the coins, 
 weights, and measures of the ancients ; and whilst 
 engaged in these studies, has a dream in which he 
 meets with a " goldsmith at Nismes," when the gold- 
 
I96 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 smith offers to sell hini a golden piece of Julius 
 Caesar's coin "for four cardecues," which incident 
 actually occurred to him in his waking hours next 
 day, but which " he reckoned only amongst those rare 
 cases which are wont to amaze the vulgar." 
 
 From 1609 until 1630 we find Peiresc in constant 
 communication with the learned of various countries 
 — now deciphering inscriptions — now establishing a 
 weekly post between Beaugensier and Paris — and 
 ever intent upon the introduction of exotics, plants, 
 and fruits into Provence. To him we owe the Chi- 
 nese jessamine, " first brought from China, planted at 
 Beaugensier, and from thence propagated." It was 
 he who first cultivated in France u the gourd of 
 Mecca, or silk plant, because it bears plenty of 
 threads not unlike silk, ft to weave into stuffs." He 
 planted cocoa trees, " and saw them bud ; but whether 
 through the coldness of the air, or because they were 
 not well looked to, they came not to that perfection 
 which he desired." We next learn that " ginger did 
 wax green in his garden." 
 
 "I say nothing (we quote Gassendus) of the broad- 
 leaved myrtle, with the full flower of the storax and 
 lentisc tree, which yields mastic ; and other plants 
 mentioned before. Much less shall I speak of the 
 great American jessamine, with the crimson-colored 
 flower ; nor of the Persian, with a violet-colored 
 flower ; nor of the Arabian, with a full flower ; of the 
 orange trees, with a- red and parti-colored flower; of 
 the medlar and sour cherry, without stones ; Adam's 
 fig tree, which Peireski us conceived to be one of those 
 which the spies brought back that went to view the 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 197 
 
 land of Canaan ; the rare vines which he had from 
 Tunis, Smyrna, Sidon, Damascus, Nova Francia, and 
 other places." 
 
 There have been volumes enough, and too many, 
 recording the guilt and madness of conquerors, whose 
 lives were a curse to the bleeding world. The kind, 
 gentle, enlightened benefactor of his race, who silently 
 makes his foreign conquests grow and blossom in our 
 gardens — who carries away the jessamine captive, 
 and clothes our walks with its beauty, and scents our 
 colder air with, its sweetness ; who gives to the poor 
 the cheap and the lasting luxury of flowers — deserves 
 a grateful memory among men, a memory growing 
 and spreading with his gifts. The victories of the 
 Caesars are recorded by a few medals, shut up in the 
 cabinets of museums, in the drawers of the virtuoso : 
 the glories of men like Peiresc are still green among 
 us — still glitter with the dews of the morning — still, 
 with their constant sweetness, " scent the evening 
 gale." Nor must we fail to record that the benevo- 
 lent labors of Peiresc were continued, whilst he suf- 
 fered acutest tortures from a disease which at last ex- 
 hausted him. In the Easter of 163 1 he was, " sitting 
 without his door, at the entrance of his garden," 
 struck with a sudden palsy, which deprived him of 
 motion and speech. This he suffered for a whole 
 week, when " somebody singing curiously an hymne 
 of the Lives of the Lily and the Rose, he was so 
 taken with the sweetness of the song, and the elegancy 
 of some strain or other, that, like the son of Croesus, 
 desiring to utter some words, and particularly these, 
 4 How excellent is this ! ' he forthwith uttered them, 
 
I98 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 and at that very moment his limbs were all freed 
 from the palsy." In this year an extraordinary 
 foreigner arrived at Toulon — no other than an ele- 
 phant lately exhibited at Rome. Peiresc caused the 
 stranger to be led to Beau gen sier, where he took a 
 cast of his grinders in wax, and had him painted in a 
 lying posture, "that his joints might be seen," to the 
 confusion, we presume, of the sceptics, who denied 
 any such advantages to the quadruped. In 1633, 
 Peiresc entertained " the famous poet Santamantius " 
 at Beaugensier, who had a brother, a traveller, who 
 had seen in Java " live-wights, of a middle nature 
 between men and apes ; " whereupon Peiresc quotes 
 the authority of another traveller, a personal friend, 
 and a physician, who had seen in Guinea " apes 
 with long, gray, combed beards, almost venerable, 
 who stalk an alderman's pace, and take themselves to 
 be very wise." Our readers may have possibly be- 
 held animals of this species. 
 
 In 1634 we find Peiresc studying hard at anatomy, 
 which he follows with a degree of enthusiasm per- 
 haps not altogether justifiable to the non-professional 
 reader. Smitten by the theory of Asellius with re- 
 spect to the " milkie veins in the mesentery," which 
 " could not be discerned save in a creature living 
 and panting, and that therefore they could not be 
 observed in a man, whom to cut up alive was 
 wickedness, yet did he not therefore despair" To 
 be brief, a poor wretch condemned to be hanged — 
 before sentence was performed — was by the order 
 of Peiresc " fed lustily and securely," and an hour 
 and a half after death was carried to the theatre of 
 anatomy, where the wished discovery was effected. 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 I 99 
 
 Peiresc, having suffered intolerable agony for a 
 month before his decease, died in the sixty-fifth year 
 of his age. The account of his sufferings is written 
 by Gassendus with that graphic simplicity which 
 makes the charm of the book, but which, in defer- 
 ence to this over-nice age, we will not venture to 
 copy. The portrait of the philosopher is in the hap- 
 piest style of the unaffected biographer. 
 
 " He was, therefore (to begin with his stature), of 
 a middle and decent pitch, neither too tall nor over 
 low. The habit of his body was lean, and conse- 
 quently his veins conspicuous, both in his forehead 
 and hands. His constitution, as it was subject to 
 diseases, so was it none of the strongest ; which 
 made him in his latter years to go with a staff. And 
 for the same reason, his members were easily put out 
 of joint; especially his left shoulder, which was three 
 times dislocated. His forehead was large, and apt to 
 be filled with wrinkles when he admired anything, or 
 was in a deep study. His eyes were gray, and apt to 
 be blood-shotten by the breach of some little vein. He 
 fixed his eyes either upon the ground when he was seri- 
 ously discoursing upon any subject, or upon the audi- 
 tors when he perceived they were pleased with what 
 he said. He was a little hawk-nosed ; his cheeks be- 
 ing tempered with red, the hair of his head yellow, as 
 also his beard, which he used to wear long. His 
 whole countenance carried the appearance of an un- 
 wonted and rare courtesy and affability : however, no 
 painter had the happiness to express him such as he 
 was in deed and in truth." 
 
 To our mind this portrait is painted with all the 
 
200 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 force of life. We see rare old Peireskius ; we see 
 the learning and the contemplation of the scholar — 
 in his large forehead, " apt to be filled with wrinkles" 
 
 — tempered and made gracious by the kindliness of 
 nature and the breeding of a gentleman. He is clearly 
 one of Montaigne's men — a fine specimen of the sim- 
 ple, sterling book-men, with stored skulls and gentle 
 hearts. What a capital contrast is Nicholas Fabn- 
 cius to the literary coxcomb, — 
 
 "Who, having writ a prologue with much pains, 
 Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains" ! 
 
 What a relief from the " fardonnez-mois " of litera- 
 ture — the be-scented and be-lioned petlings, who 
 spoil " wire-wove " with Babylonish verse and prose 
 
 — who, drawing their fingers through their raven 
 locks, swear, " By Gad ! " they've " writ a d — d fine 
 book," and vote all men vulgar fools who dare gain- 
 say it. To continue from Gassendus : — 
 
 u Though he was careful that the clothes he wore 
 abroad might not be unsuitable to his dignity, yet he 
 never wore silk. In like manner, the rest of his 
 house he would have adorned according to his con- 
 dition, and very well furnished ; but he did not at 
 all, in a manner, regard his own chamber. Instead 
 of tapestry, there hung the pictures of his chief 
 friends, and of famous men. His bed was exceed- 
 ing plain, and his table continually loaded and 
 covered with papers, books, letters, and other things ; 
 as also all the seats round about, and the greatest 
 part of the floor." 
 
 In his gardens at Beaugensier he was " delighted 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 201 
 
 with the pleasant verdure of plants, beauty of flowers, 
 gentle murmur and purling noise of brooks and water- 
 streams, together with the various songs of little birds,, 
 which, in the winter, we are told, he caused to be 
 fed w r ith corn, forbidding any one to catch or molest 
 them. 
 
 "Moreover he preferred the singing of birds be- 
 fore the voices of men or any musical instruments — 
 not but that he was therewith delighted, but because, 
 after the music that men made, there remained in his 
 mind a continual agitation, drawing his atte??tio?i, 
 and disturbiitg his sleep; the rising, falling, and 
 holding of the notes, with the change of sounds and 
 concords running to and fro in his fancy ; whereas no 
 such thing could remain in the birds' music, which 
 [we dispute the " because " here advanced], because 
 it is not so apt by us to be imitated, it cannot there- 
 fore so much affect and stir our inward faculty. He 
 would also, for the same cause, continually breed up 
 nightingales and such like small birds, which he kept 
 also in his own chamber, and of which he was so 
 careful, that he learned, by divers signs and tokens, 
 what they wanted or desired, and presently would 
 see them satisfied. They, therefore, as out of grati- 
 tude, would sing unto their benefactor hymns of 
 praise ; and whereas, in his absence, they were for 
 the most part silent, as soon as ever, by his voice or 
 staff, they perceived he was coming, they would fall 
 to singing." 
 
 The above presents us with a charming picture of 
 the kind old scholar amidst his books and manu- 
 scripts, his medals, vases, and singing nightingales ! 
 
202 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 There were, however, other inhabitants of the cham- 
 ber, though we are left unsatisfied as to their conduct 
 towards the minstrels. "And by reason of mice, 
 which did gnaw his books and papers in his cham- 
 ber, he became a lover of cats, which he had formerly 
 hated : and whereas, at first, he kept a few for neces- 
 sity sake, he had, afterwards, a great company for 
 his delight. For he procured out of the East ash- 
 colored, dun, and speckled cats, beautiful to behold ; 
 of the brood whereof he sent to Paris and other places 
 to his friends." 
 
 (In this ingenuous avowal of Gassendus there is the 
 gem of a delicious essay. How many a man has be- 
 come the lover of a cat in some shape — of a cat for- 
 merly despised — " by reason" of devouring mice! 
 How many have been brought to endure and love the 
 lesser evil when found to be the only remedy for the 
 greater plague! There was — to quote one instance 
 from a hundred — Jack Spangle, the gay prodigal 
 Jack Spangle, a fellow shapely and agile as Mercury. 
 He had the loudest laugh, the blackest mustache, 
 and the whitest teeth of any spark of the day. Mrs. 
 Sybil, the rich, withered widow of a scoundrel money- 
 lender, looked feloniously upon him — she was de- 
 termined to become the wife of Jack Spangle. Jack 
 saw and shuddered at her purpose. O, how Jack 
 Spangle abominated, loathed, anathematized Mrs. Sy- 
 bil ! In the depth and intensity of his hatred, he in- 
 vented new terms of horror and disgust : it was merri- 
 ment for his friends to hear him swear at the widow 
 Sybil. Three years passed away, and a former com- 
 panion met Jack and the widow man and wife. " The 
 
 j 
 
THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 203 
 
 fact is, my dear fellow," said Jack, stepping forward 
 to his acquaintance — " the fact is, I lost every far- 
 thing I had — was flung by creditors into jail — hadn't 
 a penny to — humph! eh? — I — Allow me to in- 
 troduce you to Mrs. Spangle." Jack was a second 
 " Lord of Peiresc ; " we do not mean to assert that he 
 became a devoted lover of his ancient wife ; but she 
 was rich, he was penniless and in prison, and he 
 married her " by reason of the mice." The " mice" 
 have married many besides Jack and the widow.) 
 
 " The Lord of Peiresc" displays, in all his bearings, 
 a finished portrait of the scholar and philosopher of 
 the seventeenth century. There is the simplicity, the 
 modesty, the kindliness of a truly great and well- 
 regulated mind. It is to such men — lightly as their 
 labors may be esteemed by a more imaginative gen- 
 eration — that we owe the greatest benefits. They 
 were the collectors of facts to be employed by their 
 successors — the gatherers of materials to be worked 
 up into a thousand shapes of beauty and utility by 
 those who should follow them. In the time of Peiresc, 
 when the hard student — an anchorite amid his books 
 
 — was considered by the vulgar as little less than 
 liegeman to a magician, if not a necromancer himself, 
 
 — when the large black dog of the scholar was the 
 malus genius of his mysterious and devil-doomed 
 master, — our philosopher was peculiarly fortunate in 
 the advantage of birth and means : they afforded him, 
 in station and power, a security and respect among 
 men not too liberally awarded to the indigent book- 
 man. He was " The Lord of Peiresc," and the patent 
 of the senator gave grace and authority to the investi- 
 gations of the philosopher. 
 
204 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 
 
 The purpose of this slight paper has been to beg 
 of the " general reader " a short pause for the con- 
 sideration of the lineaments of a great, though almost 
 unregarded benefactor of letters ; to take him from 
 the candid conceits of these our most refined and deli- 
 cate times, to the healthful simplicity of earlier days. 
 Not that, with rash, bigoted judgment, we would 
 sneer at the antiquarians of 1837 : tnere are among 
 them wise, profound teachers ; men of great discove- 
 ries ; men who have seen 
 
 " the portrait of a genuine flea, 
 
 Caught upon Martin Luther loug ago " ; 
 
 and will, therefore, walk upon tiptoe to their graves, 
 drawn up by a prodigious sense of their own great- 
 ness. Let them have their " peppercorn of praise ; " 
 and let small lecturers to the weariness of boarding- 
 schools talk their hour of nothings: all we ask is, 
 some passing attention to the early student — the 
 pioneer in the field of letters and of science. Whilst 
 we do not envy, but wonder at the rich appointments 
 of well-paid sciolists, let us refresh our memory with 
 a view of our old philosopher in his study, and some- 
 times let our heart u 4eap up " as cheerfully as his 
 own nightingales at the staff of the " Lord of 
 Peiresc." 
 
 i837- 
 
BREVITIES. 205 
 
 BREVITIES. 
 
 FORTUNE is painted blind, that she may not 
 blush to behold the fools who belong to her. 
 
 Fine ladies, who use excess of perfumes, must 
 think men like seals — most assailable at the nose. 
 
 Some men get on in the world on the same princi- 
 ple that a sweep passes uninterruptedly through a 
 crowd. 
 
 People who affect a shortness of sight must think 
 it the height of good fortune to be born blind. 
 
 He who loses, in the search of fame, that dignity 
 which should adorn human nature, is like the vic- 
 tim opera-singer who has exchanged manhood for 
 sound. 
 
 Lounging, unemployed people may be called of the 
 tribe of Joshua, for with them the sun stands still. 
 
 Fanatics think men like bulls — they must be baited 
 to madness ere they are in a fit condition to die. 
 
 There is an ancient saying, u Truth lies in a well." 
 May not the modern adage run, " The most certain 
 charity is at a pump " ? 
 
 Some connoisseurs would give a hundred pounds 
 for the painted head of a beggar, that would threaten 
 the living mendicant with the stocks. 
 
 If you boast of a contempt for the world, avoid 
 getting into debt. It is giving to gnats the fangs of 
 vipers. 
 
 The heart of the great man, surrounded by pover- 
 ty and trammelled by dependence, is like an egg in a 
 
206 BREVITIES. 
 
 nest built among briers. It must either curdle into 
 bitterness, or, if it take life and mount, struggle 
 through thorns for the ascent. 
 
 Fame is represented bearing a trumpet. Would 
 not the picture be truer were she to hold a handful 
 of dust? 
 
 Fishermen, in order to handle eels securely, first 
 cover them with dirt. In like manner does detraction 
 strive to grasp excellence. 
 
 The friendship of some men is quite Briarean — 
 they have a hundred hands. 
 
 The easy and temperate man is not he who is most 
 valued by the world ; the virtue of his abstemious- 
 ness makes him an object of indifference. One of 
 the gravest charges against the ass is — he can live 
 on thistles. 
 
 The wounds of the dead are the furrows in wdiich 
 living heroes grow their laurels. 
 
 Were we determined resolutely to avoid vices, the 
 world would foist them on us — as thieves put off 
 their plunder on the guiltless. 
 
 When we look at the hide of a tiger in a furrier's 
 shop, exposed to the gaze of every malapert, and 
 then think of the ferocity of the living beast in his 
 native jungle, we see a beadle before a magistrate — 
 a magistrate before a minister. There is the skin of 
 office — the sleekness without its claws. 
 
 With some people political vacillation heightens a 
 man's celebrity — just as the galleries applaud when 
 an actor enters in a new dress. 
 
 If we judge from history, of what is the book of 
 glory composed ? Are not its leaves dead men's skin 
 
PIGS. 207 
 
 — its letters stamped in human blood — its golden 
 clasps the pillage of nations? It is illuminated with 
 tears and broken hearts. 
 
 1831. 
 
 PIGS. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THOSE " ABOUT TO LEAVE BUSINESS. 
 
 MISERABLE are those thrifty traders, who, 
 * having crammed their bags " e'en to bursting " 
 with gold and bank paper, shut up shop, and endeav- 
 or gradually to accustom themselves to the sight of 
 green turf, ere they are called upon to sleep under it. 
 Mr. Pettitoes was one of those unhappy beings. He 
 had, in his day, shed oceans of pigs'' blood, and had 
 grown immensely rich by the sanguinary employ- 
 ment. One day, however, his evil genius whispered, 
 11 Pettitoes, sell your business, and go live at your 
 ease in the country. " We much doubt whether the 
 suggestion of the genius would have of itself pre- 
 vailed, had it not been most opportunely backed by 
 the whirling by of the handsome carriage of Mr. Fig- 
 dust, late grocer of Oxford Street, but then Cincinna- 
 tus of Battersea Rise. Enough : Pettitoes " sold his 
 business:'' behold him in the country. 
 
 Pettitoes had a fine family — three daughters, born, 
 it would seem, with a mortal hatred of pigs — a 
 splendid house, gardens beautifully laid out, gra- 
 
208 PIGS. 
 
 peries, pineries, arable land, peacocks strutting on the 
 lawn, and golden pheasants glittering in the wire 
 preserves. To these delights may be added The 
 Morning Advertiser, every day ; and had he deigned 
 to consult them, the twenty new novels (subscribed 
 for by the young ladies) every week. What greater 
 delight could fall to the fate of a retired pork-butcher, 
 tainted with the touch of the romantic? And yet, 
 after a time, Mr. Pettitoes lost his customary suavity, 
 became careless of his attire of gentlemanly cut, and 
 once or twice struck his family with consternation, 
 by handling, in an absent and mysterious manner, 
 his father's ivory-hafted killing-knife, religiously pre- 
 served by his pious son. Mrs. Pettitoes and her'daugh- 
 ters — unanimous for once — declared that Mr. P. " was 
 not at ease. What could be the matter with him ? " 
 
 Unreflecting souls — they had their new novels, 
 the last new songs of the butterflies, lectures on chem- 
 istry, and the Egyptian hieroglyphics, to occupy their 
 minds — but not so Mr. Pettitoes: he, indeed, in the 
 eloquent language of his sympathizing family, u was 
 not at ease." Could they have entered into his mind, 
 they would have seen how grotesquely were reflected 
 there all the beauties of surrounding nature. To his 
 mental vision, every oak, beech, or elm seemed to 
 take the shape of a huge " hand " or " leg " of swine's 
 flesh — a hedge of hornbeam was but a Brobdignag 
 loin — the row of poplars so many gigantic skewers 
 — Sylph, the Italian greyhound, had bristles in his 
 back, and the peacocks did not scream, but grunt. 
 Gentle reader, let not this description of our hero's 
 mind appear forced and extravagant. It is the com- 
 
PIGS. 209 
 
 mon malady of the retired trader to assimilate the 
 objects of rustic life to the things of his former and 
 happier state. As the sailor beholds " green mead- 
 ows in the salt seas, and hears the bleating of the 
 sheep," so does the retired tea-dealer or pawnbroker 
 (w r e, of course, mean those with whom books are 
 nought) clothe the fields and hedges with hyson and 
 souchong, and see the three balls, glistening like Vir- 
 gil's golden branch, from every tree. Could they 
 write their confessions, what drolleries would they 
 not give us — what hackney coaches running in the 
 milky way — what skylarks singing the two-penny 
 postmen's bells — what Naiads and Hamadryads 
 frisking it in comely whitey-brown aprons and 
 elbow sleeves. Thus it was with Mr. Pettitoes : all 
 his dreams, his waking feelings, ran on pigs; it was 
 in vain that he tried to divert his mind bv reading. 
 He sent for " Hogg's Tales," but was disgusted and 
 disappointed. Shakespeare was only saved from his 
 contempt by two lines. " ' Where hast been, sister? * 
 ' Killing swine ! ' " O, acutely wretched is that gold- 
 en wretch, who, dragged by Plutus from the joyous 
 town, creeps over fields and adown hedges, twisting 
 buds and flowers into numerals and £. s. d. The 
 glorious sun is to him but a bright new shilling, and 
 when he gazes at the moon, he reads there " Georgius 
 IV., Dei Gratia Rex!" 
 
 Our friend Pettitoes wrestled with circumstances, 
 but it was in vain ; he succumbed to the ruling pas- 
 sion, and, like a true philosopher, it was observed 
 that he displayed a greater serenity of mind, when it 
 was evident that he knew the worst. His fami- 
 
2IO PIGS. 
 
 ly wondered at his composure ; they were still more 
 astonished when they discovered its cause ; for it is 
 a curious fact — a fact well worthy of the atten- 
 tion of those " about to retire from business" — that 
 from the moment Pettitoes had resolved once more 
 to keep pigs, from that moment he became more civ- 
 ilized and companionable. Great, however, was the 
 terror of the wife and daughters when they discov- 
 ered that, to receive the purchased pigs in due state, 
 it had been deemed necessary by Mr. Pettitoes to de- 
 'molish a magnificent green-house. The fuchsias, the 
 geraniums, the ranunculuses, gave way to boars and 
 farrow sows, with long-tailed pigs, short-tailed pigs, 
 pigs with crispy tails, and pigs minus such decora- 
 tions. Mrs. Pettitoes was astonished — the young 
 ladies vehemently remonstrated. Pettitoes, however, 
 flew from domestic strife, and solaced himself at the 
 pigsty. There, at all times, might he be seen, his eye 
 gliding up and down some plethoric porker, as 
 though, in his mind's vision, he was cutting up the 
 breathing animal into hands, legs, loins, and chops. 
 Had Pettitoes been transformed by Circe, he would 
 have surely w r ept when set again upon his two legs. 
 In order, as he thought, to mollify the ire of his wife 
 and daughters, our tradesman christened his grunting 
 family after the heroes and heroines of modern poems, 
 novels, and songs. There might be seen, located in 
 various sties, " Pelham," and u Eugene Aram," the 
 " Lost Heir," and " The Man of Refinement." " Sa- 
 tan " was a great boar, and u Alice Gray " had a far- 
 row of thirteen. This desecration of all that the fe- 
 male Pettitoes held beautiful only served to whet 
 
PIGS. 211 
 
 their disgust at pork, and to send Mr. Pettitoes from 
 his carpeted room, hung round with genuine Mor- 
 lands, to obtain tranquillity and enjoyment at the pig- 
 gery. P^or some time was our tradesman satisfied 
 with looking at the objects of his affection : it was 
 enough for him to see the backs of his darlings widen, 
 and the legs to become massive with the best of fat. 
 At length, however, he felt his native thirst for blood, 
 and it was observed that, after a time, he never vis- 
 ited the piggery without fumbling about at his knife. 
 It was in vain — he gave himself up to fate — he 
 would take his old shop. He did take it, paying the 
 tenant an immense premium to go out. When Petti- 
 toes' wife and daughters learned his resolution, they 
 fainted ; it is said that for three days horrible shrieks 
 were heard in the neighborhood. Fortunately, how- 
 ever, for the gentle sex, " a woman," as Madame de 
 Warens might have said, " who screams is not dead." 
 Pettitoes was not called upon to go in sables. The 
 ladies, of course, did not accompany Pettitoes to 
 town ; no, they kept the country-house, and lived 
 with their fitting companions, the peacocks and the 
 golden pheasants. 
 
 Pettitoes re-opened his shop : the day he again ap- 
 peared in public his face had a fresher glow — his 
 steel glittered in the morning sun — his apron and 
 his sleeves never looked so blue. In fact, he appeared 
 more than a vulgar butcher — there was a certain 
 regimental air about him ; indeed, it might have been 
 said of him, as of a great general, he looked " butch- 
 er to the king." By degrees the piggery at Battersea 
 Rise was cleared of its inhabitants. A large part of 
 
212 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 "Childe Harold" was minced into sausages — "Eu- 
 gene Aram " was once more anatomized for the bene- 
 fit of the public — the family of " Alice Gray " went 
 at from seven to ten shillings each — "Satan" was 
 drained into black puddings, and " The Undying 
 One " hung for two days, with a gash from ear to 
 ear. 
 
 Of course the family never deigned to visit Pettitoes 
 at the shop. Too proud, however, w T as the husband 
 and the father, if his wife and daughters, at their 
 country residence, would suffer him to send them 
 down a joint of pork. They had their novels, their 
 harps, and their auriculas — but Pettitoes was again 
 in business ; he had his apron, his knife, and his 
 pigs. 1832. 
 
 SILAS FLESHPOTS; A "RESPECTABLE 
 
 MAN." 
 
 " A Y, indeed," cried the stone-cutter, " a most 
 y\ respectable man." This declaration of the 
 giver of posthumous fame was intended to emphati- 
 cally confirm the opinions of a previous speaker, — 
 as we afterwards learned, the sole executor of the 
 lauded deceased. We cannot, for a certainty, publish 
 the true cause of his whereabout at the time of which 
 we write — but we speak from the indubitable evi- 
 dence of our senses when we avow, that last week, 
 passing through the suburban village of Longerdash, 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 213 
 
 we saw Mr. Timbrel in the stone-yard of old Cherub, 
 then gravely and patiently at work on the virtues of 
 the defunct Silas Fleshpots. Cherub, albeit he had 
 polished the same alehouse bench every night for the 
 last forty years — albeit he had married thrice, and had 
 economically divorced himself once — although he 
 had been a Tory with Mr. Pitt, a Whig with Mr. Fox, 
 and a Radical with Mr. Henry Hunt — yet lived and 
 breathed in an atmosphere of charity for all men. 
 His calling had taught him benevolence. Like a true 
 philanthropist, he conceived that what the superficial 
 — in the poverty of language — call vice, was nothing 
 more than a mistake ; and thus, in the philosophy of 
 Cherub, a most inveterate scoundrel was no other 
 than an habitual blunderer. How could it be other- 
 wise with one w T hose crude theories were ever and 
 anon demolished by elaborate practice? Let the 
 most egregious lie — said a great politician — be re- 
 peated for a year, and it will be universally believed. 
 On the like principle, if, gentle reader, you have at 
 times been disturbed by your neighbor beating his wife, 
 or cruelly horsewhipping his children — if you have 
 known him to refuse a single shilling to an old deserv- 
 ing acquaintance, and have heard him blaspheme 
 in his last sickness — all such vague impressions of 
 his iniquity shall fade from your mind, if compelled to 
 labor, chisel in hand, at his epitaph. How can a man 
 with any self-respect consider another a brute, when 
 he may have toiled for hours to declare, in freestone 
 or marble, that he was a loving husband, an affection- 
 ate lather, and a warm friend? Every chipping of 
 the stone knocks away a bit of uncharitableness, and 
 
214 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 what, considered in the whole, would have been re- 
 jected as a fulsome lie, becomes, from the minute and 
 patient labor bestowed upon every atom of it, a radi- 
 ant truth. (Historians, who very properly trust more 
 to style than the dulness of fact, know full well the 
 value of this process.) And why have we speculated 
 so far down the page on the causes of the charity of 
 stone-cutters? Why, simply out of respect for old 
 Cherub; for — we must own the doubt — had the 
 sepulchral chronicler been questioned at the Hare- 
 and-Hounds touching the moral qualities of the la- 
 mented Fleshpots, it is just possible (for there is a 
 potent mischief in some ale) the world had wanted 
 our opening eulogy. But we repeat, it is hard, after 
 sweating to establish the respectability of a person, 
 to be called upon to deny our own handiwork. 
 Thus " respectability " being chiselled at large in the 
 tombstone of Fleshpots, the artist could not well pro- 
 nounce him to be any other than " a most respectable 
 man." 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Jonas Timbrel — for he was allowed 
 to be the most precise and business-like of any of the 
 five trustees of Frankincense Chapel — stood at the 
 skirts of Cherub, to perform the pious duty of super- 
 intending his orthography (for the ill spelling in 
 epitaphs is a triumphant evidence of their distracting 
 pathos on the artist) ; it is not impossible, on the 
 other hand, that he watched the workman for this 
 cogent reason — he could find nothing else to do. Be 
 this as it may, we have proved no less than many 
 profound antiquarians who have written on Stonc- 
 henge and the Round Towers ; we have demonstrated 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 215 
 
 where he was, and may surely leave the purpose for 
 which he was there a matter of dark yet interesting 
 doubt. Timbrel, having made a rapid fortune in the 
 exercise of a most laudable calling, as slop-seller at 
 Shearness, having for many a year " relieved the 
 hardy Tar," had retired to the village of Longerdash, 
 to await, with the calm dignity of a Roman senator, 
 the approach of the barbarian, Death. In this he 
 did but imitate the wisdom of the best philosophers, 
 who, withdrawing from the foul contact of the world, 
 have sought to purify and elevate their spirits in soli- 
 tude and contemplation. " Pitch defileth : " Tim- 
 brel felt, we may say all over, this important truth. 
 In the pursuit of his vocation, he had been thrice 
 tarred and feathered. It has been thought due to the 
 memory of Fleshpots — due to his wise appreciation 
 of character — to say thus much of his chosen friend, 
 to whom we are indebted for the following history. 
 
 (It is a curious and not an idle employment to mark 
 the rise and progress of a particular word, when that 
 word has become the distinguishing motto of no mean 
 portion of the world ; to observe its different shades 
 and manifold diversions from its original line and 
 bent ; to note how it has passed of current value in 
 one reign, and then been cried down with the clipped 
 coin and pocket-pieces in the next. To us, who have 
 trifled away some time in this inquiry, " respecta- 
 bility," in its various modifications, has been of no light 
 interest. We have followed the word through centu- 
 ries, and having been made to stare by some modern 
 interpretations, we stopped dead short at the emphasis 
 of the stone-cutter. Particular words may be indeed, 
 
2l6 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 like the men who abuse them, of a noble origin — 
 synonymous with honor, greatness, glory : they come at 
 last to dignify meanness and disguise deceit. " Tact," 
 " talented," though now in tolerable odor, consider- 
 ing the hard duty they are put to, may in half a 
 century change their present application ; and what 
 is now liberally bestowed upon patriots and players 
 may be the exclusive property of highwaymen and 
 pickpockets. We mark this paragraph in paren- 
 theses, in the hope that the " light reader" will avail 
 himself of the privilege it bestows.) 
 
 We shall narrate the biography of Fleshpots in our 
 own words, the style- and phraseology of Timbrel — 
 who had evidently, though without acknowledging it, 
 built himself on the author of The Urn-Burial — be- 
 ing, we fear, at once too gorgeous and too dusty for 
 our purpose. We shall serve his words as Cato — 
 really a respectable man — was accused of dealing 
 with the remains of his brother Caepio ; we shall pass 
 then through our own sieve, to separate the gold 
 from the cinders ; and this gold we shall melt, and 
 twist r and hammer after our " own sweet will." 
 
 To the honor of Silas Fleshpots, be it said, he came 
 of no questionable origin ; for the bar sinister in his 
 shield had been duly proved — that is, sworn to — 
 before a leash of magistrates : thus there remained no 
 doubt to puzzle future heralds ; the parish had its book 
 — its libra d' oro — and the overseers of St. Sepulchre 
 have ever been famous for a fine bold hand. Hannah 
 
 Shields lived at : as the house yet remains, 
 
 and its present landlord intends to apply for leave to 
 play a fiddle and piano, we will not name the sign : 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 2l*J 
 
 the peccadillo of sixty years since might, indeed ought, 
 to weigh with a scrupulous magistracy. It is enough 
 to say, that the mother of Silas, before she was his 
 mother, lived in the primitive capacity of maid. 
 After his birth, she, of course, quitted her vocation ; 
 from a mere maid she became — indeed it often hap- 
 pens— a most respectable housekeeper. But let us 
 not anticipate. 
 
 Hannah's young mistress, the eldest daughter of 
 the landlord, was, in the graphic words of her ex- 
 pressive father, « a perverse [we will take it upon 
 ourselves, though we lose a letter, to substitute] puss." 
 Even her sisters owned she was not ill-looking ; but 
 then her temper was most extraordinary. Though 
 bred where she had the peculiar advantage of view- 
 ing every shade of character, from the lightest to the 
 blackest, her manners were alike to all ; though, for 
 twenty years she had listened to the English language, 
 in its most various and energetic developments, her 
 own vocabulary was poor as a nun's. When a 
 u gentleman at the bar" — as her paternal guardian 
 was wont to say — swore to her beauty, he might, for 
 the effect it produced upon her, as well have declared 
 himself to the sign over the door. This insipidity 
 could not but irritate the best of fathers. Her sisters 
 had married wealthily ; and Ellen was twenty, and 
 still single. Her father could not but tremble for the 
 effect of her coldness ; and once overhearing a ticket- 
 porter swear that " she wasn't flesh and blood, but a 
 pictur," the miserable parent gave her up as lost. 
 His fears, however, made him precipitate. She was 
 not to be lost ; for a rich distiller declared his love, and 
 
2l8 SILAS FLESH POTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 in proof of his passion drank his nightly ten glasses 
 of brandy-and-water, mixed by the compelled hand 
 of Ellen, although the bibulous suitor more than 
 once vowed that her fingers froze it. We regret to 
 say it, nobody spoke well of Ellen — if Ave except the 
 beggars that hung about the door — and a certain pale- 
 faced young man, one Thomas Roper, the aforesaid 
 distiller's clerk, whose praise, it will be owned, was 
 worse than blame — since, though receiving fifteen 
 pounds per year, to be divided with his widow 
 mother, Thomas Roper wasted his master's time in 
 reading poetry, and, what was worse, trying to write 
 the same. It was a profound secret ; but at the time 
 of which we speak, he had appeared in print. 
 
 The distiller grew more ardent — the father more 
 imperative. Ellen's eyes became redder, her cheeks 
 whiter ; Ellen was to be married ! At this inter- 
 esting juncture, Hannah forfeited the esteem of the 
 best of masters — she who had been so trusted, so 
 caressed, she who would have been left with un- 
 told gold, had her master ever left gold in that pre- 
 dicament ! Let us be brief. The landlord com- 
 menced with his son-in-law elect, the distiller called 
 in a friend, a pious, excellent man, and — what else 
 could be done? — Hannah was charged to confer the 
 honor of paternity. Hannah showed her conscience, 
 and kissed the book ! We would wish here to drop 
 our pen ; in charity to the weak persons who honor 
 literature, we would be dumb ; but what was to be 
 expected of a youth who wrote verses — love verses? 
 Of course the father was the distiller's clerk ! We 
 are grieved to add, that the young man, not being 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 2IQ 
 
 persuaded even by the solemn oath of the betrayed 
 victim, rejected the proffered honor; and when 
 blandly asked by the proper authorities to marry her, 
 he swore too — swore, and refused. He had no 
 money — had no friends : he was therefore, in default 
 of marriage, sentenced, in the patriotic words of the 
 magistrate, to serve on board a man-of-war, in de- 
 fence of his king and country. In one little week, 
 poor Thomas — that is, Thomas— was scraping a 
 ship's timbers at the great Nore — his mother was 
 weeping, day and night, in the poorhouse ; Ellen 
 had been supported, like a corpse, to the altar with 
 the distiller, and Hannah had been carefully lodged 
 in two very comfortable attics. Ellen did not survive 
 the birth of her first child. Sorry are we to say that 
 she spoke of death as a happy release ; when dead, 
 there was found among her little trinkets a leaf of the 
 Gentleman's Magazine, in which was " Lines to 
 Ellen," with a lock of hair enclosed in what was 
 meant for a letter, but which bore only the words 
 "Tower Tender, Decern—"; the writer having 
 been surprised in his attempt at illegal communica- 
 tion " with the shore." In two years the distiller 
 died of apoplexy ; and, until of late, it was feared 
 that many important chemical secrets, of great value 
 in his business, had died with him. Happy are we 
 to say, there is every reason to believe that such is not 
 the case. 
 
 We now come, and our readers must pardon our 
 long preface to the event, to the birth of our hero. 
 By an extraordinary coincidence, he was baptized 
 Silas — a remarkable accident, for such happened to 
 
220 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 be the sponsorial appellation of the pious yet humble 
 friend of the late distiller. And yet a little thought 
 clears away the mystery, and places the gratitude of 
 Hannah Shields in the most ineffable light. Impressed, 
 no doubt, with the paternal care — the elder Silas was 
 sixty — of that excellent man, as exhibited in his in- 
 dignation at the false young clerk, she bestowed upon 
 her child the honored name of her disinterested cham- 
 pion. There was a thankful delicacy in the act not 
 to be mistaken. Nor were her obligations confined 
 to the loan of the name ; she likewise owed to the 
 senior Silas the furniture of the before-named two 
 attics. This was true benevolence, for the good man 
 never vaunted of the act ; his dearest friends knew 
 not of his charity, nay, he had kept it a secret from 
 the wife of his bosom. Pity that a carnal defect in 
 his education should have caused the slightest in- 
 convenience to so worthy a creature. But we are 
 pained to state that ere his godson — yes, we may 
 as well own it, the little Silas found in him a god- 
 father — was two years old, the sponsor had been 
 elected treasurer of an uncertain Benefit Society. 
 The members could not have made a worse choice ; 
 the ingenuous, simple soul knew no more of figures 
 than of Chinese ; he was a signal victim to his igno- 
 rance of arithmetic. Of this defect was he so trem- 
 blingly conscious, that nothing could induce him to 
 pass his accounts. Though earnestly sought after by 
 all the members — nay, though invited by newspapers 
 and handbills — he was so morbidly alive to his want 
 of skill in numbers, that he replied to no single in- 
 quiry. Such sensibility it may be hard to believe, 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 221 
 
 but he would not even show himself. Retiring from 
 public hie, he many years after died, and in his bed 
 baint Sepulchre's - indeed from his earliest days it 
 was expected -did its final duty by the youthful 
 fellas ; he was placed apprentice to a conscientious 
 tallow-chandler at Limehouse. His mother at this 
 time had dwelt for three years housekeeper to a tide- 
 waiter in the same neighborhood. Now, the good 
 soul though she became, Sunday after Sunday, and 
 love-feast after love-feast, more practically serious, - 
 _ though she had thrown into the flames her well- 
 thumbed copy of George Barnwell, and was become 
 a yearly shilling subscriber towards the conversion of 
 the Jews, — still, as the sequel will exemplify, she 
 persisted in the indulgence of a most extraordinary 
 piece of fiction ; and this it was : Her son had grown 
 tor twelve years under the honored name of Shields • 
 She now insisted that he should commence his ap- 
 prent.ceship as Fleshpots. What the woman meant 
 by such caprice we know not, especially as she be- 
 came more vehement in this her resolution, after hear- 
 ing an eloquent discourse on the sinfulness of false 
 witnessing. Briefly, to the wonderment of several 
 authorities, Silas was bound in the name of * * * * 
 the ex-treasurer. We can only say with Mr. Otway,' 
 •* women have strong constitutions." 
 
 Silas, it- must be owned, was a sharp, shrewd lad • 
 his master never doubted his cleverness; but when' 
 in the first week of his service, he had sent into circu- 
 lat.0.1 two bad dollars and a shilling, many a time 
 unsuccessfully proffered from the till by his employer 
 he from that moment rose in the estimation of Mr' 
 
222 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 Sol ; but only rose to rise still higher, when — on two 
 of the counterfeits being brought back by the custom- 
 ers, the one the wife of a sailor, and the other a lit- 
 tle girl — he, in the most civil, but withal determined 
 tone, declared they must be mistaken ; neither dollar 
 nor shilling could have issued from " their " tiil ; they 
 were not in the habit of taking bad coin ; besides, 
 people should look at their money before they left a 
 shop. On his next club night Mr. Sol could not re- 
 frain from speaking of the extraordinary sharpness 
 of his apprentice, though he did not particularize the 
 special cause of his eulogy. After this time, Silas 
 waxed great in the house ; what medals of victory are 
 to the soldier, the three pocket-pieces were, in the 
 eyes of his master, to our apprentice, who wisely 
 argued, that if bad money were unfortunately taken, 
 bad money should be u got off. 9 ' Are not many re- 
 spectable people of the like just opinion ? 
 
 Mr. Sol was growing rich. Despite the heavy ex- 
 cise, he continued to flourish ; and we may say not 
 too much when we avow that Silas flourished with 
 him. He would have been completely happy but for 
 the persecution of Betsy, the housemaid, who, whether 
 he would or not, was determined on loving him. He 
 had hinted this to his mother, who failed not to be- 
 stow the most virtuous abuse on the " forward hussy ; " 
 at the same time declaring that women were horribly 
 altered since she was young. Besides, Betsy was ab- 
 solutely a parish apprentice. She was, it is true, 
 buxom and good-tempered ; and yet, with all this, 
 she would love Silas ; who, it must be confessed, was 
 too respectable in his views to encourage two young 
 
 . 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 223 
 
 ladies at the same time. Amelia Sol, a gentle 
 maiden not quite thirty, had fixed the apprentice; 
 though whether by the prospect of her father's shop 
 and good-will, or whether by her own beauty, — for 
 she had, with other equal charms, a furtive expres- 
 sion of eye, sometimes called a squint, — we know not. 
 Certain it is, they burned with a mutual flame ; and 
 Silas, when the term of his apprenticeship had but a 
 few hours to run, with an undaunted face opened the 
 business to his excellent master. 
 
 "Why, see ye, Silas," — and Mr. Sol looked and 
 spoke like any one of the five hundred cosy old gen- 
 tlemen in the old comedies, — "Amelia is certainly be- 
 yond your match. It is true you have been a very in- 
 dustrious lad ; but then Amelia expects great offers. 
 You have — I don't deny it — behaved very respect- 
 fully — up early and down late — saved me many bad 
 debts. But then Amelia cost me a great deal of 
 money ; the card-cases and the tea-rug are her own 
 work. I own you understand your business ; but 
 then Amelia — " 
 
 At this interesting moment Mr. Sol was called into 
 his shop, and from thence went into his room, accom- 
 panied by three, evidently unexpected, visitors. This 
 interruption was particularly unfortunate ; for Mr. Sol 
 had made his mind up to give Amelia to Silas, but 
 very prudently withheld a sudden consent, in order to 
 make the gift more precious. Though Silas knew 
 not that the line had been written, he then felt that 
 " the course of true love never did run smooth '* — for 
 the first time in his life this respectable apprentice 
 could have sworn. Intense love made him needlessly 
 
224 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 impatient ; for, on the same evening, his worthy 
 master re-opened the business with a clear determi- 
 nation to " make two lovers happy." With this lau- 
 dable view, he commenced, and had got as far as, 
 " Well, Silas, as a virtuous woman is a crown of 
 glory," when the apprentice interrupted him. 
 
 Silas rose from the chair to which he had been po- 
 litely invited by his patron, and with praiseworthy 
 deference, his hands hanging at his sides, and his 
 head inclined somewhat forward, thus addressed 
 him : — 
 
 " Your pardon, worthy sir, for my presumption this 
 morning. I have considered the error of my ways, 
 and now repent of my audacity." 
 
 " Well, well, it was a bold deed : but you're a lad 
 of spirit, Silas; and a faint heart never won — eh ?" 
 And here the master chuckled a laugh, and gave a 
 searching wink, though, for its effect, he might as 
 well have winked at a dead man, or a dead wall ; for 
 Silas, unmoved, proceeded : — 
 
 " Feeling, sir, that your excellent daughter is far 
 above me — " 
 
 " Ay, ay ; but I'm the last man to brag of family. 
 If we come to the truth, all the same flesh, Silas ; and 
 so — " 
 
 Silas was not persuaded by the philosophy of his 
 master ; for he continued to apologize, until, op- 
 presssed by his repentant diffidence, Mr. Sol jumped 
 from his seat, ran to the stairs, and called Amelia ; at 
 the word the modesty of Silas strengthened into reso- 
 lution. With an assured air he was retiring towards 
 the door when the maiden entered ; it was a critical 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 225 
 
 moment. Taking Amelia by the hand, her parent 
 advanced to Silas, who, shrinking, still retreated, — 
 his master still talking, and following him up, and 
 the gentle virgin blushing a deeper red at every syl- 
 lable. In this manner the three had just completed 
 the circuit of a tolerably large room, and Mr. Sol, 
 with a gush of affection, accompanied with admirable 
 pantomime, just " like one of those harlotry play- 
 ers," had exclaimed, "Take her, and bless ye both," 
 when Silas vanished. Had the floor opened and 
 swallowed him, father and daughter could not have 
 been more astounded ; they stood, each with an open 
 mouth, petrified by his retreating steps, which in the 
 awful silence told with horrible distinctness ! How 
 long their astonishment might have lasted passes our 
 speculation to say, had they not been violently brought 
 back to this world by the street door, which, turning 
 on its infernal hinges, " grated harsh thunder" ! On 
 this a flood of tears relieved the forsaken Amelia, 
 whilst a torrent of oaths comforted her father. The 
 benevolent soul was struck to the core by the ingrati- 
 tude of his late apprentice — for, from twelve o'clock 
 that day, the indentures of Silas had been waste 
 parchment. Was it possible that he could know of 
 the mishap of the morning ? O, no ! Had Silas been 
 aware that the best of masters was exchequered to 
 double the amount of his worldly goods for only de- 
 frauding the excise, he would have been the last to 
 leave him ; for left him he most assuredly had ; as on 
 the instant and anxious search of father and daughter, 
 it was but too apparent he had sent away each and 
 every of his three deal boxes. 
 *5 
 
226 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 » The scoundrel came to my house with a bundle 
 no bigger than my fist, and he quits my service with 
 
 three boxes ! " , 
 
 Something must be allowed to human infirmity; 
 poor Mr. Sol was not so much disgusted at what Silas 
 had taken, as what Silas had left. Amelia, who 
 really loved the runaway, wept and said nothing. 
 Beautiful is woman's gratitude! and Amelia was 
 grateful for past favors : for Silas was the first and 
 only "monster wearing the human form" who had 
 ever said a civil word to her ! 
 
 But we must not give up Silas undefended. It was 
 not his fault if his master suffered his parlor keyhole 
 to hunger for paper.' He had no wish to pry or listen ; 
 but if people would talk in alt, whilst he moved like 
 a mole about his business, family matters would 
 cleave the ear, which, however it tried, could not be 
 deaf. If Silas felt annoyed at the delinquency of his 
 master, he was absolutely shocked that it should be 
 found out; but the profligacy of Mr. Sol being made 
 so public as the light of his namesake, was it prudent 
 for a young man, just entering life, to ally himself to 
 such a connection? His heart bled for Amelia; but 
 the illiberal world would not discriminate : in quitting 
 her, he felt he left his dearest hopes ; but would it be 
 proper to marry " into such a family "—would it be 
 respectable ? 
 
 As we are touching on the various accidents of this 
 one eventful day, we must not forget to chronicle an 
 accident which befell Betsy — the despised, the dis- 
 carded Betsy. About an hour after the visit of the 
 three mysterious persons, of whom we have before 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 227 
 
 spoken, it was notified to the housemaid — though 
 we almost feel convinced that Silas heard no syllable 
 of the discourse — that she was suddenly become the 
 mistress of little less than live hundred pounds. A 
 lottery-ticket and a blue-coat boy account for the wind- 
 fall. " 
 
 Silas was scarcely emancipated from the thraldom of 
 apprenticeship, when he was doomed to endure — in 
 addition to the loss of Amelia — another, and if possi- 
 ble, a more bitter privation. The tide-waiter had 
 been some time dead, and Mrs. Hannah Shields, re- 
 tired on her means, lived as she could. Her son was 
 the perfection of filial compliance ; for his mother, 
 having in a hasty moment commanded him never 
 again to appear before her (Silas had been some- 
 what energetic in filthy money matters), he obeyed 
 her to the very letter; nay, though he heard she was 
 in her mortal sickness, he did not dare to violate her 
 orders. Once, indeed, he approached the door, but 
 was scared from the threshold by the appearance of 
 the doctor's boy, about to deliver for the patient at 
 least half a dozen phials. Silas wondered how the 
 man of plrysic was to be paid. He had no money to 
 spare ; and in his outset of life — for he would wisely 
 harp on that string — to saddle himself with responsi- 
 bilities which he had, as he conceived, no present 
 means of paying, was not honest, was not respec- 
 table. 
 
 Death, however, despite of the doctor, marched 
 sternly to his purpose, and, deaf to the shrieks and 
 ravings of the poor soul, carried off his victim. Silas 
 now conceived himself released from the injunctions 
 
228 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 of his mother, and with filial haste rushed to the 
 lodging, which, to his horror, he found stripped of 
 nearly everything. He entered the room at the 
 moment the nurse was curiously trying a small packet, 
 in order to come at its contents without risking the 
 felony of breaking the seal. Silas snatched at the 
 missive, which he found directed in his mother's 
 hand — that was never to be mistaken — to himself. 
 Casting a disappointed glance about the w r alls, he de- 
 scended the stairs to hide his emotion, and to break 
 the parcel. He found it to contain minute directions 
 for his mother's funeral, and — but why mention 
 money at such a moment — - it likewise contained a 
 hundred and fifty guineas. In a terrible letter, ad- 
 dressed to her son, the miserable woman denounced 
 herself as the worst of sinners, and with this deep 
 sense of her own unworthiness, charged Silas not to 
 lay out a penny more than was absolutely necessary 
 on her burial. The young man, impressed with this 
 solemn adjuration, as he conceived, most aptly ful- 
 filled his duty by not spending one farthing on the cere- 
 mony. He was so affected, that it was full ten days 
 ere he could trust himself near his mother's late dwell- 
 ing ; and then what was his mortification on learning 
 that she had been interred at the parish charge 1 The 
 authorities, urged by the nurse, applied to Silas for 
 reimbursement ; at she same time hinting at the prob- 
 able contents of the parcel, which, as he refused to 
 pay, they required to see. On this point Silas was 
 decided ; the packet contained family secrets, of no 
 importance to any but himself; and would the over- 
 seers wish to rake up the errors of the dead? No; 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 229 
 
 they were too considerate to desire it ; and, for him- 
 self, he trusted he was too respectable to permit it. 
 The overseers were vanquished ; and Silas felt that 
 the spirit of his mother was, on one point at least, 
 appeased; for she had been put into the earth at the 
 very least possible expense. With this comforting 
 assurance, and wiping away some natural tears, Silas, 
 with quite dry eyes, looked out for a shop. 
 
 But a very few weeks elapsed ere our hero was a 
 householder. Would we were equal to the task — it 
 would cast a perpetual halo round our humble pen, 
 could we faithfully describe the feelings of Mr. Silas 
 Fleshpots running riot over Chinese bridges, vaulting 
 over elephants' backs, and now expanding at the 
 lorms and plumage of parrots and paroquets, and now 
 brooding, with halcyon wings, on oriental lakes. Let 
 not our reader marvel at these exotic images, though 
 transported to London. We speak of Silas on the 
 first Sunday of his housekeeping ; when, lying in bed, 
 the sun shining (for this happened to be the sum- 
 mer, when the sun was visible in every street in 
 Limehouse), steeping in eastern light the bed cur- 
 tains which encompassed the young beginner, and 
 cast on him a trance of inexpressible delight. It was 
 then the bed furniture, enriched with its multitudinous 
 patterns of beast, bird, fish, and tree, exercised a 
 mystic power on the rapt beholder. The elephants 
 grew bigger, and twisted their little trunks in token 
 of glad greeting — the palm trees grew and grew — 
 the birds fluttered — the water rippled — yea, and a 
 stream of melody floated underneath the tester! To 
 the ecstatic eye of Fleshpots everything was real, was 
 
23O SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 true ; and his ears drank in a living music. Whence, 
 inquires the reader, all those wonders? Again we 
 say, from the bed curtains. We think we can satis- 
 factorily explain the miracle. Thus it was. When 
 Silas, at twelve years old, was first brought to the 
 unfortunate Mr. Sol, that beneficent man was con- 
 fined to bed — suffering from a late supper of 
 questionable mussels. — Sneer not, reader ; lampreys 
 have dethroned kings !— The parish boy was natu- 
 rally awe-struck ; every article in the presence-cham- 
 ber was instaneously burnt, as with a branding-iron, 
 into his tender memory. His moral being had, in 
 that one minute, if we may use the word, stereotyped 
 every object presented to his senses. Let the wonder 
 of the boy explain the ecstasy of the man ; for the 
 very curtains which impressed the child from St. Sep- 
 ulcre's, actually hung, on the morning of which we 
 
 speak, about the housekeeper of St. — . Every 
 
 elephant was become his own, every tree, and every 
 feather. We feel that a whole volume of meta- 
 physics might hereon be written ; the matter for the 
 task being no more recondite than faded bed furni- 
 ture, and Silas Fleshpots, boy, contrasted with the 
 same Silas, man. If the reader be a philosopher, we 
 think he will understand us ; if he be not, we own, 
 with him, the whole paragraph to be unutterable non- 
 sense. 
 
 So carried away were the feelings of Silas, so pos- 
 sessed was he, by the changes of the past years, and 
 the hoped glories of the future, that he had wholly 
 forgotten a late most important ceremony. Yes ; his 
 young wife, the good-tempered, red-faced Betsy lay 
 
. SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 23 1 
 
 unthought of by his side. As the marriage, in 
 consequence, no doubt, of the recent death of Mrs. 
 Shields, had been so quietly celebrated, we may be 
 excused for omitting to speak of it until the present 
 moment. Silas, we conceive, vindicated his claim to 
 the softer emotions by his union with Betsy : the poor 
 girl — although, as we have before remarked, she 
 was amiable and good-looking — loved him, and 
 though his bosom was yet bleeding with the thoughts 
 of Amelia, a victim to the misconduct of her father, 
 he manfully determined on a self-sacrifice to pity, 
 and, caring but little for Betsy, magnanimously mar- 
 ried her. It was odd, but the sum won by his bride 
 from Cooper's Hall was a few pounds over the 
 amount required for the good-will of his late master's 
 establishment. Silas might, indeed, have had time 
 granted to pay the money ; but scorning all obligation, 
 he thought it most independent to marry. With his 
 previous savings, and — Plutus and his executive offi- 
 cer alone know how money grows with some people 
 — other trifles, he contrived to purchase the greater 
 part of the furniture of his quondam employer ; among 
 which were the elephantine bed curtains. On the 
 very day which rose on Silas Fleshpots, stationed for 
 the first time at his own shop door (as he stood with 
 his sharp frost-colored face, and his intensely-mangled 
 sleeves and apron, he looked the embryo possessor 
 of at least half a plum), Mr. Sol exhibited himself to 
 the philanthropists of Fleet Market, cooped in the iron 
 cage for wicked debtors. And did Silas never think 
 of Amelia? Sorry are we for human weakness to 
 answer — Yes. It was she w T ho ruffled the honey- 
 
232 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAX. 
 
 moon with the first quarrel ; for Mrs. Fleshpots, hav- 
 ing occasion to enlarge the wardrobe of her husband 
 by half a dozen new shirts, called in a foreign needle 
 to assist her own. Now, Amelia was reduced to ply 
 as a daily sempstress, and it was with considerable 
 emphasis that Mr. Fleshpots accused his spouse of 
 want of common feeling for her late mistress ; for, in 
 his own words, he had no doubt that the " poor thing 
 would have come just as cheap." 
 
 Every day added to the wealth and respectability 
 of Fleshpots ; indeed, there seemed with him a subtle 
 sympathy between cash and character. They were 
 the "twin cherries'' on his household stalk: in very 
 truth they were so alike, that even Silas himself 
 would at times have been puzzled to decide which 
 was which ; fortunately his philosophy raised him 
 above nice distinctions. It was not long ere Flesh- 
 pots rose to an overseer ; from overseer he dilated 
 into contractor — a love of purely financial operations 
 then fell upon him, and he became, in quite an unos- 
 tentatious way, bill-broker. Here was a wide field 
 for his philanthropy ; we might, but we will not, 
 cite a thousand instances of its operation. Did a 
 young couple set up, especially in the tallow line, in 
 his neighborhood — it was not long ere the kindest 
 offers were made to them ; not indeed by Fleshpots ; 
 no, he shunned the applause of such public goodness 
 — but by his almoner, a friend who — on merely the 
 written signature of the party — would sometimes pay 
 down hard guineas. Palpable, glittering gold, for a 
 few scratches of the pen ! It cannot be disguised that 
 certain results, never contemplated by the original 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 233 
 
 benefactor, would distress all parties ; but these acci- 
 dents would only more strongly illustrate the worth 
 of Fleshpots. He was not the man to oppress young 
 beginners by clamoring for instant restitution ; no, no 
 — he would give them months or years ; — and when 
 grasping neighbors, he could have named, were mak- 
 ing fifty per cent, he in scarcely one instance re- 
 quired more than forty-five. And what bettered these 
 transactions was the secrecy with which they were 
 effected ; he knew that it might hurt the credit of a 
 young tradesman, if a certain lease-security, or bond, 
 or mortgage were known, and so, with delicate con- 
 sideration, never breathed a word about it. On the 
 contrary, where he had most served, there would he 
 most praise : thus it was not unusual to hear the 
 name of Fleshpots quoted as an example of consum- 
 mate liberality— as of a man who "would live 
 and let live." Of course, a few malign and envious 
 spirits would spit their bitterness. It is painful to be 
 compelled to believe, that in one very hard winter, 
 when' Mr. Fleshpots, in the benignity of his nature, 
 dispensed one pound of candles to each of fifty pauper 
 families of six, there were people who sneeringly 
 remarked that the donor had not long had the con- 
 tract to supply the parish. Such aspersions were 
 weak as they were wicked ; they could no more dim 
 the bright respectability of Fleshpots, than they could 
 tarnish the splendid silver wine-cooler presented to 
 him on his retirement from office by a grateful vestry. 
 " Wisdom is found," says an obscure poet, " with 
 childhood about its knees ! " Let this be granted, 
 and there never was a wiser being than our kind 
 
234 SILAS FLESIIPOTS ; A RESrECTABLE MAN. 
 
 hero. No man took a more lively interest in the Sab- 
 bath and parochial schools of Limehouse. The acu- 
 men with which he examined the awe-struck scholars, 
 his impressiveness when he came to the Decalogue — 
 and here we are reminded of a touching circumstance, 
 powerfully illustrative of Fleshpots' high sense of 
 moral justice — of his exceeding fitness as an amateur 
 instructor of youth. Being of the vestry, our hero 
 received a small premium with a lad from the work- 
 house, a boy whom — for he had no children of his 
 own — it was his wish to make a great deal of. The 
 boy was dull and delicate ; but his delicacy, as his 
 master said, might have been looked over, had he 
 been honest. Fleshpots, who taught two schools 
 u not to steal," failed to impress the commandment on 
 Peter. 
 
 Our friend, as overseer, was, of course, appealed 
 to by many worthless people — by persons who not 
 only had very equivocal claims to any relief, but who 
 certainly had no claim at all on the benevolence of 
 Limehouse. Sailors are, proverbially, the most in- 
 considerate and ignorant of men : thus Fleshpots 
 was often pestered by the importunity of starving sea- 
 men, who swore they w r ere of his parish, when he 
 swore — for lie would sw T ear before seamen - — they 
 were not. One day — time runs on ; Silas had been 
 five-and-twenty years in trade — a wretched seafaring 
 man, of more than middle age, came as claimant on 
 the overseer, who, in terms not to be misunderstood, 
 bade him troop for an impostor. The man — there 
 was starvation in his looks — quitted the shop with a 
 wicked oath, and Silas returned to his nap in his 
 
SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 235 
 
 back parlor. No sooner had he closed the door, than 
 Peter ran into the street, and beckoning to the sailor, 
 put into his hands a part and parcel of his master's law- 
 ful property. Fortunately for public morals, the 
 boy was detected ; and, at the instance of Mr. Flesh- 
 pots, confined in the proper asylum for all disobeying 
 apprentices. 
 
 The cook of Mr. Keelhaul, ship-owner, in the free- 
 dom with which she parted with the refuse of the 
 kitchen, bore a flattering testimony to the wealth of 
 her employer. She had that day sold her merchan- 
 dise to the tallow-chandler,and that comprised not only 
 the usual perquisites, but five collops of fat meat, acci- 
 dently, no doubt, thrown into the vessel. The trans- 
 fer of this property had not been made ten minutes 
 before the sailor, lawfully rebuffed by the overseer, 
 quitted the door. Peter had seen the man — had 
 heard his master — and yet Peter, as he thought, un- 
 observed, purloined the identical pieces of meat, and 
 ran and placed them in the hands of the tar. 
 
 Let us not dwell on youthful depravity : suffice it, 
 the boy was confined ; in his confinement enlarged 
 his acquaintance, w r ho, in the end, tempted him to run 
 from an excellent master. From small pickings, lie 
 went on to serious thefts ; and — but what was to be 
 expected? — Peter was hanged for highway robbery. 
 This painful incident displays the wisdom of Flesh- 
 pots — had he not, in the first instance, prosecuted 
 Peter, the boy might have robbed, with impunity, till 
 he became gray-headed ; whereas he was provi- 
 dentially cut off at seven-and-tvventy ! 
 
 Some three or four weeks after the theft of Peter, 
 
236 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 
 
 as Fleshpots and Timbrel were settling some affairs 
 of partnership, — this was soon after the removal of 
 the latter gentleman from Sheerness, — the overseer 
 was summoned on a coroner's jury. Attending at 
 the due place and hour, he learned that the deceased 
 was a sailor. On view of the bod}', he moreover dis- 
 covered it to be that of the importunate beggar, for re- 
 lieving whom Peter was then suffering durance. The 
 man had been found dead ; how he died was not 
 known ; some of the jury thought of too much liquor 
 — some of too little food; Fleshpots inclined to the 
 former opinion. However, the verdict ran that 
 " Thomas Roper was found dead ! " Our readers 
 must recollect the name of the deceased ; yes, the 
 dead man — as proved by certain papers about him - — 
 was no other than the verse-writing distiller's clerk — 
 the profligate youth, who had rather chosen to 
 scrape the hard ribs of a man-of-war than to endure 
 the loving arms of Hannah Shields. We are happy 
 to think, that in the body of Thomas Roper, Silas 
 did not recognize that of his parent. No, we believe 
 the delicacy of Hannah had always kept from her 
 son the name and state of the author of his being. 
 What would have been the anguish of Fleshpots, had 
 he known he had been sitting on his own father ! 
 
 The event, however, passed not without some slight 
 pain — though all in the way of business — to Flesh- 
 pots. Mr. Timbrel partook with himself the delight of 
 affording assistance to destitute seamen. Money was 
 lent them on their wages and prize-money ; and it so 
 happened, that among other documents, faithfully de- 
 livered by Mr. Timbrel to his partner, was an instru- 
 
Sjlas fleshpots ; a respectable man. 237 
 
 ment which, ultimately, brought them in six hundred- 
 percent. It was no other than the right to receive 
 prize-money due to one Thomas Roper, and sold by 
 him for something less than an old song toMr.TimbreL 
 How one recollection awakens another!- It was 
 then, and for the first time for many, many years, that 
 Fleshpots recollected a certain paper, bequeathed to 
 him by his mother, with the addition of seventy-five 
 guineas, to be given to one Thomas Roper, sailor, 
 whom in her own words she had " cruelly treated." 
 Now, among the many thousand sailors, how was 
 Silas to find out Thomas? And as for any cruelty 
 on the part of his mother, it could not be ; the poor 
 woman was beside herself with the terrors of near 
 death. If he had known it had been the same 
 Thomas! And this he said to himself— kind crea- 
 ture ! — at least fifty times. 
 
 And Silas continued to flourish. His wife, at the 
 time of his retirement from business, — for we ap- 
 proach that golden epoch, — had been dead some 
 fifteen years. Silas felt her loss, was lone and soli- 
 tary ; for, about the same time, he had been wounded 
 by base ingratitude. A young tradesman, to whom 
 he had lent a considerable sum, failed in his pay- 
 ments, and escaped to America. It will illustrate the 
 peculiar benevolence of our hero, when we inform 
 our readers, so far from visiting the innocent partner 
 of the villain with reproach and contempt, he, on the 
 contrary, received her — though comparatively young 
 and inexperienced — under his roof, in the trustwor- 
 thy situation of housekeeper. Poor thing ! she re- 
 ceived his dying words, and an annuity. 
 
238 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 Fleshpots died fairly laden with respectability. He 
 was the patron of twenty charities, and, towards the 
 close of his life, never ate of a hot joint on Sundays. 
 He died, and died in peace ; for the rerjorts that in his 
 last moments he raved about twenty women in white 
 squirting fire at him — of half a dozen devils, with 
 pigtails, and in sailors' jackets, roaring about him — 
 of vats of boiling gold, and such distempered non- 
 sense — were, we believe, fully traced to the malice of 
 a disappointed undertaker. 
 
 Silas Fleshpots was a respectable man : this can- 
 not be doubted. It is chiselled in his epitaph, — 
 chiselled in large letters, — for it was especially or- 
 dered in his will that his respectability should go 
 forth, and stand forever — large. 
 
 1335. 
 
 THE TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT 
 PACIFICATOR. 
 
 THOSE of our readers who have had the good 
 fortune to visit the Hague will probably recol- 
 lect the White Hart, a humble, but remarkably neat 
 hostelry, situated in an agreeable part of the most 
 delightful of all European villages, a village particu- 
 larly interesting to an Englishman and scholar from 
 the great names associated with its air of learned re- 
 tirement. The whole place seems a large college, 
 with museum and gardens. We walk there, and 
 
 j 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 239 
 
 think of Sir William Temple, and Bolingbroke, and 
 Boyle, and of twenty others, whose memories turn a 
 Dutch village into an elysium of letters, who take us 
 back a hundred years and more, and mate us people 
 of the past, real flesh and blood of the eighteenth 
 century. We doubt not that such have been the feel- 
 ings of thousands of our readers who have visited 
 the Hague ; but w r e know not whether we ought to 
 express a regret that the enjoyment of such learned 
 abstractions is in future denied them on their return 
 to the circle of the Dutch court, for certain we are 
 that they will no sooner learn the history of the illus- 
 trious individual whose birth has given a glory to the 
 White Hart than they will forget English ambassa- 
 dors and English philosophers in the lively curiosity 
 that will incontinently take them to the aforesaid pub- 
 lic house. To begin our " true history." 
 
 It was at the White Hart, on the 2d of December, 
 in the year one thousand eight hundred and seven, in 
 the left front chamber on the second story, that Die- 
 drich Van Amburgh saw the light. He was pro- 
 nounced by the vrow Kinderkid — a woman whose 
 word, from her long experience in such matters, 
 passed as an authority throughout the whole of the 
 Netherlands — the finest man-child that in all her 
 many days she had ever seen. Great was the re- 
 joicing at the White Hart on the birth of little 
 Diedrich. A Holland's tub was tapped, and every- 
 body, from the solid burgher to the drudging boor, 
 was pressed to drink long life and happiness to the 
 new comer. 
 
 We can, without any perturbation of conscience, 
 
24O TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 declare that during a journey undertaken for no 
 meaner purpose, we have met with no story, no 
 legend, illustrative of the peculiar genius of our hero 
 during the first six months of his eventful existence ; 
 in fact, with nothing that, philosophically considered, 
 can be viewed as a dawning or promise of Van Am- 
 burgh's after glory ; for we are inclined to receive as 
 apocryphal an anecdote offered to us for two guilders 
 by a Rotterdam Jew, who professed himself ready to 
 give an authentic pedigree of the story, an anecdote 
 involving the character of the White Hart cat, said to 
 have been looked into a palsy, in her attempt to steal 
 the pap of Diedrich, the child lying at the time be- 
 fore a fire of glowing turf, within eye-shot of the de- 
 linquent. If the story be true, — though we must not 
 forget that men are but too prone to invent w T onders 
 for wonderful individuals, — it is an extraordinary in- 
 stance of the early development of that faculty which 
 has subsequently achieved such triumphs in the brute 
 world. The cat (we speak on the authority of the 
 Jew) was so completely fascinated, subdued, terrified 
 by the glance of the babe that, in four-and-twenty 
 hours the animal became, from a most beautiful j'et 
 black, a dirty gray-white. Now, he who at six 
 months old could look a black cat white may be 
 reasonably expected at thirty years to change lions 
 into puppy-dogs, and tigers into doves. Having 
 given our faith to the first story, belief in all subse- 
 quent wonders is easy to the meanest capacity. 
 
 We are, however, happy to state that we approach 
 a period of our hero's life at which we meet with 
 \vell-a*uthenticated facts, with accounts of his ex- 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 24 1 
 
 traordinary influence over the lower animals, sub- 
 scribed to by three burgomasters of Rotterdam, and, 
 therefore, documents pure and speckless as Runjeet 
 Singh's lal'ge diamond. 
 
 It was the good fortune of little Diedrich to have a 
 godfather who was fully impressed with a sense of 
 the child's abilities ; for, at the Amsterdam fair, he 
 purchased a very splendid coral, hung round with 
 twelve bells in little fancy oranges, — a delicate com- 
 pliment on the part of the goldsmith to the house of 
 Nassau, — silver gilt, all toned according to harmonic 
 principles, the benevolent object of the sponsor being 
 that his godchild should cut his teeth to the accompa- 
 niment of the very sw T eetest music. The coral was 
 hung about ine babe's waist, and a pretty rattling and 
 ringing he kept up, laughing, and crying, and cooing, 
 and teething all the while as if nothing was the mat- 
 ter. Diedrich w 7 as ten months old when his father, 
 who, in sooth, was never happy when the child was 
 from his arms, took his babe with him into the cel- 
 lars ; for, even in Holland, where British brandy is 
 not, there are certain mysteries to be performed in 
 vaults, which probably it is wisdom in those who love 
 cellar comforts not too curiously to inquire into. 
 There was the child crawling upon the ground, ring- 
 ing his coral, squalling, crying, laughing ; our host, 
 Van Amburgh, now chirping to his last-born, now 
 singing a snatch of a Dutch melody, and now swear- 
 ing affectionately through his teeth at some playful 
 transgression of the pretty babe. At this moment 
 Kidneyvat, the burgomaster of Rotterdam, alighted 
 — if we may use such a word for so huge a man — 
 16 
 
24- TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 at the door of the White Hart, and instantly there 
 was a loud calling through the house for Mynheer 
 Van Amburgh. Our host rushed from the cellar, 
 strange to say, forgetful of the child in hj^s precipi- 
 tancy to do all honor to a Rotterdam burgomaster, 
 who, on some official business, the object of which 
 we have failed to discover, took the landlord from his 
 house, keeping him until the late hour often at night 
 from the hearthstone of the White Hart. He had 
 left the house about three hours, when suddenly there 
 arose a yell throughout the hostelry for the child. 
 Every place was searched but the right one ; night 
 drew on, and O, the horror, the consternation, that 
 reigned throughout the White Hart ! Happily, how- 
 ever, the host returned to his house at s^ven minutes 
 to ten, and — the sternness of history refuses to con- 
 ceal the fact — very drunk indeed was he, even for a 
 Dutchman. His w T ife — but we refuse to describe, as 
 we might, the affecting picture of maternal love ; it is 
 enough to say that the words, " The child, Diedrich, 
 darling, angel, innocent lost one ! " poured from the 
 lips of the landlady, tears dropping from her eyes as 
 she accosted her spirituous husband, somewhat stag- 
 gered by her uneasiness, and a little moved -by the 
 burgomaster's cheer. " Where — where's the child ? " 
 exclaimed vrow Van Amburgh ; when Diedrich, after 
 the confusion of a moment, looked very wise, and, 
 whilst a smile broke over his broad face, making it 
 shine like a tub of butter in the sun, he softly grunted 
 forth, -The cellar!" 
 
 At the words a shriek burst from the assembled 
 household. " The cellar ! " And instantly armies of 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 243 
 
 rats, every rat as big as any hare, galloped through 
 the affrighted imaginations of the servants, for the 
 vrovv Van Amburgh fainted dead as stone. " The 
 cellar ! " No man, woman, or child stirred a foot : 
 every soul seemed petrified with horror ; stood as 
 though motion was useless, the child having, of 
 course, been shared in little pieces among the rav- 
 enous vermin — swallowed in small bits, flesh and 
 bones, cap, and bib, and tucker. Rats had been seen 
 in that most rat-frequented cellar big as moderate-sized 
 dogs : they had, one hard winter, shown considerable 
 disposition to attack Van Amburgh himself, taking, 
 by the way, a shameful advantage of his having, con- 
 trary to his usual custom, entered their domain with- 
 out a stick.-. Was it, then, to be thought of, came it 
 within the wildest dreams of hope to imagine, the 
 dear little innocent Diedrich safe? No; the lovely 
 little one was»dead, and though buried, was carried 
 about the cellar in mince-meat, entombed in the bow- 
 els of the pitiless rats. 
 
 No man stirring towards the cellar, the host him- 
 self proposed to descend, when he was followed by 
 all the guests and the servants — for the vrow Van 
 Amburgh remained insensible — to the death-place of 
 fcl dear little Diedrich." The cellar was exactly thirty 
 feet six inches (we mean, of course, English measure) 
 below the street, and was approached by a narrow, 
 winding staircase, which admitted, and that with 
 some difficulty on the part of the experimentalist, 
 only one Dutchman to ascend and descend at a time ; 
 seven servant girls, of irreproachable- character, had 
 left the White Hart simply because they were found 
 
2 4 4 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 of too luxuriant a figure (Veuuses run large in the 
 Netherlands) for the narrow capacity of that cellar 
 staircase. 
 
 Mynheer Van Amburgh descended first ; his oppo- 
 site neighbor, the cooper, a man of unblemished ve- 
 racity, followed, and, as we have already stated, a long 
 train of the affrighted and the curious descended one 
 by one, and not a word was spoken, not, save now 
 and then a sigh, a sound was heard. Hence the par- 
 ty, when within some ten feet of the cellar, heard, to 
 their astonishment and deep delight, the musical ring- 
 ing of little Diedrich's coral bells ; and more., they 
 heard his dear, sweet little voice cooing away, and 
 laughing, and, in the innocency of its little heart, try- 
 ing to hum a tune to the dulcet accompaniment of 
 mellow silver. Every man and woman paused, and 
 exclaimed a short thanksgiving as the bells still rang. 
 
 " Let's see what the younker's about," said the 
 father, and, as cautiously as his condition permitted 
 him, entered his spacious cellar, which was speedily 
 thronged by his followers. They looked around, and 
 though they saw a faint glimmering of a light, — for 
 the host had left his lamp in the cellar (fortunately the 
 babe was dressed in woollen), — though they heard 
 the bells and the voice of the baby, they could not 
 immediately discover where the infant was. At 
 length the father led the party through a long lane of 
 Holland's tubs, and there in a corner, to the wonder 
 and admiration of the spectators, they beheld — what? 
 Little Diedrich Van Amburgh seated — how the 
 child got there was not the least wonder — on the 
 head of a gin-tub, shaking his silver-gilt coral, and 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 245 
 
 nodding his head, and conceitedly trying to snap his 
 little, thick, turnip-radish fingers, and, in a word, by 
 intuition, of course, delightfully imitating the graceful 
 airs of great composers, who flourish their glittering 
 batons de mesure to the gratification of an audience, 
 and the perfect unconcern of an orchestra ! There 
 he was, shaking his coral bells ; but, reader, we have 
 not yet told you to whom : in a word, then, to no less 
 than a hundred and fifty rats, — for the cooper counted 
 them, — the least of them as big as terriers, dancing 
 and caracoling, and, at the voice of the babe, running 
 up the gin-tub, and licking his face, and subjectedly, 
 as if in token of homage, rubbing their noses against 
 his toes. 
 
 It would be a waste of time and paper to attempt 
 to describe the astonishment of the beholders ; let the 
 reader imagine himself in the cellar of the White 
 Hart, at the interesting juncture whereof we write, 
 and consider what would have been his measure of 
 surprise. The feat of Diedrich made even Dutchmen 
 marvel. They were silent in their astonishment ; yea, 
 their tongues were like bits of ice in their mouths, 
 from sheer wonder. A greater wonder, however, al- 
 most immediately thawed them. 
 
 They had gazed in dumb abstraction at the gam- 
 bols of the rats, at the subjection of the vermin to the 
 voice, looks, and gestures of the infant pacificator ; 
 but when, at certain inarticulate words uttered by 
 Diedrich, six of the largest rats ran up the tub, and 
 two, standing on their hind legs, rested their fore 
 paws upon each of his shoulders, when a third rat 
 sat, as in the act of begging, on the crown of his 
 
246 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 head, two other rats crouched upon his knees, and a 
 sixth rat, taking his tail in his month, hung, like a 
 necklace, round the throat of their baby dominator, — 
 when the Dutchmen beheld this, — no more, in fact, 
 than an adumbration of the future group of lions and 
 tigers, — when the Hollanders beheld this, they did 
 shout ! 
 
 It was extraordinary, however, and certainly the 
 strongest evidence of the mysterious influence of 
 young Van Amburgh over the hearts and minds of 
 the vermin, that, though several gin-tubs jumped from 
 their bottoms, — the motion caused by the vibration 
 of the Dutchmen's shout, — the rats never moved a 
 muscle ! They looked steadfastly in the faces of the 
 Dutchmen, and, catching the eye of their nursling 
 master, kept their places. 
 
 Fortunately this circumstance is so well attested, 
 the triumph of young Van Amburgh over the ferocity 
 of the rats is so finally established by events subse- 
 quent to the scene in the cellar, that all the malignity 
 of envy — and Mr. Van Amburgh, who has u robbed 
 the lion of his heart," cannot despoil the serpent of 
 its poison — cannot shake it! We have talked to 
 people, most respectable persons now dwelling at the 
 Hague, who well remember to have seen young Van 
 Amburgh, when only four years old, drawn about 
 the village by twelve of his father's rats, in light pig- 
 skin harness, attached to a small, shell-like vehicle 
 unfortunately, only seven years since, burnt in a house 
 at Leyden, whither it had been sent for the inspection 
 of the curious. 
 
 At four years old, drawn by rats, would young Van 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 247 
 
 Amburgh pass through every corner of the Hague, 
 nay, proceed as far as Scheveling and back ; and 
 though many and many a cat sat in the doorways, 
 and licked his lips as he leered at the plump and 
 whiskered team of the infant pacificator,, yet no cat 
 dared to pounce, for this reason — the eye of Diedrich 
 Van Amburgh was upon him. 
 
 To this wonderful organ, be it understood, our hero 
 ascribes all his triumphs in the brute creation. Great 
 conquests have certainly been made by the same in- 
 strument in the higher walks of animal life ; but in 
 the inferior parts of the regne animal, Diedrich Van 
 Amburgh is a conqueror unrivalled — the Hannibal 
 of hyenas, the Cassar of leopards, the Napoleon of 
 Bengal tigers. 
 
 We had almost been guilty of an important omis- 
 sion in this our veracious history ; we had well nigh 
 forgotten to state that the coral of the baby Diedrich 
 is now to be seen in the museum at the Hague, if we 
 mistake not, in the case to the left of the wooden chair 
 in which General Chasse sat at the bombardment in 
 the fortress of Antwerp — a relic which the Hollanders 
 are very justly proud of. The coral, by the way, has 
 been despoiled of one of its bells, it is supposed by a 
 curious Englishman on a visit three years since to the 
 museum. 
 
 To resume our biographical narrative. 
 
 Our hero is now four years old, and every day 
 brings with it further evidence of his surpassing genius ; 
 he continues to grow the marvel and delight of the 
 good people of the Hague. When at eight years of 
 age, an event occurs which doubles even the enthusi- 
 
248 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 asm of that most enthusiastic race of people, the 
 Dutch ; for the pet of the village, Diedrich, was wont 
 to be absent whole days, from morn till night, from 
 the paternal roof, usually returning very hungry and 
 very wet. Every means were tried to learn the cause 
 of his absence, to discover where he passed so many 
 of his valuable hours ; but Diedrich maintained a 
 dogged silence to all queries, or essayed to laugh 
 them aside by some playful quip or quirk. At length, 
 having pondered on the matter some time, Mynheer 
 Van Amburgh set spies upon the movements of his 
 son ; and hence we are enabled to gladden our readers 
 with one of the strangest recitals, perhaps, ever yet 
 recited. 
 
 " The small village called Scheveling," says an 
 " English Gentleman," who, in 1691, wrote upon 
 the Hague and its adjacent places, u is inhabited 
 chiefly by fishermen, where is a curious, hard, sandy 
 shore, admirably contrived by nature for the adver- 
 tisement of fersons of quality" This village is ap- 
 proached from the Hague by u a late-made way, cut 
 through vast, deep mountains of sand, paved through 
 with curious stones — a work fit for the ancient Ro- 
 mans ; " and to this village, and its " admirably con- 
 trived sandy shore," would Diedrich Van Amburgh, 
 when eight years old, daily resort ; and thither was 
 he watched by the spies set upon his steps. 
 
 Fables have been invented that may be considered 
 as somewhat bearing upon our narrative ; but the cir- 
 cumstance only proved that the fiction was but the 
 shadow to the " coming" truth. For instance, the 
 elder Pliny — a gentleman of considerable fancy — 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 249 
 
 informs us that a little boy scraped an acquaintance 
 with a dolphin, and by bribing the fish with a portion 
 of his morning's bread and butter, would induce it to 
 carry him on its back to school, from Baia- toPuteoli, 
 and from Puteoli to Baiae. The boy, catching the 
 measles, died; "when," says Pliny, "the dotphin 
 pined and died, and was buried in the same grave 
 with his little playmate I" " These be truths ! " The 
 younger Pliny, trumping the card of the elder, tells a 
 story of a dolphin, " at Hippo in Africa," who, meet- 
 ing a boy swimming wide from his companions, dived 
 under him, took him on its back, and bundled off with 
 its affrighted burden into the " open sea," when, hav- 
 ing swum a league or two, the dolphin tacked, made 
 for land, and carefully deposited the child upon the 
 shore. The story ran through the town, and the next 
 day the strand was thronged with people, curious to 
 see if die dolphin would come again ; when, about 
 half past eleven, lo ! it came, and, playing all sorts 
 of inviting tricks, the people walked up to their knees 
 into the river, and stroked and patted it, the women 
 kissing and calling it pretty names. The boy, who 
 had on the former day backed the fish, then put him- 
 self again astride it, and, doubtless, amidst enthu- 
 siastic exclamations, was carried out into " blue wa- 
 ter " by the dolphin, and again faithfully brought back. 
 The historian adds that u the deputy governor " of the 
 province believed that the affable fish could be noth- 
 ing but a god in disguise ; and, therefore, on an early 
 visit of the creature to the shore, ordered some pre- 
 cious ointment to be poured upon it. From that mo- 
 ment the fish lost its spirits, became sick and feeble, 
 
250 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 and in a short time was never seen again. The truth 
 is — a truth that has escaped the sagacity of the 
 younger Pliny — that the dolphin suspected the pre- 
 cious ointment to be fish-sauce, and, though grieved 
 for the sake of its personal safety to discontinue its 
 visits, prudentially concluded that people who had 
 such an abundance of fish-sauce might some day be 
 in need of fish to eat with it. Such were the dol- 
 phin's speculations, and wisely, as we think, it turned 
 its head to sea. " Here be truths." To return to 
 Diedrich Van Amburgh. 
 
 He is now, gentle reader, in the ninth year of his 
 age ; and one bleak, tempestuous morning he is seen, 
 as we think somewhat presumptuously, treading the 
 " hard, sandy shore," made for " persons of quality," 
 at the wild, dreary, yet picturesque, village of Scheve- 
 ling. The youngster walks the sands with a sturdy 
 foot, and as he walks, looks out, and whistles towards 
 the ocean. He has walked and whistled but five 
 minutes, when lo ! six porpoises tumble towards 
 the shore. Diedrich walks fearlessly towards them, 
 jumps upon the back of the biggest, and away goes 
 he, hurrahing, laughing, shouting, riding like a cork 
 upon the crest of the billows ; twenty Dutchmen, 
 among whom are the spies appointed by his father, 
 with the fishermen of the village, their wives and 
 families, fixed upon the strand, transmuted into stone 
 by the daring of that " marvellous boy." The story 
 flew through the Hague, and when, after a somewhat 
 exhausting ride of four hours, young Diedrich turned 
 his porpoise for the shore, he saw it covered with the 
 inhabitants of the Hague, with an odd thousand or 
 
two from Delf and other places, congregated there to 
 receive him with due honors on his coming in. He 
 came with the porpoises bounding and tumbling about 
 him, each porpoise having a bell round its neck, un- 
 lawfully taken b)' Diedrich from his father's hostelry 
 for his own ocean pets. We pass the scene of his 
 welcome by the Dutch public, the delight of Die- 
 driclrs father, the tears of his mother. Young Die- 
 drich was presented at the Dutch court, and there were 
 several cabinet councils held to consider the propriety 
 of employing him as courier of the mail-bags by sea 
 between Holland and France, when, with a wayward- 
 ness, alas ! too frequently a baneful ingredient in 
 the composition of genius, young Diedrich destroyed 
 the hopes of his family in his advancement by clan- 
 destinely eloping with a Dutch skipper, a frequent 
 visitor at the White Hart, bound for Batavia, where, 
 as the captain assured our hero, he might assuage his 
 raging thirst for leopards, tigers, and lions in any 
 number. These brilliant prospects were too much 
 for the filial duty of young Diedrich ; and in the tenth 
 year of his age he quitted the White Hart, and hid 
 himself in the obscure port of Amsterdam until the 
 skipper should be ready for sea, Diedrich seeing, if he 
 remained at home, that he would inevitably be appoint- 
 ed to some lucrative place under his own government. 
 However, one of those accidents to be found in the 
 lives of all truly great men prevented his shipment 
 for Batavia, having been shamefully lured aboard a 
 South Sea whaler only the night before her departure 
 for her three years' voyage, the captain of the ship, 
 with a base regard for personal interest only to be 
 
252 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 found in the very meanest natures, having concluded 
 that the wonderful genius of Diedrich Van Amburgh 
 might be of considerable advantage to himself and 
 owners in the South Seas. 
 
 The captain was not mistaken. He returned to 
 Holland with the spoils of five-and-twenty first-rate 
 fish ; but for the honor of our common nature we al- 
 most blush to state that, at the dinner given to him by 
 his owners at Rotterdam to commemorate his tri- 
 umphant success, — his success ! — the skipper by no 
 one word had acknowledged the wonderful services 
 of Diedrich, to whom, indeed, the prosperity of the 
 voyage was wholly and solely to be attributed. Our 
 readers may probably be aware that the whale fish- 
 ery is a toilsome and most hazardous employment. 
 Diedrich Van Amburgh, however, by the force of 
 those great gifts awarded him from his birth, made 
 what would have been a long, miserable three years' 
 voyage nothing more than a long excursion of pleas- 
 ure. What Diedrich had been in his infancy to the 
 rats, that was he in his boyhood to the spermaceti 
 whales. 
 
 Was a whale in request, the captain immediately 
 ordered Diedrich, with a telescope of the highest 
 power, to the mast-head, where, having spied the 
 monster, Diedrich could fascinate him with his eye 
 through the glass, and in an instant leviathan would 
 " swim a league," tamely present himself alongside 
 the ship, and, patient as a lamb, meekly suffer himself 
 to be harpooned, young Van Amburgh, be it under- 
 stood, whistling " Yankee Doodle " or u Old Ken- 
 tuck " — melodies taught him by an American, 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 253 
 
 one of the crew — to quiet him during the op- 
 eration. 
 
 The captain in a very long speech, fully reported 
 in the Abendblatt, spoke of his own trials, the suffer- 
 ings of the sailors, but not one word of that miracle 
 of a boy, Van Amburgh, who, by the way, stung by 
 a sense of injustice, had deserted from the ship on 
 the back of a white shark, a young grampus follow- 
 ing him on shore with his bundle, when homeward 
 bound for Amsterdam. 
 
 Diedrich, still fixed upon the lions, entered himself 
 on board a ship bound for Ceylon. Many disap- 
 pointments, however, combined to thwart his deter- 
 mination to escape into the woods, where, by the 
 mere force of character and power of eye, — such 
 being the only means employed by Van Amburgh to 
 subdue all beasts, — he resolved to beard the lion in 
 his den, and, in fact, carry civilization and all its hu- 
 manities amongst the feline tribes of the wilderness. 
 Enough for us that Diedrich Van Amburgh had car- 
 ried into practical perfection the benevolence of his 
 early theory ; that he has shown how 
 
 " education forms the brutal mind, 
 
 And as the stick is used, the beasts incline ; " 
 
 and that if there are lions who eat rajahs, tigers that 
 have a propensity for child- stealing, and leopards 
 nurturing in their savage breasts a preference for liv- 
 ing flesh, no matter whether of man or beast ; the 
 evil arises solely from the misfortune of their igno- 
 rance ; that they know no better, and are to be pitied 
 for their darkness. 
 
254 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 We have placed Diedrich Van Amburgh at Cey- 
 lon. We regret, deeply regret, to state that here there 
 is hiatus in manuscriptis ; we lose sight of him for 
 some years, until we again meet with him in Eng- 
 land, a purchaser of one of our new lions, then a cub, 
 
 — a nursling, — 
 
 "With the most innocent milk in its most innocent mouth." 
 
 On the breaking up of our national establishment 
 in the Tower, in defence to a senseless cry of — But 
 no ; we started on the broad ground of benevolence, 
 and we will not betake ourselves into the smoking 
 corner of politics. The lions were sold from the 
 Tower, and happy was the cub that fell into the 
 hands of Van Amburgh ; he, the beast himself, may 
 possibly be ignorant of his great happiness ; but we 
 
 — poor mortals as we are. knowing full well the 
 powers of temptation, with the difficulty of overcom- 
 ing them — we cannot but admire the acquired tem- 
 perance and meekness of that lion, who. with a young 
 lamb rubbed against his lips, with its white wool 
 tickling his whiskers, turns from it, like a lad} 7 from a 
 second glass of wine ! We should like to see the 
 stock-broker, with lambs of the 'Change offered to 
 him, who would gently put them aside ! It would 
 delight us to know the exact style of countenance of 
 the small, yet noisy patriot, tempted by a baronetcy, 
 or the fleecy hosiery of place, stanch to his " princi- 
 ples," and rock to the blandishments of a minister. 
 We know what it must have cost the lion to be able 
 to turn away from a remarkably healthy child — vac- 
 cinated and all — with bloodless lips: and admira- 
 tion is the fruit of that knowledge ! 
 
TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 255 
 
 We have now little more to speak of than the dis- 
 cipline employed by Mr. Van Amburgh for the sub- 
 jugation and instruction of his brutes ; and it will, 
 we are sure, delight our readers to learn that Mr. Van 
 Amburgh, quite in opposition to the general belief, 
 rules them with the downiest feather. To speak lit- 
 erally, the heaviest weapon employed upon them in 
 their hours of schooling is a stick of cinnamon ; and 
 this, be it understood, he uses upon the hides of his 
 pupils, not as a means of physical punishment, but as 
 conveying to them a sense of degradation — as he has 
 assured us, a far more bitter chastisement upon a lion 
 or tiger of any natural goodness than stripes or chas- 
 tisement. It is really delicious to witness the inter- 
 view of Van Amburgh with the beasts in their time 
 of relaxation, when not stirred up to please a vulgar 
 audience by an affectation of ferocity ; it is most 
 gratifying to witness the interchange of caresses be- 
 tween the master and his servants — the mild intelli- 
 gence on the one side, the confidence and gratitude on 
 the other. 
 
 It will be seen that Mr. Van Amburgh's treatment 
 of the brutes is almost wholly intellectual. He rea- 
 sons with them, and has at length succeeded in con- 
 veying to their minds surprisingly clear ideas of right 
 and wrong. He now and then finds it expedient to 
 read something dramatic to them, when desirous of 
 tranquillizing their rising passions. The manager has 
 generally placed at his disposal the MSS. of trage- 
 dies, comedies, farces, &c, for the purpose. But 
 we have it on the assurance of the great teacher him- 
 self, that, if he wishes to wholly subdue the whole 
 
256 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 
 
 menagerie, he finds nothing so efficacious as the 
 libretto of a new opera. 
 
 We are, however, happy to state that this civiliza- 
 tion of the brutes of the forest bv the great benevolent 
 professor is only the first of a series of improvements 
 contemplated by him in the body social. What he 
 has done for lions, tigers, and leopards, he professes 
 himself ready to do for men of all conflicting opin- 
 ions, passions, and interests. We have not the ad- 
 dress of the brute-trainer, neither are w T e in possession 
 of the terms required by him per lesson ; but if any 
 of our readers, male or female, will apply personally 
 to him, having made up their minds to conform to 
 the self-same harmonizing system worked out with 
 such success upon the lower animals, they need not 
 for an instant doubt of the same gratifying results. 
 
 It is with this feeling — it is from a consciousness 
 of the higher uses of Mr, Van Amburgh's system — 
 that we have been induced to give this lengthened 
 notice of it, to go thus comprehensively into what 
 we trust will prove a rrlost valuable exposition. 
 
 1839. 
 
MICHAEL LYNX. 257 
 
 MICHAEL LYNX; "THE MAN WHO 
 KNEW HIMSELF." 
 
 U C"^IR, will you buy any rhubarb — most excellent 
 ^3 Turkey rhubarb?" asks the turbaned dealer, 
 in his best English, of the thousandth passenger, 
 who, with a wily glance at the drug, and a shiver 
 from the crown to the sole, hurries past, deigning no 
 syllable in reply. It is not that he despises the 
 medicinal qualities of rhubarb ; by no means — he 
 knows them to be admirable ; but then, ninety-nine 
 times out of the hundred, he believes, or tries to 
 make himself believe, that he has no need of them. 
 To his brothers and sisters, to his wife, his sons and 
 his daughters — indeed, to all his relatives, friends, 
 and acquaintance, he may be all but convincingly 
 eloquent on the " sovereign remedy " of rhubarb ; but, 
 for himself, he knows his constitution — he never re- 
 quires it. A man who presents a history, containing 
 professedly rigid lessons, is a vender of drugs ; a book 
 with an avowed moral is — rhubarb. 
 
 Shall we then, at once, avow the tendency of the 
 narrative of Michael Lynx — "the man who knew 
 himself"? No; we eschew such peril, begging to 
 assure our friends that if, in the following pages, 
 they find, not a string of moralities, but anything like 
 a single moral, it must be to their own searching 
 sagacity, and not to our premeditation, that they 
 will owe so questionable a discovery. Thus, assur- 
 ing a large portion of the reading world that we 
 
 17 
 
25S - MICHAEL LYNX; 
 
 mean nothing, we think we are justified in the most 
 reasonable hopes of fixing its attention. 
 
 Michael Lynx was born — as it is allowed that the 
 joyful event took place precisely nine months and 
 three days after the marriage of his mother, the 
 friends of the lady — and we take our readers to be 
 immediately such — are not authorized to call upon 
 us for the precise date of the parish register. It is 
 sufficient, for eveiy reasonable purpose, that Michael 
 was most unequivocally, most undeniably, born. We 
 care not to dwell upon the event, it not being with 
 Michael, as with crowds of heroes, one of the two 
 most remarkable accidents of his existence. How 
 many thousands are no more than human candles ! 
 They are lighted, and they — burn out. Not so our 
 Michael. His " brief candle " first saw the light in a 
 garret, fearfully elevated above the classic ground, east 
 of that spot where, in the time of Richard the Second, 
 grapes, it is said, were persuaded to ripen, but where, 
 in the present degenerate times, oxen are at certain 
 days congregated, though not to tread, the fruitage 
 of the legendary vine. We speak of Smithfield. If 
 Michael's taper of life burnt irregularly, something is 
 to be allowed for the influence of early accident : the 
 window-frames of the room in which he was born 
 were most impartially fitted with brown paper. It is 
 true great, steady, shining lights have come down 
 to us from garrets ; but Michael was not one of these, 
 lie was deprived, by the local obscurity of his birth, 
 of even the playful boast of Pope Sextus the Ffth, 
 who, born in a hovel, which admitted the sun through a 
 thousand crannies, vaunted that he was nato di casa 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 259 
 
 illustre — u born of an illustrious house." Now, as 
 to his house, Michael — and it is saying much — 
 might have counted flaw for flaw against any pope 
 in Christendom ; but though he had all the defects, 
 he could not boast — in the peculiar place, and under 
 the circumstances in which he was born — of that 
 light which made them illustrious ; for it is sometimes 
 better to be the bastard of Apollo, than the lawfully 
 begotten of Plutus. 
 
 We have to excuse another defect — a defect im- 
 planted in Michael from his earliest years. It cannot 
 be disguised that Michael's taper, ere it was one 
 third consumed, was often placed in a bottle. Now, 
 seeing that all men are but so many candles, it should 
 be allowed that the steadiness with which they beam, 
 the clearness and the duration of their light, the ab- 
 sence of volatile insects which make them waste and 
 flicker, the lack of winding-sheets, and other weaken- 
 ing superstitions that beset the tallowy torch of flesh, 
 depend almost entirely upon the quality and the 
 currents of air in which it is doomed to be lighted 
 and to burn. If this be a vulgar error, like the 
 broken-down gentleman who cried mackerel, we 
 earnestly hope that nobody has heard it. 
 
 A candle in a bottle ! We have made it our busi- 
 ness through life to narrowly mark a candle when 
 so placed ; and we fearlessly assert, defying contra- 
 diction, that no candle, thus situated, ever burnt 
 fairly and truly, with credit to itself, and full honest 
 duty to its master. Mark, ye philosophers ! behold, 
 ye chemists ! how the gross stream winds itself 
 around the vitreous neck of the destroyer, meandering 
 
26o MICHAEL, LYNX ; 
 
 down in twenty ducts into one dull, noisome pond 
 of fat ! Is there a breathing man who hath not seen 
 this? If there be, let him seek to know the great 
 moral lesson ; and when he sees — as surely he will 
 see — the substance of the taper running into dark- 
 ness, the bright wick grown dull and black, with 
 sooty lumps, thick as blotches on a drunkard's nose, 
 — loading and deforming it, — then let him take heed, 
 and never hope to burn his candle in a bottle. 
 
 Michael passed the first seven years of his life in 
 healthful dirtiness, flourishing in filth. He was a 
 well-planted root, and shot up firmly from the soil. 
 As for the prejudice against what is vulgarly called 
 dirt, like every other prejudice, its nursing mother 
 is ignorance. It is only necessary to observe any of 
 the tens of thousands of little imps waddling, creep- 
 ing, running, screaming, hilloing, bellowing, beyond 
 the confines of clean respectability, to feel assured of 
 the sovereign excellence of dirt. There they are, a 
 part and parcel of the mud-pies they knead and 
 chaffer with. Our heart leaps up when we behold 
 u a brood of unclean children," — little new-made 
 Adams, — so dirty, there seems but part of their clay 
 dried into flesh. Pride may read a fine lesson of hu- 
 mility in such faces ; yea, there is a deep primitive 
 truth in their very earthliness. Let pampered vir- 
 tuosos feed their sickly sensibilities with paintings 
 and carvings ; let them be rapt with Raphael's form, 
 with Titian's color ; let their mouth's water at the 
 small prettiness of a Cellini ; let them treasure their 
 blooming canvas, their images in marble and ivory, 
 in bronze and gold ; let them treble-lock their muse- 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 261 
 
 urns and their cabinets ; but leave to us the true, 
 the inimitable terra cotta, of rare human flesh. Thus 
 every alley is our gallery — every cul-de-sac our am- 
 ple studio ! We could, we feel it, write upon the 
 subject until dirt changed under our pen as at the 
 touch of Midas's finger. We could read a great moral 
 truth in a begrimed cheek; we could — and how 
 many pious fathers might we evoke from their dusty 
 cells to bear testimony — prove the deep sagacity of 
 many by-gone saints in their contempt of water. 
 How many of those excellent men — of those noble 
 pillars of their faith — have come down to posterity 
 with anything but clean hands? in how many thou- 
 sand instances (see the lives of anchorites, popes, 
 ancient sulphur-breathers, and modern rantipoles) has 
 the odor of sanctity been any other than the absence of 
 linen ? We have read a list of thousands of relics, all 
 duly authenticated, and have not met with one shirt 
 in the whole catalogue. Thus far to combat a morbid 
 sensibility of what are absurdly called the decencies 
 of life; henceforth let our readers — which are only 
 three other words for all the world — look with an 
 instructed eye upon external uncleanness ; let them 
 not turn away from the unseemliness of the mere cov- 
 ering, but hug it closer to their hearts for its foulness. 
 Gods ! had we time and space to write an encyclo- 
 pedic chapter on dirt, what saints, what heroes, what 
 politicians, what poets, could we pick out of the mud ! 
 To our story. 
 
 And Michael grew in a congenial soil. We regret 
 that, up to his seventh year, no particular event an- 
 nounced the dawning of that light which in after days 
 
262 MICHAEL LYNX*, 
 
 brightened and dazzled his circle. Passing over two 
 brief captivities in the Compter, with one private 
 whipping, as matters unworthy of the historian and 
 of Michael, let us set out with him in the wide world. 
 Stay : to disarm scandal, we may as well explain 
 that Michael's first imperfect knowledge of criminal 
 law arose from his love of apples — a love, as it ap- 
 pears, so deeply implanted in our common nature; 
 so involved in its profane accidents! An apple — 
 but the story is trite as pippins — taught Sir Isaac 
 Newton true gravity ; an apple taught Gregory the 
 Seventh a lesson for popes ; an apple saved Clym of 
 the Clough from the gallows ; an apple might have 
 educated Michael Lynx for that final destination. We 
 have now no time to discuss it, but trust the reader is 
 fully impressed with the importance of the subject. 
 Much may yet be said of the apple ! 
 
 Beholding Michael at ten years old, we cannot but 
 believe that Nature and Destiny, like inexorable old 
 women as they are, wrangled at his cradle. Nature 
 endowed the child with her rarest gifts, but the bel- 
 dam Fate long denied their profitable exercise. It is 
 thus the opposing powers sit, brooding over the world, 
 pleased at nothing so much as at thwarting each 
 other. It is thus Nature makes her beautiful, her best 
 creatures, and then Destiny snatches away the glorious 
 handiwork, and locks it forever in a corner cupboard. 
 Again, Nature produces some poor misshapen thing, 
 — some half made image, loathsome without, and 
 dark within, — when her sister hag, with a grim 
 laugh, pounces on the abortion, hugs it, dandles it, 
 and ringing its nose with gold, hanging priceless 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 263 
 
 jewels at its ears, high uplifts the gilded ugliness. 
 Think of it, ye who, from the nursery to the family 
 vault, walk upon lamb's-wool — think how many 
 noble slaves hath the witch Destiny u acting her ab- 
 horred behests," daily sweating " in the eye of the 
 sun," pining in the darkness of the night. How 
 many are bowed by her invisible chain ; how T many 
 prisoners in the c:ty ; how many serfs in the field ! 
 She has her captives ; and yea, with a false and foul 
 religion, she has her idols for her slaves to worship — 
 her consecrated crocodiles — her solemn monkeys. 
 
 Nature had given to Michael the easy means of a 
 carriage and liveries, but Destiny would not readily 
 encourage the coachmaker and tailor. The bountiful 
 goddess had made our hero musical and imitative ; 
 but Destiny, who for a time made the god of music 
 himself a shepherd, marked Michael for someting less, 
 and Smithfield for his Arcady. Now, had Michael 
 been born within the purlieus of Drury Lane, had 
 he been even pot-boy to a theatrical public house, 
 how different had been his fate — how primrose- 
 decked his path to fortune ! Of what availed his 
 powers of song, his gifts of mimicry? It is true he 
 was the idol of the critics at the Three Jugs ; but, 
 like their numerous brotherhood, though they could 
 let fall showers of praise, they could not give the 
 smallest piece of pudding. (By the way, why does 
 not some lecturer on pneumatics define the precise 
 time that a man may live upon mere, praise? We 
 should like to see a popular poet in a moral air-pump.) 
 Michael would imitate every domestic beast of the> 
 field, and was judged — a rare and happy accident 
 
264 MICHAEL LYNX ; 
 
 to the performer — by persons who really knew some- 
 thing of the subject. Had he to mimic a goat, a hog, 
 a calf, an ass — there were among the auditors the 
 most competent judges of the performance. Happy 
 Michael ! how many a playwright has yearned for 
 such critics, and only sometimes found them ! Here 
 were gifts, had the professor been the favorite of 
 Destiny. To hear Michael, was to fancy Noah's 
 ark sounding in his larynx : indeed, " he was no 
 vulgar boy ! " and had Fate only thrust him into a 
 play-house, with such convertible talents, in a very 
 few years he might have had a bank account, and 
 green and gold liveries. Had he only lived in these 
 days, when, like a Turkish pacha, the dramatic muses 
 have horse-tails for banners, Michael had surely 
 emerged even from the obscurity of the Three Jugs; 
 but in the dark times when Michael roared, and 
 growled, and brayed, and neighed, jackasses were 
 of no stage value : Mr. Garrick had no taste ; besides, 
 unlike all his brethren, he had a touch of envy. 
 
 From ten to seventeen did Michael tend - sheep as a 
 profession, and imitate them as an enjoyment. A 
 marked change then ensued : he had hitherto been a 
 sloven, he now became a fop ; he cast aside a thatch 
 of worsted, which, for at least twenty years, under 
 various owners, had usurped the name of cap, and as- 
 sumed a straw hat of more than brimstone brightness ; 
 there was, moreover, a cunning knowledge of life in 
 the tie of the black ribbon that girdled it — a true 
 knowledge of the magic worth of appearance — of, as 
 in later life he would say, the use of the exterior. He 
 had a deep-blue frock, one pair of leathern breeches, 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 265 
 
 and shoe-buckles, if not all silver, at least copper, very 
 preciously and thickly cased. Thus habited, a switch 
 in his hand, and a sprig of lavender in his mouth, 
 — so fitting, looked as though it grew there, — Michael 
 would drive his flock. Virgil's shepherds (they had 
 their faults), in all their gloiy, were but cow-boys to 
 Michael. If he did not play upon a pipe, he smoked 
 one with an air very far beyond the pastoral ; if he 
 did not milk sheep, no hand could more adroitly kill 
 them ; if he were not called upon to guard his ewes 
 from wolves, no youth, especially twice a day, had a 
 more craving regard for mutton. Another change, be- 
 sides the vulgar mutation of dress, came upon Michael ; 
 or, it may be, it came with the dress — the shirt of 
 Nessus had its poison, and shirts and new coats, on 
 skins unused to such delicacies, have sometimes a 
 subtle and mysterious influence — " there is magic in 
 the web." How the refinement came, we pause not 
 to inquire ; but certain it is, from the day that Michael 
 first appeared in his reformed costume, he gave up 
 his brutal imitations, at least of the lowest of what the 
 humility of man calls lower animals. He would still 
 mimic a few of the nobler creatures ; but it was only 
 when he was in very excellent cue indeed, and at the 
 pressing request of friends, — a request very often put, 
 and consented to, — that he would condescend to 
 make an ass of himself. The goose he solemnly for- 
 swore at seventeen : how many of our wisest sages 
 have come far short of Michael ! 
 
 This determination of our hero was, however, for a 
 time fatal to Michael's worldly prospects. When he 
 ceased to be a vulgar beast, he ceased — and the like 
 
266 MICHAEL LYNX ; 
 
 may have happened to the most convivial souls— -to 
 be attractive to his circle of former admirers. But 
 the truth must out — ambition was at the bottom of 
 this false delicacy. He had, in an evil hour for his 
 reputation, visited a meaiagerie at the festival of St. 
 Bartholomew. From that moment he was haunted 
 by the roaring of the forest kings ; from that moment 
 he despised his former accomplishments, holding 
 them as worse than nought, and henceforth deter- 
 mined to do nothing but the lion. It was in vain that 
 friends dissuaded, critics sneered, and foes rejoiced ; 
 it was in vain that he was called upon for a growl or 
 a bark, in both of which he was pre-eminent ; he 
 would do nothing but roar, and his rearing was con- 
 temptible. Foolish Michael ! thou mightest have 
 continued to the end an applauded, prosperous puppy 
 — but to try the lion, was to fall indeed ! And yet, in 
 the homely history of Michael, read we not the fate 
 of thousands? There are greater houses than the 
 Three Jugs in which the same mistake is daily, 
 nightly made. There are persons of greater likelihood 
 than Michael who will attempt a roar, when the very 
 extent of their ability is a tolerable yelp. We might 
 multiply parallel examples, but leave them to the 
 reader, — who, or he must lack acquaintance, can 
 number them by the gross. 
 
 Fortune, however, did not wholly desert Michael ; 
 for at the time of his waning popularity at the Three 
 Jugs he had fallen captive to the sloe eyes and 
 damask cheeks of a maiden, a dweller on the Barnet 
 Road. Divine, enduring, charitable woman ! Though 
 Michael was a mongrel to all mankind, to Susan he 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 267 
 
 was a veritable lion ! It is thus, though the poor 
 dolt be jeered and scorned abroad, the love of woman 
 crowns him monarch at her side ; it is thus, though 
 the silly goose be plucked bare in the world, that new 
 " wings at his shoulders seem to play " when looked 
 on by her eyes ! Michael wooed with the regularity 
 of a stop-w T atch ; for, ever at appointed time he 
 breathed the gentle signal, which, with correspond- 
 ing punctuality, brought the maiden to his arms. 
 
 At the period of the fulness of his passion many 
 sheep had been stolen. One theft was marked by 
 peculiar daring, and the evil growing daily worse, 
 called for vigorous punishment. A hundred guineas 
 was the promised reward for the apprehension of the 
 robbers. All Smithfield was in consternation : since 
 the expedition for the Golden Fleece there was never 
 such a stir — " a hundred guineas reward ! " 
 
 We spoke of the concerted signal between Michael 
 and Susan. It was a dark, wintry night, and the 
 pastor Michael approached the habitation of his 
 adored, a cottage constructed with a fine taste for the 
 picturesque, and an equally fine contempt for the ele- 
 ments. Michael trode with stealthy footsteps of a 
 hero of romance, or a smuggler ; indeed, a custom- 
 house officer would have paused, doubting whether 
 the intruder came with a contraband passion or with 
 illicit brandy. Michael, " holding his breath for a 
 time " (at certain seasons the house of the beloved 
 strikes solemnly upon the heart), crept as closely 
 to the hut as prudence counselled (for Susan shared 
 the common calamity of heroines, she had a father), 
 and then, with his soul at his lips, uttered the well- 
 
268 MICHAEL LYNX ; 
 
 known sound. But how to describe it! Michael, in 
 the single honesty of his nature, spoke, as he thought, 
 with the mouth of a mere sheep ; but what bleating ! 
 how modulated — how softened — with what passion 
 trembling in its tones — with what a tale of hopes 
 and fears in its few vibrations ! A man of ordinary 
 sensibility hearing it would have forsworn mutton 
 for the rest of his days. There was such pathos in the 
 sound — such eloquence of the heart! This, sympa- 
 thizing reader, is, you feel, no raphsody ; you, who 
 have heard love refine the roughest notes — you, who 
 have known him tune harshness itself to music, will 
 do the same reverence to the bleating of Michael. Am- 
 ple justice you cannot award, for you did not hear it. 
 Susan tripped from the cottage ; she joined her lover 
 — she spoke — yes, in soft, low accents, twitching 
 Michael by the arm, she exclaimed, " Hush ! you 
 fool — I'm here ! " Michael answered not ; he stood, 
 as on the sudden, struck to stone : perhaps he felt the 
 abrupt truth of Susan — perhaps he felt the cold; 
 we cannot answer ; but, certain we are, that the sig- 
 nal of love had found an echo in the throats of a near 
 flock, for bleatings came through the darkness, not 
 unaccompanied by human oaths. Michael, without 
 a word, followed the sound ; and the roused father 
 of Susan, hearing the lover's footsteps, followed him. 
 Michael approached the prison of the flock, an old 
 dilapidated barn ; a light glimmering through the 
 crannies, he beheld — for he knew the ruddle, knew 
 the faces of the innocent victims — the stolen sheep ! 
 Had he doubted the identity of the beasts, the peculiar 
 cast of features of two men, — one employed skinning 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 269 
 
 a fat wedder, and another about to prepare a second 
 for the like operation — would not have convinced 
 him of his error. As he stood, in that brief moment, 
 he felt, in imagination, the weight of a hundred guin- 
 eas suddenly fall into his pocket: another second, 
 and, without any trick of fancy, he felt a huge hedge- 
 stake fall upon his back. His first cry was " Thieves ! " 
 his second, " Murder ! " 
 
 We cannot here suppress a few words on what we 
 may call the nationality of the principal of these ex- 
 clamations. We hold it to be a signal evidence of 
 the immense wealth of our country, a flattering proof 
 of our commercial greatness, and of the universality 
 of property, that when man, woman, or child is as- 
 saulted, — though neither shall be the loser of so 
 much as a hair, — the cry of the assailed is " Thieves ! " 
 A man receives a cowardly insult ; the poltroon runs 
 away; what suddenly trips up his heels — what, but 
 u Stop thief? " The cry, knocking at every man's 
 breeches pocket, makes him champion the distressed. 
 There is a freemasonry in the words, and when hal- 
 looed, all men proffer helping hands. Of the two 
 exclamations, "thieves" is strikingly national; — - 
 "murder" is enjoyed by other countries. Certainly 
 there is no comparison in their relative effect. Some 
 fifty years ago, at a crowded drawing-room, two 
 countesses — beautiful as angels — were beset on 
 their way to their carriages. One lost a necklace, 
 the other a bracelet ; one cried " thieves ! " the other 
 " murder ! " The thief, with the stolen property upon 
 him, was instantly taken ; the murderer, pocketing the 
 bracelet, was suffered to walk away. When we heard 
 
270 MICHAEL LYNX*, 
 
 this we vowed, were we a countess, never in any sit- 
 uation to trust to l< murder." No ; let every woman 
 in the hour of danger — that is, if she wish for in- 
 truding succor — scorn " murder," and place her reli- 
 ance upon " thieves ! " 
 
 The fine tenor shouting of Michael, accompanied 
 by the sharp, treble screaming of Susan, whilst her 
 father, at every blow he dealt, groaned a deep bass 
 through his teeth, scared the varlets in the barn, one 
 of whom, making a rush for the door, received from 
 the paternal cudgel a misdirected thwack, which -lev- 
 elled him. However, he was again upon his legs, 
 when Michael fastened upon him, and the lover and 
 the thief, grappling each other, they both fell to the 
 earth. There they lay, writhing and rolling, he of 
 the hedge-stake raining an impartial shower of blows, 
 now upon his future son, and now upon the sheep- 
 stealer, as each came uppermost. The combatants 
 blasphemed ; Susan got new strength with scream- 
 ing : the father growled as he labored ; the rescued 
 sheep set up bleatings of thanksgiving ; when, in the 
 midst of the hurly, half a dozen tapers, like so many 
 wills-'o-the-wisp, broke through the darkness, and the 
 voice of the parish constable, with the voices of two 
 men unknown, were heard in the distance. From 
 that moment the thief, with oriental resignation, lay 
 motionless ; Michael sat gasping upon him ; the 
 father, with one hand, leaned upon his staff, and with 
 the other wiped the sweat from his forehead ; Susan 
 smoothed her hair, and dried the corners of her eyes. 
 In this condition they waited the approach of the par- 
 ish functionary, who, acknowledging the greeting of 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 27 1 
 
 Susan's father, stopped, with his light to the ground, 
 when Susan uttered a scream, sharp enough to pierce 
 to the horn lantern which disclosed the horror ; for 
 the blood ran in streams down Michael's face, drip- 
 ping upon the face of the thief below him, and for 
 the time almost blotting out his identity. But Tips, 
 the constable, was a stern thinker, paying little re- 
 spect to blood ; so, somewhat wiping from the fea- 
 tures of the thief the property of Michael, there came 
 to light the well-known visage of Jack Robinson, bet- 
 ter known by the genial alias of Flowers-in-May. 
 " He's my prisoner, and there's the stolen sheep ! " 
 cried Michael. " And a good night's work thou'st 
 made of it," rejoined one of the men ; " a hundred 
 guineas, and only for a cracked crown." Question- 
 less a hundred guineas are u worth a poor man's 
 keeping : " but whether, in the present instance, the 
 exchange was in the youth's favor, whether Michael's 
 pia mater had been mortally injured by Susan's puis 
 paier, remained a case for the surgeons and the as- 
 sizes. Happily Michael's skull was no egg-shell, and 
 though, almost immediately on the arrival of Tips, 
 he swooned, and, at least to Susan's father, looked 
 dangerously interesting, time and a plaster made all 
 whole again. Perhaps, too, there was some potent 
 anodyne in the sympathy of the paternal clubman, 
 for no sooner did he hear of the reward than all his 
 prejudices melted away, and nought remained in his 
 breast but admiration for his valorous son-in-law. 
 Besides, as both father and Michael, with an exem- 
 plary delicacy, breathed no syllable of family quar- 
 rels, the broken skull and bruised, party-colored car- 
 
272 MICHAEL LYNX ; 
 
 cass of our hero were put clown to the black account 
 of the sheep stealers, on whom we shall expend but 
 a few words. The luckless Flowers-in-May — his 
 companion never came near him in his last trial — 
 was judged and sentenced. Michael received the 
 hundred guineas, and Tips a most handsome compli- 
 ment from the bench, together with an extra parochial 
 reward for his cat-like vigilance on the night of the 
 scuffle. Tips had been to call a midwife ; but, with 
 praiseworthy fortitude, he forbore to intrude upon 
 either judge or vestry a single w T ord about his domes- 
 tic misfortunes. 
 
 Michael and Susan were married ! The hundred 
 guineas, which had produced a halter for Flowers-in- 
 May, had bought bridal garlands for the youthful 
 couple : hemp-seed and nuptial flowers sprang from 
 the same bed ! That a hymeneal wreath should be 
 only a continuation of the yarn of the ropemaker ! 
 Shudder not, ye gentle youths ; shrink not, ye timid 
 virgins. When Susan pressed with her loving arm 
 the neck of Michael, there arose no compunctious 
 workings to his throat; when Michael put on his 
 night-cap, it brought no thought of Flowers-in-May 
 to Susan. No ; the hangman wove no dreams for 
 them ; they slept peacefully, as though the only gal- 
 lows were in Utopia. Was not this insensibility? 
 Certainly not : for, much to the disappointment of an 
 overflowing Old Bailey, Flowers-in-May was not 
 hanged. The night before his intended appearance 
 he had broken prison, and one of his legs; certainly 
 no very cheap escape ; still, as most men have two 
 legs, and none have more than one neck, when dis- 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 273 
 
 location is inevitable, it is well that the greatest evil 
 be shared by the greatest number. Michael at the 
 same time reaped the reward of — (a rare union) — 
 mimicry and modesty. Jove lowed his love as a bull ; 
 Michael bleated, an innocent sheep ; mark the fruits 
 of his humility : had he visited Susan as a lion, 
 would there have been any response from the stolen 
 flock? Would they have acknowledged by a single 
 note, by the slightest tremor, their fears of the de- 
 stroyer? As a lion, Michael might have roared and 
 starved ; love tamed him down to a sheep, and for- 
 tune flung about him a fine, thick fleece. That many 
 men would think of Michael ! 
 
 Having married our hero, we shall, for some twen- 
 ty years, leave him to himself and his wife. Twenty 
 years ! If the reader startle at the change we are 
 about to show him, if he smile incredulously at the 
 shifting of the scene, and vow we pen a fairy tale, 
 and not a true and sober history, we — 
 
 Here, librarian, hand this sceptic a few volumes of 
 the Moniteur. There, sir, turn over, not the leaves 
 of twenty years, but of ten, of five, or two. A fairy 
 tale! Why, all the dreams of Eastern visionaries 
 are weak, colorless fantasies to the stern doings of 
 this tangible world. Should palaces, built in a night, 
 call up our wonder, when, in a few years, we have 
 seen the temples of living kings so oppositely ten- 
 anted? The stage harlequin is now a poor imbecile 
 — outtripped, outdone by the real antic : all others 
 are base impostors, things whose wickerwork peeps 
 through the covering ; Fortune alone is the true 
 mountebank ! See — now she borrows a regal 
 18 
 
274 * MICHAEL LYNX ; 
 
 crown, as a Jackpudding, with a smirk, begs of his 
 audience a wedding ring : mark how she whirls it, 
 and twists it, and now hiding it in some base corner, 
 now lending it for a holiday ornament, and now 
 plucking it away again — and now, with a harlot's 
 smile, and a profound courtesy, returning it to its de- 
 spairing owner. And now she sits upon a palace 
 step, with balls and sceptres in her lap, casting them 
 now high and now low, like an Indian juggler. And 
 now she takes some forlorn nestling, and- — fii'estol 
 — he is j>ullus Jovis ! And now, after the thing has 
 strutted, and screamed, and called on nations to rev- 
 erence its plumes, — with no more ceremony than a 
 farmer's wife seizes one gosling from its brethren, — 
 does Fortune catch the radiant bird — dishonorable 
 catch ! She gripes him by his glorious tail — and 
 plucks the peacock of his every plume. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lynx, at the close of twenty years, 
 were resolved on retreating with their honorable spoil. 
 The hundred guineas had rolled and gathered, giving 
 the lie to vulgar superstition, which, with the malice 
 of envy, had predicted ill luck to the sudden gain. 
 How many sleek, oily souls — when they count their 
 hoards, no matter how acquired — must chuckle at 
 the bugbear ! Michael had, however, flourished upon 
 average honesty ; he never vulgarly picked a pocket, 
 and certain we are, he never so much as dreamed of 
 forgery. He had grown rich, and as his purse 
 swelled, his tastes enlarged. Retired from the 
 drudgery of making money, his only thought was 
 how to extract dignified happiness from the four per 
 cents. Michael was fixed in a suburban villa, com- 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 275 
 
 manding a most extensive view of metropolitan va- 
 por ; his house was as fine, as light, and almost as di- 
 aphanous as a Chinese lantern ; for Michael was none 
 of your churls who build about their domesticities 
 with walls and hedges : not he. The curious travel- 
 ler might have counted every mouthful swallowed by 
 Michael at breakfast and dinner ; for, if he were not 
 quite as unconscious, he was as careless of publicity 
 as a honey-bee in a glass hive. And this, after all, is 
 true retirement. Solitude is not a thing of trees and 
 bricks, but a part of the immortal man. Michael's 
 retreat was all that he could wish ; his garden was 
 very promising; his orchard, in a little more than a 
 quarter of a century, would u in summer yield him 
 shade, in winter fire ; " whilst his lawn looked not 
 common grass, but closely, and almost as regularly 
 shaven, as its master, seemed like an unwrinkled sheet 
 of green baize. He wanted nothing ; for a red and 
 blue macaw broke a stillness that might have been 
 oppressive ; and for employment, Michael for the first 
 three months superintended the education of a per- 
 verse kitten, whose ravenous love for a dozen gold- 
 fish, in at least a two-quart globe, as they glanced in 
 the sun — Michael would sometimes think of his 
 guineas — he, after commendable perseverance, sub- 
 dued into the coldness of mere respect. And is this 
 the Michael of Smithfield? Remember, reader, 
 twenty } T ears ! It is not half the time that yonder 
 elephant, cribbed in a den of cunning joiner's work, 
 was the rough denizen of the forest ; and now mark 
 the tame grace with which he takes a sweetmeat 
 from that fair, white hand ! Moralists exclaim that 
 
276 MICHAEL LYNX; 
 
 all men are forgetful of nothing so much as of their 
 end. This is a mistake : when they rise, they are 
 more oblivious of their beginning. When Michael 
 stood at his garden porch, holding 'twixt his lips a 
 sprig of jasmine, plucked from his own tree, grow- 
 ing: upon his own freehold, he would have been a 
 cunning metaphysician w T ho could have persuaded 
 him that he was the very Michael of twenty years 
 ago ; at most, he might have had some vague impres- 
 sion, some interrupted glimmering of the fact, but 
 nothing that he could have conscientiously sworn by. 
 It would be a profitable sorcery that could evoke the 
 spectres of our buried years, making them pass, one 
 by one, before our eyes, each shadow following the 
 meanness, the folly of its day ! What a picture-gal- 
 lery to u sear our eyeballs ! " And yet what heart- 
 burning, what contention with the exhibitor ! For 
 how" few would own the shadow of ten, or five 
 years back, to be their true likeness — their vera 
 effigies ? 
 
 Michael was completely happy. He had an en- 
 during wife, a fine house, fine grounds, a well-stocked 
 cellar, and, he thanked Heaven, — people generally 
 do when prayers and the physicians have failed, — 
 no children ! If his mansion were not very durable, 
 it could boast the brightest paint. If it were not 
 built upon rock, the surrounding gravel walks shone 
 like red gold. His house might have been more 
 commodious, but not so handsome. And thus Mi- 
 chael lived, or, rather, stagnated, into old age, im- 
 bedded, like a jewel in cotton, in all the comforts of 
 this our eating, drinking, and sleeping existence. 
 
THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 2/7 
 
 And to what did Michael owe this full prosperity? 
 To the hundred guineas? Yes, for they brought 
 with them more than gold ; they brought self-knowl- 
 edge. From the day that Michael touched the shi- 
 ning reward he became an altered man. It w r as then 
 he u knew himself; " it was then, reviewing the folly 
 of his past ambition, and contrasting its effects with 
 late results, he started in the world with a proper 
 consciousness of his powers, and a resolve never to 
 attempt beyond them. This was the secret of his 
 success ; it was this that clothed the tatterdemalion ; 
 that housed him ; that gave him " land and beeves." 
 He might, had he persisted in his vanity, have 
 mummed away a wdiole life a mountebank and vag- 
 abond ; but tire forcible illustration of his true pow- 
 ers fixed his eyes upon himself; he looked inwardly, 
 and seeing there no lion, at the last hour " knew 
 himself." 
 
 We might close this, our rambling story, with a 
 budget of moral reflections : we shall levy no such 
 tax upon our readers. In every walk of life, from 
 St. Stephen's to St. Giles's, how many Michaels be- 
 come ridiculous, misanthropic, miserable, unprinci- 
 pled as lions, who might have been useful, kindly, 
 happy, honest, as mere sheep ! 
 
 1835- 
 
278 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 
 
 " When a man has once been very famous for jests and merry adventures, he is 
 made to adopt all the jests that want a father, and many times such as are unwor- 
 thy of him." — Motteux's Life 0/ Rabelais. 
 
 AT midnight, on the fifth of November, in the 
 year of grace one thousand six hundred and 
 five, Guido Fawkes, " gentleman," was discovered, 
 " booted and spurred," in the vicinity of St. Stephen's 
 Chapel, having on his person " three matches, a 
 tinder-box, and a dark lantern ; " and purposing, 
 by means of gunpowder, to blow up, says King 
 James, " the whole nobility, the most part of the 
 knights and gentry," besides " the whole judges of 
 the land, with most of the lawyers, and the whole 
 clerks." For this one indiscretion Guido Fawkes 
 has forfeited his gentility, and become a proverb of 
 wickedness. In boyhood, we looked upon Guido 
 Fawkes, gentleman, as one a little lower than the 
 devil : he had four horns and a dozen tails. " Years 
 that bring the philosophic mind" have divested him 
 of these excrescences and appendages, and Guido 
 Fawkes now appears to matured charities merely a 
 person of a singularly eccentric disposition. 
 
 Some five-and-twenty years ago it was the patri- 
 otic custom of the authorities of an Isle of Sheppy 
 dockyard to bestow upon their apprentices a few 
 wagon loads of resinous timber, that a bonfire worthv 
 of the cause it celebrated might he kindled from the 
 public purse — that the effigy of the arch-fiend Guy 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 279 
 
 might be consumed in a fire three times hotter than 
 the fire of a furnace. Such fierce liberality was not 
 lost upon the town's people : their ardor in the burning 
 business smouldered not ; every man subscribed his 
 plank or log; and, from the commission in his uni- 
 form to Bobby in his pinafore, the fifth of November 
 glowed in the calendar of their minds a pillar of 
 fire. For a month before the day, the coming anni- 
 versary busied the thoughts of boyish executioners, 
 resolved to show their patriotism in the appointments 
 of their Guy — in the grotesque iniquity of his face, 
 in the cumbrous state of his huge arm-chair. To 
 beg clothes from door to door was then the business 
 of every lover of church and state. To ask for a 
 coat, a pair of breeches, a shirt (the frill could be 
 made of paper), hose and hat, was not mendicity, 
 but the fulfilment of a high social duty. 
 
 Guy Fawkes would at length be dressed. A phi- 
 losopher might have found good matter in his elee- 
 mosynary suit. In the coat of the bloodthirsty 
 wretch, he might have recognized the habit of Scum, 
 the slopseller, a quiet trader, afloat of twenty thou- 
 sand pounds ; in the vest of the villanous ruffian, 
 the discarded waistcoat of Smallgrog, the honest 
 landlord of a little house for sailors ; in the stock- 
 ings of the atrocious miscreant, the hose of the 
 equitable Weevil, biscuit-contractor to his Majesty's 
 fleet ; whilst for the leather of the fiend-like effigy, 
 Guy Fawkes was to be exhibited, and afterwards 
 burned, in the broad-toed shoes of that best of men, 
 Trap, the town attorney. 
 
 The chair, too, in which Guy Fawkes sat, might 
 
280 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 
 
 it not have some day enshrined a justice of the peace? 
 and the lantern, fixed in the hand of the diaboli- 
 cal, lynx-eyed monster, might it not have been the 
 property of the most amiable and most somnolent of 
 all the Blue Town watchman? And then the mask 
 fixed upon the effigy — or the lump of clay kneaded 
 into human features, and horribly or delicately ex- 
 pressed, according to the benevolent art of the ma- 
 kers, — might not the same visor have been worn by 
 a perfect gentleman, with considerable advantage, at 
 a masquerade? — might not the clay nose and mouth 
 of the loathsome traitor have borne an accidental 
 likeness to the very pink of patriots? Let philoso- 
 phy ponder well on' Guy Fawkes. 
 
 We will now attempt our childish recollections of 
 the great Guy. We have waked at midnight, per- 
 haps, dreaming of the bonfire about to blaze, and 
 thinking we heard the distant chorus sounding the 
 advent of the Mighty Terror. No, it was the sea 
 booming across the marsh — the wind rising and 
 falling. There was nothing for it but to go to sleep, 
 and dream of unextinguishable squibs and crackers. 
 At length four o'clock arrives *, the cocks crow ; the 
 boys can't be long now. There — hark! How the 
 chant comes up the street, like one voice — the voice 
 of a solitary, droning witch ! We lie breathless, 
 and shape to ourselves Guy Fawkes in the dark ! 
 Our hearts beat quicker and quicker as the chant 
 becomes louder ; and we sit up in the bed, as the 
 boys approach the door, and, O, how we wish to be 
 with them ! There — there they are, in full chorus! 
 Hark ! — 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 28 1 
 
 "The fifth of November, as I can remember, 
 Is gunpowder treason and plot — 
 I know no reason, why gunpowder treason, 
 Should ever be forgot ! " 
 
 We feel an unutterable pang, for loudest among 
 the loud we hear the shrill voice of Jack Tarleton. 
 "Ha!" we sigh, "///.smother lets him out." The 
 bitterness passes away with the 
 
 "Hallo, boys ! hallo, boys ! make a round ring — 
 Hallo, boys ! hallo, boys ! God save the King I " 
 
 And now the procession moves on, and the voices 
 die in the distance, and we feel we are left alone ; 
 and, in a few minutes, we hear new revellers, rejoi- 
 cing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed with 
 hay, and called Guy Fawkes ! They pass on, and are 
 followed by others, and our little brains are set at 
 work, and seem seething in the song. Guy Fawkes ! 
 Guy Fawkes! Who — what is Guy Fawkes? We 
 had been told that he had been caught with lantern, 
 tinder-box, and matches, ready to blow up thousands 
 of barrels of gunpowder, and so to destroy the king, 
 bishops, and members of Parliament. It must be 
 shocking — very shocking : still, we could not per- 
 fectly envisage the atrocity — we could not make out 
 the full horror. We had an undefined sense of the 
 greatness of a king, though we hardly dared to hope 
 we should ever see one. We had a less remote no- 
 tion of the nature of a bishop, having been helped 
 somewhat in our speculation by the person of the 
 curate at the garrison church. " Curates may come 
 to be bishops, only bishops are very much greater ; 
 and curates have nothing upon their heads, where- 
 
282 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 
 
 as certain bishops might wear mitres." On learning 
 this, we thought that bishops were merely full-grown 
 curates ; in the same way that we had seen Poland 
 hens with their top-knots of feathers, only the spring 
 before bare-headed little chicks. It was thus, in the 
 irreverence of childhood, we disposed of the whole 
 bench of bishops. But now came we to the difficul- 
 ty — what, what could be a member of Parliament? 
 Was it a living thing? If so, had it a voice? Could 
 it speak? Could it sit? Could it say yes and no? 
 Could it walk? Could it turn? Or was it merely 
 an image? Was it pulled by wires, like sister Jenny's 
 doll? We had been told that members of Parlia- 
 ment made laws. What were laws? Were they the 
 lions and unicorns on the king's arms? Were they 
 a better sort of cakes, too dear for everybody to buy? 
 Little boys ate Parliament cakes — were laws cakes 
 for men? If so, were they gilt or plain? — with 
 comfits or without? 
 
 It is no matter, we thought, being unable to sat- 
 isfy ourselves: it is no matter. Guy Fawkes — that 
 shadowy, terrible mystery — had once lived, and had 
 tried to kill the king, the full-grown curates, and 
 those undivined riddles — members of Parliament. 
 We again went to our first question. Who was Guy 
 Fawkes? Did he have a father and mother? Was 
 Guy Fawkes ever a little boy, and did he fly a kite 
 and play at marbles? If so, how could he have ever 
 thought it worth his while to trouble himself with 
 other matters? There was something terrifying in 
 the idea of having played with Guy Fawkes. We 
 fancied him at taw — we saw him knuckle-down. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 2S3 
 
 No — it could not be ; the imagination of the child 
 could not dwell upon such an impossibilty. Guy 
 Fawkes a boy ! — a baby ! — now shaking a rattle — 
 now murmuring as he fed, his mother smiling down 
 upon him ! No, no — it was impossible. Guy 
 Fawkes was never born — he was from the first a 
 man — he never could have been a baby. He seemed 
 to us a part of the things that had always been, and 
 always would be — a piece of grim eternity ; a princi- 
 ple of everlasting wickedness. 
 
 (Is it in childhood alone — is it only in the dim 
 imaginings of infancy — in the wandering guesses of 
 babyhood, that we manifest this ignorance? When 
 the full-grown thief is hanged, do we not sometimes 
 forget that he was the child of misery and vice — 
 born for the gallows, nursed for the halter? Did we 
 legislate a little more for the cradle, might we not 
 be spared some pains for the hulks?) 
 
 And then we had been told Guy Fawkes came from 
 Spain. Where was Spain? Was it a million miles 
 away? and what distance was a million miles? Were 
 there little boys in Spain, or were they all like Guy 
 Fawkes? How strange, and yet how delightful to 
 us did it seem to feel that we were a part of the won- 
 derful things about us ! To be at all upon this world 
 — to be one at the great show of men and women — 
 to feel that when we grew bigger we should know 
 everything of kings, bishops, members of Parliament, 
 and Guy Fawkes ! What a golden glory hung about 
 the undiscovered ! 
 
 And Guy Fawkes, we had heard, had his head cut 
 off, and his body cut into quarters ! Could this be true ? 
 
2S4 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 
 
 Could men do to men what we had seen Folk the 
 butcher do to sheep? How much, we thought, had 
 little boys to grow out of before they could agree to 
 this ! And then, w T hen done, what was the good of it? 
 — what could be the good of it? Was Guy Fawkes 
 eaten? If not, why cut him up? 
 
 Had Guy Fawkes a wife, and little boys and girls? 
 Did he love his children, and buy them toys and ap- 
 ples? — or, like Sawney Bean, did he devour them? 
 Did Guy Fawkes say his prayers? 
 
 Had Guy Fawkes a friend? Did he ever laugh — 
 did he ever tell a droll story? Did Guy Fawkes ever 
 sing a song? Like Frampton, the Blue Town bar- 
 ber, did Guy Fawkes ever get drunk? At length 
 we put to ourselves the question of questions : — 
 
 Was there ever such a man as Guy Fawkes ? 
 Did Guy Fawkes ever live f 
 
 This query annoyed us with the doubt that we had 
 been tricked into a hate, a fear, a loathing, a wonder, 
 and a mixture of these passions and emotions, for 
 a fib. We felt disappointed when we felt the reality 
 of Guy Fawkes to be doubtful. We had heard of 
 griffins, and unicorns, of dragons, that had eaten men 
 like apples ; and had then been told that there never 
 had been any such thing. If w r e were not to believe 
 in a dragon, why should we believe in Guy Fawkes? 
 After all, was the whole story but make-game? 
 
 The child passively accepts a story of the future — 
 he can bring his mind up to a thing promised, but 
 wants faith in the past. The cause is obvious: he 
 recollects few things gone, but is full of things to 
 come. Hence, Guy Fawkes was with us the ogre 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 2S5 
 
 of a nursery ; we could have readily believed, especial- 
 ly after the story of Beauty and the Beast, that he 
 married Goody Two Shoes, and was the father of 
 little Red Riding Hood. 
 
 But Guy Fawkes grows with us from boyhood to 
 youth. He gets flesh and blood with every Novem- 
 ber ; he is no longer the stuffed plaything of a school- 
 boy or the grotesque excuse for begging vagabonds, 
 but the veritable Guy Fawkes, " gentleman.'' We 
 see him, " Thomas Percy's alleged man," at the door 
 of the vault, " booted and spurred;" — we behold 
 that u very tall and desperate fellow," lurking in the 
 deep of night, with looks of deadly resolution, 
 pounced upon by that vigilant gentleman of the 
 privy chamber, Sir Thomas Knevet ! We go with 
 Guido, u the new Mutius Scasvola, born in Eng- 
 land," before the council, where u he often smiles in 
 scornful manner, not only avowing the fact, but re- 
 penting only, with the said Scsevola, his failing in 
 the execution thereof." We think of him " answer- 
 ing quickly to every man's objection, scoffing at any 
 idle questions which were propounded to him, and 
 jesting with such as he thought had no authority to 
 examine him." And then we think of the thanks- 
 giving of the great James, who gave praise that, had 
 the intent of the wicked prevailed, he should not 
 have " died ingloriously in an alehouse, or stew, or 
 such vile place," but with " the best and most hon- 
 orable company." * 
 
 Guy Fawkes is, in our baby thought, a mysterious 
 
 *See " His Majesty's speech concerning the Gunpowder Piot,"&c., in the 
 Harleian Miscellany. 
 
286 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 vision — one of the shadows of evil advancing on 
 the path of childhood. We grow older, and the 
 substances of evil come close upon us — we see their 
 dark lanterns and snuff the brimstone. 
 
 i837- 
 
 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 CONTAINING THE OPINIONS AND ADVENTURES OF JUNI- 
 PER HEDGEHOG, CABMAN, LONDON; AND WRITTEN TO 
 HIS RELATIVES AND ACQUAINTANCE, IN VARIOUS PARTS 
 OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Letter I. 
 
 To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney. 
 
 ^EAR PETER: At last Pm settled to my 
 heart's content. For fifteen years and more 
 I've been fighting, and punching, and screwing, and 
 doing — the Lord forgive me! — all sorts of mean 
 tricks to be respectable ; and now I'm happy, for I've 
 given the thing up. I've got rid of every bit of the 
 gentleman, and drive a cab. Ha! you don't know 
 — you can't think — what a blessing it is to get rid 
 of all cares about what's genteel. It's like taking 
 off fine tight boots, and stretching yourself in comforta- 
 ble old slippers. How respectability did pinch, and 
 gall, and rub the skin off me, to be sure ! but I've 
 done with it. I've given up the trumpery for the 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 287 
 
 good, stout, weather-proof character of cabman. Re- 
 spectability is all very well for folks who can have it 
 for ready money ; but to be obliged to run in debt for 
 it — oh, it's enough to break the heart of an angel. 
 
 Well, I've gone a good round, and it's nothing but 
 right that I should be comfortable at last. Wasn't all 
 the sweetness of my little boyhood lost in an attorney's 
 office? At a time of life when I ought to have been 
 bird's-nesting, shoeing cats with walnut-shells, spin- 
 ning cockchafers on pins, and enjoying myself like 
 any'other child of my age, — there I was half the day 
 wearing out a wooden desk with my young breast- 
 bone, and the other half running about, like a young 
 cannibal, to serve writs ; sneaking, and shuffling, and 
 lying worse than any play-bill, and feeling as happy 
 as a devil's imp on a holiday whenever I " served" 
 my man. Yes, Peter, that I've any more heart than 
 an oyster left me, is a special favor of Providence ; 
 for what a varmint I was ! If it hadn't been for the 
 play-house, I should have been ruined. Yes, Peter, 
 but for the Coburg Theatre, I have no doubt that at 
 this time I should have been a sharp attorney, not 
 able to smell as much as a lucifer match without the 
 horrors. 
 
 'Tis a great place for morals, the play-house, Peter. 
 As I say, it quite drew me back into the paths of 
 virtue. Old Simcox, my master, to keep me active, 
 used to give me a shilling for every writ I served. 
 He used to say, there was nothing like rubbing a 
 young dog's nose in the blood, to make him sharp 
 after the game. Well, with these shillings I used to 
 go to the Coburg gallery. That gallery was my sal- 
 
2S8 TIIE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 vation. When I used to see the villain, who'd been 
 so lucky all through the piece, chopped down like 
 chopped wood at the last, — my conscience used to 
 stir worse than the stomach-ache. And so by de- 
 grees I liked the play-house more, and the writs less. 
 And one day when Simcox told me to go and serve a 
 writ upon the very actor who used to do me so much 
 good — for he w T as always the cock of the walk as far 
 as virtue went — I gave him such a speech about 
 u tremble, villain, for there is an eye," that the old 
 fellow gasped again. When he had recovered him- 
 self enough to fling a ruler at my head, I put my cap 
 on, and turned my back upon the law. 
 
 After this, I sold play-bills at the Coburg doors, 
 and that's how I picked up the deal I know about the 
 stage. 
 
 And so I went scrambling on till twentv, and how 
 I lived I don't know. Indeed, when I look back, I 
 often think money's of no use at all ; folks do quite 
 as w r ell or better without it. Money's a habit — 
 nothing more. 
 
 At twenty — how it happened I can't tell — I found 
 myself a tradesman. Yes ; I sold baked 'tatoes, and 
 — on nipping winter days — used to feel myself a 
 sort of benefactor to what is called our species. I 
 had read a little at book-stalls and so on. And 
 many a time have I, with a sort of pride, asked my- 
 self if many of the Roman emperors ever sold two 
 'tatoes, salt, and a bit of butter for a penny. I should 
 think not. 
 
 Well, at three-and-twenty down came that bit of 
 money on me ! Whether it was really a relation who 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 289 
 
 left it, or not, or whether it was all a mistake, I never 
 asked, — I took the money. And that bit of money 
 made me swell not a little. Yes ; I swelled like a 
 toad — full of poison with it. Then I went to make 
 no end of a fortune. I thought luck had fallen deep 
 in love with me, and I couldn't go too far. 
 
 There was a gentleman who always came with an 
 order to the Coburg. A few years ago I should have 
 said he was a Jew ; but now I know manners, and so 
 call him a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion. 
 Well, if he couldn't talk melted butter ! We were 
 both to make our fortunes, but I was to find the money 
 for the couple. We went upon 'Change ; and, as he 
 said, both of us were ruined. Ruin, however, could 
 have been nothing strange to him, for he never seemed 
 the worse for it. 
 
 From that time, Peter, I was flung upon the hard 
 stones of London. I had too much pride to go to the 
 'tatoes again, and so took to billiards. Ha ! Peter, 
 it's dirty bread ; it's bread with the head-ache, and the 
 heart-ache, in it. That wouldn't do long ; though 
 how I did shuffle and hedge, and make the most of 
 the innocent, and all to try to keep myself respectable ! 
 
 I tell you, for fifteen years I fought it out like a 
 man. I didn't care what came of it, what folks said 
 of me — I would be respectable. A superfine coat 
 and a prime dinner I would have ; but ha, Peter ! it's 
 all been taken out of me. I've given it up, I tell you, 
 and I'm a happy cabman. 
 
 Bless your soul ! you can't think what a happy life 
 it is. Always seeing something new, and always 
 riding with somebody. For you must know, my 
 19 
 
29O THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 cab isn't one of the new concerns that divide the 
 driver and his fare. That wouldn't suit me, no how. 
 No ; I like to ride upon what I call an equality, and 
 talk and learn life as I go, You can't believe the 
 sort of people that I sometimes drive about, — and 
 the things I get out of 'em. 
 
 But I intend to write it all down, and to save the 
 bother of posting, and ail that, to print my letters at 
 once. Then, if my dear relations and acquaintance 
 that are scattered in all the corners of the world don't 
 know anything about me, 'twill be their fault, not 
 mine. 
 
 I couldn't have thought that a cabman's life could 
 have so improved the mind. But when we meet at 
 the Spotted Lion — that's our watering-house — there's 
 something to be heard, I can tell you. I never troubled 
 my head with politics before I drove a cab : no, I 
 was little better than an animal — but I -should think 
 that now I know something of the Bill of Rights, and 
 all that ; and all from the newspapers. When the 
 nose-bag's on the old mare, don't I read the debates 
 in Parliament ! 
 
 I was going to write you a bit upon the Sugar 
 Question, but old Lumpy — he's our waterman — has 
 called me for a job. 
 
 So at present no more from your cousin and well- 
 wisher, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog, 
 
 1845. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 29 1 
 
 Letter II. 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 My Dear Old Grandmother : Thank all your 
 stars and two garters that you're out of England ! 
 We're all going to be made Catholics. It's a settled 
 fact. You ought henceforth never to cook a supper 
 of sprats without looking at the gridiron, thinking 
 of Smithfield, and being special grateful for your de- 
 liverance. 
 
 Nobody can tell what's come to half the Bishops, 
 and three parts of the clergy. Such a noise about 
 surplices and gowns ! The old story again. The 
 old fight — as far as I can tell — about white and 
 black ; one party vowing that the real thing's white, 
 whilst the other will have it that the true white's 
 black. Yes, grandmother, it's the old battle of black 
 and white that, as far as my learning goes, has for 
 hundreds of years filled this nice sort of world of ours 
 with all kinds of trouble. Nobody can tell what's set 
 these ministers of peace — as they call themselves — 
 all of a sudden in such a pucker — but I think I've 
 hit upon the cause ; and here it is. 
 
 All this noise in the church has begun in the play- 
 house. I'm sure of it. Foolish ' people say and 
 write that we English folks don't care about plays. 
 There never was such a mistake. In our hearts all 
 of us, and especially many of the Bishops and clergy, 
 dote upon the play-house ; hut then, you see, it isn't 
 thought quite the thing for the clergy to go there. 
 
292 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 The Bishop of Exeter — I'm cock-sure of it — has a 
 consuming love for a pantomime ; but then he 
 wouldn't like to be seen in the boxes of Drury Lane, 
 giving his countenance to the clown, that takes his 
 tithe of all sorts of things that comes under his 
 nose. The Bishop of London, too, — he, I've heard 
 it said, got made a Bishop of by some intimate ac- 
 quaintance of his that wrote plays in Greek. Well, 
 he can't go and enjoy his laugh at the Hay market, — 
 or have his feelings warmed till they boil over at his 
 eyes at the Victoria (that was once the Coburg). So 
 you see, as the Bishops can't decently stir from the 
 church to the play-house, they've set their heads to- 
 gether to bring the play-house to the church. And 
 this accounts for all their fuss in the church, about 
 what the play-house people call the u dresses and 
 decorations." They seem to think that religion isn't 
 enough of itself, unless it's " splendidly got up." 
 Whereupon they want to go back to the old proper- 
 ties ©f crosses, and candlesticks, and so forth, to fill 
 the pews. Well, when the Bishops — the gray, sober 
 men, the fathers of the church — have this hankering 
 after a bit of show, it isn't to be expected that the 
 young fellows will refuse the finery. Certainly not. 
 Whereupon they're bringing in all sorts of fashions, it 
 seems. They don't think it enough to belong to the 
 Army of Martyrs, unless they've very handsome regi- 
 mentals. 
 
 In some of the churches they've revived what they 
 call the offertory. It's this. At a certain part of the 
 service, they send round a bag, or a pocket at the end 
 of a stick, to all the people, to put money in. I have 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 293 
 
 seen the same sort of thing used in the streets to reach 
 to the first-floors, when the tumblers go about. Well, 
 this money is gathered for a many things. But John 
 Bull doesn't like it, They say the crocodile has his 
 tender part somewhere about his belly — John's vital 
 part is his breeches-pocket. Nevertheless, there's no 
 doubt that the Bishop of Exeter — for he's very strong 
 upon the offertory — has introduced it to make re- 
 ligion, what is so very much liked in England, select 
 and respectable. You see, the people who can't 
 afford to drop their Sunday shillings and sixpences, 
 won't have the face to go to worship at all, — or they 
 may turn Dissenters, — and so the Established Church, 
 like the Opera House, will be made, a place for what 
 the Standard (I can tell you that is a religious news- 
 paper, though you may never hear of it) calls the 
 " better classes." Poor people may turn Anabaptists, 
 or anything of that sort that's very cheap. Purple 
 and fine linen ain't for everybody ; no, isn't there 
 good stout sound cloth, and striped cotton? 
 
 The Bishop of Loudon has been in very hot water 
 with the folks at Tottenham about the Sunday silver, 
 which they won't pay at all. Well, he says they 
 needn't pay it for a twelvemonth. So it seems that a 
 truth isn't a truth all at once ; it takes a year to grow. 
 According to the Bishop it would seem that truth 
 was born like a tadpole, that wanted time afore it 
 came to be a perfect frog. 
 
 Well, then, there's another notion about. It's said 
 that the wants of the people are so many, that it's 
 quite out of the power of the laboring clergy to at- 
 tend to 'em. It would be worse than drayman's 
 
294 TIIE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 work. And so it has been recommended that there 
 should be a sort of church militia raised in addition 
 to the regulars. It was only last night that I drove 
 down to Fulham a very chatty sort of man, — I think 
 the under-butler of the Bishop of London. Well, he 
 talked a good deal about this militia, — they're to be 
 called deacons I think, and are to be considered a 
 sort of a parson ; like young ravens not yet come to 
 their full black. 
 
 Well, it was quite plain that he hoped to be one of 
 'em, for he said the places would be open to anybody 
 really pious, of the humblest parts. He was very 
 talkative ; and said these deacons would have all the 
 comforts of the monks without any of their vows; 
 going to people's houses ; worming themselves into 
 their families, and learning all their business, carnal 
 — yes, I think carnal was his word — and spiritual. 
 When I asked him if, like the monks, they were to 
 wear gowns and hoods (as I'd seen 'em at the Co- 
 burg), he winked very knowingly, and said, with the 
 blessing of Providence, that might come. At all 
 events, they might begin with letters and numbers 
 worked in gold or silver in their collars, and, some- 
 thing after the new police, have a pink or purple 
 strap about their cuffs, when upon spiritual duty. 
 
 Folks are in a mighty stir about the matter ; but I 
 think Exeter and London might bring all the people 
 of their own minds ; if they only knew how to go 
 about the business. I've just been reading Miss 
 Martineau about mesmerism; and she says this — 
 " It is almost an established opinion among some of 
 the wisest students of mesmerism, that the mind of 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 295 
 
 the somnambule [you must ask somebody about these 
 words] mirrors that of the mesmerist ; " and then she 
 goes on to say, " It certainly is true to a consider- 
 able extent, as is pretty clearly proved when an igno- 
 rant child — ignorant, especially of the Bible — dis- 
 courses of the Scriptures and divinity when mes- 
 merized by a clergyman" 
 
 Now, the bishops have nothing to do but to mes- 
 merize the people, — I'm sure I've known parsons 
 who've done wonders with sleepy congregations, — 
 have only to get 'em " to mirror their minds," and 
 they may do as they please with crosses, and sur- 
 plices, and saints, and offertory, and all that. In a 
 word, the Bishops of Exeter and London have only 
 to send all their flocks well to sleep, to shear 'em 
 after what fashion they like. 
 
 As yet, my dear grandmother. I haven't given noth- 
 ing to the offertory, and I won't agree to the move 
 about the surplice. But flesh is weak. I can't tell 
 how r long I may hold out. Fashion's a strong thing, 
 and always strongest when it sets towards the church. 
 The day may come when I may take my gray mare 
 — as I'm told they take all the animals in Italy — to 
 be blessed and sprinkled on the feast of St. Anthony,, 
 and the Bishop of London may do the job for her. 
 But I'll hold out as long as I can. In the mean time 
 let me have your prayers, and believe me your affec- 
 tionate grandson, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 P. S. I did intend to write to cousin Bridget, but 
 Lumpy's called me away for a long job. 
 
296 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 Letter III. 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 My Dear Grandmother : We're all safe for a 
 time ; the Pope hasn't quite got hold of us yet. You 
 recollect, when I was a boy, how I would fling stones, 
 and call names, and go among other boys pelting 'em 
 right and left, and swearing I didn't mean to hurt 
 'em, but played off my pranks only for their good. 
 And then, when I used to get into a terrible fight, 
 you remember how you used to come in at the last 
 minute, and carry me off home just as I was nearly 
 giving in. And then, how afterwards I used to brag 
 that if grandmother hadn't taken me away, I'd have 
 licked twenty boys ; one down, another come on ! 
 Well, well ; the more I see of life, the more I'm sure 
 men only play over their boys' tricks ; only they do 
 it with graver faces and worse words. 
 
 What you did for me the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury has done for the Bishop of Exeter. Almost at 
 the last minute, he has wrapped his ajDron about the 
 Bishop and carried him out of the squabble. And 
 now the Bishop writes a letter, as long as a church 
 bell-rope, in which he says he only gives up fighting 
 to show that he's obedient — more than hinting, that 
 if he'd been allowed to go on, he'd have beaten all 
 comers, with one hand tied behind him. At all 
 events, he's very glad there's been a rumpus, as it 
 proves there's pluck on both sides. Yes, he says, — 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 297 
 
 "Whatever may have been the temporary results, I do 
 not and cannot regret that I deemed it necessary publicly to 
 assert those principles of church authority which it is alike 
 the duty of all of us to recognize and inculcate. The very 
 vehemence with which the assertion of them has been re- 
 sisted, proves, if proof were necessary, the necessity of their 
 being asserted, and of our never suffering them to fall into 
 oblivion." 
 
 If this isn't talking in the dark, I don't know what 
 a rushlight is. You might as well say, that the 
 " vehemence " with which a man resists a kicking, 
 " proves the necessity " of kicking him. Because 
 folks wouldn't at any price have surplices forced 
 down their throats, and offertory bags poked into 
 their pews, why, that's the very reason you should 
 try to push both surplice and bag upon 'em. As I 
 say, it shows there's blood on both sides — and it's a 
 comfort to know that both parties are ready for a 
 tussle. Well, I've heard this sort of preaching from 
 a Tipperary cabman, and never wondeied ; but it 
 does sound droll from a bishop. 
 
 I've read something somewhere about the thunder 
 of the church, and have now no doubt that it must 
 be very serviceable ; it must so clear the air after a 
 certain time. Here, for months, has Exeter been 
 thundering in the newspaper — crack, crack, crack! 
 it's gone almost every morning, till people wondered 
 if the steeple of their own parish church was safe ; 
 and now, at last, he sits himself down, and smiling 
 as if his face was smeared with honey, folds his hands 
 and softly says, " Thank Heaven ! we've had a 
 lovely storm." 
 
29S THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 Talking about thunder, I once read a poem — one 
 of those strange, odd things that give your brain a 
 twist — called Festus. There was a passage in it 
 that certainly did bother me ; but now I can perfectly 
 understand it. Somebody says to another, — 
 
 1 ' Why, how now I 
 You look as tho' you fed on buttered thusider." 
 
 Now, the Bishop of Exeter — I say it with all respect, 
 grandmother; for you know you always taught me 
 to love the bishops — is this very man. You've only 
 to read his letters, really so noisy, and yet, as he de- 
 clares, meaning to be so soft — to be sure that what 
 he lives and thrives upon is buttered thunder. 
 
 The Bishop, of course, isn't alone in his happiness 
 at the row. One of his best friends, the Morning 
 Post, believes it will do a deal of good. True piety, 
 like physic, wants shaking to have its proper effect. 
 The Post talked a little while ago about " the means 
 which have made the church arise from its slumbers 
 like a giard refreshed ; " that is, getting up in a 
 white surplice, to be refreshed with ready money 
 from the pews. I don't know how it is, but I don't 
 think the church ought to be compared to a giant. 
 All the giants I know are people of very queer char- 
 acter. The best of 'em gluttonous, swaggering, over- 
 bearing chaps, with nothing too hot or too heavy for 
 'em to carry off; now, these are not at all the sort of 
 creatures that we are likely to think of, when we're 
 reading the Bishop of Exeter's letters. No : they 
 rather remind us of a shepherd playing on his pipe 
 — I've only read of these things — to his sheep and 
 lambkins. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 299 
 
 The Morning Post further says, — 
 
 "We are not among those who feel alarm at the present 
 state of the church. The fermentation ivill throw off the 
 scum, and what is good will remain." 
 
 Now, grandmother, you know enough of boiling to 
 know that " the scum " always floats on the top. 
 Now, is anything on the top to be thrown off? Don't 
 flurry yourself: the Post doesn't mean that. What 
 it means is, that a whole lot of the vulgar members 
 of the Established Church will be so fermented by 
 the surplice, the offertory, and other Popish ingredi- 
 ents — grains of Paradise as they tell us — that they'll 
 be thrown clean out of it. You know how Bill Wig- 
 gins once poisoned the pond, so that the fish was 
 floated dead ashore. In the same way the church 
 may get rid of its small fry, and wt what is good will 
 remain." Then the church will be something like. 
 Now, it's old and weather-stained, with time blotches 
 and cracks about it. But how fine it will look with 
 crucifixes and pictures of the Virgin inside — a clean 
 white surplice always in the upper pulpit — and the 
 whole building beautifully and thickly faced with 
 Poman cement ! 
 
 But at this present writing, it isn't all over in the 
 city of Exeter. The Bishop having had his fling, — 
 one of the journeymen, the Rev. Mr. Courtenay, 
 minister of St. Sidvvell's, comes in for a little more 
 than his share of the performance. Don't think I'm 
 profane, dear grandmother — no, quite the reverse. 
 But you have in your time been to Astley's, and seen 
 the riding in the ring. Well, the principal rider 
 
300 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 comes, and does all manner of wonders whilst canter- 
 ing and galloping, and going all kind of paces. 
 When he's done, he makes his bow, and goes off. 
 And then, after him, comes the clown. Well, he's 
 determined to outdo all that's been done before him, 
 — and for this purpose goes on with all sorts of ma- 
 noeuvres. Now, the Bishop of Exeter has made his 
 bow, and the Rev. Mr. Courtenay is, at the time I 
 write, before the public. He will preach in a sur- 
 plice. And that he may do so with safety — for all 
 the folks in Exeter are in a pretty pucker about it — 
 he goes to and from church, as I may say, in the 
 bosom of the police. O, dear ! isn't it sad work, 
 grandmother? this noise about black and white 
 gowns, when churchmen ought to think of nothing 
 but black and white souls ? Black and white ! as if 
 there was a pattern-book of colors for heaven ! How- 
 ever, how it will end nobody knows ; but if the mat- 
 ter goes on as it promises, it is thought the Rev. Mr. 
 Courtenay will call to his aid the yeomanry, and be 
 escorted to St. Sid well's by a body-guard armed with 
 ball cartridge. It is said he has bespoken two 
 howitzers to keep off the mob from the church doors. 
 I've hardly time to save the packet ; so remain 
 Your affectionate grandson, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 P. S. They do say that Mr. Courtenay wants to 
 be made a martyr of. But the days for burning are 
 all gone by. Besides, other folks declare that the 
 parson of St. Sidwell's would have been too green to 
 burn at any time. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 3OI 
 
 Letter IV. 
 To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong Kong. 
 
 Dear Michael: When you quitted England, in 
 the Hong Kong division of police, I promised to write 
 you all the news I could ; at least, such news as I 
 knew you'd like. The crimes and evils of population 
 were, I know, always a favorite matter with you. 
 I'm sorry to say the evil's getting worse every day. 
 And no wonder. You'll hardly believe it, Michael, 
 seeing what a surplus of pauper flesh and blood re- 
 spectable people have upon their hands, that there's 
 a set of ignoramuses who absolutely offer a premium 
 for babies ; for all the world, as they give away gold 
 and silver medals for prize pigs. I take the bit of 
 news I send you from The Times. You must know, 
 that a few weeks ago, a " Mrs. Clements, of 21 Hunt 
 Street, Mile-end New-town," had at once " three chil- 
 dren, two girls and a boy." All, too, impudent 
 enough to live. Well, The Times published an ac- 
 count of the misdemeanor, and — would you believe 
 it ? — some " generous individuals," as they are stupid- 
 ly called, sent, among 'em, thirty-eight pounds for 
 the mother and little ones. 
 
 Now, what is this, as you'd say, but fostering a 
 superabundance of population? It's no other than 
 offering bribes to bring people into the country, — 
 already as full as a cade of herrings ; and when every 
 trade is eating part of its members up, for all the 
 w r orld as melancholy monkeys eat their own tails ! 
 
303 . THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 Isn't it shocking: to encourage the lower classes to 
 add to themselves? There's nothing that money 
 won't do ; and I've no doubt, whatever, that, for some 
 years to come, all children at Mile-end will be born 
 by threes and fours. A shrewd fellow like you must 
 have remarked how people imitate one another. 
 You never yet heard of an odd act of suicide, or any 
 kind of horror with originality in it, that it didn't for 
 a little time become the fashion, as if it was a new 
 bonnet, or a new boot. And so, among the lower 
 orders, it will be in the matter of babies. Now, if 
 Mrs. Clements had been sent to prison for the offence, 
 then the evil might have been nipped in the bud ; 
 but to reward her for her three babies, who could 
 show no honest means of providing for themselves, 
 why, it's flying in the face of all political economy. 
 Three babies at once at Mile-end is monstrous. 
 Even twins should be confined t© the higher ranks. 
 
 You'll be glad to hear that we've been giving a 
 round of dinners to your Chinese hero, Sir Henry 
 Pottinger. At Manchester he was hailed as the very 
 hero of cotton prints. They dined him very hand- 
 somely, — and you may be sure there was a good 
 deal of after-dinner speaking. A Rev. Canon Wray 
 answered the toast for the clergy. I once read of a 
 melancholy man, who thought all his body was turned 
 into a glass bottle, and so wouldn't move for fear of 
 going to pieces. Now, I'm certain of it, that there's 
 a sort of clergyman, who, after some such humor, 
 thinks himself a forty-two pounder ; for he is never 
 heard at a public meeting that he doesn't fire away 
 shot and gunpowder. The Rev. Canon said (or 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 303 
 
 rather fired) his thanks, that Sir H. Pottinger u had 
 opened a way for the march of the gospel." Now, 
 Michael, I never heard of any artillery in the New 
 Testament. And he further said, — 
 
 " British arms seem scarcely ever to know a defeat. In 
 the east, west, north, and south, our soldiers and sailors are, 
 in the end, victorious. I cannot but think that, as Great 
 Britain holds the tenets of the gospel in greater purity than 
 any other nation, so she is intended by the divine will to 
 carry inestimable blessings to all distant benighted climes. " 
 
 Well, Michael, I've heard of a settler in mistake 
 sowing gunpowder for onions ; but the Rev. Canon 
 Wray, with his best knowledge about him, thinks 
 there's nothing like sowing gunpowder for the 
 " scriptural mustard-seed." I suppose he's right, be- 
 cause he's a canon ; and therefore not to be disputed 
 with by your ignorant, but affectionate brother, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 Letter V. 
 
 To Mrs. Barbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia. 
 
 Dear Sister : It gave me great pleasure to learn 
 from your letter that yourself, husband, and baby got 
 safe and sound to your present home. You ask me to 
 send you my portrait. It isn't in my power to do so 
 at present ; but if I should be unfortunate enough to 
 kill anybody, or set a dock-yard afire, or bamboozle 
 
304 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 the bank, — or, in short, do anything splashy to get a 
 front place in the dock at the Old Bailey, — you may 
 then have my portrait at next to nothing. Then, I 
 can tell you, it will be drawn in capital style — at full 
 length, three quarters, half length, and I know not 
 what. I've read somewhere that in what people call 
 the good old times — as times always get worse, what 
 a pretty state the world will be in a thousand years 
 hence ! — when there were dead men's heads on the 
 top of Temple Bar, grinning down what people call 
 an example on the folks below, — that there used to 
 be fellows with spy-glasses ; and, at a penny a peep, 
 they showed to the curious all the horror of the afore- 
 said heads, not to be discovered by the naked eye. 
 Well, the heads are gone ; — and the spy-glass traders 
 too ; but for all that, there's the same sort of show 
 going on, and a good scramble to turn the penny by 
 it, only after a different fashion. Murderers are now 
 shown in newspapers. They are no longer gib- 
 beted in irons ; no, that was found to be shocking, 
 and of no use : — they are now nicely cut in wood, 
 and so insinuated into the bosoms of families. The 
 more dreadful the murder, the greater value the por- 
 trait ; which, for a time, is made a sort of personal 
 acquaintance to thousands of respectable folks who 
 pay the newspaper owner — the spy-glass man of our 
 time — so much to stare at it as long as they like. 
 
 I am certain that the shortest cut to popularity of 
 some sort, is to cut somebody's throat. A dull, stupid 
 fellow, that pays his way and does harm to nobody, 
 — why, he may die off like a fly in November, and be 
 no more thought of. But only let him do some 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 305 
 
 devil's deed -do a bit of murder, as coolly as he'd 
 pare a turnip : and what he does, and what he says ; 
 whether he takes coffee, or brandy-and-water " cold 
 without;" when he sleeps, and when he wakes; 
 when he smiles, and when he grinds his teeth, — all 
 of this is put down as if all the world went upon his 
 movements, and couldn't go on without knowing 'em. 
 To a man who wants to make a noise, he doesn't 
 care how, all this is very tempting. I hope I mayn't 
 come to be cut-in wood, — but still one would like to 
 make a rumpus some way before one died. 
 
 There's commonly an Old Bailey fashion, the same 
 as a St. James's fashion. Just now — as you want to 
 know all the domestic news — poison's carrying 
 everything before it. 'Twould seem as if people sud- 
 denly thought their relations rats, and treated 'em ac- 
 cordingly. I never yet tried my hand upon a book, 
 but I do think that I could throw off a nice little story 
 with lots of arsenic in it — a sort of genteel Guide to 
 Newgate. I've been reading about a lady, one To- 
 fana, who made a great stir some years ago. She 
 could give arsenic in such a manner, that she set peo- 
 ple for death, as you'd set an alarum. She got a good 
 many pupils, young married ladies, about her, who 
 all of 'em put their husbands aside like an old-fash- 
 ioned gown. Now, I do think that a novel called 
 The Ladies' Poisoning Club, or Widowhood at 
 Will) would just now make a bit of a stir. I don't 
 mean to say that I could write a book ; that is, what 
 folks call write: but I've a knack; I know I could 
 imitate writing, just as an ape imitates a man. The 
 subject grows upon me. I certainly think I shall 
 20 
 
306 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 make a beginning. However, of this* you shall hear 
 more by the next packet. I do think I could make a 
 hit in what I call arsenicated literature. There's ar- 
 senicated candles — why shouldn't there be arseni- 
 cated books? — In haste. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 P. S. If I do the book, I shall follow it up with a 
 sort of moral continuation, to be called The Stomach 
 Pump. 
 
 Letter VI. 
 To Mr. Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia. 
 
 Dear Brother-in-Law : As my last letter was 
 to sister, it is but fair that you should have the next 
 dose of ink. Well, Parliament's opened ; and Sir 
 Robert's made a clean breast of it — that is, if a 
 Prime Minister can do such a thing. There never 
 was such harmony in the House of Commons ! After 
 Sir Robert had spoken out, you might have thought 
 all the House was holding nothing but a love-feast. 
 I was in the gallery — I won't tell you how I got in 
 — and never saw such a sight in all my life. All the 
 papers, I can't tell why, have oddly suppressed an ac- 
 count of the matter ; therefore what you get from me 
 will be exclusive — from your " own " correspondent. 
 Treasure it accordingly. 
 
 When Sir Robert said he should keep on the In- 
 come-Tax for three years longer, almost the whole 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 307 
 
 House fell into fits of delight at his goodness. You 
 might have seen Whig embracing Tory — Radical 
 throwing his arms about the neck of Conservative 
 — and Young England with tears of gratitude roll- 
 ing like buttermilk down upon his white waistcoat. 
 When Sir Robert had quite finished his speech, there 
 was a shower of nosegays flung upon him from the 
 Treasury benches, just in the same way as now and 
 then they pelt the actors at the play-houses ! Sir Robert 
 picked 'em all up, and pressed 'em to his heart, and 
 from the corners of his mouth smiled ten thousand 
 thanks. Then, sitting down, he ver} T handsomely 
 gave a flower apiece to what he calls his colleagues. 
 He insisted — amidst the cheers of the House — on 
 putting a forget-me-not in the button-hole of Mr. 
 Gladstone (who sobbed audibly at the touch of friend- 
 ship) ; and then he handed a lily — as an emblem of 
 the Home Secretary's reputation — to Sir James 
 Graham. At this, I needn't tell you, there w r ere 
 u roars of laughter." To be sure, at this season of 
 the year these flowers were artificial ; but for which 
 reason, it was said by somebody, they were more in 
 keeping with Sir Robert's measure. Two or three 
 members — for form's sake — abused the Income- 
 Tax, but nevertheless said they would vote for it. 
 Lord John Russell called it a shameful, infamous, 
 ignominious, tyrannical, prying impost: he would, 
 however, support it. This is as if a man should de- 
 nounce another as a coward, a ruffian, and a thief, 
 and then — fold him to his bosom! But they do 
 odd things in Parliament ! 
 
 Sir Robert says we are to have the Income-Tax for 
 
30^ THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 only three years longer. Nonsense. He intends 
 that we should grow with it upon us. He'll no more 
 take it off than a Chinese mother will take off the lit- 
 tle shoe — that, for the beauty of the full-grown 
 woman, she puts upon the foot of her baby girl. The 
 child may twist, and wriggle, and squall ; and the 
 mother may now and then say pretty things — make 
 pretty promises to it to keep it quiet — but the shoe's 
 there for the sufferer's life. Now, John Bull — thinks 
 Sir Robert Peel — will move all the better with his 
 foot in the Income-Tax ; all the better, too, because it 
 most galls and crushes a lower member. 
 
 However, we are to have the duty off glass; which, 
 says Sir Robert, is much better than if the duty were 
 taken off light. It is not for such as me to dispute 
 with a minister, but I can't see how, if I'm to get my 
 house glazed duty free, it's quite as good as if there 
 was no Window-Tax. To be sure, if a man, as a 
 householder, were to new glaze himself from top to 
 bottom once a quarter, it might be another thing ; he 
 might save upon the glass what he now pays for the 
 sun that, in London, tries to come through it. He 
 may certainly afford to have more windows, — but 
 will, I say, the saving on the glass pay for the light? 
 Besides, not light alone — but air is paid for. There 
 is at the present time a secret agitation going on 
 among the cats of England. The grievance is this : — 
 A man can't make a hole in his house for the cat to 
 pass in and out to mouse or visit, without the said 
 hole being surcharged as a window. This is a wrong 
 done upon the cats of the country ; but whether done 
 out of sympathy with the rats or not, let Sir James 
 Graham answer. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 309 
 
 However, one comfort will come of cheap glass. 
 Folks who choose to visit museums, and such public 
 places, may break what they like of the material at a 
 decreased cost for the pleasure. Before it was bad 
 enough. Nothing, according to law, being worth 
 more, than five pounds; so any malicious or morbid 
 scoundrel (or both) might smash any rare piece of 
 antiquity, and handing to the magistrate any sum 
 over five pounds, bid him take the change out of that. 
 I think a club might be formed for certain young 
 chaps about town, to be called The Independent 
 Smashers. They might subscribe to a common fund 
 to pay fines ; and each in turn draw for the pleasure 
 of a bit of destruction. With the duty taken off the 
 article it would be remarkably cheap sport. How- 
 ever, there is no doubt of it that Peel has got great 
 lory by taking off this tax. A good deal of his repu- 
 tation as a minister will be looked upon as glass; 
 such side of his reputation in the eyes of an admiring 
 country to be always " kept upwards." 
 
 We are to have sugar, too, at about three halfpence 
 a pound cheaper ; which Mrs. Hedgehog tells me 
 will allow us to save at least sixpence a week : how- 
 ever, what we shall have to pay to protect the West 
 Indians, she, poor soul, never dreams of, and I 
 should be a brute to tell her. Therefore — poor 
 thing ! — she may now and then toast Sir Robert in 
 her Twankay, without thinking of the 140,000/. we 
 lose in the other way. Then, again, what we shall 
 save in cotton is wonderful ! 
 
 The auctioneers, too, are all right. They are to 
 knock down at so much for life, instead of taking out 
 
 £> 
 
3IO THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 a yearly license. It is thought that this enlarged 
 piece of statesmanship came about out of compliment 
 to George Robins, who in one of his familiar letters 
 to the Premier, said he'd rather have it so. 
 
 However, everybody says Sir Robert Peel's in for 
 life. He's married to Downing Street, — and nothing 
 but death can them part. One tiling's certain : he's 
 got a thumping surplus.. And when any man in 
 England gets that, folks are not very particular how 
 he's come by it. 
 
 So no more at present from your affectionate 
 brother-in-law, Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 Letter VII. 
 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother : It was very kind of you 
 — though away from Old England — to have prayers 
 put up for the Bishops of Exeter and London, and 
 Air. Courtenay and Mr. Ward, with all the unfortu- 
 nate young clergymen who've been frightening their 
 good mother Church, for ail the world like }^oung 
 ducklings that, hatched by a hen, would take water. 
 The Bishops, you will.be glad to learn, are much 
 better ; and now, Sunday after Sunday, the young 
 parsons are taking off their white surplices, and put- 
 ting on their old gowns, just like idle, flashy, young 
 dogs, wdio've been making a noise at a masquerade, 
 but are once more prepared to go back to their serious 
 counters. Mr. Courtenay and two or three of his 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 3II 
 
 kidney did think of putting on chain-armor under 
 their surplices, like the Templars that you once saw 
 in the play of Ivanhoe; but whether the Bishop of 
 Exeter has interfered or not, I can't say ; the thing's 
 given up. 
 
 Mr. Ward, who has been turned out of Oxford for 
 his Ideal of a Christian Church, — which means a 
 church with censers and candlesticks, and pictures of 
 the Virgin, and martyrs' bones, and other properties, 
 — is going to be married ; if the business isn't done 
 already. I shouldn't have written upon the matter, 
 only Mr. W. has printed a letter in all the papers, 
 giving his notions of the holy state. They, certainly, 
 are very sweet and complimentary to the lady chosen 
 by Mr. Ward ; for he says, — 
 
 " First, I hold it most firmly as a truth even of natural re- 
 ligion, that celibacy is a higher condition of life than mar- 
 riage." 
 
 Now, if celibacy is the highest condition of life, 
 how is it that Adam and Eve came together while 
 they were yet in Paradise? Their union — accord- 
 ing to Mr. Ward — ought to have taken place after 
 they both fell. Matrimony should have followed as 
 a punishment for the apple. And then, when it was 
 commanded to " increase and multiply," was it sup- 
 posed that those who obeyed the command would not 
 be in so " high a condition" as those who neglected 
 it? But men read their Bibles through strange spec- 
 tacles ! 
 
 However, grandmother, as you like to hear all the 
 chat about the church, you must know that last week 
 I took up a fare near an oyster shop iri Co vent Garden 
 
312 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 — a very respectable sort of person ; in fact, I'm sure 
 one of the Established Church. When he had left 
 the cab, I found that The Ecclesiastical Gazette 
 (No. Si) had dropped from his pocket. I've gone 
 through it, and found parts of it — I mean the church 
 advertisements — very odd indeed. You can't think 
 how strange they read after the New Testament — if 
 you wouldn't think the pulpit cushion was a counter, 
 after reading 'em ! Look here, now : 
 
 A CURATE WANTED in a large market-town forty 
 miles from London, near a railroad, population five 
 thousand, where the Incumbent resides and takes his full 
 share of the duty. He must be in Priest's Orders, have a 
 voice sufficiently loud for a very large church, and, whilst 
 holding moderately high church views, be chiefly anxious 
 to seek and save the lost by preaching Christ and Him cru- 
 cified. Stipend, one hundred fioujids a-year. The Adver- 
 tiser does not pledge himself to answer every letter. 
 
 All of 'em bargain for a loud " voice : " you'd think, 
 grandmother, the advertisements were for chorus- 
 singers, and not clergymen. And, grandmother, can 
 you tell me what " a /Moderate high church view" is? 
 Is it moderate virtue — moderate honesty — moderate 
 truth ? Pray tell me. 
 
 Another advertiser wants " a pious and active 
 curate," who will double his duty with " the tuition 
 of the incumbent's sons." That incumbent has a 
 good eye for a good pennyworth, depend upon it. 
 
 At Bishop's Lydeard a curate is tempted with " a 
 neat little cottage," and " almost certainly the chap- 
 laincy of an adjoining union," with " other consider- 
 ations " (what can they be, grandmother?), which 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 313 
 
 will make the salary " equivalent to 100/. per annum." 
 And for this he must be orthodox and married. 
 
 Another curate is wanted in a u small parish in 
 Berks," where "the ditty is very light" What 
 would the apostles have said to such an offer? 
 
 A beneficed clergyman, advertising from Camber- 
 well, wishes for duty " in some agricultural and ftic- 
 turesque part of the north of England." A pictu- 
 resque part ! You see, it isn't every one who would 
 like to preach in the wilderness. 
 
 Another evirate is required in Nottinghamshire : 
 salary, ioo/. per annum. He must have the highest 
 references for "gentlemanly manners," as "the vicar 
 is resident." I suppose, if the vicar was away, a 
 second or third rate style would do well enough for 
 the parishioners. 
 
 However, you'll be glad to learn that several of the 
 advertisers profess to be " void of tractarianism and 
 other novelties." Just in the same way as they write 
 up somewhere in Piccadilly — " The original brown 
 bear." 
 
 Another clergyman " is desirous of meeting with 
 an early appointment in town : " and, grandmother, 
 you may judge of the lengths this gentleman will go 
 to preach Christianity and save human souls, when 
 he adds, " No objection to the Surrey side ! " Isn't 
 this good of him ? Because, you know, grandmother, 
 the opera, and the club-houses, and the divans, and 
 so forth, are none of 'em on the Surrey side. To be 
 sure, there's the Victoria, and Astley's ■ — but they're 
 low. 
 
 Now, grandmother, don't all these advertisements 
 
314 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 smell a little too much of trade — don't they, for your 
 notions of the right thing — jingle a little too much with 
 gold and silver? As I'm an honest cabman, though 
 I knew I was reading all about the Church and her 
 pious sons, yet, somehow, the advertisements did put 
 me in mind of " Rowland's Macassar," — " Mechi's 
 Magic Strops," and " Good stout Cobs to be dis- 
 posed of." 
 
 I am, dear grandmother, your affectionate grand- 
 son, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 P. S. I open my letter to tell you that the Bishop 
 of Exeter has broken out again. A Mr. Blunt, of 
 Helston. w///wear the surplice ; and the Bishop, like 
 a bottle-holder at a fight, backs him in his doings. 
 Do have more prayers put up for the Bishop. 
 
 Letter VIII. 
 
 To Samuel Hedgehog, Gallantee Showman, 
 Ratcliffe Highway. 
 
 Dear Sam : I'm just come home from Hampstead ; 
 and so, while the matter's fresh in my mind, I sit 
 down to w r rite you a few lines. You have heard of 
 the awful murder — of course. Well, I don't know: 
 murder's a shocking thing, to be sure ; nobody can 
 say it isn't; and yet, after what I've seen to-day — 
 Sunday, mind — it does almost seem to me as if peo- 
 ple took a sort of pleasure in it. Bless you ! if you'd 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 315 
 
 only seen the hundreds and hundreds of folks figged 
 out in their very best to enjoy a sight of the place 
 where a man had been butchered — you'd have 
 thought Haverstock field, stained and cursed as it is 
 with blood — a second Vauxhall at the least. I'm 
 sure I've seen people going to Greenwich Fair with 
 not half the pleasure in their faces. However, I'll tell 
 you all about it. 
 
 I was called off the stand about eight this morning 
 by a gentleman and lady, dressed as I thought for 
 church. They're a little early, thought I, but that's 
 their business. " Take us to Hampstead," said the 
 gentleman ; " and mind, as near to the murder as 
 possible." " Do, my good man," said the lady, — 
 bless you ! to have looked at her you'd have thought 
 she'd have fainted at the sound of murder, — " do, my 
 good man," said she, " and make haste ; for I wouldn't 
 be too late for anything. Take care of these," said 
 she to the gentleman, giving him a basket, " and mind 
 they don't break." Well, it's my business to drive a 
 cab ; so I said nothing, but started for Hampstead. 
 Bless you ! Before I'd got half up Tottenham Court 
 road, it was no easy driving, I can tell you. The 
 road swarmed ! Up and down the New Road, 
 through Camden Town, and right to Haverstock 
 Hill — I never saw anything like it, except perhaps 
 on the day they run for the Derby. Everybody 
 seemed turned out to enjoy themselves — determined 
 to have a holiday, and no mistake. 
 
 Well, I drove as near as I could to the place ; and 
 then I got a boy to hold the horse, and got down and 
 went along with my fare. If it didn't make me quite 
 
316 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 savage and sick, Sam, to see hundreds of fellows — 
 well dressed gentry, mind you ! — gaping and loung- 
 ing about, and now poking the grass with their sticks, 
 as if it was something precious because blood had 
 been shed upon it — and now breaking bits of the 
 trees about the place, I suppose to make toothpicks 
 and cribbage-pegs of. And then there were fathers 
 — precious fools! — bringing their children with 
 them, boys and girls, as though they'd brought 'em to 
 a stall of gingerbread nuts, where they might fill their 
 bellies and be happy! But the worst of all, Sam, 
 was to see the women. Lots of 'em, nice, young, fair 
 creatures, tender as if they were made of best wax, — 
 there they were running along, and looking at the 
 bushes, and the grass, and talking of the blood, and 
 the death-struggle — just as if they were looking at 
 and talking of the monkeys at the 'Logical Garden. 
 Well, the handsomest of 'em after a time looked to 
 me no better than young witches, — and that's the 
 truth. Every minute I expected some of 'em to do a 
 polka, they did after a time seem so to enjoy them- 
 selves. 
 
 Well, all of a sudden, I missed my fare. Looking 
 about, I saw my gentleman go up to the brick wall. 
 Then he took a heavy hammer out of his pocket, and 
 knocking away, split a brick, and then knocked it out 
 of the wall. u This is something like," said he to me, 
 twinkling his eye ; " something to remember the mur- 
 der by." And then he carefully wrapped the pieces 
 of brick in a silk handkerchief, and put 'em in his 
 breast pocket, as if they'd been lumps of diamonds. 
 I said nothing — but I could have kicked him. How- 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 317 
 
 ever, he hadn't done vet — for going to a part of the 
 field, he said to his wife, — for so she proved to be, — 
 " This is the place, Arabella ; the very place ; where's 
 the pots?" Then the lady took three garden-pots 
 from a basket, and then her husband, dropping upon 
 his knees, turned up the earth with a large clasp- 
 knife, and when he'd filled the pots, he dug up two 
 or three daisy roots, and set 'em ; his wife smiling 
 and looking as happy all the while as if she'd got a 
 new gown, or a new bonnet, or both. " Come," 
 said the gentleman, squinting at the daisy roots, and 
 twisting one of the pots in his hands — " this is w r hat 
 I call worth coming for. As I say, this is something 
 to recollect a murder by. Humph ! " and then he 
 paused a bit, and looked very wishfully at the stile — 
 " humph ! I should like a walking-stick out of that; 
 but the police are so particular, I suppose they 
 wouldn't suffer it. Come along, Arabella ; " and se- 
 curing the broken brick and the daisy roots in the 
 pots, my gentleman went back to the cab. " Now 
 drive as fast as you can to the church," he said ; "I 
 , wouldn't but be there for any money." Well, I never 
 did drive through such a crowd, but at last I managed 
 it: and at last, — but no ; I haven't patience enough 
 to write any more upon this part of it. There was 
 nothing wanted in and about the churchyard to make 
 it a fair, except a few stalls and such like. It made 
 me sick, Sam, to look upon this murder's holiday. 
 
 I wish you'd have seen the Yorkshire Grey, public 
 house ! No sooner did they open the doors, than 
 there was as much scrambling as at any play-house 
 on boxing night. Well, the landlord didn't make a 
 
318 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 little by his gin that day ! Murder proved a good 
 customer to him ! And then to see the hundreds and 
 hundreds struggling and pushing to get to the bar — 
 to hear 'em laughing and shouting — and seeing 'em 
 tossing off their liquor — upon my life, Sam, there 
 was a mob of well-dressed, well-to-do Englishmen, 
 that considering what had brought them there, wasn't 
 half so decent as a crowd of Zealand savages. 
 
 Cricketing' s an English sport — so is single-stick — 
 so are bowls — so are ninepins — and after what I've 
 seen to-day — so, I'm sure of it, is murder. For my 
 part, it does seem a little hard to hang the murderer 
 himself, when it appears that he gives by his wicked- 
 ness so much enjoyment to his fellow-subjects. 
 
 Well, Sam, I'm now come to the marrow of my 
 letter, and it's this. I do think if you will only take 
 pains, and have all the murders of the year nicely got 
 up, you may make a capital penn'orth of the lot with 
 your show at Christmas. When lords and ladies 
 make a scrimmage for it at police courts, and respec- 
 table, pious people take in newspapers for the very 
 best likenesses of prisoners and cutthroats, — I'm. 
 sure you'd get custom — if the thing was well done 
 — ay, " of the nobility, gentry, and public in general." 
 
 Now, do, Sam, take my advice. Depend upon it, 
 the pop'lar taste sets in for blood : and so, instead on 
 winter's nights a going about with your old-fashioned 
 cry of " Gallantee Show" — sing out, "Mur — der," 
 and your fortune's made. And so no more from 
 Your cousin and well-wisher, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 . 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 319 
 
 Letter IX. 
 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother : You ought to be in Eng- 
 land just now, we're in such a pleasant pucker. The 
 Church is in danger again ! I have myself known her 
 twenty times in peril, — but now, she really is at the 
 very edge of destruction. You know there's a place 
 called Maynooth College, where they bring up Roman 
 Catholic priests for the use of Ireland. Well, there's 
 a lot of folks, who will have it that this College is no 
 bit better than certain tanks I've read of in India, 
 where they breed young crocodiles to be worshipped 
 by people who know no better. Sir Robert Peel in- 
 tends to give 26,000/. a year to this place — it used 
 to have an annual grant of 9,000/. — that the scholars 
 may be increased in number, and that they may be 
 better taught and more comfortably boarded "and 
 lodged. Well, the members of the Church of Eng- 
 land— although here and there they have grumbled 
 at the matter, and have called the Pope names that 
 pass in small change at Billingsgate — have been 
 mute as fish compared to the Dissenters. It is they 
 who have fought the fight ; it is they who have raised 
 the price of parchment by darkening the House of 
 Commons with clouds of petitions. It is they who 
 have risen to a man, and have patted the British 
 Lion, and twisted his tail, and goaded him — as you'd 
 set a bull-dog on a cat — to tear Popery to pieces. 
 But, dear grandmother, don't be afraid. Before 
 
320 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 you get my next lettter, with all this noise and boun- 
 cing, we shall have settled down as quiet as stale 
 soda-water. And then for the Church being in dan- 
 ger, — bless you ! the very folks who are now hold- 
 ing up their hands, thinking it will drop to pieces — 
 (from its very richness, I suppose, like some of your 
 plum-puddings) — why, they'll sleep quietly in their 
 beds, and take their glass of wine and chicken with 
 their usual appetite, until the Church shall be once 
 more in trouble, once more to give 'em a pleasant, 
 healthful shaking, — and then once more to let 'em 
 easily down again. I've known some girls who've 
 thought they best showed how tender they were by 
 always going into fits: well, I do think that, just like 
 'em, some people believe they best show their re- 
 ligion when they scream and foam at the mouth 
 about it. 
 
 It's a settled belief with a good many pious people, 
 w T ho are as careful of their religion as of their best 
 service of china, only using it on holiday occasions 
 for fear it should get chipped or flawed in working- 
 day wear — it's the belief with them that a Papist is a 
 sort of human toad — an abomination in the form of 
 man. Doctor Croly has surely a notion of this sort. 
 A few days ago he appeared on Covent Garden stage 
 (I think his first appearance there since his comedy 
 of Pride shall have a Fall) and called upon the 
 Lord, with thunder and lightning and the sword, to 
 kill his enemies — meaning Roman Catholics ! And 
 then the Doctor showed how Providence had punished 
 all naughty kings who had cast an eye of favor on the 
 Pope. Capping this, the Doctor more than hinted that 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 32 I 
 
 George the Fourth — the first gentleman in Europe, 
 for he had a greater number of coats than all the rest 
 of the kings put together — was somewhat suddenly 
 called from his loving people, because he had passed 
 the Bill that 'mancipated the Catholics. Well, when 
 we think how many Catholics there are in the world 
 
 — when we remember the millions of 'em scattered 
 about the earth — it does appear to me a little bold in a 
 worm of a man (whether the said worm wears clergy- 
 man's black or not) praying to the Lord to destroy, 
 crush, burn, whole nations of men and women, be- 
 cause he wasn't born to think as they do. But so it 
 is with some folks, very proud indeed of their Chris- 
 tianity. Hear them talk and pray, and you w T ould 
 think that Satan himself — the father of wickedness 
 
 — had been the creator of ninety-nine men out of a 
 hundred, and that it was the pure, elect, and lucky 
 hundredth that religiously begged for the destruction 
 of the ninety-nine. But all the noise is about the 
 largeness of the sum — the 26,000/. The 9,000/. was 
 every year quietly voted — for I call the gaggling of 
 two or three Parliament geese as nothing — and still 
 the Church stands unshaken on her foundations. By 
 this it would seem, that with some folks it is the 
 money that a wrong costs, and not the wrong itself, 
 that is objectionable. Thinking after this fashion, 
 drunkenness is not to be thought a vice if it be drunk- 
 enness gratis ; it, however, increases in enormity with 
 the increase of its price ; thus gin-drunkenness is 
 merely wrong, but burgundy-drunkenness is infamous 
 to the last degree. Haven't I read somewhere of an 
 old Greek philosopher — if some of those chaps had 
 
 21 
 
322 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 lived in these times, they'd now and then have found 
 themselves at the police office — who felt mightily- 
 disposed to do what was immoral, and only held back 
 at the purchase-money ! I think he said, he wouldn't 
 " buy repentance at so dear a price." Now, if he 
 could have had the sin at a cheap pennyworth, the 
 sin itself had been light indeed. It's the weight of 
 money that makes the weight of crime. 
 
 But, I suppose, Doctor Croly, Mr. M'Neile, and 
 such folks — who seem to read their Bibles by the 
 blue light of brimstone — believe that the extra money 
 given to the Roman Catholic priests of Ireland will 
 only be so much powder and shot with which they 
 may bring down Protestants. Well, if money is to 
 make converts, what has the Irish Protestant Church 
 been about, that has always had a full money-bag at 
 her girdle, and more than that, plenty of leisure to re- 
 claim the fallen? She has always had a golden 
 crook whereby to bring stray lambs into the fold, — 
 and yet has added nothing to her flock. 
 
 Now, according to my opinion, the folks who abuse 
 Maynooth ought rather to feel glad that more money 
 is to be given to her priests, seeing what an abun- 
 dance of money, and good things purchased by money, 
 have done for the Irish Protestant Church. It has 
 become slow as it has become fat. Stuff even a pul- 
 pit cushion with bank-notes, and it is strange to see 
 how religion will sleep upon it. And therefore peo- 
 ple ought to rejoice that the Catholic priest is to be 
 made a little comfortable in worldly matters ! Ex- 
 cellent, worthy churchmen, who can command the 
 sports of the field, and all the pleasures of the tflMe, 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 323 
 
 are not the busy, troublesome folks to go about con- 
 verting their benighted neighbors ! And though the 
 Maynooth pupils may not — like their beneficed 
 rivals — keep fox-hounds, and enjoy the dearest turtle, 
 pine-apples, and all that — they will not, I think, be 
 in after-life more dangerous to the Protestant Church, 
 because — when at College — they slept not more 
 than two in a bed. 
 
 But there's a sort of people in the world that can't 
 bear making any progress. I wonder they ever walk, 
 unless they walk backwards ! I wonder they don't 
 refuse to go out when there's a new moon, — and all 
 out of love and respect for that " ancient institution," 
 the old one. But there always were such people, 
 grandmother — always will be. When lucifers first 
 came in, how many old women, stanch old souls — 
 many of 'em worthy to be members of Parliament — 
 stood by their matches and tinder-boxes, and cried out, 
 44 No surrender ! " And how many of these old wo- 
 men — disguised in male attire — every day go about 
 at public meetings, professing to be ready to die for 
 any tinder-box question that may come up ! Yes, 
 ready — quite ready, to die for it; all the readier, 
 perhaps, because dying for anything of the sort's now 
 gone out of fashion. 
 
 Even Sir James Graham says the time is gone by 
 for ill-using Ireland. <; The time is gone by ! " And 
 yet how many men before Sir James have stood up, 
 and declared their time — the time " gone by " — was 
 the best time possible for Ireland ; that what was 
 doing for her could not be improved ; and, having 
 thundered this, have sat down secure in a majority 
 
3 2 4 
 
 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 that has voted for the evil to continue ! What a long 
 while it is before men in power will learn to call 
 things by their proper names ! What a time it takes 
 to teach ministers to call evil, evil — and lies, lies I 
 
 Sir Robert Peel has behaved in the handsomest 
 manner in the matter. He says it is by no means his 
 wish to rob the Whigs of the gratitude of Ireland for 
 the Maynooth measure. Certainly not: they no 
 doubt could have carried it had he joined them ; this, 
 however, he would not do ; he has, however, no ob- 
 jection that they should join him. And so, they may- 
 have the gratitude, and he the patronage and power. 
 They have helped him to open the oyster ; he swal- 
 lows the fish, — and they are quite welcome to the 
 shells. 
 
 It is quite a delight to read Sir Robert's Parliament 
 speeches. Did you ever talk to a man who seemed 
 never to hear what you said, but only thought what 
 he should say to pass for an answer? who seemed as 
 though none of your words entered his ears, but all 
 slid down his cheek? I've met with such people, 
 and Sir Robert Peel— when I read his Maynooth 
 speeches — does remind me of 'em. What a way he 
 has of talking down the side of a speech, and never 
 answering it direct ! I hardly wonder that the play- 
 houses don't flourish, when there's such capital actors 
 of all sorts in the Houses of Parliament. 
 
 I had just been reading an account of two or three 
 more Maynooth meetings, where some of the speakers 
 talked about the true and the false religion, as though 
 themselves had a sole and certain knowledge of what 
 was true — what false: I had just been reading all 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 325 
 
 this, when my eye fell upon a paragraph headed 
 " Lord Rosse's Telescope." Lord Rosse, you must 
 know, is one of those noblemen who do not pull off 
 knockers — knock down cabmen — and always take 
 a front seat at the Old Bailey, on a trial for murder. 
 No : he has been making an enormous telescope ; 
 and the paragraph I write of says — "Marvellous 
 rumors are afloat respecting the astronomical discov- 
 eries made by Lord Rosse's monster telescope. It is 
 said that Regulus, instead of being a sphere, is ascer- 
 tained to be a disk ; and, stranger still, that the nebula 
 in the belt of Orion is a universal system — a sun, 
 with planets moving round it, as the earth and her 
 fellow-orbs move round our glorious luminary." 
 
 Now, at one time, a man might have been burnt 
 alive for taking it upon himself to say that Regulus 
 was. not a sphere, but a disk ; and that Orion (I know 
 nothing about him, save and except that a marvel- 
 lously fine poem, price one farthing, was lately pub- 
 lished with his name) did not wear in his belt any 
 nebula, but a universal system ! La, grandmother ! 
 when I read of these things, I feel a mixture of pain 
 and pity for men that, instead of having their hearts 
 and spirits tuned by the harmony that God is always 
 playing to them — (and they won't hear it, the leathern- 
 eared sinners !) — think of nothing but swearing that 
 one thing's a disk, and the other a nebula, — when 
 they only look through small glasses, wanting the 
 great telescope to show 'em the real truth ! 
 
 And so no more from your affectionate grandson, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
326 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 P. S. I blush for myself, that I had almost forgot- 
 ten to tell you that Doctor Wolff has come back, safe 
 and sound, from the innermost part of India, where 
 he went to try to save the lives of two Englishmen, 
 Stoddart and Conolly. It was like going into a tiger's 
 den to take flesh from the wild beast. And yet the 
 stout-hearted man went ! Such an act makes us for- 
 get the meanness and folly of a whole generation ! 
 Captain Grover — a heart of gold, that ! — has pub- 
 lished a book on the matter called The Bokhara 
 Victims, As no doubt the New York publishers — 
 in their anxiety to diffuse knowledge — have already 
 published it for some five cents, do not fail to read it. 
 As for Doctor Wolff, I wonder what Englishmen 
 will do for him. If he'd come back from India after 
 cutting twenty thousand throats, why, he might have 
 had a round of dinners, diamond-hilted swords, wine- 
 coolers as big as buckets, and so on; — as it is, I 
 fear nothing can be done for him. However, we 
 shall see. 
 
 Letter X. 
 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother : England's still above water : 
 the sea doesn't } r et roll over Dover cliffs; nevertheless 
 the Maynooth Grant, that I wrote to you about, is 
 gone through the House of Commons ; and in a very 
 few weeks the Papists, as you love to call 'em, 
 w r ill have the money. Sir Culling Eardley Smith, 
 Mr. Plumptre, and others of their kidney, may possi- 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 327 
 
 bly for a month or two appear in the streets in sack- 
 cloth and ashes, and with beards like Jew rabbis — 
 just to show their respect for the departed constitution ; 
 but after a decent time of mourning, they will, no 
 doubt, be open to consolation, and take their dinners 
 with their usual appetite. I shouldn't wonder, if in 
 six months the Rev. Mr. M'Neile (of sulphurous 
 principles) consents to eat and drink like anybody 
 else ; and shall be by no means surprised if Doctor 
 Croly is found to have regained at least all the flesh 
 that anxiety and grief for the Church in danger have 
 so deplorably deprived him of. It's wonderful to think 
 how certain saints and patriots get lean and fat as 
 sudden as rabbits ! Wonderful to think, when the 
 whole world, according to their declaration, has gone 
 to bits, how well and contentedly they still continue 
 to live upon the pieces ! But, dear grandmother, what 
 a blessing is Exeter Hall ! What a safety-valve it is 
 for the patriotism, and indignation, and scorn, and 
 hatred — and all other sorts of public virtues — that, 
 but for it, or some such place, would fairly burst so 
 many excellent folks, if they couldn't go and relieve 
 their swelling souls with a bit of talk ! As it is, they 
 speechify and are saved ! Only suppose there had 
 been no place whereat worthy people could have 
 abused the Maynooth Grant — no place wherein to 
 air their own particular Christianity to the condem- 
 nation of the religion of everybody else — what would 
 have been the consequence? Why, they must have 
 exploded — burst like the frog in the fable. Day after 
 day, Mr. Wakley and his brother coroners would 
 have been sitting on the body of some respec- 
 
328 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 ble saint and patriot — day after day we should have 
 read the verdict — a Died by retention of abuse ! " 
 Happily, while we have Exeter Hall, we are spared 
 these national calamities. 
 
 As I know, grandmother, your natural tenderness 
 for all that concerns the bishops, I must — at the risk 
 of bringing on your colic — inform you that they are 
 again in danger. Even the Morning Post is begin- 
 ning to neglect 'em! Some newspaper — I don't 
 know which — has proposed, as the only true remedy 
 for the distresses of the country, that there should be 
 a greater number of bishops. Now, this, at the first 
 blush, seems a capital notion. But only mark what 
 follows. The writer would multiply episcopal bless- 
 ings, by " distributing the revenues of the present 
 sees, as they fall vacant, among a greater number of 
 bishops ! " And the Morning Post doesn't at once 
 put down his infamous proposal. Only imagine one 
 Bishop of London slit into half-a-dozen bishops — one 
 Henry of Exeter made twenty Henrys — just as you 
 make bundles of small w r ood from one large piece ! 
 After giving utterance to this wickedness, -the writer 
 goes on to think " it impossible that the spiritual 
 lords should continue to be members of the legisla- 
 ture, after ceasing to be rich men." And this the 
 Post calls " no singular opinion. For such is the 
 habitual association of power and station in this 
 country with wealth, that perhaps nine out of every 
 ten persons that one might meet walking along the 
 Strand, would say with this writer, that unless a prel- 
 ate had his thousands a year, and his carriage, and 
 his servants, and his grandeur of accessaries^ he could 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 329 
 
 not properly take a part in counselling the govern- 
 ment, or assisting to make laws in the Upper House of 
 Parliament ! " And if the people think so, I've heard 
 it said that the bishops have themselves to thank for 
 such belief; seeing that the world often hears more 
 of their carriages and servants than of the humility 
 and tenderness that were shown by the Apostles ! 
 The Post, however, to my amazement, is for stripping 
 Lambeth and Fulham of much of their finery. Yes ; 
 the Post absolutely says, " We protest against the 
 opinion that, without the wealth, the worth of the 
 bishops in the House of Lords would be nought. 
 Nay, we can conceive the possibility of the influence 
 of learning and eloquence, and venerable earnestness, 
 being even greater zvhen disassociated from wealth 
 and worldly interests ! " Only imagine, grandmother, 
 the Bishop of London, walking down to the House 
 of Lords, leaning on a horn-tipped staff, and not 
 rolled along in his cushioned carriage, with a servant in 
 purple livery to letdown the steps for him ! Isn't the 
 picture terrible ? — isn't it what they call revolution- 
 ary ? And yet the Morniizg Post — as coldly as this 
 present month of May — can see the possibility of a 
 Bishop of Exeter being cut into ten or twenty bishop- 
 lings, and never swoon, or even so much as call out 
 for hartshorn? Who is the revolutionist now? 
 
 The month has been a dull month : politics and all 
 that, have been as stupid as the weather. The trees 
 and bushes have come out, to be sure ; but only, as 
 it would seem, from a matter of habit, — because it's 
 May by the almanac. However, the Duke of New- 
 castle has very kindly tried to give us a fillip. As 
 
330 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 I've heard somebody say in some play or the other, 
 " Orson is endowed with reason ! " We've had two 
 letters from Clumber ! You must know that in the 
 British Museum there are two or three mummies of 
 Egyptian kings, the} 7 say, who lived, I don't know 
 how many thousand years ago. Now, just suppose, 
 grandmother, that one of these mummies — with his 
 brains out, be it remembered — should have suddenly 
 got up, and written a letter or two to Mehemet Ali 
 and his Egyptians, thinking 'em the self-same Egyp- 
 tians that used to worship crocodiles and ibises, and 
 make gods of the leeks and onions that grew in their 
 gardens, — suppose the British Museum mummy had 
 done this, —well, the thing would have done no more 
 than the political mummy of Clumber ; would have 
 made just the same mistake as his well-meaning 
 Grace, the Duke of Newcastle. 
 
 " Forget all you've been learning for these last 
 thirty years at least — give up the wickedness of 
 steam — forego the iniquity of railroads — be content 
 with sailing-smacks and stage-coaches — repeal the 
 Reform Bill — repeal Catholic Emancipation — in a 
 word, wipe everything from your minds gathered 
 there since the good old times ' when George the 
 Third was king' — come out again in the pig-tails 
 and shoe-buckles of that blissful reign, — and I, Duke 
 of Newcastle, am ready to march with you ! I am 
 prepared, at every risk, to be the hero of the back- 
 step ! " As yet, I've heard of nobody who has joined 
 the Duke's standard; but if recruits should come in, 
 I'll let you know. 
 
 It is not unlikely, grandmother, that you may have 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 33 1 
 
 a few Highland families sent over to America ; as 
 they are now being carefully " weeded out " from 
 their native places by certain landlords who think it 
 better and more Christian-like to turn their lands into 
 sheep-walks than to suffer them to be tenanted by 
 mere men, women, and children. " Weeding" is a 
 nice word — isn't it? It so capitally describes the 
 worth of the thing rooted out. The poor man is of 
 course the " weed ; " the rich is the " lily, that neither 
 toils nor spins." And just now, it seems, certain 
 places in the Highlands are overgrown with this rank, 
 foul weed ; this encumbrance to the soil ; this one 
 human thing, worse than thistle or nettle. What a 
 beautiful world this would be — wouldn't it? — if this 
 weed of poverty was cut up, burnt, destroyed, — got 
 rid of any way? It's a dreadful nuisance ; and yet it 
 will spring up, like groundsel or any other worthless 
 thing ! And strange to say, the sun will shine upon 
 it, and the dews of heaven descend upon it, all the 
 same as if it was one of the aforesaid lilies, full of 
 light and breathing sweetness. Odd, isn't it, that the 
 sky should shine so impartially on both? 
 Your affectionate grandson, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog, 
 
33 2 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 Letter XL 
 
 To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, Phila- 
 delphia. 
 
 Dear Kitty : If I haven't written to you before 
 this, it is because I've had nothing worth ink and 
 paper to send you. I know that you've a mind above 
 politics, and — may you be pardoned for the light- 
 ness ! — can sleep like a cat in the sun, no matter how 
 much the Church may be in danger. When, how- 
 ever, there's anything stirring among silks and satins, 
 why, then your woman's spirit is up, and all the mil- 
 liner is roused within you. Knowing this, Kitty, I 
 shall treat you with a few lines about a Powdered 
 Ball we've lately had at Court, when everybody, out 
 of compliment, I suppose, to what is called the wis- 
 dom of their ancestors, went dressed like their great 
 grandfathers and grandmothers. A huge comfort 
 this to great people in the shades ! Dear Queen 
 Charlotte was once again at Court, very flatteringly 
 represented by a fine piece of point-lace worn by the 
 blessed Victoria herself. And dukes, and lords, and 
 generals — all of 'em sleeping in family lead — were 
 once more walking minuets and dancing Sir Roger 
 de Coverley. Everybody for a time lived more than 
 a hundred years ago ; and, as I'm told, felt very happy 
 at going backward even for one night. To go back 
 is with many high folks the greatest proof of wisdom ; 
 and therefore among such people the Powdered 
 Ball was considered a glorious stride in the right 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 333 
 
 direction. Only imagine the rapture of a Duke of 
 Newcastle, living even in fancy for a few hours, at 
 any time from 1715 to 1745 ; a time when there was 
 no Reform Bill ; no steam-engines ; no railways ; no 
 cheap books ! Think of the delight of many old 
 gentlemen believing themselves their own grand- 
 fathers ; quite away from these revolutionary days, 
 and living again in " the good old times"! I've 
 heard — though I don't answer for it — that two or 
 three of 'em were so carried away by the thought 
 that, to keep up the happiness as long as they could, 
 they went to bed in their clothes, high-heeled shoes 
 
 and all. At this very moment, they do say, Lord 
 
 is still in his embroidered coat and smalls, with a 
 wig like a white cloud upon him. He declares 1715 
 is such a " good old time " that nothing shall make 
 him go on again to 1845. He has ordered flambeaux 
 for his servants, and now and then talks about going 
 to Ranelagh. Moreover, by people quite worthy of 
 belief, it is feared that this delusion, as they call it, is 
 spreading amongst certain high folks — many of 'em 
 thinking themselves a hundred years back, and want- 
 ing to make Acts of Parliament in the spirit of that 
 good old time. See, Kitty, how a Powdered Ball 
 may turn the highest heads — even the nobs of a 
 country ! 
 
 The ladies were, of course, all jew r elled, and very 
 fine. O, what a fortune some of 'em would have 
 been to a poor man — with their stomachers! But, 
 Kitty, there is one odd thing at these masks and balls. 
 How is it that young ladies — with names as white as 
 snow — sometimes take the characters, fly-spotted and 
 
334 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 damaged as they are, of sinful love-birds? You, 
 Kitty, being a woman, can explain this : but to me, 
 one of the ignorant, rough sex, it does seem odd that 
 a pure young lady should dress herself as Nelly 
 Gwynne or any other person of the sort, when the 
 aforesaid pure lady would squeak — and, no doubt, 
 very proper — at the living creature as if it was a toad. 
 Can you explain this, Kitty? Do they take such 
 characters, just as they put black patches on their 
 cheeks, to bring out their own white all the stronger? 
 Or is it that there's a sort of idle daring in it, just as 
 children play with fire, though they never mean 
 to burn themselves? I can't make it out: but how 
 should I expect it — I, a poor, weak, ignorant man, 
 — how should I unriddle a creature that's puzzled 
 Solomon? 
 
 Of course, there was an account of all the dresses. 
 Well, when I opened the Morning Post, .and saw 
 whole columns built o' nothing but velvets and satins 
 and all that, if I didn't grin — like a clown through 
 a collar for a new hat — at the vanity of life. " Look 
 here," says I to Bill Fisher, that was sitting in the 
 Spotted Lion, — u look at the conceit of these folks," 
 says I, " who think that all the world's to stand still 
 a reading about their ' gimp Brandenburghs, and 
 buttons ' — ; their buttons and frogs ' — their ' blue 
 facings and turnback' — and such mountebankery." 
 " It's quite beneath us as men," says Bill ; " not at all 
 like lords of the creation. Now I can forgive the 
 women — poor little souls! — for having all their 
 flounces and puffings put in the paper. It's nat'ral 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 335 
 
 for them." "Why nat'ral?" says I. "Why," says 
 Bill, " because they know it makes one another 
 savage. Bless you ! that's what they do it for — and 
 nothin' else." And then you should have heard how 
 he laughed, as he spelt out the paper. " Look here 
 now," says he, " here was a lady with c a dress looped 
 with bouquets of pink roses ; skirt of rich green satin, 
 trimmed with flounces of point lace and bouquets of 
 roses ; white satin shoes with high heels, green 
 rosettes with diamonds in the centre. Hair powdered, 
 and ornamented with roses and diamonds.' Now, 
 isn't it dreadful, Juniper, that people are to be stopped 
 over their honest pint of porter with stuff like this? 
 What's fc satin shoes with high heels' to all the 'versal 
 world? But then, as I say, the women do it to make 
 one another savage. I've often thought, since they 
 like so to print in the papers what clothes they wear 
 — that, at the same time, they might let the world 
 know what books they read, what pictures they 
 looked at, — in fact, what sort of dresses they put 
 upon their minds. But, to be sure, this would make 
 nobody savage." This is what Bill Fisher says ; but 
 mark, Kitty, I'm not quite of his way of thinking ; 
 though, after all, it does seem odd that a young lady 
 should think it worth while to put all her clothes in 
 print for all the world to spell over. 
 
 But the Ball will have done a great deal of good, 
 in making us look a hundred years back. How I 
 should like to see the thing tried upon a grand scale ! 
 Suppose that everybody in London, just for four-and- 
 twenty hours, out of compliment to the great example 
 
336 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 set by the court, should live as if it was 1745! 
 Wouldn't it he droll? Droll to have the gas out, and 
 set up oil-twinklers ; droll to make the new police 
 put on drab coats, and call the hours, like that "ven- 
 erable institution," the watch ! Droll to have all the 
 rail-trains stopped, and only book passengers for York 
 by the wagon ! Droll to stop the steamboats on 
 the river — the omnibuses in the street ; making folks 
 move about in nothingbut wherries, hackney-coaches, 
 and sedan-chairs ! Droll, too, would it be to start for 
 Gravesend in the tilt-boat on a two days' voyage ! 
 Well, I do hope that all this will be brought about. 
 For if all folks in London were made to live only 
 four-and-twenty hours of a hundred years ago — I do 
 think that for the rest of their lives they'd shut their 
 mouths about those precious good old times, that 
 some people do now so like to cackle about. 
 
 There's no doubt that the Powdered Ball has been 
 a very fine affair, but the Ball of next season will be 
 the grand thing. A nobleman's footman, as I last 
 night drove, told me that at the Ball of next year, all 
 true folks will wear supposed dresses from the time 
 of 1915 to 1945 — that is, about a hundred years 
 ahead. There's a good many opinions as to what 
 they'll be. Some folks declare they'll be plain as 
 drab — and some that we shall have all gone back 
 again to the fashion of the painted Britons, as you 
 see 'em in the History of England. By that time, it's 
 thought, soldiers' uniforms will have gone quite out 
 — the electric gun and such nickknacks having killed 
 war, body and bones. Howsomever, 'twill be odd to 
 see how people's fancy will dress themselves for a 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 337 
 
 hundred years on ; there'll be more cleverness in that, 
 if well done, than in wearing the precise coat and 
 petticoat of your grandfather and grandmother. 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 Letter XII. 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother : The Maynooth Grant is 
 granted, and the British Lion has once more gone to 
 sleep. When either Sir Culling Smith, Mr. M'Neill, 
 or Doctor Croly shall pinch his tail, and make him 
 roar again, j t ou shall have due notice of the danger. 
 I think, however, that the Lion is safe to sleep until 
 next May, when, of course, he'll again be stirred up 
 for the folks at Exeter Hall. In the mean time he 
 must be tired — very drowsy, after the speeches that 
 have been made at him ; so let him sleep on. 
 
 Yes : Maynooth College has got the new grant ; 
 nevertheless — to the astonishment of the Duke of 
 Newcastle and Company — the sun rises every morn- 
 ing as if nothing had happened; and, so hard does 
 the love of shillings make man's heart, London trades- 
 men still smile behind their counters, never thinking 
 that their tills are threatened with an earthquake. 
 Newcastle and other Peers — just out of consolation 
 to their shades — have written what's called a " Pro- 
 test " against the grant : and a hundred years hence, 
 when England is blown to atoms by the measure, 
 22 
 
338 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 very comfortable it will be to their ghosts, as they 
 walk among the ruins, to see men reading the afore- 
 said " Protest," and hear them crying, " A prophet ! 
 a prophet ! " 
 
 And now, grandmother, comes the Roman Catholic 
 Bishops. They won't have Peel's plan of education, 
 unless all the masters are to be of their own faith. 
 For, they say, " the Roman Catholic pupils could not 
 attend the lectures on history, logic, metaphysics, 
 moral philosophy, geology, or anatomy, without ex- 
 posing their faith or morals to imminent danger, un- 
 less a Roman Catholic professor shall be appointed 
 for each of those chairs." You see, the lecturer on 
 history, if a Protestant, might be for making Queen 
 Mary — Bloody Mary, as I was taught to call her at 
 day-school — a very cruel wretch, indeed; whereas 
 the Queen Mary of the Catholic might be a very nice 
 woman, who never could abide fagots, and never 
 knew where Smithfield was. And then for logic 
 (you must, as I've said before, look in the dictionary 
 for hard words), — logic, it seems, is a matter of re- 
 ligion. What's logic to a Protestant isn't logic to a 
 Catholic, or a Mahometan, or a Chinese ! In the 
 same way, I suppose that a straight line in London 
 would be what they call a curve in Dublin, and per- 
 haps a whole circle at Canton. And then for " ge- 
 ology " and " anatomy." The Protestant geologist 
 might make the earth younger or older than it really 
 is, and all to suit his own wicked purposes. Again, 
 look at the danger of having a Protestant lecturer on 
 anatomy ! Why, we all know that's there's nothing 
 certain in anatomy ; that it's all a matter of faith. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 339 
 
 Thus, if a Catholic anatomist lectured, we'll say, 
 upon the body of a Protestant pluralist, he might out 
 of blindness declare that the said body never had a 
 a single atom of heart ; that such pluralists always 
 lived without the article. While, on the other side, 
 the real Protestant lecturer, discussing on the self- 
 same cor pits, might declare that it was all heart, like 
 a summer cabbage ! " Professors' chairs ! " When 
 I read these things, I somehow do think of the baby 
 chair that I used to be set up in to take my meals, 
 with a stick run through the arms to keep me from 
 tumbling out. The talk is so childish ! 
 
 You ask me about your pet, the Bishop of Exeter. 
 Well, the clergy of his diocese have just suffered 
 what's called his " charge." A charge, grandmother, 
 in which the Bishop generally contrives to put in a 
 lot of small shot to pepper about him right and left. 
 As usual, he talked a good deal about himself; mak- 
 ing Exeter out such a soft, gentle person — such a 
 lump of Christian butter — that in this hot weather, 
 it's wonderful he hasn't melted long ago. Ha, grand- 
 mother ! what a lawyer was spoiled in that Bishop ! 
 What a brain he has for cobwebs ! How he drags 
 you along through sentence after sentence — every 
 one a dark passage — until your head swims, and 
 you can't see your finger close to your nose ! He 
 talked about this Puseyite stuff — this play-acting of 
 the Church — for I don't know how long; but 
 whether he very much likes it, or very much hates it, 
 it's more than any cabman's brains can make out. I 
 never read one of Exeter's charges, that I don't think 
 of a sharp lawyer quite spoiled — but this last is a 
 
34° THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 greater tangle than all. He talked a good deal about 
 " the Apostolical succession," the truth of which, he 
 said, he would defend. How I should like to hear 
 him trace himself — Henry of Exeter — upwards I 
 He then came to the new Bill that was to take the 
 right of divorce out of the hands of the Church. He 
 said, " Let the Liberalism of the age be content with 
 what it had already achieved. It was enough for one 
 generation, that men and women might be coupled to- 
 gether in a Registrar's office, with as total an absence 
 of all religious sanction, as if one huckster were 
 coupled up in partnership with another." Here the 
 Bishop's right enough, no doubt. For if the Bishops' 
 court loses cases of divorce, what lots of fees go from 
 them to the mere lawyers ! A wedding-ring and a 
 license are things almost dog-cheap ; but, O grand- 
 mother ! what a lot of money it takes to break that 
 ring — what a heap .of cash to tear up the license: 
 and that's the reason that divorce, like green peas at 
 Christmas, can only be afforded by the rich. Next, 
 the Bishop had a fling at what he called "the un- 
 happy beings who went to Mechanics' Institutes and 
 lecture-rooms." He said they wanted "the discipline 
 of the heart and the chastening influence of true re- 
 ligion." I'm an ignorant cabman, grandmother ; but 
 if so many " millions," as the Bishop said, want this, 
 — I must ask, what do we pay the Church for? If so 
 many of us are no better, as Exeter said, than " any 
 of the wildest savages who devoured one another in 
 New Zealand," for what, in the name of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence, do w T e pay Church rates? Why 
 don't the Bishops and the high preachers of the 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 34I 
 
 Church come more among us? Why, thinking of 
 the " Apostolical succession," don't they copy more 
 than they do the fishermen and tent-makers who are 
 their forefathers? I can't help asking this; though, 
 as I said, I know I'm an ignorant cabman. 
 
 The Bishop, however, after scolding a good deal, 
 tried to end mildly and like a Christian. I've read at 
 some book-stall of an Indian leaf. One side of it acts 
 "as a blister: then take it off, turn it, and the other 
 side serves for the salve. The Bishop of Exeter, to 
 my mind, always tries to make his charge a leaf of 
 this sort ; though I must say it, one side is generally 
 stronger than the other — better for blistering than 
 healing. So no more from your affectionate grand- 
 son, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 Letter XIII. 
 
 To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M. P.* 
 
 Sir : As I once had the honor to drive you down 
 to Parliament — and as I found you such an affable 
 gentleman, with no pride at all in you (I say noth- 
 ing about the sixpence you gave me over my fare) 
 — I make no bones at all in writing these few lines 
 to you, about your motion for private hanging. I 
 see by the newspapers that you want to make a law 
 
 *Now Lord Houghton. The Saturday Review, in noticing one of his Lord- 
 ship's books, says that " none of our readers will require to be told that Lord 
 Houghton is a continuation of Richard Monckton Milnes." — Ed. 
 
342 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 to hang inside of the jail, in a snug and quiet, way; 
 and not to have the show' in the open street. Pardon 
 a cabman's boldness ; but really, Mr. Milnes, you 
 can't have thought of the shocking consequence of 
 your measure, if so be it had been carried out. 
 What ! Make a law for private hanging ! With one 
 bit of parchment destroy what I'll be bold enough to 
 call one of the chief amusements of the people? Sir 
 James Graham knows better than this ; for he gener- 
 ally contrives to have an execution on Easter and 
 Whit Monday, just by the way of an early whet to 
 the appetites of the holiday-makers. First the Old 
 Bailey and then Greenwich ; Mr. Calcraft, the hang- 
 man — and then the fire-eater and the clown. Your 
 bill, sir, — do forgive my boldness, — was very rash, 
 and not at all just. They've taken away bear-baiting, 
 and duck-hunting, and dog-fighting, from what they 
 call the lower orders ; and now you'd deprive 'em of 
 their last and dearest privilege — you'd, with one 
 dash of the pen, rob 'em of their own public gallows? 
 And you call yourself a friend of the people, Mr, 
 Milnes — a stickler for their ancient sports and pas- 
 times? I don't wonder that for once something like 
 shame came over Parliament — that not forty consci- 
 entious members stopped to listen to you — and that, 
 in a word, you were " counted out." 
 
 I have said your bill was unjust, shamefully unjust, 
 unless you can prove to me that there was a clause in 
 it to what they call indemnify the housekeepers in the 
 Old Bailey for their loss of vested interests, seeing 
 that they make no end of money by letting their win- 
 dows at a popular hanging. Why, a Hocker's worth 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 343 
 
 any money to 'em ; for it's odd how hanging brings 
 down the pride of some of the upper classes, many of 
 the nobs enjoying it quite as much as the lower orders, 
 only that they give one or two guineas — according 
 to the beauty of the murder — for comfortable sitting 
 room. If the men they call the Six Clerks were in- 
 demnified, surely you wouldn't rob the tradesmen of 
 the Old Bailey. 
 
 But it really is shocking to see how a mere mem- 
 ber of Parliament will set himself up against a clergy- 
 man of Newgate ! Didn't the Rev. Mr. Davis preach 
 that the whole use and beauty of hanging was to be 
 found in making it public? According to him, if it 
 was possible to hang a man where all England might 
 see him strangled, why, all England would certainly 
 be the better for it. I've no doubt that the cause of 
 so much crime is in the smallness of the Old Bailey, 
 that w T ill only accommodate such a few ! Why 
 shouldn't the gallows be erected on Salisbury Plain, 
 with cheap railway excursions from all parts on 
 hanging days? . 
 
 Pardon me, sir; but there never was. such a mis- 
 take as to think to do away with the wickedness of 
 hanging by making it private. In the first place, if 
 to see a hanging is no warning to the beholder, do 
 you think that to hear or read of a hanging would do 
 all the good of an example? Does what men see, or 
 what they hear, stir 'em the most? But let us suppose 
 that a man is to be hanged inside of Newgate. Why, 
 the penny-a-liners, that get their sops-in-the-pan out of 
 the condemned cell, — why, they would write all sorts 
 of pretty things, all kinds of interesting stories about 
 
344 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 the last minutes of the criminal, and so the curiosity 
 of the town would be more agog than ever. The 
 picture newspapers that publish the murderers' por- 
 traits — those family papers for the instruction and 
 amusement of the younger branches — would give 
 half-a-dozen pictures where they now give one. The 
 secrecy of the thing would give a flavor to the whole 
 matter. 
 
 And now, suppose that a rich man was to be 
 privately hanged ; a banker, we'll say, or, saving your 
 presence, even a member of Parliament. Well, we 
 know how unbelieving is man. There's thousands 
 of people who would never sleep quietly in their 
 beds, for the thought that the said banker or member 
 was never hanged at all ; — but was smuggled out 
 alive in a coffin, and shipped abroad. Every year or 
 so, there' d be a letter in the newspapers from some- 
 body who had seen the banker somewhere in the 
 Back-woods, where he had married one of the Chac- 
 taws, and got a family of ten children. No, Mr. 
 Milnes, private hanging won't do ; the people arn't to 
 be cheated out of their pleasure after that fashion. 
 
 Besides, Mr. Milnes, all hanging's a bungle. The 
 gallows is condemned, marked to come down ; tim- 
 ber by timber it's loosening, and it's no use trying to 
 keep it together with small corking-pins. No, Mr. 
 Milnes, it will better become you, be more like your 
 kind, good-natured self, to give a pull at the planks, 
 to bring the whole machine to the ground, to make 
 it a thing of the past, like the bonfires that burnt 
 witches, — and for the hangman thrown out of work, 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 345 
 
 why, small retiring allowances have been given to 
 worse public servants. 
 
 Hoping, sir, that you'll excuse my boldness, 
 I remain your obedient servant, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
 P. S. You know my number, sir, and I'm always 
 in Palace Yard. 
 
 Letter XIV. 
 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother: September's so near we 
 can almost put our hand upon it, and yet I'm in Lon- 
 don. It's a dreadful confession of poverty, but I can't 
 help it. If I'm not ashamed to be seen on my stand, 
 I'm not a licensed cabman. The only comfort is, 
 everybody that stays in town must be as poor as my- 
 self; and that, according to some folks' notions, is a 
 blessing to think of. A purse that was dropped on the 
 pavement of Regent Street lay there a week, and was 
 at last picked up by a policeman. London never 
 looked so poor and dull ; for all the world like a fine 
 lady in an undress gown, with all her paint wiped 
 off. The opera is shut up, and the manager has had 
 a silver bed-candlestick given him by lords and dukes, 
 because he has been so full of public spirit as to 
 make his own fortune. By the way, grandmother, I 
 don't know how it is with the player folks in New 
 York ; but here with us, if a man or woman want a 
 
346 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 bit of plate, they've only to take a theatre. A play- 
 house is a short cut to a silversmith's. There isn't a 
 London manager who isn't plated after this fashion, 
 which shows there is no place for true gratitude like 
 the green-room. But I ask your pardon for talking 
 of such matters : knowing what a low place you 
 think the theatres. 
 
 Parliament, like a goose that has been set upon too 
 many eggs, has risen with half of 'em come to noth- 
 ing. But this, grandmother, is the old trick. When 
 the Parliament first opens, and ministers come down 
 with new law after law, — why, what busy, bustling 
 folks they seem ! What a look of business it gives to 
 the whole thing ! But half of 'em is only for show ; 
 just so many dummies to take in w T hat shopkeepers 
 call " an enlightened public." You know the bottles 
 of red and blue that they have in apothecaries' shops. 
 Well, half the folks think 'em physic, when they're 
 nothing in the world but colored water. Sir James 
 Graham's Medical Bill was just one of these things ; 
 nothing real in it ; but something made up for show ; 
 just to give a coloring to business. Talking of Par- 
 liament, a dreadful accident happened at the proro- 
 gation. 
 
 You know it's the privilege of the Duke of Argyll 
 to bear the royal crown before the Queen. Certain 
 noble folks come into the world with certain privi- 
 leges of the kind. One has a right to stir the royal 
 tea-cup on the day of the coronation — another to put 
 on the Queen's pattens whenever she shall walk in 
 the city — another to present the monarch with a pint 
 of periwinkles when he shall visit Billingsgate; and 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 347 
 
 so forth : all customs of the good old times, when 
 people thought kings and queens were angels in 
 disguise who had kindly left heaven just to give poor 
 mortals here a lift — in fact, to make the world en- 
 durable. Well, the Duke of Argyll, walking back- 
 wards with the crown — going straightfor wards not 
 being at all the thing in the court — fell, poor old 
 gentleman, down some steps — and, falling, dropped 
 the crown I Phevvgh ! There was a shower of pearls 
 and diamonds ; for all the precious stones came rat- 
 tling on the floor, just as if the queen, like the little 
 girl in the fairy story, had been talking jewels. There 
 were thoughts, fra told, of calling in the police to 
 keep off the mob of peers ; but altogether they be- 
 haved themselves very well, and not a precious stone 
 was found missing. The accident, however, caused 
 a great fuss ; and I'm told that in order to prevent its 
 happening again, Madame Tussaud has offered to 
 make a Duke of Argyll in wax, that, fitted up with 
 proper w 7 heels and springs, may be made to go back- 
 wards, with no fear of a tumble. Should the thing 
 succeed — and I don't see why it shouldn't — it would 
 be a great saving in the way of salaries to the country, 
 if a good many other court officers were manufactured 
 after the like fashion. They would work quite as 
 regularly, and look just as well. 
 
 I'd almost forgotten to say that the king of the 
 Dutch has been on a visit to us — and, as I've heard, 
 a very decent sort of king he is. Of course he played 
 whilst here at a little bit of soldiering — guards and 
 grenadiers were turned out in the Hyde Park, that he 
 might review their helmets and bear-skin caps. Isn't 
 
34§ THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 it odd, grandmother, that the first show kings and 
 princes, when they come to us, want to stare at, is a 
 show of soldiers? Just to see how nicely men are 
 armed and mounted to kill men ? They don't mean 
 any harm by it, of course ; but still — I can't help 
 thinking it — it does appear to me, if Beelzebub was 
 to go into a strange country — if, indeed, there is any 
 country he's not yet visited — the sight he'd first like 
 to see would be the sight of men taught the best way 
 of cutting men's throats. And then (if he came here 
 to London) he'd go down to Woolwich Marshes to 
 see what they call rocket-practice. And, wouldn't 
 he rub his hands, and switch about his tail, to see 
 how rocket and shells split, break, tear away every- 
 thing before 'em, showing what pretty work they'd 
 make of a solid square of living flesh, standing for so 
 many pence a day to be made a target of ? You'd 
 think it would be some wicked spirit that would en- 
 joy this fun ; but no, grandmother, it isn't so ; quite 
 the contrary ; it's, kings and princes. And yet I 
 should like to have some king come over here who 
 wouldn't care to go a soldiering in Hyde Park ; 
 who wouldn't think of rocket-practice ; but who, on 
 the contrary, would go about to our schools, and 
 our hospitals, and our asylums, and all places where 
 man does what he can to help man — to assist and 
 comfort him like a fellow-creature, and not to tear 
 him limb from limb like a devil ! 
 
 Our Queen has gone to Germany to see where 
 Prince Albert was born. Well, there's something 
 pretty and wife-like in the thought of this, and I like it. 
 There was a dreadful fear among some of the nobs in 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 349 
 
 Parliament, that while the Queen was away, the 
 kingdom would drop to pieces. But it isn't so : the 
 tax-gatherer calls just the same as ever. The Queen 
 took ship, and landed at Antwerp, — at the Quai 
 Vandyke. Now, Vandyke, you must know, was a 
 famous painter ; and abroad, they've a fashion of 
 naming streets and places after folks that's called 
 geniuses. We haven't come to that yet. Only think 
 of our having a Hogarth Square, or a Shakespeare in- 
 stead of a Waterloo Bridge ! And then for statues 
 in the streets, we don't give them to authors and 
 painters, but only to kings and dukes that don't pay 
 their debts. 
 
 Still, I do feel for her gracious majesty. Dear 
 soul ! Isn't it dreadful that a gentlewoman can't step 
 abroad — can't take boat, but what there's a hundred 
 guns blazing, firing away at her, — as if the noise of 
 cannons and the smell of gunpowder was like the 
 songs of nightingales and the scent of roses ! How 
 royalty keeps its hearing, I can't tell. When the dear 
 lady got upon the Rhine, there were the guns blazing 
 away as though heaven and earth were come together ! 
 
 It's odd enough that people will think a great noise 
 is a great respect ; and that the heartiest welcome 
 can only be given by gunpowder. It seems that the 
 folks were putting up a statue to a musician, named 
 Beethoven, and the Queen of England and the Prince 
 w 7 ere just in time to pay their respects to the bronze. 
 Mr. Beethoven while alive was nobody ; but it's odd 
 how a man's worth is raked up from his coffin ! And 
 so, it's a great comfort to great men who, when in 
 this world, are thought very small indeed, to think 
 
350 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 bow big they'll be upon earth, after they've gone to 
 heaven — a comfort for 'em, when they may happen 
 to want a coat, to think of the suit of bronze or marble 
 that kings and queens will afterwards give 'em. If, 
 now, there's any English composer — any man with 
 a mind in him, forced for want of better employment 
 to give young ladies lessons on the piano, — when he 
 should be doing sonatas and sinfonias and that sort 
 of thing, — why, I say, it must be a comfort for him 
 to know that folks can honor genius when it's put up 
 by the way of statue in the market-place. 
 
 One of the prettiest stories I've heard of the jaunt 
 is this, — that the Queen and Albert went in a quiet 
 way to visit the Prince's old schoolmaster. If this 
 isn't enough to make all schoolmasters in England 
 hold their heads up half-a-yard higher! Besides, 
 it mayn't show a bad example to high folks who 
 keep tutors and governesses. 
 
 All together the Queen must be pleased with her 
 trip, and I should think not the less pleased where the 
 folks made the least noise ; although, from what I read 
 in one of the papers, everybody doesn't think so ; for 
 the writer complains that there was " no shouting 
 or noise, but only that eternal bowing which so 
 strikes a traveller, and which would make one believe 
 that beings across the Channel were formed with some 
 natural affinity between their right hands and their 
 hats." Really, to my mind there's something more 
 pleasing, more rational like, in one human creature 
 quietly bowing to another, than in shouting and halloo- 
 ing at him like a wild Indian. But, then, people do 
 so like noise ! 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 35 1 
 
 You'll be sorry to hear, grandmother, that your 
 pets, the bishops, are again in trouble. I'm sure of 
 it, bishops were never intended to have anything to 
 do with money : they always tumble into such mis- 
 takes, whenever they touch it ! How is it to be ex- 
 pected that they should know the mystery of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence, — they who can't abide earthly 
 vanities — they who are always above this world, 
 though they never go up, as I hear, with Mr. Green 
 in his balloon? Well, it seems that the bishops have 
 had a mint of money put into their hands, that they 
 may build new churches for their fellow-sinners, 
 whom they call spiritually destitute. Well, would 
 you think it? — in a moment of strange forgetfulness, 
 they've laid out so much money upon palaces for 
 themselves, that they can't build the proper number 
 of churches for the poor? The bishops have taken 
 care of the bishops, — and for the spiritually desti- 
 tute, why, they may worship in highways and by- 
 ways, in fields and in commons. Of course the 
 bishops never meant this. No : it has all come about 
 from their knowing nothing of the value of money. 
 Still, what's called the lower orders won't believe 
 this. And isn't it a shocking thing to consider that 
 the poor man may look at Bishop So-and-so with a 
 grudge in his eye, saying to himself, u Yes, you've 
 built yourself a fine house — you've got your fine cedars 
 and all that King Solomon talks about in your own 
 palace — but where's my sittings in church — where, 
 bishop, is my bench in the middle aisle?" 
 
 This is so dreadful to think of, that I can't write 
 any further upon it ; and so no more from your affec- 
 tionate grandson, Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
352 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 Letter XV. 
 
 To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
 
 Dear Grandmother : As I don't think you have 
 any liking for railways, — being like Colonel Sib- 
 thorp, one of those folks loving the good old times, 
 when travelling was as sober a thing as a wagon and 
 four horses could make it, — I really don't see how 
 I'm to write you anything of a letter. There's no- 
 body in town, and nothing in the papers but plans 
 of railways, that in a little time will cover all Eng- 
 land like a large spider's net ; and, as in the net, 
 there will be a good many flies caught and gobbled 
 up by those who spin it. Nevertheless, — though I 
 know you don't agree with me any more than Colonel 
 Sibthorp does, — it is a fine sight to open the news- 
 papers, and see the railway schemes. What moun- 
 tains of money they bring to the mind ! And then 
 for the wonders they're big with, why, properly 
 considered, arn't they a thousand times more wonder- 
 ful than anything in the u Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
 ments ? " Then we have flying carriages to be brought 
 to every man's door ! All England made to shake 
 hands with itself in a few hours ! And when London 
 can, in an hour or so, go to the Land's End for a 
 gulp of sea-air, and the Land's End in the same time 
 come to see the shows of London, — shan't all of us 
 the better understand one another? shan't we all be 
 brought together, and made, as we ought to be, one 
 family of? It's coming fast, grandmother. Now 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 353 
 
 P'gs can travel, I don't know how far, at a halfpenny 
 a head, we don't hear the talk that used to be of " the 
 swinish multitude." And isn't it a fine thin- — I 
 know you don't think so, but isn't it? — to know that 
 all that's been done, and all that's to do will be done, 
 because Englishmen have left off cutting other men's 
 throats? That peace has done it all? If they oughtn't 
 to set up a dove with an olive branch at every railway 
 terminus, I'm an impostor, and no true cabman. 
 
 Yes, grandmother, peace has done it all ! Only 
 think of the iron that had been melted into cannon, 
 and round shot, and chain shot, and all the other sorts 
 of shot— that the devils on a holiday play at bowls 
 with !— if the war had gone on, — all the very same 
 iron that's now peaceably laid upon sleepers ! Think 
 of the iron that had been fired into the sea, and banged 
 through quiet people's houses, and sent mashln- 
 squares and squares of men — God's likenesses in red" 
 blue, and green coats, hired to be killed at so many 
 pence a day — only think what would have been this 
 wicked, I will say it, this blasphemous waste of metal, 
 — that, as it is, has been made into steam-engines. 
 Very fine, indeed, they say, is the roar of artillery j 
 but what is it to the roar of steam ? I never see an 
 engine, with its red-hot coals and its clouds of steam 
 and smoke, that it doesn't seem to me like a tremen- 
 dous dragon that has been tamed by man to carry all 
 the blessings of civilization to his fellow-creatures. 
 I've read about knights going through the skies on 
 fiery monsters — but what are they to the engineers, 
 at two pound five a week? What is any squire 
 among 'em all to the humblest stoker? And then 
 2 3 
 
354 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 I've read about martial trumpets — why, they haven't, 
 to my ears, half the silver in their sound as the rail- 
 way whistle ! 
 
 Well, I should like the ghost of Bonaparte to get 
 up some morning, and take the Times in his thin 
 hands. If he wouldn't turn yellower than ever he 
 was at St. Helena ! There he'd see plans for rail- 
 ways in France — belly France, as I believe they call 
 it — to be carried out by Frenchmen and Englishmen. 
 Yes ; he wouldn't see 'em mixing bayonets, trying to 
 poke 'em in one another's bowels, that a few tons of 
 blood might, as they call it, water his laurels — (how 
 any man can wear laurels at all, I can't tell, they 
 must smell so of the slaughter-house !) — he wouldn't 
 see 'em charging one another on the battle-field, but 
 quietly ranged, cheek by jowl, in the list of directors ! 
 Not exchanging bullets, but clubbing together their 
 
 hard cash. 
 
 Consider it, grandmother, isn't it droll ? Here, in 
 these very lists, you see English Captains and Colo- 
 nels in company with French Viscounts and Barons, 
 and I don't know what, planning to lay iron down in 
 France — to civilize and add to the prosperity of 
 Frenchmen ! The very Captains and Colonels who, 
 but for the peace, would be blowing French ships 
 out of the water, — knocking down French houses, — 
 and all the while swearing it, and believing it too, 
 that Frenchmen were only sent into this world to be 
 killed by Englishmen, just as boys think frogs were 
 spawned only to be pelted at ! O, only give her time, 
 and Peace — timid dove as she is — will coo down 
 the trumpet. 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 355 
 
 Now, grandmother, only do think of Lord Nelson 
 as a railway director, on the Boulogne line to Paris ! 
 Well, I know you'll say it — the world's going to be 
 turned upside down. Perhaps it is : and after all, it 
 mightn't be the worse now and then for a little whole- 
 some shaking. They do say there's to be a rail from 
 Waterloo to Brussels, and the Duke of Wellington — 
 the iron duke, with, I've no doubt, iron enough in 
 him for the whole line — is to be chairman of the 
 Directors. 
 
 The Prince Joinville is now and then looking about 
 our coasts to find out, it is said, which is the softest 
 part of us, in the case of a war, to put his foot upon 
 us. Poor fellow ! he's got the disease of glory ; only 
 — as it sometimes happens with the small-pox — it 
 has struck inwards ; it can't come out upon him. 
 When we've railwa) 7 s laid down, as I say, like a 
 spider's web all over the country, won't it be a little 
 hard to catch us asleep? For you see, just like the 
 spider's web, the electric telegraph (inquire what sort 
 of a thing it is, for I haven't time to tell you), the 
 electric telegraph will touch a line of the web, when 
 down will come a tremendous spider in a red coat 
 with all sorts of murder after him ! Mind, grand- 
 mother, let us hope this never may happen ; but when 
 folks who'd molest us, know it can come about, won't 
 they let us alone? Depend upon it, we're binding 
 war over to keep the peace, and the bonds are made 
 of railway iron ! 
 
 You'd hardly think it — you who used to talk to me 
 about the beauty of glory (I know you meant nothing 
 but the red coats and the fine epaulets; for that 
 
356 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 
 
 so often is women's notion of glory, though, bless 
 'em, they're among the first to make lint, and cry over 
 the sons of glory, with gashes spoiling all their fine 
 feathers) — you'd hardly think it, but they're going to 
 put up a statue to the man who first made boiling 
 water to run upon a rail. It's quite true ; I read it 
 only a day or two ago. They're going to fix up a 
 statue to George Stephenson, in Newcastle. How 
 you will cast up your dear old eyes when you hear 
 of this! You, who've only thought that statues 
 should be put up to Queen Anne, and George the 
 Third, and his nice son, George the Fourth, and 
 such people ! I should only like a good many of the • 
 statues here in London, to be made to take a cheap 
 train down to Newcastle, to see it. If, dirty as they 
 are — and dirty as they were — they wouldn't blush 
 as red as a new copper halfpenny, why, those statues 
 — especially when they've queens and kings in 'em — 
 are the most unfeelingest of metal ! What a lot of 
 mangled bodies, and misery, and housebreaking, and 
 wickedness of all sorts, carried on and made quite 
 lawful by a uniform, — may we see — if we choose 
 to see at all — about the statue of what is called a 
 Conqueror ! What firing of houses, what shame, — 
 that because you're a woman, I won't more particu- 
 larly write about, — we might look upon under the 
 statue, that is only so high because it has so much 
 wickedness to stand upon ! If the statue could feel at 
 all, wouldn't it put up its hands and hide its face, 
 although it was made of the best bronze ! But Mr. 
 Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him 
 — he will know that he has carried comfort, and 
 
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 357 
 
 knowledge, and happiness to the doors of millions ! 
 — that he has brought men together that they might 
 know and love one another. This is something like 
 having a statue ! I'm sure of it — when George the 
 Fourth is made to hear the news — (for kings are so 
 very long before the truth comes to 'em) — he'd like 
 to gallop off to the first melter's, and go at once into 
 the nothing that men think him. 
 
 And besides all this, the railways have got a king ! 
 When you hear of a king in England, I know your 
 old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey, — and 
 you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all 
 that sort of thing, kissing the king's cheeks, — and 
 the holy oil put upon the royal head, that the crown, 
 I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it, — 
 but this is another sort of king. Mr. King Hudson 
 the First ! I have read it somewhere at a bookstall, 
 that Napoleon was crowned with the Iron Crown of 
 Italy. Well, King Hudson has been crowned with 
 the Iron Crown of England ! A crown melted out 
 of pig-iron, and made in a railway furnace. 
 
 I've somewhere seen the picture of the River Nile; 
 that with the lifting of his finger made the river flow 
 over barren land, and leave there all sorts of blessings. 
 Well, King Hudson is of this sort ; — he has made 
 the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so 
 bring forth good fruits wherever it went. 
 
 So no more from your affectionate grandson, 
 
 Juniper Hedgehog. 
 
Illustration to 
 
 AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD. 
 
NEW PUBLICATIONS OF LEE <&* SHE PA ED. 
 
 Sophie May's New Books. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES. By Sophie May. 
 To be completed in 6 volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., 75c. 
 
 1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. 
 
 2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 
 
 3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 
 
 4. LITTLE GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 " There are no more popular books than those written by Sophie May. 
 All the Sabbath schools indorse them, and all the good, kind parents buy 
 them for their children." 
 
 Prof. De Mille's Books. 
 
 THE YOUNG DODGE CLUB. By James De Mille. 
 To be completed in 6 volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., $1.50. 
 
 1. AMONG THE BRIGANDS. 
 
 2. THE SEVEN HILLS. 
 
 " Prof. De Mille is one of the most versatile writers for the young of 
 the day. His stories abound in fun, adventure, and information." 
 
 A Favorite Series. 
 
 THE B. 0. W. C. STORIES. By James De Mille. 
 6 volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., §1.50. 
 
 1. THE B. O. W. C. 
 
 2. THE BOYS OF GRAND PRE SCHOOL. 
 
 3. LOST IN THE FOG. 
 
 4. FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 5. PICKED UP ADRIFT. 
 
 6. THE TREASURE OF THE SEAS. 
 
 By a Pleasing "Writer. 
 
 DICK TRAVERS ABROAD. By Miss Adelaide F Sam- 
 uels. 4 volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., 50c. 
 
 1. PALM LAND. 
 
 2. THE LOST TAR. 
 
 3. ON THE WAVE. 
 
 4. LITTLE CRICKET. 
 
 By the author of il Dick and Daisy Series." 
 
Illustration to 
 THE LITTLE CANARY. 
 
NEW PUBLICATIONS OF LEE &> SHEPARD. 
 
 DICK AND DAISY SERIES. By Miss Adelaide F. Sam- 
 uels. 4 volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 50c. 
 
 1. ADRIFT IN THE WORLD. 
 
 2. FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 
 
 2. SAVED FROM THE STREET. 
 
 4. GRANDFATHER MILLY'S LUCK. 
 
 By the author of " Dick Travers Abroad." 
 
 11 Four Charming Canaries." 
 
 LITTLE CANARY SERIES. By Mrs. M. A. Osgood. 
 4 volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., 75c. 
 
 1. LITTLE CANARY'S DAISY. 
 
 2. LITTLE CANARY. 
 
 3 LITTLE CANARY'S COUSIN EUGENE. 
 4. LITTLE CANARY'S BLACK CATO. 
 
 This set of juvenile stories are not only interesting to readers, but they 
 are particularly bright and attractive in appearance. 
 
 A New Volume just added. 
 
 THE CHARLEY ROBERTS SERIES. By Mrs. L. M. 
 
 Thurston. To be completed in 6 volumes. Illustrated. Per 
 vol., $1. 
 
 1. HOW CHARLEY ROBERTS BECAME A MAN. 
 
 2. HOW EVA ROBERTS GAINED HER EDUCATION. 
 
 3. CHARLEY AND EVA'S HOME IN THE WEST. 
 
 4. THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Charley and Eva Roberts have lots of young friends, who will be de- 
 lighted to learn that a new volume has just been added to their history. 
 
NEW AND ATTRACTIVE PUBLICATIONS 
 
 OP 
 
 LEE & SHEPAKD, 
 
 PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 LEE, SHEPAED & DILLDTGHAM, New York. 
 
 "A Grand Success." 
 
 THE AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD. By Miss Adeline 
 Trafton. Illustrated. $1.75. 
 
 " A bright, merry-hearted girl, * off on a good time,' and she and her 
 readers are decidedly of the opinion that the journey was a great success." 
 — Liberal Christian, 
 
 "A delightful Book, original and enjoyable." 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. By Sophie May. Illus- 
 trated. 1.50. 
 
 "So lovable and so genuine that she takes one's heart by storm." — 
 New York Republican, 
 
 " A Book every Girl will be delighted with." 
 
 SALLY WILLIAMS, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL By Mrs. 
 
 Edna D. Cheney. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 11 Mrs. Cheney's stories have all the charm of romance, and better than 
 that, a power to do good by their wholesome unobtrusive teachings." 
 
 ** Another of the Girlhood Series." 
 
 ONLY GIRLS. By Miss Virginia F. Townsend, Author of 
 "Deering Farm," " Daryli's Gap," &c. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 Miss Townsend r - charming writer, and this one of her very best 
 productions. 
 
Lee &> Sliepard^s Recent Publications. 
 
 NEW JUVENILE BOOKS. 
 
 THE DICK AND DAISY SERIES. By Miss Adelaide 
 F. Samuels. Four vols. Illustrated. Per vol., 50 cts. 
 
 "A very pretty box of small books for the juveniles. There are four vol- 
 umes, of a hundred pages each. We have first the Early Days of Dick and 
 Daisy, 'Adrift in the World ;' their City Life, 'Fighting the Battle ; ' their 
 Proteges, ' Saved from the Street;' and their Reward, or 'Grandfather Mil- 
 ly's Luck.' This is a charming collection, written by Miss Adelaide F. Sam- 
 uels, of whom, judging from these volumes, the world will hear more here- 
 after." — A merican Baptist. 
 
 SINGULAR CREATURES; Being Studies and Stories from 
 the Domestic Zoology of our Parish. By Mrs. George 
 Cupples, author of " Driven to Sea," &c. i6mo. Illus- 
 trated. Cloth. $1.50. 
 
 The London papers thus speak of the authoress : — 
 
 " Of the miscellaneous articles, none are more charming than those by Mrs. 
 Geo. Cupples. . . . Her stories are for all readers, whether few or many 
 years old." — London Times {The Thunderer). 
 
 " Mrs. Geo. Cupples, who is already very favorably known as the writer of 
 any number of capital stories for juveniles, has succeeded in this instance in 
 producing a charming story." — Scotsman. 
 
 "We shall be mistaken if these well-written stories do not commend them- 
 selves to the good judgments of our readers." — New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 "Very interesting, and will afford many hours of amusement." — Observer. 
 
 "Very charming and attractive." — London Record. 
 
 " Nicely and freshly written, perfectly healthy in tone, and remarkable for 
 a pleasant flow of human kindness." — London Illustrated News. 
 
 THE AMERICAN HOME BOOK of Indoor Games, Amuse- 
 ments, and Occupations. By Mrs. Caroline L. Smith 
 (Aunt Carrie). i6mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 
 
 " In compiling this ' American Home Book,' the author has admirably suc- 
 ceeded in mingling both work and play, and such amusements have been 
 selected, together with directions for useful and ornamental work, as can be 
 recommended to our young readers. Among its contents are : Amusements 
 for little boys and girls, musical and other games for little children, games of 
 memory, games for old and young, new games, material magic, head work, 
 answers to head work, amusements for Christmas holidays, Christmas, ven- 
 triloquism, gardening, flowers, house and home arts, the toilet, home reading, 
 the sick room, directions for making bread, yeast, &c. " — Eagle, Pittsjield. 
 
Illustration to 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
Lee 6° SheftarcTs Recent Publications. 
 
 WORTHY PARTICULAR ATTENTION. 
 
 PENS AND TYPES. Hints and Helps to all who Write, 
 Print, or Read. By Benjamin Drew. i6mo. Cloth. 
 $1.50. 
 
 "'Pens and Types' is the title of a little book by Benjamin Drew, con- 
 taining such hints and guides for people who write for the press, and printers, 
 as long experience in the work of proof readmg has taught him to be essen- 
 tial. There are two classes of people who never properly prepare their man- 
 uscript for publication — those who do not know how to do it, and those who 
 do not care whether they do it or not. The former may be benefited by these 
 hints ; the latter are incorrigible. " — Boston A dvertiser. 
 
 BEHIND THE BARS. nmo. Cloth. $2.00. 
 
 "We have read it with no little interest. It treats of a class of persons 
 who, incapable of judging for themselves, should be the more carefully and 
 tenderly looked after by their relatives, friends, and the State ; and should not 
 be confided to institutions, without continuous scrutiny and attention. We 
 have heard of some sad delinquency on the part of those to whose care such 
 sufferers have been committed." — Methodist Protestant. 
 
 " Many works upon the treatment proper for insane patients have been pub- 
 lished ; but never, we believe, until now, has one been produced so well cal- 
 culated by its details to promote the essential benefit of those whose state so 
 strongly appeals to the liveliest sympathies of mankind." 
 
 ART ; Its Laws and the Reasons for Them. Collected, con- 
 densed, and arranged for General and Educational Pur- 
 poses. By Samuel P. Long, Counsellor at Law, Student 
 of the English Royal Academy, and Pupil of the late 
 Gilbert Stuart Newton, R. A. i2mo. Cloth. With 
 Steel Engravings and Wood-Cuts. $3.00. 
 
 Hon. George B. Emerson, in a note to the author, says: — 
 
 " I believe that any person who shall carefully read it would so understand 
 the principles, and have his eyes opened to the beauties of art, that he would 
 never look upon a picture, a statue, or a noble building, without more interest 
 and a higher power of appreciating and enjoying it." 
 
 TILESTON'S HAND-BOOK OF THE ADMINISTRA- 
 TIONS OF THE UNITED STATES. i6mo. Flexible. 
 With Photographs of the Presidents from Washington 
 to Grant. $1.50. Large paper copies (limited), $2.50. 
 
 " From this excellent beuinning to the conclusion, the book is replete with 
 the most interesting information. Each Administration receives its fair share 
 of outline. When there have been messages or proclamations of importance, 
 they are given either fully or in well-chosen extracts. Especial attention has 
 been given to Mr. Lincoln, and indeed, an epitome of the war is thus pre- 
 sented. Besides a historv in brief of each President and his policy, we find 
 lists of the different Cabinets, and an analysis of contemporaneous history. 
 The style is clear and concise ; and the book forms an entertaining and useftn 
 manual. If the reader could remember its contents, he would be well in* 
 formed as to the entire history of this country. " — Philadelphia Age. 
 
Some of the most delightful papers by Leigh Hunt 
 which we have ever read. — Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 VNIFOBM WITH FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 THE 
 
 WISHING-CAP 
 PAPERS. 
 
 By LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 Now First Collected by J. E. IBAJBSOJST. 
 
 i 6?no. Cloth. 455 PP- $i-5o. 
 
 From Old and New. 
 
 The light, lively, and graceful papers which Mr. Babson has gathered into 
 this pretty volume are very agreeable reading. . . . It is unnecessary, at 
 this time, to inform people that Mr. Leigh Hunt was a " chatty " and entertaining 
 writer. What will surprise the reader is, that these papers should for so many 
 years (some of them are dated in 1824) have escaped collection. They are as 
 well worthy to be printed together as any other of Mr. Hunt's essays, or as 
 Lamb's essays. They are, therefore, a real addition to our stock of readable 
 books. 
 
 From E. P. Whipple, in Boston Daily Globe. 
 
 The volume is a charming one, thoroughly impregnated with the qualities and 
 peculiarities of Leigh Hunt's mind, and characterized by all the lounging felicities 
 and audacities of his style. It contains over thirty of his essays hitherto uncol- 
 lected. In them he chats and gossips at his own free will, bringing in all his 
 friends without the slightest affectation of reserve, and often reminding us of the 
 frank conversation at a literary dinner-table, when no reporters are present. 
 
The Wishing- Cap Papers. 
 
 From the Independent. 
 
 The " Wishing-Cap Papers," Leigh Hunt's newly collected volume, is as 
 agreeable reading as we have found for many a day, and the essays of which it 
 is made up seem to have gained a delicate aroma, like some rare wine, during 
 the many years in which they have lain hid. Hunt had many of those qualities 
 of soul and style which so endear Lamb to us ; and on men and things under 
 St. Paul's he could talk quite as well. These essays seem to us more witty 
 than those in his older books, and the fun in some of them is exquisite. . . . 
 To quote the good things in the book would be to reproduce its greater part. 
 
 From Chas. D. Warner, in the Hartford Courant. 
 
 One of the pleasantest volumes that has been made up in a long time is 
 Leigh Hunt's "Wishing-Cap Papers," now first collected from the various peri- 
 odicals through which the author scattered them. The editor, Mr. J. E. Bab- 
 son, who has performed this service, has illuminated the book with notes and 
 references, and judicious editing, which add greatly to the pleasure of perusal. 
 The readers of Boston newspapers are much indebted to his graceful and ex- 
 tensive literary scholarship, and he may be fairly said to have linked his own 
 name with those genial essayists and wits, Lamb, Hunt, Hazlitt, and their 
 contemporaries. 
 
 This volume might well be carefully read by any American who is about to 
 visit London. Leigh Hunt walks about the streets, peers into the courts, spies 
 out the notable old houses, the habitations once of the men celebrated in litera- 
 ture, on the stage, in society and politics, and throws a charm over the most 
 commonplace looking thoroughfare. These essays have all the airy grace — 
 the easiness to be read — of the author's other essays, but they have also the 
 freshness of first studies, which is apt to be lost in working over. 
 
 One of the most delightful and sparkling of these essays is one on George 
 Selwyn and his Contemporaries. It is only a review, to be sure, but Hunt 
 touches everything with inimitable lightness and freedom, and is a very beguiling 
 writer, whatever his theme is. 
 
 From the New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 . . . These papers are marked by the best characteristics of their author. 
 They abound in quiet humor, clear analysis, calm criticism, and are written with 
 every facility of expression. We are taken among books and men, and sum- 
 moned to learn of nature and art, Altogether it is a most fascinating book, 
 and one to fill up many a leisure hour. 
 
The Wishing-Cap Papers, 
 
 From the Golden Age. 
 
 Lovers of the best reading will be grateful to Mr. J. E. Babson for collecting 
 and editing, in his superb way, the "Wishing-Cap Papers" of Leigh Hunt. 
 These essays have been drawn from their hiding-places, in forgotten numbers 
 of a dozen English periodicals, and republished together for the first time. 
 They are on a great variety of subjects, but a delicate, kindly humor and pro- 
 found!}'' humane sentiment makes them all akin to each other. Leigh Hunt was 
 neither brilliant nor profound, a great scholar nor a popular author. He never 
 made a sensation. But he was a thoroughly genuine man, thoughtful, sympa- 
 thetic, and so overflowing with sentiment that it sometimes breaks into senti- 
 mentalism. His fancy is nimble and playful, and all that he has written is aglow 
 with a sweet and tender humor — a humor diffusive and contagious as the 
 smiles that brighten the best of faces, and warm as the June sunshine. He 
 never makes the reader laugh, but keeps all the muscles of the mind relaxed, 
 all its joints lubricated, and all its faculties in a state of pleased expectancy. 
 There is nothing in his pages so electric as wit ; but the graceful and charming 
 play of his delicate, many colored-humor, like the flickering flashes of pink, and 
 purple, and orange-colored light in the northern sky on an October evening, 
 makes us only too glad to dispense with flashes of lightning. His genius is more 
 delicate in its fibre, more finely cultured and subtile in its working, than that of 
 our modern essayists of the humorous school, whose witticisms are of the ob- 
 trusive, explosive, India fire-cracker species. And it is peculiarly refreshing to 
 escape from authors who are constantly tickling the sides of the mind with jokes, 
 and resorting to all sorts of tricks to keep their readers upon a broad grin or in 
 a roar of laughter, to pages which are full of graceful allusions, and hints and 
 suggestions so naive that we should not suspect their meaning but for the 
 editor's explanation. The violet and anemone are far less conspicuous and 
 noticeable than the hollyhock and sunflower, but there are those who prefer 
 them, nevertheless. 
 
 From the Boston Journal. 
 
 One of the most delightful and entertaining books it has been our fortune to 
 read for a long time. Its tone is strong and healthy, and its sunny views of men 
 and manners, of books and nature, are enough to cheer the gloomiest hypo- 
 chondriac. It is difficult to conceive of a more agreeable book to read in the 
 home circle, or to make the companion of a journey. 
 
 From the Galaxy. 
 
 There is a great deal of pleasant reading in these papers, 
 
The Wis king- Cap Papers. 
 
 From the Harvard Advocate. 
 
 We advise every one who admires wit, pure English, and good essay- writing, 
 to procure a copy of these papers. 
 
 From the Morning Star. 
 
 Few books will yield such a welcome companionship as this, or people an 
 outward solitude with such a host of heart-friends. It seems singular that so 
 many charming and characteristic things should have so long drifted as waifs 
 about the world. 
 
 From the Watchman and Reflector. 
 
 It is a volume which will entertain and delight cultivated readers. 
 
 From To-Day. 
 
 Leigh Hunt is deservedly one of the most popular of essay-writers ; indeed, 
 we scarcely know of one who is entitled to a higher place in the regards of the 
 general reading public, unless it is Charles Lamb. 
 
 From the Congregationalist. 
 
 All the essays are of the same general style, though embracing wide diversity 
 of topic ; being characterized by a lively fancy, a delicate humor, a smooth dic- 
 tion, many quaint conceits, now and then a moral, and no little information 
 about men and things of the times in which he wrote. 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, 
 :b o ston. 
 
 LEE, SHEPARD, & DILLINGHAM, New York. 
 
 ?34 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: April 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111 
 

 *> ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 v 0o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ci* ^