._^ '^ THE SAVAGE-CLUB PAPERS. LONDON : ROESON AND SON, GREAT KORTHERN PRINTISQ WORKS, TAXCKAS ROAD, N.W. <, TiNSLEY Br^THEP^S, 18 Catherine ^t. ^trand. J THE SAYAGE-CLUB PAPEES. ANDREW HALLIDAY. LONDON": TDnSLEY brothers, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.. 1867. lAll rights of translation and reproduction reserved.'] r P^FACE. S a matter of courtesy, it is clue to the public, to whom we appeal, to exj^laiu the meauing of the somewhat strange i^l^^Si^ title which we have given to this book, and the object for which it is published. As to the first of these points, it would scarcely be necessary to offer any explanation whatever, were it not that erroneous reports have been spread abroad with regard to the constitution, nature, and purpose of our Club. The Savage Club was founded ten vears acjo, to supply the want which Dr. Samuel Johnson and his friends experienced when they founded the Literary Club. A little band of authors, journalists, and artists felt the need of a place of reunion, where, in their hoiu's of leisure, they might gather together and enjoy each other's society, apart from the publicity of that which was known in Johnson's time as the ''coffee-house," and equally apart from tlie chilling splendom* of the modern club. When about a dozen of the original members were assembled* in the place selected for their meetings, it became a question what the Club should be called. Every one in the room sug- 8632G3 X Preface. gested a title. One said the " Addison," another the " Jolnison," a third the " Goldsmith," and so forth ; and at hast, after -sve had run the whole gamut of famous literary names of the modern period, a modest member in the corner suggested " The Shakespeare." Tliis Avas too much for the gravity of one of the company,* whose keen sense of humoiu' enabled him, in the midst of ovu" enthusiasm, to perceive that we were bent u2)on making ourselves ridiculous. " Who are we," he said, " that we should take these great names in vain ? Don't let us be preten- tious. If we must have a name, let it be a modest ©ne — one that signifies as little as possible." Hereupon a member called out, in a pure spirit of wantonness, '' The Savage !" Tliat keen sense of humour was again tickled. *' The very thing !" he exclaimed. " No one can say there is anything pretentious in assuming tliat name. If we accept Eichard Savage as our god- father, it shows that there is no pride about us ; if we mean that we are .sa?r«, why then it will be a pleasant surprise for those avIio may join us to find the Wigwam a liicus a non lucendoy And so, in a frolicsome humour, oiu' little society was christened the " Savage Club." At this time it never occurred to us for a mo- ment that we should ever come before the public in om* cor})orate capacity ; and when the necessity did arise for our so ai)})earing, we had almost forffctten the significance of our whimsical name. * The late Mr. Eobert Brougli. Preface. xi We may be pardoned for mentioning the cir- cumstance which induced us to emero-e from the privacy which was the original object of our asso- ciation. Widows and orphans appealed, silently, to our savage breasts. We felt that they were left to our care. What could we do for them ? There were some amongst us who had distin- guished themselves as amateur actors ; there were others who were well knowai to the public as dra- matists. We resolved to combine our forces — write a piece, and act it ourselves. In carrying out this scheme, we used the name of our Club — diffidently, doubtfully. To our great surprise there proved to be magic in the name. So eager was tlie demand for places to witness our performance that we asked gold, instead of silver, for admission — and we got it. Her gracious Majesty the Queen and the late Prince Consort, with several members of the Royal Family, sympathising with the object which we had in view, attended the theatre ; and the re- sult in every respect exceeded our most sanguine expectations. In the course of ten years we have,, alas ! found it necessary to repeat our efforts on behalf of others ; and it is a great satisfaction to us to know that the money we have been enabled to raise has, in every case, been applied to good purpose, and that the benefits which the public helped us to confer are felt to tliis day. It has been recklessly stated in a respectable journal, by a writer who, knowing nothing of us, has either been misled by false reports, or prompted to wild imaginings by the terrors of our name^ xii Preface. that we are a clique of ill-conditioned malcontents, squatting in the very centre of Bohemia ; that our Club is a sort of literary cave of Adullam, into which the disappointed and the discontented have retired to set up their backs at everything that is good and 'noble and worthy to be admired. There could not be a greater mistake. No- thino; could be further from the truth. The qualification for admission to our Club is, to be a working man in literature or art, and a good fellow. If a candidate ansA^'cr these requirements, he will be cordially received, come whence he may. The best answer to the charge of cliquism will be found in the list of contributors to this volume. As to our Bohemian life, it consists in our assembling once a week to dine together at a board, where we have had the honour to enter- tain distinguished literary men fi'om all quarters of the globe, and where the stranger, who is of our own class, is ever welcome. It is a source of pride to us to know that an affectionate remem- brance of these friendly reunions has been carried aAvav to manv distant lands, and that our savage name has become a passport to fa-\-our Avherever literature and civilisation are to be found. And now for the purpose of this book. When we assembled to dine together one even- ing lately, a chair, which had been filled on the previous Satui'day, was empty. The place of him who had occupied it was vacant too at liome, Avliere a }'oung widow wept in the anguish of sudden and unexpected bereavement. We knew that she needed help in her time of trouble ; and with one Preface. xiii voice resolved to afford her that help. But how ? A performance at a theatre was suggested. Alas ! some of our best actors had, since our last effort, made their final exit from the staixe of life. It was an additional sadness to our hearts to count how many we had lost ! Thinking of those cruel gaps which death had made in our loving ranks, we saw at once that the scheme proposed was im- possible. There was nothing lefb for ns but to exercise the arts which we professed as authors and artists. Hence this book. I will not permit myself to speak of the hearty and zealous manner in which the laboiu- of love was undertaken by the members of the Club, at a time when most of them were overwhelmed with Imsi- ness of their own ; but I must not omit to ac- knowledge the invaluable co-operation of a number of gentlemen, who, although not members of the Club, have, in the purest spirit of benevolence, ren- dered essential service to this work without (in some cases) the hope e"S'en of glory. I refer to several authors and artists who are not members of our body, and more especially to the good friends who have engraved our pictures, free of charge, and given both labour and money to the cause. It is with peculiar pleasure that I record the names of these generous assistants : Dalziel Brothers. H. Hareal. Joseph Swaix. C. Feeriee. W. Thomas. T. Boltox. E. Evans. E. Kxight. W. Hooper. H. Geexaway. Oeeix Smith. Haeeisox. Metzler axd Co. xlv Preface. I liaA-e also to record our crrcat obliijations to jMt. E. C. Barnes for his unwearied exertions in collectinn; together, and superintending the print- m^ of, tlie nimierous encjravinjics with which these pages are adorned. The last words which I have to utter in this place are burdened with a sadness wliich scarcely leaves me the power of expression. At page 154 there is a beautifid drawmo: siojied '* Paul Gray." When this work was undertakeUj that clever young artist was foremost among us in offering liis co- operation ; for he whom we mourned, and whose legacy of sorrow we had accepted, was his dear friend. The shock which his system, already weakened by the saddest of all maladies, received by the sudden death of that friend, was more than his gentle spirit could sustain. He hved just long enough to finish his drawing, — and then he left us, to join the friend whom he loved in that land where tliere is no more parting, and where tears are di'ied for ever ! THE EDITOR. Contents. -0- PAGE Pkeface. By the Editor a ii Love's Gifts. By J. K. Planche 21 A Leaf fbom the Log of H.M. Beig '• Speout." By James Hannay 25 The Falling of the Leaves. By Walter Thombury 37 After Den-xee. By T. W. Eobertson 39 Ox THE Cheap. By H. J. Byrou 53 The Moealitt of the Turf. By " Nicholas" . .56 My Graxdfather's Stoet. By Edward Draper . , 67 The Pet Can-aby. By E. L. Blanchard ... 80 The Ixxs of Jamaica. By Godfrey Turner . . .83 Geetchex. By Tom Hood loi COXVERTIXG the Nigger. By Artemus "Ward . .103 A Passionate PiLGRTM. By Edmund Falconer , .111 No. 36,504. By Clement W. Scott 117 The Skull Goblet. By T. H. Escott . . . .140 SWEETHEAETIXG. By Andrew Halliday . . .155 EaelyDays. By C. Furtado 166 The Triumph OF Vice. By W. S. Gilbert . . .174 Cupid's Mamma. By Henry S. Leigh . . . .196 Mas. Beowx backs the Favourite. By Arthur Sketchley 200 The Young Nun. By John Osenford . . . .214 XVI Contents. PAGE Found Drowned ! By Arthur William a Beckett . 219 Naseby Field. B3' John Cargill Brough . . .251 Little Fan. By Tom Hood 258 Indolence. By J. J. S. Jacobsen 261 The Miseries of Genius. By Henry S. Leigh . . 268 My First Pigeon Eace. By W. B. Tegetmeier . . 273 The Barber bearded. By Tom Hood . . . 283 Maggie's Yellow Shawl. By Arthur Locker . . 285 A Social- Science Valentine. By Thomas Archer . 297 The Eoom in the Roof. By C. AV. Quin . . .299 The Battlefield of Sadowa. By G. L. M. Strauss . 325 Vergiss-mein-nicht. By Charles Mill ward . . .339 Tllusti^ations. Artist Frontispiece "William Bnmton Title-page Harrj- Bogers Love's Gifts Du Maurier . After Dinner L. Henley . Initial E. C. Bames The Lost Child F. Barnard . Tailpiece AV. S. Gilbert The Pet Canary Gordon Thomson Gketchen E. C. Bames . Initial W. Bnmton . The Lifeboat E. Weedon . Homeward Bound . . . . H. Sandercock SWEEThearting Paul Gray . Early Days A. Thompson Gnome's First Appearance .^ Gnome's second Appearance > "W. S. Gilbert THE COtNT AND' his WIFE . J Cupid's JIamma M. Morgan . Tailpiece "W. S. Gilbert A Trustworthy Messenger J. Palmer . . EESTING E. Griset . . Initial E.Hull . . Little Fan T. Scott . . "Vignette C. H. Bennett O, MOTHER! Gustavo Dore Vignette Harrison Weir The Barber beabded . . . George Cruikshank THE Naughty Cnn,D . . . A. B. Houghton . The First-born T. W. Lawson Bereaved , . . J. D. Watson Our Tail-piece Gustave Dort- Engraver Page Dalziel Brothers. W. Hooixjr. J. Swain ... 20 E. Knight . . 43 Dalziel Brothers 5G W. Hooper . . G5 J. Swain ... 73 H. Han-al . . 81 Dalziel Brothers 100 E. Evans . . .103 T. Bolton . . . IIG H. Harrison . . 141 H. On-in Smith . l-',4 W. Thomas . . 1G7 fl79 187 192 T. Bolton . . .197 J. Swain , . .Sin R. Knight . . 217 E. Knight . . 243 J. Swain . . . 2.^1 C. A. Fen-ier . 2")9 J. Swain . . . 2GS J. Fagnion . .271 H. Grenaway . 273 Dalziel Brothers 282 Dalziel Brothers 295 E. Knight . . 323 E. Evans . . .337 J. Fagnion . . 343 Du Maurier del. Swain sc. THE SAYAGE-CLUB PAPERS. LoVE'S Gl OVE'S UIFTS. By J. R. Planch^. I GAVE my Love a fan before she knew I loved her more than dared my tongue impart; She took it Avith a smile ; but saw not through Mine eyes that I had given her first my heart fan, how envied I the happy air Thou brought'st a-wooing to that face so fair ! II. 1 gave her flowers — Nature's living gems ; The likest things to her on earth I've known ! — All beauty, grace, and sweetness ; diadems To bind her brows, and posies for her zone. happy flowers, what had I given to lie. Like ye, on that fair breast, though but to die ! 22 TJie Savage- Cluh Papers. 111. I gave my Lo\'e a ring. No costly prize ; Naught but a little simple lioop of gold. She placed it on her finger with sweet sighs, And sweeter looks, that made my tongue more bold. '' happy ring, upon that hand to shine ! lovely lady, woidd that hand were mine !" IV. My Love gave me — a kiss. wanton air, I euAy thee no more ! luckless flow'rs, 1 breathe fresh life upon that bosom fair, "Where ye but perish in a few short hours ! ring, a finger thou dost clasp alone ! My arms encircle all — for she is all mine own ! gi |?rnf from tbc LOG OF H.M. BRIG "SPROUT." By JAMES HANNAT, AUTHOR OF " SINGLETON FONTENOy, R.N." jOME to sea for pleasure, and go to tlie devil for pastime," observed Hubert Price, quoting an old nautical proverb. ^ " That last would be better even than doing nothing," said Fleming Bisset, a guest of the midshipmen's mess, whose father was a Consul on the Mediterranean station. Tlie joyous Uftbrd, who could not so much as understand quiet, slapped him on the back, and cried " Bravo !" " I hardly know," Hubert Price said, with a shake of his head ; "I should have preferred jour snug quarters at P , where jour dad takes life .so easilj." " But he has had Im career." " Well, jour brother," said Price. " 0, he's all for books and talking and writ- ing," said Fleming. " I'm the regular Scotch Bisset, the stirring man !- B 24 TJie Savar/e-Cluh Papers. Some rid on the black and gray, And some rid on the brown ; But bonny Charlie Bissct, He lay gasping on the groun"." Ufford lanolied pleasantly at tlie lad's zeal m pouring out this stanza. " Who taught you that, Fleming ?" " AA-enerable old housekeeper of ours," Flem- ing answered, " Avho was full of all that kind of thing." "Well,"" observed Price, "if we get a good chance at those Riff scoundrels, you will be begin- ning early to follow your ai^cestral Charlie." The talk now became warlike ; and much was the discussion about the expedition on which the brio- was eno-ao-ed. ^\^ould she touch at Malta ? "No," said UfFord ; "there is not an hour to spare, Tliose black rascals have plundered two vessels, and taken the cargoes ashore near the Tres Forcas. They are getting too saucy." " Good fio-htino; blood the Moorish," observed Price. " BenboAv had given them a turii." A lauffh follows the mention of that venerable- name. Who Avould lead the attack? Sawburv, the- captain, they all agreed, and hoped Dodger, the first-lieutenant, would not be in it. And so the mess babbled awav ; and Flcm- ing^s blood warmed in the pleasant social heat ; From the Log of II. 21. Brig Sprout. 25 and he loncrecl for tlie eomino; excitement. Some- liow he felt older abeadj ; and along Avith that feeling new vistas of the futm-e seemed to open before him, the pleasiu'e of which was only checked by certain little home recollections, which ivoiild turn up when they had no business to do so, and with a reproachful aspect too. But he was young, and the breeze was fresh ; and even these serious thoughts gave a new piquancy to the joy of sense and soul which filled him as those days of eager life went by. The brio; did not touch at Malta, but made the best of her Avay to the Barbary coast. And now began a strict look-out for traces of the pirates ; and as they skirted the low hills of the coast-line, the quarter-deck in the morning presented a lively scene. Everv officer was on deck, and the men walked eagerly about the forecastle and gangway watching the coast, and speculating on the where- abouts of the '■'■ cannibals" as they called them. Fleming and UfFord were standing together, when UflFord suddenly started. " What's that floating there?" In a moment he had reported the object. Out went a boat, and picked up — floating sacks, quite recognisable as of good English manufactm'e ; while a thin track of broken staves of casks and a small stream of almonds marked the wake of the robbers. They had come on what rhinoceros- 26 The Savage- Cluh Papers. hunters call the " spoor" of the chase, and the dis- coverj- gave a fillip to everybody's spirits. The brig held on for a known station of the Riffs, and Captain Sawbury matured his plan of action. His instructions — and he made no mys- tery of them, like some over-cautious fellows — were to attack the j)osition of the pirates, — their nest, — beat them back from the shore, and recover the property. To cut them up well in the process was of course desirable ; and the carronades were loaded, the parties chosen for the boats, and so on. Sawbury spoke of the matter characteristically, for he called himself a philosopher, and the brig his school, and would by no means look at any- thing from a common point of view. " We are teaching^ sir, e\'cn in this," he said to Dodger, " though by a rough process. We are preparing the barbarians for civilisation, and paving the way for the schoolmaster." Here he began to wax warm with his own eloquence. He was standing on the gratings at the stern of the vessel, with his officers about him. '' Yes; and the musket is often the forerunner of the mis- sionary — " Whew ! whiff ! Sawbmy's white hat quivered. Fleming, who was near him, heard a "j^lop" in the bulwarks. A white gleam was seen on the capstan ; a frmge of fire played along the rocks of the shore. It was a volley of musketry, and one From the Log of H.M. Brig Sprout 27 ball had gone through the philosophical orator's hat. (His family keep it under a glass-case to this daj.) He took it with a coolness which did more for his reputation in the Sprout in one in- stant than had been done by a twelvemonth's philosophy joined to a twelvemonth's good-nature. " Fire grape on them !" he said to Dodger. And a gun w^as manned in an instant, and began to play on the shore. But the Eitfs had good cover, and kept up a sharp musketry roll. It was Fleming's first taste of fire, and it produced a kind of tingling of excitement and eagerness, a liveliness of the blood, worth all the quiet of P and of the books therein once for all. So at least he described the effect to his acquaint- ance in after years ; and I saw no reason to doubt liim. On went the brig; and in a few^ hours, and after a little peppering here and there in her pro- gress, she arrived about sunset at the place to be assaulted, where the plundered and gutted vessels had been taken. She came quietly to an anchor at a comfortable distance fi'om the shore ; and it was settled that the attack should be made by the boats on the morrow. Let us descend to our friends in the middies' berth, and hear all about it. There — there is the keenest excitement, of course, and a flow of kindly badinage to break the seriousness ^^diich no doubt 28 The Savage- Club Papers. they ought to feel, but wliich somehow nobody on sucli occasions cares to show. " Well, it's all arranged," says Ufford. '' Pin- nace : Captain Sawbury, Hubert Price, Esq. First cutter : Mr. Hooper, second lieutenant, and Mr. Adair. Second cutter : Eustace UfFord, Esq., gen- tleman of Suffolk" (with a grin). " Dodger takes care of the vessel, and if required comes ashore with the reserve. So now one tumbler and a good snooze ; and laai/ we all meet here to-morrow night P' "And where do I go?" inqmred Fleming Bisset. "You, my little Norman game-cock?" Ufford said, slapping him affectionately on the back. " How can we let you go, do you suppose, as you don't belong to the ship ? But come, if you should happen to be in my boat when I shove off, I don't think I could have the heart to tiu'n you out." " You're a dear fellow," said the boyish Flem- ing, giving him a hug. And in a short time the messmates were all in their hammocks; and nothing broke the silence of the night but the regular bell marldng the hours. Fleming Bisset slept very sound, and was on deck before the hands were called, in the first faint early Mediterranean daylight. To his surprise, Ufford had the start of him, and was ah'eady From the Log of KM. Brig Sprout. 29 walking about tliere, and tliat tliougli it was his morning watch, and not yet time to relieve the middle one. Bisset remarked that his friend was early astir. " Yes," said Ufford quietly ; " there is some- thing to do to-day." His usual levity was all gone ; his manner was quiet, staid, and more like that of a person older in 3^ears. Hubert Price, whom he " relieved" at four o'clock, remarked it, and spoke of it to the mess at breakfast. And Ufford too was the only one of them who had been under fire before, having been a fellow of known daring in several ugly bits of work while on the West- African sta- tion. This made the change more sm-prising. Fleming Bisset saw most of him that morning ; and frequently spoke afterwards of what he ob- served. Instead of the fun, the cleverness, the o-aiety for which he was conspicuous, Ufford showed a cool good sense for which he did not generally get credit. When he received his in- structions from Sawbvuy, he made suggestions which the commander accepted with something like surprise. And all the while his zeal and firmness were displayed in every detail ; as if it was only the duU routine of our sleepy naval life nowadays that made liim seem in ordinary a kind of rakish was;. 30 The Savage- Club Papers. Tlie crew went to breakfast early, and in great spirits. Tlien tlie boatswain's call gave its slu-ill whistle, and up tumbled tlie men to muster. Both sides of the deck were lined with them, with their muskets and cutlasses all in good trim ; and soon they poured into the boats in the order previously determined on. Fleming quietly skipped into UfFord's boat without saying anything to any- body, having previously helped himself to one of her Majest}''s muskets, by the courtesy of the gunner. And as the boats swept round, and formed into line for the shore, up jumped the crew of the brig on the bulwarks, and gave them a hearty cheer. Then it was, '■'■ Give way !" and on thundered the hea^y man-of-war boats through the o'litterino; water towards the beach. " Lovely day," says Fleming Bisset to his friend. UflPord made a suitable response, and slowly looked round the horizon, as if fixing in his memor}' the whole scene. The Riffs were drawn u]) in strong force on the shore ; and presently a rim of fire rose and fell along their line, and the water jumped up angrily here and there, as if it was boiling, where the bullets struck it. In one of the cutters, Hooper the lieutenant stood up to have a shot at them, and was struck in the thigh. Our friends saw Adair clap a tourniquet on him, and " screw it up to G sharp," as he afterwards exj^ressed it. From the Log of II.M. Bi'ig Sprout. 31 A few rapid bmniing moments ; a ciy of ^' Follow me, Sprouts !" and tlie attack had begun in several places. Ufford and Bisset, at the head of their party, dashed up the sloping gromid from the beach, firing and fired upon. "Look out, sir!" bawled one of the men to Bisset. A great brown Riff, half naked, had covered Flemino; with his lono- brass-bound mus- ket. Fleming was quickest; his weapon sprang to his shoulder, and down fell the man. The sight acted on him like a dream ; and after this point he felt a coarser, fiercer kind of excite- ment than before. Ufford's party now drove the enemy from the first row of hillocks, and had a few moments' breatliing-time while the Riffs re- treated with their wounded into the hills. Ufford wiped the sweat from his brow, sent one or two men who had been hit to the boat, and formed the others again for the second advance. Mean- while the rattling of musketry along the shore showed that the other attacks had been equally prosperous ; and they heard afterAvards that by this time there was a second hole in SaAvbury's hat. " Forward, Sprouts !" Gallant young Ufford, flushed to the temples with the heat, led them on again. Fresh Riffs had come from the liills, wakened far and wide by the echoes of the firing, and poured down towards the coast. Again their 3 2 The Savage- Cluh Papers. Ijlack s^yartlly figures, -with bright Avrappings round the braAVJiy loins, came up phickily to tlie fight, and the h'glit leaped off their shining mus- ket-barrels. And again the sturdy blue-jackets — short, pudgy, cm'ly-haired fellows — made at them with cheer and cm'se. The first shock of the excitement of battle Avas now over, and everybody did their work coolly. Tlie sailors sent jokes along with the bullets. <•' Eat that, you camiibal !" " G-r-r-r, you nigger !" to Fleming's great amusement. Then they made rattling charges with musket and cutlass, and scattered the Moors ; and Fleming u-ould rush (the little Aviry young devil !) into the thick of it ; so that once his foot slipped in the blood that oozed from the dark skin of one of them, and he fell across the body of tlie dying man, who bit his ear with such force that he fainted with the pain. War is not a romantic affiiir always, you see ; and this wnromantic womid lefl its mark on my friend Fleming for years : indeed his rivals used to attribute a certain Nar- cissus-like arrangement of the youth's fail' hair to the necessity of hiding its traces. Fleming's fainting-fit went off after Ufford had pom*ed some water on his head ; and when he recovered, and took a sip from a pocket-pistol, he found that there was another pause in tlieir httle battle. Once more the Riffs had been driven back, and had reti'eated to the hills. But it was not for From the Log of H.2I. Brig Sjjrout. 33 long ; fresli men again poured down, and tlie day- renewed itself. This time the Eiffs who attacked Ufiord's party were in greater force th.an ever — in far greater force than he A\as ; and Bisset had the luck to perform a serviceable exploit. He was some distance from UfFord ; and one of the men who had been wounded without his observing it suddenlv called out from the ground on which he Avas lying, and in a queer old tongue that came right home to his heart, " Dinna leave me amang thae cannibals, sir!" Fleming flew to him at V once, and dragged him along as well as he was able, though he had twice to pause and fire at casual assailants before he effected his retreat in safety. When he joined Uflford, great was the joy ; and now ugavs had come that the com- mander, with the chief force, had secured the spot in which the stolen property Avas stowed, and had beaten the RiflPs altogether aAvaA^ from it. This Avas really — though, of coiu'se, general chastise- ment Avas one object — the strict purpose of the day ; and as the Sprout Avas master of the beach, SaAA'bmy announced his intention of closing the proceedings. It was a grand reunion, Ave may be sure, Avhen fellows met each other at the boats, — each with some special anecdote not of his own pluck, but of a comrade's, — and vied Avith each other too in seeing the Avounded comfortably placed for the pull " off." 34 The Savage- Club Papers. " "Well, old bo}-," said Fleming, as UfFord's cutter slowly broke tlu'oug-li the languid after- noon -wave, " it's all over." A calm, sad, but proud look -was UfFord's answer — a look wliicli Fleminc; -svill never forget in this world, with all its many changes. For before the peculiar expression had left the lines of that fine frank face a last stray shot was fired from the shore. In a second, there was a kind of half-gasp, half-cry tlu-ough the whole boat. From UfFord came no word or sound "\>'hatever ; but he clenched Fleming's hand in his own with a death- grip of fearful force, and fell across the stern-sheets with a bullet throuo-h his brain. " my Grod !" screamed Fleming wildly, and bm'sting into tears. He was only a boy, Fleming, after aU. " UfFord— Eustace !""^ " He is quite dead, sir," said a man who had laid-in one of the stern oars, in a tone that was perfectly tender, and yet perfectly matter-of-tact ; and he proceeded to dispose the body reverently in the after part of the boat : ihej hauled down the ensign, and covered poor Ufford over with it ; and there he lay in cold and stony beauty under the flag to which he had sacrificed liis life. The awful suddenness of the event had struck Flemincr dumb ; and he scarce!}' heard the inquiries, and congratulations, and the broken words of reo-rct and pain which arose aU at once from the officers From the Log of II.M. Brig Sprout. 35 of tlie ship as thej crowded together on tlie quar- ter-deck. The day's fighting, the death of Ufford, the hoisting in of the wounded men, had trans- formed the whole Hfe of the brig ; a quicker, nobler sort of moral feeling pervaded it. Officers gave up their cabins to the wounded, and ran to and fro with help for them ; with lint, with sponges, with wine — with anything that would aid the doctors and cheer the sick. Then a sub- scription was at once set a-foot for those whose injuries would involve the necessity of their going home. So that as the brig weighed and made for Gibraltar, there was probably not a person in the homely old Sprout who did not feel himself drawn closer to every other person in her, and had not a certain higher and better way of think- ing and feeling about life, while the influence of the " brush" with the " Eiffs" lasted. What an interest now attached to all that poor Ufford had said and done for many weeks past ! What a strange interest, especially to his seriousness that morning ! Had he felt then that mysterious feeling which is, as it were, a hint, a chill from the coming winter of death, and which ice hnow to have often too truly been the forerunner of the fate of the brave ? All this was only speculation. What was certain was, that they would never hear his cheery jolly voice again. 36 The Savage- Cluh PajJers. He -was buried at Gibraltar, in a cliiircliyarcl "wliere you see the tombs of many avIio died of wounds received at Trafalgar. They laid him in good company. The Sprout -was to remain for some time at the Rock. Fleming of course wrote immediately to his family, and had to tell them, besides the re- gular news, that he hoped for their permission to join the navy formally now, and that Captain Saw- bury had proposed to manage an appointment for him. Immediately after his letter had left by the steamer, one of the fruit-vessels bound to P put in at Gibraltar, and by her Fleming resolved for the present to return home. After several weeks' absence, during which his brother Fulke Bisset had been rcadino- Plato, Fleming Bisset retm*ned to the parental nest to report on his first experience of active life. And to the accident of liis having been in the Sprout as a visitor, in the year 1845, her Majesty's ser- vice owes its possessing now in Captain Bisset one of its smartest officers. :^>^=i:3-'5..> g^; ^bc (ifaning of tin Ifcabcs. Ey Walter Thornbury. Clear, keen, and poi'e, the sunny air Is bright as summer's, and as fair ; But many a branch is growing bare. And leaves are falling. October skies are coldly blue, . Tlie grass is silvery wet with dew, And berries crimson to the view. While leaves are falling. Thick webs wrap every hedge in graj', Dull mists shroud up the dying day ; Black vapom's bar the labourer's waj". And leaves are falling. Like ghosts, pale drifts of mournful light Stretch in the west, and on the night Look with sad faces wan and white, While leaves are falling. 38 The Savage-Chih Papers. How many autumns I have known ! But each one finds me more alone ; Now Youth has left its royal throne, And leaves are falling. Yet, Hope, wear still thy starry crown, Point to far statues of renown, And bid me trample sorrows down, Though leaves be falling. Heap, heap more logs upon the fire. Let the swift joyous flame leap higher, And let no lurking grief come nigher. Though leaves are falling. Let too the merry song go round. And Care shall cower — a beaten hound, — Or silent lie — a prisoner bound, — While leaves are falling. Come, friend, the brown October quaff, And listen to the children's laugh ; This life, it isn't bad by half. Though leaves are fiilling. There still is Fortune's glacier peak O'er Fame's rough crag to climb and seek ; Only the coward fears to speak Of dead leaves falling. After BY T. W. ROBERTSON. P INNEPy_ T was in a shootino;-box in -si nre. Half- a-dozen men were sitting round the fire in attitudes indicative of that agreeable drowsiness which is one of the most plea- sant consequences of good digestion having waited on appetite, and of a day's sport having been suc- cessful. The fire in the grate seemed to slumber in sympathy with the host and guests, and now and then to wake up and flare, as if reminded of neo-lected dutv. There were claret and whisky and cigars and pipes upon the table. The sportsmen were enjoying themselves thorouglily. There was no other human habitation within a mile. Tlie house had no drawing-room ; and no ladies were waiting; for them. "Shall we have the lamp in?" suggested the host, a man of about forty-five years of age, witli too much summer in the last thirty of them. "N-o," said a tall guest; "I prefer this sort c 40 The Savage- Club Papers. of light. It's jolly half-asleep, half-awake kind of thing — all the comfort of being in bed, and up among one's friends at the same time." ^' Chudleigh, wake up !" said another. " I am awake," said a fourth indignantly. *' Then say something." "All right," said Chudleigh, pulling himself together, and taking whisky. " Do you know, Dud, I was thinking — " " 0, Chudleigh," remarked another guest, ■^'you do give yourself such airs. Tliinking, in- deed ! What next?" "Don't try to be witty, Mac; it don't suit you," returned Chudleigh. " I was going to say that I was thinking of Charley Harbrowe." " What of him?" asked the host. " He was married last week to Miss Fernie." The host lighted a cigar very deliberately, and said " Yes." " You were engaged to her sister, Dud, weren't you?" said the tall sportsman. "Yes." " But the match didn't come off." "No." " How was that, Dud?" inquired Chudleigh. " I don't know. It wasn't to be." " I've often wondered. Dud," Chudleigh re- marked, " that you never got married." " Too shy — I mean nervous. I'm afraid of too After Dinner^ 41 mucli love, and friglitened of too little. I've seen so many matelies turn out queerly. Marriages of interest, marriages of convenience, marriages •of love, elopements — the whole biling. One gets timid as one gets old." " Well, I hope Charley will he happy." " So do I." " The friends consented on both sides, and all that." '' 0, yes ! But then that doesn''t always make things go smoothly afterwards. I told you about those two matches that came directly under my own personal observation." " No, not me," said Chudleigh. " Mix yourself some toddy, then, and I'll tell you. ""Well, you know," the host began, "the first match was the most proper and regular thing that can be conceived — hideously regular, dis- gustingly proper. Both combatants were friends of mine, and old friends. The coat-and-trousers delinquent was Ben Channock, eldest son of Sir Benjamin Channock,. Baronet, of The Hail, shire, county family — very county family.; almost too county a femily — noticed none but county families. Ben was ginger-haired, and had hard features like a raw potato, without the raw potato's genial expression. The girl, Lucy Deybrooke, was rather pretty, but inanimate as a 42 Tlie Savage- Club Papers. doll — not mncli feeling, but lots of propriety; propriety in large lunij)s everywliere about her. Of com*se lier's Avas a county family — almost a more county family than Channock's. In shire the Deybrookes were called the Doom's- Deybrookes. Well, this interesting and happy couple ■were destined to be a pair fi'om the nur- sery. Lucy had never had any sweetheart but gen^ and Ben^ poor creature ! had never thought of any one tut Lucy. You can imagine what he was like from that fact. How she ever could have looked at such a fellow I don't know ; but such is life. Well, they courted in a queer, cold, arctic, fishy sort of way. They used to walk out and to ride out together. Lucy was a first-rate horse- woman ; and they talked to each other about the people they know, always Avithin the limits of the county, of course. Well, time rolled on. They were to be married. They bore their approach- ing bliss with a stoicism worthy of Britons. No vulgar manifestations of joy, no indecent impa- tience — no rubbish of that sort — but gentleman- like and stony as the bust of a provincial vicar. Thei/ never squeezed hands at parting — not they ; and when they gave each other a kiss, if any thino- so fervidly romantic ever occurred between them, it must have been as tropical a sort of thing as ice-cream. Their hearts never fluttered ; and though it was said by several credible witnesses, After Dinner. 43 that Lucy was once seen to flush, it never was beheved in shire. Well, they were married. Not at Saint George's, Hanover Square — no, no. Tliey were much too county for that. Saint George's was low. The tourney came off without interference from the police at the chm'ch near the Hall — the village church, where the ixy grows, and aU that, you know. The comity was there to a man and woman, clean and solemn as a snowball : county bishop ; young ladies strewing flowers ; bridesmaids beautiful as bou- quets, and looking hke bouquets without paper round them. Such bridesmaids were never seen, except in the engravings to a fairy tale. All the tenantry drunk, all the " pisantry," who be- lieved the occasion Avas political. County earl to give the bride away ; made speech after break- fast — bad speech even for county earl ; Sir Benja- min in tears, for the first time, it Avas said, since he lost his election ; a good deal of intoxica- tion about. I was intoxicated myself — not with wine, but witli the beauty of the bridesmaids. However, to make a long story short, the break- fast over, the happy pair departed for the Conti- nong, as cool as cucumbers, and fresh as daisies. I believe that wedding was the correct card — wasn't it ?" " Yes," said Chudleigh. " Well, the other match was a very different 44 The Savoge-Clnh Papers. affair. The coutractino- lunatic on the one side was Kit Silcote. Kit had been several times in love — had been half-and-half sort of engaged to a dozen girls — a dreadfully impressionable man — so impressionable that he never could make up his mind Avhich angel he preferred. HoAvever^ his time came — he beheld her, tumbled down the precipice, and smashed his peace of mind to shivers. It was at a birthday ball at a comitry- house in shire — the same county as the Chan- nock-cum-Deybrooke people. Kit was iuAited, and saw her in the ball-room. The first blow felled him. She was fair-haired, aiul had blue eyes, with a pale pink glint in them like the milk-red of an 02)al. From subsequent confes- sions, made by both criminals, it a})pears that the lady was shot in the same instantaneous man- ner as poor Kit. The lady was an awful flirt ; but flirts, Avhen they are hit, suffer more than quiet girls. That's a fact. Well, they danced together, and they sat down, and they didn't speak. Kit was cornered. They danced to- gether again, and Kit took her into the supper- room and gave her a glass of champagne. Kit drank three — which inspired him with sufficient courage to utter these remarkable and eloquent words : ' The next dance is a polka. May I ' — and lie broke down^ After Dinner. 45 (. We've danced two together,' said tlie divinity, who was quite self-possessed, at least on the sur- face. ' Won't it look odd ?' " Palpitation of the heart shook both of them as Kit answered : 'After the next two or three dances, then — if — if you don't mind.' 'Take me back,' said the charmer. 'After the next two dances I shall be at the end of the room, near the conservatory.' " Kit considered this an assignation, and in half an hour they were together in the conser- vatory. Neither Kit nor the lady have ever been able to remember how it Avas that they confessed their mutual flame. However, they felt that they were destined for each other. They stood behind some tall plants, their hands clasped to- gether, and looked out of an open casement on to a dark frowning night, that sulked over an un- picturesque, agricultural landscape. They could hear the music in the ball-room, and their only fear was of another couple seeking the shelter of the orange-trees. " I have been told that there was not much said upon either side, but they understood each other without words. ' Can I see you to-morrow ?' whispered Kit. ' Mamma's going to take me to Scotland,' rer plied the beauty. 46 TJie Savage- Club Papers. ' Whereabouts ?' ' To lier sister's — a mile from Aberdeen. ' '' Aberdeen ! Tlie North Pole. ' If I came to Aberdeen, could I see you ?' asked Kit. "Aberdeen, Buenos Ayres, Port Natal, Central America — what cared he Avhere ? ' No.' ' Then I shall never see you again.' " The girl's light soprano voice faltered. * I fear not.' 'But I can't live without you,' said silly, liappy Kit ; ' that is, I can't live without seeing you.' "The beauty replied by a pressure that said as plainly as waltz music to the ear : ' Nor I without you.' " The thrill ran up Kit's arm into his brain, and inspired him. ' We won't part !' he said. ' We'll run AWAY !' ' Run away !' * And be married to-night, as soon as the ball is over.' ' But mamma !' * Wait till she's asleep.' * But we've a double-bedded room, and she'd hear me dressing myself,' objected the far-sighted fair one. After Dinner. 47 * Run away as you are,' said Kit boldly. ' What, in a white light ball-dress?' ' I'll tell you how it must be done, angel of my own,' said Kit, in a transport of love and ingenuity. ' When the ball is over, and every- body's gone, we'll meet outside here. The near- est station is fom' miles off, nor'-nor'-east from this. We can reach London in a little more than two hours — get a S2)ecial license and be — united — 0, my angel ! — before twelve — then you can send word to mamma that you are married — bless you — and — and — and — ' The rest was inarticu- late. ' But I can't travel to London in a ball -dress, my love.'' ' Say that again, siceetest — say that again.' ' I can't travel in a ball-dress,' repeated the lady. ' Yes — go on.' 'What?' ' Finish — say that again.' * My love, then — there,' concluded the beauty. ' I'll tell you what we can do, soul of my soul,' replied Kit. ' I sleep at the gardener's cottage. I saw a bonnet and shaAvl hano-ins be- hind a door. I su2:»pose they belong to the gar- dener's wife. I'll steal them. I can leave a pound or two on my dressing-table for them, and bring them here for you to put on.' 48 llie Savage-Clnh Papers. ' But, then—' ' Husli. ril tell you. Wo can reach London by ten. Nobody here ani'II be up by then. We must so across country, so as to avoid the hioh road. I've got a i)ocket-compass.' ' But I can't go across country in white satin shoes.' ' I've a pair of shooting boots — you can slip them on.' ' If it rains—' ' I can carry you, darling ; you'll be dry wher- ever I am !' " So they bolted — the lady in the gardener's, wife's cloak and bonnet, and Kit's boots over her shoes. Kit carried her half the way, and every quarter of a mile or so he put her doAvn to look at his pocket-compass to see liow he was steer- ing, by the light of a lucifer. It was rather dif- ficult, for the rain came down in torrents. When they were resting in tlie middle of a ploughed field. Kit said to his intended : ' By the way, dearest, Avhat is your name ?' ' Mary Transome.' 'You angel — what a lovely name I — Mary — Mary. Who was your father ?' 'Major Transome — in the artillery — papa's dead. What's vour name ?' ' Christopher Silcote. I'm always called Kit.* ' What are you ?' After Dinner. 49. ' Nothing. I tliink I am going into tlie law, to be a barrister. Shall you like that, Mary V 'Yes.' ' Then I will. Mary, have yon any money — I mean when you're of age ?' asked Kit. 'No, Kit: ' Nor expectations ?' 'No.' ' You angel ! Do you like my name. Kit ?' ' It's a beautiful name.' " Well, the night passed in walking, and talking poetiy and sentiment of the same high- flown character. When day broke, Kit found that, owing to miscalculation, or his pocket-com- pass, or love, or lucifers, he had gone a mile too far, so he had to hark back ; however, he got his train — came to town — got married, and a few days after called on me for the loan of a hundred, which I didn't lend him, because I couldn't ; — however, we went out, and got the money, and they departed for the Continong.'''' The host paused, took a deep breath and a hearty draught of toddy. "And do you mean to say that that's true?" asked Chudleigh. "As true as it is improbable. Improbabilities generally are truths, and improbabilities are facts invariably. The two marriages I've spoken oT came under my own personal observation." 50 The Savage- Club Papers. ''And ■\vliicli turned out the happier?" that is, both turned out rather " Neither badly. These sort of things are enougli to frighten any man who is not violently addicted to marri- age. Now, then, will the public, if it is suffi- ciently awake, take any more di'ink ? If not, will it go and have a pool ?" On the Cheap. By H. J. BTRON. This is an age that is most economical, Everything's dreadfully, wretchedly cheap j Newspapers, radical, tory, Avhig, comical, Sold at a price you once paid for a peep. Sixpenny hansoms Coutts's to Ransom's, Government travelling penny-mile rides ; Twopence from Tottenham-court-road 'busses got in 'em — Unanatomical — fourteen " insides !" Doctors noAv give you pills infinitesimal, Homoeopathical doses of shot ; So that it doesn't much matter, in case o' mull. Whether you've swallowed a poison or not. Tlien litigation's made cheap for the nation. So are oil lamps, with which some tradesmen chouse : Notably paraffin, such a low tariff in, Bm-ning the street at a penny a house. 54 The Savage-Club Papers. You can noAV get exceedingly " drunk on the pre- mises," Cheaply — for port, e'en "superior," 's low — Thougli headache, no doubt, is the regular Nemesis, Following fast on the juice of the sloe. The badly-paid populace of the metropolis Toss off their claret, and talk of its tone ; And each hard-up " villian " now gets sent a mil- lion, And j)oor folks, once honest, have taken to hone. Dining and dressing's so cheap, that carbuncles Are worn on the hands of the meanest of swells ; Poor folks, wont to "put up" their gems at their "uncle's," Now put up like gemmen at leading hotels. Dinners for diners who seldom are winers. But take their half-pint of pale ale — for a song : Varied three courses wuth sauces, which forces The feeder to feel that it's " pleasant, but •\ATong." Then in this most fast and hurried of hot ages Commonplace clerks have their " place out of town :" " Villa" 's the name for what used to be cottages, Quickly "rmi up," whilst their builder's run down ; On the Cheap. 55 Walls tliin as paper ; fi-om slate-roof to scraper, Every thing shakey and quakey and brittle ; Till knock'd down quite clear, by Fate's fell auc- tioneer, "Who terms it a " lot," when it's only a little. Tliose Avho from Cupid's sly meshes and sedges try Vainly to crawl, needn't fear the expense ; Marriage costs nothing to mention — the registry Meets them half way in connubial intents : Easy the process, and most exj)editious. And it's so cheap, that at once it is clear The phrase is — to use a mild term — meretricious, Benedick terming his consort " my dear.''^ for the days when the "good of the house" made A cogent excuse for a bottle of jiort. Charged in the bill by a landlord whose nous made Him blind to the proverb of " reckonings short." Ere Rowland Hill made our postage a penny, And telegrams flew at a trifle the word. Letting the world know — at least a good many — Occurrences almost before thev've occui'red. 54 The Savage-Club Papers. You can now got exceedingly " drunk on the pre- mises," Cheaply — for port, e'en "superior," 's low — Though headache, no doubt, is the regular Nemesis, Following fast on the juice of the sloe. The badly-paid populace of the metropolis Toss off their claret, and talk of its tone ; And each hard-uj) " villian" now gets sent a mil- lion, And j)oor folks, once honest, have taken to hone. Dining and dressing's so cheap, that carbuncles Are worn on the hands of the meanest of swells ; Poor folks, wont to "put up" their gems at their "uncle's," Now put up like gemmen at leading hotels. Dinners for diners who seldom are winers. But take their half-pint of pale ale — for a song : Varied three courses with sauces, which forces The feeder to feel that it's " pleasant, but ^\Tong." Tlien in this most fast and hurried of hot ages Commonplace clerks have their " place out of town :" " Villa" 's the name for what used to be cottages, Quickly "rmi up," whilst their builder's run down ; On the Cheap. 55 Walls thin as paper ; fi-om slate-roof to scraper, Every thing shakey and quakey and brittle ; Till knock'd down qnite clear, by Fate's fell auc- tioneer, "Who terms it a " lot," when it's only a little. Those who from Cnpid's sly meshes and sedges try Vainly to crawl, needn't fear the expense ; Marriage costs nothing to mention — the registry Meets them half way in connubial intents : Easy the process, and most expeditions. And it's so cheap, that at once it is clear The phrase is — to iise a mild term — meretricious, Benedick terming liis consort " my dear''' for the days when the "good of the house" made A cogent excuse for a bottle of port, Charged in the bill by a landlord whose nous made Him blind to the proverb of " reckonings short." Ere Rowland Hill made our postage a penny. And telegrams flew at a trifle the word, Letting the world know — at least a good many — Occurrences almost before thev've occm'red. ^u THE MORALITY OF THE TURF : AN AUTHOI^IOGI\APHICAL FI^GMENT. Belgvavia. S a Sportive Writer, a Racing Correspond- ent, and a Prophetical Vaticinator, foretelling of future events to come, Nicholas has prf)bably hy this time raised himself from a comparatively lowly orio-in, tliouo-h far more respectable than that of my detractors^ to a pinnacle of cele- britv, than which it might perhaps appear individuous to affirm as none similar can- be honestly said to be the case with any of my rivals, than whom perhaps a more delusive lot, though a little con- ceited. It has been the old man's privilege, and The Morality of the Turf. 57 it is still his pride, to gaze with the Argus-eye of antiquity, which I am told he had a hundred, and you will find him fully described in Lempriere, upon the broad Down and the open Heath, wdien covered by tumultuary thousands interested in racing, from the most illustrious of Britannia's aristocracy down to the lowest of the low ; and especially more so of the latter, such as Welshers and Legs ; and whilst thus gazing in imagination in the solitude of my own mansion, perhaps a- sitting down by my own fireside and partaking of a glass of sherry-wine, which it is known to facilitate literary composition, and make it easier, the old man makes his selection of the future winner, and sends it oflP to a public journal, where it is put in print. Perhaps his selections may be usually right, perhaps his selections may be usually wrong. Nicholas is quite content to rest his reputation on his public form, and upon the discriminating appreciation of a public than whom, I am sure, none more truly British; but to those who are unacquainted with his writings, and of whom I will not say worse luck, for it might appear bounceable, the old man will simply mention, as he has this season, besides his Derby selection, given the absolute first, second, and third in the St. Leger— a feat accomplished by no other Organ, bar none; and also, gentlemen, I was one of the happy few, deny it if you can, D 5 8 Tlie Savage- Club Papers, wlio predicted Acta>a for the Cambridgeshire. Furtlicr to recall my triumphs it might appear vanity-glorious, and I would not do so ; but enough has probably been said to -vindicate my claim to Avrite upon the Morality of the Turf, which I will come to it jaresently, if you give me time. I am convinced, however, that it is always as well to comiEreiice with a little explanatory explanation, which makes tilings more simple, and, so to speak, explains them. For instance, it may be advisable to caution the promiscuous reader, than whom I am sure I am quite ready to be friends Avith him, that he must not infer from mv casually mentionino; of a glass of sheny-wine as I am one of those drunken old vagabonds, which he may perhaps be familiar with them, who are to be found hanoincr about the bar-parlours of our sportive hostelries, and pretending for to give a tip concerning future events ; it being their game to say as they have private information from the stables, though than whom perhaps no respectable trainer Avould hesi- tate for to kick them out, as I have been myself, often and often, at a period when Pluto, the Goddess of Wealth, was less propitious to me than what she have subsequently become. Avoid these old impostors, my dear young friends, if such be indeed your period of life ; give them a Avide berth; never you go near them, or the^- will be Tlie Morality of the Turf. 59 down upon you, metapliorically speaking, like a gang of roaring okl lions, generally the worse for liquor, and using all the abusive language as they can lay their tongues to, and the same remark with regard to gin-and-watcr. It have often been my lot, in the course of a sportive career more chequered than the loudest pair of trousers I have ever put my legs to, to be mistaken over and over again for these disreputable old Tipsters, and that at a time when, despite all my know- ledge of human nature, and my leariness iu general, I never hoped to occupy the proud pin- nacle which I do so at present, nor yet to be read with attention when writing on the Morality of the Turf, for such will be the subject of my re- marks, and I will come to it all in good time. Tlie truth is, and many a better man than Nicholas has said so before me, we are all apt to judge by appearances ; and I daresa}' that when the old man Avas down upon his luck, and his garments were seedy, and you saw him perhaps of an evening, when he might have been partaking of the social glass, which it always flies to my head in a minute, and as for a red nose, that was ori- ginally brought on by exposure to the weather in early youth — not but what it may have grown upon me since — it never grew any where else, you know — and you met him perhaps in low company, for we must cut our coat according to <6o The Savage- Cliih Papers. our cloth, and observed that the people present treated him with a good deal of familiarity, not to mention calling him '* Old Nick," especiall}' the "waiters, of whom perhaps he might have had to bor- row a little money on the strength of a tip, — why, my dear young friend, if you had met me mider these circumstances, I could hardly have expected you would have at once recognised me as a re- spectable man of letters, especially if you knew much about my early life. You Avould have set me down — don't say you wouldn't, for it's only false delicacy, my dear yomig friend — you would have set me down rather as a disreputable old Tout than as one who was destined to occupy a permanent place in the literature of my native land : vou Avould have considered me one of those human Weeds upon the Turf, which springing up with the rank luxuriance of the Indian jungle, like the deadly Ui^as-tree, are destructive of all respectability ; you would, in fact, have regarded me as a sort of pimple upon the face of society. Had vou been asked what Avere the odds acjaiust my ultimately becoming a fine old Enghsh gentle- man, liA'ing on the fat of the land, and occui^ying of a mansion in Belgravia, you would have play- fully said that the betting against it was Roths- child's office to a casual ward ; and right you would have been, sir ! The odds loere enormous. At that time you might out of charity have stood The Moralitij of the Turf. 6i liim somethiiio; to drink, tliouo;li I am not sure as you would have done so ; but I am perfectly certain as you would never have dreamt of asking me when I would come down and dine with you. Tliere were very few who ever put that question to me at that particular period ; and I am not ashamed, occupying the jjosition wliich I do, to confess that many was the day when Nicholas, as he sallied forth into the streets of a morning, had only a very vague idea as to where his dinner was to come from. I speak, my dear yomig friend, of those unhappy mornings when he was downright destitute. When he had a penny in his pocket, his prospects were tolerably bright. A good deal can be done when you have a penny. I was accustomed to look upon that coin as a safe basis of operations, and my modus operandi, as we say in the classics, was simple^ I went to a house where I was tolerably famihar at that period, and ordered a glass of fourpenny ale, of Avhich I partook. Before I had finished partaking of it, having calculated my time to a nicety, some young sportive gentleman would be sure to come in and to pass the time of day, and it would be, "Ah, Nicholas; at it again, eh? Early for drinking, old man! You should take something with it." "Well, perhaps a quarter of a pork-pie icould,'' I answered; and the young gentleman, he having more money than brains, 62 The Savage- Club Papers. would insist on paying ; and tlien, after partaking of a brandy-and-soda, ■would be off again with a "good morning." I am not a rapid eater, my dear young friend ; and I used, on principle, to linger a good deal over that quarter of a pork-pie — say a quarter of an hoiu', to match. In comes an- other young gentleman of the same sort : " Holloa, Nicholas ! ^Vhy, you old glutton," (for they used to have all kinds of names for me — Nicknames, so to speak) ; " you old glutton, won't you wash it down Avith a glass of bitter ?" " Well," I answered, ■" perhaps a glass of bitter tcould ;'''' and so on, what with one and what with another ; so that on suc- cessful days I have partook of as many as two whole pork -pies and half-a-gallon of ale. But it was very precarious, sir, dreadfully precarious ! Why do I recall these ejiisodes of my vicis- •situdinary career? To prove, gentlemen, that although I am now, so to s})eak, a Leviathan rolling on the Turf, I am not ashamed of the period when all was fish that came to the net. The writer who endeaAours to describe the Morality of the Turf, which I will do so pre- sently, ought to be tolerably familiar Avith all the varying forms of human credulity ; and I may veutm'e to say, vanity apart, / am. Why, years ago, who but Nicholas Avas it that ad\ertised "A thousand pounds for a shilling's-Avorth of stamps ! Sportsmen, I liaA'e a certainty for the Hie Morality of the Turf. 63 Leger. He is now at fortj to one. No fee, but remit liim five per cent upon your winnings. Address Colonel B., Post Office, Commercial Road. KB.— This is genuine." Who but Nicholas, sir, was Colonel B. ? Ah, me, many is the shilling's-worth of stamps that he received; and many also is the abusi^'e letters that reached him after the race ' The expedient became com- mon enough afterwards ; every great invention does ; but the original idea was my own. Sir, I am perfectly satisfied with my present position in life, and Avitli the success that has rewarded my industry and acuteness ; but I do feel that if, in the full vigour of my prime, I had only had a little more capital at my command, the name of Nicholas would have become imperishably associated with the railway sj^stem of Grreat Britain. As it is, I do not grudge my kindred spirits the good fortune that befel them ; and perhaps, after all, my own success has been attended with less misery to other people. Well, sir, the luck changed. I knew it would. I was sure it would. I have known penury ; I have known misfortmie. I have known what it is to be ordered off the Heath by an Admiral than whom perhaps a more energetic Tm-f Reformer, and speaks his mind j)retty plain ; I have even known what it is, whilst out on the scout watching a private trial, and disguised as a clergyman with blue spectacles, to be thrown intc ^4 The Savage- Club Papers. a liorse-i^oncl. But Ave Avill let bje-gones be bje- goues. A inoclcst competency and the esteem of my fellow-men have gilded the sunset of your Prophet's stormy day ; and the old man feels sure that he will never want a friend as long as he has a bottle to give him. I have already reached the limits that were assigned me ; and in compliance with my j^romise I will now give you the opinion of Kicholas on the IVIorality of the Turf The opinion of Kicholas on the Morahty of the Turf is, tliat there ain't much of it ! Nicholas. P.S. — Do not finally make up your mind with regard to my position as a man of letters until you have perused my " History of Knurr and Spell." P.S. 2. — I have a good thing for the Derby ofl8G7. My Grandfather's Story. Btj EDWARD DRAPER. IX and forty years ago good King George the Third died. It would be tedious to detail the many causes that had been long leading up to a widely-spread spirit of discontent, narrowly approaching the verge of insurrection. Immediately upon the advent of his successor, there ensued dangerous riots in London and in the country. The minis- try were personally as well as politically detested by a large section of the people. The very name of Castlereagh (then high in office), when uttered by a popular orator, was sufficient to excite a yell of fur}^ Nor did the populace lack leaders of position as well as of power. " Orator" Hunt, Sir Fran- cis Burdett, the Reverend Mr. Harrison, and Sir Charles Wolseley, were in prison on account of the freedom of their speeches in favour of Par- liamentary Reform. The subjects of taxation were so unluckil}- selected as to press with un- 68 The Savac/e-Cluh Papers. clue severity upon the poor, and were, in some cases, as in that of the Window-Tax, opjiosed moreover to pliilosophical considerations. Upon this subject (as tliis is a personal narrative) I may mention that, as a young medical practi- tioner, I was accustomed frequently to ex^Jress my opinions with much warmth, attacking the impolicy of taxing any of the few gifts which Nature bestoAvcd freely upon all, and predicting national physical degeneration as the result of an cmbaro-o on lio-ht and air in our homes. You may fancy from what I have told you that at one time I was something of a Radical. Just so. In my young days men used to denote their opinions by their hats. Uncompromising Tories still wore huge cocked-hats (such as you may now see on the heads of circus-clowns and in old caricatures; the Democrats, or Radicals, sported white beaver round hats with black hat- bands. Many perhaps did so from policy, for the populace were dangerous. In consequence of the Acts of repression, the reformers were driven to great straits for their meeting -places. Of these, however, they had several. It was on the night of the 23d Feb- ruary 1820, when I attended a political meeting at the White Lion, a secluded tavern in Wych- street. The speeches were certainly violent — such as might be expected from indignant men. My Grandfather s Story. 69 I also had had mr turn of speaking, when the meeting dispersed. I had just left for home when a hand Avas laid upon my arm. On turning I saw behind me one of the most enero-etic of all the Radical orators. " Ha : Edwards," said I, " what is it now?" " A Avord with you, doctor," he replied. " I Icnow that you are truly and honestly devoted to the cause. I make no doubt that I may trust you. A great blow is to be struck, and a mighty revolution is at hand. The ministry must give way to the popular will. All is prepared for a rising ; half the army is with us, and we have store of arms and ammunition. In less than a month England will be once more a common- wealth." I started. There was much about the fellow that I did not like. Of all our speakers he was the most vociferous and ferocious. More than once or twice, even amongst us, he had been called to order for phrases far too strongly spiced with sedition, even for the minds of the men with whom we v/ere associated; for among us all he was one of a very few who had openly counselled violent resistance. Knowing this, I was the more surprised at his words. " You are mistaken," said I. "Our liberties, though imperilled, may still be peaceably seciu'ed. I Avill take no part in instigating or aiding acts 70 The Savage-Club Papers. of rebellion." I then used my iitmost powers to show him the folly and futility of the measure which he had indicated. After a long conver- sation he appeared to yield, and finally to be convinced by my arguments. His manner then changed. He told me that a meeting would be held near the Edgeware-road on the following Wednesday, and that if I wovdd attend it, I might freely express my opinions, probably not without effect. I resolutely refused to attend. '•Then," exclaimed he, '' neither will I; and yet I fidly see the force of all that you have said. As one man, were I to attend and attempt to dissuade the others from their plans, it wovdd be vain. Yom* help joined to mine might do much." There was something in this ; and after some more talk, on liis part plausible enough, I con- sented to attend the meeting, only of some half-: dozen or so, of the chiefs of the confederacy. I arranired to meet hiui at eifjlit o'clock in the evening of the day appointed, at the corner of the Edgeware and Uxbridge roads. It was a puzzling place to find out, he said, but he would conduct me. As we stood together about to part, a blacksmith, with a leathern apron, and with the tools of his craft on his shoidder, pushed rudely against us. "All rio-ht, Roberts," cried Edwards; "this My Grandfather s Story. 71 gentleman is one of us." The fellow stared at me from head to foot, and blundered on his way. On Wednesday the 23d of February 1820 (I have reasons for remembering the date), I was at the appointed station and time. Edwards was soon with me. He was ashy pale, and I could not but remark the effort Avith Mhieli he sought to control some strong excitement. He accounted for this by stating that he had feared lest at the last moment I might have shrunk from the meet- ing. "Or," added he, "3'ou might have played the spy uj)on 7n^." This was spoken tremblingly and with marked emphasis. I replied indignantly, and he appeared some- what calmed. " You see, sir, it is so necessary to be carefid." He led me alono- the Edgeware-road until we came to the corner of Queen-street. Talk of our streets now — you should have seen them then — dismally lighted by oil-lamj)s, and ankle-deep in mud and slush. There was as yet no MacAdam's pavement, and scarcely a name at a street-corner. We traversed a few narrow streets until we came to one fenced against horse-traffic by posts in the midst. "Do you know General Watson's cow-shed? That's the place. I can go no further just yet." " I knew General Watson," I replied. "He 72 The Savoge-Cluh Papers. was a relative of my old medical tutor, Dr. Wat- son. But — " Here we were interrupted by our acquaintance the blacksmith blundering against ns as before. " Ha, Eoberts. Here is the doctor. See him safe to the place. You know where. I'll be there- in a few minutes." " All right, Mr. Edwards. Come with me, sir." Off sped Edwards. I tui'ned to look at the blacksmith, as we stood under a lamp, and half suspecting mischief, was yet regarding him, when a man, coatless, and evidently half drunk, suddenly ran forward and seized me by the arm. I disengaged myself, when he threw himself before me. " For the love of heaven, sir, as I see you be a doctor, come with me. 0, my poor wife — my wife of thirty year ! 0, sir !" " What of your wife ?" asked I. " 0, sir — there, I be so I can scarcely speak — 0, sir, she's poisoned herself! Accident! For the Lord's mercy, sir, come at once !" " Nonsense, man — nonsense," interposed the smith. " This gentleman has a particular engage- ment. — Come on, sir." " 0, pray, sir ; pray, sir. 0, my poor wife for thirty year ! I be General AVatson's old cow- keeper, sir. Maybe you knew him. Only close by, sir. Pray, if only for a minuet !" My Grandfather s Story. yj '' Watson's cow-keeper !" cried Roberts, ^Yitll a loud laugh. " The very j^lace. Well, this is artfiil I" and he clajoped his hands to his sides and roared again. " And where do you live ?" " Only a dozen doors down. That's the house with a light in the top window." " Go with him," said Roberts. " You're quite safe now. I'll be there almost as soon as you." I started with the old man, but on reaching the door turned and saw Roberts watching. I looked at the old man, but there was little mis- trust in my mind as to the reality of his agony and despair. Two or three women, one holding a candle, encountered me on the threshold. Tliey too were trembling and agitated. I had no longer any doubt, but proceeded up a narrow stair to the top floor. It was quite true. There in a small room was a wretched old woman apparently at the last gasp. Her breath was drawn painfully and at long intervals. Her eyes were closed, and she was groaning heavily. Before her was a large phial- bottle, and a broken glass evidently dashed sud- denly on the table. It needed no astute chemist to recognise the j)ungent odour of ammonia. " She's been and took it in mistake for tlia gin, "sir. 0, my poor wife for thirty year !" " Bring me instantly some raw eggs," I cried ^ " and somebody else fetch three or four lemons." 74 The Savarje-Cluh Papers. " Efirgs, sir ; why there's heaps of 'em below in tlie shop. Run, Sally, run. Lord ! I should break 'em all, if they was a chest full at a crown a dozen." Tlie eggs were brought, and I was engaged in breaking one after another, and pouring them down the throat of the old woman, who appeared to find considerable relief from their soothing effects, when a loud shriek was heard below. The next moment there was a trampling on the stairs. It was followed by a hoarse shout. " In the King's name !" I raised my head, and saw that the room was filled with soldiers of the Guards. ''"Wliat is this, sir?" demanded the officer in command. " Pray who are you?" " I am Doctor " replied I. " I am at- tending this poor woman, who has been acci- dentally poisoned. — She is a little better now," said I to the husband. " Give me the lemons and some water quickly." The officer approached. He saw the woman's pallid face and heard her groans, which could not be simulated. " Tlie wrong room evidently," said he, tm'n- ine: to a sero-eant. " Search the house at once. Leave a corporal's guard here. I am Captain Fitzclarcnce, Doctor. There is treason afloat." " At least you will permit me to continue my duties to this poor old soul ?" My Grandfather'' s Story. 75 Captain Fitzclarence glanced at the table. There were the remains of at least half-a-dozen eggs, and he saw from the slow manner in which only I conld administer the medicine that their accimiulation had been commenced before his entry. I calmly pared the lemons, and squeezed them into the water. After some minutes the sergeant returned. " All right, Captain," said he, saluting his officer. " There is some fearful blunder, Legge," ejacu- lated the Captain. "That fellow Edwards, like the cur he is, has run off. Where is Roberts ?" " Below, sir." " Run down to him and make further in- quiries. And who are you, my man ?" asked he of the old fellow, who, between drunkenness and terror, was still seated, feebly moaning, wrino-ino- his hands, and rocking himself. '' 0, sir, I be General Watson's poor cow- keeper, sir. Him as is dead and gone. 0, my poor wife for thirty j^ear !" " Watson's cowkeeper ! Then all is ridit And where's your shed ?" " My shed, sir? Whoy, I let my shed last Christmas, sir, to Muster Thistlewood ! It be just round the corner, sir. Shall I show 'ee ?" The Captain gave vent to a full round oath. "Off at once, fellow. Guard follow. And E 76 The Savage- Cluh Papers. you, sir, good niglit. Don't be alarmed at any tliinc; you may hear. I will take care rou shall be protected." I continued to ply the old woman with eggi*. She was gradually but surely recovering, when a pistol-shot, followed by a loud cry and the shouts of men, broke ujion the stillness of the night. Tlien came more shots, shoutings, and Aolleys of mus- ketry, accompanied by piercing shrieks. I pre- served a dreadful calmness, and did my best to soothe the woman's terrors. In fact the stimulus of the alarm seemed rather to aid her recovery. Suddenly Sergeant Legge returned. '' Follow me instantly." '' In heaven's name, what is all this ?" '^ I can tell you nothing but that you're wanted and in the Kin it's name — at once !" I obeyed ; and on reaching the street, we tiu-ned the comer of the narrow no-thoroughfare alley. It was apparently omi^ty, save for a guard of soldiers at each end. We proceeded to a dismal house, along a passage, and thence by a ladder into a dreary loft, furnished with a long rough table, and several rude planks once ar- rano-ed as scats, but mostlv now overthrown from their tressels. The whole floor was strewn with cartridges, swords, daggers, belts, muskets, blud- geons, and pike-heads of a curious construction. Near the door lav two bodies. My Grandfather'' s Siory. 77 I approached one. " He is dead, Captain Fitz- clarenee. He has been stabbed throudi the body, under the third rib, on the riglit. See here !" " Poor Smithers !" exclaimed the Captain. " And this other ?" He -svas pale and covered Avitli blood. I lifted his hand and felt his wrist. He was a ruffianly- featured fellow, Avhose waist was girt with a mili- taiy belt, bearing a cartouche-box. " This one," said I, "is still alive, and still unhurt." The felloAv sprung up and caught me by the- tlu-oat, covering my ruffled shirt with gore. He was instantly seized by the soldiers, and began piteously to beg for mercy. "That is Ings," cried the smith, who appeared by my side. " But, see, the sergeant is alsot wounded." It was true, but the injury was slight. While I was yet engaged in binding up his arm, which he had interposed, saving his captain's breast from a pistol-ball, the spy Edwards en- tered. On perceiving me, he shouted, " And that is one of them. Seize him, Cap- tain ! I know him — " " And I know better," ]'etorted the Captain.. " But for your cowardly behaviour, you runaway cur, who dared not be within scarce a mile of bullets, and intrusted your work to an underlino-, this" — and he pointed to the body of Smithers— 78 The Savage-Cliih Papers. ^Hhis need not liave happened. None of your per- jury. I am answerable for this gentleman." My care was needed for a few others. One •or two soldiers had suffered slight wounds, and some of their captives, of whom there were nine in all, mostly bound with belts found upon them, had sustained contusions. '' You had better not leave just yet," said "Captain Fitzclarence to me ; " the mob is ex- cited, and our men have much to do to keep them back — even at the point of the bayonet." An hour after, I left, escorted homewards by a guard, which only left me at my own door. Of what had taken j^lace, beyond Avhat I had seen, I could learn but little, even from my companions, except that the peace-officers, fearing the conse- quences of the non-arrival of the military, delayed by some error, had hurried, unaided, to attempt the capture of a gang of conspirators, many of whom had escaped in consequence — among them the ringleader, Thistlewood, who had run Smithers throuo;h the bodv. The next day Thistlewood was taken. I need not give the details of the conspiracy, further than to explain briefly its object and results. It had been intended that the band, fully armed, nfet only with weapons, but with combustibles, should take possession by a coup-de-main of Lord Harro why's house, where it was expected that the ministers My Grandfatliev'' s Story. 79 would be assembled at dinner, and there massacre them all, afterwards firing the house, and rushing into the street to inaugm^ate a revolution. Five of the plotters and assassins, including Thistle- Avood and lugs, Avere afterwards executed, with some of the ancient barbarities annexed to tlije penalties of high treason. The spy Edwards was rewarded with a pension ; — and thus ended the Cato-street Conspiracy. lln ypii dTmuirn. By E. L. BhmcharJ. Bird of tlie household ! songster of home, Whose notes in a wikl burst of harmony come, Like a voice from the woods or a song by the stream Of youth's early May-time and Love's early dream ; Thy cage is no prison, no captive thus sings, And free in the sun flies the gold of thy wings. ■*' Pretty Dick !" let thy mistress, sweet, whisper a word — Her heart is a captive much more than her bird. 0, would thou cuuldst utter her thoughts in thy lay? Then free shouldst thou fly to the one far away, And tell him how oft with her bird in the cajje She has talked of the absent and looked at his gage. Thou shouldst give him the kiss I am giving to thee. And say it was sent as a token from me. '■'' Pretty Dick !" if he told you no more we should part, Tliy wings could not flutter much more than my heart. G. Thomson del. Harral sc. The Inns of Jamaica. By Godfrey Turner. CC:^^^ jHERE are no inns in Jamaica. One of them — I mean one of the inns which are no inns — is the halt- ing-place at the Moneague, where the traveller is not sorry to rest when he has crossed Mount Diabolo on a journey northward from Spanish Town. The apology for a real, right- down, genuine, and little -more -than -usually - adulterated inn, at the Moneague, is not so very lame an apology, after all. I have known "hotels" in my native land — a sea-girt isle, in a latitude of perpetual influenza — not more comfortable, or, let us say, not less uncomfortable than the inn at the Moneague ; which lonely establishment has at any rate the benefit of being conducted by a respon- sible nigger instead of a limited company. It was in the month of April, in this now expiring year of 1866, that I started from the southern side of the island to ^isit the yet more luxuriant scenery north of the Blue Mountain,?* 84 TJie Savage-Cluh Papers. April ill tliat part of the Tropics~is a very lovely time. I need hardly say that at all seasons the heat is excessive to a chill -blooded native of the temperate zone ; indeed, some days of last January, in Kingston, seemed to me about as hot as a Briton could bear with perfect safety. In April the average temperature was scarcely hiolier, beino: about eiohtv or eifjhtv-two m the shade, and a hundred and whatever you like in the sun. There is a general start among the vegetation about this time, especially as regards the flowers. The aloe blooms; first lifting u]), with marvellous rapidity, a tall, tender-looking, straight green shaft, which is called by Creoles " the May-pole," and then wreathing it with garlands of beautiful blossom. The orchids, for which those enterprising horticulturists, the Mes- sieurs Veitch, would scorn to give less than ten guineas a root, but which are as common in the woods of Jamaica as humming-birds and pine- apples all o\QX the island, burst into flames of flower, in welcome of coming Mav. This notice- able stir and advance in the midst of a natiu'al beauty which at no time would fail to di-aw forth admiration from a traveller can hardly be excelled by the culmination of a gorgeous dream. In what, by cold comparison, may be mentioned as the duller time of the year, you may see the operation of spring, summer, and autumn at once TJie Inns of Jamaica. 85 upon the trees — may scent the hea^y luscious perfume of the -waxen citron-blossom, opposing its pm'e clusters of dazzling -white to the gold of the ripened fruit on one and the same green bough. It is when the tall wide-spreading orange-trees are laden ^\'ith innumerable yellow models of the fruitful earth, when the exquisite purple bloom of the mango has passed the climax of its glory, when the blinding light from the intense blue sky is tempered by its passage through broad plantain leaves unmatchable by any green in Rowney's list of colours, when the scarlet coffee-berries hang in ripe sprays all down the long curved branches, when not a patch of barrenness is to be found anywhere, and when no room seems left for in- crease of nature's bounty, — then it is that Xatiu*e is suddenly seized with a fit of generous extrava- gance, and flings handfids of sweets to the sweet of shining wealth, to a surfeit and embarrassment of riches. Tliis was the season during Avhich I journeyed over great part of the most fertile half of Jamaica. Too many voyagers, who have paid flying visits to that island, have come away with a south-sided impression of its magnificence, and have missed the loveliest and grandest scenes in all the world. Having made up my mind and my other luggage for a few Aveeks of locomotion, I started from Blmidle Hall, Kingston, very early one glorious /86 . Tlie Savage- Club Papers, April clay, before the sun had waxed fierce in tlie elowinir heavens. Now, Bhmdle Hall is another of those negative inns of Jamaica ; and it is kept by a brown lady, Miss Louisa Grant, sister of Mrs. Seacole, and quite as great a character in her way. A much longer and more regidarly sustained practice in the noble art of getting up early in the morning — merrily I — than I for one could ever boast, would be necessary to the achievement of stealing a march on Miss Louisa Grant. She Avas, in 'fact, about as wide-awake an old soldier of a middle-aged landlady as I have ever had the honour to know. Ah ! am I then back again in the spirit at Blundlc Hall? Truant that I have been to kindly recollections, in a vagabondage through colder climes, do I now in fancy find myself once more in the long verandah, opening by a flight of stone steps on the court- yard with its cocoa-nut tree, and troops of bask- ing black servants, and row of lean, uncpiiet horses, stamping and whisking their long tails under the pent-house as they are wont to do by night as Avell as day. And who arc these kind friends of mine in naval uniforms, who bid me such hearty Avelcome ? Messinates, companions with whom I have cruised among the islets of the Baltic and in the bluff' North Sea, do we meet here under a tropical sun to talk of Danish Elsi- nore and Odinshoi, of jolly times in Sweden, of The Inns of Jamaica. 87 the Admiral whom Ave all liked so much at Stock- holm for his never-tiring nrbanity and kindness, of the pic-nics on the Malar Lake, of the elk- Imnt, of the shooting of white foxes, of the ckib at the Rydberg, of the Dalecalian women who rowed the boats and cursed us bitterly whatever we paid them for their labour, of the Dowager Queen's ball at Drottningholm, and of our moonlit voyage thither in the good Swedish Admiral's baro;e, with M'llwain's recollections of another Ball — Mrs. Perkins's — and of the O'Mulligan, whose proto- type we were to meet, alas ! that night of nights ! Blundle Hall, Blundle Hall ! That I should have found within the shadow of your jalousies the friends from whom I had last parted so far away, and from whom I was again to part, leaving thousands of sea-miles between us ! May each of those brave boys command a squadron, one of these windy days, and may I not be on board the flag-ship when the bravest of them all is leading the fleet of the future to victory or annihilation ! Miss Louisa Grant Avas — and I hope still is — a great favourite Avith the naA'y, and the army too. In rather rhapsodical language, as I admit, by Avay of taking the Avind out of critical sails, Avhich may be bearing doAvn upon me — it has just been intimated that certain officers, in one of the tAvo services, rencAved an old acquaintance Avith me at Blundle Hall ; AAdierefore I might Avell place it 88 The Savage-Cluh Papers. first on tlic list of tliose inns of Jamaica, which I still maintain to be no inns, and speak of it before I come to talk more fully of the Moneague, of Eamsay's at Spanish Town, and of two or throe less pretending hovels on my route. Besides and moreoAcr, Bkmdle Hall was, except the houses of entertainment I had patronised for a very short time on the islands of St. Thomas and Hayti, the first habitable edifice in the Tropics within Avhose door I had set my exjoloring foot. I went to Blundle Hall, through ways ankle-deep in sand, straight from the quay, Avhen I had come ashore from the inter-colonial steamer Conway. It was in the piazza of Blundle Hall that a portly^ stalwart, big-chested, white-bearded, healthful- looking gentleman, with a handsome face in which gravity and kindness were blended in proportions that rather inclined to the last-named quality, if excess were on either side, sat in a rocking-chair, very much at his ease, Avhen I arrived there. He was dressed from top to toe in white linen ; and his healthy pink fjice and scrupulously clean pink hands looked as fresh as paint, over which they had the advantage of beino- real. The wish in- stantly became fatliei' to the thought in my mind that this must surely be one of the persons to whom I had brought letters of introduction from England ; and in my speculative mood I even named to mjself, out of at least two score, the The Inns of Jamaica. 89 very identical one. I was right. M}- man, to see whom first on my arrival in Jamaica I had been strongly advised before I left Southampton, was before me, taking his ease in what, for the sake of avoiding argument, we will call his inn. I do not name him here : why should I ? The indiscretion would not conduce with the public state of feeling about that black-ridden country to raise any scandal worth raising. He is known and honoured, trusted and loved, by people of his own clear blood in Jamaica ; and he is respected and feared — or he would not be respected — by people of a race less morally white than it is sometimes painted for the edification of Sunday- school children and others in Great Britain. My first introduction in Kingston having thus been satisfactorily accomplished, I transferred my anxious thoughts to the subject of my bedroom. It was one of a good many chambers with green jalousie doors and Avindows all of a row in an open corridor, on one side of the court-yard, something like the gallery of an old-fashioned English inn. A black lad in a striped flannel shirt and white Osnaburg trousers marshalled me the way that I was going, and carried my heaviest portmanteau on his head, seemingly with much more resigna- tion than he felt to the task of bearino- lio-hter luggage in his hands. My room being last of all, and quite at the end of that wing of the building 90 The Savage- Club Papers. approached by the oj)en corridor, had the ad- vantao;e of a free ventilation on three sides. The broad-bladed green jalousies took the phico of glass, letting in the punctual breezes, Avhich keep their time to the tick of your chronometer in this happy climate. ^Vlien the black boy in the flan- nel shirt and Mliitc Osnaburoj continuations had set down all my traps, he stood grinning with a chcerfid expression of inquiry. I was about to tell him that he need not wait, when a lono; Avrif>;o;lin£j thing ran softly past my foot and into a corner of the room, as if it expected to find an outlet there "which did not exist. " What is that ?" I asked him. '' Dat ?" he echoed, in the Negro dialect ; *' dat noting, sa' ; only young 'corj)ium." '' 0, indeed," said I, with as little emotion as I could help showing ; "is it at all a common order of reptile in this country ?" The question not being understood was chari- tably assumed to be comic ; and my new acquaint- ance, who looked as if he had been oiled or var- nished with great care, grinned a plastic and unctuous grin, wdiich widened till he was obliged to chuckle, to prevent its widening any more. I had not been long in Jamaica before I lost the foolish northern prejudice against scorpions, which are not nearly so venomous as centipedes, and are as little given to habits of attack. There lite Inns of Jamaica. 91 Is no dangerously venomous reptile in Jamaica. The black snake inflicts an ugly and painful wound, when provoked to bite ; but even he was never known to cause the death of the youngest and tenderest child. Another and a larger kind of snake, which Is in fact nothing else than a boa constrictor, but which is known as the " yellow snake" to all inhabitants of the island, Is a great deal commoner. They are timid, torpid reptiles, and may be killed easily enough, as they are found crawling among the cane -pieces or elsewhere. The Insects have decidedly the pull of the reptiles In Jamaica. Sand-flies, jiggers, and tics are both numerous and pressing In their attentions ; but worst of all entomological plagues Is the mosquito.. There are two kinds, equally annoying, though In different Avays. The mosquitoes which called upon me as soon as I had taken up my lodging at Blundle Hall were the mosquitoes of the plains. You do not feel their bite at first ; but after a little while a hard white tumour rises, and there Is a painful aching tension of the muscles all round It. The slightest rubbing of the white tumour makes it a red tumour, or, It may be, a sore,, which will not heal for some days. Now if this be the effect — and It is the effect — of one mos- quito's bite, you may very well fancy the state of a fresh-complexloned Norseman's cuticle after he has been the prey of a whole swarm of such little 92 The Savcuje- Club Papet^s. demons. As for the mosquitoes of tlie hills, all 1 can say in their favour is that they rarely attack you in svich numbers as do their cousins in the low and swampy regions ; for it is hardly to be urged or accepted as a circonstance attenuante that the bite of the mountain mosquito, when he does bite, is felt on the instant, like the prick of a fine needle. The venom is just as potent in the one case as in the other. Some theoretical noodle says the mosquito's a gnat : so is the wolf, then, a poodle ; so is the panther a cat. Lord Dundreary would exclaim, " Tliath poetry." I may or may not agree with his lordship ; but at any rate I shall use the lano;uage of rare and antithetic Ben Jonson, and say, '' By — " well, I don't like to use the precise oath which Sterne's celebrated "Re- cording Spirit" made such a mess of, by crying over the word before the ink in which it was written was dry ; but the printer may put in a good long dash, like this , and add the words, " it's truth." I must get aAvay from Blundle Hall, on paper, as I did, one bright hot morning, get away from it in tlio actual and perspiring flesh. My real start was to be from Spanish Town ; that is to say I had bought a capital pair of ponies there, and a lio-ht four-wheeled carriage of American build, and of a kind now very generally used through- out Jamaica, and called a " buggy." "With this The Inns of Jamaica. 93 equipage, and with a wooden-legged negro ser- vant, I purposed going forth upon my travels. The buggy, and the ponies, and the black man with the wooden leg, were all to be in readiness by an early hour, when I should have arrived by the first train from Kino-ston. There is a little railway, managed in the most comical fashion, between this commercial capital of the island and the tumbledown town, a few miles to the west, which is the seat of Grovernment. It is a pretty half-hour's ride, or more, which I never grew tired of; though I suppose I must have gone backwards and forwards on this short line quite twenty times during my stay on the southern side of Jamaica. Mountains on one side, blue lagoon on the other ; foreground of umbrageous mango trees evenly cropped underneath just as high as the cattle can reach the tempting branches ; fore- ground of pen residences ; foreground of pretty estate, called " the Caymanas," with sugar-canes ready for carrvino; : foreo-round of o-ioantic silk- cotton tree, with immense smooth spurs like stone buttresses regularly built all round it ; foreground of alligator-swamp, partially cleared ; foreground of any number of niggers at the station mid-way, bringing wild guinea-fowl and wood-pigeons for sale to passengers who prefer the dearest and most troublesome mode of purchasing poidtry — fore- ground of many objects as well, which, having 94 ^'^'^ Savage- Club Papers. nothing to do witli the inns of Jamaica, must bo left untold. Was it seven or was it eight o'clock, when, that hot bright April morning, I alighted on the rough platform of the Spanish Town station, and found the buggy, the prim little pair of horses, and the Jehu with the wooden leg, all ready and waiting? My memory does not serve me on this question of time ; but I think it could not have been more than seven, though it seemed to me then like midday, for had I not been up and moving pretty briskly for a couple of hours at least ? I know it was so early that, driving first to King's House, Avith the intention of leaving polite notice of my departure on a tour, I could find nobody stirring who would show me the visi- tors' book ; and that, having thoughtlessly rung a bell, and seen the next moment by the clock in the square how ghostly a 2^eriod I had chosen for a morning call, I felt awfully disconcerted, and rather inclined to run away. The tintinnabulation had so clamorously swelled, echoing thi'ough the silent halls of the big white-washed palace of repre- sentative royalty, that I did, without any ques- tion about it, make off as fast as I could, feeling even an additional confusion in the clatter of the hoofs and wheels, till I had turned into one of the streets of grass-grown ruins, and had agree- ably distracted my mind by nearly running over a The Inns of Jamaica. 95 pig — one of tliose lank, high-backed, veiy long- nosed, very ill-fiivoared beasts that prowl about the unjiaved streets at Spanish To\An, and that onglit to be run over rather than not. He Avho has travelled bj that road along which mj pair of ponies trotted brisklj towards the Moneague that day, will own that, whatever glories of natural scenery he may elsewhere have revelled in, nothing to surpass the tropical loveli- ness of this drive through the " Bog- walk,'" as, by an absurd nigger corruption of the Spanish name, it is called, has ever delighted his eyes and sunk into his soul. It is all shut in by volcanic rocks, many of stupendous height, with caverns opening here and there, and marvellous foliage half-covering their perpendicular or overhanging fronts ; through the middle of the long valley, as fairy-like as Sinbad's and as sparkling — with diamonds which will only be saleable when sun- beams are made into bracelets and tiaras — runs a silver river, reflecting all brilliant tints of emerald ■and cerulean turquoise in its calm depths, and ■weaving circles of glittering spray round the vast, smooth, milk-white, opal-shaded stones that stand high up from the shallows. Feathery bamboos, •creaking like masts ; tree-ferns, that cause you to think for once contemptuously of the Crystal Palace ; wild canes, and herbs that yield medi- cines which Europe prizes most when they bear 96 The Savage- Clnh Papers. the name of " Jamaica ;" flowers made envious by the moths and liumming-birds which flutter round them — let us hurry through it all, or we shall never get to the Moneague. That place and its inn are on the other side of the range of mountains running east and west through the length of Jamaica ; and the winding pass that climbs round the side of Mount Diabolo is a road for wheels, though not an easy one. I must not venture now to take" a peep back at that moving panorama. Let us fancy, if you please, that we have gone past it with our eyes shut ; and that we open them now in front of the inn at the Moneague, where our ponies are led off to their well-earned feed of maize, which is not the first, by the b}^e, that they have had since they trotted out of Spanish Tow^n. It is a pictm-esque, veran- dahed, low-roofed place, this Moneague inn, with limes and oranges growing all about it, and with much clatter of hoofs in its paved yard, for it is one of the most important posting-houses in a country where one little railway is at present the exception to a rule of old-fashioned travelling. In respect of its bed-rooms, with dark shining floors, and jalousie windows without glass, and beds with mosquito-nets, which I have sometimes found to be efficacious in keeping the mosquitoes in, as much as in keeping them out — it is Blundle Hall over again. On a long stretch, travelling from one Tlie Inns of Jamaica. 97 planter's, clergpiian's, or custos's house to another — it may have been thirty miles, or more, without a white face to look into — I have taken mercy on myself, as well as on my ponies and black body- guard with the timber leg, which is a bad thing to have to sit next to in driving, by the bye ; and have halted at much poorer "inns" than that of the Moneague. They were few as well as wretched ; but in nearly all I found the relics of " old-time " prosperity, to wit, silver-plate, which for no consideration would the owners part with. I have more than once, when seated in a room almost as rough and bare as an empty hay-loft, tinkled a massive silver bell of Queen Anne's mark, to summon a ragged attendant, who might bring me one of those cheap luxuries of the comitry, a water cocoa-nut, freshly gathered from a neighbouring tree, or a glass of lemonade with the fragrant peel of the green lime hanging on the edge of the glass goblet. There are no huts, in which negroes sleep and fatten, that are so poor as these so-called inns. Negroes never keep them ; that is to say, though we may call them niggers, they are coloured people, seldom more than half black and very frequently less. It is a business that beo-an to foil, with other "interests" of the white inhabitant, long ago ; and the old family silver, with noAV and then a portrait by an unmis- takably famous hand, tells of the broken ancestor 98 The Savage-Cluh Papers. ^vllo minoled liis blood Avitli the blood of the African, and left his offspring a much less thriv- ing inheritance than that of servitude. Here and there, a brown man in Jamaica is successful as a keeper of what is called an inn ; but his success is very moderate ; and I think that the ladies — I was soinir to sav " the fair sex," but that I bethink me suddenly of their all being rather dark — manage better. Ramsay's, at Spanish Town, known as " Tlie Tavern," is a very dismal caravanserai, with no better accommodation than a hay-maker finds in the taproom of a roadside ale-house in England. It is the old traditional hospitality of the island which makes travelling both possible and pleasant. Said I not well that the inns of Jamaica arc no inns ? They are the practical contradictions of Shenstone's melancholy stanza ; and he who can say that he has found no warmer welcome than in one of those sordid liovels — I except the tolerably comfortable lodging-houses, which are in many instances dignified by the title of "hall," and which are favom-ably typified by Miss Grant's es- tablishment at Kingston — must be a mortal born to be pitied, or to be despised and shunned. E. C. Bames del. Dalziel Bros. sc. P^TCHEN. ^ ITcuf fvom an girtist's ^hftfb-booli. BY TOM HOOD. Geetchen comes from over the sea, From the land where clusters j^urple the viiia On the sunny slopes that rise from the Ehinej As blue as my Gretchen's e'e ! Down by the ocean's brim we met, In a bay embosomed in gleaming sand, With a headland stark upon either hand, While the sun before us set. Golden light upon golden locks, By pools of emerald broidered with pearl, Where the waters broke, with a sweep and swirl. To whisper amid the rocks. 102 The Savage- Club Papers. I drew licr face in my treasure-book — Artists have licenses ; this is one ! — As she stood in the light of the sinking sun ; And here it is : — you maj look ! She went east — and I went west ; But I bear her image wherever I go. One is here in my sketch-book, lo ! Another within my breast. Converting the Nigger. BY AP>JEMUS WAI\p. OR considerable years my Uncle "\Yilyini was in tlie panora- mor business, and lie ' used to utter some sterlin trooths %Yhile in that line. He had a panoramer of Greece, representin his- self as a real Greaser, which doubtless added novelty to the exhibition. Methinks I see him now a standin be- fore them beautiful moyin picturs, with a long spear in his right hand de- scribin the beauties and pecoolaritics of that country, and ap]iealin to the audience to help her — for this was when Greece was partic'ly hard up. To see that old duft'er, who was born in Vermont, representin hisself as a citizen of Greece, in a yeller dressin - gown and a 104 ^'^'^ Savage- CI i(h Papers. white pocket liankerclier wound round liis liead^ and slicddin real tears, Avas mortifyin to his rela- tivs, but tliej coukl not avoid admirin liis genus. They dispised his inipidens and unscrupulossity, but they was forced to admit his great talents. " J3iV3thering and sisters," he would say, in a voice apperently choked with emotions, " every dollar taken at the door to-night Avill be sent to Greece by the next steamboat, excej)t a few paltry dollars for my own sustenance. Believe me, my friends, I think only of my country, and I li\'e A'ery frugal. A few dry biskits, some fried eels and soda Avater — some simple nurishment of this kind, is all I require. If you choose to make up a extra 2)uss for my unfortinit countrymen, that also shall be punctooally forwarded. Money, clothes, flour, pork, malt and spiritoous lickers, segars and shoes — all will be accepted. My size for shoes is No. 10. Send shoes of that number. In Grreece our feet is all of the same size. It is the same with flannel shirts and overcoats. A few temper- ance tracts will be received, as well as various kinds of meats in hermetically sealed cans." I hope Greece got these things. Perhaps she did ; but it is doo to trooth to state that at the close of his panoramer season Uncle Wilyini opened a shop containin the most remarkable \'ariety of articles ever collected under one roof in this or any previs age. Nevertheless, notwithstandin Uncle Wilyim Converting the Nigger. 105 has long- been a burnin disgrace to our family, and that we ne-ser hear his name breathed with- out a shudder of horror, he did utter some great trooths in his lectur on Greece. Among others he said, charity covered a multitood of sins. He said this Avas original with hisself, but, as I've al- ready showed. Ills word is shaky. More prob'ly he adapted it from the French, jest as he would adapt a umbreller or spoons, or anything else he could lay his hands on. But it is a surblime trooth. Charity well bestowed makes you sleep well o' nights. I know in my own case ; when I give a few shillins to a meritorious object of charity, I sleep sweetly that night. It is a cheajJ way of goin to the country (which I fancy is much more like heaven than the town), for I always dream of green fields and daisies, and fresh-faced little children and music ; and a man seldom dreams of these when he's been up to disreputable games. When a man dreams he was led to the gallus, and wakes up jest as the rope is bein wound round his neck, it's a evidence either that the hangin ought to have gone on, or that he partook too profusely of the festive cucumber ere seeking his couch. But there is such a thine; as misdirected charity, and this I would respectfully advise the people of Great Britain, Bombay, New South Wales, and Upper and Lower Canada, &c., to avoid. Give freely, but be sm*e the objeck is a io6 The Savage- Cliih Papers. worthy one. All this by way of prefiss to a inci- dent which occurd yesterday mornin at the ex- cellent public house where I am stoppin at — the Greenlion, by John Bigsby. The incident was as thus : I Avas sittin in the bar, quietly smokin a frugal pipe, when two middle-aged and stern- lookin females, and a young and pretty female, suddenly entered the room. They was accom- panied by two umbrellers and a negro gentle- man. ''Do 3'OU feel for the down-trodden?" said one of the females, a thin-faced and sharp- voiced person in green spectacles. "Do I feel for it?" anserd the lan'lord, in a puzzle voice ; "do I feel for it ?" " Yes ; for the oppressed, the benited ?" " Inasmuch as to which?" said the lan'lord. "You see this man?" said the female, pintin her umbreller at the negro gentleman. " Yes, marm, I see him." " Yes !" said the female, raisin her voice to a cxceedin high pitch, " you see him, and he's your brother!" " No, I'm darn'd if he is !" said the lan'lord, hastily retreatin to his beer-casks. "And yours!" shouted the excited female, addressin me, " he is also your brother." "No, I think not, marm," I pleasantly re- Converting the JS^ir/ger. 107 plied. " Tlie nearest we came to that color in our fam'lj was in the case of my brother John. He had the janders for sev'ral years, but they finally left him. I am happy to state that at the present time he hasn't a solitary jander." " Look at this man !" screamed the female. I looked at him. He was a able-bodid, well- dressed, comfortable-lookin negro. He looked as tho' he might heave tlu'ee or foui' good meals a day into him without a murmur. " Look at that down-trodden man !" cried the female. '' "Who tred on him?" I inquired. "Villins! despots!" " Well," said the lan'lord, '' Avhy don't you go to the willins about it ? Why do you come here tellin us nigo-ers is our brothers, and brandishin your umbrellers round like a lot of lunytics ? You're wuss than the sperrit-rappers." " Have you," said middle-aged female No. 2, who was a quieter sort of person, " have you no sentiment — no poetry in your soul — no love for the beautiful ? Dost never go into the green fields to cull the beautiful flowers ?" '' I not only never dost,^^ said the landlord, in a angry voice, " but I'll bet you five-pound you can't bring a man as dares say I dost." " Tlie little birds," continued the female, " dost not love to gaze onto them ?" 1 o8 The Savage- Chih Paj^ers. " I would I were a bird, that I miglit fly to tliou I" I humerusly sung, castin a sweet glance at tlie prettv young woman. " Don't you look in that way at my dawter !" said female No. 1, in a violent voice; "you're old enouirli to l^e her father." ^"Twas an innocent look, dear madam," I softly said. " You behold in me an emblem of innocence and purity. In fack, I start for Rome by the first train to-morrer to sit as model to a celebrated artist who is about to sculp a statute to be called Sweet Linocence. Do you s'pose a sculper would send for me for that purpose on- less he know'd I was overflowin with innocency? Don't make a error about ttz^." " It is my opinyin," said the leadin female, ^' that you're a skoffer and a WTetch ! Your mind is in a wusser beclouded state than the poor negroes we are seekin to aid. You are a groper in the dark cellar of sin. sinful man ! There is a sparklin fount, Come, 0, come, and drink ! Xo : you will not come and drink." "Yes he will," said the landlord, "ifyou'U ti'eat. Jest try him." ''As for you," said the enraged female to the lan'lord, " you're a degraded bein, too low and wulgar to talk to." " This is the sparklin fount for me, dear sis- Converting tlie Snigger. 109 ter I" cried tlie landlord, drawin aud driiikin a mug of beer. Havin uttered wliicli goak, be gave a low rumblin larf, and relapst into silence. " My colored fi-en'," I said to tlie negro kindly, ^' wbat is it all about?" He said tbey was tryiu to raise money to send missionaries to tbe Southern States in Ame- rica to preach to the vast numbers of negroes recently made free there. He said they were with- out the gospel. They were without tracts. I said, " My fren', this is a seris matter. I admire you for try in to help the race to which you belong, and far be it from me to say anything agin carryin the gospel among the blacks of the South. Let the gospel go to them by all means. But I happen to iudividooally know that there are some thousands of liberated blacks in the South who are starvin. I don't blame anybody for this, but it is a very sad fact. Some are really too ill to work, some can't get work to do, and others are too foolish to see any necessity for workin. I was down there last winter, and I observed that this class had plenty of preachin for their souls, but skurcely any vittles for their stummux. Now, if it is proposed to send flour and bacon along with the gospel, the idea is really a excellent one. If on the t'other hand it is proposed to send preachin alone, all I can say is that it's a hard case for the niggers. If you expect a colored person to get no The Savage- CJuh Papers. deeply interested in a tract when liis stummuck is empty, you expect too much." I gave the negro as much as I could afford, and the kind-hearted lan'lord did the same. I said, " Farewell, my colored fren'. I wish you well, certainly. You are now as free as the eagle. Be like him and soar. But don't at- tempt to convert a Ethiopian person while his stummuck yearns for vittles. And you, ladies — I hope you are as ready to help the poor and un- fortunate at home as you seem to be to help the poor and unfortunate abroad." When they had gone the lan'lord said, " Come into the garden. Ward." And we went and culled some carrots for dinner. A Passionate Pilgp^i^m. Bij EJmunJ Falconer. Che loves me not, and angers when I woo ; J All, do not therefore me as lout despise : Not wanting pride, nor yet as fool I sue, — Though Avhen Love reasons Love is seldom wise. But sighing oft, and sorrowing amain. He must risk failure, seeking to obtain The wealth of worth and beauty I would gain. Some honour comes of every great emprise ; Ev'n failure nobly borne all shame denies ; And with the empire of Ker heart in view, Th' attempt at conquest Love can never rue. You may not blame the exile that he tries To over-leap the bounds of Paradise ; With heav'n assur'd the guerdon of success. The hope of triumph goes half way to bless ; And all the promise of Elysium seems (Ah me, the blissful boldness of my dreams !) Bounded within her bosom's soft caress. G 112 Tlie Sam(je-Cbib Papers, I may not paint for yon licr loveliness ; But if thou'lt hearken, I'll excuse in part Tlie slavelike homage of my subdued heart, Which hath surviv'd the cruel shafts of scorn, And lives on loving, though of love forlorn. My task, at first, cnamour'd Fancy deems An easy one, such varied charms adorn My LoA'e, apparent as the day-star beams To sight ; but 0, so fjiint their reflex seems In words, indio;nant Love its truth denies. What phrase so choice to paint both night and morn ? Yet such to find or make my Muse now tries. Though calmly beautiful, all coldly gleams Tlie full-orb'd radiance of her dark brown eyes, As moonlight falls from cloudless northern skies ; All, still the fire that far within them beams (Such love-light bless'd Endymion's noonday dreams), And which translvicent crystal overlies, As 'twere the soul, their beauty but conceals, In wild'ring lustre oft itself reveals. Like summer lightning, or volcanic fire Aloft the mountain, where heav'n's breath congeals The dewdrop, and hangs icicles around ; Although beneath, pulsating, seems to bound A mighty heart, which, moved by strong desire,. Or love-impassion'd, can ev'n flames suspire ; And promises to him, who yet shall win, A Passionate PV^rim. 113 Such wealtli of Ccapture, sucli a rich despoil Of treasured tendernesses, gems of Thought, And Feehng fused, and into Passion wrought (Long hid the sanctuary of her heart within), As will repay of pilgrimage all toil, And every risk that may escape a sin. Amid the pure snows of her virgin breast To be enshrin'd — her chaste love's chosen saint, Whom first she would with all sweet thoughts ac- quaint — Or, sole, to be its passion-welcom'd guest. Were, sure, to share one being with the blest ! But, ah, to me lieav'n still that hope denies : Hence this sad brow and these life-wasting siohs. Ijitrt tijc Sfconir. Te Pajfionate Pilgrim, Idated on his journey northivards, toihuorn and fmking by the ivayfidc , fighs out his heart in an addrefs TO THE SOUTH WIND. Thou speedest by me, balmy-breathing "Wind, As thou didst share with Love one heart and mind, And wouldst not pause, and hadst no other care^ Till thou didst find my peerless lady-fair ; 114 ^'^'^ Savage- Chib Papers. To steal fresli fragrance from her bloomy cheek, Mingling thy breath with hers — 0, bhss to speak ! Would I conld with thee, Wind ! And, ah, since Fate That me denies, and toils do here belato, Bear thou, sweet Wind, my wishful sigh with thee. And, finding her, on audience fondly wait. That thou mayst turn her eientle thouo-hts to me. Whisper it low, and yet right lovingly, As thou dost fondle. Wind, the pale primrose Late born in that cold North where now dwells she. Who had no cause, I'm sure, to wish to be More near the region of eternal snows. Since there, high plac'd on scorn, — ah me, my woes ! — She ever seem'd to dwell for Love and me. Tell her I ask of every wind that blows From o'er the weary miles that us dissever. If that her eyes are still as bright as ever — Those eyes that seem'd of mine to absorb the gaze, AVliich, love-impassion'd, was almost a blaze (Though their clear light not ev'n my sighs could haze), Provoking love, but love returning never ! Those eyes that in remembrance seem to daze, •Of their flush beauty and o'erpow'ring light, All senses mine concentred into sight. A Passionate Pilgrim. 115 Tell her I ask — and 0, how fondly ask ! — If health enjoyment makes of each light task ; Blooming at morn, and bright'ning o'er her face ? (How fain would Love in that sweet sunshine bask !), If moves her form with its accustomed grace ; And if — to this all other cares give place — She is heart-hajipy and, I hope, heart-free ? (But, 0, still ha])py though that should not be !) ; If breaks as brightly in her radiant smile The joyance of a heart devoid of guile. And all so amiable it wills to share With ev'ry one that needs consoling care Some part the happiness heav'n makes its own. Save me (offending that I too much dare). To whom she can nor love nor pity spare ! Ah, this the grief o'er which I most make moan — She can he cruel unto me alone ! And as my pilgrim-toils must quickly end, As e'er thou hast those weary miles o'erflowii. Love, death-enfranchis'd, shall pass spirit-free To heav'n, whilst all that lino-ers thouohts of me Among life's bustling presences, shall be (And haply so much only with some friend) A faint, sad memory, 0, let me send Blessing, forgiveness, with my latest breath ! And though 'tis like she may with scorn attend. Lest it should j^ain her, speak not of my death. Nor of the woful way my griefs shall end. ii6 21ie Savaje-Cluh Papers. Now, bcariiiir ^vltli tliee Love's full heart and mind, And leaving but a soulless clod behind, To thy blest bourne speed balmy -breathing Wind. No. 36,504. By clement W. SCOTT. NE very bright liappy March morning in the year 186 — , I started with an old college friend of mine from the London -Bridge railway station, de- termined to have an enjoyable month's holiday, and actually see something of Rome. Our friends thought us mad, and plainly told us that the idea of seeing anything beyond the bare walls of Rome in a month was ludicrous ; and the attempt to acquire even a faint glimmering of its riches in so short a space of time, an insult to the " eternal" city itself. Anyhow, we had made up our minds ; and our heads were so full of our plan, that no persuasion or ridicule could possibly divert us from our object. There was a wild exaggeration about our first entertaining the pro- ject which tickled us immensely, and made us more than ever determined to carry it through in spite of all opposition. We had been dining together a very few days before we started, and the conversation had turned upon some mutuaj ii8 2he Savage- Club Papers. friends of ours, Avho liad departed some weeks previously, to be present at the " Easter doings," as tliey profanely called them. " Why should we not go too ?" said I. My friend looked me full in the face and did not burst out laughing. The bold proposition had been made ; there was no beating about the bush, or leading up to a point. All we had to do Avas to " hark back," and deliberately see what tlie proposition was worth. We had both, strange to say, a little spare money ; we could both get away for a month ; we had both been working very hard ; and we both wanted a holiday. Before Ave rose from dinner our minds were made uji ; and tlu*ee days after- Avards — it Avas on a Saturday morning, I remem- ber — Ave started. It Avas the daA' of the Oxford and Cambrido;e boat-race, and London had put on that indescrib- ably jolly appearance it ahvays Avears on this most eA*entful occasion. The sun shone brilliantly ; the streets Avere clean and bright; CA'cryone looked, and I am sure Avas, happy. We Avere going hj the midday mail, and this fact alone prevented our seeing the race. AnyhoAV, just before arriA*- ing at the London-Bridge terminus, Ave stopped an enthusiastic and jovial-looking cabman, from Avhose Avhip waved, somcAvhat defiantly, as Ave thouo;ht, a stream of dark-blue ribbon. JVo. 36,504. 119 " Who lias ^yoll ?" we asked in one breatli. '' Hoxfut, sir !" he answered. I immediately threw him a half-crown, and gave a loud yell of delight. Both cabmen naturally thought me mad, and perhaps I was so for the moment. My friend was pleased, but unfortu- nately he is not given to exhibit such frantic de- monstrations of joy as I occasionally indulge in. He checked my enthusiasm, and remonstrated with me for my extravagance. " If you intend to throw your half-crowns away in this manner, old fellow," he said, " we shall have to remain in Rome until a kind and generous public releases us fi-om our captivity." " Bother your lectures !" I replied; " you know exactly how much money I've got, and you will have to bring me back somehow or other." I then reminded him that Oxford had won, and the reminder had the effect of cheering him up a bit, and eventually he got into the train in almost as excited a frame of mind as his friend. We were intensely merry all the way to Bou- logne, and intensely sleepy from there to Paris. Our one night in Paris was not a hai^py one. The hotel we intended to stay at was full ; and, like sleepy idiots that we were, we intrusted our- selves to the tender mercies of a cocher, who pro- mised to find us a comfortal)le little apartment. Directly the door opened, and the sleepy, dirty, 120 The Savage- Cluh Papers. unwholesome-looking garcon tm'necl out of bed to admit us, Ave saw that we were '' in for it." Our lu£:o:ao;c M'as on the floor, and there was no retreating. AVe made a faint attempt at backing out, and looked at one another miserably. But we did not succeed, and suffered accordingly. 0, the agonies of that night ! Well, never mind ; it was but for one night, and we bore our trial braveh-. The happiness of the morning certainly put to flight the miseries we had endured. It was Palm-Sunday : the sun was still shining, and the folks were looking, as they ahvays do in Paris on a Sunday, supremely hajipy. We walked up through an ayenue of box-branches to hear mass at the Madeleine, which was crammed as usual ; chairs, as they always are, higgledy-piggledy ; the same trampling, squeaking, orderly confusion, deyotion, grandeur, and solemnity ; the same graye-looking pompier with the same eternal cry, ^' Les deniers de St. -Pierre! Les deniers de St.- Pierre .^" \{q were to start by the night-express for Marseilles. The day was to be spent in idly loi- tering on the Boulevards ; driving to the Bois ; eating, drinking, smoking, and anticipating. In the coiu-se of the afternoon our attention was drawn to a huge placard, posted on a dead "wall near the Porte St.-Martin. A mii^htv lot- iVb. 36,504. 121 ierj was in progress, and tlie list of subscribers was to close that niglit. Tlie drawing was fixed for an early day in April — in fact, tlie day after that which was to be devoted to Paris again on our return journey. The first prize was to be 30,000 francs, and the poster looked bold and very tempting. I stood before the placard, and read it again and again. " What an exti'aordinary fellow you are !" said my friend ; " have you not done reading that non- sense yet ?" " I should like to have a chance in this lot- tery," said I. " What nonsense I Come along, do." " I don't intend to stir till I have read the bill ao-ain. Let me see. I must take down the address." I noted it in my pocket-book : ISTo. — Eue St.-Honore. " Now I am ready," I con- tinued. " Remember, before we dine, we go to No. — Eue St.-Honore, and take tickets." " What is the use of throwing away three fi'ancs ?" said my economical Mentor. " That's my business, cimico mio,'^ I replied ; *'you know how awfully obstinate I am. Don't say any more about the matter. I intend to go in for the lottery." We left the tempting placard and went on our way. At five o'clock we found ourselves in a 122 The Savage-Cluh Papers. comfurtaLle little restaui'ant about half ■way up on the left-hand side of the Palais Royal. We had just taken our seats when something seemed to "vvhisper in my car, " The Lottery !" '' Confound it, yes, I forgot !" said I to my astonished companion. " The Lottery ! We have not been to the Rue St.-Honore, and I have not subscribed." " Why of coui'se not. You never intended it seriously, did you?" " Most assuredly," I added ; " and, as a proof of my sincerity, here goes. Order the dinner, there's a good fellow. I shall be wretched if I do not gratify this whim of mine." My friend burst out laughing, and I hurried off to the Rue St.-Honore. In about a quarter of an hour I returned with two tickets. I was only just in time ; if I had waited till dinner was over, it would have been too late. " There, you ungrateful monster !" said I, throwing over a ticket to my friend, ^'^ that's my present to yoiu* wife. And that reminds me that you promised to write a line to that estimable lady from Paris, and you have never done so. You must write before we start to-night." Honestly, I wanted an excuse to write a letter myself. Not to my wife, because I did not own such a luxury, but to somebody who well, never No. 36,504. 123 mind — I wanted to Avrite, and that is sufficient reason to give. My virtuous speech took effect ; and after dinner the garcon was requested to bring us pens, ink, and ])aper. My friend wrote a few hurried lines, and en- closed them in an envelope to the worthy lady, who was mourning her dear husband's absence in a very cosy little house in Kensington. I also wrote a few lines. The letter was short, pithy, and I think would have been considered startling bv my excellent companion, if he had chanced to look over my shoulder and read it. I also enclosed the letter in au envelope, which was directed to a cer- tain Miss , who of course was crying her eyes out because Arthur was not there to take her for a turn in the Park, and wishing in her heart that the time had come for her to be travellino; anywhere with him instead of with "that stupid Mr. ." In the letter was fiu'ther enclosed the lottery-ticket, and its introduction necessitated a short and playful postscript. The number of the ticket was 36.504. We posted the letters with om' own hands, and at eight o'clock precisely we were tucked up in a delicious coupe ; and, with cigars in our mouths, and half-a-dozen bottles of Bock beer under the seat of the carriage, we whizzed out of the rail- way station en route for Marseilles. There is no need to describe this aAvfulIv te- 124 '^^^^ Savage- Club Papers. dious joui'ncy, ■uliicli keeps one a prisoner in a close railway carriage from eight o'clock in the evening until long past twelve on the following morning. We drank and smoked, and were hot and cold ; and got out when there was " dix mi- niiits cVarrety'' and stretched our legs, and drank coffee, and no doubt looked as we felt — very mise- rable. However, the morning came at last. There- was no more cruel opening of carriage-doors, let- ting in cold blasts of night wind, and disturbing my friend's dreams of Mrs. and the cosy es- tablishment at Kensington, and my dreams of Miss and the future cosy establishment at — any- where you like. The morning broke, and the sun rose over the vine-covered hills. We boug-ht oranges at " Orange," and enjoyed them. Wo saw the peasants going to work, and still we whizzed along. Tlie day wore on, and we smelt sea breezes. My friend roused me from a dull, stupid sort of sleep, and I saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean sparkling in the sunlight. At last we arrived at Marseilles. We felt gritty and uncomfortable, and we looked at our unshorn, seedv countenances in a glass in the station wait- ing-room, and Avere horrified. A delicious bath at the hotel, a shave at the barber's, and a not im- weleome breakfjist, soon put us straight again ; and in less than an hour and a half after our arrival we were on the top of the fortifications just outside No. 36,504. 125 the town, counting the white-sailed ships, and looking out to sea. It was very hot that day in Marseilles, but ex- tremely pleasant. I think I saw a representative of every nation imder heaven. We saw all that could be seen of Marseilles in a very fcAv hours ; went dow^n to the quay ; found the P. & 0. steamer not Avithout much difficulty ; saw our berths — luckily in a small cabin together ; and went back to dinner. A fresh breeze sprang up as the moorings w^ere loosened ; and at about half-past eight o'clock the famous steamer Capitole cut her way in and out of the huge vessels that surromided her, and the grand Avliite city of Marseilles, faded away in the moonlight. The Avaking-up the next morning in our very diminutive cabin off the saloon of the Capitole was certainly not a pleasant operation. The French sailors sternly refused to give us a sousing by the paddle-wheel at daybreak. "We went back to bed again, and then I began to be conscious of the disagreeable motion of the vessel. I broke into a cold perspiration. Tlie steward came in, bringing with him a pestilential odour of garlic, and that quite jfinished me. I will not enter into details. Suffice it to say that I could not eat any breakfast, but l3y half-past ten o'clock was on the deck as jolly as ever I was in my life. 126 Tlie Savage- Club Papers. And now I must digress a little, and depart slightly from tlie purely personal nature of this narrati^-e. We had an adventiu'e on board. No, young ladies, it was not a romantic one ; and had nothing whatever to do with sentiment, or any- thing akin to it. I certainly don't know what might have haj)pened if the journey from Marseilles to Civita Vecchia had been longer than it really was. Moonlioht on the Mediterranean is not al- together to be sneered at by people of an enthu- siastic nature ; and when to this is added a cigar in a quiet corner by the comj^ass, enjoyed by a young and susceptible male passenger, and moon- light reflections, enjoyed by a young and extremely beautiful female passenger in another corner not many yards distant ; and when tlie said male pas- senger amuses himself by ever and anon whistling, and sino-ino; in a low and sweet tenor voice snatches from German love-songs, and the female passenger amuses herself by taking up the air in a pure and silvery soprano, supplying all deficiencies, and co- quettislily suggesting new melodies for rehearsal, — one hardly knows what the consequences might have been. Luckily, the journey from Marseilles to Civita Vecchia affords no opportunity for the repetition of such charming little scenes as these. As I said before, the adventure has nothing to do with romance. We were all sittino; over the saloon dinner-table after dinner on oui* first N'o. 36,504. 127 daj on board the Capitole. The conversation hap- pened to turn upon the beauty and value of coins belonging to various nations. Indeed, I think it was suggested bj an old spade-guinea I wore on mv own watch-chain, to which a vouno- Italian seemed to take an immense fancy. An American gentleman, sitting at the top of the table — not at all a bad sort of fellow, fuU of anecdote and fun, and with a poor sick wife wrajiped up almost life- less on deck, which she never seemed to leave- morning, noon, or night throughout the joui'ney — instantly capped all that had been previously said^^ and put in the shade everything which had been shown by the production of a noble coin. It was a Spanish doubloon. The doubloon was passed round the table for inspection. I looked at it and admired it like the rest, and having sufficiently praised its beauty, passed it on. Some time elapsed^ and I thought little more of the American gentle- man or his doubloon. I vras the first to rise from the table, "\\-ith my friend, both of us being anxious to get out of the stuffy saloon, and enjoy the fresh air and a cigar on deck. I was just going out of the saloon, when I was stopped by the voice of our lively American friend. " I beg yom- pardon," he said, " for stopping you ; but have you accidentally kept possession of my doubloon?" H 128 The Savage- Cliih Papers. " Kept your doubloon !" I said, rather irritated, for I must own that I am rather of a touchy dis- position. " Certainly not. I passed it on when I had examined it." " Well, it is very extraordinary. It has never got back to me. I thought that you had still got it, and were talking about it to your friend." Tliis was serious and annoying, and we all put ■our heads together and tried to solve the difficulty. The gentleman next me remembered passing it on distinctly, and so did the next, and next. In fact, all between me and the American c;entleman re- membered, or thought they remembered, something about its return journey. No, I am wrong in say- ing all ; there was one who remembered nothing whatever, and who seemed rather obstinate in his determination not to think, or try to think, anything about it. He was an exceedingly gentlemanly and rather distinguished-looking man, evidently a Frenchman. He had told us previously that he lived in Paris, and was on his way to Rome to fetch his daughter home after the Easter festivities. Well, the doubloon could not be found. Its owner seemed annoyed, as he valued the coin, not from its worth, but from certain associations con- nected with it, and the difficulty of replacing it in the country to which he was going. One of the passengers — an ill-bred Irishman, I think he was — made rather a disagreeable speech, of that un- JS^o. 36,504. 129 comfortable uatm-e that it can hardly be regarded as a joke or resented as an insult, connecting me with the loss of the doubloon, it having last been seen in my possession. This made me more touchy than ever. I proposed that we should all turn out our pockets. I put the proposition delicately; imply- ing, of course, that if anyone had pocketed the doubloon, it had been done rather accidentally than fraudulently. My pro])osition was agreed to — no, not unanimously. Several pockets were immediately turned out. There was, however, one dissenting voice to my plan. The gentle- manly Frenchman refused to turn out his pockets. He rose from the table, made the most elegant bow in the world, and left the saloon. We all looked at one another in blank astonish- ment. We did not know what to do or say. A liundred different plans of action were proposed and negatived. The American gentleman said he did not want to make a fiiss about the matter, and hinted that he would rather bear his loss and dis- appointment quietly than that there should be a disturbance and expose. He entreated that we would think no more about the matter. We promised to comply with his request as far as possible. And so we all went on deck ; but, to tell the truth, throughout that e-s'ening we gave the gen- 130 Tlie Savaqe-Cluh Papers. tlemanly Froiicliman a very -wide Ijcrtli indeed. He sle])! ill the next cabin to ours ; and my friend, not ^visliing to be robbed or assaulted in the night, barricaded our door, and took all his valuables to bed with him. "When ^\G were assembled at breakfast the next mornino-, the Frenchman entered the saloon. He bowed politely, as usual, and took his seat Math "the utmost calmness. The men all looked steadily into their plates, and the women instinctively got closer to their husbands. Breakfast was nearly over when the steward entered and Avhispered a few words to the captain. The cajitain proclaimed order, and in a neat little French speech, announced that one of the at- tendants in sweeping out the saloon had found a piece of money. "Gentlemen," lie said, "has anything been lost?" " What is it ?" we asked in one breath. Tlie captain rose and held up the money be- tween his finger and thumb. It was the Spanish doubloon ! There was a general exclamation of surprise expressed in a variety of languages. None of us could help looking at the Frenchman. He returned the gaze boldly, smiled, and went on eating. I beo-an to think the Frenchman had been Xo. 36,504. 131 treated badly, and from the first had strongly- objected to inculpate him on such hasty evidence. His face was too good, I said, for a dishonest man. I therefore entered into conversation with him ; and just before the general move took place, I purposely asked him in a very loud voice, and obviously in extremely bad French, the following rather bold question : " Would you mind telling its, sir, why you refused to turn out your pockets last night ?" " I have no objection whatever," he answered. He made no reply, but fumbled in his waist- coat-pocket ; and then he stretched out his arm and held up — Another Spanish doubloon ! He was a quiet unostentatious man was this Frenchman, and not fond of bhister. Had lie produced the doubloon at the time of the general inspection of coins, there would have been no difficultv at all about the matter. As it was, his simplicity was very nearly the means of getting him into a very serious scrape. "We all tendered him the most abject apologies, and told him very frankly what we had thought about his conduct on the previous evening. He laughed most of all at my description of my com- panion's terror, and his precaution in barricading the door, and reposing on a nubbly watch-chain. We found out the Frenchman was a great swell in 132 llie Savage- Club Papers. his way — a rich banker in Paris. Wc Lecame very great friends after this, and took excursions together in and about Rome. His daughter "was the most charming girl in the workl ; and I could write a good deal if I chose about a certain midnight journey to the Colosseum. The moon shone brilliantly, and its rays lighted the simple cross in the centre of this magnificent ruin. Simple Christians came and kissed the cross, and prayed and knelt where many a Clu-istian before them has prayed and bled. We sat together in a dark recess, and watched the torches passing along the moss-grown and treacherous galleries. I daresay we talked a gi-eat deal of nonsense ; but it was a charming scene. Yes, we saw Rome. At least we saw enoueh of it to make us long to go again and see more ; and we drank of the waters of a certain mysterious fountain, which Avill send us back some day or other, whether wo wish it or not. We saw the Pantheon, and the Dying Gladiator, and St. Peter's, and St. Paid's extra muros, and the Cata- combs, and picture-galleries, and Tivoli, and the Capitol, and the Formii, and Pincio ; and many, very many more things we both saw and heard, which quite persuaded us that we had gone on no fool's errand. Before our month was over, we had not only No. 36,504. 133 done all this, but had rim through Pisa, tliree gal- leries and ever so many churches in Florence ; and seen — ye^, Milan Cathedral, from the top of the roof to the smallest chapel on the basement, to say nothing of Leonardo da Vinci's " Last Supper," which, by the bye, is crumbling to pieces in a most untidy and disgraceful Italian barrack-room. Tempora mutantur. What would Leonardo da Vinci, or any of his holy companions, think of tho change that has taken place in their old refectory ? They would hear strange sounds there now, and be shocked at the wild songs rino-ino; now and then through the walls wliich once echoed to their simple monkish grace. Our holiday was a bright and a short one. We were di'agged up to the summit of the Mont- Cenis pass in a diligence to which sixteen mules- were yoked, and were boisterously tumbled down the other side in odd uncomfoi'tablc sledo-es. It was great fun ; orily I was an obstinate enthusiast^, and insisted on going outside instead of inside the sledge. I got nearly frozen to death for my pains. In Paris we arrived again only too soon. Our money was almost gone ; but after a great deal of difficulty I persuaded my fi-iend to stay a day or two longer, to be present at the first night of a thrilling melodrama at the Porte St. -Martin. My friend yawned through Le Capitcdne Fantome; and he chuckled immensely when a little French 134 The Savage-Cluh Papers. ' bookseller — a irreat friend of mine — told us next morning, -with the usual shrug of the shoulders, " Messieurs, c'est une chute /" Be this as it maj, the melodrama excited me enormously ; but, then, the worst-written piece on a Parisian stage and acted by Parisian actors has a similar eiFect upon me. On the last night in Paris, just as I had put out my candle and jumped into bed, I remembered we had forgotten a most important thing. We had made no inquiries about the lottery, or the successful numbers. We were to start the next morning the very first thing. I knew Parisians are early about ; and I contrived, before it was time to drive off to the station, to go round to the Rue St.-Honore and see if my curiosity could be gratified. A large placard stared me full in the face. Some won- derful hitch had occm-red, and the drawing would not take place for another week. I communi- cated this intelligence to my unexcitable friend. " You've been swindled, old fellow," he said. And then we went back to London. All was soon pretty much as it was befoi-e ; but somehow or other I could not get the lottery out of my head. The hero of the doubloon adventure on board the steamer had given me his address in Paris, and I had promised to write to him, and, moreover, yo. 36,504. 135 never fail to look him up whenever I Iiappened to be there again. He has a daughter, and I mean to keep my Avord. I wrote to my friend, on the sly, on A'arious topics, asked him to get me some books I had forgotten to buy, and casually I introduced the subject of the lottery. I wrote about it in a light, distrustful sort of manner, never hintino- that I was in the least interested in the matter, and laying all the blame on a jeicne demoiselle. He did not answer my letter for some time, and in my heart I began to abuse my friend. At last an answer came fidl of charming gossip, and with it my books ; a remembrance from himself, and a little cadeau from his daughter.- There was a postscript to the letter. It ran as follows : " I had almost forgotten to tell you about the lottery. It was a genuine affair after all, and the successful numbers were announced at least three weeks ago. The most curious part of the matter is that the holder of the winning number has not yet presented his or her ticket ! The prize for 30,000 francs has been drawn by No. 36,504." 36,504! Was I dreaming? I rushed out of my chambers, hailed a cab, and drove to a little bit of a house, in which resided a certain vouno; lady wdio has been alluded to before in this history. Happily she was at home. Any obstacle to 136 The Savage- Cluh Papers. one in nij then excited state would have been dangerous. Downstairs she came, surprised, and of course highly gratified, at seeing me at such an unusual hour. '' Lily," I said, " wlicre is the lottery-ticket T sent you from Paris ?" " Lottery ticket ! Ah ! yes, I had almost for- gotten it. I gave it to papa to keep safely." '' Where is papa?" " Gone out. He will not be back till very late this evening;." " ^Vhat was the number of the ticket?" ^' Let's see — I don't remember ; but I can tell you though. I Avrote it down in my diary." '' Kun up and see, there's a darling !" Upstairs she ran, and downstairs she came again. She popped her head saucily into the door, and, with the prettiest smile in the world, said : " Now, Mr. Excitable ! No. 36,504 !" I 2;ave a great scream of deli o-lit. "Lily! you little pet," I said; "come and give me a great big kiss. You have won about 1,250^." The poor child was almost frantic. I never remember having been so excited. We parted in the highest spirits, and I arranged to come over the next day and get the ticket, in order to send No. 36,504. 137 it to my friend in Paris, ^Yllo would, of coui'se, take the necessary steps for transmitting me the money. In the course of the next afternoon I received a telegram from Kensington. Tliis is what it ^aid : ^^ Come here at once. Papa can't find the ticket." It was only too true. Extra caution was in this case, as it frequently is in many others, a dismal failure. The ticket could not be found anywhere. The old gentleman had hidden it away in a book, and he imagined he could have put his hand upon it at any moment Avith his eyes shut. The house was turned topsy-turvy ; every hole and corner was searched ; the dust- bin was emptied, and the dust-heap in the con- tractor's yard carefully overhauled. For days and days the search was kept up, but no ticket was to be found. I stated the whole case to my friend in Paris, sent over the diary as conclusive evidence, and certainly did expect that this would have had some weio-lit Avith the manao-ers of the lottery. But they were inexorable. Their rules Were clear and distiiict on the point. No money was to be paid except on the production of the ticket. AJl hope was therefore lost. We bore our disappointment as best we could. Lily left off lamenting, I recovered my temper, 138 The Savage- Club Papers. the old gentleman ceased to overwlielui us ^yitll apologies, and the matter by general consent was allowed to drop. Six months after this I was in tlie old o-entle- man's study one Sunday evening, smoking and chatting with him, Lily was on the opposite side of the fireplace, listening very attentively, joining sometimes in the conversation, and bestowino; on me every now and then a very sweet look. A quotation was wanted from Shakspeare. I got up, referred to the Shakspeare, looked out the quotation, and was about to put the book back on the shelf again. I was stopped by Lily. " Give me tliat book," she said ; " the idea of papa allowing a nice bound book like this to remain with a dirty brown-holland cover on it ! I intend to take it off." She took the scissors from her work-box and ripped off tlie cover. A small scrap of })aper fluttered to her feet. It Avas the lottery-ticket ! We all looked at one another. We could not speak. Lily was beginning to get excited again, but the excitement died away when I read aloud the printed notice on its back. " No prize will be paid except on the produc- tion of the ticket, or after three mo]iths from the date of the publication of the winning numbers." We all bemoaned our di'cadful ill-luck, but, ^'^0. 36,504- 139 like true j)hilosopliers, did not griimble. It is really 110 use crying over spilt milk. I was remindino- Lilv of tins story only the other day. We have a little house and a fireside of our own now, and I am allowed to smoke by it in the evenino;. In all other matters I srot di'eadfully bullied. I began pietm-ing to her what might have happened if we had had fortune with us. She came over from her side of the fire and kissed me. And then she whispered ^"cry prettily in my ear : " Perhaps if we had found the ticket and got the 1,250?. we should not have been as happy as we are." tdf Skull Coblct. A STOP^ OF CHRISTMAS-EYE. By T. H. ESCOTT. ,T was about six o'clock on tlie evening of tlie 24tli of December 186 — , the remark- able occm-rences of wliicli it is now my piu'pose to relate as circmnstautially and as accm'atclj as I am able, that, after a hard day's hunting, we found ourselves riding up the fine old elm-tree a^'enue in front of Hatherton Hall. There were four of us ; and neither we, nor, I daresay, our horses, who had done their work famously, were by any means sorry to see the friendly lights shine out on us through the frosty air from the staircase windows in the old Eliza- bethan mansion. '' I expect," said Hatherton, our host, the young owner of the Hall, just before we drew up under the archway, " that we shall find my mother and sisters have already set off for the Main- waring's ball ; you knoAv they said that they should most likely avail themselves of their invi- The Skull Goblet. 143 tation to dine there before the dance, leaving ns, after a cozy dinner to oiu'selves, to follow them in the brougham — that is to say, if you care about going. I forewarn you, however, that I think the ball is likely to be a terribly dull affair, and you will have a surfeit of such dissipation next week. But the best j)lan is to dine first, and then we can see how we feel about it." I don't think that there is any hour in the day so exquisitely delightful as that Avliich one devotes to one's dinner toilet, after ha^ang had a hard run, wath a capital scent, over a not less capital comitry. It is of course important tliat there should be no hurry or bustle ; one must not be staying with those terribly punctual people who sit down to table without allowino; one a minute's law ; but with sensible, easy-going hosts, who give one a liberal margin for ever}^ meal. With the curtains drawn, the fire brightly blazing in the grate, the arm-chair placed close up to it, on which one can sink down and take off one's boots at one's leisure, with possibly the accom- paniment of a glass of Madeira to brace one's nerves up to the pitch necessary for the exer- tion of dressing, a sense of contrast to the cold bleak air without is afforded which is simply de- licious. And then the more substantial pleasm^es of the dinner-table, the cheerful faces, the conver- sation over the day's events, the laughter, and the 144 T]i<^ Savage- CUd) Pajyers. jokes — all these go no inconsiderable way towards making one feel that, in spite of c^-nicism, the world is by no means as bitter and as empty as it is sometimes painted. NcA-er did I more keenh- appreciate these de- lights than on that memorable evenino; : and as we were seated at dinner in the comfortable, well- lighted, oak-panelled dining-room of Hatherton Hall, it would haA-e been difficult to have found a merrier i)arty. We had all been at Christ Chui'ch together — indeed Mehille and myself had but just taken our degrees, and Hatherton and Elwall had only left about a year since to enter the army, and were at present in the same regiment. " Well," said our host, when the dessert was on the table, and the old butler had. left the room, ''what do you fellows say — shall we go to this place to-night or not ? We have a capital excuse if you don't feel inclined — fatigued after the day's exertions — dull, unfit for society, and so on." " Not a bad idea," said Melville ; " and now that I do think about it, I'm afraid we are none of us quite up to making om-selves as agreeable as A^■e ought. Eh, Elwall, what do you say ?" Whatever we might say, there was no doubt about what we really thought ; and so it was at once decided that wc should abandon all thouo-hts of the ball, and sit up for the ladies to bid them u merry Christmas when they returned. The Skull Goblet. 145 '' Barnes," said Hatlierton, when the old butler made his appearance in answer to a ring at the bell, " let them know at the stables that we sha'n't want the brougham to-night ; bring up a bottle of the old port — the yellow seal, you know — and let the coffee be ready in half an hour. — I'm going to show you what ' the family port,' as I call it, is like. My father prided himself on it not a little, I assure you ; and it has to my knowledge been in the cellar for twenty years." '^ Tlie family port" was quite as good as we had been led to expect, and under its generous influence our hearts began rapidly to unfold. We talked over the days we had had at Christ Church together, how we had been " nailed" by the Proc- tor for our tandem at the Abingdon Gate, and a host of other such reminiscences and stories. " I tell you what," was our host's remark, as we were sijjping our coffee, " we will go into my study and smoke ; it's far snugger than the bil- liard-room, and everything is ready for us there." Why Hatlierton should speak of the apart- ment in question by the name of study, it might perhaps bo difficult to say, for few rooms could well have borne smaller indications of studious habits. It was a room of tolerable size, rather low perhaps, oak-panelled tlu'oughout, and hav- ing its sides decorated with a goodly stock o guns, hunting-whips, stags' antlers, fox brushes I 146 The Savage- Cluh Papers. pistols, a few admirable hunting sketches painted in oils, and with many other ornaments significant rather of sporting than of strictly studious tastes. Very comfortable indeed was its appearance as wc! entered it. It was essentially a bachelor's sanctum. And this brief description will convey perliaps a more satisfactory idea of its comfort than any other word that could be used. A box of Hudson's best regalias lay on the table ; a cou})le of bottles of Burgundy, which Hatherton assured us were close relations to the port that we had previously taken, were ordered up ; and we soon became convinced that wc had pursued the only proper course in not going to the Maiu- warings' I)all. "One's never up for dancing and ball-room attentions after a hard day's hunting, such as we've had," said Hatherton. But, however imfit wc might have been for the more severe amenities of society, we were undoubtedly in precisely that frame of mind which is necessary for thorough self-enjoyment. The fire burnt clearly, and the rare old Burgmidy, as we quaffed it with laughing lips, seemed to lauoh at us alaces and among all sorts of people ; and I have this remark to make with regard to it generallv — that it must be a great Siveetlieart'mff. r6r happiness to be young and eligible at a time when the girls are so remarkably pretty. In this pre- sent generation we seem to have cultivated varie- ties of pretty girls as industriously as we have cultivated varieties of pretty flowers. Love's gar- den in my young days had but a pretty flower here and there ; now it is blooming all o^scr. Looking on, then, at sweethearting in the highest circles — I know a lord and a lady or two, but I am not bragging of it — I am inclined to think that sweethearting among the aristocracy is somewhat cold and formal. The plu'ases of the fashionable intelligencer convey a pretty accu- rate idea of the cold and placid way in which the course of loA^e runs in those channels. A mar- riage is ^'' arrangecV between the noble marquis and the lovely and accom^ilished Lady So-and-so. Tlie noble marquis " leads her ladyship to the hjaneneal altar." I am afraid that the arrange- ment is made rather hiu'riedly sometimes; that there is not much preliminary flirtation ; that there is little love-letter writing. The noble mar- quis is on the look-out for a wife ; he sees a young- lady of his own class whom he likes, loves per- haps. The yomig lady likes him ; j)erliaj)s does not love him desperately as yet, but sees no rea- son why she should not when she knows more of him. But etiquette and the exigencies of fash- ionable society demand that the matter should be i62 Tlte Savage- Cluh Papers. bronglit to tlic point at once. Young ladies of the fasliionablc world count their years and opportuni- ties by " seasons." There are other young ladies of the family waiting to push their way into the matrimoniqil market, and every new season has a new crop of belles. And so the noble marquis and her ladyship are hurried to St. George's Hanover-square, after a brief courtship, which has afforded them no time or scope for the de- lights of sweethearting. I don't say that their marriages are less happy on this account ; but I do tliink it very hard that custom should deprive men and women, whatever their rank in life, of a fair opportunity of tasting the choicest sweets of existence at the very time when they have a tooth and a palate for them. Tlic middle classes imitate the practice of the aristocracy without having the same reason for it. More time is given for sweethearting, it is true, but the " parties" must be engaged at the begin- ning of it ; and they cannot change their minds without a scandal, the intervention of a big bro- ther, or an aj^pcal to the law. The middle-class young man must not show a liking for a young lady's society unless he be prepared to make her a promise of marriage. Write something in her album, hand her into the brougham, show a de- sire to sit next her, simply because you like her sprightly conversation, and it becomes a serious Sweetliearting. 163 matter on tlie instant. Up comes papa or mamma and says solemnly, " What are your intentions, young man?" And if you declare that you have no intentions, they come down upon you with — "Then how dare you trifle with my daughter's affections ?" It appears to me tliat the sweetliearting which goes on among the lower classes is the most na- tural, the most pleasant, and, on the whole, the most innocent. I refer to what is called " keeping company " — the loves of the shop-lad and the milliner's girl, the journeyman carpenter and the housemaid, the greengrocer's man and the cook. They have their Sundays out and their periodical holidays, and away they go, dressed in all their best, to Greenwich, and Richmond, and Hampton Court. And they romp, and run, and play at kiss-in-the-ring, and feast mirthfully on tea and shrimps in green arbom's, where each young man sits with his arm round each young woman's waist. It is all perfectly natural and unrestrained here, and yet in all essential respects quite as proper as in the sphere where there is a stiff, starched, cal- culating mamma to drench human natm'e Avith the cold water of etiquette. Young men and young women of this class enjoy a good deal of sweet- hearting before they finally make up their minds to get married. It is entirely their own affair. K 1 64 The Savacje- Club Papers. There is no society to frown at them ; and they follow the dictates of their own natural inclina- tions. Of course I am supposing that, they are honest men and women ; and I believe there is as much honesty and virtue in this class as in any other. There would be more, if masters and mis- tresses were more thoughtful, more kind, and more reasonably indulgent. " No followers al- lowed" is the most senseless, cruel, mischievous law in the code of society. We say to our ser- vant girls, ^' You must live in our lower pre- mises and do our work ; you shall have so much a year in wages and your food ; but you cannot be permitted to indulge your natural affections. Neither your father nor your mother, your sister nor your brother, your cousin nor your sweet- heart, must come near the house of your bondage." This is cruel and selfish in the last degree ; and if the regulation is enforced in the interests of morality, it is a stupid mistake. The effect is just the contrary. Imprisoned birds, when they get free, are apt, in their headlong flight, to dash themselves ao;ainst the first wall that comes in their way. I believe I am the horror of all my neighbours becauso I allow my servant girls to have their sweethearts in to tea occasionally. But I have never had a servant leave me except to get married. I have no trouble wuth them. The}" do their work cheerfully ; they seldom want to go out; Sioeethearting. 165 and when tliey do go out for a holiday, they return at a proper hour, generally escorted to the door by a sweetheart or relation, who is perfectly well known to me. Why should not Molly have her sweetheart as well as the misses above stairs ? She has the same heart and the same woman's destiny as they have. This is a matter of the highest im- portance ; and I believe that if masters and mis- tresses were more indulgent to their servants, and more reasonable in their treatment of them in this regard, a great step woidd be gained towards the solution of a social problem which has hitherto appeared utterly hopeless. On the whole, I am disposed to think that all classes of society would be happier and more virtuous, if they were left more at liberty to pursue an unrestrained course in all affairs of the heart and sympathies. Early P AYS. C. FURTADO. riANOFOnTE. --' Andante mosso. -P ^=mi^:^^ tJt, 'I I -^= -«- -t- -»- m -S' "*' - ^ - > - - S" ih^T^ ^:^ =^1 Yon ru3 - tic cot was '-m^s^^^^^^E^- ^ . 3^= £^ ^— =• once ray home : Tempted, a - las ! for wealth to roam m^vri -A^^^m^^^m. -^^- -jd^z^'ti e£ From thy dear wood - land side, . I gaze up - on thy ^^ ^1?^ -jT-.- A. Thompson del. W. Thomas sc. Early Days. 169 ^^^tE^^ m^m^^^^m :t2=f: crys - tal stream, Whose sun - ny banks of mos - sy green Re ^. ^ IZt b^ P ,> r i -L-lr trr-f-rtn: E?E5^EE -O-fc: fe3iE^=5^^^ii^pEa^gii proach my fool - ish pride, [ ^^^^ lie -proach my fool - ish E^=^ — m-« :^ 1 1 ' — • --^-^^' J^-L :^=^= SEH^HgnSEF pride. - b ^""^ :ei ^ * ^ =fefc E^I^^E :l:i _L_L r^^^^ ^ I/O Earhj Daijs. I ^i^^S l^^ s^e^ tS. ^^^^ Oft in my dreams my fan cy free. S?^ 3^ 1=q=^n-1--T-r— |- 1 A — ^ -4 1— I 1- =r^ -L— !-• ^•— 1 1 ! I -It- -t^ — r • m -i: r • r • i^-=ft 7= X f— lv= — ^ --= r Pic - tures the dance be neath yon tree, i^=^ El^E3' ^gi^^ gi :y2- i^e -^ — zt^ Un - der whose lea fy boughs ^^^^^P^P^i^^^^^ ]\Iy M^ 5^ ^ ^^=^ -rj^ P^ ^ 3EH* t^^f.'^^^' dar - ling Kate, with down - cast eyes, Ee %^^!^^^^^ m . V :b=.*=I=t::rtr=tni=:=«lzc: ,^^^ T • i m w ^iEI^^^EiES, J^: EarJij Days. 171 ifl^^i 11 spond - ed to my ar dent sighs, And ^^1j=3« J^ --fac: -_9H7- ^ i^gi s==^=s£ blest my ear - _ ly vows, . . And sF=3- ^^^^^ .=.3.- I^ZZTT^; I-*- I ^•*.-. -^-^ *> ^ -9- "-m" . 1 IN E?^3r i /TS S^it ie=i blest my car ly vows. :2— Jt 3^^3^^P,^^^^^g^t ^pfe -g ^^^^^j^ji^i i^gg Mi 1 — h— I — — . — I — I — •-; — •-: — .• r^ Mfe^^ ^£EE£g^^ ztT e|e£ :q 172 JIlNOBK. Pia mnsso. !2.-«r.=:qc-^:S=V ^ ^ JEarli/ Days. Dance on, tliou mer - ry laugh - ing brook, |i^ --::f i=l :2^g^5^3^^=i *— ^ ^ ^^^=^- i: 1 1=1 re -it r:=rij: — **- iL — ^jj^_ — »— — — I ^ — I * ' F Bab-bling to shade and mos - sy nook, !te^ :::4= J— I fi=:t ■J- — — — I — - — —0^ -a- raU. un poco. '^^= ^- ^=g^:=5 E^^^^ h — 1\ P^ ~^^ Old friends of days gone by : 'zSE^^ One Ifei^ 3^S 15=^1? =s: m rail, un poco. gEE=i=-:=^ — (- 3eee: :^-n g^^^^l rfc; E!=?: ^Pk i last a - dien, legato. , niv heart is torn! i^ -P- 1 Early Days. ^7d, W ==- /r\ g=i=^gg ^=g^ :^ - lone, de-ject - ed, and for - lorn, I've ^^^^^^^^^0^W^ /7\ ^^ 5=zt ^ •wan - der'd here to die, I've wan - der'd here to hk. ^'±=^ ^=:l =1= vl^ _g=rp !i,_ -r-gr ^r=3= ng=^-r=^- "ir rail. 1- I -^E^ 3i^e: =^^ die. /)t"u lento. -t-^^^EEE^^^ -4-—^ — I — I — I — I 1 — , — I — — I — ^t=t= ^m—m- J: X=tr- -x.—~. ^ 5= S." =F=^ i4 I m r,^=c _J_X. £^ £2^gj ^§^SEE5Ep -i -p- THE TRIUMPH OF VICE. StjTaiiP Calf. B>j W. S. GILBERT. ^r^5;p7$^TIE wealthiest in tlio matter of charms, ' lil^ and the poorest in the matter of money, ) of all the •\vcll-born maidens of Tackle- •^=^^^^ sclilosstein, was the Lady Bertha. Her l)apa, the Baron von Klauffenbach, was indeed the fortunate possessor of a big castle on the top of a perpendicular rock, but his estate was deeply mortgaged, and there was not the smallest proba- bility of its ever being free from the influence of the local money-lender. Indeed, if it comes to that, I may be permitted to say, that even in the event of that wildly improbable state of things having come to pass, the amount realised by the sale of the castle and perpendicular rock would not have exceeded one hundred and eighty pounds sterlino;, all told. So the Baron von Klauffenbach did not even wear the outward show of being a wealthy man. The perpendicular rock being singularly arid and unproductive even for a rock, and the Baron Tlie Triumph of Vice. 175 being remarkably penniless e\'en for a Baron, it became necessary that he should adopt some de- cided course by which a sufficiency of bread, milk, and sauerkrout might be provided to satisfy the natural cravings of the Baron von Klauffenbach and that fine growing girl Bertha, his daughter. So the poor old gentleman was only too glad to let down his drawbridge eveiy morning, and sally forth fi-om his stronghold, to occupy a scrivener's stool in the office of the local money-lender to Avhom I have already alluded. In short, the Baron von Klauffenbach was a usurer's clerk. But it is not so much with the Baroii von Klauffenbach as with his beautiful dauohter Ber- tha that I have to do. I must describe her. She was a magnificent animal. She was six feet in height, and splendidly proportioned. She had a queenly face, set in masses of wonderful yellow hair; big blue eyes, and curly little mouth (but with thick firm lips), and a nose Avhich, in the mercantile plu'aseology of the period, defied com- petition. Her figure was grandly, heroically out- lined ; firm as marble to the look, but elastically yielding to the touch. Bertha had but one fault — she was astonishingly vain of her magnificent proportions, and held in the utmost contempt any- body, man or woman, who fell short of her in that resi^ect. She was the toast of all the young clerks of Tacklesclilosstein ; but all the young clerks of 1/6 The Savage- Cluh Papers. Tacklesclilosstcin were to the Lady Bertha aH so many midges to a giantess. Tliey annoyed lier, but they were not worth tlie trouble of deHberate annihihition. So they went on toasting her, and she went on scorning them. Indeed, the Lady Bertha had but one lover whose chance of success was worth the ghost of a halfpenny — and he was the Count von Krap- pentrapp. The Count von Krappentrapp had these pulls over the gay young clerks of Tackleschlos- stein — that he was constantly in her society, and was of noble birth. That he was constantly in her society came to pass in this wise. Tlie Baron von KlaufFenbach, casting about him for a means of increasing — or rather of laying the first stone towards the erection of — his income, published this manifesto on the walls of Tacldeschlosstein : " A nobleman and his daughter, having larger premises than they require, will be happy to re- ceive into their circle a young gentleman engaged in the village during the day. Society musical. Terms insignificant. Apply to the Baron von K., Post Office, Tacklcschlosstein." The only reply to this intimation came from the Count von Krappentrapp ; and the only objection to the Count von Krappentrapp was, that he was not engaged in the village during the day. But this objection was eventually overiniled by the Count's giving the Baron, in the handsomest The Tr'iumph of Vice. 177 manner in tlie world, his note of hand for ten pounds at six months' date, which was immedi- ately discounted by the Baron's employer. I am afraid that the Baron and the Count got dreadfully tipsy that evening. I know that they amused themselves all night by shying ink-bottles from the battlements at the heads of the people in the village below. It will easily be foreseen that the Count von Krappentrapp soon fell hopelessly in love with Bertha ; and those of my readers who are accus- tomed to the unravelling of German legendary lore will long ere this have made up their minds that Bertha fell equally hopelessly in love with the Count von Krapp6ntrapp. But in this last particular they will be entirely in error. So far from encoiu-aging the gay young Count, she re- garded him with feelings of the profoundest con- tempt. Indeed, truth compels me to admit that the Count was repulsive. His head was enorm- ous, and his legs were insignificant. He was short in stature, squab in figure, and utterly detestable in every respect, except in this, that he was always ready to put his hand to a bill for the advantage of the worthy old Baron. And whenever he obliged the Baron in this respect, he and the old gentleman used to get di'eadfully tipsy, and always spent the night on the battle- ments, throwing ink-bottles on the people in the 17^ The Savage- Cluh Papei's. village below. And whenever tlie Baron's trades- people in the village found themselves visited by a shower of ink-bottles, they knew that there was temporary corn in Egypt, and they lost no time in climbing up the perpendicular rock with their little red books "svith the gilt letters in their hands, ready for immediate settlement. It was not long after the Count von Krappen- trapp came to lodge with the Baron von Klauf- fenbach that the Count proposed to the Baron's daughter ; and in about a quarter of a minute after he had proposed to her, he was by her most un- equivocally rejected. Then he slunk oiF to his chamber, muttering and mouthing in a manner which occasioned the utni(3st consternation in the mind of Gretchen, the castle maid-of-all-work, who met him on his way. So she offered him a bottle of cheap scent and some peppermint drops ; but he danced at her in such a reckless manner Avhen she suggested these humble reft-eshments, that she ■went to the Baron and gave him a month's warning on the spot. Everything went wrong with the Count that day. Tlie window-blinds wouldn't pull up, the door wouldn't close, the chairs broke when he sat on them : and before half his annovances had ceased he had expended all the bad language he knew. The Count was conscientious in one matter ■only, and that was in the matter of bad language. The TriiimjyJi of Vice. K9 He made it a point of honour not to uso the same expletive twice in the same day. So when lie found that he had exhausted his stock of swearing, and that, at the moment of exhaustion, the chim- ney began to smoke, he simply sat down and cried feebly. But he soon sprang to his feet ; for in the midst of an unusually large puff of smoke he saw the most extraordinary being he had ever beheld. He was about two feet high, and his head was as long as his body and legs put together. He had an old antiquated appearance about him ; but, excepting that he wore a long stiff" tail, with a spear-point at the end of it, there was nothing absolutely unearthly about him. His hair, which i8o Tlie Savage-Cluh Papers. resembled the crest or comb of a cock in its ar- rangement, terminated in a cm'ious little queue, which turned up at the end, and was fastened with a bow of blue ribbon. Ho wore mutton- chop whiskers and a big flat collar, and his body and misshapen legs were covered with a horny incrustation which suggested black beetles. On his crest he wore a three-cornered hat — anticipating the invention of that article of costume by about three hundred years. " I beg your pardon," said this phenomenon, " but can I speak to you ?" " Evidently you can," replied the Count, whose confidence had returned to him. " ] know ; but what I mean is, will you listen to me for teu minutes ?" '' That depends very much upon what you talk about. Who are you ?" asked the Count. " I'm a sort of gnome." ''A 2;nome?'' "A sort of gnome; I won't enter into parti- culars, because they won't interest you." The apparition hesitated, evidently hoping the Count would assure him that any particulars of the gnome's private life would interest him deeply ; but he only said — <' Not the least bit in the world." " You are poor," said the gnome. "Very," replied the Count. TJie Triiunph of Vice. i8i "Ha," said he; "some people are. Now I am ricli." '■^ Are you?" asked the Count, beguming to take an interest in the matter. " I am, and would make you rich too ; only you must help me to a Avife." " What ! Repay good with evil ? Never !" He didn't mean this ; only he thought it was a smart thing to say. " Not exactly," said the gnome ; " I sha'n't give you the gold until you have found me the wife; so that I shall be repaying evil with good." "Yes," said the Count, musing; "I didn't look at it in that light at all. I see it quite from your point of view. But why don't you find a wife for yovirself ?" "Well," said the gnome diffidently, "I'm not exactly — you know — I'm — that is — I -\^'ant a word !" " Beastly ugly ?" suggested the Count. " Ye-e-es," said the gnome (rather taken a- aback) ; " something of that sort. Fc»?( know." "Yes, 1 know," said the Count; "but hoAv am I to help you ? I can't make you pretty." "No; but I have the power of transforming myself three times during my gnome existence into a magnificent young man." "O-h-h-h!" said the Count slyly. "Exactly. Well, I've done that twice, but L 1 82 llie Savarje-Cluh Papers. without success us far as regards getting a -wife. This is my last chance." ^^ But liow eun I help you ? You say you can change yourself into a magnificent young man ; then why not plead your own cause ? I, for my part, am rather — a — " " Eepulsive ?" suggested the gnome, thinking he had him there. '' Plain," said the Count. " Well," replied the gnome, " there's an unfor- tunate fact connected with my human existence." '' Out with it. Don't stand on ceremony." " "Well, then, it's this. I begin as a magnifi- cent yomig man six feet high, but I diminish im- perceptibly day by day, whenever I wash myself, mitil I shrink into the — a — the — the — " " Contemptible abortion?" ''A — yes — thank you — you see me. "WelL r^c tried it t^Yice, and I've found on each occa- sion a lovely girl who was willing and ready to marry me ; but dm*ing the month or so that elapsed between each engagement and the day appointed for the wedding, I shrunk so perceptibly (one is obhged, you know, to wasli one's face during coiu-tsliip), that my bride-elect became frightened and cried off. Now, I have seen the Lady Bertha,, and I am determined to marry her." '' You? Ha, ha ! Excuse me, but — Ha, ha I" '' Yes, I. But you will see that it is essential Tlie Tviumpli of Vice. 183 that as little time as possible should elapse between my introduction to her and our marriage." " Of course ; and you want me to prepare her to receive you, and marry you there and then, "without delay." ^' Exactly ; and if you consent, I will o;ive vou several gold-mines, and as many diamonds as you can carry." " You will ? My dear sir, say no more ! ' Re- venge ! revenge ! revenge ! Timotheus cried,' " sang he, quoting a popular comic song of the day. " But how do you effect the necessary transforma- tion ?" '' Here is a ring Avhich gives me the power of assuming human form once more during my ex- istence. I have only to put it on my middle finger, and the transformation is complete." " I see — but — couldn't you oblige me with a few thalers on account ?" '' Um," said the gnome ; " it's irregular ; but here are two." " Right," said the Count, biting them ; " I'll do it. Come the day after to-morrow." '••' At this time ?" said the gnome. " At this time." " Good-night." " Good-night." And the gnome disappeared up the chimney. The Count von Krappentrapp hurried oflP^ 184 The Savage- Cluh Papers. without loss of time, to communicate to the lovely Bertha the splendid fate in store for her. " Lady Bertha," said he, " I come to you -svitli a magnificent proposal." "Kow, Kra2)pentrapp," said Bertha, ''don't Ije a fool. Once for all, I loill not have you." " I am not alluding to myself; I am speaking on behalf of a friend." " 0, any friend of yours, I'm sure," began Bertha politely — " Thanks, very much." " Would be open to the same objection as yourself. He would be repulsive." " But he is magnificent !" " He would be vicious." " But he is virtuous !" '' He would be insignificant in rank and in statm*e." " He is a prince of unexampled proportions I" " He would be absurdly poor." . " He is fabulously wealthy !" " Indeed !" said Bertha ; " your story interests me." (She was intimately acquainted with German melodrama.) " Proceed." " This prince," said Krappentrapp, " has heard of you, has seen you, and consequently has fallen in love with you." " 0, g'long," said Bertha giggling, and nudg- ing him with her extraordinarily moulded elbow. The TriumjJi of Vice. 185 " Fact. He proposes to settle on yoii Africa, the Crystal Palace, several solar systems, the Rhine, and Roshervillo. The place," added he, musingly, " to spend a ha]:>py, happy day !" "Ai-e you in earnest, or" (baring her right arm to the shoulder) " is this some of your non- sense ?" " Upon my honour I am in earnest. He will be here the day after to-morrow at this time to claim you, if you consent to have him. He will carry you away Avith him alone to his own pro- vince, and there will marry you." "Alone? I couldn't think of such a thing!" said Bertha, who was a model of propriety. " H'm," said the Count ; " that is awkward, certainly. Ha ! a thought ! You shall marry him first, and start afterwards ; only, as he has to leave this in two days, the wedding must take place without a moment's delay." You see, if he had suggested this in the first instance, she would have indignantly rejected the notion, on principle. As it was, she jumped at it, and, as a token of peace, let down her sleeve. " I can provide my trousseau in two days. I will marry him the day he arrives, if he turns out to be all that you have represented him. But if he does not — " And she asain bared her arm, significantly, to the shoulder. That night the Baron von Klauffenbach and 1 86 The Savage- Chib Papers. the Count von Krappcntrapp kept it up right merrilj on tlio two thalcrs which the Count had procured from the gnome. The Baron was over- joyed at the prospect of a princely son-in-hiw ; and the shower of ink-bottles from the battlements was heavier than ever. The second day after this the gnome appeared to Count Krappcntrapp. " How do you do ?" said the Count. "Thank you," said the gnome; '•' I'm pretty well. It's an awful thing being married." " no. Don't be^dispirited." " Ah, it's all very well for you to say that ; but — Is the lady ready ?" said he, changing the subject abruptly. ''Ready? I should think so. She's sitting in the Banqueting Hall in full bridal array, ]:)anting for your arrival." ''O: Do I look nervous?" " Well, candidly, you do," said the Count. " I'm afraid I do. Is everj'thing prepared?" " The prejiarations," said the Count, " are on the most mao;nificent scale. Half buns and cut orano-cs are scattered over the place in luxurious profusion, and there is enough gingerbierheimer and currantwcinmilch on tap to float the Rob Roy canoe ! Gretchen is engaged, as I speak, in cut- ting ham sandwiches recklessly in the kitchen ; and the Baron has taken down the 'Apartments The Triumph of Vice. 187 Fui'iiislied,' which has hung for ages in the stained- glass window of the Banqueting Hall." " I see," said the gnome. '' To give a tone to the thing." " Just so. Altogether it will be the eompletest thing you ever saw."" '' Well," said the gnome, " then I tliink I'll dress. For he had not yet taken his human form. So he slipped a big carbuncle ring on to the middle finger of his right hand. Immediately the room was filled with a puff of smoke from the chimney, and when it had cleai'ed away, the Count saw, to his astonishment, a magnificent young man in the place where the gnome had stood. 1 88 The Savof/e-Club Papers. '' There is no deception !" said the gnome. ''Bravo! Very good indeed! very neat!" said the Count, apphiuding. " Clever thing, isn't it?" said the gnome. " Capital ; most ingenious. But now — what's yoiu* name ?" " It's an odd name — Prince Pooh." '' Prince Pooh? Pooh! Pooh ! you're joking." " Now take my advice, and never attempt to pun on a fellow's name ; you may be sure that, however ingenious the joke may be, it's certain to have been done before over and over airain to his face. Your own ^^^n'ticular joke is precisely the joke that every fool makes when he first hears my name." '' I beg your pardon — it was weak. Now, if you'll come with me to the Baron, you and he can settle preliminaries." So they Avent to the Baron, who was charmed with his son-in-law elect. Prince Pooh. settled on Bertha the whole of Africa, the Crystal Palace, several solar systems, the Rhine and Roslierville, and made the Baron a present of Siberia and Ye- suAius ; after that they all went down to the Ban- queting Hall, where Bertha and the priest were- awaiting their arrival. " Allow me," said the Baron. " Bertha, my dear. Prince Pooh — who has behaved viost hand- someJy'^ (this in a whisper). '' Prince Pooh — TJie Iriumpliof Vice, 189 my daughter Bertha. Pardon a father if he is for a moment unmanned." And the Baron wept over Bertha, while Prince Pooh mingled his tears with those of Count Krap- pentrapp, and the priest with those of Gretchen, who had finished cuttinof the sandwiches. The ceremony was then gone into with much zeal on all sides, and on its conclusion the party sat down to the elegant collation already referred to. The Prince declared that the Baron was the best fellow he had ever met, and the Baron assm'ed the Prince that words failed him when he endea- voured to express the joy he felt at an alliance with so unexceptionable a Serene Highness. The Prince and his bride started in a carriage and twenty-seven for his country-seat, which was only fifty miles from Tackleschlosstein, and that night the Baron and the Count kept it up harder than ever. They sent down to the local silver- smith to buy up all the presentation silver ink- stands in his stock ; and the shower of inkstands from the castle-battlements on the heads of the vil- lagers below that night is probably without pre- cedent or imitation in the chronicles of revelr}-. ***** Bertha and Prince Pooh spent a happy honey- moon : Bertha had one, and only one cause of complaint against Prince Pooh, and that was an insignificant one — do all she could, she coiddn'f I go The Savaf/e-Cluh Papers. persuade liim to wash liis face more than once a "week. Bertha was a clean girl for a German, and was in the constant habit of performing ab- lutions three or even four times a week ; con- sequently her husband's annoying peculiarity irri- tated her more than it would most of the young damsels of Tackleschlosstein. So she would con- trive when he was asleep to go oxgy his features with a damp towel ; and whenever he went out for a walk she hid his mnbrella, in order that, if it chanced to rain, he nn'ght get a providential and sanitary Avetting. This sort of thing went on for about two months, and at the end of that period Bertha began to observe an extraordinarv chano-e not onlv in her husband's appearance, but also in her own. To her horror she found that both she and her hus- band were shrinking rapidly ! On the day of their marriage each of them was six feet high, and now her husband Avas only five feet nine, Avliile she had diminished to five feet six — owiuix to her more frequent use of Avatcr. Her dresses Avere too long and too Avide for her. Tucks had to be run in CA-erything to Avhicli tucks Averc applicable, and breadths and gores taken out of all garments Avhicli Avere susceptible of these modifications. She spent a small fortune in heels, and CA'en then had to Avalk about on tiptoe in order to escape remark. ISTor Avas Prince Pooh a Avliit more easy in his mind The Triumph of Vice. 191 than was his wife. He wore the tallest hats with the biggest feathers, and the most preposterous heels to his hoots that ever were seen. Each seemed afraid to allude to these extraordinary modifications to each other, and a gentle melan- choly took the place of the hilarious jollity which had characterised their proceedings hitherto. At leno-th matters came to a crisis. The Prince went out hunting one day, and fell into the Rhine from the top of a tall rock. He was an excellent swimmer, and he had to remain about two hours, swimming against a powerful tide, before assistance arrived. The consequence was, that when he was taken out he had shrunk so considerably that his attendants hardly knew him. He was reduced, in fact, to four feet nine. On his retiu'u to his castle he dressed himself in his tallest hat and highest heels, and, warm- ing his chilled body at the fire, he nervously awaited the retm-n of his wife from a shopping expedition in the neighbourhood. " Charles," said she, " further disguise were worse than useless. It is impossible for me to con- ceal from myself the extremely unpleasant fact that we are both of us rapidly shrinking. Two months since you were a fine man, and I one of the most magnificent women of this or any other time. Now Jam only middle-sized, and you have suddenly be- •come contemptibly small. "What does this mean ?" 192 The Savage- Clnh Papers. "A husband is often made to look small in the ejes of his wife," suid Prince Charles Pooh, attempting to turn it off with a fee])le joke. •^air " Yes, but a wife don't mean to stand being made to look small in the ejes of her husband." " It's only your fancy, my dear. You are as fine a woman as ever." " Nonsense, Charles. Gores, Gussets, and Tucks are Solemn Things," said Bertha, speak- ing in capitals; ''they are Stubborn Facts which there is No Denying, and I Insist on an Expla- nation." " I'm very sorry," said Prince Pooh, '' but I can't account for it ;" and suddenly remembering The Triumjyh of Vice. 193 tliat his horse was still in tlie Rhine, he ran off as hard as he could to get it out. Bertha was evidently vexed. She began to suspect that she had married the Fiend, and the consideration annoyed her much. So she deter- mined to Avrite to her father, and ask him what she had better do. Now, Prince Pooh had behaved most shabbily to his friend Count Krappentrapp. Instead of giving him the gold-mines and diamonds which he had promised him, he sent him nothing at all but a bill for twenty pounds at six months, a few old masters, a dozen or so of cheap hock, and a few hundred paving-stones, which were wholly inadequate to the satisfaction of the Count and the Baron's craving for silver inkstands. So Count Krappentrapp determined to avenge himself on the Prince at the very earhest opportunity ; and in Bertha's letter the opportunity presented itself. He saddled the castle donkey, and started for Poohberg, the Prince's seat. In two days he arrived there, and sent up his card to Bertha. Bertha admitted him ; and he then told her the Prince's real character, and the horrible fate that >avas in store for her if she continued to be his wife. " But what am I to do ?" said she. •^^ If you were single again, whom woidd you marry?" said he with much sly emphasis. " 0," said the Princess, "you, of course." 194 The Savage- Clnh Papers. ^' You would ?" " Undoubtcdlj'. Here it is in writing." And she gave him a written promise to marry him if anytliing ever happened to the Prince her husband. ^' But," said the Coimt, " can you reconcile yoiu'self to the fact that my proportions are insig- nificant ?" " Compared with me, as I now am, you are gigantic," said Bertha. " I am cured of my pride in my own splendid stature." " Good," said the Count. " You have noticed the carbuncle that your husband (husband ! ha, ha! but no matter) Avcars on his middle finger?" " I have." " In that rests his charm. Remove it while he sleeps ; he will vanish, and you "^^'ill be a free woman." * That nighty as the clock struck ticelve, the Prin- cess removed the ring from the right hand middle finger of Prince Pooh. lie gave a fearful shriek; the room u-as filled icifh smoke; and on its clearing off^ the hody of the gnome in his original form lay dead iqion the led, charred to ashes / « * * * The castle of Poohberg, however, remained, and all that was in it. The ashes of the monster were buried in the back garden ; and a horrible TJie Triumph of Vice. T95 leafless shrub, encrusted with a black, shinv, horny bark, that suggested black beetles, grew out of the grave with astounding rapidity. It grew, and grew, and grew, but never put forth a leaf; and as often as it was cut down it grew again. So when Bertha (who never recovered her original proportions) married Count Krappen- trapp, it became necessary to shut up the back garden altogether, and to put ground-glass panes into the windows which commanded it. And they took the dear old Baron to live with them, and the Count and he spent a jolly time of it. The Count laid in a stock of inkstands which would last out the old man's life, and many a merry hour they spent on the hoary battlements of Poohberir. Bertha and her husband lived to a good old age, and died full of years and of honours. Thus, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, vice is sometimes triumphant. Cmming, malice, and imj)osture may not flourish immediately they are practised, but depend upon it, my dear children, that they will assert their own in the end. By Henry S. Leichi. No Venus — anytliiiif]^ but that ; Could Fancy, liowsoeA'er flighty, Transform thio mother of this brat To aught resembhng Aphrodite ? "No Venus ; but the daily sport Of common cares and vulgar trials ; 'No monarch of a Paphian coiu*t — Her com't is in the Seven Dials. She taught young Love to play the part, And bend the bow and aim the arrows ; Those arms will hardly pierce a heart. Unless it be a Cockney sparrov.-'s. Alas, the Truthful never wooed Tlie Beautiftd to fashion Cupid : But, in a sympathetic mood. Perhaps the Ugly wooed the Stupid. Matt. Morgan del. T. Boltoa S3. CiipicVs Mamma. igg Is Cupid nervous ? Not a bit. Love seeks no mortal approbation : Stalls, boxes, galleries, and pit. May hiss or cheer the transformation. Mamma looks anxious and afraid In j^arting from our young beginner. Whose little Avages — weekly paid — Will frive them once a week a dinner. M iirs. ^robn baths ibc ^.abouritc. BY AI\THUR SKETCHLEY. 5U .tifejli^ ^frjiJ_K'^E was a noble-lookin' old man as ever ■^ I see, witli a brooch in 'is sliirt-front 11^ as thongli as lie belonged to a old family ; and when he took iny apart- ments 'is manners was George the Fourth all over, tlio' not sicli a fine 'ead of 'air, as I've seen a ])icter of that monerarch a-setting on 'is sofy, as was nat'ral curl I should say, with a fir pelisse, and a lovely leg and foot as you don't see now a days thro' the trousers, as I 'ad a aunt as never could abear them asayin' as they shet out the calf, as is a fine sight, tho' in some is defi- cient, as no doubt leads to concealment. Well, 'as I was asayin', tho' not a fine man, for I shoidd say five foot four were 'is outside, yet he'd a way with him as made the most on 'is figger, with a sweep in the back, as 'is coat fitted into wonderful ; and them blue belcher 'ankerchers as he did used to wear set off" 'is complexion, as was clear as an infant's, even to the back of his 2L'S. Brown hacks the Favourite. 20 1 'eacl, as were as bold as a pig, as the sayin' is ; and well he might look clean, for I'm snre the water as he'd • use, and keep on ahissin' over, cleanin' 'isself, for all the world like cleanin' a 'orse. He never give no trouble, for 'is breakfast was only 'is cup of tea and a bit of bread and butter ; and then out l)y eleven, and never see no more on 'im, nor yet 'eard, thro' lettin' 'isself in late by 'avin of the latch-key, as he talked Brown into ; for I never would av' 'ad it ; but somehow that old gentleman 'ad a way Avith 'im as there wasn't no resistin' agin, and a 'and as soft as sponge and as white as milk. He was not a man as drunk free, I should say ; for never did a mouse come upstairs more on the quiet of a night, and even lighted 'is candle in 'is room. I never could make out what Ijusiness he was, but it must have been a very changeable one, for at times he was that fidl of money as he'd throw it about like a sailor ; comin 'ome in the middle of the day, and give the cab 'alf-a-crown, as touched 'is 'at down to the ground ; and then he would seem 'ard up for a shillin', as the sayin' is. As winter come on he had a bad cough, and would sometimes stop at home for a day or two together, without crossin' of the door, as the sayin is ; and more than once he took a friendly cup of 202 Uie Savage- Cluh Papers. tea with ns, and could brew egg-flip that smooth as it flowed down jour throat like wclwct, I never did 'ear a old ofentlcman talk more won- derful, as seemed for to 'are know'd the noblest in the land ; and 'ad dukes and lords atreatin' 'im Avhene^'er he went out. But, as I says to 'im, " Excuse me, Mr. Stevens," as were the name as he Avent by, tho' afterwards discovered for to be fjxctitious, and a many others as was called 'is aliases. I says to 'im, " You'll escuse me, but Avhen them lords wants you to take anything friendly with 'em, you stick to rum, as if old is a fine thing for the stomic, and Avill soften your cough, and 'as brought amany from bein' in a state of indelicacy to sound 'ealth, as I know myself, took with new milk afore gettin' up in the morn-- in'.'* I (to tiiink as that old gentleman must have been connected with Ashley's, or some of them places, for 'orses was 'is delight, as he'd set and talk about 'em wonderful ; and Brown did used to like to 'ear 'im, and says to me often as he was a knowin' old card." He did used for sometimes to dine with us when a wet Sunday, and then 'is delight was a sucking-pig, with sherry wine and filbert nuts. "SYe ffot that friendlv, as he often would 'ave a chat with me in settlin' of his book. Mrs. Brown hacks the Favourite. 203 One mornin' he says to me, ^' Mrs. Brown, you're a "wonderful woman." "Well," I says, ''my dear mother was al- ways considered so ; and would be ali^'e now, no doubt, but through neglected colds ; and my grandmother, she were eighty-three when she would stand at the wash-tub, and was 'angin' out 'erself three days before she took to 'er bed with the jaunders, as carried her off." So he says, '' Brown's got a treasure in you." " Ah," says I, " and so 'are I in 'im, for a better man never trod shoe-leather, as the sayin' is ; and I'm sm'e denies me notliin' in reason as I w^ants." " Ah," says the old gent, a-eyein' me, " you did ought to want for nothin', and shouldn't, if I'd my way." I says, " Whatever do you mean?" " Win'," he says, " you did ought to ride in your carriage, and should do if you'd listen to me." " All," I says, " that's werry fine ; but where's the money to come from ?'' He says, " Money ! why, you might make it easy by 'atfuls." I says, " If I know'd the way, I pretty soon do it, prowided it were done respectable." He says, " Why, dukes and princes makes it the way as I means, let alone emperors, as I knows intimate." 204 The Savage- Chih Papers. " Well then," says I, '4et me know liow to tlo it." " Why," says he, " back the winner." I says, "Who's he?" He looked werrv artful, with his 'cad a one side, and says, " I can give you the tip." I says, " Mr. Stevens, sir, whatever do you mean?" I says, " I don't 'old with tips, as in gene- ral only means for to make you wink at things as is- wrong; and 'avin' bore a upright character, without a blemish,- as the sayin' is, I ain't agoin' to stoop to no mean ways at my time of life, par- tickler unbeknown to Brown." '' Well," he says, " if you'd let me lay out five pounds for you on a 'orse, I'd fill your coppers for you." I says, " Bless you, I Avouldn't 'ave a 'orse at a gift, as would fill up the waslras', let alone the copper ; and I wants my five pounds, as I'm asav- in' up for a new set of teeth." He says, "Back the winner, and you may 'ave a gold set, like the lord mayor 'isself" Well, I said as how I'd think about it; but couldn't say no more jest then, as I was agoin' out alono; with Mrs. Rawlins, as meant for to go to the Cit}- by the steamer from Lambeth Stairs. Certainly them steamers is a great conveni- ency, and that river do look noble, tlio' dirty, as 2frs. Broum hacks the Favourite. 205 I'm sure them boys as bathes in it comes out dirtier than they goes in, as is only to be expected, a bathin' in the refuse of the gas works ; as it's kicky, it ain't unwholesome, or dead we must all be thro' a drinkin' it in our teas. Well, me and Mrs. Rawlins was a settin' aboard that steamer, a lookin' at the Parl^nnint 'Ouses, and I says to 'er there's many a poor soul as 'as perished thro' that place. A nice-lookin' young gentleman as Avas settin' by me, he tm-ns round and says, " Indeed, ma- dam ; 'ow is that, pray ?" " Well," I says, '^ sir, that is where them laws was made that 'as put a many to untimely deaths ; as no doubt you've 'card speak of Fontleroy, not to mention Dr. Dodd, and even King Charles, as 'ad 'is 'ead chopped off in Whitechapel by their orders, as can do anything ; and lays on the taxes pretty thick, tlio' it's wonderful how they've got the tea down in price, as there ain't none smug- gled nowadays, as did used to be when I was quite a gal, and every Englishman felt a pride in doin' of 'is duty." So the gentleman he looks at me and saySy " You're a very intelligent lady, and must 'ave seen a good deal and read a good deal." He was a fine man, with a eagle's heye, as the sayin' is. " Well," I says to 'im, " as for readin', it takes up a deal of time; but I," says I, 2o6 The Savage-Clnh Papers. '^ ain't lived all these years in the workl for no- thin'." " AVhj," he says, " you're in your prime." I says, '^ I ain't what I was used to be," tlio' I knoAv'd, thro' 'avin' of my new 'air on and di'essed young, as I didn't look my age, as a clear musling always did become me, and my Cheyncy crape shawl, and one of them white paper bonnets, as good as new, tho' laid by many a year. He says to me, that gentleman, a fixin' 'is eye on me, " You must 'ave read Mrs. Brown?" I says, " Sir, escuse me ; but, being Mrs. Brown, I 'ave not no occasions to read 'er." He savs, '' You don't mean as you're the real Mrs. BroAvn." I says, " I should like to see any one as dared say as I wasn't, as may see the register if they ain't satisfied Avith my lines as I've got at home ; and as to any other Mrs. Bi'OAvns, I should like to see the 'ussies as would set up for 'em." " 0," he says, " that's nothing ; in some places where I've been I've know'd one man as 'ad seventeen wives." I says, " I've 'eard tell of sich disrepitable wagabones as was them blackymoor Turks as Avas put doAvn, as they did ought to 'aA'c been, in the Averr}^ last Avars as ever Ave 'ad." "0," he says, " I don't mean Turks, but Mrs. Brown hacks the Favourite. 207 parties as lives near where I comes from in a 'Merryker." I says, "You don't mean to say as you're a 'Merrycan ?" " Yes," he says, " I am." " Well," I says, " I always did like 'em thro' a rememberin' a picter of one as was a settin' lookin' at Gen'ral Wolf a dyin', as showed a feelin' 'art and a fine-limbed man ; but," I says, " it's wonderfid what a difference dress makes, for you don't look a bit like one." Well, the gentleman he laughed worry plea- sant, and jest then we got to Temple Stairs, where we was going to land tlu'o' bein' nearest to Clave Market, as is close by where Mfs. Kawlings' sister lived, as we was goin' to see thro' 'avin' twins. So the 'Merry kin gentleman, he did speak elegant to be sure, a landin' along with us, and a walkin' all up Essex-street, a talkin' fine with n pleasant smile, and at the top of the street he takes off his 'at, and says : " Good-day, Mrs. Brown ; I'd rather 'aAO met you than Queen Wictoria ; and if ever you should come to ' Merry ker, we shall be delighted to see you, and make a queen on yer." And off he goes, a boAvin' and smilin', as Mrs. Eawlings considered a bold party addressin' of us ; but that's only 'er spite, thro' 'im not 2o8 The Savage-Cluh Papers. 'avin' took no notice on 'cr, and asked me on the quiet if slie -were my mother ; Lut I didn't say nothin' to Brown when I was a mentionin' of 'im at supper about them parties with seven- teen wives, as give me quite tlie 'errors ; not as Brown is one as woukln't set 'is face ao;in sich goiu's on ; and I'm sure woukhi't 'ave the bokl 'ussies not if they went down on their knees to 'im. I coukbi't 'elj:* thinkin' a good deal of what Mr. Stevens 'ad said about backin' the winner, as seemed to me somcthino; hkc a raffle as Brown once drawcd a goose in; but I'm sure if I was to draw a 'orse, I slioukl not know what to do with 'im; and as to selHn' 'im again, it's well known what 'orse-dealers is, as I know'd one myself as put 'is own mother behind one as was a bolter,, as run away with her, and never stopped till he'd 'arf drownded 'er in Limeliouse Creek, as were a dangerous turn in the road, and pitched 'er over the parypitch of the bridge, as broke the sliarfs short off, and run slap into a cheyney shop, and was obliged to be killed on the spot, with both legs broke, and thoro' bred. But, Law bless you, you might as well 'ope to turn a mill-stream, as the say in' is, as stop that Mr. Stevens in his wheedlin' ways; for ho got that five jiounds out on me safe enough, and give a dinner to me and Brown the very next Mrs. Broicn hachs the Favourite. 209 Simday in oiu' own parlour, as lie sent in every tliing, down to Brussells sprouts. Time went on; and every now and then Mr- Stevens would say to me as " the odds was all in my favour," as I didn't rightly understand j and then he told me one day as he'd put me in for a sweep. I says, " I 'opes as I sha'n't 'ave no trouble over it." He says, "0 dear, no; you've been and drawed the favom*ite." Well, I thought p'raps as things had gone so far, it might be as well for to mention it to Brown, a thinkin' as it would look strange for me to 'ave a 'orse come 'ome sudden, and no where to put 'im ; so that worry night I says, " Brown, if you 'ad a 'orse give you, where would you keep 'im ?" He says, " No where ; I'd precious soon sell 'im." I says, " Who to ?" " Well," he says, "■■ most likely the knackers; for that's all he'd be worth if any one give 'im away." I says, "You're a talking foolishness; you don't think as Mr. Stevens would let me 'ave a 'orse as was only livin' cats' meat, as any one might sav." He says, '' I tell you what it is, all the 'orses 210 TJie Savage-Cluh Papers. as Mr. Stevens gives you may be kep under this Led." I says, " That's right, jeer awa}^ ; that's you all over." He says, " You don't mean to say as he's promised you a 'orse ?" I says, '' More than that, he's di-awed one for me as is the favourite." He says, " What are you a ravin' about !" I says, " I ain't a ravin' ;" and I tells 'im all about the five pounds ; and if he didn't laugh that wiolent as he made the curtain-rings rattle agin. I says, " What ever are you larfin' at ?" " Why," he says, " you, to be sure." I says, " Let them laugh as loses ; them as Avins is sure to lauo-h." "0," he says, "you're sure to -".vin, and you'd better go on the turf at once." I says, '' If you wishes me dead, Brown, say so at once ; but don't go illudin' to my grave like that unfeelin' ;" and I couldn't keep under my sobs, but fell asleep over 'em. I'd made up my mind as I'd speak to Mr. Stevens the werrv next mornin', but found as he 'adn't come 'ome all night, nor yet all the next day, as I thought strange partikler, as he 'adn't sent 'is shirt to the wash that week, nor vet 'is two collars and a })air of socks, as were 'is 'abits, with two pocket-'andkerchers. Well, he didn't Mrs. Brown hacks the Favourite. 211 come that next day, nor jet the next, as made me feel mieasy ; and there was a little old carpet- bag in the comer of 'is room as were not locked, thro' the padlock being gone, and only a bit of wood stuck thro' the 'asp. 1 lifts it up and felt it 'eavy, but not clothes ; so I just give a look into it, and see a lot of 'ay, as turned out to be brick- bats rolled up in, and 'im of course clean gone. When Brown come 'ome I told 'im, and if ho didn't say as he'd lent 'im five pounds. " Well," I says, " 'ow about the 'orse as I've drawed ?" He says, '' Do 'old your rubbish ; Avhy, of course, he's a reg'lar old thief as 'as done us both." "Well, then," I says, " I'll find 'im if above ground." BroMii says, " What' 11 you do with 'im if you do ?" I says, " We shall see, for he owed me three weeks' rent, and his book not settled the last two weeks." It must 'ave been six months arter that and more, as, one day a walkin' down Fleet-street, I see a white 'at with a black band, as he said he always wore in respect of his dearest friend ; and in a instant I know'd my friend. So I jest hooks the collar of 'is coat with my umbereller, and says, " Police !" 2 1 2 The Savage- Club Papers. You should 'ave see 'is face when, turnin' roiuid, ho found 'isself cauglit. He saA's, " My good woman, what is your business ?" I says, " My business, you wagabone! Where's my money, and where's my 'orse ? as I'll give you in charge for stealin'." He says, " Me steal your 'orse ! why, 1 never sec it ;" and he gives a twist and slij)s away fi'om me, and up come a policeman. I says, " Policeman, I've been robbed and treated shameful by a party in a Avhite 'at and black band, as is just hooked it round that cor- ner." He says, "■ No doubt, when he see me ; but," says he, " what can you espect but to be robbed if you goes among them wagabones?" I says, " I wants my money or my 'orse." '' 0," he says, '' you're one of the lot, are you? Well," he says, '^ I shoiddn't 'ave thought it to look at you ; but," he says, " don't be loiterin' about hero, obstructin' the thoroughfare, or I must remove you." I says, " I am waitin' to sec that party." '' Now," says the policeman, '' you can't be a waitin' 'ere ; and if you don't go, I must 'ave you before the Lord Mayor." I didn't of course w\^nt that, tho' no doubt the Lord Mayor woidd 'ave see me righted ; yet 2Irs. Brown hacks the Favourite. 213 I tliouglit as Brown would blow up if it got in the papers, so I walks off; but I shall fall in with my gentleman some day, and if I don't give 'im the tip, as he's so fond of talkin' aljout, my name ain't Martha Brown, and that's all about it — a swindlin', cheatin' old wagabone as he is. OUNG IN^UN The Young N FROM THE GERMAN OF EMANUEL GEIBEL. Bij JOHN OXENFORD. I. 0, Heaven I -wliat could my flxther, my mother dear, have thought, That here into a convent their hapless child Avas brouoht ? Kow never must I laugh more, veil'd must I always go ; Another heart must never my own heart's secrets know. ir. They cut off without pity my flowing raven hair, And for my sixteen summers not one appeared to care. So few, few years I number. AMiy need I be so sad ? The world has joys sufficient to make all crcatm-es glad. Tlie Young Nun. 215 III. Against my prison-window the happy birds I see Their little nest they build now — with them would I could be ! My wings I'd open freely, a way I soon would find To leave the toAv'ring steeples and convents all behind. lY. And when the eA''ning glimmers, and night begins to fall, I think of one I loved once — the dearest one of all. But he is far away now ; a nun am I, and so Unceasing and unceasing my bitter tears must flow. Too-ether so the billows exulting to the sea ; The birds toirether travel through heaven's wide vault so free ; The day is blcss'd with siudight, for night the bright stars shine ; It seems as if I only in solitude must pine. N 2l6 The Savage- Chih Papers. VI. 0, ■svould that in yon steeple the fun'ral bell was rung, And by the lighted tapers the fun'ral hymn was suno; ; Then should I be deliyer'd from all my grief and pain, And with the heayenly angels find happiness. ao;ani ? M^m J. Palmer ilel R. Kiiight sc. A TRUSTWORTHY MESSENGER. ij^^^s. /ouni proiDnrt j4 Story in Three Chapters, 2^ ~s55^- "v-Oto" T. fcuott del. C. A. Ferriei" ac. NDOLENCE. By J. J. S. Jacobsen. *^[|^N one respect this sliort paper may be said to differ from anything hitherto written, and thus hiy claim to unquestionable ori- ginality. The writer has been compelled to DISENGAGE Jdmself completely from the suhject before hewg able to deal icith it. This apparent con- tradiction of terms will be better understood than described — it is ahvays a great comfort when any subject possesses that peculiar quality — and we will therefore leave it to the contemplation and imagination of the generous reader. I am afraid that a very large amount of the mischief that is done in this rather mischievous, but, on the whole, very glorious world of ours, is caused through Indolence, or, perhaps, I should rather say " Loafing," which is now a natural- ised term on this side the Atlantic. There is a peculiar charm about it to most people. Of 262 The Savage- Cluh Papers. course I except the strict busincss-inan, who gocs- to the City every morning at 8 a.m. as punctual as his own Avatch (best make, with heavy chain attached), always sits on the same place on the omnibus, walks down to his office year after }'ear on the same side of the street, delights in the terms of the most puzzling " market letter," or slightly contracts his brows "when things are flat" in Mark or Mincing Lane, wlio loves his^ books, but only those with a Dr. and Cr. side to them ; not those that are the comfort of other mortals, and- which "run on" from page to page,, as we ourselves do until we get to the end. There is no Indolence, no " loafing" tendencies, no weak spot about your strict business-man. He goes home at 7 p.m. in the same methodical manner, takes his tea, like all his other " plea- sm-es," sadly, according to our notions, and just kisses his children before they are sent to bed — all he sees of them. On the Sunday he goes to church, and always sits in the same place in his pew ; he is a good christian, a good citizen, and, above all, he and his firm are most respectable. He makes money by the bushel — to be spent by those that come after him ; for as a rule your strict business-man always wants to make gentlemen of his sons, and only succeeds In making then con- scious of their father's wealth, not of his other good qualities. How could they be, when they Indolence. 263 never kneAV their father except as " the gover- nor" ? who, from some mysterious nook in the City, sent the money that they required, or^ Avhen they required more than he sent, had to be " done," if possible. Still, he does all for the best, and may be excused if noAV and then he looks down on the great majority of his fellow- men as "publicans and sinners." There is no doubt that his prototype the Pharisee was also thoroughly respectable, and altogether a very good man, only slightly given to self-emulation — as who is not ? — and to look down upon the poor publican. From his pinnacle of respectability we can admire the strict business-man as such, because really there are very few of us who are like him, even amongst this " nation of shop- keepers," as Continentals delight in calling us. And we ought not to be sorry for it. It is better at once humbly to bow down and pray, " God be merciful to us sinners." But amongst our many failings and shortcomings — and here I talk about mankind all over the world — I think, as before stated, that none is more fruitful of mischief, in the sense of a milder term for evil, than that of indolence. Who of us is not conscious of hav- ing through it left things undone that ought to have been done ? Who amongst us has not put off till to-morrow what ought to have been done to-day ? Who has not omitted to cross his t's, 264 The Savage- Cluh Papers. clot Ills i's, and mind liis stops? Who must not plead guilty to having frittered away prodi- gious amounts of that valuable synonym for money — Time, by "loafing," by getting into the " Lazy-alley," as Popkins said when he came back from his Continental tour ; or by inventing some specious excuse for not doing anything just now, Avliile determining to '' make up for it" by redoubled energy when we did begin ^vork ? Ay, and how many lives have been misspent and how many good qualities wasted through in- dolence ! Now there is my friend , who always wishes to "turn a new leaf to-morrow." lam sure he would be as good as his word if "to- morrow" did CA'er arrive. But somehow — and I am afraid I must say, rather to the satisfaction of my friend — to-morrow never does arrive. He goes to bed every night — in the small hours some- times — with his head full of the most exquisitely beautiful paving-stones for a cci'tain place ; but when he wakes up the next — well, we Avill say day, to avoid all difficulties of distinction between morniiig and afternoon, which, at a time when we have morning performances, breakfests and sit- tings about four o'clock p.m., would be rather too many for my present purpose, — when om* friend has quite roused himself, had his bath and his tea, and begins to look at " the time Indolence. 265 of dav," or rather at the day itself, he finds that it is not the " to-morrow" he expected, but that it is " to-day." To-morrow is the next day after that. Ah, he must have made a chrono- logical mistake ; a thing which has happened be- fore to better men, particularly when staying at a quiet sea-side place, where Monday is exactly like Friday, and vice versa. ' Let grammarians say what they will about past, present, and future tempora, our friend maintains that there is only one, and that is i:>rcesens. The past is gone ; and the future, about which so much is said, and for which so many mental resolutions are formed, never arrives. That is what he has ar- rived at. He is the best fellow in the world ; he would not knowingly harm a fly ; but he ah'^'ays stops Avhere he is. In the evening he never wants to go to bed ; in the morning he never wants to get up. He is always the last to come and to go at any party or jollification. There is an inexpressible charm about the hours and minutes stolen from duty or business — it is like forbidden fruit ; and he has always balm for the conscience in the idea of taking a cab, or sending a note by one — as if those vehicles were especially contrived to make up for lost time ! or in the contemplation of the feats of energy and astounding amount of work he is going to do — very shortly. He seriously means to shake off his lethargy and do something out of the 266 The Savage- Club Papers. ordinary Avay some day ; and mayhap he -will, for, after all, lie does not really deceiA-e himself by his mental special pleading ; he knows it is all clap- trap, and inwardly admits his guilt — the first and most important step to improvement. Ce ii'est que le premier pas qui coute; and that once taken, the royal road to reformation is open ; and the first step to mend our ways is a full and frank aeknow- ledo-ment that we are in the wrong. AMien our lotus-eater has once roused himself to a thorough appreciation of this, the best hopes may be enter- tained of his being completely cured of his "ami- able weakness." And at a time Avlien we live at high pressure, with the world always having full steam up ; when it is necessary that we should "pass the other craft or bust," as the Yankee captain said when he sat down on the safety-valve, it is absolutely necessary that all idle ballast should be thrown overboard. We shall derive greater and more enduring satisfaction, though perhaps not so momentarily enticing, and though at first it may cost us a struggle — from the consciousness of hav- ing done our duty, than can possibly be obtained by the forbidden fruit of neglecting it. There- fore let us start at once and shake the accu- mulated dust off our feet ; and ye, young men who begin life, never allow it to accumulate, for in most cases it is fatal ! " Trust in Providence, and keep your powder dry," is an excellent Indolence. 267 maxim ; but it is also requisite that we should never allow our rifle to get rusty and foul. " Do as I say, not as I do ;" for I have begun this short paper in one year of my existence, and liave not finished it until another has overtaken nie : it so happened that I began it on the eve of my birthday, and did not fijiish it till I had fidly accomplished another year. I ha\e been Avorking at it in two years, in the same sense as anybody going to bed before twelve on New Year's €ve will sleep in two years ! Under those circum- stances, I can do no better than wind up with a quotation that ought to be engraved on golden tablets, and in more precious and indelible cha- racters in the memory of every one beginning life, viz. the words of Mr. Jarndyce, of Bleak House, to Richard Carstone : " The world is before you. Most probably, as you enter it, so it will receive you. Trust in nothing but in Providence and your own efforts. Never separate the two, like the heathen wag- goner. If you had the abilities of all the great men, past and present, 3-ou could do nothing well without sincerely meaning it, and setting about IT. If you entertain the supposition that any real success, in great things or in small, ever was or' could be, ever wiU or can be, Avrested from For- tune BY FITS AND STARTS, leave that wrong idea here." And here we will leave it. J3y ^ENRY ^. J.EIGH. 'Tis. tliinc to share — lady fair ! — Tlic throng's ignoble strife ; The rout, the ball, the banquet-hall, And Fashion's empty life. Be thine the wiles and hohow smiles Which Wealth to Beauty pays ; But envy not the Poet's lot In these prosaic days. The Jlisenes of Genius. 269 O lady bright ! the restless night, Tlie vigil of despair, And (worst of all) the critic's gall. Are not for thee to share. The M^orld's elite is at thy feet, And Folly lisps thy praise ; — O, envy not the Poet's lot In these prosaic days I Mine eyes are blue — B}Tonic hue ! — I turn my collar down ; ]\Ietliinks I wear the longest hair Of any bard in town. Yet — bitter fact I — my looks attract fj^ The public's grinning gaze ; — O, envy not the Poet's lot In these prosaic days ! I cannot find one lofty mind, One publisher of sense ; And so my rhymes are oftentimes Brought out at wiy expense. I could not sell — I know it well — My lyrics and my lays ; — So, enxy not the Poet's lot In these prosaic days. Q 270 The Savage-CluJ) Papers. All, lady mine I — wouldst seek to twine A coronal of sono- ? Trust one who knows what heavy woes To Poesy belong. Forget the fame that gilds the name Of him who dons the bays : And en\y not the Poet's lot In these prosaic days. :i^^ 35 MY FIRST PIGEON RACE. BY "W. B. TEGETMEIE ^ The desire for the practical study of natural his- tory, which has been a ruling passion with me from my early youth, was sadly interfered with during many of the years of my boyhood by a long-continued residence in the metropolis. Ne- vertheless, even under the disadvantages of a Lon- don life, I followed my favourite science with a zeal and devotion that might have fm*nished Pro- fessor Craik, had ho but known me, with the sub- ject of an additional chapter in his work on TJie Pursuit of Knoxdedcje under Dificulties. As I could not study the objects of my delight- 2 74 TJie Savage- Gluh Papers. ful pursuit in tlieii* native haunts, I sought them in the bird-sliops of Seven Dials and the purheus of Westminster. The front area of my father's house was covered with a cord netting of my own making, for wire netting was then unknown ; and a choice collection of thrushes and other hardy British birds o;laddencd the neiirhbourhood with their song. Tlie possession of pigeons, however, — the olyects of my most absorbing passion, — was forbidden. The decoration of the paternal roof with a ''dormer," an "area," "traps," and all the ajipurtenances of pigeon-flying, so familiar to those persons who travel by the Great Eastern railway, and from their high preeminence look down on the Spitalfields weavers and their birds, was not to be thouirht of on the residence of a respectable Surgeon II.N. within a hundred yards of St, James's Street. But " where there's a will there's a way." Om* " doctor's boy" lived in "Westminster, over against Tothill Fields Prison. I kncAv the place well ; for with childish curiosity I had on several occasions followed the long string of prisoners, men, women, and even children, that, handcuffed to a chain, and under the charge of two red-Avaistcoated officers, passed our house every afternoon on their way from Marlborough Street Police Court to the prison. Tliere were no police- vans with drivers in mock militaiy un'forms in those days. My First Pigeon Race. 275 Our boy -was a pigeon-fancier, and had a good flight of homing birds — many of which had " done Gravesend," and some had flown back from the Nore. Here was an opportunity that could not be allowed to escape. I at once entered into a solemn league and covenant with him ; paid one shilling weekly as my share of the rent of the loft ; and became the possessor of birds of my o^m. At times, when John w^as supposed to be de- livering the drugs that were to assuage the suffer- ings of my father's patients, we were ransacking the regions of Kent Street Borough, or Brick Lane Spitalfields, in search of a " blue-beard hen," " grizzled dragon cock," or " mealy skimimn," that was required to complete my stud. The birds kept by the class of pigeon-fanciers with whom I had become connected were those employed in flying-matches ; and I need hardly state that ere long my great ambition was to be- come the winner of a pigeon race. To attain this end, my young birds, as soon as they w^ere old enough, w^ere entered in a match at a neighbour- ing public-house. The birds taking part in these contests are entered soon after they are able to fly — the quill or flight-feathers of the wing being stamped with the distinguishing mark of the par- ticular race, and a fixed sum contributed weekly by the owners towards the prize which is to be competed for. 2/6 The Savage- Club Papers. As soon as the young birds can fly strongly their training commences. They are taken day after day to gradually increasing distances from home, and then liberated. In this manner both their observation and power of flight are exercised, until at last they know their way accurately, and can fly back long journeys without loss of time. In the days I am now writmg about, railways were miknown. (Alas, how many memories are recalled by these few words ! I seem to have lived in a distant ago, which the present generation knows not of.) And many and many are the long walks I have taken Avith a couple of birds in a brown-paper bag, Avith a few holes to give them air, and a little straw in the bottom to keep out the sides. On arriving at my destination the birds were set free, when they would rise in the air, and circling in gradually increasing spirals, gaze around until they descried those familiar objects that constituted the landmarks by which they directed their homeward flight. There are few subjects connected with tlic habits of animals about which more misconcep- tion prevails than respecting this homing faculty of pigeons. Authors and artists seem to have con- spired to misrepresent the truth. The first tell us that pigeons return home by a peculiar instinct, and not by sight ; whereas every pigeon-fancier knows that if, on their first essays, he takes his My First Pigeon Race. I'jj'j young birds long distances, so tliat they cannot discern any familiar objects, tliey will only retiu-n by chance. The writers on this subject do not bear in mind the fact that the sight of birds is infinitely more acute than that of man ; and that they possess a formation of the eyes by which they are able to adjust their sight to near or far-distant objects at will. ISTor do they seem awai'e that a bird raised 130 yards in the air commands a panoramic view, the horizon of which is distant twenty-five miles, even when the surface is a per- fect plain. But the artists are as much to be blamed as the writers. We are all familiar with the pretty pictm-es of doves flying into the bosoms of their mistresses with large packets tied under their wings. Tliese pictures have no foundation in nature. Like the German philoso2:)her's idea of a camel, they are evolved out of the inner con- sciousness of the artists. A pigeon could not fly encumbered with a letter ; and when a bird is employed for conveying a message, a narrow slip of paper is written on, rolled round its leg, and secured liy a thread. As the leg and foot during flight are drawn uj) into the soft feathers, the paper so attached offers no impediment to the sj)eed of the bird. But to return to the pigeon match. The birds entered and trained for the match are on tlie day 278 TIlc Savage-Club Pa/'crs. aj^pointed taken to some distant place, either pre- viously fixed on, or the direction of ^vliicli may be decided by lot on the morning of the race. The birds competing are then set free ; and if well trained and conversant with the road, they return home with wondrous rapidity. Thus, in a match which annually takes place from Southampton to London, the winning birds always perform the journey in less than an hour's time. The competing bird on alighting at the house of its owner is instantly captured in one of the traps or in the " area," to which I have before alluded. A fixed time is permitted each owner to convey his bird to the rendezvous, usually the public- house where the "fly" has been organised. This time of course varies with the distance. After secm-ing the " voyageur," the owner loses not an instant in conveying it to the goal. Not unfre- quently relays of one or two quick runners are arranged, and the bird is passed from hand to hand with the p-reatest celeritv. Well do I recollect my first race. The fly was from Graveseud — a favourite spot in that pre- railway time, as being easy of access by steamers. There were ten competitors. Tlie birds had been sent doAvn the river by the first boat in the morn- ing, in charge of three or four persons to see fair play. John Avas up in the loft on the look-out to catch my bird (the best "grizzle skinnum" I had My First Pigeon Race. I'jc^ bred that year) as soon as he pitched. The ren- dezvous was about a quarter of a mile off; and he was to run -with the bird lialf the distance, Avhilst I was waiting to convey it the remainder. From the corner where I stood I could see the loft of another competitor. As I was waiting, I anxiously scanned his flight of birds that were being driven up by him with a long light pole as they tried to settle to feed ; for to get them to come into the area directly the racing bird had joined them on his return, they had been kept without food all day. At last I saw his head disappear in the "dormer;" his flight settled. I saw the blue drao'on that had returned from Gravesend. The birds all ran into the area for the handfid of tares he had thrown in ; the trap-door of the area closed ; I knew he had caught his bird, and that in ten seconds he woidd bm-st from the door of the house, and be first at the Blue Lion. And where was my bird? At that instant John turned the corner, running as though dear life itself depended on his speed. My skinnum was in his hand. Hm*- rah ! the prize was mine ; for, living fm-ther from the rendezvous, I was allowed a minute and a half more time than my dreaded comj^etitor, whom I had just seen catch his bird. Before John reached me my rival rushed from his door, and with a shout of triumph, as he saw me waiting, darted like an arrow on his way. In a few seconds, 28 The Savage- Cluh Papei'S. that seemed to me an eternity, John rushed to me with my bird. I snatched it from his hands, and ran as I never ran before or since, for there was not a moment to be lost. Still, with great speed I was sm'e of the prize ; and I need not say I did my very best. I reached tlie corner of the street in which the Blue Lion stood, and leaned in- wards, like a horse in a circus, as I turned the angle at my utmost speed. But, alas for the vanity of human hopes ! An old woman, with a basket of apples suspended from her waist by a strap, was just round the corner ; and I came full tilt against her. I am not very heavy; but impetus is the result of weight and velocity con- joined, and what I wanted in one was made up by the other ; tJie consequence was that the old woman went over backwards, and I went over the old woman. Where the apples went I do not know ; but I believe some of the boys round about could tell better than any other persons. My best mealy skinnum, that had virtually won the race, escaped in the collision, and went home again. I picked myself up without loss of time, and looked towards the Blue Lion — only to see my detested competitor and the landlord laughing at the unlucky chance which had robbed me of the prize. G. Cnii!ishai)k del. Uahdel liros. sc. "Phe jBarber jSearded, " Rasum teneatis, amici ?" I SAW a pensive Barber, all alone, His useless razor eye ; Upon his lips a sigh, And by his side a hone. Unto his shinino; blade This sad complaint he made, Singing all piteously , unhappy wight, While groans his bosom hove : " The days are gone when, Beauty bright, My art chins shove."* Then when the blade he o'er his palm had drawn It's new-set edge to test. He beat his breast And cried, "A fellow's occujjation's gone !" * A rare past tense of the verb " to shave :" vide diction- aries — particularly Walker. 284 The Savage-Cluh Pcq^evs. He tliouglit the future opened to his ken — He saAv the coming age of bearded men ! And, to the ruin of all hair-divestors, The boys, the babies,— ay, each child of natur' In its perambulator — By the example dire Of every sire Were all egged-on to turn out little Nestors. And then he babbled of the Hairy-'un Schism, And last exclaiming, " Rhypophagon !" His trenchant blade he flung himself upon, The last poor relic of old Barberism ! T. H. Maggie's Yellow Shawl. Sh. By ARTHUR LOCKER. Belpliegor. URING tho old French war my great-uncle's brotlier-in-law's sister's husband was carried off bj the press- gang on board His Majesty's frigate Before he had been a week at sea, he tumbled by chance out of the mizen-rigging, and might have hurt himself badly, had he not, by merciful luck, fallen upon the first lieutenant — a fat, cushiony sort of gentleman. The lieutenant, instead of being pleased at having been the means of saving the poor fellow's life, was unreasonably angry, and roared out, " Where do you come from, you villain ?" To which my kinsman, who was always a well-mannered lad, answered gravely, as he pulled his forelock, " From the o^orth of Ireland, if you please, sir." Now, that is just where I come from ; and if you wish to know more, I will tell you that my name is Peter M'Xultv, and that I am a native of the county Donegal, where I was brought up as a fisherman ; but as for my politics, whether Orange 286 Tlie Savage-Clnh Papers. or Green, that's a close secret between me and the Editor, and has nothing to do with the story he asked mo to tell you, Avhich, as you see, is about a different colour altoo;ether. I said he mio-ht print it, provided he took all the Paddy language out of it, and made it read just like a talc out of a book. So here goes. One fine summer's day, some five or six years back, as me and my brothers were busy getting our nets aboard, there came down to the beach a young gentleman, who asked leave to go for a cruise with us. He was a tall thin yomig man, with a pale face and hollow cheeks ; there was a tuft of hair on his chin as big as a nannygoat's beard, and he spoke through his nose in a curious sort of sing-song wav. He was a college student, he told us, and sitting poring over books had hurt his health ; so he wanted to get all the fresh air he could, and he thought the best air he had ever set eyes on (the Editor says that's a bull) was the air of the county Donegal. My brother Tom, who pretends to have seen the world, whispered me that he was most likely an Oxford or Cambridjre gentleman, for that he hadn't the Trinity Dublin cut about him at all. The young man overheard us talking, and said with a laugh that he wasn't an Englishman, Ijut a New Englander, and that he came from a part of America called Massa- chussetts. Ma(jr/le''s Yelloio Shawl. 287 TVell, lie not only took tliat trip Avith us, but twenty ti'ips or more. He became quite a skilful fisherman ; eoukl take an oar, or lower a sail, or haul up a net just like one of ourselves. We all grew to be very fond of him ; besides, we were proud to see how well the Donegal air agreed with him. His chest filled out, the colour came into his cheeks ; his own mother woidd scarce have known him, he got so stout and rosy. Then he grew to be very fond of us, myself in particular ; and many's the time he has said to me, half-joking, half-serious, " Peter, I sha'n't part with you till we've made a voyage round the world too;ether." Winter came on ; the weather was cold and stormy, and fishing very slack. The young Ame- rican gave up going out with the boat; but he often came down to our cottage (I refuse to let you call it a cabin) to spin a yarn with us, and slipped many a sly shilling into little sister Katie's hand, for he could see how pinched we were. One morning, as Tom and me and the rest of us — for there's close on a dozen altoo-ether — were sitting eating our potatoes and buttermilk, and wishing the fish that hung in the chimney wasn't wanted for dinner, in walked Mr. Ray- mond, and cheerfidly bade mother, who sat in a comer mending Tom's sea-boots, " good-morn- ing." He had a spyglass in his hand, and he seemed excited. 288 Tlie Savage- Chib Papers. " 'Tain't often, I guess, Peter," lie says, "you see a ship that size in Innisgannon liarbour." " No, sir," answers Tom (thougli lie's younger than me, Tom always takes the Avords out of my mouth) ; " no, sir; and she looks like a country- man of yom's, sir." " You're right," says Mr. Raymond. "^ Take the spyglass, and read what's wrote on her stern." So Tom boggled out, after five minutes or more, — for he's but a poor scholar, in spite of his Jjoasting, — " The Jared Sparks, of New Bedford, Massachussetts. " ''Right again," says the American. "And now, lads, make haste with your breakfast ; I vrant ye to row me aboard." The Jared Sparks was a smart-looking craft enough, but she smelt so strong of fish-oil that she nearly turned my stomach. I soon found out the reason ; she was a whaler. Presently the captain and Mr. Raymond, who had been having a long palaver together in the cabin, came on deck. " Short-handed arc you?" says Mr. Raymond. *' Well, there's three prime hands for you," point- ing to me and Tom and Andrew, wdio all opened our mouths wide with wonder as soon as we heard this. The captain was a short stout man, with lit- tle stumpy legs and a big face. He spoke very Maggie s Yelloio Shaw\ 289 slowly, and turned his head as careTully as if it went by clockAvork. His name was Cornelius Van Wyck ; and though he had been — so Mr. Eayniond told us — two hundred and fifty years in America, the sluggish Dutch blood still ran in his veins. " They'll do," remarked Captain Van Wyck, puffing a cloud of smoke out of his pipe. '' You'll ship, boys, won't you ?" says Mr. Raymond, smiling. " Captain Van Wyck's an old friend of mine, and it's quite a piece of luck to meet him in this out-of-the-way place. He put into Innisgannon because the water leaked out of one of his iron tanks, and now he wants me to go whaling with him to the South Seas. It'll be prime fun ; we sha'n't stop away more than three years ; we'll share all the fish we take ; and you'll come home Avith your pockets full of money." " Hurrah !" cries Tom, flinging up his hat ; ^' we'll go with your honour." " Ay, ay," chimes in Andrew. " Speak for yom'self, if you please, Mr. Tom, and not for me," says I, in a rage. " It's well enough for them two, your honour," I says, turn- ing to Mr. Raymond, " who are a pair of selfish bacheldores, with neither child nor chick ; but how ever can I leave Maggie M'Ginn for three long years, and she under a promise to marry me betwixt this and Whitsuntide ?" " Don"t belicA-e him, your honour," cries R 290 The Savage- CAuJi Poper.f. Tom » '' MaiTixie won't look at liim for a ImsLancI till lie's got the price of a new boat in liis pocket.'^ "Ay, ay," ?ays Andrew, who always chimed in with Tom. '' I've a big mind to knock the two of ye down," I beo-an, wlicn Mr. Bavmond laid his hand on my arm, and said, '' Come, Peter ; you promised to sail round the world with me. Here's the chance of doing it, and of making your for- time into the bargain. Maybe you'll catch a whale with enough spermaceti in his head to light up Dublin Castle for a twelvemonth ; or a sea-unicorn, with a prong in his nose made of solid ivory, forty foot long. There'll be a dowry for Maffsie M'Ginn !" I pondered for five minutes, and then said^ " I'll o-o, vour honour." It would need a book as big as a Family Bible- to tell all the adventures we went through in the South Seas ; so I shall only say that we met a deal of hardship, but at last got a full cargo of fish on board. I must, however, tell you that we put into Sydney for provisions, and that Sydney is the finest town. I ever saw in my life, barring Lon- donderry. I never grew tired of staring into the shop-windows in George - street ; and one day I saw there the most elegant shawl in the world — the very shawl I should have chosen as a Sunday ornament for my darling Maggie's back. Maggie's Yelloio Shaivl. 291 Mr. Rajm'ond. kindly advanced tlie money to buy it; but he says: "Peter, I don't admire your taste ; tlie shawl's bright yellQw." I ex- plained to him that Maggie was a sober-minded girl, fond of quiet colours, and not like some lasses, who want to be stared at from the other end of a fifty-acre field. He said nothing more, but turned aside and blew his nose ; so I suppose I convinced liim. But little did I guess the first use to which my Maggie's shawl would be put. We were coming home laden with oil to the top of our bulwarks, when, just as Ave wanted to cross the line, we were becalmed for a week together. It was a screeching hot day ; the sails were flapping against the masts, and every living soul on board was asleep, barring me and Black Charlie. The niy Clje liaom in iljt liouf. By Charles W. Quin. r|^ CAN hardly describe liow pleased I felt when the senior partner of our firm — who are the lar£;est marine enoineers in Liver- pool — walked into my little room, and said in a pleasant oflF-hand manner : '• 0, Burton, I shall want you to take the plans of those boat-eno-ines we are o-oino- to make for the Baratarian Government to London by the first train to-morrov^^ You will call on the Bara- tarian ambassador, in Lower Grosvenor-street, as soon as you arrive, show them to him, and take his instructions, if he has any to give. Let me see," he added; "to-day is Monday, and Tlmrs- day is Christmas-day : you have been sitting u]) all night three or four nights lately ; so, if you like to spend a w^eek in London, you can do so." I was tremendously elated at this, for several reasons. First, it showed great confidence on the part of my employers ; and I trietl ineffectually to persuade myself that this was the true cause of my heart beating so tumultuously at ni}- ribs ; but it 300 TJie Savage- Chib Papei^s. Avas quite useless. I knew only too Avell tliat the real reason of my jo}- was to be found in the fact that my journey to London would give me the opportunity of visiting Charley Pickford, an old Liverpool chum, who had taken the management of a boat-building yard at Limehouse, and had gone to live there with his mother; yes, and with his sister Charlotte. I fear that, while my chief was giving me instructions about the Baratarian boat-en irines, I was continually obliged to make frantic etforts to divert my thoughts from certain pleasant evenings I had spent with Charley Pickford and his sister, Avhen they had visited Liverpool eight or nine months before. I managed, however, to make notes of everything correctly, and started for London next morning in a very happy and ex- cited state of mind. On my arrival at the embassy, I was at once received by the ambassador very courteously, who made three or four complimentary remarks about the greatness of England, and of our firm ; and finallv afhxed to each plan a very illco-jble siff- nature, in token of his entire satisfaction and ■approval. As soon as I had passed the portals of the embassy, I jumped into a hansom, and was off to Limehouse Reach as fast as the promise of double fare could induce the driver to eo. 2 he Room in tlie Roof. 301 Charley received ine -with open arms. " Well, old fellow," he said, after I had told liim my story, ''tliis is a jolly surprise. Of course" you'll stop Christmas with us." "0 no," I rephed; "I must get back to Liverpool at once. I am very much obliged to you, but I really can't stay." Now that I was on the point of seeing Char- ley's sister once more, I felt sheepish and irre- solute, and wanted to run away again. How- over, as soon as Charley seemed inclined to let me go, I veered round once more and accepted liis invitation. After Charley had done the honours of the yard and its workshops, we walked up to the private dwelling-house to get some lunch. It was a queer, old-fashioned structure, partly built of wood, and seemed in the last stao-e of decay. It smelt damp and unwholesome, and the pretty way in which Charley's rooms were papered and furnished hardly removed the un- comfortable chill that seemed to pervade the place. "Tumble-down old structure, isn't it?" said Charley, as we walked into his snug little sitting- room. "Well," I replied, "it isn't very palatial, is it ? but you have got your part of the house very •comfortably fitted up." "Ah, that's Miss Lotty's doing, not mine,^' 302 llie Savage- Club Papers. cried Charley cheerily ; " she takes care of me like a — like a wife, by Jupiter !" I felt myself blushing horribly, but Charley Avas intent on picking the best bits out of a giblct- pic, to put on my plate, and did not notice me. All this time I had been trying to ask after his mother and sister, and could not summon suf- ficient courage to do so. Besides, what appella- tion was I to use iu speaking of the young lad}" ? I tried ''Miss Pickford," "Miss Charlotte," " Miss Lotty," " Charlotte," " Lotty," and "your sister," over and over again in my mind ; but I could not succeed in determining which to use. I felt myself in for it this time though, so there was nothing for it but to gasp out : " 0, I hope your mother and — er — Miss — or — sister are quite well. Bless my soul, how very strong this French mustard is !" and my pocket- handkerchief, dextrously applied, most effectually hid my confusion. " Mamma and Lotty are thriving like cedars of Lebanon. They are not here, you know. I could not think of bringing ladies into this hole, so I have taken apartments for them at Boav until the end of the year, when we intend taking a house there, and living all together. I can't leave this place a moment at present ; in ftict, I daren't be absent an hour. Pedd and Mickle, next door, are running us awfully hard with the TIlc Room in the Roof. 303 Government contracts ; but I fancy another six months or so of good hard work, done my own way, Avill put Spidds, Burgess, and Pickford at the top of the tree — on the Thames, at least.' " Spidds, Burgess, and Pickford !" I ejacu- lated joyfully, " Yes, old boy," went on Charley ; " they are going to take me into partnership at the end of the year. They must do so ; old Burgess is nearly imbecile, and the Spidds are two old maiden ladies, who don't know an anchor from a windlass." I congratulated him most heartily on his good fortune. " But it has been fearful Avork," he continued, with a look of pain and weariness ; " fearful work. The labour I have had to bring everybody round to my way of thinking and acting has made half an old man of me. When first I came here two years ago, I found nothing but drunkenness, idleness, and general insubordination. I turned out seventeen men in one day for coming back drunk from dinner; and I have sent off foreman after foreman, until I have at last got the class of men who understand my bidding, and do it. Talk of your Manchester and Liverpool Avorkmen ! They are lambs and angels compared with your London men. I was nearly throwing the whole iiffair up last week, I felt so Ioav and dispirited ; 304 The Savage-Clnh Papers. but, somehow, your coming has 2)ullo(l me up again, and I feel fit for anything — ay, even for the mah'gnity of Mr. James Levick." *'Ancl who is Mr. James Levick?" I inter- posed. " Mr. James Levick," said Charley, hissino; the words out ^vitll pent-up rage and vexation , *' was book-keeper here in old Burgess's days. Just after I came, he walked in one morning quite drunk. I warned him of it, and he was cunning enough to conceal his faults for several months. At last, towards the end of last year, ho was ai(y de fo gree Avill l^e sent to-morrow afternoon, and the poulterer says the turkey shall be 'ere first thing in the morning." *' My body servant and ])urvoyor general," whispered Charley, in explanation ; ''he is the son of \\\\ gatekeeper, and is as sharp as a needle. You must manage to shake-down on the sofa to-night, old fellow, and I'll have a proper bed sent up for you to-morrow. — Bob, scud up j'our mother." When Bob's mother appeared, Charley directed that the drawing-room sofa should be made up for me. " Well, sir," hesitated Mrs. Downson, who appeared to act as housekeeper, '' don't you think Bob could sleep with us at the gate-'ouse, and this gentleman could have the Room in the Roof?" " A first-rate idea, Mrs. Downson," broke out The Room in the Roof. 3^7 Charley ; " tlie very thing. It's a tiimhle-down old place, but a good bed is better than a sofa four feet eight inches long. Pray see to clean sheets, and all that sort of thing." Mrs. Downson went off to make prejiarations ; and it was arrano-ed tliat I should inhabit the Room in the Eoof as long as I stayed at Lime- house. When the works closed at six o'clock, Charley and I went up to town, dined, and were back again bv nine o'clock for a long chat and several glasses of grog. About eleven Charley rang for candles, and led me up to the Room in the Roof. It certainly was a rough-looking place. It ran the whole length of the house, and was lighted by a window at each end. It was long and narrow, and looked more like a drain than a room. The floor was Avorm-eaten ; and though it had been renewed in parts, there were still holes enono;h about to make one rather careful in walk- ing. The rafters above had formerly been painted,, but of what colour it would puzzle Ruskin him- self to say. The portion where the bed stood had been di\'ided off with a wooden partition about ten feet high, and the roof above had been covered in with rough boards to prevent the spidery inhabi- tants of the rafters from falling on the occupier of the bed. Although the fenced-off portion was comfortable enouoh, the rest was certainlv most 3o8 The Savage-Cluh Papers. weird and mysterious -looking. When Charley left, I could not help roaming about the place, l^eering up into the roof, which seemed to me, with a single candle, to be a topless mass of rafters. At last I turned into bed, and began to dream about Charlotte, when, just as she was telling me never to call her anything but Lotty, I was suddenly awoke by one of the most fearful sounds I ever heard uttered in this world. It was neither a cry nor a scream nor a groan, but it seemed to partake of all of them. It was a long, low, thrilling whine, which seemed to pass from one end of the room to the other, edd^'ing about amono-st those interminable rafters until it melted away into silence. I was out of bed in an instant. I know not whether it is a physical fact or not that men's hair stands on end with fright ; but if it is, mine cer- tainly stood on end that night. As soon as the first feeling of terror had passed away, I crept back to bed, covered my head up completely in the bed-clothes, and began to reason with myself. Of course it was some dog whining, or a horse in the stables whinnying in his sleep, or perhaps a coAv lowing in a neighbouring cowshed, or Charley .snoring. I actually laughed aloud at myself; but I could not go to sleep for all that. I kept listen- ing and listening, trying to hear the noise again in imagination, and endeavouring to rccal every The Room in the Roof. 309 sound I had ever heard, in order to compare it with the dreaded one. At last, after tossing for two or tlu-ee hours, I fell asleej:), and slept soundly until Bob woke me next morning at eight. When I got down to breakfast, Charley saluted me with "0, dash it, here's a bother! Mamma and Charlotte won't be here to-night. There's high jinks on where they are staying at Bow, and they won't let Lotty leave. Kever mind, I'll make up for it under the mistletoe on Christmas-day with ail of them, or I'm a Dutchman." Charley seemed singularly anxious to kiss his sister, I thought ; but he was always a most affec- tionate brother. Charley went down to the yard, and I went off to moon about town, appointing to meet him ^at •seven o'clock at the Solferino. He kept me wait- ing nearly a quarter of an hour. When he came in, he looked radiant. " It's all rights old boy !" he sang out cheerily ; '^^ the beast is o-one. Hm'rah ! " A quiet old gentleman in the next box looked at him with a glance of mingled pity and fright. " Yes," he went on; "I called him into my room, told him I knew everything, and that Quilter and Balls' people knew it too. I gave him his choice between 22 L, whom I had got in the passage, or quiet dismissal. He laughed at 3 10 The Savage- Club Papei'S. me, told nie I knew notliiiif^ of book-keeping, threatened me ■with old Buro-ess and an action for ^v^ongful dismissal and defamation of character. However, he went ; and I am happy once more. — Cliar-r-rlesf^ '' Out, 771 ViV?;." *' Clicquot, viteT " Old, m^sieii.''^ We did not reach Limehoiise till nearly mid- night, when, at the bottom of the breakneck stair- case leadino- to tlie Room in the Roof, Charley, influenced possibly by the time of year. Veuve Cliquot, La Rose, Charirense jaime, to say nothing of several bran'-sodas on our way home, told me confidentially that he was going to marry Rosa Maitland, a friend of his sister's, who was coming to dinner on Christmas-day, and who Avas, " 0, a stunner, my boy — a downrioht stunner — ^^vitli a couple of thou' too! "Watch you think o' that?" and wc wished each other o-ood-nio-ht, and went to our respective beds. I could not sleep a wink ; I AA'as much too excited. I began to speculate upon what I should call Charley's sister. I determined at once that I should act boldly. None but the brave, &c. I should call her Lotty ; seize her gently round the waist, and kiss her under the mistletoe. Then after dinner I should easily find an op^^ortunity of telling her all. She must care for me, or she TJie Room in the Hoof. 311 never would have thrown the handkerchief at me wlien we were playmg at kiss-in-the-ring at old Eden's at Liverpool. And that girl in orange muslin, how she pestered me about her because — really mo&t unwillingly on my part — I threw the handkerchief at her ! I Avould explain all about the orange muslin to-morrow; I would act bravely, and — Great Heaven ! the sound ao;ain. This time I was perfectly wide awake, and there was no doubt about it. There was the same dull, moaning, prolonged wail, which was neither in the Room in the Roof nor out of it ; there it v/as, swirling and vibrating up amongst those innumerable rafters, shakino; the whole house with its blood-freezinf]', quivering whine. I was utterly unnerved. I knew I was not a coward. I had faced death by shipwreck and by fire ; I had been through the Sepoy Mutiny, and I had helped to nurse yellow-fever ]5atients at Bar- badoes ; bat this fearful sound had completely unmanned me, and I lay huddled up in the bed- clothes bathed in a cold perspiration, trembling like a child, and literally afraid to move. Come what Avould, I Avould go down to Charley's room. I crept down the breakneck stairs to Charley's door, which was half open. I hesitated before going in. Why not bring down the blankets and lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room ? 312 The Savage- Clul) Papers. Cliarley seemed to be sleeping very uncomfortably, for he was making a most horrible gurgling sound in his sleep. I pushed the door open. " Murder, murder ! help, help !" I shouted ; and in another instant I had torn a man from Cliaidey's throat, and had thrown him on the ground, planting ni}' knee firmly on his chest. " By George, Frank," cried Charley, who soon recovered himself, and came to my assistance, " it was a narrow squeak ; another minute and I should ha^-e been done for. You have saved my life, old boy. Have you got the scoundrel tight ? I'll call up the yard watchman ;" and he opened the window and did so. ''What sort of looking beggar is he?" went on Charley, stooping down to look at the man. " Good heavens, it's James Levick !" I needed no help from Charley in holding the fellow down ; for in falling he had struck his head against the fender, and was completely stunned. " Go and fetch a cab, two policemen, and a doctor," Charley called out of the window to the watchman. When they arrived, we told them the whole affair. The doctor was examining the wound in Levick's head, when suddenly he sprang upon his feet, and shrieked out in a voice of, terror — *' Keep him away ; keep him away ! The figm'es are right, I tell you ! Keep him away, The Room in the Roof. 3 1 3 keep him awcay !" and then he burst into a peal of unearthly laughter. "A very decided case of mania, my dear sir," said the doctor; " caused by cerebral excitement, and aggravated by the injury to the cranium." *' Case of D. T., I should think, sir," whispered 22 L ; " party was a orful lusliy lot. I've took him 'ome scores of times. Didn't like to run him in, you know, as he belonged 'ere. London 'Orspital's the place for him, I reckon ; and if you'll charge him, we'll send one of our men down jest to see as the doctors treats him properly." A strait-waistcoat was procured from the sta- tion ; and the two policemen, with the aid of Bob's father and the night-porter, forcibly in- vested him in it, and carried him off to the Lon- don Hospital. When the house was once more quiet, and we had returned from our dreary journey with the- culprit, Charley and I shook each other by the hand with very moist eyes, and without uttering a word for a good five minutes. At last Charley said huskily, "Thanks for your Christmas-box. We must keep this secret for to-morrow at least. I'll tell them everything the day after, but our Clu-istmas-day must not be spoiled. The people here will say nothing, and I have arranged with the police. You had better turn in with me and get some sleep. But how, in 314 The Sava(je-Clnh Papers. the name of wonder, did yon manage to appear in such an ex machhid style ?" " "Well," I stammered, " I thought I heard a noise of some sort, and I came down to see what it was." " The cowardly villain," growled Cliarle}', " to attack me in my sleep ! He must have concealed himself in the offices somewhere, and sneaked up as soon as ho thought I was safe. Bv Jove ! my throat is A'crv much swollen : I shall have to sham bronchitis to-morrow." The next morning we were both up somewhat late ; and as I Avalked in to breakfast, I don't think I ever heard such furious kissing as Charley was submitting to with excellent grace from the two girls and his mamma. " That will do ; that will do," he cried help- lessly ; "see who is looking at you." Mrs. Pickford turned round and greeted me warmly ; Rosa gave a little scream, and covered her face with her hands ; Avhile Lotty fled to the window. " Rosey dear," said Charley, " allow me to introduce you to Frank Burton, the best and dearest of all my friends ; mind what I say, dear, — the best and dearest." Rosa, -who was a very pretty girl, but not of my style of beauty, advanced and shook hands witli me most warmly. Tlte Room in the Roof. 315 " You two must never call each otlicr any- thing but Rosa and Frank," said Charley, laugli- incr, " Rosa," I said in the boldest possible man- ner to that young lady, " will you obey Char-, ley?" " Yes, Frank, I will," she replied ; and then I actually kissed her under the mistletoe, and we all laughed until the cups and saucers on the table jingled again. All this time Lotty was standing at the win- dow looking at the river. " Hullo, Lotty, you haven't forgotten your old friend Frank, have you?" called out Charley. Lotty advanced from the window, biting her lip. " Mr. Burton has apparently forgotten his old acquaintances," she said, with a roguish twinkle in her eyes, " in his anxiety to form new ones." She only considered me an acquaintance ! " Really, Miss — er — Lot — ford," I stuttered, "I must — er — apologise. I mean — I hope — " and I floundered about in the most helpless man- ner, blushing radiantly the whole time. Charley, however, came to my rescue. " Here, I say, no apologies allowed on these premises. Man-traps and spring-guns ! Beware of the dog !" shouted Charley. " Now, girls, go and take vour bonnets off, and come and make breakfast for two forlorn bachelors," 316 llie Savar/e-Club Papers. how bewitching she looked, with that perk}^ little black-velvet Si^anish hat cocked ever so slightly over one eye — with that wonderful yellow hair, bound up so very prettily in a glistening net — with those large gray eyes and sweeping lashes — with that impudent little turn-up nose and short upper-lip — with that soft little ball of a chin, with a dimple set in the middle of it! But Charley would not let me rave to myself. " You have put your foot in it, young fellow," he said, shaking his head seriously at me. " Did I do Avrono; in takino; that — " " Bosh, man ! Why, you kissed Rosey, and left Lotty utterly forsaken, watching the barges. Why didn't you kiss Lotty ?" Why didn't I kiss Lotty ? What a ques- tion ! 1 said somethino; about not likino; to take such a I'lhevty. '' 0, liberty bo blowed !" snapped out Char- ley rather savagely, I thought; ''you are not half a fellow." After breakfast Charley sallied off with his mother to the lower apartments to inspect the turkey ; and Rosa, who said she must go and tak& a lesson in housekeeping, followed ; so Lotty and I were left alone. Here was an opportunity ! How should I be- The Room in the Roof. 3 ^ 7 gin ? I could hardly ask lier if she liked house- keeping, and follow up that slender clue ; so I said instead — '' What a number of barges there are on the river to-day, Miss Pickford !" '^ Yes," she replied ; " you gave me quite an opportunity of counting them just now, when you ■were so rude to me. However, I must forgive you, I suppose, and say no more about it. I know Avhat an attraction new faces always have for you. Don't you think Rosey very pretty?" I felt preternaturally bold. I was almost going to say, " Yes, very pretty ; but not so pretty as you ;" but I luckily altered it into — " Yes, very pretty ; but not — er — my style. I always prefer fair beauties to dark." And I gave her what I thought was a meaning glance. "Ah, true," she replied; "I forgot. Let me see ; that girl in orange satin, or muslin, or whatever it was, that we met at Eden's ball, she was fair, if I recollect rightly. I hope the affair has gone on satisfactorily. Mind you send me a piece of wedding-cake." I protested most strongly that she was quite mistaken. I never had had the least idea of the girl. " We can only judge by appearances, Mr. Burton ; and certainly on the evening in ques- tion you appeared to be desperately smitten 3iB The Savage-Cluh Papers. witli the girl in orange merino, or •whatever it was." I was silent for a few minutes. I was elabo- rating a wonderful speech — something about an- other young lady at the same ball, whose image, &c. ; but my building was swe^^t away by the entrance of Mrs. Downson for the breakfast tilings. ^Vhcn she was gone, Lotty got up and began admiring the way in which Charley had decorated the room with holly and ivy. Pre- sently she Avalked o^'er to Avliere the mistletoe was hanging, and said : " Look here, Mr. Burton ; I don't think they have hung this mistletoe quite straight." Here A\'as a chance ! Here was a distinct and deliberate challenge ! But she could not possibly mean it, or she never would call me Mr. Burton. I crossed over to where she was standing, and said seriously : '' Well, Miss Pickford, I really don't think they have. Shall I get a chair and set it right ?" " Thank you for agreeing with me," said Lotty sourly ; "I think I'll run down and look at the tm-key." I feebly muttered something about accompany- ing her, but she only said : " Thanks, no ; I prefer going alone." I wonder how many fools and cowards I called myself after she left the room. . Tlie Room in the Roof. 319 The rest of the day passed as pleasant!}' and quietly as most Christmas-days do. We dined rather early, as the ladies had to start for Bow at ten o'clock from Limehouse station. Before they went, however, it was agreed that there should be a grand dinner at Verey's on the morrow. After dinner I became quite bold. I made use of Lotty's name most distinctly several times, and squeezed her hand repeatedly without its being taken away. When we started for the station, she put her hand under my arm in the most natural manner. Then it all came out. What I said I know not. Does anybody know what he says on such occasions? When I came to the end, however, she released her hand from my arm and said in the coolest possible manner : " Thank you very much for your offer, Mr. Bm-ton ; but I must decline it. When I marry, I should prefer a husband with a little more polite- ness and a little less fickleness than you seem to possess. — Mamma dear, have you got my ticket?" I was petrified. The astonishment I felt seemed to eclipse all the feelings of grief and disappoint- ment that ought to have been uppermost. All the way home Charlev talked incessantly of Rosa's perfections, and luckily did not notice the inane answers I gave him when he addressed me. I climbed up to the Room in the Roof, and 320 TJie Savage- Cluh Papers. felt as men feel who have lost a priceless treasure through their own fault. I dared not face her again. I would have run aAvay there and then ; but I knew I should have to pass the gateway, the keys of which Avere in Charley's room. Hovvever, I would be oif early in the morning. As I was dressing next morning, Chai'ley tapped at my door and entered. " Do you know it's nearly eleven o'clock, and mamma and the girls are waiting breakfast for you ? I have told them all about your saving my life, and they are all crying out for the hero." '\Micn I went down I Avas met on the stairs by Charley, Avho said in a most mysterious whisper — " Go into the draAving-room." " Into the " " Don't ask any questions, but go into the draAving-room." I thought it odd, but I obeyed him. The first thing that met my eyes AA'as my golden-haired little fairy standing at the AvindoAv Avith her face hidden in her hands. I Avalked over to her. "Dear Frank," she said, putting both her hands on my shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes, " Charley has told me Iioav you saA'ed his life ; and it has made mg see how Avicked I Avas to you last niglit. I meant it only to plague you, for I do truly love you with all my heart ; and if you The Room in the Roof. 321 Tvull ask me again to be your wife, I will try and — iry and — " And then we botli broke down completely. ijt jif ^fc S^ fj f Charley was glad, mamma was delighted, Rosa was triumphant. But the gladdest, the most de- lighted, the most triumphant of all the household was Bob. Wherever he met me, he would leer at me like a young demon, cut a Catherine -wheel if place and time served, and ejaculate, with a series of winks and nods, "Beg pardon, sir; excuse the libutty, sir; but iiin't Miss Lotty a rippin' young lad}', sir ? A7ish you joy, sir." What excursions we took durino; the remain- ing three days ! What quarrels we Iiad ; followed, of course, by the most affecting reconciliations ! What a number of times Rosey called me a goose for not having seen the whole affair years before ! What a number of times Charley slapped me on the back and called me a jolly old brick, but always finishing up with — " I say, old fellow, isn't Rosey a little stunner ?" As for the mistletoe, it was speedily voted a bore, and a useless old vegetable. At any rate, after the first mornino; it was never used ao-ain. I went back to Liverpool by the night-train. Bob carried my carpet-bag down to the station. 322 The Savage- Cluh Papers. As the train was starting, lie put liis head in at the window and said mysteriously : ''Bog pardon, sir; did you hear any noise when you slep' in the Eoom in the Roof?" ''No," I said sayagely ; but Bob saw "yes" in my face, I am sure. " 'Cos the telly graft-pole is atop of our 'ouse, and Avhcn the wind blows fi'om the nor'ard them sixteen wires makes a row as 'ud frighten anyone as didn't know of it." ***** Last year, when I came up to town to be present at Charley's wedding and my own, wc all four went up to the Room in the Roof one gusty day to hear the wires moan. " Those dear old Avires," said Rosey, " what blessed music they make ! Just fancy, if Frank had not heard them, he might not hayc sayed Charley's life." " And I mio;lit neyer liaye forgiycn Frank for haying been such an egregious goose on Christ- mas-day," pouted Lotty. And Ave all Avalkcd down the old breakneck stairs in silence, and Avere A'ery graA^e for at least half an hour aftcrAA-ards. T. W. Lawson del. R. Knight sc. MY FIRST-BORN. THE BATTLEFIELD OF SADOWA. ^ iFragmr ut. Br G. L. M. Strauss. EAVING Berlin about a week after the final struggle between the multitribed Hapsburg Titan and the neecUegun Jupiter of Zollern, I visited the valley of the Bistritz, that small, slightly sluggish Bohe- mian streamlet on which the momentous events of the 3d July have conferred henceforth an Issus and Granicus and Beresina-like celebrity in the world's history. The valley of the Bistritz runs parallel with the upper Elbe, from north to south. The high -plateau between the two rivers was the scene of the great battle of Sadowa and Chlum, or of Konig-griitz (Konigingriitz*), as it has pleased his Majesty of Prussia to call it. * Konigingriitz is the official German name of the Bohe- mian fortress which is called Kraloive Hradec in the Slavo- Czechian tongue, Kraloive means queen ; Hradec, town ; Kralowe Hradec accordingly means simply Queenstown, Grdtz is the German pronunciation of Hradec. Konigsgratz (Kings- town) is only a blundering contraction of the correct name, Konlgingrdf:. T 326 Tlie Savage-Club Papers. Tlie ground forms a somcwlmt irregular paral- lelogram, extending some nine English miles in length from north to south, bv from six to eight Eno;lish miles in breadth from west to east. The four extreme points are Cerekwitz, N.W. ; Neschnaschow, N. E. ; Nechanitz, S. W. ; and Konigingriitz, S.E. The plateau is' diagonally intersected from north-west to south-east by the highway leading from Gitschin over Sadowa to Konio;ino;r;itz. It is traversed in all directions by numerous larger and smaller roads and paths, leading up to a variety of defiles through mounts, dales, and marshes. To the south of the Git- schin and Kunigingrjitz road the ground is rather thickly wooded. The entire plateau is pretty ])len- tifuUy studded with hamlets and tillages, most of which were the scene and object of fiercest contention on the portentous 3d of July. The hottest fight, however, raged about Sadowa, Lippa, or Lipa, hill and village (situated on the highroad from Gitschin to Konigingriitz, some two English miles to the south-east of Sadowa), and Chlum, situated about one English mile east- ward of Lippa ; and in the southern section of the plateau, about Nechanitz, Problus, and Prim. Sadowa formed the centre of the Austrian posi- tion. Right in front of the village of Sadowa lies the mansion of the lord of the manor ; and a few hundred yards to the north of this, the fores- Tlie Battlefield of Sadoim. 327 ster's lodge, from wliicli run in a north-eastern direction several narrow strips of forest, extending about one to two Englisli miles in length. The edge of tliis wood had been transformed into a heavy abatis by the cutting down of trees. The Austrians had, long before the battle, made a great deal of artillery-practice here, and had got the ranges to a nicety; and they had marked the dis- tances by what, at the first glance, looked like per- fectly unsuspicious funeral crosses, and by stripping the bark off the trees, and other ingenious devices. However, I must not forget that it is not my in- tention here to describe the battle, but simply to o-ive a slio-ht sketch of the field as it looked about a week after. I came down from Horzitz over Millowitz to Sadowa, in company of a Prussian sergeant, slightly wounded in the left arm, who had kindly volunteered to act as my guide over the battlefield. Although the smi had risen and set some seven times since the battle-day, there were still ample marks left everywhere of the desperate fight and the disastrous rout of the Aus- trians : the paths were covered, and so were the fields here and there, in more or less extensive patches, with the gutted remains of knapsacks, kepis, cartridge-boxes, &c., mostly stripped of everything in the shape of iron, steel, or usefully available leather about them. But there remained still sadder sights to be seen on Sadowa's sad 328 Tlie Savage Cliih-Fajurs. field, still more infiilliblo signs of the most awful scene of carnage that this country has witnessed : the carcasses of horses, slain and flayed, were in- fecting the air around ; and not alone dead horses were still abounding above ground, but dead men also were yet lying unburied here and there, in ditches and hollows and out-of-the-way places. I counted fifteen of them collected in one spot near Chlum ; eight on a heap behind Lippa ; and I shudder to think how many more by twos and threes and fives elsewhere all over the wide area oyer which the battle had ranged and raged, more particularly to the right of the village of Problus and in Prim Park. To Avliat nation these dead men might have belonged in life, I know not, nor could it even be guessed with any degree of certainty, except that it seems a fi\ir presumption to believe them to have been Austrians, as the Prussians would presum- ably have wiven attention first to the interment of their own dead. Still there might be Prussians anion o- them as well as Austrians. In the case of only a few of them had even a tattered shirt, or the remains of a pair of di'awers, been left on the poor slashed and smashed body, to run a race of corruption with it ; but most of them had been stripped to the skin Ijv those hideous fiends, the despoilers of the slain and wounded. I saw some of these wretches prowling about e^cn then ; they TJie Battlefield of Sadowa. 32^ offered "relics of the battlefield" for sale, but took to flight instantly whenever they caught sight of a Prussian uniform. In Prim (or Przim) Park, where I was wandering about solitary, I might, for a comparatively small outlay in Prussian coin, have become the lucky purchaser and pos- sessor of a most desirable lot of broken lance- heads, grenade-splinters, flattened bullets, and bits of gunstocks, with a Prussian helmet complete, a small Austrian eagle, and the upper part of a di'ao-oon's sabre thrown in to make the bargain more alluring. I had sufficient philosophy to de- cline the tempting offer, and hie7i 111 en j^^'it ; for when I arrived at Nachod a few days after, my vehicle was rigorously searched for articles of the kind just described ; the Prussian military authori- ties having determined meanwhile to put a stop to the wholesale robberies committed on the battle- field, and having to that end adopted certain vigorous measures, among which ranked the pro- hibition of conveying aAvay so-called relics from the field, which had indeed been carried on to an alarming extent during the first days of the inva- sion of Bohemia by the Prussian forces. I was shown by a gentleman of the civilian persuasion a complete arsenal of weapons of war, Austrian and Prussian, most of them in a state of perfect pre- servation and usefulness, which the lucky possessor informed me had been so acquired by him for the 330 The Savage- Clnh Paj^ers. small sum of about ten thaler. A Prussian sutler liad sold them to him. Some of these sutlers have turned out a bad lot altogether. I was informed tliat several of them had been stopped and their carts searched ; and that even their professed beer- and brandy-casks had been found choke full of this new species of contraband of war. Uniforms too and soldiers' clothing of every kind and de- scription had been fomid hidden away in their wagons ; also lint, bandages, compresses, and other hospital necessaries — which certainly was the most shameful and culi)able part of the busi- ness, as the poor wounded stood at the time in most urijent need of these articles. To return to the miburied dead. The sight which these poor remains of what a few short days before had been livino- strono- and valiant men — aye ready to meet death at the trumpet's call or at the roll of the drum — afforded to the beholder, was sad and depressing in the extreme. Some had had their heads carried off, others simply their skulls dashed in ; others again were battei'ed by grenades into a hideous shapeless mass ; some had had their legs smashed ; from others the life- blood had flowed through gaping gashes. And there they were lying all of them putrescent on the gi'ound, which even seemed to deny them a grave ; there they were blackening under the scorching rays, which a sun almost tropical in the The Battlefield of Sadowa. 33 1 intensity of liis heat darted upon tlieir naked flesli and into the deepest recesses of the wide-gaping wounds ; and there you might also see all-benefi- eeut Nature *s scavengers busy at work, — to shield the living, if possible, from so much corruption, — and the carrion-birds luxuriously feasting, and the worms creeping in, and the worms creeping out. And when, sickened with the horrid spec- tacle, you turned away your eyes, to throw them around in search of something enlivening and something consoling, perchance your glances would fall everywhere around — irresistibly attracted, as it were, by a species of occult magnetism — upon mimistakable vast graves, dug shallow in the hard soil, and imperfectly covered with earth, that in their wide bosom had peacefully bedded, in batches of from five to sixty and more of God's images, the dead foes who had so fiercely fought here, though many of them verily without the re- motest notion of what it could possibly be all about. Over some of the carcasses of dead horses the earth was literally sprinkled only. The wretched natives who had been compelled — certainly just as much for their own sake as for the sake of the foe who had conquered their master — to dig the graves and pits for the burial of the dead men and the interment of the dead horses, had shirked as much as they dared of the irksome w^ork forced upon them. As you looked fixedly over the sm'- 332 The Savage- Club Papers. face of some of the flat mounds — if a seeming paradox be alloAvable here, to express the strange aspect Avhich these graves presented to the sight — you fancied you could actually see them rise and heave, as if the dead within could not rest in them, and were striving to burst forth again into the outer world. And certainly this was not all fancy; but in some parts could be clearly traced the outlines of hands and arms that had got neai-ly bare of their earthy covering. And if you were given to speculation, one of the old superstitions of your childhood would come upon }'ou quite involuntarily, and you would muse Avhother the hands striving thus to rise above the grave were tlie hands of men that in life had lifted them in unfilial strife against their parents. It is one of Nature's wisest and kindest pro- visions that the earth should be the greatest, most efi'ective, and most expeditious disinfectant. But even the earth cannot be expected to properly fulfil this most important function Avhere it is applied in homoeopathic doses only. Here every grave ought to have been dug deep into the soil, and a layer of at least five feet of earth ought to have covered the last row of dead bodies buried Avithin. Had this been done, the ever destructive, ever reconstructive agencies of Nature, with no useless coffin or sheet or shroud to interpose their puny shield, Avould soon harmlessly perfect their The Battle jield of Sadowa. 333 Appointed work ; and the rank seed sown by tlie car- nage of war, and thrown by fate into the routine rotation of crops in Bohemian agriculture, might, in the brief space of a few short years, simply sprout forth again beneficently in a long succession of fat harvests. But, as it was, unfortunately, in reality now, there were miasmatic exhalations rising from nearly every grave, from Cerekwitz down to Nechanitz, from Sadowa to Sendraschitz : wherever you turned about in these doomed fields, you were fated to inhale a fetid stench ; a poisonous pall enwrapped the air here for miles and miles around. One of the most immediate and most inevitable results had, of course, made its dread iippearance already in the shape of cholera, and of cholera of the verv worst kind, and most in- tense in its vh'ulenee. Soldiers, strong men — some of them apparently in robust healtli, others only slightly wounded — had died of this scourge at Gritschin, Horzitz, Nedelist, and other places on this plague line, in so short a time as one single horn' after the appearance of the first symp- toms. And, most unfortunately, there were even physicians of some learning there, who would still foolishly insist upon charging the cause of this fearful scourge solely, or at least partly, upon the wholesome cherry, and other fruit equally whole- some, and on the harmless refreshing cucumber; which, of course, coi;ld only tend to distract at- 334 The Savage- Cluh Papers. tciition from the actual and sole cause of all the harm done and doing, and to prevent, or at least delay in some degree, energetic measures being taken to grapple with this new foe, a hundred times more formidable than all the host of Austria. Most of the villages where the battle had chiefly raged presented a sad sight of destruction and desolation. Sadowa, a tolerably large village, lay deserted. Its industrial establishments — such as the great sugar-refinery of Mr. Urbanec, for in- stance, and most others — were abandoned for the time. It will take years to heal the wounds in- flicted upon the land and its inhabitants in this district. Chlum had also suffered fearfully. Here my somewhat enthusiastically-inclined guide and friend shoAved me the Belle Alliance of the battle, the identical spot on which the Crown Prince and Prince Frederick Charles were said to have met on the afternoon of the glorious day, and embraced with deep emotion. But I must confess that I had even then, at a comparatively early period of my visit to the battlefields of Bohemia, seen too much of the dark reverse of the bright medal to feel disposed for the least corresponding outburst of enthusiasm ; and the contemplation of the famous spot left me perfectly collected and rather cold. Besides, I had not much time given me, and was compelled to hurry from spot to spot; the more so, as the driver of my vehicle TJie Battlefield of Sadowa. 335 was sliowing suspicious signs of an intention to bolt, leaving me to get back to Freiberg as best I niiglit. Neclianitz was one of the places to which I paid a hurried visit. It is a small, melan- cholj-looking little town, with a chm'ch built in the common, most unprepossessing Czeclio- Sla- vonian style. The church did this much good at the time, hoAvever, that it accommodated several hundreds of wounded men. The town-house, or Amthaus, as thej call it here, had also been turned into a hosjiital. An hour's drive took us from Nechanitz to Prim or Przim. In the park of Prim Castle the fight had raged most fiercely. All the farm-buildings, and also a large distillery, well known and well reputed in the neighbourhood for miles round, had been burnt down. Tlie castle, with the chapel and a few barns and small cot- tages, had alone escaped, with more or less injury, however. The trees in the park also bore traces of the fierce fight. Here again the castle and the chapel were turned into hospitals for the womided. From Prim we went to Problus, where I found, if possible, still greater destruction and desolation. It was chiefly to the right of this village, which had been the scene of one of the fiercest episodes in the irreat battle, that I met most of the unburied corpses. Here I made the acquaintance of an officer of the 56tli regiment, belonging to the 27tli 33^ The Savage- Club Papers. Influitry Brigade, 14tli Division of the Army of the Elbe, commaiicled by Count Minister- Mein- liovel. Tliis officer told me all about the attack of his regiment U])on Nechanitz, and subsequently upon Problus. He belonged to the fusilier bat- talion connnanded by Lieut.-Colonel von Busse, Avhich had formed the first line of attack in the •onset upon Problus; the first battalion forming the second lino of attack, and the second battalion the reserve. He ga\'e me a most animated descrip- tion of how hotly the possession of Problus had been contested by the Austrians, who had indeed fought most bravely here. The fusilier battalion to which he belonged, and Avhicli had marched in the van, had had three officers killed, and a dozen more or less seriously wounded. The commander of the regiment also. Colonel \on Dorpowsky, had been severely wounded here. This was not the last place I visited. But wherever I went, and wherever I sent my glances around, — at Briza, Wschestar, Nedelist, Sendra- schitz, Maslowied, — everywhere I , saw the same picture of desolation and misery uns])eakable, I found a desperate sameness and a distressing fomily-likeness in every section of the great field on which well-nigh half a million of men in arms on both sides had contended on the ever- memorable 3d Julv 18G(3. J. D. Watson del. E. Evans sc. By Charles Milwarc. The true Legend of the '^^ Forget-me-not ^ [The beautiful little flower so widely known under the name of " Forget-me-not" is said to have derived its appellation from the following German tradition : " Two lovers were sauntering along the banks of a river, when th e maiden's attention was attracted by a cluster of strange-looking- flowers floating on the surface of the stream. The youth,^ perceiving the object on which the maiden's gaze appeared to be riveted as by a spell, immediately plunged into the water, and secured the floral treasure ; Init finding himself unable to regain the bank, he flung the flowers to the feet . of his mistress, and, as the waters closed over him for ever,, fondly murmured, ' Vergiss-mein-nicht,' Forget me not."] I. In notes of manly pathos sang A gallant son of Fatherland, As with his heart's fond love he stroll'd Upon a river's golden strand : " When to the distant lands I go, In freedom's cause to fire the shot, Will that sweet heart, love, still Le mine ? Vero-iss-mein-nicht — Forget me not.'* 340 Jlie Savage- Cluh Papers. II. " By yonder darkening clouds, -which hide Tlie distant spot where hirks the moon ; By thoughts of all the songs you sing — Of each I now forget the tune ; By all the promises you made, And all your vows upon this spot ; In life, or death, we're one, I swear. Vergiss-mein-nicht — Forget me not." 111. " 0, dat iish goot," thus sang the youth, "And sprachen like mine own true vrow; Tlie signal now mine comrades shoot. So, dearest, I must make mine bow. Those pearl-drops from thine eyelids wipe, Thus from thy face the tears I blot : Cheer up, mine lovely ! One last kiss — Vergiss-mein-nicht — Forget me not." IV. Whilst thus their parting was dclay'd. The maiden's tearful eye espied A modest flower of rarest worth As it was floating down the tide. " 0, what a beauty! Look ! Pray doiit! You swim no better than a shot." But in he jump'd, and gobbled out, " Yergiss-mein-nicht — Forget me not!" Vergiss-mein-nicht. 341 V. ^' Why from the bottom don't you come ? Why do you stay so long below ?" But a gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, Only mock'd the maiden's woe. Wrino-incr then her hands in sorrow For her lover's cruel lot, In she tumbled — p'rhaps she found him ; O'er them floats '' Forget me not." ®:^c €\\ti. LONDON : KOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. OUR TAIL- PIECE. I. > UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 10m-9,'66(G5925s4) UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 333 548 6