FBONTISPIECE. See page 2/2. I h SKETCHES BY BOZ ILLUSTRATIVE OF EVERY-DAY LIFE AND EVERY-DAY PEOPLE. WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY, 1854. •H ie54 LONDON : BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. ^£ctA<^ CU4B i^m\, PREFACE. The whole of these Sketches were written and . published, one by one, when I was a very young man. They were collected and re-published while I was still a very young man; and sent into the world with all their imperfections (a good many) on their heads. They comprise my first attempts at authorship — with the exception of certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am conscious of their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, and bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience ; particularly in that section of the present volume which is comprised under the general head of Tales. But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently and favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it right either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here and there. London, October. 1850. CONTENTS. SEVEN SKETCHES FROM OUR PARISH. CHAPTER I. VXGV. THE BEADLE — THE PARISH-ENGINE THE SCHOOLMASTER . .1 CHAPTER II. THE CURATE — THE OLD LADY — THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN ... 4 CHAPTER III. THE FOUR SISTERS .8 CHAPTER IV. THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE . . . . . . . . 11 CHAPTER V. THE BROKER'S MAN 15 CHAPTER VI. THE LADIES' SOCIETIES 21 CHAPTER VII. OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR 24 X CONTENTS. SCENES. CHAPTER I. PA.QH THE STREETS MORNING . 29 CHAPTER II. THE STREETS NIGHT 32 CHAPTER III. SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS . . . . . . . 36 CHAPTER IV. SCOTLAND-YARD 39 CHAPTER V. SEVEN-DIALS ........... 42 CHAPTER V MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET ...... 45 CHAPTER VII. HACKNEY-COACH STANDS 49 CHAPTER VIII. doctors' commons ......... 52 CHAPTER IX LONDON RFCREATIONS . .55 CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER X. PAGE THE RIVER ... ...... i . 59 CHAPTER XI. astley's 63 CHAPTER XII. GREENWICH FAIR ......... 67 CHAPTER XIII. PRIVATE THEATRES 72 CHAPTER XIV. VAUXHALL-GARDENS BY DAY ....... 76 CHAPTER XV. EARLY COACHES 79 CHAPTER XVI. OMNIBUSES 83 CHAPTER XVII. THE LAST CAB-DRIVER, AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS-CAD . . . . 86 CHAPTER XVIII. A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH . . . . . . . .92 CHAPTER XIX. PUBLIC DINNERS 99 XU CONTENTS. CHAPTER XX. PAGE THE FIRST OF MAY . • 103 CHAPTER XXI. brokers' and marine-store shops 108 CHAPTER XXII. gin-shops Ill CHAPTER XXIII. the pawnbroker's shop 114 CHAPTER XXI V. CRIMINAL COURTS 119 CHAPTER XXV. A VISIT TO NEWGATE 122 CHARACTERS. CHAPTER I. THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE 131 CHAPTER II. A CHRISTMAS DINNER 134 CHAPTER III. THE NEW YEAR 137 CHAPTER IV. MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE ........ 140 CONTENTS. XUl CHAPTER V. PAGE THE PARLOUR ORATOR 143 CHAPTER VI. THE HOSPITAL PATIENT 146 CHAPTER VII. THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. JOHN DOUNCE .... 149" CHAPTER VIII. THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. A TALE OF AMBITION . . , . 153 CHAPTER IX. THE DANCING ACADEMY 157 CHAPTER X. SHABBY-GENTEEL PEOPLE ........ 161 CHAPTER XI. MAKING A NIGHT OF IT 164 CHAPTER XII. THE PRISONERS' VAN . 168 TALES. CHAPTER I. THE BOARDING-HOUSE • '. .170 CHAPTER II. MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 192 XIV CONTENTS. CHAPTER III. PAGE SENTIMENT 198 CHAPTER IV. THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE 205 CHAPTER V. HORATIO SPARKINS . . . 217 CHAPTER VI. THE BLACK VEIL 227 CHAPTER VII. THE STEAM EXCURSION ..... . . 234 CHAPTER VIII. THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL ........ 248 CHAPTER IX. MRS. JOSEPH PORTER ..... .... 259 CHAPTER X. A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. WATKINS TOTTLE . . . . 265 CHAPTER XI. THE BLOOMSBURY CHRISTENING ....... 287 CHAPTER XII. THE DRUNKARD'S DEATH .... .... 297 SKETCHES. SKETCHES BY BOZ. OUR PARISH. CHAPTER I. THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER. How much is conveyed in those two short words — " The'' Parish ! " And with how many tales of distress and misery, of broken fortune and ruined hopes, too often of unrelieved wretch- edness and successful knavery, are they associated ! A poor man, with small earnings, and a large family, just ma- nages to live on from hand to mouth, and to procure food from day to day ; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings of nature, and can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in arrear, quarter day passes by, another quarter day arrives : he can procure no more quarter for himself, and is summoned by — the parish. His goods are distrained, his children are crying with cold and hunger, and the very bed on which his sick wife is lying, is dragged from beneath her. What can he do ? To whom is he to apply for relief ? To private charity ? To benevolent individuals ? Certainly not — there is his parish. There are the parish vestry, the parish infirmary, the parish surgeon, the parish officers, the parish beadle. Excellent institu- tions, and gentle, kind-hearted men. The woman dies — she is buried by the parish. The children have no protector No. 173. ] — they are taken care of by the parish. The man first neglects, ana afterwards cannot obtain, work — he is relieved by the parish ; and when distress and drunkenness have done their work upon him, he is maintained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum. The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps the most, important member of the local administration. He is not so well off as the churchwardens, cer- tainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry-clerk, nor does he order things quite so much .his own way as either of them. But his power is very great, notwithstanding; and the dignity of his office is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to maintain it. The beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite delightful to hear him, as he explains the state of the existing poor laws to the deaf old women in the board-room-passage on business nights ; and to hear what he said to the senior churchwarden, and what the senior churchwarden said to him ; and what a we " (the beadle and the other gentlemen), came to the determination of doing. A miserable- looking woman is called into the board- room, and represents a case of extreme SKETCHES BY BOZ. destitution, affecting herself — a widow, with six small children. " Where do you live ? " inquires one of the over- seers. u I rente a two-pair back, gen- tlemen, at Mrs. Brown's, Number 3, Little King William's-alley, which has lived there this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard-working and indus- trious, and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the hos- pital" — " Well, well," interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the address, "I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to- morrow morning, to ascertain whether your story is correct ; and if so, I sup- pose you must have an order into the House — Simmons, go to this woman's the first thing to-morrow morning, will you ? " Simmons bows assent, and ushers the woman out. Her previous admiration of " the board " (who all sit behind great books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before her re- spect for her lace-trimmed conductor ; and her account of what has passed in- side, in creases — if that be possible — the marks of respect, shown by the assem- bled crowd, to that solemn functionary. As to taking out a summons, it 's quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, on behalf of the parish. He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart ; states the case without a single stam- mer : and it is even reported that on one occasion he ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor's head footman (who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate friend, con- fidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr. Hobler's. See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a large- headed staff for show in his left hand, 'and a small cane for use in his right. How pompously he marshals the chil- dren into their places ! and how de- murely the little urchins look at him askance as he surveys them when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye peculiar to beadles ! The churchwar- dens and overseers being duly installed in their curtained pews, he seats him- self on a mahogany bracket, erected expressly for him at the top of the aisle and divides his attention between his prayer-book and the boys. Sud- denly, just at the commencement of the communion service, when the whole congregation is hushed into a profound silence, broken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, a penny is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with astounding clearness. Ob- serve the generalship of the beadle. His involuntary look of horror is in- stantly changed into one of perfect indifference, as if he were the only person present who had not heard the noise. The artifice succeeds. After putting forth his right leg now and then, as a feeler, the victim who drop- ped the money ventures to make one or two distinct dives after it ; and the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little round head, when it again ap- pears above the seat, with divers double knocks, administered with the cane before noticed, to the intense de- light of three young men in an adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals until the conclusion of the sermon. Such are a few traits of the import- ance and gravity of a parish-beadle — a gravity which has never been dis- turbed in any case that has come under our observation, except when the ser- vices of that particularly useful ma- chine, a parish fire-engine, are required: then indeed all is bustle. Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their legs will carry them, and report from their own personal observation that some neighbouring chimney is on fire; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful supply of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with ropes, away they rattle over the pavement, the beadle, running — we do not exaggerate — running at the side, until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, at the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable gravity for half an hour. No attention being paid to these manual applications, and the turn-cock having turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst the shouts of the boys ; it pulls up once more at the workhouse, and the beadle " pulls up " the unfortunate householder next day, for the amount of his legal reward. THE SCHOOLMASTER. We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but once. It came up in gallant style — three miles and a half an hour, at least ; there was a capital supply of water, and it was first on the spot. Bang went the pumps — the people cheered— the beadle perspired profusely ; but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they were going to put the fire out, that nobody under- stood the process by which the engine was filled with water; and that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted them- selves in pumping for twenty minutes, without producing the slightest effect ! The personages next in importance to the beadle, are the master of the workhouse and the parish schoolmas- ter. The vestry-clerk, as everybody knows, is a short, pudgy little man, in black, with a thick gold watch-chain of considerable length, terminating in two large seals and a key. He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle ; at no time more so, than when he is hur- rying to some parochial meeting, with his gloves crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under the other arm. As to the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude them altogether, because ail we know of them is, that they are usually respectable trades- men, who wear hats with brims inclined to flatness, and who occasionally testify in gilt letters on a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of the church, to the important fact of a gallery having been enlarged and beautified, or an organ rebuilt. The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish — nor is he usually in any other — one of that class of men the better part of whose existence has passed away, and who drag out the remainder in some inferior situation, with just enough thought of the past, to feel degraded by, and discontented with, the present. We are unable to guess precisely to our own satisfaction what station the man can have occu- pied before ; we should think he had been an inferior sort of attorney's clerk, or else the master of a national school — whatever he was, it is clear his present position is a change for the better. His income is small certainly, as the rusty black coat and threadbare velvet collar demonstrate : but then he lives free of house-rent, has a limited allowance of coals and candles, and an almost unlimited allowance'of authority in his petty kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man ; always wears shoes and black cotton stockings with his surtout ; and eyes you, as you pass his parlour window, as if he wished you were a pauper, just to give you a spe- cimen of his power. He is an admirable specimen of a small tyrant : morose, brutish, and ill-tempered ; bullying to his inferiors, cringing to his superiors, and jealous of the influence and autho- rity of the beadle. Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this amiable official. He has been one of those men one occasionally hears of, on whom misfortune seems to have set her mark ; nothing he ever did, or was concerned in, appears to have prospered. A rich old rela- tion who had brought him up, and openly announced his intention of pro- viding for him, left him 10,000£. in his will, and revoked the bequest in a codicil. Thus unexpectedly reduced to the necessity of providing for him- self, he procured a situation in a public office. The young clerks below him, died off as if there were a plague among them ; but the old fellows over his head, for the reversion of whose places he was anxiously waiting, lived on and on, as if they were im- mortal. He speculated and lost. He speculated again, and won — but never got his money. His talents were great ; his disposition, easy, generous and liberal. His friends profited by the one, and abused the other. Loss ' succeeded loss ; misfortune crowded on misfortune ; each successive day brought him nearer the verge of hopeless penury, and the quondam friends who had been warmest in their professions, grew straugely cold and indifferent. He had children whom he loved, and a wife on whom he doted. The former turned their backs on him ; the latter died broken-hearted. He went with the stream — it had ever b2 SKETCHES BY BOZ. been his failing, and he had not courage sufficient to bear up against so many shocks — he had never cared for him- self, and the only being who had eared for him, in his poverty and distress, was spared to him no longer. It was at this period that he applied for parochial relief. Some kind-hearted man who had known him in happier times, chanced to be churchwarden that year, and through his interest he was appointed to his present situation. He is an old man now. Of the many who once crowded round him in all the hollow friendship of boon- companionship, some have died, some have fallen like himself, some have prospered — all have forgotten him. Time and misfortune have mercifully been permitted to impair his memory, and use has habituated him to his present condition. Meek, uncomplain- ing, and zealous in the discharge of his duties, he has been allowed to hold his situation long beyond the usual period ; and he will no doubt continue to hold it, until infirmity renders him. incapable, or death releases him. As the grey-headed old man feebly paces up and down the sunny side of the little court-yard between school hours, it would be difficult, indeed, for the most intimate of his former friends to recognise their once gay and happy associate, in the person of the Pauper Schoolmaster. CHAPTER II. THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN. We commenced our last chapter with the beadle of our parish, because we are deeply sensible of the importance and dignity of his office. We will begin the present, with the clergyman. Our curate is a young gentleman of such prepossessing appearance, and fascinating manners, that within one month after his first appearance in the parish, half the young-lady inha- bitants were melancholy with religion, and the other half, desponding with love. Never were so many young ladies seen in our parish-church on Sunday before ; and never had the little round angels' faces on Mr. Tom- kins's monument in the side aisle, beheld such devotion on earth as they all exhibited. He was about five-and- twenty when he first came to astonish the parishioners. He parted his hair on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth finger of his left hand (which he always applied to his left cheek when he read prayers), and had a deep sepulchral voice of unusual solemnity. Innumerable were the calls made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and innumerable the invitations with which he was assailed, and which, to do him justice, he readily accepted. If his manner in the pulpit had created an impression in his favour, the sensation was in- creased tenfold, by his appearance in private circles. Pews in the imme- diate vicinity of the pulpit or reading- desk rose in value ; sittings in the centre aisle were at a premium : an inch of room in the front row of the gallery could not be procured for love or money ; and some people even went so far as to assert, that the three Miss Browns, who had an obscure family pew just behind the churchwardens', were detected, one Sunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, actually lying in wait for the curate as he passed to the vestry ! He began to preach extempore sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection. He got out of bed at half-past twelve o'clock one winter's night, to half-baptise a THE CURATE. washerwoman's child in a slop-basin, and the gratitude of the parishioners knew no bounds — the very church- wardens grew generous, and insisted on the parish defraying the expense of the watch-box on wheels, which the new curate had ordered for himself, to perform the funeral service in, in wet weather. He sent three pints of gruel and a quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman who had been brought to bed of four small children, all at once — the parish were charmed. He got up a subscription for her — the woman's fortune was made. He spoke for one hour and twenty-five minutes, at an anti-slavery meeting at the Goat and Boots — the enthusiasm was at its height. A proposal was set on foot for presenting the curate with a piece of plate, as a mark of esteem for his valuable services rendered to the parish. The list of subscriptions was filled up in no time ; the contest was, not who should escape the contribu- tion, but who should be the foremost to subscribe. A splendid silver ink- stand was made, and engraved with an appropriate inscription ; the curate was invited to a public breakfast, at the before-mentioned Goat and Boots ; the inkstand was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins, the ex-church- warden, and acknowledged by the curate in terms which drew tears into the eyes of all present — the very waiters were melted. One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal admiration was lifted to the very pin- nacle of popularity. No such thing. The curate began to cough ; four fits of coughing one morning between the Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. Here was a dis- covery — the curate was consumptive. How interestingly melancholy ! If the young ladies were energetic before, their sympathy and solicitude now knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate— such a dear — such a perfect love — to be consumptive ! It was too much. Anonymous presents of black- currant jam, and lozenges, elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and warm stockings, poured in upon the curate until he was as completely fitted out, with winter clothing, as if he were on the verge of an expedition to the North Pole : verbal bulletins of the state of his health were circulated throughout the parish half-a-dozen times a day ; and the curate was in the very zenith of his popularity. About this period, a change came over the spirit of the parish. A very quiet, respectable, dozing old gentle- man, who had officiated in our chapel of ease for twelve years previously,* died one fine morning, without having given any notice whatever of his intention. This circumstance gave rise to counter-sensation the first ; and the arrival of his successor occa- sioned counter-sensation the second. He was a pale, thin, cadaverous man, with large black eyes, and long strag- gling black hair : his dress was sk> venly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, his doctrines startling ; in short, he was in every respect the antipodes of the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners flocked to- hear him : at first, because he was so odd-looking, then because his face was so expressive, then because he preached so well ; and at last, because they really thought that, after all, there was something about him which it was- quite impossible to describe. As to the curate, he was all very well ; but certainly, after all, there was no deny- ing that — that — in short, the curate wasn't a novelty, and the other clergy- man was. The inconstancy of public opinion is proverbial : the congrega- tion migrated one by one. The curate coughed till he was black in the face — it was in vain. He respired with difficulty — it was equally ineffectual in awakening sympathy. Seats are once again to be had in any part of our parish church, and the chapel-of- ease is going to be enlarged, as it is crowded to suffocation every Sunday I The bes^ known an d most respected among our parishioners, is an old lady, who resided in our parish long before our name was registered in the list of baptisms. Our parish is a suburban SKETCHES BY BOZ. one, and the old lady lives in a neat row of houses in the most airy and pleasant part of it. The house is her own ; and it, and everything about it, except the old lady herself, who looks a little older than she did ten years ago, is in just the same state as when the old gentleman was living. The little front parlour, which is the old lady's ordinary sitting-room, is a perfect pic- ture of quiet neatness : the carpet is covered with brown Holland, the glass and picture-frames are carefully enveloped in yellow muslin ; the table- covers are never taken off, except when the leaves are turpentined and bees' waxed, an operation which is regularly commenced every other morning at half-past nine o'clock — and the little nicnacs are always arranged in precisely the same man- ner. The greater part of these are presents from little girls whose parents live in the same row ; but some of "them, such as the two old-fashioned watches (which never keep the same time, one being always a quarter of an hour too slow, and the other a quarter of an hour too fast), the little picture .of the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold as they appeared in the Royal Box at Drury-lane Theatre, and others of the same class, have been in the old lady's possession for many years. Here the old lady sits with her spec- tacles on, busily engaged in needle- work — near the window in summer time ; and if she sees you coming up the steps, and you happen to be a favourite, she trots out to open the street door for you before you knock, and as you must be fatigued after that hot walk, insists on your swallowing two glasses of sherry before you exert yourself by talking. If you call in the evening you will find her cheerful, but rather more serious than usual, with an open Bible on the table, before her, of which "Sarah," who is just as neat and methodical as her mistress, regularly reads two or three chapters in the parlour aloud. The old lady sees scarcely any com- pany, except the little girls before noticed, each of whom has always a regular fixed day for a periodical tea- drinking with her, to which the child looks forward as the greatest treat of its existence. She seldom visits at a greater distance than the next door but one on either side ; and when she drinks tea here, Sarah runs out first and knocks a double-knock, to pre- vent the possibility of her " Missis's " catching cold by having to wait at the door. She is very scrupulous in returning these little invitations, and when she asks Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, to meet Mr. and Mrs. Somebody-else, Sarah and she dust the urn, and the best china tea service, and the Pope Joan board ; and the visiters are received in the drawing-room in great state. She has but few relations, and they are scattered about in different parts of the country, and she seldom sees them. She has a son in India, whom she always describes to you as a fine, handsome fellow — so like the profile of his poor dear father over the sideboard, but the old lady adds, with a mournful shake of the head, that he has always been one of her greatest trials, and that indeed he once almost broke her heart ; but it pleased God to enable her to get the better of it, and she would prefer your never men- tioning the subject to her, again. She has a great number of pensioners : and on Saturday, after she comes back from market, there is a regular levee of old men and women in the passage, waiting for their weekly gratuity. Her name always heads the list of any benevolent subscriptions, and hers are always the most liberal donations to the Winter Coal and Soup Distribu- tion Society. She subscribed twenty pounds towards the erection of an organ in our parish church, and was so overcome the first Sunday the chil- dren sang to it, that she was obliged to be carried out by the pew-opener. Her entrance into church on Sunday is always the signal for a little bustle in the side aisle, occasioned by a general rise among the poor people, who bow and curtsy until the pew- opener has ushered the old lady into her accustomed seat, dropped a re- THE CAPTAIN. spectful curtsy, and shut the door : and the same ceremony is repeated on her leaving church, when she walks home with the family next door but one, and talks about the sermon all the way, invariably opening the conversation by asking the youngest boy -where the text was. Thus, with the annual variation of a trip to some quiet place on the sea- coast, passes the old lady's life. It has rolled on in the same unvarying and benevolent course for many years now, and must at no distant period be brought to its final close. She looks forward to its termination, with calm- ness and without apprehension. She has everything to hope and nothing to fear. A very different personage, but one who has rendered himself very conspi- cuous in our parish, is one of the old lady's next door neighbours. He is an old naval officer on half-pay, and his bluff and unceremonious behaviour disturbs the old lady's domestic eco- nomy, not a little. In the first place he will smoke cigars in the front court, and when he wants something to drink with them — which is by no means an uncommon circumstance— he lifts up the old lady's knocker with his walk- ing-stick, and demands to have a glass of table ale, handed over the rails. ■In addition to this cool proceeding, he is a bit of a Jack of all trades, or to use his own words, " A regular Robinson .Crusoe ;" and nothing delights him better than to experimentalise on the old lady's property. One morning he got up early, and planted three or four roots of full-grown marigolds in every bed of her front garden, to the inconceivable astonishment of the old lady, who actually thought when she got up and looked out of the window, that it was some strange eruption which had come out in the night. Another time he took to pieces the eight-day clock on the front landing, under pretence of cleaning the works, which he put together again, by some 7 undiscovered process in so wonderful a manner, that the large hand has done nothing but trip up the little one ever since. Then he took to breeding silk-worms, which he would bring in two or three times a day, in little paper boxes, to show the old lady, generally dropping a worm or two at every visit. The consequence was, that one morning a very stout silk- worm was discovered in the act of walking up stairs — probably with the view of inquiring after his friends, for, on further inspection, it appeared that , some of his companions had already found their way to every room in the house. The old lady went to the sea- side in despair, and during her absence he completely effaced the name from her brass door-plate, in his attempts to polish it with aqua-fortis. But all this is nothing to his sedi- tious conduct in public life. He attends every vestry meeting that is held ; always opposes the constituted authorities of the parish, denounces the profligacy of the churchwardens, contests legal points against the vestry- clerk, will make the tax-gatherer call for his money till he won't call any longer, and then he sends it : finds fault with the sermon every Sunday, says that the organist ought to be ashamed of himself, offers to back himself for any amount to sing the psalms better than all the cluldren put together, male and female ; and, in short, conducts himself in the most turbulent and uproarious manner. The worst of it is, that having a high regard for the old lady, he wants to make her a convert to his views, and therefore walks into her little parlour with his newspaper in his hand, and talks violent politics by the hour. He is a charitable, open-hearted old fellow at bottom, after all ; so, although he puts the old lady a little out occasion- ally, they agree very well in the main, and she laughs as much at each feat of his handiwork when it is all over, as anybody else. SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER III. THE FOUR SISTERS. The row of houses in which the old lady and her troublesome neighbour reside, comprises, beyond all doubt, a greater number of characters within its circumscribed limits, than all the rest of the parish put together. As we cannot, consistently with our present plan, however, extend the number of our parochial sketches beyond six, it will be better, perhaps, to select the most peculiar, and to introduce them at once without further preface. The four Miss Willises, then, settled in our parish thirteen years ago. It is a melancholy reflection that the old adage, " time and tide wait for no man," applies with equal force to the fairer portion of the creation ; and willingly would we conceal the fact, that even thirteen years ago, the Miss Willises were far from juvenile. Our duty as faithful parochial chroniclers, however, is paramount to every other consideration, and we are bound to state, that thirteen years since, the authorities in matrimonial cases con- sidered the youngest Miss Willis in a very precarious state, while the eldest sister was positively given over, as being far beyond all human hope. Well, the Miss Willises took a lease of the house ; it was fresh painted and papered from top to bottom : the paint inside was all wainscoted, the marble all cleaned, the old grates taken down, and register- stoves, you could see to dress by, put up ; four trees were planted in the back garden, several small baskets of gravel sprinkled over the front one, vans of elegant furniture arrived, spring blinds were fitted to the windows, carpenters who had been employed in the various preparations, alterations, and repairs, made con- fidential statements to the different maid-servants in the row, relative to the magnificent scale on which the Miss Willises were commencing ; the maid-servants told their " Missises," the Missises told their friends, and vague rumours were circulated through- out the parish, that No. 25, in Gordon- place, had been taken by four maiden ladies of immense property. At last, the Miss Willises moved in; and then the "calling" began. The house was the perfection of neat- ness — so were the four Miss Willises. Every thing was formal, stiff, and cold — so were the four Miss Willises. Not a single chair of the whole set was ever seen out of its place — not a single Miss Willis of the whole four was ever seen out of hers. There they always sat, in the same places, doing precisely the same things at the same hour. The eldest Miss Willis used to knit, the second to draw, the two others to play duets on the piano. They seemed to have no separate existence, but to have made up their minds just to winter through life together. They were three long graces in drapery, with the addition, like a school- dinner of an- other long grace afterwards — the three fates with another sister — the Siamese twins multiplied by two. The eldest Miss Willis grew bilious — the four Miss Willises grew bilious immediately. The eldest Miss Willis grew ill-tem- pered and religious — the four Miss Willises were ill-tempered and reli- gious directly. Whatever the eldest did, the others did, and whatever any body else did, they all disapproved of; and thus they vegetated — living in Polar harmony among themselves, and, as they sometimes went out, or saw company " in a quiet- way" at home, occasionally iceing the neigh- bours. Three years passed over in this way, when an unlooked for and extraordinary phenomenon occurred. The Miss Willises showed symptoms of summer, the frost gradually broke up ; a complete thaw took place. Was THE FOUR SISTERS. 3 it possible ? one of the four Miss Willises was going to be married ! Now, where on earth the husband came from, by what feelings the poor man could have been actuated, or by what process of reasoning the four Miss Willises succeeded in persuading themselves that it was possible for a man to marry one of them, without marrying them all, are questions too profound for us to resolve : certain it is, however, that the visits of Mr. Robinson (a gentleman in a public office, with a good salary and a little property of his own, beside) were re- ceived — that the four Miss Willises were courted in due form by the said Mr. Robinson — that the neighbours were perfectly frantic in their anxiety to discover which of the four Miss Willises was the fortunate fair, and that the difficulty they experienced in solving the problem was not at all lessened by the announcement of the eldest Miss Willis, — " We are going to marry Mr. Robinson.' 5 It was very extraordinary. They were so completely identified, the one with the other, that the curiosity of the whole row — even of the old lady herself — was roused almost beyond endurance. The subject was discussed at every little card-table and tea- drinking. The old gentleman of silk- worm notoriety did not hesitate to express his decided opinion that Mr. Robinson was of Eastern descent, and contemplated marrying the whole family at once ; and the row, gene- rally, shook their heads with consider- able gravity, and declared the busi- ness to be very mysterious. They hoped it might all end well; — it certainly had a very singular appear- ance, but still it would be unchari- table to express any opinion without good grounds to go upon, and certainly the Miss Willises were quite old enough to judge for themselves, and to be sure people ought to know their own business best, and so forth. At last, one fine morning, at a quarter before eight o'clock, a.m., two glass-coaches drove up to the Miss Willises' door at which Mr. Robinson had arrived in a cab ten minutes before, dressed in a light blue coat and double-milled kersey pantaloons, white neckerchief, pumps, and dress- gloves, his manner denoting, as ap- peared from the evidence of the house- maid at No. 23, who was sweeping the door-steps at the time, a consider- able degree of nervous excitement. It was also hastily reported on the same testimony, that the cook who opened the door, wore a large white bow of unusual dimensions, in a much smarter head-dress than the regulation cap to which the Miss Willises invariably restricted the somewhat excursive taste of female servants in general. The intelligence spread rapidly from house to house. It was quite clear that the eventful morning had at length arrived ; the whole row stationed themselves behind their first and second floor blinds, and waited the result in breathless expectation. At last the Miss Willises' door opened ; the door of the first glass- coach did the same. Two gentlemen, and a pair of ladies to correspond — friends of the family, no doubt ; up went the steps, bang went the door, off went the first glass-coach, and up came the second. The street-door opened again ; the excitement of the whole row increased ■ — Mr. Robinson and the eldest Miss Willis. " I thought so," said the lady at No. 19; "I always said it was Miss Willis ! " — " Well, I never ! " ejacu- lated the young lady at No. 18 to the young lady at No. 17 — "Did you ever, dear ! " responded the young lady at No. 17 to the young lady at No. 18. u It 's too ridiculous ! " exclaimed a spinster of an iwicertain age, at No. 1 6, joining in the conversation. But who shall pourtray the astonishment of Gordon-place, when Mr. Robinson handed in all the Miss Willises, one after the other, and then squeezed himself into an acute angle of the glass-coach, which forthwith proceeded at a brisk pace, after the other glass- coach, which other glass-coach had itself proceeded, at a brisk pace, in the direction of the parish church. Who 10 SKETCHES BY BOZ shall depict the perplexity of the cler- gyman, when all the Miss Willises knelt down at the communion table, and repeated the responses incidental to the marriage service in an audible voice — or who shall describe the con- fusion which prevailed, when — even after the difficulties thus occasioned had been adjusted — all the Miss Wil- lises went into hysterics at the con- clusion of the ceremony, until the sacred edifice resounded with their united wailings ! As the four sisters and Mr. Robin- son continued to occupy the same house after this memorable occasion, and as the married sister, whoever she was, never appeared in public without the other three, we are not quite clear that the neighbours ever would have discovered the real Mrs. Robinson, but for a circumstance of the most gratify- ing description, which will happen occasionally in the best regulated fami- lies. Three quarter-days elapsed, and the row, on whom a new light appeared to have been bursting for some time, began to speak with a sort of implied confidence on the subject, and to wonder how Mrs. Robinson — the youngest Miss Willis that was — got on ; and servants might be seen run- ning up the steps, about nine or ten o'clock every morning, with " Mississ's compliments, and wishes to know how Mrs. Robinson finds herself this morn- ing ? " And the answer always was, '• Mrs. Robinson's compliments, and she 's in very good spirits, and doesn't find herself any worse." The piano was heard no longer, the knitting- needles were laid aside, drawing was neglected, and mantua-making and millinery, on the smallest scale imagin- able, appeared to have become the favourite amusement of the whole family. The parlour wasn't quite as tidy as it used to be, and if you called in the morning, you would see lying on a table, w r ith an old newspaper carelessly thrown over them, two or three particularly small caps, rather larger than if they had been made for a moderate-sized doll, with a small piece of lace, in the shape of a horse- shoe, let in behind : or perhaps a white robe, not very large in circum- ference, but very much out of propor- tion in point of length, with a little tucker round the top, and a frill round the bottom ; and once when we called, we saw a long white roller, with a kind of blue margin down each side, the j probable use of which, we were at a loss to conjecture. Then we fancied j that Mr. Dawson, the surgeon, &c, who displays a large lamp with a dif- ferent colour in every pane of glass, at the corner of the row, began to be knocked up at night oftener than he used to be ; and once we were very much alarmed by hearing a hackney- ; coach stop at Mrs. Robinson's door, at i half-past two o'clock in the morning, out of which there emerged a fat old ! woman, in a cloak and nightcap, with 1 a bundle in one hand, and a pair of ' pattens in the other, who looked as if she had been suddenly knocked up out of bed for some very special purpose. When we got up in the morning we saw that the knocker was tied up in an old white kid glove ; and we, in our innocence (we were in a state of bachelorship then), wondered what on earth it all meant, until we heard the eldest Miss Willis, in propria persona, say, with great dignity, in answer to the next inquiry, ' ; My compliments, and Mrs. Robinson 's doing as well as can be expected, and the little girl thrives wonderfully." And then, in common with the rest of the row, our curiosity was satisfied, and we began to wonder it had never occurred to us what the matter was, before. THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. II CHAPTER IV. THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. A great event has recently occurred in our parish. A contest of paramount interest has just terminated ; a paro- chial convulsion has taken place. It has been succeeded by a glorious triumph, which the country — or at least the parish — it is all the same — will long remember. We have had an election ; an election for beadle. The supporters of the old beadle system have been defeated in their strong hold, and the advocates of the great new beadle principles have achieved a proud victory. Our parish, which, like all other parishes, is a little world of its own, has long been divided into two parties, whose contentions, slumbering for a while, have never failed to burst forth with unabated vigour, on any occasion on which they could by possibility be renewed. Watching-rates, lighting- rates, paving - rates, sewers - rates, church-rates, poor's-rates — all sorts of rates, have been in their turns the subjects of a grand struggle ; and as to .questions of patronage, the asperity and determination with which they have been contested is scarcely credible. The leader of the official party — the steady advocate of the churchwardens, and the unflinching supporter of the overseers — is an old gentleman who lives in our row. He owns some half- dozen houses in it, and always walks on the opposite side of the way, so that he may be able to take in a view of the whole of his property at once. He is a tall, thin, bony man, with an in- terrogative nose, and little restless perking eyes, which appear to have been given him for the sole purpose of peeping into other people's affairs with. He is deeply impressed with the importance of our parish business, and prides himself, not a little, on his style of addressing the parishioners in vestry assembled. His views are rather confined than extensive ; his principles more narrow than liberal. He has been heard to declaim very loudly in favour of the liberty of the press, and advocates the repeal of the stamp duty on newspapers, because the daily journals who now have a monopoly of the public, never give verbatim reports of vestry meetings. He would not appear egotistical for the world, but at the same time he must say, that there are speeches — that celebrated speech of his own, on the emoluments of the sexton, and the duties of the office, for instance — which might be communicated to the public, greatly to their improvement and ad- vantage. His great opponent in public life is Captain Purday, the old naval officer on half-pay, to whom we have already introduced our readers. The captain being a determined opponent of the constituted authorities, whoever they may chance to be, and our other friend being their steady supporter, with an equal disregard of their individual merits, it will readily be supposed, that occasions for their coming into direct collision are neither few nor far be- tween. They divided the vestry four- teen times on a motion for heating the church with warm water instead of coals : and made speeches about liberty and expenditure, and prodigality and hot water, which threw the whole parish into a state of excitement. Then the captain, when he was on the visiting committee, and his opponent overseer, brought forward certain distinct and specific charges relative to the manage- ment of the workhouse, boldly ex- pressed his total want of confidence in the existing authorities, and moved for li a copy of the recipe by which the paupers' soup was prepared, together with any documents relating thereto." 12 SKETCHES BY BOZ. This the overseer steadily resisted ; he fortified himself by precedent, appealed to the established usage, and declined to produce the papers, on the ground of the injury that would be done to the public service, if documents of a strictly private nature, passing between the master of the workhouse and the cook, were to be thus dragged to light on the motion of any individual member of the vestry. The motion was lost by a majority of two; and then the captain, who never allows himself to be defeated, moved for a committee of inquiry into the whole subject. The affair grew serious : the question was discussed at meeting after meeting, and vestry after vestry ; speeches were made, attacks repudiated, personal de- fiances exchanged, explanations re- ceived, and the greatest excitement prevailed, until at last, just as the question was going to be finally decided, the vestry found that somehow or other, they had become entangled in a point of form, from which it was im- possible to escape with propriety. So, the motion was dropped, and every body looked extremely important, and seemed quite satisfied with the meri- torious nature of the whole proceeding. This was the state of affairs in our parish a week or two since, when Sim- mons, the beadle, suddenly died. The lamented deceased had over-exerted himself, a day or two previously, in conveying an aged female, highly in- toxicated, to the strong room of the workhouse. The excitement thus oc- casioned, added to a severe cold, which this indefatigable officer had caught in his capacity of director of the parish engine, by inadvertently playing over himself instead of a fire, proved too much for a constitution already en- feebled by age ; and the intelligence was conveyed to the Board one evening that Simmons had died, and left his respects. The breath was scarcely out of the body of the deceased functionary, when the field was filled with competitors for the vacant office, each of whom rested his claims to public support, entirely on the number and extent of his family, as if the office of beadle were originally instituted as an encouragement for the propagation of the human species. " Bung for Beadle. Five small chil- dren !" — " Hopkins for Beadle. Seven small children ! ! " — " Timkins for Beadle. Nine small children ! ! ! " Such were the placards in large black letters on a white ground, which were plentifully pasted on the walls, and posted in the windows of the principal shops. Timkins's success was con- sidered certain : several mothers of families half promised their votes, and the nine small children would have run over the course, but for the pro- duction of another placard, announcing the appearance of a still more meri- torious candidate. " Spruggins for Beadle. Ten small children (two of them twins), and a wife ! ! !" There was no resisting this ; ten small chil- dren would have been almost irre- sistible in themselves, without the twins, but the touching parenthesis about that interesting production of nature, and the still more touching allusion to Mrs. Spruggins, must ensure success. Spruggins was the favourite at once, and the appearance of his lady, as she went about to solicit votes (which encouraged confident hopes of a still further addition to the house of Spruggins at no remote period), increased the general prepossession in his favour. The other candidates, Bung alone excepted, resigned in despair. The day of election was fixed ; and the canvass proceeded with briskness and perseverance on both sides. The members of the vestry could not be supposed to escape the conta- gious excitement inseparable from the occasion. The majority of the lady inhabitants of the parish declared at once for Spruggins ; and the quondam overseer took the same side, on the ground that men with large families always had been elected to the office, and that although he must admit, that, in other respects, Spruggins was the least qualified candidate of the two, still it was an old practice, and he saw no reason why an old practice THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 13 should be departed from. This was enough for the captain. He imme- diately sided with Bung, canvassed for him personally in all directions, wrote squibs ou Spruggins, and got his butcher to skewer them up on conspicuous joints in his shop-front ; frightened his neighbour, the old lady, into a palpitation of the heart, by his awful denunciations of Spruggins's party ; and bounced in and out, and up and down, and backwards and forwards, until all the sober inhabit- ants of the parish thought it inevitable that he must die of a brain fever, long before the election began. The day of election arrived. It was no longer an individual struggle, but a party contest between the ins and outs. The question was, whether the wither- ing influence of the overseers, the domination of the churchwardens, and the blighting despotism of the vestry- clerk, should be allowed to render the election of beadle a form — a nullity : whether they should impose a vestry- elected beadle on the parish, to do their bidding and forward their views, or whether the parishioners, fearlessly asserting their undoubted rights, should elect an independent beadle of their own. The nomination was fixed to take place in the vestry, but so great was the throng of anxious spectators, that it was found necessary to adjourn to the church, where the ceremony com- menced with due solemnity. The ap- pearance of the churchwardens and overseers, and the ex-churchwardens and ex-overseers, with Spruggins in the rear, excited general attention. Spruggins was a little thin man, in rusty black, with a long pale face, and a countenance expressive of care and fatigue, which might either be attri- buted to the extent of his family or the anxiety of his feelings. His oppo- nent appeared hi a cast-off coat of the captain's — a blue coat with bright buttons : white trousers, and that description of shoes familiarly known by the appellation of "high-lows." There was a serenity in the open countenance of Bung — a kind of moral dignity in his confident air — an " I wish you may get it " sort of expres- sion in his eye — which infused anima- tion into his supporters, and evidently dispirited his opponents. The ex-churchwarden rose to pro- pose Thomas Spruggins for beadle. He had known him long. He had had his eye upon him closely for years ; he had watched him with twofold vigilance for months. (A parishioner here suggested that this might be termed " taking a double sight," but the observation was drowned in loud cries of " Order ! ") He would repeat that he had had his eye upon him for years, and this he would say, that a more well-conducted, a more well-behaved, a more sober, a more quiet man, with a more well-regulated mind he had never met with. A man with a larger family he had never known (cheers). The parish required a man who could be depended on (" Hear ! " from the Spruggins side, answered by ironical cheers from the Bung party). Such a man he now proposed (" No," " Yes "). He would not allude to individuals (the ex- churchwarden continued, in the cele- brated negative style adopted by great speakers). He would not advert to a gentleman who had once held a high rank in the service of his majesty ; he would not say, that that gentleman was no gentleman ; he would not assert that that man was no man ; he would not say, that he Was a turbulent parishioner ; he would not say, that he had grossly misbehaved himself, not only on this, but on all former occasions ; he would not say, that he was one of those discontented and treasonable spirits, who carried confu- sion and disorder wherever they went ; he would not say, that he harboured in his heart envy, and hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness. No ! He wished to have everything com- fortable and pleasant, and therefore, he would say — nothing about him (cheers). The captain replied in a similar parliamentary style. He would not say, he was astonished at the speech u SKETCHES BY BOZ. they had just heard ; he would not say, he was disgusted (cheers). He would not retort the epithets which had been hurled against him (renewed cheering) ; he would not allude to men once in office, but now happily out of it, who had mismanaged the workhouse, ground the paupers, diluted the beer, slack-baked the bread, boned the meat, heightened the work, and lowered the soup (tremen- dous cheers). He would not ask what such men deserved (a voice, " Nothing a-day, and find themselves ! "). He would not say, that one burst of general indignation should drive them from the parish they polluted with their presence (" Give it him ! "). He would not allude to the unfortunate man who had been proposed — he would not say, as the vestry's tool, but as Beadle. He would not advert to that individual's family ; he would not say, that nine children, twins, and a wife, were very bad examples for pauper imitation (loud cheers). He would not advert in detail to the quali- fications of Bung. The man stood before him, and he would not say in his presence, what he might be dis- posed to say of him, if he were absent. (Here Mr. Bung telegraphed to a friend near him, under cover of his hat, by contracting his left eye, and applying his right thumb to the tip of his nose.) It had been objected to Bung that he had only five children (" Hear, hear ! " from the opposi- tion). Well ; he had yet to learn that the legislature had affixed any precise amount of infantine qualifica- tion to the office of beadle ; but taking it for granted that an extensive family were a great requisite, he entreated them to look to facts, and compare data, about which there could be no mistake. Bung was 35 years of age. Spruggins — of whom he wished to speak with all possible respect — was 50. Was it not more than possible — was it not very probable — that by the time Bung attained the latter age, he might see around him a family, even exceeding in number and extent, that to which Spruggins at present laid claim (deafening cheers and waving of handkerchiefs) \ The captain con- cluded, amidst loud applause, by calling upon the parishioners to sound the tocsin, rush to the poll, free them- selves from dictation, or be slaves for ever. On the following day the polling began, and we never have had such a bustle in our parish since we got up our famous anti-slavery petition, which was such an important one, that the House of Commons ordered it to be printed, on the motion of the mem- ber for the district. The captain engaged two hackney-coaches and a cab for Bung's people — the cab for j the drunken voters, and the two coaches for the old ladies, the greater portion of whom, owing to the cap- tain's impetuosity, were driven up to the poll and home again, before they recovered from their flurry sufficiently to know, with any degree of clearness, what they had been doing. The oppo- site party wholly neglected these pre- cautions, and the consequence was. that a great many ladies who were walking leisurely up to the church — for it was a very hot day — to vote for Spruggins, were artfully decoyed into the coaches, and voted for Bung. The captain's arguments, too, had produced considerable effect : the attempted influence of the vestry produced a greater. A threat of exclusive deal- ing was clearly established against the vestry-clerk — a case of heartless and profligate atrocity-. It appeared that the delinquent had been in the habit of purchasing six penn'orth of muffins, weekly, from an old woman who rents a small house in the parish, and resides among the original settlers ; on her last weekly visit, a message was con- veyed to her through the medium of the cook, couched in mysterious terms, but indicating with sufficient clearness, that the vestry-clerk's appetite for muffins, in future, depended entirely on her vote on the beadleship. This was sufficient : the stream had been turning previously, and the impulse thus administered directed its final course. The Bung party ordered one THE BROKER'S MAN. 1.3 shilling's-worth of muffins weekly for the remainder of the old woman's natural life ; the parishioners were loud in their exclamations ; and the fate of Spruggins was sealed. It was in vain that the twins were exhibited in dresses of the same pattern, and night-caps to match, at the church door : the boy in Mrs. Spruggins's right arm, and the girl in her left — even Mrs. Spruggins herself failed to be an object of sympathy any longer. The majority attained by Bung on the gross poll was four hun- dred and twenty-eight, and the cause of the parishioners ti'iumphed. CHAPTER V. THE BROKERS MAN. The excitement of the late election has subsided, and our parish being once again restored to a state of comparative tranquillity, we are en- abled to devote our attention to those parishioners who take little share in our party contests or in the turmoil and bustle of public life. And we feel sincere pleasure in acknowledging here, that in collecting materials for this task we have been greatly assisted by Mr. Bung himself, who has im- posed on us a debt of obligation which we fear we can never repay. The life of this gentleman has been one of a very chequered description : he has undergone transitions — not from grave to gay, for he never was grave — not from lively to severe, for severity forms no part of his disposition ; his fluctuations have been between poverty in the extreme, and poverty modified, or, to use his own emphatic language, " between nothing to eat and just half enough." He is not, as he forcibly remarks, " One of those fortunate men who, if they were to dive under one side of a barge stark-naked, would come up on the other with a new suit of clothes on, and a ticket for soup in the waistcoat-pocket :" neither is he one of those, whose spirit has been broken beyond redemption by mis- fortune and want. He is just one of the careless, good-for-nothing, happy fellows, who float, cork-like on the surface, for the world to play at hockey with : knocked here, and there, and every where : now to the right, then to the left, again up in the air, and anon to the bottom, but always re- appearing and bounding with the stream buoyantly and merrily along. Some few months before he was pi*e- vailed upon to stand a contested elec- tion for the office of beadle, necessity attached him to the service of a broker; and on the opportunities he here acquired of ascertaining the condition of most of the poorer inhabitants of the parish, his patron, the captain, first grounded his claims to public support. Chance threw the man in our way a short time since. We were, in the first instance, attracted by his prepossessing impudence at the election ; we were not surprised, on further acquaintance, to find him a shrewd knowing fellow, with no incon- siderable power of observation ; and, after conversing with him a little, were somewhat struck (as we dare say' our readers have frequently been in other cases) with the power some men seem to have, not only of sympathising with, but to all appearance of under- standing feelings to which they them- selves are entire strangers. We had been expressing to the new functionai'y our surprise that he should ever have served in the capacity to which wo have just adverted, when we gradually led him into one or two professional anecdotes. As we are induced to think, on reflection, that they will tell better in nearly his own words, than with any 16 SKETCHES BY BOZ. attempted embellishments of ours, we will at once entitle them MR. BUNG'S NARRATIVE. " It 's very true, as you say, sir," Mr. Bung commenced, "that a broker's man's is not a life to be envied ; and in course you know as well as I do, though you don't say it, that people hate and scout 'em because they 're the ministers of wretchedness, like, to poor people. But what could I do, sir ? The thing was no worse because I did it, instead of somebody else ; and if putting me in possession of a house would put me in possession of three and sixpence a day, and levying a distress on another man's goods would relieve my distress and that of my family, it can't be expected but what I'd take the job and go through with it. I never liked it, God knows ; I always looked out for something else, and the moment I got other work to do, I left it. If there is any- thing wrong in being the agent in such matters — not the principal, mind you — I 'm sure the business, to a beginner like I was, at all events, carries its own punishment along with it. I wished again and again that the people would only blow me up, or pitch into me — that I wouldn't have minded, it 's all in my way ; but it 's the being shut up by yourself in one room for five days, without so much as an old newspaper to look at, or anything to see out o' the winder but the roofs and chimneys at the back of the house, or anything to listen to, but the ticking, perhaps, of an old Dutch clock, the sobbing of the missis, now and then, the low talk- ing of friends in the next room, who speak in whispers, lest ' the man ' should overhear them, or perhaps the occasional opening of the door, as a child peeps in to look at you, and then runs half-frightened away — It's all this, that makes you feel sneaking somehow, and ashamed of yourself ; and then, if it's winter time, they just give you fire enough to make you think you'd like more, and bring in your grub as if they wished it 'ud choke you — as I dare say they do, for the matter of that, most heartily. If they're very civil, they make you up a bed in the room at night, and if they don't, your master sends one in for you ; but there you are, without being washed or shaved all the time, shunned by everybody, and spoken to by no one, unless some one comes in at dinner time, and asks you whether you want any more, in a tone as much as to say ' I hope you don't,' or, in the evening, to inquire whether you wouldn't rather have a candle, after you've been sitting in the dark half the night. When I was left in this way, I used to sit, think, think, think- ing, till I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house copper with the lid on; but I believe the old brokers' men who are regularly trained to it, never think at all. I have heard some on 'em say, indeed, that they don't know how ! " I put in a good many distresses in my time (continued Mr. Bung), and in course I wasn't long in finding, that some people are not as much to be pitied as others are, and that people with good incomes who get into diffi- culties, which they keep patching up day after day, and week after week, get so used to these sort of things in time, that at last they come scarcely to feel them at all. I remember the very first place I was put in possession of, was a gentleman's house in this parish here, that every body would suppose couldn't help having money if he tried. I went with old Fixem, my old master, 'bout half arter eight in the morning ; rang the area-bell ; servant in livery opened the door: ' Governor at home V — ' Yes, he is,' says the man; ' but he's breakfasting just now.' ' Never mind,' says Fixem, ' just you tell him there's a gentleman here, as wants to speak to him partickler.' So the servant he opens his eyes, and stares about him, all ways — looking for the gentleman as it struck me, for I don't think any- body but a man as was stone-blind would mistake Fixem for one ; and as for me, I was as seedy as a cheap cowcumber. Hows'ever, he turns round, and goes to the breakfast- THE BROKER'S MAN. 17 parlour, which was a little snug sort of room at the end of the passage, and Fixem (as we always did in that profession), without waiting to be announced, walks in arter him, and before the servant could get out — < Please, sir, here 's a man as wants to speak to you,' looks in at the door as familiar and pleasant as may be. ' Who the devil are you, and how dare vou walk into a gentleman's house without leave V says the master, as fierce as a bull in fits. « My name, 1 says Fixem, winking to the master to send the servant away, and putting the warrant into his hands folded up like a note, ' My name 's Smith,' says he, ' and I called from Johnson's about that business of Thompson's' — ' Oh,' says the other, quite down on him directly, * How is Thompson ?' says he ; ' Pray sit down, Mr. Smith : John, leave the room.' Out went the servant ; and the gentleman and Fixem looked at one another till they couldn't look any longer, and then they varied the amusements by look- ing at me, who had been standing on the mat all this time. ' Hundred and fifty pounds, I see,' said the gentleman at last. ' Hundred and fifty pound,' said Fixem, ' besides cost of levy, sheriff's poundage, and all other inci- dental expenses.' — * Urn,' says the gentleman, ' I shan't be able to settle this before to-morrow afternoon.' — * Very sorry ; but I shall be obliged to leave my man here till then,' re- plies Fixem, pretending to look very miserable over it. * That 's very un- fort'nate,' says the gentleman, 'for I have got a large party here to-night, and I 'm ruined if those fellows of mine get an inkling of the matter — just step here, Mr. Smith,' says he, after a short pause. So Fixem walks with him up to the window, and after a good deal of whispering, and a little chinking of suverins, and looking at me, he comes back and says, ' Bung, you 're a handy fellow, and very honest I know. This gentleman wants an assistant to clean the plate and wait at table to-day, and if you 're not particularly engaged,' says old Fixem, grinning like mad, No. 174. < and shoving a couple of suverins into my hand, * he'll be very glad to avail himself of your services.' Well, I laughed : and the gentleman laughed, and we all laughed ; and I went home and cleaned myself, leaving Fixem there, and when I went back, Fixem went away, and I polished up the plate, and waited at table, and gam- moned the servants, and nobody had the least idea I was in possession, though it very nearly came out after all ; for one of the last gentlemen who remained, came down stairs into the hall where I was sitting pretty late at night, and putting half-a-crown into my hand, says, ' Here my man,' says he, ' run and get me a coach, will you V I thought it was a do, to get me out of the house, and was just going to say so, sulkily enough, when the gentle- man (who was up to everything) came running down stairs, as if he was in great anxiety. < Bung,' says he, pre- tending to be in a consuming passion. 'Sir,' says I. 'Why the devil an't' you looking after that plate V — ' I was just going to send him for a coach for me,' says the other gentleman. ' And I was just a going to say,' says I — ' Any body else, my dear fellow,' interrupts the master of the house, pushing me down the passage to get out of the way — 'any body else; but I have put this man in possession of all the plate and valuables, and I cannot allow him on any consideration whatever, to leave the house. Bung, you scoundrel, go and count those forks in the breakfast- parlour instantly.' You may be sure I went laughing pretty hearty when I found it was all right. The money was paid next 'day, with the addition of something else for myself, and that was the best job that I (and I suspect old Fixem too) ever got in that line. " But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after all," resumed Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look, and flash air, with which he had re- peated the previous anecdote — " and I 'm sorry to say, it 's the side one sees very, very, seldom, in comparison with the dark one. The civility which money will purchase, is rarely ex- 2 13 SKETCHES BY BOZ. tended to those who have none ; and there 's a consolation even in being able to patch up one difficulty, to- make way for another, to which very poor people are strangers. I was once put into a house down George's-yard — that little dirty court at the back of the gas-works ; and I never shall forget the misery of them people, dear me ! It was a . distress for half a year's rent — two pound ten I think. There was only two rooms in the house, and as there was no passage, the lodgers up stairs always went through the room of the people of the house, as they passed in and out ; and every time they did so — which, on the ave- rage, was about four times every quarter of an hour — they blowed up quite frightful : for their things had been seized too, and included in the inventory. There was a little piece of enclosed dust in front of the house, with a cinder-path leading up to the door, and an open rain-water butt on one side. A dirty striped curtain, on a very slack string, hung in the win- dow, and a little triangular bit of broken looking-glass rested on the sill inside. I suppose it was meant for the people's use, but their appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, that I'm certain they never could have plucked up courage to look themselves in the face a second time, if they sur- vived the fright of doing so once. There was two or three chairs, that might have been worth, in their best days, from eightpence to a shilling a-piece ; a small deal table, an old corner cupboard with nothing in it, and one of those bedsteads which turn up half way, and lea^e the bottom legs sticking out for you to knock your head against, or hang your hat upon ; no bed, no bedding. There was an old sack, by way of rug, before the fire-place, and four or five children were grovelling about, among the sand on the floor. The execution was only put in, to get 'em out of the house, for there was nothing to take to pay the expenses ; and here I stopped for three days, though that was a mere form too : for, in course, I knew, and we all knew, they could never pay the money. In one of the chairs, by the side of the place where the fire ought to have been, was an old 'ooman — the ugliest and dirtiest I ever see — who sat rocking herself backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, without once stopping, except for an instant now and then, to clasp together the withered hands which, with these exceptions, she kept constantly rub- bing upon her knees, just raising and depressing her fingers convulsively, in time to the rocking of the chair. On the other side sat the mother with an infant in her arms, which cried till it cried itself to sleep, and when it 'woke, cried till it cried itself off again. The old 'ooman's voice I never heard : she seemed completely stupified ; and as to the mother's, it would have been better if she had been so too, for misery had changed her to a devil. If you had heard how she cursed the little naked children as was rolling on the floor, and seen how savagely she struck the infant when it cried with hunger, you 'd have shuddered as much as I did. There they remained all the time : the children ate a morsel of bread once or twice, and I gave 'em best part of the dinners my missis brought me, but the woman ate no- thing ; they never even laid on the bedstead, nor was the room swept or cleaned all the time. The neighbours were all too poor themselves to take any notice of 'em, but from what I could make out from the abuse of the woman up stairs, it seemed the hus- band had been transported a few weeks before. When the time was up, the landlord and old Fixem too. got rather frightened about the family, and so they made a stir about it, and had 'em taken to the workhouse. They sent the sick couch for the old 'ooman, and Simmons took the children away at night. The old 'ooman went into the infirmary, and very soon died. The children are all in the house to this day, and very comfortable they are in comparison. As to the mother, there was no taming her at all. She had been a quiet, hard-working woman, THE BROKER'S MAN. 19 I believe, but lier misery had actually drove her wild ; so after she had been sent to the house of correction half-a- dozen times, for throwing inkstands at the overseers, blaspheming the church- wardens, and smashing everybody as come near her, she burst a bloodves- sel one mornin', and died too ; and a happy release it was, both for herself and the old paupers, male and female, which she used to tip over in all di- rections, as if they were so many skittles, and she the ball. " Now this was bad enough," re- sumed Mr. Bung, taking a half-step towards the door, as if to intimate that he had nearly concluded. " This was bad enough, but there was a sort of quiet misery — if you understand what I mean by that, sir — about a lady at one house I was put into, as touched me a good deal more. It doesn't matter where it was exactly : indeed, I 'd rather not say, but it was the same sort o' job. I went with Fixem in the usual way — there was a year's rent in arrear ; a very small servant-girl opened the door, and three or four fine-looking little children was in the front parlour we were shown into, which was very clean, but very scantily furnished, much like the children themselves. ' Bung,' says Fixem to me, in a low voice, when we were left alone for a minute, i I know something about this here family, and my opinion is, it 's no go.' * Do you think they can't settle % ' says I, quite anxiously ; for I liked the looks of them children. Fixem shook his head, and was just about to reply, when the door opened, and in came a lady, as white as ever I see any one in my days, except about the eyes ; which were red with crying. She walked in, as firm as I could have done ; shut the door carefully after her, and sat herself down with a face as composed as if it was made of stone. * What is the matter, gentlemen ? ' says she, in a surprisin' steady voice. ' Is this an execution ? ' — ' It is, mum,' says Fixem. The lady looked at him as steady as ever : she didn't seem to have understood him. ' It is, mum,' says Fixem again ; ' this is my war- rant of distress, mum,' says he, hand- ing it over as polite as if it was a newspaper which had been bespoke arter the next gentleman. " The lady's lip trembled as she took the printed paper. She cast her eye over it, and old Fixem began to explain the form, but I saw she wasn't reading it, plain enough, poor thing. ' Oh, my God !' says she, suddenly a-bursting out crying, letting the war- rant fall, and hiding her face in her hands. ' Oh, my God ! what will be- come of us !' The noise she made, brought in a young lady of about nineteen or twenty, who, I suppose, had been a-listening at the door, and who had got a little boy in her arms : she sat him down in the lady's lap, without speaking, and she hugged the poor little fellow to her bosom, and cried over him, 'till even old Fixem put on his blue spectacles to hide the two tears, that was a-trickling down, one on each side of his dirty face. 1 Now, dear ma,' says the young lady, 1 you know how much you have borne. For all our sakes — for pa's sake,' says she, * don't give way to this ! ' — e No, no, I won't ! ' says the lady, gathering herself up hastily, and drying her eyes ; ' I am very foolish, but I 'm better now — much better.' And then she roused herself up, went with us into every room while we took the inventory, opened all the drawers of her own accord, sorted the children's little clothes to make the work easier ; and, except doing every thing in a strange sort of hurry, seemed as calm and composed as if nothing had hap- pened. When we came down stairs again, she hesitated a minute or two, and at last says, ' Gentlemen,' says she, ' I am afraid I have done wrong, and perhaps it may bring you into trouble. I secreted just now,' she says, 'the only trinket I have left in the world — here it is.' So she lays down on the table, a little miniature mounted in gold. ' It 's a miniature,' she says, ' of my poor dear father ! I little thought once, that I should ever thank God for depriving me of the original, c2 20 SKETCHES BY BOZ. but I do, and have done for years back, most fervently. Take it away, sir,' she says, ' it 's a face that never turned from me in sickness or distress, and I can hardly bear to turn from it now, when, God knows, I suffer both in no ordinary degree.' I couldn't say nothing, but I raised my head from the inventory which I was filling up, and looked at Fixem ; the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so I ran my pen through the ' Mini ' I had just written, and left the miniature on the table. " Well, sir, to make short of a long story, I was left in possession, and in possession I remained ; and though I was an ignorant man, and the master of the house a clever one, I saw what he never did, but what he would give worlds now (if he had 'em) to have seen in time. I saw, sir, that his wife was wasting away, beneath cares of which she never complained, and griefs she never told. I saw that she was dying before his eyes ; I knew that one exertion from him might have saved her, but he never made it. I don't blame him: I don't think he could rouse himself. She had so long anticipated all his wishes, and acted for him, that he was a lost man when left to himself. I used to think when I caught sight of her, in the clothes she used to wear, which looked shabby even upon her, and would have been scarcely decent on any one else, that if I was a gentleman it would wring my very heart to see the woman that was a smart and merry girl when I courted her, so altered through her love for me. Bitter cold and damp weather it was, yet, though her dress was thin, and her shoes none of the best, during the whole three days, from morning to night, she was out of doors running about to try and raise the money. The money was raised, and the execution was paid out. The whole family crowded into the room where I was, when the money arrived. The father was quite happy as the in- convenience was removed — I dare say he didn't know how ; the children looked merry and cheerful again ; the eldest girl was bustling about, making preparations for the first comfortable meal they had had since the distress was put in ; and the mother looked pleased to see them all so. But if ever I saw death in a woman's face, I saw it in hers that night. " I was right, sir," continued Mr. Bung, hurriedly passing his coat- sleeve over his face, " the family grew more prosperous, and good fortune arrived. But it Avas too late. Those children are motherless now, and their father would give up all he has since gained — house, home, goods, money : all that he has, or ever can have, to restore the wife he has lost." THE LADIES' SOCIETIES. 21 CHAPTER VI. THE LADIES' SOCIETIES. Our Parish is very prolific in ladies' charitable institutions. In winter, when wet feet are common, and colds not scarce, we have the ladies' soup distribution society, the ladies' coal distribution society, and the ladies' blanket distribution society ; in sum- mer, when stone fruits nourish and stomach aches prevail, we have the ladies' dispensary, and the ladies' sick visitation committee ; and all the year round we have the ladies' child's exami- nation society, the ladies' bible and prayer-book circulation society, and the ladies' childbed-linen monthly loan society. The two latter are decidedly the most important ; whether they are productive of more benefit than the rest, is not for us to say, but we can take upon ourselves to affirm, with the utmost solemnity, that they create a greater stir and more bustle, than all the others put together. We should be disposed to affirm, on the first blush of the matter, that the bible and prayer-book society is not so popular as the childbed-linen society ; the bible and prayer-book society has, however, considerably increased in importance within the last year or two, having derived some adventitious aid from the factious op- position of the child's examination society ; which factious opposition originated in manner following : — When the young curate was popular, and all the unmarried ladies in the parish took a serious turn, the charity children all at once became objects of peculiar and especial interest. The three Miss Browns (enthusiastic ad- mirers of the curate) taught, and exercised, and examined, and re- examined the unfortunate children, until the boys grew pale, and the girls consumptive with study and fatigue. The three Miss Browns stood it out very well, because they relieved each other ; but the children, having no relief at all, exhibited decided symp- toms of weariness and care. The unthinking part of the parishioners laughed at all this, but the more re- flective portion of the inhabitants abstained from expressing any opinion on the subject until that of the curate had been clearly ascertained. The opportunity was not long wanting. The curate preached a charity sermon on behalf of the charity school, and in the charity sermon aforesaid, expatiated in glowing terms on the praiseworthy and indefatigable exertions of certain estimable indivi- duals. Sobs were heard to issue from the three Miss Browns' pew ; the pew-opener of the division was seen to hurry down the centre aisle to the vestry door, and to return immediately, bearing a glass of water in her hand. A low moaning ensued ; two more pew-openers rushed to the spot, and the three Miss Browns, each supported by a pew-opener, were led out of the church, and led in again after the lapse of five minutes with white pocket- handkerchiefs to their eyes, as if they had been attending a funeral in the churchyard adjoining. If any doubt had for a moment existed, as to whom the allusion was intended to apply, it was at once removed. The wish to enlighten the charity children became universal, and the three Miss Browns were unanimously besought to divide the school into classes, and to assign each class to the superintendence of two young ladies. A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little patronage is more so ; the three Miss Browns appointed all the old maids, and carefully excluded the young ones. Maiden aunts triumphed, mammas were reduced to the lowest depth of despair, and there is no telling in what act of violence the 22 SKETCHES BY BOZ. general indignation against the three Miss Browns might have vented itself had not a perfectly providential occur- rence changed the tide of public feeling. Mrs Johnson Parker, the mother of seven extremely fine girls — all unmar- ried — hastily reported to several other mammas of 'several other unmarried families, that five old men, six old women, and children innumerable, in the free seats near her pew, were in the habit of coming to church every Sunday, without either bible or prayer- book. Was this to be borne in a civi- lised country ? Could such things be tolerated in a Christian land ? Never ! A ladies' bible and prayer-book distri- bution society was instantly formed : president, Mrs. Johnson Parker ; treasurers, auditors, and secretary, the Misses Johnson Parker : subscrip- tions were entered into, books were bought, all the free-seat people pro- vided therewith, and when the first lesson was given out, on the first Sun- day succeeding these events, there was such a dropping of books, and rustling of leaves, that it was morally impos- sible to hear one word of the service for five minutes afterwards. The three Miss Browns, and their party, saw the approaching danger, and endeavoured to avert it by ridi- cule and sarcasm. Neither the old men nor the old women could read their books, now they had got them, said the three Miss Browns. Never mind ; they could learn, replied Mrs. Johnson Parker. The children couldn't read either, suggested the three Miss Browns. No matter ; they could be taught, retorted Mrs. Johnson Parker. A balance of parties took place. The Miss Browns pub- licly examined — popular feeling in- clined to the child's examination society. The Miss Johnson Parkers publicly distributed — a reaction took place in favour of the prayer-book distribution. A feather would have turned the scale, and a feather did turn it. A missionary returned from the West Indies ; he was to be pre- sented to the Dissenters' Missionary Society on his marriage with a wealthy widow. Overtures were made to the Dissenters by the Johnson Parkers. Their object was the same, and why not have a joint meeting of the two societies ? The proposition was ac- cepted. The meeting was duly heralded by public announcement, and the room was crowded to suffocation. The missionary appeared on the plat- form ; he was hailed with enthusiasm. He repeated a dialogue he had heard between two negroes, behind a hedge, on the subject of distribution societies ; the approbation was tumultuous. He gave an imitation of the two negroes in broken English ; the roof was rent with applause. From that period we date (with one trifling exception) a daily increase in the popularity of the distribution society, and an increase of popularity, which the feeble and im- potent opposition of the examination party, has only tended to augment. Now, the great points about the childbed-linen monthly loan society are, that it is less dependent on the fluctuations of public opinion than either the distribution or the child's examination ; and that, come what may, there is never any lack of objects on which to exercise its benevolence. Our parish is a very populous one, and, if any thing, contributes, we should be disposed to say, rather more than its due share to the aggregate amount of births in the metropolis and its environs. The consequence is, that the monthly loan society flourishes, and invests its members with a most enviable amount of bustling patronage. The society (whose only notion of dividing time, would appear to be its allotment into months) holds monthly tea-drinkings, at which the monthly report is received, a secretary elected for the month ensuing, and such of the monthly boxes as may not happen to be out on loan for the month, care- fully examined. We were never present at one of these meetings, from all of which it is scarcely necessary to say, gentlemen are carefully excluded ; but Mr. Bung has been called before the board once or twice, and we have his authority THE LADIES' SOCIETIES. 23 )r stating, that its proceedings are jondacted with great order and regu- larity : not more than four members being allowed to speak at one time on any pretence whatever. The regular committee is composed exclusively of married ladies, but a vast number of young unmarried ladies of from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, respectively, are admitted as honorary members, partly because they are very r-ieful in replenishing the boxes, and visiting the confined ; partly be- cause it is highly desirable that they should be initiated, at an early period, into the more serious and matronly duties of after-life ; and partly, because prudent mammas have not unfre- quently been known to turn this cir- cumstance to wonderfully good account in matrimonial speculations. In addition to the loan of the monthly boxes (which are always painted blue, with the name of the society in large white letters on the lid), the society dispense occasional grants of beef-tea, and a composition of warm beer, spice, eggs, and sugar, commonly known by the name of " caudle," to its patients. And here again the services of the honorary members are called into requisition, and most cheerfully con- ceded. Deputations of twos or threes are sent out to visit the patients, and on these occasions there is such a tasting of caudle and beef-tea, such a stirring about of little messes in tiny saucepans on the hob, such a dressing and undressing of infants, such a tying, and folding, and pinning ; such a nursing and warming of little legs and feet before the fire, such a de- lightful confusion of talking and cooking, bustle, importance, and offici- ousness, as never can be enjoyed in its full extent but on similar occasions. In rivalry of these two institutions, and as a last expiring effort to acquire parochial popularity, the child's exa- mination people determined, the other day, on having a grand public exami- nation of the pupils ; and the large school-room of the national seminary was, by and with the consent of the parish authorities, devoted to the purpose. Invitation circulars were forwarded to all the principal parish- ioners, including, of course, the heads of the other two societies, for whose especial behoof and edification the display was intended ; and a large audience was confidently anticipated on the occasion. The floor was care- fully scrubbed the day before, under the immediate superintendence of the three Miss Browns ; forms were placed across the room for the accommoda- tion of the visitors, specimens in writ- ing were carefully selected, and as carefully patched and touched up, until they astonished the children who had written them, rather more than the company Avho read them ; sums in compound addition were rehearsed and re-rehearsed until all the children had the totals by heart ; and the prepara- tions altogether were on the most laborious and most comprehensive scale. The morning arrived : the children were yellow-soaped and flan- nelled, and towelled, till their faces shone again ; every pupil's hair was carefully combed into his or her eyes, as the case might be ; the girls were adorned with snow-white tippets, and caps bound round the head by a single purple ribbon : the necks of the elder boys were fixed into collars of startling dimensions. The doors were thrown open, and the Misses Brown and Co. were dis- covered in plain white muslin dresses, and caps of the same — the child's examination uniform. The room filled : the greetings of the company were loud and cordial. The distribu- tionists trembled, for their popularity was at stake. The eldest boy fell forward, and delivered a propitiatory address from behind his collar. It was from the pen of Mr. Henry Brown ; the applause was universal, and the Johnson Parkers were aghast. The examination proceeded with success, and terminated in triumph. The child's examination society gained a momentary victory, and the Johnson Parkers retreated in despair. A secret council of the distribu- tionists was held that night, with ■24 SKETCHES BY BOZ. Mrs. Johnson Parker in the chair, to consider of the best means of recover- ing the ground they had lost in the favour of the parish. What could be done ? Another meeting ! Alas ! who was to attend it ? The Missionary would not do twice ; and the slaves were emancipated. A bold step must be taken. The parish must be astonished in some way or other ; but no one was able to suggest what the step should be. At length, a very old lady was heard to mumble, in indistinct tones, " Exeter Hall." A sudden light broke in upon the meet- ing. It was unanimously resolved, that a deputation of old ladies should wait upon a celebrated orator implor- ing his assistance, and the favour of a speech ; and that the deputation should also wait on two or three other imbe- cile old women, not resident in the parish, and entreat their attendance The application was successful, the meeting was held ; the orator (an Irishman) came. He talked of green isles — other shores — vast Atlantic — bosom of the deep — Christian charity — blood and extermination — mercy in hearts — arms in hands — altars and homes — household gods. He wiped his eyes, he blew his nose, and he quoted Latin. The effect was tre- mendous — the Latin was a decided hit. Nobody knew exactly what it was about, but every body knew it must be affecting, because even the orator was overcome. The popularity of the distribution society among the ladies of our parish is unprecedented ; and the child's examination is going fast to decay. CHAPTER VII. OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR. We are very fond of speculating as we walk through a street, on the cha- racter and pursuits of the people who inhabit it ; and nothing so materially assists us in these speculations as the appearance of the house doors. The various expressions of the human countenance afford a beautiful and interesting study ; but there is some- thing in the physiognomy of street- door knockers, almost as character- istic, and nearly as infallible. When- ever we visit a man for the first time, we contemplate the features of his knocker with the greatest curiosity, -for we well know, that between the man and his knocker, there will inevit- ably be a greater or less degree of .resemblance and sympathy. For instance, there is one descrip- tion of knocker that used to be com- mon enough, but which is fast passing away — a large round one, with the jolly face of a convivial lion smiling blandly at you, as you twist the sides of your hair into a curl, or pull up your shirt-collar while you are wait- ing for the door to be opened ; we never saw that knocker on the door of a churlish man — so far as our ex- perience is concerned, it invariably bespoke hospitality and another bottle. No man ever saw this knocker on the door of a small attorney or bill- broker ; they always patronise the other lion ; a heavy ferocious-looking fellow, with a countenance expressive of savage stupidity — a sort of grand master among the knockers, and a great favourite with the selfish and brutal. Then there is a little pert Egyptian knocker, with a long thin face, a pinched up nose, and a very sharp chin ; he is most in vogue with your government-office people, in light drabs and starched cravats ; little spare priggish men, who are perfectly satisfied with their own opi- nions, and consider themselves of paramount importance. We were greatly troubled a few years ago, by the innovation of a new OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR. 25 kind of knocker, without any face at all, composed of a wreath, depending from a hand or small truncheon. A little trouble and attention, however, enabled us to overcome this difficulty, and to reconcile the new system to our favourite theory. You will in- variably find this knocker on the doors of cold and formal people, who always ask you why you don't come, and never say do. Everybody knows the brass knocker is common to suburban villas, and extensive boarding-schools ; and having noticed this genus we have recapitulated all the most prominent and strongly-defined species. Some phrenologists affirm, that the agitation of a man's brain by different passions, produces corresponding de- velopments in the form of his skull. Do not let us be understood as pushing our theory to the length of asserting, that any alteration in a man's disposi- tion would produce a visible effect on the feature of his knocker. Our position merely is, that in such a case, the magnetism which must exist be- tween a man and his knocker, would induce the man to remove, and seek some knocker more congenial to his altered feelings. If you ever find a man changing his habitation without any reasonable pretext, depend upon it, that, although he may not be aware of the fact himself, it is because he and his knocker are at variance. This is a new theory, but we venture to launch it, nevertheless, as being quite as ingenious and infallible as many thousand of the learned specu- lations which are daily broached for public good and private fortune- making. Entertaining these feelings on the subject of knockers, it will be readily imagined with what consternation we viewed the entire removal of the knocker from the door of the next house to the one we lived in, some time ago, and the substitution of a bell. This was a calamity we had never anticipated. The bare idea of any body being able to exist without a knocker, appeared so wild and visionary, that it had never for one instant entered our imagination. We sauntered moodily from the spot, and bent our steps towards Eaton Square, then just building. What was our astonishment and indignation to find that bells were fast becoming the rule, and knockers the exception ! Our theory trembled beneath the shock. We hastened home ; and fancying we foresaw in the swift pro- gress of events, its entire abolition, resolved from that day forward to vent our speculations on our next- door neighbours in person. The house adjoining ours on the left hand was uninhabited, and we had, therefore, plenty of leisure to observe our next-door neighbours on the other side. The house without the knocker was in the occupation of a city clerk, and there was a neatly-written bill in the parlour window intimating that lodg- ings for a single gentleman were to be let within. It was a neat, dull little house, on the shady side of the way, with new, nar- row floorcloth in the passage, and new, narrow stair-carpets up to the first floor. The paper was new, and the paint was new, and the furniture was new ; and all three, paper, paint, and furniture, bespoke the limited means of the tenant. There was a little red and black carpet in the drawing-room, with a border of flooring all the way round ; a few stained chairs and a pembroke table. A pink shell was displayed on each of the little side- boards, which, with the addition of a tea-tray and caddy, a few more shells on the mantelpiece, and three pea- cock's feathers tastefully arranged above them, completed the decorative furniture of the apartment. This was the room destined for the reception of the single gentleman during the day, and a little back room on the same floor was assigned as his sleeping apartment by night. The bill had not been long in the window, when a stout good-humoured looking gentleman, of about five-and- thirty, appeared as a candidate for the tenancy. Terms were soon ax*- 26 SKETCHES BY BOZ. ranged, for the bill was taken down immediately after his first visit. In a day or two the single gentleman came in, and shortly afterwards his real character came out. First of all, he displayed a most extraordinary partiality for sitting up till three or four o'clock in the morn- ing, drinking whiskey-and-water, and smoking cigars ; then he invited friends home, who used to come at ten o'clock, and begin to get happy about the small hours, when they evinced their perfect contentment by singing songs with half-a-dozen verses of two lines each, and a chorus of ten, which chorus used to be shouted forth by the whole strength of the company, in the most enthusiastic and vociferous manner, to the great annoyance of the neighbours, and the special discomfort of another single gentleman overhead. Now, this w r as bad enough, occur- ring as it did three times a week on the average, but this was not all ; for when the company did go away, in- stead of walking quietly down the street, as any body else's company would have done, they amused them- selves by making alarming and fright- ful noises, and counterfeiting the shrieks of females in distress ; and one night, a red-faced gentleman in a white hat knocked in the most urgent manner at the door of the powdered-headed old gentleman at No. 3, and when the powdered-headed old gentleman, who thought one of his married daughters must have been taken ill prematurely, had groped down stairs, and after a great deal of unbolt- ing and key-turning, opened the street door, the red-faced man in the ■white hat said he hoped he 'd excuse his giving him so much trouble, but he 5 d feel obliged if he 'd favour him with a glass of cold spring water, and the loan of a shilling for a cab to take him home, on which the old gentle- man slammed the door and went up stairs, and threw the contents of his water jug out of window — very straight, only it went over the wrong man ; and the whole street was in- volved in confusion. A joke 's a joke ; and even practical jests are very capital in their way, if you can only get the other party to see the fun of them ; but the popula- tion of our street were so dull of apprehension, as to be quite lost to a sense of the drollery of this proceed- ing : and the consequence was, that our next-door neighbour was obliged to tell the single gentleman, that unless he gave up entertaining his friends at home, he really must be compelled to part with him. The single gentleman received the remon- strance with great good-humour, and promised from that time forward, to spend his evenings at a coffee-house — a determination which afforded gene- ral and unmixed satisfaction. The next night passed off very well, every body being delighted with the change ; but on the next, the noises were renewed with greater spirit than ever. The single gentleman's friends being unable to see him in his own house every alternate night, had come to the determination of seeing him home every night ; and what with the. discordant greetings of the friends at ! parting, and the noise created by the single gentleman in his passage up stairs, and his subsequent struggles to get his boots off, the evil was not to be borne. So, our next-door neighbour gave the single gentleman, who was a very good lodger in other respects, notice to quit ; and the single gentle- man went away, and entertained his friends in other lodgings. The next applicant for the vacant first floor, was of a very different cha- racter from the troublesome single gentleman who had just quitted it. He was a tall, thin, young gentleman, with a profusion of brown hair, reddish whiskers, and very slightly developed mustaches. He wore a braided sur- tout, with frogs behind, light gray trousers, and wash-leather gloves, and had altogether rather a military ap- pearance. So unlike the roystering single gentleman. Such insinuating manners, and such a delightful ad- dress ! So seriously disposed, too ! When he first came to look at the OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR. 27 loggings, he inquired most particularly whether he was sure to be able to get a seat in the parish church ; and when he had agreed to take them, he re- quested to have a list of the different local charities, as he intended to sub- scribe his mite to the most deserving among them. Our next-door neighbour was now perfectly happy. He had got a lodger at last, of just his own way of think- ing — a serious, well-disposed man, who abhorred gaiety, and loved retirement. He took down the bill with a light heart, and pictured in imagination a long series of quiet Sundays, on which he and his lodger would exchange mutual civilities and Sunday papers. The serious man arrived, and his luggage was to arrive from the country next morning. He borrowed a clean shirt, and a prayer-book, from our next- door neighbour, and retired to rest at an early hour, requesting that he might be called punctually at ten o'clock next morning — not before, as he was much fatigued. He loas called, and did not answer : he was called again, but there was no reply. Our next-door neighbour be- came alarmed, and burst the door open. The serious man had left the nouse mysteriously; carrying with him the shirt, the prayer-book, a tea-spoon, and the bedclothes. Whether this occurrence, coupled with the irregularities of his former lodger, gave our next-door neighbour an aversion to single gentlemen, we know not ; we only know that the next bill which made its appearance in the parlour window intimated gene- rally, that there were furnished apart- ments to let on the first floor. The bill was soon removed. The new lodgers at first attracted our curiosity, and afterwards excited our interest. They were a young lad of eighteen or nineteen, and his mother, a lady of about fifty, or it might be less. The mother wore a widow's weeds, and the boy was also clothed in deep mourn- ing. They were poor — very poor ; for their only means of support arose from the pittance the boy earned, by copying writings, and translating for booksellers, They had removed from some country place and settled in London ; partly because it afforded better chances of employment for the boy, and partly, perhaps, with the natural desire to leave a place where they had been in better circumstances, and where their- poverty was known. They were proud under their reverses, and above re- vealing their wants and privations to strangers. How bitter those priva- tions were, and how hard the boy, worked to remove them, no one ever knew but themselves. Night after night, two, three, four hours after mid- night, could we hear the occasional raking up of the scanty fire, or the hollow and half-stifled cough, which indicated his being still at work ; and day after day, could we see more plainly that nature had set that unearthly light in his plaintive face, which is the beacon of her worst disease. Actuated, we hope, by a higher feel- ing than mere curiosity, we contrived to establish, first an acquaintance, and then a close intimacy, with the poor strangers. Our worst fears were re- alised ; the boy was sinking fast. Through a part of the winter, and the whole of the following spring and summer, his labours were unceasingly prolonged : and the mother attempted to procure needlework embroidery — anything for bread. A few shillings now and then, were all she could earn. The boy worked steadily on ; dying by minutes, but never once giving utterance to com- plaint or murmur. One beautiful autumn evening we went to pay our customary visit to the invalid. His little remaining strength had been decreasing rapidly for two or three days preceding, and he was lying on the sofa at the open window, gazing at the setting sun. His mother had been reading the Bible to him, for she closed the book as we entered, and advanced to meet us " I was telling William," she said, "that we must manage to take him into the country somewhere, SO that 28 SKETCHES BY BOZ. he may get quite well. He is not ill, you know, but he is not very strong, and has exerted himself too much lately." Poor thing ! The tears that streamed through her fingers, as she turned aside, as if to adjust her close widow's cap, too plainly showed how fruitless was the attempt to deceive herself. We sat down by the head of the sofa, but said nothing, for we saw the breath of life was passing gently but rapidly from the young form before us. At every respiration, his heart beat more slowly. The boy placed one hand in ours, grasped his mother's arm with the other, drew her hastily towards him, and fervently kissed her cheek. There was a pause. He sunk back upon his pillow, and looked long and earnestly in his mother's face. et William, William ! " murmured the mother after a long interval, " don't look at me so — speak to me, dear ! " The boy smiled languidly, but an instant afterwards his features resolved into the same cold, solemn gaze. " William, dear William ! rouse yourself, dear ; don't look at me so, love — pray don't ! Oh, my God ! what shall I do ! " cried the widow, clasping her hands in agony — " my dear boy { he is dying !" The boy raised himself by a violent effort, and folded his hands together — " Mother ! dear, dear mother, bury me in the open fields — anywhere but in these dreadful streets. I should like to be where you can see my grave, but not in these close crowded streets ; they have killed me ; kiss me again, mother ; put your arm round my neck — " He fell back, and a strange expres- sion stole upon his features ; not of pain or suffering, but an indescribable fixing of every line and muscle. The boy was dead. THE STREETS—MORNING. 29 SCENES. CHAPTER I. THE STREETS — MORNING. The appearance presented by the streets of London an hour before sun- rise, on a summer's morning, is most striking even to the few whose unfor- tunate pursuits of pleasure, or scarcely- less unfortunate pursuits of business, cause them to be well acquainted with the scene. There is an air of cold, solitary desolation about the noiseless streets which we are accustomed to see thronged at other times by a busy, eager crowd,and over the quiet, closely- shut buildings, which throughout the day are swarming with life and bustle, that is very impressive. The last drunken man, who shall find his way home before sun-light, has just staggered heavily along, roar- ing out the burden of the drinking song of the previous night : the last houseless vagrant whom penury and police have left in the streets, has coiled up his chilly limbs in some paved corner, to dream of food and warmth. The drunken, the dissipated, and the wretched have disappeared ; the more sober and orderly part of the population have not yet awakened to the labours of the day, and the still- ness of death is over the streets ; its very hue seems to be imparted to them, cold and lifeless as they look in the gray, sombre light of daybreak. The coach-stands in the larger tho- roughfares are deserted : the night- houses are closed; and the chosen promenades of profligate misery are empty. An occasional policeman may alone be seen at the street-corners, listlessly gazing on the deserted prospect before him ; and now and then a rakish-look- ing cat runs stealthily across the road and descends his own area with as much caution and slyness — bounding first on the water-butt, then on the dust-hole, and then alighting on the flag-stones — as if he were conscious that his character depended on his gal- lantry of the preceding night escaping public observation. A partially opened bedroom-window here and there, be- speaks the heat of the weather, and the uneasy slumbers of its occupant ; and the dim scanty flicker of the rush- light, through the window-blind, de- notes the chamber of watching or sickness. With these few exceptions, the streets present no signs of life, nor the houses of habitation. An hour wears away ; the spires of the churches and roofs of the principal buildings are faintly tinged with the light of the rising sun ; and the streets, by almost imperceptible degrees, begin to resume their bustle and animation. Market-carts roll slowly along : the sleepy waggoner impatiently urging on his tired horses, or vainly endeavour- ing to awaken the boy, who, luxuriously stretched on the top of the fruit-bas- kets, forgets, in happy oblivion, his long-cherished curiosity to behold the wonders of London. Rough, sleepy-looking animals of strange appearance, something between ostlers and hackney-coachmen, begin to take down the shutters of early public-houses ; and little deal tables, with the ordinary preparations for a street breakfast, make their appearance at the customary stations. Numbers :■: SKETCHES BY BOZ. of men and women (principally the latter), carrying upon their heads heavy baskets of fruit, toil down the park side of Piccadilly, on their way to Covent Garden, and, following each other in rapid succession, form a long strag- gling line from thence to the turn of the road at Knightsbridge. Here and there, a bricklayer's la- bourer, with the day's dinner tied up in a handkerchief, walks briskly to his work, and occasionally a little knot of three or four schoolboys on a stolen bathing expedition rattle merrily over the pavement, their boisterous mirth contrasting forcibly with the demean- our of the little sweep, who, having knocked and rung till his arm aches, and being interdicted by a merciful legislature from endangering his lungs by calling out, sits patiently down on the door-step until the housemaid may happen to awake. Covent Garden market, and the ave- nues leading to it, are thronged with carts of all sorts, sizes, and descrip- tions, from the heavy lumbering wag- gon, with its four stout horses, to the jingling costermonger's cart with its consumptive donkey. The pavement is already strewed with decayed cab- bage-leaves, broken haybands, and all the indescribable litter of a vegetable market ; men are shouting, carts back- ing, horses neighing, boys fighting, basket-women talking, piemen expa- tiating on the excellence of then' pastry, and donkeys braying. These and a hun- dred other sounds form a compound discordant enough to a Londoner's ears, and remarkably disagreeable to those of country gentlemen who are sleeping at the Hummums for the first time. Another hour passes away, and the day begins in good earnest. The ser- vant of all work, who, under the plea of sleeping very soundly, has utterly disregarded " Missis's" ringing for half an hour previously, is warned by Mas- ter (whom Missis has sent up in his drapery to the landing-place for that purpose), that it 's half-past six, where- upon she awakes all of a sudden, with well-feigned astonishment, and goes down stairs very sulkily, wishing, while she strikes a light, that the principle of spontaneous combustion would ex- tend itself to coals and kitchen range. When the fire is lighted, she opens the street-door to take in the milk, when, by the most singular coincidence in the world, she discovers that the ser- vant next door has just taken in her milk too, and that. Mr. Todd's young man over the way, is, by an equally extraordinary chance, taking down his master's shutters. The inevitable con- sequence is, that she just steps, milk- jug in hand, as far as next door, just to say " good morning," to Betsy Clark, and that Mr. Todd's young man just steps over the way to say " good morn- ing " to both of 'em ; and as the afore- said Mr. Todd's young man is almost as good-looking and fascinating as the baker himself, the conversation quickly becomes very interesting, and probably would become more so, if Betsy Clark's Missis, who always will be a followin' her about, didn't give an angry tap at her bedroom window, on which Mr. Todd's young man tries to whistle coolly, as he goes back to his shop much faster than he came from it ; and the two girls run back to their respective places, and shut then' street- doors with surprising softness, each of them poking their heads out of the front parlour -window, a minute after- wards, however, ostensibly with the view of looking at the mail which just then passes by, but really for the pur- pose of catching another glimpse of Mr. Todd's young man, who being fond of mails, but more of females, takes a short look at the mails, and a long look at the girls, much to the satisfaction of all parties concerned. The mail itself goes on to the coach- office in due course, and the passengers who are going out by the early coach, stare with astonishment at the passen- gers who are coming in by the early coach, who look blue and dismal, and are evidently under the influence of that odd feeling produced by travelling, which makes the events of yesterday- morning seem as if they had happened. at least six months ago, and induces people to wonder with considerable THE STREETS— MORNING. 31 gravity whether the friends and rela- tions they took leave of a fortnight hefore, have altered much since they left them. The coach-office is all alive, and the coaches which are just going out, are surrounded by the usual crowd of Jews and nondescripts, who seem to consider, Heaven knows why, that it is quite impossible any man can mount a coach without requiring at least six- pennyworth of oranges, a penknife, a pocket-book, a last-year's annual, a pencil-ease, a piece of sponge, and a small series of caricatures. Half an hour more, and the sun darts his bright rays cheerfully down the still half-empty streets, and shines with sufficient force to rouse the dismal laziness of the apprentice, who pauses every other minute from his task of sweeping out the shop and watering the pavement in front of it, to tell another apprentice similarly employed, how hot it will be to-day, or to stand with his right hand shading his eyes, and his left resting on the broom, gazing at the " Wonder," or the " Tally-ho," or the " Nimrod," or some other fast coach, till it is out of sight, when he re-enters the shop, envying the passengers on the outside of the fast coach, and thinking of the old red brick house " down in the country," where he went to school : the miseries of the milk and water, and thick bread and scrapings, fading into nothing be- fore the pleasant recollection of the green field the boys used to play in, and the green pond he was caned for presuming to fall into, and other schoolboy associations. Cabs, with trunks and band-boxes between the drivers' legs and outside the apron, rattle briskly up and down the streets on their way to the coach- offices or steam-packet wharfs ; and the cab-drivers and hackney-coachmen who are on the stand polish up the ornamental part of their dingy vehicles — the former wondering how people can prefer " them wild beast cariwans of homnibuses, to a riglar cab with a fast trotter," and the latter admiring how people can trust their necks into one of " them crazy cabs, when they can have a 'spectable 'ackney cotche with a pair of 'orses as von't run away with no vun ;" a consolation unques- tionably founded on fact, seeing that a hackney coach-horse never was known to run at all, " except," as the smart cabman in front of the rank observes, " except one, and he run back'ards." The shops are now completely opened, and apprentices and shop- men are busily engaged in cleaning and decking the windows for the day. The bakers' shops in town are filled with servants and children waiting for the drawing of the first batch of rolls — an operation which was performed a full hour ago in the suburbs ; for the early clerk population of Somers and Camden towns, Islington, and Penton- ville, are fast pouring into the city, or directing their steps towards Chancery- lane and the Inns of Court. Middle- aged men, whose salaries have by nc means increased in the same propor- tion as their f&milies, plod steadily along, apparently with no object in view but the counting-house ; know- ing by sight almost everybody they meet or overtake, for they have seen them every morning (Sundays ex- cepted) during the last twenty years, but speaking to no one. If they do happen to overtake a personal ac- quaintance, they just exchange a hurried salutation, and keep walking on either by his side, or in front of him, as his rate of walking may chance to be. As to stopping to shake hands, or to take the friend's arm, they seem to think that as it is not included in their salary, they have no right to do it. Small office lads in large hats, who are made men before they are boys, hurry along in pairs, with their first coat carefully brushed, and the white trousers of last Sunday plenti- fully besmeared with dust and ink. It evidently requires a considerable mental struggle to avoid investing part of the day's dinner-money in the purchase of the stale tarts so tempt- ingly exposed in dusty tins at the pastry-cook's doors ; but a conscious- ness of their own importance and the receipt of seven shillings a-week, with 32 SKETCHES BY BOZ. the prospect of an early rise to eight, comes to their aid. and they accord- ingly put their hats a little more on one side, and look under the bonnets of all the milliners' and staymakers' apprentices they meet — poor girls ! — the hardest worked, the worst paid, and too often, the worst used class of the community. Eleven o'clock, and a new set of people fill the streets. The goods in the shop-windows are invitingly ar- ranged ; the shopmen in their white neckerchiefs and spruce coats, look as if they couldn't clean a window if their lives depended on it : the carts have disappeared from Co vent Garden; the waggoners have returned, and the costermongers repaired to their ordi- nary " beats " in the suburbs ; clerks are at their offices, and gigs, cabs, omnibuses, and saddle-horses, are conveying their masters to the same destination. The streets are thronged with a vast concourse of people, gay and shabby, rich and poor, idle and industrious ; and we come to the heat, bustle, and activity of Noon. CHAPTER II. THE STREETS NIGHT. But the streets of London, to be beheld in the very height of their glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, murky winter's night, when there is just enough damp gently stealing down to make the pavement greasy, without cleansing it of any of its impurities ; and when the heavy lazy mist, which hangs over every object, makes the gas-lamps look brighter, and the brilliantly-lighted shops more splendid, from the contrast they pre- sent to the darkness around. All the people who are at home on such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves as snug and comfortable as possible ; and the passengers in the streets have excellent reason to envy the fortunate individuals who are seated by their own firesides. In the larger and better kind of streets, dining-parlour curtains are closely drawn, kitchen fires blaze brightly up, and savoury steams of hot dinners salute the nostrils of the hungry wayfarer, as he plods wearily by the area railings. In the suburbs, the muffin-boy rings his way down the little street, much more slowly than he is wont to do ; for Mrs. Macklin, of No. 4, has no sooner opened her little street-door, and screamed out " Muffins ! " with all her might, than Mrs. Walker, at No. 5, puts her head out of the parlour- window, and screams "Muffins ! " too ; and Mrs. Walker has scarcely got the words out of her lips, than Mrs. Pep- low, over the way, lets loose Master Peplow, who darts down the street, with a velocity which nothing but buttered muffins in perspective could possibly inspire, and drags the boy back by main force, whereupon Mrs. Macklin and Mrs. Walker, just to save the boy trouble, and to say a few neighbourly words to Mrs. Peplow at the same time, run over the way and buy their muffins at Mrs. Peplow's door, when it appears from the volun- tary statement of Mrs. Walker, that her " kittle 's jist a biling, and the cups and sarsers ready laid," and that, as it was such a wretched night out o r doors, she 'd made up her mind to have a nice hot comfortable cup o* tea — a determination at which, by the most singular coincidence, the other two ladies had simultaneously arrived. After a little conversation about the wretchedness of the weather and the merits of tea, with a digression relative to the viciousness of boys as a rule, and the amiability of Master THE STREETS— NIGHT. 33 Peplow as an exception, Mrs. Walker sees her husband coming clown the street ; and as he must want his tea, poor man, after his dirty walk from the Docks, she instantly runs across, muffins in hand, and Mrs. Macklin does the same, and after a few words to Mrs. Walker, they all pop into their little houses, and slam their little street-doors, which are not opened again for the remainder of the even- ing, except to the nine o'clock " beer," who conies round with a lantern in front of his tray, and says, as he lends Mrs. Walker "Yesterday's 'Tiser, " that he's blessed if he can hardly hold the pot, much less feel the paper, for it 's one of the bitterest nights he ever felt, 'cept the night Avhen the man was frozen to death in the Brick-field. After a little prophetic conversa- tion with the policeman at the street- corner, touching a probable change in the weather, and the setting-in of a hard frost, the nine o'clock beer returns to his master's house, and employs himself for the remainder of the evening, in assiduously stirring the tap-room fire, and deferentially taking part in the conversation of the worthies assembled round it. The streets in the vicinity of the Marsh-gate and Victoria Theatre pre- sent an appearance of dirt and dis- comfort on such a night, which the groups who lounge about them in no degree tend to diminish. Even the little block-tin temple sacred to baked potatoes, surmounted by a splendid design in variegated lamps, looks less gay than usual ; and as to the kidney- pie stand, its glory has quite departed. The candle in the transparent lamp, manufactured of oil-paper, embellished with "characters," has been blown out fifty times, so the kidney-pie merchant, tired with running back- wards and forwards to the next wine- vaults, to get a light, has given up the idea of illumination in despair, and the only signs of his " Avhereabout," are the bright sparks, of which a long irre- gular train is whirled down the street every time he opens his portable oven to hand a hot kidney-pie to a customer. No. 175. Flat fish, oyster, and fruit venders linger hopelessly in the kennel, in vain endeavouring to attract customers; and the ragged boys who usually dis- port themselves about the streets, stand crouched in little knots in some projecting doorway, or under the can- vas blind of the cheesemonger's, where great flaring gas-lights, unshaded by any glass, display huge piles of bright red, and pale yellow cheeses, mingled with little five-penny dabs of dingy bacon, various tubs of weekly Dorset, and cloudy rolls of "best fresh." Here they amuse themselves with theatrical converse, arising out of their last half-price visit to the Vic- toria gallery, admire the terrific com- bat, which is nightly encored, and expatiate on the inimitable manner in which Bill Thompson can " come the double monkey," or go through the mysterious involutions of a sailor's hornpipe. It is nearly eleven o'clock, and the cold thin rain which has been drizzling so long, is beginning to pour down in good earnest ; the baked-potato man has departed — the kidney-pie man hap just walked away with his warehouse on his arm — the cheesemonger has drawn in his blind, and the boys have dispersed. The constant clicking of pattens on the slippy and uneven pavement, and the rustling of umbrel- las, as the wind blows against the shop-windows, bear testimony to the inclemency of the night ; and the policeman, with his oilskin cape but- toned closely round him, seems as he holds his hat on his head, and turns round to avoid the gust of wind and rain which drives against him at the street-corner, to be very far from con- gratulating himself on the prospect before him. The little chandler's shop with the cracked bell behind the door, whose melancholy tinkling has been regulated by the demand for quarterns of sugar and half -ounces of coffee, is shutting up. The crowds which have been passing to and fro during the whole clay, are rapidly dwindling away ; and the noise of shouting and quarrelling u SKETCHES BY BOZ. which issues from the public-houses, is almost the only sound that breaks the melancholy stillness of the night. There was another, but it has ceased. That wretched woman with the infant in her arms, round whose meagre form the remnant of her own scanty shawl is carefully wrapped, has been attempting to sing some popular ballad, in the hope of wringing a few pence from the compassionate passer-by. A brutal laugh at her weak voice is all she has gained. The tears fall thick and fast down her own pale face ; the child is cold and hungry, and its low half-stifled wailing adds to the misery of its wretched mother, as she moans aloud, and sinks despairingly down, on a cold damp door-step. Singing ! How few of those who pass such a miserable creature as this, think of the anguish of heart, the sinking of soul and spirit, which the very effort of singing produces. Bitter mockery ! Disease, neglect, and starvation, faintly articulating the words of the joyous ditty, that has enlivened your hours of feasting and merriment, God knows how often ! It is no subject of jeering. The weak tremulous voice tells a fearful tale of want and famishing ; and the feeble singer of this roaring song may turn away, only to die of cold and hunger. One o'clock ! Parties returning from the different theatres foot it through the muddy streets ; cabs, hackney-coaches, carriages, and the- atre omnibuses, roll swiftly by ; water- men with dim dirty lanterns in their hands, and large brass plates upon their breasts, who have been shouting and rushing about for the last two hours, retire to their watering-houses, to solace themselves with the creature comforts of pipes and purl ; the half- price pit and box frequenters of the theatres throng to the different houses of refreshment ; and chops, kidneys, rabbits, oysters, stout, cigars, and " goes " innumerable, are served up amidst a noise and confusion of smoking, running, knife-clattering, and waiter-chattering, perfectly in- describable. The more musical portion of the play- going community betake themselves to some harmonic meeting. As a matter of curiosity let us follow them thither for a few moments. In a lofty room of spacious dimen- sions, are seated some eighty or a hun- dred guests knocking little pewter measures on the tables, and hammering away, with the handles of their knives, as if they were so many trunk-makers. They are applauding a glee, which has just been executed by the three " pro- fessional gentlemen " at the top of the centre table, one of whom is in the chair — the little pompous man with the bald head just emerging from the collar of his green coat. The others are seated on either side of him — the stout man with the small voice, and the thin-faced dark man in black. The little man in the chair is a most amusing personage, — such condescend- ing grandeur, and such a voice ! " Bass ! " as the young gentleman near us with the blue stock forcibly remarks to his companion, " bass ! I b'lieve you ; he can go down lower than any man : so low sometimes that you can't hear him." And so he does. To hear him growling away, gradually lower and lower down, till he can't get back again, is the most delightful thing in the world, and it is quite im- possible to witness unmoved the im- pressive solemnity with which he pours forth his soul in " My 'art's in the 'ighlands," or " The brave old Hoak." The stout man is also ad- dicted to sentimentality, and warbles " Fly, fly from the world, my Bessy, with me," or some such song, with lady-like sweetness, and in the most seductive tones imaginable. " Pray give your orders, gen'l'm'n — pray give your orders," — says the pale-faced man with the red head ; and demands for tt goes " of gin and " goes " of brandy, and pints of stout, and cigars of peculiar mildness, are vociferously made from all parts of the room. The " professional gen- tlemen" are hi the very height of their glory, and bestow condescending nods, or even a word or two of recognition THE STREETS— NIGHT. 35 on the better known frequenters of the room, in the most bland and patronising manner possible. That little round-faced man, with the small brown surtout, white stock- ings and shoes, is in the comic line ; the mixed air of self-denial, and mental consciousness of his own powers, with which he acknowledges the call of the chair, is particularly gratifying. * Gen'l'men," says the little pompous man, accompanying the word with a knock of the president's hammer on the table — " GenTmen, allow me to claim your attention — our friend, Mr. Smuggins will oblige." — " Bravo ! " shout the company ; and Smuggins, after a considerable quantity of cough- ing by way of symphony, and a most facetious sniff or two, which afford general delight, sings a comic song, with a fal-de-ral — tol-de-rol chorus at the end of every verse, much longer than the verse itself. It is received with unbounded applause, and after some aspiring genius has volunteered a recitation, and failed dismally therein, the little pompous man gives another knock, and says, " Gen'l'men, we will attempt a glee, if you please." This announcement calls forth tumultuous applause, and the more energetic spirits express the unqualified appro- bation it affords them, by knocking one or two stout glasses off their legs — a humorous device ; but one which frequently occasions some slight alter- cation when the form of paying the damage is proposed to be gone through by the waiter. Scenes like these are continued until three or four o'clock in the morning ; and even when they close, fresh ones open to the inquisitive novice. But as a description of all of them, however slight, would require a volume, the contents of which, how- ever instructive, would be by no means pleasing, we make our bow, and drop the curtain. 3fi SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER III. SHOPS AND THEIK TENANTS. What inexhaustible food for specu- lation, do the streets of London afford ! "We never were able to agree with Sterne in pitying the man who could travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say that all was barren ; we have not the slightest commiseration for the man who can take up his hat and stick, and walk from Covent-garden to St. Paul's churchyard, and back into the bargain, without deriving some amusement — we had almost said instruction — from his perambulation. And yet there are such beings: we meet them every day. Large black stocks and light waist- coats, jet canes and discontented coun- tenances, are the characteristics of the race ; other people brush quickly by you, steadily plodding on to business, or cheerfully running after pleasure. These men linger listlessly past, look- ing as happy and animated as a police- man on duty. Nothing seems to make an impression on their minds: nothing short of being knocked down by a porter, or run over by a cab, will dis- turb their equanimity. You will meet them on a fine day in any of the leading thoroughfares : peep through the win- dow of a west-end cigar-shop in the evening, if you can manage to get a glimpse between the blue curtains which intercept the vulgar gaze, and you see them in their only enjoyment of existence. There they are lounging about, on round tubs and pipe-boxes, in all the dignity of whiskers, and gilt watch-guards ; whispering soft nothings to the young lady in amber, with the large ear-rings, who, as she sits behind the counter in a blaze of adoration and gas-light, is the admi- ration of all the female servants in the neighbourhood, and the envy of every milliner's apprentice within two miles round. One of our principal amusements is to watch the gradual progress — the rise or fall — of particular shops. We have formed an intimate acquamtairce- with several, in different parts of town, and are perfectly acquainted with their whole history. We could name off- hand, twenty at least, which we are quite sure have paid no taxes for the last six years. They are never inhabited for more than two months consecutively, and, we verily believe, have witnessed every retail trade in the directory. There is one, whose history is a sample of the rest, in whose fate we I have taken especial interest, having I had the pleasure of knowing it ever since it has been a shop. It is on the Surrey side of the water — a little dis- tance beyond the Marsh-gate. It was originally a substantial, good-looking private house enough; the landlord got into difficulties, the house got into Chancery, the tenant went away, and the house went to ruin. At this period our acquaintance with it com- menced : the paint was all worn off; the windows were broken, the area was green with neglect and the over- flowings of the water-butt ; the butt itself was without a lid, and the street- door was the very picture of misery. The chief pastime of the children in the vicinity had been to assemble in a body on the steps, and take it in turn to knock loud double knocks at the door, to the great satisfaction of the neighbours generally, and especially of the nervous old lady next door but one. Numerous complaints were made, and several small basins of water discharged over the offenders, but without effect. In this stats of things, the marine-store dealer at the corner of the street, in the most obliging manner took the knocker off, and sold it : and the unfortunate house looked more wretched than ever. We deserted our friend for a few weeks. What was our surprise, on our return, to find no trace of its SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS. 37 existence ! In its place was a hand- some shop, fast approaching to a state of completion, and on the shutters were large bills, informing the public that it would shortly be opened with " an extensive stock of linen-drapery and haberdashery." It opened in due course ; there was the name of the proprietor " and Co." in gilt letters, almost too dazzling to look at. Such ribbons and shawls ! and two such elegant young men behind the counter, each in a clean collar and white neck- cloth, like the lover in a farce. As to the proprietor, he did nothing but walk up and down the shop, and hand seats to the ladies, and hold important conversations with the handsomest of the young men, who was shrewdly suspected by the neighbours to be the " Co." We saw all this with sorrow ; we felt a fatal presentiment that the shop was doomed — and so it was. Its decay was slow, but sure. Tickets gradually appeared in the windows; then rolls of flannel, with labels on them, were stuck outside the door ; then a bill was pasted on the street- door, intimating that the first floor was to let iwuurnished ; then one of the young men disappeared altogether, and the other took to a black necker- chief, and the proprietor took to drink- ing. The shop became dirty, broken panes of glass remained unmended, and the stock disappeared piecemeal. At last the company's man came to cut off the water, and then the linen- draper cut off himself, leaving the landlord his compliments and the key. The next occupant was a fancy sta- tioner. The shop was more modestly painted than before, still it was neat ; but somehow we always thought, as we passed, that it looked like a poor and struggling concern. We wished the man well, but we trembled for his success. He was a widower evidently, and had employment elsewhere, for he passed us every morning on his road to the city. The business was carried on by his eldest daughter. Poor girl ! she needed no assistance. We occa- sionally caught a glimpse of two or three children, in mourning like her- self, as they sat in the little parlour behind the shop ; and we never passed at night without seeing the eldest girl at work, either for them, or in making some elegant little trifle for sale. We often thought, as her pale face looked more sad and pensive in the dim candle-light, that if those thought- less females who interfere with the miserable market of poor creatures such as these, knew but one half of the misery they suffer, and the bitter pri- vations they endure, in their honour- able attempts to earn a scanty subsist- ence, they would, perhaps, resign even opportunities for the gratification of vanity, and an immodest love of self- display, rather than drive them to a last dreadful resource, which it would shock the delicate feelings of these charitable ladies to hear named. But we are forgetting the shop. Well, Ave continued to watch it, and every day showed too clearly the in- creasing poverty of its inmates. The children were clean, it is true, but their clothes were threadbare and shabby ; no tenant had been procured for the upper part of the house, from the letting of which, a portion of the means of paying the rent was to have been derived, and a slow, wasting con- sumption prevented the eldest girl from continuing her exertions. Quarter-day arrived. The landlord had suffered from the extravagance of his last tenant, and he had no compassion for the struggles of his successor ; he put in an execution. As we passed one morning, the broker's men were re- moving the little furniture there was in the house, and a newly-posted bill informed us it was again " To Let." What became of the last tenant we never could learn; we believe the girl is past all suffering, and beyond all sorrow. God help her i We hope she is. We were somewhat curious to ascer- tain what would be the next stage — for that the place had no chance of suc- ceeding now, was perfectly clear. The bill was soon taken down, and some alterations were being made in the interior of the shop. We were in a SKETCHES BY BOZ. fever of expectation ; we exhausted conjecture — we imagined all possible trades, none of which were perfectly reconcilable with our idea of the gradual decay of the tenement. It opened, and we wondered why we had not guessed at the real state of the case before. The shop — not a large one at the best of times — had been converted into two: one was a bonnet- shape maker's, the other was opened by a tobacconist, who also dealt in walking- sticks and Sunday newspapers; the two were separated by a thin par- tition, covered with tawdry striped paper. The tobacconist remained in pos- session longer than any tenant within our recollection. He was a red-faced, impudent, good-for-nothing dog, evi- dently accustomed to take things as they came, and to make the best of a bad' job. He sold as many cigars as he could, and smoked the rest. He occupied the shop as long as he could make peace with the landlord, and when he could no longer live in quiet, he very coolly locked the door, and molted himself. From this period, the two little dens have undergone innu- merable changes. The tobacconist was succeeded by a theatrical hair-dresser, who ornamented the window with a great variety of " characters," and ter- rific combats. The bonnet-shape maker gave place to a green-grocer, and the histrionic barber was succeeded, in his turn, by a tailor. So numerous have been the changes, that we have of late done little more than mark the pecu- liar but certain indications of a house being poorly inhabited. It has been progressing by almost imperceptible degrees. The occupiers of the shops have gradually given up room after room, until they have only reserved the little parlour for themselves. First there appeared a brass plate on the private door, with "Ladies' School" legibly engraved thereon ; shortly afterwards we observed a second brass plate, then a bell, and then another beU. When we paused in front of our old friend, and observed these signs of poverty, which are not to be mistaken, we thought as we turned away, that the house had attained its lowest pitch of degradation. We were wrong. When we last passed it, a "dairy" was established in the area, and a party of melancholy-looking fowls were amusing themselves by running in at the front door, and out at the back one. SCOTLAND-YARD. 39 CHAPTER IV. SCOTLAND-YARD. Scotland-yard is a small — a very small — tract of land, bounded on one side by the river Thames, on the other by the gardens of Northumberland House : abutting at one end on the bottom of Northumberland-street, at the other on the back of Whitehall- place. When this territory was first accidentally discovered by a country gentleman who lost his way in the Strand, some years ago, the original settlers were found to be a tailor, a publican, two eating-house keepers, and a fruit-pie maker ; and it was also found to contain a race of strong and bulky men, who repaired to the wharfs in Scotland-yard regularly every morning, about five or six o'clock, to fill heavy waggons with coal, with which they proceeded to distant places up the country, and supplied the inhabitants with fuel. When they had emptied their waggons, they again returned for a fresh supply; and this trade was continued through- out the year. As the settlers derived their sub- sistence from ministering to the wants of these primitive traders, the articles exposed for sale, and the places where they were sold, bore strong outward marks of being expressly adapted to their tastes and wishes. The tailor displayed in his window a Lilliputian pair of leather gaiters, and a diminu- tive round frock, while each doorpost was appropriately garnished with a model of a coal-sack. The two eating- house keepers exhibited joints of a magnitude, and puddings of a solidity, which coalheavers alone could appre- ciate ; and the fruit-pie maker dis- played on his well-scrubbed window- board large white compositions of flour and dripping, ornamented with pink stains, giving rich promise of the fruit within, which made their huge mouths water, as they lingered past. But the choicest spot in all Scot- land-yard was the old public house in the corner. Here, in a dark wain- scotted-room of ancient appearance, cheered by the glow of a mighty fire, and decorated with an enormous clock, whereof the face was white, and the figures black, sat the lusty coalheavers, quaffing large draughts of Barclay's best, and puffing forth volumes of smoke, which wreathed heavily above their heads, and involved the room in a thick dark cloud. From this apart- ment might their voices be heard on a winter's night, penetrating to the very bank of the river, as they shouted out some sturdy chorus, or roared forth the burden of a popular song ; dwell- ing upon the last few words with a strength and length of emphasis which made the very roof tremble above them. Here, too, would they tell old legends of what the Thames was in ancient times, when the Patent Shot Manufac- tory wasn't built, and Waterloo- bridge had never been thought of ; and then they would shake their heads with portentous looks, to the deep edification of the rising generation of heavers, who crowded round them, and wondered where all this would end ; whereat the tailor would take his pipe solemnly from his mouth, and say, how that he hoped it might end well, but he very much doubted whether it would or not, and couldn't rightly tell what to make of it — a mys- terious expression of opinion, delivered with a semi-prophetic air, which never failed to elicit the fullest concurrence of the assembled company ; and so they would go on drinking and won- dering till ten o'clock came, and with it the tailor's wife to fetch him home, when the little party broke up, to meet again in the same room, and say and do precisely the same things on the following evening at the same hour. 40 SKETCHES BY BOZ. About this time the barges that came up the river began to bring vague rumours to Scotland-yard of somebody in the city having been heard to say, that the Lord Mayor had threatened in so many words to pull down the old London-bridge, and build up a new one. At first these rumours were disregarded as idle tales, wholly destitute of foundation, for nobody in Scotland-yard doubted that if the Lord Mayor contemplated any such dark design, he would just be clapped up in the Tower for a week or two, and then killed off for high treason. By degrees, however, the reports grew stronger, and more frequent, and at last a barge, laden with nume- rous chaldrons of the best Wallsend, brought up the positive intelligence that several of the arches of the old bridge were stopped, and that prepa- rations were actually in progress for constructing the new one. What an excitement was visible in the old tap- room on that memorable night ! Each man looked into his neighbour's face, pale with alarm and astonishment, and read therein an echo of the sentiments which filled his own breast. The oldest heaver present proved to de- monstration, that the moment the piers were removed, all the water in the Thames would run clean off, and leave a dry gully in its place. What was to become of the coal-barges — of the trade of Scotland-yard — of the very existence of its population ? The tailor shook his head more sagely than usual, and grimly pointing to a knife on the table, bid them wait and see what happened. He said nothing — not he ; but if the Lord Mayor didn't fall a victim to popular indig- nation, why he would be rather astonished ; that was all. They did wait ; barge after barge arrived, and still no tidings of the assassination of the Lord Mayor. The first stone was laid : it was done by a Duke — the King's brother. Years passed away, and the bridge was opened by the King himself. In course of time, the piers were re- moved ; and when the people in Scot- land-yard got up next morning in the confident expectation of being able to step over to Pedlar's Acre without wetting the soles of their shoes, they found to their unspeakable astonish- ment that the water was just where it used to be. A result so different from that which they had anticipated from this first improvement, produced its full effect upon the inhabitants of Scot- land-yard. One of the eating-house keepers began to court public opinion, and to look for customers among a new class of people. He covered his little dining-tables with white cloths, and got a painter's apprentice to in- scribe something about hot joints from twelve to two, in one of the little panes of his shop-window. Improvement began to march with rapid strides to the very threshold of Scotland-yard. A new market sprung up at Hunger- ford, and the Police Commissioners established their office in Whitehall- place. The traffic in Scotland-yard increased; fresh Members were added to the House of Commons, the Metro- politan Representatives found it a near cut, and many other foot passen- gers followed their example. We marked the advance of civilisa- tion, and beheld it with a sigh. The eating-house keeper who manfully resisted the innovation of table-cloths, was losing ground every day, as his opponent gained it, and a deadly feud sprung up between them. The gen- teel one no longer took his evening's pint in Scotland-yard, but drank gin and water at a " parlour " in Parlia- ment-street. The fruit-pie maker still continued to visit the old room, but he took to smoking cigars, and began to call himself a pastrycook, and to read the papers. The old heavers still assembled round the ancient fireplace, but their talk was mournful : and the loud song and the joyous shout were heard no more. And what is Scotland-yard now ? How have its old customs changed ; and how has the ancient simplicity of its inhabitants faded away ! The old tottering public-house is converted SCOTLAND-YARD. 41 into a spacious and lofty " wine- vaults ;" gold leaf has been used in the construction of the letters which emblazon its exterior, and the poet's art has been called into requisition, to intimate that if you drink a certain description of ale, you must hold fast by the rail The tailor exhibits in his window the pattern of a foreign-look- ing brown surtout, with silk buttons, a fur collar and fur cuffs. He wears a stripe down the outside of each leg of his trousers : and we have detected his assistants (for he has assistants now) in the act of sitting on the shop- board in the same uniform. At the other end of the little row of houses a boot-maker has established himself in a brick box, with the ad- ditional innovation of a first floor ; and here he exposes for sale, boots — real Wellington boots — an article which a few years ago, none of the original inhabitants had ever seen or heard of. It was but the other day, that a dress-maker opened another little box in the middle of the row ; and, when we thought that the spirit of change could produce no alteration beyond that, a jeweller appeared, and not content with exposing gilt rings and copper bracelets out of number, put up an announcement, which still sticks in his window, that " ladies' ears may be pierced within." The dress-maker employs a young lady who wears pockets in her apron ; and the tailor informs the public that gentlemen may have their own materials made up. Amidst all this change, and rest- lessness, and innovation, there remains but one old man, who seems to mourn the downfall of this ancient place. He holds no converse with human kind, but, seated on a wooden bench at the angle of the wall which fronts the crossing from Whitehall-place, watches in silence the gambols of his sleek and well-fed dogs. He is the presiding genius of Scotland-yard. Years and years have rolled over his head ; but, in fine weather or in foul, hot or cold, wet or dry, hail, rain, or snow, he is still in his accustomed, spot. Misery and want are depicted in his counte- nance ; his form is bent by age, his head is gray with length of trial, but there he sits from day to day, brood- ing over the past ; and thither he will continue to drag his feeble limbs, until his eyes have closed upon Scotland- yard, and upon the world together. A few years hence, and the anti- quary of another generation looking into some mouldy record of the strife and passions that agitated the world in these times, may glance his eye over the pages we have just filled : and not all his knowledge of the history of the past, not all his black-letter lore, or his skill in book-collecting, not all the dry studies of a long life, or the dusty volumes that have cost him a fortune, may help him to the whereabouts, either of Scotland-yard, or of any one of the landmarks we have mentioned in describing it. SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER Y. SEVEN DIALS. We have always been of opinion that if Tom King and the Frenchman had not immortalised Seven Dials, Seven Dials would have immortalised itself. Seven Dials ! the region of song and poetry — first effusions, and last dying speeches : hallowed by the names of Catnach and of Pitts — names that will entwine themselves with costermongers, and barrel organs, when penny magazines shall have superseded penny yards of song, and capital punishment be unknown ! Look at the construction of the place. The gordian knot was all very well in its way : so was the maze of Hampton Court : so is the maze at the Beulah Spa : so were the ties of stiff white neckcloths, when the diffi- culty of getting one on, was only to be equalled by the apparent impos- sibility of ever getting it off again. But what involutions can compare with those of Seven Dials ? Where is there such another maze of streets, courts, lanes, and alleys % Where such a pure mixture of Englishmen and Irishmen, as in this complicated part of London ? We boldly aver that we doubt the veracity of the legend to which we have adverted. We can suppose a man rash enough to inquire at random — at a house with lodgers too— for a Mr. Thomp- son, with all but the certainty before his eyes, of finding at least two or three Thompsons in any house of moderate dimensions ; but a French- man — a Frenchman in Seven Dials ! Pooh ! He was an Irishman. Tom King's education had been neglected in his infancy, and as he couldn't understand half the man said, he took it for granted he was talking French. The stranger who finds himself in " The Dials" for the first time, and stands Belzoni-like, at the entrance of seven obscure passages, uncertain which to take, will see enough around him to keep his curiosity and attention awake for no inconsiderable time. From the irregular square into which he has plunged, the streets and courts dart in all directions, until they are lost in the unwholesome vapour which hangs over the house-tops, and renders the dirty perspective, uncer- tain and confined ; and lounging at every corner, as if they came there to take a few gasps of such fresh air as has found its way so far, but is too much exhausted already, to be enabled to force itself into the narrow- alleys around, are groups of people, whose appearance and dwellings would fill any mind but a regular Londoner's with astonishment. On one side, a little crowd has collected round a couple of ladies, who having imbibed the contents of various " three-outs" of gin and bitters in the course of the morning, have at length differed on some point of domestic arrangement, and are on the eve of settling the quarrel satisfac- torily, by an appeal to blows, greatly to the interest of other ladies who live in the same house, and tenements adjoining, and who are all partisans on one side or other. " Vy don't you pitch into her, Sarah ?" exclaims one half-dressed matron, by way of encouragement. a Vy don't you ? if my 'usband had treated her with a drain last night, unbeknown to me, I 'd tear her pre- cious eyes out — a wixen !" " What 's the matter, ma'am ? " inquires another old woman, who has just bustled up to the spot. " Matter !" replies the first speaker, talking at the obnoxious combatant, " matter ! Here 's poor dear Mrs. Sulliwin, as has five blessed children of her own, can't go out a charing for one arternoon, but what hussies must be a comin', and 'ticing avay her oun' 'usband, as she 's been married to SEVEN DIALS. 48 twelve year come next Easter Mon- day, for I see the certificate ven I vas a drinkin' a cup o' tea vith her, only the werry last blessed Ven'sday as ever was sent. I 'appen'd to say promiscuously * Mrs. Sulliwin, says " What do you mean by hussies 1 " interrupts a champion of the other party, who has evinced a strong incli- nation throughout to get up a branch fight on her own account ("Hoo- roar," ejaculates a pot-boy in paren- thesis, "put the kye-bosk on her, Mary ! "), " What do you mean by hussies ? " reiterates the champion. " Niver mind," replies the opposi- tion expressively, " niver mind ; you go home, and, ven you're quite sober, mend your stockings." This somewhat personal allusion, not only to the lady's habits of intem- perance, but also to the state of her wardrobe, rouses her utmost ire, and she accordingly complies with the urgent request of the bystanders to " pitch in," with considerable alacrity. The scuffle became general, and terminates, hi minor play-bill phraseo- logy, with " arrival of the police- men, interior of the station-house, and impressive denouement." In addition to the numerous groups who are idling about the gin-shops and squabbling in the centre of the road, every post in the open space has its occupant, who leans against it for hours, with listless perseverance. It is odd enough that one class of men in London appear to have no enjoy- ment beyond leaning against posts. We never saw a regular bricklayer's labourer take any other recreation, fighting excepted. Pass through St. Giles's in the evening of a week-day, there they are in their fustian dresses, spotted with brick-dust and whitewash, leaning against posts. Walk through Seven Dials on Sunday morning : there they are again, drab or light corduroy trowsers, Blucher boots, blue coats, and great yellow waist- coats, leaning against posts. The idea of a man dressing himself in his best clothes, to lean against a post all day ! The peculiar character of these streets, and the close resemblance each one bears to its neighbour, by no means tends to decrease the bewilder- ment in which the unexperienced wayfarer through "the Dials" finds himself involved. He traverses streets of dirty, straggling houses, with now and then an unexpected court composed of buildings as ill-proportioned and deformed as the half-naked children that wallow in the kennels. Here and there, a little dark chandler's shop, with a cracked bell hung up behind the door to announce the entrance of a customer, or betray the presence of some young gentleman in whom a passion for shop tills has developed itself at an early age : others, as if for support, against some handsome lofty building, which usurps the place of a low dingy public-house ; long rows of broken and patched windows expose plants that may have flourished when " The Dials " were built, in vessels as dirty as " The Dials " them- selves ; and shops for the purchase of rags, bones, old iron, and kitchen-stuff, vie in cleanliness with the bird-fan- ciers and rabbit-dealers, which one might fancy so many arks, but for the irresistible conviction that no bird in its proper senses, who was permitted to leave one of them, would ever come back again. Brokers' shops, which would seem to have been established by humane individuals, as refuges for destitute bugs, interspersed with an- nouncements of day-schools, penny theatres, petition-writers, mangles, and music for balls or routs, complete the "still life" of the subject; and dirty men, filthy women, squalid children, fluttering shuttlecocks, noisy battledores, reeking pipes, bad fruit, more than doubtful oysters, attenuated cats, depressed dogs, and anatomical fowls, are its cheerful accompaniments. If the external appearance of the houses, or a glance at their inhabitants, present but few attractions, a closer acquaintance with either is little cal- culated to alter one's first impression. Every room has its separate tenant, and every tenant is, by the same mys- 44 SKETCHES BY BOZ. terious dispensation which causes a \ country curate to " increase and mul- j tiply " most marvellously, generally the head of a numerous family. The man in the shop, perhaps, is in the baked "jemmy" line, or the fire- wood and hearth-stone line, or any other line which requires a floating capital of eighteen pence or there- abouts : and he and his family live in the shop, and the small back parlour behind it. Then there is an Irish labourer and his family in the back kitchen, and a jobbing-man — carpet- beater and so forth — with his family in the front one. In the front one- pair, there's another man with another wife and family, and in the back one- pair, there's " a young 'oman as takes in tambour-work, and dresses quite genteel," who talks a good deal about "my friend," and can't "abear any- thing low." The second floor front, and the rest of the lodgers, are just a second edition of the people below, except a shabby-genteel man in the nack attic, who has his half-pint of coffee every morning from the coffee- shop next door but one, which boasts a little front den called a coffee-room, with a fire-place, over which is an inscription, politely requesting that, " to prevent mistakes," customers will " please to pay on delivery." The shabby-genteel man is an object of some mystery, but as he leads a life of seclusion, and never was known to buy anything beyond an occasional pen, except half-pints of coffee, penny loaves, and ha'porths of ink, his fellow- lodgers very naturally suppose him to be an author ; and rumours are cur- rent in the Dials, that he writes poems for Mr. Warren. Now any body who passed through the Dials on a hot summer's evening, and saw the different women of the house gossiping on the steps, would be apt to think that all was harmony among them, and that a more primitive set of people than the native Diallers could not be imagined. Alas ! the man in the shop illtreats his family ; the carpet-beater extends his pro- fessional pursuits to his wife ; the one- q pair front has an undying feud with the two-pair front, in consequence of the two-pair front persisting in dancing over his (the one-pair front's) head, when he and his family have retired for the night ; the two-pair back will interfere with the front kitchen's chil- dren ; the Irishman comes home di'unk every other night, and attacks every body ; and the one pair back screams at every thing. Animosities spring up between floor and floor ; the very cellar asserts his equality. Mrs. A. "smacks" Mrs. B.'s child, for "making faces." Mrs. B. forth- with throws cold water over Mrs. A.'s child for " calling names." The hus- bands are embroiled — the quarrel becomes general — an assault is the consequence, and a police-officer the result. MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET. 45 CHAPTER VI. MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET. We have always entertained a par- ticular attachment towards Monmouth- street, as the only true and real em- porium for second-hand wearing apparel. Monmouth-street is vene- rable from its antiquity, and respectable from its usefulness. Holywell-street we despise : the red-headed and red- whiskered Jews who forcibly haul you into their squalid houses, and thrust you into a suit of clothes, whether you will or not, we detest. The inhabitants of Monmouth-street are a distinct class ; a peaceable and retiring race, who immure themselves for the most part in deep cellars, or small back parlours, and who seldom come forth into the world, except in the dusk and coolness of evening, when they may b^ seen seated, in chairs on the pavement, smoking their pipes, or watching the gambols of their en- gaging children as they revel in the gutter, a happy troop of infantine sca- vengers. Their countenances bear a thoughtful and a dirty cast, certain in- dications of their love of traffic ; and their habitations are distinguished by that disregard of outward appearance, and neglect of personal comfort, so common among people who are con- stantly immersed in profound specu- lations, and deeply engaged in sedentary pursuits. We have hinted at the antiquity of our favourite spot. " A Monmouth- street laced coat " was a by-word a century ago ; and still we find Mon- mouth-street the same. Pilot great- coats with wooden buttons, have usurped the place of the ponderous laced coats with full skirts ; embroi- dered waistcoats with large flaps, have yielded to double-breasted checks with roll-collars ; and three-cornered hats of quaint appearance, have given place to the low crowns and broad brims of the coachman school ; but it is the times that have changed, not Mon- mouth-street. Through every altera- tion and every change, Monmouth- street has still remained the burial- place of the fashions ; and such, to judge from all present appearances, it will remain until there are no more fashions to bury. We love to walk among these ex- tensive groves of the illustrious dead, and to indulge in the speculations to which they give rise ; now fitting a deceased coat, then a dead pair of trousers, and anon the mortal remains of a gaudy waistcoat, upon some being of our own conjuring up, and endeavouring, from the shape and fashion of the garment itself, to bring its former owner before our mind's eye. We have gone on speculating in this way, until whole rows of coats have started from their pegs, and but- toned up, of their own accord, round the waists of imaginary wearers ; lines of trousers have jumped down to meet them ; waistcoats have almost burst with anxiety to put themselves on ; and half an acre of shoes have sud- denly found feet to fit them, and gone stumping down the street with a noise which has fairly awakened us from our pleasant reverie, and driven us slowly away, with a bewildered stare, an object of astonishment to the good people of Monmouth-street, and of no slight suspicion to the policemen at the opposite street corner. We were occupied in this manner the other day, endeavouring to fit a pair of lace-up half-boots on an ideal personage, for whom, to say the truth, they were full a couple of sizes too small, when our eyes happened to alight on a few suits of clothes ranged outside a shop-window, which it imme- diately struck us, must at different periods have all belonged to, and been worn by, the same individual, and had now, by one of those strange conjunc- tions of circumstances which will occur 4S SKETCHES BY BOZ. sometimes, come to be exposed toge- ther for sale in the same shop. The idea seemed a fantastic one, and we looked at the clothes again, with a firm determination not to be easily led away. No, we were right ; the more we looked, the more we were convinced of" the accuracy of our previous im- pression. There was the man's whole life written as legibly on those clothes, as if we had his autobiography en- grossed on parchment before us. The first was a patched and much- soiled skeleton suit ; one of those straight blue cloth cases in which small boys used to be confined, before belts and tunics had come in, and old no- tions had gone out : an ingenious con- trivance for displaying the full sym- metry of a boy's figure, by fastening him into a very tight jacket, with an ornamental row of buttons over each shoulder, and then buttoning his trou- sers over it, so as to give his legs the appearance of being hooked on, just under the armpits. This was the boy's dress. It had belonged to a town boy, we could see ; there was a shortness about the legs and arms of the suit ; and a bagging at the knees, peculiar to the rising youth of London streets. A small day-school he had been at, evidently. If it had been a regular boys' school they wouldn't have let him play on the floor so much, and rub his knees so white. He had an indulgent mother too, and plenty of halfpence, as the numerous smears of some sticky substance about the pockets, and just below the chin, which even the salesman's skill could not succeed in disguising, sufficiently beto- kened. They were decent people, but not overburdened with riches, or he would not have so far outgrown the suit when he passed into those cordu- roys with the round jacket ; in which he went to a boys' school, however, learnt to write— and in ink of pretty tolerable blackness, too, if the place where he used to wipe his pen might be taken as evidence. A black suit and the jacket changed into a diminutive coat. His father had died, and the mother had got the boy a message-lad's place in some office. A long- worn suit that one ; rusty and threadbare before it was laid aside, but clean and free from soil to the last. Poor woman ! We could imagine her assumed cheerfulness over the scanty meal, and the refusal of her own small portion, that her hungry boy might have enough. Her constant anxiety for his welfare, her pride in his growth mingled sometimes with the thought, almost too acute to bear, that as he grew to be a man his old affection might cool, old kindnesses fade from his mhid, and old promises be forgotten — the sharp pain that even then a care- less word or a cold look would give her — all crowded on our thoughts as vividly as if the very scene were pass- ing before us. These things happen every hour, and we all know it ; and yet we felt as much sorrow when we saw, or fan- cied we saw — it makes no difference which — the change that began to take place now, as if we had just conceived the bare possibility of such a thing for the first time. The next suit, smart but slovenly ; meant to be gay, and yet not half so decent as the thread- bare apparel ; redolent of the idle lounge, and the blackguard compa- nions, told us, we thought, that the widow's comfort had rapidly faded away. We could imagine that coat — imagine ! we could see it ; we had seen it a hundred times — sauntering in company with three or four other coats of the same cut, about some place of profligate resort at night. We dressed, from the same shop- window in an instant, half a dozen boys of from fifteen to twenty ; and putting cigars into their mouths, and their hands into their pockets, watched them as they sauntered down the street, and lingered at the corner, with the obscene jest, and the oft-repeated oath. We never lost sight of them, till they had cocked their hats a little more on one side, and swaggered into the public-house ; and then we entered the desolate home, where the mother sat late in the night, alone ; we watched her, as she paced the room in feverish MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET. 47 anxiety, and every now and then opened the door, looked wistfully into the dark and empty street, and again returned, to be again and again disappointed. We beheld the look of patience with which she bore the brutish threat, nay, even the drunken blow ; and we heard the agony of tears that gushed from her very heart, as she sank upon her knees in her solitary and wretched apartment. A long period had elapsed, and a greater change had taken place, by the time of casting off the suit that hung above. It was that of a stout, broad- shouldered, sturdy-chested man ; and we knew at once, as any body would, who glanced at that broad-skirted green coat, with the large metal buttons, that its wearer seldom walked forth without a dog at his heels, and some idle ruffian, the very counterpart of him- self, at his side. The vices of the boy had grown with the man, and we fancied his home then — if such a place deserve the name. We saw the bare and miserable room, destitute of furniture, crowded with his wife and children, pale, hungry, and emaciated ; the man cursing their lamentations, staggering to the tap- room, from whence he had just re- turned, followed by his wife and a sickly infant, clamouring for bread ; and heard the street- wrangle and noisy recrimination that his striking her occasioned. And then imagination led us to some metropolitan workhouse, situated in the midst of crowded streets and alleys, filled with noxious vapours, and ringing with boisterous cries, where an old and feeble woman, im- ploring pardon for her son, lay dying in a close dark room, with no child to clasp her hand, and no pure air from heaven to fan her brow. A stranger closed the eyes that settled into a cold unmeaning glare, and strange ears received the words that murmured from the white and half-closed lips. A coarse round frock, Avith a worn cotton neckerchief, and other articles of clothing of the commonest descrip- tion, completed the history. A prison, and the sentence — banishment or the gallows. What would the man have given then, to be once again the con- tented humble drudge of his boyish years ; to have restored to life, but for a week, a clay, an hour, a minute, only for so long a time as would enable him to say one word of passionate regret to, and hear one sound of heartfelt for- giveness from, the cold and ghastly form that lay rotting in the pauper's grave ! The children wild in the streets, the mother a destitute widow ; both deeply tainted with the deep dis- grace of the husband and father's name, and impelled by sheer necessity, down the precipice that had led him to- a lingering death, possibly of many years' duration, thousands of miles away. We had no clue to the end of the tale ; but it was easy to guess its termination. We took a step or two further on, and by way of restoring the naturally cheerful tone of our thoughts, began fitting visionary feet and legs into a cellar-board full of boots and shoes, with a speed and accuracy that would have astonished the most expert artist in leather, living. There was one pair of boots in particular — a jolly, good-tempered, hearty-looking, pair of tops, that excited our warmest regard ; and we had got a fine, red-faced, jovial fellow of a market-gardener into them, before we had made their acquaintance half a minute. They were just the very thing for him. There were his huge fat legs bulging over the tops, and fitting them too tight to admit of his tucking in the loops he had pulled them on by ; and his knee- cords with an interval of stocking ; and his blue apron tucked up round his Avaist ; and his red neckerchief and blue coat, and a white hat stuck on one side of his head ; and there he stood with a broad grin on his great red face, whistling aAvay, as if any other idea but that of being happy and comfortable had never entered his brain. This Avas the very man after our OAvn heart ; Ave knew all about him ; Ave had seen him coming up to Covent- garden in his green chaise-cart, Avith the fat tubby little horse, half a thou- sand times ; and even while Ave cast 48 SKETCHES BY BOZ. an affectionate look upon his boots, at that instant, the form of a coquettish servant-maid suddenly sprung into a pair of Denmark satin shoes that stood beside them, and we at once recog- nised the very girl who accepted his offer of a ride, just on this side the Hammersmith suspension-bridge, the very last Tuesday morning we rode into town from Richmond. A very smart female, in a showy bonnet, stepped into a pair of gray cloth boots, with black fringe and binding, that were studiously pointing out their toes on the other side of the top-boots, and seemed very anxious to engage his attention, but we didn't observe that our friend the market- gardener appeared at all captivated with these blandishments ; for beyond giving a knowing wink when they first began, as if to imply that he quite understood their end and object, he took no further notice of them. His indifference, however, was amply re- compensed by the excessive gallantry of a very old gentleman with a silver- headed stick, who tottered into a pair of large list shoes, that were standing in one corner of the board,and indulged in a variety of gestures expressive of his admiration of the lady in the cloth boots, to the immeasurable amusement of a young fellow we put into a pair of long-quartered pumps, who we thought would have split the coat that slid down to meet him, with laughing. We had been looking on at this little pantomime with great satisfac- faction for some time, when, to our unspeakable astonishment, we per- ceived that the whole of the charac- ters, including a numerous corps de oallet of boots and shoes in the back- ground, into which we had been nastily thrusting as many feet as we could press into the service, were arranging themselves in order for dancing ; and some music striking up at the moment, to it they went with- j out delay. It was perfectly delightful to witness the agility of the market- gardener. Out went the boots, first on one side, then on the other, then cutting, then shuffling, then setting to the Denmark satins, then advancing, then retreating, then going round, and then repeating the whole of the evolu- tions again, without appearing to suffer in the least from the violence of the exercise. Nor were the Denmark satins a bit behindhand, for ; they jumped and bounded about, in all directions ; and though they were neither so regular, nor so true to the time as the cloth boots, still, as they seemed to do it from the heart, and to enjoy it more, we candidly confess that we preferred their style of dancing to the other. But the old gentleman in the list shoes was the most amusing object in the whole party ; for, besides his gro- tesque attempts to appear youthful, and amorous, which were sufficiently entertaining in themselves, the young fellow in the pumps managed so art- fully that every time the old gentleman advanced to salute the lady in the cloth boots, he trod with his whole weight on the old fellow's toes, which made him roar with anguish, and rendered all the others like to die of laughing. We were in the full enjoyment of these festivities when we heard a shrill, and by no means musical voice, exclaim, " Hope you '11 know me agin, imperence ! " and on looking intently forward to see from whence the sound came, we found that it proceeded, not from the young lady in the cloth boots, as we had at first been inclined to sup- pose, but from a bulky lady of elderly appearance who was seated in a chair at the head of the cellar-steps, apparently for the purpose of superintending the sale of the articles arranged there. A barrel organ, which had been in full force close behind us, ceased playing ; the people we had been fitting into the shoes and boots took to flight at the interruption ; and as we were conscious that in the depth of our meditations we might have been rudely staring at the old lady for half an hour without knowing it, we took to flight too, and were soon immersed in the deepest obscurity of the adjacent "Dials." HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 49 CHAPTER VII. HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. We maintain that hackney-coaches, properly so called, . belong solely to the metropolis. We' may be told, that there are hackney-coach stands in Edinburgh ; and not to go quite so far for a contradiction to our position, we may be reminded that Liverpool, Manchester, " and other large towns " (as the Parliamentary phrase goes), have tlteir hackney-coach stands. We readily concede to these places, the possession of certain vehicles, which may look almost as dirty, and even go almost as slowly, as London hackney- coaches : but that they have the slightest claim to compete Avith the metropolis, either in point of stands, drivers, or cattle, we indignantly deny. Take a regular, ponderous, rickety, London hackney-coach of the old school, and let any man have the bold- ness to assert, if he can, that he ever beheld any object on the face of the earth which at all resembles it, unless, indeed, it wsre another hackney-coach of the same date. We have recently observed on certain stands, and we say it with deep regret, rather dapper green chariots, and coaches of polished yellow, with four wheels of the same colour as the coach, whereas it is per- fectly notorious to every one who has studied the subject, that every wheel ought to be of a different colour, and a different size. These are innova- tions, and, like other mis-called im- provements, awful signs of the rest- lessness of the public mind, and the little respect paid to our time-honoured institutions. Why should hackney- coaches be clean ? Our ancestors found them dirty, and left them so. Why should we, with a feverish wish to " keep moving," desire to roll along at the rate of six miles an hour, while they were content to rumble over the stones at four ? These are solemn considerations. Hackney-coaches are part and parcel of the law of the land ; No. 176. i they were settled by the Legislature ; plated and numbered by the wisdom of Parliament. Then why have they been swamped by cabs and omnibuses 1 Or why should people be allowed to ride quickly for eightpence a mile, after Parliament had come to the solemn decision that they should pay a shilling a mile for riding slowly \ We pause for a reply ; — and, having no chance of getting one, begin a fresh paragraph. Our acquaintance with hackney- coach stands is of long standing. We are a walking book of fares, feeling ourselves half-bound, as it were, to be always in the right on contested points. We know all the regular watermen within three miles of Covent-garden by sight, and should be almost tempted to believe that all the hackney-coach horses in that district knew us by sight too, if one-half of them were not blind. We take great interest in hackney-coaches, but we seldom drive, having a knack of turning ourselves over, when we attempt to do so. We are as great friends to horses, hack- ney-coach and otherwise, as the re- nowned Mr. Martin, of costermonger notoriety, and yet we never ride. We keep no horse, but a clothes-horse ; enjoy no saddle so much as a saddle of mutton ; and, following our own inclinations, have never followed the hounds. Leaving . these fleeter means of getting over the ground, or of depositing oneself upon it, to those who like them, by hackney-coach stands we take our stand. There is a hackney-coach stand under the very window at which we are writing ; there is only one coach on it now, but it is a fair specimen of the class of vehicles to which we have alluded — a great, lumbering, square concern of a dingy yellow colour (like a bilious brunette), with very small glasses, but very large frames ; the 50 SKETCHES BY BOZ. panels are ornamented with a faded coat of arms, in shape something like a dissected bat, the axletree is red, and the majority of the wheels are green. The box is partially covered by an old great-coat, with a multipli- city of capes, and some extraordinary- looking clothes ; and the straw, with which the canvas cushion is stuffed is sticking up in several places, as if in rivalry of the hay, which is peeping through the chinks in the boot. The horses, with drooping heads, and each with a mane and tail as scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rock- ing-horse, are standing patiently on some damp straw, occasionally wincing, and rattling the harness ; and, now and then, one of them lifts his mouth to the ear of his companion, as if he were saying, in a whisper, that he should like to assassinate the coach- man. The coachman himself is in the watering-house ; and the waterman, with his hands forced into his pockets as far as they can possibly go, is dancing the " double shuffle," in front of the pump, to keep his feet warm. The servant-girl, with the pink rib- bons, at No. 5, opposite, suddenly opens the street-door, and four small children forthwith rush out, and scream " Coach ! " with all their might and main. The waterman darts from the pump, seizes the horses by their re- spective bridles, and drags them, and the coach too, round to the house, shouting all the time for the coachman at the very top, or rather very bottom of his voice, for it is a deep bass growl. A response is heard from the tap- room ; the coachman, in his wooden- soled shoes, makes the street echo again as he runs across it ; and then there is such a struggling, and backing, and grating of the kennel, to get the coach- door opposite the house-door, that the children- are in perfect ecstasies of delight. What a commotion ! The old lady, who has been stopping there for the last month, is going back to the country. Out comes box after box, and one side of the vehicle is filled with luggage in no time ; the children get into everybody's way, and the youngest, who has upset himself in his attempts to carry an umbrella, is borne off wounded and kicking. The young- sters disappear, and a short pause en- sues, during which the old lady is, no doubt, kissing them all round in the back parlour. She appears at last, fol- lowed by her married daughter, all the children, and both, the servants, who, with the joint assistance of the coach- man and waterman, manage to get her safely into the coach. A cloak is handed in, and a little basket, which we could almost swear contains a small black bottle, and a paper of sandwiches. Up go the steps, bang goes the door, " Golden-cross, Charing-cross, Tom, 5 " says the waterman ; " Good bye, grand- ma," cry the children, off jingles the coach at the rate of three miles an hour, and the mamma and children retire into the house, with the excep- tion of one little villain, who runs up the street at the top of his speed, pur- sued by the servant ; not ill pleased to have such an opportunity of displaying her attractions. She brings him back, and, after casting two or three gracious glances across the way, which are either intended for us or the potboy (we are not quite certain which) shuts the door, and the hackney-coach stand is again at a stand still. We have been frequently amused with the intense delight with which " a servant of all work," who is sent for a coach, deposits herself inside ; and the unspeakable gratification which boys, who have been despatched on a similar errand, appear -to derive from mount- ing the box. But we never recollect to have been more amused with a hackney-coach party, than one we saw early the other morning in Tottenham- court-road. It was a wedding-party, and emerged from one of the inferior streets near Fitzroy-square. There were the bride, with a thin white dress, and a great red face ; and the brides- maid, a little, dumpy, good-humoured young woman, dressed, of course, in the same appropriate costume ; and the bridegroom and his chosen friend, in blue coats, yellow waistcoats, white trousers, and Berlin gloves to match. HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 51 They stopped at the corner of the street, and called a coach with an air of indescribable dignity. The moment they were in, the bridesmaid threw a red shawl, which she had, no doubt, brought on purpose, negligently over the number on the door, evidently to delude pedestrians into the belief that the hackney-coach was a private car- riage ; and away they went, perfectly satisfied that the imposition was suc- cessful, and quite unconscious that there was a great staring number stuck up behind, on a plate as large as a schoolboy's slate. A shilling a mile ! — the ride was worth five, at least, to them. What an interesting book a hackney- coach might produce, if it could carry as much in its head as it does in its body ! The autobiography of a broken- down hackney-coach, would surely be as amusing as the autobiography of a broken-down hackneyed dramatist; and it might tell as much of its travels with the pole, as others have of their expe- ditions to it. How many stories might be related of the different people it had conveyed on matters of business or profit — pleasure or pain ! And how many melancholy tales of the same people at different periods ! The coun- try-girl — the showy, over-dressed wo- man — the drunken prostitute ! The raw apprentice — the dissipated spend- thrift—the thief ! Talk of cabs ! Cabs are all very well in cases of expedition, when it's a matter of neck or nothing, life or death, your temporary home or your long one. But, beside a cab 's lacking that gravity of deportment which so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney- coach, let it never be forgotten that a cab is a thing of yesterday, and that he never was anything better. A hack- ney-cab has always been a. hackney- cab, from his first entry into public life ; Avhereas a hackney-coach is a remnant of past gentility, a victim to fashion, a hanger-on of an old English family, wearing their arms, and, in days of yore, escorted by men wearing their livery, stripped of his finery, and thrown upon the world, like a once- smart footman when he is no longer sufficiently juvenile for his office, pro- gressing lower and lower in the scale of four-wheeled degradation^ until at last it comes to— a stai&d ! SKETCHES BY BCZ. CHAPTER VIII. DOCTORS COMMONS. Walking, without any definite object, through St. Paul's Churchyard, a little •while ago, we happened to turn down a street entitled " Paul's-chain," and keeping straight forward for a few hundred yards, found ourself, as a natural consequence, in Doctors' Com- mons. Now Doctors' Commons being familiar by name to everybody, as the place where they grant marriage- licences to love-sick couples, and di- vorces to unfaithful ones ; register the wills of people who have any property to leave, and punish hasty gentlemen who call ladies by unpleasant names, we no sooner discovered that we were really within its precincts, than we felt a laudable desire to become better acquainted therewith ; and as the first object of our curiosity was the Court, whose decrees can even unloose the bonds of matrimony, we procured a direction to it ; and bent our steps thither without delay. Crossing a quiet and shady court- yard, paved with stone, and frowned upon by old red brick nouses, on the doors of which were painted the names of sundry learned Chilians, we paused before a small, green-baized, brass- headed-nailed door, which yielding to our gentle push, at once admitted us into an old quaint-looking apartment, with sunken windows, and black carved wainscotting, at the upper end of which, seated on a raised, platform, of semicircular shape, were about a dozen solemn-looking gentlemen, in crimson gowns and wigs. At a more elevated desk in the centre, sat a very fat and red-faced gentleman, in tortoise-shell spectacles, whose dignified appearance announced the judge ; and round a long green- baized table below, something like a billiard-table without the cushions and pockets, were a number of very self- important-looking personages, in stiff neckcloths, and black gowns with white fur collars, whom we at once set down as proctors. At the lower end of the billiard-table was an individual in an arm-chair, and a wig, whom we after- wards discovered to be the registrar ; and seated behind a little desk, near the door, were a respectable-looking man in black, of about twenty stone weight or thereabouts, and a fat-faced, smirking, civil-looking body, in a black gown, black kid gloves, knee shorts, and silks, with a shirt-frill in his bosom, curls on his head, and a silver staff in his hand, whom we had no difficulty in recognising as the officer of the Court. The latter, indeed, speedily set our mind at rest upon this point, for, ad- vancing to our elbow, and opening a conversation forthwith, he had com- municated to us, in less than five minutes, that he was the apparitor, and the other the court-keeper ; that this was the Arches Court, and there- fore the counsel wore red gowns, and the proctors fur collars ; and that when the other Courts sat there, they didn't wear red gowns or fur collars either ; with many other scraps of intelligence equally interesting. Besides these two officers, there was a little thin old man, with long grizzly hair, crouched in a remote corner, whose duty, our com- municative friend informed us, Avas to ring a large hand-bell when the Court opened in the morning, and who, for aught his appearance betokened to the contrary, might have been similarly employed, for the last two centuries at least. The red-faced gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles had got all the talk to himself just then, and very well he was doing it, too, only he spoke very fast, but that was habit ; and rather thick, but that was good living. So we had plenty of time to look about us. There was one indi- vidual who amused us mightily. This was one of the bewigged gentlemen in DOCTORS' COMMONS. 53 the red robes, who was straddling before the fire in the centre of the Court, in the attitude of the brazen Colossus, to the complete exclusion of every body else. He had gathered up his robe behind, in much the same manner as a slovenly woman would her petticoats on a very dirty day, in order that he might feel the full warmth of the fire. His wig was put on all awry, with the tail strag- gling about his neck, his scanty gray trousers and short black gaiters, made in the worst possible style, imparted an additional inelegant appearance to his uncouth person ; and his limp, badly- starched shirt-collar almost obscured his eyes. We shall never be able to claim any credit as a physiognomist again, for, after a careful scrutiny of this gentleman's countenance, we had come to the conclusion that it bespoke nothing but conceit and silliness, when our friend with the silver staff whis- pered in our ear that he was no other than a doctor of civil law, and heaven knows what besides. So of course we were mistaken, and he must be a very talented man. He conceals it so well though — perhaps with the merciful view of not astonishing ordinary people too much — that you would suppose him to be one of the stupidest dogs alive. The gentleman in the spectacles having concluded his judgment, and a few minutes having been allowed to elapse, to afford time for the buzz in the Court to subside, the registrar called on the next cause, which was " the office of the Judge promoted by Bumple against Shadberry." A gene- ral movement was visible in the Court, at this announcement, aud the obliging functionary with silver stoff whispered us that "there would be some fun now, for this was a brawling case." We were not rendered much the wiser by this piece of information, till we found by the opening speech of the counsel for the promoter, that, under a half-obsolete statute of one of the Edwards, the court was em- powered to visit with the penalty of excommunication, any person who should be proved guilty of the crime of "brawling," or "smiting," in any church, or vestry adjoining thereto ; and it appeared, by some eight-and- twenty affidavits, which were duly referred to, that on a certain night, at a certain vestry-meeting, in a certain parish particularly set forth, Thomas Sludberry, the party appeared against in that suit, had made use of, and applied to Michael Bumple, the pro- moter, the words a You be blowed ;" and that, on the said Michael Bumple and others remonstrating with the said Thomas Sludberry on the impropriety of his conduct, the said Thomas Slud- berry repeated the aforesaid expres- sion, " You be blowed ;" and further- more desired and requested to know^ whether the said Michael Bumple " wanted anythingfor himself;" adding, " that if the said Michael Bumple did want anything for himself, he, the said Thomas Sludberry, was the man to give it him ;" at the same time making use of other heinous and sinful expressions, all of which, Bumple submitted, came within the intent and meaning of the Act ; and therefore he, for the soul's health and chastening of Sludberry, prayed for sentence of excommunication against him accordingly. Upon these facts a long argument was entered into, on both sides, to the great edification of a number of per- sons interested in the parochial squabbles, who crowded the court ; and when some very long and grave speeches had been made pro and con, the red-faced gentleman in the tor- toiseshell spectacles took a review of the case, which occupied half an hour more, and then pronounced upon Sludberry the awful sentence of ex- communication for a fortnight, and payment of the costs of the suit. Upon this, Sludberry, who was a little, red-faced, sly-looking, ginger-beer- seller, addressed the court, and said, if they 'd be good enough to take off the costs, and excommunicate him for the term of his natural life instead, it would be much more convenient to him, for he never went to church at 54 SKETCHES BY BOZ. all. To this appeal the gentleman in the spectacles made no oilier reply than a look of virtuous indignation ; and Sludberry and his friends retired. As the man with the silver staff in- formed us that the court was on the point of rising, we retired too — pon- dering, as we walked away, upon the beautiful spirit of these ancient eccle- siastical laws, the kind and neighbourly feelings they are calculated to awaken, and the strong attachment to religious institutions which they cannot fail to engender. We were so lost in these meditations, that we had turned into the street, and run up against a door-post, before we recollected where we were walking. On looking upwards to see what house we had stumbled upon, the words a Prerogative-Office," written in large characters, met our eye ; and as we were in a sight-seeing humour and the place was a public one, we walked in. The room into which we walked, was a long, busy -looking place, par- titioned off, on either side, into a variety of little boxes, in which a few clerks were engaged in copying or examining deeds. Down the centre of the room were several desks nearly breast high, at each of which, three or four people were standing, poring over large volumes. As we knew that they were searching for wills, they attracted our attention at once. It was curious to contrast the lazy indifference of the attorneys' clerks who were making a search for some legal purpose, with the air of earnestness and interest which distin- guished the strangers to the place, who were looking up the will of some deceased relative ; the former pausing every now and then with an impatient yawn, or raising their heads to look at the people who passed up and down the room: the latter stooping over the book, and running down column after column of names in the deepest abstraction. There was one little dirty-faced man in a blue apron, who after a whole moi*ning's search, extending some fifty years back, had just found the will to which he wished to refer, which one of the officials was reading to him in a low hurried voice from a thick vellum book with large clasps. It was perfectly evident that the more the clerk read, the less the man with the blue apron understood about the matter. When the volume was first brought down, he took off his hat,, smoothed down his hair, smiled with great self-satisfaction, and looked up in the reader's face with the air of a man who had made up his mind to recollect every word he heard. The first two or three lines were in- telligible enough ; but then the tech- nicalities began, and the little man began to look rather dubious. Then came a whole string of complicated trusts, and he was regularity at sea. As the reader proceeded, it was quite apparent that it was a hopeless case, and the little man, with his mouth open and his eyes fixed upon his face, looked on with an expression of be- wilderment and perplexity irresistibly ludicrous. A little further on, a hard-featured old man with a deeply wrinkled face, was intently perusing a lengthy will with the aid of a pair of horn spec- tacles : occasionally pausing from his task, and slily noting down some brief memorandum of the bequests con- tained in it. Every wrinkle about his toothless mouth, and sharp keen eyes, told of avarice and cunning. His clothes were nearly threadbare, but it was easy to see that he wore them from choice and not from neces- sity ; all his looks and gestures down to the very small pinches of snuff which he every now and then took from a little tin canister, told of wealth, and penury, and avarice. As he leisurely closed the register, put up his spectacles, and folded his scraps of paper in a large leathern pocket-book, we thought what a nice hard bargain he was driving with some poverty-stricken legatee, who, tired of waiting year after year, until some life interest should fall in, was selling his chance, just as it began to LONDON RECREATIONS. 55 grow most valuable, for a twelfth part of its worth. It was a good spe- culation — a very safe one. The old man stowed his pocket-book carefully in the breast of his great-coat, and hobbled away with a leer of triumph. That will had made him ten years younger at the lowest computation. Having commenced our observa- tions, we should certainly have extended them to another dozen of people at least, had not a sudden shutting up and putting away of the worm-eaten old books, warned us that the time for closing the office had arrived ; and thus deprived us of a pleasure, and spared our readers an infliction. We naturally fell into a train of reflection as we walked homewards, upon the curious old records of likings and dislikings ; of jealousies and re- venges ; of affection defying the power of death, and hatred pursued beyond the grave, which these de- positories contain ; silent but striking tokens, some of them, of excellence of heart, and nobleness of soul ; melan- choly examples, others, of the worst passions of human nature. How many men as they lay speechless and help- less on the bed of death, would have given worlds but for the strength and power to blot out the silent evidence of animosity and bitterness, which now stands registered against, them in Doctors' Commons ! CHAPTER IX. LONDON RECREATIONS. The wish of persons in the humbler classes of life, to ape the manners and customs of those whom fortune has placed above them, is often the subject cf remark, and not unfre'quently of complaint. The inclination may, and no doubt does, exist to a great extent, among the small gentility — the would- be aristocrats — of the middle classes. Tradesmen and clerks, with fashiona- ble novel-reading families, and circu- lating-library-subscribing daughters, get up small assemblies in humble imitation of Almack's, and promenade the dingy " large room " of some second-rate hotel with as much com- placency as the enviable few who are privileged to exhibit their magnifi- cence in that exclusive haunt of fashion and foolery. Aspiring young ladies, who read flaming accounts of some " fancy fair in high life," suddenly grow desperately charitable ; visions of admiration and matrimony float before their eyes ; some wonderfully meritorious institution, which, by the strangest accident in the world, has never been heard of before, is dis- covered to be in a languishing con- dition : Thomson's great room, or Johnson's nursery-ground is forthwith engaged, and the aforesaid young ladies, from mere charity, exhibit themselves for three days, from twelve to four, for the small charge of one shilling per head ! With the excep- tion of these classes of society, however, and a few weak and insignificant persons, we do not think the attempt at imitation to which we have alluded, prevails in any great degree. The different character of the recreations of different classes, has often afforded us amusement ; and we have chosen it for the subject of our present sketch, in the hope that it may possess some amusement for our readers. If the regular City man, who leaves Lloyd's at five o'clock, and drives home to Hackney, Clapton, Stamford- hill, or elsewhere, can be said to have any daily recreation beyond his dinner, it is his garden. He never does anything to it with his own hands ; but he takes great pride in it notwithstanding ; and if you are desirous of paying your SKETCHES BY BOZ. addresses to the youngest daughter, be sure to be in raptures with every flower and shrub it contains. If your poverty of expression compel you to make any distinction between the two, we would, certainly recommend your bestowing more admiration on his garden than his wine. He always takes a walk round it, before he starts for town in the morning, and is par- ticularly anxious that the fish-pond should be kept specially neat. If you call on him on Sunday in summer-time, about an hour before dinner, you will find him sitting in an arm-chair, on the lawn behind the house, with a straw hat on, reading a Sunday paper. A short distance from him you will most likely observe a handsome paro- quet in a large brass-wire cage ; ten to one but the two eldest girls are loitering in one of the side walks accompanied by a couple of young gentlemen, who are holding parasols over them — of course only to keep the sun off — while the younger children, with the under nursery-maid, are strolling listlessly about, in the shade. Beyond these occasions, his delight in his garden appears to arise more from the consciousness of possession than actual enjoyment of it. When he drives you down to dinner on a week- day, he is rather fatigued with the occupations of the morning, and tolera- bly cross into the bargain ; but when the cloth is removed, and he has drank three or four glasses of his favourite port, he orders the French windows of his dining-room (which of course look into the garden) to be opened, and throwing a silk handkerchief over his head, and leaning back in his arm- chair, descants at considerable length upon its beauty, and the cost of main- taining it. This is to impress you — who are a young friend of the family — with a due sense of the excellence of the garden, and the wealth of its owner ; and when he has exhausted the subject, he goes to sleep. There is another and a very different class of men, whose recreation is their garden. An individual of this class, resides some short distance from town — say in the Hampstead-road, or the Kilburn-road, or any other road where the houses are small and neat, and have little slips of back garden. He and his wife — who is as clean and com- pact a little body as himself — have occupied the same house ever since he retired from business twenty years ago. They have no family. They once had a son, who died at about five years old. The child's portrait hangs over the mantelpiece in the best sitting- room, and a little cart he used to draw about, is carefully preserved as a relic. In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly in the garden ; and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out of the window at it r by the hour together. He has always something to do there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, with manifest delight. In spring time, there is no end to the sowing of seeds, and stick- ing little bits of wood over them, with labels, which look like epitaphs to their memory ; and in the evening, when the sun has gone down, the perseverance with which he lugs a great watering- pot about is perfectly astonishing. The only other recreation he has, is the newspaper, which he peruses every day, from beginning to end, generally reading the most interesting pieces of intelligence to his wife, during break- fast. The old lady is very fond of flowers, as the hyacinth-glasses in the parlour- window, and geranium-pots in the little front court, testify. She takes great pride in the garden too : and when one of the four fruit-trees produces rather a larger gooseberry than usual, it is carefully preserved under a wine-glass on the sideboard, for the edification of visitors, who are duly informed that Mr. So-and-so planted the tree which produced it,, with his own hands. On a summer's evening, when the large watering-pot has been filled and emptied some four- teen times, and the old couple have quite exhausted themselves by trotting about, you will see them sitting hap- pily together in the little summer- house, enjoying the calm and peace of LONDON RECREATIONS. 57 the twilight, and watching the shadows as they fall upon the garden, and gra- dually growing thicker and more sombre, obscure the tints of their gayest flowers — no bad emblem of the years that have silently rolled over their heads, deadening in their course the brightest hues of early hopes and feelings which have long since faded away. These are their only recreations, and they require no more. They have within themselves, the materials of comfort and content ; and the only anxiety of each, is to die before the other. This is no ideal sketch. There used to be many old people of this descrip- tion ; their numbers may have dimi- nished, and may decrease still more. Whether the course female education has taken of late days — whether the pursuit of giddy frivolities, and empty nothings, has tended to unfit women for that quiet domestic life, in which they show far more beautifully than in the most crowded assembly, is a question we should feel little gratifica- tion in discussing : we hope not. Let us turn now, to another portion of the London population, whose recreations present about as strong a contrast as can well be conceived — we mean the Sunday pleasurers ; and let us beg our readers to imagine them- selves stationed by our side in some well-known rural " Tea-gardens." The heat is intense this afternoon, and the people, of whom there are additional parties arriving every moment, look as warm as the tables which have been recently painted, and have the appearance of being red-hot. What a dust and noise ! Men and women — boys and girls — sweethearts and married people — babies in arms, and children in chaises — pipes and shrimps — cigars and periwinkles — tea and tobacco. Gentlemen, in alarming waistcoats, and steel watch-guards, promenading about, three abreast, with surprising dignity (or as the gentleman in the next box facetiously observes, " cutting it uncommon fat ! ") — ladies, with great, long, white pocket-handkerchiefs like small table- cloths, in their hands, chasing one another on the grass in the most playful and interesting manner, with the view of attracting the attention of the aforesaid gentlemen — husbands in perspective ordering bottles of ginger- beer for the objects of their affections, with a lavish disregard of expense ; and the said objects washing down huge quantities of "shrimps" and " winkles," with an equal disregard of their own bodily health and subsequent comfort — boys, with great silk hats just balanced on the top of their heads, smoking cigars, and trying to look as if they liked them — gentlemen in pink shirts and blue waistcoats, occasionally upsetting either them- selves, or somebody else, with their own canes. Some of the finery of these people provokes a smile, but they are all clean, and happy, and disposed to be good-natured and sociable. Those two motherly-looking women in the smart pelisses, who are chatting so confiden- tially, inserting a " ma'am" at every fourth word, scraped an acquaintance about a quarter of an hour ago : it originated in admiration of the little boy who belongs to one of them — that diminutive specimen of mortality in the three-cornered pink satin hat Avith black feathers. The two men in the blue coats and drab trousers, who are walking up and down, smoking their pipes, are their husbands. The party in the opposite box are a pretty fair specimen of the generality of the visitors. These are the father and mother, and old grandmother : a young man and woman, and an indi- vidual addressed by the euphonious title of "Uncle Bill," who is evi- dently the wit of the party. They have some half-dozen children with them, but it is scarcely necessary to notice the fact, for that is a matter of course here. Every woman in " the gardens," who has been manned for any length of time, must have had twins on two or three occasions; it is impossible to account for the extent of juvenile population in any other way. 5E SKETCHES BY BOZ. Observe the inexpressible delight of the old grandmother, at Uncle Bill's splendid joke of "tea for four : bread and butter for forty ;" and the loud explosion of mirth which follows his watering a paper "pigtail" on the waiter's collar. The young man is evidently " keeping company" with Uncle Bill's niece : and Uncle Bill's hints — such as " Don't forget me at the dinner, you know," "I shall look out for the cake, Sally," " I '11 be god- father to your first — wager it 's a boy," and so forth, are equally embarrassing to the young people, and delightful to the elder ones. As to the old grand- mother, she is in perfect ecstasies, and does nothing but laugh herself into fits of coughing, until they have finished the " gin-and-water warm with," of which Uncle Bill ordered "glasses round" after tea, "just to keep the night air out, and do it up comfortable and riglar arter sitch an as-tonishing hot day ! " It is getting dark, and the people begin to move. The field leading to town is quite full of them ; the little hand-chaises are dragged wearily along, the children are tired, and amuse themselves and the company generally by crying, or resort to the much more pleasant expedient of going to sleep — the mothers begin to wish they were at home again — sweet- hearts grow more sentimental than ever, as the time for parting arrives — the gardens look mournful enough, by the light of the two lanterns which hang against the trees for the con- venience of smokers — and the waiters, who have been running about inces- santly for the last six hours, think they feel a little tired, as they count their glasses and their gains. THE RIVER. 59 CHAPTER X. THE RIVER. " Are you fond of the water ?" is a question very frequently asked, in hot summer weather, by amphibious- oking young men. " Very," is the g neral reply. "An'tyou?" — "Hardly ever off it," is the response, accom- panied by sundry adjectives, ex- pressive of the speaker's heartfelt admiration of that element. Now, with all respect for the opinion of society in general, and cutter clubs in pa 'ticular, we humbly suggest that soi ne of the most painful reminiscences in the mind of every individual who has occasionally disported himself on the Thames, must be connected with his aquatic recreations. Who ever heard of a successful water-party? — or t o put the question in a still more intelligible form, who ever saw one ? We have been on water excursions out of number, but we solemnly dec! are that we cannot call to mind one single occasion of the kind, which was not marked by more miseries than any one would suppose could reas onably be crowded into the space of some eight or nine hours. Some- thing has always gone wrong. Either the cork of the salad-dressing has come out, or the most anxiously ex- pected member of the party has not come out, or the most disagreeable man in company would come out, or a child or two have fallen into the water, or the gentleman who under- took to steer has endangered every bod\ 's life all the way, or the gentle- men who volunteered to row have been "out of practice," and per- formed very alarming evolutions, putting their oars down into the water and not being able to get them up again, or taking terrific pulls without putting them in at all ; in either case, pitching over on the backs of their heads with startling violence, and exhibiting the soles of their pumps to the "sitters" in the boat, in a very hu- miliating manner. We grant that the banks of the Thames are very beautiful at Rich- mond and Twickenham, and other distant havens, often sought though seldom reached ; but from the " Red-, us" back to Blackfriar's-bridge, the scene is wonderfully changed. The Penitentiary is a noble building, no doubt, and the sportive youths who " go in" at that particular part of the river, on a summer's evening, may be all very well in perspective; but when you are obliged to keep in shore com- ing home, and the young ladies will colour up, and look perseveringly the other way, while the married dittoes cough slightly, and stare very hard at the water, you feel awkward — espe- cially if you happen to have been attempting the most distant approach to sentimentality, for an hour or two previously. Although experience and suffering have produced in our minds the result we have just stated, we are by no means blind to a proper sense of the fun which a looker-on may extract from the amateurs of boating. What can be more amusing than Searle's yard on a fine Sunday morning ? It 's a Richmond tide, and some dozen boats are preparing for the reception of the parties who have engaged them. Two are three fellows in great rough trousers and Guernsey shirts, are getting them ready by easy stages ; now coming down the yard with a pair of sculls and a cushion — then having a chat with the "jack," who, like all his tribe, seems to be wholly incapable of doing anything but loung- ing about — then going back again, and returning with a rudder-line and a stretcher — then solacing themselves with another chat — and then wonder- ing, with their hands in their capa- 60 SKETCHES BY BOZ. clous pockets, u where them gentle- men 's got to as ordered the six." One of these, the head man, with the legs of his trousers carefully tucked up at the bottom, to admit the water, we presume — for it is an element in which he is infinitely more at home than on land — is quite a character, and shares with the defunct oyster-swallower the celebrated name of " Dando." Watch him, as taking a few minutes' respite from his toils, he negligently seats himself on the edge of a boat, and fans his broad bushy chest with a cap scarcely half so furry. Look at his magnificent, though reddish whiskers, and mark the somewhat native humour with which he " chaffs" the boys and prentices, or cunningly gammons the gen'lm'n into the gift of a glass of gin, of which we verily believe he swallows in one day as much as any six ordinary men, without ever being one atom the worse for it. But the party arrives, and Dando relieved from his state of uncertainty, starts up into activity. They approach in full aquatic costume, with round blue jackets, striped shirts, and caps of all sizes and patterns, from the velvet skull-cap of French manufac- ture, to the easy head-dress familiar to the students of the old spelling- books, as having, on the authority of the portrait, formed part of the costume of the Reverend Mr. Dilworth. This is the most amusing time to observe a regular Sunday water-party. There has evidently been up to this period no inconsiderable degree of boasting on everybody's part relative to his knowledge of navigation ; the sight of the water rapidly cools their courage, and the air of self-denial with which each of them insists on some- body else's taking an oar, is perfectly delightful. At length, after a great deal of changing and fidgeting, conse- quent upon the election of a stroke- oar : the inability of one gentleman to pull on this side, of another to pull on that, and of a third to pull at all, the boat's crew are seated. "Shove her off ! " cries the cockswain, who looks as easy and comfortable as if li9 were steering in the Bay of Biscay. The order is obeyed ; the boat is im- mediately turned completely round, and proceeds towards Westminster- bridge, amidst such a splashing and struggling as never was seen before, except when the Royal George went down. a Back wa'ater, sir,'* shouts Dando, " Back wa'ater, you sir, aft ;" . upon which everybody thinking he must be the individual referred to, they all back water, and back comes the boat, stern first, to the spot whence it started. " Back water, you sir, aft ; pull round, you sir, for'ad, can't you ?" shouts Dando, in a frenzy of excite- ment. " Pull round, Tom, can't you ? " re-echoes one of the party. " Tom an't for'ad," replies another. " Yes, he is," cries a third ; and the unfortu- nate young man, at the imminent risk of breaking a blood-vessel, pulls and pulls, until the head of the boat fairly lies in the direction of Vauxhall-bridge. " That 's right — now pull all on you ! " shouts Dando again, adding, in an under tone, to somebody by hirm " Blowed if hever I see sich a set of muffs ! " and away jogs the boat in a zigzag direction, every one of the six oars dipping into the water at a differ- ent time ; and the yard is once more clear, until the arrival of the next party. A well-contested rowing-match on tke Thames, is a very lively and inte- resting scene. The water is studded with boats of all sorts, kinds, and de- scriptions ; places in the coal-barges at the different wharfs are let to crowds of spectators, beer and tobacco flow freely about ; men, women, and chil- dren wait for the start in breathless expectation, cutters of six and eight oars glide gently up and down, waiting to accompany their proteges during the race ; bands of music add to the ani- mation, if not to the harmony of the scene, groups of watermen are assem- bled at the different stairs, discussing the merits of the respective candi- dates : and the prize wherry which is rowed slowly about by a pair of skulls, is an object of general interest. THE RIVER. 61 Two o'clock strikes, and everybody looks anxiously in the direction of the bridge through which the candidates for the prize will come — half-past two, and the general attention which has been preserved so long begins to flag, when suddenly a gun is heard, and the noise of distant hurra'ing along each bank of the river— every head is bent forward — the noise draws nearer and nearer — the boats which have been waiting at the bridge start briskly up the river, and a well-manned galley shoots through the arch, the sitters cheering on the boats behind them, which are not yet visible. " Here they are," is the general cry — and through darts the first boat, the men in her, stripped to the skin, and exerting every muscle to preserve the advantage they have gained — four other boats follow close astern ; there are not two boats' length between them — the shouting is tremendous, and the interest intense. " Go on, Pink " — "Give it her, Red "— « Sulliwin for ever " — " Bravo ! George " — " Now, Tom, now — now — now — why don't your partner stretch out ? " — " Two pots to a pint on Yellow," &c. &c. Every little public-house fires its gun, and hoists its flag; and the men who win the heat, come in, amidst a splashing and shouting, and banging and confusion, which no one can ima- gine who has not witnessed it, and of which any description would convey a very faint idea. One of the most amusing places we know, is the steam-wharf of the Lon- don-bridge, or St. Katharine's Dock Company, on a Saturday morning in summer, when the Gravesend and Margate steamers are usually crowded to excess; and as we have just taken a glance at the river above bridge, we hope our readers will not object to accompany us on board a Gravesend packet. Coaches are every moment setting down at the entrance to the wharf, and the stare of bewildered astonishment with which the " fares " resign them- selves and their luggage into the hands of the porters, who seize all the pack- ages-at once as a matter of course, and run away with them, heaven knows where, is laughable in the extreme. A Margate boat lies alongside the wharf, the Gravesend boat (which starts first) lies alongside that again ; and as a temporary communication is formed between the two, by means of a plank and hand-rail, the natural confusion of the scene is by no means diminished. " Gravesend i " inquires a stout father of a stout family, who follow him, under the guidance of their mo- ther, and a servant, at the no small risk of two or three of them being lefff behind in the confusion. " Gravesend V " Pass on, if you please, sir," replies the attendant — " other boat, sir." Hereupon the stout father, being rather mystified, and the stout mother rather distracted by maternal anxiety, the whole party deposit themselves in the Margate boat, and after having congratulated himself on having se- cured very comfortable seats, the stout father sallies to the chimney to look for his luggage, which he has a faint recollection of having given some man, something, to take somewhere. No luggage, however, bearing the most re- mote resemblance to his own, in shape or form, is to be discovered ; on which the stout father calls very loudly for an officer, to whom he states the case, in the presence of another father of another family — a little thin man — who entirely concurs with him (the stout father) in thinking that it 's high time something was done with these steam companies, and that as the Cor- poration Bill failed to do it, something else must ; for really people's property is not to be sacrificed in this way ; and that if the luggage isn't restored with- out delay, he will take care it shall be put in the papers, for the public is not to be the victim of these great mono- polies. To this, the officer, in his turn, replies, that that company, ever since it has been St. Kat'rine's Dock Com- pany, has px'otected life and property ; that if it had been the London Bridge Wharf Company, indeed, he shouldn't have wondered, seeing that the morality of that company (they being the oppo- 62 SKETCHES BY BOZ. sition) can't be answered for, by no one ; but as it is, he 's convinced there must be some mistake, and he wouldn't mind making a solemn oath afore a magistrate that the gentleman '11 find his luggage afore he gets to Margate. Here the stout father, thinking he is making a capital point, replies, that as it happens he is not going to Margate at all, and that " Passenger to Gravesend" was on the luggage, in letters of full two inches long ; on which the officer rapidly explains the mistake, and the stout mother, and the stout children, and the servant, are hurried with all possible despatch on board the Gravesend boat, which they reach just in time to discover that their luggage is there, and that their comfortable seats are not. Then the bell, which is the signal for the Graves- end boat starting, begins to ring most furiously : and people keep time to the bell, by running in and out of our boat at a double-quick pace. The bell stops ; the boat starts : people who have been taking leave of their friends on board, are carried away against their will ; and people who have been taking leave of their friends on shore, find that they have performed a very needless ceremony, in consequence of their not being carried away at all. The regular passengers, who have sea- son-tickets, go below to breakfast ; people who have purchased morning papers, compose themselves to read them ; and people who have not been down the river before, think that both the shipping and the water, look a great deal better at a distance. When we get down about as far as Blackwall, and begin to move at a quicker rate, the spirits of the passen- gers appear to rise in proportion. Old women who have brought large wicker hand-baskets with them, set seriously to work at the demolition of heavy sandwiches, and pass round a wine- glass, which is frequently replenished from a flat bottlelikeastomach- warmer, with considerable glee: handing it first to the gentleman in the foraging-cap, who plays the harp — partly as an expression of satisfaction with his pre- vious exertions, and partly to induce him to play u Dumbledumb - deary," for K Alick" to dance to ; which being done, Alick, who is a damp earthy child in red worsted socks, takes cer- tain small jumps upon the deck, to the unspeakable satisfaction of his family circle. Girls who have brought the first volume of some new novel in their reticule, become extremely plaintive, and expatiate to Mr. Brown, or young Mr. O'Brien, who has been looking over them, on the blueness of the sky, and brightness of the water ; on which Mr. Brown or Mr. O'Brien, as the case may be, remarks in a low voice that he has been quite insensible of late to the beauties of nature — that his whole thoughts and wishes have centred in one object alone — whereupon the young lady looks up, and failing in her attempt to appear unconscious, looks down again ; and turns over the next leaf with great difficulty, in order to afford opportunity for a lengthened pressure of the hand. Telescopes, sandwiches, and glasses of brandy -and -water cold without, begin to be in great requisition ; and bashful men who have been looking down the hatchway at the engine, find, to their great relief, a subject on which they can converse with one another — and a copious one too — Steam. " Wonderful tiling steam,sir." "Ah! (a deep-drawn sigh) it is indeed, sir." " Great power, sir." " Immense — im- mense ! " " Great deal done by steam, sir." * Ah ! (another sigh at the immensity of the subject, and a knowing shake of the head) you may say that, sir." "Still in its infancy, they say, sir." Novel remarks of this kind, are generally the com- mencement of a conversation which is prolonged until the conclusion of the trip, and, perhaps, lays the foundation of a speaking acquaintance between half a dozen gentlemen, who, having their families at Gravesend, take sea- son-tickets for the boat, and dine on board regularly every afternoon. ASTLEY'S. 33 CHAPTER XL We never see any very large, staring, black Roman capitals, in a book, or shop-window, or placarded on a wall, without their immediately recalling to our mind an indistinct and confused recollection of the time when we were first initiated in the mysteries of the alphabet. We almost fancy we see the pin's point following the letter, to impress its form more strongly on our bewildered imagination; and wince involuntarily, as we remember the hard knuckles with which the reverend old lady who instilled into our mind the first principles of education for nine- pence per week, or ten and sixpence per quarter, was wont to poke our juvenile head occasionally, by way of adjusting the confusion of ideas in which we were generally involved. The same kind of feeling pursues us in many other instances, but there is no place which recals so strongly our recollections of childhood as Astley's. It was not a " Royal Amphitheatre " in those days, nor had Ducrow arisen to shed the light of classic taste and portable gas over the sawdust of the circus ; but the whole character of the place was the same, the pieces were the same, the clown's jokes were the same, the riding-masters were equally grand, the comic performers equally witty, the tragedians equally hoarse, and the "highly-trained chargers" equally spirited. Astley's has altered for the better — we have changed for the worse. Our histrionic taste is gone, and with shame we confess, that Ave are far more delighted and amused with the audience, than with the pageantry we once so highly appre- ciated. We like to watch a regular Astley's party in the Easter or Midsummer holidays — pa and ma, and nine or ten children, varying from five foot six to two foot eleven : from fourteen years of age to four. We had just taken our seat in one of the boxes, in the centre of the house, the other night, when the next was occupied by just such a party as we should have at- tempted to describe, had we depicted our beau ideal of a group of Astley's visitors. First of all, there came three little boys and a little girl, who, in pur- suance of pa's directions, issued in a very audible voice from the box-door, occupied the front row ; then two more little girls were ushered in by a young lady, evidently the governess. Then came three more little boys, dressed like the first, in blue jackets and trousers, with lay-down shirt-col- lars : then a child in a braided frock and high state of astonishment, with very large round eyes, opened to their utmost width, was lifted over the seats — a process which occasioned a con- siderable display of little pink legs — then came ma and pa, and then the eldest son, a boy of fourteen years old, who was evidently trying to look as if he did not belong to the family. The first five minutes were occupied in taking the shawls off the little girls, and adjusting the bows which orna- mented their hair ; then it was provi- dentially discovered that one of the little boys was seated behind a pillar and could not see, so the governess was stuck behind the pillar, and the boy lifted into her place. Then pa drilled the boys, and directed the stow- ing away of their pocket-handker- chiefs ; and ma having first nodded and winked to the governess to pull the girls' frocks a little more off their shoulders, stood up to review the little troop — an inspection which appeared to terminate much to her own satis- faction, for she looked with a compla- cent air at pa, who was standing up at the further end of the seat. Pa re- turned the glance, and blew his nose very- emphatically ; and the poor 64 SKETCHES BY BOZ. governess peeped out from behind the pillar, and timidly tried to catch ma's eye, with a look expressive of her high admiration of the whole family. Then two of the little boys who had been discussing the point whether Astley's was more than twice as large as Drury- lane, agreed to refer it to "George" for his decision ; at which " George," who was no other than the young gen- tleman before noticed, waxed indig- nant, and remonstrated in no very gentle terms on the gross impropriety of having his name repeated in so loud a voice at a public place, on which all the children laughed very heartily, and one of the little boys wound up by expressing his opinion, that " George began to think himself quite a man now," whereupon both pa and ma laughed too ; and George (who carried a dress cane and was cultivating whiskers) muttered that " William al- ways was encouraged in his imperti- nence ;" and assumed a look of pro- found contempt, which lasted the whole evening. The play began, and the interest of the little boys knew no bounds. Pa was clearly interested too, although he very unsuccessfully endeavoured to look as if he wasn't. As for ma, she was perfectly overcome by the drollery of the principal comedian, and laughed till every one of the immense bows on her ample cap trembled, at which the governess peeped out from behind the pillar again, and whenever she could catch ma's eye, put her handkerchief to her mouth, and appeared, as in duty bound, to be in convulsions of laughter also. Then when the man in the splendid armour vowed to rescue the lady or perish in the attempt, the little boys applauded vehemently, especially one little fellow who was apparently on a visit to the family, and had been carrying on a child's flirtation, the whole evening, with a small coquette of twelve years old, who looked like a model of her mamma on a reduced scale ; and who in common with the other little girls (who generally speak- ing have even more coquettishness about them than much older ones) looked very properly shocked, when the knight's squire kissed the princess's confidential chambermaid. When the scenes in the circle com- menced, the children were more de- lighted than ever ; and the wish to see what was going forward, completely conquering pa's dignity, he stood up in the box, and applauded as loudly as any of them. Between each feat of horsemanship, the governess leant across to ma, and retailed the clever remarks of the children on that which had preceded : and ma, in the open- ness of her heart, offered the governess an acidulated drop, and the governess, gratified to be taken notice of, retired behind her pillar again with a brighter countenance : and the whole party seemed quite happy, except the exqui- site in the back of the box, who, being too grand to take any interest in the children, and too insignificant to be taken notice of by any body else, occu- pied himself, from time to time, in rubbing the place where the whiskers ought to be, and was completely alone in his glory. We defy any one who has been to Astley's two or three times, and is consequently capable of appreciating the perseverance with which precisely the same jokes are repeated night after night, and season after season, not to be amused with one part of the per- formances at least — we mean the scenes in the circle. For ourself, we know that when the hoop, composed of jets of gas, is let down, the curtain drawn up for the convenience of the half-price on their ejectment from the ring, the orange-peel cleared away, and the sawdust shaken, with mathematical precision, into a complete circle, we feel as much enlivened as the youngest child present ; and actually join in the laugh which follows the clown's shrill shout of " Here we are ! " just for old acquaintance' sake. Nor can we quite divest ourself of our old feeling of reve- rence for the riding-master, who follows the clown with a long whip in his hand, and bows to the audience with graceful dignity. He is none of your second- rate riding-masters in nankeen dress- ASTLEY'S. 65 ing-gowns, with brown frogs, but the regular gentleman-attendant on the principal riders, who always wears a military uniform with a table-cloth inside the breast of the coat, in which costume he forcibly reminds one of a fowl trussed for roasting. He is — but why should we attempt to describe that of which no description can convey an adequate idea ? Everybody knows the man, and everybody remembers his polished boots, his graceful de- meanour, stiff, as some misjudging persons have in their jealousy consi- dered it, and the splendid head of black hair, parted high on the fore- head, to impart to the countenance an appearance of deep thought and poetic melancholy. His soft and pleasing voice, too, is in perfect unison with his noble bearing, as he humours the clown by indulging in a little badinage ; and the striking recollection of his own dig- nity, with which he exclaims, " Now, sir, if you please, inquire for Miss Woolford, sir," can never be forgotten. The graceful air, too, with which he introduces Miss Woolford into the arena, and, after assisting her to the saddle, follows her fairy courser round the circle, can never fail to create a deep impression in the bosom of every female servant present. When Miss Woolford, and the horse, and the orchestra, all stop together to take breath, he urbanely takes part in some such dialogue as the following (commenced by the clown) : " I say, sir !" — "Well, sir?" (it's always con- ducted in the politest manner.) — ei Did you ever happen to hear I was in the army, sir?" — "No, sir." — "Oh, yes, sir — I can go through my exercise, sir." — " Indeed, sir !" — " Shall I do it now, sir I " — " If you please, sir ; come, sir — make haste " (a cut" with the long whip, and " Ha' done now — I don't like it," from the clown). Here the clown throws himself on the ground, aud goes through a variety of gym- nastic convulsions, doubling himself up, and untying himself again, and making himself look very like a man in the most hopeless extreme of human agony, to the vociferous delight of the | No. 177. f gallery, until he is interrupted by a second cut from the long whip, and a request to see " what Miss Woolford 's stopping for ?" On which, to the inex- pressible mirth of the gallery, he ex- claims, " Now, Miss Woolford, what can I come for to go, for to fetch, for to bring, for to carry, for to do, for you, ma'am I " On the lady's announc- ing with a sweet smile that she wants the two flags, they are with sundry grimaces, procured and handed up ; the clown facetiously observing after the performance of the latter cere-^ mony — " He, he, oh ! I say, sir, Miss Woolford knows me ; she smiled at me." Another cut from the whip, a burst from the orchestra, a start from the horse, and round goes Miss Wool- ford again on her graceful performance, to the delight of every member of the audience, young or old. The next pause affords an opportunity for similar witticisms, the only additional fun being that of the clown making ludicrous grimaces at the riding-master every time his back is turned ; and finally quitting the circle by jumping over his head, having previously directed his attention another way. Did any of our readers ever notice the class of people, who hang about the stage-doors of our minor theatres in the daytime. You will rarely pass one of these entrances without seeing a group of three or four men con- versing on the pavement, with an inde- scribable public-house-parlour swagger, and a kind of conscious air, peculiar to people of this description. They always seem to think they are exhibiting ; the lamps are ever before them. That young fellow in the faded brown coat, and very full light green trousers, pulls down the wristbands of his check shirt, as ostentatiously as if it were of the finest linen, and cocks the white hat of the summer-before-last as knowingly , over his right eye, as if it were a pur- chase of yesterday. Look at the dirty white Berlin gloves, and the cheap silk-handkerchief stuck in the bosom of his threadbare coat. Is it possible to see him for an instant, and not come to the conclusion that he is the walking 5 SKETCHES BY BOZ. gentleman who wears a blue surtout, clean collar, and white trousers, for half an hour, and then shrinks into his worn-out scanty clothes : who has to boast night after night of his splendid fortune, with the painful consciousness of a pound a-week and his boots to find ; to talk of his father's mansion in the country, with a dreary recol- lection of his own two-pair back, in the N^w Cut ; and to be envied and flattered as the favoured lover of a rich heiress, remembering all the while that the ex-dancer at home is in the family way, and out of an engagement ? Next to him, perhaps, you will see a thin pale man, with a very long face, in a suit of shining black, thoughtfully knocking that part of his boot which once had a heel, with an ash stick. He is the man who does the heavy busi- ness, such as prosy fathers, virtuous servants, curates, landlords, and so forth. By the way, talking of fathers, we should very much like to see some piece in which all the dramatis per- sonse were orphans. Fathers are inva- riably great nuisances on the stage, and always have to give the hero or heroine a long explanation of what was done before the curtain rose, usually commencing with " It is now nineteen years, my dear child, since your blessed mother (here the old villain's voice falters) confided you to my charge. You were then an infant," &c. &c. Or else they have to discover, all of a sudden, that somebody whom they have been in constant communication with, during three long acts, without the slightest suspicion, is their own child : in which case they exclaim, " Ah ! what do I see 1 This bracelet ! That smile ! These documents ! Those eyes ! Can I believe my senses ? — It must be ! —Yes — it is, it is my child ! " — "My father !" exclaims the child ; and they fall into each other's arms, and look over each other's shoulders. and the audience give tliree rounds of applause. To return from this digression, we were about to say, that these are the sort of people whom you see talking, and attitudinising, outside the stage- doors of our minor theatres. At Astley's they are always more numerous than at any other place. There is generally a groom or two, sitting on the window- sill, and two or three dirty shabby- genteel men in checked neckerchiefs, and sallow linen, lounging about, and carrying, perhaps, under one arm, a pair of stage shoes badly wrapped up in a piece of old newspaper. Some years ago we used to stand looking, open-mouthed, at these men, with a feeling of mysterious curiosity, the very recollection of which provokes a smile at the moment we are writing. We could not believe, that the beings of light and elegance, in milk-white tunics, salmon-coloured legs, and blue scarfs, who flitted on sleek cream- coloured horses before our eyes at night, with all the aid of lights, music, and artificial flowers, could be the pale, dissipated-looking creatures we beheld by day. We can hardly believe it now. Of the lower class of actors we have seen something, and it requires no great exercise of imagination to identify the walking gentleman with the " dirty swell," the comic singer with the public-house chairman, or the leading tragedian with drunkenness and disr tress ; but these other men are myste- rious beings, never seen out of the ring, never beheld but in the costume of gods and sylphs. With the excep- tion of Ducrow, who can scarcely be classed among them, who ever knew a rider at Astley's, or saw him but on horseback ? Can our friend in the mi- litary uniform, ever appear in thread- bare attire, or descend to the compara- tively un- wadded costume of every-day life % Impossible ! We cannot — we will not — believe it. GREENWICH FAIR. C7 CHAPTER XII. GREENWICH FAIR. If the Paris be * the lungs of Lon- 1 don," we wonder what Greenwich Fair is — a periodical breaking out, we sup- pose, a sort of spring-rash : a three days' fever, which cools the blood for six months afterwards, and at the expiration of which London is restored to its old habits of plodding industry, as suddenly and completely as if no- thing had ever happened to disturb them. In our earlier days, we were a con- stant frequenter of Greenwich Fair, for years. We have proceeded to, and returned from it, in almost every de- scription of vehicle. We cannot con- scientiously deny the charge of having once made the passage in a spring- van, accompanied by thirteen gentlemen, fourteen ladies, an unlimited number of children, and a barrel of beer ; and we have a vague recollection of having, in later days, found ourself the eighth outside, on the top of a hackney-coach, at something past four o'clock in the morning, with a rather confused idea of our own name, or place of residence. We have grown older since then, and quiet, and steady : liking nothing bet- ter than to spend our Easter, and all our other holidays, in some quiet nook, with people of whom we shall never tire ; but we think we still remember something of Greenwich Fail', and of those who resort to it. At all events we will try. The road to Greenwich during the whole of Easter Monday, is in a state of perpetual bustle and noise. Cabs, hackney-coaches, "shay" carts, coal- waggons, stages, omnibuses, sociables, gigs, donkey-chaises — all crammed with people (for the question never is, what the horse can draw, but what the vehicle will hold), roll along at their utmost speed ; the dust flies in clouds, ginger-beer corks go off in volleys, the balcony of every public-house is crowded with people, smoking and drinking, half the private houses are turned into tea-shops, fiddles are in great request, every little fruit-shop displays its stall of gilt gingerbread and penny toys ; turnpike men are in despair ; horses won't go on, and , wheels will come off ; ladies in " cara- wans " scream with fright at every fresh concussion, and their admirers find it necessary to sit remarkably close to them, by way of encourage- ment ; servants of all-work, who are not allowed to have followers, and have got a holiday for the day, make the most of their time with the faithful admirer who waits for a stolen inter- view at the corner of the street every night, when they go to fetch the beer — apprentices grow sentimental, and straw-bonnet makers kind. Everybody is anxious to get on, and actuated by the common wish to be at the fair, or in the park, as soon as possible. Pedestrians linger in groups at the roadside, unable to resist the allure- ments of the stout proprietress of the " Jack-in-the-box, three shies a penny," or the more splendid offers of the man with three thimbles and a pea on a little round board, who astonishes the bewildered crowd with some such ad- dress as, " Here 's the sort o' game to make you laugh seven years arter you're dead, and turn evry air on your ed gray vith delight ! Three thimbles and vun little pea — with a vun, two, three, and a two, three, vun: catch him who can, look on, keep your eyes open, and niver say die ! niver mind the change, and the expense: all fair and above board : them as don't play can't vin, and luck attend the ryal sportsman! Bet any gen'lm'n any sum of money, from harf-a-crown up to a suverin, as he doesn't name the thimble as kivers the pea !_ " Here some greenhorn whispers his friend 1? 2 68 SKETCHES BY BOZ. that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle thimble — an impres- sion which is immediately confirmed by a gentleman in top-boots, who is standing by, and who, in a low tone, regrets his own inability to bet in con- sequence of having unfortunately left his purse at home, but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such a golden opportunity. The " plant" is successful, the bet is made, the stranger of course loses : and the gentleman with the thimbles consoles him, as he pockets the money, with an assurance that it 's a all the fortin of war ! this time I vin, next time you vin : niver mind the loss of two bob and a bender! Do it up in a small parcel, and break out in a fresh place. Here 's the sort o' game," &c. — and the eloquent harangue, with such variations as the speaker's exuberant fancy suggests, is again repeated to the gaping crowd, reinforced by the accession of several new comers. The chief place of resort in the day- time, after the public-houses, is the park, in which the principal amuse- ment is to drag young ladies up the steep hill which leads to the observa- tory, and then drag them down again, at the very top of their speed, greatly to the derangement of their curls and bonnet-caps, and much to the edifica- tion of lookers-on from below. " Kiss in the Ring," and " Threading my Grandmother's Needle," too, are sports which receive their full share of pa- tronage. Love-sick swains, under the influence of gin-and-water, and the tender passion, become violently affec- tionate : and the fair objects of their regard enhance the value of stolen kisses, by a vast deal of struggling, and holding down of heads, and cries of " Oh ! Ha' done, then, George — Oh, do tickle him for me, Mary — Well, I never !" and similar Lucretian ejacu- lations. Little old men and women, with a small basket under one arm, and a wine-glass, without a foot, in the other hand, tender " a drop o' the right sort" to the different groups ; and young ladies, who are persuaded to indulge in a drop of the aforesaid right sort, display a pleasing degree of reluctance to taste it, and cough after- wards with great propriety. The old pensioners, who, for the moderate charge of a penny, exhibit the mast-house, the Thames and ship- ping, the place where the men used to hang in chains, and other interesting sights, through a telescope, are asked questions about objects within the range of the glass, which it would puzzle a Solomon to answer ; and re- quested to find out particular houses in particular streets, which it would have been a task of some difficulty for Mr. Horner (not the young gentleman who ate mince-pies with his thumb, but the man of Colosseum notoriety) to discover. Here and there, where some three or four couple are sitting on the grass together, you will see a sun-burnt woman in a red cloak "telling for- tunes" and prophesying husbands, which it requires no extraordinary observation to describe, for the origi- nals are before her. Thereupon, the lady concerned laughs and blushes, and ultimately buries her face in an imitation cambric handkerchief, and the gentleman described looks ex- tremely foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberalky ; and the gipsy goes away, perfectly satisfied herself, and leaving those behind her perfectly satisfied also : and the pro- phecy, like many other prophecies of greater importance, fulfils itself in time. But it grows dark : the crowd has gradually dispersed, and only a few stragglers are left behind. The light in the direction of the church shows that the fair is illuminated ; and the distant noise proves it to be filling fast. The spot, which half an hour ago was ringing with the shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet as if nothing could ever disturb its serenity ; the fine old trees, the majestic building at their feet, with the noble river beyond, glistening in the moonlight, appear in all their beauty, and under their most favourable aspect ; the voices of the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne gently on the air ; and the hum- GREENWICH FAIR. 60 blest mechanic who has been lingering on the grass so pleasant to the feet that beat the same dull round from week to week in the paved streets of London, feels proud to think as he surveys the scene before him, that he belongs to the country which has selected such a spot as a retreat for its oldest and best defenders in the decline of their lives. Five minutes' walking brings you to the fair ; a scene calculated to awaken very different feelings. The entrance is occupied on either side by the ven- dors of gingerbread and toys: the stalls are gaily lighted up, the most attrac- tive goods profusely disposed, and un- bonneted young ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their employers, seize you by the coat, and use all the blandishments of " Do, dear " — " There 's a love " — the gentlemen, they stamp their feet against the ground, every time " hands four round" begins, go down the middle and up again, with cigars in their mouths, and silk handkerchiefs in then' hands, and whirl their partners round, nothing loth, scrambling and falling, and embracing, and knocking up against the other couples, until they are fairly tired out, and can move no longer. The same scene is repeated again and again (slightly varied by an occasional " row ") until a late hour at night: and a great many clerks and 'prentices find themselves next morn- ing with aching heads, empty pockets, damaged hats, and a very imperfect recollection of how it was, they did not get home. 72 SKETCHES BY BQZ. CHAPTER XIII. PRIVATE THEATRES. "Richard the Third. — Duke of Glo'ster, 21. ; Earl of Richmond, 1Z.; Duke of Bucking-ham, 15s.; Catesby, 12s. ; Tressell, 10s. 6d. ; Lord Stan- ley, 5s. ; Lord Mayor of London, 2s. 6dr Such are the written placards wafered up in the gentlemen's dressing- room, or the green-room (where there is any), at a private theatre; and such are the sums extracted from the shop till, or overcharged in the office ex- penditure, by the donkeys who are prevailed upon to pay for permission to exhibit their lamentable ignorance and boobyism on the stage of a private theatre. This they do, in proportion to the scope afforded by the character for the display of their imbecility. For instance, the Duke of Glo'ster is well worth two pounds, because he has it all to himself ; he must wear a real sword, and what is better still, he must draw it, several times in the course of the piece. The soliloquies alone are well worth fifteen shillings ; then there is the stabbing King Henry — decidedly cheap at three-and-six- pence, that 's eighteen-and-sixpence ; bullying the coffin-bearers — say eigh- -teen-pence, though it's worth much more — that 's a pound. Then the love scene with Lady Ann, and the bustle of the fourth act, can't be dear at ten shillings more — that 's only one pound ten, including the " off with his head!" —which is sure to bring down the applause, and it is very easy to do — " Orf with his ed " (very quick and loud ; — then slow and sneeringly) — " So much for Bu-u-u-uckingham ! " Lay the emphasis on the " uck ;" get yourself gradually into a corner, and work with your right hand, while you 're saying it, as if you were feeling your way, and it's sure to do. The tent scene is confessedly worth half-a- sovereign, and so you have the fight in, gratis, and every body knows what an effect may be produced by a good combat. One — two — three — four — over ; then, one — two — three — four — under ; then thrust ; then dodge and . slide about ; then fall down on one knee ; then fight upon it, and then get up again and stagger. You may keep on doing this, as long as it seems to take — say ten minutes — and then fall down (backwards, if you can manage it without hurting yourself), and die game: nothing like it for producing an effect. They always do it at Astley's and Sadler's Wells, and if they don't know how to do this sort of thing, who in the world does ? A small child, or a female in white, increases the interest of a combat materially — indeed, we are not aware that a regular legitimate terrific broadsword combat could be done without; but it would be rather difficult, and somewhat unusual, to introduce this effect in the last scene of Richard the Third, so the only thing to be done, is, just to make the best of a bad bargain, and be as long as possible fighting it out. The principal patrons of private theatres are dirty boys, low copying- clerks in attorneys' offices, capacious- headed youths from city counting- houses, Jews whose business, as lenders of fancy dresses, is a sure passport to the amateur stage, shop-boys who now and then mistake their master's money for their own; and a choice miscellany of idle vagabonds. The proprietor of a private theatre may be an ex-scene- painter, a low coffee-house-keeper, a disappointed eighth-rate actor, a retired smuggler, or an uncertificated bank- rupt. The theatre itself may be in Catherine- street, Strand, the purlieus of the city, the neighbourhood of Gray's-inn-lane, or the vicinity of Sadler's Wells ; or it may, perhaps, form the chief nuisance of some shabby street, on the Surrey side of Waterloo bridge. PRIVATE THEATRES. The lady performers pay nothing for their characters, and it is needless to add, are usually selected from one class of society ; the audiences are necessarily of much the same character as the performers, who receive, in return for their contributions to the management, tickets to the amount of the money they pay. All the minor theatres in London, especially the lowest, constitute the centre of a little stage-struck neigh- bourhood. Each of them has an audience exclusively its own ; and at any you will see dropping into the pit at half-price, or swaggering into the back of a box, if the price of admission be a reduced one, divers boys of from fifteen to twenty- one years of age, who throw back their coat and turn up their wristbands, after the portraits of Count D'Orsay,hum tunes and whistle when the curtain is down, by way of persuading the people near them, that they are not at all anxious to have it up again, and sp&k familiarly of the inferior performers as Bill Such-a-one, and Ned So-and-so, or tell each other how a new piece called TJie Unlcnoiun Bandit of the Invisible Cavern, is in rehearsal ; how Mister Palmer is to play The Unknown Bandit ; how Charley Scarton is to take the part of an English sailor, and fight a broad- sword combat with six unknown bandits, at one and the same time (one theatrical sailor is always equal to half a dozen men at least) ; how Mister Palmer and Charley Scarton are to go through a double hornpipe in fetters in the second act ; how the interior of the invisible cavern is to occupy the whole extent of the stage ; and other town-surprising theatrical announce- ments. These gentlemen are the amateurs — the Richards, Shylocks, Beverleys, and Othellos — the Young Bomtons, Rovers, Captain Absolutes, and Charles Surfaces — of a private theatre. See them at the neighbouring public- house or the theatrical coffee-shop ! They are the kings of the place, sup- posing no real performers to be present ; and roll about, hats on one side, and arms a-kimbo, as if they had actually come into possession of eighteen shillings a- week, and a share of a ticket night. If one of them does but know an Astley's supernumerary he is a happy fellow. The mingled air of envy and admiration with which his companions will regard him, as he converses familiarly with some mouldy- looking man in a fancy neckerchief, whose partially corked eyebrows, and half -rouged face, testify to the fact of his having just left the stage or the circle, sufficiently shows in what high admiration these public characters are held. With the double view of guarding against the discovery of friends or employers, and enhancing the interest of an assumed character, by attaching a high-sounding name to its repre- sentative, these geniuses assume ficti- tious names, which are not the least amusing part of the play-bill of a private theatre. Belville, Melville, Treville, Berkeley, Randolph, Byron, St. Clair, and so forth, are among the humblest ; and the less imposing titles of Jenkins, Walker, Thomson, Barker, Solomons, &c, are completely laid aside. There is something imposing in this, and it is an excellent apology for shabbiness into the bargain. A shrunken, faded coat, a decayed hat, a patched and soiled pair of trousers — nay even a very dirty shirt (and none of these appearances are very un- common among the members of the corps dramatiaue), may be worn for the purpose of disguise, and to prevent the remotest chance of recognition. Then it prevents any troublesome inquiries or explanations about em- ployment and pursuits ; every body is a gentleman at large, for the occasion, and there are none of those unpleasant and unnecessary distinctions to which even genius must occasionally succumb elsewhere. As to the ladies (God bless them), they are quite above any formal absurdities ; the mere circum- stance of your being behind the scenes is a sufficient introduction to their society — for of course they know that none but strictly respectable persons n SKETCHES BY BOZ. would be admitted into that close fellowship with them, which acting engenders. They place implicit re- liance on the manager, no doubt ; and as to the manager, he is all affability when he knows you well, — or, in other words, when he has pocketed your money once, and entertains confident hopes of doing so again. A quarter before eight — there will be a full house to-night — six parties in the boxes, already ; four little boys and a woman in the pit ; and two fiddles and a flute in the orchestra, who have got through five overtures since seven o'clock (the hour fixed for the commencement of the perform- ances), and have just begun the sixth. There will be plenty of it, though, when it does begin, for there is enough in the bill to last six hours at least. That gentleman in the white hat and checked shirt, brown coat and brass buttons, lounging behind the stage-box on the 0. P. side, is Mr. Ho- ratio St. Julien, alias Jem Larkins. His line is genteel comedy — his father's, coal and potato. He does Alfred Highflier in the last piece, and very well he'll do it — at the price. The party of gentlemen in the opposite box, to whom he has just nodded, are friends and supporters of Mr. Beverley (otherwise Loggins), the Macbeth of the night. You observe their attempts to appear easy and gentlemanly, each member of the party, with his feet cocked upon the cushion in front of the box ! They let them do these things here, upon the same humane principle which permits poor people's children to knock double knocks at the door of an empty house — because they can't do it any where else. The two stout men in the centre box, with an opera-glass ostentatiously placed before them, are friends of the pro- prietor — opulent country managers, as he confidentially informs every individual among the crew behind the curtain — opulent country managers looking out for recruits ; a representa- tion which Mi\ Nathan, the dresser, who is in the manager's interest, and has just arrived with the costumes, offers to confirm upon oath if required — corroborative evidence, however, is quite unnecessary, for the gulls believe it at once. The stout Jewess, who has just entered, is the mother of the pale bony little girl, with the necklace of blue glass beads, sitting by her ; she is being brought up to " the profession." Pantomime is to be her line, and she is coming out to-night, in a hornpipe after the tragedy. The short thin man beside Mr. St. Julien, whose white face is so deeply seared with the small- pox, and whose dirty shirt-front is inlaid with open-work, and embossed with coral studs like ladybirds, is the low comedian and comic singer of the establishment. The remainder of the audience — a tolerably numerous one by this time — are a motley group of dupes and blackguards. The foot-lights have just made their appearance : the wicks of the six little oil lamps round the only tier of boxes, are being turned up, and the additional light thus afforded serves to show the presence of dirt, and absence of paint, which forms a prominent feature in the audience part of the house. As these preparations, however, announce the speedy commencement of the play, let us take a peep " behind," previous to the ringing-up. The little narrow passages beneath the stage are neither especially clean nor too brilliantly lighted ; and the absence of any flooring, together with the damp mildewy smell which per- vades the place, does not conduce in any great degree to their comfortable appearance. Don't fall over this plate- basket — it's one of the "properties" — the caldron for the witches' cave ; and the three uncouth-looking figures, with broken clothes-props in their hands, who are drinking gin-and- water out of a pint pot, are the weird sisters. This miserable room, lighted by candles in sconces placed at length- ened intervals round the wall, is the dressing-room, common to the gentle- men performers, and the square hole in the ceiling is the trap- door of the stasje above. You will observe that PRIVATE THEATRES. 75 the ceiling is ornamented with the beams that support the boards, and tastefully hung with cobwebs. The characters in the tragedy are all dressed, and their own clothes are scattered in hurried confusion over the wooden dresser which surrounds the room. That snuff-shop-looking figure, in front of the glass, is Banquo : and the young lady with the liberal display of legs, who is kindly painting his face with a hare's foot, is dressed for Fleance. The large woman, who is consulting the stage directions in Cumberland's edition of Macbeth, is the Lady Macbeth of the night ; she is always selected to play the part, because she is tall and stout, and holes a little like Mrs. Siddons — at a consi- derable distance. That stupid-looking milksop, with light hair and bow legs — a kind of man whom you can war- rant town-made — is fresh caught ; he plays Malcolm to-night, just to accus- tom himself to an audience. He will get on better by degrees ; he will play Othello in a month, and in a month more, will very probably be appre- hended on a charge of embezzlement. The black-eyed female with whom he is talking so earnestly, is dressed for the " gentlewoman." It is her first appearance, too — in that character. The boy of fourteen, who is having his eyebrows smeared with soap and whitening, is Duncan, King of Scot- land ; and the two dirty men with the corked countenances, in very old green tunics, and dirty drab boots, are the "army." "Look sharp below there, gents," exclaims the dresser, a red-headed and red- whiskered Jew, calling through the trap, " they 're a-going to ring up. The flute says he'll be blowed if he plays any more, and they 're getting precious noisy in front." A general rush immediately takes place to the half-dozen little steep steps leading to the stage, and the heterogeneous group are soon assembled at the side scenes, in breathless anxiety and motley con- fusion. " Now," cries the manager, con- sulting the written list which hangs behind the first P. S. wing, " Scene 1, open country — lamps down — thunder and lightning — all ready, White ?" [This is addressed to one of the army.] " All ready." — " Very well. Scene %, front chamber. Is the front chamber down V — " Yes." — " Very well."— u Jones " [to the other army who is up in the flies]. « Hallo !"— « Wind up the open country when we ring up." — " I '11 take care." — " Scene 3, back perspective with practical bridge. Bridge ready, White ? Got the tres- sels there ?"— « All right." " Very well. Clear the stage," cries the manager, hastily packing every member of the company into the little space there is between the wings and the wall, and one wing and another. " Places, places. Now then, Witches — Duncan — Malcolm — bleed- ing officer — where 's the bleeding- officer ?" — " Here ! " replies the officer, who has been rose-pinking for the character. u Get ready, then ; now, White, ring the second music- bell." The actors who are to be dis- covered, are hastily arranged, and the actors who are not to be discovered place themselves, in their anxiety to peep at the house, just where the whole audience can see them. The bell rings, and the orchestra, hi acknow- ledgment of the call, play three dis- tinct chords. The bell rings — the tragedy (!) opens — and our descrip- tion closes. 76 SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER XIV, VAUXHALL-GARDENS BY DAY. There was a time when if a man ven- tured to wonder how Vauxhall-gardens would look by day, he was hailed with a shout of derision at the absurdity of the idea. Vauxhall by daylight ! A porter-pot without porter, the House of Commons without the Speaker, a gas-lamp without the gas — pooh, non- sense, the thing was not to be thought of. It was rumoured, too, in those times, that Vauxhall-gardens by day, were the scene of secret and hidden experiments ; that there, carvers were exercised in the mystic art of cutting a moderate-sized ham into slices thin enough to pave the whole of the grounds ; that beneath the shade of the tall trees, studious men were con- stantly engaged in chemical experi- ments, with the view of discovering how much water a bowl of negus could possibly bear ; and that in some re- tired nooks, appropriated to the study of ornithology, other sage and learned men were, by a process known only to themselves, incessantly employed in reducing fowls to a mere combination of skin and bone. Vague rumours of this kind, toge- ther with many others of a similar nature, cast over Vauxhall-gardens an air of deep mystery ; and as there is a great deal in the mysterious, there is no doubt that to a good many people, at all events, the pleasure they afforded was not a little enhanced by this very circumstance. Of this class of people we confess to having made one. We loved to wander among these illuminated groves, thinking of the patient and laborious researches which had been carried on there during the day, and witnessing their results in the suppers which were served up beneath the light of lamps and to the sound of music, at night. The temples and saloons and cosmoramas and fountains glit- tered and sparkled before our eyes ; the beauty of the lady singers and the elegant deportment of the gentlemen, captivated our hearts ; a few hundred thousand of additional lamps dazzled, our senses ; a bowl or two of reeking punch bewildered our brains ; and we were happy. In an evil hour, the proprietors of Vauxhall-gardens took to opening them by day. We regretted this, as rudely and harshly disturbing that veil of mystery which had hung about the property for many years, and which none but the noonday sun, and the late Mr. Simpson, had ever pene- trated. We shrunk from going ; at this moment we scarcely know why. Perhaps a morbid consciousness of approaching disappointment — perhaps a fatal presentiment — perhaps the weather ; whatever it was, we did not go until the second or third an- nouncement of a race between two balloons tempted us, and we went. We paid our shilling at the gate, and then we saw for the first time, that the entrance, if there had ever been any magic about it at all, was now decidedly disenchanted, being, in fact, nothing more nor less than a combination of very roughly-painted boards and sawdust. We glanced at the orchestra and supper-room as we hurried past — we just recognised them, and that was all. We bent our steps to the firework-ground ; there, at least, we should not be disappointed. We reached it, and stood rooted to the spot with mortification and asto- nishment. That the Moorish tower — that wooden shed with a door hi the centre, and daubs of crimson and yellow all round, like a gigantic watch- case ! That the place where night after night we had beheld the un- daunted Mr. Blackmore make his terrific ascent, surrounded by flames of fire, and peals of artillery, and where the white garments of Madame Some- VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. body (we forget even her name now), who nobly devoted her life to the manufacture of fireworks, had so often been seen fluttering in the wind, as she called up a red, blue, or party- coloured light to illumine her temple ! Tfiai the but at this moment the bell rung ; the people scampered away, pell-mell, to the spot from whence the sound proceeded ; and we, from the mere force of habit, found ourself running among the first, as if for very life. It was for the concert in the orches- tra. A small party of dismal men in cocked hats were " executing " the overture to Tancredi, and a numerous assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, with their families, had rushed from their half-emptied stout mugs in the supper boxes, and crowded to the spot. Intense was the low murmur of admiration when a particularly small gentleman, in a dress coat, led on a particularly tall lady hi a blue sarcenet pelisse and bonnet of the same, ornamented with large white feathers, and forthwith commenced a plaintiA r e duet. We knew the small gentleman well ; we had seen a lithographed semblance of him, on many a piece of music, with his mouth wide open as if in the act of singing ; a wine-glass in his hand ; and a table with two decanters and four pine-apples on it in the back- ground. The tall lady, too, we had gazed on, lost in raptures of. admira- tion, many .and many a time — how different people do look by daylight, and without punch, to be sure ! It was a beautiful duet : first the small gentleman asked a question, and then the tall lady answered it ; then the small gentleman and the tall lady sang together most melodiously ; then the small gentleman went through a little piece of vehemence by himself, and got very tenor indeed, in the excite- ment of his feelings, to which the tall lady responded in a similar manner ; then the small gentleman had a shake or two, after which the tall lady had the same, and then they both merged imperceptibly into the original air : and the band wound themselves up to a pitch of fury, and the small gentle- man handed the tall lady out, and the applause was rapturous. The comic singer, however, was the especial favourite ; we really thought that a gentleman, with his dinner in a pocket-handkerchief, who stood near us, would have fainted with excess of joy. A marvellously facetious gentle- man that comic singer is ; his dis- tinguishing characteristics are, a wig- approaching to the flaxen, and an aged countenance, and he bears the name of one of the English counties, if we recollect right. He sang a very good song about the seven ages, the first half hour of which afforded the assem- bly the purest delight ; of the rest we can make no report, as we did not stay to hear any more. We walked about, and met with a disappointment at every turn ; our favourite views were mere patches of paint ; the fountain that had sparkled so showily by lamp-light, presented very much the appearance of a water- pipe that had burst ; all the orna- ments were dingy, and all the walks gloomy. There was a spectral attempt at rope-dancing in the little open theatre. The sun shone upon the spangled dresses of the performers, and their evolutions were about as inspiriting and appropriate as a country-dance in a family-vault. So we retraced our steps to the firework- ground, and mingled with the little crowd of people who were contem- plating Mr. Green. Some half-dozen men were restrain- ing the impetuosity of one of the balloons, which was completely filled, and had the car already attached ; and as rumours had gone abroad that a Lord was " going up," the crowd were more than usually anxious and talkative. There was one little man in faded black, with a dirty face and a rusty black neckerchief with a red border, tied in a narrow wisp round his neck, who entered into conversa- tion with every body, and had some- thing to say upon every remark that was made within his hearing. He ?a SKETCHES BY BOZ. was standing with his arms folded, staring up at the balloon, and every now and then vented his feelings of reverence for the aeronaut, by saying, as he looked round to catch some- body's eye, " He 's a rum 'un is Green ; think o' this here being up'ards of his two hundredth ascent; ecod the man as is ekal to Green never had the toothache yet, nor won't have within this hundred year, and that 's all about it. When you meets with real talent, and native, too, encourage it, that 's what I say ; " and when he had delivered himself to this effect, he would fold his arms with more determination than ever, and stare at the balloon with a sort of admiring defiance of any other man alive, beyond himself and Green, that im- pressed the crowd with the opinion that he was an oracle. " Ah, you 're very right, sir," said another gentleman, with his wife, and children, and mother, and wife's sister, and a host of female friends, in all the gentility of white pocket- handkerchiefs, frills, and spencers, " Mr. Green is a steady hand, sir, and there 's no fear about him." " Fear ! " said the little man : " isn't it a lovely thing to see him and his wife a going up in one balloon, and his own son and his wife a jostling up against them in another, and all of them going twenty or thirty mile in three hours or so, and then coming back in pochayses ? I don't know where this here science is to stop, mind you ; that 's what bothers me." Here there Avas a considerable talking among the females in the spencers. « What's the ladies a laughing at, sir ? " inquired the little man, conde- scendingly. " It 's only my sister Mary," said one of the girls, " as says she hopes his lordship won't be frightened when he 's in the car, and want to come out again." ** Make yourself easy about that there, my dear," replied the little man. "If he was so much as co move a inch without ieave, Green would jist fetch him a crack over the head with the telescope, as would send Inm into the bottom of the basket in no time, and stun him till they come down again." " Would he, though \ " inquired the other man. " Yes, would he," replied the little one, " and think nothing of it, neither, if he was the king himself. Green's presence of mind is wonderful." Just at this moment all eyes were directed to the preparations which were being made for starting. The car was attached to the second bal- loon, the two were brought pretty close together, and a military band commenced playing, with a zeal and fervour which would render the most timid man in existence but too happy to accept any means of quitting that particular spot of earth on which they were stationed. Then Mr. Green, sen., and his noble companion entered one car, and Mr. Green, jun,, and Ms companion the other ; and then the balloons went up, and the aerial travellers stood up, and the crowd outside roared with delight, and the two gentlemen who had never ascended before, tried to wave their flags, as if they were not nervous, but held on very fast all the while ; and the bal- loons were wafted gently away, our little friend solemnly protesting, long after they were reduced to mere specks in the air, that he could still distinguish the white hat of Mr. Green. The gardens disgorged their multi- tudes, boys ran up and down scream- ing " bal-loon ; " and in all the crowded thoroughfares people rushed out of their shops into the middle of the road, and having stared up in the air at two little black objects till they almost dislocated their necks, walked slowly in again, perfectly satisfied. The next day there was a grand account of the ascent in the morning papers, and the public were informed how it was the finest day but four in Mr. Green's remembrance ; how they retained sight of the earth till they lost it bc-iiind the c/ouds ; and how the reflection of the balloon on the EARLY COACHES. undulating masses of vapour was gorgeously picturesque ; together with a little science about the refraction of the sun's rays, and some mysterious hints respecting atmospheric heat and eddying currents of air. There was also an interesting ac- count how a man in a boat was dis- tinctly heard by Mr. Green, jun., to exclaim, " My eye ! " which Mr. Green, jun., attributed to his voice rising to the balloon, and the sound being thrown back from its surface into the car ; and the whole concluded with a slight allusion to another ascent next Wednesday, all of which was very instructive and very amusing, as our readers will see if they look to •the papers. If we have forgotten to mention the date, they have only to wait till next summer, and take the account of the first ascent, and it will answer the purpose equally well. CHAPTER XV EARLY COACHES. We have often wondered how many months' incessant travelling in a post- chaise, it would take to kill a man ; and wondering by analogy, we should very much like to know how many months of constant travelling in a succession of early coaches, an unfor- tunate mortal could endure. Breaking a man alive upon the wheel, would be nothing to breaking his rest, his peace, his heart — everything but his fast — upon four ; and the punishment of Ixion (the only practical person, by the by, who has discovered the secret of the perpetual motion) would sink into utter insignificance before the one we have suggested. If we had been a powerful churchman in those good times when blood was shed freely as water and men were mowed down like grass, in the sacred cause of religion, we would have lain by very quietly till we got hold of some especially obstinate miscreant, who positively refused to be converted, to our faith, and then we would have booked him for an inside place in a small coach, which travelled day and night : and securing the remainder of the places for stout men with a slight tendency to coughing and spitting, we would have started him forth on his last travels : leaving him mercilessly to all the tortures which the waiters, landlords, coachmen, guards, boots, chambermaids, and other familiars on his line of road, might think proper to inflict. Who has not experienced the mise- ries inevitably consequent upon a summons to undertake a hasty jour- ney % You receive an intimation from your place of business — wherever that may be, or whatever you may be — that it will be necessary to leave town without delay. You and your family are forthwith thrown into a state of tremendous excitement ; an express is immediately dispatched to the washer- woman's ; every body is in a bustle ; and you, yourself, with a feeling of dignity which you cannot altogether conceal, sally forth to the booking- office to secure your place. Here a painful consciousness of your own un- importance first rushes on your mind — the people are as cool and collected as if nobody were going out of town, or as if a journey of a hundred odd miles were a mere nothing. You enter a mouldy-looking room, orna- mented with large posting-bills ; the greater part of the place enclosed behind a huge lumbering rough coun- ter, and fitted up with recesses that look like the dens of the smaller animals in a travelling menagerie, without tne bars. Some half-dozen GO SKETCHES BY BOZ. people are " booking " brown-paper parcels, which one of the clerks flings into the aforesaid recesses with an air ot recklessness which you, re- membering the new carpet-bag you bought in the morning, feel consider- ably annoyed at ; porters looking like so many Atlases, keep rushing in and out, with large packages on their shoulders ; and while you are waiting to make the necessary inquiries, you wonder what on earth the booking- office clerks can have been before they were booking-office clerks ; one of them with his pen behind his ear, and his hands behind him, is standing in front of the fire, like a full-length portrait of Napoleon ; the other with his hat half off his head, enters the passengers' names in the books with a coolness which is inexpressibly pro- voking ; and the villain whistles — actually whistles — while a man asks him what the fare is outside, all the way to Holyhead ! — in frosty weather too ? They are clearly an isolated race, evidently possessing no sympa- thies or feelings in common with the rest of mankind. Your turn comes at last, and having paid the fare, you tremblingly inquire — " What time will it be necessary for me to be here in the morning % " — " Six o'clock,' replies the whistler, carelessly pitching the sovereign you have just parted with, into a wooden bowl on the desk. " Rather before than arter," adds the man with the semi-roasted unmen- tionables, with just as much ease and complacency as if the whole world got out of bed at five. You turn into the street, ruminating as you bend your steps homewards on the extent to which men become hardened in cruelty, by custom. If there be one thing in existence more miserable than another, it most unquestionably is the being compelled to rise by candle-light. If you ever doubted the fact, you are painfully convinced of your error, on the morning of your departure. You left strict orders, overnight, to be called at half-past four, and you have done nothing all night but doze for five i minutes at a time, and start up sud- denly from a terrific dream of a large church-clock with the small hand running round, with astonishing rapidity, to every figure on the dial- plate. At last, completely exhausted, you fall gradually into a refreshing j sleep — your thoughts grow confused i — the stage-coaches, which have been "going off" before your eyes all. | night, become less and less distinct, until they go off altogether ; one moment you are driving with all the skill and smartness of an experienced whip — the next you are exhibiting, a la Ducrow, on the off- leader ; anon you are closely muffled up, inside, and have just recognised in the person of the guard an old schoolfellow, whose funeral, even in your dream, you re- member to have attended eighteen years ago. At last you fall into a state of complete oblivion, from which you are aroused, as if into a new state of existence, by a singular illusion. You are apprenticed to a trunk-maker ; how, or why, or when, or wherefore, you don't take the trouble to inquire ; but there you are, pasting the lining in the lid of a portmanteau. Confound that other apprentice in the back shop, how he is hammering ! — rap, rap, rap — what an industrious fellow he must be ! you have heard him at work for half an hour past, and he has been hammering incessantly the whole time. Pvap, rap, rap, again — he 's talking now — what 's that he said ? Five o'clock ! You make a violent exertion, and start up in bed. The vision is at once dispelled ; the trunk- maker s shop is your own bed-room, and the other apprentice your shiver- ing servant, who has been vainly en- deavouring to wake you for the last quarter of an hour, at the imminent risk of breaking either his own knuckles, or the panels of the door. You proceed to dress yourself, with all possible despatch. The flaring fiat candle with the long snuff, gives light enough to show that the things you want, are not where they ought to be, and you undergo a trifling delay in consequence of having carefully EARLY COACHES. 81 packed up one of your boots in your over anxiety of the preceding night. You soon complete your toilet, how- ever, for you are not particular on such an occasion, and you shaved yesterday evening ; so mounting your Petersham great-coat, and green travelling-shawl, and grasping your carpet-bag in your right hand, you walk lightly down stairs, lest you should awaken any of the family, and after pausing in the common sitting- room for one moment, just to have a cup of coffee (the said common sitting- room looking remarkably comfortable, with every thing out of its place, and strewed with the crumbs of last night's supper), you undo the chain and bolts of the street-door, and find yourself fairly in the street. A thaw, by all that is miserable ! The frost is completely broken up. You look down the long perspective of Oxiord-street, the gas-lights mourn- fully reflected on the wet pavement, and can discern no speck in the road to encourage the belief that there is a cab or a coach to be had — the very coachmen have gone home in despair. The cold sleet is drizzling down with that gentle regularity, which betokens a duration of four-and-twenty hours at least; the damp hangs upon the house- tops, and lamp-posts, and clings to you like an invisible cloak. The water is "coming in" in every area, the pipes have burst, the water-butts are running over ; the kennels seem to be doing matches against time, pump-handles descend of their own accord, horses in market-carts fall down, and there 's no one to help them up again, policemen look as if they had been carefully sprinkled with powdered glass ; here and there a milk-woman trudges slowly along, with a bit of list round each foot to keep her from slipping ; boys who " don't sleep in the house," and are not allowed much sleep out of it, can't wake their masters by thundering at the shop-door, and cry with the cold — the compound of ice, snow, and water on the pavement, is a couple of inches thick— nobody ventures to walk fast to keep himself warm, and nobodv could No. 178. i succeed in keeping himself warm if he did. It strikes a quarter past five as you trudge down Waterloo-place 'on your way to the Golden-cross, and you dis- cover, for the first time, that you were called about an hour too early. You have not time to go back ; there is no place open to go into, and you have, therefore, no resource but to go for- ward, which you do, feeling remark- ably satisfied with yourself, and every- thing about you. You arrive at the office, and look wistfully up the yard for the Birmingham High-flier, which,, for aught you can see, may have flown away altogether, for no preparations appear to be on foot for the departure of any vehicle in the shape of a coach. You wander into the booking-office, which with the gas-lights and blazing fire, looks quite comfortable by con- trast — that is to say, if any place can look comfortable at half-past five on a winter's morning. There stands the identical book-keeper in the same posi- tion as if he had not moved since you saw him yesterday. As he informs you, that the coach is up the yard, and will be brought round in about a quarter of an hour, you leave your bag, and repair to "The Tap" — not with any absurd idea of warming your- self, because you feel such a result to be utterly hopeless, but for the pur- pose of procuring some hot brandy- and-water, which you do, — when the kettle boils ! an event which occurs exactly two minutes and a half before the time fixed for the starting of the coach. The first stroke of six, peals from St. Martin's church steeple, just as you take the first sip of the boiling liquid. You find yourself at the booking-office in two seconds, and the tap-waiter finds himself much com- forted by your brandy-and-water, in about the same period. The coach is out ; the horses are in, and the guard and two or three porters, are stowing the luggage away, and running up the steps of the booking-office, and down the steps of the booking-office, with breathless rapidity. The place, which 6 S2 SKETCHES BY BOZ. a few minutes ago was so still and quiet, is now all bustle ; the early venders of the morning papers have arrived, and you are assailed on all sides with shouts of " Times, gen'lm'n, Times," "Here's Chron — Ghron — Citron" "Herald, ma'am," "Highly interesting murder, gen'lnfn," " Curi- ous case o' breach o' promise, ladies." The inside passengers are already in their dens, and the outsides, with the exception of yourself, are pacing up and down the pavement to keep them- selves warm ; they consist of two young men with very long hair, to which the sleet has communicated the appearance of crystallised rats' tails ; one thin young woman cold and peevish, one old gentleman ditto ditto, and something in a cloak and cap, intended to represent a military officer ; every member of the party, with a large stiff shawl over his chin, looking exactly as if he were playing a set of Pan's pipes. " Take off the cloths, Bob," says the coachman, who now appears for the first time, in a rough blue great- coat, of which the buttons behind are so far apart, that you can't see them both at the same time. " Now, gen'l- m'n," cries the guard, with the way- bill in his hand. " Five minutes behind time already ! " Up jump the passengers — the two young men smok- ing like lime-kilns, and the old gentle- man grumbling audibly. The thin young woman is got upon the roof, by dint of a great deal of pulling, and pushing, and helping and trouble, and she repays it by expressing her solemn conviction that she will never be able to get down again. " All right," sings out the guard at last, jumping up as the coach starts, and blowing his horn directly after- wards, in proof of the soundness of his wind. a Let 'em go, Harry, give 'em their heads," cries the coachman — and off we start as briskly as if the morning were " all right," as well as the coach : and looking forward as anxiously to the termination of our journey, as we fear our readers will have done, long since, to the conclusion of our paper. OMNIBUSES. 83 CHAPTER XVI. OMNIBUSES. It is very generally allowed that public conveyances afford an extensive field for amusement and observation. Of all the public conveyances that have been constructed since the days of the Ark — we think that is the earliest on record — to the present time, commend us to an omnibus. A long stage is not to be despised, but there you. have only six insides, and the chances are, that the same people go all the way with you — there is no change, no variety. Besides, after the first twelve hours or so, people get cross and sleepy, and when you have seen a man in his nightcap, you lose all respect for him ; at least, that is the case with us. Then on smooth roads people frequently get prosy, and tell long stories, and even those who don't talk, may have very unpleasant predilections. We once travelled four hundred miles, inside a stage-coach, with a stout man, who had a glass of rum-and-water, warm, handed in at the window at every place where we changed horses. This was decidedly unpleasant. We have also travelled occasionally, with a small boy of a pale aspect, with light hair, and no perceptible neck, coming up to town from school under the protection of the guard, and directed to be left at the Cross Keys till called for. This is, perhaps, even worse than rum-and- water in a close atmosphere. Then there is the whole train of evils con- sequent on a change of the coachman ; and the misery of the discovery — which the guard is sure to make the moment you begin to doze — that he wants a brown-paper parcel, Avhich he distinctly remembers to have depo- sited under the seat on which you are reposing. A great deal of bustle and groping takes place, and when you are thoroughly awakened, and severely cramped, by holding your legs up by an almost supernatural exertion, while he is looking behind them, it suddenly occurs to him that he put it in the fore-boot. Bang goes the door ; the parcel is immediately found ; off starts the coach again ; and the guard plays the key-bugle as loud as he can play it, as if in mockery of your wretchedness. Now, you meet with none of these afflictions in an omnibus ; sameness there can never be. The passengers change as often in the course of one journey as the figures in a kaleido- scope, and though not so glittering, are far more amusing. We believe there is no instance on record, of a man's having gone to sleep in one of these vehicles. As to long stories, would any man venture to tell a long story in an. omnibus % and even if he did, where would be the harm \ nobody could possibly hear what he was talk- ing about. Again ; children, though occasionally, are not often to be found in an omnibus ; and even when they are, if the vehicle be full, as is gene- rally the case, somebody sits upon them, and we are unconscious of their presence. Yes, after mature reflec- tion, and considerable experience, we are decidedly of opinion, that of all known vehicles, from the glass-coach in which we were taken to be chris- tened, to that sombre caravan in which we must one day make our last earthly journey, there is nothing like an omnibus. We will back the machine in which Ave make our daily peregrination from the top of Oxford-street to the city, against any " buss " on the road, whether it be for the gaudiness of its exterior, the perfect simplicity of its interior, or the native coolness of its cad. This young gentleman is a sin- gular instance of self-devotion ; his somewhat intemperate zeal on behalf of his employers, is constantly getting g2 84 SKETCHES BY BOZ. him into trouble, and occasionally into the house of correction. He is no sooner emancipated, however, than he resumes the duties of his profession with unabated ardour. His principal distinction is his activity. His great boast is, "that he can chuck an old gen'lm'n into the buss, shut him in, and rattle off, afore he knows where it 's a-going to " — a feat which he frequently performs, to the infinite amusement of every one but the old gentleman concerned, who, somehow or other, never can see the joke of the thing. We are not aware that it has ever been precisely ascertained, how many passengers our omnibus will contain. The impression on the cad's mind, evidently is, that it is amply sufficient for the accommodation of any number of persons that can be enticed into it. " Any room ? " cries a very hot pedes- trian. " Plenty o' room, sir," replies the conductor, gradually opening the door, and not disclosing the real state of the case, until the wretched man is on the steps. " Where ? " inquires the entrapped individual, with an attempt to back out again. " Either side, sir," rejoins the cad, shoving him in, and slamming the door. " All right, Bill." Retreat is impossible ; the new-comer rolls about, till he falls down somewhere, and there he stops. As we get into the city a little before ten, four or five of our party are regular passengers. We always take them up at the same places, and they generally occupy the same seats ; they are always dressed in the same man- ner, and invariably discuss the same topics — the increasing rapidity of cabs, and the disregard of moral obligations evinced by omnibus men. There is a little testy old man, with a powdered head, who always sits on the right- hand side of the door as you enter, with his hands folded on the top of his umbrella. He is extremely impa- tient, and sits there for the purpose of keeping a sharp eye on the cad, with whom he generally holds a running dialogue. He is very officious in helping people in and out, and always volunteers to give the cad a poke with his umbrella, when any one wants to alight. He usually recommends ladies to have sixpence ready, to prevent delay ; and if any body puts a window down, that he can reach, he immedi- ately puts it up again. " Now, what are you stopping fori" says the little old man every morning, the moment there is the slightest indi- cation of " pulling up " at the corner of Regent-street, when some such dialogue as the following takes place between him and the cad : " What are you stopping for ? " Here the cad whistles, and affects not to hear the question. " I say [a poke], what are you stopping for ? " " For passengers, sir. Ba — nk. — Ty." " I know you 're stopping for pas- sengers ; but you 've no business to do so. Why are you stopping ? " « Alick— my son, you mean, never better — never better. But at such a place as we 've got at Poplar- walk, you know, he couldn 't be ill if he tried. When I first saw it, by Jove ! it looked so knowing, with the front garden, and the green railings, and the brass knocker, and all that — I really thought it was a cut above me." "Don't you think you'd like the ham better," interrupted Minns, "if you cut it the other way ?" He saw, with feelings which it is impossible to describe, that his visitor was cutting or rather maiming the ham, in utter vio- lation of all established rules. " No, thank ye," returned Budden, with the most barbarous indifference to crime, " I prefer it this way — it eats short. But I say Minns, when will you come down and see us ? You will be delighted with the place ; I know you will. Amelia and I were talking about you the other night, and Amelia said — another lump of sugar, please ; thank ye — she said, don 't you think you could contrive, my dear, to say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way — come down, sir — damn the dog ! he 's spoiling your curtains, Minns — ha ! — ha! — ha!" Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the discharge from a galvanic battery. " Come out, sir ! — go out, hoo !" cried poor Augustus, keeping never- theless, at a very respectful distance from the dog ; having read of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morn- ing. By dint of great exertion, much ) 13 194 SKETCHES BY BOZ shouting, and a marvellous deal of pok- ing under the tables with a stick and umbrella, the dog was at last dislodged, and placed on the landing outside the door, where he immediately com- menced a most appalling howling ; at the same time vehemently scratching the paint off the two nicely- varnished bottom panels, until they resembled the interior of a back-gammon-board. " A good dog for the country that !" coolly observed Budden to the dis- tracted Minns, " but he 's not much used to confinement. But now, Minns, when will you come down 1 I '11 take no denial, positively. Let's see, to- day's Thursday. — Will you come on Sunday ? We dine at five, don 't say no— do." After a great deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to despair, accepted the invitation and promised to be at Poplar-walk on the ensuing Sunday, at a quarter before five to the minute. "Now mind the direction," said Budden : " the coach goes from the Flowerpot, in Bishop sgate-street, every half hour. When the coach stops at the Swan, you'll see, immediately opposite you, a white house." " Which is your house — I under- stand," said Minns, wishing to cut short the visit, and the story, at the same time. " No, no, that 's not mine ; that 's Grogus's, the great ironmonger's. I was going to say — you turn down by the side of the white house till you can't go another step further — mind that ! — and then you turn to your right, by some stables — well ; close to you, you '11 see a wall with ' Beware of the Dog' written on it in large letters — (Minns shuddered) — go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter of a mile — and anybody will show you which is my place." " Very well — thank ye — good bye." " Be punctual." " Certainly : good morning." " I say, Minns, you 've got a card." " Yes*, I have : thank ye." And Mr. Octavius Budden departed leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit of the following Sunday, with the feel- ings of a penniless poet to the weekly visit of his Scotch landlady. Sunday arrived ; the sky was bright and clear ; crowds of people were hurrying along the streets, intent on them different schemes of pleasure for the day; everything and everybody looked cheerful and happy except Mr. Augustus Minns. The day was fine, but the heat was considerable ; when Mr. Minns had fagged up the shady side of Fleet-street, Cheapside, and Threadneedle-street, he had become pretty warm, toler- ably dusty, and it was getting late into the bargain. By the most ex- traordinary good fortune, however, a coach was waiting at the Flowerpot, into which Mr. Augustus Minns got, on the solemn assurance of the cad that the vehicle would start in three minutes — that being the very utmost extremity of time it was allowed to wait by Act of Parliament. A quarter of an hour elapsed, and there were no signs of moving. Minns looked at his watch for the sixth time. " Coachman, are you going or not ?" bawled Mr. Minns, with his head and half his body out of the coach- window. "Di — rectly, sir," said the coach- man, with his hands in his pockets, looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible. « Bill, take them cloths off." Five minutes more elapsed ; at the end of which time the coachman mounted the box, from whence he looked down the street, and up the street, and hailed all the pedestrians for another five minutes. " Coachman ! if you don 't go this moment, I shall get out," said Mr. Minns, rendered desperate by the late- ness of the hour, and the impossibility of being in Poplar-walk at the ap- pointed time. "Going this minute, sir," was the reply ; — and, accordingly, the machine trundled on for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped again. Minns doubled himself up in a corner of the coach, and abandoned himself to his fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN. 195 and a parasol, became his fellow pass- engers. The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant ; the little dear mis- took Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him. " Be quiet, dear," said the mamma, restraining the impetuosity of the darling, whose little fat legs were kick- ing, and stamping, and twining them- selves into the most complicated forms, in an ecstasy of impatience. " Be quiet, dear, that 's not your papa." " Thank Heaven I am not ! " thought Minns, as the first gleam of pleasure he had experienced that morning shone like a meteor through his wretchedness. Playfulness was agreeably mingled with affection in the disposition of the boy. When satisfied that Mr. Minns was not his parent, he endeavoured to attract his notice by scraping his drab trousers with his dirty shoes, poking his chest with his mamma's parasol, and other nameless endearments pe- culiar to infancy, with which he be- guiled the tediousness of the ride, apparently very much to his own satis- faction. When the unfortunate gentleman arrived at the Swan, he found to his great dismay, that it was a quarter past five. The white house, the stables, the " Beware of the Dog," — every land- mark was passed, with a rapidity not unusual to a gentleman of a certain age when too late for dinner. After the lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Minns found himself opposite a yellow brick house with a green door, brass knocker and door-plate, green window-frames and ditto railings, with " a garden" in front, that is to say, a small loose bit of gravelled ground, with one round and two scalene triangular beds, con- taining a fir-tree, twenty or thirty bulbs, and an unlimited number of marigolds. The taste of Mr. and Mrs. Budden was further displayed by the appearance 01 a Cupid on each side ot the door, perched upon a heap of large chalk flints, variegated with pink conch- shells. His knock at the door was answered by a stumpy boy, in drab livery, cotton stockings and high-lows, who, after hanging his hat on one of the dozen brass pegs which ornamented the passage, denominated by courtesy " The Hall," ushered him into a front drawing-room commanding a very ex- tensive view of the backs of the neigh- bouring houses. The usual ceremony of introduction, and so forth, over, Mr. Minns took his seat: not a little, agitated at finding that he was the last coiner, and, somehow or other, xhe Lion of about a dozen people, sitting together in a small drawing-room, getting rid of that most tedious of all time, the time preceding dinner. " Well, Brogson," said Budden, ad- dressing an elderly gentleman in a black coat, drab knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who, under pretence of inspecting the prints in an Annual, had been engaged in satisfying himself on the subject of Mr. Minns's general appearance, by looking at him over the tops of the leaves — " Well, Brog- son, what do Ministers mean to do ? Will they go out, or what l " " Oh — why — really, you know, I 'm the last person in the world to ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, is the most likely person to answer the question." Mr. Minns assured the last speaker, that although he was in Somerset- house, he possessed no official commu- nication relative to the projects of his Majesty's Ministers. But his remark was evidently received incredulously ; and no further conjectures being- hazarded on the subject, a long pause ensued, during which the company occupied themselves in coughing and blowing their noses, until the entrance of Mrs. Budden caused a general rise. The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced, and down stairs the party proceeded accordingly —Mr. Minns escorting Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room door, but being prevented, by the narrowness of the staircase, from extending his gal- lantry any farther. The dinner passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and anon, amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversa- o2 196 SKETCHES BY BQZ. tion, Mr. B.'s voice might be heard, asking a friend to take wine, and assuring him he was glad to see him ; and a great deal of by-play took place between Mrs. B. and the servants, respecting the removal of the dishes, during which her countenance assumed all the variations of a weather-glass, from "stormy " to " set fair." Upon the dessert and wine being placed on the table, the servant, in compliance with a significant look from Mrs. B., brought down " Master Alexander," habited in a sky-blue suit with silver buttons; and possessing hair of nearly the same colour as the metal. After sundry praises from his mother, and various admonitions as to his behaviour from his father, he was in- troduced to his godfather. " Well, my little fellow — you are a fine boy, ain't you ? " said Mr. Minns, as happv as a tomtit on birdlime. " Yes." u How old are you ? " " Eight, next We'nsday. How old are you ? " " Alexander," interrupted his mo- ther, " how dare you ask Mr. Minns how old he is ! " " He asked me how old / was," said the precocious child, to whom Minnshad from that moment internally resolved that he never would bequeath one shil- ling. As soon as the titter occasioned by the observation, had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sitting at the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had been endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan, called out, with a very patronising air — " Alick, what part of speech is be ? " "A verb." " That 's a good boy," said Mrs. Budden with all a mother's pride. " Now, you know what a verb is ? " " A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer ; as, I am — I rule — I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma." "I'll give you an apple," replied the man with the red whiskers, who was an established friend of the family, or in other words was always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked it or not, " if you '11 tell me what is the meaning of be." " Be ? " said the prodigy, after a little hesitation — "an insect that gathers honey." " No, dear," frowned Mrs. Budden ; " B double E is the substantive." " I don't think he knows much yet about common substantives," said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable opportunity for letting off a joke. " It 's clear he 's not very well acquainted with proper names. He ! he ! he ! " " Gentlemen," called out Mr. Bud- den, from the end of the table, in a stentorian voice, and with a very im- portant air, " will you have the good- ness to charge your glasses ? I have a toast to propose." " Hear ! hear ! " cried the gentle- men, passing the decanters. After they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded — " Gentlemen ; there is an individual present — " " Hear ! hear ! " said the little man with red whiskers, " Pray be quiet, Jones," remon- strated Budden. " I say, gentlemen, there is an indi- vidual present," resumed the host, " in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight — and — and — the conversation of that individual must have afforded to every one present, the utmost pleasure." [" Thank Heaven, he does not mean me ! " thought Minns, conscious that his diffidence and exclusiveness had prevented his saying above a dozen words since he entered the house.] " Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself, and I pei'haps ought to apologise for allowing any individual feelings of friendship and affection for the person I allude to, to induce me to venture to rise, to propose the health of that person — a person that, I am sure — that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to those who know him — and those who have not the pleasure of knowing him, cannot dis- like him." " Hear ! hear ! " said the company, MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN. m in a tone of encouragement and approval. " Gentlemen," continued Budden, " my cousin is a man who — who is a relation of my own." (Hear ! hear !) Minns groaned audibly. " Who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not here, would certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear !) Gentlemen, I feel that I have already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With every feel- ing — of — with every sentiment of — of—" " Gratification " — suggested the friend of the family. " — Of gratification, I beg to pro- pose the health of Mr. Minns." " Standing, gentlemen ! " shouted the indefatigable little man with the whiskers — "and with the honours. Take your time from me, if you please. Hip! hip! hip! — Za ! — Hip ! hip ! hip !— Za !— Hip ! hip !— Za— a— a!" All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping down port-wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endeavoured to conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency would admit, he rose, but, as the newspapers sometimes say in their reports, " we regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance of the honourable gentle- man's observations." The words "pre- sent company — honour — present occa- sion," and " great happiness " — heard occasionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive of the utmost confusion and misery, con- vinced the company that he was making an excellent speech ; and, ac- cordingly, on his resuming his seat, they cried " Bravo ! " and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up. " Budden," said he " will you allow me to propose a toast ? " " Certainly," replied Budden, adding in an under tone to Minns right across the table. " Devilish sharp fellow that : you '11 be very much pleased with his speech. He talks equally well on any subject." Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded : " It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many circum- stances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honour to be surrounded. I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own ■ — for why should I deny it ? — felt the* overwhelming nature of the task I have undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the sub- ject. If such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions, what must they be now — now — under the extraordinary circumstances in which I am placed. (Hear ! hear !) To describe my feelings accurately, would be impossible ; but I cannot give you a better idea of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens, oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On one occa- sion, when that truly great and illus- trious man, Sheridan, was — " Now, there is no knowing what new villany in the form of a joke would have been heaped on the grave of that very ill-used man, Mr. Sheridan, if the boy in drab had not at that mo- ment entered the room in a breathless state, to report that, as it was a very wet night, the nine o'clock stage had come round, to know whether there was anybody going to town, as, in that case, he (the nine o'clock) had room for one inside. Mr. Minns started up ; and, despite countless exclamations of surprise, and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept the vacant place. But, the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be found : and as the coachman couldn't wait, he drove back to the Swan, leaving word for Mr. Minns to " run round " and catch him. However, as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or so, that he had left the brown, silk umbrella with the ivory handle in the other coach, coming down ; and, moreover, as he was by no means remarkable for speed, it is no matter of surprise that when SKETCHES BY BOZ. he accomplished the feat of "running round " to the Swan, the coach — the last coach — had gone without him. It was somewhere ahout three o'clock in the morning, when Mr. Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street-door of his lodgings in Tavis- tock-street, cold, wet, cross, and mise- rable. He made his will next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict confidence in which we inform the public, that neither the name of Mr. Octavius Budden, nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master Alexander Augustus Budden, appears therein. CHAPTER III. SENTIMENT. The Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription on the garden-gate of Minerva House, Ham- mersmith, "The Misses Crumpton," were two unusually tall, particularly thin, and exceedingly skinny person- ages : very upright, and very yellow. Miss Amelia Crumpton owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted she was forty ; an admission which was rendered perfectly unneces- sary by the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed in the most interesting manner — like twins ; and looked as happy and com- fortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were very precise, had the strictest possible ideas of pro- priety, wore false hair, and always smelt very strongly of lavender. Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was a "finishing establishment for young ladies," where some twenty girls of the ages of from thirteen to nineteen inclusive, acquired a smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing ; instruction in French and Italian, dancing lessons twice a- week ; and other necessaries of life. The house was a white one, a little removed from the road-side, with close palings in front. The bed-room windows were always left partly open, to afford a bird's-eye view of numerous little bedsteads with very white dimity fur- niture, and thereby impress the passer- by with a due sense of the luxuries of the establishment ; and there was a front parlour hung round with highly varnished maps which nobody ever looked at, and filled with books which no one ever read, appropriated exclu- sively to the reception of parents, who, whenever they called, could not fail to be struck with the very deep appear- ance of the place. "Amelia, my dear," said Miss Maria Crumpton, entering the school- room one morning, with her false hair in papers : as she occasionally did, in order to impress the young ladies with a conviction of its reality. " Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note I have just received. You needn't mind reading it aloud." Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with an air of great triumph : " Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., presents his compliments to Miss Crumpton, and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton's calling on him, if she conveniently can, to-mor- row morning at one o'clock, as Cor- nelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., is anxious to see Miss Crumpton on the subject of placing Miss Brook Ding- wall under her charge.- " Adelphi. " Monday morning." " A Member of Parliament's daughter!" ejaculated Amelia, in an ecstatic tone. SENTIMENT. 199 " A Member of Parliament's daughter !" repeated Miss Maria, with a smile of delight, which, of course, elicited a concurrent titter of pleasure from all the young ladies. " It 's exceedingly delightful ! " said Miss Amelia ; whereupon all the young ladies murmured their admira- tion again. Courtiers are but school- boys, and court-ladies school-girls. So important an announcement, at once superseded the business of the day. A holiday was declared, in com- memoration of the great event ; the Miss Crumptons retired to their pri- vate apartment to talk it over ; the smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs of the daughter of a Member of Parliament ; and the young ladies verging on eighteen wondered whether she was engaged, whether she was pretty, whether she wore much bustle, and many other whethers of equal importance. The two Miss Crumptons proceeded to the Adelphi at the appointed time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking as amiable as they possibly could — which, by the by, is not saying much for them. Having sent in their cards, through the medium of a red-hot looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into the august presence of the profound Dingwall. Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was very haughty, solemn, and portentous. He had, naturally, a some- what spasmodic expression of counte- nance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his wearing an extremely stiff cravat. He was won- derfully proud of the M.P. attached to his name, and never lost an oppor- tunity of reminding people of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had ; and in diplomacy, on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he considered himself unrivalled. He was a county magistrate, and dis- charged the duties of his station w'th all due justice and impartiality; fre- quently committing poachers, and occasionally committing himself. Miss Brook Dingwall was one of that nume- rous class of young ladies, who, like adverbs, may be known by their answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing else. On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing, but trying to look busy- playing at shop. Acts of Parliament, and letters directed to " Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P.," were ostentatiously scattered over the table ; ' at a little distance from which, Mrs. Brook Dingwall was seated at work. One of those public nuisances, a spoiled child, was playing about the room, dressed after the most approved fashion — in a blue tunic with a black belt a quarter of a yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle — looking like a robber in a melodrama, seen through a diminishing glass. After a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton's chair as fast as it was placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq. opened the conversation. He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the high cha- racter he had received of her esta- blishment from his friend, Sir Alfred Muggs. Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgements to him (Muggs), and Cornelius proceeded. " One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with my daughter, is, that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas, which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind." (Here the little innocent before noticed, fell out of an arm-chair with an awful crash.) " Naughty boy ! " said his mamma, who appeared more surprised at his taking the liberty of falling down, than at anything else ; " I '11 ring the bell for James to take him away." "Pray don't check him my love," said the diplomatist, as soon as he could make himself heard amidst the 200 SKETCHES BY BOZ. unearthly howling consequent upon the threat and the tumble. " It all arises from his great flow of spirits." This last explanation was addressed to Miss Crura pton. " Certainly, sir," replied the antique Maria : not exactly seeing, however, the connexion between a flow of animal spirits, and a fall from an arm- chair. Silence was restored, and the M.P. resumed : " Now, I know nothing so likely to effect this object, Miss Crumpton, as her mixing constantly in the society of girls of her own age; and, as I know that in your establish- ment she will meet such as are not likely to contaminate her young mind, I propose to send her to you." The youngest Miss Crumpton ex- pressed the acknowledgments of the establishment generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily pain. The dear little fellow, having re- covered his animal spirits, was stand- ing upon her most tender foot, by way of getting his face (which looked like a capital O in a red lettered play-bill) on a level with the writing- table. " Of course, Lavinia will be a par- lour boarder," continued the enviable father; "and on one point I wish my directions to be strictly observed. The fact is, that some ridiculous love af- fair, with a person much her inferior in life, has been the cause of her present state of mind. Knowing that of course, under your care, she can have no opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to — indeed, I should rather prefer — her mixing with such society as you see yourself." This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited little creature, in the excess of his joyous- ness breaking a pane of glass, and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. James was rung for; considerable confusion and screaming succeeded; two little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man left the room, and the child was gone. " Mr. Brook Dingwall would like Miss Brook Dingwall to learn every- thing," said Mrs. Brook Dingwall, who hardly ever said anything at all. "Certainly," said both the Miss Crumptons together. " And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in weaning my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton," continued the legis- lator, " I hope you will have the goodness to comply, in all respects, with any request I may forward to you." The promise was of course made ; and after a lengthened discussion, con- ducted on behalf of the Dingwalls with the most becoming diplomatic gravity, and on that of the Crumptons with pro- found respect, it was finally arranged that Miss Lavinia should be forwarded to Hammersmith on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-yearly ball given at the establishment was to take place. It might divert the dear girl's mind. This, by the way, was another bit of diplomacy. Miss Lavinia was introduced to her future governess, and both the Miss Crumptons pronounced her " a most charming girl ;" an opinion which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of any new pupil. Courtesies were exchanged, acknow- ledgments expressed, condescension exhibited, and the interview termi- nated. Preparations, to make use of thea- trical phraseology, "on a scale of mag- nitude never before attempted," were incessantly made at Minerva House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. The largest room in the house was plea- singly ornamented with blue calico roses, plaid tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, the work of the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken up, the folding- doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, and rout-seats were taken in. The linen-drapers of Hammersmith were astounded at the sudden demand for blue sarsenet ribbon, and long white gloves. Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, and a, harp and two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the grand SENTIMENT. 201 piano already on the premises. The young ladies who were selected to show off on the occasion, and do credit to the establishment, practised inces- santly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to the annoyance of the lame old gentleman over the way ; and a constant correspondence was kept up, between the Misses Crumpton and the Hammersmith pastrycook. The evening came; and then there was such a lacing of stays, and tying of sandals, and dressing of hair, as never can take place with a proper degree of bustle out of a boarding- school. The smaller girls managed to be in everybody's way, and were pushed about accordingly ; and the elder ones dressed, and tied, and flat- tered, and envied, one another, as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually come out. " How do I look, dear % *' inquired Miss Emily Smithers, the belle of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom friend, because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith, or out of it. " Oh ! charming, dear. How do I \ " " Delightful ! you never looked so handsome," returned the belle, adjust- ing her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her poor companion. " I hope young Hilton will come early," said another young lady to Miss somebody else, in a fever of ex- pectation. " I 'm sure he'd be highly flattered if he knew it," returned the other, who was practising Vete. " Oh ! he 5 s so handsome," said the first. " Such a charming person I" added a second. " Such a distingue air ;" said a third. "Oh, what do you think?" said another girl, running into the room ; " Miss Crumpton says her cousin 's coming." " What ! Theodosius Butler \ " said everybody in raptures. " Is he handsome \ " inquired a novice. " No, not particularly handsome," was the general reply ; " but, oh, so clever ! " Mr. Theodosius Butler was one of those immortal geniuses who are to be met with, in almost every circle. They have, usually, very deep mono- tonous voices. They always persuade themselves that they are wonderful persons, and that they ought to be very miserable, though they don't precisely know why. They are very conceited, and usually possess half an idea ; but, with enthusiastic young ladies, and silly young gentlemen, they are very wonderful persons. The individual in question, Mr. Theo- dosius, had written a pamphlet con- taining some very weighty considera- tions on the expediency of doing something or other ; and as every sentence contained a good many words of four syllables, his admirers took it for granted that he meant a good deal, " Perhaps that 's he," exclaimed several young ladies, as the first pull of the evening threatened destruction to the bell of the gate. An awful pause ensued. Some boxes arrived and a young lady — Miss Brook Dingwall, in full ball costume, with an immense gold chain round her neck, and her dress looped up with a single rose ; an ivory fan in her hand, and a most interesting ex- pression of despair in her face. The Miss Ci-umptons inquired after the family, with the most excruciating anxiety, and Miss Brook Dingwall was formally introduced to her future companions. The Miss Crumptons conversed with the young ladies in the most mellifluous tones, in order that Miss Brook Dingwall might be pro- perly impressed with their amiable treatment. Another pull at the bell. Mr. Dadson the writing-master, and his wife. The wife in green silk, with shoes and cap-trimmings to corres- pond ; the writing-master in a white- waistcoat, black knee-shorts, and ditto silk stockings, displaying a leg large enough for two writing-masters. The young ladies whispered one another, and the writing-master and his wife 202 SKETCHES BY BOZ. flattered the Miss Crumptcras, who were dressed in amber, with long sashes, like dolis. Repeated pulls at the bell, and arrivals too numerous to particularise : papas and mammas, and aunts and uncles, the owners and guardians of the different pupils ; the singing- master, Signor Lobskini, in a black wig ; the piano-forte player and the violins ; the harp, in a state of intoxi- cation; and some twenty young men, who stood near the door, and talked to one another, occasionally bursting into a giggle. A general hum of con- versation, Coffee handed round, and plentifully partaken of by fat mammas, who looked like the stout people who come on in pantomimes for the sole purpose of being knocked down. The popular Mr. Hilton was the next arrival ; and he having, at the re- quest of the Miss Crumptons, under- taken the office of Master of the Ceremonies, the quadrilles commenced with considerable spirit. The young men by the door gradually advanced into the middle of the room, and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to be introduced to partners. The writing-master danced every set, springing about with the most fearful agility, and his wife played a rubber in the back-parlour — a little room with five book-shelves, dignified by the name of the study. Setting her down to whist was a half-yearly piece of generalship on the part of the Miss Crumptons ; it was necessary to hide her somewhere, on account of her being a fright. The interesting Lavinia Brook Ding- wall was the only girl present, who ap- peared to take no interest in the pro- ceedings of the evening. In vain was she solicited to dance ; in vain was the universal homage paid to her as the daughter of a member of parlia- ment. She was equally unmoved by the splendid tenor of the inimitable Lobskini, and the brilliant execution of Miss Lsetitia Parsons, whose per- formance of " The Recollections of Ireland " was universally declared to be almost equal to that of Moscheles himself. Not even the announcement of the arrival of Mr. Theodosius Butler could induce her to leave the corner of the back drawing-room in which she was seated. " Now, Theodosius," said Miss Maria Crumpton, after that enlight- ened pamphleteer had nearly run the gauntlet of the whole company, "I must introduce you to our new pupil." Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly. " She 's the daughter of a member of parliament," said Maria. — Theodosius started. " And her name is ? " he in- quired. " Miss Brook Dingwall." " Great Heaven ! " poetically ex- claimed Theodosius, in a low tone. Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss Brook Dingwall languidly raised her head. " Edward ! " she exclaimed, with a half- shriek, on seeing the well-known nankeen legs. Fortunately, as Miss Maria Crumpton possessed no remarkable share of pene- tration, and as it was one of the diplo- matic arrangements that no attention was to be paid to Miss Lavinia's inco- herent exclamations, she Avas perfectly unconscious of the mutual agitation of the parties ; and therefore, seeing that the offer of his hand for the next quadrille, was accepted, she left him by the side of Miss Brook Dingwall. " Oh, Edward ! " exclaimed that most romantic of all romantic young ladies, as the light of science seated himself beside her, " Oh, Edward, is it you \ " Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature, in the most impassioned manner, that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself. " Then why — why — this disguise ? Oh ! Edward M'Neville Walter, what have I not suffered on your account ? " " Lavinia, hear me," replied the hero, in his most poetic strain. "Do not condemn me, unheard. If any- thing that emanates from the soul of such a wretch as I, can occupy a place in your recollection — if any being, so SENTIMENT. 203 vile, deserve your notice— you may remember that I ouce published a pamphlet (aud paid for its publication) entitled ' Considerations on the Policy of Removing the Duty on Bees'-wax.' " a I do — I do ! " sobbed Lavinia. " That," continued the lover, " was a subject to which your father was devoted heart and soul." " He was — he was ! * reiterated the sentimentalist. " I knew it," continued Theodosius, ! tragically ; " I knew it — I forwarded him a copy. He wished to know me. Could I disclose my real name ? Never ! No, I assumed that name which you ■ have so often pronounced in tones of endearment. As M'Neville Walter, I devoted myself to the stirring cause ; as M'Neville Walter, I gained your heart ; in the' same character I was ejected from your house by your father's domestics; and in no character at all have I since been enabled to see j you. We now meet again, and I proudly own that I am — Theodosius ' Butler!" The young lady appeared perfectly , satisfied with this argumentative ad- dress, and bestowed a look of the I most ardent affection on the immortal advocate of bees'-wax. '•'May I hope," said he, "that the promise your father's violent behaviour interrupted, may be renewed \ " " Let us join this set," replied La- vinia, coquettishly — for girls of nine- teen cam coquette. "No," ejaculated he of the nan- keens ; " I stir not from this soot, writhing under this torture of suspense. May I — may I — hope ? " " You may/' " The promise is renewed % " " It is." " I have your permission % " " You have." " To the fullest extent 1 " " You know it," returned the blush- ing Lavinia. The contortions of the interesting Butlers visage expressed his raptures. We could dilate upon the occur- rences that ensued. How Mr. Theo- dosius and Miss Lavinia danced, and talked, and sighed for the remainder of the evening — how the Miss Crumptons were delighted thereat. How the writing-master continued to frisk about with one-horse power, and how his wife, from some unaccountable freak, left the whist-table in the little back parlour, and persisted in displaying her green head-dress in the most con- spicuous part of the drawing-room. How the supper consisted ot small triangular sandwiches in trays, and a tart here and there by way -of variety; and how the visitors consumed warm water disguised with lemon, and dotted with nutmeg, under the denomination of negus. These, and other matters of as much interest, however, we pass over, for the purpose of describing a scene of even more importance. A fortnight after the date of the ball, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was seated at the same library- table, and in the same room, as we have before described. He was alone, and his face bore an expression of deep thought and solemn gravity — he was drawing up " A Bill for the better observance of Easter Monday." The footman tapped at the door — the legislator started from his reverie, and " Miss Crumpton " was announced. Permission was given for Miss Crunip- ton to enter the sanctum ; Maria came sliding in, and having taken her seat with a due portion of affectation, the footman retired, and the governess was left alone with the M.P. Oh ! how she longed for the presence of a third party ! Even the facetious young gen- tleman w r ould have been a relief. Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brook Dingwall and the handsome little boy were in good health. They were. Mrs. Brook Dingwall and little Frederick were at Brighton. " Much obliged to you, Miss Crump- ton," said Cornelius, in his most digni- fied manner, "for your attention in calling this morning. I should have driven down to Hammersmith, to see Lavinia, but your account was so very satisfactory, and my duties in the House occupy me so much, that I de- SKETCHES BY BOZ. terniined to postpone it for a week. How has she gone on 1 " " Very well indeed, sir," returned Maria, dreading to inform the father that she had gone off. " Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match for her." Here was a favourable opportunity to say that somebody else had been a match for her. But the unfortunate governess was unequal to the task. '•' You have persevered strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed, Miss Crumpton ? " " Strictly, sir." '•' You tell me in your note that her spirits gradually improved." " Very much indeed, sir." "To be sure. I was convinced they would." '•' But I fear, sir," said Miss Crump- ton, with visible emotion, " I fear the plan has not succeeded, quite so well as we could have wished." " No ! " exclaimed the prophet. '■' Bless me ! Miss Crumpton, you look alarmed. What has happened ? " '■ Miss Brook Dingwall, sir — " "Yes, ma'am?" " Has gone, sir " — said Maria, ex- hibiting a strong inclination to faint. « Gone ! " K Eloped, sir." " Eloped ! — Who with — when — where— howl" almost shrieked the agitated diplomatist. The natural yellow of the unfortu- nate Maria's face changed to all the hues of the rainbow, as she laid a small packet on the member s table. He hurriedly opened it. A letter from his daughter, and another from Theodosius. He glanced over their contents — " Ere this reaches you, far distant — appeal to feelings — love to distraction — bees'-wax — slavery," &c, I &c. He dashed his hand to his fore- I head, and paced the room with fear- ! fully long strides, to the great alarm of the precise Maria. '•' Now mind ; from this time for- ward," said Mr. Brook Dingwall, suddenly stopping at the table, and beating time upon it with his hand ; " from this time forward, I never will, under any circumstances whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room of this house but the kitchen. — 1 11 allow my daughter and her husband one hundred and fifty pounds a-year, and never see their faces again ; and, damme ! ma'am, I '11 bring in a bill for the abolition of finishing-schools !" Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. and Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Ball's-pond, pleasantly situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick-field. They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important, and writes incessantly ; but, in con- sequence of a gross combination on the part of publishers, none of his productions appear in print. His young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real unhap- piness ; and that a marriage, contracted in haste, and repented at leisure, is the cause of more substantial wretched- ness than she ever anticipated. On cool reflexion, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was reluctantly compelled to admit that the untoward result of his admirable arrangements was attributable, not to the Miss Crumptons, but his own diplomacy. He however consoles himself, like some other small diplomatists, by satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not succeed, they ought to have done so. Minerva House is in statu, quo, and " The Misses Crumpton " remain in the peaceable and undis- turbed enjoyment of all the advan- tages resulting from their Finishing- School. THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE. 2C5 CHAPTER IV. THE TUGGS S AT RAMSGATE. Once upon a time, there dwelt, in a narrow street on the Surrey side of the water, within three minutes' walk of old London Bridge, Mr. Joseph Tuggs — a little dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thick- ness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the orna- mental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tuggs, if not perfectly symmetrical, was de- cidedly comfortable ; and the form of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tuggs, was fast ripen- ing into that state of luxuriant plump- ness which had enchanted the eyes, and captivated the heart, of Mr. Joseph Tuggs in his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tuggs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tuggs's only brother, was as differently formed in body, as he was differently constituted in mind,from the remainder of his famihy. There was that elonga- tion in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a being, possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually ap- peared in public, in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings ; and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock, without tie or ornament of any description. There is perhaps no profession, how- ever useful ; no pursuit, however; meritorious ; which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer was beyond the breath of calumny ; but no — the neighbours stigmatised him as a chandler ; and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted that he dis- pensed tea and coffee by the quartern, retailed sugar by the ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by the pat. These taunts, how- ever, were lost upon the Tuggs's. Mr. Tuggs attended to the grocery depart-* ment; Mrs. Tuggs to the cheese- mongery ; and Miss Tuggs to her education. Mr. Simon Tuggs kept his father's books, and his own counsel. One fine spring afternoon, the latter gentleman was seated on a tub of weekly Dorset, behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which orna- mented a corner of the counter ; when a stranger dismounted from a cab, and hastily entered the shop. He was habited in black cloth, and bore with him, a green umbrella, and a blue bag. "Mr. Tuggs?" said the stranger, incmiringly. "My name is Tuggs," replied Mr. Simon. " It 's the other Mr. Tuggs," said the stranger, looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain. Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with considerable celerity, removed his face from the curtain, and placed it before the stranger. " I come from the Temple," said the man with the bag. « From the Temple ! " said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective. " From the Temple ! " said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at the same moment. "From the Temple!" said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as pale as a Dutch cheese. 206 SKETCHES BY BOZ. a From the Temple," repeated the man with the bag ; " from Mr. Cower s, the solicitor's. J\Ir. Tuggs, I congra- tulate you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity I We have .been successful." And the man with the bag leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and glove, as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Nov.- the words " we have been successful," had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs rose from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away, without the slightest ostensible cause or pretence. " Water ! " screamed Mrs. Tuggs. " Look up, my son," exclaimed Mr. Tuggs. "Simon ! dear Simon !" shrieked Miss Tuggs. " I 'm better now," said Mr. Simon Tuggs. "What! successful !" And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted away again, and was borne into the little parlour by the united efforts of the remainder of the family, and the man with the bag. To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position of the family, this fainting would have been | unaccountable. To those who under- stood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tuggs, it was quite com- prehensible. A long-pending law-suit respecting the validity of a willj had been unexpectedly decided ; and Mr. Joseph Tuggs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds. A prolonged consultation took place, that night, in the little parlour — a con- sultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggs's. The shop was shut up, at an unusually early hour ; and many were the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for quarterns of sugar, or half-quarterns of bread, or pen- n'orths of peppei', which were to have been "left till Saturday," but which fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether. " We must certainly give up busi- ness," said Miss Tuggs. " Oh, decidedly," said Mrs. Tuggs. " Simon shall go to the bar," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. "And I shall always sign myself ' Cymon ' in future," said his son. "And I shall call myself Charlotta," said Miss Tuggs. " And you must always call me \ e Ma,' and father < Pa,' " said Mrs. j Tuggs " Yes, and Pa must leave off all I his vulgar habits," interposed Miss | Tuggs. " I '11 take care of all that," responded I Mr. Joseph Tuggs, complacently. He I was, at that very moment, eating pickled salmon with a pocket-knife. " We must leave town immediately," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Everybody concurred that this was I an indispensable preliminary to being ■ genteel. The question then arose. j Where should they go ? " Gravesend ?" mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was unani- mously scouted. Gravesend was low. " Margate ? " insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse — nobody there, but tradespeople. " Brighton I " Mr. Cymon Tuggs opposed an insurmountable objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the last three weeks; each coach had averaged two passengers killed, and six wounded; and, in every case, the newspapers had distinctly un- derstood that " no blame whatev er was attributable to the coachman." " Ramsgate I " ejaculated Mr.Cymon, thoughtfully. To be sure : how stupid they must have been, not to have thought of that before ! Ramsgate was just the place of all others. Two months after this conversation, the City of London Ramsgate steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band was playing, her passengers were conversing; every- THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE. 207 thing about her seemed gay and lively. — No wonder — the Tuggs's were on board. "Charming, ain't it? " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, in a bottle-green great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue travelling- cap with a gold band. " Soul-inspiring, 1 ' replied Mr.Cymon Tuggs — he was entered at the bar. " Soul-inspiring ! " " Delightful morning, sir ! " said a stoutish, military-looking gentleman in a blue surtout buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers chained down to the soles of his boots. Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the ob- servation. " Heavenly ! " he replied. " You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, sir % " said the military gentleman. * I am, sir," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " Travelled much, sir ? " inquired the military gentleman. "Not much," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " You 've been on the continent, of course \ " inquired the military gentle- man. " Not exactly," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs — in a qualified tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and come back again. " You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir ? " said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs. As Mr. Joseph Tuggs did not pre- cisely understand what the grand tour was, or how such an article was manu- factured, he replied, " Of course." Just as he said the w r ord, there came trip- ping up, from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce- coloured silk cloak, and boots of the same ; with long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unex- ceptionable ankles. " Walter, my dear," said the young lady to the military gentleman. " Yes, Belinda, my love," responded the military gentleman to the black- eyed young lady. " What have you left me alone so long for % " said the young lady. " I have been stared out of countenance by those rude young men." " What ! stared at % " exclaimed the military gentleman, with an em- phasis which made Mr. Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the young lady's face with inconceivable rapidity. " Which young men — where ? " and the military gentleman clenched his fist, and glared fearfully on the cigax*- smokers around. " Be calm, Walter, I entreat," said the young lady. " I won't," said the military gentle- man. " Do, sir," interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " They ain't worth your notice." " No — no — they are not, indeed," urged the young lady. " I will be calm," said the military gentleman. " You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter." Calming his wrath, the military gentleman wrung Mr. Cymon Tuggs by the hand. " My sister, sir ! " said Mr. Cymon Tuggs ; seeing that the military gen- tleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta. " My wife, ma'am — Mrs. Captain Waters," said the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady. " My mother, ma'am — Mrs. Tuggs," said Mr. Cymon. The military gentle- man and his wife murmured enchant- ing courtesies; and the Tuggs's looked as unembarrassed as they could. " Walter, my dear," said the black- eyed young lady, after they had sat chatting with the Tuggs's some half hour. " Yes, my love," said the military gentleman. " Dont you think this gentleman (with an inclination of the head to- wards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carriwini ? " " Lord bless me, very ! " said the military gentleman. " It struck me, the moment I sd&v him," said the young lady, gazing in- tently, and with a melancholy air, on 208 SKETCHES BY BOZ. the scarlet countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Mr. Cymon Tuggs looked at everybody; and,;fmdingthat everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of Ins eyesight. " So exactly the air of the marquis," said the military gentleman. " Quite extraordinary !" sighed the military gentleman's lady. " You don't know the marquis, sir ? " inquired the military gentleman. Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative. " If you did," continued Captain Yv'alter Waters, u you would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance — a most elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance." "He is — he is indeed ! " exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically. As her eye caught that of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, she withdrew it from his fea- tures in bashful confusion. All this, was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggs's; and when, in the course of farther conversation, it was discovered that Miss Charlotta ' Tuggs was the fac simile of a titled j relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture of the Dowager Duchess of < Dobbleton, their delight in the acqui- j sition of so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds. Even the dignity of Captain Walter Waters ! relaxed, to that degree, that he suffered j himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. j Joseph Tuggs, to partake of cold pigeon- pie and sherry, on deck; and a most delightful conversation, aided by these agreeable stimulants, was prolonged, until they ran alongside Ramsgate Pier. " Good by'e, dear ! " said Mrs. Cap- tain Waters to Miss Charlotta Tuggs, just before the bustle of landing com- menced ; " we shall see you on the sands in the morning ; and, as we are sure to have found lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks to come." " Oh! I hope so," said Miss Charlotta T#ggs, emphatically. " Tickets, ladies and gen'lm'n," said the man on the paddle-box. " W r ant a porter, sir ? " inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks. u Now, my dear ! " said Captain W r aters. " Good by'e ! " said Mrs. Captain Waters— " good by'e, Mr. Cymon ! " and with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man's nerves into a state of considerable derange- ment, Mrs. Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce- coloured boots were seen ascending the steps, a white handkerchief fluttered, a black eye gleamed. The Waters's were gone, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs was alone in a heartless world. Silently and abstractedly, did that too sensitive youth follow his revered parents, and a train of smock-frocks and Avheelbarrows, aloug the pier, until the bustle of the scene around, recalled him to himself. The sun was shining brightly; the sea, dancing to its own music, rolled merrily in ; crowds of people promenaded to and fro; young ladies tittered ; old ladies talked ; nurse-maids displayed, their charms to the greatest possible advantage ; and their little charges ran up and down, and to and fro, and in and out, under the feet, and between the legs, of the assembled concourse, in the most play- ful and exhilarating manner. There were old gentlemen, trying to make out objects through long telescopes ; and young ones, making objects of themselves in open shirt-collars ; ladies, carrying about portable chairs, and portable chairs carrying about in- valids; parties, waiting on the pier for parties who had come by the steam- boat ; and nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment. " Fly, sir ? " exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six boys, the mo- ment Mr. Joseph Tuggs, at the head of his little party, set foot in the street. " Here J s the gen'lm'n at last ! " said one, touching his hat with mock politeness. " Werry glad to see you, sir, — been a-waitin' for you these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir ! " " Nice light fly and a fast trotter, THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE. 209 sir," said another : " fourteen mile a hour, and surroundin' objects rendered inwisible by ex-treme welocity ! " " Large fly for your luggage, sir," cried a third. " Werry large fly here, sir — reg'lar bluebottle ! " "Here's your fly, sir!" shouted another aspiring charioteer, mounting the box, and inducing an old gray horse to indulge in some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. " Look at him, sir ! — temper of a lamb and haction of a steam-ingein ! " Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the pro- prietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded striped calico; and, the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings. " How many beds have you got ? " screamed Mrs. Tuggs out of the fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house which displayed a bill inti- mating that apartments were to be let within. " How many did you want, ma'am ?" was, of course, the reply. " Three." " Will you step in, ma'am 1 " Down got Mrs. Tuggs. The family were delighted. Splendid view of the sea from the front windows— charming ! A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tuggs again. — One parlour and a mattress. " Why the devil didn't they say so at first ! " inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, rather pettishly. " Don't know," said Mrs. Tuggs. " Wretches ! " exclaimed the ner- vous Cymon. Another bill — another stoppage. Same question — same answer — similar result. " What do they mean by this ? " inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, thoroughly out of temper. " Don't know," said the placid Mrs. Tuggs. " Or vis the vay here, sir," said the driver, by way of accounting for the No. 136. 3 circumstance in a satisfactory manner ; and off they went again, to make fresh inquiries, and encounter fresh disap- pointments. It had grown dusk when the " fly " — the rate of whose progress greatly belied its name — after climbing up four or five perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, with a bay window, from which you could" obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea — if you thrust half your body out of it, at the imminent peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tuggs alighted. One ground-floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them up stairs. A double house. Family on the opposite side. Five children milk-and-watering in the parlour, and one little boy, ex- pelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage. « What 's the terms ? " said Mrs. Tuggs. The mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea ; so, she coughed slightly, and affected not to hear the question. " What 's the terms ? " said Mrs. Tuggs, in a louder key. " Five guineas a week, ma'am, with attendance," replied the lodging-house keeper. (Attendance means the pri- vilege of ringing the bell as often as you like, for your own amusement.) " Rather dear," said Mrs. Tuggs. u Oh dear, no, ma'am ! " replied the mistress of the house, with a benign smile of pity at the ignorance of man- ners and customs, which the observa- tion betrayed. " Very cheap ! " Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tuggs paid a week's rent in advance, and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour's time, the family were seated at tea in their new abode. " Capital srimps ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically said " Shrimps.'''' " Well then, shrimps," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. " Srimps or shrimps, don't much matter." There was pity, blended with ma- il 210 SKETCHES BY BOZ. lignity, in Mr. Cymon's eye, as he replied, " Don't matter, father ! What would Captain Waters say, if he heard such vulgarity ? " " Or what would dear Mrs. Captain Waters say," added Charlotta, " if she saw mother — ma, I mean — eating them whole, heads and all ! " "It won't bear thinking of ! " ejacu- lated Mr. Cymon, with a shudder. " How different," he thought, " from the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton ! " " Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Cymon 1 " inquired Miss Charlotta. A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, as he replied, " An angel of beauty ! " " Hallo ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, u Hallo, Cymon, my boy, take care. Married lady you know ; " and he winked one of his twinkling eyes knowingly. " Why," exclaimed Cymon, starting up with an ebullition of fury, as un- expected as alarming, " Why am I to be reminded of that blight of my hap- piness, and ruin of my hopes \ Why am I to be taunted with the miseries which are heaped upon my head ? Is it not enough to — to — to" and the orator paused ; but whether for want of words, or lack of breath, was never distinctly ascertained. There was an impressive solemnity in the tone of this address, and in the air with which the romantic Cymon, at its conclusion, rang the bell, and de- manded a flat candlestick, which effectually forbade a reply. He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tuggs's went to bed too, half an hour afterwards, in a state of considerable mystification and perplexity. If the pier had presented a scene of life and bustle to the Tuggs's on their first landing at Ramsgate, it was far surpassed by the appearance of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine, bright, clear day, with a light breeze from the sea. There were the same ladies and gentle- men, the same children, the same nursemaids, the same telescopes, the same portable chairs. The ladies were employed in needlework, or watch- guard making, or knitting, or reading novels ; the gentlemen were reading newspapers and magazines ; the chil- dren were digging holes in the sand with wooden spades, and collecting water therein ; the nursemaids, with their youngest charges in their arms, were running in after the waves, and then running back with the waves after them ; and, now and then, a little sailing-boat either departed with a gay and talkative cargo of passengers, or returned with a very silent, and par- ticularly uncomfortable-looking one. " Well, I never ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, as she and Mr. Joseph Tuggs, and Miss Charlotta Tuggs, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, with their eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated themselves on four rush- bottomed chairs, which, being placed in a soft part of the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half. — " Well, I never ! " Mr. Cymon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the chairs, and removed them further back. " Why, I' m bless'd if there ain't some ladies a-going in ! " exclaimed Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with intense asto- nishment. " Lor, pa ! " exclaimed Miss Char- lotta. "There is, my dear," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, And, sure enough, four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped up the steps of a bathing-machine. In went the horse, floundering about in the water ; round turned the machine ; down sat the driver ; and presently out burst the young ladies aforesaid, with four dis- tinct splashes. " Well, that's singler, too !" ejacu- lated Mr. Joseph Tuggs, after an awkward pause. Mr. Cymon coughed slightly. " Why, here 's some gentlemen a-going in on this side," exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, in a tone of horror. Three machines — three horses — three fiounderings — three turnings round — three splashes — three gentle- THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE. 211 men, disporting themselves in the water like so many dolphins. " Well, that 's sing'ler ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs again. Miss Charlotta coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was agreeably broken. " How d' ye do, dear ? We have been looking for you, all the morn- ing," said a voice to Miss Charlotta Tuggs. Mrs. Captain Waters was the owner of it. " How d' ye do ? " said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity ; and a most cordial interchange of greetings ensued. " Belinda, my love," said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea. " Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Cap- tain Waters. " There 's Harry Thompson !" " Where ? " said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye. " Bathing." a Lor, so it is ! He don't see us, does he \ " " No, I don't think he does," replied the captain. " Bless my soul, how very singular ! " " What V inquired Belinda. " There 's Mary Golding, too." "Lor! — where?" (Up went the glass again.) " There ! " said the captain, pointing to one of the young ladies before noticed, who, in her bathing costume, looked as if she was enveloped in a patent Mackintosh, of scanty dimen- sions. * So it is, I declare ! " exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. " How very curious we should see them both ! " " Very," said the captain, with per- fect coolness. " It 's the reg'lar thing here, you see," whispered Mr. Cymon Tuggs to his father. " I see it is," whispered Mr. Joseph Tuggs in reply. " Queer though — ain't it ! " Mr. Cymon Tuggs nodded assent. " What do you think of doing with yourself this morning ? " inquired the captain. "Shall we lunch at Pe K \vell ? " " I should like that very much in- deed," interposed Mrs. Tuggs. She had never heard of Pegwell -; but the word "lunch" had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeably. " How shall we go \ " inquired the captain ; " it 's too warm to walk." " A shay \ n suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. " Chaise," whispered Mr. Cymon. "I should think one would be enough," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. " However, two shays if you like." " I should like a donkey so much," said Belinda. " Oh, so should I ! " echoed Char- lotta Tuggs. " Well, we can have a fly," suggested the captain, "and you can have a couple of donkeys." A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Cap- tain Waters declared it would be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tuggs would be gallant enough to accompany them. Mr. Cymon Tuggs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested that he was no horseman. The objec- tion was at once overruled. A fly was speedily found ; and three donkeys — which the proprietor declared on his solemn asseveration to be " three parts blood, and the other corn" — were engaged in the service. " Kim up ! " shouted one of the two boys who followed behind, to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotta Tuggs had been hoisted, and pushed, and pulled, into their respective saddles. " Hi — hi — hi ! " groaned the other boy behind Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of Cymon's boots, and Cymon's boots nearly scraping the ground. " Way— way ! Wo — o— o— o— ! " cried Mr. Cymon Tuggs as well as he could, in the midst of the jolting. " Don't make it gallop ! " screamed Mrs. Captain Waters, behind. " My donkey will go into the public- p2 212 SKETCHES BY BOZ. house ! " shrieked Miss Tuggs ia the rear. " Hi — hi — hi ! " groaned hoth the boys together ; and on went the don- keys as if nothing would ever stop them. Everything has an end, however ; even the galloping of donkeys will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Cynion Tuggs bestrode, feeling sundry uncomfortable tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by no means divine, abruptly sidled against a brick wall, and expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Cvmon Tuggs's leg on the rough surface. Mrs. Captain Waters's donkey, apparently under the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly, head first, into a hedge, and declined to come out again : and the quadruped on which Miss Tuggs was mounted, ex- pressed his delight at this humorous proceeding by firmly planting his fore- feet against the ground, and kicking [ up his hind-legs in a very agile, but somewhat alarming manner. This abrupt termination to the ra- I pidity of the ride, naturally occasioned ; some confusion. Both the ladies in- dulged in vehement screaming for , several minutes ; and Mr. Cymon j Tuggs, besides sustaining intense | bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of witnessing their distressing situation, without having the power to rescue them, by reason of his leg being firmly screwed in between the animal and the wall. The efforts of the boys, however, assisted by the ingenious expedient of twisting the tail of the most rebellious donkey, restored order in a much shorter time than could have reasonably been expected, and the little party jogged slowly on together. " Now let 'em walk," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " It 's cruel to over- drive 'em." " YVerry well, sir," replied the boy, with a grin at his companion, as if he understood Mr. Cymon to mean that the cruelly applied less to the animals than to their riders. " What a lovely day, dear ! " said Charlotta. " Charming ; enchanting, dear ! " responded Mrs. Captain Waters. " What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tuggs ! " Cymon looked full in Belinda's face, as he responded — "Beautiful, indeed!" The lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal she was riding to fall a little back. Cymon Tuggs instinctively did the same. There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " Mr. Cymon," said the lady sud- denlv, in a low tone, " Mr. Cymon — I am another s. Mr. Cymon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which it was impossible to controvert. " If I had not been — " resumed Be- linda ; and there she stopped. " What— what \ " said Mr. Cymon earnestly. " Do not torture me. What would you say \ " "If I had not been" — continued Mrs. Captain Waters — "if, in earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and been beloved by, a noble youth — a kindred soul — a congenial spirit — one capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which — '' " Heavens ! what do I hear \ " ex- claimed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. "Is it possible ! can I believe my — Come up ! " ( This last unsentimental par- enthesis was addressed to the donkey, who with his head between his fore- legs, appeared to be examining the state of his shoes with great anxiety.) " Hi — hi — hi," said the boys behind. " Come up," expostulated Cymon Tuggs again. " Hi — hi — hi," repeated the boys. And whether it was that the animal felt indignant at the tone of Mr. Tuggs's command, or felt alarmed by the noise of the deputy proprietor's boots running behind him ; or whether he burned with a noble emulation to outstrip the other donkeys ; certain it is that he no sooner heard the second series of " hi — hi's," than he started away, with a celerity of pace which jerked Mr. Cymon's hat off, instanta- neously, and carried him to the Peg- well Bay hotel in no time, where he deposited his rider without giving him THE TUGGS'S AT RAMSGATE. 213 the trouble of dismounting, by saga- ciously pitching him over his head, into the very doorway of the tavern. Great was the confusion of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, when he was put, right end uppermost, by two waiters ; con- siderable was the alarm of Mrs. Tuggs in behalf of her son ; agonizing were the apprehensions of Mrs. Cap- tain Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered, however, that he had not sustained much more injury than the donkey — he was grazed, and the animal was grazing— and then it was a delightful party to be sure ! Mr. and Mrs. Tuggs, and the captain, had ordered lunch in the little gar- den behind : — small saucers of large shrimps, dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was without a cloud ; there were flower-pots and turf before them ; the sea, from the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could discern anything at all ; vessels in the distance with sails as white, and as small, as nicely-got-up cambric handkerchiefs. The shrimps were delightful, the ale better, and the captain even more pleasant than either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in such spirits after lunch ! — chasing, first the captain across the turf, and among the flower-pots ; and then Mr. Cymon Tuggs ; and then Miss Tuggs ; and laughing, too, quite boisterously. But as the captain said, it didn't matter; •who knew what they were, there ? For all the people of the house knew, they might be common people. To which Mr. Joseph Tuggs responded, "To be sure." And then they went down the steep wooden steps a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff; and looked at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, till it was more than fully time to go back to Ramsgate again. Finally, Mr. Cymon Tuggs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one ; and Mr. Cymon Tuggs disco- vered that the foot and ancle of Mrs. Captain Waters, were even more un- exceptionable than he had at first sup- posed. Taking a donkey towards his ordi- nary place of residence, is a very dif- ferent thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished, than taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and presence of mind in the one case, to anticipate the nume- rous flights of his discursive imagina- tion ; whereas, in the other, all you have to do, is, to hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Cymon Tuggs adopted the latter expe- dient on his return ; and his nerves were so little discomposed by the , journey, that he distinctly understood they were all to meet again at the library in the evening. The library was crowded. There were the same ladies, and the same gentlemen, who had been on the sands in the morning, and on the pier the day before. There were young ladies, in maroon-coloured gowns and black velvet bracelets, dispensing fancy ar- ticles in the shop, and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. Thei'e were marriageable daughters, and marriage-making mammas, gaming and promenading, and turning over music, and flirting. There were some male beaux doing the sentimental in whispers, and others doing the fero- cious in moustache. There were Mrs. Tuggs in amber, Miss Tuggs in sky- blue, Mrs. Captain Waters in pink, There was Captain Waters in a braided surtout ; there was Mr. Cymon Tuggs in pumps and a gilt waistcoat ; there was Mr. Joseph Tuggs in a blue coat, and a shirt-frill. " Numbers three, eight, and eleven!" cried one of the young ladies in the maroon-coloured gowns. " Numbers three, eight, and eleven !" echoed another young lady in the same uniform. " Number three 's gone, 1 ' said the first young lady. " Numbers eight and eleven ! " "Numbers eight and eleven!" echoed the second young lady. " Number eight 's gone, Mary Ann," said the first young lady. " Number eleven! " screamed the second. " The numbers are all taken now, 214 SKETCHES BY BOZ ladies, if you please," said the first. The representatives of numbers three, eight, and eleven, and the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table. "Will you throw, ma'am?" said the presiding goddess, handing the dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four girls. There was a profound silence among the lookers on. " Throw, Jane, my dear," said the stout lady. An interesting display of bashfuluess — a little blushing in a cambric handkerchief — a whispering to a younger sister. " Amelia, my dear, throw for your sister," said the stout lady ; and then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowland's Macassar Oil, who stood next her, and said, " Jane is so very modest and retiring ; but I can't be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated girl is so truly amiable, that I often wish Amelia was more like her sister ! " The gentleman with the whiskers, whispered his admiring approval. " Now, my dear ! " said the stout lady. Miss Amelia threw — eight for her sister, ten for herself. " Nice figure, Amelia," whispered the stout lady, to a thin youth beside her. " Beautiful ! " " And such a spirit ! I am like you in that respect. I can not help admiring that life and vivacity. Ah ! (a sigh) I wish I could make poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia ! " The young gentleman cordially ac- quiesced in the sentiment ; both he, and the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented. " Who's this l " inquired Mr. Cymon Tuggs of Mrs. Captain Waters, as a short female, in a blue velvet hat and feathers, was led into the orchestra, by a fat man in black tights, and cloudy Berlins. " Mrs. Tippin, of the London theatres," replied Belinda, referring to the programme of the concert. The talented Tippin having conde- scendingly acknowledged the clapping of hands, and shouts of " bravo ! " which greeted her appearance pro- ceeded to sing the popular cavatina of " Bid me discourse," accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tippin ; after which, Mr. Tippin sang a comic song, accom- panied on the piano by Mrs. Tippin: the applause consequent upon which, was only to be exceeded by the enthusiastic approbation bestowed upon an air with variations on the guitar, by Miss Tippin, accompanied on the chin by Master Tippin. Thus passed the evening ; thus passed the days and evenings of the Tuggs's, and the Waters's, for six weeks. Sands in the morning — donkeys at noon — pier in the after- noon — library at night— and the same people everywhere. On that very night six weeks, the moon was shining brightly over the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs, with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep, without disturbing the young ones, when two figures were discernible — or would have been, if anybody had looked for them — seated on one of the wooden benches which are sta- tioned near the verge of the western cliff. The moon had climbed higher into the heavens, by two hours' jour- neying, since those figures first sat down — and yet they had moved not. The crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed ; the noise of itinerant musicians had died away ; light after light had appeared in the windows of the different houses in the distance; blockade-man after blockade-man had passed the spot, Avending his way to- wards his solitary post; and yet those figures had remained stationary. Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr. Cymon Tuggs, and Mrs. Captain Waters, were seated on that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea. " Walter will return to-morrow," said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking: silence. THE TUGGS'S AT RAM SG ATE. 215 Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry- bushes, as he replied, " Alas ! he will." " Oh, Cymon ! " resumed Belinda, "the chaste delight, the calm happi- ness, of this one week of Platonic love, is too much for me! " Cymon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself, and murmured unintelligibly. " And to think that even this glimpse of happiness, innocent as it is," ex- claimed Belinda, "is now to be lost for ever ! " " Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda," exclaimed the excitable Cymon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face — it was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase — " Do not say for ever ! " " I must," replied Belinda. " Why 1 " urged Cymon, " oh why 1 Such Platonic acquaintance as ours, is so harmless, that even your husband can never object to it." " My husband ! " exclaimed Belin- da. " You little know him. Jealous and revengeful ; ferocious in his re- venge — a maniac in his jealousy ! Would you be assassinated before my eyes \ " Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his dis- inclination to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of any- body. " Then leave me," said Mrs. Captain Waters. " Leave me, this night, for ever. It is late ; let us return." Mr. Cymon Tuggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her to her lodgings. He paused at the door — he felt a Platonic pressure of his hand. " Good night," he said, hesitating. " Good night," sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again. " Won't you walk in, sir ? " said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh, that hesitation ! He did walk in. " Good night !" said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached the drawing-room. " Good night ! " replied Belinda ; " and, if at any period of my life, I — Hush ! " The lady paused, and stared, with a steady gaze of horror, on the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double knock at the street-door. " It is my husband ! " said Belinda, as the captain's voice was heard below. " And my family ! " added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase. " The curtain ! The curtain ! " gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the window, before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn. " But I have done nothing wrong,", said the hesitating Cymon. " The curtain !" reiterated the fran- tic lady : " you will be murdered." This last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Cymon concealed himself behind the curtain, with pantomimic suddenness. Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta. " My dear," said the captain, " Lieutenant Slaughter." Two iron- shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance, and acknowledge the honour of the intro- duction. The sabre of the lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the table. Mr. Cymon's fears almost overcame his reason. " The brandy, my dear ! " said the captain. Here was a situation ! They were going to make a night of it ! And Mr. Cymon Tuggs was pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe ! " Slaughter," said the captain, " a cigar ?" Now, Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke, without feeling it indis- pensably necessary to retire, imme- diately, and never could smell smoke without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced; the cap- tain was a professed smoker ; so was the lieutenaut ; so was Joseph Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful: it hung in heavy wreathes over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use — out came the cough. 216 SKETCHES BY BOZ. u Bless ray soul ! " said the captain, " I beg your pardon, Miss Tuggs. You dislike smoking I " " Oh, no ; I don't indeed," said Charlotta. " It makes you cough." " Oh dear no." " You coughed just now." " Me, Captain Waters ! Lor ! how can you say so \ " "Somebody coughed," said the captain. " I certainly thought so," said Slaughter. No; everybody denied it. " Fancy," said the captain. " Must be," echoed Slaughter. Cigars resumed — more smoke — another cough — smothered, but violent. '•Damned odd !" said the captain, staring about him. "Sing'ler !" ejaculated the uncon- scious Mr. Joseph Tuggs. Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then at ano- ther ; then, laid down his cigar , then, approached the window on tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the curtain. "Slaughter !" ejaculated the cap- tain, rising from table, " what do you mean V The lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. Cymon Tuggs behind it; pallid with appre- hension, and blue with wanting to cough. " Aha !" exclaimed the captain, furiously, " What do I see \ Slaughter, vour sabre !" " Mercy !' J said Belinda. K Platonic !" gasped Cymon. "Your sabre!" roared the captain: '•' Slaughter — unhand me — the villain's life ! " "Murder!" screamed the Tuggs's. "Hold him fast, sir!" faintly arti- culated Cymon. "Water !" exclaimed Joseph Tuggs — and Mr. Cymon Tuggs and all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau. Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks' acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary custom, how- ever, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in addition to a commencement ; we have therefore no alternative. Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message — the captain brought an action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed — the lieutenant negociated. When Mr. Cymon Tuggs recovered from the nervous disorder into which misplaced affection, and exciting cir- cumstances, had plunged him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance; that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds ; and the captain plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the mat- ter up, but it got abroad notwithstand- ing; and there are not wanting some who affirm that three designing im- postors never found more easy dupes, than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant Slaughter, in HORATIO SPARKINS. 217 CHAPTER V. HORATIO SPARKINS. "Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the last as- sembly night," said Mrs. Malderton, addressing her spouse, who, after the fatigues of the day in the City, was sitting with a silk handkerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender, drinking his port ; — " very great at- tention ; and I say again, every possible encouragement ought to be given him. He positively must be asked down here to dine." " Who must % " inquired Mr. Mal- derton. " Why, you know whom I mean, my dear — the young man with the black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young dear me ! what's his name ? — Marianne, what is his name!" continued Mrs. Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged in netting a purse, and looking sentimental. " Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma," re- plied Miss Marianne, with a sigh. " Oh ! yes, to be sure — Horatio Sparkins," said Mrs. Malderton. c: Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man I ever saw. I am sure, in the beautifully-made coat he wore the other night, he looked like- like " " Like Prince Leopold, ma — so noble, so full of sentiment ! " suggested Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration. " You should recollect, my dear," resumed Mrs. Malderton, "that Teresa is now eight-and-twenty; and that it really is very important that something should be done." Miss Teresa Malderton was a very little girl, rather fat, with vermillion cheeks, but good-humoured, and still disengaged, although to do her justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance on her part. In vain, had she flirted for ten years ; in vain f had Mr. and Mrs. Malderton assidu- ously kept up an extensive acquaint- ance among the young eligible bachelors of Camberwell, and even of Wandsworth and Brixton ; to say nothing of those who " dropped in" from town. Miss Malderton was as well known as the lion on the top of Northumberland House, and had an equal chance of " going off." " I am quite sure you 'd like him," continued Mrs. Malderton; "he is so gentlemanly !" " So clever ! " said Miss Marianne. " And has such a flow of language 1" added Miss Teresa. " He has a great respect for you, my dear," said Mrs. Malderton to her husband. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire. "Yes, I 'm sure he 's very much at- tached to pa's society," said Miss Marianne. " No doubt of it," echoed Miss Teresa. " Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence," observed Mrs. Malderton. "Well, well," returned Mr. Mal- derton, somewhat flattered ; " if I see him at the assembly to-morrow, per- haps I '11 ask him down. I hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camber- well, my dear \ " " Of course — and that you keep a one-horse carriage." "I'll see about it," said Mr. Mal- derton, composing himself for a nap ; " I '11 see about it." Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited to Lloyd's, the Exchange, the India House, and the Bank. A few success- 218 SKETCHES BY BOZ. ful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity and compara- tive poverty, to a state of affluence. As frequently happens in such cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated to an extraordinary pitch as their means increased; they affected fashion, taste, and many other fooleries, in imitation of their betters, and had a very decided and becoming horror of anything which could, by possibility, be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Egotism and the love of dis- play induced him to keep an excellent table: convenience, and a love of good things of this life, ensured him plenty of guests. He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such, at his table, because it was a great thing to talk about ; but he never could endure what he called " sharp fellows." Probably, he cherished this feeling out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respected parent no uneasi- ness in that particular. The family were ambitious of forming acquain- tances and connexions in some sphere of society superior to that in which they themselves moved ; and one of the necessary consequences of this desire, added to their utter ignorance of the world beyond their own small circle, was, that any one who could lay claim to an acquaintance with people of rank and title, had a sure passport to the table at Oak Lodge, Camberwell. The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins at the assembly, had excited no small degree of surprise and curi- osity among its regular frequenters. Who could he be % He was evidently reserved, and apparently melancholy. Was he a clergyman ? — He danced too well. A barrister ? — he said he was not called. He used very fine words, and talked a great deal. Could he be a dis- tinguished foreigner, come to England for the purpose of describing the country, its manners and customs ; and frequenting public balls and public dinners, with the view of becoming acquainted with high life, polished eti- quette and English refinement ? — No, he had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon, a contributor to the maga- zines, a writer of fashionable novels, or an artist '? — No ; to each and all of these surmises, there existed some valid objection. — " Then," said every body, " he must be somebody" — " I should think he must be," reasoned Mr. Malderton, with himself, u because he perceives our superiority, and pays us so much attention." The night succeeding the conversa- tion we have just recorded, was " as- sembly night." The double-fiy was ordered to be at the door of Oak Lodge at nine o'clock precisely. The Miss Maldertons were dressed in sky-blue satin trimmed with artificial flowers ; and Mrs. M. (who was a little fat woman), in ditto ditto, looked like her eldest daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Malderton, the eldest son, in full-dress costume, was the very beau ideal of a smart waiter ; and Mr. Thomas Malderton, the youngest, with his white dress-stock, blue coat, bright buttons, and red watch-ribbon, strongly resembled the portrait of that interesting, but rash young gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party had made up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Miss Teresa, of course, was to be as amiable and interesting as ladies of eight-and-twenty on the look-out for a husband, usually are. Mrs. Malderton would be all smiles and graces. Miss Marianne would request the favour of some verses for her album. Mr. Mal- derton would patronise the great un- known by asking him to dinner. Tom intended to ascertain the extent of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, the family authority on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement ; who had lodgings of his own in town ; who had a free admission to Covent- garden theatre ; who always dressed according to the fashions of the months ; who went up the water twice a- week in the season; and who actually HORATIO SPAilKINS. 219 had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who formerly lived in the Albany, — even he had determined that Mr. Horatio Sparkins must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would do him the honour of challenging him to a game at billiards. The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the whis- Mal- " There he is, my dear," pered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. derton. " How like Lord Byron ! " mur- mured Miss Teresa. " Or Montgomery ! " whispered Miss Marianne. " Or the portraits of Captain Cook !" suggested Tom. " Tom— don't be an ass ! " said his father, who checked him on all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming " sharp" — which was very unnecessary. The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect, until the family had crossed the room. He then started up, with the most natural ap- pearance of surprise and delight ; accosted Mrs. Malderton with the utmost cordiality ; saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner ; bowed to, and shook hands with, Mr. Malderton, with a degree of respect amounting almost to veneration ; and returned the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half- patronising manner, which fully con- vinced them that he must be an im- portant, and, at the same time, con- descending personage. " Miss Malderton," said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, and bowing very low, " may I be permitted to presume to hope that you will allow me to have the pleasure " " I don't iliinlc I am engaged," said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful affecta- tion of indifference — " but, really — so many " Horatio looked handsomely mise- rable. " I shall be most happy," simpered the interesting Teresa, at last. Horatio's countenance brightened up, like an old hat in a shower of rain. "A very genteel young man, cer- tainly ! " said the gratified Mr. Mal- derton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the quadrille which was just forming. " He has a remarkably good address/' said Mr. Frederick. " Yes, he is a prime fellow," inter- posed Tom, who always managed to put his foot in it — " he talks just like an auctioneer." " Tom ! " said his father solemnly, " I think I desired you, before, not to be a fool." Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly morning. " How delightful ! " said the inte- resting Horatio to his partner, as they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set — "how delightful, how re- freshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the troubles, of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting moments ; and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent though they be, in the delightful, the blessed, society, of one individual — whose frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss ; the possession of whose affec- tion would be the brightest and best reward that Heaven could bestow on man ! " " What feeling ! what sentiment ! " thought Miss Teresa, as she leaned more heavily on her companion's arm. " But enough— enough ! " resumed the elegant Sparkins, with a theatrical air. " "What have I said 1 what have I — I — to do with sentiments like these ! Miss Malderton — " here he stopped short — "may I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of " " Really, Mr. Sparkins," returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing in the 220 SKETCHES BY BOZ. sweetest confusion, " I must refer you to papa. I never can, without his consent, venture to — " " Surely he cannot object — " "Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not!" interrupted Miss Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel. " He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus," returned the adorable Spar kins, with some sur- prise. " Is that all ? " thought the disap- pointed Teresa. " What a fuss about nothing ! " " It will give me the greatest plea- sure, sir, to see you to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o'clock, if you have no better engagement," said Mr. Malderton, at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in con- versation with Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering invita- tion. " I must confess," continued the father, offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance. " that I don't enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort — I had almost said the luxury — of Oak Lodge. They have no great charms for an elderly man." " And after all, sir, what is man ? " said the metaphysical Sparkins. " I say, what is man ?" " Ah ! very true," said Mr. Mal- derton ; " very true." a We know that we live and breathe," continued Horatio ; " that we have wants and wishes, desires and appe- tites — " " Certainly," said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound. " I say, we know that we exist," repeated Horatio, raising his voice, " but there we stop ; there, is an end to our knowledge ; there, is the sum- mit of our attainments ; there, is the termination of our ends. What more do we know ? " " Nothing," replied Mr. Frederick — than whom no one was more capa- ble of answering for himself in that particular. Tom was about to hazard something, but, fortunately for his reputation, he caught his father's angry eye, and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty larceny. " Upon my word," said Mr. Malder- ton the elder, as they were returning home in the Fly, " that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful young man. Such sur- prising knowledge ! such extraordinary information ! and such a splendid mode of expressing himself !" " I think he must be somebody in disguise," said Miss Marianne. " How charmingly romantic !" y " He talks very loud and nicely, 1 ' timidly observed Tom, " but I don't exactly understand what he means." " I almost begin to despair of your understanding anything, Tom," said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened by Mr. Horatio Sparkins' conversation. "It strikes me, Tom," said Miss Teresa, u that you have made yourself very ridiculous this evening." " No doubt of it," cried everybody — and the unfortunate Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. That night, Mr. and Mrs. Malderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter's prospects and future arrangements. Miss Teresa went to bed, considering whether, in the event of her marrying a title, she could con- scientiously encourage the visits of her present associates ; and dreamed, all night, of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes, bridal favours and Horatio Sparkins. Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the mode of conveyance which the anxiously- expected Horatio would adopt. Did he keep a gig ? — was it possible he could come on horseback ? — or would he patronize the stage ? These, and various other conjectures of equal im- portance, engrossed the attention of Mrs. Malderton and her daughters during the whole morning after church. " Upon my word, my dear, it 's a most annoying thing that that vulgar HORATIO SPARKINS. 221 brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here to-day," said Mr. Malderton to his wife. " On account of Mr. Sparkins's coming down, I pur- posely abstained from asking anyone but Flam well. And then to think of your brother— a tradesman— it 's in- sufferable ! I declare I wouldn't have him mention his shop, before cur new guest — no, not for a thousand pounds ! I wouldn't care if he had the good sense to conceal the disgrace he is to the family ; but he 's so fond of his horrible business, that he will let people know what he is." Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer ; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feel- ing, that he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn't above his business: " he 'd made his money by it, and he didn't care who know'd it." " Ah ! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d 'ye do 2 " said Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spec- tacles, entered the room. " You got my note ?" " Yes, I did ; and here I am in con- sequence." " You don't happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name % You know everybody ?" Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remarkably extensive information whom one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to know everybody, but in reality know no- body. At Malderton's, where any stories about great people were re- ceived with a greedy ear, he was an especial favourite ; and, knowing the kind of people he had to deal with, he carried his passion of claiming acquaintance with everybody, to the most immoderate length. He had rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies in a parenthesis, and with an air of self-denial, as if he feared being thought egotistical. " Why, no, 1 don 't know him by that name," returned Flamwell, in a low tone, and with an air of immense importance. " I have no doubt I know him, though. Is he tall V " Middle sized," said Miss Teresa. " With black hair 1" inquired Flam- well, hazarding a bold guess. " Yes," returned Miss Teresa, eagerly. " Rather a snub nose ?" " No," said the disappointed Teresa, " he has a Roman nose." " I said a Roman nose, didn't I ?" inquired Flamwell. " He's an elegant young man ?" " Oh, certainly.'' '- With remarkably prepossessing manners ?" " Oh> yes l" said al! the family to- gether. " You must know him." "Yes, I thought you knew him, if he was r.ybody," triumphantly ex- claimed Mr. Malderton. " Who d 'ye think he is ? " " Why, from your description," said Flamwell, ruminating, and sinking his voice, almost to a whisper, " he bears a strong resemblance to the Honour- able Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. He's a very talented young man, and rather eccentric. It 's extremely probable he may have changed his name for some temporary purpose." Teresa's heart beat high. Could he be the Honourable Augustus Fitz- Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne ! What a name to be elegantly engraved upon two glazed cards, tied together with a piece of white satin ribbon ! " The Honourable Mi's. Augustus Fitz- Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne !" The thought was transport. " It 's five minutes to five," said Mr. Malderton, looking at his watch : " I hope he 's not going to disappoint us." " There he is !" exclaimed Miss Teresa, as a loud double-knock was heard at the door. Everybody en- deavoured to look — as people when they particularly expect a visitor always do — as if they were perfectly unsuspicious of the approach of any- body. The room-door opened — " Mr. Barton !" said the servant. " Confound the man !" murmured Malderton. " Ah ! my dear sir, how d 'ye do ! Any news V 222 SKETCHES BY BOZ. " Why no," returned the grocer, in his usual bluff manner. " No, none partickler. None that I am much aware of. How d'ye do, gals and boys ? Mr. Flam well, sir — glad to see you." " Here 's Mr. Sparkins ! " said Tom, who had been looking out at the window, " on such a black horse !" There was Horatio, sure enough, on a large black horse, curvetting and prancing along, like an Astley's supernumerary. After a great deal of reining in, and pulling up, with the accompaniments of snorting, rearing, and kicking, the animal con- sented to stop at about a hundred yards from the gate, where Mr. Sparkins dismounted, and confided him to the care of Mr. Malderton's groom. The ceremony of introduc- tion was gone through, in all due form. Mr. Flamwell looked from behind his green spectacles at Horatio with an air of mysterious importance ; and the gallant Horatio looked unutter- able things at Teresa. " Is he the Honourable Mr. Augus- tus what "s his name *" whispered Mrs. Malderton to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the dining- room. " Why, no — at least not exactly," returned that great authority — "not exactly." " Who is he then ?" u Hush !" said Flamwell, nodding his head with a grave air, importing that he knew very well ; but was pre- vented, by some grave reasons of state, from disclosing the important secret. It might be one of the ministers mak- ing himself acquainted with the views of the people. " Mr. Sparkins," said the delighted Mrs. Malderton, "pray divide the ladies. John, put a chair for the gentleman between Miss Teresa and Miss Marianne." This was addressed to a man who, on ordinary occasions, acted as half-groom, half-gardener ; but who, as it was important to make an impression on Mr. Spar- kins, had been forced into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up, and brushed, to look like a second footman. The dinner was excellent ; Horatio was most attentive to Miss Teresa, and everyone felt in high spirits, except Mr. Malderton, who, knowing the pro- I pensity of his brother-in-law, Mr. Bar- ! ton, endured that sort of agony which ; the newspapers inform us is expe- ' rienced by the surrounding neigh- bourhood when a pot-boy hangs I himself in a hay-loft, and which is "much easier to be imagined than ; described." ' f Have you seen your friend, Sir Thomas Noland, lately, Flamwell \ " inquired Mr. Malderton, casting a side- i long look at Horatio, to see what effect ■ the mention of so great a man had upon him. '■' Why, no — not very lately. I saw ! Lord Gubbleton the dav before vester- j day." " Ah ! I hope his lordship is very well ? " said Malderton, in a tone of the : greatest interest. It is scarcely neces- I sary to say that, until that moment, he 1 had been quite innocent of the exist- ence of such a person. " Why, yes ; he was very well — very well indeed. He 5 s a devilish good fellow. I met him in the City, and had a long chat with'him. Indeed, I "ni rather intimate with him. I I couldn't stop to talk to him as long as I could wish, though, because I was on j my way to a bankers a very rich man, i and a member of Parliament, with i whom I am also rather, indeed I may say very, intimate." | "I know whom you mean," returned ■ the host, consequentially — in reality knowing as much about the matter as Flamwell himself. " He has a capital business." This was touching on a dangerous topic . " Talking of business," interposed Mr. Barton, from the centre of the table. " A gentleman whom you knew very well, Malderton, before you made that first lucky spec of yours, called at [ our shop the other day, and — " " Barton, may I trouble you for a i potato," interrupted the wretched HORATIO SPARKINS. 223 master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud. "Certainly," returned the grocer, quite insensible of his brother-in-law's object — " and he said in a very plain manner " " Floury, if you please," interrupted Malderton again ; dreading the ter- mination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition of the word " shop." " He said, says he," continued the culprit, after despatching the potato ; " says he, how goes on your business ? So I said, jokingly — you know my way — says I, I 'm never above my business, and I hope my business will never be above me. Ha, ha ! " " Mr. Sparkins," said the host, vainly endeavouring to conceal his dismay, " a glass of wine % " " With the utmost pleasure, sir." " Happy to see you." " Thank you." " We were talking the other even- ing." resumed the host, addressing Horatio, partly with the view of dis- playing the conversational powers of his new acquaintance, and partly in the hope of drowning the grocer's stories — '• we were talking the other night about the nature of man. Your argument struck me very forcibly." " And me," said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a graceful inclination of the head. " Pray, what is your opinion of woman, Mr. Sparkins \ " inquired Mrs. Malderton. The young ladies simpered. " Man," replied Horatio, " man, whether he ranged the bright, gay, flowery plains of a second Eden, or the more sterile, barren, and I may say, common-place regions, to which we are compelled to accustom our- selves, in times such as these ; man, under any circumstances, or in any place — whether he were bending be- neath the withering blasts of the frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of a vertical sun — man, without woman, would be — alone." " I am very happy to find you enter- tain such honourable opinions, Mr. Sparkins," said Mrs. Malderton. " And I," added Miss Teresa. Ho- ratio looked his delight, and the young lady blushed. " Now, it 's my opinion," said Mr. Barton " I know what you 're going to say," interposed Malderton, determined not to give his relation another oppor- tunity, " and I don't agree with you." " What % " inquired the astonished grocer. " I am sorry to differ from you, . Barton," said the host, in as positive a manner as if he really were contradict- ing a position which the other had laid down, " but I cannot give my assent to what I consider a very monstrous pro- position." " But I meant to say — " " You never can convince me," said Malderton, with an air of obstinate determination. " Never." '" And I," said Mr. Frederick, fol- lowing up his father's attack, " cannot entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins's argu- ment." " What ! " said Horatio, who be- came more metaphysical, and more argumentative, as he saw the female part of the family listening in wonder- ing delight — " what ! Is effect the consequence of cause % Is cause the precursor of effect % " " That 's the point," said Flamwell. " To be sure," said Mr. Malderton. " Because, if effect is the conse- quence of cause, and if cause does precede effect, I apprehend you are wrong," added Horatio. " Decidedly," said the toad-eating Flamwell. " At least, I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction ? " said Sparkins, in a tone of inter- rogation. " No doubt of it," chimed in Flam- well again. " It settles the point." " Well, perhaps it does," said Mr. Frederick ; " I didn't see it before." " I don't exactly see it now," thought the grocer ; " but I suppose it 's all right." " How wonderfully clever he is ! " whispered Mrs. Malderton to her 224 SKETCHES BY BOZ. daughters, as they retired to the drawing-room. " Oh, he 's quite a love ! " said both the young ladies together ; " he talks like an oracle. He must have seen a great deal of life ! " The gentlemen being left to them- selves, a pause ensued, during which everybody looked very grave, as if they were quite overcome by the profound nature of the previous discussion. Flamwell, who had made up his mind to find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins really was, first broke silence. " Excuse me, sir," said that distin- guished personage, K I presume you have studied for the bar ? I thought of entering once, myself — indeed, I 'm rather intimate with some of the high- est ornaments of that distinguished profession." " N — no ! " said Horatio, with a little hesitation ; " not exactly." " But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake I " inquired Flamwell, deferentially. " Nearly all my life," returned Spar- kins. The question was thus pretty well settled iu the mind of Mr. Flamwell. He was a young gentleman " about to be called." " I shouldn't like to be a barrister/' said Tom, speaking for the first time, and looking round the table to find I somebody who would notice the remark. ' No one made any reply. "I shouldn't like to wear a wig," said Tom, hazarding another obser- vation. " Tom, I beg you will not make your- self ridiculous," said his father. " Pray listen, and improve yourself by the con- versation you hear, and don't be con- stantly making these absurd remarks." "Very well, father," replied the unfortunate Tom, who had not spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at a quarter-past five o'clock, p. M., and it was then eight. " Well, Tom," observed his good- natured uncle, " never mind ! / think with you. / shouldn't like to wear a wig. I 'd rather wear an apron." Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed — " For if a man 's above his business — " The cough returned with ten-fold violence, and did not cease until the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had quite forgotten what he intended to say. "Mr. Sparkins," said Flamwell, returning to the charge, " do you happen to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford-square ? " " I have exchanged cards with him ; since which, indeed, I have had an opportunity of serving him considera- bly," replied Horatio, slightly colour- ing ; no doubt, at having been betrayed into making the acknowledgment. " You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity of obliging that great man," observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect. "I don't know who he is," he whis- pered to Mr. Malderton, confidentially, as they followed Horatio up to the drawing-room. "It's quite clear, however, that he belongs to the law, and that he is somebody of great importance, and very highly con- nected." " No doubt, no doubt," returned his companion. The remainder of the evening passed away most delightfully. Mr. Malder- ton, relieved from his apprehensions by the circumstance of Mr. Barton's falling into a profound sleep, was as affable and gracious as possible. Miss Teresa played the " Fall of Paris," as Mr. Sparkins declared, in a most masterly manner, and both of them, assisted by Mr. Frederick, tried over glees and trios without number ; they having made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonised beauti- fully. To be sure, they all sang the first part ; and Horatio, in addition to the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly innocent of knowing a note of music ; still, they passed the time very agreeably, and it was past twelve o'clock before Mr. Sparkins ordered the mourning-coach-looking steed to be brought out — an order which was only complied with, on HORATIO SPARKINS. 225 the distinct understanding that he was to repeat his visit on the following Sunday. "But, perhaps, Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party to-morrow evening ? " suggested Mrs. M. " Mr. Maiderton intends taking the girls to see the pantomine." Mr. Sparkins bowed, and promised to join the party in box 48, in the course of the evening. " We will not tax you for the morn- ing," said Miss Teresa, bewitchingly ; "for ma is going to take us to all sorts of places, shopping. I know that gentlemen have a great horror of that employment." Mr. Sparkins bowed Again, and declared that he should be delighted, but business of import- ance occupied him in the morning. Flamwell looked at Maiderton sig- nificantly. — " It 's term time ! " he whispered. At twelve o'clock on the following morning, the "fly" was at the door of Oak Lodge, to convey Mrs. Maider- ton and her daughters on their expe- dition for the day. They were to dine and dress for the play at a friend's house. First, driving thither with their band-boxes, they departed on their first errand to make some purchases at Messrs. Jones, Spruggins, and Smith's,' of Tottenham-court-road ; after which, they were to go to Redmayne's in Bond-street ; thence, to innumerable places that no one ever heard of. The young ladies beguiled the tedious- ness of the ride by eulogising Mr. Horatio Sparkins, scolding their mam- ma for taking them so far to save a shilling, and wondering whether they should ever reach their destination. At length, the vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking ticketed linen-draper's shop, with goods of all kinds, and labels of all sorts and sizes, in the window. There were dropsical figures of seven with a little three-farthings in the corner ; " perfectly invisible to the naked eye ; " three hundred and fifty thousand ladies' boas, from one shilling and a penny half-penny ; real French kid shoes, at two and ninepence per pair ; green parasols, No. 187. q at an equally cheap rate ; and " eveiy description of goods," as the proprietors said — and they must know best — " fifty per cent under cost- price." " Lor ! ma, what a place you have brought us to ! " said Miss Teresa ; " what would Mr. Sparkins say if he could see us !" " Ah ! what, indeed ! " said Miss Marianne, horrified at the idea. " Pray be seated, ladies. What is the first article ? " inquired the obse- quious master of the ceremonies of the establishment, who, in his large white neckcloth and formal tie, looked like a bad " portrait of a gentleman " in the Somerset-house exhibition. " I want to see some silks," answered Mrs. Maiderton. " Directly, ma'am. — Mr. Smith ! Where is Mr. Smith % " " Here, sir," cried a voice at the back of the shop. "Pray make haste, Mr. Smith," said the M.C. " You never are to be found when you 're wanted, sir." Mr. Smith, thus enjoined to use all possible dispatch, leaped over the counter with great agility, and placed himself before the newly-arrived cus- tomers. Mrs. Maiderton uttered a faint scream ; Miss Teresa, who had been stooping down to talk to her sister, raised her head, and beheld — Horatio Sparkins ! "We will draw a veil," as novel writers say, over the scene that ensued. The mysterious, philosophical, roman- tic, metaphysical Sparkins — he who, to the interesting Teresa, seemed like the embodied idea of the young dukes and poetical exquisites in blue silk dressing-gowns, and ditto ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to behold, was suddenly converted into Mr. Samuel Smith, the assistant at a "cheap shop ; " the junior partner in a slippery firm of some three weeks' existence. The dignified evanishment of the hero of Oak Lodge, on this unexpected recognition, could only be equalled by that of a furtive dog with a considerable kettle at his tail. All 15 226 SKETCHES BY BOZ. the hopes of the Maldertons were destined at once to melt away, like the lemon ices at a Company's dinner ; Almacks was still to them as distant as the North Pole ; and Miss Teresa had as much chance of a husband as Captain Ross had, of the north-west passage. Years have elapsed since the occur- rence of this dreadful morning. The daisies have thrice bloomed on Cam- berw ell -green ; the sparrows have thrice repeated their vernal chirps in Camberwell-grove ; but the Miss Maldertons are still unmated. Miss Teresa's case is more desperate than ever ; but Flamwell is yet in the zenith of his reputation m y and the family have the same pre- dilection for aristocratic personages, with an increased aversion to any- thing: loiv. THE BLACK VEIL. 227 CHAPTER Y THE BLACK VEIL. One winter's evening,, towards the close of the year 1800, or within a year or two of that time, a young medical practitioner, recently estab- lished in business, was seated by a cheerful fire in his little parlour, listen- ing to the wind which was beating the rain in pattering drops against the window, and rumbling dismally hi the chimney. The night was wet and cold; he had been walking through mud and water the whole day, and was now comfortably reposing in his dressing- gown and slippers, more than half asleep and less than half awake, re- volving a thousand matters in his wandering imagination. First, he thought how hard the wind was blow- ing, and how the cold, sharp rain would be at that moment beating in his face, if he were not comfortably housed at home. Then, his mind re- verted to his annual Christmas visit to his native place and dearest friends ; he thought how glad they would all be to see him, and how happy it would make Rose if he could only tell her that he had found a patient at last, and hoped to have more, and to come down again, in a few months' time, and marry her, and take her home to gladden his lonely fireside, and stimulate him to fresh exertions. Then, he began to wonder when his first patient would appear, or whether he was destined, by a special dispensation of Provi- dence, never to have any patients at all ; and then, he thought about Rose again, and dropped to sleep and dreamed about her, till the tones of her sweet merry voice sounded in his ears, and her soft tiny hand rested on his shoulder. There was a hand upon his shoulder, but it was neither soft nor tiny ; its owner being a corpulent round-headed boy, who, in consideration of the sum of one shilling per week and his food, was let out by the parish to carry medicine and messages. As there was no demand for the medicine, however, and no necessity for the messages, he usually occupied his unemployed hours — averaging fourteen a day — in ab- stracting peppermint drops, talcing animal nourishment, and going to sleep. " A lad}-, sir — a lady 1 " whispered, the boy, rousing his master with a shake. " What lady 2 " cried our friend, starting up, not quite certain that his dream was an illusion, and half ex- pecting that it might be Rose herself. —"What lady? Where?" " There, sir !" replied the boy, point- ing to the glass door leading into the surgery, with an expression of alarm which the very unusual apparition of a customer might have tended to excite. The surgeon looked towards the door, and started himself, for an instant, on beholding the appearance of his unlooked-for visitor. It was a singularly tall woman, dressed in deep mourning, and stand- ing so close to the door that her face almost touched the glass. The upper part of her figure was carefully muf- fled in a black shawl, as if lor the purpose of concealment; and her face was shrouded by a thick black veil. She stood perfectly erect ; her figure was drawn up to its full height, and though the surgeon felt that the eyes beneath the veil were fixed on him, she stood perfectly motionless, and evinced, by no gesture whatever, the slightest consciousness of his having turned towards her. " Do you wish to consult me ? " he inquired, with some hesitation, holding open the door. It opened inwards, and therefore the action did not alter the position of the figure, which still remained motionless on the same spot. Q2 228 SKETCHES BY BOZ. She slightly inclined her head, in token of acquiescence. K Pray walk in," said the surgeon. The figure moved a step forward ; and then, turning its head in the direction of the boy — to his infinite horror — appeared to hesitate. " Leave the room, Tom," said the young man, addressing the boy, whose large round eyes had been extended to their utmost Avidth during this brief interview. " Draw the curtain, and shut the door." The boy drew a green curtain across the glass part of the door, retired into the surgery, closed the door after him, and immediately applied one of his large eyes to the keyhole on the other side. The surgeon drew a chair to the fire, and motioned the visitor to a seat. The mysterious figure slowly moved towards it. As the blaze shone upon the black dress, the surgeon observed that the bottom of it was saturated with mud and rain. " You are very wet," he said. " I am," said the stranger, in a low deep voice. " And you are ill ? " added the sur- geon, compassionately, for the tone was that of a person in pain. " I am," was the reply — " very ill : not bodily, but mentally. It is not for myself, or on my own behalf," con- tinued the stranger, " that I come to you. If I laboured under bodily dis- ease, I should not be out, alone, at such an hour, or on such a night as this ; and if I were afflicted with it, twenty four hours hence, God knows how gladly I would lie down and pray to die. It is for another that I beseech your aid, sir. I may be mad to ask it for him ■ — I think I am ; but, night after night through the long dreary hours of watching and weeping, the thought has been ever present to my mind ; and though even / see the hopeless- ness of human assistance availing him, the bare thought of laying him in his grave without it, makes my blood run cold ! " And a shudder, such as the surgeon well knew art could not pro- duce, trembled through the speaker's frame. There was a desperate earnestness in this woman's manner, that went to the young man's heart. He was young in his profession, and had not yet wit- nessed enough of the miseries which are daily presented before the eyes of its members, to have grown com- pai'atively callous to human suffering. "If," he said, rising hastily, "the person of whom you speak, be in so hopeless a condition as you describe, not a moment is to be lost. I will go with you instantly. Why did you not obtain medical advice before ? " " Because it would have been use- less before — because it is useless even now," replied the woman, clasping her hands passionately. The surgeon gazed, for a moment, on the black veil, as if to ascertain the expression of the features beneath it ; its thickness, however, rendered such a result impossible. " You are ill," he said, gently, " although you do not know it. The fever which has enabled you to bear, without feeling it, the fatigue you have evidently undergone, is burning within you now. Put that to your lips," he continued, pouring out a glass of water — " compose yourself for a few moments, and then tell me, as calmly as you can, what the disease of the patient is, and how long he has been ill. When I know what it is neces- sary I should know, to render my visit serviceable to him, I am ready to ac- company you." The stranger lifted the glass of water to her mouth, without raising the veil ; put it down again untasted ; and burst into tears. " I know," she said, sobbing aloud, u that what I say to you now, seems like the ravings of fever. I have been told so before, less kindly than by you. I am not a young woman ; and they do say, that as life steals on towards its final close, the last short remnant, worthless as it may seem to all beside, is dearer to its possessor than all the years that have gone before, connected though they be with the recollection of old friends long since dead, and young ones — children perhaps — who THE BLACK VEIL. 229 have fallen off from, and forgotten one as completely as if they had died too. My natural term of life cannot be many years longer, and should be dear on that account ; but I would lay it down without a sigh — with cheerful- ness — with joy — if what I tell you now, were only false, or imaginary. To-morrow morning he of whom I speak will be, I know, though I would fain think otherwise, beyond the reach of human aid ; and yet, to-night, though he is in deadly peril, you must not see, and could not serve, him." " I am unwilling to increase your distress," said the surgeon, after a short pause, " by making any comment on what you have just said, or appear- ing desirous to investigate a subject you are so anxious to conceal ; but there is an inconsistency in your state- ment which I cannot reconcile with probability. This person is dying to- night, and I cannot see him when my assistance might possibly avail ; you apprehend it will be useless to-morrow, and yet you would have me see him then ! If he be, indeed, as dear to you, as your words and manner would imply, why not try to save his life before delay and the progress of his disease render it impracticable \ " " God help me ! " exclaimed the woman, weeping bitterly, " how can I hope strangers will believe what appears incredible, even to myself ? You will not see him then, sir % " she added, l'ising suddenly. " I did not say that I declined to see him," replied the surgeon ; " but I warn you, that if you persist in this extraordinary procrastination, and the individual dies, a fearful responsibility rests with you." " The responsibility will rest heavily somewhere," replied the stranger bit- terly. " Whatever responsibility rests with me, I am content to bear, and ready to answer." "As I incur none," continued the surgeon, " by acceding to your request, I will see him in the morning, if you leave me the address. At what hour can he be seen \ " " Nine" replied the stranger. " You must excuse my pressing these inquiries," said the" surgeon. " But is he in your charge now \ " " He is not," was her rejoinder. " Then, if I gave you instructions for his treatment through the night, you could not assist him ? " The woman wept bitterly, as she replied, " I could not." Finding that there was but little prospect of obtaining more informa- tion by prolonging the interview ; and anxious to spare the woman's feelings, which, subdued at first by a violent effort, were now irrepressible and most painful to witness ; the surgeon repeated his promise of calling in the morning at the appointed hour. His visitor, after giving him a direction to an obscure part of Walworth, left the house in the same mysterious man- ner in which she had entered it. It will be readily believed that so extraordinary a visit produced a con- siderable impression on the mind of the young surgeon ; and that he specu- lated a great deal and to very little purpose on the possible circumstances of the case. In common with the generality of people, he had often heard and read of singular instances, in which a presentiment of death, at a particular day, or even minute, had been entertained and realised. At one moment he was inclined to think that the present might be such a case ; but, then, it occurred to him that all the anecdotes of the kind he had ever heard, were of persons who had been troubled with a foreboding of their own death. This woman, however, spoke of another person — a man ; and it was impossible to suppose that a mere dream or delusion of fancy would induce her to speak of his approaching dissolution with such terrible certainty as she had spoken. It could not be that the man was to be murdered in the morning, and that the woman, origin- ally a consenting party, and bound to secresy by an oath, had relented, and, though unable to prevent the com- mission of some outrage on the victim, had determined to prevent his death 230 SKETCHES BY BOZ. if possible, by the timely interposition of medical aid ? The idea of such things happening -within two miles of the metropolis appeared too wild and pre- posterous to be entertained beyond the instant. Then, his original impression that the woman's intellects were dis- ordered, recurred ; and, as it was the only mode of solving the difficulty with any degree of satisfaction, he obsti- nately made up his mind to believe that she was mad. Certain misgivings upon this point, however, stole upon his thoughts at the time, and presented themselves again and again through the long dull course of a sleepless night : during which, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary, he was unable to banish the black veil from his dis- turbed imagination. The back part of Walworth, at its greatest distance from town, is a straggling miserable place enough, even in these days ; but, five-and- thirty years ago, the greater portion of it was little better than a dreary waste, inhabited by a few scattered people of questionable character, whose poverty prevented their living in any better neighbourhood, or whose pursuits and mode of life rendered its solitude desirable. Very many of the houses which have since sprung up on all sides, were not built until some years afterwards ; and the great majority even of those which were sprinkled about, at irregular intervals, were of the rudest .and most miserable description. The appearance of the place through which he walked in the morning, was not calculated to Taise the spirits of the young surgeon, or to dispel any feeling of anxiety or depression which the singular kind of visit he was about to make, had awakened. Striking off from the high road, his way lay across a marshy common, through irregular lanes, with here and there a ruinous and dismantled cottage fast falling to pieces with decay and neglect. A stunted tree, or pool of stagnant water, roused into a sluggish action by the heavy rain of the preceding night, skirted the path occasionally ; and, now and then, a miserable patch of garden-ground, with a few old boards knocked together for a summer-house, and old palings imperfectly mended with stakes pilfered from the neigh- bouring hedges, bore testimony, at once to the poverty of the inhabitants, and the little scruple they entertained in appropriating the property of other people to their own use. Occasionally, a filthy-looking woman would make her appearance from the door of a dirty house, to empty the contents of some cooking utensil into the gutter in front, or to scream after a little slip- shod girl, who had contrived to stagger a few yards from the door under the weight of a sallow infant almost as big as herself ; but, scarcely anything was stirring around ; and so much of the prospect as could be faintly traced through the cold damp mist which hung heavily over it, presented a lonely and dreary appearance per- fectly in keeping with the objects we have described. After plodding wearily through the mud and mire ; making many inquiries for the place to which he had been directed ; and receiving as many con- tradictory and unsatisfactory replies in return ; the young man at length arrived before the house which had been pointed out to him as the object of his destination. It was a small low building, one story above the ground, with even a more desolate and unpro- mising exterior than any he had yet passed. An old yellow curtain was closely drawn across the window up stairs, and the parlour shutters were closed, but not fastened. The house was detached from any other, and, as it stood at an angle of a narrow lane, there was no other habitation in sight. When we say that the surgeon hesi- tated, and walked a few paces beyond the house, before he could prevail upon himself to lift the knocker, we say nothing that need raise a smile upon the face of the boldest reader. The police of London were a very different body in that day ; the isolated position of the suburbs, when the rage for build- THE BLACK VEIL. 231 ing and the progress of improvement, had not yet begun to connect them with the main body of the city and its environs, rendered many of them (and this in particular) a place of resort for the worst and most depraved characters. Even the streets in the gayest parts of London were imper- fectly lighted, at that time ; and such places as these, were left entirely to the mei'cy of the moon and stars. The chances of detecting desperate charac- ters, or of tracing them to their haunts, were thus rendered very few, and their offences naturally increased in boldness, as the consciousness of comparative security became the more impressed upon them by daily expe- rience. Added to these considerations, it must be remembered that the young man had spent some time in the publie hospitals of the metropolis ; and, al- though neither Burke nor Bishop had then gained a horrible notoriety, his own observation might have sug- gested to him how easily the atrocities to which the former has since given his name, might be committed. Be •this as it may, whatever reflection made him hesitate, he did hesitate ; but, being a young man of strong mind and great personal courage, it was only for an instant ; — he stepped briskly back, and knocked gently at the door. A low whispering was audible, im- mediately afterwards, as if some person at the end of the passage were conversing stealthily with another on the landing above. It was succeeded by the noise of a pair of heavy boots upon the bare floor. The door-chain was softly unfastened ; the door opened ; and a tall, ill-favoured man, with black hair, and a face, as the surgeon often declared afterwards, as pale and haggard, as the countenance of any dead man he ever saw, pre- sented himself. " Walk in, sir/' he said in a low tone. The surgeon did so, and the man, having secured the door again, by the chain, led the way to a small back par- lour at the extremity of the passage. " Am I in time 1 * Too : replied the man. The surgeon turned hastily round, with a gesture of astonishment not unmixed with alarm, which he found it impos- sible to repress. " If you '11 step in here, sir," said the man, who had evidently noticed the action — " if you '11 step in here, sir, you won't be detained five minutes, I assure you." The surgeon at once walked into the , room. The man closed the door, and left him alone. It was a little cold room, with no other furniture than two deal chairs, and a table of the same material. A handful of fire, unguarded by any fen- der, was burning in the grate, which brought out the damp if it served no more comfortable purpose, for the unwholesome moisture was stealing down the walls, in long, slug-like tracks. The window, which was broken and patched in many places, looked into a small enclosed piece of ground, almost covered with water. Not a sound was to be heard, either within the house, or without. The young surgeon sat down by the fire- place, to await the result of his first professional visit. He had not remained in this posi- tion, many minutes, when the noise of some approaching vehicle struck his ear. It stopped ; the street-door was opened ; a low talking succeeded, ac- companied with a shuffling noise of footsteps, along the passage and on the stairs, as if two or three men were engaged in carrying some heavy body to the room above. The creaking of the stairs, a few seconds afterwards, announced that the new comers having completed their task, whatever it was, were leaving the house. The door was again closed, and the former silence was restored. Another five minutes elapsed, and the surgeon had resolved to ex- plore the house, in search of some one to whom he might make his errand known, when the room-door opened, and his last night's visitor, dressed in exactly the same manner, with the veil 232 SKETCHES BY BOZ. lowered as before, motioned him to advance. The singular height of her form, coupled with the circumstance of her not speaking, caused the idea to pass across his brain, for an instant, that it might be a man disguised in woman's attire. The hysteric sobs which issued from beneath the veil, and the convulsive attitude of grief of the whole figure, however, at once exposed the absurdity of the suspi- cion ; and he hastily followed. The woman led the way up stairs to the front room, and paused at the door, to let him enter first. It was scantily furnished with an old deal cox, a few chairs, and a tent bed- Stead, without hangings or cross-rails, which was covered with a patchwork counterpane. The dim light admitted through the curtain which he had noticed from the outside, rendered the objects in the room so indistinct, and communicated to all of them so uniform a hue, that he did not, at first, perceive the object on which his eye at once rested when the woman rushed frantically past him, and flung herself on her knees by the bedside. Stretched upon the bed, closely en- veloped in a linen wrapper, and covered with blankets, lay a human form, stiff and motionless. The head and face, which were those of a man, were un- covered, save by a bandage which passed over the head and under the chin. The eyes were closed. The left arm lay heavily across the bed, and the woman held the passive hand. The surgeon gently pushed the woman aside, and took the hand in his. " My God ! " he exclaimed, letting it fall involuntarily — " the man is dead ! " The woman started to her feet and beat her hands together. " Oh ! don't say so, sir," she exclaimed, with a burst of passion, amounting almost to frenzy. " Oh ! don't say so, sir! I can't bear it ! Men have been brought to life, before, when unskilful people have given them up for lost ; and men have died, who might have been restored, if proper means had | been resorted to. Don't let him lie here, sir, without one effort to save him ! This very moment life may be passing away. Do try, sir, — do, for Heaven's sake!" — And while speaking, she hurriedly chafed, first the forehead, and then the breast, of the senseless form before her ; and then, wildly beat the cold hands, which, when she ceased to hold them, fell listlessly and heavily back on the coverlet. " It is of no use, my good woman/' said the surgeon, soothingly, as he withdrew his hand from the man's breast. " Stay — undraw that curtain ! " " Why % " said the woman, starting up. " Undraw that curtain ! " repeated the surgeon, in an agitated tone. " I darkened the room on purpose," said the woman, throwing herself be- fore him as he rose to undraw it. — " Oh ! sir, have pity on me ! If it can be of no use, and he is really dead, do not expose that form to other eyes than mine ! " " This man died no natural or easy death," said the surgeon. u I must see the body ! " With a motion so sud- den, that the woman hardly knew that he had slipped from beside her, he tore open the curtain, admitted the full light of day, and returned to the bedside. " There has been violence here," he said, pointing towards the body, and gazing intently on the face, from which, the black veil was now, for the first time, removed. In the excitement of a minute before, the female had thrown off the bonnet and veil, and now stood Avith her eyes fixed upon him. Hey features were those of a woman of about fifty, who had once been hand- some. Sorrow and weeping had left traces upon them which not time itself would ever have produced without their aid ; her face was deadly pale ; and there was a nervous contortion of the lip, and an unnatural fire in her eye, which showed too plainly that her bodily and mental powers had nearly sunk, beneath an accumulation of misery. " There has been violence here," THE BLACK VEIL. 233 said the surgeon, preserving his search- ing glance. " There has ! " replied the woman. " This man has been murdered." " That I call God to witness he has," said the woman, passionately; "piti- lessly, inhumanly murdered ! " u By whom ? " said the surgeon, seizing the woman by the arm. " Look at the butchers' marks, and then ask me!" she replied. The surgeon turned his face towards the bed, and bent over the body which now lay full in the light of the window. The throat was swollen, and a livid mark encircled it. The truth flashed suddenly upon him. " This is one of the men who were hanged this morning!" he exclaimed, turning away with a shudder. " It is," replied the woman, with a cold, unmeaning stare. " Who was he \ " inquired the surgeon. " My son," rejoined the woman; and fell senseless at his feet. It was true. A companion, equally guilty with himself, had been acquitted for want of evidence; and this man had been left for death, and executed. To recount the circumstances of the case, at this distant period, must be unnecessary, and might give pain to some persons still alive. The history was an every-day one. The mother was a widow without friends or money, and had denied herself necessaries to bestow them on her orphan boy. That boy, unmindful of her prayers, and forgetful of the sufferings she had en- dured for him — incessant anxiety of mind, and voluntary starvation of body — had plunged into a career of dissi- pation and crime. And this was the result ; his own death by the hang- man's hands, and his mother's shame, and incurable insanity. For many years after this occur- rence, and when profitable and arduous avocations would have led many men to forget that such a miserable being existed, the young surgeon was a daily visitor at the side of the harmless mad woman; not only soothing her by his presence and kindness, but alleviating the rigour of her condition by pecu- niary donations for her comfort and support, bestowed with no sparing hand. In the transient gleam of re- collection and consciousness which preceded her death, a prayer for his welfare and protection, as fervent as mortal ever breathed, rose from the lips of this poor friendless creature. That prayer flew to Heaven, and was heard. The blessings he was instru- mental in conferring, have been repaid to him a thousand-fold ; but, amid all the honours of rank and station which have since been heaped upon him, and which he has so well earned, he can have no reminiscence more gratify- ing to his heart than that connected with The Black Veil. 234 SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER VII. THE STEAM EXCURSION. Mr. Percy Noakes was a law- student, inhabiting a set of chambers on the fourth floor, in one of those houses in Gray 's-inn- square which command an extensive view of the gardens, and their usual adjuncts — flaunting nur- sery-maids, and town-made children, with parenthetical legs. Mr. Percy Noakes was what is generally termed — '".a devilish good fellow." He had a large circle of acquaintance, and seldom dined at his own expense. He used to talk politics to papas, flatter the vanity of mammas, do the amiable to then' daughters, make pleasure en- gagements with their sons, and romp with the younger branches. Like those paragons of perfection, advertising foot- men out of place, he was always ' s will- ing to make himself generally useful." If any old lady, whose son was in India, gave a ball, Mr. Perey Noakes was master of the ceremonies ; if any young lady made a stolen match, Mr. Percy Noakes gave her away; if a juvenile wife presented her husband with a blooming cherub, Mr. Percy Noakes was either godfather, or deputy-god- father; and if any member of a friend's family died, Mr. Percy Noakes was invariably to be seen in the second mourning coach, with a white hand- kerchief to his eyes, sobbing — to use his own appropriate and expressive description — " like winkin ! " It may readily be imagined that these numerous avocations were rather calculated to interfere with Mr. Percy Noakes's professional studies. Mr. Percy Noakes was perfectly aware of the fact, and had, therefore, after mature reflection, made up his mind not to study at all — a laudable deter- mination, to which he adhered in the most praiseworthy manner. His sit- ting-room presented a strange chaos of dress-gloves, boxing-gloves, carica- tures, albums, invitation- cards, foils, cricket - bats, card - board drawings, paste, gum, and fifty other miscella- neous articles, heaped together in the strangest confusion. He was always making something for somebody, or planning some party of pleasure, which was his great forte. He in- variably spoke with astonishing rapi- dity; was smart, spoffish, and eight- and-twenty. K Splendid idea, 'pon my life ! " soliloquised Mr. Percy Noakes, over his morning's coffee, as his mind re- verted to a suggestion which had been thrown out on the previous night, by a lady at whose house he had spent the evening. " Glorious idea ! — Mrs. Stubbs." " Yes, sir," replied a dirty old woman with an inflamed countenance, emerging from the bedroom, with a barrel of dirt and cinders. — This was the laundress, " Did you call, sir!" " Oh ! Mrs. Stubbs, I 'm going out If that tailor should call again, you'd better say — you'd better say I 'm out of town, and shan't be back for a fortnight ; and if that bootmaker should come, tell him I 've lost his address, or I 'd have sent him that little amount. Mind he writes it down ; and if Mr. Hardy should call — you know Mr. Hardy \ " " The funny gentleman, sir I " u Ah ! the funny gentleman. If Mr. Hardy should call, say I 've gone to Mrs. Taunton's about that water- party." " Yes, sir." " And if any fellow calls, and says he 's come about a steamer, tell him to be here at five o'clock this after- noon, Mrs. Stubbs." " Very well, sir." Mr. Percy Noakes brushed his hat, whisked the crumbs off his inexpli- THE STEAM EXCURSION. 235 •cables with a silk handkerchief, gave -the ends of his hair a persuasive roll round his forefinger, and sallied forth for Mrs, Taunton's domicile in Great Marlborough-street, where she and her daughters occupied the upper part of a house. She was a good-looking •widow of fifty, with the form of a •giantess and the mind of a child. The pursuit of pleasure, and some means of killing time, were the sole end of her existence. She doted on her daughters, who were as frivolous as herself. A general exclamation of satisfac- tion hailed the arrival of Mr. Percy Noakes, who went through the ordi- nary salutations, and threw himself into an easy chair near the ladies' work-table, with the ease of a regu- larly established friend of the family. Mrs. Taunton was busily engaged in planting immense bright bows on every part of a smart cap on which it was possible to stick one ; Miss Emily Taunton was making a watch-guard ; Miss Sophia was at the piano, prac- tising a new song — poetry by the young officer, or the police-officer, or the custom-house officer, or some other interesting amateur. " You good creature ! " said Mrs. Taunton, addressing the gallant Percy. " You really are a good soul ! You ' ve come about the water-party, I know." "I should rather suspect I had," replied Mr. Noakes, triumphantly. " Now come here, girls, and I '11 tell you all about it." Miss Emily and Miss Sophia advanced to the table. ■ " Now, " continued Mr. Percy Noakes, "it seems to me that the hest way will be, to have a committee of ten, to make all the arrangements, and manage the whole set-out. Then, I propose that the expenses shall be paid by these ten fellows jointly." " Excellent, indeed ! " said Mrs. Taunton, who highly approved of this part of the arrangements. " Then, my plan is, that each of these ten fellows shall have the power of asking five people. There must be a meeting of the committee, at my chambers, to make all the arrange- ments, and these people shall be then named ; every member of the com- mittee shall have the power of black- balling any one who is proposed ; and one black ball shall exclude that person. This will ensure our having a pleasant party, you know." " What a manager you are ! " inter- rupted Mrs. Taunton again. " Charming ! " said the lovely Emily. " I never did ! " ejaculated Sophia. " Yes, I think it '11 do," replied Mr' Percy Noakes, who was now quite in his element. " I think it '11 do. Then you know we shall go down to the Nore, and back, and have a regular capital cold dinner laid out in the cabin before we start, so that every- thing may be ready without any con- fusion ; and we shall have the lunch laid out, on deck, in those little tea- garden-looking concerns by the paddle- boxes — I don 't know what you call 'em. Then, we shall hire a steamer expressly for our party, and a band, and have the deck chalked, and we shall be able to dance quadrilles all clay; and then, whoever we know that's musical, you know, why they '11 make themselves useful and agreeable ; and — and — upon the whole, I really hope we shall have a glorious day, you know !" The announcement of these arrange- ments was received with the utmost enthusiasm. Mrs. Taunton, Emily, and Sophia, were loud in their praises. " Well, but tell me, Percy," said Mrs. Taunton, " who are the ten gentlemen to be I " " Oh ! I know plenty of fellows who '11 be delighted with the scheme," replied Mr. Percy Noakes; " of course, we shall have " " Mr. Hardy !" interrupted the ser- vant, announcing a visitor. Miss Sophia and Miss Emily hastily assumed the most interesting attitudes that could be adopted on so short a notice. " How are you ? " said a stout gentle- man of about forty, pausing at the door in the attitude of an awkward harle- quin. This was Mr. Hardy, whom we 236 SKETCHES BY BOZ. have before described, on the authority of Mrs. Stubbs, as "the funny gentle- man." He was an Astley-Cooperish Joe Miller — a practical joker, im- mensely popular with married ladies, and a general favourite with youug men. He was always engaged in some pleasure excursion or other, and de- lighted in getting somebody into a scrape on such occasions. He could sing comic songs, imitate hackney- coachmen and fowls, play airs on his chin, and execute concertos on the Jews'-harp. He always eat and drank most immoderately, and was the bosom friend of Mr. Percy Noakes. He had a red face, a somewhat husky voice, and a tremendous laugh. " How are you ?" said this worthy, laughing, as if it were the finest joke in the world to make a morning call, and shaking hands with the ladies with as much vehemence as if their arms had been so many pump-handles. " You 're just the very man I wanted," said Mr. Percy Noakes, who proceeded to explain the cause of his being in requisition. "Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Hardy, after hearing the statement, and re- ceiving a detailed account of the pro- posed excursion. "Oh, capital! glori- ous ! What a day it will be ! what fun ! — But, I say, when are you going to begin making the arrangements ? " "No time like the present — at once, if you please." " Oh, charming ! " cried the ladies. " Pray, do ! " Writing materials were laid before Mr. Percy Noakes, and the names of the different members of the commit- tee were agreed on, after as much discussion between him and Mr. Hardy as if the fate of nations had depended on their appointment. It was then agreed that a meeting should take place at Mr. Percy Noakes's chambers on the ensuing Wednesday evening at eight o'clock, and the visi- tors departed. Wednesday evening arrived ; eight o'clock came, and eight members of the committee were punctual in their attendance. Mr. Loggins, the solici- tor, of Boswell-court, sent an excuse, and Mr. Samuel Briggs, the ditto of Furnival'slnn, sent his brother : much I to his (the brother's) satisfaction, and j greatly to the discomfiture of Mr. J Percy Noakes. Between the Briggses and the Tauntons there existed a de- ! gree of implacable hatred, quite un- j precedented. The animosity between the Montagues and Capulets, was no- thing to that which prevailed be- j tween these two illustrious houses. Mrs. Briggs was a widow, with three daughters and two sons ; Mr. Samuel, the eldest, was an attorney, and Mr. Alexander, the youngest, was under articles to his brother. They resided in Portland-street, Oxford-street, and moved in the same orbit as the Taun- tons — hence their mutual dislike. If the Miss Briggses appeared in smart bonnets, the Miss Tauntons eclipsed them with smarter. If Mrs. Taunton appeared in a cap of all the hues of the rainbow, Mrs. Briggs forthwith mounted a toque, with all the patterns of the kaleidoscope. If Miss Sophia Taunton learnt a new song, two of the Miss Briggses came out with a new duet. The Tauntons had once gained a temporary triumph with the assist- ance of a harp, but the Briggses brought three guitars into the field, and effectually routed the enemy. There was no end to the rivalry be- tween them. Now, as Mr. Samuel Briggs was a mere machine, a sort of self-acting legal walking-stick ; and as the party was known to have originated, how- ever remotely, with Mrs. Taunton, the female branches of the Briggs family had arranged that Mr. Alexander should attend, instead of his brother ; and as the said Mr. Alexander was deservedly celebrated for possessing all the pertinacity of a bankruptcy- court attorney, combined with the ob- stinacy of that useful animal which browses on the thistle, he required but little tuition. He was especially enjoined to make himself as disagree- able as possible ; and, above all, to THE STEAM EXCURSION. 237 black-ball the Tauntons at every hazard. The proceedings of the evening were opened by Mr. Percy Noakes. After successfully urging on the gentle- men present the propriety of their mixing some brandy-and-water, he briefly stated the object of the meet- ing, and concluded by observing that the first step must be the selection of a chairman, necessarily possessing some arbitrary — he trusted not uncon- stitutional — powers, to whom the per- sonal direction of the whole of the arrangements (subject to the approval of the committee) should be confided. A pale young gentleman, in a green stock and spectacles of the same, a member of the honourable society of the Inner Temple, immediately rose for the purpose of proposing Mr. Percy Noakes. He had known him long, and this he would say, that a more honourable, a more excellent, or a better-hearted fellow, never existed. '—(Hear, hear !) The young gentle- man, who was a member of a debating society, took this opportunity of enter- ing into an examination of the state of the English law, from the days of William the Conqueror down to the present period ; he briefly adverted to the code established by the ancient Druids ; slightly glanced at the prin- ciples laid down by the Athenian law- givers ; and concluded with a most glowing eulogium on pic-nics and con- stitutional rights. Mi\ Alexander Briggs opposed the motion. He had the highest esteem for Mr. Percy Noakes as an individual, but he did consider that he ought rot to be intrusted with these immense powers — (oh, oh !) — He believed that in the proposed capacity Mr. Percy Noakes would not act fairly, impar- tially, or honourably ; but he begged at to be distinctly understood, that he said this, without the slightest personal disrespect. Mr. Hardy defended his honourable friend, in a voice rendered partially unintelligible by emotion and brandy-and-water. The proposition was put to the vote, and there ap- pearing to be only one dissentient voice, Mr. Percy Noakes- was de- clared duly elected, and took the chair accordingly. The business of the meeting now proceeded with rapidity. The chair- man delivered in his estimate of the probable expense of the excursion, and every one present subscribed his proportion thereof. The question was put that " The Endeavour " be hired for the occasion ; Mr. Alexander- Briggs moved as an amendment, that the word " Fly " be substituted for the word " Endeavour ;" but after some debate consented to withdraw his opposition. The important ceremony of balloting then commenced. A tea-caddy was placed on a table in a dark corner of the apartment, and every one was provided with two backgammon men, one black and one white. The chairman with great solemnity then read the following list of the guests whom he proposed to introduce : — Mrs. Taunton and two daughters, Mr. Wizzle, Mr. Simson. The names were respectively balloted for, and Mrs. Taunton and her daughters were declai-ed to be black-balled. Mr. Percy Noakes and Mr. Hardy exchanged glances. " Is your list prepared, Mr. Briggs \ " inquired the chairman. " It is," replied Alexander, deliver- ing in the following : — " Mrs. Briggs and three daughters, Mr. Samuel Briggs." The previous ceremony was repeated, and Mrs. Briggs and three daughters were declared to be black- balled. Mr. Alexander Briggs looked rather foolish, and the remainder of the company appeared somewhat over- awed by the mysterious nature of the proceedings. The balloting proceeded ; but, one little circumstance which Mr. Percy Noakeshad not originally foreseen,pre- vented the system from working quite as well as he had anticipated. Every- body was black-balled. Mr. Alex- ander Briggs, by way of retaliation, exercised his power of exclusion in 238 SKETCHES BY BOZ. every instance, and the result was, that after three hours had been, con- sumed in hard balloting; the names of only three gentlemen were found to have been agreed to. In this dilemma what was to be done ? either the whole plan must fall to the ground, or a com- promise must be effected. The latter alternative was preferable ; and Mr. Percy Noakes therefore proposed that the form of balloting shouldbe dispensed with, and that every gentleman should merely be required to state whom he intended to bring. The proposal was acceded to ; the Tauntons and the Briggses were reinstated ; and the party was formed. The next Wednesday was fixed for the eventful day, and it was unani- mously resolved that every member of the committee should wear a piece of blue sarsenet ribbon round his left arm. It appeared from the statement of Mr. Percy Noakes, that the boat belonged to the General Steam Navigation Com- pany, and was then lying off the Cus- tom-house ; and, as he proposed that the dinner and. wines should be provided by an eminent city purveyor, it was arranged that Mr. Percy Noakes should be on board by seven o'clock to super- intend the arrangements, and that the remaining members of the committee, together with the company generally, should be expected to join her by nine o'clock. More brandy-and-water was despatched ; several speeches were made by the different law students present ; thanks were voted to the chairman; and the meeting separated. The weather had been beautiful up to this period, and beautiful it con- tinued to be. Sunday passed over, and Mr. Percy Noakes became unusually fidgetty — rushing, constantly, to and from the Steam Packet Wharf, to the astoni&hment of the clerks, and the great emolument of the Holborn cab- men. Tuesday arrived, and the anxiety of Mr. Percy Noake& knew no bounds. He was every instant running to the window, to look out for clouds ; and Mr. Hardy astonished the whole square by practising a new comic song for the occasion, in the chairman's cham- bers. Uneasy were the slumbers of Mr. Percy Noakes that night ; he tossed, and tumbled about, and had confused dreams of steamers starting off, and gigantic clocks with the hands pointing to a quarter past nine, and the ugly face of Mr. Alexander Briggs looking over the boat's side, and grinning, as if in derision of his fruitless attempts to move. He made a violent effort to get on board, and awoke. The bright sun was shining cheerfully into the bed-room, and Mr. Percy Noakes started up for his watch, in the dread- ful expectation of finding his worst dreams realised. It was just five o'clock. He calcu- lated the time — he should be a good half -hour dressing himself ; and as it was a lovely morning, and the tide would be then running down, he would walk leisurely to Strand- lane, and have a boat to the Custom-house. He dressed himself, took a hasty apology for a breakfast, and sallied forth. The streets looked as lonely and deserted as if they had been crowded, overnight, for the last time. Here and there, an early apprentice, with quenched-looking sleepy eyes, was taking down the shutters of a shop; and a policeman or milk- woman might occasionally be seen pacing slowly along-, but the servants had not yet begun t© clean the doors, or light the kitchen fires, and London looked the picture of desor lation. At the corner of a bye-street, near Temple-bar, was stationed a "street-breakfast." The coffee was boiling over a charcoal fire, and large slices of bread and butter were piled one upon the other, like deals in a timber-yard. The company were seated on a form, which, with a view both to security and comfort, was placed against a neighbouring walL Two young men, whose uproarious mirth and disordered dress bespoke the conviviality of the preceding even- ing, were treating three " ladies " and an Irish labourer. A little sweep was standing at a short distance, casting a THE STEAM EXCURSION. 239 longing eye at the tempting delicacies ; and a policeman was watching the group from the opposite side of the street. The wan looks, and gaudy- finery of the thinly-clad women contrasted as strangely with the gay sun-light, as did their forced merriment with the boisterous hilarity of the two young men, who, now and then, varied their amusements by "bonneting" the proprietor of this itinerant coffee-house. Mr. Percy Noakes walked briskly by, and when he turned down Strand- lane, and caught a glimpse of the glistening water, he thought he had never felt so important or so happy in his life. " Boat, sir ! " cried one of the three watermen who were mopping out their boats, and all whistling. « Boat, sir ! " "No," replied Mr. Percy Noakes, rather sharply; for the inquiry was not made in a manner at all suitable to his dignity. " Would you prefer a wessel, sir ? " inquired another, to the infinite delight of the " Jack-in-the- water." Mr. Percy Noakes replied with a look of supreme contempt. " Did you want to be put on board a steamer, sir ? " inquired an old fireman-waterman, very confidentially. He was dressed in a faded red suit, just the colour of the cover of a very old Court-guide. "Yes, make haste — tho Endeavour — off the Custom-house." " Endeavour ! " cried the man who had convulsed the " Jack" before. " Vy, I see the Endeavour go up half an hour ago." "So did I," said another; "and I should think she'd gone down by this time, for she 's a precious sight too full of ladies and gen'lemen." Mr. Percy Noakes affected to dis- regard these representations, and stepped into the boat, which the old man, by dint of scrambling, and shov- ing, and grating, had brought up to the causeway. " Shove her off ! " cried Mr. Percy Noakes, and away the boat glided clown the river ; Mr. Percy Noakes seated on the recently mopped seat, and the watermen at the stairs offering to bet him any reasonable sum that he'd never reach the "Custum- us." " Here she is, by Jove ! " said the delighted Percy, as they ran alongside the Endeavour. "Hold hard I" cried the steward over the side, and Mr. Percy Noakes jumped on board. " Hope you will find everything as you wished, sir. She looks uncommon well this morning." " She does, indeed," replied the manager, in a state of ecstasy which it is impossible to describe. The deck was scrubbed,, and the seats were scrubbed, and there was a bench for the band, and a place for dancing, and a pile of camp-stools^ and an awning ; and then, Mr. Percy Noakes bustled down below, and there were the pas- trycook's men, and the steward's wife, laying out the dinner on two tables the whole length of the cabin; and then, Mr. Percy Noakes took off his coat and rushed backwards and forwards, doing nothing, but quite con- vinced he was assisting everybody ; and the steward's wife laughed till she cried, and Mr. Percy Noakes panted with the violence of his exertions. And then, the bell at London-bridge wharf rang ; and a Margate boat was just starting ; and a Gravesend boat was just starting, and people shouted, and porters ran down the steps with luggage that would crush any men but porters ; and sloping boards, with bits of wood nailed on them were placed between the outside boat and the in- side boat; and the passengers ran along them, and looked like so many fowls coming out of an area; and then, the bell ceased, and the boards were taken away, and the boats started, and the whole scene was one of the most delightful bustle and confusion. The time wore on ; half-past eight o'clock arrived ; the pastrycook's men went ashore ; the dinner was com- pletely laid out; and Mr. Percy Noakes 240 SKETCHES BY BOZ. locked the principal cabin, and put the key in his pocket, in order that it might be suddenly disclosed, in all its magnificence, to the eyes of the astonished company. The band came on board, and so did the wine. Ten minutes to nine, and the com- mittee embarked in a body. There was Mr. Hardy, in a blue jacket and waistcoat, white trousers, silk stock- ings, and pumps — in full aquatic costume, with a straw hat on his head, and an immense telescope under his arm ; and there was the young gentleman with the green spec- tacles, in nankeen inexplieables, with a ditto waistcoat and bright buttons, like the pictures of Paul — not the saint, but he of Virginia notoriety. The re- mainder of the committee, dressed in white hats, light jackets, waistcoats, and trousers, looked something be- tween waiters and West India planters. Nine o'clock struck, and the com- pany arrived in shoals. Mr. Samuel Briggs, Mrs. Briggs, and the Misses Briggs, made their appearance in a smart private wherry. The three guitars, in their respective dark green cases, were carefully stowed away in the bottom of the boat, accompanied by two immense portfolios of music, which it would take at least a week's incessant playing to get through. The Tauntons arrived at the same moment with more music, and a lion — a gentle- man with a bass voice and an incipient red moustache. The colours of the Taunton party were pink ; those of the Briggses a light blue. The Tauntons had artificial flowers in their bonnets ; here the Briggses gained a decided advantage — they wore feathers. "How d'ye do, dear?" said the Misses Briggs to the Misses Taunton. (The word " dear " among girls is fre- quently synonymous with u wretch.") •'■' Quite well, thank you, dear," re- plied the Misses Taunton to the Misses Briggs ; and then, there was such a kissing, and congratulating, and shaking of hands, as might have induced one to suppose that the two families were the best friends in the world, instead of each wishing the other overboard, as they most sincerely did. Mr. Percy Noakes received the visitors, and bowed to the strange gentleman, as if he should like to know who he was. This was just what Mrs. Taunton wanted. Here was an oppor- tunity to astonish the Briggses. " Oh ! I beg your pardon," said the general of the Taunton party, with a careless air. — " Captain Helves — Mr. Percy Noakes— Mrs. Briggs — Captain Helves." Mr. Percy Noakes bowed very low ; the gallant captain did the same with all due ferocity, and the Briggses were clearly overcome. " Our friend, Mr. Wizzle, being un- fortunately prevented from coming," resumed Mrs. Taunton, " I did myself the pleasure of bringing the captain, whose musical talents I knew would be a great acquisition." u In the name of the committee I have to thank you for doing so, and to offer you welcome, sir," replied Percy. (Here the scraping was renewed.) I " But pray be seated — wont you I walk aft ? Captain, will you conduct Miss Taunton ? — Miss Briggs, will you allow me ? ' " Where could they have picked up that military man \ " inquired Mrs. Briggs of Miss Kate Briggs, as they j followed the little party. "I can't imagine," replied Miss Kate, bursting with vexation ; for the very fierce air with which the gallan: captain regarded the company, had impressed her with a high sense of his importance. Boat after boat came alongside, and guest after guest arrived. The invites had been excellently arranged : Mr. Percy Noakes having considered it as important that the number of young men should exactly tally with that of the young ladies, as that the quantity of knives on board should be in precise proportion to the forks. a Now, is every one on board ? " inquired Mr. Percy Noakes. The committee (who, with their bits of blue ribbon, looked as if they were all THE STEAM EXCURSION. 241 going to be bled) bustled about to ascertain the fact, and reported that they might safely start. " Go on ! " cried the master of the boat from the top of one of the paddle- boxes. " Go on ! " echoed the boy, who was stationed over the hatchway to pass the directions down to the engineer ; and away went the vessel with that agree- able noise which is peculiar to steamers, and which is composed of a mixture of creaking, gushing, clanging, and snorting. " Hoi — oi — oi — oi— oi — oi— o — i — i — i ! " shouted half-a-dozen voices from a boat, a quarter of a mile astern. u Ease her ! " cried the captain : u do these people belong to us, sir ? " " Noakes," exclaimed Hardy, who had been looking at every object, far and near, through the large telescope, "it's the Fleetwoods and the Wake- fields — and two children with them, by Jove ! " " What a shame to bring children ! " said everybody ; how very incon- siderate ! " "I say, it would be a good joke to pretend not to see 'em, wouldn't it ?" suggested Hardy, to the immense de- light of the company generally. A council of war was hastily held, and it was resolved that the new comers should be taken on board, on Mr. Hardy's solemnly pledging himself to tease the children during the whole of the day. " Stop her ! " cried the captain. " Stop her ' " repeated the boy ; whizz went the steam, and all the young ladies, as in duty bound, screamed in concert. They were only appeased by the assurance of the martial Helves, that the escape of steam consequent on stopping a vessel was seldom attended with any great loss of human life. Two men ran to the side ; and after some shouting, and swearing, and angling for the wherry with a boat- hook, Mr. Fleetwood, and Mrs. Fleet- wood, and Master Fleetwood, and Mr. No. 188. Wakefield, and Mrs. Wakefield, and Miss Wakefield, were safely, deposited on the deck. The girl was about six years old, the boy about four ; the former was dressed in a white frock with a pink sash and dog's-eared- looking little spencer : a straw bonnet and green veil, six inches by three and a half ; the latter, was attired for the occasion in a nankeen frock, between the bottom of which, and the top of his plaid socks, a considerable portion of two small mottled legs was discernible. He had a light blue cap with a gold band and tassel on his head, and a damp piece of gingerbread in his hand, with which he had slightly embossed his countenance. The boat once more started off ; the band played " Off she goes ; " the major part of the company conversed cheerfully in groups ; and the old gen- tlemen walked up and down the deck in pairs, as perseveringly and gravely as if they were doing a match against time for an immense stake. They ran briskly down the Pool ; the gentlemen pointed out the Docks, the Thames Police-office, and other elegant public edifices; and. the young ladies exhi- bited a proper display of horror at the appearance of the coal-whippers and ballast-heavers. Mr. Hardy told stories to the married ladies, at which they laughed very much in their pocket-handkerchiefs, and hit him on the knuckles with their fans, declaring him to be " a naughty man — a shocking creature" — and so forth; and Captain Helves gave slight de- scriptions of battles and duels, with a most bloodthirsty air, which made him the admiration of the women, and the envy of the men. Quadrilling commenced ; Captain Helves danced one set with Miss Emily Taunton, and another set with Miss Sophia Taunton. Mrs. Taunton was in ecstasies. The victory appeared to be complete ; but alas ! the inconstancy of man ! Having performed this necessary duty, he at- tached himself solely to Miss Julia Briggs, with whom he danced no less than three sets consecutively, and from : 16 242 SKETCHES BY BOZ whose side he evinced no intention of stirring for the remainder of the day. Mr. Hardy,having played one or two very brilliant fantasias on the Jews' - harp, and having frequently repeated the exquisitely amusing joke of slily chalking a large cross on the back of some member of the committee, Mr. Percy Noakes expressed his hope that some of their musical friends would oblige the company by a display of their abilities. " Perhaps," he said in a very insin- uating manner, " Captain Helves will oblige us ? " Mrs. Taunton's counte- nance lighted up, for the captain only sang duets, and couldn't sing them with anybody but one of her daughters. "Really," said that warlike indi- vidual, " I should be very happy, but—" " Oh ! pray do," cried all the young ladies. " Miss Sophia, have you any objec- tion to join in a duet ? " " Oh ! not the slightest," returned the young lady, in a tone which clearly showed she had the greatest possible objection. " Shall I accompany you, dear ? " inquired one of the Miss Briggses, with the bland intention of spoiling the effect, " Very much obliged to you, Miss Briggs," sharply retorted Mrs. Taun- ton, who saw through the manoeuvre ; "my daughters always sing without accompaniments." * And without voices," tittered Mrs. Briggs, in a low tone. a Perhaps," said Mrs. Taunton, red- dening, for she guessed the tenor of the observation, though she had not heard it clearly — "Perhaps it would be as well for some people, if their voices were not quite so audible as they are to other people." " And, perhaps, if gentlemen who are kidnapped to pay attention to some persons' daughters, had not suffi- cient discernment to pay attention to other persons' daughters," returned Mrs. Briggs, '* some persons would not be so ready to display that ill-temper which, thank God, distinguishes them from other persons." " Persons ! " ejaculated Mrs. Taun- ton. " Persons," replied Mrs. Briggs. " Insolence ! " " Creature ! " " Hush ! hush ! " interrupted Mr. Percy Noakes, who was one of the very few by whom this dialogue had been overheard. " Hush ! — pray, silence for the duet." After a great deal of preparatory crowing and humming, the captain began the following duet from the opera of " Paul and Virginia," in that grunting tone in which a man gets down, Heaven knows where, without the remotest chance of ever getting up again. This, in private circles, is frequently designated " a bass voice.'' " See (sung the captain) from o— ce— an ri- sing Bright flames the or— b of d— ay. From j'on gro — ove, the varied so — ongs — " Here, the singer was interrupted by varied cries of the most dreadful de- scription, proceeding from some grove in the immediate vicinity of the star- board paddle-box. " My child ! " screamed Mrs. Fleet- wood. " My child ! it is his voice — I know it." Mr. Fleetwood, accompanied by several gentlemen, here rushed to the quarter from whence the noise pro- ceeded, and an exclamation of horror burst from the company ; the general impression being, that the little inno- cent had either got his head in the water, or his legs in the machinery. " What is the matter \ " shouted the agonised father, as he returned with the child in his arms. " Oh ! oh ! oh ! " screamed the small sufferer again. " What is the matter, dear ? " in- quired the father once more — hastily stripping off the nankeen frock, for the purpose of ascertaining whether the child had one bone which was not smashed to pieces. THE STEAM EXCURSION. 243 " Oh ! oh ! — I'm so frightened ! " " What at, dear ?— what at 1 " said the mother, soothing the sweet infant. " Oh ! he 's been making such dread- ful faces at me," cried the boy, relapsing into convulsions at the bare recollection. " He ! — who ? " cried everybody, crowding round him. "Oh !— him ! " replied the child, pointing at Hardy, who affected to be the most concerned of the whole group. The real state of the case at once flashed upon the minds of all present, with the exception of the Fleetwoods and the Wakefields. The facetious Hardy, in fulfilment of his promise, had watched the child to a remote part of the vessel, and, suddenly ap- pearing before him with the most awful contortions of visage, had pro- duced his paroxysm of terror. Of course, he now observed that it was hardly necessary for him to deny the accusation ; and the unfortunate little victim was accordingly led below, after receiving sundry thumps on the head from both his parents, for having the wickedness to tell a story. This little interruption having been adjusted, the captain resumed, and Miss Emily chimed in, in due course. The duet was loudly applauded, and, certainly, the perfect independence of the parties deserved great commenda- tion. Miss Emily sung her part, with- out the slightest reference to the cap- tain ; and the captain sang so loud, that he had not the slightest idea what was being done by his partner. After hav- ing gone through the last few eighteen or nineteen bars by himself, therefore, he acknowledged the plaudits of the circle with that air of self-denial which men usually assume when they think they have done something to astonish the company. " Now," said Mr. Percy Noakes, who had just ascended from the fore- cabin, where he had been busily en- gaged in decanting the wine, " if the Misses Briggs will oblige us with some- thing before dinner, I am sure we shall be very much delighted." One of those hums of admiration followed the suggestion, which one fre- quently hears in society, when nobody has the most distant notion what he is expressing his approval of. The three Misses Briggs looked modestly at their mamma, and the mamma looked approvingly at her daughters, and Mrs. Taunton looked scornfully at all of them. The Misses Briggs asked for their guitars, and several gentlemen seriously damaged the cases in their anxiety to present them. Then, there was a very interesting production of three little keys for the aforesaid cases, and a melodramatic expression of horror at finding a string broken ; and a vast deal of screwing and tightening, and winding, and tuning, during which Mrs. Briggs ex- patiated to those near her on the immense difficulty of playing a guitar, and hinted at the wondrous proficiency of her daughters in tkat mystic art. Mrs. Taunton whispered to a neigh- bour that it was " quite sickening.!" and the Misses Taunton looked as if they knew how to play, but disdained to do it. At length, the Misses Briggs began in real earnest. It was a new Spanish composition, for three voices and three guitars. The effect was electrical. All eyes were turned upon the captain, who was reported to have once passed through Spain with his regiment, and who must be well acquainted with the national music. He was in raptures. This was sufficient ; the trio was en- cored ; the applause was universal ; and never had the Tauntons suffered such a complete defeat. " Bravo ! bravo ! " ejaculated the captain ; — "Bravo !" " Pretty ! isn't it, sir ? " inquired Mr. Samuel Briggs, with the air of a self- satisfied showman. By-the-by, these were the first words he had been heard to utter since he left Boswell- court the evening before. " De — lightful ! " returned the cap- tain, with a flourish, and a military cough ; — « de— lightful ! " " Sweet instrument ? " said an old gentleman with a bald head, who had k2 244 SKETCHES BY BOZ. been trying all the morning to look through a telescope, inside the glass of which Mr. Hardy had fixed a large black wafer. " Did you ever hear a Portuguese tamborine?" inquired that jocular individual. "Did you ever hear a tom-tom, sir ? " sternly inquired the captain, who lost no opportunity of showing off his travels, real or pretended. " A what ? : ' asked Hardy, rather taken aback. " A tom-tom." " Never ! " " Nor a gum-gum \ " " Never ! " (i What is a gum-gum ? " eagerly inquired several young ladies. " When I was in the East Indies," replied the captain. (Here was a disco- very — he had been in the East Indies !) — " when I was in the East Indies, I was once stopping, a few thousand miles up the country, on a visit at the house of a very particular friend of mine, Ram Chowdar Doss Azuph Al Bowlar — a devilish pleasant fellow. As we were enjoying our hookahs, one even- ing, in the cool verandah in front of his villa, we were rather surprised by the sudden appearance of thirty-four of his Kit-ma-gars (for he had rather a large establishment there), accom- panied by an equal number of Con-su- mars, approaching the house with a threatening aspect, and beating a tom- tom. The Ram started up " " Who I " inquired the bald gentle- man, intensely interested. " The Ram— Ram Chowdar—" " Oh ! " said the old gentleman, " 1 beg your pardon ; pray go on." " — Started up and drew a pistol. e Helves,' said he, ' my boy,' — he always called me, my boy — ' Helves,' said he, ' do you hear that tom-tom ? ' 6 I do,' said I. His countenance, which before was pale, assumed a most frightful appearance ; his whole visage was distorted, and his frame shaken by violent emotions. ' Do you see that gum-gum ? ' said he. ' No,' said I, staring about me. 'You don't V said he. < No, I '11 be damned if I do,' said I ; ' and what 's more, I don't know what a gum-gum is,' said I. I really thought the Ram would have dropped. He drew me aside, and with an expres- sion of agony I shall never forget, said in a low whisper " "Dinner's on the table, ladies," interrupted the steward's wife, " Will you allow me ? " said the captain, immediately suiting the action to the word, and escorting Miss Julia Briggs to the cabin, with as much ease as if he had finished the story. " What an extraordinary circum- stance ! " ejaculated the same old gentleman, preserving his listening attitude. " What a traveller ! " said the young ladies. " What a singularname !" exclaimed the gentlemen, rather confused by the coolness of the whole affair. "I wish he had finished the story," said an old lady. " I wonder what a gum-gum really is ? " " By Jove ! " exclaimed Hardy, who until now had been lost in utter amaze- ment, " I don't know what it may be in India, but in England I think a gum- gum has very much the same meaning as a hum-bug." " How illiberal ! how envious ! " cried everybody, as they made for the cabin, fully impressed with a belief in the captain's amazing adventures. Helves was the sole lion for the remainder of the day — impudence and the marvellous are pretty sure pass- ports to any society. The party had by this time reached theh- destination, and put about on their return home. The wind, which had been with them the whole day, was now directly in their teeth ; the weather had become gradually more and more overcast ; and the sky, water, and shore, were all of that dull, heavy, uniform lead-colour, which house-painters daub in the first instance over a street-door which is gradually approaching a state of convalescence. It had been " spitting " with rain for the last half-hour, and now began to ■■ THE STEAM EXCURSION. 241 pour in good earnest. The wind was freshening very fast, and the waterman at the wheel had unequivocally ex- pressed his opinion that there would shortly he a squall. A slight emotion on the part of the vessel, now and then, seemed to suggest the possibility of its pitching to a very uncomfortable extent in the event of its blowing harder ; and every timber began to creak, as if the boat were an overladen clothes-basket. Sea-sickness, however, is like a belief in ghosts — every one entertains some misgivings on the subject, but few will acknowledge any. The majority of the company, therefore, endeavoured to look pecu- liarly happy, feeling all the while especially miserable. " Don't it rain % " inquired the old gentleman before noticed, when, by dint of squeezing and jamming, they were all seated at table. " I think it does — a little," replied Mr. Percy Noakes, who could hardly hear himself speak, in consequence of the pattering on the deck. " Don't it blow ? " inquired some one else. " No — I don't think it does," re- sponded Hardy, sincerely wishing that he could persuade himself that it did not ; for he sat near the door, and was almost blown off his seat. " It '11 soon clear up," said Mr. Percy Noakes, in a cheerful tone. " Oh, certaiidy ! " ejaculated the oommittee generally. " No doubt of it ! " said the remainder of the company, whose attention was now pretty well engrossed by the serious business of eating, carving, taking wine, and so forth. The throbbing motion of the engine was but too perceptible. There was a large, substantial, cold boiled leg of mutton, at the bottom of the table, shaking like blanc-mange ; a previously hearty sirloin of beef looked as if it had been suddenly seized with the palsy ; and some tongues, which were placed on dishes rather too large for them, went through the most sur- prising evolutions ; darting from side to side, and from end to end, like a fly in an inverted wine-glass. Then, the sweets shook and trembled, till it was quite impossible to help them, and people gave up the attempt in despair; and the pigeon-pies looked as if the birds, whose legs were stuck outside, were trying to get them in. The table vibrated and started like a feverish pulse, and the very legs were con- vulsed — everything was shaking and jarring. The beams in the roof of the cabin seemed as if they were put there for the sole purpose of giving people headaches, and several elderly gentlemen became ill-tempered in con- sequence. As fast as the steward put the fire-irons up, they would fall down again ; and the more the ladies and gentleman tried to sit comfortably on their seats, the more the seats seemed to slide away from the ladies and gen- tlemen. Several ominous demands were made for small glasses of brandy; the countenances of the company gradually underwent most extraordi- nary changes ; one gentleman was ob- served suddenly to rush from table without the slightest ostensible reason, and dart up the steps with incredible swiftness : thereby greatly damaging both himself and the steward, who hap- pened to be coming down at the same moment. The cloth was removed ; the dessert was laid on the table ; and the glasses were filled. The motion of the boat increased ; several members of the party began to feel rather vague and misty, and looked as if they had only just got up. The young gentleman with the spectacles, who had been in a fluctuating state for some time — at one moment bright, and at another dismal, like a revolving light on the sea-coast — rashly announced his wish to pro- pose a toast. After several ineffectual attempts to preserve his perpendicular, the young gentleman, having managed to hook himself to the centre leg of the table with his left hand, proceeded as follows : " Ladies and gentlemen. A gentle- man is among us — I may say a stranger 246 SKETCHES BY BOZ. — (here some painful thought seemed to strike the orator ; he paused, and looked extremely odd) whose talents, whose travels, whose cheerfulness — " "I beg your pardon, Edkins," hastily interrupted Mr. Percy Noakes. — u Hardy, what 's the matter ? " 66 Nothing," replied the " funny gen- tleman," who had just life enough left to utter two consecutive syllables. " Will you have some brandy ? " "No ! " replied Hardy in a tone of great indignation, and looking as com- fortable as Temple-bar in a Scotch mist ; " what should I want brandy for ? " " Will you go on deck ? " " No, I will not." This was said with a most determined air, and in a voice which might have been taken for an imitation of anything ; it was quite as much like a guinea-pig as a bassoon. " I beg your pardon, Edkins," said the courteous Percy ; " I thought our friend was ill. Pray go on." A pause. " Pray go on." " Mr. Edkins is gone," cried some- body. " I beg your pardon, sir," said the steward, running up to Mr. Percy Noakes, " I beg your pardon, sir, but the gentleman as just went on deck — him with the green spectacles — is uncommon bad, to be sure ; and the young man as played the wiolin says, that unless he has some brandy he can't answer for the consequences. He says he has a wife and two chil- dren, whose werry subsistence de- pends on his breaking a wessel, and he expects to do so every moment. The flageolet's been wery ill, but he 's better, only he 's in a dreadful prus- peration." All disguise was now useless ; the company staggered on deck ; the gen- tlemen tried to see nothing but the clouds; and the ladies, muffled up in such shawls and cloaks as they had brought with them, lay about on the seats, and under the seats, in the most wretched condition. Never was such a blowing, and raining, and pitching, and tossing, endured by any pleasure party before. Several remonstrances were sent down below, on the subject of Master Fleet- wood, but they were totally unheeded in consequence of the indisposition of his natural protectors. That interesting child screamed at the top of his voice, until he had no voice left to scream with ; and then, Miss Wakefield be- gan, and screamed for the remainder of the passage. Mr. Hardy was observed, some hours afterwards,in an attitude which induced his friends to suppose that he was busily engaged in contemplating the beauties of the deep ; they only re- gretted that his taste for the picturesque should lead him to remain so long in a position, very injurious at all times, but especially so, to an individual la- bouring under a tendency of blood to the head. The party arrived off the Custom- house at about two o'clock on the Thursday morning, dispirited and worn out. The Tauntons were too ill to quarrel with the Briggses, and the Briggses were too wretched to annoy the Tauntons. One of the guitar-cases was lost on its passage to a hackney- coach, and Mrs. Briggs has not scrupled to state that the Tauntons bribed a porter to throw it down an area. Mr. Alexander Briggs opposes vote by ballot — he says from personal experience of its inefficacy ; and Mr- Samuel Briggs, whenever he is asked to express his sentiments on the point, says he has no opinion on that or any other subject. Mr. Edkins — the young gentleman in the green spectacles — makes a speech on every occasion on which a speech can possibly be made : the elo- quence of which can only be equalled by its length. In the event of his not being previously appointed to a judge- ship, it is probable that he will practise as a barrister in the New Central Criminal Court. Captain Helves continued his atten- tion to Miss Julia Briggs, whom he might possibly have espoused, if it THE STEAM EXCURSION. 247 had not unfortunately happened that Mr. Samuel arrested him, in the way of business, pursuant to instructions received from Messrs. Scroggins and Payne, whose town-debts the gallant captain had condescended to collect, but whose accounts, with the indiscretion sometimes peculiar to military minds, he had omitted to keep with that dull accuracy which custom has rendered necessary. Mrs. Taunton complains that she has been much deceived in him. He introduced himself to the family on board a Gravesend steam- packet, and certainly, therefore, ought to have proved respectable. Mr. Percy Noakes is as light-hearted and careless as ever. 243 SKETCHES BY BOZ. CHAPTER VIII. THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. The little town of Great Winglebury is exactly forty-two miles and three quarters from Hyde Park corner. It has a long, straggling, quiet High- street, with a great black and white clock at a small red Town-hall, half- way up — a market-place — a cage — an assembly-room — a church — a bridge — a chapel — a theatre — a library — an inn — a pump — and a Post-office. Tra- dition tells of a " Little Winglebury," down some cross-road about two miles off ; and, as a square mass of dirty paper, supposed to have been originally intended for a letter, with certain tremulous characters inscribed thereon, in which a lively imagination might trace a remote resemblance to the word " Little," was once stuck up to be owned in the sunny window of the Great Winglebury Post-office, from which it only disappeared when it fell to pieces with dust and extreme old age, there would appear to be some founda- tion for the legend. Common belief is inclined to bestow the name upon a little hole at the end of a muddy lane about a couple of miles long, colonised by one wheelwright, four paupers, and a beer-shop ; but, even this authority, slight as it is, must be regarded with extreme suspicion, inasmuch as the inhabitants of the hole aforesaid, con- cur in opining that it never had any name at all, from the earliest ages down to the present day. The Winglebury Arms, in the centre of the High-street, opposite the small building with the big clock, is the principal inn of Great Winglebury' — the commercial inn, posting-house, and excise-office ; the " Blue " house at every election, and the Judges' house at every assizes. It is the head-quarters of the Gentlemen's Whist Club of Winglebury Blues (so called in opposition to the Gentlemen's Whist Club of Winglebury Buffs, held at the other house, a little further down) ; and whenever a juggler, or wax- work man, or concert-giver, takes Great Winglebury in his circuit, it is immediately placarded all over the town that Mr. So-and-so, " trusting to that liberal support which the inha- bitants of Great Winglebury have long been so liberal in bestowing, has at a great expense engaged the elegant and commodious assembly-rooms, attached to the Winglebury Arms." The house is a large one, with a red brick and stone front ; a pretty spacious hall, ornamented with ever- green plants, terminates in a perspec- tive view of the bar, and a glass case, in which are displayed a choice variety of delicacies ready for dressing, to catch the eye of a new-comer the moment he enters, and excite his appetite to the highest possible pitch. Opposite doors lead to the " coffee " and " commercial " rooms ; and a great wide, rambling staircase, — three stairs and a landing — four stairs and another landing — one step and another landing — half-a-dozen stairs and ano- ther Ian ding — and so on — conducts to galleries of bedrooms, and labyrinths of sitting-rooms, denominated "pri- vate," where you may enjoy your- self, as privately as you can in any place where some bewildered being walks into your room every five minutes, by mistake, and then walks out again, to open all the doors along the gallery until he finds his own. Such is the Winglebury Arms, at this day, and such was the Winglebury Arms some time since — no matter when — two or three minutes before the arrival of the London stage. Four horses with cloths on — change for a coach — were standing quietly at the corner of the yard, surrounded by a THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. 249 listless group of post-boys in shiny hats and smock-frocks, engaged in discus- sing the merits of the cattle ; half a dozen ragged boys were standing a little apart, listening with evident interest to the conversation of these worthies ; and a few loungers were col- lected round the horse-trough, awaiting the arrival of the coach. The day was hot and sunny, the town in the zenith of its dulness, and with the exception of these few idlers, not a living creature was to be seen. Suddenly, the loud notes of a key- bugle broke the monotonous stillness of the street ; in came the coach, rattling over the uneven paving with a noise startling enough to stop even the large-faced clock itself. Down got the outsides, up went the windows in all directions, out came the waiters, up started the ostlers, and the loungers, and the post-boys, and the ragged boys, as if they were electrified — unstrap- ping, and unchaining, and unbuckling, and dragging willing horses out, and forcing reluctant horses in, and making a most exhilarating bustle. "Lady inside, here !" said the guard. "Please to alight, ma'am," said the waiter. " Private sitting-room I " interrogated the lady. " Certainly, ma'am," re- sponded the chambermaid. " Nothing but these 'ere trunks, ma'am ? " in- quired the guard. " Nothing more,' 1 replied the lady. Up got the outsides again, and the guard, and the coach- man ; off came the cloths, with a jerk, " All right " was the cry ; and away they went. The loungers lingered a minute or two in the road, watching the coach until it turned the corner, and then loitered away one by one. The street was clear again, and the town, by contrast, quieter than ever." " Lady in number twenty- five," screamed the landlady. — "Thomas I" " Yes, ma'am." " Letter just been left for the gen- tleman in number nineteen. Boots at the Lion left it. No answer." " Letter for you, sir," said Thomas, depositing the letter on number nine- teen's table. " For me V said number nineteen, turning from the window, out of Avhich he had been surveying the scene just described. " Yes, sir," — (waiters always speak in hints, and never utter complete sen- tences,) — "yes, sir, — Boots at the Lion, sir — Bar, sir — Missis said number nineteen, sir — Alexander Trott, Esq., sir ? — Your card at the sir, I think, sir 2 " " My name is Trott," replied number nineteen, breaking the seal. " You ' may go, waiter." The waiter pulled down the window-blind, and then pulled it up again — for a regular waiter must do something before he leaves the room — adjusted the glasses on the sideboard, brushed a place that was not dusty, rubbed his hands very hard, walked stealthily to the door, and evaporated. There was, evidently, something in the contents of the letter, of a nature, if not wholly unexpected, certainly extremely disagreeable. Mr. Alex- ander Trott laid it down, and took it up again, and walked about the room on particular squares of the carpet,and even attempted, though un- successfully, to whistle an air. It wouldn't do. He threw himself into a chair and read the following epistle aloud : — " Blue Lion and Stomach-warmer, Great Winglebury. Wednesday Morning. " Sir. Immediately on discovering your intentions, I left our counting- house, and followed you. I know the purport of your j ourney ; — that j ourney shall never be completed. " I have no friend here, just now, on whose secresy I can rely. This shall be no obstacle to my revenge. Neither shall Emily Brown be exposed to the mercenary solicitations of a scoundrel, odious in her eyes, and contemptible in every body else's : nor will I tamely submit to the clandestine attacks of a base umbrella-maker. " Sir. From Great Winglebury church, a footpath leads through four 250 SKETCHES BY BOZ. meadows to a retired spot known to | the townspeople as Stiffun's Acre. " j [Mr. Trott shuddered.] " I shall be ; waiting there alone, at twenty minutes before six o'clock to-morrow morning. Should I be disappointed in seeing you there, I will do myself the pleasure of calling with a horsewhip. " Horace Hunter. " PS. There is a gunsmith's in the High-street ; and they won't sell gun- powder after dark — you understand me. " PPS. You had better not order your breakfast in the morning until you hare met me. It may be an unneces- sary expense." a Desperate-minded villain ! I knew how it would be ! " ejaculated the ter- rified Trott. "I always told father, that once start me on this expedition, and Hunter would pursue me like the Wandering Jew. It 's bad enough as it is, to marry with the old people's commands, and without the girl's consent ; but what will Emily think of me, if I go down there, breathless with running away from this infernal sala- mander ? What shall I do ? What can I do \ If I go back to the city, I 'm disgraced for ever — lose the girl — and, what 's more, lose the money too. Even if I did go on to the Browns' by the coach, Hunter would be after me in a post-chaise ; and if I go to this place, this Stiffun's Acre (another shudder), I 'm as good as dead. I 've seen him hit the man at the Pall-mall shooting- gallery, in the second button-hole of the waistcoat, five times out of every six, and when he didn't hit him there, he hit him in the head." With this consolatory reminiscence, Mr. Alex- ander Trott again ejaculated, " What shall I do?" Long and weary were his reflec- tions, as, burying his face in his hands, he sat ruminating on the best course to be pursued. His mental direction- post pointed to London. He thought of "the governor's" anger, and the loss of the fortune which the paternal Brown had promised the paternal Trott his daughter should contribute to the coffers of his son. Then the words " To Brown's " were legibly in- scribed on the said direction-post, but Horace Hunter's denunciation rung in his ears ; — last of all it bore, in red letters, the words, •* To Stiffun's Acre ;" and then Mr. Alexander Trott decided on adopting a plan which he presently matured. First and foremost, he despatched the under-boots to the Blue Lion and Stomach-warmer, with a gentlemanly note to Mr. Horace Hunter, intimating that he thirsted for his destruction and would do himself the pleasure of slaugh- tering him next morning, without fail. He then wrote another letter, and re- quested the attendance of the other boots— for they kept a pair. A modest knock at the room- door was heard. " Come in," said Mr. Trott. A man thrust in a red head with one eye in it, and being again desired to " come in," brought in the body and the legs to which the head belonged, and a fur cap which belonged to the head. " You are the upper-boots, I think ? " inquired Mr. Trott. " Yes, I am the upper-boots," re- plied a voice from inside a velveteen case with mother-of-pearl buttons — " that is, I 'm the boots as b'longs to the house ; the other man's my man, as goes errands and does odd jobs. Top-boots and half-boots, I calls us." '* You 're from London ? " inquired Mr. Trott. '•' Driv a cab once," was the laconic reply. " Why don't you drive it now ? " asked Mr. Trott. " Over-driv the cab, and driv over a 'ooman," replied the top-boots, with brevity. " Do you know the mayor's house ?" inquired Trott. " Rather," replied the boots, sig- nificantly, as if he had some good reason to remember it. " Do you think you could manage to leave a letter there ?" interrogated Trott. " Shouldn't wonder," responded boots. THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. " But this letter," said Trott, holding a deformed note with a paralytic direc- tion in one hand, and five shillings in the other — " this letter is anonymous." " A — what ? " interrupted the boots. "Anonymous — he's not to know who it comes from." "Oh ! I see," responded the reg'lar, with a knowing wink, but without evincing the slightest disinclination to undertake the charge — " I see — bit o' Sving, eh % " and his one eye wandered round the room, as if in quest of a dark lantern and phosphorus-box. " But, I say ! " he continued, recalling the eye from its search, and bringing it to bear on Mr. Trott. " I say, he 's a lawyer, our mayor, and insured in the County. If you 've a spite agen him, you 'd better not burn his house down — blessed if I don't think it would be the greatest favour you could do him." And he chuckled inwardly. If Mr. Alexander Trott had been hi any other situation, his first act would have been to kick the man down stairs by deputy ; or, in other words, to ring the bell, and desire the landlord to take his boots off. He contented him- self, however, with doubling the fee and explaining that the letter merely related to a breach of the peace. The top-boots retired, solemnly pledged to secresy ; and Mr. Alexander Trott sat down to a fried sole, maintenon cutlet, Madeira, and sundries, with greater composure than he had expe- rienced since the receipt of Horace Hunter's letter of defiance. The lady who alighted from the London coach had no sooner been in- stalled in number twenty-five, and made some alteration in her travelling- dress, than she indited a note to Joseph Overton, esquire, solicitor, and mayor of Great Winglebury, requesting his immediate attendance on private busi- ness of paramount importance — a sum- mons which that worthy functionary lost no time in obeying ; for after sundry openings of his eyes, divers ejaculations of " Bless me ! " and other manifestations of surprise, he took his broad-brimmed hat from its accus- tomed peg in his little front office, and walked briskly down the High-street to the Winglebury Arms ; through the hall and up the staircase of which esta- blishment he was ushered by the land- lady, and a crowd of officious waiters, to the door of number twenty-five. " Show the gentleman in," said the stranger lady, in reply to the foremost waiter's announcement. The gentle- man was shown in accordingly. The lady rose from the sofa ; the. mayor advanced a step from the door ; and there they both paused,for a minute or two, looking at one another as if by mutual consent. The mayor saw before him a buxom richly-dressed female of about forty ; the lady looked upon a sleek man, about ten years older, in drab shorts and continuations, black coat, neckcloth, and gloves. " Miss Julia Manners ! " exclaimed the mayor at length, "you astonish me." " That 's very unfair of you, Overton," replied Miss Julia, " for I have known you, long enough, not to be surprised at anything you do, and you might extend equal courtesy to me." " But to run away — actually run away — with a young man ! " remon- strated the mayor. " You wouldn't have me actually run away with an old one, I presume?" was the cool rejoinder. " And then to ask me — me — of all people in the world — a man of my age and appearance — mayor of the town — to promote such a scheme ! " pettishly ejaculated Joseph Overton ; throwing himself into an arm-chair, and pro- ducing Miss Julia's letter from his pocket, as if to corroborate the asser- tion that he had been asked. " Now, Overton," replied the lady, " I want your assistance in this matter, and I must have it. In the lifetime of that poor old dear, Mr. CornberrVj who — who — " " Who was to have married you, and didn't, because he died first ; and who left you his property unencumbered with the addition of himself," suggested the mayor. " Well," replied Miss Julia, red- 252 SKETCHES BY BOZ. dening slightly, " in the lifetime of the poor old dear, the property had the incumbrance of your management ; and all I will say of that, is, that 1 only wonder it didn't die of consumption in- stead of its master. You helped your- self then: — help me now." Mr. Joseph Overton was a man of the world, and an attorney ; and as certain indistinct recollections of an odd thousand pounds or two, appro- priated by mistake, passed across his mind, he hemmed deprecatingly, smiled blandly, remained silent for a few seconds ; and finally inquired, '• What do you wish me to do 1 " " I '11 tell you," replied Miss Julia — "I'll tell you in three words. Dear Lord Peter — " " That 's the young man, I sup- pose — " interrupted the mayor. " That 's the young Nobleman," re- plied the lady, with a great stress on the last word. " Dear Lord Peter is considerably afraid of the resentment of his family ; and we have therefore thought it hetter to make the match a stolen one. He left town, to avoid sus- picion, on a visit to his friend, the Honourable Augustus Flair, whose seat, as you know, is about thirty miles from this, accompanied only by his favourite tiger. We arranged that I should come here alone in the London coach : and that he, leaving his tiger and cab behind him, should come on, and arrive here as soon as possible this afternoon." " Very well," observed Joseph Overton, " and then he can order the chaise, and you can go on to Gretna Green together, without requiring the presence or interference of a third party, can't you ?" "No," replied Miss Julia. "We have every reason to believe — dear Lord Peter not heing considered very prudent or sagacious by his friends, and they having discovered his attach- ment to me — that, immediately on his absence being observed, pursuit will be made in this direction : to elude which, and to prevent our being traced, I wish it to be understood in this house, that dear Lord Peter is slightly deranged, though perfectly harmless ; and that I am, unknown to him, awaiting his arrival to convey him in a post-chaise to a private asylum — at Berwick, say. If I don't show myself much, I dare say I can manage to pass for his mother." The thought occurred to the mayor's mind that the lady might show herself a good deal without fear of detection ; seeing that she was about double the age of her intended husband. He said nothing, however, and the lady pro- ceeded. " With the whole of this arrange- ment dear Lord Peter is acquainted ; and all I want you to do, is, to make the delusion more complete by giving it the sanction of your influence in this place, and assigning this as a reason to the people of the house for my taking the young gentleman away. As it would not he consistent with the story that I should see him until after he has entered the chaise, I also wish you to communicate with him, and inform him that it is all going on well." " Has he arrived ? " inquired Over- ton. " I don't know," replied the lady. " Then how am I to know !" in- quired the mayor. " Of course he will not give his own name at the har." " I begged him, immediately on his arrival, to write you a note," replied Miss Manners ; " and to prevent the possibility of our project being dis- covered through its means, I desired him to write anonymously, and in mysterious terms to acquaint you with the number of his room." a Bless me ! " exclaimed the mayor, rising from his seat, and searching his pockets — a most extraordinary cir- cumstance — he has arrived — mys- terious note left at my house in a most mysterious manner, just before yours — didn't know what to make of it before, and certainly shouldn't have attended to it. — Oh ! here it is." And Joseph Overton pulled out of an inner THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. 253 coat-pocket the identical letter penned by Alexander Trott. " Is this his lord- ship's hand ? " " Oh yes," replied Julia ; " good, punctual creature ! I have not seen it more than once or twice, but I know he writes very badly and very large. Thsse dear, wild young noblemen, you know, Overton — " " Ay, ay, I see," replied the mayor. — " Horses and dogs, play and wine — grooms, actresses, and cigars — the stable, the green-room, the saloon, and the tavern ; and the legislative assembly at last." " Here's what he says," pursued the mayor ; " « Sir, — A young gentle- man in number nineteen at the Win- glebury Arms, is bent on committing a rash act to-morrow morning at an early hour.' (That's good — he means marrying.) ' If you have any regard for the peace of this town, or the pre- servation of one — it may be two — human lives' — What the deuce does he mean by that ? " " That he 's so anxious for the cere- mony, he will expire if it 's put off, and that I may possibly do the same," replied the lady with great compla- cency. " Oh ! I see — not much fear of that ; — well — 'two human lives, you will cause him to be removed to-night.' (He wants to start at once.) < Fear not to do this on your responsibility : for to-morrow the absolute necessity of the proceeding will be but too ap- parent. Remember : number nine- teen. The name is Trott. No delay ; for life and death depend upon your promptitude.' Passionate language, certainly. Shall I see him ? " " Do," replied Miss Julia ; and en- treat him to act his part well. I am half afraid of him. Tell him to be cautious." " I will," said the mayor. " Settle all the arrangements." " I will," said the mayor again. " And say I think the chaise had better be ordered for one o'clock." " Very well," said the mayor once more ; and, ruminating on the absur- dity of the situation in which fate and old acquaintance had placed him, he desired a waiter to herald his approach to the temporary representative of number nineteen. The announcement, " Gentleman to speak with you, sir," induced Mr. Trott to pause half-way in the glass of port, the contents of which he was in the act of imbibing at the moment ; to rise from his chair ; and retreat a few paces towards the window, as if to secure a retreat, in the event of the visitor assuming the form and appear- ance of Horace Hunter. One glance at Joseph Overton, however, quieted his apprehensions. He courteously motioned the stranger to a seat. The waiter, after a little jingling with the decanter and glasses, consented to leave the room ; and Joseph Overton, placing the broad-brimmed hat on the chair next him, and bending Ins body gently forward, opened the business by saying in a very low and cautious tone, " My lord—" "Eh?" said Mr. Alexander Trott, in a loud key, with the vacant and mystified stare of a chilly somnam- bulist. " Hush — hush !" said the cautious attorney : " to be sure — quite right — no titles here — my name is Overton, sir." "Overton?" " Yes : the mayor of this place — ■ you sent me a letter with anonymous information, this afternoon." " I, sir ? " exclaimed Trott with ill- dissembled surprise ; for, coward as he was, he would willingly have repu- diated the authorship of the letter in question. " I, sir ? " " Yes, you, sir ; did you not ? " re- . sponded Overton, annoyed with what he supposed to be an extreme degree of unnecessary suspicion. " Either this letter is yours, or it is not. If it be, we can converse securely upon the subject at once. If it be not, of course I have no more to say." "Stay, stay," said Trott, "it is mine ; I did write it. What could I do, sir ? I had no friend here." 254 SKETCHES BY BOZ. " To be sure, to be sure," said the mayor, encouragingly, " you could uot have managed it better. Well, sir ; it will be necessary for you to leave here to-night in a post-chaise and four. And the harder the boys drive, the better. You are not safe from pur- suit." " Bless me ! " exclaimed Trott, in an agony of apprehension, " can such things happen in a country like this ? Such unrelenting and cold-blooded hostility ! " He wiped off the concen- trated essence of cowardice that was oozing fast down his forehead, and looked aghast at Joseph Overton. ** It certainly is a very hard case," replied the mayor with a smile, " that, in a free country, people can't marry whom they like, without being hunted down as if they were criminals. How- ever, in the present instance the lady is willing, you know, and that's the main point, after all." u Lady willing ! " repeated Trott, mechanically. " How do you know the lady's willing ? " " Come, that 's a good one," said the mayor, benevolently tapping Mr. Trott on the arm with his broad-brimmed hat ; " I have known her, well, for a long time ; and if anybody could en- tertain the remotest doubt on the sub- ject, I assure you I have none, nor need you have." " Dear me ! " said Mr. Trott, rumi- nating. This is very extraordinary ! " " Well, Lord Peter," said the mayor, rising. " Lord Peter 1 " repeated Mr. Trott. "Oh— ah, I forgot. Mr. Trott, then — Trott — very good, ha ! ha ! — Well, sir, the chaise shall be ready at half-past twelve." a And what is to become of me until then ? " inquired Mr. Trott, anxiously. "Wouldn't it save appearances, if I were placed under some re- straint \ " " Ah !" replied Overton, "very good thought — capital idea indeed. I '11 send somebody up directly. And if you make a little resistance when we put you in the chaise it would'nt be amiss — look as if you didn't want to be taken awav, you know." " To be sure," said Trott—" to be sure." " Well, my lord," said Overton, in a low tone, " until then, I wish your lordship a good evening." "Lord — lordship ?" ejaculated Trott again, falling back a step or two, and gazing", in unutterable wonder, on the countenance of the mayor. " Ha-ha ! I see, my lord — practising the madman \ — very good indeed — very vacant look — capital, my lord, capital — good evening, Mr. — Trott — ha! ha! "ha!" " That mayor 's decidedly drunk," soliloquised Mr. Trott, throwing him- self back in his chair, in an attitude of reflection. " He is a much cleverer fellow than I thought him, that young nobleman — he carries it off uncommonly well," thought Overton, as he went his way to the bar, there to complete his arrangements. This was soon done. Every word of the story was implicitly believed, and the one-eyed boots was immediately instructed to repair to number nineteen, to act as custodian of the person of the supposed lunatic until half-past twelve o'clock. In pursuance of this direction, that somewhat ec- centric gentleman armed himself with a walking-stick of gigantic dimensions, and repaired, with his usual equanimity of manner, to Mr. Trott's apartment, which he entered without any cere- mony, and mounted guard in, by quietly depositing himself on a chair near the door, where he proceeded to beguile the time by whistling a po- pular air with great apparent satis- faction. "What do you want here, you scoundrel ? " exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, with a proper appearance of in- dignation at his detention. The boots beat time with his head, as he looked gently round at Mr. Trott with a smile of pity, and whistled an adagio movement. " Do you attend in this room by Mr. Overton's desire ? " inquired Trott, THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. 255 rather astonished at the man's de- meanour. "Keep yourself to yourself, young feller," calmly responded the boots, " and don't say nothin' to nobody." And he whistled again. "Now, mind !" ejaculated Mr. Trott, anxious to keep up the farce of wishing with great earnestness to fight a duel if they 'd let him. " I protest against being kept here. I deny that I have any intention of fighting with anybody. But, as it 's useless contending with superior numbers, I shall sit quietly down." " You 'd better," observed the placid boots, shaking the large stick expres- sively. " Under protest, however," added Alexander Trott, seating himself, with indignation in his face, but great con- tent in his heart. " Under protest." " Oh, certainly ! " responded the boots ; " anything you please. If you're happy, I 'm transported ; only don't talk too much — it '11 make you worse." " Make me worse ? " exclaimed Trott, in unfeigned astonishment: " the man 's drunk ! " " You 'd better be quiet, young feller," remarked the boots, going through a threatening piece of pan- tomime with the stick. " Or mad ! " said Mr. Trott, rather alarmed. " Leave the room, sir, and tell them to send somebody else." " Won't do ! " replied the boots. " Leave the room ! " shouted Trott, ringing the bell violently ; for he began to be alarmed on a new score. "Leave that 'ere bell alone, you wretched loo-nattic!" said the bocts, suddenly forcing the unfortunate Trott back into his chair, and brandishing the stick aloft. " Be quiet, you mis'rable object, and don't let everybody know there 's a madman in the house." " He is a madman ! He is a mad- man ! " exclaimed the terrified Mr. Trott, gazing on the one eye of the red-headed boots with a look of abject horror. " Madman ! " replied the boots, " dam'me, I think he is a madman with a vengeance ! Listen to me, you un- fort'nate. Ah ! would you ?-" [a slight tap on the head with the large stick, as Mr. Trott made another move to- wards the bell-handle] " I caught you there ! did 1 1 " " Spare my life ! " exclaimed Trott, raising his hands imploringly. " I don't want your life," replied the boots, disdainfully, " though I think it 'ud be a charity if somebody took it." " No, no, it wouldn't," interrupted * poor Mr. Trott, hurriedly; "no, no, it wouldn't ! I — I — 'd rather keep it!" " werry well," said the boots ; " that's a mere matter of taste — ev'ry one to his liking. Hows'ever, all I 've got to say is this here : You sit quietly down in that chair, and I '11 sit hopper- site you here, and if you keep quiet and don't stir, I won't damage you ; but, if you move hand or foot till half- past twelve o'clock, I shall alter the expression of your countenance so completely, that the next time you look in the glass you '11 ask vether you 're gone out of town, and ven you 're likely to come back again. So sit down." " I will — I will," responded the vic- tim of mistakes ; and down sat Mr. Trott and down sat the boots too, exactly opposite him, with the stick ready for immediate action in case of emergency. Long and dreary were the hours that followed. The bell of Great Winglebury church had just struck ten, and two hours and a half would probably elapse before succour arrived. For half an hour, the 'noise occasioned by shutting up the shops in the street beneath, betokened something like life in the town, and rendered Mr. Trott's situation a little less insupportable ; but, when even these ceased, and nothing was heard beyond the oc- casional rattling of a post-chaise as it drove up the yard to change horses, and then drove away again, or the clattering of horses' hoofs in the stables behind, it became almost unbearable. The boots occasionally moved an inch or two, to knock superfluous bits of wax off the candles, which were burn- 256 SKETCHES BY BOZ. ing low, but instantaneously resumed his former position ; and as he re- membered to have heard, somewhere or other, that the human eye had an unfailing effect in controlling mad people, he kept his solitary organ of vision constantly fixed on Mr. Alex- ander Trott. That unfortunate indi- vidual stared at his companion in his turn, until his features grew more and more indistinct — his hah' gradually less red — and the room more misty and obscure. Mr. Alexander Trott fell into a sound sleep, from which he was awakened by a rumbling in the street, and a cry of " Chaise-and-four for number twenty-five ! " A bustle on the stairs succeeded ; the room- door was hastily thrown open ; and Mr. Joseph Overton entered, followed by four stout waiters, and Mrs. Williamson, the stout landlady of the Winglebury Arms. K Mr. Overton ! " exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, jumping up in a frenzy, " Look at this man, sir ; con- sider the situation in which I have been placed for three hours past — the person you sent to guard me, sir, was a madman — a madman — a raging, ravaging, furious madman." " Bravo ! " whispered Overton. " Poor dear ! " said the compassion- ate Mrs. Williamson, " mad people always thinks other people 's mad." " Poor dear ! " ejaculated Mr. Alex- ander Trott, " What the devil do you mean by poor dear ! Are you the land- lady of this house 1 " " Yes, yes," replied the stout old lady, " don't exert yourself, there 's a dear ! Consider your health, now ; do." " Exert myself ! " shouted Mr. Alexander Trott, "it's a mercy, ma'am, that I have any breath to exert myself with ! I might have been assassinated three hours ago by that one-eyed monster with the oakum head. How dare you have a madman, ma'am — how dare you have a mad- man, to assault and terrify the visitors to your house ? " a I '11 never have another" said Mrs. Williamson, casting a look of reproach at the mayor. " Capital, capital," whispered Over- ton again, as he enveloped Mr. Alex- ander Trott in a thick travelling-cloak. " Capital, sir ! " exclaimed Trott, aloud, " it 's horrible. The very re- collection makes me shudder. I 'd rather fight four duels in three hours, if I survived the first three, than I 'd sit for that time face to face with a madman." " Keep it up, my Lord, as you go down stairs," whispered Overton, " your bill is paid, and your portmanteau in the chaise." And then he added aloud, " Now, waiters, the gentleman's ready." At this signal, the waiters crowded round Mr. Alexander Trott. One, took one arm ; another, the other ; a third, walked before with a candle; the fourth, behind with another candle ; the boots and Mrs. Williamson brought up the rear ; and down stairs they went : Mr. Alexander Trott expressing alternately at the very top of his voice either his feigned reluctance to go, or his un- feigned indignation at being shut up with a madman. Mr. Overton was waiting at the chaise-door, the boys were ready mounted, and a few ostlers and stable nondescripts were standing round to witness the departure of " the mad gentleman." Mr. Alexander Trott's foot was on the step, when he observed (which the dim light had prevented his doing before) a figure seated in the chaise, closely muffled up in a cloak like his own. " Who 's that ? " he inquired of Overton, in a whisper. " Hush, hush," replied the mayor ; "the other party of course." " The other party ! " exclaimed Trott, with an effort to retreat. a Yes, yez ; you '11 soon find that out, before you go far, I should think — but make a noise, you '11 excite sus- picion if you whisper to me so much." " I won't go in this chaise ! " shouted Mr. Alexander Trott, all his original fears recurring with tenfold violence. "I shall be assassinated — I shall be — '* THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. 257 " Bravo, bravo," whispered Overton. " I '11 push you in." " But I won't go," exclaimed Mr. Trott. " Help here, help ! They 're carrying me away against my will. This is a plot to murder me." " Poor dear ! " said Mrs. William- son again. " Now, boys, put 'em along," cried the mayor, pushing Trott in and slam- ming the door. " Off with you, as quick as you can, and stop for nothing till vou come to the next stage — all right ! " " Horses are paid, Tom," screamed Mrs. Williamson ; and away went the chaise, at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, with Mr. Alexander Trott and Miss Julia Manners carefully shut up in the inside. Mr. Alexander Trott remained coiled up in one corner of the chaise, and his mysterious companion in the other, for the first two or three miles ; Mr. Trott edging more and more into his corner, as he felt his companion gradually edging more and more from hers ; and vainly endeavouring in the darkness to catch a glimpse of the furious face of the supposed Horace Hunter. " We may speak now," said his fel- low traveller, at length; " the post-boys can neither see nor hear us." " That's not Hunter's voice ! " — thought Alexander, astonished. " Dear Lord Peter ! " said Miss Julia, most winningly : putting her arm on Mr. Trott's shoulder. " Dear Lord Peter. Not a word ? " " Why, it 's a woman I " exclaimed Mr. Trott, in a low tone of excessive wonder. " Ah ! Whose voice is that ?" said Julia ; " 'tis not Lord Peter's." " No, — it 's mine," replied Mr. Trott. " Yours ! " ejaculated Miss Julia Manners ; " a strange man ! Gi'acious heaven ! How came you here % " " Whoever you are, you might have known that I came against my will, ma'am," replied Alexander, "for I made noise enough when I got in." No. 189. " Do you come from Lord Peter ? " inquired Miss Manners. " Confound Lord Peter," replied Trott pettishly. " I don't know any Lord Peter. I never heard of him before to-night, when I've been Lord Peter'd by one and Lord Peter'd by another, till I verily believe I'm mad, or dreaming — " " Whither are we going ? " inquired the lady tragically. " How should / know, ma'am % " re- plied Trott with singular coolness ; for the events of the evening had com- pletely hardened him. " Stop ! stop ! " cried the lady, letting down the front glasses of the chaise. " Stay, my dear ma'am ! " said Mr, Trott, pulling the glasses up again with one hand, and gently squeezing Miss Julia's waist with the other. " There is some mistake here ; give me till the end of this stage to explain my share of it. We must go so far ; you cannot be set down here alone, at this hour of the night." The lady consented; the mistake was mutually explained. Mr. Trott was a young man, had highly promising whiskers, an undeniable tailor, and an insinuating addi'ess — he wanted no- thing but valour, and who wants that with three thousand a-year ? The lady had this, and more ; she wanted a young husband, and the only course open to Mr. Trott to retrieve his dis- grace was a rich wife. So, they came to the conclusion that it would be a pity to have all this trouble and ex- pense for nothing ; and that as they were so far on the road already, they had better go to Gretna Green, and marry each other ; and they did so. And the very next preceding entry in the Blacksmith's book, was an entry of the marriage of Emily Brown with Horace Hunter. Mr. Hunter took his wife home, and begged pardon, and was pardoned ; and Mr. Trott took his wife home, begged pardon too, and was pardoned also. And Lord Peter, who had been detained beyond his time by drinking champagne and 17 258 SKETCHES BY BOZ. riding a steeple-chase, went back to the Honourable Augustus Flair's, and drank more champagne, and rode another steeple-chase, and was thrown and killed. And Horace Hunter took great credit to himself for practising on the cowardice of Alexander Trott j and all these circumstances were dis- covered in time, and carefully noted down ; and if you ever stop a week at the Winglebury Arms, they will give you just this account of The Great Winglebury Duel. MRS. JOSEPH PORTER. 259 CHAPTER IX. MRS. JOSEPH PORTER. Most extensive were the preparations at Rose Villa, Clapham Rise, in the occupation of Mr. Gattleton (a stock- broker in especially comfortable cir- cumstances), and great was the anxiety of Mr. Gattleton's interesting family, as the day fixed for the representation of the Private Play which had been t( many months in preparation," ap- proached. The whole family was in- fected with the mania for Private Theatricals; the house, usually so clean and tidy, was, to use Mr. Gattle- ton's expressive description, "regu- larly turned out o' windows ; " the large dining-room, dismantled of its furniture and ornaments, presented a strange jumble of flats, flies, wings, lamps, bridges, clouds, thunder and lightning, festoons and flowers, dag- gers and foil, and various other messes in theatrical slang included under the comprehensive name of " properties." The bed-rooms were crowded with scenery, the kitchen was occupied by carpenters. Rehearsals took place every other night in the drawing-room, and every sofa in the house was more or less damaged by the perseverance and spirit with which Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, and Miss Lucina, rehearsed the smothering scene in " Othello " — it having been determined that that tragedy should form the first portion of the evening's entertainments. " When we're a leetle more perfect, I think it will go admirably," said Mr. Sempronius, addressing his corps dramatique, at the conclusion of the hundred and fiftieth rehearsal. In consideration of his sustaining the trifling inconvenience of bearing all the expenses of the play, Mr. Sem- pronius had been, in the most hand- some manner, unanimously elected stage-manager. " Evans," continued Mr. Gattleton, the younger, addressing a tall, thin, pale young gentleman, with extensive whiskers. " Evans, you play Roderigo beautifully." " Beautifully ! " echoed the three Miss Gattletons ; for Mr. Evans was - pronounced by all his lady friends to be " quite a dear." He looked so in- teresting, and had such lovely whis- kers : to say nothing of his talent for writing verses in albums and playing the flute ! Roderigo simpered and bowed. " But I think," added the manager, " you are hardly perfect in the — fall — in the fencing-scene, where you are — you understand ? " " It 's very difficult," said Mr. Evans, thoughtfully ;