M** v. a A»* * << *** ,'V ft; 3 %'3^ sS m k ' t / THE CHRISTMAS BOOKS OF Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. OUR STREET. DR. BIRCH. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. THE RVSE AND THE RING. THE BOOK OF SNOBS, AND BALLADS. BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. WITH ILL US TR A TIONS BY THE A UTHOR. CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY, Publishers. Pfi Sill \%19 CONTENTS. CHRISTMAS STORIES. TAGS. Mrs. Perkins's Ball 1 1 Our Street . 43 Dr. Birch and his Young Friends 77 The Kickleburys on the Rhine 107 The Rose and the Ring ; or, the History of Prince Giglio and Prince Bulbo 163 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. PAGE. Prefatory Remarks 247 I. The Snob playfully dealt with 251 II. The Snob Royal 255 III. The Influence of the Aristocracy on Snobs 258 IV. "The Court Circular," and its Influence on Snobs 261 672730 111 IV CONTENTS. What Snobs Admire [• On Some Respectable Snobs \ Great City Snobs On Some Military Snobs - |- On Clerical Snobs and Snobbishness -, [- On University Snobs, . . , i On Literary Snobs.. A Little about Irish Snobs Tarty-Giving Snobs Dining-Out Snobs Dinner-Giving Snobs further considered Some Continental Snobs English Snobs on the Continent. On Some Country Snobs. Snobbium Gatherum. ]• Snobs and Marriage. Club Snobs. Chapter Last. PAGE. 264 268 271 275 278 28l 284 287 29O 293 296 299 302 305 308 312 315 320 322 326 329 333 337 339 344 347 35° 353 357 360 364 368 372 376 378 38i 385 387 39° 39-1 3^7 I1ALLADS. The Chronicle of the Drum, Part I 405 " '• Part II 411 Abd-el-Kader at Toulon : or, the Caged Hawk 419 CONTENTS. The King of Brentford's Testament 421 The White Squall 428 Peg of Limavaddy 433 May-Day Ode 43 6 The Ballad of Bouillabaisse 440 The Mahogany Tree 443 The Yankee Volunteers 444 The Pen and the Album 446 Mrs. Katherine's Lantern 449 Lucy's Birthday 450 The Cane-Bottom'd Chair 451 Piscator and Piscatrix 453 The Rose upon my Balcony 454 Ronsard to his Mistress 455 At the Church Gate 456 The Age of Wisdom 457 Sorrows of Werther 458 A Doe in the City 458 The Last of May 460 " Ah, Bleak and Barren was the Moor " 460 Song of the Violet 461 • Fairy Days 462 Pocahontas 463 From Pocahontas 464 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY:— What makes my Heart to Thrill and Glow ? 465 The Ghazul, or Oriental Love-song : — The Rocks 467 The Merry Bard 467 The Caique 468 My Nora 469 To Mary 470 Serenade 470 The Minaret Bells 471 Come to the Greenwood Tree 471 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES:— A Tragic Story 473 The Chaplet . .* 474 The King on the Tower 475 On a very old Woman 476 A Credo 476 v j CONTENTS. FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER PAGE, Le Roi d'Yvetot 478 The King of Yvetot 479 The King of Brentford 481 Le Grenier 482 The Garret 483 Roger Bontemps .... 484 Jolly Jack 486 IMITATION OF HORACE:— To his Serving Boy. 488 Ad Ministram* 4S8 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES:— The Knightly Guerdon 490 The Almack's Adieu 491 When the Gloom is on the Glen 492 The Red Flag 493 Dear Jack 494 .Commanders of the Faithful 494 When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas 495 The Legend of St. Sophia of Kioff 496 King Canute 515 Friar's Song 517 Atra Cura 518 Requiescat 519 Lines upon my Sister's Portrait 520 Titmarsh's Carmen Lilliense 521 The Willow-Tree 524 The Willow-Tree (another version) 526 LYRA HIBERNICA:- The Pimlico Pavilion 531 The Crystal Palace 533 Molony's Lament 538 Mr. Molony's Account of the Ball given to the Nepaulese Ambassador by the Peninsular and Oriental Company. 540 The Battle of Limerick 542 Larry O'Toole 546 The Rose of Flora 546 The Last Irish Grievance 54) CONTENTS. vii THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. :— PAGB. The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown.. . 549 The Three Christmas Waits 551 Lines on a late Hospicious Ewent 556 The Ballad of Eliza Davis 559 Damages, Two Hundred Pounds 563 The Knight and the Lady 565 Jacob Homnium's Hoss 567 The Speculators , 571 A Woeful New Ballad of the Protestant Conspiracy to take the Pope's Life 573 The Lamentable Ballad of the Foundling of Shoreditch. . . 575 The Organ Boy's Appeal 578 Little Billee 580 The End of the Play 581 Vanitas Vanitatum 583 4 jim. <-Je%M, k ic^.^C^T^'^- ( J^v^**^?/' £^*i£ /t/~£iiZ3 The Dear Brothers • ■ ' 8 5 A Serious Case - - °9 A Hamper for Briggs's 9 1 Sure to Succeed in Life ...... ■ 93 The Pirate • ■ - • • ■ 95 Home, Sweet Home ....... 96 A Rescue • 97 Wanted, a Governess • • 102 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. My Lady the Countess 126 More Wind than is Pleasant 127 "We call those Uglies ! Captain Hicks" 129 Hirsch and the Luggage 134 An Hereditary Legislator '37 The Reinecks ■ )8 A Specimen of a Briton jo The Interior of Hades i"43 The Water Cure U7 The German Peasant Maiden 1 5 1 Charge of Noirbourg 15 2 The Old Story 1 S3 The Princess of Mogador 160 «' Schlafen sie wohl '" 161 THE ROSE AND THE RING. His R. H. the Prince of Crim Tartary 192 The Rivals , 198 Angelica arrives just in Time 206 To Anns ! .... 220 Prince < iiglio's Speech to the Army 222 Poor Iinllx) is ordered for Kxerntion 228 The Terrific Combat between King Giglio and King Padella.. . 233 Madam Gruff anuff finds a Husband 242 _. W THE MULLIGAN AND U.V* H A. TTTMABSH Mrs. PERKINS'S BALL. THE MULLIGAN (OF BALLYMULLIGAN), AND HO W WE WENT TO MRS. PERKINS'S. BALE I do not know where Ballymulligan is, and never knew any- body who did. Once I asked the Mulligan the question, when that chieftain assumed a look of dignity so ferocious, and spoke of " Saxon curiawsitee " in a tone of such evident displeasure, that, as after all it can matter very little to me whereabouts lies the Celtic principality in question, I have never pressed the in- quiry any farther. I don't know even the Mulligan's town residence. One night, as he bade us adieu in Oxford Street, — " I live there" says he, pointing down towards Uxbriclge, with the big stick he carries : — so his abode is in that direction at any rate. He has his letters addressed to several of his friends' houses, and his parcels, &c., are left for him at various taverns which he fre- quents. That pair of checked trousers, in which you see him attired, he did me the favor of ordering from my own tailor, who is quite as anxious as anybody to know the address of the wearer. In like manner my hatter asked me, " Oo was the Hirish gent as 'ad ordered four 'ats and a sable boar to be sent to my lodgings ? " As I did not know (however I might guess), the articles have never been sent, and the Mulligan has withdrawn his custom from the " infernal four-and-nine-penny scoundthrel," as he calls him. The hatter has not shut up shop in consequence. I became acquainted with the Mulligan through a distin- guished countryman of his, who, strange to say, did not know the chieftain himself. But dining with my friend Fred Clancy, of the Irish bar, at Greenwich, the Mulligan came up, " inthro- juiced " himself to Clancy as he said, claimed relationship with 12 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. him on the side of Brian Boroo, and drawing his chair to our table, quickly became intimate with us. He took a great liking to me, was good enough to find out my address and pay me a visit : since which period often and often on coining to break- fast in the morning I have found him in my sitting-room on the sofa engaged with the rolls and morning papers : and many a time, on returning home at night for an evening's quiet reading, I have discovered this honest fellow in the arm-chair before the fire, perfuming the apartment with my cigars and trying the quality of such liquors as might be found on the sideboard. The way in which he pokes fun at Betsy, the maid of the lodg- ings, is prodigious. She begins to laugh whenever he comes ; if he calls her a duck, a divvle, a darlin', it is all one. He is just as much a master of the premises as the individual who rents them, at fifteen shillings a week ; and as for handker- chiefs, shirt-collars, and the like articles of fugitive haberdash- ery, the loss since I have known him is unaccountable. I sus- pect he is like the cat in some houses : for, suppose the whiskey, the cigars, the sugar, the tea-caddy, the pickles, and other groceries disappear, all is laid upon that edax-rerum of a Mulli- gan. The greatest offence that can be offered to him is to call him Mr. Mulligan. " Would you deprive me, sir," says he, " of the title which was bawrun be me princelee ancestors in a hundred thousand battles ? In our own green valleys and fawrests, in the American savannahs, in the sierras of Speen and the flats of Flandthers, the Saxon has quailed before me war-cry of Mulligan Aboo! Mr. Mulligan ! Til pitch anybody out of the window who calls me Mr. Mulligan." He said this, and uttered the slogan of the Mulligans with a shriek so terrific, that my uncle (the Rev. W. Gruels, of the Independent Congre- gation, Bungay), who had happened to address him in the above obnoxious manner, while sitting at my apartments drink- ing tea after the May meetings, instantly quitted the room, and has never taken the least notice of me since, except to state to the rest of the family that I am doomed irrevocably to perdition. Well, one clay last season, I had received from my kind and most estimable friend, Mrs. Perkins of Pocklington Square (to whose amiable family I have had the honor of giving les- sons in drawing, French, and the German flute), an invitation couched in the usual terms, on satin gilt-edged note-paper, to her evening-party ; or, as I call it, " Ball." Besides the, engraved note sent to all her friends, my kind patroness had addressed me privately as follows : — MA'S. PERKINS'S BALL, x ^ "My dear Mr. Tit-marsh, — If you know any very eligible young man, we give you leave to bring him. You gentlemen love your clubs so much now, and care so little for dancing, that it is really quite a scandal. Come early, and before everybody, and give us the benefit of all your taste and continental skill. " Your sincere " Emily Perkins." "Whom shall I bring?" mused I, highly flattered by this mark of confidence ; and I thought of Bob Trippett ; and little Fred Spring, of the Navy Pay Office ; Hulker, who is rich, and [ knew took lessons in Paris ; and a half score of other bachelor friends, who might be considered as very eligible — when I was roused from my meditation by a slap of a hand on my shoulder ; and looking up, there was the Mulligan, who began, as usual, reading the papers on my desk. " Hwhat's this ? " says he. " Who's Perkins ? Is it a sup per-ball, or only a tay-ball ? " " The Perkinses of Pocklington Square, Mulligan, are tip- top people," says I, with a tone of dignity. " Mr. Perkins's sister is married to a baronet, Sir Giles Bacon, of Hogwash, Norfolk. Mr. Perkins's uncle was Lord Mayor of London j and he was himself in Parliament, and may be again any clay. The family are my most particular friends. A tay-ball indeed'. why, Gunter * * * " Here I stopped : I felt I was com- mitting myself. " Gunter ! " says the Mulligan, with another confounded slap on the shoulder. Don't say another word: /'//go widg you, my boy." " You go, Mulligan ? " says I : " why, really — I — it's not my party." "Your hwhawt? hwhat's this letter? ain't I an eligible young man? — Is the descendant of a thousand kings unfit com- pany for a miserable tallow-chandthlering cockney ? Are ye joking wid me ? for, let me tell ye, I don't like them jokes. D'ye suppose I'm not as well bawrun and bred as yourself, or any Saxon friend ye ever had ? " " I never said you weren't, Mulligan," says I. " Ye don't mean seriously that a Mulligan is not fit com- pany for a Perkins ? " " My dear fellow, how could you think I could so far insult you ? " says I. " Well then," says he, " that's a matter settled, and we go." What the deuce was I to do? I wrote to Mrs. Perkins, and that kind lady replied, that she would receive the Mulli- gan, or any other of my friends, with the greatest cordiality. " Fancy a party, all Mulligans 1 " thought I, with a secret terror. MR. AND MRS. PERKINS, THEIR HOUSE, AND THEIR YOUNG PEOPIE. Following Mrs. Perkins's orders, the present writer made his appearance very early at Pocklington Square : where the tastiness of all the decorations elicited my warmest admiration. Supper of course was in the dining-room, superbly arranged by Messrs. Grigs and Spooner, the confectioners of the neigh- borhood. I assisted my respected friend Mr. Perkins and the butler in decanting the sherry, and saw, not without satisfac- tion, a large bath for wine under the sideboard, in which were already placed very many bottles of champagne. The Back Dining-room, Mr. P.'s study (where the ven- erable man goes to sleep after dinner), was arranged on this occasion as a tea-room, Mrs. Flouncey (Miss Fanny's maid) officiating in a cap and pink ribbons, which became her exceed- ingly. Long, long before the arrival of the company, I remarked Master Thomas Perkins and Master Giles Bacon, his cousin (son of Sir Giles Bacon, Bart.), in this apartment, busy among the macaroons. Mr. Gregory the butler, besides John the footman and Sir Giles's large man in the Bacon livery, and honest Grundsell, carpet-beater and green-grocer, of Little Pocklington Buildings v had at least half a dozen of aides-de-camp in black with white neckcloths, like doctors of divinity. The Back Drawing-room door on the landing being taken off the hinges (and placed up stairs under Mr. Perkins's bed), the orifice was covered with muslin, and festooned with elegant wreaths of flowers. This was the Dancing Saloon. A linec was spread over the carpet ; and a band — consisting of Mr. Clapperton, piano, Mr. Pinch, harp, and Herr Spoff, cornet-a- piston — arrived at a pretty early hour, and were accommodated with some comfortable negus in the tea-room, previous to the commencement of their delightful labors. The boudoir to the left was fitted up as a card-room ; the drawing-room was of course for the reception of the company, — the chandeliers and yellow damask being displayed this night in all their (14) MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. I5 splendor ; and the charming conservatory over the landing was ornamented by a few moon-like lamps, and the flowers arranged so that it had the appearance of a fairy bower. And Miss Perkins (as I took the liberty of stating to her mamma) looked like the fairy of that bower. It is this young creature's first year in public life : she has been educated, regardless of expense, at Hammersmith ; and a simple white muslin dress and blue ceinture set off charms of which I beg to speak with respectful admiration. My distinguished friend the Mulligan of Ballymulligan was good enough to come the very first of the party. By the way, how awkward it is to be the first of the party ! and yet you know somebody must ; but for my part, being timid, I always wait at the corner of the street in the cab, and watch until some other carriage comes up. Well, as we were arranging the sherry in the decanters down the supper-tables, my friend arrived : " Hwhares me friend Mr. Titmarsh ?" I heard him bawling out to Gregory in the passage, and presently he rushed into the supper-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Perkins and myself were, and as the waiter was announcing " Mr. Mulligan," " THE Mulligan of Bally- mulligan, ye blackguard ! " roared he, and stalked into the apartment, " apologoizing," as he said, for introducing himself. Mr. and Mrs. Perkins did not perhaps wish to be seen in this room, which was for the present only lighted by a couple of candles ; but he was not at all abashed by the circumstance, and grasping them both warmly by the hands, he instantly made himself at home. " As friends of my dear and talented friend Mick," so he is pleased to call me, " I'm deloighted, madam, to be made known to ye. Don't consider me in the light of a mere acquaintance ! As for you, my dear madam, you put me so much in moind of my own blessed mother, now resoiding at Ballymulligan Castle, that I begin to love ye at first soight." At which speech Mr. Perkins getting rather alarmed, asked the Mulligan, whether he would take some wine, or go up stairs. " Faix," says Mulligan, " it's never too soon for good dhrink." And (although he smeit very much of whiskey already) he drank a tumbler of wine " to the improvement of an acqueentence which comminces in a manner so deloightful." " Let's go up stairs, Mulligan," says I, and led the noble Irishman to the upper apartments, which were in a profoun'" gloom, the candles not being yet illuminated, and where surprised Miss Fanny, seated in the twilighi ^t the 1 6 MRS. PERA'INS'S BALL. timidly trying the tunes of the polka which she danced so exquisitely that evening. She did not perceive the stranger at first ; but how she started when the Mulligan loomed upon her! " Heavenlee enchanthress ! " says Mulligan, " don't floy at the approach of the humblest of your sleeves ! Reshewm your pleece at that insthrument, which weeps harmonious, or smoils melojious, as you charrum it ! Are you acqueented with the Oirish Melodies ? Can ye play, ' Who fears to talk of Nointy- eight?' the 'Shan Van Voght ?.' or the 'Dirge of Ollam Fodhlah ? ' " "Who's this mad chap that Titmarsh has brought?" I heard Master Bacon exclaim to Master Perkins. " Look ! how frightened Fanny looks ! " "O poo! gals are always frightened," Fanny's brother replied ; but Giles Bacon, more violent, said, " I'll tell you what, Tom : if this goes on, we must pitch into him." And so I have no doubt they would, when another thundering knock coming, Gregory rushed into the room and began lighting all the candles, so as to produce an amazing brilliancy, Miss Fanny sprang up and ran to her mamma, and the young gentlemen slid down the banisters to receive the company in (he hall. v©5.- ^^mm ^^j^ THE MULLIGAN AND MISS FANNY PERKINS. 11! " What name shall I enounce r- " Don't hurry the gentleman — don'tyou see he ain't buttoned h's strap yet?' " bay Mr. FutDEKlCK Minchin." (This is spoken with much dignity.) EVERYBODY BEGINS TO COME, BUT ESPECIALL Y MR. M INCH IN. " It's only me and my sisters," Master Bacon said ; though "only" meant eight in this instance. All the young b/li^s had fresh cheeks and purple elbows ; all had white frocks, with hair more or less auburn : and so a party was already made of this blooming and numerous family, before the rest of the company began to arrive. The three Miss Meggots next came in their fly : Mr. Blades and his niece from 19 in the square : Captain and Mrs. Struther, and Miss Struther : Doctor Toddy's two daughters and their mamma : but where were the gentle- men ? The Mulligan, great and active as he was, could not suffice among so many beauties. At last came a brisk neat little knock, and looking into the hall, I saw a gentleman taking off his clogs there, whilst Sir Giles Bacon's big footman was looking on with rather a contemptuous air. " What name shall I enounce ? " says he, with a wink at Gregory on the stair. The gentleman in clogs said, with quiet dignity, — MR. FREDERICK. MINCHIN. "Pump Court, Temple," is printed on his cards in very small type : and he is a rising barrister of the Western Circuit. He is to be found at home of mornings : afterwards " at West- minster," as you read on his back door. " Binks and Minchin's Reports " are probably known to my legal friends : this is the Minchin in question. He is decidedly genteel, and is rather in request at the balls of the Judges' and Serjeants' ladies : for he dances irre- proachably, and goes out to dinner as much as ever he can. He mostly dines at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, of which you can easily see by his appearance that he is a mem- ber ; he takes the joint and his half-pint of wine, for Minchin does everything like a gentleman. He is rather of a literary turn ; still makes Latin verses with some neatness ; and before he was called, he was remarkably fond of the flute. 2 <■?> !g MRS. PERKINS'S BAIL. When Mr. Minchin goes out in the evening, his clerk brings his bag to the Club, to dress ; and if it is at all muddy, he turns up his trousers, so that he may come in without a speck. For such a party as this, he will have new gloves ; otherwise Frederick, his clerk, is chiefly employed in cleaning them with India-rubber. He has a number of pleasant stories about the Circuit and the University, which he tells with a simper to his neighbor at dinner; and has always the last joke of Mr. Baron Maule. He has a private fortune of five thousand pounds ; he is a dutiful son ; he has a sister married, in Harley Street ; and Lady Jane Ranville has the best opinion of him, and says he is a most excellent and highly principled young man. Her ladyship and daughter arrived just as Mr. Minchin had popped his clogs into the umbrella-stand ; and the rank of that respected person, and the dignified manner in which he led her up stairs, caused all sneering on the part of the do- mestics to disappear. THE BALL-ROOM DOOR. THE BALL-ROOM DOOR. A hundred of knocks follow Frederick Minchin's: in half an hour Messrs. Spoff, Pinch, and Clapperton have begun their music, and Mulligan, with one of the Miss Bacons, is dancing majestically in the first quadrille. My young friends Giles and Tom prefer the landing-place to the drawing-rooms, where they stop all night, robbing the refreshment-trays as they come up or clown. Giles has eaten fourteen ices : he will have a dreadful stomach-ache to-morrow. Tom has eaten twelve, but he has had four more glasses of negus than Giles. Grundsell, the occasional waiter, from whom Master Tom buys quantities of ginger-beer, can of course deny him nothing. That is Grundsell, in the tights, with the tray. Meanwhile direct your attention to the three gentlemen at the door : they are con- versing. ist Gent. — Who's the man of the house — the bald man ? 2d Gent. — Of course. The man of the house is always bald. He's a stockbroker, I believe. Snooks brought me. 1st Gent. — Have you been to the tea-room ? There's a pretty girl in the tea-room : blue eyes, pink ribbons, that kind of thing. 2d Gent. — Who the deuce is that girl with those tre- mendous shoulders ? Gad ! I do wish somebody would smack 'em. 3d Gent. — Sir — that young lady is my niece, sir, — my niece — my name is Blades, sir. 2d Gent. — Well, Blades ! smack your niece's shoulders : she deserves it, begad ! she does. Come in, Jinks, present me to the Perkinses. — Hullo ! here's an old country acquaintance Lady Bacon, as I live ! with all the piglings ; she never goes out without the whole litter. {Exeunt istand 2d Gents.) (19) LADY BACON, THE MISS BACONS, MR. FLAM. Lady B. — Leonora ! Maria ! Amelia ! here is the gentleman we met at Sir John Porkington's. [The Misses Bacon, expecting to be asked to dance, smile simultaneous/)', and begin to smooth their tuckers.] Mr. Flam. — Lady Bacon ! I couldn't be mistaken in you ) Won't you dance, Lady Bacon ? Lady B. — Go away, you droll creature ! Mr. Flam. — And these are your ladyship's seven lovely sisters, to judge from their likenesses to the charming Lady Bacon ? Lady B. — My sisters, he ! he ! my daughters, Mr. Flam, and they dance, don't you, girls? The Misses Bacon. — O yes ! Mr. Flam. — Gad ! how I wish I was a dancing: man ! 'is [Exit Flam. (<*> LADY BACON, THE MISS BACONS, AND MR. FLAM. MR. LAJtKINS. MR. LARKINS. I hAVE not been able to do justice (only a Lawrence could " do that) to my respected friend Mrs. Perkins, in this picture ; but Larkins's portrait is considered very like. Adolphus Lar- kins has been long connected with Mr. Perkins's City establish- ment, ana is asked to dine twice or thrice per annum. Even- ing-parties are the great enjoyment of this simple youth, who, after he has walked from Kentish Town to Thames Street, and passed twelve hours in severe labor there, and walked back again to Kentish Town, finds no greater pleasure than to attire his lean person in that elegant evening costume which you see, to walk into town again, and to dance at anybody's house who will invite him. Islington, Pentonville, Somers Town, are the scenes of many of his exploits ; and I have seen this good-natured fellow performing figure dances at Notting- hill, at a house where I am ashamed to say there was no sup- per, no negus even to speak of, nothing but the bare merits of the polka in which Adolphus revels. To describe this gentle- man's infatuation for dancing, let me say, in a word, that he will even frequent boarding-house hops, rather than not go. He has clogs, too, like Minchin : but nobody laughs at him. He gives himself no airs ; but walks into a house with a knock so tremulous and humble, that the servants rather patronize him. He does not speak, or have any particular opinions, but when the time comes, begins to dance. He bleats out a word or two to his partner during this operation, seems very weak and sad during the whole performance ; and, of course, is set to dance with the ugliest women everywhere. The gentle, kind spirit ! when I think of him night after night, hopping and jigging, and trudging off to Kentish Town, so gently, through the fogs, and mud, and darkness : I do not know whether I ought to admire him, because his enjoyments are so simple, and his dispositions so kindly ; or laugh at him, because he draws his life so exquisitely mild. Well, well, we can't be all roaring lions in this world ; there must be soma lambs, and harmless, kindly, gregarious creatures for eating and shearing. See ! even good-natured Mrs. Perkins is lead- ing up the trembling Larkins to the tremendous Miss Bunioa 2* UO MISS BUNION. The Poetess, author of " Heartstrings," " The Deadly Nightshade," "Passion Flowers," &c. Though her poems breathe only of love, Miss B. has never been married. She is nearly six feet high ; she loves waltzing beyond even poesy ; and I think lobster-salad as much as either. She confesses to twenty-eight ; in which case her first volume, " The Orphan of Gozo," (cut up by Mr. Rigby, in the Quarterly, with his usual kindness,) must have been published when she was three years old. For a woman all soul, she certainly eats as much as any woman I ever saw. The sufferings she has had to endure, are, she says, beyond compare ; the poems which she writes breathe a withering passion, a smouldering despair, an agony of spirit that would melt the soul of a drayman, were he to read them. Well, it is a comfort to see that she can dance of nights, and to know (for the habits of illustrious literary persons are always worth knowing) that she eats a hot mutton-chop for breakfast every morning of her blighted existence. She lives in a boarding-house at Brompton, and comes ta the party in a fly. MISS BUNION. MR. HICKS. MR. HICKS. It is worth twopence to see Miss Bunion and Poseidon Hicks, the great poet, conversing with one another, and to talk of one to the other afterwards. How they hate each other ! I (in my wicked way) have sent Hicks almost raving mad, by praising Bunion to him in confidence ; and you can drive Bunion out of the room by a few judicious panegyrics of Hicks. Hicks first burst upon the astonished world with poems, in the Byronic manner : " The Death-Shriek," " The Bastard of Lara," " The Atabal," " The Fire-Ship of Botzaris," and other works. His "Love Lays," in Mr. Moore's early style, were pro- nounced to be wonderful precocious for a young gentleman then only thirteen, and in a commercial academy, at Tooting. Subsequently, this great bard became less passionate and more thoughtful ; and, at the age of twenty, wrote " Idiosyn- cracy " (in forty books, ato.) : " Ararat," " a stupendous epic," as the reviews said ; and " The Megatheria," " a magnificent contribution to our pre-Adamite literature," according to the same authorities. Not having read these works, it would ill become me to judge them ; but I know that poor Jingle, the publisher, always attributed his insolvency to the latter epic, which was magnificently printed in elephant folio. Hicks has now taken a classical turn, and has brought out " Poseidon," " Iacchus," " Hephaestus," and I dare say is going through the mythology. But I should not like to try him at a passage of the Greek Delectus, and more than twenty thousand others of us who have had a (i classical education." Hicks was taken in an inspired attitude, regarding the chandelier, and pretending he didn't know that Miss Pettifer was looking at him. Her name is Anna Maria (daughter of Higgs and Pettifer, solicitors, Bedford Row) ; but Hicks calls her " Ianthe " in his album verses, and is himself an eminent drysalter in the City. (23) MISS MEGG07. Poor Miss Meggot is not so lucky as Miss Bunion, Nobody comes to dance with her, though she has a new frock on, as she calls it, and rather a pretty foot, which she always manages to stick out. She is forty-seven, the youngest of three sisters, who live in a mouldy old house, near Middlesex Hospital, where they have lived for I don't know how many score of years ; but this is certain : the eldest Miss Meggot saw the Gordon Riots out of that same parlor window, and tells the story how her father ("physician of George III.) was robbed of his queue in the streets on that occasion. The two old ladies have taken the brevet rank, and are addressed as Mrs. Jane and Mrs. Betsy ; one of them is at whist in the back drawing-room. But the youngest is still called Miss Nancy, and is considered quite a baby by her sisters. She was going to be married once to a brave young officer, Ensign Angus Macquirk, of the Whistlebinkie Fencibles ; but he fell at Quatre Bras, by the side of the gallant Snuffmull, his commander. Deeply, deeply did Miss Nancy deplore him. But time has cicatrized the wounded heart. She is gay now, and would sing or dance, ay, or marry if anybody asked her. Do go, my dear friend — I don't mean to ask her to marrv but to ask her to dance. — Never mind the looks of the thing. It will make her happy ; and what does it cost you ? Ah, my dear fellow ! take this counsel : always dance with the old ladies — always dance with the governesses. It is a comfort to the poor things when they get up in their garret that somebody has had mercy on them. And such a handsome fellow as you too! (24) MISS MEGGQT MISS RANVILLE, REV. MR. TOOP, M*SS MULLINS, AND MR. WINTER. MISS DANVILLE, REV. ME. TOOE, MISS MULLINS, ME. WINTER. Mr. W. — Miss Mullins, look at Miss Ranville : what C picture of good-humor. Miss M. — Oh, you satirical creature ! Mr. W. — Do you know why she is so angry ? she expected to dance with Captain Grig, and by some mistake, the Cam- bridge Professor got hold of her : isn't he a handsome man ? Miss M, — Oh, you droll wretch ! Mr. W. — Yes, he's a fellow of college — fellows mayn't marry, Miss Mullins — poor fellows, ay, Miss Mullins ? Miss M. — La ! Mr. W. — And Professor of Phlebotomy in the University. He flatters himself he is a man of the world, Miss Mullins, and always dances in the long vacation. Miss M. — You malicious, wicked monster ! Mi: W. — Do you know Lady Jane Ranville ? Miss Ran' ville's mamma. A ball once a year ; footmen in canary-colored livery : Baker Street ; six dinners in the season ; starves all the year round ; pride and poverty, you know ; I've been to her ball once. Ranville Ranville's her brother ; and between you and me — but this, dear Miss Mullins, is a profound secret, —I think he's a greater fool than his sister. Miss M. — Oh, you satirical, droll, malicious, wicked thing you ! Mr. W. — You do me injustice, Miss Mullins, indeed you do. \Chaine Anglaise^\ MISS JOY, MR. AND MRS. yOY, MR. B OTTER. Mr. B. — What spirits that girl has, Mr. Joy ? Mr. J. — She's a sunshine in a house, Botter, a regulai sunshine. When Mrs. J. here's in a bad humor, I * * * Mrs. y. — Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Joy. Mr. B. — There's a hop, skip, and jump for you ! Why, it beats Ellsler ! Upon my conscience it does ! It's her four- teenth quadrille too. There she goes ! She's a jewel of a girl, though I say it that shouldn't. Mrs. y. (laughing) — Why don't you marry her, Botter ? Shall I speak to her ? I dare say she'd have you. You're not so very old. Mr. B. — Don't aggravate me, Mrs. J. You know when I lost my heart in the year 1817, at the opening of Waterloo Bridge, to a young lady who wouldn't have me, and left me to die in despair, and married Joy, of the Stock Exchange. Mrs. y. — Get away, you foolish old creature. [Mr. Joy looks on in ecstasies at Miss Joy's agility. Lady Jane Ranville, of Baker Street, pronounces her to be an exceedingly forward person. Captain Dobbs likes a girl -who has plenty of go in her ; and as for Fred Sparks, he u over head and ears in love with /ler.] (*6) MISS JOY, MR. AMD MRS. JOY, MR. BOTTE*. MR. RANVILLE RANVILLE AND JACK HUBBARD MR. RANVILLE RANVILLE AND JACK HUBBARD. This is Miss Ranville Ranville's brother, Mr. Ranville Ran- ville, of the Foreign Office, faithfully designed as he was play^ ing at whist in the card-room. Talleyrand used to play at whist at the " Travellers','' that is why Ranville Ranville indulges in that diplomatic recreation. It is not his fault if he be not the greatest man in the room. If you speak to him, he smiles sternly, and answers in mon- osyllables ; he would rather die than commit himself. He never has committed himself in his life. He was the first at school, and distinguished at Oxford. He is growing prema- turely bald now, like Canning, and is quite proud of it. He rides in St. James Park of a morning before breakfast. He dockets his tailor's bills, and nicks off his dinner-notes in dip- lomatic paragraphs, and keeps precis of them all. If he ever makes a joke, it is a quotation from Horace, like Sir Robert Peel. The only relaxation he permits himself, is to read Thucydides in the holidays. Everybody asks him out to dinner, on account of his brass buttons with the Queen's cipher, and to have the air of being well with the Foreign Office. " Where I dine," he says sol- emnly, " I think it is my duty to go to evening-parties." That is why he is here. He never dances, never sups, never drinks. He has gruel when he goes home to bed. I think it is in his brains. He is such an ass and so respectable, that one wonders he has not succeeded in the world ; and yet somehow they laugh at him ; and you and I shall be Ministers as soon as he will. Yonder, making believe to look over the print-books, is that merry rogue, Jack Hubbard. See how jovial he looks ! He is the life and soul of every party, and his impromptu singing after supper will make you die of laughing. He is meditating an impromptu now, and at the same time thinking about a bill that is coming due next Thursday. Happy dog ! (27) MRS. TROTTER, MISS TROTTER, MISS TOADY, LORD METHUSELAH. Dear Emma Trotter has been silent and rather ill-humored all the evening until now her pretty face lights up with smiles. Cannot you guess why? Pity the simple and affectionate creature ! Lord Methuselah has not arrived until this moment ; and see how the artless girl steps forward to greet him ! In the midst of all the selfishness and turmoil of the world, how charming it is to find virgin hearts quite unsullied, and to look on at little romantic pictures of mutual love 1 Lord Me- thuselah, though you know his age by the peerage — though he is old, wigged, gouty, rouged, wicked, has lighted up a pure flame in that gentle bosom. There was a talk about Tom Wil- loughby last year ; and then, for a time, young Hawbuck (Sir John Hawbuck's youngest son) seemed the favored man ; but Emma never knew her mind until she met the dear creature before you in a Rhine steamboat. "Why are you so late, Edward ? " says she. Dear artless child ! Her mother looks on with tender satisfaction. One can appreciate the joys of such an admirable parent ! "Look at them ! " says Miss Toady. " I vow and protest they're the handsomest couple in the room ! " Methuselah's grandchildren are rather jealous and angry, and Mademoiselle Ariane, of the French theatre, is furious. But there's no accounting for the mercenary envy of some people ; and it is impossible to satisfy everybody. (28) ' J J MRS. TROTTER. MISS TROTTER, MISS TOADY, LORD METHUSELAH MR. BEAUMORIS, MR. GRIG, MR. FLINDERS,. MR. BEAUMORIS, MR. GRIG, MR. FLYNDERS. Those three young men are described in a twinkling I Cap- tain Grig of the Heavies ; Mr. Beaumoris, the handsome young man ; Tom Flinders (Flynders Flynders he now calls himself), the fat gentleman who dresses after Beaumoris. Beaumoris is in the Treasury : he has a salary of eighty pounds a year, on which he maintains the best cab and horses of the season; and out of which he pays seventy guineas merely for his subscriptions to clubs. He hunts in Leicestershire, where great men mount him ; he is a prodigious favorite behind the scenes at the theatres ; you may get glimpses of him at Richmond, with all sorts of pink bonnets ; and he is the sworn friend of half the most famous roues about town, such as Old Methuselah, Lord Billygoat, Lord Tarquin, and the rest : a re- spectable race. It is to oblige the former that the good-natured young fellow is here to-night ; though it must not be imagined that he gives himself any airs of superiority. Dandy as he is, he is quite affable, and would borrow ten guineas from any man in the room, in the most jovial way possible. It is neither Beau's birth, which is doubtful ; nor his money, which is entirely negative ; nor his honesty, which goes along with his money-qualification ; nor his wit, for he can barely spell, — which recommend him to the fashionable world : but a sort of Grand Seigneur splendor and dandified je ne sais quoi, which make the man he is of him. The way in which his boots and gloves fit him is a wonder which no other man can achieve : and though he has not an atom of principle, it must be confessed that he invented the Taglioni shirt. When I see these magnificent dandies yawning out of " White's," or caracoling in the Park on shining charges, I like to think that Brummell was the greatest of them all, and that Brummell's father was a footman. Flynders is Beaumoris's toady : lends him money : buys 3 (29) 3° MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. horses through his recommendation ; dresses after him : clings to him in Pall Mall, and on the steps of the club ; and talks about ' Bo ' in all societies. It is his drag which carries down Bo's friends to the Derby, and his check pays for dinners to the pink bonnets. I don't believe the Perkinses know what a rogue he is, but fancy him a decent, reputable City man, like his father before him. As for Captain Grig, what is there to tell about him ? He performs the duties of his calling with perfect gravity. He is faultless on parade ; excellent across country ; amiable when drunk, rather slow when sober. He has not two ideas, and is a most good-natured, irreproachable, gallant, and stupid young officer. CAVALIER SEUL. CAVALIER SEUL. This is my friend Bob Hely, performing the Cavalier seul in a quadrille. Remark the good-humored pleasure depicted in his countenance. Has he any secret grief ? Has he a pain anywhere ? No, dear Miss Jones, he is dancing like a true Briton, and with all the charming gayety and abandon of our race. When Canaillard performs that Cavalier seul operation, does he flinch ? No : he puts on his most vainqucur look, he sticks his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and ad- vances, retreats, pirouettes, and otherwise gambadoes, as though to say, " Regarde moi, O monde ! Venez, O femmes, venez voir danser Canaillard ! " When De Bobwitz executes the same measure, he does it with smiling agility, and graceful ease. But poor Hely, if he were advancing to a dentist, his face would not be more cheerful. All the eyes of the room are upon him, he thinks ; and he thinks he looks like a fool. Upon my word, if you press the point with me, dear Miss Jones, I think he is not very far from right. I think that while Frenchman and Cermans may dance, as it is their nature to do, there is a natural dignity about us Britons, which debars us from that enjoyment. I am rather of the Turkish opinion, that this should be done for us. I think * * * " Good-by, you envious old fox-and-the-grapes," says Miss Jones, and the next moment I see her whirling by in a polka with Tom Tozer, at a pace which makes me shrink back with terror into the little boudoir. (31) M. CANAILLARD, CHEVALIER OF THE, LEGION OF HONOR. LIEUTENANT BARON DE BOB WITZ. Canaillard. — Oh, ces Anglais ! quels homines, mon Dieu I Comme ils sont habilles, corame ils dan sent ! Bobwitz, — Ce sont de beaux homines bourtant ; point de tenue militaire, mais de grands gaillards ;• si je les avais dans ma compagnie de la Garde, j'en ferai de bons soldats. Canaillard. — Est-il bete, cet Allemand ! Les grands homines ne font pas toujours de bons soldats, Monsieur. II me semble que les soldats de France qui sont de ma taille, Monsieur, valent un peu mieux * * Bobwitz. — Vous croyez ? Canaillard. — Comment ! je le crois, Monsieur ? J'en suis sur ! II me semble, Monsieur, que nous l'avons prouve*. Bobiuitz (impatiently). — Je m'en vais danser la Bolka. Ser- vitCur, Monsieur. Canaillard. — Butor 1 (He goes and looks at himself in the glass, when he is seized by Mrs. Perkins for the Polka.) (3a) M. CANAILLARD, LIEUTENANT BARON DE BOBWITZ. ^IIK ISOUDUIR — MR. SMITH, MR. BROWN, MISS 13USTLETON IM& BQUDOW. &h SMITH, MR BROWN MISS BUSTLE TON. Aft Brown. — You polk. Miss Bustleton ? I'm so delaighted Miss Bustleton. — [Smiles and prepares to rise.~\ Mr. Smith. — D— — puppy. (Poor Smith don't polk.) 3* ™ GRAND POLKA. Though a quadrille seems to me as dreary as a tuneral, yet to look at a polka, I own, is pleasant. See ! Brown and Emily Bustleton are whirling round as light as two pigeons over a dovecot ; Tozer, with that wicked whisking little Jones, spins along as merrily as a May-day sweep ; Miss Joy is the partner of the happy Fred Sparks ; and even Miss Ranville is pleased, for the faultless Captain Grig is toe and heel with her. Beau- moris, with rather a nonchalant air, takes a turn with Miss Trotter, at which Lord Methuselah's wrinkled chops quiver un- easily. See ! how the big Baron de Bobwitz spins lightly, and gravely, and gracefully round ; and lo ! the Frenchman stagger- ing under the weight of Miss Bunion, who tramps and kicks like a young cart-horse. But the most awful sight which met my view in this dance was the unfortunate Miss Little, to whom fate had assigned The Mulligan as a partner. Like a pavid kid in the talons of an eagle, that young creature trembled in his huge Milesian grasp. Disdaining the recognized form of the dance, the Irish chieftain accommodated the music to the dance of his own green land, and performed a double shuffle jig, carrying Miss Little along with him. Miss Ranville and her Captain shrank back amazed ; Miss Trotter skirried out of his way into the protection of the astonished Lord Methuselah ; Fred Sparks could hardly move for laughing ; while, on the contrary, Miss Joy was quite in pain for poor Sophy Little. As Canaillard and the Poetess came up, The Mulligan, in the height of his enthusiasm, lunged out a kick which sent Miss Bunion howl- ing ; and concluded with a tremendous Ffurroo ! — a war-cry which caused every Saxon heart to shudder and quail. " Oh that the earth would open and kindly take me in I " I exclaimed mentally ; and slunk off into the lower regions, where by this time half the company were at supper. (34) GEORGE GRUNDSELL. THE SUPPER. The supper is going on behind the screen. There is no need to draw the supper. We all know that sort of transaction : the squabbling, and gobbling, and popping of champagne ; the smell of musk and lobster-salad ; the dowagers chumping away at plates of raised pie : the young lassies nibbling at little tit- bits, which the dexterous young gentlemen procure. Three large men, like doctors of divinity, wait behind the table, and furnish everything that appetite can ask for. I never, for my part, can eat any supper for wondering at those men. I believe if you were to ask them for mashed turnips, or a slice of croco- dile, those astonishing people would serve you. What a con- tempt they must have for the guttling crowd to whom they minister — those solemn pastry-cook's men ! How they must hate jellies, and game-pies and champagne, in their hearts ! How they must scorn my poor friend Grundsell behind the screen, who is sucking at a bottle ! GEORGE GRUNDSELL, GREEN-GROCER AND SALESMAN, 9 LITTLE POCKLINGTON BUILDINGS, Late Confidential Servant in the Family of THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON t3P"Carpets Beat. — Knives and Boots cleaned per contract. — Errands faithfully performed. — G. G. attends Ball and Dinner parties, and from his knowledge of the most distinguished Families in London, confidently recommends his services to the distinguished neighborhood of Pocklington Square. This disguised green-grocer is a very well-known character in the neighborhood of Pocklington Square. He waits at the (35) 3 6 MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. parties of the gentry in the neighborhood, and though, ol course, despised in families where a footman is kept, is a person of much importance in female establishments. Miss Jonas always employs him at her parties, and says to her page, "Vincent, send the butler, or send Desborough to me ; " by which name she chooses to designate G. G. When the Miss Frumps have post-horses to their carriage, and pay visits, Grundsell always goes behind. Those ladies have the greatest confidence in him, have been godmothers to fourteen of his children, and leave their house in his charge when they go to Bognor for the summer. He attended those ladies when they were presented at the last drawing-room of her Majesty Queen Charlotte. Mr. Grundsell's state costume is a blue coat and copper buttons, a white waistcoat, and an immense frill and shirt-collar. He was for many years a private watchman, and once can- vassed for the office of parish clerk of St. Peter's, Pockiiingion. He can be intrusted with untold spoons ; with anything, in fact, but liquor ; and it was he who brought round the cards foi Mrs. Perkins's Ball. MISS MAKTIN AND YOUNG WARU AFTER SUPPER. I do not intend to say any more about it. After the people had supped, they went back and danced. Some supped again. I gave Miss Bunion, with my own hands, foul* bumpers of champagne : and such a quantity of goose-liver and truffles, that I don't wonder she took a glass of cherry-brandy after- wards. The gray morning was in Pocklington Square as she drove away in her fly. So did the other people go away. How green and sallow some of the girls looked, and how awfully clear Mrs. Colonel Bludyer's rouge was ! Lady Jane Ranville's great coach had roared away clown the streets long before. Fred Minchin pattered off in his clogs : it was I who covered up Miss Meggot, and conducted her, with her two old sisters, to the carriage. Good old souls ! They have shown their grati- tude by asking me to tea next Tuesday. Methuselah is gone to finish the night at the Club. "Mind to-morrow," Miss Trotter says, kissing her hand out of the carriage. Canaillard departs, asking the way to "Lesterre Squar." They all go away — life goes away. Look at Miss Martin and young Ward ! How tenderly the rogue is wrapping her up ! how kindly she looks at him ! The old folks are whispering behind as they wait for their carriage. What is their talk, think you ? and when shall that pair make a match ? When you see those pretty little creatures with their smiles and their blushes, and their pretty ways, would you like to be the Grand Bashaw ? " Mind and send me a large piece of cake," I go up and whisper archly to old Mr. Ward : and we look on rather senti- mentally at the couple, almost the last in the rooms (there, I declare, go the musicians, and the clock is at five) — when Grundsell, with an air effare, rushes up to me and says, " For 'eVn sake, sir, go into the supper-room : there's that Hirish gent a-pitchin' into Mr. P." (37) THE MULLIGAN AND MR. PERKINS. It was too true. I had taken him away after supper (he ran after Miss Little's carriage, who was dying in love with him as he fancied), but the brute had come back again. The doctors of divinity were putting up their condiments : everybody was gone ; but the abominable Mulligan sat swinging his legs at the lonely supper-table ! Perkins was opposite, gasping at him. The Mulligan. — I tell ye, ye are the butler, ye big fat man. Go get me some more champagne ; it's good at this house. Mr. Perkiiis (ivith dignity). — It is good at this house ; but The Mulligan. — But hwhat, ye goggling, bow-windowed jackass ? Go get the wine, and we'll dthrink it together, my old buck. Mr, Perkins. — My name, sir, is Perkins. The Mulligan. — Well, that rhymes with jerkins, my man of firkins ; so don't let us have any more shirkings and lurkings, Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins {with apoplectic energy). — Sir, I am the master of this house ; and I order you to quit it. I'll not be insulted, sir. I'll send for a policeman, sir. What do you mean, Mr. Titmarsh, sir, by bringing this — this beast into my house, sir ? At this, with a scream like that of a Hyrcanian tiger, Mulli- gan of the hundred battles sprang forward at his prey ; but we were beforehand with him. Mr. Gregory, Mr. Grundsell, Sir Giles Bacon's large man, the young gentlemen, and myself, rushed simultaneously upon the tipsy chieftain, and confined him. The doctors of divinity looked on with perfect indiffer- ence. That Mr. Perkins did not go off in a fit is a wonder. He was led away heaving and snorting frightfully. Somebody smashed Mulligan's hat over his eyes, and I led him forth into the silent morning. The chirrup of the birds, the freshness of the rosy air, and a penn'orth of coffee that I got for him at a stall in the Regent Circus, revived him some- (38) THE MULLIGAN AND MR. PERKINS MRS. PERKINS'S BALL. 39 what. When I quitted him, he was not angry but sad. He was desirous, it is true, of avenging the wrongs of Erin in battle line ; he wished also to share the grave of Sarsfield and Hugh O'Neill ; but he was sure that Miss Perkins, as well as Miss Little, was desperately in love with him ; and I left him on a doorstep in tears. " Is it best to be laughing-mad, or crying-mad, in the world ? ' says I moodily, coming into my street. Betsy the maid was already up and at work, on her knees, scouring the steps, and cheerfully beginning her honest daily labor. THE END OF MRS. PERKINS'S BALL, OUR STREET. By Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. OUR STREET Our Street, from the little nook which I occupy in it, and whence I and a fellow-lodger and friend of mine cynically ob- serve it, presents a strange motley scene. We are in a state of transition. We are not as yet in the town, and we have left the country, where we were when I came to lodge with Mrs. Cammysole, my excellent landlady. I then took second-floor apartments at No. 17 Waddilove Street, and since, although I have never moved (having various little comforts about me), I find myself living at No. 46A Pocklington Gardens. Why is this ? Why am I to pay eighteen shillings instead of fifteen ? I was quite as happy in Waddilove Street ■ but the fact is, a great portion of that venerable old district has passed away, and we are being absorbed into the splendid new white- stuccoed Doric porticoed genteel Pocklington quarter. Sir Thomas Gibbs Pocklington, M. P. for the borough of Lathan- plaster, is the founder of the district and his own fortune. The Pocklington Estate Office is in the Square, on a line with Wad- dil — with Pocklington Gardens I mean. The old inn, the " Ram and Magpie," where the market-gardeners used to bait, came out this year with a new white face and title, the shield, &c, of the Pocklington Arms." Such a shield it is ! Such quarterings ! Howard, Cavendish, DeRos, De la Zouche, all mingled together. Even our house, 46A, which Mrs. Cammysole has had painted white in compliment to the Gardens of which it now forms part, is a sort of impostor, and has no business to be called Gardens at all. Mr. Gibbs, Sir Thomas's agent and nephew is furious at our daring to take the title which belongs 4 <«> 44 OlsR STEEET. to our betters. The very next door (No. 46, the Honorable Mrs. Mountnoddy,) is a house of five storeys, shooting up proudly into the air, thirty feet above our old high-roofed low- roomed old tenement. Our house belongs to Captain Bragg, not only the landlord but the son-in-law of Mrs. Cammysole, who lives a couple of hundred yards down the street, at " The Bungalow." He was the commander of the " Ram Chunder" East Indiaman, and has quarrelled with the Pocklingtons ever since he bought houses in the parish. He it is who will not sell or alter his houses to suit the spirit of the times. He it is who, though he made the widow Cammysole change the name of her street, will not pull down the house next door, nor the baker's next, nor the iron-bedstead and feather warehouse ensuing, nor the little barber's with the pole, nor, I am ashamed to say, the tripe-shop, still standing. The barber powders the heads of the great footmen from Pock- lington Gardens ; they are so big that they can scarcely sit in his little premises. And the old tavern, the " East Indiaman," is kept by Bragg's ship-steward, and protests against the " Pocklington Arms." Down the road is Pocklington Chapel, Rev. Oldham Slocum — in brick, with arched windows and a wooden belfry : sober, dingy, and hideous. In the centre of Pocklington Gardens rises St. Waltheof's, the Rev. Cyril Thuryfer and assistants — • a splendid Anglo-Norman edifice, vast, rich, elaborate, bran new, and intensely old. Down Avemary Lane you may hear the clink of the little Romish chapel bell. And hard by is a large broad-shouldered Ebenezer (Rev. Jonas Gronow), out of the windows of which the hymns come booming all Sunday long. Going westward along the line, we come presently to Com- andine House (on a part of the gardens of which Comandine Gardens is about to be erected by his lordship) ; farther on, " The Pineries," Mr. and Lady Mary Mango : and so we get into the country, and out of Our Street altogether, as I may say. But in the half mile, over which it may be said to extend, we find all sorts and conditions of people — from the Right Honorable Lord Comandine clown to the present topographer ; who being of no rank as it were, has the fortune to be treated on almost friendly footing by all, from his lordship down to the tradesman. OUR HOUSE IN OUR STREET. We must begin our little descriptions where they say charity should begin — at home. Mrs. Cammysole, my landlady, will be rather surprised when she reads this, and finds that a good- natured tenant, who has never complained of her impositions for fifteen years, understands every one of her tricks, and treats them, not with anger, but with scorn — with silent scorn. On the 18th of December, 1837, for instance, coming gently down stairs, and before my usual wont, I saw you seated in my arm-chair, peeping into a letter that came from my aunt in the country, just as if it had been addressed to you, and not to " M. A. Titmarsh, Esq." Did I make any disturbance ? far from it ; I slunk back to my bedroom, (being enabled to walk silently in the beautiful pair of worsted slippers Miss Penelope J s worked for me : they are worn out now, dear Penelope !) and then rattling open the door with a great noise, descended the stairs, singing " Son vergin vezzosa " at the top of my voice. You were not in my sitting-room, Mrs. Cammysole, when I entered that apartment. You have been reading all my letters, papers, manuscripts, brouillons of verses, inchoate articles for the Morning Post and Morning Chronicle, invitations to dinner and tea — all my family letters, all Eliza Townley's letters, from the first, in which she declared that to be the bride of her beloved Michelagnolo was the fondest wish of her maiden heart, to the last, in which she announced that her Thomas was the best of husbands, and signed herself " Eliza Slogger ; " all Mary Farmer's letters, all Emily Delamere's ; all that poor foolish old Miss Mac Whirter's, whom I would as soon marry as : in a word, I know that you, you hawk-beaked, keen-eyed, sleepless, indefatigable old Mrs. Cammysole, have read all my papers for these fifteen years. I know that you cast your curious old eyes over all the manuscripts which you find in my coat-pockets and those of my pantaloons, as they hang in a drapery over the door-handle of my bedroom. I know that you count the money in my green and gold 4 (45) 46 OUR STREET. purse, which Lucy Netterville gave me, and speculate on the manner in which I have laid out the difference between to-day and yesterday. I know that you have an understanding with the laundress (to whom you say that you are all-powerful with me), threaten- ing to take away my practice from her, unless she gets up gratis some of your fine linen. I know that we both have a pennyworth of cream for break fast, which is brought in in the same little can ; and I know who has the most for her share. I know how many lumps of sugar you take from each pound as it arrives. I have counted the lumps, you old thief, and for years have never said a word, except to Miss Clapperclaw, the first-floor lodger. Once I put a bottle of pale brandy into that cupboard, of which you and I only have keys, and the liquor wasted and wasted away until it was all gone. You drank the whole of it, you wicked old woman. You a lady, indeed ! I know your rage when they did me the honor to elect me a member of the " Poluphloisboiothalasses Club," and I ceased consequently to dine at home. When I d/d cYme at home, — on a beefsteak let us say, — I should like to know what you had for supper. You first amputated portions of the meat when raw; you abstracted more when cooked. Do you think /was taken in by your flimsy pretences ? I wonder how you could dare to do such things before your maids (you a clergyman's daughter and widow, indeed !), whom you yourself were always charging with roguery. Yes, the insolence of the old woman is unbearable, and I must break out at last. If she goes off in a fit at reading this, I am sure I sha'n't mind. She has two unhappy wenches, against whom her old tongue is clacking from morning till night: she pounces on them at all hours. It was but this morning at eight, when poor Molly was brooming the steps, and the baker paying her by no means unmerited compliments, that my landlady came whirling out of the ground-floor front, and sent the poor girl whimpering into the kitchen. Were it but for her conduct to her maids I was determined publicly to denounce her. These poor wretches she causes to lead the lives of demons; and not content with bullying them all day, she sleeps at night in the same room with them, so that she may have them up before daybreak, and scold them while they are dressing. Certain it is, that between her and Miss Clapperclaw, on the first floor, the poor wenches lead a dismal life. My clear iJSsili ■" wmm=^-v A STREET COURTSHIP. Baker. — How them curl-papers do become you, Miss Mollv Miss Molly.— Get 'long now, Baker, do. OUR STREET. 47 Miss Clapperclaw, I hope you will excuse me for having placed you in the title-page of my little book, looking out of your accustomed window, and having your eye-glasses ready to spy the whole street, which you know better than any inhabitant of it. It is to you that I owe most of my knowledge of our neigh- bors ; from you it is that most of the facts and observations contained in these brief pages are taken. Many a night, ovet our tea, have we talked amiably about our neighbors and their little failings ; and as I know that you speak of mine pretty freely, why, let me say, my dear Bessy, that if we have not built up Our Street between us, at least we have pulled it to pieces. THE BUNGALOW— CAPTAIN AND MRS. BRAGG, Long, long ago, when Our Street was the country — a stage- coach between us and London passing four times a day — I do not care to own that it was a sight of Flora Cammysole's face, under the card of her mamma's " Lodgings to Let," which first caused me to become a tenant of Our Street. A fine good- humored lass she was then ; and I gave her lessons (part out of the rent) in French and flower-painting. She has made a fine rich marriage since, although her eyes have often seemed to me to say, "Ah, Mr. T., why didn't you, when there was yet time, and we both of us were free, propose — you know what ? " " Psha ! Where was the money, my dear madam ? " Captain Bragg, then occupied in building Bungalow Lodge — Bragg, I say, living on the first floor, and entertaining sea- captains, merchants, and East Indian friends with his grand ship's plate, being disappointed in a project of marrying a di- rector's daughter, who was also a second cousin once removed of a peer, — sent in a fury for Mrs. Cammysole, his landlady, and proposed to marry Flora off-hand, and settle four hundred a year upon her. Flora was ordered from the back parlor (the ground-floor occupies the second-floor bedroom), and was on the spot made acquainted with the splendid offer which the the first-floor had made her. She has been Mrs. Captain Bragg these twelve years. You see her portrait, and that of the brute her husband, on the opposite side of the page. Bragg to this day wears anchor-buttons, and has a dress- coat with a gold strap for epaulets, in case he should have a fancy to sport them. His house is covered with portraits, busts, and miniatures of himself. His wife is made to wear one of the latter. On his sideboard are pieces of plate, pre- sented by the passengers of the " Ram Chunder " to Captain Bragg: "The ' Ram Chunder' East Indiaman, in a gale, off Table Bay ; " " The Outward-bound Fleet, under convoy of her Majesty's frigate ' Loblollyboy,' Captain Gutch, beating off the French squadron, under Commodore Leloup (the ' Ram Chunder,' S.E. by E., is represented engaged with the ' Mirliton ' corvette) ;" " The ' Ram Chunder ' standing into the Hooghly, with Captain Bragg, his telescope and speaking-trumpet, on the poop ; " " Captain Bragg presenting the Officers of the ' Ram Chunder ' to General Bonaparte at St. Helena — Tit- MARSH " (this fine piece was painted by me when I w*s in favor (43) CAPTAIN AND MRS. BRAGG OF OUR STREET. 4* OUR STREET. 49 with Bragg) ; in a word, Bragg and the " Ram Chunder " are all over the house. Although I have eaten scores of dinners at Captain Bragg's charge, yet his hospitality is so insolent, that none of us who frequent his mahogany feel any obligation to our braggart en- tertainer. After he has given one of his great heavy dinners he always takes an opportunity to tell you, in the most public way, how many bottles of wine were drunk. His pleasure is to make his guests tipsy, and to tell everybody how and when the period of inebriation arose. And Miss Clapperclaw tells me that he often comes over laughing and giggling to her, and pretending that he has brought me into this condition — a calumny which I fling contemptuously in his face. He scarcely gives any but men's parties, and invites the whole club home to dinner. What is the compliment of being asked, when the whole club is asked too, I should like to know ? Men's parties are only good for boys. I hate a dinner where there are no women. Bragg sits at the head of his table, and bullies the solitary Mrs. Bragg. He entertains us with stories of storms which he, Bragg, en- countered—of dinners which he, Bragg, has received from the Governor-General of India — of jokes which he, Bragg, has heard ; and however stale or odious they may be, poor Mrs. B. is always expected to laugh. Woe be to her if she doesn't, or if she laughs at anybody else's jokes. I have seen Bragg go up to her and squeeze her arm with a savage grind of his teeth, and say, with an oath, " Hang it, madam, how dare you laugh when any man but your husband speaks to you ? I forbid you to grin in that way. I forbid you to look sulky. I forbid you to look happy, or to look up, or to keep your eyes down to the ground. I desire you will not be trapezing through the rooms. I order you not to sit as still as a stone." He curses her if the wine is corked, or if the dinner is spoiled, or if she comes a minute too soon tc the club for him, or arrives a minute too late. He forbids her to walk, except upon his arm. And the consequence of his ill- treatment is, that Mrs. Cammysole and Mrs. Bragg respect him beyond measure, and think him the first of human beings. " I never knew a woman who was constantly bullied by her husband who did not like him the better for it," Miss Clapper- claw says. And though this speech has some of Clapp's usual sardonic humor in it, I can't but think there is some truth in the remark. LEVANT HOUSE CHAMBERS. MR. RUMBOLD, A. R. A., AND MISS RUMBOLD. When Lord Levant quitted the country and this neighbor* hood, in which the tradesmen still deplore him, No. 56, known as Levantine House, was let to the "Pococurante Club," which was speedily bankrupt (for we are too far from the centre of town to support a club of our own) ; it was subsequently hired by the West Diddlesex Railroad ; and is now divided into sets of chambers, superintended by an acrimonious housekeeper, and by a porter in a sham livery : whom, if you don't find him at the door, you may as well seek at the " Grapes " public- house, in the little lane round the corner. He varnishes the japan-boots of the dandy lodgers ; reads Mr. Pinkney's Morn- ing Post before he lets him have it ; and neglects the letters of the inmates of the chambers generally. The great rooms, which were occupied as the salons of the noble Levant, the coffee-rooms of the "Pococurante" (a club where the play was furious, as I am told), and the board room and manager's room of the West Diddlesex, are tenanted now by a couple of artists : young Pinkney the miniaturist, and George Rumbold the historical painter. Miss Rumbold, his sister, lives with him, by the way ; but with that young lady of course we have nothing to do. I knew both these gentlemen at Rome, where George wore a velvet doublet and a beard down to his chest, and used to talk about high art at the " Cafe Greco." How it smelled of smoke, that velveteen doublet of his, with which his stringy red beard was likewise perfumed ! It was in his studio that I had the honor to be introduced to his sister, the fair Miss Clara : she had a large casque with a red horse-hair plume (I thought it had been a wisp of her brothers's beard at first), and held a tin-headed spear in her hand, representing a Roman warrior in the great picture of " Caractacus " George was painting — a piece sixty-four feet by eighteen. The Roman warrior blushed to be discovered in that attitude : the tin- headed spear trembled in the whitest arm in the world. So she put it down, and taking off the helmet also, went and sat (so) A STUDIO IN OUR STREET. OUR STREET. s> in a far corner of the studio, mending George's stockings ; whilst we smoked a couple of pipes, and talked about Raphael being a good deal overrated. I think he is ; and have never disguised my opinion about the 'Transfiguration." And all the time we talked, there were Clara's eyes looking lucidly out from the dark corner in which she was sitting, working away at the stockings. The lucky fellow 1 They were in a dreadful state of bad repair when she came out to him at Rome, after the death of their father, the Reverend Miles Rumbold. George, while at Rome, painted " Caractacus ; " a picture of " Non Angli sed Angeli " of course ; a picture of " Alfred in the Neatherd's Cottage," seventy-two feet by forty-eight (an idea of the gigantic size and Michel- Angelesque proportions of this picture may be formed, when I state that the mere muffin, of which the outcast king is spoiling the baking, is two feet three in diameter) ; and the deaths of Socrates, of Remus, and of the Christians under Nero respectively. I shall never forget how lovely Clara looked in white muslin, with her hair clown, in this latter picture, giving herself up to a ferocious Carnifex (for which Bob Gaunter the architect sat), and refusing to listen to the mild suggestions of an insinuating Flamen : which character was a gross caricature of myself. None of George's pictures sold. He has enough to tapestry Trafalgar Square. He has painted, since he came back to England, "The Flaying of Marsyas," "The Smothering of the Little Boys in the Tower," " A Plague Scene during the Great Pestilence," " Ugolino on the Seventh Day after he was cte' prived of Victuals," &c. For although these pictures have great merit, and the writhings of Marsyas, the convulsions of the little prince, the look of agony of St. Lawrence on the grid- iron, &c, are quite true to nature, yet the subjects somehow are not agreeable ; and if he hadn't a small patrimony, my friend George would starve. Fondness for art leads me a great deal to his studio. George is a gentleman, and has very good friends, and good pluck too. When we were at Rome, there was a great row between him and young Heeltap, Lord Boxmoor's son, who was uncivil to Miss Rumbold (the young scoundrel — had I been a fighting man, I should like to have shot him myself !). Lady Betty Bulbul is very fond of Clara ; and Tom Bulbul, who took George's mes- sage to Heeltap, is always hanging about the studio. At least I know that I find the young jackanapes there almost every clay, bringing a new novel, or some poisonous French poetry, 5 2 OUR STREET. or a basket of flowers, or grapes, with Lady Betty's love to her clear Clara — a young rascal with white kids, and his hair curled every morning. What business has he to be dangling about George Rumbold's premises, and sticking up his ugly pug-face as a model for all George's pictures ? Miss Clapperclaw says Bulbul is evidently smitten, and Clara too. What ! would she put up with such a little fribble as that, when there is a man of intellect and taste who — but I won't believe it. It is all the jealousy of women. SOMK OF OUR I'.LNTLEMEN. SOME OF THE SERVANTS IN OUR STREET. These gentlemen have two clubs in our quarter — for the butlers at the " Indiaman," and for the gents in livery at the "Pocklington Arms " — of either of which societies I should like to be a member. I am sure they could not be so dull as our club at the " Poluphloisboio," where one meets the same neat, clean, respectable old fogies every clay. But with the best wishes, it is impossible for the present writer to join either the " Plate Club " or the " Uniform Club " (as these reunions are designated) ; for one could not shake hands with a friend who was standing behind your chair, or nod a How-d'ye-do? to the butler who was pouring you out a glass of wine ; — so that what I know about the guests in our neigh- borhood is from mere casual observation. For instance, I have a slight acquaintance with (i) Thomas Spavin, who commonly wears the above air of injured innocence, and is groom to Mr. Joseph Green, of Our Street. "/ tell why the brougham 'oss is out of condition, and why Desperation broke out all in a lather ! 'Osses will, this 'eavy weather ; and Desperation was always the most mystest hoss I ever see. — /take him out with Mr. Anderson's 'ounds — I'm above it. I allis was too timid to ride to 'ounds by natur ; and Colonel Sprigs' groom as says he saw me, is a liar," &c, &c. Such is the tenor of Mr. Spavin's remarks to his master. Whereas all the world in Our Street knows that Mr. Spavin spends at least a hundred a year in beer ; that he keeps a betting-book ; that he has lent Mr. Green's black brougham horse to the omnibus driver ; and, at a time when Mr. G. sup- posed him at the veterinary surgeon's, has lent him to a livery stable, which has let him out to that gentleman himself, and actually driven him to dinner behind his own horse. This conduct I can understand, but I cannot excuse — Mr. Spavin may ; and I leave the matter to be settled betwixt him- self and Mr. Green. The second is Monsieur Sinbad, Mr. Clarence Bulbul's man, whom we all hate Clarence for keeping. Mr. Sinbad is a foreigner, speaking no known language, but a mixture of every European dialect — so that he may be an Italian brigand, or a Tyrolese minstrel, or a Spanish smug- gler, for what we know. I have heard say that he is neither of these, but an Irish Jew. He wears studs, hair-oil, jewelry, and linen shirt-fronts, (S3) 54 OUR STREET. very finely embroidered, but not particular for whiteness. He. generally appears in faded velvet waistcoats of a morning, and is always perfumed with stale tobacco. He wears large rings on his hands, which look as if he kept them up the chimney. He does not appear to do anything earthly for Clarence Bulbul, except to smoke his cigars, and to practise on his guitar. He will not answer a bell, nor fetch a glass of water, nor go of an errand : on which, au reste, Clarence dares not send him, being entirely afraid of his servant, and not daring to use him, 01 to abuse him, or to send him away. 3 Adams — Mr. Champignon's man — a good old man in an old livery coat with old worsted lace — so very old, deaf, surly, and faithful, that you wonder how he should have got into the family at all ; who never kept a footman till last year, when they came into the street. Miss Clapperclaw says she believes Adams to be Mrs. Champignon's father, and he certainly has a look of that lady j as Miss C. pointed out to me at dinner one night, whilst old Adams was blundering about amongst the hired men from Gunter's, and falling over the silver dishes. 4. Fipps, the buttoniest page in all the street : walks be- hind Mrs. Grimsby with her prayer-book, and protects her. " If that woman wants a protector " (a female acquaint- ance remarks), " heaven be good to us ! She is as big as an ogress, and has an upper lip which many a cornet of the Life- guards might envy. Her poor dear husband was a big man, and she could beat him easily ; and did too. Mrs. Grimsby indeed ! Why, my clear Mr. Titmarsh, it is Glumdalca walking with Tom Thumb." This observation of Miss C.'s is very true, and Mrs. Grimsby might carry her prayer-book to church herself. But Miss Clap perclaw, who is pretty well able to take care of herself too, was glad enough to have the protection of the page when she went out in the fly to pay visits, and before Mrs. Grimsby and she quarrelled at whist at Lady Pocklington's. After this merely parenthetic observation, we come to 5, one of her ladyship's large men, Mr. Jeames — a gentleman of vast stature and proportions, who is almost nose to nose with us as we pass her ladyship's door on the outside of the omni- bus. I think Jeames has a contempt for a man whom he wit- nesses in that position. I have fancied something like that feeling showed itself (as far as it may in a well-bred gentleman accustomed to society) in his behavior, while waiting behind my chair at dinner. V7HY OUR NURSEMAIDS LIKE KENSINGTON GARDENS. OUR STREET. 55 But I take Jeames to be, like most giants, good-natured, lazy, stupid, soft-hearted, and extremely fond of drink. One night, his lady being engaged to dinner at Nightingale House, I saw Mr. Jeames resting himself on a bench at the " Pockling- ton Arms : " where, as he had no liquor before him, he had probably exhausted his credit. Little Spitfire, Mr. Clarence Bulbul's boy, the wickedest little varlet that ever hung on to a cab, was " chaffing " Mr. Jeames, holding up to his face a pot of porter almost as big as the young potifer himself. " Vill you now, Big'un, or von't you ? " Spitfire said. " II you're thirsty, vy don't you say so and squench it, old boy ? " " Don't ago on making fun of me — I can't abear chaffin'," was the reply of Mr. Jeames, and tears actually stood in his fine eyes as he looked at the porter and the screeching little imp before him. Spitfire (real name unknown) gave him some of the drink : I am happy to say Jeames's face wore quite a different look when it rose gasping out of the porter ) and I judge of his dis- position from the above trivial incident. The last boy in the sketch, 6, need scarcely be particularized. Doctor's boy ; was a charity-boy ; stripes evidently added on to a pair of the doctor's clothes of last year — Miss Clapper- claw pointed this out to me with a giggle. Nothing escapes that old woman. As we were walking in Kensington Gardens, she pointed me out Mrs. Bragg's nursery-maid, who sings so loud at church, engaged with a Lifeguardsman, whom she was trying to con vert probably. My virtuous friend rose indignant at the sight. " That's why these minxes like Kensington Gardens," she cried. " Look at the woman : she leaves the baby on the grass, for the giant to trample upon ; and that little wretch of a Hast- ings Bragg is riding on the monster's cane." Miss C. flew up and seized the infant, waking it out of its sleep, and causing all the gardens to echo with its squalling. " I'll teach you to be impudent to me," she said to the nursery- maid, with whom my vivacious old friend, I suppose, has had a difference ; and she would not release the infant until she had rung the bell of Bungalow Lodge, where she gave it up to the footman. The giant in scarlet had slunk down towards Knightsbridge meanwhile. The big rogues are always crossing the Park and the Gardens, and hankering about Our Street. WHAT SOMETIMES HAPPENS IN OUR STREET, It was before old Hunkington's house that the mutes weie standing, as I passed and saw this group at the door. The charity-boy with the hoop is the son of the jolly-looking mute ; he admires his father, who admires himself too, in those bran- new sables. The other infants are the spawn of the alleys about Our Street. Only the parson and the typhus fever visit those mysterious haunts, which lie crouched about our splendid houses like Lazarus at the threshold of Dives. Those little ones come crawling abroad in the sunshine, to the annoyance of the beadles, and the horror of a number of good people in the street. They will bring up the rear of the procession anon, when the grand omnibus with the feathers, and the fine coaches with the long-tailed black horses, and the gentlemen's private carriages with the shutters up, pass along to Saint Waltheof's. You can hear the slow bell tolling clear in the sunshine already, mingling with the crowing of " Punch," who is pass- ing down the street with his show • and the two musics make a queer medley. Not near so many people, I remark, engage " Punch " now as in the good old times. I suppose our quarter is growing too genteel for him. Miss Bridget Jones, a poor curate's daughter in Wales, comes into all Hunkington's property, and will take his name, as I am told. Nobody ever heard of her before. I am sure Captain Hunkington, and his brother Barnwell Hunkington, must wish that the lucky young lady had never been heard of to the present day. But they will have the consolation of thinking that they did their duty by their uncle, and consoled his declining years. It was but last month that Millwood Hunkington (the Captain) sent the old gentleman a service of plate ; and Mrs. Barnwell got a reclining carriage at a great expense from Hobbs and Dobb's, in which the old gentleman went out only once. " It is a punishment on those Hunkingtons," Miss Clapper- claw remarks : " upon those people who have been always liv (56) A STREET CEREMONY. 5 OUR STREET. 57 ing beyond their little incomes, and always speculating upon what the old man would leave them, and always coaxing him with presents which they could not afford, and he did not want. It is a punishment upon those Hunkingtons to be so disap pointed." " Think of giving him plate," Miss C. justly says, " who had chests-full ; and sending him a carriage, who could afford to buy all Long Acre. And everything goes to Miss Jones Hunk- ington. I wonder will she give the things back ? " Miss Clapperclaw asks. " I wouldn't." And indeed I don't think Miss Clapperclaw would. SOMEBODY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS. That pretty little house, the last in Pocklington Square, was lately occupied by a young widow lady who wore a pink bon- net, a short silk dress, sustained by a crinoline, and a light blue mantle, or over-jacket (Miss C. is not here to tell me the name of the garment) ; or else a black velvet pelisse, a yellow shawl, and a white bonnet ; or else — but never mind the dress, which seemed to be of the handsomest sort money could buy — and who had very long glossy black ringlets, and a peculiarly brilliant complexion, — No. 96 Pocklington Square, I say, was lately occupied by a widow lady named Mrs. Stafford Moly- neux. The very first day on which an intimate and valued female friend of mine saw Mrs. Stafford Molyneux stepping into a brougham, with a splendid bay horse, and without a footman, (mark, if you please, that delicate sign of respectability,) and after a moment's examination of Mrs. S. M.'s toilette, her man- ners, little clog, carnation-colored parasol, &c, Miss Elizabeth Clapperclaw clapped to the opera-glass with which she had been regarding the new inhabitant of Our Street, came away from the window in a great flurry, and began poking her fire in a fit of virtuous indignation. " She's very pretty," said I, who had been looking over Miss C.'s shoulder at the widow with the flashing eyes and drooping ringlets. " Hold your tongue, sir," said Miss Clapperclaw, tossing up her virgin head with an indignant blush on her nose. "It's a sin and a shame that such a creature should be riding in her carriage, forsooth, when honest people must go on foot." Subsequent observations confirmed my revered fellow- lodger's anger and opinion. We have watched Hansom cabs standing before that lady's house for hours; we have seen broughams, with great flaring eyes, keeping watch there in the darkness ; we have seen the vans from the comestible-shops drive up and discharge loads of wines, groceries, French plums, and other articles of luxurious horror. We have seen Count Wowski's drag, Lord Martingale's carriage, Mr. Deuceace's cab drive up there time after time ; and (having remarked pre (58) t / I- ' , THE LADY WHOM NOBODY KNOWS. OUR STREET. 59 viously the pastry-cook's men arrive with the trays and entrees), we have known that this widow was giving dinners at the little house in Pocklington Square — dinners such as decent people could not hope to enjoy. My excellent friend has been in a perfect fury when Mrs.. Stafford Molyneux, in a black velvet riding-habit, with a hat and feather, has come out and mounted an odious gray horse, and has cantered down the street, followed by her groom upon a bay. " It won't last long — it must end in shame and humiliation/' my dear Miss C. has remarked, disappointed that the tiles and chimney-pots did not fall down upon Mrs. Stafford Molyneux's head, and crush that cantering, audacious woman. But it was a consolation to see her when she walked out with a French maid, a couple of children, and a little dog hang- ing on to her by a blue ribbon. She always held down he; head then — her head with the drooping black ringlets. The virtuous and well-disposed avoided her. I have seen the Square-keeper himself looked puzzled as she passed ; and Lady Kicklebury walking by with Miss K., her daughter, turn away from Mrs. Stafford Molyneux, and fling back at her a ruthless Parthian glance that ought to have killed any woman of decent sensibility. That wretched woman, meanwhile, with her rouged cheeks (for rouge it is, Miss Clapperclaw swears, and who is a better judge ?) has walked on conscious, and yet somehow braving out the Street. You could read pride of her beauty, pride of her fine clothes, shame of her position, in her downcast black eyes. As for Mademoiselle Trampoline, her French maid, she would stare the sun itself out of countenance. One day she tossed up her head as she passed under our windows with a look of scorn that drove Miss Clapperclaw back to the fire- place again. It was Mrs. Stafford Molyneux's children, however, whom I pitied the most. Once her boy, in a flaring tartan, went up to speak to Master Roderick Lacy, whose maid was engaged ogling a policeman ; and the children were going to make friends, being united with a hoop which Master Molyneux had, when Master Roderick's maid, rushing up, clutched her charge to her arms, and hurried away, leaving little Molyneux sad and wondering. " Why won't he play with me, mamma ? " Master Molyneux asked — and his mother's face blushed purple as she walked iway. 60 OUR STREET " Ah — heaven help us and forgive us ! " said I ; but Miss C. can never forgive the mother or child ; and she clapped her hands for joy one day when we saw the shutters up, bills in the windows, a carpet hanging out over the balcony, and a crowd of shabby Jews about the steps — giving token that the reign of Mrs. Stafford Molyneux was over. The pastry-cooks and their trays, the bay and the gray, the brougham and the groom, the noblemen and their cabs, were all gone ; and the tradesmen in the neighborhood were crying out that they were done. " Serve the odious minx right ! " says Miss C. ; and she played at piquet that night with more vigor than I have known her manifest for these last ten years. What is it that makes certain old ladies so savage upon certain subjects? Miss C. is a good woman ; pays her rent and her tradesmen ; gives plenty to the poor ; is brisk with her tongue — kind-hearted in the main ; but if Mrs. Stafford Moly- neux and her children were plunged into a caldron of boiling vinegar, I think my revered friend would not take them out. THE MAN IN POSSESSION. For another misfortune which occurred in Our Street we were much more compassionate. We liked Dandy Dixon, and his wife Fanny Dixon still more. Miss C. had a paper of bis- cuits and a box of preserved apricots always in the cupboard, ready for Dixon's children — provisions by the way which she locked up under Mrs. Cammysole's nose, so that our landlady could by no possibility lay a hand on them. Dixon and his wife had the neatest little house possible, (No. 1 6, opposite 96,) and were liked and respected by the whole street. He was called Dandy Dixon when he was in the Dragoons, and was a light-weight, and rather famous as a gentleman rider. On his marriage, he sold out and got fat ; and was indeed a florid, contented, and jovial gentleman. His little wife was charming — to see her in pink with some miniature Dixons, in pink too, round about her, or in that beauti- ful gray dress, with the deep black lace flounces, which she wore at my Lord Comandine's on the night of the private the- atricals, would have clone any man good. To hear her sing any of my little ballads, " Knowest Thou the Willow-tree ? " for instance, or " The Rose upon my Balcony," or " The Hum- ming of the Honey-bee," (far superior in my judgment, and in that of some good judges likewise, to that humbug Clarence Bulbul's ballads,) — to hear her, I say, sing these, was to be in a sort of small Elysium. Dear, dear little Fanny Dixon ! she was like a little chirping bird of Paradise. It was a shame that storms should ever ruffle such a tender plumage. Well, never mind about sentiment. Dandy Dixon, the owner of this little treasure, an ex-captain of Dragoons, and having nothing to do, and a small income, wisely thought he would employ his spare time, and increase his revenue. He became a director of the Cornaro Life Insurance Company, of the Tregulpho tin-mines, and of four or five railroad companies. It was amusing to see him swaggering about the City in his clinking boots, and with his high and mighty dragoon manners 5* * l > 5 2 OUR STREET. For a time his talk about shares after dinner was perfectly in tolerable ; and I for one was always glad to leave him in the company of sundry very dubious capitalists who frequented his house, and walked up to hear Mrs. Fanny warbling at the piano with her little children about her knees. It was only last season that they set up a carriage — the modestest little vehicle conceivable — driven by Kirby, who had been in Dixon's troop in the regiment, and had followed him into private life as coachman, footman, and page. One day lately I went into Dixon's house, hearing that some calamities had befallen him, the particulars of which Miss Clapperclaw was desirous to know. The creditors of the Tregulpho Mines had got a verdict against him as one of the directors of that company ; the engineer of the Little Did- dlesex Junction had sued him for two thousand three hundred pounds — the charges of that scientific man for six weeks' labc: in surveying the line. His brother directors were to be dis- covered nowhere : Windham, Dodgin, Mizzlington, and the. rest, were gone long ago. When I entered, the door was open : there was a smell a. smoke in the dining-room, where a gentleman at noonday was seated with a pipe and a pot of beer : a man in possession in- deed, in that comfortable pretty parlor, by that snug rourq table where I have so often seen Fanny Dixon's smiling face Kirby, the ex-dragoon, was scowling at the fellow, who hj upon a little settee reading the newspaper, with an evident desire to kill him. Mrs. Kirby, his wife, held little Danby, poor Dixon's son and heir. Dixon's portrait smiled over the sideboard still, and his wife was up stairs in an agony of "ear, with the poor little daughters of this bankrupt, broken family. This poor soul had actually come down and paid a visit to the man in possession. She had sent wine and dinner to " the gentleman down stairs," as she called him in her terror. ' She had tried to move his heart, by representing to him how inno- cent Captain Dixon was, and how he had always paid, and always remained at home when everybody else had fled. As if her tears an'j simple tales and entreaties could move that man in possession out of the house, or induce him to pay the costs of the action which her husband had lost. Danby meanwhile was at Boulogne, sickening after his wife and children. They sold everything in his house — all his smart furniture and neat little stock of plate ; his wardrobe and his linen, " the property of a gentleman gone abroad ; " his carriage by the best maker j and his wine selected without re- ! MTmTTT==g5dl THE MAN IN POSSESSION. OUR STREET. 63 gard to expense. His house was shut up as completely as his opposite neighbor's ; and a new tenant is just having it fresh painted inside and out, as if poor Dixon had left an infection behind. Kirby and his wife went across the water with the children and Mrs. Fanny — she has a small settlement ; and I am bound to say that our mutual friend Miss Elizabeth C. went down with Mrs. Dixon in the fly to the Tower Stairs, and stopped in Lombard Street by the way. So it is that the world wags : that honest men and knaves alike are always having ups and downs of fortune, and that we are perpetually changing tenants in Our Street. THE LION OF THE STREET. What people can find in Clarence Bulbul, who has lately taken upon himself the rank and dignity of Lion of Our Street, I have always been at a loss to conjecture. " He has written an Eastern book of considerable merit," Miss Clapperclaw says ; but hang it, has not everybody written an Eastern book ? I should like to meet anybody in society now who has not been up to the second cataract. An Eastern book forsooth ! My Lord Castleroyal has done one — an honest one ; my Lord Youngent another — an amusing one ; my Lord Woolsey another — a pious one; there is "The Cutlet and the Cabob " — a sentimental one ; " Timbuctoothen " — a humorous one, all ludicrously overrated, in my opinion : not including my own little book, of which a copy or two is still to be had, by the way. Well, then, Clarence Bulbul, because he has made part of the little tour that all of us know, comes back and gives him- self airs, forsooth, and howls as if he were just out of the great Libyan desert. When we go and see him, that Irish Jew courier, whom I have before had the honor to describe, looks up from the novel which he is reading in the ante-room, and says, " Mon maitre est au divan," or, " Monsieur trouvera Monsieur dans son se'rail," and relapses into the Comte de Montecristo again. Yes, the impudent wretch has actually a room in his apart- ments on the ground floor of his mother's house, which he calls his harem. When Lady Betty Bulbul (they are of the Nightingale family) or Miss Blanche comes down to visit him, their slippers are placed at the door, and he receives them on an ottoman, and these infatuated women will actually light his pipe for him. Little Spitfire, the groom, hangs about the drawing-room, outside the harem forsooth ! so that he may be ready when Clarence Bulbul claps hands for him to bring the pipes and coffee. He has coffee and pipes for everybody. I should like you to have seen the _ace of old Bowly, his college-tutor, called '64) THE LION OF THE STREET. OUR STREET. 65 upon to sit cross-legged on a divan, a little cup of bitter black Mocha put into his hand, and a large amber-muzzled pipe stuck into his mouth by Spitfire, before he could so much as say it was a fine day. Bowly almost thought he had compro- mised his principles by consenting so far to this Turkish manner. Bulbul's dinners are, I own, very good ; his pilaffs and curries excellent. He tried to make us eat rice with our fingers, it is true ; but he scalded his own hands in the business, and invariably bedizened his shirt : so he has left off the Turkish practice, for dinner at least, and uses a fork like a Christian. But it is in society that he is most remarkable ; and here he would, I own, be odious, but he becomes delightful, because all the men hate him so. A perfect chorus of abuse is raised round about him " Confounded impostor," says one ; " Impu- dent jackass," says another ; " Miserable puppy," cries a third ; " I'd like to wring his neck," says Bruff, scowling over his shoulder at him. Clarence meanwhile nods, winks, smiles, and patronizes them all with the easiest good-humor. He is a fel- low who would poke an archbishop in the apron, or clap a duke on the shoulder, as coolly as he would address you and me. I saw him the other night at Mrs. Bumpsher's grand let-off. He flung himself down cross-legged upon a pink satin sofa, so that you could see Mrs. Bumpsher quiver with rage in the dis- tance, Bruff growl with fury from the further room, and Miss Pirn, on whose frock Bulbul's feet rested, look up like a timid fawn. " Fan me, Miss Pirn," said he of the cushion. " You look like a perfect Peri to-night. You remind me of a girl I once knew in Circassia — Ameena, the sister of Schamyl Bey. Do you know, Miss Pirn, that you would fetch twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople ? " " Law, Mr. Bulbul ! " is all Miss Pirn can ejaculate ; and having talked over Miss Pirn, Clarence goes off to another houri, whom he fascinates in a similar manner. He charmed Mrs. Waddy by telling her that she was the exact figure of the Pasha of Egypt's second wife. He gave Miss Tokely a piece of the sack in which Zuleika was drowned"; and he actually persuaded that poor little silly Miss Vain to turn Mahometan, and sent her up to the Turkish Ambassador's to look out for a mufti. THE DOVE OF OUR STREET. If Bulbul is our Lion, Young Oriel may be described as The Dove of our colony. He is almost as great a pasha among the iadies as Bulbul. They crowd in flocks to see him at Saint Waltheof's, where the immense height of his forehead, the rigid asceticism of his surplice, the twang with which he intones the service, and the namby-pamby mysticism of his sermons, have turned all the dear girls' heads for some time past. While we were having a rubber at Mrs. Chauntry's, whose daughters are following the new mode, I heard the following talk (which made me revoke by the way) going on, in what was formerly called the young ladies* room, but is now styled the oratory : — THE ORATORY. MISS CHAUNTRY. MISS ISABEL CHAUNTRY. MISS DE L'AISLE. MISS PYX. REV. E. ORIEL. REV. O. SLOCUM— {In thefurther room.] Miss Chan 11 try (sighing). — Is it wrong to be in the Guards, Dear Mr. Oriel ? Miss Pyx. — She will make Frank de Boots sell out when he marries. Mrs. Oriel. — To be in the Guards, dear sister ? The church has always encouraged the army. Saint Martin of Tours was in the army ; Saint Louis was in the army ; Saint Waltheof, our patron, Saint Witikind of Aldermanbury, Saint Wamba, and Saint YValloff were in the army. Saint Wapshot was cap- tain of the guard of Queen Boadicea ; and Saint Werewolf was a major in the Danish cavalry. The holy Saint Ignatius of Loyola carried a pike, as we know ; and Miss De V Aisle. — Will you take some tea, dear Mr. Oriel ? Oriel. — This is one of my feast days, Sister Emma. It is the feast of Saint Wagstaff of Walthamstow. The I bung Ladies. — And we must not even take tea ? Oriel — Dear sisters, I said not so. You may do as you list ; but I am strong (with a heart-broken sigh) ■ don't ply me (66) THE DOVE UK THE STREET. OUR STREET. 67 (tie reels). I took a little water and a parched pea after matins. To-morrow is a flesh day, and — and I shall be better then. Rev. O. Slbcum (from within). — Madam, I take your heart with my small trump. Oriel. — Yes, better ! dear sister ; it is only a passing — a — ■ weakness. Miss I. Chauntry. — He's dying of fever. Miss Chauntry. — I'm so glad De Boots need not leave the Blues. Miss Pyx. — He wears sackcloth and ashes and cinders in- side his waistcoat. Miss De P Aisle. — He's told me to-night he's going to — to — Ro-o-ome. [Miss De P Aisle bursts into tears.] Rev. O. Slocum — My lord, I have the highest club, which gives the trick and two by honors. Thus, you see, we have a variety of clergymen in Our Street. Mr. Oriel is of the pointed Gothic school, while old Slocum is of the good old tawny port-wine school ; and it must be con- fessed that Mr. Gronow at Ebenezer, has a hearty abhorrence for both. As for Gronow, I pity him, if his future lot should fall where Mr. Oriel supposes that it will. And as for Oriel he has not even the benefit of purgatory, which he would accord to his neighbor Ebenezer ; while old Slocum pronounces both to be a couple of humbugs ; and Mr. Mole, the demure little beetle-browed chaplain of the little church of Avemary Lane, keeps his sly eyes down to the ground when he passes any one of his black-coated brethren. There is only one point on which, my friends they seem agreed. Slocum likes port, but who ever heard that he ne- glected his poor ? Gronow, if he comminates his neighbor's congregation, is the affectionate father of his own. Oriel, if he loves pointed Gothic and parched peas for breakfast, has a prodigious soup-kitchen for his poor ; and as for little Father Mole, who never lifts his eyes from the ground, ask our doctor at what bedsides he finds him, and how he soothes poverty and braves misery and infection. THE BUMPSHERS. No. 6 Pocklington Gardens, (the house with the quantity of flowers in the windows, and the awning over the entrance,) George Bumpsher, Esquire, M. P. for Humborough (and the Beanstalks, Kent). For some time after this gorgeous family came into our quarter, I mistook a bald-headed, stout person, whom I used to see looking through the flowers on the upper windows, for Bumpsher himself, or for the butler of the family ; whereas it was no other than Mrs. Bumpsher, without her chestnut wig, and who is at least three times the size of her husband. The Bumpshers and the house of Mango at the Pineries vie together in their desire to dominate over the neighborhood ; and each votes the other a vulgar and purse-proud family. The fact is, both are City people. Bumpsher, in his mercantile capacity, is a wholesale stationer in Thames Street ; and his wife was daughter of an eminent bill-broking firm, not a thou- sand miles from Lombard Street. He does not sport a coronet and supporters upon his Lon- don plate and carriages ; but his country-house is emblazoned all over with those heraldic decorations. He puts on an ordei when he goes abroad, and is Count Bumpsher of the Roman States — which title he purchased from the late Pope (through Prince Polonia the banker) for a couple of thousand scudi. ft is as good as a coronation to see him and Mrs. Bumpsher go to Court. I wonder the carriage can hold them both. On those days Mrs. Bumpsher holds her own drawing-room before her Majesty's ; and we are invited to come and see her sitting in state, upon the largest sofa in her rooms. She has need of a stout one, I promise you. Her very feathers must weigh something considerable. The diamonds on her stomacher would embroider a full-sized carpet-bag. She has rubies, ribbons, cameos, emeralds, gold serpents, opals, and Valen- ciennes lace, as if she were an immense sample out of Howell and James's shop. (68) VENUS AND CUPID. OUR STREET. c 9 She took up with little Pink- ney at Rome, where he made a charming picture of her, repre- senting her as about eighteen, with a cherub in her lap, who has some liking to Bryanstone Bumpsher, her enormous, vul- gar son ; now a cornet in the Blues. a!.:l anything but a cherub, as those would say who saw him in his uniform jacket. I remember Pinkney when he was painting the picture, Bryanstone being then a youth in what they call a skeleton suit (as if such a pig of a child could ever have been dressed in anything resembling a skeleton- sitting to Pinkney in a sort of Egerian costume, her side, whose head the artist turned round and directed it towards a piece of gingerbread, which he was to have at the end of the sitting. Pinkney, indeed, a painter! — a contemptible little humbug, and parasite of the great ! He has painted Mrs. Bumpsher younger every year for these last ten years — and you see in. the advertisements of all her parties his odious little name pturkin at the end of the list. I'm sure, for my part, I'd scorn Irj &,t*nt her doors, or be the toady of any woman. -I remember, I say, Mrs. B. her boy by JOLLY NEWS OY, ESQ., M. P. How different it is with the Newboys, now, where I have an entre'e (having indeed had the honor in former days to give lessons to both the ladies) — and where such a quack as Pink- ney would never be allowed to enter ! A merrier house the whole quarter cannot furnish. It is there you meet people of all ranks and degrees, not only from our quarter, but from the rest of the town. It is there that our great man, the Right Honorable Lord Comandine, came up and spoke to me in so encouraging a manner that I hope to be invited to one of his lordship's excellent dinners (of which I shall not fail to give a very flattering description) before the season is over. It is there you find yourself talking to statesmen, poets, and artists — not sham poets like Bulbul, or quack artists like that Pinkney — but to the best members of all society. It is there I made this sketch, while Miss Chesterforth was singing a deep-toned tragic ballad, and her mother scowling behind her. What a buzz and clack and chatter there was in the room to be sure ! When Miss Chesterforth sings, everybody begins to talk. Hicks and old Fogy were on Ireland : Bass was roaring' into old Pump's ears (or into his horn rather) about the Navigation Laws ; I was engaged talking to the charming Mrs. Short ; while Charley Bonham (a mere prig, in whom I am surprised that the women can see anything,) was pouring out his fulsome rhapsodies in the ears of Diana White. Lovely, lovely Diana White ! were it not for three or four other engagements, I know a heart that would suit you to a T. Newboy's I pronounce to be the jolliest house in the street. He has only of late had a rush of prosperity, and turned Par- liament man ; for his distant cousin, of the ancient house of Newboy of shire, dying, Fred — -then making believe to practise at the bar, and living with the utmost modesty in Gray's Inn Road — found himself master of a fortune, and a great house in the country; of which getting tired, as in the course of nature he should, he came up to London, and took that fine mansion in our Gardens. He represents Mumborough in Parliament, a scat which has been time out of mind occupied by a Newboy. (70) Il.ffi/ ' ,\ !/ll IL'/IH l\! :' THE SIREN OF UUR STREET- , ■ h - -i— s—r., — * -'■ -i •' ' ' i i THE STREET-DOOR KEY. OUR STREET. y x Though he does not speak, being a great deal too rich, sen- sible, and lazy, he somehow occupies himself with reading blue- books, and indeed talks a great deal too much good sense of late over his dinner-table, where there is always a cover for the present writer. He falls asleep pretty assiduously too after that meal— a practice which I can well pardon in him — for, between our- selves, his wife, Maria Newboy, and his sister, Clarissa, are the loveliest and kindest of their sex, and I would rather hear their innocent prattle, and lively talk about their neighbors, than the best wisdom from the wisest man that ever wore a beard. Like a wise and good man, he leaves the question of his household entirely to the women. They like going to the play. They like going to Greenwich. They like coming to a party at Bachelor's Hall. They are up to all sorts of fun, in a word ; in which taste the good-natured Newboy acquiesces, provided he is left to follow his own. It was only on the 17th of the month, that, having had the honor to dine at the house, when, after dinner, which took place at eight, we left Newboy to his blue-books, and went up stairs and sang a little to the guitar afterwards — it was only on the 17 th December, the night of Lady Sowerby's party, that the following dialogue took place in the boudoir, whither Newboy, blue-books in hand, had ascended. He was curled up with his House of Commons boots on his wife's arm-chair, reading his eternal blue-books, when Mrs. N. entered from her apartment, dressed for the evening. Mrs. N. — Frederick, won't you come ? Mr. N.— Where ? Mrs. N. — To Lady Sowerby's. Mr. N. — I'd rather go to the Black Hole in Calcutta. Be- sides, this Sanitary Report is really the most interesting — \Ji& begins to rea/f.] Mrs. N. {piqued) — Well, Mr. Titmarsh will go with us. Mr. N. — Will he ? I wish him joy. At this juncture Miss Clarissa Newboy enters in a pink paletot, trimmed with swan's-down — looking like an angel — and we exchange glances of — what shall I say ? — of sympa- thy on both parts, and consummate rapture on mine. But this is by-play. Mrs. N. — Good-night, Frederick. I think we shall be late. Mr. N. — You won't wake me, I dare say ; and you don't expect a public man to sit up. Mrs. N. — It's not you, it's the servants. Cocker sleeps 7 2 OUR STREET. very heavily. The maids are best in bed, and are all ill with the influenza. I say, Frederick dear, don't you think you had better give me your chubb key ? This astonishing proposal, which violates every recognized law of society — this demand which alters all the existing state of things — this fact of a woman asking for a door-key, struck me with a terror which I cannot describe, and impressed me with the fact of the vast progress of Our Street. The door- key ! What would our grandmothers, who dwelt in this place when it was a rustic suburb, think of its condition now, when husbands stay at home, and wives go abroad with the latch key? The evening at Lady Sowerby's was the most delicious we have spent for long, long days. Thus it will be seen that everybody of any consideration in Our Street takes a line. Mrs. Minimy (34) takes the homoeo- pathic line, and has soirees of doctors of that faith. Lady Pocklington takes the capitalist line ; and those stupid and splendid dinners of hers are devoured by loan- contractors and railroad princes. Mrs. Trimmer (38) comes out in the scienti- fic line, and indulges us in rational evenings, where history is the lightest subject admitted, and geology and the sanitary con- dition of the metropolis form the general themes of conversa- tion. Mrs. Brumby plays finely on the bassoon, and has even- ings dedicated to Sebastian Bach, and enlivened with Handel. At Mrs. Maskleyn's they are mad for charades and theatricals. They performed last Christmas in a French piece, by Alex- andre Dumas, I believe — " La Duchesse de Montefiasco," of which I forget the plot, but everybody was in love with every- body else's wife, except the hero, Don Alonzo, who was ardently attached to the Duchess, who turned out to be his grandmother. The piece was translated by Lord Fiddle-faddle, Tom Bulbul being the Don Alonzo ; and Mrs. Roland Calidore (who never misses an opportunity of acting in a piece in which she can let down her hair) was the Duchess. Alonzo. You know how well he loves you, and you wonder To see Alonzo suffer, Cunegunda ? — Ask if the chamois suffer when they feel Plunged in their panting sides the hunter's steel ? Or when the soaring heron or eagle proud, Pierced by my shaft, comes tumbling from the cloud, A SCENE OF PASSION. OUR STREET. 73 Ask if the royal birds no anguish know, The victims of Alonzo's twanging bow? Then ask him if he suffers — him who dies, Pierced by the poisoned glance that glitters from your eyes ? [He staggers from the effect of the poison, The Duchess. Alonzo loves — Alonzo loves ! and whom ? His grandmother ! Oh, hide me, gracious tomb ! \_Her Grace faints away. Such acting as Tom Bulbul's I never saw. Tom lisps atrociously, and uttered the passage, " You athk me if I thuffer," in the most absurd way. Miss Clapperclaw says he acted pretty well, and that I only joke about him because I am envious, and wanted to act a part myself. — I envious indeed ! But of all the assemblies, feastings, junketings, dejeunes, soire'es, conversaziones, dinner-parties, in Our Street, I know of none pleasanter than the banquets at Tom Fairfax's j one oi which this enormous provision-consumer gives seven times a week. He lives in one of the little houses of the old Waddilove Street quarter, built long before Pockiington Square and Pock- lington Gardens and the Pockiington family itself had made their appearance in the world. Tom, though he has a small income, and lives in a small house, yet sits down one of a party of twelve to dinner every day of his life ; these twelve consisting of Mrs. Fairfax, the nine Misses Fairfax, and Master Thomas Fairfax — the son and heir to twopence halfpenny a year. It is awkward just now to go and beg pot-luck from such a family as this ; because, though a guest is always welcome, we are thirteen at table — an unlucky number, it is said. This evil is only temporary, and will be remedied presently, when the family will be thirteen without the occasional guest, to judge from all appearances. Early in the morning Mrs. Fairfax rises, and cuts bread and butter from six o'clock till eight ; during which time the nursery operations upon the nine little graces are going on. We only see a half-dozen of them at this present moment, and in the present authentic picture, the remainder dwindling off upon little chairs by their mamma. The two on either side of Fairfax are twins — awarded to him by singular good fortune ; and he only knows Nancy from. Fanny by having a piece of tape round the former's arm. There is no 6* 74 OUR STREET. need to give you the catalogue of the others. She in the pma> fore in front is Elizabeth, goddaughter to Miss Clapperclaw, who has been very kind to the whole family ; that young lady with the ringlets is engaged by the most solemn ties to the present writer, and it is agreed that we are to be married as soon as she is as tall as my stick. If his wife has to rise early to cut the bread and butter, I warrant Fairfax must be up betimes to earn it. He is a clerk in a Government office ; to which duty he trudges daily, refusing even twopenny omnibuses. Every time he goes to the shoe- maker's he has to order eleven pairs of shoes, and so can't afford to spare his own. He teaches the children Latin every morning, and is already thinking when Tom shall be inducted into that language. He works in his garden for an hour before breakfast. His work over by three o'clock, he tramps home at four, and exchanges his dapper coat for that dressing-gown in which he appears before you, — a ragged but honorable garment in which he stood (unconsciously) to the present designer. *' Which is the best, his old coat or Sir John's bran new one ? Which is the most comfortable and becoming, Mrs. Fairfax's black velvet gown (which she has worn at the Pocklington Square parties these twelve years, and in which I protest she looks like a queen), or that new robe which the milliner has just brought home to Mrs. Bumpsher's, and into which she will squeeze herself on Christmas-day ? Miss Clapperclaw says that we are all so charmingly con- tented with ourselves that not one of us would change with his neighbor ; and so, rich and poor, high and low, one person is about as happy as another in Our Street. THE END OF " OUR STREET.'' i M'l ll'/llll Jfe* 1/ IP II THE HAPPY FAMILY. DOCTOR BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. By Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. DOCTOR BIRCH. THE DOCTOR AND HIS STAFF. There is no need to say why I became assistant-master and professor of the English and French languages, flower-painting, and the German flute, in Dr. Birch's Academy, at Rodwell Regis. Good folks may depend on this, that it was not for choice that I left lodgings near London, and a genteel society, for an under-master's desk in that old school. I promise you the fare at the usher's table, the getting up at five o'clock in the morning, the walking out with little boys in the fields, (who used to play me tricks, and never could be got to respect my awful and responsible character as teacher in the school,) Miss Birch's vulgar insolence, Jack Birch's glum condescension, and the poor old Doctor's patronage, were not matters in themselves pleasurable : and that that patronage and those dinners were sometimes cruel hard to swallow. Nevermind — my connection with the place is over now, and I hope they have got a more efficient under-master. Jack Birch (Rev. J. Birch, of St. Neot's Hall, Oxford,) is partner with his father the Doctor, and takes some of the classes. About his Greek I can't say much ; but I will construe him in Latin any day. A more supercilious little prig, (giving himself airs, too, about his cousin, Miss Raby, who lives with the Doctor,) a more empty, pompous little coxcomb I never saw. His white neckcloth looked as if it choked him. He used to try and look over that starch upon me and Prince the assistant, as if we were a couple of footmen. He didn't do much business in the school ; but occupied his time in writing sanctified letters to the boys' parents, and in composing dreary sermons to preach to them. (77) 7 8 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. The real master of the school is Prince ; an Oxford man .00 : shy, haughty, and learned ; crammed with Greek and a quantity of useless learning ; uncommonly kind to the small boys ; pitiless with the fools and the braggarts ; respected of all for his honesty, his learning, his bravery, (for he hit out once in a boat-row in a way which astonished the boys and the barge- men, ) and for a latent power about him, which all saw and con- fessed somehow. Jack Birch could never look him in the face. Old Miss Z. dared not put off any of her airs upon him. Miss Rosa made him the lowest of curtseys. Miss Raby said she was afraid of him. Good old Prince ! we have sat many a night smoking in the Doctor's harness-room, whither we retired when our boys were gone to bed, and our cares and canes put by. After Jack Birch had taken his degree at Oxford — a process which he effected with great difficulty — this place, which used to be called " Birch's," " Dr. Birch's Academy," and what not, became suddenly "Archbishop Wigsby's College of Rodwell Regis." They took clown the old blue board with the gold letters, which has been used to mend the pigsty since. Birch had a large school-room run up in the Gothic taste, with statuettes, and a little belfry, and a bust of Archbishop Wigsby in the middle of the school. He put the six senior boys into caps and gowns, which had rather a good effect as the lads sauntered down the street of the town, but which certainly pro- voked the contempt and hostility of the bargemen ; and so great was his rage for academic costumes and ordinances, that he would have put me myself into a lay gown, with red knots and fringes, but that I flatly resisted, and said that a writing- master had no business with such paraphernalia. By the way, I have forgotten to mention the Doctor himself. And what shall I say of him ? Well, he has a very crisp gown and bands, a solemn aspect, a tremendous loud voice, and a grand air with the boys' parents ; whom he receives in a study covered round with the best-bound books, which imposes upon many — upon the women especially — and makes them fancy that this is a Doctor indeed. But law bless you ! He never reads the books, or opens one of them ; except that in which he keeps his bands — a Dugdale's " Monasticon," which looks like a book, but is in reality a cupboard, where he has his port, almond-cakes, and decanter of wine. He gets up his classics with translations, or what the boys call cribs ; they pass wicked tricks upon him when he hears the forms. The elder wags go to his study and ask him to help them in hard bits of Herod- A YOUNG RAPHAEL. DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. 79 fltus or Thucydides : he says he will look over the passage, and flies for refuge to Mr. Prince, or to the crib. He keeps the flogging department in his own hands ; finding that his son was too savage. He has awful brows and a big voice. But his roar frightens nobody. It is only a lion's skin ; or, so to say, a muff. Little Mordant made a picture of him with large ears, like a well-known domestic animal, and had his own justly boxed for the caricature. The Doctor discovered him in the act, and was in a flaming rage, and threatened whipping at first ; but in the course of the day an opportune basket of game arriving from Mordant's father, the Doctor became mollified, and has burnt the picture with the ears. However, I have one wafered ap in my desk by the hand of the same little rascal : and the 'rontispiece of this very book is drawn from it. THE COCK OF THE SCHOOL. I AM growing an old fellow, and have seen many great folks in the course of my travels and time : Louis Philippe coming out of the Tuileries ; his Majesty the King of Prussia and the Reichsverweser accolading each other at Cologne at my elbow ; Admiral Sir Charles Napier (in an omnibus once); the Duke of Wellington, the immortal Goethe at Weimar, the late benevo- lent Pope Gregory XVI., and a score more of the famous in this world — the whom whenever one looks at, one has a mild shock of awe and tremor. I like this feeling and decent fear and trembling with which a modest spirit salutes a Great Man. Well, I have seen generals capering on horseback at the head of their crimson battalions ; bishops sailing down cathe- dral aisles, with downcast eyes, pressing their trencher caps to their hearts with their fat white hands ; college heads when her Majesty is on a visit ; the doctor in all his glory at the head of his school on speech-day : a great sight and all great men these. I have never met the late Mr. Thomas Cribb, but I have no doubt should have regarded him with the same feeling of awe with which I look every day at George Cham- pion, the Cock of Dr. Birch's school. m When, I say, I reflect as I go up and set him a sum, that he could whop me in two minutes, double up Prince and the other assistant, and pitch the Doctor out of window, I can't but think how great, how generous, how magnanimous a crea- ture this is, that sits quite quiet and good-natured, and works his equation, and ponders through his Greek play. He might take the school-room pillars and pull the house down if he liked. He might close the door, and demolish every one of us, like Antar the lover of Ibla ; but he lets us live. He never thrashes anybody without a cause ; when woe betide the tyrant or the sneak ! I think that to be strong, and able to whop everybody — ■ (not to do it, mind you, but to feel that you were able to do it), ■ — would be the greatest of all gifts. There is a serene good- humor which plays about George Champion's broad face, which 'So) DR- BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. 81 shows the consciousness of his power, and lights up his honest blue eyes with a magnanimous calm. He is invictus. Even when a cub there was no beating this lion. Six years ago the undaunted little warrior actually stood up to Frank Davison, — (the Indian officer now — poor little Charley's brother, whom Miss Raby nursed so affection- ately,) — then seventeen years old, and the Cock of Birch's. They were obliged to drag off the boy, and Frank, with admira- tion and regard for him, prophesied the great things he would do. Legends of combats are preserved fondly in schools ; they have stories of such at Rodwell Regis, performed in the old Doctor's time, forty years ago. Champion's affair with the Young Tutbury Pet, who was down here in training, — with Black the bargeman, — with the three head boys of Doctor Wapshot's academy, whom he caught maltreating an outlying day-boy of ours, &c, — are known to all the Rodwell Regis men. He was always vic- torious. He is modest and kind, like all great men. He has a good, brave, honest understanding. He cannot make verses like young Finder, or read Greek like Wells the Prefect, who is a perfect young abyss of learning, and knows enough, Prince says, to furnish any six first-class men ; but he does his work in a sound downright way, and he is made to be the bravest of soldiers, the best of country parsons, an honest English gentleman wherever he may go. Old Champion's chief friend and attendant is Young Jack Hall, whom he saved, when drowning, out of the Miller's Pool. The attachment of the two is curious to witness. The smaller lad gambolling, playing tricks round the bigger one, and per- petually making fun of his protector. They are never far apart, and of holidays you may meet them miles away from the school, — George sauntering heavily down the lanes with his big stick, and little Jack larking with the pretty girls in the cottage windows. George has a boat on the river, in which, however, he com- monly lies smoking, whilst Jack sculls him. He does not play at cricket, except when the school plays the county, or at Lord's in the holidays. The boys can't stand his bowling, and when he hits, it is like trying to catch a cannon-ball. I have seen him at tennis. It is a splendid sight to behold the young fellow bounding over the court with streaming yellow hair, like young Apollo in a flannel-jacket. The other head boys are Lawrence the captain, Bunce, famous chiefly for his magnificent appetite, and Pitman, sur 82 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. named Roscius, for his love of the drama. Add to these Swanky, called Macassar, from his partiality to that condi- ment, and who has varnished boots, wears white gloves on Sundays, and looks out for Miss Pinkerton's school (trans- ferred from Chiswick to Rodwell Regis, and conducted by the nieces of the late Miss Barbara Pinkerton, the friend of our great lexicographer, upon the principles approved by him, and practised by that admirable woman), as it passes into church. Representations have been made concerning Mr. Horace Swanky's behavior ; rumors have been uttered about notes in verse, conveyed in three-cornered puffs, by Mrs. Ruggles, who serves Miss Pinkerton's young ladies on Fridays, — and how Miss Didow, to whom the tart and enclosure were addressed, tried to make away with herself by swallowing a ball of cotton. But I pass over these absurd reports, as likely to affect the reputation of an admirable seminary conducted by irreproach- able females. As they go into church, Miss P. driving in her flock of lambkins with the crook of her parasol, how can it be helped if her forces and ours sometimes collide, as the boys are on their way up to the organ-loft ? And I don't believe a word about the three-cornered puff, but rather that it was the invention of that jealous Miss Birch, who is jealous of Miss Raby, jealous of everybody who is good and handsome, and who has her own ends in view, or I am very much in error. THE LITTLE SCHOOL-ROOM. What they call the little school-room is a small room at the other end of the great school ; through which you go to the Doctor's private house, and where Miss Raby sits with her pupils. She has a half-dozen very small ones over whom she presides and teaches them in her simple way, until they are big or learned enough to face the great school-room. Many of them are in a hurry for promotion, the graceless little simpletous, and know no more than their elders when they are well off. She keeps the accounts, writes out the bills, superintends the linen, and sews on the general shirt-buttons. Think of having such a woman at home to sew on one's shirt-buttons ! But peace, peace, thou foolish heart ! Miss Raby is the Doctor's niece. Her mother was a beauty (quite unlike old Zoe therefore) ; and she married a pupil in the old Doctor's time, who was killed afterwards, a captain in the East India service, at the siege of Bhurtpore. Hence a number of Indian children came to the Doctor's ; for Raby was very much liked, and the uncle's kind reception of the orphan has been a good speculation for the school-keeper. It is wonderful how brightly and gayly that little quick crea- ture does her duty. She is the first to rise, and the last to sleep if any business is to be done. She sees the other two women go off to parties in the town without even so much as wishing to join them. It is Cinderella, only contented to stay at home — content to bear Zoe's scorn and to admit Rosa's superior charms, — and to do her utmost to repay her uncle for his great kindness in housing her. So you see she works as much as three maid-servants for the wages of one. She is as thankful when the Doctor gives her a new gown, as if he had presented her with a fortune ; laughs at his stories most good-humoredly, listens to Zoe's scolding most meekly, admires Rosa with all her heart, and only goes out of the way when Jack Birch shows his sallow face : for she can't bear him, and always finds work when he comes near. How different she is when some folks approach her ! I 84 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. won't be presumptuous ; but I think, I think, I have made a not unfavorable impression in some quarters. However, let us be mum on this subject. I like to see her, because she always \ooks good-humored ; because she is always kind, because she is always modest, because she is fond of those poor little brats, ■ — orphans some of them — because she is rather pretty, I dare say, or because I think so, which comes to the same thing. Though she is kind to all, it must be owned she shows the most gross favoritism towards the amiable children. She brings them cakes from dessert, and regales them with Zoe's preserves ; spends many of her little shillings in presents for her favorites, and will tell them stories by the hour. She has one very sad story about a little boy, who died long ago : the younger chil- dren are never weary of hearing about him ; and Miss Raby has shown to one of them a lock of the little chap's hair, which she keeps in her work-box to this day. THE DEAR UROTHEKS. THE DEAR BROTHERS, %, Pclobramu in Srbmil |lounbs. The Doctor. Mr. Tipper, Uncle to the Masters Boxall. Boxall Major, Boxall Minor, Brown, Jones*, Smith, Robinson, Tiffin Minimus. B. Go it, old Boxall ! jf. Give it him, young Boxall ! R. Pitch into him, old Boxall ! S. Two to one on young Boxall ! [Eater Tiffin Minimi- i, running. Tiffin Minimus. — Boxalls ! you're wanted. {The Doctor to Mr. Tipper?) — Every boy in the school loves them, my dear sir ; your nephews are a credit to my establish- ment. They are orderly, well-conducted, gentleman-like boys. Let us enter and find them at their studies. [Enter The Doctor and Mr. Tipper, GRAND TABLEAU. 7 (85) A HOPELESS CASE. Let us, people who are so uncommonly clever and learned, have a great tenderness and pity for the poor folks who are not endowed with the prodigious talents which we have. I have always had a regard for dunces ; — those of my own school-days were amongst the pleasantest of the fellows, and have turned out by no means the dullest in life; whereas many a youth who could turn off Latin hexameters by the yard, and construe Greek quite glibly, is no better than a feeble prig now, with not a pennyworth more brains than were in his head before his beard grew. Those poor dunces ! Talk of being the last man, ah ! what a pang it must be to the last boy — huge, misshapen, fourteen years of age, and " taken up " by a chap who is but six years old, and can't speak quite plain yet ! Master Hulker is in that condition at Birch's. He is the most honest, kind, active, plucky, generous creature. He can do many things better than most boys. He can go up a tree, pump, play at cricket, dive and swim perfectly — he can eat twice as much as almost any lady (as Miss Birch well knows), he has a pretty talent at carving figures with his hack-knife, he makes and paints little coaches, he can take a watch to pieces and put it together again. He can do everything but learn his lesson ; and then he sticks at the bottom of the school hope- less. As the little boys are drafted in from Miss Raby's class, (it is true she is one of the best instructresses in the world,) they enter and hop over poor Hulker. He would be handed over to the governess, only he is too big. Sometimes I used to think that this desperate stupidity was a stratagem of the poor rascal's, and that he shammed dulness, so that he might be de- graded into Miss Raby's class — if she would teach me, I know, before George, I would put on a pinafore and a little jacket — but no, it is a natural incapacity for the Latin Grammar. If you could see this grammar, it is a perfect curiosity of dog's ears. The leaves and cover are all curled and ragged. Many o; the pages aie worn away with the nibbing of his elbows as he si's Doring over the boneless volume, with the blows of his DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG .FRIENDS. 87 fists as he thumps it madly, or with the poor fellow's tears. You see him wiping them away with the back of his hand, as he tries and tries, and can't do it. When I think of that Latin grammar, and that infernal As in proesenti, and of other things which I was made to learn in my youth ; upon my conscience, I am surprised that we ever survived it. When one thinks of the boys who have been caned because they could not master that intolerable jargon ! Good Lord, what a pitiful chorus these poor little creatures send up ! Be gentle with them, ye schoolmasters, and only whop those who worit learn. The Doctor has operated upon Hulker (between ourselves), but the boy was so little affected you would have thought he had taken chloroform. Birch is weary of whipping now, and leaves the boy to go his own gait. Prince, when he hears the lesson, and who cannot help making fun of a fool, adopts the sarcastic manner with Master Hulker, and says, " Mr. Hulker, may I take the liberty to inquire if your brilliant intellect has enabled you to jDerceive the difference between those words which grammarians have defined as substantive and adjective nouns ? — if not, perhaps Mr. Ferdinand Timmins will instruct you." And Timmins hops over Hulker's head. I wish Prince would leave off girding at the poor lad. He is a boy, and his mother is a widow woman, who loves him with ail her might. There is a famous sneer about the suck- ling of fools and the chronicling of small beer • but remembe? it was a rascal Avho uttered it A WORD ABOUT MISS BIRCH. "The gentlemen, and especially the younger and more ten- der of these pupils, will have the advantage of the constant superintendence and affectionate care of Miss Zoe Birch, sister of the principal : whose dearest aim will be to supply (as far as may be) the absent maternal friend." — Prospectus of Rodzvell Regis School. This is all very well in the Doctor's prospectus, and Miss Zoe Birch — (a pretty blossom it is, fifty-five years old, during two score of which she has dosed herself with pills ; with a nose as red and a face as sour as a crab-apple) — this is all mighty well in a prospectus. But I should like to know who would take Miss Zoe for a mother, or would have her for one ? The only persons in the house who are not afraid of her are Miss Rosa and I — no, I am afraid of her, though I do know the story about the French usher in 1830 — but all the rest tremble before the woman, from the Doctor clown to poor Francis the knife-boy, whom she bullies into his miserable blacking-hole. The Doctor is a pompous and outwardly severe man — but inwardly weak and easy ; loving a joke and a glass of port-wine. I. get on with him, therefore, much better than Mr. Prince, who scorns him for an ass, and under whose keen eyes the worthy Doctor writhes like a convicted impostor ; and many a sun- shiny afternoon would he have said, " Mr. T,, sir, shall we try another glass of that yellow sealed wine which you seem to like ? " (and which he likes even better than I do,) had not the old harridan of a Zoe been down upon us, and insisted on turning me out with her abominable weak coffee. She a mother indeed ! A sour-milk generation she would have nursed. She is always croaking, scolding, bullying, — yowling at the housemaids, snarling at Miss Raby, bowwowing after the little boys, barking after the big ones. She knows how much every boy eats to an ounce ; and her delight is to ply with fat the little ones who can't bear it, and with raw meat those who hate underdone. It was she who caused the Doctor to be eaten out three times ; and nearly created a rebellion in the school because she insisted on his flogging Goliath Long- man. The only time that woman is happy is when she comes in of a morning to the little boys' dormitories with a cup of hot Epsom salts, and a sippet of bread. Boo ! — the very notion makes me quiver. She stands over them. I saw her do it to A SKRIOUS CASE. DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. 8 9 young Byles only a few days since ; and her presence makes the abomination doubly abominable. As for attending them in real illness, do you suppose that she would watch a single night for any one of them ? Not she. When poor little Charley Davison (thst child a lock of whose soft hair I have said how Miss Raby still keeps) lay ill of scar- let fever in the holidays — for the Colonel, the father of these boys, was in India — it was Anny Raby who tended the child, who watched him all through the fever, who never left him while it lasted, or until she had closed the little eyes that were never to brighten or moisten more. Anny watched and de- plored him ; but it was Miss Birch who wrote the letter an- nouncing his demise, and got the gold chain and locket which the Colonel ordered as a memento of his gratitude. It was through a row with Miss Birch that Frank Davison ran away, I promise you that after he joined his regiment in India, the Ahmednuggur Irregulars, which his gallant father commands, there came over no more annual shawls and presents to Dr. and Miss Birch ; and that if she fancied the Colonel was com- ing home to marry her (on account of her tenderness to his motherless children, which he was always writing about), that •lOtion was very soon given up. But these affairs are of early date, seven years back, and I only heard of them in a very con- fused manner from Miss Raby, who was a girl, and had just come to Rodwell Regis. She is always very much moved when she speaks about those boys ; which is but seldom. I take it the death of the little one still grieves her tender heart. Yes, it is Miss Birch, who has turned away seventeen ushers and second-masters in eleven years, and half as many French masters, I suppose, since the departure of hex favorite, M. Gnnche, with her gold watch, &c. ; but this is only surmise — that is, from hearsay, and from Miss Rosa taunting her aunt, as she does sometimes, in her graceful way : but besides this, I have another way of keeping her in order. Whenever she is particularly odious or insolent to Miss Raby, I have but to introduce raspberry jam into the conversa- tion, and the woman holds her tongue. She will understand me. I need not say more. Note, 12th December. — I may speak now. I have left the place and don't mind. I say then at once, and without caring twopence for the consequences, that I saw this woman, this mother of the boys, eating jam with a spoon out of Master Wiggins' trunk in the box-room : and of this I am ready to take an affidavit any day. A TRAGEDY. SHE DRAMA OUGHT TO BE REPRESENTED IN ABOUT SIX ACTS [The school is husked Lawrence the Prefect, and Custos of the rods, ii marching after the Doctor into the operating-room. MASTER BACK- HOUSE is about tofoi/oza] Master Backhouse. — It's all very well, but you see if I don'l pay you out after school — you sneak you ! Master Lurcher, — If you do I'll tell again. [Exit Backhouse. [The rod is heard from the adjoining aparttnent. Hwhish — hwkisk — hwish-^ h wish — hwish — hwish — hwish I [Re-enter Backhouse A HAMPER FOR 1SRIGGS S. BRIGGS IN LUCK. Enter the Knife-boy. — Hamper for Briggses ! Master Brown. — Hurry, Tom Briggs J I'll lend you my knife. If this story does not carry its own moral, what fable does, I wonder? Before the arrival of that hamper, Master Briggs was in no better repute than any young gentleman of the lower school ; and in fact I had occasion myself, only lately, to cor- rect Master Brown for kicking his friend's shins during the writing-lesson. But how this basket, directed by his mother's housekeeper and marked " Glass with care," (whence I con- cluded that it contains some jam and some bottles of wine, probably, as well as the usual cake and game-pie, and half a sovereign for the elder Master B., and five new shillings for Master Decimus Briggs) — how, I say, the arrival of this basket alters all Master Briggs's circumstances in life, and the estima- tion in which many persons regard him ! If he is a good-hearted boy, as I have reason to think, the very first thing he will do, before inspecting the contents of the hamper, or cutting into them with the knife which Master Brown has so considerately lent him, will be to read over the letter from home which lies on the top of the parcel. He does so, as I remark to Miss Raby (for whom I happened to be mending pens when the little circumstance arose), with a flushed face and winking eyes. Look how the other boys are peering into the basket as he reads. — I say to her, " Isn't it a pretty picture ? " Part of the letter is in a very large hand. This is from his little sister. And I would wager that she netted the little purse which he has just taken out of it, and which Master Lynx is eyeing. " You are a droll man, and remark all sorts of queer things," Miss Raby says, smiling, and plying her swift needle and fingers as quick as possible. " I am glad we are both on the spot, and that the little fel- (91) 9 2 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. low lies under our guns as it were, and so is protected from some such brutal school-pirate as young Duval for instance, who would rob him, probably, of some of those good things \ good in themselves, and better because fresh from home. See, there is a pie as I said, and which I dare say is better than those which are served at our table (but you never take any notice of such kind of things, Miss Raby), a cake of course, a bottle of currant-wine, jam-pots, and no end of pears in the straw. With their money little Briggs will be able to pay the tick which that impudent child has run up with Mrs. Ruggles ; and I shall let Briggs Major pay for the pencil-case which Bullock sold to him. — It will be a lesson to the young prodigal for the future. But, I say, what a change there will be in his life for some time to come, and at least until his present wealth is spent ! The boys who bully him will mollify towards him, and accept his pie and sweetmeats. They will have feasts in the bedroom ; and that wine will taste more delicious to them than the best out of the Doctor's cellar. The cronies will be invited. Young Master Wagg will tell his most dreadful story and sing his best song for a slice of that pie. What a jolly night they will have ! When we go the rounds at night, Mr. Prince and I will take care to make a noise before we come to Briggs's room, so that the boys may have time to put the light out, to push the things away, and to scud into bed. Doctor Spry may be put in requisition the next morning." " Nonsense ! you absurd creature," cries out Miss Raby, laughing ; and I lay down the twelfth pen very nicely mended. " Yes ; after luxury comes the doctor, I say ; after extrava- gance a hole in the breeches-pocket. To judge from his dis- position, Briggs Major will not be much better off a couple of days hence than he is now ; and, if I am not mistaken, will end life a poor man. Brown will be kicking his shins before a week is over, depend upon it. There are boys and men of all sorts, Miss R. — There are selfish sneaks who hoard until the store they daren't use grows mouldy — there are spendthrifts who fling away, parasites who flatter and lick its shoes, and snarling curs who hate and envy, good fortune." I put clown the last of the pens, brushing away with it the quill-chips from her desk first, and she looked at me with a kind, wondering face. I brushed them away, clicked the pen- knife into my pocket, made her a bow, and walked s>ff — for the bell was ringing for school. ,~*ssfc«c SURF. TO SUCCEED IN LIKE. A YOUNG FELLOW WHO IS PRETTY SURE TO SUCCEED. If Master Brvggs is destined in all probability to be a pooi man, the chances are that Mr. Bullock will have a very dif- ferent lot. He is a son of a partner of the eminent banking firm of Bullock and Hulker, Lombard Street, and very high in the upper school — quite out of my jurisdiction, consequently. He writes the most beautiful current-hand ever seen ; and the way in which he mastered arithmetic (going away into recondite and wonderful rules in the Tutor's Assistant, which some masters even dare not approach,) is described by the Doctor in terms of admiration. He is Mr. Prince's best algebra pupil ; and a very fair classic, too ; doing everything well for which he has a mind. He does not busy himself with the sports of his comrades, and holds a cricket-bat no better than Miss Raby would. He employs the play-hours in improving his mind, and reading the newspaper ; he is a profound politician, and, it must be owned, on the Liberal side. The elder boys despise him rather ; and when Champion Major passes, he turns his head, and looks down. I don't like the expression of Bullock's narrow, green eyes, as they follow the elder Champion, who does not seem to know or care how much the other hates him. No. Mr. Bullock, though perhaps the cleverest and most accomplished boy in the school, associates with the quiet little .boys when he is minded for society. To these he is quite affable, courteous, and winning. He never fagged or thrashed one of them. He has done the verses and corrected the exer- cises of many, and many is the little lad to whom he has lent a little money. It is true he charges at the rate of a penny a week for every sixpence lent out ; but many a fellow to whom tarts are a present necessity is happy to pay this interest for the loan. These transactions are kept secret. Mr. Bullock, in rather a whining tone, when he takes Master Green aside and does the requisite business for him, says. " You know you'll go and talk Eibout it everywhere. I don't wane to icnd you the money J. 94 DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. want to buy something with it. It's only to oblige you • anc\ yet I am sure you will go and make fun of me." Whereon, of course, Green, eager for the money, vows solemnly that the transaction shall be confidential, and only speaks when the payment of the interest becomes oppressive. Thus it is that Mr. Bullocks practices are at all known. At a very early period, indeed, his commercial genius manifested itself: and by happy speculations in toffey,; by composing a sweet drink made of stick-liquorice and brown sugar, and selling it at a profit to the young children ; by purchasing a series of novels, which he let out at an adequate remuneration ; by doing boys' exercises for a penny, and other processes, he showed the bent of his mind. At the end of the half-year he always went home richer than when he arrived at school, with his purse full of money. Nobody knows how much he brought : but the accounts are fabulous. Twenty, thirty, fifty — it is impossible to say how many sovereigns. When joked about his money, he turns pale and swears he has not a shilling : whereas he has had a banker's account ever since he was thirteen. At the present moment he is employed in negotiating the sale of a knife with Master Green, and is pointing out to the latter the beauty of the six blades, and that he need not pay until after the holidays. Champion Major has sworn that he will break every bone in his skin the next time that he cheats a little boy, and is bearing clown upon him. Let us come away. It is frightful to see that big peaceful clever coward moaning under well- deserved blows and whining for mercy. '"HE PIRATE. DUVAL THE PIRATE. Jones Minimus passes, laden with tarts. Duval. — Hullo ! you small boy with the tarts ! Come here, sir. "Jones Minimus. — Please, Duval, they ain't mine. Duval. — Oh, you abominable young story-teller. [ He co)ifiscates the goods. I think I like young Duval's mode of levying contributions better than Bullock's. The former's, at least, has the merit cf more candor. Duval is the pirate of Birch's, and lies in wait for small boys laden with money or provender. He scents plunder from afar off : and pounces out on it. Woe betide the little fellow when Duval boards him ! There was a youth here whose money I used to keep, as he was of an extravagant and weak taste ; and I doled it out to him in weekly shillings, sufficient for the purchase of the neces- sary tarts. This boy came to me one day for half a sovereign, for a very particular purpose, he said. I afterwards found he wanted to lend the money to Duval. The young ogre burst out laughing, when in a great wrath and fury I ordered him to refund to the little boy : and pro- posed a bill of exchange at three months. It is true Duval's father does not pay the Doctor, and the lad never has a shil- ling, save that which he levies ; and though he is always brag- ging about the splendor of Freenystown, Co. Cork, and the fox- hounds his father keeps, and the claret they drink there — there comes no remittance from Castle Freeny in these bad times to the honest Doctor ; who is a kindly man enough, and nevef yet turned an insolent boy out of doors. (95) THE DORMITORIES. MASTER HEWLETT AND MASTER NIGHTINGALE. {Rather a cold winter night.) Hewlett (flinging a shoe at Master Nightingale" s bed, with which he hits that young gentleman). — Hullo, you ! Get up and bring me that shoe ! Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. (He gets up.) Hezvlett. — Don't drop it, and be very careful of it, sir. Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. Hewlett. — Silence in the dormitory ! Any boy who opens his mouth, I'll murder him. Now, Sir, are not you the boy what can sing ? Nightingale. — Yes, Hewlett. Hewlett. — Chaunt, then, till I go to sleep, and if I wake when you stop, you'll have this at your head. [Master Hewlett lays his Bluchers on the bed, ready to shy ai Master Nightingale s head in the ease contemplated, .] Nightingale (timidly). — Please, Hewlett ? ■ Hewlett.— Well, sir ? Nightingale. — May I put on my trousers, please ? Hezedett. — No, sir ! Go on, or I'll Nigh tin gale. — " Through pleasures and palaces Though we may roam, Be it ever so humble There's no place like home." HOME, SWEET HOME. A RESCUE. A CAPTURE AND A RESCUE. My young friend, Patrick Champion, George's youngei brother, is a late arrival among us ; has much of the family quality and good nature ; is not in the least a tyrant to the small boys, but is as eager as Amadis to fight. He is boxing his way up the school, emulating his great brother. He fixes his eye on a boy above him in strength or size, and you hear somehow that a difference has arisen between them at football, and they have their coats off presently. He has thrashed him- self over the heads of many youths in this manner: for in- stance, if Champion can lick Dobson, who can thrash Hobson, how much more, then, can he thrash Hobson ? Thus he works up and establishes his position in the school. Nor does Mr. Prince think it advisable that we ushers should walk much in the way when these little differences are being settled, unless there is some gross disparity, or danger is apprehended. For instance, I own to having seen the row depicted here as I was shaving at my bedroom window. I did not hasten down to prevent its consequences. Fogle had confiscated a top, the property of Snivins ; the which, as the little wretch was always pegging it at my toes, I did not regret. Snivins whimpered ; and young Champion came up, lusting for battle. Directly he made out Fogle, he steered for him, pulling up his coat-sleeves, and clearing for action. "Who spoke to you, young Champion?" Fogle said, and he flung down the top to Master Snivins. I knew there would be no fight ; and perhaps Champion, too, was disappointed. (97) THE GARDEN, WHERE THE PARLOR-BOARDERS GO. Noblemen have been rather scarce at Birch's — but the hen of a great Prince has been living with the Doctor for some years. — He is Lord George Gaunt's eldest son, the noble Plantagenet Gaunt Gaunt, and nephew of the Most Honorable the Marquis of Steyne. They are very proud of him at the Doctor's — and the two Misses and Papa, whenever a stranger comes down whom they want to dazzle, are pretty sure to bring Lord Steyne into the conversation, mention the last party at Gaunt House, and cur- sorily to remark that they have with them a young friend who will be, in all human probability, Marquis of Steyne and Earl of Gaunt, &c. Plantagenet does not care much about these future honors : provided he can get some brown sugar on his bread-and-butter, or sit with three chairs and play at coach-and-horses quite quietly by himself, he is tolerably happy. He saunters in and out of school when he likes, and looks at the master and other boys with a listless grin. He used to be taken to church, but he laughed and talked in odd places, so they are forced to leave him at home now. He will sit with a bit of string and play cat's-cradle for many hours. He likes to go and join the very small children at their games. Some are frightened at him ; but they soon cease to fear, and order him about. I have seen him go and fetch tarts from Mrs. Ruggles for a boy of eight years old ; and cry bitterly if he did not get a piece. He can- not speak quite plain, but very nearly ; and is not more, I sup- pose, than three-and-twenty. Of course at home they know his age, though they never come and see him. But they forget that Miss Rosa Birch is no longer a young chit, as she was ten years ago, when Gaunt was brought to the school. On the contrary, she has had no small experience in the tender passion, and is at this moment smitten with a disinterested affection for Plantagenet Gaunt. Next to a little doll with a burnt nose, which he hides away (98) PR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUATG FR/EJVPS. 99 In cunning places, Mr. Gaunt is very fond of Miss Rosa too. What a pretty match it would make ! and how pleased they would be at Gaunt House, if the grandson and heir of the great Marquis of Steyne, the descendant of a hundred Gaunts and Tudors, should marry Miss Birch, the schoolmaster's daughter ! It is true she has the sense on her side, and poor Plantagenet is only an idiot : but there he is, a zany, with such expectations and such a pedigree ! If Miss Rosa would run away with Mr. Gaunt, she would leave off bullying her cousin, Miss Anny Raby. Shall I put her up to the notion, and offer to lend her the money to run away? Mr. Gaunt is not allowed money. He had some once, but Bullock took him into a corner, and got it from him. He has a moderate tick opened at a tart-woman's. He stops at Rodwell Regis through the year : school-time and holiday-time, it is all the same to him. Nobody asks about him, or thinks about him, save twice a year, when the Doctor goes to Gaunt House, and gets the amount of his bills, and a glass of wine in the steward's room. And yet you see somehow that he is a gentleman. His manner is different to that of the owners of that coarse table and parlor at which he is a boarder (I do not speak of Miss R. of course, ioxher. manners are as good as those of a duchess). When he caught Miss Rosa boxing little Fiddes's ears, his face grew red, and he broke into a fierce inarticulate rage. After that, and for some days, he used to shrink from her ; but they are reconciled now. I saw them this afternoon in the garden where only the parlor-boarders walk. He was playful, and touched her with his stick. She raised her handsome eyes in surprise, and smiled on him very kindly. The thing was so clear, that I thought it my duty to speak to old Zoe about it. The wicked old catamaran told me she wished that some people would mind their own business, and hold their tongues — that some persons Were paid to teach writing, and not to tell tales and make mischief: and I have since been thinking whether I ought to communicate with the Doctor. 8 THE OLD PUPIL. As I came into the play-grounds this morning, I saw a dash ing young fellow, with a tanned face and a blonde mustache, who was walking up and down the green arm-in-arm with Cham pion Major, and followed by a little crowd of boys. They were talking of old times evidently. " What had be- come of Irvine and Smith ? " — " Where was Bill Harris and Jones : not Squinny Jones, but Cocky Jones ? " — and so forth. The gentleman was no stranger ; he was an old pupil evidently, come to see if any of his old comrades remained, and revisit the carl luoghi of his youth. Champion was evidently proud of his arm-fellow. He es- pied his brother, young Champion, and introduced him. " Come here, sir," he called. " That young 'un wasn't here in your time, Davison." " Pat, sir," said he, " this is Captain Davison, one of Birch's boys. Ask him who was among the first in the lines at Sobraon ? " Pat's face kindled up as he looked Davison full in the face, and held out his hand. Old Champion and Davison both blushed. The infantry set up a " Hurray, hurray, hurray," Champion leading, and waving his wide-awake. I protest that the scene did one good to witness. Here was the hero and cock of the school come back to see his old haunts and cronies. He had always remembered them. Since he had seen them last, he had faced death and achieved honor. But for my dignity I would have shied up my hat too. With a resolute step, and his arm still linked in Cham- pion's, Captain Davison now advanced, followed by a wake of little boys, to that corner of the green where Mrs. Ruggles has her tart-stand. " Hullo, Mother Ruggles ! don't you remember me ? " he said, and shook her by the hand. "Lor', if it ain't Davison Major! " she said. " Well, Davi- son Major, you owe me fourpence for two sausage-rolls from when you went away." Davison laughed, and all the little crew of boys set up w similar chorus. (ioo) DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. IOI " I buy the whole shop," he said. " Now, young uns — eat away ! " Then there was such a " Hurray ! hurray ! " as surpassed the former cheer in loudness. Everybody engaged in it except Piggy Duff, who made an instant dash at the three-cornered puffs, but was stopped by Champion, who said there should be a fair distribution. And so there was, and no one lacked, neither of raspberry, open tarts, nor of mellifluous bulls'-eyes, nor of polonies, beautiful to the sight and taste. The hurraying brought out the old Doctor himself, who»put his hand up to his spectacles and started when he saw the old pupil. Each blushed when he recognized the other ; for seven years ago they had parted not good friends. "What — Davison?" the Doctor said, with a tremulous voice. " God bless you, my dear fellow ! " — and they shook hands. " A half-holiday, of course, boys," he added, and there was another hurray : there was to be no end to the cheering that day. " How's — how's the family, sir? " Captain Davison asked. " Come in and see. Rosa's grown quite a lady. Dine with us, of course. Champion Major, come to dinner at five. Mr. Titmarsh, the pleasure of your company ? " The Doctor swung open the garden-gate : the old master and pupil entered the house reconciled. I thought I would first peep into Miss Raby's room, and tell her of this event. She was working away at her linen there, as usual quiet and cheerful. " You should put up," I said with a smile ; " the Doctor has given us a half-holiday." " I never have holidays," Miss Raby replied. Then I told her of the scene I had just witnessed, of the arrival of the old pupil, the purchase of the tarts, the procla- mation of the holiday, and the shouts of the boys of " Hurray, Davison ! '' " Who is it ? " cried out Miss Raby, starting and turning as white as a sheet. I told her it was Captain Davison from India ; and de- scribed the appearance and behavior of the Captain. When I had finished speaking, she asked me to go and get her a glass of water ; she felt unwell. But she was gone when I came back with the water. I know all now. After sitting for a quarter of an hour with the Doctor, who attributed his guest's uneasiness no doubt to his desire to see Miss Rosa Birch, Davison started up and x0 2 DR- BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. said he wanted to see Miss Raby. " You remember, sir, how kind she was to my little brother, sir ? " he said. Whereupon the Doctor, with a look of surprise, that anybody should want to see Miss Raby, said she was in the little school-room .; whither the Captain went, knowing the way from old times. A few minutes afterwards, Miss B. and Miss Z. returned from a drive with Plantagenet Gaunt in their one-horse fly, and being informed of Davison's arrival, and that he was closeted with Miss Raby in the little school-room, of course made for that apartment at once. I was coming into it from the other door. I wanted to know whether she had drunk the water. This is what both parties saw. The two were in this very attitude. " Well, upon my word ! " cries out Miss Zoe ; but Davison did not let go his hold ; and Miss Raby's head only sank down on his hand. " You must get another governess, sir, for the little boys," Frank Davison said to the Doctor. " Anny Raby has promised to come with me." You may suppose I shut to the door on my side. And when I returned to the little school-room, it was black and empty. Everybody was gone. T could hear the boys shouting at play in the green outside. The glass of water was on the table where I had placed it. I took it and drank it myself, to the health of Anny Raby and her husband. It was rather a choker. But of course I wasn't going to stop on at Birch's. When his young friends reassemble on the ist of February next, they will have two new masters. Prince resigned too, and is at present living with me at my old lodgings at Mrs. Cammysole's. If any nobleman or gentleman wants a private tutor for his son, a note to the Rev. F. Prince will find him there. Miss Clapperclaw says we are both a couple of old fools \ and that she knew when I set off last year to Rodwell Regis, after meeting the two young ladies at a party at General Cham- pion's house in our street, that I was going on a goose's errand. I shall dine there on Christmas-day ; and so I wish a merry Christmas to all young and old boys. WANTED, A GOVERNESS, EPILOGUE. The play is done ; the curtain drops, Slow falling, to the prompter's bell : A moment yet the actor stops, And looks around, to say farewell. It is an irksome word and task ; And when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a parting rhyme, And pledge a hand to all young friends, As fits the merry Christmas time. On life's wide scene you, too, have parts. That Fate ere long shall bid you play ; Good-night ! with honest gentle hearts A kindly greeting go alway ! Good-night ! I'd say the griefs, the joys. Just hinted in this mimic page, The triumphs and defeats of boys, Are but repeated in our age. I'd say, your woes were not less keen, Your hopes more vain, than those of mer Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen, At forty-five played o'er again. I'd say, we suffer and we strive Not less nor more as men than boys, With grizzled beards at forty-five, As erst at twelve, in corduroys. And if, in time of sacred youth, We learned at home to love and pray, Pray heaven, that early love and truth May never wholly pass away. (103) 104 Df! BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift • The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down. Who knows the inscrutable design ? Blessed be He who took and gave : Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave ? * We bow to heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all, That sends the respite or the blow, That's free to give or to recall. This crowns his feast with wine and wit : Who brought him to that mirth and state ? His betters, see, below him sit, Or hunger hopeless at the gate. Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, Confessing heaven that ruled it thus. So each shall mourn in life's advance, Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed j Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, A longing passion unfulfilled. Amen : whatever Fate be sent, — Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow. Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart. * C. B., ob Dec. 1843, ast. 42. DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS. ^5 Who misses, or who wins the prize ? Go, lose or conquer as you can : But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman, A gentleman, or old or young : (Bear kindly with my humble lays), The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days. The shepherds heard it overhead — The joyful angels raised it then : Glory to heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men. My song, save this, is little worth ; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still — • Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. 2ND ok "dr. birch and his young friends.' 8* THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. By Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION BEING AN ESS A Y ON THUNDER AND SMALL BEER. Any reader who may have a fancy to purchase a copy of this present edition of the " History of the Kickleburys Abroad," had best be warned in time, that the Times news- paper does not approve of the work, and has but a bad opinion both of the author and his readers. Nothing can be fairer than this statement : if you happen to take up the poor little volume at a railroad station, and read this sentence, lay the book down, and buy something else. You are warned. What more can the author say ? If after this you will buy, — amen ! pay your money, take your book, and fall to. Between ourselves, honest reader, it is no very strong potation which the present purveyor offers to you. It will not trouble your head much in the drink- ing. It was intended for that sort of negus which is offered at Christmas parties ; and of which ladies and children may par- take with refreshment and cheerfulness. Last year I tried a brew which was old, bitter, and strong ; and scarce any one would drink it. This year we send round a milder tap, and it is liked by customers : though the critics (who like strong ale, the rogues !) turn up their noses. In heaven's name, Mr. Smith, serve round the liquor to the gentlefolks. Pray, dear madam, another glass ; it is Christmas time, it will do you no harm. It is not intended to keep long, this sort of drink. (Come, froth up, Mr. Publisher, and pass quickly round !) And as for the professional gentlemen, we must get a stronger sort for them some day. The Times' gentleman (a very difficult gent to please) is the loudest and noisiest of all, and has made more hideous faces over the refreshment offered to him than any other critic. There is no use shirking this statement ! when a man has been abused in the Times, he can't hide it, any more than he could hide the knowledge of his having been committed to prison by Mr. Henry, or publicly caned in Pall Mall. You see (109) no rREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION: it in your friends' eyes when they meet you. They know it, They have chuckled over it to a man. They whisper about it at the club, and look over the paper at you. My next-dooi neighbor came to see me this morning-, and I saw by his face that he had the whole story pat. " Hem ! " says he, " well, 1 have heard of it ; and the fact is, they were talking about you at dinner last night, and mentioning that the Times had— ahem ! ■ — ' walked into you.' " " My good M " I say — and M will corroborate, if need be, the statement I make here — " here is the Times* article, dated January 4th, which states so and so, and here is a letter from the publisher, likewise dated January 4th, and which says : — " My dear Sir, — Having this day sold the last copy of the first edition (of x thousand) of the ' Kickleburys Abroad,' and having orders for more, had we not better proceed to a second edition? and will you permit me to enclose an order on," &c, &c. ? Singular coincidence ! And if every author who was so abused by a critic had a similar note from a publisher, good Lord ! how easily would we take the critic's censure ! '■ Yes, yes," you say ; "it is all very well for a writer to affect to be indifferent to a critique from the Times. You bear it as a boy bears a flogging at school, without crying out ; but don't swagger and brag as if you liked it." Let us have truth before all. I would rather have a good word than a bad one from any person : but if a critic abuses me from a high place, and it is worth my while, I will appeal. If I can show that the judge who is delivering sentence against me, and laying down the law and making a pretence of learn- ing, has no learning and no law, and is neither more nor less than a pompous noodle, who ought not to be heard in any respectable court, I will do so ; and then, dear friends, perhaps you will have something to laugh at in this book. — "The Kicklebury's Abroad. " It lias been customary, of late years, for the purveyors of amusing literature — the popular authors of the day — to put forth certain opuscules, denominated ' Christmas Books,' with the ostensible intention of swelling the tide of exhilaration, or other expansive emotions, incident upon the exodus "1 the old and the inauguration of the new year. We have said that their ostensible intention was such, because there is another motive for these produc- tions, locked up (as the popular author diem-.) in his own breast, but which betrays itself, in the quality of the work, as his principal incentive. Oh ! that any muse should be set upon a high stool to cast up accounts and balance a ledger! Yet, so it is ; and the popular author finds it convenient to fill up the declared deficit, and place himself in a position the more A N ESSAY ON THUNDER AND SMALL BEER lIX effectually to encounter those liabilities which sternly assert themselves contemporaneously and in contrast with the careless and free-handed tendencies of the season by the emission of Christmas books — a kind of literary assig-nais, representing to the emitter expunged debts, to the receiver an investment of enigmatical value. For the most part bearing the stamp of their origin in the vacuity of the writer's exchequer rather than in the fulness of his genius, they suggest by their feeble flavor the rinsings of a void brain after the more important concoctions of the expired year. Indeed, we should as little think of taking these compositions as examples of the merits of their authors as we should think of measuring the valuable services of Mr. Walker, the postman, or Mr. Bell, the dust-collector, by the copy of verses they leave at our doors as a provocative of the expected annual gratuity — effusions with which they may fairly be classed for their intrinsic worth no less than their ultimate purport- " In the Christmas book presently under notice, the author appears (under the thin disguise of Mr. Michael Angelo Titmarsh) in ' />ro/>rio? persouo?' as the popular author, the contributor to Punch, the remorseless pursuer of unconscious vulgarity and feeble- mindedness, launched upon a tour of relaxation to the Rhine. But though exercising, as is the wont of popular authors in their moments of leisure, a plentiful reserve of those higher qualities to which they are indebted for their fame, his professional instincts are not altogether in abeyance. From the moment his eye lights upon a luckless family group embarked on the same steamer with himself, the sight of his accustomed quarry — vulgarity, imbecility, and affectation — reanimates his relaxed sinews, and, playfully fastening his satiric fangs upon the familiar prey, he dallies with it in mimic ferocity like a satiated mouser. "Though faintly and carelessly indicated, the characters are those with which the author loves to surround himself. A tuft-hunting county baronet's widow, an inane cap- tain of dragoons, a graceless young baronet, a lady with groundless pretensions to feeble health and poesy, an obsequious nonentity her husband, and a flimsy and artificial young lady, are the personages in whom we are expected to find amusement. Two individuals alone form an exception to the above category, and are offered to the respectful admiration of the reader, — the one, a shadowy serjeant-at-law, Mr. Titmarsh's travelling companion, who escapes with a few side puffs of flattery, which the author struggles not to render ironi- cal, and a mysterious countess, spoken of in a tone of religious reverence, and apparently introduced that we may learn by what delicate discriminations our adoration of rank should be regulated. To those who love to hug themselves in a sense of superiority by admeasurement with the most worthless of their species, in their most worthless aspects, the K icklcburys on the Rhine will afford an agreeable treat, especially as the purveyor of the feast offers his own moments of human weakness as a modest entree in this banquet of erring mortality. To our own, perhaps unphilosophical, taste the aspirations towards sentimental perfection of another popular author are infinitely preferable to these sardonic divings after the pearl of truth, whose lustre is eclipsed in the display of the diseased oyster. Much, in the pres- ent instance, perhaps all, the disagreeable effect of his subject is no doubt attributable to the absence of Mr. Thackeray's usual brilliancy of style. A few flashes, however, occur, such as the description of M. Lenoir's gaming establishment, with the momentous crisis to which it was subjected, and the quaint and imaginative sallies evoked by the whole town of Rougetnoirbourg and its lawful prince. These, with the illustrations, which are spirited enough, redeem the book from an absolute ban. Mr. Thackeray's pencil is more congenial than his pen. He cannot draw his men and women with their skins off, and, therefore, the effigies of his characters are pleasanter to contemplate than the flayed anatomies of the letter- press." There is the whole article. And the reader will see (in the paragraph preceding that memorable one which winds up with the diseased oyster) that he must be a worthless creature for daring to like the book, as he could only do so from a desire to hug himself in a sense of superiority by admeasurement with the most worthless of his fellow-creatures ! The reader is worthless for liking a book of which all the characters are worthless, except two, which are offered to his respectful admiration ; and of these two the author does not respect one, but struggles not to laugh in his face ; whilst he apparently speaks of another in a tone of religious reverence, because the lady is a countess, and because he (the author) is U2 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION: a sneak. So reader, author, characters, are rogues all. Be there any honest men left, Hal ? About Printing-house Square, mayhap you may light on an honest man, a squeamish man, a proper moral man, a man that shall talk you Latin by the half- column if you will but hear him. And what a style it is, that great man's. What hoighth of foine language entoirely ! How he can discoorse you in English for all the world as if it was Latin ! For instance, suppose you and I had to announce the important news that some writers published what are called Christinas books ; that Christmas books are so called because they are published at Christinas : and that the purpose of the author is to try and amuse people. Suppose, I say, we had, by the sheer force of intellect, or by other means of observation or information, discovered these great truths, we should have announced them in so many words. And there it is that the difference lies between a great writer and a poor one; and we may see how an inferior man may fling a chance away. How does my friend of the Times put these propositions ? " It has been customary," says he, " of late years for the purveyors of amusing literature to put forth certain opuscules, denominated Christinas books, with the ostensible intention of swelling the tide of exhilaration, or other expansive emotions, incident upon the exodus of the old or the inauguration of the new year." That is something like a sentence ; not a word scarcely but's in Latin, and the longest and handsomest out of the whole dictionary. That is proper economy — as you see a buck from Holywell Street put every pinchbeck pin, ring, and chain which he possesses about his shirt, hands, and waistcoat, and then go and cut a dash in the Park, or swagger with his order to the theatre. It costs him no more to wear all his ornaments about his distinguished person than to leave them at home. If you can be a swell at a cheap rate, why not ? And I protest, for my part, I had no idea what I was really about in writing and sub- mitting my little book for sale, until my friend the critic, looking at the article, and examining it with the eyes of a con- noisseur, pronounced that what I had fancied simply to be a book was in fact " an opuscule denominated so-and-so, and ostensibly intended to swell the tide of expansive emotion inci- dent upon the inauguration of the new year." I can hardly believe as much even now — so little do we know what we really are after, until men of genius come and interpret. And besides the ostensible intention, the reader will per- ceive that my judge has discovered another latent motive, which AN ESS A Y ON THUNDER AND SMALL BEER. x ^ [ had "locked up in my own breast." The sly rogue ! (if we may so speak of the court.) There is no keeping anything from him ; and this truth, like the rest, has come out, and is all over England by this time. Oh, that all England, which has bought the judge's charge, would purchase the prisoner's plea in mitigation ! " Oh, that any muse should be set on a high stool," says the bench, " to cast up accounts and balance a ledger ! Yet so it is ; and the popular author finds it con- venient to fill up the declared deficit by the emission of Christmas books — a kind of assignats that bear the stamp of their origin in the vacuity of the writer's exchequer." There is a trope for you ! You rascal, you wrote because you wanted money ! His lordship has found out what you were at, and that there is a deficit in your till. But he goes on to say that we poor devils are to be pitied in our necessity ; and that these compositions are no more to be taken as examples of our merits than the verses which the dustman leaves at his lordship's door, " as a provocative of the expected annual gratuity," are to be considered as measuring his, the scavenger's valuable services — nevertheless the author's and the scavenger's " effu- sions may fairly be classed, for their intrinsic worth, no less than their ultimate purport." Heaven bless his lordship on the bench — What a gentle- man-like badinage he has, and what a charming and playful wit always at hand ! What a sense he has for a simile, or what Mrs. Malaprop calls an odorous comparison, and how gracefully he conducts it to "its ultimate purport." A gentleman writing a poor little book is a scavenger asking for a Christmas-box ! As I try this small beer which has called down such a deal of thunder, I can't help thinking that it is not Jove who has interfered (the case was scarce worthy of his divine vindictive- ness) ; but the thunderer's man, Jupiter Jeames, taking his master's place, adopting his manner, and trying to dazzle and roar like his awful employer. That figure of the dustman has hardly been flung from heaven : that " ultimate purport " is a subject which the Immortal would hardly handle. Well, well ; let us allow that the book is not worthy of such a polite critic — that the beer is not strong enough for a gentleman who has taste and experience in beer. That opinion no man can ask his honor to alter ; but (the beer being the question), why make unpleasant allusions to the Gazette, and hint at the probable bankruptcy of the brewer ? Why twit me with my poverty ; and what can the Times' critic ii4 PREFACE TO THE. SECOND EDITION. know about the vacuity of my exchequer ? Did he ever lend me any money ? Does he not himself write for money ? (and who would grudge it to such a polite and generous and learned author ?) If he finds no disgrace in being paid, why should I ? If he has ever been poor, why should he joke at my empty exchequer ? Of course such a genius is paid for his work : with such neat logic, such a pure style, such a charming poetical turn of phrase, of course a critic gets money. Why, a man who can say of a Christmas book that " it is an opuscule denomi- nated so and so, and ostensibly intended to swell the tide of expansive emotion incident upon the exodus of the old year," must evidently have had immense sums and care expended on his early education, and deserves a splendid return. You can't go into the market, and get scholarship like that, without paying for it : even the flogging that such a writer must have in early youth (if he was at a public school where the rods were paid for), must have cost his parents a good sum. Where would you find any but an accomplished classical scholar to compare the books of the present (or indeed any other) writer to " sardonic divings after the pearl of truth, whose lustre is eclipsed in the display of the diseased oyster ;" mere Billings- gate doesn't turn out oysters like these ; they are of the Lucrine lake : — this satirist has pickled his rods in Latin brine. Fancy, not merely a diver, but a sardonic diver : and the expression of his confounded countenance on discovering not only a pearl, but an eclipsed pearl, which was in a diseased oyster! I say it is only by an uncommon and happy combination of taste, genius, and industry, that a man can arrive at uttering such sentiments in such fine language, — that such a man ought to be well paid, as I have no doubt he is, and that he is worthily employed to write literary articles, in large type, in the leading journal of Europe. Don't we want men of eminence and polite learning to sit on the literary bench, and to direct the public opinion ? But when this profound scholar compares me to a scavenger who leaves a copy of verses at his door and begs for a Christmas-box, I must again cry out and say, "My clear sir, it is true your simile is offensive, but can you make it out? Are you not hasty in your figures and allusions ? " If I might give a hint to so consummate a rhetorician you should be more care- ful in making your figures figures, and your similes like : for instance, when you talk of a book " swelling the tide of exhila- ration incident to the inauguration of the new year," or of a book " bearing the stamps of its origin in vacuity," i\:c. — or of AN ESS 4 Y ON THUNDER AND SMALL DEER. "5 a man diving sardonically ; or of a pearl eclipsed in die dis- play of a diseased oyster — there are some people who will not apprehend your meaning : some will doubt whether you had a meaning : some even will question your great powers, and say, " Is this man to be a critic in a newspaper, which knows what English, and Latin too, and what sense and scholarship, are ? " I don't quarrel with you — I take for granted your wit and learning, your modesty and benevolence — but why scavenger — ■ Jupiter Jeames — why scavenger ? A gentleman, whose biography the Examiner was fond of quoting before it took its present serious and orthodox turn, was pursued by an outraged wife to the very last stage of his existence with an appeal almost as pathetic — Ah, sir, why scavenger ? How can I be like a dustman that rings for a Christmas- box at your hall-door ? I never was there in my life. I never left at your door a copy of verses provocative of an annual gratuity, as your noble honor styles it. Who are you ? If you are the man I take you to be, it must have been you who asked the publisher for my book, and not I who sent it in, and begged a gratuity of your worship. You abused me out of the Times window ; but if ever your noble honor sent me a gratuity out of your own door, may I never drive another dust-cart. " Pro- vocative of a gratuity ! " O splendid swell ! How much was it your worship sent out to me by the footman ? Every farthing you have paid I will restore to your lordship, and I swear I shall not be a halfpenny the poorer. As before, and on similar seasons and occasions, I have compared myself to a person following a not dissimilar calling : let me suppose now, for a minute, that I am a writer of a Christ- mas farce, who sits in the pit, and sees the performance of his own piece. There comes applause, hissing, yawning, laughter, as may be : but the loudest critic of all is our friend the cheap buck, who sits yonder and makes his remarks, so that all the audience may hear. " This a farce ! " says Beau Tibbs •- " clemmy ! it's the work of a poor devil who writes for money, — confound his vulgarity ! This a farce ! Why isn't it a tragedy, or a comedy, or an epic poem, stap my vitals ? This a farce indeed ! It's a feller as sends round his 'at, and appeals to charity. Let's 'ave our money back again, I say." And he swaggers off ; — and you find the fellow came with an author's order. But if, in spite of Tibbs, our "kyind friends," &c, &c, &c. —if the little farce, which was meant to amuse Christmas (or what my classical friend calls Exodus), is asked for, even up to u6 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. Twelfth Night, — shall the publisher stop because Tibbs is dis satisfied ? Whenever that capitalist calls to get his money back he may see the letter from the respected publisher, inform- ing the author that all the copies are sold, and that there are demands for a new edition. Up with the curtain, then ! Vivat Regina ! and no money returned, except the limes' " gratuity ! " M. A. TITMARSH. January 5, 1851. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. Thk cabman, when he brought us to the wharf, and made his usual charge of six times his legal fare, before the settle- ment of which he pretended to refuse the privilege of an exeat regno to our luggage, glared like a disappointed fiend when Lankin, calling up the faithful Hutchison, his clerk, who was in attendance, said to him, " Hutchison, you will pay this man. My name is Serjeant Lankin, my chambers are in Pump Court. My clerk will settle with you, sir." The cabman trembled ; we stepped on board ; our lightsome luggage was speedily whisked away by the crew ; our berths had been secured by the previous agency of Hutchison ; and a couple of tickets, on which were written, "Mr. Serjeant Lankin," "Mr. Titmarsh," (Lankin's, by the way, incomparably the best and comfortablest sleeping place,) were pinned on two of the curtains of the beds in a side cabin when we descended. Who was on board ? There were Jews, with Sunday papers and fruit ; there were couriers and servants straggling about ; there were those bearded foreign visitors of England, who always seem to decline to shave or wash themselves on the day of a voyage, and, on the eve of quitting our country, appear in- clined to carry away as much as possible of its soil on their hands and linen : there were parties already cozily established on deck under the awning ; and steady-going travellers for'ard, smoking already the pleasant morning cigar, and watching tho phenomena of departure. The bell rings : they leave off bawling, " Anybody else for the shore ? " The last grape and Bell's Life merchant has n8 THE KICKLEBURYS OX THE RHINE. scuffled over the plank : the Johns of the departing nobility and gentry line the brink of the quay, and touch their hats : Hutchi- son touches his hat to me — to me, heaven bless him ! I turn round inexpressibly affected and delighted, and whom do I see but Captain Hicks ! " Hallo ! you here ? " says Hicks, in a tone which seems ta mean, " Confound you, you are everywhere." Hicks is one of those young men who seem to be everywhere a great deal too often. How are they always getting leave from their regiments ? If they are not wanted in this country, (as wanted they cannot be, for you see them sprawling over the railing in Rotten Row all day, and shaking their heels at every ball in town,) — if they are not wanted in this country, I say, why the deuce are they not sent off to India, or to Demerara, or to Sierra Leone, by Jove ? — the farther the better • and I should wish a good un- wholesome climate to try 'em, and make 'em hardy. Here is this Hicks, then — Captain Launcelot Hicks, if you please — ■ whose life is nothing but breakfast, smoking, riding-school, billiards, mess, polking, billiards, and smoking again, and da capo — pulling down his mustaches, and going to take a tour after the immense labors of the season. " How do you do, Captain Hicks ? " I say. " Where are you going ? " " Oh, I am going to the Whine," says Hicks ; " evewybody goes to the Whine." The Whine indeed ! I dare say he can no more spell properly than he can speak. " Who is on board — anybody ? " I ask, with the air of a man of fashion. " To whom does that immense pile of luggage be- long — under charge of the lady's-maid, the courier, and the British footman ? A large white K is painted on all the boxes." " How the deuce should /know ? " says Hicks, looking, as I fancy, both red and angry, and strutting off with his great cavalry lurch and swagger : whilst my friend the Serjeant looks at him lost in admiration, and surveys his shining little boots, his chains and breloques, his whiskers and ambrosial mus- taches, his gloves and other dandifications, with a pleased won- der ; as the ladies of the Sultan's harem surveyed the great Lady from Park Lane who paid them a visit ; or the simple subjects of Montezuma looked atone of Cortes's heavy dragoons. "That must be a marquis at least," whispers Lankin, who consults me on points of society, and is pleased to have a great opinion of my experience. I burst out in a scornful laugh. " That!" I say; "he is a THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE 119 captain of dragoons, and his father is an attorney in Bedford Row. The whiskers of a roturier, my good Lankin, grow as long as the beard of a Plantagenet. It don't require much noble blood to learn the polka. If you were younger, Lankin, we might go for a shilling a night, and dance every evening at M. Laurent's Casino, and skip about in a little time as well as that fellow. Only we despise that kind of thing you know, — only we're too grave, and too steady." " And too fat," whispers Lankin, with a laugh. " Speak for yourself, you maypole," says I. " If you can't dance yourself, people can dance round you — put a wreath of flowers upon your old poll, stick you up in a village green, and so make use of you." " I should gladly be turned into anything so pleasant," Lankin answers ; " and so, at least, get a chance of seeing a pretty girl now and then. They don't show in Pump Court or at the University Club, where I dine. You are a lucky fellow, Titmarsh, and go about in the world. As for me, /never " " And the judges' wives, you rogue ? " I say. " Well, no man is satisfied ; and the only reason I have to be angry with the captain yonder is, that, the other night at Mrs. Perkins's, being in conversation with a charming young creature — who knows all my favorite passages in Tennyson, and takes a most delightful little line of opposition in the Church controversy — ■ just as we were in the very closest, dearest, pleasantest part of the talk, comes up young Hotspur yonder, and whisks her away in a polka. What have you and I to do with polkas, Lankin ? He took her down to supper — what have you and I to do with suppers? " " Our duty is to leave them alone," said the philosophical Serjeant. " And now about breakfast — shall we have some ? " And as he spoke, a savory little procession of stewards and stewards' boys, with drab tin dish-covers, passed from the caboose, and descended the stairs to the cabin. The vessel had passed Greenwich by this time, and had worked its way out of the mast-forest which guards the approaches of our City. The owners of those innumerable boxes, bags, oil-skins, guitar-cases, whereon the letter K was engraved, appeared to be three ladies, with a slim gentleman of two or three and thirty, who was probably the husband of one of them. He had num- berless shawls under his arm and guardianship. He had a strap full of Murray's Handbooks and Continental Guides in his keeping ; and a little collection of parasols and umbrellas, l 20 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. bound together, and to be carried in state before the chief of the party, like the lictor's fasces before the consul. The chief of the party was evidently the stout lady. One parasol being left free, she waved it about, and commanded the luggage and" the menials to and fro. " Horace, we will sit there," she exclaimed, pointing to a comfortable place on the deck. Horace went and placed the shawls and the Guide-books. " Hirsch, avy vouconty les bagages ? tront settmorso ongtoo ? " The German courier said, "Oui, miladi," and bowed a rather sulky assent. " Bowman, you will see that Finch is comfort- able, and send her to me." The gigantic Bowman, a gentleman in an undress uniform, with very large and splendid armorial buttons, and with traces of the powder of the season still lin- gering in his hair, bows, and speeds upon my lady's errand. I recognize Hirsch, a well-known face upon the European high-road, where he has travelled with many acquaintances. With whom is he making the tour now ? — Mr. Hirsch is acting as courier to Mr. and Mrs. Horace Milliken. They have not been married many months, and they are travelling, Hirsch says, with a contraction of his bushy eyebrows, with miladi, Mrs. Milliken's mamma. " And who is her ladyship ? " Hirsch's brow contracts into deeper furrows. " It is Miladi Giggle- bury," he says, " Mr. Didmarsh. Berhabs you know her." He scowls round at her, as she call out loudly, " Hirsch, Hirsch ! " and obeys that summons. It is the great Lady Kicklebury of Pocklington Square, about whom I remember Mrs. Perkins made so much ado at her last ball ; and whom old Perkins conducted to supper. When Sir Thomas Kicklebury died (he was one of the first tenants of the square), who does not remember the scutcheon with the coronet with two balls, that flamed over No. 36 ? Her son was at Eton then, and has subsequently taken an honorary degree at Oxford, and been an ornament of " Piatt's " and the "Oswestry Club." He fled into St. James's from the great house in Pocklington "Square, and from St. James's to Italy and the Mediterranean, where he has been for some time in a wholesome exile. Her eldest daughter's marriage with Lord Roughhead was talked about last year ; but Lord Roughhead, it is known, married Miss Brent; and Horace Milliken, very much to his surprise, found himself the affianced husband of Miss Lavinia Kicklebury, after an agitating evening at Lady Polki more's, when Miss Lavinia feeling herself faint, went out on to the leads (the terrace, Lady Polkimore will call it), on the arm THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 121 of Mr. Milliken. They were married in January : it's not a bad match for Miss K. Lady Kicklebury goes and stops for six months of the year at Pigeoncot with her daughter and son- in-law ; and now that they are come abroad, she comes too. She must be with Lavinia under the present circumstances. When I am arm-in-arm, I tell this story glibly off to Lankin, who is astonished at my knowledge of the world, and says, " Why, Titmarsh, you know everything." " I do know a few things, Lankin, my boy," is my answer. " A man don't -dive in society, and. pretty good society, let me tell you, for nothing." The fact is, that all the above details are known to almost any man in our neighborhood. Lady Kicklebury does not meet with us much, and has greater folks than we can pretend to be at her parties. But we know about them. She'll con- descend to come to Perkins's, with whose firm she banks ; and she may overdraw her account : but of that, of course, I know nothing. When Lankin and I go down stairs to breakfast, we find, if not the best, at least the most conspicuous places in occupation of Lady Kicklebury's party, and the hulking London footman making a darkness in the cabin as he stoops through it bearing cups and plates to his employers. [Why do they always put mud into coffee on board steam- ers ? Why does the tea generally taste of boiled boots ? Why is the milk scarce and thin? And why do they have those bleeding legs of boiled mutton for dinner? I ask why? In the steamers of other nations you are well fed. Is it impossible that Britannia, who confessedly rules the waves, should attend to the victuals a little, and that meat should be well cooked under a Union Jack ? I just put in this question, this most in- teresting question, in a momentous parenthesis, and resume the tale.] When Lankin and I descend to the cabin, then, the tables are full of gobbling people ; and, though there do seem to be a couple of places near Lady Kicklebury, immediately she sees our eyes directed to the inviting gap, she slides out, and with her ample robe covers even more than that large space to which by art and nature she is entitled, and calling out, " Horace, Horace ! " and nodding, and winking, and pointing, she causes her son-in-law to extend the wing on his side. We are cut of that chance of a breakfast. We shall have the tea at its 9 £ 22 THE KICKLEBURYS OV THE RHINE. third water, and those two damp, black mutton-chops, which nobody else will take, will fall to our cold share. At this minute a voice, clear and sweet, from a tall lady in a black veil, says, " Mr. Titmarsh," and I start and murmur an ejaculation of respectful surprise, as I recognize no less a per- son than the Right Honourable the Countess of Knightsbridge, taking her tea, breaking up little bits of toast with her slim fingers, and sitting between a Belgian horse-dealer and a Ger- man violoncello-player who has a conge after the opera — like any other mortal. I whisper her ladyship's name to Lankin. The Serjeant looks towards her with curiosity and awe. Even he, in his Pump Court solitudes, has heard of that star of fashion — that admired amongst men and even women — that Diana severe yet simple, the accomplished Aurelia of Knightsbridge. Her husband has but a small share of her qualities. How should he ? The turf and fox-chase are his delights — the smoking- room at the " Traveller's " — nay, shall we say it ? — the illumin- ated arcades of " Vauxhall," and the gambols of the dishevelled Terpsichore. Knightsbridge had his faults — ah ! even the peer- age of England is not exempt from them. With Diana for his wife, he flies the halls where she sits severe and serene, and is to be found (shrouded in smoke, 'tis true,) in those caves where the contrite chimney-sweep sings his terrible death-chant, or the Bacchanalian judge administers a satiric law. Lord Knightsbridge has his faults, then ; but he has the gout at Rougetnoirbourg, and thither his wife is hastening to minister to him. " I have done," says Lady Knightsbridge, with a gentle bow, as she rises; "you may have this place, Mr. Titmarsh ; and I am sorry my breakfast is over : I should have prolonged it had I thought that you were coming to sit by me. Thank you — my glove." (Such an absurd little glove, by the way.) " We shall meet on the deck when you have done." And she moves away with an august curtesy. I can't tell how it is or what it is, in that lady ; but she says, " H^w do you do ? " as nobody else knows how to say it. In all her actions, motions, thoughts, I would wager there is the same cairn grace and harmony. She is not very handsome, being very thin and rather sad-looking. She is not very witty, being only up to the conversation, whatever it may be ; and yet, if she were in black serge, I think one could not help seeing that she was a Prin- cess, and Serene Highness ; and if she were a hundred years old, she could not be but beautiful. I saw her performing her THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 123 devotions in Antwerp Cathedral, and forgot to look at anything else there ; — so calm and pure, such a sainted figure hers seemed. When this great lady did the present writer the honor to shake his hand (I had the honor to teach writing and the rudi ments of Latin to the young and intelligent Lord Viscount Pim- lico), there seemed to be a commotion in the Kicklebury party — heads were nodded together, and turned towards Lady Knightsbridge ; in whose honor, when Lady Kicklebury had sufficiently reconnoitred her with her eye-glass, the baronet's lady rose and swept a reverential curtsey, backing until she fell up against the cushions at the stern of the boat. Lady Knightsbridge did not see this salute, for she did not acknowl- edge it, but walked away slimly (she seems to glide in and out of the room), and disappeared up the stair to the deck. Lankin and I took our places, the horse-dealer making room for us ; and I could not help looking, with a little air of triumph, over to the Kicklebury faction, as much as to say, " You fine folks, with your large footman and supercilious airs, see what we can do." As I looked — smiling, and nodding, and laughing at me in a knowing, pretty way, and then leaning to mamma as if in explanation, what face should I see but that of the young lady at Mrs. Perkins's, with whom I had had that pleasant conver- sation which had been interrupted by the demand of Captain Hicks for a dance ? So, then, that was Miss Kicklebury, about whom Miss Perkins, my young friend, has so often spoken to me (the young ladies were in conversation when I had the happiness of joining them ; and Miss P. went away presently, to look to her guests) — that is Miss Fanny Kicklebury. A sudden pang shot athwart my bosom — Lankin might have perceived it, but the honest Serjeant was so awe-stricken by his late interview with the Countess of Knightsbridge, that his mind was unfit to grapple with other subjects — a pang of feeling (which I concealed under the grin and graceful bow wherewith Miss Fanny's salutations were acknowledged) tore my heart-strings — as I thought of — I need not say — of Hicks. He had danced with her, he had supped with her — he was here, on board the boat. Where was that dragoon ? I looked round for him. In quite a far corner, — but so that he could command the Kicklebury party, I thought, — he was eating his breakfast, the great healthy oaf, and consuming one broiled egg after another. In the course of the afternoon, all parties, as it may be 124 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. supposed, emerged upon deck again, and Miss Fanny and her mamma began walking the quarter-deck with a quick pace, like a couple of post-captains. When Miss Fanny saw me, she stopped and smiled, and recognized the gentleman who had amused her so at Mrs. Perkins's. — What a dear sweet creature Eliza Perkins was ! They had been at school together. She was going to write to Eliza everything that happened on the voyage. " Everything? " I said, in my particularly sarcastic manner. " Well, everything that was worth telling. There was a great number of things that were very stupid, and of people that were very stupid. Everything that you say, Mr. Titmarsh, I am sure I may put down. You have seen Mr. Titmarsh's funny books, mamma ? " Mamma said she had heard — she had no doubt they were very amusing. " Was not that — ahem — Lady Knightsbridge, to whom I saw you speaking, sir ? " " Yes ; she is going to nurse Lord Knightsbridge, who has the gout at Rougetnoirbourg." " Indeed ! how very fortunate ! what an extraordinary coin- cidence ! We are going too," said Lady Kicklebury. I remarked " that everybody was going to Rougetnoirbourg this year ; and I heard of two gentlemen — Count Carambole and Colonel Cannon — who had been obliged to sleep there on a billiard-table for want of a bed." " My son Kicklebury — are you acquainted with Sir Thomas Kicklebury ? " her ladyship said, with great stateliness — " is at Noirbourg, and will take lodgings for us. The springs are particularly recommended for my daughter, Mrs. Milliken ; and, at great personal sacrifice, I am going thither myself : but what will not a mother do, Mr. Titmarsh ? Did I understand you to say that you have the — the entree at Knightsbridge House ? The parties are not what they used to be, I am told. Not that I have any knowledge. I am but a poor country baronet's widow, Mr. Titmarsh ; though the Kickleburys date from Henry III., and my family is not of the most modern in the country. You have heard of General Guff, my father, perhaps ? aide-de-camp to the Duke of York, and wounded by his Royal Highness's side at the bombardment of Valenciennes. We move in our own sj>/iere." "Mrs. Perkins is a very kind creature," I said, "and it was a very pleasant ball. Did you not think so, Miss Kickle- bury ? " " I thought it odious," said Miss Fanny. " I mean, it zvas THE KICKLEBURYS OX THE RHINE. I2 5 pleasant until that — that stupid man — what> was his name ?— ■ came and took me away to dance with him." "What ! don't you care for a red coat and mustaches? " I asked. " I adore genius, Mr. Titmarsh," said the young lady, with a most killing look of her beautiful blue eyes, " and I have every one of your works by heart — all, except the last, which I can't endure. I think it's wicked, positively wicked — My darling Scott ! — how can you ? And are you going to make a Christmas-book this year ? " " Shall I tell you about it ? " " Oh, do tell us about it," said the lively, charming creature, clapping her hands : and we began to talk, being near Lavinia (Mrs. Milliken) and her husband, who was ceaselessly occupied in fetching and carrying books, biscuits, pillows and cloaks, scent-bottles, the Italian greyhound, and the thousand and one necessities of the pale and interesting bride. Oh, how she did fidget ! how she did grumble ! how she altered and twisted her position ! and how she did make poor Milliken trot ! After Miss Fanny and I had talked, and I had told her my plan, which she pronounced to be delightful, she continued : — • " I never was so provoked in my life, Mr. Titmarsh, as when that odious man came and interrupted that dear delightful conversation." " On your word ? The odious man is on board the boat : I see him smoking just by the funnel yonder, look ! and look- ing at us." "He is very stupid," said Fanny; "and all that I adore is intellect, dear Mr. Titmarsh." " But why is he on board ? " said I, with ay?;/ sour/re. " Why is he on board ? Why is everybody on board ? How do we meet ? (and oh, how glad I am to meet you again !) You don't suppose that I know how the horrid man came here?" " Eh ! he may be fascinated by a pair of blue eyes, Miss Fanny ! Others have been so," I said. " Don't be cruel to a poor girl, you wicked, satirical crea- ture," she said. " I think Captain Hicks odious — there ! and I was quite angry when I saw him on the boat. Mamma does not know him, and she was so angry with me for dancing with him that night : though there was nobody of any particular mark at poor clear Mrs. Perkins's — that is, except you, Mr. Titmarsh." "And I am not a dancing man," I said, with a sigh. i2 6 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. " I hate dancing men ; they can do nothing but dance." " yes, they can. Some of them can smoke, and some can ride, and some can even spell very well." " You wicked, satirical person. I'm quite afraid of you ! " " And some of them call the Rhine the ' Whine,' " I said, giving an admirable imitation of poor Hicks's drawling manner. Fanny looked hard at me, with a peculiar expression on her face. At last she laughed. " Oh, you wicked, wicked man,'' she said, " what a capital mimic you are, and so full of clever- ness ! Do bring up Captain Hicks — isn't that his name ? — and trot him out for us. Bring him up, and introduce him to mamma : do now, go ! " Mamma, in the mean while, had waited her time, and was just going to step down the cabin stairs as Lady Knightsbridge ascended from them. To draw back, to make a most profound curtsey, to exclaim, " Lady Knightsbridge ! I have had the honor of seeing your ladyship at — hum — hum — hum " (this word I could not catch) — " House," — all these feats were per- formed by Lady Kicklebury in one instant, and acknowledged with the usual calmness by the younger lady. " And may I hope," continues Lady Kicklebury, " that that nost beautiful of all children — a mother may say so — that Lord Pimlico has recovered his hooping-cough ? We were so anx- ious about him. Our medical attendant is Mr. Topham, and he used to come from Knightsbridge House to Pocklington Square, often and often. I am interested about the hooping- cough. My own dear boy had it most severely ; that dear girl, my eldest daughter, whom you see stretched on the bench — she is in a very delicate state, and only lately married — not such a match as I could have wished : but Mr. Milliken is of a good family, distantly related to your ladyship's. A Milliken, in George the Third's reign, married a Baltimore, and the Bal- timores, I think, are your first-cousins. They married this year, and Lavinia is so fond of me, that she can't part with me, and I have come abroad just to please her. We are going to Noir- bourg. I think I heard from my son that Lord Knightsbridge was at Noirbourg." " I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing Sir Thomas Kicklebury at Knightsbridge House," Lady Knightsbridge said, with something of sadness. " Indeed ! " and Kicklebury had never told her ! He laughed at her when she talked about great people : he told her all sorts of ridiculous stories when upon this theme. But, at any MY LADY THE COUNTESS. y MOKE WIND THAN IS PLEASANT. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 127 rate, the acquaintance was made : Lady Kicklebury would not leave Lady Knightsbridge ; and, even in the throes of sea- sickness, and the secret recesses of the cabin, would talk to her about the world, Lord Pimlico, and her father, General Guff, late aide-de-camp to the Duke of York. That those throes of sickness ensued, I need not say. A short time after passing Ramsgate, Serjeant Lankin, who had been exceedingly gay and satirical — (in his calm way , he quotes Horace, my favorite bits as an author, to myself, and has a quiet snigger, and, so to speak, amontillado flavor, ex- ceedingly pleasant) — Lankin, with a rueful and livid counte nance, descended into his berth, in the which that six foot 0/ serjeant packed himself I don't know how. When Lady Knightsbridge went down, clown with Kickle bury. Milliken and his wife stayed, and were ill together or deck. A palm of glory ought to be awarded to that man for his angelic patience, energy, and suffering. It was he who went for Mrs. Milliken's maid, who wouldn't come to her mis- tress ; it was he, the shyest of men, who stormed the ladies' cabin — that maritime harem — in order to get her mother's bottle of salts ; it was he who went for the brandy-and-water, and begged, and prayed, and besought his adored Lavinia to taste a leetle drop. Lavinia's reply was, " Don't — go away — ■ don't tease, Horace," and so forth. And, when not wanted, the gentle creature subsided on the bench, by his wife's feet, and was sick in silence. \Mem — In married life, it seems to me, that it is almost always Milliken and wife, or just the contrary. The angels minister to the tyrants; or the gentle henpecked husband cowers before the superior partlet. If ever I marry, I know the sort of woman /will choose ; and I won't try her temper by over-indulgence, and destroy her fine qualities by a ruinous subserviency to her wishes.] Little Miss Fanny stayed on deck, as well as her sister, and looked at the stars of heaven as they began to shine there, -and at the Foreland lights as we passed them. I would have talked with her ; I would have suggested images of poesy, and thoughts of beauty ; I would have whispered the word of sentiment — the delicate allusion — the breathing of the soul that longs to find a congenial heart — the sorrows and aspirations of the wounded spirit, stricken and .sad, yet not quite despairing ; still knowing that the hope-plant lurked in its crushed ruins — still able to gaze on the stars and the ocean, and love their blazing sheen, their boundless azure. I would, I say, have taken the 9* 128 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. opportunity of that stilly night to lay bare to her the treasures of a heart that, I am happy to say, is young still ; but circum- stances forbade the frank outpouring of my poet soul : in a word, I was obliged to go and lie down on the flat of my back, and endeavor to control other emotions which struggled in my breast. Once, in the night-watches, I arose, and came on deck ; the vessel was not, methought, pitching much \ and yet — and yet Neptune was inexorable. The placid stars looked down, but they gave me no peace. Lavinia Milliken seemed asleep, and her Horace, in a death-like torpor, was huddled at her feet. Miss Fanny had quitted the larboard side of the ship, and had gone to starboard ; and I thought that there was a gentleman beside her ? but I could not see very clearly, and returned to the horrid crib, where Lankin was asleep, and the German fiddler underneath him was snoring like his own violoncello. In the morning we were all as brisk as bees. We were in the smooth waters of the lazy Scheldt. The stewards began preparing breakfast with that matutinal eagerness which they always show. The sleepers in the cabin were roused from their horse-hair couches by the stewards' boys nudging, and pushing, and flapping table-cloths over them. I shaved and made a neat toilette, and came upon deck just as we lay off that little Dutch fort, which is, I dare say, described in " Murray's Guide- book," and about which I had some rare banter with poor Hicks and Lady Kicklebury, whose sense of humor was cer- tainly not very keen. He had, somehow, joined her ladyship's party, and they were looking at the fort, and its tri-colored flag — that floats familiar in Vandevelde's pictures — and at the lazy shipping, and the tall roofs, and the dumpy church towers, and flat pastures, lying before us in a Cuyp-like haze. I am sorry to say, I told them the most awful fibs about that fort. How it had been defended by the Dutch patriot, Van Swammerdam, against the united forces of the Duke of Alva, and Marshal Turenne, whose leg was shot off as he was leading the last unsuccessful assault, and who turned round to his aide-de-camp and said, " Allez dire au Premier Consul, que je meurs avec regret de ne pas avoir assez fait pour la France ! " which gave Lady Kicklebury an opportunity to placer her story of the Duke of York, and the bombardment of Valenciennes ; and caused young Hicks to look at me in a puzzled and appealing manner and hint that I was " chaffing." "Chaffing indeed!" says I, with a particularly arch eye- twinkle at Miss Fanny. " I wouldn't make fun otyou, CaDtain * k WE CALL THOSE UULIES ! CAPTAIN HICKS. 1 THE KJCKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 129 Hicks ! If you doubt my historical accuracy, look at the ' Bio- graphie Universelle.' I say — look at the ' Biographie Univer-' selle.' " He said, "O — ah — the 'Biogwaphie Universelle ' may be all vewy well, and that ; but I can never make out whether you are joking or not, somehow ; and I always fancy you are going to cawickachaw me. Ha ha ! " And he laughed, the good- natured dragoon laughed, and fancied he had made a joke. I entreated him not to be so severe upon me ; and agair he said, " Haw haw ! " and told me, " I musn't expect to have it all my own zvay, and if I gave a hit, I must expect a Punch in return. Haw haw ! " Oh, you honest young Hicks ! Everybody, indeed, was in high spirits. The fog cleared off, the sun shone, the ladies chatted and laughed, even Mrs. Milliken was in good humor (" My wife is all intellect," Milli- ken says, looking at her with admiration), and talked with us freely and gayly. She was kind enough to say that it was a great pleasure to meet with a literary and well-informed person — that one often lived with people that did not comprehend one. She asked if my companion, that tall gentleman — Mr. Serjeant Lankin, was he ? — was literary. And when I said that Lankin knew more Greek, and more Latin, and more law, and more history, and more everything, than all the passengers put together, she vouchsafed to look at him with interest, and enter into a conversation with my modest friend the Serjeant. Then it was that her adoring husband said "his Lavinia was All intellect:" — Lady Kicklebury saying that she was not a literary woman ; that in her day few acquirements were requisite for the British female ; but that she knew the spirit of the age, and her duty as a mother, and that " Lavinia and Fanny had had the best masters and the best education which money and constant maternal solicitude could impart." If our matrons are virtuous, as they are, and it is Britain's boast, permit me to say that they certainly know it. The conversation growing powerfully intellectual under Mrs. Milliken, poor Hicks naturally became uneasy, and put an end to literature bv admiring: the ladies' head-dresses. " Cab-heads, hoods, what do you call 'em ? he asked of Miss Kicklebury. Indeed, she and her sister wore a couple of those blue silk over-bonnets, which have lately become the fashion, and which I never should have mentioned but for the young lady's reply. "Those hoods !" she said — " we call those hoods Lglies! Captain Hicks." 13° THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. Oh, how pretty she looked as she said it ! The blue eyes looked up under the blue hood, so archly and gayly ; ever so many dimples began playing about her face ; her little voice rang so fresh and sweet, that a heart which has never loved a tree or flower but the vegetable in question was sure to perish — a heart worn down and sickened by repeated disappointment, mockery, faithlessness — a heart whereof despair is an ac- customed tenant, and in whose desolate and lonely depths dwells an abiding gloom, began to throb once more — began to beckon Hope from the window — began to admit sunshine — ■ began to O Folly, Folly! O Fanny! O Miss K., how lovely you looked as vou said " We call those hoods Uglies ! " Ugly indeed ! This is a chronicle of feelings and characters, not of events and places, so much. All this time our vessel was making rapid way up the river, and we saw before us the slim towers of the noble cathedral of Antwerp soaring in the rosy sunshine. Lankin and I had agreed to ero to the "Grand Laboureur," on the Place de Meir. They give you a particular kind of jam-tarts there — -called Nun's tarts, I think — that I remember, these twenty years, as the very best tarts — as good as the tarts which we ate when we were boys. The " Laboureur " is a dear old quiet comfortable hotel ; and there is no man in England who likes a good dinner better than Lankin. " What hotel do you go to ? " I asked of Lady Kicklebury. " We go to the ' Saint Antoine ' of course. Everybody goes to the 'Saint Antoine,'" her ladyship said. "We propose to rest here ; to do the Rubens's ; and to proceed to Cologne to- morrow. Horace, call Finch and Bowman ; and your courier, if he will have the condescension to wait upon me, will perhaps look to the baggage." " I think, Lankin," said I, "as everybody seems going to the ' Saint Antoine,' we may as well go, and not spoil the party." " I think Fll go too," says Hicks ; as if he belonged to the party. And oh, it was a great sight when we landed, and at every place at which we paused afterwards, to see Hirsch over the Kicklebury baggage, and hear his polyglot maledictions at the porters ! If a man sometimes feels sad and lonely at his bachelor condition, if some feelings of envy pervade his heart, at seeing beauty on another's arm, and kind eyes directed towards a happier mug than his own — at least there are some consolations THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. t ^i in travelling, when a fellow has but one little portmanteau or bag which he can easily shoulder, and thinks of the innumerable bags and trunks which the married man and the father drags after him. The married Briton on a tour is but a luggage overseer : his luggage is his morning thought, and his nightly terror. When he floats along the Rhine he has one eye on a ruin, and the other on his luggage. When he is in the railroad he is always thinking, or ordered by his wife to think, " Is the luggage safe ? " It clings round him. It never .eaves him (except when it does leave him, as a trunk or two will, and make him doubly miserable). His carpet-bags lie on his chest at night, and his wife's forgotten bandbox haunts his turbid dreams. I think it was after she found that Lady Kicklebury proposed to go to the " Grand Saint Antoine " that Lady Knightsbridge put herself with her maid into a carriage and went to the other inn. We saw her at the cathedral, where she kept aloof from our party. Milliken went up the tower, and so did Miss Fanny. I am too old a traveller to mount up those immeasurable stairs, for the purpose of making myself dizzy by gazing upon a vast map of low countries stretched beneath me, and waited with Mrs. Milliken and her mother below. When the tower-climbers descended, we asked Miss Fanny and her brother what they had seen. "We saw Captain Hicks up there," remarked Milliken, " And I am very glad you didn't come, Lavinia, my love. The excitement would have been too much for you, quite too much." All this while Lady Kicklebury was looking at Fanny, and Fanny was holding her eyes clown ; and I knew that between her and this poor Hicks there could be nothing serious, for she had laughed at him and mimicked him to me half a dozen times in the course of the day. We " do the Rubens's," as Lady Kicklebury says ; we trudge from cathedral to picture-gallery, from church to church. We see the calm old city, with its towers and gables, the bourse, and the vast town-hall ; and I have the honor to give Lady Kicklebury my arm during these peregrinations, and to hear a hundred particulars regarding her ladyship's life and family. How Milliken has been recently building at Pigeoncot ; how he will have two thousand a year more when his uncle dies ; how she had peremptorily to put a stop to the assiduities of that unprincipled young man, Lord Roughhead, whom Lavinia always detested, and who married Miss Brent out of sheer pique. i3 2 THE K1CKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. It was a great escape for her darling Lavinia. Roughhead is a most wild and dissipated young man, one of Kicklebury's Christchurch friends, of whom her son has too many, alas ! and she enters into many particulars respecting the conduct of Kicklebury — the unhappy boy's smoking, his love of billiards, his fondness for the turf: she fears he has already injure:! his income, she fears he is even now playing at Noirbourg ; she is going thither to wean him, if possible, from his companions and his gayeties — what may not a mother effect ? She only wrote to him the clay before they left London tc announce that she was marching on him with her family. He is in many respects like his poor father — the same openness and frankness, the same easy disposition : alas ! the same love of pleasure. But she had reformed the father, and will do her utmost to call back her clear misguided boy. She had an advantageous match for him in view — a lady not beautiful in person, it is true, but pos- sessed of every good principle, and a very, very handsome fortune. It was under pretence of flying from this lady that Kicklebury left town. But she knew better. I say young men will be young men, ancl sow their wild oats, and think to myself that the invasion of his mamma will be perhaps more surprising than pleasant to young Sir Thomas Kicklebury, ancl that she possibly talks about herself and her family, ancl her virtues and her daughters, a little too much : but she will make a confidant of me, ancl all the time we are doing the Rubens's she is talking of the pictures at Kicklebury, of her portrait by Lawrence, pronounced to be his finest work, of Lavinia's talent for drawing, ancl the expense of Fanny's music-masters ; of her house in town (where she hopes to see me) ; of her parties which were stopped by the illness of her butler. She talks Kicklebury until I am sick. And oh, Miss Fanny, all of this I endure, like an old fool, for an occasional sight of your bright eyes and rosy face ! [Another parenthesis. — " We hope to see you in town, Mr. Titmarsh." Foolish mockery ! If all the people whom one has met abroad, and who have said, "We hope to meet you often in town," had but made any the slightest efforts to realize their hopes by sending a simple line of invitation through the penny post, what an enormous dinner acquaintance one would have had ! But I mistrust people who say, "We hope to see you in town."] Lankin comes in at the end of the day, just before dinner THE KICKLEBURYS OX THE RHI.XE 133 time. He has paced the whole town by himself — church, tower, and fortifications, and Rubens, and all. He is full of Egmont and Alva. He is up to all the history of the siege, when Chassee defended, and the French attacked the place. After dinner we stroll along the quays ; and over the quiet cigar in the hotel court, Monsieur Lankin discourses about the Rubens pictures, in a way which shows that the learned Serjeant has an eye for pictorial beauty as well as other beauties in this world, and can rightly admire the vast energy, the prodigal genius, the royal splendor of the King of Antwerp. In the most modest way in the world he has remarked a student making clever sketches at the Museum, and has ordered a couple of copies from him of the famous Vandyke and the wondrous adoration of the Magi, "a greater picture," says he, "than even the ca- thedral picture ; in which opinion those may agree who like." He says he thinks Miss Kicklebury is a pretty little thing; that all my swans are geese ; and that as for that old woman, with her airs and graces, she is the most intolerable old nuisance in the world. There is much good judgment, but there is too much sardonic humor about Lankin. He cannot appreciate women properly. He is spoiled by being an old bachelor, and living in that dingy old Pump Court ; where, by the way, he has a cellar fit for a Pontiff. We go to rest ; they have given us humble lodgings high up in the building, which we accept like philosophers who travel with but a portmanteau a-piece. The Kickleburys have the grand suite, as becomes their dignity. Which, which of those twinkling lights illumines the chamber of Miss Fannv? J Hicks is sitting in the court too, smoking his cigar. He and Lankin met in the fortifications. Lankin says he is a sen- sible fellow, and seems to know his profession. "Every man can talk well about something," the Serjeant says. " And one man can about everything," says I ; at which Lankin blushes; and we take our flaring tallow candles and go to bed. He has us up an hour before the starting time, and we have that period to admire Herr Oberkellner, who swaggers as becomes the Oberkellner of a house frequented by ambassadors ; who con- tradicts us to our faces, and whose own countenance is orna- mented with yesterday's beard, of which, or of any part of his clothing, the graceful youth does not appear to have divested himself since last we left him. We recognize, somewhat dingy and faded, the elaborate shirt-front which appeared at yester- day's banquet. Farewell, Herr Oberkellner ! May we never see your handsome countenance, washed or unwashed, shaven or unshorn, again ! 134 THE K'ICK'LEBURYS ON THE RHINE. Here come the ladies : " Good-morning, Miss Fanny." " 1 hope you slept well, Lady Kicklebury ? " "A tremendous bill ? " " No wonder ; how can you expect otherwise, when you have such a bad dinner ? " Hearken to Hirsch's comminations over the luggage ! Look at the honest Belgian soldiers, and that fat Freyschiitz on guard, his rifle in one hand, and the other hand in his pocket. Captain Hicks bursts into a laugh at the sight of the fat Freyschiitz, and says, " By Jove, Titmarsh, you must cawickachaw him." And we take our seats at length and at leisure, and the railway trumpets blow, and (save for a brief halt) we never stop till night, trumpeting by green flats and pas- tures, by broad canals and old towns, through Lie'ge and Venders, through Aix and Cologne, till we are landed at Bonn at nightfall. We all have supper, or tea — we have become pretty intimate — we look at the strangers' book, as a matter of course, in the great room of the "Star Hotel." Why, everybody is on the Rhine ! Here are the names of half one's acquaintance. " I see Lord and Lady Exborough are gone on," says Lady Kicklebury, whose eye fastens naturally on her kindred aris- tocracy. " Lord and Lady Wyebridge and suite, Lady Zedland and her family." " Hullo ! here's Cutler of the Onety-oneth, and MacMull of the Greens, en route to Noirbourg," says Hicks, confidentiallv. " Know MacMull ? Devilish good fellow — such a fellow to smoke." Lankin, too, reads and grins. " Why, are they going the Rhenish circuit ? " he says, and reads : Sir Thomas Minps, Lady Minos, nebst Begleitung, aus England. Sir John ./Eacus, mit Familie und Dienerschaft, aus England- Sir Roger Rhadamanthus. Thomas Smith, Serjeant. Serjeant Brown and Mrs. Brown, aus England. Serjeant Tomkins, Anglais. Madame Tomkins, Mesde- moiselles Tomkins. Monsieur Kewsy, Conseiller de S. M. la Reine d'Angleterre. Mrs. Kewsy, three Miss Kewsys. And to this list Lankin, laughing, had put down his own name, and that of the reader's obedient servant, under the august autograph of Lady Kicklebury, who signed for herself, her son-in-law, and her suite. Yes, we all flock the one after the other, we faithful English folks. We can buy Harvey Sauce, and Cayenne Pepper, and HIRSCH AND THE LUGGAGE. - ™ THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 135 Morison's Pills, in every city in the world. We carry our na- tion everywhere with us ; and are in our island, wherever we go. Toto divisos orbc — always separated from the people in the midst of whom we are. When we came to the steamer next morning, " the castled crag of Drachenfels " rose up in the sunrise before, and looked as pink as the cheeks of Master Jacky, when they have been just washed in the morning. How that rosy light, too, did become Miss Fanny's pretty dimples, to be sure ! How good a cigar is at the early dawn ! I maintain that it has a flavor which it does not possess at later hours, and that it partakes of the freshness of all Nature. And wine, too : wine is never so good as at breakfast ; only one can't drink it, for tipsiness's sake. See ! there is a young fellow drinking soda-water and brandy already. He puts down his glass with a gasp of satisfaction, It is evident that he had need of that fortifier and refresher, He puts down the beaker and says, " How are you, Titmarsh ? I was so cut last night. My eyes, wasn't I ! Not in the least : that's all." It is the youthful descendant and heir of an ancient line : the noble Earl of Grimsby's son, Viscount Talboys. He is travelling with the Rev. Caring Leader, his tutor ; who, having a great natural turn and liking towards the aristocracy, and having inspected Lady Kicklebury's cards on her trunks, has introduced himself to her ladyship already, and has inquired after Sir Thomas Kicklebury, whom he remembers perfectly, and whom he had often the happiness of meeting when Sir Thomas was an undergraduate at Oxford. There are few characters more amiable, and delightful to watch and contem- plate, than some of those middle-aged Oxford bucks who hang about the university and live with the young tufts. Leader can talk racing and boating with the fastest young Christchurch gentleman. Leader occasionally rides to cover with Lord Talboys ; is a good shot, and seldom walks out without a setter or a spaniel at his heels. Leader knows the " Peerage " and the "Racing Calendar" as well as the Oxford cram-books. Leader comes up to town and dines with Lord Grimsby. Leader goes to Court every two years. He is the greatest swell in his common-room. He drinks claret, and can't stand port-wine any longer ; and the old fellows of his college admire him, and pet him, and get all their knowledge of the world and the aristocracy from him. I admire those kind old dons when ! 3 6 THE kICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. they appear affable and jaunty, men of the world, members of the " Camford and Oxbridge Club," upon the London pave- ment. I like to see them over the Morning Post in the common- room ; with a " Ha, I see Lady Rackstraw has another daughter." " Poppleton there has been at another party at X House, and you weren't asked, my boy." — " Lord Cover- dale has got a large party staying at Coverdale. Did you know him at Christchurch ? He was a very handsome man before he broke his nose fighting the bargeman at Iffiy : a light-weight, but a beautiful sparrer," &c. Let me add that Leader, although he does love a tuft, has a kind heart : as his mother and sisters in Yorkshire know ; as all the village knows too — which is proud of his position in the great world, and welcomes him very kindly when he comes down and takes the duty at Christ- mas, and preaches to them one or two of " the very sermons which Lord Grimsby was good enough to like, when I delivered them at Talboys." " You are not acquainted with Lord Talboys ? " Leader asks, with a degage air. " I shall have much pleasure in intro- ducing you to him. Talboys, let me introduce you to Lady Kicklebury. Sir Thomas Kicklebury was not at Christchurch in your time ; but you have heard of him, I dare say. Your son has left a reputation at Oxford." " I should think I have, too. He walked a hundred miles in a hundred hours. They said he bet that he'd drink a hun- dred pints of beer in a hundred hours : but I don't think he could do it — not strong beer ; don't think any man could. The beer here isn't worth a " " My dear Talboys," says Leader, with a winning smile, " I suppose Lady Kicklebury is not a judge of beer — and what an unromantic subject of conversation here, under the castled crag immortalized by Byron." "What the deuce does it mean about peasant-girls with dark -blue eyes, and hands that offer corn and wine ? " asks Talboys. " I've never seen any peasant-girls, except the — ugliest set of woman I ever looked at." " The poet's license. I see, Milliken, you are making a charming sketch. You used to draw when you were at Brase- nose, Milliken ; and play — yes, you played the violoncello." Mr. Milliken still possessed these accomplishments. He was taken up that very evening by a soldier at Coblentz, for making a sketch of Ehrenbreitstein. Mrs. Milliken sketches immensely too, and writes poetry : such dreary pictures, such dreary poems ! but professional people are proverbially jealous ; AN HEREDITARY LEGISLATOR THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. *37 and I doubt whether our fellow-passenger, the German, would even allow that Milliken could play the violoncello. Lady Kicklebury gives Miss Fanny a nudge when Lord Talboys appears, and orders her to exert all her fascinations. How the old lady coaxes, and she wheedles ! She pours out the Talboys' pedigree upon him ; and asks after his aunt, and his mother's family. Is he going to Noirbourg ? How delight- ful ! There is nothing like British spirits ; and to see an Pmglish matron well set upon a young man of large fortune and high rank, is a great and curious sight. And yet, somehow, the British doggedness does not always answer. " Do you know that old woman in the drab jacket, Titmarsh ? " my hereditary legislator asks of me. " What the devil is she bothering me for, about my aunts, and setting her daughter at me ? I ain't such a fool as that. I ain't clever, Titmarsh ; I never said I was. I never pretend to be clever, and that — but why does that old fool bother me, hay ? Heigho ! I'm devilish thirsty. I was devilish cut last night. I think I must have another go-off. Hallo you ! Kellner ! Garsong ! Ody soda, Oter petty vare do dyvee de Conac. That's your sort ; isn't it, Leader?" "You will speak French well enough, if you practice," says Leader with a tender voice; "practice is everything. Shall we dine at the table-d'hote ? Waiter ! put clown the name of Vis- count Talboys and Mr. Leader, if you please." The boat is full of all sorts and conditions of men. For'ard, there are peasants and soldiers : stumpy, placid-looking little warriors for the most part, smoking feeble cigars and looking quite harmless under their enormous helmets. A poor stunted dull-looking boy of sixteen, staggering before a black-striped sentry-box, with an enormous musket on his shoulder, does not seem to me a martial or awe-inspiring object. Has it not been said that we carry our prejudices everywhere, and only admire what we are accustomed to admire in our own country ? Yonder walks a handsome young soldier who has just been marrying a wife. How happy they seem ! and how pleased that everybody should remark their happiness. It is a fact that in the full sunshine, and before a couple of hundred people on board the Joseph Miller steamer, the soldier abso- lutely kissed Mrs. Soldier ; at which the sweet Fanny Kickle- bury was made to blush. We were standing together looking at the various groups : the pretty peasant-woman (really pretty for once) with the red head-dress and fluttering ribbons, and the child in her arms ; IO 138 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. the jolly fat old gentleman (who little thought he would evel be a frontispiece in this life), and who was drinking Rhine wine before noon, and turning his back upon all the castles, towers, and ruins, which reflected their crumbling peaks in the water ; upon the handsome young students who came with us from Bonn, with their national colors in their caps, with their pic- turesque looks, their yellow ringlets, their budding mustaches, and with cuts upon almost every one of their noses, obtained in duels at the university : most picturesque are these young fellows, indeed — but ah, why need they have such black hands ? Near us is a type, too : a man who adorns his own tale, and points his own moral. " Yonder, in his carriage, sits the Count de Reineck, who won't travel without that dismal old chariot, though it is shabby, costly, and clumsy, and though the wicked red republicans come and smoke under his very nose. Yes, Miss Fanny, it is the lusty young Germany, pulling the nose of the worn-out old world.'' " Law, what do you mean, Mr. Titmarsh ? " cries the dear Fanny. " And here comes Mademoiselle de Reineck, with her com- panion. You see she is wearing out one of the faded silk gowns which she had spoiled at the Residenz during the sea- son : for the Reineck are economical, though they are proud ; and forced, like many other insolvent grandees, to do and to wear shabby things. " It is very kind of the young countess to call her com- panion 'Louise,' and to let Louise call her 'Laure;' but if faces may be trusted, — and we can read in one countenance conceit and tyranny ; deceit and slyness in another, — dear Louise has to suffer some hard raps from dear Laure : and, to judge from her dress, I don't think poor Louise has her salary paid very regularly. " What a comfort it is to live in a country where there is neither insolence nor bankruptcy among the great folks, nor cringing, nor flattery among the small. Isn't it, Miss Fanny? " Miss Fanny says, that she can't understand whether I am joking or serious ; and her mamma calls her away to look at the ruins of Wigginstein. Everybody looks at Wigginstein. You are told in Murray to look at Wigginstein. Lankin, who has been standing by, with a grin every now and then upon his sardonic countenance, comes up and says, " Titmarsh, how can you be so impertinent ? " " Impertinent ! as how ? " THE RE1NECKS. THE KTCKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 139 " The girl must understand what you mean ; and you shouldn't laugh at her own mother to her. Did you ever see anything like the way in which that horrible woman is follow- ing the young lord about ? " " See ! You see it every day, my dear fellow ; only the trick is better done ; and Lady Kicklebury is rather a clumsy practitioner. See ! why nobody is better aware of the springs which are set to catch him than that young fellow himself, who is as knowing as any veteran in May Fair. And you don't sup- pose that Lady Kicklebury fancies that she is doing anything mean or anything wrong ? Heaven bless you ! she never did anything wrong in her life. She has no idea but that every- thing she says, and thinks, and does is right. And no doubt she never did rob a church : and was a faithful wife to Sir Thomas, and pays her tradesmen. Confound her virtue ! It is that which makes her so wonderful — that brass armor in which she walks impenetrable — not knowing what pity is, or charity ; crying sometimes when she is vexed, or thwarted, but laughing never; cringing, and domineering by the same natuial instinct — never doubting about herself above all. Let us rise, and revolt against those people, Lankin. Let us war with them, and smite them utterly. It is to use against these, es- pecially, that Scorn and Satire were invented." " And the animal you attack," says Lankin, " is provided with a hide to defend him — it is a common ordinance of nature." And so we pass by tower and town, and float up the Rhine. We don't describe the river. Who does not know it ? How you see people asleep in the cabins at the most picturesque parts, and angry to be awakened when they fire off those stupid guns for the echoes ! It is as familiar to numbers of people as Greenwich ; and we know the merits of the inns along the road as if they were the " Trafalgar," or the " Star and Garter." How stale everything grows ! If we were to live in a garden of Eden, now, and the gate were open, we should go out, and tramp forward, and push on, and get up early in the morning, and push on again — anything to keep moving, anything to get a change : anything but quiet for the restless children of Cain. So many thousands of English folks have been at Rouget- noirbourg in this and past seasons, that it is scarcely needful to alter the name of that pretty little gay, wicked place. There were so many British barristers there this year that they called 140 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. the " Hotel des Quatre Saisons " the " Hotel of Quarter Ses- sions." There were judges and their wives, Serjeants and their ladies, Queen's counsel learned in the law, the Northern circuit and the Western circuit : there were officers of half-pay and full-pay, military officers, naval officers, and sheriffs' officers. There were people of high fashion and rank, and people of no rank at all ; there were men and women of reputation, and of the two kinds of reputation ; there were English boys playing cricket ; English pointers putting up the German partridges, and English guns knocking them clown; there were women whose husbands, and men whose wives were at home ; there were High Church and Low Church — England turned out for a holiday, in a word. How much farther shall we extend our holiday ground, and where shall we camp next ? A winter at Cairo is nothing now. Perhaps ere long we shall be going to Saratoga Springs, and the Americans coming to Margate for the summer. Apartments befitting her dignity and the number of her family had been secured for Lady Kicklebury by her dutiful son, in the same house in which one of Lankin's friends had secured for us much humbler lodgings. Kicklebury received his mother's advent with a great deal of good-humor ; and a wonderful figure the good-natured little baronet was when he presented himself to his astonished friends, scarcely recog- nizable by his own parent and sisters, and the staring retainers of their house. " Mercy, Kicklebury ! have you become a red republican ?" his mother asked. "I can't find a place to kiss you," said Miss Fanny, laugh- ing to her brother ; and he gave her pretty cheek such a scrub with his red beard, as made some folks think it would be very pleasant to be Miss Fanny's brother. In the course of his travels, one of Sir Thomas Kicklebury's chief amusements and cares had been to cultivate this bushy auburn ornament. He said that no man could pronounce German properly without a beard to his jaws ; but he did not appear to nave got much beyond this preliminary step to learn- ing ; and, in spite of his beard, his honest English accent came out, as his jolly English face looked forth from behind that fierce and bristly decoration, perfectly good-humored and un- mistakable. We try our best to look like foreigners, but we can't. Every Italian mendicant or Pont Neuf beggar knows his Englishman in spite of blouse, and beard, and slouched hat. " There is a peculiar high-bred grace about us," I whisper to A SPECIMEN OF A BRITON. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 141 Lady Kicklebury, " an aristocratic je ne sais quoi, which is not to be found in any but Englishmen ; and it is that which makes us so immensely liked and admired all over the Conti- nent." Well, this may be truth or joke — this may be a sneer or a simple assertion : our vulgarities and our insolences may, perhaps, make us as remarkable as that high breeding which we assume to possess. It may be that the Continental society ridicules and detests us, as we walk domineering over Europe ; but, after all, which of us would denationalize himself ? who wouldn't be an Englishman ? Come, sir, cosmopolite as you are, passing all your winters at Rome or at Paris ; exiled by choice or poverty, from your own country ; preferring easier manners, cheaper pleasures, a simpler life : are you not still proud of your British citizenship ? and would you like to be a Frenchman ? Kicklebury has a great acquaintance at Noirbourg, and as he walks into the great concert-room at night, introducing his mother and sisters there, he seemed to look about with a little anxiety, lest all of his acquaintance should recognize him. There are some in that most strange and motley company with whom he had rather not exchange salutations, under present circumstances. Pleasure-seekers from every nation in the world are here, sharpers of both sexes, wearers of the stars and cordons of every court in Europe : Russian princesses, Spanish grandees, Belgian, French, and English nobles, every degree of Briton, from the ambassador, who has his conge, to the London apprentice who has come out for his fortnight's lark. Kickle- bury knows them all, and has a good-natured nod for each. "Who is that lady with the three daughters who saluted you, Kicklebury ? " asks his mother. " That is our Ambassadress at X., ma'am. I saw her yes- terday buying a penny toy for one of her little children in Frankfort Fair. Lady Kicklebury looks towards Lady X. ; she makes her excellency an undeveloped curtsey, as it were ; she waves her plumed head (Lady K. is got up in great style, in a rich d'ejefmer toilette, perfectly regardless of expense) ; she salutes the am- bassadress with a sweeping gesture from her chair, and backs before her as before royalty, and turns to her daughters large eyes full of meaning, and spreads out her silks in state. And who is that distinguished-looking man who just passed, and who gave you a reserved nod ? " asks her ladyship. " Is that Lord X. ? " Kicklebury burst out laughing. " That, ma'am, is Mr. 10* I4 2 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. Higmore, of Conduit Street, tailor, draper, and habit-maker: and I owe him a hundred pound." 1 " The insolence of that sort of people is really intolerable," says Lady Kicklebury. " There must be some distinction of classes. They ought not to be allowed to go everywhere. And who is yonder, that lady with the two boys and the — the very high complexion ? " Lady Kicklebury asks. " That is a Russian Princess : and one of those little boys, the one who is sucking a piece of barley-sugar, plays, and wins five hundred louis in a night." " Kicklebury, you do not play ? Promise your mother you do not ! Swear to me at this moment you do not ! Where are the horrid gambling-rooms ? There, at that door where the crowd is ? Of course, I shall never enter them ! " " Of course not, ma'am," says the affectionate son on duty. " And if you come to the balls here, please don't let Fanny dance with anybody, until you ask me first : you understand ? Fanny, you will take care." " Yes, Tom," says Fanny. " What, Hicks, how are you, old fellow ? How is Platts ? Who would have thought of you being here ? When did you come ? " " I had the pleasure of travelling with Lady Kicklebury and her daughters in the London boat to Antwerp, says Captain Hicks, making the ladies a bow. Kicklebury introduces Hicks to his mother as his most particular friend — and he whispers Fanny that "he's as good a fellow as ever lived, Hicks is." Fanny says, " He seems very kind and good-natured : and— and Captain Hicks waltzes very well," says Miss Fanny with a blush, " and I hope I may have him for one of my partners." What a Babel of tongues it is in this splendid hall with gleaming marble pillars : a ceaseless rushing whisper as if the band were playing its music by a waterfall ! The British lawyers are all got together, and my friend Lankin, on his arrival, has been carried off by his brother Serjeants, and becomes once more a lawyer. " Well, brother Lankin," says old Sir Thomas Minos, with his venerable kind face, " you have got your rule, I see." And they fall into talk about their law matters, as they always do, wherever they are — at a club, in a ball-room, at a dinner-table, at the top of Chimborazo. Some of the young barristers appear as bucks with uncommon splendor, and dance and hang about the ladies. But they have not the easy languid deuce-may-care air of the young bucks of the Hicks and Kicklebury school — they can't put on THE INTERIOR OF HADES. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. T ^ their clothes with that happy negligence ; their neck-cloths sit quite differently on them, somehow : they become very hot when they dance, and yet do not spin round near so quickly as those London youths, who have acquired experience in co?-pore viZi, and learned to dance easily by the practice of a thousand casinos. Above the Babel tongues and the clang of the music, as you listen in the great saloon, you hear from a neighboring room a certain sharp ringing clatter, and a hard clear voice cries out, " Zero rouge," or " Trente-cinq noir. Impair et passe." And then there is a pause of a couple of minutes, and then the voice says, " Faites le jeu, Messieurs. Le jeu est fait, rien ne va plus " — and the sharp ringing clatter recom- mences. You know what that room is ? That is Hades, That is where the spirited proprietor of the establishment takes his toll, and thither the people go who pay the money which supports the spirited proprietor of this fine palace and gardens. Let us enter Hades, and see what is going on there. Hades is not an unpleasant place. Most of the people look rather cheerful. You don't see any frantic gamblers gnashing their teeth or clashing down their last stakes. The winners have the most anxious faces ; or the poor shabby fellows who have got systems, and are pricking clown the alter- nations of red and black on cards, and don't seem to be play- ing at all. Owfete days the country people come in, men and women, to gamble ; and they seem to be excited as they put clown their hard-earned florins with trembling rough hands, and watch the turn of the wheel. But what you call the good company is very quiet and easy. A man loses his mass of gold, and gets up and walks off, without any particular mark of despair. The only gentleman whom I saw at Noirbourg who seemed really affected was a certain Count de Mustacheff, a Russian of enormous wealth, who clenched his fists, beat his breast, cursed his stars, and absolutely cried with grief : not for losing money, but for neglecting to win and play upon a coup de vingt, a series in which the red was turned up twenty times running : which series, had he but played, it is clear that he might have broken M. Lenoir's bank, and shut up the gambling-house, and doubled his own fortune — when he would have heen no happier, and all the balls and music, all the newspaper-rooms and parks, all the feascmg and pleasure of this delightful Rougetnoirbourg would have been at an end. For though he is a wicked gambling prince, Lenoir, he is beloved in all these regions j his establishment gives life to the i 4 4 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. town, to the lodging-house and hotel-keepers, to the milliners and hackney-coachmen, to the letters of horse-flesh, to the huntsmen and gardes-de-chasse ; to all these honest fiddlers and trumpeters who play so delectably. Were Lenoir's bank to break, the whole little city would shut up ; and all the Noirbourgers wish him prosperity, and benefit by his good fortune. Three years since the Noirbourgers underwent a mighty panic. There came, at a time when the chief Lenoir was at Paris, and the reins of government were in the hands of his younger brother, a company of adventurers from Belgium, with a capital of three hundred thousands francs, and an infallible system for playing rouge et noir, and they boldly challenged the bank of Lenoir, and sat down before his croupiers, and defied him. They called themselves in their pride the Contrebanque de Noirbourg : they had their croupiers and punters, even as Lenoir had his : they had their rouleaux of Napoleons, stamped with their Contrebanquish seal ; — and they began to play. As when two mighty giants step out of a host and engage, the armies stand still in expectation, and the puny privates and commonalty remain quiet to witness the combat of the tremendous champions of the war : so it is said that when the Contrebanque arrived, and ranged itself before the officers of Lenoir — rouleau to rouleau, bank-note to bank-note, war for war, controlment for controlment — all the minor punters and gamblers ceased their peddling play, and looked on in silence, round the verdant plain where the great combat was to be decided. Not used to the vast operations of war, like his elder brother, Lenoir junior, the lieutenant, telegraphed to his absent chief the news of the mighty enemy who had come down upon him, asked for instructions, and in the meanwhile met the foeman like a man. The Contrebanque of Noirbourg gallantly opened its campaign. The Lenoir bank was defeated day after day, in numerous savage encounters. The tactics of the Contrebanquist generals were irresistible : their infernal system bore down everything before it, and they marched onwards terrible and victorious as the Macedonian phalanx. Tuesday, a loss of eighteen thou- sand florins; Wednesday, a loss of twelve thousand floiins ! Thursday, a loss of forty thousand florins : night after night, the young Lenior had to chronicle these disasters in melancholy despatches to his chief. What was to be done ? Night after night, the Noirbourgers retired home doubt- THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. MS ful and disconsolate ; the horrid Contrebanquists gathered up their spoils and retired to a victorious supper. How was it to end ? Far away at Paris, the elder Lenoir answered these appeals of his brother by sending reinforcements of money. Chests of gold arrived for the bank. The Prince of Noirbourg bade his beleaguered lieutenant not to lose heart : he himself never foi a moment blenched in this trying hour of danger. The Contrebanquists still went on victorious. Rouleau after rouleau fell into their possession. At last the news came : The Emperor has joined the Grand Army. Lenoir himself had arrived from Paris, and was once more among his children, his people. The daily combats continued : and still, still, though Napoleon was with the Eagles, the abominable Contrebanquists fought and conquered. And far greater than Napoleon, as great as Ney himself under disaster, the bold Lenoir never lost cour- age, never lost good-humor, was affable, was gentle, was care- ful of his subjects' pleasures and comforts, and met an adverse fortune with a dauntless smile. With a devilish forbearance and coolness, the atrocious, Contrebanque — like Polyphemus, who only took one of his prisoners out of the cave at a time, and so ate them off at leisure — the horrid Contrebanquists, I say, contented them- selves with winning so much before dinner, and so much be- fore supper — say five thousand florins for each meal. They played and won at noon : they played and won at eventide. They of Noirbourg went home sadly every night : the invader was carrying all before him. What must have been the feelings of the great Lenoir ? What were those of Washington before Trenton, when it seemed all up with the cause of American Independence ; what those of the virgin Elizabeth, when the Armada was signalled ; what those of Miltiades, when the multitudinous Persian bore clown on Marathon ? The people looked on at the combat, and saw their chieftain stricken, bleeding, fallen, fighting still. At last there came one clay when the Contrebanquists had won their allotted sum, and were about to leave the tables which they had swept so often. But pride and lust of gold had seized upon the heart of one of their vainglorious chieftains ; and he said, " Do not let us go yet — let us win a thousand florins more ! " So they stayed and set the bank yet a thou- sand florins. The Noirbourgers looked on, and trembled for their prince. Some three hours afterwards — a shout, a mighty shout was 14 6 THE KICKLEBURYS OJST THE RHINE. heard around the windows of that palace : the town, the gar dens, the hills, the fountains took up and echoed the jubilant acclaim. Hip, hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! Peop'e rushed into each others' arms ; men, women, and children crie<^ and kissed each other. Croupiers, who never feel, who never tremble, who never care whether black wins or red loses, took snuff from each others' boxes, and laughed for joy ; and Lenoir the dauntless, the invincible Lenoir, wiped the drops of per- spiration from his calm forehead, as he drew the enemy's last rouleau into his till. He had conquered. The Persians were beaten, horse and foot — the Armada had gone down. Since Wellington shut up his telescope at Waterloo, when the Prus- sians came charging on to the field, and the Guard broke and fled, there had been no such heroic endurance, such utter de- feat, such signal and crowning victor}'. Vive Lenoir ! I am a Lenoirite. I have read his newspapers, strolled in his gardens, listened to his music, and rejoice in his victory : I am glad he beat those Contrebanquists. Dissipati sunt. The game is up with them. The instances of this man's magnanimity are numerous, and worthy of Alexander the Great, or Harry the Fifth, or Robin Hood. Most gentle is he, and thoughtful to the poor, and merciful to the vanquished. When Jeremy Diddler, who had lost twenty pounds at his table, lay in inglorious pawn at his inn — when O'Toole could not leave Noirbourg until he had received his remittances from Ireland — the noble Lenoir paid Diddler's inn bill, advanced O'Toole money upon his well- known signature, franked both of them back to their native country again ; and has never, wonderful to state, been paid from that day to this. If you will go play at his table, you may ; but nobody forces you. If you lose, pay with a cheerful heart. Dulce est desipere in loco. This is not a treatise of morals. Friar Tuck was not an exemplary ecclesiastic, nor Robin Hood a model man ; but he was a jolly outlaw ; and I dare say the Sheriff of Nottingham, whose money he took, rather relished his feast at Robin's green table. And if you lose, worthy friend, as possibly you will, at Le- noir's pretty games, console yourself by thinking that it is much better for you in the end that you should lose, than that you should win. Let me, for my part, make a clean breast of it, and own that your humble servant did, on one occasion, win a score of Napoleons ; and beginning with a sum of no less than five shillings. But until I had lost them again I was s« ■. >l ^ Is k^ll! A ,•/ <■"■■ ft 'a THE WATER CURE. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. I4 j /everish, excited, and uneasy, that I had neither delectation in reading the most exciting French novels, nor pleasure in seeing pretty landscapes, nor appetite for dinner. The moment, how- ever, that graceless money was gone, equanimity was restored : Paul Feval and Eugene Sue began to be terrifically interesting again ; and the dinners at Noirbourg, though by no means good culinary specimens, were perfectly sufficient for my easy and tranquil mind. Lankin, who played only a lawyer's rubber at whist, marked the salutary change in his friend's condition : and, for my part, I hope and pray that every honest reader of this volume who plays at M. Lenoir's table will lose every shil- ling of his winnings before he goes away. Where are the gam- blers whom we have read of? Where are the card-players whom we can remember in our early days ? At one time al- most every gentleman played, and there were whist-tables in every lady's drawing-room. But trumps are going out along with numbers of old-world institutions ; and, before very long, a black-leg will be as rare an animal as a knight in armor. There was a little dwarfish, abortive, counter-bank set up at Noirbourg this year : but the gentlemen soon disagreed among themselves ; and, let us hope, were cut off in detail by the great Lenoir. And there was a Frenchman at our inn who had won two Napoleons per day for the last six weeks, and who had an infallible system, whereof he kindly offered to communi- cate the secret for the consideration of a hundred Louis ; but there came one fatal night when the poor Frenchman's system could not make head against fortune, and her wheej went over him. and he disappeared utterly. With the early morning everybody rises and makes his or her appearance at the Springs, where they partake of water with a wonderful energy and perseverance. They say that people get to be fond of this water at last ; as to what tastes cannot men accustom themselves ? I drank a couple of glasses of an abominable sort of feeble salts in a state of very gentle effer- vescence ; but, though there was a very pretty girl who served it, the drink was abominable, and it was a marvel to see the various topers, who tossed off glass after glass, which the fair- haired little Hebe delivered sparkling from the well. Seeing my wry faces, old Captain Carver expostulated, with a jolly twinkle of his eye, as he absorbed the contents of a sparkling crystal beaker. " Pooh ! take another glass, sir : you'll like it better and better every day. It refreshes you, sir : it fortifies you : and as for liking it — gad ! 1 remember the time I4 8 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHIXE. when I didn't like claret. Times are altered now, ha ! ha ! Mrs. Fantail, madam, I wish you a very good-morning. Hov* is Fantail ? He don't come to drink the water : so much the worse for him." To see Mrs. Fantail of an evening is to behold a magnificent sight. She ought to be shown in a room by herself ; and, in- deed, would occupy a moderate -sized one with her person and adornments. Marie Antoinette's hoop is not bigger than Mrs. Fantail's flounces. Twenty men taking hands (and, indeed, she likes to have at least that number about her) would scarcely encompass her. Her chestnut ringlets spread out in a halo round her face : she must want two or three coiffeurs to arrange that prodigious head-dress ; and then, when it is done, how car she endure that extraordinary gown ? Her travelling band boxes must be as large as omnibuses. But see Mrs. Fantail in the morning, having taken in all sail : the chestnut curls have disappeared, and two limp bands of brown hair border her lean, sallow face ; you see before you an ascetic, a nun, a woman worn by mortifications, of a sad yellow aspect, drinking salts at the well : a vision quite different from that rapturous one of the previous night's ball-room. No wonder Fantail does not come out of a morning ; he had rather not see such a P.ebecca at the well. Lady Kickh.bury came for some mornings pretty regularly, and was very civil to Mr. Leader, and made Miss Fanny drink when his lordship took a cup, and asked Lord Talboys and his tutor to dinner. But the tutor came, and, blushing, brought an excuse from Talboys ; and poor Milliken had not a very pleas- ant evening after Mr. Baring Leader rose to go away. But though the water was not good the sun was bright, the music cheery, the landscape fresh and pleasant, and it was al- ways amusing to see the vast varieties of our human species that congregated at the Springs, and trudged up and down the green alle'es. One of the gambling conspirators of the roulette table it was good to see here, in his private character, drinking down pints of salts like any other sinner, having a homely wife on his arm, and between them a poodle on which they lavished their tenderest affection. You see these people care for other things besides trumps ; and are not always thinking about black and red : — as even ogres are represented, in their histories, as of cruel natures, and licentious appetites, and, to be sure, fond of eating men and women ; but yet it appears that their wives often respected them, and they had a sincere liking for their own hideous children. And, besides the card-players, there THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 149 are band-players : every now and then a riddle from the neigh- boring orchestra, or a disorganized bassoon, will step down and drink a glass of the water, and jump back into his rank again. Then come the burly troops of English, the honest lawyers, merchants, and gentlemen, with their wives and buxom daugh- ters, and stout sons, that, almost grown to the height of man- hood, are boys still, with rough wide-awake hats and shooting- jackets, full of lark and laughter. A French boy of sixteen has had des passions ere that time, very likely, and is already par- ticular in his dress, an ogler of the women, and preparing to kill. Adolphe says to Alphonse — " La voila cette charmante Miss Fanni, la belle Kickleburi ! je te donne ma parole, elle est fraiche comme une rose ! la crois-tu riche, Alphonse ? " " Je me range, mon ami, vois-tu ? La vie de garcon me pese. Ma parole d'honneur ! je me range." And he gives Miss Fanny a killing bow, and a glance which seems to say, " Sweet Anglaise, I know that I have won your heart." Then besides the young French buck, whom we will willingly suppose harmless, you see specimens of the French raff, who goes aux eaux : gambler, speculator, sentimentalist, duellist, travelling: with madame his wife, at whom other raffs nod and wink familiarly. This rogue is much more picturesque and civilized than the similar person in our own country : whose manners betray the stable ; who never reads anything but Bell's Life ; and who is much more at ease in conversing with a groom than with his employer. Here come Mr. Boucher and Mr. Fowler : better to gamble for a score of nights with honest Monsieur Lenoir, than to sit down in private once with those gentlemen. But we have said that their profession is going down, and the number of Greeks daily diminishes. They are travelling with Mr. Bloundell, who was a gentleman once, and still retains about him some faint odor of that time of bloom ; and Bloundell has put himself on young Lord Talboys, and is trying to get some money out of that young nobleman. But the English youth of the present day is a wide-awake youth, and male or female artifices are expended pretty much in vain on our young travelling companion. Who come yonder ? Those two fellows whom we met at the table d'hote at the " Hotel de Russie " the other day : gentlemen of splendid costume, and yet questionable appear- ances, the eldest of whom called for the list of wines, and cried out loud enough for all the company to hear, " Lafite, six florins. 'Arry, shall we have some Lafite ? You don't mind ? No more *5° THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. do I then. I say, waiter, let's 'ave a pint of ordinaire." Truth is stranger than fiction. You good fellow, wherever you are, why did you ask 'Any to 'ave that pint of ordinaire in the presence of your obedient servant ? How could he do other' wise than chronicle the speech ? And see : here is a lady who is doubly desirous to be put into print, who encourages it and invites "it. It appears that on Lankin's first arrival at Noirbourg with his travelling com- panion, a certain sensation was created in the little society by the rumor that an emissary of the famous Mr. Punch had arrived in the place ; and, as we were smoking the cigar of peace on the lawn after dinner, looking on at the benevolent, pretty scene, Mrs. Hopkins, Miss Hopkins, and the excellent head of the family, walked many times up and clown before us ; eyed us severely face to face, and then walking away, shot back fierce glances at us in the Parthian manner ; and at length, at the third or fourth turn, and when we could not but overhear so fine a voice, Mrs. Hopkins looks at us steadily, and says, "I'm sure he may put me in if he likes: I don't mind." Oh, ma'am ! Oh, Mrs. Hopkins ! how should a gentleman, who had never seen your face or heard of you before, want to put you in ? What interest can the British public have in you ? But as you wish it, and court publicity, here you are. Good luck go with you, madam. I have forgotten your real name, and should not know you again if I saw you. But why could not you leave a man to take his coffee and smoke his pipe in quiet ? We could never have time to make a catalogue of all the portraits that figure in this motley gallery. Among the travel- lers in Europe, who are daily multiplying in numbers and in- creasing in splendor, the United States' dandies must not be omitted. They seem as rich as the Milor of old clays ; they crowd in European capitals \ they have elbowed out people of the old country from many hotels which we used to frequent; tney adopt the French fashion of dressing rather than ours, and they grow handsomer beards than English beards : as some plants are found to flourish and shoot up prodigiously when introduced into a new soil. The ladies seem to be as well-dressed as Parisians, and as handsome ; though somewhat more delicate, perhaps, than the native English roses. They drive the finest carriages, they keep the grandest houses, they frequent the grandest company — and, in a word, the Broadway Swell has now taken his station and asserted his dignity amongst the grandees of Europe. He is fond of asking Count THE GERMAN PEASANT MAIDEN, THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. *5* Reineck to dinner, and Grafinn Laura will condescend to look kindly upon a gentleman who has millions of dollars. Here comes a pair of New Yorkers. Behold their elegant curling beards, their velvet coats, their delicate primrose gloves and cambric handkerchiefs, and the aristocratic beauty of their boots. Why, if you had sixteen quarterings, you could not have smaller feet than those ; and if you were descended from a line of kings you could not smoke better or bigger cigars. Lady Kicklebury deigns to think \ery well of these young men, since she has seen them in the company of grandees and heard how rich they are. " Who is that very stylish-looking woman, to whom Mr. Washington Walker spoke just now ? " she asks of Kicklebury. Kicklebury gives a twinkle of his eye. " Oh, that, mother ! that is Madame La Princesse de Mogador — it's a French title." " She danced last night, and danced exceedingly well ; I re- marked her. There's a very high-bred grace about the prin- cess." "Yes, exceedingly. We'd better come on," says Kickle- bury, blushing rather, as he returns the princess's nod. It is wonderful how large Kicklebury's acquaintance is. He has a word and a joke, in the best German he can muster, for everybody — for the high well-born lady, as for the German peasant maiden, who stood for the lovely portrait which faces this page ; as for the pretty little washerwoman, who comes full sail down the streets, a basket on her head and one of Mr. Fantail's wonderful gowns swelling on each arm. As we were going to the Schloss-Garten I caught a sight of the rogue's grinning face yesterday, close at little Gretel's ear under her basket ; but spying out his mother advancing, he clashed down a bystreet, and when we came up with her, Gretel was alone. One but seldom sees the English and the holiday visitors in the ancient parts of Noirbourg ; they keep to the streets of new buildings and garden villas, which have sprung up under the magic influence of M. Lenoir, under the white towers and gables of the old German town. The Prince of Trente-et-Quarante has quite overcome the old serene sovereign of Noirbourg, whom one cannot help fancying a prince like a prince in a Christmas pantomime — a burlesque prince with twopence-half- penny for a revenue, jolly and irascible, a prime-minister-kicking prince, fed upon fabulous plum-puddings and enormous paste- board joints, by cooks and valets with large heads which never alter their grin. Not that this portrait is from the life. Per- haps he has no life. Perhaps there is no prince in that great I5 2 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. white tower, that we see for miles before we enter the little town. Perhaps he has been mediatized, and sold his kingdom to Monsieur Lenoir. Before the palace of Lenoir there is a grove of orange-trees in tubs, which Lenoir bought from an- other German prince ; who went straightway and lost the money, which he had been paid for his wonderful orange-trees, over Lenoir's green tables, at his roulette and trente-et-quarante. A great prince is Lenoir in his way ; a generous and magnani- mous prince. You may come to his feast and pay nothing, unless you please. You may walk in his gardens, sit in his palace, and read his thousand newspapers. You may go and play whist in his small drawing-room, or dance and hear con- certs in his grand saloon — and there is not a penny to pay — ■ His fiddlers and trumpeters begin trumpeting and fiddling for you at the early dawn — they twang and blow for you in the afternoon, they pipe for you at night that you may dance — and there is nothing to pay — Lenoir pays for all. Give him but the chances of the table, and he will do all this and more. It is better to live under Prince Lenoir than a fabulous old Ger- man Durchlaucht whose cavalry ride wicker horses with pet- ticoats, and whose prime minister has a great pasteboard head. Vive le Prince Lenoir ! There is a grotesque old carved gate to the palace of the Durchlaucht, from which you could expect none but a panto mime procession to pass. The place looks asleep ; the courts are grass-grown and deserted. Is the Sleeping Beauty lying yonder, in the great white tower ? What is the little army about ? It seems a sham army : a sort of grotesque military. The only charge of infantry was this : one day when passing through the old town, looking for sketches. Perhaps they be- come croupiers at night. What can such a fabulous prince want with anything but a sham army ? My favorite walk was in the ancient quarter of the town — the clear old fabulous quar- ter, away from the noisy actualities of life and Prince Lenoir's new palace — out of eye and earshot of the dandies and the ladies in their grand best clothes at the promenades — and the rattling whirl of the roulette wheel — and I liked to wander in the glum old gardens under the palace wall, and imagine the Sleeping Beauty within there. Some one persuaded us one day to break the charm, and see the interior of the palace. I am sorry we did. There was no Sleeping Beauty in any chamber that we saw ; nor any fairies, good or malevolent. There was a set of clean old rooms, which looked as if they had belonged to a prince hard put to it ~m. CHARGE OF NOIRBOURG. THE OLD STORY. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. ^3 /or money, and whose tin crown jewels would not fetch more than King Stephen's pantaloons. A fugitive prince, a brave prince struggling with the storms of fate, a prince in exile may be poor ; but a prince looking out of his own palace windows with a dressing-gown out at elbows, and dunned by his subject washerwoman — I say this is a painful object. When they get shabby they ought not to be seen. " Don't you think so, Lady Kicklebury ? " Lady Kicklebury evidently had calculated the price of the carpets and hangings, and set them justly down at a low figure. " These German princes," she said, " are not to be put on a level with English noblemen." " Indeed," we an- swer, " there is nothing so perfect as England : nothing so good as our aristocracy ; nothing so perfect as our institutions." "Nothing! nothing!" says Lady K. An English princess was once brought to reign here ; and almost the whole of the little court was kept upon her dowry. The people still regard her name fondly ; and they show, at the Schloss, the rooms which she inhabited. Her old books are still there — her old furniture brought from home ; the pres- ents and keepsakes sent by her family are as they were in the princess's lifetime : the very clock has the name of a Windsor maker on its face ; and portraits of all her numerous race dec- orate the homely walls of the now empty chambers. There is the benighted old king, his beard hanging down to the star on his breast ; and the first gentleman of Europe — so lavish of his portrait everywhere, and so chary of showing his royal person' ■ — all the stalwart brothers of the now all but extinct generation are there ; their quarrels and their pleasures, their glories and disgraces, enemies, flatterers, detractors, admirers — all now buried. Is it not curious to think that the King of Trumps How virtually reigns in this place, and has deposed the other lynasty ? Very early one morning, wishing to have a sketch of the White Tower in which our English princess had been impris- oned, I repaired to the gardens, and set about a work, which, when completed, will no doubt have the honor of a place on the line at the Exhibition ; and returning homewards to break- fast, musing upon the strange fortunes and inhabitants of the queer, fantastic, melancholy place, behold, I came suddenly upon a couple of persons, a male and a female ; the latter of whom wore a blue hood or " ugly," and blushed very much on seeing me. The man began to laugh behind his mustaches, the which cachinnation was checked by an appealing look from the young lady ; and he held out his hand and said, " How d'y? do, Titmarsh ? Been out making some cawickachaws, hay ? " 154 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. I need not say that the youth before me was the heavy dragoon, and the maiden was Miss Fanny Kicklebury. Or need I repeat that, in the course of my blighted being, I never loved a young gazelle to glad me with its dark-blue eye, but when it came to, &c, the usual disappointment was sure to ensue ? There is no necessity why I should allude to my feel- ings at this most manifest and outrageous case. I gave a with- ering glance of scorn at the pair, and, with a stately salutation, passed on. Miss Fanny came tripping after me. She held out her little hand with such a pretty look* of deprecation, that I coulc. not but take it ; and she said, " Mr. Titmarsh, if you please, I want to speak to you, if you please;" and, choking with emo- tion, I bade her speak on. " My brother knows all about it, and highly approves of Captain Hicks," she said, with her head hanging down ; " and oh, he's very good and kind : and I know him much better now, than I did when we were on board the steamer." I thought how I had mimicked him, and what an ass I had been. "And you know," she continued, " that you have quite de- serted me for the last ten clays for your great acquaintances." " I have been to play chess with Lord Knightsbridge, who has the gout." " And to drink tea constantly with that American lady ; and you have written verses in her album, and in Lavinia's album ; and as I saw that you had quite thrown me off, why I — my brother approves of it highly; and — and Captain Hicks likes you very much, and says you amuse him very much — indeed he does," says the arch little wretch. And then she added a post- script, as it were, to her letter, which contained, as usual, the point which she wished to urge : — ■ "You — won't break it to mamma — will you be so kind? My brother will do that " — and I promised her ; and she ran away, kissing her hand to me. And I did not say a word to Lady Kicklebury, and not above a thousand people at Noirbourg knew that Miss Kicklebury and Captain Hicks were engaged. And now let those who are too confident of their virtue lis- ten to the truthful and melancholy story which I have to relate, and humble themselves, and bear in mind that the most perfect among us are occasionally liable to fall. Kicklebury was not perfect, — I do not defend his practice. He spent a great deal more time and money than was good for him at M. Lenoir's THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. *55 gaming-table, and the only thing which the young fellow never lost was his good-humor. If Fortune shook her swift wings and fled away from him, he laughed at the retreating pinions, and you saw him dancing and laughing as gayly after losing a rouleau, as if he was made of money, and really had the five thousand a year which his mother said was the amount of the Kicklebury property. But when her ladyship's jointure, and the young ladies' allowances, and the interest of mortgages were paid out of the five thousand a year, I grieve to say that the gallant Kicklebury's income was to be counted by hundreds and not by thousands ; so that, for any young lady who wants a carriage (and who can live without one ?) our friend the baro- net is not a desirable specimen of bachelors. Now, whether it was that the presence of his mamma interrupted his pleasures, or certain of her ways did not please him, or that he had lost all his money at roulette and could afford no more, certain it is, that after about a fortnight's stay at Noirbourg, he went off to shoot with Count Einhorn in Westphalia ; he and Hicks part- ing the dearest of friends, and the Baronet going off on a pony which the captain lent to him. Between him and Milliken, his brother-in-law, there was not much sympathy : for he pronounced Mr. Milliken to be what is called a muff ; and had never been familiar with his eldest sister Lavinia, of whose poems he had a mean opinion, and who used to tease and worry him by teach- ing him French, and telling tales of him to his mamma, when he was a schoolboy home for the holidays. Whereas, between the baronet and Miss Fanny there seemed to be the closest af- fection ; they walked together every morning to the waters ; they joked and laughed with each other as happily as possible. Fanny was almost ready to tell fibs to screen her brother's mal- practices from her mamma : she cried when she heard of his mishaps, and that he had lost too much money at the green table ; and when Sir Thomas went away, the good little soul brought him five louis ; which was all the money she had : for you see she paid her mother handsomely for her board ; and when her little gloves and milliners' bills were settled — how much was there left out of two hundred a year ? And she cried when she heard that Hicks had lent Sir Thomas money, and went up and said, "Thank you, Captain Hicks;" and shook hands with the captain so eagerly, that I thought he was a lucky fellow, who had a father a wealthy attorney in Bedford Row. Heigh-ho ! I saw how matters were going. The birds must sing in the spring-time, and the flowers bud. Mrs. Milliken, in her character of invalid, took the advan- 156 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. tage of her situation to have her husband constantly about her, reading to her, or fetching the doctor to her, or watching her whilst she was dozing, and so forth ; and Lady Kicklebury found the life which this pair led rather more monotonous than that sort of existence which she liked, and would leave them alone with Fanny (Captain Hicks not uncommonly coming in to take tea with the three"), whilst her ladyship went to the Redoute to hear the music, or read the papers, or play a game of whist there. The newspaper-room at Noirbourg is next to the roulette- room, into which the doors are always open; and Lady K. would come, with newspaper in hand, into this play-room, some- times, and look on at the gamesters. I have mentioned a little Russian boy, a little imp with the most mischievous intelligence and good-humor in his face, who was suffered by his parents to play as much as he chose, and who pulled bonbons out of one pocket and Napoleons out of the other, and seemed to have quite a diabolical luck at the table. Lady Kicklebury's terror and interest at seeing this boy were extreme. She watched him and watched him, and he seemed always to win ; and at last her ladyship put clown just a florin — only just one florin — on one of the numbers at roulette which the little Russian imp was backing. Number twenty- seven came up, and the croupiers flung over three gold pieces and five florins to Lady Kicklebury, which she raked up with a trembling hand. She did not play any more that night, but sat in the play- room, pretending to read the Times newspaper ; but you could see her eve peering over the sheet, and always fixed on the little imp of a Russian. He had very good luck that night, and his winning made her very savage. As he retired, rolling his gold pieces into his pocket and sucking his barley-sugar, she glared after him with angry eyes ; and went home, and scolded everybody, and had no sleep. I could hear her scold- ing. Our apartments in the Tissisch House overlooked Lady Kicklebury's suite of rooms : the great windows were open in the autumn. Yes ; I could hear her scolding, and see some other people sitting whispering in the embrasure, or looking out on the harvest moon. The next evening, Lady Kicklebury shirked away from the concert ; and I saw her in the play-room again, going round and round the table ; and, lying in ambush behind the Journal des Debuts, I marked how, after looking stealthily round, my lady whipped a piece of money under the croupier's elbow, and THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 157 (there having been no coin there previously) I saw a florin on the Zero. She lost that, and walked away. Then she came back and put down two florins on a number, and lost again, and became very red and angry ; then she retreated, and came back a third time, and a seat being vacated by a player, Lady Kicklebury sat down at the verdant board. Ah me ! She had a pretty good evening, and carried off a little money again that night. The next day was Sunday : she gave two florins at the collec- tion at church, to Fanny's surprise at mamma's liberality. On this night of course there was no play. Her ladyship wrote letters, and read a sermon. But the next night she was back at the table ; and won very plentifully, until the little Russian sprite made his appearance, when it seemed that her luck changed. She began to bet upon him, and the young Calmuck lost too. Her ladyship's temper went along with her money : first she backed the Calmuck, and then she played against him. When she played against him, his luck turned ; and he began straightway to win. She put on more and more money as she lost : her winnings went : gold came out of secret pockets. She had but a florin left at last, and tried it on a number, and failed. She got up to go away. I watched her, and I watched Mr. Justice ^Lacus, too, who put down a Napoleon when he thought nobody was looking. The next clay my Lady Kicklebury walked over to the money-changers, where she changed a couple of circular notes. She was at the table that night again : and the next night, and the next night, and the next. By about the fifth day she was like a wild woman. She scolded so, that Hirsch, the courier, said he should retire from monsieur's service, as he was not hired by Lady Kicklebury : that Bowman gave warning, and told another footman in the building that he wouldn't stand the old cat no longer, blow him if he would : that the maid (who was a Kicklebury girl) and Fanny cried : and that Mrs. Milliken's maid, Finch, com- plained to her mistress, who ordered her husband to remon- strate with her mother. Milliken remonstrated with his usual mildness, and, of course, was routed by her ladyship. Mrs. Milliken said, " Give me the daggers," and came to her hus- band's rescue. A battle royal ensued ; the scared Milliken hanging about his blessed Lavinia, and entreating and implor- ing her to be calm. Mrs. Milliken was calm. She asserted her dignity as mistress of her own family : as controller of her own household, as wife of her adored husband; and she tola' 11* 158 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. her mamma, that with her or here she must not interfere ; thaf. she knew her duty as a child: but that she also knew it as a wife, as a The rest of the sentence was drowned, as Milliken, rushing to her, called her his soul's angel, his adored blessing. Lady Kicklebury remarked that Shakspeare was very right in stating how much sharper than a thankless tooth it is to have a serpent child. Mrs. Milliken said, the conversation could not be carried on in this manner : that it was best her mamma should nov) know, once for all, that the way in which she assumed the com- mand at Pigeoncot was intolerable ; that all the servants had given warning, and it was with the greatest difficulty they could be soothed : and that, as their living together only led to quar- rels and painful recriminations (the calling her, after her for- bearance, a serpent child, was an expression which she would hope to forgive and forget,) they had better part. Lady Kicklebury wears a front, and, I make no doubt, a complete jasey ; or she certainly would have let clown her back hair at this minute, so overpowering were her feelings, and so bitter her indignation at her daughter's black ingrati- tude. She intimated some of her sentiments, by ejaculatory conjurations of evil. She hoped her daughter might not feel what ingratitude was ; that she might never have children to turn on her and bring her to the grave with grief, " Bring me to the grave with fiddlestick ! " Mrs. Milliken said with some asperity. " And, as we are going to part, mamma, and as Horace has paid everything on the journey as yet, and we have only brought a very few circular notes with us, perhaps you will have the kindness to give him your share of the travelling expenses — for you, for Fanny, and your two servants whom you would bring with you : and the man has only been a perfect hindrance and great useless log, and our courier has had to do everything. Your share is now eighty-two pounds." Lady Kicklebury at this gave three screams, so loud that even the resolute Lavinia stopped in her speech. Her lady- ship looked wildly : " Lavinia ! Horace ! Fanny my child," she said, "come here, and listen to your mother's shame." " What ? " cried Horace, aghast. " I am ruined ! I am a beggar ! Yes ; a beggar. I have lost all — all at yonder dreadful table." " How do you mean all ? How much is all ? " asked Horace. THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. x 59 " All the money I brought with me, Horace. I intended to have paid the whole expenses of*the journey; yours, this ungrateful child's — everything. But, a week ago, having seen a lovely baby's lace dress at the lace-shop ; and — and — won enough at wh-wh-whoo-ist to pay for it, all but two-two florins — in an evil moment I went to the roulette-table — and lost — ■ every shilling : and now, on my knees before you, I confess my shame." I am not a tragic painter, and certainly won't attempt to depict this harrowing scene. But what could she mean by saying she wished to pay everything? She had but two twenty-pound notes : and how she was to have paid all the expenses of the tour with that small sum, I cannot conjecture. The confession, however, had the effect of mollifying poor Milliken and his wife : after the latter had learned that her mamma had no money at all at her London bankers', and had overdrawn her account there, Lavinia consented that Horace should advance her fifty pounds upon her ladyship's solemn promise of repayment. And now it was agreed that this highly respectable lady should return to England, quick as she might : somewhat sooner than all the rest of the public did ; and leave Mr. and Mrs. Horace Milliken behind her, as the waters were still con- sidered highly salutary to that most interesting invalid. And to England Lady Kicklebury went ; taking advantage of Lord Talboys' return thither to place herself under his lordship's protection : as if the enormous Bowman was not protector sufficient for her ladyship ; and as if Captain Hicks would have allowed any mortal man, any German student, any French tourist, any Prussian Avhiskerando, to do a harm to Miss Fanny ! For though Hicks is not a brilliant or poetical genius, I am bound to say that the fellow has good sense, good man- ners, and a good heart ; and with these qualities, a competent sum of money, and a pair of exceedingly handsome mus- taches, perhaps the poor little Mrs. Launcelot Hicks may be happy. No accident befell Lady Kicklebury on her voyage home- wards : but she got one more lesson at Aix-la-Chapelle, which may serve to make her ladyship more cautious for the future : for, seeing Madame la Princesse de Mogador enter into a car- riage on the railway, into which Lord Talboys followed, nothing would content Lady Kicklebury but to rush into the carriage after this noble pair ; and the vehicle turned out to be what is called on the German lines, and what I wish were established 160 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. in England, the Ranch Coupe. Having seated himself in this vehicle, and looked ratfeer sulkily at my lady, Lord Talboys began to smoke : which, as the son of an English earl, heir to many thousands per annum, Lady Kicklebury permitted him to do. And she introduced herself to Madame la Princesse de Mogador, mentioning to her highness that she had the pleasure of meeting Madame la Princesse at Rougetnoirbourg ; that she, Lady K., was the mother of the Chevalier de Kicklebury, who had the advantage of the acquaintance of Madame la Prin- cesse ; and that she hoped Madame la Princesse had enjoyed her stay at the waters. To these advances the Princess of Mogador returned a gracious and affable salutation, exchanging glances of peculiar meaning with two highly respectable bearded gentlemen who travelled in her suite ; and, when asked by milady whereabouts her highness's residence was at Paris, said that her hotel w-as in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette : where Lady Kicklebury hoped to have the honor of waiting upon Ma- dame la Princesse de Mogador. But when one of the bearded gentlemen called the princess by the familiar name of Fifine, and the other said, " Veux-tu fumer, Mogador ? " and the princess actually took a cigar ami began to smoke, Lady Kicklebury was aghast, and trembled ; and presently Lord Talboys burst into a loud fit of laughter. " What is the cause of your lordship's amusement ? " asked the dowager, looking very much frightened, and blushing like a maiden of sixteen. " Excuse me, Lady Kicklebury, but I can't help it," he said. " You've been talking to your opposite neighbor — she don't understand a word of English — and calling her princess and highness, and she's no more a princess than you or I. She is a little milliner in the street she mentioned, and she dances at Mabille and Chateau Rouge." Hearing these two familiar names, the princess looked hard at Lord Talboys, but he never lost countenance ; and at the next station Lady Kicklebury rushed out of the smoking-car- riage and returned to her own place ; where, I dare say, Captain Hicks and Miss Fanny were delighted once more to have the advantage of her company and conversation. And so they went back to England, and the Kickleburys were no longer seen on the Rhine. If her ladyship is not cured of hunting after great people, it will not be for want of warning: but which of us in life has not had many warnings ; and is it for lack of them that we stick to our little failings still ? When the Kickleburys were gone, that merry little Rouget- noirbourg did not seem the same place to me, somehow. The THE PRINCESS OF MOGADOR. o ■5 w W u THE KTCKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. 161 sun shone still, but the wind came down cold from the purple hills; the band played, but their tunes were stale; the prom- enaders paced the alleys, but I knew all their faces : as I looked out of my windows in the Tissisch House upon the great blank casements lately occupied by the Kickleburys, and remembered what a pretty face I had seen looking thence but a few clays back, I cared not to look any longer ; and though Mrs. Millikin did invite me to tea, and talked fine arts and poetry over the meal, both the beverage and the conversation seemed very weak and insipid to me, and I fell asleep once in my chair opposite that highly cultivated being. " Let us go back, Lankin," said I to the Serjeant, and he was nothing loth ; for most of the other Serjeants, barristers, and Queen's counsel were turning homewards, by this time, the period of term time summoning them all to the Temple. So we went straight one day to Biberich on the Rhine, and found the little town full of Britons, all trooping home like our- selves. Everybody comes, and everybody goes away again, at about the same time. The Rhine innkeepers say that their customers cease with a single day almost : — that in three days they shall have ninety, eighty, a hundred guests ; on the fourth, ten or eight. We do as our neighbors do. Though we don't speak to each other much when we are out a pleasuring, we take our holiday in common, and go back to our work in gangs. Little Biberich was so full, that Lankin and I could not get rooms at the large inns frequented by other persons of fashion, and could only procure a room between us, " at the German House, where you find English comfort," says the advertisement, "with German prices." But oh, the English comfort of those beds ! How did Lan- kin manage in his, with his great long legs ? How did I toss and tumble in mine ; which, small as it was, I was not destined to enjoy alone, but to pass the night in company with an- thropophagous wretched reptiles, who took their horrid meal off an English Christian ! I thought the morning would never come ; and when the tardy dawn at length arrived, and as I was in my first sleep, dreaming of Miss Fanny, behold I was wakened up by the Serjeant, already dressed and shaven, and who said, " Rise, Titmarsh, the steamer will be here in three- quarters of an hour." And the modest gentleman retired, and left me to dress. The next morning we had passed by the rocks and towers, the old familiar landscapes, the gleaming towns by the riverside. jQ 2 THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE. and the green vineyards combed along the hills, and when I woke up, it was at a great hotel at Cologne, and it was not sunrise yet. Deutz lay opposite, and over Deutz the dusky sky was red- dened. The hills were veiled in the mist and the gray. The gray river flowed underneath us ; the steamers were roosting along the quays, a light keeping watch in the cabins here and there, and its reflections quivering in the water. As I look, the sky-line towards the east grows redder and redder. A long troop of gray horsemen winds clown the river road, and passes over the bridge of boats. You might take them for ghosts, those gray horsemen, so shadowy do they look • but you hear the trample of their hoofs as they pass over the planks. Every minute the dawn twinkles up into the twilight ; and over Deutz the heaven blushes brighter. The quays begin to fill with men : the carts begin to creak and rattle, and wake the sleeping echoes. Ding, ding, cling, the steamers' bells begin to ring : the people on board to stir and wake : the lights may be extinguished, and take their turn of sleep : the active boats shake themselves, and push out into the river : the great bridge opens, and gives them passage : the church bells of the city begin to clink : the cavalry trumpets blow from the opposite bank : the sailor is at the wheel, the porter at his burden, the soldier at his musket, and the priest at his prayers. * * * * And lo ! in a flash of crimson splendor, with blazing scarlet clouds running before his chariot, and heralding his majestic approach, God's sun arises upon the world, and all nature wakens and brightens. O glorious spectacle of light and life ! O beatific symbol of Power, Love, Joy, Beauty ! Let us look at thee with humble wonder, and thankfully acknowledge and adore. What gracious forethought is it — what generous and loving provision, that deigns to prepare for our eyes and to soothe our hearts with such a splendid morning festival ! For these magnificent bounties of heaven to us, let us be thankful, even that we can feel thankful — (for thanks surely is . the noblest effort, as it is the greatest delight, of the gentle soul) — and so, a grace for this feast, let all say who partake of it. See ! the mist clears off Drachenfels, and it looks out from the distance, and bids us a friendly farewell. Farewell to holi- day and sunshine ; farewell to kindly sport and pleasant leisure ! Let us say good-by to the Rhine, friend. Fogs, and cares, and labor are awaiting us by the Thames ; and a kind face or two booking out for us to cheer and bid us welcome. END OF "THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE." THE ROSE AND THE RING; OR, THE HISTORY OF PRINCE GIGLIO AND PRINCE BULBO. §jl Jfi«sib.e |1antomimc for §xz%t sub Small (fbilbreir, By Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. ("63/ PRELUDE. It happened that the undersigned spent the last Christmas season in a foreign city where there were many English chil- dren. In that city, if you wanted to give a child's party, you could not even get a magic-lantern or buy Twelfth-Night characters — ■ those funny painted pictures of the King, the Queen, the Lover, the Lady, the Dandy, the Captain, and so on — with which our young ones are wont to recreate themselves at this festive time. My friend Miss Bunch, who was governess of a large family that lived in the Piano Nobile of the house inhabited by myself and my young charges (it was the Palazzo Poniatowski at Rome, and Messrs. Spillmann, two of the best pastry-cooks in Christendom, have their shop on the ground floor) : Miss Bunch, I say, begged me to draw a set of Twelfth-Night char- acters for the amusement of our young people. She is a lady of great fancy and droll imagination, and having looked at the characters, she and I composed a history about them, which was recited to the little folks at night, and served as our fireside pantomime. Our juvenile audience was amused by the adventures of Giglio and Bulbo, Rosalba and Angelica. I am bound to say the fate of the Hall Porter created a considerable sensation • and the wrath of Countess Gruffanuff was received with extreme pleasure. If these children are pleased, thought I, why should not others be amused also ? In a few days Dr. Birch's young friends will be expected to re-assemble at Rodwell Regis, where they will learn everything that is useful, and under the eyes of careful ushers continue the business of their little lives. (.65) 1 66 PRELUDE. But, in trie meanwhile, and for a brief holiday, iet us laugh and be as pleasant as we can. And you elder folks — a little joking, and dancing, and fooling will do even you no harm. The author wishes you a merry Christmas, and welcomes yots to the Fireside Pantomime. M. A. TITMARSH. December, 1854. THE ROSE AND THE RING. i. SHOWS HOW THE ROYAL FAMILY SAT DOWN TO BREAKFAST. This is Valoroso XXIV., King of Paflagonia, seated with his Queen and only child at their royal breakfast-table, and receiv- ing the letter which announces to his Majesty a proposed visit from Prince Bulbo, heir of Padella, reigning King of Crim Tartary. Remark the delight upon the monarch's royal fea- tures. He is so absorbed in the perusal of the King of Crim Tartary's letter, that he allows his egg to get cold, and leaves his august muffins untasted. " What ! that wicked, brave, delightful Prince Bulbo ! " cries Princess Angelica ; " so handsome, so accomplished, so witty — the conqueror of Rimbombamento, where he slew ten thousand giants ! " "Who told you of him, my dear?" asks his Majesty. "A little bird," says Angelica. " Poor Giglio ! " says mamma, pouring out the tea. (167) ,68 THE ROSE AND THE RING. " Bother Giglio ! " cries Angelica, tossing up her head, which rustled with a thousand curl-papers. " I wish," growls the King — " I wish Giglio was * * * * : "Was better? Yes, dear, he is better," says the Queen. u Angelica's little maid, Betsinda, told me so when she came to my room this morning with my early tea." " You are always drinking tea," says the monarch, with a scowl. " It is better than drinking port or brandy-and-water," re- plies her Majesty. "Well, well, my dear, I only said you were fond of drinking tea," said the King of Paflagonia, with an effort as if to com- mand his temper. " Angelica ! I hope you have plenty of new dresses ; your milliners' bills are long enough. My dear Queen, you must see and have some parties. I prefer dinners, but of course you will be for balls. Your everlasting blue velvet quite tires me : and, my love, I should like you to have a new neck- lace. Order one. Not more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand pounds." " And Giglio, dear ? " says the Queen. "Giglio may go to the- ■" "Oh, sir!" screams her Majesty. "Your own nephew! our late King's only son." " Giglio may go to the tailor's, and order the bills to be sent in to Glumboso to pay. Confound him ! I mean bless his dear heart. He need want for nothing ; give him a couple of guineas for pocket-money, my dear: and you may as well order yourself bracelets while you are about the necklace, Mrs. V." Her Majesty, or Mrs. K, as the monarch facetiously called her (for even royalty will have its sport, and this august family were very much attached), embraced her husband, and, twining her arm round her daughter's waist, they quitted the breakfast- room in order to make all things ready for the princely stranger. When they were gone, the smile that had lighted up the eyes of the husband and father fled — the pride of the _A7/^fled — the man was alone. Had 1 the pen of a G. P. R. James, I would describe Valoroso's torments in the choicest language ; in which I would also depict his flashing eye, his distended nostril — his dressing-gown, pocket-handkerchief, and boots. But I need not say I have not the pen of that novelist: suffice it to say, Valoroso was alone. He rushed to the cupboard, seizing from the table one of THE ROSE AND THE RING. i6g the many egg-cups with which his princely board was served fot the matin meal, drew out a bottle of right Nantz or Cognac, filled and emptied the cup several times, and laid it clown with a hoarse " Ha, ha, ha ! now Valoroso is a man again. " But oh ! " he went on, (still sipping, I am sorry to say,) " ere I was a king, I needed not this intoxicating draught ; once I detested the hot brandy wine, and quaffed no other fount but nature's rill. It dashes not more quickly o'er the rocks, than I did, as, with blunderbuss in hand, I brushed away the early morning clew, and shot the partridge, snipe, or antlered deer ! Ah ! well may England's dramatist remark, ' Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown ! ' Why did I steal my nephew's, my young Giglio's ? Steal ! said I ? no, no, no, not steal, not steal. Let me withdraw that odious expres- sion. I took, and on my manly head I set, the royal crown of Paflagonia ; I took, and with my royal arm I wield, the scep- tral rod of Paflagonia ; I took, and in my outstretched hand I hold, the royal orb of Paflagonia ! Could a poor boy, a sniv- elling, drivelling boy — was in his nurse's arms but yesterday, and cried for sugar-plums and puled for pap — bear up the awful weight of crown, orb, sceptre ? gird on the sword my royal fathers wore, and meet in fight the tough Crimean foe ? " And then the monarch went on to argue in his own mind (though we need not say that blank verse is not argument) that what he had got it was his duty to keep, and that, if at one time he had enteitained ideas of a certain restitution, which shall be nameless, the prospect by a certain marriage of uniting two crowns and two nations which had been engaged in bloody and expensive wars, as the Paflagonians and the Crimeans had been, put the idea of Giglio's restoration to the throne out of the question : nay, were his own brother, King Savio, alive, he would certainly will away the crown from his own son in order to bring about such a desirable union. Thus easily do we deceive ourselves ! Thus do we fancy what we wish is right ! The King took courage, read the papers, finished his muffins and eggs, and rang the bell for his Prime Minister. The Queen, after thinking whether she should go up and see Giglio, who had been sick, thought, " Not now. Business first ; pleasure afterwards. I will go and see dear Giglio this afternoon ; and now I will drive to the jeweller's, to look for the necklace and bracelets." The Princess went up into her own room, and made Betsinda, her maid, bring out all her dresses ; and as for Giglio, they forgot him as much as I forget what I had for dinner last Tuesday twelvemonth. i;o THE ROSE AND THE RING. II. HOW KINO VALOROSO GOT THE CROWN, AND PRINCE GIGLIO WENT WITHOUT. Paflagonia, ten or twenty thousand years ago, appears to have been one of those kingdoms where the laws of succession \ 1/ were not settled ; for when King Savio died, leaving his brothel regent of the kingdom, and guardian of Savio's orphan infant, THE ROSE AND THE RING. 171 this unfaithful regent took no sort of regard of the late mon- arch's will ; had himself proclaimed sovereign of Pafiagonia under the title of King Valoroso XXIV., had a most ^olendid coronation, and ordered all the nobles of the kingdom Co pay him homage. So long as Valoroso gave them plenty of h/dls ! at Court, plenty of money and lucrative places, the Pafiagonian nobility did not care who was king ; and, as for the people, in those early times they were equally indifferent. The Prince Giglio, by reason of his tender age at his royal father's death, 172 THE ROSE AND THE RING. did not feel the loss of his crown and empire, ^s long as he had plenty of toys and sweetmeats, a holiday five times a week, and a horse and gun to go out shooting when he grew a little older, and, above all, the company of his darling cousin, the King's only child, poor Giglio was perfectly contented ; nor did he envy his uncle the royal robes and sceptre, the great hot uncomfortable throne of state, and the enormous cumber- some crown in which that monarch appeared from morning till night. King Valoroso's portrait has been left to us ; and I think you will agree with me that he must have been sometimes rather tired of his velvet, and his diamonds, and his ermine, and his grandeur. I shouldn't like to sit in that stifling robe, with such a thing as that on my head. No doubt, the Queen must have been lovely in her youth ; for though she grew rather stout in after life, yet her features, as shown in her portrait, are certainly pleasing. If she was fond of flattery, scandal, cards, and fine clothes, let us deal gently with her infirmities : which, after all, may be no greater than our own. She was kind to her nephew ; and if she had any scruples of conscience about her husband's taking the young Prince's crown, consoled herself by thinking that the King, though a usurper, was a most respectable man, and that at his death Prince Giglio would be restored to his throne, and share it with his cousin, whom he loved so fondly. The Prime Minister was Glumboso, an old statesman, who most cheerfully swore fidelity to King Valoroso, and in whose hands the monarch left all the affairs of his kingdom. All Valoroso wanted was plenty of money, plenty of hunting, plenty of flattery, and as little trouble as possible. As long as he had his sport, this monarch cared little how his people paid for it : he engaged in some wars, and of course the Paflagonian news- papers announced that he gained prodigious victories : he had statues erected to himself in every city of the empire ; and of course his pictures placed everywhere, and in all the print shops : he was Valoroso the Magnanimous, Valoroso the Vic torious, Valoroso the Great, and so forth ; — for even in these early times courtiers and people knew how to flatter. This royal pair had one only child, the Princess Angelica, who, you may be sure, was a paragon in the courtiers' eyes, in her parents', and in her own. It was said she had the longest hair, the largest eyes, the slimmest waist, the smallest foot, and the most lovely complexion of any young lady in the Pafla- gonian dominions. Her accomplishments were announced to t€ even superior to her beauty ; and governesses used to shame THE ROSE AND THE RING. *73 their idle pupils by telling them what Princess Angelica could do. She could play the most difficult pieces of music at sight. She could answer any one of " Mangnall's Questions." She knew every date in the history of Paflagonia, and every other country. She knew French, English, Italian, German, Span ish, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Cappadocian, Samothracian, ^Egean, and Crim Tartar. In a word, she was a most accomplished young creature ; and her governess and lady-in-waiting was the severe Countess Gruffanuff. Would you not fancy, from this picture, that Gruffanuff must have been a person of the highest birth ? She looks so haughty that I should have thought her a princess at the very least, with a pedigree reaching as far back as the Deluge. But J 74 THE ROSE AND THE RING. this lady was no better born than many other ladies who give themselves aiis ; and all sensible people laughed at her absurd pretensions. The fact is, she had been maid-servant to the Queen when her Majesty was only Princess, and her husband had been head footman ; but after his death, or disappearance, of which you shall hear presently, this Mrs. Gruffanuff, by flat- tering, toadying, and wheedling her royal mistress, became a favorite with the Queen (who was rather a weak woman), and her Majesty gave her a title, and made her nursery governess to the princess. And now I must tell you about the princess's learning and accomplishments, for which she had such a wonderful char- acter. Clever Angelica certainly was, but as idle as possible. Play at sight, indeed ! she could play one or two pieces, and pretend that she had never seen them before ; she could answer half a dozen " Mangnall's Questions ; " but then you must take care to ask the right ones. As for her languages, she had masters in plenty, but I doubt whether she knew more than a few phrases in each, for all her pretence ; and as for her embroidery and her drawing, she showed beautiful speci- mens, it is true, but who did than ? This obliges me to tell the truth, and to do so I must go back ever so far, and tell you about the Fairy Blackstick. III. TELLS WHO THE FAIRY BLACKSTICK WAS, AND WHO WERE EVER SO MANY GRAND PERSONAGES BESIDES. Between the kingdoms of Patlagonia and Crim Tartary, there lived a mysterious personage, who was known in those countries as the Fairy Blackstick, from the ebony wand or crutch which she carried : on which she rode to the moon sometimes, or upon other excursions of business or pleasure, and with which she performed her wonders. When she was young, and had been first taught the art of conjuring, by the necromancer her father, she was always practising lier skill, whizzing about from one kingdom to an- other upon her black stick, and conferring her fairy favors upon tin's prince or that. She had scores of royal godchildren ; turned numberless wicked people into beasts, birds, mill-stones, THE ROSE AND THE RING. *75 docks, pumps, bootjacks, umbrellas, or other absurd shapes ; and, in a word, was one of the most active and officious of the whole college of fairies. But after two or three thousand years of this sport, I sup- pose Blackstick grew tired of it. Or perhaps she thought, " What good am I doing by sending this princess to sleep for a hundred years ? by fixing a black pudding on to that booby's nose ? by causing diamonds and pearls to drop from one little girl's mouth, and vipers and toads from another's ? I begin to think I do as much harm as good by my performances. I might as well shut my incantations up, and allow things to take their natural course. " There were my two young goddaughters, King Savio's wife and Duke Padella's wife : I gave them each a present, which was to render them charming in the eyes of their hus- bands, and secure the affection of those gentlemen as long as they lived. What good did my Rose and my Ring do these two women ? None on earth. From having all their whims indulged by their husbands, they became capricious, lazy, ill- humored, absurdly vain, and leered and languished, and fancied themselves irresistibly beautiful, when they were really quite old and hideous, the ridiculous creatures ! They used actually to patronize me when I went to pay them a visit ; — me, the Fairy Blackstick, who knows all the wisdom of the necroman- cers, and who could have turned them into baboons, and all their diamonds into strings of onions, by a single wave of my rod ! " So she locked up her books in her cupboard, declined further magical performances, and scarcely used her wand at all except as cane to walk about with. So when Duke Padella's lady had a little son (the Duke was at that time only one of the principal noblemen in Crim Tartary), Blackstick, although invited to the christening, would not so much as attend ; but merely sent her compliments and a silver papboat for the baby, which was really not worth a couple of guineas. About the same time the Queen of Pafla- gonia presented his Majesty with a son and heir ; and guns were fired, the capital illuminated, and no end of feasts or- dained to celebrate the young prince's birth. It was thought the Fairy, who was asked to be his godmother, would at least have presented him with an invisible jacket, a flying horse, a Fortunatus's purse, or some other valuable token of her favor ; but instead, Blackstick went up to the cradle of the child Gigiio, when everybody was admiring him and complimenting ibis royal papa and mamma, and said, " My poor child, the best I7 6 THE ROSE AND THE RING. thing I can send you is a little misfortune ;" and this was ail she would utter, to the disgust of Giglio's parents, who died very soon after ; when Giglio's uncle took the throne, as we read in Chapter I. In like manner, when Cavolfiore, King of Crim Tartary, had a christening of his only child, Rosalba, the Fairy Black- stick, who had been invited, was not more gracious than in Prince Giglio's case. Whilst everybody was expatiating over She beauty of the darling child, and congratulating its parents, the Fairy Blackstick looked very sadly at the baby and its mother, and said, " My good woman " — (for the Fairy was very familiar, and no more minded a queen than a washerwoman) — " m y good woman, these people who are following you will be the first to turn against you ; and, as for this little lady, the best thing I can wish her is a little misfortune." So she touched Rosalba with her black wand, looked severely at the courtiers, motioned the Queen an adieu with her hand, and sailed slowly up into the air out of window. When she was gone, the Court people, who had been awed and silent in her presence, began to speak. What an odious Fairy she is," they said, — " a pretty fairy, indeed ! Why, she went to the King of Paflagonia's christening, and pretended to do all sorts of things for that family ; and what has hap- pened — the Prince her godson has been turned off his throne by his uncle. Would we allow our sweet Princess to be de- prived of her rights by any enemy ? Never, never, never, never ! " And they all shouted in a chorus, " Never, never, never, never ! " Now, I should like to know how did these fine courtiers show their fidelity ? One 6f King Cavolfiore's vassals, the Duke Padella just mentioned, rebelled against the King, who went out to chastise his rebellious subject. " Any one rebel against our beloved and august Monarch ! " cried the courtiers ; " any one resist him ! Pooh ! He is invincible, irresistible. He will bring home Padella a prisoner, and tie him to a don- key's tail, and drive him round the town, saying, ' This is the way the great Cavolfiore treats rebels.' " The King went forth to vanquish Padella ; and the poor Queen, who was a very timid, anxious creature, grew so fright- ened and ill, that 1 am sorry to say she died ; leaving injunctions with her ladies to take care of the dear little Rosalba. Of course they said they would. Of course they vowed they would die rather than any harm should happen to the Princess. At THE ROSE AXD THE RING ay 7 first the Crim Tartar Court Journal stated that the King was obtaining great victories over the audacious rebel : then it was- announced that the troops of the infamous Padella were in flight : then it was said that the royal army would soon come up with the enemy, and then — then the news came that King Cavolfiore was vanquished and slain by his Majesty, King Padella the First ! At this news, half the courtiers ran off to pay their duty to the conquering chief, and the other half ran away, laying hands on all the best articles in the palace ; and poor little Rosalba was left there quite alone — quite alone : she toddled from one room to another, crying, " Countess ! Duchess ! " (only she said " Tountess, Duttess," not being able to speak plain) " bring me my mutton-sop ; my Royal Highness hungry \ Tountess ! Duttess ! " And she went from the private apart- ments into the throne-room, and nobody was there ; — and thence into the ball-room, and nobody was there; — and thence into the pages' room, and nobody was there ; — and she toddled down the great staircase into the hall, and nobody was there ; — and the door was open, and she went into the court, and into the garden, and thence into the wilderness, and thence into the forest where the wild beasts live and was never heard of any more ! A piece of her torn mantle and one of her shoes were found in the wood in the mouths of two lioness's cubs, whom King Padella and a royal hunting-party shot — for he was King now, and reigned over Crim Tartary. " So the poor little Princess is done for," said he. " Well, what's clone can't be helped. Gentlemen, let us go to luncheon ! " And one of the courtiers took up the shoe and put it in his pocket. And there was an end of Rosalba ! IV. HOW BLACKSTICK WAS NOT ASKED TO THE PRINCESS ANGELICA'S CHRISTENING. When the Princess Angelica was born, her parents not only did not ask the Fairy Blackstick to the christening party, but gave orders to their porter, absolutely to refuse her if she l 7 8 THE ROSE AND THE RING. called. This porter's name was Gruffanuff, and he had been selected for the post by their Royal Highnesses because he was a very tall fierce man, who could say " Not at home " to a tradesman or an unwelcome visitor with a rudeness which frightened most such persons away. He was the husband of that Countess whose picture we have just seen, and as long as they were together they quarrelled from morning till night. Now this fellow tried his rudeness once too often, as you shall hear. For the Fairy Blackstick coming to call upon the Prince and Princess, who were actually sitting at the open drawing- room window, Gruffanuff not only denied them, but made the most odious vulgar sign as he was going to slam the door in the Fairy's face! "Git away, hold Blackstick!" said he. "I tell you, Master and Missis ain't at home to you : *' and he was, as we have said, going to slam the door. But the Fairy, with her wand, prevented the door being shut ; and Gruffanuff came out again in a fury, swearing in the most abominable way, and asking the Fairy " whether she thought he was a-going to stay at that there door hall day ? " " You are going to stay at that door all day and all night, and for many a long year," the Fairy said, very majestically ; and Gruffanuff, coming out of the door, straddling before it with his great calves, burst out laughing, and cried " Ha, ha, ha ! this is a good 'un ! Ha — ah — what's this? Let me down — oh — o — h'm ! " and then he was dumb ! For, as the Fairy waved her wand over him, he felt himself rising off the ground and fluttering up against the door, and then, as if a screw ran into his stomach, he felt a dreadful pain there, and was pinned to the door ; and then his arms flew up over his head ; and his legs, after writhing about wildly, twisted under his body ; and he felt cold, cold growing over him, as if he was turning into metal ; and he said, "Oh — o — h'm ! " and could say no more, because he was dumb. He was turned into metal ! He was from being brazen, brass! He was neither more nor less than a knocker! And there he was, nailed to the door in the blazing summer day, till he burned almost red hot ; and there he was, nailed to the door all the bitter winter nights, till his brass nose was drop- ping with icicles. And the postman came and rapped at him, and the vulgarest boy with a letter came and hit him up against the door. And the King and Queen (Princess and Prince they were then) coming home from a walk that evening, the King said, " Hullo, my dear ! you have had a new knocker put on the door. Why, it's rather like our Porter in the face ! What THE ROSE AND THE RING. ! 79 has become of that boozy vagabond ? " And the housemaid came and scrubbed his nose with sandpaper ; and once, when the Princess Angelica's little sister was born, he was tied up in an old kid-glove ; and another night some larking young men tried to wrench him off, and put him to the most excruciating agony with a turnscrew. And then the Queen had a fancy to have the color of the door altered, and the painters dabbed him over the mouth and eyes and nearly choked him, as they painted him pea-green. I warrant he had leisure to repent of having been rude to the Fairy Blackstick ! As for his wife, she did not miss him ; and as he was always guzzling beer at the public-house, and notoriously quarrelling with his wife, and in debt to the tradesmen, it was supposed he had run away from all these evils, and emigrated to Australia or America. And when the Princess chose to become King and Queen, they left their old house, and nobody thought of the Porter any more. V. HOW PRINCESS ANGELICA TOOK A LITTLE MAID. One day, when the Princess Angelica was quite a little gir „ she was walking in the garden of the palace, with Mrs. Gruft- anuff, the governess, holding a parasol over her head, to keep her sweet complexion from the freckles, and Angelica was carry- ing a bun, to feed the swans and ducks in the royal pond. • They had not reached the duck-pond, when there came toddling up to them such a funny little girl. She had a great quantity of hair blowing about her chubby little cheeks, and looked as if she had not been washed or combed for ever so long. She wore a ragged bit of a cloak, and had only one shoe on. " You little wretch, who let you in here ? " asked Gruff- anuff. " Dive me dat bun," said the little girl, " me vely hungy." " Hungry ! what is that ? " asked Princess Angelica, and jrave the child the bun. " Oh, Princess .' " says Gruffanuff, " how good, how kind, 12* 180 THE ROSE AND THE RING. how truly angelical you are ! See, your Majesties,'' she said to the King and Queen, who now came up, along with their nephew, Prince Giglio, " how kind the Princess is ! She met this little dirty wretch in the garden — I can't tell how she came in here, or why the guards did not shoot her dead at the gate ! — and the dear darling of a Princess has given her the whole of her bun ! " " I didn't want it," said Angelica. " But you are a darling little angel all the same," says the governess. " Yes ; I know I am," said Angelica. " Dirty little girl, don't you think I am very pretty ? " Indeed, she had on the finest of little dresses and hats ; and as her hair was carefully curled, she really looked very well. " Oh, pooty, pooty ! " says the little girl, capering about, laughing and dancing, and munching her bun ; and as she ate it she began to sing, " O what fun to have a plum bun ! how I wis it never was done ! " At which, and her funny accent, Angelica, Giglio, and the King and Queen began to laugh very merrily. " I can dance as well as sing," says the little girl. " I can dance, and I can sing, and I can do all sorts of ting." And she ran to a flower-bed, and pulling a few polyanthuses, rhododen- drons, and other flowers, made herself a little wreath, and danced before the King and Queen so drolly and prettily, that everybody was delighted. " Who was your mother — who were your relations, little girl ? " said the Queen. The little girl said, " Little lion was my brudder ; great big lioness my mudder ; neber heard of any udder." And she capered away on her one shoe, and everybody was exceedingly diverted. So Angelica said to the Queen, " Mamma, my parrot flew away yesterday out of its cage, and I don't care any more for any of my toys ; and I think this funny little dirty child will amuse me. I will take her home, and give her some of mv old frocks " " Oh, the generous darling ! " says Gruffanuff. " — Which I have worn ever so many times and am quite tired of," Angelica went on; " and she shall be my little maid,, Will you come home with me, little dirty girl ? " The child clapped her hands and said, " Go home with you — yes ! You pooty Princess ! Have a nice dinner, and weal a new dress ! " THE ROSE AND THE RING, T % x And they all laughed again, and took home the child to the palace ; where, when she washed and combed, and had one of the Princess's frocks given to her, she looked as handsome as Angelica, almost. Not that Angelica ever thought so ; for this little lady never imagined that anybody in the world could be as pretty, as good, or as clever as herself. In order that the little girl should not become too proud and conceited, Mrs. Gruffanuff took her old ragged mantle and one shoe, and put them into a glass box, with a card laid upon them, upon which was written, " These were the old clothes in which little Bet- sinda was found when the great goodness and admirable kind- ness of her Royal Highness the Princess Angelica received this little outcast." And the date was added, and the box locked U P- For awhile little Betsinda was a great favorite with the Prin- cess, and she danced, and sang, and made her little rhymes, to amuse her mistress. Put then the Princess got a monkey, and afterwards a little dog, and afterwards a doll, and did not care for Betsinda any more, who became very melancholy and quiet, and sang no more funny songs, because nobody cared to hear her. And then, as she grew older, she was made a little lady's- maid to the Princess ; and though she had no wages, she worked and mended, and put Angelica's hair in papers, and was never cross when scolded, and was always eager to please her mistress, and was always up early and to bed late, and at hand when wanted, and in fact became a perfect little maid. So the two girls grew up, and, when the Princess came out, Betsinda was never tired of waiting on her ; and made her dresses better than the best milliner, and was useful in a hun- dred ways. Whilst the Princess was having her masters, Betsinda would sit and watch them ; and in this way she picked up a great deal of learning ; for she was always awake, though her mistress was not, and listened to the wise professors when An- gelica was yawning or thinking of the next ball. And when the dancing-master came, Betsinda learned along with Angelica; •and when the music-master came, she watched him, and prac- tised the Princess's pieces when Angelica was away at balls and parties ; and when the drawing-master came, she took note of all he said and did ; and the same with French, Italian, and all other languages — she learned them from the teacher who came to Angelica. When the Princess was going out of an evening she would say, " My good Betsinda, you may as well finish what I have begun." " Yes, Miss," Betsinda would say, and sit down very cheerful, not to finish what Angelica began, but to do it. i»: THE ROSE AND THE RING. For instance, the Princes 5 would begin the head of a warrioi let us say, and when it was begun it was something like this : Rut when it was done, the warrior was like this : — (only handsomer still if possible,') and the Princess put hei name to the drawing ; and the Court and King and Queen, and above all poor Giglio, admired the picture of all things, and said, " Was there ever a genius like Angelica ? " So, I am sorry to say, was it with the Princess's embroidery and other accomplishments ; and Angelica actually believed that she did these things herself, and received all the flattery of the Court : as if every word of it was true. Thus she began to think that there was no young woman in all the world equal to herself, and that no young man was good enough for her. As for Betsinda, as she heard none of these praises, she was not puffed up by them, and being a most grateful, good-natured girl, she was only too anxious to do everything which might give her mistress pleasure. Now you begin to perceive that Angelica had faults of her own, and was by no means such ?. wonder 3i ivouders .}» people represented her Royai Highness to be. THE ROSE AND THE RING. i8.;j VI. HOW PRINCE GIGLIO BEHAVED HIMSELF. And now let us speak about prince Giglio, the nephew oi the reigning monarch of Pafiagonia. It has already been stated, in chapter 2, that as long as he had a smart coat to wear, a good horse to ride, and money in his pocket — or rather to take out of his pocket, for he was very good-natured — my young Prince did not care for the loss of his crown and sceptre, being a thoughtless youth, not much inclined to politics or any kind of learning. So his tutor had a sinecure. Giglio would aot learn classics or mathematics, and the Lord Chancellor of Pafiagonia, Squaretoso, pulled a very long face because the Prince could not be got to study the Paflagonian laws and constitution ; but, on the other hand, the King's gamekeepers and huntsmen found the Prince an apt pupil ; the dancing- master pronounced that he was a most elegant and assiduous scholar ; the First Lord of the Billiard Table gave the most flattering reports of the Prince's skill : so did the Groom of the Tennis Court ; and as for the Captain of the Guard and Fencing-master, the valiant and veteran Count Kutasoff Hed- zoff, he avowed that since he ran the General of Crim Tartary, the dreadful Grumbuskin, through the body, he never had en- countered so expert a swordsman as Prince Giglio. I hope you do not imagine that there was any impropriety in the Prince and Princess walking together in the palace garden, and because Giglio kissed Angelica's hand in a polite manner. In the first place they are cousins ; next, the Queen is walking in the garden too (you cannot see her, for she hap- pens to be behind that tree), and her Majesty always wished that Angelica and Giglio should marry : so did Giglio : so did Angelica sometimes, for she thought her cousin very handsome, brave, and good-natured : but then you know she was so clever and knew so many things, and poor Giglio knew nothing, and had no conversation. When they looked at the stars, what did Giglio know of the heavenly bodies ? Once, when on a sweet night in a balcony where they were standing Angelica said, " There is the Bear "— " Where ? " says Giglio. " Don't be afraid, Angelica ! if a dozen bears come, I will kill them rather i54 THE ROSE AND THE RING. than they shall hurt you." " Oh, you silly creature ! " says she : "you are very good, but you are not very wise." When they looked at the flowers, Giglio was utterly unacquainted with botany, and had never heard of Linnaeus. When the butterflies passed, Giglio knew nothing about them, being as ignorant of entomology as I am of algebra. So you see, An- gelica, though she liked Giglio pretty well, despised him 01. account of his ignorance. I think she probably valued her own foaming rather too much ; but to think too well of one's self is the fault of people of all ages and both sexes. Finally, when nobody else was there, Angelica liked her cousin well enough. King Valoroso was very delicate in health, and withal so fond of good dinners (which were prepared for him by his French cook, Marmitonio, that it was supposed he could not live long. Now the idea of anything happening to the King struck the artful Prime Minister and the designing old lady-in' waiting with terror. For, thought Glumboso and the Countess, THE ROSE AND THE RING. x 8e "when Prince Giglio marries his cousin and comes to the throne, what a pretty position we shall be in, whom he dislikes, and who have always been unkind to him. We shall lose our places in a trice ; Gruffanuff will have to give up all the jewels, laces, snuff-boxes, rings, and watches which belonged to the Queen, Giglio's mother; and Glumboso will be forced to refund two hundred and seventeen thousand millions, nine hundred and eighty-seven thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence halfpenny, money left to Prince Giglio by his poor clear father." So the Lady of Honor and the Prime Minister hated Giglio because they had done him a wrong ; and these unprincipled people invented a hundred cruel stories about poor Giglio, in order to influence the King, Queen and Princess against him : how he was so ignorant that he could not spell the commonest words, and actually wrote Valo- roso Valloroso, and spelt Angelica with two /'s ; how he drank a great deal too much wine at dinner, and was always idling in the stables with the grooms ; how he owed ever so much money at the pastry-cook's and the haberdasher's ; how he used to go to sleep at church ; how he was fond of playing cards with the pages. So did the Queen like playing cards ; so did the King go to sleep at church, and eat and drink too much ; and, if Giglio owed a trifle for tarts, who owed him two hundred and seventeen thousand millions, nine hundred and eighty-seven thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence halfpenny, I should like to know ? Detractors and tale-bearers (In my humble opinion) had much better look at horns. All this back-biting and slandering had effect upon Princess Angelica, who began to look coldly on her cousin, then to laugh at him and scorn him for being so stupid, then to sneer at him for having vulgar associates ; and at Court balls, dinners, and so forth, to treat him so unkindly that poor Giglio became quite ill, took to his bed, and sent for the doctor. His Majesty King Valoroso, as we have seen, had his own reasons for disliking his nephew ; and as for those innocent readers who ask why ? — I beg (with the permission of their clear parents) to refer them to Shakspeare's pages, where they will read why King John disliked Prince Arthur. With the Queen, his royal but weak-minded aunt, when Giglio was out of sight he was out of mind. While she had her whist and her evening-parties, she cared for little else. I dare say two villains, who shall be nameless, wished Doc- tor Pildrafto, the Court Physician, had killed Giglio right out, but he only bled and physicked him so severely, that the Prince j86 the rose and the ring. was kept to his room for several months, and grew as thin as a post, Whilst he was lying sick in this way, there came to the Court of Paflagonia a famous painter, whose name was Tomaso Lorenzo, and who was Painter in Ordinary to the King of Crim Tartary, Paflagonia's neighbor. Tomaso Lorenzo painted all the Court, who were delighted with his works ; for even Countess Gruffanuff looked young and Glumboso good-humored in his pictures. " He flatters very much," some people said. " Nay ! " says Princess Angelica, " I am above flattery, and I think he did not make my picture handsome enough. I can't bear to hear a man of genius unjustly cried down, and I hope my dear papa will make Lorenzo a knight of his Order of the Cucumber." The Princess Angelica, although the courtiers vowed her Royal Highness could draw so beautifully that the idea of her taking lessons was absurd, yet chose to have Lorenzo for a teacher, and it was wonderful, as long as she painted in his studio, what beautiful pictures she made ! Some of the per- formances were engraved for the " Book of Beauty : " others were sold for enormous sums at Charity Bazaars. She wrote the signatures under the drawings, no doubt, but I think I know who did the pictures— this artful painter, who had come with other designs on Angelica than merely to teach her to draw. One clay Lorenzo showed the Princess a portrait of a young man in armor, with fair hair and the loveliest blue eyes, and an expression at once melancholy and interesting. " Dear Signor Lorenzo, who is this ? " asked the Princess. " I never saw any one so handsome," says Countess Gruffanuff (the old humbug). "That," said the Painter, "that, madam, is the portrait of my august young master, his Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary, Duke of Acroceraunia, Marquis of Poluphloisboio, and Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Pumpkin. That is the Order of the Pumpkin glittering on his manly breast, and received by his Royal Highness from his august father, his Majesty King Padella I., for his gallantry at the battle of Rimbombamento, when he slew with his own princely hand the King of Ograria and two hundred and eleven giants of the two hundred and eighteen who formed the King's bodyguard. The remainder were destroyed by the brave Crim Tartar army after an obstinate combat, in which the Crim Tar- tars suffered severely." THE ROSE AND THE RING. x$<) " What a Prince ! " thought Angelica : " so brave — so calm< looking — so young — what a hero ! " " He is as accomplished as he is brave," continued the Court Painter. " He knows all languages perfectly : sings deliciously : plays every instrument : composes operas which have been acted a thousand nights running at the Imperial Theatre of Crim Tartary, and danced in a ballet there before the King and Queen ; in which he looked so beautiful, that his cousin, the lovely daughter of the King of Circassia, died for love of him." " Why did he not marry the poor Princess ? " asked An- gelica, with a sigh. " Because they were first-cousins, madam, and the clergy forbid these unions," said the Painter. " And, besides, the young Prince had given his royal heart elsewhere." " And to whom ? " asked her Royal Highness. " I am not at liberty to mention the Princess's name," answered the Painter. "But you may tell me the first letter of it," gasped out the Princess. " That your Royal Highness is at liberty to guess," says Lorenzo. " Does it begin with a Z ? " asked Angelica. The Painter said it wasn't a Z ; then she tried a Y ; then an X ; then a W, and went so backwards through almost the whole alphabet. When she came to D, and it wasn't D, she grew very much excited ; when she came to C, and it wasn't C, she was still more nervous ; when she came to B, and it wasn't B, " Oh, dearest Gruffanuff," she said, " lend me your smelling-bottle ! " and, hiding her head in the Countess's shoulder, she faintly whispered, " Ah, Signor, can it be A ? " " It was A ; and though I may not, by my Royal Master's orders, tell your Royal Highness the Princess's name, whom he fondly, madly, devotedly, rapturously loves, I may show you her portrait," says the slyboots : and leading the Princess up to a gilt frame, he drew a curtain which was before it. O goodness ! the frame contained a looking-glass ! and Angelica saw her own face ! 1 88 THE ROSE AND THE RING. VII. HOW GIGLIO AND ANGELICA HAD A QUARREL. The Court Painter of his Majesty the King of Crim Tar iaiy returned to that monarch's dominions, carrying away a number of sketches which he had made in the Paflagonian capital (you know of course, my dears, that the name of that capital is Blombodinga) ; but the most charming of all his pieces was a portrait of the Princess Angelica, which all the Crim Tartar nobles came to see. With this work the King was so delighted, that he decorated the Painter with his Order of the Pumpkin (sixth class), and the artist became Sir Tomaso Lorenzo, K. P., thenceforth. King Valoroso also sent Sir Tomaso his Order of the Cucumber, besides a handsome order for money ; for he painted the King, Queen, and principal nobility while at Blom bodinga, and became all the fashion, to the perfect rage of all the artists in Paflagonia, where the King used to point to the portrait of Prince Bulbo, which Sir Tomaso had left behind him, and say, "Which among you can paint a picture like that?" It hung in the royal parlor over the royal sideboard, and Princess Angelica could always look at it as she sat making the tea. Each day it seemed to grow handsomer and hand- somer, and the Princess grew so fond of looking at it, that she would often spill the tea over the cloth, at which her father and mother would wink and wag their heads ; and say to each other, "Aha! we see how things are going." In the meanwhile poor Giglio lay up stairs very sick in his chamber, though he took all the Doctor's horrible medicines like a good young lad : as I hope you do, my dears, when you are ill and mamma sends for the medical man. And the only person who visited Giglio (besides his friend the Captain of the Guard, who was almost always busy or on parade) was little Betsinda the housemaid, who used to do his bedroom and sit- ting-room out, bring him his gruel, and warm his bed. When the little housemaid came to him in the morning and evening, Prince Giglio used to say, " Betsinda, Betsinda, how is the Princess Angelica ? " THE ROSE AND THE RING. 189 And Betsinda used to answer, " The Princess is very well, thank you, my lord." And Giglio would heave a sigh, and think, " If Angelica were sick I am sure / should not be very well." Then Giglio would say, " Betsinda, has the Princess Angel- ica asked for me to-day ? " And Betsinda would answer, " No, my lord, not to-day ; " or, " She was very busy practising the piano when I saw -her \ " or, " She was writing invitations for an evening-party, and did not speak to me ; " or make some excuse or other, not strictly consonant with truth ; for Betsinda was such a good-natured creature, that she strove to do every- thing to prevent annoyance to Prince Giglio, and even brought him up roast chicken and jellies from the kitchen (when the Doctor allowed them, and Giglio was getting better), saying " that the Princess had made the jelly, or the bread-sauce, with her own hands, on purpose for Giglio." When Giglio heard this he took heart, and began to mend immediately ; and gobbled up all the jelly, and picked the last bone of the chicken — drumsticks, merry-thought, sides'-bones, back, pope's-nose, and all— thanking his dear Angelica : and he felt so much better the next day, that he dressed and went down stairs — where whom should he meet but Angelica going into the drawing-room ? All the covers were off the chairs, the chandeliers taken out of the bags, the damask curtains uncov- ered, the work and things carried away, and the handsomest albums on the tables. Angelica had her hair in papers. In a word, it was evident there was going to be a party. "Heavens, Giglio!" cries Angelica: "you here in such a dress ! What a figure you are ! " " Yes, dear Angelica, I am come down stairs, and feel so well to-day, thanks to the fowl and the jelly" " What do I know about fowls and jellies, that you allude to them in that rude way ? " says Angelica. " Why, didn't — didn't you send them, Angelica dear ? " says Giglio. " I send them indeed ! Angelica dear ! No, Giglio, dear,' : says she, mocking him. "/was engaged in getting the rooms ready for his Royal Highness the Prince of Crim Tartary, who is coming to pay my papa's court a visit." "The — Prince — of — Crim — Tartary ! " Giglio said, aghast. " Yes, the Prince of Crim Tartary," says Angelica, mocking him. " I dare say you never heard of such a country. What did you ever hear of ? You don't know whether Crim Tartary is on the Red Sea or on the Black Sea, I dare say." i 9 o THE ROSE AND THE RING. " Yes, I do : it's on the Red Sea," says Giglio ; at which the Princess burst out laughing at him, and said, " Oh, you ninny ! You are so ignorant, you are really not fit for society ! You know nothing but about horses and dogs, and are only fit to dine in a mess-room with my Royal Father's heaviest dragoons. Don't look so surprised at me, sir : go and put your best clothes on to receive the Prince, and let me get the drawing- room ready." Giglio said, " Oh, Angelica, Angelica, I didn't think this of you. This wasn't your language to me when you gave me this ring, and I gave you mine in the garden, and you gave me that k— " But what k — was we never shall know, for Angelica, in a rage, cried, " Get out, you saucy, rude creature ! How dare you to remind me of your rudeness ? As for your little trumpery twopenny ring, there, sir — there ! " And she flung it out of the window. " It was my mother's marriage-ring," cried Giglio. "/ don't care whose marriage-ring it was," cries Angelica. " Marry the person who picks it up if she's a woman ; you sha'n't marry me. And give me back my ring. I've no patience with people who boast about the things they give away ! / know who'll give me much finer things than you ever gave me. A beggarly ring indeed, not worth five shillings ! " Now Angelica little knew that the ring which Giglio had given her was a fairy ring; if a man wore it, it made all the women in love with him ; if a woman, all the gentlemen. The Queen, Giglio's mother, quite an ordinary-looking person, was admired immensely whilst she wore this ring, and her husband was frantic when she was ill. But when she called her little Giglio to her, and put the ring on his finger, King Savio did not seem to care for his wife so much any more, but transferred all his love to little Giglio. So did everybody love him as long as he had the ring ; but when, as quite a child, he gave it to Angelica, people began to love and admire her; and Giglio, as the saying is, played only second fiddle. " Yes," says Angelica, going on in her foolish ungrateful way, "/know who'll give me much finer things than your beg- garly little pearl nonsense." " Very good, miss ! You may take back your ring, too ! " says Giglio, his eyes flashing fire at her ; and then, as if his eyes had been suddenly opened, he cried out, " Ha ! what does this mean ? Is this the woman I have been in love with all my life ? Have I been such a ninny as to throw away mji THE ROSE AND THE RING. igv regard upon you ? Why — actually — yes — you are a little crooked ! " " Oh, you wretch ! " cries Angelica. "And, upon my conscience, you — you squint a little.'' " Eh ! " cries Angelica. " And your hair is .red — and you are marked with the small- pox — and what ? you have three false teeth — and one leg shorter than the other ! " " You brute, you brute, you ! " Angelica screamed out : and as she seized the ring with one hand, she dealt Giglio, one, two, three smacks on the face, and would have pulled the hair off his head had he not started laughing, and crying, " Oh, dear me, Angelica ! don't pull out my hair, it hurts ! You might remove a great deal of your own, as I perceive, without scissors or pulling at all. Oh, ho, ho ! ha, ha, ha ! he, he, he ! " And he nearly choked himself with laughing, and she with rage ; when, with a low bow, and dressed in his Court habit, Count Gambabella ; the first lord-in-waiting, entered and said, "Royal Highnesses ! Their Majesties expect you in the Pink Throne-room, where they await the arrival of the Prince of Crim Tartary " VIII. HOW ORUFFANUFF PICKED THE FAIRY RING UP, AND PRINCE BULBO CAME TO COURT. Prince Bulbo's arrival had set all the Court in a flutter : everybody was ordered to put his or her best clothes on : the footmen had their gala liveries ; the Lord Chancellor his new wig ; the Guards their last new tunics ; and Countess Gruff- anuff, you may be sure, was glad of an opportunity of deco- rating her old person with her finest things. She was walking through the court of the Palace on her way to wait upon their Majesties, when she spied something glittering on the pave- ment, and bade the boy in buttons, who was holding up her train, to go and pick up the article shining yonder. He was an ugly little wretch, in some of the late groom-porter's old clothes cut down, and much too tight for him ; and yet, when he had taken up the ring (as it turned out to be), and was 192 THE ROSE AND THE RING. carrying it to his mistress, she thought he looked like a little Cupid. He gave the ring to her ; it was a trumpery little thing enough, but too small for any of her old knuckles, so she put it into her pocket. " Oh, mum ! " says the boy, looking at her, " how — bow beyoutiful you do look, mum, to-day, mum ! " '•And you, too, Jacky," she was going to say ; but, looking down at him — no, he was no longer good-looking at all — but only the carroty -haired little Jacky of the morning. However, praise is welcome from the ugliest of men or boys, and Gruff- anuff, bidding the boy hold up her train, walked on in high good-humor. The Guards saluted her with peculiar respect. Captain Hedzoff. in the ante-room, said, " My clear madam, you look like an angel to-day." And so, bowing and smirking, Gruffanuff went in and took her place behind her Royal Master and Mistress, who were in the throne-room, awaiting the Prince of Crim Tartary. Princess Angelica sat at their feet, and be- hind the King's chair stood Prince Giglio, looking very savage. The Prince of Crim Tartary made his appearance, attended by Baron Sleibootz, his chamberlain, and followed by a black page, carrying the most beautiful crown you ever saw ! He was dressed in his travelling costume, and his hair, as you see, was a little in disorder. " I have ridden three hundred miles since breakfast," said he, "so eager was I to behold the Prin — ■ the Court and august family of Paflagonia, and I could not wait one minute before appearing in-your Majesties' presences." Giglio, from behind the throne, burst out into a roar of contemptuous laughter ; but all the Royal party, in fact, were so flurried, that they did not hear this outbreak. " Your R. H. is welcome in any dress," says the King. " Glumboso, a chair for his Royal Highness." " Any dress his Royal Highness wears is a Court-dress," says Princess Angelica, smiling graciously. " Ah ! but you should see my other clothes," said the Prince. " I should have had them on, but that stupid carrier has not brought them. Who's that laughing? " It was Giglio laughing. " I was laughing," he said, because you said just now that you were in such a hurry to see the Princess, that you could not wait to change your dress ? and now you say you come in those clothes because you have no others." " And who are you ? " says Prince Bulbo, very fiercely. " My father was King of this country, and I am his only son, Prince ! " replies Giglio, with equal haughtiness. w w 2 2 n C •3 THE ROSE AND THE RING. l 93 " Ha ! " said the King and Glumboso, looking very flurried •. but the former, collecting himself, said, " Dear Prince Bulbo, I forgot to introduce to your Royal Highness my dear nephew, his Royal Highness Prince Giglio ! Know each other ! Em- brace each other ! Giglio, give his Royal Highness your hand !" And Giglio, giving his hand, squeezed poor Bulbo's until the tears ran out of his eyes. Glumboso now brought a chair for the Royal visitor, and placed it on the platform on which the King, Queen, and Prince were seated • but the chair was on the edge of the platform, and as Bulbo sat down, it toppled over, and he with it, rolling over and over, and bellowing like a bull. Giglio roared still louder at this disaster, but it was with laughter ; so did all the Court when Prince Bulbo got up ; for though when he entered the room he appeared not very ridiculous, as he stood up from his fall, for a moment, he looked so exceedingly plain and foolish that nobody could help laugh- ing at him. When he had entered the room, he was observed to carry a rose in his hand, which fell out of it as he tumbled. " My rose ! my rose ! " cried Bulbo ; and his chamberlain dashed forward and picked it up, and gave it to the Prince, who put it in his waistcoat. Then people wondered why they had laughed ; there was nothing particularly ridiculous in him. He was rather short, rather stout, rather red-haired, but in fine, for a prince not so bad. So they sat and talked, the royal personages together, the Crim Tartar officers with those of Paflagonia— Giglio very com- fortable with Gruffanuff behind the throne. He looked at her with such tender eyes, that her heart was all in a flutter. " Oh, dear Prince," she said, " how could you speak so haughtily in presence of their Majesties ? I protest I thought I should have fainted." " I should have caught you in my arms," said Giglio, looking raptures. " Why were you so cruel to the Prince Bulbo, dear Prince ? " says Gruff. " Because I hate him," says Gil. " You are jealous of him, and still love poor Angelica," cries Gruffanuff, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. " I did, but I love her no more ! " Giglio cried. " I despise her ! Were she heiress to twenty thousand thrones, I would despise her and scorn her. But why speak of thrones ? I have lost mine. I am too weak to recover it — I am alone, and have no friend." " Oh, say not so, dear Prince ! " savs Gruffanuff. 194 THE ROSE AND THE RING. " Besides," says he, " I am so happy here behind the throne, that I would not change my place, no, not for the throne of the world ! " " What are you two people chattering about there ? " says the Queen, who was rather good-natured, though not over- burdened with wisdom. " It is time to dress for dinner. Giglio, show Prince Bulbo to his room. Prince, if your clothes have not come, we shall be very happy to see you as you are." But when Prince Bulbo got to his bedroom, his luggage was there and unpacked ; and the hairdresser coming in, cut and curled him entirely to his own satisfaction \ and when the dinner-bell rang, the royal company had not to wait above five-and-twenty minutes until Bulbo appeared, dur- ing which time the King, who could not bear to wait, grew as sulky as possible. As for Giglio, he never left Madam Gruffa- nuff all this time, but stood with her in the embrasure of a window, paying her compliments. At length the groom of the chambers announced his Royal Highness the Prince of Crim Tartary ! and the noble company went into the royal dining- room. It was quite a small party; only the King and Queen, the Princess, whom Bulbo took out, the two Princes, Countess Gruffanuff, Glumboso the Prime Minister, and Prince Bulbo's chamberlain. You may be sure they had a very good dinner — let every boy or girl think of what he or she likes best, and fancy it on the table.* The Princess talked incessantly all dinner-time to the Prince of Crimea, who ate an immense deal too much, and never took his eyes off his plate, except when Giglio, who was carving a goose, sent a quantity of stuffing and onion-sauce into one of them. Giglio only burst out a-laughing as the Crimean Prince wiped his shirt-front and face with his scented pocket-handker- chief. He did not make Prince Bulbo any apology. When the Prince looked at him, Giglio would not look that way. When Prince Bulbo said, " Prince Giglio, may I have the honor of taking a glass of wine with you ? " Giglio wouldn't answer. All his talk and his eyes were for Countess Gruffanuff, who, you may be sure, was pleased with Giglio's attentions — the vain old creature ! When he was not complimenting her, he was mak- ing fun of Prince Bulbo, so loud that Gruffanuff was always tapping him with her fan and saying, " Oh, you satirical Prince ! Oh, fie, the Prince will hear ! " " Well, I don't mind," says * Here a very pretty game may be played by all the children saying what they like best for dinner. THE ROSE AND THE RIN, r g^ Giglio, louder still. The King and Queen luckily did not hear ; for her Majesty was a little deaf, and the King thought so much about his own dinner, and, besides, made such a dreadful noise, hobgobbling in eating it, that he heard nothing else. After dinner, his Majesty and the Queen went to sleep in their arm-chairs. This was the time when Giglio began his tricks with Prince Bulbo, plying that young gentleman with port, sherry, madeira, champagne, marsala, cherry-brandy and pale ale, of all of which Master Bulbo drank without stint. But in plying his guest, Giglio was obliged to drink himself, and I am sorry to say, took more than was good for him, so that the young men were very noisy, rude, and foolish when they joined the ladies after dinner ; and dearly did they pay for that imprudence, as now, my darlings, you shall hear ! Bulbo went and sat by the piano, where Angelica was playing and singing, and he sang out of tune, and he upset the coffee when the footmen brought it, and he laughed out of place, and talked absurdly, and fell asleep and snored horridly. Booh, the nasty pig ! But as he lay there stretched on the pink satin sofa, Angelica still persisted in thinking him the most beautiful of human beings. No doubt the magic rose which Bulbo wore caused this infatuation on Angelica's part; but is she the first young woman who has thought a silly fellow charming ? Giglio must go and sit by Gruffanuff, whose old face he, too, every moment began to find more lovely. He paid the most outrageous compliments to her : — There never was such a dar- ling. Older than he was ? — Fiddle-de-dee ! He would marry her — he would, have nothing but her ! To marry the heir to the throne ! Here was a chance ! The artful hussey actually got a sheet of paper and wrote upon it, " This is to give notice that I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Patiagonia, hereby promise to marry the charming and virtuous Barbara Griselda Countess Gruffanuff, and widow of the late Jenkins Gruffanuff, Esq." "What is it you are writing, you charming Gruffy ? " says Giglio, who was lolling on the sofa by the writing-table. " Only an order for you to sign, dear Prince, for giving coals and blankets to the poor, this cold weather. Look ! the King and Queen are both asleep, and your Royal Highness's order will do." So Giglio, who was very good-natured, as Gruffy well knew, signed the order immediately; and, when she had it in her 196 THE ROSE AND THE RING. pocket, you may fancy what airs she gave herself. She was ready to flounce out of the room before the Queen herself, as now she was the wife of the rightful King of Paflagonia ! She would not speak to Glumboso, whom she thought a brute, for depriving her dear husband of the crown ! And when candles came, and she had helped to undress the Queen and Princess, she went into her own room, and actually prac- tised, on a sheet of paper, " Griselda Paflagonia," " Barbara Regina," " Griselda Barbara, Paf. Reg.," and I don't know what signatures besides, against the day when she should be Queen forsooth ! IX. ,40W EETSINDA GOT THE WARMING-PAN. Little Betsinda came in to put Gruff anuff's hair in papers ; and the Countess was so pleased, that, for a wonder, she com- plimented Betsinda. " Betsinda ! " she said, " you dressed my hair very nicely to-day ; I promised you a little present. Here are five sh — no, here is a pretty little ring that I picked — that I have had some time." And she gave Betsinda the ring she had picked up in the court. It fitted Betsinda exactly. " It's like the ring the Princess used to wear," says the maid. " No such thing," says Gruffanuff ; " I have had it this ever so long. There — tuck me up quite comfortable : and now, as it's a very cold night " (the snow was beating in at the window), " you may go and warm dear Prince Giglio's bed, like a good girl, and then you may unrip my green silk, and then you can just do me up a little cap for the morning, and then you can mend that hole in my silk stocking, and then you can go to bed, Betsinda. Mind, I shall want my cup of tea at five o'clock in the morning." " I suppose I had best warm both the young gentlemen's beds, ma'am ? " says Betsinda. Gruffanuff, for reply, said, " Hau-au-ho ! — Grau-haw-hoo ! — Hong-hrho ! " In fact, she was snoring sound asleep. Her room, you know, is next to the King and Queen, and the Princess is next to them. So pretty Betsinda went away for the coals to the kitchen, and filled the royal warming-pan. THE rose and the ring. 197 Now she was a very kind, merry, civil, pretty girl j but there must have been something very captivating about her this evening, for all the women in the servants' hall began to scold and abuse her. The housekeeper said she was a pert, stuck-up thing : the upper-housemaid asked, how dare she wear such ringlets and ribbons, it was quite improper ! The cook (for there was a woman-cook as well as a man-cook) said to the kitchen-maid that she never could see anything in that creetur: but as for the men, every one of them, Coachman, John, Buttons the page, and Monsieur the Prince of Crim Tartary's valet, started up and said — " My eyes ! "Omussey! V what a pretty girl Betsinda is " O jemmany ! " O ciel ! " Hands off ; none of your impertinence, you vulgar, low people ! " says Betsinda, walking off with her pan of coals. She heard the young gentleman playing at billiards as she went up stairs : first to Prince Giglio's bed, which she warmed, and then to Prince Bulbo's room. He came in just as she had done ; and as soon as he saw her, "O! O! O! O! O! O! what a beyou — 00 — ootiful crea- ture you are ! You angel — you Peri — you rosebud, let me be thy bulbul — thy Bulbo, too ! Fly to the desert, fly with me ! I never saw a young gazelle to glad me with its dark -blue eye that had eyes like thine. Thou nymph of beauty, take, take this young heart. A truer never did itself sustain within a soldier's waistcoat. Be mine ! Be mine ! Be Princess of Crim Tartary ! My Royal Father will approve our union : and as for that little carroty-haired Angelica, I do not care a fig for her any more." "Go away, your Royal Highness, and go to bed, please," said Betsinda, with the warming-pan. But Bulbo said, " No, never, till thou swearest to be mine, thou lovely, blushing chambermaid divine ! Here, at thy feet, the Royal Bulbo lies, the trembling captive of Betsinda's eyes." And he went on, making himself so absurd and ridiculous, that Betsinda, who was full of fun, gave him a touch with the warming-pan, which, I promise you, made him cry " O-o-o-o ! " in a very different manner. Prince Bulbo made such a noise that Prince Giglio, who heard him from the next room, came in to see what was the matter. As soon as he saw what was taking place, Giglio, in a furf , rushed on Bulbo, kicked him in the , rudest manner up to 19b THE ROSE AND THE RINU. the ceiling, and went on kicking him till his hair was quite ou>. of curl. Poor Betsinda did not know whether to laugh or to cry, the kicking certainly must hurt the Prince, but then he looked so droll ! When Giglio had done knocking him up and down to the ground, and whilst he went into a corner rubbing him- self, what do you think Giglio does ? He goes down on his own knees to Betsinda, takes her hand, begs her to accept his heart, and offers to marry her that moment. Fancy Betsinda's condition, who had been in love with the Prince ever since she first saw him in the palace garden, when she was quite a little child. '• Oh, divine Betsinda ! " says the Prince, " how have I lived fifteen years in thy company without seeing thy perfec- tions ? What woman in all Europe, Asia, Africa, and America — nay, in Australia, only it is not yet discovered — can presume to be thy equal ? Angelica ? Pish ! Gruffanuff ? Phoo ! The Queen ? Ha, ha ! Thou art my queen. Thou art the real Angelica, because thou art really angelic." " Oh, Prince ! 1 am but a poor chambermaid," says Bet- sinda, looking, however, very much pleased. " Didst thou not tend me in my sickness, when all forsook me ? " continues Giglio. " Did not thy gentle hand smooth my pillow, and bring me jelly and roast chicken ? " " Yes, dear Prince, I did," says Betsinda, " and I sewed your Royal Highness's shirt-buttons on, too, if you please, your Royal Highness," cries this artless maiden. When poor Prince Bulbo, who was now madly in love with Betsinda, heard this declaration, when he saw the unmistakable glances which she flung upon Giglio, Bulbo began to cry bitterly, and tore quantities of hair out of his head, till it all covered the room like so much tow. Betsinda had left the warming-pan on the floor while the Princes were going on with their conversation, and as they began now to quarrel and be very fierce with one another, she thought proper to run away. " You great big blubbering booby, tearing your hair in the corner there ! of course you will give me satisfaction for in- sulting Betsinda. You dare to kneel down at Princess Giglio's knees and kiss her hand ! " " She's not Princess Giglio ! " roars out Bulbo. " She shall be Princess Bulbo, no other shall be Princess Bulbo." " You are engaged to my cousin ! " bellows out Giglio. " I hate your cousin," says Bulbo. • yjr. , jww< . iiii -_ r ^ r ~_ ^-'y j j j fy , iu THE RIVALS THE ROSE AXD THE RING. 199 " You shall give me satisfaction for insulting lvrr ! " cries Giglio in a fury. " I'll have your life." '' I'll run you through." •' I'll cut your throat." " I'll blow your brains out." 'I'll knock your head off." " I'll send a friend to you in the morning." "I'll send a bullet into you in the afte/noon." " We'll meet again," says Giglio, shaking his fist in Bulbo's face ; and seizing up the warming-pan, he kissed it, because, forsooth, Betsinda had carried it, and rushed down stairs. What should he see on the landing but his Majesty talking n? Betsinda, whom he called by all sorts of fend names. His Majesty had heard a row in the building, so he stated, and smelling something burning, had come out to see what the matter was. " It's the young gentlemen smoking, perhaps, sir," says Betsinda. " Charming chambermaid," says the King (like all the rest of them), " never mind the young men ! Turn thy eyes on a middle-aged autocrat, who has been considered not ill-looking in his time." " Oh, sir ! what will her Majesty say ? " cries Betsinda. " Her Majesty ! " laughs the monarch. " Her Majesty be hanged! Am I not Autocrat of Paflagonia ? Have I not blocks, ropes, axes, hangmen — ha? Runs not a river by my palace wall ? Have I not sacks to sew up wives withal ? Say but the word, that thou will be mine own. — vour mistress straightway in a sack is sewn, and thou the sharer of my heart and throne." When Giglio heard these atrocious sentiments, he forgot the respect usually paid to Royalty, lifted up the warming-pan, and knocked down the King as flat as a pancake; after which, Master Giglio took to his heels and ran away, and Betsinda went off screaming, and the Queen, Gruffanuff, and the Princess, all came out of their rooms. Fancy their feelings on beholding their husband, father, sovereign, in this posture ! """ m %\w^, % w xoo THE ROSE AND THE R/NG. X. HOW KING VALOROSO WAS IN A DREADFUL PASSION,. As soon as the c^als began to burn him, the King came to himself and stood up. " Ho ! my Captain of the Guards ! " his Majesty exclaimed, stamping his royal feet with rage. O piteous spectacle ! the King's nose was bent quite crooked by the blow of Prince Giglio ! His Majesty ground his teeth with rage. " Hedzoff," he said, taking a death-warrant out of his dressing-gown pocket, — " Hedzoff, good Hedzoff, seize upon the Prince. Thou'ltfind him in his chamber two pair up. Put now he dared, with sacrilegious hand, to strike the sacred nightcap of a king — Hedzoff, and floor me with a warming-pan ! Away, no more demur, the villain dies ! See it be done, or else — h'm ! — ha ! — h'm ! mind thine own eves ! And followed J by the ladies, and lifting up the tails of his dressing-gown, the King entered his own apartment. Captain Hedzoff was very much affected, having a sincere love for Giglio. " Poor, poor Giglio ! " he said, the tears roll- ing over his manly face, and dripping down his mustaches. •• My noble young Prince, is it my hand must lead thee to death ? " "Lead him to fiddlestick, Hedzoff," said a female voice. Tt was Gruffanuff, who had come out in her dressing-gown when she heard the noise. " The King said you were to hang the Prince. Well, hang the Prince." " I don't understand you," says Hedzoff, who was not a very clever man. " You Gaby ! he didn't say which Prince," says Gruffanuff. " No ; he didn't say which, certainly," said Hedzoff. " Well, then, take Bulbo, and hang him I " When Captain Hedzoff heard this, he began to dance about for joy. " Obedience is a soldier's honor," says he. " Prince Bulbo's head will do capitally ; " and he went to arrest the Prince the very first thing next morning. He knocked at the door. " Who's there ? " says Bulbo. "Captain Hedzoff? Step in, pray, my good Captain- I'm delighted to see you ; I have been expecting you." " Have you ? " says Hedzoff. THE ROSE AND THE RING. 201 "Sleibootz, my Chamberlain, will act for me," says the Prince. " I beg your Royal Highness's pardon, but you will have ta act for yourself, and it's a pity to wake Baron Sleibootz." The Prince Bulbo still seemed to take the matter very coolly. "Of course, Captain," says he, "you are come about that affair with Prince Giglio ? " " Precisely," says Hedzoff : " that affair of Prince Giglio." " Is it to be pistols, or swords, Captain ? " asks Bulbo. "I'm a pretty good hand with both, and I'll do for Prince Giglio as sure as my name is my Royal Highness Prince Bulbo." "There's some mistake, my lord," says the Captain. "The business is done with axes among us." " Axes ? That's sharp work," says Bulbo. " Call my Chamberlain, he'll be my second, and in ten minutes I flatter myself you'll see Master Giglio's head off his impertinent shoulders. I'm hungry for his blood. Hoo-oo — aw ! " and he looked as savage as an ogre. " I beg your pardon, sir, but by this warrant I am to take you prisoner, and hand you over to — to the executioner." " Pooh, pooh, my good man ! — Stop, I say, — ho ! — hulloa ! " was all that this luckless Prince was enabled to say : for Hed- zoff's guards seizing him, tied a handkerchief over his mouth and face, and carried him to the place of execution. The King, who happened to be talking to Glumboso, saw him pass, and took a pinch of snuff, and said, " So much for Giglio. Now let's go to breakfast." The Captain of the Guard handed over his prisoner to the Sheriff, with the fatal order. "At sight cut off the bearer's head. "Valoroso XXIV." "It's a mistake," says Bulbo, who did not seem to under- stand the business in the least. " Poo — poo — pooh," says the Sheriff. " Fetch Jack Ketch instantly. Jack Ketch ! " And poor Bulbo was led to the scaffold, where an execu- tioner with a block and a tremendous axe was always ready in case he should be wanted. But we must now revert to Giglio and Betsinda. 2o2 THE ROSE AND THE RING. XT. WHAT GRUFFANUFF DID TO GIGLIO AND BETSIJND^., Gruffanuff, who had seen what had happened with the King, and knew that Giglio must come to grief, got up very early the next morning, and went to devise some plans for res- cuing her darling husband, as the silly old thing insisted on calling him. She found him walking up and down the garden, thinking of a rhyme for Betsinda {tinder and winda were all he could find), and indeed having forgotten all about the past evening, except that Betsinda was the most lovely of beings. " Well, dear Giglio ? " says Gruff. " Well, dear Guffy ? " says Giglio, only he was quite satirical. " I have been thinking, darling, what you must do in this scrape. You must fly the country for a while." " What scrape ? — fly the country ? Never without her I love, Countess," says Giglio. " No, she will accompany you, dear Prince," she says in her most coaxing accents. " First, we must get the jewels be- longing to our royal parents, and those of her and his present Majesty. Here is the key, duck ; they are all yours, you know, by right, for you are the rightful King of Paflagonia, and your wife will be the rightful Queen." " Will she ? " says Giglio. " Yes ; and having got the jewels, go to Glumboso's apart- ment, where, under his bed, you will find sacks containing money to the amount of .£217,000,000,987,439 ly. 6*4^-, all belonging to you, for he took it out of your royal father's room on the day of his death. With this we will fly." " We will fly ? " says Giglio. "Yes, you and your bride — your affianced love — youi Gruffy ! " says the Countess, with a languishing leer. " You my bride ! " says Giglio. " You, you hideous old woman ! " " Oh, you — you wretch ! didn't you give me this paper promising marriage ? " cries Gruff. " Get away, you old goose ! I love Betsinda, and Betsinda only ! " And in a fit of terror he ran from her as quickly as he could. " He ! he ! he ! " shrieks out Gruff ; " a promise is a promise, THE ROSE AND THE RING. 203 if there are laws in Paflagonia! And as for that monster, that wretch, that fiend, that ugly little vixen — as for that upstart, that ingrate, that beast Betsinda, Master Giglio will have no little difficulty in discovering her whereabouts. He may look very long before finding her, I warrant. He little knows that Miss Betsinda is " Is — w hat ? Now, you shall hear. Poor Betsinda got up at five in winter's morning to bring her cruel mistress her tea ; and instead of finding her in a good-humor, found Gruffy as cross as two sticks. The Countess boxed Betsinda's ears half a dozen times whilst she was dressing ; but as poor little Bet- sinda was used to this kind of treatment, she did not feel any special alarm. " And now," says she, " when her Majesty rings her bell twice, I'll trouble you, miss, to attend." So when the Queen's bell rang twice, Betsinda came to her Majesty and made a pretty little curtsey. The Queen, the Princess, and Gruffanuff were all three in the room. As soon as thev saw her they began. •' You wretch ! " says the Queen. " You little vulgar thing ! " said the Princess. "You beast ! " says Gruffanuff. " Get out of my sight ! " says the Queen. "Go away with you, do ! " says the Princess. " Quit the premises ! " says Gruffanuff. Alas ! and woe is me ! very lamentable events had occurred to Betsinda that morning, and all in consequence of that fatal warming-pan business of the previous night. The King had offered to marry her ; of course her Majesty the Queen was jealous : Bulbo had fallen in love with her ; of course Angelica was furious : Giglio was in love with her, and oh, what a fury Gruffy was in ! "Take off Chat ] petticoat I* J^^ ( gown ) and began tearing the clothes off poor Betsinda. « tt j ( the King ? " ) cried the Queen, the How dare you prince ^ ulho ? „ y p rin cess, and flirt with | prince GigHo ? „ j countess. " Give her the rags she wore when she came into the house, and turn her out of it ! " cries the Queen. " Mind she does not go with my shoes on, which I lent her so kindly," says the Princess ; and indeed the Princess's shoes were a great deal too big for Betsinda. 2 o4 THE ROSE AND THE RING. " Come with me, you filthy hussey ! " and taking up tha Queen's poker, the cruel Gruffanuff drove Betsinda into her room. The Countess went to the glass box in which she had kept Betsinda's old cloak and shoe this ever so long, and said, " Take those rags, you little beggar creature, and strip off everything belonging to honest people, and go about your busi- ness." And she actually tore off the poor little delicate thing's back almost all her things, and told her to be off out of the house. Poor Betsinda huddled the cloak round her back, on which were embroidered the letters prin * * * rosal * * and then came a great rent. As for the shoe, what was she to do with one poor little toctsey sandal ? The string was still to it, so she hung it round her neck. " Won't you give me a pair of shoes to go out in the snow, mum, if you please, mum ? " cried the poor child. " No, you wicked beast ! " says Gruffanuff, driving her along with the poker — driving her down the cold stairs — driving her through the cold hall — flinging her out into the cold street, so that the knocker itself shed tears to see her ! But a kind Fairv made the soft snow warm for her little feet, and she wrapped herself up in the ermine of her mantle, and was gone ! " And now let us think about breakfast," says the greedy Queen. " What dress shall I put on, mamma ? the pink or the pea- green ? " says Angelica. " Which do you think the dear Prince will like best ? " " Mrs. V. ! " sings out the King from his dressing-room, " let us have sausages for breakfast ! Remember we have Prince Bulbo staying with us ? " And they all went to get ready. Nine o'clock came, and they were all in the breakfast-room, and no Prince Bulbo as yet. The urn was hissing and hum- ming : the muffins were smoking — such a heap of muffins ! the eggs were clone : there was a pot of raspberry jam, and coffee, and a beautiful chicken and tongue on the side-table. Marmi- tonio the cook brought in the sausages. Oh, how nice they smelt ! '• Where is Bulbo ? " said the King. ''John, where is his Roval Highness ? " THE ROSE AXD THE RING. 205 John said he had a took up his Roilighnessesses shaving- water, and his clothes and things, and he wasn't in his room, which he sposed his Royliness was just stepped hout. " Stepped out before breakfast in the snow ! Impossible ! " says the King, sticking his fork into a sausage. " My dear, take one. Angelica, won't you have a saveloy ? " The Prin- cess took one, being very fond of them ; and at this moment Glumboso entered with Captain Hedzoff, both looking very much disturbed. " I am afraid your Majesty — " cries Glum- boso. " No business before breakfast, Glum ! " says the King. " Breakfast first, business next. Mrs. V., some more sugar ! " " Sire, I am afraid if we wait till after breakfast it will be too late," says Glumboso. " He — he — he'll be hanged at half- past nine." " Don't talk about hanging and spoil my breakfast, you unkind vulgar man you," cries the Princess. ''John, some mustard. Pray who is to be hanged ? " " Sire, it is the Prince," whispers Glumboso to the King. "Talk about business after breakfast, I tell you ! " says his Majesty, quite sulky. " We shall have a war, Sire, depend on it," says the Minister. " His father, King Padella * * * *" " His father. King 70/10 ? " says the King. " King Padelki is not Giglio's father. My brother, King Savio, was Giglio's father." " It's Prince Bulbo they are hanging, Sire, not Prince Giglio," savs the Prime Minister. J " You told me to hang the Prince, and I took the ugly one," says Hedzoff. " I didn't, of course, think your Majesty intended to murder your own flesh and blood ! " The King for all reply flung the plate of sausages at Hedzoff s head. The Princess cried out, " Hee-karee-karee ! " and fell down in a fainting-fit. " Turn the cock of the urn upon her Royal Highness," said the King, and the boiling water gradually revived her. His Majesty looked at his watch, compared it by the clock in the parlor, and by that of the church in the square opposite ; then he wound it up ; then he looked at it again. " The great ques- tion is," says he, "am I fast or am I slow? If I'm slow, we may as well go on with breakfast. ?f I'm fast, why, there is just the possibility of saving Prince Bulbo. It's a doosid awk- ward mistake, and upon my word, Hedzoff, I have the greatest mind to have you hanged too." " Sire, I did but my duty : a soldier has but his orders. I 2o6 THE ROSE AND THE RING. didn't expect, after forty-seven years of faithful service, that my sovereign would think of putting me to a felon's death ! " " A hundred thousand plagues upon you ! Can't you see that while you are talking my Bulbo is being hung ? " screamed the Princess. " By Jove ! she's always right, that girl, and I'm so absent," says the King, looking at his watch again. " Ha ! Hark, there go the drums ! What a doosid awkward thing though ! " "O Papa, you goose! Write the reprieve, and let me run with it," cries the Princess — and she got a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, and laid them before the King. "Confound it! Where are my spectacles ?" the Monarch exclaimed. "Angelica! Go up into my bedroom, look under my pillow, not your mamma's ; there you'll see my keys. Bring them down to me. and Well, well ! what impetuous things these girls are ! " Angelica was gone, and had run up panting to the bedroom and found the keys, and was back again before the King had finished a muffin. " Now, love," says he, "you must go all the way back for my desk, in which my spectacles are. If you would but have heard me out * * * Be hanged to her ! There she is off again. Angelica ! Angelica ! " When his Majesty called in his loud voice, she knew she must obey, and came back. " My dear, when you go out of a room, how often have I told you, shut the door? That's a darling. That's all." At last the keys and the desk and the spectacles were got, and the King mended his pen, and signed his name to a reprieve, and Angelica ran with it as swift as the wind. "You'd better stay, my love, and finish the muffins. There's no use going. Be sure it's too late. Hand me over that raspberry jam, please," said the Monarch. " Bong ! Bawong ! There goes the half hour. I knew it was." Angelica ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. She ran up Fore Street, and down High Street, and through the Market-place, and down to the left, and over the bridge, and up the blind alley, and back again, and round by the Castle, and so along by the Haberdasher's on the right, opposite the lamp-post, and round the square, and she came — she came to the Execution place, where she saw Bulbo laying his head on the block!!! The executioner raised his axe, but at that moment the Princess came panting up and cried Reprieve. " Reprieve ! " screamed the Princess. " Reprieve !" shouted all the people. Up the scaffold stairs she sprang, with the agility of a lighter of lamps ; and flinging herself in Bulbo's arms, regardless of all ceremony, ANGELICA ARRIVES JUST IN.TIME. THE ROSE AND THE RING. 207 she cried out, " my Prince ! my lord ! my love \ my Bulbo ! Thine Angelica has been in time to save thy precious existence, sweet rose-bud ; to prevent thy being nipped in thy young bloom ! Had aught befallen thee, Angelica too had died, ana? welcomed death that joined her to her Bulbo." " H'm ! there's no accounting for tastes," said Bulbo, look- ing so very much puzzled and uncomfortable, that the Princess, in tones of tenderest strair, asked the cause of his disquiet. "I tell you what it is, Angelica," said he : "since I came here, yesterday, there has been such a row, and disturbance, and quarrelling, and fighting, and chopping of heads off, and the deuce to pay, that I am inclined to go back to Crim Tartary." " But with me as thy bride, my Bulbo ! Though wherever thou art is Crim Tartary to me, my bold, my beautiful, my Bulbo ! " " Well, well, I suppose we must be married," says Bulbo, " Doctor, you came to read the Funeral Service — read the Marriage Service, will you ? What must be, must. That will satisfy Angelica, and then, in the name of peace and quietness, do let us go back to breakfast." Bulbo had carried a rose in his mouth all the time of the dismal ceremony. It was a fairy rose, and he was told by his mother that he ought never to part with it. So he had kept it between his teeth, even when he laid his poor head upon the block, hoping vaguely that some chance would turn up in his favor. As he began to speak to Angelica, he forgot about the rose, and of course it dropped out of his mouth. The romantic Princess instantly stooped and seized it. " Sweet rose ! " she exclaimed, "that bloomed upon my Bulbo's lip, never, never will I part from thee ! " and she placed it in her bosom. And you know Bulbo couldn't ask her to give the rose back again. And they went to breakfast ; and as they walked, it appeared to Bulbo that Angelica became more exquisitely lovely every moment. He was frantic until they were married ; and now, strange to say, it was Angelica who didn't care about him ! He knelt down, he kissed her hand, he prayed and begged ; he cried with admiration ; while she for her part said she really thought they might wait : it seemed to her he was not handsome any more — no, not at all, quite the reverse ; and not clever, no, very stupid ; and not well bred, like Giglio ; no, on the con- trary, dreadfully vul • What, I cannot say, for King Valoroso roared out, " Pooh y 2 o8 THE ROSE AJVD THE RING. stuff !" in a terrible voice. "We will have no more oi this shilly-shallying ! Call the Archbishop, and let the Prince and Princess be married off-hand ! " So, married they were, and T am sure for my part I trust they will be happy. XII. HOW BETSINDA FLED, AND WHAT BECAME OF HER. Betsindx wandered on and on, till she passed through the town gates, and so on the great Crim Tartary road, the very way on which Giglio too was going. "Ah!" thought she, as the diligence passed her, of which the conductor was blowing a delightful tune on- his horn, "how I should like to be on that coach ! " But the coach and the jingling horses were very soon gone. She little knew who was in it, though very likely she was thinking of him all the time. Then came an empty cart, returning from market ; and the driver being a kind man, and seeing such a very pretty girl trudging along the road with bare feet, most good-naturedlv gave her a seat. He said he lived on the confines of the forest, where his old father was a woodman, and, if she liked, he would take her so far on the road. All roads were the same to little Betsinda, so she very thankfully took this one. And the carter put a cloth round her bare feet, and gave her some bread and cold bacon, and was very kind to her. For all that she was very cold and melancholy. When after travelling on and on, evening came, and all the black pines were bending with snow, and there, at last, was the comfortable light beam- ing in the woodman's windows ; and so they arrived, and went into his cottage. He was an old man, and had a number of children, who were just at supper, with nice hot bread-and-milk, when their elder brother arrived with the cart. And they jumped and clapped their hands ; for they were good children ; and he had brought them toys from the town. And when they saw the pretty stranger, they ran to her, and brought her to the fire, and rubbed her poor little feet, and brought her bread-and- milk. " Look, Father ! " they said to the old woodman, " look at this poor girl, and see what cold feet she has. They are as THE ROSE AND THE RING. 209 white as our milk ! And look and see what an odd cloak she has, just like the bit of velvet that hangs up in our cupboard, and which you found that clay the little cubs were killed by King Padella, in the forest ! And look, why, bless us all ! she has got round her neck just such another little shoe as that you brought home, and have shown us so often — a little blue velvet shoe ! " "What," said the old woodman, — "What is this about a shoe and a cloak ? " And Betsinda explained that she had been left, when quite a little child, at the town with this cloak and this shoe. And the persons who had taken care of her had — had been angry with her, for no fault, she hoped, of her own. And they had sent her away with her old clothes — and here, in fact, she was. She remembered having been in a forest — and perhaps it was a dream — it was so very odd and strange — having lived in a cave with lions there ; and, before that, having lived in a very, very fine house, as fine as the King's, in the town. When the woodman heard this he was so astonished, it was quite curious to see how astonished he was. He went to his cupboard, and took out of a stocking a five-shilling piece of King Cavolfiore, and vowed it was exactly like the young woman. And then he produced the shoe and the piece of velvet which he had kept so long, and compared them with the things which Betsinda wore. In Betsinda's little shoe was written, " Hopkins, maker to the Royal Family ; " so in the other shoe was written, " Hopkins, maker to the Royal Family." In the inside of Betsinda's piece of cloak was embroidered, " prin rosal ; " in the other piece of cloak was embroidered "cess ba. No. 246." So that when put together you read, " princess rosalca. No. 246." On seeing this, the dear old woodman fell down on his knee, 2IO THE ROSE AND THE RING. saying : " O my princess, O my gracious royal lady, O my right ful Queen of Crim Tartary, — I hail thee — I acknowledge thee —I do thee homage ! " And in token of his fealty, he rubbed his venerable nose three times on the ground, and put the Princess's foot on his head. •' Why," said she, " my good woodman, you must be a noble- man of my royal father's Court ! " For in her lowly retreat, and under the name of Betsinda, Her Majesty, Rosalra, Queen of Crim Tartary, had read of the customs of all foreign courts and nations. _ " Marry, indeed am I, my gracious liege — the poor Lord Spinachi once, the humble woodman these fifteen years syne — ever since the tyrant Padella (may ruin overtake the treacherous knave !) dismissed me from my post of First Lord." " First Lord of the Toothpick and Joint Keeper of the Snuff-box ? I mind me ! Thou heldest these posts" under our royal Sire. They are restored to thee, Lord Spinachi ! I make thee knight of the second class of our Order of the Pumpkin (the first class being reserved for crowned heads alone). Rise, Marquis of Spinachi ! " And with indescribable majesty, the Queen, who had no sword handy, waved the pewter spoon, with which she had been taking her bread-and-milk, over the bald head of the old nobleman, whose tears absolutely made a puddle on the ground, and whose dear children went to bed that night Lords and Ladies Bartolomeo, Ubaldo, Catarina, and Ottavia degli Spinachi ! The acquaintance Her Majesty showed with the history and noble families of her empire, was wonderful. "The House of Broccoli should remain faithful to us," she said; "they were ever welcome at our Court. Have the Articiocchi, as was their wont, turned to the Rising Sun ? The family of Sauerkraut must sure be with us — they were ever welcome in the halls of King Cavolfiore." And so she went on enumerating quite a list of the nobility and gentry of Crim Tartary, so admirably had her Majesty profited by her studies while in exile. The old Marquis of Spinachi said he could answer for them all: that the whole country groaned under Padella's tyranny, and longed to return to its rightful sovereign ; and late as it was, he sent his children, who knew the forest well, to summon this nobleman and that ; and when his eldest son, who had been rubbing the horse clown and giving him his supper, came into the house for his own, the Marquis told him to put his boots on, and a saddle on the mar and ride hither and thither to such and such people. THE ROSE AND THE RING. zil When the young man heard who his companion in the can herd been, he too knelt down and put her royal foot on his head ; he too bedewed the ground with his tears ; he was fran- tically in love with her, as everybody now was who saw her : so were the young Lords Bartolomeo and Ubaldo, who punched each other's little heads out of jealousy : and so, when they came from east and west at the summons of the Marquis degli Spinachi, were the Crim Tartar Lords who still remained faith- ful to the House of Cavolfiore. They were such very old gen- tlemen for the most part, that her Majesty never suspected their absurd passion, and went among them quite unaware of the havoc her beauty was causing, until an old blind Lord who had joined her party told her what the truth was ; after which, for fear of making the people too much in love with her, she always wore a veil. She went about privately, from one nobleman's castle to another : and they visited amongst themselves again, and had meetings, and composed proclamations and counter- proclamations, and distributed all the best places of the king- dom amongst one another, and selected who of the opposition party should be executed when the Queen came to her own. And so in about a year they were ready to move. The party of Fidelity was in truth composed of very feeble old fogies for the most part : they went about the country waving their old swords and flags, and calling " God save the Queen ! " and King Padella happening to be absent upon an invasion, they had their own way for a little, and to be sure the people were very enthusiastic whenever they saw the Queen ; otherwise the vulgar took matters very quietly — for, they said, as far as they could recollect, they were pretty well as much taxed in Cavolfiore's time as now in Padella's. XIII. HOW QUEEN ROSALBA CAME TO THE CASTLE OF THE BOLD COUN'l HOGGINARMO. Her Majesty, having indeed nothing else to give, made all her followers Knights of the Pumpkin, and Marquises, Earls, and Baronets ; and they had a little court for her, and made her a little crown of gilt paper, and a robe of cotton velvet ; 212 THE ROSE AND THE RING. and they quarrelled about the places to be given away in her court, and about rank and precedence and dignities ; — you can't think how they quarrelled ! The poor Queen was very tired of her honors before she had them a month, and I dare say sighed sometimes even to be a lady's-maid again. But we must all do our duty in our respective stations, so the Queen resigned her- self to perform hers. We have said how it happened that none of the Usurper's troops came out to oppose this Army of Fidelity : it pottered along as nimbly as the gout of the principal commanders al- lowed : it consisted of twice as many officers as soldiers : and itt length passed near the estaf.es of one of the most powerful noblemen of the country, who had not declared for the Queen, but of whom her party had hopes, as he was always quarrelling with King Padella. When they came close to his park gates, this nobleman sent to say he would wait upon her Majesty ; he was a most power- ful warrior, and his name was Count Hogginarmo, whose hel- met it took two strong negroes to carry. He knelt down before her and said, ' Madam and liege lady ! it becomes the great nobles of the Crimean realm to show every outward sign of re- spect to the wearer of the Crown, whoever that may be. We testify to our own nobility in acknowledging yours. The bold Hogginarmo bends the knee to the first aristocracy of his country." Rosalba said the bold Count of Hogginarmo was un- commonly kind ; but she felt afraid of him, even while he was kneeling, and his eves scowled at her from between his whiskers which grew up to them. " The first Count of tl" Empire, madam," he went on, "salutes the Sovereign. The Prince addressed himself to the not more noble lady ! Madam, my hand is free, and I offer it, and my heart and my sword, to your service ! My three wives lie buried in my ancestral vaults. The third perished but a year since ; and this heart pines for a consort ! Deign to be mine, and I swear to bring to your bridal table the head of King Padella. the eyes and nose of his son Prince Bulbo, the light hand and ears of the usurping Sovereign of Paflagonia, which country shall henceforth be an appanage to your — to our Crown ! Say yes ; Hogginarmo is not accustomed to be denied. Indeed 1 cannot contemplate the possibility of a re- fusal ; for frightful will be the result; dreadful the murders; furious the devastation ; horrible the tyranny ; tremendous the tortures, misery, taxation, which the people of this realm will THE ROSE AND THE RING. 213 endure, if Hogginarmo's wrath be aroused ! I see consent in your Majesty's lovely eyes — their glances fill my soul with rapture ! " ' ; Oh, sir ! " Rosalba said, withdrawing her hand in great fright. " Your lordship is exceedingly kind ; but I am sorry to tell you that I have a prior attachment to a young gentle- man by the name of — Prince — Giglio — and never — never can marry any one but him." Who can describe Hogginarmo's wrath at this remark ? Rising up from the ground, he ground his teeth so that fire flashed out of his mouth, from which at the same time issued remarks and language, so loud, violent, and improper, that this pen shall never repeat them ! " R-r-r-r-r-r — Rejected ! Fiends and perdition ! The bold Hogginarmo rejected ! All the world shall hear of my rage ; and you, madam, you above all shall rue it ! " And kicking the two negroes before him, he rushed away, his whiskers streaming in the wind. Her Majesty's Privy Council was in a dreadful panic when they saw Hogginarmo issue from the royal presence in such a towering rage, making footballs of the poor negroes — a panic which the events justified. They marched off from Hoggin- armo's park very crestfallen ; and in another half-hour they were met by that rapacious chieftain with a few of his followers, who cut, slashed, charged, whacked, banged, and pommelled amongst them, took the queen prisoner, and drove the Army of Fidelity to I don't where. Poor Queen ! Hogginarmo, her conqueror, would not con- descend to see her. " Get a horse-van ! " he said to his grooms, " clap the hussey into it, and send her, with my compliments, to his Majesty King Padella." Along with his lovely prisoner, Hogginarmo sent a letter full of servile compliments and loathsome flatteries to King Padella, for whose life, and that of his royal family, the hypo- critical humbug pretended to offer the most fulsome prayers. And Hogginarmo promised speedily to pay his humble homage at his august master's throne, of which he begged leave to be counted the most loyal and constant defender. Such a wary old bird as King Padella was not to be caught by Master Hogginarmo's chaff, and we shall hear presently how the tyrant treated this upstart vassal. No, no ; depend on't, two such rogues do not trust one another. So this poor queen was laid in the straw like Margery Daw, and driven along in the dark ever so many miles to the Court, where King Padella had now arrived, having vanquished 214 THE ROSE AND THE RING. all his enemies, murdered most of them, and brought some of the richest into captivity with him for the purpose of torturing them and finding out where they had hidden their money. Rosalba heard their shrieks and groans in the dungeon in which she was thrust : a most awful black hole, full of bats, rats, mice, toads, frogs, mosquitoes, bugs, fleas, serpents, and every kind of horror. No light was let into it, otherwise the jailers might have seen her and fallen in love with her, as an owl that lived up in the roof of the tower did, and a cat, you know, who can see in the dark, and having set its green eyes on Rosalba, never would be got to go back to the turnkey's wife to whom it belonged. And the toads in the dungeon came and kissed her feet, and the vipers wound round her neck and arms, and never hurt her, so charming was this poor Princess in the midst of her misfortunes. At last when she had been kept in this place ever so long, the door of the dungeon opened, and this terrible King Padella came in. But what he said and did must be reserved for another chapter, as we must now back to Prince Giglio. XIV. WHAT BECAME OF GIGLIO. The idea of marrying such an old creature as Gruffanuff, frightened Prince Giglio so, that he ran up to his room, packed his trunks, fetched in a couple of porters, and was off to the diligence office in a twinkling. It was well that he was so quick in his operations, did not dawdle over his luggage, and took the early coach : for as soon as the mistake about Prince Bulbo was found out, that cruel Glumboso sent up a couple of policemen to Prince Giglio's room, with orders that he should be carried to Newgate, and his head taken off before twelve o'clock. But the coach was out of the Paflagonian dominions before two o'clock ; and I dare say the express that was sent after Prince Giglio did not ride very quick, for many people in Pafiagonia had a regard for Giglio, as the son of their old sovereign : a prince who, with all his weaknesses, was very much better than his brother, the THE ROSE AND THE RING. 215 usurping, lazy, careless, passionate, tyrannical reigning monarch. That Prince busied himself with the balls, fetes, masquerades, hunting-parties and so forth, which he thought proper to give on the occasion of his daughter's marriage to Prince Bulbo ; and let us trust was not sorry in his own heart that his brother's son had escaped the scaffold. It was very cold weather, and the snow was on the ground, and Giglio, who gave his name as simple Mr. Giles, was very glad to get a comfortable place in the coupe of the diligence, where he sat with the conductor and another gentleman. At the first stage from Blombodinga, as they stopped to change horses, there came up to the diligence a very ordinary, vulgar- looking woman, with a bag under her arm, who asked for a place. All the inside places were taken, and the young woman was informed that if she wished to travel . she must go upon the roof ; and the passenger inside with Giglio (a rude person, I should think,) put his head out of the window and said, " Nice weather for travelling outside ! I wish you a pleasant journey, my clear." The poor woman coughed very much, and Giglio pitied her. " I will give up my place to her," says he, " rather than she should travel in the cold air with that horrid cough." On which the vulgar traveller said, " You'd keep her warm, I am sure, if it's a mujfshe wants." On which Giglio pulled his nose, boxed his ears, hit him in the eye, and gave this vulgar person a warning never to call him muff again. Then he sprang up gayly on to the roof of the diligence, and made himself very comfortable in the straw. The vulgar trav- eller got down only at the next station, and Giglio took his place again, and talked to the person next to him. She ap- peared to be a most agreeable, well-informed, and entertaining female. They travelled together till night, and she gave Giglio all sorts of things out of the bag which she carried, and which indeed seemed to contain the most wonderful collection of articles. He was thirsty — out there came a pint-bottle of Bass's pale ale, and a silver mug ! Hungry — she took out a cold fowl, some slices of ham, bread, salt, and a most delicious piece of cold plum-pudding, and a little glass of brandy afterwards. As they travelled, this plain looking, queer woman talked to Giglio on a variety of subjects, in which the poor Prince showed his ignorance as much as she did her capacity. He owned, with many blushes, how ignorant he was : on which the lady said, " My clear Gigl — my good Mr. Giles, you are a young- man, and have plenty of time before you. You have nothing to do but to improve yourself. Who knows but that you may 2l6 fHE ROSE AND THE RING. find use xor your knowledge some day ? — when — when you maj be wanted at home, as some people may be." " Good heavens, madam ! " says, he, " do you know me ? " " I know a number of funny things," says the lady. " I have been at some people's christenings, and turned away from other folks' doors. I have seen some people spoilt by good fortune, and others, as I hope, improved by hardship. I advise you to stay at the town where the coach stops for the night. Stay there and study, and remember your old friend to whom you were kind." " And who is my old friend ? " asked Giglio. " When you want anything," says the lady, " look in th. : s bag, which I leave to you as a present, and be grateful to "' " To whom, madam ? " says he. " To the Fairy Blackstick," says the lady, flying out of the window. And when Giglio asked the conductor if he knew where the lady was ? — " What lady ? " says the man. " There has been no lady in this coach, except the old woman who got out at the last stage." And Giglio thought he had been dreaming. But there was the bag which Blackstick had given him lying on his lap ; and when he came to the town he took it in his hand and went into the inn. They gave him a very bad bedroom, and Giglio, when he woke in the morning, fancying himself in the Royal Palace at home, called, " John, Charles, Thomas ! My chocolate — ■ my dressing-gown — my slippers ; " but nobody came. There was no bell, so he went and bawled out for waiter on the top of the stairs. The landlady came up, looking — looking like this — THE ROSE AND THE RING. 217 "What are you a-hollaring and a-bellaring for here, young man ? " says she. " There's no warm water — no servants ; my boots are not even cleaned." " He ! he ! Clean 'em yourself," says the landlady. "You young students give yourselves pretty airs. I never heard such impudence." " I'll quit the house this instant," says Giglio. " The sooner the better, young man. Pay your bill and be off. All my rooms is wanted for gentlefolks, and not for such as you." " You may well keep the ' Bear Inn,' " said Giglio. " You should have yourself painted as the sign." The landlady of the " Bear " went away growling. And Giglio returned to his room, where the first thing he saw was the fairy bag lying on the table, which seemed to give a little hop as he came in. " I hope it has some breakfast in it," says Giglio, " for I have only a very little money left." But on opening the bag, what do you think was there ? A blacking- brush and a pot of Warren's jet, and on the pot was written, " Poor young men their boots must black; Use me and cork me and put me back." So Giglio laughed and blacked his boots, and put back the brush and the bottle into the bag. When he had clone dressing himself, the bag gave another little hop, and he went to it and took out — 1. A table-cloth and a napkin. 2. A sugar-basin full of the best loaf-sugar. 4, 6, 8, 10. Two forks, two teaspoons, two knives, and a pair of sugar-tongs, and a butter-knife, all marked G. 11, 12, 13. A teacup, saucer, and slop-basin. 14. A jug full of delicious cream. 15. A canister with black tea and green. 16. A large tea-urn and boiling water. 17. A saucepan, containing three eggs nicely done. 18. A quarter of a pound of best Epping butter. 19. A brown loaf. And if he hadn't enough now for a good breakfast, I should like to know who ever had one ? Giglio, having had his breakfast, popped all the things back into the bag, and went out looking for lodgings. I forgot to say that this celebrated university town was called Bosforo. He took a modest lodging opposite the Schools, paid his 2i8 THE ROSE AND THE RING. bill at the inn, and went to his apartment with his trunk, carpet* bag, and not forgetting, we may be sure, his other bag. When he opened his trunk, which the day before he had filled with his best clothes, he found it contained only books. And in the first of them which he opened there was written — " Clothes for the back, books for the head : Read, and remember them when they are read.' And in his bag, when Giglio looked in it, he found a student's cap and gown, a writing-book full of paper, an inkstand, pens, and a Johnson's dictionary, which was very useful to him, as his spelling had been sadly neglected. So he sat down and worked away, very, very hard, for a whole year, during which " Mr. Giles " was quite an example to all the students in the University of Bosforo. He never got into any riots or disturbances. The professors all spoke well of him, and the students liked him too ; so that when at ex- amination he took all the prizes, viz. : — The Spelling Prize The Writing Prize The French Prize The Arithmetical Prize The History Prize ] The Latin Prize The Catechism Prize [ The Good Conduct Prize, all his fellow-students said, " Hurray ! Hurray for Giles ! Giles is the boy — the student's joy ! Hurray for Giles ! " And he brought quite a quantity of medals, crowns, books, and tokens of distinction home to his lodgings. One day after the Examinations, as he was diverting himself at a coffee-house with two friends — (Did I tell you that in his bag, every Saturday night, he found just enough to pay his bills, with a guinea over for pocket-money! Didn't I tell you ? Well, he did, as sure as twice twenty makes forty-five) — he chanced to look in the Bosforo Chronicle, and read off quite easily (for he could spell, read, and write the longest words now) the following — " Romantic Circumstance. — One of the most extraordi- nary adventures that we have ever heard has set the neighbor- ing country of Crim Tartary in a state of great excitement. " It will be remembered that when the present revered sovereign of Crim Tartary, his Majesty King Padella, took possession of the throne, after having vanquished, in the terrific battle of Pdunderbusco, the late King Cavolfiore, that Prince's THE ROSE AND THE RING. 219 only child, the Princess Rosalba, was not found in the royal palace, of which King Padella took possession, and, it was said, had strayed into the forest (being abandoned by all her attend- ants), where she had been eaten up by those ferocious lions, the last pair of which were captured some time since, and brought to the Tower, after killing several hundred persons. " His Majesty King Padella, who has the kindest heart in the world, was grieved at the accident which had occurred to the harmless little Princess, for whom his Majesty's known benevolence would certainly have provided a fitting establish- ment. But her death seemed to be certain. The mangled remains of a cloak, and a little shoe, were found in the forest, during a hunting-party, in which the intrepid sovereign of Crim Tartary slew two of the lions' cubs with his own spear. And these interesting relics of an innocent little creature were car- ried home and kept by their finder, the Baron Spinachi, formerly an officer in Cavolfiore's household. The Baron was disgraced in consequence of his known legitimist opinions, and has lived for some time, in the humble capacity of a wood-cutter, in a forest on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Crim Tartary. " Last Tuesday week Baron Spinachi and a number of gen tleman attached to the former dynasty appeared in arms, cry- ing, 'God save R-Osalba, the First Queen of Crim Tartary!' and surrounding a lady whom report describes as ' beautiful exceedingly.' Her history may be authentic, is certainly most romantic. " The personage calling herself Rosalba states that she was brought out of the forest, fifteen years since, by a lady in a car drawn by dragons (this account is certainly imflrobab/e), that she was left in the Palace Garden of Blombodinga, where her Royal Highness the Princess Angelica, now married to his Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary, found the child, and, with that elegant benevolence which has always distinguished the heiress of the throne of Paflagonia, gave the little outcast a shelter and a home! Her parentage not being known, and her garb very humble, the foundling was educated in the Palace in a menial capacity, under the name of Betsinda. " She did not give satisfaction, and was dismissed, carrying with her, certainly, part of a mantle and a shoe which she had on when first found. According to her statement she quitted Blombodinga about a year ago, since which time she has been with the Spinachi family. On the very same morning the Prince Giglio, nephew to the King of Paflagonia, a young 22r THE ROSE AND THE RING. Prince whose character for talent and order were, to sa^ odth, none of the highest, also quitted Blombodinga, and has not been since heard of ! " "What an extraordinary story!" said Smith and Jones, two young students, Giglio's especial friends. " Ha ! what is this ? " Giglio went on, reading : " Second Edition, Express. — We hear that the troop un der Baron Spinachi has been surrounded, and utterly routed by General Count Hogginarmo, and the soi-disant Princess is sent a prisoner to the capital. " University News. — Yesterday, at the Schools, the dis- tinguished young student, Mr. Giles, read a Latin oration, and was complimented by the Chancellor of Bosforo, Dr. Prugnaro, with the highest University honor — the wooden spoon." " Never mind that stuff," says Giles, greatly disturbed. " Come home with me, my friends. Gallant Smith ! intrepid Jones ! friends of my studies — partakers of my academic toils — I have that to tell shall astonish your honest minds." " Go it, old boy ! " cried the impetuous Smith. " Talk away, my buck ! " says Jones, a lively fellow. With an air of indescribable dignity, Giglio checked their natural, but no more seemly, familiarity. "Jones, Smith, my good friends," said the Prince, disguise is henceforth useless ; I am no more the humble student Giles, I am the descendant of a royal line." " Ai 'avis edite regibtcs. I know, old co — ," cried Jones. He was going to say " old cock," but a Hash from the royal eye again awed him. " Friends," continued the Prince, " I am that Giglio : I am, in fact, Paflagonia. Rise, Smith, and kneel not in the public street. Jones, thou true heart ! My faithless uncle, when I was a baby, filched from me that brave crown my father left me, bred me, all young and careless of my rights, like unto hapless Hamlet, Prince of Denmark ; and had I any thoughts about my wrongs, soothed me with promises of near redress. I should espouse his daughter, young Angelica ; we two indeed should reign in Paflagonia. His words were false — false as Angelica's heart ! — false as Angelica's hair, color, front teeth ! She looked with her skew eyes u'~on young Bulbo, Crim Tar- tary's stupid heir, and she preferred him. 'Twas then I turned my eyes upon Betsinda — Rosalba, as she now is. And I saw in her the blushing sum of all perfection ; the pink of maiden modesty ; the nymph that my fond heart had ever woo'd in dreams," &c, &c. THE ROSE AND THE RING 2 2l (I don't give this speech, which was very fine, out very long ; and though Smith and Jones knew nothing about the circumstances, my dear reader does : so I go on.) The Prince and his young friends hastened home to his apartment, highly excited by the intelligence, as no doubt by the royal narrator s admirable manner of recounting it ; and they ran up to his room, where he had worked so hard at his books. On his writing-table was his bag, grown so long that the Prince could not help remarking it. He went to it, opened it, and what do you think he found in it ? A splendid long gold-handled, red-velvet-scabbarded cut- and-thrust sword, and on the sheath was embroidered " Ros- alba for Ever ! " He drew out the sword, which flashed and illuminated the whole room, and called out " Rosalba for ever ! " Smith and Jones following him, but quite respectfully this time, and taking the time from his Royal Highness. And now his trunk opened with a sudden pong, and out there came three ostrich feathers in a gold crown, surrounding a beautiful shining steel helmet, a cuirass, a pair of spurs, finally a complete suit of armor. The books on Giglio's shelves we-re all gone. Where there had been some great dictionaries, Giglio's friends found two pairs of jack-boots labelled " Lieutenant Smith," " Jones, Esqs.," which fitted them to a nicety. Besides, there were hel- mets, back and breast plates, swords, &c, just like in Mr. G. P. R. James's novels ; and that evening three cavaliers might have been seen issuing from the gates of Bosforo, in whom the porters, proctors, &c, never thought of recognizing the young Prince and his friends. They got horses at a livery-stable-keeper's, and never drew bridle until they reached the last town on the frontier before you come to Crim Tartary. Here, as their animals were tired, and the cavaliers hungry, they stopped and refreshed at an hostel. I could make a chapter of this if I were like some writers, but I like to cram my measure tight down, you see, and give you a great deal for your money. And, in a word, they had some bread-and-cheese and ale up stairs on the balcony of the inn. As they were drinking, drums and trumpets sounded nearer and nearer, the marketplace was filled with soldiers, and his Royal Highness looking forth, recognized the Pafla- gonian banners, and X\v ^flagonian national air which the bands were playing. 22 2 THE ROSE ANl, THE RING. The troops all made for the tavern at once, and as they came up, Giglio exclaimed, on beholding their leader, " Whom do I see ? Yes ! — no ! It is, it is ! — Phoo ! — No, it can't be ! Yes ! it is my friend, my gallant, faithful veteran, Captain Hedzoff 1 Ho, Hedzoff ! Knowest thou not thy Prince, thy Giglio ? Good Corporal, methinks we once were friends. Ha, Sergeant, an my memory serves me right, we have had many a bout at singlestick." " I'faith, we have a many, good my lord," says the Ser- geant. " Tell me what means this mighty armament," continued his Royal Highness from the balcony, " and whither march my Paflagonians ? " t> v Hedzoff's head fell. " My lord," he said, " we march as the allies of great Padella, Crim Tartary's monarch." " Crim Tartary's usurper, gallant Hedzoff ! Crim Tartary's grim tyrant, honest Hedzoff! " said the Prince, on the balcony, quite sarcastically. " A soldier, Prince, must needs obey his orders : mine are to help his Majesty Padella. And also (though alack that I should say it !) to seize wherever I should light upon him " " First catch your hare ! ha, Hedzoff ! " exclaimed his Royal Highness. " — On the body of Giglio, whilom Prince of Paflagonia," Hedzoff went on, with indescribable emotion. " My Prince, give up your sword without ado. Look ! we are thirty thousand men to one ! " " Give up my sword ! Giglio give up his sword ! " cried the Prince ; and stepping well forward on to the balcony, the royal youth, without preparation, delivered a speech so mag- nificent, that no report can do justice to it. It was all in blank verse (in which, from this time, he invariably spoke, as more becoming his majestic station). It lasted for three clays and three nights, during which not a single person who heard him was tired, or remarked the difference between daylight and dark. The soldiers only cheering tremendously when occasionally — once in nine hours — the Prince paused to suck an orange, which Jones took out of the bag. He explained, in terms which we say we shall not attempt to convey, the whole history of the previous transaction, and his determi- nation not only not to give up his sword, but to assume his rightful crown ; and at the end of this extraordinary, this truly gigantic effort, Captain Hedzoff flung up his helmet and cried, " Hurray ! Hurray ! Long live King Giglio 1 ' TO ARMS ! 14* THE ROSE AND THE RING 223 Such were the consequences of having employed his time well at college ! When the excitement had ceased, beer was ordered out for the army, and their Sovereign himself did not disdain a little ! And now it was with some alarm that Captain Hedzoff told him his division was only the advanced guard of the Paflagonian contingent hastening to King Padella's aid — the main force being a day's march in the rear under His Royal Highness Prince Bulbo. " We will wait here, good friend, to beat the Prince," his Majesty said, and then will make his royal Father wince." XV. WE RETURN TO ROSALBA. King Padella made very similar proposals to Rosalba to those which she had received from the various Princes who, as we have seen, had fallen in love with her. His Majesty was a widower, and offered to marry his fair captive that instant, but she declined his invitation in her usual polite gentle manner, stating that Prince Giglio was her love, and that any other union was out of the question. Having tried tears and sup- plications in vain, this violent-tempered monarch menaced her with threats and tortures ; but she declared she would rather suffer all these than accept the hand of her father's murderer, who left her finally, uttering the- most awful imprecations, and bidding her prepare for death on the following morning. All night long the King spent in advising how he should get rid of this obdurate young creature. Cutting off her head was much too easy a death for her ; hanging was so common in his Majesty's dominions that it no longer afforded him any sport : finally, he bethought himself of a pair of fierce lions which had lately been sent to him as presents, and he deter- mined, with these ferocious brutes, to hunt poor Rosalba down. Adjoining his castle was an amphitheatre where the Prince indulged in bull-baiting, rat-hunting, and other ferocious sports. The two lions were kept in a cage under this place ; their roaring might be heard over the whole city, the inhabitants of which, I am sorry to say, thronged in numbers to see a poor young lady gobbled up by two wild beasts. The King took his place in the royal box, having the 224 THE ROSE AND THE RING. officers of the Court around and the Count Hogginarmo by his side, upon whom his Majesty was observed to look very fiercely, the fact is royal spies had told the monarch of Hogginarmo's behavior, his proposals to Rosalba, and his offer to fight for the Crown. Black as thunder looked King Padella at this proud noble, as they sat in the front seats of the theatre waiting to see the tragedy whereof poor Rosalba was to be the heroine. At length the Princess was brought out in her night-gown, with all her beautiful hair falling down her back, and looking so pretty that even the beef-eaters and keepers of the wild animals wept plentifully at seeing her. And she walked with her poor little feet (only luckily the arena was covered with sawdust), and went and leaned up against a great stone in the centre of the amphitheatre, round which the Court and the people were seated in boxes, with bars before them, for fear of the great, fierce, red-maned, black-throated, long tailed, roaring, bellowing, rushing lions. And now the gates were opened, and with a " Wurrawar- rurawarar ! " two great lean, hungry, roaring lions rushed out of their den, where they had been kept for three weeks on noth- ing but a little toast-and-water, and dashed straight up to the stone where poor Rosalba was waiting. Commend her to your patron saints, all you kind people, for she is in a dreadful state. There was a hum and a buzz all through the circus, and the fierce King Padella even felt a little compassion. Cut Count Hogginarmo, seated by his Majesty, roared out, ' Hurray ! Now for it ! Soo-soo-soo ! " that nobleman being uncommonly angry still at Rosalba's refusal of him. But, O strange event ! O remarkable circumstance ! O extraordinary coincidence, which I am sure none of you could by any possibility have divined ! When the lions came to Ros- alba, instead of devouring her with their great teeth, it was with kisses they gobbled her up ! They licked her pretty feet, they nuzzled their noses in her lap, they moo'd, they seemed to say, " Dear, dear sister, don't you recollect your brothers in the forest ?" And she put her pretty white arms round their tawny necks, and kissed them. King Padella was immensely astonished. The Count Hog- ginarmo was extremely disgusted. " Pooh ! " the Count cried. " Gammon ! " exclaimed his lordship. " These lions are tame beasts come from Wombwell's or Astley's. It is a shame to put people off in this- way. T believe they are little boys dressed up in door-mats. They are no lions at all." PJUNCE GIGLIO'S SPEECH TO THE ARin'. THE ROSE AND THE RING. 225 " Ha ! " said the King, " you dare to say ' Gammon ! ' to your Sovereign, do you ? These lions are no lions at all, aren't they ? Ho, my beef-eaters ! Ho ! my body guard ! Take this Count Hogginarmo and fling him into the circus ! Give him a sword and buckler, let him keep his armor on and his weather-eye out, and fight these lions." The haughty Hogginarmo laid down his opera-glass and looked scowling round at the King and his attendants. " Touch me not, clogs ! " he said, " or by St. Nicholas the El- der, I will gore you! Your Majesty thinks Hogginarmo is afraid ? No, not of a hundred thousand lions ! Follow me down into the circus, King Padella, and match thyself against one of yon brutes. Thou darest not ? Let them both come on then ! " And opening a grating of the box, he jumped lightly down into the circu c . Wurra wurra wurra wur-atu-aw-aw ! I In about two minutes The Count Hogginarmo was GOBBLED UP b y> those lions, bones, boots, and all, and There was an End of him. At this the King said, " Serve him right, the rebellious ruffian ! And now, as those lions won't eat that young woman " " Let her off ! — let her off ! " cried the crowd. "NO ! " roared the King. Let the beef-eaters go down and chop her into small pieces. If the lions defend her, let the archers shoot them to death. That hussey shall die in tortures ! " " A-a-ah ! " cried the crowd. " Shame ! shame ! " " Who dares cry out ' Shame ? ' " cried the furious poten- tate (so little can tyrants command their passions). " Fling any scoundrel who says a word down among the lions ! " I warrant you there was a dead silence then, which was broken by a " Pang arang pang pangkarangpang ! " and a Knight and a Herald rode in at the further end of the circus ; the Knight in full armor, with his vizor up, and bearing a letter on the point of his lance. 22 6 THE ROSE AND THE RING, " Ha ! " exclaimed the King, "by my fay, 'tis Elephant and Castle, pursuivant of my brother of Paflagonia ; and the Knight, and my memory serves me, is the gallant Captain Hedzoff ! What news from Paflagonia, gallant Hedzoff ? Elephant and Castle, beshrew me, thy trumpeting must have made thee thirsty. What will my trusty Herald like to drink?" " Bespeaking first safe-conduct from your lordship," said Captain Hedzoff, " before we take a drink of anything, permit us to deliver our King's message." " My lordship, ha ! " said Crim Tartary, frowning terrific- ally. "That title soundeth strange in the anointed ears of a crowned King. Straightway speak out your message, Knight and Herald ! " Reining up his charger in a most elegant manner close un- der the King's balcony, Hedzoff turned to the Herald, and bade him begin. Elephant and Castle, dropping his trumpet over his shoulder, took a large sheet of paper out of his hat, and began to read : — " O Yes ! O Yes ! O Yes! Know all men by these pres- ents, that we, Giglio, King of Paflagonia, Grand Duke of Cap- padocia, Sovereign Prince of Turkey and the Sausage Islands, having assumed our rightful throne and title, long time falsely borne by our usurping uncle, styling himself King of Pafla- gonia,—" " Ha ! " growled Padella. " Hereby summon the false traitor Padella, calling himself King of Crim Tartary, — " The King's curses were dreadful. "Go on, Elephant and Castle ! " said the intrepid Hedzoff. " — To release from cowardly imprisonment his liege lady and rightful sovereign, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, and restore her to her royal throne : in default of which, I, Giglio, proclaim the said Padella sneak, traitor, humbug, usurper, and coward. I challenge him to meet me, with fists or with pistols, with battle-axe or sword, with blunderbuss or single- stick, alone or at the head of his army, on foot, or on horse- back ; and will prove my words upon his wicked ugly body ! " "God save the King !" said Captam Hedzoff, executing a demivolte, two semilunes, and three caracols. " Is that all ? " said Padelia, with the terrible calm of con- centrated fury. " That, sir. is all my royal master's message. Here is his Majesty's letter in autograph, and here is his glove ; and if any gentleman of Crim Tartary chooses to find fault with his Ma THE ROSE AND THE RING. 227 jesty's expressions, I, Kustasoff Hedsoff, Captain of the Guard, am very much at his service." And he waved his lance, and looked at the assembly all round. " And what says my good brother of Paflagonia, my dear son's father-in-law, to this rubbish ? " asked the King. " The King's uncle hath been deprived of the crown he unjustly wore," said Hedzoff gravely. " He and his ex-Minis- ter, Glumboso, are now in prison waiting the sentence of my royal master. After the battle of Bombardaro " " Of what ? " asked the surprised Padella. " — Of Bombardaro, where my liege, his present Majesty, would have performed prodigies of valor, but that the whole of his uncle's army came over to our side, with the exception of Prince Bulbo " " Ah ! my boy, my boy, my Bulbo was no traitor ! " cried Padella. " Prince Bulbo, far from coming over to us, ran away, sir \ but I caught him. The Prince is a prisoner in our army, and the most terrific tortures await him if a hair of the Princess Rosalba's head is injured." " Do they? " exclaimed the furious Padella, who was now perfectly livid with rage. " Do they indeed ? So much the worse for Bulbo. I've twenty sons as lovely each as Bulbo. Not one but is as fit to reign as Bulbo. Whip, whack, flog, starve, rack, punish, torture Bulbo — break all his bones — roast him or flay him alive — pull all his pretty teeth out one by one ! But justly dear as Bulbo is to me, — Joy of my eyes, fond treas- ure of my soul ! — Ha, ha, ha, ha ! revenge is dearer still. Ho ! torturers, rack-men, executioners — light up the fires and make the pincers hot ! get lots of boiling lead ! — Bring out Rosalba ! " XVI. HOW HEDZOFF RODE BACK AGAIN TO KING GIGLIO. Captain Hedzoff rode away when King Padella uttered this cruel command, having clone his duty in delivering the mes- sage with which his royal master had intrusted him. Of course he was very sorry for Rosalba, but what could he do ? So he returned to King Giglio's camp, and found the young monarch in a disturbed state of mind, smoking cigars in the * 2 8 THE ROSE AND THE RING. royal tent. His Majesty's agitation was not appeased by the news that was brought by his ambassador. " The brutal, ruth- less ruffian roval wretch ! " Giglio exclaimed. " As England's • i poesy has well remarked, ' The man that lays his hand upon a woman, save in the way of kindness, is a villain.' Ha, Hed- zoff?" " That he is, your Majesty," said the attendant. " And didst thou see her flung into the oil ? and didn't the soothing oil — the emollient oil, refuse to boil, good Hedzoff— and to spoil the fairest lady ever eyes did look on ? " " 'Faith, good my liege, I had no heart to look and see a beauteous lady boiling down ; I took your royal message to Padella, and bore his back to you. I told him you would hold Prince Bulbo answerable. He only said that he had twenty sons as good as Bulbo, and forthwith he bade the ruthless executioners proceed." " O cruel father — O unhappy son," cried the King. " Go, some of you, and bring Prince Bulbo hither." Bulbo was brought in chains, looking very uncomfortable. Though a prisoner, he had been tolerably happy, perhaps be- cause his mind was at rest, and all the fighting was over, and he was playing at marbles with his guards, when the King sent for him. " Oh, my poor Bulbo," said his Majesty, with looks of in- finite compassion, " hast thou heard the news ? " (for you see Giglio wanted to break the thing gently to the Prince ). " Thy brutal father has condemned Rosalba — p-p-p-ut her to death, P-p-p-prince Bulbo ! " " What, killed Betsinda ! Boo-hoo-hoo ! " cried out Bulbo. " Betsinda ! pretty Betsinda ! clear Betsinda ! She was the dearest little girl in the world. I love her better twenty thou- sand times even than Angelica." And he went on expressing his grief in so hearty and unaffected a manner, that the King was quite touched by it, and said, shaking Bulbo's hand, that he wished he had known Bulbo sooner. Bulbo, quite unconsciously, and meaning for the best, of fered to come and sit with his Majesty, and smoke a cigar with him, and console him. The royal kindness supplied Bulbo with a cigar ; he had not had one, he said, since he was taken prisoner. And now think what must have been the feelings of the most merciful of 'monarchs, when he informed his prisoner, that, in consequence of King Padella's cruel and dastardly behavior to Rosalba, Prince Bulbo must instantly be executed I The llllin ill, m, - ■ i POOR BULBO IS ORDERED FOR EXECUTION THE ROSE AND THE RING. 229 noble Giglio could not restrain his tears, nor could the Grena- diers, nor the officers, nor could Buibo himself, when the matter was explained to him ; and he was brought to understand rhat his Majesty's promise, of course, was above everything, and Bui- bo must submit. So poor Bulbo was led out, — Heclzoff trying to console him by pointing out that if he had won the battle of Bombardaro, he might have hanged Prince Gigiio. " Yes ! But that is no comfort to me now ! " said ooor Bulbo ; nor indeed was it, poor fellow. He was told the business would be done the next morning at eight, and was taken back ;o his dungeon, where every at- tention was paid to him. fhe jailer's wife sent him tea, and the turnkey's daughter begged him to write his name in her al- bum, where a man) gentlemen had wrote it on like occasions ! " Bother your- album ! " says Bulbo. The Undertaker came and measured him for the handsomest coffin which money could buy : p\en this didn't console Bulbo. The Cook brought him dishes which he once used to like ; buthe wouldn't touch them : he sat down and began writing an adieu to Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking and the hands drawing nearer to next morning. The Barber came in at night, and offered to shave him for next day. Prince Bulbo kicked him away, and went on writing a few words to Princess Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking and the hands hopping nearer and nearer to next morning. He got up on the top of a hat-box, on the top of a chair, on the top of his bed, on the top of his table, and looked out to see whether he might escape as the clock kept always ticking and the hands drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer. But looking out of the window was one thing, and jumping another: and the town clock struck seven. So he got into bed for a little sleep, but the jailer came and woke him, and said, "Git up, your Royal Ighness, if you please, it's ten minutes to eight." So poor Bulbo got up : he had gone to bed in his clothes (the lazy boy), and he shook himself, and said he didn't mind about dressing, or having any breakfast, thank you ; and he saw the soldiers who had come for him. " Lead on ! " he said ; and they led the way, deeply affected ; and they came into the courtyard, and out into the square, and there was King Giglio come to take leave of him, and his Majesty most kindly shook hands with him, and the gloomy procession marched on: — wherj hark! " Haw — wurraw — wurraw — aworr ! " 23° THE ROSE AND THE RING. A roar of wild beasts was heard. And who sholud come riding into the town, frightening away the boys, and even the beadle and policeman, but Rosalba ! The fact is, that when Captain Hedzoff entered into the court of Snapdragon Castle, and was discoursing with King Padella, the Lions made a clash at the open gate, gobbled up the six beef-eaters in a jiffy, and away they went with Rosalba on the back of one of them, and they carried her, turn and turn about, till they came to the city where Prince Giglio's army was encamped. When the King heard of the Queen's arrival, you may think how he rushed out of his breakfast-room to hand her Majesty off her Lion ! The Lions were grown as fat as pigs now, having had Hogginarmo and all those beef-eaters, and were so tame, anybody might pat them. While Giglio knelt (most gracefully) and helped the Prin- cess, Bulbo, for his part, rushed up and kissed the Lion. He flung his arms round the forest monarch ; he hugged him, and laughed and cried for joy. " Oh, you darling old beast — oh ! how glad I am to see you, and the clear, clear Bets — that is, Rosalba." ' What, is it you, poor Bulbo ? " said the Queen. " Oh, how glad I am to see you ! " And she gave him her hand to kiss. King Giglio slapped him most kindly on the back, and said, " Bulbo my boy, I am delighted, for your sake, that her Majesty has arrived." " So am I," said Bulbo ; " and you kucnv why." Captain Hedzoff here came up. " Sire, it is half-past eight : shall we proceed with the execution ? " " Execution ? " what for ? " asked Bulbo. " An officer only knows his orders," replied Captain Hedz- off, showing his warrant : on which his Majesty King Giglio smilingly said Prince Bulbo was reprieved this time, and most graciously invited him to breakfast. XVII. HOW A TREMENDOUS BATTLE TOOK PLACE, AND WHO WON IT. As soon as King Padella heard — what we know already — ■ that his victim, the lovely Rosalba, had escaped him, his Majesty's fury knew no bounds, and he pitched the Lord THE ROSE AND THE RING. 231 Chancellor, Lord Chamberlain, and every officer of the Crown whom he could set eyes on, into the cauldron of boiling oil pre- pared for the Princess. Then he ordered out his whole army, horse, foot, and artillery • and set forth at the head of an in- numerable host, and I should think twenty thousand drummers, trumpeters, and fifers. King Giglio's advanced guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch acquainted with the enemy's dealings, and he was in nowise disconcerted. He was much too polite to alarm the Princess, his lovely guest, with any unnecessary rumors of battles impending ; on the contrary, he did everything to amuse and divert her; gave her a most elegant breakfast, dinner, lunch, and got up a ball for her that evening, when he danced with her every single dance. Poor Bulbo was taken into favor again, and allowed to go quite free now. He had new clothes given him, was called " My good cousin " by his Majesty, and was treated with the greatest distinction by everybody. But it was easy to see he was very melancholy. The fact is, the sight of Betsinda, who looked perfectly lovely in an elegant new dress, set poor Bulbo frantic in love with her again. And he never thought about Angelica, now Princess Bulbo, whom he had left at home, and who, as we know, did not care much about him. The king, dancing the twenty-fifth polka with Rosalba, re- marked with wonder the ring she wore ; and then Rosalba told him how she had got it from Gruffanuff, who no doubt had picked it up when Angelica flung it away. " Yes," says the Fairy Blackstick — who had come to see the young people, and who had very likely certain plans regarding them — " that ring I gave the Queen, Giglio's mother, who was not, saving your presence, a very wise woman : it is enchanted, and whoever wears it looks beautiful in the eyes of the world. I made poor Prince Bulbo, when he was christened, the present of a rose which made him look handsome while he had it ; but he gave it to Angelica, who instantly looked beautiful again, whilst Bulbo relapsed into his natural plainness." " Rosalba needs no ring, I am sure," says Giglio, with a low bow. " She is beautiful enough, in my eyes, without any enchanted aid." "Oh, sir!" said Rosalba. " Take off the ring and try," said the King, and resolutely drew the ring off her finger. In his eyes she looked just as hand- some as before ! The King was thinking of throwing the ring away, as it was S 232 THE ROSE AND THE RING. so dangerous and made all the people so mad about Rosaiba ; but being a prince of great humor, and good-humor too, he cast eyes upon a poor youth who happened to be looking on very disconsolately, and said — " Bulbo my poor lad ! come and try on this ring. The Princess Rosaiba makes it a present to you." The magic properties of this ring were uncommonly strong, for no sooner had Bulbo put it on, but lo and behold, he appeared a person- able, agreeable young prince enough — with a fine complexion, fair hair, rather stout, and with bandy legs ; but these were encased in such a beautiful pair of yellow morocco boots that nobody remarked them. And Bulbo's spirits rose up almost immediately after he had looked in the glass, and he talked to their Majesties in the most lively, agreeable manner, and danced opposite the Queen with one of the prettiest Maids of Honor, and after looking at her Majesty, could not help saying, " How very odd : she is very pretty, but not so extraordinarily hand- some." " Oh, no, by no means ! " says the Maid of Honor. " But what care I, dear sir," says the Queen, who overheard them, " if you think I am good-looking enough ? " His Majesty's glance in reply to this affectionate speech was such that no painter could draw it. And the Fairy Black- stick said, " Bless you, my darling children ! Now you are united and happy ; and now you see what I said from the first, that a little misfortune has done you both good. You. Giglio, had you been bred in prosperity, would scarcely have learned to read or write — you would have been idle and extravagant, and could not have been a good king as you now will be. You, Rosaiba, would have been so flattered, that your little head might have been turned like Angelica's, who thought herself too good for Giglio." " As if anybody could be good enough for him" cried Rosaiba. " Oh, you, you darling ! " says Giglio. And so she was ; and he was just holding out his arms in order to give her a hug before the whole company, when a messenger came rushing in and said, " My Lord, the enemy ! " " To arms ! " cries Giglio. " Oh, mercy ! " says Rosaiba, and fainted of course. He snatched one kiss from her lips, and rushed forth to the field of battle ! The Fairy had provided King Giglio with a suit of armor which was not only embroidered all over with jewels, and THE ROSE AND THE RING. 233 blinding to your eyes to look at, but was water-proof, gun- proof, and sword-proof : so that, in the midst of the very hot- test battles, his Majesty rode about as calmly as if he had been a British Grenadier at Alma. Were I engaged in fighting for my country, /should like such a suit of armor as Prince Giglio wore ; but, you know, he was a prince of a fairy tale, and they always have these wonderful things. Besides the fairy armor, the Prince had a fairy horse, which would gallop at any pace you please ; and a fairy sword, which would lengthen, and run through a whole regiment of enemies at once. With such a weapon at command, I wonder, for my part, he thought of ordering his army out; but forth they all came, in magnificent new uniforms : Hedzoff and the Prince's two college friends each commanding a division, and his Majesty prancing in person at the head of them all. Ah ! if I had the pen of a Sir Archibald Alison, my clear friends, would I not now entertain you with the account of a most tremendous shindy ? Should not fine blows be struck ? dreadful wounds be delivered ? arrows darken the air? cannon- balls crash through the battalions ? cavalry charge infantry ? infantry pitch into cavalry ? bugles blow ; drums beat ; horses neigh; fifes sing; soldiers roar, swear, hurray; officers shout out, " Forward, my men ! " " This way, lads ! " " Give it 'em, boys ! " " Fight for King Giglio and the cause of right ! " " King Padella forever ! " Would I not describe all this, I say, and in the very finest language too? But this humble pen does not possess the skill necessary for the description of com- bats. In a word, the overthrow of King Padella's army was so complete, that if they had been Russians you could not have wished them to be more utterly smashed and confounded. As for that usurping monarch, having performed acts of valor much more considerable than could be expected of a royal ruffian and usurper, who had such a bad cause, and who was so cruel to women, — as for King Padella, I say, when his army ran away the King ran away too, kicking his first General, Prince Punchikoff, from his saddle, and galloping away on the Prince's horse, having, indeed, had twenty-five or twenty-six of his own shot under him. Hedzoff coming up, and finding Punchikoff down, as you may imagine, very speedily disposed of him. Meanwhile King Padella was scampering off as hard as his horse could lay legs to ground. Fast as he scampered, I promise you somebody else galloped faster ; and that individual, as no doubt you are aware, was the royal Giglio, who kept bawling out, " Stay, traitor ! Turn, miscreant, and defend thy- >34 THE ROSE AND THE RING. self ! Stand, tyrant, coward, ruffian, royal wretch, till I cut thy ugly head from thy usurping shoulders ! " And, with his fairy sword, which elongated itself at will, his Majesty kept poking and prodding Padella in the back, until that wicked monarch roared with anguish. When he was fairly brought to bay, Padella turned and dealt Prince Giglio a prodigious crack over the sconce with his battle-axe, a most enormous weapon, which had cut down I don't know how many regiments in the course of the after- noon. But law bless you ! though the blow fell right down on his Majesty's helmet, it made no more impression than if Padella had struck him with a pat of butter : his battle- axe crumbled up in Padella's hand, and the royal Giglio laughed for very scorn at the impotent efforts of that atrocious usurper. At the ill success of his blow the Crim Tartar monarch was justly irritated. "If," says he to Giglio, "you ride a fairy horse, and wear fairy armor, what on earth is the use of my hit- ting you ? I may as well give myself up a prisoner at once. Your Majesty won't, I suppose, be so mean as to strike a poor fellow who can't strike again? " The justice of Padella's remark struck the magnanimous Giglio. " Do vou yield yourself a prisoner, Padella? " says he. "Of course I do," says Padella. " Do you acknowledge Rosalba as your rightful Queen, and give up the crown and all your treasures to your rightful mis- cress ? " " If I must I must," says Padella, who was naturally very sulky. By this time King Giglio's aides-de-camp had come up, whom his Majesty ordered to bind the prisoner. And they tied his hands behind him, and bound his legs tight under his horse, having set him with his face to the tail ; and in this fashion he was led back to King Giglio's quarters, and thrust into the very dungeon where young Bulbo had been confined. Padella (who was a very different person, in the depth of his distress, to Padella the proud wearer of the Crim Tartar crown,) now most affectionately and earnestly asked to see his son — his dear eldest boy — his darling Bulbo; and that good- natured young man never once reproached his haughty parent for his unkind conduct the day before, when he would have left Bulbo to be shot without any pity, but came to see his father, and spoke to him through the grating of the door, beyond which he was not allowed to go ; and brought him some sand- THE ROSE AND THE RING. ! 35 wiches from the grand supper which his Majesty was giving above stairs, in honor of the brilliant victory which had just been achieved. " I cannot stay with you long, sir," says Bulbo, who was in his best ball-dress, as he handed in his father the prog. " I am engaged to dance the next quadrille with her Majesty Queen Rosalba, and I hear the riddles playing at this very moment." So Bulbo went back to the ball-room, and the wretched Padella ate his solitary supper in silence and tears. All was now joy in King Giglio's circle Dancing, feasting, fun, illuminations, and jollifications of all sorts ensued. The people through whose villages they passed were ordered to illuminate their cottages at night, and scatter flowers on the roads during the day. They were requested — and I promise you they did not like to refuse — to serve the troops liberally with eatables and wine ; besides, the army was enriched by the immense quantity of plunder which was found in King Padella's camp, and taken from his soldiers ; who (after they had given up everything) were allowed to fraternize with the conquerors ; and the united forces marched back by easy stages towards King Giglio's capital, his royal banner and that of Queen Rosalba being carried in front of the troops. Hedzoff was made a Duke and a Field Marshal. Smith and Jones were promoted to be Earls ; the Crim Tartar Order of the Pumpkin and the Paflagonian decoration of the Cucumber were freely distributed bv their Majesties to the army. Queen Rosalba wore the Paflagonian Ribbon of the Cucumber across her riding habit, whilst King Giglio never appeared without the grand Cordon of the Pumpkin. How the people cheered them as they rode along side by side ! They were pronounced to be the handsomest couple ever seen : that was a matter of course ; but they really were very handsome, and, had they been other- wise, would have looked so, they were so happy ! Their Maj- esties were never separated during fhe whole clay, but break- fasted, dined, and supped together always, and rode side by side, interchanging elegant compliments, and indulging in the most delightful conversation. At night, her Majesty's ladies of honor (who had all rallied round her the clay after King Padella's defeat) came and conducted her to the apartments prepared for her ; whilst King Giglio, surrounded by his gentle- men, withdrew to his own Royal quarters. It was agreed they should be married as soon as they reached the capital, and 236 THE ROSE AND THE RING. orders were despatched to the Archbishop of Blombodinga, to hold himself in readiness to perform the interesting ceremony. Duke Hedzoff carried the message, and gave instructions to have the Royal Castle splendidly refurnished and painted afresh. The Duke seized Glumboso, the ex-Prime Minister, and made him refund that considerable sum of money which the old scoundrel had secreted out of the late King's treasure. He also clapped Valoroso into prison (who, by the way, had been dethroned for some considerable period past), and when the ex- monarch weakly remonstrated, Hedzoff said, "A soldier, Sir, knows but his duty ; my orders are to lock you up along with the ex-King Padella, whom I have brought hither a prisoner under guard." So these two ex-Royal personages were sent for a year to the House of Correction, and thereafter were obliged to become monks of the severest order of Flagellants — in which state, by fasting, by vigils, by flogging (which they administered to one another, humbly but resolutely), no doubt they exhibited a repentance for their past misdeeds, usurpations, and private and public crimes. As for Glumboso, that rogue was sent to the galleys. 2nd never had an opportunity to steal any more. XVIII. HOW THEY ALL JOURNEYED BACK TO THE CAPITAL. The Fairy Blackstick, by whose means this young King and Queen had certainly won their respective crowns back, would come not unfrequently to pay them a little visit — as they ware riding in their triumphal progress towards Giglio's capital — > change her wand into a pony, and travel by their Majesties' side, giving them the very best advice. I am not sure that King Giglio did not think the Fairy and her advice rather a bore, fancying that it was his own valor and merits which had put him on his throne, and conquered Padella : and, in fine, I fear he rather gave himself airs towards his best friend and patroness. She exhorted him to deal justly by his subjects, to draw mildly on the taxes, never to break his promise when he had once given it — and in all respects to be a good King. " A good King, my dear Fairy ! " cries Rosalba. " Of course lie will. Break his promise ! can you fancy my Giglio THE ROSE AXD THE RING. 23? would ever do anything so improper, so unlike him ? No ! never ! " And she looked fondly towards Giglio, whom she thought a pattern of perfection. " Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and telling me how to manage my government, and warning me to keep my word ? Does she suppose that I am not a man of sense, and a man of honor ? " asks Giglio, testily. " Methinks she rather presumes upon her position." "Hush! dear Giglio," says Rosalba. "You know Black- stick has been very kind to us, and we must not offend her." But the Fairy was not listening to Giglio's testy observations : she had fallen back, and was trotting on her pony now, by Master Bulbo's side — who rode a donkey, and made himself generally beloved in the army by his cheerfulness, kindness, and good-humor to everybody. He was eager to see his darling Angelica. He thought there never was such a charming being. Blackstick did not tell him it was the possession of the magic rose that made Angelica so lovely in his eyes. She brought him the very best accounts of his little wife, whose misfortunes and humiliations had indeed very greatly improved her ; and you see, she could whisk off on her wand a hundred miles in a minute, and be back in no time, and so carry polite messages from Bulbo to Angelica, and from Angelica to Bulbo, and com- fort that young man upon his journey. When the Royal party arrived at the last stage before you reach Blombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there, with her lady of honor by her side, but the Princess An- gelica ? She rushed into her husband's arms, scarcely stopping to make a passing curtsey to the King and Queen. She had no eyes but for Bulbo, who appeared perfectly lovely to her on ac- count of the fairy ring which he wore ; whilst she herself, wear- ing the magic rose in her bonnet, seemed entirely beautiful to the enraptured Bulbo. A splendid luncheon was served to the Royal party, of which the Archbishop, the Chancellor, the Duke Hedzoff, Countess Gruffanuff, and all our friends partook — the Fairy Blackstick being seated on the left of King Giglio, with Bulbo and An- gelica beside. You could hear the joy-bells ringing in the capital, and the guns which the citizens were firing off in honor of their Majesties. " What can have induced that hideous old Gruffanuff to dress herself up in such an absurd way ? Did you ask her to be your bridesmaid, my clear ? " says Giglio to Rosalba " What a figure of fun Gruffy is ! " *5* 238 THE ROSE AND THE RING. Gruffy was seated opposite their Majesties, between the Archbishop and the Lord Chancellor, and a figure of fun she certainly was, for she was dressed in a low white silk dress, with lace over, a wreath of white roses on her wig, a splendid lace veil, and her yellow old neck was covered with diamonds. She ogled the King in such a manner, that his Majesty burst out laughing. " Eleven o'clock ! " cries Giglio, as the great Cathedral bell of Blombodinga tolled that hour. " Gentlemen and ladies, we must be starting. Archbishop, you must be at church I think before twelve ? " " We must be at church before twelve," sighs out Gruff- anuff in a languishing voice, hiding her old face behind her fan. " And then I shall be the happiest man in my dominions," cries Giglio, with an elegant bow to the blushing Rosalba. " Oh, my Giglio ! Oh, my dear Majesty ! " exclaims Gruff- anuff ; " and can it be that this happy moment at length has arrived " "Of course it has arrived," says the King. " — And that I am about to become the enraptured bride of my adored Giglio ! " continues Gruft'anuff. " Lend me a smelling-bottle, somebody. I certainly shall faint with joy." " You my bride ? " roars out Giglio. " You marry my Prince ? " cries poor little Rosalba. " Pooh ! Nonsense ! The woman's mad ! " exclaims the King. And all the courtiers exhibited by their countenances and expressions, marks of surprise or ridicule, or incredulity or wonder. " I should like to know who else is going to be married, if I am not ?" shrieks out Gruffanuff. "I should like to know if King Giglio is a gentleman, and if there is such a thing as justice in Paflagonia ? Lord Chancellor ! my Lord Archbishop 1 will your lordships sit by and see a poor fond, confiding, tender creature put upon ? Has not Prince Giglio promised to marry his Barbara? Is not this Giglio's signature? Does not this paper declare that he is mine, and only mine ? " And she handed to his Grace the Archbishop the document which the Prince signed that evening when she wore the magic ring, and Giglio drank so much champagne. And the old Archbishop, taking out his eye-glasses, read — " This is to give notice that I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Paflagonia, hereby promise to marry the charming Barbara Griselda Countess Gruffanuff, and widow of the late Jenkins Gruffanuff, Lsq." THE ROSE AND THE RING. 239 " H'm," says the Archbishop, " the document is certainly a —a document." " Phoo ! " says the Lord Chancellor : " the signature is not in his Majesty's handwriting." Indeed, since his studies at Bosforo, Giglio had made an immense improvement in calig- raphy. " Is it your handwriting, Giglio ? " cries the Fairy Blackstick, with an awful severity of countenance. " Y — y — y — es," poor Giglio gasps out. "I had quite for- gotten the confounded paper : she can't mean to hold me by it. You old wretch, what will you take to let me off ? Help the Queen, some one — her Majesty has fainted." " Chop her head off ! " ] exclaim the impetuous Hedzoff, " Smother the old witch ! " > the ardent Smith, and the " Pitch her into the river ! " J faithful Jones. But Gruffanuff flung her arms round the Archbishop's neck and bellowed out, " Justice, justice, my Lord Chancellor ! " so loudly, that her piercing shrieks caused everybody to pause. As for Rosalba, she was borne away lifeless by her ladies ; and you may imagine the look of agony which Giglio cast towards that lovely being, as his hope, his joy, his darling, his all in all, was thus removed, and in her place the horrid old Gruff- anuff rushed up to his side, and once more shrieked out, " Jus- tice, justice ! " " Won't you take that sum of money which Glumboso hid ? " says Giglio : " two hundred and eighteen thousand millions, or thereabouts. It's a handsome sum." " I will have that and you too ! " says Gruffanuff. " Let us throw the crown jewels into the bargain," gasps out Giglio. " I will wear them by my Giglio's side ! " says Gruffanuff. " Will half, three-quarters, five-sixths, nineteen-twentieths, of my kingdom do, Countess ? " asks the trembling monarch. " What were all Europe to me without you, my Giglio ? ' cries Gruff, kissing his hand. " I won't, I can't, I sha'n't, — I'll resign the crown first," shouts Giglio, tearing away his hand ; but Gruff clung to it. " I have a competency, my love," she says, " and with thee and a cottage thy Barbara will be happy." Giglio was half mad with rage by this time. " I will not marry her," says he. " Oh, Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel ! " And as he spoke, he looked wildly round at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick. " 'Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning 240 THE ROSE AND THE RING. me to keep my word ? Does she suppose that I am not a man of honor ? ' said the Fairy, quoting Giglio's own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness of her eyes \ he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful In- quisition. " Well, Archbishop," said he, in a dreadful voice that made his Grace start, " since this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to dash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let me at least keep my honor. Get up, Countess, and let us be married ; I can keep my word, but I can die afterwards." "O dear Giglio," cries Gruffanuff, skipping up, "I knew, I knew I could trust thee — I knew that my Prince was the soul of honor. Jump into your carriages, ladies and gentlemen, and let us go to church at once ; and as for dying, dear Giglio, no, no : thou wilt forget that insignificant little chambermaid of a queen — thou wilt live to be consoled by thy Barbara ! She wishes to be a Queen, and not a Queen Dowager, my gracious lord ! " And hanging upon poor Giglio's arm, and leering and grinning in his face in the most disgusting manner, this old wretch tripped off in her white satin shoes, and jumped into the very carriage which had been got ready to convey Giglio and Rosalba to church. The cannons roared again, the bells pealed triple-bobmajors, the people came out flinging flowers upon the path of the royal bride and bridegroom, and Gruff looked out of the gilt coach window and bowed and grinned to them. Phoo ! the horrid old wretch ! XIX. / AND NOW WE COME TO THE LAST SCENE IN THE PANTOMIME. The many ups and downs of her life had given the Princess Rosalba prodigious strength of mind, and that highly principled young woman presently recovered from her fainting-fit, out of which Fairy Blackstick, by a precious essence which the Fairy always carried in her pocket, awakened her. Instead of tear- ing her hair, crying, and bemoaning herself, and fainting again, as many young women would have clone, Rosalba remembered that she owed an example of firmness to her subjects ; and though she loved Giglio more than her life, was determined, aa THE ROSE AND THE RING. 241 she told the Fairy, not to interfere between him and justice, ol to cause him to break his royal word. " I cannot marry him, but I shall love him always," says she to Blackstick ; " I will go and be present at his marriage with the Countess, and sign the book, and wish them happy with all my heart. I will see, when I get home, whether I cannot make the new Queen some handsome presents. The Crim Tartary crown diamonds are uncommonly fine, and I shall never have any use for them. I will live and die un- married like Queen Elizabeth, and of course I shall leave my crown to Giglio when I quit this world. Let us go and see them married, my dear Fairy ; let me say one last farewell to him ; and then, if you please, I will return to my own do- minions." So the Fairy kissed Rosalba with peculiar tenderness, and at once changed her wand into a very comfortable coach-and- four, with a steady coachman, and two respectable footmen behind, and the Fairy and Rosalba got into the coach, which Angelica and Bulbo entered after them. As for honest Bulbo, he was blubbering in the most pathetic manner, quite overcome by Rosalba's misfortune. She was touched by the honest fellow's sympathy, promised to restore to him the confiscated estates of Duke Padella his father, and created him, as he sat there in the coach, Prince, Highness, and First Grandee of the Crim Tartar Empire. The coach moved on, and, being a fairy coach, soon came up with the bridal procession. Before the ceremony at church it was the custom in Pafla- gonia, as it is in other countries, for the bride and bridegroom to sign the Contract of Marriage, which was to be witnessed by the Chancellor, Minister, Lord Mayor, and principal officers of state. Now, as the royal palace was being painted and furnished anew, it was not ready for the reception of the King and his bride, who proposed at first to take up their residence at the Prince's palace, that one which Valoroso occupied when Angelica was born, and before he usurped the throne. So the marriage-party drove up to the palace : the digni- taries got'outof their carriages and stood aside: poor Rosalba stepped out of her coach, supported by Bulbo, and stood almost fainting up against the railings, so as to have a last look of her clear Giglio. As for Blackstick, she, according to her cus- tom, had flown out of the coach window in some inscrutable manner, and was now standing at the palace door. Giglio came up the steps with his horrible bride on his arm, looking as pale as if he was going to execution. He only 11 242 THE ROSE AND THE RING. frowned at .the Fairy Blackstick — he was angry with her, and thought she came to insult his misery. " Get out of the way, pray," says Gruffanuff, haughtily. " I wonder why you are always poking your nose into other people's affairs ? " " Are you determined to make this poor young man un happy ? " says Blackstick. " To marry him, yes ! What business is it of yours ? Pray, madam, don't say ' you ' to a queen," cries Gruffanuff. " You won't take the money he offered you ? ' "No." " You won't let him off his bargain, though you know you cheated him when you made him sign the paper." " Impudence ! Policemen, remove this woman ! " cries Gruffanuff. And the policemen were rushing forward, but with a wave of her wand the Fairy struck them all like so many statues in their places. "You won't take anything in exchange for your bond, Mrs. Gruffanuff," cries the Fairy, with awful severity. " I speak for the last time." " No ! " shrieks Gruffanuff, stamping with her foot. " I'll have my husband, my husband, my husband ! " "You Shall have your Husband ! " the Fairy Blackstick cried ; and advancing a step, laid her hand upon the nose of the Knocker. As she touched it, the brass nose seemed to elongate, the open mouth opened still wider, and uttered a roar which made everybody start. The eyes rolled wildly ; the arms and legs uncurled themselves, writhed about, and seemed to lengthen with each twist ; the knocker expanded into a figure in yellow livery, six feet high ; the screws by which it was fixed to the door unloosed themselves, and Jenkins Gruffanuff once more trod the threshold off which he had been lifted more than twenty years ago ! " Master's not at home," says Jenkins, just in his old voice ; and Mrs. Jenkins, giving a dreadful j > o > c 2 2 3 'Si > X G cn M > D THE ROSE AND THE RING 243 the Lord Chancellor was flinging up his wig and shouting like a madman ; Hedzoff had got the Archbishop round the waist, and they were dancing a jig for joy ; and as for Giglio, I leave you to imagine what he was doing, and if he kissed Rosalba once, twice — twenty thousand times, I'm sure I don't think he was wrong. So Gruffanuff opened the hall-door with a low bow, pst as he had been accustomed to do, and they all went in and signed the book, and then they went to church and were married, and the Fairy Blackstick sailed away on her cane, and was never more heard of in Paflagonia. AfcD HERE ENDS THE FIRESIDE PANTOMIME: THE BOOK OF SNOBS BY ONE OF THEMSELVES. ADVERTISEMENT. The genus " Snob " formed the subject of the earliest of Mr. Thackeray's studies of character. When he was an undergraduate of Cambridge, in 1829, there appeared an unpretending little weekly periodical entitled " The Snob : a Literary and Scientific Journal," not " con- ducted by members of the University," to which Mr. Thackeray was a contributor ; and it probably owed its name and existence to him. Each number contained only six pages, of a small octavo size, printed on tinted paper of different colors, green, pink, and yellow ; and, as if to complete the eccentricity of the periodical, its price was twopence-halfpenny. " The Snob " had but a short life, only eleven numbers having been published ; the first being dated April 9th, 1829, and the last, June 18, of the same year. In those contributions which appear to have been written by Mr. Thackeray, indications are discernible of the fine satiric humor with which he ridiculed vulgarity and pretensions in " The Book of Snobs." But as the Publishers believe that the Author would not himself have wished such fugitive papers, hastily thrown off in sport for his own amusement, at an early period of his life, to be republished, none of them have been included in this volume. THE BOOK OF SNOBS. BY ONE OF THEMSELVES. PREFATORY REMARKS. [The necessity of a work on Snobs, demonstrated from History, and prozed hy felicitous illustrations : — / am the individual destined to write that work — My vocation is announced in terms of great eloquence — I show that the world has been gradually preparing itself for the WORK and the MAN — Snobs are to be studied like other objects of Natural Science, and are a part of the Beautiful [with a large B). They pervade all classes — Affecting instance of Colonel Snobley.] We have all read a statement (the authenticity of which I take leave to doubt entirely, for upon what calculations I should like to know is it founded ?) — we have all, I say, been favored by perusing a remark, that when the times and necessities of the world call for a Man, that individual is found. Thus at the French Revolution (which the reader will be pleased to have introduced so early), when it was requisite to administer a cor- rective dose to the nation, Robespierre was found ; a most foul and nauseous dose indeed, and swallowed eagerly by the patient, greatly to the latter's ultimate advantage : thus, when it became necessary to kick John Bull out of America, Mr. Washington stepped forward, and performed that job to satis- faction ; thus when the Earl of Aldborough was unwell, Profes- sor Holloway appeared with his pills, and cured his lordship, as per advertisement, &c., &rc. Numberless instances might be adduced to show that when a nation is in great want, the re- lief is at hand ; just as in the Pantomime (that microcosm) where when C/owu wants anything — a warming-pan, a pump- ^47) 248 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. handle, a goose, or a lady's tippet — a fellow comes saunter- ing out from behind the side-scenes with the very article in question. Again, when men commence an undertaking, they always are prepared to show that the absolute necessities of the world demanded its completion. — Say it is a railroad: the directors begin by stating that " A more intimate communication between Bathershins and Derrynane Beg is necessary for the advance- ment of civilization, and demanded by the multitudinous accla- mations of the great Irish people." Or suppose it is a news- paper : the prospectus states that " At a time when the Church is in danger, threatened from without by savage fanaticism and miscreant unbelief, and undermined from within by dangerous Jesuitism and suicidal Schism, a Want has been universally felt — a suffering people has looked abroad — for an Ecclesi- astical Champion and Guardian. A body of Prelates and Gentlemen have therefore stepped forward in this our hour of danger, and determined on establishing the Beadle news- paper," &c, &c. One or other of these points at least is in- controvertible : the public wants a thing, therefore it is sup- plied with it ; or the public is supplied with a thing, therefore it wants it. I have long gone about with a conviction on my mind that I had a work to do — a Work, if you like, with a great W ; a Purpose to fulfil ; a chasm to leap into, like Curtius, horse & foot ; a Great Social Evil to Discover and to Remedy. That Conviction Has Pursued me for Years. It has Dogged me in the Busy Street ; Seated Itself By Me in The Lonely Study ; Jogged My Elbow as it Lifted The Wine-cup at The Festive Board ; Pursued me through the Maze of Rotten Row ; Fol- lowed me in Far Lands. On Brighton's Shingly Beach, or Margate's Sand, the Voice Outpiped the Roaring of the Sea ; it Nestles in my Nightcap, and'It Whispers, "Wake, Slumberer, thy Work Is Not Yet Done." Last Year, By Moonlight, in the Colosseum, the Little Sedulous Voice Came To Me and Said, " Smith or Jon**"* " (The Writer's Name is Neither Here or There), "Smith or Jones, my fine fellow, this is all very well, but you ought to be at home writing your great work on SNOBS." When a man has this sort of vocation it is all nonsense at- tempting to elude it. He must speak out to the nations ; he must unbusm himself, as Jeames would say, or choke and die. " Mark to yoursslf " 1 have often mentally exclaimed to your PRE FA TOR Y REMARKS. 249 humble servant, \' the gradual way in which you have been pre- pared for, and are now led by an irresistible necessity to enter upon your great labor. First, the World was made : then, as a matter of course, Snobs ; they existed for years and years, and were no more known than America. But presently, — ingens pate- bat te/t'us, — the people become darkly aware that there was such a race. Not above five-and-twenty years since, a name, an ex- pressive monosyllable, arose to designate that race. That name has spread over England like railroads subsequently ; Snobs are known and recognized throughout an Empire on which I am given to understand the Sun never sets. Punch appears at the ripe season, to chronicle their history : and the individual comes forth to write that history in Punch* 1 have (and for this gift I congratulate myself with a Deep and abiding Thankfulness) an eye for a Snob. If the Truthful is the Beautiful, it is beautiful to study even the Snobbish ; to track Snobs through history, as certain little dogs in Hampshire hunt out truffles ; to sink shafts in society and come upon rich veins of Snob-ore. Snobbishness is like Death in a quotation from Horace, which I hope you never have heard, " beating with equal foot at poor men's doors, and kicking at the gates of Emperors." It is a great mistake to judge of Snobs lightly, and think they exist among the lower classes merely. An immense percentage of Snobs, I believe, is to be found in every rank of this mortal life. You must not judge hastily or vulgarly of Snobs : to do so shows that you are yourself a Snob. I myself have been taken for one. When I was taking the waters at Bagnigge Wells, and living at the " Imperial Hotel " there, there used to sit opposite me at breakfast, for a short time, a Snob so insufferable that I felt I should never get any benefit of the waters so long as he re- mained. His name was Lieutenant-Colonel Snobley, of a certain dragoon regiment. He wore japanned boots and mustaches : he lisped, drawled, and left the " r's " out of his words : he was alwavs flourishing: about, and smoothing his lackered whiskers with a huge flaming bandanna, that filled the room with an odor of musk so stifling that I determined to do battle with that Snob, and that either he or I should quit the Inn. I first began harmless conversations with him ; frightening him ex- ceedingly, for he did not know what to do when so attacked, and had never the slightest notion that anybody would take such a liberty with him as to speak first: then I handed him the * These papers were originally published in that popular periodical. 1 5 o THE BOOK OF SNOBS. paper : then, as he would take no notice of these advances, I used to look him in the face steadily and — and use my fork in the light of a toothpick. After two mornings of this practice, he could bear it no longer, and fairly quitted the place. Should the Colonel see this, will he remember the Gent who asked him if he thought Publicoalerwas a fine writer, and drove him from the Hotel with a four-pronged fork? THE SNOB PL A YFULL Y DEAL T WITH. jj;* CHAPTER I. THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH. There are relative and positive Snobs. I mean by posi- tive, such persons as are Snobs everywhere, in all companies, from morning till night, from youth to the grave, being by Nature endowed with Snobbishness — and others who are Snobs only in certain circumstances and relations of life. For instance : I once knew a man who committed before me an act as atrocious as that which I have indicated in the last chapter as performed by me for the purpose of disgusting Colonel Snobley ; viz. : the using the fork in the guise of a tooth- pick. I once, I say, knew a man who, dining in my company at the " Europa Coffee-house," (opposite the Grand Opera, and, as everybody k.nows, the only decent place for dining at Naples,) ate pease with the assistance of his knife. He was a person with whose society I was greatly pleased at first — indeed, we had met in the crater of Mount Vesuvius, and were subse- quently robbed and held to ransom by brigands in Calabria, which is nothing to the purpose — a man of great powers, excel- lent heart, and varied information ; but I had never before seen him with a dish of pease, and his conduct in regard to them caused me the deepest pain. After having seen him thus publicly comport himself, but one course was open to me — to cut his acquaintance. I com- missioned a mutual friend (the Honorable Poly Anthus) to break the niatter to this gentleman as delicately as possible, and to say that painful circumstances — in nowise affecting M r - Marrowfat's honor, or my esteem for him — had occurred, wilier obliged me to forego my intimacy with him ; and accordingly we met, and gave each other the cut direct that night at the Duchess of Monte Fiasco's ball. Everybody at Naples remarked the separation of the Damon and Pythias — indeed Marrowfat had saved mv life more than once — but, as an English gentleman, what was I to oo ? My dear friend was, in this instance the Snob relative. It is not snobbish of persons of rank of any other nation to employ 16 2tp THE BOOK OF SNOBS. their knife in the manner alluded to. I have seen Monte Fiasco clean his trencher with his knife, and every Principe in company doing likewise. I have seen, at the hospitable board of H. I. H. the Grand Duchess Stephanie of Baden — (who, if these humble lines should come under her Imperial eyes, is be- sought to remember graciously the most devoted of her ser- vants) — I have seen, I say, the Hereditary Princess of Potz- tausend-Donnerwetter (that serenely-beautiful woman) use her knife in lieu of a fork or spoon ; I have seen her almost swallow it, by Jove ! like Ramo Samee, the Indian juggler. And did I blench ? Did my estimation for the Princess diminish ? No, lovely Amelia ! One of the truest passions that ever was in- spired by woman was raised in this bosom by that lady. Beau- tiful one ! long, long may the knife carry food to those lips ! the reddest and loveliest in the world ! The cause of my quarrel with Marrowfat I never breathed to mortal soul for four years. We met in the halls of the aris- tocracy — our friends and relatives. We jostled each other in the dance or at the board ; but the estrangement continued, and seemed irrevocable, until the fourth of June, last year. We met at Sir George Golloper's. We were placed, he on the right, your humble servant on the left of the admirable Lady G. Pease formed part of the banquet — ducks and green pease, I trembled as I saw Marrowfat helped, and turned away sicken- ing, lest I should behold the weapon darting clown his horrid jaws. What was my astonishment, what my delight, when I saw him use his fork like any other Christian ! He did not admin- ister the cold steel once. Old times rushed back upon me — the remembrance of old services — his rescuing me from the brigands — his gallant conduct in the affair with the Countess Dei Spinachi — his lending me the 1,700/. I almost burst into tears with joy — my voice trembled with emotion. " George, my boy ! " I exclaimed, " George Marrowfat, my dear fellow ! a glass of wine !" Blushing — deeply moved — almost as tremulous as I was myself, George answered, " Frank, shall it be Hock a?- Madeira 1 " I could have hugged him to my heart but for the presence of the company. Little did Lady Golloper know what was the cause of the emotion which sent the duckling I was carving into her ladyship's pink satin lap. The most good-natured of women pardoned the error, and the butler removed the bird. We have been the closest friends ever since, nor, of course, has George repeated his odious habit. He acquired it at a THE SNOB PL A YFULL Y DEAL T WITH. 253 country school, where they cultivated pease and only used two- pronged forks, and it was only by living on the Continent where the usage of the four-prong is general, that he lost the horrible custom. In this point — and in this only — I confess myself a member of the Silver-Fork School ; and if this tale but induce one of my readers to pause, to examine in his own mind solemnly, and ask, "Do I or do I not eat pease with a knife?" — to see the ruin which may fall upon himself by continuing the practice, or his family by beholding the example, these lines will not have been written in vain. And now, whatever other authors may be, I flatter myself, it will be allowed that /, at least, am a moral man. By the way, as some readers are dull of comprehension, I may as well say what the moral of this history is. The moral is this — Society having ordained certain customs, men are bound to obey the law of society, and conform to its harmless orders. If I should go to the British and Foreign Institute (and heaven forbid I should go under any pretext or in any costume whatever) — if I should go to one of the tea-parties in a dressing- gown and slippers, and not in the usual attire of a gentleman, viz. : pumps, a gold waistcoat, a crush hat, a sham frill, and a white choker — I should be insulting society, and eating pease with my knife. Let the porters of that Institute hustle out the individual who shall so offend. Such an offender is, as regards society, a most emphatical and refractory Snob. It has its code and police as well as governments, and he must conform who would profit by the decrees set forth for their common comfort. I am naturally averse to egotism, and hate self-laudation consumedly; but I can't help relating here a circumstance illustrative of the point in question, in which I must think I acted with considerable prudence. Being at Constantinople a few years since — (on a delicate mission), — the Russians were playing a double game, between ourselves, and it became necessary on our part to employ an extra negotiator — Leckerbiss Pasha of Roumelia, then Chief Galeongee of the Porte, gave a diplomatic banquet at his sum- mer palace at Bujukdere. I was on the left of the Galeongee, and the Russian agent, Count de Diddloff, on his dexter side. Diddloff is a dandy who would die of a rose in aromatic pain • he had tried to have me assassinated three times in the course of the negotiation ; but of course we were friends in public, and saluted each other in the most cordial and charming manner. The Galeongee is — or was, alas ! for a bow-string has clone 254 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. for him — a staunch supporter of the old school of Turkish poli- tics. We dined with our fingers, and had flaps of bread for plates ; the only innovation he admitted was the use of Euro- pean liquors, in which he indulged with great gusto. He was an enormous eater. Amongst the dishes a very large one was placed before him of a lamb dressed in its wool, stuffed with prunes, garlic, asafcetida, capsicums, and other condiments, the most abominable mixture that ever mortal smelt or tasted. The Galeongee ate of this hugely ; and pursuing the Eastern fashion, insisted on helping his friends right and left, and when he came to a particularly spicy morsel, would push it with his own hands into his guests' very mouths. I never shall forget the look of poor Diddloff, when his Excellency, rolling up a large quantity of this into a ball and exclaiming, " Buk Buk " (it is very good), administered the horrible bolus to Diddloff. The Russian's eyes rolled dread- fully as he received it : he swallowed it with a grimace that I thought must precede a convulsion, and seizing a bottle next him, which he thought was Sauterne, but which turned out to be French brandy, he drank off nearly a pint before he knew his error. It finished him ; he was carried away from the dining-room almost dead, and laid out to cool in a summer- house on the Bosphorus. When it came to my turn, I took down the condiment with a smile, said " Bismillah," licked my lips with easy gratification, and when the next dish was served, made up a ball myself so dexterously, and popped it clown the old Galeongee's mouth with so much grace, that his heart was won. Russia was put out of court at once, and the treaty of Kabobanople was signet/. As for Diddloff, all was over with him : he was recalled to St. Petersburg, and Sir Roderick Murchison saw him, under the No. 3967, working in the Ural mines. The moral of this tale, I need not say, is that there are many disagreeable things in society which you are bound to take down, and to do so with a smiling face. THE SNOB ROYAL. 255 CHAPTER II. THE SNOB ROYAL. Long since, at the commencement of the reign of her pres- ent Gracious Majesty, it chanced " on a fair summer evening," as Mr. James would say, that three or four young cavaliers were drinking a cup of wine after dinner at the hostelry called the " King's Arms," kept by Mistress Anderson, in the royal village of Kensington. 'Twas a balmy evening, and the wayfarers looked out on a cheerful scene. The tall elms of the ancient gardens were in full leaf, and countless chariots of the nobility of England whirled by to the neighboring palace, where princely Sussex (whose income latterly only allowed him to give tea- parties) entertained his royal niece at a state banquet. When the caroches of the nobles had set down their owners at the banquet hall, their varlets and servitors came to quaff a flagon of nut-brown ale in the " King's Arms " gardens hard by. We watched these fellows from our lattice. By Saint Boniface 'twas a rare sight ! The tulips in Mynheer Van Dunck's gardens were not more gorgeous than the liveries of these pie-coated retainers. All the flowers of the field bloomed in their ruffled bosoms, all the hues of the rainbow gleamed in their plush breeches, and the long- caned ones walked up and down the garden with that charming solemnity, that delightful quivering swagger of the calves, which has always had a frantic fascination for us. The walk was not wide enough for them as the shoulder-knots strutted up and down it in canary, and crimson, and light blue. Suddenly, in the midst of their pride, a little bell was rung, a side door opened, and (after setting down their Royal Mis- tress) her Majesty's own crimson footmen, with epaulets and plushes, came in. It was pitiable to see the other poor Johns slink off at this arrival ! Not one of the honest private Plushes could stand up before the Royal Flunkeys. They left the walk : they sneaked into dark holes and drank their beer in silence. The Royal Plush kept possession of the garden until the Royal Plush dinner was announced, when it retired, and we heard from the pavilion where they dined, conservative cheers and speeches, and Kentish fires. The other Flunkeys we never saw more. 25 6 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. My clear Flunkeys, so absurdly conceited at one moment and so abject at the next, are but the types of their masters in this world. He who meanly admires mean things is a Snob — perhaps that is a safe definition of the character. And this is why I have, with the utmost respect, ventured to place the Snob Royal at the head of my list, causing all others to give way before him, as the Flunkeys before the royal representative in Kensington Gardens. To say of such and such a Gracious Sovereign that he is a Snob, is but to say that his Majesty is a man. Kings, too, are men and Sr.obs. In a country where Snobs are in the majority, a prime one, surely, cannot be unfit to govern. With us they have succeeded to admiration. For instance, James I. was a Snob, and a Scotch Snob, than which the world contains no more offensive creature. He ap- pears to have had not one of the good qualities of a man — ■ neither courage, nor generosity, nor honesty, nor brains ; but read what the great Divines and Doctors of England said about him ! Charles II., his grandson, was a rogue, but not a Snob ; whilst Louis XIV., his old squaretoes of a contemporary, — the great worshipper of Bigwiggery — has always struck me as a most un- doubted and Royal Snob. I will not, however, take instances from our own country of Royal Snobs, but refer to a neighboring kingdom, that of Brentford — and its monarch, the late great and lamented Gor- gius IV. With the same humility with which the footmen at the " King's Arms " gave way before the Plush Royal, the aristocracy of the Brentford nation bent down and truckled be- fore Gorgius, and proclaimed him the first gentleman in Europe. And it's a wonder to think what is the gentlefolks' opinion of a gentleman, when they gave Gorgius such a title. What is it to be a gentleman ? Is it to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be brave, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in the most graceful outward manner ? Ought a gentleman to be a loyal son, a true husband, and honest father ? Ought his life to be decent — his bills to be paid — his tastes to be high and elegant — his aims in life lofty and noble ? In a word, ought not the Biography of a First Gentleman in Europe to be of such a nature that it might be read in Young Ladies' Schools with advantage, and studied with profit in the Seminaries of Young Gentlemen ? I put this question to all instructors of youth — to Mrs. Ellis and the Women of England ; to all schoolmasters, from Doctor Ilawtrey down to Mr. Squeers. I conjure up before me an THE SNOB ROYAL. 257 awful tribunal of youth and innocence, attended by its venerable instructors (like the ten thousand red-cheeked charity-children in Saint Paul's), sitting in judgment, and Gorgius pleading his cause in the midst. Out of Court, out of Court, fat old Flori- zel ! Beadles, turn out that bloated, pimple-faced man ! ■ If Gorgius must have a statue in the new Palace which the Brentford nation is building, it ought to be set up in the Flun- key's Hall. He should be represented cutting out a coat, in which art he is said to have excelled. He also invented Ma- raschino punch, a shoe-buckle (this was in the vigor of his youth, and the prime force of his invention), and a Chinese pa- vilion, the most hideous building in the world. He could drive a four-in-hand very nearly as well as the Brighton coachman, could fence elegantly, and it is said, played the fiddle well. And he smiled with such irresistible fascination, that persons who were introduced into his august presence became his victims, body and soul, as a rabbit becomes the prey of a great big boa-constrictor. I would wager that if Mr. Widdicomb were, by a revolution, placed on the throne of Brentford, people would be equally fascinated by his irresistibly majestic smile, and tremble as they knelt down to kiss his hand. If he went to Dublin they would erect an obelisk on the spot where he first landed, as the Pad- dylanders did when Gorgius visited them. We have all of us read with delight that story of the King's voyage to Haggisland, where his presence inspired such a fury of loyalty ; and where the most famous man of the country — the Baron of Bradwar- dine — coming on board the royal yacht, and finding a glass out of which Gorgius had drunk, put it into his coat-pocket as an inestimable relic, and went ashore again. But the Baron sat down upon the glass and broke it, and cut his coat tails very much ; and the inestimable relic was lost to the world forever. O noble Bradwardine ! What old-world superstition could set you on your knees before such an idol as that ? If you want to moralize upon the mutability of human affairs, go and see the figure of Gorgius in his real, identic rl robes, at the wax-work. — Admittance one shilling. Children and flunkeys sixpence. Go, and pay sixpence. '7 Z$& THE BOOJf OF SNOBS. CHAPTER III. THE INFLUENCE OF THE ARISTOCRACY ON SNOBS. Last Sunday week, being at church in this City, and the service just ended, I heard two Snobs conversing about the Parson. One was asking the other who the clergyman was ? " He is Mr. So-and-so," the second Snob answered, " domestic chaplain to the Earl of What-d'ye-caH'im." " Oh, is he ? " said the first Snob, with a tone of indescribable satisfaction. — The Parson's orthodoxy and identity were at once settled in this Snob's mind. He knew no more about the Earl than about the Chaplain, but he took the latter's character upon the authority of the former ; and went home quite contented with his Rever- ence, like a little truckling Snob. This incident gave me more matter for reflection even than the sermon : and wonderment at the extent and prevalence of Lordolatry in this country. What could it matter to Snob whether his Reverence were chaplain to his Lordship or not ? What Peerage-worship there is all through this free country ! How we are all implicated in it, and more or less down on our knees. — And with regard to the great subject on hand, I think that the influence of the Peerage upon Snobbishness has been more remarkable than that of any other institution. The increase, encouragement, and maintenance of Snobs are among the " priceless services," as Lord John Russell says, which we owe to the nobility. It can't be otherwise. A man becomes enormously rich, or he jobs successfully in the aid of a Minister, or he wins a great battle, or executes a treaty, or is a clever lawyer who makes a multitude of fees and ascends the bench ; and the country rewards him forever with a gold coronet (with more or less balls or leaves) and a title, and a rank as legislator. "Your merits are so great," says the nation, " that your children shall be allowed to reign over us, in a manner. It does not in the least matter that your eldest son be a fool : we think your sendees so remarkable, that he shall have the reversion of your honors when death vacates your noble shoes. If you are poor, we will give you such a sum of money as shall enable you and the eldest-born of your race forever to live in fat and splendor. THE INFLUENCE OF THE ARISTOCRACY ON SNOBS. 259 It is our wish that there should be a race set apart in this happy country, who shall hold the first rank, have the first prizes and chances in all government jobs and patronages. We cannot make all your dear children Peers — that would make Peerage common and crowd the House of Lords uncomfort- ably—but the young ones shall have everything a Government can give : they shall get the pick of all the places : they shall be Captains and Lieutenant-Colonels at nineteen, when hoary headed old lieutenants are spending thirty years at drill : thev shall command ships at one-and-twenty, and veterans who fought before they were born. And as we are eminently a free people, and in order to encourage all men to do their duty, we say to any man of any rank — get enormously rich, make im- mense fees as a lawyer, or great speeches, or distinguish yourself and win battles — and you, even you, shall come into the privi- leged class, and your children shall reign naturally over ours." How can we help Snobbishness, with such a prodigious national institution erected for its worship ? How can we help cringing to Lords ; Flesh and blood can't do otherwise. What man can withstand this prodigious temptation ? Inspired by what is called a noble emulation, some people grasp at honors and win them ; others, too weak or mean, blindly admire and grovel before those who have gained them ; others, not being able to acquire them, furiously hate, abuse, and envy. There are only a few bland and not-in-the-least-conceited philosophers, who can behold the state of society, viz : Toadyism, organized: — base Man-and-Mammon worship, instituted by command of law : — Snobbishness, in a word, perpetuated, — and mark the phenomenon calmly. And of these calm moralists, is there one, I wonder, whose heart would not throb with pleasure if he could be seen walking arm-in-arm with a couple of dukes down Pall Mall ? No : it is impossible, in our condition of society, not to be sometimes a Snob. On one side it encourages the commoner to be snobbishly mean, and the noble to be snobbishly arrogant. When a noble marchioness writes in her travels about the hard necessity under which steamboat travellers labor of being brought into contact " with all sorts and conditions of people : " implying that a fellowship with God's creatures is disagreeable to her Ladyship, who is their superior :— when, I say, the Marchioness of writes in this fashion, we must consider that out of her natural heart it would have been impossible for any woman to have had such a sentiment ; but that the habit of truckling and cringing, which all who surround her have adopted towards * 260 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. this beautiful aud magnificent lacly, — this proprietor of so many black and other diamonds, — has really induced her to believe that she is the superior of the world in general : and that people are not to associate with her except awfully at a dis- tance. I recollect being once at the city of Grand Cairo, through which a European Royal Prince was passing India- wards. One night at the inn there was a great disturbance : a man had drowned himself in the well hard by : all the inhab- itants of the hotel came bustling into the Court, and amongst others your humble servant, who asked of a certain young man the reason of the disturbance. How was I to know that this young gent was a prince ? He had not his crown and sceptre on : he was dressed in a white jacket and felt hat : but he looked surprised at anybody speaking to him : answered an unintelligible monosyllable, and — beckoned his aide-de-camp to come and speak to me. It is our fault, not that of the great, that they should fancy themselves so far above us. If you will fling yourself under the wheels, Juggernaut will go over you, depend upon it ; and if you and I, my dear friend, had Kotoo performed before us every day, — found people whenever we appeared grovelling in slavish adoration, we should drop into the airs of superiority quite naturally, and accept the greatness with which the world insisted upon endowing us. Here is an instance, out of Lord L 's travels, of that calm, good-natured, undoubting way in which a great man accepts the homage of his inferiors. After making some pro- found and ingenious remarks about the town of Brussels, his lordship says : — " Staying some days at the Hotel de Belle Vue — a greatly overrated establishment, and not nearly so comfortable as the Hotel de France — I made acquaintance with Dr. L , the physician of the Mission. He was desirous of doing the honor of the place to me, and he ordered for us a diner en gourmand at the chief restaurateur's, maintaining it surpassed the Rocher at Paris. Six or eight partook of the entertainment, and we all agreed it was infinitely inferior to the Paris display, and much more extravagant. So much for the copy." And so much for the gentleman who gave the dinner. Dr. L , desirous to do his lordship " the honor of the place," feasts him with the best victuals money can procure — and my lord finds the entertainment extravagant and inferior. Ex- travagant ! it was not extravagant to him; — Inferior! Mr. L did his best to satisfy those noble jaws, and my lord receives the entertainment, and dismisses the giver with a THE " COURT CIRCULAR." 261 rebuke. It is like a three-tailed Pasha grumbling about an unsatisfactory backsheesh. But how should it be otherwise in a country where Lordol- atry is part of our creed, and where our children are brought up to respect the " Peerage " as the Englishman's second Bible. CHAPTER IV. THE COURT CIRCULAR," AND ITS INFLUENCE ON SNOBS. Example is the best of precepts ; so let us begin with a true and authentic story, showing how young aristocratic snobs are reared, and how early their Snobbishness may be made to bloom. A beautiful and fashionable lady — (pardon, gracious madam, that your story should be made public ; but it is so moral that it ought to be known to the universal world) — told me that in her early youth she had a little acquaintance, who is now indeed a beautiful and fashionable lady too. In men- tioning Miss Snobky, daughter of Sir Snobby Snobky, whose pre- sentation at Court caused such a sensation, need I say more ? When Miss Snobky was so very young as to be in the nur- sery regions, and to walk of early mornings in St. James's Park, protected by a French governess and followed by a huge hirsute flunkey in the canary-colored livery of the Snobky, she used occasionally in these promenades to meet with young Lord Claude Lollipop, the Marquis of Sillabub's younger son. In the very height of the season, from some unexplained cause, the Snobkys suddenly determined upon leaving town. Miss Snobky spoke to her female friend and confidante. " What will poor Claude Lollipop say when he hears of my absence ? " asked the tender-hearted child. *' Oh, perhaps he won't hear of it," answers the confidante. "My dear, he will read it in the papers" replied the dear little fashionable rogue of seven years old. She knew already her importance, and how all the world of England, how all the would-be-genteel people, how all the silver-fork worshippers, how all the tattle-mongers, how all the grocers' ladies, the tailors' ladies, the attorneys' and merchants' ladies, and the people living at Clapham and Brunswick Square, — who have no more chance of consorting with a Snobky than my beloved 262 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. reader has of dining with the Emperor of China — yet watched the movements of the Snobkys with interest, and were glad to know when they came to London and left it. Here is the account of Miss Snobky's dress, and that o£ her mother, Lady Snobky, from the papers : — "miss snobky. " Habit de Cour, composed of a yellow nankeen illusion dress over a slip of rich pea-green corduroy, trimmed en tab- lier, with bouquets of Brussels sprouts : the body and sleeves handsomely trimmed with calimanco, and festooned with a pink train and white radishes. Head-dress, carrot and lappets. " LADY SNOBKY. " Costume de Cour, composed of a train of the most superb Pekin bandannas, elegantly trimmed with spangles, tinfoil, and red-tape. Bodice and under-dress of sky-blue velveteen, trim- med with bouffants and nceuds of bell-pulls. Stomacher, a muffin. Head-dress, a bird's nest, with a bird of Paradise, over a rich brass knocker en ferroniere. This splendid cos- tume, by Madame Crinoline, of Regent Street, was the object of universal admiration." This is what you read. Oh, Mrs. Ellis ! Oh, mothers, daughters, aunts, grandmothers of England, this is the sort of writing which is put in the newspapers for you ! How can you help being the mothers, daughters, &c, of Snobs, so long as this balderdash is set before you ? You stuff the little rosy foot of a Chinese young lady of fashion into a slipper that is about the size of a salt-cruet, and keep the poor little toes there imprisoned and twisted up so long that the dwarfishness becomes irremediable. Later, the foot would not expand to the natural size were you to give her a washing-tub for a shoe, and for all her life she has little feet, and is a cripple. Oh, my dear Miss Wiggins, thank your stars that those beautiful feet of yours — though I declare when you walk they are so small as to be almost invisible — thank your stars that society never so practised upon them ; but look around and see how many friends of ours in the highest circles have had their brains so prematurely and hopelessly pinched and distorted. How can you expect that those poor creatures are to move THE "COURT CIRCULAR?' 263 naturally when the world and their parents have mutilated them so cruelly. As long as a Court Circular exists, how the deuce are people whose names are chronicled in it ever to be- lieve themselves the equal of the cringing race which daily reads that abominable trash ? I believe that ours is the only country in the world now where the Court Circular remains in full flourish — where you read, "This day his Royal Highness Prince Pattypan was taken an airing in his go-cart." " The Princess Pimminy was taken a drive, attended by her ladies of honor, and accompanied by her doll," &c. We laugh at the solemnity with which Saint Simon announces that Sa Majeure se medicamente aujourd'hui. Under our very noses the same folly is daily going on. That wonderful and mysterious man, the author of the Court Circular, drops in with his budget at the newspaper offices every night. I once asked the editor of a paper to allow me to lie in wait and see him. I am told that in a kingdom where there is a German King- Consort (Portugal it must be, for the Queen of that country married a German Prince, who is gx-eatly admired and re- spected by the natives,) whenever the Consort takes the diver- sion of shooting among the rabbit-warrens of Cintra, or the p'jeasant-preserves of Mafra, he has a keeper to load his guns, as a matter of course, and then they are handed to the noble- man, his equerry, and the nobleman hands them to the Prince, who blazes away — gives back the discharged gun to the noble- man, who gives it to the keeper, and so on. But the Prince won't take the gun from the hands of the loader. As long as this unnatural and monstrous etiquette continues, Snobs there must be. The three persons engaged in this transaction are, for the time being, Snobs. 1. The keeper — the least Snob of all, because he is dis- charging his daily duty ; but he appears here as a Snob, that is to sav, in a position of debasement, before another human being' (the Prince), with whom he is only allowed to commu- nicate through another party. A free Portuguese gamekeeper, who professes himself to be unworthy to communicate directly with any person, confesses himself to be a Snob. 2. The nobleman in waiting is a Snob. If it degrades the Prince to receive the gun from the gamekeeper, it is degrading to the nobleman in waiting to execute that service. He acts as a Snob towards the keeper, whom he keeps from communica- tion with the Prince — a Snob towards the Prince, to whom he pays a degrading homage. 264 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. 3. The King-Consort of Portugal is a Snob for insulting fellow-men in this way. There's no harm in his accepting the services of the keeper directly; but indirectly he insults the service performed, and the two servants who perform it ; and therefore, I say, respectfully, is a most undoubted, though royal Sn-b. And then you read in the Diario do Gobcmo — " Yesterday, his Majesty the King took the diversion of shooting 111 the woods of Cintra, attended by Colonel the Honorable Whiske- rando Sombrero. His Majesty returned to the Necessidades to lunch, at," &c, &c. Oh ! that Court Circular / once more, I exclaim. Down with the Court Circular — that engine and propagator of Snob- bishness ! I promise to subscribe for a year to any daily paper that shall come out without a Court Circular — were it the Morn- ing Herald itself. When I read that trash I rise in my wrath ; I feel myself disloyal, a regicide, a member of the Calf's Head Club. The only Court Circular story which ever pleased me, was that of the King of Spain, who rh great part was roasted, because there was not time for the Prime Minister to command the Lord Chamberlain to desire the Grand Gold Stick to order the first page in waiting to bid the chief of the flunkeys to request the House maid of Honor to bring up a pail of water to put his Majesty out. I am like the Pasha of three tails, to whom the Sultan sends his Court Circular, the bowstring. It chokes me. May its usage be abolished forever. CHAPTER V. WHAT SNOBS ADMIRE. Now let us consider how difficult it is even for great men to escape from being Snobs. It is very well for the reader, whose fine feelings are disgusted by the assertion that Kings, Princes, Lords, are Snobs, to say, " You are confessedly a Snob your- self. In professing to depict Snobs, it is only your own ugly mug which you are copying with a Narcissus-like conceit and fatuity." But I shall pardon this explosion of illtemper on the WHA T SNOBS ADMIRE. 265 part of my constant reader, reflecting upon this misfortune of his birth and country. It is impossible for any Briton, perhaps, not to be a Snob in some degree. If people can be convinced of this fact, an immense point is gained, surely. If I have pointed out the disease, let us hope that other scientific charac- ters may discover the remedy. If you, who are a person of the middle ranks of life, are a Snob, — you whom nobody flatters particularly ; you who have no toadies ; you whom no cringing flunkeys or shopmen bow out of doors ; you whom the policeman tells to move on ; you who are jostled in the crowd of this world, and amongst the Snobs our brethren : consider how much harder it is for a man to escape who has not your advantages, and is all his life long subject to adulation ; the butt of meanness ; consider how diffi- cult it is for the Snobs' idol not to be a Snob. As I was discoursing with my friend Eugenio in this impres- sive way, Lord Buckram passed us, the son of the Marquis of Bagwig, and knocked at the door of the family mansion in Red Lion Square. His noble father and mother occupied, as every- body knows, distinguished posts in the Courts of late Sover- eigns. The Marquis was Lord of the Pantry, and her Ladyship, Lady of the Powder Closet to Queen Charlotte. Buck (as I call him, for we are very familiar) gave me a nod as he passed, and I proceeded to show Eugenio how it was impossible that this nobleman should not be one of ourselves, having been practised upon by Snobs all his life. His parents resolved to give him a public education, and sent him to school at the earliest possible period. The Reverend Otto Rose, D. D., Principal of the Preparatory Academy for young noblemen and gentlemen, Richmond Lodge, took this little Lord in hand, and fell down and worshipped him. He always introduced him to fathers and mothers who came to visit their children at the school. He referred with pride and pleas- ure to the most noble the Marquis of Bagwig, as one of the Kind friends and patrons of his Seminary. He made Lord Buckram a bait for such a multiplicity of pupils, that a new wing was built to Richmond Lodge, and thirty-five new little white dimity beds were added to the establishment. Mrs. Rose used to take out the little Lord in the one-horse chaise with her when she paid visits, until the Rector's lady and the Surgeon's wife almost died with envy. His own son and Lord Buckram having been discovered robbing an orchard together, the Doctor flogged his own flesh and blood most unmercifully for leading the young Lord astray. He parted from him with tears. There 266 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. was always a letter directed to the Most Noble the Marquis of Bagwig, on the Doctor's study table, when any visitors were received by him. At Eton, a great deal of Snobbishness was thrashed out of Lord Buckram, and he was birched with perfect impartiality. Even there, however, a select band of sucking tuft-hunters fol- lowed him. Young Croesus lent him three-and -twenty bran new sovereigns out of his father's bank. Young Snaily did his exer- cises for him, and tried "to know him at home ;" but Young Bull licked him in a fight of fifty-five minutes, and he was caned several times with great advantage for not sufficiently polishing his master Smith's shoes. Boys are not all toadies in the morning of life. But when he went to the University, crowds of toadies sprawled over him. The tutors toadied him. The fellows in hall paid him great clumsy compliments. The Dean never re- marked his absence from Chapel, or heard any noise issuing from his rooms. A' number of respectable young fellows, (it is among the respectable, the Baker Street class, that Snobbish- ness flourishes, more than among any set of people in England) — a number of these clung to him like leeches. There was no end now to Croesus's loans of money ; and Buckram couldn't ride out with the hounds, but Snaily (a timid creature by nature) was in the field, and would take any leap at which his friend chose to ride. Young Rose came up to the same College, having been kept back for that express purpose by his father. He spent a quarter's allowance in giving Buckram a single dinner ; but he knew there was always pardon for him for ex- travagance in such a cause ; and a ten-pound note always came to him from home when he mentioned Buckram's name in a letter. What wild visions entered the brains of Mrs. Podge and Miss Podge, the wife and daughter of the Principal of Lord Buckram's College, I don't know, but that reverend old gentleman was too profound a flunkey by nature ever for one minute to think that a child of his could marry a nobleman. He therefore hastened on his daughter's union with Professor Crab. When Lord Buckram, after taking his honorary degree, (foi Alma Mater is a Snob, too, and truckles to a Lord like the rest,) — when Lord Buckram went abroad to finish his educa- tion, you all know what clangers he ran, and what numbers of caps were set at him. Lady Leach and her daughters followed him from Paris to Rome, and from Rome to Baden-Baden ; Miss Leggitt burst into tears before his face when he announced WIIA T SNOBS A DM IRE. 2 6"J his determination to quit Naples, and fainted on the neck of her mamma : Captain Macdragon, of Macdragonstown, county Tipperary, called upon him to " explene his intintions with re- spect to his sisther, Miss Amalia Macdragon, of Macdragons- town," and proposed to shoot him unless he married that spot- less and beautiful young creature, who was afterwards led to the altar by Mr. Muff, at Cheltenham. If perseverance and forty thousand pounds down could have tempted him, Miss Lydia Croesus would certainly have been Lady Buckram. Count Towrowski was glad to take her with half the money, as all the genteel world knows. And now, perhaps, the reader is anxious to know what sort of a man this is who wounded so many ladies' hearts, and who has been such a prodigious favorite with men. If we were to describe him it would be personal. Besides, it really does not matter in the least what sort of a man he is, or what his per- sonal qualities are. Suppose he is a young nobleman of a literary turn, and that he published poems ever so foolish and feeble, the Snobs would purchase thousands of his volumes : the publishers (who re- fused my Passion-Flowers, and my grand Epic at any price) would give him his own. Suppose he is a nobleman of a jovial turn, and has a fancy for wrenching off knockers, frequenting gin-shops, and half murdering policemen : the public will sym- pathize good-naturedly with his amusements, and say he is a hearty, honest fello\v. Suppose he is fond of play and the turf, and has a fancy to be a blackleg, and occasionally con- descends to pluck a pigeon at cards ; the public will pardon him, and many honest people will court him, as they would court a house-breaker if he happened to be a Lord. Suppose he is an idiot ; yet, by the glorious constitution, he is good enough to govern us. Suppose he is an honest, high-minded gentleman ; so much the better for himself. But he may be an ass, and yet respected ; or a ruffian, and be exceedingly popu- lar ; or a rogue, and yet excuses will be found for him. Snobs will still worship him. Male Snobs will do him honor, and females look kindly upon him, however hideous he may be, a 68 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. CHAPTER VI. ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS. Having received a great deal of obloquy for dragging mon- archs, princes, and the respected nobility into the Snob cate- gory, I trust to please everybody in the present chapter, by stating my firm opinion that it is among the respectable classes of this vast and happy empire that the greatest profusion of Snobs is to be found. I pace down my beloved Baker Street, (I am engaged on a life of Baker, founder of this celebrated street,) I walk in Harley Street (where every other house has a hatchment), Wimpole Street, that is as cheerful as the Cata- combs — a dingy Mausoleum of the genteel : — I rove round Regent's Park, where the plaster is patching off the house walls ; where Methodist preachers are holding forth to three little children in the green inclosures, and puffy valetudinarians are cantering in the solitary mud : — I thread the doubtful zig- zags of May Fair, where Mrs. Kitty Lorimer's brougham may be seen drawn up next door to old Lady Lollipop's belozenged family coach ; — I roam through Belgravia, that pale and polite district, where all the inhabitants look prim and correct, and the mansions are painted a faint whity-brown : I lose myself in the new squares and terraces of the brilliant bran-new Bays- water-and-Tyburn-Junction line ; and in one and all of these districts the same truth comes across me. I stop before any house at hazard, and say, " O house, you are inhabited — O knocker, you are knocked at — O undressed flunkey, sunning your lazy calves as you lean against the iron railings, you are paid — by Snobs." It is a tremendous thought that ; and it is almost sufficient to drive a benevolent mind to madness to think that perhaps there is not one in ten of those houses where the " Peerage " does not lie on the drawing-room table. Consider- ing the harm that foolish lying book does, I would have all the copies of it burned, as the barber burned all Quixote's books of humbugging chivalry. Look at this grand house in the middle of the square. The Earl of Loughcorrib lives there : he has fifty thousand a year. A dejeuner dansant given at his house last week cost, who knows how much ? The mere flowers for the room and bou- quets for the ladies cost four hundred pounds. That man in ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS. 269 drab trousers, coming crying down the steps, is a dun : Lord Loughcorrib has ruined him, and won't see him : that is, his lordship is peeping through the blind of his study at him now. Go thy ways, Loughcorrib, thou art a Snob, a heartless pre- tender, a hypocrite of hospitality ; a rogue who passes forged notes upon society ; — but 1 am growing too eloquent. You see that fine house, No. 23, where a butcher's boy is ringing the area-bell. He has three mutton-chops in his tray. They are for the dinner of a very different and very respectable family ; for Lady Susan Scraper, and her daughters, Miss Scraper and Miss Emily Scraper. The domestics, luckily for them, are on board wages — two huge footmen in light-blue and canary, a fat steady coachman who is a Methodist, and a but- ler who would never have stayed in the family but that he was orderly to General Scraper when the General distinguished himself at Walcheren. His widow sent his portrait to the United Service Club, and it is hung up in one of the back dressing-closets there. He is represented at a parlor window with red curtains ; in the distance is a whirlwind, in which cannon are firing off ; and he is pointing to a chart, on which are written the words "Walcheren, Tobago." Lady Susan is, as everybody knows by referring to the " British Bible," a daughter of the great and good Earl Bagwig before mentioned. She thinks. everything belonging to her the greatest and best in the world. The first of men naturally are the Buckrams, her own race : then follow in rank the Scrapers. The General was the greatest general : his eldest son, Scraper Buckram Scraper, is at present the greatest and best ; his second son the next greatest and best ; and herself the paragon of women. Indeed, she is a most respectable and honorable lady. She goes to church of course : she would fancy the Church in dan- ger if she did not. She subscribes to the church and parish charities ; and is a directress of many meritorious charitable institutions — of Queen Charlotte's Lying-in Hospital, the Washerwomen's Asylum, the British Drummers' Daughters' Home, &c, &c. She is a model of a matron. The tradesman never lived who could say that his bill was not paid on the quarter-day. The beggars of her neighborhood avoid her like a pestilence ; for while she walks out, protected by John, that domestic has always two or three mendicity tickets ready for deserving objects. Ten guineas a year will pay al] her charities. There is no respectable lady in all London who gets her name more often printed for such a sum of money. 2 jo THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Those three mutton-chops which you see entering at thd kitchen door will be served on the family plate at seven o'clock this evening, the huge footman being present, and the butler in black, and the crest and coat-of-arms of the Scrapers blazing everywhere. I pity Miss Emily Scraper — she is still young — young and hungry. Is it a fact that she spends her pocket- money in buns ? Malicious tongues say so ; but she has very little to spare for buns, the poor little hungry soul ! For the fact is, that when the footmen, and the ladies'-maids, and the fat coach-horses, which are jobbed, and the six dinner-parties in the season, and the two great solemn evening-parties, and the rent of the big house, and the journey to an English or foreign watering-place for the autumn, are paid, my lady's income has dwindled away to a very small sum, and she is as poor as you or I. You would not think it when you saw her big carriage rattling up to the drawing-room, and caught a glimpse of her plumes, lappets, and diamonds, waving over her ladyship's sandy hair and majestical hooked nose ; — you would not think it when you hear " Lady Susan Scraper's carriage " bawled out at midnight so as to disturb all Belgravia : — you would not think it when she comes rustling into church, the obsequious John behind with the bag of Prayer-books. Is it possible, you would say, that so grand and awful a personage as that can be hard-up for money ? Alas ! so it is. She never heard such a word as Snob, I will engage, in this wicked and vulgar world. And, O stars and garters ! how she would start if she heard that she — she, as solemn as Minerva — she, as chaste as Diana (without that heathen goddess's unladylike propensity for field-sports) — that she too was a Snob ! A Snob she is, as long as she sets that prodigious value upon herself, upon her name, upon her outward appearance, and indulges in that intolerable pomposity ; as long as she goes parading abroad, like Solomon in all his glory ; as long as she goes to bed — as I believe she does — with a turban and a bird of paradise in it, and a court-train to her night-gown ; as long as she is so insufferably virtuous and condescending ; as long as she does not cut at least one of those footmen down into mutton-chops for the benefit of the young ladies. I had my notions of her from my old schoolfellow, — her son Sydney Scraper — a Chancery barrister without any practice — ■ the most placid, polite, and genteel of Snobs, who never ex- ceeded his allowance of two hundred a year, and who may be ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS. 271 seen any evening at the " Oxford and Cambridge Club," simpering over the Quarterly Review, in the blameless enjoy- ment of his half-pint of port. CHAPTER VII. ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS. Look at the next house to Lady Susan Scraper's. The first mansion with the awning over the door : that canopy will be let down this evening for the comfort of the friends of Sir Alured and Lady S. de Mogyns, whose parties are so much admired by the public, and the givers themselves. Peach-colored liveries laced with silver, and pea-green plush inexpressibles, render the De Mogyns' flunkey- the pride of the ring when they appear in Hyde Park, where Lad de Mogyns, as she sits upon her satin cushions, with her d varf spaniel in her arms, only bows to the very selectest of the genteel. Times are altered now with Mary Anne, or as she calls herself, Marian de Mogyns. She was the daughter of Captain Flack of the Rathdrum Fencibles, who crossed with his regiment over from Ireland to Caermarthenshire ever so many years ago, and defended Wales from the Corsican invader. The Rathdrums were quartered at Pontydwdlm, where Maiiai wooed and won her De Mogyns, a young banker in the place. His attentions to Miss Flack at a race-ball were such that her father said De Mogyns must either die on the field of honor, or become his son-in-law. He pre- ferred marriage. His name was Muggins then, and his father — a flourishing banker, army-contractor, smuggler, and general jobber — almost disinherited him on account of this connection. There is a story that Muggins the Eider was made a baronet for having lent money to a R-y-1 p-rs-n-ge. I do not believe it. The R-y-1 Family always paid their debts, from the Prince of Wales downwards, Howbeit, to his life's end he remained simple Sir Thomas Muggins, representing Pontydwdlm in Parliament for many years after the war. The old banker died in course of time, and to use the affectionate phrase common on such occasions, "cut up" prodigiously well. His son, Alfred Smith Mogyns, succeeded to the main portion of his wealth, and to his titles 272 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. and the bloody hand of his scutcheon. It was not for many years after that he appeared as Sir Alured Mogyns Smyth de Mogyns, with a genealogy found out for him by the Editor of "Fluke's Peerage," and which appears as follows in that work . — ■ " De Mogyns.— Sir Alured Mogyns Smyth, 2nd Baronet. This gentleman is a repre- sentative of one of the most ancient families of Wales, who trace their descent until it is lost in the mists of antiquity. A genealogical tree beginning with Shem is in the possession of the family, and is stated by a legend of many thousand years' date to have been drawn on papyrus by a grandson of the patriarch himself. Be this as it may, there can be no doubt of the immense antiquity of the race of Mogyns. " In the time of Boadicea, Hogyn Mogyn, of the hundred Beeves, was a suitor and a rival of Caractacus for the hand of that Princess. He was a person gigantic in stature, and was slain by Suetonius in the battle which terminated the liberties of Britain. From him descended directly the Princes of Pontydwdlm, Mogyn of the Golden Harp, (see the Mabinogion of Lady Charlotte Guest,) Bogyn-Merodac-cap-Mogyn, (the black fiend son of Mogyn,) and a long list of bards and warriors, celebrated both in Wales and Armorica. The independent Princes of Mogyn long held out against the ruthless Kings of England, until finally Gam Mogyns made his submission to Prince Henry, son of Hemy IV., and under the name of Sir David Gam de Mogyns, was distinguished at the battle of Agincourt. From him the present Baronet is descended. (And here the descent follows in order until it comes to) Thomas Muggins, first Baronet of Pontydwdlm Castle, for 23 years Member of Parliament for that borough, who had issue, Alured Mogyns Smyth, the present Baronet, who married Marian, daughter of the late General P. Flack, of Ballyflack, in the Kingdom of Ireland, of the Counts Flack of the H. R. Empire. Sir Aiuredhas issue, Alured Cara- doc, born iSiq, Marian, 1811, Blanche Adeliza, Emily Doria, Adelaide Obleans, Katinka Rostopchin, Patrick Flack, died 1809. " Arms — a mullion garbled, gules on a saltire reversed of the second. Crest — a tom-tit rampant regardant. Motto — Ung Roy iing Mogyns." It was long before Lady de Mogyns shone as a star in the fashionable world. At first, poor Muggins was in the hands of the Flacks, the Clancys, the Tooles, the Shanahans, his wife's Irish relations ; and whilst he was yet but heir-apparent, his house overflowed with claret and the national nectar, for the benefit of his Hibernian relatives. Tom Tufto absolutely left the street in which they lived in London, because he said "it was infected with such a confounded smell of whiskey from the house of those Iwish people." It was abroad that they learned to be genteel. They pushed into all foreign courts, and elbowed their way into the halls of Ambassadors. They pounced upon the stray nobility, and seized young lords travelling with their bear-leaders. They gave parties at Naples, Rome, and Paris. They got a Royal Prince to attend their soirees at the latter place, and it was here that they first appeared under the name of De Mogyns, which they bear with such splendor to this day. All sorts of stories are told of the desperate efforts made by the indomitable Lady de Mogyns to gain the place she now occupies, and those of my beloved readers who live in middle life, and are unacquainted with the frantic struggles, the wicked feuds, the intrigues, cabals, and disappointments which, as J ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS. 273 am given to understand, reign in the fashionable world, may bless their stars that they at least are not fashionable Snobs. The intrigues set afoot by the De Mogyns to get the Duchess of Buckskin to her parties, would strike a Talleyrand with ad- miration. She had a brain fever after being disappointed of an invitation to Lady Aldermanbury's the dansant, and would have committed suicide but for a ball at Windsor. I have the following story from my noble friend Lady Clapperclaw herself, — Lady Kathleen O'Shaughnessy that was, and daughter of the Earl of Turfanthunder : — " When that ojous disguised Irishwoman, Lady Muggins, was struggling to take her place in the world, and was bringing out her hidjous daughter Blanche," said old Lady Clapperclaw — " Marian has a hump-back and doesn't show, but she's the only lady in the family — when that wretched Polly Muggins was bringing out Blanche, with her radish of a nose, and her carrots of ringlets, and her turnip for a face, she was most anxious — as her father had been a cow-boy on my father's land — to be patronized by us, and asked me point-blank, in the midst of a silence at Count Volauvent's, the French Ambassa- dor's dinner, why I had not sent her a card for my ball ? " ' Because my rooms are already too full, and your ladyship would be crowded inconveniently,' says I ; indeed she takes up as much room as an elephant : besides I wouldn't have her, and that was flat. " I thought my answer was a settler to her : but the next day she comes weeping to my arms — ' Dear Lady Clapperclaw,' says she, 'it's not for me; I ask it for my blessed Blanche ! a young creature in her first season, and not at your ball ! My ten- der child will pine and die of vexation, /don't want to come. /will stay at home to nurse Sir Alured in the gout. Mrs. Bolster is going, I know ; she will be Blanche's chaperon.' " ' You wouldn't subscribe for the Rathdrum blanket and potato fund; you, who come out of the parish,' says I, 'and whose grandfather, honest man, kept cows there.' " Will twenty guineas be enough, dearest Lady Clapper- claw ? " " ' Twenty guineas is sufficient,' says I, and she paid them ; so I said, ' Blanche may come, but not you, mind : ' and she left me with a world of thanks. " Would you believe it ? — when my ball came, the horrid woman made her appearance with her daughter ! ' Didn't I tell you not to come ? ' said I, in a mighty passion. ' What would the world have said ? ' cries my Lady Muggins : my carriage is 274 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. gone for Sir Alured to the Club ; let me stay only ten minutes, dearest Lady Clapperclaw.' * " ' Well, as you are here, madam, you may stay and get your supper,' I answered, and so left her, and never spoke a word more to her all night. " And now," screamed out old Lady Clapperclaw, clapping her hands, and speaking with more brogue than ever, " what do you think, after all my kindness to her, the wicked, vulgar, odious, impudent upstart of a cow-boy's granddaughter, has done ? — she cut me yesterday in Hy' Park, and hasn't sent me a ticket for her ball to-night, though they say Prince George is to be there." Yes, such is the fact. In the race of fashion the resolute and active De Mogyns has passed the poor old Clapperclaw. Her progress in gentility may be traced by the sets of friends whom she has courted, and made, and cut, and left behind her. She has struggled so gallantly for polite reputation that she has won it : pitilessly kicking down the ladder as she advanced degree by degree. Her Irish relations were first sacrificed ; she made her father dine in the steward's room, to his perfect contentment : and would send Sir Alured thither likewise, but that he is a peg on which she hopes to hang her future honors ; and is, after all, paymaster of her daughter's fortunes. He is meek and content. He has been so long a gentleman that he is used to it, and acts the part of governor very well. In the day-time he goes from the " Union " to " Arthur's," and from " Arthur's " to the " Union." He is a dead hand at piquet, and loses a very comfortable maintenance to some young fellows, at whist, at the " Travellers'." His son has taken his father's seat in Parliament, and has of course joined Young England. He is the only man in the country who believes in the De Mogynses, and sighs for the days when a De Mogyns led the van of battle. He has written a little volume of spoony puny poems. He wears a lock of the hair of Laud, the Confessor and Martyr, and fainted when he kissed the Pope's toe at Rome. He sleeps in white kid-gloves 3 and commits dangerous excesses upon green tea. CREA T CITY SNOBS. 275 CHAPTER VIII. GREAT CITY SNOBS. There is no disguising the fact that this series of papers is making a prodigious sensation among all classes in this Empire. Notes of admiration (!), of interrogation (?), of remonstrance, approval, or abuse, come pouring into Mr. Punch's box. We have been called to task for betraying the secrets of three dif- ferent families of De Mogyns ; no less than four Lady Susan Scrapers have been discovered ; and young gentlemen are quite shy of ordering half a pint of port and simpering over the Quarterly Review at the Club, lest they should be mistaken for Sydn :y Scraper, Esq. " What can be your antipathy to Baker Street ? " asks some fair remonstrant, evidently writing from that quarter. " Why only attack the aristocratic Snobs ? " says one esti- mable correspondent : " are not the snobbish Snobs to have their turn ? " — " Pitch into the University Snobs! " writes an in- dignant gentleman (who spells elegant with two /'s). — " Show up the Clerical Snobs," suggests another. — " Being at ' Meu- rice's Hotel,' Paris, some time since," some wag hints, "I saw Lord B. leaning out of the window with his boots in his hand, and bawling out, ' Ga/yon, cirez-moi ces bottes.' Oughtn't he to be brought in among the Snobs ? " No ; far from it. If his lordship's boots are dirty, it is be- cause he is Lord B., and walks. There is nothing snobbish in having only one pair of boots, or a favorite pair ; and certainly nothing snobbish in desiring to have them cleaned. Lord B., in so doing, performed a perfectly natural and gentlemanlike action ; for which I am so pleased with him that I have had him designed in a favorable and elegant attitude, and put at the head of this Chapter in the place of honor. No, we are not personal in these candid remarks. As Phidias took the pick of a score of beauties before he completed a Venus, so have we to examine, perhaps, a thousand Snobs, before one is expressed upon paper. Great City Snobs are the next in the hierarchy, and ought to be considered. But here is a difficulty. The great City Snob is commonly most difficult of access. Unless you are a capitalist, you cannot visit him in the recesses of his bank par- 276 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. lor in Lombard Street. Unless you are a sprig of nobility there is little hope of seeing him at home. In a great City Snob firm there is generally one partner whose name is down for charities, and who frequents Exeter Hall ; you may catch a glimpse of another (a scientific City Snob) at my Lord N — 's soirees, or the lectures of the London Institution ; of a third (a City Snob of taste) at picture-auctions, at private views of exhibitions, or at the Opera or the Philharmonic. But intimacy is impossible, in most cases, with this grave, pompous, and awful being. A mere gentleman may hope to sit at almost anybody's table — to take his place at my lord duke's in the country — to dance a quadrille at Buckingham Palace itself — (beloved Lady Wilhelmina Waggle-wiggle ! do you recollect the sensation we made at the ball of our late adored Sovereign Queen Caroline, at Brandenburg House, Hammersmith ?) but the City Snob's doors are, for the most part, closed to him ; and hence all that one knows of this great class is mostly from hearsay. In other countries of Europe, the Banking Snob is more expansive and communicative than with us, and receives all the world into his circle. For instance, everybody knows the princely hospitalities of the Scharlaschild family at Paris, Na- ples, Frankfort, &c. They entertain all the world, even the poor, at their fetes. Prince Polonia, at Rome, and his brother, the Duke of Strachino, are also remarkable for their hospitali- ties. I like the spirit of the first-named nobleman. Titles not costing much in the Roman territory, he has had the head clerk of the banking-house made a Marquis, and his Lordship will screw a bajoceo out of you in exchange as dexter- ously as any commoner could do. It is a comfort to be able to gratify such grandees with a farthing or two ; it makes the poorest man feel that he can do good. The Polonias have in- termarried with the greatest and most ancient families of Rome, and you see their heraldic cognizance (a mushroom or on an azure field) quartered in a hundred places in the City, with the arms of the Colonnas and Dorias. Our City Snobs have the same mania for aristocratic mar- riages. I like to see such. I am of a savage and envious nature, — I like to see these two humbugs which, dividing, as they do, the social empire of this kingdom between them, hate each other naturally, making truce and uniting, for the sordid inter- ests of either. I like to see an old aristocrat, swelling with pride of race, the descendant of illustrious Norman robbers, whose blood has been pure for centuries, and who looks down GREA T CITY SNOBS. 277 upon common Englishmen as a free-born American does on a nigger, — I like to see old Stiffneck obliged to bow down his head and swallow his infernal pride, and drink the cup of humiliation poured out by Pump and Aldgatt's butler. " Pump and Aldgate," says he, " your grandfather was a bricklayer, and his hod is still kept in the bank. Your pedigree begins in a workhouse ; mine can be dated from all the royal palaces, of Europe. I came over with the Conqueror ; I am own cousin to Charles Martel, Orlando Furioso, Philip Augustus, Peter the Cruel, and Frederick Barbarossa. I quarter the Royal Arms of Brentford in my coat. I despise you, but I want money ; and I will sell you my beloved daughter, Blanche Stiffneck, for a hundred thousand pounds, to pay off my mortgages. Let your son marry her, and she shall become Lady Blanche Pump and Aldgate." Old Pump and Aldgate clutches at the bargain. And a com- fortable thing it is to think that birth can be bought for money. So you learn to value it. Why should we, who don't possess it, set a higher store on it than those who do ? Perhaps the best use of that book, the "Peerage," is to look down the list, and see how many have bought and sold birth, — how poor sprigs of nobility somehow sell themselves to rich City Snobs' daugh- ters, how rich City Snobs purchase noble ladies — and so to admire the double baseness of the bargain. Old Pump and Aldgate buys the article and pays the money. The sale of the girl's person is blessed by a Bishop at St. George's, Hanover Square, and next year you read, "At Roehampton, on Saturday, the Lady Blanche Pump, of a son and heir." After this interesting event, some old acquaintance, who saw young Pump in the parlor at the bank in the City, said to him, familiarly, " How's your wife, Pump, my boy ? " Mr. Pump looked exceedingly puzzled and disgusted, and, after a pause, said, " Lady Blanche Pump is pretty well, I thank you." " Oh, I thought she was your wife!" said the familiar brute, Snooks, wishing him good-by ; and ten minutes after, the story was all over the Stock Exchange, where it is told, when young Pump appears, to this very day. We can imagine the weary life this poor Pump, this martyr to Mammon, is compelled to undergo. Fancy the domestic enjoyments of a man who has a wife who scorns him ; who cannot see his own friends in his own house ; who having de- serted the middle rank of life, is not yet admitted to the higher; 278 THE BOOT' OF SNOBS. but who is resigned to rebuffs and delay and humiliation, con- tented to think that his son will be more fortunate. It used to be the custom of some very old-fashioned clubs in this City, when a gentleman asked for change for a guinea, always to bring it to him in washed silver; that which had passed immediately out of the hands of the vulgar being con- sidered "as too coarse to soil a gentleman's fingers." So, when the City Snob's money has been washed during a genera- tion or so ; has been washed into estates, and woods, and castles, and town mansions, it is allowed to pass current as real aristocratic coin. Old Pump sweeps a shop, runs of messages, becomes a confidential clerk and partner. Pump the Second becomes chief of the house, spins more and more money, mar- ries his son to an Earl's daughter. Pump Tertius goes on with the bank ; but his chief business in life is to become the father of Pump Quartus, who comes out a full-blown aristocrat, and takes his seat as Baron Pumpington, and his race rules heredi- tarily over this nation of Snobs. CHAPTER IX. ON SOME MILITARY SNOBS. As no society in the world is more agreeable than that of well-bred and well-informed military gentlemen, so, likewise, none is more insufferable than that of Military Snobs. They are to be found of all grades, from the General Officer, whose padded old breast twinkles over with a score of stars, clasps, and decorations, to the budding cornet, who is shaving for a beard, and has just been appointed to the Saxe-Coburg Lan- cers. I have always admired that dispensation of rank in our country, which sets up this last-named little creature (who was flogged only last week because he could not spell) to command great whiskered warriors, who have faced all dangers of climate and battle ; which, because he has money to lodge at the agent's, will place him over the heads of men who have a thousand times more experience and desert ; and which, in the course of time, will bring him all the honors of his pro- fession, when the veteran soldier he commanded has sot no ON SOME MILITARY SNOBS. 279 other reward for his bravery than a berth in Chelsea Hospital, and the veteran officer he superseded has slunk into shabby retirement, and ends his disappointed life on a threadbare half- pay. When I read in the Gazette such announcements as ' Lieu- tenant and Captain Grig, from the Bombardier Guards, to be Captain, vice Grizzle, who retires," I know what becomes of the Peninsular Grizzle ; I follow him in spirit to the humble country town, where he takes up his quarters, and occupies him- self with the most desperate attempts to live like a gentleman, on the stipend of half a tailor's foreman ; and I picture to my- self little Grig rising from rank to rank, skipping from one regiment to another, with an increased grade in each, avoiding disagreeable foreign service, and ranking as a colonel at thirty ; — all because he has money, and Lord Grigsby is his father, who had the same luck before him. Grig must blush at first to give his orders to old men in every way his betters. And as it is very difficult for a spoiled child to escape being selfish and arrogant, so it is a very hard task indeed for this spoiled child of fortune not to be a Snob. It must have often been a matter of wonder to the candid reader, that the army, the most enormous job of all our politi- cal institutions, should yet work so well in the field ; and we must cheerfully give Grig, and his like, the credit for courage which they display whenever occasion calls for it. The Duke's dandy regiments fought as well as any (they said better than any, but that is absurd). The great Duke himself was a dandy once, and jobbed on, as Marlborough did before him. But this only proves that dandies are brave as well as other Britons — as all Britons. Let us concede that the high-born Grig rode into the entrenchments at Sobraon as gallantly as Corporal Wallop, the ex-ploughboy. The times of war are more favorable to him than the periods of peace. Think of Grig's life in the Bombardier Guards, or the Jackboot Guards ; his marches from Windsor to London, from London to Windsor, from Knightsbridge to Regent's Park • the idiotic services he has to perform, which consist in inspecting the pipeclay of his company, or the horses in the stable, or bellowing out " Shoulder humps ! Carry humps ! " all which duties the very smallest intellect that ever belonged to mortal man would suffice to comprehend. The professional duties of a footman are quite as difficult and various'. The red-jackets who hold gentlemen's horses in St. James's Street could do the work just as well as those vacuous, good-natured, gentleman* 2 So THE BOOK OF SNOBS. like, rickety little lieutenants, who may be seen sauntering about Pall Mall, in high-heeled little boots, or rallying round the standard of their regiment in the Palace Court, at eleven o'clock, when the band plays. Did the beloved reader ever see one of the young fellows staggering under the flag, or, above all, going through the operation of saluting it ? It is worth a walk to the Palace to witness that magnificent piece of tom- foolery. I have had the honor of meeting once or twice an old gentle- man, whom I look upon to be a specimen of army-training, and who has served in crack regiments, or commanded them, all his life. I allude to Lieutenant-General the Honorable Sir George Granby Tufto, K.C.B., K.T.S., K.H., K.S.W., &c, &c. His manners are irreproachable generally ; in society he is a perfect gentleman, and a most thorough Snob. A man can't help being a fool, be he ever so old, and Sir George is a greater ass at sixty-eight than he was when he first entered the army at fifteen. He distinguished himself every- where : his name is mentioned with praise in a score of Ga- zettes : he is the man, in fact, whose padded breast, twinkling over with innumerable decorations, has already been introduced to the reader. It is difficult to say what virtues this prosperous gentleman possesses. He never read a book in his life, and, with his purple, old gouty fingers, still writes a school-boy hand. He has reached old age and gray hairs without being the least venerable. He dresses like an outrageously young man to the present moment, and laces and pads his old carcass as if he were still handsome George Tufto of 1800. He is selfish, bru- tal, passionate, and a glutton. It is curious to mark him at table, and see him heaving in his waistband, his little bloodshot eyes gloating over his meal. He swears considerably in his talk, and tells filthy garrison stories after dinner. On account of his rank and his services, people pay the bestarred and be- titled old brute a sort of reverence ; and he looks down upon you and me, and exhibits his contempt for us, with a stupid and artless candor which is quite amusing to watch. Perhaps, had he been bred to another profession, he would not have been the disreputable old creature he now is. But what other ? He was fit for none ; too incorrigibly idle and dull for any trade but this, in which he has distinguished himself publicly as q good and gallant officer, and privately for riding races, drink- ing port, fighting duels, and seducing women. He believes himself to be one of the most honorable and deserving beings in the world. About Waterloo Place, of afternoons, you may Ml LIT A R Y SNOBS. 2 8 1 see him tottering in his varnished boots, and leering under the bonnets of the women who pass by. When he dies of apoplexy, The Times will have a quarter of a column about his services and battles — four lines of print will be wanted to describe his titles and orders alone — and the earth will cover one of the wickedest and dullest old wretches that ever strutted over it. Lest it should be imagined that I am of so obstinate a misanthropic nature as to be satisfied with nothing, I beg (for the comfort of the forces) to state my belief that the army is not composed of such persons as the above. He has only been selected for the study of civilians and the military, as a specimen of a prosperous and bloated army Snob. No : when epaulets are not sold ; when corporal punishments are abolished, and Corporal Smith has a chance to have his gal- lantry rewarded as well as that of Lieutenant Grig ; when there is no such rank as ensign and lieutenant (the existence of which rank is an absurd anomaly, and an insult upon all the rest of the army), and should there be no war, I should not be dis- inclined to be a major-general myself. I have a little sheaf of Army Snobs in my portfolio, but shall pause in my attack upon the forces till next week. CHAPTER X. MILITARY SNOBS. Walking in the Park yesterday with my young friend Tagg, and discoursing with him upon the next number of the Snob, at the very nick of time who should pass us but two very good specimens of Military Snobs, — the Sporting Military Snob, Capt. Rag, and the " larking " or raffish Military Snob, Ensign Famish. Indeed you are fully sure to meet them lounging on horseback about five o'clock, under the trees by the Ser- pentine, examining critically the inmates of the flashy brough- ams which parade up and down " the Lady's Mile." Tagg and Rag are very well acquainted, and so the former, with that candor inseparable from intimate friendship, told me his clear friend's history. Captain Rag is a small clapper north- country man. He went when quite a boy into a crack light cavalry regiment, and by the time he got his troop, had cheated all his brother officers so completely, selling them lame horses 282 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. for sound ones, and winning their money by all manner of strange and ingenious contrivances, that his Colonel advised him to retire ; which he did without much reluctance, accom- modating a youngster, who had just entered the regiment, with a glandered charger at an uncommonly stiff figure. He has since devoted his time to billiards, steeple-chasing, and the turf. His head-quarters are " Rummer's," in Conduit Street, where he keeps his kit ; but he is ever on the move in the exercise of his vocation as a gentleman-jockey and gentle- man-leg. According to Bell's Life, he is an invariable attendant at all races, and an actor in most of them. He rode the winner at Leamington ; he was left for dead in a ditch a fortnight ago at Harrow ; and yet there he was, last week, at the Croix de Berny, pale and determined as ever, astonishing the badauds of Paris by the elegance of his seat and the neatness of his rig, as he took a preliminary gallop on that vicious brute " The Disowned," before starting for " the French Grand National." He is a regular attendant at the Corner, where he compiles a limited but comfortable libretto. During the season he rides often in the Park, mounted on a clever, well-bred pony. He is to be seen escorting that celebrated horsewoman, Fanny Highflyer, or in confidential converse with Lord Thimblerig, the eminent handicapper. He carefully avoids decent society, and would rather dine off a steak at the " Old Tun " with Sam Snaffle the jockey, Captain O'Rourke, and two or three other notorious turf rob- bers, than with the choicest company in London. He likes to announce at " Rummer's " that he is going to run clown and spend his Saturday and Sunday in a friendly way with Hocus, the leg, at his little box near Epsom : where, if report speak true, many " rummish plants " are concocted. He does not play billiards often, and never in public : but when he does play, he always contrives to get hold of a good flat, and never leaves him till he has done him uncommonly brown. He has lately been playing a good deal with Famish. When he makes his appearance in the drawing-room, which occasionally happens at a hunt-meeting or a race-ball, he enjoys himself extremely. His young friend is Ensign Famish, who is not a little pleased to be seen with such a smart fellow as Rag, who bows to the best turf company in the Park. Rag lets Famish accom- pany him to Tattersall's, and sells him bargains in horse-flesh, and uses Famish's cab. That young gentleman's regiment is MILITARY SNOBS. 283 in India, and he is at home on sick leave. He recruits his health by being intoxicated every night, and fortifies his lungs, which are weak, by smoking cigars all day. The policemen about the Haymarket know the little creature, and the early cabmen salute him. The closed doors of fish and lobster shops open after service, and vomit out little Famish, who is either tipsy and quarrelsome — when he wants to fight the cabmen; or drunk and helpless — when some kind friend (in yellow satin) takes care of him. All the neighborhood, the cabmen, the police, the early potato-men, and the friends in yellow satin, know the young fellow, and he is called little Bobby by some of the very worst reprobates in Europe. His mother, Lady Fanny Famish, believes devotedly that Robert is in London solely for the benefit of consulting the physician ; is going to have him exchanged into a dragoon regiment, which doesn't go to that odious India ; and has an idea that his chest is delicate, and that he takes gruel every evening, when he puts his feet in hot water. Her Ladyship resides at Cheltenham, and is of a serious turn. Bobby frequents the " Union-Jack Club " of course ; where he breakfasts on pale ale and devilled kidneys at three o'clock ; where beardless young heroes of his own sort congregate, and make merry, and give each other dinners ; where you may see half a dozen of young rakes of the fourth or fifth order loung- ing and smoking on the steps ; where you behold Slapper's long- tailed leggy mare in the custody of a red-jacket until the Captain is primed for the Park with a glass of curagoa ; and where you see Hobby of the Highland Buffs, driving up with Dobby, of the Madras Fusiliers, in the great banging, swinging cab, which the latter hires from Rumble of Bond Street. In fact, Military Snobs are of such number and variety, that a hundred weeks of Punch would not suffice to give an audi- ence to them. There is, besides the disreputable old Military Snob, who has seen service, the respectable old Military Snob, who has seen none, and gives himself the most prodigious Martinet airs. There is the Medical-Military Snob, who is generally more outrageously military in his conversation than the greatest sabreur in the army. There is the Heavy-Dragoon Snob, whom young ladies admire, with his great stupid pink face and yellow mustaches — a vacuous, solemn, foolish, but brave and honorable Snob. There is the Amateur-Military Snob, who writes Captain on his card because he is a Lieu- tenant in the Bungay Militia. There is a Lady-killing Military Snob ; and more, who need not be named. 17* 284 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. But let no man, we repeat, charge Mr. Punch with disre- spect for the army in general — that gallant and judicious Army, every man which, from F. M. the Duke of Wellington, &c, downwards — (with the exception of H. R. H. Field-Marshal Prince Albert, who, however, can hardly count as a military man,) — reads Punch in every quarter of the globe. Let those civilians who sneer at the acquirements of the Army read Sir Harry Smith's account of the battle of Aliwal. A noble deed was never told in nobler language. And you who doubt if chivalry exists, or the age of heroism has passed by, think of Sir Henry Hardinge, with his son, " Dear little Arthur," riding in front of the lines at Ferozeshah. I hope no English painter will endeavor to illustrate that scene ; for who is there to do justice to it ? The history of the world contains no more brilliant and heroic picture. No, no ; the men who perform these deeds with such brilliant valor, and describe them with such modest manliness — such are not Snobs. Their country admires them, their Sovereign rewards them, and Punch, the universal railer, takes off his hat and says, Heaven save them ! CHAPTER XL ON CLERICAL SNOBS After Snobs-Military, Snobs-Clerical suggest tnemselves quite naturally, and it is clear that, with every respect for the cloth, yet having a regard for truth, humanity, and the British public, such a vast and influential class must not be omitted from our notices of the great Snob world. Of these Clerics there are some whose claim to snobbish- ness is undoubted, and yet it cannot be discussed here ; for the same reason that Punch would not set up his show in a Cathe- dral, out of respect for the solemn service celebrated within. There are some places where he acknowledges himself not privileged to make a noise, and puts away his show, and silences his drum, and takes off his hat, and holds his peace. And I know this, that if there are some Clerics who do wrong, there are straightway a thousand newspapers to haul up those unfortunates, and cry, " Fie upon them, fie upon them ! " while, though the press is always ready to yell and bellow exconv ON CLERICAL SNOBS. 285 munication against these stray delinquent parsons, it somehow takes very little count of the many good ones — of the tens of thousands of honest men, who lead Christian lives, who give to the poor generously, who deny themselves rigidly, and live and die in their duty, without ever a newspaper paragraph in their favor. My beloved friend and reader, I wish you and I could do the same : and let me whisper my belief, entre nous, that of those eminent philosophers who cry out against parsons the loudest, there are not many who have not their knowledge of the church by going thither often. But you who have ever listened to village bells, or have walked to church as children on sunny Sabbath mornings ; you who have ever seen the parson's wife tending the poor man's bedside ; or the town clergyman threading the dirty stairs of noxious alleys upon his sacred business ; do not raise a shout when one of these falls away, or yell with the mob that howls after him. Every man can do that. When old Father Noah was over- taken in his cups, there was only one of his sons that dared to make merry at his disaster, and he was not the most virtuous of the family. Let us too turn away silently, not huzza like a par- cel of school-boys, because some big young rebel suddenly starts up and whops the schoolmaster. I confess, though, if I had by me the names of those seven or eight Irish bishops, the probates of whose wills were men- tioned in last year's journals, and who died leaving behind them some two hundred thousand pounds apiece — I would like to put them up as patrons of my Clerical Snobs, and operate upon them as successfully as I see from the newspapers Mr. Eisen- berg, Chiropodist, has lately done upon " His Grace the Right Reverend Lord Bishop of Tapioca." And I confess that when those Right Reverend Prelates come up to the gates of Paradise with their probates of wills in their hands I think that their chance is * * * * But the gates of Paradise is a far way to follow their Lordships ; so let us trip down again, lest awkward questions be asked there about our own favorite vices too. And don't let us give way to the vulgar prejudice, that clergymen are an over-paid and luxurious body of men. When that eminent ascetic, the late Sydney Smith — (by the way, by what law of nature is it that so many Smiths in this world are called Sydney Smith ?) — lauded the system of great prizes in 2 86 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. the Church, — without which he said gentlemen would not be induced to follow the clerical profession, he admitted most pathetically that the clergy in general were by no means to be envied for their worldly prosperity. From reading the works of some modern writers of repute, you would fancy that a par- son's life was passed in gorging himself with plum-pudding and port-wine ; and that his Reverence's fat chaps were always greasy with the crackling of tithe pigs. Caricaturists delight to repre* sent him so : round, short-necked, pimple-faced, apoplectic, bursting out of waistcoat, like a black-pudding, a shovel-hatted fuzz-wigged Silenus. Whereas, if you take the real man, the poor fellow's flesh-pots are very scantily furnished with meat. He labors commonly for a wage that a tailor's foreman would despise : he has, too, such claims upon his dismal income as most philosophers would rather grumble to meet ; many tithes are levied upon his pocket, let it be remembered, by those who grudge him his means of livelihood. He has to dine with the Squire : and his wife must dress neatly ; and he must " look like a gentleman," as they call it, and bring up his six great hungry sons as such. Add to this, if he does his duty, he has such temptations to spend his money as no mortal man could withstand. Yes ; you who can't resist purchasing a chest of cigars, because they are so good ; or an ormolu clock at Howell and James's, because it is such a bargain ; or a box at the Opera, because Lablache and Grisi are divine in the Puritani ; fancy how difficult it is for a parson to resist spending a ha w -crown when John Breakstone's family are without a loaf ; or " stand- ing " a bottle of port for poor old Polly Rabbits, who has her thirteenth child ; or treating himself to a suit of corduroys for little Bob Scarecrow, whose breeches are sadly out at elbows. Think of these temptations, brother moralists and philosophers, and don't be too hard on the parson. But what is this ? Instead of " showing up " the parsons, are we indulging in maudlin praises of that monstrous black- coated race ? O saintly Francis, lying at rest under the turf , O Jimmy, and Johnny, and Willy, friends of my youth ! O noble and dear old Flias ! how should he who knows you not respect you and your calling ? May this pen never write a pennyworth again, if it ever casts ridicule upon either ! ON CLERICAL SNOBS AND SNOBBISHNESS. 287 CHAPTER XII. ON CLERICAL SNOBS AND SNOBBISHNESS. " Dear Mr. Snob," an amiable young correspondent writes, who signs himself Snobling, " ought the clergyman who, at the request of a noble Duke, lately interrupted a marriage ceremony between two persons perfectly authorized to marry, to be ranked or not among the Clerical Snobs ? " This, my dear young friend, is not a fair question. One of the illustrated weekly papers has already seized hold of the clergyman, and blackened him most unmercifully, by represent- ing him in his cassock performing the marriage service. Let that be sufficient punishment ; and, if you please, do not press the query. It is very likely that if Miss Smith had come with a license to marry Jones, the parson in question, not seeing old Smith present, would have sent off the beadle in a cab to let the old gentleman know what was going on ; and would have delayed the service until the arrival of Smith senior. He very likely thinks it his duty to ask all marriageable young ladies, who come without their papa, why their parent is absent ; and, no doubt, ahvays sends off the beadle for that missing governor. Or, it is very possible that the Duke of Cceurdelion was Mr. What-d'ye-call'im's most intimate friend, and has often said to him, " What-d'ye-call'im, my boy, my daughter must never marry the Capting. If ever they try at your church, I beseech you, considering the terms of intimacy on which we are, to send off Rattan in a hack-cab to fetch me." In either of which cases, you see, dear Snobling, that though the parson would not have been authorized, yet he might have been excused for interfering. He has no more right to stop my marriage than to stop my dinner, to both of which, as a free-born Briton, I am entitled by law, if I can pay for them. But, con- sider pastoral solicitude, a deep sense of the duties of his office and pardon this inconvenient, but genuine zeal. But if the clergyman did in the Duke's case what he would not do in Smith's ; if he has no more acquaintance with the Cceurdelion family than I have with the Royal and Serene House of Saxe-Coburg Gotha, — then, I confess, my dear Snob- ling, your question might elicit a disagreeable reply, and one 2 8S THE BOOK OF SNOBS. which I respectfully decline to give. I wonder what Sir George Tufto would say, if a sentry left his post because a noble lord (not in the least connected with the service) begged the sentinel not to do his duty ! Alas ! that the beadle who canes little boys and drives them out, cannot drive worldliness out too ; and what is worldiiness but snobbishness ? When, for instance, I read in the news- papers that the Right Reverend the Lord Charles James ad- ministered the rite of confirmation to a party of the juvenile nobility at the Chapel Royal, — as if the Chapel Royal were a sort of ecclesiastical Almack's, and young people were to get ready for the next world in little exclusive genteel knots of the aristocracy, who were not to be disturbed in their journey thither by the company of the vulgar : — when I read such a paragraph as that (and one or two such generally appear during the present fashionable season), it seems to me to be the most odious, mean, and disgusting part of that odious, mean, and disgusting publication, the Court Circular; and that snobbish- ness is therein carried to quite an awful pitch. What, gentle- men, can't we even in the Church acknowledge a republic ? There, at least, the Heralds' College itself might allow that we all of us have the same pedigree, and are direct descendants of Eve and Adam, whose inheritance is divided amongst us. I hereby call upon all Dukes, Earls, Baronets, and other potentates, not to lend themselves to this shameful scandal and error, and beseech all Bishops who read this publication to take the matter into consideration, and to protest against the con- tinuance of the practice, and to declare, " We won't confirm or christen Lord Tomnoddy, or Sir Carnaby Jenks, to the exclu- sion of any other young Christian ; " the which declaration if their Lordships are induced to make, a great lapis offensionis will be removed, and the Snob Papers will not have been written in vain. A story is current of a celebrated nouveau-riche, who having had occasion to oblige that excellent prelate the Bishop of Bullocksmithy, asked his Lordship, in return, to confirm his children privately in his Lordship's own chapel ; which ceremony the grateful prelate accordingly performed. Can satire go farther than this ? Is there even in this most amusing of prints, any more naive absurdity ? It is as if a man wouldn't go to heaven unless he went in a special train, or as if he thought (as some people think about vaccination) Confirmation more effectual when administered at first hand. When that eminent person, the Begum Sumroo, died, it is said she left ten thou- ON CLERICAL SNOBS AND SNOBBISHNESS. 289 sand pounds to the Pope, and ten thousand to the Archbishop of Canterbury, — so that there should be no mistake, — so as to make sure of having the ecclesiastical authorities on her side. This is only a little more openly and undisguisedly snobbish than the cases before alluded to. A well-bred Snob is just as secretly proud of his riches and honors as a parvenu Snob who makes the most ludicrous exhibition of them ; and a high-born Marchioness or Duchess just as vain of herself and her dia- monds, as Queen Quashyboo, who sews a pair of epaulets on to her skirt, and turns out in state in a cocked hat and feathers. It is not out of disrespect to my " Peerage," which I love and honor, (indeed, have I not said before, that I should be ready to jump out of my skin if two Dukes would walk down Pall Mall with me ?) — it is not out of disrespect for the individu- als, that I wish these titles had never been invented ; but, con- sider, if there were no tree, there would be no shadow ; and how much more honest society would be, and how much more serviceable the clergy would be (which is our present considera- tion), if these temptations of rank and continual baits of world- liness were not in existence, and perpetually thrown out to lead them astray. I have seen many examples of their falling away. When, for instance, Tom Sniffle first went into the country as Curate for Mr. Fuddleston (Sir Huddleston Fuddleston's brother), who resided on some other living, there could not be a more kind, hard-working, and excellent creature than Tom. He had his aunt to live with him. His conduct to his poor was admi- rable. He wrote annually reams of the best-intentioned and most vapid sermons. When Lord Brandyball's family first came down into the country, and invited him to dine at Brandy- ball Park, Sniffle was so agitated that he almost forgot how to say grace, and upset a bowl of currant-jelly sauce in Lady Fanny Toffy's lap. What was the consequence of his intimacy with that noble family ? He quarrelled with his aunt for dining out every night. The wretch forgot his poor altogether, and killed his old nag by always riding over to Brandyball ; where he revelled in the maddest passion for Lady Fanny. He ordered the neatest new clothes and ecclesiastical waistcoats from London ; he appeared with corazza-shirts, lackered boots, and perfumery ; he bought a blood-horse from Bob Toffy : was seen at archery meetings, public breakfasts, — actually at cover; and, I blush to say, that I saw him in a stall at the Opera ; and afterwards riding by Lady Fanny's side in Rotten Row. He double-barrelled his 290 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. name (as many poor Snobs do), and instead of T. Sniffle, as formerly, came out, in a porcelain card, as Rev. T. D'Arcy Sniffle, Burlington Hotel. The end of all this may be imagined : when the earl of Brandyball was made acquainted with the curate's love for Lady Fanny, he had that fit of the gout which so nearly carried him off (to the inexpressible grief of his son, Lord Alicompayne), and uttered that remarkable speech to Sniffle, which disposed of the claims of the latter : — " If I didn't respect the Church, Sir," his Lordship said, "by Jove, I'd kick you down stairs : " his Lordship then fell back into the fit aforesaid ; and Lady Fanny, as we all know, married General Podager. As for poor Tom, he was over head and ears in debt as well as in love : his creditors came down upon him. Mr. Hemp, of Portugal Street, proclaimed his name lately as a reverend out- law ; and he has been seen at various foreign watering-places ; sometimes doing duty ; sometimes "coaching" a stray gentle- man's son at Carlsruhe or Kissingen ; sometimes — must we say it? — lurking about the roulette-tables with a tuft to his chin. If temptation had not come upon this unhappy fellow in the shape of a Lord Brandyball, he might still have been following his profession, humbly and worthily. He might have married his cousin with four thousand pounds, the wine merchant's daughter (the old gentleman quarrelled with his nephew for not soliciting wine orders from Lord B. for him) : he might have had seven children, and taken private pupils, and eked out his income, and lived and died a country parson. Could he have done better? You who want to know how great, and good, and noble such a character may be read Stanley's " Life of Doctor Arnold." CHAPTER XIII. ON CLERICAL SNOBS. Among the varieties of the Snob Clerical, the University Snob and the Scholastic Snob ought never to be forgotten ; they form a very strong battalion in the black-coated army. The wisdom of our ancestors (which I admire more and more every day) seemed to have determined that the education of youth was so paltry and unimportant a matter, that almost ON CLERICAL SNOBS. 291 any man, armed with a birch and a regulation cassock and degree, might undertake the charge : and many an honest country gentleman may be found to the present day, who takes very good care to have a character with his butler when he engages him, and will not purchase a horse without the strongest warranty and the closest inspection ; but sends off his son, young John Thomas, to school without asking any questions about the Schoolmaster, and places the lad at Switchester Col lege, under Doctor Block, because he (the good old English gentleman) had been at Switchester, under Doctor Buzwig, forty years ago. We have a love for all the little boys at school ; for many scores of thousands of them read and love Punch : — may he never write a word that shall not be honest and fit for them to read ! He will not have his young friends to be Snobs in the future, or to be bullied by Snobs, or given over to such to be educated. Our connection with the youth at the Universities is very close and affectionate. The candid undergraduate is our friend. The pompous old College Don trembles in his common room, lest we should attack him and show him up as a Snob. When railroads were threatening to invade the land which they have since conquered, it may be recollected what a shriek- ing and outcry the authorities of Oxford and Eton made, lest the iron abominations should come near those seats of pure learning, and tempt the British youth astray. The supplica- tions were in vain ; the railroad is in upon them, and the old- world institutions are doomed. I felt charmed to read in the papers the other clay a most veracious puffing advertisement headed, "To College and back for Five Shillings." "The College Gardens (it said) will be thrown open on this occasion ; the College youths will perform a regatta ; the Chapel of King's College will have its celebrated music ; " — and all for five shil- lings ! The Goths have got into Rome ; Napoleon Stephenson draws his republican lines round the sacred old cities ; and the ecclesiastical big-wigs who garrison them must prepare to lay down key and crozier before the iron conqueror. If you consider, dear reader, what profound snobbishness the University System produced, you will allow that it is time to attack some of those feudal middle-age superstitions. If you go down for five shillings to look at the " College Youths," you may see one sneaking down the court without a tassel to his cap ; another with a gold or silver fringe to his velvet trencher ; a third lad with a master's gown and hat, walking at 2 9 2 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. ease over the sacred College grass-plots, which common men must not tread on. He may do it because he is a nobleman. Because a lad is % lord, the University gives him a degree at the end of two years which another is seven in acquiring. Because he is a lord, he has no call to go through an examination. Any man who has not been to College and back for five shillings, would not believe in such distinctions in a place of education, so absurd and monstrous do they seem to be. The lads with gold and silver lace are sons of rich gentle- men, and called Fellow Commoners ; they are privileged to feed better than the pensioners, and to have wine with their victuals, which the latter can only get in their rooms. The unlucky boys who have no tassels to their caps, are called sizars — servitors at Oxford — (a very pretty and gentle- manlike title). A distinction is made in their clothes because they are poor ; for which reason they wear a badge of poverty, and are not allowed to take their meals with their fellow-stu- dents. When this wicked and shameful distinction was set up, it was of a piece with all the rest — a part of the brutal, unchristian, blundering feudal system. Distinctions of rank were then so strongly insisted upon, that it would have been thought blas- phemy to doubt them, as blasphemous as it is in parts of the United States now for a nigger to set up as the equal of a white man. A ruffian like Henry VIII. talked as gravely about the divine powers vested in him, as if he had been an inspired prophet. A wretch like James I. not only believed that there was in himself a particular sanctity, but other people believed him. Government regulated the length of a merchant's shoes as well as meddled with his trade, prices, exports, machinery. It thought itself justified in roasting a man for his religion, or pulling a Jew's teeth out if he did not pay a contribution, or ordered him to dress in a yellow gabardine, and locked him in a particular quarter. Now a merchant may wear what boots he pleases, and has pretty nearly acquired the privilege of buying and selling with- out the Government laying its paws upon the bargain. The stake for heretics is gone ; the pillory is taken down ; Bishops are even found lifting up their voices against the remains of persecution, and ready to do away with the last Catholic Dis- abilities. Sir Robert Peel, though he wished it ever so much, has no power over Mr. Benjamin Disraeli's grinders, or any means of violently handling that gentleman's jaw. Jews are ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS. 293 not called upon to wear badges : on the contrary, they may live in Piccadilly, or the Minories, according to fancy ; they may dress like Christians, and do sometimes in a most elegant and fashionable manner. Why is the poor College servitor to wear that name and that badge still ? Because Universities are the last places into which Reform penetrates. But now that she can go to College and back for five shillings, let her travel down thither. CHAPTER XIV. ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS. All the men of Saint Boniface will recognize Hugby and Crump in these two pictures. They were tutors in our time, and Crump is since advanced to be President of the College. He was formerly, and is now, a rich specimen of a University Snob. At five-and-twenty, Crump invented three new metres, and published an edition of an exceedingly improper Greek Comedy, with no less than twenty emendations upon the German text of Schnupfenius and Schnapsius. These services to religion in- stantly pointed him out for advancement in the Church, and he is now President of Saint Boniface, and very narrowly escaped the Bench. Crump thinks Saint Boniface the centre of the world, and his position as President the highest in England. He expects the fellows and tutors to pay him the same sort of service that Car- dinals pay to the Pope. I am sure Crawler would have no ob- jection to carry his trencher, or Page to hold up the skirts of his gown as he stalks into chapel. He roars out the responses there as if it were an honor to heaven that the President of Saint Boniface should take a part in the service, and in his own lodge and college acknowledges the Sovereign only as his superior. When the allied monarchs came clown, and were made Doc- tors of the University, a breakfast was given at Saint Boniface ; on which occasion Crump allowed the Emperor Alexander to walk before him, but took the pas himself of the King of Prus- sia and Prince Blucher. He was going to put the Hetman 2 94 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Platoff to breakfast at a side-table with the under college tutors ; but he was induced to relent, and merely entertained that dis- tinguished Cossack with a discourse on his own language, in which he showed that the Hetman knew nothing about it. As for us undergraduates, we scarcely knew more about Crump than about the Grand Llama. A few favored youths are asked occasionally to tea at the lodge ; but they do not speak unless first addressed by the Doctor ; and if they ven- ture to sit down, Crump's follower, Mr. Toady, whispers, "Gentlemen, will you have the kindness to get up ? — The Pres- ident is passing ; " or " Gentlemen, the President prefers that undergraduates should not sit down ; " or words to a similar effect. To do Crump justice, he does not cringe now to great peo- ple. He rather patronizes them than otherwise ; and, in London, speaks quite affably to a Duke who has been brought up at his college, or holds out a finger to a Marquis. He does not disguise his own origin, but brags of it with considerable self-gratulation : — " I was a Charity-boy," says he ; " see what I am now ; the greatest Greek scholar of the greatest Col- lege of the greatest University of the greatest Empire in the world." The argument being, that this is a capital world for beggars, because he, being a beggar, has managed to get on horseback. Hugby owes his eminence to patient merit and agreeable perseverance. He is a meek, mild, inoffensive creature, with just enough of scholarship to fit him to hold a lecture, or set an examination paper. He rose by kindness to the aristocracy. It was wonderful to see the way in which that poor creature grovelled before a nobleman or a lord's nephew, or even some noisy and disreputable commoner, the friend of a lord. He used to give the young noblemen the most painful and elaborate breakfasts, and adopt a jaunty genteel air, and talk with them (although he was decidedly serious) about the opera, or the last run with the hounds. It was good to watch him in the midst of a circle of young tufts, with his mean, smiling, eager, uneasy familiarity. He used to write home confidential letters to their parents, and made it his duty to call upon them when in town, to condole or rejoice with them when a death, birth, or marriage took place in their family ; and to feast them whenever they came to the University. I recollect a letter lying on a desk in his lecture-room for a whole term, beginning, " My Lord Duke." It was to show us that he corresponded with such dignities. ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS. 2 9S When the late lamented Lord Glenlivat, who broke his neck at a hurdle-race, at the premature age of twenty-four, was at the University, the amiable young fellow, passing to his rooms in the early morning, and seeing Hugby's boots at his door, on the same staircase, playfully wadded the insides of the boots with cobbler's wax, which caused excruciating pains to the Rev. Mr. Hugby, when he came to take them off the same evening, before dining with the master of St. Crispin's. Everybody gave the credit of this admirable piece of fun to Lord Glenlivat's friend, Bob Tizzy, who was famous for such feats, and who had already made away with the college pump- handle ; filed St. Boniface's nose smooth with his face ; carried off four images of nigger-boys from the tobacconists ; painted the senior proctor's horse pea-green, &c, &c. ; and Bob (who was of the party certainly, and would not peach,) was just on the point of incurring expulsion, and so losing the family living which was in store for him, when Glenlivat nobly stepped for- ward, owned himself to be the author of the delightful jeu- d' esprit, apologized to the tutor, and accepted the rustication. Hugby cried when Glenlivat apologized ; if the young noble- man had kicked him round the court, I believe the tutor would have been happy, so that an apology and a reconciliation might subsequently ensue. " My lord," said he, " in your conduct on this and all other occasions, you have acted as becomes a gentleman ; you have been an honor to the University, as you will be to the peerage, I am sure, when the amiable vivacity of youth is calmed down, and you are called upon to take your proper share in the government of the nation." And when his lordship took leave of the University, Hugby presented him with a copy of his " Sermons to a Nobleman's Family " (Hugby was once private tutor to the sons of the Earl of Muffborough), which Glenlivat presented in return to Mr. William Ramm, known to the fancy as the Tutbury Pet, and the sermons now figure on the boudoir-table of Mrs. Ramm, behind the bar of her house- of entertainment, "The Game Cock and Spurs," near Woodstock, Oxon. At the beginning of the long vacation, Hugby comes to town, and puts up in handsome lodgings near St. James's Square ; rides in the Park in the afternoon ; and is delighted to read his name in the morning papers among the list of persons present at Muffborough House, and the Marquis of Farintosh's evening parties. He is a member of Sydney Scraper's Club, where, however, he drinks his pint of claret. Sometimes you may see him on Sundays, at the hour when 296 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. tavern doors open, whence issue little girls with great jugs ot porter • when charity-boys walk the streets, bearing brown dishes of smoking shoulders of mutton and baked 'taturs ; when Sheeny and Moses are seen smoking their pipes before their lazy shutters in Seven Dials ; when a crowd of smiling persons in clean outlandish dresses, in monstrous bonnets and flaring printed gowns, or in crumpled glossy coats and silks that bear the creases of the drawers where they have lain all the week, file down High Street, — sometimes, I say, you may see Hugby coming out of the Church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, with a stout gentlewoman leaning on his arm, whose old face bears an expression of supreme pride and happiness as she glances round at all her neighbors, and who faces the curate himself, and marches into Holborn, where she pulls the bell of a house over which is inscribed, " Hugby, Haberdasher." It is the mother of the Rev. F. Hugby, as proud of her son in his white choker as Cornelia of her jewels at Rome. That is old Hugby bringing up the rear with the Prayer-books, and Betsy Hugby the old maid, his daughter, — old Hugby, Haberdasher and Churchwarden. In the front room up stairs, where the dinner is laid out, there is a picture of Muffborough Castle • of the Earl of Muff- borough, K. X., Lord-Lieutenant for Diddlesex ; an engraving, from an almanac, of Saint Boniface College, Oxon ; and a stick- ing-plaster portrait of Hugby when young, in a cap and gown. A copy of his " Sermons to a Nobleman's Family " is on the book-shelf, by the ' Whole Duty of Man," the Reports of the Missionary Societies, and the " Oxford University Calendar." Old Hugby knows part of this by heart : every living belonging to Saint Boniface, and the name of every tutor, fellow, noble- man, and undergraduate. He used to go to meeting and preach himself, until his son took orders \ but of late the old gentleman has been accused of Puseyism, and is quite pitiless against the Dissenters. CHAPTER XV. ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS. I should like to fill several volumes with accounts of various University Snobs ; so fond are my reminiscences of them, and so numerous are they. I should like to speak, above ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS. 207 all, of the wives and daughters of some of the Professor-Snobs ; their amusements, habits, jealousies ; their innocent artifices to entrap young men ; their pic-nics, concerts, and evening-parties. I wonder what has become of Emily Blades, daughter of Blades, the Professor of the Mandingo language ? I remember her shoulders to this day, as she sat in the midst of a crowd of about seventy young gentlemen, from Corpus and Catherine Hall, entertaining them with ogles and French songs on the guitar. Are you married, fair Emily of the shoulders ? What beautiful ringlets those were that used to dribble over them ! — what a waist ! — what a killing sea-green shot-silk gown ! — what a cameo, the size of a muffin ! There were thirty-six young men of the University in love at one time with Emily Blades : and no words are sufficient to describe the pity, the sorrow, the deep, deep commiseration — the rage, fury, and uncharitableness, in other words — with which the Miss Trumps (daughter of Trumps, the Professor of Phlebotomy) regarded her, because she didn't squint, and because she wasn't marked with the small-pox. As for the young University Snobs, I am getting too old, now, to speak of such very familiarly. My recollections of them lie in the far, far past — almost as far back as Pelham's time. We then used to consider Snobs raw-looking lads, who never missed chapel ; who wore highlows and no straps ; who walked two hours on the Trumpington road every day of their lives ; who carried off the college scholarships, and who overrated themselves in hall. We were premature in pronouncing our verdict of youthful Snobbishness. The man without straps fulfilled his destiny and duty. He eased his old governor, the curate in Westmoreland, or helped his sisters to set up the Ladies' School. He wrote a "Dictionary," or a "Treatise on Conic Sections," as his nature and genius prompted. He got a fellowship : and then took to himself a wife, and a living. He presides over a parish now, and thinks it rather a dashing thing to belong to the "Oxford and Cambridge Club;" and his pa- rishioners love him, and snore under his sermons. No, no, he is not a Snob. It is not straps that make the gentleman, or highlows that unmake him, be they ever so thick. My son, it is you who are the Snob if you lightly despise a man for doing his duty, and refuse to shake an honest man's hand because it wears a Berlin glove. We then used to consider it not the least vulgar for a par- cel of lads who had been whipped three months previous, and were not allowed more than three glasses of port at home, to 298 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. sit clown to pine-apples and ices at each others rooms, and fuddle themselves with champagne and claret. One looks back to what was called " a wine-party " with a sort of wonder. Thirty lads round a table covered with bad sweetmeats, drinking bad wines, telling bad stories, singing bad songs over and over again. Milk-punch — smoking — ghastly headache — frightful spectacle of dessert-table next morning, and smell of tobacco — your guardian, the clergyman, dropping in, in the midst of this — expecting to find you deep in Algebra, and discovering the Gyp administering soda-water. There were young men who despised the lads who indulged in the coarse hospitalities of wine-parties, who prided them- selves in giving recherche little French dinners. Both wine- party-givers and dinner-givers were Snobs. There were what used to be called "dressy Snobs" — Jimmy, who might be seen at five o'clock elaborately rigged out, with a camellia in his button-hole, glazed boots, and fresh kid-gloves twice a day; — Jessamy, who was conspicuous for his "jewelry," — a young donkey, glittering all over with chains, rings, and shirt-studs ; — Jacky, who rode every day solemnly on the Blen- heim Road, in pumps and white silk stockings, with his hair curled, — all three of whom flattered themselves they gave laws to the University about dress — all three most odious varieties of Snobs. Sporting Snobs of course there were, and are always — those happy beings in whom Nature has implanted a love of slang : who loitered about the horsekeeper's stables, and drove the London coaches — a stage in and out — and might be seen swag- gering through the courts in pink of early mornings, and in- dulged in dice and blind-hookey at nights, and never missed a race or a boxing-match ; and rode flat-races, and kept bull- terriers. Worse Snobs even than these were poor miserable wretches who did not like hunting at all, and could not afford it, and were in mortal fear at a two-foot ditch ; but who hunted because Glenlivat and Cinqbars hunted. The Billiard Snob and the Boating Snob were varieties of these, and are to be found elsewhere than in Universities. Then there were Philosophical Snobs, who used to ape statesmen at the spouting-clubs, and who believed as a fact that Government always had an eye on the University for the selection of orators for the House of Commons. There were audacious young free-thinkers, who adored nobody or nothing, except perhaps Robespierre and the Koran, and panted for the clay when the pale name of priest should shrink and dwindle away before the indignation of an enlightened world. ON LITERARY SNOBS. 299 But the worst of all University Snobs are those unfortunates who go to rack and ruin from their desire to ape their betters. Smith becomes acquainted with great people at college, and is ashamed of his father the tradesman. Jones has fine acquaint- ances, and lives after their fashion like a gay free-hearted fellow as he is, and ruins his father, and robs his sister's por- tion, and cripples his younger brother's outset in life, for the pleasure of entertaining my lord, and riding by the side of Sir John. And though it may be very good fun for Robinson to fuddle himself at home as he does at College, and to be brought home by the policeman he has just been trying to knock down — think what fun it is for the poor old soul his mother ! — the half-pay captain's widow, who has been pinching herself all her life long, in order that that jolly young fellow might have a University education. CHAPTER XVI. ON LITERARY SNOBS What will he say about Literary Snobs ? has been a ques- tion, I make no doubt, often asked by the public. How can he let off his own profession ? Will that truculent and unspar- ing monster who attacks the nobility, the clergy, the army, and the ladies, indiscriminately, hesitate when the turn comes to egorger his own flesh and blood ? My dear and excellent querist, whom does the schoolmaster flog so resolutely as his own son ? Didn't Brutus chop his offspring's head off ? You have a very bad opinion indeed of the present state of literature and of literary men, if you fancy that any one of us would hesitate to stick a knife into his neighbor penman, if the .latter's death could do the State any service But the fact is, that in the literary profession there are no Snobs. Look round at the whole body of British men of letters, and I defy you to point out among them a single instance of vulgarity, or envy, or assumption. Men and women, as far as I have known them, they are all modest in their demeanor, elegant in their manners, spotless in their lives, and honorable in their conduct to the world and 3°° THE BOOK OF SNOBS. to each other. You may, occasionally, it is true, hear ons literary man abusing his brother ; but why ? Not in the least out of malice ; not at all from envy ; merely from a sense of truth and public duty. Suppose, for instance, I good-naturedly point out a blemish in my friend Mr. Punch's person, and say, Mr. P. has a hump-back, and his nose and chin are more crooked than those features in the Apollo or Antinous, which we are accustomed to consider as our standards of beauty ; does this argue malice on my part towards Mr. Punch ? Not in the least. It is the critic's duty to point out defects as well as merits, and he invariably does his duty with the utmost gentleness and candor. An intelligent foreigner's testimony about our manners is always worth having, and I think, in this respect, the work of an eminent American, Mr. N. P. Willis, is eminently valuable and impartial. In his " History of Ernest Clay," a crack mag- azine-writer, the reader will get an exact account of the life of a popular man of letters in England. He is always the great lion of society. He takes the pas of dukes and earls; all the nobility crowd to see him : I forget how many baronesses and duchesses fall in love with him. But on this subject let us hold our tongues. Modesty forbids that we should reveal the names of the heart- broken countesses and dear marchionesses who are pining for every one of the contributors in Punch. If anybody wants to know how intimately authors are con- nected with the fashionable world, they have but to read the genteel novels. What refinement and delicacy pervades the works of Mrs. Barnaby ! What delightful good company do you meet with in Mrs. Armytage ! She seldom introduces you to anybody under a marquis ! I don't know anything more delicious than the pictures of genteel life in " Ten Thousand a Year," except perhaps the "Young Duke," and " Coningsby." There's a modest grace about them, and an air of easy high fashion, which only belongs to blood, my dear Sir — to true blood. And what linguists many of our writers are ! Lady Bulwer, Lady Londonderry, Sir Edward himself — they write the French language with a luxurious elegance and ease which sets them far above their continental rivals, of whom not one (except Paul de Kock) knows a word of English. And what Briton can read without enjoyment the works of James, so admirable for terseness ; and the playful humor and dazzling off-hand lightness of Ainsworth ? Among other hu- ON LITER A R Y SNOBS. 3 j morists, one might glance at a Jerrold, the chivalrous advocate of Toryism and Church and State ; an a Beckett, with a light- some pen, but a savage earnestness of purpose ; a Jeames, whose pure style, and wit unmingled with buffoonery, was relished by a congenial public. Speaking of critics, perhaps there never was a review that has clone so much for literature as the admirable Quarterly. It has its prejudices, to be sure, as which of us have not ? It goes out of its way to abuse a great man, or lays mercilessly on to such pretenders as Keats and Tennyson ; but, on the other hand, it is the friend of all young authors, and has marked and nurtured all the rising talent of the country. It is loved by everybody. There, again, is Blackwood's Magazine — con- spicuous for modest elegance and amiable satire ; that review never passes the bounds of politeness in a joke. It is the arbi- ter of manners ; and, while gently exposing the foibles of Lon- doners (for whom the beaux esprits of Edinburgh entertain a justifiable contempt), it is never coarse in its fun. The fiery enthusiasm of the Athenceum is well known : and the bitter wit of the too difficult Literary Gazette. The Examiner is perhaps too timid, and the Spectator too boisterous in its praise — but who can carp at these minor faults ? No, no ; the critics of England and the authors of England are unrivalled as a body ; and hence it becomes impossible for us to find fault with them. Above all, I never knew a man of letters ashamed of his pro- fession. Those who know us, know what an affectionate and brotherly spirit there is among us all. Sometimes one of us rises in the world : we never attack him or sneer at him under those circumstances, but rejoice to a man at his success. If Jones dines with a lord, Smith never says Jones is a courtier and cringer. Nor, on the other hand, does Jones, who is in the habit of frequenting the society of great people, give him- self any airs on account of the company he keeps ; but will leave a duke's arm in Pall Mall to come over and speak to poor Brown, the young penny-a-liner. That sense of equality and fraternity amongst authors has always struck me as one of the most amiable characteristics of the class. It is because we know and respect each other, that the world respects us so much ; that we hold such a good posi- tion in society, and demean ourselves so irreproachably when there. Literary persons are held in such esteem by the nation, that about two of them have been absolutely invited to court during the present reign ; and it is probable that towards the end of 302 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. the season, one or two will be asked to dinner by Sir Robert Peel. They are such favorites with the public, that they are con- tinually obliged to have their pictures taken and published ; and one or two could be pointed out, of whom the nation in- sists upon having a fresh portrait every year. Nothing can be more gratifying than this proof of the affectionate regard which the people has for its instructors. Literature is held in such honor in England, that there is a sum of near twelve hundred pounds per annum set apart to pension deserving persons following that profession. And a great compliment this is, too, to the professors, and a proof of their generally prosperous and flourishing condition. They are generally so rich and thrifty, that scarcely any money is wanted to help them. If every word of this is true, how. I should like to know, am I to write about Literary Snobs. CHAPTER XVII. A LITTLE ABOUT IRISH SNOBS. You do not, to be sure, imagine that there are no other Snobs in Ireland than those of the amiable party who wish to make pikes of iron railroads (it's a fine Irish economy), and to cut the throats of the Saxon invaders. These are the venom- ous sort ; and had they been invented in his time, St. Patrick would have banished them out of the kingdom along with the other dangerous reptiles. I think it is the Four Masters, or else it's Olaus Magnus, or else it's certainly O'Neill Daunt, in the " Catechism of Irish History," who relates that when Richard the Second came to Ireland, and the Irish chiefs did homage to him, going down on their knees — the poor simple creatures ! — and worshipping and wondering before the English king and the dandies of his court, my lords the English noblemen mocked and jeered at their uncouth Irish admirers, mimicked their talk and gestures, pulled their poor old beards, and laughed at the strange fashion of their garments. A LITTLE ABOUT IRISH SNOBS. 303 The English Snob rampant always does this to the present day. There is no Snob in existence, perhaps, that has such an indomitable belief in himself : that sneers you down all the rest of the world besides, and has such an insufferable, admirable, stupid contempt for all people but his own— nay, for all sets but his own. " Gwacious Gad!" what stories about "the Iwish" these young dandies accompanying King Richard must have had to tell, when they returned to Pall Mall, and smoked their cigars upon the steps of " White's ! " The Irish snobbishness developes itself not in pride so much as in servility and mean admirations, and trumpery imitations of their neighbors. And I wonder De Tocqueville and De Beaumont, and The Times'' Commissioner, did not explain the Snobbishness of Ireland as contrasted with our own. Ours is that of Richard's Norman Knights, — haughty, brutal, stupid, and perfectly self-confident ; theirs, of the poor, wondering, kneeling, simple chieftains. They are on their knees still be- fore English fashion — these simple, wild people ; and indeed it is hard not to grin at some of their naive exhibitions. Some years since, when a certain great orator was Lord Mayor of Dublin, he used to wear a red gown and a cocked hat, the splendor of which delighted him as much as a new cur- tain-ring in her nose or a string of glass-beads round her neck charms Queen Quasheeneaboo. He used to pay visits to peo- ple in this dress ; to appear at meetings hundreds of miles off, in the red velvet gown. And to hear the people crying " Yes, me Lard ! " and " No, me Lard ! " and to read the prodigious accounts of his Lordship in the papers : it seemed as if the people and he liked to be taken in by this twopenny splendor. Twopenny magnificence, indeed, exists all over Ireland, and may be considered as the great characteristic of the Snobbishness of that country. When Mrs'. Mulholligan, the grocer's lady, retires to Kings- town, she has " Mulholliganville " painted over the gate of her villa ; and receives you at a door that won't shut, or gazes at you out of a window that is glazed with an old petticoat. Be it ever so shabby and dismal, nobody ever owns to keep- ing a shop. A fellow whose stock-in-trade is a penny roll or a tumbler of lollipops, calls his cabin the "American Flour Stores," or the " Depository for Colonial Produce," or some such name. As for Inns, there are none in the country ; Hotels abound, as well furnished as Mulholliganville ; but again there are no such people as landlords and landladies : the landlord is out 3°4 THE BOOK OF SNOBS with the hounds, and my lady in the parlor talking with the Captain or playing the piano. If a gentleman has a hundred a year to leave to his family they all become gentlemen, all keep a nag, ride to hounds, and swagger about in the " Phaynix," and grow tufts to their chins like so many real aristocrats. A friend of mine has taken to be a painter, and lives out of Ireland, where he is considered to have disgraced the family by choosing such a profession. His father is a wine merchant \ and his elder brother an apothecary. The number of men one meets in London and on the Con- tinent who have a pretty little property of five-and-twenty hun- dred a year in Ireland is prodigious : those who will have nine thousand a year in land when somebody dies are still more numerous. I myself have met as many descendants from Irish kings as would form a brigade. And who has not met the Irishman who apes the English- man, and who forgets his country and tries to forget his accent, or to smother the taste of it, as it were ? " Come, dine with me, my boy," says O'Dowd, of O'Dowdstown : " you'll find us all English there ; " which he tells you with a brogue as broad as from here to Kingstown Pier. And did you never hear Mrs. Captain Macmanus talk about " I-ah-land, : ' and her account of her " xawther's esteet ? " Very few men have rubbed through the world without hearing and witnessing some of these Hiber- nian phenomena — these twopenny splendors. And what say you to the summit of society — the Castle — with a sham king, and sham lords-in-waiting, and sham loyalty, and a sham Haroun Alraschid, to go about in a sham disguise, making believe to be affable and splendid ? That Castle is the pink and pride of Snobbishness. A Court Circular is bad enough, with two columns of print about a little baby that's christened — but think of people liking a sham Court Circular I I think the shams of Ireland are more outragecus than those of any country. A fellow shows you a hill and says, "That's the highest mountain in all Ireland ; " or a gentleman tells you he is descended from Brian Boroo, and has his five-and-thirty hundred a year ; or Mrs. Macmanus describes her fawther's esteet ; or ould Dan rises and says the Irish women are the loveliest, the Irish men the bravest, the Irish land the most fertile in the world : and nobody believes anybody — the latter doesn't believe his story nor the hearer : — but they make- believe to believe, and solemnly do honor to humbug. Ireland ! O my country ! (for 1 make little doubt that I PARTY-GIVING SNOBS. 305 am descended from Brian Borootoo) when will you acknowledge that two and two make four, and call a pikestaff a pikestaff? — that is the very best use you can make of the latter. Irish snobs will dwindle away then, and we shall never hear tell of Hereditary Bondsmen. CHAPTER XVIII. PARTY -GIVING SNOBS. Our selection of Snobs has lately been too exclusively of a political character. " Give us private Snobs," cry the clear ladies. (I have before me the letter of one fair correspondent of the fishing village of Brighthelmstone in Sussex, and could her commands ever be disobeyed ?) " Tell us more, dear Mr. Snob, about your experience of Snobs in society." Heaven bless the dear souls ! — they are accustomed to the word now — ■ the odious, vulgar, horrid, unpronounceable word slips out of their lips with the prettiest glibness possible. I should not wonder if it were used at Court amongst the Maids of Honor. In the very best society I know it is. And why not ? Snobbish- ness is vulgar — the mere words are not : that which we call a Snob, by any other name would still be Snobbish. Well, then. As the season is drawing to a close : as many hundreds of kind souls, snobbish or otherwise, have quitted London ; as many hospitable carpets are taken up ; and win- dow-blinds are pitilessly papered with the Morning Herald ; and mansions once inhabited by cheerful owners are now con- signed to the care of the housekeeper's dreary locum tenens — some moi 'dy old woman, who, in reply to the hopeless clang- ing of the bell, peers at you for a moment from the area, and then slowly unbolting the great hall-door, informs you my lady has left town, or that "the family's in the country," or "gone up the Rind," — or what not ; as the season and parties are over ; why not consider Party-giving Snobs for a while, and review the conduct of some of those individuals who have quit- led the town for six months ? Some of those worthy Snobs are making believe to go yachting, and, dressed in telescopes and pea-jackets, are pass- ing their time between Cherbourg and Cowes ; some living higgledy-piggledy in dismal little huts in Scotland, provisioned 306 THE BOOK' OE SNOBS. with canisters of portable soup, and fricandeaux hermetically sealed in tin, are passing their days slaughtering grouse on the moors ; some are dozing and bathing away the effects of the season at Kissengen, or watching the ingenious game of Trentc- et-quarante at Homburg and Ems. We can afford to be very bitter upon them now they are all gone. Now there are no more parties, let us have at the Party-giving Snobs. The din- ner-giving, the ball-giving, the dejeuner-giving, the conversazione- giving Snobs — Lord ! Lord ! what havoc might have been made amongst them had we attacked them during the plethora of the season ! I should have been obliged to have a guard to defend me from fiddlers and pastry-cooks, indignant at the abuse of their patrons. Already I'm told that, from some flip- pant and unguarded expressions considered derogatory to Baker Street and Harley Street, rents have fallen in these respectable quarters ; and orders have been issued that at least Mr. Snob shall be asked to parties there no more. Well, then — now they are all away, let us frisk at our ease, and have at every- thing, like the bull in the china-shop. They mayn't hear of what is going on in their absence, and, if they do, they can't bear malice for six months. We will begin to make it up with them about next February, and let next year take care of itself. We shall have no more dinners from the dinner-giving Snobs : no more balls from the ball-givers : no more conversaziones (thank Mussy ! as Jeames says,) from the Conversazione Snob ; and what is to prevent us from telling the truth ? The snobbishness of Conversazione Snobs is very soon dis posed of : as soon as that cup of washy bohea that is handed to you in the tea-room ; or the muddy remnant of ice that you grasp in the suffocating scuffle of the assembly up stairs. Good heavens ! What do people mean by going there ? What is done there, that everybody throngs into those three little rooms ? Was the Black Hole considered to be an agree- able reunion, that Britons in the dog-days here seek to imitate it ? After being rammed to a jelly in a door-way (where you feel your feet going through Lady Barbara Macbeth's lace flounces, and get a look from that haggard and painted old harpy, compared to which the gaze of Ugolino is quite cheer- ful) ; after withdrawing your elbow out of poor gasping Bob Gut- tlcton's white waistcoat, from which cushion it was impossible to remove it, though you knew you were squeezing poor Bob into an apoplexy — you find yourself at last in the reception-room, and try to catch the eye of Mrs. Botibol, the conversazione-giver. When' you catch her eye, you are expected to grin, and she PARTY-GIVING SNOBS. 307 smiles too, for the four hundredth time that night ; and, if she's very glad to see you, waggles her little hand before her face as if to blow you a kiss, as the phrase is. Why the deuce should Mrs. Botibol blow me a kiss ? I wouldn't kiss her for the world. Why do I grin when I see her, as if I was delighted ? Am I ? I don't care a straw for Mrs. Botibol. I know what she thinks about me. I know what she said about my last volume of poems (I had it from a dear mutual friend). Why, I say in a word, are we going on ogling and telegraphing each other in this insane way ? — Because we are both performing the ceremonies demanded by the Great Snob Society ; whose dictates we all of us obey. Well ; the recognition is over — my jaws have returned to their usual English expression of subdued agony and intense gloom, and the Botibol is grinning and kissing her fingers to somebody else, who is squeezing through the aperture by which we have just entered. It is Lady Ann Clutterbuck, who has her Friday evenings, as Botibol (Botty, we call her), has her Wednesdays. That is Miss Clementina Clutterbuck, the cadaverous young woman in green, with florid auburn hair, who has just published her volume of poems (" The Death- Shriek ;" " Damien ; " "The Faggot of Joan of Arc;" and "Translations from the German'' — of course). The conver- sazione-women salute each other, calling each other " My dear Lady Ann " and " My dear good Eliza," and hating each other, as women hate who give parties on Wednesdays and Fridays. With inexpressible pain dear good Eliza sees Ann go up and coax and wheedle Abou Gosh, who has just arrived from Syria, and beg him to patronize her Fridays. All this while, amidst the crowd and the scuffle, and a per- petual buzz and chatter, and the flare of the wax-candles, and an intolerable smell of musk — what the poor Snobs who write fashionable romances call " the gleam of gems, the odor of perfumes, the blaze of countless lamps " — a scrubby-lookin yellow-faced foreigner, with cleaned gloves, is warbling inau dibly in a corner, to the accompaniment of another. " The Great Cacafogo," Mrs. Botibol whispers, as she passes you by. " A great creature, Thumpenstrumpff, is at the instrument — the Hetman Platoff's pianist, you know." To hear this Cacafogo and Thumpenstrumpff, a hundred people are gathered together — a bevy of dowagers, stout or scraggy ; a faint sprinkling of misses ; six moody-looking lords, perfectly meek and solemn ; wonderful foreign Counts, with bushy whiskers and yellow faces, and a great deal of dubious 18* cr 3 o8 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. jewelry ; young dandies with slim waists and open necks, and self-satisfied simpers, and flowers in their buttons ; the old, stiff, stout, bald-headed conversazione roues, whom you meet everywhere — who never miss a night of this delicious enjoy- ment ; the three last-caught lions of the season — Higgs, the traveller, Biggs, the novelist, and Toffey, who has come out so on the sugar question ; Captain Flash, who is invited on account of his pretty wife ; and Lord Ogleby, who goes wherever she goes. Que sgais-je ? Who are the owners of all those showy scarfs and white neck-cloths ? — Ask little Tom Prig, who is there in all his glory, knows everybody, has a story about every one ; and, as he trips home to his lodgings in Jermyn Street, with his gibus-hat and his little glazed pumps, thinks he is the fashionablest young fellow in town, and that he really has passed a night of exquisite enjoyment. You go up (with your usual easy elegance of manner) and talk to Miss Smith in a corner. " Oh, Mr. Snob, I'm afraid you're sadly satirical." That's all she says. If you say it's fine weather, she bursts out laughing ; or hint that it's very hot, she vows you are the drollest wretch ! Meanwhile Mrs. Botibol is simpering on fresh arrivals ; the individual at the door is roaring out their names ; poor Cacafogo is quavering away in the music-room, under the impression that he will be lanee in the world by singing inaudi- bly here. And what a blessing it is to squeeze out of the door, and into the street, where a half-hundred of carriages are in waiting ; and where the link-boy, with that unnecessary lantern of his, pounces upon all who issue out, and will insist upon get- ting your noble honor's lordship's cab. And to think that there are people who, after having been to Botibol on Wednesday, will go to Clutterbuck on Friday ! CHAPTER XIX. DINING -OUT SNOBS. In England Dinner-giving Snobs occupy a very important place in society, and the task of describing them is tremendous. There was a time in my life when the consciousness of having DINING-OUT SNOBS. 3 og eaten a man's salt rendered me dumb regarding his demerits, and I thought it a wicked act and a breach of hospitality to speak ill of him. But why should a saddle of mutton blind you, or a turbot and lobster-sauce shut your mouth forever ? With advancing age, men see their duties more clearly. I am not to be hood- winked any longer by a slice of venison, be it ever so fat ; and as for being dumb on account of turbot and lobster-sauce — of course I am ; good manners ordain that I should be so, until I have swallowed the compound — but not afterwards ; directly the victuals are discussed, and John takes away the plate, my tongue begins to wag. Does not yours, if you have a pleasant neighbor ? — a lovely creature, say, of some five-and-thirty, whose daughters have not yet quite come out — they are the best talkers. As for your young misses, they are only put about the table to look at — like the flowers in the centre-piece. Their blushing youth and natural modesty preclude them from that easy, confidential, conversational abandon which forms the de- light of the intercourse with their dear mothers. It is to these, if he would prosper in his profession, that the Dining-out Snob should address himself. Suppose you sit next to one of these, how pleasant it is, in the intervals of the banquet, actually to abuse the victuals and the giver of the entertainment ! It's twice as piquant to make fun of a man under his very nose. " What is a Dinner-giving Snob ? " some innocent youth, who is not repandu in the world, may ask — or some simple reader who has not the benefits of London experience. My dear sir, I will show you — not all, for that is impossible — but several kinds of Dinner-giving Snobs. For instance, suppose you, in the middle rank of life, accustomed to Mutton, roast on Tuesday, cold on Wednesday, hashed on Thursday, &c, with small means and a small establishment, choose to waste the former and set the latter topsy-turvey by giving en- tertainments unnaturally costly — you come into the Dinner- giving Snob class at once. Suppose you get in cheap-made dishes from the pastry-cook's, and hire a couple of green grocers, or carpet-beaters, to figure as footmen, dismissing honest Molly, who waits on common days, and bedizening your table (or- dinarily ornamented with willow-pattern crockery) with two- penny-halfpenny Birmingham plate. Suppose you pretend to be richer and grander than you ought to be — you are a Dinner- giving Snob. And oh, I tremble to think how many and many a one will read this ! A man who entertains in this way — and, alas, how few do 310 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. not ! — is like a fellow who would borrow his neighbor's coat to make a show in, or a lady who flaunts in the diamonds from next door — a humbug, in a word, and amongst the Snobs he must be set down. A man who goes out of his natural sphere of society to ask Lords, Generals, Aldermen, and other persons of fashion, but is niggardly of his hospitality towards his own equals, is a Dinner-giving Snob. My dear friend, Jack Tufthunt, for ex- ample, knows one Lord whom he met at a watering-place : old Lord Mumble, who is as toothless as a three-months-old baby, and as mum as an undertaker, and as dull as — well, we will not particularize. Tufthunt never has a dinner now but you see this solemn old toothless patrician at the right-hand of Mrs. Tufthunt — Tufthunt is a Dinner-giving Snob. Old Livermore, old Soy, old Chutney, the East Indian Director, old Cutler, the Surgeon, &c.,— that society of old fogies, in fine, who give each other dinners round and round, and dine for the mere purpose of guttling — these, again, are Dinner-giving Snobs. Again, my friend Lady MacScrew, who has three grenadier flunkeys in lace round the table, and serves up a scrag of mutton on silver, and dribbles you out bad sherry and port by thimble- fuls, is a Dinner-giving Snob of the other sort ; and I confess, for my part, I would rather dine with old Livermore or old Soy than with her Ladyship. Stinginess is snobbish. Ostentation is snobbish. Too great profusion is snobbish. Tuft-hunting is snobbish. But I own there are people more snobbish than all those whose defects are above mentioned : viz. : those individuals who can, and don't give dinners at all. The man without hospitality shall never sit sub iisdem trabibus with me. Let the sordid wretch go mumble his bone alone ! What, again, is trj.ie hospitality ? Alas, my dear friends and brother Snobs ! how little do we meet of it after all ! Are the motives/w/r which induce your friends to ask you to dinner? This has often come across me. Does your entertainer want something from you ? For instance, I am not of a suspicious turn ; but it is a fact that when Hookey is bringing out a new work, he asks the critics all round to dinner ; that when Walker has got his picture ready for the Exhibition, he somehow grows exceedingly hospitable, and has his friends of the press to a quiet cutlet and a glass of Sillery. Old Hunks, the miser, who died lately (leaving his money to his housekeeper) lived many years on the fat of the land, by simply taking clown, at all his DINING-0 UT SNOBS. 3 T , friends', the names and Christian names of all the children. But though you may have your own opinion about the hospitality of your acquaintances ; and though men who ask you from sordid motives are most decidedly Dinner-giving Snobs, it is best not to inquire into their motives too keenly. Be not too curious about" the mouth of a gift-horse. After all, a man does not intend to insult you by asking you to dinner. Though, for that matter, I know some characters about town who actually consider themselves injured and insulted if the dinner or the company is not to their liking. There is Guttleton, who dines at home off a shilling's-worth of beef from the cook shop, but if he is asked to dine at a house where there are not pease at the end of May, or cucumbers in March along with the turbot, thinks himself insulted by being invited. " Good Ged ! " says he, " what the deuce do the Forkers mean by ask- ing me to a family dinner ! I can get mutton at home ; " or " What infernal impertinence it is of the Spooners to get entrees from the pastry-cook's, and fancy that I am to be deceived with their stories about their French cook ! " Then, again, there is Jack Puddington — I saw that honest fellow t'other day quite in a rage, because, as chance would have it, Sir John Carver asked him to meet the very same party he had met at Colonel Cramley's the day before, and he had not got up a new set of stories to entertain them. Poor Dinner-giving Snobs ! you don't know what small thanks you get for all your pains and money ! How we Dining-out Snobs sneer at your cookery, and pooh-pooh your old hock, and are incredulous about your four-and-sixpenny champagne, and know that the side-dishes of to-day are i-echaujfes from the dinner of yesterday, and mark how certain dishes are whisked off the table untasted, so that they may figure at the banquet to-morrow. Whenever, for my part, I see the head man particularly anxious to escamoter a fricandeau or a blanc-mange, I always call out, and insist upon massacring it with a spoon. All this sort of conduct makes one popular with the Dinner-giving Snob. One friend of mine, I know, has made a prodigious sensation in good society, by announcing apropos of certain dishes when offered to him, that he never eats aspic except at Lord Tittup's, and that Lady Jiminy's chef 'is the only man in London who knows how to dress — Filet en serpenteau — or Supreme de volaille aux truffes. 3 i2 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. CHAPTER XX. DINNER-GIVING SNOBS FURTHER CONSIDERED. If my friends would but follow the present prevailing fashion, I think they ought to give me a testimonial for the paper on Dinner-giving Snobs, which I am now writing. What do you say now to a handsome comfortable dinner-service of plate {not including plates, for I hold silver plates to be sheer wantonness, and would almost as soon think of silver tea-cups), a couple of neat teapots, a coffee-pot, trays, &c, with a little inscription to my wife, Mrs. Snob ; and a half-score of silver tankards for the little Snoblings, to glitter on the homely table where they partake of their quotidian mutton ? If I had my way, and my plans could be carried out, dinner- giving would increase as much on the one hand as dinner-giving Snobbishness would diminish : — to my mind the most amiable part of the work lately published by my esteemed friend (if upon a very brief acquaintance he will allow me to call him so), Alexis Soyer, the regenerator — what he (in his noble style) would call the most succulent, savory, and elegant passages — are those which relate, not to the grand banquets and ceremo- nial dinners, but to his " dinners at home." The " dinner at home " ought to be the centre of the whole system of dinner-giving. Your usual style of meal — that is, plenteous, comfortable, and in its perfection — should be that to which you welcome your friends, as it is that of which you partake yourself. For, towards what woman in the world do I entertain a higher regard than towards the beloved partner of my existence, Mrs. Snob ? Who should have a greater place in my affections than her six brothers (three or four of whom we are pretty sure will favor us with their company at seven o'clock), or her angelic mother, my own valued mother-in-law ? — for whom, finally, would 1 wish to cater more generously than for your very humble servant, the present writer ? Now, nobody supposes that the Birmingham plate is had out, the disguised carpet- beaters introduced to the exclusion of the neat parlor-maid, the miserable entrees from the pastry-cook's ordered in, and the children packed off (as it is supposed) to the nursery, but really only to the staircase, clown which they slide during the dinner- DINNER-GIVING SNOBS FURTHER CONSIDERED. 313 time, waylaying the dishes as they come out, and fingering the round bumps on the jellies, and the forced-meat balls in the soup, — nobody, I say, supposes that a dinner at home is charac- terized by the horrible ceremony, the foolish makeshifts, the mean pomp and ostentation which distinguish our banquets on grand field-days. Such a notion is monstrous. I would as soon think of having my dearest Bessy sitting opposite me in a turban and bird of paradise, and showing her jolly mottled arms out of blonde sleeves in her famous red satin gown : ay, or of having Mr. Toole every day, in a white waistcoat, at my back, shouting, " Silence faw the chair ! " Now, if this be the case ; if the Brummagem-plate pomp and the processions of disguised footmen are odious and foolish in e very-day life, why not always ? Why should Jones and I, who are in the middle rank, alter the modes of our being to assume an eclat which dees not belong to us — to entertain our friends, who (if we are worth anything, and honest fellows at bottom,) are men of the middle rank too, who are not in the least deceived by our temporary splendor, and who play off exactly the same absurd trick upon us when they ask us to dine ? If it be pleasant to dine with your friends, as all persons with good stomachs and kindly hearts will, I presume, allow it to be, it is better to dine twice than to dine once. It is im- possible for men of small means to be continually spending five-and-twenty or thirty shillings on each friend who sits down to their table. People dine for less. 1 myself have seen, at my favorite Club (the Senior United Service), His Grace the Duke of Wellington quite contented with the joint, one-and- three, and half-pint of sherry wine, nine ; and if his Grace, why not you and I ? This rule I have made, and found the benefit of. Whenever I ask a couple of Dukes and a Marquis or so to dine with me, I set them down to a piece of beef, or a leg-of-mutton and trimmings. The grandees thank you for this simplicity, and appreciate the same. My dear JOnes, ask any of those whom you have the honor of knowing, if such be not the case. I am far from wishing that their Graces should treat me in a similar fashion. Splendor is a part of their station, as decent comfort (let us trust), of yours and mine. Fate has comfort- ably appointed gold plate for some, and has bidden others contentedly to wear the willow-pattern. And being perfectly contented (indeed humbly thankful — for look around, O Jones, and see the myriads who are not so fortunate,) to wear honest 3M THE BOOK OF SNOBS. linen, while magnificos of the world are adorned with cambric and point-lace, surely we ought to hold as miserable, envious fools, those wretched Beaux Tibbs's of society, who sport a lace dickey, and nothing besides, — the poor silly jays, who trail a peacock's feather behind them, and think to simulate the gorgeous bird whose nature it is to strut on palace-terraces, and to flaunt his magnificent fan-tail in the sunshine ! The jays with peacocks' feathers are the Snobs of this world : and never, since the days of ^Esop, were they more numerous in any land than they are at present in this free country. How does this most ancient apologue apply to the subject in hand — the Dinner-giving Snob. The imitation of the great is universal in this City, from the palaces of Kensingtonia and Belgravia, even to the remotest corner of Brunswick Square. Peacocks' feathers are stuck in the tails of most families. Scarce one of us domestic birds but imitates the lanky, pav- onine strut, and shrill, genteel scream. O you misguided dinner-giving Snobs, think how much pleasure you lose, and how much mischief you do with your absurd grandeurs and hypocrisies ! You stuff each other with unnatural forced-meats, and entertain each other to the ruin of friendship (let alone health) and the destruction of hospitality and good fellowship — you, who but for the peacock's tail might chatter away so much at your ease, and be so jovial and happy ! When a man goes into a great set company of dinner-giving and dinner-receiving Snobs, if he has a philosophical turn of mind, he will consider what a huge humbug the whole affair is ; the dishes, and the drink, and the servants, and the plate, and the host and hostess, and the conversation, and the company, — the philosopher included. The host is smiling, and hob-nobbing, and talking up and down the table ; but a prey to secret terrors and anxieties, lest the wines he has brought up from the cellar should prove in- sufficient ; lest a corked bottle should destroy his calculations ; or our friend the carpet-beater, by making some bevue, should disclose his real quality of green-grocer, and show that he is not the family butler. The hostess is smiling resolutely through all the courses, smiling through her agony ; though her heart is in the kitchen, and she is speculating with terror lest there be any disaster there. If the souffle should collapse, or if Wiggins does not send the ices in time — she feels as if she would commit suicide — that smiling, jolly woman ! SOME CONTINENTAL SNOBS. 315 The children up stairs are yelling, as their maid is crimping their miserable ringlets with hot tongs, tearing Miss Emmy's hair out by the roots, or scrubbing Miss Polly's dumpy nose with mottled soap till the little wretch screams herself into fits. The young males of the family are employed, as we have stated, in piratical exploits upon the landing-place. The servants are not servants, but the before-mentioned retail tradesmen. The plate is not plate, but a mere shiny Birmingham lacker ; and so is the hospitality, and everything else. The talk is Birmingham talk. The wag of the party, with bitterness in his heart, having just quitted his laundress, who is dunning him for her bill, is firing off good stories ; and the opposition wag is furious that he cannot get an innings. Jaw- kins, the great conversationalist, is scornful and indignant with the pair of them, because he is kept out of court. Young Muscadel, that cheap dandy, is talking fashion and Almack's out of the Morning Post, and disgusting his neighbor, Mrs. Fox, who reflects that she has never been there. The widow is vexed out of patience, because her daughter Maria has got a place beside young Cambric, the penniless curate, and not by Colonel Goldmore, the rich widower from India. The Doctor's wife is sulky, because she has not been led out before the barrister's lady ; old Doctor Cork is grumbling at the wine, and Guttleton sneering at the cookery. And to think that all these people might be so happy, and easy, and friendly, were they brought together in a natural un- pretentious way, and but for an unhappy passion for peacocks' feathers in England. Gentle shades of Marat and Robespierre ! when I see how all the honesty of society is corrupted among us by the miserable fashion-worship, I feel as angry as Mrs. Fox just mentioned, and ready to order a general battue of peacocks. CHAPTER XXI. SOME CONTINENTAL SNOBS. Now that September has come, and all our Parliamentary duties are over, perhaps no class of Snobs are in such high feather as the Continental Snobs. I watch these daily as they 316 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. commence their migration from the beach at Folkestone. 1 see shoals of them depart (not perhaps without an innate long- ing too to quit the Island along with those happy Snobs). Fare- well, clear friends, I say : you little know that the individual who regards you from the beach is your friend and histori- ographer and brother. I went to-day to see our excellent friend Snooks, on board the "Queen of the French ; " many scores of Snobs were there, on the deck of that fine ship, marching forth in their pride and bravery. They will be at Ostend in four hours ; they will inun- date the Continent next week ; they will carry into far lands the famous image of the British Snob. I shall not see them — but am with them in spirit : and indeed there is hardly a country in the known and civilized world in which these eyes have not beheld them. I have seen Snobs, in pink coats and hunting-boots, scouring over the Campagna of Rome ; and have heard their oaths and their well-known slang in the galleries of the Vatican, and under the shadowy arches of the Colosseum. I have met a Snob on a dromedary in the desert, and picnicking under the Pyramid of Cheops. I like to think how many gallant British Snobs there are, at this minute of writing, pushing their heads out of every window in the courtyard of " Meurice's " in the Rue de Rivoli ; or roaring out, "Garsong, du pang," " Garson, du vang ; " or swaggering down the Toledo at Naples ; or even how many will be on the look-out for Snooks on Ostend Pier, — for Snooks, and the rest of the Snobs on board the " Queen of the French." Look at the Marquis of Carabas and his two carriages. My Lady Marchioness comes on board, looks round with that happy air of mingled terror and impertinence which distin- guishes her ladyship, and rushes to her carriage, for it is impossible that she should mingle with the other snobs on deck. There she sits, and will be ill in private. The strawberry- leaves on her chariot-panels are engraved on her ladyships' heart. If she were going to heaven instead of to Ostend, I rather think she would expect to have des places reservees for her, and would send to order the best rooms. A courier, with his money-bag of office round his shoulders — a huge scowling footman, whose dark pepper-and-salt livery glistens with the heraldic insignia of the Carabases — a brazen-looking, tawdry French femme-de-c/iamdre (none but a female pen can do justice to that wonderful tawdry toilette of the lady's maid en voyage) — and a miserable dame de eompagnie, a*e ministering to the SOME CONTINENTAL SNOBS. 3*7 fvants of her ladyship and her King Charles's spaniel. They are rushing to and fro with eau-de-Cologne, pocket-handker- chiefs, which are all fringe and cipher, and popping mysterious cushions behind and before, and in every available corner of the carriage. The little Marquis, her husband, is walking about the deck in a bewildered manner, with a lean daughter on each arm : the carroty-tufted hope of the family is already smoking on the foredeck in a travelling costume checked all over, and in little lacker-tipped jean boots, and a shirt embroidered with pink boa-constrictors. What is it that gives travelling Snobs such a marvellous propensity to rush into a costume ? Why should a man not travel in a coat, &c. ? but think proper to dress him- self like a harlequin in mourning ? See, even young Alder- manbury, the tallow merchant, who has just stepped on board, has got a travelling-dress gaping all over with pockets ; and little Tom Tapeworm, the lawyer's clerk out of the City, who has but three weeks' leave, turns out in gaiters and a bran-new shooting-jacket, and must let the mustaches grow on his little snuffy upper lip, forsooth ! Pompey Hicks is giving elaborate directions to his servant, and asking loudly, " Davis, where's the dwessing-case ? " and " Davis, you'd best take the pistol-case into the cabin." Little Pompey travels with a dressing-case, and without a beard : who he is going to shoot with his pistols, who on earth can tell ? and what he is to do with his servant but wait upon him, I am at a loss to conjecture. Look at honest Nathan Houndsditch and his lady, and their little son. What a noble air of blazing contentment illumi- nates the features of those Snobs of Eastern race ! What a toilette Houndsditch 's is ! What rings and chains, what gold- headed canes and diamonds, what a tuft the rogue has got to his chin (the rogue ! he will never spare himself any cheap en- joyment !) Little Houndsditch has a little cane with a gilt head and little mosaic ornaments — altogether an extra air. As for the lady, she is all the colors of the rainbow ! she has a pink parasol, with a white lining, and a yellow bonnet, and an emerald-green shawl, and a shot-silk pelisse ; and drab boots and rhubarb-colored gloves : and parti-colored glass buttons, expanding from the size of a fourpenny-piece to a crown, glitter and twiddle all down the front of her gorgeous costume. I have said before, I like to look at "the Peoples " on their gala days, they are so picturesquely and outrageously splendid and happy. 318 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Yonder comes Captain Bull ; spick and span, tight and trim ; who travels for four or six months every year of his life ; who does not commit himself by luxury of raiment or insolence of demeanor, but I think is as great a Snob as any man on board. Bull passes the season in London, sponging for dinners, and sleeping in a garret near his Club. Abroad, he has been everywhere ; he knows the best wine at every inn in every capi- tal in Europe ; lives with the best English company there ; has seen every palace and picture-gallery from Madrid to Stock- holm ; speaks an abominable little jargon of half a dozen lan- guages — and knows nothing — nothing. Bull hunts tufts on the Continent, and is a sort of amateur courier. He will scrape acquaintance with old Carabas before they make Ostend ; and will remind his lordship that he met him at Vienna twenty years ago, or gave him a glass of Schnapps up the Righi. We have said Bull knows nothing : he knows the birth, arms, and pedi- gree of all the peerage, has poked his little eyes into every one of the carriages on board — their panels noted and their crests surveyed ; he knows all the Continental stories of English scandal — how Count Towrowski ran off with Miss Baggs at Naples — how very thick Lady Smigsmag was with young Corni- chon of the French Legation at Florence — the exact amount which Jack Deuceace won of Bob Greengoose at Baden — what it is that made the Staggs .settle on the Continent : the sum for which the O'Goggarty estates are mortgaged, &c. If he can't catch a lord he will hook on to a baronet, or else the old wretch will catch hold of some beardless young stripling of fashion, and show him " life " in various and amiable and inaccessible quarters. Faugh ! the old brute ! If he has every one of the vices of the most boisterous youth, at least he is comforted by having no conscience. He is utterly stupid, but of a jovial turn. He believes himself to be quite a respectable member of so- ciety : but perhaps the only good action he ever did in his life is the involuntary one of giving an example to be avoided, and showing what an odious thing in the social picture is that figure of the debauched old man who passes through life rather a decor- ous Silenus, and dies some day in his garret, alone, unrepent- ing, and unnoted, save by his astonished heirs, who find that the dissolute old miser has left money behind him. See ! he is up to old Carabas already ! I told you he would. Yonder you see the old Lady Mary MacScrew, and those middle-aged young women her daughters ; they are going to cheapen and haggle in Belgium and up the Rhine until they meet with a boarding-house where they can live upon less board- SOME CONTINENTAL SWOBS. 3^ wages than her ladyship pays her footmen. But she will exact and receive considerable respect from the British Snobs located in the watering-place which she selects for her summer resi- dence, being the daughter of the Earl of Haggistoun. That broad-shouldered buck, with the great whiskers and the cleaned white kid-gloves, is Mr. Phelim Clancy of Poldoodystown : he calls himself Mr. De Clancy; he endeavors to disguise his na- tive brogue with the richest superposition of English ; and if you play at billiards or ecarte with him, the chances are that you will win the first game, and he the seven or eight games ensuing. That overgrown lady with the four daughters, and the young dandy from the University, her son, is Mrs. Kewsy, the emi- nent barrister's lady, who would rather die than not be in the fashion. She has the " Peerage " in her carpet-bag, you may be sure ; but she is altogether cut out by Mrs. Quod, the at- torney's wife, whose carriage, with the apparatus of rumbles, dickeys, and imperials, scarcely yields in splendor to the Mar- quis of Carabas's own travelling-chariot, and whose courier has even bigger whiskers and a larger morocco money-bag than the Marquis's own travelling gentleman. Remark her well : she is talking to Mr. Spout, the new Member for Jawborough, who is going out to inspect the operations of the Zollverein, and will put some very severe questions to Lord Palmerston next ses- sion upon England and her relations with the Prussian-blue trade, the Naples-soap trade, the German-tinder trade, &c. Spout will patronize King Leopold at Brussels ; will write let- ters from abroad to the jfaiuborough Independent ; and in his quality of Member du Parliamong JBritannique, will expect to be invited to a family dinner with every sovereign whose do- minions he honors with a visit during his tour. The next person is but hark ! the bell for shore is ring ing, and, shaking Snooks's hand cordially, we rush on to the pier, waving him a farewell as the noble black ship cuts keenly through the sunny azure waters, bearing away that cargo of Snobs outward bound. ■$20 THE BOOK' OF S.YOBS. CHAPTER XXII CONTINENTAL SNOBBERY CONTINUED. We are accustomed to laugh at the French for their brag gadocio propensities, and intolerable vanity about la France, la gloire, l'Empereur, and the like ; and yet I think in my heart that the British Snob, for conceit and self-sufficiency and brag- gartism in his way, is without a parallel. There is always something uneasy in a Frenchman's conceit. He brags with so much fury, shrieking, and gesticulation ; yells out so loudly that the Francais is at the head of civilization, the centre of thought, &c. ; that one can't but see the poor fellow has a lurk- ing doubt in his own mind that he is not the wonder he pro- fesses to be. About the British Snobs, on the contrary, there is commonly no noise, no bluster, but the calmness of profound conviction. We are better than all the world ; we don't question the opinion at all ; it's an axiom. And when a Frenchman bellows out, " La France, Monsieur, la France est a tete du monde civilise 1 " we laugh good-naturedly at the frantic poor devil. We are the first chop of the world : we know the fact so well in our secret hearts that a claim set up elsewhere is simply ludicrous. My dear brother reader, say, as a man of honor, if you are not of this opinion ? Do you think a Frenchman your equal ? You don't — you gallant British Snob — you know you don't : no more, perhaps, does the Snob your humble servant, brother. And I am inclined to think it is this conviction, and the consequent bearing of the Englishman towards the foreigner whom he condescends to visit, this confidence of superiority which holds up the head of the owner of every English hat-box from Sicily to St. Petersburg, that makes us so magnificently* hated throughout Europe as we are ; this — more than all our little victories, and of which many Frenchmen and Spaniards have never heard — this amazing and indomitable insular pride, which animates my lord in his travelling-carriage as well as John in the rumble. If you read the old Chronicles of the French wars, you find precisely the same character of the Englishman, and Henry V.'s people behaved with just the cool domineering manner of our gallant veterans of France and the Peninsula. Did you CONTINENTAL SNOBBERY CONTINUED. 321 never hear Colonel Cutler and Major Slasher talking over the war after dinner ? or Captain Boarder describing his action with the " Indomptable ? " " Hang the fellows," says Boarder, " their practice was very good. I was beat off three times be- fore I took her." " Cuss those carabineers of Milhaud's," says Slasher, "what work they made of our light cavalry!" implying a sort of surprise that the Frenchman should stand up against Britons at all : a good-natured wonder that the blind, mad, vain-glorious, brave poor devils should actually have the courage to resist an Englishman. Legions of such Englishmen are patronizing Europe at this moment, being kind to the Pope, or good-natured to the King of Holland, or condescending to inspect the Prussian reviews. When Nicholas came here, who reviews a quarter of a million of pairs of mustaches to his break- fast every morning, we took him off to Windsor and showed him two whole regiments of six or eight hundred Britons apiece, with an air as much as to say, — " There, my boy, look at that. Those are Englishmen, those are, and your master whenever you please," as the nursery song says. The British Snob is long, long past skepticism, and can afford to laugh quite good-hu- moredly at those conceited Yankees, or besotted little French- men, who set up as models of mankind. They forsooth ! I have been led into these remarks by listening to an old fellow at the Hotel du Nord, at Boulogne, and who is evidently of the Slasher sort. He came down and seated himself at the breakfast-table, with a surly scowl on his salmon-colored blood- shot face, strangling in a tight, cross-barred cravat ; his linen and his appointments so perfectly stiff and spotless that every- body at once recognized him as a dear countryman. Only our wine and other admirable institutions could have produced a figure so insolent, so stupid, so gentlemanlike. After a while our attention was called to him by his roaring out, in a voice of plethoric fury, " O ! " Everybody turned round at the " O," conceiving the Colonel to be, as his countenance denoted him, in intense pain ; but the waiters knew better, and instead of being alarmed, brought the Colonel the kettle. " O," it appears, is the French for hot- water. The Colonel (though he despises it heartily) thinks he speaks the language remarkably well. Whilst he was inhaust- ing his smoking tea, which went rolling ar_d gurgling down his throat, and hissing over the " hot coppers " of that respect- able veteran, a friend joined him, with a wizened face and very black wig, evidently a Colonel too. The two warriors, waggling their old heads at each other, 3 2 2 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. presently joined breakfast, and fell into conversation, and we had the advantage of hearing about the old war, and some pleasant conjectures as to the next, which they considered im- minent. They psha'cl the French fleet ; they pooh-pooh'd the French commercial marine ; they showed how, in a war, there would be a cordon (" a cordong, by " ) of steamers along our coast, and " by ," ready at a minute to land anywhere on the other shore, to give the French as good a thrashing as they got in the last war, "by ." In fact, a rumbling can- nonade of oaths was fired by the two veterans during the whole of their conversation. There was a Frenchman in the room, but as he had not been above ten years in London, of course he did not speak the language, and lost the benefit of the conversation. " But, O my country ! " said I to myself, " it's no wonder that you are so beloved ! If I were a Frenchman, how I would hate you ! " That brutal, ignorant, peevish bully of an Englishman is showing himself in every city of Europe. One of the dullest creatures under heaven, he goes trampling Europe under foot, shouldering his way into galleries and cathedrals, and bustling into palaces with his buckram uniform. At church or theatre, gala or picture-gallery, his face never varies. A thousand de- lightful sights pass before his bloodshot eyes, and don't affect him. Countless brilliant scenes of life and manners are shown him, but never move him. He goes to church, and calls the practices there degrading and superstitious ; as if his altar was the only one that was acceptable. He goes to picture-galleries, and is more ignorant about Art than a French shoeblack. Art, Nature pass, and there is no dot of admiration in his stupid eyes ; nothing moves him, except when a very great man comes his way, and then the rigid, proud, self-confident, inflexible British Snob can be as humble as a flunkey and as supple as a harlequin. CHAPTER XXIII. ENGLISH SNOBS ON THE CONTINENT. " What is the use of Lord Rosse's telescope ? " my friend Panwiski exclaimed the other day. " It only enables you to see a few hundred thousands of miles farther. What were thought to be mere nebulae, turn out to be most perceivable starry ENGLISH SNOBS ON THE CONTINENT. 323 systems ; and beyond these, you see other nebulas, which a more powerful glass will show to be stars, again ; and so they go on glittering and winking away into eternity." With which my friend Pan, heaving a great sigh, as if confessing his in- ability to look Infinity in the face, sank back resigned, and swallowed a large bumper of claret. I (who, like other great men. have but one idea,) thought to myself, that as the stars are, so are the Snobs : — the mce you gaze upon those luminaries, the more you behold — now nebulously congregated — now faintly distinguishable — now brightly defined — until they twinkle off in endless blazes, and fade into the immeasurable darkness. I am but as a child playing on the sea-shore. Some telescopic philosopher will arise one day, some great Snobonomer, to find the laws of the great science which we are now merely playing with, and to de- fine, and settle, and classify that which is at present but vague theory, and loose though elegant assertion. Yes : a single eye can but trace a very few and simple varieties of the enormous universe of Snobs. I sometimes think of appealing to the public, and calling together a congress of savans, such as met at Southampton — each to bring his con- tributions and read his paper on the Great Subject. For what can a single poor few do, even with the subject at present in hand ? English Snobs on the Continent — though they are a hundred thousand times less numerous than on their native island, yet even these few are too many. One can only fix a stray one here and there. The individuals are caught — the thousands escape. I have noted down but three whom I have met with in my walk this morning through this pleasant marine city of Boulogne. There is the English Raff Snob, that frequents estaminets and cabarets ; who is heard yelling, "We won't go home till morning ! " and startling the midnight echoes of quiet Con- tinental towns with shrieks of English slang. The boozy un- shorn wretch is seen hovering round quays as packets arrive, and tippling drams in inn bars where he gets credit. He talks French witli slang familiarity : he and his like quite people the debt-prisons on the Continent. He plays pool at the billiard- houses, and may be seen engaged at cards and dominoes of forenoons. His signature is to be seen on countless bills of exchange : it belonged to an honorable family once, very likely ; for the English Raff most probably began by being a gentle- man, and has a father over the water who is ashamed to hear his name. He has cheated the old "governor" repeatedly in 324 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. better clays, and swindled his sisters of their portions, and robbed his younger brothers. Now he is living on his wife's jointure : she is hidden away in some dismal garret, patching shabby finery and cobbling up old clothes for her children — the most miserable and slatternly of women. Or sometimes the poor woman and her daughters go about timidly, giving lessons in English and music, or do embroidery and work under-hand, to purchase the means for the pot-au-fcu ; while Raff is swaggering on the quay, or tossing off glasses of cognac at the cafe. The unfortunate creature has a child still every year, and her constant hypocrisy is to try and make her girls believe that their father is a respectable man, and to huddle him out of the way when the brute comes home drunk. Those poor ruined souls get together and have a society of their own, the which it is very affecting to watch — those tawdry pretences at gentility, those flimsy attempts at gayety : those woful sallies : that jingling old piano'; oh, it makes the heart sick to see and hear them. As Mrs. Raff, with her com- pany of pale daughters, gives a penny tea to Mrs. Diddler, they talk about by-gone times and the fine society they kept ; and they sing feeble songs out of tattered old music-books ; and while engaged in this sort of entertainment, in comes Captain Raff with his greasy hat on one side, and straightway the whole of the dismal room reeks with a mingled odor of smoke and spirits. Has not everybody who has lived abroad met Captain Raff? His name is proclaimed, every now and then, by Mr. Sheriff's Officer Hemp ; and about Boulogne, and Paris, and Brussels, there are so many of his sort that I will lay a wager that I shall be accused of gross personality for showing him up. Many a less irreclaimable villain is transported ; many a more honorable man is at present at the treadmill ; and although we are the noblest, greatest, most religious, and most moral people in the world, I would still like to know where, except in the United Kingdom, debts are a matter of joke, and making tradesmen " suffer " a sport that gentlemen own to ? It is dishonorable to owe money in France. You never hear people in other parts of Europe brag of their swindling ; or see a prison in a iarge Continental town which is not more or less peopled with Eng- lish rogues. A still more loathsome and dangerous Snob than the above transparent and passive scamp, is frequent on the continent of Europe, and my young Snob friends who are travelling thither should be especially warned against him. Captain Legg is a ENGLISH SNOBS ON THE CONTINENT. 325 gentleman, like Raff, though perhaps of a better degree. He has robbed his family too, but of a great deal more, and has boldly dishonored bills for thousands, where Raff has been boggling over the clumsy conveyance of a ten-pound note. Legg is always at the best inn, with the finest waistcoats and mustaches, or tearing about in the flashiest of britzkas, while poor Raff is tipsifying himself with spirits, and smoking cheap tobacco. It is amazing to think that Legg, so often shown up, and known everywhere, is flourishing yet. He would sink into utter ruin, but for the constant and ardent love of gentility that distinguishes the English Snob. There is many a young fellow of the middle classes who must know Legg to be a rogue and a cheat ; and yet from his desire to be in the fashion, and his admiration of tip-top swells, and from his ambition to air him- self by the side of a Lord's son, will let Legg make an income out of him ; content to pay, so long as he can enioy that society. Many a worthy father of a family, when he hears that his son is riding about with Captain Legg, Lord Levant's son, is rather pleased that young Hopeful should be in such good company. Legg and his friend, Major Macer, make professional tours through Europe, and are to be found at the right places at the right time. Last year I heard how my young acquaintance, Mr. Muff, from Oxford, going to see a little life at a Carnival ball at Paris, was accosted by an Englishman who did not know a word of the d language, and hearing Muff speak it so admirably, begged him to interpret to a waiter with whom there was a dispute about refreshments. It was quite a com- fort, the stranger said, to see an honest English face ; and did Muff know where there was a good place for supper ? So those two went to supper, and who should come in, of all men in the world, but Major Macer ? And so Legg introduced Macer, and so there came on a little intimacy, and three-card loo, &c, &c. Year after year scores of Muffs, in various places of the world, are victimized by Legg and Macer. The story is so stale, the trick of seduction so entirely old and clumsy, that it is only a wonder people can be taken in any more : but the temptations of vice and gentility together are too much for young English Snobs, and those simple young vic- tims are caught fresh every day. Though it is only to be kicked and cheated by men of fashion, your true British Snob will present himself for the honor. I need not allude here to that very common British Snob, who makes desperate efforts at becoming intimate with the 326 THE BOOK OF SXOBS. great Continental aristocracy, such as old Rolls, the baker, who has set up his quarters in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and will receive none but Carlists, and no French gentleman under the rank of a Marquis. We can all of us laugh at that fellow's pretensions well enough — we who tremble before a great man of our own nation. But, as you say, my brave and honest John Bull of a Snob, a French Marquis of twenty de- scents is very different from an English Peer ; and a pack of beggarly German and Italian Fuersten and Principi awaken the scorn of an honest-minded Briton. But our aristocracy ! — ■ that's a very different matter. They are the real leaders of the world — the real old original and-no-mistake nobility. Off with your cap, Snob ; down on your knees, Snob, and truckle. CHAPTER XXIV. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. Tired of the town, where the sight of the closed shutters of the nobility, my friends, makes my heart sick in my walks ; afraid almost to sit in those vast Pall Mall solitudes, the Clubs, and of annoying the Club waiters, who might, I thought, be going to shoot in the country, but for me, I determined on a brief tour in the provinces, and paying some visits in the coun- try which were long clue. My first visit was to my friend Major Ponto (H. P. of the Horse Marines), in Mangelwurzelshire. The Major, in his little phaeton, was in waiting to take me up at the station. The vehicle was not certainly splendid, but such a carriage as would accommodate a plain man (as Ponto said he was) and a numerous family. We drove by beautiful fresh fields and green hedges, through a cheerful English landscape ; the high-road, as smooth and trim as the way in a nobleman's park, was charmingly checkered with cool shade and golden sunshine. Rustics in snowy smock-frocks jerked their hats off smiling as we passed. Children, with cheeks as red as the apples in the orchards, bobbed curtseys to us at the cottage doors. Blue church spires rose here and there in the distance : and as the buxom gardener's wife opened the white gate at the Major's little ivy-covered lodge, and we drove through the neat planta ON SOME CO UNTR V SNOBS. 327 tions of firs and evergreens, up to the house, my bosom felt a joy and elation which I thought it was impossible to experi- ence in the smoky atmosphere of a town, " Here," I mentally exclaimed, " is all peace, plenty, happiness. Here, I shall be rid of Snobs. There can be none in this charming Arcadian spot." Stripes, the Major's man (formerly corporal in his gallant corps), received my portmanteau, and an elegant little present, which I had brought from town as a peace-offering to Mrs. Ponto ; viz. : a cod and oysters from Grove's, in a hamper about the size of a coffin. Ponto's house (" The Evergreens " Mrs. P. has christened it) is a perfect Paradise of a place. It is all over creepers, and bow-windows, and verandas. A wavy lawn tumbles up and down all round it, with flower-beds of wonderful shapes, and zigzag gravel walks, and beautiful but clamp shrubberies, of myrtles and glistening laurentines, which have procured it its change of name. It was called Little Bullock's Pound in old Doctor Ponto's time. I had a view of the pretty grounds, and the stables, and the adjoining village and church, and a great park beyond, from the windows of the bedroom whither Ponto conducted me. It was the yellow bedroom, the freshest and pleasantest of bedchambers ; the air was fragrant with a large bouquet that was placed on the writing-table ; the linen was fragrant with the lavender in which it had been laid ; the chintz hangings of the bed and the big sofa were, if not fragrant with flowers, at least painted all over with them ; the pen-wiper on the table was the imitation of a double dahlia ; and there was accommodation for my watch in a sunflower on the mantel piece. A scarlet-leafed creeper came curling over the windows, through which the setting sun was pouring a flood of golden light. It was all flowers and freshness. Oh, how unlike those black chimney-pots in St. Alban's Place, London, on which these weary eyes are accustomed to look. " It must be all happiness here, Ponto," said I, flinging myself clown into the snug berglre, and inhaling such a de- licious draught of country air as all the millefluers of Mr. At- kinson's shop cannot impart to any the most expensive pocket- handkerchief. " Nice place, isn't it ? " said Ponto. " Quiet and unpre- tending. I like everything quiet. You've not brought your valet with you ? Stripes will arrange your dressing things ; " and that functionary, entering at the same time, proceeded to gut my portmanteau, and to lay out the black kerseymeres, 328 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. "the rich cut velvet Genoa waistcoat," the white choker, and other polite articles of evening costume, with great gravity and despatch. "A great dinner-party," thinks I to myself, seeing these preparations (and not, perhaps, displeased at the idea that some of the best people in the neighborhood were coming to see me). " Hark, there's the first bell ringing ! " said Ponto, moving away ; and, in fact, a clamorous harbinger of victuals began clanging from the stable turret, and announced the agreeable fact that dinner would appear in half an hour. " If the dinner is as grand as the dinner-bell," thought I, " faith, I'm in good quarters ! " and had leisure, during the half-hour's interval, not only to advance my own person to the utmost polish of elegance which it is capable of receiving, to admire the pedigree of the Pontos hanging over the chimney, and the Ponto crest and arms emblazoned on the wash-hand basin and jug, but to make a thousand reflections on the happiness of a country life — upon the innocent friendliness and cordiality of rustic intercourse ; and to sigh for an opportunity of retiring, like Ponto, to my own fields, to my own vine and fig-tree, with a placens uxor in my domus, and a half-score of sweet young pledges of affection sporting round my paternal knee. Clang ! At the end of the thirty minutes, dinner-bell num- ber two pealed from the adjacent turret. I hastened down stairs, expecting to find a score of healthy country folks in the drawing-room. There was only one person there ; a tall and Roman-nosed lady, glistering over with bugles, in deep mourn- ing. She rose, advanced two steps, made a majestic curtsey, during which all the bugles in her awful head-dress began to twiddle and quiver — and then said, " Mr. Snob, we are very happy to see you at the Evergreens," and heaved a great sigh. This, then, was Mrs. Major Ponto ; to whom making my very best bow, I replied, that I was very proud to make her acquaintance, as also that of so charming a place as the Ever- greens. Another sigh. " We are distantly related, Mr. Snob," said she, shaking her melancholy head. " Poor clear Lord Ruba- dub ! " " Oh ! " said I ; not knowing what the deuce Mrs. Major Ponto meant. " Major Ponto told me that you were of the Leicestershire Snobs : a very old family, and related to Lord Snobbington, who married Laura Rubadub, who is a cousin of mine, as was her poor dear father, for whom we are mourning. What a seizure ! only sixty-three, and apoplexy quite unknown until A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. 329 now in our family ! In life we are in death, Mr. Snob. Does Lady Snobbington bear the deprivation well ? " "Why, really, ma'am, I — I don't know," I replied, more and more confused. As she was speaking I heard a sort of chop, by which well- known sound I was aware that somebody was opening a bottle of wine, and Ponto entered, in a huge white neck-cloth, and a rather shabby black suit. " My love," Mrs. Major Ponto said to her husband, " we were talking of our cousin — poor dear Lord Rubadub. His death has placed some of the first families in England in mourning. Does Lady Rubadub keep the house in Hill Street, do you know ? " I didn't know, but I said, " I believe she does," at a ven- ture ; and, looking down to the drawing-room table, saw the inevitable, abominable, maniacal, absurd, disgusting " Peerage ' open on the table, interleaved with annotations, and open at the article " Snobbington." " Dinner is served," says Stripes, flinging open the door ; and I gave Mrs. Major Ponto my arm. CHAPTER XXV. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. Of the dinner to which we now sat down, I am not going to be a severe critic. The mahogany I hold to be inviolable ; but this I will say, that I prefer sherry to Marsala when I can get it, and the latter was the wine of which I have no doubt I heard the "cloop " just before dinner. Nor was it particularly good of its kind ; however, Mrs. Major Ponto did not evidently know the difference, for she called the liquor Amontillado during the whole of the repast, and drank but half a glass of it, leaving the rest for the Major and his guest. Stripes was in the livery of the Ponto family — a thought shabby, but gorgeous in the extreme — lots of magnificent worsted lace, and livery buttons of a very notable size. The honest fellow's hands, I remarked, were very large and black ; and a fine odor of the stable was wafted about the room as he moved to and fro in his ministration. I should have preferred 33 o THE BOOK OF SNOBS. a clean maid-servant, but the sensations of Londoners are too acute perhaps on these subjects ; and a faithful John, after all, is more genteel. From the circumstance of the dinner being composed of pig's-head mock-turtle soup, of pig's fry and roast ribs of pork, I am led to imagine that one of Ponto's black Hampshires had been sacrificed a short time previous to my visit. It was an excellent and comfortable repast ; only there was rather a same- ness in it, certainly. I made a similar remark the next day. During the dinner Mrs. Ponto asked me many questions regarding the nobility, my relatives. " When Lady Angelina Skeggs would come out ; and if the countess her mamma " (this was said with much archness and he-he-ing) " still wore that extraordinary purple hair-dye ? " " Whether my Lord Guttlebury kept, besides his French chef, and an English cor- don-bleu for the roasts, an Italian for the confectionery ? " " Who attended at Lady Clapperclaw's conversazioni ? " and "whether Sir John Champignon's 'Thursday Mornings' were pleasant ? " " Was it true that Lady Carabas, wanting to pawn her diamonds, found that they were paste, and that the Marquis had disposed of them beforehand ? " " How was it that Snuffin, the great tobacco merchant, broke off the marriage which was on the tapis between him and their second daughter ; and was it true that a mulatto lady came over from the Havana and forbade the match ? " " Upon my word, Madam," I had begun, and was going on to say that I didn't know one word about all these matters which seemed so to interest Mrs. Major Ponto, when the Major, giving me a tread or stamp with his large foot under the table, said — " Come, come, Snob my boy, we are all tiled, you know. We know you're one of the fashionable people about town : we saw your name at Lady Clapperclaw's soirees, and the Cham- pignon breakfasts ; and as for the Rubadubs, of course, as rela- tions ". "Oh, of course, I dine there twice a week," I said; and then I remembered that my cousin, Humphry Snob, of the Middle Temple, is a great frequenter of genteel societies, and to have seen his name in the Morning Post at the tag-end of several party lists. So, taking the hint, I am ashamed to say I indulged Mrs. Major Ponto with a deal of information about the first families in England, such as would astonish those great personages if they knew it. I described to her most accurately the three reigning beauties of last season at Ah A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. ^ t mack's : told her in confidence that his Grace the D of W was going to be married the day after his Statue was put up ; that his Grace the D of D was also about to lead the fourth daughter of the Archduke Stephen to the hymenea2 altar : — and talked to her, in a word, just in the style of Mrs. Gore's last fashionable novel. Mrs. Major was quite fascinated by this brilliant conver- sation. She began to trot out scraps of French, just for all the world as they do in the novels ; and kissed her hand to me quite graciously, telling me to come soon to caffy, ung pu de Mustek o salong — with which she tripped off like an elderly fairy. " Shall I open a bottle of port, or do you ever drink such a thing as Hollands and water?" says Ponto, looking ruefully at me. This was a very different style of. thing to what I had been led to expect from him at our smoking-room at the Club : where he swaggers about his horses and his cellar : and slap- ping me on the shoulder used to say, " Come down to Mangel- wurzelshire, Snob my boy, and I'll give you as good a clay's shooting and as good a glass of claret as any in the county." — "Well," I said, "I liked Hollands much better than port, and gin even better than Hollands." This was lucky. It was gin \ and Stripes brought iq hot water on a splendid plated tray. The jingling of a harp and piano soon announced that Mrs. Ponto's ung pu de MusickhzA commenced, and the smell of the stable again entering the dining-room, in the person of Stripes, summoned us to caffy and the little concert. She beckoned me with a winning smile to the sofa, on which she made room for me, and where we could command a fine view of the backs of the young ladies who were performing the musical entertain- ment. Very broad backs they were too, strictly according to the present mode, for crinoline or its substitutes is not an expensive luxury, and young people in the country can afford to be in the fashion at very trifling charges. Miss Emily Ponto at the piano, and her sister Maria at that somewhat exploded instrument, the harp, were in light-blue dresses that looked all flounce, and spread out like Mr. Green's balloon when inflated. " Brilliant touch Emilv has — what a fine arm Maria's is," Mrs. Ponto remarked good-naturedly, pointing out the merits of her daughters, and waving her own arm in such a way as to show that she was not a little satisfied with the beauty of that member. I observed she had about nine bracelets and bangles, consisting of chains and padlocks, the Major's miniature, and a variety of brass serpents with fiery ruby or tender turquoise 332 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. eyes, writhing up to her elbow almost, in the most profuse con- tortions. " You recognize those polkas ? They were played at Dev* onshire House on the 23d of July, the day of the grand fete." So I said yes — I knew 'em quite intimately ; and began wagging my head as if in acknowledgement of those old friends. When the performance was concluded, I had the felicity of a presentation and conversation with the two tall and scraggy Miss Pontos ; and Miss Wirt, the governess, sat down to en- tertain us with variations on " Sich a gettin' up Stairs." They were determined to be in the fashion. For the performance of the "Gettin' up Stairs," I have no other name but that it was a stunner. First Miss Wirt, with great deliberation, played the original and beautiful melody, cutting it, as it were, out of the instrument, and firing off each note so loud, clear, and sharp, that I am sure Stripes must have heard it in the stable. "What a finger! " says Mrs. Ponto ; and indeed it was a a finger, as knotted as a turkey's drumstick, and splaying all over the piano. When she had banged out the tune slowly, she began a different manner of "Gettin' up Stairs," and did so with a fury and swiftness quite incredible. She spun up stairs ; she whirled up stairs ; she galloped up stairs ; she rattled up stairs ; and then having got the tune to the top landing, as it were, she hurled it down again shrieking to the bottom floor, where it sank in a crash as if exhausted by the breathless ra- pidity of the descent. The Miss Wirt played the " Gettin' up Stairs " with the most pathetic and ravishing solemnity : plain- tive moans and sobs issued from the keys — you wept and trembled as you were gettin' up stairs. Miss Wirt's hands seemed to faint and wail and die in variations : again, and she went up with a savage clang and rush of trumpets, as if Miss Wirt was storming a breach ; and although I knew nothing of music, as I sat and listened with my mouth open to this wonder- ful display, my cajfy grew cold, and I wondered the windows did not crack and the chandelier start out of the beam at the sound of this earthquake of a piece of music. " Glorious creature ! Isn't she ? " said Mrs. Ponto. " Squirtz's favorite pupil — inestimable to have such a creature. Lady Carabas would give her eyes for her ! A prodigy of accomplishments ! Thank you, Miss Wirt ! " — and the young ladies gave a heave and a gasp of admiration — a deep-breath- ing gushing sound, such as you hear at church when the sermon comes to a full stop. Off SOME COUNTRY SNOBS 333 Miss Wirt put her two great double-knuckled hands round a waist of her two pupils, and said, " My dear children, I hope you will be able to play it soon as well as your poor little gover- ness. When I lived with the Dunsinanes, it was the dear Duchess's favorite, and Lady Barbara and Lady Jane McBeth learned it. It was while hearing Jane play that, I remember, that dear Lord Castletoddy first fell in love with her ; and though he is but an Irish Peer, with not more than fifteen thousand a year, I persuaded Jane to have him. Do you know Castletoddy, Mr. Snob ? — round towers — sweet place — County Mayo. Old Lord Castletoddy (the present Lord was then Lord Inishowan) was a most eccentric old man — they say he was mad. I heard his Royal Highness the poor dear Duke of Sussex — (such a man, my dears, but alas ! addicted to smoking !) — I heard His Royal Highness say to the Marquis of Anglesea, ' I am sure Castletoddy is mad ! ' but Inishowan wasn't in marry- ing my sweet Jane, though the dear child had but ten thousand pounds pour tout potage ! " " Most invaluable person," whispered Mrs. Major Ponto to me. " Has lived in the very highest society : " and I, who have been accustomed to see governesses bullied in the world, was delighted to find this one ruling the roast, and to think that even the majestic Mrs. Ponto bent before her. As for my pipe, so to speak, it went out at once. I hadn't a word to say against a woman who was intimate with every Duchess in the Red Book. She wasn't the rosebud, but she had been near it. She had rubbed shoulders with the great, and about these we talked all the evening incessantly, and about the fashions, and about the Court, until bedtime came. " And are there Snobs in this Elysium ? " I exclaimed, jumping into the lavender-perfumed bed. Ponto's snoring boomed from the neighboring bedroom in reply. CHAPTER XXVI. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. Something like a journal of the proceedings of the Ever- greens may be interesting to those foreign readers of Punch who want to know the customs of an English gentleman's 334 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. family and household. There's plenty of time to keep the Journal. Piano-strumming begins at six o'clock in the morn- ing ; it lasts till breakfast, with but a minute's intermission, when the instrument changes hands, and Miss Emiiy practises in place of her sister Miss Maria. In fact, the confounded instrument never stops : when the young ladies are at their lessons, Miss Wirt hammers away at those stunning variations, and keeps her magnificent finger in exercise. I asked this great creature in what other branches of edu- cation she instructed her pupils ? " The modern languages," says she modestly : " French, German, Spanish, and Italian, Latin and the rudiments of Greek if desired. English of course ; the practice of Elocution, Geography, and Astronomy, and the Use of the Globes, Algebra (but only as far as quad- ratic equations) ; for a poor ignorant female, you know, Mr. Snob, cannot be expected to know everything. Ancient and Modern History no young woman can be without ; and of these I make my beloved pupils perfect mistresses. Botany, Geology, and Mineralogy, I consider as amusements. And with these I assure you we manage to pass the days at the Evergreens not unpleasantly." Only these, thought I — what an education ! But I looked in one of Miss Ponto's manuscript song-books and found five faults of French in four words : and in a waggish mood asking Miss Wirt whether Dante Algiery was so called because he was born at Algiers, received a smiling answer in the affirma- tive, which made me rather doubt about the accuracy of Miss Wirt's knowledge. When the above little morning occupations are concluded, these unfortunate young women perform what they call Calis- thenic Exercises in the garden. I saw them to-day, without any crinoline, pulling the garden-roller. Dear Mrs. Ponto was in the garden too, and as limp as her daughters ; in a faded bandeau of hair, in a battered bonnet, in a holland pinafore, in pattens, on a broken chair, snipping leaves off a vine. Mrs. Ponto measures many yards about in an evening. Ye heavens ! what a guy she is in that skeleton morning costume ! Besides Stripes, they keep a boy called Thomas or Tum- mus. Tummus works in the garden or about the pigsty and stable j Thomas wears a page's costume of eruptive buttons. ON SOME COUNTR Y SNOBS 335 When anybody calls, and Stripes is out of the way, Turn- mas flings himself like mad into Thomas's clothes, and comes out metamorphosed like Harlequin in the pantomime. To-day, as Mrs. P. was cutting the grape-vine, as the young ladies' were at the roller, down comes Tummus like a roaring whirlwind, with " Missus, Missus, there's company coomin' ! " Away skurry the young ladies from the roller, down comes Mrs. P. from the old chair, off flies Tummus to change his clothes, and in an incredibly short space of time Sir John Hawbuck, my Lady Hawbuck, and Master Hugh Hawbuck are introduced into the garden with brazen effrontery by Thomas, who says, " Please Sir Jan and my Lady to walk this year way : I k?ww Missus is in the rose-garden." And there, sure enough, she was ! In a pretty little garden bonnet, with beautiful curling ring- lets, with the smartest of aprons and the freshest of pearl- colored gloves, this amazing woman was in the arms of her dearest Lady Hawbuck. " Dearest Lady Hawbuck, how good of you ! Always among my flowers ! can't live away from them ! " " Sweets to the sweet ! hum — a-ha — haw ! " says Sir John Hawbuck, who piques himself on his gallantry, and says noth- ing without " a-hum — a-ha — a-haw ! " " Whereth yaw pinnafaw ? " cries Master Hugh. " We thaw you in it, over the wall, didn't we, Pa ? " "Hum — a-ha — a-haw!" burst out Sir John, dreadfully alarmed. "Where's Ponto ? Why wasn't he at Quarter Ses- sions ? How are his birds this year, Mrs. Ponto — have those Carabas pheasants done any harm to your wheat ? a-hum — a- ha — a-haw ! " and all this while he was making the most fero- cious and desperate signals to his youthful heir. " Well, she wath in her pinnafaw, wathn't she, Ma ? " says Hugh, quite unabashed ; which question Lady Hawbuck turned away with a sudden query regarding her dear darling daugh- ters, and the enfant terrible was removed by his father. " I hope you weren't disturbed by the music ? " Ponto says. " My girls, you know, practise four hours a day, you know — must do it, you know — absolutely necessary. As for me, you know I'm an early man, and in my farm every morning at five — no, no laziness for me." The facts are these. Ponto goes to sleep directly after din- ner on entering the drawing-room, and wakes up when the ladies leave off practice at ten. From seven till ten, and from 33& THE BOOK OF SNOBS. ten till five, is a very fair allowance of slumber for a man who says he's not a lazy man. It is my private opinion that when Ponto retires to what is called his " Study," he sleeps too. He locks himself up there daily two hours with the news- paper. I saw the Hawbuck scene out of the Study, which commands the garden. It's a curious object, that Study. Ponto's library mostly consists of boots. He and Stripes have important in- terviews here of mornings, when the potatoes are discussed, or the fate of the calf ordained, or sentence passed on the pig, &c. All the Major's bills are docketed on the Study tables and dis- played like lawyer's briefs. Here, too, lie displayed his hooks, knives, and other gardening irons, his whistles, and strings of spare buttons. He has a drawer of endless brown paper for parcels, and another containing a prodigious and never-failing supply of string. What a man can want with so many gig- whips I can never conceive. These, and fishing-rods, and landing-nets, and spurs, and boot-trees, and balls for horses, and surgical implements for the same, and favorite pots of shiny blacking, with which he paints his own shoes in the most elegant manner, and buckskin gloves stretched out on their trees, and his gorget, sash, and sabre of the Horse Marines, with his boot-hooks underneath in a trophy ; and the family medicine-chest, and in a corner the very rod with which he used to whip his son, Wellesley Ponto, when a boy (Wellesley never entered the " Study " but for that awful purpose) — all these, with " Mogg's Road Book," the Gardeners' Chronicle, and a backgammon-board, form the Major's library. Under the trophy there's a picture of Mrs. Ponto, in a light-blue dress a;: :1 train, and no waist, when she was first married ; a fox's brush lies over the frame, and serves to keep the dust off that work of art. " My library's small," says Ponto, with the most amazing impudence, "but well selected, my boy — well selected. I have been reading the ' History of England ' all the morning." A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. 337 CHAPTER XXVII. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. We had the fish, which, as the kind reader may remember, I had brought down in a delicate attention to Mrs. Ponto to variegate the repast of next day ; and cod and oyster-sauce, twice laid, salt cod and scolloped oysters, formed parts of the bill of fare until I began to fancy that the Ponto family, like our late revered monarch George II., had a fancy for stale fish. And about this time, the pig being consumed, we began upon a sheep. But how shall I forget the solemn splendor of a second course, which was served up in great state by Stripes in a silver dish and cover, a napkin twisted round his dirty thumbs ; and consisted of a landrail, not much bigger than a corpulent sparrow. " My love, will you take any game ? " says Ponto, with pro- digious gravity; and stuck his fork into that little mouthful of an island in the silver sea. Stripes, too, at intervals, dribbled out the Marsala with a solemnity which would have done honor to a Duke's butler. The Barmecide's dinner to Shacabac was only one degree removed from these solemn banquets. As there were plenty of pretty country places close by ; a comfortable country town, with good houses of gentlefolks ; a beautiful old parsonage, close to the church whither we went (and where the Carabas family have their ancestral carved and monumented Gothic pew), and every appearance of good society in the neighborhood, I rather wondered we were not enlivened by the appearance of some of the neighbors at the Evergreens, and asked about them. " We can't in our position of life — we can't well associate with the attorney's family, as I leave you to suppose," said Mrs. Ponto, confidentially. "Of course not," I answered, though I didn't know why. " And the Doctor ? " said I. " A most excellent worthy creature," says Mrs. P. ; " saved Maria's life — really a learned man ; but what can one do in one's position ? One may ask one's medical man to one's table certainly : but his family, my dear Mrs. Snob ! " " Half a dozen little gallipots," interposed Miss Wirt, the 338 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. governess: "he, he, he!" and the young ladies laughed in chorus. " We only live with the county families," Miss Wirt* con- tinued, tossing up her head. " The Duke is abroad : we arc at feud with the Carabases ; the Ringwoods don't come down till Christmas : in fact, nobody's here till the hunting season — pos- itively nobody." * I have since heard that this aristocratic lady's father was a livery-button maker in St. Martin's Lane : where he met with misfortunes, and his daughter acquired her taste ful heraldry. But it may be told to her credit, that out of her earnings she has kept the bed- ridden old bankrupt in great comfort and secresy at Pentonville ; and furnished her brother's outfit for the Cadetship which her patron, Lord Swigglebiggle, gave her when he was at the Board of Control. I have this information from a friend. To hear Miss Wirt herself, you would fancy that her Papa was a Rothschild, and that the markets of Europe were convulsed when he went into the Gazette. "Whose is the large red house just outside of the town ? " " What ! the chateau-calicot ? he, he, he ! That purse-proud ex-linendraper, Mr. Yardley, with the yellow liveries, and the wife in red velvet ? How can you, my dear Mr. Snob, be so satirical ? The impertinence of those people is really some- thing quite overwhelming." " Well, then, there is the parson, Doctor Chrysostom. He's a gentleman, at any rate." At this Mrs. Ponto looked at Miss Wirt. After their eyes had met and they had wagged their heads at each other, they looked up to the ceiling. So did the young ladies. They thrilled. It was evident I had said something very terrible. Another black sheep in the Church ? thought I, with a little sorrow ; for I don't care to own that I have a respect for the cloth. " I — I hope there's nothing wrong ? " " Wrong ? " says Mrs. P., clasping her hands with a tragic air. " Oh ! " says Miss Wirt, and the two girls, gasping in chorus. "Well," says I, "I'm very sorry for it. I never saw a nicer-looking old gentleman, or a better school, or heard a bet- ter sermon." " He used to preach those sermons in a surplice," hissed out Mrs. Ponto. " He's a Pusevite, Mr. Snob." " Heavenly powers ! " says I, admiring the pure ardor of these female theologians ; and Stripes came in with the tea. It's so weak that no wonder Ponto's sleep isn't disturbed by it. Of mornings we used to go out shooting. We had Ponto's )wn fields to sport over (where we got the fieldfare), and the non-preserved part of the Hawbuck property : and one evening OJV St/jn-B- COUNTRY SNOBS. 339 in a stubble of Ponto's skirting the Carabas woods, we got among some pheasants, and had some real sport. I shot a hen, I know, greatly to my delight. " Bag it," says Ponto, in rathei a hurried manner : " here's somebody coming." So I pocketed the bird. " You infernal poaching thieves ! " roars out a man from the hedge in the garb of a gamekeeper. " I wish I could catch you on this side of the hedge. I'd put a brace of barrels into you, that I would." " Curse that Snapper," says Ponto, moving off ; " he's always watching me like a spy." " Carry off the birds, you sneaks, and sell 'em in London," roars the individual, who it appears was a keeper of Lord Car- abas. " You'll get six shillings a brace for 'em." " You know the price of 'em well enough, and so does your master too, you scoundrel," says Ponto, still retreating. "We kills 'em on our ground," cries Mr. Snapper. " We don't set traps for other people's birds. We're no decoy ducks. We're no sneaking poachers. We don't shoot 'ens, like that 'ere Cockney, who's got the tail of one a-sticking out of his pocket. Only just come across the hedge, that's all." " I tell you what," says Stripes, who was out with us as keeper this clay, (in fact he's keeper, coachman, gardener, valet, and bailiff, with Tummas under him,) "if you'll come across, John Snapper, and take your coat off, I'll give you such a whop- ping as you've never had since the last time I did it at Guttle- bury Fair." "Whop one of your own weight," Mr. Snapper said, whist- ling his dogs, and disappearing into the wood. And so we came out of this controversy rather victoriously ; but I began to a l 'er my preconceived ideas of rural felicity. CHAPTER XXVIII. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. Be hanged to your aristocrats ! " Ponto said, in some con versation we had regarding the family at Carabas, between whom and, the Evergreens there was a feud. " When I first came into tf*e county — it was the year before Sir John BufI 340 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. contested in the Blue interest — the Marquis, then Lord St. Michaels, who, of course, was Orange to the core, paid me and Mrs. Ponto such attentions, that I fairly confess I was taken in by the old humbug, and thought that I'd met with a rare neighbor. 'Gad, sir, we used to get pines from Carabas, and pheasants from Carabas, and it was — ' Ponto, when will you come over and shoot ? ' — and — ' Ponto, our pheasants want thinning,' — and my Lady would insist upon her dear Mrs. Ponto coming over to Carabas to sleep, and put me I don't know to what expense for turbans and velvet gowns for my wife's toilette. Well, Sir, the election takes place, and though I was always a Liberal, personal friendship of course induces me to plump for St. Michaels, who comes in at the head of the poll. Next year, Mrs. P. insists upon going to town — with lodgings in Clarges Street at ten pounds a week, with a hired brougham, and new dresses for herself and the girls, and the deuce and all to pay. Our first cards were to Carabas House ; my Lady's are returned by a great big flunkey : and I leave you to fancy my poor Betsy's discomfiture as the lodging-house maid took in the cards, and Lady St. Michaels drives away, though she actually saw us at the drawing-room window. Would you believe it, Sir, that though we called four times afterwards, those infernal aristocrats never returned our visit ; that though Lady St. Michaels gave nine dinner-parties and four dejefoicrs that season, she never asked us to one ; and that she cut us dead at the Opera, though Betsy was nodding to her the whole night ? We wrote to her for tickets for Almack's ; she writes to say that all hers were promised ; and said, in the presence of Wiggins, her lady's-maid, who told it to Diggs, my wife's woman, that she couldn't conceive how people in our station of life could so far forget themselves as to wish to ap- pear in any such place ! Go to Castle Carabas ! I'd sooner die than set my foot in the house of that impertinent, insolvent, insolent jackanapes — and I hold him in scorn ! " After this, Ponto gave me some private information regarding Lord Car- abas's pecuniary affairs ; how he owed money all over the coun- try ; how Jukes the carpenter was utterly ruined and couldn't get a shilling of his bill ; how Biggs the butcher hanged himself for the same reason ; how the six big footmen never received a guinea of wages, and Snaffle, the state coachman, actually took off his blown-glass wig of ceremony and flung it at Lady Cara- bas's feet on the terrace before the Castle ; all which stories, as they are private, I do not think proper to divulge. But these details did not stifle my desire to see the famous mansion of ON SOME CO UNTR Y SNOBS. 3 4 1 Castle Carabas, nay, possibly excited my interest to know more about that lordly house and its owners. At the entrance of the park, there are a pair of great gaunt mildewed lodges — mouldy Doric temples with black chimney- pots, in the finest classic taste, and the gates of course are sur- mounted by the chats bottes, the well-known supporters of the Carabas family. " Give the lodge-keeper a shilling," says Ponto (who drove me near to it in his four-wheeled cruelty chase). " I warrant it's the first piece of ready-money he has received for some time." I don't know whether there was any foundation for this sneer, but the gratuity was received with a curtsey, and the gate opened for me to enter. " Poor old por- teress ! " says I, inwardly. " You little know that it is the His- torian of Snobs whom you let in ! " The gates were passed. A damp green stretch of park spread right and left immeasur- ably, confined by a chilly gray wall, and a damp long straight road between two huge rows of moist, dismal lime-trees, leads up to the Castle. In the midst of the park is a great black tank or lake, bristling over with rushes, and here and there covered over with patches of pea-soup. A shabby temple rises on an island in this delectable lake, which is approached by a rotten barge that lies at roost in a dilapidated boat-house. Clumps of elms and oaks dot over the huge green flat. Every one of them would have been clown long since, but that the Marquis is not allowed to cut the timber. Up that long avenue the Snobographer walked in solitude. At the seventy-ninth tree on the left-hand side, the insolvent butcher hanged himself. I scarcely wondered at the dismal deed, so awful and sad were the impressions connected with the place. So, for a mile and a half I walked — alone and thinking of death. I forgot to say the house is in full view all the way — except when intercepted by the trees on the miserable island in the lake — an enormous red-brick mansion, square, vast, and dingy. It is flanked by four stone towers with weathercocks. In the midst of the grand facade is a huge Ionic portico, approached by a vast, lonely, ghastly staircase. Rows of black windows, framed in stone, stretch on either side, right and left — three storeys and eighteen windows of a row. You may see a picture of the palace and staircase, in the "Views of England and Wales," with four carved and gilt carriages waiting at the gravel walk, and several parties of ladies and gentlemen in wigs and hoops, dotting the fatiguing lines of the stairs. 342 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. But these stairs are made in great houses for people not to ascend. The first Lady Carabas (they are but eighty years in the peerage), if she got out of her gilt coach in a shower, would be wet to the skin before she got half-way to the carved Ionic portico, where four dreary statues of Peace, Plenty, Piety and Patriotism, are the only sentinels. You enter these Palaces by back doors. " That was the way the Carabases got their peer- age," the misanthropic Ponto said after dinner. Well — I rang the bell at a little low side door ; it clanged and jingled and echoed for a long, long while, till at length a face, as of a housekeeper, peered through the door, and, as she saw my hand in my waistcoat pocket, opened it. Unhappy, lonely, housekeeper, I thought. Is Miss Crusoe in her island more solitary? The door clapped to, and I was in Castle Carabas. "The side entrance and All," says the housekeeper. " The halligator hover the mantel piece was brought home by Hadmiral St. Michaels, when a Capting with Lord Hanson. The harms on the cheers is the harms of the Carabas family." The hall was rather comfortable. We went clapping up a clean stone backstair, and then into a back passage cheerfully decorated with ragged light-green Kidderminster, and issued upon " The great all is seventy-two feet in length, fifty-six in breath, and thirty-eight feet 'igh. The carvings of the chimlies, representing the buth of Venus, and Ercules, and Eyelash, is b) Van Chislum, the most famous sculpture of his hage and country. The ceiling, by Calimanco, represents Painting, Harchitecture and Music (the naked female figure with the barrel horgan) in- troducing George, fust Lord Carabas, to the Temple of the Muses. The winder ornaments is by Vanderputty. The floor is Patagonian marble : and the chandelier in the centre was presented to Lionel, second Marquis, by Lewy the Sixteenth, whose 'ead was cut hoff in the French Revelation. We now henter i. THE SOUTH GALLERY. " One 'undred and forty-eight in length by thirty-two in breath ; it is profusely hornaminted by the choicest works ot Hart. Sir Andrew Katz, founder of the Carabas family and banker of the Prince of Horange, Kneller. Her present Lady 5hip, by Lawrence. Lord St. Michaels, by the same — he is rep- OX SOME COUNTRY S. YOBS. 343 resented sittin' on a rock in velvit pantaloons. Moses in the bullrushes — the bull very fine, by Paul Potter. The toilet of Venus, Fantaski. Flemish Bores drinking, Van Ginnums. Jupiter and Europia, de Horn. The Grandjunction Canal, Venis, by Candleetty ; and Italian Bandix, by Slavata Rosa." — And so this worthy woman went on, from one room into an- other, from the blue room to the green, and the green to the grand saloon, and the grand saloon to the tapestry closet, cackling her list of pictures and wonders : and furtively turning up a corner of brown holland to show the color of the old, faded, seedy, mouldy, dismal hangings. At last we came to her Ladyship's bedroom. In the centre of this dreary apartment there is a bed about the size of one of those whizgig temples in which the Genius appears in a panto- mime. The huge gilt edifice is approached by steps, and so tall, that it might be let off in floors, for sleeping-rooms for all the Carabas family. An awful bed ! A murder might be done at one end of that bed, and people sleeping at the other end be ignorant of it. Gracious powers! fancy little Lord Carabas in a nightcap ascending those steps after putting out the candle ! The sight of that seedy and solitary splendor was too much for me. I should go mad were I that lonely housekeeper— in those enormous galleries — in that lonely library, filled up with ghastly folios that nobody dares read, with an inkstand on the centre table like the coffin of a baby, and'sad portraits staring at you from the bleak walls with their solemn mouldy eyes. No wonder that Carabas does not come down here often. It would require two thousand footmen to make the place cheer- ful. No wonder the coachman resigned his wig, that the mas- ters are insolvent, and the servants perish in this huge dreary out-at-elbow place. A single family has no more right to build itself a temple of that sort than to erect a tower of Babel. Such a habitation is not decent for a mere mortal man. But, after all, I suppose poor Carabas had no choice. Fate put him there as it sent Napoleon to St. Helena. Suppose it had been decreed by Na- ture that you and I should be Marquises ? We wouldn't refuse, I suppose, but take Castle Carabas and all, with debts, duns, and mean makeshifts, and shabby pride, and swindling mag- nificence. Next season, when I read of Lady Carabas's splendid em tertainments in the Morning Post, and see the poor old insol- vent cantering through the Park — I shall have a much tenderer interest in these great people than I have had heretofore. 344 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Poor old shabby Snob ! Ride on and fancy the world is still on its knees before the house of Carabas ! Give yourself airs, poor old bankrupt Magnifico, who are under money-obligations to your flunkeys ; and must stoop so as to swindle poor trades- men ! And for us, O my brother Snobs, oughtn't we to feel happy if our walk through life is more even, and that we are out of the reach of that surprising arrogance and that as- tounding meanness to which this wretched old victim is obliged to mount and descend* CHAPTER XXIX. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. Notable as my reception had been (under that unfortunate mistake of Mrs. Ponto that I was related to Lord Snobbington, which I was not permitted to correct), it was nothing compared to the bowing and kotooting, the ruptures and flurry which pre- ceded and welcomed the visit of a real live lord and lord's son, a brother officer of Cornet Wellesley Ponto, 120th Hussars, who came over with the young Cornet from Guttle- bury, where their distinguished regiment was quartered. This was my Lord Gules, Lord Saltire's grandson and heir : a very young, short, sandy-haired and tobacco-smoking nobleman, who cannot have left the nursery very long, and who, though he accepted the honest Major's invitation to the Evergreens in a letter written in a school-boy handwriting, with a number of faults in spelling, may yet be a very fine classical scholar for what I know : having had his education at Eton, where he and young Ponto was inseparable. At any rate, if he can't write, he has mastered a number of other accomplishments wonderful for one of his age and size. He is one of the best shots and riders in England. He rode his horse Abracadabra, and won the famous Guttlebury steeple- chase. He has horses entered at half the races in the country (under other people's names ; for the old lord is a strict hand, and will not hear of betting or gambling). He has lost and won such sums of money as my Lord George himself might be proud of. He knows all the stables, and all the jockeys, and has all the " information," and is a match for the best Leg at A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBb. 345 Newmarket. Nobody was ever known to be " too much " for him : at play or in the stable. Although his grandfather makes him a moderate allowance, by the aid of post-obits and convenient friends he can live in a splendor becoming his rank. He has not distinguished him- self in the knocking down of policemen much ; he is not big enough for that. But, as a light-weight, his skill is of the very highest order. At billiards he is said to be first-rate. He drinks and smokes as much as any two of the biggest officers in his regiment. With such high talents, who can say how far he may not go ? He may take to politics as a delassemetit, and be Prime Minister after Lord George Bentinck. My young friend Wellesley Ponto is a gaunt and bony youth, with a pale face profusely blotched. From his contin- ually pulling something on his chin, I am led to fancy that he believes he has what is called an Imperial growing there. That is not the only tuft that is hunted in the family, by the way. He can't, of course, indulge in those expensive amusements which render his aristocratic comrade so respected : he bets pretty freely when he is in cash, and rides when somebody mounts him (for he can't afford more than his regulation chargers). At drinking he is by no means inferior ; and why do you think he brought his noble friend, Lord Gules, to the Evergreens ? — Why ? because he intended to ask his mother to order his father to pay his debts, which she couldn't refuse before such an exalted presence. Young Ponto gave me all this information with the most engaging frankness. We are old friends. I used to tip him when he was at school. " Gad ! " says he, "our wedgment's so doothid exthpenthif. Must hunt, you know. A man couldn't live in the wedgment if he didn't. Mess expense enawmuth. Must dine at mess. Must drink champagne and claret. Ours ain't a port and sherry light-infantry mess. Uniform's awful. Fitzstultz, our Colonel, will have 'em so. Must be a distinction you know. At his own expense Fitzstultz altered the plumes in the men's caps, you called them shaving-brushes, Snob my boy : most absurd and unjust that attack of yours, by the way ; that alte- wation alone cotht him five hundred pound. The year befaw latht he horthed the wegiment at an immenthe expenthe, and we're called the Queen'th Own Pyebalds from that day. Ever theen uth on pawade ? The Empewar Nicolath burtht into tearth of envy when he thaw uth at Windthor. And you see," continued my young friend, " I brought Gules down with me, as the Governor is very sulky about shelling out, just to talk 346 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. my mother over, who can do anything with him. Gules told her that I was Fitzstultz's favorite of the whole regiment ; and, Gad ! she thinks the Horse Guards will give me my troop for nothing, and he humbugged the Governor that I was the greatest screw in the army. Ain't it a good dodge ? " With this Wellesley left me to go and smoke a cigar in the stables with Lord Gules, and make merry over the cattle there, under Stripes's superintendence. Young Ponto laughed with his friend, at the venerable four-wheeled cruelty-chaise ; but seemed amazed that the latter should ridicule still more an ancient chariot of the build of 1824, emblazoned immensely with the arms of the Pontos and the Snaileys, from which latter distinguished family Mrs. Ponto issued. I found poor Pon in his study among his boots, in such a rueful attitude of despondency, that I could not but remark it. " Look at that ! " says the poor fellow, handing me over a document. " It's the second change in uniform since he's been in the army, and yet there's no extravagance about the lad. Lord Gules tells me he is the most careful youngster in the regiment, God bless him ! But look at that ! by heaven, Snob, look at that and say how can a man of nine hundred keep out of the Bench ? He gave a sob as he handed me the paper across the table ; and his old face, and his old corduroys, and his shrunk shooting-jacket, and his lean shanks, looked, as he spoke, more miserably haggard, bankrupt, and threadbare. Lieut. Wellesley Ponto, 120th Queen's Own Pyebald Hussars, To Knopf and Stecknadel, Conduit Street, London. Dress Jacket, richly laced with gold 35 Ditto Pelisse ditto, and trimmed with sable . . . . . 60 Undress Jacket, trimmed with gold Ditto Pelisse .... Dress Pantaloons .... Ditto Overalls, gold lace on sides . Undress ditto ditto Blue Braided Frock Forage Cap 3 Dress Cap, gold lines, plume and chain 25 £ s. d. '5 o o 6 5 M 3 Brought forward 207 Gold Barrelled Sash . . .11 Sword . . . . . .11 Ditto Belt and Sabretache . . 16 Pouch and Belt . . . .15 Sword Knot ... .1 Cloak . . . . . .13 Valise 3 Regulation Saddle . . .7 Ditto Bridle, complete • . .10 A Dress Housing, complete . . 30 A pair of Pistols . . . .10 A Black Sheepskin, edged . . 6 d. o o o o o o o 6 6 o o o o ^207 3 Carried forward £347 9 o That evening Mrs. Ponto and her family made their darling Wellesley give a full, true and particular account of everything that had taken place at Lord Fitzstultz's; how many servants waited at dinner ; and how the ladies Schneider dressed ; and what his Royal Highness said when he came down to shoots ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. 347 and who was there? "What a blessing that boy is to me!" said she, as my pimple-faced young friend moved off to resume smoking operations with Gules in the now vacant kitchen ; — and poor Ponto's dreary and desperate look, shall I ever for- get that? O you parents and guardians ! O you men and women of sense in England! O you legislators about to assemble in Parliament ! read over that tailor's bill above printed — read over that absurd catalogue of insane gimcracks and madman's tomfoolery — and say how are you ever to get rid of Snobbish- ness when society does so much for its education ? Three hundred and forty pounds for a young chap's saddle and breeches ! Before George, I would rather be a Hottentot or a Highlander. We laugh at poor Jocko, the monkey, dan- cing in uniform ; or at poor Jeames, the flunkey, with his quiver- ing calves and plush tights ; or at the nigger Marquis of Marmalade, dressed out with sabre and epaulets, and giving himself the airs of a field-marshal. Lo ! is not one of the Queen's Pyebalds, in full fig, as great and foolish a monster? CHAPTER XXX. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. At last came that fortunate day at the Evergreens, when I was to be made acquainted with some of the " county families " with whom only people of Ponto's rank condescended to associ- ate. And now, although poor Ponto had just been so cruelly made to bleed on occasion of his son's new uniform, and though he was in the direst and most cutthroat spirits with an over- drawn account at the banker's, and other pressing evils of poverty ; although a tenpenny bottle of Marsala and an awful parsimony presided generally at his table, yet the poor fellow was obliged to assume the most frank and jovial air of cordi- ality ; and all the covers being removed from the hangings, and new dresses being procured for the young ladies, and the family plate being unlocked and displayed, the house and all within assumed a benevolent and festive appearance. The kitchen fires began to blaze, the good wine ascended from the cellar, a professed cook actually came over from Guttlebury to compile 348 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. culinary abominations. Stripes was in a new coat, and so was Ponto, for a wonder, and Tummus's button-suit was worn en permanence* And all this to show off the little lord, thinks I. All this in honor of a stupid little cigarrified Cornet of dragoons, who can barely write his name, — while an eminent and profound moral- ist like — somebody — is fobbed off with cold mutton and relays of pig. Well, well : a martyrdom of cold mutton is just bearable. I pardon Mrs. Ponto, from my heart I do, especially as I wouldn't turn out of the best bedroom, in spite of all her hints ; but held my ground in the chintz tester, vowing that Lord Gules, as a young man, was quite small and hardy enough to make himself comfortable elsewhere. The great Ponto party was a very august one. The Haw- bucks came in their family coach, with the blood-red hand emblazoned all over it : and their man in yellow livery waited in country fashion at table, only to be exceeded in splendor by the Hipsleys, the opposition baronet, in light-blue. The old Ladies Fitzague drove over in their little old chariot with the fat black horses, and fat coachman, the fat footman — (why are dowagers' horses and footmen always fat ?) And soon after these personages had arrived, with their auburn fronts and red beaks and turbans, came the Honorable and Reverend Lionel Pettipois, who with General and Mrs. Sago formed the rest of the party. " Lord and Lady Frederick Howlet were asked, but they have friends at Ivybush," Mrs. Ponto told me : and that very morning, the Castlehaggards sent an excuse, as her ladyship had a return of the quinsy. Between ourselves, Lady Castlehaggard's quinsy always comes on when there is dinner at the Evergreens. If the keeping of polite company could make a woman happy, surely my kind hostess Mrs. Ponto was on that day a happy woman. Every person present (except the unlucky im- postor who pretended to a connection with the Snobbington family, and General Sago, who had brought home I don't know how many lacs of rupees from India,) was related to the Peerage or the Baronetage. Mrs. P. had her heart's desire. If she had been an Earl's daughter herself could she have expected better company ? — and her family were in the oil-trade at Bristol, as all her friends very well know. What I complained of in my heart was not the dining — which, for this once, was plentiful and comfortable enough — ■ * I caught him in this costume, trying the flavor of the sauce of a tipsy-cake, which was Made by Mrs. Ponto' s own hands for her guests' delectation. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. 349 jut the prodigious dulness of the talking part of the entertain- ment. my beloved brother Snobs of the City, if we love each other no better than our country brethren, at least we amuse each other more ; if we bore ourselves, we are not called upon to go ten miles to do it ! For instance, the Hipsleys came ten miles from the south, and the Hawbucks ten miles from the north, of the Evergreens ; and were magnates in two different divisions of the country of Mangelwurzelshire. Hipsley, who is an old baronet with a bothered estate, did not care to show his contempt for Haw- buck, who is a new creation, and rich. Hawbuck, on his part, gives himself patronizing airs to General Sago, who looks upon the Pontos as little better than paupers. " Old Lady Blanche," says Ponto, " I hope will leave something to her goddaughter — my second girl — we've all of us half-poisoned ourselves with taking her physic." Lady Blanche and Lady Rose Fitzague have, the first, a medical, and the second a literary turn. I am inclined to be- lieve the former had a wet compresse around her body, on the occasion when I had the happiness of meeting her. She doc- tors everybody in the neighborhood, of which she is the orna- ment ; and has tried everything on her own person. She went into Court, and testified publicly her faith in St. John Long : she swore by Doctor Buchan, she took quantities of Gambouge's Universal Medicine, and whole boxfuls of Parr's Life Pills. She has cured a multiplicity of headaches by Squinstone's Eye- snuff ; she wears a picture of Hahnemann in her bracelet and a lock of Priessnitz's hair in a brooch. She talked about her own complaints and those of her confidante for the time being, to every lady in the room successively, from our hostess down to Miss Wirt, taking them into corners, and whispering about bronchitis, hepatitis, St. Vitus, neuralgia, cephalalgia, and so forth. I observed poor fat Lady Hawbuck in a dreadful alarm after some communication regarding the state of her daughter Miss Lucy Hawbuck's health, and Mrs. Sago turn quite yellow, and put down her third glass of Madeira, at a warning glance from Lady Blanche. Lady Rose talked literature, and about the book-club at Guttlebury, and is very strong in voyages and travels. She has a prodigious interest in Borneo, and displayed a knowledge of the history of the Punjaub and Kaffirland that does credit to her memory. Old General Sago, who sat perfectly silent and plethoric, roused up as from a lethargy when the former country was mentioned, and gave the company his story about 35° THE BOOK OF SNOBS. a hog-hunt at Ramjugger. I observed her ladyship treated with something like contempt her neighbor the Reverend Lionel Pettipois, a young divine whom you may track through the country by little " awakening" books at half a crown a hundred, which dribble out of his pockets wherever he goes. I saw him give Miss Wirt a sheaf of " The Little Washerwoman on Putney Common," and to Miss Hawbuck a couple of dozen of " Meat in the Tray ; or the Young Butcher-boy Rescued ; " and on paying a visit to Guttlebury jail, I saw two notorious fellows waiting their trial there (and temporarily occupied with a game of cribbage), to whom his Reverence offered a tract as he was walking over Crackshins Common, and who robbed him of his purse, umbrella, and cambric handkerchief, leaving him the tracts to distribute elsewhere. CHAPTER XXXI. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. " Why, dear Mr. Snob," said a young lady of rank and fashion (to whom I present my best compliments), " if you found every- thing so s?wbbish at the Evergreens, if the pig bored you and the mutton was not to your liking, and Mrs. Ponto was a hum- bug, and Miss Wirt a nuisance, with her abominable piano prac- tice, — why did you stay so long ? " Ah, Miss, what a question ! Have you never heard of gal- lant British soldiers storming batteries, of doctors passing nights in plague wards of lazarettos, and other instances of martyrdom ? What do you suppose induced gentlemen to walk two miles up to the batteries of Sobraon, with a hundred and fifty thundering guns bowling them down by hundreds ? — not pleasure, surely. What causes your respected father to quit his comfortable home for his chambers, after dinner, and pore over the most dreary law papers until long past midnight ? Duty, Mademoiselle ; duty, which must be done alike by mili- tary, or legal, or literary gents. There's a power of martyrdom in our profession. You won't believe it ? Your rosy lips assume a smile of incredulity — a most naughty and odious expression in a young lady's face. Well, then, the fact is, that my chambers, No. 24 Pump Court, Temple, were being painted by the Honorable A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS. 351 Society, and Mrs. Slamkin, my laundress, having occasion to go into Durham to see her daughter, who is married, and has presented her with the sweetest little grandson — a few weeks could not be better spent than in rusticating. But ah, how delightful Pump Court looked when I revisited its well-known chimney-pots ! Cari luoghi. Welcome, welcome, O fog and smut ! But if you think there is no moral in the foregoing account of the Pontine Family, you are, Madam, most painfully mis- taken. In this very chapter we are going to have the moral — ■ why, the whole of the papers are nothing but the moral, setting forth as they do the folly of being a Snob. You will remark that in the Country Snobography my poor friend Ponto has been held up almost exclusively for the public gaze — and why ? Because we went to no other house ? Be- cause other families did not welcome us to their mahogany? No, no. Sir John Hawbuck of the Haws, Sir John Hipsley of Briary Hall, don't shut the gates of hospitality : of General Sago's mulligatawny I could speak from experience. And the two old ladies at Guttlebury, were they nothing ? Do you sup- pose that an agreeable young dog, who shall be nameless, would not be made welcome ? Don't you know that people are too glad to see anybody in the country ? But those dignified personages do not enter into the scheme of the present work, and are but minor characters of our Snob drama; just as, in the play, kings and emperors are not half so important as many humble persons. The Doge of Venice, for instance, gives way to Othello, who is but a nigger ; and the King of France to Falconbridge, who is a gentleman of positively no birth at all. So with the exalted characters above mentioned. I perfectly well recollect that the claret at Hawbuck's was not by any means so good as that of Hipsley's, while, on the con- trary, some white hermitage at the Haws (by the way, the butler only gave me half a glass each time) was supernacular. And I remember the conversations. O Madame, Madame, how stupid they were ! The subsoil ploughing ; the pheasants and poach- ing ; the row about the representation of the county ; the Earl of Mangelwurzelshire being at variance with his relative and nominee, the Plonorable Marmaduke Tomnoddy ; all these I could put down, had I a mind to violate the confidence of pri- vate life ; and a great deal of conversation about the weather, the Mangelwurzelshire Hunt, new manures, and eating and drinking, of course. But cui bono ? In these perfectly stupid and honorable 35 2 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. families there is not that Snobbishness which it is our purpose to expose. An ox is an ox — a great hulking, fat-sided, bellow- ing, munching Beef. He ruminates according to his nature, and consumes his destined portion of turnips or oilcake, until the time comes for his disappearance from the pastures, to be succeeded by other deep-lunged and fat-ribbed animals. Per- haps we do not respect an ox. We rather acquiesce in him. The Snob, my dear Madam, is the Frog that tries to swell him- self to ox size. Let us pelt the silly brute out of his folly. Look, I pray you, at the case of my unfortunate friend Ponto, a good-natured, kindly English gentleman — not over-wise, but quite passable — fond of port-wine, of his family, of country sports and agriculture, hospitably minded, with as pretty a little patrimonial country-house as heart can desire, and a thousand pounds a year. It is not much ; but, entre nous, people can live for less, and not uncomfortably. For instance, there is the doctor, whom Mrs. P. does not condescend to visit : that man educates a mirific family, and is loved by the poor for miles round : and gives them port-wine for physic and medicine, gratis. And how those people can get on with their pittance, as Mrs. Ponto says, is a wonder to her. Again, there is the clergyman, Doctor Chrysostom, — Mrs. P. says they quarrelled about Puseyism, but I am given to un- derstand it was because Mrs. C. had the pas of her at the Haws ■ — you may see what the value of his living is any day in the " Clerical Guide ; " but you don't know what he gives away. Even Pettipois allows that, in whose eyes the Doctor's sur- plice is a scarlet abomination ; and so does Pettipois do his duty in his way, and administer not only his tracts and his talk, but his money and his means to his people. As a lord's son, by the way, Mrs. Ponto is uncommonly anxious that he should marry either of the girls whom Lord Gules does not intend to choose. Well, although Pon's income would make up almost as much as that of these three worthies put together — oh, my dear Madam, see in what hopeless penury the poor fellow lives ! What tenant can look to his forbearance ? What poor man can hope for his charity ? " Master's the best of men," honest Stripes says, " and when we was in the ridgment a more free- handed chap didn't live. But the way in which Missus du scryou, I wonder the young ladies is alive, that I du ! " They live upon a fine governess and fine masters, and have clothes made by Lady Carabas's own milliner ; and their SNOBBIUM GATHERUM. 353 brother rides with earls to cover ; and only the best people in the county visit at the Evergreens, and Mrs. Ponto thinks her- self a paragon of wives and mothers, and a wonder of the world, for doing all this misery and humbug, and snobbishness, on a thousand a year. What an inexpressible comfort it was, my dear Madam, when Stripes put my portmanteau in the four-wheeled chaise, and (poor Pon being touched with sciatica) drove me over to the " Carabas Arms " at Guttlebury, where we took leave. There were some bagmen there, in the Commercial Room, and one talked about the house he represented ; and another about his dinner, and a third about the Inns on the road, and so forth — a talk, not very wise, but honest and to the purpose — about as good as that of the country gentlemen : and oh, how much pleasanter than listening to Miss Wirt's show-pieces on the piano, and Mrs. Ponto's genteel cackle about the fashion and the county families ! CHAPTER XXXII. SNOBBIUM GATHERUM. When I see the great effect which these papers are produ- cing on an intelligent public, I have a strong hope that before long we shall have a regular Snob-department in the newspapers, just as we have the Police Courts and the Court News at pres- ent. When a flagrant case of bone-crushing or Poor-law abuse occurs in the world, who so eloquent as The Times to point it out ? When a gross instance of Snobbishness happens, why should not the indignant journalist call the public attention to that de- linquency too ? How, for instance, could that wonderful case of the Earl of Mangelwurzel and his brother be examined in the Snobbish point of view ? Let alone the hectoring, the bullying, the vaporing, the bad grammar, the mutual recriminations, lie-giv- ings, challenges, retractions, which abound in the fraternal dis- pute — put out of the question these points as concerning the individual nobleman and his relative, with whose personal affairs we have nothing to do — and consider how intimately corrupt, how habitually grovelling and mean, how entirely Snobbish in a 354 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. word, a whole county must be which can find no better chiefs or leaders than these two gentlemen. " We don't want," the great county of Mangelwurzelshire seems to say, " that a man should be able to write good grammar; or that he should keep a Christian tongue in his head ; or that he should have the commonest decency of temper, or even a fair share of good sense, in order to represent us in Parliament. All we require is, that a man should be recommended to us by the Earl of Mangelwurzelshire. And all that we require of the Earl of Mangelwurzelshire is that he should have fifty thousand a year and hunt the country." O you pride of all Snobland ! O you crawling, truckling, self-confessed lackeys and parasites ! But this is growing too savage : don't let us forget our usual amenity, and that tone of playfulness and sentiment with which the beloved reader and writer have pursued their mutual reflections hitherto. Well, Snobbishness pervades the little Social farce as well as the great State Comedy ; and the self- same moral is tacked to either. There was, for instance, an account in the papers of a young lady who, misled by a fortune-teller, actually went part of the way to India (as far as Bagnigge Wells, I think,) in search of a husband who was promised her there. Do you suppose this poor deluded little soul would have left her shop for a man be- low her in rank, or for anything but a darling of a Captain in epaulets and a red coat ? It was her Snobbish sentiment that misled her, and made her vanities a prey to the swindling for- tune-teller. Case 2 was that of Mademoiselle de Saugrenue, " the in- teresting young Frenchwoman with a profusion of jetty ringlets," who lived for nothing at a boarding-house at Gosport, was then conveyed to Fareham gratis : and being there, and lying on the bed of the good old lady her entertainer, the clear girl took occa- sion to rip open the mattress, and steal a cash-box, with which she fled to London. How would you account for the prodigious benevolence exercised towards the interesting young French lady ? Was it her jetty ringlets or her charming face ? — Bah ! Do ladies love others for having pretty faces and black hair ? — ■ she said she was a relation of Lord de Saugrenue : talked of her ladyship her aunt, and of herself as a De Saugrenue. The honest boarding-house people were at her feet at once. Good, honest, simple, lord-loving children of Snobland. Finady, there was the case of " the Right Honorable Mr. Vernon," at York. The Right Honorable was the son of a nobleman, and practised on an old Lady. He procured from SNOBBIUM GATHERUM. 355 her dinners, money, wearing-apparel, spoons, implicit credence, and an entire refit of linen. Then he cast his nets over a family of father, mother, and daughters, one of whom he proposed to marry. The father lent him money, the mother made jams and pickles for him, the daughters vied with each other in cooking dinners for the Right Honorable — and what was the end 'i One day the traitor fled, with a teapot and a basketful of cold victuals. It was the "Right Honorable" which baited the hook which gorged all these greedy, simple Snobs. Would they have been taken in by a commoner ? What old lady is there, my dear sir, who would take in you and me, were we ever so ill to do, and comfort us, and clothe us, and give us her money, and her silver forks ? Alas and alas ! what mortal man that speaks the truth can hope for such a landlady ? And yet, all these instances of fond and credulous Snobbishness have occurred in the same week's paper, with who knows how many score more ? Just as we had concluded the above remarks comes a pretty little note sealed with a pretty little Butterfly — bearing a north- ern postmark — and to the following effect : — \tyh Novembers. ■" Mr. Punch, — " Taking great interest in your Snob Papers, we are very anxious to know under what class of that respectable fraternity you would designate us. n We are three sisters, from seventeen to twenty-two. Our father is honestly and truly of a very good family (you will say it is Snobbish to mention that, but I wish to state the plain fact) ; our maternal grandfather was an Earl.* "We can afford to take in a stamped edition of you, and all Dickens' works as fast as they come out, but we do not keep such a thing as a Peerage or even a Baronetage in the house. " We live with every comfort, excellent cellar, &c, &c. ; but as we cannot well afford a butler, we have a neat table-maid (though our father was a military man, has travelled much, been in the best society, &c). We have a coachman and helper, but we don't put the latter into buttons, nor make them wait at table, like Stripes and Tummus. f " We are just the same to persons with a handle to their name as to those without it, We wear a moderate modicum of crinoline, % and are never limp § in the morning:. We have * The introduction of Grandpapa is, I fear, Snobbish. t That is, as you like. I don't object to buttons in moderation. X Quite right. . $ Bless you I 20* 356 THF BOOK OF SNOBS. good and abundant dinners on china (though we have plate *), and just as good when alone as with company. " Now, my dear Air. Punch, will you please give us a short answer in your next number, and I will be so much obliged to you. Nobody knows we are writing to you, not even our father ; nor will we ever tease f you again if you will only give us an answer — just for fun, now do ! " If you get as far as this, which is doubtful, you will proba- bly fling it into the fire. If you do, I cannot help it ; but I am of a sanguine disposition, and entertain a lingering hope. At all events, I shall be impatient for next Sunday, for you reach us on that day, and I am ashamed to confess, we camiot resist opening you in the carriage driving home from church. % " I remain, &c, &c, for myself and sisters. " Excuse this scrawl, but I always write headlong." § " P.S. — You were rather stupid last week, don't you think ? || We keep no gamekeeper, and yet have always abundant game for friends to shoot, in spite of the poachers. We never write on perfumed paper — in short, I can't help thinking that if you knew us you would not think us Snobs.'' To this I reply in the following manner: — " My dear young ladies, I know your post-town : and shall be at church there the Sunday after next ; when you will please to wear a tulip or some little trifle in your bonnets, so that I may know you ? You will recognize me and my dress — a quiet-looking young fellow, in a white top-coat, a crimson satin neck-cloth, light- blue trousers, with glossy tipped boots, and an emerald breast- pin. I shall have a black crape round my white hat ; and my usual bamboo cane with the richly-gilt knob. I am sorry there will be no time to get up mustaches between now and next week. " From seventeen to two-and-twenty ! Ye gods ! what ages ! Dear young creatures, I can see you all three. Seventeen suits me, as nearest my own time of life ; but mind, I don't say two-and-twenty is too old. No, no. And that pretty, roguish, demure, middle one. Peace, peace, thou silly little fluttering heart ! " You Snobs, dear young ladies ! I will pull any man's nose who says so. There is no harm in being of a good family. * Snobbish ; and I doubt whether you ought to dine as well when alone as with cony pany. You will be getting too good dinners, t We like to be teased ; but tell papa. X O garters and stars! what will Captain Gordon and Exeter Hall say to this? § Dear little enthusiast! II You were never more mistaken, Miss, in your life. • SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. 357 You can't help it, poor dears. What's in a name ? What is in a handle to it ? I confess openly that I should not object to being a Duke myself ; and between ourselves you might see a worse leg for a garter. " You Snobs, clear little good-natured things, no ! — that is, I hope not — I think not — 1 won't be too confident — none of us should be — that we are not Snobs. That very confidence savors of arrogance, and to be arrogant is to be a Snob. In all the social gradations from sneak to tyrant, nature has placed a most wondrous and various progeny of Snobs. But are there no kindly natures, no tender hearts, no souls humble, simple, and truth-loving ? Ponder well on this question, sweet young ladies. And if you can answer it, as no doubt you can —luck}' are you — and lucky the respected Herr Papa, and lucky the three handsome young gentlemen who are about to become each others' brothers-in-law." CHAPTER XXXIII. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. Everybody of the middle rank who walks through this life with a sympathy for his companions on the same journey — at any rate, every man who has been jostling in the world for some three or four lustres — must make no end of melancholy reflections upon the fate of those victims whom Society, that is Snobbishness, is immolating every clay. With love and sim- plicity and natural kindness Snobbishness is perpetually at war. People dare not be happy for fear of Snobs. People dare not love for fear of Snobs. People pine away lonely under the tyranny of Snobs. Honest kindly hearts dry up and die. Gallant generous lads, blooming with hearty youth, swell into bloated old-bacherlorhood, and burst and tumble over. Tender girls wither into shrunken decay, and perish solitary, from whom Snobbishness has cut off the common claim to hap- piness and affection with which Nature endowed us all. My heart grows sad as I see the blundering tyrant's handiwork. As I behold it I swell with cheap rage, and glow with fury against the Snob. Come clown, I say, thou skulking dulness ! Come down, thou stupid bully, and give up thy brutal ghost I ,e8 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. And I arm myself with the sword and spear, and taking leave of my family, go forth to do battle with that hideous ogre and giant, that brutal despot in Snob Castle, who holds so many gentle hearts in torture and thrall. When Punch is king, I declare there shall be no such thing as old maids and old bachelors. The Reverend Mr. Malthus shall be burned annually, instead of Guy Fawkes. Those who don't marry shall go into the workhouse. It shall be a sin for the poorest not to have a pretty girl to love him. The above reflections came to mind after taking a walk with an old comrade, Jack Spiggot by name, who is just passing into the state of old-bachelorhood, after the manly and blooming youth in which I remember him. Jack was one of the hand- somest fellows in England when we entered together in the Highland Buffs ; but I quitted the Cuttykilts early, and lost sight of him for many years. Ah ! how changed he is from those clays ! He wears a waistband now, and has begun to dye his whiskers. His cheeks, which were red, are now mottled ; his eyes, once so bright and steadfast, are the color of peeled plovers' eggs. " Are you married, Jack ? " says I, remembering how con- sumedly in love he was with his cousin Letty Lovelace, when the Cuttykilts were quartered at Strathbungo some twenty years ago. "Married? no," says he. "Not money enough. Hard enough to keep myself, much more a family, on five hundred a year. Come to Dickinson's ; there's some of the best Madeira in London there, my boy." So we went and talked over old times. The bill for dinner and wine consumed was prodigious, and the quantity of brandy-and-water that Jack took showed what a regular boozer he was. " A guinea or two guineas. What the devil do I care what I spend for my dinner ? " says he. " And Letty Lovelace ? " says I. Jack's countenance fell. However, he burst into a loud laugh presently. " Letty Lovelace ! " says he. " She's Letty Lovelace still ; but Gad, such a wizened old woman ! She's as thin as a thread-paper ; (you remember what a figure she had :) her nose has got red, and her teeth blue. She's always ill ; always quarrelling with the rest of the family ; always psalm- singing, and always taking pills. Gad, I had a rare escape there. Push round the grog, old boy." Straightway memory went back to the days when Letty was the loveliest of blooming young creatures : when to hear her SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. ' 359 Sing was to make the heart jump into your throat ; when to see her dance, was better than Montessu or Noblet (they were the Ballet Queens of those days) ; when Jack used to wear a locket of her hair, with a little gold chain round his neck, and, exhilarated with toddy, after a sederunt of the Cuttykilt mess, used to pull out this token, and kiss it, and howl about it, to the great amusement of the bottle-nosed old Major and the rest of the table. " My father and hers couldn't put their horses together," Jack said. "The general wouldn't come down with more than six thousand. My governor said it shouldn't be done under eight. Lovelace told him to go and be hanged, and so we parted company. They said she was in a decline. Gammon ! She's forty, and as tough and as sour as this bit of lemon-peel. Don't put much into your punch, Snob my boy. No man can stand punch after wine." " And what are your pursuits, Jack ? " says I. " Sold out when the governor died. Mother lives at Bath. Go down there once a year for a week. Dreadful slow. Shil- ling whist. Four sisters — all unmarried except the youngest — awful work. Scotland in August. Italy in the winter. Cursed rheumatism. Come to London in March, and toddle about at the Club, old boy ; and we won't go home till maw-aw-rning till daylight does appear." " And here's the wreck of two lives ! " mused the present Snobograph, after taking leave of Jack Spiggot. " Pretty merry Letty Lovelace's rudder lost and she cast away, and handsome Jack Spiggot stranded on the shore like a drunken Trinculo." What was it that insulted Nature (to use no higher name), and perverted her kindly intentions towards them ? What cursed frost was it that nipped the love that both were bearing, and condemned the girl to sour sterility, and the lad to selfish old-bachelorhood ? It was the infernal Snob tyrant who gov- erns us all, who says, " Thou shalt not love without a lady's- maid ; thou shalt not marry without a carriage and horses ; thou shalt have no wife in thy heart, and no children on thy knee, without a page in buttons and a French bonne ; thou shalt go to the devil unless thou hast a brougham ; marry poor, and society shall forsake thee ; thy kinsmen shall avoid thee as a criminal ; thy aunts and uncles shall turn up their eyes and bemoan the sad, sad manner in which Tom or Harry has thrown himself away." You, young woman, may sell yourself without shame, and marry old Croesus ; you, young man, may lie away your heart and your life for a jointure. But if you are poor, 360 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. woe be to you ! Society, the brutal Snob autocrat, consigns you to solitary perdition. Wither, poor girl, in your garret: rot, poor bachelor, in your Club. When I see those graceless recluses — those unnatural monks and nuns of the order of St. Beelzebub,* my hatred for Snobs, and their worship, and their idols, passes all continence. Let us hew down that man-eating Juggernaut, I say, that hideous Dagon ; and I glow with the heroic courage of Tom Thumb, and join battle with the giant Snob. CHAPTER XXXIV. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. In that noble romance called "Ten Thousand a Year," I remember a profoundly pathetic description of the Christian manner in which the hero, Mr. Aubrey, bore his misfortunes. After making a display of the most florid and grandiloquent resignation, and quitting his country mansion, the writer sup- poses Aubrey to come to town in a post-chaise and pair, sitting bodkin probably between his wife and sister. It is about seven o'clock, carnages are rattling about, knockers are thundering, and tears bedim the fine eyes of Kate and Mrs. Aubrey as they think that in happier times at this hour — their Aubrey used formerly to go out to dinner to the houses of the aristocracy his friends. This is the gist of the passage — the elegant words I forget. But the noble, noble sentiment I shall always cherish and remember. What can be more sublime than the notion of a great man's relatives in tears about — his dinner ? With a few touches, what author ever more happily described A Snob ? We were reading the passage lately at the house of my friend, Raymond Cray, Esquire, Barrister-at-Law, an ingenuous youth without the least practice, but who has luckily a great share of good spirits, which enables him to bide his time, and bear laughingly his humble position in the world. Meanwhile, until it is altered, the stern laws of necessity and the expenses of the Northern Circuit oblige Mr. Gray to live in a very tiny * This, of course, is understood to apply only to those unmarried persons whom a mean and Snobbish fear about money has kept from fulfilling their natural destiny. Many persons there are devoted to celibacy because they cannot help it. Of these a man would be a bruta who spoke roughly. Indeed, ifter Miss O'Toole's conduct to the writer, he would be the la.=.t to condemn. But never mind, these are personal matters. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. 361 nansion in a very queer small square in the airy neighborhood of Gray's Inn Lane. What is the more remarkable is, that Gray has a wife there. Mrs. Gray was a Miss Harley Baker : and I suppose I need not say that is a respectable family. Allied to the Cavendishes, the Oxfords, the Marrybones, they still, though rather dechus from their original splendor, hold their heads as high as any. Mrs. Harley Baker, I know, never goes to church without John behind to carry her prayer-book ; nor will Miss Welbeck, her sister, walk twenty yards a-shopping without the protection of Figby, her sugar-loaf page ; though the old lady is as ugly as any woman in the parish and as tall and whiskery as a grenadier. The astonishment is, how Emily Harley Baker could have stooped to marry Raymond Gray. She, who was the prettiest and proudest of the family ; she, who refused Sir Cockle Byles, of the Bengal Service ; she, who turned up her little nose at Essex Temple, Q. C, and connected with the noble house of Albyn ; she, who had but 4,000/. pour tout potage, to marry a man who had scarcely as much more. A scream of wrath and indignation was uttered by the whole family when they heard of this mesal!ia?ice. Mrs. Harley Baker never speaks of her daughter now but with tears in her eyes, and as a ruined creature. Miss Welbeck says, " I consider that man a villain;" and has denounced poor good-natured Mrs. Perkins as a swindler, at whose ball the young people met for the first time. Mr. and Mrs. Gray, meanwhile, live in Gray's Inn Lane aforesaid, with a maid-servant and a nurse, whose hands are very full, and in a most provoking and unnatural state of hap- piness. They have never once thought of crying about their dinner, like the wretchedly puling and Snobbish womankind of my favorite Snob Aubrey, of "Ten Thousand a Year ;" but, on the contrary, accept such humble victuals as fate awards them with a most perfect and thankful good grace — nay, actually have a portion for a hungry friend at times — as the present writer can gratefully testify. I was mentioning these dinners, and some admirable lemon puddings which Mrs. Gray makes, to our mutual friend the great Mr. Goldmore, the East India Director, when that gentle- man's face assumed an expression of almost apoplectic teiror, and he gasped out, "What! Do they give dinners?*' He seemed to think it a crime and a wonder that such people should dine at all, and that it was their custom to huddle round their kite hen -ft re over a bone and a crust. Whenever he meets 3 62 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. them in society, it is a matter of wonder to him (and he always expresses his surprise very loud) how the lady can appear decently dressed, and the man have an unpatched coat to his back. I have heard him enlarge upon this poverty before the whole room at the " Conflagrative Club," to which he and I and Gray have the honor to belong. We meet at the Club on most days. At half-past four, Goldmore arrives in St. James's Street from the City, and you may see him reading the evening papers in the bow-window of the Club, which enfilades Pall Mall — a large plethoric man, with a bunch of seals in a large bow-windowed light waistcoat. He has large coat-tails, stuffed with agents' letters and papers about companies of which he is a Director. His seals jingle as he walks. I wish I had such a man for an uncle, and that he himself were childless. I would love and cherish him, and be kind to him. At six o'clock in the full season, when all the world is in St. James's Street, and the carriages are cutting in and out among the cabs on the stand, and the tufted dandies are show- ing their listless faces out of "White's," and you see respecta- ble gray-headed gentlemen waggling their heads to each other through the plate-glass windows of " Arthur's : " and the red- coats wish to be Briareian, so as to hold all the gentlemen's horses ; and that wonderful red-coated royal porter is sunning himself before Marlborough House ; — at the noon of London time, you see a light-yellow carriage with black horses, and a coachman in a tight floss-silk wig, and two footmen in powder and white andyellow liveries, and a large woman inside in shot- silk, a poodle, and a pink parasol, which drives up to the gate of the " Conflagrative," and the page goes and says to Mr. Goldmore (who is perfectly aware of ' the fact, as he is looking out of the windows with about forty other " Conflagrative " bucks), " Your carriage, Sir." G. wags his head. " Remember, eight o'clock precisely," says he to Mulligatawney, the other East India Director; and, ascending the carriage, plumps down by the side of Mrs. Goldmore for a drive in the Park, and then home to Portland Place. As the carriage whirls off, all the young bucks in the Club feel a secret elation. It is a part of their establishment, as it were. That carriage belongs to their Club, and their Club belongs to them. They follow the equipage with interest ; they eye it knowingly as they see it in the Park. But halt ! we are not come to the Club Snobs yet. O my brave Snobs, what a flurry there will be among you when those papers appear ! SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. 363 Well, you may judge, from the above description, what sort of a man Goldmore is. A dull and pompous Leadenhall Street Croesus, good-natured withal, and affable — cruelly affable. " Mr. Goldmore can never forget," his lady used to say, " that it was Mrs. Gray's grandfather who sent him to India ; and though that young woman has made the most inprudent marriage in the world, and has left her station in society, her husband seems an ingenious and laborious young man, and we shall do everything in our power to be of use of him." So they used to a^k the Grays to dinner twice or thrice in a season, when, by way of increasing the kindness, Buff, the butler, is ordered to hire a fly to convey them to and from Portland Place. Of course I am much too good-natured a friend of both par* ties not to tell Gray of Goldmore's opinion regarding him, and the nabob's astonishment at the idea of the briefless barrister having any dinner at all. Indeed, Goldmore's saying became a joke against Gray amongst us wags at the Club, and we used to ask him when he tasted meat last? whether we should bring him home something from dinner ? and cut a thousand other mad pranks with him in our facetious way. One day, then, coming home from the Club, Mr. Gray con- veyed to his wife the astounding information that he had asked Goldmore to dinner. " My love," says Mrs. Gray, in a tremor, " how could you be so cruel ? Why, the dining-room won't hold Mrs. Gold- more." " Make your mind easy, Mrs. Gray ; her ladyship is in Paris. It is only Croesus that's coming, and we are going to the play afterwards — to Sadler's Wells. Goldmore said ?»t the Club that he thought Shakspeare was a great dramatic poet, and ought to be patronized j whereupon, fired with enthusiam, I invited him to our banquet. " Goodness gracious ! what can we give him for dinner ? He has two French cooks \ you know Mrs. Goldmore is always telling us about them ; and he dines with Aldermen everyday." "' A plain leg of mutton, my Lucy, I prythee get ready at three ; Have it tender, and smoking, and juicy, And what better meat can there be ? '" says Gray, quoting my favorite poet. " But the cook is ill ; and you know that horrible Pattypan the pastry-cook's " " Silence, Frau ! " says Gray, in a deep tragedy voice. " I will have the ordering of this repast. Do all things as I bid 364 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. thee. Invite our friend Snob here to partake of the feast. Be mine the task of procuring it." " Don't be expensive, Raymond," says his wife. " Peace, thou timid partner of the briefless one. Gold- more's dinner shall be suited to our narrow means. Only do thou in all things my commands." And seeing by the peculiar expression of the rogue's countenance, that some mad waggery was in preparation, I awaited the morrow with anxiety. CHAPTER XXXV. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE Punctual to the hour — (by the way, I cannot omit here to mark down my hatred, scorn, and indignation towards those miserable Snobs who come to dinner at nine, when they are asked at eight, in order to make a sensation in the company. May the loathing of honest folks, the backbiting of others, the curses of cooks, pursue these wretches, and avenge the society on which they trample !) — Punctual, I say, to the hour of five, which Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Gray had appointed, a youth of an elegant appearance, in a neat evening-dress, whose trim whiskers indicated neatness, whose light step denoted activity (for in sooth he was hungry, and always is at the dinner hour, whatsoever that hour may be), and whose rich golden hair, curling down his shoulders, was set off by a perfectly new four- and-ninepenny silk hat, was seen wending his way down Bittle- stone Street, Bittlestone Square, Gray's Inn. The person in question, I need not say, was Mr. Snob. He is never late when invited to dine. But to proceed with my narrative : — Although Mr. Snob may have flattered himself that he made a sensation as he strutted down Bittlestone Street with his richly gilt knobbed cane (and indeed I vow I saw heads look- ing at me from Miss Squilsby's, the brass-plated milliner oppo- site Raymond Gray's, who has three silver-paper bonnets, and two fly-blown French prints of fashion in the window), yet what was the emotion produced by my arrival, compared to that with which the little street thrilled, when at five minutes past five the floss-wigged coachman, the yellow hammer-cloth and flunkeys, the black horses and blazing silver harness of Mr. SWOBS AxVD MARRIAGE 365 Goldmore whirled down the street ! It is a very little street, of very little houses, most of them with very large brass plates like Miss Squilsby's. Coal merchants, architects and survey- ors, two surgeons, a solicitor, a dancing-master, and of course several house-agents, occupy the houses — little two-storeyed edifices with little stucco porticoes. Goldmore's carriage over- topped the roofs almost ; the first floors might shake hands with Crcesus as he lolled inside ; all the windows of those first floors thronged with children and women in a twinkling. There was Mrs. Hammerly in curl-papers ; Mrs. Saxby with her front awry ; Mr. Wriggles peering through the gauze curtains, holding the while his hot glass of rum-and-water — in fine, a tremendous commotion in Bittlestone Street, as the Goldmore carriage drove up to Mr. Raymond Gray's door. " How kind it is of him to come with both the footmen ] " says little Mrs. Gray, peeping at the vehicle too. The huge domestic, descending from his perch, gave a wrap at the door which almost drove in the building. All the heads were out ; the sun was shining ; the very organ-boy paused ; the footman, the coach, and Goldmore's red face and white waistcoat were blazing in splendor. The herculean plushed one went back to open the carriage door. Raymond Gray opened his — in his shirt-sleeves. He ran up to the carriage. " Come in, Goldmore," says he ; " just in time, my boy. Open the door, What-d'ye-call'um, and let your master out," — and What-d'ye-call'mri obeyed mechanically, with a face of wonder and horror only to bo equalled by the look of stupefied astonishment which orna- mented the purple countenance of his master. "Wawt taim will you please have the cage, sir?" says What-d'ye-caH'um, in that peculiar, unspellable, inimitable, flunkefied pronunciation, which forms one of the chief charms of existence. " Best have it to the theatre at night," Gray exclaims ; " it is but a step from here to the Wells, and we can walk there. I've got tickets for all. Be at Sadler's Wells at eleven." " Yes, at eleven, exclaims Goldmore, perturbedly, and walks with a flurried step into the house, as if he were going to execu- tion (as indeed he was, with that wicked Gray as a Jack Ketch over him). The carriage drove away, followed by numberless eyes from doorsteps and balconies ; its appearance is still a wonder in Bittlestone Street. " Go in there, and amuse yourself with Snob," says Gray, opening the little drawing-room door. " I'll call out as soon 366 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. as the chops are ready. Fanny's below, seeing to the pud- ding." " Gracious mercy ! " says Goldmore to me, quite confiden- tially, " how could he ask us ? I really had no idea of this— this utter destitution." " Dinner, dinner ! " roars out Gray, from the dining-room, whence issued a great smoking and frying ; and entering that apartment we find Mrs. Gray ready to receive us, and looking perfectly like a Princess who, by some accident, had a bowl of potatoes in her hand, which vegetables she placed on the table. Her husband was meanwhile cooking mutton-chops on a grid- iron over the fire. " Fanny has made the roly-poly pudding," says he ; " the chops are my part. Here's a fine one ; try this, Goldmore." And he popped a fizzing cutlet on that gentleman's plate. What words, what notes of exclamation can describe the nabob's astonishment ? The table-cloth was a very old one, darned in a score of places. There was mustard in a teacup, a silver fork for Gold- more — all ours were iron. " I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth," says Gray, gravely. " That fork is the only one we have. Fanny has it generally." " Raymond ! " cries Mrs. Gray, with an imploring face. " She was used to better things, you know • and I hope one day to get her a dinner-service. I'm told the electro-plate is uncommonly good. Where the deuce is that boy with the beer ? And now," said he, springing up, " I'll be a gentleman." And so he put up his coat, and sat down quite gravely, with four fresh mutton-chops which he had by this time broiled. " We don't have meat every day, Mr. Goldmore," he con- tinued, " and it's a treat to me to get a dinner like this. You little know, you gentlemen of England, who live at home at ease, what hardships briefless barristers endure." " Gracious mercy ! " says Mr. Goldmore. " Where's the half-and-half ? Fanny, go over to the ' Keys' and get the beer. Here's sixpence." And what was our astonishment when Fanny got up as if to go ! " Gracious mercy ! let me" cries Goldmore. " Not for worlds, my dear sir. She's used to it. They wouldn't serve you as well as they serve her. Leave her alone. Law bless you ! " Raymond said, with astounding composure. And Mrs. Gray left the room, and actually came back with a tray on which there was a pewter flagon of beer. Little Polly SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. ,5- (to whom, at her christening, I had the honor of presenting a L»ilvcr mug ex officio) followed with a couple of tobacco pipes, and the queerest roguish look in her round little chubby face. •' Did you speak to Tapling about the gin, Fanny, my dear?" Gray asked, after bidding Polly put the pipes on the chimney- piece, which that little person had some difficulty in reaching* " The last was turpentine, and even your brewing didn't make good punch of it." You would hardly suspect, Goldmore, that my wife, a Harlcy Baker, would ever make gin-punch ? I think my mother-in-law would commit suicide if she saw her." " Don't be always laughing at mamma, Raymond," says Mrs. Gray. " Well, well, she wouldn't die, and I don't wish she would. And you don't make gin-punch, and you don't like it either— and — Goldmore, do you drink your beer out of the glass, or out of the pewter ? " " Gracious mercy ! " ejaculates Croesus once more, as little Polly, taking the pot with both her little bunches of hands, offers it, smiling, to that astonished Director. And so, in a word, the dinner commenced, and was pres- ently ended in a similar fashion. Gray pursued his unfor- tunate guest with the most queer and outrageous description of his struggles, misery, and poverty. He described how ha cleaned the knives when they were first married ; and how he used to drag the children in a little cart ; bow his wife could toss pancakes ; and what part of his dress she made. He told Tibbits, his clerk (who was in fact the functionary who had brought the beer from the public-house, which Mrs. Fanny had fetched from the neighboring apartment) — to fetch " the bottle of port-wine," when the dinner was over ; and told Goldmore as wonderful a history about the way in which that bottle of wine had come into his hands as any of his former stories had been. When the repast was all over, and it was near time to move to the play, and Mrs. Gray had retired, and we were sitting ruminating rather silently over the last glasses of the port, Gray suddenly breaks the silence by slapping Goldmore on the shoulder, and saying, " Now, Goldmore, tell me some- thing." "What?" asks Croesus. " Haven't you had a good dinner ? " Goldmore started, as if a sudden truth had just dawned upon him. He had had a good dinner ; and didn't know it until then. The three mutton-chops consumed by him were best of 368 THE BOOK OF SNOBS the mutton kind ; the potatoes were perfect of their order ; aa for the roly-poly, it was too good. The porter was frothy and cool, and the port-wine was worthy of the gills of a bishop. I speak with ulterior views ; for there is more in Gray's cellar. " Well," says Goldmore, after a pause, during which he took time to consider the momentous question Gray put to him — " 'Pon my word — now you say so — I — I have — I really have had a monsous good dinnah — monsous good, upon my ward ! Here's your health, Gray my boy, and your amiable lady ; and when Mrs. Goldmore comes back, I hope we shall see you more in Portland Place." And with this the time came for the play, and we went to see Mr. Phelps at Sadler's Wells. The best of this story (for the truth of every word of which I pledge my honor) is, that after this banquet, which Goldmore enjoyed so, the honest fellow felt a prodigious compassion and regard for the starving and miserable giver of the feast, and determined to help him in his profession. And being a Director of the newly-established Antibilious Life Assurance Company, he has had Gray appointed Standing Counsel, with a pretty annual fee ; and only yesterday, in an appeal from Bombay (Buckmuckjee Bobbachee v. Ramchowder-Bahawder) in the Privy Council, Lord Brougham complimented Mr. Gray, who was in the case, on his curious and exact knowledge of the Sanscrit language. Whether he knows Sanscrit or not, I can't say ; but Gold- more got him the business ; and so I cannot help having a lurking regard for that pompous old Bigwig. CHAPTER XXXVI. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. " We Bachelors in ^.mbs are very much obliged to you," says my old school and college companion, Essex Temple, " for the opinion which you hold of us. You call us selfish, purple- faced, bloated, and other pretty names. You state, in the sim- plest possible terms, that we shall go to the deuce. You bid us rot in loneliness ; and deny us all claims to honesty, conduct, decent Christian life. Who are you, Mr. Snob, to judge us so ? Who are you, with your infernal benevolent smirk and iirin, that laugh at all our generation ? SNOBS AND MARRIAGE. 369 " I will tell you my case," says Essex Temple ; " mine and tny sister Polly's, and you may make what you like of it ; and sneer at old maids, and bully old bachelors, if you will. *' I will whisper to you confidentially that my sister Polly was engaged to Sergeant Shirker — a fellow whose talents one cannot deny, and be hanged to them, but whom I have always known to be mean, selfish, and a prig. However, women don't see these faults in the men whom Love throws in their way. Shirker, who has about as much warmth as an eel, made up to Polly years and years ago, and was no bad match for a brief- less barrister, as he was then. " Have you ever read Lord Eldon's Life ? Do you remem- ber how the sordid old Snob narrates his going out to purchase twopence worth of sprats, which he and Mrs. Scott fried be- tween them ? And how he parades his humility, and exhibits his miserable poverty — he who, at that time, must have been making a thousand pounds a year ? Well, Shirker was just as proud of his prudence — just as thankful for his own meanness, and of course would not marry without a competency. Who so honorable ? Polly waited, and waited faintly, from year to year. He wasn't sick at heart ; his passion never disturbed his six hours' sleep, or kept his ambition out of mind. He would rather have hugged an attorney any day than have kissed Polly, though she was one of the prettiest creatures in the world ; and while she was pining alone up stairs, reading over the stock of half a dozen frigid letters that the confounded prig had conde- scended to write to her, /ie, be sure, was never busy with any- thing but his briefs in chambers — always frigid, rigid, self-sat- isfied, and at his duty. The marriage trailed on year after year, while Mr. Serjeant Shirker grew to be the famous lawyer he is. " Meanwhile, my younger brother, Pump Temple, who was in the 120th Hussars, and had the same little patrimony which fell to the lot of myself and Polly, must fall in love with our cousin, Fanny Figtree, and marry her out of hand. You should have seen the wedding ! Six bridesmaids in pink, to hold the fan, bouquet, gloves, scent-bottle, and pocket-handkerchief of the bride ; basketfuls of white favors in the vestry, to be pinned on to the footmen and horses ; a genteel congregation of curi- ous acquaintance in the pews, a shabby one of poor on the steps ; all the carnages of all our acquaintance, whom Aunt Figtree had levied for the occasion ; and of course four horses for Mr. Pump's bridal vehicle. " Then comes the breakfast, or dejetiner, if you please, with 37° THE BOOK OF SNOBS. a brass band in the street, and policemen to keep order. The happy bridegroom spends about a year's income in dresses for the bridesmaids and pretty presents ; and the bride must have a trousseau of laces, satins, jewel-boxes and tomfoolery, to make her fit to be a lieutenant's wife. There was no hesita- tion about Pump. He flung about his money as if it had been dross ; and Mrs. P. Temple, on the horse Tom Tiddler, which her husband gave her, was the most dashing of military women at Brighton or Dublin. How old Mrs. Figtree used to bore me and Polly with stories of Pump's grandeur and the noble company he kept ! Polly lives with the Figtrees, as I am not rich enough to keep a home for her. " Pump and I have always been rather distant. Not having the slightest notions about horseflesh, he has a natural con- tempt for me ; and' in our mother's lifetime, when the good old lady was always paying his debts and petting him, I'm not sure there was not a little jealousy. It used to be Polly that kept the peace between us. " She went to Dublin to visit Pump, and brought back grand accounts of his doings — gayest man about town — Aide- de-Camp to the Lord Lieutenant — Fanny admired everywhere — Her Excellency godmother to the second, boy : the eldest with a string of aristocratic Christian names that made the grandmother wild with delight. Presently Fanny and Pump obligingly came over to London, where the third was born. " Polly was godmother to this, and who so loving as she and Pump now ? ' Oh, Essex,' says she to me, ' he is so good, so generous, so fond of his family ; so handsome ; who can help loving him, and pardoning his little errors ? ' One day, while Mrs. Pump was yet in the upper regions, and Doctor Finger- fee's brougham at her door every day, having business at Guildhall, whom should I meet in Cheapside but Pump and Polly? The poor girl looked more happy and rosy than I have seen her these twelve years. Pump, on the contrary, was rather blushing and embarrassed. " I couldn't be mistaken in her face and its look of mischief and triumph. She had been committing some act of sacrifice. I went to the family stockbroker. She had sold out two thousand pounds that morning and given them to Pump. Quarrelling was useless — Pump had the money ; he was off to Dublin by the time I reached his mother's, and Polly radiant still. He was going to make his fortune ; he was going to smbark the money in the Bog of Allen — I don't know what. The fact is, he was going to pay his losses upon the last Man- SNOBS A ND MA RRIA GE. 3 7 x Chester steeple-chase, and I leave you to imagine how much principal or interest poor Polly ever saw back again. " It was more than half her fortune, and he has had anothei thousand since from her. Then came efforts to stave off ruin and prevent exposure ; struggles on all our parts, and sacrifices, that " (here Mr. Essex Temple began to hesitate) — "that needn't be talked of ; but they are of no more use than such sacrifices ever are. Pump and his wife are abroad — I don't like to ask where ; Polly has the three children, and Mr. Sergeant Shirker has formally written to break off an engage- ment, on the conclusion of which Miss Temple must herself have speculated, when she alienated the greater part of her fortune. " And here's your famous theory of poor marriages ! " Essex Temple cries, concluding the above history. " How do you know that I don't want to marry myself ? How do you dare sneer at my poor sister ? What are we but martyrs of the reckless marriage system which Mr. Sncb, forsooth, chooses to advocate ? " And he thought he had the better of the argu- ment, which, strange to say, is not my opinion. But for the infernal Snob-worship, might not every one of these people be happy? If poor Polly's happiness lay in link- ing her tender arms round such a heartless prig as the sneak who has deceived her, she might have been happy now — as happy as Raymond Raymond in the ballad, with the stone statue by his side. She is wretched because Mr. Sergeant Shirker worships -money and ambition, and is a Snob and a coward. If the unfortunate Pump Temple and his- giddy hussy of a wife have ruined themselves, and dragged down others into their calamity, it is because they loved rank, and horses, and plate, and carriages, and Court Guides, and millinery, and would sacrifice all to attain those objects. And who misguides them ? If the world were more simple, would not those foolish people follow the fashion ? Does not the world love Court Guides, and millinery, and plate, and carriages ? Mercy on us ! Read the fashionable intelligence; read the Court Circular ; read the genteel novels ; survey man- kind, from Pimlico to Red Lion Square, and see how the Poor Snob is aping the Rich Snob ; how the Mean Snob is grovelling at the feet of the Proud Snob; and the Great Snob is lording it over his humble brother. Does the idea of equality ever enter Dives' head ? Will it ever ? Will the Duchess of Fitz- battleaxe (I like a good name) ever believe that Lady Croesus, 21 372 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. her next-door neighbor in Belgrave Square, is as good a lady as her Grace ? Will Lady Crcesus ever leave off pining for the Duchess's parties, and cease patronizing Mrs. Broadcloth, whose husband has not got his Baronetcy yet ? Will Mrs. Broadcloth ever heartily shake hands with Mrs. Seedy, and give up those odious calculations about poor dear Mrs. Seedy's income ? Will Mrs. Seedy, who is starving in her great house, go and live comfortably in a little one, or in lodgings ? Will her landlady, Mrs. Letsam, ever stop wondering at the famili arity of tradespeople, or rebuking the insolence of Suky, the maid, who wears flowers under her bonnet, like a lady ? But why hope, why wish for such times ? Do I wish all Snobs to perish ? Do I wish these Snob papers to determine ? Suicidal fool, art not thou, too, a Snob and a brother ? CHAPTER XXXVII. CLUB SNOBS. As I wish to be particularly agreeable to the ladies (to whom I make my most humble obeisance), we will now, if you please, commence maligning a class of Snobs against whom, I believe, most female minds are embittered, — I mean Club Snobs. I have very seldom heard even the most gentle and placable woman speak without a little feeling of bitterness against those social institutions, those palaces swaggering in St. James's, which are open to the men ; while the ladies have but their dingy three-windowed brick boxes in Belgravia or in Padding- tonia, or in the region between the road of Edgeware and that of Gray's Inn. In my grandfather's time it used to be Freemasonry that roused their anger. It was my grand-aunt (whose portrait we still have in the family) who got into the clock-case at the Royal Rosicrucian Lodge at Bungay, Suffolk, to spy the proceedings of the Societv, of which her husband was a member, and being frightened by the sudden whirring and striking eleven of the clock (just as the Deputy-Grand-Master was bringing in the mystic gridiron for the reception of a neophyte), rushed out into the midst of the lodge assembled ; and was elected, by a desperate unanimity, Deputy-Grand-Mistress for life. Though CLUB SNOBS. 373 that admirable and courageous female never subsequently breathed a word with regard to the secrets of the initiation, yet she inspired all our family with such a terror regarding the mysteries of Jachin and Boaz, that none of our family have ever since joined the Society, or worn the dreadful Masonic insignia. It is known that Orpheus was torn to pieces by some justly indignant Thracian ladies for belonging to an Harmonic Lodge. " Let him go back to Eurydice," they said, " whom he is pre- tending to "regret so." But the history is given in Dr. Lem- priere's elegant dictionary in a manner much more forcible than any which this feeble pen can attempt. At once, then, and without verbiage, let us take up this subject-matter of Clubs. Clubs ought not, in my mind, to be permitted to bachelors. If my friend of the Cuttykilts had not our Club, the " Union Jack," to go to (I belong to the " U. J." and nine other similar institutions), who knows but he never would be a bachelor at this present moment ? Instead of being made comfortable, and cockered up with every luxury, as they are at Clubs, bachelors ought to be rendered profoundly miserable, in my opinion. Every encouragement should be given to the rendering their spare time disagreeable. There can be no more odious object, according to my sentiments, than young Smith, in the pride of health, commanding his dinner of three courses r than middle- aged Jones wallowing (as I may say) in an easy padded arm- chair, over the last delicious novel or brilliant magazine ; or than old Brown, that selfish old reprobate for whom mere litera- ture has no charms, stretched on the best sofa, sitting on the second edition of The limes, having the Morning Chronicle between his knees, the Herald pushed in between his coat and waistcoat, the Standard under his left arm, the Globe under the other pinion, and the Daily News in perusal. " I'll trouble you for Punch, Mr. Wiggins," says the unconscionable old gorman- dizer, interrupting our friend, who is laughing over the periodi- cal in question. This kind of selfishness ought not to be. No, no. Young Smith, instead of his dinner and his wine, ought to be, where ? — ■ at the festive tea-table, to be sure, by the side of Miss Higgs, sipping the bohea, or tasting the harmless muffin ; while old Mrs. Higgs looks on, pleased at their innocent dalliance, and my friend Miss Wirt, the governess, is performing Thalberg's last sonata in treble X., totally unheeded, at the piano. Where should the middle-aged Jones be ? At his time of life, he ought to be the father of a family. At such an hour — 374 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. say, at nine o'clock at night — the nursery-bell should have just rung the children to bed. He and Mrs. J. ought to be, by rights, seated on each side of the fire by the dining-room table, a bottle of port-wine between them, not so full as it was an hour since. Mrs. J. has had two glasses ; Mrs. Grumble (Jones's mother-in-law) has had three : Jones himself has finished the rest, and dozes comfortably until bedtime. And Brown, that old newspaper-devouring miscreant, what right has he at a club at a decent hour of night ? He ought to be playing his rubber with Miss MacWhirter, his wife, and the family apothecary. His candle ought to be brought to him at ten o'clock, and he should retire to rest just as the young people were thinking of a dance. How much finer, simpler, nobler are the several employments I have sketched out for these gentle- men than their present nightly orgies at the horrid Club. And, ladies, think of men who do not merely frequent the dining-room and library, but who use other apartments of those horrible dens which it is my purpose to batter down ; think of Cannon, the wretch, with his coat off, at his age and size, clat- tering the balls over the billiard-table all night, and making bets with that odious Captain Spot ! — think of Pam in a dark room with Bob Trumper, Jack Deuceace, and Charley Vole, playing, the poor dear misguided wretch, guinea points and five pounds on the rubber! — above all, think — oh, think of that den of abomination, which, I am told, has been established in some clubs, called the Smoking-Room, — think of the debauchees who congregate there, the quantities of reeking whiskey-punch or more dangerous sherry-cobbler which they consume ; — think of them coming home at cock-crow and letting themselves into the quiet house with the Chubb key ; think of them, the hypo- crites, taking off their insidious boots before they slink up stairs, the children sleeping overhead, the wife of their bosom alone with the waning rushlight in the two-pair front — that chamber so soon to be rendered hateful by the smell of their stale cigars ! I am not an advocate of violence ; I am not, by nature, of an incendiary turn of mind ; but if, my clear ladies, you are for assassinating Mr. Chubb and burning down the Club-houses in St. James's, there is one Snob at least who will not think the worse of you. The only men who, as I opine, ought to be allowed the use of Clubs, are married men without a profession. The continual presence of these in a house cannot be thought, even by the most uxorious of wives, desirable. Say the girls are beginning to practise their music, which, in an honorable English family, CLUB SNOBS. 375 ought to occupy every young gentlewoman three hours ; it would be rather hard to call upon poor papa to sit in the draw* ing-room all that time, and listen to the interminable discords and shrieks which are elicited from the miserable piano during the above necessary operation. A man with a good ear, especially, would go mad, if compelled daily to submit to this horror. Or suppose you have a fancy to go to the milliner's or to Howell and James's, it is manifest, my dear Madam, that your husband is much better at the Club during these operations than by your side in the carriage, or perched in wonder upon one of the stools at Shawl and Gimcrack's, whilst young coun- ter-dandies are displaying their wares. This sort of husbands should be sent out after breakfast, and if not Members of Parliament, or Directors of a Railroad, or an Insurance Company, should be put into their Clubs, and told to remain there until dinner-time. No sight is more agree- able to my truly well-regulated mind than to see the noble characters so worthily employed. Whenever I pass by St. James's Street, having the privilege, like the rest of the world, of looking in at the windows of " Blight's," or " Foodie's," or " Snook's," or the great bay at the " Contemplative Club," I behold with respectful appreciation the figures within — the honest rosy old fogies, the mouldy old dandies, the waist-belts and glossy wigs and tight cravats of those most vacuous and respectable men. Such men are best there during the day- time, surely. When you part with them, dear ladies, think of the rapture consequent on their return. You have transacted your household affairs ; you have made your purchases ; you have paid your visits ; you have aired your poodle in the Park ; your French maid has completed the toilette which renders you so ravishingly beautiful by candlelight, and you are fit to make home pleasant to him who has been absent all day. Such men surely ought to have the Clubs, and we will not class them among Club Snobs therefore : — on whom let us re« serve our attack for the next chapter. 376 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CLUB SNOBS. Such a sensation has been created in the Clubs by the appearance of the last paper on Club Snobs, as can't but be complimentary to me who am one of their number. I belong to many Clubs. The " Union Jack," the " Sash and Marlin-spike "—Military Clubs. "The True Blue," the "No Surrender," the "Blue and Buff," the " Guy Fawkes," and the " Cato Street "—Political Clubs. The " Brummell " and the " Regent "—Dandy Clubs. The "Acropolis," the "Palladium," the " Areopagus," the Pnyx," the " Pentelicus," the " Ilissus," and the " Poluphloisboio Thalasses " — Literary Clubs. I never could make out how the latter set of Clubs got their names ; / don't know Greek for one, and I wonder how many other members of those institutions do ? Ever since the Club Snobs have been announced, I observe a sensation created on my entrance into any one of these places. Members get up and hustle together • they nod, they scowl, as they glance towards the present Snob. " Infernal impudent jackanapes ! If he shows me up," says Colonel Bludyer, " I'll break every bone in his skin." " I told you what would come of admitting literary men into the Club," says Ranville Ran- ville to his colleague, Spooney, of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office. " These people are very well in their proper places, and as a public man, I make a point of shaking hands with them, and that sort of thing ; but to have one's privacy obtruded upon by such people is really too much. Come along, Spooney," and the pair of prigs retire superciliously. As I came into the coffee-room at the " No Surrender," old Jawkins was holding out to a knot of men, who were yawn- ing as usual. There he stood, waving the Standard, and swag- gering before the fire. "What," says he, "did I tell Peel last year? If you touch the Corn Laws, you touch the Sugar Ques- tion ; if you touch the Sugar, you touch the Tea. I am no monopolist. I am a liberal man, but I cannot forget that I stand on the brink of a precipice ; and if we are to have Free Trade, -give me reciprocity. And what was Sir Robert Peel's answer to me ? ' Mr. Jawkins,' he said " Here Jawkins's eye suddenly turning on your humble ser« CLUB SNOBS. 377 vant, he stopped his sentence, with a guilty look — his stale old stupid sentence, which every one of us at the Club has heard over and over again. Jawkins is a most pertinacious Club Snob. Every day he is at that fireplace, holding that Standard, of which he reads up the leading-article, and pours it out ore rotundo, with the most astonishing composure, in the face of his neighbor, who has just read every word of it in the paper. Jawkins has money, as you may see by the tie of his neck-cloth. He passes the morning in swaggering about the City, in bankers' and brokers' parlors, and says : — " I spoke with Peel yesterday, and his in- tentions are so and so. Graham and I were talking over the matter, and I pledge you my word of honor, his opinion coin- cides with mine ; and that What-d'ye-call-'um is the only meas- ure Government will "venture on trying." By evening-paper time he is at the Club : " I can tell you the opinion of the City, my lord," says he, " and the way in which Jones Loyd looks at it is briefly this ; Rothschilds told me so themselves. In Mark Lane, people's minds are quite made up." He is con- sidered rather a well-informed man. He lives in Belgravia, of course ; in a drab-colqred genteel house, and lias everything about him that is properly grave, dis- mal, and comfortable. His dinners are in the Morning Herald, among the parties for the week ; and his wife and daughters make a very handsome appearance at the Drawing-Room, once a year, when he comes down to the Club in his Deputy-Lieu- tenant's uniform. He is fond of beginning a speech to you by saying, " When I was in the House, I, &c." — in fact he sat for Skittlebury for three weeks in the first Reformed Parliament, and was unseated for bribery ; since which he has three times unsuccessfully con- tested that honorable borough. Another sort of Political Snob I have seen at most Clubs, and that is the man who does not care so much for home poli- tics, but is great upon foreign affairs. I think this sort of man is scarcely found anywhere but in Clubs. It is for him the papers provide their foreign articles, at the expense of some ten thousand a year each. He is the man who is really seriously uncomfortable about the designs of Russia, and the atrocious treachery of Louis Philippe. He it is who expects a French fleet in the Thames, and has a constant eye upon the American President, every word of whose speech (goodness help him !) he reads. He knows the names of the contending leaders in Portu- gal, and what they are fighting about : and it is he who says that 378 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Lord Aberdeen ought to be impeached, and Lord Palmerston hanged, or vice versa. Lord Palmerston's being sold to Russia, the exact number of roubles paid, by what house in the City, is a favorite theme with this kind of Snob. I once overheard him — it was Captain Spitfire, R. N., (who had been refused a ship by the Whigs, by the way) — indulging in the following conversation with Mr. Minns after dinner : " Why wasn't the Princess Scragamoffsky at Lady Palmer- ston's party, Minns ? Because she can't show — and why can't she show ? Shall I tell you Minns, why she can't show ? The Princess Scragamoffsky's back is flayed alive, Minns — I tell you it's raw, sir! On Tuesday last, at twelve o'clock, three drum- mers of the Preobajinski Regiment arrived at Ashburnham House, and at half-past twelve, in the yellow drawing-room at the Russian Embassy, before the ambassadress and four ladies'- maids, the Greek Papa, and the Secretary of Embassy, Ma- dame de Scragamoffsky received thirteen dozen. She was knouted, sir, knouted in the midst of England — in Berkeley Square, for having said that the Grand Duchess Olga's hair was red. And now, sir, will you tell me Lord Palmerston ought to continue Minister ? " Minns : " Good Ged ! " Minns follows Spitfire about, and thinks him the greatest and wisest of human beings. CHAPTER XXXIX. CLUB SNOBS. Why does not some great author write " The Mysteries of the Club-houses ; or St. James's Street unveiled." It would be a fine subject for an imaginative writer. We must all, as boys, remember when we went to the fair, and had spent all our money — the sort ©f awe and anxiety with which we loitered round the outside of the show, speculating upon the nature of the entertainment going on within. Man is a Drama — of Wonder and Passion, and Mystery and Meanness, and Beauty and Truthfulness, and Etcetera. Each Bosom is a Booth in Vanity Fair. But let us stop this CLUB SNOBS. 379 capital style, I should die if I kept it up for a column (a pretty thing a column all capitals would be, by the way). In a Club, though there mayn't be a soul of your acquaintance in the room, you have always the chance of watching strangers, and specula- ting on what is going on within those tents and curtains of their souls, their coats and waistcoats. This is a never-failing sport. Indeed I am told there are some Clubs in the town where no- body ever speaks to anybody. They sit in the coffee-room, quite silent, and watching each other. Yet how little you can tell from a man's outward demeanor ! There's a man at our Club — large, heavy, middle-aged — gor- geously dressed — rather bald — with lackered boots — and a boa when he goes out ; quiet in demeanor, always ordering and con- suming a recherche little dinner: whom I have mistaken for Sir John Pocklington any time these five years, and respected as a man with five hundred pounds per diem; and I find he is but a clerk in an office in the City, with not two hundred pounds in- come, and his name is Jubber. Sir John Pocklington was, on the contrary, the dirty little snuffy man who cried out so about the bad quality of the beer, and grumbled at being overcharged three-halfpence for a herring, seated at the next table to Jubber on the day when some one pointed the Baronet out to me. Take a different sort of mystery. I see, for instance, old Fawney stealing round the rooms of the Club, with glassy, meaningless eyes, and an endless greasy simper — he fawns on everybody he meets, and shakes hands with you, and blesses you, and betrays the most tender and astonishing interest in your welfare. You know him to be a quack and a rogue, and he knows you know it. But he wriggles on his way, and leaves a track of slimy flattery after him wherever he goes. Who can penetrate that man's mystery ? What earthly good can he get from you or me ? You don't know what is working under that leering tranquil mask. You have only the dim instinctive re- pulsion that warns you, you are in the presence of a knave — ■ beyond which fact all Fawney 's soul is a secret to you. I think I like to speculate on the young men best. Their play is opener. You know the cards in their hand, as it were. Take, for example, Messrs. Spavin and Cockspur. A specimen or two of the above sort of young fellows may be found, I believe, at most Clubs. They know nobody. They bring a fine smell of cigars into the room with them, and they growl together, in a corner, about sporting matters. They rec- ollect the history of that short period in which they have been ornaments of the world by names of winning horses. Aspoliti- 21* 3 8o THE BOOK OF SNOBS. cal men talk about " the Reform year," " the year the Whigs went out," and so forth, these young sporting bucks of Tarna- tion's year, or Opodeldoc's year, or the year when Catawampus ran second for the Chester Cup. They play at billiards in the morning, they absorb pale ale for breakfast, and " top up " with glasses of strong waters. They read Bell's Life (and a very pleasant paper too, with a great deal of erudition in the an- swers to correspondents). They go down to Tattersall's, and swagger in the Park, with their hands plunged in the pockets of their paletots. What strikes me especially in the outward demeanor of sport- ing youth is their amazing gravity, their conciseness of speech, and care-worn and moody air. In the smoking-room at the " Regent," when Joe Millerson will be setting the Avhole room in a roar with laughter, you hear young Messrs. Spavin and Cockspur grumbling together in a corner. " I'll take your five-and-twenty to one about Brother to Bluenose," whispers Spavin. " Can't do it at the price," Cockspur says, wagging his head ominously. The betting-book is always present in the minds of those unfortunate youngsters. I think I hate that work even more than the " Peerage." There is some good in the latter — though, generally speaking, a vain record ; though De Mogyns is not descended from ,the giant Hogyn Mogyn ; though half the other genealogies are equally false and foolish ; yet the mottoes are good reading — some of them ; and the book itself a sort of gold-laced and liveried lackey to History, and in so far serviceable. But what good ever came out of, or went into, a betting-book ? If I could be Caliph Omar for a week, I would pitch every one of those despicable manuscripts into the flames ; from my Lord's, who is "in " with Jack Snaffle's stable, and is over-reaching worse-informed rogues and swindling greenhorns, down to Sam's, the butcher-boy's, who books eighteenpenny odds in the tap-room, and " stands to win five- and-twenty bob." In a turf transaction, either Spavin or Cockspur would try to get the better of his father, and, to gain a point in the odds, victimize his best friends. One day we shall hear of one or other levanting ; an event at which, not being sporting men, we shall not break our hearts. See — Mr. Spavin is settling his toilette previous to departure ; giving a curl in the glass to his side-wisps of hair. Look at him ! It is only at the hulks, or among turf-men, that you ever see a face so mean, so knowing, and so gloomy. A much more humane beincr amoncr the youthful Clubbists CLUB SNOBS. 381 is the Lady-killing Snob. I saw Wiggle just now in the dress- ing-room, talking to Waggle, his inseparable. Waggle. — " Ton my honor, Wiggle, she did." Wiggle. — " Well, Waggle, as you say — I own I think she did look at me rather kindly. We'll see to-night at the French play." And having arrayed their little persons, these two harmless young bucks go up stairs to dinner. CHAPTER XL. CLUB SNOBS. Both sorts of young men, mentioned in my last under the flippant names of Wiggle and Waggle, may be found in toler- able plenty, I think, in Clubs. Wiggle and Waggle are both idle. They come of the middle classes. One of them very likely makes believe to be a barrister, and the other has smart apartments about Piccadilly. They are a sort of second-chop dandies ; they cannot imitate that superb listlessness of de- meanor, and that admirable vacuous folly which distinguishes the noble and high-born chiefs of the race ; but they lead lives almost as bad (were it but for the example), and are personally quite as useless. I am not going to arm a thunderbolt, and launch it at the heads of these little Pall Mall butterflies. They don't commit much public harm, or private extravagance. They don't spend a thousand pounds for diamond earrings for an Opera-dancer, as Lord Tarquin can : neither of them ever set up a public-house or broke the bank of a gambling-club, like the young Earl of Martingale. They have good points, kind feelings, and deal honorably in money transactions— only in their characters of men of second-rate pleasure about town, they and their like are so utterly mean, self-contented, and absurd, that they must be omitted in a work treating on Snobs. Wiggle has been abroad, where he gives you to understand that his success among the German countesses and Italian princesses, whom he met at the tables-d ' hbte, was perfectly ter- rific. His rooms are hung round with pictures of actresses and ballet-dancers. He passes his mornings in a fine dressing-gown, burning pastilles, and reading " Don Juan," and French novels Cbythe way, the life of the author of ''Don Juan," as described 382 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. by himself, was the model of the life of a Snob). He has two- penny halfpenny French prints of women with languishing eyes, dressed in dominoes, — guitars, gondolas, and so forth, — and tells you stories about them. " It's a bad print," says he, " I know, but I've a reason for liking it. It reminds me of somebody — somebody I knew in other climes. You have heard of the Principessa di Monte Pulciano ? I met her at Rimini. Dear, dear Francesca ! That fair-haired, bright-eyed thing in the Bird of Paradise and the Turkish Simar with the love-bird on her finger, I'm sure must have been taken from — from somebody perhaps whom you don't know — but she's known at Munich, Waggle, my boy, — every- body knows the Countess Ottilia di Eulenschreckenstein. Gad, sir, what a beautiful creature she was when I danced with her on the birthday of Prince Attila of Bavaria, in '44. Prince Carloman was our vis-a-vis, and Prince Pepin danced the same contredanse. She had a Polyanthus in her bouquet. Waggle, 1 have it now." His countenance assumes an agonized and mys- terious expression, and he buried his head in the sofa cushions, as if plunging into a whirlpool of passionate recollections. 'Last year he made a considerable sensation by having on his table a morocco miniature-case locked by a gold key, which he always wore round his neck, on which was stamped a ser- pent — emblem of eternity — with the letter M. in the circle. Sometimes he laid this upon his little morocco writing-table, as if it were on an altar — generally he had flowers upon it ; in the middle of a conversation he would start up and kiss it. He would call out from his bedroom to his valet, " Hicks, bring me my casket ! " " I don't know who it is," Waggle would say. "W r ho does know that fellow's intrigues ! Desborough Wiggle, sir, is the slave of passion. I suppose you have heard the story of the Italian princess locked up in the Convent of Saint Barbara, at Rimini? He hasn't told you? Then I'm not at liberty to speak. Or the countess, about whom he nearly had the duel with Prince Witikind of Bavaria ? Perhaps you haven't even heard about the beautiful girl at Pentonville, daughter of a most respectable Dissenting clergyman. She broke her heart when she found he was engaged (to a most lovely creature of high family, who afterwards proved false to him), and she's now in Harwell." Waggle's belief in his friend amounts to frantic adoration. " What a genius he is, if he would but apply himself ! • he whis- pers to me. " He could be anything, sir, but for his passions. CLUB SNOBS. 383' His poems are the most beautiful things you ever saw. He's written a continuation of ' Don Juan,' from his own adventures. Did you ever read his lines to Mary ? They're superior to By- ron, sir — superior to Byron." • I was glad to hear this from so accomplished a critic as Waggle ; for the fact is, I had composed the verses myself for honest Wiggle one day, whom I found at his chambers plunged in thought over a very dirty old-fashioned album, in which he had not as yet written a single word. " I can't," says he. " Sometimes I can write whole cantos, and to-day not a line. Oh, Snob ! such an opportunity ! Such a divine creature ! She's asked me to write verses for her album, and I can't." ' " Is she rich ? " said I. " I thought you would never marry any but an heiress." " Oh, Snob ! she's the most accomplished, highly-connected creature ! — and I can't get out a line." " How will you have it ? " says I. " Hot, with sugar ? " " Don't, don't ! You trample on the most sacred feelings, Snob. I want something wild and tender, — like Byron. I want to tell her that amongst the festive halls, and that sort of thing, you know — I only think about her, you know — that I scorn the world, and am weary of it, you know, and — some- thing about a gazelle, and a bulbul, you know." "And a yataghan to finish off with," the present writer observed, and we began : — "TO MARY. " I seem, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all ; My laughter rings cheery and loud, In banquet and ball. My lips hath its smiles and its sneers, For all men to see ; But my soul, and my truth, and my tears. Are for thee, are for thee 1 " " Do you call that neat, Wiggle ? " says I. " I declare it almost makes me cry myself." " Now suppose," says Wiggle, "we say that all the world is at my feet — make her jealous you know, and that sort of thing — and that — that I'm going to travel, you know ? That per' haps may work upon her feelings." So We (as this wretched prig said) began again : — " Around me they flatter and fawn— The young and the old, The fairest are ready to pawn Their hearts for my gold. ■384 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. They sue me — I laugh as I spurn The slaves at my knee, But in faith and in fondness I turn Unto thee, unto thee! " " Now for the travelling, Wiggle my boy ! " And I began, in a voice choked with emotion — "Away ! for my heart knows no rest Since you taught it to feel ; The secret must die in my breast I burn to reveal ; The passion I may not * * * " " I say, Snob ! " Wiggle here interrupted the excited bard (just as I was about to break out into four lines so pathetic that they would drive you into hysterics). " I say — ahem — ■ couldn't you say that I was — a — military man, and that there was some danger of my life ? " " You a military man ? — danger of your life ? What the deuce do you mean ? " "Why," said Wiggle, blushing a good deal, " I told her I was going out — on — the — Ecuador — expedition." " You abominable young impostor," I exclaimed. " Finish the poem for yourself ! " And so he did, and entirely out of all metre, and bragged about the work at the Club as his own performance. Poor Waggle fully believed in his friend's genius, until one day last week he came with a grin on his countenance to the Club, and said, " Oh, Snob, I've made such a discovery ! Going down to the skating to-day, whom should I see but Wiggle walking with that splendid woman — that lady of illus- trious family and immense fortune, Mary, you know, whom he wrote the beautiful verses about. She's five-and-forty. She's red hair. She's a nose like a pump-handle. Her father made his fortune by keeping a ham-and-beef shop, and Wiggle's going to marry her next week." " So much the better, Waggle, my young friend," I ex- claimed. " Better for the sake of womankind that this dan- gerous clog should leave off lady-killing — this Blue-Beard give up practice. Or, better rather for his own sake. For as there is not a word of truth in any of those prodigious love-stories which you used to swallow, nobody has been hurt except Wiggle himself, whose affections will now centre in the ham- and-beef shop. There are people, Mr. Waggle, who do these things in earnest, and hold a good rank in the world too. But these are not subjects for ridicule, and though certainly Snobs, are scoundrels likewise. Their cases go up to a higher Court." CLUB SNOBS. 385 CHAPTER XLI. CLUE SNOBS. Bacchus is the divinity to whom Waggle devotes his especial worship. " Give me wine, my boy," says he to his friend Wiggle, who is prating about lovely woman ; and holds up his glass full of the rosy fluid, and winks at it portentously, and sips it and smacks his lips after it, and meditates on it, as if he were the greatest of connoisseurs. I have remarked this excessive wine-amateurship especially in youth. Snoblings from college, Fledglings from the army, Goslings from the public schools, who ornament our Clubs, are frequently to be heard in great force upon wine questions. " This bottle's corked," says Snobling ; and Mr. Sly, the butler, taking it away, returns presently with the same wine in another jug, which the young amateur pronounces excellent. " Hang champagne ! " says Fledgling, " it's only fit for gals and children. Give me pale sherry at dinner, and my twenty-three claret after- wards." " What's port now ? " says Gosling ; " disgusting thick sweet stuff — where's the old dry wine one used to get ? " Until the last twelvemonth, Fledgling drank small-beer at Doc- tor Swishtail's ; and Gosling used to get his dry old port at a gin-shop in Westminster — till he quitted that seminary, in 1844. Anybody who has looked at the caricatures of thirty years ago, must remember how frequently bottle-noses, pimpled faces, and other Bardolphian features are introduced by the designer. They are much more rare now (in nature, and in pictures, there- fore,) than in those good old times ; but there are still to be found amongst the youth of our Clubs lads who glory in drink- ing-bouts, and whose faces, quite sickly and yellow, for the most part are decorated with those marks which Rowland's Kalydor is said to efface. " I was so cut last night — old boy ! " Hopkins says to Tomkins (with amiable confidence). " I tell you what we did. We breakfasted with Jack Herring at twelve, and kept up with brandy and soda-water and weeds till four ; then we toddled into the Park for an hour ; then we dined and drank mulled port till half-price ; then we looked in for an hour at the Haymarket ; then we came back to the Club, and 386 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. had grills and whiskey-punch till all was blue. — Hullo, waiter! Get me a glass of cherry-brandy." Club waiters, the civilest, the kindlest, the patientest of men, die under the infliction of these cruel young topers. But if the reader wishes to see a perfect picture on the stage of this class of young fellows, I would recommend him to witness the ingenious comedy of London Assurance — the amiable heroes of which are repre- sented, not only as drunkards and five-o'clock-in-the-morning men, but as showing a hundred other delightful trails of swindling, lying, and general debauchery, quite edifying to witness. How different is the conduct of these outrageous youths to the decent behavior of my friend, Mr. Papworthy; who says to Poppins, the butler at the club : — Papworthy. — " Poppins, I'm thinking of dining early ; is there any cold game in the house ? " Poppins. — "There's "a game-pie, sir; there's cold grouse, sir ; there's cold pheasant, sir ; there's cold peacock, sir ; cold swan, sir ; cold ostrich, sir," &c, &c. (as the case may be). Papworthy. — " Hem ! What's your best claret now, Pop- pins ? — in pints I mean." Poppins. — " There's Cooper and Magnum's Lafite, sir ; there's Lath and Sawdust's St. Jullien, sir : Bung's Leoville is considered remarkably fine ; and I think you'd like Jugger's Chateau-Margaux." Papworthy. — "Hum! — hah! — well — give me a crust of bread and a glass of beer. I'll only lunch, Poppins." Captain Shindy is another sort of Club bore. He has been known to throw all the Club in an uproar about the quality of his mutton-chop. " Look at it, sir ! Is it cooked, sir ? Smell it, sir ! Is it meat fit for a gentleman ? " he roars out to the steward, who stands trembling before him, and who in vain tells him that the Bishop of Bullocksmithy has just had three from the same loin. All the waiters in the Club are huddled round the captain's mutton-chop. He roars out the most horrible curses at John for not bringing the pickles ; he utters the most dreadful oaths because Thomas has not arrived with the Harvey sauce ; Peter comes tumbling with the water-jug over Jeames, who is bringing " the glittering canisters with bread." Whenever Shindy enters the room (such is the force of character), every table is de- serted, every gentleman must dine as he best may, and all those big footmen are in terror. He makes his account of it. He scolds, and is better CLUB SNOBS. 387 waited upon in consequence. At the Club he has ten servants scudding about to do his bidding. Poor Mrs. Shindy and the children are, meanwhile, in dingy lodgings somewhere, waited upon by a charity-girl in pattens. CHAPTER XLII. CLUB SNOBS. Every well-bred English female will sympathize with the subject of the harrowing tale, the history of Sackville Maine, I am now about to recount. The pleasures of Clubs have been spoken of : let us now glance for a moment at the dangers of those institutions, and for this purpose I must introduce you to my young acquaintance, Sackville Maine. It was at a ball at the house of my respected friend, Mrs. Perkins, that I was introduced to this gentleman and his charm- ing lady. Seeing a young creature before me in a white dress, with white satin shoes ; with a pink ribbon, about a yard in breadth, flaming out as she twirled in a polka in the arms of Monsieur de Springbock, the German diplomatist ; with a green wreath on her head, and the blackest hair this individual ever set eyes on — seeing, I say, before me a charming young woman whisking beautifully in a beautiful dance, and presenting, as she wound and wound round the room, now a full face, then a three-quarter face, then a profile — a face, in fine, which in every way you saw it, looked pretty, and rosy, and happy, I felt (as I trust) a not unbecoming curiosity regarding the owner of this pleasant countenance, and asked Wagley (who was standing by, in conversation with an acquaintance) who was the lady in question ? " Which ? " says Wagley. "That one with the coal-black eyes," I replied. " Hush ! " says he ; and the gentleman with whom he was talking moved off, with iather a discomfited air. When he wr,s gone Wagley burst out laughing. " Coal-black eyes!" said he; "you've just hit it. That's Mrs. Sackville Maine, and that was her husband who just went away. He's a coal merchant, Snob my boy, and I have no doubt Mr. Perkins's Wallsends are supplied from his wharf. He is in a flaming 388 rHE BOOK OF SNOBS. furnace when he hears coals mentioned. He and his wife and his mother are very proud of Mrs. Sackville's family ; she was a Miss Chuff, daughter of Captain Chuff, R. N. That is the widow ; that stout woman in crimson tabinet, battling about the odd trick with old Mr. Dumps, at the card-table." And so, in fact, it was. Sackville Maine (whose name is a hundred times more elegant, surely, than that of Chuff) was blest with a pretty wife, and a genteel mother-in-law, both of whom some people may envy him. Soon after his marriage the old lady was good enough to come and pay him a visit — just for a fortnight — at his pretty little cottage, Kennington Oval ; and, such is her affection for the place, has never quitted it these four years. She has alsc brought her son, Nelson Collingwood Chuff, to live with her; but he is not so much at home as his mamma, going as a day- boy to Merchant Taylors' School, where he is getting a sound classical education. If these beings, so closely allied to his wife, and so justly dear to her, may be considered as drawbacks to Maine's hap- piness, what man is there that has not some things in life to complain of ? And when I first knew Mr. Maine, no man seemed more comfortable than he. His cottage was a picture of elegance and comfort ; his table and cellar were excellently and neatly supplied. There was every enjoyment, but no osten- tation. The omnibus took him to business of a morning ; the boat brought him back to the happiest of homes, where he would while away the long evenings by reading out the fashion- able novels to the ladies as they worked ; or accompany his wife on the flute (which he played elegantly) ; or in any one of the hundred pleasing and innocent amusements of the domestic circle. Mrs. Chuff covered the drawing-rooms with prodigious tapestries, the work of her hands. Mrs. Sackville had a par- ticular genius of making covers of tape or net-work for these tapestried cushions. She could make home-made wines. She could make preserves and pickles. She had an album, into which, during the time of his courtship, Sackville Maine had written choice scraps of Byron's and Moore's poetry, analogous to his own situation, and in a fine mercantile hand. She had a large manuscript receipt-book — every quality, in a word, which indicated a virtuous and well-bred English female mind. "And as for Nelson Collingwood," Sackville would say, laughing, " we couldn't do without him in the house. If ha didn't spoil the tapestry we should be over-cushioned in a few months ; and whom could we get but him tQ drink Laura's CLUB SNOBS. 389 home-made wine ? " The truth is, the gents who came from the City to dine at the " Oval " could not be induced to drink it — in which fastidiousness, I myself, when I grew to be inti- mate with the family, confess that I shared. " And yet, sir, that green ginger has been drunk by some of England's proudest heroes," Mrs. Chuff would exclaim. " Admiral Lord Exmouth tasted and praised it, sir, on board Captain Chuff's ship, the ' Nebuchadnezzar,' 74, at Algiers ; and he had three dozen with him in the ' Pitchfork ' frigate, a part of which was served out to the men before he went into his immortal action with the 'Furibonde,' Captain Choufleur, in the Gulf of Panama." All this, though the old dowager told us the story every day when the wine was produced, never served to get rid of any quantity of it — and the green ginger, though it had fired British tars for combat and victory, was not to the taste of us peaceful and degenerate gents of modern times. I see Sackville now, as on the occasion when, presented by Wagley, I paid my first visit to him. It was in July — a Sunday afternoon — Sackville Maine was coming from church, with his wife on one arm, and his mother-in-law (in redtabinet, as usual,) on the other. A half-grown, or hobbadehoyish footman, so to speak, walked after them, carrying their shining golden prayer- books — the ladies had splendid parasols with tags and fringes. Mrs. Chuff's great gold watch, fastened to her stomach, gleamed there like a ball of fire. Nelson Collingwood was in the dis- tance, shying stones at an old horse on Kennington Common. 'Tvvas on that verdant spot we met — nor can I ever forget the majestic courtesy of Mrs. Chuff, as she remembered having had the pleasure of seeing me at Mrs. Perkins's — nor the glance of scorn which she threw at an unfortunate gentleman who was preaching an exceedingly desultory discourse to a skeptical audience of omnibus-cads and nurse-maids, on a tub, as we passed by. " I cannot help it, sir," says she ; " I am the widow of an officer of Britain's Navy : I was taught to honor my Church and my King : and I cannot bear a Radical, or a Dis- senter." With these fine principles I found Sackville Maine impressed. "Wagley," said he, to my introducer, "if no better engage- ment, why shouldn't self and friend dine at the ' Oval ? ' Mr. Snob, sir, the mutton's coming off the spit at this very minute. Laura and Mrs. Chuff " (he said Laurar and Mrs. Chuff ; but I hate people who make remarks on these peculiarities of pro- nunciation,) " will be most happy to see you ; and I can prom- 39° THE BOOK OF SNOBS. ise you a hearty welcome, and as good a glass of port-wine as any in England." " This is better than dining at the ' Sarcophagus,' " thinks I to myself, at which Club Wagley and I had intended to take our meal ; and so we accepted the kindly invitation, whence arose afterwards a considerable intimacy. Everything about this family and house was so good-natured, comfortable, and well-conditioned, that a cynic would have ceased to growl there. Mrs. Laura was all graciousness and smiles, and looked to as great advantage in her pretty morning- gown as in her dress-robe at Mrs. Perkins's. Mrs. Chuff fired off her stories about the " Nebuchadnezzar," 74, the action between the " Pitchfork " and the " Furibonde " — the heroic resistance of Captain Choufleur, and the quantity of snuff he took, &c, &c. ; which, as they were heard for the first time, were pleasanter than I have subsequently found them. Sack- ville Maine was the best of hosts. He agreed in everything everybody said, altering his opinions without the slightest res- ervation upon the slightest possible contradiction. He was not of those beings who would emulate a Schonbein or Friar Bacon, or act the part of an incendiary towards the Thames, his neighbor — but a good, kind, simple, honest easy, fellow — in love with his wife — well disposed to all the world — content with himself, content even with his mother-in-law. Nelson Collingwood, I remember, in the course of the evening, when whiskey-and-water was for some reason produced, grew a little tipsy. This did not in the least move Sackviile's equanimity. " Take him up stairs, Joseph," said he to the hobbadehoy, " and — Joseph — don't tell his mamma." What could make a man so happily disposed, unhappy ? What could cause discomfort, bickering, and estrangement in a family so friendly and united ? Ladies, it was not my fault — it was Mrs. Chuff's doing — but the rest of the tale you shall have on a future day. CHAPTER XLIII. CLUB SNOBS. The misfortune which befell the simple and good-natured young Sackville, arose entirely from that abominable " Sar- cophagus Club ; " and that he ever entered it was partly the fault of the present writer. CLUB SNOBS. 39* For seeing Mrs. Chuff, his mother-in-law, had a taste for the genteel — (indeed, her talk was all about Lord Collingwood, Lord Gambler, Sir Jahaleel Brenton, and the Gosport and Plymouth balls) — Wagley and I, according to our wont, trumped her conversation, and talked about Lords, Dukes, Marquises, and Baronets, as if those dignitaries were our familiar friends. " Lord Sextonbury," says I, " seems to have recovered her ladyship's death. He and the Duke were very jolly over their wine at the ' Sarcophagus ' last night ; weren't they, Wagley ? " " Good fellow, the Duke," Wagley replied. " Pray, ma'am " (to Mrs. Chuff), " you who know the world and etiquette, will you tell me what a man ought to do in my case ? Last June, his Grace, his son Lord Castlerampant, Tom Smith, and myself were dining at the Club, when I offered the odds against Daddylonglegs for the Derby — forty to one, in sovereigns only. His Grace took the bet, and of course I won. He has never paid me. Now, can I ask such a great man for a sovereign? — ■ One more lump of sugar, if you please, my dear madam." It was lucky Wagley gave her this opportunity to elude the question, for it prostrated the whole worthy family among whom we were. They telegraphed each other with wondering eyes. Mrs. Chuff's stories about the naval nobility grew quite faint : and kind little Mrs. Sackville became uneasy, and went up stairs to look at the children — not at that young monster, Nelson Collingwood, who was sleeping off the whiskey-and-water — but at a couple of little ones who had made their appearance at dessert, and of whom she and Sackville were the happy parents. The end of this and subsequent meetings with Mr. Maine ivas, that we proposed and got him elected as a member of the •' Sarcophagus Club." It was not done without a deal of opposition — the secret having been whispered that the candidate was a coal merchant. You may be sure some of the proud people and most of the parvenus of the Club were ready to blackball him. We com- bated this opposition successfully, however. We pointed out to the parvenus that the Lambtons and the Stuarts sold coals : we mollified the proud by accounts of his good birth, good nature, and good behavior ; and Wagley went about on the clay of election, describing with great eloquence, the action between the "Pitchfork" and the " Furibonde," and the valor of Cap- tain Maine, our friend's father. There was a slight mistake in. the narrative ; but we carried our man, with only a trifling sprinkling of black beans in the boxes : Byles's, of course, who blackballs everybody ; and Bung's, who looks down upon a coal merchant, having lately retired from the wine trade. 39 2 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Some fortnight afterwards I saw Sackville Maine under the following circumstances : — He was showing the Club to his family. He had brought them thither in the light-blue fly, waiting at the Club door; with Mrs. Chuff's hobbadehoy footboy on the box, by the side of the flyman, in a sham livery. Nelson Collingwood ; pretty Mrs. Sackville ; Mrs. Captain Chuff (Mrs. Commodore Chuff we call her), were all there ; the latter, of course, in the vermil ion tabinet, which, splendid as it is, is nothing in comparison to the splendor of the " Sarcophagus." The delighted Sackville Maine was pointing out the beauties of the place to them. It seemed as beautiful as Paradise to that little party. The " Sarcophagus " displays every known variety of archi- tecture and decoration. The great library is Elizabethan; the small library is pointed Gothic ; the dining-room is severe Doric ; the strangers' room has an Egyptian look ; the drawing- rooms are Louis Quatorze (so called because the hideous or- naments displayed were used in the time of Louis Quinze) ; the cortile, or hall, is Morisco-Italian. It is all over marble, maplewood, looking-glasses, arabesques, ormolu, and scagliola. Scrolls, ciphers, dragons, Cupids, polyanthuses, and other flowers writhe up the walls in every kind of cornucopiosity. Fancy every gentleman in Jullien's band playing with all his might, and each performing a different tune ; the ornaments at our Club, the " Sarcophagus," so bewilder and affect me. Dazzled with emotions which I cannot describe, and which she dared not reveal, Mrs. Chuff, followed by her children and son-in-law, walked wondering amongst these blundering splen- dors. In the great library (225 feet long by 150) the only man Mrs. Chuff saw, was Tiggs. He was lying on a crimson-velvet sofa, reading a French novel of Paul de Kock. It was a very little book. He is a very little man. In that enormous hall he looked like a mere speck. As the ladies passed breathless and trembling in the vastness of the magnificent solitude, he threw a knowing, killing glance at the fair strangers, as much as to say, " Ain't I a fine fellow ? " They thought so, I am sure. " Who is that ? " hisses out Mrs. Chuff, when we were about fifty yards off him at the other end of the room. "Tiggs! " says I, in a similar whisper. " Pretty comfortable this, isn't it, my clear ? " says Maine in a free-and-easy way to Mrs. Sackville ; " all the magazines, you see — writing materials — new works — choice library, con- CLUB SNOBS. 393 taining every work of importance — what have we here ? — ■ ' Dugdale's Monasticon,' a most valuable and, I believe, enter- taining book." And proposing to take down one of the books for Mrs. Maine's inspection, he selected Volume VII., to which he was attracted by the singular fact that a brass door-handle grew out of the back. Instead of pulling out a book, however, he pulled open a cupboard, only inhabited by a lazy housemaid's broom and duster, at which he looked exceedingly discom- fited ; while Nelson Collingwood, losing all respect, burst into a roar of laughter. " That's the rummest book I ever saw," says Nelson. " I wish we'd no others at Merchant Taylors'." " Hush, Nelson ! " cries Mrs. Chuff, and we went into the other magnificent apartments. How they did admire the drawing-room hangings, (pink and silver brocade, most excellent wear for London,) and cal- culated the price per yard ; and revelled on the luxurious sofas \ and gazed on the immeasurable looking-glasses. " Pretty well to shave by, eh ? " says Maine to his mother- in-law. (He was getting more abominably conceited every minute.) " Get away, Sackville," says she, quite delighted, and threw a glance over her shoulder, and spread out the wings of the red tabinet, and took a good look at herself ; so did Mrs. Sackville — just one, and I thought the glass reflected a very smiling, pretty creature. But what's a woman at a looking-glass ? Bless the little dears, it's their place. They fly to it naturally. It pleases them, and they adorn it. What I like to see, and watch with increasing joy and adoration, is the Club men at the great looking-glasses. Old Gills pushing up his collars and grin- ning at his own mottled face. Hulker looking solemnly at his great person, and tightening his coat to give himself a waist. Fred Minchin simpering by as he is going out to dine, and casting upon the reflection of his white neckcloth a pleased moony smile. What a deal of vanity that Club mirror has re- flected, to be sure ! Well, the ladies went through the whole establishment with perfect pleasure. They beheld the coffee-rooms, and the little tables laid for dinner, and the gentlemen who were taking their lunch, and old Jawkins thundering away as usual ; they saw the reading-rooms, and the rush for the evening papers ; they saw the kitchens — those wonders of art — where the Chef was presiding over twenty pretty kitchen-maids, and ten thou- 394 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. sand shining saucepans - and they got into the light-blue fly perfectly bewildered with pleasure. Sackville did not enter it, though little Laura took the back seat on purpose, and left him the front place alongside of Mrs. Chuff's red tabinet. " We have your favorite dinner," says she, in a timid voice ; "won't you come, Sackville ? " " I shall take a chop here to-day, my dear," Sackville re- plied. " Home, James." And he went up the steps of the " Sarcophagus," and the pretty face looked very sad out of the carriage, as the blue fly drove away. CHAPTER XLI CLUB SNOBS. Why — why did I and Wagley ever do so cmcl an action as to introduce young Sackville Maine into that odious '* Sarcoph- agus ! " Let our imprudence and his example be a warning to other gents ; let his fate and that of his poor wife be re- membered by every British female. The consequences of his entering the Club were as follow : — One of the first vices the unhappy wretch acquired in this abode of frivolity was that of smoking. Some of the dandies of the Club, such as the Marquis of Macabaw, Lord Doodeen, and fellows of that high order, are in the habit of indulging in this propensity up stairs in the billiard-rooms of the " Sarcoph- agus " — and, partly to make their acquaintance, partly from a natural aptitude for crime, Sackville Maine followed them, and became an adept in the odious custom. Where it is in- troduced into a family I need not say how sad the conse- quences are, both to the furniture and the morals. Sackville smoked in his dining-room at home, and caused an agony to his wife and mother-in-law which I do not venture to describe. He then became a professed billiard-player, wasting hours upon that amusement ; betting freely, playing tolerably, losing awfully to Captain Spot and Col. Cannon. He played matches of a hundred games with these gentlemen, and would not only continue until four or five o'clock in the morning at this work, but would be found at the Club of a forenoon, indulging him- self to the detriment of his business, the ruin of his health, and the neglect of his wife. CLUB SNOBS. 395 From billiards to whist is but a step — and when a man gets to whist and five pounds on the rubber, my opinion is, that it is all up with him. How was the coal business to go on, and the connection of the firm to be kept up, and the senior partner always at the card-table ? Consorting now with genteel persons and Pall Mall bucks, Sackville became ashamed of his snug little residence in Ken- nington Oval, and transported his family to Pimlico, where, though Mrs. Chuff, his mother-in-law, was at first happy, as the quarter was elegant and near her Sovereign, poor little Laura and the children found a woeful difference. Where were her friends who came in with their work of a morning ? — At Kennington and in the vicinity of Clapham. Where were her children's little playmates ? — on Kennington Common. The great thundering carriages that roared up and down the drab- colored streets of the new quarter, contained no friends for the sociable little Laura. The children that paced the squares, attended by a bonne or a prim governess, were not like those happy ones that flew kites, or played hop-scotch, on the well- beloved old Common. And ah ! what a difference at Church too ! — between St. Benedict's of Pimlico, with open seats, ser- vice in sing-song — tapers — albs — surplices — garlands and pro- cessions, and the honest old ways of Kennington ! The foot- men, too, attending St. Benedict's were so splendid and enor- mous, that James, Mrs. Chuff's boy, trembled amongst them, and said he would give warning rather than carry the books to that church any more. The furnishing of the house was not done without expense. And, ye gods ! what a difference there was between Sack- ville's dreary French banquets in Pimlico, and the jolly dinners at the Oval ! No more leg-of-mutton, no more of " the best port-wine in England ;" but entiees on plate, and dismal two- penny champagne, and waiters in gloves, and the club bucks for company — among whom Mrs. Chuff was uneasy and Mrs. Sackville quite silent. Not that he dined at home often. The wretch had become a perfect epicure, and dined commonly at the Club with the gormandizing clique there ; with old Dr. Maw, Colonel Cram- ley (who is as lean as a greyhound and has jaws like a jack), and the rest of them. Here you might see the wretch tippling Sillery champagne and gorging himself with French viands ; and I often look with sorrow from my table, (on which cold meat, the Club small-beer, and a half pint of Marsala from the modest banquet,) and sighed to think it was my work. 39& THE BOOK OF SNOBS. And there were other beings present to my repentant thoughts. Where's his wife, thought I ? Where's poor, good, kind little Laura ? At this very moment — it's about the nursery bed-time, and while yonder good-for-nothing is swilling his wine — the little ones are at Laura's knee lisping their prayers ; and she is teaching them to say — " Pray God bless Papa." When she has put them to bed, her day's occupation is gone ; and she is utterly lonely all night, and sad, and waiting for him. Oh, for shame ! Oh, for shame ! Go home, thou idle tippler. How Sackville lost his health : how he lost his business ; how he got into scrapes ; how he got into debt ; how he be^ came a railroad director ; how the Pimlico house was shut up ; how he went to Boulogne, — all this I could tell, only I am too much ashamed of my part of the transaction. They returned to England, because, to the surprise of everybody, Mrs. Chuff came down with a great sum of money (which nobody knew she had saved), and paid his liabilities. He is in England; but at Kennington. His name is taken off the books of the " Sarcophagus " long ago. When we meet, he crosses over to the other side of the street ; and I don't call, as I should be sorry to see a look of reproach or sadness upon Laura's sweet face. Not, however, all evil, as I am proud to think, has been the influence of the Snob of England upon Clubs in general : — Captain Shindy is afraid to bully the waiters any more, and eats his mutton-chop without moving Achernon. Gobemouche does not take more than two papers at a time for his private reading. Tiggs does not ring the bell and cause the library- waiter to walk about a quarter of a mile in order to give him Vol. II., which lies on the next table. Growler has ceased to walk from table to table in the coffee-room, and inspect what people are having for dinner. Trotty Veck takes his own umbrella from the hall — the cotton one ; and Sydney Scraper's paletot lined with silk has been brought back by Jobbins, who entirely mistook it for his own. Waggle has discontinued telling stories about the ladies he has killed. Snooks does not any more think it gentlemanlike to blackball attorneys. Snuffler no ionger publicly spreads out his great red cotton pocket hand- kerchief before the fire, for the admiration of two hundred gentlemen ; and if one Club Snob has been brought back to the paths of rectitude, and if one poor John has been spared a journey or a scolding — say, friends and brethren, if these sketches of Club Snobs have been in vain ? CHAPTER LAST. 397 CHAPTER LAST. How it is that we have come to No. 45 of this present series of papers, my dear friends and brother Snobs, I hardly know— * but for a whole mortal year have we been together, prattling, and abusing the human race ; and were we to live for a hun- dred years more, I believe there is plenty of subject for con- versation in the enormous theme of Snobs. The national mind is awakened to the subject. Letters pour in every day, conveying marks of sympathy ; directing the attention of the Snob of England to races of Snobs yet unde- scribed. " Where are your Theatrical Snobs ; your Commercial Snobs ; your Medical and Chirurgical Snobs ; your Official Snobs ; your Legal Snobs ; your Artistical Snobs ; your Musical Snobs ; your Sporting Snobs ? " write my esteemed correspond- ents. " Surely you are not going to. miss the Cambridge Chancellor election, and omit showing up your Don Snobs, who are coming, cap in hand, to a young Prince of six-and-twenty, and to implore him to be the chief of their renowned Uni- versity ! " writes a friend who seals with the signet of the Cam and Isis Club. " Pray, pray," cries another, " now the Operas are opening, give us a lecture about Omnibus Snobs." Indeed, I should like to write a chapter about the Snobbish Dons very much, and another about the Snobbish Dandies. Of my dear Theatrical Snobs I think with a pang ; and I can hardly break away from some Snobbish artists, with whom I have long, long intended to have a palaver. But what's the use of delaying? When these were done there would be fresh Snobs to portray. The labor is endless. No single man could complete it. Here are but fifty-two bricks — and a pyramid to build. It is best to stop. As Jones always quits the room as soon as he has said his good thing, — as Ci'n- cinnatus and General Washington both retired into private life in the height of their popularity, — as Prince Albert, when he laid the first stone of the Exchange, left the bricklayers to com- plete that edifice and went home to his royal dinner, — as the poet Bunn comes forward at the end of the season, and with feelings too tumultuous to describe, blesses his kyind friends over the footlights : so, friends, in the flush of conquest and the splendor of victory, amid the shouts and the plaudits of a 398 THE BOOK OF SNOBS. people — triumphant yet modest — the Snob of England bids ye farewell. But only for a season. Not forever. No, no. There is one celebrated author whom I admire very much — who has been taking leave of the public any time these ten years in his prefaces, and always comes back again, when everybody is glad to see him. How can he have the heart to be saying good-by so often ? I believe that Bunn is affected when he blesses the people. Parting is always painful. Even the familiar bore is dear to you. I should be sorry to shake hands even with Jaw- kins for the last time. I think a well-constituted convict, on coming home from transportation, ought to be rather sad when he takes leave of Van Diemen's Land. When the curtain goes down on the last night of a pantomime, poor old clown must be very dismal, depend on it. Ha ! with what joy he rushes for- ward on the evening of the 26th of December next, and says — " How are you ? — Here we are ! " But I am growing too senti- mental : — to return to the theme. The national mind is awakened to the subject of snobs. The word Snob has taken a place in our honest English vocabulary. We can't define it, perhaps. We can't say what it is, any more than we can define wit, or humor, or humbug ; but we knoiv what it is. Some weeks since, happening to have the felicity to sit next to a young lady at a hospitable table, where poor old Jawkins was holding forth in a very absurd pompous manner, I wrote ujDon the spotless damask " S B," and called my neighbor's attention to the little remark. That young lady smiled. She knew it at once. Her mind straightway filled up the two letters concealed by apostrophic reserve, and I read in her assenting eyes that she knew Jaw- kins was a Snob. You seldom got them to make use of the word as yet, it is true ; but it is inconceivable how pretty an expression their little smiling mouths assume when they speak it out. If any young lady doubts, just let her go up to her own room, look at herself steadily in the glass, and say " Snob." If she tries this simple experiment, my life for it, she will smile, and own that the word becomes her mouth amazingly. A pretty little round word, all composed of soft letters, with a hiss at the beginning, just to make it piquant, as it were. Jawkins, meanwhile, went on blundering, and bragging, and boring, quite unconsciously. And so he will, no doubt, go on roaring and braying to the end of time, or at least so long as people will hear him. You cannot alter the nature of men and CHAPTER LAST. 399 Snobs by any force of satire ; as, by laying ever so many stripes on a donkey's back, you can't turn him into a zebra. But we can warn the neighborhood that the person whom they and Javvkins admire is an impostor. We can apply the Snob test to him, and try whether he is conceited and a quack, whether pompous and lacking humility — whether uncharitable and proud of his narrow soul. How does he treat a great man — how regard a small one ? How does he comport himself in the presence of His Grace the Duke ; and how in that of Smith, the tradesman ? And it seems to me that all English society is cursed by this mammoniacal superstition ; and that we are sneaking and bow- ing and cringing on the one hand, or bullying and scorning on the other, from the lowest to the highest. My wife speaks with great circumspection — " proper pride," she calls it — to our neighbor the tradesman's lady : and she, I mean Mrs. Snob, — Eliza — would give one of her eyes to go to court, as her cousin, the Captain's wife, did. She, again, is a good soul, but it costs her agonies to be obliged to confess that we live in Upper Thompson Street, Somer's Town. And though I believe in her heart Mrs. Whiskerington is fonder of us than of her cousins, the Smigsmags, you should hear how she goes on prattling about Lady Smigsmag, — and " I said to Sir John, my dear John ; " and about the Smigsmags' house and parties in Hyde Park Terrace. Lady Smigsmag, when she meets Eliza, — who is a sort of a kind of a species of a connection of the family, pokes out one ringer, which my wife is at liberty to embrace in the most cor- dial manner she can devise. But oh, you should see her lady- ship's behavior on her first-chop dinner-party days, when Lord and Lady Longears come ! I can bear it no longer — this diabolical invention of gentility which kills natural kindliness and honest friendship. Proper pride, indeed ! Rank and precedence, forsooth ! The table of ranks and degrees is a lie, and should be flung into the fire. Organize rank and precedence ! that was well for the masters of ceremonies of former ages. Come forward, some great marshal, and organize Equality in society, and your rod shall swallow up ail the juggling old court gold-sticks. If this is not gospel-truth — if the world does not tend to this — if hereditary- great-man worship is not a humbug and an idolatry — let us have the Stuarts back again, and crop the Free Press's ears in the pillory. If ever our cousins, the Smigsmags, asked me to meet Lord 4 oo THE BOOK OF SNOBS. Longears, I would like to take an opportunity after dinner and say, in the most good-natured way in the world : — Sir, Fortune makes you a present of a number of thousand pounds every year. The ineffable wisdom of our ancestors has placed you as a chief and hereditary legislator over me. Our admirable Constitution (the pride of Britons and envy of surrounding nations) obliges me to receive you as my senator, superior, and guardian. Your eldest son, Fitz-Heehaw, is sure of a place in Parliament ; your younger sons, the De Brays, will kindly con- descend to be post-captains and lieutenant-colonels, and to represent us in foreign courts or to take a good living when it falls convenient. These prizes our admirable Constitution (the pride and envy of, &c.) pronounces to be your due : without count of your dulness, your vices, your selfishness ; or your entire incapacity and folly. Dull as you may be (and we have as good a right to assume that my lord is an ass, as the other proposition, that he is an enlightened patriot); — dull, I say, as you may be, no one will accuse you of such monstrous folly, as to suppose that you are indifferent to the good luck which you possess, or have any inclination to part with it. No — and patriots as we are, under happier circumstances, Smith and I, I have no doubt, were we dukes ourselves, would stand by our order. We would submit good-naturedly to sit in a high place. We wculd acquiesce in that admirable Constitution (pride and envy of, &c.) which made us chiefs and the world our inferiors ; we would not cavil particularly at that notion of hereditary supe- riority which brought so many simple people cringing to our knees. Maybe we would rally round the Corn-Laws ; we would make a stand against the Reform Bill ; we would die rather than repeal the Acts against Catholics and Dissenters ; we would, by our noble system of class-legislation, bring Ireland to its present admirable condition. But Smith and I are not Earls as yet. We don't believe that it is for the interest of Smith's army that young De Bray should be a Colonel at five-and-twenty, — of Smith's diplomatic relations that Lord Longears should go Ambassador to Con- stantinople, — of our politics, that Longears should put his hereditary foot into them. This bowing and cringing Smith believes to be the act of Snobs ; and he will do all in his might and main to be a Snob and to submit to Snobs no longer. To Longears he says, " We can't help seeing, Longears, that we are as good as you. We can spell even better ; we can think quite as rightly ; we CHAPTER LAST. 40 X will not have you for our master, or black your shoes any more. Your footmen do it, but they are paid ; and the fellow who comes to get a list of the company when you give a banquet or a dancing breakfast at Longueoreille House, gets money from the newspapers for performing that service. But for us, thank you for nothing, Longears my boy, and we don't wish to pay you any more than we owe. We will take off our hats to Wel- lington because he is Wellington ; but to you — who are you ? " I am sick of Court Circulars. I loathe haut-ton intelligence. I believe such words as Fashionable, Exclusive, Aristocratic, and the like, to be wicked, unchristian epithets, that ought to be banished from honest vocabularies. A Court system that sends men of genius to the second table, I hold to be a Snob- bish system. A society that sets up to be polite, and ignores Arts and Letters, I hold to be a Snobbish society. You, who despise your neighbor, are a Snob ; you, who forget your own friends, meanly to follow after those of a higher degree, are a Snob ; you, who are ashamed of your poverty, and blush for your calling, are a Snob ; as are you who boast of your pedi- gree, or are proud of your wealth. To laugh at such is Mr. Punch's business. May he laugh honestly, hit no foul blow and tell the truth when at his very broadest grin — never forgetting that if Fun is good, Truth is still better, and Love best of all. BALLADS. ADVERTISEMENT. This Edition of Mr. Thackeray's " Ballads " will be found to include all the verses that are scattered throughout the Author's various writings. B A L LADS. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. Part I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, Whoever will choose to repair, Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors May haply fall in with old Pierre. On the sunshiny bench of a tavern He sits and he prates of old wars, And moistens his pipe of tobacco With a drink that is named after Mars. The beer makes his tongue run the quicker, And as long as his tap never fails. Thus over his favorite liquor Old Peter will tell his old tales. Says he, " In my life's ninety summers Strange changes and chances I've seen,— So here's to all gentleman drummers That ever have thump'd on a skin. " Brought up in the art military For four generations we are ; My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry, The Huguenot lad of Navarre. And as each man in life has his station According as Fortune may fix, While Conde was waving the baton, My grandsire was trolling the sticks (403) 406 BALLADS. " Ah ! those were the days for commanders f What glories my grandfather won, Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders The fortunes of France had undone ! In Germany, Flanders, and Holland, — What foeman resisted us then ? No ; my grandsire was ever victorious, My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne. " He died : and our noble battalions The jade fickle Fortune forsook ; And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance, The victory lay with Malbrook. The news it was brought to King Louis ; Corbleu ! how his Majesty swore When he heard they had taken my grandsire ; And twelve thousand gentlemen more. " At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet Were we posted, on plain or in trench : Malbrook only need to attack it And away from him scamper'd we French. Cheer up 'tis no use to be glum, boys, — 'Tis written, since fighting begun, That sometimes we fight and we conquer, And sometimes we fight and we run. " To fight and to run was our fate : Our fortune and fame had departed. And so perislvd Louis the great, — Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. His coffin they pelted with mud, His body they tried to lay hands on ; And so having buried King Louis They loyally served his great-grandson. " God save the beloved King Louis ! (For so he was nicknamed by some) And now came my father to do his King's orders and beat on the drum. My grandsire was dead, but his bones Must have shaken I'm certain for joy, To hear daddy drumming the English From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM, 407 « So well did he drum in that battle That the enemy show'd us their backs ; Corbleu ! it was pleasant to rattle The sticks and to follow old Saxe ! We next had Soubise as a leader, And as luck hath its changes and fits, At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming, . 'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. « And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic, To drum for Montcalm and his men ; Morbleu ! but it makes a man frantic To think we were beaten again ! My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean, My mother brought me on her neck, And we came in the year fifty-seven To guard the good town of Quebec. " In the year fifty-nine came the Britons,- Full well I remember the day, — They knocked at our gates for admittance, Their vessels were moor'd in our bay. Says our general, ' Drive me yon red-coats Away to the sea whence they come ! ' So we march'd against Wolfe and his bull-dogs, We marched at the sound of the drum. " I think I can see my poor mammy With me in her hand as she waits, And our regiment, slowly retreating, Pours back through the citadel gates. Dear mammy she looks in their faces, And asks if her husband is come ? — He is lying all cold on the glacis, And will never more beat on the drum. " Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys, He died like a soldier in glory ; Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys, And -now I'll commence my own story. Once more did we cross the salt ocean, We came in the year eighty-one ; And the wrongs of my father the drummer Were avenged by the drummer his son. 408 BALLADS. " In Chesapeake Bay we were landed. In vain strove the British to pass : Rochambeau our armies commanded, Our ships they were led by De Grasse. Morbleu ! how I rattled the drumsticks The day we march d into Yorktown; # Ten thousand of beef-eating British Their weapons we caused to lay down. " Then homewards returning victorious, In peace to our country we came, And were thanked for our glorious actions By Louis Sixteenth of the name. What drummer on earth could be prouder Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles To the lovely court ladies in powder, And lappets, and long satin-tails ? " The Princes that day pass'd before us, Our countrymen's glory and hope ; Monsieur, who was learned in Horace, D'Artois, who could dance the tight-rope. One night we kept guard for the Queen At her Majesty's opera-box, While the King, that majestical monarch, Sat filing at home at his locks. " Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette, And so smiling she look'd and so tender, That our officers, privates, and drummers, All vow'd they would die to defend her. But she cared not for us honest fellows, Who fought and who bled in her wars, She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau, And turned Lafayette out of doors. " Ventrebleu ! then I swore a great oath, No more to such tyrants to kneel. And so just to keep up my drumming, One day I drumm'd down the Bastile. Ho, landlord ! a stoup of fresh wine. Come, comrades a bumper we'll try, And drink to the year eighty-nine And the glorious fourth of July ! THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 409 "Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd As onwards our patriots bore. Our enemies were but a hundred, And we twenty thousand or more. They carried the news to King Louis. He heard it as calm as you please, And, like a majestical monarch, Kept filing his locks and his keys. " We showed our republican courage We storm'd and we broke the great gate in, And we murder'd the insolent governor For daring to keep us a-waiting. Lambesc and his squadrons stood by : They never stirr'd finger or thumb. The saucy aristocrats trembled As they heard the republican drum. " Hurrah ! what a storm was a-brewing : The day of our vengeance was come ! Through scenes of what carnage and ruin Did I beat on the patriot drum ! Let us drink to the famed tenth of August : At midnight I beat the tattoo, And woke up the Pikemen of Paris To follow the bold Barbaroux. " With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches March'd onwards our dusty battalions, And we girt the tall castle of Louis, A million of tatterdemalions ! We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd The walls of his heritage splendid. Ah, shame on him, craven and coward, That had not the heart to defend it ! " With the crown of his sires on his head, His nobles and knights by his side, At the foot of his ancestors' palace 'Twere easy, methinks, to have died. But no : when we burst through his barriers, Mid heaps of the dying and dead, In vain through the chambers we sought him He had turn'd like a craven and fled. 4io BALLADS. " You all know the Place de la Concorde ? 'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall. Mid terraces, fountains, and statues There rises an obelisk tall. There rises an obelisk tall, All garnish'd and gilted the base is : 'Tis surely the gayest of all Our beautiful city's gay places. " Around it are gardens and flowers, And the Cities of France on their thrones, Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers Sits watching this biggest of stones ! I love to go sit in the sun there, The flowers and fountains to see, And to think of the deeds that were done there In the glorious year ninety-three. " 'Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom 5 And though neither marble nor gilding Was used in those days to adorn Our simple republican building, Corbleu ! but the mere guillotine Cared little for splendor or show, So you gave her an axe and a beam, And a plank and a basket or so. " Awful and proud, and erect, Here sat our republican goddess. Each morning her table we deck'd With dainty aristocrats' bodies. The people each day flocked around As she sat at her meat and her wine : 'Twas always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine. "Young virgins with fair golden tresses, Old silver'd-hair'd prelates and priests, Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses, Were splendidly served at her feasts. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. Ventrebleu ! but we pamper'd our ogress With the best that our nation could bring, And dainty she grew in her progress, And called for the head of a King! " She called for the blood of our King, And straight from his prison we drew him ; And to her with shouting we led him, And took him, and bound him, and slew him. The monarchs of Europe against me Have plotted a godless alliance : I'll fling them the head of King Louis,' She said, 'as my gage of defiance.' u I see him as now, for a moment, Away from his jailers he broke ; And stood at the foot of the scaffold, And linger'd, and fain would have spoke. Ho, drummer! quick! silence yon Capet,' Says Santerre, * with a beat of your drum.' Lustily then did I tap it, And the son of Saint Louis was dumb. * * * » Part II. "The glorious days of September Saw many aristocrats fall ; 'Twas then that our pikes drunk the blood In the beautiful breast of Lamballe. Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady ! I seldom have look'd on her like , And I drumm'd for a gallant procession, That marched with her head on a pike. " Let's show the pale head to the Queen, We said — she'll remember it well. She looked from the bars of her prison, And shriek'd as she saw it, and fell. We set up a shout at her screaming, We laugh'd at the fright she had shown At the sight of the head of her minion ; How she'd tremble to part with her own. 4Ci 412 BALLADS. " We had taken the head of King Capet, We called for the blood of his wife ; Undaunted she came to the scaffold, And bared her fair neck to the knife. As she felt the foul fingers that touch'd her, She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak: She look'd with a royal disdain, And died with a blush on her cheek ! " 'Twas thus that our country was saved ; So told us the safety committee ! But psha ! I've the heart of a soldier All gentleness, mercy, and pity. I loathed to assist at such deeds, And my drum beat its loudest of tunes As we offered to justice offended The blood of the bloody tribunes. u Away with such foul recollections ! No more of the axe and the block ; I saw the last fight of the sections, As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Rock. Young Bonaparte led us that day ; When he sought the Italian frontier, I follow'd my gallant young captain, I follow'd him many a long year. " We came to an army in rags, Our general was but a boy When we first saw the Austrian flags Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy. In the glorious year ninety-six, We march 'd to the banks of the Po; I carried my drum and my sticks, And we laid the proud Austrian low. " In triumph we enter'd Milan, We seized on the Mantuan keys ; The troops of the Emperor ran, And the Pope he fell down on his knees."— Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle, And clubbing together their wealth, Tney drank to the Army of Italy, And General Bonaparte's health. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 413 The drummer now bared his old breast, And show'd us a plenty of scars, Rude presents that Fortune had made him, In fifty victorious wars. M This came when I follow'd bold Kleber — 'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun ; And this from an Austrian sabre, When the field of Marengo was won. " My forehead has many deep furrows, But this is the deepest of all : A Brunswicker made it at Jena, Beside the fair river of Saal. This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it ; (God bless him !) it covers a blow ; I had it at Austerlitz fight, As I beat on my drum in the snow. " 'Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought ; But wherefore continue the story ? There's never a baby in France But has heard of our chief and our glory,— But has heard of our chief and our fame, His sorrows and triumphs can tell, How bravely Napoleon conquer'd, How bravely and sadly he fell. u It makes my old heart to beat higher, To think of the deeds that I saw ; I follow'd bold Ney through the fire, And charged at the side of Murat." And so did old Peter continue His story of twenty brave years ; His audience follow'd with comments — Rude comments of curses and tears. He told how the Prussians in vain Had died in defence of their land ; His audience laugh'd at the story, And vow'd that their captain was grand ! He had fought the red English, he said, In many a battle of Spain ; They cursed the red English, and prayed To meet them and fight them again. 4H BALLADS. He told them how Russia was lost, Had winter not driven them back ; And his company cursed the quick frost, And doubly they cursed the Cossack. He told how the stranger arrived ; They wept at the tale of disgrace ; And they long'd but for one battle more, The stain of their shame to efface ! " Our country their hordes overrun, We fled to the fields of Champagne, And fought them, though twenty to one, And beat them again and again ! Our warrior was conquer'd at last ; They bade him his crown to resign j To fate and his country he yielded The rights of himself and his line. " He came, and among us he stood, Around him we press'd in a throng : We could not regard him for weeping, Who had led us and loved us so long. 'I have led you for twenty long years,' Napoleon said, ere he went ; ' Wherever was honor I found you, And with you, my sons, am content ! " ' Though Europe against me was arm'd, Your chiefs and my people are true ; I still might have struggled with fortune, And baffled all Europe with you. " ' But France would have suffer'd the while, 'Tis best that I suffer alone ; I go to my place of exile, To write of the deeds we have bone. * { ' Be true to the king that they give you, We may not embrace ere we part ; But, General, reach me your hand, And press me, I pray, to your heart.' " He call'd for our battle standard; One kiss to the eagle he gave. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 415 * Dear eagle ! ' he said, ' may this kiss Long sound in the hearts of the brave ! * 'Twas thus that Napoleon left us ; Our people were weeping and mute, As he pass'd through the lines of his guard, And our drums beat the notes of salute. "I look'd when the drumming was o'er, I look'd, but our hero was gone ; We were destined to see him once more, When we fought on the Mount of St. John The Emperor rode through our files ; 'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn The lines of our warriors for miles Stretch'd wide through the Waterloo corn. " In thousands we stood on the plain, The red-coats were crowning the height ; ' Go scatter yon English,' he said ; ' We'll sup, lads, at Brussels to-night.' We answer'd his voice with a shout ; Our eagles were bright in the sun; Our drums and our cannon spoke out, And the thundering battle begun. " One charge to another succeeds, Like waves that a hurricane bears ; All day do our galloping steeds Dash fierce on the enemy's squares. At noon we began the fell onset : We charged up the Englishman's hill ; And madly we charged it at sunset — His banners were floating there still. " — Go to ! I will tell you no more ; You know how the battle was lost. Ho ! fetch me a beaker of wine, And, comrades, I'll give you a toast. I'll give you a curse on all traitors, Who plotted our Emperor's ruin ; And a curse on those red-coated English, Whose bayonets help'd our undoing. 4l6 BALLADS. A curse on those British assassins, Who ordcr'd the slaughter of Ney ; A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured The life of our hero away. A curse on all Russians — I hate them — On all Prussian and Austrian fry ; And oh ! but I pray we may meet thera, And fight them again ere I die." 'Twas thus old Peter did conclude His chronicle with curses fit. He spoke the tale in accents rude In ruder verse I copied it. Perhaps the tale a moral bears, (All tales in time to this must come, The story of two hundred years Writ on the parchment of a drum. What Peter told with drum and stick. Is endless theme for poet's pen • Is found in endless quartos thick, Enormous books by learned men. And ever since historian writ, And ever since a bard could sins'. Doth each exalt with all his wit The noble art of murdering;. We love to read the glorious page, How bold Achilles kill'd his foe : And Turnus, fell'd by Trojans' rage, Went howling to the shades below. How Godfrey led his red-cross knights, How mad Orlando slash'd and slew; There's not a single bard that writes But doth the glorious theme renew. And while, in fashion picturesque, The poet rhymes of blood and blows, The grave historian at his desk Describes the same in classic prose. THE CHRONTCLE OF THE DRUM. 417 Go read the works of Reverend Cox, You'll duly see recorded there The history of the self-same knocks Here roughly sung by Drummer Pierre Of battles fierce and warriors big, He writes in phrases dull and slow, And waves his cauliflower wig, And shouts " Saint George for Marlborow ! " Take Doctor Southey from the shelf, An LL.D., — a peaceful man ; Good Lord, how doth he plume himself Because we beat the Corsican ! From first to last his page is filled With stirring tales how blows were struck. He shows how we the Frenchmen kill'd, And praises God for our good luck. Some hints, 'tis true, of politics The doctors give and statesman's art : Pierre only bangs his drum and sticks, And understands the bloody part. He cares not what the cause may be, He is not nice for wrong and right; But show him where's the enemy, He only asks to drum and fight. They bid him fight, — perhaps he wins. And when he tells the story o'er, The honest savage brags and grins, And only longs to fight once more. But luck may change, and valor fail, Our drummer, Peter, meet reverse, And with a moral points his tale — The end of all such tales — a curse. Last year, my love, it was my hap Behind a grenadier to be, And, but he wore a hairy cap, No taller man, methinks. than me. 418 BALLADS. Prince Albert and the Queen, God wot, (Be blessings on the glorious pair !) Before us passed, I saw them not, I only saw a cap of hair. Your orthodox historian puts In foremost rank the soldier thus, The red-coat bully in his boots, That hides the march of men from us. He puts him there in foremost rank, You wonder at his cap of hair : You hear his sabre's cursed clank, His spurs are jingling everywhere. Go to ! I hate him and his trade : Who bade us so to cringe and bend, And all God's peaceful people made To such as him subservient ? Tell me what find we to admire In epaulets and scarlet coats. In men, because they load and fire, And know the art of cutting throats ? ♦ * * Ah, gentle, tender lady mine ! The winter wind blows cold and shrill, Come, fill me one more glass of wine, And give the silly fools their will. And what care we for war and wrack, How kings and heroes rise and fall ; Look yonder,* in his coffin black, There lies the greatest of them all ! To pluck him down, and keep him up, Died many million human souls ; 'Tis twelve o'clock, and time to sup, Bid Mary heap the fire with coals. He captured many thousand guns ; He wrote " The Great " before his name ; And dying, only left his sons The recollection of his shame. * This ballad was written at Paris at the time of the Second Funeral of Napoleon. ABD.EL-KADER AT TOULON. 419 Though more than half the world was his, He died without a rood his own ; And borrow'd from his enemies Six foot of ground to lie upon. He fought a thousand glorious wars, And more than half the world was his, And somewhere now, in yonder stars, Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is. 1841. ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. OR, THE CAGED HAWK. No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert-life for thee ; No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping free : Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy chain, Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er may'st spread again. Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall the Kabyles tell the tale Of thy dash from Ben Halifa on the fat Metidja vale ; How thou swept'st the desert over, bearing down the wild El Riff, From eastern Beni Salah to western Ouad Shelif ; How thy white burnous went streaming, like the storm-rack o'er the sea, When thou rodest in the vanward of the Moorish chivalry; How thy razzia was a whirlwind, thy onset a simoom,- How thy sword-sweep was the lightning, dealing death from out the gloom ! 6' Nor less quick to slay in battle than in peace to spare and save, Of brave men wisest councillor, of wise councillors most brave ; How the eye that flashed destruction could beam gentleness and love, How lion in thee mated lamb, how eagle mated dove ! 23 420 BALLADS. Availed not or steel or shot 'gainst that charmed life secure, Till cunning France, in last resource, tossed up the golden lure ; And the carrion buzzards round him stooped, faithless, to the cast, And the wild hawk of the desert is caught and caged at last. Weep, maidens of Zerifah, above the laden loom ! Scar, chieftains of Al Elmah, your cheeks in grief and gloom ! Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down the useless lance, And stoop your necks and bare your backs to yoke and scourge of France ! 'Twas not in fight they bore him down ; he never cried aman; He never sank his sword before the Prince of Franghistan ; But with traitors all around him, his star upon the wane, He heard the voice of Allah, and he would not strive in vain. They gave him what he asked them ; from king to king he spake, As one that plighted word and seal not knoweth how to break ; " Let me pass from out my deserts, be't mine own choice where to go, I brook no fettered life to live, a captive and a show." And they promised, and he trusted them, and proud and calm he came, Upon his black mare riding, girt with sword of fame. Good steed, good sword, he rendered both unto the Frankish throng ; He knew them false and fickle— but a Prince's word is strong How have they kept their promise ? Turned they the vessel's prow Unto Acre, Alexandria, as they have sworn e'en now ? Not so : from Oran northwards the white sails gleam and glance, And the wild hawk of the desert is borne away to France ! "Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks southward o'er the wave, Sits he that trusted in the word a son of Louis gave. O noble faith of noble heart ! And was the warning vain, The text writ by the Bourbon in the blurred black book of Spain ? THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 421 They have need of thee to gaze on, they have need of thee to grace The triumph of the Prince, to gild the pinchbeck of their race. Words are but wind, conditions must be construed by Guizot; Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, ere thou art made a show I THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. The noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon'd his physicians To wait upon his quick ; They stepp'd into their coaches And brought their best physic. They cramm'd their gracious master With potion and with pill ; They drench'd him and they bled him : They could not cure his ill. " Go fetch," says he, " my lawyer, I'd better make my will." The monarch's royal mandate The lawyer did obey ; The thought of six-and-eightpence Did make his heart full gay. " What is't," says he, " your Majesty Would wish of me to-day ? " " The doctors have belabor'd me With potion and with pill : My hours of life are counted, man of tape and quill ! Sit down and mend a pen or two, 1 want to make my will. " O'er all the land of Brentford I'm lord, and eke of Kew : I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents ; My debts are but a few ; And to inherit after me I have but children two. 42i BALLADS. " Prince Thomas is my eldest son, A sober prince is he, And from the day we breech'd him Till now, he's twenty-three, He never caused disquiet To his poor Mamma or me. " At school they never flogg'd him, At college, though not fast, Yet his little-go and great-go He creditably pass'd, And make his year's allowance For eighteen months to last. " He never owed a shilling, Went never drunk to bed, He has not two ideas Within his honest head — In all respects he differs From my second son, Prince Ned. " When Tom has half his income Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver, That rightly he may spend, But sponges on a tradesman, Or borrows from a friend. " While Tom his legal studies Most soberly pursues, Poor Ned must pass his mornings A-dawdling with the Muse : While Tom frequents his bankers, Young Ned frequents the Jews. " Ned drives about in Duggies, Tom sometimes takes a 'bus ; Ah, cruel fate, why made you My children differ thus ? Why make of Tom a dullard, And Ned a genius t " THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 423 "You'll cut him with a shilling," Exclaimed the man of wits : u I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, " Sir Lawyer, as befits ; And portion both their fortunes Unto their several wits." " Your Grace knows best," the lawyer said ; "On your commands I wait." "Be silent, Sir," says Brentford, " A plague upon your prate ! Come take your pen and paper, And write as I dictate." The will as Brentford spoke it Was writ and signed and closed ; He bade the lawyer leave him, And tarn'd him round and dozed ; And next week in the churchyard The good old King reposed. Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, Of mourners was the chief ; In bitter self-upbraidings Poor Edward showed his grief: Tom hid his fat white countenance In his pocket-handkerchief. Ned's eyes were full of weeping, He falter'd in his walk ; Tom never shed a tear, But onward he did stalk, As pompous, black, and solemn, As any catafalque. And when the bones of Brentford- That gentle king and just — With bell and book and candle Were duly laid in dust, " Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, " Let business he discussed. 424 BALLADS. "When late our sire beloved Was taken deadly ill, Sir Lawyer, you attended him (I mean to tax your bill) ; And, as you signed and wrote it, I prithee read the will." The lawyer wiped his spectacles, And drew the parchment out : And all the Brentford family Sat eager round about : Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, But Tom had ne'er a doubt. " My son, as I make ready To seek my last long home, Some cares I had for Neddy, But none for thee, my Tom: Sobriety and order You ne'er departed from. " Ned hath a brilliant genius, And thou a plodding brain ; On thee I think with pleasure, On him with doubt and pain." (" You see, good Ned," says Thomas, " What he thought about us twain. ") " Though small was your allowance, You saved a little store ; And those who save a little Shall get a plenty more." As the lawyer read this compliment, Tom's eyes were running o'er. " The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Set out, at each his pace ; The hare it was the fleeter, The tortoise won the race ; And since the world's beginning This ever was the case. THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 425 " Ned's genius, blithe and singing, Steps gayly o'er the ground ; As steadily you trudge it He clears it with a bound ; But dulness has stout legs, Tom, And wind that's wondrous sound. u O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, You pass with plodding feet ; You heed not one nor t'other But onwards go your beat, While genius stops to loiter With all that he may meet ; " And ever as he wanders, Will have a pretext fine For sleeping in the morning, Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade, Or basking in the shine. M Your little steady eyes, Tom, Though not so bright as those That restless round about him His flashing genius throws, Are excellently suited To look before your nose. *' Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers It placed before your eyes ; The stupidest are weakest, The witty are not wise ; Oh, bless your good stupidity, It is your dearest prize ! " And though my lands are wide, And plenty is my gold, Still better gifts from Nature, My Thomas, do you hold — A brain that's thick and heavy, A heart that's dull and cold. 426 BALLADS, "Too dull to feel depression, Too hard to heed distress, Too cold to yield to passion Or silly tenderness. March on — your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success. " Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy lust." (" V faith," says Ned, "our father Is less polite than just.") " In you, son Tom, I've confidence, But Ned I cannot trust. " Wherefore my lease and copyholds, My lands and tenements, My parks, my farms, and orchards, My houses and my rents, My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock, My five and three per cents, " I leave to you, my Thomas " — (" What, all ? " poor Edward said. " Well, well, I should have spent them, And Tom's a prudent head ") — " I leave to you, my Thomas, — To you in trust for Ned." The wrath and consternation What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage Come o'er Prince Tom his face ; The wonder of the company, And honest Ned's amaze ! " Tis surely some mistake," Good-naturedly cries Ned ; The lawyer answered gravely, '"Tis even as I said ; 'Twas thus his glorious Majesty Ordained on his death-bed. THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. " See, here the will is witness'd, And here's his autograph." " In truth, our father's writing," Says Edward, with a laugh ; " But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom, We'll share it half and half." u Alas ! my kind young gentleman, This sharing cannot be ; 'Tis written in the testament That Brentford spoke to me, ' I do forbid Prince Ned to give Prince Tom a halfpenny. " ' He hath a store of money, But ne'er was known to lend it; He never help'd his brother; The poor he ne'er befriended ; He hath no need of property Who knows not how to spend it. " ' Poor Edward knows but how to spend, And thrifty Tom to hoard ; Let Thomas be the steward then, And Edward be the lord ; And as the honest laborer Is worthy his reward, " ' I pray Prince Ned, my second son, And my successor dear, To pay to his intendant Five hundred pounds a year; And to think of his old father, And live and make good cheer.' " Such was old Brentford's honest treatment, He did devise his moneys for the best, And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent; But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd, To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. 23* 4*7 428 BALLADS. Longtime the famous reign of Ned endured O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, K«H But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. And when both died, as mortal men will 'Twas commonly reported that the steward Was very much the richer of the two. THE WHITE SQUALL. On deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning ; It was the gray of dawning, Ere yet the sun arose ; And above the funnel's roaring, And the fitful wind's deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear the passengers snorting— I envied their disporting — Vainly I was courting The pleasure of a doze \ So I lay, and wondered why light Came not, and watched the twilight, And the glimmer of the skylight, That shot across the deck ; And the binnacle pale and steady, And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, And the sparks in fiery eddy That whirled from the chimney neck. In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizzen, And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck. Strange company we harbored ; We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered — Jews black, and brown, and gray ; THE WHITE SQUALL. 429 With terror it would seize ye, And make your souls uneasy, To see those Rabbis greasy, Who did nought but scratch and pray : Their dirty children puking — Their dirty saucepans cooking — ■ Their dirty fingers hooking Their swarming fleas away. To starboard, Turks and Greeks were — Whiskered and brown their cheeks were— Enormous wide their breeks were — ■ Their pipes did puff away ; Each on his mat allotted In silence smoked and squatted, Whilst round their children trotted In pretty, pbasant play. He can't but smile who traces The smiles on those brown faces, And the pretty prattling graces Of those small heathens gay. And so the hours kept tolling, And through the ocean rolling Went the brave " Iberia " bowling: Before the break of day When A squall, upon a sudden, Came o'er the waters scudding ; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled, And the lightning jumped and tumbled And the ship, and all the ocean, Woke up in wild commotion. Then the wind set up a howling, And the poodle dog a yowling, And the cocks began a crowing, And the old cow raised a lowing, As she heard the tempest blowing; And fowls and geese did cackle, And the cordage and the tackle Began to shriek and crackle; 430 BALLADS. And the spray dashed o'er the funnels And down the deck in runnels ; And the rushing water soaks all, From the seamen in the fo'ksal To the stokers whose black faces Peer out of their bed-places ; And the captain he was bawling, And the sailors pulling, hauling, And the quarter-deck tarpauling Was shivered in the squalling ; And the passengers awaken, Most pitifully shaken; And the steward jumps up, and hastens For the necessary basins. Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered, As the plunging waters met them, And splashed and overset them ; And they call in their emergence Upon countless saints and virgins; And their marrowbones are bended, And they think the world is ended. And the Turkish women for'ard Were frightened and behorror'd ; And shrieking and bewildering, The mothers clutched their children ; The men sung " Allah ! Illah Mashallah Bismillah ! " As the warring waters doused them And splashed them and soused them, And they called upon the Prophet, And thought but little of it. Then all the fleas in Jewry Jumped up and bit like fury ; And the progeny of Jacob Did on the main-deck wake up (I wot those greasy Rabbins Would never pay for cabins) ; And each man moaned and jabbered in His filthy Jewish gaberdine, THE WHITE SQUALL. 43 , In woe and lamentation, And howling 1 consternation. And the splashing water drenches Tl\eir dirty brats and wenches ; And they crawl from bales and benches In a hundred thousand stenches. This was the White Squall famous, Which latterly o'ercame us. And which all will well remember On the 28th September ; When a Prussian captain of Lancers (Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) Came on the deck astonished, By that wild squall admonished, And wondering cried, " Potztausend, Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend;" And looked at Captain Lewis, Who calmly stood and blew his Cigar in all the bustle, And scorned the tempest's tussle, And oft we've thought thereafter How he beat the storm to laughter; For well he knew his vessel With that vain wind could wrestle ; And when a wreck we thought her, And doomed ourselves to slaughter, How gayly he fought her, And through the hubbub brought her, And as the tempest caught her, Cried, " George ! some brand y-and-water I ■ And when, its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea; I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making A prayer at home for me. 43 2 BALLADS. PEG OF LIMAVADDY. Riding from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry city ; Weary was his soul, Shivering and sad, he Bumped along the road Leads to Limavaddy. Mountains stretch'd around, Gloomy was their tinting, And the horse's hoofe Made a dismal dinting; Wind upon the heath Howling was and piping, On the heath and bog, Black with many a snipe in 'Mid the bogs of black, Silver pools were flashing, Crows upon their sides ^ Picking were and splashing. Cockney on the car Closer folds his plaidy, Grumbling at the road * Leads to Limavaddy. Through the crashing woods Autumn brawl'd and bluster'd, Tossing round about Leaves the hue of mustard ; Yonder lay Lough Foyle, Which a storm was whipping, Covering with mist Lake, and shores and shipping. Up and down the hill (Nothing could be bolder), Horse went with a raw Bleeding on his shoulder. PEC OF LIMA VADDY. " Were are horses changed -? '* Said I to the laddy Driving on the box : " Sir, at Limavaddy." Limavaddy inn's But a humble bait-house, Where you may procure Whiskey and potatoes ; Landlord at the door Gives a smiling welcome — To the shivering wights Who to his hotel come. Landlady within Sits and knits a stocking With a wary foot Baby's cradle rocking. To the chimney nook Having found admittance, There I watch a pup Playing with two kittens ; (Playing round the fire, Which of blazing turf is, Roaring to the pot Which bubbles with the murphies.) And the cradled babe Fond the mother nursed it, Singing it a song As she twists the worsted ! Up and down the stair Two more young ones patter (Twins were never seen Dirtier nor fatter). Both have mottled legs, Both have snubby noses, Both have Here the host Kindly interposes : " Sure you must be froze With the sleet and hail, sir: So will you have some punch, Or will you have some ale, sir?" 433 434 BALLADS. Presently a maid Enters with the liquor (Half a pint of ale Frothing in a beaker). Gads ! I didn't know What my beating heart meant s Hebe's self I thought Entered the apartment. As she came she smiled, And the smile bewitching, On my word and honor, Lighted all the kitchen ! With a curtsey neat Greeting the new comer, Lovely, smiling Peg Offers me the rummer ; But my trembling hand Up the beaker tilted, And the glass of ale Every drop I spilt it : Spilt it every drop (Dames, who read my volumes, Pardon such a word) On my what-d'ye-call-'ems ! Witnessing the sight Of that dire disaster, Out began to laugh Missis, maid, and master; Such a merry peal 'Specially Miss Peg's was, (As the glass of ale Trickling down my legs was,) That the joyful sound Of that mingling laughter Echoed in my ears Many a long day after. Such a silver peal ! In the meadows listening; You who've heard the bells Kinging to a christening; PE G OF LIMA VA DD Y. 43 5 You who ever heard Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel, Singing " Giovinetti ; " Fancy Peggy's laugh, Sweet, and clear, and cheerful, At my pantaloons With half a pint of beer full ! When the laugh was done, Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy ; Now she looks to see If the kettle keep hot ; Now she rubs the spoons, Now she cleans the teapot ; Now she sets the cups Trimly and secure : Now she scours a pot, And so it was I drew her. Thus it was I drew her Scouring of a kettle, (Faith ! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal !) Ah ! but 'tis in vain That I try to sketch it ; The pot perhaps is like, But Peggy's face is wretched. No ! the best of lead And of indian-rubber Never could depict That sweet kettle-scrubber ! See her as she moves Scarce the ground she touches, Airy as a fay, Graceful as a duchess ; Bare her rounded arm, Bare her little leg is, Vestris never 6how'd Ankles like to Peggy's. 436 BALLADS. Braided is her hair, Soft her look and modest, Slim her little waist Comfortably bodiced. This I do declare, Happy is the laddy Who the heart can share Of Peg of Limavaddy. Married if she were Blest would be the daddy Of the children fair Of Peg of Limavaddy. Beauty is not rare In the land of Paddy, Fair beyond compare Is Peg of Limavaddy. Citizen or Squire, Tory, Whig, or Radi- cal would all desire Peg of Limavaddy. Had I Homer's fire, Or that of Serjeant Taddy, Meetly I'd admire Peg of Limavaddy. And till I expire. Or till I grow mad, I Will sing unto my lyre Peg of Limavaddy ! MA Y-DA Y ODE. But yesterday a naked sod The dandies sneered from Rotten Row, And cantered o'er it to and fro : And see 'tis done ! As though 'twere by a wizard's rod A blazing arch of lucid glass Leaps like a fountain from the grass To meet the sun ! MA Y-DA Y ODE. 437 A quiet green but few days since, With cattle browsing in the shade : And here are lines of bright arcade In order raised ! A palace as for fairy Prince, A rare pavilion, such as man Saw never since mankind began, And built and glazed ! A peaceful place it was but now, And lo ! within its shining streets A multitude of nations meets ; A countless throng 1 see beneath the crystal bow, And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk, Each with his native handiwork And busy tongue. I felt a thrill of love and awe To mark the different garb of each, The changing tongue, the various speech Together blent: A thrill, methinks, like His who saw " All people dwelling upon earth Praising our God with solemn mirth And one consent." High Sovereign, in your Royal state, Captains, and chiefs, and councillors, Before the lofty palace doors Are open set, — Hush ! ere you pass the shining gate ; Hush ! ere the heaving curtain draws, And let the Royal pageant pause A moment yet. People and prince a silence keep ! Bow coronet and kingly crown, Helmet and plume, bow lowly down, The while the priest. Before the splendid portal step, (While still the wondrous banquet stays,) From Heaven supreme a blessing prays Upon the feast. 43 8 BALLADS. Then onwards let the triumph march ; Then let the loud artillery roll, And trumpets ring, and joy-bells toll, And pass the gate. Pass underneath the shining arch, 'Neath which the leafy elms are green ; Ascend unto your throne, O Queen ! And take your state. Behold her in her Royal Place ; A gentle lady ; and the hand That sways the sceptre of this land, How frail and weak ! Soft is the voice, and fair the face : She breathes amen to prayer and hymn ; No wonder that her eyes are dim, And pale her cheek. This moment round her empire's shores The winds of Austral winter sweep, And thousands lie in midnight sleep At rest to-day. Oh ! awful is that crown of yours, Queen of innumerable realms Sitting beneath the budding elms Of English May! A wondrous sceptre 'tis to bear : Strange mystery of God which set Upon her brow yon coronet, — The foremost crown Of all the world, on one so fair! That chose her to it from her birth, And bade the sons of all the earth To her bow down. The representatives of man Here from the far Antipodes, And from the subject Indian seas, In Congress meet ; From Afric and from Hindustan, From Western continent and isle, The envoys of her empire pile Gifts at her feet ; MA Y-DA Y ODE. Our brethren cross the Atlantic tides, Loading the gallant decks which once Roared a defiance to our guns, With peaceful storey Symbol of peace, their vessel rides ! * O'er English waves float Star and Stripe, And firm their friendly anchors gripe The father shore ! From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine, As rivers from their sources gush, The swelling floods of nations rush, And seaward pour : From coast to coast in friendly chain, With countless ships we bridge the straits, And angry ocean separates Europe no more. From Mississippi and from Nile — From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorus, In England's ark assembled thus Are friend and guest. Look down the mighty sunlit aisle, And see the sumptuous banquet set, The brotherhood of nations met Around the feast ! Along the dazzling colonnade, Far as the straining eye can gaze, Gleam cross and fountain, bell and vase, In vistas bright ; And statues fair of nymph and maid, And steeds and pards and Amazons, Writhing and grappling in the bronze, In endless fight. 439 ■&■ To deck the glorious roof and dome, To make the Queen a canopy, The peaceful hosts of industry Their standards bear. Yon are the works of Brahmin loom ; On such a web of Persian thread The desert Arab bows his head And cries his prayer. * The U. S. frigate " St. Lawrence." 44o BALLADS. Look yonder where the engines toil : These England's arms of conquest are, The trophies of her bloodless war: Brave weapons these. Victorious over wave and soil, With these she sails, she weaves, she tills, Pierces the everlasting hills And spans the seas. The engine roars upon its race, The shuttle whirrs along the woof, The people hum from floor to roof, With Babel tongue. The fountain in the basin plays, The chanting organ echoes clear, An awful chorus 'tis to hear, A wondrous song ! Swell, organ, swell your trumpet blast, March, Queen and Royal pageant, march By splendid aisle and springing arch Of this fair Hall : And see ! above the fabric vast, God's boundless Heaven is bending blue, God's peaceful sunlight's beaming through, And shines o'er all. May, 1851. THE BALLAD OF BOULLLABALSSE. A street there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is — ■ The New Street of the Little Fields. And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case ; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 44* This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo ; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace : All these you eat at Terre's tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. Indeed, a rich and savory stew 'tis ; And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sorts of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinks. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might, gladly, sure, his lot embrace, Nor find a fast-day too afflicting, Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. I wonder if the house still there is ? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ; The smiling red-cheeked ecaillere is Still opening oysters at the door. Is Terre still alive and able ? I recollect his droll grimace : He'd come and smile before your table, And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse. We enter — nothing's changed or older. " How's Monsieur Teree, waiter, pray ?" The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder— " Monsieur is dead this many a day." "It is the lot of saint and sinner, So honest Terre's run his race." "What will Monsieur require for dinner?" " Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ? " " Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; " Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ? " "Tell me a good one." — " That I can, Sir: The Chambertin with yellow seal." " So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in My old accustom'd corner-place ; " He's done with feasting and with drinking, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." 442 BALLADS. My old accustomed corner here is, The table still is in the nook; Ah! vanish'd many a busy year is This well-known chair since last I took. When first I saw ye, cart luoghi, I'd scarce a beard upon my face, And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. Where are you, old companions trusty Of early days here met to dine ? Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty — I'll pledge them in the good old wine. The kind old voices and old faces My memory can quick retrace ; Around the board they take their places, And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage \ There's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; There's brave Augustus drives his carriage; There's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; On James's head the grass is growing : Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace Since here we set the Claret flowing, And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, In this same place — but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me — There's no one now to share my cup. * # # # I drink it as the Fates ordain it. Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes : Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times. Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is; And sit you down and say your grace With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. — Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse ! THE MAHOGANY TREE. 443 THE MAHOGANY TREE. Christmas is here : Winds whistle shrill. Icy and chill, Little care we : Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom ; Night-birds are we : Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit ; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short — When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust We sing round the tree. 24 444 BALLADS. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait ; Happy we'll be ! Drink, every one ; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree f Drain we the cup.— Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrow, begone ! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite, Leave us to-night, Round the old tree. THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. " A snrgeon of the United States' army says, that on inquiring of the Captain of hit •ompany, he found that nine-te nths of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty." — Morning Paper. Ye Yankee volunteers ! It makes my bosom bleed When I your story read, Though oft 'tis told one So — in both hemispheres The women are untrue, And cruel in the New, As in the Old one 1 THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. 44S What — in this company Of sixty sons of Mars, Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars, With fife and horn, Nine-tenths of all we see Along the warlike line Had but one cause to join This Hope Forlorn? Deserters from Jhe realm Where tyrant Venus reigns, You slipp'd her wicked chains, Fled and out-ran her. And now, with sword and helm, Together banded are Beneath the Stripe and Star- Embroider'd banner ! And is it so with all The warriors ranged in line, With lace bedizen'd fine And swords gold-hilted— Yon lusty corporal, Yon color-man who gripes The flag of Stars and Stripes- Has each been jilted ? Come, each man of this line, The privates strong and tall, " The pioneers and all," The fifer nimble — Lieutenant and Ensign, Captain with epaulets, And Blacky there, who beats The clanging cymbal— O cymbal-beating black, Tell us, as thou canst feel, Was it some Lucy Neal Who caused thy ruin ? O nimble fifing Jack, And drummer making din So deftly on the skin, With thy rat-tattooing— 446 BALLADS. Confess, ye volunteers, Lieutenant and Ensign, And Captain of the line, As bold as Roman — Confess, ye grenadiers, However strong and tall, The Conqueror of you all Is Woman, Woman ! No corselet is so proof But through it from her bow The shafts that she can throw Will pierce and rankle. No champion e'er so tough, But's in the struggle thrown, And tripped and trodden down By her slim ankle. Thus always it was ruled : And when a woman smiled, The strong man was a child, The sage a noodle. Alcides was befool'd, And silly Samson shorn, Long, long ere you were born, Poor Yankee Doodle ! THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. "I am Miss Catherine's book," the Album speaks; " I've laid among your tomes these many weeks j I'm tired of their old coat3 and yellow cheeks "Quick, Pen ! and write a line with a good grace; Come ! draw me off a funny little face ; And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place." PEN. u I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen ; I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men. THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. 447 "O Album ! could I tell you all his ways And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days, Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze ! " ALBUM. u His ways ? his thoughts ? Just whisper me a few; Tell me a curious anecdote or two, And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!" PEN. " Since he my faithful service did engage To follow him through his queer pilgrimage, I've drawn and written many a line and page. *' Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes, And merry little children's books at times. ** I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain ; The idle word that he'd wish back again. ♦ * * * "I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread ; To joke, with sorrow aching in his head ; And make your laughter when his own heart bled; u I've spoke with men of all degree and sort — Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court ; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport ! M Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago, Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low ; " Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesman's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last — I've answer'd all. " Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half- Guinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph ; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh, 448 BALLADS. " Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. " Day after day the labor's to be done, And sure as comes the postman and the sun, The indefatigable ink must run. " Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home, Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come ! " Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, However rude my verse, or poor my wit, Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it. " Kind lady ! till my last of lines is penn'd, My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end, Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend ! " Not all are so that were so in past years ; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears ; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. " So be it : — joys will end and tears will dry • Album ! my master bids me wish good-by, He'll send you to your mistress presently. •'And thus with thankful heart he closes you ; Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. •' Nor pass the words as idle phrases by; Stranger ! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie." MRS. KATHERINE'S UlNTERN. 449 MRS. KATHERINE S LANTERN. WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I've brought with me. Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K and E." « An old lantern brought to me ? Ugly, dingy, battered, black ! " (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose) — « Pray, sir, take the old thing back, I've no taste for bricabrac." « Please to mark the letters twain " — (I'm supposed to speak again) — " Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath — The mysterious K E ? « Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony : There, on summer nights, it hung, And her lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E. «*Hush ! in the canal below Don't you hear the plash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins ? — Begins singing of amore And delire and dolore — O the ravishing tenore ! 45° BALLADS. "Lady, do you know the tune ? Ah, we all of us have hummed it ! I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Under many a changing moon. Shall I try it? Do re MI * * What is this ? Mafoi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man — I let the truth out, — Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the casement hung." LUCYS BIRTHDAY. Seventeen rose-buds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy's servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring. Types of youth and love and hope ! Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet, And grow lovelier as you ope ! Gentle nursling, fenced about With fond care, and guarded so, Scarce you've heard of storms without, Frosts that bite, or winds that blow ! Kindly has your life begun And we pray that heaven may send To our floweret a warm sun, A calm summer, a sweet end. THE CANE-BOTTOM' D CHAIR. 451 And where'er shall be her home, May she decorate the place ; Still expanding into bloom, And developing in grace. THE CANE-BOTTOM '£> CHAIR. In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; And the view I behold on a sunshiny day Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. This snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, Crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends Old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all crack'd), Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed • A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; What matter ? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. No better divan need the Sultan require, Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp ; By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn : 'Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times ; As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me 24* 45 2 BALLADS. But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, There's one that I love and I cherish the best : For the finest of couches that's padded with hair I never would change thee, my cane-bottom'd chair. 'Tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat, With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet ; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottom'd chair. If chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms, A thrill must have pass'd through your wither'd old arms! I look'd, and I long'd, and I wish'd in despair; I wish'd myself turn'd to a cane-bottom'd chair. It was but a moment she sat in this place, She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face ! A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, And she sat there, and bloom'd in my cane-bottom'd chair. And so I have valued my chair ever since, Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince ; Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, The queen of my heart and my cane-bottom'd chair. When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, In the silence of night as I sit here alone — I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — My Fanny I see in my cane-bottom'd chair. She comes from the past and revisits my room ; She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom ; So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, And yonder she sits in my cane-bottom'd chair. PISCAIOR AND PISCATRIX. 453 PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. As on this pictured page I look, This pretty tale of line and hook As though it were a novel-book Amuses and engages : I know them both, the boy and girl ; She is the daughter of the Earl, The lad (that has his hair in curl) My lord the County's page is. A pleasant place for such a pair ! The fields lie basking in the glare ; No breath of wind the heavy air , Of lazy summer quickens. Hard by you see the castle tall ; The village nestles round the wall As round about the hen its small Young progeny of chickens. It is too hot to pace the keep ; To climb the turret is too steep ; My lord the earl is dozing deep, His noonday dinner over. The postern-warder is asleep (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep) ; And so from out the gate they creep, And cross the fields of clover. Their lines into the brook they launch ; He lays his cloak upon a branch, To guarantee his Lady Blanche 's delicate complexion : He takes his rapier from his haunch, That beardless doughty champion staunch ; He'd drill it through the rival's paunch That question'd his affection I 454 BALLADS. O heedless pair of sportsmen slack 1 You never mark, though trout or jack, Or little foolish stickleback, Your baited snares may capture. What care has she for line and hook ? She turns her back upon the brook, Upon her lover's eyes to look In sentimental rapture. O loving pair ! as thus I gaze Upon the girl who smiles always, The little hand that ever plays Upon the lover's shoulder; In looking at your pretty shapes, A sort of envious wish escapes (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes) The Poet your beholder. To be brave, handsome, twenty-two ; With nothing else on earth to do, But all day long to bill and coo : It were a pleasant calling. And had I such a partner sweet ; A tender heart for mine to beat, A gentle hand my clasp to meet ; — I'd let the world flow at my feet, And never heed its brawling. THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming, Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring; You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek Is blooming, It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen : And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 455 Thus each performs his part, Mamma : the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why. RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. " Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir a la chandelle Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant oies vers en vousesmerveillant, Ronsard m'a c&dbre' du temps que j'dtois belle." Some winter night, shut snugly in Beside the fagot in the hall, I think 1 see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your maidens all. Old tales are told, old songs are sung, Old days come back to memory ; You say, " When I was fair and young, A poet sang of me ! " There's not a maiden in your hall, Though tired and sleepy ever so, But wakes, as you my name recall, And longs the history to know. And, as the piteous tale is said, Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing, carries it to bed, And sighs and envies you I " Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say ; " she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair : The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers ; She sits beside a lonely hearth, With threescore and ten years i " 456 BALLADS. Ah ! dreary thoughts and dreams are those s But wherefore yield me to despair, While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair! Sweet lady mine ! while yet 'tis time Requite my passion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth ! AT THE CHURCH GATE. Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover : And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming : They've hush'd the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell : She's coming, she's coming ! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast : She comes — she's here — she's past- May heaven go with her I Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint ! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly ; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. THE AGE OF WISDOM. ^ But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven's gate Angels within it THE AGE OF WISDOM. Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, That never has known the Barber's shear All your wish is woman to win, This is the way that boys begin, — Wait till you come to Forty Year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, Billing and cooing is all your cheer ; Sighing and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes, — Wait till you come to Forty Year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear — Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to Forty Year. Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, All good fellows whose beards are gray, Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was pass'd away ? The reddest lips that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper, and we not list, Or look away, and never be missed, Ere yet ever a month is gone. 458 BALLADS. Gillian's dead, God rest her bier, How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married, but I sit here Alone and merry at Forty Year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. SORROWS OF WERTHER. Werther had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter ; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed and pined and ogled, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter. A DOE IN THE CITY. Little Kitty Lorimer, Fair, and young, and witty, What has brought your ladyship Rambling to the City ? A DOE IN THE CITY. 459 All the stags in Capel Court Saw her lightly trip it ; All the lads of Stock Exchange Twio-o-'d her muff and tippet. With a sweet perplexity, And a mystery pretty, Threading through Threadneedle Street, Trots the little Kitty. What was my astonishment — What was my compunction, When she reached the Offices Of the Didland Junction ! Up the Didland stairs she went, To the Didland door, Sir ; Porters lost in wonderment Let her pass before, Sir. ** Madam," says the old chief Clerk, " Sure we can't admit ye." " Where's the Didland Junction deed ?" Dauntlessly says Kitty. " If you doubt my honesty, Look at my receipt, Sir." Up then jumps the old chief Clerk, Smiling as he meets her. Kitty at the table sits (Whither the old Clerk leads her), " I deliver this" she says, " As my act and deed, Sir." When I heard these funny words Come from the lips so pretty ; This, I thought, should surely be Subject for a ditty. What ! are ladies stagging it? Sure, the more's the pity ; But I've lost my heart to her,— Naughty little Kitty. 460 BALLADS. THE LAST OF MA Y. (in reply to an invitation dated ON THE 1ST.) By fate's benevolent award, Should I survive the day, I'll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. That I may reach that happy time The kindly gods I pray, For are not ducks and pease in prime Upon the last of May ? At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then, My knife and fork shall play; But better wine and better men I shall not meet in May. And though, good friend, with whom I dine, Your honest head is gray, And, like this grizzled head of mine, Has seen its last of May ; Yet, with a heart that's ever Kind A gentle spirit gay, You've spring perennial in your mind, And round you make a May! " AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR: Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor, Ah ! loud and piercing was the storm, The cottage roof was shelter'd sure, The cottage hearth was bright and warm — SONG OF THE VIOLET. 461 An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd, And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow, Felt doublv keen the midnight blast, And doubly cold the fallen snow. They marked him as he onward press'd, With fainting heart and weary limb; Kind voices bade him turn and rest, And gentle faces welcomed him. The dawn is up — the guest is gone, The cottage hearth is blazing still: Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone ! Hark to the wind upon the hill 1 SONG OF THE VIOLET. A humble flower long time I pined Upon the solitary plain, And trembled at the angry wind, And shrunk before the bitter rain. And oh ! 'twas in a blessed hour A passing wanderer chanced to see. And, pitying the lonely flower, To stoop and gather me. I fear no more the tempest rude, On dreary heath no more I pine, But left my cheerless solitude, To deck the breast of Caroline. Alas our days are brief at best, Nor long I fear will mine endure, Though shelter'd here upon a breast So gentle and so pure. It draws the fragrance from my leaves, It robs me of my sweetest breath, And every time it falls and heaves, It warns me of my coming death. But one I know would glad forego All joys of life to be as I ; An hour to rest on that sweet breast, And then, contented, die. 4 f52 BALLADS. FAIRY DAYS. Beside the old hall-fire — upon my nurse's knee, Of happy fairy days — what tales were told to me ! I thought the world was once — all peopled with princesses, And my heart would beat to hear — their loves and their distresses; And many a quiet night, — in slumber sweet and deep, The pretty fairy people — would visit me in sleep. I saw them in my dreams — come flying east and west, With wondrous fairy gifts — the new-born babe they bless'd ; One has brought a jewel — and one a crown of gold, And one has brought a curse — but she is wrinkled and old. The gentle queen turns pale — to hear those words of sin, But the king he only laughs — and bids the dance begin. The babe has grown to be — the fairest of the land, And rides the forest green — a hawk upon her hand, An ambling palfrey white — a golden robe and crown : I've seen her in my dreams — riding up and down : And heard the'ogre laugh — as she fell into his snare, At the little tender creature — who wept and tore her hairi But ever when it seemed — her need was at the sorest, A prince in shining mail — comes prancing through the forest, A waving ostrich-plume — a buckler burnished bright ; I've seen him in my dreams — good sooth ! a gallant knight. His lips are coral red — beneath a dark mustache ; See how he waves his hand — and how his blue eyes flash ! "Come forth, thou Paynim knight ! " — he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid — both tremble his voice to hear. Saint Mary guard him well ! — he draws his falchion keen, The giant and the knight— are fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams — his blade gives stroke on stroke The giant pants and reels — and tumbles like an oak ! With what a blushing grace — he falls upon his knee And takes the lady's hand— and whispers, " You are free . Ah ! happy childish tales — of knight and faerie ! I waken from my dreams — but there's ne'er a knight for me ; I waken from my dreams — and wish that I could be A child by the old hall-fire — upon my nurse's knee ! POCAHONTAS. 463 POCAHONTAS. Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight : Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark ! a cry of triumph shrill* Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light Oh ! 'tis hard to die of fire ! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die. Who will shield the fearless heart ? Who avert the murderous blade ? From the throng, with sudden start, See there springs an Indian maid Quick she stands before the knight, " Loose the chain, unbind the ring, I am daughter of the king, And I claim the Indian right ! " Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life t In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman. 4^4 BALLADS. FROM POCAHONTAS. Returning from the cruel fight How pale and faint appears my knight He sees me anxious at his side ; " Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide ? Or deem your English girl afraid To emulate the Indian maid ? " Be mine my husband's grief to cheer. In peril to be ever near; Whate'er of ill or woe betide, To bear it clinging at his side ; The poisoned stroke of fate to ward, His bosom with my own to guard: Ah ! could it spare a pang to his, It could not know a purer bliss ! 'T would gladden as it felt the smart, And thank the hand that flung the dart I LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL AND GLOW? THE MAY FAIR LOVE-SONG. Winter and summer, night and morn, I languish at this table dark ; My office window has a corn- er looks into St. James's Park. I hear the foot-guards' bugle-horn, Their tramp upon parade I mark; I am a gentleman forlorn, I am a Foreign-Office Clerk. My toils, my pleasures, every one, I find are stale, and dull, and slow ; And yesterday, when work was done, I felt myself so sad and low, I could have seized a sentry's gun My wearied brains out out to blow. What is it makes my blood to run ? What makes my heart to beat and glow ? My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps ? Some one has paid my tailor's bill ? No : every morn the tailor raps ; My 1.0 U's are extant still. I still am prey of debt and dun ; My elder brother's stout and well. What is it makes my blood to run ? What makes my heart to glow and swell ? 466 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. I know my chief's distrust and hate • He says I'm lazy, and I shirk. Ah ! had I genius like the late Right Honorable Edmund Burke ! My chance of all promotion's gone, I know it is, — he hates me so. What is it makes my blood to run, And all my heart to swell and glow ? Why, why is all so bright and gay ? There is no change, there is no cause; My office-time I found to-day Disgusting as it ever was. At three, I went and tried the Clubs, And yawned and saunter'd to and fro ; And now my heart jumps up and throbs, And all my soul is in a glow. At half-past four I had the cab ; I drove as hard as I could go. The London sky was dirty drab, And dirty brown the London snow. And as I rattled in a cant- er down by dear old Bolton Row, A something made my heart to pant, And caused my cheek to flush and glow. What could it be that made me find Old Jawkins pleasant at the Club ? Why was it that I laughed and grinned At whist, although 1 lost the rub ? What was it made me drink like mad Thirteen small glasses of Curaco ? That made my inmost heart so glad, And every fibre thrill and glow? She's home again ! she's home, she's home I Away all cares and grief and pain; I knew she would— -she's back from Rome; She's home again ! she's home again! "The family's gone abroad," they said, September last — they told me so; Since then my lonely heart is dead, My blood I think's forgot to flow. THE MERRY BARD. 467 She's home again ! away all care ! O fairest form the world can show 1 O beaming eyes ! O golden hair ! O tender voice, that breathes so low ! O gentlest, softest, purest heart ! O joy, O hope ! — " My tiger, ho ! " Fitz-Clarence said ; we saw him start- He galloped down to Bolton Row. THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE-SONG, THE ROCKS. I was a timid little antelope ; My home was in the rocks, the lonely rocks. I saw the hunters scouring on the plain ; I lived among the rocks, the lonely rocks. I was a-thirsty in the summer-heat ; I ventured to the tents beneath the rocks. Zuleikah brought me water from the well; Since then I have been faithless to the rocks I saw her face reflected in the well ; Her camels since have marched into the rocks. I long to see her image in the well ; I only see my eyes, my own sad eyes. My mother is alone among the rocks. THE MERRY BARD. Zuleikah! The young Agas in the bazaar are slim-waisted and wear yellow slippers. I am old and hideous. One of my eyes is out, and the hairs of my beard are mostly gray. Praise be to Allah ! I am a merry bard. 2? 4 6S LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. There is a bird upon the terrace of the Emir's chief wife. Praise be to Allah ! He has emeralds on his neck, and a ruby tail. I am a merry bard. He deafens me with his diabolical screaming. There is a little brown bird in the basket-maker's cage. Praise be to Allah ! He ravishes my soul in the moonlight. I am a merry bard. The peacock is an Aga, but the little bird is a Bulbul. I am a little brown Bulbul. Come and listen in the moonlight Praise be to Allah ! I am a merry bard. THE CAIQUE. , Yonder to the kiosk, beside the creek, Paddle the swift caique. Thou brawny oarsman with the sun-burnt cheek, Quick ! for it soothes my heart to hear the Bulbul speak. Ferry me quickly to the Asian shores, Swift bending to your oars. Beneath the melancholy sycamores, Hark ! what a ravishing note the love-lorn Bulbul pours. Behold ! the boughs seem quivering with delight, The stars themselves more bright, As mid the waving branches out of sight The Lover of the Rose sits singing through the night Under the boughs I sit and listened still, I could not have my fill. " How comes," I said, " such music to his bill ? Tell me for whom he sings so beautiful a trill." "Once I was dumb," then did the Bird disclose, II But looked upon the Rose ; And in the garden where the loved one grows, I straightway did begin sweet music to compose." MY NORA. 469 " O bird of song, there's one in this caique The Rose would also seek, So he might learn like you to love and speak." Then answered me the bird of dusky beak, " The Rose, the Rose of Love blushes on Leilah's cheek." MY NORA. Beneath the gold acacia buds My gentle Nora sits and broods, Far, far away in Boston woods My gentle Nora! I see the tear-drop in her e'e, Her bosom's heaving tenderly ; I know — I know she thinks of me, My darling Nora ! And where am I ? My love, whilst thou Sitt'st sad beneath the acacia bough, Where pearl's on neck, and wreath on brow, I stand, my Nora ! Mid carcanet and coronet, Where joy-lamps shine and flowers are set- Where England's chivalry are met, Behold me, Nora ! In this strange scene of revelry, Amidst this gorgeous chivalry, A form I saw was like to thee, My love — my Nora 1 She paused amidst her converse glad; The lady saw that I was sad, She pkied the poor lonely lad, — Dost love her, Nora ? In sooth, she is a lovely dame, A lip of red, and eye of flame, And clustering golden locks, the same As thine, dear Nora ! 4 7<3 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. Her glance is softer than the dawn's, Her foot is lighter than the fawn's, Her breast is whiter than the swan's, Or thine, my Nora! Oh, gentle breast to pity me ! Oh, lovely Ladye Emily ! Till death— till death I'll think of thee— Of thee and Nora 1 TO MARY. I seem, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all ; My laughter rings cheery and loud, In banquet and ball. My lip hath its smiles and its sneers, For all men to see ; But my soul, and my truth, and my tears, Are for thee, are for thee ! Around me they flatter and fawn— The young and the old, The fairest are ready to pawn Their hearts for my gold. They sue me — I laugh as I spurn The slaves at my knee ; But in faith and in fondness I turn Unto thee, unto thee ! SERENADE, Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west — COME TO THE GREENWOOD TREE. 471 The faithful night keeps watch and ward, Raising the moon her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde ! The faithful night ! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chaunt mine ev'ning hymn. Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine ! (For never holy pilgrim kneel'd, Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde ! THE MINARET BELLS. Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, By the light of the star, On the blue river's brink, I heard a guitar. I heard a guitar, On the blue waters clear, And knew by its music, That Selim was near ! Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, How the soft music swells And I hear the soft clink Of the minaret bells ! COME TO THE GREENWOOD TREE. Come to the greenwood tree, Come where the dark woods be, Dearest, O come with me! Let us rove— O my love— O my love ! 47 2 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. Come — 'tis the moonlight hour, Dew is on leaf and flower, Come to the linden bower, — Let us rove— O my love— O my love ? Dark is the wood, and wide : Dangers, they say, betide ; But, at my Albert's side, Nought I fear, O my love— O my love ! Welcome the greenwood tree, Welcome the forest free, Dearest, with thee, with thee, Nought I fear, O my love— O my love 1 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. A TRAGIC STORY. BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO. " 's war Einer, dem's zu Herzen gieng." There lived a sage in days of yore And he a handsome pigtail wore ; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, " The mystery I've found, — I'll turn me round," — he turned him round; But still it hung behind him. Then round, and round, and out and in. All day the puzzled sage did spin ; In vain — it mattered not a pin, — The pigtail hung behind him. And right, and left, and round about. And up, and down, and in, and out, He turned ; but still the pigtail stout Hung steadily behind him. (473) 474 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. And though his efforts never slack, And though he twist, and twirl, and tack, Alas ! still faithful to his back The pigtail hangs behind him. THE CHAP LET. FROM UHLAND. " Es pfluckte Bliimlein mannigat." A little girl through field and wood Went plucking flowerets here and there, When suddenly beside her stood A lady wondrous fair ! The lovely lady smiled, and laid A wreath upon the maiden's brow ; " Wear it, 'twill blossom soon," she said, "Although 'tis leafless now." The little maiden older grew And wandered forth of moonlight eves, And sighed and loved as maids will do ; When, lo ! her wreath bore leaves. Then was our maid a wife, and hung Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom ; When from the garland's leaves there sprung Fair store of blossom. And presently a baby fair Upon her gentle breast she reared ; When midst the wreath that bound her hair Rich golden fruit appeared. But when her love lay cold in death, Sunk in the black and silent tomb, All sere and withered was the wreath That wont so bright to bloom. THE KING OJV THE TO WER. Yet still the withered wreath she wore ; She wore it at her dying hour ; When, lo ! the wondrous garland bore Both leaf, and fruit, and flower 1 475 THE KING ON THE TOWER. FROM UHLAND. " Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Hohen." The cold gray hills they bind me round, The darksome valleys lie sleeping below, But the winds as they pass o'er all this ground, Bring me never a sound of woe ! Oh ! for all I have suffered*and striven, Care has embittered my cup and my feast; But here is the night and the dark blue heaven, And my soul shall be at rest. O golden legends writ in the skies ! I turn towards you with longing soul, And list to the awful harmonies Of the Spheres as on they roll. My hair is gray and my sight nigh gone ; My sword it rusteth upon the wall ; Right have I spoken, and right have I done : When shall 1 rest me once for all ? O blessed rest ! O royal night ! Wherefore seemeth the time so long Till I see yon stars in their fullest light, And list to their loudest song ? 25* 47 6 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. OAT A VERY OLD WOMAN, LA MOTTE FOUQUE. ** Und I>u gingst einst, die Myrt* im Haare." And thou wert once a maiden, fair, A blushing virgin warm and young: With myrtles wreathed in golden hair, And glossy brow that knew no care — Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung. The golden locks are silvered now, The blushing cheek is pale and wan ? The spring may bloom, the autumn glow All's one — in chimney corner thou Sitt'st shivering on. — A moment — and thou sink'st to rest! To wake perhaps an angel blest, In the bright presence of thy Lord. Ob, weary is life's path to all ! Hard is the strife, and light the fall 9 But wondrous the Feward! A CREDO. For the sole edification Of this decent congregation, Goodly people, by your grant I will sing a holy chant — I will sing a holy chant. If the ditty sound but oddly, 'Twas a father, wise and godly, A CREDO. Sang it so Ions: asro- 477 Then sing as Martin Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang: " Who loves not Avine, woman and song / He is a fool his whole life long !" II. He, by custom patriarchal, Loved to see the beaker sparkle ; And he thought the wine improved, Tasted by the lips he loved — By the kindly lips he loved. Friends, I wish this custom pious Duly were observed by us, To combine love, song, wine, And sing as Martin Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang : '• Who loves not wine, woman and song, He is a fool his whole life long ! " III. Who refuses this our Credo, And who will not sing as we do, Were he holy as John Knox, I'd pronounce him heterodox! I'd pronounce him heterodox, And from out this congregation, With a solemn commination, Banish quick the heretic, Who will not sing as Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang : " Who loves not wine, woman and song, He is a fool his whole life long ! r FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. LE ROI D'YVETOT. Il e'tait un roi d'Yvetot, Peu connu dans 1'histoire ; Se levant tard, se couchant tot, Dormant fort bien sans gloire, Et couronne par Jeanneton D'un simple bonnet de coton, Dit-on. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! Quel bon petit roi c'dtait la ! La, la. II fesait ses quatre repas Dans son palais de chaume, Et sur un ane, pas a pas, Parcourait son royaumc. Joyeux, simple et croyant le bien, Pour toute garde il n'avait rien Qu'un chien. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. II n'avait de gout ondfreux Qu'une soif un peu vivc ; Mais, en rendant son peuple heureux, II faut bien qu'un roi vive. Lui-meme a table, et sans suppot, Sur chaque muid levait un pot D'impol. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah 1 &c THE KING OF YVETOT. 479 Aux filles de bonnes maisons Comme il avait su plaire, Ses sujets avaient cent raisons De le nommer leur pere : D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban Que pour tirer quatre fois l'an Au blanc. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &a II n'agrandit point ses etats, Fut un voisin commode, Et, modele des potentats, Prit le plaisir pour code. Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira, Que le peuple qui l'enterra Pleura. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. On conserve encor le portrait De ce digne et bon prince ; C'est l'enseigne d'un cabaret Fameux dans la province. Les jours de fete, bien souvent, La foule s'ecrie en buvant Devant : Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c THE KING OF YVETOT. There was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days a-bed ; And every night, as night came round, By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound : Sing ho, ho, ho ! and he, he, he ! That's the kind of king for me. 480 FOUR IMITA TIONS OF BER ANGER. And every day it came to pass, That four lusty meals made he ; And, step by step, upon an ass, Rode abroad, his realms to see ; And wherever he did stir, What think you was his escort, sir ? Why, an old cur. Sing ho, ho, ho ! &c. If e'er he went into excess, 'Twas from a somewhat lively thirst , But he who would his subjects bless, Odd's fish .'—must wet his whistle first And so from every cask they got, Our king did to himself allot, At least a pot. Sing ho, ho ! &c. To all the ladies of the land, A courteous king, and kind, was he ; The reason why you'll understand, They named him Pater Patriae Each year he called his fighting men, And marched a league from home, and then Marched back again. Sing ho, ho ! And for a guard of honor,— a dog ran at his heels. Sometimes, to a view his kingdoms, — rode forth this monarch good, And then a prancing jackass — he royally bestrode. There were no costly habits — with which this king was curst, Except (and where's the harm on't ?) — a somewhat lively thirst; But people must pay taxes, — and kings must have their sport, So out of every gallon — His Grace he took a quart. He pleased the ladies round him, — with manners soft and bland; With reason good, they named him, — the father of his land. Each year his mighty armies — marched forth in gallant show ; Their enemies were targets, — their bullets they were tow. • He vexed no quiet neighbor, — no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure, — his peaceful realm he swayed. And in the years he reigned, — through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping, — save when the good man died. The faithful men of Brentford, — do still their king deplore, His portrait yet is swinging, — beside an alehouse door. And topers, tender-hearted, — regard his honest phiz, And envy times departed, — that knew a reign like his. 3 1 482 FOUR IMITA TIONS OF BER ANGER LE GRENIER. Je viens revoir l'asile ou ma jeunesse De la misere a subi les lecons. J'avais vingt ans, une folle maitresse, De francs amis et l'amour des chansons. Bravant 1c monde et les sots et les sages, Sans avenir, riche de mon printemps, Leste et joyeux je montais six e'tages, Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on 1'ignore, La fut mon lit, bien che'tif et bien dur; La fut ma table ; et je retrouve encore Trois pieds d'un vers charbonne's sur le mur. Apparaissez, plaisirs de mon bel age, Que d'un coup d'aile a fustiges le temps,. Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! Lisette ici doit surtout apparaitre, Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau ; Deja sa main a l'etroite fenetre Suspend son schal, en guise de rideau. Sa robe aussi va parer ma couchette ; Respecte, Amour, ses plis longs et flottans. J'ai su depuis qui pavait sa toilette Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur, Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'allegresse : A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqucur. Le canon gronde ; un autre chant commence ; Nous celdbrons tant de faits eclatans. Les rois jamais n'envahiront la France. Danj un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! THE GARRET. Quittons ce toit ou ma raison s'enivre. Oh ! qu'ils sont loin ces jours si regrettes ! J'echangerais ce qu'il me reste a vivre Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a comptes, Pour rever gloire, amour, plaisir, folie, Pour depenser sa vie en peu d'instans D'un long espoir pour la voir emhellie, Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! 483 THE GARRET, With pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long ; With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song : Making a mock of life, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes ; 'tis a garret — let him know't who will — There was my bed — full hard it was and small ; My table there — and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. He joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun ; For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. And see my little Jessy, first of all ; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes : Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise ; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none ? I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 484 FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheera, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears : We rise. — we join in the triumphant strain, — Napoleon conquers — Austerlitz is won — Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Let us begone — the place is sad and strange — How far, far off, these happy times appear ; All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here — To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, Give me the days when I was twenty -one ! ROGER-BONTEMPS. Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donne, En un temps de miseres Roger-Bontemps est ne. Vivre obscur a sa guise, Narguer les mecontens ; Eh gai ! c'est la devise Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Du chapeau de son pdre Coiffe dans les grands jours, De roses ou de lierre Le rajeunir toujours ; Mettre un manteau de bure, Vieil ami de vingt ans ; Eh gai ! c'est la parure Du gros Roger-Bontemps. ROGER-BONTEMPS. 485 Posseder dans sa hutte Une table, un vieux lit, Des cartes, une flute, Un broc que Dieu remplit; Un portrait de maitresse, Un coffre et rien dedans ; Eh gai ! c'est la richesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Aux enfans de la ville Montrer de petits jeux ; Etre fesseur habile De contes graveleux ; Ne parler que de danse Et d'almanachs chantans : Eh gai ! c'est la science Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Faute de vins d'eUite, Sabler ceux du canton : Preferer Marguerite Aux dames du grand ton : De joie et de tendresse Remplir tous ses instans : Eh gai ! c'est la sagesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Dire au ciel: Je me fie, Mon pere, a ta bonte ; De ma philosophic Pardonne le gaite : Que ma saison derniere Soit encore un printemps ; Eh gai ! c'est la priere Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Vous pauvres pleins d'envie, Vous riches desireux, Vous, dont le char de*vie Apre's un cours heureux ; Vous, qui perdrez peut-etre Des titres eclatans, Eh gai ! prenez pour maitre Le gros Roger-Bontemps. 486 FOUR IMITATIONS OF BER ANGER. yOLL Y JACK. When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and state, And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each, And right the land elemented, Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach The way to be contented. Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool ; His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full. His mistress' portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack; Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack. To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission. Our simple statesman found this rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the " George and Dragon.' When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful. And when men wasted health and life, In search of rank and riches, Jack marked aloof the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches. JOLLY JACK 487 " I enter not the church," he said, " But I'll not seek to rob it ; " So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett. His talk it was of feast and fun ; His guide the Almanac; From youth to age thus gayly run 1 he life of Jolly Jack And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker; " I am," said he, " O Father good ! Nor Catholic nor Quaker : Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses ; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee, and in Thy mercies ! " Forgive me if, midst all thy works No hint I see of damning; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin. Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter ; I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's hell hereafter." Jack died ; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches : — Content to peevish poverty; Humility to riches. Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come follow in his track ; We all were happier, if we all Would copy Jolly Jack. IMITATION OF HORACE. TO HIS SERVING BOY. Persicos odi, Puer, apparatus : Displicent nexse Philyra coronae : Mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum Sera moretur. Simplici myrto Nihil allabores Sedulus, euro: Neque te ministrum Dedecet myrtus, Neque me sub arcta Vite bibentem. AD MINISTRAM. DEAR Lucy, you know what my wish is I hate all your Frenchified fuss : Your silly entrees and made dishes Were never intended for us. No footman in lace and in ruffles Need dangle behind my arm-chair; And never mind seeking for truffles, Although they be ever so rare. (488) AD MINlSTRAM. 489 But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy, I prithee get ready at three : Have it smoking, and tender and juicy, And what better meat can there be ? And when it has feasted the master, 'Twill amply suffice for the maid ; Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster And tipple my ale in the shade. OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON. * Untrue to my Ulric I never could be, I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie, Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore, And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er : My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd, As I gave you the Battle-Axe marked with your crest t When the bold barons met in my father's old hall, Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball ? In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride, Was there ever a smile save with Thee at my side? Alone in my turret I loved to sit best, To blazon your Banner and broider your crest. «' WAPPING OLD STAIRS. *' Your Molly has never been false, she declares, Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs ; When I said that I would continue the same, And gave you the 'bacco-box marked with my name. When I passed a whole fortnight between decks with you, Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew ? To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay'd, For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made. "Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall With Susan from Deptford, and likewise with Sail, In silence I stood your unkindness tc hear, And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. Why should Sail, or should Susan, than me be more priiadl For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despised; Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake, Stll your trousers I'll wash and your grog too I'll mate.** THE ALMACK'S ADIEU. 491 The knights were assembled, the tourney was gay! Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior-melee. In the dire battle-hour, when the tourney was done, And you gave to another the wreath you had won ! Though I never reproached thee, cold, cold was my breast, As I thought of that Battle-axe, ah ! and that cret! But away with remembrance, no more will I pine That others usurped for a time what was mine ! There's a Festival Hour for my Ulric and me : Once more, as of old, shall he bend at my knee ; Once more by the side of the knight I love best Shall I blazon his Banner and broider his crest. THE ALMACK'S ADIEU. Your Fanny was never false-hearted, And this she protests and she vows, From the triste moment when we parted On the staircase of Devonshire House ! I blushed when you asked me to marry, I vowed I would never forget; And at parting I gave my dear Harry A beautiful vinegarette ! We spent en province all December, And I ne'er condescended to look At Sir Charles, or the rich county member, Or even at that darling old Duke. You were busy with dogs and with horses. Alone in my chamber I sat, And made you the nicest of purses, And the smartest black satin cravat I At night with that vile Lady Frances (jfe faisois moi tapisserie) "You danced every one of the dances, And never once thought of poor me ! Mon pauvre petit cater / what a shiver I felt as she danced the last set ; And you gave, O mon Di ju ! to revive her My beautiful vinegarette / 26 ' 49 2 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Return, love ! away with coquetting; This flirting disgraces a man ! And ah ! all the while you're forgetting The heart of your poor little Fan ! Reviens ! break away from those Circes, Rcviens, for a nice little chat ; And I've made you the sweetest of purses, And a .lovely black satin cravat ! WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. When the moonlight's on the mountain And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain ; There is one will meet you then At the cross beside the fountain ; Yes, the cross beside the fountain, There is one will meet thee then ! 1 have braved, since first we met, love, Many a danger in my course ; But I never can forget, love, That dear fountain, that old cross, Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her — For the winds were chilly then — First I met my Leonora, When the gloom was on the glen. Many a clime I've ranged since then, love, Many a land I've wandered o'er; But a valley like that glen, love, Half so dear I never sor ! Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer, Than wert thou, my true love, when In the gloaming first I saw yer, In the gloaming of the gbn ! THE RED FLAG. 493 THE RED FLAG. Where the quivering lightning flings His arrows from out the clouds, And the howling tempest sings And whistles among the shrouds, 'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride Along the foaming brine — Wilt be the Rover's bride? Wilt follow him, lady mine ? Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny brine. Amidst the storm and rack, You shall see our galley pass, As a serpent, lithe and black, Glides through the waving grass. As the vulture swift ami dark, Down on the ring-dove flies, You shall see the Rover's bark Swoop down upon his prize. Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny prize. Over her sides we dash, We gallop across her deck — Ha ! there's a ghastly gash On the merchant-captain's neck—' Well shot, well shot, old Ned ! Well struck, well struck, black James ! Our arms are red, and our foes are dead, A nd we loave a ship in flames ! Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny flames ! <,g4 0LD FRIENDS AiVD NEW FACES. DEAR JACK. Dear Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill, And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, Was^nce Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot — In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpass, And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass. One morning in summer, while seated so snug, In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug, Stern Death, on a sudden, to Tom did appear, And said, " Honest Thomas, come take your last bier." We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can, From which let us drink to the health of my Nan. COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. The Pope he is a happy man, His Palace in the Vatican, And there he sits and drains his can : The Pope he is a happy man. I often say when I'm at home, I'd like to be the Pope of Rome. And then there's Sultan Saladin, That Turk'sh Soldan full of sin ; He has a hundred wives at least, By which his pleasure is increased; I've often wished, I hope no sin, That I were Sultan Saladin. But no, the Pope no wife may choose, And so I would not wear his shoes ; No wine may drink the proud Paynim, And so I'd rather not be him : My wife, my wine, I love, I hope, And would be neither Turk nor Pope. WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. 495 WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. When moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells, When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend clown the Lily's bells ; When calm and deap, the rosy sleap Has lapt your soal in dreems, R Hangeline ! R lady mine ; Dost thou remember Jeames ? 1 mark thee in the Marble All, Where England's loveliest shine — - I say the fairest of them hall Is Lady Hangeline. My soul, in desolate eclipse, With recollection teems — And then I hask, with weeping lips, Dost thou remember Jeames ? Away ! I may not tell thee hall This soughring heart endures— There is a lonely sperrit-call That Sorrow never cures ; There is a little, little Star, That still above me beams ; It is the Star of Hope — but ar! Dost thou remember Jtames? THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF. AN EPIC POEM, IN TWENTY BOOKS. The Poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, KiofF, •r Kiova. I. A thousand years ago, or more, A city filled with burghers stout, And girt witli ramparts round about, Stood on the locky Dnieper shore. In armor bright, by day and night, The sentries they paced to and fro. Well guarded and walled was this town, and called By different names. I'd have you to know For if you looks in the g'ography books, In those dictionaries the name : t varies, And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow. Its buildings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil. II. Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt, Kiova within was a place of renown, With more advantages than in those dark ages Were commonly known to belong to a town. There were places and squares, and each year fow fairs, And regular aldermen and regular lord mayors; And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace ; (496) THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 497 And a church with clocks for the orthodox — With clocks and with spires, as religion desires ; And beadles to whip the bad little boys Over their poor little corduroys, In service-time, when they didrft make a noise; And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral-green With ancient trees, underneath whose shades Wandered nice young nursery-maids. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding, "The bells they made a merry merry ring, Frcm the tall tall steeple ; and all the people (Except the Jews) came and filled the pews — Poles, Russians and Germans, To hear the sermons Whicn Hyacinth preached to those Germans and Poles, For the safety of their souls. The poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly clergyman, and one that preached rare good sermons. III. A worthy priest he was and a stout — You've seldom looked on such a one ; For, though he fasted thrice in a week, Yet nevertheles! his skin was sleek ; His waist it spanned two yards about And he weighed a score of stone. How this priest was short and fat of body ; IV. A worthy priest for fasting and prayer And mortification most deserving ; And as for preaching beyond compare, He'd exert his powers for three or four hours, With greater pith than Sydney Smith Or the Reverend Edward Irving. And like unto the author of " Plymley's Letters." V. He was the prior of Saint Sophia (A Cockney rhyme, but no better I know)- Of St. Sophia, that Church in Kiow, Built by missionaries I can't tell when ; Who by their discussions converted the Russians And made them Christian men. Of what conveut he was prior, and when the convent was built. 49 8 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC VI. Of Saint Sophia Sainted Sophia (so the legend vows) of Kioff ; and „.. , . , , ,. . , . , how her statue With special lavor did regard this house , uav a e C ned USly And to uphold her converts' new devotion thither. j-i er s t a tue (needing but her legs for her ship) Walks of itself across the German Ocean • And of a sudden perches In this the best of churches, Whither all Kiovites come and pay it grateful worship). VII. And how KioS Thus with her patron-saints and pious preachers should have beena happy city ; but that Certain wicked Cossacks did besiege it, Murdering the citizens, Until they agreed to pay a tribute yearly. Recorded here in catalogue precise, A goodly city, worthy magistrates, You would have thought in all the Russian states The citizens the happiest of all creatures, — The town itself a perfect Paradise. VIII. No, alas ! this well-built city Was in a perpetual fidget ; For the Tartars, without pity, Did remorselessly besiege it. Tartars fierce, with sword and sabres, Huns and Tuiks, and such as these, Envied much their peaceful neighbors By the blue Borysthenes. Down they came, these ruthless Russians, From their steppes, and woods, and fens, For to lew contributions On the peaceful citizens. Winter, Summer, Spring, and Autumn, Down they came to peaceful Kioff, Killed the burghers when they caught 'em, If their lives they would not buy off. Till the city, quite confounded By the ravages they made, Humbly with their chief compounded, And a yearly tribute paid. THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. 499 Which (because their courage lax was) They discharged while they were able . Tolerated thus the tax was, Till it grew intolerable, And the Calmuc envoy sent, As before to take their dues all, Got to his astonishment, A unanimous refusal ! " Men of Kioff ! " thus courageous Did the stout lord-mayor harangue them, "Wherefore pay these sneaking wages To the hectoring Russians ? hang them! " Hark ! I hear the awful cry of Our forefathers in their graves ; " ' Fight, ye citizens of Kioff ! Kioff was not made for slaves." How they paid the tribute, and then suddenly refused it, To the wonder of the Cossack envoy. Of a mighty gal- lant speech That the lord mayor made, " All too long have ye betrayed her ! Rouse, ye men and aldermen, Send the insolent invader — Send him starving back again." Kxhorting the burghers to pay no longer. IX. He spoke and he sat down ; the people of the town, Who were fired with a brave emulation, Now rose with one accord, and voted thanks unto the lord- Mayor for his oration : Of their thankt and heroic resolves. The envoy they dismissed, never placing in his fist They dismiss the „ , -ii -u- envoy, and set So much as a single shilling ; about drilling. And all with courage fired, as his lordship he desired, At once set about their drilling. Then every city ward established a guard, Diurnal and nocturnal : Of the City guard : viz. mititia, dragoons, Militia volunteers, light dragoons, and bombardiers, anc j bombardiers, ' and their c<>m- With an alderman for Colonel. rnanucrs. tjoo THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. There was muster and roll-calls, and repairing city walls, And filling up of fosses : Of the majors Ana the captains and the majors, so gallant and and captains. courageous, A-ridincr about on their bosses. a The fortifica- To be guarded at all hours they built themselves watch /Ions and artillery, towers, With every tower a man on ; And surely and secure, each from out his embrasure, Looked down the iron cannon! A battle-song was writ for the theatre, where it Was sung with vast energy Of the conduct And rapturous applause ; and besides, the public cause of the actors , . 1 and the clergy. Was supported by the clergy. The pretty ladies'-maids were pinning of cockades, And trying on of sashes ; And dropping gentle tears, while their lovers bluster'd fierce, About gun-shot and gashes ; Of the ladies; The ladies took the hint, and all day were scraping lint, As became their softer genders ; And got bandages- and beds for the limbs and for the heads Of the city's brave defenders. The men, both young and old, felt resolute and bold, And panted hot for glory ; And, finally, of Even the tailors 'gan to brag, and embroidered on. the taylors. ,, . a ' their nag, "AUT WINCERE AUT MORI." Of the Cossack Seeing the city's resolute condition, Srata^m; The Cossack chief, too cunning to despis< Said to himself, " Not having ammunition Wherewith to batter the place in proper form, Some of these nights I'll carry it by storm, And sudden escalade it or surprise it. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. " Let's see, however, if the cits stand firmish." He rode up to the city gates ; for answers, Out rushed an eager troop of the town elite, And straightway did begin a gallant skirmish : The Cossack hereupon did sound retreat, Leaving the victory with the city lancers. They took two prisoners and as many horses, And the whole town grew quickly so elate With this small victory of their virgin forces, That they did deem their privates and commanders So many Caesars, Pompeys, Alexanders, Napoleons, or Fredericks the Great. And puffing with inordinate conceit They utterly despised these Cossack thieves* And thought the ruffians easier to beat Than porters carpets think, or ushers boys. Meanwhile, a sly spectator of their joys, The Cossack captain giggled in his sleeves " Whene'er you meet yon stupid city hogs " (He bade his troops precise this order keep), " Don't stand a moment — run away, you dogs ! " 'Twas done ; and when they met the town battalions, The Cossacks, as if frightened at their valiance, Turned tail, and bolted like so many sheep. They fled, obedient to their captain's order : And now this bloodless siege a month had lasted, When, viewing the country round, the city warder (Who, like a faithful weathercock, did perch Upon the steeple of St. Sophy's church), Sudden his trumpet took, and a mighty blast he blasted. 5°* And the bur- ghers' sillie victorie. That prisoners they took, And how conceit, ed they were. Of the Cossack chief, — his orders ; And how he feigned a retreat. His voice it might be heard through all the streets (He was a warder wondrous strong in lung), "Victory, victory ! the foe retreats ! " " The foe retreats ! " each cries to each he meets ; " The foe retreats ! " each in his turn repeats. Gods ! how the guns did roar, and how the joy- bells rung ! The warder prw» clayms the Cos- sacks' retreat, and the citie greatly rejoyccs. 502 The manner of the citie's re- joycings, And its impiety, How the priest, Hyacinth waited at church, and nobody came thither. THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. Arming in haste his gallant city lancers, The mayor, to learn if true the news might be, A league or two out issued with his prancers. The Cossacks (something had given their courage a damper) Hastened their flight, and 'gan like mad to scamper : Blessed be all the saints, Kiova town was free ! XI. Now, puffed with pride, the mayor grew vain, Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 'Tis true he might amuse himself thus, And not be very murderous ; For as of those who to death were done The number was exactly none, His lordship, in his soul's elation, Did take a bloodless recreation — Going home again, he did ordain A very splendid cold collation For the magistrates and the corporation; Likewise a grand illumination, For the amusement of the nation. That night the theatres were free, The conduits they ran Malvoisie ; Each house that night did beam with light And sound with mirth and jollity : But shame, O shame ! not a soul in the town, Now the city was safe and the Cossacks flown, Ever thought of the bountiful saint by whose care The town had been rid of these terrible Turks- Said even a prayer to that patroness fair, For these her wondrous works ! Lord Hyacinth waited, the meekest of priors — He waited at church with the rest of his friars ; He went there at noon and he waited till ten, Expecting in vain the lord-mayor and his men. He waited and waited from mid-day to dark ; But in vain — you might search through the whole of the church, THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. 503 Not a layman, alas !■ to the city's disgrace, From mid-day to dark showed his nose in the place. The pew-woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad Away in the streets with the other mad people, Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple Wherever the drink might be had. XII. Amidst this din and revelry throughout the city roaring, How he went The silver moon rose silently, and high in heaven them to prayer. soaring ; Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring: 'Towards my precious patroness this conduct sure, unfair is ; I cannot think, I must confess, what keeps the dig- nitaries And our good mayor away, unless some business them contraries." He puts his long white mantle on and forth the prior sallies — (His pious thoughts were bent upon good deeds and not on malice) : Heavens ! how the banquet lights they shone about the mayor's palace ! About the hall the scullions ran with meats both fresh How the grooms and and potted ; lackeys The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests ,eered hinfc allotted ; Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as up the stairs he trotted ! He entered in the ante-rooms where sat the mayor's court in ; He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and a- sporting ; The horrid wine and 'bacco fumes, they set the prior a-snorting! 504 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. The prior thought he'd speak about their sins before he went hence, And lustily began to shout of sin and of repentance ; The rogues they kicked the prior out before he'd done a sentence ! And having got no portion small of buffeting and tuss- ling, At last he reached the banquet hall, where sat the mayor a-guzzling, And by his side his lady tall dressed out in white sprig muslin. And the mayor Around the table in a ring the guests were drinking mayoress, and Iiptvv aldermen, Heavy , being tipsie, They drunk the church, and drunk the king, and the refused to go J ° to church. army and the navy ; In fact they'd toasted everything. The prior said, " God save ye ! " The mayor cried, " Bring a silver cup — there's one upon the beaufet ; And, Prior, have the venison up — it's capital rcchauffS. And so, Sir Priest, you've come to sup ? And pray you, how's Saint Sophy ? " The prior's face quite red was grown, with horror and with anger; He flung the proffered goblet down — it made a hid- eous clangor ; And 'gan a-preaching with a frown — he was a fierce haranguer. He tried the mayor and aldermen — they all set up a-jeering : He tried the common-councilmen — they too began a-sneering : He turned towards the may'ress then, and hoped to get a hearing. He knelt and seized her dinner-dress, made of the muslin snowy, " To church, to church, my sweet mistress ! " he cried ; " the way I'll show ye." Alas, the lady-mayoress fell back as drunk as Chloe ! THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 505 XIII. Out from this dissolute and drunken court How the prior ,, r ,, , . ,. . it . j. went back alorje. Went the good prior, his eyes with weeping dim : He tried the people of a meaner sort — They too, alas, were bent upon their sport, And not a single soul would follow him ! But all were swigging schnaps and guzzling beer He found the cits, their daughters, sons, and spouses,. Spending the live-long night in fierce carouses : Alas, unthinking of the danger near ! One or two sentinels the ramparts guarded, The rest were sharing in the general feast : " God wot, our tipsy town is poorly warded ; Sweet Saint Sophia help us ! " cried the priest Alone he entered the cathedral gate, Careful he locked the mighty oaken door; Within his company of monks did wait, A dozen poor old pious men — no more. Oh, but it grieved the gentle prior sore, To think of those lost souls, given up to drink and fate! The mighty outer gate well barred and fast, And shut himseli J & ' into Saint The poor old friars stirred their poor old bones, Sophia's chapel And pattering swiftly on the damp cold stones, brethren. They through the solitary chancel passed. The chancel walls looked black and dim and vast, And rendered, ghost-like, melancholy tones. Onwards the fathers sped, till com.ng nigh a Small iron .gate, the which they entered quick at, They locked and double-locked the inner wicket And stood within the chapel of Sophia. Vain were it to describe this sainted place, Vain to describe that celebrated trophy, The venerable statue of Saint Sophy, Which formed its chiefest ornament and grace. 506 THE GREA T COSSA CK EPIC. Here the good prior, his personal griefs and sorrows In his extreme devotion quickly merging, At once began to pray with voice sonorous ; The other friars joined in pious chorus, And passed the night in singing, praying, scourging, In honor of Sophia, that sweet virgin. XIV. Sneexoff and Leaving thus the pious priest in tatrnka. Humble penitence and prayer, And the greedy cits a-feasting, Let us to the walls repair. Walking by the sentry-boxes, Underneath the silver moon, Lo ! the sentry boldly cocks his — Boldly cocks his musketoon. Sneezoff was his designation, Fair-haired boy, forever pitied; For to take his cruel station, He but now Katinka quitted. Poor in purse were both, but rich in Tender love's delicious plenties; She a damsel of the kitchen, He a haberdasher's 'prentice. 'Tinka, maiden tender-hearted, Was dissolved in tearful fits, On that fatal night she parted From her darling, fair-haired Fritz. Warm her soldier lad she wrapt in Comforter and muffettee ; Called him " general " and " captain," Though a simple private he. " On your bosom wear this plaster, 'Twill defend you from the cold ; In your pipe smoke this canaster, Smuggled 'tis, my love, and old. " All the night, my love, I'll miss you." Thus she spoke ; and from the door THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. 507 Fair-haired Sneezoff made his issue, To return, alas, no more. He it is who calmly walks his Walk beneath the silver moon ; He it is who boldly cocks his Detonating musketoon. He the bland canaster puffing, As upon his round he paces, Sudden sees a ragamuffin Clambering swiftly up the glacis. •' Who goes there ? " exclaims the sentry ; " When the sun has once gone down No one ever makes an entry Into this here fortified town ! " Shouted thus the watchful Sneezoff; How the sentri« Sneezoff was But, ere any one replied, surprised and Wretched youth ! he fired his piece off, Started, staggered, groaned and died ! slayn. XV. Ah, full well might the sentinel cry, " Who goes How the Cos- t i.„ ro ? >> sacks rushed in mere '• suddenly and But echo was frightened too much to declare. took the citie. Who goes there? who goes there? Can any one swear To the number of sands snr les bords de la mer, Or the whiskers of D'Orsay Count down to a hair? As well might you tell of the sands the amount, Or number each hair in each curl of the Count, As ever proclaim the number and name Of the hundreds and thousands that up the wall came ! Down, down the knaves poured with fire and with sword : There were thieves from the Danube and rogues from Of the Cossack the Don; troops ' There were Turks and Wallacks, and shouting Cos- sacks ; Of all nations and regions, and tongues and religions Jew, Christian, Idolater, Frank, Mussulman: Ah, a horrible sight was Kioff that night! 5 o8 THE GREA T COSSACK EPIC. And of their manner of burning, mur- dering, and ravishing. How they burned the whole citie down, save the church, Whereof the bells began to ring. The gates were all taken — no chance e'en of flight ; And with torch and with axe the bloody Cossacks Went hither and thither a-hunting in packs : They slashed and they slew both Christian and lew- Women and children, thy slaughtered them too. Some, saving their throats, plunged into the moaN, Or the river — but oh, they had burned all the bo* « ! * * * * * * But here let us pause — for I can't pursue further This scene of rack, ravishment, ruin and murthef Too well did the cunning old Cossack succeed! His plan of attack was successful indeed ! The night was his own — the town it was gone ; 'Twas a heap still a-burning of timber and stone. One building alone had escaped from the fires, Saint Sophy's fair church, with its steeples and sp ts. Calm, stately, and white, It stood in the light; And as if 'twould defy all the conqueror's power,- As if nought had occurred, Might clearly be heard The chimes ringing soberly every half-hour J XVI. How the Cossack chief bade them bum the church too. How they The city was defunct — silence succeeded Unto its last fierce agonizing yells; And then it was the conqueror first heeded The sound of these calm bells. Furious towards his aides-de-camp he turns, And (speaking as if Byron's works he knew) " Villains ! " he fiercely cries, " the city burns, Why n't the temple too ? Burn n e yon church, and murder all within ! The Cossacks thundered at the outer door; anXfHyLcintn. ^ d Father Hyacinth, who heard the din, his anger (And thought himself and brethren in distress, Deserted by their lady patroness) Did to her statue turn, and thus his woes outpour. THE GEE A T COSSA CK E PIC. 509 XVII. « And is it thus, O falsest of the saints, S^S'&phia Thou hearest our complaints ? Tell me, did ever my attachment falter To serve thy altar ? Was not thy name, ere ever I did sleep. The last upon my lip ? Was not thy name the very first that broke From me when I awoke ? Have I not tried with fasting, flogging, penance, And mortified countenance For to find favor, Sophy, in thy sight? And lo ! this night, Forgetful of my prayers, and thine own promise, Thou turnest from us ; Lettest the heathen enter in our city, And, without pity, Murder our burghers, seize upon their spouses, Burn down their houses ! Is such a breach of faith to be endured ? See what a lurid Light from the insolent invader's torches Shines on your porches ! E'en now, with thundering battering-ram and hammer And hideous clamor ; With axemen, swordsmen, pikemen, billmen, bowmen, The conquering foemen, O Sophy ! beat your gate about your ears, Alas ! and here's A humble company of pious men, Like muttons in a pen, Whose souls shall quickly from their bodies be thrusted Because in you they trusted. Do you not know the Calmuc chief's desires — Kill all the friars. And you, of all the saints most false and fickle, Leave us in this abominable pickle." 4< RASH HYACINTHUS ! " The statue (Here, to the astonishment of all her backers, speaks; ;io THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. Bnt is inter- rupted by the breaking in of the Cossacks. Of Hyacinth, his outrageous address ; Saint Sophy, opening wide her wooden jaws, Like to a pair of German walnut-crackers, Began), " I did not think you had been thus,— monk of little faith ! Is it because A rascal scum of filthy Cossack heathen Besiege our town, that you distrust in me, then ? Think'st thou that I, who in a former day Did walk across the Sea of Marmora (Not mentioning, for shortness, other seas), — That I, who skimmed the broad Borysthenes, Without so much as wetting of my toes, Am frightened at a set of men like those? 1 have a mind to leave you to your fate : Such cowardice as this my scorn inspires." Saint Sophy was here Cut short in her words, — For at this very moment in tumbled the gate, And with a wild cheer, And a clashing of swords, Swift through the church porches, With a waving of torches, And a shriek and a yell Like the devils of hell, With pike and with axe In rushed the Cossacks,— In rushed the Cossacks, crying, " Murder the friars ! " Ah ! what a thrill felt Hyacinth, When he heard that villanous shout Calmuc ! Now, thought he, my trial beginneth ; Saints, O give me courage and pluck ! " Courage, boys, 'tis useless to funk ! " Thus unto the friars he began : 11 Never let it be said that a monk Is not likewise a gentleman. Though the patron saint of the church, Spite of all that we've done and we've pra/d, Leaves us wickedly here in the lurch, Hang it, gentlemen, who's afraid ? THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 5" As thus the gallant Hyacinthus spoke, He, with an air as easy and as free as If the quick-coming murder were a joke, Folded his robes around his sides, and took Place under sainted Sophy's legs of oak, Like Caesar at the statue of Pompeius. The monks no leisure had about to look (Each being absorbed in his particular case), Else had they seen with what celestial grace A wooden smile stole o'er the saint's mahogany face. " Well done, well done, Hyacinthus, my son ! * Thus spoke the sainted statue. " Though you doubted me in the hour of need, And spoke of me very rude indeed, You deserve good luck for showing such pluck, And I wont be angry at you." And preparation for dying. Saint Sophia, her speech. The monks by-standing, one and all, Of this wondrous scene beholders, To this kind promise listened content, And couldn't contain their astonishment, When Saint Sophia moved and went Down from her wooden pedestal, And twisted her legs, sure as eggs is eggs, Round Hvacinthus's shoulders ! She gets on the prior's shoulder straddleback, "Ho! forwards," cries Sophy, "there's no time for Andbidshim waiting, The Cossacks are breaking the very last gate in : See the glare of their torches shines red through the grating; We've still the back door, and two minutes or more. Now boys, now or never, we must make for the river, For we only are safe on the opposite shore. Run swiftly to-day, lads, if ever you ran, — Put out your best leg, Hyacinthus, my man; And I'll lay five to two that you carry us through, Only scamper as fast as you can.' 5 1 2 THE GEE A T COSSA CK EPIC. XVIII. He runneth, Away went the priest through the little back door, And light on his shoulders the image he bore : The honest old priest was not punished the least, Though the image was eight feet, and he measured four. Away went the prior, and the monks at his tail Went snorting, and puffing, and panting full sail ; And just as the last at the back door had passed, In furious hunt behold at the front The Tartars so fierce, with their terrible cheers ; With axes, and halberts, and muskets, and spears, With torches a-flaming the chapel now came in. They tore up the mass-book, they stamped on the psalter, They pulled the gold crucifix clown from the altar; The vestments they burned with their blasphemous fires, And many cried, " Curse on them ! where are the friars? " When loaded with plunder, yet seeking for more, One chanced to fling open the little back door. Spied out the friars' white robes and long shadows In the moon, scampering over the meadows, And stopped the Cossacks in the midst of their arsons, And the Tartars By crying out lustily, "There go the parsons ! " With a whoop and a yell, and a scream and a shout, At once the whole murderous body turned out ; And swift as the hawk pounces down on the pigeon, Pursued the poor short-winded men of religion. How the friars When the sound of that cheering came to the monks' Sweated. hearing, O heaven ! how the poor fellows panted and blew ! At fighting not cunning, unaccustomed to running, When the Tartars came up, what the deuce should they do ? "They'll make us all martyrs, those blood-thirsty Tartars ! " Quoth fat Father Peter to fat Father Hugh. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 513 The shouts they came clearer, the foe they drew nearer : Oh, how the bolts whistled, and how the lights shone ! " I cannot get further, this running is murther ; Come carry me, some one ! " cried big Father John. And even the statue grew frightened, " O drat you !" It cried, " Mr. Prior, I wish you'd get on ! " On tugged the good friar, but niglfer and nigher Appeared the fierce Russians, with sword and withfire. On tugged the good prior at Saint Sophy's desire, — A scramble through bramble, through mud, and through mire, The swift arrows' whizziness causing a dizziness, Nigh done his business, fit to expire. Father Hyacinth tugged, and the monks they tugged after ; The foemen pursued with a horrible laughter, And hurl'd their long spears round the poor brethren's And the p „w- pursuers fixed ' . arrows into So true, that next day in the coats of each priest, their tayls. Though never a wound was given, there were found A dozen arrows at least. Now the chase seemed at its worst, How, at the Prior and monks were fit to burst ; Scarce you knew the which was first, Or pursuers or pursued ; When the statue, by heaven's grace Suddenly did change the face Of this interesting race, As a saint, sure, only could. For as the jockey who at Epsom rides, When that his steed is spent and punished sore, Diggeth his heels into the courser's sides, And thereby makes him run one or two furlongs more ; Even thus, betwixt the eighth rib and the ninth, The saint rebuked the prior, that weary creeper ; Fresh strength into his limbs t her kicks imparted. 33 5*4 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. The friars won One bound he made, as gay as when he started. Borysthenes Yes, with his brethren clinging at his cloak, fluvius. The statue on his shoulders — fit to choke — One most tremendous bound made Hyacinth, And soused friars, statue, and all, slapdash into the Dnieper! XIX. And how the And when the Russians, in a fiery rank, Russians saw p ant ; ng an d ner *ce, drew up along the shore ; (For here the vain pursuing they forbore, Nor cared they to surpass the river's bank,) Then looking from the rocks and rushes dank, A sight they witnessed never seen before, And which, with its accompaniments glorious, Is writ i' the golden book, or liber aureus. The statue get Plump in the Dnieper flounced the friar and friends, — off Hyacinth , , , , , . , , r his back, and They dangling round his neck, he fit to choke, sit down with When suddenly his most miraculous cloak the friars on J Hyacinth his Over the billowy waves itselt extends, cloak. Down from his shoulders quietly descends The venerable Sophy's statue of oak ; Which, sitting down upon the cloak so ample, Bids all the brethren follow its example ! How in this Each at her bidding sat, and sat at ease ; manner of boat ,„, , they sayled * ne statue gan a gracious conversation, away. And (waving to the foe a salutation) Sail'd with her wondering happy protege's Gayly adown the wide Borysthenes, Until they came unto some friendly nation. And when the heathen had at length grown shy of Their conquest, she one day came back again to Kioff xx. Finis, or the THINK NOT, O READER, THAT WE'RE LAUGHING end. AT YOU ; YOU MAY GO TO KlOF NOW, AND SEE THE STATUE I KING CANUTE. 5*5 KING CANUTE. King Canute was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more ; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore. 'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate, Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, — all the officers of state. Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause, If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws ; If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws. But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young : Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favorite gleemen sung, Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue. " Somethingails my gracious master," cried the Keeper of the Seal. " Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served to dinner, or the veal? " "Psha!" exclaimed the angry monarch. " Keeper, 'tis not that I feel. "'Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair : Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care ? Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary." — Some one cried, " The King's arm-chair ! " Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded, Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied ; Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. 27 S i6 KING CANUTE. "Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, "over storm and brine, I have fought and I have conquered ! Where was glory like to mine ? " Loudly all the courtiers echoed : " Where is glory like to thine ? " "What avail me all my kingdoms ? Weary am I now and old ; Those fair sons I have begotten, long to see me dead and cold ; Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mould ! " Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent ! at my bosom tears and bites ; Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights ; Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights. u Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires ; Mothers weeping, virgins screaming : vainly for their slaughtered sires." — " Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, " every one admires. "But for such unpleasant by-gones, cease, my gracious lord, to search, They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church • Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch. " Look ! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised ; Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised : You, my lord, to think of dying? on my conscience I'm amazed ! " " Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, " that my end is drawing near." " Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear). " Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year." " Live these fifty years ! " the bishop roared, with actions made to suit. u Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute ! Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do't. "Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they?" " Fervently," exclaimed the Keeper, " fervently I trust he may." FRIAFS SO2VG. 5I7 "He to die ? " resumed the Bishop. " He a mortal like to us ? Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus : Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus. "With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can compete, Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet; Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it meet. " Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill, And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will." " Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop ? " Canute cried; " Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride ? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide. "Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign ? " Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, " Land and sea, my lord, are thine." Canute turned towards the ocean — " Back I " he said, "thou foam- ing brine. "From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat, Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat : Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet ! " But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar, And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore ; Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore. And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay, But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey : And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone : Parasites exist alvvay. FRIAR'S SONG. Some love the matin-chimes, which tell The hour of prayer to sinner : But better far's the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner ; j 1 8 OLD FRIENDS WITH NE W FA CES. For when I see a smoking fish, Or capon drown'd in gravy, Or noble haunch on silver dish, Full glad I sing my ave. My pulpit is an alehouse bench, Whereon I sit so jolly ; A smiling rosy country wench My saint and patron holy. I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets wavy, And in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave. And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind, And holy saints forgiving; For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good living. Above, they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor : Oh, grant ! mid all the changes there, They may not change our liquor ! ATRA CUR A. Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark, Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the grisly sprite Jump up but now behind my Knight. And though he gallop as he may I mark that cursed monster black Still sits behind his honor's back, Tight squeezing of his heart alway. Like two black Templars sit they there, Beside one crupper, Knight and Care. REQUTESCAT. 519 No knight am I with pennoned spear, To prance upon a bold destrere : I will not have black Care prevail Upon my long-eared charger's tail, For lo, I am a witless fool, And laugh at Grief and ride a mule. REQUIESCAT. Under the stone you behold, Buriod. and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughty with sword and with lance. Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight. Brian the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew, Saw Hierusalem too. Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the gray stone ! Where shall you find such a one Long time his widow deplored. Weeping the fate of her lord Sadly cut off by the sword. When she was eased of her pain Came the good Lord Athelstane, When her ladyship married again. 5 2 o OLD FRIENDS WITH NE W FA CES. LINES UPON MY SISTERS PORTE AIT. BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN. The castle towers of Bareacres are fair upon the lea, Where the cliffs of bonny Diddlesex rise up from out the sea: I stood upon the donjon keep and view'd the country o'er, I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more. I stood upon the donjon keep — it is a sacred place, — Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my race ; Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field : There ne'er was nobler cognizance on knightly warrior's shield. The first time England saw the shield 'twas round a Norman neck, On board a ship from Valery, King William was on deck. A Norman lance the colors wore, in Hastings' fatal fray — St. Willibald for Bareacres ! 'twas double gules that day ! O Heaven and sweet St. Willibald ! in many a battle since A loyal-hearted Bareacres has ridden by his Prince ! At Acre with Plantagenet, with Edward at Poictiers, The Pennon of the Bareacres was foremost on the spears ! 'Twas pleasant in the battle-shock to hear our war-cry ringing: Oh grant me, sweet St. Willibald, to listen to such singing! Three nundred steel-clad gentlemen, we drove the foe before us, And thirty score of British bows kept twanging to the chorus 1 O knights, my noble ancestors ! and shall I never hear St. Willibald for Bareacres through battle ringing clear? Vd cut me off this strong right hand a single hour to ride, And strike a blow for Bareacres, my fathers, at your side I Dash down, dash down, yon Mandolin, beloved sister mine ! Those blushuig lips may never sing the glories of our line ; Our ancient castles echo to the clumsy feet of churls, The spinning-jenny houses in the mansion of our Earls. Sing not, sing not, my Angeline ! in days so base and vile, 'Twere sinful to be happy, 'twere sacrilege to smile. I'll hie me to my lonely hall, and by its cheerless hob J'll muse on other days, and wish — and wish I were — A Snob. TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. Lille, Sept. 2, 1843. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How sluill I e'er my woes reveal t I have no money, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town 0/ Lille- With twenty pounds but three weeks since From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel, I thought myself as rich a prince As beggar poor I'm now at Lille. Confiding in my ample means — In troth, I was a happy chiel ! I passed the gates of Valenciennes, I never thought to come by Lille. I never thought my twenty pounds Some rascal knave would dare to steal ; I gayly passed the Belgic bounds At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille. To Antwerp town I hasten'd post, And as I took my evening meal I felt my pouch, — my purse was lost, Heaven ! Why came I not by Lille ? I straightway called for ink and pen, To grandmamma I made appeal; Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten 1 borrowed from a friend so leal. 522 TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. I got the cash from grandmamma (Her gentle heart my woes could feel), But where I went, and what I saw, What matter ? Here I am at Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal? have no cash, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. II. To stealing I can never come, To pawn my watch I'm too genteel, Besides, I left my watch at home, How could I pawn it then at Lille ? "La note" at times the guests will say. I turn as white as cold boil'd veal; I turn and look another way, /dare not ask the bill at Lille. I dare not to the landlord say, " Good sir, I cannot pay your bill ; He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, And is quite proud I stay at Lille. He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel, And so he serves me every day The best of meat and drink in Lille. Yet when he looks me in the face I blush as red as cochineal ; And think did he but know my case, How changed he'd be, my host of Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal? I have no monev, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. in. The sun bursts out in furious blaze, I perspirate from head to heel ; I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise, How can I, without cash at Lille. TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. 323 I pass in sunshine burning hot By cafes where in beer they deal : I think how pleasant were a pot, A frothing pot of beer of Lille ! What is yon house with walls so thick, All girt around with guard and grille ? O gracious gods ! it makes me sick, It is the prison-house of Lille ! cursed prison strong and barred, It does my very blood congeal! 1 tremble as I pass the guard, And quit that ugly part of Lille. The church-door beggar whines and prays, 1 turn away at his appeal : Ah, church-door beggar ! go thy ways ! Youre not the poorest man in Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? I have no money, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. IV. Say, shall I to yon Flemish church, And at a Popish altar kneel ? Oh, do not leave me in the lurch, — 1 11 cry, ye patron-saints of Lille ! Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops, Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal, Look kindly down ! before you stoops The miserablest man in Lille. And lo ! as I beheld with awe A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real), It smiled, and turned to grandmamma!— It did ! and I had hope in Lille ! Twas five o'clock, and I could eat, Although I could not pay my meal : I hasten back into the street Where lies my inn, the best in Lille. 27* ; 2 if THE WILLOW-TREE. What see I on my table stand, — A letter with a well-known seal ? Tis grandmamma's ! I know her hand, — " To Mr. A. A. Titmarsh, Lille." I feel a choking in my throat, I pant and stagger, faint and reel ! It is — it is — a ten-pound note, And I'm no more in pawn at Lille ! (He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the bosom of his happy family.] THE WILLOW-TREE. Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river ; Lady, at even-tide Wander not near it, They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit ! Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful, Pale seemed her cheek to be, Her blue eye tearful; Soon as she saw the tree, Her step moved fleeter, No one was there — ah me ! No one to meet her ! Quick beat her heart to hear The far bell's chime Toll from the chapel-tower The trysting time: But the red sun went down In golden flame, And though she looked round. Yet no one came ! THE WILLOW-TREE. Presently came the night, Sadly to greet her, — Moon in her silver light. Stars in their glitter; Then sank the moon away Under the billow, Still wept the maid alone- There by the willow ! Through the long darkness, By the stream rolling Hour after hour went on Tolling and tolling. Long was the darkness, Lonely and stilly ; Shrill came the night-wind, Piercing and chilly. Shrill blew the morning breeze Biting and cold, Bleak peers the gray dawn Over the wold. Bleak over moor and stream Looks the gray dawn ; Gray, with dishevelled hair, Still stands the willow there — The maid is gone ! Domine, Domine I Sing we a litany, — Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary Domine, Domine / Sing we a litany, Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere / S2A 52 6 THE WILLOW-TREE. THE WILLOW-TREE, (another version.) I. Long by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother's screams O'er the gray water : u Where is my lovely one ? Where is my daughter ? ii. " Rouse thee, sir constable — Rouse thee and look ; Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman your hook, Beat in the lily-beds, Dive in the brook ! " Hi. Vainly the constable Shouted and called her; Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder, Vainly he flung the net, Never it hauled her ! IV. Mother beside the fire Sat, her nightcap in : Father, in easy chair, Gloomily napping, When at the window-sill Came a light tapping ! v. And a pale countenance Looked through the casement. Loud beat the mother's heart, Sick with amazement, THE WILLOW-TREE. And at the vision which Came to surprise her, Shrieked in an agony — " Lor ! it's Elizar ! " IV. Yes, 'twas Elizabeth — Yes, 'twas their girl ; Pale was her cheek, and her Hair out of curl. " Mother ! " thy loving one, Blushing exclaimed, "Let not \our innocent Lizzy be blamed. vn. Yesterday, going to aunt Jones's to tea, Mother, dear mother, I I'orgot the door kev ! And as the night was cold, And the way steep, Mrs. Jones kept me to Breakfast and sleep." VIII. Whether her Pa and Ma Fully believed her, That we shall never know, Stern they received her; And for the work of that Cruel, though short, night, Sent her to bed without Tea for a fortnight. IX. MORAL. Hey diddle diddle ty, Cat and the Fiddlety, Maidens of England take caution by she / Let love and suicide Never tempt you aside, And always remember to take the dorr-key. 527 LYRA HIBERNICA. THE POEMS OF THE MOLONY OF KILBALLYMOLONY. LYRA HIBERNICA. THE POEMS OF THE MOLONY OF KILBALLYMOLONY. THE PIMLICO PA VILION. Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva and Vanius, Who sit on Parnassus, that mountain of snow, Descind from your station and make observation Of the Prince's pavilion in sweet Pimlico. This garden, by jakurs, is forty poor acres, (The garner he tould me, and sure ought to know;) And yet greatly bigger, in size and in figure, Than the Phanix itself, seems the Park Pimlico. O 'tis there that the spoort is, when the Queen and the Court is Walking magnanimous all of a row, Forgetful what state is among the pataties And the pine-apple gardens of sweet Pimlico. There in blossoms odorous the birds sing a chorus, Of "God save the Queen " as they hop to and fro ; And you sit on the binches and hark to the finches, Singing melodious in sweet Pimlico. There shuiting their phanthasies, they pluck polyanthuses That round in the gardens resplindcntly grow, Wid roses and jessimins, and other sweet specimins, Would charm bould Linnayus in sweet Pimlico. 532 LYRA HIBERNICA. You see when you inther, and stand in the cinther. Where the roses, and necturns, and collyflowers blow, A hill so tremindous, it tops the top-windows Of the elegant houses of famed Pimlico. And when you've ascinded that precipice splindid You see on its summit a wondtherful show — A lovely Swish building, all painting and gilding, The famous Pavilion of sweet Pimlico. Prince Albert, of Flandthers, that Prince of Commandthers, (On whom my best blessings hereby I bestow), With goold and vermilion has decked that Pavilion, Where the Queen may take tay in her sweet Pimlico. There's lines from John Milton the chamber all gilt on, And pictures beneath them that's shaped like a bow ; I was greatly astounded to think that that Roundhead Should find an admission to famed Pimlico. lovely's each fresco, and most picturesque O ; And while round the chamber astonished I go, 1 think Dan Maclise's it baits all the pieces Surrounding the cottage of famed Pimlico. Eastlake has the chimney (a good one to limn he), And a vargin he paints with a sarpint below ; While bulls, pigs, and panthers, and other enchanthers, Are painted by Landseer in sweet Pimlico. And nature smiles opposite, Stanfield he copies it ; O'er Claude or Poussang sure 'tis he that may crow: But Sir Ross's best faiture is small mini-dture — He shouldn't paint frescoes in famed Pimlico. There's Leslie and Uwins has rather small doings; There's Dyce, as brave masther as England can show; And the flowers and the sthrawberries, sure he no dauber is, That painted the panels of famed Pimlico. In the pictures from Walther Scott, never a fault there's got, Sure the marble's as natural as thrue Scaglio ; And the Chamber Pompayen is sweet to take tay in, And ait butther'd muffins in sweet Pimlico. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. $^ There's landscapes by Gruner, both solar and lunar, Them two little Doyles too, deserve a bravo ; Wid de piece by young Townsend (for janius abounds in't); And that's why he's shuited to paint Pimlico. That picture of Severn's is worthy of rever'nce, But some I won't mintion is rather so so; For sweet philoso'phy, or crumpets and coffee, O where's a Pavilion like sweet Pimlico ? 9 to praise this Pavilion would puzzle Quintilian, Daymosthenej, Brougham, or young Cicero ; So heavenly Goddess, d'ye pardon my modesty, And silence, my lyre ! about sweet Pimlico. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. With ganial foire Thransfuse me loyre, Ye sacred nympths of Pindus, The whoile I sing That wondthrous thing, The Palace made o' windows ! Say, Paxton, truth, Thou wondthrous youth. What schroke of art celistial, Whac power was lint You to invint This combineetion cristial. O would before That Thomas Moore, Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, Thim aigles sthrong Of godlike song, Cast oi on that cast oiron ! 534 LYRA HIBERNICA. And saw thim walls, And glittering halls, Thim rising slendther columns, Which I poor pote, Could not denote, No, not in twinty vollums. My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there ; Her wings she spoils 'Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there. This Palace tall This Cristial Hall, Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it. The towers and fanes, In other scaynes, The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom, Saint Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo. 'Tis here that roams, As well becomes Her dignitee and stations, Victoria Great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations. Her subjects pours From distant shores, Her Injians and Canajians; And also we, Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagianca. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 535 Here come likewise Her bould allies, Both Asian and Europian , From East and West They send their best To fill her Coornucopean. I seen (thank Grace !) This wondthrous place (His Noble Honor Misther H. Cole it was That gave the pass, And let me see what is there). With conscious proide I stud insoide And look'd the World's Great Fair in, Until me sight Was dazzled quite, And couldn't see for staring. There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin ; Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in. There's fountains there And crosses fair ; There's water-gods with urrns : There's organs three, To play, d'ye see ? " God save the Queen," by turrns. There's Statues bright Of marble white, Of silver, and of copper ; And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper. 536 LYRA HIBERNICA. There's staym Ingynes That stands in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing. There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows, And ploughs like toys For little boys, And ilegant wheel-barrows. For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em : There's Droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium. There's Cabs on Stands And Shandthry danns ; There's Wagons from New York here ; There's Lapland Sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Deolighted I survey 'em; Fresh wondthers grows Before me nose In this sublime Musayum ! Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco : There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 537 There's German flutes, Marocky boots, And Naples Macaronies; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay ; Polonia her polonies. There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns, And Ginger-bread and Jewels. There's taypots there, And cannons rare ; There's coffins fill'd with roses ; There's canvas tints Teeth insthrumints, And shuits of clothes by Moses. There's lashins more Of things in store, But thim I don't remimber; Nor could disclose Did I compose From May time to Novimber! Ah, Judy thru ! With eyes so blue, That you were here to view it ! And could I screw But tu pound tu, 'Tis I would thrait you to it ! So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse As he surveys This Cristial Exhibition. 1851. 538 LYRA IIIBERNICA. MO LO NY'S LAMENT. Tim, did you hear of thim Saxons, And read what the peepers report ? They're goan to recall the Liftinant, And shut up the Castle and Coort ! Our desolate counthry of Oireland, They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy, And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy ; 'Twas he was our proide and our joy ! And will we no longer behould him, Surrounding his carriage in throngs, As he weaves his cocked-hat from the windies, And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs ? 1 liked for to see the young haroes, All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix, And winking the girls in the cyars, Like Mars, A smokin' their poipes and cigyars. Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies, Your beautiful oilids you'll ope. And there'll be an abondance of croyin* From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope, When they read of this news in the peepers, Acrass the Atlantical wave, That the last of the Oirish Liftinints Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. God save The Queen — she should betther behave. And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, \Vhin the Coort of imparial splindor From Doblin's sad city departs ? MO LO NY'S LAMENT. 539 And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers, When the deuce of a Coort there remains? And where'll be the bucks and the ladies, To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains ? In sthrains, It's thus that ould Erin complains ! There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy 'Tvvas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail ; She bought it of Misthress O'Grady, Eight shillings a yard tabinet, But now that the Coort is concluded, The divvle a yard will she get ; I bet, Bedad, that she wears the old set. There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, They'd daylings with Madam O'Riggs'; Each year at the dthrawing-room sayson, They mounted the neatest of wigs. When Spring, with its buds and its dasies, Comes out in her heauty and bloom, Thim tn'll never think of new jasies, Becase there is no dthrawing-room, For whom They'd choose the expense to ashuma. There's Alderman Toad and his lady, 'Twas they gave the Clart and the Poort, And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters, To feast the Lord Liftinint's Coort. But now that the quality's goin, I warnt that the aiting will stop, And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble The devil a bite or a dthrop, Or chop ; And the butcher may shut up his shop. 28 54° L YRA IIIBERNICA Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, And his Lordship, the dear honest man, And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy, And Corry, the bould Connellan, And little Lord Hyde and the childthren, And the Chewter and Governess tu. ; And the servants are packing their boxes,- Oh, murther, but what shall I due Without you ? O Meery, with ois of the blue MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THl B ALL GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY. O will ye choose to hear the news Bedad I cannot pass it o'er : I'll tell you all about the Ball To the Naypaulase Ambassador. Begor ! this fete all balls does bate At which I've worn a pump, and I Must here relate the splendthor great Of th' Oriental Company. These men of sinse dispoised expinse, To fete these black Achilleses. ** We'll show the blacks,"' says they, " Almack'a " And take the rooms at Willis's." With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, They hung the rooms of Willis up, And decked the wahs, and stairs, and halls, With roses and with lilies up. And Jullien's band it tuck its stand, So sweetly in the middle there, And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes And violins did fiddle there. MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL. 541 to And when the Coort was tired of spoort, I'd lave you, boys, to think there was A nate buffet before them set, Where lashins of good dhrink there was. At ten before the ball-room door, His moighty Excellency was, He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd, So gorgeous and immense he was. His dusky shuit, sublime and mute, Into the door-way followed him ; And O the noise of the blackguard boys, As they hurrood and hollowed him 1 The noble Chair * stud at the stair, And bade the dthrums to thump; and he Did thus evince, to that Black Prince. The welcome of his Company. O fair the girls, and rich the curls, And bright the oys you saw there, was; And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi. On Gineral Jung Bahawther, was ! This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, (Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat, All bleezed with precious minerals ; And as he there, with princely air, Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was. O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls, Such fashion and nobilitee! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the hoigh gentihtee ! There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese Ministher and his lady there, And I reckonized, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there ; • James Matheson, Esq., to whom, and the B< ard of Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Molony, late stoker on board the •* Iberia," the " Lady Mary Wood," the " Tagus," and the Oriental steamships, humbly dedicate this produc- tion of my grateful muse. 542 LYRA HIBERNICA. There was Baroness Brunovv, that looked like Juno, And Baroness Rehausen there, And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar Well, in her robes of gauze in there. There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first When only Mr. Pips he was), And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, That after supper tipsy was. There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all, And Lords Killeen and Dufferin, And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife ; I wondther how he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, And seemed to ask how should /go there ? And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, And the Marchioness of Sligo there. Yes, Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls, And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; And some beside (the rogues !) I spied, Behind the windies, coorting there. O, there's one I know, bedad would show As beautiful as any there, And I'd like to hear the pipers blow, And shake a fut with Fanny there. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. Ye Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration, And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore; Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon, Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore* THE BA TTLE OF LTMERICK. 543 When William, Duke of Schumbug, A tyrant and a humbug, With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, Our fortitude and valliance Insthructed his battalions To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. Since that capitulation, No city in this nation So grand a reputation could boast before, As Limerick prodigious, That stands with quays and bridges, And ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore. A chief of ancient line, 'Tis William Smith O'Brine Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more : O the Saxons can't endure To see him on the flure, And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore ! This valliant son of Mars Had been to visit Par's, That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor ; And to welcome his return From pilgrimages furren, We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. Then we summoned to our board Youns: Measrher of the sword : 'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore ; And Mitchil of Belfast We bade to our repast, To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore. Convaniently to hould These patriots so bould, We took the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store ; And with ornamints and banners (As becomes gintale good manners) We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore. 544 LYRA I2IBERNICA. 'Twould binifit your sowls, To see the butthered rowls, The sugar tongs and sangwidges andcraim galyore, And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of harps and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. Sure the Imperor of Bohay Would be proud to dthrink the tay That Mistnress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour; And, since the days of Strongbow, There never was such Congo — Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it — by Shannon shore. But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core ; And they hired a gang of ruffins To interrupt the muffins, And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. When full of tay and cake O'Brine began to spake; But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar Of a ragamuffin rout Began to yell and shout, And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. As Smith O'Brine harangued, They batthered and they banged : Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore; They smashed the lovely windies (Hung with muslin from the Indies), Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore. With throwing of brickbats, Drowned puppies and dead rats, These ruffin democrats themselves did lower; Tin kettles, rotten eggs, Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 545 O the girls began to scrame And upset the milk and crame ; And the honorable gintlemin, they cursed and swore: And Mitchil of Belfast, 'Twas he that looked aghast, When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore. O the lovely tay was spilt On that day of Ireland's guilt ; Says Jack Mitchil, " I am kilt ! Boys, where's the back door ? 'Tis a national disgrace : Let me go and veil me face ; " And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore. " Cut down the bloody horde ! " Says Meagher of the sword, "This conduct would disgrace any blackamore ; But the best use Tommy made Of his famous battle blade Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore. Immortal Smith O'Brine Was raging like a line ; 'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar; Tn his glory he arose, And he rush'd upon his foes, But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore. Then the Futt and Dthragoons In squadthrons and platoons, With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore ; And they bate the rattatoo, But the Peelers came in view, And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. 546 LYRA HIBERNICA* LARRY a TOOLE. You've all heard of Larry O'Toole, Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole; He had but one eye, To ogle ye by — Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l ! A fool He made of de girls, dis O'Toole. 'Twas he was the boy didn't fail, That tuck down pataties and mail ; He never would shrink From any sthrong dthrink, Was it whiskey or Drogheda ale; I'm bail This Larry would swallow a pail. Oh, many a night at the bowl, With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl ; He's gone to his rest, Where there's dthrink of the best, And so let us give his old sowl A howl, For 'twas he made the noggin to rowl. THE ROSE OF FLORA. Sent by a Young Gentleman of Quality to Miss Br — dy, of Castle Bracfy On Brady's tower there grows a flower, It is the loveliest flower that blows, — At Castle Brady there lives a lady (And how I love her no one knows); Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora Presents her with this blooming rose. THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. O Lady Nora,'' says the goddess Flora, "I've many a rich and bright parterre ; In Brady's towers there's seven more flowers, But you're the fairest lady there : Not all the county, nor Ireland's bounty, Can produce a treasure that's half so fair ! " What cheek is redder ? sure roses fed her ! " Her hair is maregolds, and her eye of blew. Beneath her eyelid, is like the vi'let, That darkly glistens with gentle jew ! The lily's nature is not surely whiter Than Nora's neck is, — and her arrums too. " Come, gentle Nora," says the goddess Flora, " My dearest creature, take my advice, There is a poet, full well you know it, Who spends his lifetime in heavy sighs, — Young Redmond Barry, 'tis him you'll marry, If rhyme and raisin you'd choose likewise.''' 547 THE LART IRISH GRIEVANCE. On reading of the general indignation occasioned in Ireland by the appointment of a Scotch Professor to one of Her Majesty's God- less Colleges, Master Molloy Molony, brother of Thaddeus Molony, Esq., of the Temple, a youth only fifteen years of age, dashed off the following spirited lines : — As I think of the insult that's done to this nation, Red tears of rivinge from me faytures I wash, And uphold in this pome, to the world's daytistation, The sleeves that appointed Professor M'Cosh. I look round me counthree, renowned by exparience, And see midst her chiklthren, the witty, the wise, — Whole hayps of logicians, potes, schollars, grammarians, All avger for pleeces, all panting to rise ; 28* •548 LYRA IHBERNICA. I gaze round the world in its utmost diminsion ; Lard Jahn and his minions in Council I ask, Was there ever a Government-pleece (with a pinsion) But children of Erin were fit for that task ? What, Erin beloved, is thy fetal condition ? What shame in aych boosom must rankle and burrun, To think that our countree has ne'er a logician In the hour of her deenger will surrev her turrun ! *»^ On the logic of Saxons there's little reliance, And, rather from Saxons than gather its rules, I'd stamp under feet the base book of his science, And spit on his chair as he taught in the schools ! O false Sir John Kane! is it thus that you praych me ? I think all your Queen's Universities Bosh ; And if you've no neetive Professor to taych me, I scawurn to be learned by the Saxon M'Cosh. There's Wiseman and Chume, and His Grace the Lord Primate, That sinds round the box, and the world will subscribe ; Tis they'll build a College that's fit for our climate, And taych me the saycrets I burn to imboibe ! 'Tis there as a Student of Science I'll enther, Fair Fountain of Knowledge, of Joy, and Contint ! Saint Pathrick's sweet Statue shall stand in the centner And wink his dear oi every day during Lint. And good Doctor Newman, that praycher unwary, 'Tis he shall preside the Academee School, And quit the gay robe of St. Philip of Neri, To wield the soft rod of St. Lawrence O'Toole ! THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MAR Y BRO WN An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek — I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak, Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin of she. This Mary was pore and in misery once, And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce. She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner nor no tea. And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks, (Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax,) She kep her for nothink, as kind as could be, Never thinkin that this Mary was a traitor to she. " Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill ; Will you just step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" "That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she; And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be. No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped, Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed ; She hopens all the trunks without never a key — She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free. (549) 550 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Mrs. Roney's best linning, gownds, petticoats, and close, Her children's little coats and things, her boots, and her hose, She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flea Mrs. Roney's situation — you may think vat it vould be I Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day. Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should shee see But this Mary as had acted so ungrateful to she. She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man, They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand And the Church bells was a ringing for Mary and he, And the parson was ready, and a waitin for his fee. When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground. She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me ; I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she. " Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go, I acted most ungrateful I own and I know, But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may see, And this young man is a waitin," says Mary says she. w I don't care three fardens for the parson and dark, And the bell may keep ringin from noon day to dark. Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me And I think this young man is lucky to be free." So, in spite of the tears which bejew'd Mary's cheek, I took that young girl to A'Beckett, the Beak ; That exlent Justice demanded her plea— But never a sullable said Mary said she. On account of her conduck so base and so vile, That wicked young gurl is committed for trile, And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea, It's a proper reward for such willians as she. Now you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep, From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep, Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek, To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak. THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 551 THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. My name is Pleaceman X; Last night I was in bed, A dream did me perplex, Which came into my Edd. I dreamed I sor three Waits A playing of their tune, At Pimlico Palace gates, All underneath the moon. One puffed a hold French horn, And one a hold Banjo, And one chap seedy and torn A Hirish pipe did blow. They sadly piped and played, Dexcribing of their fates ; And this was what they said, Those three pore Christmas Waits : " When this black year began, This Eighteen-forty-eight, I was a great great man, And king both vise and great. And Munseer Guizot by me did show As Minister of State. " But Febuwerry came, And brought a rabble rout, And me and my good dame And children did turn out, And us, in spite of all our right, Sent to the right about. u I left my native ground, I left my kin and kith, I left my royal crownd, Vich I couldn't travel vith, And without a pound came to English ground, In the name of Mr. Smith. 55* THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. " Like any anchorite I've lived since I came here, I've kep myself quite quite, I've drank the small small beer, And the vater, you see, disagrees with me And all my famly dear. " O Tweeleries so dear, O darling Pally Royl, Vas it to finish here That I did trouble and toyl ? That all my plans should break in my ands And should on me recoil ? " My state I fenced about Vith baynicks and vith guns: My gals I portioned hout, Rich vives I got my sons ; varn't it crule to lose my rule, My money and lands at once ? " And so, with arp and woice, Both troubled and shagreened, 1 bid you to rejoice, glorious England's Queend ! And never have to veep, like pore Louis-Phileep, Because you out are cleaned. " O Prins, so brave and stout, 1 stand before your gate ; Pray send a trifle hout To me, your pore old Vait ; For nothink could be vuss than it's been along vith us In this year Forty-eight." " Ven this bad year began," The next man said, saysee, " I vas a Journeyman, A taylor black and free, And my wife went out and chaired about, And my name's the bold Cuffee. THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 553 " The Queen and Halbert both I swore I would confound, I took a hawfle hoath To drag them to the ground ; And sevral more with me they swore Aginst the British Crownd. "Aginst her Pleacemen all We said we'd try our strenth ; Her scarlick soldiers tall We vow'd w r e'd lay full lenth : And out we came, in Freedom's name, Last Aypril was the tenth. " Three 'undred thousand snobs Came out to stop the vay, Vith sticks vith iron knobs, Or else we'd gained the day. The harmy quite kept out of sight, And so ve vent avay. * Next day the Pleacemen came— Rewenge it was their plann — And from my good old dame They took her tailor-mann : And the hard hard beak did me bespeak To Newgit in the Wann. "In that etrocious Cort The Jewry did agree ; The Judge did me transport, To go beyond the sea : And so for life, from his dear wife They took poor old Cuffee. " O Halbert, Appy Prince ! With children round your knees Ingraving ansum Prints, And taking hoff your hease ; O think of me, the old Cuffee, Beyond the solt solt seas ! 554 THE BALLADS OF rOLICEMAN X. " Although I'm hold and black, My hanguish is most great; Great Prince, O call me back, And I vill be your Vait! And never no more vill break the Lor, As I did in 'Forty-eight." The tailer thus did close (A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose, And spoke with Hirish brogue : " I'm Smith O'Brine, of Royal Line, Descended from Rory Ogue. " When great O'Connle died, That man whom all did trust, That man whom Henglisu pride Beheld with such disgust, Then Erin free fixed eyes on me, And swoar I should be fust. " ' The glorious Hirish Crown,' Says she, < it shall be thine : Long time it's wery well known, You kep it in your line ; That diadem of hcmerald -!.'• ^fOJITVD-JO^ University Research Library < o